#I have perfected breakfast and lunch in the last three days.

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

Ya’ll, cosmic crisp apples with a little peanut butter? 

God tier.

[honeekyuu]

genius. [akaashi keiji x f!reader] chapter two.

>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.

or

You realize you need to find a partner for your faceless porn account, and Akaashi Keiji is the only man who meets all your requirements.<<

series status: [ongoing]

taglist: [open]

@kodsuken @onlytendoguesses @kakeru-eem @itslawful @rikari0913

tumblr didnt let me tag some of you -- please check your settings and let me know :'))

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: im never writing a 30k chapter ever again in my entire life. i hope you like it :))))

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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Akaashi arrives on Saturday morning at 8am. You’re making coffee when he knocks.

It feels almost illegal to be filming porn so early in the morning, but Bokuto had texted a large group of people at 2am, inviting everyone to a party that same day, and you’d sleepily texted Akaashi instead of responding to the group message.

“Come over at 8 if you plan on going to Kou’s thing,” you’d said. It’s the only text you’d sent him after his impromptu video message, and you’d hoped at the time that he wouldn’t be offended by it. “Otherwise, come at 11 like we planned.”

“8,” is all he’d responded, and you’d gotten the feeling Bokuto’s text had woken him, too.

He looks exhausted when you open the door, and you latch onto that so as to not be overcome by the weird tingling feeling that’s starting to swirl in your stomach at the sight of him.

“Hi,” you say plainly, looking him over. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweats – a different pair than last night’s, you hope – and a black t-shirt, his hair falling into his eyes and his glasses barely staying on his nose. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You point to it now. “What’s that?”

“Three changes of clothes, so all the videos are different,” he mumbles, his voice tense. “Do you have coffee?”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. “Akaashi Keiji, are you a crabass in the morning?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you have coffee or not, Y/n? Because I need to go to the shop downstairs if-” He points over his shoulder in the direction of the elevator, but you wrench the door open, waving him in with a laugh.

“I made it, I made it.”

He gives you a snippy hum and makes his way through the foyer, leaving his shoes behind as he moves to drop his bag by the couch. He goes straight to your kitchen, and you wonder if his usual polite tendencies only show themselves post-caffeination.

“Cup?” he calls from the other side of the wall, and you follow him in there, seeing that he’s opening all of your cabinets. 

You laugh. “I’ve never seen you not be a good guest-”

“Cup, please, Y/n – I’m dying.”

“Last one on the right.” You chuckle to yourself and open the fridge, pulling a bottle of cream out and leaving it on the counter. He meets you halfway, setting two mugs between you and reaching for the pot of coffee just as the machine is beeping its completion.

“Breakfast?” you ask, already reaching for the fridge again while he pours a heavy cup for each of you. You have eggs, and you’re sure there’s bacon in there-

“Do you have pop-tarts?” is all he says. You stay silent, just staring at him. He cuts you a tired glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t be perfect all the time.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Does anyone else know you’re this humble?” He takes a defiant sip of his coffee instead of answering you, sighing contently afterward. You move to your pantry, extracting a variety pack of pop-tarts. “Here,” you say, sliding it to him.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, poking through it and deciding quickly on the smores flavor. “I’ll get lunch. Chinese?”

“Free food is good food,” you respond, mixing your coffee with cream and sugar from the little jar on the counter. You watch him rip the plastic open with his teeth. “Do you need… I don’t know, a toaster or something?”

“Nope.” He talks through a mouth full of smores pop-tart and walks off, disappearing into the living room. You stare after him, laughing in shock as he goes. You’ve never seen Akaashi Keiji like this.

You move to the couch with your own pop-tart (strawberry) and sit on the opposite side. He already looks better, his fingers tangled in his hair as he chugs coffee that’s scalding hot.

You feel odd starting right away with a conversation about the filming plan, so you take a quiet sip of coffee. “So… how was your night?”

Akaashi chokes on pop-tart crumbs.

Your face burns with realization. “Oh– I…”

He shakes his head, laughing while he coughs. “You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t!”

“How was your night?” he asks, meeting your eyes. You purse your lips – you hadn’t responded to his text, after all.

“It was… fine.”

“Fine, good? Or fine, bad?” You don’t answer, and he gives you a meaningful lift of his brows. “Some feedback would be nice.”

“Well, you let me know when you make your own porn account,” you joke. “I’ll be sure to leave a comment.”

“Hey, now.” He tuts and shakes his head. “I showed you what I thought of your video. I think a little reciprocity’s fair.”

“I’m about to take my clothes off for you,” you argue. “I think that’s your reciprocity.”

He hides his smile behind his hand. “Fair enough.” He downs the rest of his coffee and then sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I needed that.”

“Clearly,” you mumble, leaving your own drink and pop-tart on the coffee table. “Better, crabass?”

“Better,” he says plainly, accepting the nickname. “What’s the plan?”

That quiet tingle returns, prickling in your fingertips and toes. “Uh…” You stand, moving toward your bedroom. “I suppose I should figure out what I’m wearing, but… generally, I was thinking we could film enough for three or four videos? I can fill the rest of the week in with solo videos.”

“Okay,” he says behind you, and you hear him stand and move to the hallway. “Is what I’m wearing now okay for the first one?”

You leave the door cracked while you change. “Yeah, that looks good!” you call, pulling out a yellow crop top and a black, lacy thong. You grimace down at the set. You usually don’t put much thought into your outfits, but having Akaashi here makes you a little self-conscious. “Which video should we do first?”

“Well, I’m not sure that 8am is the best time for freaky, screaming, headboard-slamming sex, Y/n.” 

You laugh to yourself. “Something softer? With the morning sunlight coming in through the window?”

“That sounds better. I’ll get the windows in the room.” 

You change into the set quickly and stand in front of your mirror, fixing your hair. You look down at yourself, turning back and forth, and decide to forgo the bra. There’s no point in it, but you do feel a lot more exposed now. “Are we gonna talk for any amount of time, or are we starting?” you say, a little louder so he can hear.

“We should probably figure out the order of the videos,” he responds, back in the living room now.

“Okay, then I’ll get a sweater.”

What you walk out in is more of a moomoo than a sweater, and Akaashi tells you as much.

“You look stupid,” he says, amused, when you stop outside your bedroom door.

“Be quiet – wearing nothing is a cold affair.” You scoop your coffee from the table and follow him toward the hall, but he stops before you can get there. You have a whiteboard hanging on the wall in the living room, one with your research ideas and spare thoughts. He takes the marker now, hovering over an empty spot, and looks down at you expectantly.

“Order?”

“Not on my precious board,” you complain, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fingering for the first one? And then I was thinking something with the desk,” he says, writing down the first point quickly.

“I think oral’s probably good. Both kinds.” When he grimaces, you nudge him. “Would you rather do isolated videos, or have me give oral as foreplay in every video-”

“Isolated sounds lovely,” he says quickly, starting to jot that, too, but you stop him with a slight laugh.

“Why don’t you like having your dick sucked, Akaashi? Is something wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he argues. “The attention’s just a little weird. I prefer doing other things with the time.”

You tilt your head at him, brows furrowed. “You feel weird about the attention?” He meets your eyes briefly, and you spot the scowl forming. “Sorry, have you never gotten good head before?”

“Shut up,” he bites. “I just get a little lost in my head. Makes it hard to enjoy it.”

You blink. You think you can understand that – having an overactive mind must make it hard to relax. You can’t say you don’t know what that’s like.

“Okay, then,” you say, taking the marker from him. “You just need to get out of your head.” You write ‘Give Akaashi Good Head’ under his first point, and he snorts.

“Good luck,” he mumbles.

“I don’t need luck,” you beam at him, confident. “What’s next? The desk?”

“I can eat you out there,” he says plainly, taking the marker back, and you’re suddenly caught off guard again by his jarring language, as though you hadn’t just done the same. You blink rapidly.

“O…kay. And then?”

He shrugs. “Bed? Sex?”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “Sex. Sure.”

He eyes you while he writes. “You’re getting nervous.”

“It registered while you were talking.”

“Registered for me last night,” he says, capping the marker and replacing it. “I’ll take over while you process.”

“Shut up,” you say weakly, letting him lead you down the hall anyway. “When’d you process? When you were coming to a video of me?”

He has the decency to blush. “Somewhere around there, yeah.”

You snicker, leaving your coffee on the dresser. “Shall we? Before I get cold feet?”

“Does your rent due date get cold feet?” he asks, moving to the chest. He extracts a small vibrator and a dildo, and then, after careful consideration, he puts the dildo back. He moves to the couch with the vibrator and settles down with a sigh. 

You nod at his question. Right. You’re here to make rent. This is a business arrangement. You can do this.

Your eyes scan the room. He’d popped one of the windows open and raised the blinds for all of them, making the room just a little chilly but overall comfortable and sunny. There’s a golden glow in the room, birds chirping peacefully, and you smile, pleased with the environment. 

“Okay!” You say, mostly to hype yourself up, and strip from the moomoo. You leave it on the bed, shivering slightly, and turn toward Akaashi. He’s looking at you blankly, but you can see a pink tinge in the tips of his ears. You take your phone to the tripod, bending at the waist to set the camera up. You change all the settings the way you like them, keeping him in frame to position the phone right. 

You realize upon glancing at him in the front view that he’s got his eyes on you.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

He jumps, meeting your eyes in the camera. And then he scowls. “Don’t scold me. I’m processing again.”

You snicker, shaking your head and pressing record before joining him on the couch, a good foot or two of space between you. “I’m just fucking with you.”

He eyes the camera, seeing both of your faces in frame. “You’ll crop it?”

“Zoom and crop,” you reassure. “I’ll even send you the login to my account so you can review the videos before they post.”

He nods, seemingly comforted by that. “‘Kay.” 

You swallow. “... ‘Kay.” 

It hits you in this moment that you haven’t been with a man in three years – and that Akaashi Keiji is one very handsome man.

He looks at you expectantly, lifting his brows. “Wanna start?” he asks, in a voice gentler than before – you’re struck with the thought that Akaashi is one of those men whose soft features make him all the more masculine. Long eyelashes that make his eyes darker, a lean frame that makes him tower over you, a voice so soft that the depth of it is striking.

You like men like that.

“Right.” You blink rapidly, panicking at the realization that he might just be your type. Panicking because you hadn’t noticed it before. “Okay. Uhm-” Your face warms, worsened when he starts to smirk. “Oh!” You say, an idea coming to you. “Music! Maybe music will help-” You rise, starting to question where you’d left your speaker, but Akaashi’s hand wraps tight around your wrist, warm and secure.

“God,” he says, laughing slightly. His grip drags you down, your knees hitting the couch and your body slumping against his. You yelp when you land, and he releases you in favor of sliding one hand around your waist and the other around the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re a mess,” he jokes, his voice suddenly a lot closer than you’d prepared for.

When his lips touch your throat, the room starts to spin.

Your whole body breaks out in goosebumps, starting from the crown of your head and melting down over you.

“Oh,” you breathe, your head falling to the side all on its own, resting against his hand and giving him better access. He drags his lips across your throat, kissing the skin quietly and easing the tension in your muscles. You slide trembling fingers into his hair, holding tight as he uses the hand on your hip to pull you half onto him, your legs dangling between his knees. 

There are a hundred different sensations you’re struggling to come to terms with. Every touch of Akaashi’s skin to yours is new, because there’s never been a situation where you’d needed to make physical contact with him. His hands are large and his fingers are warm. His mouth is warmer, and his tongue and teeth send shockwaves down your spine with every pass and nip of your skin. His body is hard against yours, and, when your free hand searches for somewhere to anchor and lands on his bicep, you realize that Akaashi’s endless wardrobe of cardigans, sweater vests, and button-downs has done remarkable things to hide his physique. 

He’s strong, strong enough to hold you steady as you all but go limp in his arms. And his hair tickles against your skin, but it smells nice. He smells nice – he hadn’t put cologne on this morning, but he smells nice. And his eyes are dangerously blue when he pulls back to look at you, that deep blue that’s close enough to a dark green to be confusing in the golden light of the morning.

“Princess,” he whispers, and you start, staring down at his lips. They’re pink and look soft – they are soft, you register. You know that now. You know what his lips feel like. “Do you plan on doing anything at any point?” he asks, and you blink, meeting those blue-green eyes again.

Oh, right.

Right.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Just… took me a second to get used to it.” 

He doesn’t quite smile, but it’s close enough. “Second’s up, darling. Take your shirt off.” 

You nearly laugh, your face warm, and then you shift, using your fingers in his hair to tilt his head away. “Gimme one more second.”

It is way too satisfying to hear the way his breath hitches when you press your lips to his throat. His skin tastes the way you imagined it might – like soap and salt, clean and chilled against your tongue. You let your hand roam his body while you kiss him, your teeth sucking marks into his skin while your fingers curve over his shoulder and across his chest. You wonder if he’s as affected by all of this as you are. If he’s as confused, if his nerves are as electrified by the newness of it. 

His fingers leave your hair to latch onto your leg instead, fingertips sliding across the skin as he runs his hand slowly up and down your thigh. When your hand drops to front of his sweats, he manages not to jump. His fingers dig into your skin, and he lets out a rough breath, but he manages to not make it look like you’ve never touched each other before. You palm him slowly, doing your best not to react when his cock jumps under your fingertips. You keep kissing him, palm tracing the outline of him as he grows hard at your touch, his breath short in your ears.

He doesn’t say anything else to you, only anchoring both hands to your waist after a moment and hauling you up. You gasp quietly, lifted and turned until you’re on your knees, straddling his thighs. He looks up at you, and you see that his eyes have darkened since you’d last looked at them.

“Take your shirt off,” he says again, and it’s not a joke this time. You cross your arms over your chest and hook trembling fingers under the hem of your crop top. Your stomach flips in a moment of nerves and anticipation, but you brush it aside, lifting your shirt clean over your head and dropping it to the couch. 

Akaashi’s fingers tighten on your waist, and you only have time to slide both hands into his hair before he leans forward and takes one nipple in his mouth. You gasp loudly, a quiet moan leaving you. He takes the other breast with one hand, sucking and dragging his teeth over one nipple while his thumb tweaks at the other. You moan louder, fingers tightening in his hair, and your thighs shake. You lose the strength to hold yourself up when, eyes shut and eyelashes fluttering prettily against his cheeks as he suckles you, he slides his hand blindly up your body and pushes his thumb against the seam of your lips.

Your knees give out, and you collapse into his lap with a breathy moan, the sound parting your lips and granting him the room to slide the pad of his thumb against the flat of your tongue. His head stays nestled against your chest, his ministrations never stopping, and you moan loud around his thumb – for the camera, because you realize suddenly that all that’s visible is your back and the supporting hand Akaashi has pressed to the center of your spine.

When the sound leaves you, admittedly a little performative, the rest of his fingers tighten around your jaw, and he releases your nipple from his mouth with a quiet pop. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, lips pink and wet, and he uses the thumb in your mouth and the fingers on your jaw to grip you, pulling you close.

“It’s annoying when you fake sounds like that,” he whispers, eyes hazy but piercing straight through yours. You stare back, your own eyes wide. He lifts a brow. “Understand?”

You nod back dumbly, and he pulls his thumb from your mouth. Both hands fall to your waist, and he mumbles ‘turn’ close to your ear. You let him turn you around, settling between his thighs with your back to his chest, your heart beating loud in your ears after the way he’d spoken to you.

“Do you need to fix the camera?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, and you lean forward shakily, pulling the tripod closer and lowering it so only your mouth and below are showing. You relax your head against his shoulder, sighing nervously when he cups both breasts in his hands.

You arch your back a little dramatically, glad that he seems to realize that some things need to be performative, and spread your thighs, hooking them over each of his. He slides his hand up your chest and pushes the middle two fingers into your mouth. You wrap your lips around them, tongue swirling around the tips, and you hear his breath stutter in your ear. His hips push against your ass, and you realize with a rush of heat and a flip of your stomach that he’s properly hard now. 

You twist one of your arms behind your back and slide your palm against him carefully. He groans low against the side your head, pulling his fingers from your mouth. His hand falls to your pantyline, and he slips his fingers past while you’re distracted with touching him.

You jump when his wet fingers, cold from the air, make contact with your heated core. “Oh, my-” He swipes two tight circles over your clit before sliding his fingers through your folds, repeating the motion a few times – just the way you like it. 

He’d paid attention during that video last night, then.

“Mm,” you groan, feeling his middle finger push gently against your entrance. You grip him harder behind your back, and he shudders against you, his teeth grazing the tip of your ear.

“You’re really wet,” he breathes, teasing weakly. “How long’s it been, again? Three years?”

You arch your back, nearly distracted by the way he pushes his fingers through your folds. “Take your pants off, then. Let’s see how long you last.” 

You feel him grin against your ear, and that does something to the flip of your stomach and makes you twitch when he swipes the pads of his fingers over your clit. His free hand pushes at the lace of your panties.

“You first, princess,” he breathes, and you lift your hips in compliance. “Your viewers are gonna wanna see how you look with two of my fingers buried inside you.” 

Your heart explodes in your ears, and you go limp against his chest, your head turned and your face pressed to his neck when you moan weakly. He laughs quietly, jostling you and the million tiny needles pricking your skin as his comment sinks into you.

Akaashi gets your underwear off of you with very little help from you, and then he pries your thighs open with both hands, your whole body on display while he holds you, still fully clothed. “Shit,” he whispers to himself, fingers hooked behind your knees and pulling your legs open a little further. Your eyes flutter open, and you find his gaze flicking between the camera and your body, his lips parted as he looks down at you.

“Like what you see?” you whisper, pulling your arm out from behind your back and wincing when it aches. He adjusts you, sliding one arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him. The other lifts, the same fingers from before finding your mouth. You let him in, whining when you taste yourself on the pads of his fingers and shivering when he murmurs ‘there you go’ against your ear.

When his fingers find your core this time, all you can do is breathe out shakily and relax against him. He swipes twice and dips toward your entrance. You manage to keep the video in mind, arching your back and cupping your hands over your breasts, kneading and touching yourself for the camera. Akaashi nudges the tip of his middle finger past your entrance, and the moan that falls past your lips is breathless and shocked.

You purse your lips, your body trembling as it realizes that someone who’s not you is doing this. Akaashi pushes his lips to the crook of your neck and tries again, using two fingers to work you open carefully. Your breath is shallow and harsh in your chest by the time he gets both fingers inside you comfortably, his cock twitching against your back.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathes in your ear. The pads of his fingers brush up against the spongy spot that’s normally so hard for you to reach on your own. “You need to relax.”

“Trying,” you bite, breathing hard. “Your hands are a lot bigger than mi-mm-” You jerk when he starts to move, thrusting his fingers slowly and curling them inside you. “Fuck,” you breathe sharply, a rush of heat washing over you. He picks up the pace, flicking his wrist and snapping his palm against your skin. Your mouth falls open, breathy, high-pitched moans tumbling out with every push of his fingers into you, and your hips start to roll against his hand, entirely unconscious. You can’t remember the last time you’d gotten a stretch like this, and there’s a brief moment of insanity where you imagine calling Akaashi Keiji any time you need to get off.

It should be embarrassing, the way your body’s reacting, but your brain is full of static, and you can’t hear much aside from your own breathing and the low moans buried in Akaashi’s throat, quiet with each push of your core against his hand. He’s rocking his hips slightly against your ass, his fingers stalling and stuttering after a moment. He lets out a harsh breath on your skin, and you manage to crack your eyes open enough to see he’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his forehead pressed to the side of your head. His lips are parted, breath warm on your sweat-chilled skin, and, when your walls flutter around his fingers, his hips jerk against you, breath hitching on his inhale.

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, his chest rising and falling faster now. “Fuck, fuck-” 

He reaches out blindly with his other hand, patting the couch frantically. You don’t have the energy to look, but the buzz of the vibrator coming close makes you whine. When it touches your skin, his fingers finding your clit with ease, your back arches and you cry out, the extra sensation too much.

“Oh, I’m- I’m gonna-”

Akaashi holds you tight, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Come on, come on, come on, com-”

You gasp loud, twitching and jerking against him while you come around his fingers. There’s a warmth that spreads over your lower back, but you pay it no mind, your ears ringing too hard and your body shivering too much against him. 

Your hand clamps onto his wrist, pushing the vibrator just far enough away from your body that you can catch your breath. Heart thundering in your chest and throat, you focus on regaining control of your limbs, your fingers and toes numb.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, splayed open on Akaashi’s lap as you try to remember your own name, but you do shiver and whine when he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He runs them through your folds one more time, the touch to your clit making you twitch against him again. He breathes a shaky laugh into your ear and rests his hand on your inner thigh, sighing quietly.

“How was that?” he asks roughly, his breath as unsteady as yours.

“Mhm,” you hum. “‘s good. Nice. Well done.” His laugh is delirious, and it draws your own spare breath into a tired chuckle. “Dude, I can’t feel my toes.”

He laughs harder. “I just came in my pants.”

“Is that what that was?” you ask, turning your head enough to look up at him. His cheeks are flushed a pretty red, and his eyes are glazed over slightly. You reach lazily behind you, fingers dipping into the wet warmth on your lower back. He gives a pained groan when you whisper ‘nice’ in a voice that’s horribly smug, and he scrubs the bottom of his shirt over your skin to wipe it away.

“I haven’t done that since I was a teenager,” he complains, dropping the vibrator on the couch and reaching for your panties. He helps you put them on, propping you up while you complain about being lifted. When you pull away from him, sitting up properly between his legs, he laughs down at himself. You look back, finding a wet spot on his sweats and his t-shirt stained with cum. 

He meets your eyes, ears burning. “You can’t give me head today. This is embarrassing.”

You laugh loudly, turning to reach for your phone and end the recording. “Okay, fine. You got off easy this time.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” he mutters, and you drop your face to your hands, groaning. 

“Can we take a small break?” you ask. “I dunno if I can handle more right now.”

“Yeah, I should change anyway.” He climbs out from behind you, taking your coffee cup with him as he heads back to the main room. You pull your shirt back on and then stand on shaky legs, padding over to the bed for your cover-up. Sitting on the couch in your Bokuto-sized onesie and going through your phone, you send the video to the locked photo album in your camera roll and try to recover from the small shockwaves still sparking through your body.

Akaashi returns in fresh clothes a few minutes later, black jeans slung low on his hips and a white t-shirt hanging over the hook of his forearm. You realize, by the wet edges of his hairline and the few wet strands that hang over his eyes, that he’d washed his face and freshened up. You also realize, with a sneaky peek at his lean build, that you hadn’t been wrong about the physique he’s been hiding.

“Couple questions,” he asks, holding both cups of coffee as he makes his way to you carefully, the open pop-tart packs pinched precariously between his knuckles. You sit up, taking yours and thanking him quietly. He sits beside you, sipping happily at his fresh coffee and letting out a large sigh when he’s done. “First, when do you want to eat lunch? Because, by the time we’re done, I’m gonna be crabby again.”

You snort, checking your phone. It’s already 9:15, you realize with surprise.

“Oh. Well, if we keep this pace…” You blink a few times, thinking. “We could order around 11?”

“Between the desk scene and the bed scene?” He lifts his mug to his lips again, and you lift a brow.

“Why? You think it’ll only take thirty minutes to fuck me? Just in time for delivery?”

He coughs into the cup, splashing hot coffee all over his face. “Fuck-” He tosses his clean white shirt in your lap and wipes at his face with a wince. “That’s not what I meant-”

You bite your lip, laughing quietly. “Sure, we can order before the bed scene.”

“You’re such a-” He shakes his head, cleaning his hands on his jeans.

“A what?” you tease, leaning toward him with a smile. He leans toward you, too, his brows lifting. 

“A brat.” He leans away, leaving you with warm cheeks and a set of rapid blinks. “May I continue, or do you need more time to be annoying?”

“The floor is yours, Your Highness,” you say, picking at your pop-tart before leaving it on the little coffee table to your left.

He gestures to his jeans. “I put on a real outfit because I was thinking we could make it more… roleplay-ish.”

You hear his intended question. “I can find an outfit for that. What’s the vibe you’re going for?”

“I don’t really know. Something… spontaneous. Like you invited me over and things got out of hand, or something.”

You squint playfully at him. “I can’t tell if you read a lot of smut or watch a lot of porn.”

“I have an active mind.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes when you make fake gagging sounds.

“You want me in a school-girl skirt?” you joke, but he cuts a glance at you.

“You have one?” He laughs when you smack him on the arm. “I’m just saying – I’ve never seen it.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “When would you have seen it?!”

“We run the same circles!” he tries. “I see a lot of you on a daily basis.”

You groan, turning away from him and giving your coffee extra attention. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a schoolgirl miniskirt to Bokuto’s biweekly parties, Akaashi. Use that brain of yours.”

There’s a pause, and then he chuckles to himself. “Oh, I get it – I should have scrolled a little longer on your account last night.”

“You’re so irritating,” you say, standing. “Is that what I’m wearing? I need to change.”

“Let’s see it, then,” he says, waving a polite hand at the door.

You pad to your room, your head swimming slightly. It’s weird, you think as you search your closet – you’d spent an hour reveling in new discoveries of Akaashi Keiji, but the moment things had ended, you’d gone back to normal. Is it the continued absurdity? Is it some weird, twisted form of suspended disbelief – where, when the camera’s rolling, you’re allowed to forget who you are with him? And, when it’s done, you’re able to snap back to reality without issue?

And does he feel the same?

You choose an outfit while hyper-analyzing him, sliding on a matching bra-panty set while wondering if he’s thinking the same about you. Zipping your plaid miniskirt while considering if things would be this easy with Bokuto or Kuroo, or if things are easy because it’s Akaashi – because of that strange sense of detachment you’d noted before. Tying your hair up and tucking a white button-down into the skirt, the first three buttons undone, while secretly hoping that things continue to be this strange and simple.

You’re still messing with your hair by the time you head back to the spare room, and you barely notice the way Akaashi’s eyes go wide when he sees how short your skirt is.

“Okay, I see what you mean.”

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh. “Think I should wear this to the party tonight?”

“Sure, if you want to put on a live show.”

You roll your eyes, straightening your clothes. “Slutty schoolgirl enough for you?”

“Incredibly,” he says, standing and pulling his shirt over his head. “Shall we?”

You move the tripod toward the desk by the windows, setting your phone up so it’s level with your chest. “I think we should probably walk into frame if we’re going for roleplay.”

“Okay.” Akaashi stands at the open window nearest the desk, peering down to the ground level and then out across the way. You hadn’t lied about your balcony yesterday – your apartment doesn’t face the street, because your residential high-rise looks out to water. The nearest building this tall is across the river. Still, he glances at you. “Do you close these when you film here or leave them open?” You don’t answer, your face warming instead. His lips split in a knowing grin. “I see.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“So, you’re not an exhibitionist?”

“Not a big one!”

He turns away, backing out of frame and waiting for you next to the end of the bed. “I don’t know about the degrees of exhibitionism, but I’d say leaving your windows open while I eat you out is pretty up there. Freak.”

“Do you always have to talk?!” you snap, embarrassed and a little warm from the way he’d called you a freak. “Always talk, talk, talking. Some of us like our windows open, Akaashi. It’s not like anyone can actually see.” You press record angrily and stomp over to him. “You can never just shut the fuck up-”

His hand flies out, latching onto your waist and dragging you the rest of the way to him. You gasp, hands landing on his chest as he pulls you flush to him.

You’re no less unprepared for his mouth on your throat this time around. You stumble back, grabbing onto his t-shirt to keep yourself standing while he sucks on a spot under your ear.

“‘m I still talking too much?” he murmurs, walking you slowly into frame. You card your fingers through his hair and trust him to not let you fall on your ass.

“Always,” you breathe, that strange suspension of disbelief setting in when you bump against the desk and Akaashi slips his fingers around the backs of your thighs to hoist you up. You lean up, pressing your lips to his jaw and kissing carefully down the line of it. He tugs your shirt free of the skirt and undoes two of the buttons with one hand, the other hooked under your knee so he can slot his hips between yours. Then he nudges you away, taking over.

You let him touch you, his fingers fondling and groping your body while you lean back on your hands with a sigh. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, teeth nipping at your collarbones while his hands slide your skirt under the curve of your ass. The material bunches at your waist, and he slips your panties off of you and throws them somewhere behind him. When he meets your eyes, you catch the glint in them.

“Maybe you should do something about that. Since you want to be a freak.”

You narrow a glare at him, heart skipping a beat when he says that stupid name. You let him pull your thighs open, and then you reach between for the button on his jeans. He lifts a brow, interest piqued, as you undo his pants and push them past his hips. You slide your palm against his boxers, smiling up at him when he sucks in a breath.

“You like that, baby?” you ask, your grin widening when he narrows his eyes. “Even though someone could see?” His cock jumps under your hand, and your eyebrows fly to your hairline. He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, knocking your hand away. You shrug it off, pushing that hand into his hair.

“Then say I’m not a freak,” you say, pulling tight. He doesn’t seem to mind it, but he does narrow a glare and an irritated grin at you.

“You’re not a freak, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice saccharine. “But you love it when I call you one.” He lifts his brows when you say nothing. “So what does that make you?”

You glower and push down on his head, and he drops to his knees with a snicker. You check the camera quickly, making sure that his face is hidden behind your thigh. Keeping your hand on the side of his head to provide more coverage, you try not to shiver when Akaashi presses his lips to the inside of your thigh. When he hooks both your legs over his shoulders and holds on tight, you whimper quietly.

And then the bickering and the nerves all fall away. The flat of his tongue presses to your core, and you make the mistake of looking at him with wide eyes. 

Akaashi’s eyes are a lot bluer when he’s got his face between your thighs.

You suck in a sharp inhale, legs trembling when he drags his tongue over your folds, slow and torturous. You’re unable to keep eye contact with him, a flush rising to your cheeks and your stomach flipping with nerves every time you glance down, because he’s staring right back at you.

Finally, he lets his eyes slide shut, his movements more intense now that he’s not focused on anything else. Your fingers shake in his hair, and your chest rises and falls with something akin to a live wire straight to the veins. Akaashi’s fingers tighten on the tops of your thighs, and he shuffles closer on his knees, his head bobbing as he slides his tongue, velvety and searing hot, through your folds before latching onto your clit.

“Oh, my God-” Your body twitches when he suckles gently, his lips soft around the nub. Your grip tightens on him, and your hips rock forward of their own accord. He follows your lead, finding his timing within the rhythmic cant of your body’s response, and soon, he has you gasping and moaning audibly. 

His glasses sit knocked askew and pushed up against his forehead the more certain he becomes between your thighs. You feel the cold metal on your skin and glance down blearily. A fresh wave of heat washes over you when you realize that they’re smeared with dewy drops of you, and you move them shakily off his face and set them beside you on the desk. Akaashi’s hands respond, sliding up and over your hips, reaching for you. He finds the last button on your shirt and undoes it with a flick of two fingers, and there’s something about the way he moves, skilled and smooth, that makes you shiver visibly in front of the camera.

One of Akaashi’s hands slides up your torso, and he cups your breast firmly through your bra, squeezing and twisting at your nipple until you start to squirm, a whine building in your throat.

“Too much,” you whisper, and he pulls his mouth away from you with a warm huff, his lips wet and glistening when he looks up at you.

“Color?” he murmurs, his breath sharp against your core with each ragged exhale.

You purse your lips. “Green.”

“Then stop complaining,” he says, already lowering his head again. When he pinches your nipple this time, it comes with the aid of the tip of his tongue, pushing carefully against your entrance.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, eyes wide and fingers tugging his hair tight enough to hurt. He pushes once more and then relents, sliding up to suck hard on your clit. You choke, your body arching and trembling against him when he lowers his head and tries again, slipping gently in this time and moaning against you when you squeeze your thighs around his head. He uses both hands to hold tight to your waist, grounding you against him and keeping you from wriggling too much while he fucks you with his tongue. Your skin burns with every drag of his tongue against your walls, and you reach the summit alarmingly fast. “Wait, wait, wait-” 

He slides out of you, and your chest bursts with air, gasps coming to you in choked breaths and shaking thighs. But then he leans up, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard, his teeth brushing against the nub in a way that feels a lot like Akaashi putting his hand on your back and shoving you right off the cliff with no warning.

You scream, your head thrown back and your back arching painfully as you see stars. You feel a slight pain in the back of your head, but you don’t register that you’d hit your head on the wall until much later, when the stars are gone and your vision isn’t blacked out any longer. When all that’s left is the camera rolling and your fingers aching where they’re clenched in Akaashi’s hair.

He’s pressing kisses along your thighs slowly, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. He glances up when your lungs finally relax, your breaths much longer and drawn out now as you find yourself again.

“You okay?” he mumbles against the inside of your knee, examining you through long, dark eyelashes. “You hit your head.”

You nod dumbly and meet his eyes, flames licking up your navel when you catch the thinly veiled heat in his expression. “It can’t be fair that I’ve come twice and you haven’t come at all.”

“I came once,” he reminds you quietly, the breath of his whisper seductive on your thigh. His lips brush over your skin, feather-light and wonderfully soft, and his tongue tracks the path of his mouth, too, warm and wet and drawing your breath short in your chest again. “But I wouldn’t mind taking you up on a second time.”

Your skin heats, the air buzzing in your ears and your heartbeat audible in the silence between you. You nod shallowly, your lips parted, and his eyes flit around your face, searching you. He must like whatever he finds, because he doesn’t respond. He only stands slowly and towers over you, his shirt pulled swiftly over his head and dropped on the desk next to his glasses. He leans down and wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting you up.

You gasp, wrapping yourself tight around him as he crosses the three steps to the bed, the tripod with your phone dangling between his knuckles. He sets it down on the end of the bed, and then he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress. You bounce lightly on it, staring up at him with wide eyes, and he nods at the camera.

“Need to set up?”

“O-Oh. Right-” You blink rapidly, crawling over to the edge and adjusting it quickly while he comes to stand at the side of the bed. You scoot back after, your head facing the top of the bed, and make sure you’re centered in the frame before looking up at him with wide eyes. You purse your lips, skin buzzing with anticipation. “Okay – ready.”

Akaashi lets his eyes roam your body – they land on your shirt, lying open uselessly on your shoulders and showing off your pretty, black bra. Then down to your skirt, bunched up against the tops of your thighs when your knees are bent like that. You do the same, shamelessly – drinking in his body, lean and lanky but muscular all the same. With those black jeans sitting so low on his hips that you can trace the dark trail of hair that disappears into his boxers, an invitation.

You take it, sitting up on your knees and reaching hesitantly for his unbuttoned jeans, your eyes on his. He says nothing, but his lips part when you hook your thumbs into his boxers and start to push them down.

“Shit,” he sighs under his breath when you get his pants down, his cock hard and smeared with precum. You inhale sharply, staring at the pretty curve of it – pretty like his long fingers and his warm lips and his piercing blue eyes. Pretty like the thumb he’d put in your mouth. You want to put this in your mouth, too – your mouth is already watering, funnily enough – but he’s already told you no.

So you settle for wrapping your fingers around him instead, satisfied with the quiet hiss he lets out. You stroke him a few times, twisting your wrist and running your thumb over the slit slowly, the way you’d seen him do it last night. He cards his fingers through your hair, holding loosely.

“How many times did you watch that video?” he asks quietly, the teasing edge in his voice lost to the breathless sigh he lets out after. “You’re doing it the way I like.”

That makes your heart swell with pride, and you can’t help the smile you give him, bright and giddy. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

He chuckles back. “The academic uses her gifts for good.”

“You callin’ me smart, baby?”

He rolls his eyes, taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up. “How about you focus, huh? I’ll admit you’re smart when you get me off.”

You sit up a little straighter at that, pursing your lips and mimicking how he’d touched himself last night, flicking your wrist hard around the base and softening your touch at the tip. He swallows when you repeat the motion, his grip on your hair tightening, but he gives you nothing else, his eyes devoid of emotion otherwise. It spurs you on, targets the piece of you that seeks validation. He’d only given it to you once, but you’re eager to hear it again.

“How’s this?”

He just lifts his brows. “What’s wrong? Already need my approval?”

You scowl, returning to the task at hand. It doesn’t take long, not with the way the muscles in his abdomen keep tightening, or the way he’s breathing shallowly through his nose, or the way his hips start to push up to meet your fist halfway. No, it doesn’t take long at all.

But before you can get him off – before you can have the satisfaction of him swearing over you as he comes on your skin – he wraps a hand around your wrist, stopping you.

Your eyes fly up to his, alarmed and disappointed. “What?”

His cheeks are flushed, lips a little swollen from what you can only guess is biting, but he just moves your hand and reaches down to remove his pants. “Lie down. Shirt off.”

You strip from the button-down and toss it uncaringly off the edge, scrambling back to where you were before and leaning back on your elbows with growing anticipation. Your stomach flips when he starts to climb over you, his eyes searching yours. There’s a glint in his eye that seems to signal that he’s processing this, too – that you’re about to have sex. That, out of everyone – out of everyone you actually like – you had decided to come to the one person you don’t like. To the one person you hate most days, because of the way he is and the way he treats you.

But it’s the way he is and the way he treats you that had made him perfect for this.

So, out of everyone, it’s Akaashi Keiji that you’re getting into bed with.

Your tongue darts out when he settles between your legs, your skirt falling up to your hips when your thighs open for him. He glances back and checks the camera frame once before leaning down over you. His brow is furrowed as he slides his cock through your folds, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he feels you. He pushes his hips forward once, twice, and then re-angles himself on the third, his fingers lining the head of his cock up against your entrance.

You watch him when he finally slides into you, the rest of the world lost in a dull buzz that fill your brain.

When he nudges the tip past your entrance, gliding slowly past your walls, his chest rises and falls with the breaths he’s keeping trapped inside, but he’s short of breath nonetheless. His skin is radiating warmth in that way that you find pretty, just like the rest of him, and his eyes are dark when they meet yours. His eyebrows twitch the further he sinks into you, and his lips – pink and wet and pretty – are parting as he bottoms out, and he lets out a soft sigh.

The dull buzz is cleared away like smoke, and you realize there’s a needy moaning echoing in the room, one that can only be coming from you.

“Oh, my God,” you cry, falling back on the mattress when he starts to thrust into you. “Oh, my God, holy shit-” Your heart is pounding hard in your ears and throat and veins, and you’re caught between wanting to claw at the comforter desperately and wanting to hide your face behind your hands.

Akaashi drops down over you, caging you in with one arm as the other bends back, his hand tight on the underside of your thigh as he picks up his pace. You gasp, unable to find enough air in the room to fill your lungs. One of your hands finds his wrist by your head, clamping on tight, and the other smacks down over your eyes – you can’t look at him, not when you’re like this. Not when you’re sweating and breathless, not when your stomach is fluttering with some unfamiliar mix of nerves and desire with every bump of his hips against yours.

Not when you’re realizing that no one else has ever made you feel this way before.

“Look at me, princess,” he grunts, and your stomach flips at the ragged sway of his voice. 

“I-fuck – I can’t-” you whine, but the sound catches in your throat when he angles his hips and the head of his cock smacks right up against your g-spot. You gasp loud, your grip on his wrist tightening with all your strength. “Oh, my God-please-” 

“There?” he asks quietly, and he drives his hips forward at that angle once more. You cry out when he hits it again, but then he stops.

He stops, just hovering over you silently.

The hand on your face drops in shock, and you stare up at him. “What-”

“I told you to look at me.”

“You-” You want to smack him so badly. “You can’t just stop-”

“Can’t I?” He tilts his head, eyes filling with disinterest, despite the breathy quality of his voice. “You weren’t listening to me.”

You remember now, the things he’d said yesterday.

‘Is it alright if I’m a little mean?’

Fuck.

“Uh-fuck,” you laugh pitifully. “Fuck. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” Your chest starts to fill with a strange feeling, a clawing that reaches for your throat when he only stares, dissatisfied. He doesn’t seem happy with you, and – for every piece of you that doesn’t give a fuck what Akaashi Keiji thinks in any other situation – there’s a panic that’s starting to swirl in you at this very moment. “I’m sorry, please don’t stop-”

He draws his hips back, and the panic forms into a knot all at once when you realize he’s pulling out.

“No, no, no-” You dig your nails into his shoulders, keeping him close and staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “No, please, I really am sorry.” The clawing in your throat starts to burn, and your eyes sting at the thought that he’s decidedly finished with you. There’s a rational part of your brain that knows he isn’t. He can’t be. You’re still filming. But the part of you that’s very rapidly become addicted to the feeling of Akaashi fucking you is panicking hard enough to make tears fill your eyes.

His cock twitches inside you when you start to sniffle, and the word ‘dacryphilia’ floats through your brain, the ghost of a memory.

If he wants you to cry, you’ll cry.

“Please, baby,” you murmur, your head falling back on the mattress and your nails clinging to him. You let yourself sink into that panic and your vision blurs, the tears hot and embarrassing as they stream down the sides of your cheeks onto the bed. “Please don’t stop.” 

You don’t see his reaction when you give in to him, but you hear his shaky breath. And you certainly feel when he relents, because he’s pushing slowly back into you. You find yourself whispering ‘yes, yes, yes’ as he’s coming back to you, and the tightness in your throat starts to loosen.

“You gonna listen?” he murmurs, and you nod again. “Because I’ll stop. I’m fine either way.”

He’s bluffing, your brain tries to tell you, but fresh tears are burning your eyes and you’re choking on the lump that’s reforming at the base of your throat. He can’t stop, he can’t. You don’t know what you’ll do if he stops.

“Please, don’t-” you sob, shaking your head. “I swear I’ll listen.” 

Your heart jumps when the mattress dips by your head again as he cages you in. When his other hand finds the underside of your thigh again, the bruises his grip had left the first time ache as his fingers fill those prints once more. He leans down toward you, and you blink through the tears just enough to meet his eyes.

“Cover your mouth,” he whispers, staring down at you with a dangerous glint in his eye. You’re quick to slap your hands over your mouth, terrified of taking too long and testing his patience. He doesn’t smile at your obedience or give you any visual signal of satisfaction, but his eyes do trace your face meaningfully. “Well, if you’re gonna be that good for me, I guess I can let you have it.”

He thrusts his hips forward sharply before you have any time to process what he means. You scream, your back arching when he slams up against your g-spot, and you’re distantly grateful that he’s minding the noise limits on your apartment while he decidedly fucks you into oblivion. He keeps that pace and that angle, and his head drops down beside yours as he does.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, breathless and rough in your ear. “You listen to me when I talk to you, and I’ll abuse your tight little cunt as much as you want.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your body starting to go numb as the pressure builds in your navel for the third time in one morning. “Sound good?” he whispers, swallowing hard after. You nod frantically, and his panting becomes audible in your ear. “Fuck, I’m close. Where should I-” He starts to pull his hips away, but your hands fly off of your mouth and grip hard on his biceps.

“If you pull out right now, I’m going to fucking kill you,” you say, staring straight into his eyes. Your eyes burn, and you’re sticky and warm, and you know you look like a mess, but you keep your eyes directly on his. “We just made a deal.”

He stares, wide-eyed, and then breathes out a laugh. “Okay. I hear you.” When his hips touch yours again, it comes with him dropping down to his elbow and carding his fingers through your hair tight. “But I want you looking at me.”

You’re surprised by that, because it feels oddly intimate for him to chase an orgasm while looking into your eyes – but then he finds that special pace and angle, and you can’t think of anything but giving him what he wants, just so he doesn’t take away what you want. 

You look right into those blue-green eyes as your navel curls and twists, despite every urge to let your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open. You slide your arms around his neck and look into his eyes, clinging tight as he takes full control of your body – prying you open and kissing that particular spot inside you that no one else has ever found before. You look into his eyes up until the very moment you find that summit, the morning light golden and warm and blinding. You find him there, too.

You won’t realize it for a long, long time, but something slides into place and locks tight when your body registers that the last thing you see before falling off the edge is the dark cyan of Akaashi Keiji’s eyes. When it registers that the last thing that he sees – before his eyes roll back and his forehead drops to yours, his hips stuttering and stalling as he fills you – is you.

You think you might have fallen asleep in that spot, because you’re not sure if it’s been minutes or hours since you moved. Your body trembles under him, and you feel him starting to release you achingly slow – his elbow cracks when he lifts off of it, and his breath is taxed and heavy while he pulls out of you. He holds you like that for a minute, just long enough for the creampie to be visible to the camera, and then he sets your thigh down gently. But you whine anyway, because there’s a horrible soreness that’s starting to set into your muscles and bones.

“Shit,” he whispers. “That was-”

You let out a weak laugh, immediately groaning at how it rattles your body. “This Chinese food is going to be the most glorious meal I’ve ever earned.”

He laughs back, that delirious one that comes when he’s struggling to find himself. “I forgot to order it between the desk and the bed.”

“I don’t think we would have made the thirty-minute deadline.”

He laughs harder, collapsing back down on his elbows. “God, I think I’m dying. I don’t know if I have the stamina to be a porn star.”

You groan, planting both hands on his chest and pushing him slowly off of you. He hits the mattress beside you with a sigh, and you curl up in place. “This was hard. I’m tired.”

“There’s no time to be tired. It’s already-” He sits up slowly, reaching for your phone to end the video and check the time. “-noon, apparently.”

“Noon?!” You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Four hours, holy shit.”

“I need food,” Akaashi mumbles to himself, rising off the bed with a groan and searching the floor for his boxers. He finds and trips into them on his way to the door, muttering ‘phone, need my phone’ as he goes. You roll off the side of the bed unceremoniously, swiping your shirt and underwear off of the rug and slipping them back on.

“We were supposed to change,” he calls from the other room. “You’re a slutty schoolgirl in two videos.”

“I don’t care,” you whine, stumbling back into bed and lying flat on your face, your voice muffled. “Let me be a slutty schoolgirl, fuck.”

“Do you still have your pop-tart?” he asks, back in the room and completely ignoring your complaints. “What do you want for takeout?” You hear him snatch the plastic package off the little coffee table by the couch. “I’m eating your pop-tart-”

“Oh, my God, Akaashi, just eat the fucking pop-tart,” you snap, growing crabby. There’s silence, and then he flops down on the bed beside you. 

“Maybe you should eat the pop-tart.”

A laugh bubbles and bursts in your throat, and you start to giggle uncontrollably. “What the fuck did we just do?”

“Burn a lot of calories,” he jokes through a mouth full of your strawberry pop-tart. You turn your head toward him, watching as, half-naked beside you, he scrolls through the delivery menu of the nearest Chinese takeout place. “I’m getting kung pao chicken.”

“Ew.” You wrinkle your nose. “Peanuts.”

He looks at you in confusion. “You’re allergic to peanuts?”

“No. I just don’t like them.”

“Oh,” he grumbles, turning back to his phone. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid-”

He flaps the silvery plastic of the pop-tart in your face. “Eat this and tell me what you want before I get double kung pao-”

You snatch the stupid pastry away from him, watching him lift his hand in defeat and whisper ‘okay, crabass’ as you stuff your mouth with sugary nothingness. “I want beef and broccoli.”

He grimaces. “Boring.”

“Get out of my house, Akaashi-”

“I got it, look-” He brandishes the screen at you, showing your food in the online cart. “What else?”

“Egg rolls. Crab rangoon. Maybe some pot-stickers, too-”

“You’re just trying to spend my money,” he complains, adding it all anyway.

“We’ll make it back soon enough.”

He meets your eyes, and you both seem to re-realize how you’ve just spent a full Saturday morning. It settles in then, the arrangement you’ve made with Akaashi Keiji. Saturday mornings and weekday evenings, a suspended disbelief that you’ll never be able to explain to your friends. Pop-tarts in your slutty schoolgirl skirt, Chinese food in his boxers. A series of life experiences that can never leave this apartment, shared with the singular person you’d tried so long to keep out of your life entirely.

Akaashi blinks, and you blink back, infinite realizations passing by all at once.

He turns his head back to his phone. “Fried or steamed pot-stickers?”

You turn your face back into the mattress, your voice muffled. “Fried.”

–

While the food’s on its way, you leave Akaashi to wash up in your bathroom. You disappear into your bedroom and change, hearing when the sink stops running and the door opens. 

“In here,” you call, pulling your hair back as you head to your desk that’s pushed against the wall shared with the living room. He appears in the doorway in a pair of athletic shorts and a hoodie, his hair and face damp and his glasses a little foggy from the moisture on his skin. 

“Should be ten more minutes,” he says, checking his phone. And then he glances around your room in a way that appears casual, but you can tell he’s curious. 

“You can come in,” you joke, waving him in. You take a seat at your desk, shaking the mouse attached to your monitor to wake the computer up. “I’m gonna give you account access now before I forget.”

He hums, wandering your room slowly and taking it all in. The photos of your friends on top of your dresser, the plushies on your bed that would be embarrassing to show anyone that’s not him. The bookshelf in the corner, filled with fun novels and academic textbooks alike. 

“I have a few of these,” he murmurs, crouching and thumbing through the volumes. You smile to yourself, logging into your account while you respond.

“The smutty romance novels? No wonder you’re such a creative porn star.”

“You’re funny,” he says, not an ounce of humor in his voice. “You’re missing the Cambridge handbook on Korean morphosyntax.”

“‘s here,” you nod at the small pile of books on your desk, spines facing outward. “I keep the best ones close.” You hear him approach behind you, your eyes busy locating his own account and inviting him as a collaborator. 

But then his hand reaches past your head, and you realize with a drop of your stomach that he’s plucking a paper off the top of a pile that you keep next to your books.

A paper with his name on it, published in Syntax last year, on Korean case marking. It’s full of pen, highlighter, and sticky tabs – your thoughts on his work.

“Oh?” he says, his voice dreadfully smug. “You keep the best ones close, you said?”

“Shut up,” you say, shaking your head. “Research is research-”

“Good research gets cited. You gonna cite me, Y/n?”

“I’m sure you’re no stranger to good research, Akaashi Keiji. I’d be stupid not to.”

“So-” He steps closer, and your lift your eyes to his reluctantly. He looks excited. “-you’re including the case marking, then? In the dissertation.”

You roll your eyes. “Would you like me to say ‘thank you, Akaashi, oh Brilliant One’?” 

He lifts his brows with a smirk. “Yes, actually. I would.”

“Kiss my ass,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head and returning to the task at hand. “Now that I don’t have to find a second job, I might actually have the time to include it.”

“You would have made the time anyway,” he says confidently, and you give an exhausted sigh.

“Okay, I gave you access. Can we-” You stand, snatching the paper back and dropping it on the pile. “-exit the research chat, please?”

“Why?” he prods, following you out the room. “Worried I’ll make good points without our referee around to keep me in check?”

“The fact that you need to be kept in check in the first place is a bad sign.” You flop down on the couch with a sigh, and he follows. “You’re so abrasive.”

“Being gentle doesn’t get you published,” he argues, and you snap back quick.

“Shockingly, I still managed it.”

“You got published?” He lifts his brows, turning to you with interest. “Where? When?”

You sigh. “Language and Cognition,” you mutter, watching his eyes go slightly wide before flattening out again. “End of the month.”

“Holy shit,” he says, nodding and looking away. “Language and Cognition. That’s top-shelf stuff.” You think that might be a compliment. The first he’s ever paid you. “It’s about time.”

The compliment is magically negated.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You say, heated.

“Nothing!” he laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“You’re saying it took me a long time to publish-”

“Considering your skillset,” he argues pointedly. “Yes. I’d say I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Are you insulting me or complimenting me?” You throw your hands out. “Choose, Akaashi.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says childishly, smiling in a way that’s intentionally irritating. You scoff, but his phone pings with the delivery notification before you can pick a fight. He stands, disappearing out the door to get it, and you take a long, deep breath to relax yourself. You turn the TV on, flicking through the options before landing on the nature channel.

He slips back in after a few minutes, bag dangling from his fingers. “What are we watching?”

“Squirrels fighting for their territory,” you say, completely entranced by the action happening on the screen.

“Seriously?” he asks, stopping by the couch briefly to look at the TV. 

“Look at them go,” you whisper in amazement, shaking your head as you watch two squirrels positively tear each other apart.

“Are you in the habit of watching the nature channel?” He wanders to the kitchen while he asks, and you let him struggle to find bowls and unpack the food.

“Every night,” you say, distracted. “Relaxes my brain.”

“God, you’re insane,” he mumbles from across the room.

“Well, what do you do to relax?” you ask. There’s silence in the kitchen, and your attention’s torn from the screen as you look over your shoulder at him. He’s frowning slightly down at the food while he serves it, and you grin smugly. “Oh, I get it. The stick in your ass is there for a reason.”

“Fuck off,” he breathes with a shake of his head. He carries both plates to the couch, handing you one and staring with skepticism at the TV. “We’re really watching this?”

“Look how that one stands on his hind legs and asserts his dominance!” you exclaim, pointing excitedly at the TV before stuffing your mouth full of beef and broccoli. “The other one’s totally gotta give up his acorns now.”

Akaashi sighs, digging into his food with a shake of his head. “Squirrel social dynamics and Chinese food. My Saturday morning.”

You eat in relative silence, the only comments coming from your enthusiasm about nature and his quiet, exasperated laughter. Finally, he sighs, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.

“I should go.”

You nod, reaching to mute the TV. “I gotta edit these videos and draft one to post tonight. What time’s the party?”

“Starts at 9,” he says, standing slowly. You purse your lips, realizing that you’ll have to see him again today – in public, where you’ll have to pretend you hadn’t spent the morning together. 

“Okay.” You nod. “See you then.”

There’s a moment of silence, where he seems to realize the same thing you had, and then he just nods, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Kay. See ya.”

The apartment echoes with the click of the door behind him.

You stare at it, feeling a bit weird, as though the entire affair is finally starting to crash down over you now that he’s gone. Your phone buzzes on the table, and you shake off the feeling, snatching it up. Your heart beats a strange little rhythm at the sight of his name.

[1:24 PM]

Akaashi: dont forget to cover your hickies tonight

“What?” You stand, padding to the bathroom quickly. The reflection in the mirror is horrid, your throat already bruising on both sides. “This motherfu-”

You: youre such a dick.

He sends back a shrugging emoji and nothing else, and you move around the apartment with a little more stomp than usual, minimally annoyed as you clean up the tables and put the leftovers away before returning to your desk to edit the videos.

–

Keiji arrives at Bokuto’s townhouse at 9 o’clock on the dot, knocking quietly. It’s Tsukishima who opens the door, just lifting his brows in greeting before leading him back through the living room. There’s no one else here, and Bokuto is filling bowls with chips in the kitchen.

“Hey!” he calls excitedly. “I’m so ready to be trashed!”

Keiji sets two handles of vodka and a case of Coke on the counter. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Good, of course! Life is good!” The kinesiology student starts organizing the bowls by color, smiling to himself while he talks. “Research is good, friends are good, life is good!”

There’s a knock on the door, and Keiji’s heart jumps without his permission. He glances at the new arrivals that enter when the host yells ‘it’s open!’, and he’s oddly disappointed to see it’s just some of the people in Bokuto’s cohort.

Tsukishima dims the lights in the main room and connects his phone to the speaker, and Bokuto starts to dance while he chats up his friends and preps the kitchen with more food. Keiji stands off to the side, pouring himself a drink and nodding politely when a guy he recognizes greets him.

Thirty minutes go by like that, with Keiji standing in sight of the door and glancing up, a little nervous, every time it opens. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, but he does know it’s your fault.

He’d felt it when you’d texted him a couple hours ago, too – it was only to let him know that the video for tonight had been edited, but he’d still gotten a strange twinge of anxiety when your name had popped up on his phone. He had watched the video back, impressed at how you’d edited the tattoos out and muffled both your voices – creating what’s essentially a quiet, faceless video with only your moans to show for his performance. He’d also refrained from watching the video in too much detail, because even just skimming through it, he’d felt renewed desire stream through his veins.

He wonders if it would be too much to go back and watch it later tonight, when he has too much alcohol in his system to worry if it’s weird.

Tsukishima finds him again after a while, lingering with him in the corner. “Research?”

“‘s good,” Keiji says, lifting his drink to his lips – the second in half an hour. “Finally started writing the dissertation chapters. Should be done next year.”

“God, I’m jealous,” the blond laughs quietly. “With working at the museum, everything takes twice as long for me.”

Keiji hates that his first thought is you – that that could have been you, too. “Did your advisor tell you when you’re s’posed t’finish?” He should slow down. Water, maybe.

“Two years,” Tsukishima groans, emptying his cup and then reaching for the vodka again.

“That’s what Kuroo has left, too.”

The blond shoots him a side glance. “So?” Keiji sees the tinge of pink at the tips of his ears, so he shrugs.

“Just an observation.” The door opens behind Tsukishima, and his eyes flit to it, just over the blond’s shoulder. 

It’s a couple he doesn’t recognize, but Bokuto clearly does, his ‘hey, hey, hey!’ audible from here.

“Who are you lookin’ for?” Tsukishima dips his head into Keiji’s way, an eyebrow arched and his words slower than usual from the alcohol. “You keep doin’ that.”

Keiji blinks and clears his throat. “No one. It just-” The door opens again, and you walk through it with Kuroo and Yachi. Keiji’s throat dries up. “-catches my attention.”

Tsukishima glances back, but if he notices that you’re clearly what Keiji had been waiting for, he doesn’t say anything. He just whips his head back around, swallowing hard and taking an aggressive swig of his drink.

God bless Kuroo Tetsurou.

Keiji watches you greet Bokuto and some of his friends, your smile wide and your hugs generous. His eyes scan you carefully. You’re wearing a pair of black jeans that hugs you in all the right places – places he knows now – and red long-sleeve shirt with a v-cut so low that his mouth waters slightly. You’d covered the bruises on your throat, and there’s a piece of him – small but troublesome – that’s a little dissatisfied to see the skin smooth and mark-free. Especially with the way you giggle at something Bokuto says, the taller man smiling down at you and holding your waist in a friendly way. Keiji swallows and brushes that odd little feeling away.

His heart flips over itself when you turn in his general direction, and he’s quick to turn back to Tsukishima, blinking rapidly. He feels weird – he wants you to notice him there, wants you to say something to him, even though you’d both agreed not to act any different. You’ve never spoken to him at these parties unless absolutely necessary, so he shouldn’t be wishing for anything of the sort. 

But he wants to know that you feel weird, too. That you want his attention, too. That you don’t know why, either.

“So,” he clears his throat, getting the history student’s attention. “The museum. Have they gotten back to you about the full-time position?”

“Not explicitly,” Tsukishima responds, seeming equally grateful for the distraction. “But they basically said it’s mine whenever I’m done.”

“That’s good. Makes things a little less stressful,” Keiji says, pointedly looking down into his cup, because he feels you behind him, passing by. Your perfume makes his nostrils flare, and a shiver – traitorous and laced with want – runs down his spine. 

“Hey, Tsukishima,” you say, brushing past the taller man. “Good weekend so far?”

The blond nods. “A little pissed to get a 2am text of Bokuto screaming, but otherwise, yeah.”

You laugh gently, and Keiji’s skin floods with goosebumps. He looks at you without meaning to, and a white-hot heat sears through his stomach, because you’re already looking back. You don’t greet him or betray any visible emotion when he makes eye contact, but he sees your breathing change, and there’s a warmth that makes your skin glow in the dim light. 

You’re nervous. He’s making you nervous.

And that’s a dangerous little piece of information for him to have access to.

“Y/n,” he says, rolling your name around on his tongue like he’s tasting it for the first time. He’s glad that Tsukishima’s distractedly looking over his shoulder at Kuroo, because he doesn’t see the way your breath catches or the way your spine straightens.

“Akaashi.” It’s weak, and your voice wavers on the last syllable, cutting out and filling with the breath that you draw in sharply. His body hums when he hears it, and the urge to hear it again – the urge to witness your poorly concealed emotions – grows to the point of being unbearable.

He wants to make you nervous.

“Get started on those case marking materials yet?” He’s careful to reference the LEM meeting only, not the things you’d talked about this morning. Still, it makes you swallow, and you pluck a red solo cup from the stack before reaching for the vodka. 

“Do you really want to talk about research here?” you ask, mixing it with some of the orange juice that Yachi had dropped off a few minutes ago.

“Why not?” he says. “Tsukishima and I are.”

You level a grin at the blond, who’s tuned back in at the sound of his name. “Don’t you want a night off, Tsukishima?”

Keiji doesn’t hear what his friend’s answer is. He’s too busy dragging his gaze slowly down the length of your body while the taller man’s talking to you. You shift slightly, and his eyes find yours. You’re flitting your gaze between his and Tsukishima’s, trying to stay engaged with the conversation but also clearly distracted. Keiji just stares, his eyes unyielding on yours whenever you meet them. You drink urgently from your cup, chugging until it’s empty and then reaching back to make another, a grimace tugging on your lips.

He looks away, because he can hear Bokuto storming into the kitchen.

“Hey, my favorite pals!” He slings his arms around Keiji’s and Tsukishima’s shoulders, and Keiji tips forward into you. You yelp, barely managing to steady your drink on the counter. He slips his arm around your waist to catch himself – definitely not for any other reason – and he hears you gasp in his ear at the contact. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, head swimming with alcohol.

“No, you’re not,” you whisper back heatedly. But Keiji can feel you leaning into him, too, your fingers brushing on his arm. 

It fills his chest with a giddy excitement – the realization that you can’t help yourself, either. 

He decides in that moment – in the mere milliseconds where Bokuto’s straightening and exclaiming in Tsukishima’s ear that the friend group should collect by the couches in the living room, the two of you completely unnoticed – that he doesn’t want to stop doing this. He doesn’t want to stop provoking you, even though he very well should. Because he can see that you don’t want it to stop, either. Because you’re searching him with wide eyes and the kind of attention that he could get high off of.

Because, in a single morning alone, Keiji’s learned to recognize when you’re turned on. 

The flush of your cheeks and the tug of your bottom lip between your teeth. The way you hug yourself, like you’re worried you might do something with those hands if you don’t. The uneven pattern of your breathing, your chest rising and falling with attempted recovery.

God, he thinks he’s turned on, too.

He swallows, leaning away and letting Bokuto sweep the three of you away into the living room. You’re still pressed to his side unwillingly, your body heat making him shiver with excitement – you smell the way you did this morning, like warmth and the laundry detergent of the sheets he’d fucked you into. Like the memory of your tears and the way you’d begged him not to stop, the memory of your walls fluttering around him and the way your back had arched when you’d come–

He scrubs drunkenly at his scrunched eyebrows, stumbling to wherever Bokuto had guided him and throwing himself down on the couch. Even with his eyes closed, he knows that the body that lands next to him is yours.

When he opens his eyes, the world a little blurry and tilted, Kuroo and Yachi have joined the group – Hitoka’s on his other side, and Bokuto’s taken the armchair, Tsukishima and Kuroo sitting awfully close together on the floor. It always happens this way – the group of you always end up in your own corner, the rest of the party carrying on without the host needing to entertain. The music is always thumping just loud enough that everyone has to raise their voices to be heard, but it’s never annoying. Never too much, never overwhelming. It’s why all these people always come back – Bokuto Koutarou’s parties are always the perfect escape.

He’s starting to understand why, tonight.

The night goes on like any other. Yachi rambles about her current dissertation progress, clearly excited to talk about her graphic design and marketing ideas. Bokuto engages her excitedly, asking if she could help him make some recruitment flyers for the volleyball class he’ll be teaching next semester. Kuroo whispers things to Tsukishima, the smirk on his lips pressed to the blond’s ear and Tsukishima’s cheeks burning with a cherry-red blush.

Which leaves Keiji with you. Surrounded by friends who are much too drunk and distracted to care what he does.

So he settles into the couch, spreading his legs to get comfortable – at least, that’s what it looks like. No one questions why he never intrudes on Yachi’s space, why he angles his body toward yours, why his knee bumps yours and then stays there. No one asks why you suddenly look nervous or why you silently decide to let his thigh press against yours. Why your own thigh, radiating gentle warmth, presses back after a moment – although it’d be completely in character for you to make some snappish remark about respecting personal space. 

No one asks why your fingers twitch on your leg, your pinky brushing up against his leg, stretching toward him and then retracting.

No one asks about the slight bulge in his jeans. Or the arm he stretches across the back of the couch – in your direction, not Yachi’s.

Your breath catches, and you lift your cup to your mouth quickly. “Cut it out,” you hiss, hidden, and he smiles down at nothing.

“‘m not doing anything,” he breathes back, unheard over the music.

“Bullshit.” 

He laughs softly, but he knows you’re right. So he extracts himself, standing carefully and pointing in explanation toward the hall when Bokuto looks up at him curiously. He pushes through the crowd, rounding the corner and taking the stairs up to the second floor. The music is quieter here, and he knows that no one else would venture this far – because everyone knows Bokuto, but no one knows Bokuto. Not like the group of you.

He disappears into the bathroom by Bokuto’s bedroom, clean and uncrowded. His phone screen reads 11:08 when he checks it – endless parties just like this, and tonight, he’s barely managing an hour and a half in the same room as you. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, breathing deep. His vision’s still a little blurry, and his head is still swimming. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are heated, betraying how you’re affecting him. 

He fixes himself in his jeans so it’s a little less obvious and then runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. Now that he’s alone, he can see that he definitely needs to sober up a bit. He needs to act right, because he knows the stakes are high. His brain feels clearer, and it’s sinking in that he’s pushing the line with you. That there’s something about you – something about this morning – that makes him want to forget the rules, when he really shouldn’t.

Maybe he’s just too drunk. Maybe he’ll be better about this when he’s sober.

The memory of you crying under him flashes in his mind, and he has to shake his head, leaning his hands on the counter. Maybe those memories won’t come when he’s in control enough to stop them. He has to hope that they won’t, because right now, his mental faculties aren’t listening to him.

Right now, he’s thinking about how you’d squirmed in his lap when he’d fingered you. About how your head had knocked back lightly against the wall when you’d come on his tongue, sweet and warm and wet enough to make him just a little bit obsessed with you. About how you’d looked up at him with wide eyes while you’d jerked him off, asking if you were doing okay. Asking for his approval. 

Keiji’s breath comes hard now, and he shakes his head again in a weak attempt to clear it.

The way you’d moaned like a proper porn star when he’d pushed into you for the first time.

The way you’d felt around him, velvety and tight and like no one he’d ever been with before you.

The way you’d clung to him, desperate and scared when he’d threatened to pull away – pleas on those plush, pink lips and tears in those pretty little eyes. Bullying him rudely to his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He needs to get it together.

He thumps himself lightly on the head a few times with the heel of his hand, silently begging his boner to go away as he turns to leave the bathroom.

You’re standing on the other side of the door, a frown on your face as you lean against the wall.

Fuck.

“What’re you up to, Akaashi?” you demand drunkenly, your lips pushing out in a whiny pout that makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

Fuck.

“What?” he says, trying to slip past you toward the stairs. You get in his way.

“We decided t’be normal,” you slur, stepping close to him. Your perfume clouds his brain. “You’re not bein’ normal.”

Your chest bumps against his when he tries to move past again, and he finds his hands on your waist before he can think it through.

“And you decided t’follow me up here,” he breathes tightly, walking you back quickly into the wall. Your eyes go wide when your back bumps against it, but the gasp that falls past your lips is because he’s pushing his hips against yours, still half-hard. “You did this.”

“I didn’t-I haven’ done anything,” you try, glancing down in hazy surprise at where he’s pressed against you. “You’re the one who keeps touchin’ me and– and teasing me.”

“Yeah? Is it fucking with you?” he coos, mocking. “Welcome t’the club.”

Your eyes search his. “'Kaashi,” you whisper, slurred. His eyes drop to your lips.

He doesn’t like it when you say his name like that. Soft and pleading. 

It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Careful, Y/n.”

He doesn’t mean to say it like that. He’s actually asking you to be careful, because he’s not in his right mind and you’re making it worse. You’re making everything worse, and he’s more than happy to blame this on you. But the way it comes out – the way he talks to you – is with a tone he knows better than to use outside the bedroom.

He watches the tension leave your body, and you start to blink up at him rapidly, your face burning and radiating heat into the very limited space between you. He watches your demeanor change – watches you swallow nervously and break eye contact, watches you purse your lips and breathe shallowly – and something in him aches for you.

For the first time all day, he regrets sleeping with you. Because now he’s not sure he can ever recover.

“Uhm,” you start, voice shaky. “Maybe we should go back-”

“Akaashi! Y/n!” 

You gasp, and your hands find his chest. You shove hard, and he stumbles back toward the opposite wall with wide eyes. You both turn toward the stairs, watching Bokuto trip and fall up the last few steps. He looks down the hall with wide eyes, giggling loudly when he sees you.

“There you are!” And then he narrows his gaze at you dramatically, examining the situation as he stands. “Oh, no-” He pouts, crossing his arms. “Are you two fighting? This is a party! We’re with friends!”

Keiji sobers instantly, eyes flying to yours as the reality of the night hits him. As he realizes how close you’d come to getting caught, and on the very first day at that. You look just as alarmed as he feels. He doesn’t know how he could ever have explained what’s just happened to anyone else. How things had gotten that far.

He turns without a word and brushes past Bokuto. He barrels down the stairs, ignoring Bokuto’s cry of ‘eh?! where’s he going?!’ and heading straight for the door. It slams behind him, and he races out of the building and toward the street.

He swears loudly on the entire walk home.

–

It isn’t until noon on Sunday that you wake up, groggy and disoriented. You slap your hand around on your bed blindly for your phone, the sunlight that’s streaming through the window making the room feel hot and making you groan. You retrieve your phone from the depths of your bed, squinting at it with a growing headache and a serious case of dry-mouth.

There are some texts from Kuroo and Yachi, asking if you feel as positively terrible as they do, and an all-caps text from Bokuto to the massive group chat, thanking everyone for coming to the party. There’s even a text from Tsukishima, asking if you got home alright and if you know where Akaashi had gone.

Akaashi.

You roll over and bury your face in the pillow, groaning loudly. He’d left so abruptly, and you’d even texted him – multiple times – to drunkenly ask where he’d gone and if he was okay. You check those texts now, clicking into the thread.

[11:16 PM]

You: whewred yiu go>?!?!

You: are yoim okai???

[11:59 PM]

You: akaaaaaashiiiii

You: whyaw didn yoo leave so sunddnly?

[12:39 AM]

You: at lest tellme if tju got ahaome safew

[9:19 AM]

Akaashi: im fine thanks

Your lips twist into a scowl, and you throw your phone down, minorly annoyed by his response. He’d run out of the party without a single word, after teasing you all night and then pinning you up against the wall and fucking with your head. And now he’s going to act cold to you, like he hadn’t admitted to wanting you last night?

Whatever.

You kick your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in your head as you stumble down the hallway to shower and get ready for the day. You make a pot of coffee and rummage through your fridge for something that’ll fix your hangover, and then you settle down at your desk and check your personal email, just to see if the new video with Akaashi had been received well.

There’s a string of emails sitting right at the top of your inbox, the last received at 10am.

[10:00 AM] Account Updates (Oct. 22) – New Followers: 2,139; New Comments: 608; New Video View Count: 87,903

[9:36 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $500.

[5:02 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $400.

[3:47 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $300.

[1:59 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $200.

[10:29 PM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $100.

You stare at the subject lines, your head swimming.

“Holy shit.”

You log into your account in a rush of adrenaline, unable to believe this is really happening. You click quickly into your profile and scroll down to the section for profit information.

$529 dollars, made off of the video of Akaashi fingering you.

That’s almost everything you have in your bank account – doubled in one night.

That’s rent.

That’s rent.

“Holy shit.” You sit back and stare at the number for ten minutes, watching in growing shock as it flicks to $535 and then to $541 in that span of time. You’ve got 137 message requests sitting in the top right corner – 137 more opportunities to make money, if you just dedicate an hour or two a day to sending off quick and flirty one-liners to the horny men flooding your inbox.

Your hand reaches for your phone, because you have to tell Akaashi the amazing news – but then you remember how odd his last text had been. You frown slightly and put your phone back down. You don’t have anyone else to talk to about this – and you want to talk about this, to marvel and wonder at how this could have happened – but you don’t want him to ruin your mood, either.

So you don’t. You don’t tell him – if he wants to know how the video did, he can look for himself. He’s a collaborator on the account now. 

You just roll your shoulders back and pull up your video editing software, getting to work.

You have money to make.

–

“Are you okay?” Yachi says the next morning, watching you with thin amusement as you yawn so wide that your jaw cracks. You nod sleepily, following her into the coffee shop.

“Just a long night. ‘m okay.” You scrub at your brow, suppressing another yawn while you wait in line. You’d spent most of yesterday editing the other two videos and responding to messages, and then you’d taken three hours to record solo content, staying up until nearly 3am editing those videos, too. You’d hoped that the solo content wouldn’t lose you followers, actually, since it had been clear just how well-received the partner content is.

But the work had been worth it, because you’d posted one of the solo videos last night and woken up to 500 more followers and another $300 in profit, both from the video with Akaashi and from the spillover of the new followers going back through your old videos and the new solo video. It turns out your solo content is good; it just hadn’t gotten enough traction to make any money. Now, there’s a lot of traffic to even your first couple videos, and every video is bringing in money.

So, even though you’re falling asleep while standing in a coffee shop at 9am, you feel that every moment of sleep lost was a moment of incoming financial peace.

“D’you know what you want yet?” Yachi asks, peering at the menu. “I’m not sure.”

“You get the same thing every time,” you state simply, only smiling when she shoots you a sideways glance. “But I can go first, if you’re totally not sold yet on your medium almond milk vanilla latte.”

“Yes, please,” she says brightly, and you cut past her to get to the counter. You order your drink and a breakfast sandwich, feeling for the first time in weeks that there’s no crippling guilt when you spend the money. It feels nice, being able to give yourself even this small treat.

“Y/n!” 

You flinch at the booming voice, already identifying its owner. You turn, stepping off to the side to let Yachi order while you smile at an excited Bokuto. The man bounds up to you, arms swinging, and you’re left wondering how he could possibly have any energy this early.

“Hi, Kou – How was your Sunday?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugs. “Spent it cleaning vomit out of my rug. But I slept like a little baby, so I feel great today!” He glances past you. “Hitoka!”

The little blond woman flinches at the volume, much like you had, and turns after she pays, joining you with a grin. “Kou! Still on to talk about those recruitment flyers later?”

“Oh, God, yes! I need you!” Bokuto seems to almost vibrate in place, and you let them talk, keeping an ear out for your order while you shut your eyes to let out a deep yawn.

“Hi, Yachi.”

The yawn dissipates in your throat. You snap your head around, finding Akaashi hovering at Bokuto’s shoulder. He’s smiling politely down at Yachi, one hand tucked into his fall coat and the other gripping an extra-large coffee cup. The tired look in his eye tells you he’d lost sleep over something, even though neither Bokuto nor Yachi comment on it.

“Hi, Akaashi,” Yachi says. “We missed you at the party after you left.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he laughs quietly. “I started to feel pretty sick, so I left.”

“Aw, that’s unfortunate,” she commiserates. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am, thank you.” He nods, his body language and manners betraying that well-spoken, gentle demeanor that everyone speaks so highly about. You wonder how many people know that Akaashi’s a complete mess before he’s had coffee and anything but gentle in bed.

He turns to Bokuto now, speaking softly. “Ready? I have to teach.”

The silver-haired man nods happily, waving at you and Yachi. “Gotta go! See you lovely ladies at lunch!”

You wave him off, flicking your eyes to Akaashi. He’s got his gaze on you as he passes, emotionless and bordering on disinterest. He doesn’t say a word to you, and then he’s gone, leaving you in the wake of his silence and his annoyingly attractive cologne.

You frown slightly, only pulled away by the sound of your name at the counter. You collect your drink and breakfast, finding Yachi scowling deeply beside you as she stares out the door.

“What an asshole,” she grumbles, only shrugging when you bite out a surprised laugh. “He didn’t even say hi to you! That’s so rude.”

“That’s just how he is,” you mutter, staring down at the lid of your cup.

That’s just how he’s always been. So why does it feel so much worse now?

–

It happens again, only twenty minutes later.

You’d left Yachi at the crossroads separating the Linguistics building and the Marketing building, waving and wishing her good luck with her morning of teaching and dissertation work. You’d trekked up to your office, dropping your things off and heading back down to the first floor quickly in order to make some copies of the handout for your Syntax discussion. You stand in the administrative office while the copies print, and then – after a full minute of arguing with yourself – you make the copies for Akaashi’s section, too. Because the two of you had always had that system, and you wouldn’t allow him to see that he’s affected you enough to impact your professional relationship.

You leave them in both mailboxes and head to the elevator, your coffee sipped slowly as you make your way down the long hallway. There’s an open classroom door on your left, a quiet voice slipping out and echoing in the empty hall.

“...the exponence of morphological features will arise differently depending on the language and its family – take agglutinating languages, for example-”

You glance toward the room, knowing that soft, steady voice anywhere.

Akaashi’s turning his back to the classroom, lifting his right hand toward the chalkboard, when you see him. He’s shed his fall coat, folded over the back of his chair now, and you take him in properly as you pass, as though in slow motion. He’s wearing his standard black slacks and white button-down, but there’s no accompanying sweater vest on top today, completely changing his cozy, boy-next-door vibe into something much more flustering. 

He’s got the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled haphazardly up to his elbows, which you know is a public speaking habit of his. His left hand sits tucked into the pocket of his slacks, a few thin, silver bracelets stacked on that wrist and his tattoo easy to spot on his right forearm as he lifts it to the board. His hair falls into his eyes a bit, and his glasses sit neatly on his face, perfectly completing the dreadfully sexy professorial energy he’s exuding.

You’re hit with a wave of attraction, worsened when his gaze finds yours through the open doorway. He holds the eye contact as he turns, and you see it’s that same, detached look he’s giving you. But whatever he’s seeing on your face – likely mortifying, given the warmth flooding your face – has one of his eyebrows lifting, a scowl pulling on his lips. He tears his eyes from yours, finally pressing the chalk in his hand to the board in front of him.

“Languages like Korean, Japanese, and Turkish – although in different language families – bear their exponence in a transparent manner, with morphemes stacking in a particular way depending on how the morphological features are assigned and collected…”

You pause just past the door, out of sight, and feel entirely out of place with the strange gnawing sensation that’s beginning to form in your chest. 

–

You try your best not to let him get to you throughout the day, but you still find yourself sitting in your office half an hour before lunch, anyway, wondering if you should try talking to him. You know he’s across the hall, and you wonder if maybe you just need a few minutes alone with him to figure out why he’s acting so strange. Had the party really screwed things up that much between you?

You stand and head to the door, stepping into the hall and even making it as far as the single step to his door, your hand raised to knock, before you stop. You hesitate. Maybe he’s upset with you, for whatever reason. Had you done anything bad at the party? No, you don’t think so. It had mostly been his doing, even though he’d blamed you for it outside the bathroom. You don’t think you’d actually done anything except be there, and he can’t really be mad at you for that.

Still, you turn back to your office, suddenly uncertain about confronting him. You return to your desk, settling down with a conflicted sigh and opening your laptop to keep working until lunch.

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

[1:45 PM]

Akaashi: what is it?

Your heart jumps, and you type quickly.

You: nothing

Akaashi: you were going to knock

You: it’s fine

Akaashi: just tell me.

You groan, trying to figure out what to say. ‘I wanted to see if we’re okay’ is completely unhinged and a little bit crazy, and ‘Just checking on you after the party’ is entirely out of character for you. So you just sigh and type up the best excuse you can.

You: was just gonna tell you the first video made over 500

You: and my other stuff is making money now too

You: my rent for november is covered

You: so.. thanks ig

There’s a minute or two of silence before he answers, a minute or two that feel distinctly longer.

Akaashi: …

Akaashi: you were seriously coming to say that to me?

Akaashi: out loud? here?

Akaashi: really, y/n?

You bristle, filled with an irrational anger. Obviously, that’s not what you’d been going to his office to talk about, because obviously you know better. But you hadn’t been able to come up with anything better to tell him, and now you’re being scolded for it.

And how dare he say that to you, after he’d been all over you on Saturday night? In front of all your friends, no less?

You type an angry response.

You: well i didnt DO it, did i?

You: unlike you, i have decent judgment of what should and shouldnt be done in public.

Akaashi: excuse me?

Akaashi: wtf is that supposed to mean??????

You: use that brain of yours and figure it tf out.

Akaashi: you have decent judgment of what shouldnt be done in public?

Akaashi: yet you just LOVE to keep your windows open

Akaashi: dont you, y/n

There’s a piece of you, larger than you’d ever admit, that loves to be the person who makes Akaashi Keiji’s perfect little walls come crashing down.

You: at least thats done in the privacy of my own home

You: not the privacy of someone else’s 

You: especially not with all our friends right around the corner

Akaashi: oh go to hell

You: see you there, freak.

You throw your phone down and let out an irritated scream that echoes off the walls of your office. You’re certain Akaashi’d heard it, but you can’t bring yourself to care what he thinks or doesn’t think of you today.

You work until lunch, distracted and angry while you respond to emails and grade a few assignments. When Bokuto texts your small group chat asking about lunch, Kuroo’s expected response of ‘We meet every SINGLE day, Bokuto!’ coming in only seconds later, you slam your laptop shut and pack up.

Akaashi’s leaving his office at the same time as you. He frowns instantly when he sees you, and you scowl openly at him.

“Think you might have a banshee in your office,” he says tightly, pulling his door closed and walking off ahead of you. “There was a demonic scream echoing in the hall earlier.”

You roll your eyes, following him to the elevator. “Worry about your own office, Akaashi. There’s an icy bitch inhabiting your desk.”

He snorts, jamming his finger against the down button. “That’s real classy, Y/n. Can you afford lunch today, or do you need a loaner?”

You whip your head around, staring up at him in shock. His eyes slide shut right away, jaw clenched, and he lets out a deep sigh. When he looks at you again, his gaze is full of regret.

“Sorr-”

“I’ll take the stairs,” you snap, turning on your heel and marching toward the stairwell.

“Y/n-” You hear him follow behind you, even as the elevator dings with its arrival. You throw the door open, ignoring as it slams against the wall, and stomp down the five flights of stairs. He barely stops the door from shutting in his face, his voice echoing in the empty hallway as he flies down the steps after you. “Y/n, come on-”

“Fuck you,” you spit, refusing to look at him even as he’s catching up to you on the landing between the third and fourth floors.

He wraps his hand around your bicep, spinning you around to him. “I’m sorry, okay? That was fucked up-”

You snatch your arm back. “Why did you follow me, Akaashi? You want your 20% now or something? Sorry, I have to transfer it over to my bank first, if that’s fucking okay with you.”

His face scrunches up in irritation. “That’s not what I was saying-”

“You want me to cover your lunch? How’s that? You worried I’m not good for my word?” You spin back around, continuing your march. He sighs angrily behind you.

“You’re so fucking insufferable sometimes,” he snaps.

“Then cut your losses and get out while you can, asshole.”

He’s silent for a moment as he follows you, and then he’s bitter with his response. “You need me.”

You whirl around, cornering him against the wall by the fire exit on the first floor. Your voice drops to a hiss, rage seething in your veins as you lean up into his face. “I’d rather be homeless than fuck you again, Akaashi Keiji.”

He grits his teeth, and he takes your face in one hand, fingertips digging into your cheeks and squeezing tight. You let out a quiet noise of surprise, eyes widening marginally. His eyes are dead of emotion now, but you can see in the fluttering clench of his jaw that he’s angry with you.

“Don’t-” He squeezes your face and pulls you closer, breath fanning out over your lips. “-make threats you can’t follow through on, Y/n.” He lifts his brows knowingly. “You need me.”

You shudder in his grasp, eyes flicking between his and chest heaving with angry breaths. There’s a moment of panic in your chest, because you do need him. You do need him, but he doesn’t need you.

Then why is he so adamant about keeping you?

You scan him quickly, realizing that his chest is heaving, too. That he looks just as frustrated – that his eyebrow is twitching and that his eyes are searching yours. That he’s swallowing hard, waiting for your response.

He needs this, too. You don’t know why, but that much is clear to you. And it’s enough.

“What’s wrong, Akaashi?” you murmur, watching his eyes drop to your lips when you respond. “Worried I’ll find someone else to fuck and throw you away?” 

His fingers tighten on your face, but you see it – the panic that you feel, reflected in his eyes. It makes your chest swell with satisfaction, and something else you can’t place. Something like relief.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Shut up, Y/n-”

His phone rings in his coat pocket, loud and jarring and ripping you right out of this moment with him. His eyes widen, and you raise a hand to smack his arm away, and then you stumble back as he fumbles for his phone.

It’s Bokuto, if the muffled screaming on the other end is enough to tell you anything.

“Hi, Bokuto,” Akaashi mutters, the heat in his voice gone – the polite, sweet, soft-spoken walls coming right back up, brick by brick. “Yeah. I’m on my way.” His eyes flick to you, empty. “Yeah. She’s with me.” He stares right into your eyes, that dead expression solidifying on his face. “Yes. I’ll tell her to check her many messages.”

You pat your pockets quickly, wondering how you could have been so caught up with Akaashi that you’d missed something. Your eyes go wide when you look at the screen – it’s been ten minutes since you’d said you’d meet them for lunch, and Bokuto’s spam-called you six times.

[2:36 PM]

Kou: Y/N!!!!!!! ARE YOU OKAYYYYYYY??????

You type back a quick response.

[2:41 PM]

You: yes omg sorry im omw now

Kou: PLEASE DONT BE FIGHTING WITH AKAASHIIIIII

You: we’re not i promise!!! be there soon

“We’re not gonna have time to eat,” you mumble to yourself – you both need to be in Syntax in twenty minutes. Akaashi brushes past you, heading out the fire exit door.

“Walk fast and eat faster, then.”

You follow behind, sighing heatedly. “I hate you,” you bite under your breath.

“Yeah, well-” His long strides don’t have any intention of accommodating you as he heads to the dining hall. “-I’m not so fucking fond of you, either.”

By the time lunch is over, even Kuroo’s texting you asking if something had happened.

–

Tuesday morning doesn’t go much better.

You’re still angry from the day before, short of patience as you get ready to bike to the LEM meeting and already itching for another fight by the time you settle into one of the chairs in the lab room. Other people file in slowly, and you manage to mask your anger long enough to smile at everyone and ask about their weekend. Your advisor pats you on the shoulder in a fatherly way when he enters, sighing deep as he settles in beside you.

“You’re not presenting today, right?” he asks, checking his phone for emails idly.

“No, I don’t have the pilot data yet,” you mumble regretfully. He just shrugs, shaking his head.

“You have a lot going on. No need to stress about it just yet.” And then he eyes you over his bifocals. “Have you figured something out, though?”

You warm, because Akaashi’s cologne is drifting into the room, just over your shoulder. You know that he’s heard it, because he lingers for just long enough before moving to the TV that you can tell he’d been caught off guard.

“Yes,” you say under your breath, your ears burning. “I figured something out, thank you. I should be good to start data collection next week.”

“Good to hear.” Your advisor nods, and you let out a steadying breath. “Okay,” he says, louder and to the group, clapping his hands. “We have Keiji for updates first, and then-” he points between two of your other cohort-mates. “-you two can fight over who goes next.”

You watch Akaashi go straight into his 20-minute run, explaining some updates he’d made to his theoretical framing and some more thoughts he has for his dissertation. You, as usual, are convinced of his logic, but there’s something about the way he refuses to look at you – cyan eyes passing over you like you’re a ghost – that makes your blood boil. Something about the way he nearly rolls his eyes when he accidentally does meet your gaze, because he can certainly see the burning anger all over your face.

Maybe that’s why – even though you don’t have a single piece of criticism to give him – you open your mouth when he asks ‘Any questions?’ in that gentle tone you hate so much.

“I have one.”

Everyone’s head whips around to you, because you never speak during Akaashi Keiji’s Q&A session. 

But it’s Akaashi’s reaction that spurs you on. His eyes fly to yours when he hears your voice, and you watch shock, confusion, irritation, and – finally – vague interest flit across his face in a matter of milliseconds.

“Okay?” he says, the confusion slipping through in the uptick of his voice.

“Your proposed analysis – what are the implications it has for research testing native Korean speakers?”

He lifts one eyebrow, and you feel the room shift. 

“You’re asking me-” The other brow joins in now. “-how my research applies to yours?”

You clench your jaw, searching his gaze. He’d said it like he was offended, but you can see he’s pushing you. “I’m asking how your analysis can be used by other linguists in the field – not just to study the grammar of native Korean speakers theoretically, but to study the grammar empirically. With real data-”

“I have data-”

“You have judgments,” you snap. “Native Korean speaker judgments from your consultants. Two consultants, yes?” He nods, and you nod back. “Right. And you expect your two consultants’ individual grammars to speak systematically for the whole of the Korean grammar?”

It’s a cheap shot, but a valid one – for someone else. Not for Akaashi. You know this well enough, that the primary job of theoretical syntacticians is to formulate analyses and proposals of a language’s grammar. You know well enough that it’s not his job to figure out if his analysis will make the cut if tested with a large sample of speakers.

That’s your job. And the job of experimentalists more broadly. It’s your job to take his theory and prove it right or wrong. It’s only his job to craft his logic and evidence in a way that makes the argument worth proving.

And Akaashi knows that, too.

“What would you like me to do, Y/n?” he asks tightly. “Would you like me to run the experiment myself and put you out of a job?”

“Okay-” your advisor starts to cut in, but you speak over him.

“What about all the previous research, Akaashi? The research that’s tested syntactic analyses which differ from yours but still find supporting results? Would you like the field to throw all that away and believe you instead? How do you account for those findings? What’s the bigger picture?”

His eyes light up, molten hot. “What I’d like is a unified syntax of Korean case marking, which the field has been missing for decades. It’s up to someone like you to test my theory; it’s up to someone like me to take your results and update my analysis, over and over and over again until we get it right. That’s what linguistics is about.”

You lean forward, elbows digging into the wooden table. It’s quiet enough in the room that you can hear him breathing across the room, ragged and rough and irritated.

“If you want someone like me to go through the trouble of testing your theory, you should do a better job of convincing me it’s worth my time.” You glare hard at him, your heart skipping when you watch that wall come down. He looks exactly the same, poised and perfect and well-mannered, but his eyes betray how badly he wants to tell you exactly what’s on his mind. 

So you smile at him, cold and mocking, and push him over the edge. “Or else linguistics will move on without you.”

“Okay!” you advisor says, looking between you and Akaashi with wide eyes. “I think we get it, you two. Let’s move on to someone else, please – I’m too old for this.”

You stand quickly, the chair scraping across the floor, and barge from the room. 

“Y/n!” your advisor calls just as the door is slamming behind you. A moment later, you hear his voice again, muffled. “Keiji!”

The door swings open, and the sound of the lab erupting in chaos echoes through the hall, your advisor’s ‘okay, okay, settle down everyone-’ muted by the door shutting again.

“What the hell is your problem?” Akaashi bites behind you, and you glance back while you walk, finding him stalking after you. You roll your eyes, heading for your office. 

“You heard my problem. Your research is isolated and inapplicable-”

“Inapplicable-”

“Goodbye, Akaashi,” you snap, unlocking the door and shouldering your way inside. You throw it shut behind you, but his hand slams down on the wood, startling you. You whirl around with wide eyes and watch him slam the door, the frosted glass window rattling from the force. The two of you are left in the silence of your office, both of your breaths audible in the space between you.

“Inapplicable?” he hisses again, eyes glinting.

“What do you want me to say, Akaashi?” you bark, letting him get in your face. “You want me to just ignore that you’re not thinking about the consequences of your own research?” You poke him hard in the chest. “If you don’t take responsibility for the work you’re putting out into the field, then don’t expect me to be okay with fumbling to use your grammar to explain my data.”

He pushes forward, cornering you against your desk. “That’s exactly what your job is, Y/n. It’s your responsibility to figure out what speakers are doing, just like it’s my responsibility to figure out how to explain that. And you’re not stupid enough to believe otherwise. We need each other-”

“No, what I need-” You stand tall, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the space between your lips. “-is to not be handed another ‘grammar of Korean’ that’s been decreed into a fucking void.”

He doesn’t say a word, just letting his eyes flit between yours angrily. He’s breathing hard, just as hard as you are, and his eyebrows are twitching as he glares down at you. You hold your ground, whispering an admission to him.

“You might be a genius, Akaashi, but you really need to be put in your place sometimes.”

You watch in real time as his demeanor changes.

The anger drains from his body language and his face, leaving him with shock and a lip that’s curling in amusement as he stares down at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, is that right?” he breathes. “And-what? You think you’re gonna do that for me?” You start to protest, but he just takes a step forward, sudden and forceful, and you take a surprised seat on the desk with a gasp. He towers over you, that smile dangerous. “You really think you can do that, Y/n? When you aren’t even confident enough in your own work?”

Your brows furrow, offended. “What-”

“With your shy little smile and your uncertain little laugh when you present to the lab-” he whispers, breath fanning over you as you stare up at him. “With that fucking look you get in your eye,” he growls under his breath. “Like you don’t know what to make of your own research. Of your own skills. Makes me fucking sick.”

You try to stand, but he just leans down, planting his hands on either side of you. His nose brushes yours, and his eyes fill with a heat that isn’t anger. It’s something else, and you can’t place it.

He lifts his eyebrows. “You think you can put me in my place? That would mean we’re on the same level, wouldn’t it? Is that what you’re saying?” When you don’t respond, he speaks slower, like he’s talking down to you. 

“Are you a genius, too, Y/n?”

You scowl at him. “I’m not beneath you, Akaashi. I never have been.”

He shifts, and you finally place it – that heat in his eyes, the one that burns through you and makes your heart race.

It’s excitement.

It excites him to fight with you like this.

And the smile that stretches across his face, tinged with what you can only describe as pride, is starting to excite you, too. Because fighting with him feels good. Because you can see that it makes him feel good, too. It feels good to be pushed like this, to show someone else who you really are and be accepted for that, good or bad. 

Especially the bad. 

This may be the first time you’ve ever been glad that Akaashi Keiji treats you differently.

He steps impossibly closer to you, and you find your thighs parting to let him into the space before you can realize it. His smile grows, and his breath hitches in time with the lurch of anticipation that fills you, because he’s leaning down over you, forcing you to collapse back onto your elbows.

“If you’re a genius, Y/n,” he whispers, carding his fingers ever so gently through your hair. You shudder, chest heaving with a gasp when he pulls taut, fisting your hair painfully in his hand. His eyes twinkle with that terrifying excitement that makes your veins sing for him, and you’re distantly aware that he’s hard against your inner thigh. “Then I want you to fucking act like it.”

The shaky breath you let out is laced with a moan, and his gaze flies down to your lips, his smile stretching into something wild and wicked. He meets your eyes again, that blue-green gaze piercing when he asks–

“Do you think you can do that?”

You shiver, the reaction visceral and entirely visible to him. He smiles and whispers ‘I thought so’, his breath forming goosebumps on your skin.

And then there’s a hard knock on your office door.

“Y/n?” your advisor calls, his blurry shadow visible through the window as he stands just on the other side of the door – on the other side of the terribly compromising position Akaashi has you in on your desk.

Your breath catches, and you struggle against him. “Akaashi-”

He pulls you up quickly with wide eyes, and you both frantically fix your appearances in silence for the half-second it takes you to call ‘It’s open!’ to the door. Akaashi latches onto your arm and drags you forward in a panic, stepping behind you to partially shield himself from view – you have to keep from snickering, because the door’s being pushed open cautiously. 

Your advisor stands in the doorway, examining the two of you with wary eyes. “Are you both alive and in one piece?”

You and Akaashi nod. “Sorry for storming out like that,” you say. “I was… a bit heated.”

The old man snorts. “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. We had to end early because no one could focus.” He looks over your head at Akaashi. “And you left all your stuff in the lab. Were you heated, too?”

Akaashi clears his throat. “Uh… a bit?”

Your advisor sighs and shakes his head. “I’m gonna start putting you two through hell if you don’t cut it out. Force you to say nice things about each other, or look into each other’s eyes for a full minute, or something.” 

You laugh nervously. “We’re fine. Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes but moves on. “Did you both apply for Ling Expo? We talked about it in the meeting, but some members of the group went missing.”

You flush, shifting your weight. Akaashi’s fingers find the back of your shirt, tugging you back to where you were so he can remained covered. 

“Yes,” he says behind you. “I submitted the abstract last week.” 

You nod in agreement. “Me, too.”

The man sighs, nodding back. “We’re all going again this year, so make sure to block the weekend of November 15th off.” You both make noises of understanding, and he takes a moment to look between you. His eyes narrow as he examines you, and then Akaashi over your head, and then you again. He purses his lips and hums. “There’s something about this situation that makes me want to make you leave this door open, but I’m not your father, so…” 

A rush of heat washes over you, and Akaashi coughs awkwardly behind you. 

“Are you allowed to say that?” he mumbles, and your advisor throws his head back, giving a belly laugh as he shakes his head. 

“It’s none of my business what you two get up to in your free time.”

You chuckle nervously. “Are you allowed to say that?”

His laugh, loud and booming and satisfied, can be heard down the hall long after he’s gone.

–

Keiji collapses into his chair, slumping down over his desk and burying his face in his folded arms.

“Fuck,” he groans, muffled and inaudible outside of himself. He thumps a fist on the desk twice, overwhelming embarrassment flooding every cell in his body.

What the hell was he thinking, cornering you against your desk like that? Why is he entirely incapable of containing himself when he’s alone with you? What had you done to him – what witchcraft has taken hold over him?

When he’d woken up on Sunday, he’d spent several hours in a puddle of dread, unmoving from his bed as he’d stared at the ceiling and contemplated what to do. He’d chalked most of his behavior from the party up to the alcohol, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he’d only acted that way because those feelings – those desires that had been threaded under his skin – were lingering somewhere unreachable inside him.

He’d decided by the end of the day that he would need to overcompensate in order to keep your mutual friends from catching on to the fact that there’s a live wire inside him that sparks dangerously every time he even so much as thinks about you. He would need to be more detached than ever if he were to stand any chance of keeping this arrangement with you a secret.

And then he’d overdone it, in that cafe yesterday morning. He’d ignored you deliberately, and he could feel almost instantly when your energy had shifted. And when he’d seen you pass by his class, he’d been a mix of surprised – because seeing you had thrown his heart into his throat and had scattered his thoughts like loose paper – and desperate not to let his students see that he’d lost his train of thought. So he’d scowled at you like you were the last thing he’d ever want to see, and, in the midst of rattling off knowledge that’s been sitting idly in the back of his mind for years, he’d felt a twinge of regret that he’d reacted that way.

And he’d known that you were coming to check in on him. He’d known – by the way you’d lingered at his door, by the way your weight had shifted, by the way your steps had sounded so uncertain – that you were confused. That you wanted to know why he was acting this way. But he’d felt an overwhelming panic at the idea that you might be able to sense his real feelings for what they are – that you’d be able to see just by looking at him that he’s almost concerningly attracted to you. So he’d lashed out over text, and then he’d lashed out at the elevator bay, because even when you’d called him an ‘icy bitch’, all he could focus on was the snarky edge to your voice and how badly he’d wanted to smother it.

When you’d threatened – emptily, but anxiety-inducing nonetheless – to put this arrangement to bed and move on from him, he’d lost his mind in that stairwell. He’d lost his mind, and he’d let his nerves show. And you’d latched onto them instantly, because, as he’s coming to learn, you can read him a little too well.

And that’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying to wonder, in a room full of all of Keiji’s peers – in front of his own advisor, for fuck’s sake – if his attraction to you when you level him with that challenging glare is as palpable to everyone else as it is to him.

It’s terrifying to wonder if you can see what a confused, muddled mess of a man he’s become since sleeping with you. Ricocheting between wanting you and hating you and somewhere right in the middle, where he feels both.

He’s found himself in that middle ground often over the last 48 hours.

And then he’d cornered you against your desk, not even ten minutes ago, and bullied you to your limit – forcing the admission of your own capabilities from your lips like psychological torture, entirely unable to hide how much that had excited him. How much it had affected him, watching you fold like that for him. 

But you’d shown yourself to him, too. You’d shown him how excited you’d gotten when you’d realized how he was feeling. You’d shown him that this terrible, confusing knot of uncontainable want that twists in his gut when he meets your eyes– 

It’s mutual.

And that – that is more dangerous than anything before it.

Keiji sits up, hands shaking slightly as he presses circles into his temples and leans back in his chair. He slides his laptop in front of him and opens it, navigating to the site for Ling Expo in order to clear his thoughts.

A small part of a much larger conference event that hosts multiple different departments all engaging in their own specialized events for three days straight, Ling Expo is held every year in mid-November and boasts the largest gathering of linguistic scholars in the whole of Japan.

At least, that’s what it says on the home page when he scrolls through it.

In reality, the LEM members – all students of his advisor – are carted away for a weekend to Tokyo’s largest hotel and conference center, regardless of whether or not any of them are presenting. He gets out of a Friday of teaching and spends three days networking, and – luckily – hanging out with his friends, because every department at this university has a group that goes.

Thankfully, it’s all paid for by the university. And, hopefully, he might not find himself in any weird academic standoffs with you this year. The two of you had always been careful not to let your rivalry become clear externally, because that reeks of a lack of professionalism, but there was always something that would tip the weekend into a mess of underhanded comments and awkward encounters in the extensive buffet line.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

Well, things are already different, so he’s not really fooling himself with this positive thinking. Because different could be good or bad.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he closes the tab for Ling Expo while he extracts it. It’s a text sent to the group chat of the larger friend group, only ever used when Bokuto’s too impatient to text both of his smaller groups.

[12:17 PM]

Bokuto: DID YOU GUYS SEE THERES A NEW CLUB OPENING TODAY???? 

Bokuto: WE H A V E TO GO!!!!

Keiji sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is to get caught in another terrifying encounter with you, especially at some crowded club with all his friends there to witness it, but he knows how Bokuto can get when he’s told no. So he just opens his calendar, checking what else he would have had planned tonight.

There’s nothing, but there is something for tomorrow night that catches his eye and makes his heart lurch.

‘Research Updates’ is blocked off from 8pm to midnight, seemingly innocuous. Just as it had been on Saturday morning, from 8am to noon.

He sighs, staring down at the scheduled time. Is that still happening? Surely, it would be, right? 

But, things between you the last two days had been anything but cordial. And you had threatened to end the arrangement, even if it had been empty. 

You text the group chat back, an agreement to go, and he sighs quietly.

He supposes he can go, too.

–

The booming music pounds in Keiji’s head as he squints around in the dark. There’s a pair of hands on his shoulders, guiding him through a sea of people he would rather not be pressed into at the moment. He’s glad he’d decided to change into jeans and a t-shirt, because the slacks-button-down combo would have him soaked in sweat already.

And he’s especially glad you decided to change into a slinky black dress that he never would have guessed that you would own. You’re pushing through the crowd just in front of him now, and he’s sneaking glances down at you as the group fights to find an empty booth.

“There!” Bokuto eventually yells, stretching one of the hands on Keiji’s shoulder out over the distance, locating a singular empty booth. Keiji flinches at the noise, but he follows after you, anyway. You’ve got two hands on Yachi, who has two hands on Kuroo, who has two hands on Tsukishima, who’s complaining while he parts the crowd with his massive frame and leads the group to the table.

Keiji contemplates putting two hands on you, too, because it’s objectively most efficient for keeping the group together. But he doesn’t know how you’ll react – not after his total lapse in judgment in your office earlier. He doesn’t know if you even want him to touch you, now that your head’s probably a bit clearer than it’d been while you’d been trapped under him.

But then there’s a rush of people bumping into him, and he loses you for a moment, so he reaches out as soon as he finds you again – he justifies it as listening to instructions, because Bokuto’s screaming ‘Grab onto her, Akaashi!’ in his ear.

His hands slide across your waist, and a shiver runs down his spine at how you feel under his fingers. You jump at the contact and glance back in panic, probably thinking he’s some weird stranger trying to make a move. When you see it’s just him, you relax a little, but then your eyes fill with nerves, and you’re whipping your head back around to face away from him.

The crowd sways and shifts, forcing the line of you to bunch up in order to not be separated. Bokuto stumbles forward at some point, propelling Keiji right into you. You yelp, tripping, but he catches you, hauling you back against his chest. His breath catches and his heart rate picks up at the feeling of you pressed against him – your perfume wafts over him, and he finds himself leaning down close to your shoulder to breathe it in.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, tensing when his left hand subtly leaves the safety of your waist and slides around you, nestling you back against him more.

“Nothing,” he mumbles back, swallowing and retracting his hand back to your waist. “Just-nothing.”

You glance up at him, hearing his fumble, but it must be too dark to see the flush that spreads across his cheeks, because you only look forward again and focus on following Yachi. He examines you while the group nears the shockingly still-empty booth – he realizes your dress is riding up your thighs, likely from the stumbling and shoving that’s happening in this crowd right now. It rides up enough that he can see the lace edge of your pantyline, and he has to swallow hard, distracted by a memory of lace in other ways.

He reaches down, shielded by the dark, and tugs on the hem of your dress, pulling it back down over your ass. You yelp, looking up at him with alarm.

“Akaashi!” 

He shakes his head tightly, turning you back to the front and leaning down toward you. “Your ass was out – I was fixing it-”

You sigh loudly, turning your mouth to his ear. “You can’t just put your hands on me like that-”

“I can’t?” he bites, not an ounce of heat behind it. “You were fine with it earlier-” He grunts, because you’re driving an elbow into his gut.

“Dumbass,” you grumble, but he sees the warmth in your ears, and he smiles despite himself. 

Tsukishima reaches the table, and the six of you pile into the rounded booth that’s certainly not meant for six. Keiji’s chest presses against your shoulder, and you’re kind enough to angle your body with his so that you’re not digging into his chest painfully. Bokuto calls out across the table.

“I’ll get drinks!” He disappears back into the crowd, and Keiji wonders for a moment if Bokuto can carry enough drinks for six people. Kuroo seems to have the same thought, the man smacking Tsukishima on the arm and pointing out into the ocean of bodies.

“Go with him!”

The blond shakes his head forcefully. “No fucking way – you go!”

Kuroo groans but pushes Tsukishima out of the booth so he can stumble back into the crowd. Keiji relaxes with a sigh as the four of you left fill the booth more comfortably. Yachi starts rambling brightly to Tsukishima about the club, making comments about the music and the dancing. The blond just blinks back at her with empty, unseeing eyes, nodding occasionally. Keiji gets the feeling he can’t hear a word she’s saying.

You shift next to Keiji, your thigh bumping against his, and he finds himself tracing his gaze over your body while you look out at the dance floor. You feel him looking, and you glance up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to ask me to dance,” you say, your voice barely audible to him. He just tilts his head and gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t dance, Y/n.”

“Oh, you’re so cool,” you mock, cooing at him. He narrows his eyes at you, excitement spilling into his body when he sees how you tense at the glare. It makes him feeler bold – bold, like he’d been in your office, even though he’d sworn to himself only moments after that he wouldn’t do that again.

He swears you’ve cast some sort of curse on him.

He brushes two fingers over your thigh, tugging at the hem of the dress before letting it snap back to your skin. “Where’d you get this?”

You warm, looking up at him with practiced disinterest, but he can feel when your breath changes. “I’ve had it forever.”

“I like it.”

You purse your lips, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” he asks, letting those two fingers trace circles into your thigh and smiling when he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Your eyes flit around his face, and he can see that, under the confusion, there’s anticipation. You’re waiting for him to do something.

“Y/n, look!” Yachi yells next to you, and Keiji pulls his hand back into his lap. He watches as you try, still flustered by him, to follow your friend’s excited pointing into crowd. He tampers a satisfied smile, only pulling his gaze away from you.

It lands on Tsukishima, who’s watching Keiji blankly.

Keiji’s heart drops to his stomach.

The blond flicks his eyes between the two of suspiciously, and then his gaze drops to Keiji’s throat, because he’s swallowing nervously. Tsukishima lifts both eyebrows and then looks away, returning to Yachi’s excited monologue about the well-planned design of the club architecture and decor.

Keiji’s skin hums with adrenaline and anxiety. What is he supposed to do if Tsukishima questions him? Or worse – tells Kuroo?

As if summoned by the devil, Bokuto and Kuroo reappear – they’re holding two trays of shot glasses each, and Keiji stares in shock as Bokuto lines up five shots in front of Keiji.

“Those are for you!” his friend exclaims, doing the same for you. Keiji stares at the shots.

“This’ll put me in the hospital, Bokuto-”

“I have to teach tomorrow,” you add, giving a laugh of exasperation. Bokuto waves it off.

“A problem for tomorrow!” he yells, already picking up one of his own shot glasses. He holds it out toward the middle of the table. “To new experiences!”

Keiji sighs, lifting one of his up, too, to clink against Bokuto’s, and the rest of the table follows.

“To new experiences,” he mumbles, knocking the shot back.

–

Well, Bokuto hadn’t been lying about new experiences, Keiji thinks drunkenly.

His head swims as he stares down at the five empty shot glasses in front of him, wondering where his drinks had gone. You sway beside him, holding a cocktail in both hands as you sip at it – your shot glasses are equally empty, and Keiji’s not exactly sure where you’d pulled an extra drink from.

He watches through blurry vision as Yachi and Bokuto wriggle wildly on the dance floor together, far away enough that he can only tell it’s them by their ridiculous height difference. Kuroo and Tsukishima sit huddled on the other end of the booth, heads bent together as they whisper likely obscene things to each other.

Keiji had worried for about thirty minutes that Tsukishima would tell Kuroo what he’d seen, but the blond seems to have decided that it’s none of his business what happens in this club tonight. Keiji’s grateful for it, especially now that he can see Tsukishima slipping out of the booth, his hand tight in Kuroo’s and both their faces flushed from whatever they’d just talked about. They disappear in the direction of the bathroom, and Keiji snorts to himself.

“‘s one way to do it,” he mumbles, and you lean toward him heavily.

“Hah?” you say, your body pressed against his. “What’dya say?”

“Nothin’,” he slurs, shaking his head. And then he looks down at you, taking you in. Taking in the fact that the two of you have been left alone here in the dark, still visible but not noticeable. He shifts his body toward yours, pressing your sides together while he reaches to pluck your drink from your hands. “What’s this?”

“Hey,” you pout, reaching for it, but he just holds it behind him, forcing you to lean up into his face. Your eyes go wide when you realize how close his are, and he grins down at you, open and unfiltered.

“What is it, Y/n? Can I try?”

“No!” you complain, pressing your body against his as you stretch for the drink. Keiji slips his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Just one sip?”

Your outstretched hand drops to his shoulder, and you say nothing about the arm he has around you. “You’re annoying,” you mumble, glaring hazily up at him. “Get yer own drink.”

He tilts his head toward you, the tequila in his breath mixing with the vodka in yours. “But I wanna taste yours,” he whispers, and your cheeks warm – he hadn’t meant anything sexual by it, but he’s not complaining if you’re taking it that way.

He lifts your drink to his lips, keeping his eyes on you and reveling in the way yours drop to his mouth, and takes a sip. It’s just a Vodka Cranberry, which he’d already guessed by the scent of your breath. He puts it back down on the table, letting you have it again. “Thank you,” he jokes.

“Whatever,” you mutter, cradling the drink again. “Why’ve you been so mean to me this week?”

“Aw,” he coos. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yeah,” you say plainly, pouting. “You made me mad. Made me wanna do bad things.”

Desire spikes in Keiji’s body. “What kinda bad things?”

“Made me wanna be mean to you, too,” you say, oblivious to the way Keiji’s looking at you now. “Made me wanna hurt your feelings, too.”

“You did do that,” he says, laughing at you. “You were so mean.”

“Not mean enough!” you argue, leaning comfortably against him as he holds you. His hand gravitates from his lap to yours, the fingers he’d just had on your drink now cold and damp against your heated skin. You shiver at his touch, and he feels his jeans start to tighten. He draws small circles into your thigh with the pad of his middle finger, his intentions plausibly deniable even though his knuckles brush up against the hem of your dress every time.

“You don’t think calling my work ‘isolated and inapplicable’ is mean enough?” he coos down at you, watching with satisfaction as your lips part and you let out a shaky breath, because his middle finger is slipping once under the hem of your dress before completing the circle. He feels a shock of excitement fly down his spine and spread out across his skin, that live wire sparking in his chest.

He glances out briefly at the dance floor, confirming that Bokuto and Yachi are still jumping around and that Kuroo and Tsukishima have completely disappeared. He’s glad to know that he has more time with you. More time to slide his cold fingers across your flushed skin, more time to feel your body press tight to his. The thought of getting caught like this – with his arm wrapped around you and his fingers hidden under your dress – passes through his mind, and he can’t help that the live wire crackles dangerously, or that his jeans are uncomfortably tight on him now. But, still, he’s glad that no one’s seeing what’s going on over here.

He doesn’t want to share this with anyone else quite yet.

“Hey,” you grumble in his ear, low and whiny enough to make his cock twitch painfully. You grip his face with one hand, turning him back to you. Keiji stares down at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his chest when you glare up at him and mumble, “You’re not payin’ attention t’me.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – were you saying somethin’ important?”

Your pout deepens, and Keiji feels himself leaning toward you, his eyes fixated on your mouth.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I was talkin’ about how you deserve to be bullied.”

He huffs in amused disbelief, just staring down at you. “Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.”

“Mm?” You tilt your head, attention his. He starts running his fingers over your skin again, watching when you shiver.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow? Or was I too mean this week?” He swallows hard, hoping you’ll understand what he’s asking. If things are too tense between you – if the arrangement can’t be recovered, after all of his screw-ups this week. 

Your eyes widen, flitting between his, and he grows a little nervous. But then your face warms, and you shift under his fingers, and your eyes drop quickly to his mouth before lifting again.

“I thought we were…” you breathe. “Are we not?”

His skin hums with the need to feel you underneath him again, the possibility of having that tomorrow night no longer hanging in the balance. But still, he has to check. “Not gonna find someone else to fuck ‘n throw me away?”

You giggle at his quote of your own words, and you shake your head. “Unfortunately for me, there’s no one else who meets all my requirements.” You grin up at him, your eyes full of humor, as though what you say next is stupidly obvious.

“‘s gotta be you, 'Kaashi.”

Keiji really regrets sleeping with you.

–

On Wednesday at 7:30pm, you find yourself slapping your hand around on the bedside table for the alarm that’s going off. You find your phone, shutting it off and tossing it down on the bed next to you. 

You’d woken up at 7am this morning, dreadfully hungover, and dragged yourself to campus to teach. You’d stayed in the department until the very first moment that you were no longer needed, and then you’d Uber’d home, throwing your stuff on the floor in your foyer and climbing back into bed.

You repeat the process now, but you feel significantly better after the extra sleep. Instead of the hangover, however, your brain is burdened by the knowledge that Akaashi will be showing up at your door in thirty minutes. You groan, not for the first time today, at the memory of the humiliating things you’d said and done last night. At the way you’d draped yourself all over him and pouted up at him like an idiot, admitting that he’d gotten to you with his behavior this week.

At the way you’d admitted that there can be no one but him in this stupid arrangement.

You grumble the entire time you wait, stomping around the apartment until you hear his knock at your door.

When you wrench the door open, he looks mildly unsettled, and you know that means he’s as nervous as you.

“Hi.” He shifts his weight awkwardly, hoisting his duffel bag high on his shoulder. He flits his eyes around your face and then down to your pajamas, brows lifting. “Did you just wake up?”

“I took a five-hour nap,” you sigh, letting him in.

“Did you not eat dinner?” he asks, setting his bag down in the spot by the couch that’s slowly becoming his.

“No,” you mumble, wandering into the kitchen and digging through the pantry. “Not super hungry, anyway – just hungover.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds a bit tense, and you realize belatedly that he might have been asking if you wanted to eat dinner with him. You purse your lips, groaning to yourself. Things are still uncomfortable with him – how could they not be? You’ve spent the week bouncing back and forth between being insatiably furious with him and completely folding whenever he gets too close. Even if he seems to have reciprocated some of the confusing feelings wracking your brain lately, it can’t be easy to be dragged back and forth by your mood swings.

You emerge from the kitchen holding out a packet of smores pop-tarts to him, the strawberry flavor open in your other hand. He stares down at it and then takes it, eyes on yours. “Thanks.”

“Your leftovers from Saturday are still there,” you offer, nodding back to the kitchen. “If you want them.”

“Man, you really do hate kung pao chicken,” he jokes lamely, swallowing hard as he opens the silver packaging. You wander toward your room with an awkward sigh. 

“Uhm… how many videos should we film today?” You flick your lights on and move to the closet, leaving your pop-tarts on the dresser. There’s a creak in your doorway, and you glance back to find Akaashi leaning against the door frame, his fingers tapping on the crinkly wrapper while he chews slow and drags his eyes around your room.

“Dunno… Three? Four?” He flicks his eyes to you and then away again. “Same deal as last time? Foreplay first, then sex?”

You nod, digging through your drawer full of lingerie. You look him over briefly, ignoring when he tenses under your gaze. He’s wearing baggy, light blue jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt, tucked into his belt. You hum, plucking a simple white set from the dresser and then reaching into your closet for a pair of shorts and a baby pink graphic tee, a cute strawberry drawn on the front. You brandish the clothes at him in question.

“Girl-next-door enough?”

He nods, eyes lingering on the white lace in your left hand. “Sweet and innocent.”

You shrug jokingly. “Just like me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he snorts, shaking his head. You don’t move, and he lifts his brows at you as he’s lifting the chocolate-filled pastry to his mouth. “What?”

“Uh…” You give him an expectant look. “I have to change.”

“Oh–” He lifts off the door frame and turns in place, staring out into your living room. “Is this good?”

You roll your eyes and strip from your pajamas, tossing your shirt at the back of his head. He chokes on his snack upon contact, and you laugh while you pull the lingerie on. He clears his throat quietly.

“So… you think my research is inapplicable-”

You groan, your shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight. “Please, not now, Akaashi-”

“I’m just wondering if you meant that, or…” His voice is joking, and you know he’s just talking shit in order to fill the silence, but you’re still a little rough when you brush past him, fully dressed now.

“You know I didn’t,” you admit quietly, padding over to the spare room and hearing when he follows. “You said it yourself  – I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“But you said it.”

“You say a lot of things, too.” You glance at him while you fluff the pillows on the bed. “What is this? Why are you picking a fight right now?”

He shakes his head simply. “Just making conversation.”

“Well, can you make conversation about anything else-”

“Like what?” he argues. “We can talk about research, or we can talk about what positions you want me to fuck you in today-”

“Okay,” you say, flushing. And then you swallow. “What… positions are we doing?”

Any heat that had been in his eyes melts away, and he lets out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?” When you shrug, a smile crosses his lips briefly before he’s smothering it. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyes go wide, and you start to fluff the pillows more aggressively now, your face burning. “They’re all fine.”

“No,” he jokes, stepping close. You’d left your phone on the dresser by the door, and he brings it with him when he approaches you. “You definitely have a favorite.” He slips the device into your awaiting hand. “Tell me.”

You square your shoulders, scrolling through your apps to dim the string lights and change the color, bathing the room in a soft, pink glow. “It’s doggy,” you say without looking at him. “But they’re all fine.”

“Doggy,” he breathes back, nodding. “Understood.”

“Whatever,” you bite, gesturing to the bed in embarrassment. “Can we–?” 

He lifts his brows with a grin, waving you toward it. “By all means.”

You sigh, climbing onto the bed and pointing toward the selfie stick you keep on the desk. “I’ll just hold the phone for this first part.” Akaashi goes to get it, and you slot the phone into it with ease. “Okay. Ready.”

He props himself up next to you, both of you leaning against the headboard. You click record and fix the zoom, centering yourself in the frame.

“Okay,” you breathe, settling for looking at him in the camera, because you don’t know if you’re brave enough to meet his eye right now. “We’re good. Uhm…” You think quickly about how this should go. “Just look at something on your phone, maybe, and then come in whenever you think you should.” He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and you joke nervously. “Not your email, though. Nerd.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. “Dumbass.”

You smile, refocusing the camera until neither of your faces are visible. You mess with your hair, watching the ends of it flutter on the screen, and trail your hand down your chest, kneading your breasts slowly and letting out slightly performative sighs. Your fingers dance along your thighs and between your legs briefly, and you see in the frame that Akaashi’s thumb has stopped scrolling. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do smile to yourself, watching his wrist start to go limp as he watches you, distracted. 

When you slide your hands under your shirt, your fingers moving the fabric as you squeeze and touch, Akaashi slowly moves to put his phone on the table. He shifts closer, turning his body toward yours, and his hand slides across your thigh. The touch makes you shiver, his palm searing hot on your skin and his fingers kneading at the inside of your thigh appreciatively. You hear him breathe in sharply, and then he presses his chest to your shoulder and drops his head to your neck.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is more intense than it had been on Saturday. You have no idea how, but you’re impossibly more sensitive tonight, and even the breath that fans over your throat between kisses has you panting. He sets two fingers on the wrist that you have hidden under your shirt, tugging your arm away from your body and angling you so he can fill the space.

His hand disappears under your top, and a quiet moan falls past your lips – because he’s cupping your breast, his palm warmer and larger than yours. You start to tremble, your stomach flipping with anticipation and desire every time his fingers move against you. You don’t know why everything feels so different tonight than it had only four days ago, but it feels like Akaashi’s experiencing the same.

His breath is ragged in your ear, and his lips are shaking slightly on your skin, even though all he’s done is touch you. His hand moves over your body almost nervously, fingers exploring in a way that falsely reminds you of anxious inexperience.

You turn toward him. “What’s with you?” you whisper, looking him over with wide eyes. He lifts his head, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. His cheeks are flushed slightly, and his lips are parted and wet. 

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. And then he tugs on your shirt. “Take this off.”

You hand him the camera stick, and he makes sure to keep you in frame when you peel your shirt off and toss it to the end of the bed. You kick your shorts off, too, while you’re at it, leaving you in your matching lingerie. He hands the camera back and scoots ever closer to you, his hand sliding across your body impatiently while he presses himself to you. You let your head drop and lean your weight against the headboard, letting him explore as he pleases.

When his fingers start to dip curiously between your thighs, that nervous anticipation is firing up. You spread your legs, breathing hard as you struggle to keep everything in frame, and he wastes no time, his middle two fingers sliding over your clothed core.

“Oh-” you moan loudly, much louder than you’d expected, given that he’s barely touched you.

Akaashi notices it too, it seems, because he lifts his head to stare at you, wide-eyed. “What was that?” he breathes, and you shake your head, your lips pursed in embarrassment.

“I was faking it,” you try, despite knowing what he’d told you last time about that.

He lifts his brows, and you see that it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t buy it. “Liar.” He touches you again, circling your clit roughly through your panties. Your eyes widen, and your lips tremble when your breath comes out. He stares down at you in wonder, watching with a growing smile as you react much more intensely than you had on Saturday. “You’re sensitive today,” he notes quietly, a little satisfied.

You don’t bother denying it, not when he can clearly see how your body is reacting to him. “So are you,” you just whisper, eyes dropping to the front of his jeans. He’s already hard. “I haven’t touched you at all.”

He shakes his head, his fingers massaging into the wet spot in your panties with purpose. “‘s not a prerequisite.”

You lift your brows at the admission. “Good to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like you’re gonna do anything with that information.” He pushes your panties to the side and touches his fingers to your soaked core, and you both gasp at the feeling. He breathes hard, eyes heated as he stares down at you. “You’re not brave enough.”

“Don’t-” you hiss through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to moan when his fingers push experimentally against your entrance. “-tempt me.” You reach your free hand toward his jeans, fully intent on unzipping them and touching him, but his hand comes down on your wrist – a smack of admonishment, gentle but firm. He narrows his eyes at you when you look at him in shock.

“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you, princess.” He pulls your thigh open over his legs to free up more space for himself, and then he’s dropping his head back to your neck and nudging against your entrance more seriously.

You’re wet enough that it only takes one try for both fingers to push into you, pressed against your walls and stretching you out. 

You gasp, your head falling back and bumping against the wall. “Oh, my God-”

Akaashi’s no better, his mouth open against your throat and his breath sharp and jagged. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his voice distracted and stunned. “Fuck.” 

“I’m,” you start, swallowing hard when he starts to move. “I’m not gonna last long-”

He groans, curling his fingers inside you and pressing hard against that spongy spot that makes you nervous. “I want you to squirt for me,” he breathes into your ear.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “What?” you say, high-pitched and shaky. “It’s-That’s not easy-”

You’re lying. It is easy for you, scarily so. And with the length of Akaashi’s fingers – with the way he knows how to press up against that spot every single time – it’s going to be so embarrassingly easy that you’re worried you might never live it down.

“I want it,” he breathes, persistent. He sounds a little urgent, bordering on desperate. “I want you to make a mess on my fingers.”

You whine, squirming against him as he picks up speed. You feel it forming, that pressure that’s different from the normal coil in your navel. “Uhm-I-” Your breath picks up, and his palm slaps against your skin when he slams his fingers into you again. The sting of it, repeated twice more, shoves you closer and closer to that dangerous pressure. “Mm-I’m gonna-” you heave, your body trembling in his arms and your hands struggling to keep the camera straight.

“Give it to me,” he whispers, groaning when your walls start to tighten around his fingers. “Be good and give it to me.”

You black out.

You black out, and you have no idea what happens when you do. You can’t feel anything, your entire body numb and light, floating on nothing. You feel your muscles spasm sporadically with the aftershocks, but you have no idea what had happened to get you here. Your hands are limp on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to care if the camera had captured the moment. You feel Akaashi’s fingers still inside you – still moving – but you can’t do much more than listen as he pants in your ear and whispers ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ against the side of your head.

When you finally come to, you realize that you’re lying in a puddle. And Akaashi is hovering over you, his face flushed and his eyes full of disbelief and a burning heat.

“‘zzat good?” you slur, your head slumping against his shoulder, and he laughs against you, shaking his head.

“Holy shit, Y/n,” he breathes, laughing harder. “That was-fuck.” He jostles you gently. “Are you… Let me get you some water,” he says, shifting you, but you groan in protest.

“Did you come?” you breathe, dazed, and peel your eyes open to look at him.

“No.” 

“Then take your pants off,” you say, plain and direct. He looks into your eyes for just another moment, gaze tracking you and analyzing your energy, but you just level a frown at him. “Do you want to come or not, Akaashi?”

His brows lift, and his eyes flick down to the soaked blanket under you. When his gaze finds yours again, that heat is back.

He stands quickly, leaving you to shake the numbness out of your bones as he strips and moves impatiently to get the tripod. He sets your phone up with practiced fingers, and you sit up, shaking your head to clear it and sliding your panties and bra off.

“God, that was intense,” you breathe with a laugh. He glances back at you, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You sure you’re good?”

“Super good.” You nod once, and then you beckon him toward you. “Hurry up, before I start to care what you think again and get embarrassed that that just happened.”

His burst of laughter echoes off the walls, and you feel pride at having drawn it out of him.

And then he climbs over you, and everything that’s not him fades into the background.

His eyes are steady on yours, but he moves with a decided lack of control, and that – his urgency – makes you more nervous than anything else. You lie back against the pillow and spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath as he shoves his boxers off impatiently and slots himself between your thighs. He leans over you, and one of his hands clamps down over your mouth while he lines himself up at your entrance.

He takes a breath, eyes flicking to yours, and you see the anticipation in them. Like he’d been waiting for this all week.

You’d been waiting, too, you realize.

He sinks into you in one press of his hips, and your back bows off the mattress. You moan loud against his palm, your eyes rolling back, and the groan he lets out – unfiltered, desperate – embeds itself into your skin. You struggle to breathe, to find your lungs when all you can feel is Akaashi inside you.

Your eyes focus and unfocus, searching uselessly for him while he slams his other hand down on the headboard to steady himself before setting a pace that makes your vision flicker. Your hands fly up, too, pressing back against the headboard to keep you from crashing into it. 

Akaashi’s hand falls from your mouth when he realizes that you’re not making noise, and it becomes clear that you can’t. Your mouth just hangs open, breath ragged and short while you gasp. Your eyes meet his, and he grins down at you.

“How’s that, princess?” he teases, panting tightly. “Still wanna find someone else to fuck? Or am I really the only one?”

He’s taunting you, torturing you. It makes some part of you angry – the part that hates him, so distant right now – and you try to argue.

“You’re only bitching-” You gasp sharply when the head of his cock bumps against your g-spot, scarily accurate like last time. “-because you got what you wanted-”

His next breath comes in a low growl, and he angles his hips so that he can hit your weak spot more easily. Your body shakes with each slam of his hips against yours, but you hold onto a shred of your sanity.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s so needy for me-”

“Look in the mirror, asshole,” you bite, using every ounce of your energy to keep this up. But he presses two fingers against the seam of your lips, shoving them into your mouth. You choke around them, and he moans, because your walls flutter tightly around his cock at the feeling of his fingertips hitting the back of your throat.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up and get me off,” he snaps, gritting his teeth when your tongue curls wantonly around his fingers. “Maybe if you’re good at it, I’ll let you come again.”

You whine, despite yourself, and feel that twinge of need – the one that had reared its ugly head on Saturday. The need to give him what he wants, to fold for him and do what he says.

And then it hits you–

That this is what you’d felt all week.

That the gnawing in your chest and the frustration in your bones and the disorienting need to get his attention – good or bad – is exactly this. This need to bend to Akaashi Keiji’s will, because he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

You’re filled with an overwhelming rage, and you nip your teeth against his fingers – not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to shock his system.

Akaashi’s eyes go wide, and he hisses and draws his fingers from your mouth, wet and dripping saliva on your skin. “What the fuck?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you snarl, one of your hands leaving the headboard to shove against his chest. He stops moving, sitting up on his knees and staring down at you in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You shove him again, and he catches your wrist, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ve been messing with me all week on purpose,” you spit, and then you sit up, startling him. You use the moment to latch onto him and roll him onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist and straddling him. He stares up at you, wide-eyed, as you try to take control of this. “You’ve been hot and cold, and rude and flirty,” you snap, lifting your hips just enough to sink down onto him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his eyes roll back briefly, a quiet moan slipping past his lips. You plant your hands on his chest, finding a rhythm in his lap that has him gripping your waist tight. You grit your teeth and talk through the waves of pleasure, the ones that start in the crown of your head and make it hard to focus.

“You teased me at the party. And then you acted like I didn’t exist at the coffee shop.” You struggle to keep your breath, your movements growing unstable. His eyes search yours, alarmed.

“What-”

“You acted like I was a burden all day on Monday, and then you fucked with my head in the stairwell.” You glare down at him, hating wide-eyed way he’s watching you. “You fought with me in my office – you liked fighting with me-” You thump your fist weakly down on his chest while you bounce in his lap, angry – but not angry enough. It’s starting to fade into something else. Frustration that he’d played you, and confusion that he looks so confused. “And then you treated me like I was the only thing you could see at that stupid fucking club last night.”

The humilation creeps in – the embarrassment that you’d let this happen. You’d let him humiliate you. It makes your eyes prickle, and you squeeze them shut angrily. Akaashi slides his fingers roughly into your hair, holding tight when you try to shove him away.

“I hate you,” you say, choked and upset and refusing to look at him.

“Listen to me-”

“I hate you-”

“Listen to me.” He fists your hair tighter, jostling your head with enough urgency that your eyes fly open to find his. He’s glaring up at you now. “I’m not doing any of this on purpose.” You’d stopped moving in his lap at some point, too overwhelmed, but he bends his knees now, angling you against his thighs. You gasp when he starts to move, thrusting his hips up and using his one-handed grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“You think I wanted this?” he barks, snapping his hips up and bouncing you roughly against him. “You think I wanted to lose face at that fucking meeting? You think I wanted to fight in the stairwell like that?” His face twists into an angry scowl, and it’s your turn to be confused. “You think I want to get drunk and be unable to keep my hands off you? Huh?”

What-

What?

Akaashi’s hand slides out of your hair, dropping to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, and your stomach flips with desire when he squeezes tight. You sigh in relief, the feeling of his palm against your throat when you swallow heavenly. He uses his grip to pull you close, until your nose brushes his. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, fucking up into you while he stares you down angrily.

“You know better than that,” he hisses. 

You start to shake over him, your desire mounting. “I-”

“You do know better, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dangerously even. His eyes burn with anger. “Why are you acting like that? You told me you were smart.” His voice shakes a little, and you can see him struggling to keep up – his cheeks flush and his ears burn red, and he’s starting to pant, broken in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“I am,” you whisper, a bit whiny now. “I am smart – you’re just too confusing.”

The anger in his eyes solidifies into something worse. Something cruel and wicked.

“Then stop trying so fucking hard,” he snarls, slamming his hips up into you. You dig your nails into his shoulders, his sharp inhale clear in your ears. “Stop trying to figure this out.”

You shake your head hard. “I won’t. I can’t-”

“Oh, you can’t?” He mocks, and the edge in his voice kicks and shoves you right to your orgasm. “You won’t, is that it? Even though I just told you I’m not doing this on purpose?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The idea that Akaashi’s just as affected as you are – just as much a victim to whatever this is as you are – fills you with a terrifying feeling. A feeling close to freedom, close to something that makes you want to throw everything away and give in to him. Because it’s not his fault, either, then. Because – if he’s not doing this intentionally – then there’s no one to blame.

And if there’s no one to blame, then you’re going to stop fighting the way you feel around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open without your permission. Cyan stares back.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” He’s breathless and frustrated, searching your face. “Look at me.” His eyes are filled with emotion – that same caution you feel, not wanting to give into this if you’re not going to give in with him. His grip tightens on your throat, and he pulls you close, whispering into the breath of space between your lips.

“You know me better than that.”

When he falls, he takes you with him. And, as much as you want to fight it – kicking and screaming – you don’t. 

You just wrap yourself around him and fall.

[banmitbandit]

Pots 'N' Picks Week 2024: Day 7: Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner/Snacks/Dessert/Family/Goodbye

[Dungeon Meshi spoilers (with a big amount of canon divergence) and a long, long caption beneath the Keep Reading]

November 20th, 1484 Dear Senshi, It's been a little over eighty two years since you've been gone. In that time, Merrywinn, the newborn baby you held in your arms days before you passed, became a great-great-grandmother, and her funeral last week was as rancorous as every other half-foot funeral we attended. Soon, it will be my one thousandth birthday, and I can only hope that, like you and Marcille, that's when this curse will finally be lifted, and I can see you again. If that's true, then that means I'm the beginning of an end. Instead of twenty one years, Laios will only have to wait three until he dies after me, and Falin will only have to wait three after that. In twelve years from now, Izutsumi will pass on too, and the six of us will get to share a meal together once again. I've missed your cooking, sure, but most importantly, I've missed you. Do you remember when we first shared that bottle of wine in my new house in Kahka Brud, over nine hundred years ago, before we had the slightest idea that something was wrong? I told you that I didn't want to make you feel the way I felt when Fayfinn left me. You said you didn't care, that it was worth whatever small amount of time you had me. Obviously, it turned out that fate had different plans for us, that the Winged Lion had cursed Marcille too, that we'd each live as long as she would. It's been hard, but since then, you've been there for me every step of the way. When Fayfinn passed, when my girls passed, when their children passed, and theirs too. You've been there for everything, and I'm thankful for it, from the bottom of my heart. I knew I wouldn't be prepared to lose you, and I wasn't. But no matter how much I hurt, Izutsumi was worse, even if she'd never admit it, and I had to be strong for her, too. She's strong and independent, just like she's always been, since the day we met her, but you were the closest thing to a father she ever had. She loved you, Senshi. She said so herself at your funeral. I just hope she doesn't miss me enough to cry at mine. I don't care what dwarves or tallmen or elves think, you and I both know funerals are supposed to be celebrations. Fun is in the name, isn't it? I haven't been okay in a long time, but these days, I feel somewhat peaceful. I have lived my life to the fullest, like any good half-foot should. My birthday gets nearer and nearer with each passing day. Tomorrow, Lochlee, Merrywinn's great-grandson, is helping me collect my things so that I can return to Merini for Laios and Falin's birthday in a few days, and I plan to stay there at the castle until my time is up. I've packed the cheesecake recipe you perfected, and I'm going to sneak it to the cooks whilst Laios isn't looking. I'm sure he'll end up eating yours and Marcille's portions too, but I know you won't mind. After that, it's Marcille's birthday. Then Izutsumi's. Then mine. I'm looking forward to it; like funerals, birthdays are for celebrating. Even elves know that. I can't wait to see you again, Senshi. Yours, -Chilchuck Tims

An AU I proposed back in the Chilshi Nation server a while ago seemed to be a good way to break my heart when rounding off Chilshi week. A lot of people bring up the tragedy of Chilchuck and Senshi's lifespans being so different, and it makes me wonder what it would be like if Marcille's misguided wish had long term consequences.

This wasn't intended to be seven pages long with the lyrics to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri shoved in, but that's what it ended up being. The song seemed a little too perfect not to include.

All of my Chilshi posts were drawn up on the day, and I used them mostly as an excuse to experiment, whether it be posing, body types, shading, comic layouts... My later entries got to be a little more ambitious with what I wanted to do with them, so they're maybe not as polished as I would like them to be, but I hope you can enjoy them anyways.

Whilst I'm here, I'd like to extend a special thankyou to @dumblilracoon for dealing with my awful brainstorming and struggling all week. Couldn't have done this without you. And of course, the Chilshi Nation discord server for being so lovely! :)

If you reblogged or liked or commented on even one of my Chilshi week posts, thankyou so much! Chilshi week has been a blast and working on it and seeing all the lovely art and writing that's come up from it has been a treat.

Happy Chilshi Week, everybody!

[cosmopretty]

The World Went Quiet

Kamora Arnold x Fem

Synopsis: Your girlfriend KK of almost three years plans to marry you, surprise you with a ring. What happens after she gets the ring?

A part of you always knew you would marry a girl in the future, and KK made your dream of marrying a woman come true. Though you guys aren’t married yet, she always hinted at it, a ring.

The two of you were perfect for each other, always matching each other’s personality. Everyone could tell you both were head of heels in love with each other, her teammates, her family, her friends, the media. You loved KK more than anything and you couldn’t imagine ever not being with her, she made you whole.

It was as if the two of you were intertwined with one another, always knowing how each other felt without any words needing to be said. She made you who you are, she cared about you more than anyone ever has before. And you made her who she is, KK dreamed of marrying you, making a family with you, it’s all she wanted.

Today was the day, KK told herself over and over this morning. You were asleep on her bed, while she makes breakfast for the both of you trying to calm her nerves, today was the day.

She breathes out a long breath putting the plate of pancakes down before walking to your room. Bending down infront of the bed she admires you for a moment, her hand coming to brush some of your hair from your face. Tapping your cheek slightly with her fingers “Wake up baby” she tells you shaking your should softly. Opening your eyes you squint at her groaning a bit, moving to sit up on the bed.

“Morning K” you yawn wrapping your arms around her shoulders, trying to pull her on top of you. She smiles into your shoulder the feelings of worry passing away when she was in your arms.

Shaking her head KK pulls away from you “I made breakfast come on” she grabs both your hands pulling you up.

Stepping on the floor letting go of her, you run into the bathroom quickly brushing your teeth, before meeting KK in the kitchen. You gasp “You made pancakes? I love you so much” you say dramatically, kissing her cheek.

KK blushes, you could still make her blush doing barely a thing, even after over two years of being together. The two of you eat, joking around with each other just enjoying the peace between the two of you. Finishing up her plate KK puts it in the sink “I’m going to the gym, after I’m coming to pick you and we’re going to your favorite lunch spot” she tells you walking up to you.

Confused you furrow your brows “Why? Not that I’m complaining, or anything but is something special happening today?” you ask her. She shrugs a sneaky smile playing on her lips “Maybe yes maybe no” she tells your planting a kiss on your lips. The kiss last for longer than expected your hands on her waist pulling her closer, her hands on your cheeks, it felt like a goodbye kiss but it wasn’t.

“I love you so much KK” you tell her after pulling away from the kiss, your noses touching. Neither of you wanted to pull away “I love you so much more you have no idea baby” she plants another short and sweet kiss on your lips before grabbing her phone and bag. Walking to the door she smiles at you once more before leaving, that KK smile that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

Ending up at the jewelry store Kamora looks around at all the rings behind the glass. She knew exactly what you wanted, always listening to your every word. The shop keeper comes over “Is there anything you would like?” the old man asks her.

Pointing to the engagement ring she knew was perfect for you “That please” KK smiles at him, her heart beating through her chest. The shop keeper opens up the glass before grabbing it handing to the girl to look at. Immediately once the ring was in her hands she felt it was perfect.

She hands it back to the shop keeping before walking down to the register to pay for the ring. While she waits two men walk into the shop looking around, while KK paid them no mind, they did to her. The keeper comes back “Cash or card miss?” he asks her looking over at the two men for a moment.

KK hands him her card “It’s a beautiful ring, I’m sure your soon be fiancée will love it. It’s very rare and worth a lot not to mention its beauty” the shop keepers hands her the card back with the ring, in a beautiful black box. KK nods smiling “I hope she does thank you, have a good day” she says before walking out the door not noting the eyes of the two men behind her.

They follow her down to her car, KK too busy on her phone texting Paige about the ring, and how nervous she was to notice. One of the men grab her arm turning her around his hand in his pocket. The other tries to grab the ring “Yo get off me” KK says over and over trying to get of his grip. They ignore her “Just give us the ring and all your cash and we’ll let you go” the one holding her says his hand not leaving his pocket.

KK shakes her head no “Just let me go come on” she shakes in his grip, not noticing they have been dragging her to an alleyway. The dude groans trying to grab the ring but KK wouldn’t let go, with all her strength she held onto the ring for you.

Soon enough someone starts to notice the altercation in the alleyway and yells. One of the men groan “Fuck man she saw our faces what do we do?” he asks scared. The other one takes his hand out of his pocket, while the person screams again threatening to call 911, a gunshot goes off.

-

You sit with Paige, Azzi and Ice in the living room waiting for KK to come pick you up. While Paige smiles on her phone the whole time sneaking glances at you. You groan “Paige what’s going on? You’re being weirder than usual.” you ask her standing up and walking in front of her trying to grab the phone.

Paige stands up holding the phone above her head “Nuh uh, it’s a secret it’s not bad don’t you worry” she says raises her brows at you. You open your mouth to talk before your phone starts ringing. Pointing your finger at you you shake your head “This is not over” you squint your eyes at her before answering your phone a smile on your face.

“Hello? Who is this?” You ask looking at the random number the person on the other line asks “Is this Y/N Y/L?” they ask. You nod confused “Yes this is she” you state before hearing his next words, the smile drops from your face and you loose your grip from your phone, dropping it to the ground.

Azzi stands up grabbing your shoulder “What happened? What’s wrong?” she asks you all three of the girls standing up now.

Your hands shake as you breathe heavily “I don’t-“ your voice gets caught into your throat.

“I need the keys- KK- we gotta- she’s” you can’t finish any of your words your voice stuttering, hands shaking in the air. Azzi’s hands squeeze your shoulders “Breathe child” she says scared herself from your reaction.

“KK’s in the hospital” your voice cracks as you let out a sob grabbing the keys from your bag running out of the house with the three girls behind you. Ice grabs the keys from you and starts driving, all four of you terrified out of your minds, not knowing what is going on.

Paige looks back at you from the front seat, your head buried in Azzi’s chests as your cry, the older girl trying to comfort you and herself. Azzi looks up at Paige who had tears in her eyes “Did they say anything else about KK? Come on talk please” Paige asks begging you.

Shaking your head you move away from Azzi wiping your tears “No I di-didn’t hear it, everything went quiet-I don’t kn-know” you get out before burring your head in your hands. Ice’s hand squeeze around the wheels her knuckles turning white. Paige notices and grabs her shoulder “I’m sure she’s fine guys it’s KK she probably fell making a TikTok or something” the blonde says blaming everyone down.

She was right you all just assumed the worse without thinking straight. Parking the car, you four rush out and into the hospital maneuvering your way through the people to the desk.

“I’m look-looking for Kamora Arnold I was told something happened. Can someone tell me please? Where is she?” You ask the nurse sitting behind the desk. She types on her computer “Yes sit down she’s with the doctors they will be with you in a moment” the nurse tells you all.

You frown “That’s it? What the hell happened to her? Is she okay? Tell me” you demand yelling at the nurse before Azzi grabs you dragging you down to sit while Ice apologized for your behavior. Sitting down your knee bounces up and down hands shaking, every second felt like hours.

All you could think about was her smile, her laugh, the two of you this morning. Nothing could happen to her, you couldn’t loose her, no one could. You told yourself that over and over until a doctor says her name. Your head snaps up “Yes? What happened is she okay?” you ask standing up, in front of the doctor.

He sighs “Sit down please” he says your heart dropping to your stomach. You shake your head “No- no” your voice cracks.

You knew she was gone, before he even said it, as he talked to you and the girls. You didn’t hear a word he said. Your ears ringing, your mind racing every single thing KK has done flashing through your mind. Tears stream down your face and fall into the chair next to him. The girl you loved was gone.

“Which one of you is Y/N?” He asks frowning slightly, your ears still ringing stop, everything going quiet as you look up at him.

Biting your lip “I am” your voice cracks as you speak, wiping your tears that wouldn’t stop flowing down your cheeks. He goes in his pocket pulling out a small black box “She didn’t let go of this the whole time she was here. She said it was yours, we had to pry it from her hands even with the gunshot wound all her strength went to hold onto this. I’m so sorry for your loss” he tells you handing you the box before walking away.

Your mouth quivers as you open it, a sob escaping your lips when you see the ring. The same ring you talked about endlessly, your dream ring, perfect down to the last detail.

Nothing would ever be the same after this day, the girl everyone loved, the girl everyone made laugh was gone.

The girl you loved, who made every day seem like a dream, the girl who became an apart of you was gone. And just like that it was quiet.

It was never quiet with KK, and now it was, it felt as a piece of you died. The ring sits in your hands the last piece you have of her, the ring that lead to her death. The ring that she wouldn’t let go of, the ring that showed all her love for you, the ring that she held even with her last breath.

The world went quiet.

This is for @findbcndo I’m so so so so so so so so sorry I got this idea and couldn’t let it go

I WILL PERSONALLY PAY FOR EVERYONES THERAPY

MY NEXT FIC WILL BE HAPPY I SWEAR

[gashinabts]

Me and My Husband | (m)

Word 4.k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst, smut

Warnings: smut, explicit sex

a/n: sorry I have been hiatus, I’ve been busy and I had writers block 😭hopefully I’ll write more fics

You don’t want to brag but you have the world’s greatest husband. Jungkook packs your lunch everyday, and makes cute shapes with the fruit. There’s even a little note, ‘ Have a good day at work, Baby! <3’. Smiling to yourself you place the note down, and eat your food with content.

Your new coworker, Mina, sits down next to you in the break room, sighing and drinks her energy drink. “ I swear men are the most lazy specimen,” she chugs the rest of her drink. “ I asked my husband to pick up the kids from school and he said he was too tired from work. I’m tired too but I still have responsibilities to do,” she groans. You don’t what to say, you just give her a meek smile and offer her a gimbap.

Mina takes a bite and hums in delight, “ How do you even have time to pack your lunch since you have morning shift. Did you make it at night?” She asked in curiosity.

“ My husband wakes up early and makes it for me. He also makes me breakfast too,” you shrug. Jungkook wakes up an hour earlier than you, first he kisses you and tells you have an hour left of sleep left. Then he works out sometimes lifting weights or running around the neighborhood. After that he packs your lunch and makes you breakfast.

Mina eyes widened in shock. “ Wait till you get over the honeymoon stage,” she laughs poking her elbow to your arm. “ How long have you been married? Six months?”

Shaking your head you laugh, while pulling your phone to show her your family picture. “ Almost nine years, we have two kids. My oldest six years old and my baby is three years old.”

Mina is even more shock, “ And that’s your husband. I don’t want to cross a line but he’s hot,” she points at your husband. Jungkook is wearing a black t-shirt and displaying his tattoos, and his jeans hug his thighs in the right places. “ He is hot and makes you breakfast and packs your lunch.” She groans, she is wondering what she has done in her past life to not have a perfect husband like yours.

You chuckle, “ Yeah, he’s the best.” Feeling gleeful that you have him in your life. You don’t want to go into details that he also cooks dinner and cleans the house while taking care of your kids because you were sure she would pass out.

…

You enter your house and see your husband making dinner with Soobin. Walking towards them, Soobin immediately senses you. Turning around shouting Mommy. “ How are my babies?” You kiss Soobin on the cheek and he makes grabby hands, and you carry him easily. Nuzzling into his chubby cheeks and peppering kisses and putting him back down so he can carry on to helping his dad.

Jungkook smiles and stops cooking, immediately giving you a welcome home kiss on the lips. His hands are on your hips, “ We are good, Hyrei is taking a nap. Soobin wanted to help me out and we are almost finish with dinner,” Jungkook kisses you more and you wrap your hands over his shoulder, basking in his attention.

It stops all too soon when Soobin tugs on Jungkooks shirt. “ Daddy, we need to finish.” He pouts and you laugh because he looks just like Jungkook when he gets upset.

“ Sorry, I was giving Mommy kisses because I miss her,” Jungkook explains to him and ruffles his hair. Jungkook pecks your lips one last time and playfully smacks your butt. “ Take a shower, dinner should be ready by then.”

Nodding you listen to his directions and head up to take a shower. Feeling refreshed out of the shower you walk to drawer picking your cutest lingerie set then wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants over it. Hurriedly, you walk down stairs as you hear Soobin calling for you. Jungkook is setting the food on table and you are greeted with Hyeri on her high chair waiting patiently to be served. Hyeri doe eyes look at you and she immediately smiles and calls for you. You talk to her asking about her day and she lets out a few words still getting the grasp of speaking in full sentences. Soobin sits on your lap wanting your attention as well, and you ask about school. And he excitedly explains in detail about it. “ Thank you, baby,” you kiss Jungkook’s cheek when he serves your plate. There’s a lot of laughter at the table and you enjoy talking with your family.

After dinner you set the kids in the living room and put on cartoons for them so you can help Jungkook clean the kitchen while talking to him. “ How was work, love?” Jungkook ask as he cleans the dishes, while you are cleaning up the mess Hyeri made. He loves hearing you talk about work because you are passionate about it.

“ It was really good. One of my old patients who is about Soobin’s age come to visit me. He’s walking and running now. He gave me a hand written card. And told me I was his hero,” you smile. The faucet turns off and Jungkook turns around tells you to come over. “ Yes?”

Jungkook hands are on your cheek caressing it, “ You’re amazing, you know that?” You roll your eyes, flustered at his compliment. “ I’m serious Y/n. You’re kind, smart, and beautiful. And you saved so many children’s lives. I’m really grateful to have you as my wife.” You hide in his neck not wanting him to see your flushed cheeks. He chuckles at your actions because it is similar to Hyeri’s body language when calls her ‘pretty girl’.

“ Jungkook I—” you were going to tell him that appreciate him more but all you can hear was Soobin screaming in pain. Immediately, you both run to the living room and see Soobin crying holding up his finger. “ Soobin, what happened?” You asked but he keeps crying loudly. Skillfully you examine his finger and see no bleeding just a faint red mark. You see the toy car next to him and you assume what happened. Soobin calms down sniffling now, “ Did you pinch your finger with the car?” He nods at your question. Jungkook sighs in relief and wiping Soobin tears.

…

“ The babies are asleep,” you say as you enter the bedroom and Jungkook is on the bed waiting for you. You pull your shirt off and toss it on the floor along with your sweats and Jungkook smirks when he sees your lilac lingerie set. “ Do you like it?” You ask already knowing the answer and you sit on his lap.

“ Fuck yeah,” Jungkook looks at your tits and nuzzles into them. He get lost in them he loves the warmth and how it smells like honey and lavender. Your nails caress his hair and he groans immediately getting hard from the sight of you. “ So damn sexy,” his hands land on your hips massaging as he gets closer to your ass. Desperately wanting to be inside, Jungkook fingers trail to your front of your lace panties seeking your wetness. He is always desperate with you, it is not like you guys don’t have sex regularly. Just yesterday you guys fucked in the laundry room, he had to stuff your mouth panties so you wouldn’t wake up your kids from their nap.

Jungkook leaves open mouth kisses on the swell of your tits, sucking marks on them. You grind on Jungkook’s hand as he pushes your panties to the side and rubs your wetness. He focuses on your clit and you whimper. After a few more minutes of heavy petting you beg Jungkook insert his finger since he was teasing you so much. Jungkooks skillfully fingers and your trying your best to contain to your moans. “ Jungkook wait…” Jungkook stops and ask you what’s wrong. “ I want to ride you,” you whisper pushing more against the head board.

He pulls his shirt off and your hands touch his pecks and his abs. You notice that he has gained more muscle. “ Gonna ride me good, baby?” Jungkook ask.

“ Yeah, I want to make you come hard,” your hand pump his cock and you make marks on his neck. Wanting to show people that he is all yours. Jungkook stifles a groan tossing his back as you touch his sensitive tip. You give him one last kiss on the lips before turning around so your back is now facing him. His hands are drawn to your ass fondling them and you chuckle because he is both an ass and tits guy. Pushing your panties the side, Jungkook helps you by inserting his cock in and you guys both moan as you slide down hard. Not wanting to waste time you ride him like a pro never stopping for breaks.

Jungkook continuously curses as you squeeze him tight, his hands spreading your cheeks loving the way you cream on his cock. He slaps your ass and you clench harder in pleasure. “ Riding me so good, baby,” Jungkook slaps another time the rubbing it to soothe the pain. You whine wanting more but you had to keep quiet because you didn’t want to wake anyone up.

“ You feel so good. I can feel you so deep,” you whisper. Grinding now because your thighs are little sore. You one of his hands from your ass to your navel, “ Can you feel it? I love it when your so deep in me,” you tell him, softly moaning.

Once Jungkook heard those words something came over him, he loved hearing you dirty talk. But his hand feeling your soft stomach and the imprint of his cock is making him go crazy. His actions taking control of him he thrust upwards and holding your hips in place fucking you to oblivion. Your eyes roll back and you cry into your palms muffling your moans. Overwhelmed with pleasure you come hard on his cock. “ Come for me, daddy,” you let out breathlessly. “ Want your come in me.”

Jungkook moans your name, pumping a couple times before coming inside. He holds you tight against his chest, peppering a couple kisses on your nape. Both of you breathless not saying anything. He leaves more kisses on your back. “ Jungkook, I love you,” you say just above a whisper.

“ I love you too,” Jungkook softy whispers. He pulls out and switches your body so you’re now facing him.

“ No, like I really love you,” you tell truthfully. Jungkook looks at you with doe eyes and you gleam holding his cheeks, peppering kisses everywhere on his face. “ You are my favorite person in the whole world. And I appreciate everything you do for us,” you kiss his lips.

“ Thank you, Y/n. I appreciate you too,” Jungkook smiles. He kisses you back and his hands trail your back and unlatches your bra taking it off. “ Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” he gently pushes you back on the bed.

…

Jungkook groans as Soobin jumps on him waking him up, “ Mommy said to wake you up,” Soobin says playing with his father’s fluffy hair. Jungkook carries Soobin and enter the kitchen to see you cooking pancakes. Placing Soobin down he eats his pancakes and gives Hyeri the banana slices. “ Morning,” Jungkook kisses your lips and he tries to kiss you more but you push him off laughing. “ I’m don’t want to burn anymore pancakes,” you say.

You serve him his plate with extra bacon, “ These are yours. They are protein pancakes,” Jungkook hums happily eating his plate and you eat your own as you feed Hyeri more pancakes. “ Such a good girl. Eating all your food,” you coo at Hyeri. Jungkook admires the way you look with your hair in a bun and your wearing his big t-shirt.

Jungkook gulps before he says the next words, “ My mom says we should visit her soon,” he notices your hands halter and you turn to look at him. Jungkooks looks nervous because he knows how you feel about his mom. And there’s always an argument regarding about his mother.

“ Yeah she hasn’t seen Soobin and Hyeri in awhile we could drop them off,” you shrug and drink your orange juice. Soobin looks at you because his name is mentioned. Your hands brush his soft hair, “ Want to see grandma, lovebug?” Soobin smiles and excitedly says yes.

He wants you guys to have a good relationship. “ She wants to see us too. That’s including you Y/n,” Jungkook says.

“ Why would she want to see me? She hates me,” you turn your head around and crossing your arms. You don’t have the best relationship with her. You guys always end butting heads and she disapproves of you working and Jungkook being a stay home dad. It is not like you forced him to do that. It just conveniently worked out that way. Jungkook was more than happy enough to be a stay at home dad.

Actually you think she hated you the moment Jungkook introduced you to her. When you and Jungkook started dating in college, you would sometimes spend the night at his apartment. So when she did her occasional visits to give her son more banchan she found you and Jungkook naked in bed she was not mad at her son but at you because you corrupted him. Even though Jungkook had several past girlfriends before you.

“ She hates you?,” Soobin ask loudly in shock. You want to laugh because he’s nosy wanting to hear the drama but you’re too upset to laugh.

“ Y/n,” Jungkook gives you look because you weren’t careful with your words around Soobin. “ And Soobin since you are finished eating…” Jungkook takes Hyeri out of the high chair setting her down. “ Go play with your sister outside.”

You wait for them to leave so you can return to the conversation. “ Jungkook anyone can tell that she hates. She always berates me when I do anything.” You thought that things would be easier with her since you and Jungkook get married but it hasn’t.

“ My mom promised me that she wasn’t going to pick a fight with you. And I told her that if she did that I would call her out and leave right away,” Jungkook explains. You want to bang your head on the table because Jungkook is a little bit of a mama’s boy. That’s the only fault he has, that he always defends his mother like she is a saint. “ Please baby, for me” Jungkook begs you, pouting like Soobin.

“ Ugh, fine,” you get up putting your things in the sink not having the appetite. “ When are we going to see her?” You ask already dreading it.

Jungkook gets up hugging you from behind, trying to kiss your lips but you are stubborn continuing washing the dishes. He settles for your cheeks kissing them. “ Next weekend.” You mentally groan.

…

The day prior to visiting your in-laws you went to the butcher and asked for the best cut of beef and got a couple pounds of that. Along with expensive health vitamins because you know your father-in-law loves them. You still are dreading to go, Jungkook holds the groceries as you carry Hyerin and hold Soobin hand. The door immediately opens and your mother-in-law goes towards Jungkook hugging and kissing him. “ You look so thin! Are you not being fed?” And you want to roll your eyes because it sounds like a jab to you. She looks at you specifically.

Jungkook rubs your back in comfort. “ No…Mom I’ve been eating well, we all have,” Jungkook says.

She looks down and sees Soobin holding your hand and she picks him up. “ How’s my baby Soobin, I saw you last month but you gotten so big already,” She kisses him. Soobin explains to her that he has been eating a lot of rice and vegetables so that’s why he got so big.

Jungkook laughs and takes Soobin from her arms not wanting his mom’s back to hurt from carrying his weight. “ Look at Hyeri she’s gotten big too,” Jungkook points to Hyeri while she hides into your neck still shy.

“ Oh she is big and so pretty too like a flower! Come to grandma,” she immediately takes her from your arms. You follow inside the house and you hope it is not too long you guys have to stay here.

You play with your children outside as they chase the dog. Hyeri in your arms and your father-in-law talks about the crops with you. He says his growing tomatoes this season because he knows how much you and Soobin like tomatoes you smile thanking him. “ Y/n! I need your help bring Hyeri with you ! ” your mother-in-law calls from the inside the house. You look for Jungkook because you don’t trust yourself alone with her but he is preoccupied by fixing his Father’s garden tool.

“ Yes, mother, ” you ask while entering the kitchen.

“ Help me peel this,” she indicates to the vegetables on the counter.

You don’t mind helping but you don’t want Hyeri to be bored in the kitchen, “ Okay let me put Hyeri outside so she can play—”

“ No, she needs to learn how to prepare food for her husband,” she says sternly.

Your eye twitches because Hyeri is just a baby and she doesn’t need to worry about preparing food for her husband. You want to bite your tongue but you don’t, “ Okay let me bring Soobin, it’s not fair for Hyeri to just prepare food. He also needs to learn how prepare food for his husband or wife,” you say.

Her eyes widen, “ Y/n don’t you ever say stuff like that!” You don’t know which part got her mad. Soobin learning how to prepare food or that you don’t think heteronormative. She looks very angry and you don’t want to get into another fight.

“ Okay, fine. I’m sorry. We will help you cook.” You’ll apologize to Hyeri when she gets older, when she realizes why she could she never play with her brother at her grandma’s house. You help cook dinner and she tsk at you couple times when you don’t expertly cut vegetables like her. Hyeri looks at you cook and you give her piece of carrot to chew on.

Dinner is finally ready and you set the table, and your father-in-law takes a bite of the meat and exclaims. “ Y/n, this is really good ! You know how to pick out high quality,” he tells you. Soobin is on his lap and he feeds him as well. “ How’s work? I always brag to my friends that my daughter is the best pediatric surgeon,” he says.

You laugh, “ Works been really good. I recently did heart surgery on an five year old, it was successful.” You say happily.

Jungkook smiles rubbing your shoulder, “ That’s my girl.”

“ So when do you plan on quitting and staying at home with your children? Jungkook also went to university and got his degree. He should not have to let his degree go to waste,” your mother-in-law speaks condescending.

“ Mom we talked about this,” Jungkook says. “ Y/n and I agreed that she will work and I will take care of the kids. Plus I love spending all day with children. Once both of the kids enter primary school I’ll look into my career.”

“ What about Soobin and Hyeri they are going to be confused,” she explains more.

You are getting frustrated. “ Then I’ll explain to them that there’s nothing wrong about breaking gender norms,” you say.

“ I hope Hyeri isn’t going to be like you. You are headstrong—”

Jungkook interrupts, eyebrows furrowed, “ Mom—”

“ Well then fine. I’ll teach her to be the ‘ perfect woman’. She’ll serve her husband and make sure his food is ready at a certain time. Education? Why would she need it if shes just going to be cleaning and obeying her husbands order,” you say sarcastically state getting up from your seat and walking towards outside. You hear them call your name but you ignore them seeking silence. You watch the stars outside and sniffle a little. Not wanting to let your emotions come over you.

Jungkook looks at his mother in disappointment, “ Y/n is my everything and I don’t appreciate you talking to her like that. She’s works hard at everything she does and I look up to her. I hope Hyeri becomes just like her,” Jungkook says in a stern voice. He walks out to talk to you and notices your slumped shoulders.

“ Y/n,” Jungkook gently calls your name, his hands are carefully placed on your shoulder. “ I’m sorry. Let’s go home,” he says hugging you. You don’t know why he’s apologizing maybe because he put you in this situation in the first place. You bid your goodbyes bowing in apology for letting your anger get out of control. You and Jungkook don’t talk for the rest of the way home. You don’t feel like talking anyways, too exhausted mentally.

…

You feel someone gently rubbing your arm and you wake up. Jungkook gives you small smile, “ Good morning, love.” Rubbing your eyes you look at the alarm clock and see that it’s eleven o’clock. Your head is still pounding from the after effects of yesterday.

You try getting up quickly but Jungkook calms you down. “ Shit, I woke up late. I’m sorry you were supposed to rest on the weekends,” you groan. On the weekends you make breakfast giving Jungkook a break from cooking and getting the kids ready for the day.

“ Don’t apologize. You’re fine. Kids are already fed and playing outside.” Jungkook kisses your forehead. “ About yesterday…” he caresses your hair.

You close your eyes briefly before speaking, “ I’m sorry. I overreacted and I know you’re mom is old fashioned—”

“ No you didn’t overreact. You were standing up for yourself. Being old fashioned doesn’t give her any reason to be rude to you,” Jungkook speaks softly. “ And if any of our children become like you, I would be very happy because you are wonderful person.” You’re in shock because he usually makes excuses for his mom but not this time.

“ Thank you,” you say in a whisper. Leaning up you kiss him softly immediately feeling better. Pulling his arms, you grab him so he can lay with you on the bed. He chuckles when you scoot closer to him, your face in his neck nuzzling into him. “ And if anytime you want to go back to work just tell me. We can put the kids in day care or I can take a break…”

“ I love taking care of our children. I rather take care of them sending them to daycare. Plus, I get to make my lovely wife food,” Jungkook says trailing his fingertips on your back. “ I got it all under control and I think I’m the best house husband,” Jungkook cockily states.

Laughing you pull away staring at his face, he has a cute smirk on and you kiss it. “ And the hottest,” you add on.

“ Wow out of all the amazing qualities I have you only compliment me on my hotness,” Jungkook playfully speaks.

“ And you have the biggest cock,” you cough, “ I mean biggest heart.” His hands immediately pinched your butt and you yelp loudly then laughing.

His hands grab your ass squeezing them roughly, “ Just wait till the kids are asleep. Imma destroy that pretty mouth of yours,” Jungkook says lowly. In the mood you go to kiss him and Jungkook can immediately tell by the way your eyes darken. But he gets up immediately, “ Nope not right, I promised Soobin to play dragon versus knight.”

You get up stretching and looking outside from the window. The weather is nice and you want to play with them too, “I’ll join you guys,” you ask as you put on your shorts. Jungkook holds your hand as you guys walk out to the fresh air.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Kamala Harris herself has now borrowed Walz’s lingo and is also calling her opponents “weird”, while Walz is all over our television screens, bolstering the vice-president’s candidacy and playing “attack dog” against the Trump/Vance Republican ticket. I’ll be honest: last month, I would have struggled to pick Walz out of a lineup. This month? I’m Walz-pilled. I have watched dozens of his interviews and clips. And I’m far from alone. He has an army of new fans across the liberal-left: from former Bernie Sanders 2020 campaign co-chair Nina Turner, to one-time Democratic congressman Beto O’Rourke, to gun-control activist David Hogg. “In less than 6 days, I went from not knowing who Tim Walz is,” joked writer Travis Helwig on X, “to deep down believing that if he doesn’t get the VP nod I will storm the capitol.” According to Bloomberg, the Harris campaign has narrowed down its “top tier” of potential running mates to three “white guy” candidates: Walz (hurrah!), plus the Arizona senator Mark Kelly and Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro. Both Kelly and Shapiro have their strengths – and both represent must-win states for the Dems. Allow me, however, to make the clear case for Walz. First, there’s his personality. The 60-year-old governor would bring energy, humor and some much-needed bite to the Democratic presidential ticket. There’s a reason why his videos have been going viral in recent days. Tim Kaine he ain’t. Pick the charismatic and eloquent Walz and you have America’s Fun Uncle ready to go. Then, there’s his résumé. A popular midwest governor from a rural town. A 24-year veteran of the army national guard. A high school teacher who coached the football team to its first state championship. It’s almost too perfect! Finally, there’s his governing record. You will struggle to find a Democratic governor who has achieved more than Walz in the space of a single legislative session. Not Shapiro. Not JB Pritzker of Illinois. Not even Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan. [...] Think about it. Democrats can have Tim Walz on the ticket, who called the anti-war, pro-Palestinian ‘uncommitted’ movement “civically engaged” and praised them for “asking for a change in course” and “for more pressure to be put on” the White House, or they can have Josh Shapiro, who called for a crackdown on anti-war, pro-Palestinian college protesters and even compared them to the KKK. They can have Walz on the ticket, who has reportedly “emerged among labor unions as a popular pick” after signing “into law a series of measures viewed as pro-worker” including banning non-compete agreements and expanding protections for Amazon warehouse workers, or they can have Mark Kelly, who opposed the pro-labor Pro Act in the Senate (but has since touted support for it). They can have Walz, who guaranteed students in Minnesota not just free breakfasts but free lunches, or Shapiro, who has courted controversy in Pennsylvania with his support for school vouchers. They can have Walz, who calls his Republican opponents “weird” and extreme, or Kelly, who calls his Republican opponents “good people” who are “working really hard”. This isn’t rocket science. Walz is the obvious choice. Not only is he the ideal “white guy” running mate for Harris, against both Trump and Vance, but he is already doing the job on television and online, lambasting Vance in particular over IVF treatment and insisting he mind his “own damn business”.

Zeteo News founder Mehdi Hasan for The Guardian on why picking Tim Walz as Kamala Harris's running mate is the best option (07.29.2024).

Zeteo News founder Mehdi Hasan wrote in The Guardian why Tim Walz should be Kamala Harris’s running mate. Hasan’s opinion piece is worth reading.

[loveesiren]

Doing It All For Us (Pt. 9)

Masterlist

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe and Y/n share the exciting news. But trouble is always right around the corner...

Warnings: Language, smut, pregnancy

Word Count: 4.7k+

You couldn't believe you waited this long to get help. You felt so happy. You were taking it easy, spending your time with Rafe and only Rafe. You knew you needed to talk to Topper and Kelce. Thank them and apologize. But for now, you just wanted to be with your love.

Rafe made you breakfast every morning. He made sure you took your meds and he re-bandaged your wrist every day. Every time he saw the stitches holding your skin together he frowned, but he'd swallow his feelings and remind himself that you're still here with him. Alive and happy.

"What color did you pick?" You giggle as he brushes eyeshadow onto your lids. He wanted to do your make up and you let him. Laying in his lap on the bathroom floor as he picked through three drawers of make up, not knowing what a single product is. You explained each item to him and he was fully invested in doing his best work.

"Purple," He replies. "I love purple on you."

You smile, keeping your eyes closed as he works. You relax at the feeling of the brushes moving across your skin.

You peak up at him as he works on gluing green rhinestones to your face. He was fully concentrated on what he was doing and it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

"Done!" He finally says. You jump up in excitement and look in the mirror.

"Holy shit, Rafe," You say, examining your face. "This looks amazing!" The emerald green rhinestones complimented the dark purple shimmer perfectly. Your cheeks were the perfect shade of pink, and a dark brown gloss on your lips tied it all together. He even contoured your face perfectly.

Rafe blushes. "You look beautiful," He says, pulling you to him and kissing your temple.

You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and staring up at him. "I've had such a nice time the last few days. Thank you."

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, savoring the cute smile that sat on your face. "I love being with you. I'm so happy you're home with me."

Rafe's phone rings, ruining the moment. He sighs.

You laugh, "Answer it, babe. I gotta put on setting spray so we don't lose this masterpiece." You wave around your face.

He smiles and reaches for his phone.

"Hello?"

You listen to Rafe talk as you spray your face, locking his artwork in place.

"I dunno, dude...I'll ask her." Rafe turns to look at you. "Do you want to go get lunch at the club? It's okay if not."

"Who's asking?

"Court, Kelce, and Top."

You smile. You've been holed up in your house since you got out of the hospital. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Rafe smiles at you. Happy you're ready to go out. "Yeah, we'll be there soon." He says into his phone before hanging up.

"You sure you're ready to go out, baby?" Rafe asks, wrapping his hands around your stomach.

Your breath hitches slightly. You still haven't told him. But the feeling of his hands over the life growing inside you makes you melt.

"Yeah, I need to see them." You say. "I need to apologize."

"No you don't, baby."

"I do, Rafe. I've put you guys through hell and it's not okay. I'm so so grateful to have you guys in my life but you guys don't deserve to witness what I've put you through."

You could see the water in Rafe's eyes as he looked away. He choked back his tears and pressed his lips to yours.

Rafe leads you outside, helping you into his truck. You smile as he drives towards the club. It was a beautiful day and you were with the person you loved most. The feeling of being sober was like a whole new high.

You started to get a little nervous when you saw Courtney, Topper, and Kelce standing outside the club.

Rafe reached for your hand after parking. "You sure you're okay?"

You nod and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your skin so softly you can barely feel him.

Rafe comes around and helps you out of his truck. He clung to your hand tightly as you approached your friends.

"Y/N!" Courtney squeals, running over to you and wrapping her arms around you.

"Hey, bitch!" You chuckle.

"Have you told him?" She whispers in your ear.

"Not yet," You respond. "Tonight."

Courtney pulls back from you and smiles as she takes you in. You're starting to look like your old self again.

"How are you feeling?" Topper asks as he approaches you, holding his arms out.

"I'm doing good, Top!" You say as you hug him tightly.

Kelce comes to you next, wrapping you in a hug. "You look amazing." He says.

"That's cuz of Rafe. He did my glam today," You chuckle as you motion to your make up.

"Shit, Rafe! You have skills!" Courtney says.

Rafe blushes and pulls you to his side.

You all head inside and make your way out to the deck. Rafe pulls your chair out for you and you sit right between him and Courtney.

JJ comes up to take your order but you couldn't be bothered, you were feeling too happy being with your friends again.

Kelce and Topper order Mai Tai's. You Rafe and Courtney order water.

"Completely clean now?" Kelce asks you.

"Taking a break from the alcohol and drugs. Focusing on what's important." You say, glancing at Rafe. He smiled back at you, fiddling with his ear.

Courtney tries to hide a smirk, her being the only one that knows your little secret.

JJ brings your drinks back and you all order food. Topper and Kelce giving him attitude as usual.

When he walks off you take your opportunity. "So listen," You begin. "I just wanted to first of all thank you guys for being there for me during a really hard time. You guys have saved my life on multiple occasions and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that."

"We're always here for you." Topper says. You can feel Rafe's fingers trail over your skin as he listens to you.

"I also want to say sorry. I'm so sorry I've put you guys through this trauma."

"Y/N-" Kelce begins.

You raise a hand to him and cut him off. "You guys shouldn't have had to see all that. I'm so grateful for all of you and I'm so sorry. I'm going to do better." You promise.

Rafe tightens his grip on you. Courtney looks semi-sad but grateful for your apology. Topper and Kelce smile at you.

"We're here for you no matter what," Topper says. "We're just really glad you're okay."

You smile at them, thankful to have them in your life.

JJ brings your food out and the rest of lunch consists of you all eating and joking around. You were laughing harder than you have in months. You fully enjoyed experiencing you friendships sober.

You hold Rafe and Courtney's hands as you walk out of the club.

"You guys wanna go to a party tonight?" Kelce asks when you're all outside.

You cling tightly to Rafe, hoping he knows how to respond.

"No, I think we're gonna stay in tonight," He says, rubbing your back.

"You guys have stayed in all week," Topper groans.

"Next time, Top." You promise. "Rafe and I have business to attend to."

Kelce makes gagging sounds, earning a laugh from Courtney. Topper just rolls his eyes.

You turn to Courtney and hug her tightly. "Let me know how it goes," She whispers to you.

You nod with a smile before giving Topper and Kelce their hugs. You wave goodbye as you and Rafe walk back to his truck.

Once you're both inside, Rafe looks over at you with a goofy grin.

"What?" You giggle.

"I just love you so much."

"I love you right back!" You smile, giving him a kiss. "Take me home. I wasn't joking about that business." You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

Rafe bites his lip and smiles. Fully ready to spend the rest of the day inside of you.

"Wanna take a bath?" You ask as you both climb out of the truck.

"Absolutely I do," He says with a shit-eating grin. You can't help but smile back at him.

Rafe follows you up the stairs, unable to keep his hands off you. You head to the bathroom and turn on the water in your giant tub. You add lavender bubbles and some bath salts. God knows you can't take a bath without them.

"Can you make some tea, baby?" You ask Rafe.

"Of course, my love." He replies, giving you a quick kiss and running downstairs.

You walk over to your bathroom speakers, hooking your phone up to bluetooth. You throw on Lund before stripping out of your clothes.

You step into the bathtub and let the water run over your skin as you lay back. You took a few deep breaths, knowing you had to tell Rafe about the baby. You were terrified.

"Here you go, my love." Rafe says as he sets a mug of tea down beside you.

"Thanks, baby,"

Rafe rids himself of his clothes and steps into the bath with you, sitting across from you. You grab his hand under the water and smile at him.

"So pretty," He gushes over you.

"You're pretty," You say, causing him to blush. Your favorite sight.

He pulls you too him and you swim over happily, straddling his lap. His hands move to your ass, rubbing over your skin hungrily. "How can I make you feel good, pretty girl?" He asks, placing kisses on your collar bone.

"You can do whatever you want to me in a minute, baby. First I have to talk to you about something."

Rafe leans back. Worry taking over his features. "What do you want to talk about, angel?"

You sigh and bite your lip. "Rafe...do you...do you ever want like-like a family?" You ask him.

"Only with you." He says without hesitation.

You take his hand and guide it to your stomach. Pressing it against your skin as you hold your hand over his.

He looks up at you with a puzzled expression.

"I'm pregnant, baby." You tell him softly unsure of how he'll react. "They told me in the hospital. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I was just so scared."

Rafe gripped your belly tighter. "You're pregnant?"

"Mhmm," You nod, biting your lip nervously.

"Like...like you're pregnant? Like...we are having a baby?" He asks.

"Uhm, yeah...if you want to." You tell him.

He snakes his hand around the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his, kissing you with more passion than he ever has before.

When you finally pull away to take a breath tears were falling from his eyes.

"We're having a baby!" He says excitedly, rubbing his hand over your stomach. "I can't believe it!"

You smiled, relaxing at the fact that he was so excited about it.

"My angel, you get more perfect every day. And now you're giving me a baby. I love you so fucking much." He says, beaming up at you.

You couldn't help but cry at his reaction. You had no words. You were ecstatic that he was excited about your baby.

You could feel him hard underneath you and you quickly bucked your hips up, grabbing his cock and lining it up at your entrance before sinking down onto him.

"Fuuuuck," He moans as he clings to your hips, resting his head against your chest as he helps you move up and down on his cock.

"You're going to be such a good dad," You tell him as he slides in and out of you.

"Say that again," He groans.

You lean down and whisper in his ear. "Such a good daddy, Rafe Cameron."

"I'll do anything for you and our baby, mama." He says, thrusting into you deeper.

"Fuck me from behind," You demand.

Rafe pulls you off of him and stands up, bringing you with him. He bends you over the side of the bathtub and thrusts into you again, holding you tightly to make sure you don't fall.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, loving the new angle of his cock thrusting in to you. He brings his hand around and rubs circles on your clit and you can feel yourself growing close.

"Pretty girl, anything you want, I'll give it to you. So amazing. Carrying our baby." He praises as he thrusts into you roughly. "You're everything I've ever dreamed of."

You reach your high, vibrating around his cock. "Fuck, Rafe!" You whine. He thrusts a few more times, exploding inside you.

"You're so fucking addicting," he pants as as he rests on your back.

"You make me feel so fucking good, Rafe." You mutter as you try to catch your breath.

"Come here, sweet angel." He says as he steps out of the tub and helps you out. "You need to rest."

Rafe helps you dry off and carries you to your bed. He lays beside you, running one hand through your hair while the other cups your stomach. You didn't have a baby bump yet but you both felt the little life growing inside you.

"I can't wait to meet our baby," Rafe whispers, nuzzling into your skin.

"I keep dreaming about him. He's gonna be a boy."

Rafe smiles up at you. "Any name ideas?"

You ponder for a moment and smile. "Do you know the meaning of your name, Rafe?"

"I do not," He admits.

"It means Wise Wolf. Or Counsel of the Wolf."

Rafe contemplates for a moment. "That's actually pretty cool."

You turn to face him. "So if it is a boy, like I think it is, let's name him Wolf."

Rafe smiles at you. "After me?"

"Of course. He'll be so strong and amazing just like his father." You praise.

Rafe blushes and bites his lip. "I like Wolf."

You smile at him as he runs his fingers through your hair. "We're gonna be parents,"

"Thank you," Rafe starts. "Thank you so much for choosing me."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"You chose me. To be your boyfriend. To take your virginity. And now you're choosing to have a family with me. I won't let you down. I won't let Wolf down."

You smile. "You're the best decision I've ever made."

-

You fiddle with dress, unhappy with the way it sat on your body. You had just gotten back from your doctors appointment. Two and a half months pregnant. How the hell had you been pregnant this long and not noticed?

The doctor told you everything was fine. That you were healthy and so was your child. But you couldn't help but cry at the fact that you put so many toxins into your body while your baby was growing inside you. You didn't know, but you would never forgive yourself for it.

"You look absolutely amazing." Rafe said as he entered your bathroom, snaking his arms around your torso and brushing his thumb over your belly. "Mama," He adds, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"I'm nervous, Rafe." You admit.

"I am too. But we have to tell them. We can't hide it forever."

Only Rafe and Courtney knew you were pregnant. Rafe didn't love the fact that Courtney found out before him, however, he understood. But today, today was the day you'd be telling his family.

You wore a white sun dress, white strappy wedges to match. Despite your heels, Rafe still towered over you.

"You ready, angel? We gotta get there before guests start arriving."

The Cameron's were having a barbecue. All the Kooks on the island were invited of course. You and Rafe decided this would be the best time to tell them because if they ended up being pissed, the guests arriving would have them distracted enough for the two of you to sneak off.

Your stomach was doing flips as you pulled into Tannyhill. You had no idea how Ward and Rose would react to this news. You glanced over at Rafe, noticing he was equally nervous.

"We're really doing this," You state, taking a deep breath.

"Yep," Rafe responds. "I think I'm gonna puke."

"Me too," You say.

Just then, Wheezie walks out front and spots you guys sitting in the truck. She throws her arms up as if to ask you guys why you're just sitting there. She motions for you to come inside.

"Guess that's our cue." You say with a shaky breath.

Rafe swallows before hopping out of the truck and coming over to help you out. He wraps his hand around your waist as you walk slowly towards the entrance.

"Why are you guys being so weird?" Wheezie asks.

"We're not, Wheeze." Rafe says, clinging to you tightly.

You all enter the house. You swear you were going to vomit in the foyer. When you enter the kitchen, Rose and Ward greet you excitedly. Sarah and John B sit at the island and scoff.

You ignore them. Clinging to Rafe as your nerves rise.

Ward and Rose both notice the RC that sat healed on your chest as well as the bandage that remained on your wrist. They swallowed their thoughts and forced a smile. They knew everything that had recently happened, Rafe coming home crying about it. It took hours for Rose and Ward to calm him down. But that was not to be discussed today.

"Are you two ready for tonight? We always love doing an end of summer barbecue." Rose says.

"We are. We actually wanted to talk to you guys first." Rafe says, swallowing his fear.

Wheezie looks up, focusing on you and Rafe now as she tucks her phone in her back pocket. Sarah and John B turn their attention to you as well.

"About what, son?" Ward asks, slight concern coating his features.

You were praying the earth would open and swallow you up. Anxiety taking over your body as you let Rafe take control of the situation.

"Uhm, Y/N and I..." Rafe begins. "We, uhm..."

All eyes were on you and you just wanted it out in the open.

"I'm pregnant," You blurt out before you could stop yourself.

"Uhm, yeah. That..." Rafe says, awkwardly placing his hand on your stomach.

Everyone's eyes were wide, completely surprised by this information.

Ward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry. The fact that his son impregnated Elliot Y/L/N's daughter. He could kiss that business deal goodbye.

John B and Sarah just stared at the two of you, wondering how the fuck you two psychos were going to be parents.

"Congratulations!" Wheezie broke out, running to give you a hug.

"Thanks, Wheeze!" You tell her. "We're really, really excited."

Your words seem to pull Ward from his disapproving demeanor. "Does your father know?" He asks you.

"Not yet. I'm going to write him."

Ward sighs again. "Rafe you-"

"Are going to be an amazing father." You cut Ward off, holding on tightly to Rafe and staring daggers at his father.

Ward cowered under your gaze. He had no idea what to think. He knew he needed to protect you and keep you safe while Elliot was away. But he was scared shitless of how Elliot would react to the news of his son getting you pregnant. He would find any reason to be disappointed in Rafe and you were going to put an end to that.

You stood up proudly, placing your hand over Rafe's on your stomach. From the second you found out you were pregnant, you were happy. Rafe is the only person you could picture having a life with and you felt honored to be carrying his child inside your body.

"Congratulations," Rose finally said, rounding the island pulling you both into a hug. "I can't wait to meet the little one." She gushes.

Ward shakes off any negative thoughts. He pulls you in for a hug and you accept hesitantly. "Congratulations, son." He says, pulling Rafe into a hug.

You smile, seeing how happy Rafe is at his dad's gesture.

"You guys seriously support this?" Sarah scoffs. "These two...psychopaths having a kid?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Sarah." Rafe hisses.

"I'm sorry I just think it's a little weird that two people who cut each other up and drink each others blood should be allowed to have kids."

You step forward but Rafe quickly pulls you back. "You're lucky I'm pregnant." You spit. You were going to have to get used to this. Not fighting.

"Sarah, stop!" Ward scolds her. "Either be happy for your brother or don't say anything at all."

Sarah scoffs. "Congratulations, fucking vampires." She says before pulling John B out of the room.

You swallow your anger and lean into Rafe. He holds you tightly, bringing a hand up to play with your hair.

"I apologize for her." Ward says. His face was still riddled with concern. But he was going to keep his mouth shut since you seemed to be so happy. It wasn't like you and Rafe couldn't afford a child. But Sarah was also right, you were crazy. But crazy in love and loyal to your pack. You'd protect Rafe and your baby at all costs.

People begin to knock on the door and Rose is quick to answer, inviting people inside and leading them out back.

Rafe sits you down at the kitchen table. "Let me get you some water, mama." He says.

You smile as he hands you a glass of water. "Should we tell Kelce and Top tonight?" You ask.

"If you're ready, baby girl." He responds, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You smile and nod. "I am. I'm so happy."

Rafe smiles, your words making him melt. All he wants to do is make you happy. He's never felt good enough, especially in his fathers eyes. He swore to himself he'd never make his child feel that way.

"Let's go get you something to eat, pretty girl." He says, helping you up and guiding you to the back yard.

He fixes you a plate of food before guiding you to one of the tables by the pool. "Here, baby, eat," He says, offering you some cheese and crackers.

"I'm not that hungry, babe." You tell him.

"Gotta eat, baby." He insists. "For you and Wolfy."

You smile at the nickname, accepting the food he's holding for you.

"You guys seriously make me gag," Topper says as him, Kelce, and Courtney approach where you're sitting, making themselves comfortable in the rest of the chairs at the table.

"Good to see you too," You chuckle.

"You okay?" Kelce asks, noticing your hand on your stomach.

"Yeah! I'm great! We actually uh...we have some news." You say with a smile.

Topper and Kelce look confused, glancing back and forth between you and Rafe. Courtney tried to hide her knowing smile.

You look at Rafe, urging him to be the one to tell them since you so lovingly did so for his parents.

"We're having a baby," Rafe says, smile wide on his face.

Topper chokes on his drink. You giggle as he attempts to catch his breath.

"You? You two are having a baby?" Kelce asks, jaw dropped as Courtney attempts to help Topper regain his breath.

"Mhmm," You nod. "I'm two and a half months. I had no idea..." You say, a tinge of sadness in your voice.

Rafe places a comforting hand on your leg. "We saw the doctor today and everything is going great!" He smiles down at you, reminding you that your baby is perfectly healthy.

"Holy shit, that's amazing!" Kelce says, lunging towards you and wrapping you in a hug before he does the same with Rafe.

"Congratulations!" Topper finally coughed out.

Courtney came around and hugged you from behind. "I'm so happy for you, Sunflower!" She squealed, kissing your cheek. "And you too, Rafey!" She says, wrapping her arms around his chest and kissing his cheek as well.

You and Rafe were nothing but smiles. Happy that everyone was being so supportive. Atleast, almost everyone.

You could feel Sarah and John B's eyes on you. They were whispering to eachother on the other side of the yard.

Rafe noticed you frown and looked over to see what you were staring at. His jaw tightened, absolutely sick of Sarah's shit. "Wait here," He said, placing a quick kiss on your head.

He stood up and made his way over to Sarah and John B. "What's your problem, Sarah?" He hissed.

John B stepped in front of her protectively.

"Why don't you ever just mind your own business?" Rafe continued.

"It's not my fault you and your psycho girlfriend got pregnant. You're 19, Rafe!"

"Yeah, and you're 16 running around with Pogues and robbing drug dealers!"

Sarah scrunched up her face at him.

"Just stay out of my business and keep your mouth shut around Y/N. Or I'll tell dad all about your little adventures."

"Like he'd believe you? You're the one that was buying coke from Barry!"

Rafe sucked on his bottom lip. Irritation present in his expression. "I'm clean now. Mind your business, Sarah." He said before walking off back towards you and his friends.

-

You brushed your hair, pinning at back slightly as you stared at the mirror in Rafe's bathroom. You could hear him and Wheezie talking in the hall. Rafe sounded upset.

"I know like a thousand times more about the business than she does!"

"I don't know, Rafe! Rose just wanted me to tell you."

"Hm," You hear Rafe grumble before he walks back into his room.

"Everything okay, baby?" You ask him. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands, obviously pissed off. "Hey, look at me." You say, bringing his chin up to meet your gaze.

Rafe leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You cradle his head and play with his hair as you hug him silently.

"I gotta take care of some stuff," He mumbles.

"Do you want me to come?"

He shakes his head. "No. You stay here. Rest. I just gotta talk to my dad."

"Isn't he going to the Bahamas with Sarah? What's going on, Rafe?"

"Baby, please. Please just stay here. Watch a movie or something." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He grabs his credit card and hands it you. "Order some food. I'll be back soon, I promise."

You look at him hesitantly but you nod in agreement. Ward was always a touchy subject with Rafe and you didn't want to push it.

He presses a kiss to your lips and then one to your stomach before hurrying out of his room.

You tried to rest, nap, watch tv, nothing was helping you relax. You were so confused by Rafe's behavior earlier. You hadn't heard from him in a couple hours and you were starting to worry.

When will you be home? I miss you. Please be safe.

You pressed send and sighed. You walk downstairs and head towards the front door, ready to get some fresh air.

"Hey Rose," You greet.

"Hey! How are you feeling?" She asks as she sprays the hose over her flowers she works so hard on.

"I'm okay. I haven't had like morning sickness or anything. I hope the baby is this easy when he gets here."

Rose laughs. Rafe was a wild child so I imagine you two will have your hands full.

You smile halfheartedly. "He was acting so weird earlier."

"I haven't seen him today. Maybe he's just a little overwhelmed? I imagine you both are."

"Yeah I guess so. It still doesn't really feel real."

"It will. Once you start showing." She says with a smile.

Before you could say anything else, Rafe's truck was pulling into the driveway.

He got out, panic evident in his eyes.

"Rafe?" You ask as you stand up.

You see Sarah climb out of the passenger side and make her way around. She looked like absolute hell and you noticed blood on her shirt and hands.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you on the plane?" Rose asked her.

"Ask Rafe." She scoffs before storming off into the house.

Rafe looks like he's on the verge of tears. "I-I need to talk to you." He says, his voice cracking.

"What is it?"

"Not here." Rafe grabs you wrist and drags you into the house. Not angrily but forceful enough to concern you.

"Rafe what's going on?!" You ask as you finally enter his room, shutting the door behind him.

He begins pacing back and forth, hyperventilating as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Fuck, fuck..." He muttered to himself.

"Baby, calm down!" You yell, wrapping your arms around him.

Rafe falls to the floor, pulling you down with him as he sobs into your neck. You'd seen him have panic attacks before but never like this. He grips you so tightly, as if he let go you'd simply evaporate.

"Sweet boy," You begin, feeling yourself begin to cry as you run your hand over his back.

"I-I did something really b-bad." He lets out between sobs.

"What did you do, baby? Whatever it is we can fix it. I'm sure."

Rafe shook his head. "I-I can't lose you."

"You're not going to lose me baby, I'm right here. I'd never leave you!" You try to reassure him. "Just tell me what happened so we can figure it out, together. Always together."

Rafe sat up and looked at you, chest heaving, tears running down his face as he tried to control his breathing.

"I shot Peterkin."

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! :)

@outerbankspov @torturedtypewritersdept

[anotherfcknschlattsimp]

Kinktober Day 8

power imbalance

charlie doesnt really do anything? i asked three people what i should do for him and the only conclusion was something parasocial or editor related

let's go

schlatt

his dad owns (a share of) the company, remember?

so you better get on your knees like a good bitch

if you tell anyone, youre fired

runs his thumb over your lips, smearing your lipstick as he talks down to you

“gonna be a good li’l whore for me, doll? gonna let me take advantage of that mouth so you can keep your job, toots?”

calls you into his office every morning and every night before one of you leaves

Fluff-

takes you on one-on-one work lunches (dates but he doesnt want to weird you out and have you quit so he just keeps fucking you as his assistant instead of his lover)

gets you flowers and chocolates randomly as a “thank you”

drives you home every night and picks you up every morning

sneaks out of his office to make you a cup of coffee when he had to give you more work than usual as an apology

will never let you know that he’s in love with you, he totally just wants to fuck you all the time. Nothing more. We’ll go with that.

ted

director and photographer, ted nivison

there was no better choice for your brand new merch line

you dropped a set of cute and comfy undies, meant to be worn under a boyfriend hoodie

but you didnt have a boyfriend to steal the hoodie of for the photo sets

that’s his in

he offers you *his* hoodie, fresh off his back

it’s warm and smells really good and it takes you a moment to move cause youre just so enveloped in the comfiness of the cloth

has you repay him after the shoot when you come by to return the hoodie

somehow rizzes you up even though he stumbles through everything but kept talking so confidently about himself

calls you his “perfect lil model”

takes very high quality pictures (uses his personal ancient polaroid camera) of his cum leaking out of you

Fluff-

writes “first date” and your phone number on the back

finds a reason to talk to you everytime he spots you

brings breakfast to your room every morning to wake you up

he’d usually have an assistant doing it for him but, and he wont tell you this so i will, he wants to be the one to see your smile as you process the beautiful breakfast he made (read: bought and plated) for you everyday

charlie

you were so excited for your new job as an editor for the slimecicle channel

that excitement didnt exactly wear off as the time passed

you had been editing for him for about 2-3 months when you get a text

“hey, we need to talk” the five words you’ve been dreading might come

you did your best on all the projects he gave you, you really did, but you guess he didnt feel the same way

you ask what’s wrong, and he tells you not to worry, he just had a new proposition for you

In exchange for keeping your job and earning a raise, you just had to do whatever he told you whenever he told you

that sounded innocent enough to you, you thought that was what you were doing

until he offered to fly you out for a “special assignment”

said special assignment was to be his personal sex toy for the next week but of course he left that part out

slowly works up to it

ssks to hold your hand, then a kiss, then he holds your job over your head as he politely but firmly requests a blowjob

and so on and so forth

Fluff-

takes you to breakfast and dinner everyday while you’re there

really just wants to have you be his partner for the week but what if that was too far? what if you decided that was the line and you were gonna quit and tell the world about what he did to you? those worries only lasted as long as his poor cock could handle jerking off to secretly recorded voice chats and your instagram posts while he sniffed one of your shirts that you just assumed you didnt pack

so not very long

offers/asks for cuddles everyday, whenever youre both free, but not the same way he “asks” for sexual favors

you can say no to the casual physical affection (even though it would break his little heart)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Cat in the Kitchen

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

Ready for a short supplementary cooking class?🌟 A day in the life of Prefect Gordon and his familiar Grim, told in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After all, food is tastier when it's shared with friends and family~

Imagine this…

Gordon Ramsay stirred before the rats and the ghosts of Ramshackle dorm did. He was up by 5 am most days, first exercising and then rustling around in the kitchen fighting the gas stove to light (and stay that way!) and taking inventory of the dwindling ingredients in the pantry. At 7 am, the delicious smells would start up, rousing his housemates from their slumber.

This was the magic of a human incapable of spellcasting or sorcery.

"Mm... You're up super early again," Grim muttered from the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, still struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep that clung to him. "I dunno how you do it."

"Not so hard once you've got the hang of it," he grunted in response. Gordon wiped his hands off on a dish towel before sliding a plate toward Grim. "Eat up now, we don't have much time before classes start."

"I dunno, I'm not too hungry."

"You? Not hungry?" Gordon's brows raised. "That's new. You feeling under the weather?"

Grim leapt, looking as though he had been caught with his entire body stuffed into a cookie jar. "N-No, I'm not! Yup, there's my hunger comin' back to me!"

He hurriedly yoinked a tuna sandwich and chowed down.

"See?! Ah'm jus' fine," Grim insisted, cheeks stuffed.

"Hmm, alright." Gordon tucked into a small bowl of oatmeal--prepared with baked bananas, almond milk, and dried cranberries.

"You got class today too or what?"

"Yup. Ashengrotto and the smaller Shroud this time."

“Think they’ll drive ya mad like the rest of them did?”

“I’ll hold my tongue until I’ve seen how they are in the kitchen for myself.”

“Keh, you’re no fun.”

The beast’s ears flattened. The blue fire that burned so brightly seemed to dim. Something weighed on his mind—of that, Gordon was certain.

“That means you'll abandon me before lunchtime again..." Between chews, Grim complained, "How come I gotta be just a student and you get to be a teacher too? The great Grim-sama oughta be showin' these newbies a thing or two!"

"I only teach what I know. I'm still a student in some ways, learning new things about food every day." Gordon shrugged, giving his friend a rough ruffle on the head. "You can be a teacher when you've mastered everything there is to master--neither of us is quite there yet."

"Why can't it be? I wanna fast forward to the part where I become an archmage already!!"

"Don't be impatient about making progress. I’ve made hundreds of dumplings in a day and still came nowhere near the level of perfection of a dim sum master.“

“Tsk, that sucks. Didja at least get to eat the bad dumplings?”

“It was all I had that day. They weren’t fit to serve to customers.” Gordon shook his head. “My point is, you’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He spooned up the remainder of his oatmeal, then deposited his dirty bowl and spoon in the sink. Gordon plucked up Grim, who still had a mouth full of tuna, and tucked him under one arm.

“M-Myah?!“

“Right then, let’s head out. Brisk morning jog to wake up the senses—it’s a brand new day!”

“Lemme finish my breakfast first, sheesh!!”

Three classes before lunch, and they all went about as well as Gordon had expected them to. (That was to say, not well at all.)

During first period Alchemy, Grim had earned the ire of Crewel by disregarding the potion recipe. In spite of Gordon's reminders and warnings, Grim had taken one too many missteps. The wrong ingredient, the incorrect amount, the temperature too low or too high, the stirring too much or not enough.

He was then caught catnapping during Magic History and extensively told off by both Trein and Lucius. (The meowing had gotten very intense.) Gordon had apologized profusely in Grim's place.

Flying had not fared any better--Grim struggled to concentrate, his unsteady magic causing his broom to wildly buck, attempting to chuck him off. Gordon had to stop his rep of 100 push-ups to fetch his friend out from a shrub. Twigs poked at him, leaves caught in his fur.

By the time they were dismissed back to the locker rooms, Grim had melted into a furry puddle on Gordon's shoulder. "Maaan, I'm beat!! That was rough!"

"Rougher than usual." Gordon crunched on an apple. He had taken to the habit of eating small platters or snacks throughout the day over whole meals—it was more efficient for his lifestyle. “Something you want to tell me, or…?”

“N-Nothing’s up!” Grim snapped. "Quit worryin' about me. It's the boss's job to do that for their minion."

The chef rolled his eyes as he set Grim down on the floor beside him. He handed off a boxed lunch wrapped in a checkered cloth. "I'm off to teach. You'll be fine on your own, right? Find Trappola and Spade, settle down with your food, and don't cause trouble."

"I got it already!" Grim huffed. "Catch ya after...?"

"Always." His smile was strained, a bit tired but true. "Maybe I'll bring back some disastrous stories to share with you over dinner."

One last pat on the head, and then he was gone. Hustling down the hall, the white of his pristine chef’s jacket vanishing behind a corner.

Grim managed the rest of the hike to the cafeteria, balancing his lunch in his paws. He squeezed past the legs of various mob students, emerging safely on the other side. They rushed to line up for trays of food.

Suckers, Grim thought, paying in cash for food. Luckily for me, I’ve got something way better than whatever they’re serving.

“Oiiii, Grim! Over here!!” someone called to him. He looked—and there they were, the duo of troublemakers, marked by a heart and a spade upon their faces.

“Ace! Deuce!”

He scampered over to the two Heartslabyul freshmen. They had already secured their lunches, as well as an open seat for him.

“Hard night? Looks like you didn't get much sleep," Deuce commented. A fluffy omelet wobbled atop a mountain of ketchup fried rice on his plate.

“He's right, you really do look awful," Ace added cheerily--blunt as ever. He had opted for a slice of some savory pie, vegetables and meat oozing out from a buttery crust.

"Sh-Shuddap! The great Grim-sama was up all night cookin' up something big!" He slammed a paw down on the table. "Just look at your sorry lunches. They can't compare to what I have!"

"Did Prefect make your meal again? You should try to not trouble him too much.”

"’S not like I tell’m to! He does it on his own!” Grim snickered to himself. "He takes all these cheap ingredients and throws'm together to make these tasty dishes."

"Well, don't keep us waiting in suspense," Ace groaned. "Show us what you have already."

“Let’s see, let’s see!”

Grim undid the fabric knot that held his lunch in a swathe. The checkered pattern peeled back and the lid, once removed, yielded a creamy, cheesy bed of tuna bake.

Gordon had taken his beloved canned tuna and fried it down into flakes. It was then combined with a special mixture of seasonings, pasta shells, melted cheeses, onions and broccoli, and topped with bread crumbs. After a generous bake in their ancient oven, the dish had come out golden brown and bubbling.

“Whoooa, smells delish!!” all three of them drooled.

“Lucky bastard,” Ace muttered. He quickly put on a cheeky grin, his spoon prepared. “Ne, ne~ Lemme try some, Grim!“

“D-Don’t be cheeky, Ace! You can’t demand to mooch off of someone else’s lunch,” Deuce scolded his peer. “… Even if it does look really good.”

“Paws off!!” Grim shielded the box with his body. “My minion made this for me and me only!”

“Tch.” Ace’s expression dropped. “You get to eat like a king for free while the rest of us have to shell out and make do with whatever’s on the school’s menu.”

“It’s not that bad,” Deuce pointed out. “It’d be nice to be able to eat for free but I’m happy with the quality of food we get for the price.”

“This comin’ from the guy who was running low on pocket money for a snack the other day?” he smirked.

“H-Hey, I need to budget, okay?!”

While the duo bickered, Grim had started to shove his face into the box (silverware was too difficult to maneuver) and wolf down his meal. Cheese sauce painted his fur, bits of broccoli and tuna dotting his jaw.

It was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could get on the earth.

He licked his lips appreciatively, mopping up what was left on his face. Not even a little could go to waste. Grim was determined.

As he went back in for another mouthful, he felt a phantom hand cascade across his head, his back. Advice from that morning filled his mind.

“You’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He shut his eyes, making a silent vow.

I’ll definitely… definitely pay ya back for all the hard work you’ve been puttin’ in too, partner.

Gordon bid farewell to the ghost chefs on his way out of the kitchen. The day’s leftovers and unused ingredients overflowed from his arms—a perk of the teaching gig, which helped to feed him and his feline roommate. He mentally parsed through what was available, dreaming up new dishes for the days to come.

There was a nice chunk of fresh tuna (Grim would love it) in his brown paper bag. Perhaps he’d sear it with a sesame crust, then drizzle the seafood in a yuzu-lime dressing to brighten it. He’s plate it with a microgreens salad. Chives, arugula, celery, radish, and ruby sorrel to encourage Grim to eat a variety of vegetables.

He made his way out of the school building and down the long, winding path to Ramshackle dorm. The sun was still out, warming the worn Prefect.

On the front porch, he rustled around in his pants for the keys. When he finally fished it out and inserted the teeth into the lock, Gordon swore he heard a series of suppressed giggles from beyond the door.

Odd.

The door swung open, and he was immediately accosted.

"Welcome baaack," the Ramshackle Ghosts chirped. One ushered him in from behind, another too his groceries off of his hands, and a third tugged him along by the arm.

"Come this way! Grimmy's got a treat for ya!"

"He's been working hard on it the second he got back from his last class."

"Oooh, you're gonna LOVE it!"

"What about dinner?" Gordon protested, watching his beloved ingredients sail off.

He was thrusted into their dingy kitchen--which doubled as the dining room, thanks to the table and chairs set up in one cobwebbed corner. The same old Ramshackle he woke up to every day. Rusty knobs and hinges, chipped cupboards, electricity and running water that blinked in and out.

But there, set on a table with uneven legs and splintered wood, was something extraordinary.

It was a stout cake, iced in light blue with a layer of dripping white and several lit candles stuck into the top. Black frosting formed the vague shape of a fish, TUNA piped over it in white. A single lollipop--pale blue, and in the shape of a paw--casually rested against the cake, as if it had been tossed on top for an extra flair.

A furry mass tackled and hugged Gordon's leg.

"Grim?!"

He was suited up in his own little chef's uniform. It was deep gray, verging on black, his apron tied with a striped-purple ribbon. A tiny toque--a chef's hat-- sat between his ears, a bandage over the bridge of his nose. A smear of white icing decorated his left cheek, and he carried with him a telltale piping bag squeezed thin.

Gordon blinked. "You did this?"

"Nyahahah! Were you surprised?"

"You told me you couldn't cook to save your life."

"He can't," a ghost piped up as he deposited the groceries onto a counter. "He's worse than I was when I was alive!"

"That's why Grimmy's been getting up in the dead of night lately. Been, what? Gotta be a few weeks now."

"He's been practicing his baking and then cleaning up the traces of his crime before you get up."

"What..."

"I wanted to pay ya back, yanno! For all the cookin' and cleanin' and whatever," Grim mumbled shyly, kicking at the ground. "So I figured I'd treat ya for once! I was thinking of a sticky toffee pudding at first since that's your favorite, but... it gets so sticky, it was hard to work with!"

He patted his stomach. "I couldn't put my stuff in the trash can or else you'd notice, so I had to eat up all my mistakes too! It was a lotta effort and way harder than it looked, so you'd better be grateful!!”

Grim looked away, rubbing at his bandage.

“… It helped me better understand and appreciate all the things you do on the daily.”

It clicked.

Everything suddenly made sense. Grim's tiredness, lack of focus, decreased appetite, defensiveness—it was all for this very moment.

"... I see." Gordon bent down, a smile taking shape on his mouth. A steady kindling in his chest. “This is your way of saying ‘thank you’.”

“M-Maybe! An archmage has gotta take good care of his minion,” Grim muttered.

The prefect laughed softly. “And you’re doing a great job at it. Hang tight, I'll get the stove going and whip us up some seared tuna to go with the cake."

“Myah?! Y-You’ve got tuna? Like, the real stuff?!” Grim’s eyes were wide and sparkling. A line of drool ran down his chin. "Fancy tuna...!!"

"Yeah. We can plate some for the ghosts too--so they can join us for a meal in spirit." Gordon nodded at their other roommates. Their pale faces brightened with excitement.

"Can we really?"

"It's been so long since I was last invited to a celebration like this!!"

"Oh, but we can't eat... Ghosts don't have digestive systems. The tune would pass right through us."

"... Grim, you have eat their shares. More importantly, it's being together for the occasion that matters, right?"

"Whoo-hoo!! You're the best minion an archmage could ask for!!" Grim cheered, leaping into the air, furry fist pumping.

“Let's get this dinner party started…!”

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt I

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: No Beta readers for any of my fics, so apologies for spelling mistakes. I wrote this originally on AO3, and it's still a work in progress. As with my other fics, I'll be uploading here and there when I get inspo

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 2

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

Your mind trails off to the strangest of things when you’re nervous. You’re staring out the window pane, and there’s a small robin, hopping from branch to branch. It’s entrancing in a way. Do robins have little bird interviews for their little bird jobs? Or does everyone simply know what their role is, without having to apply for it? Collect the sticks, eat some bugs, and raise the young. Simple little bird jobs for simple little birds.

But then the woman in front of you clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Lisa Cuddy stares at you, but it’s not coldly like some interviewers may have. She smiles and you are flashed with her rows of perfect, white and straight teeth. Across from her, you feel underdressed, and not only in the literal sense. Some light makeup, to hide the fact that you hadn’t slept the previous night due to nerves, form-fitting but very obviously last-season pants, and a coat that you had quickly folded onto the chair beside you, to hide the tea stain down its front. But outside of that, she held a certain properness and professionalism you hadn’t mastered yet.

Despite that, she had beamed across your resume, congratulated you on your achievements, and told you that the job was almost ‘as good as yours’. She did, however, warn you. You would have another, more unofficial, interview to complete with your team leader before you began work. With the infamous Gregory House.

She inhaled, and it whistled through her nose. “Now, can I trust you to give you the very blunt run down of House, without you screaming and running for the hills? Because I think you need to know, while this job is incredibly hard and taxing…You may find he’s the worst part of it.”

You laughed politely. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. I once had a boss who had me make him coffee and lunch for three weeks straight after I had completed my PhD. He said it was a ‘chance for me to relax’,” You gesture air quotes, “before I got into serious work.”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. As condescending as that is, House is worse than that.”

She must have seen your eyes widen because she quickly waves her hands in front of herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, and, don’t pass this on to him, one of the best doctors you will ever work with. But…He can be rude. Egotistical. Infuriating. There are some days when he will make you feel pathetic and exhausted and other days when he will make you feel like you’ve discovered the secret to medicine. I’m not saying this to scare you, but rather I think you need to know that the people who are able to manage House and manage to work under him, do so with a lot of patience, humour, and resilience.”

You nod your head, and your brow furrows in seriousness. “I understand. Regardless of how he treats me, this is honestly an opportunity that I can’t pass up. I’m not going to let someone else ruin that for me.”

She beams at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smile back at her, and she begins to shuffle papers on her desk and sort them into a stack. When they’re ordered into a neat pile, she looks back to you. “Rather than an interview, House will see this as a test. He will try to push your buttons. Make you nervous; worried. Don’t let him. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re smart,” You find yourself flushing at the honesty she seems to hold in her words. Cuddy was genuine and seemed like someone you could trust. That would be important if House was as bad as she made him out to be. “And he will try to make you all the more miserable for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “At least I’ll have time to prepare myself. What day would you like me to come in next?”

She winces and hands you the stack of papers (perhaps some miscellaneous files and formalities that you’ll investigate later, in private). “There won’t be another day, I’m afraid. He’ll be expecting you by his office following this.”

You breathe out, but afraid to seem well…Afraid, in front of Cuddy, you grit out a smile. “That’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s better to rip the bandaid off sooner, rather than later. Can you please direct me to his office?”

—--------

You feel your stomach plummet when you leave the elevator and begin walking down the hallway, clutching at your files as you do so.

Your short heels still manage to clack against the tiled floor as you walk. You pause and peer into a glass office. Sure enough, beside the door is a small plaque reading Dr G.House. Your hands reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked and you can’t push through. You peer into the office and see an empty desk, among other things.

It appeared the G.House was not home. So much for Cuddy’s warning that he would be waiting for you.

You breathe in deeply and scan around you. There are four or so chairs across from you, lining the side of the hallway, and sprawled across one of them is a man, staring right at you. You smile, half out of politeness and half out of awkwardness, and move to sit on the furthest seat. You settle down your papers, but when you look back, the man is turned and still staring. He has cropped, greying hair and steely blue eyes, and you quickly skim over him. Worn out jeans. A shirt with some sort of stain on it. A scuffed, dark cane resting beside him. Ratty trainers. At least he didn’t have the professionalism or poise that Cuddy carried around.

You realise you’ve stared a second past the respectful amount and you smile, fully out of awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting for Dr House too?”

“Me?,” He raises an eyebrow, “Noo, I just like to wait outside his office as a pastime. See if I can conjure him through my psychic powers alone.”

You snort and raise your hands to your face quickly. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

The man clicks his tongue. “Not at all. He doesn’t seem to care at all for punctuality, especially for…Who are you? A new hire?”

You tilt your head at him. “How’d you guess?”

He mimics you, tilting his head in the same direction. “You don’t look sick enough to be a patient, or tired enough to be a worker. Then there’s only the patient's family, new hire, or hooker to choose from. And no offence,” He trails his eyes down your form. “You don’t dress the part for the last option.”

You bark out a laugh at his incredulous words, shocked. “God. I’d hate to see the new hire who does.”

You’re happy to turn from the man and count the minutes until the infamous House appears, but the man draws your attention back to him with a question. “Why do you want to work with him?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want to know? Weren’t you the one to say that sitting here means you’re sick, a worker, a new hire, or a hooker?”

He nods, and his eyes appear calculating for a second. But then they’re masked and replaced with a forced smile “Yes, I did. As you can tell from my wicked cane, I’m a cripple hooker. I charge $200 for the hour, by the way. $300 and I’ll bring out the wheelchair.”

You can’t help but smile. Its funny, in a very twisted way. But you breathe deeply and try to compose yourself. You had never met someone as strange or bold as this man, but you supposed hospitals were the perfect place to find such specimens. The perfect mix of medicine, death and life, and you were produced with nutjobs.

“I’ve heard he’s a brilliant doctor-”

“And incredibly rude. I saw him the other week for the pain in my leg, and he just shoved a Vicodin bottle in my hand and called me an addict.”

You sighed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. While I’m sorry to hear of his bedside manner, there are certain things I’m willing to go without in trade for working with him. I’ll deal with any rudeness or arrogance if it means I’m able to learn from him and contribute to his team.”

Now it’s the man who snorts out a laugh. “You’ll deal with being disrespected and abused just so you can be the ‘teacher's pet’ of medicine?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No! Obviously, I’m going to stand up for myself and my own morals. But I think to some degree, people are set in their ways; if he is, I’ll learn to work around it, rather than break through it.” You huff, “And I won’t be a ‘teacher’s pet’. Been there, done that; it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

The man says nothing, and you turn to him, waiting for a witty reply or another snarky hooker joke, but then another man strolls up to the two of you. He has tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a strikingly white lab coat. House.

You stand up quickly and offer your hand. He shakes it, and you introduce yourself.

He smiles at you, with a sincereness that nearly startles you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re the new hire? I’m James Wilson, head of Oncology here.”

Oh. So not House.

You stutter for a moment but compose yourself. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were Dr House. Let me know if this is completely out of your ballpark then, but we’ve,” You gesture over your shoulder to the man still sitting down, “been waiting here for Dr House. Could you please point me in the right direction? He wasn’t in his office.”

The man raises his eyebrows at you, and you’re worried you said something to offend him -not like you made a hooker comment about him- but then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way Cuddy did. “House, would you like to introduce yourself to your new hire?”

Your eyebrows narrow. “I’m sorry, what?” Who was he talking to?

But then there’s the slight tap of a cane against the floor, and the man beside you rises to his full height.

You turn to him, perplexed, and he mockingly widens his eyes and raises his free hand to his mouth in faux shock. “Whoops! I forgot I transferred from being a Cripple Hooker to being a doctor. Don’t worry, I still charge the same rate.”

He shuffles past you, limping, and into his office. Wilson remains beside you, and he shakes his head, eyes cast upwards. “You’ll get used to him. Just don’t let him hassle you too much or he’ll get used to that.”

You turn to thank him for the warning, but House clears his throat loudly from within his office, and sits down at the wooden desk as if to say ‘well hurry up then’. Meekly, you gather your notes, tell Dr Wilson it was nice to meet him, and walk into the office to sit across from House

He stares at you, the same way he stared at you out in the hallway, and you find yourself prompted to speak first. “So, Dr House. While it’s nice to formally meet you, I’m wondering if it wasn’t for Dr Wilson, were we just going to sit outside and trade hooker jokes for the next few hours?”

His eyebrows narrow. “You don’t need to lie.”

“What?”

“It’s not nice to meet me.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve met me before. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He runs his hands down his worn face and continues to speak. “I have your resume. Your, quite frankly, startling long list of academic achievements and medical mumbo jumbo. I could give less of a hoot about those things; they won’t help you here. Awards and experience and acting like you give a shit is Cuddy’s forte, not mine.”

You find yourself puzzled about how to reply, but he saves you the effort and continues speaking, first drawing out your last name in a long drawl. “You seem intelligent and as if you lack a backbone. Both are necessary things for my team. But,” He stares intently at you, “Why do you want to work here? With me? On this team?”

You suck in air. “Well, as I said earlier, you’re brilliant. I know your cases and I know the work you’ve done. To put it blatantly, you’ve saved lives where others would have prepped the morgue. I want to know how to do that, and how to become the best doctor I can be.”

He laughs. “Being a suck-up isn’t a requirement for being a good doctor.”

“Neither is being an arsehole, but you seem to have that covered.”

Shit. Shit. Did you really just say that? To your boss? God, he was infuriating yes, and rude and-Oh. This was what Cuddy was warning you about. Losing your cool in face of his taunts and remarks. Well, low and behold, you lost your cool.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward to rest his head on his steepled hands. “Do you usually call people names during interviews or just the ones where you don’t want the job?”

You huff, exasperated. “I want this job. Hell, I need this job.”

“Everyone needs a job. Everyone has bills. But you’re avoiding the question.”

Your jaw clenches. “Well, not everyone has tenure. And, to answer your question, I only call people names during interviews because you made an incorrect assumption about me; I do have a backbone.”

He leans back in his chair and studies you. “Snarkiness isn’t a backbone. It’s a defence mechanism, sure, but a backbone would be walking out of here and knowing that your worth as a doctor means you shouldn’t be disrespected like that.”

Staring into his icy eyes, you speak. “You’ve got to ask me question after question. Am I a hooker? Why do I want to work with you? Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Why are we doing this?”

“Well sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this amazing thing, but there’s an interview you have before you start a job to see if you’re suited to-”

“No. I mean why are you ‘interviewing’ me if you’ve already made up your mind?”

At that, he stays silent. Confirmation. You get the sense that if he hadn’t made his decision even before you saw him, he made it the second you sat down outside. Maybe it was the way you walked, or the awkward smile you passed to him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give less of a shit about your credentials; or you.

You nod and gather your things again. “Thank you for your time, Dr House. Please pass my regards to Cuddy.”

You reach the door before he speaks again. “You didn’t ask me what my decision was.”

You huff. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“You’re hired.”

Oh.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

It’s A Love Story…

Colt Seavers (The Fall Guy 2024) x Reader

-Part 2 to Coffees, Plural-

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story except for Sheila and the reader insert!

Author’s Notes: Background is summarized on part one! I tried to get Colt as in character as possible, but it’s hard to perfectly capture him 🙃 also, this is not edited!! idk if it’s cringe or cute, but if you enjoy the story, please leave a comment! I’d love to see what you think! Icons by @gosling-girlx !! She’s the best!

Content/Content Warning: nothing serious! Just some suggestive themes and some smooching at the end :)

Part three is out!

Reader’s POV

Looking back on it, I think my crush on Colt Seavers really did develop on day one. But little did I know, it’d only get stronger.

Dramatic, right? It’s not wrong, though…

After bonding over his affinity for coffees,- yes, plural- that first day, I knew I was down bad. At first I thought it was just stupid butterflies- I was prone to falling fast- but as I got to know him I realized it was far more than just stupid butterflies.

There was just something about him- a lot of somethings, actually. It was- it is- his puppy eyes. His coffee addiction- affinity, sorry. His sense of humor, the way he comes preloaded with sarcasm at any given time. The way his legs bounces when he’s nervous, bored, excited, or all three. His perfect smile. The way he pays attention, the way he cares…

I could go on. And on. And on. And on. But you get the idea.

And oh, that voice… that’s enough to-

Sorry. Anyways.

Over the past nine-ish months we’ve gotten pretty close. I’ll meet him for lunch on set, we’ll meet at each other’s trailers just to hang out, sometimes we’ll find ourselves down by the beach… it’s just nice.

Also, over the past year, I’ve rekindled my friendship with Jody Moreno. We hit it off immediately after I arrived, as if no time had passed at all since the last time I saw her. We’re close again, just like we were back in college, which is also really nice.

She knows full well about my little (big) crush on Colt. I didn’t even have to tell her, she just burst into my trailer one day a couple months ago, accusing me by exclaiming “You like Colt!”

She’s lucky I love her so much, because otherwise her incessant teasing and blatant attempts at setting us up would be just a little annoying.

Today I was on set, watching Colt get thrown around while being on fire. I couldn’t help the way my heart tossed and turned with worry while watching him do his stunts- yes, he’s a professional but that doesn’t mean these crazy stunts scare me any less. He teases me about my worrying, but I can see the way that sometimes the thumbs up he’ll send the director’s way isn’t genuine.

By the fifth take on this stunt I could tell he was beginning to grow weary. Thankfully the stunt coordinator takes mercy on him and tells him to take five after the crew extinguishes him.

He gets up and looks around before setting his eyes on me. My face grows warm as I watched his face light up when he recognized me.

“Heya stud,” I say by way of greeting when he approached me. “How you feeling?”

“Never better,” he responds with a trademark thumbs up.

“You know that that’s still cheesy, right?” I ask. He gives me the thumbs up pretty much anytime I ask him how he’s feeling, and I tease him about it every time.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he shrugs playfully. I swear, he purposely lowers his voice sometimes. Not that I’m complaining, it’s definitely not unattractive…

“Maybe a little,” I concede with a small smile. “Anyway, I brought you some brownies for lunch,” I said, taking a brown paper bag out of my satchel. “They’re from that bakery we tried a couple weeks ago.”

“Aww, [nickname], you shouldn’t have!”

“Oh don’t you worry about me, I ate like three for breakfast,” I say sheepishly. They really are that good, the baker must be putting crack in them with how addictive they are.

“So you’re telling me I can’t offer to split one with you on the beach?” he asks, bringing out the puppy eyes- at least, more so than usual given that he always has puppy eyes.

“Now how can I say no to that offer?”

“You can’t,” he says with a cheeky smile as he starts walking back to set, noticing the stunt coordinator waving him over.

I wave goodbye to him, and then sneak over to the directors chair to say hi to Jody.

“Aw, look at this blush!” she greets when I meet her, pinching my cheeks. “A certain stuntman got your panties in a twist?”

“Why do I subject myself to you?” I groan.

“Because you love me.” She’s not wrong.

“How’s the scene coming along?”

“Perfectly, I’m just torturing your boyfriend until he agrees to go to karaoke with the rest of us tonight. I think he’s still embarrassed from last time,” she laughs.

Last time he drunkenly sang that Love Story song by Taylor swift and was straight up bawling midway. Everyone laughed and has a recording of it, and holds it over his head.

“You’re pure evil, Jody Moreno, and I very much aspire to be you,” I say, watching Colt get flung into the rock again.

“It’s an art, what can I say,” she shrugs, before grabbing her megaphone.

“Oi, stuntman!” Colt sends over a thumbs up before she can continue her sentence. “I feel like we can salvage that last take…” she smirks.

He groans, out loud. And even from like 25 feet away, I can hear it. And I don’t like how hot I find it.

“All I need is a double thumbs up,” she chides. The rest of the crew is also turned his way, with a lot of snickering coming from our little peanut gallery.

He meets my gaze and I mouth “please” with as much puppy eyes as I can, hoping that he can read my face from where he’s at. He scowls in a comical way, closes his eyes, face dramatically tilted toward the sky before finally looking back at us- at me- with two thumbs up.

“Perfect, that’s a wrap!” Jody exclaims, cackling maniacally after she’s turned off the megaphone. “See you at nine, Seavers!”

He gives a little sarcastic wave, but a smile takes over his face as he meets my gaze again, and I can’t help the way my heart skips a beat when I send a coy wave his way.

***

Colt’s POV

You know that feeling, when your heart starts pumping and you start smiling all stupid, when you’re telling yourself that you’re a dipshit but it’s because she’s just too perfect?

Yeah. That’s y/n to me. Anytime I’m near her I have to remind myself to breathe. It’s like the movies, like some sort of rom com that she loves so much, except better. So much better, if you ask me.

Honestly, I’ve had a crush on her since the beginning. Man, I just used the word crush. For some reason I can hear that dipshit Tom Ryder’s asshole voice in my head, calling me a “pussy bitch”- a personal favorite “original” term of his- for using the word. But I don’t care, because how else do you describe… butterflies.

You know what it is? It feels like a Taylor Swift song. Like a Love Story, if you will. And baby, I just want her to say yes.

I think I need help.

I still remember how flustered she got when I accidentally scared her when I met her that first day.

We had both been running late, me more so than her due to coffee(s- yes, plural) related reasons- it’s an affinity, not an addiction.

I had went to say hi while she was in the middle of doing her own makeup, I think she got bored waiting for me, and she jumped like six inches, and accidentally dragged her makeup brush down the side of her face.

I felt so bad, the look was gorgeous, very northern lights- esque with greens and blues and purples- but at the same time, I was too stunned to speak. Y/n is gorgeous, as it turns out, with or without makeup, and even with a steak of yellow going down her face that would make anyone else look like they had a jaundiced scar.

Thankfully, I still don’t think she noticed my dumbfounded disposition as she ran to the sink.

But the thing is, she’s not just drop dead gorgeous. She’s also the sweetest, cutest woman in the entire world. Her sense of humor- the self deprecations, the sarcasm which perfectly matches mine… how flustered she gets when I’m driving her around, the way she gets cold and smuggles into my side when we sit in the trunk after a night swim, shivering but still trying to talk with her teeth chattering. The way her hand’s so small compared to mine… you get it.

Also, the fact that she doesn’t make fun of me for being a Swiftie.

At least not as much as the others do.

Which frankly, isn’t saying much, now that I think about it.

Anyhow, even after being thrown against a rock four times I’m still not ready to wave the white flag at Jody. I told myself I would never step foot in the karaoke bar again, not after last time…

Sorry, I just got war flashbacks.

<Author’s Note: these war flashbacks sound a lot like Love Story by Taylor Swift>

But then of course, she just had to be on set. She’s got me wrapped around her little fingers, bringing me brownies and calling me a stud. The last straw was the puppy dog eyes from across the set- I have no idea how she hasn’t figured out the effect she has on me. Or maybe she has, and is just an evil genius. I don’t really know.

Not that I need to know, because if the words “Swan dive off of a bridge” fell from her perfect lips I’d probably do it.

Looks like I’m going back to karaoke…

***

Reader’s POV

“Come on, y/n! We’re gonna be late!” Jody yells as she raps her knuckles on the door of my trailer.

“I’m not coming out! I look ridiculous!” I yell back. I had let her pick out my outfit, and she picked out a short black romper with a tight bodice and flowers printed on it. I don’t think it suits me very well, and I’m seconds away from wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I don’t feel like doing my makeup, so that’s one less thing to worry about, at least.

Wait, why is it so quiet now? Where did she go?

“Y/n, this is your last chance,” she warns, apparently having took a quick break from peer pressuring me into coming outside.

“I’m. Not. Coming. Out.”

“Fine,” and for some reason, I can hear the smile in her voice. That’s never good.

“Y/n?” a new, softer, lower, more gravelly voice comes from outside my cabin. For fuck’s sake.

“Colt?” I ask, rubbing my temple.

“Yeah. Can you please let me in?” he asks so sweetly, it would be impossible to say no.

I mentally punch myself before unlocking the door to my trailer, and of course, to no one’s surprise, he looks perfect. Jody must’ve scampered off, because now it’s just me and him. He’s wearing a white tank top underneath a completely unbuttoned black short sleeved button down, black slacks and white shoes. His usual necklace, the gold chain with the small medallion, accompanies the look. His hair is tousled, and I don’t even think I have to mention how pretty his face is- that part’s a given.

“I, um, you-,” he stutters, and then stops to compose himself. “You look beautiful.”

My breath hitches in my throat. The thing about Colt is that if his words aren’t sarcastic- and you can tell when they are- they’re so, so genuine. And he just called me beautiful.

“I- thanks- so do you-“

Did I really just say so do you? By the smile creeping on his face I think I did.

“I’m sorry, I’m being awkward,” I say with an awkward laugh, proving my point. “But you look really handsome.”

“Aw shucks,” he says, his words slightly sarcastic but the blush on his face very real. “Now cmon, we don’t want to be late?”

“But this romper looks so stupid,” I say, drawing out the last word. And you look so stupidly attractive, I think. What if I just kiss him? What’s stopping me from telling him how I feel about him?

“Permission to touch you?” he asks, ignoring my comment.

To… touch me? Fuck, I’ve read far too many romance books. His stupid voice can turn anything into a double entendre, I swear it.

He raises a brow when I don’t answer.

“Uh, sure?” I don’t really know what he’s up to.

“Great,” he smirks, and before I can realize what he’s done he has me slung over his shoulder, like I weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He shuts my trailer behind him as I hit his back, telling me to let me down, but the bastard just starts humming “Livin’ On A Prayer,” by Bon Jovi.

“Asshole! Put me down!” I yelp, but he just holds me steady by my legs as I flail behind him. Curse his actually useful muscles.

Finally, he sets me down in front of his truck, reaching out to steady me. My hands fall on his chest. His very well defined chest. Which perfectly matched his very well defined back.

Colt’s POV

My hand is on her hip, I tried to steady her. But shit. I wish I could just squeeze it, maybe while I’m…

Puppies dying at the end of a movie, Colt. Dead puppies.

We stay there a moment, in front of my truck. Everything in me wants to just tell her how I feel and press her into that truck with kisses that tell her I’m never letting her go. But now doesn’t feel like the right time. But when is? Why wasn’t it at her trailer?

And I just had her over my shoulder too…

Alright, come on, dipshit. Get it together.

But of course, her small hands are on my chest…

Focus.

“You’ve got two options,” I tell her, removing my hand from her hip and holding up a two to make a point. “We go to karaoke and I drive, or we go to karaoke and you drive.”

I can’t let her not go. She loves karaoke, and she looks beautiful regardless of the lies she tells herself.

“Do we have to go? We could just stay home and watch a movie?” she diverts. A smile is playing at her lips though, so at least I know she’s not uncomfortable.

“Tell you what. You can drive,” I start, which is a great start because she hates when I drive and use my stunt skills. To be fair I just do them to show off and get her to slide into me on the long bench. It’s fun, sue me. “We’ll go, and if you still don’t want to be there after my song, then we’re going to come straight back here, get under some blankets and watch She’s All That.”

She’s All That is her favorite movie, in part due to the main plot but I also think she identifies with Freddy Prince Jr’s sister in the movie. She’s a sarcastic makeup/hair artist in the movie, and who do I know that sounds like that? Yeah, exactly.

“I don’t like how well you know me,” she says, biting into her lip as she pretends to mull over what I suggested.

“You’re right, you love how well I know you.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, fully smiling now. “You were serious about me driving?”

“As a heart attack,” I tell her.

‘YES!’ I’m shouting in my head, because I nailed it! Getting a smile like that out of her is the best prize you could ever get, I swear it.

I think the only thing that could be better is knowing that she’s mine.

But that’ll come, eventually.

***

Reader’s POV

Ten minutes later we’re at karaoke. I truly cannot with Colt Seavers, the only person who could make me feel pretty in this stupid ass romper.

He spent the car ride talking to me about his day, which was adorable, the way his nose scrunches up when he remembers something funny, and intermittently singing along to the song on the radio. I love when he lets me drive his truck, I feel like I can taken care of him for a minute and just listen to him. Oh, and I also don’t feel like I’m seconds away from dying because unlike him I don’t stunt drive. Although, I will say, I don’t mind when he does those stupid circles because it always presses me up against his side, which is never a bad place to be.

Right now Gale, the producer who always seems to be drinking a Diet Coke, is singing Toxic by Britney Spears. She has an incredible voice, and the entire bar is rightfully captivated by her stage presence.

“Hey! You made it!” Jody says, walking over to Colt and I. We’re sitting in a booth, on the same side, both slack jawed watching Gale.

“No thanks to you,” I say with an innocent smile.

“If you say so,” she smirks. “Thanks for getting her out of the trailer,” she tells Colt.

“My pleasure,” he says charmingly, squeezing my arm.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. Phil Collins is calling!” she dashes off to the stage as Gale is almost done with her song. She must be cued next.

“I see what you did there!” Colt comments after her. Collins and “calling” sound similar with her British accent. I must be blushing-the whole “lovebirds” thing-, because he looks over at me, amused, saying “What? Do I have something on my face?”

I go to answer, but all of a sudden Jody is singing “You’ll Be In My Heart” by Phil Collins, and I immediately pull out my phone to video. Jody has an incredible voice as well, and I love listening to her sing.

Once she’s done, she runs over with Sheila in tow, who must’ve just got here. They lift me up out of the booth- I’m starting to get sick of being man handled- and push me towards the stage against my protests. Colt is laughing- jackass- but all of a sudden “Any Way You Want It” by Journey is playing and I’m singing.

Now, I have a mediocre voice, but the thing about karaoke is that you could sound like a rabid raccoon, but if you have a song that everyone knows, you’re the shit. And also, I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me, so I just went for it.

So naturally, I was the shit. Everyone was singing along, and I couldn’t stop looking back at Colt, who was smiling so big as he sung along. He’s so, so cute. Finally the song was over, and I gave a dramatic bow. Colt met me by the stage, holding a hand for me to grab as I jumped down.

“You were incredible,” he compliments sweetly.

“Thanks,” I say, looking up at him, my hand still in his. His touch is electric, I can feel his heartbeat. His lips are ever so slightly parted, and I’m sure mine are the same… if he would just lean down-

“Is there a Colt “See-aye-vers” in the house?” the emcee asks into the microphone, completely mispronouncing Colt’s last name.

“Fucking Jody,” he mutters. We both turn to see Jody literally cackling by Sheila.

“Your turn!” I say gleefully, pointing at him so the emcee can see him.

“Mean,” he pouts jokingly, before going up on the stage and taking the mic from the emcee as I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss begins to play.

And he’s staring right at me as he sings it.

Well shit.

That’s the thing- apparently all of my coworkers are extremely talented singers. Maybe it was a requirement? Who knows.

Colt is no different.

And the thing is, I’m severely attracted to his voice. The gravelly, yet low and softness of it. I love listening to him talk. Like, he could read the nutrition label of a soup can and I would be completely locked in.

His singing voice? A whole other story. Between the rasp and the range, I could literally lose it right here and now. He sounds incredible.

And he’s looking right at me as sings about being made for lovin’ someone and about that someone being made for lovin’ him.

And I don’t want to assume, but by the way he’s looking at me…

I think that someone is me.

Colt’s POV

Kiss?! Are you shitting me?! That’s the song Jody picks for me?

I should’ve kissed y/n right then and there, I’m thinking as I head up to the stage.

And then there it is. A Kiss song. Not just any kiss song, the Kiss song.

I can work with this.

At this point, I don’t think I can handle her not knowing how I feel anymore. Not knowing if she feels the same way. Fuck “eventually.”

So you know what? I’m going to do my grand romantic act, just like in the movies. And I’m going to sing this damn song, to her.

And if she still doesn’t notice, I’m going to go down there and kiss her until we can’t think straight. Asking permission to before, of course. I’m not a jackass like Ryder.

So I sing the damn song, and my eyes are on only one, singular person. My one, singular person.

And she’s mouthing the words right back to me, her gaze never leaving mine.

I don’t even hear the applause as I jump down the stage, Tom Cruise style, landing right in front of her. “Hey,” I say, trying to sound cool.

Naturally, my voice comes out as a squeak instead.

She doesn’t say anything, just takes a step closer.

“I, um…”

Of course now is the time I decide to choke on my words. Not when I’m singing in front of thirty people, literally never before. But now. Damn it, Seavers. See-aye-vers. Fucking adhd. Shit. Wait.

“Colt?” she says, her voice only loud enough for me to hear. I’m all too aware of the beginning of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” behind me.

“Yeah?” I whisper. Looking down at her.

“Kiss me?” she asks, and it’s the last straw. My lips crash against hers before I even realize what I’m doing, and it feels like fireworks. Like the whole world could end but it would be fine because her lips are against mine.

***

Reader’s POV

This isn’t happening. There’s no way this happening.

Those are the only thoughts running through my head as I look at him. That song… it was electric. Coming from his voice, as he stared into my soul? I can barely think.

I don’t notice anything, nor anyone. Nothing at all, except for him.

So when he jumps down from the stage in stuntman fashion, looking me in the eyes up close… I can’t help it. I can’t wait any longer.

And now his lips are on mine, as Jody sings more Phil Collins, but I don’t even hear it.

I’m sure we’re going to get teased for it, but I can’t help it.

Not when the only thing I can sense is his soft lips on mine.

So when we finally release, there’s no question about what’s going to happen next.

“Colt..?” I breathe.

“Yeah?” he asks, parted lips already puffy and pink from our kiss. Gorgeous.

“Can we go outside?”

He doesn’t even answer, just grabs my hand and starts walking to the door. Thankfully we didn’t buy any drinks, and have no tabs to settle, because quite honestly I don’t think we’d have cared.

Finally, we stop in front of his truck. I’m smiling like an idiot, and he’s smiling right back.

“Colt, I really, really like you,” I tell him.

“Y/n, I really, really like you too,” he says.

And that’s all that needs to be said as he crowds me against the truck before pressing a kiss to my lips that leaves me giggling.

“What’s so funny?” he teases.

“Everything,” I tell him, before threading my fingers through his hair. He shakes his head bemusedly before kissing me again.

I couldn’t ask for anything more, anything more at all. Because in the words of his favorite song, this is a Love Story and baby, I will always say yes.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello Vodika!

I don't know if you still accept requests, but I wanted to send you one request. Would you do a story with Commander Neyo and Commander Bacara having a girlfriend in common? S/O who has two of the most harsh and cold commanders in GAR as boyfriends 😅, but with her beloved they are not like that anymore. It can be fluff, smut or spicy. Your choice. I wish you a nice day/night!

Dreams Can Come True

Summary: Having a boyfriend who is also a Commander for the GAR is an exercise in bad decision-making. Especially if he happens to be a clone. You’re not sure what having two Clone Commanders as boyfriends says about you as a person, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader x Commander Bacara

Word Count: 1727

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: So when you sent this, you probably weren't expecting family fluff or domestic bliss, but I had an idea, and just had to write it. I hope you like it!

Early mornings in your home are hectic. 

To be fair, early mornings in your home would be hectic even if you didn’t have two boyfriends who seem to make it their morning mission to be as clingy as possible. 

What with your six-year-old daughter that you have to bully and cajole to wake up and eat so you can get her off to school, and then the dogs need to be fed and watered and put outside, and then you need to make breakfast for yourself and your men.

And you need to do all of this before 8 am when you’re supposed to start working.

Honestly, at times, you wonder how your mother handled it.

“Mooooom!” Little Niko shouts from her bedroom at 7:30, “Bruno stole my shoe!”

“Stop yelling, Niko!” You call from the kitchen, where you’re in the process of making three lunches. A sandwich for Niko, and then leftovers from dinner last night for Neyo and Bacara. You’d make lunch for yourself at lunchtime.

A perk of working from home.

You hear little footsteps running down the hall, and Niko pokes her head into the kitchen. “Mom! My shoe!”

“You have other shoes, baby.”

“But I want that shoe. It matches the one on my bed.”

You sigh, “Alright. Let me finish the lunches and then I’ll help you get it from Bruno.”

“I have it, cyare.” Neyo says as he steps out of the bedroom you share with him and Bacara. He’s wearing casual clothes, and you glance at the calendar on the wall to check if he’s working today.

“Papa!” Niko runs over and hugs him tightly, giggling as he scoops her up and settles her on his hip, “Bruno took my shoe outside.” She says solemnly.

“Well, we better go find it.” Neyo replies before he drops a kiss to the top of her head, “Cyare, will you make me some caf?”

“Already brewing.” You reply as you gesture to the caf machine, which is just turning on.

He steps over to you and drops a kiss against your lips and when he pulls away he has the softest smile on his face, “You, my love, are an angel among women. Isn’t she Nik?”

“Yeah! Mom’s perfect!”

“All this for a little caf?” You joke, you wipe your hands on your apron and then kiss Niko’s forehead, before standing on your toes to kiss Neyo’s cheek, “Off you run. Better go find that shoe before he buries it and we need to buy another one.”

“Kriff,”

“Papa needs to put 5 credits in the bad language jar!” Niko declares.

“Yeah, papa.” You tease.

Neyo shoots you a look, though he looks amused. “After we find your shoe.” He sets Niko back on the ground, “Come on, Nik. Let’s see if we can hunt down the thieving miscreant.”

“Yeah! What’s a miscreant?” Niko asks as she follows Neyo out of the kitchen and out the back door.

You shake your head with a soft laugh and turn your attention back to the lunch prep. You almost don’t notice Bacara come out of the bedroom. Almost.

He shuffles into the kitchen, dressed in his sleep pants and nothing else, and immediately slides his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face in your neck.

“Good morning, handsome.”

He grunts a greeting, and you smother your laugh as you reach up to comb your fingers through his short curls. You feel him sigh and relax into you, though he’s careful to not lean too heavily on you.

“Did Niko wake you?”

“Mm,” He pulls his face away from your neck, “S’alright. She’s just a kid.”

“You can go back to bed, Cara.” You murmur, turning in his arms so you’re able to press your hand against his cheek, “You only got three hours of sleep.”

“And run the risk of not seeing Nik before she goes to school?” He asks, “Never.” He yawns widely, and drops his forehead to yours, “Don’t you have to work today?”

You shake your head, “We’re closed today. CEO is getting married, so the whole company is closed this week.”

“So I get you to myself all day?”

“Well, until you have to go to work this afternoon,” You correct with a small smile, “Master Mundi is expecting you this evening?”

“Mm-hmm,” He shifts so he’s able to rub his cheek against yours, “I think we’re getting deployed in the next couple of days.”

You sigh softly. They’re both going to be gone at the same time, again. Niko is going to be heartbroken. And so will you.

“I’m sorry, love.”

You shake your head, “I knew what I was getting into, Cara. No need to apologize. I’d like both you and Neyo home for dinner before you both leave though.”

He ghosts his lips against yours, “I’ll make it happen.”

“Good,” You trail your fingers against his jaw for a moment and then turn back to making lunch for everyone.

The backdoor slides open and Niko runs into the kitchen holding a chewed-up shoe, she looks very upset for half a second, and then forgets that she’s upset when she sees Bacara, “Daddy! You’re awake!”

“Did you think I wouldn’t see you off to school, Bug?” Bacara asks as he crouches to accept her hug, “What happened here?” He gestures to the shoe in her hand.

Niko pouts, “Bruno ate my shoe!”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of him.”

“No! It wasn’t! And now I need a new outfit!”

“Well, we should hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus.” Bacara says, as he stands and ushers her towards her bedroom.

With Bacara no longer wrapped around you, Neyo slides into his place, and drops a kiss on the side of your neck, ���Bruno’s fine. The shoe is fine too, it just needs to be washed.”

“You’re a godsend, Neyo.”

“I know,” He replies smugly.

You roll your eyes, “I changed my mind.”

“Too late.” He lightly nuzzles your neck, and then pulls back, “So, I was thinking.”

“Oh?”

“This weekend is supposed to be nice. How would you feel about us inviting some of the Command Batch over for a cookout?”

“Mm…which ones?”

“Fox, Cody, Wolffe. Fox.”

“You already said him.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s based on planet, so we, Bacara and I, really want you and Niko to get to know him.”

“Ah.”

He lightly pinches your waist, “We worry, cyare. It’s not like you have a massive support system.”

“You know, before I met you and Bacara, me and Niko got by just fine.”

“Well, the first time we met you spilled your tea and you burst into tears because you were so stressed, so excuse me for not believing you.” Neyo replies dryly. 

“Rude.”

“But true.”

“I should make you make your own lunch.” You threaten, though he just laughs, kisses you, and releases you. 

“Nik! You’re going to miss the bus!”

“I’m coming!” Niko runs out of her bedroom dressed in a totally different outfit, and her hair pulled into a neat tail, “I’m ready!”

You shove Niko’s lunch into her lunch box and hand it to Neyo, who shoves it into her backpack. He then tosses the backpack to Bacara, who holds it out for Niko, “Bug, don’t forget your bag.”

“Got it! Bye, love you!” Niko shouts as she grabs her backpack and runs out the front door.

Neyo moves to the kitchen window to keep an eye on her, and the other kids, at the bus stop, while Bacara moves back into the kitchen to pour three mugs of caf.

He sets a mug next to you and drops a lingering kiss against the corner of your lips, and then he holds a mug out to his brother. “Caf, vod.” He says as he sets the mug on the counter, close enough that Neyo could grab it if he wanted.

“Thanks,” Neyo grabs the mug and takes a sip, his gaze locked on the kids outside, “So, cyare, what are your plans for the day?”

You shrug, “You both need some more casual clothes, so I’m going shopping. Plus, if you want a cookout this weekend, I need to grab some stuff for that.”

“Cookout?” Bacara asks.

“I want to introduce her to Fox.”

“Makes sense. Fox is good people, a bit crazy.”

You laugh softly, “Well, according to your brothers, you are both cold and harsh men. So I’m not sure I believe you.”

“We are harsh,” Neyo says, turning his gaze away from the window as the kids climb on the bus, “Just not with you and Nik.”

“So we’re special,” You tease.

“Yes.” Bacara replies seriously, “You are.” He brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, and there is something soft in his gaze. “If you like, we can return to the bedroom and we can show you just how special you are.”

Your face heats, and you hear Neyo laugh, “After everything we’ve done together,” He murmurs, and you jump when you feel his warm lips against the back of your neck, “You still get so flustered with us.”

“Yeah, well—” You don’t have an excuse, so you just trail off.

Neyo glances at Bacara, and Bacara grins at his brother.

“You know…we’ve been thinking,” Neyo murmurs against your skin.

“Yes?”

“Niko would be an amazing big sister…maybe it’s time we gave her a little sibling.” Bacara finishes. 

Your face flames and you’re, genuinely, speechless. 

Although, you wouldn’t be going through the pregnancy alone this time. And your boys seem to be doing their best to make sure that you have a support system this time around when they can’t be there.

So maybe a new pregnancy wouldn’t suck half as much as the last one.

“That’s not a no,” Bacara says, his voice gleeful.

“That look on her face says that she’s willing, and eager, vod.” Neyo agrees, his fingers sure as he tugs your apron off and gently herds you toward the bedroom.

You’re unable to help your giggle. This isn’t what you imagined your life would be like. But this is so much better. In fact, it’s like a dream come true. The best dream come true.

Besides, having another baby with curls and who looks like them would only make your family that much better, wouldn’t it?

[stormsthatrage]

Have three (and a half?) ideas/sketches for the very beginning of the Two Idiots and a Temporal Incident Bleach AU. I made Ichigo a girl in this post because I have a deep-seated desire for more female Bleach characters that a) aren't constantly being rescued and b) aren't hyper-sexualized.

Snippet 1:

Two months after she killed Aizen, Ichigo came to the abrupt realization that she was ready to murder again. 

“Grimmjow,” she said, “if you don’t eat that somewhere else, I am going to kill you.”

Grimm lifted his head to look up at her. The rotted arm hanging from his mouth twitched as he ground down, evidently severing some sort of muscle between his teeth. This was unfortunately the last straw for the limb’s integrity; a large chunk of slimy skin sloughed off, landing on the bare dirt with a horrifically wet plop.

Ichigo told herself she was not going to vomit. 

The back of her throat tightened and her mouth filled with saliva.

She was not going to vomit.

Grimm locked eyes with her. Reached out a clawed hand to pick up the goopy chunk. Brought it towards his lips.

Ichigo contorted herself, leaning out over the side of the boulder she was sitting on, and heaved. Breakfast came up — a protein bar — and so did lunch — another protein bar.

Over the sound of her own gags, she heard him say, “And you think I’m disgusting?”

She gagged one last time, gave herself a second to be sure it really was the last time, and then reached out blindly for her sword hilt. Her fingers scrabbled over cold stone and found Zangetsu’s pommel, and then she was leaping down from the rock, fueled by the blood-thirst of someone a little too far past done with another person’s shit.

Grimm laughed as she crashed down on him, his breath powerful enough that she smelled the sound as equally as she heard it — but he had dropped the arm, and now she got to try and beat his face in, so it was a victory even if it was a Pyrrhic one.

Pantera caught Zangetsu’s edge (a brief connection, a split second of perfect understanding: grief pushed down and buried deep; a growing restlessness, born from the pointless question of now what; desperation to pretend the world remained as it was, before the war, before it was all broken, before they two were the last-) and Grimm shoved upward. Ichigo moved with the force of the block, springing backward and landing in a crouch. He grinned at her, more of a baring-of-teeth than a smile, and lunged forward.

And off they went, the two of them, playing pretend in a forest that was shrinking every day, the unraveling of reality itself closing in.

Snippet 2:

The sky was a perpetual, vibrant blue. 

Ichigo hadn’t stopped to ponder the color of the End of Everything before, well, everything ended. But she thinks if she had, she would have expected it to be black.

Black, like nothing. Black, the color of absence. 

But it turns out that the threshold of the apocalypse — where spacetime was being ripped apart, atoms and quarks torn open and destroyed — glowed.

Hat-and-Clogs had explained it before Aizen had killed him. In a twist of cosmic irony, blue was the color of sunny days and also nuclear fission. And so above them burned a spherical shell of brilliant blue, eating its way closer through the fabric of reality.

And beyond the shell, past the threshold? No color at all there, not even black, just a complete nothing.

There was a pun there, about moths and Aizen’s monstrous transformation and the destruction of fabric and possibly an emperor left wearing no clothes. If Renji had been there, he would have made it. Ichigo wasn’t drunk enough to do it for him. 

Spirits, she missed him. She missed them all, with their stupid jokes and annoying — 

“Can you shut up?” Grimm said. “I would, actually, like to fall asleep sometime this year.”

Ichigo stopped staring at the sky to roll over onto her side, squinting through decaying grass to peer at him. “I haven’t said anything?”

“But you were thinking. I know because I could hear you straining.”

Ichigo considered that, and then rolled over twice more, until she was close enough to Grimm to kick him.

Parallel to her in the grass, he tensed, bracing for a strike.

The joke was on him, though, that wasn’t her move. She let out a horrid, caterwauling wail, doing her best approximation of a drunkard trying to perform an aria. In her opinion, she managed the imitation quite well; the sound was positively, excruciatingly awful. 

Grimm launched himself across the remaining ground between them, landing on top of her and desperately trying to muffle the noise leaving her mouth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up - ”

She laid off screeching in favor of employing a technique all siblings learn early in life: licking the hand trying to silence you.

Grimm recoiled, skittering away and frantically wiping his hand on the ground. “I hate you!” he cried.

Ichigo cackled, and he turned his head to stare at her, shoulders hunched and eyes wide, posture all offended-cat. But there was something else in his eyes, too — something a little self-satisfied, maybe.

She huffed. “Go to sleep, moron,” she said, and closed her eyes. 

Snippet 3:

They stood over Aizen’s corpse. Just the sight of it was enough to make Ichigo’s hands shake with a mixture of fear and anger.

Soul King.

They had avoided this place by unspoken agreement, before now. Had wandered through what little forest remained, staying as far away from here as they could without getting too close to the boundary.

After all, why return? All it was was a reminder of how they had failed. How they hadn’t defeated him. Hadn’t killed him until he had already won in every way that mattered.

So, naturally, their return was prompted by nothing less than what Ichigo suspected was the stupidest plan to ever be created, synthesized from pure frustration, a deep lack of comprehension of kido theory, and the complete assurance that whatever they did, they couldn’t make things worse.

“The bastard didn’t even have the decency to rot,” Grimm said.

It was true. Aizen’s body lay there, perfectly preserved by the hogyoku, as the universe decayed around him instead.

“Looking at it makes me want to kill him again, you know?” Grimm added, kicking the side of the corpse. It was not a gentle kick. Something audibly crunched under his toe. “I feel like once just wasn’t enough.”

Ichigo breathed out. Breathed in. “Well,” she said, and her voice was as still and steady as Hat-and-Clogs could teach her, “if this works, we’ll get a second chance. Better make it satisfying, though, because I sure as hell don’t want to do this a third time.”

Grimm’s fangs glinted blue in the light of The End. “Oh, I have no doubt I will enjoy the opportunity immensely.” 

He crouched down and put one hand over the spot Aizen’s heart should have been. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “Your gargantas have always been shit, you know, and your kido is worse.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said. “Just do it already.”

And so Grimm unsheathed his claws and plunged his hand into Aizen’s chest. With a series of crunching snaps, a wet sucking sound, and a tide of the stench of iron, he ripped the hogyoku out of Aizen’s chest.

He cradled the tiny ball of divinity between both palms. Ichigo’s hands wrapped tightly around his. The two of them dripped gore and power from their fingers.

Focusing together, with neither array nor incantation, they imagined a clock, spinning backwards, and wished.

The hogyoku glowed, awakening from its sleep.

Blue light turned blinding white.

And everything came undone.

Snippet 3.5ish:

In a shocking turn of fate, the two’s methodology was successful.

But there was one factor — one small but vital factor — that they both forgot.

The type of time travel they embarked on required so much energy because, at its heart, it required undoing. In order to write a different book on pages that have already been printed, the pages must first be erased.

Under normal circumstances, the energy required to do this to a whole universe would be so immense as to be prohibitive. 

With a hogyoku, doing so became possible, but very, very difficult.

Doing so with a hogyoku, with the entirety of the universe already undone, save for few cubic miles?  

Well. The energy for that, dear reader, is peanuts.

And so the two time travelers, who had poured all the energy they could into the hogyoku in the desperate hope of landing far enough back to make a difference, found themselves flung back not two months, not two years, not even two decades, but about two centuries.

… There was, perhaps, a reason, that when everyone was still alive, those two were never put in charge of strategy.

[danikamariewrites]

okay BUTTTT i feel like a very important aspect to being feysand's housewife would also be co-parenting nyx and maybe even getting pregnant with a babe of her own?? feysand would be SO protective and doting of their soft little wifey bringing in their newest night court baby

Housewife part 3

A/n: omg ur so right anon. I think Nyx would love having two moms because that just means another person to love and spoil him

Warnings: poly relationship, pregnancy, and fluff

I think you would come into the relationship when Nyx was 3

They introduced you to Nyx before the inner circle. Even though he didn’t fully understand what was going on he became very attached to you

When you moved in you wanted to spend more time with Nyx

You take him out shopping with you and you always make sure to stop to get him a toy. Feyre and Rhys would give you two a look when you came home and he was holding the new toy. “What? This is the only one he needs to complete his collection.” “Yeah, I need it.” Nyx says with a small giggle at his parents faces

During the days at home you two read together, take naps, play in the garden, or playing g his favorite- hide and seek

Nyx loves to color and paint just like Feyre. You all decided fostering his creativity was important and would let him pursue any activity he wanted

Putting him to bed was always so easy

He loves bedtime stories so one of those and he’s out like a light

When he calls you mom for the first time your heart almost stops and there are tears in your eyes

You two were in the kitchen and you were making Nyx his lunch. He had just turned 4 last week so he asked for some cake with his sandwich and you couldn’t say no to that. Nyx climbed onto a chair and waited patiently for his food. When you set it down in front of him the little boy smiled up at you and said, “Thanks mom.” Before digging in

Of course he had no idea the affect him calling you mom had on you

You crouched down and pulled Nyx into a tight hug. Ruffling his hair you kissed his head. “I love you so much Nyx.” He kissed your cheek, “I love you too mom.”

When you put him down for his nap after lunch you went to Rhys’s office where he and Feyre were talking over some documents. Rhys saw you first and was confused by your tears and smile. “Y/n, is everything ok?” You nod enthusiastically. “Everything’s perfect. Nyx called me mom.” They both started crying as well and embraced you

Feyre is mommy and you’re mom, Nyx made that decision on his own

You absolutely cannot discipline this kid to save your life. Neither can Feyre so you two leave it to Rhys (he’s not very good at it either he folds pretty quick)

Special days with the three of you include going for ice cream, swims in the Sidra, and every month you take Nyx to this cute tea cafe where you eat fancy foods and have tea served in fancy cups

When he starts school the 3 of you don’t know how to handle it. You all cry on his first day not wanting him to go because it means he’s growing up and won’t need you guys one day. But that’s way far ahead

Nyx was happy to go to school, he loves making new friends and playing with the other kids

You all take turns dropping him off at school or sometimes you and Feyre drop him off together and get breakfast in the city

You always pick Nyx up and get an after school treat together where he tells you all about what he did in school

There were times when Nyx was sad and you guys never knew who he’d want to comfort him

One day when you picked Nyx up from school he had an angry scowl on his face and he was silent the whole way home. Feyre and Rhys were there to greet you at the door but he just ran up to his room and slammed the door

“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked worriedly. “I don’t know. He was quiet the whole way home. I asked but…nothing.” You started biting your lip as your mind raced. Was he being bullied? Did his teacher yell at him? Rhys heard you and Feyre having similar thoughts. He rested a hand on each of your shoulders, “I’ll go talk to him.”

Rhys got no where with Nyx. You guys accepted defeat and called in backup. Cassian and Azriel. They called themselves the A-team while referring to you 3 as the B-team (not true they are just very cocky)

After an hour of talking with Nyx they all came downstairs. Nyx climbed on the couch shoving himself between Rhys and Feyre. Cassian crouched down in front of him, “It’s ok Nyx, tell them what you told us.” He gave the little boy a reassuring smile. When you looked at Azriel you got a different vibe. The shadowsinger looked like he was about the kill someone. “Titus made fun of my family picture I drew. He got yelled at but I’m still mad.”

You swear you heard all 3 of your hearts break at once. That night you talked to Nyx about how all families are different and not everyone is going to understand that. He seemed better after that and said he would ignore Titus from now on

When you get pregnant you, Feyre, and Rhys were so excited to grow your family

The first person you guys told was Nyx

You were a little nervous telling him. How would he react? Would he hate you now? Would he be upset because all the attention would be on the new babe? You didn’t want your little guy to feel unloved or anything

You cried yourself to sleep over this in Rhys and Feyre’s arms the night before you told him

The next day you took him out for a special family day for ice cream and a new toy

When you got home your palms were sweating from nerves

Rhys ushered you all into the living room telling Nyx that you had big new to share with him. Rhys sat him in one of the Illyrian armchairs

“Nyx, we have something very important to tell you.” Rhys started. “Yes and we want you to know that we love you and this is going to be a big change, but a good one.” Feyre adds. You were supposed to bring it home and deliver the news. “You’re going to be a big brother honey. I’m pregnant, isn’t that exciting.”

Nyx just blinked at you a few times the smiled. “Will I have a brother or sister? Will they have wings too? Oh, when will they be here?” He was bouncing up and down with excitement in the big armchair

As your pregnancy went on and your belly got bigger Nyx loved saying hi to his sibling

He also loved to pat your belly and ask if you needed anything, he was just adorable

You guys pull nap on the couch together and he would read his books out loud so his little sibling would know his favorite books

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

Pushing Up Daisies

A.N.

Hey! Hello, It is sterek week and for today's two prompts my bestie and I did a sort of mirror fic where we had different POVs and tone but did stories that went together. I think it is a wonderful idea and I hope we executed it in an exciting way for you to read! Please read both parts as they fit together like puzzle pieces. The first is mine and the second is @halevetica 's. Please enjoy!

Domestic Bliss

Stiles rolled over with a grumpy sigh. Without opening his eyes to the early morning light he reached over to feel an empty space and frowned. His head lifted topped with violent sleep tousled hair as he squinted trying to find his husband. "Derek?" Stiles yanked his foot back up from the cold wood floors and then slid into Derek's slippers. Stiles might've complained one too many times about how cold the floors were until Derek rolled his eyes and looked in boxes till he found his own slippers. He didn't know if he'd ever get sick of Derek's face with that cute fond look even as he tried to be upset with him.

He yawned gently and looked around the still bare room. There was nothing except their furniture and boxes waiting to be unpacked. In the three days previous they hadn't gotten to the bedroom much yet, but he still smiled when he walked past the box labelled Stiles' PJs. It was filled with all of Derek's old t-shirts and basketball shorts. He had filled the box and labelled it as Derek's, but Derek came over and crossed it out and rewrote it while teasing about how they were no longer his own as Stiles wore them more than he did now. Stiles felt a lightness in his chest as he reflected on how much of a dream moving into their new house had been. They were still in the idyllic honeymoon phase where every night was the best one yet. The happiest day of his life had happened, they went on their honeymoon, and now just a couple months later he was moving into his dream home with a man better than his wildest imagination. His life was perfect. He had his dad, their wonderful home, and Derek.

Stiles reached for his toothbrush right next to Derek's and there was that overwhelming sense of love and happiness again. No matter how much they bickered or even fought, being with Derek was like the moment you figure out that everything will actually be okay in the end. It was that sigh at the end of a hard day and the first smile after being so sad you think you can't breathe. Derek meant safety, love, and home and Stiles finally understood what his parents had. He always appreciated that they were amazing together and that's what made losing her so hard. It was such a privilege to find someone that you didn't have to tolerate living with, someone that instead you had to survive living in the moments without them.

He rinsed his mouth out and spit into the white sink. Looking up at the mirror he tried to tame his hair while calling out again, "What do you want for breakfast?"

His brow furrowed as he received no response. He made his way down the creaky steps with soft padding slippered feet. He called out to the house as he entered the empty kitchen, "Oh husband mine? It's rude to not give me morning snuggles and kisses." Stiles pulled some coffee grounds out of an otherwise barren cabinet. He saw a note on the coffee machine and plucked it off with a quick snatch.

"'Morning sweetheart, went for an early run. Hope you slept well. Coffee should be hot (just like you) See you shortly. -D' Hmm. I'd rather have a sleepy husband, but I will take coffee." Stiles rubbed over the corner of the note where there was a dirty brown finger print on the paper. He must've had to clean up some coffee grounds. Stiles smiled down at his husband's rushed sloppy writing.

He used the last two slices of bread to make toast and decided he'd run to the store quick so they could have a proper lunch. He was getting sick of quick sandwiches, they needed some real food in the house. He could probably get back right after Derek showered and as he was making a protein shake if he hurried.

He grabbed the notes Derek had left on the counter and scrawled a quick note back to him for when he got back from his run.

Stiles balanced a piece of toast on top of his mug of coffee and stuffed the one he was eating in his mouth so he could open his bedroom door to get ready.

*** Stiles always somehow got the cart with the psychotic wheel and it was driving him crazy. He'd already bumped into two other carts because his possessed one took turns like they were an option instead of the only unoccupied path in a crowded aisle. He tried kicking the wheel to no avail and then sighed in defeat. He almost grabbed a box of cocoa pebbles, but instead grabbed Derek's middle aged woman cereal. He urged the wire monster towards the peanut butter while thinking wistfully of his abandoned chocolatey goodness.

He had tried to stick to the list, but he had gotten carried away with all of the things he thought they could fill the pantry with. He had gotten two cans of condensed milk despite not having a recipe for it. It was just something always in the back of the cabinet growing up. Somehow placing them in the basket had made those little flutters in his chest tickle again as if they somehow made their house a home with their uselessness. He had also gotten a couple autumn themed candles. Derek would hate them. Stiles smiled even at the thought of Derek sneering at a sweet vanilla chai kisses candle.

Stiles looked up from his overflowing cart to look directly at Derek. "Derek!" His grin completely took over his face.

"Stiles...hey, what are you doing here?" Derek sounded confused and his whole body froze. Stiles hardly ever spooked Derek or caught him off guard like that, but he supposed it was probably pretty strange for them both to be there.

"Oh you know, I wanted to fill up the house. Get some groceries for my husband, even though he did leave me in an empty bed. There's a monster in our house that eats peanut butter like breathing." Stiles deadpanned.

"A monster in our... oh right," Derek chuckled sheepishly.  "Sorry about that, I just wanted to get an early start. I made sure the coffee was ready though." Derek came around his cart and stood in front of Stiles to give him a quick kiss.

"Yeah thank you, that was really nice honey bun." Stiles shot out finger guns as he called him the overly sweet name.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly and then reached for the candle Stiles knew he would dislike the most. "Really?" He practically sneered at the name before putting it back into the cart.

"Hey say what you want, white girls got nothing on my fall game. I got the healthy cardboard cereal you pretend to enjoy as a compromise." Stiles sent him a saucy wink.

Derek's smile was small, but Stiles knew he loved the little things that showed how much they appreciated each other the most. "You take such good care of me." Derek praised and reached out to brush an appreciative thumb across Stiles' chin.

"I'm great at this marriage thing." Stiles mused. He finally looked away from his handsome husband's face to take in the state of his muddy joggers. "Hey, what are you doing here?" He peered around Derek's wide chest into his cart. "Did you sign us up for a HGTV show I don't know about? A rake and paint? What happened to you by the way? I thought I was the one with godlike grace and agility?" Stiles snarked self deprecatingly.

Derek turned his back to move some of the supplies around to show Stiles. "I was just trying to fix up that old building for you. I know you were excited about it, and the yard could use some tlc."

Stiles moved his cart to gently bump Derek's hip. "Look at you, not so bad at this yourself handsome. I will fight you for the husband of the year title though. I was thinking of making butternut squash soup and salad for lunch, how does that sound?" Stiles looked down at his cart to see if he forgot any ingredients.

"A home cooked meal? You win automatically. I'm headed out actually, so I'll see you at home?" Derek said briskly.

"Okay yeah. Before you head out you need me to get anything for you from the store?" Stiles joked.

"Maybe a less poisonous candle? Or are you gunning for my life insurance already?" Derek smirked before pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead. "Be safe." He added.

"You have unscented ones. And I don't need the money nearly as much as I need someone to make me coffee in the morning." Stiles confessed over his shoulder as he walked away from him.

Derek headed to the counter to check out. "Oh, maybe some of that creamer with the picture of the dog dressed as a pumpkin? You know the one." He called back.

Stiles looked in his cart at the cat curled up in the pumpkin on the creamer bottle already in his cart. Damn did he love his husband.

***

The plastic bag rustled as Stiles pulled out the thyme and garlic. He was somewhat glad Derek was out in the yard raking the leaves still. He adored spending time with his husband, but Derek and him both had verydifferent ideas of what a kitchen should look like while cooking. Derek cleaned dishes as he used them. Stiles was happy if the oven wasn't on fire. He still had grocery bags that needed to be unpacked, all of the soup ingredients were piled near the paper towels, and he had a half chopped onion near the pot he'd need to use for the soup. He arranged the daisies he had picked up for Derek in a green vase with meticulous care. He knew how much Derek liked plants in the house and secretly loved the romantic gesture of receiving flowers. He smiled at the finished bouquet and then returned to the onion while humming "I'll make a man out of you."

Stiles continued unpacking groceries and prepping the vegetables while working his way through the Mulan soundtrack. It drove him crazy while cooking if he had a song stuck in his head.

Stiles brought the squash to his cutting board and pushed aside the bowl . He moved to the sink to wash off the bits of onion skin that clung to his fingertips and looked out the window. He saw Derek frenetically raking leaves. Just the sight of him made Stiles pause while the warm water cascaded down his hands to rapidly circle the drain. He must've felt the eyes on him because he looked up almost immediately and gave him a subtle wave. Stiles' lips pulled into a grin and he waved back.

Stiles turned back to the squash with that warm feeling still inside of him. He placed the wobbly vegetable on its side and attempted to chop it in half. His still damp hands slipped and in a split second the knife sliced through the air and was flung straight towards his bare foot.

Stiles' eyes widened and in a fraction of a moment he flung his hand towards the knife too late to catch it, but with a flash of his eyes the knife halted midair. He quickly gripped it before letting the glow leave his eyes. The same eyes that then frantically searched to see if Derek had somehow appeared in the kitchen to see him or was peering inside the kitchen through the window. After verifying Derek was still in the yard he let out a relieved sigh.

Two years ago Stiles had pictured his future life completely different. He was about to give up on small town life and forget about ever being able to settle down before he met Derek. Having magic was never easy on him. People brought him all sorts of issues to solve like he had all the answers. It made dating and keeping people close really difficult. He never knew what to say to people. 'Oh, sorry I had to leave our date early. Someone I've never met before needed my help killing kelpies that were drowning people!' Some how he thought that wouldn't be the best second date opener. He kept being dragged into mystical hijinks as he was the only druid anywhere near their town. It was almost as if he had a magical beacon on himself saying I'm magical and I will help you.

It all became too much. His dad was the only one close to him that knew who he really was, what he could do. It was tiring always lying to people. Then, one day he had helped a dryad from New York. He was so grateful to Stiles he had invited him to move to the city. Stiles had told him how lonely the small town supernatural life was. How it felt like you were always lying and there was no way out, no one to share it with. He had even tried to stay out of the supernatural world, but it kept dragging him back in. The man then told him how different the city was. There were entire communities he could join and Stiles finally had hope. As loathe as he was to leave his dad, he had decided to go.

The month before he would've left he met Derek. Suddenly it wasn't about what drug him back to the life, it was about what kept him in the one he wanted. So many times he had wanted to tell Derek, wanted to not be lying. He knew it was better this way, he would give up anything for Derek and their perfect life. He wanted to be normal for Derek. He gave up magic and turned away anyone who asked him for help. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Derek because of him. He had his regular life now, and it was perfect. Derek was perfect. He was gorgeous and dorky, even if sometimes he could be a bit boring with his need to be obsessively domestic. Stiles loved it. He loved his boring normal life. He didn't care what he gave up for it or how much he had to lie about himself.

Stiles hadn't realized how long he'd been lost in thought. He looked down to the now soup filled pot he had made on autopilot. He would have to call Derek in soon now that lunch was ready, but he needed a few moments to collect himself. Derek always knew when he was feeling deeply, but he didn't want to sour the day.

He was about to go out the back door when he heard a knock at the front. Stiles hurried to the door, maybe it was his dad popping in.

It was a man with a charming smile and a smooth voice, "You must be Stiles."

Stiles was caught off guard. "Hi, and who are you? Do you know my husband? Do I know you?"

The man chuckled, "No, not yet. But I'm hoping to be good friends with you."

Stiles heard the back door crash open and slam shut. The harsh sound was on Derek's honey do list to fix.

"You and your husband. Of course. I just wanted to meet the new neighbors." Right on cue as he spoke Stiles heard Derek's heavy shoes clunking towards them.

There was something about this man's eyes Stiles didn't quite trust, but he wanted to be inviting. "Oh, do you live nearby?"

Derek shouldered in front of him pushing open the door even further. "This is private property, what do you want?"

Stiles' jaw was dropped about as wide as the man's shocked eyes. The man stammered out, "Uh, sorry, I was just..." He took a quick step back while his eyes never left Derek. "It was nice meeting you."

Stiles thrust a hand out after him, as he beckoned him back. "Oh don't go! No, I'm sorry. This caveman with no manners is my husband." Stiles shot Derek a withering glare. "Please don't mind him. We'd love your company. I just finished making lunch."

Derek snapped his head to look at Stiles and rudely replied, "I'm sure he can't stay."

The man started to decline, "Oh, no, I-"

Stiles gripped Derek's arm and dug his fingertips in. "I insist!"

The man and Derek stood in some sort of awkward stalemate. Stiles could not believe his husband. Derek was never like this he was so friendly and charming whenever they met new people normally. Sure he'd trash talk them and let him know later if he didn't really like them, but this is the first time Stiles had ever seen him so hostile and rude.

Stiles pointedly said, "Come in. What was your name?" Derek didn't budge till Stiles started to shoo him back into the house.

Stiles had no idea what had gotten into Derek his jaw was clenched, but he backed up.

"Ansel Williams." Ansel looked at them with a strangely intense gaze. "But you can call me Andy. I can see that your husband recognizes the name. It's very unique. It's odd that you don't th-"

Stiles looked at Derek completely lost. It made sense why Derek was acting hostile if he didn't get along with Ansel, but Stiles didn't know why then Ansel was acting like he wanted to be friends. He felt like he was missing something.

He just was about to say maybe they should have lunch some other time wanting to trust his husband when Derek interrupted the man. "My name is Derek, nice to see you again," Derek stuck out his hand which Ansel took hesitantly. "Stiles made soup. I hope you're hungry."

"Famished." The man regained some of his earlier confidence as he followed them into the dining area.

***

Stiles passed around the freshly baked rolls again hoping to cut the tension that had accumulated over the meal. "So what kind of special assets does your company acquire?"

Andy replied with his mouth full, "Well it depends though we really go after the more coveted and unique people."

"Oh, so you're a headhunter?" Stiles said interested, hoping to steer the conversation in a direction that wouldn't have his husband glaring and quiet.

"Something like that." The man smirked and Stiles wondered if he was being modest about what he actually did. "What do you guys do?" Andy asked while gesturing between them holding a half eaten roll.

"Well, I'm an online web designer so I work from home." Stiles looked at a completely silent Derek, who seemed like he was sitting on tacks, before turning back. "And my wonderful husband is a basketball coach at the high school. The kids absolutely love him. He's so good with them. So much better than he is with adults sometimes." Stiles gushed proudly. 

He gave Derek a pointed look and gave his hand a few rough pats hoping to coax him into the conversation. Stiles didn't want their very first introduction to the neighborhood to be so stilted.

"How very domestic." Andy commented.

"It's a very rewarding job." Derek pushed out without an ounce of the pride and happiness Stiles knew his job brought him.

"He's really very good. He took the kids to state last year. Honey you should go show him the photo in the garage and your trophies! I have to go get dessert ready anyway." Stiles stood up to go to the kitchen. Before he left he pressed a kiss to Derek's temple and whispered into his ear, "Be nice and make friends." Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's shoulder firmly to try and convey how rude Derek was being.

He smiled at Andy and said,  "Dessert will be just five minutes."

When he looked back at Derek he wore the same smile he gave Stiles whenever asked to take out the trash. It was begrudging and appeasing, but also he could never help the tiniest bit of adoration from sneaking in there whenever he smiled at Stiles. No matter how snarky.

Stiles pulled the pie he had warmed up out of the oven and placed the ice cream on the counter to thaw a bit.

As Stiles sliced the pie he thought about how rude Derek had been. It was so out of character for him. Sure Derek could be a bit gruff, but that was downright hostile at moments. Stiles was glad Andy hadn't stormed out or that he didn't take offense at any point. Stiles wanted this move to go well. He wanted to be settled and get along with the neighbors. He wanted the dream life for Derek and him. He didn't know how a grumpy Derek would fit in with his image of summer block barbeques and borrowing cups of sugar. Sure Stiles knew neither of them were the overly friendly or social type, but he just wanted them to have the white picket life. Stiles cleaned up the plates where the viscous cherry red pie filling had smeared while he thought deeply.

Maybe Derek didn't want that. Maybe he wanted it to be just the two of them, which Stiles certainly wouldn't object to. He was just so confused because up to this point Derek had been so kind to any friends Stiles introduced to him and meeting new people he always flashed his pearly bunny smile that melted him every time. Stiles licked the pie server clean before tossing it in the sink. He scooped the hard ice cream with great effort while sticking out his tongue in concentration so he didn't fling it across the kitchen.

Stiles wanted to immediately ask how they knew each other, but Derek had acted so coldly he figured it was not a good time. If they had bonded in the garage Stiles would mention it over dessert. The whole thing was so puzzling to Stiles.

The three forks clinked against the plates as he placed them. Just as he was about to bring the plates to the table he heard the garage door opening. That was strange. Stiles made his way to the garage to investigate the noise forgetting the pie for a moment.

He opened the garage door to see Derek standing under the big rolling door. He turned to Stiles and began to close the distance.

Stiles spoke as he moved, "The pie is ready. Where'd Andy go?" Stiles started to lean around Derek to look out the garage door. "You didn't murder him did you?" Stiles joked.

Derek let out a small laugh. "He had to go, wife called."

Derek swiped a thumb across Stiles' lower lip and licked it off. "Mmm, cherry?"

"Yeah. It is." Stiles replied with a question hidden in his tone. Stiles squinted at Derek puzzled, but for the moment willing to let it go.

Derek crowded into Stiles' space close enough he could smell his aftershave and forced him to take a step back as he reached past Stiles to close the garage door. "Shall we?" Derek straightened up and gestured to the door grandly with a sweet as pie smile.

Fuck the neighborhood, as long as he had that smile in his house he didn't care how many people Derek chased off.

***

Stiles let the plates clatter loudly after he scrubbed the water away much harsher than needed. If he kept it up the china nor their kitchen towels would survive their first year. He didn't like how evasive Derek had been while they ate pie. Stiles had always loved how honest they were in their relationship together.

Well, except for the one thing he'd always kept. In marrying Derek he made a lifelong commitment to leaving the supernatural world behind. It burned at something deep inside of him. This space and what seemed like secrets between them, they ignited all of his worry and fear. He left his past behind to find a future with his husband, but why did it seem like Derek was hiding in their present? When he thought about it Derek had been strange all day.

Usually he would wake him up before going for a run to let him know and give him a kiss. Usually, Derek wasn't as cold and rushed as he was when Stiles bumped into him at the store. Usually, he preferred to get into Stiles' way in the kitchen because of how much he loved to see Stiles move around the house. Usually, he asked Stiles to keep him company while they did yard work. Usually, he'd be right next to him putting away lunch or doing the dishes. Usually, Derek didn't make it seem like he had things to hide from Stiles.

Stiles pulled himself out of his pity party as he dried a spoon. His husband loved him. This could just be a misunderstanding or a bad day. He could've just been cranky at Andy for interrupting their lunch. Maybe they had history. The thought of maybe they were already growing apart popped just as fast as it appeared. It was laughable to the point Stiles couldn't even believe it had come from his own admittedly over active brain. They were so madly in love with each other it was frankly disgusting. Was he irritated with Derek? Absolutely. However, they were not the type of relationship to let one bad day ruin even the rest of their week. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles was definitely not the type of husband to let this go though. 

Stiles stormed into the unpacked living room. He stopped right where Derek was kneeling in front of the TV to unpack a ripped box of DVDs. "We're going to talk about how lunch went, and how you know Andy. Also, don't try to make me think it isn't a big deal. You don't normally act like that. And don't you dare try and tell me it's nothing or that you're okay. I know you Derek Hale- Stilinski and that lunch was not you and you shutting me out and not talking to me definitely isn't you...." Stiles drug a breath in desperately while waiting a second for Derek to reply. "Okay I'm done now you can speak." Stiles rested his hands that had been gesturing wildly onto his hips.

Derek sighed like he knew what was coming and put the DVDs on the shelf before facing Stiles. "I had an unpleasant run in with his brother."

Stiles squinted at Derek's genuine face. "How unpleasant? Do I need to go over there with the rest of the pie laced with laxatives, or poison?"

Derek huffed a laugh and then wrapped a coaxing arm around his waist. "No, I was being an ass, I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm sorry. I promise to behave in the future."

Stiles melted into him and sighed in relief. "I like when you misbehave. I don't like when I feel far from you. Next time just slam the door in his face and tell me why we don't like him now." Stiles snuggled into his chest.

"Deal." Derek sweetly kissed the top of his head. "I found the DVDs. Pick one while I shower."

*** Stiles was fighting to keep his eyes awake. No matter how much he loved seeing Bucky Barnes in uniform, the feeling of Derek's warmth radiating into his side where he was gently leaning on him was like no other. If that wasn't enough Derek was slowly dragging his thumb along his knee lulling him deeper. Stiles was so content he could live on this edge between his dreams and the dream forever.

Derek jolted and pulled him out of his fulfilled state. Stiles cocked his head to the side in question.

Derek replied, "We should make popcorn. I think the box with the popcorn maker got put upstairs. I'll grab it. You don't have to pause it." Derek stood and a cool rush of air met his side.

"I was just about to fall asleep, that's perfect. Popcorn will keep me awake. Do you want help?" Stiles offered noncommittally as he tucked himself into the blanket.

"No, I've got it. Keep the couch warm for me." Derek spoke already at the base of the stairs.

Stiles yawned, but he sat up to try and stay awake. He absentmindedly checked his phone for a couple moments before he heard the front door jingle.

That was odd. He hadn't heard Derek come down, nor did he know why he'd need to go outside. Stiles pulled the blanket off himself and stood up with a curious gaze towards the dark hallway. As he moved closer he slowly adjusted to the light and right as he wound around the corner a shape suddenly moved towards him out of the darkness. Stiles stumbled backwards in shock back into the living room. As the shape followed him the light spilled from the TV and lamp to illuminate his face and Stiles stopped in the middle of the room out of confusion.

"Andy?" Stiles asked.

"Stiles, hey sorry it's so late. I wa-" Andy wore a charming smile that Stiles didn't fall for one bit this time.

"The front door was locked. Why are you in my home?" Stiles demanded. He hoped Derek stayed upstairs long enough for him to deal with this. Whatever this was. Stiles crossed his arms and continued on, "Is this about your brother? If so, I doubt an argument is worth breaking into the sheriff's sons' home."

Andy took small leisurely steps closer. "This has nothing to do with Ansel. He was just an unfortunate loss along the way thanks to your dear husband."

Stiles tried to figure out what that meant while looking around the room for weapons. His options were limited to whipping DVDs at him like a knock off Gambit or running to the kitchen for knives. "What do you want with my husband?"

Andy laughed. "We don't want him. He is just in our way. You're quite special Stiles."

Stiles had heard enough. He looked to where the door was left ajar like Andy planned on it getting used again soon. Almost as if someone else would be coming in soon. He didn't know what was going on he just knew he had to deal with this fast especially if there were more coming.

"We just want to talk. We just want you to come with u-"

Stiles cut him off with a sudden uppercut and then immediately dashed for the kitchen. The punch hadn't had quite the effect he hoped because Andy was hot on his heels enraged. Stiles heard his steps too close. He wouldn't make it to the knife block.

Stiles went full speed into the stack of boxes on the other side of the kitchen and kicked out a leg behind himself blindly hoping to keep just enough distance between them. Thankfully he found what he was looking for as Andy gripped his calf tightly trying to wrench it to the side so he could grab Stiles. Stiles spun around and violently smashed the heavy wok into the side of Andy's skull. He used the second of dazed confusion to push against Andy's chest.

Stiles' eyes widened as Andy grew claws and fangs in front of him. The man before him growled as his eyes flashed blue.

"Oh fuck." Stiles swore.

"We just need you to come with us you little bastard. If you come easy we won't hurt your husband, but you're coming either way."

Stiles saw red at that threat, but he pushed it down. There was that "we" again. Stiles felt his stomach drop as he realized his mistake. The door was open so Andy could take him back through it, but if someone was going to follow they would've already. They didn't need to come in through the door because they were already inside.

It didn't take that long to get a popcorn maker.

With that realization Stiles heard a crash of glass shattering upstairs.

Stiles felt everything at once rage, despair, hopelessness, and finally determination. He held up his palms as they flashed with a blinding painful light. It was as if he had lit up their kitchen with a flash bang that could harness the sun itself.

As Andy groaned in pain and clutched at his face disoriented, Stiles pushed past him to sprint upstairs.

He must've been too loud because despite being temporarily blinded, Andy was able to grab onto his torso and sink his claws in before he had even made it through the living room. Stiles shouted in pain from the digits that dug deep into his flesh.

He needed to get to Derek. Andy was in his way.

Stiles gripped both of the werewolf's wrists and attempted something he knew would drop him instantly. Lightning crackled around Stiles' white knuckles that were now covered in his own blood from where they gripped Andy's splattered arms. Stiles could feel the man shaking behind him, but if anything it just drove his claws in deeper. Werewolves had a high tolerance for electrocution. However, it did make them susceptible to other forms of magic. Stiles' eyes started to glow pure white as all of the moisture from the man started to pull out of his eyes, his ears, and finally his mouth. First it was just little trickling strands and then pouring streams that mixed with the electricity as the moisture started to explode out of his skin like a wrung out sponge.

With a heavy thunk the dried out crisp husk of a man fell to the floor.

Stiles started towards the stairs again, but for the second time in less than a minute was dumbstruck with the fangs and claws in front of him. "You're a werewolf!?" Stiles shouted the question at his newlywed husband with wide eyes as he nearly ran into him.

Derek looked relieved, well as much as Stiles could tell through the sideburns his husband never had before.

The floor where Derek had just dropped down groaned in protest as another heavy snarling body thumped down right behind him.

Stiles saw the man's red eyes trained on his husband and reacted instinctively as Derek whipped around to face the threat.

Stiles' hand raised to their cherished house plant sitting on the table up against the stairs while a vibrant green glow emanated from his fingertips and eyes. The pothos had been with them since their first apartment. Lydia gave it to them as a housewarming present. Derek would be upset with how much care he had put into keeping it alive, but he couldn't think about that right now.

The thin vines whipped out and grew in both number and size. In the blink of an eye they wrapped around the alpha's arms and legs just as he was about to swipe his claws at Derek. The green ropes held him taut as even more sprouted thorns and wound around his neck. The alpha began to scream as the thorned vines pushed into his eyes and ears causing blood to gush out. His scream was choked off as vines burst out of his mouth. He fell lifeless to his knees and then finally slumped to the ground as the vines atrophied and turned brown.

Stiles breathed in and out to calm himself from the carnage that had happened in their previously peaceful house in but a few moments.

He lowered his hand slowly and the glow left his eyes, eyes that now met Derek's after they left the now non-existent threat.

He took in his husband's shocked face and didn't even know how to start the conversation, hell the multiple conversations, they now had to have. Like what was he supposed to say, 'Hey honey, why yes I've always been able to do this. Dear, how long have you been a werewolf? Love of my life, would you like to burn the bodies or should I start to look up pig farms?' Stiles felt a pit well in his stomach, for once he did not want to talk to his husband. He didn't want to ruin what they had. Maybe he could wipe Derek's memory. He was spiraling he knew, but he couldn't give up their perfect life. He never wanted to bring Derek into the supernatural life, but here they were.

"You have magic?!" Derek exclaimed.

Derek's eyes fell to Stiles' blood soaked torso. "You're hurt." Derek slowly reached out then paused, almost like he was expecting Stiles to lash out with a dandelion from the yard.

Stiles looked down at his stomach almost noticing the wounds finally through the shock of what had all happened. "I'll be fine really." Stiles looked at Derek's paused hand on his way to reach out. "It's actually helpful that you're a werewolf." Stiles chuckled weakly. "Can I touch you?" Stiles sounded so very unsure about it even he was surprised that he was talking to his husband. The one person that never made Stiles feel unsure.

Derek let out a desperate whispered,  "Please."

Stiles' eyes started to water at the tender feelings and warring worries welling inside of him. He wouldn't have known what to do if Derek turned him away. He smiled as he reached out to grab Derek's arm. "This shouldn't hurt at all, I'm just borrowing your ability to heal." Stiles hesitantly gripped Derek's forearms and focused. Golden glowing veins spidered from Derek's arms to Stiles' waiting palms. His wounds gently glowed the same golden color as they closed.

"Take what you need." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Derek's head swiveling back and forth.

After his flesh had finished fusing back together Stiles released his arm somewhat regretfully, he liked the contact.

"Who hurt you?" Derek spoke with purpose as he pushed past Stiles toward the living room.

Stiles felt his body flush with panic again. He rushed past Derek and pulled the blanket from the couch with a gust of magic to quickly cover the Kentucky fried crispy man, but he was too late.

Derek was stock still looking at the blanket.  "You did this?" He asked quietly.

A million explanations and excuses flooded through Stiles, but nothing more powerful than the shame. Would Derek think of him differently? He hadn't just killed this man, he had given him an agonizing death. Stiles didn't think about the consequences, he didn't think about the man's pain, and he certainly didn't think about mercy. All he thought about was the fastest way to get to Derek no matter how brutal.

"I-I um, yeah. He came up behind me and I- I just reacted." Stiles' voice was small and he started chewing his lip. Maybe he could wipe his memory of the last half hour. No popcorn, they just finished the movie.  "I had to get to you." Stiles didn't like how pleading his voice sounded to his own ears and he definitely didn't know what he was asking of Derek. Please don't look at the body. Please don't be freaked out by how much I love you. Please don't be concerned with the lengths I'd go to for you. Please. Please just don't think I'm a monster.

And if he was really honest and let the most pitiful of them all have a voice, please don't love me any less for the dark things I'd do just to keep you safe.

"Oh." Derek sounded absent minded in a way he had hardly ever heard him.

His eyes were still on the blanket covered body.

"Wow." Derek spoke pushing out each letter of such a simple word in a way that made Stiles taste bile on his tongue. There were many ways in which Stiles wanted to amaze his husband, this was not one of them.

Stiles took several steps back towards the door creating space between them in case Derek didn't know how to tell him he didn't want him near anymore. "I'm sorry." Stiles held his arms against his torso knowing the warmth he'd leeched while holding onto Derek was still on his palms, and yet he felt only a chill up his spine.

Derek finally snapped back to the moment and turned to face him. "No, don't apologize. I just... all day I've been trying to keep you safe but... you never needed me." Derek sounded impressed.

The tears finally fell from Stiles' eyes. "I always need you." He confessed.

Derek stalked over and pulled him into a hug. Stiles buried himself into Derek's chest and let out a breath of relief.

"I think we have a lot to talk about." Derek said.

"Just give me a moment. I just need to hold you to know you're okay. I thought-" Stiles' words caught in his throat. "I thought they'd kill you because of me." Stiles still felt the guilt pulsing inside, but the waves lessened as he felt the warm body against him.

Derek gently carded his hands through his husband's hair to soothe him.  "Who were they?"

Stiles shrugged while wrapped in Derek's arms. "I don't know. From what Andy said it seemed like they wanted me for my magic."

"How long have you..." Derek unwrapped their limbs to look into Stiles' eyes.

"Been a glowy magical young hot Gandalf? Technically since birth, but I didn't get any of the cool magic till after my mom died."

"So the whole time" Derek nodded with a huffed laugh.

"How long have you been... Craving Scooby snacks?" He cursed internally hoping this wasn't a sore subject for Derek.

Stiles loved the soft affection that leaked out of Derek whenever he tried to roll his eyes at his snark. Derek replied, "Also since birth."

"So the whole time." Stiles laughed. "Damn I missed an opportunity to give you a squeaky toy as a wedding gift. So you're an alpha? Where's your pack?" Stiles asked.

Derek gently pinched Stiles' chin and looked lovingly into his eyes. "Right here."

Stiles looked at Derek's fond smile ready to kiss it when he noticed a smear of blood just to the left of his mouth. He swiped it with a thumb. "I doubt this would taste like cherry." He wiped it off on his ruined shirt.

Derek's lips fully upturned into a grin before he crashed their lips together. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Stiles'.

Stiles pulled his head back to speak to him. "But no really, where's your pack? You can't be an alpha with just one puny human that didn't even know you were a werewolf." 

"My alpha status wasn't planned. Wrong place, wrong time. I never wanted this." Derek gestured to the crispy dead body with an air of begrudging acceptance.

"How long have you been an alpha?" Stiles' tone turned mocking, "Since birth?"

Derek laughed. "Five or so years. I haven't really kept up with it. I never took a pack."

Stiles felt his stomach drop. There had been alphas that went insane without a pack in a matter of months. While Stiles would never experience it the thought made him shudder. To be so very alone only wanting someone to connect you to your life and your purpose had to have been torture. Actually, now that he thought about it maybe their experiences weren't all that different. Having power was nothing without someone to protect. Stiles rested his hand on Derek's chest above his heart. "Derek that's- that's awful. Being an alpha without a pack is a terrible way to live. You have nothing to draw from, nothing to hold you down. It would be like if I didn't have my magic. Pack is a part of being a werewolf as much as magic is a part of who I am."

Derek sighed, "Becoming an alpha was... the worst thing that could've happened to me. It took me from my family. They were my pack. I never wanted another one. But a pack can't have two alphas. It disrupts the balance." Derek spoke with such sadness.

"Then I met you. And I knew I'd never need anyone else." Derek had that look, the one that told Stiles he was genuinely happy and it made his heart flutter at the sweet words.

"You're all I need too, but Derek I don't want you to deny a part of who you are to be with me." Stiles hated that for the entire time he knew him, Derek had to hide from him. He didn't want that to be the future.

"What about you? Where's your coven?" A teasing smirk lit up Derek's face. "Am I gonna find a broomstick in one of these boxes?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open in a baldly offended look. "Do you think I'm a witch?!" Stiles pulled back from their embrace mildly upset. Druids and witches were very different things.

"Well, I don't know what you are." Derek once again gestured to Mr. McCrispy. "You're something."

Stiles had already decided to forgive him and only hold it against him occasionally. "If you ever call me a witch again I'm buying you a doghouse for out back. I'm a druid."

Derek’s expression dropped as he pulled from Stiles taking a stumbled step back. "Do-do you have an alpha?" Derek asked fear and horror blatant in his voice.

"Why would I? I already have one lug trying to tell me what to do." Stiles joked confused.

"You're an emissary though." Derek intently stared into his eyes and at his face like he was expecting a lie.

Stiles squinted at him. He had no idea what confused Derek so much. "I'm a druid... I didn't specifically say I was an emissary. Derek do you think all druids are emissaries? Because that's racist. I'm offended." This time his offended face was an act.

"All the druids I've ever met are emissaries. Only alphas really deal with them. Why aren't you an emissary?" Derek asked.

"Because it's rare for a druid not born into or raised alongside a pack to become an emissary. To be an emissary is to be trusted with the pack's lives at the highest level, most of the time equal to an alpha. It's a huge responsibility, but an even bigger trust is needed. My mom left her pack back in Poland when she came here. I know it was something that she missed and always wanted for me, but I knew it would be too difficult to find." Stiles got a bit sad anytime his mother was mentioned, but nothing made that hollow spot in his heart echo like remembering her last days when she barely remembered their names. If he was honest a bit of that echo was his magic calling out to him.

"I hope I didn't keep you from finding that. You're incredibly strong. You'd make an amazing emissary." Derek looked guilty.

"I gave all of that up when I met you. I had an opportunity out in New York. I almost left with a friend I had helped out. He's a dryad and they had just lost their druid emissary. I realized what I had with you made me happier than that ever would. Sometimes I do miss it, magic will always be a part of me-" Stiles looks down as little blue wisps whirled around his waving fingers. "But Derek, don't think for one second that I'm missing out on what's meant for me." Stiles looked at his husband and he knew every word he spoke was absolutely honest. The love he felt for Derek was like nothing else in the world to him.

"That's why he wanted you." Derek looked at the dead alpha in the hall. "You know, if you- if you wanted to be an emissary..." Derek threaded their fingers together and little blue strings began to swirl around both of their fingers.

Derek seemed nervous and it made Stiles wonder if it was from what he said or the magic still moving between them. He wondered if the chill was getting to Derek's bones yet, a normal human would've had to let go by now.

Stiles let the magic go once again and laughed. "Oh man, two seconds ago you thought all druids were emissaries. Absolutely not." Stiles squeezed his fingers hoping their warmth had returned. To his pleasure his husband's hands were as warm as they always were. How he had never realized Derek's ability to instantly warm a cold bed was supernatural Stiles would never know. "I won't say yes to that until you fully know what it means. If you get sick of me you can't just divorce an emissary. Parting from an emissary is like ripping half of your soul away."

Stiles felt that fading echo in his chest again. This time instead of thinking of the end he thought about the beginning, when the pain was loudest.

He thought about how he had gripped his bed sheets when his parents sat him down to tell him his mom was sick. Then he thought about a little bit later when she told him what he was, what they were. Memories started to resonate inside of his head. How scared she had looked when talking about her pack. How he had always wondered what they had done, done to her, and worst of all forced her to do to make her so very scared. He remembered their happy days and their sad days. He remembered overhearing her telling his dad she felt like they were being ripped from him, that her very soul was torn in two. He would never do that to Derek. He could never. She had fought off her own magic rebelling against leaving the pack as long as she could, but eventually it killed every part of her life in her that she loved. She had left her pack even though she knew what it would mean.

Just the thought of Derek leaving him and then losing himself because of it churned his stomach. He willed away the echo and banished the pain. He would always keep the memories though.

"I'd never get sick of you. Parting from you would already be like having half of my soul ripped away." Derek confessed.

"Well it's good you're stuck with me then." Stiles let go of Derek's right hand to thread their left hands together to kiss their wedding rings. "We can work towards it, but I have a feeling your emissary didn't tell you as much as they told your alp- Oh my god Derek! Oh my god!" Stiles spastically slapped Derek's chest. "Your mom is an alpha isn't she?!"

Derek looked startled. "Yes?"

"Oh my god! At Christmas? At Christmas they were all wolves?! How did I not know? This is insane! Your mom makes such a good green bean casserole and she's an alpha!"

Derek laughed. "You'll have lots to talk about next year."

"Next year? I'm getting brunch with her next week. I'm not waiting for Christmas. This is huge!"

"You're having brunch with my mom?" Derek looked offended at not being invited.

"Yes yes, they have bottomless mimosas downtown, we're going to go once a month. Not the point. Holy shit, I can't believe it! Wait, when Cora broke her leg in South America and your mom went to get her, was that werewolf shenanigans or did she really fall down a mountain hiking? Oh my god, I have got to call your mother! Actually, do you think she's still up? We could go visit."

Derek put his hands on his shoulders to ground him. "Stiles, we have two bodies we need to deal with. Let's surprise visit my mother tomorrow, yeah?" Derek spoke with a fond look.

"Oh yeah, totally. What do you think we should do with them?" Stiles looked between the bodies.

Derek looked over his shoulder towards the backdoor. "I actually have a spot already."

"What for bodies?"  Stiles snorted.

"Well, I had to do something with the one from this morning." Derek replied seriously.

Stiles smile dropped and he flung out his arms only to rest them on his hips."What do you mean the one from this morning?!" Stiles couldn't believe this.

"Remember the brother I mentioned?" Derek nodded to Andy's body.

"You killed him?!" Stiles was replaying the day and all the moments he thought his husband had acted strange. Suddenly, Derek hadn't acted strange enough with that new context.

Derek slid his arms through Stiles' while he pulled him in. "Isn't it obvious? I'd kill anyone for you."

His heart shouldn't have melted at that. Stiles was blown away with the love he felt for his husband and how their relationship changed so much and yet not at all over the course of one day. They were going to be okay. They were still going to fall asleep in each other's arms. They were still going to watch movies on the couch. They were still going to always figure things out together. They would now hide bodies together. They would now talk about the supernatural. They would now have very different Christmases. They were still going to be okay, even if they would need to start buying a suspicious amount of bleach.

After all, what was a bit of occasional murder in the shadow of domestic bliss? 

~~~

Love Is Murder

A distant thump snapped Derek's eyes open. The darkness of sleep faded into a muted gray room, the bare walls came into focus. The sun was still hiding behind the horizon. What time was it? Had he dreamt the sound? Another thump had him sitting up, his eyes scanning the mostly empty room. There was nothing but the dresser and a pile of still unpacked boxes stacked by the closet door. Had the sound come from downstairs? No. He was being paranoid. They'd barely owned the house for a week, nobody was out to get him. Yet.

Derek's eyes fell to the still-sleeping figure beside him. Soft snores escaped Stiles' full lips, his hair tousled by his pillow. He was beautiful, even like this.

Thump

That was definitely coming from downstairs. Throwing back the covers, his bare feet hit the cool wood floors.

He silently slipped on the jogging outfit he'd laid out on the top of a box labeled 'Stiles' PJs' the night before.

It was probably raccoons getting in the trash. The non-existent trash. Because they'd not even filled a single trash bag because they'd only been sleeping here for three days. He took in a breath and let it out slowly. He was being paranoid. Not everything was scary and dramatic. He had removed himself from that life. Chose not to go down that path. He chose a normal life. A quiet life. With Stiles.

Derek reached the bottom of the steps and froze. A shadow passed across the back door. Too large to be a raccoon.

Maybe it was a bear. Their property backed up to woods. It wasn't impossible. Despite his mind trying desperately to rationalize it, Derek couldn't push the fear away. What if it was hunters? What if they caught wind of him?

With a gentle click, he unlocked the back door. His heart hammering in his chest. Every muscle in his body froze as a cool breeze wafted over him, carrying with it the scent of a wolf. All apprehension melted from Derek's mind. This was no raccoon or bear, this was a threat. In his home. In his and Stiles' home.

Instinct flooded his veins. Fangs extended into his bottom lip. His fingernails lengthened into sharp claws. He would not let his old life threaten Stiles. They were happy and nothing was going to jeopardize that.

He followed the scent around the side of the house, where a figure was yanking on a closed window.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. The intruder paused, turning to face him.

Derek lunged.

A tangle of teeth and claws. This werewolf was no alpha, but he was strong. But Derek was stronger. He hooked an arm around the man's front. A sharp pain tore across Derek's forearm forcing him to release the intruder. The wolf took advantage of his freedom and bolted across the backyard. Derek gave chase. Close on his heels, he followed him to the dilapidated building at the back of their yard. With another lunge, Derek plowed into the man's back, sending them both rolling through the floor of fallen leaves.

The werewolf jumped to his feet and leapt at him. Derek grabbed an old nearby shovel that was propped against the paint-peeled wall of the shed. He swung, slamming the rusted spade into the side of the wolf's head.

A soft ping rang out into the early morning. The wolf's body hit the ground with a soft thump along with the shovel head, which was now no longer attached to the handle still in Derek's hand.

He panted, his breath fogging in short bursts. The wolf lay unmoving. His head cocked at an odd angle. The threat was gone. But now he had a body to deal with. The wound on his arm was already healing, but his blood had started to dry on his skin. He lifted the handle of the broken shovel. He couldn't bury the body with that.

Letting out a cloudy sigh, he tossed the broken handle aside. The sun peered through the treeline as it rose from its slumber. Birds greeted it in song. He had an hour or two max before Stiles would be awake.

He dragged the body around the back of the shed, out of sight. He'd have to make a run to town and get a new shovel. Following his footsteps back the way he came, a trail of his blood painted the fallen leaves. It lead to the side of the house, where a spattering of red decorated the side. He'd grab a rake too. He wiped at the blood and groaned when it smeared across the off-white, wood planks. And some paint.

Derek scanned for any other sounds or movement before heading inside to grab his keys. He paused in the kitchen. He'd wanted to finally have a real meal with Stiles. One that didn't involve cold cuts and drinks from a can. He was going to make Stiles breakfast. He'd have to settle on coffee. It was the first thing to get unpacked. He snatched a pack of sticky notes from a box labeled 'office' that hadn't made it into the other room yet.

He stared at the pad of paper. He felt bad lying to Stiles. But it was for his safety. Knowing about this world was dangerous. He scribbled a short note and turned the coffee maker on.

He turned on the sink and scrubbed away the dirt and blood from his arm. He made a list in his head of things he would need. A shovel, a rake, paint, a paintbrush, a sponge, a bucket. And peroxide. It was good for getting blood out.

He listened for any movement from upstairs. Nothing. He glanced back at the gurgling coffee maker where the note was stuck. He buried the guilt before heading out.

-

Derek pushed his cart full of supplies to the checkout. He scanned each item, mentally checking them off. Shovel, rake, paint, paintbrush—

"Derek!"

His head snapped up, his eyes meeting his husband's. His heart skipped. "Stiles...hey, what are you doing here?" he stepped around the cart, hoping to hide the basket of supplies to avoid any questions.

"Oh you know wanted to fill up the house, get some groceries for my husband. Even though he did leave me in an empty bed. There's a monster in our house that eats peanut butter-like breathing."

Derek's heart dropped. "A monster in our..." he shook his head. "Oh right." He gave a nervous laugh. Paranoid much? He thought to himself. There was no monster, Stiles was just being funny. "Sorry about that. I just wanted to get an early start. I made sure the coffee was ready though."

He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Stiles' full lips.

"Yeah, thank you, that was really nice honey bun," Stiles said, holding his hands up in a finger guns motion.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly. They caught on a large glass candle. He plucked it from the pile of groceries in Stiles' cart. He sneered at the name. 'Sweet vanilla chai kisses'. "Really?" he shook his head, setting it back down.

"Hey, say what you want, white girls got nothing on my fall game. I got the healthy cardboard cereal you pretend to enjoy as a compromise." Stiles winked.

An affectionate smile tugged at Derek's lips. "You take such good care of me." He brushed a thumb gently along Stiles' chin. It was true, and Derek was thankful for Stiles every day.

"I'm great at this marriage thing. Hey, what are you doing here?" He glanced around Derek and into his cart. "Did you sign us up for a HGTV show I don't know about? A rake and paint? What happened to you by the way? I thought I was the one with godlike grace and agility."

Derek slid a hand into the cart, pushing the large sponge to cover the peroxide bottle, that one would be harder to explain. "I was just trying to fix up that old building for you, I know you were excited about it. And the yard could use some TLC." Derek shoved the guilt aside once again. He hated lying to Stiles, but how would he tell him he had a dead werewolf in the backyard?

Stiles moved forward, bumping the cart gently into Derek's hip. "Look at you, not so bad at this yourself, handsome. I will fight you for the Husband of the Year title, though. I was thinking of making butternut squash soup and salad for lunch, how does that sound?"

"A home-cooked meal? You win automatically. I'm headed out actually, so I'll see you at home?" Derek wanted to get rid of the body before Stiles got there.

"Okay, yeah. Before you head out, you need me to get anything for you from the store?" Stiles teased with a laugh.

Derek's eyes softened. He was so smitten. Stiles could ask him to murder everyone in the store and Derek wouldn't hesitate. "Maybe a less poisonous candle? Or are you gunning for my life insurance already?" he smirked, leaning forward to press a kiss to Stiles' forehead. "Be safe."

"You have unscented ones. And I don't need money nearly as much as I need someone to make me coffee in the morning," Stiles called over his shoulder as he turned to continue his shopping.

Derek pushed his own cart toward the counter to check out. "Oh, maybe some of that creamer with the picture of the dog dressed as a pumpkin. You know the one." Of course Stiles knew the one. Stiles knew everything about him. A nauseating tug at his stomach reminded him that he didn't know everything.

-

Hoisting the rake over one shoulder and the shovel over the other, Derek made his way toward the back of the building. He hoped the body hadn't magically disappeared in the time it took to fetch a proper shovel. He didn't know if someone would come looking for him. He didn't know anything about this guy. Why was he trying to break in? What was he after? Who sent him? These would have been good questions to ask, but Derek's mind was on one track that morning. Eliminate the threat. Now the threat was eliminated but he had no clue if more would be coming.

Stepping around the building, the body was still where he'd left it. He patted the body down, searching for some clue as to who this man was and what he wanted. There was nothing. With a grunt, Derek grabbed the ankles and drug him into the woods. The last thing he needed was a dead body buried directly on his property. His father-in-law was the sheriff after all.

It took far longer than Derek thought it would to dig the hole. He chucked the body into it and wiped at the gathering sweat on his brow. Despite the crisp autumn air, he was now drenched.

He shoveled the dirt over the body as the soft hum of Stiles' voice reached his ears. He smiled to himself. He must be cooking. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of lunch. He hadn't eaten yet. But he still had work to do. There was blood staining the side of the house. He'd need to clean that before Stiles noticed.

Swiping underbrush over the freshly turned ground, Derek listened to Stiles' humming. He followed the sound back toward the house and gathered the other supplies.

The sponge sloshed peroxide and water onto the side of the house. It only managed to smear the stain further. He would need direct peroxide. He poured it onto the sponge and scrubbed. Most of the blood wiped away but the once off-white paint was still tinted pink.

Painting over the stain was easy enough and didn't take nearly as long as burying a body. The last thing he needed to do was rake up the blood-soaked leaves.

He drug the rake over the ground, catching something black in the teeth. It was a wallet. He opened it to see his earlier attacker's face. 'Ansel Williams'. Well, now he had a name. Though not much else. Glancing up he saw Stiles in the window. He quickly dropped the wallet and drug a pile of leaves over it. He gave an awkward wave. Stiles waved back with a smile. Derek glanced down at the bloody leaves at his feet. He should throw the wallet away, but what if someone came looking for him? What if Sheriff Stilinski came by?

Derek ran a hand through his hair. He was being paranoid again. The Sheriff would have no reason to come here looking for Ansel. Raking the wallet into his pile of leaves he decided to just bury the wallet in the woods near the body. Nobody shy of a lucky coyote would find it there. He finished raking the leaves and hiding the wallet just in time to hear a voice from the house. Not a voice he recognized. Listening closely, his stomach dropped.

"You must be Stiles."

"Hi, and who are you? Do you know my husband? Do I know you?"

Derek dropped the paint can he was putting away and sprinted toward the house.

"No, not yet. But I'm hoping to be good friends with you," The man's voice said. Was that an underlying threat?

He shoved open the back door a little too hard. It knocked into a pile of unpacked boxes before slamming shut.

"You and your husband. Of course. I just wanted to meet the new neighbors."

Derek came up behind Stiles just as he responded. "Oh, do you live nearby?"

A lupine scent hit his nose, making his hackles rise.

Stepping in front of Stiles, Derek narrowed his eyes. "This is private property, what do you want?"

The man's dark brown eyes went wide. His nostrils flared. "Uh, sorry, I was just..." he took a couple steps back, his foot faltering on the top step. "It was nice meeting you."

Stiles thrust a hand out in greeting. "Oh, don't go. No, I'm sorry. This caveman with no manners is my husband." Stiles shot him a sharp glare. "Please don't mind him. We'd love to have your company. I just finished making lunch."

Derek snapped his head toward Stiles. He didn't know who this person was. He was inviting a threat in to eat with them. "I'm sure he can't stay." It was lousy as far as excuses went, but he didn't know how else to get rid of him without Stiles fussing at him for his lack of manners.

The man shook his head. "Oh, no, I—"

Stiles grabbed Derek's arm, giving it a hard squeeze. "I insist." Derek knew what that meant. He was gonna get fussed at for his lack of manners anyway.

An awkward silence hung in the air. How did he get rid of this man without telling Stiles that he was dangerous?

"Come in. What was your name?" Stiles stepped back to allow the threat inside. He made a shooing motion at Derek. Clenching his jaw, he obliged. His eyes watched the man's every move. If he was stupid enough to pull something, Derek would be ready.

"Ansel Williams," He answered, eyeing the pair carefully as he stepped inside.

Derek froze. His heart jolted. Shit. This man was looking for the dead wolf in the back.

"But you can call me Andy. I can see that your husband recognizes the name. It's very unique I know. It's odd that you don't th—"

"My name's Derek, nice to see you again." he stuck a hand out, pulling Andy's attention from Stiles. He gave a hard squeeze. "Stiles made soup. I hope you're hungry."

Andy gave him a curious look and smiled. "Famished." He followed Stiles with a newfound confidence.

-

The tension at the table was palpable as Stiles grabbed the plate of rolls and handed them to Andy. "So what kind of special assets does your company acquire?" he asked.

Andy took another roll, dipping it in the remains of his soup. "Well, it depends. Though we really go after the more coveted and unique people."

"Oh, so you're a headhunter?" Stiles sounded interested. It wasn't his fault he didn't know about the threat this man posed, but Derek hated how friendly he was.

Andy swallowed his bite of bread and smirked. "Something like that."

Derek continued to glare. He'd been glaring at this man through all of lunch. Everything out of this man's mouth was a lie. Other than the part about going after coveted and unique people. That was true. But what was it about Derek that was so coveted or unique? Nothing that he knew of. Unless it was because of his bloodline. The name Hale was well known, but to warrant a multi-attack? It didn't make sense.

"What do you guys do?" Andy asked, gesturing between the pair with his half-eaten roll.

"Well, I'm an online web designer so I work from home," Stiles answered.

Derek didn't respond. Why did he want to know what they did?

"And my wonderful husband is a basketball coach at the high school. The kids absolutely love him. He's so good with them. So much better than he is with adults sometimes." Stiles gave him a pointed look, patting his hand sternly. Derek could hear the reprimands that would come later.

"How very domestic." Andy smirked. His eyes were on Derek. He was taunting him. Derek wanted to rip this guy's throat out. But first, he wanted him out of his damn house and away from Stiles.

"It's a very rewarding job," he grumbled, hoping his response would appease Stiles enough.

"He's really very good. He took the kids to state last year. Honey, you should go show him the photo in the garage and your trophies. I have to go get dessert ready anyway." Stiles pushed away from the table. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Derek's temple. "Be nice and make friends," he muttered.

Derek gave a forced smile as Stiles squeezed his shoulder firmly. "Dessert will be just five minutes."

Derek waited for Stiles to leave the dining room before narrowing his eyes and gesturing toward the garage door. "Follow me."

Andy silently did as he was told. Despite his confident posture, he smelled nervous. Good.

Derek shoved Andy through the garage door almost sending him into a pile of unpacked boxes labeled basketball trophies. With a hushed whisper, he demanded, "What do you want?"

Andy whirled, squaring up with a false sense of confidence. "I want to know where Ansel is."

"Not here."

"But he was."

Derek took a menacing step forward. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Andy gave a smug smirk. "Ya know, that husband of yours sure is something."

Derek's arm snapped out and grabbed him by the throat, claws extending into his flesh, making Andy wince. His eyes flared red.

All color drained from Andy's face. "You're an alpha."

Derek's brows furrowed. He didn't know he was an alpha? Then what did he want?

The moment of hesitation was enough for Andy to throw his elbow into the crook of Derek's arm, making his grip falter just enough for him to yank away.

He slammed his hand into the garage door opener.

Derek lunged but Andy was already rolling under the opening door.

"Damn it," he swore. He started after him, but the door to the house opened, halting him in place.

Stiles stood in the doorway, a confused look on his face. "The pie is ready. Where'd Andy go?" He craned his neck as if to spot their guest. "You didn't murder him did you?" he joked.

Derek walked over to him, stepping in his line of sight. He huffed a laugh. "He had to go, wife called," he lied, hoping Stiles believed him.

As he got closer he saw a smudge of red on his lower lip. He reached out, swiping his thumb across it. He licked at the sticky substance and hummed, "Mmm, cherry?"

"Yeah... It is..." Stiles answered, but his tone was hesitant, like he was trying to put the pieces of something together. Something he would never be able to piece together because he was missing vital parts of the puzzle. Once again a twist of guilt wrenched Derek's stomach, churning his lunch.

He reached past Stiles, sending the large garage door rattling back down and forcing Stiles to step back into the house. Giving a sweet smile he gestured inside,"Shall we?"

-

The pile of boxes in the living room was less scary when he needed them as a distraction to avoid the questions from his husband. Stiles was obviously upset about Derek's behavior at lunch, but he didn't have a good answer. What could he say? The man was a werewolf come to kill him? He didn't even know if that was true. Andy had been less than willing to explain what he wanted.

He yanked open a box, digging through cords and surge protectors. How was he supposed to enjoy watching a movie when a threat was looming in the distance? Surely Andy would be back. He hadn't gotten what he wanted. Had he? What if what he wanted was information? Stiles had been more than willing to tell him all about them.

Pushing the box away, he yanked open another one, tearing it in his frustration. He plucked the DVDs, setting them neatly in the new entertainment center he and Stiles had picked out last week. It gave him pause. It was new. The house was new. How had they found him here? They'd barely lived there three days.

Derek replayed the brief conversation he had with Andy in the garage. He had been surprised when he saw Derek's eyes. He hadn't expected him to be an alpha. But that wasn't new. He'd been an alpha for years. Well before he met Stiles.

He could hear the hostile clank of dishes in the sink. It rang through his ears like an alarm. He was in trouble. He needed a lie. One that Stiles would believe.

Derek was knelt in front of the entertainment center, dvd's in either hand when Stiles stormed into the living room. "We're going to talk about how lunch went, and how you know Andy. Also, don't try to make me think it isn't a big deal. You don't normally act like that. And don't you dare try and tell me it's nothing or that you're okay. I know you Derek Hale-Stilinski and that lunch was not you and you shutting me out and not talking to me definitely isn't you..." Stiles sucked in a breath and waited a moment before gesturing to Derek. "Okay, I'm done now you can speak."

Derek sighed, setting the DVD's in his hands on the entertainment center. He pushed to his feet. Lying to Stiles when he was already suspicious wouldn't help matters. So maybe he could just be vague. "I had an unpleasant run-in with his brother." Not technically a lie.

Squinting at Derek, with his hands on his hips, Stiles asked, "How unpleasant? Do I need to go over there with the rest of the pie laced with laxatives, or poison?"

Derek couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. He huffed a laugh, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist to pull him in. "No, I was being an ass. I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm sorry. I promise to behave in the future."

Stiles melted into him and sighed in relief. "I like when you misbehave. I don't like when I feel far from you. Next time just slam the door in his face and tell me why we don't like them now." He nuzzled into Derek's chest.

Closing his eyes in a wince, Derek pushed away the guilt. How easy it was for Stiles to take him at his word. It made his chest clench. "Deal," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I found the DVDs. Pick one while I shower."

-

Derek was tucked under Stiles' arm, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly along his knee. Captain America played on the TV across from them. It was one of Derek's favorite places to be. Curled up with Stiles. He only wished he could fully relax. Despite his comfortable state, his mind was anywhere but the scene on the screen in front of him. His ears were perked like a dog waiting on an intruder. Is that what he was reducing himself to? Stiles' guard dog? That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a quiet life with his husband.

A gentle clunk made his heart leap. Was that upstairs? It couldn't have been the movie. This scene was too calm. Another softer thud had him sitting up suddenly. Stiles gave him a sleepy, confused look.

"We should make popcorn. I think the box with the popcorn maker got put upstairs. I'll grab it. You don't have to pause it." He said giving Stiles' knee a gentle squeeze before standing.

"I was just about to fall asleep, that's perfect. Popcorn will keep me awake. Do you want help?" Stiles offered, though Derek knew it was an empty offer, he always made the popcorn. Stiles got too comfortable and hated moving once the movie was going. Sure enough, he tucked himself further under the sherpa blanket as Derek rounded the couch. His keen hearing honed in on the obvious shuffling upstairs.

"No, I've got it. Keep the couch warm for me," he called over from the bottom of the stairs. Derek's patience for today was waning. He was going to rip apart whoever was stupid enough to break into his house. He hoped it was Andy.

The steps whined under his bare feet as he stalked to the top. His nostrils flared, searching for a foreign scent. He paused when a shadow crossed the floor of his bedroom. His claws extended. He expected the familiar smell of Andy to reach his nose, but it was someone new. Another wolf. A low growl escaped his throat. He was tired of people trying to break into his house. What did they want?

Derek stepped into the room to see a man by his, once locked, bedroom window. He stood tall, with dark hair, and olive skin. His arms were crossed over his chest.

"Took you long enough," The man said. His husky tone was almost bored as he leaned against the wall. He looked too comfortable.

"Let me guess, friend of Ansel?" Derek growled back.

"You know, I was disappointed when he didn't return. He was a good one. I'm guessing he's dead?"

"He wouldn't have been if he hadn't tried to break into my house." Derek glanced at the broken lock of the window.

"Right, about that. It was nothing personal, just business." The man smirked.

Derek's fangs dropped. "Nothing personal?" he scoffed. "What do you want?" he was going to get his answers before he killed this one, and he wasn't letting him get away.

"Well, not you." The man waved a disinterested hand as he pushed off the wall.

Derek's eyes narrowed.

"Surely you didn't think you were of interest? Frankly, I didn't even know he was married, much less to a werewolf."

Derek's blood ran cold. They were after Stiles. Before he could even register what he was doing, he had crossed the room. His eyes bled red as he closed the distance between them.

A brief expression of fear flitted across the man's face before his own eyes flared a dark crimson. So this was the alpha. Derek would be damned if he let anyone hurt Stiles.

Derek's claws dug into soft flesh. The lamp on their dresser shattered into pieces as the alpha's face smashed into it. Derek held his head against the top of the dresser, blood seeping onto the dark wood.

"If you even so much as think about hurting him—" Derek's words were cut off by a pair of claws raking across his gut. He stumbled back. Before he could regain himself, he was being tackled. He and the alpha tumbled into a pile of boxes, crushing them under their weight. Hastily folded clothes and blankets spilled out around them. Derek rolled to his feet and sank his claws into the man's ribcage, who snarled in pain. He was about to go in for a blow to the throat when he heard a cry of anguish from downstairs. Stiles.

Panic spiked through him. No. No. No. No. He should have known this was a distraction. Why else would they break in upstairs? He spun away from the alpha, his only goal now, to get to Stiles. A heavy thump had Derek scrambling down the steps in record timing. He almost didn't want to see what was waiting for him. Stiles' dead body? He couldn't bear it. He hopped the banister, not bothering with the last few steps. He needed to get to him. He landed in the foyer that opened to the living room, his claws and fangs still out on full display.

He barely got three steps forward before Stiles was skidding to a halt in front of him, his eyes wide.

"You're a werewolf?!" he exclaimed.

Relief and dread washed over Derek. Relief because Stiles was alive. Dread because Stiles now saw a side of him that he'd never wanted him to see.

A thud and snarl behind him had him spinning on his heels. There was still a threat. The alpha. He had to protect Stiles. Before he could strike, though, the small table that housed their one and only plant tipped. The vines of the Pothos Lydia had gifted them, whipped out and curled around the alpha's arms and legs. They climbed him, winding around his throat like a choke collar on a Doberman.

Blood poured from his ears and eyes as the vines punctured them. He let out a pained cry. It was choked off by green spilling from his open mouth. His face stretched like an Edvard Munch painting.

Derek took a stumbled step back as if he were afraid the vines would come for him next. The alpha dropped to his knees and crumpled to the floor. The green of the plant drained, leaving darkened vines and shriveled leaves draped over the now-dead alpha.

Derek's claws and fangs retracted as he spun back to Stiles, whose eyes faded from a vibrant glowing green. His hand was outstretched like Darth Vader. He lowered it, a panicked look on his face.

Derek blinked at his husband. His magical husband. "You have Magic?!" how had he not known? Before he could press further, his eyes fell to the spreading stain on Stiles' shredded blue shirt. The sharp smell of copper hit his nose. His stomach sank.

"You're hurt." He reached out, desperate to see how bad the injury was. But the look on Stiles' face made him unsure. God how he hated being unsure with Stiles. Was he afraid of him? Disgusted by him? He paused his outstretched hand.

Stiles looked down at himself as if inspecting the wound. "I'll be fine, really. It's actually helpful that you're a werewolf," he gave a weak laugh. His expression remained unsure, his eyes almost timid. "Can I touch you?"

Derek's heart cracked. Stiles never hesitated to reach out. Were things really so different now? Did this change how he felt about him? Fear crushed him. He wasn't ready to lose Stiles.

"Please," he whispered desperately. He needed to feel his husband.

Stiles gave a small smile, his eyes filling with tears. Despite the permission, he still acted as though he were afraid of Derek, slowly extending his hands and gently clasping his forearms.

"This shouldn't hurt at all. I'm just borrowing your ability to heal."

Derek didn't care if it killed him so long as Stiles was okay. Relief wafted from Stiles as golden light climbed through Derek's arms and to Stiles'.

"Take what you need." His eyes glanced passed Stiles toward the living room, where Stiles had been coming from before. What had happened? Someone had hurt Stiles. The scent of Ozone painted the air.

Stiles' grip on his arms loosened. Derek pushed past him, his eyes scanning for the other threat. "Who hurt you?" There was no evidence that anything had happened at all. Did they run away? Were they hiding? Waiting to pounce again?

He followed the scent into the living room. Stiles blew past him and yanked the blanket from the couch to cover a body. But it was too late. Derek saw the body lying three or four feet from the kitchen door. There was no way to tell who this figure was by the way the body was shriveled and fried. It resembled the plant that lay dead in their foyer. But the smell in the air gave away his identity. Andy.

Derek gaped at the blanket. He knew what magic could do, but this was beyond anything he'd ever seen. "You did this?" he asked, almost not believing that his sweet, adorable, spastic, husband was capable of such power.

"I-I um, yeah," Stiles answered sheepishly. "He came up behind me and I-I just reacted." He chewed on his bottom lip. "I had to get to you."

Pride swelled in Derek. His eyes didn't leave the blanket-covered body. "Oh. Wow," he breathed. Stiles was incredible. He'd always known it but this... this was unbelievable.

"I'm sorry." Stiles' quiet tone made Derek whirl around to where Stiles had retreated toward the door. His arms crossed over his chest in an anxious, protective manner.

"No, don't apologize. I just... all day I've been trying to keep you safe but... you never needed me." It was a painful realization just as much as it was a proud one.

A tear slipped from Stiles' eyes. "I always need you."

The sight of tears erased any reservation Derek had about touching Stiles. He crossed the room and wrapped him in a hug. Relief flooded him when Stiles didn't shy away, but instead nuzzled into him. He didn't think he could handle if he was afraid of him. It felt so good to hold him.

"I think we have a lot to talk about," he said.

"Just give me a moment. I just need to hold you to know you're okay. I thought—" The words caught in his throat. "I thought they'd kill you because of me."

Had Stiles known them? He pet the top of his head, hoping to comfort him. "Who were they?"

Stiles shrugged into the hug. "I don't know. From what Andy said it seemed like they wanted me for my magic."

"How long have you..." Derek pulled back to meet Stiles' eyes. Surely this wasn't a new thing. He was too powerful for it to be new.

"Been a glowy, magical, young, hot, Gandalf?" he teased. "Technically since birth, but I didn't get any of the cool magic till after my mom died."

"So the whole time." Derek nodded and huffed a laugh.

"How long have you been... craving Scooby snacks?"

Derek gave an affectionate eye roll. "Also since birth."

"So the whole time," Stiles laughed.

How much stress and guilt could have been avoided if they'd just been honest from the beginning?

"Damn, I missed an opportunity to give you a squeaky toy as a wedding gift." Stiles teased again. "So you're an alpha? Where's your pack?" he asked.

Derek's eyes softened. He pinched Stiles' chin gently between his thumb and index finger. "Right here."

Stiles reached up, swiping a thumb at the corner of Derek's mouth. "I doubt this would taste like cherry." There was a smear of blood. He wiped it on his already-stained shirt.

Derek smiled and surged forward. Their lips crashed together. Not ten minutes ago, he feared he'd never get to experience this feeling again.

When they pulled back, they pressed their foreheads together. Derek breathed in Stiles' scent. It was a comforting one. One that now that he knew, was layered with a certain arcane spice. How had he not noticed before? Perhaps, it was true what they said, ignorance was bliss.

The space between them doubled as Stiles pulled back. His eyes searched Derek's. "But no really, where's your pack? You can't be an alpha with just one puny human that didn't even know you were a werewolf."

Derek tried not to wince. He had wondered when Stiles would press about his werewolf status. It was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to. "My alpha status wasn't planned. Wrong place, wrong time. I never wanted this." He gestured to the dead body under the blanket. They would not be putting that back on the couch. Too bad, it was a nice blanket.

"How long have you been an alpha?" Stiles' tone shifted from curious to mocking. "Since birth?"

Derek huffed a laugh. "Five or so years. I haven't really kept up with it. I never took a pack." He'd considered it briefly. But the idea of not being part of his mother's pack had been too hard. He'd rejected the idea completely. It felt too much like a betrayal. A desperate attempt to save a young girl had turned into a police investigation and red eyes in the mirror.

Stiles' brows pinched into a sympathetic frown. He placed a hand on Derek's chest, like he was trying to guard his heart. "Derek that- that's awful. Being an alpha without a pack is a terrible way to live. You have nothing to draw from, nothing to hold you down. It would be like if I didn't have my magic. Pack is a part of being a werewolf as much as magic is a part of who I am."

Derek sighed. He had never imagined having this conversation with Stiles. He had hoped to never have to. But it seemed like this was the trajectory of his life. His mother had warned him that he couldn't escape it. He had thought he proved her wrong.

"Becoming an alpha was... the worst thing that could happen to me. It took me from my family. They were my pack. I never wanted another one. But a pack can't have two alphas. It disrupts the balance." He stared into Stiles' honey-colored eyes. "Then I met you. And I knew I'd never need anyone else."

"You're all I need too, but Derek I don't want you to deny a part of who you are to be with me."

Derek would deny any part of him if it let him be with Stiles. But he knew well enough not to say as much. Instead, he asked. "What about you? Where's your coven? Am I gonna find a broomstick in one of these boxes?" he gave a teasing smirk.

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "Do you think I'm a witch?!" he stepped back like Derek had struck him.

"Well, I don't know what you are." He gestured to the covered body again. "You're something."

"If you ever call me a witch again, I'm buying you a doghouse for out back. I'm a druid."

Those words struck Derek like a knife to the heart. A druid? No. He couldn't be. The room shifted around him. Or maybe it was just his entire life. His balance faltered, forcing him to take a stumbled step back. "Do-do you have an alpha?" Surely not. He would have smelled him. Unless he used his magic to hide him. The thought of smelling another alpha on Stiles was almost enough to make his wolf surface.

"Why would I? I already have one lug trying to tell me what to do." Stiles' tone was still light, teasing. But Derek's stomach was in knots as he listened for a lie. An emissary protected their alpha with their life. Stiles would be fully in his right to keep it from Derek. But he hoped he wouldn't. He hoped there was more respect and trust between them.

"You're an emissary though." His eyes continued to search Stiles' expression for any clue. If he had an alpha that would be almost as bad as finding out he had another husband.

Stiles squinted at him. A tell tale sign that he was being an idiot. "I'm a druid... I didn't specifically say I was an emissary. Derek, do you think all druids are emissaries? Because that's racist. I'm offended." He sneered in mock offense.

Derek blinked. "All the druids I've ever met are emissaries." Maybe Stiles didn't have an alpha after all. "Only alphas really deal with them. Why aren't you an emissary?" he tried to keep the hopefulness out of his tone.

"Because it's rare for a druid not born into or raised alongside a pack to become an emissary. To be an emissary is to be trusted with the pack's lives at the highest level, most of the time equal to an alpha. It's a huge responsibility, but an even bigger trust is needed. My mom left her pack back in Poland when she came here. I know it was something that she missed and always wanted for me, but I knew it would be too difficult to find."

The worry and fear drained from Derek. There was no one else. He almost felt guilty for being relieved. Poor Stiles had never known the love and safety of a pack. The alpha in him wanted to give that to Stiles more than anything. A sinking feeling dug into the pit of his stomach. "I hope I didn't keep you from finding that. You're incredibly strong. You'd make an amazing emissary."

"I gave all of that up when I met you. I had an opportunity out in New York. I almost left with a friend I had helped. He's a dryad and they had just lost their druid emissary. I realized what I had with you made me happier than that ever would. Sometimes I do miss it. Magic will always be a part of me." Stiles glanced down at his left hand and blue swirls of magic twisted between his fingers like a magician rolling a coin. "But Derek, don't think for one second that I'm missing out on what's meant for me."

"That's why he wanted you." Derek looked over at the dead alpha still in their hall. "You know, if you-if you wanted to be an emissary..." he trailed off. It was a scary thing to even consider, but he'd do anything for Stiles, even embracing this life. He stepped in, closing some of the distance between them, and threaded their fingers together. It was like sticking his hand into a frozen lake. Ice cold to the point it was almost painful. Almost. The blue swirled around their hands for just a moment before dispersing.

Stiles laughed. "Oh man, two seconds ago you thought all druids were emissaries. Absolutely not." Stiles squeezed his fingers.

Derek tried not to wince. It was hard not to take that rejection hard. But he understood. It wasn't something you did on a whim.

"I won't say yes to that until you fully know what it means. If you get sick of me you can't just divorce an emissary. Parting from an emissary is like ripping half of your soul away."

Derek fought to not scoff at Stiles' words. "I'd never get sick of you. Parting from you would already be like having half of my soul ripped away."

"Well, it's good you're stuck with me then." Stiles let go of Derek's right hand and threaded their left hands together before leaning in and pressing a kiss to where their wedding rings touched. "We can work towards it, but I have a feeling your emissary didn't tell you as much as they told your alp- Oh my god, Derek! Oh my god!" Stiles slapped at Derek's chest like he just realized something major. "Your mom is an alpha isn't she?!"

Derek was still reeling from his emotional whiplash of being rejected, before being told they'd work towards it to now being assaulted with questions about his mom. "Yes?" he frowned.

"Oh my god! At Christmas? At Christmas, they were all wolves?! How did I not know? This is insane! Your mom makes such a good green bean casserole and she's an alpha!"

Derek couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in him. God, Stiles was so endearing. "You'll have lots to talk about next year."

"Next year? I'm getting brunch with her next week. I'm not waiting for Christmas. This is huge!"

Panic briefly gripped Derek as it always did whenever Stiles interacted with his family. But it didn't have time to settle. There was nothing to fear any longer. No huge, life-altering secret to scare Stiles off. It was out in the open now. Stiles could have brunch with his mother every day— wait. "You're having brunch with my mom?" why had he not been invited? Why didn't he even know about it?

"Yes, yes, they have bottomless mimosas downtown. We're going to go once a month. Not the point. Holy shit I can't believe it! Wait, when Cora broke her leg in South America and your mom went to get her was that werewolf shenanigans, or did she really fall down a mountain hiking? Oh my god, I have got to call your mother! Actually, do you think she's still up? We could go visit."

Derek put his hands on Stiles' shoulders. He loved that he was so eager to talk to his mother. It had always warmed his heart how much they loved him and how much he seemed to love them. But right now wasn't the time. "Stiles, we have two bodies we need to deal with. Let's surprise visit my mother tomorrow, yeah?" he couldn't help the fond look in his eyes as he met Stiles'.

"Oh, yeah, totally. What do you think we should do with them?" Stiles' eyes darted between the two dead wolves.

Derek glanced over his shoulder toward the back door. "I actually have a spot already."

"What for bodies?" Stiles snorted, like the notion was an absurd one. Never mind the fact that they had two dead bodies to contend with.

"Well, I had to do something with the one from this morning."

Stiles' smile dropped and his arms flung out before settling on his hips. "What do you mean the one from this morning?!"

"Remember the brother I mentioned?" He nodded toward Andy's body.

"You killed him!?"

Derek's brows rose. The shock on his face was just as much insulting as it was endearing. He stepped forward, sliding his arms through Stiles', and pulled him in so they were chest to chest. He had no idea the lengths Derek would go to to protect him. There was no one more important to him. He met Stiles' eyes. They danced like ice in a glass of whiskey. He smiled, "Isn't it obvious? I'd kill anyone for you."

[fandomwriterstuff]

Call it What You Want

James Potter x Fem!Reader

Words: ~1k

Heavily inspired by Call it What You Want by Taylor Swift.

My castle crumbled overnight

I brought a knife to a gunfight

They took the crown, but it's alright

Brown leaves crinkling beneath your feet, you made your way back to the place you used to call home one last time. You used to love this place. You used to love this castle with its endless hiding spots, the abundance of life and personalities within, the things you learned. But this year was different. 

The sun was low in the sky, and you sighed with a visible puff as you walked slightly behind the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors. In previous years you’d walked with your friends, a group of witches and wizards from different houses mingling together. You were well loved, a Gryffindor who cared about more than the house cup, pranks, and house rivalries. You had good marks in class, a wide variety of companions, and the respect of your professors. 

You didn’t realize how fragile all of that was, how quickly they would all turn on you. In the last month of sixth year you lost it all (save your good marks, nobody could take our hard work away from you). You would give it up any day though for what you gained.

All the liars are calling me one

Nobody's heard from me for months

I'm doing better than I ever was

You spent the summer by yourself, only writing letters to your sweet boy. You couldn’t bear the thought of not writing to him, and having to face those pretty puppy dog eyes day one back at Hogwarts. You thought you’d be walking with him and his friends today, maybe you would feel less alone. 

Alas, James had interned during the summer with the Ministry of Magic and was coming back to school a day later than everyone else. 

If you were being honest, without the pressure of maintaining a dozen friendships, pretending to be perfect all the time, being obedient and well-behaved… You were doing better than ever. 

Sirius brought out your mischievous side that you hadn’t indulged in since your youth. Peter was your homework buddy and gossip partner. Remus listened to you and anchored you when you felt like you would float away. And your James. James brought out every shining golden thread of love and affection you had within you (a seemingly never ending supply when it came to him). He was there for you when everyone turned against you. He was there for you when the last of your friends stopped trying to spend time with you. He introduced you to his friends when it seemed like you had none left. 

'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream

Walkin' with his head down, I'm the one he's walkin' to

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

James was the sun in the sky and you were sure you were stronger and smarter than Icarus. You could withstand his glow. You were his partner.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” His voice was clear once he’d breached the entrance to the common room, and you perked up at the sound.

“We couldn’t find her on our way in, we looked, promise,” Sirius was pleading, and you sort of felt bad. You were busy wallowing the day prior to notice that the other three marauders were looking for you. 

“And she wasn’t at breakfast or lunch today either,” Peter’s timid voice reached your ears and you unfolded yourself from the cozy chair you’d spend the afternoon in.

“Jamie?” Your voice was soft and you only had a second to bookmark your page before you were wrapped up in those muscley arms. 

“Baby, I missed you,” he peppered your flushed face with kisses. “I was worried about you,” he murmured only for you to hear and your chest tightened. He was so good to you. 

“Sorry I worried you, sweetness,” you whispered, breaking out of his grasp to sheepishly look over his shoulder at your three friends. “Hello, boys.”

“And where have you been?” Sirius mock scolded you and a laugh bubbled up in your chest. “We were looking all over for you.”

“We were worried when we didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch,” Remus added and you shrugged guiltily.

“I was reading?” 

“You shouldn’t skip meals to read, love. You know that,” James chided you with soft eyes. 

“But they’ve finally realized they’re in love I just had to read another page and-”

“And another page, and another. Merlin you’re a nerd,” Sirius chuckled before heading up to their shared room. 

“We’ll see you two later,” Remus then dragged Peter up the stairs and you were left in your corner of the common room with James. There were other students there, but none paid you any mind. Nobody paid you mind anymore. 

James plopped himself down into the cozy chair you’d spent most of the afternoon in and tugged you down into his lap. 

“Tell me about your book.” 

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressin' up as kings

They fade to nothin' when I look at him

James was better than anyone you’d ever known. After you were broken down from losing all you ever knew and you built up walls where once there was openness, James was the one to build a door. He didn’t try to break your walls down, he didn’t try to force you to be happy. He was caring and understanding, he was patient and he loved you. You couldn’t care less about everyone else's drama when you were in his arms.

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