#Shut up. Shut up for five fucking seconds you insufferable idiots

[heather-chandlers-weirder-cousin]

I hate burnt-out gifted kids

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shenanigans 14

Chapter 14 Part 1 / Fake it till you make it!

Summary: Y/N and Bakugou go on a mission, pretending to be a freshly married couple. It goes unexpectedly well.

Warnings: Swear words, pretend relationship, heavy flirting, suggestive

First Part Master List

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It took Bakugou a full 30 seconds to lose his shit.

30 full seconds.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What the fuck were you thinking, you absolute moron?! That we will have two separate beds? In a deluxe room especially made for a freshly married couple?!” You try your best to not scream loudly at the stupid idiot standing next to you. His face is as red as a tomato and his body is trembling from all the pent up stress as he tries to explode the massive bed with his eyes.

“Shut the fuck, it is fucking obvious now, okay?!”

“Took you long enough, you dumb bitch!”

Okay, maybe… but just maybe, you are also freaking out right now. Just maybe.

“Call me a bitch again and I’ll make sure your mouth is stuffed until the rest of the FUCKING WEEK.” Katsuki hisses, his eyes full of anger. This guy will be in pieces by the end of this mission, that’s for sure; you have so many ideas on how to wind him up now that he can’t get too pissed at you for the sake of the mission. So many ideas. So… so many. Ahh, this week will be amazing.

“Buy me dinner first, will ya?” You retort with a shit eating smirk and it takes the hero a few moments to understand the hint. When the realization hits him he pales completely first then blushes like a high school boy. “Aww, are you a virgin? I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry, babe!” You really wanted to say this in a suggestive tone but you couldn’t help the giggles escaping your lips. He’s so fucking cute when he’s all winded up, goddamn it.

Mr. Dynamight did not appreciate your joke by the look of it, as the hero throws you on the bed in an aggressive but definitely sexual way and crawls up to you slowly while keeping your limbs and arms pinned into the soft mattress. You can feel your lower parts twitch as Katsuki moves closer to your neck, breathing heavily against it as his warm breath warms up your sensitive neck.

“Call me a fucking virgin again and I’ll make sure you can’t stand up for the rest of the day.”

“V…virgin.” You stutter, an absolute hot mess under the hero’s hold. Where is your dignity, woman?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

It took you five minutes to end up in this situation and you have 5 more days to go. Fuck.

“You are insufferable.” He mutters into your neck and moves away like nothing had happened. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before moving far away from the evil bed; you won’t be able to sleep a wink on this fucking thing after all this.

“Damn, husband well chosen.” You try to fake nonchalance by pretending to grin, but Katsuki only scoffs at your flushed face.

“V…Virgin.” He parrots with a shit eating grin, knowing he won this fight.

“Fuck you.” Well, that’s a childish retort, but your brain just got fried.

“You wish.” The blonde WINKS, and moves towards the back of the room when someone knocks on your hotel room door; you quickly put the hero’s disguise back before he opens the door for the intruder. And yes, you do wish. Khm.

“Welcome!” The staff member smiles, cheekily looking into the room for the second person. “Ahh, it must be nice to be freshly married, I was also unable to keep my hands away from my honey bun when we were on our honeymoon.” The old man stares at you with a dreamy face. “Oh, excuse me, I’m only here to bring your suitcases up! There’s a 24/7 restaurant on the first floor, but you can also order food into your room by using the phone on the right side of your bed!” The man brings the two suitcases into the room. “There is also a small convenience store just outside the building in case you ran out of necessities!” The old man winks at your fake husband and retreats, leaving nothing but awkward silence in the room as the door closes behind him.

After a few seconds you both burst out laughing. Hysterically.

“Honey bun, he said!” You cry, tears falling down your cheeks from all the laughter.

“Don’t laugh, sweet pea, he’s in love!” Katsuki mock-coos at you, making you laugh even harder.

“Oh my god, stop this shenanigan, I can’t cope! Who would say that?!” You giggle, trying your best to breathe.

“Deku, probably.” Bakugou snickers with another shit-eating grin on his face.

“Burnnnnn!” You giggle some more but your breathing evens out eventually. “This was fun, we should do this more often.”

“Me pining you to the bed or laughing our asses off at a poor little man?” Bakugou gives you a questioning glare, his eyes full of mischief.

“Honestly? Both.” You grin.

“You are such a flirt, Y/N.” The hero rolls his eyes, slowly making his way to the dresser to unpack his clothing for the week.

“Wow, you said my actual name.” You smile to yourself, lost in your thoughts for a second.

“Fuck you.” Is all the answer you get.

“You wish.” You strike back with his own words from before, which only makes the blonde laugh again.

You could get used to this; this bantering, like you’ve known each other for ages, to the the way you two just go back to your friendly bickering so easily after a moment full of passion. You two click so well together in a really weird way, it’s really hard to describe it but being around the blonde feels like home; even when life goes to shit, even when things get heated and you end up hating each other for a few seconds you are always welcome back when you need it, because that’s what home is; a place where you always have a place, where you belong, where you are loved and supported with all your flaws and stupid shenanigans.

With Katsuki, you can just be yourself and you really fucking love that.

“Hey, potty mouth.”

“Hm?”

“I hope this week never ends.”

“Jesus, that sounds like my worst nightmare.” The hero makes a scared face but he can’t hide the small smile on his lips as he puts his shirts into the top drawer of the dresser.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The first day went by quickly; you didn’t really leave the hotel room but rather concentrated on packing out instead; after you both got rid of the tension between you by joking around, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Things got heated again by the time the sun went down and it was time to sleep.

With that said…

“Don’t be an idiot, this bed is massive, we can absolutely sleep on it without touching.” You look at the dumb, freshly showered blonde. The above mentioned blonde only pouts and moves his stupid little ass towards the small sofa on the other side of the room.

“Yeah, I highly doubt that after seeing you touching the shit out of me while half asleep back when you ended up in my flat.” The hero rolls his eyes and makes himself ‘comfortable’ on the stupidly small sofa. It hurts to even look at him in that position; his legs are literally dangling in the air.

“I had a fever!” You retort, staring at him from the comfortable (and evil) bed. “I think you are just scared to share a bed with a woman, KACCHAN.”

Needless to say, that did it for the blonde.

“I ain’t no pussy.” The blonde stands up and plops down on the other side of the bed, as far away from you as physically possible. You don’t say anything just roll to your other side to give the hero the space he needs and enjoy the company as you slowly fall asleep.

You wake up in the middle of the night to a rustle next to you. The blonde tosses and turns, then suddenly takes a huge breath, like he’s waking up from a nightmare.

“Fuck.” Bakugou whimpers helplessly and rolls closer to you on the bed; you can feel his warmth on your back which sends shivers down your spine but you continue faking being asleep for the sake of the other. Bakugo pushes his forehead between your shoulder blades while he takes another deep breath, his arm snaking around you to pull you close for only a second before he rolls back to the other side of the bed.

Your heart does a massive flip which makes you feel nauseous; you want to roll to your other side and embrace him, soothe him, kiss him until he forgets about his terrible dream, whatever it was about; but even thought the urge is strong, you stay on your side while you listen to the blonde taking a few more deep breaths before his breathing finally evens out.

You stare into the darkness for a few minutes… or rather hours before your heart rate manages to go back to normal.

You are indeed in love with this madman. Love with a capital L. You are not even going to bother to lie to yourself anymore; the pain in your chest is a good enough reminder anyway.

By the time you wake up the next day, Katsuki is gone; he comes in after a few minutes with a tray full of different kind of breakfast foods and sits down in his side of the bed like last night has never happened.

~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

After the second night, sharing a bed with Bakugou isn’t as awkward anymore. You two went out a bit yesterday to snoop around the kitchen area then talked about nothing in particular while sitting in the lobby, listening to everyone’s chatter to gain intel. The day was unsuccessful but it was nice to be able to talk to the hero without being screamed at for no reason.

As soon as the blonde wakes up the next day he starts to murmur about random things, talking to no one in particular until you wake up and start to listen to his monologue.

Apparently it took Bakugou two days until he got completely fed up with restaurant food.

You knew the hero is an absolute beast in the kitchen and that he doesn’t hate cooking but you didn’t know how much the blonde needs to be able to cook to to stay sane.

“It just… calms me down, you know.” The blonde says when you ask him about his cooking after his massive bitch fit, still in bed. “I love being able to create something that fits perfectly with my taste buds. My favorite part is preparing the dish though, I can zone out and forget about all the shitty stuff while I murder a potato.”

“Wow, harsh.” You giggle, but you can’t ignore the longing in the blonde’s voice. “Do you miss being home alone?”

“Are you dumb? I’m talking about cooking.” The man grumbles with a flushed face. “I just need to find something else to focus on, otherwise I’ll loose my shit.”

“I have some ideas how to turn your focus to something else.” You grin at the grumpy blonde but you don’t move from your side of the bed to not make Katsuki completely uncomfortable. It’s just a joke anyway, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Well, thanks fucking much but I don’t do one night stands. Too old for that shit.”

“It was a joke, jeez.” You roll your eyes with a flushed cheek. “I don’t do that kind of thing either. I told you all about it on the wedding.” You remind him with a mischievous grin as the blonde looks away shyly, remembering your almost first kiss.

“Can you not remind me of that while sharing a bed with me? It’s already awkward enough.” The hero rolls out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom. Thankfully, he takes all the tension with him as well, letting you breathe properly for the first time today. You didn’t even realize the effect he had on you until he left the room.

You really want to talk to him about this, but you know it will just end up with a rejection so you decide against it; if you can prolong this for a few more weeks until you go back home and cry your eyes out in your own fucking bed in your own fucking country after leaving all of this behind… that would be nice. There is no way you can get out if this without a heartbreak, so you might as well just enjoy this until it lasts.

You also have a plan in your head to help Katsuki wind down, so you make your way down to the restaurant after putting your disguise back.

You might not be good enough to date the explosive hero, but you definitely are the best fake wife the world has ever seen.

… To be continued!

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Potato ramble:

- Sorry for the short chapter but I didn’t want to post the angsty part until I have the full thing written out and I’m still missing the last half chapter of this season. The angst will start in the next one though.

- I hope you liked the “sweet pea” reference! It’s a little something for the people who read my other series called “my weird roommate, Midoriya Izuku!”.

- I accidentally started to write an Aizawa x reader fix yesterday. I hope you guys will like it!

- I swear I have a job btw, I just use 95% of my free time to write. 😂

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! 💥🧡

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Taglist: @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai @nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos @gold24fish @hanatsuki-hime

[riverdalenerdlol]

I posted 8,820 times in 2022

83 posts created (1%)

8,737 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@stillhidden

@cheryllclayton

@sprousehart-x

@sabs1d

@jandjsalmon

I tagged 317 of my posts in 2022

#riverdale - 44 posts

#bughead - 35 posts

#betty cooper - 28 posts

#jughead jones - 26 posts

#ao3 - 22 posts

#stranger things - 21 posts

#fanfic - 16 posts

#bughead fanfic - 15 posts

#bughead fanfiction - 12 posts

#steve harrington - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#i torture myself with reading and writing while also paying thousands of dollars to be allowed to do it all for a sheet of paper

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Me watching that trailer

49 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

#4

get lost (I’d die for you in a heartbeat)

Riverdalenerdlol

Beta’d by my fav @sabs1d​

Chapter Nine: Insufferable

“I’m not leaving Betty here alone until Alice is ready,” Jughead tells his father seriously. “I won’t risk it.”

Betty can’t tell if his decision to stay behind is because he’s trying to protect her from potential Ghoulie infiltrators or if he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t run off to join the fight, but either way it’s very valiant of him to want to stay behind with her.

“She’s not going anywhere,” FP reminds Jughead. “I need you out there. Now.”

“Fine,” Jughead relents. “Give me five minutes.” FP accepts this with a head nod, then leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Betty gets to her feet as Jughead turns toward her.

“What are you doing?” he asks sternly.

“I don’t know,” Betty shrugs truthfully. “Felt like getting up.”

“Oh no no no no no,” he replies, easily scooping Betty into his arms and placing her on the bed. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh come on,” Betty replies, swinging her legs over the bed again. “I can hold my own.”

“Not like this you can’t,” Jughead says. “There is absolutely no way in hell that I’m letting you out of this room unless it’s your mother coming to take you to the safe room.”

“What makes the rest of you so much more equipped to handle a rumble right now?” she asks. “Why can’t I fight?”

Betty knows that there’s no way he’s letting her out of the room, but damnit she can’t handle anyone else getting hurt because of her dad. The least she can do is try.

Unfortunately, Jughead looks at her like she’s an idiot. (Honestly, she knows this is well-deserved on her end.)

“Are you fucking kidding right now?” he asks incredulously. “You got stabbed a few days ago!”

Final Chapter Now Live on AO3

54 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

#3

Okay I feel like sometimes people try to justify BH by saying “but Archie’s not smart enough for Betty”

Really, truly, honestly… he’s just not emotionally intelligent the way Jughead is to Betty

Example:

*repressed traumatic memory* “That sucks, but you know what? We should have a baby.”

Versus

“My family is so fucked up right now and I feel like I can’t stop holding everything together or it’s going to fall apart.” “You’re so so much stronger than all the white noise, and I’m here for you.”

Jughead knows the right words that will actually comfort Betty when she’s Going Through It™️ as opposed to Archie

And that’s on emotional intelligence

59 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

#2

“Hard reboot” kinda sounds like “I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up, I need the ships that made me famous back”

67 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Babe wake up, new Riverdale meme format just dropped

92 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[defiantbird]

In one of my previous jobs, I worked with three of the world's most crotchety, superior-ass older men who I couldn't stand.

They were extraordinarily sensitive (read: took extreme offense at everything) and treated everyone else like an idiot. My defense mechanism for this sort of thing is usually to just pretend I am an idiot because I'd rather them dismiss me than argue with me, and also because I fear that if I ever let myself respond to confrontation, I will not be able to stop myself from going too far. They were utterly insufferable people.

When Jan 6. was going on, someone in the group chat asked what was up and I said "a bunch of loonies are breaking into the capitol building". One of the men said "calling them 'loonies' is really dismissive of how big of a deal this is". At the time my reply was, "fair enough". My thought was "shut the fuck up, Blaine, I can call them loonies and believe they're genuinely dangerous at the same time, can you be normal for five fucking seconds?" This same man frequently acted like the Best Leftist and Feminist but talked down to women like that's what he was hired for.

One of them once got spitting mad at me, ranting and raving, because I asked a question that I didn't realize he'd previously answered. It was the Friday before my birthday and I spent the entire weekend anxious and upset. On Monday he wished me a happy birthday. This was the only time I stood up to one of them.

Another also got spitting mad at me because I reccomended another coworker for a job. He told everyone he didn't want to do this job, so why the fuck would I reccomend him?

They all talked shit about each other behind their backs, they talked shit about everyone, I'm sure they talked shit about me too.

All this to say that I have one of them as a friend on Facebook because he added me and he has my phone number so I thought if I blocked him he'd give me shit by text and I just don't want to deal with it.

And every time I see him post something I just think. God. I hate you. I hate you and those other two twats so much and I can't wait until you all die realizing that you're alone because you've been such tremendous, whiny shits to everyone you meet.

And I had to get that out. Sorry.

[jojolymes]

𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; fourteen

࿔*:･ﾟ xiv .

next: ࿔*:･ﾟ xv. |  table of contents

"SPEED-WA-GON!" You held back a sigh as you slapped a hand over your head, keeping your hat firmly in place just as Gyro tried to rip it off your head. "You're annoying you know that?" you grumbled as Gyro cackled and slowed Valkyrie down to meet Thunderstruck's pace. You thought that Gyro wouldn't be such an insufferable piece of shit after your little moment the night before but, of course, you were proven wrong when Gyro decided that his goal for the day would be to try and see what was under your hat.

"Oh, but you know you love me," cooed Gyro with a wink, ignoring the way you shot daggers at his dopey gold-veneered smile. "No, I don't. Go fall off your horse or something," you huffed making Gyro's face fall flat while Johnny held back some laughter from beside him. "You better not be laughing over there, Johnny." Johnny went silent and looked away— he wasn't as bad as Gyro in bothering you about your hat but he sure as hell wouldn't stop asking about what was under it regardless.

"You are so insufferable sometimes, Speedwagon," spat Gyro with narrowed eyes as you let out a forced laugh, "what are you so afraid of us seeing, huh? Are you balding?!" You cringed and gasped as you struggled to form words, "wha- no! I'm not going bald!" Johnny raised a brow and looked over at Gyro who shook his head with a straight face. "You're definitely balding." Your face burned while you stammered incoherent words that made them just shake their heads in unison.

Well, at least balding was better than being a woman in this case.

"I'm not balding- god, just...shut up." Gyro feigned shock, albeit being a bit surprised at your ability to sass him without turning into a puddle of tears, and rolled his eyes with a golden grin. "Shut up, hmm?" Surprising him and Johnny once more, you extended out a gloved hand to slap against Gyro's mouth, effectively shutting him up for a few seconds as you slowly turned to him with darkened eyes. "Yeah. Shut up." Your eyes caught the bob of his Adam's apple as you turned back around, shaking off your hand and wiping it on your saddle.

"Well, now that that's over, how about we set up camp somewhere?" began Johnny without a care in the world for Gyro, who was pouting beside him, "it's been one helluva day." You looked back and forth between the two, glaring at each for a few long moments. "Great idea, Johnny!" Gyro said brightly, ignoring your glare again while you all began to slow down. The horses huffed and went from a gallop to a trot until they came to a stop near a small rock formation surrounded by brush.

You and Gyro were the first to hop off your horses and tie them off leaving Johnny while he looked at the map a little longer. "At this rate, we'll reach the finish line in five to six days," he mumbled as he spun off of Slow Dancer. You hummed and stretched your hands up above your head, watching as Johnny pulled his wheelchair off his saddle afterward. "Let's make that four days," Gyro added, making you and Johnny groan.

"Next thing you know you'll expect us to be there tomorrow," you quipped as Johnny agreed with a nod of his head. Gyro huffed but before he could utter a single word, a crack interrupted him. Your heads all shot to the source of the noise to find a broken twig a few meters away. "What...did that?" you muttered aloud while going stiff which Johnny noticed almost immediately. "Well, it couldn't have been a stand or some enemy," Johnny clarified, rolling up beside you in his wheelchair, "we would have seen it."

"Probably just a mouse," Gyro said offhandedly, waving you both off as he went to grab his bedroll from his horse. "Calm down, idiot. Gyro's probably right. Just a mouse," you muttered to yourself while bringing your hands to your face, peeking over at Gyro who grinned at you as if he had heard your every word. "Nevermind. Fuck that guy." Your eyes looked over to find Johnny looking extremely terrified. With a raised brow, you poked his shoulder, jumping back when he screamed.

"J...ohnny?" With red cheeks, Johnny let out a few awkward coughs and stared at the ground like it was the only thing in the world. "I'm good...I'm gonna go start the fire," he mumbled before rolling off towards the brush as fast as he could. You stared at him as he did so and sighed only to stiffen when Gyro wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your hand was immediately pressing down on your hat while you turned to find him smiling there. "What the hell do you want?"

"You heard that scream too, yeah?"

You scoffed, pushing his arm off you with a grimace. "Yeah, what about it? Everyone's afraid of something," you grumbled, walking over to Thunderstruck and grabbing your bedroll. Gyro rolled his eyes and followed after you with a no-good grin, "okay...but of all things why mice?" You tugged off the bedroll and turned back to face him with a look that made him go quiet. "A lot of people have what others call irrational fears— it doesn't mean they're not valid."

You peered over at Johnny who continued looking for some usable wood in the shrubbery and sighed before side-stepping Gyro who groaned. "Yes, yes, all fears are valid- that's not the point!" Gyro whined following after you like some lost kitten, "don't you wanna try and scare him with me~?" You froze, looking up at him from under the brim of your hat and raising a finger just to reply with a flat no. "Whaaaat? Why not?" "I just told you why not, idiot. Pay attention next time."

Gyro watched as you placed your bedroll near his with a clear space for Johnny's in between, standing there with a pout. He continued to watch as you walked over next to Johnny with your hands behind your back and what Gyro could only assume was a smile under your bandana. A scoff left his lips and he turned around, pulling out his steel ball to fidget with. If you wouldn't help him then he'd have to take the matter into-

A sudden breath near the back of Gyro's neck made him screech and in an instant, he was hiding behind you and Johnny. "Wha- Gyro? What's wrong?" asked Johnny as you rolled your eyes, snapping off a branch from a dead tree. "Quit it, Gyro. Don't be an asshole," you spat, glaring at him from under the brim of your hat. Gyro shot you a look all while grimacing and holding onto the back of Johnny's wheelchair before standing up straight.

Just as Gyro opened his mouth he felt another breath on the back of his neck as well as a faint feeling of something brushing up against his leg. Once more, he screeched, but this time he ran behind you and you were not liking the fact that his fingers were digging into your shoulders. "Get off-" you pushed Gyro away harshly and stood firmly beside Johnny, an unseen frown on your face, "and just stop. I already told you I wasn't going to help you." Johnny raised a brow, looking up at you and then Gyro.

"Help him with what?"

Gyro narrowed his eyes at you— "I'm not doing this on purpose! Something breathed on me! Twice!" You rolled your eyes and picked up some sticks at your feet, making your way to your makeshift campground until you tripped over air. Without thinking, you turned around and glared at Gyro who shockingly still had his steel balls in their holsters. "What the hell-" A sudden pain ripped at your calf and before you could think you were holding back a scream.

"What the fuck?!"

Johnny and Gyro were at your side in seconds, the latter of which was more focused on defending you all than actually checking on what had happened to your leg. "Did ya see anythin'?" asked Johnny frantically, his drawl making his words slur just slightly. You shook your head and scanned the horizon, wincing as Johnny pulled up your pant leg to reveal three deep gashes. "Jesus," he muttered while you threw your head back through labored breaths.

Every move felt like you were setting your leg ablaze and the fire of pain had already started creeping up toward your knee. Johnny met your eyes through the shadow cast by your hat and grimaced, looking to Gyro before looking back at you. "Speedwagon, can ya move-" Johnny stopped short and you felt the air leave your lungs when you noticed that the pain was gone— along with the wound. "What in God's name- Where'd it go?"

Gyro peered back over his shoulder to see you and Johnny panic over the non-existent wound with a knot in his brow. He wasn't able to get a single word out as he was dragged across the ground and thrown into the brush. "Gyro!" Johnny frantically rolled his way over to Gyro before getting knocked from his wheelchair and against an uncomfortably shaped rock. You were quick to get to your feet and get to Johnny's aid, searching the horizon for an explanation.

"This has to be a stand," called Gyro as he shuffled his way out of the shrubbery, brushing off the twigs and leaves that had stuck to his clothes. Johnny hummed and you reluctantly agreed with him all the while continuing your search. "Do you think someone followed us?" he muttered as you got to your feet and he hopped back onto his wheelchair. "I didn't see anyone at all today," you replied while slowly backing up until you hit Gyro's back.

"I didn't see anyone either," Gyro mumbled, readying his steel balls as Johnny backed up against you both, pointing his finger out into the relative darkness. The silence between you all was almost deafening while you three awaited any sudden movements from the darkness. Any noises that came from the desert nature were drowned out as you tried your best to listen for the telltale sound of footsteps or heavy breathing.

But there was nothing.

A sudden rustle from the shrubbery made you all perk up and turn to face it, finding nothing in front of you. "What the hell is doing this?" you grumbled as Iron Maiden hovered in and out of existence. You only hoped that it was nothing big because as you stood there, Iron Maiden didn't seem like she wanted to cooperate. A few seconds of silence and then there was a bright light, making all three of you wince. "There's something there!" Gyro rushed up to the bushes without a hint of hesitation and poked around-

"Che palle!" Gyro backed away frantically, grabbing his wrist with his other hand to reveal a lizard of some sort attached to his finger. "Was this thing doing all of this?!" he cried as he tried shaking it off frantically, all the while cursing in his mother tongue. Johnny sighed and shook his head in disbelief as you held back some chuckles. "I doubt it." Just as the words left your mouth, the thing went invisible and flashed into a few different colors before growing bigger.

"I don't think it likes us very much," you said with a grimace, backing away as Johnny and Gyro did the same. "Let's get outta here," Johnny cried, rolling over to Slow Dancer and the other horses who had been moving around anxiously. You scooped up your bedroll as you ran and leaped onto Thunderstruck, pulling at the reins to calm your poor horse down. "Damn lizard!" You all, once ready, rushed off, not looking back until the footsteps of the beast had died down into silence.

"That thing had a stand, didn't it?" you muttered as you all came to a stop, your heart pounding in your ears as you looked nervously behind you. "It was..." Gyro stopped to shut his eyes in thought, "what are they called in English again? Carnelian?" Johnny let his shoulders sag and spoke through a yawn, "Chameleon." Gyro nodded fervently, clearly satisfied with how he had classified the thing.

A sudden and unwelcome wave of exhaustion washed over you all and it wasn't until then that you realized your current predicament. You were in the middle of the desert with nothing to burn for a fire and it was already too dark to travel any further. The silence you all sat in was mutual as you tried your best to avoid thinking about your situation. It wasn't until your eyelids got unbearably heavy that you spoke up.

"SO...WHAT NOW?"

[sailormiya]

↦ impulse!

suna rintarou x gn!reader

for anon, who requested first time hand-holding with either one of the twins or suna. i’ve never written suna before and i’m not sure why. includes horror elements but it’s all fake, i promise. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, knees wobbling precariously as you approach the door. “I can’t believe we’re doing this, oh my god. Fuck me.”

The boy beside you raises an eyebrow but you silence him with a Look before he can speak. Ahead of you, the twins are somewhere in the middle or end of a bickering match, with Atsumu being even more obnoxious in an attempt to disguise how scared he most definitely is. 

You can’t even fault him for it though, because you—and your stupid friends—are currently less than a meter away from the entrance of the prefecture’s alleged “scariest haunted house” with the admission wristbands already tied around your arms like fluorescent orange signals that says, “hey! Look at us! We’re idiots! We paid to be scared shitless!” 

“You know I heard that someone—” Suna begins but Atsumu whirls around and wails something that sounds vaguely like, “shut up!” before Osamu smacks him on the arm. 

“Please don’t tell me that someone died here,” you whisper, trying to wipe a bit of the clamminess on your palms off on your jeans. 

“What?” he questions, clearly amused by the reactions. “No, if someone died don’t you think they’d have to shut the place down?”

“No,” Osamu replies nonchalantly. Someone screams from within the house’s depths. “We signed those wavers. They’re legally not responsible if someone croaks in there.”

“Oh? I guess you’re right,” Suna muses, still insufferable. “So the possibility is still there.”

“Yeah I think we might see our first house victim today.” 

Everyone looks at Atsumu. Secretly, you feel as if the place might claim you too.

“Don’t worry,” Suna says, sparing a glance down at you. “Everything’s fake; the blood, the costumes, the chainsaws...”

“Chainsaws?” you parrot, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. No one told you there were going to be chainsaws.

Osamu snorts. “They don’t have the blades on ‘em, they just—”

“Alright, group 63! You have the green-light to proceed.” A much too chipper looking college student greets, waving a black nail-polished hand towards the door. “Please enjoy your time here with us today.” 

He bows deeply and Atsumu looks like he might fight him right then and there.

Suna nudges you forth and for some reason you go along with it, your legs movingly stiffly as they bring you closer to certain doom. 

The wooden door creaks open, probably controlled by an unseen mechanism, and you duck under a large faux-cobweb as you cross the threshold. The air itself is already colder, at least by five degrees, and an audio begins to play the moment you step inside—a looping tape of light wind and quiet, ominous moaning. 

Slowly, your group shuffles forward and the dim, flickering lights of the next room spill into the dark hallway ahead. Beside you, Suna is as stoic as ever, with what you can see of his face betraying no hint of fear (or even amusement). 

Osamu is the first to reach the second room, which triggers some sort of motion sensor that causes the sound of a loud bang to blare from right behind you. 

You squeal and Atsumu yells, shoving his brother further into the next room. Stumbling back, you feel your arm hit Suna’s side and you think you hear him chuckle as you hastily follow the twins forward. But as soon as the contents of the next room are revealed, you regret your decision immediately. 

Lining the walls are a bunch of old televisions, playing different reels of footage. Every scene is in black and white and hopelessly grainy, depicting varying empty rooms or desolate landscapes. They flash as you walk forward, shifting to more eerie scenes—a crying woman with her back to the camera, a rocking baby cradle with no baby, and a shadow against a wall, its owner unseen. 

And as you near the other end of the room, the displays merge to show one, singular scene—a lone well at the edge of a forest, hazy with film grain. 

“Oh fuck no,” Osamu mutters and you all watch in stricken horror as the iconic film ghost begins to crawl over the well’s edge. Something brushes against the small of your back and you nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around to find Suna’s hand on your waist. 

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically teetering off the edge of indifference. It’s shocking to consider that Suna Rintarou might be scared but before you can enjoy it, a hidden door bangs open and the ghost girl from the screen emerges from somewhere behind you. She charges at your group full speed and the twins take off screaming. 

You’re not so lucky in your escape, stumbling over your own feet as you turn back to get away, but a strong hand yanks you back up and tows you away with such force that it shocks you back into reality. 

Suna pulls you through the next dark corridor in the direction of Atsumu’s yowling, but when you reach a fork in the hallway he stops. There’s no telling which direction they’ve gone, although you figure you’ll all end up in the same place eventually. 

“Which way should we go?” he asks, sounding a little breathless as he glances both ways. Your hand is still in his, with his grip almost vice-like and his palms just as clammy as yours. You think you’ve never felt more safe. 

“I—I don’t know,” you gasp, flinching when you hear another shriek from nearby. “Right, maybe?”

He swallows, the rise of his Adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light. 

“Left it is then,” he says, but before you can protest, he readjusts his hold to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Just stay close to me, okay?”

[clefairymuke]

oiiii i have a request for a oneshot or maybe something fun to add to your regrets fic (whatever you find better) I think it would be funny a reader x the scouts drunk and levi finding them and being all cute taking care of reader :3

thank you for this request!! sorry for how long it took, but it managed to pull me out of some writers block that’s been kicking my ass lately. thank you for suggesting it and reading!

as always, much love! <3

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Red Wine | Levi x Reader

pairing: levi x reader

themes: fluff

tw: swearing, alcohol use

word count: 2511

True fun and relaxation is not something you typically experience.

Of course, when you signed up for this whole Scout Regiment thing, you weren’t expecting nights out in bars and plush queen-sized beds with wool blankets. You expected exactly what you got: exhausting days and mostly sleepless nights, demanding grief and waking nightmares. One thing you hadn’t expected, however, was how stale it would get. These thoughts are why you ended up where you are now: propped lazily against a wall surrounded by your friends, loud laughs bubbling freely from your ever-smiling mouth, and a bottle of wine in hand.

While the “why” is clear to you, the “how” is a bit more cloudy. Around the complete euphoria in your head stands a thick fog blocking your memory — that, or the fact that your drunkenly dwindling attention span can no longer support a thought lasting more than a second or two. All you know is that you’re here now, and you’re having the time of your life. Your eyes and ears skirt past Eren and Jean arguing without stopping to listen in as you pass the bottle to Mikasa.

For once, you aren’t thinking about how Levi could make this experience better. Although you love being in the company of your boyfriend, you can’t help but imagine his disdain if he were to witness your situation. You can almost feel the ferocity of his razor sharp-glare creeping up your spine as you picture it within your mind.

You lay your head back on the concrete wall that keeps you upright and close your eyes. Although you had shown to be quite social when the bottle first began to be passed, you now wanted nothing more than to take a nice nap — or to go vomit just to ease yourself of the queasy feeling that was overtaking your stomach. Either would suffice. You listen to your friends chatting mindlessly around you, their care to be inconspicuous slipping away with the wine. You watch Connie drain what was left in the bottle, leaving you to curse at the fact that you would be stuck in the uncomfortable kind of drunk that left you a bit nauseous while still conscious enough to be prone to anxiety.

You sit there in a dizzy oblivion for what could have been five minutes or fifty, tuning out the antics of the rest of the people in the room as they laugh and roughhouse. Your stomach stirs and turns, but your mind begins to clear: you notice Connie and Sasha choreographing a dance routine to music only they could hear; Mikasa and Armin sit quietly chatting behind Eren as he and Jean argue over who is more adept at fighting; Ymir and Christa are making googly eyes at each other over their giggles.

“Hey, guys?” you say, your brain lagging behind your mouth by at least a few seconds. “I’m probably about to throw up.” You quickly discover that you’re right, as your gut begins to bubble and your mouth begins to water.

“Oh, fuck,” Connie mumbles as he looks around the room desperately. Sasha looks disappointed as he stops dancing and approaches where you sit against the wall, gripping your wrists in his hands and helping you to your feet; with both of you being drunk enough to show it, stumbles are surely present. Time skips, and you’re kneeled in front of the toilet, Connie leaving to give you privacy — you’re decidedly much drunker than you thought you were.

Just as you start to vomit, you hear Eren defeatedly say, “Oh, fuck me.” That can’t be good.

The space goes silent save your groans. The most imaginative depths of your brain think that perhaps a titan is looking in the window, waiting to bring you all to your doom. How convenient for half of the newest scout recruits to be intoxicated and defenseless. When you hear Levi’s voice say, “Stupid fucking brats. Where is she?” you wish it were a titan instead.

A chorus of voices answer, “Bathroom.” What a bunch of fucking sellouts, you think to yourself. Your heartbeat begins to pound in your throat again as you hear his footsteps grow near; when he taps at the door a few times, you let it all out — out of fear or simple drunkenness you are unsure. “God damn it,” you hear him mumble before the door handle turns and his hands find your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail.

He rubs your back in a manner you can only describe as passive-aggressive. You can tell he wants to scold you — and you’re definitely in for it once you get to feeling better — but you can also tell that he wants to care for you. That’s why you try to pretend not to hear his curses as he lectures you on responsibility.

“Why the hell are you drinking with these idiots? I wouldn’t be mad if it was a glass or two, but there are three empty bottles on the floor in there. Three. No wonder you’re puking your fucking guts up,” he mutters, voice low enough for only you to hear despite his angry tone.

You feel your eyes watering as your stomach settles for another brief moment. “Levi,” you say, your breathing labored, “now is not the time.” You hear him scoff before you begin to dry heave, his hand moving a bit more caring across your back as he holds onto your hair. Your gut starts to feel a bit better as your brain realizes there’s nothing left. He places his hands under your arms and lifts you gently to your feet before flushing the toilet. You stumble awkwardly to his lead as he escorts you to the sink.

He reaches around you to turn on the water, which is cold to the touch as he holds your hand beneath it. “Clean your mouth out,” he says, nudging his hand around yours until you form a cup. “It’s disgusting.” You oblige him, lifting it to your lips. You feel it drip down your chin as you swish it around between your teeth, looking up in the mirror to see your blushing cheeks and droopy eyes. Levi stands behind you, dressed in no more than a grey t-shirt and some comfortable-looking pants. His hair is neat and combed, which doesn’t quite match the rest of his attire, but you aren’t complaining. He looks as ethereal as always. After you spit, he grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face him.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing the tears that had formed on your face away with his thumbs. You shake your head at him, your eyes trailing down to the ground. Here comes the scolding.

He sweeps you off your feet, to your surprise, holding you bridal-style as he carries you out of the bathroom. You lay your head against his shoulder, seeing the walls of the room and the faces of your friends go blurrily by as he strides to the door; they all look terrified.

“Laps,” you hear Levi announce to your friends, his voice icy. “At dawn. I don’t give a shit if you’re hungover.”

A chorus of groans is the soundtrack for your exit as the door slams shut. The walk back to Levi’s suite is spotty at best; you’re unsure of exactly how long it’s taking. The scenery around you feels more dreamlike than anything — you find yourself hoping that you’re still propped against the wall with your friends, sleeping soundly and dreaming of Levi catching you red-handed. When time jumps and he’s laying you down on his couch, you’re pretty sure you’re awake.

You hear rustling around as you lay there, still half waiting for a scolding. He rejoins you rather quickly, setting some things down on the side table and gently lifting your head. He sits, letting you back down slowly to lay in his lap. “I brought you bread,” he says, taking it from the table and placing it in your hands. “It’ll soak up the alcohol. There’s water over here when you need it.” You inspect the bread lazily before nibbling on it. The very idea of chewing something and swallowing it is enough to make you nauseous, but you trust his judgement.

You feel his hand fall atop your forehead and his fingers draw circles in your hair. You don’t fight the grin threatening your lips. “Are you okay, my love?” he asks, his voice soft. This is the tenderness you had fallen in love with many months ago; the one thing your friends are blind to. He carries himself with such coldness for the public — he is rude, and blunt, and insufferable, and unobtainable. With you, however, he could be kind. He could be loving. The speed with which his gentle voice melts your heart never lessens. This is Levi at his most vulnerable.

“I’m just drunk,” you tell him, your words slurring into each other. “I’m not dying.”

You hear a chuckle barely pass over his lips like a spring breeze, the sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of the way the sun reflects off the surface of a pond. The peaceful nature of your position is a worthy opponent to how your insides wage war on one another: nausea, dizziness, and the beginnings of what will become an absolutely splitting headache all contained within one disoriented body. “I would’ve gone with you, you know,” he says suddenly after a serene moment of silence. “I would’ve known when you needed to stop drinking.” He combs his fingers against your cheek, silvery eyes softening into pools of undeniable adoration.

“You would’ve been a complete buzzkill,” you reply, half joking as you close your eyes and enjoy the rare affection.

You hear a cross between a scoff and a laugh come from above you. “Keeping those brats from getting you so wasted that you start puking isn’t being a buzzkill. It’s called taking care of you.”

“I think I’m not drunk enough,” you say honestly. “We ran out of wine right at that stage where you could go to sleep or start throwing up, but there’s absolutely no chance of having a good time.”

He taps the top of your head with two fingers, prompting you to let him up. You oblige him, using the opportunity to lay down your bread and take a sip from the glass of water that rests on the side table. You watch as he saunters back toward the kitchen, wondering what he was doing somewhat, but mostly just trying to get a grip on your senses. You sit up as you wait on his return, laying your head back against the plush upholstery and taking deep breaths.

He’s back as quickly as he left, both hands behind his back in a feeble attempt to hide the wine glasses as their stems poked around to your view. You feel a smile creep onto your face as he unveils his master plan: a bottle of red wine and a glass for each of you. “Don’t expect this often,” he announces as he sets it all on the table, pulling a wine key from his pocket. He joins you on the couch, scooting in close so that your knees brush before you hear the satisfying pop of the cork and the relaxing swish of liquid on glass.

“You’re expecting me to believe that Captain Levi is offering to get drunk with me?” you giggle, almost nervous to reach for the wine in front of you. He laughs off your comment, reaching in front of him and lifting the glass to his lips; he takes only a sip before looking at you in expectation. You take yours as well, holding it up to his jokingly before you both bring them to your mouths.

After your first gulp, time begins to melt away. A movie-esque montage begins in front of your eyes: the sight of the man you love, once so stoic and so stiff, loosening and laughing the night away at your side; the feeling of typically isolated and scarce hands trailing carelessly along the length of your arms, warm against the sensitive skin of your wrists and your thighs; the smell of red wine spilled innocently on hardwood and upholstery without complaints or uprooting to clean it; the sound of his velvet and brass voice with his uncensored expressions of love, whispered and melodic; the taste of mint and jasmine tea on his unusually wandering lips.

What might be thirty minutes or three hours passes in a flash, leaving you sprawled across the couch with the drunken mess that is your typically reserved lover, legs utterly entangled so that you were unsure where you ended and he began. He’s whispering to you — that much you know — but his words are slurred, and you’re unbelievably distracted by the feeling of wet kisses being peppered along your jaw and ear. He grasps at your back, massaging and caressing and leaving no inch uncovered by his calloused hands as his touch reminds you why you breathe and laugh and plainly exist.

“Levi,” you whisper, your mind a tangled ball of twine save for the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

He hums in response, not bothering to look up at you. You can feel his grin against your jaw.

“We should get to bed, love.”

You’d be left to wonder how the two of you made it into the next room when morning came; rest assured there would be a trail from the couch to the bedroom door made from clumsily knocked-over knick knacks and your discarded clothes from the day to clue you in. If you were sober, you’d care enough about Levi’s wrath tomorrow to clean up behind the two of you; however, you aren’t sober, and you don’t care enough.

The two of you fall into the bed you share, intertwining your limbs like the threads of a tapestry, laying out plainly and beautifully the comfort you find in him. Your head finds his chest and his hands find your lower back, pulling you flush against him as his eyelids begin their threats to close before he is quite ready. He murmurs out your name, his hold on you growing more snug when it passes his lips. “I love you, s—” he falters, nuzzling his face in the top of your head. “So much.”

It’s short — and a pretty common thing for someone to say to the person they love — but it means everything coming from him. “I love you, Levi,” you tell him, praying to whatever is up there that you’ll remember this in the morning.

Soon, the two of you stop stirring and whispering. As you breathe him in, you try to hear his words in your mind as many times as you can before you slip out of consciousness. You begin to drift off to sleep, peaceful and content in his arms as you’ve ever been.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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

“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

can you do a hc of the bros and would they help mc feel better. like mc is sad and what would the brothers say and do to make them feel better. idk if this has been done so yeah :)

Lol, let's see if I remember what being sick is like, haven't caught a single cold since the start of the year, and thank fuck for that too-

Also, once again, one more time, third time actually, it's hard to focus things on the MC as I try to make it possible for many to put themselves in the story (I know I have written one on MC liking insects but that was very self indulgent lol)

I will change things up a bit on the request, but if it was with my own MC, she would be fairly practicle, checking up on the brothers, giving them water and asking if they wanted food, even keeping company if not contagious. It will look like she is just being considerate but it actually pains her to see them sick, it's just that she is used to expressing herself in acts of service.

.

When Your Seven Demons Get Sick

.

Warning: a LOT of uncensored swearing

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Lucifer

We all know this can go two ways: either this piece of shit refuses to acknowledge that he is coughing like a damn nuclear explosion or he responsably takes his work home and refuses to fully rest because he needs to keep and eye on not only his brothers but also on the man child he works under that he somehow has come to fondly call a best friend.

So, yeah, tomato tomato.

His stress is reaching levels higher than celestial realm and he definetelly has been staring at a piece of document for way too long and not making any progress.

You will have to literally german suplex this man into his bed if you want him to get more than 5 seconds of shut eye.

It will take a while for his brain to process that 'oh yeah he can trust you to keep at least 10% of the house intact while he recovers'.

He may be a bit insufferable as he will attempt to work again, but it is a very adorable sight to have him whining, being way too happy at small gestures, and of course, his squishy cheeks as he sleeps soundly.

.

Mammon

As long as he is being dramatic about it, you know he will live.

Though he probably won't realize he even is ferverish until someone points it out that his responses are much slower than normal.

Like, it took him one second too long to screech in terror and start running for his life when he spotted Levi's all nighter dying body crawling out of his bedroom!

And oh yes was he delighted to be deprived of his obligation to go to RAD until he got back to his full health.

Until he was not allowed to not do anything but rest for the entire day that is.

Yes he will be restess and willing to do anything just to be allowed to stand on the front porch for five seconds and yes you will end up threatening to tie him to the bed in a non kinky way and yes you will only be half joking.

Just make sure to keep close attention to his levels of drama so that you can spoil him properly when he truly feels bad.

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Leviathan

With him it can also go two ways: either he also doesn't fully realize until someone points it out or he will immediatelly let you a "Oh hell no" the moment he gives out a single cough that feels just a little bit out of the ordinary.

How he will take care of himself, if at all, will depend of the situation.

If there is absolutely nothing to lose from being sick other than the hability to breathe through his nose he would definetelly spent the entire recovering process binge watching slice of life animes while laying confortably on his tub.

If he had plans related to the things he is passionate about though?

I wish you luck because he is definetelly not backing down and will consequently make himself even more sick afterwards.

Although the extremelly satisfied expression we wears even when he can barely laugh without having a coughing fit kind of makes it all worthy in the end.

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Satan

The most chill sick person you will ever encounter and will always make sure to be responsable and nurture himself back to full health.

The catch though?

This big brained idiot definetelly doesn't know how to judge between what is small cold and straight up dying when it's about his own body.

So yes he is the kind of person who will always take some painkillers, drink water, lay on bed and read a book until he falls asleep no matter what the fuck he actually has.

So much for knowledge is power smh.

First off, he deserves to be vibe checked with the thickest medicine book you can find in the cluttered mess he calls a bedroom.

Second off, he is so much more prone to being pissy when he's sick. It's almost funny how fast he goes from :) to >:( in half a second the moment someone who isn't you steps inside his bedroom.

And last but not least, cat videos. No further explanation needed.

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Asmodeus

Oh someone have pity on this poor baby. He took so much care to not get himself sick and has managed to avoid even the worst of pandemies for centuries! So why now?!

He is basically so desperate to recover to the point he actually makes it take longer due to him stressing things out.

And he feels so sticky, he will basically want to take 5 showers per day.

Also his voice is basically gone?? And that just makes him want to s c r e a m ????

Locks himself inside his bedroom and throws a pity party.

Many of his posts on the media are something like "Oh no! I think I got sick? I am feeling a bit under the weather right now so, will you nurse me back to health~? Pretty please~ ❤" while in real life he is pretty much sneezing and coughing at the same time every 5 minutes.

If you bring him consolation sweets he might cry. Both because you're making him happy and because he is definetelly going to have to lose those extra calories later.

As much as he wants to cuddle he doesn't let you too close in case it's contagious and damn if he isn't rocking the pale skin, runny nose and swollen eyes.

He doesn't agree.

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Beelzebub

Big boy is definetelly one of the easiest demons to take care of when sick seeing he will to his most to not feel like a chore to you.

Yes he will lie when he feels unwell so that you don't worry.

And that's when you should vibe check him with a spoon.

Like yes you may be getting out of your way to take care of him but no it's no problem at all because yes you love him a lot and would do anything to see him get better and you know he would to the same if not more for you if switched places.

Happiness is the re ocurring 'aah's as you spoon feed your bed ridden man and watching as he keeps on smiling throughout each bite and eats everything like a good boy.

But you can't tell me he doesn't manage to get drunk on cough syrup though.

He is definetelly not as hungry as usual but damn this cough syrup tastes great.

The results are Beel going on a cursed chain of crypid comments in which he makes sure to whisper them in the strangeat ways you could imagine at the most random times always giving a happy smile once he is done.

He apparently doesn't recall any of it the next day-

.

Belphegor

How he reacts to being sick completely depends on who is close enough to hear him whine.

Most of the time, whenever he feels anything out of ordinary, he will immediately text Beel in case this is just one more of their cases of twin-powers.

If he is actually sick though?

He will not stop whining, but then he gives a cute smile when he sees you and even makes a motion closely resembling grabby hands with his fingers as he raises one arm in your direction while saying some shit like "I missed you" when you literally were only gone for exactly 2 minutes to go grab him a cup of water and I think you can understand the power this little of shit has.

Be prepared to roll your eyes so much your eyes will probably start hurting.

The good side though? He is the only brother who listens exactly to what you tell him to do without feeling bad about being a burden. Though it's all because he doesn't wants you to worry about him any further than necessary.

[henqtic]

𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘦 𝘈 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader 

word count: 2.3k

summary: Draco Malfoy. His name was registered in your mind as your enemy, plain and simple. A platinum blonde idiot who you’d find much more likable if he’s just shut up everyone in a while. But what would happen if your parents arranged for you both to attend the yule ball together- would some hidden feeling shine their way out? 

warnings: mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of feeling anxious, feelings of self doubt, kissing, angry love confession, crying, a little angst, please contact me if theres more !

a/n: Also this is an au where the yuleball is in seventh year and no Voldemort <3

masterlist.  // gif creds // taglist form.

When Dumbledore announced the yule ball to the school in the middle of the dinner, you were a bit excited. Excited at the idea that you’d have the chance to be asked to the dance by some nice boy and that could potentially lead to a relationship.

But being born into a family like yours, you couldn’t hope for much. Not even a week after they got the news, your mother and father made an arrangement with the Malfoy’s that you would have to attend the ball with their son Draco.

You could've sworn they had been trying to set you both up for some kind of arranged marriage. Maybe them pushing you together was a way to soften a blow when it finally happened? But still, out of any one they just had to choose him.

You had grown up with him, Draco, and if you hadn't already known— he was what you called a... bitch boy. He’d tattle about small things, throw a few temper tantrums, and cry to get his way. This is why even though your families had been so closely connected for years, centuries even— he was your enemy and nothing could change that.

That fact wasn’t hidden from your parents, not in the slightest. They saw the numerous dirty looks you’d throw at each other when you thought no one looking, not to mention the childish pulling of hairs and elbowing with shoulders.

But they also saw the good things about your relationship, how'd you do little things for each other that made a bigger impact than you thought, like it was second nature.

Like whenever another dinner party would come up where there were random families of investors, business owners or, just more snooty rich people— Draco would always make sure you were seated right next to him in the case that both of you had to show up.

It honestly wasn’t that much of a big deal from his view point. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that you found yourself uncomfortable around new people and him saving you a seat was just common decency.

And there was always little moments where they’d find you both curled into each other after one of the tense meetings you had to attend seeing as you’d be graduating soon and still had the responsibility of up keeping your family names once you were adults.

Draco would be there tenderly playing with your hands and venting. Because while he did come off as confident about everything in his life, how he had both the Malfoy and Black fortuned to fall back onto, you could tell he was still scared of the future— of growing up.

That fear is also what led to the very rushed apology he had offered to the golden trio for his past behavior. You did have to physically push him into them and he did choke up on the words of kindness that were supposed to make the apology sincere but he still did it.

They hadn't forgiven him of course, they just sort of stared like some one had cast an unforgivable curse on the boy seconds before, but at least they were now, they were civil towards each other.

And even though you did do those things for him, that didn’t stop you from not wanting to do this and neither did it stop you from impatiently waiting outside of the great hall doors.

Your dress was made out of nothing less of the finest fabrics and silks you could get your hands onto. You knew it wouldn't make a single dent into your families Gringotts account but you felt that the purchase would make some sort of statement.

“You’re five minutes late,” you seethed, watching as a head of white-blonde hair finally round the corner. His hands brushed his jacket in a smug manor, getting rid of the invisible dust particles.

It really wasn’t that much time, many other students could still be found wither waiting for their dates or just standing around to show up ‘fashionably late’.

But you knew Draco had spent those minutes staring at himself in the mirror and fixing his oh so perfect hair.

“Some of us like to look good when showing up to these things,” he sneered before eyeing you in disgust.

“Oh please, this dress cost more than the gel you have piled in your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you along with a scrunch of his nose as he offered you the junction between his folded arm to lead you down the steps.  

The night had gone pretty well so far, both of you somehow never finding the right time to leave the others side as you had planned. It seemed as if your friends had all decided to hide themselves away from you both— like they were planning something. Of course, they were.

Blaise fucking Zabini

That idiot talked Professor Flitwick into playing a slow song, one that every couple had to join in on. And while that did sound good at eye view, you had to sign a paper at the begging saying if you coming as a couple or single. And the only people who had signed single to not face embarrassment were the staff—not counting Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Was this real, you being the living cliche of dancing with your enemy?

“If you step on my shoes one more time, I’ll leave you,” he growled into your, tightening his grip on your waist. Yeah, it was.

“What do you think I’ll do? Cry?” You asked in a mocking tone, sticking out your stuck your bottom lip out in a pout to taunt him even further.

Suddenly your front was pressed up against his back— your attention had been else where. Else where being reaching the goal of getting on his last nerve so when a husky voice whispered in your ear, you were shocked.

“Oh don’t act like I haven’t made you cry before.” He turned you back around swiftly, the only thing indicating what had just happened being the proud smirk on his face.

“Says you. Weren’t you the one who cried over a guy asking me out in fifth year?” You challenged, bringing up the incident that happened two years ago.

He hadn’t cried but he might as well have and you just needed something to tick him off for the moment. Whatever he had just did caused something to happened within you, and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet.

It was a situation that the blonde deeply wanted to regret—George Weasley asking you out. You and Draco had been finishing up on your work in the courtyard when he had invited himself to sit in between you and Draco and then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

Draco hadn't given you the chance to answer, a new found jealously fueling him to gather both of your things and drag you away from the scene.

He knew the chances were slim that you would reject the boy, and deep down tucked inside of him, Draco knew that the Weasleys were better than him— in some aspects.

Over the years Draco had found himself growing into a separate person from his parents, a person who had could think on their own and didn’t have to rely solely on his parents' truths.

And through that process, he realized that maybe his ideals were not the best out there. Including the way he treated many of his pears even if he was too proud to say it out loud.

That being said, he always stayed up wondering while you stayed. Why’d you even stick with him in the first place. And that’s what Brough him to find out his second greatest fear, loosing you.

Yes, you were insufferable at times, but you were still you. Someone that he liked having around and talking too. And someone that listened to him even if it was something as stupid as why gingers exist and why they shouldn't.

Yes that was an actual conversation that you had. In conclusion, you were a person he loved. But he never did think to tell you that because, why risk losing you over something that was most likely unrequited.

“I was protecting your future y/n. Would you like for your children to come out as gingers,” he spat as if what he had just made complete sense.

“Draco I was fifteen and he was sixteen at the time and we barely ever talked before that because you were always bad-mouthing his family.”

Now that you think of it, he had always been this way about you and boys. It was an ongoing thing where it didn't matter what blood type, what house, which people they associated themselves with, they were always ‘below you and you could find better’.

“Why do you always meddle in my relationships?” You were irritated. Maybe it was the close proximity of your bodies or maybe it was how oblivious he was.

“Meddle? You’ve never even been in a relationship,” he snorted making your point clearer than day.

“Exactly. Why are you so jealous of me wanting to break out of whatever shell we have enclosed over each other? What if I want to branch out and you know, talk to new people?”

Ouch.

It didn’t hurt that you considered him to be somewhat of an enemy, it was your thing—but you didn’t even consider him to be a friend?

“Alright then when about Pansy? I tried to break out of our ‘shell’ as you call it when I started talking to her.”

“Parkinson was not good for you then and now even more. We both know that.”

You weren’t a person who used the word hate. In most times it was used out of anger and would be regretted later on. But Pansy Parkinson? She was very deserving of the title of someone that you hated.

Commenting on someone else’s hair when she had been walking around with a bowl cut for the last last five years? It didn’t make sense to you how she always found a way to put her input in places where it truly wasn’t needed.

“Yeah alright. Then who is good enough for me y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know me,” you mumbled under your breath not expecting him to hear it— but he did.

That’s how you found yourself once again getting dragged away. But this time it was form the great hall to a more private place where none of the ears of Hogwarts could hear you both.

“What do you mean you’re good enough for me?” He asked with more disgust in his tone than wanted, and it crushed you.

You scoffed before going on, “Well I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Would it be so horrible to consider me good enough for you?” You asked watching as some emotion flickered past his eyes.

“I mean I know so many dumb things about you like how you hate the feeling of those sweaters that your mother always buys you and you turn them inside out. And then when she ask if you're wearing them you aren't lying to her face. Do you know how cute that is, that you don’t even harbor the ability to lie to your mum about something as small as that?”

Cute?

“And don’t get me started on how your favorite food is not that ridiculously priced stake that you try convincing people- even me. I know that it’s that tomato soup that your mum makes when you’re sick because it reminds you of being a kid. And guess what? I don’t even let the house elves make it for you when I say that they do—”

“Then who does y/n?” He asked softly while slowly bringing you to be trapped between his arms by one of the thick walls. He always had the suspicion be never thought you’d actually—

“Well I uh- I do it myself because I want it to have the same feeling of home as it always does and I sort of asked your mum the exact details on how to cook it like she does,” you explained peering up to look into his eyes.

“You hate the smell of tomatoes,” he said with a light laugh, it wasn’t out of amusement but pure adoration. Never did he think that you’d actually do that for him— of course, you were there when he was sick but it was more of making fun of his ‘weak immune system’ and throwing tissues at him.

“Well I love you more and don’t pretend like you don’t slip those house elves thank you letter—” You were once again cut off but instead it was by his hand reaching the side of your jaw to look up at him fully.

“Repeat that,” he whispered with a small smirk.

oh no

Tears started to cloud your vision, the realization hitting that you had may just ruin your relationship with your childhood- enemy- friend- frenemy?

“Don’t cry I’m not- I’m not mad at you. I’m happy, unbelievably so. I just need you to repeat exactly what you just said to me,” he said moving both hands to cup your face giving his thumbs access to wipe the liquid from under your eyes.

“I love you Draco and I’m sorry that I ruined this. We could honestly just forget it if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to forget anything. Would it be a surprise if I told you that I loved you back and that I have for a long time?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he serious, or was this some sort of sick joke?

Noticing the worries floating around in your head, he gave you a look, one that wordlessly asked that if the next move he was going to make was the right one and that you would both be fine after.

And it was

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[padfootagain]

Infuriating

Here we go for a new fic for my 4.7k event!! Answering the request made by @inkhearthes​ for Sirius using the following prompt (they are written in italics in the fic):

9. "Does it hurt?"

"Not that... OUCH!"

10. "I can't believe you got punched in the face."

"For you. I got punched in the face for you."

11. "It's dark, and it's late, and I'm cold and I'm drenched with this freaking rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

34. "Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles!"

It's fluffy. A tiny bit angsty, maybe? I'm not sure, I think it's pretty fluffy.

Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count : 3683

Of course, you had to be duelling against Sirius fucking Black.

Of course, out of all the students in seventh year with you, you had to be paired with the one you hated the most.

You found him absolutely infuriating. 1000% infuriating. The most annoying person on the surface of the Earth, you reckoned.

You had been facing him for five seconds and you were already so mad at his stupid long dark hair, and his bloody cute chin, and his stormy grey eyes that didn't seem to have an end, and those stupid lips you dreamt about kissing…

Argh! Really, he was insufferable!

And why did he even pick you? You knew the reason, of course, it was just to allow his idiotic best friend to try and seduce your idiotic best friend… as if Lily wasn't already just as head over heels for James than he was for her…

And so, you found yourself paired with Sirius fucking Black, of all people, and you wanted to slap this smirk of his away, or maybe kiss it, you weren't 100% sure yet.

Because, of course, you got along perfectly well with Sirius. You were both playful and full of banter, and he was charming despite being an idiot sometimes, and he was smart too, and talented, and very very sweet, and a little dangerous maybe and…

… and you had a crush on him.

Huge, HUGE crush on him, and that was bad. Very bad. Terrible. Especially because the crush you had wasn't really a crush and more like love.

So, you were mad at him. So mad at him for making you fall for him when you never even intended to befriend him in the first place, let alone love him. And yet, there you were. All this because he was just an absolute sweetheart with a stupid sense of humour and a heart of gold despite all the pain he had been through during his childhood, and had cheekbones to die for.

Of course, how could you resist him?

So now, there you were, about to duel you friend, aka crush, aka potential love of your life, and he was acting so smug about it you heaved a defeated sigh.

Both of you knew that you were better at duelling than he was, and you would soon kick his pretty arse, but you almost felt bad for it. You had your bloody, irrational heart to blame for it all.

Your teacher was gone for just a few minutes to fetch something - you were too focused on watching Sirius laugh at that moment to listen to your professor about what he was leaving the room for.

All you knew was that there was no teacher in the room, which quickly turned into some nasty argument between a few students behind you.

Why was your name even brought up in the first place, you had no idea. All you knew was that before you could understand what was really going on, one of the Ravenclaw boys you had rejected a couple of weeks before was shooting nasty comments at you.

But when the word slut rang through the room, the whole situation got out of hands.

"Hey, Trevor, why don't you shut it!" Sirius snapped before you could have time to reply on your own.

"Sorry, Black, What were you saying? Were you talking to me?"

"I told you to shut your stupid mouth! How dare you talk about her like that? Especially you, Trevor, considering that you have the brain of a mandrake: all you can do is whine all day long."

"Say that again to my face, just to see, Black!"

"Oh, but with pleasure…"

"Sirius!" you tried to hold him back as he strode across the room, meeting Trevor halfway, standing chest against chest and taunting each other to hit first.

James and Remus had taken a step towards the boys too, ready to defend their friend if need be.

You walked over the two of them and pulled at Sirius's sleeve.

"Sirius, please. He's not worth it."

"Yes, Black, listen to your girlfriend… oh wait, you ain't together. Yeah, I bet she rejected your sorry arse."

"Coming from you, who can only insult every girl who refuses a date, I find the blow particularly ironic."

"Don't worry though, I bet she's not a good enough shag anyway. Probably aren't worth the trouble…"

"Say one more word and I'll turn you into a toad," Sirius warned the Ravenclaw, grabbing him by the collar of his robes.

He was so blinded by his rage towards the boy that he didn't see anything else in the room.

How could he dare speak of you like this? You of all people? You, who were a literal ray of sunshine, and so incredibly talented, and bright, and kind, and smart, and hilarious, and he was head over heels for you. Sirius was ready to lose his mind with how much he loved you. Had for years. Had since that night in third year where he had caught you making a trip to the kitchens at midnight and had ended up sharing his snacks with you. Since that moment that you had laughed so much you had ended up chocking on your pudding. Since that night when, for the first time, you talked through the whole night. Since that early morning when you had cried when he had told you about how his family treated him. Since the second you had wrapped your arms around him and promised him that if he needed help, he just had to call you, and you would protect him.

And now hearing some idiotic ghoul insult you was making his blood boil so much that he wasn't able to notice anything happening around him, including Trevor's fist flying across the air to land on his cheekbone and make a clear cut through his skin.

Sirius was hitting the floor before he could understand what had happened, and his body had barely hit the ground that you and the rest of the Marauders were pointing your wands towards the Ravenclaw and his friends.

You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps of your professor coming back, though.

"Y/N, get Sirius to the hospital wing," James instructed, but his friend was already back on his feet, shaking his head.

"I'm fine, Prongs. 'S just a scratch."

"You're bleeding," you argued, but he shot you a grin as an answer.

"You should still go," Remus jumped in. "Or we might all end up in detention."

You grabbed Sirius's hand.

"Come on, you idiot."

"Hey!"

But you ignored his protest and dragged him into the corridor and away from the class, heading for the Hospital Wing.

"Now, I'm not sure that if we truly want to avoid detention, going straight to Mrs. Pomfrey would be the cleverest idea," Sirius argued. "Besides, it's nothing."

You had to agree with him on that, going to Mrs. Pomfrey would get both of you in detention. It was pretty obvious by the look of Sirius's cheekbone, bloody and slowly turning from pinkish to purple, that he had been punched.

"I think I can patch you up," you offered, taking a closer look at his bruising face.

"Perfect. Let's go to my dorm then. We won't be disturbed there."

You accepted with a nod, and followed him all the way to the Gryffindor tower and to his dormitory. And the more you walked across the castle, the angrier you were. Sirius was hurt, and it was because of you. You wanted to go back and turn Trevor into a lizard. You wanted to punch him too.

And what was Sirius thinking? Acting so recklessly?

The wound colouring his cheekbone wasn't serious, but it still needed to be cleaned, so he reached for the bandages and bottles of disinfectants that the boys kept for their monthly trip to the whomping willow, just in case.

It's only when he let himself plop onto his bed with a sigh that Sirius noticed that you were glaring at him.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

And Merlin, did he annoy you… what was wrong? He was bleeding!

"I can't believe you got punched in the face." You shook your head.

"For you. I got punched in the face for you," Sirius corrected you, waving his finger at you pointedly, a smug smile on his face. "I reckon that you owe me one!"

"Why by Agrippa's name would you do that?" you asked, ignoring his stupid remark.

Because you weren't in the mood for his stupid charm, and his insufferable smug smiles, and his silly humour, and the way he always hid his pain behind wits. You weren't in the mood for any of that, you weren't in the mood for the way he always tried to look tougher than he was, because for so long no one had showed him any other way to deal with his emotions, except by bottling them all up in his chest. And you were tired of his tough act, and all you wanted to do now was shake some sense into his head and make him realize that someone had just hit him, and for what?! Because Trevor had insulted you?! That was most definitely not enough of a reason to get punched in the face.

But he looked at you with a curious frown, as if he didn't understand why you asked that question, as if the answer was obvious.

"He… He was making fun of you. He was insulting you. So, I defended you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"We're friends, you don't have to ask me to. I'll be there whenever you need me."

"Who says I needed you back there?"

He didn't answer, studying your expression with an unreadable look across his features.

Why were you mad?

You didn't say anything more, and reached for a clean clothe instead.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not that... OUCH!"

Sirius bucked away as you harshly pressed the piece of fabric against his wounded cheek.

"Now, don't be a baby," you mumbled under your breath, a deep frown adorning your brow.

"I'm not being a baby! You're the one being as delicate as a cave troll! Besides… what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What?"

"What is wrong with you? Why are you mad at me?" Sirius snapped, his voice staying low, but his tone as corrosive as acid. "I've just got punched in the face for you, and you're mad at me?!"

"Yes, I am mad at you, Sirius," you replied, throwing the clothe away in exasperation. "I am mad at you, because you got punched in the face! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking that you needed me…"

"I don't need you, Sirius!"

The words escaped before you could refrain them, even if they were a mere lie.

Of course, you needed him. That was the point, actually. You needed him safe, and happy, and laughing. You needed his stupid long dark hair, and his bloody cute chin, and his stormy grey eyes that didn't seem to have an end, and those stupid lips you dreamt about kissing…

And you needed the way he always hid his pain behind wits, and the way he made you laugh every morning when you drank your fist swing of tea on purpose just to make you choke on it and look at how mad it made you with that stupid smirk plastered on his lips. And you needed the way he always held the door for you, and how he didn't even ask before he would pick up the mountain of books you were taking from the library for your essays. And you needed the way he said your name in that deep voice of his, and this almost-shy smile he gave you every month when he walked back from Hogsmeade and offered you a bunch of sweets from Honeydukes. Always your favourites. Every single trip to Hogsmeade ever since you had been allowed there during your third year. You needed to hear his laugh ringing through the corridors, so loud that you were aware of his presence way before seeing him. You needed his stupid pranks and his even more idiotic acts of kindness. You needed his broken parts and all his scars if only to help him make them slowly get better. You needed him. You needed him so badly, it hurt sometimes, right there, in your chest, and there was no way, absolutely no way that you would let him endanger himself for you.

You needed him more than you needed your pride or reputation.

Yet, it was the opposite that your tongue formed on its tip as you spoke.

And the words kept on ringing through his mind like a broken record, and it was more painful at each echo of your voice.

I don't need you, Sirius.

Well, that was clear, at least. No need for Sirius to keep his hopes up anymore. He had kept on hoping for you to maybe, one day, feel for him something else than a platonic friendship, but clearly you weren't on the same page. Instead, you didn't need him.

And he hated you, then. He truly did. He hated you, because he wished he could have answered with a remark just as poisonous and painful as your words had been, but he couldn’t. Not that he didn't find the right words, no the problem was more insidious.

He couldn't say it.

He couldn’t, because then, he imagined the pain crossing your features, and he couldn't bring himself to be the reason behind any of your sorrow. He was used to it, really. Being in pain in silence. Taking the punch without saying a word. Swallowing the insults without fighting back. Years of survival skills had developed while he was a child. Now, he was excellent at biting his tongue and imagining what scenarios could come out as a result of his words. He had made progress over his years spent by James's side to loosen up that tendency of his to overthink everything. That, coupled with his natural will to rebel, and he was good now at fighting with both his curses and his remarks. But not to you. No, not against you. He didn't want to use this weapon with you. He knew way too well that words were often way more effective at hurting someone than fists. The wounds cut deeper, and the scars never healed. He knew for certain that he would never forget the look on your face as you said that you didn't need him.

And he couldn't summon the strength to reply with words that would be just as painful. He had just gotten punched in the face for you, after all. That ought to speak about the way he felt for you.

So, instead of replying, he walked out of the room, leaving you behind.

It took you two hours to find him.

It was raining so hard, and the late days of September had brought a cold wind that curved the veil of droplets as they fell from the heavy black clouds above your head. The sun had almost set by now, and judging by how you were hungry, you guessed it was time for supper in the great hall. Your feet were frozen because of the mud that covered your ankles and splashed across your calves.

You had checked the shores of the lake, and Hagrid's home, and the edge of the Forest, and the Quidditch Pitch. But he was sitting a few meters away from the Whomping Willow.

He didn't seem to mind that his robes were covered in mud and drenched by now. Actually, he didn't even react as you hurried towards him.

"Sirius!" you called as you approached him. "What are you doing? It's freezing, and it's raining, you'll catch your death!"

He slowly turned his attention towards you, his grey eyes fixed upon you, his dark locks clinging to his forehead, his neck, his temples, because of the heavy rain. With the sadness in his gaze, he looked like a sad and wet puppy.

"Let's go inside," you mumbled. "You'll catch a cold, or worse. For how long have you been here?"

He took the time to look carefully at you, finding that you were just as drenched as he was, shivering in the cold rain.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring your own question.

"I was looking for you, obviously," you answered. "Now, come on, let's get you dry…"

"You were looking for me?"

"Of course! You just… disappeared, I was worried sick about you!"

He merely blinked up at you.

You heaved a sigh, swallowing your pride with the lump in your throat. You had to apologize for lying to him, and acting like an idiot, when he had simply tried to help.

You were such an idiot, sometimes…

"Look, Sirius… I'm sorry about what I said in the dorm. I didn't mean it. Please, let's go back inside."

"It's okay. I'm not mad at you," he answered with a soft smile.

"What?"

"I'm not mad. You're right, you don't need me. I was acting as if you did, but I was wrong. I guess… I thought we were closer friends than you mean for us to be. It's okay. I understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm used to it, really. It's fine. Sometimes, I start needing people more than they need me. It's alright, I get it."

"No, no… No, Sirius, you don't get it. I was just mad because you got punched in the face, and I was worried about you, and I said utter nonsense…"

"No need to feel bad about all this. It's okay."

"It's not okay! It's not okay, because it wasn't true!"

"Y/N…"

"It's not okay at all, how can you say that it's okay?!" you asked, starting to raise your voice. "I hurt you! And I was mean! And I shouldn't have said that, because it's not true at all! So be mad at me!"

"I… I don't want to be mad at you…"

"I'm sorry!"

"I forgive you, alright… are you, are you crying?"

It's only then that you noticed that hot tears were mingling with the cold rain across your cheeks.

"I'm so sorry. I never want to make you feel like that. I'm so sorry," you whimpered.

"It's… it's alright."

"I was lying. It's not true. Please, don't say that we're not friends anymore. I do need you. I do need you, Sirius. And I hate it! I hate it, but I need you! And it's… It's dark, and it's late, and I'm cold and I'm drenched with this freaking rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

You didn't seem to notice your confession as it passed your lips, and for a moment, Sirius wondered if he had heard you right. But there was no mistake, you… you had said it.

You loved him?!

Slowly, he stood up, while you kept on crying.

"I was just mad at you because… because you mean so much to me, and I… I hate to see you hurting. I hate to see you in pain. And I hate it… I hate it when people are mean to you. I'm so sorry. I was so worried about you. I'm…"

But you were shushed by Sirius's arms wrapping around you, encaging you all of a sudden. You needed a few seconds for your brain to register what was actually happening. But it was his arms pressed against your back, and it was his chest against yours, and it was his cheek against yours.

"It's alright," he spoke in a soft, warm voice. "I'm not mad. I forgive you."

Finally, you wrapped your arms around his frame too, your tears finally stopping.

"Thank you, for defending me," you eventually whispered in his ear, your warm breath such a burning contrast with the cold air against his skin, making him tremble in the best way.

"Anytime. We should go back inside though, you're frozen."

"Yeah, I'm really cold."

"You know what… I think we could cuddle. Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles!" he mumbled, making you sway from one foot to the other, and you couldn’t refrain a laugh at his silly behaviour.

"I'd like that," you nodded. "With blankets."

He hummed in agreement.

"But… are we gonna discuss the fact that you've just told me you love me?"

Your heart stopped altogether.

"Did I?" you asked, although you knew perfectly well that he was right.

What had passed through your brain to make you say something like that?

"Yeah, you did."

You looked for the right words to apologize, but Sirius was faster than you to speak again.

"So… What about we go to Hogsmeade together next month?"

You pulled away just enough to be able to look at him.

"Are you… Are you asking me on a date?" you asked.

"Maybe…"

"Maybe?"

"Depends on… whether you'll say yes or no."

"What would we do then, if it's a date?"

"I have a few ideas. Know about a couple of places we could visit. I know you'll like them."

"Already? You already know what we're gonna do? Even if you've literally just asked?"

"Maybe… just maybe… I've been imagining that for a while," he admitted, blushing.

You couldn't help the grin that formed on your lips.

"Really?"

"Yeah… really… but… huh… you have to give me an answer before I get my hopes too high…"

But your grin didn't waver. And when you stared at his eyes, he could read your answer already, without needing you to speak the words.

Still, it was a nice thing to hear, and a nice thing to say, so you answered out loud anyway.

Merlin, Sirius was infuriating. And you loved him so much.

"Yeah, I'd like to go on a date with you, Sirius Black."

 ***********************************************

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[riverdalenerdlol]

get lost (I’d die for you in a heartbeat)

Riverdalenerdlol

Beta’d by my fav @sabs1d​

Chapter Nine: Insufferable

“I’m not leaving Betty here alone until Alice is ready,” Jughead tells his father seriously. “I won’t risk it.”

Betty can’t tell if his decision to stay behind is because he’s trying to protect her from potential Ghoulie infiltrators or if he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t run off to join the fight, but either way it’s very valiant of him to want to stay behind with her.

“She’s not going anywhere,” FP reminds Jughead. “I need you out there. Now.”

“Fine,” Jughead relents. “Give me five minutes.” FP accepts this with a head nod, then leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Betty gets to her feet as Jughead turns toward her.

“What are you doing?” he asks sternly.

“I don’t know,” Betty shrugs truthfully. “Felt like getting up.”

“Oh no no no no no,” he replies, easily scooping Betty into his arms and placing her on the bed. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh come on,” Betty replies, swinging her legs over the bed again. “I can hold my own.”

“Not like this you can’t,” Jughead says. “There is absolutely no way in hell that I’m letting you out of this room unless it’s your mother coming to take you to the safe room.”

“What makes the rest of you so much more equipped to handle a rumble right now?” she asks. “Why can’t I fight?”

Betty knows that there’s no way he’s letting her out of the room, but damnit she can’t handle anyone else getting hurt because of her dad. The least she can do is try.

Unfortunately, Jughead looks at her like she’s an idiot. (Honestly, she knows this is well-deserved on her end.)

“Are you fucking kidding right now?” he asks incredulously. “You got stabbed a few days ago!”

Final Chapter Now Live on AO3

[cavalierious-whim]

It's been five years since they last saw each other, and Felix is back in Sylvain's arms.

#

This time I'm dealing up a huge, heaping portion of porn with feels. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

#

Their first kiss is an aggressive thing, full of teeth. Felix nips at Sylvain’s mouth, biting at him to stake his claim, not that he needs to. Felix has held Sylvain’s heart in his hands since he was wearing diapers. Since they started fighting with wooden swords. Since Glenn died and all they had was each other.

Even when they didn’t.

Sylvain can barely believe that this is happening, that Felix is right here, alive and well at his fingertips. “Wait,” he says breathlessly. He pulls away to press their foreheads together instead, eyes slipping closed as he just relishes the closeness of Felix.

Five years, since Garreg Mach fell. The Blue Lions scattered. Sylvain went back to the only place where he meant anything-- the bitter and cold home that he hates. Felix did what he always does, which was whatever the fuck he wanted. He and Sylvain shared letters for a brief time, but then they stopped coming.

Sylvain wasn’t surprised. Expected it. Felix is a lone wolf; an angry change that was tattooed into his bones in the wake of Glenn’s death. Thinks he’s better off alone because he’s only a bother to everyone else. Honestly, the letters that Sylvain has tucked away in the bottom right drawer of his desk were more than he ever expected.

He didn’t think they’d see each other again, old promises be damned.

“You’re here,” says Sylvain quietly. His lips tremble against the skin of Felix’s forehead. “Goddess, Felix, you actually came back.”

Felix grips Sylvain by the jaw, thumbing over his cheekbones, a reminder that he’s solid and that he’s real. “Idiot,” he says with a scoff as he holds him there. Felix’s typical brand of affection. Sylvain wants to cry at the insult. Even though they’re older, they aren’t much different. Years have passed and Felix is still Felix.

And Sylvain’s still Sylvain, relishing in something as simple as a crumb of notice from Felix. He reaches out and grabs a loose lock of Felix’s hair. “Who cut this?” he asks. “A butcher?”

“Myself,” says Felix with a huff.

Sylvain wonders if he did it with his sword.“It’s terrible.”

“It’s enough.” Felix pauses, reaching up to smooth a hand through Sylvain’s hair, his fingers tugging at auburn curls. “And what about you? You look like an overgrown dog.”

Sylvain laughs. Presses a kiss to the side of Felix’s temple. Plays with his hair more. Felix lets him take his time, nails scratching against Sylvain’s scalp. Sylvain likes when he’s soft like this. Caring, almost.

It won’t last long because Felix is also impatient. And sure enough, he tugs at Sylvain’s shirt shortly after, pulling it from his trousers.

Their second kiss is slower and sweeter, languid in its touch. The kind of kiss that leads to swooning and tingles in the limbs. Felix pulls Sylvain’s face down to his and tips it at an angle, sliding his tongue in.

Sylvain moans into his mouth, losing his breath. Nearly loses his footing because he can barely stand straight. Nearly loses his mind because he’s so consumed with his want for Felix.

And Felix knows. He isn’t stupid. He pulls back with a smirk, licking at his lips as he watches Sylvain. “Haven’t changed, have you?” he asks him.

“Not much,” says Sylvain. “Only a little taller. Definitely not wiser.”

“Clearly, as I’m not in your bed yet. We’re still standing out here by the fire. Still fully clothed. I’m still in my boots. ”

Sylvain can hear the lighthearted accusation in the tone. Were they younger, Felix would already be stark naked and writhing in his sheets. Sylvain would already be fucking him on his fingers, quickly and efficiently with a clear goal in sight.

Not now, thinks Sylvain, reaching out to run his thumb over Felix’s spit-slick lips. “Slower,” he says to Felix, murmuring the soft word near the juncture of his neck and ear before he presses a kiss there.

“You’re supposed to be the insatiable one,” says Felix.

“Oh, I am,” says Sylvain. “Utterly ravenous, as always when it comes to you, which is why I want to take my time. Pick you apart slowly. Remembering exactly how this feels.”

“Like you’ve forgotten,” says Felix, a little breathless. Not unaffected by his words, judging by his pink cheeks and the way that he watches Sylvain.

Sylvain smiles at Felix before leaning close again to suck a mark into his neck. “Never,” says Sylvain, tracing the touch with his tongue, nibbling at the soft skin just under Felix’s ear. “Couldn’t possibly. Felix, you haunt even the most mundane of my dreams.”

“Have you had a lot of those?”

Sylvain pulls back, flashing him a dangerous grin. “Hundreds, I’m sure,” he says. “Once a day, once a night, the hours in between--”

“Far too much,” says Felix, tutting slightly. “Can’t be healthy.”

Sylvain’s hands find Felix’s waist, finally pulling him closer, finally pressing their hips together. It isn’t much friction, but it’s enough to tease. Enough to feel Felix’s cock, half-hard in his trousers.

“You always take too long.” Felix’s tone is biting, but not unkind.

“Then do something about it,” says Sylvain, his thumbs skimming over the coarse fabric of Felix’s jacket.

Felix does. Slips his hand into the loosened collar of Sylvain’s shirt, fingers sliding over his collarbone. “Insufferable,” he says as he smooths his hand down Sylvain’s front. “How handsome you still are.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?” Felix doesn’t answer, only rolls his eyes instead. “Come on,” continues Sylvain, “You missed me.”

Instead of giving Sylvain the satisfaction of an agreement, Felix’s fingers find the opening of Sylvain’s trousers and tugs them open. Slips them off easily, leaving Sylvain in nothing but his underthings and shirt. Then Felix cups his cock, palming him gently over the cotton, staring at it hungrily.

“I missed this,” he finally says. “Nothing else can quite compare.”

Sylvain’s breath hitches, but he manages to reach out and tug on a lock of Felix’s hair. “Don’t talk about other men.” Because really, how rude. Sylvain hasn’t slept with anyone else in the five years they’ve been separated. Didn’t even dream of it. His only intimate acquaintance has been his hand, and not even frequently at that.

War takes a toll on even the horniest of people.

He expects Felix to have some sort of snippy comeback. Felix doesn’t. Just looks at Sylvain severely and then says, very quietly, “There haven’t been others.”

Sylvain’s mouth snaps shut. His throat goes dry. His cock hardens fully in Felix’s hold.

It’s a matter of moments before Felix leads him from the room and they find the bed. Everything’s slower now, the tone having shifted. They’re still desperate, each burning to feel the touch of the other, but Felix’s soft confession has turned everything upside down.

Sylvain hoped, of course. Prayed that their prewar tryst had been something of value, something more than just quick fucks to break the monotony. They’d never really talked about it. Then the war came and the Blue Lions scattered, and Felix was off in the wind.

It’s as good a confirmation as Sylvain’ll ever get. And he knows it isn’t a lie; if Felix had fucked around, he’d definitely throw it back in his face as a tease.

Felix removes his jacket and then presses Sylvain into the bed, hovering over him. Rucks up Sylvain’s shirt and drags his fingers through the hills and valleys of Sylvain’s abs. Felix’s eyes are slightly dazed, lips swollen and pink from their earlier kisses, hair mussed.

“Beautiful,” says Sylvain, watching him back.

Usually, Felix would scoff at such a thing, but this time, his expression turns soft. His tongue dips out to lick at his lips, and Sylvain’s throat goes dry. He’s painfully hard in his smalls. Felix is too, he can see the tented outline of his cock against the seam of his trousers.

Sylvain grabs him by the hips and guides their crotches together, seeking out any friction that he can get. It’s something at least, the electric-hot tingles of pleasure that press along his spine. Felix moans, hips moving against Sylvain's, fingers reaching down to press against his collar again.

Felix’s fingernails are sharp against Sylvain’s skin as they scratch through his chest hair. The hard line of Felix’s cock is blissful against his own. But it isn’t enough, it’s never enough he feels. Wasn’t before the war, still isn’t now. Sylvain could drown in the well of affection that Felix gives him, and he’d still want more.

“You know that I love you, right?” asks Sylvain quietly. His words are barely a whisper. It’s enough for Felix to pause above him, highly alert. Sylvain’s never said such a thing to anyone, let alone Felix, but it’s too late to take the words back now.

Then, Felix leans over, grasping Sylvain’s face between his hands, thumbing over the high arcs of his cheekbones. Their lips are so close, just barely breaths away.

“You have to,” says Sylvain, a hint of nervousness in his voice, worried that he’s crossed the line they both carefully toe. “Surely you do.”

Felix kisses him like he’s never kissed him before; full of want and need, searching with its cresting passion. He licks across Sylvain’s lips, asking for him to open up. Sylvain does and Felix all but devours him, moaning against his mouth, trying to make up for all the time they’ve lost.

Sylvain scrambles against him, reaching up to change the angle of their kiss. His thumb sneaks across Felix’s pulse at his neck, feeling its steady beat, the thud thud of it against his fingertips. “Goddess, I love you so much,” he whispers, the words tattooed against Felix’s lips.

Felix swallows thickly. Hovers over Sylvain stock still. Then he says, “You talk too much.” But his tone is fond and lacks any annoyance, and Sylvain chuckles lightly before pulling him back down.

One of Sylvain’s hands moves to grab Felix’s ass, pulling him forward again. Sylvain’s impatient. Wants to get his hands in Felix’s pants, wants to feel his plush ass as they grind their cocks together.

Felix is impatient too, grunting as he shifts his weight. Sylvain whines when he leans back. Stops when Felix pulls off his shirt. Sylvain loses his breath as his hands skim Felix’s waist and hips. He fingers over scars, some faded with age, others pink and new.

One still stitched up and terribly so.

“Don’t mind it,” says Felix, watching Sylvain’s gaze pause on it. “It barely hurts. Nearly healed.”

“Felix--”

“It’s not important.” Felix’s hands are on Sylvain again as he settles over him properly, straddling Sylvain’s crotch. Felix’s fingers smooth over Sylvain’s front, tugging at the material of his shirt. “You aren’t naked enough.”

“Felix,” Sylvain tries again, but Felix ignores him, yanking at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head. Sylvain grabs him by the wrists and looks at him. And then, Felix finally meets Sylvain’s face, his cheeks tinged pink and breathless.

Felix isn’t good with words, but he’s good with actions. Everything that he does is carefully placed. Like right now, with the way that he caresses Sylvain like he’s a precious treasure. Sylvain knows, doesn’t need to be told.

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” says Sylvain finally, pulling Felix’s knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. “But it needed to be said.”

“Dimwit,” says Felix, but he doesn’t expound upon the thought. “Absolute dolt. You-- You’re different . I don’t just ask anyone--”

“Felix, I know.” Sylvain laughs against Felix’s fingers, kissing them again. Then he lifts from the bed to pull off his shirt. Felix’s hands are on him the moment he’s settled back against the mattress.

He’s looking at Sylvain again with that serious expression, his lip tucked between his teeth. Felix’s fingers trace the scars that he’s gained over the last half-decade.

“What are you thinking?” asks Sylvain.

“I could have prevented these,” says Felix, “Had I been there. Instead, I left.”

“No doubt doing valiant things, I’m sure.”

Felix’s expression is pinched. “I ran away.”

“Everyone wanted to run away from the war.”

“Not from the war,” says Felix so quietly that Sylvain barely hears it. The from you is heavily implied.

Sylvain reaches up and smooths his hand over Felix’s hair. Pulls out the tie that holds it in place and when the strands are free, he combs through them. It’s a soft touch that’s different from the fervent need they’d just had, but Felix sinks into it, his eyes closing as he sighs.

“We’re together now,” says Sylvain. “You’ve come back to me.” Felix’s fingers are rough and calloused, but the skin of his side is soft to the touch. Sylvain’s hand slides along the smooth expanse of it.

“You still aren’t naked enough,” says Felix, his tone a smidge irate now, looking down at Sylvain’s underthings like they offend him.

“More naked than you,” says Sylvain. His hand finds Felix’s cock, fondling him over the rough material of his trousers. Felix huffs as he reaches down to undo them. Does his best to kick them off as quickly as possible.

His smalls go as well, and Sylvain follows suit, shimmying out of the last of his clothes. The socks stay on. Felix sneers slightly but doesn’t say anything because his need for Sylvain transcends his hobby of teasing him.

Sylvain stares again, eyes raking over Felix’s form. Felix has always been lithe and supple. Smaller than most, but no less powerful. But now he’s something else; all defined thighs with a well-formed ass. Harshly-cut hips and just this side of scrawny because he hasn’t eaten well.

None of them have, not really.

To Sylvain though, he’s more handsome than ever. Gruff with a hint of stubble because it’s late in the day and Felix has been on the road. And now this.

Felix climbs back over him, their legs slotting together like it was meant to be. Like they’ve never been separated. Sylvain finally touches him, curling his fingers around Felix’s warm length.

“Shit,” murmurs Felix, already arching against the touch, seeking out more.

Felix’s cock is heavy in Sylvain’s hand, hard and throbbing. He traces the vein along the underside with his thumb, then palms the crown of Felix’s cock with a simple twist. And Felix reacts the way he expects, hushed murmurs as he bites at his lip; quiet expletives as his fingers dig into the meat of Sylvain’s thigh.

Nothing’s changed.

“Oil,” says Felix, leaning over to root around in Sylvain’s bedside table.

“Not yet,” says Sylvain, enjoying his slow exploration way too much. Counting Felix’s new scars. Mapping out the way that his muscles now bend and curve. “Let’s take our time.”

“This won’t last long if you keep at it,” says Felix, his voice a little breathless and his face screwed shut tight. He claws at Sylvain’s thigh again.

“Oh,” says Sylvain in quiet marvel. “Already there, huh?”

“Shut up,” says Felix tersely.

Sylvain sits up and Felix moans as their cocks slide together. Felix’s dick is leaking precome, making a sticky mess, and Sylvain wishes he could lick it right up. Felix wants other things, though, and he’s willing to compromise. He finds a bottle of oil in the bed, underneath a spare pillow.

“Really? In the bed?”

“Where’d you think?” ask Sylvain. Felix leans closer, framing Sylvain’s head with his elbows. His hair falls around them in a curtain as he offers Sylvain a soft little smile, the barest crack in his ornery facade. “Sometimes spit just isn’t enough, you know. Sometimes, on my loneliest nights, I have to slick everything up and pretend that my hand is you.”

Felix’s breath catches and his eyes turn half-lidded and hazy with want. “Only me,” he says.

“Always,” says Sylvain, enraptured by the sight, everything that he feels pooling deep in his gut. He’s quick to uncork the bottle and slather his fingers in oil. He’s quicker to reach around Felix’s ass, fingers slipping between his crack.

Sylvain’s cock is hard against Felix’s thigh, leaking pathetically as his finger circles around Felix’s hole, just barely pressing against it.

“Sylvain,” murmurs Felix, pressing his face into Sylvain’s neck, nosing at the soft skin there.

“Five years,” says Sylvain as he slips the finger in, slowly but surely. “Since anyone else has taken care of you.” Felix moans against him, his breath heavy near Sylvain’s ear. He sucks a mark into the skin just under it.

Sylvain knows Felix will get annoyed if he takes too long, so he sets to work, pressing in to the knuckle. He works quickly, his touch simple and practiced. Then, Sylvain presses in a second, widening the stretch, pulling at Felix’s rim slightly when he spreads his fingers.

“Fuck,” says Felix, the words tucked against Sylvain’s jaw. His breath is hot, coming up in stilted puffs up as Felix slowly loses his carefully held control. He presses back against Sylvain’s fingers as he leans forward to latch against his skin once more.

And Sylvain wants to be marked up, wants everyone to see just who he belongs to, and he groans at the thought. He tells him so, soft words murmured into Felix’s ear as his fingers stretch him with an expert touch.

“Surely you did this to yourself,” murmurs Sylvain, his voice low and husky with lust. “Alone in your tent, or maybe underneath the stars. Crying out as you thought of me.”

Felix doesn’t need to say it, Sylvain knows he’s hit the mark when his ass clamps down on his fingers. Then Felix cries out as a third finger’s slipped in, alongside the others. He pulls back, sitting up straight, pressing right down on Sylvain’s hand.

Fucks himself against Sylvain’s fingers the best that he can. Felix is flushed down to his breastbone, his chest shaking with every stuttered breath.

“Look at you,” says Sylvain, scissoring into him with a little more force, pressing around to try and find Felix’s prostate.

He does, of course. Masterfully so. Felix cries out and grinds against Sylvain’s hand. When he reaches for his cock, Sylvain grabs his wrist. “No, not yet,” he says.

Felix snarls in response.

“I want you to come,” says Sylvain, “But only around my cock. It’s been too long, Felix, don’t deny me that.”

“You’re taking too long, you annoying fuck,” says Felix in return, pulling off of Sylvain’s fingers. He’s slightly agitated as he grabs the bottle of oil. “Too busy talking than to getting to the part that we both really want.”

He pours the oil into his palm then grabs Sylvain’s cock. Sylvain hisses in surprise as Felix slicks him up, squeezing him tightly. Tugs at Sylvain’s length, thumbing over the slit. Sylvain keens at the touch.

“But, if you must know,” says Felix, just a little bit softer this time, his abrasive tone melting ever so slightly. He lets go of Sylvain’s cock and rearranges himself, hovering over it. Presses Sylvain’s dick against his ready hole. “Yes, I fucked myself on my fingers, and no, it wasn’t ever good enough. Not when you were all I ever thought about, and of course, this.”

Felix eases down onto Sylvain’s cock, and Sylvain’s pretty sure he’s going to die. It’s tight-- almost too tight-- and hot. Sylvain’s dick is going to burn alive, he thinks, his hand scrabbling against Felix’s hips.

“Felix--”

“ Sylvain,” moans Felix, his head tipping back as his eyes slipped closed. He bites at his lip as he slides down and down. Then Sylvain bottoms out, Felix’s ass flush with Sylvain’s hips. Sylvain’s fingernails bite deeply into Felix’s skin.

“Goddess,” says Sylvain, the words feeling like they’ve been punched from his gut.

Felix doesn’t move. Not immediately. He grinds his ass down as he watches Sylvain, but remains frustratingly still aside from that. His hands roam across Sylvain’s chest, fingers circling his nipples. Scratching through his chest hair. Smoothing over his collarbone.

“Missed this,” says Felix softly. Vulnerably, his expression soft in such a rare form.

He doesn’t mean the sex, Felix means everything else; everything that lies between them, those feelings that were so carefully tucked away. The tender expression that’s taken root on Felix’s face, Sylvain can come from just the sight of that alone, he thinks. The sound of Felix losing himself to his feelings, a momentary lapse in his carefully honed demeanor.

Sylvain reaches up to tuck a loose strand of Felix’s hair behind his ear. His thumb slides down Felix’s cheek and then across his lips. Felix nips at it, biting down softly, his tongue circling the pad of Sylvain’s thumb, and the delicate moment dissolves into something more sultry.

Felix raises his hips and slides back down, and Sylvain lets out a choked noise that most would be embarrassed about. But Felix smiles at him, a cruel little smirk as he anchors a hand against Sylvain’s chest to brace himself, and all Sylvain wants to do is make the sound again and again.

Sylvain grabs him by the ass. Helps Felix along as he rises up and down, riding him. Felix’s thighs tremble over and around Sylvain, strained as he moves. His cock is fully hard, dribbling precome, bobbing up and down with every movement.

It’s a haunting thing, really. Entirely enchanting. Sylvain could watch him for hours, days, even weeks like this. Settled over him, Felix’s ass slicked and stretched around his cock. Tight and warm as he pulls in Sylvain like he belongs there.

He isn’t going to last long, and neither is Felix; it’s been too long for the both of them, and now it’s been saddled with feelings that spur them on. Sylvain’s desperate to lose himself entirely in the heat and depth of Felix.

Sylvain plants his feet on the mattress and the angle changes. Felix lets out a harsh and biting curse, shooting Sylvain a dirty glance, entirely debauched, his face ruddy with wanton abandon. Sylvain loves this, loves everything about him.

Even the dumb way that Felix had been so afraid to commit, leading him to fucking off.

Felix watches Sylvain from above as he moves. Meets every one of Sylvain’s thrusts with the perfect angle. “Sylvain,” says Felix, his tongue tripping over his name, his voice pitching higher and higher with every breath and moan.

“You’ll stay,” says Sylvain, reaching out to grasp at Felix’s cock. The moment that his fingers curl around the head, Felix’s ass tightens around Sylvain, holding him in a vice grip. It wasn’t a question. “Felix, you’ll--”

“Yes, you imbecile,” cuts in Felix, reaching out to grasp at Sylvain’s free hand. He sounds harsh and biting, but threads their fingers together as he pulls Sylvain’s hand close to his heart and holds it there. Felix rides Sylvain faster, the rising and falling of his hips starting to lose their steady rhythm. Every downstroke has weight behind it as Felix grinds onto Sylvain’s cock like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “As if it weren’t obvious-- Fuck.”

Felix comes first, Sylvain’s cock pressed into him as deep as it can go. Sylvain strokes Felix’s cock fast and hard, milking him for all he has. Felix comes all over his hand, whining at the oversensitive touch, but still craving more.

Sylvain gives it to him; he ruts into Felix with hard, punctuated movements. Tips over the edge almost immediately, coming deep into Felix’s ass. Sylvain can’t even think straight or form words. Knows nothing aside from the sight of Felix over him, shuddering as he rides out the last of his orgasm.

It takes a long time to come down from it all. Felix winces slightly as he pulls off, Sylvain’s softened cock slipping from his ass with a wet sound. They’re too tired to get up and clean properly, so Sylvain wipes them down with his discarded shirt.

Felix is quiet in the aftermath. He always was before, so it’s no surprise. But then he shuffles closer, waiting. Sylvain looks at him then holds his arm out wide and inviting. When Felix presses into his side, it’s like Sylvain knows that he belongs there. That they were meant to be.

Sylvain turns his head, pressing a kiss to Felix’s sweaty forehead. Combs his fingers through his damp and tangled hair.

“I love you,” says Felix quietly into the night calm. Sylvain’s caresses pause. Then Felix snorts, a soft little thing. “But you knew that.”

“Yeah,” says Sylvain, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you.” Felix sounds tired and sleepy. Dips slightly against Sylvain as he mumbles on. “Didn’t want to ruin it all. I’d only fuck it up.”

Sylvain traces soft circles against the back of Felix’s neck. “Yeah, well, same,” he says with a soft chuckle.

“We’re a mess,” mumbles Felix.

“Yeah.”

“There’s a war. It’s a terrible time to be in love.”

Sylvain thinks it’s probably the best time to be in love. War is a terrible thing full of death and decay. The idea that there might be someone waiting for him at the end of it all makes the journey worth it. So he tells him that. Brands his love right into Felix’s skin, kissing him softly as he whispers.

Felix murmurs something nonsensical which makes Sylvain chuckle, then his breathing evens out as he falls asleep.

They never stayed over before, never slept in each other’s arms. Felix is nestled into his side, and Sylvain marvels at how natural it feels. Felix’s face pressed against his chest, arm draped over Sylvain’s waist like an anchor.

There will be talk, of course. They’ll never hear the end of it from the others. Byleth will harp about unneeded distractions during the war , Ingrid will likely shoot them mean and obscene gestures, and Sylvain can’t begin to fathom how Dimitri will react.

But he doesn’t care. Felix won’t either. This is all Sylvain ever wanted and he refuses to let it go now.

Felix murmurs again, a soft little sigh and a string of sounds. Sylvain smiles as he brushes back his bangs and just watches. Felix has never looked so calm and peaceful, the permanent line is his brow softened.

Tomorrow’s another day. At least this time, there’s a reason to keep on living.

[marveloussupernerd]

Drunk Confessions - IwaOi

Warnings: swearing, drinking, this is cute asf

Summary: Oikawa can’t have Iwaizumi, so he gets drunk off his ass to try and forget. The only problem is, Iwa comes to take care of him in his drunk state. Thank goodness Iwa likes him too

Oikawa Tooru was LONELY.

Having an insufferable crush on your best friend for the past five years made it hard to not feel lonely.

His heart felt so full when he was with Iwa, but at the same time so empty.

If he didn’t have a crush on his best friend, wow how things would be different. He had plenty of fangirls (and some fanboys even) who wanted to date him. He wouldn’t sit alone on a Friday night and scroll through his best friend’s snapchat stories and feel his heart break every time he hung out with people and Oikawa wasn’t invited.

Yeah, this sucked.

Well, his parents were away for the weekend, so what else could he do to fill the empty hole in his heart? He’d play a game: how many shots does it take until I forget his name?

He couldn’t even be positive Iwa was attracted to boys. He had never told him explicitly. Shot.

He knew everything about Oikawa, even the small things that would make him cringe. He knew how to cheer him up. Was that just a friend thing? Who would he even ask? Shot.

“Yamaguchi!” He cheered over the phone, facetiming the first year.

“I, how did you get my number?” The boy asked awkwardly.

“You and the glasses kid are childhood friends, right?”

The boy smiled. “We’re boyfriends now actually!”

“Fuck my life.” He hung up. Shot.

The radio was playing Ed Sheeran. Dammit. Although he’d never admit it, Iwa listened to Ed Sheeran a lot, usually while he studied as background music. Perfect by Ed Sheeran. That would be their song.

Shot.

Everything was Iwaizumi Hajime. The blanket he always stole when he came over. The blue cup he used and dubbed his own. The dent in the wall from the one time he tripped and fell down the stairs. The spiderweb cracks in the back window from when he threw a baseball a little too hard when they were kids—his parents never got to fixing it. Dammit.

Shot after shot for everything that reminded him of Iwa. But it only made it worse. He didn’t fill up the spot in his mind that Iwa occupied with the alcohol, but instead filled up his mind until Iwa occupied it all.

His fingers were tapping on his crush’s contact before he even comprehended what he was doing.

“Oi, Oikawa, what is it? It’s almost midnight.” It was dark wherever Iwa was, his face hardly lit up by the screen.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa slurred excitedly. “Just wanted to seee what was up!”

There was silence for a brief moment.

“Did you drink?” His eyes were serious.

“Mhmmmm.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Your parents are out of town, aren’t they?”

“Mhmmmmmm. Don’t worry about me Iwa, I’ll be okay! Just wanted to see your handsome face before bed,” he chuckled. The words brought a ping of pain to his heart, but he ignored it, pouring himself another drink with one hand.

“Hey! Cut it out. I’ll be over in a few. No more drinks til then, alright?”

“Okayyy. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“You know what? I’m staying on the phone with you til I get there,” Iwa decided. He held the phone in his hand and it shook slightly as he walked, his face being illuminated with streetlights every few seconds.

“Awwww so protective of me.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled. Then a pause. “How much did you drink tonight?”

“Seven? Eight? I dunno.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone. It’s not healthy or safe,” he scolded Oikawa gently.

Oikawa frowned. “I know. But you seemed to be having fun on your story so I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Idiot. You’re never bothering me,” he said under his breath.

“Awww, Iwa Chan, you’re so sweet! You’re making me blush.” Oikawa moved haphazardously to the couch, collapsing onto it.

“You’re ridiculous. I’ll be there in just one minute, alright?”

“Okay. The door’s-“

Why was the line silent? Iwa clutched his phone tighter. Did he lose service? No, the picture was still there. Did this idiot really pass out? God. He should have been there for him. If anything happened to Oikawa he’d- well, he’d be pissed with himself. He ended the call and sprinted to his friend’s house.

He pushed the front door open urgently, shutting it behind him in one quick motion, and made his way to the living room. “Shittykawa!” He called, plopping on the couch next to the sleeping man.

“Oi,” he flicked Oikawa’s forehead, causing the boy to jump awake, startled. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Iwa!” Tooru exclaimed, pulling the man in tight for a hug, keeping him locked in his grip. “Missed youu.”

“Missed you too. But you can’t freak me out like that. I thought you died or something.”

“I knew you had a soft spot for me!” Oikawa exclaimed, poking his chest playfully.

“I always have,” Iwa smiled, shaking his head. “But I’m only telling you this because you won’t remember in the morning.”

He forced his way out of Oikawa’s grip and started cleaning up the spilled alcohol on the table. “Wanna tell me why you were drinking to make such a mess?”

“The guy I like doesn’t like me back,” Oikawa pouted.

Iwaizumi paused, then quickly picked up where he left off. “I didn’t realize you were gay.”

“Duhhh. I don’t just swoon over your muscles for nothing.”

“Sh-shut up,” Iwa stuttered, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. “Sorry about the guy though. I thought everyone liked you.”

“I know. I’m as shocked as you are. Hey! You know the kid with the glasses from Karasano? He’s been friends with their pinch server since they were kids. They’re dating now. What bullshit.”

Iwaizumi had no clue who Oikawa was talking about but nodded. “Uh huh, bullshit.”

“It sucks to see someone living out the life you want to live,” Oikawa groaned, flopping dramatically on the couch.

“You like glasses guy?” Iwaizumi felt himself stiffen.

Oikawa started cackling. Not the response he was expecting. “No.”

“Pinch server? When did you even hang out with these Karasano guys to know them well enough to form a crush?” He shouldn’t have felt so offended by Oikawa liking someone, but Oikawa never told Iwaizumi his feelings. Girls would always swoon over him, but he didn’t seem to care. He never told Iwa about his crushes, and so hearing it now made him even more uncomfortable.

He had always hoped that Oikawa never talked about crushes because he liked him back.

“Hey, you’re not even listening to me!” Oikawa pouted. Iwaizumi turned his attention to him and smiled, putting his hands up defensively.

“I don’t know them well enough to form a crush.” Oikawa repeated himself.

“Okay? Who do you like then?” Was it probably bad to be working this information out of a drunk Oikawa? Yes. But he needed to know so he could move on.

“Iwa-Chan.” His voice was gravely serious.

“Yes?”

Oikawa shook his head. “No, like that’s who I like. You won’t tell him, right?”

“Are you stupid? I’m literally Iwa-Chan.” He almost cringed at calling himself by the nickname, but he knew it was the best way to get the information to Oikawa’s brain.

Oikawa looked sick very suddenly, his face paling. He stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, Iwaizumi following quickly behind him, getting there just in time to see the intoxicated man throwing up. He rubbed his back gently, trying to get his stomach to calm down. They sat like this for a few minutes until Oikawa felt okay enough to break the silence.

“Iwa,” he grumbled. “Please forget I said that. Literally pretend I said nothing. Please. I don’t want to lose you as my friend because something so stupid slipped out.” His eyes were teary as he looked up at his friend, face still pale as a sheet and sweaty.

“No, I-“

“Please!” He called out, tears falling now. “Please. Please try and forget. I can’t wake up tomorrow morning and have no memory of tonight and all of a sudden you’re gone and-“

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said firmly, hands reaching to cup his face to make him look up at him. “You never were good at letting me get a word out.” He joked, a small smile on his face. He used his thumb to gently wipe away the tears that fall down Oikawa’s cheeks. “I love you too, Oikawa.”

“You don’t have to say that ‘cause you feel bad.”

Iwaizumi leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m not. I’m in love with you.”

Oikawa tackled him into a tight hug, almost knocking them both over. He then began to pepper kisses all over his crush’s face, while Iwa tried to pull him off. “Stop!” He laughed. “You just threw up. I don’t want kisses right now.”

“Booooo. You’re no fun.”

“I’ll kiss you tomorrow, ‘Kay?” Iwa said softly, brushing some of Oikawa’s hair out of his face. “We need to get you to bed.”

“Stairs plus me is not gonna work.” Oikawa said matter-of-factly

Iwaizumi grumbled. He was still as stubborn and annoying as ever when he was drunk. He stood up and knelt down, back to Oikawa. “Fine, get on, but only this once.”

“Awwww, is my Iwa Chan giving me a piggyback ride?”

“Better than you falling up the stairs.”

Oikawa leapt onto his back, causing Iwa to sway a little bit at first, but he quickly steadied himself and began slowly walking towards Oikawa’s bedroom.

“Wow, look at those muscles!” Oikawa swooned, poking around at Iwaizumi’s biceps. “What a man.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Iwa chuckled, letting the man poke and prod up his body.

Finally he got to Oikawa’s bed, letting him go to collapse onto the piles of pillows and blankets. Oikawa squealed as he landed, letting out a few giggles.

“You’re too adorable,” Iwa commented, looking at the man in front of him fondly. He then also collapsed on the bed, joining Oikawa. They had shared a bed plenty of times before, but this time was different. They weren’t just best friends. Maybe they were boyfriends? Iwaizumi would ask in the morning. His heart was racing thinking about it.

Oikawa tore him out of his thoughts, readjusting and flipping face first onto Iwaizumi, head nestled in his neck.

“You comfy?” Iwaizumi teased.

“Asshole. Yes I am.”

“Okay. Good night Oikawa.” He wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him closer.

“Your heart is racing. Is that because of me?”

“Shut up and go to bed before I knock you out myself.”

Oikawa’s brain felt like putty in the morning. What the hell had even gone on last night? Bad decisions, that was what. He kept his eyes shut tightly, not ready to wake up to the blinding sun quite yet, and reached his hand around to feel for water on the nightstand.

And then he accidentally smacked someone in the face.

“Asshole.” They grumbled. That was... definitely Iwa Chan’s voice. And... did he have his arms wrapped around Oikawa? What happened last night?

He forced his eyes open to figure out what position exactly he had put himself in, and was shocked to see himself buried into Iwaizumi’s chest, laying on top of him, with the man’s arms wrapped around him.

His heart told him to stay cuddled up in his embrace, but his brain told him WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

“You’re up,” Iwa grumbled sleepily. “Feeling okay?”

“What in the fuck did I miss?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “You got really drunk last night.”

“Well, duh.”

“And uh...” Iwaizumi couldn’t meet Oikawa’s eyes as he spoke.

“Uh what?”

“You might have drunkenly confessed to me.”

“Oh, fuck.” Oikawa hid his face, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Tooru. I’m in love with you too.”

Oikawa sat up quickly, shocked, straddling the man beneath him now. “You what!?” His hand rushed to his head to hold it, the quick motion causing his head to pound.

“I love you too.”

“For real?”

Iwaizumi sat up, face only inches away from Oikawa’s. His eyes softened, and he reached out to touch Oikawa’s cheek gently. “For real,” he whispered.

Oikawa’s eyes were trained on Iwaizumi’s lips. He was going to kiss him. He was going to kiss his best friend, his crush, the man who he loved and who loved him back.

“Oh, hell no.” Iwa held his face back, palm of his hand squishing against the boy’s cheek, refusing to let him get closer. “You threw up last night and never brushed your teeth.”

“Okay!” Oikawa stumbled out of bed, almost falling flat on his face as his head spun from getting up. “Mhm, going to go brush my teeth. Wait for me okay?”

“I’m waiting. Make sure you get your tongue too!”

“I love you Iwa Chan!” He called. Iwaizumi could hear the faucet running.

“I love you too.”

[rigmarolling]

Myth Time: Loki and the Goat

Once upon a time, the ice giantess/goddess/resident “I-have-no-indoor-voice friend” Skadi was upset about Asgard killing her dad, so she kicked down the door to their victory party and went, “WHO’S THE LITTLE PISSANT WHO KILLED MY FATHER?”

Everyone just stared, mouths full of feast food, and pointed to Loki like

And Loki went

Skadi glowered, axe in hand and went, “If you people don’t FIX this IMMEDIATELY, heads will roll, and by heads, I specifically mean--” and she swung her head in a certain jötunn’s direction-- “that head.”

And Loki was like

Odin immediately went into PR cleanup mode and said, “You’re right--we’re either advertently or inadvertently responsible for the death of your father. What is it that you want?”

And Skadi leaned in and hissed between her teeth, “I want blood.”

Odin, who generally preferred to be literally anywhere else about 95% of the time, went 

and said, “Right, well, we’re in the middle of something right now, so besides bloodshed, what can we do to make reparations?”

Skadi narrowed her eyes. Sniffed. Looked around imperiously at the idiots with mouths full of mutton, and said, “I want three things.”

“Name them,” Odin said.

Skadi propped her axe against the wall, straightened up, and looked down at Odin through her frosted eyelashes.

“One,” she said, “I want you to cast my father’s eyes into the sky so they will be immortalized as eternal, shining stars.”

Odin went

but did it, anyway, because everyone’s got their quirks; who was he to judge?

Then, brushing the eyeball goo off of his hands, Odin asked, “What’s the second thing?”

Skadi sniffed.

“Secondly, I demand that one of you makes me laugh.”

The gods shifted in their seats. If they weren’t nervous before, they absolutely were now, because Skadi never laughed. Like, ever. 

“Skadi never laughs,” Thor muttered in disbelief. “Like, ever.”

Skadi’s head swiveled in his direction. “Did you say something, you walking sausage roll?”

Thor quickly swallowed the bite of pie he’d been chewing. “No, no. Nothing.”

“My liege lady,” Odin said quickly, his tone suddenly silken. “Why not something...simpler? We wouldn’t want to insult you with lukewarm attempts at humor, after all--”

“Someone,” Skadi declared imperiously, “had better make me laugh, or I swear by the Norns, I will garrote each and every one of you with your own intestines while your children watch on the sidelines and weep for their gutless progenitors!”

Thor blinked and went,

But they had no choice. So, sweating slightly and fighting back anxiety pee, the gods each took their turn trying to make Skadi laugh. 

Tyr, the god of war, tried some biting political satire. Skadi didn’t even blink.

Idunn, the goddess of youth, rattled off a few celebrity impressions, but was really more of a “behind the scenes” sort of gal, so Skadi remained stone-faced.

Baldr quoted a few lines from The Importance of Being Earnest, but nobody knew what the hell he was talking about or who the hell Oscar Wilde was, so that was bust.

Thor tried his hand at that one “orange you glad I didn’t say banana” knock knock joke that you thought was the pinnacle of comedy when you were five, but he blew it three times before Skadi shot him a look that could have incinerated steel and he hurried back to his seat.

Frigg, goddess of foresight, tossed out a few legitimately great quips about tech culture in Silicon Valley, but being the goddess of foresight generally meant that she was the only one who would get her references for at least 1,000 years. Skadi, flummoxed, simply scowled.

There was enough awful improv to make even that insufferable guy in your college lit class cringe; there was bad, white-dad-at-a-wedding dancing; there were ham-fisted attempts at stand up, but very few gods understood the concept of “setup and payoff,” so every single bit flopped like a dead fish. 

Skadi was growing more and more irritable by the second. Her mouth had all but disappeared into a thin line, and her fingers had started twitching, which usually meant she was either bored or hadn’t punched anything in at least an hour.

Worst of all, mid-way through Bragi’s frankly atrocious tagelharpa routine, Skadi had walked away, retrieved her axe, and sat it down next to her. 

Bragi, who wouldn’t have noticed a nuclear detonation if it exploded five feet away as long as he was in the middle of a performance, continued, undeterred.

Meanwhile, Loki had been watching from the sidelines, leaning up against an outer wall of the mead hall, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

By the time Bragi got to what had to be the 23rd verse, Loki went 

and made his way to where Bragi was going on about something to do with a wolf swallowing the sun, nothing important, and hissed, “Stop. Just stop. Just stop! Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you people?”

Then, letting out a huff of frustration, he loped over to the nearby pasture-- which was full of livestock just minding their own business, they didn’t ask for any of this, really-- and whistled at a goat.

The goat, who on some instinctual level knew exactly what was about to happen because he’d been around Loki long enough to know that something always happened, let out a sigh and trotted over. 

Then, casting the goat a glance that clearly said, “I owe you one, buddy,” Loki pulled a rope seemingly out of nowhere and, with a look of determination that made everybody in the vicinity incredibly uneasy, dropped his pants.

“What the hell?” cried Freyja, goddess of love and war and death, how metal, love her.

But Loki was in full frat mode at this point. 

His goods swinging free for everyone to see, he tied one end of the rope around the goat’s horns.

And the other to his own testicles.

Immediately objecting to having himself tethered to balls that belonged to this guy of all people, the goat began to pull backwards.

Loki let out a thin whine, his face draining of all color, and stumbled forward.

The men in the group looked faintly nauseated. 

With a breathless sort of grunting sound, Loki tugged back, pulling the goat forward. But the goat was just done with this shit, oh my God, what the hell? and bucked backward with an indignant, “Baa!” 

Loki skittered forward again with a yelp and then hurled himself in the opposite direction, “baa-ing” right back. 

And on it went--the goat leaping back and pulling Loki balls-first with him, and Loki tugging back until the goat stumbled unceremoniously forward. 

At this point, the other gods and goddesses were howling with laughter and/or sympathy pain, and Loki had never known anything but suffering, holy shit, oh, God, I fucked up, I actually did it, I actually permanently fucked up this time for real, oh, sweet mother of God, this goat is the worst goat in the world, just--just the worst fucking goat, just a really, really bad fucking goat--

His vision spotty, his lower half engulfed with the sort of agony that was all-encompassing and obliterating and just oh my God, you’re a fucking idiot, you really, really are, Loki gave one last, mighty tug, roaring like a cat in heat, and the rope snapped, sending the goat skittering back and Loki tumbling, butt cheeks-first, right into Skadi’s lap.

There was a thick, heavy silence. Loki let out a series of noises that sounded like an anemic balloon slowly being deflated. 

And suddenly, Skadi began to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

She laughed so hard, she had to screw her eyes shut to stem the flow of tears. She laughed so hard, she actually stopped making noise and took to wheezing, instead.  

In her lap, Loki had lost all sense of space and time and would have really liked to have thrown up, thanks, but to his credit, everyone else was laughing so hard, they’d all started to cry-wheeze, too, so he settled for rolling to the side in a fetal position and clutching his now grotesquely swollen balls, distantly thinking, “That’s showbiz, baby.”

“Well,” said Odin over the din of laughter, clapping his hands together and smiling despite himself, “that settles it, Skadi! We’ve made you laugh. Reparations are made, and no hard feelings, hmm?”

As abruptly as she’d started, Skadi suddenly stopped cackling. Her face, which only a second earlier had been stretched wide in a grin, collapsed back into Miranda Priestly coolness.

“No,” she bit out. “That does not settle it. I still require one more thing.”

Odin had known that; he’d simply hoped she’d been distracted enough that she’d forgotten.

*Narrator voice* she hadn’t.

“Of course.” Odin plastered on a smile and said between his teeth, “Name it.”

Something in Skadi’s glittering, cool eyes softened. Her gaze roved appraisingly over the gods gathered around her.

“I want a husband.”

The men assembled felt a collective scrotum twinge of apprehension.

From his place curled up on the ground, Loki wheezed, “Not it.”

[valwrite]

leap frog; daveed diggs

masterlist.

summary: rafael casal can’t keep a secret. (read the sequels: hopscotch, hide & seek.)

warnings: possible second hand embarrassment, fluff, mentions of murder, cursing

fic type: drabble

word count: 2366

author’s note:  ahaha, i hate myself for writing this but i also love it, gn. feedback is appreciated! oh, and if i don’t reply to a comment or something, it’s just cause i’m dumb as shit and haven’t figured out how tf to do that yet 🥰

It was official. Y/N L/N was going to murder Rafael Casal.

And, boy, would she make sure it looked like an accident.

The man was a nuisance, a mad man, a big mouthed buffoon. And the reason she now had to avoid one Daveed Diggs at all costs from here on out. Considering Rafael lived just one door down from her made this a challenge, as Daveed had a habit of treating the other man's apartment as a second home.

The trouble began two weeks prior, when, after a miserable night out, Y/N had stumbled into the building elevator, feet aching to get out of her heels and breasts desperate to be freed from their confinement. Before she'd had the chance to press her floor button, a hand slid between the closing doors and in stepped Rafael Casal. The two exchanged glances and greetings before riding up to their shared floor in a comfortable and welcomed silence. Had this exchange taken place three months before, perhaps Y/N would have felt a lot more awkward and intimidated by her attractive neighbor. However, things had changed between them ever since they'd become friends. She'd tag along on nights out with his friends (who'd seamlessly welcomed her in as one of their own) and he'd come round for dinner every time he so much as smelt her cooking from next door. The elevator had reopened and the hallway they shared came into view. That was when Rafa made the proposal she'd end up regretting: “Do you wanna come in for a few drinks?”

She'd accepted because, well, it was free alcohol. The fact that his company was anything but bad was just an added bonus. A few drinks turned into many, even some shots finding their way into the mix of things, as she and Rafa talked the night away: she shared details of the horrible blind date she'd been set up on that evening while he ranted about how insufferably boring Daveed had been, claiming the man hadn't brightened up the whole night after hearing Y/N would not be in attendance at their get-together. She was sure her cheeks had turned as red as they'd felt when Rafa made that revelation.

The real mistake came towards the end of their drinking session and, really, neither of them knew how to explain how or why they wound up locking lips. What they did know was the following: it was a meaningless kiss, both of them laughed right after and it had been the most uncomfortable kiss either of the two had shared in their adult lives. Kissing him, Y/N would later realize, wasn't the problem though. It was what the kiss had unearthed.

“Oh my god, you have the hots for Diggs?!”

In three months of friendship, Y/N had learned three fundamental things about Rafael Casal:  he preferred pancakes over waffles, friendship with him was a package deal that included Daveed Diggs and, lastly, Rafael Casal was the biggest gossip in town.

Any secret, any hook up, any scandal. You name it and it was almost a guarantee that, not only did Rafa know about it but he was the source of it all. So, having him become aware on the fact she had a massive crush on his best friend? Yeah, there was no chance in hell Y/N could ever speak to Daveed again without self-combusting in embarrassment.

Now, back to present times, where Y/N finds herself tiptoeing around her own apartment, anything capable of making noise switched off and her own breathing being the only sound in the living space. Five minutes had passed since Daveed had last knocked at her door, saying nothing but her name yet still managing to put her on edge.

The logical part of her brain told her to open the door, because the poor guy was probably just confused as to why she had suddenly started ignoring his texts and stopped hanging with him and Rafa while they watched the Warriors play. The rest of her brain told her to stay put, wait it out and, once she was sure Diggs had left the building, grab the participation trophy she'd been given back in elementary school and use it to go beat Rafael's ass.

Operation: Avoid Double D was working, much to her own surprise, and she'd even started to feel a little impressed with herself when- thud! - a noise came from her balcony. The door of it lay wide open, much like the book she'd been reading out there before Daveed had come knocking, but the curtains were drawn shut, gently moving with the breeze from outside. Like a scene from a cheesy horror movie, she approached the balcony with caution, reached out to draw the curtain aside and gasped at the sight of Daveed comfortably sat in her chair, skimming through her book- a very, very worn out copy of Emma by Jane Austen - and sipping on her iced tea.

“I... How... What...” There wasn't a coherent sentence to be found in Y/N's brain. “Why are you on my balcony?”

“Well,” Daveed snapped her book shut and discarded it on to the small table next to him, all the while smiling innocently up at her. “I knocked on the door and you didn't answer.”

“So you figured breaking and entering was the only solution?!”

“Hey, hey, there was no breaking involved. Just, y'know, entering.” He stood up, reminding her of how much taller he was. “You're the one that left your balcony door open to the world, I just took advantage of that and jumped over from Rafa's.”

Y/N couldn't help but turn her back on him to gaze over at Rafael's own balcony. A fresh batch of laundry had been sat out to dry on it and Y/N noticed how the only plant Rafa owned had now died, nothing left but a dried up mess in it's place. She then thought of the space between the two balconies and, more importantly, the space beneath them both. Granted, she wasn't living in some top floor luxury apartment but she imagined a seven story drop was nothing short of unpleasant. Yet there was Daveed, all smiles and charms, having just jumped over the space as if it were nothing but some innocent, childish game of leap frog. She both wanted to scold him for being so reckless and praise him for being so brave.

Until she remembered the fact she was supposed to be avoiding him and this, clearly, was ruining any of her attempts.

“What do you need so badly from me that it compelled you to do something as stupid as that?” It seemed to be that scolding was the option she'd chosen.

“Answers.” Oh god no. That's it, time to eBay a body bag and a fake passport.

“Answers to what exactly?” When she was a child, Y/N had always tried to play coy to avoid confrontation. It appeared to be she hadn't changed much with age.

“Do you have any of those blueberry muffins left?” Okay, that was not where she thought this conversation was going. “Rafa ran out of the batch you made him and he's too afraid to ask you for more, since you demanded payment last time, so he sent me over here to charm two muffins out of your pantry.”

“You're in luck. I made some last night.” They could have every last piece of food in her kitchen for all she cared, so long as that were the only thing Daveed wanted from her. Though, she was still contemplating manslaughter when it came to Rafa considering he'd sent over Daveed, knowing fine well why she was steering clear of the man. He was shameless in his meddling.

“So,” Daveed's voice and footsteps followed behind her into the apartment as she desperately aimed for the kitchen area. “how come you didn't answer the door earlier?”

“I was, uh,” I was trying to avoid you because I want nothing more than to bake muffins with you and have you nakedly recite poetry to me and that's an issue because we're friends and you don't even think about me that way. “Shower. I was showering.”

“You hair's not wet.”

“Never heard of a hair dryer? Jeez old man, catch up.” At this point, her hands were clammy from her own nervous sweat but she'd pulled out the tray of muffins and shoved the lot of them over to him. All she had to do was get him out of her apartment, then things would be fine. “Here you go, thanks for stopping by. See you later.”

“Wow, wow, wow! Calm down, girl!” Did he have to smile at her like that? “Why're you trying to get rid of me? I asked for two muffins, Y/N, not the whole batch.”

“Just take them, I forgot that I don't really like blueberries anyways.” If there was an Olympic sport for colossal idiots, she'd have won gold, silver and bronze.

“You didn't answer my question,” Daveed took one step forward and she took one step back, internally screaming as she felt her back bump against the counter. “why're you trying to get rid of me?”

“I'm not!”

“Okay then, why haven't you been answering my texts or calls?”

“Because I lost my phone.”

“The same phone that I saw on your coffee table?”

“You found it! My hero!” The body bag was no longer going to be used on Rafa, she was pretty sure she was one more comment away from dying of embarrassment.

“Y/N.” When had Daveed gotten so close to her? And why did he have to say her name like that? Her hand gripped on to the surface behind her and she gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact with him.

“Daveed.” She replied lamely, just begging that he'd turn around, grab the tray of muffins and leave.

“What's really up?” His words were softer and more serious, much like the look in his eyes. “You won't answer your phone, you haven't watched the recent games with us, you won't answer the door to me. I just... Look, if I done something or said something that made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I really miss you though, so does Rafa. So if there's anything I can do to fix whatever I did, just tell me. I'll do it. Anything.”

And now, ladies and gentleman, please buckle your seat-belts and get ready for take off, destination: Guilt Trip.

“No. Fuck, Daveed, no. You didn't do anything. Trust me, it's all my fault. I'm really sorry.” The words tumbled out of her quickly whilst her eyes fixated themselves with staring down at her nervous hands. “I know that Rafa told you and, just, I'm really sorry. I promise, I'm trying to get rid of them, it's why I've sort of been avoiding you. I don't want to ruin our friendship.”

“Rafa told me... what? Who are you trying to get rid of?”

“Wait,” Oh sweet hypothetical baby Jesus, had Rafael Casal not spilled the beans? Did he really not know? “he didn't tell you?”

“I'm confused.” Daveed said, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he continued to gaze down at her. “Was he supposed to tell me something? Wait, did he make a move on you or something? Cause I'll put him in his place if I have to.”

“Technically we made a move on each other.” The words flew out of her before she could stop it and she noticed immediately how his face contorted into a frown. “Not in that way! It was just a drunk kiss that we both regretted.”

“And he was supposed to tell me about it?”

“Huh? No! Ugh, look Daveed,” She'd already made a fool of herself enough, she may as well just round it all off with the mother of all embarrassments. Go big or go home, right? And, well, she was technically already home and with nowhere else to go. “I like you. Like, the way a bee likes honey or the way a dog likes a bone. A lot. But I get it, you don't like me and that's chill but would you please just give me the time and space to sort myself out and get over it so we can go back to being friends?”

“But I don't wanna be friends with you, Y/N.” Well done, idiot. So much for honesty being the best policy. “I mean, I don't know how I feel about being compared to honey or a bone but I do know how I feel about you. I think you're smart and beautiful, and stubborn and kind of a dork. And I really like it, you. I really like you.”

“Oh.” Oh? Oh?! Fucking oh!? That's all you can say to that. She couldn't stand living in her own head-space.

“I'm gonna ignore the fact that you and Rafa made out or whatever and just get straight to the point of asking you on a date. Tomorrow night, seven pm. Wear something easy to move around in.” Gentle fingers tilted Y/N's head up by her chin, forcing her to stare into his eyes. They were warm and welcoming, like chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven and melting with love. “Who knows, maybe by the end of the night you'll finally get a good kiss from a Bay Boy.”

“Why would Rafa kiss me at the end of our date?” At least she could still joke among the shock. “And you more or less just demanded I go on a date with you. No questions were made.”

“If demanding is what it takes,” He leaned down, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. “then so be it.”

Where she'd expected a kiss, she found nothing but empty space and the sight of Daveed picking two muffins out of the tray. Wide eyed and honestly a little confused about what events had just transpired in her kitchen, she watched as he finally headed for her door, suddenly not enjoying the thought of him leaving as much as before.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He was halfway out of her apartment, grinning back at her. “Rafa did tell me, I just wanted to hear you say it yourself.”

He slammed the door shut on the sound of Y/N cursing out the very man that was Rafael Casal.