#and it kinda simmers you on that shit and keeps going with each ending

[castleinthemist]

what's fascinating is that drakengard starts off feeling very usual fantasy, even down to its gameplay (and well the gameplay doesn't change much but) and then the cyclops appear and the magic nukes drop and the fucked shit comes out like YEAAAAH AAAAHHHH that's what i was expecting!

[jin0]

TENNIS SUCKS AND SO DO YOU [Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson]

Summary : You were better off without them, you said for a decade despite seeing them every fucking where, all the fucking time. You were better than them, you said as you did the same shit they did and enjoyed it all the same.

Pairing : Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x Tashi Duncan x Reader, Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson

Warning : +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !, angst, canon injury, canon conniving, cheating, manipulation, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, tennis mentioned, rude language, cussing, foursome kinda, slight ball worship, pussy worship, vaginal sex (p in v), sadness, rehab mentioned, homelessness, gaslighting, genuinely everyone sucks here, no one is mentally stable and should be trusted.

A/N : enjoy

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As it had turned out, it had been way easier for you to admit the sick pleasure you got out of witnessing the downfall of the people you had loved for so long. Being easy to admit did not make it any less painful if you were being honest. Loving them the way you did, the way only you could since your college days made the situation just as sad as it had been cathartic.

You witnessed from the sidelines how Patrick, Tashi and Art’s old ways returned even after eleven years to tear them apart the way it had initially years prior. You still remembered how you used to be, it wasn’t hard they hadn’t changed a bit. Not even the way they looked at each other.

Outsiders would speculate on the nature of the relationship which had sparked fire in the media, two old best friends meeting again at a random challenger while one’s ‘wife’ cheered louder than she had ever been seen cheering. Some would assume the worst out of Tashi while some would pity her for being the stand in to Art’s internalized homophobia. Maybe other’s would hit the nail right on the head and guess that the three might share deep feelings for each other but the would never go further in the guesses, ironically respectful of the privacy of the three people the would spend weeks speculating on, expecting some form of answer at some point.

In the midst if all of this, you would remain. Alone but never lonely, alone and changed for the better while they simmered in their own toxicity, pulling at each other’s strings to bring the worst out of each other in hopes to come out on top, come out the best at the game of honesty they played in a pathetic attempt at convincing the others that they were the ones to say the truth the two others refused to admit to, while simultaneously keeping a lifetime’s worth of secrets.

You would remain, forever in love with them, enough to leave without a goodbye or a look back while they grew like trees in soiled dirt, intertwined but resentful of one another.

You hadn’t been able to watch the end of the match, content with watching Patrick and Art hug for the first time in about a decade. It was funny to you, really. How they had managed to part for so long when Patrick had loved Art first, loved him the way you had loved Tashi first. You all ended up falling in love, you with Art next. Patrick was a little more difficult to like. He was a cunt. And truth be told, so were you. But in their psyche, you lived as kindness personified, because at the root, you were what they aspired to reach when claiming a false sense of honesty.

You were the good ripped out of them by a forceful departure they could not have done a thing about.

You were kind and overly intelligent, academically and emotionally, doubled with a talent that made you all the more terrifying. To understand you was a struggle because all you said could be taken as exactly what it was. In the world of pompous etiquette and manners, you lived above and below it all. Born in a lower class family, you never feared to admit that your goal had always been to climb you way up until you reached what you wanted to reach. It was unclear to you and to them for a while so coaxing it out of you was useless, you didn’t know much about what you wanted, or at least, verbalizing it would be difficult. You aimed to climb, all on your own, through your own power and possibilities. Fucking Tashi Duncan was just for fun.

She wasn’t meant to be a tool in your machine, and frankly, she would’ve been a useless one too, you weren’t a tennis player. Maybe that was what had made your deep friendship so difficult to understand. People speculated that you used her for her money and status, which would make sense if your natural predator wasn’t a tennis racket and a ball. You just couldn’t play tennis for shit. And at first she would call you an idiot for trying when you clearly sucked. A friendship had blossomed when you had responded by successfully hitting a ball right past her head. You sucked at tennis but you had great aim it seemed.

You had reached Stanford on a scholarship, and artistic scholarship funded by a bunch of wealthy families, counting the Zweig and Donaldson families. You danced ballet initially but the possibilities had evolved so you did more than ballet or than dancing. It didn’t really matter honestly why you were at Stanford, the point is that you were there with them and sometimes only for them.

Again, it had started with Tashi, simple stuff really, hugs here and there turning into hugs everywhere. And hand holding which had also turned into waist holding. And the sleepovers were you started from standing at opposite sides of the room to sitting on each other and sleeping with each other in the same bed. Everything just kept escalating. Came a time were it was normal for you both to be showering together or to kiss each other’s cheeks in public. You were best friends with a little bit more on the side.

The speculation were inevitable really, but then came Patrick and Art. Things had been complicated to explain or understand but it did make sense to you four at least.

The night she had been invited to their hotel room, they hadn’t expected her to bring a friend. You didn’t really understand what she had wanted to prove, if she had wanted to prove anything at all but you knew that you didn’t really mind. A public would never bother you.

You had always been pretty obedient to her words, even more when she had her fingers inside you. When she had called you to sit on her lap while they sat on the floor, you had obeyed, climbing on top of her and zipping down your compressor shirt. You could feel their eyes on you, burning through your skin in hopes to see your breast the way Tashi could. When you two had started to make out, you wanted to laugh, hearing Art’s little gasp loud and clear. He was way easier to get worked up than Patrick. But Patrick was a slut so it made sense.

You had stopped her, pulling away with your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you attempted to regain your composure before pointing at them.

“Shouldn’t they be participating ?” You had said, amusing Tashi who patted the space next to her for you to sit. Again, you obeyed but kept a hand between her thighs while she kissed your forehead. Art and Patrick had stared at each other before Patrick rushed to sit next to you and Art next to her.

The rest was history. A long, tedious and sometimes painful history which at started really, the moment Art asked you out. You expected him to go to Tashi, and he had before asking the two of you. It was easy to love Art, the same as you loved your girl. Patrick though, it had been lust for a long time, a very long time before you accepted that he loved you and that you loved him too. You two couldn’t stop taking shots at one another you at his pathetic love for Art and him at you for being poor. Those were easy and no amount of venom in your voices could ever male you say words you didn’t mean. He was bitter at you for having Art and you at him for having Tashi, you were the same really but you would always say you had bigger balls that him because at least you unequivocally had both in all senses while he struggled to even have one.

You remembered how in a drunken admission he confessed hating you for being the romantic failure to his success, something he couldn’t bear knowing that he wanted to fuck you with all the love and adoration you ignited in his soul. He was glad to have his wish granted, waking up the next morning with you on top of him, sleeping soundly, more silent than you had ever been in your life with him around.

Then began the greatest love story never told, fueled by unyielding passion and love that transcended. Maybe the end could’ve been predicted. You loved too much with too much honesty for three people who convinced themselves that tennis was their only true love. You were okay with that, you knew it was a cover-up, a protection from the unpredictability of human feelings and relationships. You didn’t feel like covering up anything, not when you simply loved.

To you it made sense, to them it was a little more difficult, and the difficulty kept increasing slowly as everything rapidly turned to shit. One day it was all four of you, the next, Art didn’t love you anymore, not enough to share Tashi but enough to still crave your very existence like air. He was done sharing with Patrick too, something about having to admit to himself that he did love the man more than a best friend didn’t work in his mind.

They had all began getting into each other’s minds planting seeds of jealousy and doubt in a vicious cycle where they all made each other worst than worst itself. Then Tashi got hurt, and Patrick wasn’t there but Art was so she blamed the brunette while the blond rejoiced as he finally reached the sense of normalcy he had craved through monogamy. And where were you in all of this ? Left behind. You didn’t play tennis but you loved them so you thought it would be enough, it wasn’t. You couldn’t understand, they said. Tashi would never play like she used to or as she was destined to ever. And since Art was there, he would be the talent that prevailed and lived. Patrick, he couldn’t care less about you when he was loosing the two people who really mattered to him.

You had been disposed of in a matter of weeks, a useless, bothersome artefact found in the dirt and throw back in the dirt when you had stopped being fun. You would’ve never understood what it felt like to lose the very thing that one thought of when thinking of Love, yet you could’ve tried, you would’ve tried for them, for her.

Patrick was the first who should’ve gone, almost forcefully thrown out of the apartment you had all started sharing, ironically owned by his family. He lost the home of his heart and chose to give away his house too. But Patrick being Patrick, he refused to leave, stubborn and smug, he opted to stay and keep trying. He knew tennis and Tashi’s love for tennis. He had felt that love for a certain blond boy he had lost too.

With his stay, he formed a side, his own, while Tashi and Art formed another. They fought, regularly, everyday almost, about the same things and a multitude of little other things that they had never voiced prior to the incident. Because they were too ‘kind’ to speak up, but mean enough to use it as ammunition in petty arguments.

They fought about almost anything frankly and you, you disappeared, left off in the background, dissipating like sand, washed away by the sea and forgotten. You didn’t need to get involved they said. Yet you did, because you loved all three and maybe it was selfish but you still held onto the hope that they loved you too, enough to support you in your own moments.

But that was before the Patrick you had learned to love forced you with the brutal reality of things.

You fell. During a rehearsal, you fell, badly enough to hurt you foot and possibly for a little while. It wasn’t broken nor was it permanently damaged, you would heal quickly, you just had to be taken to the hospital to be given the necessary information on how to recover. You would also need to be taken home, you physically couldn’t walk. You called and called and called, calling about a hundred times with no answer from any of them. You ended up staying at the hospital for two days before deciding that you didn’t want to stay more so you left, on foot, which you shouldn’t have done. You had crutches, you thought, so this would be fine. It was at the end, your foot was fine, your soul though, not so much.

After two days in the hospital, you had returned home to another fight between the three. You were tired so you stayed silent until they took notice of you, standing there in silence. Weirdly enough, that seemed to aggravate them further, leading to sighs of anger and looks of disgust, as if you were the cause of all of this, all their issues and frankly all the issues in the world. Unused the first and last fight you were apart of.

It was about you not being there, you always running when things got hard for Tashi, running away because you couldn’t be the center of attention anymore when Tashi would be the priority. You didn’t really process much if what was thrown your way, too busy trying to defend yourself in vain. It didn’t matter really, whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter not when for the first time in weeks both Fire and Ice agreed on something while Tashi looked at you with the kind of hatred you’d never seen in her eyes before. All three finally agreed on something and it seemed it was on how much they couldn’t stand you.

“It’s fucking pathetic how low you’d go to feel like you matter to us. Let me make this abundantly clear, your presence here is only because of Tashi. The interest we have in you is only because of Tashi. Any amount of interest we have in you is because of Tashi. You don’t even matter to yourself outside of her.” How said Patrick bitterly. He looked disgusted by the very sight of you and his words translated about just as much venom as his gaze.

He walked up to you, still standing at the same spot you had been in since you had entered the room to walk in on them fighting once again. You hadn’t moved and now you were paralyzed by humiliation, as if even breathing would be a stain on their glory. You were going through it again in a matter of seconds. Years of improvement on your self worth all going down the drain because of three people.

You watched him with teary eyes as he stepped up to you, entering your personal space so that you could see properly how much he meant his next words.

“We barely tolerate you without tennis, but how much do you think we’d like you if Tashi hadn’t pulled you in like a necessary condition for her presence around ?”

You said still, to ashamed to cry or to breath, almost heaving from the ball of air stuck in your throat. You said as stoic as you could all while keeping your tears at bay. He chuckled while staring at you, false amusement to hide how annoyed he was with your presence here. You tried to look towards Art, who looked away, face indifferent as he silently agreed to his ex best friend’s words while your own best friend stared blankly at you then at your foot before getting up and leaving.

You weren’t one to stay where you weren’t wanted, so when they left to chase after Tashi, you took that as an opportunity to pack your stuff and leave. All that was left behind were the stuff you wouldn’t outwardly need or could ask a friend, if you had any left, to help you get.

In that moment you felt your luckiest despite the circumstances, your lack of relationship to tennis making it easy to rely on someone who wouldn’t be asking thousands of questions on why you were now excluded from the little group who’d been ruling the minds and hearts of about every student on campus. For the rest of the semester, you moved in with a friend from your dance studio, friend who quickly became your greatest form of support, pushing you to get back up and become the best dancer you’d ever been.

For the first time, you felt what Tashi meant when she said tennis would be her greatest love, you understood her drive to not just be a player among the lot but the player who stood above the masses effortlessly yet with lots of efforts. The rumors quickly spread, your separation from the group raising questions that you were too busy to answer, spending about every second of every hour dancing and improving your artistic skill while slowly letting the three people you had loved turn into distant figures in your rearview mirror.

The longing glances in the lecture halls and silent please turned into quick looks in their direction, acknowledging their presences before going back to what you were doing, before soon, watching it turn into nothing. You stopped looking, feeling their eyes on your before shutting down the instinct which you had lead to you them in crowds of thousands so many times before. Before you knew it, you brushed passed them, your scent burning through their being like the softest of caress and the sharpest of slaps while you simply didn’t notice them. You had stopped trying to ignore them and made them presence part lf everyone, barely noticeable.

Your dancing got better, just like your heart and your other talent. You divested into other areas of artistic expression, soon stepping out of Stanford to be known all over the world for your incredible voice and the amazing performances that went with it. You filled concert halls like one would fill their lungs with air and sold albums like no other. Your passion and devotion for your craft quickly became known all over the world, impossible to miss as your face appeared on Billboards and your voice resonated through radios. You got busy with like and you weren’t the only one.

You knew about Tashi and Art’s wedding, catching wind of it from friends you had made in college. It didn’t surprise you much, she could handle Art better. What had surprised you was for Fire to Part from Ice and vice versa, both disappearing from each other’s life. It wasn’t news that neither really deeply like to share, ironic considering the circumstances. You had found out about their daughter too, Lily, cute name. Art had probably picked it. Tashi would’ve named her ‘Tennis Donaldson’ if she could. Tennis Duncan even. She loved tennis too much, it had started to exasperate you, but inly slightly. You understood. You lived dancing just the same. Just healthily. You could see through the mist, watching her live vicariously through her darling husband he played for her. He lost the passion he had for the sport, but he had lost more.

You didn’t know what had happened to Patrick, or at least you feigned ignorance. You didn’t give a fuck about that little bitch. But watching him die wouldn’t be fun. You knew about the heroin addiction and about the alcoholism. It was known before during college and it had stopped briefly while you dated, keeping only the smoking. He had drifted from them, too busy getting fucked up on whatever he could get his sticky fingers on while fucking whoever he could get to give him shelter for the night. Being a crackhead was expensive and even Patrick Zweig couldn’t afford it, it seemed. You knew he lived in his car and tried to revive his dead tennis career every chance he got. He was embarrassing to be frank, but you couldn’t turn your back on him when you knew he could pick up a handgun any day and write your name in big bold letters out of spite for the amount of time he called and you refused to answer before choosing to block his number. The junky ex boyfriend trope was getting tired and the sex was good back in the days but never enough to entertain his mess of a life. And to be frank, you had grown to be just as spiteful and petty as they were, the wound of the past still fresh in your heart despite the decade of separation.

Over the last years, you had crossed his path about five times and each time you found him in a outer body state, off on whatever he had gotten his hands on but definitely not water. Each time you crossed him, you remembered the words he had said to you, ears prior, noting the irony of how he had turned out now that he was alone. It was sad, honestly, Art had been a beacon to him, Tashi too. But both found mutual benefits in each other, Tashi getting to live through her husband while Art got to live through the fantasy that he didn’t regularly got of on his best friends cock rubbing against his.

You, you were just collateral, too easy to love yet too mysterious to understand. You were like the easiest puzzle never solved to them, an equation on love and lust all packed in one basic formula that was so easy that it felt like a trap. People relying on toxicity to feel alive sabotaged shit like that, the easy shit that wasn’t meant to be overly painful. You’d been too easy, so you could be disposed of ln on the basis of an argument where you just didn’t fit anymore when the truth is that you fit in way to easily with each without having to give anything tangible. You weren’t bringing shit to their worlds but yourself yet you were indispensable.

And being indispensable, surprisingly, wasn’t sufficient to them.

~

The first time Patrick saw you again after the separation was in the street. Which street he can’t say, he’s not even certain he saw you for real seeing as that night he was high on whatever had been sitting in his car and a 4 dollar bottle of vodka from the corner store. His car slash home wasn’t too far, less than ten steps away, yet he couldn’t reach it. First he couldn’t fucking find his keys and on top of that, he had felt in a cheery mood, deciding to down half the bottle right outside the store. He was in a mood to celebrate, the news of Tashi and Art’s divorce plaguing his mind like the sweetest of highs.

In his sick mind, the man still lived the fantasy that he and Art were the same or that they could be, true rivals from the same place, both drastically changed by their circumstances but still and forever Fire and Ice. He wanted to believe that well in his thirties he still had a shot. He could still do this, get to reach the same level of stardom and face off his best friend and lover once again. He was insane, and slightly pathetic like that but the news made the possibility even greater in his mind.

Tashi and Art had been a unit of destruction he could’ve never truly beat, not on his own, yet he still dreamt and rightfully so. Because now, both members of the unit were parting ways and what better way to conquer than to divide ? She had done it, years prior, Art fully participating despite his seemingly innocent demeanor.

In the midst of his celebration, he had, once again, forgotten to exercise restraint and had drunken enough to stumble into an alley all alone, falling face first in a puddle of water. In his inebriated state, even felt the weight of his exhaustion, weirdly falling down all at once on his shoulders.

He was so out of it, he hadn’t noticed your figure almost floating towards his body before seeing you crouched down next to him. You started at him just like he did you, both quiet for a second before he cut the silence with a chuckle, you, on the other hand were less than amused, stoic and silent face dark as you watched him, probably gloating to see him in such a state.

“Are you real ?” Was all he had said, waiting for a response which had never came.

It was almost vicious how he could barely make out the walls around him yet could perfectly distinguish the features of your face. It hadn’t changed, fuck you were so pretty.

The rest was a blur of soft touches and movements he could understand. All he knew was that you had spoken to him, telling him to not drink and to cut the heroin. He had nodded, obedient and shameful as a result of his words from the past.

When he had woken up the next day, he was surprised to be in a bed, comfy and warm covers. Parts of him dreamt it was her house. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t never be, not if she had a say on it at least.

You had driven him to rehab, leaving without a word or a note for him to understand. He didn’t know much other than the fact that you had paid for him to stay there for six months and then maybe he could leave. You had even paid more to make sure that the establishment accepted him despite her not being a relative or anything like that. Top quality facility that would have him bust his ass off trying to get clean, and not just off the drugs but also the alcohol.

He didn’t know anything, he just felt like it was you who had been the generous donator to pay for him to get clean. The lady at the front desks and the doctor in charge of him were only told one thing that had a seemingly smug but actually hopeful grin stretching his lips.

“I don’t want anything really, it’s more for him. Maybe, if he gets better in his head, he’ll actually get to be good at tennis again.”

It was mean, you were mean, mostly to him. But he knew better. You both had a habit of disagreeing so whenever he’d shit on himself, you’d join him and suddenly he was bathed in the confidence of the universe. Ironically, it never worked the other way around.

He stayed, all six months though, per the doctors and therapist, he wouldn’t need to. He could’ve left after the forth month. They had a tennis court to help him work a bit so he chose to stay. Even made friends. But he stayed, the whole time. Out of respect for you in some ways but also because he wanted to see how well he’d do. If he could really stick it out for the whole six months and then more. He did, and he would’ve loved to tell you, but that didn’t happen.

~

The next you saw was Art. If “seeing” was an appropriate term to use in this situation. After retiring, the man couldn’t find it in himself to ever really leave the tennis world, even after he and Tashi had divorced. He was still fully ingrained in the tennis world like the champion who would’ve lost it all, should’ve lost it all. His career been over if he had lost to Patrick that day. It would’ve destroyed him, you knew that. You didn’t need to be there to know, you always could read him. You could read all three down to the nastiest of details they were dirty rotten books passing fungus and parasites to everything they touched.

Art was the prettiest of parasites, seemingly clean and well behaved, but he fucked like a man starved for pussy, real pussy, raw and without conditions or expectations. You knew he hadn’t changed a bit when you saw him at an even for Uniqlo. Your career also had you around these circles and you like these events the best, with big brands but really niche, making it easy to not be overwhelmed as soon as you stepped in the room.

You’d been the center of attention the moment you entered and he was quick to catch you, you both engaging in a stare off that had lasted for about three seconds to you maybe, a lifetime to him. You couldn’t be here, not really, how could you ? He had dreamt of you, screamed your name and moaned it while balls deep in his wife. Ex wife. She’d moan your name too, it was pathetic, both were. He had pleaded the universe for you and yet nothing, but here you were, the one night he wasn’t thinking of you somehow. There you were, ever so beautiful and breathtaking. Like a ghost grappling at his brain.

It was pathetic, to not see you for a decade and yet to have his heart beat out of his chest as soon as he saw you and his cock springing to life like never before when you turned around, allowing him to gawk at the curve of your spine, from your nape to your ass. He was screwed.

For the rest of the night you both engaged in a cat and mouse game, him the cat and you the mouse, but here, you weren’t running from him. You were disappearing into the crowd as soon as he was freed from whatever pointless discussion was taking his time from you.

Then came the end of the night and Art was frantic, aimlessly searching for you, terrified like never before to miss you and this time lose you forever. He could reach you, he could go to one of your concerts and press tour for one of your movies. He could do that, but Art had always been somewhat of a pussy. Enjoying his position off in the shadow while the rest of the world took actions and spoke on their feelings.

That day, he took action, forgetting any sense of pride and decorum when he grabbed you by the jaw and pushed you into the elevator, hands reaching under your dress to hike your legs up around his waist. The elevator had barely opened, luckily leading directly into the suite he had been offered that he and his eager hands dragged your docile body to the nearest flat surface. When he had reached the dinner table, he had laid you up on it, so delicately, as if you were a figment of his imagination, potentially disturbed by any rough movement.

He was almost panicking, fiddling with your dress, torn between savoring the moment and your presence or making you feel the weight of your absence. He chose the later, ripping through the fabric of the expensive dress while you whined at the loss of such a beautiful piece to add to your collection.

You liked clothes, you always did and your mewls of pleasure mixed with the sound of your discontentment at the loss of your new favorite dress had him tensing in his pants, balls tight and full of love and memories from how happy and grateful you used to be when he gave you a present.

His lips dragged along the tense vein in your neck, occasionally biting down on your flesh to mark you in the most visible way possible. If you were to disappear again, you’d be marked, sworn as off limits to anyone else. You’d be his to worship.

You had matched his eagerness, sliding slander manicured fingers into his pants and boxers to stoke his cock, mouth watering at the idea lf having him in you again, girth taking up all the space in her throat and rutting into her hole desperately for even more.

You did, have him fuck your throat. Your saliva coating his balls shamelessly while you choked, almost suffocating on him but whining like the desperate girl you were whenever he even thought of pulling out. He had let you have your fun on him, nasty words to match the nasty rhythm of his hips slamming into your mouth. Plop. Plop. Plop, resonating into the room while he drilled his long cock into you with vigor. He had cum once, in your throat, only one, holding your face still as he pushed the tip of your nose into his nicely trimmed pubic hair. You inhaled his scent, eyes crossing in pleasure while you came untouched. What a good girl you’d always been, cumming at the idea of having him lay his semen in your throat.

He pulled out, holding your jaw still while admiring your fucked out face before kissing your cheeks tenderly like he always did to bring you back. You were easy to overwhelm so making you dumb on pleasure came easy too. But Art was a hard working man and he would never stop at that.

“Already so dumb for me…” He had muttered into your skin, lips dragging across your cheeks, jaw and chest, to finally reach your leaking mound. It was his turn to inhale your scent, mind hazy with pleasure and completely taken by you. No amount of thinking ever mattered, you mattered, all of you. Art had found an altar within the confine of your folds, ready to worship it like he had been deprived off for years.

His tongue had lapped at your juices for hours, pussy drunk after the first orgasm he had pulled out of you and ready to sink into his addiction. His messy tongue hadn’t left you since he had started, essentially hours ago, swallowing your taste, drinking in your pleasure and praying for more. He sucked on your clit messily, movements becoming just as erratic as he was. He wanted more of you, more of this, he needed to live in your skin forever. You were so warm and felt so good and he loved you and he had missed you so fucking much and this was too much, ruining him from the inside and melting him into a puddle of arousal and unexpressed love. He was made to love you and you weren’t there, you had left and he needed to love you now and forever.

“P-Please… Baby please…” He kept starting, to dumb on your pussy to be able to finish his sentence. But finish, that he did. Cumming untouched himself, cock rubbed raw against the fabric of the covers, a wet patch under him, marking the spot he’d been soaking with his pour sensitive cock for hours. He was twitching like never before, moans exiting his mouth because of the air touching his sensitive tip, so red it looked like a popsicle. Lucky him you couldn’t see, or you’d swallow him whole until he was to cum without anything coming out.

For now he rejoiced in the pleasure of having you in this bed, shaking nonstop and coherent words and phrases erases from your vocabulary by his desperate acts on your now swollen cunt. His hands had been gripping on your hips, holding you firmly and relying on your ass cheeks for more grip when his attacks on you became too much and you would attempt to squirm away. You were now but a body, a doll, aimlessly moved by him will. His tongue went deep inside you, so, so deep, almost grazing your most sensitive point but still preparing your walls for his raw dick and the abuse it would lay on your eager pussy. He moved your body back and forth, having you rut your hips into his face. His blue eyes, clouded by pleasure and insanity looked up, faced by your breasts bouncing while you cried and cried, the pleasure too much. He freed one of your ass cheeks to reach a large hand over your tits, grabbing it roughly and toying with your nipple while he sucked on your clit. He had heard the sound of the sheets ripping and wanted to be the next one to be torn into.

He was too much, to passionate on you, slurping and slobbering on your weeping cunt as if it was his last meal. He was entranced by you, feasting on you with all the fervor he had missed out on showing you. As he lapped away, you jerked particularly harshly, too sensitive to handle much more. Your fingers tried to pull him away from you, hair tightly gripped in your hands but he was quick to fight back, sending you a glare before going back to you.

In one desperate motion, strength fueled by your impending orgasm and his own, hip humping the air as his large cock stood tall beads of cum leaking in large drops out of his tip, he flipped you over, you on top of him, seating on his face while he laid under you. The weight of your ass on his chin and your cunt smashed against his face, he could die happy again. His hands found your ass again while yours grabbed onto his growing blond locks and the other holding onto the headboard. You road his tongue like never before, smearing your cum on his face while you cried for your release.

“A-Art ! Fuck, Art, baby ! S-So good !” was all you could say at the moment, the rest, incomprehensible cries of pleasure and babbling that signified how far gone you were.

Art watched your tits bounce again, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and all over your center as he dreamt of sucking your nipples until the were swollen and sensitive. He made love to your cunt, moaning inside you like he could do so well, grunts and whines of pleasure going heard by the entire floor if his suit wasn’t the only one here. His own eyes filled with tears, balls releasing cum all over his stomach and your back.

You gripped his hair like a rope you held onto at the risk of falling. He admired with desperation and passion, your head thrown back in pleasure as you finally came, crying out his name while drenching his face in your cream. You could barely catch your breath that he had thrown you off of him and onto the mattress. He stood between your legs for a minute, staring.

That was the clearest memory you had of that night, other than the week long ache between your legs and the pulsating of your clit at the sound of his name. You, on the other hand, were etched into his mind like a picture carved in stone to be remembered forever. Everything he looked was a reminder of you, even his daughter, Lily, a great enjoyer of your movies, one where you had played a princess destined to save her kingdom. Ironic how both he and his daughter saw you the same, the princess and the savior.

He marked you into his mind, your hair splayed onto the bed, eyes lidded with pleasure, mouth parted as you stared at his cock. Every piece of you he memorized. In every position too. And, intertwined amongst the sounds of pleasure exiting his throat, muffled by his mouth almost fused to a piece of your skin, pressed to your cheek or to your forehead in one of the most intimate acts he had performed in the last five years, he cried out for you. Desperately crying out your and the anger he had suppressed towards you. Anger or sadness, sorrow so deep it almost felt like grief. His movement became harsher, almost mean but so full of love too. He loved you so much, present tense, he hadn’t stopped ever. He was still angry at you for leaving though, so he told you in a mix of incoherent and inaudible words all mushed together, he voiced his feelings for how you had abandoned him, left him heartbroken, grieving in silence.

“H-How…How could you d-do this to me, huh ?” He’d say angrily, before pleading. “I love you… F-Fuck… I l-love you… Please… I love you…”

Drilling his raw dick inside you felt like life itself, your walls tightly holding him in while he kissed your thoughts away. Open mouth kisses, all tongue and teeth, this was life, made and in the making. He was making life with you that night, creating like he had never before. When you rode his cock, balls slapping against your ass while his lips latched onto your breasts to suck on them, that was life. When you’d been thrown on all fours, taking the nastiest backshots known to man, pussy molded to take him and only him in, that was life. When he laid you on your side, one leg raised up by his muscly arm as you took another load of his cum from the back, that was life. When he fucked you with your thighs pressed to your chest and ankles around his head, his swollen lips kissing you tenderly in contrast with the force of his hips slamming into you, that was life.

Life hadn’t stopped until sunrise, where you had both fallen asleep, you taking in his ‘I love yous’ and your tongue tied with pleasure, the kind you hadn’t felt in decades, to speak up. With each new position came more cum and more words from him, poor Art, fucked dumb by his sweet girl that had finally returned. Years of guilt and love unexpressed had finally been told in loud moans and babbling about how much he loved you and was sorry.

It didn’t matter.

You had both fallen asleep with his cock nestled inside you, sheets tossed to the floor and arms holding your body close. He slept with his face nuzzling into your hair, a scent of vanilla and citrus he had missed like a man lost in the desert missed water. Your fingers held onto his forearm with your back pressed to his chest. You were both molded against one another, peaceful and quiet.

Reality hit the next morning, when he woke up to you getting dressed. You weren’t in a hurry but you weren’t staying, he couldn’t let you leave though.

He was quick to leap out of bed and in front of you, hands holding your cheeks to force you to look into his eyes.

“Please… Look at me, please baby…” He had begged, your empty eyes finding him. “Stay. Stay and let me apologize, make up for what I did-“

“You didn’t do anything Art.” You cut him off, swatting his hands away and going back to the pieces of your dress. “And there is nothing to make up for. You wanted Tashi, I can’t fault you. The sex was good, let’s stop there.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, desperation evident as he tried to hold you in his shaky hands.

He followed you around the bedroom and out of it when you were done, running after you while almost sobbing before dropping to his knees in front of you. You sighed, exhausted by the exchange while he sacrificed his dignity once again, for someone but never himself.

“Please baby, stay with me. Please, I love you.” He was erratic, breathing quickening while you looked around.

“Art…” Your eyes dropped to him, staring into his beautiful blue eyes and holding his face tenderly. “You don’t love me. You’re bored and you love having me in bed, that’s it.” You tried to walk away but he crawled after you, holding onto your leg desperately.

“No !” he exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me or my feelings, please. I love you, with everything I have-“

“Ironically after Tashi left, thought.”

“I’m a fucking coward, fine ! But I can’t lose you again, not like this !” He was scared, that morning, truly. Even more than when Tashi announced she wanted a divorce.

“You don’t lose someone you don’t have. You can’t have someone you don’t want.”

“Fuck you ! I want you, I need you, baby, please !” He needed to know that you’d be there tomorrow and for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t lose you again, not again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”

You threw your head around, amused by his desperation and how brazen it made him sometimes. “You’re ruining this Art…”

“I can love you for the both of us if that’s the issue. I want to be yours, I want to marry you, live life with you, be everything you need from me !” He wasn’t listening, never.

Thinking back, it wouldn’t lead to anything, the pleading and all. He could see it now. Hindsight was 20/20. It would’ve been useless and even disrespectful to ask you to love him again after discarding you that way. But to get you back and lose you so quickly had killed him a little more that day. He had needed to hear it though, to understand. And understand he had.

“Art.” Your voice was firm, like a line of cement in the sand and a pause in time, freezing him and his tears in place. “I never needed you. None of you. I just wanted you, and was content with that. You were the ones who discarded me because you didn’t need me.”

He remained frozen in place, giving you the opportunity to leave, your eyes glued to his, his beautiful tearful face as he stared in silence. When the doors of the elevator closed, he collapsed, crying harder than ever before, crying like he should’ve years ago when he had found your stuff gone. He had lost you again. His pretty girl. The love of his life.

He might’ve doubted his love for Patrick or Tashi, but loving you was like breathing air. It was easy, it made sense, before and still now. And you’d been ripped out of his life forcefully. Even now, when his pride managed to supersede his love for Patrick and Tashi, nothing could come above the love he felt for you.

After that night, he had been floating aimlessly around life, drained out of life. You were somewhere, everywhere in his life, but near him and that was punishment, cruelty for choosing Tashi and ruining all four of you. He needed to see this and had refused, now he didn’t have the choice.

~

The next to see you was Tashi, or if you had to be precise, it was Lily, her daughter.

There was a park down your block, you often went there to write and skateboard. Tashi didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything. To know about you was to punish herself for about everything she had done in the recent years. Including getting married. She would never admit that though, to much pride would be sacrificed if after a decade she admitted that she missed you even after the way things had gone. It would also require for her to admit that maybe divorcing Art was not really a good idea. Not when a part of her still loved him, a part you had created, the part that accepted to love and be loved beyond tennis because love, as painful as it could be, was beautiful. Even in the most vile and painful moments.

You’d been sitting for about an hour, head thrown back as you let the spring breeze and the sound of birds communicating through the trees seep into your skin. Your week had been hectic and this was the first real moment of peace you could claim to benefit from, truly, a moment of peace where life let itself float around you while you took a pause.

Your pause, ended brutally, the sound of rushing footsteps and then a little yelp waking you up from your meditation. You opened one eye, looking down in the direction of the sound to find a little girl, laying on the floor with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

Poor thing had probably tripped. You straightened yourself, leaping off the bench to kneel in front of the little girl. She was distraught, looking around and fiddling with her skirt.

“Don’t worry, there’s not that many people, no one saw.” You’d said to reassure her.

She looked at you timidly before nodding, accepting the assessment you’d made on the situation. You didn’t know if anyone really had seen or not, but you did know that the park was essentially empty at this hour of the day.

“Hurts…” She mumbled, still looking down shyly. You wanted to chuckle, she was adorable, but she could’ve thought that you were mocking her so you refrained.

“Do you mind ?” You asked, pointing at her knee that was visibly turning a little more red by the minute. She shook her head, holding onto your shoulders so that you could lift her up and sit her on the bench. She had grazed her knee, it was bleeding. You looked up at the little girl in silence, this would probably have her panic if you told her. She looked about seven years old max and seemed used to run around freely, she hadn’t called for a parent yet. Luckily, you had everything you needed in your bag. You’d learn to carry around a first aid kit because of how easily you got hurt and out of habit. It reassured Tashi, back in the days, to know that you were okay or at least had something to take care of yourself.

You chuckled, her memory would truly haunt you until death if it could. You’d see her face in a piece on bandaid if you let yourself.

Pulling out your essentials, you pulled out a bottle of water as well as cleaning alcohol. You saw the little girl tense but quickly regain her composure.

“You’re not scared ? That hurts sometimes you know…” That wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a kid, but you said it anyways.

“I-It’s okay… Mommy says bugs could grow in my boo-boo if not cleaned. I hate bugs.”

You grinned, amused by her rationality but also by her tight grip on your shoulders. She was scared, she just knew better.

“And what does your mommy say about you running around alone in a park ?”

She didn’t respond, too focused on your face. Like she’d seen it before, and frankly, looking at her, you felt like you had seen her before. The messy curls on top of her little head and the way her nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed when you dabbed the alcohol on her knee. You wanted to pay more attention, but the memories where ghosts that had to be ignored or they would ruin your life.

“I’ve seen you before…” She said. You hummed, quietly asking for precisions. “In the TV. You were really pretty. You had a sword and all… It was cool…”

She’d seen one of your movies, for children kinda. A little bit violent in some scenes but for children technically. With a princess who wielded the sword better than any knight.

“Did you like it ? I personally did. Loved the sword fights.” You asked, softly placing the bandaid on her leg and giving her a thumbs up.

“Me too, but I have to be careful because they’re dangerou-“

“Lily ?!”

You both were interrupted by a loud voice not too far, rushing quickly towards you. The little girl hopped off the bench with a smile, running in their direction after muttering a soft “mommy”.

You would’ve loved to turn around, but presently you were too annoyed to do so, angry to not have noticed her resemblance to the man you had seen a few weeks prior and the woman you hadn’t seen in years. You exhaled, seating back on the bench and watching as the little girl chatted away, explaining how “the princess from the TV healed her knee”. You watched Tashi search around until her gaze found yours and froze.

If you’d been in her head you would’ve seen it all, the fireworks, the crashing waves of a hurricane, the tornado, the screaming lady who resembled her but simply couldn’t be, Art and her’s wedding day, the fights you found yourself at the center of and all the times she’d have sex with him thinking of you but without feeling guilty because she knew he did too. You’d see that and about a thousand other things because she was going insane at the moment while you looked almost bored to see her.

She stood up, mouth slightly parted and her eyes never really leaving yours while her hands gripped on Lily’s smaller one, like she was afraid that she would run and disappear again, like she had previously done and like you did years ago.

For someone who was paid for her advices and known in the business for how easily she could get in someone’s head through words, Tashi was struggling a great deal at words right now. She was stuck between speechless and too angry to formulate clear words.

“Mommy ?” Was what brought her back. She looked to her daughter, plastering on a fake smile to appease the worried child and caressing her hair.

“How about you go play for a little while I go say thank you to the lady, okay ?” In any other circumstances she would’ve gone home, done with the whole outdoors thing and ready to get back to work but the situation was different with you present here.

When she assessed that Lily was far enough to not hear, she stomped towards you, angry eyes burning through you. She was ready to hand you a slap worthy of movies but was stopped by your less that amused eyes matching her expression. You were politely asking her to refrain with your eyes, an expression she’d almost never been on the receiving end of.

Tashi stood there, watching you attentively, like she expected you to disappear. She took the time to observe you, take you in. Your gaze was some distant point in front of you, possibly Lily, seeing how you smiled while she laughed loudly.

You hadn’t changed much in a decade, looking as young as when you were in college. They’d all felt the mark of time as it was engraved on their features, burnt with painful precision to signify the years of conniving, lies and deceit they’d been put through by each other to maintain the illusion that they were doing better than the next. You looked fine, they didn’t.

Even she, felt like she didn’t look good, worn out by the pretense of perfection of the wife and coach who only sought to bring out the best out of her husband, make him the best. Not that he could ever really become it, not when he was so busy trying to play for two. Ironically she did find respite in her motherly duty, finding bits of herself you had taken with you in her darling little girl. Ball of oxygen like she had never experienced before, the kind of fresh air tennis could bring her.

“She’s cute, your daughter. Looks so much like you, almost feels like Art didn’t have anything to do with it.” You said nonchalantly.

She could’ve carved your eyes out for that comment, slapped you with nasty words about your life and how bitter you were that it wasn’t you. She remembered how you four had planned it. You and Art were supposed to marry because you loved each other the healthy, reciprocated, committed way. Like a couple who wanted to grow old and have plenty of kids together did. Tashi, she loved you as much as she loved tennis, but tennis came first. Patrick loved Art as much as he loved tennis, but he loved Art more. They’d find mutual benefits being together, because they worked and loved each other in a way that worked. Loved each other like two pieces of one tennis driven soul. After one very long and celebration filled night where everyone had won something, you’d made a promise that reeked of love, the kind Tashi had never allowed herself to feel for anything that wasn’t tennis. She loved Patrick really, but you first and Art too. You all made her feel alive the way tennis did. Art wanted children, with you, and you wanted kids with him too. Patrick and Tashi, it was more of an eventuality for after retirement. Adoption maybe, or you. It didn’t matter, but it all worked out for all of you. That night, she felt like she was on top pf the world. She crashed a few months later when she fought with Patrick and Art had started his divisive bullshit. The fall of Tashi Duncan, the one who could’ve but never would again.

“She’s a good kid, more like him than you think. But you wouldn’t know, you’ve been busy.” She responded after a while, both to defend herself but also to spit out her anger towards you. It had to come out.

“Don’t expect me to stick around where I’m not wanted.”

“Oh fuck off !” Your nonchalance was getting to her, anger as evident as the sorrow in her voice. “The victim bullshit about how you weren’t wanted can work for the other two but I knew you first. No one in this world wanted you more than we did.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you treated me like shit.” Your tone wasn’t changing while hers shifted from assured to shaky.

“So what, you leave ? We scream at you once and you leave ?” You turned to her, looking into her eyes as if looking through her while she stared at you, awaiting a response. It was surprising really, how easily she lost her temper and composure when it came to you. You were like gasoline to her fire. She’d never show as much passion than in the moments that had to do with you.

She hated you in that moments, because you left her alone. She lost tennis, her mind then you. She couldn’t do this without you but she didn’t have the choice, she faked it until it felt real and suddenly you appeared again. On her screens, then billboards and then ad’s and commercials. Obviously she knew you shared some brand deals with Art, she’d done it on purpose so that she could feel bits of you in him. She smelled you all over him when he had returned from that trip for a brand she had forgotten. She only remembered the look in his eyes, like Life itself had been ripped out of him. They’d shared a look that day and it was all they had needed to know. She, who had started to doubt whether divorce really was the best choice, she now knew that it was. You hadn’t just been lingering around, you were the constant. The glue.

That night, Art had slept in the guest room, crying himself to sleep for her to listen through the walls as she cried quietly. They were pathetic truly. But at least they knew that they had to separate really. No more fight on his part to keep his family, no more doubt on hers to keep tennis. Neither could stand the other any longer nor could they stand the charade.

“You treated me like shit Tashi. You’re not the only one who knows the other and unlike you and your lapdog, I actually don’t mind the truth, even when it makes me look like shit. You treated me like shit, so I left. Or would you have preferred for me to be like your little white boy and stick around to get a taste of what the Tashi Duncan, never really Donaldson, bullshit, conditional love is ?”

You sounded more animated, brought alive by the commentary on a life you would never regret because you knew it brought you the peace they never could enjoy. She usually enjoyed getting a rise out of the other two, feeling like she was better for remaining collected when they didn’t.

Now, it didn’t feel like a testament of her success over you. She never wanted to win when it came to you, it wasn’t about that, it was simpler. You were like a drug she got addicted to, but the good kind. Like being addicted on life. You made her feel alive independently of tennis. With you around, she actually would’ve been okay losing tennis forever because with you around, the story about how tennis was a relationship where you owed it to someone else to entertain them, to build a relationship and whatnot, it just didn’t work.

She felt healthier, in her mind and body with you, like genuinely be alright no matter where life lead her. And one day it all started crashing. Slowly. She should’ve seen it coming, or at least she could’ve paid attention taken charge to fight this the right way. She didn’t. When things got bad for her she’d focus entirely on tennis and when things got bad between you four, tennis was all that mattered until it wasn’t there anymore. She wouldn’t be choosing tennis had she known that it would take you away.

She had lost tennis too at the end so frankly, it didn’t matter anymore but she refused to lose her right to be mad at you too, because that’s really all she had left of you. Her anger and a daughter who grew to emulate parts of you she didn’t know she had missed.

“She hates bugs.” She said. It surprised you, it was soft, a whisper. Almost like she wanted to hide. You could only chuckle because it made you laugh, thought it didn’t make much sense.

“Everyone should hate bugs.” You responded.

“No…” she sighed, annoyed that she had to clarify. “She hates bugs like you do. Has to take off her clothes to check that they’re not there and take off the invisible veil of their presence on her skin.”

“That’s the best way to free yourself from the bugs.” That was weird, and uncool. She looked at you like you were a freak and for a second she was taken back to college, where you were the cool mysterious girl who everyone wanted to fuck but were too scared to approach. You really were a weirdo who hated bugs and could throw up if a caterpillar crawled your way. You were so cool to everyone but her. Just like now.

If you could’ve described her expression, you could only associate it with the way she looked at Patrick usually. That was the look she gave him when he’d forget himself and talk to her like she was any kind of girl he picked up off the street at a bar to fuck. She looked at you like you had lost your senses and had about five seconds to find them which was funny because she was the one losing it.

She loved you a whole lot, which was insane.

She stood and looked at you from above with disdain and contempt.

“You’re a pussy who runs away at the slightest of issues. I loved you, I list tennis and you left me because I wouldn’t coddle you anymore.” She spat venomously, aiming to hurt.

You looked at her, indeed hurt but also surprised. You were more wounded by what her words meant than what she had said.

“Y-You… You think I left because you weren’t playing anymore ?”

“That’s exactly what you did.”

And for the first time you were affected. This was the first encounter that had really thrown you back in the past.

You felt tears well up on your eyes, the feeling of your eyes trying to soak up the tears to keep you composed, so overpowering your throat was stuck. You didn’t want to cry and she didn’t want to make you cry, but she also did, because then maybe you’d feel exactly like she had for weeks back in the days.

“If… If tennis really had been what had sealed the deal, I would’ve stayed for Art, fucked him and gotten pregnant, Tash…” You chuckled, trying to conceal the pain that came with understanding what her best friend felt. You finally saw her view, all because of a simple phrase from her. “I left… I left because I was useless to all of you, Tashi… Without tennis to make you happy, what good was I around other than to have sex and remind you of how disposable I am ?”

You had cried yourself to sleep countless times, begging for assurance that you were good enough, that you could be loved, that you deserved it and weren’t disposable. Patrick’s words had been etched into your skull like a scar that wouldn’t ever go away. And she didn’t seem to see it correctly because she looked disgusted but really she was angrier than before at you for speaking up after a decade and at everything that had a part to play in her loosing her best friend.

“I never said any of that crap to you, so why would you think that ?”

“Because you hadn’t said the opposite, Tashi. You sunk and pushed me away, made me feel like shit for trying when I could never understand but you wanted them. Even Patrick you wanted him around. I was the waste of air…”

And she would’ve screamed at you that no, you weren’t, she had loved you and still did and would burn herself raw to show it, because she loved passionately and her passion with Art depended on you now, kinda. She would’ve slapped Patrick’s jaw off and had him searching for you to apologize. She would’ve done this a thousand other ways and shown you the years of tear stains and sleepless nights where she could only fall asleep to your voice on the TV, singing your life away as if she didn’t exist and wasn’t watching you. She wanted you to hear it, all of her anger and hatred.

Instead, Lily returned, running happily while you whipped your tears. She could only hear the ‘mommy’ coming out of her daughter before tuning her out to watch you. You knelt, listening to her talk about her rocks and the other kids while she watched or admired. Before she knew it, you had rolled away on your skateboard leaving her again.

~

If you presently took time out of your day to think about your exes, it wasn’t because it felt good to think about them, but because they were all crumbling, Tashi included, the most put together one of them. Patrick, it made sense. But Tashi, it was a surprise, though not so much. After Art had unilaterally decided, to announce his retirement, most likely without consulting his wife and coach, you had expected a shift, a the divorce announcement which had followed a month later was part of that. But to catch the three of them together, yelling at each other in the middle of a school was even more a surprise.

You’d been riding your motorcycle downtown when you passed a school. Stopping at the red light, you almost fell off your vehicle when you heard three more than familiar voices in front of a school gate. You felt them themselves had noticed you when all three stopped to turn in your direction. You were remained still, staring straight at them through your helmet. Tashi, always in the middle would be staring into your eyes if she would and a part of you wished she was, to see how she would react. Didn’t matter though, a part of you knew she had recognized you first, her body shifting from anger to unprecedented sorrow, like seeing a ghost of the person you had lived the most in a stranger passing by. You knew they were gone yet you still saw them and felt all the love you had missed out on giving them.

Lily noticed you next, how, you didn’t know, but she did, waiving her arm so hard it could come off at any second. The rest you tried to ignore feeling slightly, but only slightly, humiliated that you’d been pulled so easily into an impromptu dinner at Art’s apartment where Lily stayed for the week because you had stupidly promised her to recount the tales of your movies and concert adventures all over the world. And obviously, after the dinner from hell where each mention you had made about your past and its relation to your current career was met with a snarky comment, mention about a more than private anecdote or a longing look that made you feel like you had passed away tragically, you had to deal with The Conversation. Years of work, years of you steering clear off these people, all gone down the drain because of one little girl that just so happens to be a little too curious.

You would’ve honestly chosen to have a bullet going through your forehead before you willingly accepted to be in a situation like this one. But you also hated being inconvenienced and Art’s look of desperation was enough of one without dealing with Tashi cussing you out again, so yeah you accepted. Patrick was pretty chill, actually really nice to be around when sober.

And then ensued the longest and lost quiet ten minutes of your life, with Art looking down at you like you could evaporate, Tashi looking at you like you spat in her face and Patrick looking at you with genuine happiness, almost glad that you were here. You, were looking elsewhere, everywhere, analyzing the space and checking for the nearest exit. You would’ve made a run for it if you weren’t so fucking lazy, really. Unlucky you, victim of her own lacks.

Patrick was the first to talk, hesitant but clearly not feeling guilty or ashamed of anything. Or maybe he was but had learned to deal.

“I’m really happy to see you. I get to thank you for rehab.” He said and you almost glared at him, which he noticed, grinning like he used to, the smug fuck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spat.

It made him chuckle really, how hard you tried to detach yourself from them but kept yourself in their orbit at almost all times. You were a brat and he was glad to see it hadn't changed.

“Right.” He nodded, complying with amusement. “Well, whoever is responsible in your team for my rehab as well as the apartment I got after, you’ll thank them for me.”

“They’re getting fired.”

You were stubborn, maybe more than him even, and he understood, definitely more than the other two who too busy hating you or loving you unconditionally.

Then began another five minutes of silence, broken once again by Patrick.

“Okay, I feel this is a waste of time.” He had barely started that you were already standing up to leave, quickly stopped by a frantic Art standing up in a hurry to stop you while Tashi’s head snapped in your direction coaxing you into sitting down with her eyes. Patrick enjoyed this greatly, how pathetic you made these two. “I mean, if we’re going to be here, we might as well talk. We need to, we haven’t in a while after all.”

Tashi’s anger changed focus to go to him, glaring at him with disdain.

“Since when did you become a fucking preacher of all things healthy and positive ?”

“Since someone nicely offered me a nice stay at a top tier rehab center that offered solo therapy sessions. The kind we all need.” Every word seemed to be pointed at you and you almost whished you’d left him to rot in the back of his car.

“I go to therapy, you ungrateful fuck, you won’t be teaching me shit about a healthy mental state.”

“Oh, what do you go for ? To learn to be less of a pussy and not run when things don’t go your way ?” Responded Tashi, more than annoyed by your condescension.

“No, I go to learn how to deal with nasty cold-hearted cunts who fail in life and take it out on everyone around them because they lost their lapdog husband to do that. Clearly it’s working because I’m here.”

“Oh look at her, she had a voice and a purpose now.”

“Don’t talk to her like that…” Muttered Art, finally losing it enough to speak up. It was cute, coming from a good intention and making shit worse.

“And look who finally grew a backbone ! Arthur Donaldson, standing up for someone, how nice. Of course it has to be for her, because if you won’t be fucking her behind my back and moaning her name while balls deep in me, you’ll be defending her.”

“Don’t start Tashi. You moaned her name more than I did, you’re mad that I got to see her and you didn’t, so let’s discuss that !” His voice increased in volume, meeting her as she stoop in to get in his face.

“Why the fuck would I need to see her ? She abandoned me ? She’s a fucking traitor !”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Tashi, because you drilled in my head that after your fucking knee gave up on you I didn’t serve any other purpose than a nice fuck to remind you that there was always someone more useless than you now !”

The voices were coming from everywhere, heated and hurt by the wounds of the past, the kind that couldn’t heal until they were acknowledged.

You were all breathing loudly, looking at each other in pure anger, the anger you had repressed for years, the nasty words and ideas that you had let fester in your minds, desperately trying to move on and to grow into better people. You were all bitter, and in a funny twist of things, the most insane one of you remained sat, smiling at the three of you, enjoying the show.

“Oh, sorry.” He raised his hand, waiving it nonchalantly. “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying this. Happy to see you communicate.”

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve punched their teeth in, but Patrick enjoyed this. Sober or not, he remained annoyingly toxic, thriving off of the chaos that follows him.

“You’re enjoying this ? Really ?” You sounded just as surprised as you were amused, balancing between two moods that had you going from hot to cold.

You watched him stand up and get closer to you, close enough for you to smell the mint body wash on his skin. Good Lord, he smelled so good you could fuck him right now.

His hands traveled from your forearms to your cheek, holding your jaw nicely while you tried to act utterly disgusted by his presence and his touch.

When he kissed you, all tongue and drool, it was a little more difficult to act, mostly when you pulled at his hair the way he like and when his hand moved to hold your throat softly.

“What do you need to drop this act ? You know you want us, sweetheart. You need us in your life and it’s really embarrassing that you’re still keeping up the bit after more than a decade.”

You would’ve been bewildered by his audacity had you not been almost fucked mercilessly into dealing with it. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy putting him in his place, which is what you did when you pulled him away from you by the hair before pushing him back into his chair but not pushing his hand away when it loved to you exposed hip bone.

“I don’t know what fucked up substances had been floating in your system that fried your brain, but you told me to fuck off and die Patrick.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He cut you off with a grin, enjoying the situation even more.

“If I remember correctly, you called me useless. That sounds pretty freaking clear to me. As a matter of facts, the two other’s didn’t even say shit to shut you up so you can choke for all I care. Because yes I left, but you gave me the only reason I needed to.”

And it was funny really, how anger made them all lose their memories because you had really been given a reason, but they still felt like victims.

“So you listen to what my bitch says now ?” Tashi chimed in, angering you further.

“I’m as much your bitch as he was so, yeah, if you’re not defending me, you’re agreeing with him.”

And the perspective wasn’t new to her. It just meant she was wrong all that long and that wasn’t something she could accept. She has thought for years that you’d looked for the exit, when in truth they had opened the doors for you.

And now, it was her turn to kiss you. Nasty and greedy, teeth knocking and pussies leaking as she cussed you out like never before. She wanted you and hated you for making yourself wanted after years. Wanted you so much she pushed you onto the table, swatting the teacups off the table to crash loudly. When her mouth traveled down your neck, biting along the way, as if she was attempting to catch up to years of not marking you as hers, you cried out her name all while pulling at her hair.

Maybe it was the use of the present tense that fucked with her brain on a cellular level. Or it was the way Patrick had kissed you as if he had rights over you when then knew she was the only one who had rights over you. And fuck, you looked so good when you were a bitch, that had her leaking out of her panties like never before.

She refused to take up responsibility but you also refused to admit that you had settled for less, accepting the apologizes hidden in her actions. Mouth mean and piercing when her touch was so soft, like an apology that wouldn’t come out.

When she slid your pants down along with your panties, you expected to get eaten out, instead confronted by a crying Tashi.

“What the fuck ?” You exclaimed, seating up and looking at her.

You tried to raise her hand but were pushed back down instead mouth stuffed with your panties while she hid between your thighs. You would’ve loved to get her tongue deep inside you but with her tears running down your inner thighs, it was hard to not be distracted. She sobbed louder, finally stopping before springing up and storming off.

Art was the one to stop her, worried for the woman he had seen cry maybe twice in his life. His eyes asked a thousand questions wonder and fear traveling through, powered by the fear of failing to rekindle the old flame that kept him alive.

“Why did you have to fuck her ?! Why do I have to deal with her again ?!”

It was harsh but you didn’t take it personally, never with her. She was a loyal person, ironically, and to lose the pillar that you were had killed her inside. Her finger pointed at you while she sobbed, letting go of years of resentment.

“You abandoned me ! You left me but you fucked him and you pay for the other to go to rehab ! He hurt you and you save his life when you should let him burn !”

The mask of assurance and anger was crumbling like a sand castle under a wave, traveling as fast as her tears. You wanted to reach and comfort your girl but now could be the wrong time.

“They get every piece of you, even from afar and I get nothing ! You give me nothing but fucking dust !”

This time you did reach out. Holding out your hands to her and letting her fall into your arms like she usually did. She never fought to reach you, she melted for you more than for anyone. Maybe that was why her marriage to Art had failed, because by default, you were the quickest route to her heart beyond the planning for the perfect tennis related life. You actually touched Tashi.

After a while she stopped crying and marched towards Patrick to slap him because he was a smug bitch and the source of all of this, but he was also a good sport and took it rather easily. He didn’t care about the slaps, not when they were a necessary step to getting you back into this circle, the correct universal order of things. And he was also pretty glad that she’d slapped him if it meant he could watch her lodge herself between your parted legs and stick two digits in your mouth to shut you up when you yelped at the coldness of her breath on you.

“You’re sick, you know that ?” She had chuckled when looking at you dripping center and rubbing her thumb on your clit. “I cry just a little and you actually get wetter. That’s fucked, even for you.”

Yeah you were weak to her tears and yeah it did make your insides throb but not because you liked to see her cry. It was because a very twisted part of you knew that only you could get her to act like that, only you could get her to lose that ego and be human for a second. And when she looked up at you with reddened eyes and lashes still a little covered in tears, you did moan because fuck she was hot. She was insane but she was hot and you’d missed having her tongue on you so you took it like the good girl she had trained you to be.

“See how easily things go when you stop being dramatic ?” Had scoffed Patrick, still grinning as he walked towards Art.

“Fuck y- Aah !” You couldn’t finish that sentence, nor when she sucked your clit in like she loved to do whenever you got mouthy. It trained you to be polite.

Patrick watched you slowly lose your resolve, twisted into a submissive little thing, the sweet girl he used to fuck into oblivion, not the egotistical pop star that refused to fucking talk to him.

While Tashi had her fun between your thighs, slid behind Art who evidently couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Oh, how he had missed you, all of you. To watch Tashi devour you like she did ignited a fire in him he hadn’t felt in about a decade, or six months if we went back to the last time he saw you. Here you were, laid on top of his kitchen like a godly offering meant for him to devour. He looked down at you core, watching your cunt throb in desire, never really satisfied until you were filled up properly.

He watched you with glossy eyes and a line of drool picking out of the corner of his mouth, he wanted his mouth of your tits, so nicely presented, bare under your top. Was that what you wanted ? For him to see you and think of your night together, like he had done for the last weeks ? Were you trying to get him to lose it ? He was going insane, more than usual. He could still see him jerk off in the shower, his bed or his TV whenever something about you came up in his head or his screen. He saw you and would cry at the loss of you all while cumming all over himself repeatedly.

“Look at this, pretty girl…” Muttered Patrick, running his nose down Art’s neck. “Look at your sweet boy, Art. Look at how hard you get him when you start acting nice with us ?”

His large hands slid under the blond man’s joggers, pushing the tiny briefs he wore to the side, to let his large cock be freed. You saw him sigh in relief, his long girth and thick balls finally freed from the piece of fabric barely covering them. You could salivate at the thought of him, how his pore dick just could never fully fit in the tiny underwear Tashi had him buy. He’d get aroused and need to push them to the side to breathe. Obviously, all that before you offered to get on your knees and relieve him from the itch.

And you were already getting crosseyed, losing your resolve quickly and forgetting why you were angry at them for all these years. You couldn’t remember, but you knew that you were ready to be used by every single one of them. Starting with your poor baby boy who tried his best not to jump you, respecting Tashi’s time with you all while leaking cum through his joggers. He tried to be so respectful that was the one to drop his pants and tug at his balls to give him a little friction.

A little always went a long way for Art, so when you saw him cum all over Patrick’s hand and not down your throat you were a little disappointed.

Tashi barely spared anyone a glance, to busy exploring your insides with her tongue. When your legs closed in around her, she knew you were close, enough to satiate a decade long thirst for your sweet juices. She sucked in your clit again and you tried to crawl away, too sensitive for the double sucking and penetration, her fingers sliding inside you to part you open properly.

You were so close, whining and moaning her name while rubbing your pussy on her face. But then she stood up, leaving you to cry out while you watched your orgasm die on her tongue.

“You really think I’d let you cum after you ghosted me for a fucking decade ?” She said, looking at you with a mix of disgust and amusement.

You wanted to scream and cuss her out for leaving you so high and letting you crash down, but you knew better and you knew she would do worst if you didn’t watch your mouth.

Patrick was the one to make a move, kissing forehead with another fucking grin. Was that the only thing he did ?

“Be nice to our girl, Tashi… She was certain that we hated her guts.”

“Yeah, well that’s not my problem. You fuck her if you want but she’s not cumming until I say she does.” Her gaze was decisive and you knew that was an order for the two men in the room as well as a threat to you.

You tried to plead with your eyes, pulling at her heartstrings to no avail, you’d need to make yourself be forgiven. But it was also easier to plead with Art who was still staring at you, desperately waiting for his moment. Patrick stared at you both, amused at your fickle attempt at restraint.

He'd always be the one to let himself be driven by his dick so really, he could salute Art for the attempt, had it been him, he would’ve fucked you stupid already. And he would, eventually, he wanted to, his throbbing cock a proof of that. But he wanted to deal with this shit first.

“How about we calm down and let all the anger go, huh Tash ? Look at our sweet girl, look how much she’s missed you ? How about we let her show us, huh ?”

For a few seconds, both looked into each other before she rolled her eyes, agreeing in silence. In mere seconds you were lifted up by Patrick, his hands holding onto your bare ass cheeks while toying with your pussy lips. His nose ran along your nose, inhaling your scent and the aroma of you on his tongue.

“You’ll get to put on a show for us, princess.” He said, nipping on your collarbone all the way down to your nipples. You closed your legs around his waist, throwing your head back in pleasure when his lips ran around your nipple, sucking it in vigorously.

He stopped in his track, turning towards a frozen Art, unmoving and red all over, from the tip of his ears to the tip of his cock. He watched the way you swallowed, eagerly waiting to get to suck him dry. He liked it, when you became just a little bit insane over Art’s cock, salivating at the idea of him drilling his cock down your throat.

Tashi had been watching you this whole time and the way you looked at the blond man. She liked how much you craved Art too, enjoyed watching you two fuck for hours, until you couldn’t think or form a coherent sentence. She stood up, walking in his direction and running a finger over the slit of his tip. He was shaking at the touch, almost ready to cum on the spot.

Tashi took his hand and followed after Patrick and you, dragging the man behind. She pushed him to the bed and Patrick threw you on top of him, Art’s arms wrapping around your waist protectively. He didn’t know what he was protecting you off but he wanted to be in his skin at the moment deep in every crevice of your being.

“Show us what you did together and I’ll forgive you.” She said, taking a seat right in from of the bed next to Patrick.

You could’ve refused, acted like you were better than that, had changed and grown out of that phase of your life and didn’t need her forgiveness. You could’ve been the mentally stable being you claimed to be, but you didn’t. Because you weren’t. You missed being used by all three of the people in the room, watched and admired as a vessel of their pleasure. You missed Tashi being mean to you in bed, so mean that you would cry for hours until she was done and cuddled you afterwards. You missed being used as a cum dumpster by Patrick and his disgusting ways of having sex, thick hairy balls rubbing over your face when he’d make you suck him off. And you missed Art taking you until you were left shaking in his arms, so roughly that neither of you could think a single rational, logical thought.

You missed the messiness of life with them, not prim proper and rational but genuinely sick and twisted, toxic filled bullshit that had you feeling passion like never before. You missed actually being better than them and rubbing it in their faces by always being the first to do the right thing.

You were just as twisted as them, calculated and conniving as the next. Birds of a feather, that was all you, all four of you insane and desperately in love, even if it hurt sometimes.

You didn’t talk shit out that night or the day after. You fucked all night, finally forgiven around 4AM, just in time for Tashi to sit on your face while Art and Patrick battled each other to eat the cum out of you. The weren’t sure whose it was but they wanted a taste. And that went along for the next day because while Patrick and Tashi could actually control themselves, Art never could, not with you. He kept going until his balls hurt and he’d been shooting blanks inside you.

Patrick wouldn’t apologize, not with words but with actions, because he was still an ego drive piece of shit and he refused to admit being wrong when it came to you. But he loved you so he became nicer and watched his words around you, because he refused to go insane again at the loss of you. Tashi would move on as if nothing happened, her girlfriend was back and she’d eventually get married with Patrick because she actually worked with Patrick and loved him the way she couldn’t Art, but never the way she loved you. Art would pamper you like you were heaven on Earth, worshipping the very ground you walked on and feeding off of your love for him just like you fed on his love for you, because you actually loved Art, loved him enough to get married and have that baby you talked about.

The dynamic was weird but it worked and it was all planned also. Nothing had really changed, except you, you became worse. Just as unstable as them.

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— playing defence + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — you bitch slap kaiser for talking smack about your boyfriend. perhaps isagi is rubbing off on you.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, crack, fluff, suggestive towards the end, violence, smack talk, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, established relationship, pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 2.2K.

⭑ notes — greetings all! isagi brain rot is so real rn, i swear i have like six wips for him... anyways this was a silly little idea that popped into my head lmao kinda cringe but i had fun with it !! enjoy ! - m.list ✩

your boyfriend is somewhat of a conundrum.

the world knows yoichi isagi as the ruthless heart of blue lock’s success. a man that’s unrelenting on the field with his strategic mind and frightening air of dominance poured into his every play. every movement he makes is calculated meticulously, the greed for a goal simmering in his blood. isagi as a pro player is foul mouthed and messy — taunting his opponent until they crumble into nothing but dust before his very eyes.

the media thinks he’s cocky, but rightfully so. after all yoichi isagi is the catalyst for a new generation of japanese soccer. the girls love him, he’s charming in interviews without meaning to be — they like how he talks about you. as if you’re a gem that’s worth millions. precious.

the isagi that you know has a tender touch and his soul warm, he wears his heart right on his sleeve and never lets you go a moment without knowing you’re appreciated. the isagi that you know is encouraging, he’s always on your side. if he needs to, he’ll sweet talk you with honey glazed words and kiss you until your thoughts fizzle out into stardust.

isagi is good.

he’s good to his friends, his teammates, his parents — he’s almost too good to be true. as if he’s been peeled from the pages of a shoujo romance manga or ripped from the silver screen of a perfect Hollywood romcom. a literal walking green flag. you’d say that you were lucky to have him, and yoichi would spin it on you — using strings of sweet words to express just how deep and profound his love is for you, praising you just enough to melt you into a love sick puddle of goo. and he’d mean it, sincerity swirling in his whirlpooling blue eyes. he swears by it.

so when someone pisses your isagi off, when they hurt him — you can’t help but lose your shit.

it happens during a practise match with a few of the players that joined during the neo-egoist league. although it’s been years since then and the blue lock project has become a formidable team, it keeps the boys on their feet to play with those with other worldly styles of soccer. the match had been going well, isagi trailblazing across the pitch and leaving nothing but a trail of destruction and despair behind — you were proud of him, amazed by him and the talents he possesses. to see him in his element makes your heart swell.

you don’t know kaiser very well — just that he’s super big and plays for the german team that gave isagi his leg up in the soccer world. you’ve heard from others about how much of a dick he could be and the intense rivalry he had with your boyfriend back when the blue lock project first started. you don’t know kaiser well but that information alone was enough to get your back up whenever he was in close range of yoichi.

and rightfully so. because you see the way he prods and pokes at the beautiful, sensitive parts of your lover as they race across to the penalty area. you notice how it rattles isagi, gets him all up in his head. you hear kaiser say something along the lines of:

“what’s with your shitty plays, yoichi? surely if you’re the heart of blue lock then the future of soccer is bound to be doomed.” he skirts around your boyfriend, intercepting a pass he was meant to receive from nagi. “pathetic, to see how much this star has fallen. i should crush you.”

you’ve heard all the insults the blue lock boys throw at each other before but this is nothing like usual. rin itoshi has said much worse to isagi right in front of your face (and isagi right back, foul mouthed motherfucker) but you know that’s a defence mechanism to how rin truly thinks and feels.

michael kaiser is just an asshole, plain and simple.

and that kind of behaviour doesn’t fly with you when it comes to yoichi.

you storm onto the pitch from the sidelines before your mind can even catch up to your body. the other players working around your boyfriend and his rival stop their movements as you stroll past them, snapped out of their egoist state by the referee whistle that calls for you to stop.

“m-ma’am! you can’t be on the pitch!”

you walk right past ness, weave between kurona, bachira and hiori, and right up to the blonde haired perpetrator himself. you’re polite about it too, tapping him on the shoulder to interrupt the narcissistic monologue he’s giving to isagi and showing him your sweetest, kindest smile.

there’s a split second before the blunt force of your fist collides with michael kaiser’s cheek and he’s knocked to the ground from the weight of it.

“you better watch who the fuck you’re talking to, you clownish freak.”

“babe?” isagi jumps into action despite his shock and the sniggers from other players on the field. he wraps his strong arms around your middle and tugs you into his chest with a winded laugh. “precious, what are you doing here?”

“he can’t talk to you like that!”

“but baby, you can’t be here—“

“this isn’t good.” bachira sings from a safe distance.

“fuck! what the actual fuck?” kaiser swears, using the sleeve of his jersey to wipe the blood from his bruising nose. “who’s crazy groupie is this?”

another wave of anger crashes through your veins, your blood at its boiling point as his words register within you. “excuse me?” isagi snarls, clearly unimpressed, loosening his hold on you while you struggle against your boyfriend’s lean frame.

“so what? you get your girlfriend to play defence for you and then act like i’m in the wrong? i said, get this groupie away from me—!”

before anyone on the pitch can realise, you’re free from isagi’s hold and you’re on kaiser like white on rice — fisting his sweatshirt between the same pretty fingers that treat isagi like he’ll break with too much force. “you wanna say that again, shitstain?” you run your tongue over your teeth, the menacing glint to your eye making you look like you’re a predator about to hunt down her prey. the blonde shakes underneath you as you pin him to the grass — an insult rolling around on his tongue. “i wouldn’t waste my words. you should just lay down and die before you take another sucker punch from this groupie.”

“do you have any idea how much this face is worth? i should—“

“gimme a break michael kaiser,” to your left you can hear bachira chanting something about ‘no violence’, bouncing around excitedly and a wicked grin tugs on the corner of your lips. “you’re not worth shit to me. so keep fucking around and find out, pretty boy. you talk smack about yoichi again and i swear your face won’t be the only goods i damage.”

“jeez, you’re just as crazy as that wanna be protagonist over there—“ is all he can muster before he flinches back from your fists that raise a over your head.

isagi moves quicker this time, scooping you up from underneath your armpits despite how you huff, puff and protest. “alright, alright, you’re done here. let’s go, princess.” he says sheepishly. maybe he’s been rubbing off on you a little too much.

his comforting touch slides down to your hand, grabbing at it to drag you off the pitch for the sake of kaiser’s safety, keeping everyone else out of harms way. and isagi just about gets you off the green before you set your sights on your next victim — ness, who can’t help but make faces at you as you trudge after your boyfriend.

drawing a line over your throat with your thumb, you make direct eye contact with him. “you’re next, shitty little meat-rider—! ow! ‘ichi!” you bark, but isagi quickly scoops you up again like a cat holding her kitten by the nape.

you have no choice but to back down for now.

“yanno, you really didn’t have to do that.”

isagi let’s you go once you’re back in the locker rooms to check on your hand. he crouches before you (where you sit just a level above him on the metal bench), holding an ice pack to your knuckles with the trace of a smile on his lips, only lifting it to see if the swelling has gone down. isagi reads you like an open book, he’s got you all figured out so he leaves you with the space to react and have your little tantrums.

besides, it’s cute that you get so pissed off when it comes to him. watching your nose scrunch up and your lips twist into a pout while you fight your own outburst just makes his heart beat for you a little faster.

“oh i fucking did! he was being so horrible to you and i couldn’t just let it slide!” you huff as your temper flares, shoulders sagging and arms crossing over your chest. he says nothing for a moment and lifts the compress from your hand to check the damage.

“look at you, precious girl. you’ve only gone and hurt yourself,” even when you’re throwing a fit like this, yoichi can only see the beauty in you — his cheeks flushing at how much you care for him. the dark haired striker flips through a first aid kit that rests at your feet, looking for disinfectant to clean up your split knuckles. “and, as for kaiser… well, he’s always like that.”

“well, i don’t like kaiser. i hope a bird shits on his head and both sides of his pillows are warm.”

“bird shit is supposed to be a sign of good luck, baby.”

“don’t test me yoichi isagi.”

he dabs at your wounds with a cotton pad and a brownish liquid that smells like the dettol your mom would keep in the cabinet under the kitchen sink for when you got yourself into similar situations like this as a kid. but instead of scolding you like she would, yoichi tends to your cuts and scrapes either upmost care. still smiling to himself. smiling at you. resisting the urge to burst with affection.

“you’re gonna have to apologise, precious.” he mutters absentmindedly, wincing when you do.

“i-i’m not going to, he deserved it!” that much is true, kaiser is clown who needs to be put in his place but it shouldn’t have been by you and at the expensive of your precious hands getting hurt.

you’re in more pain than you’re willing to show, and it bothers isagi just a little bit that you’re experiencing it because of him.

“well he did, but ego won’t be happy.”

“did ego make you apologise for all those times you beat the crap out of your teammates for even looking at me? for stealing your goals?” you roll your eyes, leaning away from your doting boyfriend in protest.

isagi grabs at your wrist firmly, tugging you back into place so he can start wrapping your hand up — ignoring the way his face and the tips of his ears start to burn up in embarrassment. “well no… but that’s different. friendly competition.”

“hardly! may i remind you that shidou literally couldn’t walk for a week straight after he commented on my ass? because of you?”

“i was defending your honour! and keep still!”

you give isagi a pointed look. hypocrite. “okay, but what about when rin said you couldn’t fuck for the life of you and then you proved your point. using me. in front of him. was that about honour or about your ego? mister egoist.” isagi’s big blue eyes instantly shoot up to meet yours and blushes a crimson that could rival the shade of the older itoshi brother’s hair. “itoshi couldn’t look at me for weeks!”

“point taken.” knowing that he won’t win this argument (if you could even call it that), isagi finishes up with bandaging your hand and takes a seat next to you, a comfortable silence settling over you both while he attempts to piece together why you love him this much. to play knight in shining armour to his damsel in distress.

“are you…really going to make me apologise yoichi?” you ask him sheepishly after some time, leaning into him for comfort.

“not if you don’t want to, precious.” he hums, fondly brushing a thumb over the back of your bandaged hand. a silent thank you. a hidden i love you.

“good,” you whine now that all of your adrenaline’s worn off and you can really feel the consequences of punching a world class striker in the face. “now kiss my knuckles. they hurt.” holding up your hand to isagi’s face, you shake it as if to rid yourself of the painful ebb to it.

“better?” isagi complies, his lips soft against your skin.

“much.”

“so spoilt,” he adds. your boyfriend’s voice stays low while he plays with your bruised fingers and checks them over, resting his head against your own affectionately. “next time you throw a punch in my name, tuck your thumb into your fist to minimise the damage. i don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

“so you did like seeing me punch kaiser.” you giggle, squirming when isagi drops your hand to pull you into his lap possessively. his loving grin spreads even further when your eyes widen at a certain…hardness poking your inner thigh.

“oh yeah, super hot. i love it when you get mad ‘n start talking shit for me.”

isagi doesn’t make it back to practice, too caught up in showing you just how much he loves it when you start fights over him.

[soul-dwelling]

Maybe I'm being premature, but I'm at the Inca arc right now but I kinda suspect that the rot has already started. With the whole Shinra getting possesed by Amaterasu thing it somehow kinda came out and was resolved randomly. Ofocurse I get it - its about resentment of being lied to and feeling like your mission was pointless, despair and rage all that but somehow, I dont know it didnt feel compeling, like a worse Soul in Ukraine getting mad from the black spheres (but that also kinda sucked)

…Oh, wow, I didn’t think of that: Shinra’s possession mirroring Soul’s Black Blood madness.  That’s good--that’s a really good observation. 

It also reinforces what I didn’t like about Fire Force. 

(Spoiler warning for Fire Force, as well as for Jujutsu Kaisen and My Hero Academia.)

If it and Soul Eater were completely different works, I would not mind the structure: if it worked in Soul Eater for a story beat, yes, repeat it in Fire Force, that’s fine, that’s part of Ohkubo’s trademark style, go for it, that’s awesome. 

But that’s not what happened. This was a Soul Eater prequel. And at the end of Fire Force, we see the Evangelist reduced to a Kishin-like entity, with the eyes, too, that Shinra kicks away. So, the Evangelist had influence over Amaterasu (the First Pillar), who then had influence over Shinra, who has the same mad smile that the Kishin’s Madness Wavelength produced. 

This is no longer Ohkubo’s trademark--this is now creating an origin story for Madness in Soul Eater, and this worldbuilding sucks, I hate it, I don’t like it, can we go back to pretending this wasn’t a prequel so we can stick to previously established canon and whatever headcanon fans came up with to have this make sense? 

But that’s my rant: let me get back to your ask. 

I get that Amaterasu possessing Shinra seems like it comes out of nowhere. 

Maybe that bothers me less because I feel like the manga later explains this clearly enough--even if I’m not a big fan of the results (see the prequel nonsense and origin story for the Kishin’s Madness Wavelength). 

But by this point, the negative energy around Amaterasu is getting stronger, even our protagonist Shinra is having a hard time dealing with all of this shit, he has a momentary lapse, it affects him, he falls under the Evangelist’s sway via Amaterasu. 

And if this problem hadn’t corrected itself quickly…I don’t know if I would have liked it. Without spoiling too much, look at Jujutsu Kaisen right now. I hate where that manga is right now--because (albeit already being a grim series) it just got so much darker, because the new problem (someone has a lapse, they get possessed, they now do something awful) is making things get so much worse. It is grimdark enough that I don’t feel engaged in still reading. My Hero Academia has that same problem going on: as things just keep getting worse, why should I feel invested, when I can just skip to later in the story when things get better--or when they are going to get worse, making my investment also the more pointless? 

So, having Arthur saving Shinra that abruptly? It’s not the most mature storytelling, but it solves the problem with less angst. Maybe the failure to let that angst simmer robs some character depth: this should be a moment to set up that big friendship (romance?) between Arthur and Shinra that gives us the ending--and I don’t feel it, I have never felt like Arthur and Shinra ever got to a point of having anything beyond hostility towards each other, the story never did anything to make me think these two were actually really good friends. This moment with Amaterasu should have solidified that friendship / romance / whatever, and just did not work for me. 

You point out that, while you get the moment--Shinra went through a lot of shit, now he gets possessed by Amaterasu--it doesn’t connect emotionally or feel compelling. I think I get that, I think I agree with you. Maybe it would have worked better for me if it felt like Ohkubo was willing to engage with how these moments would screw you up. 

It’s why, when it happens again, when later in the story Shinra is possessed by his doppel, and his doppel does awful things with his body, Shinra is surprisingly well-adjusted to getting over this awful trauma. It is too fast, it doesn’t take the trauma seriously enough, it doesn’t show that living after trauma has its challenges--it’s too clean, too shonen, too focused on rushing to an action-packed ending. 

Let Shinra cry it out over the shit he has gone through. Instead, it’s just rage without showing greater complexity to those feelings. 

[hotwings0203]

Idk what this is but the thought of you being scared of Bakugos quirk is so hot to me

Tw:noncon, predatory behavior

“I swear he’s getting to be more and more like a villain every time I see him,” you giggle with Mina as you two walk out of the class. Bakugo had yet again exploded at one of your shared teachers for correcting him in his pronunciation of a word, and as usual it was quite a scene to behold. Chairs were almost thrown, his friends had to hold him back from leaping up while others egged him on, itching for amusement in their mind-numbingly dull class.

“Maybe Shigaraki was right,” your pink-haired friend snorts and you both collapse in wheezes, clawing and slapping at each other’s shoulders as the ludicrous image of Shigaraki being unable to reign in Bakugo comes to mind.

“Hey ladies, what’re you two laughing about?” A lilting and charming voice comes right at your ear, and you turn to see Denki, Kirishima and…Bakugo walking next to you.

Just because of his proximity and how you were literally just talking about him two seconds ago, you jump away from Bakugo’s glowering face and not so subtly hide behind Mina in a half playful jest.

“Huh? Whatcha ya jumpin’ around for?” Kirishima laughs and you exchange an embarrassed look with Mina.

“Oh nothing, we were just talking about how Bakugo’s quirk is totally villainous. We’re lucky he’s on our side,” Mina singsongs, but you slap her arm in alarm.

And well placed alarm at that, because Bakugo’s scowl deepens as he turns his head to you in a death-glare. You swallow hard seeing his expression and try to nervously laugh.

“But, uh, we were just joking. Right Mina?” You give her a pointed look and she deflects it happily.

“Nope! At least you weren’t, you’re half scared to death of him, isn’t that right Y/N?”

Denki interrupts before you can sputter in horror.

“Honestly, who isn’t scared of this dude?” He claps the other blond on his back and yelps when Bakugo’s hands start curling with smoke.

“Watch it dumbass.” He cranes his head to meet your eyes, but when he finds that you’re still avoiding eye contact with him he starts moving around his friends to better talk to you.

“My quirk isn’t that scary you idiot. It’s not like I care enough about any of you to blow you up-“

But with the smoke still curling form his hands and with the permanently intimidating scowl on his face reading closer and close to your, you can’t help but squeal and scrabble around him to sink your nails into Kirishima’s shoulders for protection.

“Okay, I get it! You don’t have to come any closer, I can see fine from here.” Your voice comes out too high and strained to be deemed as joking, but nonetheless everyone laughs at your dramatic show.

Everyone but Katsuki. Because he can see you’re actually scared, he’s seen it a hundred times on civilians who try to pretend they’re fine but still have that panicked glint in their eye.

“Jesus Y/N, with a reaction like that maybe he really is a villain. Bakubro, want us to send you back to Shigaraki’s place? Maybe you should reconsider his offer.”

And finally at Denki’s quip everyone including you this time laughs again in playful agreement, but yet again Bakugo’s blood starts simmering further.

Why the fuck were you being so obnoxious? He didn’t do anything to you before, right? So why the hell were you embarrassing him in front of all his friends and making him out to be this bloodthirsty monster?

Well, whatever. If a monster is what you want, then a monster is what you’ll get.

And so he waits for you after school, trailing behind you a couple hundred feet yet still keeping you in sight. He curses when you giggle with your friends, no doubt in his mind that you’re still throwing dirt on his name and he swears under his breath when you talk to Deku and his dweeb friends.

Of course when you hang around ditzy dorks like Deku he’s gonna look like a psycho in comparison.

But at one point you’re by the vending machine alone in a deserted hallway, fumbling with your coins and trying to quickly get a soda before your friends up ahead leave.

Too bad for you, because when he’s done with you they’ll never want to be seen with you again for their own safety.

You’re shoving money in the slot when he silently walks up a couple feet behind you.

“No friends around to gossip about me?”

You shriek and jump a good foot in the air at the sudden voice behind you. Clutching your heaving chest, you whirl around to see who it is.

Your blood runs cold. It’s Katsuki Bakugo, the absolute last person you want to be alone with in a deserted hallway.

Your feet move a step back.

Wrong move.

His nostrils flare and his eyes widen at your insulting retreat. You know he doesn’t take kindly to it, but with an expression like that how could you not?

“Uh, w-what do you mean?” You chuckle nervously.

He doesn’t laugh. In fact, he does something worse.

He matches your steps and moves forward a little bit.

At this you fully take a stride backwards and clash with the vending machine behind you.

He keeps advancing, slowly getting closer and checking you out, his head tilted as his eyes roam up and down your vulnerable body.

“Don’t move back. Why the fuck did you move away from me? That’s rude, we were just having a normal conversation.”

You surprise yourself by sounding level-headed in retaliation. “‘Kinda hard not to be a little uncomfortable when your conversation sounds so accusing.”

He lunges forward and you actually scream this time, throwing your hands up above your head in instinct to protect yourself from his proximity.

Bakugo doesn’t touch you but you can still feel his breath puffing on your head, can still feel the heat from his hands on either side of your body.

“You got a smart mouth don’t you? Is that why you embarrassed me earlier in front of everyone?”

“Embarrassed you-?” You squeak but immediately cut off when he thrusts his face right in front of yours, a manic look on his face as all his facial features stretch into a irate leer.

“I guess we’ll have to fix that tongue of yours. Put it to better use than to talk shit about me, right?”

Vermilion irises move from your face down your body, lingering on your chest and at the apex in between your legs.

Bile rises to your throat as he licks his lips and lets his lips ghost over yours, oh so close yet not touching.

And in the second before he descends, you shove him off with nothing but pure adrenaline feeling your fear and race past him, blindly running down the halls as fast as you can.

Surprisingly, you don’t hear anyone behind you. That doesn’t mean you don’t stop running though.

The real reason you don’t hear anyone behind you is because Katsuki Bakugo has an eerie smile on his face at your bolt. He languidly stretches his arms above his head and relishes in the popping of his joints, and in succession the popping of sparks in his hand. He kicks one leg out, then the other just to ensure you get a fair head start.

You’ve just made this so much more interesting.

He sets off at a light jog, and even in his carefree pace his strides are enough to eventually catch up with you, instinct like an animal’s guiding him through the winding halls and ending up catching a glimpse of your feet as you turn into another lane.

You’re panting, sweat pouring down your eyes as panic makes it hard to breathe or think rationally. The adrenaline that was pushing you is now dying down but at the worst time.

You take a quick glance back and your rapidly beating heart falters as you see him with a grin on his face as he practically jogs leisurely behind you. You’ve seen this same face on him when he’s in the battlefield, blasting through enemy hearts and blowing up heads as if they were fireworks.

He’s bloodthirsty. He wants you.

“Running away again? That’s not very heroic of you babe,” he calls out, and it’s terrifyingly infuriating how he’s not out of breath.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you half scream and sob, trying to run faster but failing miserably.

You see a bathroom sign out of the corner of your eye and frantically stumble towards it.

Katsuki knows you know he’s even you take a turn and he laughs to himself at how boringly easy this is.

Maybe he was scary.

He shakes it off and continues his hunt after you, coming forth until he faces the bathroom door in which you were cowering behind.

There’s a small window, and no other door. Just a couple of stalls, a terrified girl, and a psycho with the taste of revenge practically palpable on his lustful tongue.

He knock with faux politeness. “You wanna come out and do this the easy way or you want me to barge in and take you myself?”

You sob and wheeze in response, desperately pushing against the flimsy door in a pathetic attempt to keep him out. Bakugo merely crosses his arms and leans against the door, staring intently at it with a smile still on his face.

Judging by the weight pushing more at the bottom of the door, he can tell you’re probably sitting down in an effort to catch your breath.

You both know he can come in at any time he so well pleases, but he decides he’ll play by your rules for a bit longer, indulge you a little before your inevitable downfall.

He hums loudly and slides down to join your parallel position on the floor.

“I’m tryina be nice here, y’know. You acted so scared of me when I never even bothered you before. Aren’t I being nice right now by letting you choose for yourself?”

He sounds so conversational, as if he were talking to one of his buddies. You stay silent but your silence speaks volumes.

It serves as nothing but a means to piss him off further.

The two of you sit in silence for seemingly hours, even though it’s only around 20 minutes. Every second you feel like he’s going to break down the door any second and blast your face off, but miraculously he doesn’t.

You don’t know what you’d rather prefer: for him to prolong your strained agony by letting you be so close yet so far from him, or to end your suffering and get it done with.

But you needn’t sit in silence stewing in your own fear any further, for at the exact moment you begin to doze off with the dying of the light the weight on the other side of the door lifts and you startle awake at the scuffling on the other side.

You blink a couple of times and blanch when you see through the window the purple light indicating that you really have been here longer than you thought.

Bakugo cracks his knuckles and rolls his head, popping a few more kinks in his neck before breathing out and bracing for impact.

“Ready or not little bitch, here I come.”

“Bakugo, wait-!”

But your plea doesn’t last for more than two words. The door bangs open with such a sound that you actually think he’s blasted it straight off his hinges. You gasp and shield yourself, jumping backwards and covering your face.

“‘Thought I made it clear by now that you can’t run. So why’d you try to leave? Huh? Think you’re smarter than me? You think you’re stronger than me?”

He’s stalking forward again, and you’re left tripping back over your feet and whimpering at his salacious intent as he backs you up and corners you into a stall.

He already knows the answers to his rhetorical questions but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear that scornful conviction in your voice about how big and bad he was that you used earlier.

With you tripping backwards into the cramped stall, his approach quickens in hunger at feeling you, feeling the fear radiating off your body.

Bakugo presses up against you against the wall and takes up the space around you, invading your personal bubble. He’s everywhere, growling in your ear, hands gripping your waist so tight you’re sure bruises sprout from his touch, his erect penis grinding on the inside of your thigh.

Your trepidation and terror rises to an insurmountable height as he smothers you.

When he suddenly grips your chin and forces your head to face him you gasp. His touch is even more callous than you thought.

“You lookin’ here bitch? Good.”

His palm is raised towards you and before you can even widen your eyes in realization his appendage starts sparking madly. You shriek and try to throw him loose as little bits of embers fly out and made your face, his voice rough as always yet dangerously low and soft.

“S’not so scary after all is it? You’re reacting better to it than I thought.” Bakugo Blanca you mocks your writhing figure as you desperately try to evade the mini explosions.

“Okay, I get it, please stop I don’t like it!” You shrilly cry out but his hand moves from your jaw down to your neck, and squeezes the last remnants of opposition out of you.

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad you get it. But honestly, I don’t care if you don’t like it.

Because I like it. I fucking love this quirk, ‘specially when you cower so prettily under it like you did earlier.”

You choke and try to scrabble at his hands but it’s like a butterfly’s touch to him, barely producing any fruition.

“I kept wondering to myself: why do I care if she’s scared of it? And then I realized,” he leans in and lets his lips brush over your ear, lets his hand lessen ever so slightly so that your main focus is his words.

“You just looked good enough to eat when you know you’re beneath me. When you know how dangerous I am.”

He pulls back and assesses the look on your face. “Makes you look good enough to eat.”

And without further ado he lowers his hand and starts rubbing his alit palm on your clothed pussy, his erection getting harder as your screams wilt into whines.

Your legs flail uselessly as he burns a hole through your pants and his fingers hook aside the band of your panties.

Bakugo thrusts his hips forwards and grinds his straining cock on your moist lips, taking in your blubbers and teary eyes.

You can’t even speak, you can only cry out like a child as he thrusts harder and harder, so hard that your back hits the wall painful and the stall walls rattle behind you.

“You-pant-fucking scared-pant-now slut?” He rasps, his head bobbing on rhythm with yours as he practically lifts you off your toes to match his pace.

Your clit is caught between the fabric and rolled cruelly pleasurable as his tip leaks precum, staining your own panties in the process.

With your attention rapt on his now-uncovered dick sliding in and out of your folds, he takes this opportunity to take his other hand off your neck and blast the wall next to your face.

The second you open your mouth in shock as bits of tile rain down on your face he slams his steaming palm over your lips, burning the soft flesh as you weep openly.

He sets off two more near your sides and another above your head, his own face aligned right in front of yours so you can see the mean smile on his face all the while he sets your heart racing at an alarming speed.

When the smoke clears and you can start feeling glass and tile imprint on your once-smooth face, he positions his dick up so that it prods at your hole and yanks your hair back.

His eyes practically glow with the mini fires preserved in the walls with his blasts, the impact of the air rushing around him makes his hair even spikier, his body is taunt and even more imposing than before.

His teeth gleam with the orange and red light next to you. His chest doesn’t heave, because he’s at ease with your terror.

“You think you know fear?”

With one swift movement he shoves up into you, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth.

“You haven’t met me truly yet.”

[cdroloisms]

idk why but i imagined vegas 2.0 as two soccer moms (the politics bois) trying to outdo each other while their sons are dragged into it (green bois) in a rlly fvcked way. e.g.

maybe big q reconsidering dream's usefulness by saying sam's enough as protection and has other things to offer to the team as well. wilbur steps in by suggesting a duel between sam and dream then, to prove it then. maybe while it happens, wilbur whispers to quackity a list of what is still physically broken abt dream post prison (so many unhealed bones, barely healed muscle, he can barely stomach food so he had like 1 steak in the past few days, etc.) and of course, he mentions dream's most powerful asset, the revive book :)

-🐇

LMAOO

this is hilarious and also accurate as hell ,, thank you anon because the image of c!wilbur and c!quackity as PTA moms is completely sending me. this prompt (as most vt2 related things are) was really fun !! it also kinda ran away from me, which is why this ended up being almost 6k words instead of my usual 1-2k for asks, but i hope you enjoy it regardless :]

tws: implied torture/abuse, death, violence, blood, injuries, conditioning, dehumanization, panic attacks, emotional distress, trauma, unhealthy relationships (so many unhealthy relationships), smoking, dark contents, dark themes, vt2 au is always really dark so definitely proceed with caution !! dark portrayals of c!quackity, c!sam, c!wilbur, and c!dream

It starts, as many things do nowadays, with a board meeting - which seems to be as much of a sign as any that everything is going to go to shit. Board meetings for Quackity, much like Wilbur’s stupid group therapy sessions, are just a thinly veiled attempt for the two to fight for control of pretty much everything - ranging from the casino schedules to the laws still being written for Las Nevadas to what food to stock in the vending machines. As Sam is still sitting on his false throne of moral superiority and therefore less inclined to indulge himself in the same blatant corruption that characterizes their discussions, and Dream - more than anything - knows his place (which hardly gives him any position to wrangle for power among the likes of Wilbur and Quackity), the fights for control more or less remain restricted between the two. More often than not, they devolve into proving their superiority over the other by using their control of Dream (which naturally never means anything remotely good for him as a consequence) so when Quackity strolls over, all tight-lipped smiles and a cigarette held between clenched fingers, Dream really doesn’t feel anything other than dread.

Still, orders by Quackity are still orders - Dream knows this fact better than he knows that he’s alive and breathing, better than the fact that he’s out of the prison, better than he knows his own goddamn name - and Dream is far too well-trained to ever consider trying to rebel. So when the time comes - 7:30 pm, sharp - Dream is in his chair, spine straight and head alert like a goddamn dog, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long for the others to arrive. Sam comes over first, leveling him with a heavy, distrustful stare as he sits down in the chair across from Dream, the expression nearly enough for Dream to roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fear that rockets through him, still, at the sight of the Warden so close to him. Sam has made it more than clear from the very beginning that he has no trust at all for Dream, that if he had his way then Dream would be locked up for the rest of eternity in a labyrinth of blackstone and obsidian, forever guarded by his ever-present supervision. Dream feels his ears burning with heat as he dips his eyes low to the surface of the table, wanting no more than to curl up and hide under the scrutiny of the Warden’s glare.

Quackity enters next, throwing open the door of the conference room loud enough to make Dream jump out of his seat, looking at him with an upturned corner of his lip when he comes back to himself enough to notice. Dream stifles a shudder at his visible good mood, all-too-aware of what that usually meant for him in the cell, stiffening further with a growing ringing to his ears as Sam and Quackity talk and Quackity sweeps past his side to get to his seat at the head of the table, carelessly brushing his fingers along the back of Dream’s neck in a way that makes him freeze, stock-still, in his chair - feeling his fingertips ease themselves over the ridge present there from a thick band of scar tissue, a deep, jagged thing that had been carved from the blunter back edge of Quackity’s axe when he had lost his temper and let the thing slam against the back of his neck, hard enough that it probably would’ve paralyzed him completely if it weren’t for Sam’s use of almost a full chest of regens. Quackity remains over him for a few more seconds, leaning over his chair to talk to Sam as he runs a light, possessive hand over the topmost bumps of Dream’s spine, before settling over into his chair, watching him with a small smirk as he keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.

Dream hates the prickling shame and terror that keeps his muscles tense as he stares at the table’s surface, still feeling the ghost of fingers tracing over skin and bone along the back of his neck, keeps his burning eyes trained on the surface of solid wood as he tries to steady his breaths. It’s all he can do to press down his flinch when Quackity, with a frustrated yell, slams his fist against the table a few minutes later, rage simmering underneath his words as he speaks.

“Where the hell is Wilbur?” His glare slides across the room, landing on Dream, making him shrink back in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Quackity doesn’t stop staring at him even as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pants pocket, lighting it and bringing it to his lips and letting the silver-grey threads of smoke fill the room and press against the inside of Dream’s lungs. “It’s ten minutes til 8 - I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sam digs his fingers into his temples, already looking exhausted. “If you want, Q, we can always start without him and catch him up later. Depends on you.”

“No, then I’ll have to repeat myself and it’ll be pointless and ugh,” Quackity makes a vaguely frustrated noise as he finally turns his eyes over to Sam, making Dream’s shoulders shudder as he finally finds the air to take a breath, “We’ll just have to wait. Fucking idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have worked with any of these fuckers.”

In true Wilbur fashion, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later when the taller man finally makes an appearance, the entire time tense as hell as Quackity takes slow, steady drags of his cigarette and taps his fingers impatiently against the table’s surface. He offers one to Sam, who goes on to decline, making a short quip telling Quackity to watch his health for the future that promptly falls flat. Dream thinks he’s a fucking hypocrite, considering his whole deal with weednip or whatever Ant has on him, but doesn’t voice the thoughts as he sinks down in his chair, wishing more than anything to disappear. Against the fabric of his shirt, the right side of his chest itches, and he presses his palm against the place where he knows there is a small, irregular grid of pockmarked scars from when Quackity had taken smoke breaks in the middle of sessions.

“There you all are,” Wilbur smiles as he slides into the room, a covered metal tray held in his hands as he kicks the door closed and slides the tray onto the table with an awful screech. “I’m sorry for being late,” he continues, sounding not very sorry at all, “but I made some food to make up for it!”

He takes off the cover with a flourish; underneath, sunny yellow squares, nearly blindly bright, look up blankly under the conference room’s overly harsh lighting. They smell sugary and vaguely sour, stinging his nose slightly, and seem to be coated with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Lemon bars!” Wilbur grins, just left of sincere, “they’re gluten-free!”

“God,” Quackity laughs, sounding slightly incredulous, shaking his head. Dream’s gut rolls at the sound, Wilbur’s smile growing wider, even more dangerous, at the tone. It’s familiar, the way the two of them challenge each other, and in a rare moment of solidarity Dream watches from the corner of his eyes as Sam’s shoulders hunch as well. The two of them always bring trouble, even normally, but when they’re in this mood? Actively challenging each other, toeing the line, trying to find the limits and push them just because they can? Dream shivers in his seat, grip tightening on his own arms; this, he knows, is when they are at their most dangerous - and he has the scars to prove it.

“Gluten-free, huh? Really leaning into the whole ‘PTA mom’ schtick today, aren’t you?” Quackity smirks. “Should I call you Linda from now on?”

“I don’t know, Quackity, I was just thinking that I would make a little healthier treat for all of us, you know?” Wilbur brushes off the remark easily, taking a seat and immediately kicking his feet up onto the table. “If you want it, of course. I would hardly want to get in the way of your professionalism, Mr. President- do you have one of those? Or are you going for a more authoritarian approach”

“Fighting words from someone who rigged an election as President,” Quackity drawls, “and couldn’t even win it, might I add. “

“Oh, Big Q! You fail to understand, I wasn’t criticizing you at all,” Wilbur smiles, jagged, “we agree, I believe, on the failures of democracy. Unless you’ve forgotten our conversation, already?”

“Of course not,” Quackity snorts, and Dream doesn’t miss how his gaze shifts towards the side of the room, landing on Dream and making him curl further in his seat. “I’ll save you from me trying to pick your brain, this time, but don’t worry. You make yourself…rather hard to forget.”

Wilbur claps, seeming satisfied with this round of verbal sparring, and the sharp sound of his hands meeting together nearly has Dream jumping in his seat. “So! Lemon bars- does anyone want any?”

Dream is keenly aware of two pairs of eyes landing on him, Wilbur and Quackity watching for his reaction with bated breath and narrowed eyes. Panic crawls up his throat; he knows the purpose behind their stares, knows that he’s once again become the object of one of their power struggles. Quackity’s orders rattle in his brain, his thoughts a messy jumble of pins all knocked loose from his time in the prison, hopelessly unorganized and running on little more than instinct. Wilbur is expecting him to eat, to give into his sweet pastries and sweeter words; the lesson not to eat, move, think without permission, hammered into him between chunks of potato and battered ribs and blood gathered in the crevices of his skin, keeps his hands at his sides instead of reaching towards the pastries still set in the middle of the table. Even with Quackity at the opposite side of the room, Dream swears that he can still feel the pressure of a hand against the back of his neck, pressing just hard enough to make itself known from the feeling of fingers pressing into either side of his spine - he doesn’t even quite feel himself shaking his head, only really realizes what he’s done when he hears Wilbur sigh in frustration and meets Quackity’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll take one,” Sam says, sounding exhausted, eyes flitting from Wilbur to Quackity to Dream with an increasingly long-suffering expression. His face twists around the first bite of the bright yellow pastry, nose scrunching as he puts it down, missing a half-moon bite along one corner, and drags his fingers over the table to ease off the remnants of powdered sugar. Wilbur watches him, seeming amused, and Quackity rolls his eyes as he pulls a binder out of his inventory.

“Now that everyone is finally here,” he starts, directing a particularly dead-eyed stare at Wilbur, “we can finally get on with the meeting. I was thinking we could go over the budget, today, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”

It sounds innocent enough - which is the first sign of many that this meeting, whatever it is, is going to be anything but pleasant. The grin that steadily grows on Quackity’s face does nothing to assuage Dream’s anxieties, only pushing them higher as the man flips open the binder and messes with it for a few seconds longer before seemingly finding what he’s looking for.

“I think we all know that until Sam finishes with the bank, funds around here are going to be a little bit tight,” Quackity begins, waiting for all of them to nod before continuing, “And we really need to save wherever we can. I recounted the budget yesterday, just to make sure that we’re all on track, and- well,”

Quackity points to a circled series of red numbers that Dream doesn’t understand but can assume mean little good for them. Sam makes a low, considering noise, sounding strangely concerned, and Wilbur actually seems to close his mouth and lean forward in curiosity.

“We have a deficit,” Quackity continues when they’ve all settled back into their seats, “and we’ll get it all back once Sam gets the bank up and running, but for now our funds are...limited. I don’t want to stop progress on Las Nevadas, of course, we really don’t have time to waste. So I thought we’d have a meeting today to discuss the budget and eliminate any expenses that we might find-” Quackity gestures with a smooth twirl of his wrist, “expendable.”

Sam hums. “Do you have anything in mind, Quackity?”

“A few,” Quackity flips to the next page, where he’s seemingly jotted a few notes - different things that they can put off for the moment, it seems, and the money that would be saved for forgoing them temporarily. Dream reads down the list quickly, stilling at the last item.

“Quackity,” Sam sounds twenty times more tired already when he speaks, tone flat and a little irritated. “Why is Dream on the list?”

Quackity shrugs. “Hear me out, now- most of our money right now is going into living expenses for the four of us. Having more people here, until everything becomes more sustainable, is a huge drain on our resources. I’m just listing all our options.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam huffs. “Throw him back in Pandora?”

Quackity shakes his head.

“Wilbur does have the revive book knowledge, you know,” he says, and Dream’s blood runs cold. He can’t run, can’t move; he’s stuck in his seat, heart hammering faster in his chest as the other three hardly spare him a second glance. Sam purses his lips, a considering expression flashing over his face, as Quackity presses on. “Seriously- listen, Sam. There’s nothing that Dream is really offering, at the moment, that the rest of us can’t handle. Wilbur has the revive book, you can act as security to take out any threats - really, we shouldn’t be pissing anyone off until everything officially opens, and we can always retrieve him then when we need him. He’ll be out of the way, which means he won’t be able to start any fucking trouble,” Quackity laughs, short. “It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know, Quackity,” Sam says, the words slow, but the tone is familiar enough for Dream to know that he’s already mostly given in. “It’s a risk, isn’t it? None of us but Dream have really used the revive book, before.”

Wilbur doesn’t even look at him when he chirps a reply. “That won’t be a problem, Sam. I’d be very happy to test it out, if you want.”

Quackity leans forward, and Dream nearly gags; he’s preening in his spot, eyes dancing as he smiles up at Sam. “Anything else you can think of?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trails off, and Dream looks down, only barely staving off the panic squeezing around his lungs and tears burning in his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t envisioned before, nothing he hasn’t expected, but this- he feels like such a fool, for hoping- “If we get ambushed, Q, I really don’t know if gear is going to be enough. You remember what Technoblade did last time.”

Quackity huffs, sounding annoyed, but nods to concede the point. “That is...fair. But then again, we don’t exactly know how good Dream is either, do we?” Quackity finally leans over to look at him, and Dream feels himself choke on his own breath at the dangerous gleam in Quackity’s eyes, all-too-familiar in their scrutiny, looking at him the same way they had pinned him to the floor of his obsidian-walled hell. “Anything to say, Dream?”

“I-” The words shake on Dream’s tongue, and he only barely manages a dry swallow as he struggles through the rest of his sentence, shrinking back from the heavy weight of three pairs of eyes fixed on his own, “I can be useful, s-” he only barely manages to bite down the word, a new wave of shame making him shrink back further past the fear. Quackity’s lip twitches upward.

Wilbur twirls a pencil in one hand, looking spectacularly bored; Dream’s chest shrieks with a harsh spike of envy at his composure. “How about you prove it?” His eyes are laughing when Dream gets a good look at them, amusement clear at the idea. “Put on a show?”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“You want to know if Sam can serve as an adequate replacement for Dream’s combat prowess, no?” Wilbur leans back in his chair as he talks, still focused on spinning his pencil over and between his fingers, “Why doesn’t he prove it? Let them duel, one on one. If Sam kills Dream, then you’re right, we’re done, and we can all move on with our days. If Dream wins, then he’s proved his worth, and we can figure out the rest of the budget after. What do you think?”

Quackity’s lips press together, seeming displeased, but he doesn’t say anything in return. Sam, ever practical, drums his fingers against the table.

“That sounds...fair,” Sam purses his lips. “How would we judge this? Equal gear?”

Wilbur only smiles wider as he shakes his head. “I was thinking we would make it a little more accurate to reality, if Dream’s services were truly to be needed. Sam, you can keep your own gear, and Dream should use his own. I guess on your end we can fight until you yield, but for him…”

The words are left unsaid, but Dream flexes his hands underneath the table as he catches onto the implications. For him, it’s a fight to the death.

Sam shrugs. “That works for me. Dream?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Wilbur claps, bringing his hands to his chest and looking thoroughly thrilled at the prospects of the potential duel. Quackity glares at Dream but doesn’t say a word, and Dream hunches into himself, nearly folding himself in half as he ducks as far as he can down his seat. Sam pulls out his sword, flipping it around and testing its weight, and Dream doesn’t quite manage to suppress his full-body shudder at the sight. “Let’s get started, then.”

They move out in a roughly single-file line out of the conference room, Wilbur making idle chatter as Sam continues to examine his armor and weapons as they walk. They settle into an open space in the still-unfinished casino that Wilbur looks around for a second and then deems appropriate for the duel. Sam sets down an enderchest to gather his necessary materials, and Dream settles in front of it himself afterwards, shifting the lid open with shaking hands as he tries to work through his inventory.

He’s started the process of building up his gear again in his spare time, but he’s not had the time to finish gathering netherite for both himself and Wilbur - Wilbur meets his eyes with a sly wink before equipping the set of netherite armor that Dream had crafted for him, and Dream stifles a desperate snarl. He doesn’t even have the other set (still a gleaming blue from unplated diamond) enchanted, outside of a Sharpness book that he had slapped onto a diamond axe. He gathers the rest of his supplies with careful hands, trying to press down the increasing trembling of his limbs from his growing panic, flexing his arm around the weight of a shield once again and pocketing steaks and golden apples from his hoard.

He has no potions, no good weapons, not even a properly enchanted crossbow to offer the slightest bit of an advantage. Dream lets his eyes flick up to where Sam is waiting at the opposite side of the room, standing up straight with enchanted netherite covering him head to toe and a familiar axe slung over his shoulder, and tries not to break down right then and there. It’s too familiar, too reminiscent of obsidian walls and netherite pressed against his ribs and demands that he behave, and despite the glittering white walls and high ceiling and cold night air he swears he could fall just from the memories alone. Drowning within them, he distantly remembers a duel long-past under a bright blue sky, Sam laughing under a swirl of potion particles on the grass surrounding the Community House lake, and wonders which of the memories hurt more.

“Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream stills in his place, slamming the lid of the enderchest shut as his heart hammers in his ears. Quackity watches him intently, expression twisted in disappointment, and some beaten, instinctual part of him whines uncomfortably at the sight. “Hurry up.”

Dream nods, because of course he does, and stands with the results of his mad scramble to gather anything that could be useful in the duel to come - a few gapples, steaks, a sword, a bow lacking any enchantments at all, and an axe and shield. It’s a rather pathetic ensemble, but it’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

“Ready?” Wilbur takes place as referee, standing off to the side with a smile on his face as Dream stands across from Sam, holding his axe with a white-knuckled grip as the Warden - expression unreadable through the shadow of his helmet and the mask fixed over his face - squares his own stance in preparation for the fight. “Good luck.”

Wilbur’s arm cuts a line in the air as it drops, and the Warden explodes into action, lumbering forward as he raises his axe over his head to bring it down. Dream tumbles in the opposite direction, letting a long held back, battle-trained part of himself take over as he rights himself back on his feet, swinging up his shield to catch on the downward arc of Warden’s Hammer, frantically pressing back the dregs of fear and panic staining the corners of his vision black as he moves.

The Warden hits slow but hits hard, too big and bulky to really avoid any quick attacks but too well-armored to be easily defeated despite that. He’s a classic tank - Dream skitters out of the way of another hit as he reaches for memories of him that won’t leave him gasping, information on his opponent that didn’t come from within the prison and all its horrors.

He’d dueled Sam before, he knows; it wasn’t the same, as Sam was trying out a Turtle Master potion and intent on proving the superiority of Resistance IV against Dream’s own combat prowess. He’d failed, then; Dream forcefully steadies another breath as the sound of the Warden’s armor clanking against the ground almost sends him into another panic. He’ll have to fail now, too.

Fortunately, he’s been allowed food to heal - without it, this fight would probably be near impossible. As it is, even without the potion, the principles of this duel are the same. Dream swings up his axe, catching the blade hurling towards him in the crook where the head meets the handle just long enough to pull himself out of the way and let the Warden’s weapon fall uselessly to the ground. Dream raises his head in the second he has, tracing his gaze over the Warden’s armor in search for places to exploit. Even the best defenses aren’t perfect. All he needs to do is survive for long enough to chip through it.

A fumbled dodge leads to the Warden’s blade skimming past his skin, carving a thin red line in the skin of his upper arm. He hisses as he dives out of the way of the next blow, the twinges of pain from the area almost enough to make his vision unfocused, almost enough to send him tumbling head-first into the part of him screaming submit submit submit if you don’t fight back they won’t hurt you more. He grits his teeth as he swings forward, knocking away the axe coming towards him with his axe long enough to push forward with his shield and knock the Warden further away from him. He can’t afford to flinch, can’t afford to let fear take control of his movements as it has so many times before. The keening desperation running through his veins is familiar, but desperation can fall both ways, can make him fight or flee - and there’s only one real option that will end with him getting out of this alive.

Dream stands and forces himself to meet the next swing hurling towards him dead on, raising his shield to catch the blade and pushing forward past the shuddering shock in his left arm from the force of the blow. His own blade arcs downward in the next second, scraping against the Warden’s netherite armor with a metallic screech. He manages to get in two more blows before the Warden’s next attack has him backing away to dodge, shaking off his arm to get his shield ready for the next attack.

He has to stay on the offensive, keep pressing the Warden back and forcing the other to play defense. He’s still weak from the prison; in terms of brute strength, he’s no match from the Warden, not after months of starvation and torture stuck in a box with hardly enough room to stretch his legs. All he really has going for him is his speed and his experience, neither of which will do him any good if he teeters over the edge into the panic attack he’s been trying to hold off the entire time. Dream runs forward, not giving himself more than a second to breathe as he rushes the Warden once again, switching weapons mid-leap to a sword that will allow for quicker blows in the time that he has the Warden off-balance enough to attack freely. He scores a series of glancing hits on the Warden, none doing any major damage but altogether enough to make the Warden back off, wary, with a gasping note of pain, and Dream shakes his head to force himself to focus before running forward once more.

The Warden pulls out a shield of his own, and Dream switches back to the axe and swings it squarely into the shield, then twists himself around to the Warden’s unprotected back to catch him with another heavy blow that leaves him reeling in the second he takes to recover. He’s clearly untrained with a shield, his left arm clumsy as he tries to block Dream’s blows, and Dream uses the opportunity to score another few solid hits to the Warden’s sides and legs, getting a good blow with the blunt side of his axe into the back of one of his knees, leaving the warden limping when he pulls away.

Dream has hardly come off unscathed in the fight - he wheezes out a heavy breath through his teeth, chest aching from a hit that had broken one of his ribs. The exertion and anxiety still pressing at the back of his throat has left him light-headed, and he bites through a crisp, almost sickeningly-sweet bite of golden apple to close a wound bleeding sluggishly on his side. Neither of them can go on for much longer; the Warden’s grip tightens on his axe, and Dream swallows past the shudder that arises from the sight.

Once again, he raises his axe and runs into the fight, parrying the coming strike and twisting out of the way to strike at a joint of the Warden’s armor with the flat of his blade. The Warden’s arm raises, and Dream bites off a yelp of alarm as the handle of his axe is levied against his unarmored side, knocking him off-balance and falling back onto the ground, too disoriented to catch himself. He lands on his left arm, and his vision goes white as it gives out with a sharp crack.

Through half-lidded eyes, he can make out the Warden stalking closer, axe raised and ready to end the fight - end him. His chest shakes in a pathetic wheeze for breath, arm completely useless from where it’s screaming in pain underneath him. He needs to move, now, if he wants to survive this - fear swells forward, unhindered as his focus is broken by the vice grip the pain has on his skull - he’s shaking, now, the terror so familiar he can taste it - salt and iron and sticky-sweet health potions against the backs of his teeth-

The Warden raises his axe.

No.

Dream raises his sword just in time to catch the blade hurtling towards his neck, uses his foot to kick against the Warden’s grip on the handle. The axe clatters out of his grip, falls forward - Dream rolls away, breathing harshly around the pain threatening to make him black out. Unarmed, the Warden takes a second to grab a sword from his inventory while Dream forces himself back to his feet and kicks the axe as far away as he can.

He’s so flooded with panic he’s choking on it, broken arm hanging limply by his side as he charges forward, sword in hand. He won’t die, not after all this time, not after all this effort - he throws himself at the Warden, batters him with jabs and thrusts that force the other man to back away and parry, snarling wordlessly as he brings his sword to slash forward again and again.

His attacks are messy, uncoordinated, but the Warden is tired and disoriented from the loss of his weapon - he flinches back as Dream hits him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, only barely matching his blows as he continues to push forward. Any hits that he scores on Dream are brushed off with a growl of pain and his sword moving even faster in his fury, and it’s not very long at all before he’s knocked flat on his back with a sweep of Dream’s legs, gasping for air as Dream pins him to the ground with a blade pressed against his neck.

Dream meets his wide eyes with his own, lips curled back in the same desperate rage that had moved him forwards despite the black creeping into the corners of his eyes and the lancing pain tying its strings around his neck and leaving him gasping for air. The sword in his hand bears threads of blood along its edge, pressing deeper into the Warden’s neck and drawing crimson up to the surface - a thousand fearful, angry thoughts swell up to the front of his skull in a singular, white-hot point. It is the Warden underneath his feet, at the end of his blade, cowering beneath him as he had cowered before - the Warden, the cause of his pain, the reason behind the ache in his gut and the stinging pains in his limbs and the piercing agony from his arm and chest. It would be so easy to push just a little harder, to press the sweet blue blade down and down and down until the Warden is gone and the Warden is dead and the Warden can’t hurt him anymore-

“Down, Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream backs off immediately, losing his grip on his sword as the command has him dragged back by the neck like an invisible leash and collar pulling him away. Sam settles back in a sitting position, still wide-eyed, wincing as he moves and bringing a golden apple from his inventory to heal the worst of his injuries.

“Eat,” Quackity commands again, and Dream only barely manages a stiff nod through the nausea and dread curling around his chest as the adrenaline begins to fade away, fumbling with the golden apple he finds in his inventory and nibbling at it to tide off the worst of the pain.

“Bravo, bravo,” Wilbur grins from the side, clapping slowly as he walks back into the middle of their makeshift arena - he’s taken his armor off again, but it doesn’t make the sight of him any less intimidating. “What a show! We should do that more often, what do you think?”

No, Dream almost screams, I can’t- but Quackity beats him to it, glaring at Wilbur with an incredulous expression.

“We don’t have the time to waste on your fucking ‘shows,’” he snaps, crossing his arms as he swings his gaze over to Dream. “Fine. You’ve proved yourself. Now hurry up - we have to clean up all of this shit and then figure out the rest of this fucking budget.”

Dream pulls himself to his feet, watching from the side as the Warden does the same.

“Make yourself useful and clean off all your fucking blood from the floor,” Quackity meets his eyes with a vicious glare, waiting until he stammers his way through an agreement before turning to the other two in the room. “Sam, Wilbur - with me. I want to get this money issue figured out tonight.”

Dream watches them go as he shuffles to the cleaning closet, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine once they’re out of sight. Make yourself useful, Quackity’s voice rings in his head, and Dream bites his lip, only stopping when he accidentally breaks through skin and the taste of blood floods his tongue.

He has a feeling that those words are going to haunt him for a long, long time.

[mythicamagic]

Sesskag Week: Day One ‘Green’

Title: Stop me if you’ve heard this one before

Summary: Kagome witnesses Inuyasha and Kikyo in another loving embrace and runs away, stumbling straight into Sesshoumaru that moonlit night. (My attempt at an old fandom trope.)

Rated T

Words: 4,000

You can read this on Ao3, Dokuga and Fanfiction.net 

AN: I just wanted to try my hand at an old sesskag fandom trope that I reckon was in the height of popularity from the early 2000s- 2010s. Other tropes from that time included Abusive Inuyasha, no one knowing what the canon end or final battle was like, and mokomoko being sentient. Ah...old memories. If this fic feels like it's from a bygone era, well...that was the intention lol. For Sesskag Week Day One - Green.

-----

Standing frozen stiff, Kagome stared ahead. A gasp remained locked behind her teeth. Slim fingers dug into the bark of a tree she'd hidden behind, gazing around the trunk towards a couple cradling each other tightly.

This was the second time. The first had hit harder inside her chest, the slam of heartbreak cracking the fragile shell of first love that had closed around her heart.

But she'd made a promise to Inuyasha; to remain by his side. She needed to get over this haze of green misting her eyes, the jealousy roaring through her veins. Inuyasha and Kikyo used to be lovers, it was perfectly natural and humane to want to hold his lost love.

That didn't make it any easier to see.

In fact, the emotion welling up in her throat threatened to burst louder than before. Fearing the strength of her own reaction, Kagome stepped back. She took another, then another, whirling around to flee into pitch-black darkness.

I wanted to be more mature about this, she thought. The tears stinging her eyes bespoke of her anger, worry, and heartache- like an old wound had been freshly ripped open anew.

Kagome couldn't be understanding or mature, not like poised Lady Kikyo likely could. Kagome was 15, emotive and sparking. She was fire, passion, a roaring flame of anger that could climb so high nothing would stifle it.

Stumbling over tree roots in the dark, quiet woods, Kagome ran blind. When she felt that she'd covered enough ground, far away from the lover's embrace, she stopped abruptly in the middle of a meadow. Sweat beading her temple and throat burning, she threw back her head.

And yelled.

She threw all turbulent emotions into it, crying so loud her windpipe protested. The noise became horse and broken before she stopped.

Standing within that moonlit clearing, Kagome caught her breath, tears threatening to spill over.

"Must you make such noise in the dead of night?" a steady voice drawled.

Her chest constricted, breath halting. Shadows peeled off from the trees, a figure revealing itself under the moonlight.

Kagome blinked hard, trying to fight tears as Sesshoumaru stepped closer. She moved back to keep distance, vaguely wary. Shit, she'd forgotten her weapons.

He wasn't an enemy per se anymore but they weren't exactly allies either. Since he'd adopted that human girl, they seemed to be in more of a stalemate. Nonetheless, the caprice of the Killing Perfection's moods were unpredictable.

"M-my bad, I didn't think anyone was around."

"You cried like a wounded animal," his lips curved, as though enjoying the thought. "Take heed, girl; such wailing will disturb demons with keen hearing- and not all are as forgiving as I tonight."

"Right, duly noted," she mumbled, rubbing her arm. Damn it. She'd just wanted a place to cry. Sesshoumaru was the last person she wanted to feel vulnerable around.

Golden eyes slid up to observe something beyond the trees. Turning to follow his line of sight, her chest constricted- glimpsing a trailing soul collector in the sky.

"Inuyasha's dead priestess uses those creatures, does she not?"

"Y-yeah, they're Kikyo's soul collectors."

His attention returned to her face, resting heavily there. It disquieted her until at length, he finally made a noise. "...Hn."

The Daiyouki smoothly pivoted, walking out of her available vision to meld within thick darkness again, but she sensed him linger beneath the trees, perhaps taking a seat.

"Keep the snivelling to a minimum."

Kagome startled, blue eyes widening. The first tear fell- closely followed by the second. Soon a stream of them flooded down her face, and she crumpled to her knees, palm clasped tight over her mouth as she tried not to sob.

She wasn't sure how or why. How she could suddenly fall apart in front of him when Kagome prided herself on not crying in front of anyone if it were possible. The why also remained a mystery- why did he invite her to stay? Sesshoumaru was not a charitable sort. Perhaps his sadistic streak enjoyed the salt of endless tears.

Kagome stayed there, quivering in the moonlit clearing for a good while, grass cushioning her bare legs, arms wrapped around herself protectively. When at last the sobs abated, she shakily stood.

Without a word to the demon who had watched her like a voyer of her pain, Kagome headed towards the village after piecing herself back together.

She couldn't see Sesshoumaru's expression, nor the way in which citrine eyes followed her figure until she stepped out of sight.

---

It wasn't like Kagome cried after every damn encounter with Kikyo, though they did leave her worn and exhausted. She felt mighty proud of not bursting into sobs the second Inuyasha's eyes lingered on her a little too long. But Kagome could bear that. She could bear many things.

It was fine, totally fine. She was fine!

Until she wasn't.

It had been two months since that emotional night and thankfully Sesshoumaru hadn't acknowledged her fine display of despair and teenage hormones. In fact, he seemed a little quieter during their encounters while hunting for Naraku, pinpointing her amidst her friends and eyeing her carefully sometimes.

So it was with mild surprise that Kagome stumbled into him again on one such occasion where she needed a good cry. And then again a few weeks after- followed by another encounter near a waterfall a month later. Every time, Sesshoumaru said nothing. He merely waited a respectable distance away, not particularly looking at, nor acknowledging her sorrow as she let out pent up frustrations.

What should be an immensely private thing had changed. Kagome wasn't sure what to feel about it, especially when he began erecting barriers around the area.

Almost like he was ensuring her privacy while continuing to invade it himself.

"W-why…?" she choked out one evening, sitting upon a log with only the Daiyoukai for company. Inuyasha and the others were none the wiser, sitting back at camp further within the forest. "Why are you here, hanging around? Is it fun for you to watch this?" her anger simmered, misdirected.

Sesshoumaru's lazy gaze slid over to her, reclining at the base of a tree. He huffed, drawing a knee up to gracefully drape an arm over it. "Your wailing is an assault on my hearing, I derive no pleasure from this."

"Then what's the deal? I find it hard to believe you're doing it for me."

"Hn, you are correct, I am not," he freely admitted. "This act of concealment is out of acknowledgement. Warriors must not show weakness in battle, nor to anyone but a select few. I am merely ensuring your wish to hide your pain is successful since you are so terrible at doing it yourself," inhuman eyes pinned her in place. Her breath stalled at their intensity. "Your desire to conceal tears and weakness is unexpected for one as emotional as you."

Kagome picked at her fingers. "It's not out of a sense of duty or warrior pride as you seem to think. I just don't like burdening people with my problems. Only...all this energy piles up and explodes out as anger at Inuyasha anyway, I'm not suppressing or hiding anything at the end of the day," she gave a self-deprecating smile. Letting out a long whoosh of air from her lungs, Kagome turned to him.

"For what it's worth, thanks. For uh- concealing me. I still think it's odd that you're going to all this trouble but I'm grateful."

He arched a brow, unruffled and outwardly placid.

Wiping the remaining tears away, she gave a weak smirk. "Urgh, I blubber so loudly over a guy I really shouldn't be in love with. Kinda stupid."

"Indeed," he drawled without sympathy, glancing away.

"And you're still a jerk," she hummed, smiling slightly. But a weird, considerate one. Was it possible to be both considerate and a jerk?

Sesshoumaru did not look at her, tilting his head back to gaze at the branches overhead.

"You 'blubber' so loud a 'barrier' is necessary in order to keep your privacy. Inuyasha would catch your scent otherwise."

"Can Naraku see us like this?"

"The barrier does not mask us from sight, it merely hides scent. It is effective on Inuyasha and other demons but the spider could easily survey us from a distance."

Kagome sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Gotcha," she murmured, falling into a strangely companionable silence with him, before asking; "have you ever been in love?"

His reply was immediate and crisp; "no. Such things are for fanciful beings."

Biting her lip to keep from mentioning his 'Great and Powerful Father' had fallen victim to such fanciful things too, she hummed.

Sesshoumaru frowned in her direction. "Speak."

"I just think- when you do experience love, it's gonna knock you off your feet."

He sneered, "you think yourself an expert on the subject?"

"Gods no! Do I look like one?" Kagome grinned, gesturing to her tear-stained cheeks.

Sesshoumaru searched her face, visibly relaxing slightly. He tilted his head, surveying his sharp nails. "For what it is worth, if I had an opinion on the matter- which I do not," he assured. "I should think your fanciful 'love' emotion is not supposed to cause such pain. I question your dedication to it."

"My feelings for Inuyasha aren't something I can turn off. Believe me, I would if I could," shifting she gazed up at the stars, smiling gently. "Wow, Ursa Major looks so clear and close tonight."

Youki brushed her senses, her only warning. Soft grass crunched beneath boots as Sesshoumaru joined her on the log, sitting beside her. Mokomoko brushed the exposed skin of her knee. His eyes narrowed. "You are referring to the stars?"

Kagome blinked with surprise at his sudden piqued interest, raising a hand to point them out. "Yeah, a constellation. Ursa Major starts there and ends there," her finger drifted.

Sesshoumaru's blank features became lofty, huffing. "That is the incorrect name for it. Those stars are called Satoko."

"Who told you that?"

"My instructor when I was young. And this collection," he reached out, plucking her hand out of the air and redirecting her point to another constellation, "is Mineko, a volcano spirit."

Her skin burned at the contact, feeling his calloused palm, rough from years of training- clasping the back of her hand. Kagome blinked, feeling strange. Her stomach jumped, and she felt grateful and confused when he released her.

"I-I see! Tell me more about them, are they linked to your demonic heritage?" Kagome asked, flexing burning fingers in her lap.

Even hours afterwards, the sensation of warmth and strong youki flitting over her flesh continued to itch at her skin.

---

"I don't want to talk to you! JUST BACK OFF!"

Inuyasha's expression flickered, open hurt briefly appearing before white ears pinned flat to his skull. "FINE! Go running home again, see if I care!"

Kagome stormed away, hands balled into fists. She didn't call for Kirara to fly her to the well, she couldn't be bothered to haul herself back to the future and continue their long and tired trend of long-distance pining followed by disgruntled reconciliation.

She was tired.

Miroku, Sango and Shippo were tired too, judging from the multiple sighs sounding out behind her.

Before she could step out of earshot, she heard the monk murmuring to Inuyasha, encouraging him to follow her and make up. Likely to save everyone the hassle of another drawn-out spat.

Oh no.

Hadn't anyone listened to what she'd said? She didn't want to be chased in some coy 'let's have a fake argument' way. Real hurt and bone-weary annoyance soured her mood.

Hurrying away, Kagome began to run alongside a stream, jogging through a sparse forest and hoping to put distance between them. So lost in her thoughts of avoiding the Hanyou was she that Kagome burst through a youki barrier without noticing, glancing over her shoulder with paranoia.

By the time she detected wafts of steam brushing her skin, it was too late to stop. She gaped upon facing forward, almost crashing headfirst into a well-sculpted chest.

Long strands of silver against bare skin caught Kagome's dazed attention, gaze travelling up to find golden eyes staring down at her. Sesshoumaru paused half-naked before a hot-spring he'd likely intended on bathing in, tipping his head to one side in a silent demand for explanation.

"Kagome!" a distant voice resounded through the trees.

Panic erupted inside Kagome's heart and she turned to the demon. Her hands latched onto his remaining arm, blue eyes stinging.

"Please..."

She couldn't articulate what she wanted, even though it was so simple. Something thick clogged her throat.

The Daiyoukai lifted his attention to the trees. He then moved swiftly.

Sesshoumaru tossed his red and white hankimono over her, enclosing it tight around her body. It shielded Kagome from sight as her vision became swallowed by white silks.

Kagome jolted as a hard force shoved her down into dewy grass that perspired from heady steam saturating the air. Before she could react to the plains of a lean body pressing against hers, his weight pinning her to the ground, she heard branches shaking. Twigs snapping.

Her loafers were ripped off her feet, tossed somewhere further away. Likely out of sight. She heard them clatter over the sound of her drumming heartbeat, unable to see what was going on.

"What the- Sesshoumaru!" Inuyasha snarled, sounding slightly out of breath. "The fuck are you doing, hanging around here?"

A clawed hand minded the folds of the hankimono apart just enough to expose the side of Kagome's cheek- firm lips pressing against it. She stiffened. Sesshoumaru kissed her skin heatedly, his sigh billowing hot breath over her sensitive skin.

"Clearly I am enjoying myself with a woman. Do not interrupt, whelp."

Kagome could barely breathe, face turning steadily red. She lay frozen, reeling.

"Keh, whatever. Just tell me if you've seen Kagome pass through here."

He must not be able to smell me...

"Can you not keep tabs on a simple miko, brother?" Sesshoumaru purred, his hand gliding over her covered thigh, stroking back and forth. "Did she flee from you? I cannot say I blame her."

A snarl ripped through the hot springs. "Piss off! I'll find her myself!"

Furious sounds of bushes being slashed aside rang out, Inuyasha's swears becoming fainter as he drew further and further away.

Left with a demon straddling her and enclosed in luxurious silks, Kagome exhaled. She blinked, briefly dazed as the cover was lifted from her face, eyes adjusting. Dappled sunlight stretched across Sesshoumaru's face as he lingered close with an unreadable expression.

Kagome swallowed. "Thanks," she managed to say.

She's never been this close to a guy before, well not like this, anyway. Inuyasha carried her on his back or occasionally in his arms if the situation got dire, and they'd hugged. But this felt different.

Sesshoumaru braced himself over her using his one available arm, corded muscles leading down to a tapered waist. He was handsome in an aristocratic, cold sort of way – all hard angles and sharp edges. Her polar opposite. The heat of his bare skin bled through her school uniform, their hips melded together, and Kagome was struck by something painfully obvious that had eluded her until now.

There were...other options besides just Inuyasha.

Clearly, the Hanyou knew this little nugget too, since he flitted between herself and Kikyo.

But really, Kagome hadn't given it much thought. Hojo liked her but was easily dismissed. Kouga liked her but she'd always been too busy to really give him a chance.

And Sesshoumaru?

Her attention was helplessly fixed on him while the demon craned his neck down, scenting her hair.

Sesshoumaru had never been on the table before. Did he even look at her like that?

Golden eyes slanted to meet her, half-lidded. Her stomach did a flip, thighs twitching. Soft pink lips parted, and his attention flew to her mouth, lingering.

Before she could say anything, Inuyasha's voice sounded out somewhere close by again. "Damn it, Kagome! Just come out! Quit hiding!"

Kagome found herself sighing- stilling when she caught Sesshoumaru's dark rumble. His lips peeled back with displeasure, body leaning up and away from hers, climbing off.

Remaining sprawled on the ground for a moment, she calmed her racing heart. Picking herself up unsteadily, Kagome unwrapped the hankimono from around herself, awkwardly folding it as best she could and handing it back.

"I better go."

He inclined his head. "Until next time."

Next time.

Her gut wrenched. The next time she became upset with Inuyasha chasing after Kikyo. Oh wow. It really had become something so commonplace it felt inevitable.

That wasn't right or normal. That wasn't how she wanted to live, was it? Anticipating one crying session after another?

"Actually, let's meet up," she said, setting her shoulders back.

Surprise brightened his gaze. Sesshoumaru's lips twitched, "meet up, hm? You make it sound like an illicit affair."

Her expression darkened, "no. I'm not into that," she snipped, pushing her vindictive mood down. This was not an offer out of petty revenge. She just wanted to see him out of choice for once. "I brought a telescope. Let's use it tomorrow when it gets dark."

He agreed to it, watching her leave in that quiet, interested way he usually did. Kagome glanced back in time to see him partially turned away- hankimono clenched in his grip and lifted to his nose in a careful inhale.

---

Kagome actually felt quite happy about the meeting. Anticipation had raced through her veins during the entire day, though she didn't breathe a word about it to her friends.

After finishing up her food, she'd hung around camp late into the evening, before inching away with a weak excuse.

She didn't notice Inuyasha's keen eyes trailing after her, too preoccupied with hurrying around a nearby waterfall and retrieving her telescope that she'd hidden behind some rocks earlier.

Carrying the heavy thing up to the crest of a decently sized hill, she staggered upon finding the Daiyoukai already awaiting her at the top.

Kagome stopped and stared. She then felt a genuine smile curve her lips. How strange, that he could invoke such a reaction.

"Did I keep you waiting?"

Sesshoumaru lifted his chin haughtily, grunting. "I am not some lost puppy following you around, miko. I sensed your approach from my camp and generously decided not to stand you up."

Kagome grinned. What a big response. Almost like he was lying.

Giggling softly to herself, she arranged the telescope set, angling it up to face the distant cosmos. "Okay, you're gonna love this. I'm going to bore you with astrology and point out zodiac signs."

"These fancy foreign words do not sound boring," he uttered, leaning in close to view the stars with faint amazement, perhaps not anticipating the clarity of their view. Kagome felt his hip brush her side, her cheeks immediately blazing red. She tried to temper her reaction but failed miserably, looking at him briefly.

His placid features were much too close, familiar dark youki humming in the space between them. Comforting. Golden eyes met hers, ever watchful. Waiting.

"Sesshoumaru!"

They immediately flew apart as though they'd been doing something scandalous, Kagome's heart leaping into her throat.

Inuyasha stood a little ways away, teeth on display, hand resting on his sword. "Get the hell away from her!"

"Inuyasha- wait," she tried to cut in, but Sesshoumaru was quicker. Lifting his remaining hand, he fed youki into it, allowing deadly fingers to elongate into murderous talons. However, much to her surprise, he faced Kagome while flexing them.

"I will kill her if I please, Inuyasha," he rumbled. "She is a mere fanciful human."

Blue eyes widened, but Kagome clocked onto what he was doing immediately. It lingered there under his calm features that he tried to harden into contempt.

He was playing the villain. For her.

Likely out of some misguided desire to keep everything at the status quo, because he believed it would be easier on them both if they weren't seen as friends. Everything halted inside Kagome. She felt like she'd been coasting through her days without really questioning it.

"Bastard!" Inuyasha snarled, ripping his sword from its sheath.

With a strange sense of calm, Kagome raised her head. She then stepped in between them both, placing her fingers atop Sesshoumaru's sharp, transformed ones.

"That's enough," she said quietly, lowering his large hand.

"K-Kagome? What're you doing? Get back!"

"I said; that's enough, Inuyasha!" Kagome grit her teeth, tension gripping her fiercely- until it abruptly left all at once, rendering her exhausted.

"We need to talk," she said softly, gazing at him meaningfully.

Inuyasha blinked, lowering his sword as his ears pricked and lowered.

Turning to Sesshoumaru, she smiled weakly. "We're going to have to cut this meeting short, sorry."

"We can always reschedule."

Kagome gentled, a warmth pooling inside her that she hoped to revisit soon. However, the Daiyoukai hadn't made it three steps away before familiar laughter spread over the vast countryside beyond their hill.

Miasma leaked out of the sky, waning flowers on their stalks and killing the grass, rendering it dulled brown.

Naraku appeared in all his true, villainous glory- at exactly the wrong time nobody wanted to deal with him. However, absolutely no one could ignore this fight, as a completed Shikon jewel rested in the palm of his hand.

Kagome's stomach dropped. She automatically accepted her bow and arrows from Sango and Miroku when they arrived, looking grim-faced and out of breath. Inuyasha lifted his sword again with determination blazing in his eyes.

The Final Battle had begun.

---

They say 'time heals all wounds.'

Kagome would like to have a word with whoever 'they' were because this sentiment proved false. Time muted pain. It concealed it under layers of civilian life, responsibilities, family dinners and get togethers with friends, but her deep wound never really healed. The pervasive desire to return back to a life that had been stolen from her.

She couldn't say it had been perfect in the Feudal Era but she still missed it terribly. Missed her friends, travelling, exploring, strengthening her burgeoning powers.

She also missed someone she hadn't anticipated longing to speak to.

After killing Naraku and getting her hands on the jewel, Kagome had made her wish;

'I wish Kikyo would come back to life.'

It had resulted in trapping Kagome in the future, the Bone Eater's Well closing, barring entrance. She'd figured the look on Inuyasha's face had almost been worth it, his gob-smacked expression kind of hilarious.

Perhaps the wish had been an out of nowhere impulse. Who knew. All Kagome knew was that a part of her had died that day on the hill with the telescope- the candle of first love snuffing out. She still cared for Inuyasha of course, she wouldn't have wished Kikyo alive otherwise, but the act said something. They'd never be anything more than friends.

After trying her hand at dating a few boys in class, Kagome had broken up with them and remained single for the better part of a year. There wasn't anything wrong with them, per se, but it had felt disingenuous.

It wasn't them she wanted to speak to.

At the age of 18, the miko got her chance. Inexplicably, and without warning or provocation, the well reopened again one night.

Kagome stirred awake, lured downstairs by the promise of magic. It pulsed strongly like before, so she slid her legs over the rim of the well without fear that it would be a oneway trip.

Leaping down while still clad in her patchwork style pyjamas, dark hair whipped upwards as blue light swallowed her whole.

Immediately the smell of city smoke was replaced with distinct smells of petrichor. Fresh scents guided her feet to land gently on the bottom of the well, looking up at dark, cloudy skies.

Climbing out and feeling moisture lingering in the air dampening her hair, Kagome looked up, breath hitching.

The clearing looked exactly the same. Achingly nostalgic.

It sprawled empty and lonesome, awaiting her in complete silence. Kagome noticed the dirt disturbed around the well from how often she and Inuyasha had travelled through it.

Breath catching, hot tears stung her eyes.

Laughing weakly to herself, Kagome tried to rub them away in vain, more rolling down her cheeks. Unlike the usual times though, these were happy tears. Relief threatened to buckle her knees.

"I'm home," she shuddered.

"...Welcome back."

Snapping her head up, Kagome swallowed an embarrassing noise, warmth melting into her expression. She took a step, and then another, walking over to Sesshoumaru as he stood a little ways away, moonlight highlighting his hair.

"Y-you're here?"

Golden eyes flitted over her face, gentling a touch. He reached out and brushed pale knuckles against her jaw, catching tears upon it. "I sensed you. As usual, you blubber too loud, miko."

Choking on a sob, Kagome laughed, catching his hand and pressing her lips to the inside of his wrist.

Sesshoumaru stiffened, attention zeroing in on her. Kagome held his gaze as best she could with watery eyes, smiling.

"Date me," she stated plainly.

No second-guessing, no 'will they, won't they?' no more pining or questioning. Kagome refused to do it again.

He seemed somewhat taken aback by her forwardness for a moment, before a strange kind of intensity livened his expression. He wound his single arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

"What boldness, Kagome," he purred, lips ghosting the side of her ear. "But you can do better than that. Are you certain that is all you want from me?"

Kagome blushed hotly, shifting to catch his eye and smirk. "I just made it back here after three years. Let me catch my breath," she teased, hooking a hand under his yellow obi. "But...yeah, I might want more soon, you jerk."

Sesshoumaru rumbled with approval, swiftly ending the charade of teasing and swooping in. His lips claimed hers firmly, and it was not a kind, sweet kiss but she didn't mind, pressing herself against him. His tongue delved into her mouth, brushing against hers as a clawed hand snaked up into dark hair, gripping tight.

Smiling against his mouth, Kagome trying her best to keep up with his rough kiss as he bit and sucked her lips, inhaling her scent. He almost seemed elated, kissing her so quick and eagerly, like he'd been starving for it.

Out of curiosity, Kagome slid her palm over his chest, finding his heart racing.

Sesshoumaru broke away to plant heated kisses against her neck. He panted, the hand in her hair shaking with want of her.

Kagome stared, slowly looping her arms around his shoulders. "You...want me?" she said quietly like an obvious revelation. It felt so strange and surreal.

He huffed with amusement against her lips. "Hn, it appears you have made me fanciful, miko."

Brightening and smiling widely, Kagome pushed up on tip-toe. Guiding his mouth down with palms cradling his striped cheeks, she kissed him again, pouring every powerful emotion left unsaid into it.

End

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Master Post of things I wanted to post while reading ACOSF- mostly humour/ crack lol (Spoilers... Duh...)

First, general opinion: I liked the book generally. I knew it would be very Feysand friendly and I was prepared for that. Not my first choice but I get it. I really had to take a few hours off with the whole hiking scene. That really fucked with me to see Cassian so pissed and militant despite already knowing where Nesta was coming from and how betrayed she felt (ESPECIALLY once I learned that he had guessed they were mates already). I know that self loathing was a major theme but I do think it was laid on a little too thick for too long. I also think there was so much Nessian interaction when things were angsty and then when they were happy I was just WAITING for that full chapter of soft happiness and I feel like a lot of that got lost to Nesta’s relationship with her sister. Above everything though I gotta say that it BREAKS MY HEART that Cassian never actUlly says I love you to Nesta at any point in the book. I know it’s meant to be that he’s always loved her and it’s his actions that show it etc etc but it’s still kind of a blow for him to never say it... never even outright think it in his own perspective (go back and look the closest he gets is saying he’s acting like a lovesick puppy. We only get to see Cassian loving Nesta from her perspective as she realizes it which I get and is beautiful but maybe ONE DECLERATION THANKS). Anyway, I am hoping that opportunity arises in future books. Although.... I don’t think I will read the future books. Maybe I will, but honestly this was just SO MUCH. Like... I think there was too much in the book. Each of these quests could have been its own book and I was happy to keep going because I’m obsessed with Nesta, but I just don’t think I’d be interested enough in the other characters to read something so convoluted again (like I’m sorry the blood rite started with basically 100 pages left that is WILD). It was also so clear that so much of this book was setup for future books and that’s fine but it was kinda messy just being honest. ANYWAY onto more specific thoughts/ jokes:

Chapter 2:

Cassian: I just hope that Nesta knows we are doing this for her benefit, because we care.

Feyre: I don’t care this shit ends now. I’m burning your apartment to the ground.

Also Cassian: *Let’s Nesta fall down a flight of stairs*; *calls Nesta pathetic every day*; *tells Nesta everyone hates her*; *walks around slamming doors all pissy as if he’s the one being held captive*

Chapter 11:

Nesta:Rhysand is an asshole

Me:

Cassian: well everyone fucking hates you

Me:

The way that Cassian thinks about Russet Potato is just straight up not healthy. Like I get looking up to a sibling or whatever but I’m starting to think that Rhys is Cassian’s one true love. Cassian being THAT blind to every one of Rhysand’s flaws is a character flaw of his own. Even Feyre isn’t THAT blind.

Chapter 11 Pt 2:

Nesta from day one: I’m not training in that camp. I hate that camp. I’m not training there. Fuck that camp

Cassian: this is because you hate me, isn’t it?

Me:

Like I’m sorry did we really need Feyre to show up to help him crack that code???

Chapter 10 (and beyond):

My OTP? Nesta and the House of Wind.

It’s a solid enemies to lovers story (chapter 6 she says even the house hates her then later it’s her only friend and ally. Great love story.)

It reveals its heart to her before Cassian does

It knows what she needs

Gave her water on the steps instead of watching her fall down them

Pushes Nesta gently by keeping the fire so Cassian can see that she is afraid and haunted instead of empty and broken. Encourages her to go to dinner with people by barring the library but doesn’t FORCE her to go. The house does not judge her.

Spoils her and is silly with her while she has her sleepover.

Takes an active interest in something important to her and shares one of her hobbies

Side note- this book even has me pissed at the IC about how they treated a damn house!! Like how dare they say no one likes going there! How dare they be so rude to my new #1 favorite book character??? The house just wants to give you cake and books and run you a bath. Perfect partner IMO.

Chapter 17:

Me when Cassian does the bare fucking minimum and tells Rhys to calm the fuck down and stop threatening to kill Nesta:

Chapter 21:

When Rhys said that Nesta always has a choice here I said, out loud, “that’s fucking rich rice ball”. My dog looked up. That’s all.

Chapter 21 (and beyond) pt 2:

Prythian: mating bonds are very rare

Archeron sisters: survey says that was a lie

Prythian: fae fertility is very difficult. Conceiving can take decades

Archeron sisters: survey says that too was a lie

Prythian: No High Fae can survive the birth of an Illyrian winged baby

Archeron sisters: once again, the survey is not on your side here

Chapter 42:

Rhys: this is a bad idea

Cassian: that should be written on the Night Court’s crest

Me, wine glass raised to mouth, scoff more bitter than necessary: yeah it Fucken should”

Chapter 42 pt 2:

Yknow I was genuinely shocked by one thing in ACOSF. I was shocked that Rhysand and I agree on something.

He absolutely fucking shouldn’t be High King.

The mere SUGGESTION that Nesta’s power and fight and trauma and depression and war and entire FUCKING STORY has all been so that Rice cake and French fry can be a high king and queen literally set my blood BOILING at exactly the point in the book that I was starting to VIBE

Side note- Can we please just Fucken stop with the stars blinking in and out of existence in Rhys’ eyes. Like calm down. Rice pilaf has purple night eyes we get it. Just like... simmer please.

Chapter 46:

I GET that it shouldn’t have come out like that and that Nesta’s reasons weren’t right, but get ABSOLUTELY FUCKED RHYSAND for thinking that it is your right to HIDE THE DANGERS OF LABOUR FROM A WOMAN WHO DOES NOT KNOW YOUR SPECIES!!! This had me truly wildin and I think it was a disservice to Feyre’s character too that she didnt lose it more.

Chapter 55 (and earlier):

Cassian: *bows to death as Nesta emerges from the black depths on a throne to rule her undead armies*

Cassian: *watches bleeding as Nesta plucks the harp and wields her Made sword of death to murder Lanthys and claim the ability to stop time itself*

Nesta: So, now I go after the crown

Cassian:

Chapter 57 (and earlier):

Kelpie: You shall be my bride before you are my meal

Helion: *rides enchanted horse up to shoot his second shot with Nesta*

Lanthys: Tries to seduce Nesta into being his Queen even as he attempts to kill her

Eris: I’ll give you anything in exchange for Nesta as my bride

Cassian watching every male being in the universe trying to get with his mate:

Chapter 60:

Emerie: we’re not entering the blood rite, are we?

Cassian: Only if you want to

Brialynn:

Chapter 80:

Nesta: *Saves Cassian’s life in the war*

Rhys: I still hate you and will never forgive you for what you did in not hunting as a child.

Nesta: saves Feyre and Nyx

Rhys: I bow before no one and nothing but my crown and now I shall fall to my knees before you oh mighty saviour queen of all

Side note- can someone please compile a list of all the things that Nesta Archeron had done/retrieved/gone through for the Nigh Court because that shit is astronomical at this point and I really need everyone to start sipping their Respect Nesta Archeron Juice RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!

Anyway I’m emotionally wrecked but shoutout to anyone who made it this far into my ramblings!

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet, (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 1.

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel's operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn't seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +2.1k

Series warnings: talks and mentions of misogyny and sexism, cursing, smoking, drinking, eventual sex, cartel shit, watch me make some shit up to fit reader inside the narrative, guns, dea shit, feels, javier actually being a little bit more introspective, just basically me inserting reader into the third season

Chapter warnings: depictions of misogyny and some cursing

A/N: This chapter is set in season three, episode one. // this has been simmering in the back of my head for way too long, i even made a post about it just trying to ease the weight of my thoughts but my mind keeps racing with more things about this exact story, so here goes nothing. THIS GOES ALONG THE CANON OF THE THIRD SEASON kinda (so yeah, spoilers if you haven’t watched it yet), i actually had to watch it to write this because in the end, you’re a fucking DEA agent baby (also please keep in mind that english is not my native language, im really trying for this to be GOOD) 

Read on ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

// next→

You knew you chose a difficult job, hell, a difficult career, you knew you had to prove yourself, your worth and your abilities countless times, at this point it wasn’t even that much of a surprise anymore. Every time you encountered another man in the office or in the field, you had to spend an incredible amount of time first proving you were capable and you knew what you were doing before even getting to work.

Yet you got comfortable in your previous destination, you had a team, you had people to trust and trusted you back, they knew you were more than capable, you didn’t have to tell them to listen to you or your ideas, you didn’t have to ask for anyone’s approval. You were just another agent.

But now you had to do it all over again.

“Shit” you growled, trying to unwrinkle your blazer with one hand, the flight down to Colombia hadn’t been at all gentle to you and you were tired and cold. Your feet were sore, your back was killing you, you were fighting the desire to get rid of your suit skirt and run to put some pants on, everybody was lying when they said Colombia was a hot place, the air was chilly, and the dress suit you were wearing barely provided any meaningful heat, and the fact that nobody went to pick you up at the airport made you even more frustrated. You were still pulling around your suitcase because apparently the embassy is such a fucking mess that not even one person told you where you were going to live yet. 

You showed your badge to the guards at the doors and they let you in without much of a look. You walked right through the lobby into the elevator, sighing in relief. Thanks America and its air conditioned buildings.

The elevator doors opened and you walked straight inside of the DEA offices, they were small, cramped and dark, great, just how you liked your work spaces.

“Hi” you said, approaching the small front desk, the receptionist looked up at you and smiled, it was the first smile you saw in a while and that made you feel a little less frustrated, you pulled out the badge again and showed it to her “can you please direct me to the office of Javier Peña?” you asked.

The girl tilted her head to the left in confusion.

“Are you agent Martin?” she said with her thick american accent, you put the badge again in the pocket of your dress pants and nodded to her.

“Yes, is he– is he expecting me?” 

“Not really, but agent Feistl is,” she said, pointing to a cornered desk almost in the back where a blond man was sitting, he looked up at the sound of his name and you sighed again.

“Oh, yeah, I talked to him on the phone, thank you,” you said, smiling a bit back to her while you walked around the unoccupied desks in the front of the office “Feistl” you said his name once you reached his desk, stretching out your hand to shake his “agent Martín” you said “it’s nice to meet you” he looked at you, frowning, but took your hand nonetheless and shook it.

“Chris Feistl” he said, a little taken aback and another man approached both of you “this is my partner, Daniel Van Ness” the larger man gave you a single nod and you shook his hand again.

“You’re agent Martin?” Van Ness said.

Here we go again.

“My last name is Martín, first name Florencia” you said, accentuating the í in your last name, inhaling the tension around and making it your own, yet another time “I’m guessing you were expecting a man?” you dropped, they looked at each other “don’t worry, it happens everytime” you finished with a small grin.

They remained silent, looking at you, yet another time you let them, although for a single moment you actually wondered if there was something wrong with the way you looked; you gave a glance to yourself on the elevator walls on your way up and aside from your hair being close to look like a mess you were ok, you take another second to try to analyze the men in front of you, the way they were standing, the expression on their faces, they were shocked that was for sure, but also… relieved? and somehow… happy?.

“Is there anywhere I can put this?” you asked, glancing at the suitcase.

“You came here all the way from the airport?” Feistl asked, you nodded.

“Yeah, no one showed up so I just grabbed a cab” Van Ness snorted and you looked at him. He didn’t say anything, “where’s my desk?” you asked again, starting to feel more frustrated but also a bit amused when again they didn’t say a thing, “you did get the memo that you’d be getting a new person today, right?” you questioned in a huff, a bit louder, looking at them in utter disbelief. Fucking embassy, fucking DEA.

“Is agent Martin here?” you heard your name being called from behind you, the men in front of you just widened their eyes and looked at you. 

“That would be me” you announced, turning around, seeing a tall, tanned skin, sweaty man approaching you, “and you must be Javier Peña” you said, allowing yourself to be more assured, stretching your hand again.

“You are agent Martin” he said, making it sound half like a question, half an assertion, looking at you up and down, he put his hands on his hips, not bothering to take your hand.

“Florencia Martín, yes sir” you dropped down your hand and pronounced your last name again, trying to get american people to pronounce your name was hard, and you hoped at least Javier Peña would understand it, yet he said it wrong. He just stood there and you glanced at him discreetly, he, differently from the men behind you, was a walking ball of frustration, you sympathized and tried to read his posture. He was trying to be cocky but his try died in his eyes, he was shocked, surprised and not at all entertained.

“No wonder why I couldn’t find you in the airport” he growled.

“You were also expecting a man” you affirmed, this time, a small hint of disappointment grew inside your stomach “don’t worry, it happens all the time” you repeated roughly. You turned around to your new partners, not caring and ignoring the look your new boss was giving you “my desk?”

Van Ness pointed a small cubicle behind his and Feislt’s big desks, you suppressed a sigh and walked towards the space, still pulling your fucking suitcase, feeling the looks of three men in your back. You were used to this, you had done it countless times, and you knew you weren’t the only woman that has gone through this. But after spending the time you spent in one single place, with the same people, doing the same thing, after having an amazing partner that had believed in you since the day you almost punched the shit out of him on the academy, after having your own office to work with him, after having faced many masculine faces disapproving you being in the same rooms as them while chasing bad guys, after receiving thousands of condescending looks when you said anything, and yet being capable of raise everybody’s expectations, starting it all over again not only sounded hard, it also sounded exhausting.

Javier couldn’t believe his fucking luck when he looked at you. He certainly was expecting a man, Washington only told him so much and he assumed what everyone did when they heard your last name, in the end it was a masculine name. For some reason he felt guilty when you told him you always get that reaction.

He tried to examine you, ever the analyzer, but he got nothing, not from the way you were still standing in front of the ridiculously small cubicle, tapping your foot against the carpeted floor, or the way you kept putting a thin strand of hair behind your ear and it kept falling in front of your right cheekbone, nothing from the way you reached for the manila folder that was waiting to be picked up or the way your fingers moved around the pages. You seemed unreadable to him and he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

You turned around when you felt his stare, he was still just standing there, looking at you.

“Is this really everything I have to be briefed on?” you questioned him lifting the folder in your left hand. He nodded and turned to the right to walk to his office “well fuck that” you murmured under your breath. You heard Van Ness snorting again and looked at him giving you a small smile, maybe you didn’t say that as quietly as you wanted, you gave him half a grin and he shook his head.

You took off your blazer and sat on the incredibly uncomfortable chair.

“Shit” you whispered again.

“Fuck” Javier said under his breath, loosening his tie and crashing into his chair. He rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands and sighed. What the fuck did the people at Washington think. He was after a whole fucking cartel, he didn’t have his trusted partner this time, he was alone and he had to lead a team to do that, he had just lost two agents after they were stupid and reckless going around Cali and they dared to send down one random chick in some sort of replacement that for some reason seemed just so small and frail to him.

He was pretty sure you weren’t due to the fact that you were a DEA agent, but when he looked at you the only thing he could notice was the way your eyes were dimmed, maybe due to the fluorescent lights or the fact that you had flown who-knows how many hours to be there, or the way your hands seemed way too delicate to even handle a gun, or how your body looked breakable to the touch. 

He didn’t like the way his mind was forming his thoughts about you, it wasn’t right to think that way of a woman- no, a person- no, an agent he had just met, he just knew it was the macho part in him that saw you that way. He knew that if Washington had sent you all the way down to a god forsaken country fighting an unfair war, you had to be capable to endure it.

Javier scratched his stubble and reached for the thinest folder he had on his desk, it was your file. He grinned when he opened it, unbelieving of the almost non existent amount of information it had about you. It did have your full name, though, so, mistaking you for a guy was indeed his fault, just because he didn’t read the file before. 

He browsed through the last locations you had been sent to and raised his eyebrows when he saw the amount of time you’d spent in the last place. No wonder why you were being so reluctant about everything you saw and how you were being treated. He remembered how he felt when he was a newcomer and he remembered what he had to go through with Steve when he first came to the country, it was awful, and even without the language barrier, as your file said you did speak spanish, he assumed you must feel like an outcast. It was never easy, arriving at a place where everything seemed like it belonged there but you.

Javier closed the file and threw it back to the pile of manila folders in front of him. He did have his doubts about you, and surely he was wondering why he had only been sent that joke of a file and nothing else, and he didn’t want to make your stay in Colombia or at the embassy a living hell, but he did want to see what you were able to do, he couldn’t wait for you to show him what you had in you.

That last thought sent him for a bit through a deliciously nasty tangent, and he had to bring himself back to the initial train of thought: you. 

You were now his. No– you were now in his team. He was now your boss. He couldn’t think of you in any other way even if sometimes it couldn’t be avoided.

Javier rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, wondering what were you working on before arriving, trying to think what was happening in México that made you stay that long.

And a question was forming in his head… What the hell did you do to be sent to Colombia?

// next→

[burnedbyshoto]

temerity

― the perfect job for an overworked, tired, and romantic you is obviously a stressful, demanding, but oh so aesthetic coffeeshop. your job only becomes better when a handsome redhead appears through the door with a loud bang, and you can do nothing but fall for him. or the five times kirishima orders coffee and the one time he doesn’t.

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, fluff, light angst, pining, coffee shop!au, modern!au, college!au, happy ending, five times he did and one time he didn’t trope

word count: 9,394

a/n: happy birthday to my beautiful love @ikinabi​!!!! this was written for you based off of your favorite tropes including your favorite word, bet you saw this coming a mile away because my interrogation for this was absolute ass. also sorry for the angst, I couldn’t help myself! for the rest of you non-reds, this was a pretty damn fun piece to write. kirishima was modeled after how red sees him too, sorry. I haven’t typed that much in a single sitting in a long time, so it was p refreshing. like always, enjoy and leave a comment if you enjoyed ;-; (oh and thank you all for kiri coffee taste suggestions)

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O N E

Working in a small coffee shop isn’t exactly what you had once thought it to be.

For years you had been attending the small coffee shop just by your university. Most of your studying, homework, and late-night mental breakdowns had taken place in the corner of the shop, hidden from the sight of the patrons, which was conventionally the best spot for the strongest wifi.

You had been there so many times, having tried every single drink on their menu, and had gotten to know every worker there ― including the owners. So when the invitation to work there was brought up the one night you showed up in hysterics because you had lost your other job, it shouldn’t have taken you by surprise.

So now, in your final year of university, you stood at the counter. A textbook cracked open near the register light, the gentle coffee shop tunes playing merrily in the background. The intricate, familiar, and distinguished smell of both fresh and aging coffee beans with day-old pastries soaked deep into every centimeter of the room. 

The coffee shop was typically slow at this time at night, most people, thankfully, choosing to keep their caffeine addictions primarily in the mornings. Or, as a student had once confessed, didn’t want to make your job more demanding, so they made their own caffeinated drink this late at night. Regardless, it didn’t matter; the morning and afternoon crowds at this coffee shop were busy enough for you to be grateful for this downtime, especially as midterm season was beginning to approach. With this upcoming season, you knew you would be pouring liters of coffee down red-eyed, broken-spirited, college students' throats in the coming days.

Humming, you flipped the page of your biochem textbook, information on amino acids and protein structure twisting in your mind. At the same time, you tried to absorb the chaotic, overflowing amount of information presented on a single page. With a pen to your lip, you frowned at the sentence, rereading phrases over and over again as you struggled to figure out just why Hydrogen formation was so important. 

That didn’t last for too long, fortunately. 

For when you were about to scream to your coworker who was hiding away in the backroom about how amino acids could go fuck themselves, the front door slammed open. 

Despite the wooden door being extremely, almost stupidly heavy (to the point where there was a sign that clearly read: YES WE ARE OPEN, THE DOOR IS JUST REALLY HEAVY, outside), it crashed into the wall, causing a loud smack to rattle the shop. You, having been so absorbed in your studies, jumped at the sound. Your body flinched as a surprised shriek left your lips.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! It said the door was heavy, but I didn’t think it would slam open like that!” came an apologetic and obviously embarrassed voice from the entrance.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline. You focused your attention on the man who was frantically checking potential damages to both the door and the wall. All while he continued to apologize. 

Red hair and red eyes are the first things you noticed about him.

Red hair that obviously was dyed, red, warm eyes seemed smooth and seemed to melt into sugary brown, and a rather large scar over his right eye that stopped just at his eyebrow. His smile was broad, exceedingly bright, albeit stiff.

Despite your pumping blood and the way that your fingertips tingle with your fear, a smile and laugh pressed to your lips as he fumbled to close the door behind him (although it was nearly closed by the time he fumbled for the metal brass door handle). Pushing up off the counter from where you were lying, you shut the textbook you had, waving off the new customer.

“No worries! Most people either overcompensate or can’t open the door at all,” you explained with a pinching smile, the laughter in your tone so noticeable despite your intent to keep your humor hidden. Your smile and softly thudding heart only seemed to increase stupidly as the red-headed man approached the cash register.

He was dressed horribly.

He wore an orange gym shirt, most definitely worn with age, and a bit too small on his… physique, navy blue basketball shorts that had white stripes on the side of his thigh, and black athletic crew socks with bright red crocs. 

A living, walking fashion disaster.

“Um,” you stifled a teasing snort, “what can I get for ya?”

The man (was he a himbo? he seemed like he could be one through his appearance alone!) crossed his arms across his chest, lower lip jutting out as he read the menu under his breath with curious, wide eyes. His head tilted to the side, his gaze seemingly stuck on a single area of the menu, and with all the curiosity of the world weighing down on you at this one, very moment, you turned behind you.

“Anything catching your eye?”

“This is… uh, this is my first time in here,” he admitted, his gaze falling from the menu, catching your own eye when you turned back around to face him. His eyes were wide, clear as they were alarmingly honest; he paused for a bit before eventually adding, “actually.”

“Well,” you began, your own honest smile brightening on your face, “lucky for you, I’ve tried everything on this menu. Pick your poison, I can tell you what everything tastes like.”

His eyes widen in what you can only recognize as being overwhelmed, but you try to hide the way your smile is turning into a smirk when he begins to list out drinks.

Drink after drink he names, most of them being dark, black, bitter-tasting coffees, and you can see some hesitation in him with each name he lists.

“You don’t seem to know what kinda coffee you like, huh?” you eventually point out once he’s had you repeat the entire menu for the dark roasts the shop had.

“That would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve never had coffee in my life before,” he laughed partially in embarrassment, but much more in some underlying mirth and energy, he seemed to easily hold. Energy that seemed to warm your chest more than any cup of coffee on a cold morning. “I’m what you could call a coffee virgin.”

Now that got a snort out of you.

“Okay, coffee virgin,” you teased, immediately grabbing a kids' throwaway cup behind the counter. “You should’ve started with that!”

“I didn’t want to come off as uncultured! I mean, I’m down at the university, the uni down the street, I’m a university student myself! But being twenty-one and never having coffee before? It just seems… I don’t know so unmanly!”

All while he was confessing the reason as to why he had never in his life had a single cup of coffee, you had poured the simmering black coffee that he was most interested in into the cup. It was filled with only a small amount of the black, bitter liquid, just enough to give him a good taste of the drink. Placing the kids' cup in front of him with a satisfactory thunk, you grinned up at him.

His hand was pressed to the back of his neck, an almost shameful look on his face with just the smallest blush brightening his cheeks and ear tips.

“I think it’s cool you’re a uni student without a coffee addiction,” you smile earnestly, pressing the kids' cup closer to him. “Shows a different kind of man that you’re able to handle a workload without a caffeine drip.”

If you didn’t know better (and honestly, you didn’t, you were probably projecting the weird stranger crush you had seamlessly formed on him), you would have said he forgot how to speak. He clears his throat, his embarrassment fading into a small, soft smile, and he picks up the cup.

“Thank you for the sample.”

He takes a drink of the warm liquid, and immediately he seems to crush the paper cup in his hand, a suppressed hysteric of coughing spluttering past his fisted hand on his mouth, tears springing into his eyes. You yelped in surprise, hands fluttering out to smack him on the arm in a failed attempt to reach his back.

“O-Oh my god!” he eventually wheezed, his eyes staring down at the crushed cup as if it was some sort of vermin, a creature that had no use being alive but still pitied it. His other hand wiped at his lips as to rid of its taste. His head snapped back towards you, his eyes wet with betrayal from both his thoughts and taste buds. “Can you do something, not this at all?!”

You purse your lips for a second, thinking about just what could suit his apparent dislike for bitter, black coffee. With a single idea in your head, you leaned forward onto the counter, a smile back on your lips.

“Do you like cinnamon rolls?”

He blinked.

“Who doesn’t?”

“For here or to go?” you asked, head tilting to the side before you eventually remembered that the shop was closing in a few minutes. “Actually, it’ll be to go!”

“O-Oh, okay!”

“Can I get a name?” you asked, your hand grabbing the paper cup and a sharpie to write his name. There was no reason for you to write down his name; he was the only person in the shop right now.

“K-Kiripima,” he answers with wide eyes and red cheeks. Your eyebrows scrunch.

“Kiripima?”

“No! I’m, oh my god, this is so unmanly of me,” he bemoaned, his head shaking. “Kirishima Eijirou! I’m Kirishima Eijirou!”

The pealing laughter that erupted from your mouth stood no chance at being silenced. And so with an embarrassed nod of your own, you pressed off the counter, writing his name was the neatest writing you had, before setting off.

You worked fast behind the counter, making the specialized drink just for the blushing himbo of a man before you, well, at least until he interrupted your chain of thoughts and actions.

“Biochem, right?”

Placing the cup where the steamed milk machine was, you turned to look at Kiri(p)shima, who was pointing at your textbook with an all too familiar look on his face that told you he recognized it.

“Unfortunately,” you smiled at him, eventually shrugging. “I also go to the uni down the street.”

“Aw damn, sucks I’ve never seen you there before!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck when he glances up at you from the textbook before looking back down. “I took this class last semester!”

“Oh? Who’d you have?” you asked, continuing on with your work, your suspicion of him being a himbo slightly dwindling.

“Chaney!” he responded, and you looked over at him; you had him this semester, too. “It was the worst! I dropped out the first week! Didn’t help that I thought biochem was a split biology and chemistry course… teaches me not to listen to Kaminari and Mina… ah, I mean, my friends!”

Himbo indeed.

Laughing at his flux in judgment, you placed the steaming cup of sweet, sweet coffee in front of Kirishima, hands pressing onto your hips as you did so.

“How about this?”

You watch as the redhead grins at you, picking up the cup of coffee and drinking it despite your last second squeak that it was probably way too hot to be consumed.

“HOLY SHIT! This is so much better! It tastes just like cinnamon rolls! Bro, you have some serious talent!” Kirishima yelled, his eyes not quite as bright, but his smile definitely still as warm. “How much will it be?”

“On the house,” you admitted with a shrug, your cheeks warming with his look of disbelief. “I took your, uh, coffee virginity away and nearly killed ya, it’s the least I could do!”

Kirishima narrows his gaze on you, his smile softening in tandem while he looks over at the menu again, taking another stiff sip of the coffee.

You watch as he takes his wallet out of his pocket, and with a little effort, pulls out two thousand yen.

“For the next few customers then, yeah?” he smoothly states, already moving back towards the door long before you could demand that he come back and take his money with him.

“Hey!” Kirishima yells, his hand had opened the heavy ass door with no problem or strain. “What's your name?”

“Why?!” you yelled back despite your instincts screaming at you to tell him your name.

His grin stretches so widely you take notice of his glinting, almost abnormally sharp canines from the counter. 

“So, I know who to blame for my caffeine addiction!”

You laugh.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you smile, your stomach flipping at the way he seems to brighten with that information. “I promise that’s my real name too, no mess-ups.”

Kirishima laughs, red staining his face.

“Guess we can’t all be as amazing as you, huh?”

You didn’t get the chance to even scream in your fluster because he was already gone. The heavy wooden door closed by the time your coworker emerged from the back, an all too curious look on their face.

“What was that?”

You shrug, a smile stretching further on your face.

“Hopefully, a new regular.”

T W O

“Kiripima!”

If there was a way for you to not giggle at the way Kirishima nearly slammed the door through the wall in his shock embarrassment, you would have liked to know.

“My name is Kirishima, y/l/n!” he yelled back, his cheeks the same color as his spiked hair. “I mean, if you want to call me Kiripima, that’s okay! It’s just… my name is Kiri-shima!”

“Sorry, sorry, Kiripima was too cute to resist!” you admitted with a smirk, your body leaning forward, elbows pressed onto the counter, hands pressed against your cheeks. “What can I get for you so late at night, Kiri-shima?”

Kirishima smiles broadly, his hands sinking into his pockets as he walks over towards you and the counter. He’s dressed much more normally today, he wore black jeans that are slightly dirty with some sort of white powder, and his shirt is a crimson red. It’s tight against his biceps but fits him much better than the last shirt he wore, and on the fabric right above his heart, lays a simple print: FATGUM’S GRUB.

“Nightshift, unfortunately, finally caught me this week!” Kirishima sighs, his shoulder-shrugging but the smile remaining just as firmly on his face. “It’s no biggie, though; it’s for one of my bros who needed the night off!”

“Oh, so you’re an everyday hero?” you tease, enjoying the way that he grins wide enough to show off his sharp canines before it humbles into an embarrassed smile. “How manly of you.”

“Nothing anyone else wouldn’t do,” he mumbled, his gaze falling to your shoulder in his embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, if you say so,” you relent, sighing softly before straightening up and smiling up at the red-haired man who was busy taking in your menu once again with significant hesitation. “What can I get for you this time, Kirishima?”

Kirishima’s eyes glinted over, a laugh once again rumbling in his chest before he sighed, “What do you suggest for me, y/l/n?”

And so, at nearly ten p.m., you stood behind the cash register, Kirishima’s coffee long since given to him, and the two of you were intently talking, laughter and enthusiastic yelling being exchanged fervently.

You learned his name was Kirishima Eijirou; he was twenty-one years old, born and raised in Musutafu. You knew that while yes, he most definitely a himbo (something you confirmed with strategic questions, and not straight up asking him), he was an engineering major! He played a ton of sports but seemed to prefer heavy contact sports, rugby, and soccer being his top choice of sport. You even found out that this man (who often used the term manly in a way that meant ‘approved by Kirishima’) was the biggest fan of the old movies and comic book hero Crimson Riot. You figured this out when he pulled out his phone to show you a picture of his new goldfish and accidentally revealed his lock screen being him and the famous actor behind the superhero.

“You’re telling me you’ve NEVER seen an All Might movie, but you’ve seen ALL the Crimson Riot movies?!” Kirishima yelled, his arms shooting out past the counter to grab you by the shoulders, shaking you intensely with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face.

“Be careful with your coffee!” you squealed, trying to keep his elbow from knocking over his cup that had still gone untouched.

“Y/L/N!” he exasperated, pulling himself in closer to you, his eyes wide and bright, quickly drowning you with his radiant energy and overwhelming enthusiasm. “Answer!!!”

“Oh my god! Yes, Kirishima! I have never seen an All Might film but have seen every single Crimson Riot film!” you confess, your cheeks hurting from your laughter, and growing sense of embarrassment because everyone in the world has seen the All Might movies!

Hell, even people who weren’t from Japan had seen them all!

The movie superhero was a blockbuster smash with every movie they did!

“Why not?! How not?!”

“Because my dad never let me watch them growing up because the guide warnings,” you wheezed, your stomach cramping with your laughter, your hands grabbing onto his sturdy ― and holy fuck, were they sturdy ― biceps trying to ease his excited(???) shaking. “Besides, my dad is a hardcore Crimson Riot fan; he would have a heart attack and die if he heard that I went to go watch an All Might film.”

“Holy shit,” Kirishima breathed, a glazed over glee washing over his face in some euphoric bliss. “Your dad… is so manly, I think I could marry him.”

Your laughter only grew when Kirishima wiped tears from his eyes, and you patted his arm in your condolences.

“I think he would not take to someone claiming to be the biggest Crimson Riot fan!”

Kirishima grin only grew, “Bet he wouldn’t!”

You tilted your head, your smile becoming a bit lopsided, ready to take that bet right there, right now. You knew your dad was most definitely still awake at this time.

But the words never got to pass your mouth because as soon as you opened your mouth to speak, a loud ringtone interrupted you.

You also hated the fact that you recognized the ringtone to be the Crimson Riots theme song.

Kirishima’s warm hands pulled away from you, his overeagerness abandoned as he pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear without checking who was calling.

“It’s Ei, talk to me.”

The nickname of his first name caused your stomach to flip, his smooth baritone voice easily sending shivers down your spine. Still, with the mention of such an intimate nickname… the chill crawling down your spine, teasing every nerve in your system, was inevitable.

You watched Kirishima’s face. The way that he easily took in the words of whoever was on the other side of the line. The smile on his face remained if only muted just a bit as he agreed left and right with whoever was on the other side.

“Nah, I can get there in a few! Don’t worry about it, Fat, I normally show up early to shifts regardless, I don’t blame ya! Yeah, yeah, okay, yeah! Yeah! See ya soon!”

Disappointment blossomed in your chest, the horrible feeling of having to say goodbye to a customer who had only come in twice! Twice! Most times, you never wanted to see any customers, even some regulars, more than once in your lifetime! But again, there had been no other customer in your life as a barista that had been as kind, friendly, and hot as Kirishima.

“Well, I gotta go now,” Kirishima softly sighed, his lips pressing into a half-smile, his eyebrows scrunched together in his (maybe) reluctance to leave. “Fat, er, my boss, got overloaded with the late-night munchies, so…”

“Time for the fanboy to leave?” you finished for him, your fingers looping into your apron, your eyes glancing at the clock that showed you that you should’ve been cleaning up five minutes ago.

“Yeah, sadly!” Kirishima laughed, his hand grabbing the coffee and pocketing his phone as he made his way to the front door. You followed after him, ready to lock the door after him in case some desperate customer tried to come in. “Well, thank you for the coffee again! I gotta see just how much you know about the greatest superhero ever the next time I drop by!”

You smiled.

“Next time?”

Kirishima paused for a bit, “Yeah, next time!” he pushed through the front door, and you watched as he exited the shop, his body turning so he was looking at you while he walked backward. “I told ya, y/l/n, it's pretty unmanly of you, but you got me hooked on caffeine!”

There was no time for you to argue otherwise because he turned on his heel just as quickly and began jogging off to his own job.

“You’ll close up by yourself?” your bitchy coworker asked, and you startled, seeing that she was also pushing past the door. “You kept us over way later because you can’t stop flirting with the customers, which by the way, is against protocol.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, whatever, bye.”

T H R E E

“Next in line, please!”

It was busy.

As you had once thought many, many weeks ago, the midterm season had finally come with full force, and it was horrible. There were at least four crying college students found in any of the studying rooms the shop had from sun up to sundown. Some of the students were found soaking their tears onto the worn leather sofa, some moments from dying on the plenty of counters and tables.

On multiple days there had been students who stayed the entire day, drinking whole pots worth of black coffee when they were ordinarily sweet coffee drinkers. You had to give some freshmen girl a tight hug the other day who was seconds from taking a W on her transcripts because she absolutely could no longer handle her math class. You had the unfortunate time of giving a student the news that no, today was not Thursday, it’s Friday, so yes… they missed their midterm for a professor who would refuse to reschedule any missed exam.

But it wasn’t all too bad.

Kirishima had been showing up practically every day now; he would order a pastry every time, opting out of a drink by showing you his three-liter water bottle. It was nice to have someone like Kirishima around (partially because you usually worked with a younger coworker,) who was both strong and sweet. He wasn’t majorly concerned about his midterms, stating that he had study groups with his friends and had been on top of his game and only came to the coffee shop to do light personal studying. So, during your mad dashes to make the 2,783rd cup of coffee within your shift, you couldn’t help but glance over at Kirishima, who was comforting crying students. When they weren’t crying, and you weren’t desperately trying to appease the caffeine raged customers, he chatted with you, seated on the counter by the coffee counter.

Having him around so much was actually both making your day better and much, much worse. On the one hand, that meant that since you were paired up with coworkers you didn’t get along with, you had a fantastic company that literally made the nights go by so fast as you and he became closer and closer friends. But, on the other hand, it also made your once attraction to him, having been solely based on physical looks to bleed over to personal traits, and you wanted to cry with every poor attempt of flirting that flew over his head.

However, you did get to learn that 1. he did, in fact, dye his hair red because you had the privilege of seeing his black roots. And that 2. despite his phone being filled with the craziest metal and rock songs, he really only listened to a playlist buried in his phone that was filled with soft acoustic guitar and sweet bubblegum pop songs. It was great.

But it was no time to think about your tall, red-headed crush. You had much more pressing issues with the large coffee crowd in front of you. It was rush hour, and since you were scheduled for tonight's shift, they asked if you wanted more hours for today since they were training someone new.

Obviously, you had agreed.

You had forgotten the horrors of rush that included sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused insanity of students coupled with the ever-demanding adults with jobs that they very much needed to return too. It was always horrific.

But you for sure never expected to see your crush before you.

“Kiri!” you smiled, the smile on your face was one of pure exhaustion and joy of seeing your friend crush. Your gaze quickly dropped away from him, your eyes returning to the paper cups you held, writing in their orders and name as quickly as you could. “How can I help you?”

Kirishima visibly gulped, and you froze a bit before setting down the large order on the counter for your coworkers to eventually get to. You knew by the pile-up on orders you would be switched out with the new hire after Kirishima and the person behind him.

“I, uh, I need to ask you something!” Kirishima spoke sharply, his arms stiff at his side. His usual kind and gentle smile on his face is mechanic and dull. He was… he was sweating? Pity filled your stomach; maybe he had done terribly on a midterm.

“Do you need a new coffee rec?” you immediately ask your mind on the set menu behind you, trying to come up with a coffee just sweet enough for the charming man in front of you. “You haven’t had a drink in a while, I don’t remember what you had last, though.”

“No, not that! I have a… well, I have a confession!” Kirishima tries again, his body somehow becoming even stiffer as he nods his head in growing speeds. “Yup! A confession!”

“Would ya hurry it up, kid! Some of us got work to get to!” came a crabby voice from behind Kirishima, and you winced, looking past your crush to the eldering man who looked like he was eating and shitting stress every day for the past three years. 

“Sir, please calm down, it won’t take too long,” you frowned, not at all happy with the sheer impatience of the customer. You turned back to Kirishima, an apologetic look on your face. “But a confession? Okay, well, actually… I have one for you as well!” Maybe you could get yourself to confess you liked him?

But the old man’s interruption seemed to have calmed Kirishima down significantly, who snapped out of his haze.

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the man behind him, bowing deeply for his troubles before facing you again and laughed. The palm of his hand hit his forehead as he groaned lowly. “Sorry, this is so unmanly of me, y/l/n! I mean, I shouldn’t even be doing this because you’re working, but I finally… I just…”

He trailed off, and you found it impossible to follow his train of thought, something you weren’t too bad at doing.

“Just what?”

It was with that the world seemed to still.

The noise of the busy coffee shop, the hustling of your coworkers, the chattering of the studying students, and business calls going mute as you stared up into Kirishima’s red, comprehensive, honest eyes.

“Well, it’s just that I, um, I--”

“Listen, kid,” the man behind Kirishima snapped at him. “I have twelve minutes to gather my drink and make it back to my meeting with my executive board. And you’re holding up the damn fucking line! Make up your mind on what coffee you want, because you’ve been in this line with me for almost ten minutes, order it and pay! Let’s get moving!”

“Sir!” you gasped, horrendously mortified a customer was acting like that! “That’s incredibly rude! He hasn’t even been here for a minute!”

“It’s actually been three!” he sneered.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, not at all positive if it had been three minutes because by god did you get lost in Kirishima’s eyes.

“No!” Kirishima interrupted you before you could begin, and you looked up at Kirishima, who looked like a kicked puppy, and that sent your heart into a whole series of palpitations you didn’t know would happen with him. “It’s fine, sorry, I got worked up… um… one of my best bros likes his coffee black, and well, I like it now too. A regular black coffee, to go…”

You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, Kirishima slipping the exact amount of money for the drink before disappearing into the crowd.

Your sight narrowed when it befell onto the old man who looked proud of himself, “Finally! Now, let me see what you guys have! I don’t know what I want!”

F O U R 

Kirishima was late.

So late, so very, very late.

He checked his phone for the time yet again, somehow praying that in the last time he had checked his phone (which had been three seconds ago), the time hadn’t shot forward by ten minutes, and by the spirit of god had maybe, possibly rewound by ten minutes. He only hoped that he wouldn’t show up too late today; he actually needed something with caffeine to keep him awake today.

But he saw the coffee shop straight ahead, the small white light by the front door still buzzing and bright with the illuminated: OPEN! sign. Kirishima barreled through the front door with now practiced and known strength, his forehead sweating profusely, and his heart hammering in his throat.

“I’m… here!” he panted, his eyes finding yours as you were cleaning up the counter with a disinfecting liquid and cloth.

He had seen you yesterday, but still, seeing you at the counter, your gaze on what you were doing was like an arrow to his lungs. He looked at you in his personal slowed downtime, the way that the halo of frizzy, curly, flyaways from your hair gleamed softly with the backlight, the warmth of your skin, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes as you looked up, and he was met with the depth pool of your warm eyes.

Beautiful.

His eyes fell onto your lips, and noticed they were moving ever so slightly, and he realized that he couldn’t hear what you were saying.

All the tables had been wiped down, the chairs by the table turned upside down, laying on the tabletops. The floor still streaked with what was definitely a mop, and guilt bubbled in his stomach. You were closing up, and by the looks of it, were nearly done as well. 

Kirishima paused, he was here one minute before closing, and he froze. The heavy wooden door closing behind him with an awkwardly loud thud that only seemed to thunder in his ears as the world finally caught up.

“―anything?”

Kirishima blinked, his cheeks exploding with heat.

“What?”

He hadn’t heard you utter a single word.

He watched the way your lips pulled into an endearing, yet slightly exasperated smile, your eyes rolling.

“Did you want anything?” you repeated, hands placed on your hips in a taunting, near commanding way. “Coffee’s still on the pot, so if you want anything, let me know!”

“Did you already clean up?” Kirishima asks, his eyes falling to the floor to find the different wet streaks on the tile and avoid them if his shoe was dirty. He stops when he sees the cleaned and cleared coffee counter, and guilt floods him. “It looks like you’re mostly cleaned up; I don’t want you to get things dirty again, it’s okay.”

“It’ll take me five minutes tops to clean back up!” you retort, hands already moving to grab a to-go cup for him to have.

“No, no!” Kirishima exclaims, moving back towards the door as fast as he could. He didn’t want to cause you more work, and if anything, he would just wait for you to leave the shop, and he would simply walk you back to your apartment! That seemed like the more manly thing to do, right? “It’s okay! I’m okay! I’ll live without a cup!”

You snorted, slamming the cup onto the counter with definitive intentions, “Don’t be ridiculous, coffee addict!” you pointed to the spot before the cash register, pen in hand as you readied to write down his order. “Come. Don’t be silly! Can you turn off the open sign for me, though! What do you want?”

“I feel bad,” Kirishima frowns, turning off the neon light per request before turning back towards you. His hands stuffed into his pockets. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t have to,” you say with a grin and a roll of your eyes. “But since I’m the reason your addiction is a thing, I’m more than happy to deal with the consequences, Kiri.”

There’s a beat, and Kirishima walks to the counter, his lower lip jutted out in a small pout, but the energetic smile painted on your lips melts his pout into a smile immediately.

“What do you suggest?”

“Café de Olla.”

His face scrunches at the so, very not Japanese words that come from your mouth.

“Cafe de la what?”

He watches your smile brighten by a tenfold, enjoying the way your eyes easily glitter with your mirth as you turn away from him.

“Café de Olla,” you repeat again, and he can only assume it’s Spanish. “It’s a Mexican coffee, that one of the transfer students we hired from Mexico introduced us to!” Kirishima watched as you went to a small pot of coffee, put a cleaned ladle in, and eventually poured in a slightly steaming cup of dark coffee. “I can’t remember the ingredients, but the main one is cinnamon! I know you like cinnamon, and since you’re a big boy black coffee drinker now, I think you’ll like it!”

Kirishima missed the teasing look on your face when you placed the truly dark coffee in front of him.

“Um,” Kirishima nervously laughed, staring at the cup of dark liquid before him. He hated black coffee. “Are you… are you gonna put any sugar or milk in it?”

“Nope! Drink up, handsome!”

Kirishima whimpered at both the nickname you had been calling him as of late and the coffee before him. Eventually, he picked up the warm cup, not at all deceived by the warm, sweet aroma of the cup of coffee in his hand ― the black coffee had smelled sweet too. Not one to back down, especially as you were in the process of cleaning up for the day, he took a hesitant, gentle sip of the coffee and froze.

Despite the bitter, dark persona the steaming cup gave, the liquid was sweet.

Very sweet.

It was light in its spice, warming him gently, and giving him a world of flavors he hadn’t been aware of. He drank the rest of it eagerly.

“Good, right?!” you exclaimed excitedly, having caught onto what Kirishima already knew to be his unmistakable likeness. “I wasn’t too sure of it at first either! I mean, I don’t really dabble with straight black coffee, but this just hits differently!”

Kirishima placed his sample down, the back of his hand rubbing his wet lips, his smile wide and excited. He couldn’t believe he actually liked a cup of coffee! “That was SO good, fuck! I didn’t think I was going to like that! Can I have a cup of this?”

He watched as you nodded your head excitedly, more stray pieces of hair falling out of place, framing your face even more as you grabbed the cup and made due to filling it up. Kirishima watched you the entire time you filled his cup up, his fingers blindly holding his bills of cash to give to you.

‘I’m going to do it,’ he thought as you placed a lid on the cup.

‘You got this!’ he encouraged himself as you walked over, handing off the warm cup into his hands. He softly smiled at the feeling of your warm, soft fingers brushing familiarly against his own.

‘DO IT!’

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“Babycakes, are you done out here?!” a voice hollered, and Kirishima stilled when a face emerged from the back. “I’m exhausted and ready to go!”

He watched as a tall girl with green eyes and brown hair emerged from the back room, her arms stretched precariously over her head, stepped into the bar. And the world slowed when her arms quickly enveloped you.

It was then that he remembered what you had said yesterday. The way that your face morphed from apologetic to bashful, the fluster in your eyes, and the way you bit your lip nervously as you said you had something to confess to him… was she… your confession?

“Ami!” you spluttered, and Kirishima watched the way the girl who was draped over your body, much taller than you were, smile at you endearingly as you, in your fluster, failed to get her off. “Kirishima ― a customer is here!”

The word customer echoed like a bell in the world's deepest cave in Kirishima’s ear.

He was just…

He was just a customer, after all.

His smile faded from a genuine one to a phony one as he watched your coworker/girlfriend fight you on showing affection, and eventually, you won. 

“S-Sorry about that!” you stammered, trying to fix your outfit, your hair chaotically was undone. His throat nearly sealed off when your pristine eyes locked back up his; he felt light under your gaze, but oh, so, cold. “You were saying?”

“Just… um, thank you!” Kirishima mustered a feeble laugh, his hand grabbing the coffee in his hand, and without so much as a goodbye, he left the coffee shop. Your echoing salutation doing nothing but making him nauseous as heartbreak overtook him.

F I V E 

The last time you had seen Kirishima, you served him the café de olla during that night, which was weeks ago.

By weeks you meant nearly two months; finals season had just finished.

Despite your obvious disappointment in not seeing the one person you were enamored with, you reasoned with yourself with every disappointing redhead who would enter the coffeeshop that you had never asked for his phone number, and he was an engineering student. He had to be busy.

Even if he wasn’t busy, you tried to reason, your brow set in a knit position as you washed the ceramic cups in the sink, he had every reason to never show back up again. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything…

Thankfully, you heard the all too familiar sound of the front door being opened, and now with new company policy, you called out in greetings.

“Welcome!”

You quickly patted your hands dry on your apron, knowing that your coworker was on break at the moment, and turned to the entrance of the shop, and froze.

It was an all too familiar head of bright red spikes.

“Kiri!” you exclaimed happily, rushing over to the register with a bright, wide smile as you restrained yourself from flinging over the counter and hugging him tightly. Of course, that would have been both unprofessional and probably pushing the boundaries of your friendship/one-sided affections. “It’s been so long, how are you?!”

Kirishima stood on the other side of the counter, his hands shoved into his blue hoodie pocket, his eyes for the first time ever almost empty, the smile you knew he wore almost religiously, nowhere to be seen. In lieu of the smile, were lips pressed into a stout line, his face puckered just slightly enough as if he had smelled something sour moments before.

What was going on?

“You okay?” you ask, your once outstretched arms retracting into yourself, seeing that he was not reciprocating your movements. Your head tilted. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, Ei,” came a new voice. “Is something wrong?”

You almost startled when a girl with curly, pink hair seemed to appear from behind Kirishima. She had eyes of liquid gold, and a teasing smile on her face as she nudged Kirishima. “What’s going on?”

Your stomach flips in unwelcomed jealousy, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek in hopes that the girl wouldn’t catch on.

When the seconds felt like minutes of silence, the girl merely sighed, her attention focusing onto you with a look of slight mischief.

“Please excuse my friend―” you relax with the f word― “we’ve been friends since grade school, and he’s never been like that! Maybe he caught a bug during breakfast?”

“Mina…” Kirishima spoke softly, not quite a warning, not quite a whine.

“You must be the famous ‘y/l/n,’ I’ve heard so much about you!” the girl ― Mina ― exclaimed excitedly, her hands grabbing yours while nodding excitedly. “When I heard that Ei hadn’t gone for coffee in so long, I obviously had to force him to come! That and he totally made one of our friends throw away my coffee, and I need the coffee in my bloodstream to survive my dumb classes!”

The one-sided tension between you and Mina expelled quickly.

“Kiri hasn’t been here in a while, but I’m sure he’s got his reasons,” you defend your crush, your smile soft as you traded your locked gaze on Mina to look at Kirishima, who weakly, barely, horribly returned the smile. “But I can definitely help with the coffee! What can I get for you?”

“Good question…” Mina sighed, her eyes studying the menu with practiced skill.

Eventually, Mina ordered a chai tea latte with an oat milk substitution, a pump of caramel, and two shots of espresso. She squealed with delight when you placed her order in front of her, and maybe had you not been excited to get Kiri’s answer, you would have noticed the way his friend strategically walked towards the door to give you two your space.

“So, how can I help ya, handsome?” you ask, your smile back to full power, although a bit shy, unaffected by the brick wall of a man before you. “We’re out of the café de olla right now, but if you don’t mind waiting fifteen minutes, I can make you a fresh batch!”

That’s a lie, the pot of Mexican coffee is still completely filled, ready for Kirishima should he want it. But you were selfish; you were trying to get him to stay longer.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Kirishima shakes his head. “I don’t wanna bug ya. I’ll just take a caramel latte, no worries.”

Disappointment rams through you, but you try your best at hiding it.

“Oh, okay! I’ll get that started for you!” you try to chirp, grabbing a to-go cup and beginning the relatively short task. “How’ve you been?” you ask, trying to initiate old conversations.

“Good.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear! How were your finals? Mine was terrible! I had a professor who forgot what time section we were, so not only were we given only thirty minutes to finish the exam, but there was no compensation for his mistake!”

“Wow… that sucks. Mine were fine.”

“Nothing crazy happened?”

“No.”

“Um, okay… well, did you see that the animated Crimson Riot movie is out?!” you ask, pathetically hopeful that the biggest conversation card you held right now would give you something better than these simple, halfhearted responses. The movie had had no promos, just a message from the local theaters that it had been made and to come and watch it.

“Yup.”

…

“Oh, that’s cool! I just found out this morning when my dad called me! I’m not near home, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come and watch it with me?”

You froze. Was that a date you had asked him out on? It was, wasn’t it?! Your face exploded with heat, your fingers trembling as you poured the finished hot coffee into the cup. 

“...I’d rather not.”

Oh.

“T-That’s okay! I’m sure I can find a friend or something to go watch it with me… or I’ll just wait until a holiday to see it with my dad… if it’s still out.”

“Hopefully, it’s still out by then,” Kirishima muttered, his face refusing to look at you, his eyes buried into his wallet as he handed you the change for his drink. “Thanks.” he rushed, grabbing his cup and turning on his heel.

“What’s wrong with you?” you manage to ask before you can keep your mouth shut, but you can’t help it. Your chest aches with his dismissal, with every sentence he spoke that horribly and effectively shut you down before you even had a chance. In the end, it seemed that your hurt feelings won out your need to be polite. “Did something happen? A-Are you okay? Did I do something?”

Kirishima freezes in his path.

“No, nothing happened.”

That was not the answer you were hoping to get.

“Then why are you acting like this?” you ask, your voice bordering a desperate plea for an answer.

For the past many weeks, you had never once thought that he had been avoiding you, ignoring you. You thought that maybe he had just been busy with his personal life, too busy with school and work to spare his free time entertaining you at work. But even if you were disillusioned with your admiration and feelings for him, you knew the two of you were friends. You had to have been friends!

Silence.

“What’s going on?” you ask again, your voice feeling small and weak.

“Nothing,” Kirishima reiterates, his head turning so you both looked at each other through the corner of his eyes. “Nothing happened, I just… couldn’t show up.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being around you, not anymore.”

Those words wash over you like freezing water; they’re harsh, cruel, and mean. His face twisting up as if he was some snarling, upset animal. He didn’t want to be here, his face screamed, he felt like some cornered, caged animal.

Muted anger and heartache wash over you, your head nodding numbly as you laugh humorlessly. You had been the problem.

“Sorry for… for making you feel obligated in showing up,” you whisper, your soul feeling as though it was leaving your body, your face twisted in the horribleness in his words.

I don’t like being around you, not anymore.

He wasn’t even apologizing… he’d meant it… didn’t he?

Kirishima moves to walk away, his eyes glazed over similarly to your own, but you’re not done. Not quite yet.

“You know,” you manage to speak out, your voice starting off paltrily, an almost chuckle tickling the back of your throat, humming deeply in your chest. He stops. “This entire time, you always boasted about being ‘manly’… about being chivalrous and a decent human being. For the most part, I’ve always agreed and thought that you were manly, chivalrous, and a more than decent human being but now… I can’t believe you. You really came all this way after two months of avoiding me to tell me that you would never be showing up again? That the reason for you not returning was because you’re sick of me?”

He’s silent for a bit, and it's then you notice the tears falling down your face, “Thought it was manlier to tell you I wasn’t coming back then to stop showing up without a reason.”

“You already did that!” you snapped, suddenly piercing, thundering anger running through every cell of your body, raising the hair on your body. “You’re being a complete fucking dick now, Kirishima! For what? At least before I thought it was because you’re busy, but no, you just had to tell me it was because of me! Oh my god?! To think I have a crush on you?! That I was ready to confess to you the next fucking time we had a moment together?!”

You felt hysterical, his reasoning jumbling and twisting in your mind, not at all feeling coherent, and your blazing feelings that were now biting you in the ass… you wanted to make him feel guilt most of all. With tears falling bitterly, angrily down your face, you stared at Kirishima. He was finally facing you, looking you dead on with emotion-filled eyes and a gaping fish mouth ― opening and closing pathetically.

“Get out,” you spoke with a serenity you were not quite feeling, your finger thrust toward the front door.

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you laugh bitterly, no longer wanting to have whatever it is that he wanted to say.

He was just a customer, not a friend, only a customer.

You didn’t need to be his friend anymore.

“Get. Out. Now.”

You didn’t wait for him to leave, turning on your heel, you walked to the backroom, not daring to return to the front until he left.

You’d forgotten how much rejection hurt.

O N E 

Whoever said heartbreak was healed with a wild night out, a pint of ice cream and crying had clearly been built differently from you.

One wild night out with your friends, two pints of ice cream, and thirty crying sessions later, you were still sulking as you simply existed. You weren’t even sure why you were overreacting either?! He had been a crush, not a boyfriend!

Lord save you for whenever an actual reciprocated lover dumped you, you were probably never going to recover. Still, you couldn’t let it affect you all that much; you were still going about your day as you usually would, just… sulking.

“You’re a blessing in my life,” your coworker sighed as she came out from the back, her hands moving to release her hair from her bun, her purse slung against her chest as she continued to thank you. “I promise you the next time we work together, I’ll clean up on my own!”

You shake your head, waving her off as you dried some of the dishes lying about. 

“We aren’t busy, and there’s no one here, I’ll clean up just fine!” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder to look at her. “Just buy me a pastry tomorrow or something. I’ve closed on my own many times, I’ll be fine! There's no coffee demand this late at night anyway!”

“Fine! I won’t forget! But don’t complain if there’s more than one pastry!”

“Oh my god, LEAVE!” you yell, blindly pointing at the door for her to leave, and you hear her resounding laughter as she finally does go.

“Oops, sorry, welcome and excuse me!” you hear her exclaim as she steps out, and you turn around, already knowing that it’s a customer.

Taking your coworkers' welcome as the company greeting, you merely shouted out that you’d be right with them as you finished washing ― you were almost done with them anyways. Finally done, you turned around, eyes on your thighs as you dried your hands on your apron.

“Alright, how can I help…” you froze when you caught sight of familiar, warm red eyes. “...you.”

Kirishima.

He looked at you with blushing, puffed cheeks, his eyes full of mixing, swirling emotions that you probably couldn’t handle to hear (especially if he had come to yell at you). You don’t know what to do, merely looking at him before sighing.

“The usual?” you ask, moving to get things as smoothly and effortlessly as you could (you had been yelled at for your emotional outburst by your boss).

“Uh, actually, no. I’m okay,” Kirishima spoke up as soon as you pulled out a paper cup, and you stopped, looking at him with your best attempt at dull, emotionless eyes.

“What can I get for you then?” you try again, hating the way that you want to smile at him, to pretend that nothing happened two weeks ago; that this was his first time back.

“I have to confess something,” Kirishima states, his fingers fisting into his ridiculous mismatched athleisure clothing. “I actually really, really, really hate coffee…”

You blinked.

You hadn’t expected that confession.

“Um, okay? Well, then can I make you some―”

“I’m not quite done, sorry,” Kirishima apologized, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in his embarrassment. “I hate coffee, and I don’t like being dishonest, but really, I feel like I’ve been lying to you this entire time.”

“...what?”

“I told you at some point that I had come into this shop by coincidence, but that’s not true! I’ve been passing by for months before stepping foot into here! I had always seen you working through the front window, and you just… you captivated me from that very moment, but I’ve been too weak, nervous, and totally unmanly and could never build up the courage to come in! It took me a year to build up the courage to come in ― which is why I nearly broke the front door that first day! I was so nervous about messing up; I just overexerted my strength!”

Kirishima laughed, his hands raking through his spiked hair, and you could only stare at him as the gelled hair began to fall under his ministrations.

“See, the truth is, I’ve liked you for a long time. Like a long time. And then, when I came in, and we became friends, I only fell for you even more, and I’ve been trying to work up the courage to confess to you! But every time I tried, something bad happened! Like the grouchy old man in the line, how you got sick and couldn’t work! But a true man doesn’t give up until it’s over… and I thought that girl who was hugging you and kissing your cheek that one day was your girlfriend, so I gave up! But the thing is, I was a coward, so fucking unmanly that I couldn’t be around you without you being mine! And so I left because it hurt… but it hurt not being around you, so Mina brought me here! But then you said… you said you liked me back, and unless you’re in a polyamorous relationship, there’s no way for you to have said feelings and confess them to me like that!”

He stopped, his breath frantic, panting, and you could only look up with him with a mirrored breathing pattern despite your quietness.

“I’m here because I’m tired of being weak and unmanly. I’m here because I have deep feelings for you, and I want to ask you out!”

You’re silent for a bit, the temerity of his words loud and clear in your ears, ringing with the need to be addressed. For the first time since he had walked out of your life for the first time, a warmth bubbled in your chest.

“You know,” you whisper, your eyes locked with his, the tears in your eyes freely showing. “This coffee shop does, in fact, have tea?”

“Wha―?”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish the curious ask, your hands grabbing his shirt and bringing him close, his nose brushing against yours but your lips hovering below his own.

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper, your eyes falling to his lips for a second before coming back to his eyes that shone brightly, vividly, excitedly.

“Please?”

Your lips found themselves pressed against his, and the two of you stood there, leaning against the counter by the cash register. Lips passionately, smoothly, deeply pressing against one another as electricity traveled slowly down your spine as his hands pressed against your ribcage. When you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open after yours, and he had the brightest, dumbest smile on his face.

“Would you like to go see the Crimson Riot movie with me?”

[otvlanga]

Would you be willing to write more for ralis? Or teldryn? Or revyn sadri??? 👀

Yess I’ll definitely writing more for Ralis and Teldryn soon. I haven’t done Revyn Sadri yet though so here u go! Sorry it took a while. (I literally had no clue that many people actually loved him as much as I do)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was married once to a pretty Dunmer woman when he was much younger, and much more naive to the ways of the world. They had hardly been courting for a few months before rushing to the Temple of Mara to be wed, tipsy on cheap Dunmer liquor and the rush of puppy-love. Their marriage lasted for a good decade, with Revyn absolutely head over heals for his beautiful wife within the first year. However, the entire relationship ended in shambles when Revyn heard along the grapevine that his wife was sleeping with other men. He was absolutely crushed and immediately confronted her, shouting and sobbing. He demanded they separate, despite her protests and insistence that she was never disloyal to him; he wouldn’t listen. and They had a quick, messy divorce, and never heard from each other again. The guilt chewed him up from the inside for years. To this day he isn’t sure if he was really right about her infidelity, and as a result, he presently struggles with a lot of self-doubt, and a slight fear of confronting people when he’s not sure if he’s right. He’s not a bitch though, if he knows that other person’s wrong then he’ll say whatever he damn well pleases.

He can be very impulsive at times, in a chaotic good way. He’s always trying to do the right thing, and stands on the side of helping others. He’s jumped into the middle of fights in between Dunmer and Nords in the grey Quarter, trying to pull them apart and stop anyone from hurting eachother, even if it meant he’d go home that night with bruises or a chipped tooth. He’s told off parents on the streets that were yelling at or striking their children, even if he knew it meant he might be the one getting yelled at or hit instead for butting into people’s business. He’ll  immediately holler for the guards and chase after a thief if he sees them steal something, even if he has no weapon to defend himself with when they fight back against him trying to detain them. His slight fear of confrontation flies out the window when he’s absolutely sure he’s doing the right thing, his morals won’t allow him to sit and watch as bad things happen. Even if it works against him, he’ll gladly take it knowing he did the right thing and made a difference in a world where evil brews in every cauldron and burns in every hearth.

He’s a very patient and mellow man. You’ll probably only hear him raise his voice once or twice a year when it isn’t necessary. However, even the most dormant of volcanoes will blow up eventually, and he’s no exception to that. He’s a  family man through and through, and will absolutely throw hands without question if a loved one is threatened or hurt. Doesn’t matter if his spouse is the legendary Dragonorn of legend, he’ll punch a creepy perv in the face for touching them without consent. He’ll fight the parents of the kids that bully his kids, he doesn’t give a fuck. When the disrespect for his family shows, the gloves come off. Even if he is kinda scrawny.  (look I know he doesn’t seem like he’d ever hit someone, but there’s just something so funny about a skinny little shop keeper absolutely wrecking someone for being an asshole to his family. it just makes me smile)

Gardening is his favorite hobby. He loves plants of all kinds, and has as many in pots that he can fit in his house. His yard probably has tons of flowers, and overgrown bushes and trees that the Jarl always tries to get him to chop down, because the roots ruin the foundations of surrounding buildings. He’s a mushy romantic guy at heart, and would probably clip fresh flowers from his garden for his s/o every week

He makes some really good soup and stew. He’s alright when it comes to cooking roasts and other types of food, but it’s really the soup and stew where his talent shines. He’s lived alone in his shop for a long while, and the winters in Windhelm are brutal. Putting a good chicken stew over the fire to simmer for a few hours keeps his home toasty warm longer than roasting a pheasant or goat haunch would. He knows a handfull of traditional Dunmer recipes as well, even if he’s been away from his homeland for so long. Him and Ambarys don’t get along so well, but they try their best to set aside their differences to prepare a feast together at the Cornerclub on Dunmerer holidays.

There’s a handful of Dunmer in the Grey Quarter who don’t like him, simply because he doesn’t hate the Nords like they do. He’s friendly to everyone who enters his shop, and will sell and buy from them no matter if they’re a Dunmer, Nord, Altmer, etc. He’s been accused of being a “sympathizer” and “traitor’ by some of his neighbors. Most of these rumors are spread by Ambarys. They were close friends in the past, but had a petty falling out over Revyn giving his last bit of gold to a Nord woman to get a carriage home to Whiterun after she was robbed. She had said she came to visit the Temple of Talos, but got stuck up in an alley by a cloaked man, and he stole her coin purse and her jewelry. Ambarys scolded Revyn for “being so easily fooled”, claiming that the woman was obviously lying to him just to make a fool out of a naive Dunmer for her own entertainment. Revyn was having none of that, and told Ambarys that if he had so little room in his heart for people in need, then he didn’t want a spot for himself in it. Revyn knows his people have been wronged, and abused, and shunned by the Nord people, but he refuses to admit defeat to the bad people in the world, and allow himself to believe they’re all bad. He’s an optimist like that. 

He’s always willing to support someone if they’re upset or angry. He’s got a real talent for talking people down from yelling fits of rage, and comforting people bawling their eyes out until they don’t feel the need to cry anymore. He’s a total optimist, and refuses to let anyone shit on their own future before it even happens. He’s a firm believer in “good thoughts bring good things” and always advises people to surround themselves in good energy, and project it to others if they want to receive the same. Likewise, he understands that a positive outlook won’t fix everything, and is never opposed to hugging someone for as long as they need it, or lying in bed with his s/o in his arms when they’re having a terrible day. 

[eurydicees]

theatre club au time!!! i’m back with the romeo and juliet edition of “eurydicees just write the fucking fic instead of daydreaming about it” 

theatre club au hcs are also here: part one and part two!! 

disclaimer: there was absolutely no editing nor proofreading here, i’m watching romeo + juliet and haven’t read the real script in years, and i really don’t know what i’m talking about

so. for the fall show, one year, they decide to do romeo and juliet, because obviously, you know? 

renge directs, kyoya is her stage manager

hikaru is romeo, haruhi is juliet; tamaki is mercutio, kaoru is benvolio; idk about the rest of the cast, let’s pretend they don’t matter for the sake of this list (filing the rest of the cast list under: problems for when i actually write this stupid fic) 

honey is on lighting, mori is on set and stage combat, mei is on props and costumes, kasanoda is on sound 

so in the ouran theatre club, there’s not really a big rivalry between techies and actors because there’s only a few of them, so they all switch between roles so often (ex. kaoru is 50% actor and 50% costumes; tamaki is 50% actor, 50% director) 

HOWEVER. then, right before the fall production of r&j, hikaru says some dumbass comment about actors having more work to do than techies, and being more important, etc. etc. some bullshit like that

and this causes a HUGE rift in between the techies and the actors for this show specifically— they’re all mad at each other bc of this comment; kaoru is pissed at his brother, kyoya thinks that tamaki endorsed said comment, hikaru isn’t sure why he said it in the first place, haruhi thinks this is all ridiculous but kaoru is being an asshole about it and so they’re mad at him; etc. etc. 

so this show is uh. not coming together very well, because no half wants to work with the other half, and none of them are talking to each other 

then. THEN. THEN. THEN. 

tamaki and kyoya fall in love. 

they start a secret affair together, telling no one, because they know that everyone in the club is mad at everyone else, and saying that they’re dating is just gonna add fuel to the fire, especially bc it’s an actor/sm relationship, which is a bit weird (it’s high school, though, so whatever. once this all blows over, they’ll be a #powercouple) 

things come to a head during one rehearsal, where they’re doing mercutio’s death scene 

so tamaki is acting. he’s going all out. like. he’s giving this speech as if it’s the last performance he’ll ever give. it’s brilliant. beautiful. stan. 

and when he’s done, mei makes some comment about it “needing lights to make it look any good,” as if he can’t make it good on his own, and tamaki is so hurt by this. like. so hurt. 

renge calls for the end of rehearsal, bc hikaru is abt to like. go to war in defense of tamaki’s acting, and kaoru is just mad at hikaru, so he’s also ready to argue (bc they’re at a good enough place in their relationship to do that!!!) 

kyoya, in an attempt to cheer him up, brings tamaki out for dinner, but they have to be discreet, so they go to some commoner place. this is where all the pining Hits. then they finally, finally, actually start dating. 

as we go through the rehearsal and production meeting process, the scenes that they rehearse are interspersed with fluffy scenes of tamakyo falling in love, idk how all that would get worked in right, but it would make it in there because fuck it, yk? 

the rivalry was kind of simmering for a while, but then they doing their stop and go rehearsal, which is always an rip, but here it’s the first time in a hot sec that the entire production team and the actors are in the same room 

the actors keep goofing off and moving around, so honey can’t get things quite where he needs them; the actors are talking loudly, so kasanoda is fucked (but too shy to say something abt it, until mori tells honey, who tells renge, who stands up for them all)

and a (verbal) fight breaks out— kyoya, the eversuffering sm is losing his mind over here. 

he is done with this shit 

so he calls hold, and renge gives a speech about cooperation, and then everyone kind of shuts down. no on is having fun with being in theatre anymore. kasanoda is two insults away from quitting. mei is two broken seams away from physically fighting someone. 

things are not going well 

after rehearsal, tamaki and kyoya have their standing secret date night at some commoner’s place, idk where yet, we’ll figure that out when this actually gets written as a fic, and then. that’s when they get caught. 

it’s renge who finds them— and she’s angry. she goes on this whole rant about professionalism. the stage manager cannot be dating an actor. it’s a conflict of interest. it’s unprofessional. it’s scandalous. she will not have it in her theatre. 

then tamaki points out. that she is here on a date with haruhi. 

fuckin’ hypocrite. 

the four of them have a cute double date bc fuck it. i make the rules now. and they realize that this is bullshit and they’re never going to pull together a show if they keep on arguing like this

but they don’t really know how to fix it???? 

it eventually kind resolves itself when renge, who cannot keep a secret for the life of her, accidentally reveals that she and haruhi are dating— they’re in the dressing room, and renge just kisses them, not realizing that kaoru and mei are arguing over kaoru’s costume in there

everyone is very upset for a moment, until they crack because kaoru and mei are both kinda hopeless romantics, and a star-crossed love is exactly what they needed to make the show come together

meanwhile, tamaki and hikaru are practicing mercutio’s queen mab monologue (for the #drama of the moment), and kyoya is taking notes or w/e, and when they pause, hikaru asks abt tamaki’s inspiration for his acting and what feelings he’s drawing on 

and tamaki is just like *looks at kyoya* “i have my own love” 

i’m gonna be honest i super worked myself into a hole here and i have absolutely no idea how to end this

unlike shakespeare, i cannot kill off all the characters in order to have a resolution to my work 

taking suggestions for an ending i guess. anything would be better than whatever this mess is rn

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 2

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 2: What’s in a Name?

It was a week since Macaque had taken MK in and to the child it has been the best week of his life. When he woke up in the mornings he didn’t have to worry about there being no food as he smelt it as soon as he opened his eyes, he could play in the forest with all the monkeys as long as Mac was there and he even had clothes that fit him instead of the same stinky shirt on days end. Everything was just wonderful.

“MK, what should we do about school?”

Or at least it was, but as soon as the monkey demon asked that question, MK's whole body deflated. “Do I have to go to school?”

“Education is important shooting star,” he said as he diced up some plants. “It helps things we don’t know and things we want to know.”

“Okay, but it is really boring, I always lose all my stuff all the time, and the teacher always explains it so weirdly,” the child pouted.

“Everyone has a different method of teaching, so you may have a method of learning as well.”

“Oohh….what does method mean?”

“It’s just another word for way.”

“Oh okay,” MK then tilts his head, “so what are you doing anyways?”

“Well right now I’m cutting up some herbs so I can use to make medicine,” he explained in simple terms as he then picked up the diced up blue plant and placed it into a cauldron and began to stir it.

“I didn’t know you could make your own medicine from home!” He leaped up and tried to poke his head over the counter to watch, “I always thought that you get it at the doctor's office.”

“Well doctors actually get it from a lab where people make the medicine there, this space here is my own lab.” He gestured to the room that was filled with all types of different ingredients all placed in a package inside of one storage cabinet and in another was a cabinet filled with modern lab equipment.

“So you don’t have to be a doctor to make medicine?”

“Well for most yeah, but for me,” he grinned as he picks up MK with one hand and placed him on his hip as he continues to stir with his other “let’s just say that I have been doing this for a little over 500 years, so I have a tad bit more experience and knowledge than regular humans.”

“Can I try?!” He excitedly asked.

“Well I don’t know, sometimes it will be a bit too dangerous for you to even be In here, which by the way, do not enter this lab unless I am here,” he sternly told him.

“Okay, okay got it, but pleaseee.”

“I don’t know, think you can handle it,” he teased.

“I’m a big boy! I can handle anything!”

“Hmmmm,” he pretended to think before conceding, “Alright you persuaded me, so I’ll allow it this once,” he said as he put the spoon down, “so first we make sure we have our safety gear on.”

“Check! Check!” MK adjusted the goggles on his eyes and showed off his long sleeve jacket and gloves.

“Next, what you have to do is go slow and make large circles.”

“Slow and large circles, got it,” he then proceeded to pick up the spoon and do what he said as he stirred.

“Good job kiddo, but how bout we make that circle a little bit bigger,” he gently grabbed MK’s hand and made it a bit wider. Soon enough the medicine's previous light yellow had transformed into a dark green.

“Look, it changed colors!” MK pointed out.

“That’s the beauty of medicine kid,” Mac grinned as he set him down, “now all I have left to do is to let this simmer for a few hours and it will be ready to be bottled up.”

“That’s a lot of medicine, is that all for you?”

The demon shook his head, “no it’s actually for one of my regular clients. His students routinely injure themselves, sometimes in the dumbest of ways, so I usually make batches of this every month.” His ears then slightly twitch as he grinned, “speaking of students, MK come here. I have someone here for you to meet.”

“Who?” He tilted his head as the monkey put a lid on a pot, proceeded to put away both of their safety gear as they left the room.

“Hey old-timer, I know your hearing isn’t that bad!” A voice yelled from down below that MK could barely hear, “come grab me, I’m carrying too much shit to climb up!”

“Someone to help,” was all Macaque said before he leaped out of the open window and less than a few seconds later, returned with a short bluenette woman in his arms. “MK this is Yanyu,” he said. “Yanyu, this is MK.”

“Uhhh, he shuffled his feet awkwardly as he gave a slight wave, “hi.”

“Awww,” she cooed at him, “it’s nice to meet you MK. You're rocking a pretty cool shirt there.” She pointed to his solar system shirt, “it’s really far out man.”

There was a pause as MK stuttered out a thank you and Macaque put his face in his hands.

“That was terrible, I hope you know that,” he groaned.

“That’s what you say, I know my puns are rockin my world,” she smirked at the louder groans.

“Please stop, I beg you.”

“Then beg.”

“Are you human?” MK bluntly asked, which made the two pause.

“Strangely enough that isn’t the first time I was asked that, but yes I am fully human. Though a small percentage of me is most likely full of crazy,” she grinned widely.

“I think you have those backward,” he muttered and didn’t even flinch when she elbowed his stomach. “So your probably wondering why she’s here right?”

“Uhhh yeah,” he nodded.

“Well, I have come to the realization that despite my many years with humans, I have never actually taken care of a human child outside of giving them medication.”

“Which he means that he knows not a single thing about taking care of you tiny ones,” Yanyu butted in as she crossed her arms, “and this is where I come in.”

“Oh well that’s good...I think?” MK didn’t exactly know what she meant, but since they said it’s a good thing, he feels like he doesn’t have any complaints.

“Oh trust me, it will be,” she said as she put down the bag and it was filled with books when she opened it up. “I may be a big sister of five, but even I can admit that I don’t know everything, so I brought some parenting books, nutrition, school, and a lot more.”

He couldn’t help but deflate slightly at the last word, which the bluenette noticed.

“Don’t like school?”

“Not really, it's just that I can’t stay focused sometimes,” he admitted as he lowered his head.

“Hey now,” Mac kneeled and ruffled his head, “you don’t have to feel shame for being distracted sometimes.”

“Hmm, well if you have troubles with traditional school classrooms, then how about you try online schooling?” Yanyu said.

“Online school?” MK tilted his head.

“I didn’t know it was also available for the younger grades, I thought it was only for the college classes like you had,” he admitted as he used his feet to pick up one of the parenting books.

“Nah, it was incorporated for all years a few years back. It certainly helped a lot of students out and one of them being me,” she proudly pointed a finger to herself, “let me tell you, kid, it was the second-best decision to do online school. Made my life so much easier.”

“What was the first?” He curiously asked.

Yanyu walked over to Macaque and patted him on the shoulder, “begging this ol doc here to take me on as a student. It was the cheapest and most informative learning I ever had since high school.”

“Student? You were a teacher!” MK's eyes widened as he looked at the monkey demon.

“Kinda, though I did question my sanity during those times,” he said as he flipped through the pages.

“Oh shut up, if it wasn’t for me you would still know squat about technology.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were still using the Jiaguwen system when I first met you.”

He winced, “okay yeah you got me there.”

“Anywho, it’s gonna be a right pleasure working with you MK,” she held out a fist bump to him, “we’re gonna see a lot of each other.”

MK looked at the outstretched fist and gave a little grin as he fist-bumped her hand.

“Boom,” Yanyu made an exploding sound as she opened her fist when the two parted.

He looked at her strangely.

“Don’t worry Starbright, she’s just weird like that,” Mac patted his head.

“Hey!”

A few months have passed and MK has taken to online schooling like a fish to water. He found it much better to concentrate and while there were still a few issues over understanding the problem itself, he had the help of both Macaque and Yanyu. The last one herself was helping him with his writing.

“The girl is walking to the market by the river to get milk for her mother,” MK repeated to himself as he finished writing.

“Congratulations kid, you have finally graduated from Yoda writing to a regular language,” she gave him a little applause.

“Thank you, thank you you're too kind,” he also jumped out of his seat to give a mock bow.

“But for real kid, you have really approved with your writing,” she gave him a high five, “nice job.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you both,” he scratched the back of his neck.

“I know that you would have been just fine even without our help and I know your dad would agree.”

“Really!” Then MK realized what she said and backtracked as he flailed his arms about, “Wait dad?! I mean dad is kinda a big word and he just adopted me, so he probably doesn’t even see me as a son, more like a responsibility he has to take care-,” he was stopped by a hand gently covering his mouth.

“Whoa there little monkey easy, I can’t keep up that fast,” she lightly teased as she put her hand down, “now you want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Well,” he sat down and kicked his feet, “I-its just-I don’t really-.”

“Take your time,” the bluenette said.

“Well,” he twisted his hands “is it okay if someone-and I don’t mean me just someone I know-don’t call mom and dad, well, mom and dad.”

“Yeah,” she said easily.

“Wait really?” He was a little more than shocked at how easy she said that.

“Really. You, or my bad that person you know, don’t feel comfortable or don’t want to call their parents so that they don’t have to.”

“But they gave birth to me-I mean that person and they raised them, so shouldn’t they have that name?” He tried to insist but was shut down by her shaking her head.

“They don’t keep that name if they harm the child, no parent ever deserves that kind of title if they purposely try to bring harm to their child. It is wrong,” she stated.

“Oh...and what about those that do?” He shyly said, both knowing what he was implying but not saying it out loud.

“Then you say it when your ready,” Yanyu simply said.

“I don’t think it’s that easy?”

“No, but what is?”

MK just shrugged his shoulders.

“Now how about we put away this stuff for ten more minutes before we get into history,” she pushed away from the materials and made sure the laptop was charged up.

“Yes!” He fist-bumped the air as he then spotted the pencil on the ground and tried to pick it up with his feet.

Yanyu had to press her lips together to fight against the bubbling laugh in her throat as she watched MK struggle to pick the pencil with the socks on his feet.

“Oi bastard I need a little help ova here!” A rough voice yelled out as it was followed by a loud bang, which led to the eight year old flailing off his bed.

“How many times have I told you to stop that?” He heard Macaque's familiar voice being annoyed.

“Too many times to count,” another softer voice replied.

“But you think that gunna sticka?” The third voice laughed out loud. “That’s a laugh!”

MK slowly opened his door and crept quietly to the living room as the voices got louder.

“I guess it is too much to ask you to be quiet for once?” The monkey deadpanned.

“Now why would I do that?” The first voice said.

It was at this point that MK managed to poke his head into the living room and saw three different demons, he knows they are demons this time, and his da-Macaque.

There was one whose skin was dark brown, but lighter above the shoulders. The more he looked, the more he could see that they were actually feathers all along the body, and instead of hands, they had clawed bird-like feet and two large black wings protruding from the back.

Another one was softly glowing a light blue hue that matched the pale blue skin as the creature was gently floating just a smidge above the ground. They had almost a mushroom-shaped hat covering their eyes and dozens of dark blue and purple strings attached all around the bottom of the hat as they hung just above the demon feet.

The final one is something that MK could clearly tell what it was as he had seen a bunny before, though this one was way larger than the other bunnies he had ever seen. The demon had pure gray fur and large white fluffy paws, if he wasn’t so nervous right now he would ask to pet them.

“Well I was hoping that you would have kept it down for the kid that is currently living with me right now,” he cracked a smirk at their frozen faces.

“Huh?” They all said in unison.

“Speaking of kids, you can come out MK. Don’t worry bout them too much, they ain’t harmful, just insane.”

At the prompting MK slowly shuffled into the living room and he saw three heads swivel towards him.

“Uhhh hi,” he gave a little wave.

“You have a kid?!?” They all shouted either loudly or softly.

“It’s not that big of a shock,” he grumbled as he walked over to the child and threaded his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, these knuckleheads woke you up.”

“I know I have not been gone that long for you to have a chick without me knowin!” The female bird demon squawked as her feathers puffed up in indignation.

“Nah, adopted him a few months back.”

“And you didn’t tell us?!” The bunny huffed as they thumped his foot in agitation.

“Nope,” he grinned as he watched their growing frustration.

“There are times where you are the best of us and times you are the worst of us, I don’t know which one this falls under,” the mushroom head demon groaned as one of the strings was massaging the top of his head.

“Are they your friends?” MK loudly whispered to the monkey demon.

“I don’t claim these lunatics,” he bluntly said.

“I think you mean to say that we are your amazing, wonderful, fantastic friends that you hold dear,” the bunny demon pointed out as they put an arm around his shoulder.

“I was forced into this,” Macaque said as a wing wrapped around the two of them.

“Ah just admit that you have a soft fuzzy heart for us,” the bird demon grinned.

“Not even when my bones decay away.”

MK just blinked at the unprompted scene as he saw the glowing blue demon approach him.

“Sorry about my companions, they can be a little much sometimes,” he smiled softly to him.

“It’s fine, you're not the only ones who make a loud entrance,” he thought back to the times Yanyu would kick the door open when she walked in.

“I suppose not,” the demon then held out one of his arms to the child, making sure his tentacles were out of the way, “my name is Bohai little one.”

“I’m MK,” he smiled back and shook his hand.

“Oh, we’re doing introductions?! Well, I’m Daiyu chicky,” the female demon grinned or at least that's what he thought she was doing with her scarred beak.

“I’m Minsheng,” the bunny demon twitched their nose and gave a toothy grin, “you're so small that you remind me of my siblings when they were born.”

“How many siblings do you have?” He curiously asked.

“Pfft older or younger? I stopped counting after we reached the 200s,” they laughed.

His eyes widened, “over 200! That’s a lot of brothers and sisters.”

“Well, you know how bunnies are.”

Before MK could question that he felt two furry hands cover his ears.

“How about we don’t talk about that to a kid who has probably never had a crush before,” Macaque hissed to the bunny who had their hands held up.

“He’ll learn eventually.”

“But I would rather have that explained to him by literally anyone but you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyways,” the monkey took his hands off MK’s ears, “what were you screeching about earlier?”

“Oh well I got a bit nicked with some of dem cretins after a territory dispute you know how it is and,” Daiyu turned around and showed her back...which had a few knives sticking out of it. “I got a bit scratched up in the tussle.”

“At least you had the sense not to take it out,” he couldn’t help but sigh. “You at least win?”

“Who do ya think your talkin to?” She proudly puffed up her feathers.

“And people say I have too much pride, you damn vultures take the cake,” Macaque rolled his eyes as the two of them walked towards the infirmary room.

“You say that as if you never met Flicker before,” she chortled.

“Well there’s a stark difference between you two.”

“Wha that?”

“He actually has a brain.”

“Hey!” She attempted to pull his dangling fur, but he ducked away in time.

“Can I stay up a little longer!” The seven year old asked before the door could shut.

“Only for a little bit, but when I get back it’s straight to bed.” He answered back and then the door closed.

“Thank you!” He called out regardless as he fully knew that he could hear him.

“And that’s the whole lot of us kid, we're only half as insane as curly made us out to be '' Minsheng joked.

“Almost all of us,” the jellyfish demon said.

“Who you? Ha! Hate to break it to you, but the last time you lost your patience was when they didn’t make your starfish the way you wanted and you paralyzed the entire cooking staff.”

“You didn’t have to bring that up, but no not me,” he waved one of his tendrils. “I meant Ahmed.”

“I didn’t include him in the first place because that man does not even classify as insane,” he bluntly said. “He has the patience of a monk to deal with our brand of insanity which, in hindsight, is insane itself.”

“Whose Ahmed?” MK asked, “is he another friend of d-Mac?”

The two looked at each other before Baiyu spoke, “yeah, he’s a friend of Macaque.”

“Ouch, that’s a low blow for poor Med,” they grinned then winced as a tendril shocked their arm. “What? You know I’m right.”

“You know as well as I do that he can still hear you.”

“I’ve been craving death anyways,” they then turned back to the kid, “so you want to hear some crazy stories about your old man.”

Needless to say that Mac had tackled the bunny demon to the ground, with two violet glowing escrima sticks in hand, in the middle of their story on how the fierce monkey demon had to dance his way across a road of hot coal as he tried to outrun an angry herd of demon pheasant while wearing a rather beautiful kimono.

Macaque was reading out on the patio when his ears twitched as he heard a soft whimpering coming from MK’s room. He put the book on the table when he walked in and safely crept his way over his room and like many times before MK was crying in his sleep from a nightmare once more.

“It’s okay shooting star,” he gently began to thread his fingers through MK’s hair, “it's just a bad dream. You will be fine.”

At first, it didn't have any effect, but the longer he talked the softer the whimpers began to die down and the kid's eyes softly began to blink open.

“W-what's goin on?” He hoarsely said as he rubbed his eyes as he realized that he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“You just had a bad dream kid,” he hummed as he continued stroking his hair.

“Oh.”

“Want to talk about it?” He received a firm shake of his head, “that’s okay, do you want to lie back down, sing, water, or want me to give you a little shadow puppet show?”

“Shadow show please,” he muffled out as he gripped tighter onto the blanket.

“One show coming right up,” he used a shadow clone to bring back a lantern as the room began to softly glow. When all was set Macaque began his tale in a low voice, “There once was an old man who lived in a shack.” He used some of his shadows to show a picture of an elderly man and wooden shack, “he was nothing special, did nothing extraordinary, and his life was simply normal. Until one day he happens upon the most peculiar thing.”

He continued to tell the tale of the old man even when he, unknowingly, had wrapped his tail around his child’s hand and MK, who was slowly drifting off into a deep slumber, held a tight grip upon it.

MK was currently sitting on the edge of a large lake as he kicked his feet in the water. He was alone at the moment as the monkey demon was tending to the plants that he needs for various medicines. The lake itself was a beautiful view filled with lily pads, reeds standing tall in the crystal lake, fishes and herons swimming in the water. Though he was trying to guess what that large dark shape was, it was nothing he has ever seen before.

“Hmmm I don’t think it’s a fish...maybe a duck?” He leaned in to get a better look and noticed. “Or maybe a turtle!”

The shape shifted as it appeared to be getting bigger and bigger as MK now noticed that he had never seen a turtle with long arms and claws before. He then saw there was long string hair upon what he thinks is its head until suddenly it disappeared and was replaced with two beady eyes. His heart dropped when the creature opened its mouth to reveal countless rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Then it began to rapidly swim towards him.

MK, frightened, fell on his back as he tried to crawl away, but it failed as the creature burst out of the water and onto the ground merely a foot away from him.

He let out a piercing scream, “DDAAADDDDD!”

At the same time the creature, with his mouth wide, said “hi there human child!”

“What?” He abruptly stopped his screaming right as an ominous force suddenly filled up the area as MK then felt two familiar hands scoop him up and hold him close as the voice spoke almost lowly.

“What happe-oh it’s just you,” Macaque let the pressure go back to normal once he realized that there wasn’t a true threat that was trying to attack his kid.

“Bwahahaha,” the creature let out a bellowing laugh, “sorry sorry. I must have scared your youngin.”

“No!” MK instantly said, but then he wilted and nodded, “just a bit.”

“Sorry about that little child, I just get a bit excited when a new face comes around my lake and all,” the webbed creature gave a toothy grin. “I know I startled the pant off Minzhe when I first met him.”

“Your lake? You live here?” MK, after being let down, carefully tried to examine the waters closer.

“Right on the mark, since being a Shui Gui and all.”

“Shui Gui,” he drawled out as he thought about that familiar name.

“Or Kappa, our damn naming changes so often that at this point I just go with the flow.”

“Oh! I know what a Shui Gui is!” MK brightened as he began to tell what his...mom used to tell him. “Aren’t they vengeful demons that have drowned and are bent on dragging helpless victims underwater, drowning them and finally eating their...flesh to…to...” his face took on a look of horror as he realized what he just blurted out. “I am so sorry!”

Luckily though the two demons chuckled, or at least Macaque did as the Kappa was holding his stomach. Though this did make MK’s face flush in embarrassment, he should be glad that the demon wasn’t angry, but he didn’t find any humor in what he said.

“Well I’ll give you credit,” Kappa said as his laughter died down, “what you said was mostly true, except I’m not a demon, just a ghost.”

“And let’s be clear he hasn't eaten people since two-maybe three millenniums ago,” the monkey demon intruded as he knew what MK was gonna ask next.

“You humans have become much too stringy for my taste,” he joked, but it served the opposite purpose as the small child paled even further.

“And this is why your only friend is an adrenaline junkie who has a taste for his own death,” Mac deadpanned as he soothed MK down.

After his heart stopped thrumming in his ears the human managed to look up at his guardian and his eyes widened as he noticed that Macaque suddenly had three pairs of different colored ears: red, blue, and purple. “When did you get three ears?!”

“You just now noticed?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Did you have them all this time?!?!!”

“Not all the time, but I do when it’s quiet usually.”

“Cooolll!” He attempted to climb the monkey to get a better look, “Is this how you're able to hear things from so far away?”

“Yeah,” he lets him examine his ears as only his eye minuscule twitch when MK accidentally pulls it too hard. “Be careful now, only have three pairs of them you know.”

“Right, sorry.” He apologized as he became gentler with his touches. He couldn’t help but gently drag his fingers through the oddly pointed ears and he smiled, now he understood why some of Mac's clients called him the Six-Eared Macaque. He eventually got down and faced the spirit once more, who was just looking at the two of them with amusement. “I’m real sorry for screaming at you.”

“Water under the bridge young child,” he waved him off, “least you apologize for it. I know that half the ones in these woods won’t even say sorry for ramming into you.”

“There’s more of you?” He tried to look in the lake, but he was once again met with only fish and water.

“Me specifically no, but spirits, demons, and other whatnot. Oh yeah there's hundreds of them dwelling in this here forest.”

“Wowww,” his eyes sparkled, “so does that mean that we are all neighbors.”

It was stunned silence before the Shun Gui began laughing once more as he bends down, “PFFTHAHAHA!”

“Did I say something funny?” MK looked towards Mac who was pinching his nose once more.

“No, he’s just obnoxious, that’s all.”

“You know what I like you kid, yeah we’re all neighbors, man even Ping would get a laugh out of this,” the water spirit said after his laughter died down. “Welcome to the neighborhood MK!”

“Thanks...umm what’s your name again?” He embarrassedly asked as he realized that he never got a name throughout this whole interaction.

“Oh here we go,” Mac sighed as he got comfortable and plucked up a Ravenna grass and began to chew on it. He grimaced as he realized that he had plucked up a weed again.

“Eh, you can call me Kappa if you want, don’t care for the whole naming thing,” he shrugged as he got back in the lake and laid there.

“Why not?” He curiously followed him.

“Why should I?” He shot back with a grin.

“Huh?”

“Why should I care for my name? It’s my name and I can do whatever I want with it, so I just choose not to care.”

“But don’t you like your name,” he was very confused about how this conversation came about.

“Oh I do, but truth be told, most of the time I forget others' names, so one day I just thought ‘you know what, what if I just don't use my name all the time’ and I didn't,” he finger gunned at the blank face child.

“You're kinda weird,” he bluntly told Kappa.

“I’m sorry,” Mac spoke up in disbelief, “You met a trio of lunatic demons that are a hot mess in general, an insane human who likes to add too much ghost jalapeño to her food, one of my clients who have their organs outside of their body and this is where you draw the line of weird?”

“I just wanted to know his name!” He threw his hands up.

“Just whatever is fine,” he laughed.

“Well fine! Your name is Whatever now!” He said in a fit of frustration before he realized what he said, “wait! I didn’t mean-,”

“Pfthahaha!” The spirit once more threw his head back in laughter.

“...what is even happening,” MK deadpanned.

“Welcome to my life Starchild,” Mac said as he ruffled his hair.

“That’s an interesting one, alright Whatever it is then,” he gave him a toothy grin.

“Wha-no please no,” MK almost begged him. “I didn’t-,”

“Nope too late, I won’t respond to anything else but Whatever from you. Hope to see you around short stack, you really know how to bring a laugh to a vengeful spirit face,” he let out a bark of a laugh before diving down deep into the lake.

MK blinked for a few moments before turning to Macaque, “is he really gonna-,”

“Oh yeah he is only gonna respond by that name,” he cut him off, “called him a Kappa once to his face and that slimy frog hasn’t let go since.”

“...I think I want to go back home dad,” said MK as he leaned into his fur. “I think I’m done for the day.”

Macaque’s breath hitched as he then gave him a gentle smile and scooped him up in his arms. “Yeah, I think I am as well.” And with that, the two mentally exhausted people made their way back to their warm home.

MK, who proudly turned nine as of a few months ago, was playing in an arcade as his dad was grocery shopping. He stuck out his tongue as he attempted to repeatedly punch the monster in Monkey Mech, but he keeps getting beaten right before he can land the final punch. He mused up his short ponytail out of frustration that was held by a red ribbon, “Oh man! I swear this guy cheats, alright seventeen times the charm.”

“I thought it was the third time the charm?” He turns around at the voice and sees a pigtail girl around his age looking at him.

“It is, but I lost sixteen other times, so this time I will win,” he confidently said as he put another token in, and just like before he lost. “I almost had it!”

“Move over,” the girl pushed him aside and took over the controls, “let me show you how to really play.”

MK's jaw dropped when the Winner title popped up after she managed to land the final triple axel uppercut to the enemy. “How’d you do that?!”

“Oh just a lot of practice, and searching online, to find the right moves to slain the beast,” she bragged.

He went down on his knees and bowed to her, “oh teach me your ways oh wise one.”

“You may refer to me as Master Mei,” she deepened her voice to sound elderly, “and who shall I call my young student.”

“Call me MK,” he followed along with glee, he hasn’t played with a kid his age in so long.

“Well then let me show you the ways of Monkey Mech,” and with that the two proceeded to play the game, playfully pushing each other as they double battled in a co-op mode. It wasn’t until a few hours had passed, and they had long passed Monkey Mech and went into all the different kinds of games in the arcade when MK noticed the digital clock behind the counter.

“Aww man, it’s getting late,” he pouted as he didn’t want to end, “I have to meet up with dad.”

“Awww,” Mei's shoulder slumped as they walked to the prize area, “that sucks.”

“Yeah,” he slumped his shoulder, as well as the two, looked through the prizes available, which did brighten the mood a bit as Mei left with a strange mutated stuffed dog that had three eyes, a few pieces of candy, and three bouncy balls, while MK was sucking on a swirly lollipop, pieces of chocolate in his pocket, and a sticky hand sling that he is slinging everywhere.

“So you like racing?” MK asked as they left the arcade, besides the Monkey Mech he noticed that Mei tended to go to the racing games more often.

“Yes! One day I will have my own motorcycle and I will be faster than anyone, even the Monkey King!” Mei declared.

“Even the Monkey King? Wow that is fast,” he said in awe, he read the story of the Journey to the West from the library. He was quickly enamored with the story the more he read and he soon began to idolize the great Monkey King. To think that such a being could ever exist in the first place was amazing! He did find it funny that the great Monkey King rival was named Macaque, it was hilarious to think that his dad could ever have powers to fight on equal standing with a god-like immortal. Grumpy? Sure! Easy annoyed? Oh yeah definitely, but scary? Ha! The scariest thing Dad has ever done was glare at his patients when they were being too noisy, but for some reason it always works as they shrink back in fear. He mentioned it to Yanyu and the demon gang one time and well-

“HAHAHAH/PFFTTTTT/SQUAK SQUAWK SQUAAAKK/SHEHEHEH,” Yanyu was rolling all over the floor as Minsheng was banging his feet, Daiyu was slamming the table with her wings, and Bohai was using all his tentacles to wrap himself.

-they burst out laughing when he mentioned this to them. He still hasn’t gotten a full answer for that one, all they told him was to wait.

“I wonder how far that can go?” Mei curiously asked as she watched the green sling attach itself on the top of the door that they were exiting.

“Not far, how high can your bouncy ball bounce?” He asked as he then watched her bounce the ball and saw it soar a bit high above their heads.

“Not that high either...how about we combine them,” she gave a mischievous grin as MK followed suit as he used his sticky sling and attached it to the ball.

“One,” Mei started.

“Two,” MK raised his hand in mid-air.

“Thr-”

“Ready to go kid.”

“AH!” They screamed and watched the sling and ball slip from his hand and instead of bouncing, it was thrown in Mac's face, who easily caught it.

“Not the first time I had something thrown at me,” he didn’t even blink at the outburst, though he did take a second glance at the other child next to his son, “though your new, made a friend Stardust.”

“Her name is Mei!” MK excitedly said though it didn’t look like Mei was paying attention to him at all as her focus was all on Macaque, or more specifically, his head.

“What?” The monkey demon raised an eyebrow.

“You have the longest hair I have ever seen,” her eyes sparkled as she instantly zoomed behind him and started to pull on his fur. “Can I braid it?!”

“It’s actually fur,” he corrected her.

“Can I still put it in a braid?”

“Sure.”

“Then I don’t care!” She happily proclaimed and pointed to one of the benches. “Sit.”

“...” he looked towards his kid who just shrugged his shoulders, “well I guess this is happening,” he sighed as he got a clone to take the rest of their groceries back home.

Needless to say that Mei very much enjoyed putting the demon fur in a messy, but still manageable, braid.

“You know if I had some Morning glories, they would look amazing in your hair,” she mused.

“You know their weeds right?” He pointed out.

“So? They look awesome.”

“You got me there.”

“There!” She proudly finished her creation with her green ribbon tied up at the end, “you have very fluffy hair.”

“Fur,” he once more corrected her.

“Eh fur, hair there the same thing,” she turned back from the monkey and to MK with a nervous smile, “you will definitely come back right? I haven’t finished playing all the arcade games with you.”

MK looks towards his dad with puppy dog eyes and Mei easily follows suit.

“You know those don’t work on me right,” he deadpanned and smirked at their hanging heads, “but yeah, I’ll drop him off from time to time.”

“Yes!” They both jump up in cheer, only for some of their candy to fall out and onto the floor.

“My babies!” MK rushed to pick up his pieces of semi-melted chocolate.

“Noooo!” Mei quickly began to grab as many of her jawbreakers as it rolled away.

Macaque watched them in amusement at their mad scramble to save their sugar fix.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.

[bakugohoex]

Do you still take request? Can i request an matsukawa x reader angst where matsunn and the reader are in a relationship and one day reader wanted to surprise matsun by visiting him at practice and then she caught him talking badly about her like how annoying and clingy she is and that kind of stuff and then oikawa's like "matsun look behind you" and then issei just realized hes caught. Its up to you whether or not its a happy or sad ending sorry if this is kinda long hehe

“our relationship ended as soon as you called me a ‘clingy bitch’”

pairing: issei matsukawa x female reader x toru oikawa (separate)

cw: angst, kissing and swearing

word count: 1400+

a/n: i mischaraterised matsukawa so much as i know he’s baby, personally i don’t simp for him so i made it lead to oikawa but he’s nice in the anime, in this however he a dickhead

summary: in which you walk into the gym to find matsukawa chatting shit about you to oikawa, as matsukawa tries to win you back you find comfort in the most unlikely of people

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

“She’s just so fucking boring, all she does is talk and talk about her life.” Matsukawa was complaining about you again, he had done this multiple times to the members of his team and now it was Oikawa’s turn to listen.

 Iwaizumi had heard himself this morning about Matsukawa complaining, something about how you had tried to call him to tell him about your birthday plans next week but he had hung up once you started talking. Iwaizumi had reeled this back to Oikawa as both of them were pissed. You were too nice and too selfless to have Matsukawa make you feel as if your birthday wasn’t special.

 Oikawa knew it wasn’t right for Matsukawa to talk about you like this, you’d known them both since you were all first years and the third years felt sorry for you with how much Matsukawa had been treating you.

 The way you’d come help with practice with the brightest smile and he’d say one thing about how your skirt looked tighter which would make you insecure. Even after Matsukawa had said that Kindaichi had tried to comfort you saying that he was joking. You gave a soft smile as you no longer were joyous at all.

 You’d even gone as far as coming to matches to support them, the whole team had heard him scowl at you, the way he grabbed your arm leaving a bruise with how he called you an embarrassment. It hurt, you knew it and Oikawa knew it and that was the last thing he wanted for you.

 He spotted you nearing the corner of the building, he admired the way you had a hop in your step, you had told him in the morning about how you hoped you passed your maths final and it seemed you did a lot better than pass with the grin that rested on your face. Oikawa and Matsukawa were audible, and he hadn’t noticed you standing right behind him.

 “She’s just a cling bitch.” He scowls rubbing his forehead, “she’s always there and really I don’t even know why anybody would like her.”

 The words stung, Oikawa looked at your teary eyes face, the mascara and eyeliner clumping down, “Y/n”. Oikawa barges pass Matsukawa who sees the tears fall down your cheek, he doesn’t speak. Just watches as Oikawa hugs you, the way his arm wraps around your smaller frame but still bring you comfort.

 “Y/n I did…” He gets interrupted as Oikawa lets go of you but still keeping a hand on your lower back.

 “You know you meant all of that, we’ve all had to hear the shitty things you’ve said about her. I never even understood why she’d date you.” Oikawa mutters as the tears continue to fall, Oikawa brings a finger up to wipe them away as he shakes his head at the situation.

 “Y/n lets go back to mine okay?” Oikawa asks softly, you nod not wanting to be around Matsukawa anymore. You never thought that accepting his date months before would lead you to feeling so numb and worthless. His anger boiled at the way Oikawa was touching you, comforting you, he hated how even his team who had arrived looked sympathetic to you rather than him.

 What about the pain he was feeling? He was the one who had to date a fucking bitch who only cared about herself. You were the one who called him late last night to talk about your birthday as if that was more important than the volleyball matches. He watched Iwaizumi walk up to you and Oikawa as Oikawa explained, Iwaizumi nodded letting the two of you leave.

 “Y/n don’t listen to anything he says, you’re nothing like that.” Oikawa makes you come closer to him, he had always had a crush on you but as soon as Matsukawa asked you out, his feelings had simmered down.

 “I’m worthless aren’t I, I’m clingy an…and I’m annoying an.. and I’ve gained weight, I’m selfish aren’t I.” Mascara filled tears fill your eyes as you can barely get your words out.

 “Y/n listen to me, he is a fucking idiot, you’re perfect okay, your face your body your personality everything about you is perfect.” Oikawa’s hands reach for yours as you grab them to feel some sort of comfort.

 “Does he really hate me that much?” Oikawas hands went to your face to wipe away the tears as he shakes his head.

 “I don’t know what’s going on with him, let’s get you to mine, we can get you cleaned up and we can watch anything you want.” Oikawa smiles, he wasn’t good at comforting, but he was trying at least. You nod, your hands still in each other’s before you heard shouting from the gym.

 “What the fuck is that now?” Oikawa questions quietly, he wanted to take you far away from Matsukawa but also wanted to make sure Iwaizumi was fine as well.

 He saw as Iwaizumi came out with Matsukawa, his grip tightly around the boys wrist. “Y/n, please wait, let me explain.” His pleading made you even more angry, he didn’t love you, fuck he didn’t even care about you, he loved that he could tell people he was dating you, the way he bathed in the way people would stare at you up and down and all he had to do was hold your hand or kiss your lips and everybody would see that you were taken. He loved his ability to make everybody love and adore your relationship as if it was perfect.

 It wasn’t, the nights you had spent crying alone as he ends the calls and facetimes, the way he’d leave you on read, or leave you alone when you’d hang out or cancel just as you arrived to where your date was supposed to be. You stayed out of fear that he’d make everybody hate you but watching at the whole team were on your side empowered you, you didn’t need him. And as your eyes reached the enclosed hand of Oikawa’s.

 You realised who was truly always there for you, the way Oikawa would give you his jacket when the team had late practices, the way he’d come up to you after matches to make sure you were okay, every morning how he’d wait near the tree which was passed both your houses to walk to school together. He’d buy you food when you had spent it all on anime and manga merch, he’d comfort you when he saw you were insecure.

 You knew who you truly had loved, ever since that day when you met little Oikawa fresh out of middle school who had dreams of reaching the top. Who wanted to become a professional and go to nationals. The dreams he had and all you could see was yourself by his side, you loved the setter and had settled for somebody who was never even in the same league.

 “Y/n, please we can get over this, I ne…

 You interrupt him finally gaining confidence, “our relationship ended as soon as you called me a ‘clingy bitch.’”

 You had done it, you had stuck up for yourself, his eyes fell into anger as he watched you smile at Oikawa and lead the way out of school. Oikawa shrugged as he saw the glare he was getting. “Toru.”

 “Yeah.” He speaks almost scared of your confidence he felt like he was about to get eaten alive.

 “It’s always been you.” It clicks as he smiles, the way you look at him, the way you both bring out each other’s best. But even more the way you were both still in sight of the whole team.

 “How about I make you mine then?” He smirks as he brings his face closer to yours, you smile as you close the gap closing your eyes.

He moved along with your mouth, his hands on your waist bringing you closer to him, as your own went to his hair. The kiss was something more, it was hungry and long awaited, and it brought something else, a newfound relationship, were you weren’t useless, and he treated you like a princess.

 “I’m going to kill him.” You both hear in the distance as Iwaizumi grabs the boy and drags him back into the gym.

 You and Oikawa were left kissing under the hues of orange and yellow, it was a picture-perfect scene, and it was all you both ever wanted.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alaina-rose13

[artmunstudios]

What's 2 similarities & 2 differences U have noticed between Ozpin & Oscar?

Aaahh I was wondering if you were going to ask me! I’ve been seeing you around asking this question and the answers have all been interesting! So I’ll take on a response that people aren’t taking on then, yes? This will be a long post, so if anyone is interested in reading past the first analysis just click the ‘read more’!

Their Origins

Ozpin is at the core based off of two characters. One of those characters, Oscar is also connected to. There are obviously more characters and whatnot they reference, but for the sake of simplicity, I will only be addressing their clear initial inspiration. Ozpin is based off of The Wizard of Oz, also known as Professor Oz primarily in the Oz Book Series; but his full name is Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, which he abbreviated to Ozpin Head. (Thank you @immortal-green-snom for this tidbit!!!) In the book series, after he had left in the air balloon in an attempt to help Dorothy get home, Professor Oz was revealed to have done a lot of slimy and heinous things to keep the throne of the Emerald City, and by extension, the Land of Oz itself. While he does get better in the latter books he reappears in, he was portrayed as being manipulative, a bit pathetic, but extremely intelligent and a master of illusions. I wouldn't be surprised if the writers of RWBY were trying to get that across in Ozpin's traits, but to be quite honest, they kinda failed at making him even a morally grey character, as a lot (not all, he isn't guitless, but again, a lot) of the arguments used in-show, and the FNDM itself, are all about things that were either not in his control, or something that was painted as being his fault/harmful, but was actually the opposite of the situation. The biggest example of this is Raven trying to trick Yang and Weiss into believing Ozpin had forced her and Qrow to become birds/have the ability to do so. In a lot of ways, Ozpin and Professor Oz are actually opposites of one another in terms of personalities, which may have in actuality been the overall intention CRWBY had, but we can only speculate. Professor Oz is extremely selfish, while Ozpin is selfless, even to a point where it actually becomes harmful to others. Professor Oz would have done anything to be in power, while Ozpin has done everything to relinquish himself of a position of power, which I find very interesting. This may be due to him even trying to somehow relinquish the burden the God of Light has placed on Oz as a whole, but is ultimately unable to give up that specific task. Even though, truthfully, he needed to relinquish that particular stronghold all along. Professor Oz is clearly a leader, and despite his negative traits, is actually a very good one. Ozpin...as much as I love him as a character, is not the greatest leader. He is, however, an excellent advisor/second-in-command. Professor Oz is only a mere mortal man pretending to be something more, while Ozpin is something bigger than a mortal man, but is pretending to be nothing but a man. Expanding upon this, they also are desperate to be the opposite of what they are. Professor Oz wants to be what he portrayed himself as, and for Ozpin, it's very much the same situation. There is a lot more I could say, but let's move on to Oscar!

Oscar Pine, like Ozpin, is based off of two characters at the core. Again, it is likely that he represents more than two, but for the sake of simplicity, let's discuss only the two. From the moment I saw Oscar, I knew right away that he was based off of my favorite character from the Oz Book Series...Tip. Tip, short for Tippetarius, was too a farmboy who longed for much more, who knew that there was more out there, despite being notably content in their lifestyle. The only difference was that Tip was a slave to an evil witch, but he escapes her in the second chapter with a companion. He is described as being just like any boy; rugged, mischievous, playful, and a lover of all things fun while still being quite shrewd. Unlike Ozpin and Professor Oz, Tip and Oscar are, in fact, extremely alike. Even down to their colors and appearance. Despite how Tip is colored, he actually has light brown skin (though considering the time period, we all know why this fact was dismissed), and black hair. And his treasured beanie cap was green and orange. His clothes also had a primary color scheme of brown, and were dirty due to the work he had done on the farm. Oscar and Tip have the exact same personalities, which was what affirmed to me that Oscar was meant to be his primary parallel. What got me the most was their sarcasm. Tip is still the most sarcastic and genuinely street-smart protagonists in the Oz Books. Not to say there were no other protags like that, but there was something to be said about how Tip was one of the few protagonists to actually act as a leader in the traveling group. Just like Oscar, Tip is also quite emotional, and they both have a sharp temper that they express not in loud outbursts, but by quips that you know could be quite hurtful if they wanted them to be. However, between the two, Tip is the loudest, should you put them in the same room. However, I suspect that as time goes on, Oscar might start becoming quite vocal when he doesn't like something, as I've noticed that the more he develops, the more he acts like Tip. Their behaviors are similar as well; when something personal is going on between two parties who clearly knew each other before him, both Oscar and Tip have a tendency to hang back and simply let the moment play out. They both start out as being sort of bystanders, just going with the flow while occassionally giving very good advice/strategies, but they start to become more of a leader as time goes on. In fact, leadership seems to be in their blood. There is actually a reason for this.

Ozma of Oz

There is a single thread that connects both Oscar and Ozpin, and that is the second primary character they represent. That character is the infamous Princess/Queen Ozma of Oz. Ozma, in many ways, is a lot like both Ozpin and Oscar; and may be the kind of person they become once the merging is complete. She is shrewd, but gentle. Sarcastic and blunt, but very elegant and fun-loving. They have a particular grace in how they handle their politics, but she admittedly gets into more trouble than rulers of kingdoms should. She is, ultimately, the perfect archetype of a ruler. And had completely reformed The Emerald City to be an environment that is very much like Vale's open-mindedness, with the advanced technology and efficiency of Atlas. Ozma, in the books, was actually revealed to be Tip; or rather, Tip was Ozma. After being transformed into a boy as a baby by a witch under Professor Oz's command, they were whisked away by said witch, and had been working under that witch until they had escaped as a young boy. Many speculate that Ozma was meant to represent the transgender community, and I know many transgenders see Ozma as an icon. Frank Baum was the type of guy that wrote things that were ahead of his time, and seen as very controversial by the few who could actually read the metaphors planned out. It was even implied in the later books that Ozma and Dorothy get married, and there were many illustrations made from the original novel illustrators of Ozma and Dorothy looking like a couple. What's even greater is that despite the change of gender from Tip to Ozma, she still very much contains her boyish traits despite the frills and queenly garb. As stated in one of the last lines in the second Oz Book;

"I hope none of you will care for me less than you did before. I am still the same Tip you know..."

When I realized Oscar was Tip, I knew Ozma was going to be put into the equation. I just,,,, wasn't expecting..... t h a t.

Oscar and Ozpin

Time to actually answer the question I was asked JSDJFDKDFKFK--

Oscar and Ozpin are different in one particular way: Trust. Ozpin trusts nobody. Truthfully, he doesn't even trust himself, I don't think, and that is likely why he didn't have much of a plan these days. He doesn't trust himself to be competent enough to complete the task assigned to him, he doesn't trust humanity to pass, hell, I don't think he even trusts the Gods to be capable of taking care of humanity considering the shit job they did in the past, and how poorly they have handled Ozma and Salem. In simple terms, Ozpin trusts too little. Oscar, on the other hand, trusts...a little too much. There, I said it. And I'm willing to say it again. Oscar trusts too much. Whether or not that will change after the end of V7 and what happened in V8 is left for debate. Oscar seems almost incapable of seeing the downside in some situations, like, for example, confronting a General who has completely gone off the deep end, unarmed and alone. And he trusted a man who needlessly beat the shit out of him for something that nobody, not even Salem, were truly at fault for. And while that trust paid off, unlike how it did in the past, it is a bit of an alarming trait that I genuinely think will simmer down either after all that happened in V8, or it will eventually when that trust truly bites him in the ass.

Another polarization between Oscar and Ozpin: faith. This ties in a little bit with the trust theme, but there is enough to talk about on its own. While Ozpin does believe that humanity is overall good, I think he has lost faith in their capability to work together long enough for there to be any sort of permanent peace. And, admittedly, he isn't wrong to think that. I think you would have to be very foolish if you genuinely think there will ever be a point where humanity will stop fighting amongst themselves; in other words, Ozpin is fully aware that the God of Light's task is genuinely impossible. And honestly? I think the GoL knows it is, too. Oscar has faith as well, but he views the dire circumstance in a different way that may be the key to solve the seemingly unending puzzle of Salem and their task. He gets faith in humanity not through the overall picture, but in the smallest things. Oscar likely believes that it doesn't matter if all of humanity is united, because he too knows that will never happen. But, he is certain that there is a lot more power in the smallest of unions and actions; a racist woman reforming and helping to comfort a faunaus child. A woman who helped a group of people tear down a kingdom realize the fault of their actions, and try to save another kingdom's people. A man who, while being genuinely wise, was so blinded by rage that he could not see past his own nose, change in order to save what little good has sprouted from something so terrible that he helped sow. The little things matter so much more, and unlike Ozpin, he doesn't think that they need to grow any further than that.

So, what makes them similar? Two distinct things. They both are very personal. Even if it is in different forms of expressing, Oscar and Ozpin are quite personal, especially when it comes to their advice. But they also really feel for the person they are talking to. And while Ozpin felt Hazel was too far gone, he felt for him and understood and even agreed with his anger. Their empathy is truly something else; and it is also their weakest point. Not to say that having empathy is bad, but their empathy leads into another trait that they have in common... They let people walk all over them. All. The. Time. To a point where it is actually very frustrating, and it even hinders their development as characters. Ozpin let Ironwood walk all over him, and never spoke in defense for himself. Ozpin let the council walk all over him, and never defended himself. Ozpin allowed for so much of the blame to be placed on his own shoulders, that it is extremely unhealthy, and something I wish the show would address, but have come to accept that it won't. Especially when this trait is reflected in Oscar as well. He blamed himself for failing to convince Ironwood, he allowed for Jaune to verbally and physically attack him, and outright refused to let Jaune apologize. They both brush off their wellbeing so often, that watching Oscar do the same only confirms to me the suspicions I had as to why everyone was genuinely so blind to figure out what was going on in their heads and when they were struggling. Because both Oscar and Ozpin refuse to acknowledge their own struggles and shortcomings.

But, to be frank, that is more of a writing issue than a character reflection, in my personal opinion. And I'll continue to see it that way until the show actively acknowledges that unhealthy behavior.

There ya go! My very very long analysis of Oscar and Ozpin; I hope I brought something unique among the batch of this question!