#and my pencil tip broke *twice* when I was lining

[krys-does-art-stuff]

Happy Watercolor Month!

I was trying out Canson's Fluid Mixed Media paper with my watercolors and, while it might also be my newbieness at watercolors, I couldn't really get it to spread or absorb like I wanted it to. When I felt how smooth it was, I thought it'd be similar to hot press watercolor paper, but... not quite, no, not like hot-press paper. Might just to stick to regular mixed media paper or proper watercolor paper whenever I paint, lol. Managed to fix what I could with colored pencils, white gel pen, and digital color layers, so still calling this a win.

July 2024

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Baji Being A Menace To Society (And Your Relationship) 2.0

Sequel to: Baji A.K.A. The Worst (Best) Matchmaker

Summary: Baji’s at it again, acting out-of-pocket and creating chaos for absolutely no reason, other than to see you suffer. In his own Baji-esque way, of course.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Warning(s): Boku no Pico is mentioned, but there is absolutely nothing graphic; mentions of masturbation

Note(s): I am so sorry if it isn’t funny. Sadly, I am but an amateur writer, not a comedian. Still, I hope you all enjoy! ^^

"(Y/n), want some ice cream? My treat."

Usually, you'd be the first to jump at an offer for a sweet treat, especially when you don't have to pay. However, as of now, the word 'ice cream,' when said by Baji, instantly triggers your fight-or flight-response. Paired with the fact that he’s broke as hell, your suspicions only increase for the sudden indulgence.

Since you know you're no match for the long-haired menace, your body automatically prepares to flee, legs twitching to lurch into a sprint. Unfortunately for you, just before you can get the fuck out of there, your hand is being grabbed by Mikey, who leisurely begins to tug you along to claim your dessert.

“You like ice cream, right?” he turns to ask, eyes unbelievably soft when looking at you.

And because you’re weak for him, all you can do is nod stiffly, trading in your sanity for the pleased grin that spreads across his face, his confident strides thereafter likely a result of him successfully remembering another miscellaneous fact about you, as has been the case since you officially started dating him. From the most trivial of things, like which brand of pens and pencils you prefer, to the slightly more important stuff, like ice cream being one of your favorite desserts; he’s made the effort of remembering them all.

He really doesn’t need to do any of that, ‘cause you’ll love him either way, but the conscious decision to do so is what makes you love him even more.

Zoning back into reality, you shake your head to reorient yourself. It isn’t the time to be going over the reasons why you’re such a lovesick puppy.

No, there are other things to worry about, mainly Baji.

You squeeze Mikey’s hand as you’re led to the nearest ice cream parlor to try and calm yourself. It works for the most part, especially when you get a reassuring squeeze back.

‘Right,’ you tell yourself, ‘it’s going to be okay.’

After all, Baji wouldn’t do anything too drastic, right?

~~~

You were wrong. So, so wrong.

Despite nothing having transpired yet, every alarm in your head is going off, pounding at the door of reason to get you to wake up and realize that it’s Baji you’re talking about, the same person that sets cars on fire when hungry and punches the first unfortunate soul he passes by on the street when sleepy.

You really should’ve listened to your survival instincts and ran. Alas, it’s much too late to escape, leaving you to wallow in your anxiety, while you wait for misfortune to strike.

And strike it does.

“Please, don’t sit next to me. You make me nauseous.”

“That’s cruel. I bought you ice cream, and you treat me like this?”

Yeah, he may have bought it, but you refuse to eat it because of how intensely Baji is staring at you. Fucking weirdo.

"Oh, do you want some of mine instead, (Y/n)?" Baji accentuates his question with a sensual lick to his ice cream from the edge of the cone to the finessed peak, making you extremely uncomfortable as he stares you down with the full motion.

As slowly as he licks his frozen treat do you slowly raise your middle finger, eliciting chuckles from the other occupants of the table.

You think you won that mini battle, though?

Ha! Nope.

Baji mirrors the vulgar action, not once breaking eye contact as he dips the tip of his finger directly into his ice cream, pulls it out, and proceeds to lick that, too.

Disgusted, you promptly avert your attention elsewhere, praying that Baji won’t continue being, well, himself.

Your prayers fall on deaf ears.

"It's cold!" As soon as the exclamation leaves your mouth, your blood runs glacial, knowing that you've unintentionally played into Baji's trap. The appearance of a sly, almost feral, smirk when you whip your head around to glare confirms what you already know.

The curtain has risen, and you’re standing center stage in a performance you can’t break free from.

"Aw, can't let it go to waste,” Baji continues, reaching over to scoop the ice cream you’re 100% certain he purposely spilled on the front of your shirt, with his fingers.

Then, to your horror and everyone else’s shock, he asks, without an ounce of virtue to his name, "Want me to lick it off with my mouth?"

Chifuyu is seated on the other side of the table, hiding his face in his hands. “Baji-san...”

"It'll stain if it dries like that." Dear God, how you wish to un-see Baji batting his eyelashes at you.

“I don’t care!” At this point, you’ve resorted to clumsily scooting your chair as far away from him as possible, which isn’t actually as far as you’d like considering your surroundings. Hell, so long as you put some distance between yourself and the crazy bastard that wants to see you suffer, you don’t mind having to force yourself halfway onto Mikey’s lap. (The firm hand that keeps you steady by the waist proves that your presence isn’t unwanted either.)

"Geez, (Y/n), you're such a scatterbrain."

Seeing Baji sell the line with a slow tugging of his hair behind the ear has you torn between laughing and dying a little more. Truthfully, his acting is frighteningly impressive, and you would’ve applauded his performance, if not for the fact that the role he’s playing still haunts your dreams.

By this time, most of who accompanied you to the ice cream parlor have figured out what kind of drugs Baji is on this time, which also means that those fuckers have seen, or are at least aware of, the cursed trilogy of questionable porn that’s being reenacted before their eyes, with you as an unwilling co-star. Those that are puzzled as to why people are shoving their fists in their mouths to refrain from laughing are obviously God’s favorites.

“The fuck is going on? I wanna laugh at Baji’s dumbassery, too.”

“Pah-chin... I think it’s best you don’t know.”

Interestingly enough, the one you’re most concerned about hasn’t said anything yet, splitting his attention between observing the scene unfolding and eating his portion of a deluxe sundae.

Then, out of nowhere-

“I understand.”

You and Baji freeze where you are, each of you grasping the other’s collar, you to shove him away, and him to draw you closer.

“(Y/n),” Mikey says, your name rolling silkily off his tongue in a tone much too fond for his next words, “if you like roleplay, just tell me.”

...

“Huh?”

“I’m fine with pissing, remember? So, roleplay shouldn’t be a problem.”

Heat rises to your face at an alarming pace, and it continues to climb as Mikey takes your free hand in his, which serves not to comfort but to unintentionally remind you of the humiliating experience from a few months back. And just when you convinced him that you didn’t want anything to do with getting freaky with the body’s excreta, too.

“You’ve got it wrong! I don’t- arfghfgh?!”

Your prayer to help cool down your flushed cheeks must have been heard, but you’re pretty damn sure you didn’t ask for Baji to shove his ice cream in your mouth!

“Oh, yeah. (Y/n)’s a fuckin’ geek when it comes to roleplay,” the unhinged bastard speaks in your stead, indifferent to the nails clawing at his hand clamped over your mouth. “You should try it with him. We were doing a scene from his favorite anime.”

Mikey tilts his head, interest positively piqued. “Which one is that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, leader?”

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

Baji opens his mouth.

You lunge.

It’s a series of events that happens in the blink of an eye and ends with loud crashing as you tackle Baji to the ground.

“Listen up, Baji Keisuke. We took an oath that day, and if you dare utter a word of what went down, I’ll consider that a breach of the code of secrecy and take you down, making sure you drown in a pit of your own shame and despair.”

Surprised to have been pinned down so quickly, it takes a while for Baji’s brain to catch up, but when it does, he’s frustratingly unfazed at the threat.

“Oho~ How scary. Too bad for you, I have no shame.”

“Not even if I tell Mama Baji where your porn stash is?”

That has the great Baji tensing up.

“You wouldn’t dare use an underhanded tactic like that.”

Your lips turn into a wicked grin. “Are you sure? I have as much dirt on you as you have on me, and like you, I won’t hesitate to use it to my advantage.”

If your grin is wicked, Baji’s is downright evil, showing off his sharp, gritted canines and all.

“You got balls, (Y/n),” he snarls, “but mine are bigger.”

The boy beneath you opens his mouth, and faster than you can stop him, he just...does it.

“(Y/n) (L/n) watched Boku no Pico and liked it!”

Silence.

Silence is all that’s heard for a good, long minute following the booming roar of the revelation.

You dare not look up to gauge everyone’s reactions, instead keeping your icy glare fixated on Baji, who looks smug as shit for having caused the glorious eruption of heat to spread like wildfire across your entire body, from the tips of your ears down to where your skin disappears under the collar of your jacket.

This...

This is war.

Taking in a deep breath, you answer his uncalled for declaration with your own thunderous shout of, “Baji watched Boku no Pico and jacked off to it! Twice!”

Baji laughs. “Oh, pray tell, saintly (Y/n), how many times did you jack off to it?”

“None of your fucking business, asshole.”

“Pretty fucking sure it is, since we were in the same room.”

Someone chokes, while you choke Baji.

“We. Swore. To. Secrecy. You. Asshole,” you practically growl, with each of your words accompanied by a ruthless back-and-forth shaking of the other boy’s person.

“Let up on the choking, dude. I’m not into that. You, however-”

Unable to take the ceaseless slander to your name anymore, you reel your fist back, but, upon seeing Baji’s cheek turned to you, jaw jutted out, as if inviting you to take your best shot, you hesitate. You know you wouldn’t be able to pack enough of a punch to actually leave an impact on him, which is terribly upsetting.

On the bright side, there’s still one tactic you can use that’ll be just as effective, a technique courtesy of your health teacher, who happily taught it to the class to use in case of an emergency.

Technically, it’s meant to be used to assess a person’s level of consciousness, but you suppose it can be used to get back at inconsiderate idiots, too.

“Ow! Ow! What the fuc-! Ow!”

You keep a straight face as you continue to rub your knuckles against his sternum, fully intent on delivering the worst possible pain to the current bane of your existence. It brings a sort of sadistic satisfaction to hear the ever prideful Baji’s screams of pain, and while it doesn’t completely undo the damage done, it does help soothe your wounded self-esteem.

“You want me stop? Beg for it.”

“Pissing, roleplay, choking, and begging? Goddam- OW!”

Your reign of terror comes to its untimely end when you’re lifted up into the air by the armpits, and through the haze of your power trip, you realize that Baji’s saving grace is Draken, who proceeds to carry you out of the parlor with ease.

“People are staring,” he coolly explains when you protest to having unfinished business.

Pouting, you cross your arms over your chest. “It’s his fault.”

Once outside, Draken doesn’t immediately put you back on your feet, until Mikey strolls out of the parlor. Only when the gang leader has his arms outstretched to you are you promptly deposited on the ground and taken into his embrace.

“Are you done letting off some steam?” is the first thing he asks you. Even though you can’t see his expression, the way he holds you and the way he cradles the back of your head, handling you with the utmost care, is indication enough that there will be no reprimand for, essentially, assaulting your division commander. (You would argue that it was an act of self defense against verbal harassment, but whatever.)

There’s just an overwhelming amount of love. So, so, so much love for each other.

“Yeah, I am,” you eventually answer, followed by a content sigh.

“Good.”

Naturally, that’s the perfect time for the tinkling of the bells above the parlor door to pilfer your attention. Baji’s appearance causes your face to morph into a scowl.

You cling tighter to Mikey, peeking over his shoulder to flip the ravenet off and mouth, ‘Go to Hell.’

As always, Baji answers your attempt to appear opposing with an obnoxious smirk.

‘See you there.’

~~~

“Boku no Pico, huh?”

“Draken, don’t laugh! Baji forced me to watch it!”

“All 3 episodes?”

“Twice.”

“...”

“...”

“Favorite scene...?”

“As if I’d have one.”

"Actually-"

“Ahh! Shut up! Why are you here, stupid Baji?! You live in the other direction!”

~~~

“Hey, (Y/n). Want to try doing the same thing with me?”

You look up, perplexed. Mikey literally just walked into the room, and that was the first thing he said to you.

“Do wha-?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you turn your head, only for you to come centimeters from bumping noses with him. And because he can, he lovingly knocks your foreheads together, too.

“It’s okay. I promise it’ll definitely be fun.”

You should feel ashamed for recognizing the same sequence of lines from Boku no Pico so quickly, though any coherent words are overtaken by an incomprehensible, high-pitched screech, a feat achieved solely by a teenage boy going through puberty.

A combination of shock and amusement crosses over Mikey’s features then. He’s never heard you make that sound before.

It’s cute. Strains the ears quite a bit, but cute.

While Draken lurks beside him, questioning Mikey’s standards of what constitutes as ‘cute,’ you’re sprinting across the room, red-faced, to Baji, who’s already grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Stop tainting my boyfriend, you piece of shit! Give him back his innocence!”

(Unbeknownst to you, whilst immersed in your fit of hysterics, your use of the word ‘boyfriend’ has a certain blond beaming.

“Did you hear that, Ken-chin? He called me his boyfriend.”

“Wow, congrats.”

Mikey either doesn’t give a shit or is simply too smitten to acknowledge Draken’s apathetic response.)

Baji blinks, unable to believe what you’re trying to insinuate. “Innocent? That little gremlin motherfucker?”

Both of you look in Mikey’s direction. When he sees you staring, he breaks out in a smile and throws a wave.

Your heart involuntarily skips a beat at the sight, and, okay, you’re convinced. Mikey deserves better than knowing of that cursed series’ existence.

Clearly, you’re down bad for Toman’s leader, and as such, Baji figures he can use that to quench his boredom for the day.

“Ooh, if only you knew what he gets off to.”

The tone in his voice instantly rouses suspicion. You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t care what kind of porn he gets off to.”

“Porn? Nah, ya silly goose-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Baji ignores your comment as he moves to sling one arm around your shoulders, the other raising up to mimic an obscene tugging motion that no teenage boy is a stranger to.

“He jerks it to yo-”

BAM!

One second, Baji is lazily hanging off of your person, the next, he’s sprawled out on the floor, face down, and groaning in pain. You expect nothing less after witnessing him receive a rather impressive flying kick to the chest from Mikey.

Before you can assess the full damage, your view gets obscured by a pair of keys.

“Wanna take my bike out for a spin?”

Yes, you know Mikey is trying to divert your attention from whatever Baji was going to say, and, yes, you probably should check on the figure that has yet to get up.

But do you really care?

You take one glance at Baji’s concerningly unmoving body and quickly come to a conclusion.

You do not.

That being said, you quite literally drag Mikey and, by extension, Draken out of there, chanting an excited, “Let’s go!” on your way, abandoning Baji to wither on the ground.

Baji?

Baji feels betrayed.

~~~

"Chifuyu?”

“Hm?”

“Y’know, I was joking.” Baji flips onto his back with a grunt. “Man, who knew Mikey was all grown up?”

The vice captain of the first division hums, seemingly uninterested in his commander’s musings.

It goes quiet for a few minutes, the sole instigator of noise being Chifuyu flipping the pages of his manga.

Unpredictable is Baji, and the same goes for his train of thought.

“I should punch Mikey for kicking me.”

“No, you’d get beat up.”

“...”

“I should punch (Y/n) for Mikey kicking me.”

Truly, unpredictable and senseless.

“You’d still get beat up.”

Baji opens his mouth to argue.

“By Mikey.”

He promptly closes it.

“Fuck it. I’ll keep spicing up their relationship as payback.”

Sighing, Chifuyu closes his book to crouch down next to him. “Baji-san, with all due respect, you’re an asshole.”

Baji Keisuke has experienced betrayal twice today.

And he deserved it both times.

[nonbinary-kaz]

Fuckt Up Lil Bros Intro:

a fic that won't get finished so I'm putting it here

When Wylan was eight, his father had finally gotten fed up with him, and had packed Wylan and his mother into a car and taken them to see a specialist. His mother had argued the whole way there, saying Wylan would learn to read when he felt like it, that the strange outbursts would end eventually. After all, Wylan was a child! Children were unpredictable, at best, she’d said. Stubborn. His father had growled something under his breath, along the lines of Wylan being less stubborn and more of a problem.

Then they had walked away from the specialist hours later, and his father berated his mother, throwing all those words she’d said back in her face. Wylan didn’t quite understand, especially not when his father had slammed the car door shut and called Wylan something that Wylan wouldn’t realise until much later was a disgusting, horrible word. His mother had already known, and she had hissed at him to not say such things.

“He’s our son,” she’d said.

“Not mine,” his father had said. “Not if he’s like this. My genes wouldn’t pass this on.”

“Jan Van Eck,” she snapped.

“Your father was always strange,” he said. “Maybe this is from him.”

“I don’t care who this came from,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still your son. None of this matters.”

“How can this not matter?” he demanded. “He can’t read, Marya. He’s socially inept, and he will evidently remain so for the rest of his life. He’s not normal. He’s not right.”

And she had murmured something lowly and dangerously, something Wylan couldn’t hear from the back. It had shut his father up, though.

Wylan was both too young to understand and too old not to understand words like “dyslexia” and “autism” and “severe anxiety” and whatnot. Looking back on it, it didn’t matter if he knew what it was or not. All that had mattered was the noticeable change in his father’s behaviour to him.

That had also been when all the therapies started. Physical, to get him over how awkward his body was. Occupational, to stop him from getting upset about “minor things.” Speech, in hopes that it would help the reading. Tutoring, because that should have helped the reading. Drugs, to stop him from being timid all of the time.

He hadn’t needed most of those; the most use they gave was to keep his father hoping that he could someday “get better” until they ultimately proved ineffective to his standards. Granted, the medications would continue to help throughout his life, just not the way Jan Van Eck had thought they would.

If Wylan had to pinpoint where his life had gone to hell, it would be that moment he stepped in the car to go to that specialist.

Though, if he had to pick a second point, it would be months later, when his mother had died. He didn’t get to go to the funeral. That was when things had gotten worse from his father, with his mother no longer around to mitigate, to stick up for Wylan. His father started hiding him then, keeping his contact with the world as minimal as possible. He had his therapies, he had his tutoring, he had whatever nannies his father hired, and he had the occasional parties he couldn’t get away from.

He hated those parties. They were loud, and everyone always bothered him, and the food was gross, and his father always yelled at him later for acting like a fool and disgracing the Van Eck name.

The third hellish point in his life, though, was the moment that “Van Eck” ceased to have meaning at the end of Wylan’s name. He could no longer disgrace the name, if the name no longer signified his ties to Jan Van Eck.

Perhaps he should have been happy. He no longer had those parties, no longer had those therapies and tutors, no longer had his raging father. He was free of it all.

But he wasn’t happy. Mostly, he was just… scared.

Wylan hadn’t even known he had second cousins twice-removed until the day he’d been disowned. Maybe that would have been obvious to most people, but his father had cut ties with most of his family. Wylan was certain the only people Jan Van Eck was legally related to anymore was Alys, his new (and insanely young) wife, and their future child (the reason Wylan was finally let loose).

After a long taxi ride, oh-so graciously paid for by his father thanks to Alys’s bleeding heart, Wylan had enough time to fully terrify himself with catastrophic thoughts of what these “cousins” would be like. Jordan Rietveld and Kasimir Brekker could possibly be worse than his father. Hell, the name of the second one sounded intimidating enough.

Wylan spent a short while wondering why they had separate names if they were full-blooded brothers. He’d asked, but at that point, his father had stopped bothering with him altogether, and had walked away halfway through Wylan’s question.

The cab driver said something, but Wylan had lost himself so deep in thought that he couldn’t catch what the man had said.

“Sorry?”

“Five minutes,” the cab driver grunted.

“Oh. Thank you.”

And Wylan sank into his seat, panic beginning to eat him alive.

Wylan had only three bags with him. Two were packed with the essentials: clothes. Just clothes. Well, and the remnants of this month’s medications. But other than that, it was his sweaters and shirts and jeans and underwear and socks and two pairs of shoes. And that was all. The other case had been filled with things Wylan had snuck with him. Paints and easels and canvases and brushes and pens and charcoals and pencils and his flute. He had no clue if his father would’ve let him take them, so he’d hid them in the suitcase and bolted before his father could inspect anything. Perhaps that had been pointless—Jan Van Eck had stopped looking at him the moment he’d announced Wylan would be disowned.

Two of those three suitcases were dropped unceremoniously on the side of the curb by the driver. Wylan had fortunately grabbed the bag filled with his supplies, so nothing broke when the bags thudded to the grass.

“Thank you,” Wylan said to the driver. “I’d tip if I could.”

The driver just shrugged. “Whatever, kid.”

Then he disappeared back into his cab and drove away. Wylan watched as the taxi turned the corner and disappeared, suddenly feeling his heart thud louder and faster than ever before. Everything felt both too real and too unreal at the same time.

“No panic attacks before noon,” he told himself quietly.

“Wylan?”

Wylan nearly jumped out of his skin, and his heart likewise nearly flew out of his chest. If pain was painless, that would be the feeling of his heartrate returning to the pace it had previously set before as Wylan tried to regain his breath.

He turned towards the voice, suddenly filled with so much anxiety that his stomach hurt.

Two people were just a short stretch down the sidewalk, slowly making their way over.

“Wylan Van Eck?” one of them asked, clearly the owner of the voice that had previously called for him.

“Yes,” Wylan said. He discreetly wiped his palms against his pants, trying to get the sweat off of them. “Hi. Um. Jordan and Kasimir?”

The speaker began laughing, and Wylan suddenly noticed his face. It was painted in large scars and marks, a patchwork masterpiece of pristine porcelain and burnt blemishes. They had no distinct pattern, and clearly did not hurt the man, as he smiled widely through them. Wylan did also note that the half-eyebrow missing did add a bit of intrigue to his face, but otherwise… well, Wylan averted his eyes. He found staring at people’s faces to be unbearably uncomfortable in the first place, but this just made it worse. He knew he shouldn’t look at all, really. Didn’t people always find that rude? But according to his father, Wylan not looking people in the eye was rude, too…

“It’s Kaz,” said the second person, his voice harsher than rock grating rock.

He had no scars on his face—which seemed young and fresh, making him seem hardly older than Wylan, despite the hardened lines of his permanent scowl. Either that, or he already despised Wylan. Neither seemed favourable. Perhaps his taxi-ride fears weren’t totally unfounded.

But what stood out more to Wylan was the cane he leant heavily upon.

Jesus Christ, Wylan thought to himself. No wonder Jan Van Eck had never mentioned being related to them before. If he had hated Wylan…

That was rude to think that, though. He shouldn’t think of how his father thought of things. His father’s view of the world was skewed. At best.

“If you call him Kasimir,” the first guy said, “he might kill you.”

Wylan glanced to the kid—Kaz—and then immediately dropped the gaze to the ground. The scowl had gotten deeper. Kaz did indeed look murderous.

“I’m Jordie,” said the first guy, his smile balancing Kaz’s serial killer glower. He stuck out his hand to Wylan. “Jordie Rietveld.”

“Wylan Van Eck,” Wylan said, shaking the preferred hand.

“We know,” said Kaz. He did not offer his hand for Wylan to shake. Wylan noted the dark leather gloves that covered his hands. Interesting, especially when balanced with Kaz’s otherwise dark and grim attire.

Jordie, on the other hand, wore a white t-shirt and faded jeans, looking like a completely normal person. And the lack of near loathing on his face made him preferrable to Wylan. Even if Kaz wanted to kill him, perhaps Jordie wouldn’t hate him.

Not until he learned how much of a fuck-up Wylan was, anyway.

“So, you’re our cousin,” Jordie said conversationally. His eyes searched Wylan’s face, perhaps trying to find the similarities there.

“Not that we knew it,” Kaz said, his rasping voice filled with an unamused tone. Everything about Kaz screamed “unamused,” really.

Jordie coughed loudly. Kaz glanced over to him, something temporarily erasing the annoyance on his face. But then Jordie send Kaz a meaningful look of some sort, and the look returned to Kaz.

“Sorry,” Jordie said.

“No, it’s okay,” Wylan said quickly. “I didn’t know either.”

“Hm,” Kaz said.

“Anyway,” Jordie said, raising his voice somewhat. It reminded Wylan somewhat of whenever Wylan dared speak in his father’s presence at one of those parties, when his father would speak right over him to draw attention away from Wylan. Hiding his screwed-up son. But Jordie didn’t seem… well, Wylan couldn’t say that for sure. He had just met the man. But he did seem to only be doing it for Wylan’s sake, to keep Kaz’s irritation at bay. Again, Wylan couldn’t tell for sure, though. Only time would tell, he supposed. “I suppose… welcome.”

“Thanks,” Wylan said.

“Shouldn’t ‘welcome’ wait until he has actually seen the apartment?” Kaz asked dryly.

“Right,” Jordie said, frowning and blinking. “Right, yeah, that would…”

He trailed off, staring somewhere off in the distance. Then he shook his head, looking back to Wylan.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.

“Sure,” Wylan said, because what the hell else was he supposed to say? Someone different could have perhaps found something far more eloquent to say, but Wylan was not someone different. He was unfortunately just Wylan.

“Great,” Jordie said, smiling once more.

He bent down and grabbed one of Wylan’s clothes bags before Wylan could take them himself. Wylan shouldered his supply bag, ready to grab the last bag, but Kaz had already taken it. Guilt rumbled through Wylan’s chest. They shouldn’t help him. They’d already burdened themselves with taking him in; they shouldn’t add more to that. But Jordie had already begun walking away, towards the apartment complex Wylan now bothered to look at. Kaz was directly behind him, limping even worse than before. Wylan’s guilt likewise compacted.

The apartment complex looked… to be fair to the place, it wasn’t the worst place Wylan had seen. He’d seen way worse on his drive over here. But it was rather bad. The white paint had lost most of its life, living a now grim existence as faded yellow ivory. The windows and their sills looked old. That was the most Wylan could say about them. And the fire escapes everywhere looked rusty and rickety. Wylan wouldn’t trust those with his life. He hoped he’d never have to.

Jordie unlocked a side door to the place, then pushed through. Kaz followed, hands too busy with bag and cane to hold it open for Wylan, who had to rush to make sure he wasn’t locked out.

Inside looked about as dreary as out—old, matted carpet covered the stairs that lead to all of the floors, and decaying plant matter and dirt tracks and bug remnants scattered across the tile landing. The popcorn walls had crumbling and faded paint, much like the outer walls.

“Oh, boy,” Jordie said up front. “Here we go.”

Then he mounted the first stair with a sigh. Wylan frowned, wondering what that was about.

He figured it out after the first flight.

“Inhaler,” Kaz said, almost bored, as Jordie wheezed and coughed, leaning against the wall.

Jordie nodded, shouldering Wylan’s bag so he could root around his pockets. He pulled out a white and blue inhaler, popping the cap off as he began to shake it.

“I can take my bag back,” Wylan said, now feeling another layer of guilt. “You don’t have to carry it.”

Holding his breath as he removed the inhaler nozzle from his lips, Jordie shook his head. Kaz just scowled over his shoulder at Wylan, his cane held horizontally in the same hand that held Wylan’s bag as the other hand clung to the railing.

All of this burden they placed on themselves, only for them to sooner or later realise that they wasted it when he showed them just how useless he was.

They had to go quite slowly after that, but they eventually made it to the correct floor. The Rietveld apartment (Wylan assumed it was under the Rietveld name, anyway; Jordie was the older of the two, and Wylan was now dead certain Kaz was near his age) was the first door off the staircase. Convenient, in a small way. Not convenient that the place had no elevators, but Wylan wasn’t about to ask why they lived here and not a more accessible place. There was a reason why people lived in a place like this: money (or the lack thereof).

“Home, sweet home,” Jordie said, unlocking the door to the apartment.

Wylan’s first thought was: It’s bare.

His second thought was: It’s small.

The living space held a crackling old leather sofa, a brown corduroy reclining chair, a coffee table scattered with dents and mail, and flatscreen TV. The TV was the only thing that looked remotely new; Wylan suspected the rest were either hand-me-downs or thrifted.

Beyond that lay a kitchen, removed from the living room by only an island bar. It had space for a refrigerator, oven and stove, sink, and a small stretch of countertop that was surrounded by cupboards and drawers. If all three of them stood in that room, Wylan figured, it would become quite crowded.

He couldn’t see the rest of the place, but a hall led away from beside the kitchen. That likely held the bedrooms and bathroom, and whatever else could possibly be in this small place.

Jordie dropped Wylan’s bag on the sofa. Kaz set the other beside it, continuing to walk until he disappeared down the hall.

“Don’t mind him,” Jordie said, not once losing his cheer. “He’s always a grump.”

“Oh,” Wylan said, unsure what else to say.

“Anyway, this is it,” Jordie said. He began gesturing around the place. “Living room, kitchen… down the hall’s going to be your bedroom on the left. Me and Kaz’ll sleep together in the other one. Bathroom is last door on the left. Um… yeah. That’s about it.” He turned to Wylan, smiling ruefully. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s… nice,” Wylan supplied.

Jordie laughed. “You’re funny. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. This place is a shithole.”

Wylan wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes. He’d seen the hole in that one cupboard, the chunk missing from the faux marble island counter, the dents in the wall, the crack in that corner of the ceiling…

“It’s not so bad,” Wylan said, generously.

“It’s cheap,” Jordie said, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the ceiling. Oh. Another crack. “That’s what it is.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Jordie said, looking down at Wylan. “Want to see your new room?”

Wylan shrugged. “Sure.”

This time, he managed to grab both cases of clothes before Jordie could reach them. Wylan’s arms felt like they were being torn off, but at least Jordie wasn’t burdening himself for Wylan. Plus, the short hall was nothing like that staircase.

Jordie led him through the hall, pushing open a door with a hole in a conspicuously shoulder-height place. Wylan eyed that warily until the door had swung fully open.

If the rest of the apartment was barren and small, then this was… Wylan didn’t even know the words.

The walls were popcorn white—as with the rest of the place—but they were studded with holes of previous tenants nails and tacks. Nothing lay on the walls currently other than those holes. There was a bed pressed against the back right corner, taking up most of the space. Half of the bed rested below the window (which seemed to lead to this apartment’s fire escape). Another large portion of the space was taken up by a dresser and desk combination. A small stool went along with it, tucked beneath the desk portion. And in the far corner across from the bed, a shallow cut-out of space denoted a closet.

“Used to be my room,” Jordie said. “But I’m in with Kaz now.”

“Oh…” Was there anything that wouldn’t make Wylan feel like guilt was piled so high atop him that he might sink beneath the ground?

“I assume you don’t have a toothbrush or shampoo or anything?” Jordie asked.

“Um, no,” Wylan said.

Jordie nodded. “Thought not. Well, you can use mine for the time being. Shampoo, anyway. Please don’t use my toothbrush.” Wylan managed a feeble smile as Jordie grinned broadly at him. “Use your finger, or something.”

“I do, um…” Wylan fumbled to find the right words. “I have some medications… I don’t know where—”

“Medicine cabinet’s behind the mirror,” Jordie said quickly. “You might have to rearrange a few things to get your stuff in there, though.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“For what?” Jordie asked.

“Moving your stuff around, I guess.”

Jordie frowned strangely at him. “I toldyou to do it. You don’t have to apologise. Hell, you haven’t even done it yet.”

Wylan pulled his lips into his mouth, biting them together. Jordie studied him for a short while longer, then shook his head to himself. The easy smile returned to Jordie’s face.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, then,” Jordie said. “Oh, and we’ll get you those supplies tomorrow. Or sometime soon.”

Then he disappeared out of the room. The door creaked as it swung most of the way shut behind him. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, that summed up exactly how Wylan felt.

Wylan didn’t have hangers for his clothes, he discovered.

“Oh,” he said to himself. “Okay. Um.”

He refolded the sweater he had just pulled from one of the bags, then shoved it back inside. He zipped the bag back up. With any luck, the clothes wouldn’t get all wrinkled. He highly doubted that this place had an iron.

The dresser, he figured, would likely only need to house his underwear and socks. Those could all get tossed in the same drawer. Thus, he could appoint all the other drawers for his art supplies.

Organising those drawers gave him a good hour of clear headspace. He organised them one way before deciding he didn’t like that, then started over.

When he had nearly finished with the drawers, he stopped, staring at the oil paint tubes in his hand.

Why was he doing this? He had no right to. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here, for any number of reasons. This wasn’t his place. He couldn’t be a burden on two other people—people who looked like they had enough burdens of their own to bear. Yet, here he was, unloading all of the life he could carry into drawers and closets that weren’t his.

Ungracefully, he dumped the paints back in his bag, followed by all of the other supplies he had just spent forever organising. The only thing he left in the drawers was his canvases. Those shouldn’t get tossed around so much. He only had five; he had to treat them with care. He could spare exactly none of them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud cough came from somewhere outside of the door. It hit him, moments later, that he had dimly heard coughing in the background for a few minutes now. But that particular cough was unexpected. And quite horrible.

Wylan moved to the door, cracking it open. He saw a dark head of hair outside, bent over as another cough came. Jordie’s head raised, elbow pressed against his mouth as he coughed again.

“Wy—” a cough cut him off for a moment “—lan.”

He shook his head, then dropped his elbow to reach into his pocket and grabbed his inhaler. Wylan looked away as he primed and then used the inhaler. It was awkward, watching him… well. It was just an intrusion, wasn’t it? And rude. Nobody was supposed to stare at anyone different. Not Kaz’s cane and limp, not Jordie’s scars, not this.

“Sorry,” Jordie said a minute later.

Wylan heard the click of something closing, and he looked up to see Jordie capping the inhaler and ramming it in the pocket of his jeans. Jordie had an amiable smile on his face.

“Asthma,” he said, as if the coughing had been merely some bug he’d swatted away.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said.

Jordie waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t. I get enough of that in my life.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, that’s new.” Jordie’s smile had broken wider, genuine and confused amusement splitting his face. “An apology. For an apology.”

Wylan tried another, “Sorry?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had an actual apology in this house in…” He trailed off with another disregarding wave, but Wylan got the point. Kaz didn’t seem to be the relenting and apologetic type. “Anyway. I came to ask…”

Wylan watched him, waiting for the question. Jordie simply frowned. He looked over to the wall for a second.

“What was I going to ask?” he murmured to himself. “Shit.”

Unsure of this new situation, Wylan felt his fingers fumble for the fabric of his shirt’s hem. Jordie kept frowning at the wall, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he concentrated.

“Jordie?” Wylan asked after what seemed like too long.

Jordie’s head snapped back to Wylan, frown deeper for a split second. Then it erased, reverting to an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t remember what I was going to ask.”

Wylan knew that feeling all too well, but something about the way Jordie had zoned out bothered him.

Suddenly, Jordie snapped loudly, his index finger pointing to Wylan. Startled, Wylan drew back somewhat.

“Dinner,” Jordie said, amusement lighting his face once more. “Dinner. I was going to ask about dinner.”

Still uncertain, Wylan merely stared at Jordie.

“What do you like to eat?” Jordie asked. Before Wylan could even begin to think how to answer that, Jordie said, “We don’t do fancy rich people stuff, though. We’re cheap.”

“Oh. I didn’t… I mean, I’m not… you don’t have to worry about that,” Wylan said, words stumbling ungracefully. “You can just… make whatever you want, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ve heard that before, and that never goes over well,” Jordie said. “Nina’s the only person that has ever worked for.”

Wylan did not know who Nina was, but he still felt guilt gnawing at him. He really did not want to make Jordie change whatever meal he had planned.

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Jordie said. “Just tell me so that you don’t starve and then I don’t have the police investigating me.”

Wylan blinked.

“That was a joke,” Jordie said. He waited a second longer, expecting Wylan’s laughter. Wylan managed a grimaced smile. “Okay. No jokes. Um. Fine. Look. This is what we eat on a regular basis. Chinese takeout. Pizza. Uh. Boxed noodles. Frozen vegetables. Any easily-heated meal. Any of that repulsive to you?”

Truth be told, Wylan wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never had boxed noodles before. Or easily-heated meals. He knew he didn’t like most vegetables—they all reeked or had unpleasant textures (broccoli being the worst offender of all)—but maybe frozen made them different?

“No,” Wylan said. Even he could tell he sounded unconvincing.

“Fine,” Jordie said. “We’ll start with pizza. Nobody hates pizza.” He turned and walked away then, grumbling under his breath, “Not even Kaz.”

Wylan slowly closed the door, utterly confused by that entire encounter.

(and this is all I have written lmao sorryyyyyy)

[justanobsessedfangirl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Chapter 3 - The Maze Runner Newt Fic

Request from aw0kenangel: Oh shit oh shit The angst 😳 GIVE ME THE ANGST -also question/kind of a suggestion or idea, maybe Thomas could come up in the box next and he and the reader spark a close friendship; ADDING TO THE ANGST HELL YEAH *ahem* sorry

Are you in my head? How’d you know Thomas was coming up ;))))))) 

Request from Anonymous: i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but part 3 of the cheating newt one? if not sorry to bother. <3

I love receiving requests, don’t ever worry about being a bother!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 |  Chapter 5

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

“Find anything new?”

You slowed to a stop as you came out of the Maze. Swiping at the sweat on your forehead, you shook your head at Minho. Your feet ached, your calves burned, and all you wanted to do was sit down, but you had to play your part in the conversation. “The new Greenie came up today, right?”

Minho nodded. It was strange to see him at this time of day, near sunset, not dirty from hours of running. It had been his day off, so he was clean and refreshed and exactly the opposite of you.

“How is he?” you asked. “Or she?” You felt your chest tighten, so slight it was almost unnoticeable. Is the Greenie another Margaret? Your heart thumped painfully against your ribs. Another Newt?

A month wasn’t enough time to adjust to your new reality. A reality where you didn’t kiss Newt, didn’t touch Newt, didn’t even talk to Newt. A reality where you avoided the only other girl in the Glade because every time you saw her you could imagine her lips on his.

You needed to move. You started for the Runner’s Hut, Minho matching your easy jog.

“He tried to run into the Maze.”

You laughed. “Maybe he’ll replace you.”

Minho snorted. “He’s a Slopper for sure.”

You reached the Hut with a smile on your face. “Does he know his name?” As you opened the door, you glanced back to see Minho shake his head. “He’ll get it eventually. Where is he now?”

Minho hesitated. When he finally spoke, his words were quick, like he was hoping they wouldn’t stick. “With Newt.”

You busied yourself getting paper and a pencil, trying to ignore the way your insides froze at the sound of his name.

“But he’ll be at the bonfire tonight. The Greenie. Not Newt. Newt doesn’t usually go anymore...” Minho trailed off.

Unspoken words hung in the air like a bad smell. He doesn’t go anymore because he’s afraid you’ll be there. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that; it was exactly why you didn’t go either.

With a shrug, you sat down. Relief flooded your legs. “I think I’m gonna call it a night after this. Maybe I’ll meet the Greenie tomorrow.” You started mapping the section of the Maze you ran that day.

Minho sat down next to you. “You haven’t been to a bonfire in a while.”

You shrugged again.

“It’ll be fun.” He paused. “You can still have fun, you know.”

Your teeth clenched. The next couple of lines you drew were dark, and you pressed the pencil tip so hard it almost snapped. “I don’t have time for that.”

Minho leaned back in his chair. “Yes, you do, Y/N, you just don’t want to. I know you want to get out of the Maze, but you need to relax sometimes too.” He stood up, walking behind you. “Your shoulders aren’t supposed to be up by your ears!” He put his hands on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

You managed a small smile. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Minho brought it up, but now, with his warm touch, you could feel how tight you were. Everything about you was coiled, ready to spring up and bolt if you needed to.

“There you go,” Minho said, rubbing your shoulders. “Much better. You have a neck again.”

You spun around and jabbed his side. Minho danced out of the way, cackling. He strode to the door, leaving you and your map. 

“I’ll see you at the bonfire, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder as he ducked out.

Before you could think of all of the reasons why you shouldn’t go, Newt and Margaret and sleep and escape, you heard yourself agree.

The Runner’s Hut was silent after Minho left. You found yourself mapping faster, a small, hidden part of you eager to be with people, mingling around the fire, maybe indulging in a few sips of Gally’s moonshine. A while later, you were done drawing the path you took that day. You locked your map in the trunk with the others. For a few seconds, you couldn’t walk away. You lingered in the Hut, thinking of the maps, thinking of the Maze, thinking, thinking, thinking. Flames of anger licked at the edge of your mind. There was still so much to do. You were about to crack open the trunk again to see if you could piece anything together when you heard the faint roar of the Gladers at the bonfire. 

Swallowing your feelings, you spun on your heel and left the Runner’s Hut.

Night had come while you were inside. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, thousands and thousands of stars surrounding it. You followed the smoky scent to the bonfire. Some boys sat on logs around it, chatting, but a large group was off to the side, forming a ring so thick you couldn’t see what was going on in the center. Their voices fought, shouts against cheers against insults. You heard, “Get him!” and “Shank!” and “Klunk!” and other, more barbaric jeers.

You spotted the back of Minho’s head and weaved your way around bodies as you approached him. When you got there, you jabbed a finger into his side, making him jump.

“You shank-” he whirled. A smile broke on his face when he saw you.

You mustered up the courage to smile back, despite the anxiety chewing at your nerves. Your eyes darted from Minho to the surrounding boys, hoping not to see Newt or Margaret, while also praying that you would see them, hopefully separate from each other, hopefully sad. Was that a flash of her hair, glowing red in the light of the fire?

Before you could get a better look, Minho looped an arm around your shoulder and steered you to his side. A couple of boys were still in front of you, blocking your way. “The Greenie’s in there with Gally!” Minho yelled over the noise. He forced himself between the pair in front of you, dragging you along.

“Sorry,” you called, ducking around elbows and slipping past long legs. When you finally faced the center of the circle, you were met with a scene of violence.

Gally’s hands were curled into meaty fists, the muscles of his arms on full display. His right hand was bloody, but you weren’t sure if it was his, because, scrambling up from the ground in front of Gally, was a bleeding boy you didn’t recognize. He had short brown hair and a split lip. Where Gally was strong the way Builders are, all mass and height and power, the Greenie was lean muscle, built for speed.

Gally lunged. The Greenie ducked out of the way in the nick of time, giving Gally a swift push in the side that sent him sprawling to the ground. The Greenie had time for a smile, a few seconds to relish in the wild applause, and then Gally, on his back in the dirt, delivered a sharp kick to the Greenie’s legs. The Greenie went down, his head slamming to the ground.

“Cheap shot,” you muttered to Minho. 

Minho’s eyes were alight with excitement. “No one’s knocked Gally down for at least the past three bonfires.”

“Maybe the Greenie won’t be a Slopper after all.” You kept your eyes on the new boy. He was lifting his head, his lips moving, but you were too far and the crowd was too loud for you to hear anything. “What’s he saying?”

Around you, the boys were quieting as the Greenie stood.

“Thomas!” the Greenie said. “My name is Thomas!”

There was a beat of silence. Then, from across the circle, Alby pointed at the Greenie and yelled, “Thomas!”

The people around you took it up as though it was a war cry. “Thomas!” they shouted. “Thomas!” Just like that, the circle broke, a mob converging on Thomas to pat his back and shake his hand and let him know that he was one of you.

The swarm of people lasted only a few minutes, but the connection you felt with the other Gladers seemed like it would exist forever. You were one, welcoming Thomas into the sea. Minho was on your right and a Slicer, maybe Winston, was on your left, and in front of you was Clint holding two glasses of moonshine, and little Chuck was somewhere amongst you all, his high voice sounding a cheer that could be heard above the deeper tones of the other boys. For those few seconds, you were unified.

Eventually, people trickled away. Some went to the fire, others to the food, others to the drinks. Gally had disappeared, maybe going into hiding to nurse his wounded ego. Still standing where his triumph had taken place was Thomas, and next to him, you, Minho, and Chuck lingered.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. Now that you were close to Thomas, you could see he had brown eyes and a few moles dotted across his cheeks. He gave you a shy smile and nodded.

“I’m Thomas. In case you missed it.”

Chuck giggled. His face was red and his smile huge. “How could anyone miss that? I bet we woke all the Grievers!”

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted from cheerful to tense. You and Minho glared at Chuck. Blood drained from the boy’s face. He clapped his hands over his mouth.

“What’s a Griever? People keep mentioning them but they won’t explain,” Thomas said. He waited, but neither you nor Minho said a word. “No one answers any questions here.”

It’s for your own good, you thought, it’s safer this way. Sometimes you wished you didn’t know about Grievers. They were walking nightmares, armed with hundreds of different, painful ways to kill someone. It wasn't enough that you had to risk running into them in the Maze. They infiltrated your dreams. How many nights had you awoken in Newt's arms after seeing him get torn apart over and over again? Even now, when your relationship with him was so messy, you wished you could scourge that image from your mind. You wished you could forget about the Grievers.

But that would make you less aware in the Maze. It might even make you think that staying in the Glade was the right thing to do. So, as a Runner, it was your duty to remember the Grievers. To remember the danger. And, as you looked at Chuck, the youngest boy in the Glade, and Thomas, who was still new enough not to be stripped of his innocence, you recognized that it was also your duty to protect them from that knowledge. 

“It was nice meeting you, Thomas.” You began walking away. Minho nodded at Thomas and joined you.

From behind, you heard Chuck’s voice, eager for redemption. “You should hang out with us on your next day off, Y/N!”

As you were turning around to give Chuck and Thomas a smile and an apology (like hell you were taking a day off any time soon) someone else spoke up.

“That’s a good idea.” Newt was approaching the group. He walked slowly, hesitantly. His shoulders were slumped like he was tired, and there was something about his face that seemed different.

You froze.

“I was looking at the schedule yesterday,” Newt continued. He wouldn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his features hardly visible in the dim light. Half of you wanted to see his eyes, while the other half wanted him to shut up and leave you alone. “You were supposed to rest three days ago.”

Your heart ached at his accent. You gritted your teeth and steeled yourself. “I wasn’t tired.” This was the first time you’d spoken since the time you’d rejected his apology. Pretty weak apology, you thought, remembering his excuse of never seeing another girl and getting “caught up”. In an instant, unresolved rage rushed through your body. You squeezed your fists. You needed to keep this in check. Not in front of the Greenie. Not in front of Chuck and Minho. Not at the bonfire.

“Minho, you know the protocol. She’ll get injured if you let her keep doing this.” Forgotten notes of protectiveness seeped into Newt’s voice. He couldn’t act like this anymore; not after what he’d done.

You opened your mouth.

Minho beat you. “I know.” He looked down at you regretfully. “I’m the Keeper. You need to listen to me if you want to keep your job. And if I want to keep mine.”

You stared at him, lips pursed together. Curses and insults bubbled in your mouth.

“You’re taking tomorrow off,” he said.

“I can’t take tomorrow off! I’m supposed to cover Hank’s section!”

Minho frowned. You wouldn’t look at Newt. You refused to. 

“Fine. After tomorrow you’re taking a day off.” Minho’s tone was firm.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to turn on Newt and tell him off. You wanted to shake some sense into these people. Didn’t they understand how important this was?

“It’ll be fun, Y/N. You’ll like hanging out with us,” Chuck piped up. He sounded genuinely excited, if a little afraid that you’d start yelling at him. Next to him, Thomas stood silently, watching with intelligent brown eyes.

You deflated in a long exhale. “Fine.” You spat the word like it was poison. You gave Minho one last betrayed look, then walked away without a goodbye. Not to Thomas or Chuck, and definitely not to Newt.

The bonfire was over.

You ran angry the next day. With sharp eyes, you scanned every stone on the walls and ground, every patch of dirt, every tangle of vines. Even though you were in a different section, it was all still the same. There was nothing out of the ordinary. You weren’t expecting a glowing exit sign, but you did want something. This couldn’t be a puzzle without a solution.

At one point during the day, when the sun was still high overhead, you thought you heard a scream. It was faint, but it made you stop in your tracks, hold your breath, and wait to hear it again. After nearly a minute had passed with no new noises, you continued running.

Was the scream a sign? Should you try to run towards it? What if it wasn’t a scream, but the screech of metal as a new door opened?

Your legs moved faster. You searched every passage. Every nook and cranny and every dead end. And you found nothing.

You arrived back at the Glade early, sweaty and sore and disappointed. You’d spent the last hour or so trying to tamp down your frustration at your forced rest day tomorrow. You were so angry that you almost ignored Minho when you saw him in the Runner’s Hut. The look on his face made you pause.

“What happened?” you asked.

He was sitting, maps spread in front of him. His eyebrows were scrunched in worry, his mouth twisted in a frown. All of the playfulness had left his expression. Behind you, the sound of the door opening made you turn. Alby walked in. You whipped around to face Minho again as you caught sight of Newt trailing behind your leader.

Just that slight glimpse of him was enough to confirm what you’d thought at the bonfire last night: he was thinner, more somber looking. There were dark circles under his eyes. For a brief second, you let yourself wonder where he was sleeping. Was Margaret not as comfortable to sleep next to as you were? Did he miss the bed you’d shared? Did he miss you?

Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Ben got stung.”

You blinked. “During the day? How?”

Alby and Newt took seats at the table, the latter boy choosing the spot farthest away from where you stood. Alby was the one who answered you. “We don’t know.”

You pulled out a chair and sat. Your hands felt numb. Beneath the table, your legs shook. “Is he still...” you trailed off.

Alby nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “He’s alive in the Slammer. Some Builders are keeping guard.”

Your wide eyes prompted Minho to add, somewhat reluctantly, “He tried to kill Thomas.”

Icy dread flooded your lungs. Your stomach was in your heart, your heart was gone, because instead of a steady pounding you just felt sick. 

You knew Ben. You’d ran with him and laughed with him and lived in this stupid shucking Glade with him, and now, because of a Griever and an unlucky day, he was someone else.

“Y/N-” Newt started, his voice soft.

“Is Thomas okay?” you interrupted. After Minho nodded, you asked, “When is Ben getting banished?” You looked from Minho to Alby, ignoring Newt with every fiber of your being.

“Tonight. Soon,” was Alby’s reply.

You nodded. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you made the numbness go away, replaced with jittery energy. “We’ll have to look in the Maze for any clues tomorrow. Did Ben say where it happened?” You slid one of the maps in front of Minho toward you. “I’ll check out his section tomorrow, we can have someone else cover mine, and-”

“You’re not going, Y/N.” Minho’s voice was hard. When you looked up at him, his face was like stone.

“What?”

“You still need to rest. This doesn’t change that.”

You looked around incredulously. One of them had to see how ridiculous this was. Alby stared back at you, unrelenting. Newt’s eyes were softer. You felt your gaze stop on him. His brown eyes were deep pools of pleading. You could practically hear him in your ear, his accent thick, his words laced with care, as he told you you needed to take a day off.

You forced your eyes back on Minho. “How could this not change everything?” You struggled to keep from shouting. “I’m one of the best Runners! You need me out there.”

"You're wearing yourself out, Y/N. You and I both know that," Minho said.

Your muscles pulsed with soreness in response. You thought of how painful sleeping was, not just because you were alone but because your body never stopped throbbing, and even though every bone in your body ached with exhaustion, your mind could never quiet. "I'm fine," you insisted.

“Minho and I are going to run Ben’s section,” Alby said.

“No offense, Alby, but-”

“Y/N, I think you should leave.” Alby’s tone was more serious than you’d ever heard.

You shook your head. “I still have to draw my map,” you said stubbornly.

Alby rose. “Then we’ll go to the Homestead.”

At his words, Minho and Newt stood up and made for the door, giving you sympathetic looks that you wanted to throw back in their faces. Minho had the gall to pat you on the shoulder. You glared at them.

As he stood in the door, waiting for Minho and Newt to leave, Alby said, in a kinder manner than before, “We’ll tell you everything when we get back tomorrow. We know how good you are. We can’t afford you getting an overuse injury." He stared you directly in your eyes and you saw the smallest shred of fear. "Not right now.”

And then he was gone and you were alone in the Runner’s Hut. The table was clean; you hadn’t noticed Minho take the maps. Moving as if in slow motion, you gathered pencil and paper and began to draw.

So much had happened in one month. How was that possible? You squeezed the pencil tighter, willing your hands to stop shaking. You thought you might cry. You thought you might rip apart the map in front of you. You thought you might shatter into pieces because everything was going wrong and you were no closer to getting out and now your friends were getting hurt and soon you would be even lonelier.

Time passed without you realizing. You must have sketched your section of the Maze five times. Every time you finished, you got another piece of paper. You needed to keep your hands busy. You needed to feel like you were doing something.

Outside, the walls began to rumble. You drew faster. Ben was probably at the entrance right now. Who was pushing him in? Was Ben crying? Was he begging? Was he so damaged from the Griever sting that he was still trying to attack his friends?

Your pencil ripped through the paper and you were drawing on the table and your face was wet and your breath was shaky. The pencil tip snapped. You flung it across the room and dropped your head in your hands and cried.

There wasn’t enough air. Or maybe you just had too many tears. There were tears for Newt and the kiss that felt like it’d happened so long ago, there were tears for Thomas and being attacked in a strange place, there were tears for Chuck for being so young, there were tears for Alby for having to act so old, there were tears for Minho and Ben and all of the other Runners who risked their sanity and their lives and sometimes didn’t get lucky.

You never heard the door open and close. You saw someone set a plate with a sandwich in front of you. You felt their arm settle across your shoulders. You smelled Newt and he smelled like home, and so you pushed away your shame and leaned into him.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you, and when you wrapped your arms around his waist, he let you hold him. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, right by your ear. The ghost of his lips hovered a hair’s length from your skin.

Neither of you said a word.

[onlyfortheplot]

Oya Oya Oya?

Enemies to Lovers AU ☆ Angst to Fluff

Pairing: Kuroo Testorou x Fem!Reader

Summary: She "hates" his guts, but she can't dent he is a little smarter than her, in Chemistry. And when she is "forced" to be his Study Buddy, what will happen?

Warning: Angst! ┐(‘～`；)┌

Author's Note: Hi! This is my first fanfic, for the Haikyuu community that I am posting. But, I usually post on my actual blog, which is in my bio! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ SO GO CHECK IT OUT!!!!Also @thesecretlifeoflilly this one is for you REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

She glared at the raven-haired man as he gave their teacher a wide grin. His grin grew slightly, dimples poking in one corner of his mouth, as the teacher gave him his paper. She clenched her pencil tightly as the dreaded words were sounded.

"Congratulations, Kuroo-san, on your third perfect score!" he said, patting Kuroo firmly on his back, murmuring another, private, congratulations. She clapped, begrudgingly, along with her other classmates as the bed head man bowed slightly and thanked the teacher for his kind words. She scoffed at the scene, leaning forward, covering her own paper from unwanted eyes.

She looked down at the horrible, red mark scrawled on one corner of the paper. C-. She wanted to scream in frustration. How many hours had she studied for this exam? How many nights had she spent, carefully reviewing and memorizing her notes and yet... C-. It was almost laughable. She groaned, covering her mark with the palm of her hand, pushing it away from her sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

She turned her eyes back to the tall man, who had finally returned to his spot in class, two seats behind her. She narrowed her eyes, covering her paper from his peering eyes, as he walked by. He stalled, slightly, at her desk, quickly glancing down. His mouth twitched at the defensive covering. He gave a low laugh, before sitting at his own desk.

She scowled at the action. Fine. I may not be the best at Chemistry, but I am sure as hell passing Biology, unlike some dimwits. She peered over her shoulder, across the person behind her to Kuroo, who, to her surprise, was already staring at her. She quickly averted her eyes, heat running to her ears, as she changed her attention to her teacher, upfront.

"Overall, I am satisfied with the results of this test," he gave a look to Kuroo, nodding in satisfaction, "but,some of you need to spend less time gawking and more time listening." Y/N flinched, looking around at her classmates, who were already looking at her with an amused look. She cowered slightly, bunching over her desk, peering over her arms to look at her teacher. Except, he wasn't looking at her. Yet, at least.

"I know some of you are much more capable than the mark you have received. And I know that some of you," he was staring at her now, giving a pointed look as he continued, "just need that extra push." He finally took his pinning glare of Y/N, indicating the end of the small talk, or rather a reprimand from her perspective. She felt heat rush from her ears to her cheeks. A few snickers echoed behind her. She urged herself not to whip around and pin them with her own glare. The snickers stopped, however, as their teacher finally started their new lesson.

She slapped her cheeks, twice, pushing her focus from the small snickers, and the poor grade underneath her arms, to the board. She reached over, to her bag, pulling out a looseleaf paper and a pen. She fumbled with her pen, trying to firmly grasp it.

She watched, hopelessly as it rolled over her desk and behind her. She cursed, quietly, as she glanced at her teacher, who motioned for the chalkboard with a ruler. She looked around her before reaching behind her for the pen. She stretched, fingers almost touching the tip of the pen. She groaned silently at the stretch.

Almost got it. Almost—

She flinched as another set of fingers brushed hers as they picked up her pen. She quickly sat up and peered over to where Kuroo held out the pen, a small smirk decorating his face. She glared, her mouth curling into a scowl, as he waved the pen at her.

"Hand it over, Kuroo." she harshly whispered, peering over to her teacher, who merely continued on with his lecture.

"If you say please." he grinned, pulling back his hand as she slightly lunged for it.

"Give it back now, you overgrown feline." she snapped, "Or I—"

"Is there a problem, Ms. L/N?" She quickly turned around, anger still flaring in her veins, as she met her teacher's stare.

"No, sir, of course not." she smiled.

"Then why have you turned around, with a blank paper in front of you?"

She blushed, murmuring a small apology, as she rummaged the bottom of her bag for a slightly smaller pencil and started scribbling furiously.

"Good. Now, class..."

She didn't turn around after that, making it a point not to look anywhere but, her teacher, the board, and her paper. She did not want to deal with her peers questioning glances, the small snickers that echoed with small conversations. And she certainly did not want to see the raven-haired boy with a certain smirk. She gritted her teeth at the thought of him. So self-absorbed. So—

She almost yelped when the bell rang, she had not realized class had ended. She ducked her head down, shoving her notes and test paper into her bag. But, before she could take a step out, she was stopped by her teacher.

"Ms.L/N, if you could stay back." She gulped, tucking her hair behind her ear, ignoring the stares of her classmates'.

"And Mr.Kuroo." She snapped her head up at the name. She felt blood rush back into her cheeks.

She turned around slightly to see if he had, in fact, stayed. Something in Y/N's stomach churned as she saw his figure leaning against the doorway, his head was almost touching the top. His hands were wrapped in front of his chest, his muscles moving under his shirt. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing on his smile, or lack thereof. Where a nonchalant smile usually rested, a grim line appeared. Obviously he didn't want to be here either.

She felt her chest lurch slightly at the thought. She gulped as he pushed himself off the doorframe, his normal smirk forming on his face as he walked towards their teacher.

"Yes, sir?" he kindly asked.

"It has come to my attention," Y/N internally groaned, as she readied herself, " that both of you need help in different subjects."

"Huh?" Y/N blurted out, as Kuroo's own mouth lay agape.

"Kuroo, you might be doing well in my class, but Biology does not seem to be your strong suit." he ignored her interruption. "And you, Ms. L/N, may not be doing well in my class, but I can't say the same about Biology."

Both their mouths were agape as their teacher continued.

"Sir, what do—"

" It also evident, to everyone, that they are some unspoken emotion between you two." he looked between them as if finding the emotion itself.

"Both of you excellent students, but I want you to become stronger. Be it, in studies," he paused, as he stared them down, "or in social interactions with your peers."

He wrapped his hands behind his back, turning around, as he continued.

"This is why I want you two to become study partners."

They were both speechless. Their mouth lay agape as they stared at his back. It was Kuroo, who broke the silence in the room.

"Study partners. With her." he pointed at her in a frantic fashion, "Sir, with all due respect she can't even stand to be in the same room as me."

"Me?" she screeched, pointing a firm finger into his chest, "What about you Mr. Perfect, always looking down at me."

He waved his hand around berserkly, "You're a midget, I can't look up to you!"

She gave him an incredulous glare, huffing as she turned away from him in a childish way. She pouted, stomping her foot.

"Sir. I have more of a chance passing without his help." Kuroo let out a sound of agreement.

"No. This is an order, Ms. L/N. If you see it as a punishment, then so be it." he didn't turn around but waved a small hand in dismissal. Y/N scowled, as she stalked to her desk, scooping her backpack, and flinging it over her shoulder.

"Fine. Kuroo, do you have practice today?" she snapped, turning around slightly. A flash of shock rang in his dark eyes but was soon replaced with a look of nonchalance.

"No, not today, its break day."

"Great. Me. You. Library. After school."

"Okay."

"Okay." She whirled around, walking out, hand firmly clenching her backpack.

"Good luck, young man." He gave Kuroo a firm pat, a glimmer of light sparkled in his eyes. Kuroo gave a small nod of thanks, taking his own backpack in his hands, looking at the door. A blush, furiously made its way to his face. Good luck indeed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day had gone by, without any other unnecessary interactions. In the hallways, they had passed each other with an obvious point to ignore the other. In the few other classes they shared, there was nothing more than a small nod, here and there. Y/N's friends had grown suspicious, looking between her and Kuroo, for a clue of what had happened. The pair had been unusually quiet, no small bickers, not even the usual taunts from his side.

Nothing had happened, she had assured her friends, but the gripping looks still continued. She clenched her books as she neared the library. Her heart-beat soared as she touched the handle of the door. It quickened even more, if possible when a familiar pair of hands laid upon hers. She quickly flung her hands back, stepping back. She looked up and could have sworn a look of hurt flash through his face. But, when she blinked, looking back up at him, his usual grin was placed, his dark hair covering his eye. She snorted, of course, he wouldn't be hurt.

"Kuroo." she gave a nod.

"L/N."

It was awkward, they stared at each other, as they edged closer towards the door. He gave a loud cough, as he gripped the door handle, flinging it open. She blushed, giving a small thanks, before rushing into the library. Cool air swept her off her feet, the heat that had run into her cheeks, for the nth time today, finally left. She felt free. She took in a deep breath, before scrambling off to find a spot to sit. Kuroo walked slowly behind her, hand curling around a couple of books as the other was shoved deep into his pockets.

"Kuroo, with your long legs, you would think you would be faster," she smirked, hand laying on her hip as she pointed to an isolated spot in the library, surrounded by bookshelves, and a singular table in the middle.

"Very private." he wiggled his eyebrows, as she quickly walked towards the table, placing his books in the middle.

"Yeah, yeah you overgrown cat." she rolled her eyes, placing her own books in the pile, "What do you want to start with."

"Let's start with Chemistry." he offered, taking a seat as she took her own.

"Great." she clapped her hands together, a sly smile growing on her face, "Biology it is then."

Kuroo groaned leaning back into his seat, hand covering his eyes.

"Why, Chibi-chan?" he whined, "Why would you hurt my poor heart."

"Don't call me that," she said, failing to keep the small smile of her face, "Also because I said so."

"Chibi-chan, Chibi-chan," he repeated in a sing-song voice, Y/N fumed, grabbing the Biology textbook and chucking it at his head.

"Stop talking, Rooster-kun, and start reading today's chapter." she took her own book and flicked to the page.

"Okay, let's start." she clapped her hands again, as she skimmed over the page, "Today's lesson was mediocre, and the homework was pretty simple."

"Only you could find Biology easy." But, he skimmed through the page, eyebrows raised in confusion, "This makes no sense."

"Its cellular reproduction. We are merely reviewing the parts of the goddamn cell." she deadpanned, "What can you not understand. " He gave her an annoyed look, rolling his eyes.

"Quick, Chibi-chan, name all the noble gases," he said, peering at her. Y/N stuttered for the answer. She closed her eyes, trying to remember each element.

"Uhhh, I dunno. Its the last row in the table. Um." She hummed a small tune, under her breath, as she fought to remember.

"There's Hydrogen and Helium. Then Lithium, Beryllium. Boron—"

"See, L/N, we all have something we find easy and not." he prodded her with his pencil. "To help someone else you have to understand that."

Y/N blushed, her heart pounding in her chest. Since when was he like this. Heat flushed in her neck. She looked to the side, as she mumbled words under breath.

"What was that Chibi-chan." he leaned forward, smirking.

"Here." she blurted, shoving a textbook under his face, pointing at a picture of a cell.

"Which cell is this, plant or animal." she asked, refusing to look in his eyes, "Remember there are parts in a plant cell that are not in an animal's."

"Animal, I think." he peered at the blob of a cell, looking up at Y/N to confirm.

"Good. Now, without looking at the names, tell me what each part is called and their function."

"L/N," he said, urging her to look at him, "We are in high school, I assure you I know this much at least."

"No." she snapped her eyes to his, "Biology is more than memorizing, you have to understand why and how." He tilted his head, as he assessed the blushing girl in front of him.

He smirked.

"Teach me then, Chibi-chan." he watched as a small smile formed on her face, as she leaned forwards, pointing at certain parts of the picture, lecturing him. He leaned against his palm as he stared at Y/N.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"What do you mean, you can't come today. This is the third time, Kuroo." she pressed a hand onto his chest to keep him from moving. She looked up at him, anger and worry squirmed in her stomach. She wanted, so bad, to cuff her hand onto his cheek, and rub his dark eyes. She leaned in, closely analyzing the man in front of her.

Dark circles appeared under his eyes. His eyes. They were dark. Not the darkness she was used to. The one with the small star of amusement. No. This was a starless night. His mouth curled into a snarl as he tried pushing past her. She pushed harder, urging him to look at her.

In the long weeks, they had studied together they had formed a friendship of sorts. It was something she cherished. But, looking at him, now. She couldn't help but feel worried. This past week must have been hell for him if he wouldn't even smile. She furrowed her brows as she stared at him, catching her bottom lip with her teeth. He had been like this since she came. She felt a tug of the carefully leashed emotion in her chest. That hag. She scowled at the thought of her. She did nothing good for him, only acted like a leech, taking his energy and power away for herself.

She gritted her teeth at the remembrance of their first meeting. A few days into their relationship and that woman had acted as she already owned him. She wanted to slap some sense into his face, but one look at him and she had decided otherwise. Especially at the small smile, he gave her, one that he never gave me. But, Y/N had smiled, hiding the throb in her chest, making small talk with his new girlfriend. She had decided then, to try and suppress her emotions, to keep them on a short leash. But, sometimes, she couldn't help it. Especially now. Where he looked as if his life had been sucked out. She was no good for him. And Y/N had tried to tell him, but that didn't end well either.

That had been the first time he rose his voice at her. She flinched at the thought, moving her hand from his chest.

"I'm okay, L/N." No, you're not. "I'm just fine." Are you, really?

"Okay," she whispered, stepping to the side allowing him to leave. "See you whenever, Kuroo-kun."

Her head drooped as tears pooled in her eyes, avoiding odd glances. She felt hollow and out of place. She had realized, with a drop in her stomach, without their 'study dates', she didn't really have much to do. She wanted to cry, so bad. The hole in her chest, growing bigger.

"Y/N-chan?" a hand gripped her shoulder, she turned around.

"Yaku." she said, softly, "Hi."

"I saw what happened." he shifted, pulling her towards him, "You know he isn't mad at you."

She gave a solemn nod, leaning into his touch, burying her face into his neck. He patted her back, pulling her away from the gazes and into a corner.

"We have a game today." he offered, flinching as she whipped her head up. Her eyes were shimmering with tears as she looked at him with shock.

"What- he- really?" she sputtered, fuming at the fact he couldn't even text her that.

"He didn't want you to come." Yaku awkwardly shifted in his feet, "He said it would be bad if you came." She gritted her teeth. Her tears were long gone, replaced with a shimmering layer of rage. How. Dare. He. She gave a low chuckle, giving Yaku a firm pat as she gave a wide smile. Yake gave a small sound of shock, backing away.

"Thank you very much Yaku." she turned away, her head high, "See you at the game!"

"Oh god, she's terrifying," he whispered as she walked away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

She didn't have a plan, not really. She just went, not early, but just at the right time where she could still choose her own spot. She looked down, to see who was down on the court. But, she couldn't see him. Not Kuroo. But, she saw Yaku, who gave her a surprised look. She gave him a big thumbs up, leaning back into her seat. But, when she looked back, she saw Yaku frantically waving at her. She raised a brow, as she watched.

Come down, he mouthed. Oh. She sat up from her seat, and quickly made her way down, dodging the people who were still looking for a seat. She was panting when she arrived.

"What, happened? Where's Kuroo?" she said, between breaths. Yaku gave her a worried glance, as he skimmed the audience.

"Have you seen Mikka-chan?" he asked, squirming. She gave him a pointed glare.

"Why would I talk to that wretch."

"Kuroo said he was gonna talk to her before the match." he whispered, "And he hasn't returned." Y/N scowled.

"I can't believe the balls of that woman." she gritted her teeth, "Which way did they go."

Yaku pointed at the gym doors, leading out into the hallway. She gave a small nod, before sprinting off into that direction. She flung the door open and stepped into the hallway.

She walked around, looking for any signs of Kuroo and Mikka. She stepped quietly around a turn, glancing behind her and in front of her. No sign of them. Unless...

"What the hell, Testorou." Ah, found the raging pigeon. She tiptoed her way to the sound, making sure no one was following her. She crept behind a wall, peering out.

"I can't believe you would do this to me." Mikka was sobbing, rubbing her eyes as tears traveled down her face. "Why?" Kuroo stood in front of her with a deadpan look, he had already changed into his volleyball wear, his shorts fitted his legs, bunching up, as he flexed them.

"Look, Mikka, can we stop—"

"No. It's not fair." She pouted, stomping her feet, "You can't just break up with me now, what do I tell everyone?"

Y/N gagged. How dare she. Bad pigeon.

"No. Mikka. You care too much about what everyone else thinks. And before you say another word," she snapped her mouth shut, "this is final. I don't care if you still want to be together."

Y/N flinched, even in the words weren't directed at her. She watched as the words hit the mark.

"It's all because of that pathetic thing you hang out with." she fumed, brushing her tears from her face.

"What?" Kuroo asked quietly.

"That Y/N arse. She did this. She made you break up with me."

Y/N bit her hand to stop herself from laughing. Oh, if she only knew what I wanted to do to her.

"Don't talk about her like that." he snarled, "She's ten times the person you are."

Y/N felt similar heat rise into her necks, the heat that always occurred around him.

"So, this is what it's about. You love her, not me." she spat, "You're disgusting."

He gave a low chuckle.

"So what if I do, going to cry Mikka?" he asked, eyes narrowed at her. Y/N felt her heart quicken as she heard the confession. Does he love me?

"Honestly, I never liked you anyway." Y/N paused, as she heard the words, "You are a waste of time. Like, I don't know why I would ever date a disgusting, ugly thing like you."

She snapped. The tight leash she had one the feelings in her stomach, snapped. She lunged at her, pinning her to the opposite wall. She felt every ounce of jealousy and wrath in her stomach.

"Say that again, you wretch." she gave her a sickenly sweet smile, "I dare you."

"Let me go you crazy—"

"Oh, what was that Mikka-san?" Y/N's smile grew, "Beat the life and soul out of you? My pleasure." She drew an arm back, getting ready to slog her head. But, a hand firmly grasped her own, prying her off Mikka. She growled as she shoved their handoff. She turned around, looking menacingly at Kuroo.

"Don't you dare stop me, Kuroo Testorou or I swear to the gods I will spike a volleyball up your—"

He grabbed her waist drawing her against him. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her back. Her eyes fluttering at the warmth as he whispered soothing words into her ears. She leaned into him.

"Let it go, Chibi-chan."

"But,—"

"Disgusting wretch." Mikka spat out as she grabbed at her heart, "I hate you."

She continued to swear as she stalked down the hallway and out of their sight.

"Out of sight, out of mind." Y/N offered to Kuroo, who had buried his nose into her neck, leaning down into her.

"Sure," he answered, voice muffled as he spoke into her hair. She laid her hand onto his, rubbing soothing circles into his hands. But, her own trembled slightly. The adrenaline and the former confession were enough to make her knees buckle.

"I guess you heard," he asked, backing away from her.

"I mean you weren't being quiet." she huffed, turning around.

"So."

"So?"

"Aren't you going to, I dunno, say anything." He raised his hand, rubbing his neck. She watched as his shirt hitched up.

"Well, yeah." she said, moving closer, "I mean that was a lot." She watched as his eyes darkened as a flash of hurt lightened his eyes.

"I mean, come on Kuroo, how can I not say anything." she deadpanned, hiding the smile that threatened to reveal itself.

"Yes," he said, lowly.

"How could you not," she took in a deep breath, "tell me about your volleyball game!"

She held her hip, as she sashayed her way to him. He gave her a confused look, tilting his head.

"I had to learn from Yaku, that there was a game today!" she pressed a finger into his chest, "Explain, now."

"I—"

"Nevermind, explain later, you have a game to play, Captain," she smirked as Kuroo gaped at her.

"But, what about—"

"Oh and by the way me too." she winked, before twirling around back to the gym. Kuroo stood there for a good minute, as he watched her walk away. It hadn't hit him. Yet.

She smiled as the sound of sneakers squeaking on the hallway followed her. A hand grabbed her arm pulling her into them.

"Finally, Testorou," she said, slightly muffled as he pressed her into him. His face was hidden in the crook of her neck as he gripped onto her waist.

"Goddamnit Chibi-chan, did you have to do that." She laughed, pulling his face up, so she could look at him. She cupped his cheeks, brushing the dark circles under his eyes.

"I've always wanted to do that," she whispered, staring into his eyes.

"And I've always wanted to do this." He grabbed the back of her head, bringing his lips onto hers. It wasn't long, at least not too long. Still, she was slightly out of breath when he released his hold on her. She leaned into him, foreheads resting onto each other.

"Tetsu I—"

He stopped her again with another kiss.

"Tell me after I win the game." she giggled, batting his chest.

"But—"

"Oya, Oya, Oya?"

They pushed away from each other, coughing.

"Kuroo Testorou."

Y/N sheepishly looked at Yaku, who stood watching them, with a mix of anger and amusement.

"Wow, Captain, took you long enough." Lev grinned, letting out a low whistle as he eyed the both, "But, I have to say that—"

"Shut up, Lev." Yaku kicked his ankles. "And you." he pointed at Y/N a look of disappointment flashed on his face.

"I told you to find him, not his lips." Y/N blushed at the words.

"Shut up, you midget," she shouted, furiously hiding her face in Kuroo. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"What is this."

They all turned around, to where the Nekoma Coach, stood. Anger radiated off him. Kuroo, grinned slightly as he patted Y/N's head.

"Guess I got a game to win, don't I Chibi-chan."

"You have to pay to win, you idiot," she responded, ducking under Kuroo's attempt of a hug. She gave the coach a sympathetic look, before walking into the gym.

"Nekoma Nekoma neko neko Nekoma!"

Y/N joined in the cheers as the team finally walked into the gym. She giggled as Kuroo gave her a flying kiss. She pretended to catch and threw one of her own. She felt a few taps on her shoulder.

"Hi." she stiffly said, to her friends who had grouped around her.

"Oya, Oya Oya?" they asked, prodding her for information. A few looks of annoyance were thrown their way as several friends screeched as she gave a short recount of Mikka.

"Wait what?" Y/N stiffened more as multiple people grouped around her, wanting information.

Dear gods. she prayed silently, Please kill me. She forced a small smile as she gave another small explanation. She peered behind them to the court. Kuroo, to no surprise, was looking at her. He gave her a small wink. She smirked blowing a kiss and holding a big thumbs up.

"Nekoma Nekoma neko neko Nekoma!"

[normallee]

They Were Roommates || Notia and Norma

TIMING: Before Christmas LOCATION: Norma (and Notia’s) Apartment PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @normallee SUMMARY: How to be a Human 101

“Hello, roommate! I have arrived home!” Norma called out as she hung her pirate hat onto the coat rack inside the door. The entire apartment looked bare to her. Nadia had been pairing down her belongings and attempting to make it appear more human. She wasn’t convinced she was doing a very good job but the ghost in a mortal’s body was the authority on these matters. She supposed she’d have to trust them. She stepped inside and looked around some more. “Did you leave Tom on the porch again? That’s not very nice. We need to keep him until Christmas. I heard it, too, requires a turkey. And I cannot imagine having two of them running around.” She went to the sliding glass door and let the turkey back into the apartment. It was big and smelly but she had grown strangely fond of this large feathered creature. Maybe it was because it reminded her vaguely of a shriken. She wasn’t sure. “Are we going to have more lessons today?” she asked. “I have a pen and paper and everything this time. I’ve been told that is what students bring to classes. They also always have gum in order to make bribes of friendship and annoy teachers.” She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a pack, holding it towards her roommate. “Would you like some chewing gum?”

The lack of loud colors in the apartment meant nothing when there was a loud turkey and an equally loud Norma running around, but Nadia had been nursing a cup of coffee long enough that she only flinched a bit when Norma walked in. “Hi, Norma,” she said, a bit too tired for a proper greeting. She wasn’t sleeping much, these days, and… she wasn’t cold, she didn’t get cold, but her body sometimes reacted like it was, shivering for hours before she could get it to stop. She was fine, now, but it came and it went. “Tom?” The fucking turkey. “Oh, yeah! You know, it’s actually proper etiquette that, between the holidays, the holiday turkey is kept out of living spaces. Turkeys need plenty of fresh air, you know. And grass. Keep ‘em inside for too long and they get interior depression.” The turkey thing had been Norma’s idea, sure, but Nadia was rolling with it because, fuck, it was funny. Annoying as hell, but so, so funny. “Yeah, I’m down for more lessons.” They were pretty fun, especially when half the shit that came out of her mouth was made up. Sure, she gave Norma a few good pointers; she didn’t want the woman to get caught and end up killing this body because of some bad advice. “Yes, perfect. It’s always good to take notes. You’ll be quizzed on all of this, later.” She took a stick of gum. “Thank you. See, politeness. A very useful tool.” She popped the gum in her mouth and settled in for the inquisition. “So, what do you wanna know today?”

“Yes, Tom the Turkey. He informed me that was his name through a series of gobbles.” Norma started scribbling notes already as the turkey started to follow her around. “I think he also says that he much prefers the indoors, but we will take your advice into consideration.” She sat on the couch, sitting on the edge with rapt attention with her pen in hand, ready to learn. She would have to take good notes if there was going to be a quiz. Did she need a highlighter? She saw most people studying used one of those and they looked like fun. Oh, right. She had to pay attention. “Well you rearranged my apartment and I’m still not sure as to why. So more about that, please. And as well, I need to understand how a book of faces works. And why toks tik. And what a yeet is. And what humans shop for. There are so many shops and strange items to purchase, I don’t understand the value structure. Did you know that some rocks cost more than others? Why? They’re all rocks. It’s very odd.”

“You… understand the turkey.” It wasn’t a question, but Nadia still cast a doubtful glance towards the creature, looking into its beady eyes for a sign of intelligence. It, Tom, whatever, stared back. Even though the turkey blinked first, Nadia felt like she’d lost a battle of wills or some shit. “Well, thank you both so much for your consideration.” She looked around the apartment, grateful that it wasn’t in the same state that it’d been when she arrived, though it was still a bit odd. The flamingos had been allocated to outside, and she’d managed to get rid of most of those damn trophies. The furniture was better put together, though she didn’t have the patience to really build shit, and she’d short circuited the fucking apartment twice putting things together, but it looked less like an alien lived in the joint. Instead, it looked like an alien and their human roommate lived there. “Okay, so I rearranged things to look, like, more human. Yeah, yeah, all the shit here was very human, but too much human stuff makes you look… less human and more human impersonating. Also, some of that shit was old and obsolete. You don’t need it. Now it looks more liveable, you feel?”

Nadia chewed thoughtfully on her gum. “Okay, so a book with faces on it’s like one of those people from Game of Thrones that’ll steal your face and pretend to be you, but a Facebook is a website, like that town forum thing but with more videos of cats and babies. Uhhh, toks tik is, like, a clock metaphor, and to yeet is to projectile vomit, I think. Humans are dumb, but they typically make purchases for necessity and amusement, in that order if they’re smart.” This was something that she knew about. “Necessity’s like food, water, booze… Toilet paper and hygiene stuff. Amusement’s literally anything to keep them entertained for their short, short lives.” And she knew all about that, didn’t she? “Most of the stuff you’ve got here’s amusement purchases. You need more necessities. Some stores specialize in certain things, be it necessity things or amusement things. And the rock thing is all about rarity and aesthetic. Some rocks are more valuable because they’re prettier, shinier, or because they’re so damn hard to get a hold of. Then, of course, there’s paper money, where someone just wrote a number on a piece of paper and the rest of us are supposed to go along with it like chumps.” Nadia snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love money, but it’s fuckin’ useless.”

“Well I can’t be completely sure but he’s easier to understand than most humans, I will say that much,” Norma said. Tom gobbled in agreement before waddling off looking for seeds. The entire apartment felt oddly empty now that Nadia had rearranged it and had removed some of her belongings. They had all been meaningless but she had come to enjoy them and the sense of familiarity they brought. “Old? None of it was very old. All of it was from the last century at least. That is very recent, let me tell you. Nothing has even started to rust yet.” There was barely any dust, too. She had been very proud of this fact. Humans were always so dusty. As Nadia talked, Norma scribbled furiously, taking as many notes as she could. They were in a few different languages, mostly something that just amounted to furious scribbles. She wasn’t entirely sure what note taking actually entailed but it seemed like she was doing it the same way she had observed. It’s not like she needed to read these later anyway. “Food, water, booze. Booze? This is alcohol, correct? That is necessary? Interesting. I do find humans more tolerable when inebriated.” It made them drop their inhibitions and without those, they were far more prone to chaos. She did very much appreciate the improved hygiene over the years, she would say that much. Her face scrunched up in confusion again. “Wait, money is useless? Then why is it so often considered valuable and a thing that mortals will both risk and waste their lives on?”

“Seriously?” Nadia asked, marginally curious. “What does he say?” She watched the turkey, completely confused by the dynamic that he and Norma had going on but, really, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about her roommate. Norma was odd as hell, and that was saying something because some of the fuckers Nadia had worked with over the years had been strange. “Anything older than, like, twenty years is considered old. Some old things are good. Old might mean that it’s worth more, or is considered vintage. But, sometimes old is shitty.” She paused. “Phones older than, like, three years are very shitty.” She peaked at Norma’s notes, frowning at what looked like a mess of squiggly lines. What the fuck? Some of that couldn’t even be an actual language. “You gonna be able to study those later?” she teased. But then she sobered up. “Booze is alcohol, yes, and it’s absolutely a necessity. The drinking kind, not the medical kind. That kind’s not important. But it’s vital that humans have alcohol at least once a week, unless their lame and abstain from that kinda thing. But yeah, most people are way better to be around drunk.” It made them more fun and easier to manipulate. Nadia was a fan of doing business in bars. “Because people apply a fictitious value to slips of paper, and people think they’ve got to work themselves to death to get it, which is dumb. It’s just paper. Just, like, take it.”

Norma thought that Nadia’s question was very strange. “He gobbles a lot. And makes strange clucking noises. Your ears function, yes?” She shook her head. Did she think the turkey spoke in English? That was very silly. Tom made another gurgling noise and she nodded. “You’re right, Tom. Humans are simple minded.” She made a mental note (and a scribble in her notebook) to get Tom more grain. He seemed to enjoy it very much. “Twenty years?!” Norma shot up and practically dropped her pencil. “That’s so recent! Like a blink of an eye!” She let out a huge sigh and reached down for her writing utensil. “How am I supposed to remember what’s recent? That’s such a short time span, the next twenty years are almost here.” She broke the tip of the pencil at her next eplatantion. “Three years? Why do you bother having these gadgets if they are immediately outdated? Why bother? This is silly! That’s no time at all. Do you all really think a year is a long time? Like it matters? This is exhausting. How do you all live so slowly and quickly at the same time?” This felt hopeless. She threw her pencil away, behind the couch. It didn’t matter. “So all humans need alcohol to survive and I can just take their paper money. What about their plastic money? That one is mostly unlimited, right? The currency that is allowed on the small rectangular cards? I ran into some issues the other day but I think I resolved it.”

“Yes, my ears fucking function.” Nadia sighed. “I don’t think that the turkey speaks English. I was wondering if you spoke turkey. How the hell do you understand him?” Asshole. But she didn’t call Norma that, didn’t want to come off as too much of a jackass, even though Norma was the one to start the name calling with that simple minded shit. “Yeah, twenty years is pretty recent, I guess. In the grand scheme of things,” Nadia mused. “But not all of us live for… how long have you been around again?” She was hoping, maybe this time, Norma would say. She was beyond curious about her seemingly ancient roommate. “Technology upgrades at a rapid pace. New stuff comes out every few months, each thing better and more technologically advanced than the last. We’ve come a pretty long way from the invention of the wheel.” She laughed a bit bitterly. “Good question! I did the smart thing and just upgraded bodies when the old one expired.” She took a sip of coffee, glad that Norma was at least absorbing some information. “Yes, and you can, but you’ve got to be sneaky about it. It’s not taking so much as stealing. And you can steal the plastic money, credit cards, they’re called, too, but you gotta be especially sneaky, and you can’t use them for long, or you’ll be tracked. Credit cards are pretty simple: you use one, and they charge you for it. Not immediately, but eventually. I don’t use ‘em. I don’t trust banks.” They were only good for being robbed.

“I don’t speak turkey, I just understand the turkey. It’s very different.” Norma gave an exasperated sigh. It was far less complicated than being human was so it was strange to her to get such pushback about it. Tom agreed. She could tell by the ruffling of his feathers. “I lost track,” Norma said nonchalantly as she doodled severed heads and some intestines spilling on the floor, along with some nice bleeding hearts with knives through them. “Based on your current calendar, quite a few centuries, I believe. But there have been other calendars and other systems of time so it’s all rather subjective and silly.” She added some more blood splatters around the heart with a flourish of her pen. “The real solution would be to get a better, less human body,” she said, mostly to herself, with another sigh. “Can you upgrade bodies like technology? That’s only a ghost thing, correct?” She had a feeling if humans could, they would. They tried so hard as it was to appear less old and feeble as they progressively aged. “Stealing. That’s a thing that is against the human laws, right? Most of them seem to be very against that. I know there are many in different places but that one has always been frowned upon. Humans are very possessive despite the fact their goods and money does not go with them to death.” Her next doodle was a man dying by way of a small plastic rectangle. ‘What’s not to trust about banks, though? Is that not where the money lives? Which you need. Please explain.”

Nadia blinked at Norma, unsure if this was a topic she wanted to keep discussing. “Okay.” It wasn’t. She cocked her head a bit looking at Norma’s paper with raised eyebrows. Violent. She could get behind that. “Damn, okay. That’s, like, an impressively long time. And you don’t age or…” Norma didn’t look much older than Nadia Diaz’s body. At the most, Norma didn’t look any older than Nadia had been the first time she’d died. “Right, right. Super subjective. Very silly. Time’s an illusion, and all that.” She raised her eyebrows a bit. “I mean, you’re not wrong or anything, but less human bodies aren’t exactly easy to find, you know? Outside of this town, at least.” She kind of liked her humanness, too. It was familiar and useful. So what if she couldn’t light herself on fire or have supernatural strength? She could blend in, and humans were in an abundant supply. They trusted their own, even if they didn’t always realize that other species existed. “Yeah, it’s just a ghost thing. I kinda dig this body, though. She’s worked well for me for, like, over six years, now.” She wouldn’t give up this body without a fight, at this point. Besides, it’d literally die without her in it, now, since Nadia Diaz was gone. “Stealing, yeah. It’s definitely against human laws, but laws are subjective. What’s another person to tell me what I can and can’t do, you know?” She grinned lazily, leaning back. “Doesn’t matter. We like to look good, impressive, for the living. Nothing’s more exciting to most people than being better than everyone around them. Wealth makes them believe they’re better. And banks steal money. They all just work for big corporations and the government, and they’re fucking useless when people come along and take your money from you.” Like Nadia literally did all the time. “Why should a group of bureaucratic assholes be in charge of the value of pieces of paper? It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Physically? No, not really,” Norma answered, eyes still glued to her paper and the hatch marks she was adding to the spleen sketch to add some shading. “For the most part I believe I look relatively the same as I did when I was last human.” The words always felt a bit like boiling water in her mouth. To admit she was ever anything so plain was shameful and never something she enjoyed advertising to her demonic cohorts. They all thought they were so much better than her because they had never once been mortal but it was not her fault that her near godhood was delayed a few years. It hardly mattered in the grand scheme of eternity anyway. “If you say so. You are right, however. There really is an overabundance of humans. I see why it would be much easier to acquire one of their bodies. But you should really consider a siren. I think it would suit you.” Norma tilted her head to get a better look at her work. She ripped the page out, crumpled it up and tossed it behind her before she started on her next set of illustrations. Norma was unsure if anything that Nadia was saying about these bureaucratic institutions were correct but she found herself nodding along in the appearance of understanding and solidarity, something they had gone over in the previous weeks. Questions were an indication of non human behavior, at least that was what she had been told by her current tutor. “So we steal money to be wealthy and toppled the banks. Very much noted,” she said, letting out a small sigh as she finally looked back up at her current roommate. “This is all very nice. Thank you. I appreciate you. But can you just show me how to find the cat videos in the world wide web again instead?”

“Huh.” Nadia took all of Norma’s information in with interest; it was the first time the other woman had admitted to once being just that, a woman. A human woman, in fact, who had somehow managed to become immortal in a way that seemed way better than any deal the undead got. “That’s pretty fucking cool.” Maybe she could check in to figuring out how Norma had become, well, Norma. It’d be pretty fucking funny if she made this body immortal. Then, if Nadia Diaz’s ghost really was still hanging around, there would be no doubt that she’d outlast it. She laughed, though, at Norma’s next remark. “A siren? Makes sense, I guess. I’ve been told I have a wicked good tongue, anyway. Imagine if it was supernaturally so.” Whether or not Norma actually took her words to heart was irrelevant. Half the time, Nadia was just fucking with her. It was fun. Norma seemed to genuinely believe whatever came out of Nadia’s mouth, as long as she said it in the right tone. And, besides, what harm could it do? It was fun, and, if Norma ended up robbing a bank or something, it’d be funny as hell. She could feel that Norma was losing interest, though, so the cat videos question didn’t come as a surprised. Nadia was only a little exasperated as she finished her coffee and went to grab her laptop. “Actually, this time, you are gonna show me how to find cat videos. Remember, it’s just like I taught you.”

[superbadassnatural]

A Night to Remember

Summary: After downing many shots of whiskey, the boys and Y/N find themselves having fun with a “teenage game”. Yep, Sam, Dean, and Cas get to play truth or dare. Square filled: Crossdressing Pairing: Dean x Reader; if you squint, you’ll find slightly implied Sam x Reader and Dean x Castiel Word count: 1,482 Warnings: implied smut, mentions of kinks, masturbation and threesome, goofy TFW A/N: this was written for @spntfwbingo​​. Hope you enjoy it.

(x)

After many shots of whiskey and some of tequila — which only you drank —, you, your boyfriend Dean, Sam, and Cas were laughing at every and anything as you sat around the map table. Friday night and you all just decided to let loose and get drunk.

“Okay, okay,” you gushed between giggles as the three of them tried to calm down after one of Cas’ jokes. “I think we should play truth or dare.”

“Y/N-“ Sam started but you quickly interrupted him.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you whined. “It’ll be fun!”

“I’m with Y/N on that,” Dean added, patting your thigh.

“So who wants to start?” none of them answered. “Alrighty, I’ll go,” you rolled your eyes. “Sammy, truth or dare?

“Truth.”

“Which one of us do you think has the worst fashion sense?”

“Cas,” he giggled. Castiel stared at him, clearly offended. “C’mon man, you wear the same clothes every day.”

The room filled with laughter.

“Alright, my turn,” Cas leaned on the table. “Dean, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“When was the last time you peed in bed?”

“I have never peed in bed,” he exclaimed. Wide jade eyes staring back at the angel. Sam scoffed a laugh. “What are you laughing at? It’s true.”

“No, it isn’t. You were twelve, man. At least that’s the last time I saw you wake up on a wet mattress.”

“That wasn’t pee, Sammy,” a smirk appearing on Dean’s lips.

“Of course it was,” Sam gave his brother his best bitch face. “It smelled like pee, Dean.”

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “But don’t you ever tell this to anyone,” he pointed his finger to each of you. “Y/N, truth or dare?”

“Since you boys are too coward to pick dare, I’ll do it,” you snapped. “Dare me, Winchester,” you winked at him, trying to give him a sensual look, but making a total fool of yourself.

“I dare you, sweetheart, to have a teaspoon of ghost pepper,” he wiggled his brows at you.

“Okay,” you tried to sound natural as a shiver ran down your spine.

He ran to the kitchen and got back with a generous teaspoon of ghost pepper and a glass of milk. You frowned. Why did he bring you a glass of milk instead of water?

“Water only spreads the heat. Milk helps,” he said as if he was able to read your mind. “Alright, open up.”

Once the pepper hit your tastebuds, your whole body was on fire. Sweat broke on your forehead. Grimacing, you swallowed it all. Dean removed the spoon from your mouth, trying his best not to laugh or he would find himself in some serious trouble.

“Gosh, this is horrible,” you managed to say as you reached for the glass of milk, chugging it down. “Whoa this actually works.”

And the game moved on.

“So Cas, say something dirty to the person in front of you,” Sam challenged Cas.

“Dean, I think you’d look really nice on my angel blade,” Cas said in all seriousness while he narrowed his eyes at the hunter.

You and Sam completely lost it. You were almost knocked out of your chair. Sam was laughing hysterically and could barely catch his breath. Cas’ line was golden and Dean’s reaction was priceless. His eyes were totally wide and his eyebrows were shot up and his mouth had an “o” shape. He did not expect that. Neither of you did.

“Cas, you’re awesome,” you managed to say between giggles as you fanned at yourself. Happy tears were prickling in your eyes. “Alright. Sam, truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Do you have any kinks, Samuel?” you wiggled your brows. An asymmetric grin making its way to your lips. “If you do, then share with us.” Sam sighed.

“I do actually,” he shrugged. “Bondage, voyeurism, and edging.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Dean muttered, taking a swig of his beer.

“Not gonna lie, those are some of my favorites too,” you winked.

The game went on and Dean found himself with four ice cubes inside his boxers after his brother dared him. Cas let you draw a dick on his flushed cheek, so now every time you looked at him, you couldn’t keep a straight face. Eventually, the boys figured out that once your mom caught you masturbating, and apparently Sam’s top three turn-ons were: playing with his hair, wearing red and striptease. Dean now doesn’t want you to wear anything read near Sam.

“Which of us would you like to kiss, sweetheart?” Dean asked you.

“You, of course,” you pecked his lips. “See, just did that.”

“Aside from me,”

“I’d kiss any of them, but I’m gonna go with Sam. ‘Cause then I’ll be able to say I’ve had a taste of both Winchester’s.”

“Is that on your bucket list or something?” Sam asked.

“It can be if you want to.” you winked.

“Dean, what’s a secret you’ve never told Y/N?” Cas asked and your boyfriend cursed under his breath.

“Now that’s interesting.”

“I’ve had a threesome once,” he admitted, taking in the look on your face. “Twice actually,” his hand came up to rub the back of his neck. The tip of his ears turning into a bright shade of red.

“Hmm, that’s sounds like fun. Maybe we should try that sometime, huh?” you winked, a smirk appearing on your lips.

“Nah, I wouldn’t share you with anyone,” he wrapped his arm around you, tugging you to him and kissing the side of your head.

“Now Y/N,” Sam exclaimed, still figuring what dare he could make up for you. “Let us look through your phone for 2 minutes.”

You shrugged, unlocking your phone and handing it to them.

“No one’s gonna look her photos. That’s a no-zone.” Dean announced, making his way to his brother and best friend as they searched through your phone.

They made fun of your texts and your taste for game apps. You’d certainly hear for a long time them mocking you for being on level 474 of Candy Crush. Argh, guilty pleasures…

It was getting really late and you were growing tired. You all decided to go for one last round and call it a night.

“Dean,” Sam started. “You and Y/N are crossdressing.”

“Why do you have to drag me into this?”

“C’mon Y/N/N, it’ll be fun,” he tried to convince you.

You and Dean headed to your shared bedroom. You knew exactly which of his clothes you were going to pick for you. But for him? Dean’s a big guy so your clothes would be a little tight on him.

“Alright, are you guys ready for a show?” you yelled across the hallway. You and Dean were out of the boys’ sight.

You walked down the hall as if you were modeling for Victoria’s Secrets. Except you were on Dean’s denim shorts and his white tank top under his unbuttoned blue flower shirt. To make it even more glamorous, you added his sunglasses and his beige summer hat that covered your messy bun and his gigantic flip-flops.

“So how do I look, boys?” you stopped in front of them. A hand on your hips as you spun for them to have a full glance at your outfit.

“You look awesome, Y/N,” Sam said. “But I have a feeling that two Y/N would fit in there.”

You chuckled.

“Dean, come out, honey,” you called for him.

Dean started to walk down the hall with his head held high. He was feeling as he was a famous top model right now.

The boys completely lost it when they saw him wearing your gray pencil skirt that was a little higher up on his thighs. His bowlegs in full display. He wore a buttoned white shirt that clung too tight to his broad chest. The buttons barely keeping it together. Unfortunately, your pantsuit didn't fit him, so he put on his own FBI suit. You handed him your reading glasses. His plump lips held a vibrant red lipstick. To make him look even better, you had him put on a long, wavy black wig.

“Argh, she’s gorgeous,” you sighed, trying to keep from laughing as he winked at you.

Dean spun for you to see his whole outfit.

“Ah, this is horrible and hilarious at the same time,” Sam chuckled, pulling his phone out to snap as many pictures as he could of his brother.

You joined Dean in front of the camera. Striking many silly poses. Dean still tried not to make any crude movements that could tear your skirt apart.

The sound of your mixed waves of laughter and giggles filled the war room. All four of you were having so much fun that you managed to forget what was going on outside these walls. You were having fun with your boyfriend and your friends. And God knows how much you all needed that. After you all recover from the pain in the ass hangover tomorrow will bring, you could dig into another case. But for now, you just need to enjoy your time as a family.

I’d love to know what you think of this! You can share your thoughts via reply, reblog or ask. Feedback is appreciated as well as needed ;)

Add yourself to my taglist here!

@katymacsupernatural​

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 13

Iwaizumi has only ever been truly mad at you twice in your life. 

The first time was way back in your first year. You had to dig deep into your memories if you wanted to find it, burying it under other things that took precedence in your life like your shoe size, Oikawa’s favorite boba drink (taro milk tea with white pearls), the fact that Hanamaki had to have all his pen caps aligned with the label or else he couldn’t write, the way Iwaizumi liked to eat his cereal (he never drinks the milk left over) and Matsukawa’s least favorite exercise (mountain climbers). 

You can’t remember what it had been about, something so trivial it had slipped your mind entirely but you remembered the look on his face. 

Iwaizumi has many facial expressions when he tries to be scary. There’s the regular one that he has when Oikawa decides to do something dumb and must be reprimanded for it, the one he has to give Kyoutani when he decides to act up and the intimidating one that he uses with the rest of the boys when some idiot decides to make a move on you but the one you saw that day? That one was completely different. This one was…

Dangerous

You know danger when you see it, each part of your body telling you to get out of there when he had loomed over you, pure anger and power emitting from his body. Even at the tender age of 15, Iwaizumi was built bigger than you, taller than you, stronger than you and you knew that you never stood a chance against him. 

You remember being too scared to breathe properly, shallow breaths coming out of your mouth because you were terrified of making the wrong move as you warily watch Iwaizumi seethe with anger in front of you. 

Iwaizumi is not explosive. He does not scream or yell or throw things but he does not shut down either. He stands and waits for you to make a wrong move and then he snaps, like a snake does to a mouse. 

You had never felt more like prey in your life under his gaze. 

You remember your heart thudding too loud in your ears when he moved ever the slightest, flinching out his way as fast as possible. 

You remember forcing an apology out of your too-tight throat and dry mouth and Iwaizumi’s hard stare. 

Do you really think I want to hear your apology?

Sorry, sorry

Shut the fuck up and stop saying sorry, you’re not helping anyone

Memories of that night are hazy and you remember only fragments, pieces of what happened. You remember Iwaizumi’s mom opening the door, yellow light from the hallway spilling into his dim bedroom. You remember the sound of your footsteps on the asphalt as you ran home, fingers clutching your shirt so tightly, you had grown numb. You remember your mom asking why you were crying and then your soft pillow hitting your head when you fell asleep. 

It took you over a month to fully come back to Iwaizumi, even after he had apologized for his behavior, looking like a puppy with his tail in between his legs. You spent most of your time around him like a wounded animal, hiding behind Oikawa or Hanamaki when he was near or just fully leaving the room when it was just you and him alone

When you finally relaxed around Iwaizumi again, he had immediately engulfed you in a hug so hard, it sent the both of you tumbling to the floor. His grip never loosened on your shirt, wrinkling it in his grasp as he whispered apologies into the crook of your neck and swore up and down, cross my heart and hope to die that he would never do it to you again and you believed him because he is not a liar. 

Despite the upholding of his promise and your trust in him, you never forgot the way he looked that night, even when you could no longer remember the details. 

The second time he was angry at you was in the empty classroom of Aoba Johsai after class, later that day

x.

Iwaizumi has made up his mind to try and work things out with Ryuoko, no matter what anyone else had been telling him. 

You should have waited longer

She’s staying away from you to help your relationship

He unconsciously made a face at his memories, pressing his pencil into his paper a bit too hard until the tip broke off. How would they know if you actually liked him or not? 

There’s no point in getting his hopes up for nothing. 

“Iwaizumi, is there something about my notes that you don’t like that you have to make that face?”

He blinked when his literature teacher suddenly loomed within his line of vision. He hears the sound of your soft snickering and the teacher’s bushy eyebrows look like they’re dancing with how much they wiggle. 

He whispers an apology and the teacher walks back up to the front of the room, rapping his desk twice and reminding the students they had an exam coming up so there was no time to be angry at the material.

Although he hates to admit it, the sound of your laughter is always comforting to his ears and his shoulders relax against his better judgement. 

x.

His hand encircles her wrist after classes end, gently pulling Ryuoko into the stairwell where students had begun racing down to go home or to clubs. 

The both of them wait, Ryuoko’s nails tapping against her phone screen while Iwaizumi grips the phone in his pocket a little too hard. 

When the sounds inside the school begin to quiet down until there’s only muffled laughter coming from inside the classrooms and coaches barking out instructions from the fields outside that float in through the open windows, Ryuoko finally looks up. 

“Do you have an answer for me?” 

Her tone is condescending almost, as though she was scolding a child. Iwaizumi bites back the wave of irritation at this, reminding himself of what he had initially come to do.

“I do but-”

“If you’re choosing me, there’s no ‘buts’. This conversation is over if you choose your friends”

Ryuoko turns to walk away. Panic rises in Iwaizumi’s throat and he throws himself in front of her, effectively cutting off her getaway.

“Please listen to what I have to say” 

She regards him for a few moments, brown eyes honing in on every detail of his face before taking a step back. “Okay, so talk”

The speech that Iwaizumi had so carefully prepared in class instead of taking notes (he reminded himself he needed to ask a classmate for their copy) died on his tongue when he looked up to meet her eyes. 

“Look I-, I just-, can’t I still hang out with my friends and still be with you?” He rubbed his knuckles underneath his thumb, searching for the right words to say. “I’ve always done everything you’ve asked and a relationship is about two people who trust each other. Don’t you trust me enough to let me hang out with my friends and be with you?”

Feeling a bit more confident in himself, Iwaizumi continued on. “I always do my best so you can trust me and-”

“So you choose your friends?”

Iwaizumi stared at Ryuoko with an astonished look on his face. Did she just ignore everything he said? 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Ryuoko, did you just not hear anything I was saying?” Iwaizumi spluttered, extremely confused at the turn of events. The interaction could almost be considered comedic, if he was an outsider looking in. 

“What I heard was you giving me a long winded explanation over you choosing your friends over me”

“I didn’t even say that! I just wanted to tell you that even though you’re my girlfriend-” he put extra emphasis on the word ‘girlfriend’ in hopes she’d understand what he was trying to say, “- they’re still my friends and that’s all they are”

It almost seems like Ryuoko is on board with Iwaizumi, his little rant beginning to sway her and he internally praises himself until he sees her gaze harden. 

“And what about [surname]? You won’t hang out with her anymore?”

Ah yes, the age old argument was making its comeback. 

“She’s my friend” Iwaizumi almost yells in the empty staircase, his frustration getting the best of him “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not when you’re around her!”

“What does that even mean?” 

Ryuoko took a step closer to him, a glossy nail poking into his blazer. “You honestly can’t tell me that you don’t treat her differently from the rest of your friends” 

His argument dies on his tongue when she says that and she smiles, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You can’t even argue against that”

“Like I said before, choose me or your friends. Let me know when you’ve finally given up on her”

She might as well have just pulled back and thrown a punch in Iwaizumi’s face by saying those words. He stands there in shock even when she walks away from him, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. 

x.

You frantically searched your bag for your keys, haphazardly throwing the contents of your bag onto the steps you were sitting on. Oikawa narrowly avoided a pencil flung in his direction, letting out a yelp of surprise and throwing himself onto Matsukawa, who only caught him with a grunt. 

“Cutie-chan! Watch where you’re throwing your stuff!”

You mumble an apology, shaking your bag in hopes your keys would magically fall out, despite you having already thrown all your belongings out onto the floor. Much to your dismay, only a few pieces of ripped up papers and torn gum wrappers fell out. 

“Looking for something?” Hanamaki asked, an eyebrow raised at the mess you had made around them.

“I can’t find my keys” You groan, throwing your head back and Hanamaki shoots forward so you crash your head onto his palm and not onto the stair behind you. “I’m so screwed if I lose them again! I am not climbing in through the window again”

“Where are your parents?” Hanamaki asks, wrinkling his nose when his hand was beginning to go numb. You smiled sheepishly, pushing yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Went out for a trip”

“Your brother?” 

You sigh, beginning to collect your belongings around you. “He’s at some judo tournament in Tokyo. I’m supposed to meet up with them after my entrance exam”

You crammed the rest of your belongings into various pockets, thanking Oikawa who had silently begun handing you the objects that were just out of reach. Matsukawa watched as you stuffed loose papers and stray pens into your bag, shaking his head silently. “No wonder you can’t find anything”

Crumpling up a piece of paper, you threw it at him, silently cursing your horrible aim when it missed him by a mile. “Be quiet”

“Did you check your classroom? You might’ve dropped it” Hanamaki says, watching you pout animatedly, lower lip jutting out and trembling ever the slightest as you tried to formulate a plan to get back into your house. 

You stare at him blankly. Hanamaki wonders if you‘ve been hit in the head with a volleyball lately with how slow your reactions were. 

“Oh yeah. I’ll go do that now” 

You stood up from the step, Hanamaki sitting up slightly to help you brush away the dirt that had accumulated on the backs of your legs. Hanamaki and Matsukawa wave goodbye, Matsukawa’s hand holding onto the back of Oikawa’s shirt as he tries to go with you, screaming something about it being unsafe to go anywhere alone “you’re too cute for them! You need to be protected- Matsukawa let me go, you’re just going to send [name]-chan to their death like this?”

You tell yourself he’s being overdramatic, just like usual and wave away your friends who promise they’ll still be here waiting for you to come back but there’s this unnerving feeling that’s eating away at your stomach that tells you to take him.

You tell yourself you’re being paranoid, you only need to get your keys and come back. It shouldn’t take anymore than a few minutes. With that, you push open the doors to the school building and ascend up the staircase.

[itsakpopalypse]

The Golden Hour (M)

5

Pairing, Inseong x Reader

moodboard made by @randomkpopfiction​

Word count: a little over 5k

Warmings :fluff and Smut, but it’s pretty tame. just be 18 +

-------

Your face was warm.  The scraping of Inseong's pencil against canvass was all you heard. The light through the large window was that soft orange glow that came just before sunset. 

You remained still, staring back at him as he worked. There was a crinkle of concentration between his brows, lips pulled tight.  When he met your eyes he paused, clearing his throat before returning to scratching away. 

You weren't sure why you even agreed to do this. The idea of wordlessly  staring back at him as he broke your face and figure down into shapes and lines, learning each freckle on your forearms and the exact depth of your dimples. A study of the physical bits that made up you.  It was crazy,  when he asked the word yes sprung  to your lips against your better judgement. You would do almost anything he asked and in that moment your traitorous mouth lept to do exactly that.

Now here you were being pulled apart and put back together with lead and acrylic.  It was agony, but also breathtakingly beautiful.  You got to see him at his best. At his most authentic.  

He bit his lip and tapped the back of his pencil against the canvas, studying you as though you were a puzzle he had begun deciphering.  His squint was endearing, your tongue darted out to wet your lips so you wouldn't smile at his habits. His round glasses perched on his nose had slid down but he didn't adjust them. His head tilted left and right. 

"We can take a break. You've been sitting a while. Go ahead and stretch." He said finally, after one more sweeping motion of his pencil.

"Is the outline done?"  You asked curiously, arms raised above your head as a yawn worked its way through you.  

He scrunched his nose. "More or less. There's a bit more I'd like to add before  I start painting but the most rudimentary pieces are down, sure." He stood too, turning to the electric kettle to switch it on, pencil now tucked behind one ear. There was charcoal on his left hand from dragging over the edges, especially his pinky, used to guide his tools. 

He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the table behind him. A little smile lifted the corner of his lips as you resumed unfolding and folding your limbs, hoping to get the circulation flowing enough to warm you.  His studio was a bit cold, as it was a shed behind his house filled with odds and ends for his purposes. You'd been seated on a padded stool, with  a small but ornate table to your side, a succulent in a planter and a glass orb of a beautiful cobalt. 

You rubbed your hands together as you waited for the tea. He shifted before coming in close to you. 

  He held his hands out for you to place yours inside them and reluctantly you did. He cupped them in his grasp, larger hands enveloping yours so gently, much warmer.  He lifted your joined hands to his mouth, opening a hole between his palms he blew his hot breath into the little cavern, warming the tips of your fingers quickly. 

It was already startling, how intimate the gesture felt, but the way he maintained eye contact, not even blinking as the tips of your ears reddened. His touch was always gentle but left your skin buzzing each time. 

"Until you have the mug."  He commented by way of explanation, before blowing once more onto your chilled skin. 

A shiver ran down your spine when his lips brushed over hands that time, so soft your mind reeled with fantasies of how they would feel on your own. The thought made your throat feel extra dry, so you were both thankful and regretful when the little ding alerted him the water was warm.

You let your hands drop to your sides as he turned to fix your cup, and you felt your stomach flip over at least twice as the fabric of his shirt pulled over the lean expanse of his back. 

It wasn't intentional. You just always seemed lost in dreams when he was near. Your eyes glued themselves to the floor as he turned back around, flitting up only when he placed the cup in your hands. 

You thanked him and let the warmth from the cup seep into your hands. 

"You're always cold." He teases, grabbing one of his cardigans off the chair. "Here. I have at least the pose done, you can warm up a little."  He turned you around by your shoulders, waiting for you to put the cup down and put it on. You slid your arms in with his assistance, immediately  washed over by his scent. Clean, a bit like soap, but a warm dark musky note hidden in the base. 

You were so fond of it, that even if he were covered in the scent of acrylic paints and  graphite you could still pick out of a crowd on scent alone.

Thoughtlessly you buried your nose in the fabric, taking a deep inhale. He smiled, helping you roll up the sleeves a little before gently patting your arm.

He fixed his own cup, grunting when he noticed the sun was starting to lose its magical tones. 

"We might be done for today after all." He mumbled into the rim of his cup before taking a sip.

"Mhm." You replied. "Oooh! Friday at game night!! You're on my team for scategories. I will not take no for an answer.  I have to win this time."  Your earnest face and pointed finger in the middle of his chest made him giggle and he nodded, running his hand through his faded reddish orange locks. 

"Understandable.  You can't let last month's defeat go unavenged." He grabbed the finger poking him, wrapping his hand around yours before unfolding it to shake. "We'll get them partner."  

You stared at your joined hands, nodding as he finally released it,  running his own hand over his paint stained thigh. Your eyes tracked the motion,  noting (not for the first time) the way his legs strained the worn denim. 

When he cleared his throat you suddenly found yourself much more interested in the layout of his finished works in the corner.  

Stepping away from him you traced the top of one mounted painting, one of your favorites.  

A fond smile pulled at your lips."I only lost because I got stuck with Dawon, who I don't think even wanted to win! I think he wanted to see me upset when I lost. " you spun on your heel to narrow your eyes at your friend.  "YOU were away." You accused with a slight pout.

He chuckled and shrugged. "I had to get some things figured out. Also had to grab a few supplies I can't get around here.  It was out of my hands, Angel."  That nickname always made your chest swell with affection. 

"I can reach it  on my own!"   You insisted, small glass angel in hand. You were embarrassed,  because you were plenty tall, and there was a stool… 

You barely knew the tall (very cute) mutual friend, Inseong, grinning at you.  "No can do. I'll help you. It seems you must have folded your wings up and left them in your drawer so you can't fly up there." You flushed, he was so…. Flirty.  When he began to lift you up, arms under your butt facing him. All your friends cheered. Maybe friends Christmas was a bad idea…. You placed the angel on the top and he let you slide down the front od his body,  slowly landing on your feet. His eyes burned into you, your cheeks felt hot as everyone stopped being noisy. 

 "Welcome back to solid ground, Angel. Hope you get used to it down here." He said with a crooked smile, and a slick wink.  That moment, in retrospect, may have been when you started to fall, and you never stopped tumbling after.  

 He had since learned not to lift you up (but rather to hold your hand as you climbed the stool)  and reassure you he'd catch you if you fell. 

The nickname though? It never went away. 

"Listen, if I secure you a win, I'll buy us pizza for the next session after, and maybe some wine. We can relax, inside the house  so you don't just freeze and get sent away." His eyebrows waggled. "Deal, Angel?"

You continued to pout, but it wavered, a little too pleased  that he wanted to appease you.  He probably knew how soft that name made you, using your weakness against you.  

You finished your tea, setting the mug down before shrugging off the cardigan, realizing the sun was almost down and the magical lighting had ended. "Deal, Inseong. " you stepped forward and pressed it into his arms, smiling as you waved on your way out. 

You didn't know he was trying and failing to hide the way his hands shook when you made eye contact, trailing one hand down his forearm, you didn't know he only wanted to paint you to keep you close without all the noise. You didn't know he'd fallen just as hard, just as fast. 

You didn't know he was afraid to move forward. 

The sigh that passed his lips was unsteady.  He needed to get himself in control before he got too greedy,  but he couldn't help it.  You made him feel like only you two existed in moments you were alone.  The pressure of keeping his feelings in was overwhelming.  

You didn't know he loved you, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it to himself. 

------

The next few days you would stop by the studio after work. He'd adjust your position to match the original, play gently with your hair and move your body how  he needed.

A soft touch here, a compliment there.  Nothing outside of the way he behaved with others except… more warmth. More truth. You could see it in the depths of his eyes.

Your skin was electrified and you were glad he couldn't hear the way your heart pounded. 

He got momentarily distracted while drawing one day,  strangely staring at your lips while biting his own hard enough you feared it would split. 

"In-Inseong?"  You called to get his attention and he froze, eyes wide and round in doe-like shock. 

"I'm just. I have to get it right. The lips are my favorite part on you…" he trailed off before snapping back to his work, hand moving  in slow strokes as he worked on it. 

It made butterflies explode in your stomach, but he didn't even seem to notice what he said, just in his trance like state of creation. He had a tendency to hyper focus. He was  his most authentic. It was raw, you imagined seeing some of his work akin to seeing  his very soul in pastels and primaries. 

He got up, kneeling beside your stool looking up into your face at a different angle. "Soft. Glistening. "  he mumbled behind barely parted lips. You weren't even sure he knew he said it out loud. You tried not to lose your pose but failed when you noticed the small streak of paint to the left of his mouth. You pressed your thumb against it, dragging the smear gently away. 

Something in the way he looked at you caused you to pause, a heat that you hadn't seen. He looked ready to consume you, to capture your mouth with his own in the way you'd only imagined… but no. That was silly, right? He wasn't trapped in the same spiral of denial and hopeless pining that you were. 

He stood, clearing his throat as he glanced out the window. There was probably 

10 minutes of light left but he made a comment about it being time to stop for the evening. 

You didn't argue with  him, but his behavior was getting more and more peculiar. 

-----

"WORDS THAT BEGIN WITH THE LETTER ….. L."   Monroe called from Youngbin's lap as she readied her arm over the timer on the table.  Youngbin held onto her so she wouldn't  fall off, a fond smile on his lips and deep adoration in his eyes. 

Mostly everyone was intoxicated and laughing too loudly, Inseong and you were squished tight, so tight that he had long since thrown his arm around you and begun whispering in your ear instead of speaking out loud.  "So we have to beat Monbin because they're the other smart couple."  His breath was hot on the side of your face, and you turned when the word "couple" left his lips. You glanced  at Monroe and Youngbin, as she was now snuggled up intimately against his chest, face pressed into his neck, her legs drawn up all the way.

When you looked back  at Inseong, his lips were so close… too close. You miscalculated and yours brushed his as you began to speak…. So so softly, almost a whisper of a touch, but it was enough to spur your stuttered apologies. 

He looked equally shocked, but just engulfed your mouth with his hand, stopping your flow of words. 

He just shook his head, "The timer."  Was all he said. You noticed it began and you hurried to help him brainstorm.

----

After a successful win, you hugged his neck maybe too tightly,  but he squeezed you back with equal fervor. 

You met up with Monroe in the kitchen, a knowing smile on her face. "You and Inseong huh?" 

"We what?" You asked, averting your gaze to the cookies that were behind her on the counter.  She smiled bigger.  

"Ohhhhh I won't have to wait long." she said nonchalantly. The way her full lips pulled back was almost secretive, and it made you nervous. 

"Monroe, my gorgeous purple fro'ed goddess.  Do not do this to me. What do you know."

She shrugged before sauntering away, leaving you to wallow in your confused state. 

Maybe less tequila, next time.

Especially when on Inseong's way out he paused, gently brushing your hair from your face  before pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Later, Angel. Don't forget about our next date."  

He left you frozen there, mouth hanging open in shock, unsure if it was just his nature more prominent with alcohol, or if this meant more. Either way, you went home pinching your arm on the public transport. Was this even real?

----

 You couldn't get comfortable this time.  It was the first time sitting since that night.  The "date" he spoke of. 

When you'd come in Inseong was acting stiff, couldn't quite keep your gaze and rubbed the back of his neck a few times. 

You squirmed in your seat as he worked. 

"Angel, I need you to sit nice for me..can you do that? I'll reward you if you do."  

Something in the way he said that sent chills down your spine. Your back straightened on instinct at his tone, an obedience you didn't know was in you coming out. 

When you looked at him his eyes were wide, mouth slightly open.  He made a little strangled sound of distress and you watched him shift his legs on his stool. 

Peculiar behavior.  

After four minutes of him shifting his angle. You stopped sitting nice.  "Is it a bad time? You seem… distracted. " 

He stuttered for a moment before saying something to the affect of being on just finishing touches and that maybe you should take a break. 

You stood and walked towards him,  causing him to shift again, hands suddenly folded in  his lap, brush tucked behind his ear. 

"I haven't gotten to peak. Can I?"  You asked with your best puppy eyes, knowing he was weak to your begging.

He made a noise akin to a whine and begrudgingly nodded, allowing you to step around the canvas. 

What you saw shocked you.  

It was you,  yes, but more,  somehow.  Through his eyes,  at the golden hour,  your skin seemed so warm.  Almost shining… your hair fell around you in a cascade of lifelike movement that seemed surreal.  The details and shading were meticulous and inspired. 

If you were right, and this was his bared soul on the canvas…that would mean he….. You were finding the air suffocating.  

His gnawing was back,  brows knitted. 

"So?" He asked.

"So this is astounding.  Is this…. Is this how you see me?"  His nod made the puzzle  begin to click, but like the rubik's cube you used to carry in high school,  one block didn't seem to fit.  

"I-. Angel,  no, Y/N." He stood,  grabbing your hands in his own, stroking over them in a  gentle  nervous tick that gave you such hope… 

He took a few very deep breaths, blowing up so hard his hair flopped for a moment.

"No. I have to do this."  The words were to himself,  not you.  He bounced in place, eyes closed, before rallying his strength.  

"Okay so look at these."  He dragged you to his sketch pad, handing you 3 separate ones. Flipping to random pages in each you saw yourself.  Various poses, faces, moments in time. Different outfits different days. All of them you.  

Years worth, probably. 

Some small and loose and carefree,  some meticulously detailed and full of appreciation.  

"This is you.  And when I asked to paint you,  I really just..."   he trailed off, taking the books back and setting them aside so he could take your hand with one of his and let the other cup the side of your face. "I needed to be alone with you,  just us." 

Your mouth formed a wordless "o" and before you knew it, you'd lunged into his arms and pressed your lips to his. 

He caught you,  returning the soft movement with as much passion as you fed him.  When you broke the kiss, his breath was ragged and he pressed your foreheads together. 

"I'm... I think I've been in love with you for. For a long time." He mumbled before his lips found yours again, leaving you no room to reply as he hiked your legs over his slender hips and pushed you into the side of his sturdy table. You instantly realized his shifting earlier was due to the semi now pressed into you. The friction on your core lit you on fire instantly, a moan breaking out into the hot cavern of his mouth while he slid his tongue in.  

"Fuck." He mumbled as his hands found their way up the fabric of your shirt, pausing to check you were fine with it before slipping it off. He stared at you for  several moments, the black fabric contrasting your skin just enough to be enticing. 

"God you're a masterpiece. I've waited so long. Never thought I'd see you like this. " his smile was gentle, in spite of the lust coloring his tone. 

He spun you and pressed you into the wall, sliding one leg between yours before you realized his plan. His lips attached  to your neck, kissing gently across your collar bone at odds with the way he ground his incredibly muscular thigh up into your heat, dragging out a beautiful musical note of pleasure and his name. 

"Fucking heavenly. You're so beautiful for me aren't you? God just fucking made for sin but pretty as an angel."  His praises left you breathless with want, and slick against the delicious pressure of his thigh.  His grind started slow, but he flexed and twisted, causing you to gasp against his mouth as his tongue caressed yours.  "Inseong!" You tried to say between your pleasured cries but he wasn't calming down. Every moment sent another shockwave into you, he traced the line of your neck with his nose, pressing wet kisses in his wake. His hands kneaded your ass,controlling the way your hips angled as he continued to grind his leg up into you.  

The friction was intoxicating and your eyes almost fell shut… but you saw his face. Watching you blissed out, eyes dark and predatory, tongue pressed into his as he focused on where your bodies met. "It's so. Hot. So beautiful. Shit."  

"Need a taste." He said as he turned you back to his table, helping you hop onto the top with your legs dangling. 

Your sexed out mind too hazy to respond, you let him move you back onto the top. "Only polite to use a table for a feast."  He said, more to himself than you, before diving in to desperately devour your lips again.

You couldn't even be embarrassed, his adoration just made the fire in your belly burn hotter and you desperately clawed at his clothes to remove them.

He refused though, sliding the leggings off your legs to discover only a slender  piece of dark red lace between him and his prize.  The noise he let out was positively feral, eyebrows knitted as he stared at the wet patch between your legs. He trailed two long fingers over the top of your thighs, tongue peaking out between his lips as he traced the dampness.  

"Shit. So wet." He said, more in awe than arousal, although if the way he palmed himself was anything to go by, there was plenty of that too. He pressed his lips against your inner thigh, once, twice, three times before letting it  gently pass over your panties.  

"Are you going to tease forever?"  You whined, wiggling your hips to seek more of his touch. 

He sat up, giving you a stern look. "Are you under the impression you're in control because I'm going down on you? This is my meal, and I don't intend to stop until I've had my fill."  

"You're doing a lot more talking than you are 'tasting'  though aren't you?" You challenged with a bit of fight left in you.  

His eyebrows shot up at your defiance and his jaw ticked before he slowly rose to his feet.

An icy arousal slid down your spine and clamped your mouth shut, but it was too late. His disapproval was evident.  He rolled his sleeves up over his forearms, veins popping out as they flexed with the slow,deliberate movement. 

"If you change your mind, of course tell me, you're safe and  we don't have to do anything you don't want-" he began to tug your legs until your ass slid off the table and he was holding them over one arm, standing to your side. You gripped the  edge of the table to steady yourself as he twisted your legs a bit and turned your hips on their side. "This, you deserve. I'll make it quick because I'm impatient and I hope you won't make me repeat the punishment."  His voice was so stony, and his face was smooth and hard in a expression you'd never seen. He slid his free hand over your hip and leg for a moment, smoothing the skin before delivering a sharp slap to your ass. The resounding crack rang out and echoed in the room, fuck, you felt yourself grow slicker  because it felt so GOOD. 

"3 for now. " he let out a shaky breath as though the punishment affected him with the same strength it did you.  Thwack! The second, slightly to the side so you didn't bruise. "One more, good girl." He murmured, the back of his hand trailing over the reddened skin. The final blow made you moan loudly. 

His eyebrow quirked as he slid you back up, pressing the back of two knuckles to your heat and making you whine. 

"Now that's a good  girl for me. Good job Angel, you took it so well. I have more for you and if you want it, you be my good Angel and I'll be sure to make you sing for me. Any complaints? No? Good." 

He dove back down between your thighs,  slinging them over his shoulders off the table, allowing him full access to your slick pussy. God the way he took control made you basically drip with anticipation and he was clearly enjoying watching you fall apart for him. He moved the panties to the side, two long fingers began tracing patterns between your folds. He sucked air in through his teeth with a curse when he pressed one inside you, watching as your greedy hole suctioned around his finger. 

"That's so hot.  God that's so hot." He added the second and reveled in the whine you let out. You felt like you were wound too tight,  your skin was alight with him and you needed more more more. 

He couldn't wait any more, you heard the rip as the scraps fell off your hips, but couldn't even scold him. Because  his tongue finally slipped between your folds and licked you from entrance to clit. His fingers began stretching you out as he  sucked your clit. "Fuck can't wait to split you open on my cock. Your so tight and soft inside. Barely fit my fingers in you." 

Inseong's hair was damp sticking to his forehead, and he was still clothed. "Take something off!"  You whined,  desperate to finally see him.

"You'll take what I give you. For now I've gotta make you come so hard you forget your name. I have a lot of time to make up for."  

When he dove back in,  his lips totally engulfing your clit, tongue pressing into it as his fingers massaged your upper wall, searching for that rough patch of  nerves to make you lose your mind. 

Then he found it, and your back arched off the table, a gasp so loud you almost  worried the neighbors might hear. 

"That's so good, you're so good for me.

 Just do fucking ready to be touched. Has no  one ever touched you like this Angel? Has no one ever wound you so tight?"  You shook your head as the pressure inside increased,  his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucked  hard and you shattered. 

You screamed as you came hard, your hands squeezed the edge of the table. It would have been fine, and you would have come down gently, but he seemed insatiable now. The way his tongue thoroughly lapped up your release made you squirm against the pressure of his hands, crying out that it was sensitive, but he made an appreciative sound as he continued to suck and lick until he was satisfied. Leaning back with glistening lips, he wiped your release off on the back of his hands before planting a chaste kiss on your mound and helping you up to wobbly legs. He lead you to a couch in the corner, the one you'd recovered with him a month ago. 

Laying you back he stroked your  head and gave you soft kisses, smiling widely. 

"Thank you."  And his voice was  so sincere you almost laughed.  

"Thank me for you making me come??" You shook your head because that was just so Inseong. 

"Thank you for letting me see you like this. Share this with you. " he clarified. 

You looked down at his  bulge, the zipper of his jeans strained against the girth of him.  

"My turn?" You asked hopefully.  

"Mmm. Next time. I want to but this is 4 years of build up.  If my cock goes anywhere near your mouth I will end up lasting  an embarrassingly short time. Let me fuck  you the way I need  to this time. " 

You chuckled behind your hand as he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. You appreciated the lean sculpt of him, a beautiful sight all his own. You noticed  a wet patch on his jeans from earlier, which was less embarrassing and far more hot than you expected. He finally began to strip off the jeans, your eyes trained on his cock. He palmed it through his boxer briefs as you admired the definition in his quads. 

The elusive thighs finally yours to ogle. A sight worth the wait. Finally, the boxers removed too, it slapped heavy against his low belly, both impressive in girth and length and just the prettiest shade of darker tan you'd ever seen. 

You didn't even notice you licked your lips until you felt his index finger press against your tongue, you closed around it and gave it a teasing suck, making eye contact and drawing a groan from him.  

Finally, he set upon you,  unable to stop anymore. You don't even remember when he put the condom on,  but you saw it right before  it pressed against your opening, sliding between your folds to get coated in your slick. "Fuck." He mumbled, eyes trained on where your bodies joined. The glide of his cock was so pleasant you rolled your hips a little, forcing the tip of him inside you. 

As though breaking the last of his care, he grunted and surged forward, seating himself all the way within you in one powerful thrust. 

You whined loudly, the adjustment too quick to comprehend but not painful at all. He pulled one of your legs up over his shoulder as he knelt, wrapping the other around his hip as he gripped your ass and pulled you tight against his pelvis. You were so deliciously full that you couldn't help the  moans flowing from you,  "So good,  baby so full." You said .

"Yeah. Yeah. Tell me how you want me to make it for you.  How do you want me to hit it right Angel?"  

Your cheeks burned so hot and while all he'd done is rock himself slightly in you, you already felt too stimulated.  

Your nails scraped into the side of his quad, grabbing that groove for some semblance of gravity as he slipped out of you before slamming back in.  It felt so fucking good you thought you'd melt into the couch.  

"Shit you're so tight. God I feel. God I love you. "  he fervently moaned and grunted as he set a punishing pace. 

You felt sure that a second high was approaching,  but he seemed to  be barreling towards his own end as fast. He let go of your hip and began to circle your clit with one hand and the other gripped the base of your throat. 

His hands were so large and the pressure was just enough, you were dizzy even though you could still breathe. Words you barely recognized flowed from your lips, heated yes, fuck,  and shit gonna come 

Mingled with the slapping of his hips against you and the gasps for air he was taking. 

"Come for me , Y/n, show me what a good girl you can be for me. You've done so well, you deserve it baby. One more for today. "  his voice was almost hoarse, so low as he changed the angle of his thrust and hit that spot inside that sent you into a whirlwind of broken sobs as your second release was ripped out of you.  

He pumped one, two more times before a strangled whine of your name fell from his mouth and he released into the condom.  

He hovered over you, catching his breath as he stared at you as though you were all the secrets of the universe in one person. 

"I love you. Next time I'll  take my time and paint every bit of you with my hands."  He smiled warmly and kissed your lips. 

"I love you too."  You responded. "And you owe me underwear. "  

"I'll buy you whatever colors and styles you want as long as I get to remove them sometimes." He giggled into your neck, before pulling himself free and disposing of the condom.  "Come on, I have robes. Let's get inside the house and I'll give you a bath." 

You took his hand, glancing through the window as you realized darkness hadn't quite fallen yet, and he looked ethereal in the golden hour...

A/N  I hope it was okay!!! any comments appreciated !

[sylvanfreckles]

Chemistry

This is entirely and forever the fault of @angelfishofthelord and their “The Genre You Struggle With” challenge.

And thus, I present, a schmoopy, silly, rom-com style epoch of the first meeting of Sam and Sam’s Blurry Wife (from the finale). 

Summary: A coffee shop, a sprig of mistletoe, and a barista who just might be Santa’s little helper...looks like Gabrielle and Sam are learning a little more about Chemistry.

* * *

“Good morning, Professor!”

Gabrielle D'Angelo raised a hand in greeting at Nico, the morning barista at Renegade Coffee. She had to duck a little bit to avoid the excessive use of tinsel around the door, but once inside the warm coffee shop she could almost forgive the sheer ton of glitter and sparkle and twinkle around her.

Almost.

“You certainly went all out,” she commented as Nico set a tall, steaming cup of her usual morning order on the counter. “It's barely December and this place looks like a Hallmark exploded in here.”

“Well, you know,” Nico shrugged. “Gloria went a little nuts. She downsized to an apartment this summer, so we get all the decorations that won't fit in her new place.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabrielle nodded. She couldn't help but notice the row of nutcrackers on top of the display case. They were all in different little service uniforms—like a postman, milkman, garbage collector, teacher. She pointed at them, eyebrows raised. “No barista?”

“Some people have no taste,” Nico replied with a haughty sniff before breaking out in a dimpled smile. “What else can I get you, Professor?”

Gabrielle leaned down to study the pastries in the case. She liked that Nico always called her Professor, even though she wasn't teaching this year. It sounded better than “textbook revisionist”, which was her actual profession. “Cheese danish?”

“Coming up. I'll bring it out to you when it's warm.”

She raised her coffee cup in toast and left a ten-dollar bill on the counter. That would cover the coffee, pastry, first refill, and her tip...for now. If she couldn't get through Dr. Adair's notes on the taxonomy of noble gases she was going to need more than this. Not even Nico's secret whiskey flask could get her through Dr. Adair's notes on the taxonomy of noble gases.

Gabrielle made her way to her favorite booth in the corner and began unloading her rolling laptop case. Well...it wasn't actually a case. More of a plastic milk crate on a portable luggage dolly, with her laptop tucked in to one side. From the crate she unpacked three older chemistry textbooks, a half-dozen manuscripts held together by alligator clips, and a Hello Kitty pencil case that contained the pens and highlighters she'd need (shut up, it was lucky).

“Cheese danish for milady?” Nico offered, as soon as Gabrielle had unloaded and booted up her laptop. She accepted the little plate and absently took a bite from the warm danish, ignoring the fork Nico had placed at her side, and stared at the glowing logo as the computer slowly roused itself.

Her laptop was old, still a relic from her graduate days. She always meant to buy a new one when her tax refund hit every year, but something else came up. Car repairs, a friend's wedding, sewage line backing up into her bathroom...there was never enough money. If she could make the deadline on the textbook revisions, though, she should have enough for a new laptop and a new muffler. No more cable ties and duct tape!

As Gabrielle waited, computer slowly idling its way awake, she caught herself staring at the door, wondering if Hippy Man would appear today.

Hippy Man was...well, she really was supposed to be above these things. But with that hair and the little bit of stubble...hey, a girl could still dream, even if that girl had two doctorates and a Very Important Opportunity. Plus, he was probably taken. Or an asshole. Or both!

Hippy Man didn't come in as often as Gabrielle did, unless he was here the three days a week she let herself sleep past 6am. He didn't have a regular order, Nico and the others didn't know him by name, and he never stayed longer than the time he took to drink his tea of the day.

(She knew he favored Chai because he ordered it at least twice a week, and Nico put a cut little accent on when he called out a Chai latte...that was why she knew it, she wasn't snooping.)

The bell over the door jingled (and jingled...and jingled...looks like Gloria replaced the little shop bell with an entire harness of sleigh bells), and in walked Hippy Man. Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.

He was in the blue flannel today, which was Gabrielle's favorite. The brown one washed out his complexion, and the yellow one was just a no. Between the flannel and the beanie he looked like some kind of beatnik poet, though the muscles in his forearms and the callouses on his hands spoke more to manual labor.

(She wasn't snooping! She was just...bored.)

“Chai latte today, sir?” Nico asked. Ah, good! Hippy Man was coming in regularly enough to start being recognized.

Hippy Man started back, staring from the board to Nico for a moment. Gabrielle wanted to roll her eyes...maybe this wasn't a small town, but it was a small coffee shop. Come to Renegade Coffee enough times and Nico would learn something about you. It happened. Just go with it.

“Yeah, uh, sounds great,” Hippy Man nodded. “Do you have any of those vegan blueberry muffins?”

“Saved one for you!” Nico replied cheerily. God, he was the best. Gabrielle ducked her head, pretending like she wasn't snooping. (Okay, so she was snooping a little bit.) Obviously Nico had noticed that Hippy Man only drank tea and ate the vegan muffins (ew). Nico had probably figured out the guy's entire backstory based on his morning orders.

The bright tones of the Windows theme alerted Gabrielle to the fact that her laptop had finally booted up. Gabrielle shook herself, crammed the last of her danish in her mouth, and started on the arduous process to getting her dinosaur of a machine to log on to the Renegade Coffee WiFi.

Hippy Guy always waited at the counter for his order, which just added to the weird. Most patrons took a seat, relaxed a little, but not this guy. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, bowed forward a little as though to hide his ridiculous height.

(Really, instead of Hippy Man maybe she should have called him The Moose.)

“Here you go, dude,” Nico announced, setting Hippy Man's beverage and muffin on the counter. “Enjoy!”

“Yeah, uh, thanks. You too.”

Gabrielle bit back a snort, covering it up with a sip from her coffee (Renegade's own Double Dark Dark blend, guaranteed the strongest coffee in the tri-county area. Hey, the taxonomy of noble gases wasn't a laughing matter). At least Hippy Man was as human as the rest of them.

She rested an elbow on the table and leaned her chin in her hand to watch Hippy Man blunder through an embarrassed apology/explanation for what he'd just said—even though Nico had heard “you too” so many times he didn't even react anymore—while she waiting for the little spinny thing to connect her to the internet. Dr. Adair had probably sent three more emails, each one trying to decide between “the order to which we assign these elements” and “to which order we assign these elements”.

In the corner of her eye she saw her screen go white and leaned back to look at it.

No connection.

Gabrielle frowned and tapped the WiFi icon again.

More spinning. She took a minute to straighten the manuscripts—Dr. Russel's additions to the chapters on heavy metals were probably the best she'd seen yet, especially considering Dr. Russel had her own proofreader and hadn't demanded to revise her entry dozens of times, like Dr. Adair.

The screen flashed white again. No connection.

“Hey, Nico?” Gabrielle called. She noticed Hippy Guy frowning at his phone, but ignored him for the moment (which was difficult). “Is the WiFi down?”

Nico poked his head out of the back, towel draped over his shoulder. “Sorry, Professor. It was acting up last night...guess it's still out there. Gloria said she'd call it in when she gets here.”

Gabrielle sunk down in her chair, biting her lip and staring blankly at her computer. She could always pull up the emails on her phone, she supposed. The textbook itself was in a shared online file so she wouldn't be able to work on that until the WiFi was fixed...but she could go through the manuscripts and make notes by hand. With a heavy sigh she slapped her laptop shut and tugged the first stack of paper over.

Oh shit. Hippy Man was watching her.

Gabrielle bent forward over the table, letting her dark hair fall forward like a curtain to cut him off from view. Sure, he was cute and all, but she didn't really want to get into this with him now.

Hippy Man was standing up.

Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over....

Hippy Man was walking over.

Dammit.

“Hi, I'm Sam,” Hippy Man said, holding his hand out.

Gabrielle blew out a sigh and accepted the gesture. “Gabrielle.”

Apparently that was enough for Hippy Man—Sam—and he pulled out the chair opposite. “So, you're a professor?”

“I'm not teaching at the moment,” Gabrielle hedged. Sam was looking at the books on her table, actually touching one of the old textbooks to turn it so he could see the spine. His eyebrows shot up.

Oh god. Here it comes. She could see the headline now...Local Himbo Knows More About Chemistry Than Distinguished Textbook Revisionist.

“You teach chemistry?” Sam asked.

“I'm...working on the textbook,” Gabrielle said. She braced herself for it. Every time she met a guy—at least the tall, ruggedly handsome, flannel-wearing, beatnik-poet-looking ones—they were always intimidated by her work. Or they broke it down to something less (no, it wasn't the same as his mom putting together the family newsletter...yes, she did have a degree in chemistry...no, that didn't mean she could break bad or whatever, and no, she didn't know how to make meth!).

“That's incredible!” Sam said. He actually had the textbook open, caressing the table of contents. “I think I used this edition my sophomore year—is this the one you're revising?”

Gabrielle stared at him. “Well...we're about three versions ahead, but we're going back to that edition for the section on Amphoterism, Peterson really didn't do it justice even if he did have tenure at the time.”

Sam's eyebrows had shot up even higher, almost into his beanie. Gabrielle had to laugh at herself. “Sorry, shop talk.”

“It's okay,” Sam gently closed the textbook and placed it back on the stack reverently. “I see you in here a lot, you just always seem so busy. I didn't want to disturb you.”

Gabrielle shrugged. She had a lot of work to do. Coming out to Renegade Coffee to do it just felt better than working at home, with nothing but her beta fish to distract her. “And how about you, chai-tea-and-vegan-muffin-man? What do you do when you're not telling Nico to enjoy his meal?”

Sam blushed and stared down at the cup in his hands. God, he was cute, up this close. He even had dimples. “It's just a reflex,” he said defensively. She giggled—actually giggled, like an idiot in a rom-com. Instead of making Sam blush even harder, he peered up at her through his bangs and unleashed a devastating smile.

“So?” Gabrielle insisted. “What do you do?”

“This and that,” Sam shrugged. “Mostly pest removal.”

“Yeah?” she took a sip of her coffee. It was almost cold now...this was the point she usually drank the rest of it in one long shot, but she decided to savor it this time. Nico had snuck in a pump of peppermint flavor, and while she would normally beat him with edition three of A Modern Approach to Chemistry she was willing to forgive him this time. It was almost Christmas. “So, like, mice and roaches and stuff?”

Sam gave a halfhearted shrug. “More...specialized.”

Gabrielle felt her own eyebrows rise. “Specialized pest removal? What, like...coyotes in the crawlspace?”

He held up a hand, forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart. “Almost. It's...complicated. I'm kind of doing it on the side, taking some time off to deal with...personal stuff.”

Shit, Gabrielle could understand that. When her widowed father had gotten remarried she'd taken almost a year to work with a pharmaceutical company in Canada. She loved her new step-father, sure, but it was hard to see anyone else in her mother's place.

Nico stopped by the table, a fresh coffee in one hand and a hot tea in the other. “On the house,” he explained. “Gloria will be in in about twenty minutes, she said she already called the internet guys.”

“Thanks, Nico,” Gabrielle smiled. She threw back the rest of her coffee in one long pull and set the empty cup to one side before tugging the new, hot cup close.

Nico was staring at her. Well, he was staring from her to Sam and back again.

“What?” Gabrielle demanded.

He pointedly looked up.

For the first time, Gabrielle noticed there was mistletoe hanging from the light fixture above her head.

“Nico!” Gabrielle moaned.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't...see that,” Sam protested. He tried to scoot his chair back but Nico had stuck a foot behind it.

“Either you kiss her or I kiss you, big fella,” Nico said, winking.

Face burning with embarrassment, Gabrielle looked over in time to see Sam give a helpless shrug. He shuffled sideways into the booth next to her and gently caught her chin with one hand.

“Merry Christmas, Gabrielle,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to hers.

Her stomach did a little flip, which had nothing to do with the coffee she'd just down, and she found herself unconsciously leaning toward him when he pulled back.

Gabrielle blinked, staring up at the man who was now sitting beside her. “What was that?”

Nico snatched up her empty cups and gave her a wink. “That, my dear Professor, was Chemistry.”

* * *

The challenge:

-Must not deviate into your usual preferred genre of writing (I normally write hurt/comfort, action, and suspense, so this was romance/rom-com)

-Must be written in third-person (done!)

-For added difficulty, add an essential original character (pick between Gabrielle as the OFC version of Sam’s Blurry Wife or Nico the barista as Santa’s little helper)

-Use less than ten tags (not including character/relationship tags) (is “chemistry words” a tag? I looked them up)

-For extra added difficulty write for a ship you hate (Sam/SBW is one I hate if SBW isn’t Eileen...but I named her Gabrielle because I also hate Sabriel)

[tysonrunningfox]

Two Night Stand: Part 5

Sometimes random things you dig up are what you write

00000

Masterpost (ao3 to come)

00000

Astrid stares at the mess in the bathroom for a moment, the door clicking shut behind her echoing in the damp space.  She nudges a soaking towel into the corner by the tub and wrinkles her nose at the way it sogs her sock. 

The stolen plunger is still in the middle of the room and she picks it up with hesitant fingertips and sets it by the thankfully functioning toilet. 

It’s a testament to how far their conversation just devolved that she can’t even focus on the fact that she just dealt mass property damage in the pursuit of breaking, entering, and using a stranger’s toilet. 

She bends down to pull her damp sock off and catches her reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

Hiccup is gross.  Of course.  All guys would want nothing more than a striptease, that’s obvious, he didn’t need to tell her that.  In fact, he just said a bunch of really obvious things and acted like it was brand new information.  He forgot to remind her that it’s snowing though, so he left a base uncovered. 

Base.  Like a baseball sex metaphor type base. 

Maybe there’s a reason aside from lack of birth control and women’s rights that people used to have a dozen kids to work the farm.  How much is there really to do when you’re locked in with someone for a long time?  And like Hiccup said, they already got high and made a pillow fort. 

And critiqued each other sexual performance because apparently, they couldn’t even go twenty-four hours ignoring the fact that they did, in fact, have sex with each other. 

She teeters, because she’s been standing here on one leg like an urban dwelling flamingo native to dysentery creek, halfway through taking her sock off, and when she catches her reflection again, she hates that she thinks Hiccup might have a point.  It’s not really an attractive pose—not that she has to be sexy at all times, that’s stupid, and part of the women’s rights issue that means she will not be having twelve kids to work any farm—but it still makes her pause. 

She shuffles over to the sink, drumming her fingertips on the edge of the porcelain and staring at her reflection like it knows something she doesn’t.  Are you there mirror-Astrid?  It’s me, Astrid, you’re currently in the bathroom mirror of the guy I attempted to have a one-night stand with but then I got snowed in and it’s a whole thing, laws have been broken, I critiqued his sex-technique, mirror-wisdom would be appreciated. 

Mirror-Astrid would shrug, if she weren’t dependent on real world motion to bend light, and the twinkle in her eye says something like ‘well, it would look hotter if you unbuttoned that oversized flannel more slowly while maintaining eye contact.’

Mirror-Astrid is the slut.  Maybe she’s been the slut this whole time. 

Maybe she has a point. 

She bites her lip, reaching for the top button of her shirt and popping it open slowly, cocking her hip to one side. 

And again, they’ve already gotten high and made a pillow fort and broke and entered and committed plunger-themed larceny.  What else is there to do, really?  She was right this morning, she cannot un-sex him, but having sex with him twice, well…they’ve already done it once. 

And it’s cold outside, if the furnace goes out they might have to generate body heat. 

They should practice, maybe. 

Ok, if the furnace were going to go out, it probably would have happened already, but it’s a secondary argument.  If she needs it.  He is a guy, and he didn’t have any problem getting interested in having sex with her last night. 

She fusses with her hair, pressing her bangs down against her forehead and then shoving them to the side when they don’t stay down.  It’s fine, her hair doesn’t matter, this is not a seduction, it’s a scientific endeavor. 

That’s it.  It’s an experiment. 

“Hey Hiccup,” she walks normally into the living room.  Or she tries to walk normally.  Usually, when she walks normally, she’s not thinking about walking normally, but nothing is usual about this situation so she’s doing her best. 

“What did you do to my shower?”  He asks without looking up from his laptop and she perches on the back of the couch above his shoulder, trying and failing to soften her glare, even though she wants something from him. 

“Nothing.”  She sighs, “I was thinking.” 

“That’s always dangerous.” 

“You know what?  Never mind, it’s stupid.”  She stands back up, glad that his personality just saved her from sounding stupid, for once. 

“No, sorry,” he closes his laptop and looks up at her upside down, head on the back of the couch, hair flopping away from eyes that look greener considering what she’s about to say, “stupid’s my favorite.  What’s up?” 

“I was just thinking,” she pauses, waiting for him to interrupt again, but sadly, he appears to have learned his lesson, at least momentarily, “so the hypothesis of our conversation is that a frank conversation with a mutual interest towards self-improvement would make us better lovers.” 

“Oh, so you can pull it off?” 

“Yes.”  She crosses her arms and leans on the couch again, “or no, it’s—I don’t think anyone can really pull it off, it’s kind of an awful word, but—”

“Are you back for more?”  He raises an eyebrow, and the expression is an understanding of an inside joke, like all their jokes aren’t inside jokes, considering the weather. 

He doesn’t mean it and it makes her blush. 

“Yes.”  She stares him down, direct like she was chatting with him.  Asking the clear question. 

“Ok, hmm, you were largely a very adequate lover, but I’m sure there are some minutiae I could help you finesse for a future time with someone else—”

“I think we should have sex again.  For science.”  She tucks her hair behind her ear and feels it sticking out.  But this isn’t a seduction, it’s the intro to a lab class.  Today, the lesson is practical.  Hands on.  Real-world applicable.  “Keep the lines of communication open, put some of what we just talked about into practice.” 

“I know that supposedly, all I need is friction, but I’m not sure I could take your well-intentioned critiques while trying to perform.”  He rolls his eyes, not taking her seriously, and she lets her hands drift back to the buttons on her shirt, letting her eyes bore into his as she pops the next one loose. 

His eyes flick down.  He licks his lips.  The way he’s looking at her is almost worth how silly she feels and she makes a note in her mental, sexual lab notebook.  It’s crisp and new, the blank paper feeling a little sexual under her mental pencil.  It’s new too, fresh out of the package. 

0.05mm lead.  Fine tip.  A precision instrument. 

Ok, too far.  Too far.  But there’s something sexual about new paper and she’s just leaning into it right now. 

“I’m just saying, before we trot out our miracle cure for sexual incompatibility, we should probably do some clinical trials.  It’s only responsible.”  She’s never seduced anyone before, especially not a one-night stand she ordered on the internet on the eve of a once in a century blizzard, but it feels good to speak medically again, even if it’s not a good metaphor. 

Clinical trials take months.  Years. 

“I mean, we haven’t even nailed down stock options yet.”  He’s nervous, and it’s infuriatingly obvious in his big green eyes, and it’s also infuriating, because he’s supposed to be a cocky dick that she literally ordered on the internet. 

“A dry run can’t hurt anything, it’s just compiling more data,” she pops another button open and he bites his lip, setting his laptop aside. 

“Well, not a dry run.  Hopefully.”  He smirks, half-honest, and she doesn’t want to know that he puts a smiley face on his oatmeal or that he’s worried about what she thinks of his leg, but she does, and she’s trying to make the best of it. 

“In a normal sexual situation, there should be some lead up, but considering everything, it’s ok for you to just kiss me.”  Her stomach twists at the creak in the floorboards when he stands up slowly, faking confidence behind the cracks she’s ignoring, because they make him an outlier she shouldn’t consider sampling. 

And he’s silent.  Bigger without words jostling his shoulders as his hand finds her waist, fingers bunching in her oversized shirt.  And he looks at her, gaze a steady confirmation before he kisses her, knee nudging between hers as he guides her backwards. 

“That’s good,” she pulls back enough to nod and he grins, too real again.  “The knee thing.” 

“Yeah?”  He follows as she takes a couple more steps back towards the bedroom, “I thought it was suggestive—”

“Please don’t explain every move to me.”  She kisses him, hands fisting in his collar. 

“They’re very nuanced though, I want to make sure you understand.”  His hand slides under her shirt, too warm against the small of her back.  And his knee nudges between her legs again and she trips on the edge of the rug, stumbling back into the doorframe.  “Shit, are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” she rolls her shoulder.  Shake it off, Hofferson.  “Walking backwards while kissing is fine in movies, not so great in real life.” 

“Noted.”  He follows her into the bedroom, where unfortunately the bed is unmade. 

“Remember when I wanted to see your apartment?”  She asks, half-expecting to need to explain, because nothing outside of the last day feels real, especially with the buzzing under her skin when she thinks about what’s about to happen. 

“I had to put all my Bundy fan-club awards down the garbage disposal, of course I remember.”  He jokes, his voice deeper, breathing husky on the shell of her ear, and she shivers.  “I’m devastated.” 

“Well, a girl likes a clean place.  Makes you feel taken care of, I guess.”  She grabs the clean fitted sheet from the basket in the corner and starts putting it on the mattress.  “Also, women want to have sex with functional adults, a made bed is an easy first step.” 

“That hasn’t been my experience.”  He laughs and she rolls her eyes, tugging the sheet tight and tossing him the next layer. 

“You’ve had a different demographic thus far.” 

“No, I mean making a bed is like wrestling an eight-foot long, six-foot wide rectangular bear,” he throws the duvet over the flat sheet as she shoves the second pillow into its case, “might need a nap to rebuild strength and energy before the sex.” 

“Lay down then,” she shoves his shoulder a little too hard, refusing to feel guilty when he falls back on the bed, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Lights are on,” she refuses to let her voice shake, tilting her chin at the bulb above the bed as she pops open the next button of her shirt.  He watches, eyes flicking between her face and chest as another button comes undone. 

“You’re a quick study,” he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor before going for his belt. 

“You too,” she compliments, unbuttoning her pants and pushing them down with an unnecessary sway in her hips, trying not to smile when he licks his lips, pupils wide. 

She faces away from him, shrugging the shirt slowly off her shoulders, letting it fall against her heels.  She unhooks her bra and bends forward, letting it fall off of her arms as she tugs her underwear down, bending at the waist and trying not to feel stupid or cold or slow as she steps out of them. 

She looks over her shoulder at him, standing up at that glacial pace and turning to face him like an iceberg drifting past Greenland. 

He’s breathing hard, skinny chest heaving above the boxer briefs that are thankfully the only thing he’s still wearing.  His leg is on the floor and she’s not sure whether she’s supposed to look or not, so she keeps her focus on his face. 

“Is that…” she cocks her hip, then regrets it, unsure where to put her hands.  It’s cold.  He’s staring.  She wants to turn the lights off or to make a joke or to get under a blanket because it’s actually cold in here.  He should keep his place warmer, probably, and she should tell him, but she just got naked the slowest she ever has and she needs his opinion on it, because nothing makes sense.  “Is that more what you thinking of?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, too fast, and she almost tells him off for being cute when they’re trying to be scientific, “that was—yeah.  Good.  You really took my point and um…yeah.” 

“Honestly I just…moved slower—”

“Men are so stupid,” he sits up, waving his arms at her in something halfway summoning, “come here.  Now.  Please.  That’s not an order, I just—you, wow—”

“So, lights on, strip slowly is a real thing?”  She half jokes on her way to the bed, trying to frame how his eyes feel on her skin in terms of scientific understanding.  The mutual pursuit of knowledge.  Earnest commitment to research. 

“Men are dumb.”  He catches her waist with a long, warm arm and pulls her down into the bed, hovering over her as his lips latch onto her pulse-point, callused hand sweeping across her ribs. 

“Apparently.”  She moans when his thumb glances across her nipple and he leans up slightly to look at her face.  “What?” 

“Trying to discern real from faking it,” he teases, self-conscious, and her stomach twists at the still hand on her side that she so badly wants to be moving. 

“It’s going to be easier to get me off if you’re trying to,” she nods at him, “instead of reacting to imagined criticism.” 

“Oof,” he winces, scooting his hips away from her an inch, “that’s—while true, that’s also generally applicable to my failures as a person, which isn’t sexy to think about—”

“You’re not into being accidently insulted by people who just stripped for you?”  She jokes, reaching up instinctually to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders.  His ass, surprisingly taut under his boxers.  And the lights are on and goosebumps prickle up her stomach. 

“Accidentally?”  He’s a little too soft, a little too meek, and she tugs him back down to her by his hair. 

“Yes.”  She kisses him, and she was honest earlier.  He’s a good kisser, just how he’d be a good conversationalist if it weren’t being forced upon her as the only option.  It’s give and take, it’s soft lips and the hard edge of teeth.  It’s determination behind the acquiescence in his moan as his hand finds her breast and squeezes.  “That’s good.” 

“Yeah?”  He kisses down her neck, taking his time like he hadn’t the night before, his fingers curling around her waist and pulling her against him, his thigh between hers.  She hooks her leg around his hip and he groans into her neck, “that’s—”

“Not good?”  She starts to move her leg but he catches her thigh above her knee, pressing it closer to his side. 

“Very good.”  He kisses her collarbone, her nipple, breathing hard against her sternum.  “It’s like you want me closer,” he shudders when she drags her fingernails up his back, “good move.  All good moves.” 

“You too, this is good.”  She reaches between them, fumbling under the waistband of his boxer briefs, “I don’t mind the stubble.”  She groans when he drags his chin against her neck, kissing under her jaw.  She grabs his length and he stiffens, forehead on her collarbone as his expected groan comes out as a whine.  “What?” 

“You’re very direct,” he catches her wrist with a firmness that makes her core twitch.  “It’s—I like it, don’t get me wrong here, I’m a stupid, friction-obsessed man and that feels—you’re naked—and you—”

“It’s distracting,” she lets go, pulling her hand out of his boxers and letting it rest on her lower stomach, flirting with the juncture between her legs. 

“Yes,” he kisses her, “and that’s not a bad thing, I’m just trying to focus.” 

“On?”  She flirts.  She doesn’t have to, but she does.  And he presses his leg against her core and his breath is hot against her neck and maybe talking is what sex has needed this entire time. 

Talking and a quick-witted tongue on her chest, and long, callused fingers dipping between her legs.  Soft, auburn hair tickling her neck as she arches under the contact. 

“Don’t…don’t say anything about a dry run right now, I…will kill you.”  She grips his shoulders, heel dragging down his short calf and back onto the bed as he almost gets it right, the sizzling contact just off epicenter. 

“Wouldn’t make sense, anyway.”  He kisses her neck, her cheek, his smirk like a brand against her skin as he swipes just past where he should. 

“Just—up, ok?  And to the right?”  She doesn’t want to sound irritated, but it’s irritating to have things feel so good and almost great.  He adjusts, over-adjusts really, and she reaches down to grab his hand and direct him, her fingers over his.  “There, it’s just—like…”

“This?”  He mimics her motion and she squints her eyes shut, her knees clenching on his hips as she nods.  “Am I—I mean is this getting you to…where you need?”  He’s awkward, and earnest, and arousal flares in her chest like an errant spark. 

“I mean it takes a minute.”  She gets out, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.  He smells like breaking and entering and a stupid high day in a pillow fort and she tries to focus on his fingers and how they’re trying to build style into the method she prescribed him. 

They aren’t marching, they’re dancing, adding his own flair to steps she’d thought were set in stone.  

And the lights are on, and he’s watching her like a gauge.  Like something independent, instead of as a reflection of himself.  And he kisses her lips and her cheek and a finger dips into her, long and agile but impatient too. 

“Can I, I mean, I was under the impression that you were going to be critiquing—unless—”

“No critiques necessary,” she eeks out, biting her lip and pressing back against his touch.  She feels spectated, but knowing why helps.  He wants to see her.  He wants to study her falling apart, like it’s a phenomenon, and the thought makes her toes curl as his pupils widen and he kisses her neck, her chest, looking up for her reaction between. 

He slows down. 

“Don’t go easy on me, it’s obviously not working—”

“It just takes a bit,” she snaps, grabbing his wrist and pressing his hand closer, “it’s slower, it takes a minute, it was…you were on the right track.” 

“How long is the track?”  He kisses her jaw and her neck, his hips nudging against hers.  He groans when she wraps her leg back around his hips and she feels her own chest, letting the feeling bloom in her stomach. 

“As long as it is.”  She tries to be grumpy.  It half works.  He twitches when she grabs his length again, his groan shuddering against her neck as his hand falters. 

Two long fingers dip inside of her then and she gasps, grabbing his upper arm. 

“Is that—”

“Don’t stop.”  She tries not to squirm, tries not to mess up the angle he has, what feels like the whole length of his fingers stroking against what she has to believe is her G-spot, more obvious than it ever has been, like banter is foreplay.  Like his very presence is foreplay.  Like this was inevitable.  Like he is inevitable.  “You found…”

He rubs it. 

She regrets ever arguing with an engineer, double entendre implied. 

“Is that?” 

“Don’t stop,” she clenches his arm, probably too tight, but there’s no time to think about that because he’s kissing her, stubble and lip and tongue and hand doing that again and again and again. 

“Might have to, if you keep that grip.”  He kisses her cheek and she arches into it, because his hand is unraveling her like she’s grandma’s first sweater attempt and he’s warm and earnest. 

She reaches down to touch herself and he gasps like it’s been ripped out of him.  She bites her lip, leaning into the warmth, which yanks the cord to get his hand moving again, and then it’s here and they’re kissing and she feels her throat going hoarse before she knows he’s kissing her.  And he doesn’t stop kissing, or petting, or holding. 

And this is the worst idea she’s ever had. 

“You didn’t want me to explain my moves,” he kisses her cheek.  Her ear.  His other hand cradles her neck so sweetly, tilting it as he kisses and where was this last night.  Where was this when she needed him. 

“Explain them.” She’d say he was wrong if she needs to.  She’d say anything.  His fingers are thrusting and she’s rubbing and she can’t breathe and every time she bucks up, his hips press back down against hers like a promise. 

“Well, I’m um…” He pauses.  She kisses his chin because it’s what she can reach.  His rhythm falters and she bites her lip.  “Well, I uh…think I found your G-spot.” 

She nods. 

He gets so red that she could light a fire on his face and she digs her heel into the back of his thigh. 

“Is that a yes?” 

She nods. She hits his shoulder with her free hand, doubling down as he strokes. 

“We are communicating,” he kisses her, “I need a yes—”

“Yes,” she yelps, “more.  Yes.  Don’t stop.  Asshole.”  She squeaks out, and he’s kissing her.  Everywhere. And his hand in her is moving, his thumb joining hers on her clit and when she opens her eyes, there’s something in his gaze. 

He’s committed.  He’s tuned in. 

“You’ve told me, emphatically I might add,” he presses her clit for a second, suddenly at home in the mastery he’d only hoped for a second ago, “to not tell you about my moves.”

“You had moves you didn’t tell me about?”  She struggles to sound indignant when he’s touching her like this.  When he’s devoted like this.  When he’s redeeming himself, sure with this kind of frantic, earnest energy. 

It hits all at once. 

She clings to his shoulders, crying out a bit too loud, glad for the empty apartment as his fingers stroke deep.  And human.  And he’s close and real and she’s trying not to remember that this is nothing, a fling, a one-night stand, an addendum to a one-time thing.

And he’s hard.  And that was great.  And she wants him. 

She wants something.  That’s easier. 

She wants parts of him.  Now. 

“Was that..?”  He kisses her forehead, his arms wrapping around her. 

And he holds her, that’s a point in his favor.  He held her last night and he holds her again and she wants to compliment him and for once, there’s no gateway. 

“Nothing fake,” she says as a truth and a comfort and his hand finds her core again, perfectly lazy, hesitantly in something close to awe.  “Condom.  Now.” 

“But my redemption—”

“On track,” she rolls to the side, digging in the bedside table for the reel of condoms she found earlier. 

“But you—”

“I did,” she cups his face, pulling him close with an arm around his waist, “do you ever stop talking?” 

“Not in living memory.”  He touches that spot within her again and she shivers, ankles crossed behind his back.  “Can I have some room to move?”  He kisses the hollow of her throat, and his voice is relieved and she reaches to stroke him with a pleasure-lazy vengeance.  “Astrid, I—”  

“Hiccup,” she settles on his name, because she doesn’t know how else to communicate, even if it ends in him staring at her, through her, into her. 

“For science,” he lines himself up and she bites her lip. 

“It’s just good practice at this point.” 

[sebthesnipe]

Pencils

A prompt that myself and @gilby-the-geek-girl​ decided to do a ‘write this in your style’ involving Logicality roommates and Ticonderoga #2 Pencils

You can read her’s here.

Also check out her main AU that its based in on AO3 here.

If you’re interested here are some links to my work as well:

The Collection (My Oneshots)

My Dearest Procyon (My Multi-Chapter Magical!AU)

Other works by me

Now! Lets get this party started!!!!

Logan gave a small curse as another one of his pencils broke inside his cheap sharpener. He tilted the small plastic container to get a better look inside. Sure enough, a large piece of lead was stuck inside the small cone, pressing against the razor’s edge. He wouldn’t be able to resharpen his pencil until it was removed.

As he took the small pencil sharpener apart, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Perhaps, he could rearrange his budget to allow him to purchase some better writing utensils. Patton had already convinced him to spend some extra money on the ‘B2p’s. He had been right about them. The pens were 89% recycled water bottles, which was good for the environment, and they wrote very smoothly, which helped ease the pain that writing caused.

Carpal tunnel syndrome was far more unpleasant that Logan had expected it to be. Of course, he hadn’t expected to enjoy the tingling or numbness, but the sheer amount of pain it caused was staggering. The simple act of holding a pen longer than half an hour was something he could no longer do without the help of an anti inflammatory. His all night note taking sessions were now cut by more than half, and that was on a good night with a decent writing implement.

Surgery was possible, but it would pull him out of school for far too long, and cost more than he was willing to spend without the proper insurance. He was far too close to graduation and couldn’t afford the recovery time, mentally or financially. At least, not yet. For now, he would bide his time and push onwards towards his end goal.

He sighed as he pressed his pencil into the cleared sharpener and twisted. For now, he would make due. The pens Patton had recommended were more than satisfactory, but he only had a small budget for his supplies.

He removed the pencil and examined the now sharpened tip. The graphite was uneven, but pointed enough for his note taking, though the wood around it was rough and almost fuzz-like. It would smudge the graphite’s markings if he wasn’t careful. Luckily he was accustomed to such cheap craftsmanship and could make due with what he had.

He set the sharpener aside and took stock at the desk before him. Everything had its place. His box of untouched pencils sat perfectly parallel above his notebook, directly right of his lamp. His three subject college ruled spiral was open to a half written page, marked with a small blue tab indicating that it was on the topic of Mathematics (specifically Number Theory). Behind the blue tab, a number of tabs could be seen, neatly lined along the pages, each representing a different course. To the right of his spiral lay five sharpie brand highlights, each a different color, placed in a perfectly straight line. Every color had its purpose, just as every tab of his notebook did.

Logan could not compromise when it came to certain tools. He needed a brand of highlighter that would not bleed through his textbook pages or smudge his notes whether he wrote in pen or pencil. He needed pens that were a bit more pricey so as to ensure a smooth glide without bleeding or ink transfers. He needed index cards made of a decent caliber to avoid damage or creases. All of these things were important. Far more important than the way a pencil sharpened, or turned fuzzy or smudged when he tried to erase it.

There was no more room in the budget for any pencils better than the ones that he had and that was that. He would just have to live with the way the graphite would snap when he tried to underline something. He would have to deal with the way the lead would fall out of the faux wood, or the lines seemed muted unless he put more force behind it, which made his hands hurt even worse. It was all a sacrifice he must be willing to make. He couldn’t afford better.

He couldn’t help another small growl as he made a mistake on his graph and moved to erase it, the cheap eraser ripping through the paper. He stared at the spot for a long moment, willing himself to just leave it. It was just a small hole. He could work around it. He didn’t need to redo the entire page.

It was just a hole…

A tiny inconsequential hole…

Miniscule… infinitesimal….

UGH! Logan ripped the page from the spiral, crinkling it in his hands before tossing it into the bin next to him. Everything had its place! Everything was meant to be somewhere and a hole was not meant to be in the middle of his notes!

He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to push away the headache he could feel coming on just as his phone’s alarm began to sound. It seemed more time had passed than he had expected. Logan pushed to his feet, producing his phone and swiping away the alarm as he moved to pack up and head to his first class of the day.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Logan pushed open the door to their shared dorm, dark locks falling into his eyes as they dripped water onto the mat beneath his feet. He was silent as he kicked the door shut and began to shed his outer layers.

It was late. Far later than it should have been. Logan did not like when things didn’t go according to schedule. His second class ran long, which meant he was late to lunch, which didn’t give him the sufficient amount of time to go to the library as he had planned without skipping his meal. Which made him feel a bit lethargic during his third and fourth class, causing him to forget his bag, which had him missing his train. Which meant he had to wait forty-five minutes for the next one. Then the rain started, which was not in the forecast; which meant Logan’s ten minute walk home had him soaked through completely.

It had not been a good day.

He took stock of the small apartment. Patton must have already gone to bed. The poor man had four a.m. classes. Most culinary students started earlier than the rest of the students. It was no wonder the man was so early to bed. Well, ever since Logan provided him with the optimal schedule for his ideal personal time to study/class ratio that is. It seemed to be working out for him, though Logan didn’t get to see him much anymore, which was surprisingly disappointing. The man was far too chipper, but he certainly knew how to make Logan smile.

Logan headed for his room and the attached bathroom, dropping his bag next to his desk and trying not to drip too much on the carpet. He needed to get out of his sodding clothes before he caught a cold.

Fifteen minutes, a hot shower and some dry clean clothes later and Logan felt like a new man. He checked the time. There were still a few hours before bed. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped, but he could still manage some studying.

He moved to his desk, pulling out his chair and sinking down, thankful the day was beginning to wind down. He pulled his bag closer and dug out his spiral, opening it to the page he had been working on earlier that morning and laying it out neatly exactly where it belonged. He reached for his pencil and…

He froze. His usual box of 12ct #2b cheap off-brand pencils were buried. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at what lay atop them. He couldn’t believe it. Atop those horrid, demonic, sorry-excuse for pencils lay a box of 24ct Dixon Ticonderoga premium wood #2 pencils with latex free erasers.

Logan took a moment to calm his excited heart. Before he knew it, he was reaching out with a shaky hand, collecting the box for examination. The clear plastic had been unopened, each stick perfectly preserved within the transparent packaging. Logan turned the object over in his hands, admiring its beauty as he caught sight of thick black words scrawled in sharpie on the back.

‘To Logan, From Patton. I saw these and thought of you. So, I bought them. It just felt ‘WRITE’! XD’

Logan couldn’t help but give a snort at the joke before fumbling to open the box. It almost felt like Christmas had come early as he pulled one of the pencils from its place among the others and set the box aside. He took a moment to examine the utensil in all its glory before reaching for his sharpener.

He inserted the blunted wood and twisted. Once. Twice. Thrice. He heard the sound of the graphite against metal and pulled the pencil out, bringing it to eye level for inspection.

The sharply pointed lead was smooth and crackless, forming a seamless cone with the sleek pale wood that surrounded it. It had glided so perfectly against the razor’s edge and now stood regal and polished before him. It was perhaps one of the most stunning sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

His chest tightened as his smile widened, moving to redraw the graph he had damaged earlier. He drew the lead across the paper gently, the line coming out smooth and dark. Just as it should be. He flipped the pencil in one quick and fluid motion and erased a small portion, the graphite coming off cleanly and without much force. It was satisfying and rejuvenating.

How could he have ever thought a day like this could be bad?! He had everything he ever wanted! Warm clothes, a perfectly tempered room, his desk organized exactly as it should be, and a friend who cared enough to-

Realization hit, ‘The World’s Best Pencil’ falling from his fingers and clattering to his desk (without so much as chipping the perfectly pointed tip) as he brought his hand to cover his mouth in shock.

His heart pounded against his ribs almost painfully. His other hand tangled in his still damp locks. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. Everything he did was purposefully calculated and scheduled. How could he… He wasn’t…. This wasn’t possible…. But the evidence was building against him.

Logan Sanders was falling in love with his best friend.

Taglist:

@nightashes

[evansfm]

“    𝐢  𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥  𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞  𝐢  𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝  𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐚𝐥𝐥  𝐝𝐚𝐲.  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐝𝐨  𝐡𝐚𝐬  𝐚  𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡  𝐨𝐟  𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜  𝐭𝐨  𝐢𝐭.    ”

          things  were  running  later  than  expected  ,  an  hour  later  than  expected  ,  and  it  was  clear  as  day  that  all  four  boys  were  getting  antsy  .  ringed  fingers  rubbed  over  his  features  ,  and  it  seemed  that  kieran  was  well  passed  fed  up  with  being  in  the  studio  when  mikey  called  for  a  break  from  behind  the  soundboard  .  

         “  t’ank  god  .  i’m  fuckin’  starving  ,  ”  ruairi  groaned  ,  practically  dwarfing  his  drumset  as  rose  from  behind  it  .  adam’s  lips  curled  into  a  bright  smile  as  he  set  his  bass  aside  .

           “  oh  ,  we  know  .  pret’y  sure  t’e  mics  picked  up  on  the  echo  of  it  ,  too  ,  ”  he  said  ,  only  provoking  the  larger  boy  to  tussle  him  into  a  headlock  as  they  exited  the  room  ,  then  disappeared  out  of  the  studio  and  into  the  hall  .  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  ,  conan  caught  evan’s  eye  before  both  gazes  flickered  over  to  curly  hair  and  an  all  too  familiar  look  of  concentration  .  

         “  ay  ,  put  t’e  pencil  down  and  take  a  proper  break  ,  will’ye  ?  ”  conan  scowled  ,  ruffling  kieran’s  hair  only  long  enough  to  be  batted  away  ;  all  the  while  evan  snagged  a  water  bottle  from  a  small  fridge  on  her  side  of  the  glass  ,  then  met  him  at  the  doorway  .  they  shared  a  quiet  smile  before  he  slipped  out  and  she  slipped  in  ,  letting  the  door  shut  behind  her  before  she  moved  any  further  .  

         it  got  like  this  sometimes  ;  the  perfectionist  in  kieran  would  wear  and  wear  on  him  until  he  got  lost  in  his  own  head  .  it  seemed  that’s  exactly  where  he  was  then  ,  sitting  on  a  piano  bench  and  scratching  away  at  handwritten  lyrics  while  he  was  supposed  to  be  taking  a  break  for  once  in  his  damned  career  .  silently  ,  evan  moved  across  the  room  ,  gaze  flickering  over  the  way  his  features  were  endearingly  set  in  an  expression  of  concentration  .  

         “  hi  ,  you  ,  ”  she  said  softly  ,  one  leg  thrown  over  the  bench  before  sitting  down  in  the  space  next  to  him  .  

         “  hi  ,”  the  crinkle  between  his  brows  only  deepened  as  he  leaned  forward  ,  scratching  out  something  else  on  the  paper  in  front  of  him  as  she  watched  carefully  .  he  didn’t  even  glance  in  her  direction  as  she  set  the  water  down  directly  next  to  the  paper  ,  too  lost  in  his  own  head  to  notice  anything  else  .  

         after  a  quiet  moment  ,  she  slid  a  little  bit  closer  if  only  to  make  it  easier  when  she  reached  out  and  placed  a  hand  on  either  side  of  his  face  .  gently  ,  evan  turned  his  head  to  catch    his  gaze  ,  lips  curving  into  a  knowing  smile  at  the  sight  of  furrowed  features  .  her  left  hand    shifted  ,  fingers  brushing  along  his  skin  until  her  thumb  swiped  gently  over  the  worry  line  between  wrinkled  brows  ,  smoothing  it  out  with  the  kind  of  loving  touch  that  he’d  always    brought  out  of  her  .  a  comfortable  silence  fell  over  the  room  ,  and  just  like  that  –––  everything  fell  away  .  if  anyone  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass  ,  she  wouldn’t  have  noticed  as  eyes  shifted  from  a  molten  gaze  to  her  hands  as  they  travelled  up  and  up  .  fingers  raked  through  spiraling  ,  brown  curls  ,  pushing  them  back  until  her  hands  slipped  away  and  they  flopped  forward  again  .  arms  fell  to  rest  on  his  shoulders  as  her  fingers  clasped  behind  his  head  ,  and  when  she  exhaled  ,  her  features  expertly  fell  into  the  same  expression  he’d  been  making  .  just  as  she’d  hoped  ,  he  caved  and  allowed  a  smile  to  soften  the  once  rigid  look  on  his  face  .  

         “  there  he  is  ,  ”  evan  broke  into  a  grin  ,  leaning  closer  to  allow  the  tip  of  her  nose  to  graze  his  until  her  chin  lifted  just  enough  to  place  a  light  kiss  against  it  .  she  didn’t  linger  ,  though  ,  settling  her  chin  against  his  shoulder  immediately  after  he  faced  forward  again  ,  “  baby  ,  you’ve  got’a    take  a  break  some  time  .  ”  

         “  i  know  ,  ”  he  nodded  ,  eyeing  the  paper  again  .  this  time  ,  though  ,  when  he  reached  forward  ,  it  was  to  set  the  pencil  down  ,  “  somet’ing’s  just  .  .  .  missing  from  t’is  one  .  it’s  driving  me  mad  .  ”

         “  sophomore  albums  are  always  the  hardest  ,  ”  evan  murmured  ,  fingers  untangling  as  one  hand  moved  to  rest  on  his  knee  ,  the  other  splayed  against  his  back  .  shifting  ,  she  nuzzled  her  cheek  into  the  fabric  of  his  shirt  and  watched  while  her  hand  began  to  move  ,  nails  dragging  lightly  up  and  down  his  back  ,  over  and  over  ,  “  and  t’is  time  you’ve  got  no  pining  to  motivate  the  music  .  ”

         “  t’at’s  true  ,  ”  though  she  couldn’t  see  it  ,  she  could  hear  the  smile  behind  quiet  words  .

         “  i  could  ,  i  don’know  .  .  .  find  an  older  man  to  run  off  wit’  or  somethin’  ,  ”  she  couldn’t  keep  a  straight  face  ,  laughing  as  she  finished  the  thought    ,  “  just  to  get  t’at  broody  creativity  flowing  .  ”  

         “  shut  up  ,  ”  his  laughter  harmonized  with  hers  to  sing  her  favorite  song  ,  and  she  felt  his  cheek  leaning  into  her  ,  “  you  wouldn’t  last  a  week  ‘nd  my  ‘ead  ain’t  t’at  empty  .  i’ll  figure  somet’ing  out  .  ”

         “  kieran  ,  i’m  goin’  t’be  honest  .  i  don’  t’ink  i’d  even  last  a  day  ,  ''  her  shoulders  shook  along  with  his  until  laughter  turned  into  content  sighs  .    

         “  i’m  sorry  you’ve  been  stuck  ‘ere  all  day  ,  ”  his  face  turned  ,  lips  pressed  to  the  top  of  her  head  as  he  added  ,  “  m’sure  t’ere  were  ot’er  t’ings  you  wanted  t’do  wit’  your  first  real  day  back  home  .  ”  

         at  that  ,  evan  sat  up  ,  lines  drawn  along  his  spine  coming  to  a  stop  as  she  gazed  at  him  .  she  thought  he  would’ve  realized  it  by  then  ,  the  way    she  seemed  to  fall  in  love  with  him  .  .  .  over  and  over  .  .  .  each  time  he  picked  up  a  guitar  .  the  way  he  threw  everything  into  his  music  was  one  of  the  things  that  made  him  kieran  ,  and  she  hadn’t  even  thought  twice  about  spending  the  day  in  the  studio  .  

         “  are  you  kidding  me  ?  kieran  ,  i  feel  like  i  could  watch  you  do  this  all  day  ,    ”  she  laughed  ,  eyes  flickering  over  his  side  profile  until  he  turned  to  look  at  her  .  after  a  moment  of  consideration  ,  she  leaned  forward  ,  forehead  rested  against  his  as  she  hummed  ,  “  everyt’ing    you  do  is  a  bit  magical  .  even  when  you’re  cooped  up  in  a  stuffy  studio  ‘bout  to  make  your  own  head  explode  .  ”

         laughter  was  his  response  ,  and  the  familiar  feeling  of  his  hand  slipping  to  the  back  of  her  neck  ,  fingers  unraveling  in  the  curls  at  the  nape  of  her  neck  ,  had  her  instinctually  leaning  forward  .  evan  hummed  contentedly  to  herself  as  he  pressed  a  gentle  kiss  to  her  forehead  ,  though  only  moments  later  she  leaned  in  even  further  ,  smiling  against  his  lips  as  she  moved  in  for  a  gentle  ,  lingering  kiss  .  

         “  i’m  just  happy  to  be  home  with  you  ,  ”  she  mumbled  against  his  mouth  before  pulling  away  ,  meeting  his  eyes  with  raised  eyebrows  ,  “  t’at  said  ,  i  would  prefer  my  boyfriend  in  one  piece  ,  so  if  you  would  please  take  a  break  so  your  ‘ead  doesn’t  explode  .  .  .  i  t’ink  we’d  all  appreciate  it  .  ”  

         “  alrigh’  yes  i  get  it  ,  ”  he  rolled  his  eyes  ,  snatching  up  the  water  bottle  as  he  stood  .  her    eyes  followed  his  movements  while  he  reached  above  his  head  ,  stretching  ,  then  offered  his  free  hand  with  a    small  wriggle  of  his  fingers  ,  “  c’mon  t’en  .  ”

[verai-marcel]

The Man Next Door (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+, Part 2A)

Tags: fluff, modern AU, romance, oral sex, missionary, smut with feelings

Part 1: Beginnings

Find it on AO3 here.

Side A: High Honor

WC: 1875

“Hey.”

“Welcome back.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interrupted. He was always so apologetic with you. Smiling at your kind words delivered in a not-so-kind way, he walked inside and plopped down on the couch next to you. Lifting up his hip to pull out his wallet, you had a sudden image flash in your head, of you riding him, his hips lifting to thrust harder into you. You quickly had to look down at your phone, and then quickly closed your ebook. Dammit, reading erotica was not the right choice for tonight.

“Here, the usual, plus extra because I was late.” He handed you $100. You felt a little bad, knowing that he wasn’t exactly pulling in a lot of money either, but he always insisted on being fair for using up your time.

“I’ve given up arguing with you on this point, so thank you,” you said, putting the cash into your laptop bag.

“Thank you, darlin’. Always savin’ me, I might as well call you my angel.”

You looked up to find him staring at you with a warm look, like he truly cared about you, like maybe you meant more to him than just a neighbor. The two of you stayed like that, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment before you looked away.

“Well, if you need anything else, anything at all, let me know,” you said shyly as you got up.

“Anything?”

You looked back at him, and he looked hopeful for a split second before turning away.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Er, nothing,” he said too quickly as he got up to walk you to the door.

But you didn’t move. Turning to face him, you took a step closer to him. “Tell me, Arthur. What do you need?”

You caught his eyes glancing down at your body again, and he licked his lower lip unconsciously as he looked away from you again.

You reached up and touched his cheek softly, turning his head back to you. You gave him a hard stare. The man was reticent, and you knew he would always put others first before his own needs.

You were silently hoping that you were one of his needs tonight.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he just breathed, relishing your soft skin against him. Then he opened his eyes, the heat in his gaze warming your body.

“I need you. Stay with me tonight, please.”

You didn’t actually expect him to say that, to be honest. You had hoped. But now that you were faced with the reality of his words, you didn’t know what to say. The consequences were almost too much to think about. Was it worth it?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Arthur stepped away from you, taking your hand from his face, but he kept your hands in his. “You should probably go.”

You looked at his remorseful mien, the aura of defeat just engulfing this good man.

He was worth it. He was worth everything.

You tightened your grip on his hand and stepped closer to him. Without giving him a chance to react, you grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

His reaction was delayed, but after a surprised grunt, he closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you passionately in return. His lips were surprisingly soft as he melded with you, gently nipping your lower lip as he broke free for air.

“Let me shower first, get the grime offa me.”

You nodded, and he took your hand and led you to his bedroom. You sat on his bed, watching him he open the closet to grab some sweatpants; you noticed that all of his clothing was tossed in a bit haphazardly.

“Be right back. Make yourself comfy,” he said, kissing you on the cheek before leaving the room.

As he showered, you looked around. You had never been in here before, but it looked like the rest of the apartment. There was a simple full sized bed, a desk, and rolling chair. You wondered if you should take off all your clothing, or let him watch you do it. You grew wet at the thought, so you decided to stay clothed for now. Laying back on the bed, you turned your head and spotted his journal, open to an empty page, on his desk. Feeling restless, you got up and walked over to it, you grabbed the pencil and started doodling an art nouveau heart in the corner of the page.

You heard him come in, the sound of the door locking behind him. Quickly dropping the pencil, you turned to look at him as walked over to you. He glanced down at the journal.

“Cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. You realized that he was only in sweatpants, and you could see his bulge. Your mind broke a little as you imagined how big he could be. Arthur pulled you back from your thoughts as he tipped your chin up, forcing you to look up at him.

“You sure you want this?”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

He smiled before dipping his head down to kiss you again, reaching up to the straps of your tank top, slowly sliding them off your shoulders, his fingers skimming over your skin as he pulled your top down, exposing your breasts. He let out a shaky breath, bending down so he could trail kisses down your neck and chest, finally licking your sensitive nipple while thumbing the other one. He palmed your breasts and squeezed you gently.

“I love the way you feel in my hands,” he murmured as he stood back up to kiss you again. “So soft.” He stepped back and pulled the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them slide off his hips. Your mouth watered as his cock sprung free, and you immediately went to your knees. You were so ready to worship his shaft; you had been thinking about it for far too long.

“Darlin’, what are you-” his words abruptly stopped when you engulfed him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and looking upwards at him lustfully. He just moaned as you worked your tongue around the tip of him, then started bobbing your head back and forth.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you reached up to fondle his balls, caressing his inner thigh with your other hand. He rested one hand on your head, petting you gently as he gripped the chair nearby to stay standing.

Soon you felt his hand take a fistful of your hair and pull you off his cock. “Gotta stop, I can’t take much more of your sweet mouth,” he rasped. Pulling you back to your feet, he pulled your top off and picked you up, tossing you onto the bed. You let out a soft squeak when you bounced onto the mattress.

Arthur crawled up onto the bed, prowling towards you like a wolf after its prey. You squeezed your legs together, your core pulsing with need. You could hear him letting out a low growl as he reached for your shorts and pulled them off with your panties in one movement. Now you were completely bare to him.

Gripping your knees, he spread you open and bent down, kissing a line up your thigh until he reached your slit. He licked along your opening, and flicked your clit. You gasped and pushed your hips towards him. Chuckling, he changed his grasp, holding you down by your thighs as he started sucking and licking your clit in earnest, drawing out all kinds of moans from you. Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you bit your knuckle in attempt to stay quiet. Your legs trembled, your body shook, and when he reached up to hold your other hand, entwining his fingers with yours, you couldn’t take it anymore. You came, sobbing into your hand as your hips twitched and your legs tightened around Arthur’s head. When you finally came down from your high, you fell limp to the bed, letting Arthur out from between your thighs.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

He smiled as he wiped your juices from his chin. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I enjoyed it.” Moving back up your body to kiss you on the lips, he slipped two fingers inside of you, slowly stretching you as his kisses traveled down your neck to your nipples, where he stopped to tease them with his tongue and his other hand, building up your desire once more. He curled his fingers up into you, and you lifted your hips slightly, spreading your legs more.

“Please, I need you inside me,” you begged.

“Patience,” he chided, pushing a third finger inside of you. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m ready now,” you pleaded. You just wanted him inside you; you didn’t want to wait any longer.

Arthur laughed softly as he pulled his fingers out, using your juices to lube up his cock. “Alright, anything you want, angel.” He got up on his knees, gripped his shaft, and nudged your opening. You were slick and he easily went in at first, but then as his girth started to stretch you deeper inside, you writhed, your muscles not quite ready for his thickness.

“You alright? Should I stop?” he asked as he froze, stock still when you let out a barely audible cry.

“Yes, yes, please keep going,” you gasped. You wanted that sweet pain-pleasure; you wanted this moment to be burned into your sense-memory, never to be forgotten. Watching you for a few moments, he finally kept going, ever so slowly pushing inside of you until he was fully hilted between your legs. You wrapped your ankles behind his back, trapping him there. Feeling him twitch inside you, you smiled; he must like having your legs around him.

“You ready? I can’t be gentle after this. I need you too much,” he whispered in your ear.

“Fuck me,” you urged. “Give it to me any way you like.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Arthur’s hips moved with the strength of a bull, each thrust hitting deep and just right. His movements became faster as he lost control of himself, pounding you into the mattress as he buried his face in your neck. You could hear his low moans, his heavy breaths, and the best part, his murmurs of how good you were, how perfect you felt around him, how he never, ever, wanted to let you go.

“I’m gonna come,” he said softly, trying to pull away from you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close.

“It’s safe, just fill me up,” you said.

Arthur just moaned in response and fucked you harder and faster until he suddenly let out a soft curse, thrusting twice more before crushing you to the mattress, unloading into you.

“Oh lord,” he mumbled after a few moments before rolling off you, taking you into his arms. “You are somethin’ else, angel.”

You turned in his arms, kissing him tenderly. “And you were wonderful.”

The two of you smiled at each other, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself falling more in love.

And you didn’t regret a single thing.

End Notes: Part 2B right here, starring low honor Arthur. Hope y’all enjoyed this!

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 15

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Writer’s note:  I didn't expect to have another chapter ready this quickly! It sorta just happened that way XD The pacing sometimes has to include filler chapters and this is another one, but it's full of fluff! The next chapter, things will start to get suspicious...

The Night Fury. He’d found the Night Fury! Hiccup couldn’t believe his eyes. There in the cove was the dragon he’d successfully shot down then unexpectedly released. He grabbed for his notebook to quickly sketch it. He didn’t think he’d get the opportunity to see the elusive dragon one more time. But after it’s erratic flying two days ago on top of Gobber’s comment about going in for the kill, he knew he had to find the dragon in hopes of getting answers to his many questions.

Hiccup wasn’t sure what he’d actually do if he encountered the Night Fury again. The dragon may not have mercy on him a second time, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

“Why don’t you just…fly away?”

Then it caught his eye. The missing tail fin.

Hiccup rubbed away the charcoal lines, leaving a smudged spot where the matching tail fin should have been. He watched as the Night Fury, frustrated and exhausted, tried to snap a meal from the crystal clear pond below, only to come up empty. It was hungry and trapped in a magnificent, lush prison.

The pencil slipped from his hand and tinkled down the edge of the cliff, drawing the dragon’s attention. Two sets of greens eyes made contact. The intense stare of the dragon softened just a tad as it tilted its head at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s racing heart slowed the longer he stared back at the dragon as if a silent curiosity stood between them. He couldn’t leave this dragon there to die of starvation, not after it spared his life.

He’d return.

***

As interesting as the Book of Dragons was, it was absolutely useless for any information regarding Night Furies. Hiccup slapped the book closed and tossed it on his desk with a dejected sigh. He fell back onto his pillow, arms folded over his eyes. Was he the first person to ever come in close contact with a Night Fury? Out of all the Vikings in their 300 years of residing, was he really the only one?

Footfalls echoed up the stairs and Astrid appeared in the doorway a moment later. “How was the book?”

Hiccup gave her a half-smile. “Interesting. I learned about species I’d only heard of in name.” Except for the Night Fury.

He’d wormed his way through half the book before suppertime then promptly stuck his nose back in the pages right after helping pick up the dishes for Astrid to clean. He hadn’t noticed the frown she’d worn as he disappeared into their bedroom. He’d missed their evening routine of hot drinks by the firepit.

Hiccup turned his head to watch from his sprawled position on the bed as Astrid made her way to the trunk to retrieve her nightgown. Facing the wall, she removed her shoulder guards and skirt. Hiccup released a shuttering breath as Astrid pulled her shirt over her head and unwound her bindings, leaving the creamy skin of her back exposed.

A part of Hiccup throbbed at the sight. He witnessed the expanse of her bare back several times since his accidental viewing, but Hiccup knew he’d never not be affected by the sight of her bare skin.

To Hiccup’s chagrin, Astrid tugged the nightgown over her head and pulled off her tights from underneath the fabric. She discarded her kranson onto the nightstand and began to undo her braid. She grabbed the brush, slapping it on Hiccup’s stomach. He winced at the none-too-gentle smack.

“Brush my hair,” she ordered, dropping down beside him. She gave her hair a dramatic swoosh that tickled across Hiccup’s face.

Hiccup sat up with brush in hand and a warm pit in his stomach. He’d never brushed her hair, let alone touched it before. He’d longed to comb his fingers through the fringe of her bands and tuck a long lock behind her ear. This was far more than he’d imagined.

The brush hovered at the crown of her head as Hiccup pondered this new ground in their relationship. Astrid glanced back over her shoulder, questioningly. That one look stimulated his limbs to move.

He tentatively sank the bristles into her blonde locks, the stroke settling the waves created by the daytime braid. There were a few tangles to work out. Astrid suggested using his fingers on the tangles, and Hiccup hoped his hand wasn’t trembling as his fingers combed the strands.

After a couple minutes, the brush freely ran through her hair and Hiccup thought that was it. “Keep going…please,” Astrid said, hesitantly.

Hiccup didn’t need to be told twice. He continued the slow strokes through her hair. Astrid’s head tilted to the side just slightly as a tiny moan drifted from her throat. It was clear that this was something she enjoyed, and Hiccup to took note. He was rather enjoying this new form of intimacy between them. Her hair was softer than what he’d assumed. The tips of his fingers sometimes skimmed her back unintentionally. He could do this every night if she’d allow him.

“Your notebook fell out your vest pocket,” Astrid broke the comfy silence that had blanketed them, “it was open to a sketch of a dragon I didn’t recognize.”

Hiccup’s hand suddenly froze on her cascading blonde locks.

Astrid twisted to face him. “What species is it?”

Hiccup wracked his brain. Should he spill the beans that he’d found the Night Fury? He could full out lie that the dragon had gotten away while he was fighting it, but that’d probably be even less believable than the truth of him setting it free. Either way, both scenarios would be shameful. “It’s my theory of what a Night Fury looks like. I pieced together different ideas of what it could look like. It’s fast and dives at incredible speed, so it’s body must be sleek and streamlined with the various fins to maneuver it.”

Astrid nodded. “That’s an impressive theory.”

Hiccup blew out his cheeks before sighing in relief. She believed his theory, which was actually the truth. “Thanks.”

Astrid scooted around, tucking her knees under her. Golden locks poured over her right shoulder. Her eyes pierced his like blue lightning, electrifying his blood. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her lips were oh-so-inviting. Her question just moments ago was forgotten as Hiccup’s longing to kiss his wife sent his mind whirling.

He leaned into her space, catching Astrid’s eyelids closing as his shut naturally. Tentatively, their lips brushed together as they became more familiar and comfortable with the feeling. The warmth radiating from her was incredible and he could have stayed there the rest of the evening bathing in it.

His lips were slightly chapped and as they parted for a brief second in their explorations, he slicked his tongue across his bottom lip accidentally catching Astrid’s bottom lip as well.

Hiccup kicked himself as Astrid withdrew out of reach. “Sorry, I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured. The pink of her cheeks darkened. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

The moment had passed. Hiccup’s tunic felt sweltering on him at the mistake. He didn’t know what to do. Should he try to initiate another kiss? Should he move on and start a chat? Or maybe go to bed and sleep off the embarrassment –

Thankfully, Astrid decided for him.

“Turn around.”

Hiccup’s brows drew together, questioningly. “Why?”  

“Just do it,” Astrid ordered, twirling her finger.

Hiccup obliged. He wasn’t sure what Astrid had planned, and nearly jumped when she touched his hair, a sensation he was not used to. She smoothed her palms along his scalp, her digits catching a bundle of hair and pulling it to separate from the rest of the strands. She was hard at work at her task.

“What’re you doing back there?” Hiccup asked, twisting his neck to glance at her.

Astrid forced him to look forward again. “Braiding.”

“I don’t really want a braid.” Hiccup gave a little yelp when Astrid yanked on the braid she was forming. “But I could get used to it.”

Hiccup caught the sly smirk running across Astrid’s lips as she leaned into his peripheral vision. She tied off the braid then smoothed her fingertips feather-light down his back, causing a pleasant wave through Hiccup’s body.

Hiccup frowned at the loss of her touch as she scooted off the bed to finish her nighttime routine. He reached back and slid fingers down the braid to the end. There were many things he could get used to be close to her.  

 @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @lauracalabresi

[dashielldeveron]

Viper I: Vinculum Juris.

Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere.

Warnings: swears, the law, blood.

Summary: You try to work your way into Tom’s good graces, but it could be a lot easier than how he’s making it.

Confused? Try reading the prologue first.

“Sign it.” Your knuckles turned white as you clenched the edge of your rickety desk. “Get it over with.”

Tom held the fountain pen above the contract hastily scrawled in script on a pink index card: I, Thomas Stanley Holland, will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do concerning my mafia ties. He tapped the paper twice, and two blots of ink blurred the signature line. “You’re tricking me somehow.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Explain what you mean by privacy as you define it,” Tom said, setting down the pen and leaning against the desk with one hand.

“It means,” you said, “that the only information you have on my life is what I tell you. Neither you nor anyone else within your control will go looking for what I don’t want you to know. My address, for example. My mother’s phone number. Dr. Prine’s phone number. My personal email.”

Sucking in through his teeth, Tom picked up the pen again and spun it in his fingers. “This is almost too loosely defined.”

You pursed your lips. “This is the simplest, most flexible, possibly most idiotic contract I’ve ever written up, if one could even call it a contract. It’s nothing but security for me, Mr. Holland, to get it in writing.”

“I don’t have time for this; I’ve meeting Haz in ten,” said Tom, sliding the card across the desk to you, “We’ll talk about this later.”

You caught his hand before he could retract it. “Hold up, Mr. Holland.” You shot him a look, tilting your chin up. “I’m not working against you. I’ve written this so that we can be a team. My demands aren’t unreasonable.” You lifted your hand, but his remained pressing the card against the desk. “I’m agreeing to do practically anything for you, and you can’t grant me my privacy? I almost hesitate to remind you, sir, that you can’t exactly replace me at the moment. With Ripley gone, I’m the only one trained to deal with your legal business. Not to mention I’m the only one to know some of your passwords. As much as you may not like it, Mr. Holland, I’m in.”

Tom blinked slowly, and he straightened himself, flexing his fingers as he did so. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Of course I—”

“In the mafia, I mean,” said Tom, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when your eyebrows shot up—but you recovered and pulled on the hem of your blazer, meeting his eyes.

“And how would I join?”

Tom’s jaw relaxed as he turned to retrieve his suit coat off the back of a chair. “First, you have to prove yourself,” he said, sliding his arm into a sleeve, “Second, you have to be inducted. After that, I’ll sign your contract. I’ll give you one more chance to leave—” You scoffed at this. “—once you’re inducted, the only way out is death.”

“Perfect. Ideal. Is that supposed to dissuade me?” You walked around your desk towards the door to your stupid office that doesn’t even lock. “Come on. I’m already committed.”

“Funny how I don’t believe you,” Tom said, buttoning the last and ignoring your gesture to hurry up and leave. He took one last look around your shoddy, leaky office and strode towards the door.

You opened it for him. “Then how do I earn your trust?”

Tom stopped in the doorway and broke into a grin.

***

Ms. Glory Pham lived alone in a narrow, white house in a gated community called Crosscreek outside of New York City. You need two codes to get past the first gate and had to be buzzed through after that. The housekeeper who ushered you inside instructed you to leave your heels at the door, so here you were, the cold of the stone floor seeping through your stockings as you gazed around Glory Pham’s living room: white, capacious, and untouched, as if it were from a catalogue. The only colour in the room came from the abstract painting above the fireplace (you could make out the semblance of a piano keyboard and what was probably a trumpet) and several cracked geodes on the mantel.

“So, you have arrived. From your emails, you didn’t seem like the type to keep appointments.” A little offended, you turned your head in the direction of a tall, Vietnamese woman in her late forties with her shoulders rolled back and a notebook in hand coming from the kitchen. She rounded the island, paused to glance at your feet, and set her notebook on the coffee table before sitting on the edge of the leather couch.

You moved to sit on the opposite couch so that you could have the table between you, but she raised a finger, her glare sharp. “No,” she said, “Stand. Put the bag down.” Glory raked her eyes over your wool suit, and she couldn’t spot cat hair from where she was sitting, could she? “Turn,” she said, twirling her finger in a circle, “Slowly.” You did, and she clicked her mechanical pencil before jotting something down. She nodded at you to sit. “You are two minutes late. You have eight minutes left to convince me.”

“Ms. Pham, we agreed on three-thirty. Your watch must be fast,” you said, the leather creaking as you sat onto it.

She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting. You say you represent Osseous Enterprises?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, and she wrote something else down at that. “Osseous Enterprises wants to sponsor a special exhibit in the Morgan Memorial Hall of Gems. The green diamond that was discovered two months ago in Arkansas, the Gawain Diamond, has just been cut and sold to the state park. Osseous proposes that it be on display in the American Museum of Natural History for a year before it is returned to Arkansas.” You handed her some of your research and the written proposal from your bag.

“You say it’s been cut.” Glory flipped the first page over. “To what dimensions?”

“It was originally 134.7 carats, but it’s been cut to 61.” A little larger than a shooter marble. At the moment Tom told you about it, you’d wanted to put it in your mouth. You’d shaken yourself at that intrusive thought and dismissed it.

“Waste of a rough green. Is it really this deep, Brunswick green, or is this picture too saturated?”

Brunswick? “It’s an accurate depiction,” you said, “If you say the word, I have the Crater of Diamonds State Park foremost in my contacts. The calls can be made today, if you like.”

“Give me your phone.” Glory held out her palm, beckoning twice with bends of her fingertips. You didn’t unlock it for her, and she didn’t ask. She set it in her lap, screen down, and didn’t examine it any further. “How much would Osseous be willing to give towards this exhibit?”

“Page three,” you said.

She didn’t touch the packet.

“Whose idea was this? Yours?”

“Mr. Holland’s. Publicity, you know. A positive name in the public sphere.”

Glory clicked her pencil again. “What’s the name of your cat?”

Shit. Wincing, you shut your eyes, cleared your throat, and said, “Her name’s Trout.”

Setting her notebook aside, Glory leant forward. “You’ve passed,” she said, “for now. I encourage you to remember the person inside your persona. Do you care for Darjeeling?”

***

The stack of papers landed on Tom Holland’s desk with a thump that upset dust. “There,” you said as he looked up, a curl falling over his forehead, “We’ve got our exhibit.” Crossing your arms, you put your weight on one foot and smiled as Tom checked the four places Glory had signed and dated. “But in case you doubt me any further, please turn to the page that’s been torn out of a notebook. Remember how the Morgan hall of gems is currently closed for building that new wing? Well, let’s say that the future Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals now have a featured exhibit.”

Tossing the notebook paper aside, Tom leant back in his chair, the tip of his tongue against his two front teeth. “Impossible. How’d you do it?”

You had no fucking idea. “Talent, Holland. Some of us have it.” When Tom gestured for you to carry on, you said, “Once I got past Ms. Pham’s impermeable coldness, it was easy. Even offered me tea.” She also told you to paint your toenails (“And a decent colour, by God.”) the next time you were summoned, but Tom didn’t need to know that. “Told me a little about being director of prospect research and management and some stuff about how it would work. We called the state park towards the end.”

“When we’ve tried to work with her in the past, she turned away Harrison. Wouldn’t even answer Ripley’s emails.” Tom pressed his thumbnail to his lower lip. “Wear white tonight. You’ll want your hair up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tonight’s your induction,” said Tom, “You’re joining the mob. Eleven o’clock, third floor of the basement, yeah? Don’t talk to anyone in the building. Don’t take a taxi here. You can’t have any record that you’re going to be here tonight. Don’t tell Dr. Prine. Ah!” He raised an eyebrow when you opened your mouth, and you closed it again. “Not until after it’s done. The government’s got just as many people tapping phones as I do. Got it?” He held out his hand for you to shake.

“Yes, sir,” you said, and his hand clenched a little tighter.

“One more question,” Tom said, tapping the notebook paper, “Why’d you sign this as Viper?”

***

Your bra immediately came off once you got back to your flat, and, with Trout butting her head against your ankles, you made your way to your bed with your phone on speaker for a call with Dr. Prine. You pulled up the Epiales website while you talked, and she recommended you write something on the multiple felonies an extremely prominent politician just committed. You had more than half a mind to do it, especially since Polson was on the team of prosecutors who came to that conclusion, and you still had passwords to Polson’s files. Guilt pricked at you for even considered violating Polson’s law firm like that, even though he was a twat, and your frantic attempt to remind yourself that you’re in the mob so you have to be cool with unethical things now did not work.

Polson’s not entirely stupid. He’s probably changed the passwords by now.

You pulled up his work email, typed everything in, and hit enter, and you were logged into his email account. He had two unread emails, one about a family client and the other about replacing the microwave in the break room. Fingers dancing over the mousepad, you logged out. It wouldn’t be right.

You’d write the felonies article by yourself, but not tonight. With She’s All That playing, Trout catloafed on your feet, while you ate the ingredients to a sandwich (you didn’t feel like actually making it) and fruit snacks and tried to ignore the stone in your gut when you thought about the aging, white dress in the back of your closet.

***

Five minutes until eleven o’clock, and you were bouncing on the balls of your feet in the lift to the basement of Osseous Enterprises, the label on the third floor button worn away from frequent pressing. Steeling yourself as the lift doors opened, you were greeted by a man in a suit you didn’t recognise. He snapped his fingers and gestured for you to follow, and you did, your heels clacking louder than usual down a dark corridor. He could hardly be heard or seen, but you were a sitting duck in white. He halted in front of a door and frisked you, and once he’d taken your phone and keys, he let you inside.

Cold pricked at your bare arms as the door creaked closed behind you. Around a circular table lit with candles, wavering with breath, sat Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno, Tom’s consigliere, all with hands folded. Chairs creaking and a cough came from the perimeters of the room, so there had to be capos present that you couldn’t see. Just the same.

Pulling out the empty chair in front of Tom, you sat with caution, not breaking eye contact with Tom. The candlelight flickered across the contours of his face, a deep shadow around his jawline. His deep, brown eyes were icy and detached, and honestly, it made you uneasy. But show no weakness.

Harrison spoke first, more to the unseen capos than to you. “Since the mafia is a criminal organisation rooted in secrecy, it cannot have any paper documents of its members that can be confiscated by the police. Therefore, we rely on the tradition of the ritual ceremony, although this particular induction is not traditional. There are no women in our mafia.”

Oh, God. Whose dick were you going to have to suck? You’ve never done that before, and it’d be in public—no, stop. You don’t know that’s what going to happen.

“You are to treat this woman as any member of our family. You don’t touch her. She’s not here for you,” said Harrison, unfolding his hands and looking around the room, “There are no exceptions. She’ll follow the rules just as you do. The rules will not be changed.”

“Some of you may doubt her worth,” said Maccabruno, his voice grating but caustic, “After months of keeping silence in the face of our brutality, her trial for trust was obtaining the key codes to Crosscreek, something even Mr. Osterfield could not acquire. She turned them in to us this afternoon.”

A murmur shot around room, echoing off the high ceiling. The key codes? The key codes? What about the exhibit for the Gawain Diamond? What about cracking Ms. Pham? Didn’t those count for anything? Tom could’ve at least told you, and then you wouldn’t have to have met with Ms. Pham and have been psychoanalytically scrutinised.

“Before she is confirmed, she must first understand and accept our rules. Viper,” Harrison said to get your attention, and your head snapped in his direction. That name was a joke between you and Tom; why was he calling you that? “Listen well. Should you break any of these rules, the penalty is death.”

Pretty standard in the world of law, too. You nodded.

“First and foremost is the code of silence, the omertà. You are never to speak to any authorities. You are never to be seen with any law enforcers,” said Harrison, “You cannot speak about the business to non-members under any circumstances.”

“This includes Dr. Prine,” Tom said, low enough for only those at the table to hear. He waited for you to nod again before nudging Harrison to continue.

“If a member is killed by another member, no one can murder in revenge unless Mr. Holland gives permission. There is no killing of other men of honour unless absolutely necessary. The decision will not be yours. You will not physically fight with other members, nor will you steal from them. Do not interfere with another’s interests. His business is his own.”

Maccabruno cleared his throat and sent a warning glare around the room. “You are not to commit adultery with another family member’s spouse. They are to be treated with respect.”

“You aren’t to go to bars or clubs. You will always be available for work, even if your mother is dying. Any appointments made with those above you will always, always be kept.”

“And when we ask you for any information,” Tom said, tapping his thumbs together and staring you down, “The answer must be the truth.”

“If you break any of these rules, you will be killed by another member of the family,” Maccabruno was saying as Harrison began rummaging about in his pockets, “Usually, your murderer will be the person closest to you.”

Don’t make friends. Got it.

Harrison placed parallel in the centre of the table a long knife and a picture of one of St. Peter’s icons. “Give the don your right hand.”

You laid your hand across the table as Tom picked up the knife. He gripped your hand by your fingertips, holding it up to the level of the flames.

“As you are granted a protection as no one else, so you must enter as no one else,” said Harrison.

You inhaled sharply when Tom pressed the tip of the blade into your palm, but he wouldn’t look at you. With a steady hand, he traced your bones to the end of each finger, leaving trails of blood oozing onto the tablecloth.

“You will never know this woman’s name. You shall know her only as Viper,” Harrison was saying, but it didn’t exactly register; you were more focused on the amount of blood dripping down your wrist. “This is as the don commands.”

Setting the knife aside, Tom guided your hand above the picture of St. Peter, and he curled your fingers into your palm and squeezed, indicating for you to follow. Your fingernails dug into the cuts until the paper bent with blood.

Harrison lifted a candle out of its holder, and Tom placed the sticky paper onto your bleeding hand, making it lay flat. Standing, Harrison lit the picture afire, and it blazed to life in your hand. You ground your teeth together, acutely aware of maintaining a blank expression, but your fingers spasmed under the pain. You barely heard the oath Harrison told you, but you repeated it with a steady voice: “As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive, and I will have to get out dead.”

The candles crackled in the silent minute it took for the picture to turn to ash in your hand, and Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno put their hands over their hearts. Tom nodded almost imperceptibly for you to do the same. And so you did, the last of the flame sizzling out as you lay your hand over your heart, permanently staining the white with ash and blood.

“As of this hour, until her death, this is a woman of honour,” Tom said, dropping his hand, “She’s one of us, now.” Amidst the staggered applause, Tom leant over the table, put his thumb under your chin, and kissed both of your cheeks.

***

Holy moly. While the capos cleared out, Maccabruno kept you behind, tossing you a washcloth to clean up your cuts. He made you write down the key codes again so that he could have a hard copy, and then he gave you a couple of books on the history of the mafia, just so that you could know the gravitas of what you were a part of. After he dismissed you, you jogged down the hall to catch up with the capo who took your phone and keys, and he not only returned them but had a welcoming gift for you, which was fucking bizarre. He gave you a tiny, potted cactus, which you resolved to check for bugs when you got back to your office.

Laden with books and the cactus in your good hand, you took the lift up to the surface of Osseous Enterprises and to your office. The moonlight came through the hallway windows in bright beams as you walked down the corridor and turned the corner. You’d flip through the books and water the cactus before going home and washing the hell out of your hand. Maybe read some poetry. Check up on Dr. Prine’s law journal.

When you got to your office, however, its light splayed into the hallway through the crack under the door. Sighing, you grasped the knob with your free hand, wincing as you did so, and opened the door to see Tom Holland sitting on your desk, fountain pen in hand.

He cracked a smile. “You see why we can’t have a hard copy of a contract now?”

You made a huffing noise and began to shelve the books. “If you’d mentioned that, I’d’ve understood. I’m not going to outsmart you on anything that matters.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You forget your place,” Tom said, fiddling with the index card contract, “How’s your hand?”

“Disgusting, thanks.” You cupped your cactus and looked around for a place for it to live. “Will you still sign it?”

“Start a new index card and rephrase it. So long as the mob isn’t explicitly mentioned, I’ll do it.” Tom took the cactus and passed you the pen.

I, T.S.H., will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do within reason.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to do your laundry,” you said as he initialled the card at the bottom, “I intend to keep this relationship as professional as possible.”

Tom slid the index card towards you. “Keep this somewhere safe, where no one else can ever see it. This is just between you and me.”

“Absolutely,” you said, pocketing it at the same time Tom’s phone went off. He yanked it out and muttered a soft fuck once he saw the screen. “What’s going on?”

“There is no rest for the wicked. We’ve got to go.” Tom shoved his phone back in his coat and buttoned it up, and he grabbed your jacket from a chair and tossed it to you on the way out. “Crosscreek has been bombed.”

*** vinculum juris: the chains of the law; something that is legally binding.

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