#and these two idiots unable to pick up a hint for the lives of them

[sabraeal]

don't speak boyshit, Chapter 12

[Read on AO3]

If Maria thinks about this calmly— logically— the silence must only last a second. Two, if she’s being generous. Three, if she’s about to spiral. Just enough time for Kamitani to parse what she’s asked and decide, unilaterally, that she’s an idiot.

But that’s not what she’s going to do. Oh no, that’s for someone who can use the wrong kanji and still expect everyone to laugh it off. Someone who can forget to bring their textbook to class and have a seatmate offer to share. Someone like Yuki, maybe, who might blush and stammer at the board, but still takes one more stab at solving for x. But Maria—

Maria’s brain takes one glance at the glacial pace Kamitani’s taking to express anything— honestly, tectonic plates subduct and transform faster than his eyebrows furrow— and decides with all the gravitas of a doctor giving a terminal diagnosis that now would be an excellent time to panic. Anything to keep him from saying—

“What?” There’s not much table for him to squint across, and sitting catty-corner like they are, there’s even less, but Kamitani clearly has experience at summoning up long distance derision with a short runway. “What are you talking about? Right now?”

“No! Why would I—? I meant to the movies.” She hadn’t thought it was possible, but leave it to this stupid man-child to come up with a question even more inane than her own. “Obviously.”

His eyebrows twitch, matching the tic at his temple. “’Obviously?’ I was asking you whether this would be ‘hanged’ or ‘hung.’”

“Oh.” She leans over, making a valiant effort to decipher what he’s scrawled across his notebook— somehow his handwriting is worse in English than kanji; a feat that seemed impossible until she startled rifling through his past exams. “Hung. ‘Hanged’ is only for when, er…it is a person in a deceased state. Or I suppose, sentenced to be in a deceased state too.”

“Really?” He tugs the notebook back in front of him with a snort. “They’ve got a whole tense for that?”

And lack a sufficiently polite form of address, but Maria diplomatically replies, “Languages mold themselves around what matters most to the people who speak them.”

He grunts— hardly a polite sound, but it’s as close as Kamitani can bring himself to one; somehow both approving and curious, even if he goes straight back to ignoring her the minute he’s done making it. It’s probably better that way anyway; she’s supposed to be here as a tutor, not a fellow student, and the last thing she needs is him remember just how they got on this whole topic any—

“You can wear whatever you want.” Her eyes jerk over to where he sits, pen tapping absently against the paper. He clears his throat, glare fixed to the page, like it’s personally wronged him. “To the movies. They let you do that now, you know.”

“I know they’ll let you wear anything to a movie.” She may not have partaken in many social outings since middle school, but she’s been to the theater. Her parents have taken her, at least. “I mean…should I wear a dress? Or maybe a skirt? Or I guess it could be warm enough for shorts, but that might be a little too casual, and—”

“I wear what’s clean,” he says, as helpful as always. “Or what smells clean, at least.”

Maria was never much for rolling her eyes— rudeness, her father would always huff, is the crutch of a lesser mind— but her few forays into typical teenage rebellion have not sufficiently prepared her for how much it could ache if she did it hard enough. “I should have known better than to ask a boy.”

“What do you want me to say?” One side of his mouth rucks up into a sneer, like somehow she’s the obnoxious one here. “What you’ve got on is fine.”

She glances down— pressed white button-down, perfectly tied striped bow, charcoal pleats cutting across above her knees with ruthless efficiency— and informs him, “This is my uniform.”

“Yeah.” He jerks a shoulder up in what she assumes is supposed to be a shrug as half-assed as all the rest of his work. “And it’s fine. It’s not like guys care about that sort of stuff.”

“Guys don’t care…?”

He says it so casually, so confidently, as if Kawata and Yamane didn’t have a stack of magazines as tall as her arm to drag out at the merest mention of a crush. As if they hadn’t pored over every page, shoving entire articles about ‘female desirability,’ and ‘the discerning male eye’ in front of her, covers boasting ‘this one little trick’ to get a man to notice you.

“You really are the most useless person on the planet,” she informs him with a chill that could frost glass— if it wasn’t nearly summer, that is. “Everyone knows that men are the most visual creatures on earth! That’s why all those girls in video games are half naked, and why shonen manga practically advertises fanservice as a feature, and why”—the words stick to her throat, refusing to be anything but spat between them— “all men watch porn.”

She expects sneering, a cluck of his tongue, a token denial, yelling even— but not the lift of his eyebrows, nor the bald way he says, “Yeah, but all those girls are naked.”

Maria stares. “There is something uniquely wrong with you, and its origin is somewhere between your ears.”

His eyes narrow, annoyed. “Now you sound like the old hag.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, glancing down at his paper. “Also, your answer to number three is wrong.”

“Well, isn’t that what you’re here for, sensei?” His mouth twitches, and— and it’s stupid for her heart to pound so loud in her ears, like they actually had some sort of argument, instead of him just saying…just calling her— “So tell me the answer.”

The pounding abruptly ceases.

“I’m not going to tell you the answers! Recitation is hardly mastery.” A lesson she’d learned the hard way, more than once. Not that he needed to know about any of that.

Now there is the derisive cluck of the tongue she’s been waiting for, the sneer of disdain she knew was lingering in the wings, waiting for its moment beneath the lights. “What’s the point of this whole studying thing if you’re not going to help me?”

“I am helping you,” she snaps, her spine pulling achingly straight. “I could give you the answer right now, but that would only help you with this question. If you don’t learn to solve it yourself, well—it’s not like you’ll have me next to you during the exam, whispering the right choices. And then we’ll be right back where we started next time, only with more information to cover.”

He glares at her, forehead furrowed and frown rumpled, two storm fronts converging right over his nose, destined to leave only devastation in their wake— but instead he grunts, “Fine.”

Maria blinks. “Excuse me?”

The notebook slides across the table, spanning the space between them. “If you’re not going to tell me the answer, then at least show me what I got wrong.”

It’s safer to look down than up, isn’t it? To find problems rather than a solution. That’s how it’s always been for her, at least. But now Maria’s eyes drop, seeking some safe harbor pages in front of her, some sturdy ground to plant herself on, and— and it practically glares back at her, his hasty haystack handwriting blown across every line. Legible, though only just. Manageable.

“Well,” she says, summoning her most insufferably superior tones. There’s no point in being friendly, after all. Not when this is a business arrangement. “If you’re looking for somewhere to start, maybe you should make sure your p’s all face the same direction…”

*

Maria squints down at the screen, hand cupped around her phone case as if that might help with the glare. It doesn’t, of course— not with the recessed lighting hung directly overhead; her favorite feature of this kitchen until just ten minutes ago, when Tanaka-san sent her this video— the same tutorial she’d used to learn to roll an omelet two years ago, before her then-boyfriend became now-persona non grata. But now perfectly julienned carrots and geometrically pleasing onigiri can't make up for the fact that no matter how she tries to shift around the counters— even going so far as to lean over the sink in her desperation— she cannot view more than three-quarters of her screen at once.

“Maria?” The lights flicker over the rest of the kitchen, a quick off-on-off before settling into a bright blaze over the breakfast table. Her mother shuffles another step over the jamb, rubbing at her eyes. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Ah! Oh, um…” Two containers sit open on the table, the biggest compartments already filled with still-steaming rice, and for the life of her, Maria can’t think of how to explain both besides fumbling out, “Making my lunch?”

It’s a slow shift from bleary eyes to narrow ones, mother’s mouth bowing just enough to wrinkle at the corners. Skepticism clings to every fold, doubt deepening in their shadows, and alarms blare in Maria’s ears— CAUGHT, they shout, YOU’VE BEEN CAUGHT—

But then Mother’s nose scrunches too. Not suspicion, then, but distaste. Disgust. “You don’t need to do that. I’m perfectly capable of making your lunch.”

And perfectly incapable of enjoying the process. The boys at school loved to make a fuss about “obligation chocolate,” complaining about how true feelings make candy sweeter; as if it’s not a ridiculous demand for their female classmates to manufacture something like attraction when the boys in question still find bathroom humor the pinnacle of comedy, but…

But Maria can’t argue that duty does have a taste. And it’s hardly a sweet one.

“Well, yes, I know that.” I’m not saying you couldn’t, she nearly argues, but this is hardly the time to get defensive. Not when she’s trying to be as unassuming as possible; making lunch from utterly pure and reasonable motives, and not because she’s interested in the metrics of boy-mediated approval. “But, um…when I’m at university, I’ll be presumably living on my own, won’t I?”

Mother blinks at that, as if it had never occurred to her that if her daughter was actually going to attend one of those choice Tokyo institutions they had been aiming for, they might actually have to send her there. “Y-yes. That would be a…reasonable assumption, considering the commute.”

“And if I’m living on my own, then I’ll have to be able to provide meals for myself, won’t I?” Maria fits her hands on her hips, letting this sudden burst of unearned confidence lift her chin. “I thought it would be good to get used to making them now, rather than waiting until I’m by myself. Learning a new habit is harder when you’re under stress, they say.”

She could not, if pressed, say who ‘they’ might be, but Mother seems to find it convincing enough, nodding along as if she’d thought of the idea herself.

“That’s very mature of you, Maria.” It is, given more than a moment to think it over instead of desperately spinning it out. The sort of thing she should have been thinking of, if she hadn’t already been caught up in this whole…drinking the nectar of her youth situation. She’s almost proud of herself for stumbling into it, even backwards, letting herself take a moment to preen in her mother’s praise before— “I just didn’t realize university students made bento now.”

Maria blinks, a deer noticing the first paired pinpricks of headlights. “H-huh?”

“When me and your father were in school, we just bought everything in the cafeteria.” Her head tilts, thoughtful. “Or I suppose from one of the places around campus. There was a nice little conbini right around the corner, and I think your father must have subsisted off of their fried chicken for the two years until we met—”

“It’s a good way to save money,” she blurts out, nerves practically spilling all over the counter. “And, ah, healthier than eating conbini chicken every meal.”

It’s the exact sort of explanation that should satisfy her mother; she’s the one who always spearheads their vegetable-heavy menu, even if her father’s the one that ultimately cooks them. But instead that nostalgic smile falls to a frustrated frown, mouth pursing as she approaches the counter.

“I appreciate the initiative, dear, but you should know you won’t need to worry about that sort of thing. Your father and I are quite serious about supporting you during your studies.” Her brows knit as she surveys the counter between them. “Is there a reason you’re packing two bentos?”

“It’s easier to make two instead of one!” Her mother lifts an inquisitive brow, and ah— this might not have been the best tack to take with a woman who has been making them every day for nearly fifteen years. “I-I mean, that’s what I read, at least.”

“Hm.” An entirely too thoughtful sound, when she really would prefer her mother not have any opinion. “But bento are supposed to be made fresh. They’re better that way.”

“I-I know that,” Maria blusters, head giving a proud toss. “It’s just, um…Y-yuki-chan’s parents are out of town. So I thought I’d give the spare one to her.”

“Oh, Yuki-chan.” Mother’s posture visibly eases. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Maria.”

It would be, if it was true. But it isn’t— unless, by coincidence, Yuki’s parents are somehow out of town, and then—

“It’s good to think of other people, but make sure it’s not too much,” Mother warns, turning away to where the coffee maker sits, cold. “You wouldn’t want anyone to take advantage of how kind you are.”

Maria coughs around the bile building in her throat. “I don’t think I have to worry about that.”

Not when all this kindness is fictional, just part of the part she’s playing; a ruse to fool her mother into thinking she cares about her future and her friends rather than just impressing some boy who—

“I don’t think so either.” Mother smiles, slipping her coffee cup under the spout. “Yuki-chan is a nice girl, I’m sure she’ll appreciate the effort you put into your friendship.”

“Yeah,” Maria squeaks faintly. “I hope so…”

“You should go out with them more often.”

She blinks, swallowing past the burning in her throat. “What?”

“Your friends! Yuki-chan and those other girls. What were their names? Kawasaki…?” Mother shakes her head. “Anyway, I know it’s almost time for exams, but surely they don’t spend all their time studying.”

Unlike you, Mother doesn’t say, but she hardly needs to, not when Maria’s typical weekend plans involved making flashcards and studying exam booklets, and—

The siren breeze of opportunity wafts through the window her mother’s thrown open.

“Oh!” Her hands tremble as she grips the counter, willing herself to sound calm. Composed. Like a girl that has friends that go places with her. “T-that reminds me. I was invited to a movie this weekend…”

This can’t possibly work. She’s too nervous— even if Mother can’t hear her heart pounding, shouting LIAR with every beat, she’ll know by the way her knees knock, or the guilty flush on her cheeks, or— or something. Something that makes every bit of her breathe, I’m going out with boys, and then she’ll be grounded until she’s thirty.

“Oh, doesn’t that sound nice?” Mother settles onto one of the kitchen chairs, the gurgle of percolating coffee bright in the air. “Do you need any pocket money for the trip? I’ve heard snacks are expensive nowadays.”

“I…” Maria stares. This woman raised her. Surely she would know when her own daughter was lying to her face. About boys. “N-no. I think I still have money from my last exams. T-that should be more than enough.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Mother squints over at the stove, and oh, here it comes— “Do you need any help?”

Maria’s jaw closes with a snick.

“No,” she manages, after a moment. “I think I’ve got it handled.”

*

Were there ever a circumstance wherein Maria was forced— under extreme duress— to invent a positive trait for Yagi, she could at least say this: he doesn’t drop his bag with all the subtlety of an earthquake, like the rest of the boys in their class do. No, he delicately drapes the strap over the back of his chair, arranging the bag so that it sits neatly between their desks, not interfering with his ability to rummage through its contents, or knocking into her knees. It’s almost…polite.

And yet it still doesn’t keep her from flinching when he spins around, all princely smile, and hums, “Good morning, Inomata-san.”

It would be easy to glare, to answer with her customary, don’t you have someone else you can bother? Or even a very evocative, what?

But it’s Yagi who had given her the comprehensive primer on just what sort of dishes made for a good bento— for a boy, at least. For someone who rarely made a production of eating the ones he received, he had some firm opinions about what kind of grilled fish kept well until lunch time, or what pickled vegetables wilted too quickly to make a good accompaniment to rice. A better help than Nezu, at least; he might be used to taking Yagi’s cast-offs, eating all the finest bento 3-A can offer, but in terms of taste— well, she’d known garbage compactors with more discernment.

Maria grits her teeth and manages a mostly civil, “Good morning.”

Yagi’s eyebrows disappear beneath the fashionable fall of his bangs. “You’re in a good mood.”

For once, he’s too polite to say, but his tone does more than enough to imply.

“I’m in the same mood I am every morning,” she snaps, regretting every word before it even leaves her mouth. But it’s too late— rudeness spills out on reflex, a force of habit it’s impossible to stop. “Don’t try to read into it or anything!”

A prince’s mouth has to be made for smiles, but Yagi’s strains at the corners, creasing with the effort to hold it. “If you say so, Inomata-san.”

He starts to turn around, leaving her sitting there like a grilled tomato; flushed and tender and skin waiting to split at the slightest touch, and—

And it’s stupid how hard it is to just be nice. “Thank you, though. For the, er…advice. With the bento.”

His head snaps back over his shoulder so fast her own aches in sympathy. “So it went well? Your…hmm…experiment?”

“It’s ongoing,” she informs him loftily, “and the president of the Home Ec Club also gave me a few pointers too. So don’t think you’re the only one that—”

“But he liked it, didn’t he?” It’s subtle, the way Yagi leans toward her, but the searching look in his eyes is anything but. “He said it tasted good?”

Not in so many words. But, well, she wasn’t trying to impress Kamitani. “It was edible.”

She expects a grimace, a wince, a look of pity at least, but instead— instead Yagi grins. “So he ate all of it?”

“I…” A gout of their classmates flood through the door, mouths squealing as much as their school shoes do when they realize Yagi is already there, looking princely perfect in his seat. It’s only a hop, skip and a jump for their eyes to follow his, to see that she is the one he’s deigned to bestow his good favor. Maria straightens her shoulders, refusing to be cowed by their stares. “T-that’s not the point.”

The conversation should end there; other classmates have begun to filter in, ones beside Yagi’s fluttering fan club. People that must be more pleasant to talk to than a girl who can’t even seem to be grateful without snapping someone’s head off—

“It sounds like it’s going well,” he says with the unrelenting optimism of a boy who has never had to pack a lunch in six years. Or had his outdoor shoes thrown in the trash for taking the top spot two exams in a row. “Do let me know if you need any more advice, all right, Inomata-san?”

He turns the full force of that princely smile on her, sincerity shining out of him with all the blinding light of the morning sun, and— and she can’t help it, it just slips out—

“What do you think about clothes?”

*

The trouble with this whole bento plan has always been in the delivery; there’s a certain implication that comes with a young woman giving an equally young man a well-made lunch. One Maria’s eager to avoid considering that the one she’s giving it to isn’t even who it’s for. Or, well, it is, but not metatexually. He’s not the one meant to reap the rewards, or however the saying goes. Not for anything but the short term.

She might have had to chase him down that first day, coming into the classroom and hauling him through the hallways until he learned to behave, for once, but now that she’s established a routine, well—

Kamitani’s already lingering outside when lunch rolls around, his stupidly long legs stretched out, making it awkward for her to make this exchange in any sort of civil fashion. No, there’s nothing for it to but shove, forcing the box into his folded arms with all the grace of a bulldozer.

“Here,” she says, impatient, waiting for him to untangle enough to hold it on his own. “The rubric is already inside. Make sure you fill it out properly this time. And actually try the omelet!”

It’s the least he can do, now that she knows she’s made it right— she must have; she followed Tanaka-san’s tutorial down to the second. But instead of looking grateful, the way anyone else would when they’re handed a properly nutritious meal, he just stares at her, forehead already halfway to a furrow. “What, that’s it?”

“Well, eat the rest of it too!” It’s not like he needs her to explain lunch to him as a concept. For all his complaining, he’s been polishing off both tiers in twenty minutes. “It’s not like you don’t know how.”

It’s a feat to skirt around him— she doesn’t remember him having nearly this much leg in first year— but Maria is an expert in avoiding unpleasant realities. She cuts a neat path from one side of him to the other, shoes barely squeaking as she executes the hurried turn into 3-C—

Only for his hand to hook around the cuff of her short sleeves, holding her hostage. “That’s not what I meant.”

His palm burns where it sits against her skin— or, well, half against it, the other half pressing cotton flat like an iron. “W-what?”

He hasn’t budged an inch from where she found him, holding her just with the casual strength of one hand— it’s infuriating, now that she thinks about it. She runs the mile in physical education just like everyone else, and climbs the stupid rope, even if it takes her a few more minutes to huff and puff to the top. There’s no reason he should be able to just hold her like this, like she’s just some delicate little waif, and he’s—

He’s staring at her now, head turned so he can really get some good momentum down that nose of his. “You want me to eat this on my own?”

“J-just for today!” She shrugs out of his grip, annoyed and oddly breathless. “It's not like you don't have friends! I’m sure you’d rather eat with them anyway.”

His eyes narrow, a breath hissing out from his nose. “What's that supposed to mean?”

There's no reason for him to make this so difficult, not when he already spends most of their time complaining about how he'd rather be doing anything else. "I said exactly what I meant. Now if you'll excuse me"-- her chin lifts with a pointed sniff-- "I need to consult with the girls in your class."

His brows furrow sharply, matching the flex of his hand. "What? Why?"

“Because...”

Clothes? Yagi hums, thoughtful. I can't say I've ever thought much about it. Anything cute is always a pleasant surprise. Those animal pajamas-- the ones that are all one suit, you know-- or maybe even pumpkin pants--

She means on girls, Nezu informs him, resignation thick in his voice. The ones our age.

Oh. He offers her an apologetic smile. I can't say I have much of an opinion on that.

Her breath hisses out between her teeth, weary. “It turns out all boys are useless.”

*

“Mari-chi!” Kawata’s eyes widen as Maria hovers just beyond where they sit, trying to calculate the proper angle of approach. It would have been one thing in the classroom— she could have simply pulled up a desk, or quietly approached Yuki as she set out her own bento. But they’re outside today, the weather too nice to squander before it folds under summer’s coming heat, and there’s no natural way to ask— “You’re gonna eat with us today?”

Ah. Besides that.

“Yes.” She sets her bento on the table beside Yamane, already taking note of the number of inches available on the bench, and how much she might be able to squeeze into, so long as she was allowed. “If that’s all right.”

“Of course it is!” Yuki scoots over to make room, Yamane scurrying to follow suit. “Let’s just—”

“Let her sit on this side, with me?” Kawata deadpans, shifting her lunch over a few inches. “Come on, I don’t bite.”

“I-I wouldn’t assume you did,” Maria stammers, practically tripping to take her seat. “I just thought, um…”

Yuki and Yamane were more likely to accommodate her. Or at least do it without the sort of questions she knows are already buoying Kawata’s smirk.

“You’re always welcome to join us,” Yuki’s quick to assure her, smile blinding when she turns it her way. “You don’t need to ask.”

“Yeah, especially if you’re going to tell us what’s happening with all that boy research you’re doing,” Kawata hums, earning a shocked, ‘Rena-chan!’ from Yuki. “Oh come on, like you aren’t curious.”

“I know I am!” Yamane chirps, popping an octopus-shaped hot dog into her mouth. “Have you tried the neck thing yet? I think that’s a good—”

“I have not!” Maria refuses to clap her hands to her cheeks, no matter how much they burn, but it’s an effort, to be sure. “And I won’t. I was only…gathering information for future use.”

“And?” Kawata laughs, tilting her a sly smile. “Come on, Mari-chi. Yuki’s right, you’re welcome to sit with us any time, but I know you only got up the gumption to do it because you have something on your mind.”

“No, I…!” Under Kawata’s withering eyebrow, Maria folds like a paper crane. “I was just wondering if, er…there were specific types of clothes that are more appealing to boys than others.”

“What?” Yamane roots around for another slice of sausage. “You mean like lingerie?”

“Saki-chan!” Yuki’s palms clap to her own face. “Of course Maria didn’t mean that!” Her gaze slips toward her, curious. “Did you?”

“W-what? Of course not!” The news might say that high school girls are starting that sort of exploration younger and younger these days— prompting several awkward mother-daughter talks; or really not-talks, the way both of them dance around the topic— but Maria can’t even imagine kissing until after college. “I meant in a more rhetorical sense. Like for the movies.”

Yamane’s eyes blow wide. “Mari-chi, has someone asked you out?”

“W-what?” She might have expected that sort of shrewdness from Kawata, or maybe even Yuki, but Yamane? Another ice age seemed more likely. “No. I mean, as I said, rhetorically—”

“I didn’t realize that the movies was a common rhetorical device.” Kawata slides a too-knowing look across the table, one side of her smile twitching toward a smirk. “Maybe you only cover that sort of stuff in the Advanced Class.”

Heat prickles just under her cheeks, her last warning before it begins to show on her skin. “W-well, if you think about it—”

“Oh, did your club friends ask you to go?” Yuki bounces in her seat,  eyes practically bursting with pride. “Oh, Maria-chan, how exciting! They seem like such nice girls!”

It’s a convenient excuse, one that would certainly keep Kawata and Yamane from prying— or getting the wrong idea— but—

“No, no. That doesn’t make sense.” Kawata stares over at her, entirely too shrewd for Maria to do anything besides break out into a cold sweat. “Mari-chi asked about what to wear in front of boys, which means…?”

Yamane’s whole body stretches with the force of her gasp. “A boy asked you out!”

Wide eyes pass around the table, and at this crucial juncture, it seems prudent to inform them, “It’s not a date.”

This, of course, is a tactical error on her part.

“Date?” Yamane sighs dreamily. “Mari-chi is going on a—?”

“Who is it?” Yuki-chan nearly leaps across the table to grab her, palms pressing tight around Maria’s suddenly clasped hands. “Is it…? I mean, do we know him?”

“I knew it,” Kawata crows, fists sitting so high on her waist her elbows jut into Maria’s side. “People can balk at neck kissing all they like, but it never fails to get a girl what she—”

“Have you kissed?” Yamane practically vibrates in her seat, the deep blue of her eyes suddenly sparkling and bright. “Or maybe even…held hands?”

“I think you’ve got the order wrong on that one,” Kawata snorts. “And usually all that happens after the d—”

“It’s not a date,” Maria repeats wearily, temples pounding. “It’s a…a group thing.”

“A group date?” Yamane gasps, and ugh, that’s worse.

“N-no! Nothing like that! I just…” Her mouth works, waiting for the words to come to her, to try to smooth over this whole misunderstanding, but all she manages is, “They were already going, and I was invited to join them.”

Yamane frowns. “And you’re the only girl going? With a bunch of guys.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Even numbers might imply a pairing off, but there's no romance in the way she's outnumbered four-to-one. Especially when the only thing interesting about her is her test scores. “And I wasn’t sure if I should wear what I normally would, or…something different.”

“Something different, huh?” Kawata’s mouth hooks into a smirk, and there’s no time to stop her before she says, “So what you’re saying is that you got invited, and there’s someone you like going.”

There’s a pause, a small lacuna of conversation where she could protest, where she could play utterly innocent— but she’s too slow to take it. Too surprised at being caught to invent something more benign, and now—

Now her ears ache from all the squealing.

“Who is it? No”— Yamane holds up a hand, pressing the other to her temple— “wait, let me see if I can guess. No, wait, actually, give me a hint first—”

“Really?” There’s a small wrinkle between Yuki-chan’s eyebrows, the tiniest hint of concern. “But I thought...?”

It’s Kawata who seizes the initiative. “Are you seeing a scary movie?”

“Er.” A good question; being invited had been such a novelty, Maria hadn’t actually bothered to ask about the title, let alone the content. “I’m not…sure?”

“If you are, pretend to get scared.” She says it so breezily, like it’s a foregone conclusion that Maria couldn’t actually be scared of anything that wasn’t covered in red pen. “Then you can get him to put his arm around you.”

“Oooh, yes!” Yamane claps her hands together, far too eager. “You can do that no matter what kind of movie it is, can’t you? There’s always something surprising going on. You just have to grab him and then—”

“I— I’m not going to do that.” The spectral weight of Kashima’s arm settles over her shoulders, hypothetically warm even through two layers of fabric, and oh, it says something about her that it’s so tempting. Just what she can’t begin to speculate, but something. “Resort to…to deception.”

“It’s not deception,” Yamane insists, wide-eyed. “It’s just tricking him into comforting you!”

“That,” Maria informs her, “is exactly the same thing.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Kawata says, waving Yamane off with a sigh. “Boys like it when girls act vulnerable. It makes them feel important or something. That’s why they all like Yuki-chan so much.”

“I’m not vulnerable!” Yuki’s cheeks puff out petulantly, only deepening her pout. “I’m just…indecisive.”

“Same difference,” Kawata deadpans. “That’s your problem, though, Mari-chi. You don’t seem like you need anyone.”

If that were true, she’d hardly be here, asking about boys and clothes and the hundred other things girls her age were born knowing. Or begging scraps off anyone that seems to have a halfway decent idea of how to interact with someone outside of a group project. But--

“I don’t,” she lies, fists trembling in her lap. “If some boy can’t handle that I’m a…er…strong, independent woman, then there’s no reason to get into a relationship in the first place!”

But it's better, isn't it, if everyone thinks it's on purpose? If it isn't just her fumbling through the dark, failing to find even one friend she can make stick. If boys don't like her because they're weak, instead of--

“But everyone needs someone sometimes, don’t they?” Yuki-chan frowns, that concerned little wrinkle deepening. “Not just a boyfriend, but— you can’t be strong all the time, you know? It’s not good for you.”

“I’ve been doing fine this far.” Friends didn't earn a top spot in the most prestigious Tokyo universities, and, if the girls in the academy were any indication, having a boyfriend seemed to preclude them. Or the ambition to try for one, at least. “I don’t see why I need to change just because a boy needs to feel useful, or whatever.”

It's terrible the way Yuki-chan looks at her, sweet sincerity making her eyes water so much they shine. "But, Maria--"

“You may not wanna change for a guy," Kawata continues, utterly undaunted. "But I'm sure we can figure out a way to make you look cute." She flicks her hand. "Come on, what do you have in your closet?"

Maria hesitates. “Well, I would say most of my wardrobe is skirts, but…”

*

Maria has never been personally complimented on her ability to read any given room, but Yuki lingers behind pointedly enough that even she realizes that she should slow down, letting her pace match the snail-speed one Yuki’s decided to take on. By the bright smile Yuki turns on her, thrilled with every foot they put between them and Kawata and Yamane’s backs, it’s the right thing to do.

At least, that’s how it feels until it’s just the two of them, standing in an empty courtyard, only the birdsong for conversation. This is where she’s probably supposed to say something, explain why she decided to keep after Kashima when even Yuki called it a lost cause, and—

“You know…” Yuki rocks onto her toes before settling back back on her heels, and ah— she’s nervous, just the way Maria is. “I didn’t really expect you to move on from Kashima-kun.”

“You didn’t?” Between the two of them, she’s always been the one to give up easier; the one who runs into one speed bump and needs to regroup. The one who's discouraged by a stray breeze and needs to be built back up. You don’t seem like you need anyone, that’s what Kawata had said— funny, since it’s only because of Yuki’s constant encouragement that she didn’t let this silly crush on Kashima go the way of the piano way back in first year.

“Of course not! That’s the way you’ve always been, Maria-chan. Determined.” It’s a nice way to say stubborn, at least. Just like she’d expect from Yuki, even if the heartfelt handclasp is…a lot, as usual. “I’m proud of you for taking control of your own destiny! Drinking the nectar of our youth. It’s just…”

Maria blinks. “Just…?”

Yuki’s smile stretches thin, a grimace rather than a grin. “Don’t you think you might be coming on a little strong?”

“Strong?” Between school and studying, she’d hardly had more than a few minutes to speak to Kashima the past few weeks, and though she’d maybe sent him some lingering looks through the daycare’s windows, she can hardly count that as interacting, not when she’s reasonably sure he hadn’t seen her. “I don’t think I’m doing anything different than I normally do.”

Besides her research, but well, Yuki doesn’t need to know about that.

“Ah, really? But…” Yuki glances at her, concerned. “You do come to the classroom every day.”

For Kamitani, she nearly says, but that’s the last sort of misunderstanding she needs to stumble into. “I don’t think he notices.”

Not to say more than a friendly hello, at least. He always seems much more invested in whatever strange shenanigans his friends seem to be up to.

“He doesn’t?” Yuki stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. “Maria-chan, leave it to you to pick a harder challenge than Kashima-kun.”

"I'm not! It's..." The same it's always been. "I'm better prepared."

“Can you just tell me if he’s…he’s nice to you at least?” she asks, strangely desperate. “Not, er…?”

Maria blinks. Kashima has trouble killing fruit flies, let alone being anything but unfailingly polite to anything with a pulse. “I don’t think there’s a mean bone in his body. Not ones he knows about, anyway.”

“Really? But…” Her delicate brow furrows. “Well, I suppose they do say love changes a person…”

“Yuki?”

“Ah! Never mind me.” Her hands squeeze tight around Maria’s. “As long as you’re sure, I’m here to support you. No matter what!”

A weight lifts from Maria’s shoulders; one she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. Yuki isn’t mad that she’s still stuck on Kashima. She isn’t disappointed she won’t move on. She isn’t jealous that she—

Maria hesitates. Why would she be? For all her research, it’s not like she has much to show for it. Not yet, at least.

“Thank you,” she says, her own fingers tightening around Yuki’s. “That really…means a lot to me.”

Yuki’s nose wrinkles, playful. “Of course. It’s going to take more than a boy to come between us!”

*

It occurs to Maria later— much, much later— that maybe she should have asked Yuki to be more specific on which one.

[sukuna-dees-nuts]

rizzless sukuna pt. 2 (find part 1 here!)

Part of an ongoing series basically now dedicated to @nessieartss and their jjk sibling au!!

Hope you guys enjoy awkward Sukuna as much as I do!

---

Fuck it. Let's do this, Sukuna says to himself as he crosses the courtyard to catch up with Megumi. There's a little voice in the back of his mind that's telling him that this is a stupid idea, what the hell is he doing. If this went poorly, Yuuji would never let him live it down.

Honestly, Sukuna wouldn't let himself live it down. He's never been one for dating; it's never really appealed to him.

It's never really been relevant. His own words ring in his mind. “Yeah, until now,” he mutters to himself.

It isn't until he's caught up with Megumi that he realizes he isn't even sure what to say. His feet had started moving in their own accord, carrying him across the way in long strides. Maki had said to simply 'ask him out', as if it's that simple, as if Sukuna didn't already mention that he's never done this before.

Yeah, he's definitely never asking Maki for advice ever again, and when this inevitably fails, he's absolutely blaming her for it.

“Hey, Fushiguro!”

Megumi looks up from his phone and his eyebrows raise in surprise when his gaze lands on Sukuna. He looks around, as if expecting someone else to be with him, but there’s no one. It’s only Sukuna, which increases his intrigue more.

“Oh, hey, Sukuna,” he greets, pocketing his phone. “Yuuji went that way.” His head jerks in the opposite direction.

The older boy gives a noncommittal hum. “Well, that’s cool, but I wanted to talk to you.”

Megumi arches an eyebrow curiously and stays quiet, waiting for Sukuna to continue. A long pause draws out between them; Sukuna realizes that his heartbeat has picked up and his palms feel clammy, his fingers fidgeting.

Am I nervous?

No. Sukuna shakes his head; he doesn't get nervous. He can be confident, arrogant, cocky, but never nervous. So then why are all of his thoughts a jumbled mess and he feels like an idiot with his mouth opening and closing like a fucking fish.

“Oh…kay, what about?” Megumi presses.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna eloquently responds with, “Uh—” He mentally facepalms himself, unable to ignore the way the corner of Megumi’s mouth quirks up in amusement. It makes his stomach do a summersault. “Do you like dates? Well how about a raisin—wait, fuck!”

Sukuna runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, irritated with himself. He can’t help but glance at Megumi and sees Megumi's tucked his face into the collar of his school uniform. His shoulders shake with laughter, and in that moment, Sukuna wishes to cause mass destruction to escape the humiliation that engulfs his entire being.

He opens his mouth, about to demand Megumi to pretend this whole thing never happened—

“Did you just ask me on a date?” Megumi asks.

Relief floods Sukuna’s system and his shoulders sag. He swallows against the lump in his throat, and he huffs humorlessly. “Uh, yeah. Kinda? I meant to.”

Megumi is silent for another moment, eyeing Sukuna as he tries to see if the older boy is genuine or not. For once, Sukuna doesn't have anything to say, and he awkwardly scratches the back of his head. Maybe Sukuna should've prepared himself more before diving headfirst into this sort of situation; but when had Sukuna not been impulsive?

“Okay,” Megumi agrees, and Sukuna blinks, shaking his head a little.

“Wait, seriously?”

The shorter boy snorts. He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps on the screen. “Yeah. I'd have to be stupid not to say yes after that terrible attempt at a pickup line.”

Sukuna groans. When he looks back to Megumi, there's a hint of a smile on his face and he holds his phone out, telling Sukuna to put his number in. Sukuna grabs his own phone and hands it over so the two can exchange numbers.

“Are you free after school today?”

A hint of a smile comes to Sukuna's face. “Alright.”

Megumi thinks for a second before nodding. “Yeah, just text me where you want to meet up.”

They look at each other for a moment, Megumi shifting on his feet and Sukuna running a hand through his hair.

Megumi’s phone rings and they both jolt. He rolls his eyes when he sees who's calling and clicks the screen off. Looking back at Sukuna he says, “Gojo is wondering where I am, so I gotta go.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Sukuna nods, returning Megumi’s wave goodbye.

“See you later, Date Man,” Megumi chuckles.

Sukuna lets the comment slide, too busy dwelling on the fact that he has his first ever date.

[regarding-stories]

When your backstory beats your story (Part 1): Aventuria

(This is going to be a bit of a crossover story between two of my blogs.)

You may not have heard of it, but Germany's best-selling role-playing game is called "The Dark Eye" ("Das Schwarze Auge"). Its first edition beat D&D to market in Germany in the early 80s and has been the dominant tabletop RPG there ever since - generating also several computer games, and finally an English edition that was able to create some hype in the US market, something which its publisher Ulisses increasingly targets (because more customers).

The game itself evolved from a very simplistic system that was fast to pick up over two more editions that revised and expanded it, only to become an overly complex monster in its 4th edition where most people needed a fan-made PC editor to create characters. I don't particularly like the system, which always tended to be "whiffy" (lots of rolling for little effect in combat) and has never been truly fixed, unable to let go of its poor game design legacy.

I have a soft spot for 1st edition, though. It's the first RPG I ever played. It's simple. You're not feeling like a complete idiot (like in many editions of D&D at the beginning). It quickly got you into playing. And there existed some decent adventures of the kind I like.

Sold by the stories

While I personally was more into dungeon-style exploration fantasy, Dark Eye adventures tended more towards stories. (I just happened to be led through an adventure of the style I loved when playing first.) The Dark Eye is probably the most-supported system on this planet when it comes to published adventures, numbering in the hundreds.

Most of these are story-based or focus on character interaction to a good degree, and in fact many Dark Eye gamers are kind of stereotyped as wanting to hang out in taverns and with nobles to have long conversations, invoke the setting gods in their exclamations, and generally be more like LARPers (Live Action RolePlaying - when you dress up). I've encountered way too many of them off- and online to disagree - just like D&D is known for its murder hobo power gamers for a reason.

But given the endless focus on dungeon adventures in D&D and saving the world, The Dark Eye can be a breath of fresh air for getting into well-rounded characters, finding solutions to complex problems, and generally, you know, actually role-playing your character.

You know, most of the things that these days make RPG streaming a thing.

A mixture of more low-key stories and various ideas certainly made it stand out compared to D&D, and to this day such preferences can make you chose one game over the other.

So it makes sense we're talking stories here. So why did the Dark Eye have a backstory problem?

Because it was like this

When you started playing in the 1980s, you basically came into a very settled civilization. There was a large "Middle Empire/Realm" which was the successor the original Empire, and it was a country spanning a big part of the map which was, politically, very static. So were most of its neighbors.

If you picked up the official zine of the setting you would hear of events such as the umpteenth "war" between two impoverished mini-states full of country bumpkins with long rivalries as a recent event. In the early 90s a part of the setting evolved towards the renaissance, but that made it seem even more static. (It was, in some ways, a mirror image of part of the history of the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation. The not-so-exciting parts, depending on your tastes.)

There were tantalizing hints that some much cooler place existed beyond the ocean, the Golden Land (or Myranor), but they largely remained hints back then. Years later, after I lost interest, it was published as an alternate setting for the game, IIRC. Think about hearing of it being hinted for a long time in the 90s and then finally starting to appear in 2000 onwards. It was just too late for me, personally.

Stoking desires but not fulfilling them was a hallmark of The Dark Eye for a long time. Because interesting things did happen, but they either happened somewhere else, far away, or outright unavailable (like Myranor, a discontinued Hollow Earth setting with Japan as inspiration), or in an even less reachable place - the past.

Splendor Of Days Gone By

There is a temptation for any fantasy author, especially authors writing setting books for players, to make up grand chronologies of past events. People generally blame Tolkien for this, given that he created a grand mythological setting with several long ages as backdrop for his "Lord of the Rings".

The reason the "Tolkien did it too" argument is rather weak (in my book) is, however, that Tolkien created his mythology as the backdrop to an engaging, much-beloved story. Compare how many people have read "The Lord of the Rings" with how many have read "The Silmarillion" and you can immediately see how Tolkien did not slack on giving us a good, dramatic story when we first heard about it.

Not so most fantasy authors.

Reading the Dark Eye's history of the setting itself, you have to wonder about the state of mind the authors. Here they put all those exciting events that almost none of their adventures contained:

A royal family of the Old Empire that fell to demon worship and incest.

A march of 1,000 ogres that razed the biggest city in the world.

Wars of conquest, rebellions, the formation of nations.

Several orc invasions.

A sorcerer-king that was in league with demons.

A magican and philosopher-king who ended that threat and ruled a looong time.

A viking era.

Etc.

I really remember reading this back in the day and, being the newbie I was, just being desperate about how boring the present was. Basically the backstory often kicked ass. It had movers and shakers, big dramatic events, and what the Chinese might call "interesting times."

Fixed After All

Eventually the makers of the game (the editorial board, as they are called), noticed themselves. Somewhere around the year 2000 games with meta-plots became a thing, especially in Germany, and big events kept changing their settings, keeping them interesting and preparing the ground for new adventures. And eventually Aventuria, the world of the Dark Eye, followed suit.

For example by bringing the sorcerer-king back and letting players be the protagonists influencing the events that end up bringing him down. What a novel idea...

Looking at the time-line since you kind of think that maybe these people realized they had buried all the excitement in their own, made-up history, because now there are events in there that are clearly inspired by what "came before" as the setting keeps marching forward.

Why it took them up to two decades to realize this is anybody's guess.

The role of backstory is typically to establish the "why" of elements in your story - or here the why of the setting. In Aventuria's case, it did the job of explaining the borders and where the various nations come from, but somehow, and rather unintentionally, it painted the picture of a dynamic and exciting world that eventually solidified and ended up as a rather sclerotic, phlegmatic version of itself.

In the end, as an author, that would have been the point to ask yourself which makes the better story. And go with that.

[shayminlucario07]

Okay, I’m going to branch off of this and probably lose the plot- Sorry in advance, OP, if this ends up completely unrelated to what you said/meant! Sickness-addled rambling incoming.

One of the most egregious examples of Questionable Reading Comprehension in Fandom and Shipping that I’ve ever seen is in- and I’m sorry to bring THIS topic up in 2023- League of Legends fandom. Now, there’s a LOT that could be said here, but I’m going to focus in on a few things. And, to be clear, this is entirely from the perspective of the official lore Riot has released to the public (And I may be a bit outdated because I haven’t kept up with it since I stopped playing like a year and a half ago).

To start, I’m going to talk about what is probably the most baffling example of baseless shipping in all of League of Legends- Sett and Aphelios. If you don’t know anything about League of Legends, I’ll briefly explain these two to you: Sett is a pit fighter from Ionia (Basically, in-world Asia) whose father was a Noxian invader (Noxus is the main Imperialist nation, we hate them, they’ve invaded Ionia twice) that he never knew, because he abandoned Sett and his mother when Sett was a baby. Sett’s mother is a Vastaya, a magical race (Or, rather, larger group of many different races- Ahri the Nine-tailed Fox, Xayah the Rebel, and Nami the Tidecaller are all Vastayan champions, and all different types of Vastaya), and Sett started pit fighting so he could provide for himself and his mother, and keeps it secret from her. And I’ll reiterate: Sett is from Ionia, in northeastern Runeterra. Aphelios, on the other hand, is a Lunari assassin- he is from the region of Mount Targon, in southwestern Runeterra. He and his twin sister Alune share a special connection, and Alune, who lives in what is basically a castle in another dimension, provides Aphelios with the weapons that he uses, but can only do so if he drinks a poison that renders him unable to speak. Sett and Aphelios have exactly ZERO connection in lore, but the League of Legends fandom ships them, to the point where in basically every alternate universe Skinline where the two both appear, they are hinted to be together. Now, I want to make it clear, I don’t actually hate this ship (in a vacuum), but I do hate the way it came to be- again, the two champions have ZERO lore connection. The only reason this ship came to be is due to the fact that Sett released one patch after Aphelios (Or vice-versa; it’s been a while, my memory may be off). The League fandom picked up these two characters, with zero connection, and just. Decided they were in a relationship based on nothing. Sett and Aphelios have effectively become the MOST POPULAR GAY SHIP in all of League fandom, and there is NO canon lore to base this on- unlike several others. Now, perhaps Sett and Aphelios are both canonically gay and or bi, and would actually be in a relationship if they met- but they haven’t. They’re from opposite sides of the world, with zero chance of interacting unless one or both of their stories take a DRASTIC left-turn.

The second example I’m going to talk about: Ezreal. Now, if you know about League lore, you probably think this is a bit weird, but I’m going to explain. To start, Ezreal is a champion from Piltover (The city that was in Arcane- he’s friends with Jayce), and his uncle runs a museum. Ezreal himself, meanwhile, is an Indiana Jones-type explorer who has been to basically every region of Runeterra. Fandom likes to (mis)characterize him as bumbling, useless, and idiotic, but this is inaccurate to his character- Ezreal is, in fact, VERY capable, and has accomplished genuinely great things- he’s just rather unfortunate with the results of these great accomplishments, and tends to be overconfident. Now, one of the most commonly played-up parts of Ezreal’s character is his one-sided crush on Lux, the Demacian character and unofficial poster girl for League of Legends- and honestly, I like this pairing, they’re cute. There’s not much basis for it in the main universe, since Lux canonically doesn’t remember who Ezreal is, but in alternate universes like Star Guardian, they’re great. But the most underappreciated bit of knowledge about Ezreal is this: He’s HEAVILY implied, if not outright confirmed, to be bisexual. In the Pulsefire universe, which is based around time travel, Ezreal- the Ezreal from the main universe- stumbles across Pulsefire time-travel technology, and naturally, goes on time adventures. Also in the Pulsefire universe is Ekko- Yes, the same Ekko from Arcane- who is also the Ekko from the main universe, like Ezreal. This arguably makes even more sense than Ezreal, as Ekko in the main universe has time travel technology already, so he’s a natural fit for the universe. And due to their shared heritage from Runeterra Prime, the Pulsefire universe versions of Ezreal and Ekko have a close- yet complicated- relationship. A relationship that is HEAVILY implied to have been romantic in the past. And as these are both supposed to be the main universe versions of the two, this would effectively confirm those versions of the characters to be bisexual as well. But this is rarely ever acknowledged in fandom- the only character who I’ve consistently seen depicted in anything gay is Ezreal, and... well, if you look any of that up, I shouldn’t need to express why it’s. Not Great(TM), but I’ll just say that it’s DEEPLY rooted in homophobic stereotypes, which also stem from a fundamental misunderstanding of Ezreal’s character. (HE’S NOT A TWINK! HE HAS ABS AND ARM MUSCLES! MEN ARE NOT TWINKS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT BODYBUILDER-GIANT, YOU JUST HAVE UNREALISTIC STANDARDS, SHUT THE FUCK UP.) (Sorry, that was pent up for a while. People’s misuse of that term is a leading cause of body-image issues for me and I hate it. Passionately.) The easiest example of this is... *Weathered groan* Taric and Ezreal. Now, Taric is another can of worms, having been reduced to QUITE literally nothing more than a homophobic stereotype by the fandom (He’s actually a pretty cool character in lore, but like. There’s barely any lore with him in it and no one actually gives a shit!), but when you look at the Taric/Ezreal content (Most of which is porn)... well, if you actually DO look at it, you should be able to see without me needing to say anything, and if you don’t, you can still probably guess! Anyway, in summary: Ezreal is, canonically, a capable adventurer, a masculine character, and more than likely canonically bisexual with the potential for a relationship with one of the most popular characters in the franchise, but all fandom ever characterizes him as is an effeminate, incapable twink being dominated or preyed on by a larger, “More masculine” (AKA, more broad-shouldered and with extremely unrealistic chest muscles) male character. This is a long-standing problem in fandom, and I shouldn’t have to explain it.

Next, I’ll talk about Varus. Or rather, Valmar and Kai. Valmar and Kai are two hunters from Ionia, and were the first confirmed gay men in the League of Legends canon. During the second invasion of Ionia, their village was attacked, and Valmar (Or Kai; it could’ve been either one? It’s been a while since I’ve read it, but the point is that one of them) died trying to defend it- and more specifically, the temple that their village guarded. Kai carried the dying Valmar to the temple, hoping to use the sealed power contained within to save Valmar’s life, but in so doing, awakened the Darkin (Demon, basically, but not literally like Evelynn or Fiddlesticks) Varus. Varus then “Absorbed” the two (For lack of a better word- I’m hungry and can’t mind-thesaurus), using their bodies to reshape himself and give himself form once again. However, Valmar and Kai refused to simply give in, and resisted Varus, ultimately resulting in the three effectively becoming one distinct entity- sort of like with Paul in Nona the Ninth- whose main drive is retribution. There is, obviously, immense potential for angsty fan content with Valmar, Kai, and Varus, but I’ve never seen any. For all intents and purposes, they’ve been... basically ignored by the fandom.

And finally, Twisted Fate and Graves. Graves and Twisted Fate are gay pirates. Need I say more? They should be the perfect subjects for fandom obsession, right? Well... no. At least, not to anywhere near the extent of Sett and Aphelios. Twisted Fate and Graves are the only two male champions confirmed to be in a relationship in the main universe- Because Valmar and Kai aren’t champions- and are one of three canonical gay relationships between champions, the others being Diana and Leona, and Caitlyn and Vi- and they’re completely in the shadows next to Sett and Aphelios, and even- dare I say it- Jayce and Viktor. (By the way, the Jayce/Viktor ship is basically singlehandedly riding on Arcane’s versions of the characters. They’re both SIGNIFICANTLY less likeable in the main lore, they both like each other SIGNIFICANTLY less in the main lore- even before their eventual rivalry- and even then it has minimal actual basis, considering both have female love interests! Mel for Jayce and Skye for Viktor! But obviously because they’re the male leads, they have to be shipped. Because fandom.)

League of Legends is a perfect example of what is, in my opinion, one of the biggest problems in fandom- the way canon, and especially canon representation, gets overlooked in favor of fandom and fanon. Canon gay relationships like Graves and Twisted Fate, or non-canon ships with large potential within canon like Ezreal and Ekko, get overlooked in favor of non-canon fan-ships with minimal-to-zero basis in canon like Jayce and Viktor and Sett and Aphelios. To focus back in on what OP was talking about, this type of mischaracterization, misrepresentation of canon, or outright willful ignorance of canon, severely hinders our ability to genuinely engage with the media we claim to be fans of- the version of League lore that Settphelios shippers have in their heads is not real, and that prohibits them from being able to engage in the subject with people who don’t share that misconception. And, what’s worse, those misconceptions can, in turn, influence the canon and official media in ways that don’t, or shouldn’t, make sense- such as the Skin Universes like Lunar Revel and Spirit Blossom where Sett and Aphelios are depicted together. I had to stop engaging in League fandom altogether, because Aphelios- who, by the way, was and is one of my favorite characters both in-game and in-lore- was never accurately portrayed or understood by the VAST majority of fans I interacted with. Nearly all of them defined the character exclusively by the ENTIRELY FABRICATED Sett/Aphelios ship, rather than what was actually within canon. (Now, Aphelios doesn’t HAVE much in canon, since he basically can’t express himself due to being. Forcibly muted by drinking poison so he can actually do his Signature Thing, but that’s a compelling mystery on its own- one that people only engaged with in terms of how it affected Settphelios, which, again, has zero basis in canon.) League has very little canon queer representation, especially compared to the straight representation, (Why are Garen and Katarina a thing? Why were there two heterosexual couples designed to be played together before we got a single confirmed gay couple? I love Xayah and Rakan more than anyone (Xayah my beloved you will always be my favorite character) but was that really necessary? Oh yeah- and why did they never actually confirm Taliyah as trans like they originally intended to? Don’t answer that- it’s because of fandom toxicity, that’s documented) so we should be spotlighting all of the canon queerness in League, but instead, we push most of it all into shadow in favor of hypothetical, non-canonical fantasies we create out of nothing. There’s nothing wrong with creating ships not rooted in canon, but there VERY MUCH IS something wrong with emphasizing those over what IS canon- and that is what League fandom, as well as nearly every other fandom I’ve seen, does to a frightening degree. We need to stop that.

One big thing with Fandom Interpretation/Ships for me is there is a big difference between Reading Comprehension and Preference. Like if there’s something that I feel is obvious or has a strong basis in the Series and you just don’t see it I question your Reading Comprehension. But if you do see it/understand it but Prefer to Interpret it differently or just have a Preference for a specific Dynamic that’s totally fine, Fandom and Shipping is for fun live your best life.

With Reading Comprehension it’s not that two people can’t have a vastly different Interpretation and both be right but like I would question how well we’d get along if we look at things sooo differently. It’s a live and let live but maybe don’t interact kinda thing.

The best example of what I’m talking about is probably Madoka. Like if you cannot see why HomuMado is a thing you didn’t Watch the Series, it’s just not something you would miss. But if you see it and understand it but just have a Preference for a different Ship due to basis for a certain Dynamic or something literally live your best life (also Madoka has a lot basis for a lot of Ships so maybe it’s not the best example of Crack Shipping or being delusional for fun but I digress).

[sunder-soul]

hii what about Tom Riddle being fucking jealous about reader ?

So I got massively carried away with this one lol, apologies if this isn’t what you were expecting, my imagination went wild!

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Jealousy

Summary: Reader has to tutor an insufferable jock and Tom Riddle starts acting very strangely indeed. Wordcount: 1.8k Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The Great Hall was bright and lively with morning sun and the chatter of students, spoons clinking against bowls and butter spreading on toast.

“What is he doing?” you whisper to Margot sitting next to you at the table.

“I think he’s attempting to show off,” she giggles back.

You were both watching Austin Varrowe, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, obnoxiously demonstrate his Beater swing for a series of very bored looking Ravenclaw girls who weren’t paying him any attention in the slightest.

“Slughorn’s making me tutor that idiot,” you grumble.

“No way,” Margot grins, rounding on you.

“Yup,” you sigh, “can you believe it? Two evenings a week for the rest of the term… I think I’ll brain myself with a cauldron by Friday.”

Margot pats your shoulder sympathetically.

That evening, you reluctantly set off for the dungeons to meet Varrowe with your bag slung over your shoulder, but as you round a corridor you very nearly bowl straight into someone coming the opposite direction.

“Riddle,” you say, surprised, “sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Riddle takes a step back and tidily clasping his hands being his back. “You’re out rather late,” he said smoothly. “And in the dungeons, no less. Are you lost? The library is that way.” He nods back down the corridor.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Riddle was such a know-it-all. “I’m meeting someone, actually,” you say dismissively, checking your watch. “In fact, I better get going or he’ll think I’m standing him up.”

Riddle looks very briefly surprised, and then a cool look of disapproval settles on his fine features. “I don’t suppose I have to remind you that curfew is in two hours,” he says stiffly, “you wouldn’t be intending on breaking that, would you?”

You snort a laugh and step past him. “Thanks for the reminder,” you say sarcastically, “see you later, Riddle.”

You manage to get away before he can say anything else.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Varrowe,” you call, giving your friends a quick wave as you dash to catch up to him in the throng of students making their way to their next class. “Are you free tonight?”

“Oh – right,” Varrowe says, looking dispirited. “Sure. Seven o’clock?”

You nod and lean closer. “Please make sure you actually bring your textbook this time,” you mutter, managing to keep your exasperation off your face. “You do in fact need to read it at least once to pass the class.”

Varrowe grins and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “You’re smart,” he says loudly, “barely understood a thing you said last time.”

“Right,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to tidy your hair. “Well, see you this evening.”

“Sounds good,” Varrowe shrugs, wandering away.

You sigh. Slughorn better appreciate your sacrifice; tutoring Varrowe was the equivalent of torture. You turn on your heel to catch up with your friends, but once again you come face to face with –

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me,” you say dryly, “seriously, Riddle, it’s creepy.”

Riddle’s eyes slide from Varrowe’s retreating form to your face. “Is Varrowe the one you were meeting last week?” he asks smoothly.

The question surprises you. “Yeah, why?” you frown.

“And you’re meeting him again?”

You arch a brow at his decidedly clipped tone. “Yeah but don’t worry, I promise I won’t break curfew, I know that’s of the utmost importance to you –”

“An odd choice,” Riddle interrupts, something uncharacteristically irate in his voice, “Varrowe.”

You stare at him. “…Is he?” you ask pointedly, unable to think of anyone more in need of tutoring. Only yesterday Varrowe had lost his phial of Flobberworm mucus and had asked Slughorn if he could just use some of his own instead. “I think he’s the perfect choice.”

Riddle’s eyes flash. “I should be going,” he says curtly, “see you in class.” He gives you a single, stiff nod and leaves without another glance.

You blink after him, shaking your head in confusion. Riddle was acting very, very strangely.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“So if you overboil it, it’ll turns green,” Varrowe said slowly, peering at the notes on Veritaserum on the desk between you, “but if you underboil it, it’ll get those weird lumps?”

“Yes,” you say with great relief.

“Is it better to overboil it or underboil it?”

You immediately regret having felt relieved. “It’s better to do neither,” you say flatly.

Varrowe heave a great sigh and carelessly leans back in his chair. “I’m too tired for this,” he complains. “Did I mention that we had an extra Quidditch practice this morning?”

He had. Six times.

You slide your things into your bag and stand. “You’re right, it’s late,” you mutter, “we can pick this up again on Monday.”

Varrowe gleefully stands too and is out the door of the Potions classroom in a heartbeat. “Are you coming to the game next weekend?” he asks you in the corridor outside, unsubtly flexing his shoulder muscles as he pretends to roll them out.

You very nearly roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent,” he grins, “I’ve been working on this tag-team move with Procker that’ll really have Slytherin guessing, I’ll have to show you later –”

“Varrowe.”

The voice is crisp and cool, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess who it is.

“Riddle,” Varrowe says, looking disgruntled. “Why are you here?”

“I’m a prefect, if you recall,” Riddle says in a glacial tone, “patrols are part of my responsibilities.”

“How very fortunate indeed that you were patrolling this exact corridor at this exact time,” you say with a hint of sarcasm. “Merlin, imagine if we’d forgotten about curfew.”

Riddle’s dark eyes flash to you, and you impassively hold his gaze. “You should return to your common rooms,” he says delicately, “or I will be forced to give you both detentions.”

“Steady on Riddle,” Varrowe grins, “we’ve got half an hour yet, give us a second to say goodbye.”

Riddle wrenches his eyes off you and fixes Varrowe with a very cold look. “You will go at once,” he says in a dangerously soft tone, “do you understand?”

Varrowe bristles, standing taller and pushing his chest out in a way he clearly thinks is intimidating. Riddle looks utterly unfazed.

Sensing trouble on the horizon, you grab Varrowe’s sleeve and tug him back. “Come on, Varrowe,” you say quickly, “let’s go. You’ve got practice in the morning, right?”

Varrowe glares at Riddle who was yet to move an inch, his expression still cool and blank. “Right,” Varrowe growls, “yeah, let’s go.”

Varrowe turns and stalks off, not noticing that you don’t follow. Instead, you round on Riddle.

“Will you explain what the hell is going on?” you whisper angrily.

“Watch your tongue,” Riddle says sharply.

You glower at him. “So sorry – I mean, will you please explain what the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrow. “It would not be wise to antagonise me,” he says icily.

“Would it not?” you breathe, stepping closer. “What are you going to do, dock me points? Give me detention?”

Riddle’s eyes are dark and hostile, and something works in his jaw as he glares back at you.

“Back off, Riddle,” you snap, “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but seriously, drop it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he breathes.

“Oh? You always threaten people with detention when they’ve done nothing wrong? I’m sure Slughorn will be overjoyed to hear that his favourite prefect is abusing his power like that,” you hiss, leaning closer.

Riddle visibly grits his teeth with fury on his face. A tense silence falls, and you suddenly realise that the two of you are standing far, far too closely together.

You step back at once, trying to ignore the strange feeling that swells in your stomach. “Goodnight, Riddle,” you mutter, turning to hurry away.

“Why Varrowe?” he says sharply, stopping you in your tracks.

You look over your shoulder at him. Riddle’s hair looks even blacker in the dark corridor, his burning eyes on yours, the flickering light from the torch on the wall beside him throwing shadows down his cheekbones. “What?” you frown. Now was definitely not the time to get distracted by Riddle’s good looks.

“Why Varrowe?” Riddle repeats stiffly. “He’s a simpleton.”

You blink. “Exactly,” you say slowly.

Something hostile flickers on Riddle’s face before he quickly tempers his expression back into composure. “I appear to have misjudged you,” he says coldly, looking away.

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim in exasperation. “Do you not understand how tutoring works? If he wasn’t absolutely thick I wouldn’t have to waste my evenings explaining to him that Cough Potions are for curing coughs and not inducing them.”

Riddle stares at you. The silence drags on.

You sigh impatiently. “I’m going to bed,” you grumble, turning away again.

“Wait,” he says sharply.

You wheel around, annoyed. “What?”

But your frustration is wiped away in an instant because Riddle is once again much too close. So close, in fact, that you can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting down his cheeks and the heat in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re tutoring him?” he asks quietly.

You nod silently, your throat suddenly thick with nerves.

“That’s why you were meeting him.”

You nod again, unable to look away from him.

Riddle hums contemplatively, his expression smooth as his dark eyes roam your face. “Good,” he murmurs.

“Good?” you whisper.

Riddle’s lips curve into a small smirk, his head tilting slightly, and you absolutely do not blush at the sight. “Weren’t you going to bed?” he asks silkily.

“Worried about me breaking curfew, are you?” you say with a flicker of a taunt, trying to ignore your heart pounding quickly in your chest.

Riddle’s smirk grows. “I told you not to antagonise me,” he says smoothly as he steps in even closer, so close that his robes graze against your arms and you can feel warmth radiating from him as he looms over you.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “seems to be going pretty well for me so far.”

Riddle’s eyes flick between yours, and for a single burning moment the tension is so thick that you can hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, your gaze dropping to his full lips and seeing his do the same to yours – and then just like that, Riddle steps away.

“Goodnight,” he says evenly, “I trust you can get back to your common room without supervision.”

You nod blankly but Riddle is already turning away and disappearing down the dark corridor, melting into the darkness. You stand there a moment frozen in place, your cheeks burning and your heart still racing as the cold air rushes in where his warmth had been brushing up against your skin.

Riddle was acting very, very strangely indeed.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

[asweetprologue]

Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again. 

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con 

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings. 

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD 

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily. 

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449 

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates. 

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

~

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

[yandere-sins]

i just binged-read all of your BNHA works and omg... 🥲 you don’t understand the rollercoaster of emotions i just went through! can i please request a story of Kirishima noticing that Bakugou has a crush on his darling. then when Kirishima confronts Bakugou about it, things get heated/physical? keep up the good work, i love your writings! 🥰💗

Thank you so much for reading through them, I am so glad you enjoyed them! :D And thanks for requesting ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

“I don’t fucking know either!”

Loud. Terribly loud were the two voices shouting at each other in your room, the little bit of safe haven you owned, entirely disrupted by the two men arguing. It was only made worse by the fact that they were arguing about you rather than anything else, their attention involuntarily always coming back to you after every sentence.

You had long ducked away, slipped into the area between the wall and your bed, the only place you had claimed as yours ever since you were forced to live here. It was barely spacious enough for you to breathe in, but it was too small to force you out of as well, which you always appreciated. On most days, Kirishima would treat you kindly and with a strange understanding despite the situation and relationship you two had.

But just as quickly did his mood change, his tendencies to demand more than you were willing to give being a constant point of stress between you two. Hiding yourself back here was the closest to some privacy you had, and now than ever, you just wanted to disappear from this pitiful existence. You didn’t even want to hear about what they were talking, let alone witness how the conversation would go.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned loudly, rubbing his hands over his face. “Of all the people...”

“Yes. Of all the people, it just had to be my partner you fell in love with,” Kirishima hissed back, equally angered. You couldn’t even pinpoint for how long the two had been discussing this topic, but it left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, as it seemed. Sighing quietly as to not draw more attention to you, you buried your head in your knees.

For the longest time, you had believed those two were good people. Sure, Bakugou was a hot-headed bastard sometimes, but together with Kirishima, who shone with his kindness, you three always had a lot of fun. When Kiri confessed to you, you had been so happy! What you thought was love probably was more like a deep friendship, but you didn’t say ‘no’ and went out with him.

But then the craziness started. It was subtle at first, and you confided in Bakugou, who told you, you were just imagining things. No one seemed to notice how Kirishima started to polarize your time constantly, how, when he wanted cuddles, he simply pulled you into an embrace even if you didn’t want to. How every problem was solved with ‘Just don’t go there anymore, you can stay here! I’ll take care of everything!’

You very quickly found out you had been wrong both with him being a good person and you being in love with him. But then, of all people, he still allowed Bakugou to come over! Where he kept you locked in his apartment all day while he played hero outside, he still allowed your friend to visit whenever. Seeing that Bakugou was not going to help you, no matter how much you pleaded with him to save you, broke your heart. It completely shattered you.

Honestly, you wanted to believe that you three had been friends once, but whatever happened to make the two into what they were now, it scared you. It frightened you so much that you barely slept at night, rarely managed to eat more than two spoons of your food, and rendered you unable to focus on anything if not ensuring you were safe when things got too much to bear. And now, your body shaking more than ever, you had to witness how even Bakugou seemed to have changed sides, and that scared you even more.

You thought he was just loyal to his friend by refusing to help you, but by god, he was the same as that maniac Kirishima.

“Look, I didn’t choose that either! But you knew I liked them way before you confessed!”

At that, Kirishima only clicked his tongue, unable to say anything in return to counter this claim. So it was right, Bakugou had liked you all along. All these things about Kirishima’s and your love life must have been so painful for him to listen to in this case. However, right then, as you overheard their conversation unwillingly, you didn’t feel bad for him even a second.

“I wish it was anyone else, but it’s them!”

“Well, are you sure?” Kirishima grumbled, and you kind of understood Bakugou’s frustration as his friend didn’t seem to want to hear the truth. “Yes, I am damn sure!”

“If that’s the case...” Kirishima sighed before you heard steps drawing closer. “[Name]? Can you come out? You know it’s rude not to show your cute face to our guest.”

Even if he spoke his words in a sugary voice, nothing about Kirishima could calm you. Slowly looking up at him again, you saw him reach his hand out to you, knowing fully well that he couldn’t get you out of that gap even if he probably wanted. The mood in the room was tense and full of heated tempers. Their back and forth had only made everything more awkward and uncomfortable as it already was for you.

Inwardly, you wanted nothing more than to stay in your hideout, hoping it would all quickly pass, but crossing Bakugou’s gaze briefly, you saw his brows only furrow more, and you wagered if taking Kirishima’s offer was better as long as he still asked nicely before either of them would lose their patience with you, too.

Slipping out of the space without taking his help, it wasn’t long before Kirishima picked you up anyway. The man had as much understanding about boundaries as you had about what even was wrong with him. He sat you down in his lap on the couch, waving Bakugou over, who reluctantly took a seat on the furthest armrest from you.

“Tell him, [Name]. You love me, right? You want to be with me, right?”

Opening your mouth, you wanted to protest, but Bakugou stole the words from you before you could talk.

“Bullshit! They’ve always been complaining because you suck at being a boyfriend! They could do so much better and be with me, right [Name]? Tell that idiot!”

You felt like a dog, with both owners screaming at their furbaby to chose them and go to the one it likes more.

Their back-and-forth continued, Kirishima swearing his love to you up and down while Bakugou praised his abilities to be better in... every way. Kirishima liked to remind you how much ‘fun’ you two had together and how much he did and would do for you in the future. Bakugou liked to argue with his friend, using insults and belittling comments about his plans. Neither made a very good impression, and their voices rose to a volume again, making you wish you had earplugs to drown out at least a little bit of their shouting.

Instead, you lifted your hands to your ears, cupping them as to drown out the sounds, hoping it was over soon. Why couldn’t they both leave you alone? Why did you have to end up in this situation, not once, but twice? Why did the two best friends you had turned out to be this crazy? Crazy about you?

There still were so many questions to be answered, and you curled into yourself as you spiraled down into overthinking everything that happened. From regrets you had, to disbelieve you still harbored, to the despair you felt as you couldn’t pinpoint when this nightmare would end.

You were so inside your own head, you didn’t notice how their voices slowly calmed down, their hearts breaking as they saw you so overwhelmed by the situation. Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a few glances, and even in Bakugou’s serious and furious expression, there were hints of worries to find that only his friends could discern.

“How about you move in with us... and maybe they can make a decision then. Not that I’d just give them to you, but I can’t watch them being sad about us fighting. You always meant a lot to us.”

Huffing, Bakugou turned his head away, hiding the flustered red spreading on his cheeks. “I won’t share with you, you Dumbass! They’re mine. They love me much more than you freak!”

“Doubt it,” Kirishima chuckled as he brought his hand to your head, brushing over it comfortingly. He had never been afraid to say his opinion openly, a trait you had always found remarkable and remarkable stupid at the same time. “Whatever,” Bakugou grunted, standing up before storming out of the door without another word of goodbye, Kirishima sighing before he pulled you close.

“I hope this makes you happy,” he mumbled, not even knowing you weren’t listening anymore. “I’d do anything if it makes you happy.”

By the evening, a new roommate was sharing the apartment with you and Kirishima. They didn’t talk, neither at dinner nor before or after that. You didn’t mind the silence, but you did mind having to hold one hand of each as they decided to watch a movie, ever so often squeezing to gain your attention and giving you grins when you looked at them. As if that equaled making a decision which you liked better, just because they had a few seconds of your attention.

But even worse were the changes. The first thing Bakugou did was move the bed. Your hideout was no longer as he decided you didn’t need it. And where you had struggled to keep Kiri from you, you now were too scared to shove away Bakugou. Perhaps, you really had it nice with Kirishima. You pondered about it all night as you were squeezed between them, their arguing going deep into the early hours before they fell asleep, snoring away into your ears.

Would it have been easier if you had just chosen one of them?

Or would it be fatal to ever choose between them?

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 12 - Muse

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Fluff, Rough Sex (Light but Consensual), Light Degradation, Role-play (Reader In French Maid Outfit), Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Making Out With Gojo, NSFW, Unprotected Sex

Summary: You keep your promise to Gojo and the two of you enjoy a little bit of roleplaying.

A/N: I know it's been a while since I posted last. Here is the updated chapter (she is kind of long) and it's basically 5% plot where everything else is smut. I have been reading this same thing for over a week and spent most of today editing, so I hope it's fine! Please keep in mind again that I do not have a beta, and will highly miss a lot of things or even misspell them. I hope you enjoy the chapter!  Requests are still open! I currently write for Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna and Choso. Please make sure I can see your age on your profile, otherwise you will be ignored (minors dni) 

- - - 

(Three Years Ago)

“Looks like someone is being spoiled…”

You glanced around your apartment that has been completely decorated in flowers. You started grinning like an idiot thinking of Haru’s promise to give you a garden before replying, “ it’s a long story... ”

“ Soo , things worked out after the failed anniversary dinner?” Gojo questioned, noticing the way you shyly bit your bottom lip as you returned your attention back onto the T.V. screen.

“ Yes, they did …” you answered casually, still holding that pretty smile on your lips. You were clicking the button on the remote as you switched between movies to pick one to watch for the evening. “I don’t think I gave you the full update…”

Gojo took a sip of his melon soda, before leaning back comfortably against your couch. “No you did not. Last time we spoke you told me you were going away for the weekend. So tell me, how did prince charming work his way back into your good graces?”

Hakone , the weekend getaway; memories of you and Haru’s trip flooded back to your mind. The onsen experience, strolling through nature by day, visiting art galleries and losing sleep at night just to make love…

“It was… perfect.” you whispered breathlessly, your heart skipping a beat after you gave Gojo the brief explanation.

“ How romantic… ” the sorcerer replied, doing little to hide the hint of sarcasm in his tone.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, nudging your elbow playfully into his stomach. “Don’t be such a killjoy…”

From behind his dark frames, Gojo was reading your body language when you spoke. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to take away the happiness you were basking in and burying the thought that lingered his mind.

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked again, his eyes glued onto you as he patiently waited for your reply.

Your cheeks went warm and your reaction was to adorably bury your face into the palm of your hands, desperately trying to fight off the butterflies swarming in your stomach. You leaned back on the couch next to your friend, dropping your hands down by your sides as you tilted your neck to face him.

“ Hopelessly so… ”

Gojo swallowed hard, a sinking sensation pummeled through his gut upon hearing your words. Your eyes flickered when you noticed how his expression hardened but he quickly switched to a big grin.

“As long as you’re happy … ” he reassured, giving you a thumbs up.

“I am, very much so …”

“ Good!” Gojo replied, but the word tasted sour in his mouth and he quickly changed the subject. “Now let’s get back to picking our movie…”

What the hell am I supposed to do now? he thought to himself, the disappointment weighing heavy on his heart.

I can’t tell her yet…

I’ll just have to wait...

(Present)

Gojo was exhausted. His day was tiresome and everything seemed to be getting on his last nerves. His morning started off on a bad note thanks to the higher ups. Itadori Yuji swallowing one of Sukuna’s fingers was not what he expected but now he had a problem on his hands involving the life of another teenager.

A talented kid at that, Itadori definitely had potential...

Gojo was good at hiding his frustrations from his students, and even from some of his peers. However, the minute he stepped into the lobby of his apartment building, the weight of his day came crashing down on his shoulders. He exited the elevator, slowly making his way over towards his apartment door but paused for a second before entering inside the safe haven of his home.

He immediately sensed your presence.

You called him earlier when he was at the school, asking if you could stop by his place to pick up something that you had forgotten.

“Just ask the security to let you in, I’ll give them a heads up and inform them... ” Gojo distractedly replied before ending the call.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly to himself, thinking that maybe you decided to stick around and hang out at his place.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, as he stepped through the threshold of his front door. “Did you really miss me that mu-uhhhhhh…”

Gojo dropped his keycard on the floor, his mouth agape as he took in the sight of you standing before him. His heart literally stopped beating for a whole second and the sorcerer found himself frozen in the entrance of his living room.

“ Gojo-san,” you purred, turning your heel from the large glass window you were wiping and smiling as you faced him directly. “ You’re home...”

Catching the great Gojo Satoru by surprise was something rare but you managed to do it with ease because he always had his guard down around you.

Gojo admired the outfit you were wearing. Your black dress was short, very short, with the bodice buttoned all the way up to your neck and little puffy sleeves covering your shoulders. The white apron you were wearing over it was trimmed with little frills, matching the detailing along the collar. His mouth went dry when he reached your legs covered in a pair of stockings but he noticed the single garter wrapped around your thigh adorned with a tiny bow. You were wearing black pointed high heels to match the ensemble, adding a decent amount of inches to your height. The cherry on top was the white silky headband that was pulling back your beautiful hair.

Gojo had given up on your promise weeks ago, thinking there was no possible way you might actually follow through with his idea.

Yet, here you were , dressed up in a french maid outfit.

You placed the cloth in your hand in the basket on your floor. Your heels clicking against the wooden surface and echoing around his quiet penthouse apartment as you approached him, holding your head high as you confidently nestled into the role you were playing.

You gripped his attention, but couldn’t see how shocked he was from behind his dark sunglasses. As you stood in front of him you bent down to pick up the key card before elegantly standing upright and holding it up to his face.

“You dropped this,” you stated quite matter of factly, batting your lashes at him innocently.

The man had been rendered speechless.

You raised your brow as the seconds passed, waiting for Gojo to say... something.

He could sense your heart beat increase, as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other and you nervously glanced away from his direction. You dropped the act for a minute as you placed your hands around your waist to look down at the outfit you were wearing.

“ Uhm … did I do this wrong ? This is the only outfit I could find online that was even close to the idea you had and it took weeks to actually get here. I can...I can try to find another dress if this isn’t what you li-”

Gojo cupped your face in his hands, interrupting your comment and tilting your head up so you were looking at him as he snapped himself out of the trance you seemed to have put him under.

“No! No, no no …you look… fuck… you just caught me by surprise…” he replied, a wave of excitement rushing through him as he stumbled over his words. He proceeded to lower his sunglasses so you were met with azure eyes, softening his gaze as a cheeky grin spread across his gorgeous face. “You look ...perfect…”

He stretched out that last word, ensuring to savour every part of you. Your face grew warm but you couldn’t help but smirk with approval that all your hard efforts into this costume worked their magic on your friend.

“Really?” you questioned in a hopeful tone, reaching for his wrist and giving him a squeeze. “I’m glad! You worried me for a second…”

Gojo leaned forward to kiss you, the heavy weight he bore when he stepped into his home dissipating as he tasted you on his tongue. Once he had his fill of you, he broke away from the kiss before casually walking backwards and instructing, “don’t mind me, I’m just going to step out for a second so we can properly start this over…”

You giggled before turning around and making your way back to your position next to his window. Gojo noticed your white slip peak from under your skirt, and he gently bit down on his knuckle unable to contain his own anticipation.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

When he stepped back inside his apartment it was with a totally different demeanor. He cleared his throat as he made his way over, noticing your face playfully light up before repeating your initial greeting:

“ Gojo-san, you’re home... ”

***

One hour.

You had the man stirring for an entire hour.

Gojo didn’t think you would take this as seriously as you did but you were putting on a performance for him.

At first he sat in the living room, watching you mindlessly wipe his spotless windows and bending over ever so slightly for him to peep under your skirt. He impatiently tapped his finger against his thigh, knowing full well that he was not allowed to touch you unless you touched him first .

That was the rule you both agreed on.

When Gojo realised that you weren’t planning on giving in so easily, he used the moment as an opportunity to change out of his uniform but that didn’t stop you from being a tease.

While he was in his room, he switched to a pair of comfortable sweatpants and just as he was about to slip on his hoodie, you barged into his bedroom.

“ I’m sorry to intrude…” you announced innocently, sauntering your way over with your eyes lingering on his abdominal muscles and lifting up his half-filled laundry basket. “ I just needed to wash these…”

Gojo pressed his tongue to his cheek, shaking his head at you as he moved to his drawer to replace his shades with his blindfold, knowing full well you were going to draw this out for as long as you can.

Maybe this is payback…

Gojo returned to the living room, his eyes fixated on the television screen as a way to distract himself from you.

After you did a few meaningless chores, you picked up the feather duster from your equipment basket and directed yourself into his line of sight. You began to “ dust ” off his shelves, swaying your hips deliberately from side to side as you walked in front of him.

“ I hope you don’t mind me in your way, Gojo-san …” you said serenely, flicking the duster over the random items on his shelf.

“Not at all…” the sorcerer replied, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke. “But you should know you missed a spot…”

You raised your brow as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his stare.

“ Oh ?”

Gojo spread his legs further apart, resting his long arm on the back of the sofa before bringing his other hand forward to point high on his shelf.

“Right there,” he indicated.

You hummed to yourself, knowing full well that Gojo wanted to see more of what you were hiding underneath your outfit. As you stood on your tiptoes, you deliberately arched your back to stick out your rear in his direction.

Gojo trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, humming in approval and deciding in that moment just how he plans on eventually fucking you in this cute outfit of yours.

“A little higher…” he commanded, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes as you “cleaned” his top shelf, and he felt himself harden against his pants when the fabric of your dress just barely covered your ass.

The minutes passed, dragging slowly until the sorcerer found himself growing impatient. The longer you were making him wait, the more cruel he was planning on delivering his own punishment in return.

“May I get you some water, Gojo-san?” you asked him, snapping him out of his own thoughts as you made your way over to the kitchen. “You look a little thirsty…”

Oh yes, he definitely wasn’t going to hold himself back…

“ Please…” he said through gritted teeth.

You made your way over to the kitchen, pulling out one of the random trays he had and placing a glass right in the middle. You fill it up with ice before pouring in the water, then lifting up the tray and making your way over to him.

“ Here you go…” you offered, but instead of picking up the glass with your fingers, you deliberately knocked it over, allowing the cool liquid to pour all over Gojo’s lap.

The man hissed, surprised that you caught him off guard yet again with your tactic. The water pooled between his thighs, making his muscles tense up even more.

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, the goosebumps running up and down your arms when you noticed the outline of his dick against his sweatpants.

Staring at him with your knowing, apologetic eyes, you proceeded to say, “I’m so sorry, let me get something to help you dry up…”

When you returned, you found your place down on your knees in front of him. You pressed the dry towel against his inner thigh, earning a grunt in response because your touch was close to his growing erection.

Your other hand glided up his calf, sending your message across as Gojo’s eyes widened when that same hand replaced the towel.

Fucking finally, he thought, no longer frustrated by his own desire or the fact that he was now soaking wet.

“I can dry these with the rest of the clothes…” you explained, lifting yourself upright on your knees. “I’m going to have to take these off..”

You hooked your hands around the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down his lean legs and removing them.

“What about these?” Gojo asked, tilting his head towards his tented boxers. “I’m soaked all the way through…”

“ Uhm… of course!” you chirped, as you removed the second article of clothing. “I’ll get these dry for you right away…”

As you tried to stand up, Gojo reached for your forearms and dragged you back down on the rug.

“What about this?” he asked, directing your attention towards the length of his swollen cock.

“I-I don’t know if I can help you with that,” you teased, averting your gaze as you feigned shyness.

“I pay you to use your hands, don’t I?” Gojo questioned.

“ Yes, Gojo-san …”

“Then you should do whatever it takes.”

Gojo could have sworn he saw you smirk but you were swift to hide your reaction. You brought your hand to his length as you began to stroke upward, circling your thumb around his swollen tip. Your other hand teasingly traced a vein up and down his shaft, and Gojo exhaled as his body relaxed against his plush sofa.

You squeezed his cock, feeling the width of his hard member as you continued teasing his head. You spread the pre-cum all over the tip, before bringing your lips down and replacing your thumb with your tongue as you swirled around the head before finally sealing your mouth over him.

You gently suck, your cheeks hollowing but you remain focused on just his head. The hand that isn’t holding his shaft moved to his thigh, where you gave him an eager squeeze as you tasted him in your mouth.

Meanwhile, Gojo leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he hummed with relief. The low rumble of his voice spread down his abdomen, and your ears perked upon hearing his satisfied reaction.

You released him with a pop, before adjusting your position so your forearms were now resting over his thighs.

Gojo was average in thickness but his length definitely made up for it and you wanted to get comfortable before taking him all the way in.

You guided him into your mouth, easing him down inch by inch as you bobbed over his impressive length. Your hands pressed into his thighs, a small whimper escaping you as your teeth grazed lightly over his cock while you expertly worked him.

“You keep doing this and I might consider increasing your pay…” Gojo murmured, half-drunk with arousal as he began losing himself to you.

You quickened your pace, ignoring the discomfort in your jaw as you let him fuck your mouth. Gojo reached his hand to the back of your neck, gently stroking you with his slender fingers as encouragement. His chest began to rise and fall as his breathing grew heavier.

“ Keep going …” he coaxed, his voice shaking and growing tender. He rolled his hips in rhythm to your movement while your hands began massaging his legs and working their way high up to his pelvis.

His fingers curled around your hair, your throat burning but you kept going not wanting to disappoint your esteemed employer.

“ Mmm , F-fuck… ” he whined, his words sweet in your ears as he reached his peak.

Gojo’s hips bucked into you and he held you in place, releasing thick ropes of cum in the back of your throat as he moaned.

His grip was tight around your head and you tried not to gag as you swallowed everything he gave you. You slowly retracted him out of your mouth, desperately catching your breath in between small coughs as you settled yourself.

“Such a beautiful mess…” Gojo complimented as he looked down at you from where he was sitting.

Your chin was covered with  your saliva, your perfectly styled hair unraveling from his grip and your smokey eye makeup smudged. Gojo flicked his fingers in his direction, ordering you to get on his lap.

Your knees hurt when you stand up, the cheap fabric of your stockings already wearing from the friction against the rug. You spread your legs as you straddled him, lifting the hem of your dress up as you adjusted your position.

“ Well, well…what have we here… ” he cooed when you flashed him. “Hold your dress up for me…”

Your face grew hot but you obediently obliged as you bunched up the dress to your waist, giving Gojo a full view of your stockings that covered your bare pussy.

Gojo dragged his index finger along your slit, your arousal stringing on the tip of his finger as he pulled away from you.

You were completely soaked through.

“ Do you always show up to work without any underwear on?” he teased, bringing his finger back between your legs  and pushing the material of your stockings between your lips.

“Only when I know I am seeing you…” you replied seductively.

“Is that so?” Gojo mused, biting his bottom lip as he focused on his finger circling your folds. “How professional…”

“Actually I'm very unprofessional. I have something to confess, Gojo-san …” you whispered, dropping your dress as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his ear before stating, “…I touch myself whenever you’re not home .”

Gojo froze his movements. You were doing everything he described when talking about this particular fantasy: the hot maid that he comes home to who teases him into fucking her.

Oh, and you were playing the role beautifully.  

“Did you do that today?” The man questioned, directing it towards you and not the character you were pretending to be.

You giggled in his ear, “ twice .”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, his free hand that wasn’t between your legs reached for his blindfold. He lifted the fabric, where a pretty blue iris was staring at you with sheer adoration.

“ Oh, angel, you continue to surprise me…”

“None of that, yet…” you announced, covering his eye as you pulled his wrist away. “ We’re still playing, Gojo-san.”

On that reply, Gojo reached for the band of your stockings. He ripped the flimsy fabric with his strong hands, tearing it straight down the middle before picking you up and laying your back against the arm rest.

“I’m going to have to start putting security cameras around the place,” he added, getting back into the role as he slipped off his hoodie. “But I think I would prefer seeing you with my own eyes…”

He instantly noticed the way you checked him out, your gaze hungry for his body. He lifted up your dress, bunching it up at the waist to reveal your torn undergarment. Your sweet pussy was glistening with your arousal and Gojo licked his lips with anticipation. He raised one of your legs over the sofa, leaving the other  to dangle off the side and exposing you completely to him.

“ Touch yourself.”

You brought your fingers to your fold, working your throbbing clit as you closed your eyes. Your body was electric, riled up to the point where you were already so sensitive as you rubbed yourself. Soft whimpers left your lips and Gojo held your knees apart as he watched you masturbate.

“Are you always this quiet?” He teased, “A dirty slut like you begging to be fucked…I’m sure you get louder than that…”

If you weren’t so heated by everything that was going on, you would have been caught off guard by what he was saying but instead you moaned at his derogatory words.

The character you were playing began blending in his mind with your own person, his dear friend, and the thought of you eagerly pleasing him made the blood rush between his legs, his arousal making him harden again.

“You hear that?” Gojo continued, knowing full well how much you enjoy his dirty talk and pointing out the way your pussy squelched as your fingers drove themselves inside you. “You’re so fucking wet and I hardly even touched you. Are you that needy already? Are you that desperate for someone to fuck this pussy of yours?”

“Y-yes…”

“Do you call out my name when you make yourself come? Do you beg for it?”

“ Mmmm, yes, Gojo-san…want you so bad …”

“If you want me to fuck you, you little slut , you’re going to have to tell me how much you want it…”

You gasped, your free hand reaching to massage your breast over your uniform as you finally opened your hazy eyes to meet Gojo’s. Your heart was racing, your body gyrating against his sofa as you slipped your fingers between your folds.

“ Mmahh, Gojo-san, I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want to feel you inside me. P-please, I need you inside me…so fucking bad…I can’t…I ca-” you voice pitched as you increased the speed of your movements, rolling your hips in circles and your dropped your head back against the arm rest.

You came all over your fingers, your orgasm hitting you hard, as you sang your noises of pleasure. You were trembling against the chair, panting heavily as you pulled your fingers from between your legs.

Gojo flipped you on your stomach, unable to hold himself back any longer. Your hands were on the arm rest, your knees pressed into the plush cushion as you spread yourself as wide as you could for him. Usually, Gojo would enjoy taking this time to lick your sweet cunt clean but he was barely holding on himself after what he witnessed.

The tip of his cock teased your lips, before he slipped himself inside you with ease, coating his entire length with your arousal. Your eyes widened as you looked at him over your shoulder with slight panic.

“Satoru, you’re not wearing a…”

“I’ll pull out…” he replied, holding your hips up before snapping roughly into you.

You were dizzy, completely functioning on your urges without giving logic any thought. If it was anyone else, you would have stopped but Gojo wasn’t just anybody and the man had quite the control over his own body.

You cried out feeling your walls clench around him. He was moving hard and fast, fucking you roughly on his sofa, with every push harder than the last and leaving your legs trembling as you tried your best to hold yourself in place for him.

He drags his length out of you, ensuring that you felt every inch before wildly plunging back inside. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs against your stockings, your nails digging into the sofa as you whimpered.

Your drenched cunt made it so much easier for Gojo to fuck you but his slightly sadistic mind was forcing you to feel it more.

Your toes curled inside your pointed heels, your back arching as speckles of black clouded your vision. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your hips jerked when your orgasm compounded into you, making you drop down to your forearms as you were unable to counter your explosive release.

Gojo was covered in your juices and with a few sloppy thrusts he finally pulled himself out before finishing himself off by pumping spurts of cum all over your back, decorating your outfit with his release.

The man didn’t stop there. Instead, he flipped you onto your back bringing his hands to the buttons of the top half of your dress and ripping it apart.

Your chest was bare, covered in a bra that he tugged down until it was resting underneath your breasts. He brought his insatiable lips to your mound, rolling your pointed nipple between his thumb and index finger before closing his mouth over the other nub.

You were shaking underneath him, unable to handle any more stimulation as he pinched one nipple and peppered the other with kitten licks.

Gojo did it until he was hard again, leaving marks all over your breasts as he pushed himself inside you. He held your legs apart but you barely had anymore energy to keep up with him. Instead you kept him motivated with your pleasured mewls, praising him for all his glory.

“ Harder, please…harder….”

Gojo stopped, holding himself inside you and feeling you pulsate against him. He ensured to drag the seconds out making you whimper with impatience as you were desperate to have him continue.

“ Gojo-saaan…” you pleaded, tears pricking  your eyes as you wailed for mercy. “Don’t stop fucking-ahhhhhhh …”

You couldn’t even finish until he was thrusting inside you again. Fucking you to the heavens and back with the same intensity he did earlier. When he pulled out of you as he climaxed, he finished himself off all over your cunt, marking you with his essence.

***

Steam covered the glass door surrounding you, the warmth engulfing your body as you and Gojo stood in the hot shower together. Your body was sore but in the most pleasant way possible and you allowed the water droplets to massage your skin, closing your eyes as you exhaled and enjoying the amazing pressure from Gojo’s  shower.

You only opened your eyes when you felt Gojo’s large palm on your stomach, bringing you into his torso as he leaned down and kissed your ear.

“Did you have fun?”

The knot in the pit of your stomach twisted, sending shivers down your back from his question. He treated you with so much kindness after you both slept together. He sang you praises, telling you over and over how good you were to him as he took his time to clean you up, not allowing you to even lift a single finger while he used the time to focus on taking care of you instead.

You turned around to face him, your eyes gazing up at that unjustifiably handsome face that was uncovered because he had his hair slicked back.

“Surprisingly, I did…” you teased with a smile, placing your hands on him, as you delicately traced your fingers up and down his forearms.

His height was overbearing now that you didn’t have your heels on, and the sorcerer found himself tilting down just to look at you. His fingers pressed into your lower back as the silence filled the space between you both. Gojo used it as an opportunity to bring his lips down to meet yours, indulging himself with a kiss. He picked you up in his strong arms, before holding you against the grey tile of his bathroom wall. You moaned into his mouth, playing with his tongue as your hands reached for his neck.

“So, tell me, angel… ” he whispered into your mouth in between a kiss. “What kind of fantasies do you have?”

“Uhm, I don’t really have any fantasies…”

You felt his fingers underneath your chin, tilting your head back so you were looking him in the eye.

“You know, if you tell me , I can return the favor…” he stated, flashing his pearly whites as he gave you an easy grin.

“You’ll think it’s stupid…”

“Try me.”

You rested your head against the tile, playing with the back of Gojo’s hair as you cleared your throat.

“Uhm, so , back in college there was this professor that I had. He was extremely good looking, I think everybody in our class had a crush on him. I realised I did too because everytime I would try speaking with him, I always jumbled up my words or said the wrong thing. It was super awkward…I mean, he wasn’t awkward but I definitely was…”  

A small laugh escaped you but Gojo was still listening attentively.

“Anyway, I never told anyone. I was with Haru and always felt like I was being a terrible girlfriend because I was just so attracted to my professor. He was also the sweetest guy, was married and had three kids…” you sighed as Gojo grazed his hand across your thigh, blushing before admitting, “…but I used to think about him taking me on his desk all the time. Like, it got to the point where I had to drop his class because he was too much of a distraction…”

Gojo chuckled, “oh, you dirty slu-OW!”

You tugged at his earlobe, pouting to stop yourself from laughing at his snide comment.

“That’s what you get,” you replied, before loosening your grip and dropping your hand to his pecs.

“Relax, it takes a slut to know one. There is no need to get offended!” he teased, shifting the joke onto himself and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, so you’ve got a little thing for a teacher/student scenario?”

“Just a little…”

Gojo brought his lips to your neck, planting small kisses upwards until he murmured against your ear.

“As a teacher myself, it will be my utmost pleasure to be your sensei for an evening,”

“You don’t have to…”

“You're not forcing me, angel. I want to,” Gojo insisted, his lips now hovering above yours. “Besides, I’m your friend, right ? We take care of each other, that’s what friends do.”

You nodded in agreement, your eyes dropping down to his lips as you patiently waited to taste him on your tongue.

“Since you did a stellar job with me tonight, let me do the same for you… ” he whispered, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at it gently.

You squeezed your legs tighter around his torso as you held him close, feeling faint when Gojo kissed you again like he was pulling the oxygen straight out of your lungs.

And yet, you had no desire to let him go.

***

CHAPTER 13: SPINNING

[kujakumai]

cleaned up old WIP, 2800 words, AU where Yami Bakura succeeds in switching hosts in DK and Mokuba makes friends with an evil ghost. Not going to be continued but it literally would not leave my brain alone until I finished it.

Things were not going according to plan.

The plan was to take control of a soulless puppet, an easy vessel incapable of interfering with his ends. He had the vessel, had accomplished that much, but he was not expecting the pharaoh and his little friends to succeed and convince Pegasus to give everyone their souls back. So now not only was there a second person in this body he had to keep suppressed, but now he was stuck impersonating a child, smiling through an awkward reunion and then placed onto a helicopter next to a gangly high school student who was watching him like a hawk.

The spirit-that-was-no-longer-Yami-Bakura knew that he was supposed to be Mokuba, but he did not remember the tall one's name. K-something. He had a stupid jacket and hardly took his eyes off him the entire ride, as if he thought his little brother was going to disappear in a puff of smoke when he wasn't looking. Annoying. Infuriating. Luckily it did not seem he wanted to talk, or at least accepted silence. No one expects recent kidnapping victims to say much, which was a boon. A little dazed, a little quiet, a little off, and no one really found it unusual.

They dropped off the pharaoh and his friends, and finally landed at a gaudy and ostentatious house so large it took him a second to realize it was a home at all, an absurd monument to decadence with grounds full of ugly topiaries. Wealth, then. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. He could work with this. The rich kid in the stupid coat quietly held his hand the entire walk up the driveway, until they entered a foyer just as gilded and obscene as the outside had been.

No, things were not going to plan, and playing grade-schooler was awkward and an insult to his dignity, and he was farther away from the other millennium items as he ever had been. He would have to grit his teeth through it until he could figure out the next step. In the meantime, perhaps, enjoy some amenities.

Richie rich sighed, relaxed his shoulders the moment they got inside. He looked at who he thought was his little brother and gave him a small, exhausted but genuine smile. He struggled with what to say next.

"Mokuba," he said, "I have to check on a few things in my office. See what kind of damage they did. Do you want to come with me?"

"No." Finally, a chance to be out of this idiot's sight.

This answer seemed to surprise him, a twitch of skepticism. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

He nodded. Keep answers short, when you're impersonating.

His face betrayed more skepticism, concern, and the tiniest hint of disappointment. As if rich kid himself was the one who was scared to be alone in his own house. He accepted the answer, though, to the spirit's relief.

Rich kid bent down and pulled him into a tight hug and ruffled his hair. "We'll get something special for dinner, okay? And ice cream."

"I do like ice cream." This was true. Ryou Bakura almost never bought ice cream, and when he did it was the stupid healthy kind that everyone knew shouldn't even really qualify as ice cream, which was another reason he was a terrible host. That and the fact that he was startlingly pale and had the upper body strength of a limp noodle and the personality of skim milk. This would be better, even if he had to deal with the abrupt drop in height.

Rich kid headed off towards the staircase with another tired but trying-to-be-reassuring smile, and it was then that the spirit of the ring felt an annoyance in the back of his brain. A presence. A scratching, biting, flailing presence, screeching mad, which he had been suppressing for a while now but finally broke through.

get out get out get out get out give it back its MINE get out

The host, awake. What a bother. More rambunctious than Bakura, then? No matter. He could handle a child.

that was MY hug and MY headpat and MY big brother and you can't have them he's been gone for ages and they're mine not yours get out get out get out

The spirit pushed back, ignored him. Shush. He had planned to hold this body alone, and he did not intend to go back to sharing. If you're good, I might let you have it back for a little while later.

shut up go away go away go away go AWAY

And then Mokuba Kaiba did something, something the spirit was not accustomed to or expecting at all, something which Ryou Bakura had never been willing or able to do. He shoved, violently, and the spirit of the ring was ripped out of control with some amount of panic.

"SETOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Why you insolent little--

Seto Kaiba was not aware of the mental turf war happening over his little brothers body. What he did see was his brother scream his name and fall down, and the whole room echoed with a metal clatter as his briefcase fell on the floor and he ran towards him.

--

The ring had been discarded unceremoniously to a side table, and not-Bakura-and-not-Mokuba-either had no choice but to wait and observe, as a pediatrician on a sudden housecall shined lights in the boy's eyes and rich kid, who the spirit had since gleaned was named Seto Kaiba, looked on in worry.

"You said you heard a voice?" The doctor asked.

"Uh-huh. I think it lives in the necklace."

"You got that thing at Pegasus's house?" Kaiba asked, in disbelief.

"I don't remember. I was just wearing it when I woke up."

"What did the voice say?" the doctor continued, professionally ignoring any talk about magic necklaces.

"Not a lot. It was kind of mean."

"I see." She turned to Kaiba. "He's fine, physically. You might want a psychologist." and Seto Kaiba made what could politely be referred to as A Face. This was not what he wanted to hear, this was news that worried and annoyed him in equal measure, and to some degree was news he had half-expected.

"He's had a rough few months. I'll look into it." and she was dismissed, and Mokuba hopped down from the counter.

"Can we order pizza?" he asked, with big pleading eyes.

Kaiba watched him with dry amusement. "Mokuba, you can have anything you want from any restaurant in a forty mile radius."

"And I want pizza. Real pizza, from somewhere that doesn't also serve caviar."

"Cheap pizza?"

He nodded very seriously. "The grossest greasiest cheapest."

"I can do that. Anything else you want?"

Mokuba's eyes lit up, and soon he was dragging Kaiba by the hand towards somewhere else in the house. "I got to this really hard level in my game I can't get past and I wanted to see if you could beat it, and I found this really cool video I wanted to show you, and I got a really good report card you never saw, and--" and months worth of pent up requests were tumbling out rapid fire, and Kaiba was smiling with affection and some amount of relief.

Loud and clingy, then, was the normal and expected behavior. The spirit of the ring made note of this, as he lie abandoned.

--

The ring was still sitting on a side table, in Mokuba's bedroom, apparently because no one knew what to with it or thought it mattered much. This was a problem. The spirit couldn't do anything without a host, and now everyone was suspicious, these stupid rich people worried too much and paid too much attention.

He was forced to sit there all night, pondering about how he was going to get out of this mess, when at one or two in the morning he observed Mokuba wake up, and rub his eyes, and hop out of bed. He did not turn the light on, but he did check the time, and reach under his bed to retrieve what appeared to be a small backpack. He took it with him as he moved quietly towards the door, and the spirit saw his chance.

Hey, kid. He was near enough to speak into his head. Maybe this wasn't a dead end.

"You!" Mokuba stopped in his tracks and looked right at the ring.

Yes, me. This could be salvaged, he thought, concocting a plan. This was a child. Play friendly ghost and imaginary friend. Surely it would not be hard to weasel himself into the good graces of a sixth grader.

Mokuba glared at the ring with suspicion. "I don't think Seto believed me when I said you could talk, but I knew it." He picked it up delicately by the string to examine.

Where on earth are you going at this time of night?

Mokuba was the current host, technically, so there was a connection, and 11 year olds are not particularly used to or adept at hiding their own thoughts, especially inside their own heads. The answer, if not in words but in abstract concept, was provided instantly as it bubbled to mind. He was going to the kitchen, as he did once or twice a week, not their personal kitchen but the house staff kitchen, where he would move a chair to stand on the counter to reach the very back of the highest shelf of the third cupboard to the left, which was where one of the cleaning staff kept a pile of chocolate so he could cheat on his diet without his wife knowing, a fact Mokuba knew through surreptitious eavesdropping. Mokuba's end was to steal just enough of it that he wouldn't be noticed, and add it to a stash of snacks and other shiny trinkets currently hidden in the bottom of a pile of legos in his closet.

...You steal food to hide in your closet? Why would a child who lived in a three-story mansion need to steal?

Mokuba was only mildly perturbed by the fact that someone had just read his mind. He was mainly curious, now. "Our dad didn't like junk food, so I always took stuff to keep around." he explained, "I guess I don't really have to anymore, 'cuz Seto will let me have whatever I want, but--" he faltered, unable to finish or give a reason.

There wasn't a reason, and Mokuba knew that. There was no need to sneak or stash or steal anymore, but he kept doing it, irrationally, for reasons that confused him, a complicated swirl of things a child could not name or understand but were very easy for the spirit to read. Fear; compulsion; habit; the illusion of safety; the sense that your life was precarious, unstable; a need to exert control over your surroundings. It was not the food or the stealing that mattered, but of the hiding, of having something they could not take away from him.

Mokuba didn't understand any of that, because he was 11 and 11 year olds don't understand why they do anything. He just knew he liked sweets and hated people telling him what to do and that having bags of chips and other people’s lost jewelry at the bottom of an old toybox made him feel better.

Can I come with you?

"No! You tried to take control of me!"

Yes, but you kicked me out, and you'd probably be able to do it again, so I would be stupid to try. I also like chocolate, you see, and it's very boring to be stuck here on your desk.

"Can you even eat? You're a necklace."

I can when I borrow a body.

"You tried to take over me so you could eat chocolate? I'm not stupid enough to believe that."

That and other things. I can't do very much at all, while stuck in the ring. No food, no sunshine, no running around. It's no fun to be without a body, which is why I am occasionally driven to steal one. Terribly sorry about that. he added, in his most pathetic-sounding tone, Please? I don't have anyone else to talk to.

Mokuba was hesitant, but clearly found the fact of his existence too interesting to ignore. "Fine." He picked up the ring and dropped it unceremoniously into his backpack, which had a dragon on it.

Not trust yet, but tolerance and curiosity. One step at a time.

You shouldn't go barefoot, you know. Socks will be quieter if you're trying not to get caught.

"I didn't ask you."

So Mokuba descended down the stairwell, in the dead quiet and dark of the Kaiba Mansion, with no flashlight because he knew it well enough to navigate blindfolded. The place was decadent in the ugly way rich people's houses were, luxury but without taste, soft carpets and gilded banisters.

Mokuba had not quite realized yet how to think at the ring, so he spoke in a low whisper. "What are you, anyway?"

A ghost. So much more complicated than that, but simple words were suitable for children.

"How'd you end up a ghost in a necklace?"

I died, and then someone put me in a necklace.

"That's not an answer." he followed up, "Do all dead people become ghosts?"

No. Just sometimes, maybe, if the way they died was especially violent or gruesome or terrible.

Mokuba frowned. He had caught on remarkably quickly to guarding his own head, but the spirit could tell he didn't like this answer.

This was delicate, but he risked a push. Was there someone you had in mind?

Mokuba said nothing. He reached the staff kitchen on the lowest floor, and opened the door, slow and careful. He was deciding whether to say anything, as he climbed up as quietly as he could and reached far into the back of the cupboard, scrabbling.

"Our dad killed himself last year. Jumped out a window." He finally said, hopping down with his spoils. He said this the same way one might dolefully report the milk had gone bad. Unfortunate but boring.

You don't sound very sad.

"Nah, he sucked. And he never liked me." he said, "Seto was really really upset though. He was pretending not to be, but I could tell." Now there were feelings there, big and weird and sad and clinging ones. For reasons the spirit could not discern, the simple phrase ‘Seto was upset’ carried with it more weight, a thousand million times more weight, than news of a father's tragic death by defenestration. "I hope he's not a ghost. I don't wanna see him again."

Probably not.

Mokuba sat down cross-legged on the kitchen floor, unwrapped candy in silver foil. "You really can't do anything from in the necklace? Like, ghost stuff? Make things float or anything?"

No. It is a bit like being trapped in a very small box.

Mokuba mulled this over for a little while. "If you wanted to borrow a body to do fun stuff, you could have just asked."

Really?

He nodded. "Not being able to eat chocolate sounds lame. It'd be mean to just leave you like that." He put one chocolate into his mouth and dumped the rest in the backpack, where they covered the ring unceremoniously. More indignities. "Not in front of my brother, though. And you have to give it back whenever I say so."

...I could agree to such a compromise. Your candy haul is impressive, by the way.

"Thanks!" He grinned, emanating genuine pride. No one had ever complimented him for stealing before.

Tragic, the work of great thieves. How the very best of it can never be bragged about, the most impressive of skills gone unnoticed by nature, how the very success of a perfect crime relies on keeping your mouth shut about it. An unappreciated art, where even mastery gains you no respect.

You don't care that this poor man has to go out and buy twice as much food to make up for what you steal?

"No, he's a jerk. One time when I was six they confiscated my gameboy, so I went to steal it back and he caught me and told my dad and I got in huge trouble. So every day for a week I snuck down here and moved his keys to a different place so he couldn't find them. They were all so mad at him for losing them all the time, and he thought he was crazy."

Why was your gameboy confiscated?

"Don't remember. I think I bit someone at school." he shrugged, "They probably deserved it, though."

Mokuba Kaiba. he said, I think you and I are going to be excellent friends.

"Okay. Do ghosts watch cartoons?"

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [five] // daisy johnson

summary: the longer Daisy spends with you, the more you realise that maybe nine years isn't enough time to get over her.

warning/s: mentions of PTSD.

author's note: this is the final part, but it was a little long so i’ve put it into two posts. hopefully the daisy stans appreciated it 😊

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | masterlist | wattpad

I woke with a start, immediately feeling my hair sticking to the nape of my neck and the need to shake off my duvet.

The fear of my nightmare still implanted in the pit of my stomach made me reach for my bedside lamp. I half expected someone to grab my hand in the dark, my imagination working overtime to scare the living hell out of me, but nothing happened except for the lamp turning on.

I sat up in bed and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. It was just a dream, nothing real. And I knew that, logically, since I was in my childhood bedroom instead of a dark torture chamber. Yet I couldn't stop crying and imagining the worst.

It was getting worse – the nightmares, the anxiety, the nausea. Ever since Daisy and my mum had told me to see a therapist, I knew it was getting worse, but I still hadn't done anything about it. Clearly, things had to change.

Barely thinking about, I found myself grabbing my phone and dialling Daisy's number. I hadn't spoken to her since she came over, and it was my fault things had been left on a bad note. That was only last week and I felt like an idiot as I heard the phone ringing.

"Hello?" her groggy voice came through, and I immediately felt bad.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I tried to silence my heavy breathing. "Hey, Daisy. It's, er, it's Y/N. I'm sorry, I– I didn't mean to wake you. I–"

"Y/N?" she asked, voice laced with fatigue and confusion. "Are you okay? What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," I said quickly, trying to maintain my shakiness. I brought my legs up to my chest and wrapped an arm around them tightly. "I'm at home. I just–" I flinched, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry, did I wake you? My parents gave me your number and I– I didn't know what else to do–"

"You don't need to apologise," she cut me off, wakening up a little by the sounds of it. "I'm glad you called. What's wrong?"

I smiled dryly, wiping away at my tears. "I, er, you were right about me. I should have–" I breathed out deeply. "I need to talk to someone about... yeah. But right now I... I can't go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to come over? I'm not far and–"

"No, no!" I said quickly, slightly embarrassed. "You don't need to– it's the middle of the night. I just– I don't know what I was expecting. I just didn't want to be alone and I didn't wanna wake my parents and worry them."

"Of course," she said reassuringly. "It's okay. I won't come, but I can stay on the phone with you if you'd like? We can talk. Or we can just stay silent. Anything you want."

I sniffled and put my head between my legs, feeling my shoulders relax a little. The last thing I wanted was to be a bother to her.

"Thanks," I muttered, and I wasn't even sure if she heard it. "I'm sorry for how I acted last week... with this."

"We don't need to talk about it," she said softly, her voice raspy as she'd just woken up. "I just want you to be okay."

I closed my eyes, breathing out quietly. I wasn't sure what to say, but the sound of her voice was instantly reassuring.

It was quiet between us, for at least another minute or so, and all I could hear was her breathing on the other side. As much as I appreciated the company, I knew it was unfair of me to keep her on the phone.

Swallowing hard, I said, "Daisy?"

"Yeah? Are you okay?"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, knowing I wasn't. "I don't think–" I sighed awkwardly. "I won't be falling asleep any time soon and I– er, you should go. I don't want to keep you on here for no reason."

"It's not for no reason," she reassured. "I'll stay on until you fall asleep, Y/N. You'll get tired eventually."

"But if I don't–"

"I'll stay on."

I nodded, despite her being unable to see me. "Thank you..."

It went quiet again, and I felt my heart rate returning to its normal pace as I distracted myself with the sound of Daisy's breathing. It wasn't hard to tire myself to the sound, as I was already exhausted, just scared. But when I closed my eyes and let her breathing comfort me, it almost felt like she was right next to me, and my fear slowly faded away.

—

When I woke up the next morning, I was drooling on my phone screen as the sun streamed through my curtains. When I wiped my mouth, a yawn escaped my lips and I moved my phone from my pillow, confused to why it was there. But then I remembered the early hours of that morning and felt my face flush with embarrassment. I checked the screen, seeing the call wasn't still on, but there was a text from Daisy.

Daisy: hey, Y/N, I hope you feel better in the morning. I figured you wouldn't want to wake up to me on the phone, so I hung up. Please don't be angry, but I'm on my way over to see you. I just want to make sure you're okay.

That message was sent fifteen minutes ago, so I wouldn't put it past Daisy to already be outside. It was embarrassing, don't get me wrong, but I appreciated that she cared enough to check on me, even after I'd treated her disrespectfully.

I'd just managed to brush my teeth when Daisy arrived. My mum called me downstairs, claiming it was for me, and I tried not to fidget in my pyjamas as I descended the stairs and saw Daisy waiting by the front door. When she saw me, a relieved smile was on her lips.

"Hey," she began quietly, hesitant to say more in case I was mad.

I exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing at the sight of her. She'd helped me more than she'd known, and with that thought in my mind, I moved forward and hugged her gratefully.

"Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder, closing my eyes as my arms laced around her neck.

She returned the hug and I sensed her surprise.

"Anytime, Y/N," she replied with a squeeze. "I just want you to be okay."

I nodded, lingering for a moment longer than I probably should have, before pulling away. She searched my eyes with a hint of concern and I subconsciously grabbed her hand and kept ahold of it.

"I'm gonna book an appointment with a therapist," I told her, the thought terrifying me in itself, but I knew it was the right thing to do. "And I wanted to ask if you... would you..." I swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Will you please come with me?"

"Of course I will," she promised, squeezing my hand and earning my attention. "I'll be with you whenever you want." She blinked, clearing her throat with realisation. "I mean, for the appointments, obviously."

Thankfully, her messy words brought a smile to my face and reassured me about the whole therapy thing.

"Thank you," I said, finding it cute how she was the one to avoid my eyes now. "Since you're here, you may as well stay for breakfast. If you're not busy, that is."

"Breakfast. Sure. I'd love to."

I didn't let go of her hand as I tugged her towards the kitchen to join me.

—

Having Daisy back in my life was probably the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

Not only had she literally saved my life as Quake, but she was also saving my life every day after. Whether it was accompanying me to my therapist appointments or hospital appointments, or hanging out with me way more than she needed to, she was more present in my life. I didn't ask her to – it only began when I'd asked her to come to my first therapist appointment – but she'd chosen to. And I didn't want to question it because I'd missed her more than I cared to admit.

My parents took her in as family like no time had passed and I was accepting her back into my life, too, but I didn't want to get too attached. She had a job to do at the end of the day, and knowing Daisy, she wouldn't stay for too long. I guess, in the back of my head, there was still that expectation of her picking up and leaving, just like she used to. Which was silly, since that was years ago, but still...

Despite her presence in my life again, we'd been avoiding talking about what we'd missed in each other's lives. The specifics anyway. I knew she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and found her family, and she knew I became an investigative journalist and did many news packages on different topics, but I didn't know anything more and neither did she. I wasn't sure if it was on purpose or if we just avoided it without thinking, but I knew we had to face the music soon.

We were getting coffee after she picked me up from one of my therapy sessions when I brought it up.

"So, my therapist has been helping me with some stuff," I began, staring at my coffee as we walked back to my house. "Stuff outside of my PTSD, that is."

"Oh?" Daisy asked, and I could see her looking at me in the corner of my eyes. "Like what?" 

I took a sip of my coffee, trying not to feel embarrassed as I answered, "Well, we obviously talk about my life. And what happens in it. Who I'm with..."

"Yeah..." Daisy was grinning now.

I rolled my eyes, wishing my face wasn't as warm as it felt. "She noticed you've been dropping me off and picking me up and... you may have come up in conversation."

"Ah, so you talk about me," she said slowly, trying very hard not to laugh. "Did you tell her how amazing I am? Or how beautiful, charming and funny I am?"

I sighed, finally lifting my eyes to look at her. Brown eyes twinkled with amusement as she gave me her usual teasing smile, making me shove her in the shoulder gently. Laughter spilled from her lips and I hated the butterflies in my stomach at the sound.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, falling into step with me again. "You were saying. Go on."

Looking back ahead as we walked, I said, "Yes, well, we talked about you. And then she recommended that I try to catch up with you more. You know? Because we both talk so much about the good old days and even now, but not the in between. Not the parts that we weren't there for."

I looked back to Daisy when I finished, and she thankfully lost her amusement as she nodded in agreement. I half expected her to take the piss, but she was supportive as she glanced at me.

"I like the sound of that," she said, easing the nerves in my stomach. "So. What do you want to know?"

I cleared my throat, taking another sip of my drink and thinking of where to start. "Okay, erm... why don't we start with your S.H.I.E.L.D. friends? They're your family and I would love to get to know them better. What are they like?"

She nodded thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "S.H.I.E.L.D., okay. Well, you met Jemma. She's basically my sister. Her and Fitz – I think I mentioned him before?" I nodded, recalling her throwing in the name in one of her stories. "They're together and they've been with me since I was recruited a few years ago. We've been through a lot together, but they've got my backs and I've got theirs."

I smiled at the carefree expression on her face. Just talking about them put her at ease and I felt a little better knowing that her time after high school wasn't completely terrible like I imagined.

"Then there's Coulson, of course," she continued, glancing at me every now and then to see if I was listening. "He's basically our dad. He's the reason I'm even with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he's always looking out for me, even when I'm doing stupid stuff."

"So, regularly then."

She nudged me in the arm at my comment, making me chuckle.

"He was how I learnt about my family," she explained. "There for me when I found them. When I got my powers. When I lost my family... he's been there through it all. I'd do anything for him."

I watched her carefully. "He sounds important to you."

Her lips curved into a small smile as brown eyes met mine. "He is."

She continued to tell me about the rest of her team and what everything was like at work, and the whole time she did, she was smiling.

"I'd love for you to meet them all," she finished, and I was surprised at the hint of nervousness in her voice. I didn't think she ever got nervous. "I mean, you've met Jemma, but the others– you should meet them, too. If you want to, that is."

"I'd like that," I said instantly, appreciating the way her eyes lit up and she tried very hard to hide her smile.

She cleared her throat, distracting from the pink spreading on her face, before asking, "So, you basically know about everything interesting that's happened to me these past nine or so years. What about you? Anything life-changing occur for you?" I opened my mouth to answer, and she added, "Apart from travelling around the world and being an investigative journalist?"

I feigned offence. "I hardly think that's fair. That's like me asking you not to talk about working for S.H.I.E.L.D. or being Quake."

Rolling her eyes playfully, she said, "Go on. Tell me something different."

I looked away from her in thought, thinking back to the past nine years. "I guess... oh, I know. I was almost married."

Her jaw dropped. "You were what?"

A laugh escaped my lips at her intrigued expression. She shook her head with disbelief.

"I have to know more," she insisted, before raising her brows. "You? Almost married?"

"It does sound strange," I agreed with amusement, before recalling the event. "It was about two years ago. I was with this guy who worked at the same paper I did. We'd been together for about a year and–"

"–and you realised he had a second family in the Bahamas?" she finished with a roguish grin.

"Very funny." I narrowed my eyes jokingly. "But no. I just realised I didn't love him. Well, I wasn't in love with him."

"Ouch."

"Ouch indeed." I paused, remembering the poor guy's face when I broke the news to him. "It was a month into the engagement when I told him the truth. He was very understanding, but–"

"–but you broke his poor little heart," she concluded, before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and tugging me closer. "Dear Y/N. The heartbreaker."

"Fuck off."

She laughed when she saw me attempting to fight a smile from my lips. Though eventually, one appeared anyway. Daisy always had the ability to bring out the best in me like that – I'd missed it.

"How about you anyway?" I asked, hoping for an opportunity to tease her in return. "Any boyfriends or girlfriends I should know about? Crazy exes, maybe?"

She snorted, swallowing her coffee before giving me a knowing look. "You're gonna need to brace yourself for this one. I doubt you'll believe me when it comes to this."

I rose an eyebrow with curiosity. "Damn, you've got me hooked, Johnson. Proceed."

And of course, that was the first and last time I heard about Agent Grant Ward. An interestingly dark tale of a dickhead of a man whose existence I was glad was no more.

"...so, do I win?" Daisy asked once she finished talking about him.

"Win what?"

She stared like it was obvious. "The best ex story, duh!"

"Wow." I snickered, shaking my head. "I guess you do."

Fist-pumping like an idiot, she said, "Knew it. Nothing ever beats homicidal psychopath almost-boyfriend."

"You need help."

"No, no I don't. I have you."

"Uh-huh."

"Love you, too." 

—

Three months passed since returning from Myanmar and I was finally in a place where I could return to work. Even though I'd been putting together my research and interviews into a coherent news story at home, I hadn't physically been back to the newsroom in about a year.

My therapist had been helping me to treat my PTSD, my physical therapy was helping me get back function in my shoulder and arm, and the injury itself was almost healed, though I still had to wear a cast. Everything was actually beginning to look up.

I'd even sent off the complete news series about what I'd discovered in Myanmar to my editor which got published just before I returned to work. So, of course, as soon as I got there, that was the first thing everybody congratulated me on.

"Views have been going through the roof," Taylor, my colleague and closest friend at work, said as soon as he spotted me walking to my desk. "Your story is all anybody has been talking about!"

"Good to see you, too," I joked, an attempt to disguise my embarrassment at all the attention. "It's only been a year since we last saw each other."

He gave me a grin. "You know I missed you, Y/L/N, get over here."

I rolled my eyes playfully but accepted his hug, being careful of my shoulder. He squeezed me gently before letting go and perching himself on the edge of my desk as I took a seat. It felt strange to be back, but a good strange.

"I still can't believe you're actually here in the flesh," he said after a moment, eyeing me suspiciously. "I've been so used to quick calls and texts where I try to convince you not to do stupid stuff."

Chuckling, I shot him an appreciative smile. "You know I'm grateful for that. Even if I didn't listen."

"You not listening helped you get the best story though," he countered. "I bet you didn't expect S.H.I.E.L.D. to make the bust in the end though."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Definitely not. But I owe them a lot. They saved my life."

His expression softened. "That's another thing... thanks for not dying on me."

"You're welcome," I returned, though appreciated what he meant. "Now. Catch me up on everything I missed. Gossip an' all."

That was enough for him to pull up a seat and remind me of everything I'd missed whilst being away. We'd spoke many times whilst I was gone, but nothing quite beat a good bitching session in person.

Eventually though, our editor ended up interrupting and asked to see me in her office. I wasn't worried in the slightest, but there was still that tiny part of me that imagined the worst.

"You can stop holding your breath, y'know," Karla told me when I stopped before her desk. She seemed amused as she added, "I wanted to congratulate you on the human trafficking story."

Relaxing my shoulders, I raised my brows. "Oh. I– thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"You put a lot on the line to get the results you did, but it shows," she continued proudly. "You've made an excellent name for yourself and done your fellow journalists proud."

"I didn't do it for that," I said politely, "but thank you. I just wanted to help those people in Myanmar the best I could."

She smiled. "And you did."

"Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. did."

"But you shared the truth, didn't you?" she reminded me. "Don't belittle this achievement."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet and watched as she took a seat at her desk chair.

"I heard that it was Quake who saved you back there," she said curiously. "You know, we've never actually gotten an interview with her. Nobody has."

Oh, so that's what she actually wanted.

"I thought, well, since you know her, you could get us an exclusive?" she asked.

I chewed on my lip. "Erm..."

"You don't have to," she added, noticing my reluctance. "But it could be good for everyone. The city can get to know its hero, you can get a great interview under your belt. And our paper gets all the views. What d'you say?"

I was beginning to regret putting that one quote from Daisy in my article now... I should have known Karla would want more. That was the thing with editors – you give them one taste and they want to eat the whole thing.

"I'll ask," I decided, which she seemed to love. "No harm in asking, but I can't promise anything."

Karla leaned back in her seat, nodding. "Very true. Thank you for understanding. I'll let you settle back into work now. Remember to take it easy, yeah? Don't want to lose my best journalist from overworking herself."

I smiled awkwardly as she laughed, before nodding in response and leaving her office.

It wasn't that I didn't want to interview Daisy, but I didn't want to ruin what we had by asking for a favour. Everything between us was going well, even if it was probably temporary and she'd have to leave soon. I assumed that anyway. And on top of that, I was certain I was falling in love with her again, just like I had nine years ago.

Could you blame me? It was impossible to just remain friends with her when she went through all this extra effort to make sure I was okay. Her kind, considerate, supportive self was always on my mind whether I liked it or not. A girl could dream, right?

After my first day back, Daisy picked me up outside. She insisted when she rang me at lunchtime to make sure I was okay, wanting to know everything about how my first day went. I couldn't find it in myself to say no, so I eventually found her sat on a chair in the lobby when I came downstairs after work.

[seijorhi]

How about a lil overhaul? Maybe his s/o is just someone from america on a trip and cant speak japanese. But he is like. Mine. She was quirkless and was coming to visit Japan to see a family member. Maybe that family member sold her to overhaul to pay off a debt? She is just so confused and cant understand most of the people here, she wants to go back to America.

So I kinda went a little off track with this request, but I hope you like it!

Overhaul x Reader

TW kidnapping, murder, minor blood/gore

Collateral

It’s a bit of a surprise the day that you get your ticket in the mail. You’ve never been particularly close with your uncle. It’s not that you don’t like him or anything, it’s just… you don’t really know him. He’s lived on the other side of the Pacific Ocean since long before you were born, and you’ve only met him face to face a handful of times. 

And now he wants you - just you - to come stay with him for a little while. As long as you want, the return ticket’s flexible, the email says.

Your family’s just as flummoxed as you, he and your dad have never exactly been close - something about a big fallout when they were younger, but he’s the one to convince you to go. 

“Your uncle hasn’t exactly had the easiest life, sweetheart. He’s all alone over there, has been for a long, long time and he’s made a lot of bad decisions in the past but… you’re his only niece,” he sighs, cupping your cheek with a sad smile. “Maybe he wants a fresh start, to build a relationship with you - he’s missed so much of your life.”

It’s not so much his words that get to you, but the wistful look in his eyes as he says them. Your heart aches for him, for them both, and you find yourself nodding along.

A trip to Japan sounds nice. 

Getting to know your uncle sounds even nicer.

A week later, you’re on the plane flying over the Pacific, the nerves in your stomach growing with each mile that passes beneath you. 

It’ll be fine, you reason, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from your skirt as the plane starts its descent into Tokyo. Things might be a little awkward at first, but your uncle wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to make a genuine effort, and your parents were only a phone call away if anything went wrong. 

Not that anything would. He’s family - that means something.

“If it gets too much, you can always come home,” your dad had whispered as you bid him farewell at the gate. 

But when you get off the plane, grab your luggage and make your way out through the gate, there’s no sign of your uncle standing in the crowd. You frown, scanning the arrivals hall again - he called your parents yesterday to tell them he’d be picking you up from the airport.

A flutter of uneasiness teases at your gut, but you force yourself to keep the smile on your face as you continue to scour the throng of waiting friends and family. You did land a little ahead of schedule, and getting through customs had taken less time than you thought, maybe he was just running late, or trying to find a park. Your uncle had given you a phone number to call if anything went wrong but… you don’t want to come across as panicky. It’s only been a few minutes, after all.

You’re so focused on trying to find him that you almost miss the crisply dressed driver holding a sign with your name just by the sliding doors. He doesn’t say anything when you approach cautiously, eyes still darting around like you’re expecting to see your uncle behind him. He doesn’t look like what you expected - not that you were expecting a driver at all - but the clearly expensive black suit and blank stare as he regards you are a little… off putting, to say the least. From your understanding your uncle wasn’t exactly made of money, so why send a driver at all?

“Um, hi… I’m Y/N, did my uncle send you? I-is he not coming?” you say, praying that the man understands English and you’re not making an idiot out of yourself.

The driver nods sharply, “He was unable to collect you himself.”

Oh. 

Your smile falters just a touch, but you find yourself nodding out of politeness. It’s fine. You have all the time in the world to spend with your uncle. “Oh, alright. Um-”

The driver grabs the suitcase from your side before you can stop him, turning abruptly on his heel and walking away, leaving you to rush after him, cheeks dusting pink.

Except the driver doesn’t take you to the small apartment on the outskirts of the city your uncle had told you about. 

***

You’ve never been more terrified in your life. 

It’s been a week, you think - it’s hard to tell when the room they keep you in doesn’t have any windows and the food they deliver doesn’t come at regular intervals.

A week since the driver pulled you shaking from the back seat of the black and manhandled you inside a dark warehouse. A week since you met him.

You still don’t know his name. 

He’s the boss - you’ve figured that much out at least. He was the one whose feet you were tossed at when you arrived - shaking, crying and pleading.

You can still remember the chill that crept up your spine as those impassive gold eyes stared at you, his mouth hidden behind that ridiculous plague mask. Sitting on an old, worn leather couch, dressed in all black save for the grey tie around his neck and the white surgical gloves on his hands, what startled you the most (aside from the mask) was how young he was - he couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than you at the most, and yet every single person in the warehouse was staring at him with the utmost respect.

He’d ignored your tears and the trembling questions that had fallen from your lips as he’d stood and walked a slow circle around you, eyes running you up and down like a vulture eyeing off its prey. He hadn’t touched you, only gesturing once for his subordinates to wrestle you back up into a standing position before he finished his apparent appraisal. 

When he’d spoken it was an order barked coldly in Japanese, but his eyes had flickered back to you as hands had gripped your arms, and in the split second before you were tugged from the room, you could have sworn that there was the faintest hint of dark pleasure shining through.

He’s come to visit you a few times since. He always keeps his distance, sitting on the sole chair in your sterile room as you huddled up on the bed like a frightened kitten, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. 

He seems to enjoy that; your fear. 

It’s the second time he comes to visit that he starts to talk to you - not in English, no, despite you making it abundantly clear you had absolutely no understanding of the language beyond a few conversational phrases, he only ever speaks Japanese.

He seems to enjoy that too - the blank, nervous look in your eyes whenever he starts to speak with you. His tone could be considered light and friendly, conversational almost, if not for the cruel edge to his words that transcends the language barrier - with every word he’s mocking you, and he wants you to know it.

The first time you leave your sterile room it’s when two of his masked entourage come to take you up into what looks like a surgical suite. There’s a man strapped to a gurney under a bright operating light sobbing, thrashing fruitlessly against his binds and immediately there’s a wave of dread that floods your stomach. The two men who took you hold you firmly in place by your shoulders, but you can’t help but jump a little when that familiar voice starts to speak.

He comes out of the shadows, golden eyes fixed solely on you. It’s a speech of some sort, though whether it’s for your benefit, his followers’ or the now screaming man’s before him you honestly don’t know. Sweat builds at your temple as the masked leader lifts his hands and slowly tugs off the white surgical gloves.

You don’t know what’s about to happen, only that you desperately want to stop it. One of the men behind you chuckles and you bite your lip to stifle a cry - there’s no point, you can’t move, you can’t escape this - whatever it is that’s about to happen.

The screams reach fever pitch, the man thrashing hard enough to make the gurney shake, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Your heart skips a beat as the auburn haired leader stares dispassionately down at him and with a sigh - places his bare palm against his flesh.

The result is instantaneous. 

The scream cuts off. Blood splatters over the walls, over you, as the man is simply, brutally, torn apart by the Quirk.

And all the while, the monster simply watches you.

You understand him perfectly this time. It’s a demonstration, a reminder of why one so young sits at the head of an illicit organisation and what exactly the punishment might be should you fail to remember that.

They take you for a shower afterwards, and you’ve never been more grateful for it. You scrub at your skin until it's raw, desperately trying to wash the taint of blood from your skin. It doesn’t seem to make a difference, it stays with you every time you close your eyes.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, clutching tightly at the thin, blanket you’d been given and thinking desperately of home and your family.

He’s sitting in the same plastic chair when you wake up, except this time it’s been pulled up right beside the bed. He regards you silently for a moment, watching as your eyes widen and fear slowly creeps across your features, but you don’t flinch, you don’t try and scamper away. You only pull the blanket up slightly, as if to protect what last vestiges of modesty you have from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks in flawless English.

You jerk back in surprise. He-

What?!

Of course he speaks English. Of course his continued insistence on speaking a language you didn’t understand was nothing more than a ploy to make you feel vulnerable and inferior. 

Utterly isolated.

A spark of anger flashes through you, but you quickly tamp it down, the memory of blood and disassembled body parts all too fresh in your mind.

He seems to be waiting for an answer to his question, so you give a minute nod. You’ve been here long enough to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Your uncle managed to rack up quite the impressive debt from us - a debt he couldn’t pay when it came due. He offered us you, his niece, instead. A pretty, young American girl, Quirkless… pure,” he sighs.

Each word hits you like a slap in the face and you can feel the unshed tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t already figured out, but to be confronted with the truth, that your own flesh and blood (however estranged) had sold you out to save his skin, hurts more than you care to admit. 

Oblivious to your internal suffering, or maybe just indifferent to it, your captor continues. “I had planned on selling you. You’d be surprised what some of the degenerate filth in this city would be willing to pay for some beautiful, defenceless, foreign doll for them to stick their cocks into.”

Something close to amusement flickers in his eyes and he laughs as your face blanches in mute horror. He leans forward, gloved hands reaching for your face and you freeze with a choked gasp-

But he merely brushes at your cheek with the back of his knuckles, collecting a single stray tear that had slipped from your eyes without you even realising. “You don’t need to look so worried, Y/N. I thought you would have realised by now - you’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, and I’ve figured out a much better use for you.” It’s hard to tell with the gaudy mask obscuring half his face, but you could swear that beneath it all, your captor’s grinning. “My pretty little pet.”

[clouditae]

First Love | 05

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff | swearing | fear of someone

Word: 2.1k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

You sit in silence, hands rubbing together as the loud chatter rings all around. You’re trying to calm your nerves, but you can’t keep calm. You don’t want to be here. You just want to go back to your dorm and lie in bed for the rest of your life. 

“Y/N?” a voice calls. You stand to your feet as an officer on the other side of the hall opens the door further. “You ready?” When you give a short nod, he says, “All right, follow me.” However, when you are hesitant to follow, he smiles reassuringly and in understanding. 

The chair creaks behind you. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be out here waiting for you,” Yoongi tells you, placing his hand on top of your head as he lightly pushes you towards the officer. 

Entering the small room, the officer closes the door behind him. “Now, Y/N, we believe we have found the suspect, but it’s always best to have the witness confirm. In a second, through this window”—the officer points at the large window that shows nothing but a wall with lines and numbers showing someone’s height—“six people are going to go in, and we are going to need you to identify which person is Mr. Walter. Just state the number you believe is Mr. Walter.” 

You nod in response, hearing a small, “send them in”, and a door opens from inside the room on the other side of the window. Six men walk in, all of similar height, build and complexion line up against the wall. When they turn to face you, your eyes immediately find Leo. He looks mad, even worse than yesterday. You don’t want to be here. You want to leave. 

“Y/N,” the officer begins, standing next to you, “Mr. Walter can’t see you, and when we throw him in jail, he’s going back home to spend time there since he violated the restraining order.” He smiles at you, making you feel a bit more at ease. 

“Number three,” you tell him, voice a bit shaky. 

Everything after that is a blur. The suspects disappear behind the door they came through, the officer is talking you through the following steps, you do some other things you don't remember, and you’re finally leaving the station. 

You stand outside the police station, taking in the biggest gasp of air and wiping away a few tears that fall. You’re done. You’re not going to see him again. That's what you want to believe. That's what you are hoping for. To never see the anger he had in his eyes, never to feel the fear you felt that night. 

There is a tap on the side of your head. Looking up, you see Yoongi standing next to you, eyes looking ahead. “Let's go,” he tells you, walking ahead towards the parking lot. 

You follow, feeling mentally exhausted as you get into the passenger seat. 

Turning the key, his car comes to life. Resting your head against the window, Yoongi puts the car in reverse and drives out of the police station parking lot. The two of you ride in silence, going down the familiar streets that lead towards the dorms where you can collapse into bed and sleep the day away. You might not even go to school tomorrow. As you get closer to the dormitory, Yoongi doesn’t stop. He continues down the street. 

You turn your head to look at him in confusion, but he keeps his eyes on the road and makes no side glance at you. “I’m hungry,” is all he says. After a few minutes of driving, he pulls into the parking lot of a small café. Finding a parking spot, and turning off the car, you follow Yoongi out of the vehicle and into the pastel blue building. 

When you enter, you are met with the instant smell of coffee and pancakes. The smell is so overwhelming it makes your stomach rumble, letting you know just how hungry you are. Inside the café is quite quant. Booths run along one side of the wall, chairs lining around the counter in the center. A few servers walk around, handing plates, picking them up and taking orders. 

You follow Yoongi as he takes a seat in an empty booth. You sit across from him as a waiter comes up and greets you. 

“Good morning,” he begins, pulling out a notepad and pen, “what would you like to drink?”

“Coffee,” Yoongi says, grabbing the menu from behind the ketchup bottle at the end of the table. 

The waiter jots it down, eyes meeting yours as he finishes writing. “Orange juice please,” you tell him, giving a small, exhausted smile. 

He nods, writing your order down before saying, “Will this be a separate check or together?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Yoongi beats you to it, “Together.” 

That catches you off guard, and it’s clearly evident on your face as you can hear the waiter clear his throat and tell Yoongi, “okay” before walking away. 

“Don’t argue,” he tells you, not even glancing up at you as he browses through the menu. 

You want to argue. Tell him that you can pay for yourself, but you don’t want to cause a scene, so you decide to not argue with him and to pay him back once you’re given the opportunity. You grab the menu, quickly looking through it for something that catches your eye the most. You take a mental note to pay Yoongi back. You hope you can remember to write it down when you get back to your dorm. Whether it be cash or paying him back by food, you will pay him back nevertheless. 

The two of you are back to sitting in silence after the waiter took your order. However, there’s a nagging feeling within you saying you need to thank him for yesterday and today. The voice is telling you how to thank him—creating the scenario in your head before anything could be forced past your lips. 

Finally, the words are coming out, “I want to thank you.” You watch him as he looks up from his phone, eyes meeting yours and immediately your heart is racing. “For helping me yesterday with Leo, for calling the police on him”—you suck in a deep breath—“and for being there for me today.” You look down at your lap, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “I know that you’re only supposed to help me find a boyfriend, but I really appreciate you helping me with this too.” You’re really fighting back the tears. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there to stop him.” 

“Well,” he begins, your attention going up to him as he leans back in his seat, “you can pay me back by getting yourself a boyfriend. I don’t want any other ways of paying me back.” 

You aren’t really sure as to how you should take that statement, but you say nothing and nod as the waiter comes up to your table with your breakfast. For the remaining hour or so, you and Yoongi say nothing. You don’t know what to talk about, and it’s strange that he hasn’t said anything at all. It’s strange even though the two of you haven’t known each other that long. You’re used to him nagging about something you did.

By the time the two of you are done, you’re trying to calm yourself. No matter what you say to yourself, no matter what you imagine, you can’t keep your heart rate at an even pace. Some time in the middle of eating your pancake, you begin to think of this as being a date. You imagine this being your first date as a couple. Him surprising you by knocking at your door and telling you to get dressed, him leading you towards his car with no hint as to where you’re going. He takes you here first, the two of you eat in a comfortable silence, and then when you’re done, he leads you back to the car. From there, everything would be an adventure. An adventure of fun and romance. 

And you’re having such a hard time keeping yourself together. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t utter a word without stuttering like an idiot. So, you keep to yourself until Yoongi pulls up to the dorms, finds a parking spot, and the two of you are out of his car. You want to make a run for your room, but that would be weird and embarrassing for you, so you walk ahead of him, remembering how the two of you aren’t supposed to be seen together. 

Thankfully no one is really up yet, but the front desk’s window is now open as you walk up to the door to your dorm building. Then you remember you don’t have your ID with you to open the door, and so you stand staring inside the building like an even bigger idiot than you were ten minutes ago. You’re about to press the button to call the desk when Yoongi appears next to you, his ID in his hand. He says nothing as you move to the side while he presses his ID to the scanner, hearing a beep and opening the door. You follow in giving a quiet ‘thank you’ before quickly making your way towards the desk. The woman behind the desk smiles at you as you walk up to her. 

“Can I help you?” she questions, pressing the power button to the computer. 

“I got locked out of my dorm room last night,” you tell her. 

“Okay. Can I see your ID?” She holds out her hand for you to give her the ID.

“That’s another problem. My ID is in my room too.”

She slowly nods. “Do you have any ID?” You shake your head and her expression changes. She looks at you like you’re trying to break into someone’s room. “I can’t let you in without any identification to prove you live here.”

You felt your heart drop. “Please,” you whisper. “I can tell you everything about myself. My address, my social security, my date of birth—I’ve had a long night and all I want to do is go to my room and sleep.” Your vision was getting blurry and you know you’re on the verge of crying. Something you did not want to do in front of this stranger. 

She stares at you for a moment, as if she’s contemplating on what to do. Finally, as you wipe your eyes, she says, “Let me see what I can do.” You nod in appreciation, watching her type away at her computer. After a few seconds, she confirms that you live in the dorms. She never tells you how she confirmed this as she opens your door for you. “Try your best to have something next time, okay?”

“I will. Thank you so much.” She only gives you a curt nod in reply as she walks back down the hall towards the staircase. You close the door, feeling relieved that you’re finally alone. Pressing your forehead against the door, you let out a small whimper. 

You’ve felt exhausted before. You’ve felt drained before, but this time… 

This time you feel drained in more ways than one. Mentally. Physically. You want to cry, scream and sleep the entire day away. You just want this weekend to be over and for Monday to come so you can distract yourself and forget all about what happened. As you push yourself off the door, you can see yourself in the reflection from your peripheral. You can’t help but look in the mirror. You forgot you were in your pajamas, wearing Yoongi’s sneakers, and eyes red and puffy from your crying yesterday. You look like a mess. 

You sigh, take off Yoongi’s sneakers and climb into bed—you’ll have to give them back the next time you see him. Pulling the blanket over your body, you burry your head in your pillow and cry yourself to sleep. Just like you did yesterday. 

He was sent to jail. There is nothing to be afraid of. He’s going to jail in his hometown. He’ll be far away from you. There is nothing to be afraid of. 

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. When it closes, followed by the loud bang it usually gives, your bed shakes and the bang sounds like it’s coming from next door. Is Yoongi barely entering his room? Where was he when he entered the building with you?

You like to imagine he was watching over you while you talked with the lady at the front desk, making sure you got to your room. It put you at ease just a bit.

[fakeloveaskblog]

Hi Logan, how do I even start? Save this number, if you want to. I have been supporting Remy through texts for a bit. They have revealed to me some very troubling things in the past. Things like, their boyfriend kicking their cane from under them as a ‘joke’? Those kinds of things.

Virgil, that's his name by the way, also kind of yells at them a lot at times, and tells them they're worthless except for the use he can give to their body and that nobody else will ever love them. They believe they are horrible. They believe they deserve it. They appear to think their disability makes them only a burden to him and nothing else and while I have tried to convince them to the contrary I honestly don't believe I can when they're still trapped by choice in such a toxic environment.

I have tried to help and give them the tools to better their self-esteem and combat that, and send them nice text messages in general, but that hasn't helped in anything more than a superficial level. If you can do something, anything, or could take their case to someone who can something, I'd really appreciate that.

(Words: 2088)

(Talk of U!Virgil)

Logan: "That is...That is" He took a moment to gather himself "That is even worse than I had estimated"

"This must have been happening the other times we met them too right? And we didn't notice anything. We should have- we-" Patty mumbled out. Her voice was shaky.

She had just gotten home half an hour ago or so, she wasn't even fully out of her cosplay makeup. Logan had immediately pulled her into a hug which wasn't uncommon but he'd held onto her so hard it hurt and he’d been close to collapsing into the hug.

All it took was her asking if he was alright for him to tell her everything. He couldn't keep a secret from her even if he tried.

Now they sat in the couch. Logan had his head leaned on her chest and she had moved her arms around his waist. All they'd eaten was some of the leftover pie from Lo's date a few days ago because both of them were far too worked up to even think about cooking.

Patty pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think "Okay well if they're being emotionally abused as what we know suggest then...I..is there even anyone we can contact that could help. I mean there's no- there's no evidence right? Or well- it's just- it's their word against Virgil's and if they won't even say Virgil is abusing them then there's nothing!"

"We can kidnap them" Logan pointed out.

"That we can"

Logan sighed “Do you think talking to them would even make a difference? They seem to already hate me so now it’s even less likely that they’ll listen”

“Well honey you can always try. They go to the same therapist as Janus right? So you can just casually ‘run into them’ right?” She gave him a loving kiss “I know my lil smarty-sweetheart can help them”

He sent her a tired smile “I’ll try”

--

Remy wasn’t as upset from the therapy session as they usually were. It had mostly been discussing how they felt about maybe being poly. They still thought they deserved a smoke break afterwards though so now they sat on bench right outside the entrance, they were on their third cigarette.

They had their head leaned against the back of the bench and was looking up at the greying sky and falling leaves so they didn’t notice when Logan sat down. He kept his distance to not startle them but cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Are you also waiting for someone?” He asked.

They glanced over to him “Girl go fuck yourself with a rake”

“Noted. I will put it in my calender. I for one am here to pick up Janus after his therapy is over for the day. Mayhaps I will show him some more star trek”

“Okay great gal. Then I’m just like waiting for Remus I guess” They pressed the cigarette into their leather jacket to put it out so they could leave as soon as they saw their cru- friend.

Logan inched closer “Is your bruise healing well?”

“Just ‘cause we’re in the same place doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other!” They snapped back.

“Exscuse me, I was simply worried about your physical health”

They rolled their eyes and crossed their arms before mumbling out “It’s fine. It’s whatever. I haven’t done it again so like forget it” 

“I am relieved to hear that”

Silence fell over them. Remy refused to look at him. Logan tried to figure out what was the best way to ask them about Virgil.

“....Your boyfriend did not insult you once you came home right?” He asked them in such a soft tone as if any slight wrong saying would make them implode on themself.

“Girl there you go again with your stupid fucking bullshit. I don’t wanna like talk about it!....Not ‘cause anything happened but ‘cause I hate you! You don’t- we don’t- we’re not friends! Why are you just like forcing yourself in on my private life! It’s like- it’s like fucking stalking!”

Logan reached out his hand to comfort them but quickly stopped himself “I am sorry. I don’t know how to best formulate this but I sincerely don’t mean to upset you like, neither do I know how to not upset you. All I know is that I want you to be okay and that if my partner treated me like yours seem to do I wouldn’t be able to stay”

Remy’s hair fell in front of their face as they leant their head in their plams “You don’t get it” They muttered.

“I am sure I don-”

“IT’S NOT THAT FUCKING EASY! It’s not like I have any savings an-and I’m not able to keep a job and without Virgil I have no way to buy medicine and- Like do you just want me to walk out and become homeless and like starve to death? Is that it? Like even if I wanted to leave, which I don’t, It’s not like I have a choice!”

A quiet sniffle came from them. Logan gave them a moment to gather their breathe.

“I...I didn’t mean to make it sound like leaving was easy” Logan murmured “I understand that you have probably been forced to think like you have no choice but to stay. I am aware of how crippling manipulation like that can be” 

He leaned closer and even though they didn’t look at him he still sent them his most caring look as he continued.

“But I promise you that there are other options. You aren’t stuck. I am willing to let you stay at my apartment for however long you need and if you aren’t comfortable with that I am sure Janus or Remus would let you stay as well. I can even pay for a motel if that would be better. Depending on what part of your disability is making you unable to work I am sure that could be fixed. For example a wheelchair could help! My point is that you do have a choice, even if it’s very understandably hard to think that”

Remy’s shoulders were shaking. Logan gently placed his hand on top of their bony shoulder. Every vein was visible through their light skin.

At just the hint of his touch they flinched away. They stumbled up from the bench and took a few steps away. They looked at him with reddened eyes.

“No. No. Girl you- you just don’t get it! That’s all!” They spat out, their voice was shaky as well “You haven’t like lived with me. Once you or Remus o-or anyone spends enough time with me you’ll realize what an annoying overemotional burden I am! An-and then I’ll get thrown out! Okay!? So-so it’s not really- I don’t actually have a choice ‘cause I’ll just get thrown out. Virgil is the only who will ever bother to deal with me for this long! ‘cause he loves me! And no one else will love me like he does. S-so just shut up!”

Logan stood up as well and took an unsure step towards them. They looked so weak, as if a single push from the wind would make them crumble. 

“It’s okay. I hear what you are saying” Logan assured.

“An-and it’s like- Virgil needs me! And I need him! That’s like how it works! I can’t just leave him! What if- who will calm him down from his panic attacks?! And if I leave what if he gets s-so upset and like anxious he hurts himself! He’s said there was a chance he would!! I can’t risk it! I have to stay! He needs me! I-I need- I can’t- I can’t leave”

Logan nodded along “It’s okay. I understand. I understand”

“You don’t! You’re a idiotic bitch! I hope all your stupid fucking ties get destroyed in the washer!” Remy was close to yelling.

“Harsh but I see your point. To be honest everything you have said has made me even more worried. From my experience a relationship shouldn’t make you feel this way! It shouldn’t make you come up with reasons to stay! It shouldn’t hurt you!” Logan reached out to comfort them once more. “I promise it shouldn’t hurt”

“It’s not hurting me! YOU are hurting me!”

Logan was taken aback. He didn’t know what to say. His arms moved to hang helplessly along his sides. Remy opened their mouth to say something more but then

“Hey uh what’s going on? Are you roleplaying a death match?” Remus stood in the entrance to the building. He glanced between the two of them.

“This idiot is trying to destroy my relationship!” Remy exclaimed.

“While it is not my place to explain the full situation without their permission I can assure you that I am merely worrying for their mental and physical health and I am unsure if their relationship is good for them from what I’ve heard” Logan explained.

Remus barely even hesitated before moving in front of Remy. He moved his arms out and let them lean against him to catch their breathe, like he was a human shield protecting them from Logan. 

Logan hadn’t seen Remus angry before and he didn’t look fully enraged, but there was a hint of anger in eyes as he sneered at him.

“Well I’m sorry Loganson but not every relationship is totally perfect and works without any arguments like you and your wife relationship apparently does!” He spat out.

“I can assure you that me and my wife’s relationship hasn’t been argument free but that doesn’t mean I have ever even thought about insulting her like Remy’s boyfriend seemingly ha-”

“You’re not Remy!” Remus snapped “You’re a guy who dresses like a 40 year old math teacher who is losing the children in the divorce! Leave them alone!” 

Remy was bordering on cowering behind Remus. Their whole body seemed to shake as a few tears spilled down their cheeks. They met Logan’s eyes.

“If the bullshit you’re saying is true, which it like isn’t but if it was that- that means I’ve spent my whole life being abused” They forced out through tears “How can you Ever you expect me to live with that?”

Logan didn’t have an answer to that. He watched on as Remus placed his hands on Remy’s shoulders and gently guided them to turn away. He bonked their foreheads together and wiped their tears away.

“C’mon beanie-boo I can take you to the amusement park to cheer you up! Or we can find some lsd and get high so you can hallucinate beating the shit out of the stinky Log guy!” Remus exclaimed as they walked away.

A headache began to form in Logan’s head as he slumped back down on the bench. He stared out at the nearly empty parking lot. He didn’t understand what he did wrong. 

He wished he could talk to Virgil. He wished he could see him eye to eye and chew him out for ever making Remy feel like a burden, for ever making them feel trapped. A part of him wanted to punch him.

He was so zoned out into the overthinking he didn’t realize how much time was passing until Janus got out from his therapy session. As soon as Jan saw his boyfriend he let up into a shining smile and hurried over to him.

“Hi dear! Aww did you miss me so much you had to come pick me up! How charming!” Janus hesitated before kissing Logan on the lips. It still made him all giggly.

Normally seeing him so giddy would have made Logan overabundant with happiness....but now all he could think about was if he should tell Janus about Remy’s situation or not. They were friends right? Could it help? Would they listen to their friend?

Logan’s head hurt so bad. None of it made sense. There was no logical answer. How Janus reacted could make everything worse. He didn’t want to ruin everything more than he already had.

“Darling? Are you feeling alright? Has something happened?” Janus asked while taking his hand.

“I....I....” Logan looked over to you.

Logan: “I am so sorry to do this but do you have any idea what to do? The human emotion and it’s reactions are so illogical I don’t- I don’t understand- I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry- Should I tell Janus about the suspected abuse or should I lie?”

[sweetsubharry]

Do you know any Larry fics with relationship during or post the band

yes I do! ^-^ (As a forewarning, under the read more is 47 fics! So this is quite a long post! I just couldn’t narrow them down!) I’ve split them into three sections; x factor, during the band, and ‘hiatus’ :) 

In case no one gets to the bottom of the page I’ll say it again here too! Please make sure to stay safe and read the tags!!

X factor era 

I'd give up forever to touch you by blankiehxrry

just your typical xfactor fic with a bit of a twist

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

horizontal like a quarter to three by orphan_account

The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up.

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Could you love me anyway by SadaVeniren

Dear Mistress Lorin: I’ve been reading your blog for a couple weeks now and was hoping you’d give me some advice for something that happened with me and my boyfriend. I’m really worried that I hurt him.

aka Harry and Louis begin playing ping pong during the X-Factor Tour. It quickly gets out of hand.

no we're not friends, nor have we ever been by blankiehxrry

louis and harry get frisky in the xfactor house

give you my fever by beautlouis

And he’s wanted it even more since he met Louis, it's driven him insane, he spends 90% of his life turned on because of Louis and he’s had no relief at all. He’ll wake up at night too hot and itchy, with Louis warm and sweet smelling next to him, and unable to do anything but wank unsuccessfully, with no release. “I can try,” Louis says, close enough that Harry’s eyes cross a little trying to look at him. “I want to, I’ve never been with anybody, like, I’ve snogged people, lots of people, but I’ve never—touched anyone.” He clears his throat. “I’d touch you, Hazza.”

Harry’s breathing picks up. “Yes.” He doesn’t think there was a question but he’s a little overwhelmed. “Yes,” he repeats, dizzy.

*x-factor era. harry's never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first

During the band

Sweet Baby by jishler

“Haz,” he said, “do you like being held down?”

Drawing a shaky breath, Harry finally looked Louis in the eyes. “I think so.”

Nothing You Can Do (But You Can Learn How To Be You In Time) by Teumessian

A Canon Compliant Semi-AU. Louis braids Harry’s hair. There are good times, bad times, fancy houses, supportive bandmates, secret boyfriends, small rebellions, bigger revolutions, some nail varnish, ribbons, cute clothing, and a Pinterest.

make me feel like i am breathing by crybaby

His eyes are already looking a hint distant as Louis gets comfortable on his knees, running a hand up the hairless expanse of Harry's milky thigh. Harry always starts dipping at the sight of his vibrator, bubblegum plastic with flecks of glitter in the pink. His cheeks pink to match the colour and his eyes go wide, his lips chewing.

(Prompt: how about louis fucking harry with a vibrator backstage before they go on?)

take me into your loving arms by blankiehxrry

twas the night of the brit awards

Just Give Me a Reason by Mr_Stylinson

"Why do people hate me?" is a question Harry is more than desperate to figure out the answer to after reading through negative comments on Twitter about his "What Makes You Beautiful" performance on Red or Black. But this new addiction could potentially decide his fate as a part of One Direction unless the other boys are able to convince their youngest member that his value is defined by far more than a bunch of dumb online comments.

The Pedal's Down, My Eyes are Closed by dancingontheceiling

Louis and Harry bang it out in the dressing room after performing "18" and "No Control" for the first time at OTRA Brussels.

i'm missing half of me when we're apart by orphan_account

Louis can just picture what he looks like right now. Curled up on the big bed in their LA house, wrapped up in one of Louis' sweatshirts, crying his heart out, face red and blotchy, eyes sore, fingers twisted in the blankets as his chest tightens up.

Fallingforyou by gayilystrong

Harry's sick on Tour, which leads to naps in Louis' bunk. Louis of course needs to take care of his baby.

vocal rest remedy by tippytoetomlinstyles

Harry is sick and sad and on vocal rest. Louis helps him get over his sadness by cheering him up the only way he knows how.

Push You Over The Edge (So I Can Pull You Back) by orphan_account

It’s after a long two weeks of interviews and non-stop appearances that have got Harry stressed to the limit of yanking his hair out and throwing a fit and crying that Louis shows it to him, walks in the door with a sleek black bag in his left hand and inconspicuous brown one in his right.

It Feels Right When The Pink Matches His Lips by orphan_account

He adores pink, and pretty colors. He likes deciding what color his nails should be and whether or not this lipstick matches his shirt. He likes rummaging through Jade or Leigh's closets to try on the pretty clothes they have or their make-up drawer out of curiosity.

But the media doesn't. They call him awful names, spewing out article after article. So, he stops. He stops wearing pink, stops painting his nails, stops experimenting with make-up, and Louis notices.

[Featuring Harry as the unconfident member of the biggest boy band in the world and Louis as his very supportive boyfriend.]

Every Move You Make by sunniskies

After the debacle at the Brits, Louis decides he needs to keep better track of Harry.

Obligatory Sickfic by WhoopsImASinner

Harry gets off stage after the Live Lounge and is more than a little upset about how sick he is. Louis takes it upon himself to get his boy home and cheer him up.

Do Not Disturb (kiss me beneath the milky twilight) by SadaVeniren

“I was talking with Nick a couple months back and he was saying how our sex life seemed boring and we’d need to keep doing new and interesting things to keep it exciting or else we’d become boring and heterosexual and I defended us of course but then work picked up and we started living off of studio handjobs and missionary position sex in the dark and so I panicked. I googled BDSM and after looking into it I really want to try some of it because I think we’d enjoy it but we just don’t have the time.”

aka Harry doesn't want to become a boring old married couple a year into their relationship and tries to spice up their sex life.

But I'm Only Human (And I Bleed When I Fall Down). by brooklynbis

Harry wasn't an idiot. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that everyone was going to love him, hell, he was expecting for people to not like him. But a few tweets from Twitter really can be enough to trigger a whole bucket load of emotions.

_______________________

AKA Harry has a lot of emotions, management (particularly Simon) are pieces of shit, Louis is an amazing boyfriend as per, and Liam, Niall and Zayn are all very protective over the youngest member of the group.

You Like Playing Games by orphan_account

Louis knows Harry likes to flirt and tease. Louis knows that he doesn’t particularly like when Harry flirts and teases. Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis doesn’t particularly like it.

But what Louis doesn’t quite know is why, despite that, Harry’s decided to grind against 5 Seconds of Summer’s Luke Hemmings during “Teenage Dirtbag” in the last show in Melbourne.

Basically pure smut.

Make Tea, Not War by adventuring, howdoyouwhisk (popsongdelusional)

"Is he the messiest?"

"Yes."

"Does he do the washing up?"

"Never."

"Does he make his bed?"

"Never."

"Hopeless, hopeless flatmate. Would you rather be with one of these guys?"

"Nope!"

Or: Louis attempts to become a better flatmate, much to Harry's dismay.

Are We In The Clear Yet? by highlinson

The thing is, it’s not anything new. He’s gone through it a dozen times, at least. It shouldn’t scare him, still. Should never have scared him in the first place. Yet he’s trembling as he makes his way through the crowds.

You and Me by louisgrindsonharry

Harry and Louis have dabbled in the idea of BDSM but Harry finally wants to take it farther and Louis has to figure out how to take care of his boy.

We'll All Float On Alright by dancingbean

Harry has a really bad day. Louis is there with cuddles and kisses and scented candles.

You live in my heart by styleztomlinson

As soon as they’re done with their set, Louis only has one thing on his mind and that’s to get out of there as soon as possible.

or,

Harry is sick during their performance at the iHeartRadio festival. Afterwards, Louis takes cares of his baby, and dotes on his husband.

Cause If You Let Me, Here's What I'll Do by stylesforstiles

Five times where Harry is Louis' baby

When the Points Add Up by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is physically incapable of following the rules, and Management is smart enough to know his weak spot: Harry. One stunt too many leaves Harry exiled to a room by himself all night and Louis rallies the others to devise a plan to get Harry his cuddles tonight no matter what Management says.

There's a Hole In My Soul, Can You Fill It? by stylesforstiles

Sometimes Harry is so tired. Louis always wants to fix it.

Susceptible to Getting Hurt by page394

"I've always wanted to be one of those people who didn't really care that much about what people thought about them... But I just don't think I am." - Harry

Just What The Doctor Ordered by everyroad

A short little thing about a sick Harry who really just needs his Louis.

Baby, I'm perfect for you by nancy01

Harry broke down in tears. Like loud, ugly, fat tears that made his shoulders shake and his hands come up to hide his face. He made Louis worry, he made Louis scared, he made Louis angry and worst of all now Louis' going to be disappointed in him and think he's being childish and pathetic. well done, have you made yourself proud?. now even louis isn't going to like you, you've pushed him away to.

Louis sighed."Sweetheart, come here." He called with wide opening arms.

Harry doesn't think he's ever moved faster in his entire life. Louis arms wrap around Harry's shoulders, pulling him in close, as Harry buries his neck into Louis' shoulder to try and source maximum comfort.

Or

Paps become to much for Haz, cue protective boyfriend Louis

Never Let You Fall by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry slips on stage and gets a minor concussion, and Louis insists that he spend the night in the hospital just in case. He then turns into a protective baby lion because that is his Harry and he'll be damned if anything happens to him on Louis' watch. Harry rolls his eyes a lot but doesn't really mind.

Breathe by dontlietomehoney

Harry has an asthma attack and Louis is scared to death. What follows after though, scares both boys, pulling them apart and bringing them together.

Your Reason To Be by KellanCougar

The X Factor was only the start. With their management willing to do anything for headlines, including manipulation that could threaten Harry's very life, Louis fears he will lose everything he loves and be powerless to stop it.

And We Linger On by stylesforstiles

Harry is pouting. Louis takes care of him

don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) by stylescantstop

written for this prompt:

"louis knows Harry gets handsy when he's drunk, but that doesn't stop him from showing harry who he belongs to."

or the one where harry dances with other men and a jealous louis reminds him he's the only one who can make him come completely apart.

that boy's got my heart in a silver cage by orphan_account

The whole thing is addictive somehow, and not just because of the way that it makes Louis feel, like Harry is his and he'll do anything he says—but because of the way Harry reacts to it, even in public, twisting in his seat and tripping over his words and once even briefly hiding his face in Louis's shoulder because he's so flustered, causing the girls in the audience to squeal and shout.

if we got nothing, we got us by tumsa

Harry is Louis' baby and he's sick as well.

Okay by JustAnotherShadow503

Harry is frustrated.

It's been almost two years since he and Louis got back together, and nothing has changed. Well, they have changed, and their situation has gotten a lot better, but their sex life? Vanilla. Completely and utterly vanilla.

Harry really thought that after Louis' dirty talk when they got back together, they would get into some kinkier shit, but nope. Louis still makes love to him and calls him sweet names, and that's nice, Harry absolutely loves it, but sometimes, he gets this itch that making love can't scratch.

Or, the one where Harry and Louis try to start a dom/sub BDSM relationship, and nothing goes according to plan.

Gentle Sin by userkant

Harry gasps. He gasps at what must be a sudden pain, or maybe at his sudden orgasm that has him tightening around Louis, forcing Louis’ own release, or maybe all of these things are connected.

Or, Louis discovers a few things about Harry.

A fic about kink exploration and pleasure-pain featuring baby boyfriends, tenderness, and gentle dom Louis.

I'll Look After You by stylesforstiles, TrynaGetStylinson

Harry's had enough with the mobs. He just needs someone to tell him it will all be ok.

Let Me Be Good For You by onlyhuman

His distress over the bun is nothing compared to the thrill Louis feels shoot up his spine at the outfit Harry’s donned. He’s changed into leather jeans that cling to his legs, hugging his thighs snugly. On top of it, a floaty, black sheer shirt is contouring his frame, doing absolutely nothing to hide his puffy nipples or the endless array of tattoos scattered across his torso. It’s Louis’ favourite outfit in the entire world.

Or, Niall's only birthday wish is to go clubbing with his boys in Vegas. Harry ruins it all by wearing that god forsaken black sheer shirt.

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand by orphan_account

If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement.

Beneath the Suits by someonethatsfunny

Harry and Louis had a bit of a ritual when it came to award shows. And that ritual didn’t lend itself very well to after parties or being around other people in general. Nope. They were much better off alone where they could have their own private celebration. So what happened after the AMAs then when Niall and Liam head to an after party and Harry and Louis were nowhere to be found? Well, obviously we can't be sure, but it was probably something along the lines of ....

During ‘hiatus’

Mon Petit by coffinofachimera

Harry wears the 'Mon Petit' sweater while Louis records them on their private plane.

Things Are Pretty Good From Here by ItIsWhatItIs9194, Teddy1008

Harry's just released "Sign of the Times," and of course, Louis can't help but want to let his sub know how proud he is of him with more than just words.

They basically fuck.

head head heart by turnyourankle

After Dunkirk has wrapped filming, Harry struggles with his inability to reach subspace. He tries taking the matter in his own hands before Louis intervenes with a plan of his own.

Model's Own by Domeaspreadsheet

Harry hadn’t wanted him to see the Another Man shoot until it dropped, wanted it to be a surprise. He’d already come home with his hair chopped off, how many surprises could there be?

Louis pulls up Harry’s instagram, the notifications for three posts coming through right after the other. Harry was off at a spin class, and here Louis sits, staring at Harry’s face, the three covers forming a neat line, all so different, yet all so very Harry. He zooms in on one, knows he must be seeing it wrong, but no. Harry is wearing a collar. On the cover of a fucking magazine.

Beside Me Like a Silhouette by Domeaspreadsheet

“Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke.

Oh. Harry has been set up.

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.

Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”

Harry nods.

“Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.”

redder than the devil by mercutionotromeo

It's half past 9, and all Harry wants is for Louis to touch him. Preferably after a good spanking.

If you combine a lazy Saturday afternoon with a distracting, pouty Harry, you'll end up with Louis spanking his baby over his knee in the middle of a paused FIFA match.

i'll be your sunflower by scagnetism

“What do you think’s gonna stop us now?” Harry says cheekily, laughter in his voice as he looks up at Louis. “Something’s gotta get in our way like always, doesn’t it?”

“Ha,” Louis grins, kissing his cheek and holding open the door for him as they make their way toward the car. “Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time. ‘S gonna be perfect, just like Pumpkin.”

Or, a few interruptions aren't going to stop Harry from having a perfect pregnancy and having the family he and Louis have always dreamed of.

Take Me for a Spin by QuickedWeen

The night of the Pride of Britain Awards 2016. Louis goes to the ceremony and out to the club afterwards, but what is Harry up to?

Baby, Honey by lovelarry10

Harry's been talking about sex and babies on stage too much for Louis' liking, so he decides to give him what he wants...

Or the one with the aftermath of Harry's Detroit concert...

Half Fragment by coffinofachimera

Louis and Harry share a night together through the phone.

As always I hope you enjoy these! Make sure you read the tags and stay safe lovelies ❤

[tsauergrass]

A while ago, @scaredpotta asked me for a prompt from the prompt list I reblogged. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and now I’ve finished, but then I discovered that they’ve de-activated their account :( I am so sad and so sorry that I’m late. I’m still going to post it and, @scaredpotta, even though I know you won’t see this, I hope you’re having a wonderful day wherever you are.

29. Slowly, the words dripping from your tongue like honey

***

“60 dollars,” Draco says. “What can I get?”

Harry ruffles through the buckets of flowers in the cooler. “What are you looking for?”

“Something special. It is a note.”

Harry pauses. For days Draco has visited his flower shop, but not once has he ordered anything with a message. Usually it is four different shades of purple, or something classically romantic, or something simple but elegant, fragrant—hyacinths, roses, lily-of-the-valleys. Dahlias, accompanied with white-button poms and greens.

Harry turns to face him. Draco looks away, flushed, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“Well,” Harry asks, “What is it you want to say?”

“Let’s elope.”

Harry blushes crimson. Silly, because Draco is not saying the words to him—but to his lover, for whom he has come and visited Harry’s shop for days on end, arriving early to avoid the morning rush and bring them the flowers before the day starts. The flowers are always the freshest, the leaves still wet with dew, and Harry picks the best of them for Draco because Draco’s lover deserves the best. Because Draco deserves the best.

And it is harder and harder to fool himself every day, to tell himself that they’ve had history, that Draco already belongs to someone else—to watch Draco come in every day with a faint smile, the bell tinkling as he greets Harry good morning with two cups of coffee. His hair is soft in the morning light, white-gold amidst the exuberant flowers as he looks around—Harry wrapping his bouquet, trying to steal a glance or two—footsteps slow, bending as he sniffs at the buckets of flowers from the lower shelves. A laugh escapes and Harry pretends it is a cough when Draco turns, narrowing his eyes.

But there is no malice. There is only banter, witty and fast and sending a rush down Harry’s spine.

“Well,” Harry says, turning around. His face burns in the cool, moist air of the cooler. “The cleomes just came in today. I’ll pair them with some baby’s-breaths, if you’d like.”

“That would be prefect.”

And this is new, too—for Harry to hear the smile in Draco’s voice, a secret victory at every one of them, knowing they are there because of him. He picks out the cleomes with the most vibrant purples, the ones with their petals spread the fullest—cuts off the excess leaves, the motion familiar with ease. Spreads out the wrapping paper on the working table, smooths its edges.

“So,” he coughs, “you’re leaving.”

Draco pauses his sniffing at a hanging pot of petunias and looks at him.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Or so I hope. I am going to ask them today, whether they will come with me.”

“Oh.” Harry focuses on cutting the paper so he doesn’t have to meet Draco’s eyes. “So the bouquet. It’s a question.”

“It is.”

“Well, it’s not like you need to ask,” Harry laughs, dry, “of course they’ll come with you.”

“How do you know?”

Briefly, Harry lifts his gaze. Draco has tilted his head. Against the sunlight, Harry cannot quite make out his face, but it seems like his cheeks have flushed—a tinge of pink in the shadows.

“Well,” Harry looks back down again, swallowing, “it’s you. Who wouldn’t want to go with you?”

Silence. A while later, Harry raises his head. Draco is watching him still, his head tilted.

Harry finishes the bouquet in silence. Wraps it carefully, makes a couple last adjustments so the cleomes are shown to their fullest, the baby’s-breaths a lovely white. He hands the bouquet to Draco. “Sixty dollars.”

Draco takes the bouquet.

The last bouquet Harry would ever make for him. He wants to say goodbye, in a way however small: a hug, a handshake, a squeeze on the shoulder. Some proof that all these mornings weren’t nothing, hadn’t simply existed in his half-baked dreams—that Draco had enjoyed them, too, had enjoyed his little shop and the flowers and, perhaps, his company.

He might never see Draco again.

“Are you busy?” Draco asks.

Harry blinks.

“Do you have anything to do this moment?”

Harry blinks again. “I’m working.”

“Right,” Draco rolls his eyes, “and this is your shop. You are your own boss. Are you busy at the moment?”

“Well…I mean, no—”

“Great,” Draco says, turning to walk towards the door, “there’s something I need to show you. Just to get an opinion. Very convenient, won’t take long, my flat is a five-minute walk from here so we won’t even need to Apparate—”

“Wait, what—” Harry struggles to untie his apron as he stumbles over the register, “Draco, wait—”

“We can chat on our way. Have I told you about this person I’ve been buying flowers for? An idiot, let me tell you. An absolute idiot.”

The walk was brisk, the morning air crisp. Harry cannot keep up with Draco’s long legs. Draco walks rapidly, as though he has an appointment, the heels of his shoes clicking against the pavement as he rattles on without losing his breath. Harry stumbles along, bumps into Draco when he turns a corner—and there they were, in front of the doors of Draco’s flat.

“I haven’t tidied it,” Draco says, working the keys, flushed. “But I don’t think you need to close your eyes—”

A loud clack. The doors open.

Harry toes off his shoes and, gingerly, follows Draco past the parlor. The air smells of a soft fragrance, smells faintly of something familiar…

He stops, shocked, at the edge of the living room.

Vases and vases full of flowers. Familiar arrangements, all having come from his hands: the hydrangeas, the gerberas, the lilacs. The hyacinths draping from a tall vase, the dahlias in full bloom in a small pot on the windowsill. The roses, sitting in a tiny vase on the coffee table beside the armchair, a brimming array of red.

Beside him, Draco has flushed down his neck.

“But I don’t…” Harry trails off, looking at the room full of flowers again. “I don’t—”

“I preserved them. I learned the cooling charms.”

“But—”

“Harry James Potter. I buy you coffee every morning.”

Harry stares incredulously at him. “Friends buy each other coffee!”

“Oh my god,” Draco says, and kisses him.

Harry startles at it—then sinks into it, his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth falling open. Draco kisses him slowly, deeply, his hands coming around Harry’s waist—helpless, helpless in the heat of Harry’s mouth, wanting to pull away but unable to—Harry’s arms coming around his, pulling him close. He tastes like the coffee they’d had this morning, faintly bitter and sweet with too much sugar. The coffee Draco had bought for both of them.

Draco’s breath is cool on his lips. Harry hadn’t even noticed them parting, his eyes still shut, their mouths still close. He could feel Draco’s lips. He wanted to lean back in.

“What do you say?” Draco murmurs. Something rustles between them; Harry looks down, and there is the bouquet of cleomes he’d wrapped this morning, a lovely purple.

Draco laughs, breathless. “Elope with me?”

Three years later

They still come back every year. On the same day, to the same cliffs; they walk along the same rocky path near the ocean, laughing as they pull each other on, the waves crashing into the rocks and bursting into sprays, into the salty air.

At the bottom of the cliffs blooms a field of wild sea thrifts.

Harry can see it, now, from the balcony of their tiny hotel room: a hint of pink from behind the rocks, appearing and disappearing behind the relentless waves. It is barely visible in the dusk. The sky is darkening, into the color of a ripened plum.

Draco sneaks an arm around his waist, pulls him close. Harry leans into his touch. Noses at the hollow of Draco’s throat, the soft skin, the intimate warmth.

Murmurs, “What are you looking at?”

Draco hums. “Take a guess.”

“I don’t need to.”

Draco laughs. “Why did you ask, then?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Draco laughs again and turns Harry around. Three years later Harry still does not tire of it, watching Draco smile, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkling as his cheeks fold—his face blossoming into the happiness. His pale eyes glint in the dusk. In the quietness of the moments before night there is only the sea, waves crashing ashore and breaking into thin foams.

Slowly, gently, in a low voice, Draco says, “I love you.”

The words glow warm and golden in the dark. Leaning in, Harry catches his lips; they are soft and sweet, just as three years ago when they first kissed.

On the nightstand by the bed, the vase of cleomes blooms in the young night.

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [5]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 4719

Warnings: none

The next few days seem to pass in a frenzy and before you know it, it’s already Saturday. Steve had asked you in the morning if you wanted to catch a movie with him later and it nearly killed you to have to refuse him. It was hard to miss the look of longing that had developed in his gaze whenever he looked at you ever since the two of you shared that dance. You felt that very same longing down to your very soul.

You would give just about anything to be able to stay here, living in a bubble of bliss. To protect him from all the horrors you know he will face if he fulfills his destiny. But you know you can’t do that. In fact, you have to do quite the opposite. You have to do everything in your power to make sure that it all still happens.

So, you’d started dropping little hints here and there. Trying to encourage him to try for recruitment again. Talking about the war effort and how bad they needed more soldiers. Groaning about how none of the people showing up at the recruitment center are a good fit for the program you work for. You make sure to get it into his head that fighting in the war isn’t about killing the most people in order to win, it’s about stopping bad people from doing even worse things.

By the time you’re walking into the Recruitment Center Saturday morning, all that’s left to do is hang onto that faith like you’re always telling Dr. Erskine. You have to believe that things are going to go right, otherwise, you’re not sure what you’re going to do.

The center is a madhouse all day long, which certainly helps to keep you distracted. The Fair has brought droves of people into the area. Dr. Erskine gives you a pat on the shoulder in passing between interviews and comments that this had been a pretty good idea. You certainly were seeing new faces today. Some good, most… not quite. There were several groups of men coming in with their friends, rowdy from the alcohol provided at the Fair, and boasting about how they were going to be the guy to win the war. Those ones tended to be a little handsy. You may have accidentally broken a few fingers.

When Erskine caught onto what was happening, he’d sent you out to run a perimeter check to give you some space. At that point, night had already fallen. The Fair looked even more magnificent under the cover of night. The buildings were lit up like Christmas trees and they had fireworks going off in the distance.

“Excuse me, Miss?” you hear a familiar voice and turn to see one Sgt. James Barnes dressed to the nines in his military uniform. “I’m looking for my friend, Steve. He was just with us at the Stark show but then disappeared. He’s blonde, kinda thin, always walks around with his head down. Have you seen him by any chance?”

You have to calm the pounding of your heart before you can respond. “Um, yes… I think I saw him heading toward the Recruitment Center,” you tell Bucky. Even though you hadn’t actually seen him, you know that’s where he must be.

Bucky frowns, sighing in irritation. “That little punk,” he mutters under his breath. You’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear that and have to refrain from smirking. “Uh, thank you,” he nods, backing away and heads in the direction of the center, the two women with him following behind.

It takes everything in you not to go rushing over there yourself to make sure things are going according to plan. You have to make sure your presence can’t interfere with Dr. Erskine seeing Steve for the first time. You complete a full lap around the Fair, hoping that will have killed enough time before you start to make your way back.

You watch a figure heading your way and come to a stop.

“This is me not sneaking up on you,” Howard proclaims, hands raised in innocence.

“Mr. Stark,” you greet, smiling in amusement. “How was your show? Did you blow them out of the water?” you ask, using his turn of phrase against him.

“Well, something certainly blew,” he laughs good-naturedly. “I take it, you saw what happened?”

You shake your head, “No, but I’ve certainly heard all about it.”

“News travels fast.”

“I happen to be in a unique position where knowing exactly what happens, and when, can mean a matter of life or death,” you tell him frankly.

“Well, then I guess I better let you get back to work. Maybe we can get drinks sometime when death is no longer on the table,” he grins.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Stark,” you dismiss, beginning to step around him to continue on your way.

“Vic?” You look up to catch Steve coming out of the Recruitment Center. His gaze flickers over your shoulder to watch the man you’d just been speaking with walk away. “You know Howard Stark?”

You walk up to him, shrugging your shoulders casually. “He’s more of an acquaintance,” you explain. More like an annoyance.

“I just…” his brow furrows and he frowns. “I don’t understand what you’d be doing, hanging around a guy like me when you know a man like that.”

“Steve,” you step up to him, placing your hands on his shoulders. It doesn’t escape your notice how he’d referred to himself as just a guy, but Howard as a man. “I love that you don’t have an ego the size of Texas, like most men in this world, but you really need to start giving yourself more credit.”

He smiles wryly. “I’ll try and work on that. This certainly helps,” he lifts up a brown folder that he carries and hands it to you.

You open it to find his enlistment papers. It’s stamped with 1A on the bottom and has Dr. Erskine’s signature for approval. The relief you feel is so immense you could just about collapse right now. “Steve, that’s amazing!” you tell him, sharing his excitement.

“I ship out to Camp Lehigh tomorrow morning.”

You close the folder and hand it back to him, “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you there,” you grin.

“You will?” he questions in surprise.

“I told you that I was only in New York for the week. Wherever Dr. Erskine goes, I go.”

Steve feels a strange sense of relief knowing that he’ll still get to be around you, and this isn’t goodbye, just yet. “Do you really think I’ve got a shot at this? You said you were looking for soldiers with a specific skillset. Why would Dr. Erskine choose me?”

“Because of this,” you tap a finger against his temple. “And because of this,” you drop your hand to tap at his chest. “Anyone can pick up a gun and follow orders. You have to be more than that. This isn’t about strength or bravery. This is about knowing the value of a life before you decide to take it. I’m not saying that this next week is going to be easy for you. In fact, it’s probably going to be very difficult. But you have to show them that you’re more than the sum of your parts. I know you can do this, Steve. You’re destined for greatness.”

You catch the way his eyes dip to your lips but barely have enough time for that to register before he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Not expecting him to do that, you stiffen up from the shock. Steve reacts almost immediately, pulling back with a panicked look on his face. “I’m so sorry. I thought-”

You grab his face in both of your hands and smash your lips back onto his. You kiss him long and slow, just the way you know he likes it. You can feel his inexperience in the way he’s slow to respond. He nearly drops the folder in his hands, remembering at the last second to grip it tighter with one hand as the other falls to your hip. Your tongue darts out to lick tentatively at his plump lower lip. He tastes salty, like popcorn from the fair. You feel his entire body shiver when your tongue swipes against his lips again.

His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest and he’s getting dizzy from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t want this to stop. You make the decision for him, when you pull back, your nose brushing tenderly against his. He has to blink several times as the haze clears from his mind before he meets your hooded gaze. “Wow…” he breathes. “I- that was… wow.”

You can’t help but giggle at how adorable he is. “Right back at ‘cha,” you wink.

His lips split into a dopey grin. He knows that he must look like an idiot, but he’s past the point of caring. “How much longer do you have to stay?” he asks.

You look down at your watch. “Maybe another hour or so.”

“I can wait if you want to go home together?” he asks, hope shining in his eyes.

Your gaze softens, “I’d like that. Why don’t you finish checking out the Fair and then meet me back here?”

“Okay,” he agrees, eyes flickering down to your lips once more.

Unable to help yourself, you lean in for another kiss. He kisses back a little more fervently. When you pull back, you have to physically distance yourself by stepping away from him, otherwise, you’d never let him leave. “See you in an hour,” you smile.

“Yeah,” he nods once, walking backward a few steps before turning to head back to the Fair exhibits. For the first time, he walks with his shoulders back and his head held high. There’s almost even a bounce to his steps. He glances once over his shoulder and grins when he sees that you’re still watching him.

“So, that is the one, huh?”

You start at the sound of Dr. Erskine’s voice, not having heard him walking up to you. “Hmmm?” you question, unsure if he’s asking whether you think Steve is the one for Project Rebirth, or what exactly.

He grins and gives you a knowing look. “The man capable of holding your interest. You have good taste.”

You laugh nervously, your blood heating in embarrassment. “Didn’t I say you might meet him one day?”

He chuckles. “Yes, well. It would have saved me quite a few gray hairs if you had brought him over a lot sooner.”

You grin widely at that. “Sorry, Doctor,” you apologize with a light laugh. “But it needed to be his own decision to come. He wouldn’t have accepted if he thought the offer had been handed to him because of me.”

“I can understand that,” he nods along to your words. “Well, why don’t you take the rest of the evening off and go enjoy the fair with your man?”

You look up at him in surprise. “Really?”

He smiles fondly down at you. “You won’t have much time to spend with him once we’re at the base. And I can now rest easy, knowing there is a candidate that I can truly put my faith in.”

“I thought scientists didn’t believe in faith.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “This one may have changed his mind.”

You smile victoriously.

“Just make sure he’s not late for the bus tomorrow morning. You and I can head for Camp Lehigh afterward.”

“Of course,” you nod.

“Enjoy your evening, Vic,” he dismisses you, beginning to turn back toward the Recruitment center.

“Thank you, Doctor,” you call after him.

He waves you off before you turn and excitedly hurry toward the direction Steve disappeared to. It takes a minute to find him in the large crowd. It’s definitely not as easy to spot him without those broad shoulders. Eventually, you catch sight of his blonde head of hair and make your way over. You approach him from behind and loop your arm through his.

His head swings over to you, surprise lining his features until his eyes meet yours. “Hey!” he greets you with a toothy grin.

“Erskine gave me the rest of the night off,” you grin back.

“Oh, well do you want to head home now, then?”

You shake your head, still smiling. “No. I want to see the Fair and share a bag of popcorn with my best guy.”

Steve starts to look around. “Well, is he meeting us here, or…” he pretends not to know who you’re talking about.

“Steve!” you laugh and slap his shoulder.

He laughs too. His eyes flicker all over your face and you can almost feel their caress. “I’ve never been anyone’s best guy before.”

“Would a kiss help to convince you?”

“It might.”

You happily lean in until your lips are pressed to his. You keep this one sweet, but short, not wanting to cause a scene that might embarrass you both. “How about now?” you ask, tilting your head to rest your forehead against his.

“I think I’m getting there.” His words tickle your cheeks.

You laugh, pulling back. With your arm still linked through his, you tug Steve toward the closest popcorn stand. He holds the bag while you happily munch on the salty snack and look around at the exhibits. You find it absolutely hilarious how dated all of these latest and greatest inventions all are. It’s almost difficult to keep it to yourself.

You’re highly amused and thoroughly enjoying yourself, but your internal commentary is far more entertaining than the actual exhibits. Mostly, you’re just enjoying what little time you have left with Steve. As the crowds begin to thin out and the night air starts to grow colder, you and Steve decide that it’s time to head back home.

The two of you walk through the door hand in hand. You feel lighter than air and you’re just so happy that you can now kiss him whenever you want. And you did. Multiple times on the journey home. The blissed-out expression hasn’t left his face all night and it just makes you want to kiss him even more. The way your heart pounds in your chest makes this feel like new love, even though you’ve been in love with him for years.

You’re barely able to let go of each other long enough to get ready for bed. And even once you are both tucked away for the night, you’re more wrapped up in each other than in the blankets. You pull out of, yet another, lengthy lip-lock. He’s getting better with each one, picking up on your cues and responding in kind. It makes you feel like a teenager all over again. Making out with your boyfriend in the dark. Getting drunk and giggly off of his kisses. Steve is breathless by the end of every one, but like a champ, he keeps coming back for more.

“We should sleep,” you whisper, trying to be the voice of reason. “You need to be at the bus station bright and early and you still need to pack.”

“Just one more,” he insists, leaning forward and stealing your lips back. You can’t protest and he damn well knows it. With your hand at the back of his neck, your nails scratch at the shorter hairs right at his nape. His own hand presses against the middle of your back, pushing your body even closer to his. You can feel his arousal against your lower abdomen, but he doesn’t act on it. If you thought he was ready for it, you’d try to get him to, but for now, you’re content with just kissing him.

You pull back once again. While he catches his breath, you duck your head down, tucking it beneath his chin and bury your face into his chest. “Okay, now we’re really going to sleep,” you urge, safely tucked out of reach.

“Fine,” he sighs stubbornly, tilting his head to rest his cheek against your hair.

You laugh and your breath causes his skin to tingle. “Good night, Steve.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he responds. “Sweet dreams, Vic.”

A content hum leaves your throat as your muscles begin to relax. “Who needs sweet dreams when this is so much better?”

For the first time in a long time, Steve falls asleep with a smile on his face.

-

The two of you pack up together when morning comes. You’ve slipped back into your military uniform and have taken the dark green dress coat out of your suitcase to help cover the mended bullet holes in your shirt and to make room for you to pack away your toiletry bag and first aid kit.

You look around Steve’s bedroom to make sure you’ve got everything. The glint of metal catches your eye from the top of the dresser inside the closet. Stepping closer, you find that it’s the pistol you took from those Hydra agents at the beginning of the week. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Glancing around to make sure you’re still alone, you grab the gun and take it to your suitcase. It may come in handy later. You pull out the magazine and check the chamber before tucking the gun away and closing up the suitcase.

Lifting it by the handle, you walk out of Steve’s room. You pause as you enter the living room, smiling at the sight before you. Steve is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his bookshelf. His suitcase is only half-filled with clothing and he’s packing books into the other half.

“You’re probably going to be the only person showing up with books in their suitcase,” you laugh lightly.

He looks up from the two books he has in either hand and grins. “You’re the one that said I should stand out.” He puts one book into the case and places the other back on the shelf.

“Valid point.” You move to set your suitcase down by the front door. “You almost ready?”

“Almost.” He reaches up to grab a picture frame that sits on top of the bookshelf, next to the radio.

“Is that your parents?” you ask, looking at the black and white photo over his shoulder. It shows a pretty blonde woman and a man dressed in a World War I uniform.

“Yeah. They took this the day he shipped out. Ma was already pregnant with me, but didn’t know it, yet.” Turning the frame around, he unlatches the back door and pulls the photo out. He tucks it for safekeeping under the hardcover of one of his books before placing the empty frame back on the shelf.

He pulls the trunk closed and flips the latches to lock it shut. He then pushes up onto his feet with a small grunt. “Well, I guess I’m as ready as I can get. I still kind of feel like I’m not completely sure what I’m getting myself into.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Just think of this as your next adventure.”

You each carry your own suitcases out of the apartment and Steve turns around to lock the front door. You take one last look at the place. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll never end up back here. It’s a bittersweet feeling. You may have only stayed here for a week, but it was long enough to make this place feel like a home to you. You’re going to cherish the memories that were created here.

“Shall we?” Steve asks after making sure that the door is securely locked.

“We shall,” you nod, taking his hand in yours and carrying your suitcase with the other. The two of you walk down the steps and out onto the street, hailing a taxi next. The driver pulls over and steps out to help you place your bags into the trunk of the car. Steve holds the door open for you to take a seat in the back before sliding in after you.

He gives the driver instructions to take you both to the bus depot where he’s been told to report. As the taxi takes off, you notice the way Steve’s leg bounces up and down. You’re not sure if it’s from nerves or because he’s excited. It may be a little of both. Reaching over, you take his hand back into yours, threading your fingers between his.

He turns away from the window to meet your gaze, smiling softly when he sees you looking tenderly back at him. He lifts your entwined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

The taxi soon pulls up to the front of the bus depot. At the back of the turn-about area, you can see that the bus destined for Camp Lehigh is already waiting, a line of men stand out front getting their bags loaded into the side of the bus before boarding. You step out of the taxi from your side and help Steve pull his case from the back. He sets it down on the edge of the sidewalk before turning back to you.

“I’ll see you there, Soldier,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Don’t go easy on me, okay?” he requests.

You smirk openly, “It’s not me you need to worry about.” A picture of Colonel Phillips comes to mind.

He scoffs out a laugh. “Well, don’t tell anyone to go easy on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you grin, amused by his request. He never likes having things handed to him. “Good luck.”

He grins wide, lifting his suitcase and taking a step back. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got Lady Victory on my side.”

Your heart stops as you’re overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. You’ve heard him say that before. Multiple times. It was basically his default response whenever anyone told him ‘good luck’ during missions. He’d say it with that same cheeky grin and that twinkle in his eyes.

It had to be a coincidence. Right?

Steve is already out of earshot by the time your mind restarts and your default response comes tumbling out. “Love you too, Cap.”

Your heart clenches as your mind begins to race. Is there a deeper meaning here? Something that you’re missing, maybe?

“Where to, Miss?” the taxi driver pulls you out of your thoughts, eager to keep things moving.

“Right…” you pull your focus and get back into the vehicle. You give him the address to Dr. Erskine’s apartment in Queens. The doctor told you to meet him there before an SSR designated driver would show up to take you both to Camp Lehigh.

You watch Steve’s figure through the car window until the taxi pulls out, your mind still racing. It had to just be a coincidence, you surmise and try to push the thought from your mind.

-

You spend the drive down with Dr. Erskine going over the testing rubric for the recruits. It’s heavily weighted toward the strength side of the spectrum and it makes you wonder just how exactly Steve manages to pull this off. Your Steve never really mentioned much about what actually happened at Camp Lehigh. All he said was that it had been a grueling and intense week of testing and training that his body definitely hadn’t been prepared for. And yet, it also ended up being the best thing that ever happened to him.

As the car pulls onto the base, it drives past all the soldiers marching in formation and standing at attention out on the main field. The driver eventually comes to a stop right outside the officer quarters. You step out of the car on your side and walk around the back to re-join Dr. Erskine. The two of you look over toward the front door of the building where Colonel Phillips is now stepping out.

“Doctor, welcome back.” He greets stepping up to you both and shaking Erskine’s hand. “Who’s this?” he questions, giving you a brief side glance.

“Agent V, sir,” you introduce yourself with a salute.

“She’s my personal assistant,” Erskine explains.

“Since when do you have a personal assistant?”

Erskine gives him a hard look. “Since you gave me only a week to find a candidate.”

Colonel Phillips releases a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them come in. I’m pretty sure I know which one you picked.” He places his hands on his hips and stares you down. “Agent “V”, huh. That short for something?”

You stare back, unflinching. “Victory, sir.”

“Oh boy,” he rolls his eyes. “That sounds like some sorta BS that New York Senator would cook up.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep in the snark.

“Lieutenant, please escort Agent V to her quarters. She’ll be bunking with Agent Carter,” Colonel Phillips orders a passing soldier before turning back to Erskine. “You and I are going to talk about these candidates.”

You turn to find that your driver has already pulled your suitcase from the back of the car for you. You give him your thanks as you take it and then follow the Lieutenant inside. The soldier leads you to a door at the very end of the hall, to the left. You knock once on the door.

“Come in,” you hear from inside.

Turning the knob, you push open the door and step inside. The room looks similar to a college dorm. Two matching twin-sized beds, two matching desks, two sets of drawers. There’s a door immediately to the right, which you assume is the bathroom.

Peggy sits at the desk closest to the door, various papers spread across its surface. “Can I help you?” she asks, pushing her chair out to stand.

“I’m Agent V,” you introduce yourself. “I’m here as Dr. Erskine’s assistant. Colonel Phillips instructed me to stay here.”

“A pleasure to meet you, I’m Agent Carter.” She reaches her hand out to greet you.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling like an absolute idiot. You never dreamed you’d get to meet this woman. She was an absolute legend amongst female SHIELD Agents.

“God knows we could certainly use another woman around here,” Peggy smiles, gesturing for you to come further into the room. “Sheets for your bed should be in the top drawer to the right. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” you smile kindly. You glance at the paperwork on her desk as you pass by before you set your suitcase down next to your bed. “Are you looking over the reports for the new recruits?”

“Yes,” she stands next to the desk and brushes her fingers over the papers. “Colonel Phillips has made it clear that we are picking our subject from this group. We won’t see the men until tomorrow morning, but just based on their recruitment reports, it’s obvious there’s one that doesn’t seem to belong with the rest.”

You can’t help but chuckle under your breath. “You’re talking about Steve Rogers, aren’t you?” Peggy looks up from the paperwork to meet your gaze. “Dr. Erskine picked Rogers out himself.”

She nods, “I saw the signature of approval, I just can’t figure out why.”

You grin widely, “I think you’ll know by the end of the week.”

She finds herself matching your smile. “Well, now I’m intrigued.”

You laugh briefly and turn to get your suitcase unpacked and your bed made. Steve had once told you that the romance portrayed between himself and Agent Carter had been purely propaganda for the media. Sure, he’d respected the hell out of her, but he only ever saw her as a friend. And supposedly, the feelings had been mutual, so you had no reason to feel threatened by her presence.

“Where are the recruits now?” you ask while stuffing your pillow into a white cotton pillowcase.

“Getting fitted for their uniforms and having their dog tags stamped out. After that, they’ll spend the next several hours filling out paperwork.”

You release a low hum, “Lucky them.”

Part 6