#as i said somewhere once i think a lot of fic describes him like he 'should' look not like he actually does?

[nostalgia-tblr]

i did wonder why loki has green eyes in all that old thorki fic, but then i also wondered why he was a foot shorter than thor and built like a twig so i kind of just shrugged and assumed it made sense to other people.

[oh-katsuki]

the notebook theory (tsukishima kei x reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Summary: Kei has a cynical and jaded outlook on love. When his friend Tadashi figures out that Kei has feelings for you, Kei isn’t sure how to react. After all, love is not something he does but rather, something that happens to him.

"There’s a notebook that Kei likes on his desk. No matter what he does, nothing is good enough to put a permanent mark into the thing. Even if he used a pencil, Kei feels like the evidence of the mark would still be there even after erasing it, a molecular change that can’t be seen with the naked eye. Kei calls it the notebook theory.

He thinks that might be what’s happening to him. A molecular change, imperceivable to someone not looking at him under a microscope. It’s like his DNA is being rewritten and stitched together with bright pink yarn. He feels himself steadily come apart and come together. It’s uncomfortable, like trying to dream when he has a fever. Kei is nearly certain that you’re the reason."

Content Warnings:  fem!reader (gender neutral pronouns), no real manga spoilers, slow burn, one-sided pining, angst, mentions of divorce and broken homes, toxic relationship (kei's parents), smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), pinching, mentions of mark making, overstimulation (m!receiving), multiple orgasms, hair-pulling

Word Count: 24.8k

A/N: i know i spent forever working on this but it's finally done and while i have a lot of thoughts about it, idk rly what to say. anyway, here's my first attempt at a tsukishima long fic. also i already know that im not beating the tsukkiyama allegations, okay? i tried and failed to beat them okay i just think there is no way to put them in a situation without it being a little homoerotic bc.. they r them okay? anyway, i hope u enjoy and would love to hear ur thoughts <3

The morning comes without warning. Kei thinks he’s read that somewhere, though he’s just sure just where he saw it. He also thinks that whoever said that is right. Morning is always a harsh assault and never as gentle as people describe it to be. 

Kei’s room, the one he rents at university, faces toward the east. In the mornings, when the sun peeks over the horizon, it shines directly into his room and onto his bed before creeping across the light wood floors. His blinds, as useful as they are, always let some through the cracks and the light cuts the ground like butter to a knife. Kei doesn’t think it feels half as romantic as it sounds. 

The light works better than his alarm. No matter how set he is on sleeping in, he never fails to wake up as soon as those slats of light make their way across his bedspread. It wakes him like fever and he’s never quite as comfortable as he felt falling asleep. This morning is no different. 

He rises like he always has, running a hand over his blonde hair and dragging it down his face after sitting up. Then, he stands once in an attempt to gather his bearings before sitting right back down on the edge of the bed. He fights the lingering remnants of sleep, feeling the ray of sunlight beat down on his back. Then, he reaches towards his glasses on the nightstand and slides them up the bridge of his long nose before standing up again once and for all. 

Yamaguchi lives in the other room. His best friend since high school, perhaps his only real friend. They’d miraculously attended the same college and decided to room together, though his other friends from his youth aren’t too far. The arrangement managed to make it all the way until their fourth and final year. Living with each other has become par for the course. 

Tadashi wakes up later than Kei does on most days, except for Tuesdays and Thursdays. On those days, he has an 8 am and is usually in the kitchen before Kei has even stood up for the first time. Today is a Wednesday, so Yamaguchi is asleep in his room. The morning light doesn’t wake him the same way it does Kei. His room faces west, so it isn’t until the mid-afternoon, when Tadashi is chased from his room by the afternoon rays and heat, that he notices the sun on its blinding conquest across the sky. 

Kei’s room is clean and neat. There’s no clutter, no collection of items that don’t have a proper place. Everything is itemized and stored exactly where he intends for them to be. His floor is void of stray clothes, of socks he’d discarded the night before, his nightstand is bare and his desk is surprisingly empty save for one notebook sitting in its center. It’s a room that he could leave at any time, despite living here for nearly two years. If Kei chose to do so, he could pack his things and be gone in a day. 

Yamaguchi’s room is different. It’s lived in and well worn. There’s clutter on the floor, socks and pants he’d taken and tossed away to be dealt with later. Certain things don’t have a place and end up living on semi-crowded surfaces filled with things he likes to put down as quickly as he’d picked them up. Kei envies that way of living. A non-temporary way. He envies the rug in Yamaguchi’s room and the way he fills the space with himself. Kei thinks that even after they’re long gone, future tenants would still be able to feel Tadashi’s presence. 

To say that Kei is cynical would be accurate. He tends to lean more towards paranoia in his own strange way. He keeps things in order to quell the anxiety in it. Things stay where they are meant to be. As a result, he’s earned himself somewhat of an uptight attitude that makes Kei feel more awkward than relaxed even when he’s in his own spaces. Not that he minds it. 

Tadashi’s dish from last night is sitting next to the sink. Kei moves around it as he fixes a tea, making an effort not to drag his feet across the floor because he hates the scuffing sound. Every now and then, the glass of his mug will clink against the cheap kitchen tile and Kei will cringe in some paranoid worry that it will wake his friend. 

As he gathers his things to leave the quiet apartment, Kei wonders where his cynicism comes from. He’s sure he could pinpoint it if he tried. His parents divorce, his previous experiences with dating that have left him jaded, the holes that wore even in his most sturdy of sweaters. Inconsequential nothings that piled up until Kei had developed an undeniably cautious outlook on the world. To him, all of these things are the same. Like the morning, they’re intrusive and unsightly, but none is less important than the other. 

Kei does have things he likes. Art, for one. He likes paintings, sculptures, little pieces of history, and all of the things people make with their hands that he could never do. Kei is hopeless at crafts. His fingers are lithe and long, but they’re clumsy and hard to control. Despite his need for order, Kei has trouble controlling his urges. The subtle twitches of his fingers always mess up whatever it is he’s trying to craft. 

He likes writing best of all, specifically curatorial writing. It’s easy for him to pick which pieces belong together and how to organize them in a space, it suits his talent for compartmentalizing. Kei gets to tell a story that way, be it historical or artistic, sometimes both. The essays that his classmates find tedious, he finds relaxing despite the stress. For him, writing about art and history is a pleasure much like sipping tea that is the perfect temperature, unintrusive and natural. 

By the time he arrives at the library, it’s nearly 9 am. He works better here, in the quiet section at a table hidden by three tall shelves of books. It’s almost never occupied and there are hardly ever people seated in the immediate area. Kei doesn’t go out of his way to avoid others, but he finds that if he doesn’t approach people, they often won’t approach him. He prefers things this way, it makes the good and bad people easier to weed out. 

From this spot in the library, Kei can see where you usually set up shop for the day. You arrive after him by about 45 minutes and he convinces himself that it is always coincidental. 

Strictly speaking, you’re Tadashi’s friend, not his. You’ve known each other for a little under a year and have been by the apartment a few times, but yours and his conversations are limited entirely to pleasantries. How are you? What are you working on? We’re graduating soon, huh? Casual conversation that Kei can weasel his way out of at any time. Like his room, it’s impermanent. 

Kei has had the idea that nothing stays stuck in his head since middle school. The house he lived in when his parents were together, weekdays with his mother and weekends with his father, graduating seniors, the apartment he lives in now. To Kei, all of it is so temporary that he finds it difficult to get attached to it, not that he’s devoid of emotion. He quite loves the little things he has, but his grip on them is loose and half-hearted. Whatever leaves, Kei thinks is meant to leave, so he makes no effort to hold on. 

It’s probably unfair to think of you that way, but Kei can’t really help it. He can’t change what he is. Besides, it’s not as if he doesn’t have a reason to think so. He’s often approached by people for his looks, people who want to get close because they think he’s tall and handsome, people who collect others like trophies. He’s not heartless, so he’s been hurt more than a few times. Kei thinks he owes it to himself to be cautious, not that you’ve done anything to earn that type of subtle hostility. 

“Thought you might be here,” someone’s hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Shit,” he groans, “is it that late already?” 

Kei glances down at the watch on his wrist, reading the time as just past 10:45 am. He’s been here for an hour and 45 minutes and hasn’t gotten anything done. Tadashi pulls the chair next to him out and sits down, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Spacing out?” 

“A little,” Kei responds, tapping his pen against the table and turning back toward his book. 

“Got something due?” 

“Yeah, on Friday,” he exhales. “Haven’t started it yet though. You?” 

“Nah,” Tadashi smiles. “I’m just chasing you around.” 

“You’re like a girl with a crush.” 

Tadashi shrugs and lets out a good natured laugh. It’s a little too loud for this part of the library, but Kei lets it slide, smiling with his friend. 

Tadashi is the opposite of him, he thinks. He smiles often and says exactly what’s on his mind when it crosses it, even if it's a little mean. Tadashi used to be a follower, but in his final year of high school and university years, grew into someone befitting of his somewhat sunny and sarcastic personality. Thoughts and words come easily to him and he has no trouble vocalizing his joy or his disappointment. 

Yamaguchi has freckles covering the entirety of his body. Kei knows this because he’s seen far more of Tadashi than he thinks he should have. His skin is tawny and warm like him. Kei finds himself looking at the ones on his hands as Yamaguchi begins to write in his notebook. Kei can’t read his handwriting because it’s terrible and he doesn’t much feel like working on his own project, so he watches his friend’s hand mark the page. Then, his gaze slinks across the library to you. 

You’ve got your head down and look like you’re falling asleep despite it only being 11 in the morning. Your hand moves lazily across your computer keypad. By the time Kei realizes that you’ve spotted him staring, it’s too late to look away. His gaze was too intentional, so he smiles at you instead, nodding his head a little. 

You smile and wave, standing from where you sit and collecting your things. They fill up your arms because you don’t bother to put them in your bag, making your way clumsily across the room and setting your stuff down across from him. 

“Hi, Tsukishima,” you smile. “Hi, Tadashi.” 

You use his friend’s given name and Kei feels a pang of jealousy hit his chest. 

“How long have you been here? I didn’t see you,” you ask, settling into the seat across from Kei. 

“I just got here,” Tadashi smiles, looking up from his notes. “He’s been here for a while though.” 

Tadashi motions towards him. 

“Aw, why didn’t you say hi?” 

“You seemed busy,” Kei lies. 

You pout, filling your mouth with air. “Next time just come say hi, ‘kay?” 

“Sure,” Kei nods. 

Tadashi tosses him a sideways glance and Kei shrugs it off. He’s not interested in being teased this morning, though when is he ever. 

Kei doesn’t like the way you make him feel. When you’re around, he becomes prickly. It sets Kei on edge in a way that he hates. His world, previously so rigid and organized, quickly begins to feel cluttered and structureless. 

You make his heart pound. You make it hammer against his chest so hard that he can feel it in his ears and behind his eyes. It goes all the way down to his already-hard-to-control fingertips and the tops of his thighs. A previously pastel colored world goes vibrantly candy-colored like it’s been plunged in saturating liquid. He nevers knows how to hold himself, never knows how to act natural. What does it mean to act natural, anyway? How should he rest his hands on the desk? Would it be weird to lace them together? Does he look as stiff as he feels? It’s entirely possible that he is suffering a massive heart attack. 

You whisper across the table to Tadashi, leaning forward and laughing at something he’s written in his notebook. You can read his handwriting, something Kei is equally jealous about as he is angry. Kei just watches your conversation, unable to really listen into it on account of the stroke that he thinks he’s having. 

The three of you stay like this for a while, earning the occasional irritated whisper or dirty look from some of the more studious people in the library. Kei pretends to ignore them, remaining quiet throughout the duration of your study session with Tadashi. His quiet corner is invaded and painted bright pink with your presence and he doesn’t know whether to feel giddy or irrationally angry. Maybe it’s both. 

“Crap, is that the time?” Tadashi exclaims, hunching over himself when someone nearby shushes him. “I’ve got class across campus in 10 minutes.” 

He hurriedly collects his things. Tadashi does it so fast, in fact, that Kei hardly has time to beg him not to leave him alone with you. So he just watches as Tadashi throws his things clumsily into his bag and tosses it over his shoulder. 

“Bye, ___,” he says in a rushed whisper. “I’ll see you at home, Kei!” 

“Sure,” is all that Kei can muster. His voice cracks when he says it and he immediately avoids looking at you and stares at nothing in particular in his textbook. 

It’s quiet for a while. Kei pretends to busy himself by glancing between his textbook and his computer and you sit with your head bowed as you take notes on a lecture you’re listening to through the single earbud in your right ear. Then, you tap the end of your pen lightly on Kei’s notebook to get his attention. 

It’s only been about 10 minutes since Tadashi left, but the library now feels like an entirely different place. His heart pounds as he struggles to keep a straight face. 

When he looks up, you’re looking at him with a tilted head. Your expression is soft and unintrusive, friendly but a bit guarded. You smile softly at him. 

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” You ask gently. It doesn’t sound accusatory, but rather a casual statement tinged with friendliness. 

“Huh?” Blood rushes into his ears. 

“I just kinda get the impression that you’re uncomfortable around me,” you say. “Am I wrong?” 

“Uh, no- it’s not that I don’t like you.” 

He’s quick to correct you and he feels heat rush to his cheeks. 

“Then what?” you question lightly. There’s no ulterior motive behind your smile, Kei can tell, but your openness makes him uneasy. 

“I dunno,” he calms himself a little. “I don’t really know how to act around you, I guess.” 

You laugh, leaning back into your chair. “Is that all?” 

“Well, yeah…” he feels awkward and his palms are sweaty. He drops them below the table to wipe them. “You’re Tadashi’s friend and I’m pretty different from him so I just…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

“I was worried you hated me,” you smile, chuckling to yourself. 

“That’s definitely not it,” he loosens a little, smiling lightly despite the thudding of his heart. It slows down steadily. 

“I’m your friend too, ya know?” 

“That so?” 

“Well, yeah,” you shrug and lean all the way back, crossing your arms. “I just kinda figured that we would be.” 

“Friends?” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His word placement is awkward. 

“Duh,” you laugh a little. “You know, you don’t have to speak formally with me.” 

“That’s just the way I am,” he huffs at being read. 

“Well, you can drop them with me. I don’t mind.” 

“Tall order,” he snorts. 

You tilt your head to the side. “Did you just make a joke?” 

“Uh, yeah…” 

“Funny,” you smile. “What are you studying?” 

“It’s not really studying…” he says, glancing down at the near empty document. “I’m supposed to be writing an essay I have due on Friday. Not going well.” 

He looks up at you through his lashes. You’re leaning forward across the table now, your chin angled upward as you try and peek at what’s on his screen. He turns it so that you can see better. 

“Baroque art?” You read aloud. “Oh yeah, Tadashi mentioned that you’re an art history major. Do you draw too?” 

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m hopeless at it, but I like art. It’s nice to look at.” 

“Huh, you look like you’d be good at drawing,” you say. 

“What’s that mean?” 

“I dunno, like a manga author or something,” you shrug. “You’ve got nice hands too. Like an artist.” 

“Manga?” He laughs a little, trying to play off the color he feels rushing to his face from the compliment. 

“Yeah, you look like the manga type.” 

“Is it the glasses?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Maybe,” you laugh. 

Kei looks down at his hands. They’re big, like the rest of him, and his knuckles are thin. He’s hyper-aware of them now that you’ve complimented them. He studies them briefly, following the barely visible veins up the back of them, following the line of his fingers to his nails. They’re trimmed and somewhat well kept, save for the spots that he tends to bite at when he lays in bed at night. His hands look nothing like Tadashi’s. Tadashi’s fingers are thick and his nails are short on account of him biting them. Kei wonders if you prefer them to his. 

—

There’s a notebook that Kei likes on his desk. It’s only a bit bigger than his fist—a little thing, really—and it’s completely blank. Kei’s never written anything down in it, nothing has ever really been worth sullying the thing. It’s got brown fabric binding and a semi-thick cover. It’s malleable, but not so flimsy that he’d need a desk to write in it. 

Kei’s not too sure why he bought it in the first place. Maybe he liked the size of it, small enough to fit in his pocket, but not so small as to be ridiculous. It’s practical, much like he is. He’s considered turning it into a daily planner and putting to-do lists in it, but Kei isn’t much of a list guy, it’s Tadashi that likes making lists. Nothing has ever really felt like it suits the book. He’s considered journaling in it, but his life is one big routine and he doesn’t think there’s anything worth writing about. 

No matter what he does, nothing is good enough to put a permanent mark into the thing. Even if he used a pencil, Kei feels like the evidence of the mark would still be there even after erasing it, a molecular change that can’t be seen with the naked eye. Kei calls it the notebook theory. 

He thinks that might be what’s happening to him. A molecular change, imperceivable to someone not looking at him under a microscope. It’s like his DNA is being rewritten and stitched together with bright pink yarn. He feels himself steadily come apart and come together. It’s uncomfortable, like trying to dream when he has a fever. 

Kei is nearly certain that you’re the reason, not that he’s about to admit to anyone else that he likes you. Tadashi managed to weasel it out of him, though he didn’t really have to ask. In fact, it was less of an admittance to Kei than it was confirmation of his own feelings. If Tadashi can tell that he likes you, then he must. 

People seem to know things about Kei before he even knows them himself. At least, that’s how it seems. He’s always confronted with his own feelings by other people, not that they’re really ever wrong, but it seems everyone catches onto what he’s feeling rather quickly. He’s not too sure why that is, maybe he’s just obvious and hasn’t realized it. 

Come to think of it, when Tadashi had confronted Kei about his feelings for you, he’d been deeply annoying about it. Kei couldn’t even try to deny it because Tadashi had come out with his guns blazing, cornering him in the living room and throwing facts about you at him until his face was beet red with embarrassment. Then, with a serious frown on his face, he’d simply stated you like them and that was the end of it. Kei couldn’t even deny it. Even he knew that it read plainly in his expression. 

To be frank, it sucks being told in plain speech how he feels about someone. Whenever that happens, it makes Kei feel like he’ll never be able to keep another secret in his life. Sometimes, he wishes that he was able to make the decision to tell someone else on his own, but even Kei knows that that is a little beyond him. Kei can think the feelings just fine, but when it comes to speaking them aloud, he seems to have a padlock around his throat. 

Tadashi knows this about him and if it weren’t for him, Kei would have agonized far longer and far worse over certain situations of emotional turmoil. Most of the time, Tadashi gets it without needing to ask or say anything. It’s nice to have someone understand him in that way, even if it does mean he can’t keep a secret to save his life. 

Feelings lately make Kei a little angry. He’s always known that he’s had somewhat of a sour personality. Kei doesn’t need to be told that he’s smug to know that he is. He’s snarky and usually touchy, picky about the people that he hangs out with. It’s not really a secret that Kei is a hard person to get along with, but lately, he feels like it’s been worse. 

Maybe it’s because this is new territory to him. As conceited as it sounds, Kei has never liked someone first. It’s not because he doesn’t think anyone is worthy, but rather, because there are very few people he doesn’t find grating. Despite how he seems, Kei is incredibly sensitive about things, so naturally, it’s easier to get on his nerves. 

He’s dated before, though not for long, and all of his relationships have started the same way. Kei is approached by them, usually on the premise of looks, and he accepts. He’s not sure why he does. Sometimes it’s because he thinks they’re pretty, other times it’s because the romantic in him hopes that it will actually work out. It never has. 

Most of the time, Kei turns out to be different than they expected. He’s too touchy, too sarcastic, too awkward in his way of trying to love. To Kei, it has always felt like it’s ended just as he was beginning to develop real feelings. 

If he’s being honest, it’s given him a twisted inferiority complex. He’s worried that somehow, on a fundamental level, he’s not enough. Sometimes, it even goes so far as for Kei to think that he’s just generally disappointing. He tries not to be. Kei wants to be relied on. He wants to be someone his friends can go to when they need something sturdy. 

Despite his personality, Kei considers himself sturdy. Well, maybe stubborn is a better word. Kei considers himself stubborn enough to be made sturdy. He’s just a little awkward. That’s all. People seem to mistake that for being unreliable. It’s a peeve of Kei’s. 

Tadashi isn’t like that. Tadashi is bright and warm, reliable in every sense of the word. Kei actually looks up to him a lot, not that he’d ever say anything like that to his face. Sure, Tadashi’s not perfect, but at least people rely on him. At least Kei relies on him. 

Tadashi is more easy going than Kei is. He has an easier time going with the flow, which makes him more personable. Kei thinks that Tadashi is the closest thing that he’s had to a better half. In truth, without Tadashi around, Kei isn’t exactly sure what would have become of him. 

It’s pointless thinking about these sorts of things though. Kei realized a long time ago that thinking about being better won’t automatically make him better. This is just the way he is and Kei’s learned to accept that, whatever it means. Still, none of this changes the fact that he likes you. 

Kei could mull over thought after thought and he doesn’t think it would have any effect on the fact that he’s definitely developed a crush. He’s positive it will go away. In fact, he’s not even sure if it’s real. Maybe Kei is just jealous of you the same way he’s jealous of Tadashi. You’re bright and warm like he is. You and Tadashi are cut from the same cloth, so maybe that’s why the two of you get along so well. 

In all honesty, Kei wishes he could be a little more like Tadashi for that reason. Maybe if he were more like Tadashi, he’d have the courage to fully accept these new and uncertain feelings for what they are. But he doesn’t have that kind of courage, not right now at least. He doesn’t have the courage to solidify and lean into his feelings. Kei doesn’t want to risk what little comfort and security he has. If the relationship between you both is a blank page, Kei doesn’t have anything important to write. What if it ruins the paper? What if when he erases it, it changes the thing on a molecular level for the worse? The notebook theory. 

— 

Despite everything, Kei is rather self-aware. At least in his own head he is. Kei knows that when he pretends he doesn’t like you, he really ends up liking you more. He knows that he’s touchy, that he’s awkward, that he comes across more crass than he intends to. Kei is clumsy, not stupid. That doesn’t mean that he has to acknowledge it. 

You’ve been coming around more often since the conversation Kei had with you in the library. Maybe you’re more comfortable now knowing that he doesn’t hate you, so you’re happier to join Tadashi in their shared apartment. 

Kei feels bad about making you think that he hates you. Actually, he feels really bad about it. Like, astronomically bad about it. Embarrassingly enough, it actually keeps him up at night. So he goes out of his way to be a little nicer to you. The only other person he’s ever done that for is Tadashi. 

He greets you properly when you pass, despite the flare up of a medical condition he’s yet to fully diagnose brought on by your presence. He asks you questions about your studies, partially because he is genuinely curious and partially because he doesn’t want you to hate him. He thinks he’d die if you hated him. Kei’s being brave in his own way. It’s little, but he’s doing it. 

As a result, the two of you have grown a little closer. Kei has your phone number now, though he rarely has any reason to text you. Typing out a message to you makes him nervous. It makes him red in the face when you’re not even there. Somehow, having your phone number feels vulnerable to him, like he has access to you whenever he wants and you him. It means that if you wanted, you could make him nervous without even being nearby. That’s a lot for Kei to think about. 

Kei sees you in the library sometimes too, but he never takes the initiative to speak to you. You always come up to him first, clumsily gathering your things the way you did the day you and him sorted out your friendship and plopping them down in front of him. 

Sometimes, you both go several hours without saying anything to each other. Other times, you’ll chat away about something while leaning forward on the desk and Kei has to pretend that he’s not wildly nervous at your proximity. You’re so friendly. So genuinely warm that Kei can physically feel it when you talk. Despite his nerves, Kei would describe you as comfortable. You’re a comfortable person to him, as alarming as that is. 

His crush is out of hand. It scares him, not that he’s actively thought about that. What started as him noticing you has quickly ballooned into him being painfully aware of you at all times. He kind of feels bad about it. You don’t seem to think that he’s anything more than a friend and it makes Kei feel bad that he thinks of you as anything but that. He doesn’t want you to be just a crush to him. Kei wants you to be like Tadashi, someone he can rely on and be comfortable with. He almost feels like he’s reversed what’s been done to him his whole life, like somehow he’s only become your friend because he wants something more. 

Truth is though, he doesn’t want anything more. Kei wants to stay exactly where he is. He doesn’t want his crush to develop any further. He doesn’t want to confess, he wants to forget. Even now, sitting on a couch in the library, he wants to imagine he doesn’t feel anything at all for you.  

“Hey, are you okay?” You tilt your head at him. 

“Huh? Me?” He questions. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You seem a little distracted,” you smile. “You’ve been staring at your computer for like… 10 minutes with this blank look on your face.” 

“You’ve been staring at me for 10 minutes?” He raises an eyebrow, trying to play off the embarrassment of being caught like that. 

“Not staring at you,” you huff, “but I definitely noticed.” 

“Ha, creep,” he tilts his head up a little, blowing air out of his nose. 

“You’re twisted, you know?” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks back at his computer screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you shake your head and smile before looking down at your work. 

Tadashi has said the same exact thing to him before. In highschool, after Kei had made a joke about his teammate Hinata’s height, Tadashi had given him a look and snorted that he’s so twisted. He’s been hearing that sort of thing his entire life. 

“Hey, are you cool if I skip out of here early?” You ask a few moments later. 

“Oh, yeah sure. I don’t mind,” he nods, hiding his disappointment. “I didn’t realize that we had like… set times to be here.” 

You laugh lightly. “Well, we don’t, but we tend to come and go at the same time, no? I kinda look forward to it.” 

Kei envies your honesty. You’re so honest all of the time. You say what you feel when it pops into your head. He wishes he could be like that, maybe then he would be able to say that he does too. Instead, he just nods and swallows his heart back down. You smile at him again and then gather your things. 

“You’ll be home on Friday night, right?” 

“Uhm, yeah? Why?” 

“Tadashi invited me and a few friends over, did he tell you?” 

“I think he mentioned it.” Kei has actually been thinking about it for the last couple days. 

“Good, I’ll see you, right?” 

“Yeah, you will.” 

“Great, talk to you later then!” You smile and with that, you walk away. 

You sounded so certain in that statement. Talk to you later. You said it like it was inevitable. Thinking about that, Kei can’t help but watch you go. He even likes looking at the back of you, though he wishes he could see your face too. It feels worse to be walked away from than walked towards. 

Kei can’t tell anymore if what he feels is romance or jealousy. It’s probably both. It’s probably some mix of the two that he can’t quite sort out. He wishes it weren’t that way. Kei gets the feeling that he might be ruined. 

So he just watched you leave the library. Someone is waiting for you at the top of the stairwell. Kei can tell they’re a guy and despite the reluctance of his feelings, his stomach drops anyway when you nudge his shoulder with yours and loop your arm around his. That’s something you haven’t done to Kei before. Touch him. You touch this other person so easily. It makes Kei jealous. 

It makes sense that you might be seeing someone, that there might be someone else. After all, you’re you. Desirable. You look up at the stranger, leaning on him, smiling and flashing your teeth. Yeah, it makes sense. 

Turns out, it’s easier to pretend that he doesn’t feel anything when he thinks you’re interested in someone else. He likes to think it will save him the time of wondering. 

—

Kei has cleaned his room approximately four times today. Sure, it’s overboard, but every time he goes into it, he notices something else that needs to be spruced up. Like a pot with a leak, there is always something that he seemed to miss the last time he went through and cleaned up. 

It’s not like you’ll be in his room tonight anyway, but you will be in his apartment and that’s close enough to his room that he, for whatever reason, needs to make it so spotless that it looks like a set. Kei knows though, that even when you’re here, he’ll be wondering if there’s something else that he missed beyond the closed door and he’ll think about it incessantly. 

He’s been avoiding the thought of him liking you. Instead, Kei cleans and cleans and then cleans some more for good measure. It’s not like he has any sort of claim on you and he knows that it’s stupid to feel jealous over one interaction he witnessed by chance, but his mind is running away with him. Was that person your boyfriend? Has he been begrudgingly pining over a taken person all these months? Do you think that he’s creepy because of it? 

He doesn’t get to be upset over the idea that you’re seeing someone else. Why wouldn’t you be? Kei’s done absolutely nothing to indicate his interest in you (or lack thereof), besides maybe telling you that he doesn’t hate you. He has no right to feel the way he does, but he spirals anyway. His insecurities, the ones that gnaw at him in the hours before he falls asleep, play in a constant loop in his head. His unreliability, his unpleasant personality, his cynicism, the baggage he carries with him like a badge. All of it piles up one by one. 

Kei feels like a kid again, losing himself over such a simple interaction, over something so miniscule that it might not even be considered anything at all. There are a plethora of reasons for his feeling like this and Kei thinks he could draw one of his issues out of a hat and it would still somehow address the situation at hand, but all he really feels is hurt and he doesn’t want to explain it away. Kei finds that liking someone hurts. It hurts more than it feels good and the uncertainty chews at his patience and leaves it razor thin. It’s not your fault, nor is it the person Kei’s convinced himself you’re seeing, but he needs someone to blame and it can’t be himself. 

The idea of you relying on someone else makes him nauseous. He’d never considered the thought before, that you find him as unreliable as others do. Kei wants to be relied on, most of all by you, and that fact makes him upset. He’s afraid of what you think of him and without the confidence to accept his feelings, it threatens to crush him. 

Kei’s got this itch over it, so he tries to distract himself. Cleaning his space to prepare for you helps him delude himself that he doesn’t quite like you at all. It’s not your fault. He’s just confused, like his parents were when they married each other. It hurts. Like they were when they had him to try and fix their marriage, which had started to fall apart even when Akiteru was an only child. He’s confused. He’s jealous over your ability to live the way Kei has always wanted to. That’s all this is. Nothing more and nothing less. He feels like he’s being split in two, stretched thin between two modes of thinking. 

Kei glances over his shoulder and into his room one last time. He’s forgotten to wipe the mirror. He goes back in and the cycle starts itself over. 

—

He’s not proud of his behavior. Kei thinks only a seriously huge asshole would be proud of the kind of behavior he displayed tonight. He regrets it immensely, though some part of him is begrudgingly holding onto the idea that maybe he was right to be so short tempered. Of course, that’s a lunatic’s idea. 

Tadashi is standing by the apartment door, mumbling something to you behind it. Over Tadashi’s shoulder, he sees you shake your head and in response, Tadashi gives a small bow before shutting the door to the shared apartment. Then, Tadashi turns and walks towards him. 

Kei doesn’t want to look at him, but Tadashi, for some reason, commands his gaze. 

“Is there a reason you were such a huge cunt tonight?” Tadashi sort of spits the words. They land at Kei’s feet and roll around before settling. 

“What are you talking about? I was normal,” he answers, though the statement sounds like a lie the moment it leaves his lips. 

“Bullshit,” Tadashi says. “You were being an asshole the second they walked through the door and you’ve been one to me all day.” 

Kei scoffs, his cheeks burning, “I’ve just been tired, dude. Besides, what does it matter? You’re closer to all of them than I am.”

“What? You’re tired so you just get to be a huge asshole?” 

“No,” Kei responds. 

“So then what was that?” 

Kei doesn’t really know. He doesn’t know what prompted him to act so cold or make such snide comments. It’s true, he’d been in a bad mood all day and he knows that Tadashi has borne the brunt of his misplaced emotions, but even Kei is confused as to why he’d acted the way he did. Still though, there is a part of him that knows that it was connected to his spiraling and what he saw in the library. He’d sound insane if he said it out loud, like somehow his growth was stunted in the third grade, but Kei is sure it had something to do with liking you and the hurt that comes with it. 

It’s not as if he’d been outwardly mean, but he had been cold. There are parts of himself that Kei doesn’t want you to see, sections of his personality that he ropes off from you because despite not liking you, he wants you to see the best in him. Tonight, he managed to somehow show off the worst. 

It started with the noise when everyone had arrived. You, Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, Kiyoko, and Yachi had all piled into the apartment in one large group. Kei’d been sitting on the couch and the sound of the door startled him right off the bat. He assumed that by the time they all had rounded the corner into the living room, his face was already sour, because everyone had greeted him cautiously. 

It’s no surprise that everyone was so loud. Kei has known this particular group for many years and they, having all gone to school or work nearby, pile into his apartment often for events like these. You were really the only new factor in all of it and while Kei is known as a touchy person, he certainly was more touchy than usual tonight. 

You’d been trying to talk to him all evening and Kei, in a desperate attempt to avoid whatever lingering feelings he had for you, had been shutting you down at every turn. Thinking back on it, he’s endlessly embarrassed. You didn’t deserve that. You’d been nothing but kind to him and there Kei was holding a grudge over you for something he had no right to be angry about whatsoever. He had been holding a grudge over something that he’d learned later that evening that wasn’t even true. 

Kei thinks that what Tadashi is referring to, was deliberately picking a fight with Tanaka. Kei and Tanaka have never been particularly close. Even in high school, his boisterous and somewhat obnoxious personality has always rubbed Kei the wrong way. Despite that, Tanaka has somehow managed to maintain a connection to him through university and the two of them have established a tentative but honest friendship. 

You had been sitting on the arm of the couch beside Tanaka, leaning over him to look at something he was showing you on his phone. Then, you laughed a little too hard and Kei felt that familiar sense of injustice rise to his throat, thick and heavy. It’s an ugly feeling, the kind that makes Kei feel sick when he’s in bed late at night. Bile rose in his throat in the form of harsh words. Jealousy in the form of the verbal venom Kei excels at. 

For Kei, Tanaka was an easy target, someone he could poke at and get a satisfying rise out of. In the moment, the rise he’d gotten from Tanaka by making snide comments about the volume of his voice and his particular obsession with pretty girls had been exactly that, satisfying. 

He’d picked a small fight. Nothing physical, but just enough to get him irritated. Kei’s not proud of it, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t done it deliberately. After all, Tanaka has never been the type to be the bigger person and turn his nose up. 

Sometimes, when Kei is experiencing emotions he’d rather not deal with, he decides to obsess over one single thing. Usually, it’s cleaning or schoolwork. Tonight, it happened to be the volume of Tanaka’s voice, which he knows was a shitty thing to do. Despite wanting to be reliable, Kei can’t help but feel that he was endlessly immature, lashing out at someone completely unrelated to the situation just because he could. 

Tadashi pulls him from his thoughts. 

“I thought you liked them, dude,” his voice is even, letting up on the anger. 

“Who?” Kei plays dumb. 

Tadashi responds with your name and Kei stiffens slightly. “I thought you guys had gotten closer. What happened?” 

“Nothing happened,” Kei says. It’s the truth. Absolutely nothing happened. Kei had spiraled all on his own. 

“Why did you ignore them then?” 

“I didn’t ignore them,” Kei says. Again, it’s not a lie. He may have shut conversations down and been a little cold, but Kei couldn’t ignore you if he tried, it’s sort of the whole problem he’s dealing with now. 

“Maybe, but you were cold. Like… needlessly.” 

“I was fucking normal, Tadashi. You should know me well enough by now to know that,” Kei spits. 

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it? I know you and I know that shit wasn’t normal. You’re twisted, but you’re not an outright asshole, Kei. What’s going on?” 

“I was normal, Tadashi. Just because I didn’t bounce around or get rowdy, doesn’t mean that something is wrong,” Kei answers. 

“Yeah, but you were like… majorly fucking weird, Kei. You were being an asshole. Don’t you like them? Don’t you want to be nice to them?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You don’t want to be nice to them?” Tadashi scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“No, not that. I don’t like them like that anymore,” Kei lies. 

“Oh please, that’s such horseshit,” Tadashi laughs bitterly. 

“Get off my ass, Tadashi. I don’t fucking feel that way about them anymore,” Kei insists. 

“Did something happen?” 

“No, literally nothing happened! Why does something have to happen? I just don’t like them,” Kei feels himself getting indignant. Tadashi doesn’t deserve this either, but he seems to be indiscriminate with his poor behavior tonight. 

Tadashi looks at Kei for a moment, studying him and calculating all of the things only Tadashi could know about him. Kei tries to hide it. 

“Jesus, Kei, you’ve got to stop doing this shit,” Tadashi touches his hand to his forehead. 

“Doing what?” 

“Getting all in your head about every single connection you’ve ever had with a person,” Tadashi raises his voice. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means I’ve seen you do this a million times! You start to really feel something for a person and then you fucking back away like a dog with its tail between its legs!” 

“I don’t do that!” 

“Yes, you do! You sabotage yourself until the other person is forced to do something about it!” Tadashi exhales. 

“I’ve never done that deliberately! What does someone else’s actions have to do with me?” 

“It doesn’t have to do with you,” Tadashi says, “It has to do with your parents.” 

The wind is knocked out of Kei, air sucked from his lungs. He furrows his eyebrows at Tadashi, his mouth slightly open. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Tadashi pushes, angry and trying to make him listen. “Not every relationship is like your parents’, Kei.” 

Tadashi knows he’s stepped over the line the moment he says it. If it hadn’t registered before, it registers clearly on his face now, regret settling over Tadashi’s usually bright features. Kei gapes at him for a moment, running through his thoughts and trying to pick out one that best verbalizes what it is he feels. Kei comes up empty. 

“Shit-” Tadashi starts towards him. “Kei, I’m sorry I didn’t mean that. I’m just pissed off I didn’t mean to-” 

Kei pushes past him. “Tadashi, I know you mean well, but don’t try to tell me about my fucking parents.” 

Tadashi doesn’t try to stop him when Kei flings the front door open and walks outside.

—

Kei remembers it like it was yesterday. He remembers all of it. 

He can clearly recall the way shattered glass looked on the marble tiles of his childhood home. White porcelain, broken up into multitudes by his mother and father. They never laid hands on each other, but everything else in the house was fair game. Kei’s lost count of the amount of broken glass dishes and picture frames he’d swept from the floor. 

Kei’s parents had always been on and off in their affection for each other. One minute, they were deeply in love and the next, they were at each other’s throats. Neither of them were bad people, but they made each other bad people. The two of them brought out the worst in each other, maybe on account of knowing the other so well. 

Akiteru was an accident. His brother knows this because when his parents argued, they never let him forget it. In their spats, leverage was whatever they could get their hands on, and that just happened to be Akiteru and the unfortunate circumstances of an accidental pregnancy. 

His parents got married at 19, thinking that they’d be able to handle a child, that their marriage was anything but rushed. They convinced themselves that it was love, when the reality was that Akiteru came because they were too young and stupid to prevent it. At least, that’s what Kei and Akiteru had settled on in the evenings after the yelling had died down and they were left to make sense of it in their shared bedroom. 

They had Kei to fix the marriage. Kei knows this because, like Akiteru, his father’s marital “solution” in the form of a second child was constant leverage to his mother. Kei grew up asking Akiteru why his mother and father even had children in the first place. 

Their relationship was rocky and unstable, predictable and toxic. They, like Kei, would do things to get rises out of each other. They’d make digs, do things to get under the other’s skin. They did it for attention, for affection, or out of loathing for the person they’d decided to make their life partner. When things settled, they got bored. His parents often mistakened calmness for complacency in their relationship. His parents loved each other, but they hated each other just as much, and it was he and Akiteru who paid the price. 

They got divorced when he was fourteen and any chance of Kei having a normal family went to the courthouse with the divorce papers. Akiteru was 20 at the time and managed to avoid the brunt of the custody battle. Kei still gets unexplainably angry with Akiteru for leaving him alone, though he knows that it’s not his fault. The only way Kei could make sense of it was through blame and it was easier to blame Akiteru for lying about volleyball or leaving him alone than it was to blame himself. Both Kei’s father and mother tried for full custody, not because they loved him that much, but because they knew that it would destroy the other. In the end, Kei spent his weekdays with his mother because she lived closer to his school, and weekends with his father just because. 

It happens all the time. People grow together, then grow apart, and grow to loathe each other. Kei watched it happen to his parents, he watched it happen to his friends, he watched it happen to himself with his own reflection. That’s just the way it goes. 

The air outside of his apartment is cool and breezy. He can feel the wind through his sweater, cutting through the gaps in the stitching and into his skin. Kei feels like he can think a little better out here, sitting on the short concrete wall with his back to the apartment building. He stares at his feet, outstretched in front of him. He's still wearing his house slippers. 

Kei did this once when he was younger. The fight that night had been particularly bad and his parents had resulted to throwing things across their bedroom. Kei could hear picture frames shatter through two walls and he wondered which memories they’d decided to trash. A particularly loud shout had sent Kei out of the front door and onto the curb in front of the house. 

He remembers crying, staring at his house slippers on the pavement, afraid because he could hear the shouting even from the lawn. Akiteru had come out to get him, sitting down beside him on the curb and putting his arm around him. 

“Are mom and dad gonna get divorced?” Kei had asked through sniffles. 

“Divorced? No, no,” Akiteru answered. “It’s just a rough patch. It happens to all couples. Mommy and Daddy will be fine.” 

“It’s normal?” Kei sniffled. 

Akiteru paused for a moment. Looking back, Kei realizes that Akiteru was debating on whether or not to lie to protect him. Kei wishes he hadn’t. 

“Yeah, it’s normal.” 

Normal. Kei realizes that he doesn’t exactly know what a normal relationship looks like. He is his parents' son. What they had in them, he has in him. Kei knows that those habits, the digs, the sour statements, the passive aggressiveness, are all things he’s picked up from watching them. Some role models they were. 

He needs to apologize to Tadashi. He may have overstepped, but Kei knows that he’d been an asshole tonight. He’ll need to apologize to Tanaka as well. And to you, which is perhaps the scariest part of this. He wants to apologize for his behavior, but apologizing means that he has to admit that he’d acted the way his parents did, out of jealousy and a pull for attention. Yup, he’s his parents’ son alright. 

Kei tilts his head up toward the sky. Only half of it is visible, the other half blocked by the three story apartment complex directly behind him. It’s a clear night, but he can’t see any stars and the moon is nowhere to be found. Kei wonders when the morning will come. It’s a few hours off, but he thinks about how the sky will look when the sun begins to rise. 

“Kei,” a familiar voice calls from in front of him. 

You’re a few feet away, your hands clasped in front of you. 

“Thought you went home,” he says. 

“Yeah well, I had intended to,” you start, “but you seemed off and I felt weird going back without checking on you. Can I sit?” 

Kei shrugs his shoulders, mortified and angry at being caught like this. He appreciates the thought, but you’re the last person he wants to see right now. It just means he needs to face his shortcomings sooner. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Kei answers automatically. 

“Just decided on some fresh air?” You smile a little and Kei blows air out of his nose. 

“Yup, that’s exactly it.” 

You sit next to him with your legs outstretched the same way his are, your hands are laced together in front of you, hanging down between your thighs. Kei doesn’t make an effort to say anything and neither do you. Instead, he just trains his head back up towards the sky and attempts to collect his thoughts, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Strangely, tonight he doesn’t feel nervous. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have the energy to. Maybe he’s too preoccupied with being sorry to pay any mind to the heart palpitations he gets when you’re around. Maybe it’s because even though he showed you the worst of him tonight, you still came back. It’s a small hope, but it’s there. 

“Hey,” your voice comes quietly, “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you need- I mean- if you want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good ear.” 

Kei nods a little. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “about tonight.” 

“I didn’t come here for an apology, you know?” You exhale a little. 

“Yeah, but you deserve one,” he says. “I was pretty shitty to you.” 

“Yeah, you were,” you agree, catching Kei off guard, “but it happens to all of us. Sometimes we feel things and just can’t keep them inside, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, swallowing down his shame. 

There’s another long silence. You don’t move to touch him or talk to him, instead, you provide steady company. Kei, as strange as it is, is comforted by your presence. 

“I fought with Tadashi,” Kei says after a few minutes. 

“Today?” 

“Yeah, tonight. After everyone left,” he says. “I deserved it though. I’ve been pretty shitty to him all day.” 

You hum, leaning back on your hands. 

“I did the same shit in high school too, you know?” Kei starts. “We’ve uhm- we’ve known each other for a while, the group that was over tonight. Around the end of middle school some shit happened and I uh- I took out a lot of what I was feeling on Tadashi and the others, but mostly Tadashi because he was the only one who knew.” 

Kei isn’t sure why he’s telling you this. Maybe Tadashi was right. Maybe this is another attempt at self sabotage. 

“You bullied him?” You ask, a little surprised. 

Kei shakes his head. “No, but I wasn’t very nice either. Anyone could tell you that. I thought I was past it, though,” he admits, a little defeated. 

“Did you ever apologize?” 

Kei looks up at you in surprise. Your eyes are full of something, curiosity, maybe pity. 

“For what you did in school?” 

He nods. “Countless times, and not just to Tadashi either, to everyone.” 

“You know, stuff like this happens,” you say. “When I was little, I used to hate sharing. Toys, food, friends. I’d hate it when my friends were friends with other people. It made me insecure and I’d get mad at them for it. I grew out of it, but sometimes I still get that way and I have to apologize later.” 

Kei laughs. It’s strikingly similar to what’s happening now, not that you’d have any way of knowing. 

“I can’t imagine you doing that,” he says. 

“I’m serious,” you say. “I still get weird over it sometimes.” 

Kei shakes his head a little, smiling. 

“All that I’m saying is that sometimes we slip up, that’s all. It’s normal,” you continue. “Not that I’m condoning it. Just saying that it doesn’t make you a horrible person. It makes you human.” 

“Thanks,” he says softly. 

“No problem,” you respond. 

“So why’d you fight with him tonight?” 

“He was angry with me because I was an asshole,” Kei shrugs.

“And you’re mad that he called you out?” You give a quiet and somewhat incredulous laugh. 

Kei shakes his head. “No, I’m angry about what he said after.” 

“What’d he say?” 

Kei debates on telling you. He doesn’t want to make himself out to be a victim. After all, Tadashi meant no harm, even if his comment did exactly that. 

“The argument kind of switched subjects,” Kei tiptoes around the fact that the subject was you. “He brought up a bad habit of mine and I got defensive.” 

“Okay,” you say, waiting for him to say more. 

“Remember when I said that something happened at the end of middle school and only Tadashi knew about it?” When you nod, Kei continues. “My parents got divorced. They were a bad match and it was messy. He brought it up.” 

You nod again, your eyes wide. 

“He didn’t mean any harm, I know that,” Kei inhales. “But uh- that stuff kind of sticks with you. Well, it’s stuck with me and I didn’t like having it used to explain my behaviors, even if he was right. I’m not deflecting or anything though. I know I was the problem tonight.” 

“Sure,” you say. “I’m sorry about your parents.” 

Kei shrugs. “It’s in the past. They’re both remarried now with new kids.” 

The last sentence leaves Kei with a sour taste in his mouth. His parents are good people, but after his childhood, he doesn’t think they have any business having more children. Maybe they’re capable of being good for them, but Kei doesn’t like to imagine that. It makes him feel like their marriage wasn’t the problem, but he and Akiteru were. 

“You say that like they got a new pet,” you smile a little. “Are you still in touch with them?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “I visit whenever I go back home, though they’re really not too far from here.” 

“That’s good of you.” 

“Well, they are my parents,” Kei says plainly. 

You’re the only other person he’s divulged this to by choice and your reactions, understanding and level-headed, make him feel better. It’s like getting a weight off of his chest. This is the worst of him. This little bit of information, his history of being unable to fully confront his feelings, of taking anger out on others when he was young, is where his problems originate. 

“Yeah, but you’re allowed to feel what you feel about it,” you say. “My mom died when I was eleven. Texting and driving. I’m still angry at her for it.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

You shrug and offer him a wry smile. “It’s in the past, but I’m still angry even though I shouldn’t be.” 

“At her?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “She made a stupid mistake that we’re constantly warned about and left my dad and me behind. I was so angry with her, still am. I love her though, perceived faults and all.” 

Kei thinks about whether or not he loves his parents. He thinks he does, even if he resents them. Kei can’t imagine what he’d do without them. Even though his childhood had few emotional comforts, he still can’t think about a world where he doesn’t visit home to have his mother’s cooking. That’s a world that you live in. 

“That’s hard.” It’s all Kei can think to offer. 

“It was,” you say. “Got easier though as soon as I started accepting things. Now I just miss her more than I hate her.”

Another bout of silence follows this. It must be close to two in the morning and he’s been outside so long that he can no longer feel the tip of his nose. 

“Anyway, about tonight,” you say, “it’s not a crime to feel what you feel, but if you need help, that’s what we’re here for. It’s easier to accept feelings and get hurt than to ignore them, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah,” Kei says, looking to face you. “Thank you.” 

You’re so pretty. It’s striking. The curvature and angles of your face, the gentle look in your eyes, softened by the conversation. Kei finds himself thinking that despite not wanting to face you a few hours earlier, he’s grateful that you showed up. You’re good in ways that Kei can hardly fathom. 

“You should go inside. Tadashi is probably wondering where you are,” you say, standing up. “Plus,” you pinch the tip of his nose between your middle and pointer knuckles, “your nose looks like a cherry tomato.”

“Rude,” he says, startled by the sudden touch. 

“Payback,” you shrug your shoulders and Kei rolls his eyes. 

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Kei offers, a bit nervous about you walking home on your own. 

“I’d love to take you up on that, but you seem tired and I don’t live very far,” you respond. “I’ll call you when I get home though, okay? Since you’re so worried.” 

Kei laughs a little and then nods, standing up. “Yeah, I am.” 

His honesty surprises even him, but you just tilt your head and give him a small smile. 

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say. “Thanks for the apology” 

“Anytime.”

“I hope not,” you laugh and Kei follows suit. 

You begin to turn on your heel, giving a small wave. 

Kei doesn’t know what overcomes him, but he calls out your name and reaches for your wrist. Before he has a moment to think about what he’s doing, he pulls you to his chest in a hug. You stiffen and then relax in his grip, wrapping your arms around him. Your body is warmer than his, sending heat through the gaps in his sweater. 

“You can call even if it’s not to tell me you got home safe,” he says. “If you want to.” 

You squeeze him around the middle. “Okay, I will.” 

When Kei lets go, he finds that his face is burning. The cold has been replaced by a flush of blood, making his vision a little syrupy.

“Thanks for coming back,” he says. “Get home safe.” 

“Of course,” you sound a little dazed, wearing an expression that Kei thinks might match his. “And I will.” 

Then, you smile at him, flashing your teeth and giving him a wave. You hold up your phone and point to it. 

“Expect a call!” 

Kei nods and raises his arm to wave goodbye.

He stands and watches your figure as you walk down the sidewalk and turn the corner. When you’re out of sight, he lingers by the door to his building, just in case you decide to come back. You don’t come back, but Kei lingers anyway, considering the conversation. 

He goes inside, intent on apologizing to Tadashi. When he opens the door to his apartment, the lights are still on in the living room and Tadashi gets up from the couch and walks quickly down the hall to him.

“Kei, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Don’t worry,” Kei says. “I know. I’m sorry about tonight too. And for treating you like that today. And for high school.” 

“High school?” Tadashi says, confused. “Why are you bringing up high school?” 

“Just wanted to apologize again.” 

Kei can feel his eyes drooping, exhaustion creeping into his body and replacing the elated feeling he had moments before. 

“I didn’t mean to bring your parents into it. How you like someone is none of my business,” Tadashi says. “I was out of line.” 

“So was I,” Kei admits through a tired sigh. “I shouldn’t have acted that way. I’ll apologize to the others in the morning.” 

Tadashi narrows his eyes a little and nods. Kei, besieged by that sleepy late night feeling, moves towards his bedroom. 

“Hey, Kei,” his voice comes out a little louder this time. “You’re being surprisingly easy-going. Are we good?” 

Kei scoffs a little, rubbing his eyes. “I just had some time to think, that’s all. And yeah, we’re good.” 

“Okay, are you good?” 

“Yeah, I am,” Kei says. 

Before he closes the door to his room, he furrows his eyebrows and makes a firm decision. 

“By the way,” Tadashi turns to him, cocking his head to the side in response. “I lied. I do like them.” 

“Could have guessed as much,” he responds, laughing a little. “See you in the morning.” 

“Yup, see you in the morning.” 

Kei shuts the door to his room. It clicks into place quietly. His room is spotless. It looks like a room that could be easily emptied at any time. He sighs, stepping into it and laying down on his bed. His phone is on the comforter next to him, lying face up. 

When it lights up, it illuminates the ceiling above him and he answers the phone without needing to check who's calling. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, I got home safe,” he hears your keys clink against something and then the sound of a door shutting. Then, he hears the sound of you laying down on your bed. He imagines you’re lying the same way he is. 

“Good, I’m glad,” he says. “No trouble?” 

“No trouble at all,” you say. He can hear your smile. 

“Thanks again for coming back tonight,” he says, turning over onto his side and letting the phone rest on the bed in front of his face. 

“Of course,” you say.

He doesn’t know what else to say. His nerves have caught up to him and your voice through the speaker sounds so close, like you’re whispering directly into his ear. 

“Okay, well I’m going to go to bed,” Kei starts. 

“Kei?” you say. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m gonna take you up on your offer. About calling you. Just wanted you to know.” 

“Okay,” he swallows. 

“I feel a lot closer to you.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

“Goodnight, Kei,” you practically whisper. 

“Goodnight,” he responds, lowering his voice the same way you did. You hang up the phone and the call ends. 

He blinks at his phone for a moment before standing up and getting ready for bed. Kei goes through the motions while thinking about how the evening got here. He’d been certain before it began that he no longer liked you, that he was confused. Now, he’s certain of the opposite. 

He decides that he’ll like you for real this time. Even if he’s afraid of hurting himself, of hurting you.

Kei lays down in his bed and faces the ceiling. He thinks about his parents, about your mother, about you. The cadence of your voice, the slight tremor in it. He thinks about your expressions, understanding and unintrusive. He thinks about your history, the anger you’d admitted to him and the grace you’d given him in his own circumstances. 

He dreams of braids, like DNA. Coils of pink yarn woven together in an intricate pattern. A molecular change not visible to the naked eye. Morning comes like liquid gold, spilling across his bedspread in slats through the window.

—

Kei’s apologies go smoothly. Tadashi’s friends—his friends—are good people. They know him better than most and field his awkward, stumbling apology with steady hands. 

He’d explained his sour mood in as little detail as possible, deliberately omitting his feelings for you while doing so, and he made a special effort to apologize to Tanaka. He’s easygoing and quick to forget, but Kei knows that even after accepting the apology, Tanaka will lord it over his head for a week or two. Tanaka thinks those kinds of things are funny and Kei won’t try to tell him otherwise. 

You do take Kei up on his offer. You call him twice a week now. Sometimes it’s to tell him something relevant to him, other times, you just whisper into the phone that you just felt like talking. Either way, it’s not good for his heart. Kei thinks that at this rate, it might just give out. 

There are a lot of things that Kei could say about liking you. It makes his days a little brighter. When he remembers that he has someone he cares about like that, he feels a surge of excitement for no particular reason. He finds that he looks forward to seeing you and goes out of his way to do so, more than he did before he was willing to admit it. 

He’s noticed the way you eat, like every bite of food is even better than the last. He’s noticed that you wipe the condensation off of your cups before each sip. He’s noticed that when you’re studying, you’ll pull at the collar of your shirt absentmindedly and then become frustrated when it is stretched out of place. Kei likes all of these things about you. 

Kei has also found that liking someone hurts. It hurts worse than he thought it would. Insecurity weaves its way into even the most minor of interactions. He’s self conscious almost all of the time, adjusting his hair, clothing, glasses right down to minor details. As of late, Kei appears more put together than he ever has, but the reality is that he’s probably the least put together he’s ever been. 

When you’re around, Kei is awkward and clumsy. He drops things, trips over nothing, loses control over his lanky limbs and overshoots things. He feels like a teenager again, not that he’s that far off from one. 

Still, one thing overshadows all of this. Kei is so comfortable around you, so peaceful despite the nerves and insecurity, that he’s able to forget about the worst of it. Forgetting about the worst of things is not something Kei is particularly good at. He’s cynical by nature. You help to ease the burden of it. 

The coffee shop he’s visiting with you today is quiet. The room is decorated with dark oak wood and the tables are accented by the rings of the trees the wood was cut from. The early spring light filters in at angles through the windows letting out onto the street. It falls across your notebooks and the knuckles of your hand, wrapped evenly around a black pen. 

You’d brought him here to study instead of going to the library and Kei can’t help but think that it feels like a date. His tea sits half-finished in a mug beside his laptop, beginning to cool to room temperature. Your coffee sits by your unoccupied hand and every now and then, you’ll reach to take a sip of the warm beverage without even glancing up. 

Kei has spent so much time watching you today, that he’s hardly gotten any work done. His computer is open on a document with a paragraph of writing about nudity in the classical period, which he hasn’t touched in about 10 minutes. He’s been clicking blankly around the page, adding spaces and then deleting them and then glancing up over the edge of the screen to look at the way you purse your lips when you’re focused. 

“You’d get a lot more done if you stopped staring,” you say, not looking up from your notebook. 

Kei chokes on his exhale. “What?” 

You laugh a little, looking up at him through your lashes. God, you’re pretty. 

“The document?” You chuckle. “You’re not fooling anyone by clicking around randomly like that.” 

“Oh,” Kei furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head a little. “Yeah, just can’t seem to focus.” 

“What’s the paper on?” You set down your pen and cross your arms on the table. 

“It’s not really a paper,” he says. “It’s a visual analysis on the Aphrodite of Knidos.” 

“Is that the one without the arms?” 

“No, but they come from the same family of statues,” Kei smiles a little. 

You hum a bit. “Do you like it?” 

“Like, do I think the statue’s pretty?” Kei closes the screen of his laptop to see you better. “Yeah, I do. Learning about the history of it is a bit depressing though.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, Aphrodite was one of the most powerful Greek gods, right?” He says, and you nod your head and roll your eyes because you know that already. “But this statue group intrudes on a private moment of hers. She’s trying to cover up her body, probably just before or after a bath. It’s meant to be humiliating.” 

You tilt your head. “Sounds more interesting than molecular structures at least.” 

Kei laughs a little. “Yeah, I think it’s just a bit more interesting.” 

“Why did you choose to study art history?” You question, leaning forward on your elbows. 

Kei feels awkward at receiving the question. He doesn’t like talking about himself much, let alone his passions. They tend to get away from him. 

“Probably because I’m no good at art,” he smiles a little. 

“Such a shame, what with your artist’s hands and all,” you reach across the table and tap his knuckle. 

Kei feels the color rise to his cheeks. 

“You’re no good at art, so you study art history instead?” You press for more. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I like things that people make with their hands. There’s a lot of human expression in ancient art, good and bad. Gives a bit more context into who we were before.” 

You lean back in the chair, grinning at him. Kei bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to notice the slope of your neck. 

“Why are you studying molecular bio?” He changes the subject. 

You shrug your shoulders. “I want a good cushy job that makes me a lot of money.” 

Kei watches the corners of your lips curl up. 

“Plus,” you continue, “I wanted to show off a little bit.” 

“So you put yourself through four years of torture?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yup, I’m a huge masochist,” you grin. 

“You STEM kids are unbearable, you know?” Kei snorts. 

“But you like me anyway, yeah?” 

Kei nods, heat creeping up his neck, and watches you return to your work. 

It’s true, he does like you anyway. Kei likes you so much, in fact, that it frightens him. Well, the idea of liking someone has always frightened Kei, whether he’s noticed it or not. Commitment, or lack thereof, make Kei nervous in the same way heights do. He feels like he could lose his footing at any moment. 

That’s probably why he doesn’t want to do anything in particular about his feelings. Kei is content with just feeling them. He’s content to just be able to like you in his own way, even if nothing ever comes of it. He probably shouldn’t do anything about them, considering the back and forth battle he’s waged in his mind over the last few months. He’s too indecisive to do anything but like you, and even that feels herculean to accept. 

Not that liking you is a hard thing to do. You’re easy to like. It’s easy for him to picture touching you. It’s easy for Kei to imagine late night conversations and little intimacies shared over damp pillows. You’re easy to talk to, floating through conversations and navigating conflict with a sure step, something Kei can’t do. It’s not hard to find things to admire. 

Kei imagines what it would be like to be with you. He imagines the feel of your hands in his, how you might look spread beneath him, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips. He imagines how his glasses might fog up with your breath and slip down the bridge of his nose. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? 

A little alarm bell sounds in his head. This is a dangerous line of thought, a greedy one. Kei doesn’t think he can handle greed, not when it comes to you. He got a taste of it that day when he saw you leave with someone else and again the following Friday. Kei doesn’t mix well with it, with wanting. Still, he wants. 

—

It’s a breezy day. It cuts the growing humidity as the beginning of May creeps on. This is no doubt one of the best times of year, though Kei prefers the fall or winter. Still, even with the slightly sticky air, his walk to class is pleasant. He’d even venture to say that it’s good. 

Light filters through the trees, blooming with their spring flowers, and in the distance he can see a familiar row of cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom. As he approaches them, he finds himself admiring their delicate petals, wondering just how brief their bloom will be before they come cascading down. One tree among the pink rows has yet to open its flowers. The buds sit on their branches, shades of green and gray. A late bloomer. This tree will no doubt flower once the other petals have fallen, and when it does, it’ll become the most eye-catching thing on the street. 

Kei admires it for a moment, standing below the thing and looking up through its twisting branches. It’s so small, much smaller than the rest of its counterparts, and its branches don’t look too full of yet-to-bloom buds either. 

There was a tree like this outside of Kei’s childhood home, the one his family lived in together when it was whole. It would always bloom a week after the others and every year he would worry that it never would. Of course, he kept this fear to himself, but he often watched it from his bedroom window when Akiteru was out. He’d press his face against the glass and pray for the flowers to come so that it didn’t get left behind. Sure enough though, it would bloom without fail and leave scattered pink petals across his yard and doorstep. Kei wonders if this tree in front of him will do the same. 

“Thinking about changing your major to plant sciences, Kei?” 

He jumps, started by your voice and your proximity. 

“Jesus,” Kei turns, “you need a bell or something.” 

“You’re the one standing in public staring at a tree with no flowers on it,” you laugh a little. 

Kei shrugs his shoulders, not really willing to give an explanation for the train of thought he was just on. 

“Where’re you headed?” he questions. 

“Dropping off an assignment,” you smile lightly, “wanna come with me?” 

“I can’t. I’ve got a class in 15.” 

“Fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes,” you shrug. “We’ll make it.” 

“We?” Kei raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, you come with me to drop off my paper and then I drop you off at class. It’s a win-win.” 

“Sounds like I’m just doing a lot of extra walking,” Kei snorts. 

“Yeah, but you get to do it with me so it’ll be more fun.” 

Kei folds and goes with you to drop off your assignment. It’s an essay assigned by an old-fashioned professor who doesn’t like electronic submissions. You comment off-handedly on what a waste of paper it is and Kei nods, just happy to hear about it. 

It’s strange. Kei is normally very tied to his routine. It keeps him sane, helps him to organize his thoughts and feelings into neat compartments. For Kei, an orderly life is an orderly mind. Somehow though, you ask him to deviate from that and he’s more than willing, eager even, to oblige you. Better yet, he does it without feeling off-kilter. Well, without feeling as off-kilter about his daily life. When it comes to you, Kei is about as stable as a pogo stick. 

The walk to your professor's office is only a few minutes from his classroom, just a few buildings over, but by the time you both arrive there, Kei’s palms are sweating. He resorts to shoving them in his pockets and wiping them on the inside of his pants, mortified at the idea of accidentally touching you like this. 

“Hey, about tonight,” you start after dropping the paper off with a quick bow. 

You’re supposed to come over. It’s the first time you and Kei have agreed to hang out at one of your places alone and Kei has been compartmentalizing his nerves so harshly that he’d almost forgotten about it entirely. Maybe that explains his easy-going mood. 

“Yeah?” 

“So, Tadashi may have mentioned it in front of the others,” you give him a sheepish grin, “and they may have asked to come and I definitely told them ‘the more the merrier’.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Kei’s a little disappointed. “So they’re coming too?” 

“Yeah, is that okay?” You furrow your eyebrows. 

Kei can’t very well come out and say that it isn’t, because his reason for thinking that is entirely about monopolizing your time. Kei says he doesn’t want to do anything about these feelings, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t indulge just a little into the foreign feeling of accepting that he’s ‘in like’. 

“Yeah sure, why wouldn’t it be?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him and Kei misses the message entirely. 

“I dunno, you’re not really a fan of bigger groups right?” 

“Not really,” Kei shrugs, “but I’ve known them for a while so it doesn’t count.” 

You nod your head and then smile. “Great! Now, where is your class?” 

“Social Sciences,” Kei glances down at the brown watch on his wrist. “In about… four minutes.” 

“Wanna run? Can’t be late, can you?” 

Kei does not want to run. He runs anyway. You’re faster than he is and your step is louder. The soles of your shoes thump on the floor with every step you take and your whole body lurches forward with each bound. When you reach the end of the hallway his class is in, Kei is completely winded. Considering that he plays volleyball as a hobby, he should really be in better shape. He attributes his lack of breath to your presence. Maybe he’d been holding it while watching you run. 

You glance into his full classroom, giving him a relieved look upon seeing that the professor has not begun her lecture yet. Then, you bounce twice on the tips of your toes and start jogging in the other direction. 

“Have a good class!” You call. 

“What’s the rush?” he questions. 

“I’ve got class now too, dummy. Just wanted to hang out with you for a few more minutes.” Then, you turn and run off, your bag bouncing against the side of your leg as you round a corner and fly down a set of stairs. 

That’s the thing about you that Kei can’t get enough of. When Kei takes a step back, when he resigns himself to being okay with just a chance meeting and a brief hello, you take a step forward. Whatever Kei lacks, you make up for tenfold. Your outstretched hand makes him greedier. It makes Kei want more than he’s ever wanted before. He goes to class starved for something that isn’t food, a feeling Kei hasn’t experienced often, let alone leaned into. He lets himself feel the hunger. 

—

Day melts away to a cool evening, still slightly wet, but like the dampness before rain. The air loses its warm touch, creeping into something chillier. Kei opens his bedroom window to let the air in. He likes the smell of cool nights. He wants his room to smell like it when he sleeps tonight. 

“Sorry that I spilled the beans about tonight,” Tadashi leans in the doorway of his room. 

“It’s not like that,” Kei rolls his eyes, already irritated with the implication that whatever you and Kei had organized was anything more than two friends hanging out. 

“Sure it isn’t,” he laughs. 

“I’m serious dude,” Kei fights the urge to throw something soft at him. 

“You wanted to hang out with them alone, right?” Tadashi tilts his head. His dark hair falls to the side and around his neck. 

“I just said it wasn’t like that!” 

Tadashi gives an even laugh. “You’re the one making it dirty, Tsukki, not me.” 

Heat floods Kei’s face, painting it red. 

“Caught ya,” Tadashi smiles. 

“When the hell are you moving out?” Kei grumbles and Tadashi gives another good natured laugh. 

“Not until you do. You’re stuck with me.” 

“Not if I kill you,” Kei doesn’t smile when he says this. 

Tadashi barks a laugh. “So what changed?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean with you. You seem a little more upbeat lately,” Tadashi says. “Nothing like the sad sack from a few months ago.” 

“I was kidding before but now I’m serious. I really will kill you.” 

Tadashi shakes his head a little but doesn’t say anything, intruding on Kei’s space until he gives an answer. 

“I just got tired of it, that’s all,” Kei says evenly, though it’s a little hard to admit. 

“Tired of what?” 

“Pretending,” he says plainly, glancing up at Tadashi in the doorway. 

“Because of them?” 

“No,” he starts. “Maybe. I don’t know. Can you leave now?” 

Tadashi shakes his head. “Too curious to leave.” 

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Kei grumbles. “I got tired of pretending I didn’t want them.” 

“Not like you were very good at pretending,” Tadashi laughs and Kei tosses him a sharp look. 

He raises his hands defensively, tucking his chin downwards and laughing lightly. “Okay, fine. I’m gone now.” 

“They’ll be here in an hour or so, by the way,” Kei adds and Tadashi gives a little hum to confirm that he’s heard him as he leaves the room. 

Kei glances around his room. The floor is bare, save for a small mat by the side of his bed to keep the shock of warm feet on a cold floor in the morning away. That notebook, dear to him as it is, still sits on the desk. It’s empty, but Kei likes the look of it. 

The hour before you and his friends are meant to arrive goes by so slowly that Kei worries that he’s gotten the day wrong. He incessantly checks his watch. It’s a brown leather watch with a square face. Thin and somewhat old fashioned, Kei prefers it to pulling his phone out to check the time. His Dad has one like it, almost matching. It had been given to him as a gift at his high school graduation and Kei had accepted it begrudgingly. He’d not been on good terms with his parents then and having them both in the same space for his graduation day was more trouble than it was worth. Still, he wears the watch almost daily. Despite having the impression that his parents never really cared about him, it was a fine gift for him and the brown strap suits his light skin tone in the same way it suits his father’s. 

He walks to the mirror in his room, hanging on the wall beside his nightstand, and peers into it. Kei’s curly hair is somewhat unruly. It’s hard to manage, especially in the warmer months when his waves turn into frizzy curls that he can’t seem to keep down. It’s gotten longer, coming down to just above the bottom of his ears at the back and curls upwards in licks of thick blond. 

Kei fiddles with it for a moment, tucking it behind his ears and then deciding to pull it forward. He could put gel in it to help calm it down, but he hates the greasy look of it and he’s never been one to primp and preen. He adjusts his glasses on his nose, square frames in a tortoiseshell pattern. They look expensive, though they’re only a cheap pair that he’d found at the drug store and had the lenses replaced. 

He looks normal. Kei looks like himself, if not a bit flushed in the face from his nerves. His reflection is one he is oddly unfamiliar with, despite it being his throughout his entire life. At some point during high school, he’d stopped recognizing the man in the mirror as Kei and started viewing him as a separate entity. Kei Two, a version of him that can make a home out of a space and find things to write in his notebook. Kei Two’s family is still whole and unbroken, and he likes to imagine that he’s a little more friendly than the real-world version. He looks away from the mirror, content today with being the original. 

Kei is in the living room and around the corner when the front door latch clicks open and is followed by a symphony of raucous voices. He takes a sharp inhale, unsure of why this feels so different from the hundreds of other times you’ve all piled into his living room. 

“Where’s Kei?” He hears you call, dragging out the syllable of his name in a soft hum. 

That’s why. It’s because this time, you’ve come here to see him specifically. You’re not here to see Tadashi or by chance, you’re here because you’d made plans to see Kei. That’s what makes it different. 

You round the corner and Kei is hit full force in the chest with his emotions and his nerves. It happens all at once, keeping the air from his lungs. You’re smiling, beaming even, and Kei thinks that maybe it’s because you can hear the hammer of his heart against his chest. 

“Hi,” you breathe, plopping down next to him on the couch. 

“Hey,” he chokes out. 

Kei chides himself for his nerves. He’d been doing better about getting weird around you, but today he feels closer to blowing up than he ever has. 

Hinata, Kageyama, Yachi, and Noya make their way into the kitchen, each one clapping Tadashi on the back as they do. They beeline for their fridge, opening the door and flooding the floor with artificial white light as they pull out enough beers and sodas to supply a small army. Kei wonders why he and Tadashi ever bought so many of them. Kei hardly drinks, but he supposes that Tadashi just likes to host. 

“Tanaka and Kiyoko?” Tadashi questions as he makes his way into the living room with the group. His beer cracks open with a satisfying pop. 

“Date night,” Noya says, sinking into one of the arm chairs situated around the coffee table. “So annoying.”

He groans about Kiyoko, someone he’s all but worshiped since high school. 

“You’re just mad it isn’t you,” Kageyama quips, giving a somewhat mean grin. 

“Not true,” Noya argues. “I am the happiest person in the world for them! But now they go on dates and I can’t come. It’s like I lost a bro.” 

“You’re so overreacting,” Yachi adds, her lips forming around high pitched syllables. “They’re here most of the time.” 

“Yeah, most but not all,” Noya pouts. 

“Give the same energy to Daichi, Suga, and Asahi next time, kay?” Tadashi laughs. 

Their friend group is a large one, consisting of most (if not all) of their highschool volleyball team. While Hinata, Kageyama, and Yachi are the same age as Kei and Tadashi, Tanaka and Noya are a year older, and Kiyoko is two. Daichi, Asahi, and Suga all went to universities outside of Sendai, meaning they hardly ever see them. All in all, the rest of the group is pretty bummed about it. Kei just finds that he misses having Daichi around to reel everyone in. Now that he’s gone, that job has somehow gone to Tadashi, who is more of an enabler than anything else. 

“They’re different and you know it,” Noya frowns, opening his open beer with a hiss through his teeth. 

You lean to the side, bumping your shoulder against Kei’s. 

“Who’re Daichi, Suga, and Asahi?” You ask softly. 

“You’ve never met?” Kei furrows his eyebrows and you shrug. 

“Maybe, but if I have it was only once or twice.” 

“They’re friends from our volleyball team in highschool, but they’re two years older.” 

“Okay, so one year older than me?” 

Kei blinks a few times. “You’re a year older than me?” 

“Yeah?” You laugh a little like it’s obvious. 

“But aren’t you a fourth year?” He furrows his eyebrows. 

“I took a year off before starting college,” you shrug your shoulders. “Thought that I had to get my sillies out.” 

“Your sillies?” Kei laughs a little. 

“Yeah,” you smile, “and I had to save up some money. It makes the world go ‘round, you know?” 

“What are you guys whispering about?” Tadashi gives Kei a wry grin over the top of his beer can. 

It’s only then that Kei realizes the way you both are leaning into each other. He’s tilting his head down to hear you better and you’re leaning forward. It gives off the impression of two people conspiring, of closeness that Kei hadn’t even realized had crept up on him. 

“I was asking who Daichi, Suga, and Asahi are,” you shrug off the moment, leaning back in the chair. 

This prompts a chorus of disbelief, everyone jumping in to describe them to you. Kei takes it as a moment to breathe, inhaling and exhaling. He can feel your thigh against his, just barely there and bleeding warmth through the fabric of his jeans. 

They delve into stories about nationals, little details that Kei had forgotten a long time ago. Every now and then, someone will bring up Kei’s more-than-sour personality and he will feel the need to hide the embarrassment on his cheeks. Even though you know about it, it’s still mortifying for Kei to hear. He wants you to see the best in him, but any hopes he had of you forgetting are quickly washed away as someone brings up Kei’s relentless prodding of Kageyama’s easily pushed buttons. 

You laugh along with them like you were there, amused to hear stories about your college friends in their high school years. Kei finds himself thinking that you fit very well into this scene. 

Still though, despite the fun he’s having, Kei’s battery begins to run out quickly and after a long game of cards, he gets up to take a quick break in the kitchen. It’s not that he wants the night to end, but rather that he just needs a minute to himself and uses the idea of more snacks as an excuse for it. 

He reaches into a cabinet, pulling out a half-finished bag of chips and setting them on the counter. They’re clipped with a bright red chip-clip from the grocery store and Kei thinks that because of that, they shouldn’t have gone stale yet. If it were the peak of summer, Kei might think twice, but this time of year, they should be fine.

Then, he bends down to get a large white mixing bowl from a lower cabinet. Their plates and bowls are kept in various different cabinets, though the only reason they stay somewhat organized is because of Kei. 

“Done already?” You lean your hip against the counter. 

“With what?” Kei struggles to keep his eyes from following the line of your body. 

“Hanging out,” you smile lightly. 

“Not really,” he says. “Just needed a minute and decided to get more snacks.” 

“Wanna go sit outside for a bit then?” 

Kei glances into the living room where the group chatters away. He’d hate to be stopped on the way. 

“Relax,” you laugh. “They’re so caught up they won’t even notice that we’re gone.” 

Kei furrows his eyebrows and then shrugs, swallowing his heart down with the spit that has pooled in his mouth. He follows you out of the front door, shutting it with a quiet click and heading down the steps of the complex and to the concrete wall lining the shrubbery outside. It’s the same place you’d come back to talk to him at all those weeks ago, though he is in considerably better spirits than he was then. 

It’s a cool night, the gentle heat of the day completely burned off to make way for a crisp breeze. He inhales, wishing that he had brought a drink to fiddle with and sip on to distract him from his nerves. 

You sit beside him, leaning back on your palms with your legs outstretched in front of you. Your hand is only a few inches from his and Kei sucks in a breath when he accidentally touches it while he gets comfortable. You only offer him a little smile in response. 

“Sorry again about bringing the troops here,” you speak first. 

“That’s really okay,” he says. “Contrary to popular belief, I actually really like them.” 

You snort. “I hope so.” 

Kei inhales louder than he intends to and when you look at him like he’s going to say something, he just holds his breath and shakes his head. The air only leaves him when you finally look away. 

“Kind of a bummer though,” you start, “I was kinda excited about just hanging out with you.” 

Kei’s breath catches in his throat. He swallows to move the metaphorical blockage. 

“We hang out all the time though,” he says like it’s enough. Of course it’s not enough. 

“Guess so,” you smile a little, though Kei can hear the distinct turn of disappointment in your voice. 

“You know,” he starts, already embarrassed at what he’s going to admit. “I wanted to be your friend for a while.” 

“Oh yeah?” you smile, opening up again and turning towards him. “Why?” 

Kei shrugs, resisting the urge to shut down completely. It’s embarrassing admitting to someone that you wanted to know them before you actually knew them. 

“You kind of reminded me of Tadashi,” he says. “And you both got along so well.” 

“Tadashi? I’m nothing like Tadashi,” you laugh, shaking your head. 

“What? No, you two are so similar,” Kei insists, lacing his fingers together. 

“What about us is so similar?” 

“Well, you’re both sociable and warm and…” Kei trails off. He can��t really think of anything else. You look at him with an expectant look in your eyes. 

“See?” 

Kei realizes that the two of you are not similar at all. Your warmth is where the similarity stops. He’d been likening you to Tadashi this entire time, not because the two of you are similar, but because you make him feel similar to the way Tadashi does. Safe and comfortable, though with the added addition of deeply awkward. He realizes that without the safety net of you being like Tadashi, he’s never had any ability to deny his feelings and with that they rage full force around the corner and slam into his chest like a heavy blow. 

“We’re nothing like each other,” you laugh and lean back against your palms. “Though, it would be cool to be like Tadashi.” 

Kei experiences the sudden realization that he doesn’t want you to be like Tadashi. Kei wants you to be like him. He wants you to be greedy and want him the same way he wants you. He wants you to be able to keep up with his turns and his moods, something he didn’t realize he wanted in the first place. If you’re like Kei, then Kei doesn’t have to be afraid of showing you the worst. You’ll have already seen it. If you’re like Kei and he loves you, then what is stopping you from loving him? 

“Even if you’re not like Tadashi, that’s fine.” His cheeks burn. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I like you all the same,” he admits quietly. 

“The same? As Tadashi?” You purse your lips a little. “I thought I was a little different. Was I wrong?” 

Kei wants to kiss you. Kei wants to kiss you so badly that his mouth has gone dry and his lips feel like they’ve separated from his body. Anything he’d thought about not wanting anything with you flies out of the window with your proximity. You’re so close to him. Close enough that if he leaned a little to the right, his shoulder would be against yours. You’re so close and you’re looking at him like you’re waiting for something, implying that somehow you’re different from Tadashi. Implying that you want him to like you differently than the way he likes his platonic friend. 

“No, you’re different,” he says, taking the bait you’ve laid in front of him. His heart pounds and he can’t look at you. He thinks he’ll kiss you if he does. 

“Am I?” 

Kei can hear the smile in your voice. It makes what you’re saying sound honeyed and curved. 

“Yeah, you are.”

“How so?” 

Kei finally raises his head to look at you. You’re grinning, leaning towards him like you’re watching a show. He feels the way his nerves rise into his throat, pressing against the very back of his tongue. He doesn’t know how to answer or what to say. Well, he does know what to say, he just doesn’t think he can. Kei is good at thinking about emotions, but when it comes time to speak them outloud, it seems that he’s still got a padlock around his throat. So he does what any logical person would do. 

Kei leans forward, pushing against his screaming nerves and trying to ignore the tremble in his hands, and kisses you. It’s awkward and his teeth click against yours before his lips fully settle against your mouth. He feels the breath you draw in, like surprise and relief mixed together, and he finds that he does the same. 

He can see the way your eyes flutter closed through his barely open ones and he realizes that your lips are so warm. He screws his eyes shut when you dip your head forward to move your lips against his. Yours are so warm and soft, like satin. A kiss has never felt like this to Kei before and he finds that he wants to catalog every single one of your reactions. Maybe that’s what he could write in the notebook. Maybe he could write down every single thing that you do that leaves him winded and wanting more. 

Neither of you reach for the other, but he can feel the knuckle of your pinky against his as you slowly kiss each other, tilting your heads side to side. There’s hunger within him, the need to take more than what he’s receiving and a greed he isn’t quite familiar with, but there’s also romance. It’s like a spell that’s yet to be broken, fed by the click of your mouths as they move together. Kei sighs, flooded with the relief of this kind of physical affection, of being honest with himself at how much he likes it. Kei loves the feel of your mouth. He loves the way your lips and tongue feel and he loves that they’re all that he can feel right now. 

The kiss lasts longer than Kei thought it would and by the time he pulls away, you’re both steadily panting and attempting to keep your breathing even. He wants to do it again. He wants it so badly that it makes his chest swell. He wants to do that with you forever, but he swallows down the desire. It’s a temporary fix, but it’s enough for him to choke out what it is he wants to say next. 

“I think I’m in really hot water,” he squeaks. 

“What do you mean?” You breathe out, the playfulness from a few moments earlier long behind you. 

“I think I want you way more than I thought I did,” he admits quietly, the first out loud admittance of his feelings to you. 

You smile a little before speaking. “I think it’s only hot water if the other person doesn’t feel the same way.” 

Your face is still so close to his. “Yeah?” 

It comes out a bit desperate, like he needs reassurance. Kei does. He’s so afraid that he thinks he could die. Afraid of the spell breaking, afraid of losing whatever moment this is and being forced to return to his one-sided pining, afraid that you don’t feel the same way.

Your face moves closer to him, breath trembling lightly. “Yeah.” 

You kiss him again, pressing your lips against his lightly before parting them. He’s so overwhelmed and so immediately lost in it. Kei feels the way your tongue teases the inside of his mouth and it makes him feel like a teenager again, swelling with desires and emotions that he can’t name. You move your hand over his, placing it lightly on top of his, and he reacts by lacing your fingers together and pushing forward more. 

Kei wants to touch you so badly, to reach up and hold your face, to touch your waist and your legs and your chest. He wants to do it all, to feel you right here under the cover of night, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses you and stews in the desire, letting it swell in his chest as he listens to the clicking of your mouths. You kiss him so slowly, moving your mouth at a languid pace. It drives him crazy. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this.

“We should go back inside, I think,” you break away, your bottom lip shiny with a sheen of spit. “The others might think something’s up and Tanaka isn’t exactly good with discretion.”

Kei automatically reaches up to swipe it with his thumb. He doesn’t know where this affection comes from, where the possessive action found its origins, but he finds that he likes the way it feels to be able to do it in the first place. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Kei responds, though he would have been happy to continue sitting out here with you, kissing you silly. 

You stand first, dusting off the back of your legs and waiting for Kei to follow suit. When he does, you reach quickly for his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before walking in front of him. 

Kei is not sure how he should act when he goes inside. He’s tense all over, desperate to pick up where the two of you left off, and unsure if his face betrays that thought. 

“Where’d you guys go?” Tadashi asks as Kei closes the door behind him. 

In the time you’d both been gone, the living room has been transformed into something nearly unrecognizable. Empty beer cans are strewn about the tables and the blankets and pillows from the couches are now haphazardly laying around beside the couch or over people’s bodies. Then again, maybe the room always looked like this and he was just too busy thinking about how close you were to him. 

Kei doesn’t know what to say. Why had they gone outside in the first place? He’s not even sure that he remembers. 

“I wanted a cigarette and I made Kei come with me,” you answer evenly. “Why? You jealous?” 

“Of inhaling second-hand smoke? No, thanks.” Tadashi laughs, but he tosses Kei a sideways glance. Tadashi knows him well enough to know that Kei wouldn’t voluntarily stand outside with a smoker unless he was particularly fond of them. 

“Aw, man, I thought you quit?” Hinata pipes up, tilting his head. 

“I did, hot stuff,” you respond, sitting down on the couch. “Don’t worry. I won’t smoke anymore.” 

Hinata huffs and Kei takes the opportunity to sit down next to you. 

His thigh is pressed against yours, warmth seeping through his pants and into his skin. Kei feels like he could explode. You’re so close to him again, closer than before, and he can’t stop replaying the kiss in his head. He’s desperate for it, fidgety with his desire. He keeps thinking about the hot press of your mouth and the languid motion of your tongue. All he can imagine is the few points of contact between you both, mouth and hands, and how badly he wanted it to be more. He needs it. 

You touch him a few times throughout the night and the tension is so palpable that Kei is convinced he can see it. It’s like there is a rope pulled taut between the two of you. If he doesn’t stick his ground, he’ll go flying towards you, grabbing and touching and taking in the way he’s desperate to now. 

After an hour, his friends begin to grow restless. Their faces are flushed with alcohol and the things they’d been amusing themselves with are no longer enough stimulation. 

“Hey, we’re going out to the bars. Who’s coming?” Hinata speaks up. 

A chorus of agreement rings out, but the last thing Kei wants to do is go out.

“I think I’ll probably stay back and start cleaning,” he says somewhat disdainfully. “It’s a mess in here,” Kei tosses you a small glance. It’s unintentional but he’s glad for it because Kei is hoping that you’ll stay back with him, that you both can pick up where you left off. 

“I’ll stay and help too. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow anyway,” you smile and Hinata pouts. 

“You guys are so boring,” he protests. “Leave the mess for tomorrow and come out with us.” 

“I’ll pass, pipsqueak,” Kei scoffs. 

“Fine, but don’t complain to me when you’re full of regret tomorrow,” he points a finger at Kei and then moves it over to you. “And you’re too nice for your own good.” 

“Do you hear that?” You say, beginning to usher the group to the door. “I think it’s the sound of the bar and all that alcohol calling to you guys.” 

“You guys are so full of shit-” Kageyama starts, speaking up for the first time in a while, but Kei just waves him out. 

“Yeah yeah, let the grown ups clean while you guys have fun. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The rope is so taut between you both that it’s unbearable and by the time the door closes, you are spinning around on your heel toward Kei. 

“We’re not cleaning, right?” 

Kei shakes his head and starts towards you. The tension breaks when his hands find your hips and he hungrily leans down to press his mouth against yours. 

This kiss is different from the first, desperate and full of desire. It’s fast and your mouths move together quickly as he starts to walk you back towards his bedroom, his hands eagerly roaming up and down your hips. Vaguely, he acknowledges that his glasses have been moved out of place, but he pays it no mind as you turn the knob to his bedroom door with your back to it. 

There’s an urgency to his movements. Kei feels it in his chest, this desperate desire to be closer, to consume everything that you’ve laid out in the palm of his hand. You stumble backwards into his room and Kei catches your shifted weight with a hand around your waist. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, feeling the warm skin on your jaw and neck. His fingers tremble where they touch you, half out of desperate need and half out of the nerves that threaten to spill from his mouth. His lips though, are occupied with yours, clicking together, all tongue and teeth. 

Kei kisses sloppily down your jaw, his lips smearing across your cheek and dipping down below your ear. He sucks a trail there, unsure if he’s leaving marks, all the way down to your collarbone. Every part of you tastes better than he’d expected it to and with every push he delivers, you pull. 

You make small sounds, little pants and groans that make Kei’s hair stand on end with wanting. Your voice, so familiar and fond to him, spills out in small, breath-like bursts that make Kei want to coax more out of you. Kei’s never been one to want this way, but right now, it’s all that he feels. So much tension and impulse that he feels like he can hardly control himself. 

You reach blindly behind you for the bed and Kei guides you down, placing his hand on one side of you as you sit. Then, without disconnecting your lips, he guides you up toward the wall. 

He feels the cool tips of your fingers at the hem of his shirt, pulling downward and then upward to get him to take it off. Kei obliges you, leaning back on his knees and pulling it off over the top of his head. You eye him for a moment, the two of you slowing down enough as the urgency settles into something heavy and lingering. 

Kei leans forward again, one of his hands reaching for your hip. He slips his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, sliding his long fingers up your stomach as he kisses you again. You’re so soft and he can feel the way your chest heaves against his palm. His touch is feather light and he slides it up evenly until it reaches just below your breast. When you nod, Kei moves it up over your bra and he feels you shudder. Kei does the same, overwhelmed by your pliability. 

He can feel the goosebumps that have raised on your skin, little pinpricks of skin that indicate that some part of you feels good. When Kei squeezes your breast, you gasp into his moan and he groans his response, letting you bite at his bottom lip. 

He feels you suck at his lips and swipe your tongue along the ridge of his mouth. When he opens it to let you in, he’s overtaken by the warmth of the soft muscle. He groans, tilting his head down to kiss you deeper, letting the taste of you spread over his mouth. It’s hot and your breath fans across his face. 

Kei hands drift from your breasts along the sides of your body. He feels the heave of your breath there against your warm skin, his palms resting on your waist. You raise your knees, the sides of them pressing against Kei’s hips. He shifts downwards slowly, dragging his mouth along your skin, past the cloth of your shirt. 

His hands make their way from your waist to your hips as he dips lower. Kei takes off his glasses, already fogged up and in the way. When he meets your eyes, you nod your permission and Kei slips between your legs, his flat palms moving to spread your thighs. 

You’re so warm and soft, so pliable in a way that Kei can’t articulate. It makes his mouth water with his desperation and he’s grown hard against the bedspread beneath him. 

“Touch me,” you breathe out. 

Kei nods into your stomach, looping his fingers around our waistband, and pulls down your pants. Your panties come with it and it’s with a slight wave of regret that he realizes he won’t get to see the way you stick to them. 

When he sees you, his heart leaps into his throat. His eagerness and his nerves catch up to him and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. You shudder when the air hits your exposed cunt, an unintentional side effect of Kei’s nerves that has him grinding down against the bedspread. 

He slides his palm to rest over your center. It’s warm and sticky, wet beyond what Kei had imagined and he gingerly presses a finger between your folds. You gasp, mouth falling open above him. Then, he slides his finger into you to the first knuckle, curling up. Kei goes deeper on the second pump, curling his whole finger inside of you and feeling the way you tighten around him. 

You arch your back up off the bed and Kei groans and rolls his eyes, resting his head on the inside of your exposed thigh. He curls his fingers in you, watching the way they coat with your pleasure. His eyebrows are knit together, like he’s asking whether you like how he touches you or not, and you seem to pick up on his insecurity, nodding your head before letting it tip back against Kei’s pillows. 

Kei thinks your expression is incredible. Your eyebrows pull up in the center, pretty face twisted and mouth slightly open in an expression of undeniable pleasure. Kei’s stomach winds at the look of it and he ruts his hips against the mattress to quell the growing ache of need. His fingers, which curl at a slow and even pace inside of you, are warm with your enjoyment. It leaks between his knuckles, sliding down the back of his hand like a slow moving syrup. He wonders whether you have more to give and how you taste, his gaze slinking from your face to the place just above where his fingers disappear. 

He lowers his mouth to you without thinking, curious and needing the taste of it. Sure enough, you have more to give. Your voice comes quickly, a small gasp that is stifled by the back of your hand when he sucks sharply on your clit. Your hips push forward against his hands and then you arch up off the mattress with a small cry. Kei wonders if you’ve cum. He wonders if he’s sent you over the edge, but if he has, you’re taking all of it so well that he doesn’t dare stop. 

The taste of you spreads on his tongue, tangy and warm. You invade his senses violently, like you are gripping his throat. Kei holds his mouth to you, pressing the length of his cock into the mattress and moving his hips like he plans to fuck it. 

He moves his free hand down your thigh and onto the inside of your leg. Your skin is so soft. It’s so vulnerable, something easily pierced and bled. Kei’s pointer finger rubs gentle circles there, feeling the slight pull of the soft skin with his fingers, so thin that it almost feels like tissue paper. He’s sure that with a little pressure, you would bruise. 

The thought surprises him. He works his tongue across your clit and his fingers against that gummy spot inside of you, but his mind drifts to the softness of your inner thigh, the way it would be so easy to leave a spot that might hurt later when you press on it, remind you of exactly where he was. Then, Kei pinches you on the inside of your thigh and when you cry out, tightening around his fingers with a tapered moan, he pinches you again, harder this time. 

You whimper slightly, like you like it. No, you sound like you love it and Kei finds himself holding back a choked moan as he tries not to cum prematurely. He pinches along the inside of your legs and around the back. Not too much. Only when he feels like it. Only when he wants to hear what kind of sounds you’ll make. 

“K-Kei wait, wait,” you pant, grabbing him by his tufts of blonde hair. It hurts. He doesn’t think you mean to hurt him, but it doesn’t matter. He likes it and he twitches in his pants. 

“Huh?” He hums, detaching from your clit and slowing the movement of his fingers to a halt. Your legs shake around his handiwork. “You okay?” 

“I’ll cum if you keep going like that,” you breathe, screwing your eyes shut like you’re still on the edge. “Drag it out for me, yeah?” 

Kei furrows his eyebrows and sucks in a sharp breath.

“Cum if you want to.” He tilts his head down to reattach his lips. 

“Not yet,” you tug at his hair. “I like chasing it.” 

Kei stares at you, unblinking and awestruck. Your chest heaves and despite the pleasure on your face, you look uncomfortable as your orgasm slips away from you. Kei likes that look on your face and he finds himself growing greedy. 

“Come here,” you coax him onto the mattress. 

Kei watches as you slip your hands into the waistband of his jeans and pull them down, leaving him on his back with his tented boxers exposed. You crawl down his body and settle between his legs with your arms between his thighs. He shudders when you run your hands up them and he briefly sees his boxers jump. 

You smile, pressing your mouth to him through his boxers. Kei can’t stifle the groan that escapes him and heat floods his face when you raise your eyebrows in response. 

“You don’t have to,” he says through gritted teeth as you slip the waistband of his boxers down. 

“But I want to,” you mumble, taking him in your hand and placing a kiss on the side of his dick. 

Kei’s head falls back against the pillow and he swears under his breath when he feels the warmth of your mouth close around the tip of him. He jerks his head up to see, awestruck by the way your lips look around the head of his cock. 

For some reason, Kei is already so sensitive. He feels everything, and when you swipe the tip of your tongue along his slit as you bob your head, he makes a noise he didn’t think he could make. His fingers knot themselves in the bed sheets, white knuckled and trembling while you bob your head over him. 

Your mouth is so warm and wet. It’s a little messy, dripping down the length of him and onto his balls. Kei feels the warmth, the heat of you. He can still taste you on his tongue. Kei can still feel the stickiness left behind from your arousal on his mouth. The combination of you between his legs and the taste of you on his tongue is overwhelming. 

Kei can feel his orgasm growing in his lower stomach, turning over until he’s bringing his long fingers to your head in an effort to steady himself. There’s nothing he can do but give in, watching you through damp eyes as you watch his expression. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly he cums. It doesn’t take long and he teeters on the edge for a few moments before fully cresting over. Kei can’t help the way he lifts his hips from the mattress, his voice caught in his throat as it hooks on a high pitched groan. His voice cracks and he feels the way his cum collects on your tongue and across the tip of his dick in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, red faced and panting, “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to finish so quickly, you’re just-” 

“It’s fine,” you come up, your eyes glassed over and lust-filled. “I like making you feel good.” 

“Yeah but-” 

“No buts,” you crawl over him and straddle his waist. Kei winces when your weight briefly nudges his cock. “There’s still fun to be had. Can I kiss you?” 

He nods and you lean down to do as you’d asked. Your tongue moves slowly against his, less desperate this time, like you’re trying to work him down and back up again. You place your hands on his chest, settling your weight down so that your bare cunt is pressed against his sensitive cock. Kei thinks he might die. 

He brings his hands to your waist, the fatigue creeping from his bones as he digs the pads of his fingers into your fleshy sides. You draw in a breath when he does and it makes Kein feel like he’s tipping sideways with arousal. Everything that you do, right down to the involuntary twitch of your hips or eyebrows, is sexy. 

Kei turns you over, growing hard between your legs again, and gently pins you to the mattress. He kisses you for a moment longer, his lips working clumsily across yours before he pulls away to catch his breath and find his bearings. 

You chase him with your mouth, tilting your head up to kiss him. Kei feels his chest swell with arousal and his cock strains almost painfully against his pants as he peers at you. You’re so pretty. Everything about you is so pretty. On his chest, he can feel your fingers, splayed over his pecks, across his collarbone, and grazing the side of his neck. He leans closer, loving the pressure of your body and the desperation that pours from your skin. 

Kei kisses you again. He kisses you the way he wanted to outside, dipping his tongue into your mouth with a desperation that he can taste. You take control back, reaching between the two of you, and Kei shifts himself upward instinctually to give you access to him. He feels your fingers fumble for him and there’s a pause in which Kei doesn’t know what to do. He wonders if this might be the part of him that you like. The awkward part, the one that doesn’t know what to do. Kei’s thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your hand wrapping around him and tugging upward. 

His head drops and a low groan escapes his lips before he can even think to stop it. Kei’d almost forgotten his sensitivity, how desperately he wants to be touched, how overwhelming it feels. He shivers, looking down at where your hand wraps around him and pumps. When he looks back up, he finds that you’re looking at his face, your eyes glassed over and observant as you commit all of his expressions to memory. 

“What?” he says, letting out a shuddering breath and the slight overstimulation. 

“Your face is red,” you reach up with your free hand to run your thumb along his cheek. 

Kei huffs, dropping his head and you fiddle with something between the two of you.

“No,” you pick his chin up. “I like it. It’s cute.” 

You tighten your grip around him and Kei feels his expression twist, a new rush of heat and desire flooding his belly as he realizes you’re sliding a condom onto him. Then, you guide the tip of him between your legs and he feels the wet press of your entrance against him. 

“Christ,” he groans. 

You smile slightly, shifting your hips a little and then placing your hands on his shoulders. Kei pushes forward slowly, his thighs twitching. It takes everything he has to keep from cumming again and every muscle in his body screams with a desire to let go. 

Kei is so overwhelmed, partially because you feel so good, but also because there is some part of him that knows this feels different. Kei feels different about you, about being intimate with you, than he has with anyone else. There’s something alive in him, something with its own mind. Something greedy and vulnerable that stirs when your face is this close to him, when he’s buried all the way in you to the base of his cock. Emotional and sensitive, Kei feels it kick. 

His first instinct is to run. Agreeing to let himself like you, to let himself do something about it, was not agreeing to letting something live inside of him. Kei’s first thought when he registers the difference is to cut it off and suffocate it so that it stops thumping against his chest. He’d grown so used to the hollow feeling that the feeling of living emotion makes him nervous, it puts him on edge. But when he pulls out a few inches and fucks back into you, the anxiety dispels into insurmountable pleasure. A pleasure Kei can’t describe, something fulfilling and whole. 

He picks up his pace, letting himself do what he wants while you grip his shoulders with blunted nails. He likes the expression you wear. Truthfully, he likes all of your expressions, but this one is new. Pressure and pleasure, a newness to the feel of him inside of you that you can’t quite keep from your eyes or lips. He kisses you as if he could taste it, slipping his tongue between your lips. 

“I really like you,” you mumble against his mouth, breath hot as it fans across his cheeks. 

Kei’s heart hammers and his hips stutter a little. 

“Me too,” he chokes, trying to think about volleyball to stave off a second orgasm. All that comes to mind though, is you. 

“Are you close again?” you breathe, voice laden with pleasure. 

“I have been since we started,” Kei admits. 

“Cum then,” you say softly, reaching behind his head to pull his mouth back to yours. Kei likes the control you exhibit. He groans his approval.

“You first,” he mutters.

There’s this possessive part of Kei that wants to watch you fall apart on him. He wants to see it, to watch you feel good too and commit it to memory so that he can always keep it. He thinks it’s a pride thing, something attached to his desire to succeed, to his reliability. Maybe though, it’s just because he thinks it’ll look hot. 

He reaches down and lifts one of your legs up by the back of your knee, pressing it down to give himself better access. You whine and Kei feels the way you clench down around him, your fingers knitting into the hair at the back of his neck. It hurts in a good way. 

Kei slips his hand between you, rubbing circles on your clit to get you there faster. Frankly, he doesn’t know how much longer he can last like this, staring down at your face while it twists with pleasure. You’re so attractive to him. Everything about you is sexy. It makes Kei a little crazy. 

He listens as your breathing quickens, as your voice wavers further. He feels the way your cunt begins to flutter faster, pulsing around him until you attempt to cry out and warn him. Then, you clamp down around him, arching your hips up off the mattress and pulling at his hair. Kei moves his head with you, relishing in the way you tug and scratch. 

He builds up to his orgasm so fast that it hurts. There’s pressure and then the mounting feeling of nearing the top, and then the peak and crash. He cums so hard that it hurts, pushing his cock as far as it will go into you and feeling the warm spill of his cum in the condom. He moans a long, drawn out sound that you mimic, his fingers knitting into the pillow behind you and his head dropping so that his lips sit near your neck.

He lets out a shaky breath, letting himself sit inside of you for a moment. You turn his head towards yours and kiss him. It’s gentle. A smooth and languid kiss that neither of you moves to deepen. Your lips move against each other and Kei closes his eyes to savor the taste. 

You tap his shoulder and Kei rolls over onto the bed beside you, snapping the condom off with a small wince and tying it up in a quick motion. He places it in the trash bin beside the bed. When he turns over, you’re already moving to slip under his arm, resting your head on his chest. 

There’s a passing moment of silence, not unlike the ones you both have fallen into before and you sigh lightly against his exposed chest. Kei follows suit, watching the way you move with his breath. 

His skin is sticky against yours and Kei can vaguely register the smell of sweat in the room. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since everyone left, nor does he know when they’ll be back, but he estimates that it won’t be more than an hour. Kei briefly wishes that he could pause time so that he can stay here with you, just like this. 

“I’m not good at this kind of stuff,” Kei admits quietly. 

“What stuff?” You ask, tracing your finger along the ridges of his lean abdomen. 

“Liking people,” he says. “Dating.” 

You give a small laugh. “No offense, Kei, but I could tell that from the moment I met you.” 

“Shit, seriously?” 

“Duh,” you breathe out. “It’s a little charming to me, though. I like that part of you.” 

So it’s true. You like the parts of Kei that he’s always worried were the worst of him. 

“Huh,” he says. “Could you tell?” 

“That you like me?” You ask, shifting your head to look at him. “Yeah, it was obvious after we established that you didn’t hate me. I always noticed you staring in the library.” 

“Really? I thought I was being a little slick with that,” Kei feels heat and color flood his face. 

You let out a good-natured laugh. “People can always tell when someone’s staring, Kei. It’s like a sixth sense.” 

“Good to know. Hindsight is 20/20 and all.” 

Another bout of silence follows. 

“You can keep staring though,” you say, “if you want to. And calling.”

“Okay,” Kei responds, “I didn’t really plan on stopping.” 

“Ha, freaky,” you laugh a little and Kei reaches up to flick the side of your head. “Wanna start going out?” 

Kei thinks about this for a moment. He thinks about being able to hold your hand, brush hair out of your face, watch movies on the couch and fix your breakfast the next morning. Then he thinks about not being able to do those things. 

“I think I’d be a little upset if we didn’t,” he admits. 

“Good,” you say. “Me too.” 

He’s fighting off sleep. His eyelids are heavy and he tries to blink away the shroud of rest that’s falling over him. Kei knows you’re fighting it too. Your breathing goes in and out of that familiar breathing that comes with sleep. Kei likes the way it sounds coming from you, restful and quiet. 

“We should… really get up to clean just a little,” he mumbles. 

“Five more minutes,” you say softly, your voice heavy and laden with drowsiness. 

“Okay,” he says. 

It’s just five more minutes. Kei fights sleep to hear you breathe like this a little longer. 

—

There’s a period after which Kei doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like the awkward start to a new hobby or passion, Kei finds himself enthralled with his budding relationship while simultaneously stumbling continuously along the way. You’re gracious with him though, letting him make mistakes and fumble until he finds his footing. 

It’s all very awkward for him, very new. He finds that it’s easier to just do the nice things he wants to do for you than to agonize over it and slowly, he begins to grow comfortable in the relationship that took you both so long to begin. 

At first, only Tadashi knew about you both. Kei thought that there was no point in hiding it from him, since you were over at the apartment all the time. Of course, Tadashi somehow already knew. That’s how it usually goes anyway, and Kei is relieved to find that his internal change did not trigger some global shift that would turn his life upside down. Everything is normal, save for the fact that Kei now tries to love without hindrance. 

Kei discovers that he’s possessive. That’s a new trait of his that he didn’t know belonged to him. Before you, before Kei had found something he so desperately wanted to keep, he’d been rather detached. Possessiveness was rare because Kei hardly ever got attached enough to want. Now though, he wants so badly that it hurts. You lean into it. Kei suspects that you like it when he wards off people who hit on you, when he pouts a little because he wants to be close to you, when he gets a little jealous. Kei doesn’t really mind it either. After all, despite his possessiveness, he never feels insecure. The both of you make sure of that. 

This sunny period with you, the one Kei worried would only last a week, drifts easily from one month into two and before he knows it, it’s been five. Kei had worried about that fundamental change. The one imperceivable to the human eye. He’d worried that slowly, it would begin to spoil what is so good between the two of you. 

“Kei,” you snap him out of it, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you okay?” 

He sets down his cup of tea, barely touched. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” You give him a wry smile. “This was your idea, after all.” 

“Yeah, well it was a pretty shit idea actually,” he breathes, “My parents aren’t exactly easy.” 

“You want to cancel?” You ask, your eyebrows pulling up in a clumsy attempt to hide your disappointment. Kei can see right through it.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I want you to meet them. I just don’t want you to meet them.” 

The truth of it is that Kei would like to cancel. In an ideal world, one where the sun rises on the opposite side of his bedroom window, he’d forget the whole thing and take you out to get dinner and see a movie. Things would be simpler that way, less uncomfortable for the both of you. But as uncomfortable as it is, Kei wants you to be a part of their lives too. You’re too important to not introduce to his parents and Kei can’t see it any other way, though he’d like to. 

You snort. “What does that even mean?” 

Kei gives you a pointed and somewhat irritated look. 

“Okay, sorry,” you raise your hands defensively and walk over to place them on his shoulders. “I know you’re worried, but I think it’s going to be okay. I’m excited.” 

Kei huffs out a laugh, unable to vocalize his nerves in their totality. “Excited to meet my dysfunctional, divorced parents that kind of hate each other?” 

“Yup. I’m excited to meet the people who raised you.�� 

Kei smiles a little. “You should meet Akiteru, then,” It’s an exaggeration, but for some reason the prospect of seeing both of his parents together has him feeling a little more bitter than usual, even if it was his idea. 

You give him a little grin through narrowed eyes. There’s an understanding that passes from you to him, like you’re acknowledging that you haven’t forgotten what he’d told you nearly six months ago. Kei feels the tension in his shoulders relax a little. 

His parents are already at the restaurant when he arrives. It’s a swanky Italian place. The kind you go to on birthdays or for anniversaries, where the pasta dishes are things like lobster mushroom ravioli or truffle oil fettucini in tiny portions. Kei made sure to book somewhere that his parents would have trouble making a scene in, not that they ever had much of a mind for decorum when they were married. He’s surprised to find them chatting cordially when you both arrive. 

“Kei,” his mother stands from the table and crosses to give him a hug. He pats her back gently.

“Hi Mom,” Kei responds and she gives him a small smile. 

Kei’s dad adjusts the lapel of his suit, the same one he’s had for years, and reaches to give him a hug around one shoulder. 

“Guys,” he inhales, “This is my partner, _____.” 

You grin at Kei and then introduce yourself formally to his parents. Kei watches in awe as you blend right in, like you’ve known them for many years. He sits down while trying to keep the nerves from his face. 

“We’re so happy to meet you,” his mother starts, “Kei’s never introduced us to any of his partners before.” 

“I’m the first?” You smile a little, raising an eyebrow at Kei as if to tease him. 

“There really haven’t been that many to begin with,” Kei grumbles as if that somehow makes it better. 

You laugh again and the ball of conversation begins rolling. His mother tells you how pretty you are and his father nods a quieter approval. They talk about his university’s graduation ceremony, which they attended separately, as if they were together the entire time and then ask about your major, if you graduated with him, where you plan on going. You tell them what you want to do and that you want to go wherever Kei goes. He marvels at how smoothly the evening moves onward.

There are moments where the tension in his family becomes obvious. Little swells or comments that bring up a sour or shameful memory that cannot be ignored. Moments when the air thickens and it feels like the hammer is about to come down. It never does though. The tension, rather than snapping, simply fades away. 

He’d expected everything to blow up for some reason. Kei had expected that, like his childhood, the restaurant dishes would end up smashed on the floor. The glassware always ended up broken in the house, why shouldn’t they be broken here to shatter the illusion of things being good? He braces himself for a ball that never drops.

It takes him until the ride home, after a successful dinner, to realize that the dishes haven’t been smashed in years. Not since he was fourteen and his parents fought for custody. Not since his mother got remarried to her now husband almost 6 years ago and his father met his new wife. Kei wonders why he still feels like he lives in that house. The one his parents were at their worst in. Why can’t he feel like he lives in the apartment he rents with Tadashi? 

“I think that went well,” you say softly on the drive back. 

Kei nods his agreement. “I think so too.” 

You don’t bring up the fact that they didn’t fight, or that they spoke about their new kids with each other as if they were old friends. You don’t accuse Kei of being wrong, of being paranoid even though he most definitely was. 

“I’m glad that I got to meet them,” you say. “You look so much like your mom.” 

“Really?” Kei asks. 

“Yeah, you’ve got her eyes and her nose,” you smile a little. “It makes you two look similar.” 

“Huh,” he says. “I never really gave that much thought.” 

Kei turns the idea that he has his mother’s face over in his head. He’d spent so much time dreading that he was like them on the inside, that he never paused to consider the outside. So much of his life has been spent worrying that he’s just like them. That he breaks the plates and lashes out and acts cruelly even when he’s trying to love. But he has his mother’s eyes and for some reason that unsettles him. It’s like evidence. 

“You don’t really act like them though,” you say as if on cue. “You’re a little gentler.” 

“Me? Gentle?” Kei scoffs. 

“Yeah!” you say. “I mean, sure you’re prickly, but there’s a goodness to you that’s really obvious if you look.” 

Goodness. What a strange word to use to describe someone. Kei thinks that if there’s any goodness in him, if there’s anything that hasn’t been tainted by his parents’ sour personalities, it’s from Akiteru. Kei likes to believe that whatever good he got was from him. No matter how strained his relationship with him might be now, Kei is certain of that. 

“That’s a relief,” he admits in a flat tone. 

After a long pause, he speaks again. “Thanks.” 

“For what?” You laugh. 

“Bearing with me… and with them,” he says. “Couldn’t have been easy.” 

“It was easy,” you say. “Because I wanted to meet them. And I care about you.” 

Kei feels color rise to his cheeks. He turns to look in the sideview mirrors as he pulls the car into a parking spot in his apartment complex’s garage. 

“You say that stuff so easily,” he huffs. 

“What? That I care about you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I do,” you laugh a little.

Kei’s face grows hotter and he distracts himself by putting the car into park and taking the key out of the ignition. 

“Me too,” he says quietly, waiting for you to catch up so that he can take your hand in his. “Sorry that I don’t say it a lot.” 

“Not to be rude,” you say, “but even if you never said it at all, it would be obvious. You’re kind of a sucker.” 

Kei supposes that that’s true and he gives a small laugh before nudging your shoulder with his. The parking garage is humid and stuffy, but he holds your hand in it anyway. 

—

You’re half asleep in bed beside him and your breathing comes in even sweeps the way it does just before you fall asleep. Kei listens to it for a moment, admiring the sound of it and the way your chest feels expanding against his. 

He thinks about dinner, about how good it feels to have introduced you. How real it makes this relationship feel despite the uneasiness surrounding his familial situation. Kei thinks about his parents. He thinks about their inability to be good for each other. He thinks about the worst of them, something he’s familiar with, before thinking about the best of them. Kei imagines the way their faces looked at dinner, talking about the children they’re raising properly. They’re good people, they just made each other bad. Molecular shifts that changed them for the worst. The notebook theory in its most frightening form. But they were good too. 

Kei thinks about loving you. His reluctance to do so originally isn’t quite beyond him yet. He’s unsure, in fact, if he’ll ever really get past the fear of the fall, the fear of becoming what his parents made each other. But he also thinks about his promise to love you for real. Love is not something that Kei does. He knows now that it's something that happens to him, like it happened to his parents. They loved each other once, even if it made them so blind that they couldn’t see just how bad it made them. 

Kei still resents the fact that he was born to fix a marriage that never would have worked in the first place. He resents being a fix rather than a gift, but at the very least, his existence is proof that his parents cared enough about their family to try. Even if it was misguided, at least they tried even a little. 

In the quiet after of an emotionally charged evening, loving you seems like an easier task for him now. It’s not hard to love you. What’s hard, Kei thinks, is not hurting you. He carries a lot of baggage that, for a long while, felt like too much. Kei thinks he can manage if it’s for you. He’ll bear the brunt of it. He’ll put in the work. 

Yes, Kei is his parents’ son, but he’s also Tadashi’s friend, Akiteru’s brother, the person who loves you. He doesn’t live in the house with a bin full of shards and no glassware anymore. 

“Are you awake?” He whispers across the pillow. 

“Mhm,” you hum, pushing your cheek into his arm.

“Let’s move in together,” he says. 

You tense against him and slowly attempt to blink away sleep. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he responds. “I want to live with you.” 

“Okay then,” you smile a little. “Let’s do it.” 

—

In the fall, when his lease with Tadashi ends and his friend gives him a tearful, yet somewhat silly goodbye, Kei moves into your new shared apartment. Two small rooms in a modest part of town, a shared kitchen and living room, one bathroom, a mismatch of furniture from both of your old places, and an empty fridge. The first night is spent eating take out on the floor with you in front of a TV with no proper stand. Kei has never been happier. 

And in the morning, when the sun comes through the slats of his window, broken up into gentle dots by the orange-leaved trees outside, Kei rises slowly. He rises gently. Kei doesn’t want to wake you, not before he’s made breakfast. He pads out to the kitchen, where boxes are strewn about, half unpacked, and grabs the little brown notebook from the box it’s been temporarily living in. In it, he writes a grocery list full of the things you like. It’s a good enough reason, a good enough change. 

The notebook theory. 

[secondhand-snow]

a question, (a promise)

jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)

wc: 6.1k+

warnings: shitty politician (fictional), swearing, slight dub-con, slight abuse of power, drinking, smut, affairs, workplace relationships, cheating, grinding, thigh riding, fingering (f! receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), clothed sex (m!clothed, f! nude), biting, slight degradation, angst, light dom/sub, no use of y/n

summary: It's been several months since your first meeting with Jeryd Mencken, and many weeks since his involvement with ATN began your work together. What followed was hours of cocky smiles, over confident laughs, and unaddressed tension. Tension that finally snaps due to an party invitation, a vodka martini, and a conveniently empty hotel bar.

authors note: This is a longer one, but I wanted to start out strong for my first fic published on this account! Mencken was such a dick in the show, but I know he'd treat you so right in the bedroom. please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!

You didn’t mean for it to start this way.

Well, you didn’t mean for it to start at all, but if you had to choose a way to a begin an extramarital affair with an infamous American politician and presidential candidate, fucking him against the wall in a hotel room at 1 AM would not be your first choice.

And yet, when those blue-green eyes stared into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, or how his smile-lines wrinkle as he smirks, but you don’t push him away. You don’t tell him to fuck off and run back to your apartment. Instead, gazing up at his face, your questions receding to the back of your mind, you pulled him back in.

You should have found yourself hating him, like Shiv, or maybe enthralled in him, like Roman, but you really felt somewhere in the middle. Your first meeting was in Virginia, at that Future Freedom Summit where Logan was flooded with more attention than the queen for three days straight. You were in the room when he brought Waystar’s CEO a coke, setting it onto his table like a trophy. Maybe it was the casual confidence in his voice, or the way his crisp white button up was rolled to expose his forearms, but you couldn’t help your eyes raking across his back as he left the room.

“That was nice,” Logan had said.

         Out of all the words you could use to describe Jeryd Mencken, “Nice” was not one of them. “Bastard,” “Fascist,” “Cocky,” and “Manipulator” all came to mind. But so did “Confident,” “Intelligent,” and “Charismatic.” Don’t get yourself wrong, you didn’t agree with his politics at all. But at the end of the day, you were devoted to Waystar Royco and ATN. And whatever worked for them, worked for you.

         You didn’t get to be in the photo that took place the next day, not important or close enough in relation. You lingered to the side, next to your few-times removed cousin, Greg, and out of view of the harsh camera lens. Mencken and you didn’t end up having too much interaction that weekend. A nod of recognition here, a handshake there. But by the time you left the conference, his boisterous laugh was echoing through the halls of your mind, and you just couldn’t stop thinking about his impenetrable gaze.

You remember Roman saying once that Mencken had told him that he “didn’t have a lot of boundaries.” That much became clear to you as you began to work with him. From your very first meeting at ATN, the man didn’t seem to have any issue with discussing personal topics or joking with his employees. You were used to humor in the workplace, I mean, you worked with Kendall and Roman Roy for fuck’s sake, but there was a stark difference in the humor between the Roy siblings and Jeryd Mencken. While their jokes bordered on sexual harassment, Mencken’s were backed by a teasing smirk and a good-natured laugh. You knew it was wrong, or at least weird, to be so enamored by this man. He was a borderline fascist, bible-thumping yuppie, but for some reason you allowed yourself to overlook the obvious flaws in the politician. And soon, you found yourself beginning to fall for his good looks and somewhat sleazy charms

         “You’re on in ten, let me know if you need anything.” You popped your head into the conference room where Mencken was waiting. It was his first in-person appearance on ATN, an interview with one of the hosts to help his relatively extreme political agendas seem a bit more palatable to the average  viewer. He was surrounded by his team of marketers, campaign managers, and other low to mid-ranking poli-sci majors, a thick stack of papers in front of him and a chorus of open laptops circling the table.

         “A kiss for good luck, maybe?” He lifted his head from his reading to give you a half-quirked grin. Nobody else paid you any mind, too engrossed in their work to give a shit about some random woman that probably out-ranks them making sure they’re on task. “I am half Irish, you know.”

         “You’re a white American man, of course you’re part Irish. But seriously. Get down to makeup soon, they want to do some touchups before you go on.”

         “I don’t need makeup,” he stressed the word need, like it’s so obvious his beautiful face shouldn’t be covered by any cosmetics.

         “Nobody needs makeup. It does help though” You lightly rolled your eyes as you stressed the same word as him and laughed at the reaction he displayed before exiting the room, heading to the stage as you pulled out your phone. An incoming text caught your eye, and you clicked off the email you had been reading to view it.

         Having a small celebration after the show tonight. Interested in coming? – Jeryd.

         It was something small that reminded you of his age, the signing of his name behind the text he sent. As if you didn’t have a contact for the man you’ve been working with for several weeks now. But still, a smile brushed your lips and you responded.

         Sure. What time?

         10, I’ll send the address.

         10? Isn’t that a bit late for your age? I thought you’d be tucked into bed by 8:30.

         Haha.

  See you soon, Mr. Mencken.

So, at 9:50 pm you found your driver pulling up to the curb outside The Four Seasons hotel in Manhattan. It figures that Mencken would book the most expensive hotel in New York for his stay. You were familiar with the building, having gone to enough work parties in the bar to make your way there without getting lost in the vast expanse of the well-decorated hallways and foyers. Brushing your hair out of your face, you checked your phone again. Refreshing your emails and messages, you had about a dozen new items to read, even though you were off the clock. One thing you learned early on about working in Waystar, the work never really stops.

          “Hey, look who showed up,” your attention snapped from the device in your hands to the source of the noise. Your eyes met Jeryd Mencken, whiskey in hand, moving from his spot atop a bar stool towards your direction. His smile was bright, and he was still dressed in his suit from earlier in the day, though now he was missing a tie and a few buttons at the top of his shirt. You noticed his blazer buttons were undone as he opened his arms wide to you.

“Here I am. I know, I know, you missed me.” You replied to his open arms with your own, giving in to the hug he initiated. Your arms circled around his neck and shoulders, his fall to your waist as you held each other for a moment. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but you feel him rest his mouth against the top of your head, placing something close to a kiss on your hair.

“Yeah, I don’t get enough of you during 12-hour workdays. You want a drink?”

“Yeah.” The hug broke away and he smiled down at you, a look which you returned with a bit of reservation. You were far enough into the bar now from moving to meet Mencken that you only had to turn a bit to address the bartender. “Can I get a vodka martini?” A silent nod confirmed your order.

“Walk with me.” Jeryd whispered into the shell of your ear, stooping down a bit to level himself to your height. He offered an arm out to you, and you grabbed on with a hand as the two of you began moving through the crowded bar.

You saw a few familiar faces as you slowly progressed, which you greeted with small smiles and hellos. Mencken was stopped more times than you, something you had learned to accept when with him, but he was hasty in ending conversations as he pulled you through the crowd. It took longer than it should for the two of you to finally arrive at the empty booth in the back of the bar, but you were happy all the same to sit down on the cool red leather seat. He sat across from you, because of course he did, and you heard a small sigh escape his lips as he relaxed a bit against the seat behind him.

         Both of you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting in each other’s presence. There was something thick about the air around the table, something dark in the way he looked at you, eyes never leaving yours. You broke out of the haze as the bartender from earlier set your drink at the table, which you welcomed with an acknowledging smile. As you lifted the drink to your lips, he finally spoke.

         “I’m glad you came.” You swallowed thickly, a slight burn grazing your throat before opening your mouth again.

         “Well, I had to celebrate your television debut,” you responded with a small teasing smile, he scoffed a bit at your joking.

         “The numbers were good.” He said quietly, unwavering eyes still trained to yours. There’s something he’s not saying, you felt it in his short responses and slightly clenched jaw, the way he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and how his empty hand flexed a bit against the dark wood table. You hummed in response, taking another sip of your martini. It was quiet again for a moment, the two of you just staring and drinking, tension building until you broke it.

         “Is there something wrong? Did someone fuck something up?” You finally questioned him, shaking your head a bit as you spoke. He just smiled and exhaled through his nose, moved to lean forward and placed his elbows on the table.

         “It’s… personal,” he took his time answering, searching for the right word before he spoke. And you think you might have just messed everything up, ruined the unsaid attraction between you two. He hadn’t been one to shy away from personal topics before, you might have just pushed him too far. “But hey, marital issues are basically a rite of passage in the oval office,” he joked with a grin.

         “True, it’s probably a sign of your future. Might wanna get used to it,” you matched his tone. You knew it was fucked up to be attracted to a married man, a man currently talking about his troubles with his wife, but something about that smile sent a wave of shock down your stomach and found yourself subtlety squeezing your thighs together beneath your skirt. Regardless, he laughed at your answer, and you smiled at his amusement.

         You continued this way for a while, small talk and meaningless conversations just to make each other laugh. You poked fun at his age and he joked about your fucked up family. Around and around you go, drinks are removed and refilled, coworkers stop by for a few minutes before leaving, and others just wave before making their way out. The next time you checked your phone, two hours had passed and more drinks than you probably should have on a near empty stomach had been consumed.

         “Shit, I should get going. I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be ready for.” You mumbled a bit, looking down at your screen with cheeks flushed a light red from the alcohol in your system and the presence of Jeryd across from you. The bar was nearly empty by then, and completely devoid of your co-workers. Any last lingering customers were patrons of the hotel, and you were suddenly struck by the realization you were practically alone with him.

         “You sure? It’s late, I have a suite on the top floor and the guest bed is empty.” He had lost his suit jacket by then and pushed up his sleeves in the way you loved so much. His arms were open and rested on the top of the booth, elbows slightly bent and hands lightly gesturing as he spoke. You pressed your lips together, biting the bottom one and contemplated. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to stay, didn’t wonder what would happen if you accepted. It was a bad idea, you both knew it, backed by the gold ring on his left hand and the NDA you signed when accepting your job so long ago. Still, he cocked an eyebrow at your silence and beneath the table you felt the toe of his black leather loafers travel up the expanse of your leg. He started at your ankle, just above your designer heels and slowly moved up the inside of your lower leg, beginning to reach the inside of your knee. You had enough time to stop him, to move away, kick his foot away and leave the bar.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. So instead, you opened your mouth slightly, your bottom lip slightly wet from your bite to it earlier.

         “Yeah, okay. I probably shouldn’t be driving.” It was a half assed excuse and you both knew it. You barely drove, and you’d been dropped off at the hotel today so there was no way you were driving home in the first place. But maybe you needed some justification for yourself, something to make your subconscious just a little less guilty for what you were about to do. For what you wanted to do.

         Mencken didn’t press, though. He just nodded, tapping his toe lightly on the inside of your thigh before retracting it to stand up. The loss was sudden and a bit jarring, and it made you notice that you had been subtly leaning into his touch. He put back on his jacket, not bothering to roll down his sleeves as he moved beside the table to help you up, extending a hand to you. Slowly, you reached up and gently placed your hand in his. His skin was surprisingly rough for a man who worked a desk job, you could feel calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. He pulled some of your weight as you stood, reaching around with your free hand to smooth the back of your skirt and grab the handles of your small purse. When you met his eyes again, his pupils had grown and a smirk had landed on his otherwise stoic face.

“Lead the way,” you spoke so softly that your lips barely moved, your eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. He nodded again. His eyes dragged over the curves of your body before briefly returning to your eyes. As you began walking, your hand rose from clutching his to softly holding his arm just above the bend in his elbow. You maintained just enough distance between your bodies that the interaction could be passed off as polite, not the breaking point of months of unresolved sexual tension that it was. Mencken walked fast, you almost tripped over your feet a few times as you tried to keep pace with him. The halls were ornate, outfitted in marble flooring that left your shoes clacking frantically with your hurried steps.

The pair of you stopped briefly at the entrance to the elevators, and you took the time to quickly glance over your shoulder behind you, finding the room otherwise empty. You weren’t sure whether you should be relieved or disappointed. Relieved for a lack of witnesses. Disappointed that you couldn’t use a crowd as an excuse to call off the encounter. It would be for the better to forget about it, put the flirtations to an end and abort the budding affair. You were putting your job at risk, your credibility and your public image. Not to mention your relationship with your family.

He pressed the elevator button once, twice, three times. You opened your mouth slightly, the beginnings of a sentence forming on your lips when he moved his arm from your grasp, snaking it around your back to rest on your hip. He pressed the fabric of your skirt gently, and you found your side pressing against his. Warmth radiated through your body, going straight to your cheeks as a subtle blush started to grow. Your mouth was left hanging open, silently gasping for air as he delicately traced his lips in a small line over your hair. His large nose pressed into your scalp, you felt him slowly inhale the scent of your shampoo. The moment was the closest thing to tender you’ve ever experienced from him, and it’s over just after it starts.

A loud ding from the elevator dragged your attention from the feeling of Jeryd to the empty elevator in front of you. You looked from him to the space before you. He was watching you, of course. Waiting for your next move. Either into the elevator and a time of lies and careful discretion, or back to what you knew was safe. 

You walked into the elevator.

The second the hotel door clicks shut, Jeryd is on you. Pressing your back into the nearest wall, his hands cradle your face with a surprising amount of care. His knee slots between your legs and he takes a moment to just look at you. Your chest rises and falls quickly, mouth open and eyes blown wide with passion. 

“Tell me you want this.” He breathes into you.

“What?” You gasp out the question, mind too foggy with desire to quickly process his words.

“Tell me you want this. I need to hear it from you.” His hands move from cupping your face to grab your chin, your lips slightly pouting with the pressure on your skin. The air is silent for a moment before you answer.

“I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before it's covered by his, greedy and heavy and passionate. You move with him, slinging your arms around his shoulders and leaning into his touch. His tongue taps at your bottom lip before entering your mouth, tracing lines on the roof of it. You let out a quiet moan and his knee moves up between your thighs, granting you a source of friction for the heat building between your legs. You grind down on it unabashedly, sighing at the sensation that results. Jeryd smiles against your lips before moving one of his hands from your face to your hip, encouraging the movements you’re making against his leg. A whimper escapes your lips and he groans at the noise, your attention moving to the growing bulge you feel pressed into your lower stomach. 

He kisses you like a man starved. Like he could do it forever, just savoring the flavor of your lips. You move a hand from his shoulder to feel down the front of his chest and reach his crotch. Your fingers press lightly against the seam of his pants, rubbing the fabric just enough to earn a low growl from Jeryd’s throat and a restrained buck of his hips. His lips move from yours to travel down your neck, sucking your skin hard enough to leave bruises that’ll last the week. Your lips part when freed from his kiss and your neck falls slightly to the slide, allowing him more access to the small area not covered by your button up, office appropriate blouse. A small nip of his teeth causes you to squeeze the hand covering his groin, a movement that causes Jeryd to muffle a deep moan into the slope of your neck. 

“Fuck.” You sound wrecked, desperate, needy, and Jeryd’s barely touched you. You’re rolling your hips steadily now, too far gone to worry about his reaction. Pencil skirt hiked up, skin-toned stockings on display, you selfishly chase your own climax. Eyes flutter shut as you focus on the sensations enveloping your body. Jeryd’s wet kisses trailing down your neck, his hands possessive on your hips and chin, his leg sandwiched between your thighs and pressing roughly against your core. Two thin layers of fabric separating you, both providing a deliciously coarse texture against your sensitive clit.  Your panties are soaked, you wouldn’t be surprised if his slacks are left with a wet mark when he removes them. 

His hands move from their places to begin undoing the buttons on your top. Your eyes open with heavy lids as you watch him. He’s hurried, urgent, his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted while his fingers move nimbly, making quick work of your blouse. You move to help him, together pushing the garment off your shoulders. He bends his knees slightly to level his face to your chests, and you momentarily whine at the loss of pressure against your vulva, but the sight your eyes are greeted with is worth it. His hands are immediately on your breasts, cupping you roughly through your bra and pushing your tits together as he plants sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. It’s odd to see him like this, slightly bent over, serving someone other than himself and enjoying it. Hair ruffled and forehead damp with sweat, pupils blown wide, wide, wide, with lust. You thread your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, not pulling or controlling, just wanting to touch him.

The throbbing between your legs increases and your thighs clench together with nothing else to stimulate your core. You whimper, he chuckles at the sound, a vibration traveling through your chest and sending electric shocks straight to your center. Jeryd reaches up, moving the straps of your bra down your shoulders, not bothering to move his face from his attack on your breasts. You push it down to your waist, not bothering to unclasp the back, fully exposing your tits to him. Now he pauses, taking a moment to crouch down and sit back a bit on his heels, eyes focused on your body before him. Your immediate reaction is to cover up, but you hold yourself back when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. When he finally meets your gaze, you're sure you must look wrecked, at least if his smirk is anything to go off of. 

“Look at you. So eager for my touch.” Jeryd speaks quietly, getting closer to you as his hands travel up your thighs to rest on the dip of your hips. His fingers dig in slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to control you and dimple your skin underneath his touch. One hand comes up, kneading the flesh of your left breast. The other moves to unclip your bra from behind you, letting it softly fall to the floor. You nod and bite your lower lip, knees knocked together as your thighs rub against each other, desperately chasing some kind of stimulation. Your eyes drop his gaze as you watch him palm your skin. 

“Please..” You whine out, blushing as you make eye contact again. Mencken laughs, only a little mean, takes your nipple between his fingers and pinches enough to make your voice squeak in your throat.

“If you want something you have to ask for it.” He cocks an eyebrow as he speaks and you swear you’re drooling at the look in his eye. You hesitate a minute before responding, feeling strangely self conscious and filthy.

“Please touch me, Jeryd. I need you.” He smiles and curses before returning his mouth to your breasts. A large hand creeps between your thighs, pressing gently on the soaked fabric of your panties. He speaks into your skin as he feels your need.

“So wet for me already. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting if I’d known how desperate you were.” His touch is feather light, and you feel your cunt clenching at the sensation. His hand doesn’t wait long, hooking your panties to the slide before he begins to slide his middle finger through your sopping wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch, he responds by moving a hand to pin your hip against the wall. Your head is thrown back now, resting against the surface behind you. Blush is hot on your face, you can’t figure out if it’s caused by shame, or desire, or the combination of both.

It’s not long before his fingers are gently probing your entrance, his middle digit entering you up to his second knuckle. You clench around him, moaning at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you. His thumb moves to your clit, spreading your wetness there as he massages small circles into the bundle of nerves. Instinctively, you try to move, try to grind down on his palm and take what you want. Jeryd’s hand keeps your back to the wall though, and he tsks at your disobedience. Your eyes move down and you find him staring back at you. You wonder if he’s ever looked away, or if he’s just been relishing in your desperation. 

His finger presses deeper, your folds met with the skin of his first knuckle. He curves the digit, gently pressing against that spongy tissue deep inside of you. When he finds it, he smirks, looks down at your exposed mound and briefly presses a kiss to your upper stomach. The finger moves, thrusting in and out of your cunt a few times before being joined by his index finger. It stretches just a bit, before the sensation is replaced by one of building pleasure. That heat you’ve been chasing courses through your core, your lips parting at the feeling. Shocks of pleasure course down your thighs as your clit becomes more and more sensitive. 

You were slightly shocked when your legs began to shake, kness almost buckling under the jerky motion. It normally took you much longer to climax when with a partner, but you had been so needy for so long that your orgasm was approaching at a rapid speed. Jeryd felt it too, wrapping a free arm around the back of your hips to help hold you up while your cunt clenches and flutters around his fingers.

“Come on, Cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” He whispers, leaning his upper body back slightly to look deeply into your eyes. You barely hear him over the filthy sounds of wet skin and your increasingly loud moans. His words have to register somewhere though, and just a few seconds after he utters the command, you obey. Eyes roll back while you constrict around his fingers, gasps of air leaving your throat. Jeryd is relentless, finger fucking you through your orgasm until you’re overstimulated and practically pushing his hand away.

Your eyes haven’t even opened again when you feel him stand and crash his lips crash back into yours, his hands raking through your hair. Unhindered by his grip, you move your arms to press him against you, rolling your hips into his.You groan in unison, and Jeryd takes the moment to move one of his hands to the back of your skirt, quickly unzipping it. Your grip releases for a moment to push the skirt and your panties down your legs, kicking them off your heels further into the room. Neither of you bothers with your thigh high stockings or shoes, too engrossed in the feeling of your exposed skin to pay them any mind. 

The pair of you separate for a moment. Jeryd’s eyes travel down your body, a curse escaping his lips at the sight. You look vulnerable, powerless under him. He loves it. His lips go back to your throat and his hands reach for your breasts again. In turn, your hands fumble with a few buttons on his shirt, exposing the top of his chest before you abandon the garment and travel down to the seam of his pants. Your fingers linger on the zipper. Asking for permission or readying yourself or wanting him to tell you what to do, it doesn’t matter. All that matters in this moment is Jeryd Mencken and the passion burning through both your bodies.

He nods against your neck and you waste no time in undoing the button and zipper of his slacks. His boxers are black, your fingers flutter under the elastic waistband, stroking the soft skin there lightly. Your hand dips lower, past the mass of short blond pubic hair climbing up his lower stomach, settling on the base of his cock. Slowly, you begin to pump his length. When you reach his tip you dip your fingernail slightly into the slit there, and Jeryd rolls his hips forward in response with a loud groan. A wide smile graces your face, your hand surging faster in his boxers. 

“Fuck, take it out.” He traces his nose up the side of your neck, whispering into the shell of your ear. Of course you comply, how could you not? Your eyes dart down to his cock, getting your first good look at the skin there. He’s an average thickness but long, longer than you’ve taken before. With a slight curve upwards and a pink tip dripping with pre-cum, you clench around emptiness in sympathy. Your hand moves again, jerking him off as his head falls back and his eyes shut. You savor the sight before you. 

Jeryd’s eyebrows are raised and his lips are parted, completely and totally lost in his pleasure. His neck now exposed to you, you lean forward and press kisses along the underside of his jawline, trailing down to his Adam's apple. You’re careful not to leave marks, even if you nip a little at the sensitive skin that your lips brush. His eyes open again, and he grins at the coy smile on your face. He kisses you again, his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth, causing you to moan loudly into his lips before he pulls away.

“Here, wrap your legs around me. I’m gonna fuck you right next to this door, let the rest of the hotel hear how loud my cock makes you.” He moves against you, pressing his hips to yours, slotting his arms around your waist. You wrap a leg around the back of his hips before he helps hoist you up to wrap the other. His length is hard against your lower stomach, the tip spreading wet precum across the skin there. Your hand moves down, grasping it and pumping a few more times when Jeryd moves his hips back, creating enough space between you for his tip to brush against your folds. 

He tilts his hips again, rubbing himself across your pussy, catching on your clit just enough to make you rock your core forward to try and meet him. A breathy laugh escapes his mouth at your attempt, he rewards your debauchery by circling his hand around his base and roughly tapping his tip against the bundle of nerves. You sigh and let your head fall back, watching him move with heavily lidded eyes. Jeryd moves again, using his hand to position himself at your entrance. He teases you a bit, slightly shifting in and out without fully sheathing his cock inside of you. 

“Jeryd…” Your voice is whiney as you speak, but still carries an edge of warning with it. He just smiles that lopsided grin of his, takes a deep breath in, and presses fully into you.

There’s a slight stretch as you adjust to his length, you can’t help your mouth falling open in ecstasy at the feeling. As he bottoms out, he releases his breath with a groan and you feel his tip brush against your cervix. You’re needy and wanton, whimpering and moaning at his every twitch, wiggling your hips to try and get some relief as he keeps himself deep inside your cunt. His face is tucked into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You feel your entire being aching for him. Another mewl escapes your lips, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. He’s waiting for you to break first. So you do.

“Please fuck me.” Your voice is barely a whisper, your hands traveling to cup his chin. Jeryd surges forward, even deeper into your dripping pussy, and kisses you roughly on the mouth. He bites your lower lip, slightly pulling it with him as he moves away, and your hands find their place again on his shoulders. His hips move back, so far that his length almost slips out of you, before thrusting forward. He sets a brutal pace from the beginning. Hard and fast, pulling noises you didn’t know you could make from the depths of your throat. It almost hurts at the beginning, but then he tilts his hips and finds that spot inside of you, the one that lights a roaring fire inside your cunt. The pleasure is immense and all consuming, the only thing you can focus on as your head drops backward and your back begins to arch.

You don’t even recognize half the words leaving your throat. Strings of “please,” curses and mumbles come from your mouth, joined by the animalistic grunts and groans of Jeryd’s approaching climax. Your fingers tangle in his hair and this time you pull, earning a deep moan from his parted lips. The sex feels primal and wanton and borderline violent. The culmination of heavy pressure. A cord stretched as tight as possible and then some, the snapping of which caused depravity and perversion for all those involved.

 He grinds into you roughly, hitting your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Your hand moves down to rub frantic circles into your clit, repeatedly murmuring a line of “yes”’s as you stare deeply into Jeryd's eyes. You know you’re pathetic. Begging and pleading him to fuck you harder, the wet slick from your cunt spreading onto both of your thighs, causing truely obscene sounds to fill the air. 

“Fuck, look at you. My pretty little slut..” He groans out, punctuating his words with strong bucks of his hips. “Cum on my cock, you’re fucking mine” he says, adding your name like it’s a divine word. 

That's all it really takes, and with a particularly perfect movement of your fingers, you clench down on his cock in a harsh climax. You swear you see white for a moment, your toes curling in your heels, your back arching up from the wall behind you, the moan coming out of your mouth echoing around the hotel room. All you can do next is hold on as Jeryd’s hips stutter and his mouth comes down to bite on your exposed shoulder as he follows you to his own peak.

He spills inside of you, fucking his cum further into you while he thrusts through his own orgasm. A “fuck” falls from his lips, muffled by the skin his mouth is pressed into. You stay like that for a minute, heavily breathing and coated in sweat, his softening cock still inside of you. When you finally move away, he’s surprisingly careful. Setting you back down on your feet delicately before tucking himself back away. Your hands come up to instinctively cover yourself, feeling insecure now that he wasn’t actively fucking you. His hand grabs one of yours, removing it from its position in front of your breast as he steps closer to you. You speak first, quietly and full of question.

“I can go…” you look behind him for your clothing strewn across the carpeted floor.

“No. Stay the night, I meant it.” Jeryd pulls you into him, his larger form tucking around your body in a hug. He rests his chin on your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go so quickly. Not after I’ve waited so long to have you.”

You smile at that, let him press a kiss to the top of your head before he grabs your hand and begins leading you to the bedroom. 

He’s passionate and possessive and caring and mean. You live in the shadows together, wrapped in deceit and white bed sheets. You never comment on the lack of his gold wedding band, and he never mentions the taste of vodka on your tongue. Your fights are brutal and sadistic, always ending in sex that would make the bed shake and leave your bodies sore for days after. It’s more of an alliance than an affair. It’s more of a tragedy than a comedy.

It’s more of a promise than a question.

© secondhand-snow 2024

[papayatori]

Fall away (p8)

Inumaki Toge x Fém!reader

Just a bit of an a/n, this is in TOGE’S perspective only, simply because the story relies on this. It will take place back in the BEGINNING of the fic, so just in case anyone gets confused!

I stirred from my sleep, not really getting much of it anyway. I lay there, entirely conscious but unaware of my surroundings. Yuji had spoken to me today before his mission, asking me, as the strongest of the second years, to keep a watch out for y/n. I had shrugged it off, not thinking too much about it since I would have regardless of if he had asked me or not.

I couldn’t help but smile at the recollection of her. She was breathtaking, and i had some sort of instinctual obligation to talk with her, to get to know her better.

My mind raced with her thoughts, all of the talk at the cafe from nights before about her staring at me, I found it amusing. I was smiling to myself as I laid there, wishing she was there with me.

Suddenly I felt a sharp tug from somewhere outside of my room, like a warning almost. My senses were immediately alert, and I threw one of my tshirts on before walking into the hallway. I felt that tug harshen, I felt pain.

Before I was aware of what I was doing, I was sprinting down the hallway in an unfamiliar direction. I felt cursed energy from one of the rooms pouring through the walls. I cursed in the back of my mind.

My eyes widened as I threw the door open to the room, seeing y/n in her bed, utterly terrified, and a cursed spirit lurking on the floor.

I immediately sprung into action, bringing the damned thing to its knees, hurting myself in the process. She caught my gaze once again, and my heart felt as if it would stop. I eyed that intricate mark on her forehead like I had done a million times before, one that I wasn’t even entirely sure she was aware of herself. I felt a connection to her, a primal instinct to protect her. My knees grew weak, but I tightened the damned rope around the cursed spirit regardless.

That’s when she did the unimaginable.

Gojo used to speak of his best friend, Geto like he had never left. He missed him, I knew he did, but that didn’t stop the inevitable, and it definitely couldn’t change the past. Geto was a curse manipulation user, one that could absorb cursed spirits and call on them at will to be used in battle. I hated to admit it, but y/n’s personality was a *lot* like what Gojo described in Geto.

I eyed her, terrified as she got onto her knees, speaking to the damned thing. I felt my heart drop, my instincts trying to kick in as I locked eyes with her. She smiled at me, trying to reassure me. I shook my head, looking away.

Now, I finally pieced the two bits together. She nearly absorbed that cursed spirit. It had submitted itself to her, willing or unwilling. My heart raced in my chest, feeling every emotion she was feeling.

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I stared blankly at my ceiling, she had been staying with me for weeks. We had bonded of course, but I was still bugged by whatever we were now. I smiled fondly at the thought of her, but the small pang in my chest still remained regardless.

I found myself thinking about her a little too much during the weeks to pass, finding myself wandering and wondering about what her lips would feel like against mine, and I knew then that there was something much stronger to our bond than whatever that mark on her forehead symbolized. Maki had talked with me about this, of course, teasing me endlessly about her whenever she got the chance; though, something serious was behind her eyes as she spoke, hidden by the smirk she always wore. I had been careless in her hints, at least until she had come out and rightfully said something.

"The Geto clan is supposed to be mythical." She mumbled to me as we walked back to our dorms after training. Y/n was out on a mission with Megumi, and I was less than happy about this, Gojo knew exactly what he was doing. She noticed my shift in thought, and slightly nudged me. "Pay attention, this is important." She mumbled. I nodded in her direction, suddenly listening intently. Maki could be quite frightening when she was serious, I had no choice in the matter.

She halted her footsteps, her voice a little lower when she spoke. She looked at me intently, directly, without as much as a glint of humor in her gaze. "Did your parents ever talk about the clanmate legends?" She asked softly. My eyes widened slightly, as if catching her drift. I nodded slightly. She let out a sigh. "Well," She continued, her breath slightly faulty. "...Gojo and I have decided that it isn't exactly a legend after all." I tilted my head to the side, trying to feign ignorance as to what she was saying, as if it was foreign to me. She groaned loudly, and I was thankful, as it quieted the ferocious beating of my heart within my chest.

I haven't been the same since that conversation, I've done my best to research the topic in any way possible. I even got Panda and Yuta to help me out a little bit, but nothing seemed to lead me in the right direction. I was researching again, doing my best to hold steady to whatever the texts in front of me had been saying. I felt that tug in my chest again, trying to get my attention, but I was immersed in my studies. I sat at my desk, utterly distraught when I heard the quiet knocking at the door, knowing it was Gojo. I ran to open it, and before he could even finish speaking I was sprinting out into the courtyard to the front gates, having finally realized the tugging in my chest.

She was back.

I sized her up immediately, hugging her desperately and dragging her back with me to the infirmary, not caring about Megumi, as he was the last thing on my mind. I caught Shoko's attention, pointing at y/n desperately. She let out a sigh, but looked over her regardless.

I couldn't still the beating of my heart, couldn't calm my pulse no matter what I did; yet, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I was worried sick that something might have happened to her, and I refused to let myself live with that, I would be going with her next time, and I wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

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_

I was searching through my books, y/n asleep in my bed behind me. I couldn't help but steal glances occasionally, but I didn't want to seem weird. I emersed myself in my books, doing my best to find out whatever the tug between us was, and if it just simply had something to do with her power and our growing connection like Maki had mentioned before. This had been my nightly routine for weeks, and I couldn't find myself stopping any time soon. I groaned slightly, upset with myself for even being frustrated, and upset with myself that I couldn't piece together my own feelings behind the matter, either.

Gently, I looked back at y/n's sleeping face, and smiled softly at her. I knew she couldn't see, but I wished she could feel what I was feeling. I started breathing a little slower, feeling my eyes droop the longer I stared at her, and then I remembered the brief conversation with Maki once more, a part of it that I had deemed insignificant at the time.

"Clanmates are said to feel what the other is feeling, the be the other person when a connection is strong enough, and while y/n's power does seem to mask that significantly, you'll know it when you feel it."

I felt my heart stop abruptly, quickly turning back to my books and finding the page I had marked on the first day I had started searching. I skipped through the pages, skimming and briefly trying to find those few words I remembered reading, my finger treading along the inky black lettering of the text to follow suit.

"...they are said to be an open connection between two of the bigger clans, a connection that is unbreakable even in death, a connection that cannot be forced, but one that is stronger than life itself..."

My breath caught in my throat, my movements stiff and uncalculated. I heard her stir behind me and immediately shut the page after marking it once more. It was difficult to school my features, but as she opened her arms and gave me that tired, almost drunk smile, I found myself immediately melting into her touch, regardless of whether she knew what she was doing or not.

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The Geto clan was supposedly mythical, and with this knowledge, I wasn't buying it. I knew y/n had Suguru's blood, and with that in my head, I couldn't shake the mystery that had been piling up with his name written all over it. I hated to bring such a burden back to Gojo, especially after all he and Suguru had been through, regardless of most of it being forced, they were still best friends; though, I didn't have much of an option.

I sprinted down the hallways of the secluded dorms, following the familiar path to Gojo's 'office', as he calls it. I was out of breath upon entry, and the look on his face was utterly priceless. Had it been any other sort of situation, I would've laughed.

"Tuna, mayo." I breathed, shutting the door desperately behind me. He tilted his head to the side.

"What's so urgent, Inumaki?" He asked nonchalantly, as if I hadn't just burst into his room. I shook my head, immediately walking over to his desk and quickly scribbling down some words for him to read. I didn't have enough time to explain what I needed in my own language. He grinned up at me.

"Geto clan, huh?" He shook his head. "Yes, it's a real clan.. I'm just not sure why you're showing so much interest-"

"Tuna!" I started writing again, not letting him finish his sentence.

I need to know if the clanmate ritual is possible.

He smirked up at me when he read this.

"Interested in y/n being your clanmate?" His smirk grew wider. I would've groaned if I wasn't so adamant.

"Salmon." I admitted, slightly defeated. I started writing again, explaining my exact thoughts on the matter, how I felt so strongly connected to her, how drawn I was to her, how I could practically feel the emotions she was feeling at all times.

"You know her ability might have a heavy influence-" I facepalmed.

"Salmon, salmon." Everything he was telling me had already crossed my mind a million times. He smiled once again.

"I think there is a possibility you could be right, Inumaki." He said, holding eye contact. I felt my heart skip with a mixture of joy and nerves. How would I even bring this up to her? Was she even aware of the ritual?

"If you are right," He started again, I held focus. "there will probably have to be a ceremony at some point..." He paused, tapping his chin. I knew where he was going with this and immediately started scribbling.

Like, a marriage ceremony?

He nodded at my written words. "There is only one problem with it." He mumbled, his expression becoming distant as he spoke. I eyed him, urging him to continue.

"We'll have to find Geto." He mumbled quietly. I felt my eyes widening. "If he's still alive."

I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT! PLEASE DON'T BE ANGRY! This chapter is simply for plot purposes, but I PROMISE it will be worth it <3

Tag list: @grilledbananas @gumiiiiezzzz

[ghostofskywalker]

Not Lost, But Not Yet Found

Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 16 of 31

Words: 1,193

Summary: After returning to his brothers, Crosshair finds himself wondering about the new member of the team. Once he finds out the reason you're acting so withdrawn, his view of you changes completely.

Note: this fic can be read as both something that will be eventually romantic or something more platonic, it's up to you :)

Clone Troopers Masterlist

Crosshair was still getting re-oriented with how things worked on the Marauder now, and one of the many things he had questions about was the newest member of the team. Not Omega, as he had spent enough time going through the Republic-turned-Empire’s files to know her story, but you.

You weren’t rude or abrasive, but you kept to yourself on the ship, and Crosshair rarely found himself in the same room as you. Even when the rest of the team was gathered together, if the meeting was not mission-related, you were not present. At first he thought it might be because you were uncomfortable around the others, but from the snippets of conversation that he caught from the rest of the his brothers when you weren’t around made it sound like you hadn’t always acted this way around them, and that your current state was a new development.

He probably shouldn’t have cared as much as he did, but it wasn’t hard to tell that there was something going on. Of course he wanted to be able to know whether or not he could trust you, but he also wanted to know what role his brothers had played in your past, and what had changed to make you this much more secluded

Hunter and Tech probably wouldn’t give up much about your story, especially if they were unsure about Crosshair’s intentions, so he decided to ask Wrecker. The most openly empathetic of the batch, he knew that Wrecker probably felt the strongest worry for you (if there truly was something wrong), and he was most likely to admit to it when asked.

“I haven’t seen the new member of the team around too much,” Crosshair said as he drank a cup of caf in the cockpit of the ship. No one else was up but him and Wrecker, and that wouldn’t change for a while, which made it the perfect opportunity to get some information.

“I know what you mean,” was Wrecker’s response. “She’s around, but I think her sleep schedule is all messed up.”

“Is she alright?” Crosshair asked.

“She’s not sick, but I think her heart is a little bit broken,” Wrecker said. “After Echo left and all that.”

Echo. He had obviously noticed the absence of the ARC trooper that had spent time traveling with them before Crosshair fell victim to the Empire. He knew that Echo had left to travel join a more organized sect of the Rebellion with Rex, but he didn’t quite understand the what connection that piece of information had to you. “Echo?”

Wrecker nodded. “Don’t tell her I told you, but she got all smiley when he was around and he never noticed.”

Okay, all of this was starting to make sense. Although Crosshair hadn’t experienced what was being described, he knew that heartbreak was a powerful adversary, and that it would likely be a while before you truly recovered. “Did Echo feel the same way about her?”

“He never said anything about it, but I think so,” Wrecker said. “He always looked out for her way more than he did any of us, even though we all knew that she could take care of herself. But he felt we should be doing more to fight, and Hunter wanted to find somewhere to settle down.”

Deep down, Crosshair felt the same way Echo did. He didn’t think he would ever be truly able to settle somewhere if he knew that the greedy hands of the Empire were continuing to reach towards the every end of the galaxy. But he also understood the fear that was probably consuming Hunter’s brain, the worry that they would be the ones responsible if Omega got hurt. He had always been the one in charge, and that meant he felt it was his responsibility to care for the whole squad.

Having learned a lot from his conversation with Wrecker, Crosshair didn’t change the way he went about his days, but he always kept an eye or an ear out for you. He noticed when you spent the day in your bunk and said something offhand to Tech, who made sure that food was set aside for you when you wanted it, and every once in a while he would mention something in passing to Omega, and she would spend a little time trying to cheer you up. Obviously it never completely changed how you lived, but you could never resist the infectious smile of his little sister.

When they decided to spend some time on Pabu, you started to come out of your shell a little. Maybe it was the sunlight, maybe it was the food, or maybe you were just starting to get a little better, but whatever it was, Crosshair was happy to see it. You were always kind to him, even though you didn’t interact with each other too often, and he could see why his brothers cared about you.

The first real conversation that he had with you happened to be in the middle of the night. He was sitting on the shore of the city, staring out at the waves as they crashed in and pulled away on the sand, all illuminated by the light of a moon high in the sky when he heard something behind him. It was only when he turned around did he see you, looking a little shocked to see anyone else but otherwise generally okay.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” was Crosshair’s response. “You can stay, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” you said, sitting down next to him.

The two of you sat in relative silence for a few minutes before you broke the silence, and the next thing he knew, you were having a full-on conversation.

Talking to you wasn’t stressful or annoying, Crosshair realized, like it could sometimes be with people he didn’t know too well. It was clear that his brothers had talked about him to you, because you mentioned things in passing that you would have no way to know about, like the way he took his caf or the fact that he had a sweet tooth worse than anyone else on the ship (even though he still claims Tech’s is worse).

It broke his heart even more knowing how you must feel, thinking that Echo never noticed you and then just got up and left. And unwittingly, he felt his ice-frozen heart begin to melt just a little bit faster after speaking to you. Maybe he did have a permanent place among his brothers, and he would certainly want to stay here if he found out you were staying too.

He didn’t bring up the fact that he knew about why you were withdrawn, instead trying to give you a reason to break free from the haze of melancholy that followed you around.

It wouldn’t be an instantaneous switch, that he knew, but Crosshair liked to think that when the two of you finally went your separate ways (after hours sitting there on that beach), you were feeling a little bit less heartbroken.

- the end - 

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[slytherinshua]

LETTERBOY

genre. fluff. subtly vintage/older time period. college au. ft. minji and hanni of newjeans. warnings. kissing. i wrote this on an airplane and its not proofread lmao. pairing. riwoo x fem!reader. wc. 1.7k. a/n. this fics marks at least one fic for every member of bnd!!

You could only think of one word to describe Riwoo. Adorable. With his blue messenger bag that he was always clutching as if it was his emotional support. The way his cheeks flushed whenever you threw him a compliment or the little smile that never left his face after you accepted a cup of his homemade sweet tea. And, of course, his catlike eyes that went wide whenever he was embarrassed. Everything about the boy was absolutely adorable.

You were one of the top students at Hana’s Academy for Girls and the only reason you even knew Riwoo was because he delivered the mail. You got a lot of mail, most of which you didn’t even bother to open. Job offers and special apprenticeships were the contents of most of the letters— the thought of which bored you to death.

There was always at least 1 letter that you looked forward to in the batch, though. It was usually a faded blue colour and sealed with a simple and old fashioned wax seal. Inside were messages from a secret admirer. 

Well, it would be secret if you hadn’t figured out exactly who was writing the letters a couple months in. Riwoo had a charming way with words, you couldn’t deny that. Everyday there was a new letter you found yourself falling deeper and deeper for the boy.

Due to your advanced classes and strict curfew, you didn’t have much time to go out and have fun like the other girls. You had 3 extra honours classes on top of your regular ones, and while the rest of your roommates went shopping or out on blind dates, you stayed in the library writing your thesis.

You were distracted amongst your notes of the lectures you had attended and some resources of studies by renowned professors when you heard an unmistakable rhythm of knocking on your table. You glanced up, already expecting the faces of Minji and Hanni. They had just gotten back from dress shopping downtown. 

“I’m a bit busy right now.” You mumbled out, flipping to the next page of your textbook.

“Y/n you need to see the dresses we found! They’re perfect for the upcoming dance!!” Hanni said excitedly. Both girls were used to your disinterest in events or dressing up since you were so focused on your studies, but they knew you were still listening to what they were saying even though you were writing on your paper.

“I found a yellow summer dress that will go perfectly with the heels my aunt sent me last month-” Minji continued.

“But when we were looking in the store, the yellow dress came in matching colours. We couldn’t just get the yellow one, so we ended up getting all 3. I’m going to wear the pink one. Y/n you have to wear the blue one to the dance— we’ll all be matching!” Hanni insisted. Minji had walked over to the window, peering out of the glass. The sky was darkening as it got later.

You sighed and placed your pencil on top of your open notebook, “I’m not going to the dance, I don’t have a date.” 

“We can find you a date-”

“Speaking of dates, I think your letter-boy is here.” Minji interrupted with a teasing tone, pointing to the window. You froze, attempting to stretch your neck to see out the window from your seat, but it was too far away.

Minji opened the window a crack, “Hey!! Mail boy!” Minji shouted. Riwoo looked up, eventually spotting the open window. “I’ll send her down, there’s still 4 hours before curfew! Take her somewhere nice, she hasn’t eaten dinner yet!” All this was said with a sneaky wink from the girl and your jaw fell open a bit.

Riwoo flushed and then shouted back, “A-alright!”

Once you were certain the window had been shut again, you panicked. “I don’t have anything to wear, why would you ask him to go out to dinner with me?!” 

“You can borrow one of my dresses. We’ll make sure you look like the prettiest girl in South Korea before he sees you.” Hanni assured. 

6 minutes later they had shoved you back into the dorm room, picked a simple pink dress from Hanni’s closet and fixed your messy hair. Minji somehow managed to do your makeup in less than a minute, and by the end of it, you actually looked quite pretty.

“If you don’t ask him to be your date for the dance, then I’ll ask him to be your date for you and say you were too embarrassed to do it.” Minji warned, pushing you out the door. Hanni and Minji exchanged a gleeful high-five at finally getting you to step out of the dorms, that too with a boy.

The air was chilly. That was the first thing you noticed as you walked down the steps of the dorm. It was a pleasant chill, though, and the air smelled fresh. The library felt stuffy in comparison to the cool breeze you felt on your skin.

Riwoo sat at the bottom of the stairs in a brown jacket that you hadn’t seen on him before. He turned at the sound of your footsteps and stood up, a shy smile gracing his face.

“Did you get a new jacket?” You asked, slipping your hand into his.

“My grandpa got it for me after my old one got too weatherworn.” He said with pink cheeks.

“It looks nice on you.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze since you could tell he was nervous. I’m nervous too, it’s okay. It seemed like he got your message, though his cheeks turned a shade brighter at your compliment.

“I hope you’re okay with soup bread bowls?” Riwoo asked anxiously.

You smiled, “That sounds delicious.”

“I know the grandma that owns a soup shop near here. Her chowders are the best I’ve ever tried.”

The night was all stolen glances and contagious smiles, all because you were with him. Riwoo didn’t lie about the soup being good. You chose a slightly spicy tomato stew in a fresh bread bowl and it was one of the best dinners you had ever had.

After dinner you walked around the streets hand in hand, talking about whatever came to mind. You hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time with Riwoo in the past. Most of your interactions didn’t last more than 20 minutes. He always had more mail to deliver and you had classes to catch.

But all those usual obligations were the last thing on either of your minds. For once, you were living in the moment. You weren’t thinking about your future or any upcoming exams or presentations. You weren’t thinking about all the times you had messed up in the past and what could have been had the circumstances been different.

No, the only thing on your mind was Riwoo. You focused on how his hand felt holding yours, the smile that was on his face (though it had never left from the moment he saw you), the warm butterflies in your stomach and your racing heart.

He was animatedly telling you about the pet kittens he had adopted when he was little; a small black one named Charcoal and a grumpy orange tabby called Persimmon. Everyone in his family had adored Charcoal for his clingy and loving personality, but Riwoo had personally taken care of Persimmon and had developed a close bond to her.

“I always wanted a cat, but the dorm won’t allow pets.” 

“They’re all grown up now, but maybe sometime I can show you Persimmon and Charcoal. They’d like you.”

“I’d love to meet them.” You replied, and then shivered. The night was even chillier as it got later.

“Oh- here.” Like the gentleman he was, Riwoo swiftly slid off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You mumbled a small thank you, feeling flustered.

There was a silence and neither of you knew what to say. You suddenly remembered Minji’s threat earlier. You had to ask Riwoo to be your partner for the dance.

“Would-“

“Y/n-“

Riwoo laughed and motioned for you to go first.

“There’s a dance coming up at the dormitory. It’s a special event cause the girls fought for it so hard. I don’t have a date to it, so I was wondering if-“

“Yes. I’d love to.” He cut you off, knowing you were stalling out of awkwardness. 

“What were you going to say?” You asked.

“Well, it was less saying…” He mumbled, cheeks burning.

“Huh?” 

“Run away if you don’t want me to.” He stalled, fiddling with his fingers. His eyes went back and forth on your face. Lips, eyes, lips, eyes.

You nodded, giving him the last bit of courage he needed to finally press his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet and soft, but mostly it was way too short.

Riwoo frowned, “That wasn’t…” 

“Enough?” You offered.

“Yeah.” He breathed out.

You laughed, hand cupping his cheek because he was so damn cute. You kissed him again, and then again, and even more after that until you were both satisfied.

“What will you wear to the dance?” Riwoo asked, lying down with his head in your lap, your hand gently playing with his hair. It was dark and only a streetlight illuminated the park.

“Apparently Minji and Hanni found cute dresses. Mine’s blue. What about you?”

“I’ll borrow my dad’s suit. I don’t have anything better. I hope it’s okay.”

“You look amazing in anything, don’t worry.” You kissed his forehead.

“When is your curfew…?” Riwoo asked suddenly. Your heart dropped.

“10 pm. What time is it now?”

“10:30.”

“Shit.”

Riwoo chuckled at your hushed swear and sat up.

“I’ll walk you back.” He offered out his hand and you grinned, lacing your fingers with his.

“Will I still get letters from the mysterious ‘R’?” You asked, swinging your arm back and forth.

“You knew?”

“Wasn’t that hard to figure out, sweetheart.”

He flushed at the nickname and nodded, “W-we’re here.”

“So we are. Saturday at 5 pm, okay? Don’t be late or I’ll break up with you.”

“I won’t.” He assured you and you smiled.

“Thank you for the soup and everything.” You kissed him one more time before scurrying up the stairs, leaving him with a thumping heart and giddy smile.

↳ boynextdoor taglist: @rizzshimura,, @captivq,, @icyminghao,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @metalchick529,, @schmocolateschmchip,, @kpoprhia

[percyweas1ey]

Another snippet of the Trans!Percy WIP here, I’ve cut off one of my favourite bits so that can stay a surprise, but the relationship between Percy and Charlie so one of my favourite parts of the fic (and was very well received by my beta ❤️)

They sat in silence for a minute or two, whilst Percy tried to find some of the words that would even begin to describe quite how he felt. “I’m not gay, though I mean I’d never really thought much about stuff like that anyway, I thought it was rather normal to like both I suppose.” He took in a deep breath, once again dropping his gaze before he continued, “you sound like Penny you know? She says stuff like this a lot, I often think she knows me better than I know myself. Throws around words I never knew like ‘transgender’, and thinks I’m a girl somewhere inside. But I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be some…some weird person who’ll always be more of a man than a woman where it counts. I don’t…I don’t want to admit she’s right because then there’s something wrong with me.” He finished with a whisper, heart pounding. Quicker than he could blink, Charlie’s arms were wrapped around him. “I just want to be a normal man, with a nice ministry job, a lovely partner and maybe a child or two and it feels like if I give in to whatever this is, I won’t have any of that.” He kept his gaze low, waiting for Charlie’s reply.

He found himself surprised when Charlie tapped him on the shoulder and offered him a cigarette, an incredible gesture now his stash was already beginning to drain quicker than he would’ve liked. “Don’t play coy, I’ve seen you wandering around near the edge of the fence enough, just be grateful it was me and not mum.” Percy gave an embarrassed smile, a small blush creeping up his neck as he accepted the cigarette and lit it with the lighter Charlie immediately chucked to him, whilst lighting his own with a quick incendio. “So, you’re a girl then? I know you said you don’t want to be one, but I mean, if it’s anything like the stuff I know, and admittedly that’s not a lot, you can’t change this stuff Perce, you just either decide to do something or not, and you can’t just hide something like this forever, it’s who you are, it’s not fair to do that to yourself. The Ministry won’t have a problem, and if they do then fuck them Perce, this is so much more important that a job like that, I know you might not agree but it is. If you have to, go into research or history, do a mastery or something, you’d be more valued doing that in my opinion anyway, but that’s not what this is about.” Charlie took a long drag and flicked his ash absentmindedly, with Percy following suit.

Percy crossed his legs and took a drag, exhaling slowly and watching the smoke disappear into nothingness. “I suppose…well I guess I am then yeah. Penny tried calling me she once to see how I’d feel. I didn’t want to tell her at the time but it did feel better. You finally dragged it out of me I suppose, she’ll be glad to hear when I write her later.” He, no, she replied softly, a weight lifting off her shoulders. “I don’t really know what to do from here on, my hair was a start but I don’t really want to tell mum and dad yet, I’d do more at Hogwarts but I know it would get back to them somehow.” She took another drag on her cigarette sadly.

[angelofdarknessss]

Beautiful Sinner

Chapter 2: Nightmare

Previous Part: CH-1

Next Part: Not here! ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

Word Count: 2,679

Main Pairing: Toko Fukawa x Gen!Neutral Reader

Summary: You *just* arrived and you already feel like you're going insane.

Author note: I feel bad for being so late >_< so sorry;; also I lied here is the part but on tumblr ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ for now my fic is active on Ao3 (main), Quotev and here! It's also published on wattpad but I'm not sure If ill update it there too, it is alot of work but I want as many people to read my work as possible sooo I'll try to keep up with it ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

!!CW:!! Murder is described in this chapter! Starts when you see the "….. ᶻ's " If you want to read past it keep scrolling until you see another pair of " ….. ᶻ's "

You and Sayaka finally made it to the dorms, but not without you observing the other rooms as you passed through the school. It really had everything, you saw a bathhouse, dressing room, laundry room, dining hall, warehouse, and you’re sure there’s more to search later. You’d say its heaven but considering the situation you’re in now…it’s the opposite.

“Ah! Here we are!” Sayaka says happily. You two stood in the hallway between 12 rooms, the others located further down. “Wow, this school wasn’t lying when they said we’d be set for life. There’s a lot of useful stuff here…except for a hair salon. Would’ve loved a room to do my hair with all my materials.” You say with an annoyed sigh.

She giggles. “Aw, don’t be like that y/n! I see you already have some of them, right?” She gestures towards your waist apron with a few basic hair tools. “Well, yes..but that’s not enough to do my or anyone else’s hair!” You whined.

“I’m sure there’s a room with the things you need around here somewhere, after all this school is massive!” She smiles while staring at your hair. “I can tell you take good care of your hair..it’s so pretty.”

You could feel your face burn in embarrassment. Sure, you’ve received compliments about your hair many times but coming from Sayaka, an idol, it made you feel different. Especially since she was so gorgeous. “Oh!..thank you! I appreciate it.”

“Of course!” Her eyes then travel back to the dorms, searching for hers. “Hmm…oh! There’s mine!” She points towards the door on her right, you also took notice of the rooms beside hers. Those being Chihiros and coincidently, Makoto’s.

You stare at it, thinking about Makoto. Is he okay? Is he still asleep? Did something happen to him again? Those thoughts clouded your mind until Sayaka spoke up again. “Worried about Makoto still?” She tilts her head. “Don’t worry y/n, we can check up on him later. For now, should probably let him rest..” She voiced.

“Yeah..yeah you’re right. He must be unconscious still, I guess it’s best to wait until he wakes up.” Speaking of resting…you could really use a good nap right now. Where was your dorm?

You look around for your dorm and eventually spot it in-between Junko and Celeste’s dorm. Resting next to Junko doesn’t seem to bad, as for Celeste…you weren’t sure. You’ve only spoken to her once, maybe you’ll get to know her better later.

“Found my dorm.” You point towards the door with a little pixel you on it. It was kind of cute..you guess. “Perfect!” Sayaka holds her hands together. “Let’s check out our rooms, then we can meet back out here!...if that’s okay with you of course!” She says.

You nod in response. “That’s perfect. I’ll see you in a little bit then.” With that, she nods and heads straight into her dorm and you go into yours. As soon as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you, you realized it’s not like your typical dorm room.

It had…everything useful for a hair stylist!

There were three shampoo systems, three hood dryers, two salon chairs, a shelf filled with multiple hair products, scarfs, shower caps, blow dryers, combs, brushes, hair straighteners and curlers, and so much more..! This school even hooked you up with beautiful bonnets! With these tools you can do everybody’s hair in here…well, not for free.

And…of course there was your bed and bathroom you guess..that’s good too. But the tools is what you cared about the most. Not only did Monokuma hook you up with good hair products, but also some good personal ones too. On the nightstand beside your bed a bottle of shea butter lotion, dove deodorant including the soap, Olay bodywashes and a few perfume options to choose from.

Damn…you really shouldn’t be praising the bastard who put you in this mess but he really knew what specific items you used. It was a little creepy, but nonetheless you appreciate that you won’t be walking around the school looking AND smelling a mess.

“Phuhu~ You like it, stylist?”

“AHH!” You screamed while stumbling backwards, landing on your backside. “Y..you!!”

“Indeed! I am Monokuma!” He giggles into his paws at your reaction. “Didn’t mean to scare you buddy. Anyways…again, do you like your dorm, stylist?” He asks again. “uh…yes..?” You respond, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“You better!” He waddles over to you with his paw pointing at you. “All of these hair products, machines, and personal hygiene were expensive!” He angrily says. “I didn’t know you hair stylists were so high maintenance! I mean granted I have more than enough to buy them all but still! I better see you use every single one of these items, stylist!” He scolds you as if you were his child.

“What the..?!” You get up, now towering over the small Monokuma. “Did you just come to my dorm to yell at me? Get out now!” You yell at him, meanwhile he keeps that same angry expression. “Nuh-uh, you don’t have the power to send me off, kid! And besides…I came to give you this.”

He reaches into his non-existent pocket and hands you what looks like a room key, specifically a key to your dorm. “Your room was the last one I had to prepare, and I realized I forgotten to leave your key inside it.” You take it from him cautiously and slowly, as if he’s going to suddenly bite your hand.

Monokuma giggled at that. “Aw..scared a lil ole me?” He laughs out loud, showing off his sharp teeth. “You should bee~” You huffed in irritation and proceeded to point towards your door. “Just get out already!”

“Fine! Ungrateful brat..” He mummers before disappearing. You were alone again.

You let out a sigh of relief then sat onto your neatly done bed. Before you laid your body down on the soft blanket, your eyes caught a glimpse of a shiny coin on your nightstand. You picked up the coin and examined it…it was…a Monokuma coin?...a monocoin? You scoffed. How ridiculous….. yet, you slipped it into your waist apron. Might be handy later.

“This is so…..ughhh!” You frustratingly screamed, face palming yourself and then laying your back against the soft sheets. What were you going to do? You were trapped with 16 other strangers alongside a psychopathic bear and you could die at any minute! Why…why you of all people? Why did this have to happen to you specifically?

This was bullshit.

You need to take a nap for awhile..maybe for 30 minutes or so. Sayaka won’t mind, right? She knows where you are afterall..hell, she’s probably still looking around in her room. You slowly closed your eyes.

A little…rest…won’t hurt….

Yeah….yeah..you’ll see her in 30 minutes. After a few minutes of pure silence, you drifted off to sleep.

Unfortunately missing the few gentle knocks at your door.

….. ᶻ

………………………. ᶻ 𝗓

……………………………………………………… ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

…ᶻ

……………….ᶻ 𝗓

……………………………………….ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

“Y/n…..” A gentle voice whispered your name, their hand brushing against your cheek like a warm breeze. Exhaustion enveloped you, as if every ounce of energy was being siphoned from your very essence. You found yourself unable to stir, your body feeling heavy and frail.

Your eyes fluttered open, taking in your surroundings. You found yourself in a bathroom, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, your left arm stained with blood and a fresh stab wound that continued to bleed profusely. As you shifted your gaze downward, you noticed that your right calf was also injured, bearing a matching wound that was equally oozing blood.

Yet, everything felt numb. All you could focus on was the person in front of you clutching a bloodied kitchen knife—Sayaka Maizono. But, she didn’t strike you as someone capable of causing harm, much less taking a life. So… why?

“I’m…I’m sorry!” she cried, her voice trembling as her clearly broken nose leaked blood. “I didn’t want to…to do this..not to you.” Tears streamed down her face, splattering onto your blood-stained shirt. She looked so traumatized, like she hadn’t mean to hurt you in the first place. “It wasn’t..*sniff*..supposed to be you..!”

How did it end up like this?… ‘Sayaka… why?’ was the question you longed to voice, yet all that escaped your lips were only anguished murmurs.

She suddenly clung to you tightly, the knife still firmly in her grasp, tears streaming down her face as she buried her face in your neck. “I’m so sorry…b-but I have to do this…please forgive me!” In one quick movement, she pulled the hand holding the blade away and drove it deep into your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide with shock; a scream threatened to escape your lips, but no sound came.

You could only remain frozen in fear, helplessly observing as your blood seeped through your garments and trickled down your legs. She pulled the knife away, her gaze locking onto yours, realizing you were still alive. “No no no…I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’ll make try to make it quicker…” She cries as she gripped the knife in her hand in guilt. It seemed so cruel to allow you to bleed out slowly, so… she directed her blade towards your neck and drove it in. But instead of taking it out, she let you choke on your own blood.

…This option didn’t seem much better, but you did feel the life being drained from you quicker. You watched her intently as she rose from the floor, her hands stained with blood as she tried to wipe away her tears. The crimson streaks marred her face, and some of it splattered onto her shirt and skirt. The bathroom floor was a gruesome sight, soaked in blood that continued to flow from your fresh abdominal wound, and now with the injury on your neck, your clothes were becoming increasingly tainted.

You made one last desperate attempt to cry out, to call for help, but deep down, you understood there was no hope. The only thing that escaped your quivering lips was blood. Sayaka looked at you, her eyes filled with remorse for a fleeting moment before she stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her, but not before flicking off the light, plunging you into complete darkness.

She left you all alone in the dark to die…how cruel. You thought she was your friend…why..why did it have to be you?

With one final breath, you felt your soul leaving your body finally. Sayaka Maizono murdered you.

If you were still able to talk, what would you ask? Was it worth it?...Would she do it to another classmate if not you?..Did she intend to kill you the moment she saw you?..How would Makoto feel?

Questions that you’ll never get an answer for. Because you no longer existed.

….. ᶻ

… *DING DONG*

………………………. ᶻ 𝗓

………… *DING DONG DING DONG*

……………………………………………………… ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

…………………………… *DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG*

“…ugh!!” You shot up from sleep, drenched in sweat and your heart racing wildly in your chest. You propped yourself up, your fingers brushing against your neck and stomach. That dream, or rather, that nightmare, felt incredibly real. Yet, here you were, awake and safe. What on earth was that nightmare about? Why did Sayaka kill you? And why—?

*DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG*

“Okay..okay! Stop! I’m coming…” you grumble, feeling a bit irritated as you push yourself off the bed and shuffle toward the door. With a yawn slipping out, you swing the door open. “..Taka?” You murmur. “AH..Y/N!..So THIS is where you’ve been hiding all this time!” He exclaims. “You really worried everyone, you know!...especially Makoto…” he adds, his voice dropping for the last part. “We were all convinced something terrible had happened to you!”

Makoto was worried about you..? wait…He’s awake?? “Wait what—? Makoto is awake?” you exclaim, a blend of shock and relief washing over you.. “Yes, he’s fine… but seriously, why did you think it was okay to nap for an hour and a half without telling anyone?!” he reprimands, prompting you to shoot him an irritated look. “Come on, cut me some slack! I didn’t plan on sleeping that long; I just meant to take a quick nap, but… well, it turned out to be a bit longer than I expected.”

“Clearly!” He states. “Now…please head to the dining hall with me, we’re holding a meeting, and we cannot start without you.”

"Uhm.. I appreciate the offer, but I can make it to the dining hall on my own. I’ll see you there." Just as you were about to shut the door, Taka wedged his foot between the door and the frame. "I really must insist." You give him a long look and let out a resigned sigh. "….fine, just let me freshen up first."

Once you had tidied your hair and brushed off your clothes, you made your way to the dining hall with Taka, feeling a bit reluctant. As you strolled toward the hall, a thought struck you—you had carelessly thrown your waist apron somewhere in the room. You considered turning back to grab it, feeling somewhat exposed without it, but then decided you could always pick it up later

At this moment, you really had to get up to speed with your classmates…who had been busy digging for information while you were asleep…this may end badly for you. They likely put in a ton of effort while you were relaxing in your room…or rather, you wouldn’t exactly call it ‘relaxing’ given the nightmare, but still…

Anywho, you two finally made it to the dining hall and were immediately greeted with everyone eyes on you two, more so you. Everyone sat at the same table except for Toko and Byakuya, who sat at a different, smaller table. Toko wasn’t sitting with him but was standing near him.

And..wait..Kyoko wasn’t there. Strange.

“Y/n! There you are!” Sayaka exclaims, her face lighting up with relief as she jumps up from her chair and rushes over to you, wrapping you in a warm hug with her head against your shoulder. “I..I thought something had happened to you..I tried to ring your door bell but you didn’t answer.” Her voice trails off, and she glances away, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “So I assumed you had left your room..”

Your breath caught in your throat as she unexpectedly wrapped her arms around you. Every time you laid eyes on her, the haunting nightmare replayed in your mind. A part of you wanted to keep your distance, yet another part ached with sympathy for her; after all, it wasn’t her doing that you had such a terrifying dream. You reassured yourself that it was just the overwhelming stress of the situation, she’s harmless..is what you tell yourself.

"Y/n?" She lifts her head from your shoulder, calling your name softly. “Ah, sorry to scare you Sayaka, I was just sleeping.” you reply, feeling a bit embarrassed as you rub the back of your head. You give her a gentle pat on the back, which brings a warm smile to her face. "No worries! I’m just happy to see you’re okay. By the way, Makoto woke up a little while ago!" She points to him at the table, where he offers you a friendly smile and a wave.

“And guess what? I found out we used to go to the same middle school!” She happily chirps, her face lighting up. “How funny is that? What middle school did you go to? Maybe we have—"

“Sayaka…Y/n!” Taka clears his throat with a loud cough. “Let’s put a pin in this conversation for now; please take a seat!”

Sayaka's shoulders droop a bit as a rosy hue spreads across her cheeks, but she manages a nod. "Alright... um... Y/n?" Releasing her grip on you, she takes your hand gently. "You’ll sit next to me, right?"

[luvrodite]

hello ro ily 💐

was wondering if we could get wedding cake and lipstick stain for the self-ship ask?

sunnie (@fic-over-cannon)

oh sun....sun do you know i love you?? i'm planting a big fat kiss on your cheek thank you for asking me this!!! i answered lipstick stain just now but oh my goodness i'm dizzy thinking about this prompt

wedding cake ౨ৎ what was your wedding like?

i've said before it was a winter wedding so i could wear a wedding cloak like mrs darling but it's winter now and i'm decidedly changing it to a spring wedding (and you are all invited of course). i am so sorry to my family members and friends who have hay fever but the show must go on!!

spring! i think it's outdoors or at the very least in somewhere with a lot of light. it's a busy BUSY BUSY week, the wedding itself preceded by a lot of events that we stretch out to avoid burnout. by events though i think i just mean like a hen's and stag party and meeting the extended family etc etc. i think for both of our sakes we try not to make it too full on because it's an incredibly stressful thing even though we're very excited about it, and we just want everything to go smoothly so it's all kept relatively lowkey.

anyway i think it's a very busy busy morning preceded by a very busy busy night spent running around and making sure we both have everything (we sleep in separate rooms and i get to have a sleepover with my best friends yippee!!! but he's on the phone while we're running through our final checklists and everything) i don't know i just think the morning is planned to the last minute with military precision because i need structure like that with important events

and yet somehow he finds a way to sneak in a few moments to slip past everyone (hand over his eyes because i love cliches) and steal a kiss and tell me he loves me – one last chance to run away or making a joke about who's this guy everyone's telling me you're getting hitched to, sounds like a loser, you should run away with me instead) and it just makes everything go quiet for a few minutes because of course he would know that i'd be feeling anxious and of course he would find a way to hold my hand through it. steals a kiss and then bolts when the bridesmaids catch him and chase him out of the room (they're laughing and they love him because it's him, who wouldn't!)

we both cry a lot i fear....crybabies the pair of us...throughout the night after the ceremony itself it's a lot of watery eyes and tearful smiles (oh i feel so lovesick it's awful i'm keeling over). i don't know too much about themes and dress styles and colours but i think it's very simple but also beautiful? i don't know how else to describe it, i just think a lot about like white dresses and swan lake and water nymphs and fairytales. it's sleek ? i want it to feel very fae (romanticised fae lets be clear) and how listening to once upon a dream (the old d*sney version) makes me feel. like true love and old magic and woodland fantasy. i am just yapping but do you see the vision?? i really hope you do :(((

i think it's a beautiful day that bleeds into a beautiful night and we dance so much our feet hurt and we spin around the room so many times until we're dizzy and laughing and in love. i don't think we actually have a LOT of people there, to be honest but it's still a fair amount with our parent's friends etc etc but it's still. mostly our nearest and dearest. i think the reception happens outside. like with the big tent thing on open green land (like in british romcoms when they have the marquees) OR in a greenhouse type place like with the glass and it's surrounded outside by green and everything and it starts in the evening right before the sun begins to set and it's just dreamy and beautiful and perfect and we are in love and i'm keeling over because i want to marry him right NEOW

had to forcibly cut myself off before i typed too much and started crying over my laptop but thank you sunnie :')))))) i love u

[anonymous-dentist]

Hi anon, sorry to bring the sbi family fanfic discussion again and for the long post , (your posts ware what made realize why i hated this thing so much)

I don’t know if is the same type of fans but i noticed that some ficwritters that are really foucused on philza and wilbur (and sbi family i think?) Are kinda trying to add cellbit to this situation? Like i read some philza focused fanfic where he interacts with cellbit and the ficwritters act like cellbit is his kid? Its weird idk how to explain very well (this is also the same people that kinda write cellbit as a native english speaker (american and european) and not a brazilian (its something that is too hard to explain right now)

And its kinda stressing me out because cellbit is written in such a weid way and its infesting the spiderbit tag lol and i dont understand what is going on half of the time since idk what the hell sbi even is (brazilian with 0 understanding about english speaking mcty)

Sorry for the long post

Oh yeah no I don’t really get it but like. I also do! Because q!Phil has become one of only a literal handful of people on the island to actually properly trust q!Cellbit and so they’re like. Friends. But obviously you can never just be friends with someone not your age and so. Fandom assigned family dynamic. It’s super weird and lowkey like. Idk it’s just weird lol.

A discussion surely must follow!

First, a brief rundown of SBI:

SBI is Sleepy Boys Inc., a group made of up streamers Philza, Wilbur Soot, Tommyinnit, and Technoblade. (Originally it was just Phil, Wilbur, and Techno, but Tommy wiggled his way in somehow.) They’re Best Friends, but somewhere along the way their fandoms said. Fuck it. Family dynamic… mostly because the ccs lowkey thought it was funny and ran with it. Wilbur alone would rather die than not have Philza Minecraft be his father

This dynamic spread to their characters on the dsmp despite them literally not once ever referring to each other all as family; iirc Techno himself said he at least wasn’t part of the family because that dynamic would be fucked up after all the shit his character did to both c!Wilbur and c!Tommy. But c!Phil was c!Wilbur’s father even though he did fully murder his ass, and Wilbur and Tommy were brothers because they’re Wilbur and Tommy and you’d have to kill them to stop them from being brothers. Tommy was never established to be c!Phil’s son, and Phil never seemed to consider him one

But then the dsmp started dying around summer 2021 and everyone was kinda just left with fanon, and SBI fanon can get weird. I’m talking borderline fetishistic nuclear family stuff, especially when you get into ‘Dark SBI’ content with Phil kidnapping Tommy or whatever and forcibly making them family? It gets weird, take a look through the tag sometime

The thing with a lot of these fics is that like. It’s gotten to a point where it’s a fandomized version of both cc! and c!SBI with some really freaky characterizations and some really diehard fans. I’ve talked about that before, so I won’t do it again.

The weirdest thing I’ve noticed about these fics, though- and this goes back to what we were talking about with Cellbit inexplicably being added to the mix all of a sudden- is that everybody has to be a family.

You’ll be hard pressed to find a SBI fic where the characters have friends. Even Tubbo and Ranboo, usually delegated to a ‘Tommy’s friend!’ role despite them not interacting much like as a group ever are treated either as extensions of Tommy himself or as his found family ‘brothers’ who Phil also inevitably helps take care of rather than as friends, and they act that way. Niki isn’t usually ever written in as Wilbur’s friend, she’s Benchtrio’s sister/mother-figure, or she’s described as Wilbur’s found family sister. Jack Manifold? Lumped in with Niki with Benchtrio as their older brother/father-figure. Quackity? Either Wilbur’s boyfriend, thus a member of the family, or Tommy’s older brother/father-figure.

Even characters who never really interacted with SBI as a “family” on the dsmp get this treatment: you’ll read an SBI fic with c!Purpled in it and he’ll be Tommy’s brother figure. c!Sam is Tommy’s father figure. Schlatt is Tommy’s uncle or Wilbur’s brother. Puffy is an aunt. Sapnap and Dream? Tommy’s brother or father figures. Even Hannah is being written as Tommy’s cool older sister figure these days despite only really interacting with him once on the smp

And you can see this kind of behavior continuing now in the qsmp fandom… if the new ccs/characters in question aren’t “problematic”. Chayanne can’t see Techno as a personal hero, he has to see him as an older brother or an uncle. Tubbo is Phil and Fit’s son and Tommy’s brother. Niki is Tallulah’s mom. Quackity is Wilbur’s boyfriend.

What you’ll actually be hard pressed to see is this kind of dynamic with Phil and other, “problematic” ccs, aka ccs who aren’t like. English ccs.

Because you won’t find q!Forever included in the family dynamics despite him basically being q!Phil’s best friend and closest confidant. It took longer for q!Missa to be added to Phil’s wiki page than it did for Techno to despite them literally being explicit canon husbands, and you’ll be lucky if Missa is even mentioned in a “qsmp” SBI fic. Etoiles? Not even mentioned despite him and Phil more or less actually leaning into the family dynamic with the “brothers” thing. Even Tallulah and Chayanne are left out or mischaracterized in “qsmp” SBI fics, giving Tommy the spotlight.

You won’t find nearly anybody who isn’t an English cc in these fics, and this is NOT accusing anyone of xenophobia. It’s most likely just because the SBI people are used to watching only Phil or only Wilbur and they don’t speak enough of the other languages to really care about the non-English ccs and thus disregard their characters and lore. It’s not just SBI people who do this, it’s plenty of people speaking every language on the server not watching anyone whose languages they don’t speak. Yk?

But that brings us to q!Cellbit, and I’m surprised the SBI guys have latched onto him the way they did considering he’s everything they seem to dislike: his first language isn’t English, he doesn’t talk with Phil a lot, he and Tallulah get along really well, he makes fun of Wilbur being gone. And, honestly? The SBI guys did hate him for a long time because of those things, they constantly undermined his efforts and said Phil would be a better Order leader and said that he should never speak to Tallulah again because he was making her sad and he’s friends with their least favorite person ever, Forever.

But then q!Phil said he trusted Cellbit, and it’s like a switch was flipped. Starting around the Pills Arc when they first teamed up, SBI people were suddenly on board with Cellbit despite being part of the haters literally days before. Why? Well. Phil and Cellbit are friends now, and so now he gets the privilege of being in the fics.

The problem with this is that these people have never watched Cellbit. They’ve seen ten minutes of him total from Phil’s pov, and that’s all they’re going to use to write his character. So of course there will be mischaracterization.

And, of course, they’ll be family. Because, as I said, there’s this weird allergy to the concept of friendship in SBI fics. You’re family or you’re an enemy.

Constant fanon mischaracterization of Phil has basically turned him into a universal father figure even if he doesn’t have that dynamic with the characters he’s like the “father” of. q!Cellbit’s only familial figure outside of his actual canon family is generally seen as q!Bad, who even referred to him as family last night on stream. But, because Phil and Cellbit are friends now and Cellbit is younger than Phil is, they have to have a father-son dynamic, because that’s what Phil’s only character trait is in the SBI fics he’s in. He’s the dad whether it makes sense or not.

If that makes sense.

[purlturtle]

For the Writers Truth or Dare ask game:

🕯 (candle - do you like editing)

⛸ (roller skate but I don't have that one on desktop 😢 - describe your latest WIP with 5 emojis)

🍦 (ice cream cone - name three good things about a character you hate)

Thank you for the ask, these sound like a great challenge! (full list here)

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

Starting strong - I gotta go all the way to my writing process here, to explain my reply of "a strong 8 - I do enjoy it a lot"

I never learned to write, as in, had a creative writing class, or part of German (or even second-language class)! More specifically, I never learned to draft. My first draft is very often already 80-90% of what will end up on the page, complete with all scenes, adjectives, names of secondary characters etc etc. My editing is mostly catching typos/grammar mistakes and swapping one word or phrase for another. Full re-writes of a scene, taking out a scene, starting a scene over: that happens during the writing process, for me, and even there it's rare. I think I re-ordered scenes once or twice in my entire writing "career"? (as in, this doesn't fit here, I'll cut and paste it somewhere else)

And so, the editing that I do is a clear servicing of my fic in order to make it better, and I always love to do that.

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

Oh boy 😅 I'm currently on desktop too, and the number of emojis is wayyy to small for here. I'll post this when I've answered the third question, and then switch to mobile and edit in hopefully better fitting emojis!

Edit: okay here we go:

🏚️👰‍♂️🤵‍♀️😤🥰

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate

Sheesh!! That one is hard. To start with, I don't hate a lot. Like, that word is so strong, it applies to *maybe* one character - and even there it's more of a "I strongly dislike this guy for his actions and motives but I appreciate that that is only because of his (very necessary) role in the narrative." So... let's go with a character that gives me the biggest eyeroll impulse:

Nate No-Last-Name from the Warehouse episode "Instinct"; Mister Blandy Milquetoast McBlandface. It's easy to mock him because he's obviously so ill-suited to being H.G. Wells' romantic partner - but she did choose him, so let's try and find good-faith reasons why.

he clearly loves his daughter very much, and does his best to be a good dad to her. And a lot of that is providing stability/reliability, which can easily be read as boring, but hey, an eight year old (or whatever Adelaide's age is in that episode) doesn't really need the kind of excitement that the artifact brings to their household, and certainly not on a weekly basis.

he equally clearly loves Helena as well. However much or little that is requited or based on any kind of truth, it is there. He's approaching her in good faith, he cares about her, he is trying to build something good with her.

he clearly provides something that Helena is seeking, be it consciously or subconsciously. Hell, a little bit of boring stability and reliability can be exactly what someone needs to get their feet back under them! I only ever read "playing house" being said very disparagingly, with a scoff and a head-toss, but Christ, don't we all need a break sometimes? Doesn't Helena, after all she's been through - all that the Warehouse and the Regents put her through?

I really do like "Instinct" a whole lot, as a character moment for Helena. As much as it hurts my shipper heart to see her in that beige suburban home, I can understand why she's there. And Nate is integral to that, just as much as Adelaide. Yes, he's clearly someone "good enough", someone "at least he respects me as an equal" - not someone you choose because passion has smashed you into their arms, but also, not someone with whom every day is a rollercoaster for emotions. It's like when you have an upset stomach: maybe the richest, tastiest, hottest of all foods isn't a good idea right now. Having bland stuff for a while will help you heal. Might be nothing to write home about, but has all the nutrients and does not aggravate.

Oh man, that turned out to be a long answer! Thank you for asking, that was fun!

[longeyelashedtragedy]

apologies for the rambling which is about to ensue, your latest fic gave me a lot of emotions and i feel as though i might go mad if i don't write them somewhere. please also excuse my english at times. thank you.

as someone who 'grew up' with arsenal, i've known xhaka since he first signed when i was a child. being a child, i idolised everyone at that club, and xhaka was no exception. i would be furious at anyone who dared say a word against him, especially arsenal fans who were meant to be defending him.

to me, he was simply a man whose heart was too big for his body. a childish view, maybe. but his heart was pure, and i refused to believe anything different. i still do. your words: 'God, but he has a heart of molten gold' ring true for me.

xhaka had such a large impact on the club, and on me as a person. as you put it, 'only Granit could leave a void that has weight.' trying to navigate arsenal without him, particularly at a time where we appear to be doing 'better' as a club can only be described as painful, especially when the club feels more like a family than an organisation. when i saw them lift the community shield, the only thought in my head was that xhaka should have been there to lift it with them. your words, especially the way it was written in second person (but still so clearly from arteta's perspective), target the child in my heart that fought so dearly for him to receive the smallest amount of respect.

the way the fic ends too, with 'You will stay there, where He once was', it feels like a punch in the gut. xhaka leaving left a hole which i don't know what to do with. i haven't known a life without him in 7 years. it feels strange, almost humorous, to grieve so much over a footballer. maybe i am overcompensating for something. but it is undeniable that xhaka was truly unlike anyone else. nobody will be like him, and it is foolish to expect them to be.

in any case, the most important part of this entire ramble (apologies again) is that you truly have a talent. this may not mean much from an anonymous person on tumblr, but i mean it with all my heart. the way you can take your pain and turn it into something so raw and beautiful is an art. it reminds me of a quote i saw about an art piece, but which applies to you too.

'van gogh will ressurect to paint something better and die because he cannot.'

thank you for writing. thank you for existing. i pray you continue to do both for a long time.

hi, i got this message yesterday and took a moment to respond because it was truly so beautiful i didn't even know what to say (i still don't, but that's a good thing.)

i felt so heard and understood here. i've been an arsenal fan for only 3 years, but other than that i feel like i could have written every word of this.

a man whose heart was too big for his body is, i think, maybe the perfect way to say it. there wasn't enough room for how big his heart was or how much it felt (even at times when maybe he should have acted differently.) i think that people haven't really encountered someone like that and just interpreted it--and him--all wrong.

the club does feel like a family these couple years, and so it's even more heartbreaking that granit was not there to lift the community shield. he put in a lot of hard work to get us there. watching arsenal so far this season has been just as exciting and emotional as ever, but at the same time, there's something that feels missing and i think there will always be something missing. that's how much space he took up--so much space that his absence, as i said, does the same thing.

thank you so much for these compliments, i don't even know how to express--i struggle with the concept of unexpected loss, for personal reasons, and i felt so much pain over this and felt like i couldn't fully express why, and i didn't quite see my pain reflected elsewhere (because we're all sad about granit in our own ways!) so finally was able to convey it or so i had hoped. i'm so glad it worked for you, and honestly, this message was so nice and means so much to me and i don't even feel deserving. thank you so much--i'm glad to know there are other people who feel like this, and my inbox is always open to talk about this, anon or not.

thank you ❤️❤️❤️

[amplifyme]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @randomfoggytiger. Thanks for always thinking of me! ❤️

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

FYI: I've been posting lots of my writing mentor's fics on AO3 over the last year. I'm excluding those and listing only my own works.

Between the Shadow and the Soul: She didn’t know why she hadn’t realized it before. The evidence was right there in front of her, had been the whole time.  It’s what she was paid to do, for Christ’s sake! Latch on to the details and make them all fit, make sense of the insensible. (BATB)

Life Songs, Book One: Come and Go: Diana stood it as long as she could before she wheeled around in her chair and pinned Vincent with a look. His eyes had been boring holes in her back for the last five minutes.

"What?" she snapped. (BATB)

Squirm: He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just pushes through the open door and past her, coming to a stop in the casement opening between the living room and kitchen.

“Mulder, what are you doing? It’s almost midnight.” (TXF)

MN 1068 - 06: He’d said as he dropped a kiss on her brow: “I’m gonna grab a shower. My wallet’s on the coffee table if I’m not out before the food gets here.”

He wasn’t. So she answered the door and paid the kid, tipping him more generously than she knew Mulder would’ve. She gathered forks and paper towels and made it through the doorway into the living room before she lost her grip on his wallet. It fell open at her feet, spilling out the bills she’d haphazardly stuffed back into it. She emptied her hands and squatted to retrieve it. (TXF)

Promise: “New year’s resolutions?”

Mulder looks over at her with one of his sidelong, appraising glances. “Do I look like the type who makes resolutions?”

“Come on, Mulder. We’re stuck in this car on New Year’s Eve on what is most assuredly a dead-end stakeout all because you’re convinced that one Herman Jiménez is preparing to escort his family to a new home somewhere in the heavens, compliments of a spaceship steered by little green men. Humor me just this once and play along. And yes, I do think you’re the type to make resolutions.” (TXF)

A Necessary Evil: So it’s time to fess up.  To lay bare the part of himself he’s not so proud of. Here goes: Fox Mulder is skilled at seduction. He always has been. From as far back as middle school, he’s known. He looks at himself in a mirror and sees only the flaws. The ridiculously large lower lip. The small triangular eyes. The undersized chin with not enough room between it and the aforementioned lip. The overly broad and large-scale nose. But for some reason beyond any logic, and put all together, those features have had teenaged girls, and then women, falling at his feet for as long as he can remember. It’s as simple as his attentive gaze aimed in their direction. (TXF)

Third Time's a Charm: He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux. (TXF)

Roghnaíonn Mé Tú: She doesn’t know why she has to say it now, five years after the fact. She’s heard it often enough in her head, her heart, on many occasions over those years. Sometimes as a reminder, sometimes a plea, even now and then in anger and carrying with it a desperate need to blame. But she’s never said it out loud. Not until now.

“You chose me,” she tells him. (TXF)

Gimme Shelter: They hide out in the woods behind the Strughold mine until the hit squad finally gives up and leaves in a great cloud of dust and skidding tires. A brief conversation follows, and they both agree that going back for the car would be a mistake. Mulder hadn’t stopped moving long enough to count their number when they’d piled out of their black vehicles with rifles in hand, and he figures they might have left one or two assassins behind. They aren’t willing to risk becoming easy pickings just for the convenience of four wheels and a quicker escape. Instead, they hike east until they come to the rural two-lane blacktop that’d brought them to the mine hours earlier. (TXF)

All That Our Senses Can Perceive: 1.) It starts with sight, doesn’t it? Unless we are born into blindness, it all comes in through the eyes first. We see, we process, we create visual memories; we integrate miniscule pieces into a larger whole.

Scully was young and full-cheeked the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Cute. With all the connotations that description carries. Mulder hadn’t ever been a fan of cute. He’d liked dark and mysterious; slightly dangerous. And look where that had gotten him. (TXF)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, yeah, so there's a definite pattern, pounded into my head by my previously mentioned mentor, the late, great Nan Dibble. In media res. Always start in the middle of the story. You can fill in the pertinent details as you go.

Once again, I've broken the rules and listed not only the first line, but the next few (or several) that follow it. Just feels more complete that way.

Also. I haven't posted a new fic since mid-October of last year. My muse hates me. 😢

I'm not going to tag anyone in particular. Play if you want to!

[poppunkpie]

hii hello hiii can you tell more about your writing process? :3c what are the stages? are there any writing principles for your process? what's the most enjoyable thing? :3c

hello eldritch!! omg im so sorry for the delay in answering... lol i didn't expect work to suddenly be so busy lol but anyway!!

so there are two main ways that a fic idea comes together for me: a) it's the theme/thesis statement that comes to me first. this comes to me in a lot of different ways... it could be a line from a song or an excerpt from a poem or a similar adjacent theme i take from a different piece of media that i feel i can apply to a certain ship/character that i am brainrotting about at the moment. ex. my favorite and most recent example of this would be scaramouche x from under the cork tree by fall out boy (lol) the theme i put together there was rly just... that desperation of so badly wanting something to be completely about yourself for once (and almost narcissistically/unhealthily so) because you've never had anything at all. i just thought it's a very specific... almost manic feeling that i can definitely picture scara experiencing.

b) it's one very specific scene that comes to me, and from there, i try to fill in the blanks/puzzle pieces in the plot (with other scenes) of how everything builds up to that one scene. when i have all of that down, it becomes a little easier for me to fill in the blanks of what exactly happens/how the fic ends after that one scene.

most of the time, it's a combination of these two ways of idea-gathering for me... mostly it's the theme that comes first, but there are other times that it's the specific scenes that come first and when it's the latter, they don't really come together /thematically/ until i'm already somewhere in the middle of writing. this ideation process is what i consider most important because honestly... i really only have two stages in writing (lol) which are: ideation and then the writing itself. bc basically, the ideation is what gets the fic plot points down... and the writing is really just... me connecting those points/weaving those ideas together...

to put things more concretely, my ideation process is really just... a lot of listing things down and it is admittedly chaotic... it could be scene ideas (or a sequence of them) as simple as 'scara spots aether in the crowd' but bc im a mess it usually becomes a long bullet that also includes the unsaid implications in that said scene like so:

scara spots aether in the crowd looking back at him and he fixates on it bc it feels like for the first time, someone actually /sees/ and wants to look at him

ideas i list down could also be specific lines that i imagine a specific character saying or even a few dialogues of script between characters. there's also just lots of random stuff related to how i want to describe dynamics and characters i list down like 'heiscara friendship with lots of annoying smart banter' or 'scara is a skater in this one' or 'aether listens to taylor swift but lumine doesn't' (lol)' or 'scara is like [insert fall out boy song here]'

~ as for writing principles... ig i only rly have this in mind at the moment: balance out poetry and prose - uhh i dont think i ever write anything that doesn't end up with a motif that ties in with the theme... i like metaphors a lot bc i feel they help describe feelings more accurately... but i also try to make sure that these metaphors are just simple but clever enough?? uhh... i kinda think of writing metaphors as cracking a joke... if it's too cerebral, the punchline might not /punch/ lol but if it's too straightforward... it might not work in capturing a certain idea or feeling... as for my personal preference in my own writing... i like to phrase things bluntly while still making metaphors in that tone so its not cerebrally intimidating... err im not sure how to explain that more elaborately here lol uhh but heres one of my favorite more recent examples from something i wrote abt scara talking about ei:

She has acknowledged me in a way that she believes it's her sister who should be alive instead of me, as if I had taken the life of someone else simply by being born into the world. (I'm not a killer— or at least I wasn't born one, and as far as I know, the blood on my hands is usually my own.)

~ as for the most enjoyable thing about it... well i would say it's definitely writing metaphors lol and then making sure how that ties coherently and cleverly with the theme and the vibe of the ship dynamic/character i'm centering the fic on... i dont think i ever write without an overarching theme or a metaphor for this reason... even when i just want the characters to kiss... its corny but i always need the kiss to feel like its situated in the grander scheme of things and feelings skksks

[zero-braincells-left]

could you describe in depth what ur camp camp fic ideas/headcanons are? you don’t have to but i am intrigued.

ty for asking! at last, an excuse to talk about fic ideas I’ll never fucking write!!

(I feel like everything I’m writing sounded different in my head, but after actually writing it down- why)

so first up, my hc for what happens after camp

no dadvid au, sorry :/

I just don’t think it’s realistic, yknow? and we’ll get into what I think Max’s home life is like later!

but anyways, obviously school comes into play sooner or later- now, for sake of convenience, let’s assume they live in a place where middle school is grades 6, 7, and 8. (Where I live it’s only 7 & 8).

now in my hc Max’s birthday is somewhere in late summer so he’d be 11 right in time for middle school. now with all my hcs for camper ages, this makes Max & Nikki 6th graders, and Neil, Harrison, Preston, and Nerris 7th graders. Dolph is in 3rd grade, space kid in 4th, and Ered & Nurf in their first year of high school.

now, once again for the sake of convenience and “because I said so”, maybe the schools kinda in a smaller town and the school doesn’t have a lot of kids, so they kinda put all the grades together??

does that even happen in real life? no clue, but it’s fucking happening in my au

now I hadn’t thought about this until right now but,, ugh the flowerscouts and woodscouts exist- ok-

Sasha, Erin, and Tabii are 8th graders. Jeremy’s in 7th grade, Snake’s in 8th, Petrol and Pikeman are in high school. if I ever get around to writing a fic im going to ignore the existence of the woodscouts tbh

aLSO, David’s a teaching assistant (specifically for an English class, don’t ask why) at the middle school!

Gwen works as a waitress at a cafe in the town.

ok

that’s ig the setting

also one of the campers made a group chat consisting of max, Nikki, Neil, preston, Nerris, Harrison, and Ered. as discussed in a previous post, I don’t think dolph, space kid, of Nurf have phones

hc time!!

first up: max!

unrelated to most of this but I feel like his first name is indeed Max. his last name is Well. Max Well. i do not think we’ll ever get confirmation on his name so unless it is specifically said otherwise I will accept this as canon. this is a hill I will die on, thank you for coming to my Ted talk

anyways, home life (btw I go off on several unrelated tangents during this so. warning)

hahah

i don’t think his parents are abusive tbh (well, depends on your definition of abuse)

i think the worst physically they’ve done is what most family’s would consider discipline, nothin very excessive tho (personally I do think physical discipline should be considered as abuse, but I am just some dumbass spoiled kid so I’m not the best person to comment on this)

i think they’re just neglectful and a bit emotionally abusive

i think they honestly just don’t really care about him, he just kinda keeps himself alive

idk man

next: Nikki and Neil because I don’t have many opinions on them

imo nothing comes of Carl and candy’s relationship, that was just a one time thing

that’s all the Nikki and Neil related hc I have. that’s it. ok

Preston time!!

ok so when I used to use wAtTpAd I once saw a hc that Preston lives w his grandma, as she’s his only direct relative that is accessible/alive ig

which then brought up the question of “what happens after she dies”

(that may or may not be one of the only few times, if we’re talking about the fic, that i’d actually have an oc be relevant)

ok anyway

lastly: Harrison! :]

you better believe I’ve thought a shit ton abt him. and oh boy do I have an angsty af home life for him

it seems a lot of the fandom decided he kinda got locked away in his room for most of his life and at first I didn’t like the idea but

now that is part of my hc

i think he is locked in his room, so that he “doesn’t hurt anyone”

the door is unlocked when his parents leave for work in the morning so he can go to school and then come back, and the door is locked once one of his parents gets home

they do (semi-regularly) just,, slide some food in the room

they don’t really check on him so a lot of the time he’s there he sneaks out the window to go do basically anything other than be in his room (this, again w the non-existant fic, will normally lead to some shenanigans w the performance trio out somewhere)

i don’t really have opinions on any other characters. and I think we all know damn well that if I write a fic it will end up being Harrison-centric no matter what I try to do

that took so long to type

as my friends would say, “oh god they’re writing another fucking essay”

anyways I didn’t check this for spelling errors so heh mb if there’s any

[writerkenna]

one line, any fic

rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

Tagged by @livingincolorsagain ! Thanks, this was a lot of fun!

You’re my Obsession, Forever and a Day

He deserved more than Eames’s charming, vague, indefinite attitude towards them, had earned it from years of this exchange between them.

Not Our Time

It’s been so long since they’ve kissed, just kissed, and Sam thinks he could weep as he tastes the salt and sweetness of Bucky.

we’ve always been impossible

Possibly for this reason, or maybe because it’s been nearly a month since Bucky has seen anyone but Sam and his doctors and his sense of decorum and social boundaries has crumbled, Bucky rushes Sarah the second she comes through the door and slams her hand down flat to the side of his stomach with a delighted shout of ‘feel this shit!’

Stumble and Fall Your Way to Each Other

Every time you try to give her up, cut off from that less than forgiving drug that is being fucking weak for her, Lisa has given you one look or one word or one touch with her delicate little fingertips and you fall headfirst.

they're singing deck the halls (but it's not like christmas at all)

Tony had been halfway reclining against some of his pillows on his bed before Steve said that, but once the words are out, he bolts upright so quick that everything he’s drunk rushes up at once to his head

Hot Tubs Are Not Effective Modes of Contraception

And then, Sam’s so happy and overwhelmed and tired and worked over and insane and flustered he’s laughing, Bucky’s telling him to shut up and that the kids are sleeping, and, in the wee hours of the night, they are deciding to have a third kid.

you’re havin’ my baby (what a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me)

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steve murmurs to Tony, “Howard’s choices don’t determine yours. I mean, I think the way you’ve remade Stark Industries makes that fairly obvious. You’re so much more than what he gave you. Also, we have each other. That helps. Right?”

Parts of a Whole

“Just, don’t start with the prequels, okay? Let yourself fall in love with the Ewoks before you have to sit through Jar Jar Binks. Trust me on this,” Sam had said with that smile of his. Bucky had hid his flush and taken the DVDs.

why, why (did I ever let you go)

“It’s okay,” Peter jumps to assure, “I don’t need anything from you, except to stay for the wedding. And … and for you to … to tell me if you’re my other dad?”

Guess That This Must Be The Place

Bucky feels an odd rush of joy at their mutual distaste for Scott’s over the top doting, one he decides he might as well capitalize on, considering his mood could be described as overall ‘lethargic’ for the past few weeks.

I’m sorry if I tag anyone who’s already been tagged, just ignore me!

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