#but i am T.T

[not-poignant]

Hi folks! Just wanted to write a quick post that if you send an ask and I don't respond to it immediately, you don't have to repost it, I'm probably just really, really, really tired. And having asks re-sent doesn't make me feel more likely to reply to them!

Give it about a week, and if I don't reply after that, you're welcome to ping me again. But I am on hiatus right now for a reason <333 So please just be patient, because my priority right now is taking care of myself and resting, and being very careful on where I put my energy, which means not getting to asks straight away even if I'd like to sometimes.

[teshiee]

the !! them!!! and random serpentine that arent any existing one particular

[w31rdb0x]

Idk why he called it that.............

[johnny-depplyloveyou]

When Gale uses the orb with Tav by his side during the final battle...

· We might still have a chance.

· It's been an honour.

· Do it, Gale.

😭😭😭

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 27 <3

Ushijima x dirtytalk

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 2,3 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"Here, Wakatoshi-kun! Look at this!"

A phone gets shoved into his face, the brightness level way too high for comfort, but he squints to take a look at the screen. A small grunt leaves his lips at the lack of greeting from his red-haired friend, but he chooses to focus on the screen instead.

It's an Instagram post with a picture of him, one taken during the Olympics. He looks at the picture, confused, but then Tendou starts scrolling through the comments

"I'd combust if he called me 'baby' with that deep voice."

"Do you think he's vocal in bed?" Reply: "He doesn't talk much in interviews, so I doubt it." Reply: "What a waste. His voice is so hot."

"LOOK AT HIS ABS *drools*"

"The world is going crazy ever since you said 'baby' in that one interview!" Tendou wildly gestures with his phone still in his hand, his grin almost smug when he elbows Ushijima. A frown appears on the spiker's face as he tries to recall the interview. It was one that he wasn't too fond of, due to the number of personal questions that had been asked. Way too personal questions for his liking.

"Ushijima-san, do you have any plans to start a family soon? When can we expect a baby, a little Ushijima junior?" "Baby?" he had echoed, clearly taken aback by this question, something that the interviewer probably failed to notice, but to the people close to him, it was fairly obvious. The silence after this question lead to speculation on the internet about his relationship status, something that he has kept private so far.

"It wasn't in a sexual way." Ushijima states after skimming through more comments, raising his eyebrows when the messages get more explicit and vulgar. "I was surprised when he asked the question."

"Doesn't matter! The world is going feral now, everybody wants to be Wakatoshi's baby! And even I have to admit that I got butterflies when I heard you say that. Y/n is really lucky~" Tendou hums, mischief clear in his eyes, but Ushijima fails to follow his train of thoughts with this.

"Why is she lucky?"

"Because she gets you to say sweet and dirty things to her all day long. You can't fool me, Wakatoshi-kun; I'm not only your best but also your oldest friend." Tendou winks and strolls ahead, oblivious to the way Wakatoshi is left standing there with a frown on his face, still.

xxxxx

"Y/n?"

You rub your arms dry with a fluffy towel when his voice comes from the other side of the door.

"Hmm?" you hum, smiling excitedly because he is finally back home. "I'll be out in a second."

"Yes, please. We need to talk." You hear him lean against the door frame, clearly waiting for you to come out.

You freeze at his words, eyes growing wide when realization settles in and you fully comprehend his words. "Talk? Talk about what?" you know that you sound shrill and loud, but you can't help yourself but to feel nervous at his serious tone- even more serious than normally.

"About us." Your jaw drops, and you quickly reach for your bathrobe, hastily unfolding the fabric to its full length.

"What do you mean about us? Is there a problem with us?" You finally manage to pull your arms through the fabric, quickly wrapping the fabric along your body before you open the door. You're met with Ushijima's broad chest as he quickly straightens to his full posture. His olive eyes roam over your body, lingering for a short moment on your exposed cleavage before they return back to your face. He looks nervous, there is no other way to put it. "I'm not sure. I think there could might be a problem."

"And what would that be?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes boring into his face as if you could find answers for his unusual behavior there. You've never seen him like this before. His usual warm eyes are clouded with worry, his hands fidgeting with his phone in his hands. "Toshi? What is it? Please, talk to me." You're tempted to take the phone out of his hands, but you refrain from touching him, not when you don't know what's going on.

"Are you happy with our sex life?" His eyes don't leave your face, not for even the slightest second to see your reaction, and your jaw drops at the sudden question- you expected a lot, but definitely not this.

"I'm- I mean, yes I am? Shouldn't I be? Are you unhappy?" You take a slight step back, creating distance between the two of you, baffled by the sudden implication that he thinks that you're not satisfied. Or that he might not be. Sex with Wakatoshi is great- hard, rough, and passionate. He knows how to fuck you, that is for sure, but he also knows how to be gentle and sweet, how to take care of you and spoil you, especially during aftercare. You lack nothing in your sex life with him- and you hope that he feels the same.

"I am happy. Very. I enjoy sex with you very much much," he states firmly, but that only confuses you more.

"Why are you asking me then? What made you think that I could be unhappy?" You move closer to him, worry etched in your features when you finally take his phone and put it aside to grab his hands.

"Do you want me to talk more? To be more vocal? I saw a video and people kept on commenting how they want me to call them 'baby' and some more things. Would you like that too?" The way he asks nonchalantly like he was just talking about dinner made this even more embarrassing somehow.

"For you to call me 'baby' during sex?"

"Hmm." He nods and looks expectantly at you, his hands squeezing yours while his gaze seems somewhat calmer now that he is convinced that you're satisfied.

"You... you can call me whatever you want. I'm fine with it." You try to sound unbothered and calm, but the slightly shaking note shows how the thought of him calling you "baby" or "his pretty girl" while he thrusts into you does something to you. He nods, hesitating for a second, but then his hands suddenly drop yours to pull you in by the waist, his other hand coming to your chin while he leans down until his lips are close to your ear.

"My baby. Or would you rather be my babygirl?" His honey-like voice almost puts a spell on you, and you find yourself shivering in his arms, thighs involuntarily clenching together. "S-sounds good, Toshi." You bring your hands up to his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt and his slow and steady heartbeat.

"And what would my babygirl like me to do? Does my babygirl want to be touched?" He lowly mumbles against the shell of your ear, your heart now beating faster when his hands start to roam over your body. "Yes," you breathlessly answer, hands slightly clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Definitely not what you had expected as the outcome of the conversation, but vocal Wakatoshi makes your pussy throb with every single word.

"My babygirl needs me to touch her, huh? I will take care of that pretty little princess cunt." He kisses your cheek, and your legs feel like jelly at this point. You cling to him, hanging on every single one of his words. You feel your arousal growing, feel how you start to get wet the more his hands keep touching you.

"More," you whisper, feeling hot and bothered while he keeps on touching you and pressing kisses to your neck. "More? Is my babygirl needy? That pretty princess cunny needs me to touch her?" He lifts the bathrobe just enough to place one hand on your thigh, and you feel like your body is on fire when he touches you there.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands now finding purchase on his shoulders while you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "What does that little princess cunny want? My fingers?" He grazes his fingertips along your thigh, moving dangerously close to your pussy under the bathrobe- bare, and basically creaming for him the longer he keeps playing with your body.

"Or my tongue?" he licks along the column of your neck, and you gasp at his words, the sensation hot and forbidden god. "I want to taste you, baby. You always taste so sweet. Do you want my tongue between your legs? Licking at your pretty pussy?" His fingers reach your throbbing pussy, slightly parting your folds and dipping in your wetness.

"Do it, do it, Toshi, please," you press your legs together around his hand, effectively caging him right where you need it. "Hmm, but you have to cum on my fingers first." He pecks your cheek and pulls his hand away from your legs, just to place it on your hips to guide you towards the bed. "Lay down for me, baby. Open that bathrobe for me."

His baritone echoes through the room, and you feel yourself doing everything like you're in a haze, full of need for him. "Hmm, that's my good girl." He hums apporvingly when you discard the bathrobe on the floor. Your body is trembling in the cool air of the room, but Ushijima is quick to join you on the bed and to hover above you, radiating so much heat that you instantly feel warm.

"Baby, spread your legs for me. Show me everything." You take a deep breath and slowly part your legs, revealing your glistening folds to him. A shiver runs down his body, and he clears his throat before he speaks again, his voice now lower when he is obviously bothered and turned on by the situation. "Look at how wet you are for me. All for me."

You frantically nod, anticipation rushing through your body while you wait for him to touch you. His fingers finally roam over your thighs, and your head falls back into the pillow at the way he touches you, the way he knows exactly where and how to touch you.

"So impatient. I can't wait to be inside of you, to feel you around me." Your gaze falls to the tent in his pants, the thought of him fucking you making your head spin and your pussy throb with need. His fingers move between your legs, moving along your folds and pressing against your clit. You moan at the sensation, your hands fisting the sheets when his thumb prods on your entrance.

"You look so pretty like this. Just waiting for me to touch you, to fuck you. And you feel so good around my fingers." He pushes his thumb inside of you, and you almost close your legs around him. "I will make you feel so good. I will make you cum on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock." You clench around the digit at his words, your eyes focused on his handsome face while he keeps on rubbing your clit. "More, please more," you whine your body shaking underneath his. "Shhh, I'll give you more. I'll give you what you need, baby." His eyes roam down your body and you almost protest when he pulls his thumb out, just to quickly replace it with three of his fingers. "Oh, Toshi," you whine, your hips arching into him, and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. He keeps the fast rhythm, pulling his fingers out, and pushing them back inside, curling them pulling them out again. "You feel so good. You're is creaming for me, look at that." His words only add fuel to your desire, and you grab his shoulders to push him down to you to connect your lips in a needy kiss. He groans into your mouth, his movements slowing down for a few moments before he sets his rhythm again, a fast and punishing pace now.

Your nails rake along his bare shoulders, leaving red marks, and he groans at the sensation. "Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you clench around me. Cream on my fingers, make a mess for me," his voice sends you over the edge, and you moan his name when you cum, your walls pulsing and clenching softly around his fingers. He groans your name, sweet praises of how you're his good girl, how pretty you look under him, how much he loves you, leave his lips and your body arches from the bed into his while your face contorts in pure bliss.

He prolongs your high, making sure to keep his pace and to curl his fingers just the right way, and your body goes limp when he finally slows down. His lips meet yours, pressing chaste and loving kisses to your face. "Was that okay?" The slight frown on his face is back, a clear sign of him being deep in thoughts when he pulls back after a few more kisses.

"More than okay. I think I could cum from your voice alone." You smile up at him and cup his cheek, the afterglow making you feel so good while you lay under him.

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity now sparkling in his eyes at your words, and you are quick to explain further. "I- I didn't mean that literally. Like- I just wanted to say that your voice is hot. And you are hot." Your cheeks heat up when he simply nods and hums, a mild smile on his lips.

"I want to test that out. Let's see if I can make you cum with my voice alone, baby."

[naiart-i]

Till |¦ Alien Stage

[suddencolds]

Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early. 

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again. 

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.” 

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside. 

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A  Y: you need anything else? 

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door 

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum. 

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once. 

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise. 

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work. 

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside. 

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough. 

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom. 

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take. 

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that. 

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

[ Part 2 ]

[holygoldfish]

I think Ao3 is down...

[shivunin]

I know it's just what the slaver enemy type is programmed to say, but I have very strong feelings about the ones during A Bitter Pill telling the others to "keep the pretty ones alive."

Like. If you're Fenris, already at your limit in what you can handle emotionally today, and you hear the ones who'd drag you back to a fate worse than death saying that about the few friends you've managed to cobble together in your sparse years of freedom...man. I've been thinking about this for days and I don't have any sort of conclusion here.

[killcodesashes]

HI TUMBLR HAVE TRANS HUMAN-ish AU BLOODMOON

Idk man I'm gay and trans

This Bloodmoon is my main au Bm, not the same as the Bm twins from other

I genuinely love him sm

I didn't plan to finish these but my pookie really liked this design for Bm so decided to finish them and I actually think they turned out so cute!!

[Idk why this post ended up getting formated so weird??? It was working well but then got so laggy for some reason??]

[classificationhell]

I CAN'T YOU ARE SO CUTE aND YO MEMES ARE SO CUTE😭😭😭😭😭❣️❣️❣️

How I wanted to look

How I actually looked

[spookyxsprinkles]

🍦 Freezer Burn [oneshot]

todoroki touya × poc friendly f!reader.

-> not safe for work // 6.3k words // AO3. -> warnings: angst, break up, arguing, crying, touya has an avoidant attachment style, dialogue heavy, poor communication, nipple biting, oral, possessive, fingering.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"Don't be so melodramatic. We weren't even dating," Touya said, taking his keys out of his pocket.

"I--I know but... you know what I mean."

"What do you expect me to say?" He scoffed. "That I'm sorry? 'Cause I'm not. I don't want this."

"Liar."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." He opened the door of your apartment and walked out towards his car.

 "You think I don't know you're pushing me away on purpose?" You follow him out, not caring that you had different shoes on. "As much as you like to pretend you don't care, I know you--"

He interrupted you with an angry laugh, before turning to face you as he reached the sidewalk in front of his car. "You must be delusional if you think you have me all figured out. Don't tell me what I feel. You don't fucking know me."

His car's lights flashed as it unlocked and he opened the door, standing there and glaring at you like if you had spit in his face. Maybe, in his mind, you did.

"I don't need to know every little thing about you to know that you're lying to yourself because you're afraid."

"Afraid of what, huh? Afraid that I'll actually start to care about you as more than just a hole I use to get my rocks off, before ghosting you like all the others that came before? Yeah, you're not special, sweetheart," his hands trembled with fury.

You visibly flinched at his words.

You knew he was right. You were acquainted with him through mutual friends for quite some time before getting physically involved with him. You knew of his non-committal self-sabotaging tendencies. You knew, but it didn't make his words hurt any less.

A flash of guilt flickered in his icy eyes but it disappeared just as soon as it came thanks to the scorching heat of his emotions. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady as you spoke quietly with stinging eyes.

"Maybe I'm not special, but at least I can be honest with myself. Which is more than you can say about yourself."

He threw his hands up in the air, laughing. "Real cute coming from you. I'm not the one that's so desperate for attention I start writing sappy love stories in my head. Maybe someday you'll find someone who wants to deal with this shit, but it's not gonna be me."

He moved to get in his car, so you took a few steps forward which was enough to catch his attention and stop him from getting in.

"You were just as lonely and desperate for attention as me when we first met, Touya. You parade around all day acting like you don't care about anything, you can't feel anything, but if that was the case you wouldn't come back. You always come back home."

It was a slip up a few months ago. The two of you were out with some friends at a karaoke room and he said he wanted to go home. You never brought it up to him, but he could tell from the way you nearly choked on your food, that you heard him. Since then, every time he heard the word 'home' he'd think about that moment and regret letting himself drink enough to forget his common fucking sense.

And now you had acknowledged that it was a real moment that actually happened when he'd much rather shove the memory away and pretend it was something someone else said. Someone not him.

You stood a few feet in front of him, sniffling and staring down at the tires of his car that he had taught you how to change and fill with air without you asking him to.

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. You never do anything you don't want to do, but you kept coming back." You wiped your nose, ignoring the feeling of the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. "Even now, you're still standing here, talking with me instead of leaving. If you didn't care, you would have already left."

He froze as if you had pushed the pause button on his anger. He stared at you intensely. The only sounds breaking the silence was a dog barking at sirens in the distance and your sniffles.

He hated that you were right.

"So what?"

He got in his car, slamming the door in anger and started the engine.

He buckled his seat belt and turned in his seat to look through the rear window as he slowly backed out of the parking space.

You panicked, suddenly shoving your upper body inside his open window.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" He hit the breaks immediately, causing you to flail as you lost your balance and he swiftly grabbed your arms to keep you from slipping and busting your head on asphalt.

"W--We haven't finished talking..!" You gasped, feeling your heartbeat pounding in your chest. "If you leave now, you'll only feel worse later!"

He simply stared at you in disbelief. His mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of there. The only thing stopping him from flooring the gas pedal was the fact that your legs still dangled helplessly outside of the car as you struggled to get inside.

You looked ridiculously stupid as you clung to the window with a tear streaked face. You also seemed so determined…

"Get out of my car," he snapped. "Right now."

He released a hand from you and moved it towards the handle of the door, but you caught his wrist with your hands.

"No," you said as firmly as your grip on his wrist.

His eyes watched as you continued to struggle to balance your body on the door comfortably. He had no idea what your endgame was here.

"You're fucking crazy."

"I love you, Touya," you gasped out. "I'm in love with you and I know you're afraid. I know you've been hurt before. I know you hate everything that's happening right now, but I can't let you leave like this." You tried wiping your eye by rubbing it against your shoulder, before looking back at him.

"I won't force you to stay with me and I won't force you to share things you don't want to share, but I also won't let you run away without us properly talking things through. If we're gonna break up then I don't want to let it end with that as one of our regrets."

He hated that you weren't giving up on him so easily.

Touya stared at you as you spoke. You were so calm and reasonable in spite of the ridiculous position you were in. There was no anger or irritation in your voice, just sincerity and...

He let out a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm.

"That's very big of you," he said defensively. He was always so defensive. "Trust me, it's better this way."

Your eyes studied his face before you decide to take the plunge and vocalize the thoughts that had been swimming around in your head recently. "Is it better or is it just the easiest way to avoid your feelings of inadequacy and fear of rejection?"

You watched as his eyes widened a minuscule amount that likely would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't known him for so long. You could feel the flames of his rage from the way his face contorted, his mouth opening to set you ablaze.

Your hands slipped down from his wrist to hold his hand gently in yours, your thumbs resting on the back of his hand.

Your grip was loose. He could easily pulled himself free if he wanted to.

But he didn't.

And that's all you needed.

"I've seen you be blunt beyond the point of just being rude to others and to yourself. You have standards that make it easy for you to look down on those who don't meet them yet even the ones that do fit them get pushed away. You easily say whatever's on your mind, unless what's on your mind risks leaving you vulnerable."

Your thumbs delicately drew circles into the dark marks on the back of his hand that were uniquely his. A sad smile marred your face as you continued to speak.

"I'm always watching you, always listening." Your eyes looked up into his, persevering through his gaze that scorched anything he deemed a threat. "You'd rather be alone than feel alone."

He was speechless as he watched you speak. You read him like an open book. A book he routinely burned whenever someone poked and prodded in a pathetic attempt to get closer to him. How had he let his fire get extinguished so easily? How did it not burn you like it did everyone else?

Like it burned him.

Even he was unable to escape his own flames unscathed.

The fantasy that played in his mind's eye was one where you patiently stood before him as the smoke cleared. His eyes stung and his breathing hitched at the thought.

He sighed deeply, looking more tired than you'd ever seen him before.

"I was serious," his words and tone contrasting with the heavy look he carried on his face. "You're wasting your time if you expect me to tell me what you wanna hear."

You shook your head, "I'm not asking you to say it back. I don't need words when your actions mean more to me." I bring his knuckles to my lips, pressing a soft kiss before looking into his eyes, "Besides, if it's time you're worried about, I wouldn't mind wasting it together."

His entire body reflexively ached to leave at the display of vulnerability, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

Words escaped him as he stared back into your eyes with a confusing mix of fear and hope swirling in his icy blues.

He swallowed hard and finally spoke, "So, all this time," he started as he gathered his bearings, "you've been watching me like some kind of weirdo?"

"Of course," you laughed softly. The movement set a jolt of pain to your abdomen that reminded you of your current position. "Can we go back inside and talk? My stomach hurts from hanging out in your car like this..."

You hissed as you tried to remove yourself from the car. It was definitely gonna leave a mark. He waited until you moved back to the sidewalk before he parked and got out.

"I didn't tell you to jump through the window like a maniac. Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"Desperate times call for--"

"Dumb ass fucking measures?"

"Yes, precisely. Glad we're on the same page."

He rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, walking back to the apartment. "Masochist."

"Sadist."

"You know the door was unlocked, right? I was gonna show you 'til you started manhandling me."

"Never let them know your next move."

"So, just dangle like an idiot and hope you don't get run over?"

"I'll admit I'm not good under pressure."

He snorted as you opened the door. He just realized you had chased him out in different shoes. Desperate times, indeed.

"Anyways," you continued as you shut the door behind you and removed your shoes, "You liked it. Thought it was super cool and hot when I was flailing around like an idiot."

"Yeah," he said genuinely, catching you off guard and nearly causing you to trip over the entryway step, but you caught yourself against his arm.

You looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he repeated sincerely, his eyes staying on yours. "I did."

You swallowed, feeling your eyes prickle with tears as your mouth gaped at him.

He pinched your cheek.

"C'mon," he said as he walked away from you and further into your home to take a seat on the couch. "Let's do this talking thing. We can watch a movie after or whatever..."

You couldn't see his face as he walked away but you could hear his uncharacteristically breathy inflection and stiff tone when he spoke. Was he feeling nervous? Shy..?

The fact that he was the one trying to get the conversation started rather than avoiding it made your chest bloom with warmth. You had expected him to come up with other things to do first in order to put off the awkward and uncomfortable feelings for a bit longer.

You hopped over to him with a blindingly bright grin, sitting near him on the couch to give him some space for this conversation. However, he pulled your body closer to his so that your sides were pressed up against each other. He wrapped an arm around you while you leaned against his chest.

"So..." he started and you could hear something akin to timidity in his tone so you hugged him, letting your hands affectionately stroke his sides. "I'm shit at feelings."

You wanted to laugh at his blunt word choice but didn't want to come off as mocking and discourage him from speaking. "You are not shit at feelings. You seem to feel things quite strongly. We just need to work on helping you feel more comfortable with letting them out in a healthy way, rather than boxing them up and defaulting to avoidance."

"So, I'm shit at feelings."

"If you say that one more time I am going to bite you."

"I'm shit at-- what the fuck!"

"You were warned."

"My fucking tit--"

"Not my fault it's so chewy."

"I'm shit at-- don't you bite me you fucking animal. Hear me out." He had pinched your cheek again to stop your open mouth from it's impending attack. "I'm shit at this. I know. Don't… laugh at me."

Your eyes softened and you brought your hand up to cup the one he had squeezing your cheek. He released his hold on your skin but you kept it held as you let it slide down to your lap.

"It might feel a bit awkward for you but I promise I won't think less of you for sharing your feelings. I appreciate that you've been trying."

"'Been trying?' I've done jack shit."

"No, you have done 'shit'." You reassured him as your fingers drew circles into the skin of his hand. "You came inside--"

"I always come inside," he smirked.

You bit him again.

"What? No complaint for me this time, Touya?"

"I deserved it."

"Masochist."

"Sadist."

Your lips pursed for a moment as you tried to remember where you were.

"Ah, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," you glared at him playfully, "You've already shown me that you're trying. You came back inside, initiated our talking time, and you're participating, too. I know emotional stuff feels hard, but I'm really, really proud of you."

He let out a 'tch' in jest, before leaning down to whisper into the side of your head. "In case you forgot, I also listened to you while you tried playing leap frog on my car."

"Very true, but I didn't forget. I didn't want to include it since I was practically holding you hostage at the time."

"Hostage?" He laughed haughtily, "If I really wanted to leave you I would've ran you over."

"Why is that strangely sweet..."

"'Cause you're a damn masochist. Get help."

"This, coming from the sadist..." The room was quiet as I rubbed his chest lightly with one hand. "I was really scared you were going to leave earlier, Touya. Like, for good."

He clenched his jaw but didn't say anything, opting to listen since he knew she probably had more to say on the matter. And she did.

"I was afraid that I scared you off by talking about-- about whatever menial domestic thing it was we were talking about before. I can't even remember what it was." You clutched his shirt without thinking as you struggled to remember what could've been the catalyst to losing the person you loved.

"Toilet paper," he stated after a pause. "You read about some sale at the store and were talking about how we should go before the weekend so we could stock up. Then you mentioned wanting to buy me strawberry ice cream."

Silence.

"It all sounded so permanent, so easy to you." You could feel his body tense as he struggled to force himself to speak. "Seeing a future where we go grocery shopping for toilet paper and you buying me something. Something that'll sit in the freezer waiting for me even when I'm not around. Something just for me." His last words were barely a whisper.

Your mouth felt dry, it made sense. He had a hard time staying in one place for too long if it felt like he was being smothered or expected to do things he didn't want to do. Your apartment was no exception, even if he clearly spent more time here than any other place.

"Yeah, you're not special, sweetheart."

You felt a cold ache in your chest at the thought of his angry words from earlier.

You told yourself they were just that, angry words. If they were true, would he have bothered to come back at all? No. You knew Touya was good at lying and even better at emotional warfare. It's how he protected himself. He hadn't done it to you since before the two of you were friends, back when you were just another random person trying too hard to get to know him. Today was the first time in years he had said something that caused you to feel bad about yourself.

You would need to talk about it with him later. Right now you wanted to hear him out, so you shove the memory away for now. You can worry about it later.

As painful as it was to hear him speak of his troubles with having a place to call home, you were grateful to him for really trying. Really, it was incredible just how far he's come already. You always knew he was a fast learner if he wanted to be and this meant so much to you. He had never let himself get this vulnerable with you before.

You wanted to tell him something in response but why did it have to be now, of all times, that you couldn't find the words to speak?

You forced yourself to swallow and nodded at him in encouragement. You didn't want to cry and risk him getting cold feet about the feelings thing. You didn't want him to think this was a mistake and that you couldn't handle the truth, because you could, you just felt deeply for the inner conflicts that took place inside of his head. His fears, his happiness, his efforts... it all meant the world to you and it was really getting to you.

You quietly cleared your throat and with a hoarse voice said, "I can see how that would have caused you to react the w-way that you did."

You mentally cursed yourself for the way your voice broke pathetically mid-sentence. "Sorry about that." And you were. You knew he got flighty over things like that but in the moment I just wasn't thinking.

"Hey, don't wimp out on me now." He pinched at your cheek again. "If I'm gonna bare my damn soul or whatever the hell, you sure as shit better not hold out on me. If you gotta get weepy, then get weepy. I'll save the laughing for later."

Your lips trembled at his words and you can feel your face crumple as you bury it into his chest and wept.

"I was so scared I lost you, Touya."

He stared down at you, committing the sight to memory.

His carelessness did this.

He pulled you in closer to him and placed his cheek on the crown of your head. A little while later you calmed down, sniffling and apologizing for accidentally turning his shirt into a tissue.

"Sorry, this is really embarrassing," you sniffled out with a stuffy nose.

He took in the sight of your puffy eyes and runny nose, before looking away. "S'whatever. I know you, too, you know. That thing you said earlier? About you always watching and listening? I do the same shit with you. If being a crybaby helps, then do it unless you wanna be shit at feelings, too."

Sniffle. "We're both not the best at handling our own feelings, huh..."

"An understatement, in my case."

"It's good that you're acknowledging the areas where you could use some improvement." You say as you reach up to cup his cheek and kissed the corner of his lip. "You're doing so well, Touya."

The way your thumb gently rubbed the pale skin of his cheek while you looked at him with honey in your eyes made his chest ache.

"You--" he swallowed as he held your gaze, "think so?"

You nodded and leaned in to press another kiss on his lips. "I know so."

He felt that familiar urge to run away when shit got too personal, but he yearned for more of the pure warmth you offered to his cold, sorry existence.

"I can't promise to always be better. I'll fuck up. I know it. Just don't give-- don't give up on me."

Sharing feelings was embarrassing, painfully so. At least, that's what he told himself to explain the lump in his throat when he struggled to say the words out loud. His hand moved to your thigh and squeezed it, "I'm stubborn but I don't want to fuck this up. When I fuck up, I'll need time to get my head out of my ass."

You felt like crying again seeing how desperately he tried to let you know he wasn't going to always be good at the communication, but he wanted to be and he was trying.

"I'll sit in the freezer waiting for you."

"I-- what? The hell?"

You laugh softly at his dumbfounded expression. "I'll be the ice cream sitting in the freezer waiting for you. So, don't worry about having to rush the process. Do your best. I believe in you, Touya."

He stared at your face for a moment.

"You have low iron. The freezer would kill you."

"I'll be fine 'cause you're always warm."

He once again felt that familiar ache in his chest that he usually got around you. "Wait too long and you'll get freezer burn."

"Are you saying a little freezer burn would keep you from eating your favourite ice cream?" You paused when you noticed his amused expression. "Okay, I walked myself into that one."

"Yeah," the corner of his lip twitched as his eyes darkened. "You did."

"Hey, I know that look. We need to finish talking first-- T-Touya!"

He grabbed your legs, flipping you on your back against the couch with him crawling over you.

"Don't you wanna reward me for doing well so far?" He asked in a low voice. You whimpered at the sight of his heavily lidded eyes looking down at you, amused with your flustered face.

"W-Well, positive reinforcement is a good way of encouraging good behavior, so yes we can, but you have to swear we will talk about this right after-"

He expertly rolled his hips against you, making you gasp. "I'm feeling pretty encouraged right now. You can feel it too, I bet."

You definitely felt it.

He kissed your lips as he removed your bottoms, pushing the backs of your knees as far against as he knew you could comfortably take, exposing the entirety of you in your underwear.

"I swear," he licked a slow stripe against the fabric before pushing it to the side and staring hungrily at your flesh, "on my god damn dick, we'll talk right after I make you come at least four times."

"F-Four?" You could feel his thumb teasing you as he swiped up and down your flesh.

"Five now," his lips wrapped around your sweet spot. He sucked while rubbing his tongue against it at the same time, making your body shudder.

He needed to make up for making you cry so much today.

Your hips bucked against his face, then his fingers.

"So fucking eager after all that talking, huh?" He gave a lopsided grin as he licked the taste of you left behind on his lips. "Yeah, we're definitely talking more often."

He soaked his fingers with the bottle of lube he liked leaving between the seat cushions for times like these. You felt one of his slick fingers tease your tight hole.

"Tell me who fucks you better than me."

"N-No one!"

"Weak shit. Say it again."

"You're the only one who fucks me t-this well!"

He slowly pressed his finger in, the stretch making you sing. He took his time prepping you before inserting another finger and moving in and out of you. He lapped you into whines, working his hand at the pace he knew drove you wild. You cried out praises for him, which he liked almost as much as he liked fucking you to tears.

"And who does this hole belong to? Who owns the rest of this pretty body?"

"Y-You do, it's yours, Touya! It's all yours for you to use as you please!"

You felt your legs trembling as he kept his hands busy with fucking you. The coil inside of you tightening as he vigorously pumped and sucked.

"T-Touya..!" You voice broke as you wailed.

He smirked, feeling satisfied at how fervently your hips bucked against him. You were a needy mess and he hadn't even stretched you with his fat cock yet.

Soon.

"It's mine. You're all fucking mine." His head dived back in and you felt yourself on the precipice of-

"Yeah, you're not special sweetheart."

You shook your head and looked down at him as he looked up at you. He sucked you hard, making your back arch. You were so close.

You stared through half lidded eyes, throat already sore from the sounds he'd easily pulled from you. You tried to focus on the view of him pleasuring you with expertise. Your was mouth open as you shut your eyes and leaned your head back against the couch. You were so close.

"Afraid of what, huh? Afraid that I'll actually start to care about you as more than just a hole I use to get my rocks off, before ghosting you like all the others that came before you?"

You grit your teeth.

Now was not the time for this.

Your eyes shut. You forced the memory away from the forefront of your mind. It doesn't matter right now, you'll tell him how you feel about it later.

Now wasn't the time.

Later.

Later.

...

"Fuck!!" You felt Touya pull his body away from you. "Did I not hear you say the safeword!?"

You opened your eyes and Touya's blurry face had moved from in between your legs to kneeling on the floor beside where you laid on the couch. You blinked your eyes and wiped them with your hands. Oh.

You were crying again.

The realization brought more tears and you looked over at Touya who stared down at you fearfully.

"Maybe someday you'll find someone who wants to deal with this shit, but it's not gonna be me."

"Hey, what--" his voice cracked.

Your body shook as you sobbed into your hands.

A sinking feeling had found it's place in his stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't-- I didn't hear you-"

"T-That's not it." Your voice muffled by your hands and your stuffed nose as you continued to sob. "The sex was consensual the w-whole time."

He looked down at you confused. Relieved that he hadn't hurt you in that way, but stressed since he didn't know what happened to you. His chest burned with anxiety and it made him feel restless. He grabbed your throw blanket and pulled it over you, which you used to hide your sloppy face as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Touya," you cried quietly and he stared down at you frozen with fear.

It was him.

"Tell me what I did." He knew he'd fuck up. He just didn't think it'd be this soon.

You didn't want to hurt him. You wanted to protect him but how could you protect him from the very words he spat at you in a desperate rage? Not speaking up about your own feelings fully and pushing them aside for someone else's sake is how you got here in the first place.

You needed to practice what you preached.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said to me."

The parking lot. He already knew. He hated himself when he said those things and he hated himself now.

It was only a matter of time until he'd ruin things here.

You saw him grab his phone from the floor before standing up and walking across the living room. It must have fallen during your activities.

"I'll text Toga to come by. I'll stay until then."

"Don't go."

"I shouldn't be here."

"Because you hurt my feelings?"

"Yes!" He snapped. "This isn't masochism, it's straight up fucking delusional if you can't see the problem with me staying."

"You hurt my feelings," you sniffled. "It's going hurt whether or not you leave. Stay and talk with me about it."

"This talking shit clearly isn't working. One second you're telling me I fuck you the best then suddenly you're crying in the next. I already ruined whatever we could've had before it even started. We already know how this ends, so don't waste your time."

"If you leave then we will know how this ends." You sat up on the couch, clutching the soft blanket like a lifeline. Your voice was firm, but not enough to cover your soft determination. "You're hurt and so am I. So, sit with me instead of running away. Leaving things the way they are now is the sure-fire way to ruin this."

His jaw tightened as he stayed where he was.

"We talked a little bit earlier, but the issue just now wasn't your fault. It was mine-"

"You're not the one who said all that nasty shit to the person you-" He turned away and glared holes into an innocent plant. "It's over. We're not even fucking dating and it's over." He ran a hand through his hair and laughed.

"You did say horrible things, but I kept brushing off my feelings. We talked a bit earlier, but I still had feelings left unsaid." You stood up, the sound of your feet padding against the floor behind him made him stiffen. You stood in front of him, with your arms loosely crossed on your chest. "How are you supposed to know that stuff was still bothering me? It's not like you can read my mind."

"Don't be fucking dense."

"I seem to recall us wanting to work things out. You told me not to give up on you, remember?"

"Before I realized I traumatized you by saying a bunch of shit!"

"You didn't traumatize me, you hurt my feelings. There's a difference."

"You know the reason you had 'feelings left unsaid' is 'cause I basically mounted you before you could finish saying them, right?"

"No, that's not true and don't demonize yourself like that." You reached for his hand that was balled into a fist at his side, but he pulled it away.

He wasn't worthy of your compassion.

You frowned but didn't let it deter you. "I said it was okay --and before you say anything-- I wasn't coerced into it, either."

His eye twitched at her already knowing what he was going to say before he said it.

"You tease and mock, but you've shown me time and time again that you respect me and my body. You waited until I gave consent and I know that if I didn't give it, you would've let it go and let me talk about my feelings instead. You didn't take advantage of me. I disrespected myself by not prioritizing my own feelings. That's what the main issue was here."

"You said you couldn't stop thinking about what I said. It's my fault, they were my shitty fucking words."

"I'm not trying to say your words weren't a part of it, they definitely were, but I know you were just... saying what you could to put distance in between us."

He sneered, "Is that what you're telling yourself? Doesn't matter why I said it. Intentional or not, lies or not: it still fucking hurt you." His lips curled bitterly as remorse stained the cool blue of his eyes. "It'll be what you think of when you see me from now on."

You took a small step towards him, careful not to invade his personal space but enough to momentarily satisfy your need for physical closeness. Your need for the comfortable heat he offered to you as you both stood together in silence.

"I won't lie..." You started.

He knew that you never lied to him. Your stupidly sincere approach to interactions with him were probably what got him wrapped around your finger in the first place.

He did wonder if you ever lied to yourself about him, though. It'd explain why you let him stick around even while knowing he was a jackass.

He also recognized there wasn't any actual weight to that way of thinking. If anything, the times where your feelings felt so real outweighed those paranoid thoughts of his. Sometimes he'd catch you looking at him. The sweet honey dripping from your eyes at him doing fuck all felt so raw that he'd panic and have to leave for a while.

Whenever you smiled at him, even the soft little ones, you beamed bright enough to burn him to cinders if he let it. Lately, he had found himself simmering under your heat longer and longer, letting himself get singed by you.

Seeing you fidget with the hem of your top snapped him out of his thoughts. You were still in your underwear and it reminded him that he'd burned you. Not with the heat of patience and kindness that you regularly thawed him with, but with flames full of his own agonizingly self-sabotaging wrath.

"I won't lie," you repeated after taking a couple seconds to gather your thoughts. "I'll probably always think about what you said."

He already knew it yet it still made him hate himself more.

"The same way you'll probably always think about it, too."

You sweet, merciful, stupid fucking angel.

"Stop."

"No. You need to hear this."

"Just fucking stop."

"Don't interrupt me, Touya."

He glared at you in irritation as he clenched and unclenched his hands in an attempt to keep himself grounded. Mentally and literally. If he ran away now, you wouldn't be able to share your thoughts. He owed you that and so much more.

"It's something that effected the both of us and it'll change the way we are, but we don't have to let it change us in a bad way. We can use our hurt to help us grow." You said while looking at him with eyes full of hope. "We won't forget it happened and we shouldn't."

"We-- you--," he stammered. He could see the patience in your face and logic, feel the tender touch of your words. He was concurrently immolated by your steadfast mercy and by his venomous wrath. "We need to end this before you get hurt again."

"'Before I get hurt again'? I am going to get hurt again. By you, myself, or some other thing. It's what happens as we live and grow. The difference is learning from it. This is our 'before', and if you let us, we can work on moving on towards our 'after'."

"You know how ridiculously optimistic that sounds, right? Stupidly sappy, too. You really think it's as simple as that?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

He blinked in confusion at the randomness of the question but gave a small nod. You took ahold of it with both of your own.

"We both know it won't be simple. We both have baggage and hurt we'd need to address if we want to be something. It's going to be really hard, but if you stay I know that we'll both put in the work to reach our 'after' and every 'after' after that."

He stayed silent as he took in her words. You really saw--

"--Lots of 'after's, huh?" He quietly spoke as he tried to drown out his nerves with a teasing tone.

He looked at you with hopeful eyes that brought a small smile to your face.

"Lots of 'after's. I am your ice cream sitting in the freezer, remember?"

He'd scoff if he hadn't just gotten the wind knocked from his lungs.

You raise his hand to your lips before pressing a little kiss on the scars on the back of his hand before tugging it gently so he'd follow you to sit back down on the couch.

"I'm not eating freezer burnt ice cream."

"Hey! That's so mean…" you pouted. "And wasteful. You're way too picky of an eater, no wonder you're always grumpy."

"I'm fucking with you."

"Oh, I know. I'm fucking with you, too."

"Sadist..." He affectionately played with the shell of your ear while resting his cheek on your head. The gesture filled her with elation as they sat in comfortable silence.

"Look, I'm..." he started, struggling with his words.

"I know."

"I shouldn't-- I shouldn't have said those things earlier."

"I know."

"You didn't deserve it," his voice was softer.

"I know," you wrapped your arms around his firm torso, squeezing a little tighter.

"You're clingy. What're you thinking? Don't skimp out on me again, I wanna hear all the ugly shit, too." He lightly pinched at your cheek, "This shit ain't gonna work if it's one-sided. Start talking."

You smiled as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

"Okay, Touya."

[greenxprof]

|| today I just got more stressful exhausting news so I might take a little break from writing. I’ll be lurking and maybe interacting but going easy.

[leaderofthemafia]

Mori, can I traumatize you? 🥺

I am already traumatized...

[osamusriceballs]

Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."