#common foot problems from school shoes

[footweartitas]

Common School Shoes Problems | Shoe Guide | Titas Footwear

Mud, grime, rain, activities and more can damage school shoes but with these tips, you can make them last longer. Read to know more.

Visit at: https://titasfootwear.com/blogs/all-about-shoes/how-to-deal-with-common-school-shoes-problems

[deadghosy]

💋 MATTHEO WITH A FRIEND WHO IS CUNTY 💋

Pair: platonic! Mattheo riddle x fem! Reader

Mentions: drugs mostly.

A/N: would recommend any Ayesha song while reading this to get in the mood. You can ignore the song I choose😋💕 I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

Most likely you two verbal argue a lot to the point mattheo wants strangle you, but the thing is you’re winning every single argument.

You bedazzle your school uniform which makes people turn their heads. Whispering how “disturbing” your uniform looks. But you honestly couldn’t give a fuck. Mattheo thinks it cool so it doesn’t matter.

You and mattheo are like thing 1 & 2. You two are double trouble. 😭

Random small insults at each other or just throwing things is soooo on the table.

“I can't help imagining how much awesomer the world would be if your dad had just pulled out.” You said while filing your nails. You couldn’t give a shit what Mattheo was ranting about since he got into another fight. Mattheo then threw his black shoe at you. “Oh you bitch!” You yelled ready to throw a glass vase at him

Theodore and Enzo had to hold you two back as mattheo was smiling crazily whilst you were cursing him out in every book. A vein popping out as you thrown the vase and it barely missed the poor riddle.

You and Mattheo smoking and rolling blunts at night are the best nights. Because all you two do is laugh at anything and make fun of people passing by the window.

What Mattheo likes about you is your quick insults and comebacks if someone tries you.

“I don't know what your problem is, but I'm guessing it's hard to pronounce.” You say shoulder checking a girl that had tried to start a fight with you. Mattheo was from afar smoking with a grin. The girl then tried to punch you from behind only for you to flip her on her damn back. You’re muggle born, so why not show what a muggle born can do.

After that Mattheo who also do things muggle ways, asked you if you can teach him. You said yes because he’s your homie.

During dinner with friends, you sipped your glass with an annoyed face stuck to your face. You didn’t want to be here since you could’ve been sleep while blasting music. Mattheo noticed this and almost bursted out laughing. But if you caught him you would’ve stomped on his foot hard with your high heel.

Slytherin parties are so poppin' with how you got the good stash of drugs and weed. You’re nicked name the “drug queen.”

I imagine you and mattheo just standing in class. You both having crossed arms looking like you just woke up pissed. You two are the iconic duo.

Usual you two just hit each other out of nowhere. Small fights, nothing too big. But someone is always there to watch it go down.

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you’d gotten enough oxygen at birth?” Mattheo rolled his eyes before flipping the hood of your cloak on your head. “Hey!” “Shut up bitch.” That’s when you elbowed his stomach, making him knee to the ground. Draco from afar watching that, sighed and walked away.

When you guys didn’t have to wear the uniforms. You best bet you wore 00’s clothes and juicy couture. Most girls wanted to know what fashion you were wearing and most were just hating bitches.

You walked into the common room wearing juicy couture. Mattheo looked up from his phone, annoyed at how you haven’t answered his messages. “Yo, you haven’t been answering my calls or texts bitch.” You roll your eyes sitting next to him on the couch. “Well I’m sorry that I can fashionably late.” You say with annoyance dripping from your lips. “Fuck is you wearing?” Mattheo had now noticed what you were wearing. You smile tugging at your top. “Juicy couture.” “You look like a whore.”

You blocked mattheo and never talked to him until he grew a pair and apologized. Which he did since you are his only close female friend he ever had.

[starryredpandawrites]

“Born From the Same Ink” Ch. 17 Sneak Peek

Hairbrush? Check. Birth Certificate? Check. Social Security Card? Check. Nimble hands packed the items into a well-used backpack as their owner checked each of them off a well-rehearsed mental checklist. It wasn’t ideal but at least this way she would have all her essentials secured; there was no chance something would ‘suddenly’ disappear like the last time she mentioned moving out. Audrey picked up an old sketchbook, one of many lying in stacks at the foot of her bed. 

With the straps of her backpack slung securely over her shoulders, she retrieved her shoes and crept to her bedroom door, switching off the lights as she went. The tarnished metal doorknob stole heat from her hands as she slowly twisted it as far as it would go. Then, she nudged the door open, lifting it slightly so it wouldn’t catch on the doorframe. The hinges she oiled the day before gave no resistance as she peeked across the dark hallway to the other bedroom door, which was blessedly shut with no light leaking out from underneath it. A silent sigh of relief escaped her lips as she snuck out of her room for the last time. 

Breathing softly through her mouth, she traversed the hallway in near silence. Years of similar expeditions had taught her which floorboards were safe and vice versa. Each sock-muffled step was calculated, and she was grateful when she reached the living room and could place her feet near the furniture, where the settled floor was less likely to creak. 

She passed the spare room holding the poorly covered Ink Machine without a second glance. She’d lost interest in the dirty thing ages ago. 

Finally, she reached the kitchen, her freedom only a few feet away. She would have smiled if the lights didn’t suddenly flicker on, revealing the man waiting for her beside the counter. 

Rather than stand, he sat in his wheelchair, an increasingly common sight in the Drew household. A folder of miscellaneous documents lay open in his lap. The papers rustled as he meticulously examined them one by one. 

Internally kicking herself, Audrey hid her shoes behind her back and schooled her expression. She should have just used her window. Ruined clothes and a few scrapes from the brambles below would be much less painful than this conversation.

Masking her guilt with concern, the young woman greeted her creator father a little too casually. “Hey, Dad. What are you still doing up?”

Joey didn’t answer, opting instead to pick up another sheet of paper and hold it up to the dim light. Audrey knew the charade for what it was: she had his full attention. 

“Do you want help getting to bed?” she asked helpfully, as though she hadn’t already tucked him in hours ago. 

“I was looking for your Birth Certificate.” he replied nonchalantly as he thumbed through the folder of documents, ignoring her second question. After a moment of awkward silence, he raised a harsh eyebrow at Audrey. “Any idea where it scampered off to?”

Gonna start the next chapter off strong with a flashback, y'all. Hope you like trauma ;)

Fam, it's been 2 whole years since BATDR came out and I started writing this fic. I wanted to post this/the chapter on the anniversary but better late than never, right?

I'm gonna try to post the full update on Friday (November 29th) but it might get pushed Saturday (November 30th) due to the holiday.

Thanks for reading 😘 and an extra big thanks to the people who kept messaging me even though I haven't updated since July. I still haven't responded to every ask I've gotten (and I'm starting to doubt I will, a very good problem to have and one I never thought would happen to me lol) but I love reading every word. You guys (gender-neutral) are the best.

[akehoshimystar]

Kyoya SR

Time for myself

Part 1

Ito: Ugh…..

A stinging pain ran through my heels, and halted my feet from moving.

Ito: (…A blister. It's only at times like these that I don't have a bandage with me…)

I always keep one in my everyday bag, but today I just happened to change my bag to match my new shoes. Since I didn't plan on going far, I only brought the bare necessities.

Ito: (…I seriously messed up.) (Next time I'll make sure to carry bandage with me…) ???: Yashiro-san? Ito: Y-Yes!

When I turned around after being called out of nowhere…

I saw Shido-san and Kiho-san standing with smiles on their faces.

Kyoya: I knew it. Kiho: Hello. Ito: Hello. Kyoya: And here I was wondering whether it was you or not when I saw a familiar figure from a distance. Are you alone? Ito: Yes, it’s just me. Kyoya: That's good to hear. Kiho: If we’re intruding your private time, just tell us and we’ll leave right away. Ito: Not at all. By the way, what are you two doing in the park? For work? Kyoya: Yes. It wasn’t planned, though. We just had a meeting with a client and now we’re on our way back. So I thought I'd take the opportunity to get some fresh air and have a quick meeting with him, and that's when I saw Yashiro-san. Ito: I see. Thank you for your hard work. Kyoya: By the way, is your foot okay? Ito: Eh, ah…! Kiho: Seems like it got a blister. Ito: How embarrassing.….. I was walking around in order to get accustomed to my new shoes, but they got the better of me. Kyoya: Oh… It’ll be bad if it gets any more rubbed off and start bleeding. I think you should rest for now until you’re healed enough. I'll even lend you my shoulder and take you to the bench. Ito: (Shoulder!?) No, no, it's that big of a deal. Kyoya: But it hurts, doesn't it?

With that said, Shido-san knelt at my feet.

Ito: W-What the-!? Kyoya: Would you rather put your feet on my lap here or hold on to my shoulder and walk to the bench? Kiho: Haha, either choice has its own merit. Ito: (It’s two choices that almost look like one choice…)

They seriously got my future in their hands.

Ito: Please…. Allow me to sit on the bench… Kyoya: Got it.

Feeling embarrassed, I put my hand on his shoulder, and Shido-san placed his hand lightly on my back and started walking, trying to keep my balance.

Part 2

Kiho: Kyoya, do you behave like this at school too? I don’t think students will leave you alone at this rate. Kyoya: I'd do the same if it was Kiho-san. Kiho: Oh, so this is what captivates people of all ages and genders, even teachers.

The light-hearted yet witty conversation between these two was so enjoyable that time flied in the blink of an eye.

And before I knew it, the redness from the blister had almost disappeared.

Ito: (Alright.) Kyoya: Oh, can you stand up now? Ito: Yes. I should be able to walk without any problems so long as I’m careful enough, so I'll go back to the dorm. Thank you for keeping me company despite your busy schedule. Kyoya: Then, shall we walk together to the car? Ito: Eh? Kyoya: Someone is waiting for me on that street. If you're heading back to your place, I'll take you there. Kiho: Why don't you just say "I'll carry you to the car"? Kyoya: Only a prince or person who lacks common sense would say something like that. Ito: (If it's something a prince would say, it wouldn't be strange for Shido-san to say it…)

When I imagine that scenario, it just makes a lot of sense.

Kyoya: Look, Kiho-san. If you say something too strange, Yashiro-san will be wary of me. Ito: Ah, no, not in the least. But I'm really fine, so you don’t have to worry about me! I can't burden you to take care of me any more than this. Kyoya: You do know that you don’t have to worry about us, right, Yashiro-san? In fact, we still want to spend more time with Yashiro-san. Am I right, Kiho-san? Kiho: Yeah. Actually, I'm planning on getting a ride to the next job site as well. If you feel a little hesitant to take advantage of Kyoya's kindness on your own, wouldn't it be easier if I joined the ride? Ito: If you say so…

In the end, I took him up on his offer and started walking with the two of them escorting me in a very natural way.

Kyoya: Yashiro-san, next time you wear those shoes, let me know. That way, if something happens, I can help you right away. Kiho: I see. So if someone wants to walk with Kyoya-kun, they should just buy new shoes. Kyoya: You don't have to resort to that kind of trick, if you invite me I'll go out with you anytime. Of course, Kiho-san is very welcome to do so. Kiho: Haha, thank you.

As I was catching a glimpse of how close they are in their pleasant conversation, I suddenly realized that both of them were casually matching their pace with mine.

Ito: (Now that’s what you call being smart.)

I was once again filled with gratitude for the two of them. ……To the point where I started thinking of inviting them if I were to practice walking in these shoes.

[podiatry-pedicure]

Foot care in middle east region;

Hyperhidrosis of the feet is one of the most common problems of our society.

Closed shoes and sneakers aggravate the hyperhidrosis disease.

A humid environment is a source of fungal and bacterial pathogens and, as a result, leads to the appearance of foot disorder.

Hygiene and wearing socks and medical shoes made from natural materials can somewhat reduce its sewerity.

You can make pedicure with a decoction of medicinal herbs, antiseptics, which have a drying, antibacterial effect.

Gait analysis and diagnosis, foot biomechanic evaluation.

To block the sweat glands and prevent hypersweating, you can use antiperspirants in the form of sprays, rollers, creams, powders, lotions and medications.

Establishing first Iranian E-Clinic for foot and Podiatry in Mashhad.

how foot pressure measurements can be used in real clinical settings for podiatry?

Diabetic offload shoes and CNC insoles.

Sport medicine & rehabilitation.

Pre and post-treatment examinations.

Orthotic & Prosthetic prescriptions. Please messege me in Telegram @ortho_teb_clinic if you need more informatio about Orthotic and Prosthetic.

PUBLISHED BY

Ali Karimi

Bsc CPO, Member of Iranian medical council, OP-127, former member of O&P Scientific board of Iran-East branch ( Khorasan Razavi -North Khorasan - South Khorasan - Sistan Baluchistan ) - Graduated from medical school Aug 2008.

[vardhaanfashion]

School Socks for All-Day Comfort: Tips for Parents

When it comes to preparing your child for school, socks might seem like a minor detail. However, they play a significant role in keeping kids comfortable throughout the day. Ill-fitting or low-quality socks can lead to discomfort, blisters, or even distraction during school hours. Choosing the right school socks can make a big difference in your child's daily experience. This blog will guide you through selecting the best socks for your child and share tips for ensuring they stay comfortable all day long.

1. The Importance of Good School Socks

Socks are more than just a part of the uniform. They provide protection, comfort, and support to growing feet. Well-made school socks help regulate temperature, absorb sweat, and prevent friction inside shoes. Poor-quality socks can lead to problems like rashes, odor, or even foot infections, making it essential to invest in good ones.

School days are long, and children are active throughout—running, playing, or sitting for hours in classrooms. Socks that don’t fit well or aren’t made from the right materials can cause discomfort and hamper their focus. Proper socks can ensure your child feels good and stays confident during the day.

2. Key Features to Look for in School Socks

When shopping for school socks, consider these features to ensure comfort and durability:

a. Material Matters

Choose breathable materials like cotton or blends with moisture-wicking properties. Cotton is soft and comfortable, while blends often add durability and elasticity. Avoid synthetic materials that trap moisture and cause discomfort.

b. Fit and Size

The right size is crucial. Socks that are too tight can restrict circulation, while loose socks may bunch up, leading to blisters. Always refer to the size chart and, if possible, try them on before purchasing.

c. Durability

School socks go through a lot of wear and tear. Opt for socks with reinforced heels and toes, as these areas face the most friction and are prone to holes.

d. Comfort Features

Look for features like cushioned soles, seamless toes, and elastic bands that stay up without being too tight. These small details can make a big difference in all-day comfort.

3. Types of School Socks

School socks come in various styles, and the choice often depends on the school dress code and personal preference:

a. Ankle-Length Socks

These are great for warmer climates or casual uniform styles. They provide minimal coverage and are usually lightweight.

b. Crew-Length Socks

A popular choice for school uniforms, crew socks reach just below the calf and provide adequate coverage and warmth.

c. Knee-High Socks

Often part of formal uniforms, these socks cover the legs up to the knee, making them ideal for colder months or specific dress codes.

d. Sports Socks

For kids involved in sports or physical activities, choose socks designed specifically for sports. These often come with extra padding and moisture-wicking properties to keep feet dry during intense activity.

4. Maintaining School Socks

Even the best socks won’t last long without proper care. Here are some tips to ensure your child’s socks remain in good condition:

Wash Gently: Use a mild detergent and cold water to avoid shrinking or damaging the fibers.

Avoid Bleach: Bleach can weaken the fabric and cause discoloration.

Air Dry: Machine drying can shrink socks or damage their elasticity. Instead, air dry them to maintain their shape and size.

Rotate Pairs: Ensure your child has enough pairs of socks to avoid overusing the same ones every day.

5. Common Mistakes Parents Make

While choosing school socks, it’s easy to overlook certain factors. Here are some common mistakes and how to avoid them:

Compromising on Quality: Cheaper socks might seem like a good deal, but they often wear out quickly or fail to provide the necessary comfort.

Ignoring the Dress Code: Many schools have specific rules about sock colors or styles. Always check the guidelines before purchasing.

Not Replacing Worn-Out Socks: Worn-out socks lose their elasticity and can cause discomfort. Replace them regularly to ensure your child stays comfortable.

Visit https://clothingmanufacturerindia.blogspot.com/2024/12/the-evolution-of-socks-from.html to read full blog post

[yourreddancer]

In England, ‘Trump’ Means Fart —It’s Even Funnier In 20 Other Languages

The Trump name is a joke no matter where in the world you go When you say Trump in other countries, he’s just as laughable.

Trump’s last name appears, with minor variations, in dozens of foreign languages. The translations are rarely flattering and always funny. Take a look:

Norwegian: Trump or trumpa translates as “a smelly substance picked up in the street that one cannot easily scrape off the bottom of a shoe.” Common usage: “Your boots are covered in dog trumpa, please leave them outside!”

Turkish: A 19th century addition to the language, the word trumpogan is used to denote “a weird or offbeat hairstyle” as in, “With the large front shelf, the rakish comb over, and those slicked back sides, the man created his own unique trumpogan.”

Italian: The simple form, trumpano, means “windbag, blowhard, or blabbermouth.” Usage: “If I have to listen to that trumpano for four more years, I’m moving to Canada.”

Mandarin: Trump-hao has two possible meanings, “a dangerous escalation” in relation to insulting allies and enemies, and also, “escalator.” Example: “Don’t let your extra long tie get caught in the trump-hao.”

Danish: The Danes use the word trumpsen when pointing out a “moron” or “idiot.” Typical use: “Only a trumpsen drinks bleach to kill a virus.”

Hindi: Trumpatel is a verb in India’s primary language meaning “to continuously trumpet one’s vast wealth, long after anyone cares.” Usage: “His entire organization trumpateled his many billions, but without tax returns, there was no proof.”

Catalan: Trumpello commonly means “bright yellow or golden.” Example: “The customer and his prostitutes enjoyed a trumpello shower.”

Polish: Trumpczyk is defined as “huge or enormous,” as in “The lines of people waiting to vote early were trumpczyk!’”

German: POTUS’s original surname, drumpf, means “a fat person” in German. You might say, “A man who eats too many McDonald’s hamburgers and thinks that golf is exercise will become drumpf.”

Vietnamese: In this Southeast Asian language, trumpyen denotes “rust caused by oxidation and moisture,” and also “rusty skin.” Old Vietnamese men with orange-hued skin are often called “trumpyen.”

Russian: The playful word trumpovski means “puppet” or “pawn” in Russian. Example: “With a $400 million debt owed to him, the brilliant puppet master was able to fully control the empty-headed trumpovski.”

Arabic: In the middle eastern tongue, trump means “tiny” and padi can be translated as “paw” or “hand.” Therefor, a trumpadi is a small hand. Common usage: “Get your trumpadis off my knee.”

Hebrew: In Israel and other places where Hebrew is spoken, a trumpowitz is “an emotionally-stunted individual obsessed with women who humiliated him in the past.” Example: “That kind of whiny tantrum is unusual for a secure man, but common with a trumpowitz.”

Greek: The word trumpolous in the ancient Greek language refers to a person with no courage. Usage: When war broke out, the trumpolous claimed he had a foot problem and dodged military service.”

Swahili: Trumpaea is commonly used in Tanzania, Kenya, and other African countries to mean “vagina.” Usage: When he tried to grab her trumpaea, she slapped him in the mouth.”

Japanese: In Japan, they have a very precise word for bankruptcies that involve real estate properties — trumpimoto. Example: “When the economy tanked, all the over-leveraged hotels went trumpimoto.”

Korean: A word used in education, a trump-pak is defined as “a school or university with no teachers, therefore, no graduates.” Often, Koreans will say, “He got his education from a trump-pak,” meaning he has no education.

French: A self-portrait is called a trumpeau in French. Example: “She hung a trumpeau of her husband in the basement of her white house, where it would not constantly nauseate her.”

Nepalese: A word that originated in the foothills of the Himalayas, a trumpsherpa is a “potbelly, paunch, or beer gut,” as in, “He had to have his expensive suits taken out twice a year due to his ever expanding trumpsherpa.”

Spanish: Trumpierdo is defined as an acute state of anger, fear, and disbelief. Common phrase: “The entire country was overcome with trumpierdo when a circus barker was accidentally given a stockpile of lethal weapons.”

[carbonfootwear]

Best School Shoes for Kids Footwear Manufacturer and Slippers in India

In the world of children's footwear, Carbon Footwear stands out as a leader in manufacturing the best school shoes for kids in India. As parents, educators, and retailers continue to seek high-quality and durable footwear for children, Carbon Footwear has consistently delivered products that meet these demands. This comprehensive guide will delve into the reasons why Carbon Footwear is the preferred choice for school shoes and slippers, highlighting the company's commitment to quality, comfort, and style.

Unparalleled Quality and Durability

When it comes to school shoes for kids, quality and durability are paramount. Children are active and their shoes need to withstand the rigors of daily wear and tear. Carbon Footwear uses the finest materials to ensure their shoes are robust and long-lasting. Each pair of shoes undergoes rigorous testing to meet the highest standards of quality.

High-Quality Materials

Carbon Footwear sources premium leather and synthetic materials that are both durable and comfortable. The use of high-quality rubber soles ensures that the shoes provide excellent grip and stability, which is crucial for the active lifestyle of children.

Advanced Manufacturing Techniques

Employing state-of-the-art manufacturing techniques, Carbon Footwear ensures that each shoe is crafted with precision. Their production process includes multiple quality checks, ensuring that only the best products reach the market. This meticulous approach guarantees that the shoes can withstand daily use and last throughout the school year.

Exceptional Comfort for Growing Feet

Comfort is a critical factor when choosing school shoes for kids. Carbon Footwear prioritizes the ergonomic design of their shoes to provide maximum comfort for growing feet. Understanding the importance of foot health, they incorporate features that support natural foot development.

Ergonomic Design

The shoes are designed with a focus on the natural shape of children's feet. This includes ample toe space, cushioned insoles, and flexible soles that promote healthy foot movement. The ergonomic design helps prevent common foot problems such as blisters and calluses, ensuring that children can wear the shoes comfortably all day.

Breathable and Lightweight

Carbon Footwear integrates breathable materials into their shoe designs to ensure proper air circulation. This helps keep children's feet cool and dry, reducing the risk of fungal infections and discomfort caused by sweating. Additionally, the shoes are lightweight, making them easy for kids to wear without feeling weighed down.

Stylish and Trendy Designs

In addition to quality and comfort, Carbon Footwear also excels in providing stylish and trendy designs that appeal to both children and parents. Their wide range of designs ensures that every child can find a pair of shoes that they love.

Variety of Styles

Carbon Footwear offers a diverse selection of school shoes, ranging from classic black leather shoes to modern sporty designs. Whether it’s a formal school setting or a casual environment, there’s a style to suit every need. The shoes come in various colors and patterns, catering to different tastes and preferences.

Customization Options

Understanding that children have unique preferences, Carbon Footwear also offers customization options. Parents can choose from different colors, materials, and design elements to create a pair of shoes that reflects their child’s personality. This personalized touch makes the shoes even more special and cherished by kids.

Read more - Top Kids PVC Sandal Manufacturers & Suppliers in India

Affordable Pricing Without Compromising Quality

One of the key aspects that set Carbon Footwear apart from its competitors is its ability to provide high-quality shoes at affordable prices. The company believes that every child deserves the best footwear, regardless of their economic background.

Competitive Pricing

Despite using premium materials and advanced manufacturing techniques, Carbon Footwear maintains competitive pricing. This makes their products accessible to a wider audience, ensuring that more children can benefit from their exceptional footwear.

Value for Money

Parents can be confident that they are getting value for their money when purchasing Carbon Footwear. The combination of durability, comfort, and style means that the shoes will last longer, reducing the need for frequent replacements. This not only saves money in the long run but also provides peace of mind.

Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Practices

In today’s world, sustainability is an important consideration for consumers. Carbon Footwear is committed to eco-friendly and sustainable practices in their manufacturing process, ensuring that they minimize their environmental impact.

Sustainable Materials

The company uses environmentally friendly materials wherever possible. This includes recycled materials and eco-friendly dyes that reduce the overall carbon footprint. By choosing sustainable materials, Carbon Footwear contributes to a healthier planet for future generations.

Eco-Conscious Production

Carbon Footwear's production facilities are designed to minimize waste and energy consumption. They implement recycling programs and energy-efficient technologies to reduce their environmental impact. This commitment to sustainability extends to their packaging, which is made from recycled and biodegradable materials.

Excellent Customer Service and Support

Carbon Footwear is dedicated to providing excellent customer service. Their knowledgeable and friendly staff are always ready to assist with any queries or concerns, ensuring a seamless shopping experience for customers.

Easy Ordering Process

The company's user-friendly website makes it easy for parents to browse and purchase shoes online. Detailed product descriptions, sizing guides, and customer reviews help make informed decisions. The hassle-free ordering process includes multiple payment options and reliable delivery services.

After-Sales Support

Carbon Footwear offers comprehensive after-sales support. This includes a straightforward return and exchange policy, ensuring that customers are satisfied with their purchases. The customer service team is readily available to address any issues, providing prompt and effective solutions.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Carbon Footwear stands out as the premier choice for the best school shoes for kids in India. Their commitment to quality, comfort, style, affordability, and sustainability makes them a trusted name in the footwear industry. Parents can confidently choose Carbon Footwear, knowing they are providing their children with the best possible shoes for their school days.

[saintlike78]

The only thing we share [R.A.B & S.O.B]

A/N: THIS HAS TAKEN FOREVER! I’m so excited to finally be done with it! I’ve been working on this idea with @arcaneslut, so major thanks to her for supporting me through this. Also a major thanks to @bellatrixscurls for boosting my ego heheh <3 <3

It ends kinda abruptly because I was thinking about a part two if anyone’s interested in that.

Pairings: Regulus Black x Fem! Reader x Sirius Black (NO INCEST!)

Summary: Y/N can’t seem to choose between the two Black brothers, so what happens when Sirius finds her in the arms of his brother?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: NSFW 16+, threesome (M/F/M), vaginal sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, slight dom/sub-elements (dom! Sirius, soft dom! Reg, sub! Reader), handjob, mention of cum and cum swallowing, praise, degradation (use of slut and whore), one singular spank, crying, an indication of two-timing (but not really). As always lmk if I missed anything.

“Heeey Reggie,” your voice was happy as you approached the dark-haired Slytherin boy, your arms finding their way around his middle to hug him.

His own arms found their way around you, holding you close to his chest as he chuckled lightly, “Darling, how many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“A lot of times... buuuut it suits you, so I’ll keep calling you Reggie,” you grinned as you looked up at his face.

Regulus shook his head, but his lips were slightly upturned in a smile.

“Do you want to study with me now?” You asked hopefully making it impossible for Regulus to say no to you, but it was exceptionally harder when you were looking at him with huge puppy dog eyes, a pout pulling at your lips if he should say no.

“Of course, darling,” he smiled, not giving it a second thought.

This was what your relationship was, endless flirting and lingering touches. Regulus would do almost anything you told him to, he was completely and utterly enamored by you, he couldn’t get enough. The only reason why you weren’t in a relationship was that he wasn’t the only guy who was head over heels in love with you - the other guy just so happened to be the one person Regulus couldn’t stand - his own brother. Another problem that you had found was that not only were they both in love with you, but you were in love with them both as well, creating a small problem for you.

Normally you wouldn’t be so publicly affectionate towards either of them, afraid that the other would catch on; you weren’t ready to lose either of them, so you kept it in your own secret world.

Of course, you knew how unfair it was to string them both along, not giving them the full truth as to why you didn’t want a relationship because you did want to be with them but having to choose was impossible.

Neither you or Regulus made a move to leave each other’s arms and head towards the library, just looking at each other while talking quietly about your day. You were too caught up with one another to notice the voices that grew louder and the sound of shoes hitting the stone floor. Unfortunately for you, the voices belonged to none other than the four Marauders, one of them, unfortunately, being the one person who was not supposed to witness you in the arms of his brother.

“Uhm y/n, what’r you doing?” the sound of Sirius’ voice caused you to quickly detach yourself from Regulus, creating a distance between the two of you, acting as if Sirius hadn’t caught you red-handed.

“Oh, hi Siri, what’s up?” You tried to act casual, but your tone and body language was anything but casual - fidgeting and bouncing from one foot to the other. Both boys looked at you and then at each other, scowling when they locked eyes.

Remus, James, and Peter looked between the three of you very confused, all three of them silent, thinking of what to say.

“I think we should get going - right James, Peter?” Remus broke the silence, hinting, not subtly that they should make their leave.

“Yes, sure, let’s go,” James stuttered, Peter just nodded, all of them scurrying away quickly, leaving you to deal with your problem.

“Darling, what’s going on,” Regulus placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze, but you could only look back at him with sad eyes, knowing that now you would lose both of them. Your stomach had dropped to the floor, and it felt like someone was squeezing your heart.

“Darling?... why are you calling her that?” Sirius crossed his arms angrily over his chest, his eyes staring intently at the hand on your shoulder, jealousy filling his chest.

“Please can we go somewhere more private... I promise I’ll explain everything,” you tried, gesturing towards the girl’s lavatory.

Both boys nodded and let you lead them inside, shutting the door behind you gently and leaning your back up against it.

You looked down bashfully, your hands fidgeting anxiously in front of you as your mind raced with ways to explain to them what you’d been doing.

“What’s happening, pup?” Sirius tried a gentler tone, but the anger was still evident in it.

“I’m sorry,” your cheeks grew hot, and you could feel tears slowly gather in your eyes.

“For what, darling?” Regulus was less angry, putting on a calm front for you.

“I’ve had a thing, with... Uhm... both of you...” you were trying your hardest to keep your voice steady, but you couldn’t help the slight shake to your vocal cords.

“... it was not my intent to string you both along... I just like you both so much and I couldn’t choose... I know it was very wrong of me, but I-I can’t stand the thought of... losing you,” your voice cracked, and the first tear rolled down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away, knowing how stupid you looked - you weren’t the victim in this.

They both stood shocked, not knowing what to say, but both wanting to reach out to comfort you.

The silence was deafening, the anxiety was eating away at you as you waited for one of them to speak and just end it with you then and there.

“I’m sorry... I understand if you don’t have anything to say to me or if you don’t want to see me anymore... I’ll - I’ll just leave,” your voice was quivering as you tried to keep your tears at bay until you had left.

You turned your body, ready to make a run for it, knowing that they probably hated you, but your hand never properly touched the knob before your wrist was grabbed and your body was yanked backward and away from the door. You were spun around to face them both, Regulus holding your wrist tight, not letting you run away.

Regulus let out a sigh before speaking, “I’m not happy about what you did, but I’m not ready to let you go... I can’t.”

Your eyes widened at his words, not expecting him to still want to be with you.

“Well, I’m not ready to let her go either... so now we have a little problem,” Sirius went to stand beside you, putting his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him, surprising you even more.

The tears made your vision blurry as you looked between them, “I’m sorry... I just don’t know what to do,” you whimpered out, causing both of them to quit their scowling contest to look at you, both of their eyes softening.

“Oh puppy, c’mere,” Sirius pulled you into his chest, hugging you as you cried, wetting his white school shirt.

Regulus came closer to soothingly rub up and down your back.

“Listen here, if Sirius and I can agree, I would be willing to... share,” Regulus said begrudgingly, but anything was better than losing you, especially to his brother.

Sirius scoffed, but didn’t argue against his brother, “I guess, if that’s what it takes to keep you, then I’ll be willing to share as well.”

You sniffled and looked up, “are you sure? I don’t want to force you into anything.”

Regulus and Sirius shared a look, and both nodded, “we’re sure,” Regulus answered for the both of them.

You hugged Sirius closer to you, reaching one arm behind you searching for Regulus’s hand, which he didn’t hesitate to give you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, but both boys heard you clearly, Sirius giving your body an extra squeeze.

You removed your face from Sirius’ chest to look up at him, “kiss?” you puckered your lips, while his lips turned up into a mischievous smile, but nonetheless he complied, leaning his head down and connecting your lips.

The kiss was much shorter than you would have liked, your lips following Sirius’ smirking ones when he pulled apart, a whine tearing through your throat.

Sirius only chuckled at your needy reaction, prompting you to find solace in the man behind you; you turned your head only to be met with a smirking Regulus, his hand still in yours as he had moved closer to you.

“What do you want, darling?” Regulus had leaned down to be level with your face, his voice coming out soft, yet you didn’t miss the slight teasing tone he held.

“You… I want both of you.”

“Is that how you ask nicely, pup?” Sirius broke in, forcing your face to look at his by grabbing your jaw and turning your face.

You whimpered, “please, may I have both of you,” your eyes searched Sirius' eyes desperately.

He smirked, looking down at your desperate figure while running his hand up and down your waist, occasionally giving it a squeeze, “that’s better… good girls have manners and you are a good girl, are you not?”

You quickly nodded, “I am, I promise I’ll be good for you.”

Both boys let out a groan at your words, their pants growing tighter by the second.

Regulus pulled out his wand, casting a silencing charm as well as locking the door.

“You really want to do this here?” you asked with a small tilt to your head.

“Do you have a better place we could go? There’ll be people in your dorm and in mine as well and I’m not going down to the darkest place known to man, also known as the Slytherin common room,” Sirius said before he slowly started kissing your neck, sucking lightly when he found the spot that made you gasp out in pleasure.

“Oi! I’ll let you know that it’s very atmospheric to be under the lake,” Regulus said with an angry frown, not letting Sirius step all over his house.

“Whatever you say,” Sirius retorted against your neck, his tone sarcastic.

You could feel a fight starting to ensue, which was the last thing you wanted from them at this moment.

“Please don’t fight… this is good, please,” you whimpered as Sirius sucked a purple mark right below your ear, his teeth sinking lightly into the flesh before his tongue came out to soothe the skin.

“Don’t worry, pretty darling, we’ll take care of you,” Regulus’s soothing voice said before he stepped even closer to you, your body sandwiched between the two brothers.

Regulus’s hands caressed your body, his hands going over your bum before slowly lifting your skirt to caress your bare skin. He bent down on his knees, his hands kneading away on your bum, he came forward to leave small kisses on the cheeks, his hands trailing down your thighs and moving to the inside of your thighs but purposely ignoring the place you needed him most. “Spread those beautiful legs a little more for me, princess,” Regulus tapped the inside of your thigs; you didn’t waste a second, your legs spreading further apart.

Your hands found a home on Sirius’ shoulders as you used him for balance, your fingers digging into the muscles in anticipation. Sirius’ head retreated from your neck to look at your face, the mischievous smirk never leaving his lips.

He was about to lean down to connect your lips, but he was swiftly interrupted by a gasp leaving your lips; Regulus had placed his thumb on your panties, feeling the wet patch that had formed on them. “So wet for us, darling,” he breathed out, his thumb rubbing your core slowly, working his way up to rub your clit through your soaked panties.

You moaned and gasped again as the pleasurable feeling spread through your body.

“Such a little slut, getting wet just from the thought of having not only one, but both of our cocks... such a filthy girl,” Sirius teased, finally leaning down and connecting your lips in a heated kiss.

You parted your lips letting his tongue enter and dance with your own, your breathing growing labored.

As you were preoccupied with Sirius’ mouth on yours, Regulus took the opportunity to slip your panties off and down your legs, tapping each of your feet for you to lift and step out of them.

You could hear the low groan from Regulus when he was faced with your puffy glistening cunt, a sight so pleasing he couldn’t wait any longer before diving right in, licking a strip from your aching clit to your entrance. Your body jolted at the contact, you let out a loud moan into Sirius’ mouth and your fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders, scared you would collapse, even though Sirius was holding your waist making sure you wouldn’t fall.

Sirius pulled apart, desperate to look at your face, but jealous that Regulus had gotten the chance to taste you before he himself had.

“Who would’ve thought that little y/n was such a little whore?” Sirius taunted, pinching your sides. You moaned at his degrading words, the words going straight to your already dripping cunt.

Sirius let out a taunting laugh, “Oh you like that huh? You like it when I call you a whore?”

You nodded and whimpered, “y-yes.”

Sirius’s lips turned up into a satisfied grin, “hmm filthy girl,” he whispered.

Regulus pulled away for a moment, “she tastes absolutely divine.”

At his words Sirius reached a hand down, collecting some of your arousal on his fingers as he ran them through your folds, making you whimper, before bringing his fingers to his lips, licking them clean.

He smacked loudly, “mmhm perfect.”

Your cheeks turned pink, and you leaned forward hiding your face in Sirius’ clavicle, prompting a chuckle from the boy.

“Aww, are we feeling shy? Huh?” He feigned a caring tone as he mocked your shyness.

You whined and shook your head, but your face was quickly pulled from its hiding spot by Sirius.

“No whining,” Sirius scolded, to which you just nodded.

“Sirius, can you grab her leg?” Came Regulus’s voice, instructing his brother.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “don’t give me instructions.”

You reached a hand up to caress Sirius’ cheek, “be nice,” you whispered, trying to keep them civil, instead of Sirius complying you let out a surprised gasp when Sirius’ hand suddenly was around your throat, giving it a small warning squeeze, but not enough to actually hurt you.

“We might not agree about who’s in charge, but it’s certainly not you... got it?”

You gulped, but nodded, “yes, sir.”

Another groan escaped Sirius at the use of the title, “you’re going to kill me.”

Sirius let go of your throat, reaching down to grab your leg like Regulus had asked, hoisting it up.

“There we go,” Regulus breathed out, his middle finger circling your entrance.

You could feel your heart through your chest, the beating growing faster and more rapid as the seconds went on. Your breath had been replaced by moans – filling the quiet room, along with the squelching sounds as Regulus inserted a finger in you, pumping it slowly in and out, feeling your warm walls pulse and contract at the minimal pleasure he was able to give you with just one finger.

Sirius leaned down to suck and bite at your neck; whimpers left your mouth at the pleasurable pain his teeth gave you, your hands moving to hold onto him by the back of his neck, pulling gently at the hairs at the nape.

Regulus added a second finger, pumping them faster while his other hand reached up to rub your clit in fast circles, pressing it occasionally to add pressure.

You could feel the familiar warmth building in the pit of your belly, your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Please, may I cum?” You begged, gripping Sirius’ hair tighter as you tried to fight off the feeling.

Sirius submerged from your neck, squeezing your waist, “not yet… sluts like you have to wait for it.”

You whimpered at his words, tears gathering in your eyes at the strain of holding it in, “please, sir, I can’t,” you tried begging once more, but to no avail; Sirius shook his head and gestured for Regulus to stop, which he did, but not without a displeased grunt.

Regulus pulled his fingers from you, causing you to whine at the empty feeling and the fleeting orgasm having been stolen from you. You were about to turn your head to give Regulus a displeased look, but your cheeks were promptly grabbed by Sirius, his fingers squeezing a pout from you.

“What did tell you before?” he questioned with a raised brow.

“No whining,” you would’ve dipped your head if it hadn’t been for the hold, you found yourself in.

“Good girl,” Regulus praised as he stood to tower over you once more behind you.

“Good girl,” Sirius mocked, “she can remember simple instruction, but yet she still whines like a desperate little slut.”

“Don’t be so mean,” Regulus scolded, smacking Sirius’ hand that was holding your leg up, causing him to drop it.

Regulus leaned down to your ear before whispering, “don’t listen to him, darling, you’re doing so well, good girl.”

You turned your face, being level with Regulus, you connected your lips, tasting yourself on his lips and the sweet taste of him, breathing out a ‘thank you' before breaking apart.

Regulus just nodded with a smile, glad you understood his comfort, his hand finding home on the side of your waist Sirius wasn’t holding onto.

You felt Sirius’ hand back on your face, turning it to face him once more, “you know you can tell me if it’s too much, right?”

Your heart fluttered at Sirius checking on you, making sure that you were alright and happy with everything that was happening; you nodded in reply, looking into his eyes to show him that you meant it. Sirius smiled and leaned down to also be able to whisper in your ear, “good girl,” he whispered for only you to hear.

“Come, over here,” Sirius started guiding you towards one of the sinks in the lavatory, a large mirror hanging above the basin, your eyes meeting your own as Sirius pulled you further towards the image.

“Now look at that, such a pretty slut, it would be a shame if you don’t get the same view as us,” Sirius’ hand was stroking up and down the expanse of your back when you came to a halt in front of the shining mirror; Regulus followed suit standing on the other side of Sirius behind you. They were tall and intimidating – absolutely stunning, enchanting, causing all thoughts to leave your mind as you stared at them through the tall mirror; your stomach was filled with butterflies, accompanied by an ache created by the denied orgasm, your arousal was slowly dripping down your legs, but yet time stood still as you waited for one of them to do something, anything – you would let them do anything.

“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to watch yourself get ruined like the filthy girl you are, understand?” Sirius was caressing your sides, but you knew it was as a decoy – his real purpose being freeing your shirt from being tucked into your plaid school skirt.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” you voiced your understanding, but you looked to Regulus, unsure what he thought of this particular arrangement.

Regulus caught your stare, returning it with a soft smile and kiss to your temple, “it’s okay, pretty girl, I’ll wait my turn,” he said with a wink.

Regulus stepped in front of you, temporarily blocking your reflection in the mirror, but his reasoning soon became clear as he started undoing the buttons of your shirt, helping you out of it, exposing your bra-covered breasts to the eager boys.

Sirius’ hands trailed up your back finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it, the bra loosening and helped off by Regulus. Out of instinct, your hands went up to cover your now exposed chest, but Sirius was quicker than you and took a hold of your wrists, his arms on both sides of you. “Don’t turn all shy now - you were so desperate before, be a good slut,” Sirius was taunting you, but his words only made the ache grow even bigger causing a whimper to be ripped from your throat and your head to turn to look at him over your shoulder; you were only met with a mocking tilt of his head, whilst his hands brought your wrists behind your back, switching to hold them both with one hand.

“Move out of the way, will you Reg.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, his face contorting into one of disgust at Sirius using a nickname for him, but nevertheless, he complied, but not before leaning down and giving your lips a quick peck.

With Regulus no longer blocking the mirror in front of you, you could see the situation unfold clearly; Regulus was close but leaning casually against a sink strategically placed so he could look at you without being in the way of the mirror, his hands starting to work on the zipper of his black school trousers.

Your focus was back on Sirius when you heard the same sound of a zipper, but from behind you; Sirius was quick to pull his painfully hard cock from the restraints of his own trousers, the tip of his cock red and dripping with pre-cum. He stroked himself a couple of times, his head thrown back and a groan leaving his lips, his raven-colored hair falling in front of his face when his head fell back into place. You let out a breathy moan at the sight, enamored by his beauty and growing more needy and desperate by the second.

Sirius flipped your skirt up, the clothing piece rather useless as you were bare everywhere else; your focus was momentarily lost on Sirius’ face, therefore, leaving you unprepared for the slap that was landed on your ass, pulling a yelp from you, but leaving you no room to complain as he pushed himself inside you – the complaint dying on your tongue and replaced by a surprised gasp of pleasure. Sirius and Regulus’ eyes were locked on your face, memorizing the look and contortion of satisfaction, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the slight backward roll your eyes made

Sirius set a fast pace, keeping you up by your arms as he held them tightly behind your back, giving both himself and Regulus a perfect view of your breasts as they bounced on every impact.

Your moans and smalls squeals, accompanied by the wet slapping sounds filled the bathroom, the occasional grunt and moan leaving Sirius’ mouth.

A yelp broke through when Regulus used his free hand, the one not currently working himself closer to an orgasm, to reach forward and tug at your sensitive nipples – pulling, twisting and rubbing them, his eyes locked on your reactions; he smiled a pleased smile at the sounds you let out, your eyes finding his, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and hold his stare.

“You gonna cum, princess?” Regulus asked, giving your left nipple a particularly harsh pinch, your cunt pulsing and tightening around Sirius.

“Please, may I,” you pleaded, your eyes flitting between the two brothers, frustration building as well at the orgasm you were trying to hold off.

“Go on, milk my cock like the whore you are,” Sirius grunted, a low moan escaping as well as your cunt squeezed him once more.

Sirius moved his hips with a few hard thrusts, snaking his free hand to the front of your body to put pressure on your clit. Your breath stuttered, a gasp catching in your throat as a silent scream made its appearance, your orgasm rocking through your body, your cunt throbbing around Sirius. You spasmed as you tried, but failed, to topple forward, Sirius’ hands holding you too tight to let you fall.

Sirius moaned loudly as he reached his end, emptying himself in you, he stilled cock twitching. He rocked a couple of times, working you both through your orgasms before

he slowly pulled out, bending down to look at the way his cum dripped from you, muttering a small ‘gorgeous’ to himself. Rising to his full height, he kissed up your neck and your cheek while holding your body close to his, whispering small praises in your ear.

You were trying to catch your breath, your body twitching slightly at the sensitivity and the aftershock of the built-up release you had been keeping in for so long.

You were thrown out of your own thoughts and tiredness when you heard a moan coming from your side; Regulus’s head was thrown back as he tried desperately to finish himself.

You turned your head to kiss Sirius’ cheek as his head rested on your shoulder, before freeing yourself from his grasp to stand directly in front of Regulus. Grasping his face, you turned it down to look in your eyes as you leaned up to connect your lips with his in a hungry open-mouthed kiss. Your hand reached between your bodies as you took his cock from his hand, working it yourself; you applied pressure as you twisted and stroked with your hand at a fast pace. Regulus pulled away from the kiss to let out a stuttered moan as your thumb brushed over to sensitive slit, his hips working to match the pace of your hand.

“Gonna cum,” he breathed out, “let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

Even though his tone was much softer than Sirius’ had been, it was still a command, to which you complied.

You sank to your knees, keeping your hand in motion, but replacing it with your mouth leading Regulus to his much-needed release.

His hands grasped your hair at the base of your scalp, holding your head still as his hips moved him through his release, his cum seeping into your mouth on your tongue and down your throat.

With the help of Regulus, you stood, met with the soft smile from Regulus and a gentle kiss on your lips from him. Sirius stepped behind you, holding your bra and shirt helping you put them on, turning you around to button the shirt up.

“Thank you,” you said, stroking his hair as Regulus stroked your hips from behind you.

“For what? This or the other thing?” Sirius smirked, your eyes rolling at his insinuation.

“Both, I guess,” you giggled making both boys chuckle, as Sirius finished off the last button on your shirt.

Your eyes scanned the floor, but the short search for your panties was unsuccessful.

“Uhm, where are my panties?”

Sirius smirked once more before holding the piece of clothing up but quickly pocketed it when you tried to reach for them. “Oh, I’m keeping these… as a souvenir.”

You rolled your eyes once more, but the smile was ever-present on your face.

“Again, thank you for this,” you breathed a content breath.

“I can’t say I wasn’t surprised, but if this is the price to be with you, I’m willing to pay it,” Regulus said, gesturing to Sirius as he said ‘this’, earning him a disgruntled ‘hey!’, though Sirius nodded in agreement.

“I’m interested in what’s to come.”

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

Fire and Ice Day for @nessianweek Yes, I just wanted an excuse to write more hockey player Cassian. No, I will not be taking criticisms at this time. Follow up to this drabble. Hope you enjoy! :) 

Nesta steps out of the English building, taking in a deep breath of the crisp, winter air. The lecture hall had been stifling, and the way Professor Matthews had droned on and on about Chekhov had her desperate for the class to end. She cuts across the Commons, heading toward the library, when she hears heavy footsteps fall in beside her. She doesn't need to look to know who they belong to. 

"So about that dinner," Cassian starts. 

"I don't actually recall agreeing to it." 

"Well, how else am I supposed to thank you for being there in my time of concussion need?" 

"You don't need to thank me. Maybe I was just hoping to see if a good thwack to your head would finally fix it. Clearly, it didn't." 

"Sadly, all it did was make my two working brain cells become just one," Cassian says, putting on his best solemn tone. 

The comment pulls a surprised laugh out of Nesta, and when she turns her head to look at Cassian, his smile is wide and his eyes are bright. She swears she can almost see pride swimming in those flecks of gold that make up his hazel eyes. 

"So what time should I pick you up?" 

Nesta doesn't respond. She merely rolls her eyes with a scoff and continues toward the library. That is until Cassian uses his long strides to step in front of her, effectively cutting her path off. 

"What do you have to lose?"

"My sanity?" 

"So 6:00 then?" 

Nesta takes a moment to take Cassian in. He still has that cocky grin that never seems to leave splashed across his face. But she doesn't miss the way he fidgets, running a hand through his tangle of dark curls, nor does she miss the nervous pinch around his eyes. She supposes she could go for a good meal, and while Cassian most definitely gets under her skin, he's not the worst company. 

"I have to meet with my group for our psychology project. 7:00?" 

"Deal." 

The smile on Cassian's face pulls even wider, and Nesta's pretty sure the only thing keeping him from actually cheering is the way he clenches his fists at his side. It's endearing, and Nesta bites the inside of her cheek to keep her own smile tampered down. 

"Well, see you then," Nesta says, starting back toward her original destination of the library. 

"Wear something nice, yeah?" Cassian calls after her. 

Nesta flips him off over her shoulder at the comment, and Cassian's booming laughter follows her all the way across the Commons. 

Luckily, meeting with the students in her group project isn't too migraine inducing. They divvy up the work and all agree on who will take which slides. When she makes it back to her dorm, she pulls a black dress out and gets started on her makeup. 

At 7:00 on the dot, there's a knock at her door. She quickly slips on her heels before pulling it open, Cassian waiting on the other side. The way that Cassian's mouth drops open and the awed way he whispers, "holy shit," has a blush creeping in and settling on Nesta's cheeks. 

"You clean up nice," she notes. 

And he does. Cassian has on a button down, the sleeves rolled up slightly, the tanned skin of his forearms and the ink that swirls against it on full display. Both the shirt and the black slacks he's wearing are form fitting, showing off the athletic cut to his body, years of skating having done wonders for honing the muscles. And while Cassian's dark curls are loose against his shoulders, Nesta can tell he's put product in it. 

Nesta waits for Cassian to make some sort of quip back after her comment, maybe for him to even comment on her, but he just continues to stare like he can't believe she's actually real. She tries not to focus on the fact that look has her heart beating double time in her chest, or the fact that warmth settles through her whole body. Instead, Nesta just rolls her eyes and steps fully into the hall, closing her door behind her. The sound seems to jolt Cassian back to reality, who blinks hard before his eyes focus properly on Nesta's own. 

"Wait," he says. "Bring your skates."

"My skates?" Nesta asks confusedly. "I thought we were going to dinner?"

"We are, but bring them."

"Why?"

"Just bring them." 

Nesta sighs, clearly not getting a straight answer out of him. But she heads back inside, stuffing a heavy pair of socks into her skates. She steps into the hall, skates in hand, and raises a pointed eyebrow as if to ask, 'happy?' Cassian's just answers with a wide grin. 

Cassian leads Nesta down to his truck, and she's surprised when he drives them to one of the higher end chophouses downtown. Dinner is good and the conversation flows easily between them. Cassian even asks Nesta about her current book and actually looks genuinely interested as she explains it. Although, his smirk is infuriating as she tries to subtly skip over the more… scandalous parts. 

After dinner, they clamber back into Cassian's truck, and Nesta's brow pinches in confusion as they pull into the rink parking lot. This explains the skate request. When Nesta looks over at Cassian, his eyes are already on her. Under the yellow glow of the parking lot lights, his eyes look extra golden, but Nesta doesn't miss the mischievous glint swimming in them. 

"I'm not exactly dressed for skating," Nesta points out, glancing down at her dress as if to prove her point. 

"Says who?"

"I'm serious." 

Rather than respond, Cassian just reaches back into the backseat of his truck, producing one of the hockey team sweatshirts, which he holds out toward Nesta. Nesta hesitates for only a moment before she's pulling it on over her dress. It's clearly too big on her, but the fabric is soft and the scent of fabric softener and Cassian fills her senses. 

When they get inside, the Friday night public skate is still in full swing, families and awkward high school dates milling about on the ice and in the lobby. In their attire, Nesta is sure that she and Cassian must stick out like sore thumbs. They walk up to the reception desk, and Nesta expects Cassian to ask for two passes for the public skate, but instead he and the rink staffer share a pointed look and then a key is being slid inconspicuously into Cassian's hand. Before Nesta can even start to ask what that means, Cassian is grabbing her hand, pulling her down the hall, past the locker rooms and snack bar. His eyes quickly dart around before he slides the key into the right side of the double doors, tugging Nesta inside and flipping on the lights. 

"The tiny-ass practice rink?" Nesta asks, looking around.

"Bal owes me a favor," Cassian explains, pocketing the key. 

Cassian grabs Nesta's hand again and leads her around to the benches. They each take their time trading their shoes for skates before stepping out onto the ice. 

There's something about the way ice feels under her feet that calms Nesta in a way nothing else can. The cutting sound of her skates against it is like music to her ears. She glides easily to center ice, taking a deep breath and letting the cold welcome her into its embrace. She feels Cassian's presence behind her, warm hands settling on her hips. 

"You know you look better in this sweatshirt than I ever did," he says, voice pitched low. 

"Sounds like a personal problem," Nesta counters, turning around to face Cassian. "It's not my fault even hockey things look better on figure skaters." 

"Big words coming from someone who needs a toe pick to stop."

"That's not what a toe pick is for." 

"How about a race then? To settle things." 

"Fine." 

They both skate over to the goal line, getting into their starting positions. Cassian counts them in with a ‘ready, set, go,’ and then they’re off, sprinting down the ice. Nesta’s hair whips past her face, the cool rink air rushing along her cheeks, as she pushes her legs to go faster and faster still. Cassian crosses the other goal line first, an icy spray flying up as he stops hard before the boards. Nesta stops beside him, crossing her arms as she takes in his wide smirk. 

"You totally cheated."

"What? I did not."

"You have longer legs. It's an unfair advantage."

"Sounds like excuses to me. Just admit it. Hockey players are better."

"Are they? Could a hockey player do this?" 

Nesta pushes off the boards and settles easily into her stride. A swing of her leg and a push of her foot and she's up in the air, pulling her arms in tight as she twists and twists around. Her feet land back on the ice and she glides out of the move gracefully. When her eyes land back on Cassian, his own are wide and awed as he watches her. But then his eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Who’s cheating now?” 

“Fine. Something simple then.” 

Nesta jumps and does a single twist, holding her arms out when she lands and raising an eyebrow toward Cassian in challenge. His eyes stay narrowed on her, but he pushes off the boards, settling into a stride toward center ice. 

“How hard can it be,” Cassian mutters. 

Cassian skates a few circles, clearly trying to walk himself through the move, trying to hype himself up. Nesta has to bite the inside of her cheek while she waits. After a few moments, he throws himself into the air, spinning around once. His skates land back on the ice, and for a moment, Nesta is about to be impressed, but then his left foot is slipping out from under him. He falls ass-first onto the ice with a loud ‘oof.’ 

Nesta can’t help the loud laugh that tears its way out of her chest. She tries to press a hand to her mouth to stifle it, but her whole body shakes with it. When she finally calms down and finds Cassian's stare again, his face is marred with an unimpressed frown. 

“I’m so glad my pain brings you joy,” Cassian says sarcastically before holding his arms up toward her. “Aren’t you going to help me up?” 

“No.” 

Nesta realizes she’s made a mistake. A slow smirk slides across Cassian’s face and even from across the rink, there’s no missing the mischievous glint in his eyes. Before Nesta can even blink, Cassian is on his feet and charging toward her across the ice. The rink is small with nowhere to go, so soon Nesta finds herself cornered back against the boards, Cassian’s arms bracketing her in on either side. 

Cassian opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but it gets lost along the way, and instead he just stares. This close up, Nesta can see the greens hidden in his hazel eyes, the way they flicker under the rink lights. Cassian’s eyes drop down to her lips before settling back on her eyes, and Nesta’s heart does a little flip in her chest. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"What if I say no?"

Cassian leans in closer, and Nesta can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips, is sure that he can feel the way the breath hitches in her throat. 

"Say no, then," Cassian whispers. 

The silence hangs between them for only a second before Cassian closes the distance, pressing his lips to Nesta’s. Nesta practically melts into it, pressing closer as their lips slot and slide against one another. One of Cassian’s hands comes up to bracket her jaw, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist. She can feel the way he sighs against her lips, the deep groan in his chest as the kiss deepens. 

"Hey, why are the lights on back here?" 

They break apart at the sudden voice, Cassian taking Nesta’s hand and tugging her down so they’re hidden behind the boards and out of sight. They can hear the footsteps of the rink staffer walking around, and Nesta turns to glare at Cassian. 

"I swear, if we end up arrested because of you…"

"Don't worry. I'd never let that happen. We're both too pretty for jail."

[arrowflier]

Prompt: Mickey apologizes to one of their neighbours for something that clearly wasn't his fault just to make Ian(who's in his people pleaser mode) happy. Later, Ian realises how Mickey was right all along and feels bad about the whole thing and they talk. Basically them having a mature convo at the end

Ian heard the shouting as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. Mickey had come down earlier to take a quick dip, and Ian was hoping to join him and relax together for a while.

But based on the way his husband and one of their neighbors were yelling right then, that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Ian sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. Was it really too much to ask that Mickey get along with the people in their building? He didn't even have to make friends, he just had to not be an asshole to everyone he met.

A particularly loud shout--something about children, and language, and have some common decency--forced Ian out of his reflections and toward the apparent catastrophe that was Mickey in public.

“Dammit, Mickey,” he muttered under his breath as he rounded the last corner and brought the pool into view.

Sure enough, Mickey was there.  He stood at the edge of the shallow end of the pool, like he had just hoisted himself out, water droplets still lingering on his sculpted arms and chest.  His arms were raised and held out to the side in challenge as he blustered on about public space, and freedom of speech, and I’ll do you one worse lady, just you watch just inches away from a middle-aged woman that looked like she had stepped out of a lululemon ad.

Ian was pretty sure it was the same woman who had stopped him at the elevators last week to ask him to “keep it down up there”.  They really didn’t need to cause more trouble with her; Mickey had them on thin ice already when his response to Ian relaying that request was to play loud, bass-thumping music while riding Ian into the floor for effect.

She hadn't met his eyes since.

"What's going on here?" Ian interrupted, coming up behind Mickey and settling a hand on the back of his husband's neck.

"This lady was tryin to--" Mickey cut off when Ian squeezed and released that hand in warning. Mickey glowered at him, but shut his mouth.

"Your husband," the woman said with a glare at Mickey, "was setting a bad example for my nephew."

Looking around for the aforementioned child, Ian sighed when he saw a little boy staring at them all from a pool lounger with wide eyes.

"We're sorry, Mrs...," he trailed off, but she didn't bother to fill in the blank for him, instead just raising her eyebrows and tapping her sandaled foot expectantly.

"Uh, anyway, it won't happen again," Ian finished awkwardly. "Right, Mick?"

"Are you kidding me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, incredulous.

"I expect a direct apology from your husband," the woman demanded at the same time.

Ian raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gave Mickey a little shake when the other man didn't speak up.

"Come on, Mick, just do it," Ian muttered.

After a tense moment, Mickey did.

"Fucking fine," he hissed at Ian, ignoring their neighbor's sharp intake of breath at the curse. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?," he directed at her, before pulling out of Ian's hold to face him.

"You happy now?" he asked, before turning and stomping off to go inside.

The effect was dampened by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, leaving behind wet marks on the concrete. Ian and the woman watched him go with drastically different expressions: one with disgust, and one with concern.

"I do hope you'll keep your man in line better in the future," the woman groused at Ian, but he wasn't really listening.

"Yeah, sure," he answered absently. "Excuse me, I just gotta..."

And then he was scooping up the towel and shoes Mickey had left behind, and hurrying after his husband.

---

"Mickey?" Ian called out hesitantly as he entered their apartment. Other than a couple of damp patches on the floor, there was no sign of Mickey anywhere.

Then Ian heard the shower start, and set Mickey's things down next the door to follow the sound.

Mickey's wet trunks were pooled on the cold tile floor, the shower curtain pulled tight from wall to wall. The splash of water bouncing from flesh to the acrylic tub echoed through the room.

"Mickey?" Ian asked softly, taking a step past the open door. "Mick, you in here?"

He heard a snort over the sound of the water, the curtain moving as Mickey's arm jostled it from inside.

"No, it's your other husband, Sherlock," Mickey answered, an odd tone in his voice. "You know, the one you listen to before you take some random bitch's side."

Ian winced. Okay, Mickey was mad, then.

Moving further into the room, Ian closed the lid of the toilet and turned to sit on it, elbows on knees.

"Sorry," he offered briefly. "But she had a point Mick, there are kids here--"

The water stopped abruptly, and the curtain pulled back to reveal Mickey’s face.  His hair flopped wetly over his forehead, water still sluicing down the middle of his face, and he scowled as he brushed it away with the back of a dripping hand.

“Kid, huh?” he questioned  “So I need to go get my fucking tattoos removed because some random kid might see ‘em?”

Ian blinked.

“Wait,” he said slowly, mind trying to figure out what he was missing.  “What?” then scoffed when Ian just watched him.

Mickey just scoffed.  

“You don’t even know what she was yellin’ about, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I didn’t say a damn word to her or that sniveling brat she brought with her,” he revealed.  “They took one fucking look at me, saw the words on my knuckles, and off she went on her little fucking tirade.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started, but Mickey wasn’t done.

“Don’t you act like it matters,” he growled.  “You care more about playing nice than payin’ attention, and don’t pretend that after all these years you don’t still assume I’m always the fuckin’ problem.”

Fuck.  Ian had really screwed this one up.

“Mickey,” he repeated, more firmly, standing and stepping closer to the shower.  Ian took the shower curtain in one hand and tugged it further to the side.  Mickey shivered in the influx of cool air, looking more like a disgruntled cat mid-bath than an angry man.

“Mickey,” Ian said again, softer, and stepped over the lip of the tub so that nothing was between them.  He took Mickey into his arms, his husband putting up a token resistance before settling against him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered into his wet hair, ignoring the patches of water soaking through his clothes.  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mickey hummed into his chest, not looking up.  “You kind of did, though,” he mutters.  “Every time somebody’s got a problem with me, you act like it’s my fault.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Yeah,” Ian finally agreed, stroking a hand down Mickey’s bare back.  “Yeah, I need to work on that.”

He pulled back, made Mickey meet his eyes.  Mickey was no longer glaring, and his eyes were dry, but there was still something off about the way he met Ian’s gaze.

“You know I don’t really think that, though, right?” Ian asked, disheartened when Mickey didn’t offer a response.

“I don’t, Mickey,” he said earnestly.  “I love you, and you’ve been trying so hard--”

“Shouldn’t fuckin’ have to try,” Mickey murmured, and oh.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Ian rephrased.  “And I’m sorry I’m always making you feel like you do, too.”

Mickey moved back farther, and Ian’s arms dropped loosely back to his sides.  His fingers itched to reach out again, but he got the feeling Mickey needed some space.

“Okay,” Mickey said.  “Get outa here so I can finish.”

Ina obeyed, stepping out of the tub and moving toward the door, but he turned back before he left the room.

“When you’re done, come into the bedroom, alright?” he asked quietly.  “I’ve got an idea to get back at that asshole woman.”

“Apology or not,” Mickey said wryly, “I don’t think I’m on the mood to fuck you right now, Ian.”

Ian just smirked. 

“Not what I had in mind,” he said.  “Now hurry it up, I think you’re gonna like my plan.”

---

About twenty minutes later, after the shower had started and stopped again and Mickey had had a moment to gather himself and get dressed, Mickey walked into the bedroom and stopped still.

Ian was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, but that wasn’t what had Mickey startled.  No, it was the fact that right in front of him was a huge stereo with old school speakers, the ones that used to be downstairs in the communal lounge area, with Ian’s phone sitting right on top.

“What’s all this?” Mickey asked, and Ian grinned.

“So she doesn’t like profanity, huh?” he said.  “Well I found a favorite new song.”

Mickey started to grin himself as he caught on to the plan.  Ian stood and pushed one of the speakers a little closer to the vents in their floor, angling it so the sound would bounce right down into the apartment below.  Then he tapped a few things on his phone, cranked the volume, and let harsh base and more expletives than Mickey had ever heard in a piece of music fill the room.

Mickey laughed.  Ian held out a hand, like he was asking for a dance, and turned the music up even louder.

Shaking his head at his husband’s antics, Mickey took the proffered hand, and let Ian spin him to the sound of their bitchy neighbor losing her mind below them.

[huhwhatyak]

headcanon that banri did ballet as a kid

both the settsu siblings did ballet. his sister started first, and banri soon enrolled after his mum read on some online forum that "ballet classes can teach your problem child some discipline"

the studio they went to was pretty small and they didn't have classes for boys, so banri had to join in his sister's classes instead

he initially hated it there because his sister and her friends would laugh at him whenever he couldn't do the techniques correctly

but he got better at it really quickly though. mostly out of spite, but also because he's banri settsu and his life is on super ultra easy mode

but life being on suem left him getting bored of it after a year or two. he wanted to quit, but his parents insisted on him continuing

after years of constant whining and incompliance, he finally got his wish. the final straw was when he ran away from home so his parents finally gave in to him

many years down the road when he picked up delinquent fighting in high school, he's secretly thankful for his parents signing him up for ballet classes because that gave him the flexibility and leg strength needed to KO opponents with a swift kick to the head. because no one ever expects a boot to the face when you're a six foot tall guy.

it helped a lot in stage fighting too.

ballet has trained his core to be strong so that he doesn't lose balance when he does jumping and spinning kicks, but he's noticed that the akigumi guys have trouble keeping their balance after doing such complex moves

he tried teaching them the 'spotting' trick where you fix your gaze on one location and flick your head to refocus on that same location. and every time he does it, his ponytail whips around too

juza thinks it's unnecessarily dramatic but who's the one stumbling after a turn HUH, HYODO??

and now that banri's met zen, the akigumi leaders now have something else in common to talk about that isn't related to acting since they both have ballet backgrounds

bonus: when banri was like 8 he tried doing a pirouette on his sister's pointe shoes despite having never stood on pointe before, and he fell face flat on the floor. that's how he lost one of his front baby teeth but no one except his parents and sister know about this story

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part II

[ previous ] 

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 10.2k

Warnings: specific character attributes (not appearance, mentioned favorite color, movie, etc.), oral, rough sex, multiple orgasms, Erwin is kind of annoying, semi-exhibitionism, too much testosterone  A/N: And, here we go again. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part and told me about it. This one’s for y’all~

Mike immediately notices when you start to avoid him. You had already been doing it, but now it's to the point of ducking into buildings you have no business being in and walking a little too briskly when you catch sight of him somewhere on campus. You also won't get anywhere near the Pi Kappa Alpha house.

 And, he gets it. He fucked up that night. Or, he didn't fuck up, but he opened up. Too much. Showed that he was willing to be vulnerable, and you obviously had not liked that. 

 The first week of watching you duck and cover from afar isn't so bad. He's a little bummed, yeah, but he figures you'll come around, if not for him then at least for his dick. 

 But, one week turns to two, and Mike gets irritated, a little angry even. Because it's not like he did anything wrong. It's not like you haven't wanted it every time. 

 He doesn't know your class schedule exactly, but he does know when you get out of your 11 AM and have to cross the courtyard to your dorm. It's where Mike caught you last time when he was playing frisbee with Nile, and it's where he catches you now. 

 Your speed walking is no match for his normal stride, and he easily closes the distance between you two and grabs your wrist to tug you toward a more private area by the library. 

 "What the fu—what are you doing?" You spit, pulling yourself free. 

 "What are you doing?"

 "Trying to get to my fucking room to nap! Is that okay?" 

 Mike ignores it, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then asks, "Why are you avoiding me?" 

 Scoffing, you mumble an unconvincing, "I haven't been avoiding you."

 "Bullshit."

 "I've just been busy, okay? Midterms are coming up, and I'm falling behind…" He can tell you're lying by the way you can't meet his eyes. "I need to focus."

 "Am I that big of a distraction?" 

 You don't miss a beat—"Yes," and your eyes widen at your own answer like you're surprised by it. 

 Mike raises his eyebrows, taken off guard, and you try to cover your tracks. "I mean, like, I don't have time to be fucking frat boys. And, I know you have the pick of the litter, so it's not like you'll go without." 

 He has to bite his tongue, a confession right on the tip of it—I pick you—but knows that's the last thing you want to hear. It's too early for thoughts like that anyway. You're too closed off, and he's too transparent. It's not like anything serious could work out anyway, and even if it could, he shouldn't tie himself down. 

 "I mean, yeah, but—"

 You hold a hand up, take a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest with you. You seem like an okay guy, but you should find some other girl to do this with. I don't wanna be another notch on your bedpost—"

 "Then, don't be. We can just hang out."

 "Yeah, we tried that at the party and still ended up sleeping together."

 "We can make it a rule then." He's trying too hard, he knows, but he can't help it. "No fucking. I won't come onto you, and you won't come onto me."

 You snort and pick at the hem of your shirt, obviously not buying any of this. "Why do you wanna be friends so bad anyway? Is it the hard-to-get thing? Is it that I'm making it difficult?"

 "Maybe but not entirely."

 Why does he want to be your friend so badly? You haven't given him any real reason to. You can bond over nerd shit here and there, but other than that, you don't have a lot in common. 

 You just seem… Cool. Aloof. Like you don't give a shit about anyone or anything, and Mike never thought he'd find that attractive in a girl, but apparently he does. 

 "Just come over one more time. We can watch something again or—"

 "I'm not going into your room again!"

 "You don't have to," Mike says, speaking with his hands to emphasize his point. "We can stay in the living room. Totally public. Any of the guys could walk in."

 "Has that ever stopped any of you before?"

 Not a hundred percent of the time. Mike has definitely seen more of Erwin and Gelgar than he'd like, but he can tell a little white lie.

 "Yes." 

 You stare up at him, a skeptical look on your face, and then, "I'll see if I can pencil you in." 

 "Fuck yeah, I promise I'll show you a good time without, like, showing you a good time." 

 "Yeah, whatever." 

 You're unimpressed, turn to walk away, but Mike is feeling a little too triumphant, a little too bold, and catches you before you can get too far. 

 He premises, "Just to get it out of my system," then bends down and kisses you. Palms covering your cheeks, fingers curling around the back of your head kisses you. He uses both of his thumbs, just under your mouth, to part your lips so that he can slide his tongue past them, and you push at his chest half-heartedly, no real force to it as you let him lick into your mouth. 

 The first whimper that escapes you is what makes you break away, your hands stronger against him to shove him back, and Mike smirks when you glare at him. 

 "You're on thin fucking ice, Zacharias. Thin ice."

 "I'll keep it in mind."

 With that, you leave the little alcove the two of you were in, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Mike just watches the sway of your hips and licks his lips. 

 *

 You come over on a Saturday afternoon. Mike can tell you've tried to make yourself look not cute in loose, ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't work. Mike still smiles, and you still roll your eyes at him before kicking your shoes off by the door. 

 "Okay, so what are we doing?" You ask, sitting two cushions away from him on the couch. 

 "I brought my Switch in here, so we have that…"

 "Oh, do you have the SNES games downloaded?" 

 "Dumb question. Of course I do."

 "Rude. Open that shit up."

 He does, and you demand to play Donkey Kong, which Mike has no problem with, but, "A please would be nice."

 You click your tongue, holding your hand out for the second tiny controller and tell him, "You don't get to hear me beg anymore."

 Mike feels his shorts tighten, but all he does is kick a foot over his thigh and warn you, "Best not test my self-control like that."

 "Is that a threat?" You laugh, toggling down to 'Two Player' on the screen and clicking it. 

 "Not a threat." He bobs his head to the theme music. "Just lettin’ you know."

 You get as far as Mine Cart Carnage together, but Mike ends up getting tossed from the cart, leaving you to take over as Diddy. He watches the way you move with your character, sitting up straighter, raising the controller to your chest, swaying one way then the next as if your body is tied directly to the game. 

 Erwin walks in a little while later when you're focused on Stop & Go Station. He sits down in a plush chair, phone in his hand that he ignores in favor of asking, "What are you guys doing out here? Shouldn't you be in Mike's room?"

 Mike glances at him, gives him a look and shakes his head, but you're much less subtle when you snap, "Can it, Smith," eyes never leaving the screen. 

 "Don't count on that," Mike snorts. "I think it’s physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut for longer than four seconds." 

 "Wooow," Erwin drawls, thick eyebrows high in offense. "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, and now you're just talking shit right in front of me."

 "For some reason, I get the feeling your ego can't get bruised that easily," you muse out loud. 

 "I'll have you know I can be very sensitive," Erwin informs you matter-of-factly. "I have a heart. I have feelings. And, I've been told on multiple occasions that I'm more considerate than most men, so there."

 You laugh, a silly sound that gets stuck in your throat. "Oh, really? And how many of those women—'cause that's what they are, I'm sure—were left behind after they built you up like that, hm?"

 Biting both of his lips, Erwin sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I plead the fifth on that one."

 "Uh huh, that's what I thought."

 While you're fixated on the screen, Mike glances over at his friend, sees blue eyes shining as Erwin stares at you, a tell-tale smirk on his face. He's amused by you. Interested, even. 

 You stay for about an hour longer before going back to the dorms. As soon as the front door shuts, Mike swivels around and points a finger at Erwin, uttering a low, "Don't you dare," that makes the blond chuckle. 

 "Wouldn't dream of it."

 *

 You mostly hang out on weekends and only in small bursts. Alternating between movies and video games, it's a little hard to speak to one another, but Mike is still able to pry some information out of you and share more about himself. 

 You're majoring in geological and earth sciences while Mike is working toward a degree in environmental science— "Kinda weird we haven't run into each other before." 

 You played basketball for a year in high school before getting annoyed by the other girls. Mike, on the other hand, made some of his best friends on his old soccer team. 

 You had a ferret growing up and now you'll "Never get another pet again 'cause when he died, I died a little with him." (It's the first time Mike has ever seen tears in your eyes, but you blink them away at record speed). He tells you about the dogs his family has had and how the one at home with his parents now is actually his. (Her name's Scout, and I would take a bullet for her.") 

 Hitch is your best friend even though she irritates the shit out of you, and Mike says something similar about Erwin. "He's a good guy. He's just… Passionate about so many things. He gets obsessive. Drives me insane."

 "Obsessed with that pussyyy," you joke in a deep, stupid voice. 

 Mike snorts, "Perv," and keeps watching the movie that's playing. 

 And, speaking of movies, your favorite Disney film is The Fox and The Hound— "Good taste," while his is Lion King— "Classic." As far as other movies, though, the two of you spend half an hour arguing over which Mel Brooks is the best, end up having to agree to disagree (Young Frankenstein vs. High Anxiety).

 Your favorite color is green. Your favorite food is pizza (“What are you, twelve?”). Your favorite animal is the pangolin. They’re all little facts that Mike stores away, and by the end of the semester, he actually feels like he kind of knows you, and somehow, against all odds, you've managed to not hookup through it all. 

 That's not to say it hasn't been hard (that he hasn't been hard). Sometimes you come over in skin tight jeans or crop tops, outfits that accentuate your body in all the right ways, and Mike is pretty sure that you do it on purpose. 

 You're both careful not to drink too much at parties, aware of the likely consequences, but you hang around him enough to gain people's attention—jealous girls watching in disappointment, curious guys sizing you up. 

 Questions inevitably arise. You complain about Hitch pestering you for details that you will not give her, and he tells you how he has to keep brushing off his brothers. 

 "She doesn't, like, know we've had sex—would never fucking leave me alone if she did. But she and all her other little friends are so annoying about it."

 You're on the steps outside of the frat house, jackets zipped up, nursing steaming cups of cocoa you got from the nearby shop. 

 "So, what do you tell them?" Mike asks. 

 You shrug your shoulders. "That we're not fucking. Just friends. They don't believe me, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it, dammit."

 Mike laughs through his nose and takes another drink. "I mean, it's not a lie since we're not fucking and we are friends."

 You make a high pitched noise, doubtful, challenging. "Friends is a strong word."

 "Whatever." 

 He's used to you doing that now, denying him every chance you get even in a joking way. You've never once admitted to any type of feelings out loud, and he isn't sure why, some kind of avoidance behavior, but he won't complain because he knows you're at least a little fond of him. You wouldn't keep spending time with him if you weren't. 

 Deciding to change the subject, Mike prompts, "So, Erwin's party over the break," and you glance at him over your cup with interest. "You're coming, right?" 

 "I don't know. Isn't it at, like, his ranch house in bum fuck nowhere?" 

 "Kinda. It's only about a two hour drive from here, but it's definitely off the beaten path."

 "I'll have to see. Need to spend time with my mom while I can." 

 Understandable. He's looking forward to seeing his own parents (and Scout, of course). 

 The last game of the season is played and won, then finals pass after too many all-nighters and too much Red Bull. Mike actually sighs in relief when he slides into his white Wrangler, all packed up and ready to make the drive back to his house. 

 He sends one text before pulling out onto the main road—Be safe—and hopes he won't have to wait an entire month to see you again. 

*

 Staying with your mom is nice but always slightly depressing. The house is empty with just her in it, less lived in than ever before. You can tell exactly which spots she spends most of her time in—her office to work and the couch in front of the TV to wind down. 

 You sleep in your old bedroom, spend most evenings texting Hitch after your mom goes to bed, but a few conversations with Mike slip in too. He sends you several pictures of Scout—beautiful but always wearing one of those perpetual Boxer frowns—and in return, you send him pictures of the pretty betta your mother has in her office. It's the best you can do. 

 After a week of being in your hometown, you're ready to leave it again. It's not terrible or in a bad part of town. It's just… lacking. You'd never tell your mother this, but you have a feeling she knows. It's probably why she doesn't put up a fight when you tell her you're gonna run off for a couple days to attend Erwin's party. 

 "I promise I'll be back. It's just one night and then the drive back."

 Her tone is very serious when she tells you to stay out of trouble, but then she walks you out to your car and hugs you, watching and waving as you drive away. 

 You text Erwin on the way there to ask if it's okay to arrive early—like a few hours early cause I needed to get out of my house—and he replies enthusiastically.

 Absolutely! Mike and Levi are already here 😃

 You have no idea who this Levi is outside of hearing Erwin mention him a few times, but you very quickly find out when you get to the large but secluded house. You see Erwin's stupid (gorgeous) vintage Mustang parked in the gravel driveway as well as Mike's white Jeep and an unfamiliar, black Prius. 

 All three of them are on the porch occupying outdoor chairs that probably cost more than your fucking dorm expenses, but Mike and Erwin both stand when you make your way up the sidewalk. Staying seated, or really sprawled out with his hands behind his head, is a fairly small man (boy, maybe) with inky hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s dressed much differently than the other two, ripped jeans, Doc Martens, and a striped long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved band tee. 

 “What in the e-boy fuck…” You mutter to yourself, nodding at the blonds and letting Mike take your backpack—not that you really have a choice considering your grip on it is no match for his. 

 “Was the drive okay?” He asks, swinging the bag over his shoulder and making it look incredibly small. 

 “Yeah. Once I hit the backroads I could start going, like, eighty-five, so that shaved some time off.”

 Mike snorts. “You sound like Erwin. Dude’s always speeding.”

 “Don’t fucking start with me. I was in the car with you when you almost hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk.”

 “We don’t talk about that.”

 Everyone follows Erwin inside the house. It’s just as nice as you thought it’d be, sprawling and open with wood floors, plush furniture, and rustic decorations. There are moose antlers mounted in one room and a god damned bear head in another. It makes you roll your eyes, but to say you’re unimpressed would be a flat out lie. 

 “Not everyone is staying the night, but I know you have to, so just pick an upstairs room,” Erwin tells you after the grand tour. “I can take you around on the golf cart once you settle in.”

 You see Mike roll his green eyes and amend, “We can take you around.” 

 “Yeah,” Erwin nods. “That’s what I meant.”

 Levi is making a face up at Erwin, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a little grimace. He hasn’t said more than two words to you since you’ve arrived (“I’m Levi.”), but he doesn’t seem like the chatterbox type, a little more standoffish, and you can’t blame him for that. 

 “Just in case you’re wondering, I’m in the middle room,” Mike tells you with a grin.

 “And why, pray tell, would I be wondering that?”

 He basically sings in his deep voice, “No reason,” then walks back downstairs with Erwin and Levi, leaving you to make yourself comfortable. 

 You take the bedroom at the far end of the hallway out of spite more than anything, but you figure the farther away you can be from Mike the better. After setting your things down and organizing deodorant, perfume, and every day jewelry on the dresser, you join the guys downstairs to find them huddling over the kitchen island talking about plans for the night. 

 “Should we get a keg? It won’t be that many people, but it might be easier to just pour from one,” Erwin thinks out loud. 

 “Don’t bother getting a keg if it’s gonna be the same shitty beer you guys have at Pike parties,” you chime in, hip checking Mike so that he’ll scoot over and allow you join their little meeting. 

 Levi lets out a little laugh, the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, while the other two pout at your criticism. 

 “Why don’t you pick the beer then?” Erwin prompts. “Since you have such refined tastes.” 

 Eyebrows lifting, you laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a smartass in the house tonight.” The blond smirks and dusts off his shoulders, making Mike groan in either annoyance or embarrassment. You can’t be sure which one. 

 “Fuck, is this what it’s always like between you three?” Levi asks, looking between all of you. “Just constant bickering?”

 “More or less.”

 “That seems exhausting.”

 “It is,” you confirm. “‘S’why I can only hang out with them in small doses.”

 “Ouch.”

 “Wounded.”

 “Anyway,” you let your head hang so that all they can see is your shoulders shaking as you giggle, and when you look back up, you make sure that the smile is mostly wiped from your face. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of beer expert, but I at least know that the shit you serve at parties is rancid.”

 “And yet, you always seem to forget,” Mike teases. “I always end up having to finish yours.”

 “You don’t have to. You choose to, you fucking alkie.”

 It’s hard to come to any sort of decision with the non-stop push and pull of the conversation, and eventually Levi just walks away to let the three of you work it out. Erwin orders a keg of Rolling Rock, says something about, “Dad won’t mind me splurging a little since I downsized this whole thing for him,” and you scoff at him. 

 He’s well aware of his privilege, talks about it in an ironic manner that’s both maddening and hilarious— “Father is going to let me take the yacht out this weekend,” and, “Oh, that’s not country club appropriate.” It makes you laugh every fucking time, but it also usually earns him a smack or two. 

 The next few hours are spent gathering party supplies and getting the house ready (as in moving some furniture around and hiding valuables). Erwin leaves to pick up the keg after assuring the vendor on the phone that he can drive to them and pay extra for the short notice. You don’t know how he manages it, but you assume his confidence has a lot to do with it.

 Only about twenty people are supposed to come, “An Erwin Smith exclusive,” Mike jokes with you as you stash a couple of vases in the kitchen cabinets. 

 “Oh, does that mean I’m special?” You play.

 “Absolutely.”

 There’s something churning in your gut as you move around downstairs with Mike and Levi, an omniscient feeling, like you know how the night will end, but you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You’ve made it this long without a slip-up, and you’re determined to make it one more night. 

 Erwin gets back with about three hours to spare. He and Mike disappear to change into what you assume to be their usual douche-y attire, and you and Levi sit alone in the large living room waiting quietly. 

 You’re surprised when he speaks first, stating, “You don’t seem the sorority type.”

 Turning, you try to make sense of it, respond, “Well, I’m not.” You’re almost offended that he’d even consider you were.

 “Then what are you doing hanging around with those frat boy fucks?”

 “Oh, that.” You sigh. “Uhh, my friend made me go to one of their parties, and I just… Made an impression, I guess.”

 “You fucked one of ‘em, didn’t you?” Levi is smirking, so sure of himself that you don’t really see the point in denying it.

 “Yeah.”

 “Rich boy or the giant?”

 You look over at him, defenses rising like they did your first night in the Pi Kappa Alpha house. “The fuck is it to you?”

 Holding his hands up, Levi chuckles, “Alright, alright, forget I asked.”

 You cross your arms over your chest, stare off as you wonder if it’s actually that hard to tell. You figured it would be obvious that you’re more comfortable with Mike than with Erwin, but you have been getting more used to the other brazen blond over the last few months, just like you’ve been getting a little more used to Nile and all the other brothers. You haven’t sucked any of their dicks, though. 

 “How’d you meet Erwin?” You try.

 You’re not surprised when Levi snarks, “The fuck is it to you?” 

 You can’t tell if the two of you are going to leave this ranch house as mortal enemies or as friends, but it’ll definitely be one of them. 

 “‘Cause you don’t seem the type to hang out with them either,” you tell him.

 It's definitely odd. He and Erwin have to go back some time to have been able to stick together through their college years and all of their superficial differences. 

 Levi admires the black polish on his nails then informs you in a bored tone, “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but it’s no big deal. Just can’t get rid of him.”

 The corner of his mouth turns upward, so he can’t be too heartbroken over it. You understand that, haven’t quite been able to shake your puppy-dog of a friend since the beginning of the semester, but you’re not as annoyed about it as you pretend to be. 

 “They certainly do get attached,” you hum.

 The two men in question join you once again, looking much more palatable in jeans and v-necks. Erwin has a button-down hanging open and rolled up to his elbows while Mike is wearing a black and white flannel in similar fashion. It’s the most casual they’ve been at a party, and you can’t help but joke, “Wow, look at you two. More human, less lizard people for once.”

 Erwin rolls his eyes while Mike mumbles a Doctor Who reference that makes you suck on the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. 

 He’s got his charm turned on tonight, the kind that appeals to you, which will definitely pose a problem.

 People start arriving at around eight, some you recognize from the college, some you don’t who you assume to be some of Erwin’s older friends. Gelgar taps the keg within minutes of walking in then plays the role of bartender for the next ten minutes as everyone lines up for a drink. There’s liquor and mixers set up on the counter, and you consider just making your usual, but you figure you should have at least a little of the beer since you’re the one who fought for the more expensive brand. 

 When you get your cup, foam nearly overflowing past the rim, you take one sip only to cough it back up when Mike shows off his usual party trick—appearing out of thin air—and asks, “You gonna finish it this time?”

 You splutter as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand then glare up at him. “I’m gonna try, but it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult if you keep making me spit up like a god damn baby.”

 He’s amused, light eyes dancing mischievously, and you know you’re in for a long night. 

 Erwin has a playlist filtering through the house’s sound system, a nice balance of several different genres playing at a bearable volume for the first time. Games start up in the kitchen, rage cage around the island, beer pong at the table, and while you’re content to just wallflower in the corner, Mike drags you into it. 

 “You’re just as bad as Hitch," you complain, but he isn't fazed, just plants you in an open spot at the island and stands right beside you. He's gonna regret doing that; rage cage is one of the only competitive games you're actually good at, but he'll find that out. 

 It's fast-paced, full of screaming and laughing, jumping and shoving. You get to slam your cup into Mike's on several occasions, drawing curses from him every time. 

 "Honestly, it's a little embarrassing," you ridicule with a smile. 

 He downs the small amount of beer in the cup he pulls, adds it to the stack, then challenges, "I'll show you embarrassing. Just wait." 

 You've had maybe two beers altogether, but it still sends a jolt down your spine. 

 The two of you play another couple of rounds, and Mike does seem to catch on a little more, but he eventually bows out and pulls you away with him. 

 More beer. Meandering around the party. It's pretty tame in comparison to all the Pike events you've attended, but the later it gets, the rowdier everyone becomes. Music gets turned up to dance. The keg stops being used for pouring and starts being used for stands. You have the absolute pleasure of watching Erwin hold Levi upside down as the smaller man chugs as much as he can. He beats Nile's record, raises his arms in victory as Erwin shakes him by the shoulders in excitement. 

 "They're pretty close, yeah?" 

 Mike looks down at you as you stand on your tip-toes to get closer to his ear as you speak. 

 He nods. "I don't really understand them, but yeah. They've been friends since, like, elementary school, I think."

 "No shit?"

 "No shit."

 You play beer pong against Gelgar and Nile, end up losing by quite a lot, and by the time you finish the remaining cups and another full drink, you're feeling good. Warm, happy, dangerously giggly. 

 Mike stands too close as you make your rounds to talk to people, many of them asking how the lacrosse season went. He puffs his chest a little, tries and fails to act modest, but instead of getting irritated like you usually do, you find yourself resting your cheek against his arm as you shake your head. You don't know if the action is to disagree with him or to get closer, but it makes Mike chuckle and shift so that he can wrap that arm around you and pull you to his chest instead. 

 He smells nice—woodsy with a sweet little bite. It makes your mouth water. You try to call back your determination from before, that readiness to fight and deny, but Mike's body is firm and massive and hot against yours, and he's also drunk and smiling sideways. His eyes are hazy and gorgeous when he peers down at you. His stubble has grown into that perfect length, the kind that feels incredible between your legs, and you can already see your hands tugging at his shaggy hair as he flips it from his face. 

 "You okay?" He rumbles, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

 He knows. You know he knows. And, he knows that you know that— 

 Fuck. Stop. Just…

 "What do you think?" You're aware of what you're saying. The words make perfect sense. You just can't stop them from falling from your mouth is all. 

 "I don't know," Mike says, a playful lilt to his voice. "Why don't you tell me?" 

 You're not sure if he's asking for your consent or if he just wants to humiliate you by making you spell it out for him. 

 "I mean…" Your gaze travels from his face to his neck to his pecs and downward. "The semester is over."

 "It is," he agrees, hand moving from your waist to your hip. 

 "Don't really need to be, uh… What's the word…" You squeeze your eyes shut, splaying your fingers on his stomach. "Studious," you snap. "Don't need to be so studious on vacation."

 Mike very slowly starts walking backwards toward the staircase, holding you at arms length by both your hips now. 

 "No, you really don't." 

 Voice of reason fading away, you step around him but grab his hand, taking the stairs two by two until you're on the balcony that wraps above the living room. Once you slip into the closer room, yours, you lock the door. 

 Mike's mouth is familiar in its desperation—tastes like beer and want and him. He pulls his flannel off behind him by the sleeves just in time for you to start pushing his shirt up over his abs, in awe all over again at the muscle group. 

 It's really not fair. 

 You pause between kisses to strip, smiling and groaning whenever your lips meet again. You've missed it on some level—the heat, the fucking attraction you just can't shake. All the times you hung out with him, purposely keeping distance, avoiding flirting and touching and staring—you figured it would come to a head. You even guessed there was a good chance that it would be at this party. 

 But, that doesn't mean you're prepared when he throws you onto the bed, doesn't prepare you for the way he bites your lip and sucks on your neck and pinches your nipples until you moan his name and grind against him, and it certainly doesn't prepare you for the way he spreads your legs, runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, then drags his tongue over your slit. 

 "Fuck, Mike." 

 He groans, quick to slide the muscle into your pulsing cunt to taste you. His fingertips are digging into the fat of your thighs, keeping you still save for your trembling which makes the feeling of his mouth even more intense. You want to buck against his face, want to put out the fire raging inside of you by moving somehow, letting some of the energy out, but you can't. All you can do is lay there as Mike licks around your hole and nibbles at your clit and laps up your juices. 

 "Missed this fuckin' pussy," he breathes, sucking on one of your lips and then the other, pulling blood to the surface and making them puffy and sensitive. 

 You card fingers through his hair before fisting your hand in it and shoving his face further into your cunt, trying as hard as you fucking can to ride any part of him you can manage—his tongue, his nose, anything that will give you friction. 

 The sound he makes at your pathetic attempt is bestial, a low, throaty grunt as he rubs his chin up and down your slit, drenching himself in your slick and quickly overstimulating your swollen clit with his stubble. 

 "Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

 "You wanted it," he grits. "You pushed your sloppy little cunt right in my face, so now you've gotta take everything I give you." 

 You cry as he continues the motion, pussy drooling as the little bud starts to grow raw. "Mike, please, please…"

 "Gonna make sure you feel this tomorrow." He stops only to lean back down and suck your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue is soft in comparison to the coarse hair, but it still makes your hips twitch, and when he grazes his teeth over it, you squeal and kick. 

 It's so close to hurting, right on the edge, but it's that helplessness that has you steadily leaking on the bed. It's what makes it easy for Mike to push a finger into your clenching hole, pump a couple times, then slide another one in beside it. 

 Your climax is coiling in your gut, compressed like a spring and only getting tighter with every thrust of long, thick fingers and every measured flick of his tongue. 

 Gripping his hair again, you ride it out. Mike loosens his grip just enough to allow you to undulate in time with the waves that wash over you, and you moan loudly as he moves to flatten his tongue over your entrance so that you come on and against it. 

 He gives you some time to settle down, but you know he isn't done yet, and since you're not quite ready to take his cock in your sensitive pussy, you pull your legs from the sides of his head and crawl to lay with your head off the side of the bed. 

 Mike gets the picture immediately, and you hear a huff of air leave him all at once before he clambers off the mattress to position himself at the edge. You're a little too low, so he grabs all four pillows to shove under you, and as he does, you lavish his bobbing cock with kitten licks, going as far as sucking on his balls when he leans over you. 

 "Jesus fucking—" 

 You can feel the way they tighten, his cockhead dripping pre that lands just below the notch of your sternum. It isn't until he's thoroughly coated in spit that you stop and let him straighten, then open your mouth and relax your shoulders. 

 Mike is careful as he slides his tip past your lips, letting you adjust to the weight of his cock in your mouth before he pushes in a little further. Your eyes start watering as soon as he passes between your molars, making you stretch your jaw and drool from the corners of your mouth. 

 He pulls out then, taps his cockhead on your cheek, leaving a mix of precum and spit on your skin before lining himself up again and sliding back in. 

 He repeats the process a few times as if it'll actually get you used to his size, but it's just not possible. You gag and gurgle, slurp back drool when you're given the chance, and your entire body throbs when Mike tells you, "I'm gonna give you more now, okay? Wanna see your throat bulge with my cock."

 You moan around him, try to make the passage of your mouth and esophagus as straight as possible then let your eyes roll back as he slips into the tighter sleeve for a few seconds. Your toes dig into the bedspread, fingers clawing at the material as you fight back the panic that comes with not being able to breathe. 

 Mike pulls out panting, and you wish you could see his face, the look in his eyes, but you can't. All you can do is lap at his cock until he pushes it into your mouth again. 

 This time when he slips into your throat, he reaches down to press a hand to your neck, letting out a deep, disbelieving laugh as he feels the way his length moves in it. "Holy shit. I could—" he just barely gives you more, and your responding whine is completely muffled by him, "—Could come like this."

 The thought makes you tingle. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. You are feeling a little lightheaded. But the idea of him coming down your throat, right into your stomach, fuck, it makes your cunt pulse again. 

 Mike pulls out, and you suck in deep breaths, a little sob making your chest heave. Tears are streaming from your eyes, getting caught in your hair, and you have to wipe other various fluids from your face. 

 He helps you sit back up, rubs your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck as your heart rate returns to normal. As soon as he sees you relax, though, he's tugging you from the bed and bending you over it. 

 The scream that's pushed from you is hoarse as you're split open on his cock. Mike holds you by the hair, pulling your head back as he snaps his hips forward and back relentlessly. He slides in and out of you easily, but that doesn't mean he isn't stretching you to your breaking point. 

 You shake on the bed, thankful when he lets go of your head so that you can fall back to the mattress, crying and moaning all you want. 

 "Feel so good, baby," Mike groans. "So good."

 He punctuates it with a slap to your ass that causes you to squeeze him, and that only encourages him to repeat the action until both your cheeks are radiating heat and stinging from his hands. 

 He flips you like a doll, and you're finally able to see his face clearly as he stares down at you with a dropped jaw and heavy lids. You know you're a mess, fucked out and sloppy, but as he abuses your g-spot with the ridge of his cock, all you can do is grin drunkenly and let your eyes roll. 

 "So pretty when you smile," he praises. Fingers grip your chin, and when you're able to focus your gaze again you find Mike leaning over you, face level with yours. "Open your mouth for me." His tone is soft yet demanding, and you don't hesitate for a second as you do what you're told. 

 Mike pushes spit through his lips, letting it drip and stretch until it lands on your tongue. It makes you feel cheap and disgusting, but it doesn't stop you from squirting around him. 

 Devolving into nothing more than grunts and groans, Mike continues to fuck into you but straightens so that he can reach your clit better. He flicks it back and forth until your true orgasm hits you, and then he keeps going. 

 You cry out, squirm wildly beneath him, but all it results in is two fingers being shoved in your mouth. Stroking over the back of your tongue, more saliva pours from your mouth just like the slick that pours from your pussy while he toys with your clit. 

 You come again. And again. When Mike finally removes his hand from between your legs, you're nothing more than a puddle, moaning and crying for him. 

 Every orgasm has made your walls swell around him, his cock feeling longer and thicker than ever as he kisses your cervix with every thrust. That lightheaded sensation is back, white dots dancing around your eyes, and you just barely manage out his name, tapping in his forearm. 

 "Need… need…"

 "What do you need, babe?"

 Your arms curl up by your head, fingers moving and spasming as every one of your senses is overwhelmed.

  "Need you to—t-to—to come. Need you to c-come." 

 You've never had to tap out before, but you can't take him anymore. His size. His expression. His lack of fucking mercy.

 "Yeah?" He coos, but his cock is still dragging in and out of you. You nod, but Mike draws it out, asking, "Where do you want me to come?"

 "Don't… Care…"

 "You don't care?" He's still moving, fucking you absolutely stupid as he lists out, "Your face? Your tits?" He gropes your chest, pinching both nipples, and the fact that you don't even whimper must clue him into the fact that he's about to lose you. 

 Your mind is swimming, fading every time he pulls out only to be brought back online when he pushes back in. 

 "What about your pussy? Want me to come all over your pussy?" 

 You moan, the simplest part of your brain apparently finding that appealing, so after a few more thrusts, Mike pulls out entirely and jerks himself off until he covers your folds in hot cum. He gets some on your thighs, some on your pelvis, soaks your peaking clit so that you take in a stuttering breath. 

 His hand is between your legs again, fingertips spreading the viscous fluid around and dipping into your slit.

 Your eyes shoot open for the first time in God knows how long, a panicked, "M-Mike," tumbling from your lips, but he hushes you.

 "I'm not pushing it inside or anything. Just having fun."

 And, fuck, tonight is the night you learn how filthy he is. Mike spends a few solid minutes rubbing his seed over your puffy lips, fingers the raw tissue around your hole so that you leak for him, then uses it to massage your clit slowly and softly, pulling one last orgasm from you that makes fresh tears spring in your eyes. 

 You're going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you can't regret it—not when your legs continue to shake long after your climax, not when you can already feel that satisfying ache deep inside of you, not when Mike crawls to sit on the bed and lifts you into his arms. 

 "You okay?" He asks into your hair. 

 He's rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you drift in and out. You know you need to shower, but you're so tired and so wrecked, you doubt you'll be able to stand for long enough to clean yourself. 

 "Did I hurt you?" 

 "Mm, little bit," you tell him honestly. You can actually feel his heart start to beat harder in his chest, so you reassure him, "Liked it, though."

 You think something like twenty minutes pass, but you can't be sure as you keep dozing. It's hard not to with Mike rubbing your stomach, his body rising and falling in rhythm with every breath he takes. 

 When your eyes open more than halfway, you begin to move, grimacing at the soreness between your legs as well as the mess. 

 "'m gonna hop in the shower," you announce. 

 Mike sits up too, stretches his arms and asks through a groan, "Want me to come with?"

 "You've done enough coming tonight," you snort. "But nah, I can clean myself on my own."

 His eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything, just lets you get up and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs. 

 The hot water almost puts you back to sleep. You manage to rinse off where you need to, step back into the room fully expecting to see Mike passed out in your bed, but he's nowhere to be found. 

 As you crawl under the covers, you try to swallow the feeling of disappointment that's stuck in your throat. 

 *

Mike is up before almost everyone in the house the next morning, so he spends most of it trying to clean up alongside Levi, though he apparently isn't doing a very good job of it according to the smaller man. 

 "Jesus, have you ever mopped a floor in your life?" 

 "Oh, so we're just throwing everything in the same trash bag? No recycling? Your future kids will thank you for that, I'm sure."

 "No, there's no way I’m letting you wipe down the counters. Just move." 

 Levi is lucky Mike is as laid back as he is otherwise he would have thrown the little fuck into the koi pond behind the house a long time ago. 

 Erwin wakes up around nine and walks down looking a little rough, but Mike has definitely seen him in worse states. 

 "Thanks for cleaning up," he says, bent over the island and holding his head in his hands. "Pretty sure I would have thrown up if I'd tried. Several times."

 He tells the other two that pretty much everyone else started heading out at around three and that he has a list of party-goers he needs to text to make sure they made it home in one piece, "When I can actually fucking see straight."

 Naturally, the conversation turns to Mike. Erwin, with his cheek now pressed against the cool, granite countertop, smirks up at him and asks in a sly voice, "So, how was your night?' 

 Mike bites his lip to hide a smile, leans out of the kitchen to make sure you aren't stumbling down the stairs or traipsing about the house, then looks back to his friend and laughs, "Fucking mind-blowing, dude." He doesn't go into explicit detail—that's never been his style—but he does whisper about you taking him better than any other girl and that he's, "Addicted, dude. I genuinely think I am addicted to her pussy." 

 "Don't be fucking dramatic, Zacharias," you pop out behind him, slapping his back as you pass him to get to the fridge. He can see the ghost of a smile turning your lips up, but it's hard to feel satisfied at that when his own face is beet red. 

 Looking at Erwin, Mike throws his hands out by his side, mutters an incredulous, "Dude," that makes the other blond chuckle. 

 You grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, making Levi grumble, "Are none of you guys concerned about the planet? God damn."

 Standing between Mike and Erwin, you take a few gulps, all eyes on you until you swallow and question, "Can I help you?" Now that you're right next to him, Mike can hear a scratchiness to your voice, almost as if you're getting sick, but he knows better, knows exactly where it came from, and fuck if it doesn't make him twitch in his sweats. 

 "Have a good time at the party?" Erwin pries once again. 

 You look at him with a deadpan expression, then answer, "Seems like you already got the deets, so sure. I had a grand time."

 Mike isn't sure if you're being sarcastic about it just like you are everything else. You had just kind of left him hanging when you'd gone to shower. He hadn't thought too much into it even if he'd been a little bummed, but he thinks he understands. You just need more space than he does. 

 Or, it could have been that you hadn't enjoyed yourself. Oh god, what if you'd just been faking? What if you'd lied to him when he asked if he hurt you? What if you're in pain right now and just hiding it? 

 Mike zones out while you talk with Erwin and Levi about plans for the day, works himself into a nice little panic but is still able to hear you tell them you're just gonna head back to your mom's. 

 "You sure?" Erwin asks. "I know you only planned to stay one night, but you're more than welcome to hang out for longer. We’ll be here for at least another few days."

 Levi adds an, "Unfortunately," that earns him a hair ruffle he swats away. 

 "No, it's cool. I can't leave mom alone for the holiday or she'll start to think I don't like staying at the house."

 "You don't, though."

 "Yeah, but she doesn't have to know that."

 Mike stares after you as you take your water bottle and return upstairs, and it doesn't escape the notice of the other two men. 

 "You're so fuckin' whipped, man," Erwin teases. 

 Mike doesn't deny it, just holds up a middle finger. 

 Erwin isn't entirely wrong, though. Mike has been trying to deny it or play it off as nothing more than lust, but there's more to his feelings at this point. He tries not to be obvious around you, to keep his cards close to his chest because he knows you just want to keep things casual—barely even want that if he's being honest. 

 So he can hide it. He can pretend it isn't happening. In fact, Mike should be thankful that you only want sex (sometimes) because it leaves him to do whatever he wants. He could fuck other chicks left and right, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. That's a good thing, right? 

 That worry about last night still has him on edge, though, so before you can leave, Mike catches you in your room as you're packing up and closes the door. 

 He expects you to make some kind of comment about not being able to go again, but all you do is tilt your head to the side in a dangerously cute way. 

 "Hey, I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you felt okay after last night." 

 You blink at him, pause in folding your clothes, then show a wide, real grin. 

 "Yeah, I'm fine. Sore in various places—like, super sore—but I'm fine."

 Mike's mouth twists to hide his smirk, and he mumbles a low, "Sorry."

 "Don't ever apologize for your monster cock," you tell him, setting your shirt down on the mattress before pacing over to him. "Like, unless there's tearing of some sort, which there really shouldn't be since you're good at preparation, whoever you fuck should be okay. Sore but okay."

 His eyes go a little wide when you stop in front of him, looking up with an expression he's really never seen before—or maybe that you've never allowed him to see before—and the longer he stares, the more he realizes that you're god damn glowing. 

 Taking a chance, he finds your waist with his hands, inches just a little closer, then leans down when you stand on your toes and tug him by the shirt. 

 You taste like peppermint and already smell like the perfume you wear every day, the scent that has made Mike dizzy for the past few months. He moves a hand to your back to press your body into his, and when you take his bottom lip into your mouth, biting and sucking, he groans and pulls back before he can get too hard. 

 "What's all this? Why are you so perky this morning?" 

 "I get giddy after good sex," you say with a shrug. "Sue me."

 "That why you run away every time I fuck you?" He questions.

 You nod. "Couldn't run away this time, though."

 "I'm sure it's really bruising your pride, letting me see you all warm and gooey." 

 "I am not warm and gooey," you protest. "I was last night, but—"

 "Aw, gross, why'd you have to say it like that?" 

 You giggle—giggle—then remind him, "You're the one who felt the need to fucking fingerpaint."

 Mike vividly remembers the way your pussy looked covered in his cum, the way it felt to smear it and play with your swollen entrance and clit, and now… Now he is definitely hard again. 

 "Better stop before you end up on that bed again."

 Your eyes are dancing, tone mischievous when you respond, "Only if you're gentle."

 "Christ—"

 He's got you naked and spread on the mattress in less than thirty seconds, tongue buried in your cunt as he soothes every part of you he can reach. 

 It would be cruel to actually fuck you again. He knows you're probably a little more tender than you're letting on, so Mike settles for licking into you and flicking your clit, never using teeth as it swells in his mouth so that you pant and moan, and promise, "I can handle it, Mike, I can…"

 "I don't care if you can or can't. Just lemme do this."

 And, it's not like he hasn't pulled his cock from his pants, pumping it and coating his length in the pre-cum he drips at the mere sight of you.

 He can tell you're getting close when your thighs start to tense. You alternate between shifting your hips and going slack. It's the latter that you leak the most, pussy opening around his tongue only to clench a few seconds later. 

 "Just one finger, Mike, please, I want—I need something inside me, please, please," you moan. 

 Mike turns his face to kiss your thigh, sighing but giving in easily when he acquiesces, "Only one."

 The noise you make as he slides his middle finger into you is like music, high pitched and drawn out, with an awe one would sing hymns with. 

 "Yes, yes, yes, thank you, fuck, tha—"

 He understands why you wanted it so badly when he pulls it out and sees his finger coated in white, considers fucking you with it to the point of tears, but before he can, the door to the bedroom swings open and fucking Erwin walks in to ask, "Levi and I are going to the store—"

 “Jesus fuck, Erwin!" Mike swears. "A little busy here!"

 His friend is unfazed, but more importantly, you are too, arching your back, pulling Mike's hair to get him back where you want him, then moaning his name like you never have before as you come. 

 You tremble and take in stuttering breaths, and Mike does his best to hide your exposed pussy from prying eyes as he looks at Erwin and barks out a furious, "No, I don't need anything from the store. Get out."

 The blond shrugs and turns, walking out without shutting the door, and Mike swears he's gonna kill him. He's too bold and too entitled and now he's seen far too much of your body, and Mike doesn't like that. 

 "Did you come?" You ask in an airy voice. Mike guesses you could feel the rhythm of his hand on his cock, probably pushing his face harder against you with every pass. 

 "Uh, no. I don't know if you noticed, but Erwin walked in."

 "I noticed," you snort, sitting up on your elbows. "Why do you think I moaned your name like that?"

 "What?" It had seemed a little odd. Mike knows he's pretty good at oral, but you've never made a sound like that before. 

 "Fucker wanted to see what we were up to, I decided to show him. Now he knows how good you are."

 Mike stands, peers down at you skeptically and says, "You're being too nice to me today. It's freakin' me out a little."

 He doesn't think it's necessary to add that Erwin is already aware of his sexual prowess considering they definitely had a threesome with a rather adventurous girl back in freshman year. It's just not pertinent information. 

 "Soak it up, Zacharias. I'm sure the good mood will be gone by tomorrow."

 "Why, cause I won't be at your mom's to fuck you stupid every night?" His voice comes out cocky, but it's stifled by the way you squeal when he slaps a hand over your wet pussy.

 "I'm sensitive, you asshole!" You're smiling even as you whine. "And, here I was about to give you head to get you off."

 "I mean, you can still do that."

 You glare up at him the whole time you slide off the bed to your knees, warn, "Better hope I don't bite."

 *

 After you leave (and after making out against Mike’s Wrangler for a little too long), he goes back inside to find Erwin and Levi lounging in the den with a movie playing. He wastes no time in snapping his fingers at Erwin and commanding, "We're gonna talk."

 "Oh, are we?" Erwin doesn't even look away until Mike grabs the back of his shirt, and only then does he move from his spot. "Okay, okay, watch the wrinkles, bro."

 He follows Mike into the kitchen, out of earshot unless either of them raise their voices which… Could happen. 

 "What the fuck was that?" Mike hisses. 

 Erwin looks at him with big blue eyes and plays dumb, "What the fuck was what?" 

 Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mike makes sure his voice comes out low and steady, "Smith, I swear to God, it's been a long time since I've punched you, but you're fuckin' testing me, dude."

 Erwin smiles, face lighting up with what looks like excitement but could also be fury. 

 "Mike," he starts. "Don't tell me you're getting violent over a girl." His tone is patronizing, his eyebrows are high, and his grin is downright menacing. 

 "I haven't gotten violent yet," Mike grits. 

 "Hey, how was I to know what you two were doing up there?" 

 "It's not about you walking in, dude! It's about you just fucking standing there!"

 Erwin chuckles and blows him off, "Mike, I've seen your dick before. You've got nothing to worry about."

 "That's not what I'm worried about. You just, like, came in when she was in a vulnerable position, and that's fucked up."

 "She didn't seem to mind."

 Mike sucks his teeth, takes another grounding breath, then asks again, "Why? Why did you wait to leave?" 

 "You want me to be honest?" Erwin rolls his neck then his shoulders. Mike has seen him do that many times before lacrosse games to loosen up—to get ready for a fight. 

 Mike's fist clenches at his side. "Yeah, I do."

 "You've been making yourself crazy over this girl since the start of the semester, and I want to know why."

 "What do you mean?" Mike doesn't know why he asks, has a pretty good idea of what Erwin is alluding to. 

 The blond still dodges the question but in about the worst way possible. "It's not like you two are exclusive or anything."

 Mike feels the way his lungs fill to the point of burning, how his jaw clenches until his molars begin to ache under the pressure, and before he really knows what's happening, he's bowing up to his best friend. 

 Erwin matches him, only a couple inches shorter, chin tilted, that maddening light in his eyes. 

 "Walk away, Mike," he warns. "And, we can forget this little spat even happened."

 Mike peers down his nose at him, trying to rein in his emotions because Erwin is right. You two aren't exclusive. You don't want to be. You told him it was because you need to focus on school, but it could be that you want other options. 

 But fuck, Mike doesn't want Erwin to be one of them. He's stolen more than a few girls right from under Mike's nose with his stupid charm and stupid face and stupid money. He doesn't want you to fall prey to all of it too. 

 Mike doesn't even register the quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen, but Levi's smartass, "You guys about to kiss or somethin'?" definitely snaps him out of his head. 

 Stepping back, Mike resists the urge to punch the counter and break his fucking hand, then turns and strides out. 

 He's supposed to stay at the ranch house for a couple more days, but Mike needs to distance himself before he does something stupid. 

 When he comes back downstairs with his bag on his shoulder and his keys in his hand, Erwin seems to realize his error on at least some level and stands from his place on the couch. 

 "Mike, come on, I'm sor—"

 "Let me cool off, dude,” Mike snaps.

 Erwin shuts his mouth and sits back down, smart enough not to follow Mike outside.

[ next ]

[siwoline]

“can we stay like this forever?” — [sjy.]

♫ : spaces by martti franca

word count: 1,901  |  angst, masochist

<masterlist> <prev> <next>

some, if not everyone, surely had a tower moment. a phase when everything seems to go downfall and you had no other choice but to surrender to wherever the universe takes you. some faced everything alone and some found a companion.

in your case, you had jake.

you met each other through a common friend back in high school. it was just a “hey, this is y/n. y/n, this is jake.” type of introduction and you just both went on with your lives separately, not minding each other’s business because you clearly had nothing to do with it. you weren’t interested with him and, on your point of view, he wasn’t too.

but suddenly, you passed by each other’s lives again, when he saw you sitting like a drunk single aunt by the gutter of an abandoned gas station. it was because you told your friends you’ll walk your way home even though your vision was spinning and your head hurt like hell.

you remember, “y/n?” jake mispronounced your name when he saw you then.

and you corrected him even though you’re drunk by saying, “it’s y/n! you stupid!”

“i’m sorry, y/n. do you need something?”

obviously! is this man really stupid? were your thoughts. you were looking at him meaningfully, trying to tell him that he’s unbelievable but he seems to not care about your stares. he just reached for your arms and guided you to wrap them around his broad shoulders.

this man’s caring. what the hell.

as much as you wanted to throw your shoes at jake that time, you just didn’t have the energy to fight and perhaps you wanted to thank him for somehow taking care of you even though you barely know each other.

after that night, you were informed that, apparently, jake studies in the same university and he lives near your pad. and according to your common friend, it’s just a 10-minute ride from yours.

your encounter with him did not stop there because you saw each other again on a party hosted by your friend. the moment you laid eyes at each other, he recognized you right away and walked towards you leaving a girl who’s clearly hitting on him that time.

that night, you two shared stories and even danced with some acquaintances, completely unaware that it was the start of something you didn’t anticipate.

“who’s this?” you said when you picked up the call of someone who’s bugging you at three in the morning, the day after your friend’s party.

that’s when you heard jake mumbling words you cannot decipher because first, it was, again, three in the morning, and second, he was a drunk zombie.

“where are you?” you asked him repetitively and still trying to respond to what he was saying until the bartender took over the phone and told you where he is.

you went to the bar to fetch him. jake looked so wrecked and tired from the world, he’s a complete mess when you saw him lying on the bar’s couch. when you went to him and woke him up, he looked at you and there you saw his stares. his intense eyes looked like he wanted someone to save him or just someone who’s willing to hear his stories.

and so you did.

it was almost everyday, at three in the morning, when you go out to see each other at the gas station where you first met as acquaintances. you’d bring snacks from your stock and he’d bring drinks bought from the convenience store he’ll pass by on his way to you.

you’d talk about everyday, how things went wrong and how things are going. you’d tell him that the only constant thing in the world is life fucking you up and his boisterous laugh would disturb anyone and anything near. he’d tell you how pretty the night sky is and how badly he wanted to travel just to see its end and you’d agree and tell jake you’ll go with him.

no one knew of the times you’re together, not even the friend who introduced you to each other. it was just a moment between you two, and you hate to admit but there are times that by thinking of it, the thought of seeing jake, made you feel things.

and god, as well as jake, knows how badly you hate feeling tickling emotions, those of the positive kind, because you know that there’s definitely an aftermath.

“how’s your brother?” he randomly asked when you were just talking about an online post you shared with each other through chat.

“he’s doing well. you want to see him next weekend?” then he nodded as a response.

it was not just you who grew fond of jake, some of your family members, only those whom he met, did as well. especially your little brother. they’d play games when you and jake would come over to your grandfather’s house where your brother temporarily lives. they would also talk about boy stuff, completely excluding you from the conversation, and you can see the both of them enjoying their time.

and, annoyingly, again, this made you feel more at ease with jake.

“do you still drink?” you asked meaninglessly.

“not anymore,” he shrugged, as if saying he doesn’t know why.

“as i am,” that’s when he looked at you, confused. “i don’t know. maybe i’m healed,” and you laughed with the absurdity of the thought.

but jake smiled with what you said, “that can be true.”

“what about you? you’re finally moved on from the woman you cried for when i first fetched you at the bar?”

he turned his head away, obviously feeling shy. “that was more than a year ago, y/n.” his lips are forming a pout. “plus, i’m being comforted in a much healthier way.”

you were shocked by his response. “you’re seeing someone again?”

he shook his head and said, “i just found comfort in someone’s presence.”

“isn’t that the same?”

he looked at you and said, “i don’t want to intervene in their peace.”

then all of a sudden, that was your last encounter with jake. you didn’t hear any news about him or his whereabouts for a good six months. when you were told that he’ll be attending a seminar, you woke up late which led to not seeing him around the campus ever since. just like that, jake was nowhere to be found.

and you cannot believe why jake’s no-show bothered you so much.

you thought of him almost everyday, thinking whether he’s doing fine or coping from his heartbreak and problems. you thought of how he’s doing in school because you haven’t seen his shadow from anywhere. you were dead worried of him yet no one knows that you still are.

“y/n, later! don’t pretend to forget, you brat,” you laughed and nodded as a response.

your friend is having a party tonight and you prepared for it the moment you arrived home. wearing the simplest attire, almost looking as if you’re not interested to go, you went to the party.

the moment you stepped foot at the bar, you were reminded of several things. and definitely one of them is jake.

weird how the loud bass and taste of beer feels so nostalgic for you. was it the long period of time that passed since you decided to quit drinking? or was it, again, him?

you shook your head, trying to brush off the thought you have in mind. you took your fifth glass of cuervo and looked at your wristwatch only to see that it’s about three in the morning. you stood up, with your head quite heavy, and went to find your friend so you could bid good bye and leave. 

only to be stopped at your tracks because a pair of eyes are staring at you intensely. it’s jake.

it was quite a moment when you stared at each other but you decided to pretend as if you didn’t see anything. you’re confused at what you’re feeling at the very moment because, for you, you’re not supposed to feel anger just because he didn’t show up nor feel as if you’re longing for his presence.

“y/n,” you heard him call your name and a cold palm touched your skin when he held your hands to stop you from walking away.

you faced him, trying to show a smile. and there you saw a cleaner look of jake, a more mature one you must say. you looked at his eyes and you were surprised with what you’re seeing. your smile grew wider, more genuine this time, because he definitely looks happier now.

“hey. long time no see,” was all you can utter.

“y/n, i’m sorry—”

“look, i have to go home. the apartment’s gate,” you were cut off by him telling you that, “there’s no curfew and you always have a key with you. you don’t forget that. you’re afraid to get locked out.”

right. of course, jake knows that.

you’re afraid to get locked out, you’re afraid to be left behind. without a word, without any notice. you find it hard to forget, especially the moments dear to you, the moments that kept you warm. he knows that but why did he leave was all over your head.

“i have to go,” you said and let go of his hand but he didn’t budge. you kept moving and telling him to, “let go, jake.”

“y/n, i like you.” was what jake needed to say to make you stop from struggling.

he reached for your right arm and now his intense stares feel as if it can see your soul. and what happens now is the very thing you’re afraid of.

“i like you, i love you, i,” he sighed in frustration. “the last time we saw each other, it was you i was referring to. it was you whom i do not want their peace to be ruined. god, i even wanted to talk to you when you were first introduced to me. i wanted to hear more of your stories, i wanted to be even just a small part of your life, y/n.”

“i was so afraid of telling you because i know you fear this the most. you fear feeling things, you fear giving and risking all that you have, you fear the warmth of what love could give, y/n. i know that and you’ve always reminded me about that.” he continued.

“then why are you telling me this now?” i said, almost shouting because of how frustrated i am with what he’s saying. “why are you telling me you love me after leaving me, jake?”

“because,” he paused, looking both tired and frustrated of what’s happening right now. “because i can never get over you. i tried but i can’t and maybe because i do not even want to, y/n. i hate—”

“i fear commitments, jake.”

he looked at you, stared even, and smiled as if he just got reminded of a detail he forced himself to set aside.

still looking at you, with eyes begging you to let out what you really do feel, he said, “you can take your time. please, just allow me to—”

“i fear commitments, jake,” you repeated what you said. “what’s so hard to understand—”

“then just have me by your side, like old times, please.”

[supermantv]

daxton + first date after getting back together

Their first date after getting back together is technically at the Winter Dance, and while it had been overall pleasant, there were still the minor bumps (the major glaring one being that Paxton had nearly ran his girlfriend over with his car) that prevented the date from retaining a sense of utter bliss that Paxton was still seeking. He adores her, loves being around her, thinks she is the most exciting person that he has ever met, but there is no denying that Devi is an absolute hurricane. He loves that too, and he’s starting to understand that moments of complete peace will be hard-earned, but entirely worth it. He’s also hoping that these moments of peace become more and more common, with a smoother path paved to achieve them each time. 

They’re in his garage when he decides to broach the subject, a random slasher film playing on the screen that neither of the two are really invested in. Devi lays between his legs, her own feet dangling over the edge of the couch as she rests her head on the hard planes of his stomach. She traces unrefined patterns into the exposed skin above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has ridden up, and Paxton knows that if she keeps this up, there’s a very high possibility he will actually be driven insane, so to prevent this, he shifts into a sitting position, forcing Devi to move with him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and it’s hard not to get distracted when his eyes follow the movement of her hands, shifting to smooth out her skirt, because it’s yellow and pink, and cute, and short, and it very much suits her. 

“Um.” Paxton clears his throat and flicks his eyes away and Devi must see something in his actions to tip her off to the situation because she actually laughs. Loud and unapologetic and Paxton feels the tip of his ears beginning to burn but he’s smiling. “Shut up,” he grumbles without a trace of any real aggravation, lobbing a pillow at her head. She catches it easily and hugs it to her chest. 

“Okay, okay,” Devi says and she quiets down but her eyes are twinkling. “What’s up?” 

“I was just gonna ask what you wanted to do for our first date on Saturday.”

“First date?” Devi asks bemusedly. 

“Yeah, y’know, first date since getting back together,” Paxton clarifies, but Devi still looks confused. 

“Wasn’t that at the dance?”

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, drawing back his shoulders and filling his voice with enough mock authority that Devi guffaws under her breath. “I’d like to put in a formal request right now for a do over.”

“Why?” Devi asks, taking this chance to throw the pillow back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his face where it slides into his lap, and he cries out from the shock of the hit rather than the pain. Devi ignores him. “I had a good time. Did you not have a good time?”

“I had a great time,” Paxton reassures her and his heart just about melts when she beams at him. “But I very nearly ran you over with my car at the beginning of the night.”

“After that!”

“After that you threatened to kill the DJ.”

“He deserved it,” Devi grumbles and the same murderous scowl she’d worn that night resurfaces. “But those were minor issues anyway.”

“I’m not sure vehicular manslaughter or attempted homicide are minor issues,” he jokes and his girlfriend rolls her eyes before he becomes serious again. “Really though. I just want to go on one perfect first date with you. No Trent or Marcus, and no narrowly avoided death.”

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Perfect is a tall order.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he says, but Devi’s doubtful expression doesn’t waver, so he relents. “Okay then, not a perfect first date. A first date where everything goes according to plan.”

“That’s more realistic,” Devi says, but she sounds and looks unconvinced by his words. “But still.”

“Don't worry,” Paxton says, leaning forward to rub his thumb tenderly across her cheek. She relaxes into his touch and he grins. “I'll prove you wrong.”

“I sure hope so,” Devi sighs, and no more is said on the subject for the night because then she's grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into her. 

But of course, Devi was right to be skeptical, because as Paxton is starting to learn, it is impossible for things to go according to plan when they're involved. 

He’d called that very same night to make reservations at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant across town, and was promptly told they didn't do reservations, which as Paxton figured was even better, because if a restaurant didn't do reservations, that had to mean there was always available seating, right? He asks his mom to teach him how to iron on Thursday, and by the time Saturday night rolls around, he feels relaxed and ready, so assured that nothing could possibly go wrong. He lays the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Devi gingerly in the passenger seat and whistles to himself as he starts the car. 

Except his car won't start. Why won't his car start?

And from then on, things only spiral out of control further. Paxton texts Devi asking if she can just walk to his house and he'll order an Uber to take them to the restaurant from there. Except when he checks his bank account, he cringes at the lack of money, failing to realize earlier how long it'd been since his last paycheck from his summer job. He wouldn't have even been able to pay the bill for their food, much less order a $15 Uber now. And really, he's not above begging his parents or sister for money, but his parents aren't home, gone on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness where they most likely don't get cell service. And Becca is working on a new assignment for school, her door locked with very clear instructions for Paxton not to interrupt her. He doesn't want to risk becoming a murder victim before his third first date with his girlfriend. 

So, when Devi arrives at his house and the front door swings open to reveal her visibly frazzled boyfriend explaining to her that he's going to be cooking for her tonight instead of going out, she smiles sweetly and nods her head in understanding. Paxton wonders briefly if she had seen it in his face, how close he is to snapping, because he’d been expecting maybe a little push back, a slight protest. He knows his girlfriend isn't renowned for her accommodating nature, but he thinks she's trying to be in this moment, for his sake, and he's grateful and questioning how he could have gotten so lucky. It makes him want to cradle her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he can't because he needs to figure out what he's going to feed her. 

Paxton leads Devi to the living room and leaves her with a peck on her forehead and the TV remote before rushing back to the kitchen. And this is where the next problem presents itself, because Paxton doesn't know how to cook. 

At best, he can scramble an egg and microwave a hot pocket. Both of which he thinks Devi would not appreciate. So, Paxton grabs two packages of ramen from the cabinet and drops the noodles into a pot of boiling water. He thinks he can spruce it up with an onion, trying to recall all the tips and tricks he'd seen on the Food Network, but as he's cutting it his eyes begin to sting and he can't see all that well because he's blinking back tears and he's starting to feel like a contestant on Chopped when he slices his finger with the knife. He winces at the initial pain, but the cut is shallow, and it would be fine but now his blood is all over the cutting board and the onion and there goes that idea. 

Paxton is praying that it can't get any worst from here, because if one more thing goes wrong he's not sure he'll be able to keep it together. 

He turns off the stove and removes the pot from the heat, pouring the noodles carefully into two separate bowls. It's certainly not Michelin star worthy, but Paxton promised Devi dinner and it's better than nothing. 

But it's as if he’d been a war criminal or a serial killer in his last life, and the universe is determined to punish him, because Devi is sitting at the dining room table waiting for him, and all Paxton has to do is take three moderately sized steps to make it to the make it to her. But his foot gets caught on the corner of a rug and he staggers forward, the noodles and bowls flying out of his hands and straight onto Devi. The broth stains and drenches her dress and the noodles coat her from her hair down to her shoes, but she's still sitting, as if she hadn't processed what had just happened. 

“Shit,” Paxton swears, crouching next to her and flicking noodles off her thighs. “Are you okay? Any burns?” 

“I'm fine,” she says, glancing down at him, and her eyes are a little wide and her chin wobbles slightly, and he feels his heart drop into his chest because she's about to cry-.

The sound of her laugh startles him and his head snaps up, thinking she might've cracked before he had.

“What?” he asks, concerned. 

“I tried to tell you,” she says, but she doesn't look upset. Noodles cling to her cheeks but her smile stretches the entire length of her face. She doesn't even sound like she's gloating, even though she had been right, and as a result of his unwillingness to listen she was now wearing their dinner. 

Paxton’s fingers curl around the hem of her dress, causing broth to seep down his fist. “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”

“And it was,” Devi insists, hands coming up to cup his face. 

“Devi,” he grimaces. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!” she objects. “It was perfectly us. And I like that.”

Paxton lifts a brow. “You like being covered in soggy ramen noodles.”

“You're deliberately missing the point,” Devi rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. “I like being with you, even if the day is a complete disaster, I'll be happy because I was spending time with you. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a disaster magnet.” 

“I think it's cute,” Paxton murmurs demurely. 

“See,” Devi says. “You know what I'm talking about, and you agree.” 

“The noodles don't help though.”

Devi makes a face. “No they do not.” 

And while Devi is taking a shower in his bathroom and Paxton is laying in bed, thrumming his fingers against his stomach, he thinks about what she had said about this date being perfectly them. He smiles to himself.

[cheesyficwriter]

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” from the angst prompts, pretty please!

If it fits maybe combine it with an angsty tswift lyric??

Love everything you’re doing!

Hi there my lovely discord friend @voldemorts-tap-shoes 💜 thanks so much for the awesome request! I managed to sneak in a T. Swift lyric - let me know once you find it 😀 hope you enjoy this 6th year AU drabble!

Not Just Friends

The thunder clapped off into the distance as flashes of lightning burst through the dark clouds, vanishing before reappearing again and again. Rain trickled down the vastly large windows, making it difficult to clearly see the open view of the school grounds from the inside. 

For the two students who were seated in front of the window in the Gryffindor common room, the weather did nothing to ease the anxiety they felt over not knowing what was to come. 

"How long do you reckon he's gonna be out there?" Ron spoke softly, his voice cracking. 

Hermione pivoted her eyes away from the window for a brief moment to observe Ron, whose gaze remained firmly on the opaque glass in front of them. "However long it takes for him to find the answers he's looking for."

Ron tucked his knees up against his chest, letting his arms fold around his legs. Hermione took a moment to let her eyes trace the outline of his firm, clean-shaven jaw. He looked...older. There was no denying that they had both grown in more ways than one over the past year. They had finally found their footing again in their friendship during the last few months of sixth year, both finding themselves alone together more often than not due to Harry's increased paranoia over the impending war.  

Hermione followed his gaze back towards the window, their reflection staring back at her. They were sitting close — so close — and Hermione resisted the urge to lay her head on his shoulder, to feel the comfort of his warmth wrapped around her body. 

"Why did you care?" Ron hoarsely whispered, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. 

"What?" 

"About me and Lav. Why did you care so much that we were dating?"

Hermione sucked in a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Why did he want to bring this up now? When there was so much else going on in the world? "We've been over this."

"No, we haven't." His voice was strong, and unwavering. Hermione wasn't quite sure if she had ever witnessed Ron so firm in his beliefs. 

He still wasn't even looking at her, and somehow that made her feel worse. "What do you want me to say, Ron?" 

Finally, his head snapped and he met her eyes filled with rage. "How about the bloody truth for once? God, if only everyone could just say what they mean. Then maybe we wouldn't have wasted months."

Ron was projecting, that much she was sure of, clearly affected by the worry he felt for Harry and his own family as the world became darker and darker by the day.

"We?"

"Yes, we. You and me." 

This was really happening. They were really going to get to the root of their entire conflict from the past year. One glance over at Ron told her all she had to know. He needed this row, and she needed it, too. 

"We're-we're friends Ron, you know how much you mean to me...both you and Harry…I just-"

"We're not just friends, and you fucking know it!" Ron roared. He stood up, forcefully raking a hand through his auburn hair, before leaning against the windowsill. 

Hermione remained seated but raised her head to meet his gaze softly. "How long have you known?"

"How long have I known what?" 

Hermione rose to her feet then, placing her hands on her hips as she tilted up her chin angrily. "You're serious? You're going to claim that we're not just friends, and then play dumb?" 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "See, this is your problem. You take everything I say and twist it back to make it my fault. How am I supposed to know a bloody damn thing that's going on in your mind if you spend months refusing to speak to me?" 

"Because you broke my heart!" She shouted, quite louder than she had anticipated. They were both grateful that they were the only two who occupied the common room at that moment. 

Ron stepped back, his hands bracing the ledge of the window on either side of his body. It was like the lightning from outside had reached into his soul and struck him deep in the chest. 

Hermione slumped back down onto the sofa, blinking back the tears that threatened to escape from her eyes. 

"I asked you to Slughorn's Christmas party, and then you broke my heart by snogging-" She couldn't finish. Her hope was that she didn't have to. 

"Hermione-"

“I know that you see what you’re doing to me — tell me why.” Hermione felt that she had been more than forthcoming with her emotions over the past several months. It was clear to her now that Ron was catching up, and they were both heading in the same direction without a clue as to their destination. No matter where they ended up, she wanted it to be together, and she needed to make sure he knew that.

When she lifted her head to tell him as such, she gasped upon realizing that he was now closer than ever. Ron had crouched down on the back of his heels in front of her, peering up at her with glistening eyes. 

“I already did,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to rub up and down her thigh, sending a wave of pleasure through her body. “We are not just friends.”

A soft whimper escaped the back of her throat just before she found Ron’s lips on hers. The thunder crackled as their lips met — igniting the spark that had been long kept dormant. Their lips moved effortlessly together, in a mechanism that seemed almost as natural as breathing. 

Ron's hand that was gently caressing her thigh began to travel upward, glossing over the skin of her arm and shoulder before continuing its path up to the nape of her neck, finally resting on her cheek. 

Ron released a deep guttural moan that made Hermione's toes curl. She clutched the back of his shirt to bring him even closer, forcing him to stand up on his knees. He pressed her back into the cushions of the sofa, hovering over her body as their lips stayed joined. 

All too soon he was pulling away, but only just enough to study her eyes intently. 

Breathing heavily, he confessed, "I needed to know that this was real — that something was real in the midst of all of this…shit." 

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned forward to touch her forehead to his. She felt his hot breath on her lips, the final words she needed to say on the tip of her tongue. 

"After tonight, I've never been more sure of at least one thing that is real."

Ron tilted his head to the side to watch her curiously, his fingers grazing her cheekbone as he tucked a curl behind her hair. 

Grinning widely, Hermione whispered, "We are definitely not just friends."