#except upon coming home i realized it totally made sense

[november-rising]

The Bear: Season Two, Episode Nine - Omelette

This not-fully-plotted-or-planned post is the fruit of a conversation between myself and @unladyboss (including their observations of Carmy). We were supposed to rewatch THE SCENE from that episode to share our interpretations.

But I tend to do too much which means I watched the whole episode.

It’s been months since I’ve seen Omelette. I certainly remember the significant moments. But, seeing the whole story, allowed me to gain more appreciation for this episode and the show in total.

The driving force – the theme of this episode was focus and unfocus. The writers beat us over the head with the amount of times the word ‘focus’ was said. Yes, I knew this was a crucial arc of the season but watching this play out was fascinating.

We, the audience, are not just told about focus but are also shown how the characters have become streamlined, honing their skills and talents - becoming focused.

In no particular order:

Ebra working on his Serve Safe Certification during prep.

Tina leading the other chefs with precision.

Natalie reviewing the upcoming weeks to keep revenue coming.

Richie commanding the pre-dinner staffing.

Gary and Fak stepping up to be the informants of customer experience/enjoyment.

Marcus using his creativity to craft new desserts.

Uncle Cicero supporting Carmen in those moments leading up to the soft open.

Sydney utilizing her voice to demand respect and to be vulnerable.

Carmen realizing that there is something so important in his life.

Each character was finding purpose, embracing it, and owning their worth. To me, they felt solid and assured. That is everyone except Carmy whose focus wavered throughout.

And that is his greatest fear. Consistency…calm – a focus of his own choosing.

He knows chaos. That’s what his brain and body have become accustomed to due to years and years of childhood abuse and the verbal abuse of that one NYC Chef. Frenzy, hecticness, hypervigilance, planning ten steps ahead, anxiety, disappointment, shame, guilt, anger…so much anger…

These are emotions and “coping skills” that Carmy has depended on his whole life. He tries to mask them, burying or transforming them into his culinary expertise. But here, at The Bear – back home, Carmen is faced with too much stability. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

The expectations that have been placed upon him (internally and externally) are a lot, sure. But he seems to roll with those punches. And he has managed to trust in those around him. That is overwhelming. Things are going fairly well in his life. That is overwhelming. He's dating and taking some semblance of control of his life. That's overwhelming. His vision for the restaurant he wanted to start with his brother is coming true. That’s overwhelming. He has a trusted person standing side-by-side with him in the BOH. That’s overwhelming.

Though Mikey is the catalyst to opening a new restaurant, it’s all the people who are here now that have made it work.

I don’t think Carmy can manage that knowledge. He’s so okay with being alone and driven and self-harming himself in the sense of constant work, lack of self-care, not eating properly, pushing passed exhaustion – you get the picture. He’s not okay in knowing that there are people who genuinely care about him and his dreams; and they have stayed.

People stay.

Sydney stayed.

I believe that’s why he thought of her during his panic attack. Being near her allowed the conversation about Sydney’s mom to happen. He can focus when she’s around. That’s why, when Syd corrected Nat that the fridge guy’s name was Tony, Carmy was in perfect sync. When watching that moment, I thought: “Jinx! You owe her soda!” LOL!

Then there’s the table scene which was utterly glorious. It highlighted his vulnerability concerning his fear dating Claire who was “great”. Carmen doesn't believe he deserves greatness. It's not for him. It's for everyone else.

Under that dang table, he showed his hesitations all the while noticing Sydney. He values her. He made sure she knew.  Towards the end of that scene, the way he looks at her before turning away to go get THE gift, was wow. To me, it seemed like a lightbulb clicked in his heart and soul.

Sydney matters so much to him. He doesn’t want to fuck up for her. But he knows he will. He always does.

[rangergirl3]

The thing about gradually coming to terms with long-repressed traumatic memories is:

Well, you tend to make jokes that no one else finds funny, but it’s how you cope. Sort of.

Mostly to fend off the screaming in your head.

Which can work. Until you have enough faculties to deal with it, which I thankfully do.

Trauma mentions after the cut. Nothing graphic, just yucky.

I made the following joke upon realizing that there is 100% no way I should ever trust my biological father or mother within 100 miles of me or any kids I have.

Let’s just say that waking up sweating, and visceral panic attacks, intrusive flashbacks, and a literal textbook worth of gradual realizations are a real bitch to work with when it ends up that I also have survived: incest. Wish that was a mistype. But it’s not.

Ugh.

Just YUCK.

Although the stuff my mother would tell me as a kid (aka If you ever tell anyone about the stuff that happens at home the social workers will come and take away your siblings and you’ll NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN) really starts to make sense now. (She was a real mean piece of work too. Each of my parental figures really does deserve the other. It’s a match made in Hades. I wish them a very predictably miserable eternity together.)

At the time, I just figured she really hated anyone knowing we, I don’t know, were noisy and messy at times, like kids tend to be.

But instead, my mind was just doing this: Running from anything I felt I couldn’t control. Which was everything.

Thank goodness I have stable relationships now. I mean, it still is nasty to deal with all of the health consequences - past and present - and I’ve definitely begun an overhaul of the house, instead of just a typical spring cleaning. Something about just throwing myself into a mountain of tasks can help me feel a little less lost when the noise inside my head gets too loud. (As long as I make sure I get enough sleep, rest, and relaxation, too.)

But yes, that’s…well, the biggest reason I took so much time off of Tumblr. There were other memories I uncovered - to no one’s surprise, I witnessed a LOT of messed up stuff in my early life that just got stuffed under the rug - including two suicides of total strangers because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time- side note - Please Please Please LIVE. Each life is such an irreplaceable treasure. Please choose to live. Please.

So. That was a lot. I’m a little bit nervous posting this, mostly due to some very cruel anons that have interacted with me in the past, but I wanted to update you, my friends🥰, on what all’s been up these last several months.

Just as a reassurance: I’m safe. I’m truly very happy. And I’m not going anywhere. Except maybe the library. Every time I get another set of books, and cart them back home, my husband just looks up at me and laughs, because it’s not even surprising anymore. 😂

Also my kiddo has asked for a Belle dress as a future gift so that she can ‘look and act just like my mama!’ Which made me supremely delighted.

And now, I’m going to go bake some zucchini bread. And brainstorm my next book. 😎 Because I think some people could really benefit from hearing that people with a terribly painful backstory can still snort milk out through their nose in delight at a funny joke. It just takes some time to get to that point.

[wizardofahz]

WIP game:

I am curious about "A Question of Identity" and "Monsters in the Mirror" if you please. Thank you!

Sure thing! You picked some angsty fics to ask about. 😈

A Question of Identity is a WIP in which tragedy makes the Danvers sisters do a lot of assessing and rebuilding of their senses of self. I suppose it's kind of an alternate ending to season 3. I've posted a couple of sneak peeks in the past (1, 2), and here comes another one.

Kara hears the entrance of the Fortress of Solitude open. There’s only one other person who can open that door. For a moment she considers leaving. She doesn’t have the energy to interact with anyone. She doesn’t in the end. She also doesn’t have the energy to care if her lack of resolve worries Kal. “I thought I might find you here,” Kal says from behind her. Kara doesn’t bother turning around, just asks, “What do you want, Kal?”  “I wanted to see how you’re doing and to ask if there’s anything I can do,” he offers. Many people have offered Kara the abstract “anything.” It’s a nice sentiment, but Kara has found little solace in it thus far. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” “Kara,” Kal says as if there must be something he can do but quickly pauses when nothing comes to mind. The name elicits a laugh from her that surprises them both. Perhaps calling it a laugh is generous. It’s more of an escape of helpless emotion. Kara.  That’s her name.  But what does it mean? Is she Kara Zor-El? Is she Kara Danvers? Losing Krypton had been traumatic. In some ways though, the necessity of total reinvention had helped. Kara Danvers held little of the trauma of Kara Zor-El, no hints of alienness, invisible by design. It had only been in recent years between becoming Supergirl and a reporter that she had started to let the latter seep into the former. Who is Kara on Earth? Who is she without Alex?  Once upon a time, Kara thought about moving to Metropolis to be with Kal. Alex had protested being left behind. But Alex is gone now. Kara could move to Metropolis. But all she wants is Alex back, Alex who made this planet home. “There’s never been a Kara Danvers without Alex,” Kara says out loud.  The non sequitur has Kal looking confused. “There was only Kara Zor-El,” Kara continues and, without realizing it, switches to Kryptonian. “There is only Kara Zor-El, who has lost her family, her culture, her planet. Kara Zor-El, who does not exist on this Earth. Kara Zor-El never had an Alex Danvers. Except that’s not quite true, is it? Because Alex did know me. All of me.” Kara only realizes she’s switched to her native tongue when she looks at Kal El, looks at Clark Kent, who has only ever known this planet and looks apologetically lost. “Do you understand anything I am saying right now?” she asks. There’s no malice in her voice, only sadness. “I--” Clark begins sheepishly in English. “Only some of it. I’m sorry.”  “It’s not your fault,” Kara says tiredly because it isn’t.

Monsters in the Mirror is about guilt and facing the consequences of one's actions. It's set in season 2. I do have an old sneak peek, but to be honest, it could do with more editing. Here's a more updated sneak peek.

In her apartment, M'gann watches Alex pace back-and-forth, full of unsettled energy. In the end, it's no surprise when Alex changes course and heads for the door. “You know what? Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.” “Before you walk out that door--because if you really want to, I won’t stop you--I just want to say one thing," M'gann says. To her relief, Alex stops with her hand on the doorknob. She doesn't turn around, but M'gann senses hope that maybe her words of wisdom will make a difference. M'gann continues, “If you want to keep running, that’s your choice. But I don’t think you do. You came to me for a reason. You could have gone to Kara or J’onn. You know they would welcome you with open arms at any time"--at this, Alex's head dips in guilty acknowledgment--"but you came to me instead. Kara and J'onn know guilt, of course they do. But they know the guilt of surviving what has been done to them. You chose me because I know what it's like to live with the guilt of what I have done. So don’t tell me I won’t understand.” Alex slumps. She rests her head against the door. She stays like that for a while until she finally musters up the words. “I killed my dad,” Alex says quietly. M'gann wants to believe that she misheard. She knows enough about J'onn and the Danvers to know how important family is. No wonder Alex has been spiraling. M'gann waits for Alex to continue, knowing a break in momentum may mean the rest never comes at all. “I always knew that I would do anything to protect Kara. I just... I never thought that would mean killing other people that I love." Alex pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. "And maybe the worst part"--She hesitates again. Clearly what's coming next is the part she really doesn't want to face--"is that I’d do it again. For Kara, I would. What does that say about me? If I’m capable of killing my dad, then what won’t I do? Who wouldn’t I hurt? J’onn? My mom?”

And thus ends our double dose of angst.

Thanks for the ask!

[mentalisttraceur-long]

A key thing about abused kids....

Kids are often so far away from knowing what's abusive and what isn't, and from even having a correct interpretative lens about it, that if you naively ask them to describe their home life, odds are extremely high they won't even think to mention a lot of the abusive stuff.

Because it doesn't even stand out to them. And the worst stuff that does stand out? Well that was obviously because they "deserved it" or "brought it upon themselves" or whatever. They might feel shame bringing up any of the stuff they did that the abuse was punishing.

They don't know that their dad doing a thing that physically hurts and leaves them unable to breathe for a while is abusive - they think surely other dads do that too when you make them mad, or worse, and honestly their dad is better because that's not hitting, it never bruises or bloodies or breaks anything and it doesn't even hurt that much.

They don't know that that one time their dad seriously hit them when they were like five is fucked up enough to mention - they think it totally makes sense because they did something that exceptionally raised negative feelings, surely any parent would.

They don't know that the one time they half-performatively ran out of the room because mom hurt herself doing something and expressed angry frustration, and then mom chased after them yelling and hit them, because she interpreted the kid's played up fear whimper sounds as laughter rather than as a meta comment on fearing literally exactly this behavior that mom is now doing... yeah they don't know that's particularly worth commenting on because that event is the only one they still remember but it's memorable precisely because it was an exceptional situation that's the most understandable.

They don't know being made to retrieve and eat food out of the trash that one time is abusive - they think "well I did waste some of that food, and I deprived someone else in the family from eating it who might've enjoyed it" and then don't even think anything of it until they're in their fucking thirties and two years deep into a self-chosen unemployment after they've realized they need something that drastic to work through everything.

And when that's the highlights, they're not even going to think about how every argument happens in the intimidation shadow of getting physically hurt if you make a parent too mad or stand up for yourself too angrily. They're not going to bring up all the yelling and chronic drip of self-esteem-damaging insults about their intelligence and moral character that come out whenever they do something bad or not-actually-bad-but-apparently-adults-think-its-bad or bring home bad grades.

They sure as fuck aren't going to think to mention the kinds of data points that a psychology-versed person will immediately recognize as textbook cause of CPTSD, but which to the kid just seems too subtle of a detail within their normal to even mention, like "oh, and I can never know if the yelling is done - it could randomly resume at any time if one of the parents thinks of another Great Point to make about how I'm bad or am doing bad things to my life or [...] - so sometimes I only fall asleep long after the yelling has stopped because I noticed that the sounds outside my bedroom have distinctly indisputably shifted to my parents talking pleasantly about something amongst themselves, or the lights have gone out".

Point being: if you just naively ask an abused kid to describe their experiences, they're probably not even going to think of a lot of the right stuff to bring up. You gotta really try to creatively apply your more experienced perspective to feel around, think of possibilities, ask questions that would trip over some detail, and most of all you gotta notice relevant mental movements in them and ask yourself what kind of abuse pattern might cause them.

[thejelly-fox]

Sometimes self care is going into a dissociative state at Target and impulse buying a new bathrobe

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 6

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of your decision.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: There’s a little bit of smut in here, not too filthy though I guess???

A/N: VOILA NO ANGST IN THIS CHAPTER, only tension teehee anyway I hope this doesn’t disappoint and I am looking forward to seeing everyone’s rage about this part lmfaoooo

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

The last time you lost sleep was back in your days at the university, when you were working on your thesis. And that was years ago so now that you were wide awake at two in the fucking morning, it was frustrating you.

What was even more frustrating was the fact that you were up because of a guy, and not just any guy— Bucky Barnes.

You didn't know whether you made the right decision of rejecting him like that, without even giving the relationship a damn chance. But you were right, weren't you? That making it official with courtship was going to make your corporate life a living hell.

Perhaps you were overthinking?

You groaned out loud and sat up on your bed, grabbing your phone from the night stand and opening up your messaging app.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things that I said.

Delete, delete, delete.

Can we talk again?

Delete, delete, delete.

I already miss you.

"Really, now?" you chuckled to yourself, albeit sarcastically.

When did you ever chase a guy? Never in you entire life did you put your walls down for a fucking guy. What would make Bucky an exception? Sure, he was rich as fuck and handsome as hell but those wouldn't give him an immunity from your pride.

Throwing your phone under your pillow, you decided to stand by your verdict about keeping things professional between you and Bucky.

-

The universe seemed to hate you because aside from losing sleep, you also forgot to set your alarms and now you were running late for the mancom meeting. You really had to confront Bucky like that a day before the meeting, huh?

By the time you reached the conference room, the meeting was already in progress. Heads turned to you upon your arrival, the entire room silent as you whispered your apologies. When you looked around, you realized that the only seat available was the one next to Bucky.

Great, just great!

You could feel his eyes on you as you carefully made your way towards him, mumbling another apology for your tardiness before sitting down. You knew how much Bucky hated it when people were late, whether for a meeting or for a rendezvous. The last time you were late, he denied you of your orgasm when he fingered you in his car.

Was he thinking of the same thing now? If not for last night's discussion, you would probably be bent down on his desk by lunch time. You cleared your throat and squeezed your legs uncomfortably, a gesture that Bucky noticed right off the bat.

You crossed your legs and focused your attention on the presentation until you noticed what Bucky was doing beside you. You tried to be discreet when you checked him out through your peripheral vision; he was leaning back against his seat with his legs wide apart. He seemed to be paying attention to the presentation but then he started stroking his chin in a certain way that made you remember all the times he did that whenever he had his eyes on you.

"Mister Barnes? What do you think about this suggestion?" the head of operations asked.

Bucky hummed lowly as he stroked his lower lip, nodding his head in approval before saying in a rough voice, "I like it."

"I like it."

"Like what?" you asked innocently, lifting a curious brow at Bucky when you entered his office one night in a tight fitting skirt with a slit that showed off the garter of your stockings.

You knew that it was going to drive Bucky insane if you walked around the office wearing something so teasing like that. To hell with the HR, you actually received a memo for wearing such at a workplace but whatever. The reward from Bucky would surely be more than enough to make this decision worth it.

"Playing coy now, are we?" Bucky asked, standing up from his seat and then walking over to you.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bucky." you teased.

Bucky smirked and kept his eyes on you when he knelt down in front of you, his rough palms sliding against the skin of your thighs before tugging at the edge of your stockings.

"I'll show you what I'm talking about." he said before he bunched up your skirt, licking a stripe against your lace-clad pussy.

You exhaled heavily at the memory and shook your head. Fuck no, you weren't going to give in! You weren't even sure whether Bucky was intentionally teasing you. Nope, definitely not giving in so easily.

-

You survived the entire day, despite being on the receiving end of Bucky's subtle teasing. That motherfucker was testing you alright, you were damn sure of it. He really went to the pantry during lunch, when you were washing your mug at the sink. And he had the audacity to stand behind you, pretending to be reaching for something from the cupboards.

Janet the snitch was there too! Thank fuck she was preoccupied with her salad and didn't notice when Bucky pressed his crotch against your ass, his breath fanning against your neck when he whispered "Excuse me." in that delicious, rough voice of his.

Thinking that you were finally free to head home, you started gathering your things until you received an e-mail from none other than Bucky. It was a little past seven in the evening already and you've submitted all your reports earlier. What does he want now?

Come see me in my office. Now.

Regards, Bucky Barnes

A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your entire body going cold and you weren't sure whether you should be nervous or excited. Or aroused, even. You weren't going to lie but you sort of hoped that his e-mail contained another dick pic again, something to let you know that everything was fine between the two of you.

Who were you kidding though, you were the one who asked for this set-up.

You adjusted your skirt and went straight to the elevator, counting the seconds until it reached Bucky's floor. Every step you took towards his office felt heavier and heavier as you neared his door. What does he want?! You couldn't think of anything that he needed to talk to you about.

"Shit. Okay, bitch you got this." you mumbled to yourself before knocking.

Bucky didn't even tell you to come in, he just opened the door and left it ajar as he went back to his seat behind his desk. He seemed agitated but god did he look good. You really needed to get a grip of yourself.

"You need anything, Mister Barnes?" it felt strange to address him like that.

He heaved out a sigh and shrugged, "I'm very disappointed in this report." he said, slamming the folder on top of his desk before looking up at you.

"I don't understand. I followed every instruction and even included charts to make it easier to understand." you explained, slightly offended that he was questioning your hard work.

You worked hard on that report, and he knew how much. Was he power tripping you now?

"That's the thing, you followed every instruction. Sometimes you have to make certain changes, that doesn't mean it's automatically wrong as long as the outcome is the same." Bucky explained.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was insinuating something and you knew exactly what it was. You preferred not to focus on it and straightened up, trying to play it cool.

"I don't get it." you shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

Bucky heaved out sigh, "Come take a look. I'll show you where you went wrong." he said, raising his eyebrow at you, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

Oh no. Oh fucking no. He was giving you the look. You tried not to falter and maintained your professional behavior. Slowly, you walked around his desk until you stood beside him.

"See this part? Too detailed, I don't need to know about this. I just want to see the results." Bucky explained casually.

"Another thing is the graph you made. It's good, but again, too many details. You see this?" Bucky asked, glancing up at you.

You squinted your eyes, not wanting to stand too close to Bucky. Even from where you were, his perfume was invading your senses. It reminded you of all the times that scent was all that you could smell, especially whenever Bucky was on top of you, fucking your brains out. Or whenever he took you from behind, his face buried into your neck and—

"Are you listening?" Bucky asked.

You cleared your throat, "Yes." you immediately responded.

"Here, take a look at what I'm talking about." Bucky said, casually placing a hand on the small of your back as you bent down to look at your report closely.

It's as if everything happened so fast. You were trying to see what Bucky was talking about when you heard his chair screech against the floor, followed by his strong hands gripping your waist, pulling you down to sit on his lap.

You gasped out loud when you felt his hard cock against your ass. A slight whimper slipped past your lips when Bucky slightly moved, thrusting his hips upward while his hands on your waist kept you still.

"Bucky, fuck I..." you panted.

And then suddenly, the contact was gone and Bucky was pulling you away from him as he stood up. A shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he feigned innocence.

"I'm sorry, I totally forgot. We're supposed to be professional now. That's what you wanted, right?" he asked mockingly, shaking his head and then fixing his suit.

You stood there, gawking at him incredulously at the stunt that he just pulled on you. Did he really just...?

What the fuck?

"Anyway, I want the revised report by my table end of the day tomorrow." he said oh so casually, as if he didn't just pull you down to sit on his fucking lap while he had a damn erection.

He sat back down and continued with his shit as you stood there, disappointed (at yourself actually) and just feeling like a fucking fool.

"I can't believe you just did that." you softly said, turning around to leave.

"Just say you want me and this will all be over." Bucky said.

You looked back at him with a scowl and saw how smug he was staring at you. His lips curled up into a grin, eyes glinting with mischief. You wanted to kiss that fucking smirk off his face, maybe sit on it and ride it until he's out breath, until the skin on your inner thighs burned from how his scruff was scratching against it.

But again, you were too proud to do that.

"Thank you, Mister Barnes. I'll see you tomorrow."

-

What do you call it when a girl is left high and dry? Is there a female version for having blue balls? You needed to know because that was something you've been going through for two weeks now.

Two fucking weeks.

Since that night in Bucky's office, things have gotten worse for you. Bucky wanted you to give in first and damn, he was giving it his fucking all when it comes to making you cave. The man even texted you a shirtless photo of him at the gym. By accident, he said.

And here you thought that the both of you were going to be professional moving forward.

Bucky always teased you whenever he could, made sure that you'd be reminded of the times you spent together. Whether it was with how he spoke or looked at you, he was subtle but he went all out. One time during a meeting, Bucky started to play with his fucking mouse. His middle finger doing things to his scroll wheel, moving back and forth all the while he was staring at you with a sleazy grin.

As if you needed any more reminder how much his fingers felt so much better against your cunt as compared to your own.

-

Friday came quickly and you couldn't be more grateful for it. It had been very busy at the office and Bucky was edging you even without having the need to touch you. You needed a break from him, needed some time to yourself and rethink about the certain decisions you made.

You stood by the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor when Mark approached you.

"Been a hectic week huh?" he asked, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulder.

You sighed, "Very hectic, thank goodness the week is over." you said with a chuckle.

"Any plans for the night?" Mark asked, turning to you.

You shook your head, "Not really. You?"

Mark smiled widely at you, "No plans either. But I do remember you owe me a night at the bar." he reminded you.

You mentally facepalmed because fuck, you totally forgot about that. Mark wasn't so bad actually, he was kind and seemed like a lot of fun to hang out with. You just...you just weren't attractive to him.

Maybe you should give it a try? Just to keep your mind off of Bucky even for a while. That man was driving you insane, honestly.

"Of course, yeah. I remember." you said with an awkward laugh.

"Do you want to go tonight?" he asked at the same time the elevator doors opened.

Lo and behold, Bucky Barnes was inside as well. Fucking hell.

"Mister Barnes." Mark greeted him before gesturing for you to step inside first.

You saw the look that Bucky gave both you and Mark. Suddenly, hanging out with Mark didn't seem like a good idea anymore. You prayed that Mark wouldn't bring it up anymore, at least, while Bucky was inside the elevator.

It felt like you were being ushered into the pits of hell when you stepped inside. Even with Mark's presence, you felt nervous being around Bucky. God knows what this man could do when provoked.

"Anyway, how about tonight?" Mark repeated his question, much to your dismay.

Bucky was standing behind the both of you and yet you could feel his eyes digging holes against the back of your head. He was waiting for your response.

"Come on, you promised me a date." Mark just had to imply.

Bucky coughed and Mark turned to him all of a sudden, "You ever been to the bar down the block, Mister Barnes?" he asked.

"Yes." Bucky curtly responded.

"They serve the best drinks, right? So come on, let me take you there. You won't regret it. What do you think, Mister Barnes?"

Mister Barnes will fucking whoop your ass, Mark, you thought to yourself. You suddenly started sweating bullets, feeling your armpits dampen beneath your blouse because jesus christ, was this really happening? You just wanted for the ground to swallow you up. Should you pretend to faint instead? Just to get out of this awkward situation?

"Yeah, a promise is a promise. Why don't you let Mike take you out tonight?" Bucky said, stepping in between you and Mark.

Mark made a face, "It's actually Mark, Mister Barnes."

Bucky though, kept his attention on you. His expression unreadable but his jaw was tensed. You were so fucked. And not in a good way. He was trying so hard to stay calm but when you glanced down, his hands were balled into fists.

"What do you say to that date with Martin?" Bucky asked again.

Mark lifted a finger, "Mark." he chimed in again.

"Yeah, whatever Michael." Bucky waved him off with his hand before turning back to you. "So, what do you say?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked past Bucky's shoulder to check on Mark, he didn't seem suspicious though. He looked hopeful, actually. But you pitied him because he just made it to Bucky's list of employees to keep an eye on. Aside from Janet, of course.

"I...um..." Fuck it.

"Yeah, okay. A date it is then." you awkwardly said, forcing out the driest laugh you ever produced in your entire life.

Mark excitedly pumped his fist in the air, "Great! Thank you, Mister Barnes. Guess she just needed a little push." he said.

Bucky feigned a smile and nodded, taking a step back from you. "A little push. Yeah, I guess so."

Finally, the elevators reached the ground floor and you were ready to sprint out of it when Bucky said his parting words.

"You enjoy your date with Marty now. Totally nothing unprofessional about dating a co-worker." Bucky told you and before the elevator doors closed, you saw the scowl that appeared on his face.

Shit.

"Mister Barnes is acting weird, don't you think?" Mark asked as the both of you walked out of the building.

You forced a smile and walked ahead of Mark, "Definitely not weird. You know what? I badly need a drink or two, an entire bottle of tequila maybe so let's just go now."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed and the message that showed up made you want to stop in the middle of the street, lay down on your back and await your demise.

You're playing a dangerous game. Well, two can play at that.

-

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @suchababie @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi @learisa @borikenlove @scarlet-natasha89

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii​ @jessou893​ @stealapizzamyheart​ @bagelofthelord​ @mxnt​ @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky​ @ohladymacbeth​ @wildflowergubler​ @supraveng​ @twinerd14​ @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3​ @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm​ @charminivy​ @amelia-song-pond​ @iamvalentinaconstanza​ @mcubqrnes @im-squished @tcc-gizmachine​ @sipsteacasually​ @prettyintopeerpressure​ @weloveyasmin​ @est19xxshit​ @bloodhon3yx​ @dressed-in-prada​ @lizette50​ @thatfangirl42​ @sunflowerbunny2​ @unmagically​ @okiegirl24​ @sugarpunch-princess​ @enlyume​ @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp​ @lyoongx​ @just-deka​ @nobody-will​ @jaziona92 @elisebuitron​ @dpaccione​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x​ @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes​ @iloveangstposts​ @weenersoldierr​ @asemistablehundredyearoldman​ @reidbuck​ @lizzarooni​ @girlfriday007​ @bonkywobble​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @its-yasbxtch​ @whoth3hellisbucky​

[yanderenightmare]

uhm, yandere Katsuki with a small reader... like idk how to explain but fluff fear? like waking up together but all she can think about is how loud he sleeps and how BIG he is, also him being a total bitch about how small she is?

yandere kidnapper ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon mentions, kidnapping, abduction, abuse, degradation

PUFF

Waking up warmer than usual was something she’d gotten terribly used to. 

It had only been a couple days. A couple days in a foreign house without anything to do except prance around in what lingerie Katsuki bothered to give her, or sleep the hours away. Where which the latter was undesirable, because she’d be risking getting snuck up on by the brute predator once he returned. So, she was left walking about, dragging tired limbs through barren hallways, stopping to take in the space of each impersonal room, half-naked and cold in the marble mansion, doing nothing but dreading the time her hero came home. 

And in the absence of things happening, those moments where she was in fact preoccupied with something became so much heavier and longer than what they were in reality. Expanded, to the degree where she could pinpoint almost every single detail within the moment. 

This was one of those moments.

She wanted to focus on the bed, soft material, caky and cloudy beneath her, but it was difficult to ignore the mass behind her. His nose poking into the top of her head, nuzzling in her hair, a good measurement of knowing how close his teeth were to her neck as heavy breaths ran down her neck like a chilling breeze, ticklish and disturbing like crawling mites. His chest, rising, pushing into her back, the beating of his heart rattling her ribcage. His hands, large and so very warm, warmer than they were supposed to be, scathed like sandpaper as they scratched in their presence by rubbing her hip, arms slung around her body haphazardly, caging her, suffocating her, pulling her close, holding her steady, trapping her. 

Like a dragon protecting his treasure, she thought, but quickly discarded of the notion. It sounded too sweet. 

Katsuki wasn’t sweet.

He’d come home yesterday, coated in smog, droplets of blood flecked on his sand-skin in no particular pattern. He didn't shower, he’d only grabbed her and walked off to bed. No words shared, only whimpers and dark, disturbing chuckles. She’d struggled, as much as she could against the brute, but it felt as though he enjoyed that more. Tightening his hold until she swore she began to hear her bones ache, bristle as he squeezed the air from out of her lungs. 

She was happy she was spared his painful cock that night, but she was sure it would be a short-lived mercy.

His hold; though still strong, wasn’t as tight in the morning. She took it as an opportunity to create more space between herself and the fever-heat and blinding smell of caramel. She almost wished she could smell the blood and smoke instead, something bitter to disrupt the sickening sweet. She wished she could smell anything else, but even the smell of herself was overcome by him. She’d walked around the house thinking of it the other day, how it was almost as though he’d scented her, as though they were animals.

He didn’t take lightly to the disturbing of his slumber, grunting and growling, stirring that overbearing sense of fear inside her gut, her stomach folding in every possible way. She didn’t want to stop, she wanted to fight, she wanted to roar. He tightened his arms around her, squeezed her hip, planting her ass better against his crotch and she froze.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth. “Now what?” He coaxed. She expected his voice to sound groggy in the morning, but she’d learned in the past days, it never shed its ugly tone. “You gonna cry?” His voice sounding almost hopeful as he bit down on her earlobe, earning a gasp that along the way turned into a delicious little whimper. She tried clawing at his hand, his own nails digging into her skin. “Do yourself a favor and relax” All his taunting, patronizing overbearing words, dismissive to her discomfort, rather enjoying it, if only she could see the cracked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She kept struggling despite the obvious futility. “Yer’ not going anywhere, yer’ exactly where you need to be... exactly where you belong.” His tone was casual as he sucked in a breath, sighing with a grumbling growl, still sleepy, yawning behind her, comfortable when squeezing her plushie little form, keeping her close like child with a teddybear. 

But he wasn't enjoying how her legs were kicking, despite the rest of her struggles being teasingly pleasurable.

Pushed down on her back, manhandled into position, he made to move himself between her thighs. Now, with more mistaken freedom, she tried pushing him away. Foolish fists hit against the stiff muscles of his chest, until he grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them above her head. His face so much closer now, but he didn’t kiss her, still longing to hear her speak up, to beg, to plead, to scream. But he remained close, knowing how every one of his words made her heart beat that much faster, and how those especially crude words made her quiver or better yet bleat, like a little lamb beneath him.

“Come on…” He hauled out. She barely made out the words, as far hidden in the growl as they were. His voice tickling her burning ear, his head resting its heavy weight on her arm. “I know I’ve been busy, but…” He spoke as though she wanted to spend more time with him. “It’s my day off.” His voice in singsong, as if she’d be excited, the tone sounding dreadful and wrong when coming from him, dark as it was. But it earned him what he’d been wanting, that soft and struggled sniffle, breath caught in her throat, an uncontrolled shiver breaking the sweet feeble noise.

Content with what he’d reduced her to, he rested his head on the pillow beside her face, his weight laid down upon her in a lifedraining fashion. He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying her small frame beneath him. In her rightful place, he snickered. Eyes fluttering to look at her pretty face, hand covered in dried blood and smoke as it ascended to tug a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking over her lips when he made to retract it. The state of his skin made him cringe when he touched the fairness of her complexion. It felt wrong, he admitted. 

They needed to find an even ground.

“Let’s shower, I’m dirty.” She could feel his lips on her ear now, but she was too shell-shocked to snap her head away, knowing what was coming.

In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind a shower. She’d been there a while and didn’t exactly feel clean with him spread, smeared all over her, inside her. But, he’d insisted on being so very close at all times, she was sure the same rules would apply in the shower. 

She tried her best to fight, but it was all so easy to simply grab her arm and pull her with him, yanking on her like a child with a toy. Throwing her inside the large bathroom, with strength that almost had her falling to her knees.

“Take yer’ clothes off.” He commanded, having her backed up against the cold tiles of the walls. “Or… they’re not really your clothes.” He tugged at the black fabric of his shirt, one she’d put on after realizing her own clothes were far from wearable anymore, singed as they were.

Towering over her petite shape, enjoying how she had to tilt her head a drastic degree to stare up at him. 

She was so tiny, it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine to look at her, small like a little pet. His shirt hung around her in the same way you’d expect a tent would, reaching all the way down to her knees, only barely fitting on her narrow shoulders.

She wanted to sound strong. “N- no.” It came out weak.

Snickering, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. “I was hoping you’d say that…” His smile was so feral, she began wondering if smiles were ever a nice gesture in the first place. Katsuki seemed to do it simply to show her those large teeth stored in his mouth, teeth that could rip her throat out if he were dedicated enough. “Better you learn sooner than later just how helpless you are to stop me getting what I want.” He leaned in closer, stepping further into her space, threatening to crush her toes under the soles of his feet, his much too hot breaths striking her face on repeat. “Weak.” He spat the word, as though it were venom on his tongue. “Defenseless.” It disgusted him, distaste clear in the growl lacing his tone. “Fragile.” 

He’d not gotten exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to scream, whether it was of rage or of fear, didn’t really matter. The tears were no less satisfying though, dribbling down her cheeks, eyes glossy and sparkling.

He grabbed the collar of the t-shirt. She felt the pull, but the tear still came as a surprise. The ripped fabric, now reduced to useless singed rags, pooling around her ankles, and she found herself regretting her wish to smell smoke because the burn of the textile at her feet was not the type of bitter like morning coffee, but bitter in the way that made her eyes sting. Her knees almost gave out when his hand neared her again, his other hand placed above her head, meaning to cage her in between his warmth and the freezing wall behind her. 

Her nipples perked at once when he made contact, which made him smile, hand still hot, much too hot. He cupped one breast in his hand, much too small to fill it entirely. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“So soft…” The disdainful tone was gone, but she found herself missing it as opposed to what lingered in his voice now. “So delicate.” Lust was so terribly more frightening than his distaste. “So…” He licked his lips, a hot breath fanned over her face and goosebumps sprung to the surface of her skin. He hummed in response and she was sure she might just faint. “So sensitive.” She yelped when he pinched. “Mine.” His voice was low and rumbling, hot like raked coals. Tugging down her bottoms as well, she did little to prevent it. 

Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[9w1ft]

Thanks for answering, 9wing! I am on the same page as you, you just helped me to articulate my feelings better.

Some of the songs don't really necessarily feel like they'd be tied to the nighttime on their own (Bejeweled, LH except for the first lyric, Karma, Sweet Nothing, etc) but in my head, when I connect them to a certain narrative, they work better. That narrative is that the night starts out fun, she's staying out “too late” and separating away from the "Good Girl" image the media thrusts upon her (she's experimenting sonically, she's cussing freely even when she doesn't need to perse, she's saying things she normally doesn't do), but then as we get deeper into the night, the thrilling tipsiness transforms into alcoholically-influenced insecurities, paranoia, and guilt. The album order of the songs don't match my narrative, but it's something I like to imagine to further enhance my midnights streaming experience.

I also thought the same! Was definitely expecting her to dive into the 60s/70s/80s era based on those photoshoot, but I'm not unhappy with the results. Midnights definitely surpassed all expectations in a really different and unexpected way, I appreciate that Taylor isn't afraid to experiment and venture into new areas with her music and genres.

i love these thoughts! as with many of her albums i don’t get the sense these are in a specific chronological or thematic order from top do bottom (more the mosaic of love that lover is) but what you bring up is really interesting and i totally feel it with the openers vs closers and i’ll definitely think about it when listening.

you unearthed a tangent!

i think that for me in some cases, the “midnights” of it all helped me contextualize or picture some songs in very specific ways. like if you look at some of the songs from the perspective of them being set at midnight, certain interpretations make even more sense. and i kinda love the fun puzzly nature of that.

for example, what kind of midnight happens when you are singing kids songs and playing kids games in one room and your lover is in the kitchen humming? why would this be at an odd hour instead of during the day?

what kind of midnight do you find yourself telling your partner to breathe and comforting them about pain getting better and cracking small talk jokes with them and while you worry if you made the right life altering choice you are simultaneously realizing that, uh oh, you keep falling in love again and again. why would this be at an odd hour instead of during the day? what about that could be scary?

what kind of midnight is it, that you walk yourself to a house not a home all alone because nobody is there, when the ambient noises of the song doesn’t make it feel that way exactly. what is a kind of moment where you can be not necessarily alone but also feel alone and wanting to spill out truths and advice to anyone who would listen.

what kind of person would not ever say to much or read into emotions but stare at the ceiling with you in the middle of the night? what kind of person wouldn’t even be listening to taylor’s history, how could taylor be under scrutiny and have all this shit be somehow new to her? what about her situation could be new? of course this could just be a quiet lover or people could fit it to joe or say it’s about the start of kaylor or say that taylor talking about something new means it can’t be kaylor but come now, hasnt anything about kaylor in the past few years newly developed? something you’d do anything at all hours to protect? i can think of fun and fitting ideas.

i always have weird song interpretations so i’m not here to press all of them on anyone but, i really think this album can be listened to in a certain way that gives it all a certain ingeniousness ☺️ and i love it so much

[raineydays411]

Trauma does really bond

Umbrella academy x teen!reader

Summary: You were number eight, The Healer. With the power to heal anything you touch. Or at least you would be, if the world knew about you.

A/n: I know I said new fics on Friday but I couldn’t wait lol

Everybody knows the story of the Umbrella Academy. Seven children, adopted by an eccentric billionaire, forced to become superheros and eventually fizzled out of the limelight.  

But know one knows about you. 

You were the eighth child Reginald Hargreeves adopted. You were Y/n Hargreeves, age 17. Everyone knows that the seven siblings were all born at the same time, and day. So how are you 17?

Well basically the same thing, but when your mother spontaneously gave birth to you, she handed you over to Reginald within a heartbeat and as far as he knows, you were the only spontaneous birth on y/bd. So he took you in. Now he wasn’t completely sire that you would get powers. For all he knew, your mother just didn’t want you. But all that changed when you were just 6 years old. 

You had stumbled upon a mouse that was squirming in a mouse trap while exploring the attic. You felt so bad for the poor thing that you had set it free. You cradled it in your hands, as you teared up at the sight of it twitching when suddenly you felt it. It was like magic, you felt each bone and nerve that was broken heal until the mouse was once again moving, full of life. You ran out the attic, mouse in hand. Running all the way to your fathers office, barging in despite his protests.

“Y/n Hargreeves, how many times must I tell you--” “ I’m sorry father, but look!” you cut him off, thrusting the healed mouse towards him.

“Number eight. You interrupted my studies to show me vermin?” 

“No father! I healed him! He was in the mouse trap and I healed him!” You exclaim. That caught Reginalds attention. 

“You healed it?” He asks eyeing the mouse, “ How?”

“I dunno” you shrug, “ I just felt bad and touched him”

Reginald hums, standing from his desk and walks over to you. 

“Come with me.” He says, leading you out the study with a hand on your back. 

From then on he put you through brutal training. Nicking you with knives I see if you could heal yourself, bringing you hurt animals to heal, injured people. Then it escalated. He brought in people who were on the brink of death, comatose. He forced you to heal them, despite it taking all your energy. There were multiple times where you ended up collapsing, sobbing and exhausted from healing too many people in one day. He forced you to get up, and heal some more claiming,

“You have been given a gift. It would be selfish of you to hoard it just because you get a little tired”

Not to mention the brutal physical training. Because you had no siblings, he made training robots. They, unlike humans, did not hold back. Forcing you to fight as if you were actually trying to survive. And if you lost, you weren’t able to heal yourself.

Now all this training would have made some sense if you were going out into the world and saving lives. You weren’t. Reginald didn’t allow it. You were to stay on the premises, 24/7, 365 days a year. He claimed

“The world is cruel Number Eight. You are not yet ready to face the harshness that is reality. It is best to keep you here until you are.”

So alone you were. Well not totally alone, you did have Grace an Pogo. And you had Luther but all he did was missions and avoid you so he didn’t really count. But Grace and Pogo? They were your best friends. Grace was practically your mother. She sang to you, brushed your hair, tucked you in, told you about your “siblings”, and taught you how to bake and cook as well as other things. She like you, wasn’t allowed to leave, so you felt like she understood you. Pogo, taught you everything you know. He helped you learn seven languages, he sat and was forced to listen to you learn the piano, violin, and guitar, he was the one who snuck you Vanyas book and answered any questions that Grace couldn’t. And he was the one who sat with you in the attic as you both looked out at a city that didn’t know you existed.

You secretly longed for the day you were able to leave. If not training or doing school work, you could be found gazing out the attic window, or outside in the courtyard staring up at the sky. Despite being in a huge mansion, you felt trapped. You have read almost every book in the house, including Luthers research that he sent from the moon, Fives old theories, and Allison’s diary. You started meditating, yoga, and even picking up little hobbies like scrapbooking or candles making. You learned different ways to play chess, ballroom dancing ( your father insisted), how to read music, and so many other things. You were so smart and yet so naive. You, theoretically knew the cruel realities of the world, having read them in books and such. But you never experienced them. You had no human contact other than your father (and Luther till he was sent to the moon). You knew battlefield medic techniques but not simple everyday things. Hell, not even your so called siblings knew that you existed except Luther and he was sworn to secrecy. Not like he payed attention to you anyway. You weren’t even allowed to watch movies or listen to modern music. Just whatever records Luther had, and the Walkman you found up in the attic. But secretly, at night when you crept into the attic, you can see into the apartment across from you. Their large tv playing movies and you were able to watch. Playing classics like Dirty Dancing and Grease, action, and scary movies that scarred you for life. But it was your escape. You couldn’t hear the words but you made them up. A little world all to yourself, your little secret. You yearned for that moment when you could leave. Leave behind strict schedules and brutal training. Leave behind empty halls and loneliness. But you knew it wasn’t coming soon.

Not over your fathers dead body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your father is dead.

You didn’t realize it at first, having been extremely exhausted for some reason. You went to bed early saying good night to everyone and promptly passing out. But you know that your father was fine. Healthy even, as you could sense it with your powers. So when you woke up and reached out, sensing your family as you always did, you knew something was wrong. You couldn’t feel your father. Not how you used to. It felt like...like the dead bodies he used to force you to heal.

You leapt out of bed and dashed to his room, heart racing as you passed a humming Grace. You burst into the room, seeing him collapsed against the bed, limp and eyes closed.

“Nononono father?! Father can you hear me?!” You say rushing to his side. You feel for a pulse but find nothing, noticing his cold skin. You start CPR, like he trained you to do.

“ Father?! Father please!” You start to cry, tears running down your face as you race to save him. But deep down you knew...you couldn’t heal a dead body.

“ MOM” you scream desperately, starting to use your powers, “ POGO”

You start to get light head, your basically pouring your energy into this dead body. Your powers kickstart the healing process, accelerating it 10 times it’s usual rate allowing for quick healing. But if the bodies dead...it can’t heal itself and you basically just heal superficial wounds but not bring them back. 

“Father...” you start to slur, you’re running out of energy and he still hasn’t woken up. “Father you have to wake up...don’t leave me...”

Your world starts spinning as you fight to stay awake. Desperate to save the man you consider as your father. But you collapse. The world fading in and out as you see two silhouettes hover over you.

“ oh y/n...” a voice softly says. You feel someone touch your head and you succumb to the darkness. Feeling helpless as you realize one thing.

Reginald Hargreeves is dead.

That night, around the country seven siblings find out that their father has died. And make plans to come home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were unconscious for the whole day.

You woke up letting yesterday’s events wash over you. You cry. Not for the man, cause let’s face it he’s an asshole, but because of what he represented. He was part of your family. Your world that only consisted of three.

And you couldn’t save him.

And let’s face it, he was your father. He kind of raised you for seventeen years. You had to care about him.

After calming down, you reach out. You try to feel for Pogo or Grace, but you can sense the presence of two people you’ve never met. So you force yourself out of bed, and creep down the hallway. Your room right closer to Reginalds as it was the only room left. So you snuck into the main room, seeing your mother staring into space.

“Momma?” You whisper, catching Graces attention.

“ Oh Y/n dear, you woke up.” Grace says with a smile standing and stroking your face, “ Darling, your in your night clothes, you know the rules.”

Your eyes water as you throw yourself in her arms. Feeling like a child.

“ I..I tried momma..I really did”

You feel her arms wrap around you, “ Do you want breakfast, you haven’t eaten in 12 hours and 15 minutes.”

You were confused. Why was she acting like nothing has happened?

“Momma I-“ “Mom?”

A male voice cuts you off. You freeze, not knowing who the voice belongs to. His presence unfamiliar.

“Diego, welcome home are you hungry?” Grace says, “I was just going to make breakfast for Y/n” she squeezed you gently before letting you go to turn to Diego.

You hide behind her, like a child. Peaking over her shoulder to get a glimpse at the man. He was average height, Hispanic most likely, wearing all black with a harness and some knives. He had short hair and a scar on the side of his face. He looked at you then Grace in disbelief or shock. You can feel that he was healthy, just a bit sore.

“Um mom who’s that?” He asks gesturing to you.

“Oh I suppose you haven’t met yet. Diego, this is..well why don’t you introduce yourself.” She says to you. Your eyes widen and shake your head.

“Come on dear, just like we practiced. Go on.” Grace nudges you in front of her. Setting a comforting hand on your back.

“ hello...my names y/n Hargreeves. It’s lovely to meet you.” You say softly, and then you give a shy smile.

“Hargreeves?” Diego asks, shocked, “ I don’t understand...how?”

“ Y/n is just like you and your siblings.” Pogo chimes in, startling the three of you.

“ She came to us 17 years ago, just as the six of you left. Your father kept her secret as he did many things.  She has remarkable abilities just as you and your siblings. ”

Diego looks at you, sizing you up and taking you in. “Why didn’t we know about this?” He asks Pogo.

“ Your father had his reasons. He believed she wasn’t ready to see the outside world. She has been here her whole life.”

Diego scoffs, “ What? It wasn’t enough that he ruin our lives, he had to start again?”

He looks at you, “ Welcome to the family, kid.”

Then he walks off. You look at Grace and Pogo

“ Did..did I do something wrong?” You ask.

“ Oh no, Diego is just...on edge. You did great.” Grace says cupping your cheek.

“ I am glad that you are alright Y/n. It’s good to see you up and about.” Pogo says with a comforting smile.

“ thank you..” you say, “ there’s another person here..a woman.”

“Yes, well I think it is time you meet your sister. Come along.” Pogo says, leading you to the kitchen.

Oh boy...

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 3 - Call

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Solo & Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex 

Summary: With Gojo away on a mission, you decide to take the initiative by calling him for a little bit of fun.

A/N: ~

- - - 

Two months into your little arrangement with Gojo, you began noticing how certain aspects of your friendship started changing.

For one thing, Gojo could barely keep his hands off you. When you would sit next to each other, he would drape his arm lazily around your shoulder as if it belonged there. When having idle conversations with him talking about work or gossip, he would stare at you attentively while stroking your thigh. Most recently, while you were hanging out at his place, you were caught off guard when you felt him brush your hair away before delicately planting a kiss on your forehead.

At first you thought about telling him to stop, figuring his actions might be overstepping the boundaries you both set up. However, you changed your mind when you realised how nonchalant his behavior was. You figured his intentions were purely based on the fact that he could touch you in ways that he wasn’t allowed to before. Besides, Gojo was really good about ensuring not to make a serious move when the two of you decided to hang out instead of “drink” together.

You were surprised with how easily he switched from his fun, lovable self to the insatiable beast that would have you submit to his every word. Initially, you couldn’t bring yourself to make the first move around him, using a simple manipulation tactic of distraction that would ultimately force Gojo to take action.

Then the night at his apartment happened, where he had you flat across his kitchen counter while his tongue was working magic between your legs until you were unraveling in front of him over and over again. You were calling out his name in desperation, begging him to give you a break from the overstimulation but he refused. In the end, he left your body trembling from the final orgasm he gave you before lifting you up slowly and holding you close to him. He kissed your swollen lips, all before reaching for your hand and guiding it down to his pants.

“ Learn to use me like how I’m using you…” he whispered, “...stop holding yourself back. Otherwise, I won’t fuck you.”  

“I am using you,” you insisted with a pout, your hands motioning over his hardened member as you began rubbing him over his pants.  

A soft groan escaped him and he eloquently replied, “if you won’t even kiss me when you want to, then  you sure as hell won’t be comfortable with my dick inside you…”  

He was forcing your hand and your resistance was waning. He was becoming your favorite distraction, especially on the nights when you were feeling lonely.

Gojo was away on a mission and you had no idea when he would be back. He didn’t exactly live by a normal schedule but it’s been over a week since you last saw him and you really needed to relieve some of this sexual frustration that’s been running rampant in your mind.

You texted him while on your way home from work, asking him to call you if he was free later in the evening.

Once you arrived at your one-bedroom apartment, you gave yourself some much needed time for self-care. You cooked dinner then followed up with a long shower to relax from your own tiresome work week. After applying your face routine, you changed from your towel to a pretty light blue underwear set, opting for some luxury wear instead of your usual comfort clothes of sweatpants and an oversized tee.

You took a second to admire yourself before slipping on your silk robe. You haven’t felt this beautiful in your own skin in a while, and  while you would never admit it to Gojo, you found that being desired by him made you feel good.

You’ve been in a limbo of grey since breaking up with your ex, who spent the last six months of your relationship cheating on you before leaving you for the very same person he was fucking on the side. You gave him your heart and soul, allowing yourself to fall in love with him only to be shattered in the end. He left you picking up the pieces, to slowly glue yourself back together but managed to leave an irreparable wound in your heart.

Of course, you never told Gojo the real reason why you broke up when it happened. When the announcement came, it caught your friend totally off guard.

“ What do you mean it’s over? I was planning on ordering a custom suit for your wedding!”

Gojo had no clue that your boyfriend’s unfaithfulness left you with a sense of deep rooted shame.You weren’t used to keeping secrets from him but you did not want to show how weak you were. Three years of wondering what went wrong, of trying to puzzle together why you weren’t good enough for your ex, of stopping yourself from calling him when you were alone, of suffering from your own misery...

You made your way over to your bedroom, stepping over the mess of laundry on your floor that you were choosing to ignore and falling back onto your mattress. You reached for your device to check your notifications, hovering over the chat you had with Gojo before locking your screen and placing your phone by your side.

There was still no reply.

You were growing impatient and decided to take matters into your own hands until he responded.

You tangled your fingers around the belt of your robe, thinking about Gojo’s lips on yours. You weren’t shocked to learn that he was an exceptionally good kisser. The act itself was sinfully addictive and you realised that you could kiss him forever and never get bored.

When Gojo got naked in front of you for the first time, you were surprised to find that despite his tall and somewhat lanky frame, underneath all that clothing was a sculpted being. He had muscular legs which you loved grinding against, the broadest shoulders that you desperately clung on to for support as you reached your peak and a strong torso that your body easily melted into after you climaxed. The man was physically flawless and he knew it , which made it worse for you because he played on his attractiveness to get exactly what he wanted out of you.

You loosened the robe, spreading your legs and noticing the heat building from your lower abdomen as your mind raced at the thought of him. You brought your fingers to your folds, massaging them over the lace fabric but picturing his hands instead. You were thinking of the way he would purr in that low, sexy voice of his, praising you while you were down on your knees for him.

“Mmmm, that’s my girl…”

“You’re doing so fucking well, angel…”

“Keep going, baby, I’m almost there...”  

You loved that he used these pet names on you when you were intimate with him. Even more, it was the gratified reaction from his own lips as a result of your actions that sent a chill throughout your body. You couldn’t wait to finally feel him inside you and listen to the kind of filthy words he would spill while fucking you.

Your hand slipped underneath your underwear, two fingers deep in you pumping furiously while your other hand gripped onto the bedsheet. You allowed yourself to be as loud as you wanted, putting on a performance that Gojo would surely regret missing. Even if your neighbors heard you next door, they would not be able to tell that you were on your own climaxing yourself to a fiery orgasm.

“ God , I needed that…” you sighed, your eyes falling heavy as you slowly came down from your solo session.

Feeling significantly better, you stretched your arms overhead before glancing over at your phone and laying by your side. A little disappointed but not surprised that Gojo still hasn’t responded.

***

You sat up, dazed and unaware of when you fell asleep. You were surrounded by darkness except for the luminous glow that flashed from your phone. You glanced over your shoulders to find it ringing, squinting for a second to try and see who was calling you at this extremely late hour.

“Hello?” you finally answered, realizing that your throat was dry from your deep sleep.

Gojo sang your name on the receving line, his tone surprisingly energetic. “I got back to the hotel a little while ago and saw your text. Did I wake you?”

You checked the time before replying, “it’s three o’clock in the morning what do you think?”

“ I’m sorry, ” he cooed. “I can let you go back to sleep if you like...”

“No, it’s fine, I’m awake...” you replied, adjusting your position so you were sitting against the frame of your bed.  “Late night?”

“Yeah…”

“All okay?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over...”  

You swallowed hard at his comment. Of course you were concerned for his safety but Gojo never revealed what he dealt with and sometimes you felt irrational for being scared about something you knew so little about.  Yes, he loved bragging about his victories against curses he deemed as weak but ones that posed an actual challenge to the sorcerer?

Those ones he refrained from talking about.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely text?” Gojo asked, changing the subject upon hearing your silence.

“It’s been stressful at work this week. We have a new project coming up and our boss is up in arms about ensuring it all goes well, which means I’ve been working late most nights…” you paused before continuing your explanation, “I feel kind of silly complaining about it now but I just thought I would call for a fun chat. You know? Get my mind off some things?”

“What kind of fun are we talking about here?”

You smiled to yourself, “we never actually figured out how to grab drinks while you were away…”

“ Ahhhh …”  Gojo teased, a hint of amusement in his tone as he perked up at your words. “I should have known. You don’t usually ask me to call you while I’m gone. Not going to lie, you had me a little concerned...”

You blushed at the thought of him worrying about you, “I don’t want to keep you up though, it’s late anyway. You must be exhausted…”  

He cut you off with a chuckle, “...same rules still apply even if I’m away. If you just texted me with our usual message, I would have called with a much better hello. Let me guess, I already missed out on some of the fun ?”

“ Maybe… ” you seductively replied.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, “that’s a shame…”

“I know and I’m wearing the lace set you like so much…” you added, coaxing him with your teasing words.

“Mmmm, I do love how you look in blue.” he stated. “Tell me, what exactly were you thinking of when you decided to have “fun” by yourself?”

“Before I answer that, I just need to know something…”

“What is it?”

“Do you have your blindfold on?”

“No…” Gojo replied, slightly confused.

You tapped the back of your phone lightly, “well, well...looks like I’ll just have to wait then...”

“Are you serious? I can’t even see you!”

“It doesn’t matter! If you won’t take it off when we are together then you have to wear it at all times...that’s what you said…”

You could feel Gojo rolling his eyes at you. “Fine, fine! Give me a minute…” he huffed.

You giggled to yourself, humming as you waited.

“ Smart ass,” he teased, letting you know that he was back on the line.

“Hey, I’m just playing by the rules!”

“And I’m ready to play with you ... ”

Before you knew it, Gojo had ordered you to get naked. You were tangled up in your sheets, your body writhing from his dirty talk as you masturbated. Gojo kept saying how much he missed being buried between your legs, how much he wanted to taste that sweet cunt and how desperate he was to fuck you.

“Mmm, you’re such a fucking tease, doing this to me while I’m away...you best believe that once I’m back I will fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight...”

You mewled in response, feeling yourself so close to your release that you could not speak.  

“ Say it, ” Gojo directed, knowing that he can barely hold on himself due to the sounds of your pleasure. “I want to hear you say it…”  

Gojo went silent, his breath growing heavier as he was losing himself to the moment. You could hear him pumping his cock, finally pushing himself to his own release. A moan escaped you, your back arching off the bed as you parted your lips to speak. Your voice pitched as you whimpered into the phone and telling Gojo the exact words he has been dying to hear.

"I want you to fuck me, Satoru..." you begged. "Please, fuck me ...”

- CHAPTER 4: DOMAIN - 

[laurie-stark]

Get up and get out

Summary: Sort of part two to Unwanted. A year after fighting in Germany, y/n has to deal with the insufferable Peter Parker being around the house all the time. 

Pairings: Peter Parker x stark!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader, Natasha Romanoff x daughter!reader. 

Warnings: swearing, angst? i guess? mentions of blood. mentions of panic nightmares 

A/N: Again, I want to make it very clear so there isn’t any confusion: Y/n is Tony’s biological child, however, being raised also by Natasha, Steve and Pepper, she calls them Muma, Pops and Mom. Hopefully that makes sense LOL oh and also i’ve never written like...kiss scenes before so just go with it okay?

He was here again. Third time this week that he has come barging into my home and taken over my training center. Okay, to be fair, it was not my training center but still. Peter Parker will never stop being a pain in my ass. Ever since that stupid trip to Germany, he has been coming over and training for hours, or working with Dad. Three times just this week I’ve had to endure listening to Peter talk with his stupid little voice and walk around my house like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? And every time I have to sit through another dinner of Dad blabbing on and on about what a miraculous boy he is.

               “Really y/n, I think you two would be great friends,” I rolled my eyes as I picked at my dinner. The rest of the family ate in silence around the table. The last thing I wanted to do is spend more time with stupid Spider-boy. On the afternoons when he was here, I tried my best to stay out of his way. I would stay on my floor and he stays on his. Simple. I don’t need a new friend.

“…And he’s coming by again tomorrow, so I was thinking of showing him A.P.R.I.L. if you wanted to join us-” Dad continued.

What the hell? I thought. “No!” I snapped. “No way. A.P.R.I.L. is mine, I don’t want him messing with her.” Dad frowned at me. The rest of the table looked up in my direction. My shoulders tensed up as I faced my father. A.P.R.I.L. is my baby and I was ready to go toe to toe with him if I needed too.

“What do you mean no? I thought you’d be excited to share that with him,” he started.

“Well I’m not, so back off,” I sneered. The shift in his expression made me want to bite my own tongue. “Please.”

“I seriously do not understand what your problem is. You’ve been complaining for years how there’s only adults but the second a kid your age comes by you’re all “oooh no don’t talk to me Peter!””

I scoffed. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t want to bother you and your new best friend.”

“There it is. Why are you so jealous of him? He’s not that cool. He hasn’t made a fully functioning A.I at the age of 15. He just spits sticky stuff out of his fingers. Honestly y/n, you’re making zero sense right now.”

“Whatever, I’m over this,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table. I grabbed my untouched dinner plate and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m not hungry. And don’t show him A.P.R.I.L., I mean it!” I dumped my plate in the sink and marched right down the hall towards the elevators. My dad was right. I wasn’t making any sense. Ever since I made A.P.R.I.L I’ve used every excuse I could find to shove her down people’s throats. Anyone who would listen to me, I would tell them. Tell them all about how I programmed her to have realistic personality. How she’s running through the walls of this place, through my room, even inside the bracelet I never take off. All I knew is that I didn’t want Peter Parker anywhere near her.

I shut the door to my hard, and flopped onto my bed. A.P.R.I.L. reminded me that slamming the doors usually results in a punishment. I acknowledged her with a half-hearted grunt. I started programming A.P.R.I.L. when I was thirteen. Or rather, reprogrammed. A.P.R.I.L. was made from an older prototype version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. The base stuff was already there, I just moved some things here, recoded there until she was perfect. I don’t know why I got so defensive about Peter meeting her. Or why I had to pick another fight with my dad.

It was easier these days. To fight him, I mean. I suppose I never got over the whole “Peter is better, I choose him over you, blah, blah” thing as much as I thought I did. So, I would pick fights. Fighting over Peter was the simplest way to go, considering he was the reason I was so angry in the first place. Sometimes we would fight over him, other times we would fight over silly things. Like how I keep forgetting not to put my coffee grounds in the garbage disposal. Most of the time it was all just bickering that would blow over in thirty minutes, give or take. Sometimes it was explosive, like today.  I took in a shaky breath and sprawled out across my sheets. Sometimes this family is a fucking nightmare.

Dad didn’t come by this time. It threw me off for a second because he always comes by. Even if it’s six hours later and neither of us should be awake, he still comes by with a box of milk duds that we share in silence before one of us apologizes first. That’s how we work. When it finally sunk in that he was not planning on coming, I put A.P.R.I.L. on the job. I figured perhaps he left the compound, maybe took Mom for a nighttime stroll.

“Your father is on floor B, Miss Stark,” A.P.R.I.L. informed me.

“Jesus A.P.R.I.L., how many times have I said to cut the formalities,” I muttered.

“My apologies, y/n.”

Floor B. What the hell is he doing on floor B at…12:00 in the morning? Floor B is strictly for members of household and other Avengers. There are a billion different training rooms down there. Weight rooms, boxing, a huge pool, stuff like that. Not to taint his image, but I can safely say the last time my father willingly worked out for fun was probably before I was even born. Why was he down there? Unless…

“A.P.R.I.L. who else is on floor B right now?” I asked. “Throw it on the hologram, would you dear?

The sounds of the hologram starting filled the room. A.P.R.I.L. pulled up the security map of floor B, like I’d asked. There was my dad, floor B in the boxing room of all places. Pops and Sam looked to be going at it in another one of the combat training rooms. My confusion only rose when another nametag popped up on the screen. My brows furrowed.

Peter Parker

What was he doing here? Why was he boxing? Why was he not in his own home at midnight on a Thursday? My mind was spinning with questions. A knock at my door startled me.

“Come in…”

Natasha popped her head through the doorway. “Hey there…whatcha doing kid?”

I swiftly swiped away the hologram screen and sat up straight. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“Well, we’re getting a little worried about you,” she said. We being everyone else at the table who had to witness my brawl with Dad. She sat down beside me. “You haven’t fought back like that in a long time and I’ve noticed you’re fighting with him a lot recently. You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

I wanted too. God, I wanted too. I hadn’t told anyone what my father said to me that day after the airport, not even my mom. But it didn’t matter. I’d get over it sooner or later, so there was no point troubling anyone else with my problems…right? My eyes started to well up but I blinked away the tears. “No. Everything’s fine,” I put on a smile.

Natasha tucked me in under her arm. “Okay then. Maybe tomorrow.” That was Muma for you. She never pushed me to talk but knew I would come around at some point. In the meantime, she just held me. I cried into her embrace. She let me cry into her shoulder for a long while, until I was empty. After a time, I let go and she got up, giving me a kiss on the head before wishing me a good night.

I rubbed my hands over my face, brushing off any remaining tears. “A.P.R.I.L. bring the hologram back up please.”

“Are you sure y/n?”

…

“Yeah.”

Peter was still in the boxing room but my father was not. Upon further digging, I found the nametag reading Tony Stark on my floor. He’d gone to bed. I pondered to myself as to whether or not I should venture downstairs. What is the worst thing that could happen? Peter is secretly a Hydra spy and kills me? No, I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous. Another minute passed and I’d made up my mind.

“A.P.R.I.L. engage “I am definitely here”,” I commanded.

“”I am definitely here” protocol engaged. Volume minimized to 5% and your tracking tag will be pinned to this room,” A.P.R.I.L. responded. “Good luck on your mission small agent.”

“Oh shut up,” I chided. I closed the door to my room as softly as I could. It was nearly one in the morning, most of the hall would be asleep. Or at least they should be. The hallway was silent, except for the soft noise of my socks padding along the floor. I cursed myself for looking so ridiculous. If anyone caught me, I could easily say that I was just getting a midnight snack. Not sneaking down to spy on Spider-bitch. Boy. Whatever. Sneaking added to the excitement.

I made it downstairs all in one piece. Steve and Sam nearly passed me in one of the halls, but I had ducked into a briefing room. I could totally be a spy. Maybe I’m a Hydra spy. I thought. And they sent me here as a baby to take down the Avengers from the inside. What was I going on about? This was why I should really be in bed, I was clearly delirious. Once again, distracting myself in my thoughts led to me getting startled. I hadn’t even realized I was outside the boxing room. I would have walked right in if not for the handy wall that I smacked into.

Peter was in the ring, practicing his punches. He’d lowered down one of the punching bags from the ceiling and it was close to ripping at the seams. He was really going ham on it. The questions piled on. So, he came over to my house at midnight to…train? Something he had all afternoon today to do? God, he was weird. I suppose I didn’t quite know what I was going to get myself into when I finally walked in to confront him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, arms folded tightly across my chest.

Peter started and looked down at me. Sweat was dripping down his face. He looked exhausted. “Training,” he said bluntly. He returned to treating the punching bag like it had run over his dog.

“At one in the morning? And after you spent like six hours today doing just that?” I was not letting him off that easy. Peter ignored me and continued punching. “Your form is shit.” I mocked.

That made him stop. “Funny coming from the girl who never leaves her room. When have you ever trained? Like ever?”

“I still beat your ass.”

“Yeah like, a year ago when I was barely an avenger.”

I rolled my eyes. “You still aren’t.”

“What do you want?” Peter spat.

I shrugged. “Dunno.” I stared him down with a smug look on my face.

“You are always such a bitch, you know that?”

I faked a pout. “Aw…bite me.”

Peter was chewing the inside of his cheek in anger. “If you’re going to stay here and pester me, you might as well get a few punches in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Consider it a rematch.”

I studied his physique for a moment. He’d grown a lot since Germany. He’d also trained a lot since then as well. I had done little of either. I knew that entering that ring would probably end up with me losing my dignity and maybe even a tooth. But I was not going to let him stand there with his stupid, sweaty face and get away with it. This is not a good idea, I thought as I took off my socks. I moved the ropes and stepped into the ring, standing a foot in front of the boy.

“I’ll still win.”

“No powers either.”

“Deal.” Not like I’ve touched my powers since…since the incident.

Peter took his stance and I did my best to mirror him. I realized in that moment that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the first thing about boxing. Or sparring. I didn’t know how to fight without my powers. Oh, sweet Jesus.

We kept our distance at first, fists up. He threw a few punches and missed. I followed in suit. I finally got the first hit, a nice throw to his chest. He took it like a champ and didn’t flinch. Or rather, I couldn’t hit for shit and it didn’t hurt. He threw a punch to my left, only to miss on purpose and punched me square across my jaw. Ow. I chuckled lowly. The taste of blood filled my mouth from the fresh cut on my lip. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. All I could see was white rage.

Forget form, forget rules, forget everything. I lunged at him with everything I had. Lunged at him for all the bullshit he had brought into my life. For all the bitter things I had to hear my father say that weren’t even Peter’s fault. He was clearly not expecting my attack because we both fell to the ground. We fought tirelessly on the mat. He was physically stronger than me, so by default he was winning. He wrestled me until I was pinned under him. One hand was pinning my hand above my head, the other arm pinning down my body. In any other circumstances I would be amused to find myself in such a scandal. I looked in his eyes briefly and I could already tell he thought that he was winning. If there’s one thing I learned from Nat, it’s to always step on their moment. I hooked my leg around his knee and used all my force to flip us over. I had him pinned down now, my hair falling around my face. We were both breathing heavily.

“Told you,” I taunted. I was mentally preparing him to punch back but he didn’t. He snapped his arms out from under me and shoved me off him, hard. I fell back against the mat. He rose to his feet, brushing his hands off on his pants. “What the hell?” I exclaimed. I jumped to my feet while his back was turned to me and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He stumbled a few steps after I pushed him. Slowly, he stretched back up to reach his full height.

“You’re right,” he turned to face me and extended a hand. “Shake on the truce?” I took his hand, accepting his surrender. Only, he was not really surrendering. The moment my hand touched his, he yanked me towards him. I tripped over my feet and fell into him. My chest crashed onto his. The world was a blur as he grabbed me with force and spun us around, so he could push me up against the ropes of the ring.

“Stop, Peter get off me you bitch!” I fought back. I flailed my whole body around, trying to break loose. One hand reached up to grab the back of my head, pulling my hair and forcing my head back. I froze. His face was dangerously close to my exposed neck. His shift let my opposite arm break free. I took a breathe and reeled it back, ready to smack him in the across the face. He caught my wrist in time without taking his eyes off mine.

He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, “I win.” His breathe trickled down my neck. He had won, but he wasn’t moving. One hand was still in my hair, the other was pinning me against the ropes. His chest breathed heavily against my own. His grip on my head loosened slightly and I was able to look him straight on. He had that same smug look pasted across his face. His eyes moved from mine, trailing down my face, my neck, my body, before they settled on my lips. I momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

He kissed me hard. I tensed up slightly before giving into him completely. It tasted like blood and sweat and I felt like I was losing my mind. He pulled me closer, if that was even possible and claimed my mouth with his until my knees gave out. A newfound wave of warm washed through me. The hand in my hair gave a slight tug and my lips parted while that same hand moved to cup my jaw. For all I knew, the entire compound was wide awake and watching but I did not care. I brought my fingers to his hair, tugging at the ends. I smiled cunningly when he groaned into my mouth. He kissed me greedily and fully. Like he hated me. And I hated him.

We broke apart, limbs numb and chests heaving. The moment had passed, and our actions sunk in. What. The. Fuck. He lifted the ropes for me, and I climbed out of the ring. My head was still spinning from that kiss and my lip stung. Consequences I suppose, for kissing someone with a busted lip. I silently pulled my socks back on and Peter handed me a towel. Neither of us said another word. I left the room and didn’t look back. I could hear him behind me, but I was in no rush to have to look him in the eye ever again. What just happened?

 I woke the next morning to A.P.R.I.L. alerting me that “Father Dearest” was outside my door. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. We both stayed quiet for a while.

I spoke first. “Where were you last night? You didn’t come by after…” I let my words trail off.

“I was going to, I swear. But then something came up with Peter and I had to go take care of that,” Dad answered.

I frowned. “Typical. Peter over your own flesh and blood, right?”

Dad inhaled sharply like he was going to bite back, but changed his mind. “That’s not true and you know it. Peter is…he’s going through something and I knew how to help him. Not everything is about you, you narcissist,” He said, joking at the end.

I had to push down my own smile. “Yeah well where do you think I got it from?” I sat up and leaned into my father. He brushed a hand down my back. “So, what’s wrong with Peter then?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you, it’s personal.” I looked up at him with my doe eyes. He rolled his eyes and sighed, nodding a silent defeat. I felt like I was nine again and he was gossiping with me about the latest secretary. Like every fight had been forgotten in this moment. “He’s been having some nightmares ever since DC. You remember the ones we used to get after Loki?” I nodded. “Now you, you always amazed me at how you handled those. But for me and Peter, we needed a different outlet. So, I let him come over in the middle of the night. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” I hummed in response, not sure what to make of that information. I mean, I kind of felt bad for the guy. He was still a bitch, but those dreams suck. No one should have to deal with them. “He really isn’t as bad as you think, you know.”

“Yeah,” I hummed. “I think you’re right.”

tag list:

@runawayolives @ creation-magician @ eridanuswave @ markhyucksmells @ beep-beep-losersclub

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 2

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 6k (lol no chill as always)

[a/n]

Sorry for the delayed update. I added almost 1k words just to solidify the characters to give depth even more to the story. Feel free to reread. (It's totally not because I started a different series altogether.)

When I say this is slow burn, I meant sloooooooowww burn. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist. :)

AO3 

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

What were you even thinking? Actually,  why weren’t you? Had you used at least two brain cells of yours, you wouldn’t have momentarily lost your mind and kissed Tsukishima. You could’ve justified your actions if you were drunk, but you ingested not even an ounce of alcohol that night.

History will remember yesterday as the day a a sober you and a very displeased Tsukishima who found yourselves smooching publicly in the middle of a club. You’re just glad that no other member of the team goes to the same university you both go to. Else, you'd run the risk of getting seen.

Were so touch-deprived that you couldn’t resist even Tsukishima? And what about him? Why did he get along with it? You don’t think he actually hates you. Hate is such a strong word. He just exceedingly dislikes you. So why would he make out with you? Maybe he thought of it as a way of finally standing up to you?

Ugh.

You’re thankful that you didn’t have training yesterday. You were a mess the whole day trying to make sense of what happened. Not that you’re any better today; you’re still baffled as fuck. But you’re glad you had that day off so you wouldn’t have to face him immediately. 

For the first time ever, you’re dreading going to the gym. Even if you’re tired or you lack sleep, you’ve never felt distressed as the manager of the Sendai Frogs. All this because of Tsukishima. But can you really put the blame on him when it was you who initiated it?

“Good morning, y/n,” Eiji, the captain of the team greets you.

“Morning, Eiji,” you say back. Even though he’s older than you, you dropped the salutations already, same with everybody else. 

“You okay?” he asks worriedly. 

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely! When am I ever not okay?” You toughen it up and erase the troublesome kiss in your head. You are their ever shining manager, first and foremost. Anything outside of that has no place in this gym. 

“Never. It’s almost scary actually,” he answers with jest.

“Right? ‘Cause I’m a freaking goddess.”

He gives you a noble bow. “Indeed, you are, my lady.”

You giggle softly. Your players really are the best on and off the court (except for Tsukishima). “Go do your drills instead of buttering me up, ‘captain.’” He gives you a mock salute then jogs off towards the net. 

“Y/n!”

You saunter off to your coach after you were called. “Yes, Coach?”

“Can you help tape the blockers?” You nod willingly, quickly discarding unnecessary thoughts of Tsukishima. 

“Tsukishima’s free. Go start with him.”

You almost flinch upon hearing his name.

‘Great,’ you groan internally as you get the wrap from your kit and drag your feet toward the source of your uneasiness. But what did you expect? Of course, you’d have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Morning, Tsukishima,” you greet him with forced normalcy, acting like nothing’s wrong. As you take his left hand and you’re instantly reminded of what happened the other night -- how this hand gripped your waist while his mouth moved against yours… how his skin felt against the palm of your hand as he towered over you, body against body in a dance so dangerous and so hypnotizing that you lost yourself in the moment.

You tried your best to calm down yesterday, but seeing him right now makes you want to smack yourself from your momentary insanity that led you to kiss him.

Instead, you give him the nicest, brightest smile to channel your frustrations as you start taping his fingers. You just hope and pray that he doesn’t bring it up.

“Morning,  manager .” It was an indirect jab at you. Even when he says it with a dead tone, you know he’s taunting you by addressing you as manager - a tortuous reminder that what happened last Saturday night wasn’t forgotten.

Instead of yielding to the provocation, you respond with your own. You might have messed up, but you’re not letting him get the upper hand. “How was your weekend, Tsukki?” 

“Horrible,” he quickly answers without even thinking.

“Ditto. What happened to yours?” you ask with fake curiosity, already knowing why. Even if you didn’t kiss him then, he was already acting up like an angsty teen forced by his mom to attend a children’s party within the neighborhood.

“Went to a disgusting party.”

You nod pretentiously. “Mine’s horrible too. I got g-”

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts.

“Well, you’re still going to hear it,” you respond just as distastefully as he cut you off. “I got groped by some perv, but I kinda punched some good manners unto him.” You release his left hand and take his right one to tape it as well. 

“And?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s it. After that, I just went home from how  horrible  the experience was.”

You look up to him, meeting his sardonic gaze paired with a raised eyebrow from what you just said. You know that he understood that you were referring to something else other than the perv incident as horrible.

“How about you? What happened to that disgusting party of yours?” you press on.

“I bumped into someone I didn’t really want to see.”

“And?”

“Do you really wanna know how horrible it was for me?” A smirk creeps up on the corner of his mouth as he asks. There were many times before that you’ve wanted a taste of Tsukishima’s vile sarcasm, just to know what he’d say to you. Today is not one of those times. You don’t want him using that reckless kiss against you. 

“Actually, no. I don’t really care.” You let go of his hand you just finished working with and look around to look for anyone you could use as a distraction from Tsukishima’s attempt to retell the kiss from his perspective.

“Kogane!” you brightly call the setter as you bounce cheerfully towards him. 

Even if you don’t show it, Tsukishima knows he’s gotten under your previously impenetrable thick skin. He detests what happened last Saturday. The more he remembers it, the more he abhors it. The only reason he’s not totally hating himself for getting swept along with your shit is because he knows you hated it too, probably more than he does since it was you who kissed him first.

His smug grin only spreads when you march to Kogane with that cutesy act you only show to players from opposing teams to unsettle them before matches. You take both Kogane’s hands and beam at him. “Do you want me to tape your fingers?”

“Y-you don’t have to, y/n. I can do it myself!” Kogane blurts out, panicking at your sudden closeness and physical touch.

“But I love taking care of you guys,” you pout at Kogane, which only makes the setter blush a shade almost close to red.

Tsukishima follows you to help his babbling, flustered teammate.

“You’re going to kill him, y/n,” he says as he passes by you and Kogane who now looks like he stopped functioning.

You blink at Kogane, realizing what you’re doing to the poor guy.

You must have been really bothered by Tsukishima and unknowingly projected it to someone else.

Tsukishima sneers as he sees you try to ease Kogane from his severe fluster but only make it worse by rubbing his shoulders. 

A dash of pride and satisfaction swells on Tsukishima’s chest as he watches you get agitated with the situation you, yourself caused. Getting back at you feels even better than he imagined it would be. 

--

Even though you and Tsukishima are in the same class, you don’t really notice his presence. Sometimes you’d even forget you’re classmates. Now, though, you are more aware of the fact that he’s actually there than you ever have.

“Alright, class. For your main project this semester, I’m going to have you partnered up. You need to come up with a comprehensive report on mating behavior of reptiles. I’ll randomly generate your assigned reptile.”

You groan. Another collaborative work in the same subject. You don’t like working with others because you don’t want to adapt to anyone’s schedule. You like to get things done ahead of time. You hate procrastinating because you don’t want your uni requirements getting mixed up with potential tasks from your managerial job, especially whenever tournament seasons come. 

The last collaborative work you worked on is a group project where you did most of the work yourself. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have fucking freeloaders as groupmates.  The little shits made you do 90% of the project because you wanted it done early.

You just pray that this time, you get to be paired with someone responsible. You tap your pen on your desk while you wait for your name to be called.

“L/n and Tsukishima.”

You drop your pen at your professor’s announcement. It bounces twice on your desk before rolling to the floor, but you don’t move to pick it up. Your gaze immediately flies to where Tsukishima is seated and find him glaring at you already. You almost want to laugh at how ridiculous this entire situation is.

Seriously? Were you a serial killer in your previous life or something? Did some higher power decide to punish you for your grave sins like this? 

Whatever. You’re not having any of this shit. 

You wait until the class is over and approach your professor. “Sir. I’d like to do this project alone.” Or at least with someone else. 

He continues to type something on his laptop, not bothering to look up at you, as he asks, “Why is that?”

“I just feel more comfortable doing things on my own, Sir. Please.” You try to give him your nice student smile but his eyes don't leave his screen.

“Then what? Have you increase my workload?”

Shit. You forgot that this particular professor of yours is known to not budge to anyone. You scramble your brain for another excuse.

“Sir. Can I do this project alone?” you suddenly hear Tsukihima’s voice behind you.

Finally, your professor closes his laptop and eyes you two unenthusiastically. “My answer is no to miss Y/n, so my answer to you, Mr. Tsukishima, is also no. I don’t know what the deal is between you two, but you’re doing this together.”

You can’t help but scowl despite being right in front of your professor. If it wasn’t for that darn kiss, you would’ve loved working with Tsukishima. Even though you don’t have the same classes, his schedule won’t be that hard to match up with because you two have the same training days. Secondly, he’s smart. You won’t have to carry the whole weight of the project. 

“You know what, I’ll reconsider.” A glimmer of hope lights up in your chest as you hear your professor’s words. “I’ll allow you two to work individually — but with an automatic ten point deduction for this project.”

“No,” you and Tsukishima respond at the same time. 

“Great! You’re already getting along swimmingly.” Your professor picks up his stuff and stands up. “Enjoy,” he waves a dismissive goodbye and leaves.

You slowly turn around to face Tsukishima and find that you share the same lour that he has. You cross your arms and lean on your professor’s desk. “Guess we’re together, Tsukishima.” 

--

You allowed yourself one week to compose yourself before you agreed to start the project with Tsukishima. You still saw him at training days, and even then, you tried to have the least amount of interaction with him so the ‘incident’ wouldn’t be brought up again. Meeting him for a project where it’s just you two is different and you needed time.

As much as you don’t want to be with him, you told yourself that it’ll be over soon. You just pushed the kiss in the back of your head and convinced yourself that it was just a stupid kiss. It didn’t mean anything. He probably just went along with it out of spite, so it’s best you think of it as a spur of the moment madness. That way, you won’t be bothered if he sordidly brings it up again. At least now, you can go back to your usual, cheeky self around him.

You’re about to text Tsukishima that you’ve arrived at the station you agreed to meet up at but you already see him there standing while he’s scrolling his phone with his usual white headphones on.

Unfortunately for you and him, the reptile assigned to you two are crocodiles. It’s the worst possible assignment you could get among the roster of reptiles assigned. You need to travel all the way to Wakabayashi for a legitimate crocodile farm to observe, compared to other reptiles which are easily accessible with nearby zoos in Miyagi. You just pray that you’ll only need this one trip to get all the data you need for your report.

You walk towards him and instantly regard how he looks. Despite being in the same university, you don’t see him around much. Even in your sole class together, you’re seated way too apart from each other to even look at each other’s direction. Not that being seated beside each other would’ve made a difference. You’re not friends. There’s no need to talk to him since everything that’s volleyball-related is relayed through line. To you, he’s just one of your players. As far as you’re concerned, the only Tsukishima you’re aware of is the one sweating his white shirt and training shorts during practice. 

To have this much involvement with him outside the gym is throwing you out of your usual loop. You continue studying him at a distance. Today he’s wearing white plaid pants, black turtleneck (probably long sleeves) with a lighter shade of black coat on top, and a brown wool scarf. He also has a gray bonnet that makes his blonde locks frame his face nicely. 

What the heck? Did he always dress like this even in class? How come you never noticed? 

He finally notices you. He puts down his phone and removes his headphones. “How long have you been there?”

“Wow, Tsukishima. You look kinda hot,” you blurt out without thinking.

His eyes expand at your statement that came out of nowhere. “Huh?!”

“Oh, sorry. That must’ve been random. But you look really good though. I kinda feel like I’m meeting a date,” you say with objective candor as you continue to stare at him. 

That catches him completely off guard. The other day you’re on the edge around him. You weren’t even paying much attention to him during training, but now you’re back to being a headache whose mouth knows no bounds as you faze him with your unfiltered thoughts. Now, it’s him who is uncomfortable again with your thorough eyes scanning him approvingly. 

“As if I’d ever date you,” he snaps back at your remark to which you scoff at.

“I didn’t say you would. Maybe you’re forgetting, I’d never go out with a member of the team.”

“Right. But kissing one is totally fine, huh?” he retaliates in an instant with a condescending look. He waits for your reaction, eager to see you distraught and bothered by it. To his dissatisfaction, you don’t behave in such a way. Instead, you sigh defeatedly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I got a little crazy that night,” you say casually to a degree that you sounded like it was just a petty accident. “You kissed me back, so I’m sure you were too. Right?” 

The last word is conniving, and he can tell why you phrased it that way. You’re leaving him no choice but to disregard what happened or else it’s going to seem like it meant something to him. The hell it does. It simply resurfaces back on his mind sometimes because of how unpleasant the memory is. 

‘Devious woman,’ he snarls in his head.

It should be okay. Your reason for what you did can also be his excuse for how responded to it. What he didn’t like is that he hasn’t even managed to make the most out of that incident, while you immediately found a way to undo the grave you dug for him to bury you into.

Plus, the only advantage he sees out of partnering with you for this project is the possibility of being able to pester you the way you pester him during practice. Obviously, that’s already thrown off the window. Now, there’s nothing in it for him for the duration of the project. He is left with nothing but the fact that he has to endure your company. To think that he’s already so miserable when this afternoon has barely even started.

“Yeah,” he answers with contained resentment. “Can we go on the bus now?” He asks to deviate away from the topic already. He was hoping he could still use the incident to unnerve you, but it’s for naught now. 

He enters the bus first and assumes you’ll follow him, which you do as you take your seat beside him. You get your shoulder bag and take out a notebook.

“Can you take a look at this outline I made for our report?” you ask while you hand him your notebook opened at a certain page.

“I can’t read while the bus is moving,” he says then waits for a lame comeback from you. But you don’t comment about it. Why must you keep on being such a wildcard?

“Ah, okay. I’ll just tell it to you then,” you smile at him. “This trip is going to take long. It’d be a waste of time to not make use of it, right?”

He groans internally. Why must you be right all the fucking time?

He also made an outline last night, but he didn’t tell you because he thought it’d be better if he just did the data-gathering himself and let you take the pictures the report should have. He forgot that you’re not as irresponsible and carefree as you present yourself to be.

He listens to you explain your outline, looking for flaws in it for the sake of his grade and also for his self-satisfaction. And he does find a few.

“You should have separate discussion points for mating characteristics for male and females. I’m sure they have distinct traits. Also, I think we should include more than just one species, preferably three if the farm has it.” He continues, “Maybe we can note certain unique behaviors per species. It would be inconclusive, but it would still be nice to include it as a commentary.”

He hopes to extract even just a tiny hint of embarrassment from you for he’s thought of it better than you did. But you just stare at him for a good few seconds before you break into a dazzled smile.

“Oh my God. Yeah, you’re absolutely right!”

You open your notebook and scribble the changes in your drafted outline. “Is there anything else?” You consult him genuinely. You accept his criticisms with an open mind, which vexes him even more. 

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

“Alright. Let’s just revise it again once we see what’s on the farm.”

He doesn’t bother replying anymore since you’re once again right.

He puts on his headphones again to drown out whatever chatter you plan to have with him since you’re done discussing the project for now. Instead of bugging him, you take out a bunch of readings and focus on them intently, completely ignoring him. 

With nothing to entertain him aside from the music on his ears, his peripheral keeps going back to you and how hard you’re concentrating with the papers in your one hand and a pen in the other. 

He removes one muff of his headphone from his ear and asks you, “Don’t you get motion sickness?”

You really must be into what you’re studying because you flinch when he speaks, causing you to drop your pen. 

He feels responsible for it so he leans down to pick it up, but you also do the same. As you both reach down to grab your pen, your temple collides with his. 

“Ow,” your fingers go to massage the spot, failing to notice as he does that your faces are too close for comfort. He watches you wince for a quick while before looking at him, finally realizing that he’s within a proximity familiar to you both. 

It’s reminiscent of that night except this time, the natural light affirms that it wasn’t just the ambiance of the club that made you attractive enough to pull him in and share that heinous kiss. With your well-lit features, he can see that you’re thinking about the same thing he is.

Your eyes fall on his lips and for some illogical reason, he does the same.

Like last time, you’re the first to act on it. The major difference is, instead of leaning in, you retreat. You sit up straight with your fingers still on the side of your head and smile graciously at him. “It’s fine, Tsukishima. I’ll get it,” you say, which he finds half-witted because he’s still bent down and he can already grasp the pen.

He sits back up and hands you your pen. You use the hand on your temple to get it.

“Oh, thanks.” You stare at the pen for a second, then tuck it in your pocket. “Anyways, yeah. I don’t have problems reading in a moving vehicle.”

You dive back to his question and disregard what just happened. It works for him. He’d rather not think about it as well. 

“Have you not seen me scrambling paperwork on our bus rides to and from tournaments?”

“No.” He prefers not to pay attention to you. Hell, he pretends you don’t exist when he can. So naturally, he doesn’t know what it is you do when you’re not being your pestering self. It pains him to admit it, but you do get shit done -- efficiently, too. He should be glad because at least, you won’t be like his previous groupmates.

Still, just you being … you, ticks him off.

You laugh out of nowhere. “For someone who doesn’t speak much, you’re so fucking transparent.”

He frowns, not being able to grasp what you meant.

“Okay, look. I like pissing you off. I really do. And you, you don’t like me a lot. But for this project. Can we pretend that I’m not your annoying manager and you’re not the nasty Tsukishima I know?” 

“How the fuck can I do that when we see each other almost everyday as such?”

You roll your eyes and smirk. “Right. What was I even thinking? Go ahead and be emo with your music over there while I study here, yeah?” You pat him on the shoulders twice with that patronizing grin you always give him before pulling your pen back from your pocket and focusing once more on your readings, completely paying no attention to him for the rest of the trip.

—

As soon as you reach the crocodile farm, Tsukishima suggests that you two roam the area separately to cover more ground. In reality, he just wanted to get rid of you even for just a few minutes. He needed a break from you.

He does so by taking his time strolling around the place, observing how the area is situated. It looks like a park with its vast lush green environment and man-made waters to habituate the crocodiles. There are four main areas: the museum, the hatchling house, the zoo, and the breeding pens. He first goes to the museum, looking at the skeletal structure of some crocodiles. It isn’t really significant to the project but he can’t help admire it.

When he realizes that he’s taking longer than he initially thought, he starts looking for you. He sends you a text, but you don’t reply. You had gone to the zoo’s direction so he assumes you’re somewhere around that area. 

When he does find you, you’re not alone.

There you are near a crocodile pen, getting friendly with a guy he’s sure you just met.

It’s so familiar. The only difference is that you’re not wearing the Frogs’ jacket and you’re not in the Sendai gymnasium. He walks towards your direction, not caring if he’s going to cut off your little chat. You’re there for the project, not to snag some random bozo.

As he closes in behind you, he hears your conversation.

“Actually, birds are more closely related to dinosaurs than crocodiles. You couldn’t tell, right?” you explain with zeal. 

Tsukishima stops in his tracks at the foreign feeling in his chest. Wait a minute. Is he actually impressed? Moreover, what the heck is he impressed for? You should know that. You are both in a higher herpetology class. Even though it hasn’t been discussed during lectures, it’s natural that you know that. However, the guy you’re talking with isn't as enthusiastic. 

“Can’t blame you though. Crocs and dinos share the same sexy vibe with those chill eyes and scaly skin. Also, look at those smokin webbed feet. Fucking work of art, dude. You feel me?” you press on fanatically.

The stranger looks at you with a forced smile, obviously weirded out by your ‘passionate’ description of the reptile. “Yeah, sure. I have to go now. Bye,” the guy bows and storms away from you. 

You turn your attention back to the lowered pen in front of you with a satisfied smile and shudder when you see Tsukishima already there beside you. 

“Gah! You scared me. Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask with your hand still on your chest.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you creeping out that stranger.”

You tither at his answer. “Glad you didn’t. It was fun seeing him all freaked out.” 

He finds it weird. He thought you just had an aversion towards athletes. That’s why you keep driving away anyone who’d approach you during matches. Apparently, that’s not the case.

“He looked like he’d follow you back to Miyagi if you didn’t go all freaky nerdy on him.” 

You jeer at his comment. “He could follow me to the ends of the Earth and I still wouldn’t give him my number. I’d rather date Mr. Crocodylus siamensis over here than boring dum dums blinded by how hot I am.” 

“Then why do you entertain them?” he follows up.

“Caaaauuusse it’s fun to see them squirm,” you declare cheerfully as you veer your gaze at him. “Why the sudden interest with the way I handle men, Tsukishima?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your lips tugging up to form a playful smirk. “Don’t tell me you suddenly find me interesting?”

You really do know how to push the right buttons to provoke him. He grits his teeth from your audacity.

“I’m joking for fuck’s sake! My god. I already know that even if it’s just the two of us on this planet, and we’d have to procreate to restart the world population, you’d rather choose to doom humanity than have anything to do with me.”

Among all the correct things that came out of your mouth, that was the only thing he could verbally agree with. “Good you know,” he retorts. 

You don’t seem to take offense though. You still keep your unwavering smile as you get your phone out and take a picture of the Borneo crocodile. 

“Should we go see the breeding pens now?” you ask nonchalantly, dismissing the previous conversation like it was nothing. 

--

You both decide to hire a designated tour guide to assist you while you observe the crocodiles, particularly the ones for breeding. 

“Hi, Ms. l/n. I’m Sara and I will be your guide for today,” she introduced herself with a dedicated smile.

“I’m so thrilled that you and your boyfriend decided to learn more about crocodiles for your date,” she adds. 

You and Tsukishima glance at each other before turning back to her. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend.”

You both say simultaneously, except yours sounded like a friendly correction while his sounded like a dead announcement. 

“We’re just classmates for a project,” you correct her.

She bows apologetically with embarrassment and worry. “I’m so sorry for assuming that.”

“No worries, Sara,” you reassure her before Tsukishima says something unnecessary. “Can you lead us on the breeding pens? We’d like to observe the whole thing.” 

“Of course. Right this way.”

Aside from the mishap earlier, you find Sara competent at her job as she fills you in with details not included in the sign boards in the pens. She gives you information about the mating process that you didn’t find when you researched about the subject. You assume Tsukishima’s thinking the same because he doesn’t say anything out of the blue.

“By any chance, will we see a pair mating today?” he asks after a while.

“I’m not really sure, Mr. Tsukishima. It’s really up to the animals.”

You tug on Tsukishima’s sleeve when you catch sight of one crocodile latching himself on top of another.

“What?” he asks irritatedly, but follows your line of sight. 

“Oh, lucky. There you go.” Sara announces with a pleasant smile.

You get your phone and your notes. You multitask listening to Sara, taking photos, and scribbling notes on your paper pad. 

On the other hand, Tsukishima multitasks observing the crocodiles in action and observing you. 

You’re asking important questions to the guide while juggling other tasks. Yes, he doesn’t like you and loathes being partnered with you. However, that doesn't mean he won’t cooperate with you. He won’t mind if you ask him for help, but you seem to have even forgotten that he’s there. 

He grabs your phone from your hand, garnering a confused look from you.

“I’ll take the photos. You take down notes.”

You flash him an honest, grateful smile. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

Then, you proceed with the things you’re doing more at ease. 

He can’t tell who he’s more pissed at, you or himself. Something about that display of productivity and wit unnerves him. It’s as if it’s telling him that his chagrin over you is unreasonable because you’re actually reliable when it counts. What’s worse is you’re completely oblivious to it. In fact, you’re almost ignoring him.

Goddamn it. What’s he doing? He’s completely distracted now from the project and is solely focused on you. He quickly shakes it off and calms himself down. His attention should be on the reptiles, not you.

He turns his attention back to the crocodiles, but the mating act only lasted a few minutes. After that, you both barrage Sara with an array of questions that she looked too overwhelmed by the end of your tour. 

You’ve covered almost everything for the day and it’s already around 6 in the evening when you get on a bus on the way back to Miyagi.

“That was fun!” you comment ardently with an abnormal shine on your face when you sit down on the bus on the way back. He wears his headphones on before you start a conversation he’s not willing to have. From his peripheral, he sees you turning to him and as he predicted, your mouth begins moving while you animatedly narrate words he could not hear. 

He’s already acting as if he can’t hear nor see you, but you still don’t stop. Knowing you, you will not stop until you make sure he notices you. He wearily removes his headphones only to see you not saying anything and only mouthing words with hand gestures. 

“Seriously?” He scowls at you. He’s already exhausted at having to deal with you even for just half a day, but you still have the energy to mess with him. 

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker but it erupts into a hoot of laughter shortly. You gasp ridiculously after you ride out your stupid amusement from poking at his patience. “Tsukki, I swear to God. You make the best faces,” you say while wiping away your joyous tears.

“Were you even going to say something worth listening to?” he questions sourly.

You study him then shake your head. “I think you’re tired, so let’s just discuss what we gathered next time. You can go ignore me now,” you tell him with an understanding smile despite the slight banter.

You tilt your body in his direction and hoist yourself up a bit to put his headphones back yourself like it’s no big deal.

You settle back into your seat while he stills on his seat, stunned with what you just did while you get your readings again and shrink to your own bubble. You don’t seem to make anything of it, so he doesn’t as well. It was very you to mindlessly get on anyone’s —  particularly his — personal space anyways.

He increases the volume of his headphones and tries to relax. Yet, his attention keeps swerving back at you every now and then. You’re really concentrating hard with your brows burrowed while you stare at your hand-outs. After a while, he notices you bobbing your head from the corners of his eyes.

He can tell you’re as tired as he is and trying hard to fight the sleep that’s taking over you. The bunch of papers you previously held are now clutched on your lap.

On the last bob of your head, you snap out of it. You blink repeatedly and return your eyes to your readings again. To no avail, you’re shutting down with your eyes fluttering when you try again. You look like you decided to give it a rest and put your papers back in your bag. You cross your arms and lean back to your seat. 

He feels relieved that you finally yield to your physical exhaustion. He doesn’t need an additional bullet point to his list of why he can’t fully hate you. Also, you won’t run your mouth at him if you’re asleep.

He feels the soft thump of your head on his shoulder. You probably did too as you suddenly bolt up and tell him ‘sorry' which he only understands based on how you mouthed the word. You lean back again and try to settle back to sleep. But when you start dozing off, you sway to the other side of your seat which is the aisle of the bus.

He grabs your shoulder to prevent you from tumbling down to the aisle. Your disoriented self looks around, alarmed at his sudden touch.

“Just fucking lean on me,” he spits out, irked that he has to say it out loud. It’s not like he pushed you away. You could’ve just stayed as you were and he would’ve turned a blind eye at it out of recognition of the effort you put in today. He’d just consider it one of those times that you do something annoying and he just ignores you as a response.

You regard him with dazed eyes. You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something but decide against it as you shut your eyes again and you let your head rest on his shoulder. But even then, your head still falls forward from time to time. He puts a hand on your forehead to settle you back on his shoulder and slides a bit downward on his seat to accommodate you. 

Jesus Christ, you can study in a moving vehicle but can’t even do a simple thing like sleep properly on it. Why does he even have to adjust for you?

He heaves furiously in contrast to your steady breathing, letting him know that you’re easing deeper to your sleep. 

He distracts himself by looking at the window, witnessing the unmoving dark sky and the changing scenery below. He lets out a sigh.

Maybe he should’ve just accepted the ten point deduction.

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged - pls check your settings?)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @celestialarchiveshq​ @loving-unicorns106​ @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette​ @just4readingfics​ @suteorra​ @xxekitten69xx​ @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu

[possiblyimbiassed]

Ships and Cars - The Sign of Code

There have been lots of discussions about code in BBC Sherlock, and the possible metaphorical meaning of different things that appear frequently in the show, such as coffee/tea, water/fire, dogs/cats and many more. This show indeed seems filled with ciphers, code and secret messages. In this meta (X) I tried to decipher the encrypted name of the fishing boat that Sherlock and John hijacked in TFP, when it was called upon from Sherrinford: “Golf-Whisky-X-ray”. 

The Ship coding

At first I thought this was referring to the international spelling alphabet for wireless communication (X, X) where there’s a word for each letter. “GWX” didn’t make much sense to me, though, until I stumbled upon something deeper: ‘Golf’, ‘Whisky’ and ‘X-ray’ are also part of the marine Code of Signals (X) that was established in Britain around 1850. It’s still used by water vessels to communicate important messages regarding safety of navigation and such, and the signals can be sent by, for example, flaghoist, signal lamp or flag semaphore. Conan Doyle worked on a ship at least in 1880 and 1881, so the signals could totally have been known to him already in Victorian times. And since Sherlock and John are on board a boat in TFP, 

I think it’s reasonable to assume that the marine code is the relevant one here. In this signal code, the flags for “Golf”, Whisky” and “Xray” mean the following:

Golf = “I require a pilot.” 

Whiskey = “I require medical assistance.”

”Xray = “Stop carrying out your intentions and watch for my signals.”

Which in other words could be read as:

I need a pilot (a maritime pilot to help me navigate)

I need a doctor

Pay attention to code

But is this use of marine signals something that only appears in BBC Sherlock? Is it Mofftiss’ own idea to use them, or could there possibly be any canon references to them? In the discussion that followed my meta (X)  @frailtyofgenius​ pointed out to me that ACD’s canon actually does mention “Naval signals” in His Last Bow (LAST), which I think might be very significant. And the one who uses the naval signals is Holmes himself.

Continued under the cut, because this is reeeally a long ‘transport’... ;)

So I took to read LAST and realized that there are several ’naval’ references (my bolding) in this story by Conan Doyle. In the beginning, as a romantic landscape framework, we’re told about the surroundings of the German spy Von Bork’s house:

Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay.

LAST takes place on the English east cost, near the port of Harwich. The spy Von Bork is chatting with Baron Von Herling, a German diplomat, bragging about the intelligence he’s gathered for his country, and then he shows the Baron the contents of his safe:

And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it.” He pointed to a space over which “Naval Signals” was printed.

But apparently the naval authorities have changed the code: 

“But you have a good dossier there already.” “Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed.”

So Holmes, posing as the Irish-American spy Altamont, is supposed to bring new ones. I think the real ‘feature of interest’ in this story, however, is the coding that Holmes/Altamont uses in his telegram to the German spy:

“Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. ALTAMONT.”

And the conversation between Van Bork and the Baron continues:

“Sparking plugs, eh?” “You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

So here in ACD canon we’re explicitly told that the spark plugs, the ignition of the car’s engine (which generates an explosion in the engine’s combustion chamber) actually represents code - marine code. And other car references, according to Van Bork, are also marine code. I can’t help wondering if water was actually meant to represent emotions already in canon? ACD canon is packed with references to water: sea, coast, lakes, ponds, rivers and waterfalls but also ships, steamers, boats, submarines and such. Some of the criminals in canon are seamen and the navy is mentioned in some cases. And in two stories (NAVA and BRUC) the ‘naval’ issues contain secrets of national importance. 

I’d love to try to analyse all the water and boat references in ACD canon and see if/how they tie into emotions, but that’s for another meta. :) But what if something similar is done in BBC Sherlock; what if Mofftiss have used not only canon’s water metaphors for emotions but also the same general secret cipher as Holmes used in LAST? But maybe Mofftiss also took the cipher one step further, interpreting anything car-related not as general metaphors for emotions, but specifically as code for sexuality.

In TFP there’s a great explosion at 221B, and next thing we know, Sherlock and John are aboard a fishing boat, which is called upon with naval signals. But there’s actually very few ships in BBC Sherlock (while canon, as mentioned, is full of them); the fishing boat in TFP is one of very few boats in the show. As for seamen, there’s also very few in the show. Except for the fishing father and son in TFP, there’a also Sherlock’s deductions about the unemployed fisherman and his mother in THoB. @sagestreet​ has written an excellent meta suggesting a significant symbolic meaning of ‘fishing’ in this case (X).

In this self-censored post on John’s blog, however, there’s a cruiser mentioned in the title: Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror. But we never get to know anything about this case; the post is taken down entirely since, according to John, “the ship’s owners are launching an appeal”. 

Why is this post even there, if no one is allowed to read it? Every other blog post from John has some kind of content in it - at least since he met Sherlock. But this one only has a title (and a teaser in the post before: “I'm going to tell you about a couple of the smaller cases we've been involved in. What really happened on the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise.” (X))  

So the supposed ‘pleasure cruise’ was turned into a ‘cruise of terror’ and then deleted. Maybe it’s just me, but I strongly suspect this is a clue from the show makers telling us that a certain ‘ship’ is not allowed in BBC Sherlock, for ‘legal’ reasons having to do with the ‘owners of the ship’ (ACD Estate). 

Actually, there’s more info than this about the ship even in ACD canon, although it’s scarce. In The Sussex Vampire (SUSS) “Matilda Briggs” is mentioned in a letter to Holmes from the company Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd: 

“As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery the matter hardly comes within our purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs.” 

After Watson has read it, Holmes explains to him (my bolding): 

“Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,” said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. “It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” 

If this is an allusion to a possible relationship between Holmes and Watson, indeed the world would not have been ‘prepared’ in Victorian times, since homophobia was prevalent and same-sex couples illegal. 

Source: (X)

Directly after this, while perusing his lexicon for ‘Vampires’ (the actual topic of the letter), Holmes also mentions another ship that was associated with Victor Trevor’s father’s secret past as a mutinous convict:

“Voyage of the Gloria Scott,” he read. “That was a bad business. I have some recollection that you made a record of it, Watson, though I was unable to congratulate you upon the result.”

Indeed this voyage in GLOR was a ‘bad business’; it ended in mutiny and disaster. The ship Gloria Scott exploded and sunk in the Atlantic, and most of the crew and passengers died.

So, not many ships appear in BBC Sherlock. But instead, there’s plenty of cars in the show. What if all these car references actually somehow actually refer to a ship - a very particular ‘shipping’? ;)

The Cars

So, might these cars code for some hidden secrets? And/or is it possible to tie the car references to ’naval code’, as Holmes claims to do in LAST, assuming that naval = water = emotions but also sexuality? 

Returning to canon, please note that Holmes and Watson (both in disguise) arrive in a car to the scene of this story in LAST. This is one of the very few cars that appear in canon, since they weren’t yet very commonly in use by those times. Holmes’ and Watson’s car is modestly described as “a small car” and “a little Ford” (as opposed to Baron Von Herling’s car, which is a huge limo). But at the end of the story, Holmes says about the little Ford: “Start her up, Watson, for it’s time that we were on our way.” And there they go, happily together, with the criminal tied up in the back seat, heading for Scotland Yard. Sweet, isn’t it? :) This is the very last we see of Holmes and Watson in canon. (Unfortunately, I can’t find any illustration of it).

BBC Sherlock, however, is full of cars. So, if we apply this analogy to BBC Sherlock, what car references can we find that could be translated into marine (= emotional) terms? Well, the first thing that comes to mind is the cab, the taxi, which is Sherlock’s preferred means of transport. 

A taxi has a driver, which is the word that the little girl on the plane in TFP uses instead of ‘pilot’. But we don’t see any taxi boats in the show, do we? In the Unaired Pilot, however, the cabbie drives Sherlock home to Baker Street (not to Roland Kerr’s), and there he tries to ‘kill’ him. One could even assume he makes a kind of sexual innuendo when Sherlock is sprawled face-down on the floor and the cabbie says “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, Mr ’olmes.” 

As I explained in my other meta about marine code (X), a marine pilot is someone who leads a ship through dangerous waters. Mofftiss haven’t included any marine pilots in their show, but they do use aircraft pilots, even if they’re not labelled as such: 

But if ‘driver’ should be read as ‘pilot’, then Jeff Hope - a John mirror - in the Unaired Pilot, the ‘driver’ of the show, guides Sherlock home emotionally and sexually, doesn’t he? ;) 

But there’s more about the signals in LAST. This is what the counter-agent Sherlock ‘Altamont’ Holmes says when he arrives at Von Bork’s place:

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I’m bringing home the bacon at last.” “The signals?” “Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi – a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous.”

This seems very similar to Wikipedia’s explanation of the Marine Code of Signals, as I quoted above: apart from flag hoist, the signals can also be transmitted by, for example, flag semaphores, radio communication or signal lamps. We do have radio communication in TFP, when Sherrinford receives the message from the boat ‘golf-whisky-x-ray’. But are there any signal lamps in BBC Sherlock? Yes, in fact there are - and they’re tied to a car! 

A blinking, grinning Peugeot, no less, in THoB. And it’s definitely connected to sex, because that’s what’s happening inside. ;) Even if we’re lead to believe that this isn’t actually code, John does try (unsuccessfully) to decipher the blinking lights from this car as Morse signals and gets “U M Q R A”.

Apparently this code is not referring to the Marine Code of Signals. But @bug-catcher-in-viridian-forest​ has written an excellent meta (X) deciphering the possible code “UMQRA” as meaning “TORCH”, using the Ceasar cipher, which Sherlock refers to on his website (X) in combination with another cipher. In my opinion this does make a lot of sense. John does indeed use a torch to try to decipher this message, and there are also lots of other possible metaphorical meanings of ‘torch’ in the show. 

So I think it would still be wise to pay attention to code, wouldn’t it?

As for Holmes’ quote from LAST above, “a copy, mind you, not the original”, I’d interpret this at Holmes pointing out that these signals can be copied (’mirrored’?) and also that they can vary in type (I imagine that ‘Marconi’ stands for radio transmission (X)). All in all, these naval signals are of national importance in canon, just like the Bruce Partington Plans and the Naval Treaty. And these are all military top-secrets clearly connected to the British navy. At some point in LAST, believing he has won the spy game, the Baron says:“There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place!” Seems like the East Wind is coming. ;)

But back to the marine codes and cars: in canon (LAST) the car references hide secrets of national importance, connected to Britain’s naval defense, and some of those secrets, in turn, are encrypted with naval signals. That’s double coding, right? Also: the navy defend British waters and water = emotions.

As for cars, there’s a lot more of them in the show, while canon has very few; cars weren’t in use during most of Holmes’ career. I think LAST is the first time that cars appear in ACD canon? And the spare parts that Holmes/Altamont talks about as code in LAST never actually appear in the story, only the Baron’s limo and Holmes’ little Ford, where Watson is the driver.

But in the modern show there’s plenty of cars, of course; they’re literally everywhere. Many people have long ago pointed out that cars represent transport metaphorically, which is how Sherlock views his bodily needs in the unaired Pilot. Which ties in well with the assumption above that cars also represents sexuality, which is related to emotions even if it’s not the same thing.

But let’s also try to decipher the car references with Holmes’s code in LAST in mind, shall we? Where can we find water and/or possible hints about emotions and/or sexuality?

Apart from the taxis, which run like a red thread through the episodes (ASiP, TBB, TGG, ASiB, TRF, HLV, TST), and the abundance of police cars and ambulances, I can think of the following:

Mycroft’s black governmental car which is used to kidnap John in ASiP (and other episodes).

If Mycroft represents Sherlock’s brain, this might be about Sherlock trying to examine and test John with his intellect, to get an idea of who John is and what to expect from him. But this task is driven by his car - bodily needs - and behind them there’s still emotions, if we apply Sherlock’s code in LAST.

The first hostage’s car in TGG, where she is wrapped up in semtex.

This woman is literally trapped inside her car and metaphorically trapped inside her bodily needs, which are threatening to explode (remember Holmes’ ’sparking plugs’ in LAST?) if Sherlock doesn’t solve the puzzle about Carl Powers. And in this screen cap she is literally juxtaposed to Sherlock:

So it seems like Sherlock is now trapped inside his ‘transport’, yes? Still driven by emotions rather than intellect. And he probably sees this as very dangerous.

The finding of The ’dead’ man’s car with (fake) blood in TGG.

This ill-treated transport device (John calls it ”an abandoned sports car” on his blog X) leeds to more cars - Janus cars - and it turns out that the driver - Ian Monkford - isn’t dead; he’s just on ’vacation’ in Colombia (with the real purpose of cashing in his life insurance money). Sherlock figures this puzzle out and the poor fellow wrapped in semtex can breathe out; he’s not going to explode, either physically or emotionally. And no-one is dead in this case, but the driver faked his own death to avoid exposure and get his ‘security’.

The car with a dead body in the boot in ASiB

Licence plate: PYO3 HYN. The dead man in this car was destined for Germany according to his tickets - another ‘vacation’? But he never reached there; his plane crashed but he wasn’t in it, because he was already dead - trapped in his transport a car. Now, this case seems intimately connected with Sherlock in the boot of Mrs Hudson’s Aston Martin in TLD (see below). Except that Sherlock was being transported alive in that boot, but this guy is dead.

The client’s back-firing old SAAB in ASiB

The client stops near a wetland area and a stream because of problems with his engine. The driver - a John mirror? - tries to fix his ‘engine’, but the old car just won’t start. Sherlock analyses this case in his (drugged) Mind Palace together with his libido Irene Adler.

People have pointed out long ago (sorry for not remembering who - was it LSiT?) that the back-firing SAAB engine in the hiker case in ASiB might represent John’s dysfunctional sexlife with women; Sarah in specific and probably their trip to New Zeeland after TGG. (Maybe this is also why Sherlock in TSoT, when John has just been married to Mary, deduces that one of the wedding guests - a doctor - has ‘erectile dysfunction’?)

Irene’s black car in ASiB

Licence plate: SKO8 ZYL. This black car, which has a private driver, is used to transport John to the Battersea station on New Year’s Eve in ASiB. In spite of being in midwinter, Battersea seems to be flooded with water. And this is the place where Irene exposes John’s sexual relationship with (or at least interest in) Sherlock while Sherlock is listening to the conversation from another room, but John declares that “I’m not actually gay”. This car is so similar to Mycroft’s black car (see above) that John thinks this is Mycroft who kidnaps him again. If Irene represents Sherlock’s libido, what does her black car stand for?

Sherlock’s and John’s hired Land Rover in THoB

Licence plate: OEI0 HFK. The Land Rover is a British car, known for its four-wheel drive and vast off-road capacity. Sherlock drives this car to “deepest, darkest Devon” with John in the passenger seat, so it seems like they were prepared for a ‘bumpy ride’. And this car actually has a visible spare part; an extra wheel in case of emergency:

And their journey really became ‘bumpy’ - at least on an emotional level, since they were both dosed with a fear-inducing gas, had a quarrel, and the gay couple who were running the Inn where they were staying took for granted that they were indeed a couple too.

John’s and Mary’s car in HLV and in TST

Licence plate: SP56 LJY, black Audi. Mary is the driver in HLV. (By the way, why has this car the steering wheel to the left, in a country with left-hand traffic?). Here we’re presented with the interesting idea from the billboard that “Information is the power to change 1895″. In HLV we actually do see something like a spare part for this car; John’s tyre lever. ;) (which looks more like some sort of pipe key, if you ask me, but whatever; it’s still a spare part - or at least a ‘tool’ - associated with John’s transport car):

So this would be consistent with Holmes’ cipher in LAST. And this spare part is treated with very sexual overtones in HLV, so I think the influence of Sentiment and Sex is pretty clear here.

Mrs Hudson’s red Aston Martin in TLD

License plate: APIS CXJ. Now, this is a really interesting and beautiful car I think, and it shows its capacity when it goes speeding in TLD. Mrs Hudson has more resources than some people might believe. But John is only allowed to use her sports car - the ultimate symbol of male virility - when he’s off to rescue Sherlock. ;) 

The license plate reads APIS, which I’m sure is a reference to bees and bee keeping, because Apis mellifera is the scientific name of the honey bee. Holmes’ main occupation as retired in ACD canon is bee keeping, which is shown in LAST, where his secret ‘sparking plugs’ turn out to be the Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. ;)) So Holmes stood by his words in his telegram to Van Bork; he did “come without fail to-night” (he came together with Watson) and he did “bring new sparking plugs”. It’s just that the ‘spark’ wasn’t maybe of the sort that Van Bork had expected... 

Anyway, in this scene in TLD, Sherlock is being kidnapped and handcuffed by Mrs Hudson and transported in the boot of that sports car; he’s literally trapped inside the rear end of his transport, which has John as its direct destination. 

Sadly for all of us, however, John refuses to ‘examine this body’, and this is instead done by the John mirror Molly (inside an ambulance), who tells Sherlock that he’s dying and that “it’s not a game”. 

The next time we see this red sports car, however, John is the driver, and he’s using its great capacity as it should be used: to come to Sherlock’s rescue. ;)

Come to think of it, there’s actually at least one more car spare part mentioned in the show, even if it might not be meant as this specific part:

This car has a steering wheel nevertheless, and Sherlock is sitting in the car while saying this. And yes; this show is indeed repetitive when it comes to certain topics. Like ‘transport’, emotions and bodily needs. But I do hope we’ll finally see some new turns on this topic in the next series. ;)

Thanks for your patience in following this marathon meta to its end! Tagging some people who might be interested (please alert me if you don’t want to be tagged):

@raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @sarahthecoat​ @lukessense​ @therealsaintscully​ @thewatsonbeekeepers​ @sagestreet​ @tjlcisthenewsexy​ @thepersianslipper​ @loveismyrevolution​ @shylockgnomes​ @frailtyofgenius​

Screencaps in this meta are in some cases borrowed from this site (X). 

[secretaryunpaid]

The Queen Returns...

(TNA-TRR Crossover)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1250 approximately

Warnings/Triggers: Anxiety, possible explicit music lyrics

Disclaimer: I do not own the GIFs/pics/rights to music used in this fic (except for pic that I created)

Liam is at a loss at where to even begin feeling about his wife’s actions right now. She has become that fierce woman he fell in love with again, but along with that, something a bit dark and sinister.

Riley leads him back to his study, which is a total surprise to Liam. She has avoided this part of their home until now. He is unsure if he should reach out to Dr. Ramirez immediately, or just allow her to exhaust herself before turning her wrath upon him.

He could never hurt his Queen, but would he allow her to act out on him as well? Surely... she wouldn’t even consider hurtin-...

“Liam, I know a lot must be running through your mind about me right now... But I am just trying to heal... and as long as that monster was alive, I was going to have a constant reminder of what he took from me... from us... Liam, my love, please don’t think ill of me... Truthfully, that should have been done upon his capture. Our delay has made us look weak... We aren’t weak Liam...”

He couldn’t disagree with her words. Anton Severus was the cause of their marital issues...  the loss of their heir .. the daily torment of their minds. He didn’t know what action to take with Riley right now... was she completely at her breaking point... or had she finally risen from her depression.

“Come to me Liam. I need you my King. I need to feel your strength run through me. Take me with every muscle within your body... I need you to rape the final thoughts of this day from our lives.”

This is a language that Liam never had a hard time deciphering meaning from. He took his wife, after she had ripped his clothing from him and he had torn hers away in return, with the roughness that she desired ... realizing this was a release that he himself needed to clear away all weakness that he had shown.

His angry thrusts into her frame could be heard, as she moaned and clawed, begging loudly for him to move even harder within her. The two moved from the walls to the desk to the floor... christening every surface with a renewed sense of self. No longer would his study bring the memories that tormented them.

It was her decree on this day that this would be their greeting in his study whenever together. She was determined to never have another sad remembrance in this space... they would heal and regain control of their regime.

Liam didn’t have a clue that his Queen had been recruited into the Via Emperii. Those who recruited her came across as the least likely to threaten the Crown. But what these members did was fail ... to underestimate the brutality deep within the former American, now Cordonian Queen. She had been broken in her pursuit of not the Crown, but of love. Now it was time for all to see just how powerful this one of non-noble blood could be.

She loved her King, and would protect him with every fiber of her being. What she was not willing to do, was become victim to another foreigner who mistook her beauty and solemness for weakness.

Liam’s tears flowed easily, rekindling the love they shared. Her aggressive nature was appealing and alarming in all senses. He trusted his Queen completely. She had sacrificed so much to be in his world, and it had cost her almost everything, including her life. She was changing before his eyes, unable to prevent or mold it, he simply accepted it. She had become a force to reckon with.

The training she received was with his dear friend Olivia Nevrakis, their newfound ally Queen Amalas, and her personal guard, Mara. She had also gone through extensive training at the hands of Anton, at the time when he appeared to her as Justin, which had made her a woman to be feared. Partnered with such loyal friends, no one had dared challenge her rule, even when the announcement was so cruelly made of her barren nature after the loss of their daughter.

Before, she could never unhear Anton’s  “Just-in Time” commentary, but as of his demise, she thought of him no more. She would only focus her efforts on ruling Cordonia in a manner that would leave them unchallenged.

**** A week later ****

It had been a week since his Queen had taken the life of their enemy. Liam was walking about the Solarium taking in the beauty, remembering how he had this added as a surprise gift for their expected heir once they shared the news. He remembered Riley loved walking through the gardens, and had decided to give her an indoor garden to relax in on days she wanted outdoor activity with the little one. It would have been the perfect place for breastfeeding and lunch together while the little one lies in the bassinet. Tears welled in his eyes threatening to fall as he heard Drake call out to him. 

Inside the private walls of his study, Liam fills Drake in on the recent events. He now has to confess the results from a period of his life he held deepest in his memory… how he has cowardly kept this information from his beloved Riley… With her current behaviors, he still is unsure that he should divulge this information… Was she capable of harming innocent children?

Drake was in total disbelief… He couldn’t decide what shocked him most… Riley’s termination of Anton’s life, or the fact that Liam had twins… His only feasible reply was the question, “So what do you plan to do about Alina’s sons… YOUR sons? You seriously cannot be thinking of leaving them with this Dalton guy, can you Li?”

Liam’s bemusement coupled with his facial expressions said it all… Of course this man who took great pride in family… this man who was without a parent, his beloved mother, at such a young age… this man of great pride and honor… would not allow someone else to assume responsibility for him… This had provided the greatest source of distress to him aside from his wife’s condition. But the situation had to be handled with the utmost delicacy…

“Up for a trip to New York Old Friend?”

“When do we leave? I always have your back. Question though, who all knows about this?”

“Just Leo, Bastien and Bertrand, and now you… Well, Bertrand doesn’t have the full truth, yet. I have him researching Cordonian and American laws to see if there was any conflict, how to best proceed should one find him/herself in this position.”

“And Bertrand accepted that task … no questions asked?”

“Come now Drake, you know Bertrand as it relates to the Crown’s affairs… “

“Yes, the man is dutiful to a fault…”

“Wheels up as soon as you can be packed, Leo and Bastien already prepped. Riley will be visiting with her sister for a bit, so that prevents having to justify not having her accompany me.”

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow

There were five Sacred Stones total, and all of them were passed down within each of the nations of Magvel. Eirika and her army had safely obtained Renais' Sacred Stone, but Grado, Frelia, and Jehanna's Stones had already been destroyed.

They now were seeking the last one, and so they decided to march to the Theocracy of Rausten. Their guide was none other than Princess L'Arachel.

Once they left Renais, they traveled in peace for a long while. They were not attacked by any enemies nor any monsters. They were also blessed with good weather, and L'Arachel was in a fantastic mood.

"It's good to return home sometimes. I wonder if Lord Uncle is doing well?"

Dozla was walking alongside her. His guffaw echoed through the air. "Pontifex Mansel is sure to be very surprised! You've grown into an even finer young woman than you were when you left home, Lady L'Arachel!"

"Oh, Dozla, stop it!"

*Can I ask you somethin’?" Rennac was trudging along behind them. He said with a bored, apathetic look on his face, "This Pontifex Mansel person will pay me my money, right? Every gold coin his niece has avoided paying me…?"

"Oh, that's right, Eirika! There are many exceptional bards in Rausten. And the one we all talk about most, Saaga, is so amazing that he moves me to tears no matter how many times I listen to him perform. I want you to hear him as well!"

"...Uh-huh..." Eirika turned back and caught a glimpse of Rennac out of pity for him. 

He looked utterly exhausted and worn out as he muttered, "...She ain't even listenin’." 

Eirika didn't know whether L'Arachel really didn't hear him, or whether she just pretended not to, but either way, L'Arachel's voice gradually became more and more cheerful.

"But this time, it is my turn to tell the bards of my many adventures! Our services for the greater good are sure to become a beautiful poem passed down for many generations to come!"

"If so, I wonder if I will be in this poem as well?"

"Oh, Dozla, of course! You will go down in history as my loyal servant!"

"Ohhhhhh, what an honor that will be! You have moved me greatly by saying so!"

"You don't have to record much of anything about me. Just pay me." Rennac muttered.

"We will soon reach the Narube River. Dozla, do you remember when we crossed it? Monsters were trying to attack a boat traveling upon it, so we gallantly rushed in and saved some ordinary citizens who were trying to escape…"

"We should be able to rendezvous with the Frelian Army here." Innes forcefully cut into their conversation. He unsurprisingly seemed to be fed up with L'Arachel's cheerful banter.

Eirika smiled and added to show that she heard what he'd said, "Yes. And when we do so, it will make all of our battles from here on out much easier."

"Of course. We will be teaming up with Frelia's most elite unit."

The Frelian Army had departed their home country following a different route from Eirika's army, and were now going to Rausten as well. Eirika had received a report from the pegasus knights that they should be able to meet up somewhere within the vicinity of Narube.

They would combine with the Frelian Army to bolster their numbers, then obtain Rausten's Sacred Stone so they could capture Lyon this time with all of their forces. That was her army's current strategy.

No matter how powerful Lyon's Dark Stone may be, they had nothing to fear if they had two Sacred Stones. The army he led was now nothing more than the survivors from Grado, so his numbers and weapons likely wouldn't compare to Eirika's. L'Arachel and all of the other members of her army were making cheerful expressions because they could feel hope for the road ahead.

But their cheerful march did not last for much longer. The moment they reached the Narube River, they froze. Two ordinary citizens were cowering alongside the road.

They were a young girl and an elderly man. The exhausted man was comforting the girl, who appeared to be his granddaughter.

The girl noticed Eirika's army and pulled back in fear.

Eirika dismounted her horse and quietly approached her so as not to surprise her. "What happened? Do you live around here...?"

"...You're not with the Grado Army? You're not, right?" The tension drained from the girl's body with a sigh of relief. 

But on the contrary, her words made Eirika's army nervous. "You saw the Grado Army? Somewhere close to here?"

"Yes."  Terror flashed through the girl's big eyes, and she nodded. "They attacked us suddenly. A group of soldiers wearing Grado’s armor came here… and set our village on fire. They killed all of the men who tried to stand up to them… Just when we thought it was all over for us, Frelia's pegasus knights rushed in and saved us. But… the Grado Army is so strong it's terrifying… most of the soldiers from Frelia were killed."

"What? The Frelian Army was killed by the remaining soldiers from Grado?" The color drained from Innes' face, and he pulled in closer to the girl. 

His angry expression spooked her. She shrunk back closer to the old man, then nodded. "Y-Yes…"

"Not all of them were defeated, right? For every last member of Frelia's elite to be gone…"

"No, there is a unit still fighting. But only one. The other units were all defeated. There's still a few friends in our village who have yet to escape… The last of the Frelian Army is still doing everything they can to protect them. Please save them! Please…"

"Understood. Let's go, Eirika!" Innes shouted.

However, Eirika was worried about the look on the face of the crouching old man that the girl had protected. His face was twitching like he'd suffered a horrifying experience, and his lips moved as if he was trying to say something.

Eirika approached him, bent down next to him, and gently said, "You're okay now. We will defeat the Grado Army and save the villagers. Please try to relax and…"

"...No match… for him." The old man muttered something in a muffled voice. 

"Huh?" Eirika responded.

"You are… no match… for him. You are no match… for a terrifying person… like him…"

The man was shaking all over, and continued speaking in a mumble. The words that she only just barely managed to make out were ominous. "No… he's not… a person… He's not... human… He's… a monster… He's… the Demon King…"

"The… Demon King? What does that mean?" Eirika felt a chill crawl down her spine for no discernable reason, and her voice lowered to a hush.

The old man's eyes were wide open, and his breathing was shallow. 

His granddaughter noticed this and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, then she said to Eirika, "I'm sorry. Grandfather rushed right out when the village was attacked… and seems to have seen him. The commander leading the Grado Army…"

"Their commander? Who could it have possibly been…?"

"I didn't see, so I can't say anything at all, but… Grandfather was saved by the Frelian Army when he was in danger. Still, he's absolutely terrified. I have no idea what he saw."

"...Can you tell us what kind of person the enemy commander was…?”

The moment she tried to ask the man for more details, L'Arachel suddenly cried out, "Look at that! There's someone over there…"

Eirika looked up in the direction L'Arachel was pointing to.

A black shadow rose over the grass.

Or so it appeared to be at first glance, for it radiated a gloomy aura all around it. Then Eirika realized that it was someone she knew well, standing with his back slightly hunched over, not moving a muscle. 

Eirika whispered before she even knew what she was saying, "Lyon…?"

Grado's prince was staring at her from beneath his long bangs. His eyes were cold and unfeeling.

Eirika's heart was filled with a sense of relief. Even though they were currently enemies, they could communicate with each other from the heart. ‘I'll always be your ally…' She could hear his voice clearly even now.

'I want to talk with him. I want to ask him for the answers to all of my doubts.' With her mind focused on only that one thought, she tried to walk over to him.

But Ephraim saw her moving and sharply yelled at her to stop. "Stop, Eirika! Don't get anywhere near him!"

"Brother…?"

Ephraim stood in front of her as if to shield her from something, and glared at Lyon.

Lyon's expression abruptly softened. Considering Ephraim's threatening look, his was so gentle it was strange. "Hey, Ephraim… What's the matter? Why are you making such a scary face…?"

 "Lyon! How dare you appear before me with such a calm look on your face!"

Lyon tilted his head at Ephraim’s violent words like he didn't know what Ephraim meant.

"You remember the time we met in the capital, right? Don't tell me you forgot!" Ephraim's voice became more and more harsh with each word. Lyon, by contrast, was calm, and even smiling.

"Of course I remember! I would never forget… Ephraim, we're finally meeting again after so much struggle… Why are you so mad? Did I do something to upset y-?"

"Shut up!" Ephraim sharply cut him off.

Eirika anxiously looked for an opportunity to stop her brother. If he continued to speak with such hostility, they would lose their chance to talk with Lyon.

However, his anger was so fierce that she couldn't carelessly call out to him. All she could do was watch over them, with all of her apprehensions weighing on her mind.

"What did you say then? That you were the one who instigated this war… and that you were the one who invaded Renais and killed my father? That was what you said, right?!"

"Ephraim…" Lyon suddenly made a sad face in response. 

Eirika couldn't stay silent any longer. She softly placed a hand on her brother's back and said, "Please stop. Brother. Don't talk like that."

"Eirika…"

Ephraim turned around and said in a strong tone to warn her, "He's not the Lyon we know. He's being controlled by an evil power. Probably the Dark Stone…"

"That can’t be… You're not yourself today, Brother…" Eirika could feel that Ephraim had made up his mind.

Eirika didn't know exactly what their conversation in Grado Castle had been like. Everything she knew was from her brother's report. She didn't think that he had lied to her, but they couldn't say there wasn't a chance that he lost himself when he was agitated, and interpreted everything Lyon said as animosity, even though Lyon might have come seeking reconciliation.

"Why are you looking at Lyon like he's suspicious? He's our dear friend, isn't he?"

"Eirika…"

 "Lyon said that he will be our ally no matter what. Isn't that right, Lyon?"

"Yes, of course! I'm so happy, Eirika. You really are very kind. Why don't you come… closer…" Suddenly, Lyon's body stiffened. He bit his lip, signaling that he seemed to be enduring intense pain. But he couldn't suppress his voice, and a quiet groan escaped his lips.

"Lyon? What's the matter? Are you alright, Lyon…?" Eirika remembered that Lyon's body was not very strong.

Since long ago, he often broke out with fevers, and his swordsmanship never improved significantly. He was even embarrassed, and it made him feel inferior. But though his body was weak, because he possessed superior intelligence and sensibility, Eirika thought he should be more proud. Yet he still seemed to lack confidence in himself and be troubled by his weaknesses.

Lyon's face twisted, though now it was less in pain and more in anger. "Gah…! Don't get in my way…!" The moment Lyon shouted in frustration, his knees gave out, and he fell atop the grass.

Eirika tried to run straight over to him, but his sharp voice made her feet stop moving.

"Get away from me, Eirika!"

"Huh?"

The anger vanished from Lyon's face. In its place a desperate, pleading expression formed before he shouted, "You can't come near me! Hurry, get away…! If you don't, then I'll…"

"Lyon! What's wrong? What's happ-"

"I'll destroy you… Run… Hurry out of h-" Lyon cut his words short, and hid his face.

Eirika was utterly shocked. She was worried about his health, but he had told her to run. She found it hard to decide what to do, and didn't move.

Lyon slowly raised his head. On his face returned the same cold smile he had when he first appeared. He said in a calm voice, "Sorry for worrying you, Eirika. I’m alright now. That was just a light spasm."

 "...Lyon?" If they were true, then those words should have reassured her, but for some reason, they only made her feel all the more worried. She took a step back against her own wishes.

This was not Lyon. That was the first thought that immediately came into her mind. Lyon didn't smile like that. He would never coax her in such a terrible way 

"Be careful, Eirika. Don't leave any holes in your stance. He's not Lyon." Ephraim said. 

Lyon… no, this being with the same face as the prince, laughed in amusement. "I'm not Lyon? Don't say such strange things, Ephraim. Oh, I get it. You don't like seeing me with so much energy? Would you be satisfied if I suffered a more severe spasm? You always looked at me like you would. You said that Lyon is a weak, pitiful child. But that was just your impression. You did not know anything about me…"

"That's not true." Ephraim refused to be provoked by Lyon’s attempts to agitate him, and responded in a calm voice, "We were friends. Of course, that doesn't mean we knew everything about each other. It wasn’t that simple. But I knew what was most important. You… Lyon was not the type of person to ever deceive or betray us. He wasn't a terrible creature like you, trying to enchant us with whatever words we wanted to hear. He wasn't a horrible person like that. You are not Lyon. You cannot be him.”

Lyon tilted his head to the side and stared straight at Ephraim, but, little by little, his expression began to change. The smile he was directing at them twisted into an arrogant smirk that could even be considered brazen. “Hmph… I see. It seems that human feelings are not something that I can underestimate.”

Eirika could not believe her ears. His tone was more sarcastic than any she’d ever heard before in her life. 

“Pretending to be human was more fun than I ever expected it to be, but… there’s no need to keep up that facade any longer. You saw right through me, Prince of Renais. This body no longer belongs to Prince Lyon.”

“Damn you! ...I knew it! So you have taken over Lyon’s body?!” Ephraim shouted. “I don’t know what you are, but get out! Get out of Lyon’s body right now! Or else I’ll…!”

“Or else you’ll what? Come now, what are you going to do, you foolish prince? Prince Lyon’s heart is already almost entirely gone. I’ve eaten it all up…”

“What did you just say…?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I ate it. Though it resisted and screamed, I ate it up. For a descendant of Grado, he had such a weak heart…”

“Damn you…!” The anger disappeared from Ephraim’s voice. He tried his very hardest to keep himself together, but his voice still shook slightly.

Eirika was taken utterly aback. This was the first time she’d ever seen her brother tremble before an enemy.

“What are you?!”

“You still don’t know? You really are an utter fool, prince of Renais. You should remember your legends that have been passed down through the ages. The name of the enemy you sealed away.”

“He can’t be…” Eirika whispered.

“The Demon King… of ancient times…” Ephraim growled.

He burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the air. He'd already given up his human facade, and a malicious aura radiated around him.

He was the being known as the Demon King, that had existed eight hundred years ago and was feared by humanity. He’d led countless monsters and did as he pleased with the continent of Magvel. The fire his monsters breathed burned down the villages and towns, and drowned the people in the depths of despair.

What became the people's final hope was the five Sacred Stones and the hero Grado. He led his soldiers, challenged the Demon King to battle, and in the end, succeeded in sealing away the Demon King’s soul. This finally brought peace to the continent, and humanity created new towns atop the ashes. The hero Grado founded an empire, and the brave soldiers that fought with him each built their own countries. 

That was all supposed to already be a thing of the distant past, and become legend. The Demon King wasn't supposed to be resurrected ever again. But the seal had been broken, and the Demon King revived. And he’d even taken the body of a descendant of Grado, the very man who’d defeated him.

The Demon King said with satisfaction in his voice, “Prince Lyon will never appear again. This body has already yielded to me. It is mine now!"

But then the Demon King clutched his chest with one of his hands. It appeared that the gesture meant that Lyon’s heart continued to try its hardest to resist, and the Demon King was trying to keep him suppressed.

“Don’t worry, I will grant you your desire to kill Prince Ephraim of Renais, and claim Princess Eirika. That was what you wanted, is it not?

“Damn you…” Ephraim tightened his grip on his lance, however, before he could launch his attack, the Demon King vanished.

“He ran away…?” Ephraim looked around.

Eirika turned her head towards him. “No, Brother. He’s not running, but trying to lure us somewhere. I think his target is more likely the people of Narube that haven’t escaped yet and the survivors of the Frelian Army. He wants to attack them and lure us to him.”

“You’re right. Let’s hurry, Eirika. We must save Frelia’s unit!”

“Yes, we must…” Eirika nodded, but did not feel like giving the order straight away. 

Ephraim noticed her expression, and looked at her. “What’s the matter, Eirika?”

“Brother, I wonder what Lyon’s… No, the Demon King’s final words meant. About Lyon’s desires…”

Ephraim winced and said, “It was just part of an enemy’s plot to make us falter. Don’t worry about it. It’s more important we think about the Frelian Army and the people of Narube first.”

“...Yes, it is.”

Ephraim was right. Their allies were fighting desperately to protect the citizens. Rescuing them came first.

[nishinoya-can-rolling-thunder-me]

Guess Monster

Tendō Satori x Reader

Summary: you catch a certain guess blocker’s eye at the youth training camp that you were invited to help manage

Still getting in the swing of writing for Haikyuu lol

Masterlist

The sound of balls bouncing and zipping by had just become a sound that made up the usual ambiance that echoed through your ears and into your brain. Watching those balls slam down to the ground and rise to the ceiling was also such a sight that had become so normal to your bored gaze that stared on in your position to the side of the small gymnasium as you watched the first years selected for the youth camp continue their warm up besides the two coaches. Though one thing that you couldn’t get ahold of was the antsy red head beside you that stared on with such an intensity that it made a shiver travel through your body. It made every single hair of yours stand on end. Though also embarrassment also took hold as he only did just that. Stood by. You almost had to physically restrain yourself from facepalming at just the thought of knowing that Hinata really and truly did sneak into the youth camp held for these few selected first years to be trained and guided in the gym located on the vast grounds of Shiratorizawa. Not only that, but to be told that he would only merely be a ball boy and nothing else. He would be the one to help wash the jerseys and set them to dry, fix water bottles, and chase after any ball that tried to escape. Though now he helped you keep track of the score of the game between the trainees and Shiratorizawa’s own boy’s volleyball group.

You were merely only a manager of Karasuno’s team that was asked to come on to help take notes of each individual player and keep track of their progress, very much like Kiyoko had taught you to once the two of you had found the groove of being the boy’s volleyball managers and was now teaching Yachi. You were the unlucky one to be offered up to do such a task.

“Hinata...can you stop being weird?” You whispered out sharply to Hinata. Your sharp words only seemed to put a even stronger determined look upon his face as a whistle pierced through the air, you letting out a sigh as you reached a hand to flip the flaps of plastic tat had their bold numbers printed upon them, adding another point to Shiratorizawa’s team.

“What? I’m just being a ball boy.” He almost seemed to proudly announce, causing you to almost turn red from the second hand embarrassment that seemed to take over your senses. How cold someone just be....like that? Seemingly so immune to embarrassment or shame? You knew he felt fear by how he worried of Daichi’s lecture or how he explained the feeling of despair once Mr.Takeda had scolded him with his eloquent words, but that was at least normal and expected. Heck, sometimes you could see embarrassment over take him on the court whenever he would make a fool of himself, but off the court it was like he was immune. Though you had to admit, he was forever evolving with his skills and techniques. So maybe that intense stare upon the court was just a part of the process of evolution, though the blaring whistle sliced through your thoughts. The set was over and done with and now both teams were having a cool down to rehydrate and catch their breaths.

“I have to go do something...” Hinata finally mumbled out before rushing off, you only huffing as you leaned against the sign, watching the other ball boys clean up the court and hand out bottles and towels.

“So! You’re a manager at Karasuno, right?” A voice soon piped up, your gaze slowly and lazily moving to land upon the source. The person in question was now lazily leaned against the score board along side you, red hair spiked upwards and of course had a strange....appearance. That appearance was quite hard to forget. Tendō Satori was a force to be wreckoned with when it came to his guess blocking upon the Karasuno vs. Shiratorizawa match and the middle blocker’s appearance was unforgettable since it was a bit different and you would be lying when you said it wasn’t. You’ve also heard the rumors and the whispers about him too from friends that went to school to Shiratorizawa or other friends from different schools who heard things and whatnot, just horrible gossip that you would listen to and indulge in, but never truly believed a word of it.

But knowing his nickname was the ‘Guess Monster’ sent a shiver down your body. The name was just so...intimidating and terrifying.

“Yes I am, I’m a third year at Karasuno.” You spoke, the silence falling between the two of you. You guess he suspected you to say more, speak more, just something. Though once he realized you weren’t going to say more, he continued on with speaking. Judging by how quick he was able to find the words to continue speaking, it seemed like he had much practice with executing one sided conversations.

“Third year? Would have guessed right, then. You are all...mature and respectful...unlike that shrimp who keeps staring everyone down.” He joked as he shrugged his shoulder and shot a glance over to Hinata who seemed to be pep talking one of the other first years that were actually invited to the youth training camp. It was actually kind of amusing to see Hinata try to cheer up such a large, tall, and stronger looking guy. It honestly almost made you laugh. Almost if it weren’t for the conversation at hand.

“And you’re a third year, but honestly I seemed to find you loud and...disruptive.” You hurriedly quipped back. Just hearing him call Hinata a shrimp just shot a bolt of heat through your body, a flare of anger. It was funny whenever Coach would endearingly say it or anyone of the team. Heck, you didn’t even care if Tsukishima said it, it wasn’t out of character for him to just be sarcastic or a little insulting. Hearing someone you barely knew call him that behind his back to you almost in a....demeaning manor just set a scowl upon your face as your stoic glare moved to rest upon his surprised features.

“Look I’m sorry, I was just trying to be funny.” He said with a laugh as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head as he looked down to you. It seemed like now you finally realized his towering, lanky figure as he allowed himself to straighten up for just a second before leaning back upon the score board. “I was just trying to make you laugh, but that really didn’t work....what a fail.” He said with yet another laugh as he looked to the shiny hard wood floor of the gym, watching the youth trainees being corrected and given advice to help strength their weakness or at least try to improve their weak points. “Kind of expected him to be invited to this thing...did he really break in?” Soon piped up his voice again, you only watching on ahead to the first years, lips beginning to move with your response.

“No he wasn’t...but he somehow got the bright idea to crash the training camp and I guess took on the roll of ball boy in order to not ruin his pride.” You muttered out, gaining a laugh from the other as your eyes watched the determined figure that belonged to Hinata dart after the escaping volleyballs, that strange look upon his face as he concentrated. Though the Whistle interrupted your words that were soon to continue, the coaches of Shiratorizawa calling over their volleyball team for a second match, Hinata now running back to his position on the other side of the score board, Tendo giving a little squinted look to the shorter and younger boy before looking back to you. It almost seemed like he was going to say something, but chose to just jog off instead to start another set with the trainees.

“Wow, you talked to that crazy guess blocker?” Hinata asked, standing at attention as he watched the first serve, eyes watching the ball sip back and fourth until the whistle blew. You nodded your head as you flipped the correct number, now looking over and to Hinata.

“Yes I did, wasn’t really much of a conversation though.” You admitted bluntly. Hinata of course gave a dramatic little huff as another sharp whistle sliced through the conversation, instructing you to once more flip the score board. “What did you expect? Him to relay all his darkest secrets to me?” You sarcastically added, but Hinata was already lost in concentration upon the practice match that went on with him.

The day was long and boring to be quite Frank. Your foot were tired from your constant standing beside that stupid little board and walking back and forth to keep an eye on all the players and of course on Hinata so he wouldn’t make an absolute fool of himself. Though the Guess Monster- or really Tendō had caught your eye many times. He seemed to cast his glances to you after a successful block, almost as in he was making sure you saw it. Then those few times he would totally be off with his intuition he would be checking to see that you didn’t, but you always seemed to catch a glance of his movements and game playing. It was the cliche thing that would happen in those cheesy American hallmark movies where those two people always seemed to be catching each other’s eyes and glances, though you did not think much of it all except for it being a big coincidence at the end of the day as you sling your bag upon your shoulders, bidding everyone farewell as you were prepared to walk back home alongside Hinata and Tsukishima.

“Hey! Ms.Karasuno’s Cool Manager!” Came calling out a voice. There, that red haired, atrange boy was jogging out of the gym and towards you, the two first years looking to you confusingly, though only continued walking forward as you waved them to continue, your bored gaze landing on Tendo, hands clutching onto the strange of your bag that slung over one of your shoulders. “I was wondering if I could get your number? We can maybe hang out sometime? Head out to town together?” He said with a hopefully look upon his face as he looked down to you, though he was only met with silence, the sound of your shoe scuffing up against the sidewalk was the only noise to he heard until finally you went digging into your bag, pulling out a pen before grabbing ahold of his arm and scribbling down a sequence of numbers before placing the pen away.

“Text me anytime...Tendo...” you said, a slight flush upon your cheeks as you shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ears before turning away. “Tsukki! Hinata! Wait up!” You called to the two first years ahead of you, jogging forward to catch up with them.

“What was that for?” Hinata soon asked as he looked over to you, Tsukki in his own world along side the music that played through his headphones.

“Nothing....I just forgot something and he gave it back, just a silly old pen...”