#extended forecast

[blujayonthewing]

the last couple of times I've said 'this time next week I'll be sleeping in the dirt and eating bugs as god intended' I got hit with 36 straight hours of rain and then covid and then really bad elevation sickness but THIS TIME FOR SURE,

[emergencyplumbingil]

Why Do Pool Heating Systems Fail?

Understanding Pool Heater Failures, Warranties, and Repair vs. Replacement .

Failures in pool heating systems are uncommon but often result from neglecting regular maintenance. Routine care, such as cleaning, inspections, and timely filter changes, ensures your pool heater operates efficiently and extends its lifespan. When maintained correctly, a well-cared-for pool heating system typically has a predictable service life. Additionally, Emergency Plumbing qualified technician can often forecast when a replacement might be necessary, helping you avoid unexpected breakdowns.

What Warranties Are Included?

When we repair your pool heater, we back our work with warranties on both parts and labor, giving you peace of mind. Unfortunately, not all companies offer such comprehensive coverage. Some repair providers may leave labor out of their warranty, meaning additional costs for you if something goes wrong. Always confirm warranty details before hiring a company to work on your pool heating system.

Final Thoughts.

Maintaining your pool heating system and understanding warranty terms can save you time, money, and stress. Whether it’s a simple fix or time for a complete replacement, working with a reputable company ensures you receive expert advice and reliable service. Keep your pool comfortable year-round with proper care and informed decisions.

Phone 224-754-1984

[koushirouizumi]

Me: I am ALSO not f*cking joking about Milton

[purbiworl]

Youtuber: I'm gonna check out every [certain hobby] store in Michigan! Now here's this store, located in [particular city]!

Me, who has passed by that store several times: That's not. That's not [particular city]. That's outside the boundary considered [particular city]. It's not anywhere in the store's address. Are you fucking with me. Even a guy in the comments is pointing it out. At least correct your video description. I know you saw the comment. You gave it a heart.

[marketsresearchinsights]

Extended Detection and Response Market Emerging Factors, Trends, Segmentation and Forecast to 2030

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The Extended Detection and Response market report offers an in-depth analysis of the various prime market players that are active in the market. Moreover, it provides their thorough financial analysis, business strategies, SWOT profile, business overview, and recently launched products & services. In addition, the report offers recent market developments such as market expansion, mergers & acquisitions, and partnerships & collaborations. The prime market players observed in the report are Companies Broadcom Inc., Bitdefender, Cybereason, Cynet Security, LTD., Microsoft, Palo Alto Networks, SentinelOne, Sophos Ltd, Cisco Systems, Inc., Trend Micro Incorporated and othersOn the Basis of Component this market is categorized further into-

Software and Services

On the Basis of Deployment this market is categorized further into-

Cloud and On-Premises

On the Basis of Enterprise Size this market is categorized further into-

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The Insight Partners is a one-stop industry research provider of actionable intelligence. We help our clients in getting solutions to their research requirements through our syndicated and consulting research services. We specialize in industries such as Semiconductor and Electronics, Aerospace and Defense, Automotive and Transportation, Biotechnology, Healthcare IT, Manufacturing and Construction, Medical Devices, Technology, Media and Telecommunications, Chemicals and Materials.

[tomorrowusa]

It’s already early May and that means it’s getting close to the start of the North Atlantic Basin tropical cyclone season.

If you live on or relatively close to the coast of the North Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, or the Caribbean Sea, this is a good time to become reacquainted with how to deal with tropical cyclones. The link above provides an excellent set of reminders.

Every day during the hurricane season I visit the official NOAA site. Getting accurate information is essential in an era of disinformation.

National Hurricane Center

If you’re looking for a general forecast for the 2023 season, the go-to place is the Colorado State University Hurricane Seasonal Forecasting site. It’s ironic that a landlocked Mountain state has a university known for it’s tropical weather expertise, but the CSU team is top notch.

Here is their extended-range forecast issued on April 13th.

If you want the TL;DR forecast that isn’t over 40 pages long, here is what they predict for 2023.

So it looks like a slightly below average season in terms of activity.

But even a low activity season can bring destruction. The 1992 Atlantic season had just six named storms – but the first of those was Category 5 Hurricane Andrew which made landfall both in Florida and in Louisiana.

[shaisuki]

📌 day twenty-one: sex pollen + nanami kento

with every step, the world seems to spin more around him.

he needs to have the treatment of whatever he was feeling. the weather wasn't hot that day as the weather forecast had predicted but why was his clothes feels warmer around him and why does his heart beat seems to run a mile and sweat trickling down his forehead.

the mark behind his palm, just above the knuckles is a splotchy tint of pink similar to a stain of spilled wine. extending to his arm that is hidden by his shirt, his silver watch glinting in the light. there's also the unmistakable heat pooling in his stomach. one that he's familiar with. it was beginning to bother him at this point.

“nanami?” a voice called out to him and it was an angel's voice he must be hearing. it could be and it belongs to you.

why you must appear at this time. looking so regal and ethereal and looking like you're a sculpture of a greek artist that had come to life. the light from the sunny weather outside glares at you and it place you on the spot with the light acting like halo above your head. you must be angel and before he can control his actions. he crashes his lips into yours.

groping whatever skin he can touch and reach. reveling in the softness and squishiness of your flesh that feels like clay for him to mold and smooth against his touch.

he was tainted with lust that he didn't think of the aftermath and what's little of self control went to you. you were a little bit shocked at what just happened and nanami was already apologizing. his cheeks flushed like he had been drinking.

“i'm sorry. i didn't i was thinking.” he says but his words are contradiction to his actions. he was still glued to you. hands roaming all over your supple body. “i just need you.” it was the influence of the curse that was talking but it was real. part of it was coming from him. the whole thing.

the heady scent of your perfume mixing with your won sends him teetering over the edge and all he wants is to bite you and taste you on his tongue.

the blonde got you trapped in his grip. “i'm sorry. i promise i'll make it up to you.” he says in between groans and he's already lifting you up. spreading your legs to place himself between them. you have no choice in this but to take what he's about to give.

despite the neediness growing in his pants. arousal evident with the painful bulge. he made sure to kiss you. savor the open mouthed kisses that leaves you gasping and mewling for him. “fucking beautiful.” he curses under his breath. tugging down at your pants and revealing the mound of your fat cunt.

it only took him a quick zip of his pants and it's pooling in his knees. pulling down his boxers. his cock springing free. leaking with beads of cum. awaiting for the relief that was supposed to ease it.

“just bare with me.” he whispers. pulling you into a kiss. repeatedly tapping the tip of his cock to your clothed panties before pushing them aside to accommodate his length that is being painful as the minute goes by. a groan escaped his lips. the strands of blonde hair sticking in sweat to his forehead.

“ssh.” he shushes you as he slowly puts his hardened length to your awaiting heat. “you're so good around me baby.” rubbing soft circles to your soft thighs to distract you from the pain of his cock intruding your cunt.

he kissed your round cheeks again and again and then to your lips before delving his tongue past beyond your lip and then his tongue is exploring whatever part he can touch before sucking your tongue. leaving you drooling and lewdly moaning at his ministrations.

he grinds his pelvis against hers. his cock rubbing all over her sweet spot and that made his cock throb and pulse. he's not going to last and with a groan. his lips still attached to your mouth he cummed. spilling his seed and painting your walls white with his spent. a pleasurable relief sending shivers up his spine.

it was only temporary, the effects of the curse that hit him hasn't fully gone down and added by the addicting taste of you and your body being made for him. he won't be calming any time soon.

by the time that you both are covered in each other's arousal you were still both fucking each other's brain out and nanami made sure after this, he will pamper you. spoil you after this.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you. 

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants… 

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6. 

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you. 

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain… 

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen. 

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you. 

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it. 

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call. 

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant. 

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen…  “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

[ddarker-dreams]

during your high school years together, satoru's audacity has no limit.

should you both be out and about when it's raining... tragedy awaits. one might think checking the forecast would prevent this fate — you'd be wrong. he talks you out of bringing an umbrella, citing how inaccurate meteorologists tend to be. trying to argue with him is like arguing with a brick wall. when he's set his mind to something, it's not a matter of if it'll happen, but a matter of when.

a downpour inevitably ensues. he feigns shock, swearing that in light of his mistake, he'll shield you from the elements instead. his infinity can block the onslaught. however! there's a condition. you have to stick reaaaaaal close to him. extending his technique's range is just oh so exhausting, he'll claim.

you're presented with two options.

a. hold hands with a visibly pleased satoru, who fancies himself a genius.

b. get soaked out of spite.

going with the former involves psychic damage. he doesn't allow for a centimeter of space between you. he'll make jokes that to any passerby, you must look like a couple (he's delusional enough that he might temporarily forget you're not). there's a dopey grin on his stupidly pretty face throughout the entire walk.

he's annoying no matter what you decide. should you choose the later, he'll languish over how this problem could be solved if you just sat aside your pride. it's such a shame, he'll sigh. there is a potential workaround. pointing out that your clothes are becoming see-through will have his supposed 'technique range' expanding real fast.

... unless it's just the two of you for miles. then he'll shrug and say nature's doing him a solid.

[dropoutdottv]

This week on Dropout: on Monday, the season finale of Breaking News (featuring Grant O'Brien, Oscar Montoya, Amy Vorpahl, Elaine Carroll, and Sam Reich); on Tuesday, a new Dimension 20 Animated and a Dirty Laundry extended cocktail recipe; on Wednesday, episode 3 of Dimension 20: Fantasy High Junior Year episode 3; on Thursday, Adventuring Party; and on Friday, a new Very Important People with guests Jacob Wysocki and Kimia Behpoornia.

Adventuring Party launching at 1:30pm ET / 10:30am PT is *not* a mistake! We're shifting Adventuring Party launches to a new time because - in future forecasting - we anticipate wanting to launch other new shows in the 7pm ET timeslot as our schedule fills up on other days.

[remuswriting]

MORE SIGNIFICANT THAN GRAVITY; OIKAWA TOORU

Thunderstorms used to be your biggest fear. Now it's the feeling you have when someone else wants Tooru.

TAGS: Angst with a Happy Ending; Self-Esteem Issues; First Kiss; Hurt/Comfort; Male! Reader; Not Beta-Read

WORD COUNT: 4,817 words

NOTES: This comes from this ask I got. It got a little longer than I intended it to be, but I had fun writing it. Hopefully everyone enjoys!

Expect typos in this. I do not have the time to properly edit this. Sorry.

Thunderstorms have always been an enemy of yours. The way thunder booms through the sky, sometimes even shaking the building from its intensity. How the lightning flashes through the curtains, lighting up a room when it doesn’t want to be. The fear you had as a child only grew into something where you avoided school on days it was forecasted to rain. You now hide under the covers with tightly shut eyes, praying for it to be over soon.

How you feel about thunderstorms is how you feel right now, staring at your boyfriend being surrounded by girls again. You knew before dating him that he’s well-loved, but sometimes you just want to walk home together without being bothered. Most days aren’t like that, though. Today is particularly worse when Aoi pulls out a box from her bag.

“I made you something,” she says, and suddenly, she sounds so shy. She doesn’t resemble the confident class president you’re used to seeing. Aoi extends the box to Tooru, and he slowly takes it. You can just barely see Tooru’s face, but the smile he has is forced.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Tooru says as he grips the box tightly.

“But I wanted to!” she says with wide brown eyes. She’s so pretty with her delicate features, and you think it’d be better if she wasn’t so pretty. “I read that milk break is your favorite, and I wanted you to feel appreciated, so I baked it for you!”

She baked Tooru milk bread, which is something you’ve never done. Baking has never been something you’re good at, and Tooru has never commented on it. He’s never asked for homemade treats, which you always figured was because you’re both boys. You’ve never thought about it too hard, because you figured both of you were on the same page. What if you weren’t? What if you’ve been depriving Tooru of something simply because you can’t do it?

You stare at the box, and the sight has you closing your eyes so tightly it hurts. It’s almost like hearing the threat of a thunderstorm on the news with how your stomach churns. The worst part is how silly it feels to be upset about it, because this is a constant. Tooru receives love confesses constantly, and although you’ve never liked it, it’s never bothered you like this. Because aren’t you supposed to be the one giving him things? Aren’t you supposed to be the one who stands wide eyed in front of Tooru, gifting him something just because you wanted to?

You don’t want to be here anymore. Watching all of this has you wanting to hide under your blankets and pray for these feelings to go away. When you open your eyes, ready to say you’re going to leave, you find Tooru looking at you with those concerned brown eyes. Guilt floods through you, because he’s meant to be enjoying the gift he received, not being worried about you.

He looks back at Aoi. “Thank you so much for the gift, it’s very considerate,” he says with that warm, genuine voice. “However, Y/N and I have to get going. We have a study group.”

There’s no study group, and you’re not sure why he’s saying you two have one. You don’t say that, though, because if it gets you out of this situation, you’ll go with just about anything.

Aoi pouts a little, and she’d be a good girlfriend. She’d be a better significant other than you are. That thought makes you feel like thunder is shaking the house so violently you think it may be an earthquake. You want to tell Tooru that you need to head home instead, but you know he won’t leave you. His loyalty doesn’t let him do that, and sometimes it hurts just a little.

“Okay, but please tell me if you like them,” Aoi says, and Tooru nods.

“I will,” he says, and then you’re walking away with him as he waves bye. It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of your shoes against the pavement, until Tooru passes in front of you and tosses the box into the trash.

“Why’d you do that?” you ask, eyes wide in horror. He’s never been one to treat gifts like that. Tooru looks at you, and the sun bounces off him in a way that makes him look magical.

“I don’t want gifts like that if you’re not the one giving them to me,” he says, and you look away from him as your face heats up. The way he says it so casually has you flustered, but his words cause that guilt to come back. If he wasn’t with you, he’d be able to cherish the gifts he receives. He wouldn’t feel obligated to get rid of them.

“You could’ve kept it,” you say as you look up at the sky before tilting your head to look at him. “What will you tell her tomorrow? That you threw it away?”

Tooru rolls his eyes as he lets out a laugh. “I’ll tell her it was delicious, but I can’t have it anymore because of my diet.”

“And if I got you some, would you still eat it regardless of your diet?”

Tooru smiles at you, and your heart pounds too hard in your chest. “I’ll eat anything you get me, regardless of my diet or allergies or whatever.”

It should ease your nerves, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t at all.

It’s meant to storm after school, which means you’ll be saying you’re sick to skip out on club activities to go home. Your parents used to chastise you about it, but being the top in your year ceased their comments entirely.

You’re preparing what lie you’ll have to give when Tooru drags his desk next to yours for lunch. He has a letter with him, and his name is written on the back in messy handwriting. There’s also a heart sticker keeping the envelope shut. A confession. Someone is confessing to him after school.

“Want to read it with me?” Tooru asks, because that’s what you did. You read them together and laugh at the desperate words that border into cringe territory. It never bothered you before you got together, even when your crush felt so impossibly big. It didn’t bother you in the beginning either, but it bothers you now. You just don’t know how to say that.

“No, I’m okay,” you say, and his brows furrow slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, trying to make it to where only you can hear it. It’s simply a reminder that to everyone else, you’re just best friends. No one knows that you’re boyfriends. No one knows that the idea of coming out terrifies you nearly to the same extent that thunderstorms do.

“It’s going to storm later.”

Your voice is so soft it’s nearly embarrassing, however, Tooru doesn’t seem to care. His face just relaxes in understanding. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he leans in slightly. You want to lean in too. You want to give him the same level of love back. “You’re leaving early, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, and the confession letter now sits on his desk, forgotten by him. But you can’t look away from it, especially because you now recognize the handwriting. It’s Sato’s handwriting—Sato, who is a boy and your academic rival. Sato, who is charming and handsome and that everyone likes. Sato, who apparently isn’t scared of letting the world know he likes boys.

“Okay, I’ll tell coach that I’m sick so I can go with you,” Tooru says, because that’s what you do. Tooru spends thunderstorms with you, so you’re not so scared and alone.

You look at him. “No, I’ll be okay.”

Maybe it’s the way you say it or just that fact that you said it that has him taken aback. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to understand what he did wrong. You just don’t know how to tell him he’s not done anything wrong. It’s you—you’re too caught up in your head, and you don’t want to involve him in that.

“And if I do it anyway?” he asks, and you look away.

If he was with Sato, this wouldn’t be a conversation. He wouldn’t have to lie to his coach about being sick just to comfort his boyfriend because of a stupid fear. Being scared of thunderstorms is so stupid, and you’ve always known that. Your parents have always made sure to tell you, but now you’re having to tell yourself. This fear is affecting others when it should only ever affect you. Your heart pounds in your chest as your fingertips tingle, and you only ever feel like this when it storms. However, there’s no rain or thunder right now, so you’re just scared without an obvious reason.

“I can’t stop you,” you say, voice shaking. “But you should probably answer that confession first.”

“Not going is an answer,” Tooru says, and he’s serious. Tooru has never missed a confession before, always saying he believes people deserve some form of closure, but he’s suggesting it now. He’s suggesting it because of you—because of a stupid fear you have that you struggle to face alone. It should be romantic, but it leaves you wanting to cry.

“No, you need to go,” you say, because he’ll regret it later on. He’ll feel guilty seeing Sato in the hallway, looking at Tooru with upset eyes. Tooru is too soft to move on from that.

He looks at you, long and hard, before slowly nodding. It’s almost as if he’s seeing through your cracks, slowly noticing something is wrong. You wonder if he’ll figure it out before you do something impulsive.

“Okay, but we leave not a moment later,” he says, and your chest is tight.

“You’re still not going to practice?”

He shakes his head and leans his cheek against his hand as all of his attention is focused on you. “Not when it’s going to storm.”

Guilt continues to eat deep inside you. Interhigh Prelims are rapidly approaching, and you’re taking him away from that. You’re hindering him. You’re being difficult. But you know there’s no point in arguing, because he’s one of the most stubborn people you’ve ever met. So you slowly nod.

“Okay. Do you want me at the confession?”

He smiles, so warm and real. “Yes, or else you’ll run off without me.”

You can’t help the small laugh you let out. He knows you too well, which makes this all a little worse. Shouldn’t he realize how hard this is becoming for you? Shouldn’t he know what to do?

“I wouldn’t, but okay,” you say, and he rolls his eyes.

“Oh, whatever.” He finally pulls his lunch out and divides it in half before offering it to you. You take it as a reflex, because this has been your routine from before you even started dating. It’s easy to see why you fell in love with Tooru. It’s easy to see why other people are falling in love with him as well.

The sky is gray and ominous when you and Tooru meet Sato at the tennis courts. Sato is pacing around until he sees Tooru. He stops in his tracks, and the growing breeze pushes his black hair into his face. You’ve always found him slightly attractive, but never have there been true feelings there. Maybe it’s because you fight for the top spot or maybe because you’ve never had a moment where you’ve actually talked.

Sato looks past Tooru at you, and his brows immediately furrow. He wasn’t expecting an audience, which you can’t blame him for. You wouldn’t be expecting one either. You’re tempted to run away, but Tooru looks at you, and you know you can’t. If you run away, he’ll just run after you.

Instead, you look away from him and at the sky instead. It’s only getting darker, and fear runs through you at the thought of getting caught in the rain. Fear also runs through you at the fact you have to hear another boy confess to Tooru.

“Sato-san,” Tooru says, and he’s using the voice he uses when rejecting people. You close your eyes, ready for the rejection to come from him, but it doesn’t.

“Please, just listen to me,” Sato says, and he sounds far too desperate. “I know I’m a guy, and this is all weird, but I like you, Oikawa-san. I’ve liked you for so long, but only recently have I let myself like you.” Tooru doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare to open your eyes. “You make me want to tell people.”

“What do you know about me?” Tooru asks. It takes you by surprise, because in all the confessions you’ve witnessed of his, he’s never asked that before.

You open your eyes, and Sato’s hair is messy from the wind and his eyes are wide. “What?”

“What do you know about me?” Tooru asks again. “Why do you like me so much?”

“You’re smart and talented,” Sato says, and Tooru just stares at you. “Dedicated too.”

“Is that all you need to love someone?”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen anyone who has confessed to Tooru look so dejected. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt bad for them, because you understand Sato. You understand your feelings being so big that you have to confront them. This confession has been far more vulnerable than other ones, because Sato knew he could’ve faced a far harsher rejection. It could’ve been far worse than his crush questioning him on why he likes him.

“I—I—”

“I’m sorry, Sato-san, but I don’t feel the same way,” Tooru says, and although he sounds apologetic, there’s an edge to his voice. “I really hope you find someone you truly like, though.”

It’s quick, Tooru turning and grabbing your hand to drag you away. The wind is harsher now, trying to blow through your uniform. You’re nauseous from the sky and how Sato still stands there, staring at you two. It all only reminds you that there are people out there who are ready to be seen with Tooru while you’re not. You fear you’ll never be ready for that, and that only means he’s trapped liking you in the bubble that surrounds you two.

“I’m sorry,” he says once you’re past the school gate. You’re no longer holding hands, even though you need the contact. The storm is quickly approaching, and you’re so scared. You’re scared you’ll get trapped in it, and that it’ll feel like watching Sato confess to Tooru. “We’ll get to your house before the storm hits.”

You nod, but nothing comes out. You hope he thinks it’s entirely because of this fear of the storm when it’s not. The thought of Sato has a different kind of fear boiling inside you, and it’s the fear that Tooru will realize there are better people out there.

You reach your house right as the rain starts hitting the pavement. The thunder hasn’t started yet, but you’re on edge as if it has. It’s a waiting game at this point, and you’re kicking off your shoes without care as you hurry to your room. Tooru waits for you to change into comfortable clothes before pulling him into your room.  Your blankets are still a mess from this morning, but he fixes them for you.

“Come here,” he says as your room lights up from the lightning. You start counting for the thunder.

One. Two. Three.

The thunder hits, and you can’t move. You’re stuck standing in the middle of your bedroom, closing your eyes as you try to calm your breathing and pulse. It’s funny that even though you’re so scared, your thoughts are slightly jumbled, you wonder if this is what people feel like when Tooru rejects them.

The bed creaks, meaning Tooru got up, and your thick comforter is wrapped around your shoulders before you’re being pulled in to be pressed against his chest. He’s warm and comforting, almost like a second home for you. It’s so easy to just melt into his embrace and try to ignore the outside world for just a second. Until the lightning strikes again, so bright you can see it through your closed eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and then the thunder hits. It’s loud, and you reach out to grasp his shirt to know he’s there. He pulls you closer, and your cheek presses against his shoulder. “I love you.”

It’s all so overwhelming—the storm and the confession. It’s so hard to think clearly, especially with your nerves sky-high. “Tooru,” you gasp into his neck before you start crying.

He pulls you to the bed before sitting you in his lap. You’re both surrounded by your comforter, and this is the closest you’ve ever been. “It’s okay,” he says as he gently rubs your back. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

You melt into him completely, crying into his skin and desperately grasping his shirt like a lifeline. Even with his confession, guilt eats at you as the thunder crashes through the sky. There are better people out there for him—people who are fully ready to love him outside of closed doors. However, he’s so loyal to the point it’s his weakness, and you refuse to extort that, even if that’s not what you’re trying to do. You cry harder, because this is all so unfair—having this realization while a storm rages outside and he’s the one holding you.

“I love you too,” you say through tears. It’s unfair to say it to someone you don’t deserve, but you don’t know for how long you’ll be able to say it. You don’t know how long he’ll believe you. “I love you so much.”

Tooru presses a kiss to your hair, and you try to even out your breathing as the storm rages outside and in your head.

Mondays are your date days. Other days are spent studying together at home, sometimes eating something together. He’s just always so tired after practice that you never want to push him anymore than he’s already pushed himself. Those days, you go over to his house, where he showers and then you blow-dry his hair for him before working on homework. Today is Monday, though, which means a date. This week is Tooru’s turn.

“We have to go by the clubroom really quick. I forgot my wallet in there this morning,” Tooru says, and you roll your eyes as you follow him. He forgets things there often, as if it’s a second home to him. You imagine it is. “But don’t worry, where we’re going will make up for it.”

He starts going on about a restaurant he and the team went to last week and that he’s been dying to take you to. He claims it’s definitely your style—that you’ll love it. You watch him talk, his eyes bright and his smile unwavering. Is there ever a good time to leave someone? Or will it always feel like you’re putting it off?

“Tooru,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence. You’re in the privacy of the clubroom now, and he looks at you. “I think we should break up.”

You’re not sure what to expect, because you’ve not wanted to think about this at all. It’s made you sick even barely thinking about it. However, you didn’t expect for tears to well up in his eyes as he let out a shaky breath. “What?”

It’s hard to not pull him in and take back your words, but you manage to not move. “I think we should break up. It’s—It’s just not working anymore.”

Tooru blinks a couple of times, his eyes looking around as he does so. Tears are really welling up in his eyes now. “What are you talking about? We love each other.”

“But you deserve better,” you say, and it’s like a breath of fresh air saying that. You’ve been holding it in for so long, and finally sharing it is a burden lifted off your shoulders. “I’m—I’m not good enough for you. You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you and then tears fall down his cheeks. The sight and his silence hurt, but you can’t look away from him. This is what you deserve.

“What’s going on?” he asks, voice wet. He wipes his eyes, and the sight breaks your heart. “I know you’ve been off, but I didn’t think it was this. I thought—What’s going on?”

It’s been years since you’ve been labeled as shy, growing out of that as you realized the only thing that truly scares you is thunderstorms. Now, at the age of 18, losing Tooru is the thing that scares you most. You’re facing this fear head on, but you wish it was thunderstorms instead. You wish you had never said anything and let yourself hurt.

“You’re so amazing, and I’m just me,” you start, and your throat starts feeling scratchy. You can’t let yourself cry. “I’m not amazing like you, and you deserve someone who is. You deserve someone like Aoi-chan or Sato-san, because they’d love you better than I do. I’m just holding you back.”

“No,” Tooru snaps, and you flinch. “You’re wrong, Y/N. If anything, you’re the one who is amazing. You’re not holding me back—you could never hold me back. I am better because of you.”

“But I don’t give you gifts just because, and I didn’t confess to you ready to tell the world about us,” you say, desperate for him to just understand.

“If I wanted those things, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I’m in love with you.” He takes a step towards you. “I’m pretty sure I was made just to love you, so please let me.”

“But what if you realize it was all a mistake?” your voice breaks from tears, finally crying with him.

He takes a step closer to you, and he’s so close it’s overwhelming. “You’re the only person who gets me,” Tooru says, and your hands are nearly touching. “That’s the most important thing to me. Not if you give me gifts or if I can hold your hand in public. What I care about is that you know me and still love me.”

“How could I not love you?” you ask before wiping your eyes, trying to dry your eyes so your vision doesn’t become blurry.

“And how could I not love you?” he asks, and he takes one of your hands into his. “Y/N, there is no other person I want to love. You’re the only one.”

You want to believe it so desperately that you don’t think he’ll understand. It’s been weeks of this doubt building in your stomach, and you can’t stomach it anymore. All you want is for it to go away.

“But there are other people who are better for you.”

“And I don’t want them. I want you.” He squeezes your hand a little. “I would’ve told you this if you’d just talked to me.”

You cough slightly from how hard you’re crying, because it’s overwhelming listening to genuine words that go against your thoughts. It’s overwhelming trying to let yourself believe it.

“I—I didn’t know how to tell you.” You gasp before going into a slight coughing fit. “I was so scared I’d tell you and you’d realize I was right.”

“So you decided to break up with me?”

“All I want is what’s best for you,” you say, and he’s not crying as hard as you are. It’s unfair, you think.

“You’re what’s best for me.” Tooru brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “What do I need to do to prove that to you?”

“Stop being so popular.”

He laughs slightly, and butterflies itch at your rib cage from the sound. “Consider it done. I’ll become hated for you.”

“You could never be hated,” you say, and you wish he was kissing you instead of your knuckles. “You’re too good.”

“And you’re better.” Tooru presses his cheek against your hand. “You’re also far more popular than me, but I’ve been too selfish to let you see that.”

Your brows scrunch a little. “What are you talking about?”

Tooru sighs before kissing your palm. “I throw away your confession letters. You’re so mysterious that girls come to me, and I smile before throwing it away.” He’s attempting to be apologetic, but the smile on his face negates that. “I don’t want anyone else having your attention.”

“I didn’t know you were like that,” you say, and he laughs again.

“You make me like that.” He pulls you closer, and your face burns. “You drive me crazy, and I can’t get enough of it.”

Your chests are nearly touching, and you could kiss him. That’s not something you’ve done yet, though, because there’s always been that fear that someone will see. If someone sees, then you may really lose him, but right now, you don’t care. All you want to do is kiss him.

So you do.

It’s awkward since he’s not expecting it, but Tooru recovers quickly by pulling in closer, making your chests press together. You feel his heart pounding, but yours isn’t much better. It’s exhilarating to finally do this. It’s far better than anything you’ve imagined before.

Tooru uses his free hand to hold your cheek while his other hand doesn’t let go of yours. The kisses are clumsy, not used to each other, but you want more. You never want this to end, but then Tooru pulls away. You’re both breathing heavily, and you just want to kiss him again.

“God,” he says, his thumb caressing your cheek. He kisses you again, and it’s so gentle you feel loved. “I love you,” he says as he kisses you.

Although it’s still hard to hear those words, the doubt still eating at you, you smile. You let him love you, even with the fear that he deserves someone else. Maybe the more he says he loves you, the more you’ll start to believe he’s not going anywhere and doesn’t need to.

“I love you,” you say as you pull away. When you open your eyes, Tooru’s eyes are still closed. There’s a soft smile on his face, and his cheeks are beyond flushed. He’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

His eyes open, and they’re so warm. You’ve always loved brown eyes, but his are your favorite. They’ve always looked at you with such warmth it nearly burns you. Tooru has that effect, though—burning people with his warmth and care.

Tooru laughs a little as he pulls away, pressing a kiss to your forehead. All you want to say is that you love him. All you want to do is prove you love him.

“Let’s head home,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek to his side but not letting go of your hand.

You raise a brow. “We’re not going to the restaurant anymore?”

His smile is so boyish. “I can’t kiss you if we go there.”

“Oh, so you don’t care if I’m hungry?” you tease, and he pouts slightly. It’s so easy to just lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips. He goes to pull you back in, but you pull away slightly as you laugh a little. “We can’t go anywhere if we’re kissing.”

“Maybe we should just never leave then,” he says, and you roll your eyes but your cheeks burn as you look away. “Hey, don’t act as if you weren’t the one who kissed me first.” You push his shoulder slightly, trying to let go of his hand, but he won’t let you. He pulls you closer to him. “Nope, you’re not going anywhere.”

You tilt your head to the side with a teasing smile. “Then how am I meant to get home?”

“Attached to me, obviously.” He kisses your forehead, even though he can now properly kiss you. “You’re not leaving my side if I can help it.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” you say, and his smile is so bright. “You may regret it later.”

He shakes his head as his thumb caresses the back of your hand. “I’ll never regret anything where you’re involved.”

You let yourself believe his words as you press another quick kiss to his lips. When you go to leave, you stop holding hands, but it’s okay because Tooru walks so close to you that your sides keep brushing against each other. It’s just as intimate, if not more.

[youcouldmakealife]

David/Jake; all eventualities

Another Kickstarter fill, for the prompt: David showing commitment to Jake

It comes up at dinner with Jake’s sister. The Lourdes are very — candid with one another, David finds. Initially he found it uncomfortable, even sometimes alarming, but now he’s mostly used to it. Still, he didn’t expect Natalie to casually bring up making a will while twirling spaghetti on her fork.

“I know most people put it off,” she says. “But when kids are in the picture you can’t, you know? You have to make sure they’re taken care of. Not just financially, but you have to think of that too.”

“For sure,” Jake says. “You do know I would—“

“No, I know,” Natalie says, waving Jake away with her fork. “Still. I have Allie and Serge as guardians. No offence to you guys, obviously, she’s just, you know, already a mom. What’s one more, right?”

David is pretty sure it’s a little more strenuous than that, but then, he isn’t a parent, so maybe he's wrong. Jake doesn’t look offended, and David’s too busy suddenly considering the possibility of Jake having custody of his nephews, as small as it may be. He hadn’t really thought about it before, not even as a distant possibility.

“But you guys are the back up,” Natalie says.

“Sweet,” Jake says, completely unfazed, while David spends the rest of dinner methodically cutting his spaghetti down into smaller pieces.

“You know it’d never happen, right?” Jake says on the drive home.

“Hm?” David says.

“Me getting guardianship,” Jake says. “Nat’s just being thorough, checking all the boxes.”

“Oh,” David says. “I know.”

“You looked a little worried,” Jake says.

“I wasn’t worried,” David protests.

Obviously, that wasn’t true, but as David thinks about it more that night, Jake asleep beside him, he realises Jake’s right — the chance of both Natalie and Allie being unable to care for the children are infinitesimal, orders of magnitude smaller than the odds of, say, a collision each time David gets in a car. And that risk doesn’t stop him from getting into one almost every day.

But if David did get into a collision — and that would be the most likely cause of his premature death, statistically speaking — he wouldn’t have a will of his own. David likes to think he’s a responsible adult, and his bookkeeper praises his record keeping, but apparently that doesn’t extend to planning for the end of his life. It’s not like he’s never considered making one, given that he’s in a career where a shortened lifespan is unnervingly common, and just because he’s emerged from it more unscathed than others doesn’t necessarily mean he’s escaped long-term consequences, but it’s just — uncomfortable, he supposes.

If Jake died — David doesn’t even like thinking about it, but if he did, and he didn’t have a will, then his money would surely go to his family, and that seems right.

But if David died without a will? It’d probably all just go to his parents. He doesn’t think Jake would fight it, even if he had far more right to it than either of them.

He’d say it didn’t matter, that he had enough money, but it isn’t just money, is it? It’s David’s money, but it’s also property, furniture, keepsakes, from his Gold medal down to his pyjama shirts, plastic cracked and cotton faded. The things that belong to him — but if he isn’t around anymore, they’re Jake’s if he wants them.

*

“I want to write a will,” David says, after he thinks about it a few days, makes a preliminary appointment with an estate lawyer. He doesn’t think it’s a particularly inappropriate moment, sitting on the couch, half watching the news, waiting for the weather forecast, because Jake wants to go for a drive this week, maybe take a picnic basket along, but Jake turns the TV off, looking alarmed, so perhaps he didn’t choose the right one.

Or, well, David supposes he’d be alarmed if Jake suddenly announced that as well. Wonder if something had happened. If he had cancer, or—

“I don’t have cancer,” David says.

Jake looks, if anything, even more alarmed.

“Or anything else,” David says. “At least as far as I’m aware. I just — remember what Natalie said? About making a will?”

“Oh,” Jake says, and blows out a relieved breath so big it makes David startle.

“I haven’t made one myself,” David says. “Which was irresponsible of me.”

“I mean, I haven’t made one either,” Jake says.

“I’m not calling you irresponsible,” David says.

“No, I know,” Jake says. “Maybe I should, though.”

“I thought — if you were —“ David says. “If something happened, your family would get your money, right? And that’s how it should be.”

Jake’s frowning again, and David talks faster so he can hopefully explain himself before Jake misunderstands him again.

“If I didn’t have a will, my money would go to my parents,” David says, and the frown’s gone again, replaced by something closer to — it isn’t pity, David thinks. Hopes, at least. “Your family, they’ve been — supportive of you. Present. My parents — they don’t deserve anything of mine.”

“No,” Jake says. “They don’t.”

“So I think I’d like to make a will,” David says.

Jake reaches out, squeezes David’s hand. “Sounds like a good thing to have, just in case.”

“Yes,” David says. “Exactly. Did you want to — should we check the weather?”

“Okay,” Jake says, and when he turns the TV back on, the forecast sprawls across the screen, all sunshine.

“Good weather for a drive,” David says.

“Perfect weather,” Jake says, and squeezes his hand again.

[peachsukii]

✮ content. mentions of hospital equipment. grief. angst w/ happy ending. ( part one )

Katsuki laid in the grass, the small wisps tickling his skin in the breeze. The sunlight’s warmth comforted him, reminiscent of a cherished childhood blanket. He doesn’t remember walking to the riverbank, or really…anything at all about the day. The last thing he could recall was being on patrol with Kirishima. It was cloudy that day, too - nothing like the current forecast.

‘Did I pass out?’ The thought echoes through the caverns of his mind.

Maybe he was dreaming the world around him, creating the ideal paradise for his soul. Regardless of how he got here, the peace it offered him was unmatched to anything he’s felt before. It was…strange.

‘Where the hell is everyone?’

Katsuki could hear faint whispers every now and again, sometimes the sounds of unknown technology droning and beeping at random. He felt a squeeze on his hand a little while ago, confused by the foreign sensation when he saw nothing there.

He rose slowly, careful with his movements as he scanned his surroundings. No one else was around - he was completely alone.

Suddenly, Katsuki was overwhelmed with the urge to lay in the river. He begins to make his way to the edge, wading into the water with his boots on. The river wasn’t deep by any means, just enough to come to his knees. The current flowed softly around him as he laid on the surface, floating blissfully in the cool stream.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him in the moment as Katsuki’s eyes fluttered closed.

‘So…tired,’ he thought, unable to fight the drowsiness building inside him. His vision was fading to black until a splash nearby startled him out of his tranquil haze.

You appeared above him, observing curiously with your brows scrunched together and hair hanging in front of your face.

“What are you doing in the river, Kat?” you ask, tilting your head. He blinks a few times before finding the words to respond.

“I…don’t know.”

A zealous laugh erupts from your throat. Katsuki’s heart flurries at the sound of your voice, emotions welling from deep within himself. You shuffle around his body and extend your hand for him to take.

"Come on, Katsuki. Let's go home."

He takes your hand like it's the most fragile thing in the world.

The landscape around the two of you begins to dissipate as he rises from the river. Everything is swirling into puffs of smoke - including you. He tries to say 'don't go!' but the words halt on his lips, unable to vocalize his feelings.

And then...it happens.

Without warning, Katuski's eyes shoot open - a raspy breath escaping his lungs. He shakes his head to fix his sight and pixelate the world into focus. The fluorescent lighting of the hospital hallway reflects off the tiles and creates a dim hue in the room.

He has a million questions, his brain playing catch up with reality while he analyzes the setting around him. That's when his gaze falls downward and sees...you. You're fast asleep, hunched over in the uncomfortable plastic chair with your head on the hospital bed - hand tangled with his.

Katsuki sighs to himself, letting his lips curl into the softest smile he could muster. He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, causing you to wake from your slumber. He can see the glistening of tears forming in your eyes through the darkness. Your mouth moves, but nothing comes out - you're too overwhelmed with emotion. So, he decides to fill the silence for you.

"I'm home."

he deserved a happy ending ♡