#for a guy who isn’t supposed to work and be able to keep himself together he did a better job at it than ven

[runsonlovepower]

vani is like. human software running on Goo Creature hardware. he is hungry and does not have. organs

[dilf-lover99]

Playing Pretend | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: When Reader's best friend James requests her assistance capturing the attention of Lily Evans, the two decide to make some changes to their relationship. Sort of.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers / fake dating (two superior tropes), not much of a slow burn (sorry guys), a healthy amount of pining, maybe a teeny bit of angst if you squint, a kiss, i think that's it this is like the softest thing i've ever written

Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: i'm sorryyyyyy !!! i'm sorry i ghosted you, i promise it was an accident ! i've been working a TON lately, but i finally found a bit of time to write and i missed it so much. i hope this was worth the wait ! let me know what you think. p.s. love u lots<3

There were three things in life of which you were certain.

The first is that, no matter how skeptical one may be, the sorting hat irrefutably knows best. Being sorted into Gryffindor on your first day at Hogwarts was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, it introduced you to the friends who became your family.

The second is that you will never, swear on Merlin’s beard, read a book you’ve borrowed from Remus in the bath; Some lessons are best learned after making mistakes.

The third, and most important, is as follows : James Fleamont Potter is, and always will be, your very best friend.

You’re confident that there’s nearly nothing in the world the two of you wouldn’t do for each other if asked.

James has always been there for you in times of need, with a comforting embrace or a ludicrously ill-advised joke. He always talks out your problems with you, agreeing with your side of the situation even when you think you’re in the wrong.

There’s not a single problem the two of you haven’t been able to overcome together.

You’ve also spent countless waking hours of your life pretending to hold a flicker of interest in the precise mixture of colours in Lily Evans’ eyes, the scent of her hair, or wether or not she laughed at James’ joke that day.

The price of friendship, you suppose.

“This is the year, (y/n), I can feel it!” Your bespectacled best friend announces from his position sprawled across your bed on his stomach.

You withhold the good-natured urge to roll your eyes, exhaling an small breath through your nose with a smile, “You say that every year, James.” Ceasing the previous circles you were spinning in your desk chair, you make eye contact with James and continue, “Though I admire your persistence, perhaps it’s time to give it a rest? Maybe take up another hobby? Clearly quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough to leave Evans be.”

“Ha Ha.” James grumbles sarcastically. The two of you have conversations like this regularly, though your attempts to divert his interests have consistently proven futile. “It’s different this year. I’m different this year. I’m trying something new,” He slowly pulls himself up from his relaxed position, now sitting at the edge of the bed to face you directly, “If you agree to my plan, that is.”

“Well, that depends,” You hesitate, eyeing your best friend suspiciously. Over the course of your friendship you’ve always had a difficult time saying no to James, which has gotten you into more than your fair share of trouble.

“Is there any part of this plan that could result in our expulsion? Or worse- Will my hands be stained again? It took me weeks to get the dye off my fingers after your last so called plan.” 

Without recounting each and every detail, James’ last plan involved the two of you, a pint of florescent pink hair dye, and the head of an unsuspecting Severus Snape, and resulted in semi-permanent dye-stained hands and a rather stern talking-to from Dumbledore.

James laughs mirthfully at the memory, “Come on, people loved that! We loved that!”

“Yes, we did.” You agree with a grin despite yourself.

James throws a wink your way, shaking his head amusedly before speaking again, “No, this’ll be nothing like that. Entirely free of repercussions, I swear it.” His tone resembles that of when he’s asking you for a favour, and judging by the way he���s dancing around the words, you have a feeling you’re not going to welcome his idea with open arms.

“Alright, Potter. Out with it, will you?” You voice lightly, “It can’t be worse than any other plan you’ve had.”

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He rushes out, the shadow of a blush forming evenly across his pale cheeks at his own words.

“O-kay,” You draw out, eyes wide, “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I know it sounds mad, but hear me out.” He starts quickly, “I was talking to Pads about it and he was all ‘Maybe if you weren’t so available all the time, she’d actually want you around’” He lowers his voice an octave, a dramatized attempt at impersonating your shared friend, “And I know what you’re going to say, ‘Why would you take relationship advice from Sirius of all people’” His voice raises higher now as he butchers an impression of your own, “But he had a point! And I thought, well, I wouldn’t be available if I had a girlfriend, would I?” 

You’re unsure if you should interrupt him or not, equal parts amusement and disapproval swirl around in your brain as he speaks.

“But I couldn’t do that to a real girl, y’know?” If he notices the icy glare you shoot his way at this, he does a bang-up job pretending he doesn’t, “Just string her about whilst I’m in love with Evans- But I could pretend! And who better to pretend with than my own best girl?” He finishes with a smile so sweet you almost forget the preposterous nonsense he’s just spouted.

Almost.

“There are about ten things wrong with what you’ve just said- Eleven if you count that horrible impression of me! Merlin, James, do I really sound like that to you?” James chuckles at you, running his lithe fingers through the charming mess of his curls.

“Don’t answer that.” You speak before he has a chance to reply, abandoning your chair in favour of standing in front of him.

“You really have gone mad, haven’t you? What exactly do you think is going to happen? She’ll see us together and be overcome with jealousy? Leaving her no choice but to confess her undying love for you?” You highlight the absurdity of his proposition, poking fun with dramatic sighs and emphatic hand gestures.

“Well it sounds a bit nutty when you say it that way, with your sarcasm and the like, but yes. That’s what I’d like to happen.”

“It’s not going to happen, James.” You deadpan.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how it works!” You state, humour and disbelief mingling together, “If she doesn’t want you now, why’d she want you after you get a girlfriend? And if she did, would that really be the type of girl you’d fancy anyhow? A boyfriend-wanter?” 

James chuckles amusedly, completely missing the nuance of your words, “Boyfriend-wanter?” He echoes teasingly.

You sigh emphatically, taking a seat on the bed beside your best friend, “You’ve lost the plot, mate.”

James’ previous contentment is no longer at the forefront of his emotions, instead there’s a vulnerable sincerity that tugs at your heart strings with all its might. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if there’s even a chance of it working, I just- I have to try, (y/n),” His warm hazel eyes are boring directly into your own with a distinct sense of desperation as he mutters a final, “Please?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, James.” Your voice wavers with nerves at the thought of walking hand-in-hand with James into the Great Hall where all your friends sit, blissfully unaware of the delusional plan James has concocted to win the affections of Lily Evans.

“Come on, (y/n), it won’t be so bad. You used to love holding my hand.” James jests with an irritatingly loveable grin, not-so-subtly referencing the ancient crush you harboured toward him in the beginning of your first year.

“Yes, very well, James. I had a crush on you when I was eleven. I also slept with a Beatles nightlight and cut the crusts off my toasts.” You’re starting to wonder how on earth you could’ve agreed to this when James grabs your hand, intertwining his slender fingers with your own and giving a gentle, reaffirming squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s barmy, truly, but it means everything that you’re willing to try.” His voice is softer than you’ve heard in a long time, and in the back of your mind you can’t help but think this is the boy you’d fancied all those years ago.

You squeeze his hand back assuringly, “I’d try anything for you.” You smile sincerely.

“Oh really? Should you have happened to change your mind about a certain prank involving-”

“Almost anything.” You interrupt with an amused roll of your eyes.

The two of you share another smile before turning toward the looming entryway to the Great Hall.

“Shall we, darling?” James emphasizes the final word teasingly.

“We’d best, before I change my mind, love.” You retort.

You’re familiar with the expression ‘so silent, you could hear a pin drop’ but you’ve never experienced anything of the sort. Until now, that is.

The moment you and James walk through the doors, all eyes are on the two of you. More specifically, all eyes are continuously moving from you, to James, to your intertwined hands, then back again.

In the two days since you agreed to James’ scheme, you’ve remained confident that it wouldn’t work, surely nobody would believe you went from best friends to being in a relationship overnight.

Your confidence was misplaced.

As the two of you walk closer to your usual spot at the Gryffindor table, your hand squeezes James’ tighter than you’d like to admit, painstakingly aware of just how many eyes are on you. You can hear the poorly concealed whisperings of each gossiping classmate you pass by, “Finally!” “See, I told you they were shagging.” “What does he see in her?” The latter may have stung just a bit.

“Alright?” James whispers close to your ear, fuelling another buzz of observations from your peers.

You nod your head perceptibly, a tad caught off guard from all the attention you’re receiving, “Yes, swell. You?”

“To be determined.” James tugs your hand gently, signalling you to stop walking as you’ve reached your destination at the Gryffindor table.

“Good morning.” You greet your friends with a smile in an effort to maintain normalcy. Taking your usual seat, Sirius is on your left and James sits to your right beside Remus. You promised James to keep the plan a secret from everyone, including your shared best friends, but with the way they’re looking at you now, you’re ready to spill your guts.

“Good morning? S’that it then?” Sirius starts incredulously, “The two of you leg it in here holding hands and we’re supposed to go about our day as normal?” 

“I think what he means to say,” Remus interjects, his tone soft, a welcome juxtaposition from Sirius’ brash one, “Is that this-” he gestures between you and James with a mild wave of his hand, “Is new. We hadn’t realized the two of you were… Romantically involved.” His statement ends as more of a question, a gentle probe to explain what’s going on.

You look to James, raising your brows questioningly as if to say you've created this plan, now you have to do the ground work.

He gets the message.

“It is a bit out of nowhere, isn’t it?” James smiles, not so subtly making eye contact with Lily, who’s sitting directly across the table, “We spent all these years as friends and never thought twice about it, um- But then…” He trails off, realizing he’s not half as good a liar as he’d hoped he was.

You close your eyes with a deep sigh, knowing it’s now your responsibility to make this believable.

James Potter and his bloody plans.

“It’s alright, James, love,” You speak up after he’s gone silent, “We can tell them.” He’s going to owe you for this, and you intend to cash in the favour for once, “I’ve fancied you as long as I’ve known you.”

Your friends are paying more attention to you now than they have to anything, ever, clinging onto your every word, “Bit embarrassing if I’m honest, cos’ you never really saw me that way.” 

You remember hearing once that the most believable lies stem from the truth, and though it was back in year one, and hardly went as deep as you’re leading on, this is a version of how you’d felt about James at one point in time.

You work hard to fight back a chuckle at the look of pity on Dorcas’s face as she takes in your words, “But, I guess after I finally stopped trying to get you to see me that way, that’s when you actually started to.” Now you’re just discussing the plan in plain sight, though your friends are drinking it up quicker than their pumpkin juice.

James squeezes your hand with a firm grip, as if to warn you not to say anything more and spoil his plan right in front of Lily.

But he’s also looking at you with a discernible note of gratitude in his eyes, never quite tiring of your knack for rescuing him in these situations.

“Yes, quite right, love, I’ve seen the light. Thank you all for tuning in, this concludes the interview portion of our breakfast. Now, over to Padfoot for the weather!” James voices deftly, eyes scanning Lily for any semblance of a negative reaction, and failing to hide his displeasure when all she offers in return is a bright smile and a soft “Congratulations, you two!”

That could’ve gone better.

“Figures the first time I’ve a date to one of these things, he’s only going for another girl.” You voice to James in the other room as you struggle to reach the zip on the back of your dress. 

You’re joking, though it’s not lost on you that this is the only time someone’s asked you to be their date to a dance. But you aren’t inclined to waste the opportunity. You’ve picked out a lovely dress and your hair is behaving particularly graciously tonight.

“Come on, love, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of offers once our plan takes off. And tonight’s the night! I’ve a good feeling about it.” Ever the optimist, your best friend.

“Oh, bugger off!” You shout frustratedly after multiple unsuccessful attempts at zipping up.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you! I only meant-” James’ panicked tone brings an instant smile to your face, all previous traces of dissatisfaction long gone.

“Not you, James, my dress. I can’t get the bloody zip to go up!”

“Oh,” He chuckles minutely, “Well c’mere then, let me help.” 

It’s a proper cliche, you think to yourself. Like something you’d see in a cheesy romance film, when the girl walks down the staircase in a fancy dress, everything’s suddenly in slow motion, and the lad’s just standing there thinking how am I just now realizing how beautiful she is?

It’s a proper bloody cliche, yet it’s exactly how you feel as you walk into the room and see James standing there in his dance attire.

His crisp white dress shirt is clinging faultlessly to his chest and arms, the muscles he’s defined playing quidditch showcasing themselves quite proudly, the black fabric of his dress pants pulled taught against his thighs. His mop of dark curls sits charmingly atop his head, a perpetual vision of captivating chaos. His rounded glasses are resting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, shimmering hazel eyes blinking delicately from behind them.

How are you just now realizing how beautiful he is?

“(y/n)?” James’ voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re thankful beyond words that he can’t hear your thoughts.

“Yes?” You clear your throat, simultaneously attempting to clear your mind.

“Turn around, love, I’ll fix your zip.”

Right.

His nimble fingers make quick work, sliding the zip from the small of your back to the top of the dress, a subtle trail of gooseflesh makes itself at home along the skin that’s been gently grazed by his own.

“There we are. Go on then, give us a twirl.” James’ playful voice sounds, you oblige good-naturedly and give a quick spin.

“That’s a lovely dress. Is it new?” His eyes scan your frame appreciatively, not quite as lengthy as the tour your own eyes had taken upon him moments ago, but you feel your chest grow tighter at the thought that, just maybe, he could be having one of those cliche moments too.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Your smile grows as you think back to the day before, when Dorcas dragged you and a reluctant Marlene to Diagon Alley to buy your outfits for the dance, “It’s her first dance with a date! Not just a date, a boyfriend. We have to pick the perfect dress.” She was far more excited than you were, especially considering it isn’t a real date, but her enthusiasm had made it a day to remember. “If Dorcas were here, you’d have just made her entire week.”

“Do you know what Lily’s wearing?” 

Not an unexpected question in the slightest.

What is unexpected, however, is the pang in your chest at it.

That’s new.

“No, I don’t. Sorry. ” You say, not particularly sorry at all.

“Are you alright?” James’ voice is laced with confusion at your sudden shift in mood.

Curse your best friend for knowing you so well.

“Mhm. Shall we go?” You place a smile back on your lips, taking care not to let it fall this time.

“After you, your majesty.” James answers in his most posh voice, gesturing toward the door and lowering his head in a mock bow.

It’s not real.

When you first agreed to James’ plan, this thought brought you comfort, peace, even. It’s not real, thank heavens, and it will be over before you know it.

Why does the thought feel so violent now?

Why is it tearing at the seams of your mind with each of his gentle touches and crooked smiles?

Why are you so reluctant to let go of James’ arm when you arrive at the dance?

And why have you spent the last twenty minutes sitting here, watching James watch Lily, as an unwelcome sense of envy blooms in your chest?

Because you wish it was real.

“Oh, come on! That was proper funny!” Sirius’s voice sounds from beside you, pulling you away from your internal revelations.

When did he get here?

“Was it?” You question. Your words come across sarcastic, but that’s a farce, you’ve no idea what he said.

“Yes, it was actually. You were just too busy making eyes at Prongs to notice.” 

And when did he get so observant?

“I was not.” You lie.

“Right,” Sirius starts, not believing you for a moment, “This is my life now, is it? My best mates’ll be too busy snogging to laugh at my jokes? What a cruel fate. Worse than death, really. Just put me out of my misery now.” He throws himself back into his chair melodramatically, posture now resembling a sickly figure in an old victorian painting.

What a drama queen.

Still, you feel the need to reassure him. Cutting off his theatrics, you place your hand on his bicep, giving a tender squeeze of affirmation, “Leave it out! I could never be too busy for you,” He straightens at that, lips lifting into a grin as you continue, “You just have to tell funnier jokes.” His grin disappears faster than it formed.

“Cheeky!”

You continue bantering back and forth, resulting in a fit of laughter that finally breaks James’ gaze from Lily. 

He focuses his attention on the two of you, unwilling to acknowledge the feeling blossoming in his chest when he sees your hand on Sirius, a brilliant smile having overtaken your face.

“Care to dance, love?” James questions, faster than you have time to process.

You remove your hand from Sirius’ arm, sparing a glance toward Lily. He’s trying to make her jealous, that’s why you’re here after all. But she’s not looking at you and James. In fact, she’s looking in another direction entirely.

“I’m alright mate, thanks. Take (y/n), though.” Sirius quips, ushering you onto your feet.

James guides you to the dance floor with a gentle hand on the small of your back, spinning you in a half circle to hold you properly once you’ve reached your destination.

Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace but you’re doing your damndest to hide it. “Is she looking?” You question softly, hiding any dejection from your voice.

“What’s that?” James asks.

You wonder how he didn’t hear you, his eyes having been glued to you since you started dancing. You were beginning to wonder if you had something on your face.

“Lily,” You start again, “Is she watching us?” You don’t know why you ask again, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Oh. Yes-” James clears his throat, “Yeah, she’s looking.” 

Right.

His eyes never actually waver from your own. He doesn’t do much to pretend that he’s spotted her in the crowd or discerned wether she was looking or not. To be honest, he’d forgotten about the plan for a moment.

The song ends but before you can move from James’ hold he pulls you closer, “We should keep dancing.” He mumbles, then continues, almost as an afterthought, “Y’know, make it look more realistic.” 

But he couldn’t care less about that right now, he’s simply not ready for you to leave his arms.

It’s been six weeks since the plan started, an entire month and a half of pretending.

And you don’t think you can pretend any more.

Pretending to be James’ girlfriend isn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s the best part. Countless days of holding his hand in the Great Hall and resting your head upon his shoulder in the Gryffindor common room. Those moments are purely blissful.

Pretending that your feelings for James aren’t real? That’s the hard part.

In the beginning, James had started calling you love or darling for show, a way for you to appear more like a real couple. He must have grown accustomed to it, because they’re all he seems to use anymore, even when nobody else is around.

And your heart still skips a beat each and every time you hear it.

Somehow, it’s become routine for you to do your homework while watching his quidditch practices, despite the fact that Lily has only ever seen you there once. You tried explaining this but all James had said was “That’s alright, having you here helps me play better.”

Now you attend every practice.

You don’t know how to respond when your friends tell you how happy they are that you and James have gotten together, that they can tell how deeply you care for him. They’re right, partially anyway, you do care for James deeply.

But you’re not together. Not for real, anyway.

And it’s driving you mad.

Which is why you’ve decided that it has to end.

You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, ever since the night of the dance, when you realized you wanted more. But you weren’t sure what to tell James.

If you tell him the truth, that you’ve fallen for him, it could end your friendship, which is a chance you’re not willing to take. But you’ve also never been good at lying to him, he knows you far too well.

You’ve finally decided on a good old-fashioned half-truth.

You’re going to tell him that the plan hasn’t been working, that if he wants to get Lily’s attention he’ll have to go about it another way. Spending another year watching him pine over Lily won’t be easy, but it can’t be any harder than this; Seeing what a wonderful boyfriend James would be, being so close to the boy you want but never truly being able to have him.

The soft click of your door notifies you of James’ arrival. Taking a final deep breath, you find your eyes meeting his own, willing yourself not to get lost in them and lose your resolve.

“Hello, love. How was your day?” James questions earnestly, taking a seat in your desk chair, his eyes hold an undetectable glimmer of adoration as they take in your figure.

“I think we should break up!” You rush out at once, afraid if you wait another second you’ll chicken out again.

James’ eyebrows pull together in a wistful display of despondence, “What? Why?” His voice is rather melancholy and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being broken up with for real. 

You sigh dispiritedly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed as you face James.

“Think about it. The plan isn’t exactly working, is it? I mean, when was the last time you even talked to Lily?” 

James is quick to defend, “We’ve just spoken yesterday! In the common room, remember? When you and Moony were talking about that smarty-pants book, she was all ‘your girlfriend’s too good for you, potter’, and I told her she was right. Surely you remember that?”

You fight back a smile at the memory, of course you remember that, you think of his words about as often as you breathe.

“James that was last week.”

He stops for a moment, counting the days on his fingers before deciding you're correct, “Okay… Alright, well, that doesn’t mean we should break up! We’ll just- We just have to try harder.”

You shake your head in opposition, but he speaks again before you have the chance.

“We can make it work, I know it.” James’ voice holds a perceptible air of desperation.

He knows you’re not really dating, right?

“Come on, James, it’s for the best. Surely you’re tired of me by now.” You joke, trying to appear unaffected by the nuance of your words.

“No.” James voices immediately, sounding as though he’s offended at the very idea of it, “I’m not tired of you. I could never be tired of you.”

“Have you any idea how much harder you’re making this?” You mumble under your breath, though it wasn’t quiet enough to go unheard by James.

He’s looking at you softly, almost tenderly and he lowers his voice a bit, no longer on edge, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.” James tilts his head, pushing his glasses up when they attempt to slide from the bridge of his nose.

“I just don’t think we should do it anymore, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” He knows very well that’s not all. He can tell by the way you’re avoiding eye contact that there’s more to it.

“Yep! So what do you say, friends?” You finally chance eye contact, holding your hand out to shake his own in an effort to regain control of the situation.

His hand grabs your own and holds it delicately.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing! I’m saying plenty of things. Loads of things. Things, things, things!”

“(y/n).” He states plainly, though he’s unable to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. We can tell each other anything.” He’s pleading with you now.

And you aren’t sure if it’s his words, or the way he speaks them, or the fact that his hand is still grasping your own, but you’re unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t keep pretending, alright? You’re driving me mad.” Both of your eyes widen at your confession, and James takes his hand back smoothly.

“Oh,” He clears his throat, a teasing undertone returning to his voice, though you can discern a hint of sadness in his eyes, “It’s you who’s tired of me then, innit?”

“What? No! That’s not-” You sigh frustratedly, standing from the bed and beginning to pace a small path back and forth on the floor, “James, if it were possible for me to be tired of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

He breathes out a chuckle at this, visibly relaxing once he realizes he must’ve misunderstood.

You stop pacing, looking at James as he stands up in front of you.

“Can we start this whole thing over? It’s gotten a bit confusing if I’m honest.” You question.

“No, it’s okay. You were right, it’s best we call it off now.” James starts, adding quietly, “Before anyone gets hurt.”

Your gaze snaps up to his own, confusion etched upon your features, “Why- Why would anyone get hurt?” You swallow thickly, ignoring the sudden uptick of your pulse.

James sighs, bringing a hand up and running it through his curls, “Because it’s true. What you said before, about the plan not working. It’s not. And If I’m being honest, I couldn’t care less. I haven’t given a thought to the plan, or Lily, in weeks.” 

You know he can’t mean it the way it sounds, he can’t mean it the way you want him to mean it. But your heartbeat is racing rampant at the possibility that he does.

“And it’s why I don’t want to end things,” He continues, “Because, the way I see it, if something makes you sad when it’s ending, it must’ve been pretty wonderful while it was happening.” He’s rambling, but the contents of his words, and the fact that they’re directed at you, makes you want him to go on forever.

“You’re my best friend, and you always will be, I swear it! But, I just… I can’t help but want more.”

You’ve heard enough.

Well actually, you could never hear enough, but you’ve heard enough to propel yourself forward, urgently pressing your lips to James’ own.

He wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t waste a moment once he realizes what’s happening. 

James places his calloused hands on either of your cheeks, gently pulling you closer to himself. He smiles slightly into the kiss when you bring one of your own hands up to the nape of his neck and run your fingers softy through the curls there.

The kiss feels as though it’s lasted forever, and yet you never want it to end. But your lips part a fair distance as you rest your foreheads together in contentment, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“So that’s what you meant when you said I was driving you mad.” James teases, donning a grin so beautiful your heart could burst just from looking at it.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” You try to sound annoyed but you’re sure you’re missing the mark, wearing a blinding smile of your own.

“Well that settles it then,” James loops his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body, “No more pretending.” His delicate lips meet your own once more in another intoxicating embrace.

Note to self : James Fleamont Potter’s plans don’t always end in disaster.

[mattivoda]

This post isn’t targeted towards this person in particular but I see this same sort of tiktok come up on my timeline every couple of months and it feels me with a very specific RAGE because of how wrong it is about the core message of this show.

For those who don’t know, the music from the TikTok comes from the musical The Last Five Years, made by Jason Robert Brown. It originally opened in Chicago in 2001, then making its way to Broadway in 2002 after great reviews from critics and audiences.

the elevator pitch of the show is simple; a writer exploding with success (Jamie) and a struggling actress (Kathy) and the rise and fall of their marriage.

Normally this would be a pretty basic musical, right? However the true genius comes from one key part of its storytelling: the order at which the story is shown to you.

Jamie performs his side of the story in chronological order, from the start of the relationship ending with their divorce. Kathy, however, tells her story flipped; starting with their divorce and ending when Kathy first meets Jamie.

The two actors almost never interact on-stage, singing solo songs for every single song except for the act one ending song The Next Ten Minutes, where Jamie proposes and the two marry.

Now you might be asking: why is this important to the story? and which character was supposed to be the “bad guy” in the marriage?

If you delve into the story and look at the way the story depicts both characters’ perspectives on what happened then an obvious fact becomes clear:

Jamie is an asshole and was the main problem in the marriage. You aren’t, and never were supposed to side with him.

Throughout the show, Jamie is shown to be obsessed with his own fame, gloating about how he seems to only be able to exponentially succeed in his writing. His obsession makes him blind to the struggles of his wife, even going as far as deluding himself into thinking his wife’s struggles is simply her being jealous of his success. By the end of the show, Jamie cheats on Kathy and proceeds to blame her for not allowing him privacy.

THAT’S why the storytelling of The Last Five Years is so compelling. By only showing these characters seperate from each other, it forces us to become familiar with Jamie and Kathy as individuals rather than a couple. It allows us to see Jamie’s douchebaggery up-close and personal, with the entire first act highlighting this glaring detail and allowing us to see the consequences of this as his marriage devolve in the second act. Just the simple fact that Jamie’s story is chronological creates a beautiful dichotomy between Kathy’s frustrations, sadness and abandonment and Jamie’s cocky, happy-go-lucky success story.

Before I finish writing this and go to bed, i’d like to say I don’t blame those who hold this view for thinking this about The Last Five Years for one reason only; the only way they got to see it was the movie version.

the film adaption of The Last Five Years (2014) decided that the reason the musical worked was because “interesting timeline go brrr” and decided to keep the original timeline, but instead had both characters constantly interacting.

Instead of having this abstract deconstruction of these two characters, with both Kathy and Jamie monologuing their personal thoughts and emotions separately, they mash together and create this weird, realistic depiction of a breakup. The performances from Anna Kendrick and Jeremy Jordan were amazing, don’t get me wrong, but these choices in the adaption rip the emotion and soul out of its inspiration and sell the corpse for $20 a viewing.

Jamie and Kathy’s marriage is a cautionary tale about what happens when you don’t listen and understand your partner. It is not a desperate attempt of a composer to appear in the right about his marriage and it shouldn’t be a sloppy retelling of a failed marriage with a quirky form of storytelling. Please please PLEASE if you agree with this original TikTok’s message just know you are so UNBELIEVABLY wrong.

tldr; you are not supposed to side with Jamie!!!! he is in the wrong!!!! that’s the whole point of the musical!!!!! don’t watch the movie it sucks and is innacurate!!!!!!! RAHHHHHHHHHHHH

[cuddlepilefics]

Put your head on my shoulder

Fandom: Ateez

Sickie: Yunho

Caregivers: mainly Mingi

Prompts: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

TW: emeto

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

Yunho knew he wouldn’t have a good day when stay started their dance practice that day. Facing the mirror, weird flashes of light hit his eyes and made him wince. He knew those funny spots in his vision, had seen them many times before. They were a telltale sign of an impending migraine, so he forced down a protein bar before swallowing some medicine. If he took it early enough, it might ward off the worst of it. Yunho knew he wouldn’t get anything done once it hit, so he was determined to give it his all now to allow himself rest later. There was no point in telling his friends yet, he could still speak up once the pain started to interfere with his work.

Mingi knew Yunho better than anyone else and picked up on his hyung being quieter than usual. When he bumped the older with his shoulder and asked if anything was up, the dancer winced, shaking his head. “I’m tired”, he chuckled, hoping the younger would accept his lie. The worst was, that he was supposed to lead this dance practice, so it’d be hard to hide his struggle from the members. They’d need him to teach them well or else they wouldn’t be able to keep up with their schedule. Luckily, most of the members were still sleepy too, so they didn’t notice… for now.

It went pretty well at first, though the aura lingered the pain didn’t come and Yunho functioned pretty well. Sure, his balance was a little off and he tripped a couple of times but they were able to laugh it off as plain clumsiness. Slowly the loud music blasting from the speakers got to him though and finally triggered bursts of pain pulsing with the beat of the music. A pained crease was etched onto his forehead and didn’t fade when Hongjoong decided they should take a break. Seonghwa handed Yunho his water bottle and whispered: “Are you feeling okay, Yunho-yah?” The younger nodded but grimaced when the movement sent a jab of pain through his skull and made his head spin.

Yunho was nothing but determined, so if he had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. Not even Mingi, who worriedly watched him stumble over and over again. The rapper was under no illusion, being sadly far too familiar with his friend’s headache-face to miss the signs. He was only a little surprised when he offered Yunho some painkillers. “Thanks but I already took something when we got here”, the older admitted quietly, “Is it really that obvious? I thought I was dancing well.” – “Hyung, you’re always dancing well”, Mingi sighed, “It’s more that you seem unwell in general, quiet and withdrawn with a tense look on your face. Your eye bags are quite impressive and you having a headache was a lucky, or rather unlucky, guess.” Drawing a shaky breath, Yunho bit his lip and whispered: “Not a headache, Mingi-yah. Had an aura earlier and now the pain is setting in.” – “Well, fuck”, his dongsaeng cursed, “The music isn’t helping, huh?” A look into Yunho’s eyes told him that his guess was spot-on.

“You know that you should tell Hongjoong-hyung, right? It’s risky to practice when you have a migraine. You could hurt yourself when you get dizzy and uncoordinated”, Mingi frowned, knowing that it wouldn’t be the first time, “Why don’t you take a sick day and go back to your dorm, sleep it off?” Rubbing his face, Yunho mumbled: “Someone’s gotta teach you guys and I can still function.” He noticed the look his dongsaeng gave him and added: “I know you don’t like it, Mingi-yah, but we’d fall behind schedule if I took a break right now. I’ll try to hold out for a few more hours, so we can go over everything together and by the time I’m completely out of commission, the rest of you will be able to practice on your own.” – “Please speak up before you end up hurting yourself, even if we haven’t gone over everything by then”, Mingi warned, shooting Hongjoong a look.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t catch the short conversation between their dongsaengs but Mingi’s worried and the fact that they were disagreeing about something, was enough to confirm their suspicions that something wasn’t right at all. They didn’t have to wait all that long to finally learn what it was. Yunho was supposed to do a spin while changing positions but immediately crouched to the floor, hit with a wave of vertigo. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his bearings while his stomach turned. Seonghwa’s hands were already on his shoulders, ready to catch him when the dancer clamped his hands over his paling lips. Suddenly, everything was quiet except for Yunho’s ragged breaths. Someone must’ve stopped the music. The sound of the trash can being set down in front of him sharply cut through the silence, the oh so glorious silence Yunho had been yearning for most of the day.

“It’s okay, Yunho-yah, we got you”, Seonghwa whispered, gently pressing down on his dongsaeng’s shoulders to make him sit. Not daring to open his eyes to the bright ceiling lights, Yunho shook his head and lowered his hands. He wouldn’t throw up. He just needed to take a few deep breaths to calm his twisting stomach because throwing up was out of question as his head felt like it’d explode from the strain if he didn’t manage to fight it down. Sluggishly pushing away the trash can, Yunho drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, partly to shield his eyes and partly to relieve some tension in his neck. He could hear his friends whispering but was too focused on not letting the nausea overwhelm him to focus on what they were saying.

Seonghwa still rubbed his back, despite his shirt being soaked with sweat, well, he assumed it was Seonghwa but couldn’t say for certain. The lights were eventually turned off and it grew quiet once again. Hongjoong had stepped out to arrange a ride back to the dorm, while San, Wooyoung and Jongho tried to call disperse to give Yunho space. Only Seonghwa, Mingi and Yeosang remained close by in case Yunho needed anything. Drawing a shaky breath, the dancer blindly started to feel around for the trash can and straightened up when someone nudged it into his hand. He tried to focus on Seonghwa’s hand on his back to distract himself from the pounding on his head but it could only work for so long. Someone took his free hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Yunho would recognize this hand anywhere, having known it for years. He returned Mingi’s gentle squeeze as he swallowed. He didn’t want to be sick.

Mingi was impressed that Yunho had managed to battle wave after wave of almost unbearable nausea and despite two hard gags, hadn’t thrown up. The older had used to get violently ill every time he had a migraine, so this was a first but Mingi decided not to question it. He was mainly glad that Yunho was hanging in there. Hongjoong had been able to clear not only Yunho’s schedule but also Yeosang’ and Mingi’s. Mingi was a given, being Yunho’s closest friend and the most experienced when it came to the dancer’s migraines, and Yeosang being his dorm mate arguably knew best where they kept their medical supplies. Considering the time when Yunho had thrown up on their manager’s shoes before passing out, Hongjoong probably shouldn’t have been so surprised about how easy it was to clear two members to take care of him.

It most definitely took both, Mingi and Yeosang, to drag Yunho to the car, the older suddenly unable to coordinate his long legs. Seonghwa’s foresight had resulted in both of them having a plastic bag and a travel pack of tissues stuffed into their pockets. Sure, the ride to their dorm wouldn’t be long and Yunho had been more in control of his body than any of them had expected but the eldest didn’t want to be lured by a false sense of security. Good thing he wasn’t because Yunho broke into a sweat as soon as Yeosang had buckled his hyung’s seatbelt and Mingi eased the dancer’s pounding head down, lowly whispering: “Put your head on my shoulder.” Though hesitant, Yunho swallowed and rested his head on his best friend’s shoulder, weakly patting his pocket. Mingi got the hint and retrieved the plastic bag. Clutching the bag in his clammy hands, Yunho felt a little safer, though barely.

Right as they pulled into the building’s garage, Yunho lost the battle he had fought for so long, lifting the plastic bag to his ashy lips in a panic. The first gag was immediately productive, a large wave rushing up his throat. Some even came out of his nose and he groaned in pain, grateful for the strong hand on his arm steadying him. Yeosang’s gentle hand drew slow, soothing circles on his back, at least somewhat distracting him from the pain when his stomach seized again. “Almost over. You’re doing so well”, Mingi whispered, holding his best friend steady while the older threw up repeatedly. Yunho barely caught a break in between, the plastic bag in his hands growing heavier so quickly. It seemed his stomach could only calm down once he was empty.

Gasping for air, Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He coughed harshly, black spots clouding his vision. Yeosang carefully took the bag from him, afraid the dancer was going to pass out. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mingi’s grip on Yunho’s shoulders was tight and secure, though it loosened a bit once he had helped the older lean back into the seat. Yunho panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the vertigo. He was slowly catching his breath but the spell had taken a lot out of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he winced when he heard the crinkle of Yeosang tying up the plastic bag. Pulling out a tissue, Mingi gently dabbed across his best friend’s forehead before drying his tears. With another tissue, he wiped Yunho’s lips and breathed: “You tell us once you’re ready to go up to your dorm.” It was only then that Yunho noticed that the car had stopped moving. “I think I’ll go ahead and throw this out already. Might be able to set up some stuff and… I can close the curtains?”, Yeosang mumbled, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Mingi gave him a small nod, mouthing: “I got him, hyung.”

Mingi sat with Yunho, the dancer’s head resting on his shoulder, while Yeosang already hurried up to their shared dorm. Yeosang had disposed of the bag on his way upstairs and quickly washed his hands before turning on the kettle. He prepared a pot of ginger tea in hopes of quelling his hyung’s nausea and while letting it steep, he closed the curtains. Wanting to get as much prepared while Yunho was still resting in the car, he quickly spread a towel over the other’s pillow and set a bucket next to his bed. Anything that he didn’t have on the ready would mean them moving around later, which would inevitably aggravate Yunho’s headache no matter how carefully they moved, so Yeosang already placed an icepack on his hyung’s nightstand before checking on the tea.

Swaying softly on his feet, Yunho hung onto Mingi’s arm, partly for balance and partly because he couldn’t stand to keep his eyes open. Though Mingi promised him that they were quick, it felt like it took them an eternity to get to the right floor, the elevator ride making his stomach flutter. The younger must’ve noticed the blood draining from his face because as soon as he had unlocked the door, he dragged him to the kitchen sink. It was their closest option and a truly lucky one at that because no sooner than he gripped the counter, Yunho was retching again. Yeosang, though a little startled by the way the two had barged in, was by their side in an instant, helping Mingi steady their friend. There was barely anything left for Yunho to bring up but he couldn’t stop his stomach from trying to turn itself inside out. Spotting the cutting board he had left on the counter while preparing the tea, Yeosang hurriedly cut off a thin slice of ginger and tapped the back of Yunho’s hand. “Here, try to chew this”, he whispered worriedly, “Might lessen the nausea.”

Yunho had wanted to argue that he could not possibly chew anything right now, already gagging every couple of seconds, but he was also desperate for it to stop, so he popped the slice into his mouth and bit down on it, trying to breathe slow and steady through his nose. Though he pitched forward with a closed mouth gag, he slowly regained control of his body and weakly leant against the counter. Yeosang handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth with and whispered: “Your room is all set up, so as soon as you feel ready to move, you can go and lay down, hyung.” Taking a couple of moments to calm down and even sip some water, Yunho waited till Mingi had taken off his shoes and returned to help him with his. He doubted he’d be able to bend down right now.

Once Yunho’s shoes were removed too, Mingi helped him to his room and gently tucked him into bed. The rapper carefully draped the icepack over his friend’s forehead and whispered: “Do you want me to sit with you?” – “For a bit?”, Yunho rasped, linking his fingers with Mingi’s. Yeosang popped in for a short moment, bringing Yunho’s tea and requesting: “Get me if either of you needs anything, kay? I’ll give you two some space but I’ll just be in my room.” Mingi nodded and mouthed a ‘thanks’ before turning his attention back on Yunho. The dancer was already knocked out though.

[bliss-in-the-void]

SatoSugu complex relationship angst (pt2) wherein strength is what ultimately came between them.

They saw each other as rivals and the means to push each other to get stronger so as not to be bested. They acknowledged each other’s strength and in turn wanted their strength to be acknowledged by the other. Oh, he’s impressive. I want to impress him too. I want him to know I’m just as good.

(This is long so read full under the cut):

Suddenly they were two special grades and the strongest sorcerers in their generation. All while in high school. Together, they were the strongest. A unit. And so it was less about competition and more about harmony. He isn’t better than me and I’m not better than him in strength.

“Satoru, you didn’t sleep last night and you haven’t turned off your Infinity in two days, are you sure we don’t need to go back to Jujutsu High?”

Satoru thinks: I’m tired but I can’t show him that, he’ll think I’m weakened and I’m supposed to be strong. I need to be strong so he feels strong. It’ll be fine, we’re strong.

“No, it’s fine, I’ve dealt with worse and you’re here too.”

Suguru thinks: He’s acknowledging my strength, he trusts me to keep us safe because I’m strong like him. I’m nervous but I need to keep being strong so that he can depend on me like he is now.

They leave the next morning and as soon as they’re in the barrier of the high school.

“Satoru, you really worked hard. Thank you.” Now he can rest. Everything is okay.

Satoru turns his Infinity off and six seconds later, right behind him, right in Suguru’s direct line of sight, Toji stabs him.

Suguru is thinking: how did that happen? We’re inside the barrier. I’m looking right at Satoru, how didn’t I see him? I should have seen him coming. I couldn’t protect him.

Then Satoru tells him to leave with Amanai and get her to Tengen. Leave him to deal with Toji alone. Suguru hesitates.

He thinks: Leave him behind? But we always do everything together. We can take him on together. I need to get Amanai to Tengen but I don’t want to leave him. I can still fight with him, I’m strong.

But Satoru smiles reassuringly at him. He thinks it’ll be fine. He leaves.

Toji finds him and tells him he killed Satoru. Suguru sees red. He felt grief, anger, confusion, and the need for vengeance. How could Satoru die? Aren’t we the strongest? How could this man have taken him out? Was it because we separated?

Suguru gets defeated but left alive. He feels survivor’s guilt. Toji could have killed him but didn’t—only Satoru died. He dragged himself to Shoko, distraught. Satoru is gone. They aren’t the strongest anymore. He’s alone.

Then he goes to retrieve Amanai’s body from the cult and sees Toji’s weapon-holding curse running free. Someone killed Toji. Only one person would be able to kill Toji. He rushes in to find Satoru holding Amanai’s body.

Satoru is alive. Somehow, he’s alive. But his eyes are lifeless. Something is wrong. Did he come back as a curse? “Satoru, is that you?”

“You went to see Shoko already?”

I did. She healed me. And somehow you’re healed and you didn’t need her. You learned Reversed Curse Technique? I can’t do that. How can you do it? We’re equals, aren’t we?

“Yeah. She healed me. I’m feeling fine again. But that doesn’t change anything here, does it?”

Suguru thinks: He’s different because of me. Amanai is dead because I didn’t see Toji coming behind Satoru. I should have seen it. I should have done more.

“I screwed up pretty bad. You are not the one at fault.”

Satoru thinks: don’t blame yourself, I’m the one who got worn down and allowed all of this to happen. We should have just left the night before like we were supposed to. My judgement was bad, and I wasn’t strong enough. I was too weak. We both got hurt because of it. But we’re still strong. We can deal with these people right now. We can prove that we’re better than them.

“Suguru, should we kill these guys?”

Suguru thinks: it would be too easy. We could do it in seconds. We are strong. But we need to choose where to show it. Restraint is also a virtue of strength.

“There wouldn’t be any meaning to it.”

They leave. They are never the same.

Satoru internalizes the fact that he wasn’t strong enough and buries himself in training and missions so that it will never happen again.

Suguru internalizes the fact that no matter how strong he was, it wasn’t enough, and spirals down with victim-mindset thoughts of we shouldn’t have had to be strong and why do we need to be strong? Is that all we are?

Satoru is now so strong that he doesn’t need Suguru to help him like he used to, and it makes Suguru feel like his exorcisms are in vain. Satoru can take care of it all. Why does he still have to do it when they just keep coming?

And then it dawns on him.

He doesn’t have to be a weak sorcerer. He can be the strongest curse user.

He won’t have to exorcise for no purpose anymore, he can do it to build his arsenal of curses and make money. He can do it to create a world where sorcerers can live their lives as their own and not as self-sacrificing protectors.

So he does it. He becomes the number one curse user, and Satoru is the number one sorcerer. He’s the strongest again, but this time, it’s on his own.

Take that, Satoru.

“There’s no point of chipping away at something you can’t possibly achieve.”

That digs at Suguru. There it is, evidence that Satoru does not think he’s strong anymore He isn’t strong enough to kill all non-sorcerers. All the strength he used to acknowledge no longer exists, apparently.

“You’re so arrogant. You could do it yourself, couldn’t you? But you’d try to convince someone else that it’s impossible, when it’s possible for you.”

Suguru’s thoughts: you see yourself alone as the strongest. Which means it is possible, so don’t say that it’s not possible. You could do it. You’re telling me I can’t. That’s unfair.

“Do you think you’re the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest?

How much do you identify with your strength? Did you become strong because of who you are? Or are you you because you are the strongest? Did the inner strength come from your personality or out of obligation and weight to become strong? Why are you strong? Was it your own desire to be so, or the expectation of the world that forced you to be?

It’s a dig. Suguru is saying, you’re strong because you have to be. I’m strong because I want to be. No one is controlling my life but me now, you can’t say the same for yourself. You are a puppet for the society, and I get to live the way I want from now on. Which one of us is truly weak now?

He walks away and challenges Satoru to kill him. Prove that you’re the guard dog that will obey my execution order.

Satoru doesn’t. He lets Suguru walk away, an act of defiance. But he doesn’t feel any stronger because of it.

Yaga meets him on the steps and he asks,

“Do you think I’m strong?”

“Yes. And arrogant about it.”

“Apparently being strong alone isn’t enough. The only ones I can save are those who are already waiting to be saved by someone.”

Suguru vibe-checked the hell out of him. He couldn’t save Suguru, because strength was what came between them. No matter how strong he is, he isn’t strong enough to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Suguru didn’t want to be saved. Strength meant jack shit.

You don’t just need strength to keep things the way they were, like he had thought. He buried himself in training to get strong to prevent a catastrophe from happening again and Suguru leaving just proved that strength alone isn’t enough. Because now the strength he has could have saved Riko, but it couldn’t save Suguru.

What could have saved Suguru was the two of them not being alone, and he realizes that too late.

So make up for it, he adopts Megumi to make sure he isn’t alone, he becomes a teacher to raise strong sorcerers to be strong alongside each other, to train with each other, to care for each other and have each other’s backs power-wise and emotionally, to never be alone again like he and Suguru became after the Toji incident.

It’s not strength alone, it’s love that you need too.

[majesticartax]

NEW FIC IN THE WORKS

cw: a/b/o elements

feat: alpha kags and beta hinata and a pro karasuno team

i’ve talked about this like once before but i need everyone to know that i think about this every day and i’m DYINNNGGGGGGG to write it!

Here is a very long preview:

okay so beta hinata is tasked with being the team’s [*googles: what’s a nicer term for “cum dump”*] for all the alpha team members, which encompasses literally all 24 of them. it’s an exclusively alpha team, aside from hinata, and they are one of the top team in their league, right up there with the other exclusive alpha teams. it’s a great honor to be the chosen beta for an alpha team! not only does he get to play with top players, but he gets to be fucked by some of the most gorgeous guys in volleyball! what a deal! in this world, each team has a beta to babysit the alpha players through their ruts, and it’s absolute gospel that the betas are treated well. they are PEOPLE, not fleshlights. if ever a beta is mistreated, the player is immediately ejected from the team. but that being said, it isn’t like the alphas are obligated to care about a beta’s pleasure, and hinata is usually left to jerk himself off once it’s over. not that he minds, really. it’s just a part of the job. he knows what he signed up for.

anyway, hinata is living his best life, except there is ONE team member who refuses to use his services. hinata can’t figure out what kageyama’s problem is. especially since the two of them are the most compatible players on the team when it comes to their playing styles. they’re basically partners on the court! but kageyama will NOT fuck him. and like… none of the players are obligated to use hinata during their ruts - he’s providing a comfort to those in need, and if they do not NEED, then he doesn’t provide. but why is it ONLY kageyama!? hinata tries not to let it hurt his feelings, but it definitely bothers him. in fact, kageyama seems to avoid him when they aren’t playing together. and, okay, maybe it hurts his feelings like a LOT. like A LOT a lot. because MAYBE hinata happens to be in love with him. maybe.

maybe.

But what’s weird is that betas aren’t supposed to be able to fall in love. they aren’t even supposed to feel feelings of love outside of familial and friendship kind of love - like biologically speaking, betas can’t have romantic feelings. it’s even illegal for betas to mate. so not only is hinata in love with someone who apparently hates him, but he has to contend with the fact that there might be something wrong with him.

AND THEN ONE DAY:

kageyama is clearly struggling hard during one of their practices, so hinata asks him if he needs anything, and he’s promptly grabbed and dragged into the equipment room. and hinata is like FINALLY, but kageyama just… holds hinata, hugging him from behind, and hinata can feel how hard he is. he can actually feel his knot through his shorts. but then kageyama just releases him and runs out after a hurried apology, leaving hinata terribly confused and breathless and with a raging hard-on. and then that sort of thing keeps happening. hinata tries to ask kageyama about it, but he’s being even more avoidant than usual.

UNTIL ONE DAY.

kageyama pulls him to their usual spot and hinata just closes his eyes and tries to enjoy the fleeting feeling of being wrapped in kageyama’s arms, all the while knowing that it will be over soon. only this time it… goes on much longer. hinata can feel kageyama’s breath against his ear and he can feel how hard his heart is beating against his back. kageyama even whimpers a few times and starts grinding against hinata’s ass. and then hinata is being bent over a big stack of mats. he gasps and arches his back, sticking his ass out out of habit. but… kageyama doesn’t pull his shorts down like the other alphas do, but he drapes himself over hinata’s back. he’s breathing all roughly and raggedly against hinata’s neck, pressing himself hard into the cleft of hinata’s ass. and then he does something that no alpha has ever done before - kageyama reaches down the front of hinata’s shorts and grabs his swollen, aching cock. and hinata doesn’t know what’s happening. he cries out, arching back into kageyama as kageyama’s big rough hands drags up and down his slick shaft. hinata’s heart hurts despite this being the most amazing moment of his life and his head is spinning. he doesn’t understand why kageyama would choose to make him feel good rather than just fucking him like everyone else. he’s so confused. but when kageyama buries his face in hinata’s hair and whispers his name, hinata comes so hard he thinks his spine is going to snap. kageyama comes right after, rutting against hinata’s backside and drenching both of their shorts.

it’s quiet for a few moments aside from the sound of their panting, and then kageyama stands up suddenly, spinning hinata around by the shoulders. and he looks at hinata. he looks at him HARD. his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but instead he just turns away and stalks towards the door. but before he leaves he looks back and roughly tells hinata’s to stay where he is.

hinata is shaking like a leaf in the wind. his knees are weak. there is cum dripping down the front AND back of his legs. and his heart is about to explode into a thousand pieces of it doesn’t calm the fuck down.

kageyama returns a couple minutes later with a spare pair of his own shorts, a full water bottle, and a towel.

“lie back, dumbass,” he says. and hinata does, eyes wide and confused and glued to kageyama’s face. and it’s now that kageyama peels his ruined shorts down, shimmying them over his hips as hinata reflexively lifts his butt off the mat to facilitate it. but his eyes never leave kageyama’s face. the other man blushes as he squirts water from the water bottle onto the towel. his brow is firmly pinched. he looks angry, but hinata doesn’t feel that anger directed towards him. and when kageyama reaches the towel towards hinata’s smeared, sticky skin, hinata grabs his wrist. kageyama jumps a little, finally looking up at hinata’s face.

“what are you doing?” hinata’s voice feels as sticky as his thighs. the words croak out of him. and kageyama blinks away, shaking his head.

“just hold still,” kageyama mumbles as he starts to wipe hinata down. the water is warm. it feels so good that tears well up in hinata’s eyes as kageyama gently cleans him.

“you don’t have to do this,” hinata rasps.

“i know,” kageyama says back.

hinata goes home wearing kageyama’s shorts. and he’s already decided that he’s not getting them back.

and then things go back to normal. for a while. kageyama goes back to dealing with his ruts by himself and hinata gets used by the other players. but hinata can’t stop thinking about what kageyama did to him. did FOR him. it makes his throat tight and his chest ache horribly. it makes him feel hot. every day he feels hotter and hotter whenever he thinks about it. he starts feeling dizzy when he thinks back to how carefully kageyama cleaned him up, how his furrowed brow would smooth out every once in a while as he dragged the warm towel over hinata’s thighs. he aches in weird places when he remembers the look in kageyama’s dark blue eyes when he spun him around and held him by the shoulders. and he can swear his skin still burns where kageyama’s hands were on him…

and then one day, hinata feels…

different.

..

i seriously cannot wait to start writing this.

[xokohaneazusawa]

Blue Lock and Twst Matchup Exchange | @thecurrator l

I think you'd go well with...

Reo Mikage!

-> The two of you would have such a cute relationship! I mean you two probably met in school when he was trying to get Nagi up and somehow found somebody else daydreaming in another area and didn’t want you to accidentally miss the train/bus/whatever other ride you take home -> Every single one of the dates that you said you’d like to go on? He’s probably taken you there. Whenever he isn’t busy he’ll love to take you out somewhere and do something, weather or not it’s just going to a place to eat down the street, or going on a little walk around the town looking at all the new places and even stopping in some of the stores to look around at things -> Since you both like reading I assume there are definitely times where the two of you will just sit in the same room in comfortable silence and just read whatever you want too and maybe have an occasional comment about if anything interesting is happening in your book, since business books aren’t known for their plot twists -> He’s a great listener so you’ll never have to worry about him cutting you off or anything like that. He also has had a pretty good experience not only dealing with Nagi, but also probably a lot of rich people. His family does own a company and that comes with rich people sitting around and talking about everything under the sun as well. So he seems to be totally fine and pretty understanding to be able to deal with your moods. -> Would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to. He’s working out but he knows that you dislike it? Then if you want you can always watch and just keep him company, and this man is good at scheduling. I don’t think that anytime (for the most part) when you’re with him that you’ll have a bunch of sudden changes in what the two of you are doing. I think you'd go well with...

Azul Ashengrotto!

-> Another good listener of a man, he’ll let you sit over in his office and let you talk about whatever you want as he finishes up some leftover paperwork. He also understands what it’s like to have the moods and stuff so he’d be a good person to have around weather you wanna talk it out, or just have somebody with you -> Loves the fact that you’re always willing to help him based on your love language, and knowing that he’ll always make sure to let you know, even if it doesn’t always seem like it by the way he says it -> He understands a lot when you express that you like learning about characters, especially ones with a lot of layers. He’s probably pretty good at it himself. He did have a business to run and was pretty successful when it came to talking to people and convincing people to make contracts with him and being able to get them into that just by observing the kinda person they were. So the fact that you’re both kinda into that would work wonders and probably be pretty interesting when you guys talk about it together. -> For dates, he already has his own restaurant so he wouldn’t mind going out somewhere, maybe a little bit of shopping or just checking out the area, maybe a movie before heading back and (forcing) making the Leech twins help out one last table for the night -> Again, another organized man who most likely wouldn’t have you bouncing around a lot, always making sure that you know where you’re headed and what time and everything you’re supposed to be there, so there won’t be a lot of sudden changes in what you’re doing. Last but not least, I think your OC would go well with...

Deuce Spade!

-> Most likely met you through Trey, you two happen to be hanging out and he saw you and after asked about you. And when you first started actually meeting and you started giving him flowers he was so excited, he now has a vase somewhere in his room with all the ones you give him -> He can totally deal with all the teasing, he is roommates with Ace after all. He’ll always just laugh it off and make sure that everything is okay in the process. (Now if this is Ace, then there might be a different story) -> You both already have similar favorite foods, which is great for him! (Please teach him about eggs..) He’ll love to go out and find some, evening trying new things to make something new with them -> Is amazing when it comes to love languages. He's the type of man to be an acts of service guy and is always helping you when he can. He’s always making sure that you’re taken care of and not getting into (too) much trouble with your pranks. (He will laugh when you mess with Sebek, he just waits til he gets back to the dorm, or at least away from Sebek)

[strawbrygashez]

I read a bunch of soapshipping fanfics today and I love how so many of them give Tyler actual flaws and treat him more human than he ‘actually is’ in the movie and…I wanna share some hcs i have that make Tyler ‘not perfect’ as well. I get the point that in the movie Tyler was supposed to have none bc the narrator needs to drool over him & see him as godlike but whatever. That man has issues. You can especially see this during when he was going Joker mode when he was getting beat up by Lou. Anyways this is going under a cut bc it’s long

————————————————————————

• I’ll start with the out with one that’s most common which is that Tyler is soooo bad at sharing how he’s feeling or being super heartfelt. The only person he even tells his true deep emotions to is the narrator after they’ve been together for a while. I feel like he would be that way due to how he was raised and or trauma. Getting him to admit to feeling uncomfortable is hard too. He wants to come off confident all the time so he will just smile at whatever is thrown at him even if it’s making him upset or anything like that. Also of course he has a hard time expressing how just deeply in love he is with the narrator and how much he cares about him. (Which causes problems for them both but they work thru it. Nothing could keep the narrator away from Tyler at the end of the day.)

He wouldn’t admit it but I think maybe he also resents himself for not being able to say certain things easier. He knows he hurts the narrator sometimes when he’s not saying ‘the right things’ and he genuinely doesn’t mean to hurt him in that way.

•He can get pretty jealous. Not like how the narrator feels like he’s about to kill himself bc someone even glanced at Tyler but like, if Tyler thinks someone is being a little too friendly to narrator or if he thinks the narrator might enjoy being around someone else ‘too much’ he gets all huffy, smiles threateningly, and either interrogates the narrator over ‘what that was’ later or just roughs him up some when they are in private again. He hates the idea so much that the narrator could look up to someone the same way he does Tyler. He has questions going through his mind along the lines of how are they better than him? What does he see in them? Do they make him feel more loved? And etc.

Hypothetically he should know that the narrator would rather die than touch anyone else & that the narrator sees him as a God but,, Tyler is just like that :/

•Ok now for a not widely accepted hc about Tyler. I don’t think he’s that good at writing or reading. He’s not terrible at it but I think he really didn’t give a shit about most things in school besides history. (He could probably give a big whole speech about how bad school systems are)

He doesn’t really care that he’s not that good at either of those things but does get a little embarrassed about it when the narrator points out he spelled something wrong. He will just grumble about “who cares?” or “whatever dipshit.” The narrator doesn’t mind that Tyler’s not the best at it and helps him out when he needs to without picking on him.

•Kinda canon but he’s a act before thinking type of guy in most situations. He prides himself on it for the most part but also there is times where it doesn’t end well for him. He will defend himself about whatever he did ‘wrong’ for a while until he finally is some how able to admit he’s sorry and shouldn’t have done something (only to the narrator. He doesn’t care that much if it’s anyone else that isn’t especially close to him)

•I think he had a self h*rm problem growing up. He doesn’t do it anymore now that he’s older bc he has fight club and whatnot. I think SH helped him come up with FC since he thought physical pain always helps solve mental pain.

He doesn’t hide the old scars since he can blame it on like a ton of different things and people don’t have a reason to doubt him. Like he can say he got them from years of fighting, while running away after getting caught doing stuff he shouldn’t, stuff like that. Sometimes he also just doesn’t lie about it and just says straight up what they are from. It just depends on who and how he feels that day. Like mostly the only ppl who know what they are really from are the narrator & tylers close family and maybe Marla.

Not to be cringe…I know the “he kissed my scars 😢😢” things can be cringe (believe me I would know) but I think Tyler thinks it’s sweet when the narrator does kiss his. The narrator hates that Tyler ever felt like he had to do that (but at the same time is okay with fight club??? Lol) The narrator has stayed up in bed while Tyler is sleeping and just looked at all of them and thought to himself about how Tyler must of felt, why he felt like he had to, and all that.

•My man has some kinda mental illnesses. I couldn’t say what but he just does. He’s a very impulsive man and can become very manic is all I can really say.

•He will get ideas and plans in his head and focus on them a little too hard and it’s hard to pull him out of it. The narrator is really not someone who should be fussing at people for not sleeping but he does anyways. He offers to work out whatever plans or ideas Tyler has while Tyler rests. Sometimes Tyler will let him & sometimes not. If not, the narrator will at least stay close to him so they can talk about whatever is on Tylers mind.

•He actually used to hate his laugh a little when he was a young teen. He got over it after a couple years and now doesn’t give a fuck what others think. He will laugh as loud as he wants in a quiet room if he wants to.

•Going back to that manic thing, I think the narrator can usually calm him down. It especially helps if he’s holding Tyler and pulls him away from whatever has him worked up. Narrator will run his hand up and down Tylers back or just talk to him soothingly. Tyler is usually thankful for it once he’s calmed down.

•Canon-ish again but Tyler can get a bit in over his head with some stuff. He believes he can do just about anything which leads him to getting into situations where he finds out he actually has little to no idea what he’s doing. He had this problem as a teen too like he’d say stuff like “Sure I could fix your fence!!” or just like little odd jobs around the neighborhood and he actually doesn’t have much of a idea what’s going on but It helped him learn how to do all kinds of different things in the long run. He just always finds a way to make things work more often than not in his own ‘Tyler’ way.

•Okay often he really doesn’t genuinely care if someone wants to listen to his speeches/knowledge or not. He likes sharing them since he knows they’ve helped others but he’s been doing that for as long as he can remember even at inappropriate times. Like I dunno, as a kid at a funeral I could see him just telling some random person there about how he knows how bodies decompose, how bodies slowly rot and what each stage looks like. (I think that’s why he loves the narrator. He loves how randomly weird he is as well.)

•He needs attention all on him. He loves it so much and feeds off of it. His favorite kind of attention is from the narrator and he will get snarky and whatever when he feels like he isn’t getting enough from him but also he just thrives off attention from anyone in general. It’s what makes him carry himself so confidently. He knows people are dying for a minute of his time and to be the idealized version of himself he puts off.

•He doesn’t allow himself to cry in front of others. More than likely it’s because of his father saying boys shouldn’t cry or be weak. He knows it’s bullshit deep down but he still holds that mindset for himself. (If another dude is crying like the narrator, he won’t give them much shit for it.)

•My final idea for right now….he hates the doctors and all things like that. He can say a ton of reasons why but the main ones are he just feels super uncomfortable at places like that because either 1. He doesn’t want them going on about how bad his or the narrators health is & being really worried for them and questioning them.. or 2. He just finds it hard to be as snarky or smart to ‘em. They all don’t usually fall for his bs unless they are a part of fight club or project mayhem.

[whumpcereal]

the kennel, will & his dad reunited

part of the kennel. follows will's rescue; master list here.

content warnings for: graphic descriptions of bodily injury and scarring, med whump, mild body horror, references to mouth whump, references to past noncon, hospitals, absent parents, unconscious whumpee, aftermath of captivity, adult language

after will's rescue, the fragile cry

“Mr. Cartwright?” 

Brian looks up, blinking at the woman in front of him. She wears a navy pantsuit, and her dark hair is tamed into a tight, perfect bun at the nape of her neck, and maybe he would think she was attractive under any other circumstances. 

But this woman is here because of Will. She’s Brian’s handler, meant to keep the news of Will’s recovery underwraps until the Bureau is ready to put out a press release. Until they know what they’re dealing with. 

Brian Cartwright hasn’t seen his son in 293 days. 

He isn’t supposed to keep track–the counselor he’s been working with says that it isn’t necessarily helpful to watch the time so closely–but Brian can’t help it. He keeps a running tally of the days in the corner of his desk calendar. Sometimes, updating the long line of hatch marks is the only thing he remembers to do when he goes into the office. They don’t expect much from him, of course, and they won’t fire him; no one fires the guy whose son has been kidnapped. 

And Will was kidnapped. Well, worse than kidnapped, but Brian tries not to think too much about it. “Trafficked” is the word the FBI uses; Brian never would have thought the word could apply to his son. That there would be whole teams of people working undercover to recover whatever is left of his boy. But Brian’s spent the last 112 days coming to terms with it, ever since Tommy and Annie were rescued.

Brian waited with the Mahoneys that day. The team that raided Barker’s compound had been so sure that both boys would be there. After all, Will and Tommy had been–well, filmed together. Brian and Doug Mahoney had both had to positively identify their sons from one of Barker’s endless live feeds. The agents brought them in separately, at least, but what that monster made Tommy and Will do–what he made Tommy do to Will–it’s fucking burned on Brian’s retinas. He and Doug have barely been able to look at each other since. 

But the boys were there. They had proof that they were with Barker. That they were alive. 

Brian and the Mahoneys waited then, just like Brian is waiting now. He’d envied them then too. They had each other, someone else who understood the fear and the anguish of losing their child. Brian had tried to call Casey after Will disappeared, but she’d changed her number. He sat on the other side of the waiting room from the Mahoneys, and he’d tried to ignore the jealousy. He tried to feel relieved. But somehow, he couldn’t. He knew somehow, he guesses. 

When the ambulance came to the hospital, Will wasn’t in it. 

We weren’t able to recover him, sir. He wasn’t there. The girl–Barker’s daughter–she says he was sold a few weeks ago. 

Sold. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out for what. Not after what Brian had seen in those videos. 

Brian collapsed in the waiting room that day. Boom down, like Will used to say when he played with his G.I. Joes. Doug and Joanne were escorted back to be with their son, and Brian was put under observation for forty-eight hours. He thought he was having a heart attack. He wasn’t. His heart was just breaking. What was left of it, anyway.

He’s spent most of the last year wandering around with a hole in his chest. Truthfully, he’s spent most of the last fourteen years that way. Ever since Casey left them. He just never thought it could get any worse. He didn’t think of what might happen to Will. 

But who thinks of shit like this? No one. Because things like this, they don’t happen. Except, now, Brian knows, they do. 

“Mr. Cartwright?” the agent says again. Brian nods and forces himself to focus on her face. She smiles. “I’m Agent Madeline Hevener. I’ll stay with you until your son arrives.” 

Brian nods. There was an agent who waited with them before too. 

“What–” he clears his throat and stares down at the broad backs of his hands, “what do you know?” 

Agent Hevener sits two chairs away from Brian, but she angles her knees toward him. She glances up at the waiting room television. The cable news station is still talking about a late-season hurricane in the Caribbean. Soon, they will be talking about Will. 

“We know that he’s alive,” she says gently. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means that he’s coming home to you, Mr. Cartwright.” 

“But–” 

Agent Hevener crosses her ankles and sinks back into the vinyl chair. “We won’t know many specifics about his physical condition until the doctors here have a chance to examine him. He was unconscious when he was extracted, but Agent Derringer was able to speak to him briefly before transport.”

“What did he say?” 

“Agent Derringer?”

“No. Will. What did he say to Agent Derringer?” 

Agent Hevener’s green eyes soften a little. “I don’t know, sir. He was likely in shock, and sometimes, people aren’t very communicative when they’re in such a state.” 

“Oh,” Brian says numbly. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him. Like she knows something he doesn’t. 

“The important thing is that he’ll be here soon.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I want to prepare you for that, sir.” 

Brian scrubs his face with his palm. “What do you mean?” He asks, even though he’s under no illusions that anyone can prepare him for what’s happened to Will over the last ten months. 

“I mean that the press attention on this particular case is going to be intense. After Barker’s compound was raided, it set off a tremendous interest in your son’s disappearance. Once the news breaks, Will is going to be the center of attention, most of it unwanted. The Bureau will manage as much of it as we can while he’s hospitalized, but it’s going to be difficult. People will assume they’re entitled to access to him.” 

Brian nods. “I–I know the Mahoneys have had to deal with some of that.” 

“Tommy’s case is a little different than your son’s,” Agent Hevener says, and Brian can tell she’s choosing her words with care. “Agent Derringer wanted me to communicate to you that Will–well, he likely will be very different than he was the last time you saw him.”

The hair on Brian’s arms stands up. “What does that mean?” 

“Again, we don’t have all the specifics just yet. But cursory appraisal of injuries–” 

“Just say what you mean.” 

“Agent Derringer’s initial reports suggest Will was very likely tortured, sir. In a way that’s left him noticeably physically scarred.” 

“Oh,” Brian whispers. The coffee he had an hour ago pitches in his gut. “Oh. Oh, God.” 

All he can think of is Will’s face the night Casey left. His big brown eyes hovering over full baby cheeks. His little body pressed against the front room window, roly poly in his Ninja Turtle sweats. It physically hurt Brian to look at him that night, to realize how small and fragile his son was. How he would never be able to protect Will from the hurt that was barreling toward them both. But this—this—

“Mr. Cartwright–” 

“No, go on. Please.” 

“It may be difficult to hear.” 

Brian shakes his head. “Just tell me.” 

“Agent Derringer also saw some indicators that Will was exposed to repeated sexual violence.”

It isn’t a surprise. Brian knew it was likely. The agents warned him when they found out that Will had been sold that Barker’s transactions were typically for the purposes of sex trafficking. And there was the evidence from the compound, of course. But that doesn’t make it any easier to hear. How could this happen to his little boy? 

The explanation worries the underside of Brian’s ribs like a blade. It’s his fault. If he’d only been more present, if he’d only done better by Will–

He can still see Will, his little face pressed against that damned window. 

She’s gonna come back, right, Daddy? 

Brian hadn’t answered his son. He let Will stand at that stupid window for hours because he didn’t know how to answer. He poured himself a drink and let Will cry, and he never answered any of Will’s questions. Brian retreated into his own world after Casey left, and he told himself he was doing right, that he was taking care of Will in his own way, that Will would be better off for it. Will didn’t need him.

But Will had needed him, and he wasn’t there. Brian buries his face in his hands. 

“It’s likely–” Agent Hevener hesitates, “In cases like Will’s, there may be some communication deficits. We know that he was quite literally silenced during his time with Barker, and he probably wasn’t allowed to voice his fears or concerns at any point during his captivity.” 

Brian blanches. It’s bad enough to be reminded what that sick fuck did to his son, but it’s the agent’s choice of words. Captivity. Like Will is some kind of animal. But after his time with Barker, maybe that’s exactly how Will thinks of himself. Oh, God. 

“And post-traumatic stress is almost a guarantee.” 

No shit. “Yeah. I–yeah, of course.” 

Agent Hevener ducks her head to meet Brian’s eyes. “What I’m saying is, Mr. Cartwright, is that, while you should absolutely be happy that Will is coming home, you need to be prepared for how difficult it may be to connect with him for a while.”  

Brian wants to laugh even as tears needle the back of his eyes. Like he’s ever known how to connect with his son. But none of that is Will’s fault. None of it. 

“And in the case that communication is a challenge, you may need special support when it comes to dealing with media attention. As I said, the Bureau will provide you with a consultant for the duration of Will’s hospitalization, however long that may be–” 

But Brian isn’t listening. 

“What did you mean?

Agent Hevener’s nose wrinkles. “I’m sorry?” 

“When you said Will’s different from Tommy? Tommy, he–what that bastard did to them–it was the same, and you’re not–you aren’t giving them–” 

It’s something Brian hasn’t voiced before, because who would he tell? What would he say? But it isn’t fair. It’s a ridiculous thought for a grown man to have, but that doesn’t make it any less true. He saw Doug Mahoney’s face just after they saw those videos. He sees the way that Joanne covers up her relief with pity. Because Tommy came home, and Will didn’t. Because even if Tommy was hurt too, it was Tommy who did some of the hurting. Tommy, who was worth so much more to Barker. And his Will–God, Will–

Brian gasps for breath. He braces himself against his thighs. 

“Sir–” 

“Will is just as strong as Tommy! He–he–” 

Agent Hevener moves discreetly into the chair next to Brian’s. She puts a gentle hand on his knee. “I’m sure he is, Mr. Cartwright. He would have to be to survive the things he’s been through.” 

“He’s a good boy. This isn’t his fault! I–” 

“We know. There is nothing Will did to deserve any of this.”  

“Then why–” 

Why was it Will? That’s what Brian wants to ask, but he knows that he can’t. There is no possible answer that will ever make any of this make sense. 

Agent Hevener seems to understand. “I don’t know, Mr. Cartwright. I’ve been doing this a very long time, and I still don’t know. But if I may–” 

Brian nods, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“He survived, sir. He’s coming home. And that’s worth celebrating, even if we don’t know exactly what it will bring.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Brian knows she’s right, that it’s a good thing that Will’s on his way home. But somehow, the warnings, the preparation, the fucking anticipation of waiting to see his child after nearly a year–it doesn’t feel quite the way he thought it might. What was it that song said? The waiting is the hardest part? That’s bullshit. Somehow, Brian knows it’s going to be the end of the waiting— the seeing, the knowing— that will kill him. 

Agent Hevener’s phone buzzes. “They’ll be here directly. The reception staff in emergency is prepped; they’re the only ones who know he’s coming.The ambulance won’t have any lights or sirens. No one will know he’s arrived until we break the story.”

“When can I see him?” Brian asks without hesitation. 

“I can’t answer that. But we’ll keep you here. This waiting room is a little further removed, and we can control who comes in and how you get out. Agent Derringer says there’s a good chance that Will may need to be prepped for emergency surgery–” 

“For what?” Brian interrupts.

He can hear the desperation in his question, but he doesn’t care. The answer doesn’t even really matter–it won’t change anything–but he’s suddenly greedy for knowledge of his son, how he’s feeling, what’s wrong, what will come next. He imagines Will in the back of the ambulance. Just now, in Brian’s head, Will is still a little boy. The broken young man in those videos—he isn’t real. Brian doesn’t know how to help the person in the videos; but he can help his little boy. He failed at that once, but he won’t now. He won’t.

Agent Hevener’s voice shakes him out of his reverie. “I don’t know, sir. But–” 

“--please! I just–I won’t get in their way. I just want to see my son.” 

He does, but he doesn’t. Once he sees, Will can’t ever be his little boy again. But goddamnit, Brian has to see him anyway. Has to touch his face or hold his hand or whatever it is people do. Brian has to let Will know that he will be there, even if he’s never fucking been there before. 

Agent Hevener looks down at her phone again and then at Brian. She doesn’t say anything. 

“Please, ma’am.”

“Mr. Cartwright, I don’t think you understand–” 

Brian shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand.” His voice is quiet; this isn’t a soap opera, and on some level, he knows this woman is just doing her job. But he won’t back down. Not this time. “He is my son. I haven’t seen him in a year–and what I have seen has–God, I can’t–someone hurt my boy. They hurt him so badly. I don’t care if you think I’m not ready–it doesn’t matter if I’m ready. I have to be. I have to be there for him, even if–even if he doesn’t know it for a while, Fuck, I–”

Agent Hevener holds up her hand as if to stop him, and for just a second, Brian’s ready to rip her hand right off. But she looks up from her phone, and her mouth presses into a thin line, and Brian knows. 

“He’s here?” 

Agent Hevener nods. “If you come with me—”

“Whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you say,” Brian says instantly. 

“He’ll be in the emergency treatment area until a doctor is able to fully examine him. You can be in the treatment room, but you cannot get in the way. If they need to move him–” 

“I understand. I understand.” 

“Good.” Agent Hevener stands and smooths her pantsuit. She looks back at Brian and he thinks he can see sympathy in her eyes. “Remember what I told you: it won’t be what you expect, Mr. Cartwright.” 

Not might. Won’t. 

“I understand,” Brian says again. 

“Then, let’s go.” 

Brian follows the agent like a puppy, keeping his eyes on the lacquered hunk of her bun, which doesn’t move at all as they weave through the hospital hallways. It’s somehow too quiet back here, but Brian understands. The agents have taken control; every few corridors, there is a faceless person in a suit standing by. They are doing their best to protect Will. It’s more than Brian’s ever done. 

“Here, Mr. Cartwright,” Agent Hevener says finally. 

They’re in a nondescript hallway, all washed out neutrals and pastel hospital curtains. Agent Hevener quickly ushers Brian behind one of them. 

Will isn’t here yet. Brian stares at the empty hospital bed, willing himself not to picture Will inside of it. The monitors are dark, cords dangling listlessly, and the whole room has an antiseptic smell that Brian understands but wishes were different. This is not a homecoming. This is not what Will deserves. But then, Will has never gotten anything he deserves; Brian and the entire fucking universe have pretty much made sure of that. 

Brian looks around, unsure of what to do or where to stand or precisely how to handle this particular moment in any way, shape, or form. Agent Hevener glances down at her phone again. Brian presses himself against the tall storage cabinets in the corner of the room. He has to stay out of the way. He will stay out of the way. As long as he can see Will. 

Then, the silence is broken. 

A gurney pushes inside the curtain, flanked by four different uniformed paramedics. One of them rattles off information to a nurse in pink scrubs, and even though Brian can’t understand a word he’s saying, the nurse seems to know; she takes feverish notes on a metal clipboard, and the gurney is shoved backward to the side of the bed opposite Brian’s corner. 

And there’s Will. 

Suddenly, Brian is in a different hospital room. Casey’s hand is wrapped around his, squeezing his bones with some kind of wild mutant strength he didn’t know she possessed. She isn’t screaming like in the movies. No, the noises coming from between her grit teeth are far more primal. 

Brian can’t blame her. He tried to stand next to the doctor to watch the baby come, but one look told him that he wasn’t prepared for that nature documentary in the making; the nurse must have agreed, because she told him in no uncertain terms that no one would be helping Brian if he fainted.  

Casey’s grip somehow manages to tighten. An animal grunt. Brian lets go of her hand, and someone guides him through snipping the gummy cord that stretches from Casey’s body. At the end of the cord is his baby. Slimy and gray and impossibly small. Whisps of dark hair on a blood-tacky scalp. Scrunched eyes like white beans. Tiny fingers and toes. Tiny. Just so tiny. 

It’s a boy! Congratulations, Dad! 

But even with all the commotion, it is too quiet. The baby is too still. 

Why isn’t he crying? Casey asks, even as one of the nurses continues to maneuver between her raised legs. She is angry; Brian never quite knows what to do when she’s angry. 

A nurse has the baby–their son–and she pivots away from Casey’s bed. Brian can’t see what she’s doing. He feels like he’s frozen in amber. 

He’s supposed to cry, Casey says, her voice tight and breathless. Why isn’t he crying? What’s wrong with him? 

Nothing, Brian thinks. There’s a spark of annoyance that Casey is already looking for the cracks in the facade, and their son isn’t even a minute old. The baby is beautiful, even if he isn’t really beautiful at all. He is theirs. Brian knows that he’s being unreasonable, that Casey is just concerned, but still–

Brian! 

Terror washes over Brian. His scalp prickles with sweat, and he can’t look at his wife. He can’t watch the nurse with the baby. He can’t move. 

There’s a crib at home. A changing table with a weird embroidered pad. Blue walls. A mobile with cartoon animals. A chestful of tiny clothes. They’re prepared. But Brian never thought to prepare for this. 

The silence crawls on for what feels like years, and then, a fragile cry, so small and strange that it brings tears to Brian’s eyes, cuts through the air. 

Casey is gone, and the boy on the gurney is so much bigger than the baby Brian held in his arms, but that sound is embedded in Brian’s sense memory. He’s heard it in his dreams since Will disappeared, and even though it goes through him like a knife, he leans into the pain. It means Will is okay.That things progress as they should. And Brian wants nothing more than for that to be true. 

The nurse and paramedics are still going back and forth, but Brian can’t really hear them. He can only look at his son. He takes an unconscious step forward, and nobody stops him. 

Will may be grown, but somehow, he has never looked quite so small. Brian can hear Casey’s voice. What’s wrong with him? 

Everything. Brian shakes his head, and his hand moves to his mouth as if pulled by puppet strings. Everything is wrong. 

The smell is overpowering. Urine and shit and sweat and blood and who knows what else; the filth on Will’s sallow face is caked on, an unsettling streaky brown. Dried blood clings to the corner of his lips and the underside of his nose. His dark hair hangs around his shoulders in thin, greasy clumps, and his cheeks are dusted with patchy suggestions of beard; there are smatterings of white hair in both. When hands shunt Will’s slack body from the gurney to the bed, his mouth doesn’t move. Brian’s gut lurches when he realizes that Will’s jaw is still wired shut. 

But even with the commotion around him, Will doesn’t stir. His gaunt body seems to sink into the white sheets on the bed. Even under the space blanket they’ve wrapped him in, Brian can see how Will’s bones swell where there used to be flesh, how skeletal his arms are, the way his head lolls on a neck that is too long and thin for the body Brian could have sworn he knew. Will’s neck is collared, of course. Brian saw that in the videos, but this close, he can smell the reek of infection beneath the electrical box. Brian thought he was ready. He thought he knew. 

He didn’t know anything. 

The space blanket is peeled away, and Will’s body–what’s left of it–is exposed beneath the harsh exam room lights. Brian only just catches himself against the wall. 

“Mr. Cartwright–” 

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just don’t.” 

And then he looks away, because he thinks he might collapse if he doesn’t. 

It isn’t that he can count Will’s ribs like ladder rungs or the way that his hip bones jut into space. It isn’t the chunky leather mitts where Will’s hands should be. It isn’t even the smears of blood between Will’s bony thighs; Brian can’t even begin to process that little tidbit. 

No, it’s that every inch of Will’s skin is marked. Veins of raised silver curve and snake from Will’s collarbones to the tops of his feet; there is more scar tissue than there is filthy skin, or at least it looks that way to Brian. Whorls and curlicues and precise lines that were all laid down on his son’s withering flesh with careful intention. 

Brian doesn’t have to stare to know that this DeAngelis monster spent his months with Will treating him like carving wood. The fucker bought Brian’s child just to ruin him. The patterns are deliberate, cruel–and they are permanent. Brian closes his eyes, and he can see Will’s little pink body wrapped in the striped hospital blanket; he can see the soft white neck peeking out from those rumpled Ninja Turtle sweats; he can see the boy who was almost a man, desperately uncomfortable in his own skin. 

You don’t get it, Dad. I’m just–I’m not what she wants. 

Brian got it. He understood better than Will knew what it was to feel lost, to measure yourself and constantly be found wanting. But this, Brian will never get. He will never understand this kind of cruelty, and he will never understand what Will is feeling, not ever again. How could he possibly? 

But even so, even though his mind and body are buried beneath layers of incomprehensible pain, Will is still the most beautiful thing that Brian’s ever seen. Because he is here. Because he is real. Because he is all that matters. He is all that’s ever mattered. 

Agent Hevener’s hand is firm on Brian’s shoulder. “Mr. Cartwright?”

“Can I–” Brian watches as the nurse begins to hook Will up to the various monitors, manipulating his thin arms as easily as a doll’s. Brian’s throat aches, but he doesn’t bother to try to stop his tears from falling. “Can I touch him?” 

“I’m not sure that–” 

“Please. The doctor–there isn’t a doctor yet. Just until they come. I won’t–I’ll be careful. Please.” 

Agent Hevener sighs, but her grip relaxes, just a little; it’s answer enough for Brian. 

Somewhere in the space of the last few minutes, someone has cut the mitts from Will’s hands. His fingers are gnarled bones, barely fingers at all, and the backs of his hands are scarred, just like the rest of him. When the nurse moves out of the way, Brian eases into the space next to the bed. He reaches over the plastic strut of the bedside, and he touches trembling fingers to Will’s wrist. He can feel a rigid line of scar tissue beneath his fingertips, and he lets out a kind of wet gasp. 

Will is too quiet, too still. But he is real. He is here. Maybe this isn’t the reunion Brian pictured, if he ever let himself picture this moment at all, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. 

“Mr. Cartwright–” 

“No,” Brian snarls. They will not take his boy again. “No,” he says, softly this time. He wraps his hand around Will’s curled fingers and exhales, breath shaking. “Bud?” Brian leans close and presses his lips to his son’s soiled forehead. “Bud, I’m so glad you’re home.” 

It’s stupid. Will doesn’t hear, and even if he did, he couldn’t answer. His ruined fingers don’t move; his breath barely lifts the battered plane of his chest. But Brian doesn’t care. He will wait until he hears the fragile cry that will let him know his boy is still in there; that someday, somehow, Will will be okay. 

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs, @whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296, @flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whump-world, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @tasteywhumpee, @whumplr-reader, @sad-boys-anonymous, @whumpzone

[asterdisaster06]

i love you ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

ghost x reader [exes], platonic 141 x reader

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

summary > Soap and Gaz shenanigans

word count > 1.9k

warnings > military inaccuracies

a/n > do you guys ever have so many fic ideas but have to limit yourself to two series only? yeah, that’s me and it’s breaking my heart that i can’t keep up with 10 separate ideas

ao3

The sun shining through the military issued curtains warms your sleeping figure as your eyes flutter open - your brain taking a moment to catch up with your eyes viewing your new room. Your new home. It offers you a sense of comfort alongside loneliness at the thought of the pure solitude you were encased in. At your old base, you shared a room with a fellow soldier and someone you were proud to call a friend, but that isn’t the case here. Here, you’ve yet to truly make any official friends, and you're doubtful that the unease you feel even being on base would let you open up enough to be able to. Trust and friendship is something that you would like to keep separate on the field - most soldiers would - but you suppose it also extends into domestic moments. You find it hard to trust someone after one little conversation ended a relationship just like that. 

You shake that thought off like a wet dog to water and push yourself to get up. From what little you remember from the chaos of last night, today was supposedly stealth and sniper training with Gaz. It didn’t trouble you too much considering the connection between Simon and Gaz was a deep trust but nothing beyond simply working together. You had to have that trust with those on your side in this line of work. The job would be ten times more dangerous if you didn’t. You suppose that this training was meant to build that trust between you and the team before an actual mission, but you weren’t entirely sure if you could achieve that with Simon himself.

Brushing your teeth, you stare at the tired figure in front of you. A bruised and battered soul that has never quite healed despite your best efforts, as evidenced by the distinct eye bags and litter of scars across both your skin and heart. Seen and unseen. To the trained eye, you suppose, there was no real difference however. You spit into the sink, letting it run down the drain alongside your emotions. The cabinet holds only the base essentials provided by the base and your medicine that you throw back with a grimace. There was nothing you could truly do to drastically improve your appearance, but you found yourself wishing somehow that you could. You resign yourself to how you look and shake your folded clothes out before throwing them on in preparation for the long day ahead. You mask slips on over your head with such ease that you would

As you lace up your boots with efficiency earned only by doing it repetitively every single day, you hear a knock sound on the door. A gentle thud that almost reminds you of the sound a body makes when it falls to the floor - keyword being almost. A second knock is made just as you reach the door and turn the knob to be greeted with the sight of both Soap and who you assume is Kyle “Gaz” Garrick by his side. 

“Rise and shine, Angel!” Soap yells out, and you can almost hear bagpipes accompanying his excitement if you listen carefully. Then again, you could be imagining it. 

“Training doesn’t start until eight. It’s six,” You point out, your morning voice still fully fledged. If that wasn’t enough to signify your recent throw into consciousness the yawn after your statement should’ve been.

“He wanted to invite you to breakfast at seven, but also insisted on getting here early enough so you couldn’t say no,” Gaz offers up before he’s jabbed in the side by Soap, much to your amusement. 

“I’ll join you guys for breakfast,” You begin, already seeing the start of a grin making its way across Soap’s face. “But, only if you guys join me for my morning run beforehand.”

“Oh, how hard could it be? I bet I could beat you around the compound, Gaz,” Soap teases. 

. . .

Soap would soon eat his words, and dirt, as he ended up tripping over air twice on the run. Although, he insists there was a rock that you didn’t see that was out for him. Unsurprisingly, despite the little mishaps at the beginning of the jog, your two future comrades kept up decently with your pace. You suppose they had to if they were able to make it all the way up the ladder into this team. 

“How is Soap more clumsy than you, Gaz, but somehow you’re the one that fell out of a helicopter?” You mutter under your breath, realizing your mistake as soon as the words escaped your mouth. 

“How did you know that story, love?” Gaz asks, wiping sweat off his face with the back of his hand. 

“Word gets around,” You reply quickly. Not a complete lie. It just so happens that word got around from Simon mentioning small, insignificant details about his teammates on missions. Ones that made you laugh way back when. 

“Imagine being known only for falling out of a chopper,” Soap teases, nudging Gaz. 

“Very funny. At least my hair is regulation standard,” Gaz says, tussling the mohawk of the Scot. Almost like brothers, you notice. 

“Oi, lay off you div,” Soap says, his scotticism slipping out. 

“I’ll meet you guys for breakfast after a shower,” You say, giving a stretch and a big yawn afterwards.

“Just don’t get lost,” Gaz offers as he waves farewell. It appears that Soap has been spreading stories about your unfortunate meeting circumstances. 

“Aye, we’ll save you a seat, LT,” Soap grins with an exaggerated salute. 

You roll your eyes with a soft smile painted across your face as you turn to head back towards your living quarters. The dimly lit room offered a muted sense of comfort; although, you were itching to get some pops of color into the bland room. You’d have to check with Price to see how much you could change - considering you were contracted for five years, it would be likely that there was more leeway than usual. Especially given your position, but that could just be the fact your old roommate and you constructed a colorful, sentimental place you were proud to call home. It elicited a faint pang of homesickness within you. You’d have to call sometime soon to update them. 

Making sure the door was definitely closed behind you first, you slip off the light mask. Its design reminded you of the weeks leading up to the completion of its construction. You had a few of your fellow teammates to thank for their arts and crafts help - although you suspect that they would rather thank you for the creative outlet. You just consider the fact that all the crayons were accounted for and un-eaten a success. It has become a part of you now, whether you wanted it or not. There was something symbolic about the bird-like nature of its design; perhaps you wished you had wings of your own to escape the hurt. However, that’s more of a therapist's take on what actually occurred. 

It was more of an inside joke whenever you were a recent hire to your previous base. There was a mission or two that required you to take a position as a lookout. A bird had started chirping and cawing in your ear, sending extreme confusion over the commsat your attempts to get it to shoo. It was something that your team laughed about after the fact, saying that the bird life chose you. Ergo, your mask reflected the appearance of your feathered friends. The idea of your callsign being reflected in the feathery appearance also made it feel fitting. 

You shed your comfortable yet cold clothes and step into the warmth of the shower water, letting it run down your frame into the drain. If you stared long and hard enough at the floor, you could’ve sworn that it held a pink tint. It was a simple hallucination, but it had been real at one point in your life. You choose to close your eyes, focusing on the feelings of your hands running across scars - old and new. Your past life never held these marks, evidence of your suffering. Simon was the only one decorated with the physical damage appearing on his skin a few years ago, but you’ve accumulated more than your fair share of healed wounds.

You wash away those thoughts alongside the sweat and suds down the drain, making way for the amour surrounding your heart. The roughness of the towel as you dry yourself grounds you to reality. You actively avoid looking at the mirror, refusing to look at your scarred appearance that Simon would lose his mind over, as you get dressed. Breakfast wasn’t something that you indulged in as much anymore, not when it was no longer shared with the hugs from behind as Simon stole a piece of bacon. The very thought pained you to your core. You covered it up, swept it under the rug, in a very similar fashion to you disguising your appearance by the mask. 

You exit your room, making sure to lock it behind yourself. The beasts cage. You wander the halls until you reach the canteen, quickly scanning the room until your eyes settle on Soap. Or rather, the man beside him. Ghost. There was something about him that had changed from the person you once knew, besides the obvious appearance and behavior due to the environment. Or maybe, just maybe, you never knew him after all. You refuse to believe that you knew the real him, and the real Simon had truly tossed you to the side that easily. It wasn’t something you were willing to accept. Not yet. Not ever.

“Oi, over here Lieutenant!” 

There goes your sense of peace and internal argument over whether you could slip out unnoticed and effectively ghost this entire interaction. Your inner turmoil is only heightened by the fact that the choice was made for you - that and the fact that you’re now being perceived by the entire room as you make the walk of shame over to the table. All the eyes on you make it difficult to feel at ease. Even with your mask disguising that particular emotion paired with a heavy wince, your body language undoubtedly exuded your nervous nature. 

You trudge over to the table as the group all gives you their own greetings. You have an inkling that Soap had dragged all of the members here for breakfast as a sort of meeting for you. It’s incredibly hard for you to believe that both Price and Ghost were here willingly. 

“Goodmorning, Bonnie!” Soap says, the chipper in his voice making you wince slightly.

“Morning, little birdie,” Gaz calls out, seemingly taking a shine to that new nickname.

“Lieutenant,” Is all Price offers up. 

Although, it’s more than the intense stare and grunt you got from Ghost. You’re not entirely sure if you’re more offended or relieved by that. You pull one of the chairs out and take a seat near Soap and Gaz. It appears that they weren’t lying about saving you a seat, much to your surprise. On top of that, someone here - you suspect Soap - grabbed you a tray so you could avoid the line. It warmed your heart, a smile sent towards Soap. It’s times like these that you thank past you for constructing the mask in a way that your mouth is exposed enough to speak and eat. 

“Hey, Ghost. Have you ever thought about having your mask like that?” Soap pipes up.

“No. I already have enough of my face exposed with the eyes,” He replies gruffly. 

“Ah, I suppose that’s true. Angel does have their eyes covered. It’s kinda like the opposite of your mask,” Soap mentions. 

A simple hum from the man across the table is all you received. It’s all you or anyone else at the table received the entire time you spent eating with the team. Despite the small talk and inside jokes being created right in front of your eyes. It was so odd, sitting there right in front of the man you used to wake up next to, and him not knowing a single thing. Never noticing. These thoughts plagued you into a simple quiet as you listened to Soap explaining what “mountain chickens” were to Gaz - much to his confusion. The absurdity of the completely domestic circle of fellow soldiers sharing breakfast made you smile, if only slightly. All of it came to an end eventually as each individual had something to busy themselves with throughout the day. 

“Well, better not waste any time,” Gaz exclaims, offering you a hand up that you graciously accept. 

“Up and at ‘em soldier,” Soap adds. 

You were looking forward to the hand to hand combat training against these two. It was a formality but nonetheless you stirred at the opportunity to exhibit your abilities against both men. Prove yourself in some way or another. Maybe even prove to yourself that you do in fact deserve to be here - despite the words ringing in your ears as an echo of Simon Riley claiming you didn’t. Never would. Well, you would prove him wrong. Starting today. Not five years ago - starting today - because now he could see you. You could show him beyond a doubt that you had improved enough to earn a spot on the renowned team. Alongside him - even if he wouldn’t know it. Not yet.

-

taglist: @abbiesxox

[luniellar]

Breathe Me (Garrick Tavis X OC/Reader) - Chapter 2 - The Empyrean Series Fanfiction

When Xaden Riorson and Garrick Tavis arrive at Samara, they are forced to prove themselves all over again. When Xaden heads off to see Violet at Basgiath since their dragons are mated, Garrick finds himself alone in this unfamiliar area trying to get his name established navigating fights and ambushes. He owed his life to the man.

One particular night when Xaden leaves for Basgiath, Garrick finds himself with a new company. One who starts turning his world upside down and giving him something, that isn't just the Xaden and rebellion, to fight for. ______________________________________

All rights to Rebecca Yarros for her original work and original characters. My scenes and characters are my own. ______________________________________

Contains: Iron Flame Spoilers Warnings: Language

Chapters: 1 | 2

Read on AO3 | Wattpad

Author Note: As I'm writing this (February 2024), Garrick's signet is not revealed in Iron Flame. For this story, I followed my theory about Garrick's signet which is Near Sight (opposite of Liam's Far Sight). Near sight can easily recognize emotion changes, whatever emotion someone displays Garrick will pick up. This also relates to his dragon (Chradh) who is able to locate certain objects and is sensitive to runes. Garrick uses this to quickly learn who is trustworthy and gain information about people's true intentions making him a strong asset and an exceptional fighter.

Chapter 2: The Feelings

< Garrick Tavis >

The sun from the morning was nowhere to be found and the clouds were looking seriously ominous today. Temperamental like this guy, I glanced over at Xaden and his expressionless face from the hard floor of the outdoor sparring field. Something was definitely on his mind. My first guess would be Violet related. 

I welcomed the breeze against my shirtless, overheating body as my mind wandered off to what Lei was up to. Her smile from the morning flashed across my mind and I exhaled. Maybe it was her hair? I knew that most female riders kept their hair short, braided, or tied up to keep it from getting caught, but Lei’s ponytail was long enough and always swaying from side to side, like it was tempting me to grab. Oh gods, I shouldn’t have thought that. 

From the side, Xaden threw a clean towel that landed directly on my face, dragging me out of my thoughts. Right, this was supposed to be a quick break before another set. “Thanks,” I muttered as I grabbed it and wiped the dripping sweat across my face. 

“Riorson!” A familiar voice called out, full of disgust with each syllable. Tightening my core, I peeled my upper body off the mat and saw that bitch from last night. Fuck, what was his name again? 

Lei’s sharp, venomous tone saying his name last night replayed in my mind. “Move along, Pratt.” 

Oh yeah, Pratt. 

I looked up to see Xaden turned towards him with a blank face across the field. He didn’t answer, he just stared. Then a second later, Xaden looked over at me and was that worry that just flashed across his face? Pressing his lips together, he looked towards Pratt’s direction again.

Did Xaden know Pratt? Maybe he was an old friend? I could see the gears turning in his head staring at the blonde boy. 

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Pratt shouted. 

I scoffed and shouted back at him. He didn’t even have the courage to walk closer to us. “Damn, Pratt. I don’t think you wanted an audience to witness your ass getting whooped.” 

“I would keep your thoughts to yourself if I were you,” Pratt said my name in the same disgust he did with Xaden’s. “Your days at Samara are getting shorter with each word.” What the fuck was his deal?

Before I could quip back, Pratt looked directly at me. “Oh and leave Lei alone. She isn’t into dirty traitors like you two.” Pratt walked off with his “friends” trailing behind him. Two of the guys behind him moved with uncomfort and I could immediately identify they were the same boys from last night. 

“Watch your back, Garrick. He plays dirty.” Xaden replied. From the tone of his voice I knew that it wasn’t a guess, it was a statement. 

“Good, I like it dirty anyways.” I muttered back, my body making a dense thud against the hard floor surface as I dropped in exhaustion. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Xaden and I managed to keep the score even until the very end. Maybe it was the years of training we did together and how we knew each other better than we knew ourselves? Every move I threw at the guy, he managed to block. Thanks to my signet I was able to see the way his eyes moved before a punch or a jab and countered each step. But, he was still able to get a good punch on my jaw right when my mind was starting to wander off. 

Chradh loved reminding me how I should be paying attention whenever Xaden broke through my concentration like that. 

“Lei! Can you help?” A voice called out on our way to the showers and my head immediately turned. I scanned the fields until I saw Lei running over to another rider with short blonde hair reaching down to pick up buckets off the floor. I made eye contact with the blonde rider’s green eyes. Her eyes widened and immediately tilted her head up at Lei, her eyes moving in my direction. She clearly knew me, but I didn’t know her. Shortly after Lei turned in my direction. 

Her shiny, dark as night ponytail tossed above her shoulders. The shorter strands of hair fell into place, framing around her round rosy cheeks. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from her as I stood there watching. The short haired rider said something to Lei and after a quick nod, Lei jogged over. 

“Hey! Do you have an outpost shift tonight?” She asked when she reached me. Her scent filled the space between us. I held my breath knowing that I could just drink her up. 

I nodded. “It’s mine this time around.” 

“Great,” she gave me a gentle smile. She opened her mouth to say something, but glanced behind her looking back at the green eyed rider who was struggling to carry two buckets in each hand. “Oh gosh, Iris! Wait!” Lei turned to me. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Before I could reply, she turned and jogged back. I felt a hand hit my bare back. 

“Do me a favor and remember to breathe,” Xaden sighed, walking ahead of me. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Fuck, this outpost was so small. The moment I showed up for the shift, Lei was already in here marinating every corner of this space with her delicious scent. Thank gods there was a breeze blowing tonight circulating the air around us. Her warm vanilla scent stirred around me. I’ll need to ask Xaden about an olfactory dampening rune next week. 

That’s going to be a fun conversation. Chradh said amusingly.   

The conversation started with us catching up on what we did during the day. I learned that Iris, the short haired blonde who I briefly saw earlier today, was her closest friend here. I told her about Xaden and the bond we shared for many years. You would have to be blind to not see our rebellion relics. So I told her what I could without bringing up Aretia or the impeding doom Xaden carried on his shoulders. Lei carefully watched my expressions, smiling and encouraging when appropriate, She always made she didn’t step outside her boundaries.

I asked about her signet and she told me that it was a form of distance wielding. She wasn’t sure if she could do long distance wielding because her power burns out when channeled for a long time. It surged quickly in powerful consecutive bursts. When mentors said she drew the short end of the stick, she learned to hone the power to her advantage. She could shorten distances so fast that it gives off the illusion that she was teleporting in short distance increments. They must have had their head stuck up in their ass not to see how lethal she could be.

For the most part, it sounded like she trained on her own. Last year was when she learned that she could travel more than just her surrounding areas only if she could paint in her mind where exactly she needed to go. I made a mental note to ask her if she wants to join us on a sparring session one day. She had so much potential in that small body of hers and I wanted to see more.

Near the end of our shift, I built up courage to ask her. “Um,” I started. “Can I ask you a personal question?” 

“What’s on your mind, Garrick?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side. 

“How does someone like you end up knowing a guy like Pratt anyways?” I asked cautiously. I watched her gentle smile drain from her face, like a sad memory was dragging her back down. Her blue irises trembled with hesitation as she held my gaze. 

“We were engaged,” she started, looking ahead at the mountains. “We met as a part of a political alliance. I don’t come from wealth or power, Garrick. I come from a small, insignificant island in the Emerald Sea.” She lowered her head.

Like Xaden and Cat. Power was never something I craved. Sure, I saw the allure of it. But when you watched public executions of hundreds, including your family, for challenging power, you learn survival is more important. You do everything you can do to survive. You survive to remember each name, each story, and each face as a big fuck you. Maybe I was like Lei, I just didn’t like bullies. 

One of the many reasons I chose you, Big One. Chradh echoed with pride in my mind. 

Lei let out a soft exhale. “When I was 10, my father realized that the island resources were finite and started inviting aristocrats from the Continent to create trade routes. Pratt’s family was the first to visit. Within days of them leaving, his family made us an offer for an arranged betrothal under the condition that I survive the Threshing when I turned 20.”

“Threshing?” My voice rose in anger and my hands curled into fists. “Lei, you could have died! Did your family know how dangerous that was?! Pratt gave you a fucking death sentence!” I broke my composure. Why was I so angry? 

She laughed a short, gentle laughter turning back to me. “Honestly, no. No one knew about the Threshing where I was from. Riders and dragons were stories that I only heard from elders in the island when I was growing up. Myths and legends with heroes, not a girl from an island somewhere.” She paused, muscles around her eyes tenses and her eyes were focused like she was calling for Cosheirm in her mind. 

I watched as she found her peace again. Cosherirm, the word for harmony. Lei found her harmony through Cosheirm. Her pale skin against the stark contrast of her dark as night hair. She was beautiful. 

“But Garrick, if I was given the decision again knowing what I know, I will always take the path to Cosheirm. Even if I wasn’t guaranteed that Cosheirm would choose me again.” Her determination was so strong that I could see an aura of confidence cloaked her body like a glowing shield. She was glowing.

“Lei,” I started and she got up from her wooden seat. 

There were sounds of footsteps coming from the outside. “It looks like the next patrols will be coming soon. Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

✦ ✦ ✦

"You have to admit. If this walking to my bedroom becomes a regular occurrence, people are going to start talking." I said as we headed toward my barrack for a second night in a row.

"You need to check that masculinity, Garrick. I can help if you need more practice getting down on your knees again," she shrugged.

Oh, we were on a joking basis now. 

"Hey, I'm not complaining. I've done it plenty of times, the whole escorting and getting on the knee thing... for other reasons," I glanced down to be greeted by her rosy cheeks. "I was just saying that I could get used to this."

It was Lei's looked flustered as she cleared her throat. "Anyone who sees us is going to think you're taking me to your room. We can stick to that story if you're worried about what people say. Deal?"

"Oh, I give zero shits about what anyone thinks about me, Lei. I just didn't know that was what you wanted others to think about us," I teased. 

An audible groan came from Lei. "Garrick, you're impossible."

 

✦ ✦ ✦

Wake, Big One. 

I rolled over in my bed, my eyes still closed. What’s wrong, Chradh? 

I sense something unfamiliar in the south clearing of outside of Samara. In the pit of stomach, I felt it too. I’ve felt this before.

Before Chradh could finish, my body was already up. I quickly got dressed and strapped on my rider leather. I walked over to the doorway and grabbed the two swords propped against my desk. In the same motion I’ve been doing for years, I crossed them on my back.

Wyverns. And I sense a venin, Big One. 

[fabraies-archive]

BREAK THE ICE

notes n warnings ❅ *: figure skater! oikawa toorū x fem! figure skater! reader, mentions of diets and bad eating habits, this took a long time i’m sorry I literally wrote this while I was having a ton of exams, I hope the pacing is fine I feel like it’s a little too fast :( wc 5.3k

part one of snowflakes are kisses from heaven series

“WINNING IS FIRST PLACE, EVERYTHING ELSE IS LOSING”

The sentence keeps replaying in your head like a mantra, and you feel like you’re being suffocated. You were supposed to be able to master this routine. It’s nothing you haven’t encountered before, and the media portrayed you as a young, headstrong skater who succeeded in everything she undertook. So why couldn’t you do it? You’re the best. You’ve got titles and medals other skaters could only dream of having. At the very least, you used to be the best, because it just so seems that your best doesn’t cut it anymore. Soon enough, your previous achievements will be worth nothing, and your trophies will catch dust. So when your partner’s comments came flying at you, you feel as if they’re the straw that broke the camel. “Seriously? A toe loop made you fall?” Oikawa turns his head towards your choreographer, and snickers, “Looks like the program’s going to need a few changes after all.”

You had both been skating together for 7 years. Somehow, in 7 years, Oikawa hadn’t managed to be any less insufferable than he was when your coach introduced you both to each other.

7 YEARS AGO

The front door creeks open, and you turn around at the speed of light. ‘Mrs Coach’, as you used to call her, is holding a boy’s wrist, dragging him further into the training center. The boy himself didn’t look like he was too keen on entering the place, seemingly upset. He couldn’t be more than 14. That’s already pretty old to me, you cringe, I’m only twelve.

He looks down at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m supposed to skate with her? How old even is this kid ?” You feel your cheeks redden. Kid? Did he just actually call you that? Was your coach really about to let this slide? Surely not.

“She’s twelve, that’s only a two year age gap, there’s worse out there. And for the record, this is just a test to see if you guys work well together. You can keep your hopes up for a little while.” You can hear a hint of amusement in her voice, turning her back on you to walk towards the rink. “Let’s get going! I have a feeling you two’ll be a great match.”

Next to you, Oikawa grumbles.

-

Whatever your coach saw in you two, you didn’t. You kept bickering for the entire time, and you couldn’t manage anything more difficult than a few jumps in unison and a bad lift. Truth be told, the latter still makes you blush when thinking about it. As his despisable as his personality is, you couldn’t deny his looks. So when he lifted you in the air, you felt like you were about to explode. Your little twelve-year-old-heart could only take so much.

“You guys are truly great together, I was right. You’ll see, with more training, you two will make it to the Olympics!”

Your eyes sparkle at your coach’s outburst. The Olympics... You’d do anything to get there. And a grumpy teenage boy in the middle of a teenagehood crisis was certainly not about to stop you.

“Yeah, well, the Olympics aren’t worth it if I’m not competing in men’s singles. So feel free to do your best or whatever, but this isn’t what I signed up for.” The brow haired boy says crudely. Your coach’s smile visibly faints and you direct your eyes at him, ready to blow a fuse. “It’s not what I signed up for either. My dream was in the Ladie’s singles, but that’s not possible. The thing is, when I was handed another opportunity, I took it. Because to you, I’m only twelve and ‘still a kid’, but in the meantime, I don’t take things for granted, and work hard, no matter the conditions. Maybe you should try that some time. It shouldn’t be too hard, since you’re supposedly two years older than me.” You feel your partner’s eyes narrowing at you in embarrassment, but before he gets to get anything more than a small ‘smartass’, your coach intervenes.

“(Y/n), it’s fine. You both have done enough for today. I’m sure this all comes from pent up frustration, the bad blood will disolve quickly enough.”

Oh, if only she knew.

-

Ticked off, you hit the ice with your fist, and get back on your feet. You grit your teeth, and mumble a “Mind your business”, to which he answers with a scoff. You turn your head to face your coach with a disgruntled expression, in a desperate attempt to get Oikawa to keep his mouth shut, but she only shrugs and you brace yourself for the worst. If you could mostly handle Tooru’s remarks (keyword: mostly), the coach’s were different. She closes her eyes, and you can hear her voice echoing throughout the rink, “Look, you guys are young. Not too long ago, you both were competing for junior competitions. But this,” she points towards the countless medals and trophies you two had won over the years in the glass shelf, “Is over. You are about to head to Beijing to compete against athletes who are just as good, if not much better, than you. You cannot keep this up. The bantering off the ice is slowly transposing itself onto your chemistry while performing. Keep it up and the judges will notice this, and you’ll come back home without any medal at all. The basis of pair figure skating is the chemistry. If you lose it, you lose everything else. ” Her scolding ends, and you clench your fists. You hate that she has to say this. You hate that even your coach is willing to admit that you both aren’t doing enough to stand a chance. You hate that you know she’s right. You hate that you know Oikawa is right. At the very least, had you fallen while attempting a 4A, you would still be viewed as respectable by the public, and by the judges. But you hadn’t, and instead, the people around you would start despising you.

This isn’t fair, you think, I’ve worked harder than anyone else to be here! Your cheeks redden, and you can feel your eyes getting watery. “Stop crying, we gotta get back to the routine.” You notice that Oikawa’s tone has lost some of it’s initial glee, and you’re reassured to know you’re not the only one that has been affected by your coach’s harsh words. Oikawa skates back to the middle of the rink, waiting for you to finish sniffling like a child who has had her lollipop taken away from her.

The noise of a locker being harshly closed fills the empty changing rooms and makes you flinch. The rest of the training session did not go as smoothly as planned, even after your coach’s complaints. A sigh escapes your lips. While he could still blame everyone else for all the mishaps on the ice, you couldn’t. You only had yourself. Never had you been this discouraged, and ready to give up. Worst of all, you cannot seem to quell your inner turmoil, because everything you do seems to give it right, and feeds it, until you can’t control it anymore. You want to disappear. Sure, you’ve never gotten along with your partner, but you’d never go as far as ruin his dreams along with yours, even after what he said a few years back. A tired voice pulls you from your intrusive thoughts. “Get up, loser. I need to close the changing rooms tonight, and I want to go home,” as if the first sentence wasn’t already enough, he adds, “And I’d be damned if you were the one to keep me here longer than I have to.” Nevermind. Maybe you would be fine tearing his dreams apart after all. “Coming.” You mumble. You don’t have the energy to banter anymore today.

As you two leave the rink, an unexpected question leaves Oikawa’s mouth. “What’s up with you today ?” You don’t miss the slight edge to his voice, but answer regardless. “I don’t know-” “You don’t know?” He angrily interrupts you, “Your little problems might cause us to not even get close to the podium at the Olympics but you don’t know?” His anger is legitimate. You can’t just not know when the stakes are this high. It’s ridiculous. You know you’re in the wrong, but you get defensive either way. “I’m sorry, since when were you even rometely interested in going to Olympics ? Last time I checked, you were doing minimal effort because ‘your dream was in the men’s singles’. I’ve been working my ass off since we met. So don’t you start bitching. I worked so fucking hard, and despite it all, you were always behind me, waiting to fuck it all up. You couldn’t even count on your fingers how many problems I have to deal with- “

“Yeah, okay. Just get this fixed before the Olympics.” With that, he just walks away, and you can’t help the sobs that are bubbling up your throat. You want to scream. You’re gripping the straps of your bag so hard you might leave a permanent imprint on your fingers. And in this very moment, you’re considering letting your anger take you over. But, you know better. It’s for the coach, you try to calm yourself down, for the Olympics.

You hope that tonight will help you rest. Despite all your problems flying around your head, you still had a flight to Beijing to catch tomorrow.

-

You were wrong. If anything, this night brought you even more problems than you already had. You hadn’t been able to close a single eye for the entire time, for if you did, your mind would go wandering to back to your doubts and you would start feeling anxious again. Nothing seemed to calm you down. Not even the silence of the plane, or the cheap laughing backtrack of the movie you were currently watching. “Would you like anything to eat ?” The hostess comes up to you. You consider getting the nice salad for a moment. Knowing eating won’t help can’t stop me from trying, you think, and in a heartbeat, you find yourself ordering one of the salads that had caught your eye on the flimsy menu. Unfortunately for you, your coach passes by at the same time as your meal’s arrival, and while she doesn’t say anything explicitly, the look she shoots you says everything you might need to know. It’s on you. You’re supposed to be on a strict diet, and indulge a strict amount of calories each day, nothing more, nothing less. Just enough to propulse yourself into the air, and just enough to keep gliding on the ice at a good speed. Just as you reflect on your bad eating habits, the coach comes back, just as you feared.

“I know you’re stressed.” She starts, it’s a dead giveaway of the theme of the conversation you’re about to have, which makes you audibly sigh, “But you’re a skater. You signed up for it. The least you could do is have the strength to go through it, both physically and mentally. You’re no different than all the people that you are competing against. You’ve got the same skills, the same elements to work with.” Your chest tightens, and you look away. Your coach resumes nevertheless, “But you two have something special, something that only a very limited number of skaters still possess at your level.” She points to you, “this something, is passion. And, yes, Oikawa does have it. Even if he yearns for a spot in he men’s singles, he still has passion for what he’s doing right now, even if you don’t see it. Your competitors could only dream of having that. You want to skate, they have to. There’s a big difference. The only thing is, to showcase your passion to the best of your ability, you have to make amends with Oikawa,” You open your mouth in protest, before your coach speaks up again, “this isn’t an option. It’s necessary. If you want to win the Olympics, that is. You can start right now by the way, I believe he’s in the cabin right next to yours.” With that, she walks away, leaving you speechless. After yesterday’s fiasco, the last thing you want to do is talk to him. But this isn’t about doing what you want, but about what you have to do, you think, and open your cabin door, alright. Good luck to me.

You move, and knock on Oikawa’s cabin’s door. “Yeah ?” A horse voice answers to the dry knocking, and it’s deepness makes your whole body tingle. “I- um. It’s me.” The door slides open, and if his voice has gotten such a reaction out of you, his slightly messy hair and jogging attire almost has you blushing, just the way it did 7 years ago, on your very first lift.

“So ?” Your partner urges you to speak up, and only then do you realize you’ve been standing in front of him, completely silent. You end up babbling a mess of words, and take a deep breath as to start anew. “I know we started off on the wrong foot. To be very honest, it’s kind of your fault, but I forgive you. Yesterday was especially bad, even though I’m pretty sure I was right, and you were wrong. However, I come in peace. For this reason, I have decided to be the mature person I am, and graciously overlook your past mistakes. Are we good now? ” The handsome male eyes your hand you stuck out for him to shake, and you two find yourselves wrapped in a parochial silence. “That’s not how apologizing works” You bite your tongue in order not to give into his taunting, and respond, “About that, I thought things through a little before coming here, and I believe I have nothing to apologize for. Thus, I decided to give you a chance to apologize instead. You’re welcome, by the way. ”

He gapes at you, and quickly regains his composure., “That’s funny, because I happen to think you actually do have stuff to apologize for.”

“And what would that be exactly ?”

“Being bitchy.”

You scoff, and cross your arms, “Me? I was only being bitchy because you were being an asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Oikawa rolls his eyes, and is about to continue, when a man from the cabin next door groans. “Will you kids just keep it down? Some of us are too tired for your little lovers’ quarrel.”

At the mention of you and Oikawa being lovers, you both physically tense up, until the bickering starts again. “Look, I just wish you’d apologize!” You whisper-scream. “Apologize for what?” He insists, and you can’t believe your ears. “Are you serious ? Maybe apologizing for what you said when we first met? For not putting any effort in the skating just because it isn’t what you intended to do?” This time, it’s his turn to not believe his ears. “You want me to apologise for something that happened 7 seven years ago?” “That, and the no-effort thing.” “Oh so you really are serious.”

Be the bigger person. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on what to do in order to get Oikawa and you to make peace. Obviously, your partner is not able to see further than his own nose in this situation. So, it is up to you to make him understand that the stakes are too high for the both of you to simply go back and forth like children at around 35 thousand feet up in the air.

“Look. You’ve said it before, we can’t risk not being on the podium at the Olympics. What I’m trying to do, is restore our relationship, have good chemistry during the games, and win. After that, you can do whatever you want. I frankly don’t care if this isn’t your dream, it’s mine. I need to win. Just this once.” You plead.

This is humiliating. You’ve hit an all-time low. But it needed to be done. And by the look on his face, you can already tell this top 1 of your most embarrassing moments have not been in vain.

“Okay. Fine. I don’t promise anything but, ” he enters a fit of coughing, and tries his best to maintain his composure, “I’m sorry. What I said yesterday was kind of in the heat of the moment, I guess. But, sure. Winning. Totally.”

You open your mouth to thank him, but he pushes you out, and closes the door. Once again, you’re left frothing at the mouth. Maybe it was a sign not to thank him after all.

-

Oikawa has always hated the sound of skates rattling against the ice. But for some reason, he’s still standing on the rink, performing. He doesn’t know why. It’s the same with his relationship with you. You both hate each other, but you still skate together. It’s not out of a lack of opportunities; he was very coveted, and so were you. He couldn’t possibly count on his fingers the number of times you could’ve parted ways, and yet, here you both are, about to compete in the Olympic games. You’ve only got few days left to train and perfect the programm, but Oikawa still finds himself staring up at the windows of the rink. It was night, but he couldn’t spot any stars or the moon. Still, the sky was faintly light. He’d have to head to bed soon. “Done daydreaming ?” A voice calls out. It’s you. You were always pretty, but the faint glow around you due to the night sky makes you even prettier. Such a shame your beautiful face had to be paired up with such a horrid personality, he thinks.

“I’m talking to you.” You speak up, again.

“I can hear you.” Oikawa narrows his eyes at you.

“So you’re just ignoring me.”

“Correct.”

“Awesome. I thought we were getting somewhere.” You shoot him a look. Oikawa scoffs. He’s glad the dark manages to cover the expression he’s sporting, because you’d never let go of it. Oikawa flustered? What a scoop! “Getting where? We’re not a couple, much less friends.” If the night sky manages to cover him, it doesn’t do it for you. He wishes it did, because the saddened smile you’re wearing makes his stomach twist. He wants to take back the words he said. Over his lifetime, he’d take back practically half what he’s said if he could.

If only his pride could let him.

-

Thundersnows are, according to scientists, a rare occurrence. However they seemed common enough for you to have to live through one. It’s funny, in a twisted way. On one hand, you love snow, but on the other, you are absolutely terrified of thunders. Your first thought is to go see your coach. Around 5 years ago, while you were in a training camp, there had been one of the loudest storms you had ever had the horror of living. You had ran towards your coach’s room, begging her to stay with you. The thought still makes you smile, as a reminder of your friendship with her. You open your fist to reveal a white pearl, hanging from black thread, a token from your friendship. She had gifted it to both you and Oikawa after your very first gold medal.

A heavy knock on the door interrupts your soft moment, and soon enough, it creaks open, revealing a brown-haired figure skater, clad in loose fitting jeans, and a shirt.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Thought we ‘weren’t even friends’? What happened to that?” You don’t even bother looking up at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Coach said you were scared of thunders. She can’t help you out right now, she’s stuck in traffic with Ukai, so she sent me instead.” He runs his hand through his hair, and sits down on your bed. “Ukai, huh ?” You hum, “Always knew there was something going on between them.” You make yourself comfortable, and lie down on your bed. Feeling generous, you invite Oikawa to do the same. “Since when are civil ?” He quirks an eyebrow, and you shrug, “Ever since I was too tired not to be.” He doesn’t question your odd change of behaviour any further, and a leans back on the bed headboard.

“Do you think Ukai and coach have already fucked?” He asks, suddenly turning towards you. “Don’t be crude.” You respond.

“Is that a yes ?” His last question gets a chuckle out of you, and you realise that you completely forgot about the storm ever since he got here. “Maybe.” “Maybe !?” He props himself up on his shoulders, “Are you kidding ? They totally have! Have you seen the way they look at each other ? Man. Disgusting.“

“I find them cute. It’s love.”

“You’re disgusting too”

“Says the guy who wore skates two sizes too small during a comp. Who the hell does that ?”

“Who the hell falls on a toe loop ?” Oikawa retorts.

You snort, “That was low.”

“Your world standing is low.”

“My world standing is also your world standing.” You look back at him, and you find him staring at you. “I’m gonna hit you with the pillow.” You don’t get to say what you were planning to say anyway, because a pillow is hurled at your face.

You take it off, and wholeheartedly laugh. “You’re not half as bad as I made you out to be.” Oikawa observes. “Well, you would’ve known earlier if you hadn’t been such an asshole since day one”.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” He retorts, “if my memory serves me right, you were being quite the asshole as well.”

“Excuse me?” Your mouth falls open.

“Sometimes I even wonder how you spoke like that. Weren’t you like, twelve?”

“I’m just well-spoken.” You prop your chin up. It was true. Your parents had always pressured you. Etiquette lessons, piano lessons, countless extracurricular activities. No wonder you managed to seem like a smartass to Oikawa.

“Sure.”

Silence makes its way in the room, none of you daring to disturb it, until a question makes an appearance at the back of your mind. So close.

“Why do you not do any effort in our routines?”

“Me?” Oikawa stares back at you with a dazed look, “Given everything we’ve won, you’d think the opposite, no?”

“I’ve asked you about this before, but you’d just ignore me. I want you to be honest with me. I mean effort as in, something more than what’s expected of you, stimulated by the happiness that skating brings you. You don’t do that. And I’m just tired of doing everything in my power in order to balance your lack of passion out.”

“Then don’t.” His simple answer makes you scoff.

“And lose all my chances at the games? No way. This is my dream. I’ve never wished for anything more than this.”

“Then why didn’t you switch partners?”

He’s right. Why didn’t you ? You don’t look at him in the eye, you wouldn’t dare to. Because you know the answer, but never in a million years would you ever willingly face it. Not in the kind of environment you’re in right now, you can’t take it or risk it. Besides, you’ve feigned feeling nothing but resentment towards him in the past few years. What kind of delusional would you be if you even thought of him possibly liking you back ?

“I.. I don’t know. Why haven’t you ?” Counter a question by a question. Great thinking. If only his question wasn’t as frustrating as his answer.

“Because I don’t know what I’d do without you. You said it yourself, your determination is essential to our performances. It makes up for whatever I don’t have. We balance each other out. And admit it, our little ‘lovers quarrels’ mean too much for you to ever let them go, don’t they ?”

The proximity and the subtle flirting make your chest feel warm, even though you know it shouldn’t. You can’t let these type of doubts eat you from the inside, but you can’t help it. You just know realize that you desperately need to keep yourself in check to have a chance to step on the podium.

“You’re too tired. Did you consume anything before coming here ?” You wave him off, in a brief attempt to cover your embarrassment.

“Love.” He grins.

-

The peace between you and Oikawa seemed to have only been an interwar period, because it only took a few hours for the animosity to come back.

A conversation you weren’t even supposed to hear. That’s all it took for your heart that was beating like crazy a few moments prior to shatter, once again, just the way it did over the years with Oikawa.

“Are you sure you want to leave the team, Oikawa ?” A feminine voice speaks up. The coach, you think.

“Yeah. I can’t do it anymore, this is just a lack of professionalism at this point.” Another one speaks. It’s a man this time. Oikawa, you realize.

“You do realize you could just talk this out, right? Consider it, at least, tons of athletes have dealt with this, you know.”

“It’s.. it’s not for me I’m doing this. Sorry.”

You don’t even bother listening to the rest of the conversation. You hadn’t even taken your own warning into account, and here you were, in the cafeteria, carelessly moving your food around, without plans to actually eat any of it.

The doors from the training centre close behind you and Oikawa, and he speaks up, “So? What’s gotten your panties in a twist ?”

“Nothing is wrong! Why do you care anyway? This has nothing to do with you!” You immediately blow up, and swear you could gouge his eyes out. One second you two find yourselves flirting, the next he wants to leave the team, and for the grand finale, Oikawa suddenly cares about your mental state. You tend to find it rather funny, since his antics make up around half of the reasons for your deteriorating mental state. On the other hand, you’ve had just about enough of him stringing you along and acting as if nothing’s wrong.

“First, you have got to calm down, holy shit. Second, I care because you’re my partner, and because we’re about to compete! Tomorrow!” He seethes.

You can’t help but laugh at his lousy excuse, “I call bullshit. You’re a horrible liar. You don’t care about the Olympics, much less about me. Stop fucking around, tell me the truth.”

“You know what? Fine! I give up! I don’t care about you, and I certainly dont care about the games. Good luck winning this alone. Knew I shouldn’t have listened to the coach.” He mutters, and almost walks away, until you grab him by the elbow. He makes a move to get rid of you, but you stand your ground.

“That’s why you asked me how I was doing? Because of the coach?” You look up at him. Anger is evident in your face.

“I thought you didn’t care? Make up your goddamn mind, (y/n)! Also, that’s not what I was even talking about. Stop assuming all the time!”

For the first time since this argument started, you’re at a loss of words. You couldn’t tell him you did care, you couldn’t tell him how betrayed you felt, you couldn’t tell how you felt at all.

“So what were you talking about then? Felt bad cause you’re leaving and wasn’t planning on telling me shit?”

“Where did you hear that from ?” You can see his face get hard, and you instantly regret what you said earlier. You’ve never seen him in such a serious state. “Nowhere. Forget it.” You try to wave him off and get on your way, but he doesn’t let you. You’ve definitely struck a nerve.

“No, I won’t forget it. Where did you hear that from? No one was supposed to know about this, especially not you. So, again, where the hell did you get that from?”

“I.. I just heard you and the coach speak about it when I passed your room in the hallway on the way to the cafeteria.” However, his outburst doesn’t stop you from getting defensive as well.

“So, are you happy? Stringing me along making me think we were finally doing well, and then just leave? Got want you wanted all along, right? How much of an asshole exactly are you? And don’t you dare tell me I’m the asshole, because that’s not true and you know it. You told me we were going to stick together, and then you just go, and you- you just..” you can’t help the sobs. You feel so incredibly stupid for letting your emotions take you over, and letting Oikawa know how much he hurt you. How much power he holds over you. Now there’s definitely no chance for him to genuinely try tomorrow, or even win. He’ll be too busy despising and avoiding you.

“Look at me. Come on, look at me.” The brown haired boy looks down at you, craddling your face with his hands.

“Cut the bullshit,” you sob, “I’m not falling for it anymore.” You tear his hands off your face.

“I’m not bullshitting you. I swear, god, I am not leaving the team, I did not mean to string you along, and I don’t hate you. At least not anymore.”

“So you did hate me!”

“So did you!”

“No I didn’t! You are such a moron, I can’t believe you. I like you. When I was twelve, when we first met, you remember the bad lift we did? Do you remember the way I looked at you back then? You thought treating me like shit was gonna be all it took for the feelings to magically disappear?”

“I can’t believe you’re calling me a moron when you’re truly not any better.” He says, and carefully cradles your face again. “Because I liked you, too.”

“You suck.”

He grins, and leans in. This time, you don’t fight him. You invite him in, and when he finally locks lips with yours, the fireworks are blowing up in your stomach. You throw your arms around his neck in an attempt to draw him close than you both already are, and his hands make their merry way to your waist. You could stay like this forever. Your brain goes haywire, and when Oikawa slightly pulls away, you can’t help but feel disappointed that it’s already over.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be many more to come,” Oikawa chuckles, in response to your obvious insatisfaction.

“I’m still mad at you for being an asshole for so long just because you were too pussy to tell me you liked me.” You point at his chest.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist the possibility of an ennemies to lovers with you.”

-

“Second place, (Country name), Oikawa Toorū and (y/n) (l/n)!”

Second place. It’s not what you wanted. You should feel sad and disappointed, but you’re not.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t win first place.” Oikawa murmurs. You let your foreheads touch, and whisper in reply, “I don’t mind. There’s always next time. Besides, even if I didn’t get first place, I got something else that I like way better.” Before your lips get to touch, however, a camera flash goes off, blinding the both of you, and you hear a few teenage girls in the bleachers whine.

“He’s taken now?” One of the girls indiscreetly whispers, and another one responds, with the same obvious disappointed tone, “I guess..”

You can’t find it in yourself to care. Looks like winning isn’t just about first place after all, because even if you haven’t won, you still feel more victorious than you ever have before.

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[autumntouched]

ode to phoenix/football rivalry: nat finds out she can 💦 only after she starts dating jake and he prides himself in fact that he can make it happen multiple times a round/night (he’s 100% the kind of guy who can have multiple orgasms and uses it to their advantage)

I'm back and refreshed for Day 17 of Ode to Phoenix! Obviously today's is 18+, NSFW.

Sorry to skip around a little on your Hannix Football Rivalry AU requests. I'm keeping them chronological because a) I don't have time to outline and write on such tight turnarounds and b) I want to be able to build off each of the fics. Please hang tight! They're in the works.

Summary: Hannix Football Rivalry AU. Natasha and Jake make a discovery, and Jake has to get competitive about it...not that Natasha minds

Pairing: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Warnings: All smut, no plot. Vaginal fingering/oral sex/penetrative sex (m/f), squirting (f)

A/N: Is it just me or is Monica, I mean Phoenix, checking out Glen's, oops lol Hangman's, rear in this gif?? Like her eyes are unnecessarily drifting a little far to the left to be watching his shot or the pocket. Okay, just me? Cool. Here we go! Hope you like it xx

Make You Soak My Sheets

“Wait, Jake, wait,” Natasha pleads desperately, gulping air to hold back the intense urge to pee. When he’s too slow to release the pressure of his fingers inside her, she snaps her knees shut so fast only his remarkably honed reflexes keep him from being knocked in the head. “Stop!” she shouts before she pees all over his bed and embarrasses herself even further. As it is, she covers her burning face. 

“Oh shit, Nat, are you okay? I thought—I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Carefully, he withdraws his fingers from her. She’s so wet from everything his mouth and hands have done to her since he stripped her and laid her naked on his bed that her arousal spills from her emptied core. He climbs up to lay beside her. 

Natasha pushes her hand up her forehead, forcing herself to face him. “You weren’t hurting me. I–.” Humiliation claws at her throat. When did she start caring so much about what he thinks of her in bed? She certainly hadn’t when all this began. It’s all supposed to be fun. 

“Hey.” There’s so much concern in his voice that she feels even worse. Since she and Jake realized that they enjoy spending time together, and that enjoying regular time with each other in and out of bed could be called dating, he’s shown her a completely different side of him. One that’s patient, gentle, and tender. Which is everything he is in this moment when he massages light, soothing circles over her stomach. “You can always tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like.” He kisses her collarbone. “I promise it’s good for me only if it’s good for you.” 

A new heat seeps past her embarrassment. It’s deep and radiant and steady, and she’s coming to understand that it might be love. Loving anyone in this way isn’t something she was looking for, or even thought she wanted, so falling in love with Jake “Hangman” Seresin almost seems like a hoax the universe is pulling on her. She’s not ready to say anything about that quite yet, but she does want to calm the anxious lines on his handsome face. “You were going to make me pee,” she admits shyly. Since when is she shy with Hangman? 

He frowns and pulls back slightly so she can get up. “You don’t have to wait to use the bathroom. Do you need to go?”

“I mean, I don’t have to now. And I went right before we…started. Just when you were fingering me there.” What the hell, she’s talking about her bladder function with him. She drags her hand back down over her face, but Jake tugs it away. 

His expression is thoughtful. “Has this happened before?” 

Natasha focuses on the delicious layer of chest hair covering his curved pecs rather than meeting his slightly amused and curious gaze. “With you? Yes. Several times. But not really before that.”

“Those other times you made me stop?” he realizes. 

“Yes! I’m not going to pee in your bed, Bagman!” she huffs. That’s not something she wants him to tease her about later, even if his ribbing is more affectionate than obnoxious these days. She’s not five. 

“That would be okay with me.” 

Exasperated, she finally looks up at him only to be surprised that although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, he seems serious. “You want me to pee in your bed?” she demands skeptically. 

Jake leans in and brushes her hair from her face. “I want to make you come so hard you pee in my bed,” he clarifies, voice hungry and slightly breathless. As if to prove the truth of his words, his dick thumps against her thigh. He kisses her mouth, the taste of her still thick on his lips, and groans when he draws back. “Please, babe, I want to do that for you so bad.” 

He noses at her neck, the hand on her stomach creeping up to caress the underside of her breast. Natasha’s nerves are already humming again, charged by every nip he leaves making his way down her chest. “You’re so fucking hot when you let go for me, Natasha,” he promises between each bite. The way he says her name should be illegal because she is absolutely defenseless against it. Suddenly, she’s somehow on the verge of begging him for what he clearly wants. 

Jake rolls over her and knees her legs apart before he cups her breast into his mouth, tongue dancing around her nipple until her vision goes blurry. The ache between her legs drowns out everything but the need for him inside her again, filling her, driving at that pressure point until she bursts. “Tell me you want it,” he breathes across her nipple, making her whine and curl her thighs open for him. “Tell me how good you want me to make you feel.” 

“I want it,” she begs, unable to find any words but the ones he’s giving her. She’ll say anything for him to be inside her. “I want it, Jake.” Her thighs flutter and shake in anticipation as he kisses and tongues his way down her abdomen, chuckling at her needy whines and gasps.

He settles between her legs again and his expression becomes intent as he opens her to him. “God I love it when you’re so wet for me, Nat.” She can no longer remember at what point she stopped being "Phoenix" in bed unless he's been turned on by her flying or she's returned with another ribbon for her chest. He slides a finger into her and they both moan at its slick path. It’s not enough.

“More,” she pleads.

Jake leans in and tongues her clit as he slips a second finger inside her. Natasha’s hips jump when he reaches the place she’d begged him off. “You want it right there?” he asks. 

She nods and closes her eyes against her fracturing vision. Encouraged, his strokes grow firmer and Natasha pushes her hand into her hair to keep herself from flying apart right then and there. 

“Jake,” she gasps as the pressure escalates with the intensity of how hard his fingers are fucking her, swelling like a balloon stretching to its limit. Her lungs strain to take in air faster than he drives it out of them. The tightening knot of her bladder creates a buzzing friction that makes her feel so full she might explode if she doesn’t release. But even with his promises, she holds back.

Feeling her clench down on him, he kisses the inside of her thigh. “It’s okay, I got you. I just want to see you let go for me, babe.” Natasha’s hand falls back to the bed and, with some effort, she steadies her breathing until the tension in her eases. “Jesus Christ," he praises, "you feel so fucking good right now.”

Everything out of his mouth obliterates her grip on her control. She wants to tell him how close she is but her brain keeps glitching, turning her words to high, keening gasps instead. When the urge becomes too much, rather than resisting this time, she bears down and lets go. 

“Holy shit, Nat,” Jake exhales reverently as warm liquid streams between her legs and her whole body snaps and unravels. His mouth is on her, soaking up her release like she’s a fountain of the sweetest drink he’s ever tasted. The fission of her climax surges up her spine, splitting her apart with a rapturous cry. 

Every one of her muscles comes undone, thrusting her into his mattress with the force of pulling her plane into the air as she collapses in on herself. Gravity fades with the throes of her orgasm, as if the shock waves of pleasure rippling through her are the only thing holding her together, until she floats weightlessly into a state of deep relaxation. 

It takes her a long moment for her to come back to herself and remember where she is. Hazily, Natasha watches Jake lift his drenched face from her core, his expression as blissed out as she feels. “That wasn’t pee, babe.” His voice is absolutely wrecked. “You squirted and that might have been one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you do. And I think pretty much everything you do is hot.” Lightly, he kisses her sensitive clit and her thighs quake from the slight touch. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“The bed’s wet,” she realizes slowly. 

Jake crawls up between her legs. “I’ll gladly change my sheets anytime you want to do that for me again.” He drops a kiss between her breasts then nuzzles her neck. “I almost came just watching you.”

Natasha brushes the hair at the back of his neck, staring up into his dark, molten gaze. “I’ve never done that before,” she admits quietly. 

A cocky smile hitches across his mouth. “Then that is just the first of many times.” Already he knows her so well. She can’t resist a challenge even if she’s not sure yet how she feels about soaking his bed. At least he seems to enjoy it.

“You sure about that?” she goads him to see what he’s going to do about it.

Immediately, Jake’s face folds into a scowl. "I'm going to make you soak my sheets," he promises.

She might have made a mistake, Natasha thinks not long after, because she has to muffle her screams in his pillow as he thrusts into her past her walls tightening around him, thumb relentless on her clit, until she gushes all over his pelvis and thighs. And this time, it’s too much for him. Jake shouts her name as he comes hard and long, dick pulsing deep inside her over and over. 

He drops forward, catching himself on the bed. Reaching down, breathing jagged and labored, he drags his fingers through her release and sucks it off them with a long moan. Natasha has never seen Jake so absolutely wrecked and despite coming down from her own orgasm, finds herself turned on all over again. 

It feels less like a mistake though and more like an incredible discovery when she’s stretched beneath him, Jake curled over her with his face buried in her neck and hand tangled in her hair as he strokes into her from behind. He mouths her skin and the dips at the top of her spine, panting desperate sweet nothings there. Every time their bodies slap together, his aim on her g-spot as impeccable as his aim in the air, the pressure in her winds tighter. And now that she knows what’s on the other side of it, Natasha relaxes into the fullness and lets go. As soon as she feels the now almost familiar waterfall of warmth, his balls contract against her ass and he comes. 

His arm wriggles its way between her abdomen and the bed, and his strong fingers coax her through her own orgasm. It washes over her like the tide sliding over the sand. 

“Jake,” she rasps, her voice entirely raw and spent. Her forehead falls forward onto the mattress as her hips arch back up into him. Jake keeps his gentle hold on her quaking body until they sink back into the ruined bed. 

They drift in and out of half sleep wrapped up in each other until he musters enough will to turn on the bedside lamp. He climbs off her with a kiss on her shoulder. “I should change the bed, sweetheart,” he murmurs. There’s something new in his voice, a new intimacy she hasn’t heard before. She’s too spent and sated to think more about what that means right now and files it away for later.

Whatever mortification seizes her when she sees the soaked, ravaged state of his sheets evaporates as soon as she looks up to find a self-satisfied grin on his glowing face. “You going to doubt me the next time I promise you something in bed?” he challenges.

Natasha gathers her own smirk as she helps him strip the bed. “I don’t know, Bagman. Can’t say I mind you trying to prove yourself.” 

“Try!” he exclaims scornfully. “That was not a try.” 

She can’t help messing with him. “Oh, then what was it?”

He tosses aside the comforter furiously. “I’ll show you what that was, Lieutenant.” And he scoops her up to make her squirt one last time in the shower, eyes triumphant and euphorically dark, as he watches her fall apart around his mouth and fingers. He swallows her down before he lets her slide, boneless and wrung out, into his arms while the water rinses over them. “That’s what they call expertise.”

Natasha has to admit, she can't wait to enjoy more of that expertise.

Tag List: @melodiousoblivionao3

Ode to Phoenix Masterlist

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Do you know of any fics where Blaine is in danger?

Wow - that's quite a wide ask. It depends on what sort of danger! There's all the tabs for abused!Blaine; orphan!Blaine; kidnapped!blaine; dark!Blaine, badboy!Blaine or just danger as he's a solider; police or fireman; or famous! Or just the canon, where he's beaten up or in danger from racial abuse or homophobes. Here are some to start!

Lost Boy by myownpatronus 

On September 20, 1999, Pam and James Anderson’s world was shattered when their youngest son, Blaine, was abducted from a local park. Twelve years later, after pain, healing, and tireless searching, the family is reunited in a most unexpected way. But the boy who comes home to them isn’t the same one they lost so long ago. Each member of the Anderson family has to learn to change and grow together as a lost boy is found once more.

~~~~~

Unfound Family by @tonks42

After years in foster care, finding himself moving in with a new family has become all too frequent of a routine for Blaine. But in the aftermath of an attack at a school dance, Blaine finds himself living with a family that’s like nothing he’s experienced before. Life at the Berry’s home is a whole new world. Despite his struggles at McKinley and having to learn to live with Rachel, he doesn’t want to move on, especially considering the new friendship he’s forming with Kurt and the glee club everyone keeps trying to convince him to join.

~~~~~

The Warbler by TheWhiteOwl

Kurt is a famous actor and singer who gets threatening messages and phone calls. One night his house is attacked and his manager suggests him to hire a bodyguard… Or better a whole team, the Warblers. Things just turn more complicated when Kurt finds out that the Warblers’ leader is none other than Blaine Anderson, his former one-night stand.

Note: Part 1 of the The Warbler series

~~~~~

Westerville Abbey by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

Note:  Part 1 of Westerville Abbey series

~~~~~

Go Your Own Way by zavocado

Kurt Hummel just wants to get through his Junior Year at McKinley in one piece. But when the new guy from Dalton Academy Reform School for Boys takes an alarming interest in him, he’s certain he’s going to be in for a wild ride. Badboy!Blaine, Klaine, AU

~~~~~

Worthless/Priceless by captain pihkal and @anxioussquirrel

Kurt buys a beaten and abused Blaine at a slave market and helps him get better.

~~~~~

Catch me if you can By afterthenovels

In the end, catching Kurt Hummel is definitely not what Blaine expected.

Special Agent Blaine Anderson catches con-man and art thief extraordinaire Kurt Hummel twice, and on the second time they strike a deal. They're supposed to just solve white collar crimes together, but they might even end up solving each other in the process.

A White Collar AU.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Kino Dark [09]

ー The scene starts in the living room of the Sakamaki manor

Kou: Oh come on! Now isn’t the time to sleep, is it, Shuu-kun? Wakey, wakey~!

Shuu: Haah...Shut up. You two again...? What do you want today?

Subaru: ...The same crap again?

I thought we made ourselves clear that we don’t give a damn ‘bout who becomes Adam at this point in time? 

Ruki: About that, the four of us actually sat down one more time to discuss the matter. 

And we believe that there must be a good reason why that man decided to pass down his powers to Ayato. 

Kou: In other words~ If some other random guy suddenly appears to try and take those away from Ayato... 

It means that something bad must be waiting to happen, no? 

Reiji: ...I see. So you have come to the conclusion that we should attempt to rescue those two as soon as possible? 

Ruki: Well, I suppose that’s what it comes down to. 

Kou: As to be expected of Reiji-kun! You’re quick to understand! Anyway, the four us did a bit of investigating. 

And we believe that Ayato-kun and M-neko-chan are most likely at the manor of this guy named Kino.

Shuu: Kino...? So he’s the aforementioned...? 

Ruki: Yes. The guy who claims himself to be your brother. 

Laito: Hmm, Kino-kun...huh? Then shouldn’t we head over there quickly to go save those two?

According to what you told us the other day, this Resistance Group going by the name of ‘Raven’ consists entirely of Ghouls aside from Kino-kun, right? And not Vampires? 

Subaru: Hah! It’d be a piece of cake then! We should be able to wrap them up before mornin’ comes.

Ruki: Well...If things go according to plan, at least.

Reiji: ...Is there anything? 

Ruki: ...No, it’s nothing. Well then, let us be on our way.

ー The scene shifts to the outside of Kino’s manor

Laito: So this is the place? 

Kou: That’s what our Familiars told us but...

Shuu: ...What’s this? It’s suspiciously quiet. 

Laito: They’re probably asleep? Come on, let’s get this over with nice and quick. 

ー They enter the manor

Kanato: Nobody’s...around.

Subaru: Oi, Kou! I thought you did your proper research!? 

Kou: Eeh~!? You’re putting the blame on me!? How could you, Subaru-kun!

Ruki: Sh! Be quiet! I believe I heard something just no...Guh!? 

Kou: ...! Ruki-kun!?

Ruki: ...! So it was a trap after all!

ー They are suddenly surrounded

??? A: So you fell for it, Vampires! We shall settle the score here once and for all!

??? B: We shall get rid of all of you and bring true peace to this World...!

Shuu: ...These guys...Vampire Hunters...!? 

Laito: Vampire Hunters!? Why would they be here...!? 

Shuu: We can think about that later! Here they come!

*BANG BANG*

*WOOSH*

Kanato: Why...How did this happen!? 

Kou: Ruki-kun, are you alright...!? Hang in there...!

Ruki: Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worr...Ugh...

Reiji: Anyway, it would be dangerous to stay here in the human world any longer. Well then, let us go!

Shuu: ...A Vampire is working together with the Church...?

Who on earth is that Kino guy...?

ー They pass through the gate to the Demon World

Monologue

Right before we left the manor,

I found an opening to talk to Ayato-kun. 

Ayato-kun told me that for now,

we should do as Kino-kun says

and wait out the situation. 

I shared this opinion. 

Kino-kun had put a pair of handcuffs,

on Ayato-kun beforehand.

Apparently these handcuffs were special,

as they would keep his magic suppressed. 

I am not doing this,

because Yuuri-san warned me not to resist,

but if I don’t approach this the right way,

I will only have to face the painful consequences. 

I did try to ask him,

where exactly we were headed,

but just as I thought,

Kino-kun showed me an ambiguous smile in response, refusing to tell me. 

While this would not be my first time,

visiting the Demon World,

when I would look at the area around me,

I felt as if we were headed,

somewhere I had never been before. 

Time passes slowly over here. 

So I have lost track of what day it is,

and for how long exactly,

our journey has been going on.

Then one day,

Kino-kun abruptly spoke up. 

Yui: Eh? What was that...?

*Rustle* 

Kino: ...Like I said, Rotigenberg. You wanted to know about it, no?

Our destination. The Cursed Wastelands of the Demon World...

Ayato: Tsk...

Yui: ...?

( I’m pretty sure Ayato-kun’s expression changed just now... )

Selection

→ Check up on Kino-kun (<3)

Yui: ( I’m curious but Kino-kun has forbidden me from talking with Ayato-kun, period... )

Kino: ...Hm? Is something the matter? Ah, are you curious about Rotigenberg, perhaps?

Yui: ...Yeah.

Kino: Well, I guess that’s something to look forward to for when we get there. Fufu...

Yui: ( That only gets me even more curious...! )

→ Check up on Ayato-kun

Ayato: ...

Yui: ( ...? Huh? Did I just imagine it? )

( Either way, I’m forbidden from talking to Ayato-kun. )

( I’m a little curious though... )

Yuuri: Kino, we will have to cross the mountains once we get out of the forest, so let us rest up right here.

Kino: Good idea. 

Well then...The usual, okay?

Yui: ...

*Thud*

Monologue

Ever since we left on this journey,

Kino-kun would always use handcuffs to tie our hands together,

whenever we went to bed. 

Of course, I’m not thrilled about it,

but after going this process time after time,

I’ve finally come to the point where I can get a few hours of sleep. 

Kino: Well then, goodnight.

Yui: ...

Ayato: ...

Yuuri: ...

Yui: ( Even when Kino-kun is asleep, Yuuri-san is always keeping an eye on us... )

( I guess I won’t get a chance to talk to Ayato-kun after all. )

...

( I’m kind of exhausted. I suppose I’ll get some shut-eye as well... )

ー Yui closes her eyes

Yui: ...

Kino: ...Uu...Aah...

ー She opens her eyes again

Yui: ( ...What was that just now...? )

Kino: Haah...Kuh...Stop...Why...I...

*Rustle* 

Yui: Kino-kun...?

Kino: No...I was...chosen! ...You’re wrong...No!

Yui: ( What’s happening...!? )

Kino-kun!? What on ear...

Yuuri: Wait, please.

Yui: ...Yuuri-san...? But Kino-kun is...

Yuuri: ...He is fine. So please, be quiet.

Yui: ...

Yuuri: Please do not let it bother you and get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us after all...

Yui: Okay. Goodnight...

Kino: ...Haah...Nn...

Yui: ( Is it really okay...? He’s suffering so much... )

( But the way Yuuri-san reacted...It’s almost as if he’s used to it... )

( ...I wonder if there’s something to this...? )

Monologue

I decided not to let it bother me,

as I forced myself to close my eyes. 

Kino-kun continued to mumble,

as he kept on denying (否定) something,

again and again. 

I wonder what exactly it means? 

While pondering over that,

and before I had realized,

I once again drifted off to sleep (眠り). 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Quick Blurb, you better read it because I’m holding you at gun point 😡 because I kind of really want to freak out about this concept with someone and I know no one who is excited about it like I am

Eddie crosses his arms as he leans against the file cabinet. Bags under his eyes, hair a mess, numerous stains on the ugly flannel he was currently wearing, as he stairs out the glass door and entrance ways. He was on the line of being tipsy and sober, numbing the pain. Yet as he watches what’s happening outside his therapists room, looking over the small area pwhere LAPD held their head quarters his heart twitches. Possibly another body part does as well but that was only for him to know- well unless his body decided to betray him. The person he was staring at was pretty fucking fit, sue him. He stank of booze and weed, and he’s surprised at how much he has been able to get away with here. His poor Uncle was definitely pulling a lot of strings to make sure he stayed doing a job he loved.

“You know, you should ask her out.” Nancy says calmly. Holding the clipboard over her lap as she stays put in the ridiculously expensive chair. Eddie flinches a bit as he had forgotten he was currently in here, supposed to be spilling his feelings out to Nancy Wheeler like it was some girls sleep over. He turns his head a bit as he coughs awkwardly.

“What?” He asks shocked. Fidgeting with the rings on his hands as he pushes himself off the filing cabinet. Keeping his eyes away from staring out the glass where Detective Cunningham, Computer Analysis Robin Buckley and kiss ass Steve Harrington stood laughing together. All of them had been working here much longer then he has, Eddie’s only been here for a few months moving from Hawkins. After a attempt to settle down again from his home state Texas. Is was obvious Hawkins didn’t work out.

Nancy smiles kindly, that annoyingly sweet therapist smile. Acting as if she knew something that Eddie didn’t. Though in his gut he knew that for the first time since they started to meet with each other, for court ordered sessions she finally got something about him wrong. If he wasn’t so scared he would laugh in her face, point his fingers at her and jump up and down on this faded couch and scream for the whole office to hear. To let everyone know that Mrs. Know it all didn’t in fact, know it all.

“Well Chrissy? It’s obvious you guys have some chemistry together, and I’m sure no one really cares if two detectives are together. Half these guys end up sleeping together at some point.” Nancy hums gently as she fiddles with her pen. Watching him carefully as she talks, noticing the way his face pinched up in a pained way. “It’s been a year Eddie, i’m sure your wife didn’t want you alone forever.” She says gently, though as the words hit him in the face it felt like she was pulling a trigger and murdering him on the spot.

Eddie laughs bitterly as he shakes his head pausing, before he’s kicking the couch hard. Facial expression showing how pissed he was, eyes growing dark as he points his finger at Wheeler. “You don’t know what my wife wanted.” He snaps. Watching the startled look on the woman’s face.

“Well- what did your wife want Munson?” Nancy dryly asks.

Eddies tossing his head back dramatically as he flops himself down on the couch. The guilt in his chest was overwhelming and he couldn’t hide this secret anymore. “Oh I don’t know, maybe for her husband to not fall head over heels for some stupid detective.” He snaps as his hands shake. His other hand fiddling with his wedding ring.

“Excuse me, but Chrissy isn’t stupid Mr. Munson.” Nancy says trying to sound as professional as she possibly could be. Though he knew that she was ready to defend her friend on a drop of a pin.

“You’re some therapist, thought you were supposed to get in my mind.” He aggressively pokes at his own forehead as she flinches away again. “I don’t like Chrissy like that, everyone knows Buckleys been making the moves on her before I even got here.” He snaps. Nancys eyes growing a bit wide before confusion starts up again. Watching the way Eddie wipes at his face.

“I know my wife wouldn’t have wanted me to - to come out here and fall for some detective who can’t even remember where he set his damn keys.” Eddie says bitterly. Watching as realization hits her.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. He throws himself up off the couch and forces himself through the door.

“Yeah- oh. And just because it’s been a year since my wife died, doesn’t mean I’m ready to move on.” He snaps before he’s slamming the door shut behind him. Moving his way down the steps feeling all heads turned on him. Staying on him as he pulls out his desk drawer to pull out his flask. Moving to leave the building, giving a playful wink towards Steve who was asking with his eyes whether or not he was okay. Adding a painfully fake smile on he dramatically leaves the building.

“Don’t play strip poker without me now y’all no crazy parties either,” he jokes wiggling his fingers at all of them from the elevator before his eyes meet Nancy’s eyes. Holding them from across the building, and for the first time since he got there it was like she finally understood him.

About fucking time.