#guffaw (spectator)

[6clawdy6]

Valentine's giftart for @ruckis--rookie

Feat. Speci and her OC, Guffaw.

[ruckis-vandalizes]

Art fight batch #3, and the final batch! We have:

Night_Sigma Night @buckscoffeeshop Sekaani @faffreux Jolligig @6clawdy6 Clawdy

[cattlemons]

hey!! it’s 💿 anon :)) i feel bad that i’ve only sent you angst requests so here’s a happy one! (because i adore everything about fall!!! cozy sweaters, warm tea, the pretty colors :)) it’s so great) maybe something about fall picnic dates/hangouts? with whatever characters you feel like writing for :D <333

Seasons of Change: Autumn Activities

Multi character! Diluc, Wanderer x Reader (separate)

TW: Nothing!

Diluc “You know, you could’ve told me you wanted to go out on a stroll,” Diluc huffed before continuing, “I would’ve brought you your coat, sweetheart.”

Trust in your husband to be a worrywart.

“It’s not even that cold out here, Diluc. It’s brisk at best,” you poked his side as you teased him on, “plus I’ve got my own walking fireplace right here. What would I need a coat for?”

Accepting his defeat, Diluc grumbled silently about how much of a tease his wife was. Though he wouldn’t want you any other way, not with how tightly his grip on your hands was. 

You continued your walk in balmy silence as the moon hung brightly in the inky expanse of the autumnal sky, wordlessly spectating the moment you two were currently sharing.

“Hey, husband,” you called, “what’s your favorite season?”

The husband in question rolled his eyes at your unusual nickname but thought of it as endearing regardless. He mulled your question over, knowing that you weren’t going to accept just any ordinary answer. 

It was silent for a few seconds before he answered, “Any season is nice when I get to spend it with you.”

He waited for your reaction expectantly though he wished he hadn’t because he saw your face scrunch in faux disgust before letting out a loud snort that stumbled and rolled into plentiful guffaws. Despite the source of your mirth stemming from his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but think he’d embarrass himself ten times over just to hear your tinkling chimes of happiness. 

You wiped your fake tears as you leaned into him and mused, “I never realized I married myself to a cheesy man. If you trained hard enough, I’m sure in a few month's time you’ll be giving Kaeya a run for his money.”

“You tease me relentlessly for my, ahem, creativity yet I’m sure if I answered you with a measly ‘autumn’ you’d tease me just the same for being boring,” he commented with a raised eyebrow. 

You nodded, “fair enough, your assumptions are correct. I do tease you quite a bit, don’t I?”

“I’d say much more than just ‘quite a bit’,” Your husband huffed out though a smile crept slowly onto his lips. Even as he defended himself before you, he can’t help but subconsciously adore you, smiling at just how comfortable you and your sly tongue are with him. He’s glad he makes you feel safe enough to goof off.

As you both continue throwing loving jabs at one another, he pulls you closer to him. You snuggle into him as you inhale the warm woody scent of your husband. All the familiarity that exudes from your favorite person in the entire world softens your heart like no other; the realization that he knows you much more than anyone does brings a pleasant sense of comfort that gathers and pools in the pits of your stomach. 

Out of the billions of souls wandering the planes of Teyvat, you’re glad that yours have found kinship with his blazing soul. You wonder how low you’d have to bow your thanks to Lady Luck for arranging such a beautiful fate. Thinking of him and how well your body fits into his pulls you to stand on the tips of your toes to give him the faintest of kisses.

You’ve kissed him with passion under the security of silk blankets, yes. You’ve kissed him with giggles in between both your lips, yes. But this feels entirely new but somehow familiar at the same time.

As your lips find purchase in his, his scarred fingers tangle themselves within your locks, intertwining himself as much as he can with you. 

The night breeze continues to whistle around you and the woodland critters of the night chitter away at the starry world but neither of you seem to notice. Much like you said earlier, he really does bring warmth along with him. A warmth that encapsulates your heart even on the coldest nights. Your very own walking fireplace. 

Your very own home.

The Wanderer

“Wow, I can’t believe you get this view for free all the time. This is incredible! I’d bet you can sell tickets and get a whole lot of Mora by taking people on joyrides. I mean flying is a luxury, you know... for most people, anyway.”

 The Wanderer huffed in annoyance as he threw you a not-so-icy glare while readjusting your position in his arms. 

“It’s not a smart idea to test my patience while your life is in my hands, idiot. I take my hands off of you and you’re plummeting to your death,” the man said a bit too matter-of-factly. 

You groaned dramatically about how he ruined the mood and poked some more fun at him knowing he wouldn’t dare drop you, you’d bet good Mora he knew that too.

As you fly over the canopy of Apam Woods, you both find yourself slowly forgetting your main objective of tracking down a gang of treasure hoarders that ransacked your campsite a couple of hours ago. It’s not like they stole anything of value, just a bunch of knick-knacks you picked up from a traveling merchant. 

“I know you once told me that autumn is the poor man’s winter but I'd bet half my fortune that this view has changed your mind,” you smile as you lean your head to rest on his shoulder before continuing, “Fall is probably the most boring season anywhere else in Teyvat but in a continent wholly filled with trees, you can’t help but appreciate the change in color palette.”

Despite his silence, The Wanderer understood what you meant. He wasn’t one to be awed by a pretty view but he admits that perhaps, just this once, it is worth the admiration. His eyes were so used to shades of teal and green that the moment they finally melted into the warmth of amber hues, he couldn't help but be struck by the beauty of change. Much like who he was made to mimic, he has a certain affinity towards the serenity of stagnancy but, he supposes, much like your presence in his life, you’ve shown him that there is a damning allure about transience. In all honesty, it’s quite a nice change of pace, certainly in his eyes. 

You can’t help but fill the silence as the breeze caresses both of you gently. 

“I know this is a one-time occasion but I wonder if one day I’d get to see this view again. The trees are like little puddles reflecting the setting sun like a camera capturing little snippets of a pretty, orange image,” you sighed into his shoulders, “maybe one day, I’ll learn to fly too.”

The Wanderer kept to himself as you muttered your sleepy wishes. 

As the sun continues its journey into the underworld, the sky begins to shift into a gradient of purple and blue; the colors of midnight sky dissolving into the glowing hues of past hours. The Wanderer found his own midnight eyes drifting towards your sleeping form in his arms. You looked so beautiful, your transient, ever-changing self. He wonders if your wish to see this view once more will come true next year or perhaps the year after that. 

Though he knows now that there is no permanence and assurance in the future, he hopes against hope that what you are to him will stand the test of time. Inside the hollow chambers of his chest, he feels the telltale warmth he only feels in the quiet moments you share with him. In that warmth lies his wish to fly with you in his arms, through every autumn he has left to share in this lifetime with you. 

a.n. Thanks for visiting, 💿anon. I hope you like this one even though it's rushed and barely checked for grammar mistakes. Sorry it's literally December when I post this :") we can just pretend it's still fall !

[starlight-archer]

Catwinter Day 23: Catnip Wine 🍷

Fic under the cut

"Edwin, how did you get so pretty? You have nice eyes. Has anyone ever told you, you have nice eyes? We should get married, are you single?" Thomas rambled as he leaned into Edwin's space and ran a hand over his lapelle, though with much less finesse than usual.

"No. I am entirely taken." 'Taken with you', Edwin tried and failed to suppress a smile that was ever so fond.

"What? Why?" Thomas whined with an impressive pout. "You should be with me!"

"Told you the catnip wine wasn't worth it, didn't I?" Charles teased, snickering from the sofa with Crystal and Niko, who were all three enjoying the show.

"Is it him!?" Thomas pointed accusatorily at Charles, who froze for a moment before laughing. "Oh god, WHY? He's at least a 9.5! It's not fair." and oh dear, their three spectators guffawed while Thomas started to get emotional.

"Darling. Sweetheart. My dearest Thomas," Edwin cupped Thomas' face, making him look at him in the eye. He couldn't deny that he quite liked the jealousy and the pretty blush that painted his lover's cheeks. "I am together with you. There is no need to worry about anyone else."

"You're with me? Really?" Thomas looked starry-eyed. "Wow..."

"I love you so much that I fear it is becoming a problem." Edwin said, softly, voice dripping with the love that he proclaimed.

Thomas immediately began purring, the deep, loud rumbling, vibrating through him quite uncontrollably. He leaned against Edwin's chest, as though to get as close as physically possible. He rubbed his cheek against Edwin's shoulder and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

Edwin knew he only had a split second and acted promptly, wrapping his arms securely around Thomas as he changed into his cat form without warning.

Thankfully Edwin was ready and stood steady as Thomas clawed his way up onto Edwin's shoulders and draped himself over them, tucking himself around Edwin's neck.

"You're stuck like that now, until he sobers up. He's gone scarf mode." Crystal grinned, finding the whole situation hilarious.

"Edwin doesn't mind, do you, Edwin?" Niko asked, with a knowing smile.

"Not at all."

[carletes]

I miss Carlandads hibii

What if the twins was born when Carlos and Lando still racing and they got 1-2 podium? I think without interferance of their PR, Jon, Rupert and Caco there’ll only be the 3rd winner on the podium

[Technically, when the twins are born Lando is racing and they do get their little stint on the podium but I love this!!! AU of the AU where Reyes and Cisca put their feet down and tell Carlos to take one more season at least. They agree that there will always be someone around who follows them to races and takes care of the kids. It’s a difficult year in its own way, but it’s worth it.]

Even before Carlos had watched Lando cross the checkered flag, he reached for the radio.

“Mis bebés ,” he rasped, his voice warbling. “My babies, where–?”

“Other garage,” came Ricky’s matter-of-fact response, and then, “Carlos! P2, P2, and–”

And Carlos laughed, exhilarated, and yelled back, “What a race! And a Carlando podium, eh?”

“Ah, you almost had him!”

“And then he made his car twice as wide," Carlos muttered in response, his annoyance all affection. "Fucker."

Once he drew abreast with Lando, they waved at each other with grins that were readily apparently through the slim visors of their helmets. Carlos felt a surge of love towards his husband, and then another surge of excitement about what this meant for them, the milestone that it was. And by the time they drew nearer the pit lane, all residual annoyance had faded entirely. And all that was left was-

A screech drew near, and then Carlos found himself scooped off the ground with a maniacal laugh. Carlos guffawed and thumped his husband's helmet. He forced himself out of Lando's arms and pressed their helmets together for a brief moment, holding each other in that adrenaline, that rush, before Carlos shoved Lando towards McLaren, and he himself ran into the waiting arms and cheers of his own team. It was a ritual they knew well by now, but one that would never fade. And it was made more special when one of them won.

Granted, Carlos preferred it when he won. He may be a married man, but he was a racing driver, too.

But once that adrenaline faded, once they had been weighed, once they found their way back to each other and took their helmets off and kissed—Carlos’ hands gentle on Lando’s cheeks, Lando’s arms tight around Carlos’ neck, lips pressed together and bodies swaying as they indulged, even after so many years, in being able to kiss openly, publicly, before cameras and spectators and peers—they locked eyes and knew they both wanted the same thing above all else.

“Your garage–?” asked Carlos, and Lando nodded. He looked around eagerly, fingers still in Carlos’. The smile which then broke across Lando’s face took Carlos’ breath away, and Carlos knew that when he looked too and saw his babies, his Charlie and Leggy, in their Nan’s arms, he too looked beyond reason, joyous beyond joy.

They rushed over, heedless of Naomi waiting patiently to interview them, and their babies beamed in recognition, their little heads dwarfed by gigantic headphones to protect their ears. Leggy, the more extroverted, immediately began pulling out of her grandmother’s hold, and Charlie just giggled and covered his face.

Carlos melted. He reached for his daughter, kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek, and then tossed Allegra up in the air. She squealed, shrieked, then covered her papá’s face with open-mouthed kisses. Beside him, Lando was just silently holding their son, breathing in his shaggy hair, looking for all the world like the most contented person. Carlos was in love. Carlos would never cease to be in love. He shifted Allegra to a hip, brought his husband and son in closer, and kissed them both.

“I love you,” Carlos whispered, and then, because he could never not say it, he kissed Lando again and murmured against his lips, “thank you.”

Lando smiled wide, kissed Allegra’s nose and pretended to bite her cheek, and that was all they could do before they were firmly navigated back to the interview with Naomi.

As was also tradition, they had their interview together. To Naomi’s credit, she didn’t quite acknowledge the twins until the very end, when she said, “and of course this is a special moment for you both. A Carlando 1-2, with your children spectating! What does this mean to you?”

Carlos opened his mouth, but before he could, Lando leaned in and said, “It means they know I’m the better driver.”

Carlos guffawed and pressed his hip against Lando’s side, trying to jostle him out of frame. Charlie giggled, his little legs kicking, and Allegra reached for her twin. Peace thus reasserted, as neither Lando nor Carlos could fight if their twins were having their “twin conferences,” as they called them, Carlos cleared his throat.

“It means,” Carlos corrected, “they get to see who we are, but not all we are. And also to me, it means they know that they can do anything.”

“So is it safe to say we’ll see a Norris-Sainz on the grid in a few years?”

Lando laughed and held Charlie protectively to his chest. “Not so loud! Contract negotiations are already underway.”

“But they can be whatever they want to be,” Carlos added, and he tried hard not to respond to the look Lando gave him: adoration, respect, desire.

In the cooldown room, it was hard to talk about anything that wasn’t the kids. Allegra had definitely had an accident: she wasn’t in the same clothes they’d sent her off in that morning. And Charlie had felt a little sticky when they cuddled him, which meant he had been given far more ice cream than either Lando or Carlos approved. It was not the most insightful cooldown room—but then, it never was even if two out of the three podium drivers weren’t parents together.

After the trophies, the anthem, the champagne, the traditional kiss hidden behind a somewhat well-placed champagne bottle, Carlos and Lando lingered longer. They sat on the top podium, pressed flush against each other, Lando’s head on Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos felt the urge to whisper praise to his husband, to stroke his side; but they were already pushing the limits of what the FIA would allow, and while Carlos was content to do so during his last season, he was not content to jeopardize the rest of Lando’s career.

But this one concession they would always demand: waiting until their babies were cleared to come up, and then they would be reunited with their babbling, perfect children. Then, as a family, they would sit back down again and…bask. In the life they had built, against the odds. In their own courage. In the love they had nurtured into verdance. And in the seeds they had sowed for the future.

“Do you regret anything?” Lando asked, suddenly. He was showing Allegra his trophy from a careful distance, making sure she didn’t try to press her mouth to it. Instead, she just looked at it so intently that it seemed to be reflected in her eyes.

Carlos swallowed hard and turned away from the overwhelming visual. He pressed Charlie to himself, keeping his head from his own, sticky body with a carefully placed towel. Charlie was dozing, not fully asleep but apparently content enough to nod off. He kissed his baby’s forehead and said, “Just not having more babies with you before I am too old.”

Lando laughed and leaned towards Carlos to catch his lips again. They lingered, the kiss long and tender, unhurried.

“You’re not that old yet,” Lando whispered, and then, his voice laced with something wonderful, “and I’m not done having babies with you, Sainz.”

And not for the first time, Carlos felt impatient for the end of his career. He had his life to begin.

[apas-95]

I feel like I'm slowly burning to death, like a motorsports driver writhing on the tarmac. Invisible methanol flame killing an idiot in front of guffawing spectators.

[sciencestyled]

Cosmic Capers: When the Universe Gets a Makeover from the Madcap Maestros of Art

Hold onto your space helmets, dear interstellar internet wanderers, as we begin a ride that's part starship journey, part mad hatter's tea party. Imagine, if you will, a universe where the constellations don't just twinkle; they snicker, guffaw, and occasionally belt out Broadway show tunes. Welcome to the world of Space Art, where artists, inspired not by the quiet majesty of the night sky but by the rollicking, meme-filled expanse of the internet, create works that capture not just the beauty but the sheer, unadulterated silliness of the cosmos.

First off, let's talk about those visionaries who look at a black canvas and think, "You know what this needs? A cat. In a spacesuit. Riding a unicorn." These are the pioneers who understand that the universe is not just a cold, vast void but a potential backdrop for the ultimate cosmic comedy. Their paintings and sculptures don't just aim to inspire awe; they aspire to elicit a spit-take. Imagine walking into a gallery and seeing a depiction of the Big Bang as a literal bang – a giant cosmic drum set being played by an octopus with Neil deGrasse Tyson's face. It's not just art; it's a revelation, a meme in marble and oil paint.

But why stop at traditional mediums? The true avant-garde of space art are those who create digital installations that simulate extraterrestrial experiences. Picture this: a VR experience that doesn't just simulate walking on the moon but turns it into a disco dance-off against alien life forms, all set to the tune of "Staying Alive." It's not just a step for mankind; it's a moonwalk Michael Jackson would envy.

Then there are the performances. Ah, to be a spectator at an event where artists, decked out in LED-lit spacesuits, perform interpretive dances that tell the story of the universe's creation – if the universe were created in a blender with episodes of "Rick and Morty," snippets of TikTok dances, and a dash of quantum mechanics for flavor. It's like watching the birth of the cosmos, but with more glitter and less existential dread.

Let's not forget the sculptors, the unsung heroes who take "playing with mud" to interstellar levels. Imagine stumbling upon a sculpture that looks like a black hole but is actually a portal to a dimension where every atom in your body is replaced with a tiny rubber duck. It's not just a sculpture; it's a physical manifestation of a physics joke that got way out of hand.

As we navigate through this galaxy of giggles, it's essential to remember the cosmic collision at the heart of it all: art and science, two fields that, when combined, have the power to not just explain the universe but to turn it into an endless source of amusement and wonder. It's in this space where artists and scientists, armed with paintbrushes, telescopes, and an unhealthy obsession with internet culture, collaborate to create a universe where curiosity and creativity are the stars that guide us.

In conclusion, space art is not just about capturing the beauty of the cosmos. It's about reimagining the universe as a playground for our wildest, most hilarious fantasies. It's where the mysteries of the universe meet the unpredictability of human creativity, resulting in a genre of art that's as boundless as space itself. So next time you look up at the night sky, remember: somewhere out there, there's probably an artist dreaming up a way to make that galaxy look like a giant, cosmic pizza. And honestly? We wouldn't have it any other way.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 30: Ten Years a Slave

Under the relentless gaze of the blazing sun, the sands of the Grand Arena of Gob glowed like embers, absorbing the heat that radiated from the dwarvish gladiators locked in a dance of death. The metallic clangor of weapons echoed through the colossal amphitheater as the combatants engaged in a bloody spectacle that mirrored the fiery intensity of the sun above.

King Korbor, ensconced in his opulent box, reclined with an air of regal indifference. Dwarf maidens, adorned in vibrant colors, offered him succulent grapes and stroked his luxurious beard while he lounged on his royal seat, a stark contrast to Queen Asta's disapproving gaze as she feigned interest in the brutal contest below. She sniffed indignantly and tried her best to ignore her husband's blatant infidelities, her hands knotting themselves and nearly tearing at her dress. The indignity of it all! The air in the royal box carried the tension of strained courtly dynamics.

Amidst the tumultuous roars of the crowd, one gladiator emerged as a towering figure of skill and finesse. Grjun, a master of combat, moved with a deceptive grace that defied his colossal size. In the bloodbath of the arena, he wove through the chaos with a fluidity that spoke of experience and unparalleled mastery. The crowd, swept away by the artistry of his brutal ballet, erupted in chants of "Grjun, Grjun, Grjun!"

The sun's harsh rays cast long shadows over the shifting sands, mirroring the ebb and flow of the gladiatorial spectacle. Grjun's dominance became a beacon of awe, a testament to the mastery of combat, as he harnessed the principles of redirection and weight control to dismantle adversaries with calculated precision. The arena, a cauldron of fervent cheers and the metallic symphony of clashing weapons, bore witness to Grjun's unrivaled prowess, etching his name into the collective consciousness of the dwarf spectators.

As the clamor of the Grand Arena of Gob echoed through the vast stone structure, Senator Sada, a figure of political influence, leaned forward from behind King Korbor. "My lord." Sada spoke. "I cannot stress the need for a worthy champion to emerge from this melee. The winner we see today will have him and his house represent our interest in the upcoming tournament between Bhia and our neighbors to the south, Zigan."

"Yes, yes..." Korbor sighed and waved the maidens around him away. He sat and looked at Sada. "Long have we been seperated from our cousins to the south. The Dwarvish Compact, our non-aggression treaty, has long kept us from all-out war. I intend to make use of the first international tournament of gladiatorial combat to propose a bold new plan."

The King's Box grew silent at this mention. Even Asta leaned forward to listen closer. King Korbor swirled his wine in his cup and tasted it, savoring the attention paid to him. "If we can win the tournament, then the winner is given a concession during any future negotiations. But I intend to make a negotiation forthwith. I intend to propose reunification."

"Yes, yes!" Sada crowed, his eyes alight with internal political machinations. "But..." His eyes cast aside to Asta. "But how will you cement this alliance? The King of Zigan has a daughter of age, Maevis, who is comely and unmarried. She would make the ideal match. But, my lord, you are already married...Normally marriage would be the lynchpin to secure an alliance but the Queen..."

"Nonsense!" King Korbor guffawed and ignored the glare from his wife. "The Dwarvish King's of Old held more than one wife at a time. Why shouldn't I? This will be a new Kingdom, a new alliance. I think some of the old mixed with the new is called for, would you wife?" He turned to Asta and gave her a look that brokered no arguement.

Asta sneered and turned from her husband, desperate to hide her tears. "Yes, dear husband." She said quietly, suppressing a sob. Her family's future and their debt to the King meant that she could never go against him. She was a slave queen, tied to her husband for fear of her family's downfall.

The scene inside the King's box was interrupted as a great cry went up as a final spray of blood filled the air. The crowd cheered and went wild, screaming "Grjun!" as their champion fought and won. The grand melee unfolded below, a spectacle of ferocious combat with over a dozen gladiator houses vying for supremacy. The air buzzed with excitement as each house sought to prove the prowess of their champions, laying the foundation for a colossal tournament that would echo far beyond the boundaries of the Grand Arena of Gob.

The colossal warrior, known as "Grjun," lifted the severed head of his fallen opponent high, eliciting a thunderous cheer from the jubilant crowd. The deafening roar echoed through the Grand Arena of Gob as Gelbeg, concealed beneath the gruesome persona, acknowledged the adoration from the bloodthirsty spectators.

King Korbor, rising from his regal seat, dismissed Senator Sada with a wave. With an imperious air, he commanded silence, addressing Gelbeg. "Grjun, mighty warrior of House Dwordrum, your strength has made Bhia proud. For ten years you've proven yourself a mighty warrior, one worthy of our nation. Soon, you shall journey to Zigan, representing our great realm in the face of our dwarven kin."

With a deliberate and theatrical motion, Grjun reached up to his helmet, its grotesque design concealing the identity of the formidable gladiator. As the heavy metal mask was lifted, revealing a face accustomed to the harsh brutality of the arena, the cheers and adulations spread like wildfire through the crowd. The cheers surged momentarily, straining to reach their champion. There, beneath the battered armor and scars earned in a decade of gruesome combat, stood Gelbeg, the once proud leader of the Orcish people. His eyes, once fierce and untamed, met the gaze of the spectators with a mix of sufferenace and quiet desperation, resigned to his fate of slave to the dwarves. The revelation was seen through the arena, leaving an indelible mark on the minds of those who had witnessed the Orcish leader's transformation into the fearsome gladiator, Grjun.

Gelbeg, now unmasked, met the king's words with a gruff acknowledgment. "Aye, King Korbor. I shall showcase my might and defend Bhia's honor in Zigan." The words were appropriate, well honed and practiced but lacked any conviction. Ten years of being a slave had left Gelbeg numb, a being created only for violence. Where there was a lack of violence, then he was left with nothing and nothing was all he felt. As the cheers continued, Gelbeg discarded the severed head, a macabre trophy from his years in the brutal arena.

Asta, the queen, observed the spectacle with a disdainful snort. "Such barbarity," she muttered to herself, her eyes betraying a mix of disgust and repulsion.

King Korbor, undeterred by his wife's disapproval, continued, "Grjun, a decade of service in the arena has molded you into a fearsome gladiator. May your strength serve our cause well in Zigan."

With the formalities concluded, Gelbeg, still in the guise of Grjun, flexed his muscles, responding to the crowd's adulation. The arena, soaked in the scent of blood and the fervor of the dwarven spectators, awaited the next chapter in the gladiatorial drama.

[ask-the-order-of-the-stars]

*Hugs Gera*

How are you doing you sweet little pumpkin?

[6clawdy6]

After much pestering from my dear @ruckis--rookie, I am posting these two images here on tumblr focusing on her characters.

The first one was inspired by a TikTok I saw a while back regarding autistic responses to close friends/loved ones going through a hard time. It makes sense for my persona to be autistic, but fun fact, some of my own OCs are also autistic, the best examples being Sweedy Pea(generally goodhearted and confused) and Professor Szellum Szrama(apathetic most of the time and tends to hyperfixate on his work).

The other is a special comic inspired very loosely by an apparently popular scene from Mr. Pickles. IYKYK, if not, I don't have a good explanation for the scene outside of boobs where they shouldn't be.

[ruckis-vandalizes]

"They don't believe in me."

"Aren't you glad that you were right?" "I'm so sorry you were right."

[mayhemakinguser]

Task Force 141 x F! Reader part 3

Wow, the third part to this story! Yippee! Chaotic gets off her arse to actually produce somewhat good content!

Call sign: Casanova

Reader is confirmed to be American because fudge life ok?

It's your turn to spar with Ghost! That cant be going too well... right?

<story starts now woohoo>

"Ghost, get in the ring."

You perk up. Ayo? Sparring with Ghost? You get to wrestle with that huge sexy man? Hallelujah amen, God is blessing your arse today.

Soap trudges off the mats and stands to the side with the others, now a humble spectator. Ghost removes his boots and places them neatly against the bench and ominously heads your way. Not gonna lie, you were a bit nervous. He was standing threateningly. Like that standing emoji. (Author cannot insert said emoji because her android does not support it, tf man)

You eye him and he eyes you back. He carried himself as if he were Death itself. Just look at those hands. Man could crush skulls with those things.

"Ready? Fight!"

You blink and immediately go on the defensive because the moment your captain said "fight!" Ghost was already launching himself towards you. He swings a fist and you block it with your forearm, the contact making your entire arm almost go numb.

You curse, somewhat expecting him to be as rough with you as possible (mmm, rough), but not quite. You dance away from him, your mind telling you to gather some distance from the six foot something male.

But he wouldn't let you retreat so easily. He sweeps a leg under your flitting feet and you trip and fall on your butt. Instantly, you roll away before he could pin you down. You get on your knees and bounce up, delivering a swift kick which he blocks almost easily. You don't hesitate again and swing your other leg, but the man was so tall you could only hit his shoulder.

First mistake. Ghost seizes your ankle and throws you to the side, and you release a yelp in surprise. You crash to the floor and scramble to get up. Ghost grabs your shoulder and pins you down. With animalistic instincts, you decide to bite his arm. Hard.

"Fucking hell!" He curses, releasing you and you clap the side of his head with a closed fist. It causes him to lean towards the side and you take the opportunity to slide out from underneath him.

As fast as a viper, again this damn man pins your ankle to the floor and yanks, making you fall flat on your stomach. Ghost is on you in seconds, elbow digging in between your shoulder blades and one hand digging into your scalp, yanking your head up.

"Ghost wins."

You can't help but smirk. "Why don't you pull my hair a little harder, Lieutan-"

Ghost jerks his balled hand full of hair up and you yelp again. He whispers lowly in your ear, "Watch yourself, Casanova. I could easily break your neck."

You swoon. This man is so fine.

He lets go of his hold and you lie on the floor for a moment before rolling onto your back, sitting up, and massaging your head. You didn't mind the pain. In fact you quite liked it.

"Your hand-to-hand combat is good, but could be better," Price declares, looking down at you. He gives a grin. "But you are clearly suitable for this task force. Welcome to the team, Casanova."

He offers a hand to you and you take it gratefully as he lifts you up. The other men clap you on your shoulder, congrating you for your admission in. You notice someone is missing and you look around.

The boots on the bench are gone.

----

"Jesus in heaven, I am starving!" You complain loudly, plopping on the bench with your food in hand.

"Didn't you eat before you got here?" Rudy asks, shoveling some food into his mouth.

"Nah. Was too excited to. Now I pay the price," you respond, shaking your head.

"Could tell. You're like a rambunctious child," Gaz jokes, elbowing you.

"Like you're any better!" Alejandro calls with a grin. Gaz flips him off and you can't help but guffaw.

"Anyway, where's Ghost?" You ask, biting your food. You question was aimed towards anybody.

Soap answered. "He usually doesn't eat with us, but occasionally he does."

You hum, scanning the soldiers around you. When was the last time you had lunch with your old squad? Before they...

"So..." your attention went back to your table. "Why is your call sign Casanova?" Polite talk. This you could do.

"Because of my amazing personality," you chirp with a smirk. "I'm super awesome, good in battle-"

"Narcissistic, more like," Rudy interjects. You stick your tongue out at him.

"One of my comrades were like, "S***, L/N, you are such a casanova!' and it just stuck." You smile at the memory.

"...What happened to your comrades?" Soap asks hesitantly.

You should've saw this coming. You smile wavers a moment before it fixes itself.

"It was just one hell of an accident. But I'm sure the "accident" is pretty infamous. You probably already know what happened," you say carefully, trying to not reveal anything. Just keep the smile. Keep smiling. Especially when you don't feel like it.

Soap mumbles a "sorry" and the atmosphere became tense and quiet. Suddenly, you aren't very hungry anymore.

You rise to your feet and throw your food in the trash. "I'll be right back."

"Chica, didn't you say you were hungry? You barely ate any of your food," Alejandro observes, watching your face. Strangely enough, Alejandro liked you, but not for your pretty face. He liked your personality, although it seemed like a mask.

You wave a hand. "I was exaggerating. Imma just take a stroll. See yall later."

You walk off, thoughts swirling and your body went into autopilot.

What went wrong? What could've went differently? Why are you still alive? These questions kept you up at night, but you have never found the answers since the tragedy. Since they all...

You bump into someone. You curse. "Yo, my bad-"

You gaze up and realize it's your captain. He looks down at you worriedly. "Casanova, are you alright? Why aren't you eating with the others?"

"Not hungry. Still have my energy," you respond breezily. "Just decided to explore the base."

Price watches you, the same way Alejandro was. "I see."

Silence. Awkward as hell. You shuffle on your feet.

"If you need anything..." he begins, studying your expression. "You can speak with me in my office. Or anyone of your team. You're a part of the family now."

You force a smile. "Thanks, Cap'n. I'll be sure to take you up at the offer someday." You continue your stride before a voice stops you.

You turn again and see Gaz jogging towards you. Price continues walking in the other direction, not wanting to intrude in the conversation that was about to occur.

"Hey," he says breathlessly. You nod at him in acknowledgment. "Just wanted to say Soap didn't mean-"

"-Anything by it. I know. I wasn't offended or anything, so don't worry about it," you interrupt.

He shifts some of his weight on his other foot. "Look, we all have lost people. We're not going to judge you because you're a survivor. I'm sure a lot of people blame you for... y'know." Gaz scratches his neck. "It wasn't your fault. Things happen."

You purse your lips and exhale deeply. "Thanks for the sentiment. But it has to be someone's fault, right? I could've prevented it. I should've died with them."

"Don't say that!" You blink at his outburst. "No one deserves to die, least of all you. You can't stop the world from spinning. I don't know what happened at that time, but there couldn't have been a way."

You stare at him, surprised. These were some weird people, this lot. "...Thanks. Uh. Yeah." You weren't a person that could express emotions easy.

It got awkward real quick.

"Imma just..." you point to the way out. He nods.

"Yeah. Come back whenever you're ready." Gaz turns on his heel and jogs back to his squad mates.

You smile at his back. Maybe joining Task Force 141 won't be so bad after all.

<end of story wow>

This hadn't been proofread, so I apologize for any mistakes! hope u enjoyed this part yipeee-

YOu could tell I rushed pretty hard lmao-

PART FFOUR IS IS FINALLY HERE WOW

[hedwig221b]

sterek. hs party. outsider's angsty pov

Paige hated parties.

Suddenly she heard a loud and familiar voice.

“Oh, look, here’s the champion of the night!”

Fucking Stilinski. Still in Derek’s jacket.

Apparently, Derek had reached them and now with Erica on one hand and Stilinski on another, he was kissed by both of them on his cheeks rather enthusiastically. The crowd greeted the team captain with whoops and roars and squealing.

Derek was smiling bright and wide. It was truly a breathtaking sight.

Reyes had finally let him go and was now busy hanging off of Boyd. Stilinski had decided that it gave him the free reign over Derek, so he promptly jumped on his back, tucked his face close to Derek’s, so they were cheek to cheek and demanded to be piggy-backed to the drink’s table.

It was pathetically obvious, that Derek was used to this behavior. He rolled his eyes and brought his hands under Stilinski’s thighs to keep him from falling. They were talking about something, but the music was too loud for Paige to hear what it was about.

She convinced herself she didn’t care.

Paige spent the entire evening being a stalker. She was aware of her creepy behavior, but it’s not like anybody noticed her standing in a quiet corner. The desire to eat was never there since the beginning of the game, so she was holding her room-temperature Coke and tried to blend with the wall.

Derek and Stilinski were inseparable the entire evening. Who would’ve guessed.

They sneaked a little bit of alcohol in their drinks, which Paige disapproved of, so they were even more disgusting with each other, than usual. Well, Stilinski was disgusting, Derek was just tolerating his presence, for sure. Stilinski was a clingy mouthy brat, who had apparently glued his hands to Derek’s waist. Derek didn’t have any choice, really, but to put his arm around Stiles.

It was all Stilinski’s fault.

Paige didn’t like how Stiles looked at her boyfriend, with big eyes full of proud fondness. His laugh was loud, boisterous and contagious to all people around him. When Stiles stumbled, Derek was always there to catch him, which made Stiles giggle and cling to him even more.

Paige wanted to cry, but she knew she couldn’t. That would be beyond humiliating.

Then someone suggested a game of Spin the Bottle. And in typical jock fashion the captain was wrestled into participating immediately.

So, of course, Stilinski was brought along with him.

No. No, no, no.

Enough.

Paige unstuck herself from the wall and started to squeeze through the crowd to get to the center of the living room, where the players were sitting. But there were so many people, burly and strong and she was a rather small girl, so the whole ordeal took her awhile.

When she had finally burst through the first row of eager spectators, the game was already on.

Erica was peppering kisses all over Lahey’s cherubic face, which was puckered and wrinkled from disgust, and also bright pink from Erica’s lipstick.

“Ew-w, Erica, you’re like my fucking sister, sto—“ he didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Erica smacked a wet kiss right on his lips.

Isaac’s horrified wail was buried under the guffaws and roaring laughter.

Next rounds were spent in a similar way; Jackson absolutely refused to kiss Danny, which made Lydia Martin clip him round the ear; the girl then proceeded to kiss Danny herself, which left Jackson pink-faced and thoroughly confused.

Heather got to kiss Stilinski, but was so flustered and shy, she mastered only a dry peck in the corner of his mouth, before going red like a beetroot.

Everybody refused to kiss Greenburg, who was then quickly kicked out of the game.

Then Stilinski took the bottle and spun it with a cheeky grin.

Paige closed her eyes and prayed.

Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd along with hoots and catcalling.

“I want your luck, Stilinski!”

“Get your fucking man!”

“Don’t chicken out now, Hale!”

Horrified and close to bursting into tears, Paige opened her eyes. The bottle was pointing at Derek. She lifted her gaze at her boyfriend.

He was sitting there, looking at Stiles with such intensity and a smug smile, like the cat who got the cream.

“Come here, Hale,” Stilinski lifted an eyebrow and beckoned him with one finger, biting his lip.

“No, you come here,” Derek smiled predatorily. Stiles rolled his eyes, despite the impish grin on his lips.

“As you wish, my champion.”

“Oh, this is gonna be so hot,” Danny announced dreamily and a lot of people nodded in agreement.

Paige didn’t want to witness this, but couldn’t turn away from the trainwreck.

Stiles crawled seductively in Derek’s lap, took his face in his hands and kissed him right on the lips.

The crowd went absolutely wild.

But those two didn’t stop.

Derek put his hands on Stiles’ trim waist, not to push him away, but to pull him in even more. Their kiss, which was never innocent in the first place, turned into an open-mouthed one and even dirtier, as if encouraged by the supporting crowd.

“Somebody, spray them with a water bottle!” Jackson complained.

Stiles took one hand from Derek’s face and gave him a middle finger.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the show, Jacks,” Danny teased him. “This is a prime spank bank material, right there.”

Finally, the kiss has ended.

The boys were breathing heavily, apparently in no rush to separate from one another. They didn’t seem to notice the claps or the cheers or anyone from the roaring crowd. They stared at each other with something deep reflecting in both their gazes. Stiles’ smile soon turned into breathless giggles the longer he stared at Derek. He closed his eyes and, still giggling uncontrollably, put his hands around Derek’s shoulders to tuck his blushing face against his neck. Derek caressed his back almost reverently up and down and sighed in Stiles’ hair with a self-satisfied smile.

Nobody noticed their little touches and gazes. Or, maybe, they were used to it. Or is that how it is with jocks? All the pent-up energy spilled into homoerotic displays of affection?

Maybe they were just drunk.

Drunk, stupid boys.

Paige couldn’t watch them anymore, or she’ll be sick.

She turned around and headed for the exit through the crowd with doubled vigor.

“Hale’s turn!”

“Spin it!”

Paige started pushing people aside in a hurry.

“NO WAY!”

“Again! That’s not fair!”

“Stilinski, you’re one lucky motherfucker.”

This was a nightmare.

“HALE! HALE! HALE!”

Paige stumbled out of the house, feeling something wet slide down her cheek.

The triumphant roar of the crowd made her flinch and walk away faster.

Read full version on ao3

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[demonpoxballad]

Snow Makes Everything Better

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1678

Summary: Very fluffy wintery walk in the park with Steve, which turns into a steamy makeout on the sofa again <3 no explicit stuff but still pretty sexual

Warnings: none really, just quite intense kissing and feelings lol

Masterlist

Hello! Thank you for all the likes on my other oneshots, I really appreciate it <3 I hope you enjoy this one, as you can tell I really love the snow haha - I meant to upload this earlier but I've been a bit busy with uni. I am aiming to upload every weekend but I might not make that next weekend bc it's my birthday; maybe I'll just do something really short anyway. As always if you have any suggestions or requests I'd love to hear them, I hope you enjoy!

- Liv xx

Snowy Walk

You were so excited. A walk in the park, with the guy you fancied most? Yes please.

And on top of that the weather was your favourite. Crisp white snow still lay on the ground where the constant flow of New Yorkers hadn’t yet churned it to brown slush. The sky was still full of the stuff, weighing down on the atmosphere like the softest blanket.

You were practically skipping on your way to meet Steve, unable to keep the smile off your face when you saw him standing next to the coffee cart with two paper cups in his hands. Your pace slowed as you approached him. It was nice to just watch him being, head scanning the crowds for you, jostling his knees restlessly. If you could just fashion a snow globe of the scene to carry around with you and pull out whenever you needed a serotonin boost… a few people would probably have a big problem with America’s most beloved defender being stuck in a seasonal ornament though.

You were tempted to sit down on one of the benches to carry on observing, but you didn’t want to be late, and he would probably think you a complete weirdo. Besides, you were lucky enough to be able relate with him in real life, you shouldn’t waste your time spectating on the side-lines.

“Hey,” you said softly, tapping his shoulder to grab his attention.

“Y/N! How are you? Here,” he handed you one of the coffee cups. It was comfortingly warm beneath your gloves and smelled like chocolate.

You reached up on your tiptoes and pecked his cheek, which was uncharacteristically cold. He beamed down at you like you were personally responsible for putting the stars in the sky.

You thanked him for the warm drink and started your stroll together through the park, the path meandering through frost-bitten trees. “Are you cold?” you asked. Steve was hunched over with his hand in his armpit – obviously not dressed for the weather.

He smiled bashfully, “I’m not as prepared as you.” You were bundled up like a sausage, big puffy jacket, hat, scarf and all. You stopped him to put one of your gloves on his hand holding the coffee, and grabbed the other to warm in your coat pocket, fingers intertwined.

“That’s very sweet,” he remarked.

“Yeah, well. I’m the cutest,” you teased. “Don’t act like you didn’t bring gloves just as an excuse to hold my hand.”

He made a sound that could only be described as a guffaw, feigning indignance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His fond smile betrayed him as he rubbed the back of your glove comfortingly.

For a while you both carried on sauntering through the winter wonderland scene, content to chat to each other about silly things, with comfortable silences in between. You both liked to people watch, pointing out interesting dynamics to each other and speculating about the circumstances of random passers-by’s lives:

“Look at those two dogs – that older one is so done with the other’s bullshit.”

“The little kid in the snowsuit over there looks like a baby penguin.”

“That family looks like the Vonn Trapp’s. Seriously, what’s with the matching outfits? Are they part of an outdoor theatre production?”

“What do you think people would say about us?” Steve inquired. “D’you reckon we look like a nervous first date?”

“Or a married couple?” You teased, squeezing his arm.

“Ha! I don’t know what I’d prefer.”

“I wouldn’t mind either. But I am surprised you don’t get absolutely mobbed when you’re out like this,” you remarked.

“Yeah, I guess people really don’t recognise me without the suit and everything on.” He looked uncomfortable at the thought of being fawned over like a celebrity.

“Or they just don’t expect to bump into Captain America wandering around the park.”

“True. I’m just grateful that I get to enjoy normal things like this without it being weird.” Steve’s voice lowered as he spoke to you in earnest, “it’s very easy, being like this, with you. I love it.”

You gave the sky a long, measured look. “I know. I love it too.”

His eyes felt like they were boring into your soul. It was a little overwhelming.

You casually grabbed a handful of snow from a low-lying branch and launched it at his face. Then you ran away in panic before he could retaliate, gasping like a kid and giggling at his shocked face (his mouth was hanging open like he was trying to catch flies).

Of course he was a good aim, though, and landed a massive snowball right on the back of your head. He caught up with you in a few steps and tackled you to the ground, laughing at your attempts to squirm out of his reach. His hands grabbed you and rolled you over so you were facing him, his weight pinning you to the snow. You were both breathing heavily and you could see the vapour from both of your mouths mingling in the space between you.

“You’re very cheeky.”

You knew the grin you gave him was definitely cheeky. “I know. I can make it up to you though.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, one eyebrow raising quizzically.

You looked at him for a short while and then whispered, “Yeah”, leaning up to press your lips to his. The kiss was open-mouthed and sweet, Steve’s cold nose pressing into your cheek.

It didn’t last long though, because you shoved a fistful of snow down his collar, making him squawk like a parrot. You scrambled out of his hold and he quickly gave chase, shouting after you, “I’m gonna get you!”

“I know you will!” you yelled back.

Twenty minutes of snow-fighting later you were both exhausted (admittedly you much more than him) and soaked to the bone.

“Do you want to come back to mine? It’s only a couple of minutes away so you can warm up quick,” Steve said, eyeing your chattering teeth.

“Umm, no it’s okay, my place isn’t that far away either. Thank you though.” You just wanted to roll up like a burrito in your bed and never get out again.

He stopped walking abruptly. “I wasn’t really asking, to be honest. Seriously, come back to mine, you can have a shower and everything. I don’t want you to get sick.” He sounded very domineering. You could imagine him standing there looking after you with his hands on his hips, expression like a school teacher. You couldn’t help but oblige.

“Okay, come on then,” you called back to him, “I’m fucking freezing.” You were still trudging along in the snow and Steve jogged to catch up, muttering something under his breath about washing your mouth out with soap.

**********************************************************

Back at Steve’s flat he rushed around, grabbing towels and clothes whilst you stood there like a lemon, shivering in the hallway. “Y/N?” His voice snapped you out of your aimless reverie, “come on, let’s get you warm.” He guided you towards the bathroom with his hand on the small of your back.

After explaining how the shower worked he left you to it. You locked the door behind him and undressed, your hands shaking like leaves. When you got in the shower you just stood there, letting the water land on your head and run down your body, gradually easing your trembling. Once your joints had defrosted you washed with Steve’s shower gel. It was masculine in scent, a little like pine trees.

You put on the clothes Steve had grabbed for you, feeling very cosy in his grey sweatpants and cream jumper. The arms and legs of his clothes were a bit long for you, cuffs draping over your ankles and wrists. You stepped out of the bathroom, rolling up the sleeves as you headed to the living room. Steve had already gotten changed; he was lounging on the sofa looking just as snug in a thick hoodie-and-joggers set. He looked up as you shuffled in, eyes crinkling as he took in your oversized attire.

“What?” you asked.

“You look really cute,” he replied.

“You like?” you said, giving him a spin.

“Oh, I can assure you, if I owned a polaroid camera I would take a picture and keep it on my fridge forever.” He mimed taking a photo with his hands. “Your butt looks great in my sweatpants.”

He didn’t usually flirt like this, quite so audaciously. It made you want to melt into the floor and do a merry jig at the same time.

“Even better than America’s ass?”

He chuckled breathily. “Sweetheart, I cannot even-”

“What did you just call me?”

“What? You didn’t like it?”

You moved closer to the sofa, eyeing him in faux-suspicion. “I didn’t say that.”

“I was just trying it out. Felt good to me,” he said nonchalantly, fingers reaching out to tug at your pockets.

You sank gracefully into his lap, sitting sideways with your arm over his shoulder. “Say it again,” you whispered.

His smile quivered as he leaned you over the arm of the sofa, shifting to position himself above you with his lips at the side of your head. His hands felt dangerous and foreboding, digging in at the swell of your hips. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, far too close to your ear. He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and then kissed his way along your jaw, making you shiver with every touch.

“Hmm,” you sighed, drawing your legs around his waist and tracing your hands along the wings of his shoulder blades. His breathing was throaty and wet, his kisses all taking and drawing back. Your hands were still cold, and when you sneaked them under his top he shuddered against you. His kisses became frantic and unmeasured then, thoughtlessly scattering his lips over your skin as you clutched onto the hair at the nape of his neck. “Y/N?” he gasped into your mouth.

You didn’t reply, too busy memorising the dimples at the base of his spine and the feeling of his chest pressing against yours.

He carried on, his voice raspy and feverish, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

It was all too much; he felt too good, and you lay there and thought about how you wouldn’t mind dying from too much of him.

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

you weren’t supposed to hear that (F! reader)

A collection of instances where your roommate hears you moaning their name whilst your fingers are between your legs. Or your neighbor. Or maybe you walk in on them saying your name. Take your pick 😈

warnings: NSFW, manga spoilers (in terms of what the boys do post timeskip) words: 9.7k (oops)

a/n: wow it’s been awhile since I wrote one of these!! This has been half finished for a while and i finally got the inspiration to complete it. please enjoy!! 💖

Other parts: Kuroo | Sakusa

Ushijima Wakatoshi 

Being Ushijima’s roommate is fairly simple. He’s easy to get along with once you get past his jarring frankness and strict regime. Seriously, the guy never changes his routine; working out at 6am, breakfast at 8, leaving for practice at 9, home at 5, dinner at 7, and in bed by 9 o’clock. He’s a machine, but you don’t mind his predictability. It certainly makes your life easier being able to plan around his tried-and-true schedule.

You saw his ad for a roommate a few months ago when you were desperate to get out of your parents’ house and into the world. They weren’t too keen on the idea of you living with a man, but upon meeting Ushijima, they changed their minds quickly. Neither of them able to believe that stoic Ushijima Wakatoshi would ever lay a hand on you. Plus, the deal was far too good to pass up, he is seriously underselling the room you’re currently renting; and there’s the bonus that he’s frequently absent at away games, leaving the entire apartment for you to enjoy alone.

You learned quickly to keep your mouth shut on who exactly your roommate is, never inviting anyone over anymore in fear of them finding out from the various volleyball paraphernalia Ushijima so sparsely decorates the apartment with. It became difficult for you to tell if people you just met actually liked you, or if they just wanted a glimpse of the infamous Ushijima Wakatoshi and maybe an autograph. And don’t even get you started on his fangirls that he’s so oblivious about.

To your surprise, he was indifferent about having a roommate of the opposite sex. You thought for sure he’d try to ‘keep your honor’ or some shit like that, but all he’d asked you was what your job was to make sure you can pay rent, if you were tidy, and if you didn’t mind being alone. He’d seemed satisfied with your answers, and you’d moved in the following week.

The first and only time Ushijima has someone over, you get home from work surprised to see an interesting looking character standing in the kitchen across from him. They both look up at you, Ushijima giving you a slight nod in greeting while a wide smile spreads across his friends’ face.

“Ushiwaka! You didn’t mention your roommate is that pretty!”

Ushijima blinks as if he’s never considered that about you before, while you chuckle. “Ushi…waka?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone refer to him in such a casual manner before.

The red-head beams, slinging an arm around Ushijima that he surprisingly allows. “Yup, me and Wakatoshi have been friends since high school!”

Now it’s your turn to blink, never having expected Ushijima to have friends outside of volleyball. Especially not ones who call him by his first name. In fact, you don’t even know if he considers any of his teammate’s friends either. He doesn’t spend any time with them outside of volleyball (that you know of) and so far, this is the first person he’s brought to the apartment since you moved in.

“Well,” the visitor nudges Ushijima in the side, who’s expression hasn’t changed throughout this entire interaction. “Are you going to introduce me or what?”

Finally, Ushijima speaks, his deep voice rumbling through your chest as he says, “This is Tendo, we played volleyball together in high school.” He doesn’t show it, but he notices your piqued interest at that information.

“Oh?” You say, “Do you still play?”

Tendo waves his hand dismissively, “Nah, it wasn’t for me. And I’m nothing compared to golden boy over here.”

You try to hide your amusement. This is definitely not what you were expecting from one of Ushijima’s friends. Tendo is rather enjoyable and chatty, much unlike the stone of a man sitting beside him.

“Tendo is a chocolatier in Paris,” Ushijima supplies.

Now you can’t hide your surprise. “Wow! That’s really amazing. What are you doing in Japan then?”

“Just visiting,” he beams. “And of course, I had to see my best friend Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Are you going to his game tomorrow?” You ask, ignoring the way Ushijima’s attention focuses on you. He didn’t think you paid much attention to his volleyball schedule besides when he’s going to be away.

Tendo nods excitedly. “Wouldn’t miss it! You should come too!”

You open your mouth to give some excuse, but then close it again at Tendo’s expectant expression. You bite your lip nervously; in the time you’ve been living with Ushijima you’ve never once actually seen him play. There’s a part of you that avoids it, fearful you might become one of his dreaded fangirls. But you can’t refuse Tendo’s invitation, and to Ushijima’s surprise, you agree to attend.

Clapping his hands together Tendo says, “We get to sit in Ushiwaka’s special seats! Maybe I’ll bring some chocolates for us to snack on…” And when he sees your eyes light up at that, he smiles again, “Chocolate for the lady, done.”

You laugh, and then Tendo is seeing himself out, telling you he can’t wait to see you both tomorrow. And once he’s gone, you can’t help feeling like you don’t know what to with yourself now. Not with Ushijima’s stare boring into your back. After a minute he says, “You don’t have to come.”

And if this had been the first week you’d known him, you might’ve taken that a little personally. But knowing him, he thinks he’s just stating something. He doesn’t see how it can be interpreted as him not wanting you there. “No, it sounds fun! And Tendo seems nice.”

“Tendo is very kind,” he states, and you have to resist the urge to chuckle at him. Ushijima is not a man of words and if that had come out of anyone else’s mouth you would’ve thought they were little strange. But in the months of living with him, despite your limited interactions, you’ve gotten used to his mannerisms.

Looking away from him, you start retreating down the hallway to the safety of your room, but before you disappear you say one more thing. “Plus, I’ve never seen you play.” Then you’re gone, not to be seen for the rest of the night. You don’t see him watch you until you’re out of sight. If you had, you would’ve been shocked by his dumbfounded expression at how the small smile you gave him made his heart stutter for a moment.  

Ushijima has to leave much earlier than you do for the game, but he informs you that Tendo will be by to pick you up and go to the game together. Then, for the first time probably ever, he bids you goodbye and tells you he’ll see you afterwards.

Tendo comes by the apartment a few hours later, sporting an Ushijima jersey and a box of chocolates he asks to hide in your bag. For having just met him yesterday, he easily leads the conversation, asking you all sorts of things—though he seems particularly interested in your relationship with Ushijima. You try to assure him it’s nothing. Really, you aren’t even sure if you can consider Ushijima your friend. Right now, you’re pretty much strictly roommates and that’s it.

When you let it slip that you’ve never seen Ushijima play, Tendo is shocked. “Really? Not even on TV or anything?”

You shake your head. “Nope! I guess I never thought of it.” The lie slips through your teeth easily and Tendo doesn’t bat an eye at it.

Though he does grin telling you, “You’re in for a treat then! Have you ever watched volleyball at all?”

Your regretfully admit to him that no—you’ve never seen a game. You do vaguely remember the rules from high school, but they’re a bit fuzzy now. Tendo tells you not to worry and spends the rest of the train ride to the stadium filling you in on all the aspects of volleyball. And the more he talks, the more excited you get.

When you finally enter the stadium, Tendo is amusingly proud to show off your VIP tickets to be allowed entrance to the special seats reserved solely for Ushijima’s guests. To your delight, they’re some of the best seats in the house and you and Tendo get to work on the chocolates you snuck in while you wait for the game to start. Already the stadium is buzzing with excitement and you can feel your own continue to grow.

Meanwhile, Ushijima hasn’t said a word that he has visitors today. So, it comes as a complete surprise to his teammates when a chorus of cheers erupts from his seats when he enters the stadium. He doesn’t take note of how shocked his teammates are—he’s never had any spectators before. And none of them ever expected one of them to be a girl.

“So, who’re your friends?” Heiwajima asks during warm-ups, nudging Ushijima in the side and motioning his head towards you and Tendo.

“Isn’t that Tendo-san?” Kageyama notes, his own eyes up in the stands.

Without looking upwards, Ushijima replies, “It is.”

Heiwajima rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we aren’t so interested in him as we are the beauty sitting next to him.”

Now Ushijima lifts his attention, eyes drifting to you. He hasn’t told anyone on the team he has a roommate. Not because he has any reason to hide you, but there has never been a reason for him to bring you up. So, he doesn’t think much of it when he says, “That’s my roommate.” And then introduces you.

Everyone on the teams’ eyes nearly bug out of their heads at that information.

“Ushijima, you bastard!”

His brow furrows. Why is he a bastard? You’re just his roommate. And he never lied to anyone about you, nobody ever asked.

“Keeping that a secret from us this whole time!”

He ponders that. He wasn’t really trying to keep any secret. “It’s not a secret,” he says. “You never asked.”

The team guffaws at him and continues to grill him about you until Hirugami claps his hands and tells everyone to focus on the match. They’ll have plenty of time to discuss Ushijima’s secret roommate later. Again, Ushijima tries to explain it you were never a secret, but Hirugami brushes him off and tells him to start spiking warm-ups.

It isn’t hard for him to ignore you and Tendo during the game. He’s used to having nobody here for him, so he just treats it like any other day. It’s nothing special, he’ll play the way he usually does. Meanwhile, up in the stands, you can’t keep your eyes off him. You finally see why he works so hard, and maybe understand him a bit better.

He loves volleyball, you know that—but seeing him in action really drives it home. He’s a machine. Every time he serves or spikes you swear the other team’s arms are going to rip off from the force of the ball. And the sound that ricochets in the stadium when the ball connects solidly with the floor is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s like a clap of thunder rattling your bones and before you know it, you’re cheering loudly alongside Tendo with no qualms.

It’s exciting being here. You can feel your heart racing in your chest each time the Adlers or the other team is at a critical point, and sometimes you catch yourself holding your breath in anticipation for the outcome. You never thought watching a sport could be so thrilling.

And Ushijima is incredible. You suspected as much, but actually watching him for the first time is something else. You can’t help gobbling up the sight of him, his powerful thighs thrusting him into the air when he jumps, his biceps on display when his hand connects with the ball—and above it all, that sharp look in his eyes that sends goosebumps prickling down your spine without your permission. If Tendo notices you shamelessly ogling your roommate at all, he doesn’t comment.

He's oblivious to the fact he’s actually playing a lot more intensely than he usually does. Which some of his teammates never imagined possible. And most of them, besides the clueless ones alongside Ushijima, have a pretty good idea what’s different about this game. Though they can’t pinpoint if it’s just a result of having spectators in general, or if it’s you specifically.

The Adlers come out victorious after four hard sets, winning the first and second, but then having to snag the win in the fourth. You watch as the team gets swarmed by reporters looking for a post-game interview and Tendo tugs on your arm telling you that Ushijima is going to meet you by the locker room. You must give him a surprised look because he holds up the card dangling around his neck with a grin. “VIP, remember?” You giggle and follow him out.

In the locker room, Heiwajima and others try desperately to invite him, you, and Tendo out with them after the game. But he has to decline, you three already have plans. And he doesn’t wait around to see their disappointed expressions as he heads out of the room to look for you and Tendo. He finds the two of you nearby and once you catch sight of him, a smile splits your face in two.

“That was amazing, Ushijima! I’ve never had so much fun watching a sport before!” You gush once he’s in earshot.

“Volleyball is very fun.” He nods as the three of you head towards the exit. Ushijima purposefully avoids the spots he knows he is likely to be ambushed by reporters or fans, opting for a back exit instead that he sometimes uses when he wants to make a quiet escape.

“I had no idea being left-handed was such an advantage! Tendo told me it really throws people off apparently.”

Tendo sneaks him a smile and then throws an arm around his shoulder. “So, where is the great Ushiwaka takin’ us for dinner?”

You end up at a nice restaurant not too far away, and of course Ushijima gets recognized a couple times being this close to the stadium. He politely agrees to autographs and declines photos, seemingly unaware to the fact they’re just taking them secretly when they return to their tables. And while you’re waiting for your food to arrive, you can’t seem to stop talking about volleyball. Admitting that you’ll probably watch a few more of his games from home now and even cover your face in embarrassment when Tendo suggests you get your own Ushijima jersey to wear in support.

It’s then that Ushijima realizes he very much enjoys listening to you talk about what you thought of volleyball. Though he does feel heat creeping up his neck at the thought of you wearing one of his jerseys. All the while, Tendo is sitting beside you smirking up a storm, and Ushijima can’t for the life of him place why.

After dinner, when you’re walking a bit ahead of them and out of earshot, Tendo nudges him playfully in the side. “She’s pretty great, right?”

He looks at your back, expression unchanging. “She’s a good roommate.”

Tendo groans dramatically. “No blockhead—like, she’s pretty great, if you know what I mean.”

He blinks. “Do you want to ask her out?” Tendo can’t help slapping himself on the forehead. Who was he to think that Ushijima has any idea you are available, and he has a very high chance with you?

“Not me,” Tendo spells out slowly. “You.”

“I don’t want to ask her out.”

Tendo’s thin brows lift. “Are you sure about that?”

Tendo doesn’t miss his slight hesitation before he says, “Yes.”

And he doesn’t—you’re his roommate, and a good one. He likes having you around, but not the way Tendo seems to think.

But Tendo isn’t convinced. “Okay~,” he sing-songs before skipping up to loop his arms through yours and make you laugh about something. Ushijima thinks about that for a few minutes, why doesn’t Tendo believe him?

~

When you first moved in, it took a few weeks to get accustomed to each other. But once you figured out his schedule it became a lot easier. You know exactly when to hide in your room if you want to avoid him and when to come out once he’s gone. After going to his volleyball game, you especially try to avoid him during the times he’s walking down the hallway towards the shower, damp with sweat from a workout. Your brain can’t seem to function seeing him slick with the shine of sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead, and a towel draped around his neck—it’s too much for you, as much as you hate to admit.

But one week, you swear he’s on a warpath to make you a stuttering, flustered mess. Despite knowing the fact you’re certain Ushijima has no clue he can have that effect on people, much less do it on purpose. But every single day he’s waltzing around the apartment without a shirt on and while he doesn’t seem to see the problem with it, you don’t think your heart can take it much more.

And it’s the final straw when you see him a few days later, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin as he saunters across the apartment from his home gym towards the bathroom in the hallway. All while you’re standing dumbfounded in the kitchen trying really hard not to get caught staring at his enormous biceps or the way the shine of sweat accentuates the dips of his abdomen. It’s in this moment you can truly understand why he has so many fans despite his rather stone-like demeanor.

“You have got to put a shirt on,” you blurt when he’s halfway across, knowing this will turn into some dangerous territory if he keeps walking around the apartment half-naked.

He stops in his tracks, his head cocking the only indication he’s confused by your statement. “I don’t want to wear a sweaty shirt,” he says by way of explanation. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered expression. “I might catch a cold.”

You resist the urge to groan and slap yourself on the forehead. “Fine, then I’m wearing whatever I want around the apartment,” you say, determined to make him realize why he can’t just walk around like that. Though knowing Ushijima, you’ll never get through that thick skull of his.

And as you suspect, he simply replies, “Alright.” Before disappearing into the hallway and the bathroom to take a shower.

You lower your forehead to rest it on the cool countertop, shaking your head at how dense he really is. And you’re beginning to realize you think it’s endearing. While his infuriatingly toned body may be a major perk, you’re starting to see that you like him too. Now you actually groan. You swore this would never happen—not with Ushijima at least. But here you are.

After that, you make a pointed effort to wear the shortest shorts you can possibly find whenever he’s around. And you purposefully pair them with an oversized shirt, so it doesn’t look like you’re wearing pants at all. But if it has any effect on Ushijima, you can’t tell. You can’t help cursing his dumb impassive expression every time you retreat to your room for the night. Seriously—is he swayed by anything ever?

However, Ushijima hardly knows what to do with himself the first time you strutted out like that. He might be dense, but he’s still only human. His eyes naturally span down the expanse of your exposed legs and he has to grip his water bottle like a vice in order to keep it from clattering into the sink when you rise to your tiptoes to grab something from the top shelf. Your shorts ride up even more, hugging the curves of your ass as you stick it out to balance yourself.

You let out a surprised sound when he appears behind you, easily picking up the thing you were vying for and handing it to you without so much as a word.

“I really need a stepstool or something, huh?” You joke, taking it from him gratefully and blissfully unaware he was just blatantly staring at your ass.

He doesn’t say anything, but the next week you find a small stepstool leaning against the cabinets for you.

~

Staring at your phone in your hands, you thank any god listening that you brought it with you. How stupid do you have to be to lock yourself out of your apartment when you’re taking the trash out? Sitting on the floor against your door, you lean your head back on it and let out an exasperated sigh. You already went down to the office for help, they called a locksmith, and they aren’t available until tonight. And by that time, Ushijima will be home from practice and you won’t need the service anyways.

You have several options here. You could call a friend and stay with them until Ushijima gets back from practice, but they all live too far to walk to, and you don’t have your wallet. You could hang out in the apartment buildings lobby until he gets home, but if your phone dies, you’re stuck with nothing to do and no way to contact anyone.

The last option is slowly beginning to seem like your only option: calling Ushijima at practice for help. Burying your face into your hands you groan—you really don’t want to do that. Plus, you doubt he’s going to answer his phone anyways. After you sit there for a few more minutes, you take a deep breath and steel your courage. Leaving a message is better than nothing.

Despite deciding to call him, you still stare at his contact for a few moments before finally pressing the ‘call’ button. It rings a few times, then unsurprisingly goes to voicemail. When it beeps for you to leave your message, you swallow your pride and say, “Hey Ushijima, I know you’re at practice, but I locked myself out of the apartment…and the locksmith can’t come until tonight. If you by any chance get a break, would you be able to let me back in? I’d really appreciate it…sorry for the inconvenience and disrupting practice!”

Then you hang up and slump against the door again. Might as well head down to the lobby to sit somewhere more comfortable than the hallway floor. You turn the brightness down on your phone to conserve battery and resist the urge to just sit in the lobby scrolling through social media to pass the time. If he by some stroke of luck calls you back, you want to make sure your phone isn’t dead.

“Hey Ushijima, your phone was ringing in the locker room while I was in the bathroom. It was your roommate~,” Heiwajima teases. Ushijima slowly looks past his shoulder back towards the locker room door—that’s odd. You’ve never called him before. “And she left a message!” He coos.

Before Heiwajima can make any more comments, Ushijima strides past him to check his phone. They’re taking a short break and he doesn’t see a problem with making sure everything is alright. You wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important. He doesn’t see the rest of the team share suggestive looks behind his back. Before you, Ushijima refused to check his phone during practice, no matter how many messages he had (which are few and far between but still).

Upon hearing your message, he calls you back immediately.

You’re shocked that he’s calling you back within a half hour of your call.

“Uh, hi,” you say upon answering the call. “Sorry for bothering you. I’m surprised you saw my message so fast.”

“Heiwajima heard my phone ringing while he was in the bathroom.”

“Lucky me,” you joke.

He gets straight to the point. “I’ll leave now.”

Your eyes widen. He’s going to leave practice right now to let you back in? “Oh—um, you don’t have to do that! I’m just waiting in the lobby; I can wait until you have a longer break or something!”

“I can come now,” he says plainly. Then he hangs up on you. You sit back in the chair you’re sitting in and huff out a breath speechless. Never once has Ushijima left practice early. And now he’s just dipping out without hesitation because you’re a major idiot? You can’t fathom it, and the little voice in the back of your head that’s been slowly falling for him is absolutely swooning at the thought.

When he enters the gym again, Heiwajima finds him immediately, while the other members of the team look curiously on as he asks, “So, what’d she want?” Immensely interested in the fact that judging from his sweatpants and jacket over his practice clothes, Ushijima looks like he’s about to leave.

“She’s locked out of the apartment,” Ushijima explains as he heads towards the door.

The team looks around at each other surprised. They don’t get another word in as Ushijima explains to the coach the situation and says he’ll be back in less than hour. Then he’s out the door and a few of them start chuckling to themselves, while the more clueless members wonder why in the world Ushijima would willingly leave.

The gym isn’t far from the apartment, so it’s not long until you see Ushijima step through the front doors and sweep his gaze across the lobby. You greet him right away and the two of you get in the elevator. The silence is unbearable for you—though you’re sure he’s completely fine with it.

When you reach the door and he lets you in, you finally say, “Thank you. You really didn’t have to leave practice though; I could have waited.”

You swear his eyes soften, but it might just be your eyes playing tricks on you. He appreciates that you are being considerate for his time, but he found he wasn’t keen on the thought of you being locked out. It didn’t sit right with him. Not when he’s only 20 minutes away. He’ll be back in under an hour, and that’s better than you just sitting out here for several hours.

He just nods his head and says, “I’ll come anytime.”

At those words, that voice inside your head becomes a pathetic puddle and it’s an effort to keep your knees underneath you.

He can’t explain the way his heart lifts at the smile you give him. Stepping backwards into the apartment, you say as you’re closing the door, “See you when you get home.”

Home.

He’s surprised how that word coming out of your mouth makes him feel.

~

Any feeling of domesticity is thrown out the window the morning you’re walking around the apartment in one of his sweatshirts he lent you a few weeks back when you were cold. He’s stops in his tracks in the hallway seeing you in the kitchen at the stove cooking breakfast, his sweatshirt too big for you covering your shorts and just brushing your bare thighs.

Without giving him the chance to quell it, against his will, his dick strains against the front of his sweatpants and he rushes out the door with barely a goodbye in hopes you don’t see it. It doesn’t even go away on the train on the way to the gym, no matter how hard he tries. His thoughts subconsciously drift to the sight of you and how soft your thighs looked. It’s shocking to him how much he liked seeing you in his clothes. It was the same sort of sensation he felt when Tendo suggested you get yourself an Ushijima jersey—only it’s a hundred times worse.

He tries to ignore it, walking into the locker room like nothing is wrong, stripping his sweatpants and jacket off and shoving them into his locker before he looks around and sees Heiwajima staring at him with raised eyebrows. Then his eyes pointedly look downwards before he lifts them to meet Ushijima’s again. “You wanna deal with that before practice?”

“It’s fine.” He’s sure it’ll go away once he starts warming up.

But then his thoughts drift to you warming up and stretching in his clothes. You bending over, his sweatshirt sliding up your chest, revealing more of your ass and thighs as you count to ten. And any sort of effort he’d put forth to settle down is destroyed as his shorts feel uncomfortably tight. What is going on with him? He hasn’t been able to stop thinking of you as of late, and it’s only been getting worse.

Heiwajima just starts laughing. “Seriously dude, nobody wants to look at that all day.” Then he motions his head in the direction of the showers.

Ushijima’s eyes widen, realizing just what he’s suggesting. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually concedes. He won’t be able to play like this. Nobody seems to care as Ushijima grabs his towel and heads off to the showers, despite feeling distraught about what he’s about to do. He’s never really been one for masturbating, so it surprises him how easy it is to let you in his sweatshirt come to mind as he wraps a hand around his cock. And he comes a lot faster than he expects too.

That’s the first time he jerks off to the thought of you. He tries to brush it off as a necessity for him in order to practice well that day, but it soon becomes a terrible habit he can’t stop. Especially when you keep doing things that make him uncomfortably hard. Like still wearing those tiny shorts around the apartment, doing yoga in the living room, showing him your Ushijima jersey you finally ordered online—seriously, never in his life did he think this would ever become a problem.

He hardly knows what do with himself at this new infatuation.

~

Recently, you’ve started going out on dates because you’re beginning to feel this strange tension between you and Ushijima, and you have no idea how to deal with it besides letting some other guy pound you into a mattress while you ashamedly picture it being Ushijima instead. One night, when you’re bidding him goodbye as you’re on your way out the door, he asks you, “Will you be home tonight?”

Your heart stutters a bit at that word. Home. And then you feel disgustingly guilty that he’s noticed you don’t usually come back after these dates. Meaning you think even he can put the dots together on what you’re doing.

But really, he’s asking because what you’re wearing is already making his pants feel tight and even though it makes him feel a little ashamed, he needs to get his frustration out somewhere that you’re out spending the night with other guys. It makes him feel incredibly jealous—an emotion he’s not used to yet.

“Probably not,” you tell him, swallowing your pride about it and shutting the door.

For the next couple of hours, he tries to resist the demon in his head telling him to go sprawl out on his bed and think about you with his hand wrapped around his cock. But even after he makes dinner, works out, and takes a cold shower; it’s still there nagging at the back of his head. And he knows it won’t go away until he’s coming into his hand with your name spilling from his lips. He resigns himself to this becoming something he does now and heads off to his bedroom to satiate himself.

Your date is terrible. He wasn’t like this when you met him at the coffee shop last week, but tonight he must be feeling extra lucky. Enough to let his cocky, asshole nature shine through and you find yourself forcibly smiling your way through dinner. It doesn’t help that all you can think about is a certain stone-faced, stoic, gentleman who’s just sitting there waiting for you at your apartment. And just the thought of letting this guy touch you tonight makes your skin crawl. So, once the dinner is over, you end the date short, blaming it on not feeling well. He looks pretty put out that he won’t be getting his dick wet tonight, but you’re not inclined to care very much.

Unsurprisingly, the apartment is dark when you return. Ushijima goes to bed promptly at 9 o’clock every night, so you weren’t expecting to find him awake. So, you’re stunned into silence when you hear sounds emitting from his room on your way to yours. It sounds like he’s…panting? Is he working out?

Your brow furrows and your curiosity gets the better of you. You know it’s wrong, and such an invasion of privacy, but you just can’t stop your fingers closing around his doorknob, turning it slowly to just get a tiny peek into his room.

Your heart comes to a jarring halt at the sight you stumble upon.

Never, in your entire life, did you think you’d catch Ushijima Wakatoshi masturbating.

It never even occurred to you that is something he might do, not really seeming the type to.

And holy shit—is it a sight.

Your mouth involuntarily dries up at his enormous hand wrapped around his equally massive cock, pumping it from base to tip as his hips work in unison with his hand. His hair is a bit damp, and fuck—his cloudy, lust-filled gaze is making heat pool in your core. Additionally, he’s completely and utterly naked. Who the hell jerks off totally naked is beyond you, but you aren’t complaining as you watch the way the muscles of his abdomen ripple with each movement of his hips and breath he takes.

You could probably stand here watching him do this forever if you’re being honest.  

That is, until your name falls from his lips.

You swear the floor drops out from under you.

At first, you think he’s caught you. But you soon realize that is very much not the case. His hips start shuddering, his pace becoming erratic as he chases his orgasm and you’re suddenly struck by the thought of: you don’t want him to finish without you.

And before you can hesitate, you open his door fully and step into his bedroom.

His reaction is nothing like you imagined from someone who just got caught masturbating by their roommate who’s name not two seconds ago escaped his mouth. Anyone else would have yanked their hand away and scrambled to cover up. But not Ushijima.

To his credit, he does cover himself, but he does so in such a calm manner, you’re shocked. Plus, you can see he clearly still has his hand around his cock beneath the blanket. The two of you just look at each other for a few moments, and after what seems like eons of silence, he opens his mouth and says, “You said you weren’t going to be home.”

Your brows raise, amused he’s chosen that as his defense. “I think I said, ‘probably not’ actually.”

His expression doesn’t change as your gaze drifts downwards towards his impressive erection that somehow has not gone away despite that he’s lying there in all his naked glory caught red-handed.

You lick your lips subconsciously. “Can I help you?”

He wasn’t expecting that. Nor was he expecting the way his dick twitched in his grasp at your words. Or how heat is spreading across his entire body at the way you’re looking at him. Is he really going to let this happen? He’s pretty embarrassed you caught him, but you don’t seem phased at all. To him, you almost look…excited.

You don’t really wait for him to respond, taking the way he eyes you up hungrily as a yes, and stepping further into the room. Tentatively, you start lifting away the blanket he covered himself with, and he seems to be in a daze as you toss it aside, baring him for you to see. Glancing up at him, you see he’s breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide as he watches you—and while he may not be able to tell you with words how he feels, his body is telling you enough.

But you still want to make sure. Settling yourself between his thighs, you set a hand on each of them and squeeze lightly to get his attention. His olive gaze rises to meet yours and you ask, “Is this okay?”

Without hesitation, he replies, “Yes.”

And if you know Ushijima at all, he means what he says.

You get yourself a bit more comfortable between his legs, chastely kissing each of his thighs, finding it immensely ego boosting at the way they tremble at your touch. You make your way to the base of his cock and lick one stripe up to the tip. He groans quietly at the sensation, realizing his hand will never be enough again.

His fists curl into the sheets beneath him as you take his head into your mouth, and you fail to suppress the quiet groan that emits from you at how heavy he sits on your tongue. Your mind immediately wandering to what he might feel like inside you—if this goes that far, that is. His eyes haven’t left you, watching you intently as you take more of him into your mouth, the weight of his heady gaze making heat pool between your legs.

Steeling your confidence, you hold his stare as you take nearly all of him into your mouth and start bobbing along his length. A barely audible hiss escapes him, the muscles in his arms straining with how hard he’s fisting the sheets. Yet, you still have his rapt attention, and it makes you want to make him feel so good he has to close his eyes and lean his head back against his pillow.

The thought of having Ushijima Wakatoshi a puddle beneath you makes your thighs clench together. An action that surprisingly doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

In a matter of minutes, you’ve made him throw all qualms out the window and you soon get your wish of seeing him let go. His eyes close, head leaning back revealing the strong column of his neck, and his hips start to move in tandem with your bobbing motions. A guttural groan escapes him when you hollow out your cheeks, and the sound rumbles through you before adding to the growing ache between your legs.

You can’t imagine he’s even close to reaching the end of his stamina, but you are certainly losing patience. So, you pop off his cock, and start making the motions to undress so you can finally fulfill your fantasy of riding him.

He startles you by lifting himself to rest on his elbows, his deep voice filling the silence, “Wait.” You pause, your dress already halfway off. He sits up and pulls you into his lap, completely unbothered by the fact your clothed core is now sitting directly atop his prominent erection. “Let me,” he says so softly you think you might combust.

His hands replace yours, and he gingerly unzips the back of your dress and starts sliding it off your shoulders, each inch of newly exposed skin met by the soft press of his lips. You have no idea if he’s ever been with anyone before, but whatever he’s doing is making your insides scramble and burn. His movements are slow and meticulous, like he’s savoring each touch are you’re positively melting in his lap.

Eventually, you have to stand up to shimmy the dress down your legs, but he sits at the edge of the bed waiting patiently before his large hands rest at your hips and pull you back into his lap. Now you’re looking down at him, so you lean down and press your lips against his.

He’s somewhere else entirely—heaven, maybe, as you kiss him. Your lips are soft, body pliant and warm against his as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips. He groans involuntarily when your fingers slide into the hair at the base of his neck, tilting his head so you can kiss him even deeper. You’re pleasantly surprised when his tongue darts out questioningly and you happily open your mouth for him.

I’m doomed, you think as his tongue sweeps in at the same time he uses his hands at your waist to grind you down onto his hips. He feels absolutely huge beneath you, and you have no idea if he will even fucking fit inside you. “Fuck…Wakatoshi,” you breathe. His fingers grip a little harder at your voice saying his name like that, but you’re too dazed to notice what it does to him. You continue, “Fuck me, please.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and for a moment you think he’s going to comply with your request. Instead, he murmurs, “Not yet.”

You almost pout, but then he’s unclasping your bra and lifting you to set you down on the bed. He doesn’t waste much time ridding you of your underwear next, and you have to resist the urge to cover yourself as he stares at you with a near predatory look in his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he says, clear as day and you feel heat course through your veins at his words.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world to him right now. The intensity of his wanton gaze making you squirm beneath it until he lays his body over yours, the comforting weight of him pressing against your skin as he takes your lips again. He elicits a moan from you, his fingers dancing along your sides and his tongue sweeping into your mouth, making you nothing more than a trembling mess underneath him.

His lips leave yours, but he slowly begins trailing kisses along your jaw, down your neck and across your collarbone; almost as if he’s worshipping every inch of your skin before he reaches your breasts. He takes both of them into his enormous hands, the callouses of his fingers scratching along the supple flesh, making your back arch into his touch. Pressing a chaste kiss to your sternum, he rolls your nipples between his fingers, all while keeping his steady gaze on you. And you have no idea how the simple action of him just teasing your nipples while pinning you with those olive eyes is so unbelievably erotic your head begins to feel light.

And then he takes one of them into his mouth and you about lose your goddamn mind. How the fuck does he know exactly what to do? In the time you’ve known him you’ve never once seen him be even remotely interested in anyone. But at this point, you’re well past the point of caring how he learned his way around a woman’s body.

His tongue laps at the pert bud, all while he keeps his meticulous pace on your other nipple before turning the attention of his mouth to it. Without thinking much of it, your fingers dive into his hair, curling into the strands as he continues his worshipping. Though it does pull a deep rumble of pleasure from his chest that goes straight between your legs.

“Wakatoshi,” you pant breathlessly, chest heaving, desperate for him to do something about the growing ache at the apex of your thighs.

This time, he seems to heed your words. He pops off your breast and wanders with his lips down the expanse of your stomach, his hands finding purchase at your hips as he settles himself between your thighs. Your thighs tremble in anticipation as he presses soft kisses to each of them, fingers kneading your hips and pulling you closer to his mouth.

Never in your life did you think you’d have Ushijima Wakatoshi between your legs, looking for all the world like he’s about to devour you.

He groans as he slides his tongue between your folds, drunk on how wet you already are. And despite the fact his cock is throbbing almost painfully and leaking on the sheets, he knows to take his time. If you want him to fuck you, he has to make sure you’re ready for him.

You throw your head back, fingers fisting into the sheets as a lewd moan escapes your throat that only makes him bury his face even deeper into you. His tongue finds the bundle of nerves at the apex and sweeps across it, moving in small circles that have you finding purchase in his hair to keep him there as you move your hips in unison with his tongue.

A loud gasp fills the air as one of his thick fingers enters you, the ministrations of his tongue not stopping as he slowly pumps it in and out of your core. He’s kept his attention on you this entire time, his gaze never wavering as he watches you fall apart at his mercy. And he finds he’s thoroughly pleased at how easily his finger slipped into you, enough that he tentatively prods another one at your entrance that after a moment slides in without any resistance.

It’s so satisfying that he buries his face even deeper, his tongue pressing harder against your clit as you fuck yourself on his fingers. At the sensation of his second finger, your own find purchase in his hair, babbling utter nonsense that if you were in a clearer state of mind you might be a little embarrassed about.

“Please,” you beg, desperate for his cock inside you, “fuck me Wakatoshi. I want you inside me.”

He nearly falls apart at your needy request, but he isn’t finished yet.

You continue to plead with him, until you abruptly feel the absence of his tongue and you look down to find him staring intensely at you. Your throat clams up at his smoldering gaze as he says simply, “You aren’t ready.”

Your mouth drops open as you blink in surprise. Is he joking? Are you not frantically fucking yourself on his fingers right now, desperately asking for him to be inside you? How can you possibly be anymore ‘ready’?

“What are you talking about?”

Now his eyes drop, and very quietly he murmurs, “I’ve been told I am…quite large.”

“By who?” You blurt.

All he says is, “Others.”

You decide to leave it at that, your attention traveling to his erect cock, it pulsing so hard you can almost see it and dripping from the tip. You swallow nervously trying to imagine that going inside you. Ushijima just watches you eye him, his two fingers still knuckle deep in you, which he seems to have forgotten about as he angles his head in question. “Do you want to keep going?”

Warmth blooms in your chest at his concern. “I would very much like to,” you reply, smiling innocently at him, despite the fact the position you’re in is very much the opposite of innocent.

And the answering small smile he gives you makes your stomach flutter. It’s so soft and dazzling, it nearly knocks all the breath out of you. He presses his lips to your inner thigh, smiling against your skin, and all you can do is stare in awe of him.

Then, as if remembering where is fingers still are, he drags them slowly out of you, his mouth latching on to your clit once again before sliding them easily back in. Soon, he’s got you writhing on his fingers once more, toes curling and your own fingers gripping onto his bicep you can feel flexing with each thrust of his hand.

He waits a bit longer, until his fingers are soaked with your wetness again, before tentatively prodding a third finger at your entrance. He stifles his groan against you when he finds that it slips in along with the others effortlessly. Particularly as the grip you have on his biceps tightens, nails digging into his skin and eyes flaring open at the new sensation.

“Fu—fuck,” you mewl, holding on to him for dear life as he continues his slow and methodical pace. At this point, you’re practically shoving yourself onto his fingers, wanting him to fuck you deeper and trying to match the pace at which his tongue is flicking against your clit. The sensation becomes overwhelming, your thighs starting to tremble with the effort to not come around his fingers and mouth.

“Wakatoshi, please—I’m going to—,” you try to warn him, nails digging so hard into his arms that you’re leaving small crescent indents in his skin. He doesn’t stop though, not until you’re practically sobbing, “Let me come on your cock, please.”

That seems to be his undoing. His fingers and mouth abruptly leave you, eliciting a small sound of discontent from you. But you quickly shut your mouth at the sight of him leaning over you, aligning his hips with yours, one massive hand palmed around his cock as he pushes forward.

When the head of his cock sinks into you, a strangled gasp rips from your throat at just how utterly massive he is. Instinctively, your fingers wrap around his wrist to keep him from going any deeper as you say, “Slow.”

His brow is furrowed in concentration, as if it’s taking all of his willpower to keep from snapping his hips forward and sinking to the hilt in you. “Of course,” he growls, his voice taking on a deep tone that makes your toes curl.

And inch by glorious inch, he pushes deeper into you. His forearms coming to rest on either side of your head as he takes your lips to distract you from him nearly splitting you wide open. You tug him closer, fingers tangling in his olive hair, slanting your mouth against his and slipping your tongue inside which he gladly allows.

Eventually, his hips meet yours, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, his toned chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he has to take in order to keep his sanity. The feeling of your tight walls clamping down around him is enough to make him hiss through his teeth, “Shit.”

The word alone makes heat pool in your core. Ushijima Wakatoshi never swears.

“Holy fucking shit.” You correct him. He’s seated fully inside you and you’ve never felt so full in your entire life. Your legs splayed out to either side from just how big he is, and once glance down confirms his thick thighs are shaking with the effort to be gentle.

He just shakes his head at your crass words, then pulls out slightly before ramming his hips back into yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close to you, your chest meeting his and his head finding the crook of your neck and he begins slowly. And while you’re very much enjoying each of his careful, deep thrusts, you very much would like to be pounded into his mattress. You’re certain he can.

You wonder if he’ll dirty talk with you.

Running your fingers through his dampening hair, you whisper against his ear, “You feel so good, Wakatoshi.” He merely responds with a kiss against your neck and a small approving growl that makes you keep going. “You know what I thought about anytime I was in someone else’s bed?” He makes no indication whether or not he likes you talking to him, so you press on. “This,” you murmur, “You.”

He stops, and for a second you think you’ve gone too far. But then he rises from your neck, and you swear to god—you almost come on the spot at the carnal glint gleaming in his eyes. Like he is about to utterly and completely destroy you. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation as he finally draws his cock almost all the way out of you before driving his hips home in a way that sends you into total euphoria.

His pace becomes brutal, his hips punishing, wordlessly making you realize it was a mistake for you to ever think anyone but him should be between your legs. It was pure luck you stumbled onto something you didn’t realize—he was immensely jealous every time you came home in the morning, clearly having spent the night with someone else.

It drives him so wild that he growls against your lips, “You’re mine.”

The words are so deliciously possessive, you can’t help the way your walls tighten around him, nor how your legs wrap around his waist and start helping him with each thrust of his hips.

“Yours,” you say, lips brushing against his. His hands wander down your sides, fingers digging into your hips pulling you even closer so that there is virtually no space between your bodies. He’s resting almost his entire weight on you, and his warmth and build is so strangely erotic, the coil in your stomach winds tighter and you can feel your impending orgasm begin to climb.

He cages you in his arms, hips never relenting, seemingly chasing his own release. His quiet grunts of pleasure are going straight between your legs, and you can’t help but start exploring the expanse of his exquisitely toned chest pulling an even deeper sigh from him making you almost melt on the spot. Your hands eventually find a place to rest in the dimples of his hips, relishing the sensation of his muscles moving beneath your fingers.

He refuses to finish before you, no matter how unbelievably tight you’re pulsating around him. So, he reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, pride filling his chest at how you moan lewdly; your head falling back and fingers grappling even harder onto his hips. He takes the opportunity to press kisses to your throat, shoulders, collarbone—any expanse of skin he can get his mouth on.

“Fuck—yes,” you groan, hands leaving his hips to weave their way into his hair, using your legs to push him even deeper and meeting each of his thrusts with your own. You start quivering under him, your body preparing for the onslaught of pleasure rising in your chest, threatening to snap at any moment.

You come completely undone when Ushijima commands, “Come for me.”

Something about his husky, lust filled tone; his lips making their mark all over your skin, and the harsh thrust of his hips sends you over the edge. Your body bows off the bed, and Ushijima meets you, his arms wrapping around your middle to press you against his chest as his lips latch onto your neck and he buries himself to the hilt in your wet heat.

For the second time tonight, he curses quietly, holding you to him as your walls pulse with your orgasm and he finds his own release alongside you. You hold on to his shoulders for dear life as waves of pleasure roll through you, your body spasming in his grip all while he kisses you softly. It’s tender and erotic at the same time. As you start to calm down, he claims your lips, tongue sweeping in as you push his damp hair off his forehead before cupping his cheeks.

He pulls away from you, only to set his forehead against yours, your warm breath mingling. Both of your chests are still heaving, and although it’s silent, it’s comforting as he holds you.

After a moment, you open your eyes and find his closed, his lips curved into a barely noticeable smile. It fills your heart seeing him look so…content. “Wakatoshi?” You say quietly. His eyes open and your throat closes at just how handsome he is. “I…I like you.” Your eyes close now, embarrassed at how pathetic that sounded.

“I’d hope so.”

Your eyes burst open finding him looking at you comically seriously. You know he doesn’t mean it as a joke, but you can’t help the smile that rises to your lips. He gazes at you curiously as you ask, “And? Do you like me?” As if his softening dick isn’t still inside you right now.

Though, it still makes your heart flip when he replies without hesitation, “Yes.”

“Good.” You grin. “I’d hope so.”

You kiss him again before he finally pulls out of you and without a word, he gets off the bed and disappears out into the hallway. You grimace at the mess between your legs but are pleasantly surprised when he returns with a warm towel to clean yourself up with. While you deal with the mess, he rummages around in his drawers and at first you think he’s looking for clothes for himself, until he hands you a pair of his briefs and a t-shirt.

You must eye them curiously because he sets them on the bed saying, “Sleep with me.” He doesn’t word it like a question.

Taking the clothes, you smile teasingly up at him. “I just did.”

To nobody’s surprise, he’s relatively unfazed. “Overnight,” he explains further. “In my bed.” Though the light dusting of pink coloring his cheeks as he says this makes you want to smother him with kisses all over again.

You slip on his clothes and climb beneath the sheets as your response. You watch him dress, marveling over the muscles shifting in his back and arms until he covers them and joins you in the bed. He draws you close to his side, letting you run your fingers across his cheek before settling at his chin and pulling his lips to yours. You kiss lazily until you both grow tired and you tuck your head under his chin, letting his fingers intertwine with yours and enjoying the affectionate kiss he presses to the top of your head.

He surprises you when he says into the silence, “Are we going to do that again?”

The chuckle that escapes you is by no means meant to be mean. He just fucked you better than anyone in your entire life and if you were in deep shit falling for him before this—you’re doomed now. Yet, you don’t mind in the slightest. Not when being here in his arms feels exactly where you should be.

So, you kiss his neck and reply softly, “Yes.”

You don’t see his answering smile.

~

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