#i love all of them I need them all to be friends :( I love them all so much

[gojoest]

this was supposed to be a ramble post but i went on and on ;-; i might fw this idea some more in the future! tried to be as eloquent as possible but failed

royal au, crown prince!gojo satoru, f!reader (she/her), you reject him but that ain’t stopping the king to be from pursuing you, wc: 1.5k

crown prince gojo satoru, predictably, was the most desired man in the kingdom.

along with his royal heritage — the simple fact of being the next in line to the throne — his highness was undeniably a well-favored, handsome man that no other could hold a candle to. naturally, ladies would often throw themselves at him — some charmed by power, others harboring genuine feelings. he could see through them all and he would politely, and sometimes not so — depending on the intention — would turn them down.

his highness found no thrill in the concept of love. he saw no challenge in it and in someone dolling up for him and speaking to him of all the things that he, supposedly, wanted to hear. he deemed it boring. thus, he’d often sneak out of the castle (jumping off his balcony, unharmed) when the ladies arrived to visit him. other times he’d send the servants to deliver the unfortunate (and very much untrue) news of his highness being sick and needing rest to recuperate his strength. he truly could not be bothered while there were other things that piqued his interest more.

the battlefield, he admired it.

he grew up as — what others considered — a problematic child. ditching etiquette lessons to go into the forest and climb the trees, hunt animals and pick up branches to practice swordsmanship by himself. other times he’d simply act up in inappropriate ways, purposely so, that would inevitably bring punishment upon him, resulting in him being locked in his room to reflect on the unfitting of a royal behavior he displayed that day.

yet, nobody knew how agile and flexible he was, that he had learned how to climb and land safely after jumping from dangerous heights.

hence why, to this day, his highness uses his balcony as an exit when faced with unwanted guests. and to this day, nobody knows to where the crown prince has perished when the noble ladies line up in the castle to meet him.

truly, a problematic man.

his father, the king, was not having it. he thought, maybe, if he were to actually send his son the battlefield in order for him to come face to face with the harsh truth of it, that it was not as the fairy tales told so, that it was bloody, merciless and brutal, filled with death and decaying corpses — he would, maybe, come to his senses.

but, unfortunately so, that did not do it.

so far, everything was going the way the crown prince had desired — he had learned, early on, how to manipulate his environment to get what he wanted, through mischief. he had become a self-taught knight by his own means. he had caused enough havoc in order to be sent away to the most desired of places he wanted to be. the battlefield.

he conquered lands. each time he returned to the royal capital, he brought victory.

the neighboring countries were growing wary, avoiding conflicts and easily agreeing and bowing to the demands of the kingdom in order to prevent wars from breaking. the army’s strength, led by none other than the crown prince gojo satoru, was unheard of.

soon, the entire world knew of it. the clashes and conflicts seized. nobody dared oppose the kingdom anymore.

the prince returned to the capital, back to his boring days.

the days once filled with dull etiquette and history lessons were now replaced with the constant nagging to review a list of candidates in order to pick a bride to be the next crown princess.

it was a bothersome activity. his only challenge now was finding new excuses every day to avoid it.

but alas, there was only as much he could do to run away from his royal responsibilities of continuing the bloodline.

it was after the king had threatened to have the head of his right arm in combat and best friend, the glorious knight geto suguru, that the crown prince caved and considered looking at the portraits of the candidates presented to him.

in front of him were a list of the big families and the portraits of their daughters sent in.

“say, suguru”, satoru lifts a curious brow. “the lady of this house”, he points at the paper, “i can’t see her portrait”

suguru chuckles. “i am afraid, she did not send in one”

the prince scrunches up his nose. thinking. “i don’t understand?”

suguru, covering his mouth, tries to hold his laugh back. “she did not send in a portrait”

“did she forget?”

“i don’t think so”

“then? why?”, satoru stares. clueless.

suguru, with his entire willpower, is earnestly trying to fight the laughter climbing up his throat. the crown prince might be his best friend, but he didn’t really know how this man would react when faced with rejection for the first time in his life.

“in my humble knowledge”, he clears his throat before continuing, “when a lady refuses to send in a portrait to the royal palace, it only means she is politely withdrawing from the list of the candidates, your highness”

silence.

and then, a stretch — of lips, into a smile. a smile of disbelief. one that resembles the smile he shows when faced with a challenge on the battlefield that his audacious opponents throw at him.

“is she rejecting me?”

“i am afraid so”

intriguing. it’s been too long since he felt that kind of thrill, and to think he’d experience it while flipping through mere portraits of his wife-to-be’s. perhaps, he should’ve listened to his father sooner, huh?

he chuckles to himself. “good. i want her”

from that day on, the crown prince, who was once apathetic and uninterested in banquets held by the nobles, attended every one of them that was rumored to have you as a guest.

sadly, you rarely showed up. during the times you were present, you obviated his approach in a crafty and tactful manner.

he started sending you gifts — luxury gems and stones, hairpins, foreign cloths and dresses that were considered hard to obtain even by the big noble families. you sent them all back to the royal palace.

but unfortunately to you and very fortunately to the crown prince, this uncourteous gesture of yours intrigued him even further. he already had a hunch from your previous encounters, that you were not one to be bound by etiquettes of high society nor were you one to be easily blinded by opulence. but just in case, he wanted to test you. he wanted to see more of your deviant nature.

yet, he almost felt defeated, ashamed of taking you so lightly — as if tarnishing and trampling on your character — every time upon seeing the gifts delivered back to him in the same state that he had sent them, unpacked. not even touched out of curiosity. spotless as they were — as a sign of unambiguous rejection.

maybe, he shouldn’t have acted so carelessly with you.

it was during a banquet hosted by the royal palace in honor of the visiting diplomats from the neighboring countries when satoru finally got the chance to strike a more private conversation with you.

eyes glued to you all night, watching as you danced and socialized with other nobles, he was waiting for the right moment to approach you.

and just as you happened to leave the ballroom and walk toward the balcony to catch some fresh air, he excused himself and followed behind you.

“don’t tell me you’re already bored and want to leave, my lady?”

you turn around, visibly unfazed by his presence.

“good evening, your highness”, you politely greet, bobbing a curtsy to him. “although it is not to my liking, i wouldn’t call such a fancy banquet objectively boring. i was merely getting some fresh air after dancing”

there she goes again with that witty tongue of hers, he chuckles. “i see. you find it subjectively boring, if i may assume?”

“you may and that wouldn’t be far from the truth”

he lets out another chuckle, wiping a hand across his face as if at a loss of words. you truly are one intriguing woman.

“i will be very frank with you, my lady”, he speaks. “i think, i might’ve fallen for you”

you remain unamused, not even a single feature on your face flinching at his very confession.

“love is not something you think, but rather something you feel, your highness. curiosity, on the other hand, might pick at your brain and make you think and ponder”

he chuckles. “they’re not mutually exclusive, i believe. can’t love start from curiosity?”

you crack a soft smile. “perhaps”

“may i assume this is you giving me permission to pursue you further?”

“excuse my impertinence, your highness, but — do you have a thing for getting rejected?”, you tilt your head, an impish grin on your lips. “how long are you going to keep this up for?”

he steps closer, “i promise i’ll stop”, taking your hand into his and courteously going down on one knee before kissing it — “when you stop rejecting me, my lady”

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that���

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

[will-0-w]

Sticky Situation

Summary: After your relationship with Sylus has reached a more shared bond, he allows you to visit him anytime in the N109 Zone, even giving you a spare key to his home. So what happens when you turn up unexpectedly after his mission had gone slightly against his favours and an aphrodisiac was slipped into his drink? One night will change it all between you two.

Warnings: smut! 18+ mdni, male masturbation, unprotected pinv, desperate and needy Sylus, aphrodisiacs, pet names, he is lowkey feral, face sitting, riding, lowkey this whole thing feels like word vomit, word count: 1.6k, not proof read

author’s note: apologies for the super late post on this fic, motivation has been down the drain lately and i wrote this while half awake :’) but i hope you lovelies enjoy<3

Sylus was at yet, another boring weapons auction but this time he had decided to go alone on a mission to retrieve a pair of black market revolvers for his ever growing collection back home. The whole auction was smooth sailing from the moment he entered the place. What seemed like endless hours of conversations and mingling was only three hours. And also the point where it all began to go downhill for him.

That exact point was where Sylus had taken some time to check out the bar, nursing some bourbon. His guard was slightly down, a mistake he only realised later when an old time friend had approached him for a long overdue conversation. In fact his guard was lowered so much during that conversation, glass abandoned on the counter that he failed to notice the shady man slowly moving unto his location.

The man had left a respectable amount of distance between himself and Sylus, swiftly and discreetly pouring something into his drink and disappearing as quickly as he had previously arrived.

Which is how he had ended up stumbling through his bedroom door an hour later, his skin on fire, flushed and warm. His dark, crimson eyes glowing more intensely than usual, pupils dilated. Sylus fumbled with his tie, grasping at it, pulling at it until it finally came off. The first few buttons undone on his shirt as he collapsed onto the silk sheets of the large bed. A primal need for release was rooted into his veins and he cursed himself for being so careless at the auction.

Sylus’s breathing was heavy and laboured with each intake of air he took, chest rising and falling rapidly. After a couple seconds of toying with his belt and zipper he managed to undo them and slip his trousers, along with his boxers down just enough to free his aching, hard cock. Pre cum already oozing down from his tip and down the pulsating length, trailing along a deliciously prominent vein.

Griping the base of his length with his large hand, the warmth from his palm felt like a heater against the skin. Slowly, he began to jerk himself, hand squeezing his cock-head every time his hand went up causing him to pant and groan shamelessly like some animal in heat, which is how he felt right now. With his head thrown back against the headboard, eyes squeezed tightly shut continuing his ministrations. His hips lifting occasionally to match the pace of his hand.

So lost in pleasure and failing to notice your presence standing by the doorway, Sylus let out more moans which bordered on pornographic. You were frozen on the spot, eyes drinking in the sight of him. The room suddenly felt so hot and your throat was as dry as a desert, heat started in pool in your lower belly and you subconsciously squeezed your thighs together. A soft plea of your name fell from his lips, so tantalising and sinful making the apples of your cheeks warm up and flush a soft pink.

As if right on cue, Sylus’s gaze fell upon you and everything in his brain was screaming at him to half his actions but nothing could bring him to stop. Sure, your unexpected drop in was a surprise but the raw and primal need coursing through his entire being was consuming every moral thought. His mind was fuzzy, a complete blur and then—there was you. Looking like a deer caught in headlights and he thought how cute you looked, so flushed, fiddling with your hands, trying to avert his hot gaze.

“Kitten, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He all but purred that sentence causing you to stutter slightly.

Clearing your throat, “Luke and Kieran had informed me that you were at an auction today.” That simple statement earned a soft hum followed by a nod from Sylus. “So you thought you could just drop by? Perhaps snoop through my things?” He was teasing you, obviously enjoying the reactions that he could get out of you.

Before you could even reply Sylus had risen from the bed and swiftly made his way over to you, moving like a panther stalking its prey. Once in front of you, you could now very clearly see that his breathing was heavy and laboured, skin flushed and emanating warmth. “Well anyways how did the auction go?”

“Swimmingly.” He all but scoffed, red eyes piercing into your very soul. As you reached a hand to inspect his forehead Sylus flinched slightly and let out a soft hiss. “Are you ill? Did you catch something while you were gone?” The concern was evident in your tone, expression softening .

“Does it look like I’m ill, sweetie?” Sylus still managed to keep up his smug facade even while going through the effects of the aphrodisiac. “Well you just look—“

Your words were cut short as he leaned forward, caging you in against the now closed door of the bedroom. It was like something snapped within him as your perfume filled his nose, the scent so intoxicating and strong. “mm, your scent..i want it, i want you..” Sylus nuzzled his face into the softness of your neck.

‘He’s clearly lost it.’ You thought to yourself, begrudgingly.

“We should get you to bed, you need to sleep this off.” You mumbled against his ear as his warm breath fanned against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“No.” Was the response that immediately followed.

Sylus' hands found yours, pinning them up against the wall on either side of your head. He pressed down against you, his body moulding against yours. You could feel the hard lines and unyielding planes of his lean physique, the heat of his skin against yours setting your body aflame. "I don't want to sleep," he whispered into your ear, his voice a ragged murmur. Trying to talk some sense into him was practically impossible at this moment, his mind clouded with only the thoughts of your body against his.

That’s how you both ended up on his bed in a tangle of limbs, clawing off each other’s clothes desperately. Lips attached with one another in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. Easily gripping your hips, fingers digging eagerly into your skin as Sylus manoeuvred you onto his lap above his aching member, begging to be buried inside your warm walls.

As the kiss broke a single strand of saliva that connected your mouths was enough evidence of the atmosphere and tension between the both of you. As you straddled his lap, hovering just above the leaking tip you slowly eased yourself down his impressively large length, greedy pussy sucking him in just begging for more.

A soft, breathy andbarely audible “fuuuckk” fell from his soft, plump lips. His head falling back against the headboard as you settled comfortably down on his lap, his cock snuggly buried inside your wet cunt. You stayed like that for a few moments, hands resting against his broad shoulders. The way he looked at you almost made you shy away, Sylus’s gaze was full of desire and need, the need for you to start moving as he was slowly loosing sanity.

The moment your hips started to move, rising and falling again and again was the moment Sylus finally lost himself. Down right pornographic moans spilling from his mouth with absolutely no shame whatsoever. Large hands roaming your body as he reached the mounds of your breasts, giving them a firm squeeze and occasionally pinching the hardened buds causing a few mewls of your own to slip out.

As you continued bouncing on his cock, Sylus felt like he was on cloud nine. Leaning forward he captured one of your nipples in his mouth, warm and wet. Tongue circling, teeth scraping against the sensitive bud which encouraged you to move faster, to chase that high you both so dearly ached for. With a couple more sloppy movements and occasional jerky snaps of Sylus’s hips, you felt the impending waves of your orgasm crash over you, eyes rolling back and mouth falling into an ‘O’ shape as you came down. The feel of your juices gushing and coating his length was enough for Sylus to also let go, warm ropes of his sticky cum shooting up into your pussy.

The effects of the aphrodisiac had seemed to lessen but Sylus wasn’t fully satisfied yet. And just as you were about to collapse against his solid, comforting chest Sylus had other plans in mind and swiftly lifted you off of his softening cock, pulling you up near his face as he laid back. “Sylus.. what are you doing? I’m still—“

“I know sweetie, but just let me clean you up, yeah?” Seeming as you didn’t protest any further he managed to make you hover above his face, your pussy all on display for him.

“Wait Sylus are you sure that—“ You moaned softly as your pussy made contact with his tongue, hands reaching down to tangle in his silky strands of hair. His tongue was merciless as it lapped up your shared release, the taste of himself filled his mouth causing a soft groan sending small vibrations to your core.

You were so overstimulated and felt another wave of release crashing over you, releasing that sweet nectar for Sylus to greedily lap up, not daring to waste a drop. With a final suck, he let you collapse next to him on the sheets. Your body was so sore and tired as you curled up against him.

As gently and softly as he could, Sylus brought the covers up to shield both your bodies, wrapping his strong arms in a protective embrace. Slumber taking over your minds.

taglist: @whimsiecat @luxmere @madam8 @fava-boi @sylus-crow @ikesimpleton @coldhologramcrown @holdmyravioli @babygirl-panda19 @mianeryh @sinsodom @caramelizedpopcirn @ineffableperception @amywright @chillycheem @lowkeyabby2229 @goddexxluv @alyyylog @depressedbearblogs @for-hearthand-home

unfortunately it wouldn’t let me tag some of you, so apologies for that!

[rafesslxt]

beach night

DAY 1 valentines special <3

SUMMARY: it‘s your first valentines day together and rafe wants to do something special for you, even asking his sister for help.

WARNINGS: make-out session at the beach, rafe being the cutest ever, romantic date, emotional gift, rafe crying, mention of rafe's passed away mom

WORD COUNT: 2,4k

NOTE: english isn‘t my first language, thank you all for reading! Every like, comment or reblog is appreciated! <3

"What are you doing?“ Sarah‘s voice echoed through the steamy kitchen as she appeared in the doorway, which was filled with smoke and cursings coming from Rafe‘s lips as he tried to scratch the last remnants of noodles from the pot that was now pitch black.

"I‘m cooking." his voice was tight, his jaw tensed as he thossed the ruined pan into the kitchen sink. "fuckn‘ shit" he mumbled under his breath, running a hand over his buzz cut and then across his face.

"Yeah.. and why are you trying to cook?“ Rafe sighed, now looking at his sister's amused face. "It's valentines day." he answered, as If that would explain anything.

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "I wanted to surprise her with a.. romantic dinner." A smile crept onto Sarah’s face at her brother’s words. 

"Oh I should‘ve known this is about y/n. Why else would you be in the kitchen the first time after 20 years. So, what did you have in mind ?"

Rafe glanced back at his culinary disaster.  "I wanted to surprise her with dinner tonight – i know i can‘t cook, so I thought I’d practice beforehand to avoid ruining it.”

"Why don‘t you take her to a nice restaurant? You know she appreciates everything, no matter what you do." Sarah should know, she‘s your best friend. But Rafe already knew that you would be happy even if you both just sat on the couch watching movies all night long.

"I know that. But she deserves more. She deserves everything. And I don‘t want to do something with money, that‘s not impressing her." He sank into a chair, running both hands over his head, his elbows resting on the desk in front of him. “Can you help me?” 

"What?", Sarah looked at her brother in surprise. "You heard me. You‘re her best friend, you have to have an idea come on." "Well -", she began, walking over to sit across from him. 

"I mean let‘s brainstorm. What does y/n like? What is she talking about the whole time when you two are together?"

He leaned back, letting memories of their conversations, dates, and time spent together flood his mind "I mean she loves her family, her dog, her friends.. she likes clothes and makeup.."

His sister rolled her eyes. "Not like that. That‘s what every girl likes. I meant stuff like.. her passions."

Rafe nods. "She loves animals, always talking 'bout them. Loves trying new food, experimenting with it while cooking. Uh – she also loves the beach, the ocean in general."

Sarah smiled at him, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. "What?“ "I didn‘t know you could be such a listener."

"Come on, Sarah, I don't have time for this." his voice tighter than before. "Alright alright.. what about a date at the beach?", she suggested.

Rafe's eyes widened, "Yes yes yes! She once showed me some tiktok's of a picnic at the beach 'n stuff. Bet she would love that." Rafe stood up from his chair and began pacing around the kitchen, excitement coursing through him at the thought of her face when she saw a full picnic spread out on the beach. 

"But how do I get the food to be warm when we get there ? I would have to pick her up." His gaze landed on his sister again. "Can you pick her up?"

"Yeah gonna do. John B and I aren't meeting until 10 pm." "Okay great. Uhm - okay I need to go and get everything. Just text her you wanna do something with her since John B doesn't have time for you -" "Uh - he does have time; he's just-" "Yeah yeah, broke ass boyfriend who's late so he has to push the date to 10pm to get everything sorted."

-

He had literally thought of everything. He even enlisted Topper’s help, since that idiot hadn’t managed to secure a date aside from a little hookup that never happened because she dumped him.

Topper assisted him in setting up four fire torches adorned with fairy lights, and he also brought over the food while Rafe continued arranging the rest. He arrived exactly five minutes before you were supposed to show up with Sarah.

“Thanks, man.” He gave his friend a light slap on the shoulder, surveying the setup.

"No problem man, I like y/n. Even though she's a pogue." Topper chuckled before he turned towards Rafe. "Okay bro, gonna leave before the princess arrives. Call me up If you need anything else alright?" He nods and starts walking backwards while Rafe gave him thumbs up and a little smile.

Topper hopped into his car and drove off the beach, taking a different route to avoid crossing paths with you and Sarah. 

Meanwhile you and Sarah laughed in her car to a joke she just told you. "I can't believe he said that!" "It's JJ, what do we expect I guess?", you giggled, glancing outside the window for a short moment. "Yeah, touche."

You noticed Sarah taking a turn toward the beach instead of continuing down the road to her place. “Where are we going?” you asked, curious. "I don't know, felt like taking a quick stop at the beach. Romantic at Valentinesday.", she joked, wiggling her eyebrows.

A small laugh left your lips at her corniness. "Stop, you're almost acting like JJ when he wants Rafe to get mad at him for flirting with me." "I know, saw it last time and I had to listen to Rafe ranting the whole day at home how he's gonna punch JJ in the face so he never can talk to you ever again without a tongue."

You both hopped out of her car when she parked near the ocean. Just a little bit of sand separating you from the waves.

You quietly walked down towards the shore, Sarah taking a turn around a little cliff. That's when you saw it. Him.

"Have fun.", Sarah whispered into your eyes before disappearing behind you.

With your heart racing, you walked down theshore toward your boyfriend, a smile stretching across your face. “Rafe... what did you do?” you asked, clearly shocked, your breath taken away as the view became clearer.

As you reached him, he instantly reached out, pulling you close, his hands finding yours and intertwining your fingers. "Thought surprising you with something different than expensive stuff.", he smiled like a fool, full of love.

Tears of joy tingled in your eyes as you looked over his shoulder. It was breathtaking, like something out of a movie. Therewere various plates of food: one filled with your favorite fruits, another with candy, and a third brimming with crackers,cheese, olives, and everything he had found on Pinterest. Next to the plates sat a large pizza box and a bottle of your favorite wine, accompanied by two glasses.

Everything was beautifully arranged on a large white blanket, adorned with rose petals scattered among the different items.At the end of the blanket was a massive pile of pillows, every cushion Rafe could find around the house, except for those on the beds.

"This is - I don't even have words like, wow. It's so beautiful Rafe, thank you. Thank you so much." He reached down and tilted your head upwards, looking right into your eyes. "Everything. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.", he whispered before crushing his lips against yours.

The kiss was tender and full of love, his lips moving slowly and intensely against yours.

He teased your bottom lip,smirking against your mouth as he felt you open up for him. His tongue found yours, and within moments, the kiss deepened,your hands exploring his chest and wrapping around his neck. Your body pressed against his, feeling his heart racing beneath his chest..

You felt your stomach getting all tingly, heat slowly pooling low in your stomach when you felt his hands greedily wandering over your stomach and right side, down towards your ass cupping it and pressing you even tighter against him.

A moan slipped past your lips, which he swallowed down like the air he needed to breathe. "Shit, stop doin' this shit or I'm gonna have you before we even made it to the blanket." he murmured against your lips, brushing his against yours.

Your eyes locked with his and a little smile formed on your lips. "Hmm, we wouldn't want that to happen, right?" A cheeky grin spread across Rafe’s face, revealing his mischievous thoughts.

You playfully rolled your eyes and took his hands in yours, pulling him toward the picnic. As you settled down, you glancedover your shoulder. When you turned back, Rafe was already hovering over you.

"I'm hungry.." Rafe grinned, looking at you like you were his last meal. "Rafe stop!", you giggled and pushed him off you so he tumbled beside you.

"Come on, let's eat before it gets cold.", you suggested, opening the pizza box. You took a piece and put it on a plate, placing it in front of Rafe while he uncorked the wine and poured each of you a glass.

"To us. To you, the most beautiful girlfriend on this planet.", he said with a cheeky smile, clinking his glass with yours before taking a sip.

You two started to eat and drink, the night filled with you guys laughter and chatting. "I know we said no big gifts and stuff but I still have something for you.", Rafe started when he placed a strawberry in front of your lips. "Rafe.." "Don't start baby doll, you're my girl, I can gift you what I want, alright?" A sight left your lips before you wrapped your lips around the strawberry, sucked it in a little bit and bit off a peace.

Rafe watched you intently, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "Damn you wanna get me high and dry tonight huh?" "What the hell?" you let out a loud laughter at that quote. "Weirdo.", you smirked at him while he pulled out a little box from the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled you into his lap, putting his head onto your shoulder from behind. "Here, open it.", he whispered inside your ear, putting it into your hands. You smiled at him and slowly took the lid off the small boy.

A small gasp left your lips when you looked at a beautiful shell that was threaded onto a golden necklace. "It's the shell you gave me when we first crashed into each other at the beach – the day you moved here, remember?" he kissed your cheek.

You could feel your heart aching with love, your troat slightly throbbing, trying to hold back the little sob. "You still have it?" "Hmm, always had it the top drawer beside my bed." his lips brushed against your cheek before he placed a gentle kiss there.

"Can you put it on me, please?" you asked, your bottom lip slightly quivering. " 'Course." he softly brushed your hair over your shoulder, took the necklace from your hand and placed it around your neck, securing the little clasp before placing your hair back over your shoulder. "Done."

You looked down at your chest and smiled at the little shell that hung now right above your other Necklace with an "R" on it. "It's beautiful, thank you. Can I give you yours now?", you smiled up at him, bending your head a little to look at him.

Before he could protest that you shouldn’t have gotten him anything, you pulled out something from your little purse. "Close your eyes." He obeyed, waiting patiently. You took his hand and opened it, placing the cool item in his palm.

"Okay, open now." ´, you told him, waiting for him to look at it. he opened his eyes and looked down o to his hand, a little golden necklace placed on it. He let out a chuckle and looked at you.

"Seems like we have similar tastes, huh?" "Open it, Rafe.", you said softly, knowing what's inside the golden pendant. He raised an eyebrow at you before taking it in both his hands and opening it up with his fingers.

His smile fell as he stared at the little black and white picture that was placed in it. He felt as if he were frozen, unable to move or even breathe. "Rafe? Baby..", you careful asked him, not sure If it may have been a bad idea to ask Sarah for that picture.

You saw his eyes filling with tears until the first one dropped right down his right cheeks, his lips starting to quiver. "I -" he tried to talk but his words were cut off by a little sob that made its way out of his throat. More tears followed down the first one on his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry, Rafe. Shit I -" He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his head resting against your shoulder as he sobbed like a child, clutching the necklace in his fist. 

"Thank you.", he cried out, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure "Do you want me to put it on for you?", you asked softly, kissing his cheek while your arms were wrapped around him.

You just nodded, causing you to get up a little and carefully taking the necklace from his fist he had opened for you. You put it around his neck like he had earlier around yours and placed the pendant on his chest, a soft smile on your lips.

He looked down at it, opening it again and looking down at a little photo of his mom inside of it, smiling brightly at the camera.

"I asked your dad for it. He told me it was -", you corrected yourself, "is, his favorite picture of her." Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before meeting your gaze again.

"I love you so, so much, y/n. This is - it means so much to me." He said, his voice still trembling. "I love you too, Ray." He pulled you in for a sweet kiss, both his hands cradling your cheeks. "Best Valentine ever.", he chuckled against your lips, making you giggle.

Best Valentine indeed.

masterlist | taglist | navigation | valentines day special

taglist: @supernaturaldawning @cardibre91 @aegonsslxt @juliet-017 @lizzysmith110 @mattyskies @my-name-is-baby @synicaljah @tiaajosephin @gxdsfavgal @whyamireadingthis @starkeycore

xoxo sarah <3

[actuallynickels]

The last few months have been extremely hard and all this has lead to me having to make possibly the most difficult post I’ve ever had to make. Michael and I are no longer together. We both are making our own posts about this so please be sure to read his as well.

About 3-4 months ago Michael started becoming romantically involved (verbally, not physically) with another person and was not honest with me about it. To add important context Michael and I have been polyamorous for the vast majority of our relationship. I have had a second partner for a while who Michael has also been close friends with since well before I started dating them. Michael was of course free to have multiple partners as well, the issue is that he was dishonest and broke my trust.

I didn’t plan on all of this coming out this way, but over the last couple months my trust has continued to be repeatedly broken and I’ve seen little effort on Michael’s part to repair our relationship. I don’t hate Michael or think he’s a bad person. He just has things to work through and he’s starting therapy soon while I have also started therapy for my own struggles.

All of this being said though, Michael and I will still work together. Part of what makes this so hard is that we still love each other very much, but neither of us can make us work. I do not want a single project or friend of ours to treat him any differently. I do not want ANYONE picking sides, as that isn’t what either of us need. We both have a lot of healing to do and that cannot happen without kindness and understanding. I wish nothing but the best for Michael on his healing journey, I just can’t be a part of it anymore.

[capn-atlas]

activities you can do other than phone in bed with stuff you probably have in your house

solo activities:

make a cardboard ANYTHING. sword, ragdoll, sign, ANYTHING. there's tons of tutorials on youtube and pinterest

draw. idc if you draw like a five year old, it's still fun! or if you have a printer you can print out colouring pages or get a colouring book

READ!!!!! fanfics, novels, comics, magazines, graphic novels, there's so many options!!!! it's awesome i love reading

after you're done with a magazine, cut out the letters! i do this with magazines, junk mail, old artwork, and random stuff i find around the house. after you finish cutting them out, you can make art with them, write ransom notes, put messages on your walls or something! they're very versatile and fun to cut out.

bake or cook! it's especially fun to do with friends, but also if you have music on or a show or a facetime call! not only is it really fun to make, you'll have cookies or mac and cheese or cake or bread by the end of it

make paper chains, pendants, or garlands for your room. super fun, super easy, all you need is construction paper, tape, and scissors and then BAM your room is stunning

cut up old clothes and make em into smth new

with friends:

movie marathon. popcorn, at least one movie musical, maybe ice cream. bam. fun night.

bracelet making.

drawing challenges (e.g. have the same inspo pic, base a character off it, and see what you come up with. three colour challenge. swap paper every ten minutes. draw your pets. the list goes on)

make a playlist. listen to said playlist while doing other things on this list.

i cannot think of other things rn. it's 11:56 pm. go ask your friends.

It sucks that they got rid of every activity. It’s only phone in bed now. They got rid of everything else

[marvelstoriesepic]

Soft spot

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Alpine is determined to gain access to your room while you are resting.

Warnings: Bucky’s conversation with a cat lol; fluff; feelings; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: I just needed to write a little something and this came out. Hope you enjoy! Also, I probably will be posting the next chapter of like a Phoenix tomorrow.

Masterlist

“Nah, Alp, c’mon now.”

Bucky sets his mug of tea down on the kitchen counter with a quiet clink - he never used to drink tea before moving in with you, but living with you changed that.

The little white kitten Bucky and you adopted from the shelter a few months ago paws insistently at your bedroom door, tiny claws scratching against the wood. She lets out a sharp, impatient mewl.

Bucky sighs, before striding over to her hurriedly and scooping the little ball of fluff into his arms before she can make more of a racket.

“Alpine,” he warns, almost too firmly considering he is talking to a cat. “Cut it out, yeah? You’re gonna wake her up.”

The kitten wiggles in his hold, clearly unimpressed. She meows again. Loud. Indignant. Bucky huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and scratching her behind her ear.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, glancing at the closed door to your room. “Ya miss her. But she’s had a rough couple weeks, alright? Stress n' exams, you know, the whole damn deal. She needs the rest. Can’t have you climbin’ all over her like the little menace you are.”

Alpine stares at him with those big blue eyes, as if she understands every word but refuses to accept the reasoning. Another sharp meow, this time more of a protest.

Bucky sighs dramatically, shifting her into one arm and rubbing her chin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t gimme that look. I ain’t the bad guy here, buddy. Just tryna let her sleep.”

Alpine doesn’t seem to hear a word.

Before Bucky can react, the little furball twists her tiny body and slips right out of his grasp, landing softly on the floor.

In an instant, she is back at your bedroom door, paws crawling, tail flicking, and meowing like she is under torture.

Bucky groans quietly, dragging his hand down his face. “Jesus.” He crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches her.

He reaches out, rubbing slow and soothing circles on her soft white fur. “You just wanna be near her, huh, girl?” His voice is softer now. He sighs, deep and heavy, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I get that.”

Because Alpine loves you. She doesn’t hide it - follows you everywhere, curls up in your lap, meows until you give her attention. She’s got no hesitation when it comes to showing how much she adores you.

And that is what Bucky envies.

Because Bucky loves you too. He just can’t show his affection that outright. He’s your best friend. Your roommate. And that’s the part that stings.

He would do anything for being able to show you how much he adores you without crossing the line he is afraid to.

His chest tightens long enough for him to really feel the ache and he stands up, exhaling through his nose with a resigned breath.

“Alright, you little punk,” he mutters, shaking his head as Alpine turns those blue eyes back up to him. Expectant.

Slowly, he reaches for the door handle, giving the kitten another warning glare. “Just for a quick visit, yeah? No bouncin’ on her. No wakin’ her up, got it?”

Alpine meows.

Bucky huffs, pushing the door open carefully.

The small cat whooshes past Bucky the second the door cracks open, a blur of white fur darting straight for your bed. He barely stops himself from calling out, biting back a curse as he runs a frustrated hand down his face.

Damn cat’s got a one-track mind.

But he can’t really blame her. You’re on his mind probably even more often.

He steps inside, deliberately avoiding the creaky floorboards. He’s been in your room often enough to have memorized them by now.

Alpine reaches your face and bumps her small head against yours with a high chirp before rubbing along your cheek.

You don’t stir in your sleep.

Curled up on your side toward the direction of the door, hands tucked near your face, you’re completely dead to the world, your breaths slow and even.

Bucky guesses the stress from the last weeks must have finally caught up to you because you don’t even twitch when Alpine starts licking at your fingers.

“Alpine,” he whisper-yells, stepping closer, ready to scoop the little cat up and drag her outside before she wakes you.

But Alpine starts to circle, once, then again, before settling right against your hip, tucking herself into a comfortable little ball. She lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Bucky stops in his tracks, hands on his hips, shaking his head with an amused smirk on his lips.

“You’ve got no idea how jealous you’re makin’ me right now, Alp.”

Something tugs and turns in his chest, watching the way you sleep so peacefully, completely unaware of anything. Of how easy it is for Alpine to curl up against you and claim you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

He lets out a breath, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Alright,” he utters in a whisper. “Guess I’ll just stand here like an idiot while you get all the cuddles.”

Alpine flicks her tail.

Bucky stands there for a moment, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you.

The way your brows are at ease, your face soft and relaxed - peaceful and serene in a way he hasn’t seen in too damn long.

And oh how it calms something deep inside him.

The past few weeks had been brutal on you. It was a mess of late nights, long assignments, and that damn stubborn streak of yours keeping you from slowing down, no matter how many times he told you to.

You pushed yourself too hard - always do - and every time it drives him up the wall.

He hates seeing you stressed and he did what he could. Brought you tea, draped blankets over your shoulders when you were too caught up in your work to notice the chill. Left food by your side when he knew you’d forgotten to eat.

And you accepted it all - gave him those sweet little smiles accompanied by a thanks, Buck in that soft voice of yours that always knocks the wind out of him - but you never really listened.

Never listened when he told you that pushing past exhaustion isn’t the solution. That not having a clear head is worse than not being prepared at all.

But now you are finally resting.

For the first time in what feels like months, you are letting yourself breathe.

And Bucky feels like a weight is falling off his shoulders, a tension he was gripping finally loosening.

He exhales a deep, relieved sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

Alpine stirs slightly at your hip but stays balled up, her soft purring filling the room beside your deep breaths.

It’s then that Bucky notices the book half-tucked against your arm. You must have been reading before finally crashing, trying to quiet your mind enough to let yourself sleep.

He steps closer, cautiously, eyes flickering to your face to make sure you don’t wake up.

For a second, he worries it’s one of your damn textbooks - because if you fell asleep studying for god knows what now, he is going to have to give you some words.

But as he leans over you slightly, fingers brushing the covers and gently pulling it away from your arm, he lets out a pleased breath. Just a novel. Good.

He carefully marks the page, folds the book shut, and sets it on your nightstand.

Bucky straightens, and he knows he should walk back out - really, he should - but his eyes stay on you a little longer. He almost feels like some kinda creep just standing here, watching. But hell, he can’t help it.

You look so damn adorable with your little pout. So damn beautiful with your hair falling just so, features so soft, color in your cheeks.

His breath hitches unintentionally and his pulse skips, his heart only a trembling thing in his chest.

Taking in a deep breath, he takes a hold of your blanket and gradually tugs it up over your shoulders, up to your chin.

The fact that Alpine gets dragged along with it and the grumpy chirp she lets out gets ignored by him. She glares at him in annoyance but does not move from her spot.

“Mhm… Buck…?”

Your voice is thick with sleep, soft and drowsy, and it nearly knocks Bucky off balance. Literally. His foot catches on the floor and he stumbles slightly, heart lurching in his chest like the idiot he is.

His gaze snaps to your face. You blink up at him, slow and unfocused, brows scrunching in confusion. Eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, your voice slurring slightly.

Jesus. You’re so damn cute like this.

Bucky clears his throat, forcing himself to school his expression. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he coos in a whisper, gentle and soothing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He shoots Alpine a pointed look, but the cat, as usual, doesn’t seem to give a damn.

You shift slightly, nestling deeper into the sheets, eyes fluttering shut again. Without thinking, Bucky brushes his hand through your hair, over your cheek in slow and soothing motions to coax you back into sleep.

You hum in contentment. That little sound does something to him, settling deep within him.

And hell - if his heart doesn’t clench at the sight of you like this. So soft, so sweet, so damn beautiful it hurts.

A lightness swells beneath his ribs. An airy flutter dances.

He focuses on the way your breathing evens out, the way your body melts back into the bed.

And when he’s sure you’ve slipped under again, Bucky lets himself lean down, lips ghosting over your temple in the lightest of touches, giving you a soft kiss. He lingers just a second, long enough to whisper against your skin, voice barely more than a breath.

“Sleep tight, doll. You better dream of me.”

And with one last glance, so full of longing, he forces himself to pull away. He lets Alpine stay with you, despite the fact that he wants to be the one who gets to do that.

But he slips out of the room as quietly as he can, shutting the door behind him with a faint click. Leaving with you the racing of his heart you caused and the ache of something he isn’t sure he’ll ever have the guts to say out loud.

“Her, because she makes life poetry, she turns every bit of it into art.”

- butterflies rising

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

CAN WE HAVE DOEY BEING A PLATONIC YANDERE TO THE PLAYER?? I WONDER HOW HE WOULD ACT GIVEN HIS CONFLICTING PERSONALITIES AND EMOTIONS DUE TO BEING MADE OUT OF THREE KIDS

Yes, you absolutely can! This ended up being way longer than I first planed and I'm actually pretty proud of it :)

Platonic yandere Doey & Reader

★ When Doey first meets the Player, he is intrigued. It's not every day you meet someone who keeps cheating the grim reaper. As Doey spends more time with the Player, he realizes that they are different than most employes. You are nice and treat him kindly.

★ His conflicting personalities create a strange mix of curiosity and adoration inside of him. Especially after you stay to help the Safe Haven instead of working with Poppy. Plus, the Player has been through so much already. They really should take a break.

★ He goes above and beyond to make them feel comfortable and secure in their new home. He introduces them to the other toys, making sure they feel included and part of their little community. Tries to help them relax after what they have been through, also.

★Doey becomes emotionally dependent on the Player, deriving a sense of purpose and stability from their presence. The thought of losing the Player or not being able to protect them fills him with fear and anxiety, fueling his yandere tendencies.

★ All three parts of him agree on one thing, protect the Player at all costs. That means not letting them leave the Safe Haven. At least not without him. It comes from a place of genuine care, having concern for the Player's well-being.

★ He prioritizes their needs, ensuring the Player feels safe and loved. If the player were to reciprocate his care by doing things to make him feel valued, it would mean the world to him. If it's not too much, could he pretty please hold your hand? (please say yes)

★ The player's consistent care builds trust between them. That trust is very important. Never break it or you might regret it. Doey is still unstable at times, and he could still lash out at you if the wrong button is pushed.

★ Yandere Doey is very possessive, he is aware of this and tries his best not to be. He really wants to give the Player the freedom they deserve but at the same time he fears losing you to others and may become anxious if you spend too much time with another toy.

★ Those thoughts are silly, he knows it, you would never abandon him for a new friend. However, that nagging voice in his head tells him differently. It may end up with him subtly manipulating the Player. It was for friendship though so it's okay!

★ He might use guilt or even fear to keep the Player close, making them feel responsible for his emotional well-being. The thought of the Player getting hurt when he's gone fills him with all sorts of bad feelings. Ones he doesn't even want to think about.

★ By this time it's too late to go back. He is too afraid of being abandoned, if you suggest going off to finish what you started and killing the prototype he would have a panic attack.

★ His conflicting personalities are unified in their fear of the Player facing danger and he becomes visibly distressed. It's too dangerous! If you leave and never come back, what will he do? Doey may even go as far as physically putting himself between the Player and the exit if it comes down to it.

[mwahsol]

I see you

Description: You are obvious about your feelings towards her. Recently her most recent “fling” dumps her claiming that all she can talk about is you, every topic you are somehow in some way mentioned. Paige being confused doesn't understand what she's talking about, you are just her friend right? The more she thinks about it, the more she starts questioning your “friendship.” One night while hanging out with your guys teammates everything comes crashing down. 

Since tomorrow is my birthday I've decided to be nice and come back from the dead :) also, WHY IS IT SO HARD TO HAVE MOTIVATION TO WRITE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS. Anyways enjoy babe.....

Since the first time you had laid your eyes upon her, you knew you would fall in love with her. How could you not love her, when you first got recruited you were nervous that you wouldn't get along with the team seeing as how you were naturally more reserved but as soon as you entered that gym Paige instantly welcomed you with open arms. She broke down all of your walls and you slowly but surely became closer with everyone, she brought you out of your shell. Whenever you needed a partner during practice she was instantly at your side touching you in some way showing her eagerness to play with you, right by your side. When she couldn't sleep she would beeline to your room, she would crawl right in next to you on your bed seeing if you wanted to go somewhere with her or wanted to keep sleeping. To you it didn't matter what you did, you just wanted to be with her, so if she wanted to go shoot around at 2 am or sleep next to you and listen to your podcasts with you, without a doubt, you would do it. At first, you genuinely believed that this was how best friends were, you just loved her. After your first year, you slowly started to realize that you fell in love with Paige Bueckers. Maybe she could love you too, right?

After three years on the team and two years being in love with her, you started dropping hints throughout of your feelings but she never noticed. You watched her hold others the way you would dream of being held by her, you saw how she would wrap her hands around their waists, how she would lean down to whisper into their ears about how beautiful they looked that night. How could she not notice that you spent hours getting ready to feel pretty for yourself but a part of you wanted Paige to tell you that she thought you looked beautiful. All of the girls she would hold always seemed completely different to you, you would compare yourself to them. You couldn't be mad though they weren't at fault, how could they have known that you would give anything for Paige to look at you how she looked at them? Selfishly you would always wonder why them. Why not you?

You watched her kiss them. Paige has never been shy about affection, so to her kissing girls while her teammates were near has never been a problem. Unfortunately, you always seemed to look at her when she was kissing them like her life depended on them. The way she would bring their hips near hers, her hands holding their jaws gently, how she would smile into their kiss knowing they enjoyed it. You saw it all. You could only watch with envy in your eyes, you prayed countless times that she would kiss you like you were oxygen. As soon as you saw their kiss you would turn away and go to one of your teammates and cry to them. They all knew about your love for the blue-eyed blonde, they could all see how you looked at her like she hung the constellations in the sky, they saw all the tears you would shed for her, they saw everything Paige didn't. How could they see if but she just didn't.

All you could do was watch as Paige would run around the door asking everyone if her outfit was good enough for a date, she always comes to you first. Why does she have to torture you more. Why does she have to taunt you. In all fairness, she didn't know that every time she would come and excitedly tell you about how she asked a girl out on a date, it would eat you alive. You felt like you couldn't breathe every time you imagined what their date was like. Would it be how you always envisioned your dates with her? If you told her you loved her would it change anything? Would she drop everything and tell you she has been in love with you too?

As the clock shows 2:16 am, you get up giving up on trying to go to bed. Sliping into your bunny slippers you walk to Azzi’s room, you know she's most likely asleep but maybe she's up watching a Netflix show or something. To your luck you're right.

“Hey bun, couldn't sleep?” She asks knowing why but she'll let you rant.

“Nope my brain won't shut off,” you say as you take off your slippers to climb into bed with her. Slipping yourself into her side, making her arm drape over your shoulders while you hug her midsection you can hear her hum.

“Why? Wanna talk about it?” If Azzi was honest with herself she was shocked Paige hadn't noticed that you have worshiped the ground she walks on.

“Just thinking about all the stuff with P.” Since she left for her date at 9 it's been all you could think about, you will end up driving yourself crazy by how much you think about her on dates that aren't with you.

“You know all that thinking will make your head even bigger than it already is,” she giggles as you look at her with fake offense and shove her gently but when you both stop laughing she softly says, “Bun you both are some of my closest friends but maybe you should try out dating too, see what's out there.”

Her words echo through your head, since you started playing at Uconn you never really dated. Your main focus has always been playing and your academics, then the realization of your feelings for your blond teammate happened and that shut the door of dating for you. You never even thought about dating anyone that wasn't Paige, you knew no matter who it was they wouldn't compare. Their laugh wouldn't be hers, the way their hands would touch you wouldn't be the warm hands of the blue-eyed player, their lips wouldn’t be the ones you dreamt about, they wouldn't be Paige. It wouldn't be fair to give someone else hope of a future with you when your future slept right next to you most nights. Your heart would never be theirs, your heart will be on the court with her.

“I don't know if I could even act like I could see something with them,” when Azzi hears the sadness in your voice she can't help but want to call Paige and yell at her about how blind she is. “You don't have to see it anymore than as a casual date, find someone you think is cute then go for it, or next time someone asks you say yes.”

When you go to say that wouldn't know where to start she cuts you off. “And don't you dare say you don't know who because I've seen multiple boys and girls ask you out but you always say no. Just go on one then see how you feel about it bun.” She says teasing but also encouraging you to get outside of your bubble a bit, maybe you'll find a way to be ok with Paige not reciprocating your feelings. Maybe.

“You guys won't ever let the bun name go huh?” You ask hoping to change the subject.

“As long as you wear those slippers I don't think so, they're cute though,” she hopes you give it some thought though, she and everyone hate seeing you heartbroken. Maybe just maybe this way Paige could see what everyone else sees.

While you fall asleep you can't help but think that maybe it's a good idea.

By the time Paige gets home it's almost 4 am. Her heads was killing her from all the arguing she and her most recent “fling” were having. She wanted to come home earlier but as soon as she heard your name be brought up negatively she instantly started arguing till her throat was sore. As she unlocked the front door she knew she wanted to see you, when she opened your door and saw your empty bed her heart stopped. Where did you go? As she pulls out her phone to check Life360 she sees that your location is here at the dorm.

“She's sleeping in my bed.” Paige flinches not expecting anyone else to be awake much less Azzi.

“Why?” She doesn't know why but knowing that you're not in your bed makes her uneasy, but you being in someone else's bed that isn't hers makes her skin crawl. Why? She's never had a problem with it before? It could be that even when you would sleep in someone else's bed besides hers she would still be laying next to you bothering whoever's bed you both lay on. No that couldn't be it, right? She wasn't jealous.

“Couldn't sleep.” Azzi knows the blonde like the back of her hand. Why couldn't Paige figure out that she was in love with you too.

Whenever Paige held someone she almost had to force herself to. The feeling of them close to her made her feel wrong but she took it as maybe she lost feeling for them so she would cut them off, find someone else, and the cycle repeated. Anytime she would compliment the girls she would be seeing she would only compliment things that reminded her of you. When she would kiss them she would allow herself to pretend they were you, desperately pulling them into her grasping at the image of you being the one she was kissing instead, feeling herself smile at the daydream of you. When she would feel eyes on her she would pull away from the kiss seeing you walking towards the team, why did her heart hurt, why did she feel guilty that you saw her kissing someone? She's never had a problem kissing anyone in front of her team but when you would look all she wanted to do was wipe her lips and try to explain things to you, but explain what, you both were friends. When she would dress up for dates she would come to you first wanting to hear your opinion on how she looked, she would always seek approval from you first. But you were both just friends, right? Right. She's just overthinking.

“Oh ok, I'll just go to bed then.” With a small nod, Paige turns to go to her room until Azzi opens her mouth.

“Why were you looking for her?” Come on P, say something Azzi can't help but want to get a reaction out of her so maybe she could also see how in love she is with you. Hoping to push her best friend to see her true feelings maybe.

“Just wanted to check up on her you know,” Paige can't see it, yet.

“Ok see you in the morning P,” Azzi says a bit disappointed but knowing Paige will think about it. “Mhm, nigh Az.”

Since that encounter with Azzi, Paige has noticed that you slowly started distancing yourself from her. Maybe she was overthinking but what other explanation could there be? At practice, things seemed tense. You would partner up with Aubrey or anyone else before she could even make her way to you. When she would try to come into bed with you she started noticing that you weren't home when you usually would be in bed. Sometimes she would notice that you would come home far later than you ever have, where were you spending your time? At times she would see you right as you were leaving but you were always dressed up. In heals? Makeup and hair done almost always. You’ve always been beautiful to her no matter if you were dripping in sweat or in a fancy dress but she knows you, you don't get dressed up unless you are going out with the team, and you don't go out much enjoying being home and relaxing after practice, she couldn't find any reasons as to why you were almost every night out.

Why didn't you talk to her? Why wouldn't you even glance at her? Why does her heat physically feel like it's breaking when she thinks of you? And why did she hear you talking to a girl over the phone one day as you were getting ready? Why did she ask you if you were almost done because she was outside? Why?

Paige was going crazy without answers. She was going crazy without you.

One night the team decided to have a movie night and order a bunch of junk food to relax and spend time together. Feeling a bit guilty that you already had plans with a girl you were casually seeing you told all the girls you wouldn't be there but you would make it up to them, you told all except one. Paige, you physically couldn't bring yourself to tell her about your date. You know even after all of your dates and trying to expand outside of your friendships you were right, no one amounted to Paige. No one held a candle to her. You felt stupid that you kept distancing yourself when all you wanted was to be next to her again. You couldn't keep watching her anymore, you didn't have it in you to watch her give everything you've ever wanted from her to others. So when practice ended you rushed home to get ready to go out.

As all of the girls were setting up and bringing in the food Paige couldn't help but notice that you were missing. Looking around from her spot on the couch, next to her was your spot she had been saving it hoping that maybe tonight she could get you to sit next to her, all of the girls started to get on the couch and/or their place on the floor. She had almost argued with Jana as she had sat in “your” spot. Seeing as you hadn't told Paige about your plans, KK opens her mouth ready to tell her that you weren't joining but as you come out of your room all dressed up in a dark purple mini dress, a black pair of heals, silver jewelry stacked on your arms and neck, your skin glowing with body glitter, your hair curled, and makeup that complimented your features she feels the world stop. You looked enchanting. If she were standing up she's sure that she would fall to her knees right then and there. She couldn't help but wonder why you were dressed up though, you were all staying in no?

All of your teammates freak out jumping on you and telling you how pretty you look. “Girl oh my give me a spin,” Nike hypes you up holding your arm up and letting you give them all a 360. “Y/n you know I'm single currently,” Kayla jokingly flirts back. “Oh my, bun you look gorgeous,” Azzi adds knowing this might wake Paige up. As the rest of the girls gush over you Paige can't seem to get up, she was in a trance as soon as she saw you. You in her favorite color might be one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen in her entire life.

“Ok ok guys I need to head out, they're waiting for me downstairs,” you let out laughing at their antics.

You're leaving?

“Bye guys I'll try to be home soon,” as the door shuts Paige can feel herself go numb.

“Where is she going?” She asks scared that she might know the answer. They can all see her shut down, they can't help but feel guilty for her but also happy for you that you're trying new things. No one has the heart to tell her the truth until Azzi looks at her and tells her the hard truth, “She's going on a date.”

When those words leave Aizz’s mouth she feels like she's about to throw up. Is it true? All those times she saw you dressed up you were going to see someone? She feels like she can't breathe but she has to look, she has to look at their faces to see if it's true. As her head rises to look at them they can all see the tears in her eyes, almost like instant deja vu they see your eyes looking back at them. They have been here before but with a different teammate crying over the other. It's almost poetic how similar your eyes seem when you cry over each other in front of them.

“P why are you crying?” KK is the one to ask to test out if her friend finally understands her feelings for you. They knew that they couldn't tell her, she's too stubborn to listen to them, she had to be the one to realize her feelings.

Paige finally understood.

“She won't even look at me. When I walk into her room and she's not there I lay in her bed hoping to catch her when she comes back. She won't even play with me. I can hear her talking to someone but I don't want it to be someone she is seeing. I don't understand what I did to make her mad at me,” as she rambled on Azzi couldn't help but feel a bit responsible but also not. She gave you unbiased advice, she wouldn't take it back.

“Paige that night I caught you looking for her, why did you come home late? Why was she the first person you looked for,” come on Paige see what's right in front of you they all think.

Paige can't stop the tears from coming. She knows her voice will come out shaky but it's now or never, “I went out with that girl from the soccer team and I thought the date was going great till we went back to watch a movie at hers and she blew up. She stalked yelling at me that the whole night I kept talking about Y/n and how at first she thought it was sweet that I had a close friendship with her but after talking about her only, that I act like I'm in love with her. At first I honestly just planned to walk out but then she started insulting her and I just couldn't keep my mouth shut, how could she talk badly about her? She didn't even do anything wrong,” while the team listened to Paige they gave each other a look knowing that she does talk about you any chance she gets. How did she still not see it?

“And when I got home I just wanted to sleep with her but she wasn't there, I started to panic but I saw that her location was still here then Az said that she was with her and all I could do was go to my bed.” She explains not knowing what's going on.

“Paige can you really not see it?” Ice asks trying to see if it finally clicks for the blonde.

“What?” Why are they all looking at her like she should know something. Could it be? No right? If she says the words. If she asks, she can't take it back. Maybe just maybe.

All of your memories together float through her brain. Your eyes that shine like stars when you look at her, your hair that smells like coconut from your shampoo, you're eyelashes that lay over your cheeks as you sleep, your nose that gets red when you get cold, your lips that she catches herself staring at thinking about what it would be like to feel them on hers, your laugh that is like music to her ears, your voice that is like a siren song to her, your hands that fit in hers perfectly, your chest that she lays her head on to hear your heartbeat, your legs that wrap around her when she picks you up, every single thing about you she worships. Her waking you up at 2 am to go hoop with her and you not even thinking twice before getting dressed, late night ice cream when you both just want to be together, you both saving each other seats never wanting to be too far apart, the dumb bunny slippers that she got you that you now rarely take off, the way you both climb into each other's beds and just lay together. You're everything, you are what she looks forward to every day, you waking her up to pancakes with coffee, her watching your angelic face while you sleep. Paige Madison Bueckers is in love with you, a girl who is on a date with someone else in her favorite color.

“I love her, I’m in love with her,” she mumbles out in awe.

“Yeah, you are,” Kayla states what everyone is thinking, but what will she do now.

“Does she love me?” Paige asks afraid of the answer.

“You're kidding right?” KK asks shocked that she's even asking.

“What?”

“Paige that girl has loved you for years,” she can feel herself lose her breath. What? There's no way that's true right? Please tell her that she heard wrong.

“Everyone could see it but you.” No no why didn't she see it sooner. “Why didn't she say anything?” She asks not knowing if she hopes it's a cruel prank or if she wants the confirmation that you love her.

“Did she have to? She made it pretty clear to you.” What.

“I mean do you see her waking anyone else with pancakes?” But you're always nice.

“Much less bring it to us in our beds.” You had sleepovers together that's why. Right?

“She sleeps with you almost all the time, the only times she hasn't was when you were with another girl.” Shit.

“You don't see her matching outfits with anyone else do you?” She always did love it when you would match colors, it made her feel like she had a claim over you even if it was just for the night.

“P whenever you would kiss someone or held their hand she would come to us crying. I don't think she would cry just because.” She made you cry, all those times she saw you walking away you had tears in your eyes.

“What do I do?” There has to be a chance right. She can't let you go now that she knows you've been there all along.

“I don't know.” What.

“What do you mean?” Please she needs something.

“Well P she kinda keeps going to these dates to get over you.” No. She's so close she can't just not try.

“I have to give it a shot, please.” Give me something, anything. Is all she can keep thinking hoping for any shot no matter how small.

“Well I know she's at that restaurant that opened up by the pizza place, Lavie or something like that,” Jana says remembering you telling her before practice when you asked her for her opinion on your outfit.

When she hears the name her movements are almost like she's in a trance, her only thought is to get to you as soon as she can. She stands up not caring if she's in her pajama pants, glasses that she rarely wears outside, her wavy hair in her natural state, grey nike tech sweater, and gets her keys from the dining table. They all watch her leave with encouraging smiles on their faces knowing that you two will end up together. They've all watched you fall in love and everyone even on the staff knows that you both need each other just to exist.

While you and your date are at the restaurant you can help but feel sick to your stomach. You know she knows you're pretending she's someone else. You allow yourself to envision her as Paige perhaps this is the closest you'll get to her. Why can't you just let her go. She haunts you. The way she looked at you when you came into the living room is embedded into your brain.

“I'm sorry to take you away from her tonight,” Hayley says knowing the team had plans tonight.

Your head lifts quickly looking at her for answers. “I know you all had plans,” she explains a bit while eating her salmon.

“No it's ok I enjoy getting out,” you reassure her since it was your choice that you went out not liking the idea of being near Paige for a long time. You try your best to keep the distance you've created.

“Do you miss her?” What? There is no way she knew right?

“Y/n I've seen the way you look at her. If I'm honest I'm also trying to get over someone, I see the way you look through me basically and I’m not mad really. I'm pretending you're someone else too.” Hayley confesses. You let out a breath of relief seeing as you both are just two people in love with another trying to find comfort in each other.

“No luck for you ether?” You ask her hoping at least one of you has some luck in getting over your situations. “Nah but I'm not too mad at it, I enjoy spending time with you.” She grins at you showing that she's being sincere. “I enjoy my time with you too.” As you continue your dinner the weight of this being a “date” wearing off you both start genuinely talking like friends would.

Paige gets to the restaurant as quickly as she can, she's pretty sure she might've broken some laws but for you, she’d break all of them to get to you. As she sits in her car for a second she collects her thoughts, was she really about to go in there and steal you away? Yes. The thought of you in there with someone who isn't her is burning her skin. When she sees you laughing through the window in the front she feels herself get hot. Screw it. She gets out of her car almost too quickly that she almost stumbles out. Walking up to the establishment intimidated her a bit, it's a nice place and here she comes in her pajamas to get you. It's all worth it for you. When she opens the door she can see the hostess opening her mouth to ask her if she's lost but she marches to your table nearby determined to get you.

Since your back is turned to her Hayle sees her before you do but you sense Paige before she even entered the restaurant, not wanting to believe your sensation you ignore it.

“Hey, I think one of us might just have some luck.”

“What?”

Paige stops right next to your table panting. You stare at her wide-eyed in shock. What is she doing here?

“I need to talk to you.” She states, her eyes pleading with you to come with her.

“I'm kind of in the middle of some-”

“Go, I'll be ok. Text me how it goes.” Haley blurts out wanting one of you to get your happy ending.

As soon as Paige hears the words she grabs you almost pulling you up and rushing you both out of there. She's too fast, you're heal-covered feet can hardly keep up.

“Paige wait I'm in heals. I'm going to trips wait up.” When the words leave your mouth she instantly stops and turns to you as you regain your balance. As you straighten up you let out a yelp not expecting her to pick you up bride-style and walk you both to her car. You hear the car unlock and she opens the passenger door while still holding you and puts you inside gently making sure you ok before she shuts the door and goes to the driver side.

You turn to look at her with shock and are about to ask her what does she think she's doing but she beats you to it. Turning to face you she looks into your eyes directly and says the five words you've been dying to hear.

“I’m in love with you Y/n” You feel the world stop when she says that. Are you awake right now? Was this a cruel dream?

“Don't say that,” you let out feeling your eyes start to tear up and your throat tightening.

“I love you Y/n.”She says determined to fight for you. She's not letting you go unless you truly want her to.

“Paige you're being mean, stop it please I can't take it.” How could she? How could she mock you? You turn to look away from her not being able to look at her while she lied to you. While trying to win your gaze, you feel her hands. The hands you've craved are turning your face to her slowly wiping your tears. While you let yourself have this one moment with her she starts speaking knowing that you need to hear from her again that she loves you.

“Y/n/n I'm so unbelievably in love with you and I didn't even realize it till I saw you walk out of the dorm. I know you may not want to hear this but whenever I would kiss other girls I would imagine that they were you, when I would hold them I thought about you, all of the things I've done with others I would envision you. I know it's wrong but I was such a fool, it has always been you. You're it for me bun. If I can't have you in this lifetime I pray I get to have you in the next and every after that. We were made for each other. Anytime I listen to Jeff Buckley I instantly think of you. If I could I really would give all my blood for your sweet laughter. I could write novels of you, every single thing about you I could write thousands of pages for. Anytime I hold you I never want to hurt you, I want to take care of you. I want to show you that I can love you gently and purely. When it comes to you I'm all in, everything is yours. Whatever you want I'll do, I'll give it all to you only please baby. Let me worship you in every way possible. I'm all yours, my mind, my body, my heart, my soul, everything was made for you. Give me a chance, let me show you. I can't handle the thought of you with someone else. I don't want to be without you.” During her confession, she rested her forehead against yours. Her finger still wiping the new tears that appeared as her speech went on. Your sweet girl.

“I've loved you for two years maybe even longer. I would watch you with them, my skin felt like it was being peeled off, my heart would stop when I would see you.” You let out not being able to hold it in. Pulling away to look at her you see she started crying too.

“I know I'm sorry baby. Please let me love you, I may not deserve it but I need it. Please.” Her eyes filled with more tears how could you say no. How could you say no to everything you've been hoping for.

“I love you, Paige. I’d give up anything to be with you, you are everything I've wanted for so long. I physically crave you. Even though I didn't say it out loud I tried to show you. I can't blame you completely, I should've said something but I was too scared of losing you.” You say laughing a bit at how much you're both crying. It's your turn to wipe her tears away. Her skin under your fingers feels like you were meant to hold her.

“I love you too. I should've realized sooner. We're both so stupid.” She replies while laughing a bit. You both couldn't stay mad at the other. As she admires you while you're trying to make sure her face is dry all she can do is think about kissing you.

“Kiss me,” did she hear you right? By the look on your face, she can tell you need her as much as she does. The kiss felt even better than you both had imagined, you could taste her tears and vanilla chapstick, she could taste your tears and strawberry lipgloss. She grabs your jaw while her other hand grasps at your waist pulling you a bit over the console. One of your hands is on her shoulder while the other is in her hair. As the kiss goes on it gets hungrier, pulling away to catch your breath you stare at each other.

‘How beautiful,’ runs through both of your heads.

“I love you.” Paige can't help but say it as she pecks you all over your face, repeating it between kisses.

Giggling you can't help but grab her face and peck her on the lips, “I love you too.”

As you both look at each other you can't help but crave something.

“Can we go get ice cream?” You ask not being able to hold it in anymore.

“Are you serious?” She asks laughing in amusement. While you get back into your seat properly buckling your seatbelt you turn to her and smile, “Always.”

“Does this could as my first girlfriend duty?” She asks grinning at the title she's given herself as your girlfriend. Yours.

“Yes so please love let's go, I need a sweet treat.” You flutter your eyelashes at her knowing that'll get her. Even though she would've done it without she smiles seeing as how you agreed that she was yours.

“Can't let my baby go with her ice cream,” she states as she puts the car into drive then moves to grab your hand in your lap, wanting to hold you in some way.

“Aw such a sweet girlfriend I have,” you say as you bring up her hand to your lips giving it a kiss while looking at her grinning so hard your face hurts.

“Yes ma'am, although I think you're sweeter,” you can see her blush from your kiss on her hand. Any little touch you give her makes you giddy.

“I love you, Paige.”

“I love you more Y/n.”

“Not possible.”

“Possible only for you.”

As you both get ice cream and watch the stars you both just feel at peace knowing you were with the person that was handmade for you. Made for each other in every way possible, tied together, sown together, invisible string. Right in front of each other all along.

D1 yearner... BUT anyways I need to lock in and write because the way my drafts and prompts look...... I hope you enjoyed this <33333

Kiss the sun🌞

[hamzaheaven]

Haiiii im scouring Tumblr in search of friends to lovers! or besties with feelings! hcs for Hamzah and im pretty sure ive read all of them lol so could you make do one pretty please??? 🤭

friends2lovers!hamzah headcanons

a/n: oh my fingers have been ITCHINHGGGHGHG for something like this .. i couldve written an entire book on this but let me calm down . HOPE U ENJOY !! thank u for the req anon :-) warnings: none

SFW <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

friends 2 lovers!hamzah headcanons<3

friends but crushing:

gets increasingly more nervous around you the longer he knows you

looks at you for just a little too long sometimes

hysterically denies it when you do catch him staring 

literally doesn’t know how to act around you lol

will absentmindedly play with your fingers or the ends of your hair when sitting near him, and will then silently freak out as he zones back in and becomes too aware of what he’s doing lmao

a plethora of edits on tiktok shipping you two, speculation of “are they dating???” “did you see how he looked at her” galore

WAY too shy and awkward to make a move

makes many feeble attempts at flirting a little regardless

flirting to bf-gf !!!!:

freezes completely when you start flirting back

youre a little more bold about it, and he sometimes doesn’t know what to do with allat

making funny, suggestive jokes at him while filming videos or during the podcast, causing him to be even more flustered as it is on camera lol

gets a little unsure and anxious when it comes to physical affection, so it took a lot of pining and hesitation and yearning and frustration before the first kiss :o

after the first kiss yall beat around the bush like a bull in a china shop LMAO

however, slowly but surely, you naturally gravitate towards each other, and absentminded hand-holding and kisses on cheeks start to occur more often

at some point, it all flows so easily, he starts kissing you when he comes (the sfw one yall) and goes

 tbh he just starts introducing you as his girlfriend one day

“since when am i your girlfriend?”    “uhh… now, i guess…? if you want to, i mean…”

you say yes, of course

bf!hamzah:

still a little clueless on how to act now that he has you 

like he’ll quickly look away after kissing you, struggles to maintain eye contact for too long, gets flustered so easily it actually frustrates him a little

HATES pda, but is the clingiest, neediest mfer behind closed doors omg

loves laying with his head between your thighs so you can play with his hair (when he still fucking had hair .)

not that into petnames… finds it more meaningful to call you by your nickname <3

literally stuck to your side once you both touch the sheets

always falls asleep with his head on your chest, so you can, again, play with his hair (or caress his now bald head like polishing a billiard ball idk) 

loveeeeeees your perfume and your scent in general

becomes the actual textbook definition of ‘clingy’ when he’s gone on a cousin walk if u know what i mean hehe

half-lidded, red eyes, a sheepish grin on his face, shamelessly staring at you

followed by a hazy, dreamy, slightly sloppy make-out session iktr

we all know that man has a tendency to whine and moan and whimper no matter the situation so just imagine what he would sound like when kissing........... and other things LOL

he loves to slide his hands underneath your shirt 

ass & thigh guy for SUREEEE woah

a lot of unserious play fighting, verbally and physically

which of course causes him to gag for absolutely no reason

doesnt have a lot of experience in the love department but he feels sooo comfortable with you and you make him feel like he doesn’t need any experience at all to know how to treat & love you so good <3

[revvethasmythh]

listen, now that everything is said and done i'm going to say something i've been thinking but not outright saying for the past nearly four years. frankly, imogen and laudna's relationship is a pale shadow of caleb and veth's and if you really sit and think about it, it's outright embarrassing for the former party. it's like if you saw a beautiful piece of art and tried to emulate it and then the only thing you managed to jot down that was the same was the basic shape and you never added any color when the color was the most important part. imogen and laudna's relationship is formed out of almost the exact same origins (troubled mage who needs to keep a distance from regular society joins up with monstrous misfit with a traumatic backstory and become each other's most important person while traveling place-to-place because they keep getting into trouble in cities). the difference is, genuinely, how much more colorful and lived in caleb and veth's story feels. they met in a podunk county jail and worked together to break out of the place, stayed together for practical reasons (straight-up survival) and then out of genuine friendship. they were hobos in the woods together. they cuddled on the side of the roads on cold nights together. they were genuinely each other's sole lifeline because they were the type of people no one in the world cared about in a very real, visceral way. they were also con artists, and sam and liam worked together to come up with an entire booklet of different cons they used to survive, which come into play surprisingly often during the campaign (Modern Literature, famously, but also Mother's Love and Money Pot featured).

comparatively, we know next to nothing about what imogen and laudna's lives looked like after leaving gelvaan, and the Incident™️ that sent them running in the first place remains amorphous and random no matter how many times the story is told or whatever extra details get added. the people of gelvaan found laudna to be a generically threatening presence (because of her fun-scary appearance and/or kooky-fun-scary behavior) and picked up their torches and pitchforks to run her out of town. imogen heard her thoughts and found them so beautiful she nearly killed two of the townspeople she grew up with the defend her and then they fled into the night together. and that's it. what did they do for two entire years after that? i don't know! neither do you. they don't appear to have struggled for money like caleb and veth did, there's no reference to hard-living, no real reference to what jobs they took to stay afloat, no mention of the practical realities of living as homeless nomads, no mention of towns and cities they'd visited and how those places impacted them. nothing. empty. no color. how did their relationship develop? also don't know! they seem to have slotted together perfectly as friends with no conflict for years before slotting together perfectly as lovers while batting aside all attempts at conflict later. done and dusted, that's the relationship, and people have the gall to call caleb and veth's successor relationship 'soulmatism' when it doesn't hold a candle to what the original offered.

which was, to be clear, endless complexity. i can't tell you how to define it, and i don't think the character's themselves could define it if they tried. sam went into the campaign intending to lean into a familial relationship and quickly realized that wasn't the vibe, course-corrected into veth having a crush on caleb--something sam has said developed fairly early in the campaign.* liam went into the relationship not intending to care about her nearly as much as he ended up doing, then spent the early campaign eps grappling with just how suddenly important she was to him, to the point that, in the face of her potentially dying in episode 20, liam says to sam, "do you want to make my character turn evil already?"** both were surprised at how tightly their characters clung to each other, and developed a deeply caring, highly insular dynamic where they were suspicious of outsiders and desperately guarded each other. with full retrospect, both went into the relationship intending to use each other (caleb for general usefulness/protection and veth, obviously, hoping caleb could change her back one day), then found such deep and tender care that they became each other's worlds. for a time. until nott became veth and veth had a husband and it sent their relationship into a tailspin because no matter how you frame the relationship, caleb clearly felt his feelings for her and the way they behaved together stepped over the line of how one should act with a married woman. after that, he is terrified of the idea that he might not have a place in her life and works so hard to create opportunities to insinuate himself into her present and future (teleportation spells so she can travel home quickly and still return to the group, making room for her family in the tower so she can stay with him, offering to tutor luc in magic to stay in her life, etc). veth gets her body and her life back but fears returning home will be lackluster compared to what she's experienced with the group, starts falling out of love with her husband, and has intense extra-martial feelings for caleb that are canonical. their relationship morphs and changes constantly throughout the campaign, and the one thing about their dynamic that never changes is how deeply and truly they love each other. you want to talk about soulmatism? them being the two party members with fake names who's real names share aspects of each other ("Bren" and "Brenatto") both from small-town dwendalian empire who's lives have been deeply impacted by meddling of the cerberus assembly (veth's in adulthood, caleb's in childhood) and who's deepest traumas are respectively fire and water does the trick for me.

so why is one so popular and the other, particularly as a romantic ship, very much is not? it would be obtuse of me not to immediately point to the fact that imogen and laudna are two pretty, skinny white women who claim to have deliciously little agency in their own stories and provide a blank enough canvas that the relationship can be whatever you want it to be. there's a reason there's so many AU fics for them, after all. caleb and veth on the other hand would center first a relationship between the handsome white fandom-popular sadboi and *checks notes* a self-described ugly, unfeminine goblin with deep neuroses and later a short, fat brown woman who also happens to be a young mother from a small country town. popular fandom, tragically, will almost always turn away from dealing with complexity of the latter for the empty calories of the former regardless of the quality gap between the two. if anything, watching the popularity of imogen and laudna's relationship has cemented my opinion that if veth had been different (either a man or a generically attractive white woman or someone more conventionally pretty just in general), widobrave would have been a massively popular ship, and i think it would have been regardless of veth's marriage. people can forgive a lot to write about their two generically attractive favorites getting together. they're a lot less forgiving for an ugly goblin or a fat, brown young mother, though.

tldr: reject modernity, embrace tradition. ship widobrave

*Talks Machina for C2E88, VOD no longer available, but a paraphrase of the quote can be found here **(2:09:30 on the YouTube VOD).

[foreveia]

director’s cut ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; college!au, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst like its there if u squint

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 17.3k

⨭ description; when you convince your best friend into being the male lead of your film project, you don't expect for it to make you question your whole relationship.

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, smoking

⨭ a/n; this has been in the works for quite a while now and it is defff the longest fic ive ever written (not saying will ever write yet bc who knows), but i think i like it. i am a sucker for best friends to lovers, ESPECIALLY childhood best friends to lovers, so i hope u guys like it :)

one. 

The universe has a top-tier sadism kink, and its living proof is Tsukishima Kei. 

You know this to be a fact because 1) aside from his bachelor of science in anthropology, he’s pursuing a PhD in sarcasm and uses his learnings primarily to eviscerate your self-esteem, 2) The Umbrella Academy doesn’t come out with another season for another few months so your life choices have become the pinnacle of his entertainment, and 3) despite being your Bestie™ of twelve years, he still makes you beg for his benevolence, even if he does have the annoying habit of showing up when you need him most.

It’s deeply unfortunate that he’s all you’ve got, universe be damned. 

“Name your price. Cake? Head? Money? C’mon, just tell me what you want!”

Tsukishima peers at you over his laptop with disdain, the blue glow of his pirated PDF of The Communist Manifesto reflected in his glasses as he squints at you. His lips are pursed in annoyance, face scrunched up as he seemingly contemplates whether to put himself out of his misery or squash you to little smithereens. “What I want is for you to go away.”

True love, honestly. The golden standard for kindness and affection. A picturesque image of camaraderie. Lo and behold, everyone, your best friend.

“Oh my god, Kei, please,” you whine, hands clasped together as you look up at him through batted lashes. He doesn’t even flinch, looking completely unimpressed—how pretentious of him. “I’ll literally pay you whatever you want.”

The blond rolls his eyes, looking back down at his laptop screen as he briskly retorts, “I’m not a prostitute, idiot. You can’t pay me to star in your stupid movie.”

He ignores the several judgmental stares that turn in your direction at his response. You, on the other hand, are praying the library’s studious occupants don’t assume you’re a pimp preying on broke college students. 

In all honesty, you probably should’ve chosen a less populated spot than the library’s first floor seats in front of Crow’s Coffee, especially if you actually had any intentions to get work done. But with just a few months left until the end of second semester, you have way too many dining dollars left and not enough places to spend them; in this capitalist world, you refuse to let more money simply be pocketed by the greedy hands of the school. It’s how you managed to tempt Tsukishima out of the comfort of his apartment in the first place—with promises of free coffee and shortcake, courtesy of your four-star meal plan. 

“Technically, that’s a pornstar,” Yamaguchi supplies unhelpfully from his spot buried amongst stacks of math and science textbooks. He’s the only one of you who’s effectively completing his assignments because he won’t pass his classes unless he’s in constant fight-or-flight mode (you thank every deity you can think of that you weren’t born to be a STEM girlie). “You know you’ve got the time to, Tsukki.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” he shrugs. You promptly deliver a swift kick to his shins. “Ow—well, now I really don’t want to.”

“Be honest, do you hate me?” you sniff dramatically, letting your head hit the table with a soft thud; Yamaguchi pats your head tantalizingly, as if you’re a fuckin’ child, and you want to scream at them both.

“Yes,” Tsukishima snorts, not even bothering to glance up. “It’s your own fault for being a film major.”

You shoot him a glare, but no threats come to mind because he’s sadly right.

Being a film major is basically being in a perpetual state of begging: begging your friends to star in your work, begging your professors for an extension because your lead decided to quit the night before shooting, and begging your parents for forgiveness because they didn’t send you to college to become a “professional movie watcher.” 

Sure, you get to watch artsy film-bro movies for homework, but you also spend half your time pulling all-nighters to finish scripts and survive solely off a diet of Shin Ramyun and its complimentary mushroom flakes. Tsukishima likes to tell you how you reek of constant desperation; you concur because no one has a real penchant for the arts these days. In a world where everyone dreams of being the next Spielberg, nothing is truly original, and you’re just barely holding on with the kind of boundless optimism that can only be fueled by sheer willpower. 

So here you are, offering bribes of cake, coffee, and cold hard cash, trying to convince your best friend—who has the emotional range of a teaspoon and the patience of a sleep-deprived toddler—to star in your magnum opus so you can pass the semester. You’d ask Yamaguchi, but he’s got civil engineering exams and an actual promising future to worry about. Meanwhile, your future, desperation and all, hinges on whether Tsukishima will stop being a pain in the ass for ten minutes and agree to be your leading man.

Luckily, because you’ve been #pairbonded for twelve years, you know exactly what buttons to push. You let out a sorrowful sigh, before loudly declaring, “Fine. I’ll just ask Shoyo then.”

That does it. Tsukishima’s jaw twitches, his fingers pausing over the keyboard; you know him too well because the mere thought of the red-head starring in your movie is enough to make Tsukishima reconsider his stance. You never did understand their beef, but Yamaguchi tells you that they’re just inverse idiots, which seems pretty likely considering they’re actually both easily provoked and highly competitive. He looks up from his laptop, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he says flatly, closing the lid of his computer with a decisive click.

Yamaguchi snickers, clearly sensing victory in the air. You, on the other hand, suppress your triumphant smile and put on your best wounded-puppy look. “But he’s so eager to help,” you say, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “He’ll do anything for me.”

There’s a moment of silence as Tsukishima contemplates this. His fingers drum lightly on the table, a sign that he’s weighing his options. And then finally, he lets out a long, suffering exhale, head rolled back in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I swear to God, if this film ruins my life, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“You already hold me personally responsible for most things,” you chirp, practically beaming with delight. “But thank you, Kei! You’re the best.”

Yamaguchi looks up from his mountain of textbooks with a bemused smile. “That was a quick turnaround. You’re like a married couple.”

“Only in spirit, ‘Dashi,” you purr, blowing him a playful kiss. The freckled boy pretends to catch your kiss and presses it to his cheek in a dramatic gesture; no wonder he’s your favorite. He really is such a sweetie.

“Stop encouraging her,” Tsukishima groans, pushing himself up from the table. “And stop saying things like that. People might believe you.”

“Wow, not you denying our love,” you scoff, sticking your tongue out at him. “I want a divorce.”

The blond ignores your threat. “I need air. Bye, Tadashi.”

He gives you an unimpressed but telling look, so you roll your eyes and promptly start packing up your things, shoving notebooks and pens into your bag haphazardly. The last things you do are run over to give your beloved ‘Dashi a light squeeze goodbye, swipe your laptop and Owala into your arms (because you are a broke college student who cannot afford to get a new laptop and your New Years’ Resolution is to be more hydrated), and skip to catch up with your friend, already halfway out the door. The evening air is a refreshing change from the stuffy library you’ve been in for hours; you’re sure if you had any free hands right now you’d bend over and grab a handful of grass, just for the sake of it. 

‘Tis is the life of a film major, you guess. You’re bitchless with a capital ‘B’ and spend the other half of your time with your equally bitchless friends. And all they do is abuse your dining dollars and mock your miseries in life, so honestly, it’s a good thing you’re in school to write and produce rom coms. You can live vicariously through them, at least.

But whatever. Pathetic love life aside, right now, Kei has agreed, and you’re already one step closer to a successful final project. 

two. 

The walk home with Tsukishima is as comfortable as ever, the silence between you two punctuated by the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes and the distant hum of campus life winding down for the night. He doesn’t pull his headphones on, but he also doesn’t start up a conversation; being alone with him is simply being able to exist. 

He’s walked you home everyday since the beginning of middle school, when his mom found out he hadn’t waited that day and you had walked home alone in the dark. From your bedroom window in the house next door, directly mirroring his, you had overhead her lecturing both him and Akiteru about the importance of manners—and to Kei’s credit, he’s dutifully picked you up after your classes and chores ever since, even if he grumbles the whole way home. For some reason, this habit carried over when you, him, and Tadashi committed to the same university, even if it meant standing outside a frat house at two in the morning because you got too fucked up to walk home on your own. You puked out half your stomach on his sweatpants, and he’d made you do his laundry for a month as punishment, but he still waits patiently at the café by frat row every time you get coerced to go out by your roommates. 

As you reach your dorm building, Tsukishima steps aside, holding the door open for you; you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Such a gentleman, Kei. What would I do without you?”

He smirks, letting the door swing closed behind him as you head towards the elevator. “Probably get kidnapped or something. You’re too trusting.”

“The only person I’d let kidnap me,” you say dreamily, pressing the button for your floor with a dramatic swoop. “is Oikawa.”

You’re only half joking because Oikawa Tooru, the president of Sigma Epsilon Iota (SEI), is in fact extremely pretty and volunteered to be in your film last semester. You later found out that it was because he’s an astronomy major and thus felt compelled to star in your movie (which, yes, was titled Stars); he convinced you to spend many extra weeks in After Effects making sure the sky imagery looked ‘as perfect as him.’ He’d actually been a really good sport about learning his lines and cues, but you’re pretty sure neither you nor your 2014 Macbook Air would survive that experience again. 

“Right, fall for the guy who does keg stands at every party,” he drawls, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Smart.”

You huff and stick your tongue out at him, earning yourself a half-shrug and an amused snort. The elevator ride is brief, and soon you’re at your door, fumbling with your keys; as always, Tsukishima stops and stands to the side, waiting for you to invite him in, because again, manners. You turn to him with a playful grin. “You know, you don’t have to stand there like a sentinel every time. You can come in.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

You laugh, pushing the door open and gesturing dramatically. “Oh, please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

Not that you had to tell him that. He slouched past you and kicked off his shoes as soon as you gave him the cue. He’s honestly just as relaxed here as in his own studio, already stretching and making himself comfortable on the couch with your favorite decorative pillow tucked under his head. 

You two have settled into a pretty comfortable routine. It’s a Friday night, so chances are that he’ll yank out his phone, scroll through his email. You’ll put something on the TV and he’ll critique it through mouthfuls of popcorn, only to have it ruin his appetite for whatever you end up ordering for dinner; later, if he’s tired enough, he’ll give up on the thirty minute drive home and collapse next to you in your Twin XL. It’s a mess of limbs and limited space, but you two manage—you always have. Your suitemates, Yukie and Kaori, have already texted that they’re bringing home Chinese takeout for four, so you decide against your usual snacks because your twig of a best friend needs actual sustenance.

Swinging by your room to drop off your bag and laptop, you take a pit stop in the kitchen on the way back to pluck two bottles of soju from the fridge. You toss him one; he catches it neatly and observes the flavor with scrutiny. 

“You hate strawberry,” he points out. “Why are you drinking this?”

You shrug, walking over to plop down on the couch by him. “Because it’s your favorite.”

His head is right up against your thigh because he’s too tall to fit on your shitty university furniture, even with his legs half-dangling off the armrest. You click through Netflix, nursing your drink with a slight pout until you make the executive decision to put on The Bachelor.

“Trying to prove you can love both me and Oikawa at the same time?” Tsukishima comments, watching the screen as he pops open the cap of his bottle. He’s referring to Ben telling both Lauren and JoJo he loved them in season 20; you lowkey love the series and he highkey loves the drama. There’s just something about people finding their supposed soulmates after knowing each other for like a month that really makes life entertaining.

“Don’t ever compare me to Ben,” you frown, because you think he was a massive asshole for doing that to JoJo and then not even picking her in the end. These bitches really be throwing each other under the bus. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You just bribed me with strawberry soju.”

“It’s not bribery if it’s out of love. Plus, I can tolerate it for one night,” you roll your eyes, taking a sip of the drink. “So, you wanna know what the film’s about or not?”

He looks at you over the rim of his bottle, eyebrow raised. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you grin, patting his head affectionately. “Okay, so, the film. It’s a romantic short about the progression of a college relationship. Like, from the first meeting to the final stages of being together. It’s dreamy, very aesthetic—y’know, all those soft hues and hazy shots. A smoking scene thrown in there somewhere.”

“Sounds like every other indie film ever made.”

“Shut up. This one’s different,” you insist, lightly tugging on a strand of his hair. “It’s got a great cast—Yachi’s playing the female lead.”

He nods, seemingly interested. “Yachi, huh? What’s my role, then?”

“The male lead, obviously,” you say, not even bothering to look away from the screen. The opening credits have just finished and you’re instantly sucked into the magical world of Malta; God, what you would do to be there right now instead of in your overpriced residence complex.

“Oh, great. Falling in love. My specialty,” he deadpans, taking another swig of his drink. “What do I have to do?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Learn the lines, cues, whatever. Yachi said she’s free tomorrow, so maybe we can get coffee with her in the afternoon and run through the working script?”

Tsukishima groans. “We already have to get started?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot to do,” you retort, giving him a gentle punch on the shoulder. He frowns up at you disapprovingly, and you mockingly frown back. “Get over it. You’re my main star.”

He shakes his head as you both watch the girls line up in knight costumes to compete in the episode’s extra-time competition. Modern television is truly unreal. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me.”

You flick your eyes from the TV to him, gauging his reaction. He’s rolling his eyes, of course, but the small smile and faint blush creeping up his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

three. 

The prior night, your suitemates eventually came home with the promised takeout; Kaori even brought home boba orders courtesy of her friend Bokuto closing shift at the campus Broba Tea, so it’s safe to say you have the best roommates ever. 

Turnabout is fair play, so you and Tsukishima agreed to clean up—therefore, even after your suitemates retreated to their rooms, you two lingered behind in the living room, sorting away recyclables and compost into their respective places and watching your favorites get eliminated. Friday nights like this are nice: just you and your best friend, making three-pointers with empty soju bottles into the blue plastic bin. Even after you finished the season’s finale, you put on some nature documentary (courtesy of his Disney+ subscription, which he exclusively uses for National Geographic like a fuckin’ weirdo) and argued about which ugly fish looked more like each other the whole hour and forty minutes. You must’ve crashed no earlier than one A.M., but the specifics are hazy: you don’t actually remember falling asleep.

So the miserable blaring from your phone right now is truly, in short, cruel. Apparently, you forgot to turn off your alarm for your usual Friday 11 A.M. lecture last night, because you’re currently being rudely awoken at a completely unnecessary time on a Saturday morning. Groaning, you slap around the bed until your fingers find your phone, silencing the alarm. As you roll over, you find yourself face-to-face with Tsukishima, who’s occupying the other half of your twin XL bed, looking every bit as disgruntled as you feel. His hair is a mess, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from your pillowcase; his arm is slung loosely over your waist as he grumbles and tries to hide his face from the light. He must’ve carried you to your bed after you dozed off on the couch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse with sleep. “Why do you set alarms on days you don’t have class?”

“I forgot to turn it off,” you mumble back, burying your face in your pillow. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He sighs, rolling over onto his side and squinting at you as he makes out the hazy figure of your silhouette through his shitty impaired vision. “Move over. Your greedy ass is hogging all the space.”

Ah yes. Truly, a dreamboat. You roll your eyes, but scooch closer to the wall nonetheless; his grip tightens slightly around the curve of your back as you make space, and you can’t help but smile into your pillowcase. Despite his grumpy demeanor, there’s a warmth to his presence that you’ve grown to appreciate over time. 

“Better?” you ask, your voice muffled by your cotton pillow.

“A little,” he grumbles. He shifts closer, his body warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You lay there in comfortable silence for a few moments, listening to the quiet sounds of the morning outside and the soft rhythm of his breathing. Your head kinda hurts; you haven’t woken up this early on a Saturday in forever. Maybe in another life, you’re born as one of those matcha latte girls who get up at 6A.M. for a run and have their lives sorted out by noon, but in this one, you love procrastinating and Netflix far too much to have yourself in order like that. Truly, you run off caffeine and spite and Google Calendar reminders—and as if on cue, your phone buzzes with a reminder about the meeting with Yachi. 

Tsukishima, recognizing the sound of the notification, leans over and hands you the device to read, giving you a minute before he asks, his voice soft to match the stillness of the room, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Crow’s with Yachi at one,” you murmur back. Normally, you’d be giddy to meet with your beloved angel of a friend (you would literally give Yachi your whole life), but truthfully, you don’t really want to get out of bed. Kei’s fingers, lightly tracing patterns on your back as he processes the information, feel so comforting and warm. You’re tempted to cancel and spend the day here, in bed, with him, but you know just as well as he does that you can’t.

“Right,” Tsukishima sighs. “Guess we should get up soon, then.”

“Mmm, in a bit,” you reply, savoring the warmth of the moment. “Just a few more minutes.”

He doesn’t argue, instead allowing the silence to stretch on comfortably. But eventually, it does slow. “We should get going, or we’ll end up being late,” he says, though he makes no move to get up.

You groan in response, but you know he’s right. 

“Fine,” you mumble, reluctantly sitting up. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn, and you glance over at Tsukishima, who’s also making an effort to get up; he grabs his glasses, neatly folded on your nightstand, and puts them on, blinking back into consciousness. He looks far too composed for someone who’s just gotten up, but of course he would be.

What a lovely, familiar sight. You hope this, these Saturday mornings with him, never end.

***

The campus is slowly waking up, students milling about, heading to the library or the better of the two dining halls, the one that serves freshly-made waffles on Saturdays. The other one only serves the world’s runniest scrambled eggs that’s held together with the most plasticky cheese, so even if it’s a ten minute walk further, it’s worth it.

You secure a table near the window; the dining hall overlooks the square and you like watching the way people narrowly dodge the campus seal. It’s a superstition that you won’t graduate if you step on it—and especially now, in the second semester when everyone gets pretty desperate, you gotta respect the grind. Tsukishima has already gone to order at the counter with your dining card, so you’re left alone to ponder about your impending project; you go over the working script in your head, running the lines and dialogue over and over. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when he returns with a tray loaded with waffles, two matching cups of coffee, and an extra serving of fruit for you—because he claims you need to eat healthier. You think he should eat more, period, but whatever.

“Wow, I’m impressed. Fruit? Did you find it hard to carry all this food without your arms falling off?” you tease, as he takes his seat across from you.

He rolls his eyes, picking up his fork. “Someone has to make sure you get at least one vitamin today.”

You stick your tongue out at him and dig into your waffles because you never wake up early enough on a Saturday to actually have them often. 

“When we finish eating, I need to go back and get my laptop,” you announce over a mouthful of waffle, ignoring the disgusted look Tsukishima gives you. “And then we’ll head to the library.”

“I am begging you to chew with your mouth shut,” he groans, throwing a well-aimed napkin at your face. You catch it with a dramatic flourish and quickly dab at your mouth, before you ball it and toss the napkin back at him; he ducks violently, almost knocking over his cup of coffee. You fight the urge to laugh at him and instead stab your fork into a piece of cantaloupe. 

“You need to eat,” you declare, promptly sticking the fruit in his direction. 

His eyebrows arch slightly as he glares at the fork held out toward him, but after a beat of silence, he leans forward and bites off the melon with a grumble. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you beam, popping a grape into your own mouth. “So, Crow’s at one. We can read for like, an hour? And then you’re free to go home and do whatever you do.”

“Study.”

“So boring,” you sigh. “Don’t you have any friends, Kei?”

He scoffs, sawing off another meticulous square of waffle. “I have you. That’s enough socializing for a lifetime.”

“Lucky me, I guess,” you roll your eyes. 

He smirks in response, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, lucky you.”

four. 

After breakfast, you head back to your dorm to grab your things. Tsukishima scrolls through his phone, making an occasional snide comment about whatever nonsense he comes across on Twitter. You pack your bag with your notebook, laptop, and a few pens—desperation fuels organization, and you can’t afford to leave anything behind.

The walk to the library is filled with light-hearted banter, and soon enough, you spot Yachi waving at you from a corner table. She’s already got her laptop out, a notebook filled with neat handwriting open next to her, and you skip up to the table. 

“Hi baby girl,” you coo lovingly as you give your friend a hug. Tsukishima gives Yachi a polite nod before sliding into the seat across from her, leaving you to fill the middle one. “Thanks for meeting us before your shift.”

“Of course! I’m really excited about this project,” Yachi beams, her cheeks slightly pink from your affectionate greeting. “I’ve been reading over the script and it’s just so lovely. I can’t wait to get started.”

And this, everyone, is why you adore Yachi Hitoka with your whole heart. You would actually dropkick your best friend off the face of the earth for her, and that is not an exaggeration.

Tsukishima sighs, reaching into your bag to pull out your laptop; he settles it on the desk and pries it open for you. “Let’s get started.”

His impatience makes you roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you click to the latest draft of the script and slide it over for your Blondes™ to see. “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” you say, pointing at the section still titled SCENE 1 DARFGT :P from when you wrote the first six pages over the course of an all-nighter. “The first scene sets the tone for our whole film, and I’m thinking of having it outside the library, so get used to this café.”

“As if we don’t already spend half our time here,” Tsukishima deadpans, but he leans closer to the screen anyway. You watch the way both of them take in the script, their gazes fixed on the document as they read through the lines. 

He looks visibly relieved as he scrolls through the very short document; it’s a mess of director and action notes because you have a very specific vision in your head that you want to execute. “It doesn’t have much dialogue because I want it to be focused on the little details that show your initial connection,” you say as they near the end of the script. “Y’know, body language. The way you look at each other. Your expressions.”

Momentarily, you pause to read their reactions; you’re minorly concerned because acting is actually the hardest part of the job, even if memorizing dialogue does suck. Thankfully, Yachi’s eyes visibly light up, and she chirps cheerily, “I love that! It feels very natural and genuine; I think that’s beautiful.”

Her reassurance makes you kick your feet like Sofia the First because she says it in a way that feels completely real. 

Tsukishima, on the other hand, does not acknowledge this statement: he’s too busy raising his stupid eyebrow and smirking as he reads scene four. He drags his finger over the screen, where the line reads Interior - Dorm Room - Night. “Okay, first of all, very original,” he snorts. “But second, you volunteered my place without asking me? How very presumptuous of you.”

“Well, I have roommates,” you say, really emphasizing that last word because you want him to feel as stupid as he looks smirking like that (he looks very annoyingly pretty with his cat-like simper). You know he doesn’t actually care about the usage of his studio: he just loves seizing the opportunity to mock you.

Your internal irritation clearly goes ignored by him, because he just grins as he continues to blissfully dissect your script. “And ‘they kiss passionately’? Really going for the heartstrings, aren’t you?”

“It’s called intimacy, Kei. It’s a crucial part of developing the relationship on screen.”

Yachi, ever the peacekeeper, nods eagerly. “I think it’s really sweet. It’s important to show the depth of their connection. The close-ups will make it feel very personal.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Tsukishima says, raising an eyebrow, his expression still amused. He gestures to the next few pages—blank sans the text DJEJSJSJDJ PAIN, because again, you spend a lot of time writing during deranged all-nighters. “But what’s with the cut to black right after? Did you run out of ideas?”

You bite your lip. “I haven’t finished the ending yet. I want to see how you two portray the characters and their chemistry before I decide how it concludes. It’s not just about the script; it’s about the emotions you both bring to the roles.”

“You mean you’re winging it.”

“Creatively winging it, yes,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a work in progress, and I trust you two to help bring it to life.” 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But if I have to make out with Yachi and you cut it short, I’m going to hold it against you.”

Yachi blushes, but she’s smiling too. “I’m sure it’ll be great. We can practice and make sure it looks natural.”

“Thanks, guys,” you beam at them both, grateful for their willingness to dive into your project. 

As antsy as you were, the film’s got a lot going for it—Yachi is a sweet, earnest cutie pie and Tsukishima is… well, him, so their contrast will hopefully make for compelling cinema. And the word compelling is honestly enough—those three syllables are truly music to a film major’s ears.

***

By the time you finish at Crow’s, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the campus. Tsukishima predictably gets ready to walk you home; he shoves his hand in his jacket’s pocket and tries to look nonchalant, so obviously you tell him he looks stupid, to which he promptly flips you off. Rude. Some people just don’t know how to appreciate honesty.

Yachi’s already headed off to her shift at the café, so you two are left alone, navigating past other tables to the library doors. The evening air is cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded café; you walk in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and the distant chatter of other students.

He walks you to your gate, and you’re honestly about to just head inside, but you pause in your tracks because he deserves to hear it twice. 

“Kei,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. It really means a lot to me.”

He looks at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

You blink up at him, momentarily thrown off by his directness. Tsukishima isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean—he’s never been one for flattery or unnecessary kindness. And yet, there’s something about the way he says it, the quiet certainty in his voice, that makes your heart do something stupid in your chest.

Tsukishima Kei cares about you. No matter how much he pretends otherwise, you know he’ll be there for you when you need it most. If twelve years have taught you anything, it’s that he’ll do it reluctantly, begrudgingly, but he’ll be there for you. 

He always has.

five. 

The first day of filming is, somehow, going smoothly.

You’re not sure if you should be suspicious of this. Typically, film shoots involve at least three things going horribly wrong within the first twenty minutes. A mic cutting out. A location suddenly getting overrun with people. A key actor arriving late because they forgot their costume at home.

But today? Today, things are working. The morning light is perfect, the sound equipment is cooperating, and most importantly, Tsukishima and Yachi are actually… really good together.

Which is a huge relief, because you were honestly half-convinced you’d have to wrangle the emotional chemistry out of Tsukishima with sheer force. But watching them run through the first scene on the bench outside the library, you realize you don’t have to do much at all.

He’s relaxed, leaning back with an elbow draped over the back of the bench, his eyes sharp and calculating as Yachi speaks; she’s perfect for the blushing, hesitant-but-artistic old soul character you want to portray and he takes to his role just as quickly. There’s something natural about the way they interact—the slight hesitations, the way he looks at her before speaking, the subtle smirk that plays at his lips when she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear.

It’s not forced. It’s not awkward. It’s just real.

You bite your lip, watching through the camera screen as Yachi delivers her next line, her voice soft, a little unsure. Tsukishima’s response is barely above a murmur, but it carries, even in the open air. The way he’s looking at her—that’s what makes it work. It’s the kind of gaze that makes people believe in love stories. 

Holy shit. This might actually be good.

“Cut!” you call, your voice a little breathless as you lower the camera. Yachi blinks up at you, a little startled, before breaking into a smile.

“Was that okay?” she asks, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

“More than okay,” you say, grinning as you step over to them. “You guys are killing it.”

Yachi lets out a relieved laugh, cheeks pink. “Oh, thank god. I was worried I looked weird.”

“Nope. You look like the perfect indie film love interest.” You pat her on the shoulder before glancing at Tsukishima, who raises an eyebrow at you.

“What?” he drawls.

“You’re actually trying.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, because I’m not going to embarrass myself on camera.”

“Right,” you deadpan, smirking. “Nothing to do with the fact that you two have, like, the easiest natural chemistry I’ve ever seen.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but you catch the way his jaw ticks slightly before he stands up, stretching. “Are we done here? Or are you going to keep talking?”

Impatient idiot. You snort and go to collect your camera and sound system, and together, you all head off to film scene two.

***

The second scene of the day takes place in the small, naturally-lit art studio on campus. It’s not often used, especially not on the weekends, now that the university’s built the big fancy modern art building in the north campus, but it’s perfect for this scene. You wanted something intimate, somewhere that made the world feel smaller, quieter, to parallel the deep intimacy of a relationship (wow, look at you talking like a true film bro). A space where the characters could be alone, even if they weren’t saying much.

Tsukishima sits at the table, his hands idly flipping through a sketchbook that’s just a prop, though you think it suits him weirdly well. Yachi’s holding a paintbrush, standing near the window, looking at a half-finished canvas, the soft glow from outside catching the strands of her blonde hair just right.

“Alright,” you say, stepping back behind the camera. “Tsukishima, this scene is mostly you watching her. Yachi, I want you to look like you’re lost in thought. You’re thinking about something big, but you’re not sure if you want to say it.”

Yachi nods, exhaling as she settles into place. Tsukishima just leans on his elbow, glancing at her through his glasses, waiting.

You call action. And for a moment, the room changes. It’s not just a studio anymore. It’s a quiet, suspended moment in time.

Tsukishima watches Yachi, and you can’t look away. The way his gaze lingers, not quite analyzing, not quite soft, but something in between. The way Yachi’s fingers trace the edge of the painting, distracted, unaware of the way he’s looking at her. The way they look so perfectly together, like halves of a whole, like something that’s meant to be.

It’s... breathtaking.

You swallow, suddenly feeling warm.

They’re good. Too good.

“Cut,” you say softly, your own voice sounding a little distant.

Tsukishima looks up at you immediately, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s searching for something in your expression. Yachi, however, simply exhales a breath of relief, breaking into a small laugh. “That felt really real,” she says, beaming.

“It was really real,” you admit, trying to shake the weird feeling creeping up your spine.

Wow, honestly. They must be some of the best actors you’ve ever met. If you didn’t know better, you would think they were actually in love.

six. 

The blinking cursor on your laptop is mocking you. 

It’s a tiny, relentless metronome ticking away the seconds, reminding you of your failure to move forward. You glare at the half-finished sentence on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, willing your brain to conjure anything—literally anything—that makes sense.

You had an ending in mind—of course you did. The perfect, soft, cinematic conclusion to your film. A final shot drenched in golden light, delicate and lingering, like a whisper against a bruise. The kind of scene that settles into the chest like an old song or a half-remembered dream, stirring something deep and unshakable. The culmination of all those quiet, electric moments between your leads, woven together into something fragile and honest.

Except every single draft you’ve attempted so far? Complete garbage.

You groan and throw yourself back against your chair, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. Why does this feel impossible? You should’ve known writing the ending would be the hardest part. You’re always better at beginnings—openings are easy. Openings are full of possibilities. But endings?

Endings mean making a choice.

And right now, you have no fucking idea what choice to make.

As if on cue, summoned by your misery, your door swings open without warning, and Yukie strides in like she owns the place. Which, to be fair, she practically does—she and Kaori have an open invitation to barge in at any time, and they use that privilege liberally.

“Please tell me you’re taking a break from that thing,” she says, nodding toward your laptop as she flops onto your bed. “You’ve been staring at it like it’s personally offended you.”

“It has personally offended me,” you mutter back, head caught between your hands, visibly in distress. “I’ve rewritten it like five times, and it still feels wrong.”

Yukie hums, but her attention drifts toward your open script document, skimming the words with the sharp, practiced gaze of someone who enjoys knowing things before you tell her. A beat later, her eyebrows shoot up.

“I still can’t believe you’re letting Yachi and Tsukishima film together,” she says, lips curving in a smirk.

You glance at her, confused. “Uh, yeah? They’re the leads? Kind of an important part of the whole thing?”

She rolls onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, expression downright mischievous. “No, I mean… you don’t think it’s a little risky?”

You blink. “Risky how? Like existentially?”

Yukie snorts. “No, dumbass. I mean, don’t you think it’s easy for co-stars to catch feelings for each other? Like hello? Zendaya and Tom Holland broke the Spiderman-MJ curse cause of it.”

“Oh c’mon,” you scoff immediately. “Kei and Yachi? Please. He’s the human equivalent of a hazard sign, and she’s literally an angel.”

“And opposites attract,” Yukie sing-songs, wiggling her eyebrows like she’s just cracked some grand conspiracy.

“Not like that. It’s literally just acting.”

Yukie tilts her head, looking entirely too entertained by your dismissiveness. “You say that, but it’s not uncommon. You spend enough time pretending to love someone, and eventually, it stops feeling like pretending.”

You open your mouth to retort—but for some reason, your brain short-circuits. The words are there. They’re on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come out. Because now you’re thinking about it.

Tsukishima and Yachi. Together.

It’s ridiculous, obviously. Tsukishima is sarcastic and emotionally constipated, and Yachi is sweet and nervous and actually respects people’s feelings. They make sense on screen, sure—chemistry is chemistry, and that’s what acting is for. But in real life? You can’t even picture it. Matter-of-fact, you shouldn’t even be picturing it.

And yet, something uneasy churns in your stomach, and you shift in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. No, this is stupid. You’re overthinking. Yukie’s just stirring up unnecessary drama because that’s what she does when she’s bored.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice forcibly even. “They’re just acting. Besides, you really think Tsukishima of all people would catch feelings for someone just because of a film?”

“Mmm.” Yukie hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You say that, but you’re weirdly defensive about it.”

“I’m not defensive,” you snap, too fast, too sharp. A mistake.

Yukie’s smirk deepens, and you hate her for it. She swings her legs off the bed, stretching like a cat. “When you’re done pretending you’re not in denial, dinner’s ready,” she chirps, sauntering toward the door.

You roll your eyes. Classic Yukie. Your roommates are simultaneously your greatest strength and your worst influence; they know you inside and out, and unfortunately, that means they never let you run from your own feelings. They’ve been convinced for years that you’re in love with your best friend, which is laughable. Delusional, even.

And yet.

The thought lingers longer than it should, trailing after you like a shadow as you trudge to set for the first day of filming.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity when you glance Tsukishima’s way. Just morbid fascination when you catch the way his gaze lingers on Yachi between takes. Just professional interest when you watch how his sharp, unimpressed scowl softens—barely, just a fraction—when she nervously stumbles over a line, and he mutters a quiet correction, his voice steadier than you expect.

It’s just good acting, you reason. Nothing more.

Because Tsukishima is your best friend. And that’s all he’s ever been, all he’s ever going to be. You tell yourself that, over and over and over again, trying to make it feel like the truth. But for some reason, despite all your effort, it doesn’t, and it bothers you in a way that it wouldn’t bother friends that are purely just platonic.

seven.

“You look like shit.”

You rub your eyes, very conscious of the fact that you’re sporting dark eye bags and a goofy-ass fit. Your hoodie is three sizes too big, your sweatpants have a suspicious stain on them from an unknown source, and your hair looks… actually, you don’t even want to talk about it because it really is that bad. You blink up at Tsukishima, who has somehow managed to find you after your afternoon lecture, looking disgustingly well-rested and put-together as always.

“Thanks,” you deadpan, shouldering your bag. “Great to see you too, Kei.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes but doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you with that keen, observational gaze of his. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

You pause, thrown off by his genuine concern—normally, he’d just mock you and move on, but there’s a sharpness to his tone today, like he actually cares. Maybe it’s because you’ve barely been outside in the last few days, much less seen him and Yamaguchi. Now that you’ve made it through over half of the film’s scenes, you’ve already started editing it together (arguably the worst part of being a self-produced film student: the excessive time spent with Adobe Creative Cloud). You hesitate, then sigh. “Just tired. I’ve been working nonstop, and I still haven’t figured out the ending.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms. “Why do you always do this to yourself?”

“I thrive under pressure.”

“You thrive off caffeine and bad decisions.”

“Same thing,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Tsukishima doesn’t look convinced, but instead of pressing further, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys, holding them up with a lazy shake. “C’mon.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You clearly need a break. Let’s go.”

You frown at him, confused. “Go where?”

“Does it matter?” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “I swear to god, if you go back to your dorm and stare at your screen for another five hours, you’re gonna lose whatever brain cells you have left.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you know he’s right. Your brain is fried, your eyes are starting to blur from staring at a screen all night, and you could really use some air. So, with a dramatic groan, you give in. “Fine. But if you take me somewhere boring, I’m jumping out of the car.”

“Noted,” he says dryly, shoving his keys back in his pocket before turning on his heel. “Now move it.”

***

The drive is familiar, comfortable. You don’t even ask where he’s taking you because, honestly, he’s right: it doesn’t matter. Being in his car like this feels natural, like muscle memory.

You remember when he first got his license, the first of you three to do so. Akiteru had gifted him a car to use once he did, an old but functional, clean and simple one, much like him. At the time, it had felt like the biggest deal—suddenly, Tsukishima had a ticket to freedom, and by extension, so did you and Yamaguchi.

You can still picture those early drives vividly: the three of you packed into the car, Yamaguchi in the passenger seat nervously checking the map while you sprawled in the back, shouting ridiculous directions just to mess with Tsukishima. He always acted like he hated it, threatening to pull over and leave you on the curb, but he never actually did. 

There were the late-night drives to nowhere, just because none of you wanted to go home yet. The ice cream runs in the middle of winter, sitting in the parking lot with the heater cranked up as you argued over movie rankings. The way Tsukishima always kept one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the volume knob, adjusting it up or down depending on whether he was feeling indulgent or annoyed by whatever you were blasting through the speakers.

You remember one time, when a storm had rolled in suddenly and you got caught out in the rain on the way back from a late study session; he’d picked you up after you spam-called him seven times. Tsukishima pulled up to the curb in front of your house, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour, but for some reason, instead of rushing out of the storm into your apartment, you’d just sat there for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain against the car roof. He hadn’t told you to get out, hadn’t asked why you were lingering. He just turned up the music, leaned back, and let you stay.

The cityscape blurs past the windows as the car hums beneath you, the low rumble of the engine mixing with the sound of the playlist Tsukishima has quietly playing in the background. You recognize the song instantly—it’s from one of your old shared playlists, one you made together back in your first year of high school.

You glance at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gearshift. His sweater is vintage, made of a gorgeous dark green wool that you had been ecstatic to find when you first took him to your favorite thrift store back home; it looks good contrasted with his blond hair and fair skin. His usual stoic expression is softer in the evening glow, illuminated by the street lamps lining the road. 

God. Have his eyes always been able to capture the city lights like that? 

***

Tsukishima drives for what feels like forever, but when he finally pulls over, it’s basically where you started: an empty parking lot, outside of your favorite convenience store because they’re open late and always stock freshly-made to-go onigiri. It’s owned by a sweet old woman, so double points; you two have been coming here since the start of your freshman year. 

He throws the car in park and gives you a look. “You coming?”

You sigh dramatically but unbuckle your seatbelt, stepping out into the cool night air. The store’s neon sign hums quietly, casting a soft glow over the pavement.

As soon as you step inside, the familiar scent of warm rice and miso greets you, and you immediately relax. Tsukishima heads straight for the onigiri section, while you linger near the drinks, debating between a matcha latte and a cappuccino.

“You’re getting the matcha,” Tsukishima calls over his shoulder, barely even looking up.

You roll your eyes but grab it anyway, because yeah, he’s right. You join him at the counter, where he’s already placed two onigiri on the register—one salmon, one tuna mayo.

“You know my order,” you say, amused.

He shrugs, handing over his card to pay before you can argue. “You never change it.”

The words are casual, offhanded, but something about them settles deep in your chest. You look at him, at the way he’s effortlessly familiar with your habits, your preferences, your life.

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

eight. 

You tear into your onigiri, letting the familiar taste of salmon and warm rice settle on your tongue. The quiet hum of the city surrounds you both as you sit on the hood of Tsukishima’s car, drinks resting beside you. The neon glow of the convenience store sign flickers in the periphery, casting long, gentle shadows over the pavement; the night is cool but not biting, the breeze rustling the stray napkins you’d forgotten beside you.

The conversation flows lazily, touching on everything and nothing at once—complaints about professors, Yamaguchi’s latest doomed tutoring attempts with Hinata, Tsukishima’s upcoming project on primate evolution that he absolutely does not care about. It’s easy, the way it always is, but there’s a weight pressing against your ribs, something you can’t quite name.

Then it slows. After a beat, you sigh, staring out at the dim glow of the streetlights. “I think I might change the ending.”

Tsukishima shifts beside you, glancing at you briefly before turning back toward the night sky. You don’t even have to specify: he knows what you’re talking about. “Yeah?”

“I wanted a happy one,” you admit, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “But I don’t know if it fits. Every version I write feels fake. Too neat. Too… easy.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking a slow sip of his drink before shrugging. “Then don’t force it. If it’s not working, make it ambiguous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he argues, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “People like things that feel real. If you’re struggling this much, maybe that’s your answer.”

You chew on his words, considering. Maybe he’s right. Maybe an open-ended conclusion is the answer—letting things linger, unresolved but full of possibility. But something about that unsettles you, like leaving something unfinished, like waiting for something that never comes.

And then, it clicks: how to leave it ambiguous without being unfinished. 

You exhale, pressing your phone’s power button and watching the screen light up, a blank notes app staring back at you. Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you start typing, the inspiration finally clicking into place. You can already see the scene in your mind—the way the light will filter in, the subtle expressions, the carefully chosen silence between words.

Tsukishima watches you with mild amusement, his lips quirking up just slightly. “Are you seriously writing right now?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, furiously typing. “You said something smart for once, and now I have to take advantage of it.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t survive without me.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know he’s right. The thought lingers, unspoken. How many times has he done this? Pulled you out of your own head before you spiraled, pushed you to do better, reminded you—without ever really saying it—that you aren’t alone?

The words on your screen blur slightly. Maybe it’s just the neon lights. Maybe it’s something else.

Then, softer, almost offhand, he says, “You know, if it’s really bothering you this much, maybe it’s because you want it to mean something.”

Your fingers still over your screen. The words sit heavy in the air, pressing down on you with a weight you can’t quite place. You look up at him, but he’s already turned back toward the city, his expression unreadable.

nine.

You think that you need a distraction. A long walk, or a snack, maybe. Or better yet, what you actually really want: a frontal lobotomy. 

Instead, you have filming.

Which is, honestly, the opposite of helpful when your current goal is to shove all of your weird, unwelcome, inexplicable feelings into the deepest recesses of your mind. It’s awful, but now that you’ve started to see your best friend in a whole new light, it’s really all you can think about. Therefore, you cope as you always have: running from your problems. You’ve been distant the last few days. You’re responding less, cancelling on your weekly study sessions, sprinting out of your lectures before he can catch up to you. You’ve even been ghosting Yamaguchi out of proximity. 

But you can’t do that today. Because today, you’re shooting one of the final sequences—the rooftop scene. The one drenched in soft intimacy, lingering glances, and unsaid words thickening the air between them. The one where Tsukishima and Yachi have to act like they exist in their own world, where nothing and no one else matters.

You try not to think about it too hard.

The rooftop set is perfect. The city sprawls beneath them, lights flickering like stars, a mirror to the actual night sky above. Yachi’s already in position, sitting at the edge, her posture relaxed but poised. Tsukishima is beside her, long legs stretched out, hands lazily resting on his lap. The camera is set up, framing them beautifully against the endless stretch of buildings and sky.

You call action, and for a while, it’s fine.

Yachi takes a slow drag of the cigarette (a prop one—she refuses to even come close to tainting her lungs), the smoke curling up between them. Her voice is soft, contemplative, as she delivers her lines. Tsukishima exhales smoke into the night, his face not particularly expressive but not detached. He’s… engaged. Focused. Too focused. There’s something in the way he looks at her that makes your chest tight, even though you know, know, it’s just acting.

Still, the words he says don’t feel like lines. Not when his voice dips just slightly, not when his eyes linger on her face.

“Maybe,” he says, his tone quieter than rehearsals, “but some moments leave imprints on our souls. They’ll last forever in our hearts.”

The air shifts.

Yachi leans her head on his shoulder. The city hums below them. The scene is exactly as you envisioned it, the kind of moment that pulls people in, that makes an audience believe.

And yet, it feels like you can’t breathe.

The worst part is that it isn’t even that bad—no, you get through the scene just fine. No one else notices the way your stomach churns, or the way your hands tighten around the back of the director’s chair. No one notices that the words aren’t just dialogue in your head anymore, that they feel… wrong, out of place, too much.

It isn’t until Tsukishima reaches out, without prompting, without direction, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of Yachi’s face that you realize you actually feel sick.

It’s not scripted.

The camera catches it perfectly, a soft, natural movement. The kind of instinctive touch that makes a scene feel real. Your breath stutters in your chest. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leans in slightly, pressing the briefest kiss to her forehead before pulling back, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Not in the script.

Not in the goddamn script.

“Cut,” you say, too quickly, your voice tighter than you mean it to be. You clear your throat, forcing a neutral expression onto your face when both of them glance toward you. “That was—good. Really natural.”

Yachi beams, a little shy but pleased. “It felt nice, actually. He made it really easy to stay in the moment.”

You swallow down whatever the hell it is that rises up in you at that.

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, sharp and unreadable.

Your fingers curl into your palm. “I think we’re done for tonight,” you announce, forcing a yawn into your voice like exhaustion is the reason you need to leave so badly. “I’ve got a migraine coming on, and we still have to film the passion scene this weekend.”

Yachi nods easily, already stretching out her legs, but Tsukishima’s expression darkens slightly.

“You sure?” he asks, low enough that only you hear it.

You nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Just need sleep.”

He stands, brushing invisible dust from his jeans, and you know what’s coming before he even says it. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No!” you panic, waving your hands wildly. “Kaori’s picking me up.”

It’s a lie, an obvious one, but you don’t care. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before he can question it. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Then you leave, practically sprinting out, before he can say anything else. Before you have to deal with whatever the hell this is, whatever it means.

Because if you stop to think about it, even for a second, you’re pretty sure you’ll break.

ten. 

Midway through your most recent homework assignment (dissecting the art behind the glorious film Cars—the best Disney movie out there, fight with the wall), your phone vibrates against your nightstand. The screen flashes the text message that’s popped up, but you don’t even need to check to know who it is: it’s a notification that you already know you don’t want to see.

(11:12 PM) kei :P: are you avoiding me?

You stare at the text, thumb hovering over the keyboard, your mind spinning with an answer that won’t sound like a complete lie. The problem is, you are avoiding him. You’ve been practically stonewalling him, dashing away inconspicuously whenever you know he’ll be nearby, and it’s getting obvious. He knows it. There’s no use pretending otherwise, but the idea of confronting it—confronting him—makes something anxious curl in your gut.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed, one arm draped over your eyes as you try to gather your thoughts. Your fingers type out a response before you can overthink it.

(11:15 PM) y/n: no? y/n: i’m j busy lately u know that

The three dots appear, then disappear. Reappear, then disappear again. He’s debating his response, and for some reason, that is terrifying. Then it buzzes.

(11:21 PM) kei :P: right.

It’s short. Barely anything at all. But you know him, and you know exactly what that one-word response means. He doesn’t believe you. He’s letting it go for now, but he isn’t letting it go entirely. The thought unsettles you more than you want to admit.

Your room feels suffocating suddenly, like it’s pressing in on you. You glance around, searching for something—anything—to keep your mind occupied, but all you find are pieces of him.

Tsukishima had helped you move in, so he has a fundamental part in the whole place already, but when you look even closer, he’s really in the details. There’s the framed picture on your desk from your high school graduation, his hand resting lazily on your shoulder as Yamaguchi beams from besides you. There’s a hoodie draped over your desk chair, long since stolen from his closet during a late night out that never got returned. There’s a battered copy of Normal People by Sally Rooney tucked into your bookshelf, its pages creased and worn from the way he always mindlessly flipped through it when he came over. 

It never seemed evident until now, when you’re trying so hard not to think about him, to not let him occupy a space that he’s so clearly always kept filled, but now that you see it, it’s simple: Kei has been a part of your life for as long as you can possibly remember. He’s always been there, from the very moment your family moved into the house next door to him when you were seven. He’s in your daily routine. If you turned on your phone right now, it’d open to a picture of you three; if you were to open Spotify, you’ll find your blend at the very top of your pinned playlists. 

He’s everywhere. He’s everything. Tsukishima Kei is worn into your very bones, into every single cell, written into every little part of your being. 

Your fingers tighten around your phone, and for a moment, you consider texting him back. Saying something real. Something honest.

Your gaze flickers to your desk, to the script sitting on top of a stack of notebooks. The ending you rewrote stares back at you, the words bold and final.

Scene 6 Exterior - Rooftop - Sunset Yachi returns to the rooftop, now alone. She sits on the edge, looking out at the city. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over everything. She takes out a cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply. Cut to: Tsukishima, walking through the city streets, the sunset reflecting in his eyes. He pauses, looking up at the rooftop where Yachi is sitting. The screen fades to black. Text on screen: “We’ll be there at the end of the world, together as the stars go out.”

The moment your professor read it, she called it striking. Said it felt honest. That the ache in the words felt real, like someone had lived it.

But you didn’t just write it. You felt it.

Because if the world were ending, if the stars were truly burning out—there’s no question where you’d be. Who you’d be with.

And yet, here you are, running.

You inhale sharply, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

With the weight of twelve years of friendship comes the obligation to not let it go to waste: you are terrified of what a confession could do. You can’t even imagine what a world without Kei looks like; you would honestly rather die than lose him. And well… admitting your feelings could very well mean losing him. 

Then again, you could very well lose him too if you keep ignoring him and running away. You just need to come up with some way to either 1) get over your feelings, or 2) explain to your best friend that you’ve suddenly started having inexplicable dreams about him and feeling the urge to kiss him. 

You mean, how hard could it really be?

eleven. 

Evidently, very difficult. 

You’re standing outside the door of Tsukishima’s flat for the first time in days, feeling like you might actually throw up. You have the horrible urge to cancel. Maybe you should turn around. Maybe you should fake food poisoning. Maybe you should suddenly develop an urgent need to flee the country.

But no. You can’t do that. This is your film, your project, your fucking grade on the line. You can’t just run away forever.

So you’re here. And you take a deep breath before you knock, because your heart is hammering like you just ran across campus, and it only picks up when the door swings open.

And then he’s there too—Tsukishima, standing in the doorway of his apartment, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His glasses slide down his nose just slightly, and for a second, he just looks at you, eyes scanning your face, your posture, like he’s already found something off about you.

“You’re early,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

You nod, stepping over the threshold, hyperaware of the way the air inside feels different—warm, his, thick with something you don’t have the words for.

“Wanted to set up before Yachi gets here.” Your voice is steady, detached, the way it should be.

It’s not a lie, not entirely, but it’s not the truth either. The truth is sitting in the space between you, glaring and heavy, pressing in like the weight of an oncoming storm.

He hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. Tsukishima doesn’t move, doesn’t drop his gaze. His arms are crossed, his posture lazy, but there’s something pointed about the way he’s looking at you—sharp, analyzing, like he’s cataloging every tell, every avoidance, every reason why you’re standing here instead of texting some excuse from the safety of your dorm.

You drop your bag near the couch and move to set up your camera, your hands moving automatically as you avoid his gaze. The apartment smells like him—coffee and citrus, faintly like that stupid expensive detergent he swears isn’t a luxury purchase but definitely is. The scent is so him, so familiar, that it makes your stomach flip.

And then he speaks.

“What’s going on with you?”

You freeze.

It’s not accusatory, not sharp, just… careful. Measured. Like he’s trying to get an answer without pushing too hard. Which, honestly, is worse than if he had just called you out directly.

You force yourself to keep your hands steady, adjusting the camera’s angle. “Nothing. Just busy.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Bullshit.”

Your stomach twists. The air in the room shifts, thickens.

He’s always been quick. Always been able to pick apart your bullshit before you even finish spinning it, before you can even convince yourself it’s real. And now, with those gold-flecked eyes trained on you, burning through every excuse you try to build between you… well, you’re drowning.

His voice is steady, but edged with something dangerous. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you think I haven’t noticed, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Your breath hitches in your chest.

For a second, you want to tell him. Everything. The thoughts, the jealousy, the confusion that’s been clawing at your throat for weeks. You hate that he knows you this well, that he can see through you so easily. You hate that he’s giving you that look, the one that says I’m waiting for the truth, waiting for you to finally be honest, and you hate, hate, that you don’t know what to say. 

But then, the door swings open. Yachi steps in, breathless and smiling. “Sorry I’m late!”

The moment shatters.

You exhale, stepping back, forcing a smile as you greet her, ignoring the way Tsukishima is still watching you. He goes still, expression unreadable. And then—just like that—his face smooths out, his posture relaxes, his hands sink into his hoodie pocket like nothing happened at all.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Let’s start.”

If you want to make it through a whole scene of them making out for three minutes, you have to stop looking at your best friend. His amber eyes, under his layer of concern, confusion, and annoyance, are filled with hurt, and your stomach feels like it’s being ripped out, torn to fucking shreds, to see him like that. 

So you avert your gaze, stubbornly keeping your eyes on Yachi and your camera, and set up to film the scene.

***

The camera is steady. Your breathing, however, is not.

The apartment is dimly lit, the soft hum of music playing through the speaker, some indie song with melancholic chords that you once added to the shared playlist, long before this—before all of this—became something unbearable. It filters into the space like a ghost of a memory, like something familiar that you can’t quite place.

Yachi sits on the edge of Tsukishima’s bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for direction, waiting for him. Tsukishima stands in front of her, tall and composed, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s testing the weight of the scene before stepping into it. His shoulders are loose, his stance easy, his face unreadable. Too unreadable.

Too casual.

Like he’s trying to make it look effortless.

Like he’s making it look effortless for you.

Your grip tightens around the camera. The frame is perfect—low lighting casting long shadows, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp catching on strands of Yachi’s hair, the curve of Tsukishima’s jaw. It’s intimate. Close. Exactly what you wanted.

It should be fine. This should be fine.

The scene is simple.

Close-ups of hands, of fingers grazing over fabric. Of a breath caught in the space between them. Of a moment stretched too thin, heavy with something unsaid.

And then, they kiss.

Your stomach lurches.

It’s instinct—the way your body reacts, the way something tightens in your chest like a vice, the way your nails press into your palm where you grip the camera. You tell yourself to look at the screen, at the framing, at the way their silhouettes fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

But you’re not looking at the shot.

You’re looking at him.

The way his head tilts slightly, the angle just right. The way his hand ghosts over the small of Yachi’s back before settling, fingers barely pressing into fabric. The way he moves slow, deliberate, like every part of him has been designed for this moment, like he’s meant to be here, kissing her, making it look real.

Making it feel real.

Your fingers tighten around the camera, but you don’t move.

The shot is perfect.

Tsukishima is slow, careful. One hand cups Yachi’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone, his other resting against her waist, anchoring her in place. He leans in, the motion seamless, practiced, lips pressing against hers with just enough pressure to make it believable.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

It’s nothing. It’s just a film. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.

But you do.

The words sit at the back of your throat like acid, thick and burning, because this is what you wanted—this is what you asked for—and yet you can’t seem to convince yourself that you’re okay with it.

You should be focusing on the technicalities. On the way the lighting frames them, on the way the movement aligns with your vision, on the way Yachi’s fingers twitch against his hoodie like she’s nervous, like she’s fully immersed in the moment.

But all you can focus on is him.

The way his eyelashes flutter for half a second before he closes his eyes.

The slow exhale against Yachi’s lips.

The way his grip shifts against her waist—just slightly, just barely, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s steadying his breath, like he’s trying to remember it’s acting.

Something inside you twists, sharp and visceral, something so wrong it makes your stomach ache.

Your fingers are shaking.

And then, the worst part: Tsukishima tilts his head further, deepening the kiss.

Your breath catches.

It’s instinctive, automatic, the way your entire body tenses. You barely realize what you’re doing until the words leave your lips, unbidden, a little too fast, a little too urgent.

“Cut.”

The word slices through the air like a blade.

Tsukishima pulls back immediately, blinking, like something had momentarily snapped.

Yachi exhales, touching her lips, a little dazed, but then she laughs, easy and light. “That felt really natural.”

Natural.

The word rings in your ears, cold and foreign, something heavy and nauseating settling in your stomach.

Natural.

You feel like you’re going to throw up.

Tsukishima is still looking at you. Not at Yachi, but at you.

His expression isn’t unreadable anymore. It’s something else—something unread, something searching, something sharp enough to make your skin burn under the weight of it.

You swallow, forcing your voice into something neutral. “Yeah. That was good. Really… natural.”

Yachi grins, stretching her arms. “I have to run—I promised Hinata I’d help him study tonight.”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

She gathers her things, slings her bag over her shoulder, completely unaware that the air in the room is thick with something else, something unspoken, something unraveling.

The door clicks shut.

You inhale.

You should leave too, right now. You should grab your bag, make up some excuse, and go.

But before you can even think about moving, a hand wraps around your wrist, and drags you back in.

twelve. 

The door clicks shut behind Yachi, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it gets heavier, pressing against your ribs like an iron hand squeezing the air out of your lungs. You force yourself to breathe, force yourself to move, force yourself to not think about the way Tsukishima had looked at her, had touched her, had—

A hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

Tsukishima tugs, firm but not rough, pulling you back before you can escape.

Your heart stutters.

“What the hell is going on with you?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s something underneath it—frustration, confusion, anger.

You try to twist your arm away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor you, to keep you here. You force yourself to look at him, to meet the sharp, burning gaze that’s demanding answers.

You swallow. “Nothing.”

His jaw clenches. “Try again.”

“Tsukishima—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the air, low and unyielding. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Avoiding me. Lying to me. Looking at me like I fucking killed your dog or something. Not even calling me Kei anymore. And then tonight—” He breaks off, exhaling sharply through his nose. His grip on your wrist doesn’t loosen. “What is your problem?”

The words sting, sharp and cutting, but the worst part is that he’s right. He’s right.

And you’re tired.

Tired of pretending it doesn’t bother you. Tired of biting your tongue. Tired of shoving down every ugly, twisting, unbearable feeling that claws at your throat.

So, suddenly, recklessly, you snap. “You! You’re my fucking problem!”

The words burst out of you like they’ve been waiting, desperate to escape, and suddenly, there’s no going back.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to see the flicker of shock before his expression hardens again.

“What?” His voice is sharp, almost mocking, like he’s daring you to say it again, to spell it out for him.

You rip your wrist from his grip, shoving him back a step. Your hands are shaking. Your heart is pounding.

“You don’t get it, do you?” The words come fast, breathless. “Do you even see what you look like? How easy this is for you?” Your voice wavers, thick with something too sharp to be just frustration. “How you can just— just kiss her like it’s nothing?”

His brow furrows. “It was a scene.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

You shove him again, hands pressing against his chest, but he barely moves.

“I had to watch you,” you spit, voice cracking at the edges. “Watch you hold her like that. Watch you look at her like that. And I hated it, Tsukishima. I hated it.”

Something shifts in the air between you.

The anger is still there, but beneath it—something else. Something fragile and aching and real.

Tsukishima doesn’t speak. His lips part slightly, but no words come.

He’s staring at you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

You inhale, shaking, your hands balled into fists. “I don’t know when it happened, or how, or if I’m just an idiot who took too long to figure it out, but I—” Your breath stutters. Your throat feels tight. Fuck, you shouldn’t be saying this. You shouldn’t be saying this.

But you do.

Because it’s too late.

Because there’s no running now.

“I love you.”

The words drop between you like stones in water, sinking deep, sending ripples through everything.

Silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, erratic and deafening.

Tsukishima stares at you. Gaping. Frozen.

Like the world just tilted on its very axis. Like the entire sky is tumbling down, like gravity is the sole thing keeping him on the ground. 

And then you panic.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Your voice shakes, your fingers twitch, you need to fix this, you need to take it back before you lose him, before you ruin everything—

But then he moves.

Fast.

His hands are on your face before you can breathe, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not controlled. Not measured, the way he was with Yachi.

This is something else entirely.

This is desperate. This is frantic. This is a storm breaking after years of tension, of longing, of something building between you that neither of you had the courage to name.

His lips crash against yours, stealing the air from your lungs, pulling a sound from the back of your throat that’s more relief than surprise. He kisses you like he’s been holding himself back for too long, like the second he let himself move, he couldn’t stop.

Like he’s been waiting.

Like he’s always wanted this.

The heat of his body devours you, swallowing you whole, pulling you under like a riptide you don’t want to escape. His hands slide down, fingers spreading against your waist, gripping tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp. He tugs you forward, flush against him, so close there’s no space left, no room for doubt, no hesitation—only him, only this, only the way he’s holding you like he never intends to let go.

His mouth moves against yours with intent, deliberate and thorough, a silent demand, a confession with no words, just the press of his lips and the desperate, aching pull of his hands. He’s tasting, memorizing, mapping out every gasp, every shiver, every fragile part of you that has ever been his without either of you realizing it.

You make a sound against his lips, something caught between a sigh and a plea, and that’s all it takes—his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s learning you by touch, like he needs you closer, closer, closer.

You melt into him. You break into him.

There is no hesitation when your hands reach for him, twisting in the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it like a lifeline, because you are terrified he’ll stop, that this will disappear, that he’ll come to his senses and—

But he doesn’t.

Because when you part, just barely, just enough to let air slip between you, Tsukishima chases after you.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, reverent, like he needs to remind himself that you’re real. That this is real.

That you’re not running anymore.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, warm, fanning over your lips in slow exhales. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, just lets the silence stretch, heavy and fragile and trembling with meaning.

Then, his voice—low, hoarse, something wrecked and beautiful.

“Say it again.”

Your heart stutters, something sharp and sweet twisting in your chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, amber eyes burning, raw with something you’ve never seen before, something almost pleading.

Your fingers loosen against his hoodie, but you don’t let go. “What?”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, his jaw tight, his gaze steady, searching yours for something unspoken.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, quieter this time.

Your throat is dry. Your world has shrunk to the space between you, to the way his hands still hold you, to the weight of his gaze pressing into you like an answer he already knows but needs to hear anyway.

You swallow once, then again. Then, soft but steady, you let it slip. “I love you.”

The way he exhales, sharp and shaky, is enough to undo you completely.

And then he kisses you again.

Slower this time. Deep. Intentional. Like he’s taking his time, like he wants to make sure you understand.

This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t something he can write off as an impulse, something fleeting or meaningless or careless. This is him. This is him choosing you.

He kisses you like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing the way your breath hitches when he moves a certain way, the way your hands tremble when they slide up to cup his jaw, the way you—God, the way you kiss him back like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Like you love him, and you’ve always loved him.

Like he loves you, and he’s always loved you.

And maybe it’s too much, too late, too terrifying, but when you pull apart, he still doesn’t let go.

His fingers linger against your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snorts.

You laugh, breathless, and it comes out half-shaky, half-dazed. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, his lips curving slightly—soft, unbearably fond, annoyingly smug—but his eyes stay serious, stay warm.

“I love you too,” he says, just like that, like it’s simple. Like it’s easy.

And for once, it is.

thirteen. 

You wake up in a panic.

Your heart is a drum in your chest, erratic, wild, out of sync with the soft pre-dawn quiet of your dorm room. The weight of last night presses down on you all at once—the argument, the confession, the way Tsukishima kissed you like he’d been waiting, like he meant it, like he wasn’t going to let you take it back.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhale sharply through your nose. It doesn’t help. The air is too thick, your limbs too restless, your thoughts too loud.

What the fuck did you do?

You sit up, shoving the blankets off you like they’re suffocating you. Your hair is a mess, the hoodie you slept in (not yours—his, fuck) twisted around you uncomfortably, but you don’t bother fixing it. The digital clock on your nightstand blinks 6:04 AM, and outside, the world is just beginning to wake.

You should be asleep.

You should be anything but this.

Blindly, you reach for your phone, thumb swiping over the screen to unlock it. The notifications hit you like a brick.

— 17 missed calls — 3 new voicemails — kei :P: pick up your phone — kei :P: are you serious right now — kei :P: we’re not doing this — kei :P: text me back

Your stomach lurches.

Your fingers twitch over the screen, hovering, hesitating, and then—fuck—you lock the phone and throw it onto your desk like it burned you.

You can’t deal with this right now.

Not now, not when you’re still caught in the aftermath of what happened, not when the ghost of his lips still lingers on your skin.

You need a distraction.

You push yourself up from the bed, dragging your feet to your desk, where your laptop sits untouched from the night before. The screen glows as it wakes, casting a pale blue light over your desk. You click open Premiere Pro, fingers moving on autopilot, pulling up the final cut of your film.

Something to ground you. Something to keep you from spiraling.

The editing timeline stretches before you, a mess of layered clips and audio tracks. The cursor blinks, waiting. You set it to the last scene you worked on—the rooftop scene, Yachi and Tsukishima against the night sky, the cigarette smoke curling between them like something ephemeral, fleeting.

You press play.

The footage unfolds in perfect clarity.

Yachi sits on the ledge, her fingers wrapped loosely around the cigarette, her expression thoughtful. Tsukishima is beside her, arms draped over his knees, his profile sharp against the neon haze of the city below.

She turns to him, voice soft, hesitant. “Do you think it’ll last?”

There’s a pause.

Then—his response. 

“As long as we exist, it will.”

You exhale sharply, the words hitting you harder than they should.

The scene plays through, Yachi taking a slow drag of the cigarette before exhaling toward the sky, the glow of the embers casting flickering light over her features. Tsukishima doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay forward, locked on something distant, something unseen.

Your fingers twitch over the keyboard, and without thinking, you hit the spacebar.

The scene rewinds.

You play it again.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

A lump forms in your throat.

You rewind it again.

Again.

Again.

You don’t know why you keep watching it, why the words keep lodging themselves deeper and deeper into your chest.

Maybe because it doesn’t sound like acting. Maybe because you remember the way he said it, the way he delivered the line so effortlessly, so quietly, like it wasn’t a scripted moment but something real.

Maybe because it reminds you of last night.

The way he kissed you, the way his hands held you firm, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. The way he told you, Say it again, like he couldn’t believe it, like he needed to hear it over and over to make it real. The way he looked at you when you did. The way you let yourself believe, just for a second, that everything you wanted wasn’t impossible.

Your breath hitches, sudden and sharp, and then— you’re crying.

It’s not dramatic. There’s no sobbing, no wretched gasps for air.

Just silent tears, slipping down your cheeks, slow and unrelenting, as the weight of it all crashes into you.

Because you love him. Because you’ve always loved him. Because you can’t remember a time of your life where you didn’t, and because you can’t imagine a time where you don’t.

And you’re terrified.

You don’t know how long you sit there, shoulders curled in, fingers gripping the edge of your desk like you need to physically hold yourself together.

The sun creeps through the window, light spilling over your room in soft golds and oranges. Outside, the campus hums to life—doors opening, footsteps in the hallway, distant laughter.

You should move. You should do something.

Instead, you hit play one more time.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

The tears keep falling, and you don’t know why you’re crying anymore: whether it’s because you believe it, or because you don’t.

fourteen.

Your hands are shaking as you pull up your contacts list.

It’s barely past 6:30 AM, the sky still tinged with the last remnants of dawn, but you can’t stay here. The weight of your realization—your love for Tsukishima—is suffocating, curling around your ribs like something clawed and desperate, something that refuses to let go.

You need to talk to someone, and there’s only one person who will actually pick up at this hour. So you press the call button and wait.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a groggy voice, scratchy with sleep but undeniably familiar.

“This better be good, or I swear—”

“I need you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, rustling sheets. A sigh. And finally.

“Where?”

***

The tiny café is quiet, still waking up alongside the rest of campus. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of vanilla and warm pastries. Sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden rectangles onto the worn wooden floors.

You sit in your usual booth, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, though you haven’t taken a single sip.

You barely register the sound of the door swinging open before a familiar figure drops into the seat across from you, yawning into his hoodie sleeve.

“You look horrible.”

You huff out a weak laugh, your throat still tight from earlier. “Good morning to you too, ‘Dashi.”

Yamaguchi stretches his arms overhead before slumping against the seat, blinking at you with the exhaustion of a man who has spent way too many nights buried under physics equations. He eyes you carefully, then his gaze flicks to the untouched tea in your hands.

“You called me before seven in the morning,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Which means either the apocalypse is happening, or you did something monumentally stupid.”

You drag a hand down your face. “Both.”

His lips quirk up slightly. “Alright. Start talking.”

You open your mouth, but—where do you even start?

The confession? The kiss? The fact that you spent half the night crying over your laptop, replaying Tsukishima’s voice like some deranged, lovesick film major cliché?

Your hands tighten around your cup. “It’s about Kei.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t even blink. “Figured.”

You exhale, shaky and uneven. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

He leans forward slightly, forearms resting against the table, his expression turning serious. “Okay. Take it from the top.”

So you do. You tell him everything.

About the jealousy—the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that took root in your chest the second you saw Tsukishima kiss Yachi, the way it spiraled into something uncontrollable, something you couldn’t suppress.

About the fight—the way Tsukishima saw right through you, called you out, made you snap. The way you finally admitted the truth you’d been running from for so long.

And then, the kiss. The way he grabbed you, the way he pulled you in, the way he kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had. 

And the way, afterwards, you panicked.

The silence stretches when you finally stop talking. You can’t bring yourself to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“I left,” you whisper, shame curling in your chest. “I—I freaked out and left. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches for his coffee, takes a slow sip, and then sets it down with a soft thunk. Then—finally—he speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your head jerks up. “Excuse me?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’ve personally caused him actual, physical pain. “This is literally the worst case of mutual pining I’ve ever seen.”

“Mutual—?”

“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, exasperated. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t realize he’s been in love with you since we were, like, fifteen?”

You choke on air. “What?”

He gives you a flat look. “Oh, come on. You think he just puts up with people like that? Have you met Kei? He barely tolerates most human interaction, but you? You’re different.”

Your stomach sinks.

Yamaguchi leans back against the booth, studying you carefully. His voice is quieter when he says, “Now he’s waiting for you.”

And suddenly, it all comes rushing back.

Like that summer when you were fourteen, sprawled on the grass in his backyard, swatting mosquitoes away while he read some ridiculous philosophy book he’d scoffed at but couldn’t put down. You had called him pretentious, poked fun at his stupid little annotations, and then—just when he was about to snap back—he had looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

Or the time in high school when he stayed up with you, sitting outside your house at two in the fucking morning, just because you had a nightmare and didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t say anything about it, didn’t mock you for it, didn’t act like it was a big deal. He just let you talk about stupid shit until you weren’t shaking anymore.

Then there was college. The night he drove across town just because you were too drunk to make it back to your dorm. The way he let you ramble about some stupid movie you had watched for class while he carried you—actually carried you—up the stairs because your legs had stopped working.

And then, of course, last night.

The way he kissed you like he had been holding himself back for years.

The way he whispered, Say it again, like he needed to hear it more than anything.

The way you had run.

Because maybe, deep down, you always knew.

Yamaguchi watches you, then exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You love him.”

It’s not a question.

It's a fact.

And you know that, of course. You’ve always known that. But hearing it out loud—having someone else say it, no doubt, no hesitation—it does something to you.

Your fingers tighten around your cup.

“I love him,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I love him, and I’m scared.”

Yamaguchi hums, tapping his fingers against the rim of his coffee cup. “Why?”

“Because if this goes wrong, I lose him,” you say, staring down at the caramel liquid in your cup.

He tilts his head. “And if it goes right?”

You swallow.

That’s the terrifying part.

If it goes right—if you actually let yourself believe in this, in him… then everything changes. You can never get it back. 

But then again, if you don’t, you’ll never move forward.

Yamaguchi leans forward, voice softer now. “Look, I get it. Kei is… a lot. He’s a pain in the ass. But you don’t have to be afraid of this. Not with him.”

You swallow hard. Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone. But you don’t call him.

Not yet.

Instead, you look at Yamaguchi, heart hammering, voice barely steady.

“What do I do?”

He smiles, small and knowing.

“Go to him.”

fifteen.

Your heart is pounding.

Your pulse is an erratic drumbeat in your ears, your breath uneven as you stand outside Tsukishima’s apartment at 7 AM like an absolute psychopath. The hallway is empty, most of the residents still asleep, because normal people do not show up at their best friend’s door at the crack of dawn after confessing their feelings, running away, and then ghosting them for a whole night.

But here you are.

You raise a fist to knock. Pause. Lower it.

Your mind runs through every possible thing that could go wrong. What if he’s still asleep? What if he’s awake, but he’s pissed? What if you just turn around and pretend this never happened and never speak to him again and maybe flee the country?

But no. No more running. You’re done with that.

You exhale sharply, grit your teeth, and knock.

There’s no response at first.

Then, a very loud, very irritated groan.

Footsteps. A thud as something (probably his knee) collides with something else (probably his desk), followed by a mumbled string of very colorful expletives.

And then, the door swings open.

Tsukishima is standing there, half-asleep and thoroughly unamused.

He’s not wearing his glasses, which is so much worse, because without them, he looks—soft. His blond hair is a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and he’s wearing that stupid old hoodie that’s two sizes too big, the one you’ve definitely stolen at some point but returned because it stopped smelling like him. His sweatpants are loose around his hips, and his expression is pure murder as he squints at you.

“…The fuck?” His voice is rough from sleep. “It’s seven in the morning.”

You should probably say something. You should probably apologize. You should probably explain why you’ve lost your goddamn mind and decided to show up here like some dramatic main character in an early 2000s rom-com.

But instead, you go on your tiptoes, yank down him by his hoodie, and kiss him. 

It happens fast, and at first, he completely freezes.

Like full-body shutdown. His entire frame locks up, his hands hovering uncertainly, breath caught in his throat.

For one horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a mistake.

But then… then his hands find your waist. And suddenly, he’s kissing you back.

It’s slow at first, tentative, like he’s still processing this, still trying to believe it’s real. But then his fingers tighten against your skin, pulling you closer, and you can feel the exact moment he gives in.

The exact moment he stops thinking.

And God, you feel it everywhere.

The heat of him, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the quiet, shaky exhale against your mouth before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. He’s warm, solid, real, and for the first time in weeks, your head isn’t a tangled mess of doubt and fear.

For the first time, everything makes sense.

You pull away first, breathless, heart hammering.

His hands linger on your waist. He keeps his face close to yours, just centimeters away, and when he finally opens his eyes, they’re dark with something you’ve never seen before. Something raw. Something completely, utterly unguarded.

You swallow hard. “I—”

His thumb brushes over your hip, the smallest, barest movement.

You inhale sharply. “I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just watches you, eyes sharp, unreadable. “For what?”

“For—” You hesitate. Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie. “For running. For taking so long to figure this out. For—”

He sighs, but there’s no real annoyance in it. His gaze softens—just slightly, just enough.

“You’re a dumbass,” he mutters.

You let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”

A pause. Then, he asks, “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

You blink up at him, caught off guard. “A walk?”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima shrugs, stepping back, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you gonna walk me back to my dorm? Because I literally just dragged myself here for nothing if that’s the case.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. I just—” He exhales, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Just wanna walk somewhere.”

Your lips twitch. “…How romantic of you.”

He scoffs. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t deny it.

The air is crisp, the early morning quiet—the kind of stillness that only exists before the rest of the world wakes up.

You walk side by side, the distance between you not much, but enough. For a while, neither of you speak.

“I meant it.”

You glance at him. “Huh?”

Tsukishima doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed ahead, his hands still tucked into his hoodie, his jaw set. But his voice—low, certain—doesn’t waver.

“I meant it,” he repeats. “When I told you to say it again.”

Your breath catches. He keeps walking, staring straight ahead like this isn’t some life-altering confession, like he’s just casually commenting on the weather. But his hands are tensed inside his hoodie pocket. His shoulders are tight.

You swallow. “Kei…”

“I don’t like a lot of people,” he says bluntly. “I barely tolerate most people. But you—”

He stops walking. You stop too.

Finally, he turns to you, and God—his eyes. They burn, golden in the morning light, open and completely unguarded.

“You make me feel like I belong in a movie.”

Your breath stutters.

He exhales, shaking his head, voice quieter now. “And I fucking hate movies.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat, sudden and unexpected, and you can’t stop smiling.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely making it a thing,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder. “My grumpy, six-foot-four, emotionally constipated best friend just confessed he’s been hopelessly in love with me for years.”

His ears go pink. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did.”

“Shut up.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A pause. Then, he does.

This time, the kiss is gentler. No urgency, no desperation—just warmth. Just him. And as his hands settle against your waist, as your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, as his lips move against yours with something quieter, steadier, you realize something very, very important.

For the first time in a long, long time—you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

But then, the moment stretches, and a thought occurs to you. An extremely essential thought.

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him. Tsukishima frowns. “What.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Then, after a beat, you blurt out, “So… does this mean we’re dating?”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable—half amusement, half exasperation. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushes absently along your waist, his grip shifting slightly, like he’s still getting used to the fact that he’s touching you.

Then, flatly, he says, “I don’t know. Do you plan on kissing other people?”

“No?” You reply, your nose scrunching. 

“Then yeah.”

You stare. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You gape at him. “Kei, you are the most unromantic—”

But then something flickers across your mind, something bigger, heavier. A thought that makes your stomach tighten, your fingers twitch against his hoodie.

You inhale. “Hey,” you say, softer this time. “How long?”

He watches you. “How long what?”

You swallow hard. “How long have you loved me?”

A pause. A long pause.

Tsukishima doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. But there’s something in his expression that shifts—something softer, quieter. His fingers tighten just slightly at your waist. And then, voice low, steady, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he sighs.

“I can’t remember when I didn’t.”

Your heart stops. Your breath catches, your fingers clench around his hoodie, and God—what are you supposed to say to that? Because there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just him. Just this. Just the reality of a love so deeply ingrained in the both of you that it has no beginning and no end.

You exhale—shaky, breathless. “You suck at romance, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You laugh, bright and full, and before you can think about it, before you can overanalyze, you’re kissing him again.

It’s easier this time.

Because now, you’re sure. 

And maybe the universe really does have a thing for sadism, because somehow, against all logic, it made him your person. The same Tsukishima Kei who laughs at your mistakes and misfortunes, who calls you out for your delusions and idiocy, who makes fun of your collection of Smiskis and love of reality TV. But at the same time, this Tsukishima Kei would do anything for you, even if you have to beg and beg. This Tsukishima Kei has held you through the worst days of your life, has seen you at your lowest moments and stayed, has waited for you for years to see him the way he has always seen you.

And you think, feeling his hands tighten at your waist and his lips linger against yours like he’s memorising the feeling, that maybe, just maybe, the universe got this one right.

⨭ closing notes; i adore tsukishima kei so much. tbh i rly struggled w this work bc i had this concept fleshed out for so long and j cldnt execute it the way i wanted, but thank u to @kinaskorner for beta reading and for the reassurance <3 i hope u guys love this too!! if u made it to the end of this super long fic lol then thank u sm and i hope u have the loveliest day

[bunchacrunchcake]

I love this take because it's funny but it's even worse than actively poisoning people. It is lack of understanding that poison exists.

"Hey your investment property, you know the thing that keeps you clothed and fed, it's decaying, which is just a normal thing, it needs some upkeep?"

"Does it cost money?"

"Yes it costs money to fix things."

"Why do I have to fix it? I don't live there, it just makes money."

"it makes money because people pay you to live inside of it. And it's poisoning the people that live inside of it. So if they're dead, then they can't pay you and then you won't have money."

"Well do they know that?"

"Yes they have been asking you for a year to fix this?"

"How much is it to fix?"

"$300-1000 probably, it's unlikely it will cost more than what it brings in in one month. And it's one of ten units on the property. Also if you don't fix it now it will cost more later."

"Can we just tell them we will fix it and then not fix it?"

"We've been doing that."

"Can I just paint over it myself?"

"You already did that."

"We can just sell the property when it gets horrible and buy a new one right?"

"Technically yes, but then eventually every property in the city will be like that and you'll have to fix something."

"But won't all the tenants get used to it?"

"Potentially, but they filed a complaint with the city because we've waited so long we're breaking the law."

"What are the consequences of that?"

"Well it means they can call an inspector in another month."

"I usually pay that guy off "

"And then they can take damages out of the rent."

"How much?"

"About $500 a month."

"Can I threaten to evict them if they do that?"

"Yes, no judge would enforce it because it's an illegal eviction though."

"Okay well I'm going to go paint over it again, tell them they're being difficult, and the only person that has ever complained so much, and if they take money out of the rent to fix it, I guess I'll just threaten to kick them out until they pay and I'll just do that every month until the lease is up."

"Okay sounds good I'll let them know. Also there's a bill coming up in the state house that will create stronger tenant laws and prevent you from threatening tenants like this."

"Okay I will call all of my friends to show up and complain and we'll put together a little campaign contribution for everyone voting on that bill."

So if you've gotten this far, it's less that they actively want to hurt you so much as they are passively consuming you like a product and when you act like a human with needs they get frustrated and just shut it down so they don't have to think.

Most landlords I've met are somewhat dumb, but richer than you and relatively deceptive and brutish. The advantage they have over you is that they've accumulated power, they don't see you as human, and they're willing to cheat and lie

The communists want to take away YOUR MOLD

[ds-angel1]

Bunny - brotherly love

cw: SMUT(18+), incest, piv sex, dubcon, hand job, finger sucking, nipple/titties play, reader being pervy and sneaking into Rafe´s room while he´s sleeping, age gap(18 and 25), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!!

wc: ~ 1,6k

a/n: first post and first fic, pls dont cancel me... yay

You knew it was vile, you knew it was dark and twisted.

You tried to stop—oh, how you tried--wrestling with shadows in your mind, drowning your thoughts in the shallow pools of distraction.

But they rose like whispers through the flood, unyielding, unrelenting. No, it didn’t work. It never did.

You still bit your lip every time he was shirtless. Your chest still flushed every time he was in your near vicinity. You still imagined him every time you reached your nimble fingers into your cotton panties.

Rafe.

Your brother.

It all started because of a simple joke. One that your friends made.

“Stop, oh my god, your brother is so hot, I’d let him hit so hard,” your best friend giggled as she munched on the popcorn you had cooked up for all 4 of you for movie night.

“Oh, hell yes!” Interjected another of your friends, her voice enthusiastic, “I would let him hit even if I was his sister!”

The living room erupted in giggles before they disappeared and the girls surrounding you focused their attention on the movie again.

Your attention stayed on the topic prior though. On him. Like any human mind would, your thoughts conjured up a realistic third-person image of your big brother fucking you. But what your mind did that not any human mind would do, was like the idea. Your eyes stared at the floor as you pictured the feeling, the view, the sounds. You clenched your thighs and bit your bottom lip—

“Hey, watcha nerds doin’?” He asked with a smirk as he appeared from behind, clad in only sweatpants.

You felt your cheeks flush at the realization of what you had been fantasizing about.

“Nothing, just watching a movie,” you muttered.

“Gee, no need to be so cold, bunny,” he laughed as he ruffled your hair. Bunny was a nickname he came up with for you. When you were 3 years old you just loved hopping around so 10-year-old Rafe decided to call you Bunny. It stuck. He perpetually calls you Bunny even now, 13 years later when you wouldn’t call yourself much of a hopper.

You had always been close. He was a great big brother, protective, and kind, always played with you when your parents were too busy. When you had a nightmare as a kid, you wouldn’t come rushing to your parent’s room, no, you´d sprinted to Rafe’s.

Innocent nights where he comforted you to sleep in his bed. But now you were imagining being in his bed again, but not him comforting you; him fucking you relentlessly. Nothing innocent about that.

Right now you were tossing and turning in your pink, fluffy sheets. You had rutted against a pillow for almost an hour, trying to block out his face but it just kept coming, then you rubbed your aching clothed core for what seemed like an eternity but the need and desperation never subsided.

The need and desperation for your brother.

When you threw your head to the side and saw that the purple, flower-decorated clock on your wall read 2 A.M., you just couldn’t take it anymore. You threw your blanket off of your body, yanking your legs to the side of your bed and then your body to stand.

With as much sneakiness and smoothness as you could conjure up, you slipped out of your bedroom, the patter of your feet fon the firm grey carpet in the hall sounding like church bells in your ears.

Right before the end of the hall, you turned your body left, finding yourself face to face with Rafe’s room. “KEEP OUT” stood in bold messy letters on a burgundy sign hung on the door.

Your parents never really paid much attention to it and just stormed in whenever they wanted. He was a 25-year-old still living with his parents, who could blame them for ignoring his rules?

Your fingers played with the hem of your nightgown nervously before you lifted one of your hands to slowly push down the door handle and crack the door open.

The small creak that came from the wood moving made you cringe in fear. Once the space was wide enough for you to fit, you entered his room.

There he was, lying sprawled out on his black satin bed cover, hair unruly and spiked. His body lay wide and stretched out on the mattress, his boxers the only thing covering him. His blanket lay on the ground as it seemed to always after he slept, even as a kid he did backflips and dances in his slumber.

The thoughts in your mind that screamed that this was wrong were drowned out by the sight of the slight bulge in his boxers.

You knew it was wrong. So so wrong. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You climbed onto the bed, crawling towards where he lay. He looked cute like this, snoring ever so slightly and a tiny bit of drool accumulating in the corner of his mouth.

Anxiously you moved on top of him, making sure to not let a single fiber of your legs or arms touch him.

After you had hyped yourself up enough to do it, you leaned back, letting your ass hit his thighs in a gentle fluid motion and your hands find his chest.

A moment of silence overtook the room and once you were sure he was still asleep you started moving again. Your hands found their way to his boxers, gripping the elastic band at the top and then without a single bit of haste pulling it down. Your hips lifted off of him and you dragged the plaid material all the way down to his shins and calves.

He stirred a bit, the cold air hitting his now bare crotch waking him a bit but he quickly settled into sleep again.

When you were extremely sure he was out cold again you finally let your eyes travel down. His half-hard cock, pretty and pink, barely at its full length and potential, and yet still managed to make you softly whimper out loud.

With a shaky hand, you reached forward, wrapping your small fingers around his thick base and pumping a few times. You weren’t a stranger to this, but this felt different. And no, not because he was your brother and it felt wrong. No, it felt right. Perfect.

A groan fell from his lips and he twisted his upper body, eyes squeezing shut even more tightly. At the sudden noise and movement, you immediately pulled your hand back, eyes widening in fear and worry.

In a desperate attempt to flee the scene, you kneeled up fully, accidentally brushing one of your plush tights against his tip.

It seemed that that was the only sensation left to wake him as a moment later you found yourself staring straight into your brother’s icy blue eyes.

His gaze left yours as he gained consciousness, pupils flicking around and taking in everything.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He whisper-shouted, confusion, anger and something else you hoped was desire present on his features.

“Um…” Your brain was frozen, all you could do was stare at him in horror as you knelt over him.

“You’re my fucking sister! And you’re 18! We could get fucking arrested! Me especially, you—“ he cut off before he could finish that thought as he saw your eyes watering.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he half ordered, half reassured, “Bunny, it’s gonna be okay. This never happened, okay? Go back to your room and—“ yet again he didn’t finish his sentence. This time it was because he had gripped your hips, hoping to lift you off of him, but instead, he accidentally brushed your nightdress up a bit and revealed your naked sex to him.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, “God, Bunny…”

Nothing happened for a few seconds, silence and stillness taking over the bedroom. Then without warning he grasped your hips even tighter and sank you onto his thick, throbbing cock, causing you to moan and whimper out loudly.

Quickly, Rafe’s hand shot up, stuffing three fingers into your mouth to shut you up.

“Shh, Bunny, don’t want mommy and daddy hearing you now, do we?” His voice whispered sharply between heavy panted breaths.

You rolled your hips, gagging on his fingers as they roughly probed down your throat.

“Fuck, such a little slut for your big brother, huh Bunny?” He tantalized, hissing as you started bouncing up and down on his cock.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, his blunt tip hitting that perfect spot on your cervix every damn time. When he forced your dress down your shoulders and took one of your rosy pink buds into his mouth you felt as if your eyes could do a whole 360-degree spin.

You were sure the scene looked vulgar, a big brother letting his barely legal sister ride him, his mouth vigorously sucking, nipping, and lavishing her nipples, his fingers in her mouth to shut her up, drool running down the corners of her mouth and right into his own at your breasts. It was disgusting. Perfect.

It wasn’t long before you were choking and sputtering around his fingers that you were going to come, snapping your hips up and down faster and faster.

“Come for me, Bunny, be a good little sister, and come for your big brother.”

His words pushed you to your limit, clenching around his pipe unbelievably tight and coming. The feeling of your wet warmth snug around him made him quickly follow, shooting his load into you.

After a few more rolls of your hips, you had both come down from your highs and Rafe had removed his digits from your mouth. The room was filled with breathless pants and quiet shuffling now and then.

Finally, Rafe spoke up, his voice silent yet it spoke volumes of what he was feeling.

“Fuck.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

slowly, then all at once

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "as he read, i fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." from the fault in our stars by john green

rated t | 731 words | cw: nightmares | tags: pre-relationship, feelings realization, literal sleeping together, cuddling

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

Steve’s nightmares aren’t a secret. The severity of them, along with the frequency, and how shitty he feels after, those are all secrets. Not even Robin quite knows how bad it gets sometimes.

The summer is worse: the memories of the Russians, the way the pool reflects off his window at night, the humidity clinging to his skin reminding him too much of the way dust and ash and mud clings in the Upside Down.

He feels stupid after spring break, that he should even still have traumatic memories when Eddie almost died. But he does. They’re worse now. He isn’t being tortured, Robin isn’t even in these ones. It’s always Eddie.

Eddie bleeding.

Eddie’s broken body.

Eddie not breathing.

Eddie dying.

It’s weird how quickly he took over Steve’s brain, how he went from being someone Steve barely knew from school to being one of his closest friends. Near-death experiences tended to do that, he supposes.

But it’s almost every night, and he rarely gets more than a couple hours of sleep before they hit, so he’s in a constant state of exhaustion these days. It’s not great for all the volunteering he does, and the usual taking the kids where they need to go, and trying to find a new job, and trying to convince Robin he’s fine. The bags under his eyes and the constant slump of his shoulders says everything.

She worries, but she knows he just has to get over the hump.

They all do.

Eddie stays with him late into the night a lot. It’s like he senses that being alone is the catalyst.

He finds excuses, tries to make it seem like he’s the one who doesn’t wanna be alone. Steve appreciates it, but he’s far past the point of feeling any shame for being afraid of being alone.

He doesn’t turn him away, though. Eddie sticks around for hours most nights, well past the point he should. Sometimes they watch movies, sometimes they just turn music on and sit quietly in the living room. Eddie is always moving a little, fingers tapping, leg jiggling, head bobbing. It’s good, though. It’s nice.

And sometimes he lays down in Steve’s bed with him until he falls asleep. He doesn’t touch him, or really do anything more than just exist in the space while Steve closes his eyes and drifts off. He’s always gone when Steve wakes up.

Tonight, he’s got a book open and Steve’s curled up under his blankets. His bones ache from how tired he is, and he wonders if his body will ever get to the point where exhaustion keeps the nightmares away. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. Not yet.

Eddie’s voice is soft, accents coming through for some characters, colorful inflections describing the scenery. Steve smiles to himself as his eyes start to feel heavy.

It’s nice to be read to. He doesn’t know which book this is, but it sounds like a dream.

Maybe he’ll dream about this instead of bats circling a body he loves.

Oh.

His eyes open and he looks up at Eddie, who doesn’t stop reading, even when Steve knows he can feel his eyes on him. It’s a beautiful thing, to see Eddie so enraptured in a story that he’s probably read before, to see him still putting the effort into giving Steve a show even though Steve was mostly asleep.

He loves him.

Steve loves Eddie.

Not the way he loves Robin, or the kids. Maybe closer to how he loved Nancy, but even that didn’t feel quite like this.

This feels like a later sunset after a long winter, a fresh breath of air after being stuck in the Upside Down, a glass of cold water in the middle of summer.

It’s refreshing, and waves of calm take over his body.

He settles.

He reaches out, places his arm over Eddie’s stomach, curls his fingers into his shirt. He buries his face into Eddie’s side.

Eddie pauses for a moment, just long enough that Steve worries he shouldn’t have done this. But then one arm covers Steve’s body and he continues, voice softer but no less enthusiastic.

Steve closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

When he wakes, it’s calm. There’s no crying or screaming, no thrashing, no fighting.

Eddie’s there, holding Steve against him.

He loves him.

[autisticmudkip]

The genocide in Ghazzah has caused permanent effects on those who survived it. Many Ghazzans have lost their homes, their health, and their loved ones. Many survivors are still at risk of more serious health effects due to being deprived of food, shelter, and medical care for so long. However, with swift action and support for Ghazzans, you can help them heal and avoid more suffering.

One person you can help is Suham Bader. Suham's arm was injured over a year ago, but she was not able to recieve treatment for it as her family was forced to flee their home. Without medical treatment, her bone fused incorrectly. During a year of suffering through cold and pain, Suham's condition has kept getting worse. Her parents and her uncle @hashembadr are very worried for her. If Suham does not recieve surgery soon, she will lose her arm entirely.

Hashem and his family have been fundraising for almost a year now, but they have only reached 14% of their goal so far. They urgently need funds for Suham to get the surgery she require, but donations keep stopping for days at a time. They still need to raise around £4900 to cover the price of surgery and the transfer costs.

Suham is just a kid. She's lost her home and has gone through a year of unimaginable trauma. Please, help her get the surgery she needs. It's all her family is asking right now. Your donation and sharing their campaign both make a difference in her life.

Vetted #102 by @/gazavetters

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