#i think it's just a free conversation starter. also it's hot. but that's beside the point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Latibule pt. ii

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kinda heavy petting? we still going slow up in this ride, adult language, eventual SMUT, oh & Kiyoomi being a blunt asshole

Words: 12,880

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: me: try to keep it at 7,000 words, also me: what’s a word count?

i owe my life to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions on this monster. i love you both & appreciate you to the moon and back.

Latibule

pt. ii: Four Set

a high set to the strong side/outside hitter

[ pt. i: an opening ] ||

[ You: 4:35pm ]

Hey! It’s me– from the coffee shop. Wanted to see if you were busy this evening? Maybe we can meet up when I get off?

[ Sakusa: 5:02pm ]

I know. Sure.

[ You: 6:21pm ]

Great! I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at the shop?

[ Sakusa: 7:10pm ]

Read at 7:10pm

“Is he coming?” Kane asks, following you out of the coffee shop and pausing under the shallow awning, twisting his head, watching your back as you turn the key in the door. You tug against the handle, testing the hold, your hands heavy against the cool metal.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes peering into the darkened depths of the cafe lobby. “It says he read the last text, but he didn’t respond. He’s likely busy. I have no idea how long they practice; he’s a professional athlete, and after seeing that game...well, I can only imagine how intense his training schedule is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like that before it was so fluid, like watching quicksilver.”

“Eh? Quicksilver? What is this, a poetry slam? Who describes people like that? Still, I bet he does, like, 20,000 sit-ups a day. You can tell, even under that baggy jacket, that he’s crazy fit,” Kane ruminates, leaning against one of the stacked sets of metal chairs. “Damn. It’s kinda crazy to think about, you know? You and a hot pro athlete going out on a date.”

You huff out a laugh and give him a playful scowl. “Ugh, shut up, you’re so rude, Kane. And I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘date.’ We just exchanged numbers. That’s all.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. All those googly eyes must have happened with someone else. Definitely not you and that six-foot monster of a man. I mean, usually the guy just sits at his seat and ignores us, watching those videos on his computer and taking his notes, or he gets his coffee and is on his way, but today he was practically sitting on the hand off plane, and staring at you.

Don’t gimme that face! You know I’m right. And–awe, look at you! So bashful! Oooh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so cute! Come on (Y/N), that’s so––ow!”

“Didn’t you say you had a paper to write?” you grumble, shoving your knuckles against his shoulder again. “There was so much whining from you tonight. Way worse than usual. So many, ‘hurry up, (Y/N)! I need to get home. What if this makes me bomb my paper! What if I fail the class because of this?’ What happened to all that? Huh? Suddenly you’ve got time to suss’ me out on the sidewalk?”

“Yow! So touchy! And this is totally workplace harassment, ya’ know! Jeez, that’s a mean right hook you’ve got. You didn’t even warn me! Eee, I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Oh, shut up. You completely deserved that. Now go away and go finish your paper, you soon to be fail––”

“You said 9:30, right?”

The sound of Sakusa’s low voice startles you and you spring away from Kane, head whipping around and eyes wide. He’s standing a few feet behind the two of you, his shoulders curved into their usual hunch, eyes dark behind his fringe of curls. Under his golden jacket, a crisp white shirt is stretched across his broad chest, the bottom tucked carefully into the front of his jeans, and his MSBY bag is hanging against his back. His onyx hair looks heavy and you can see some lingering moisture, no doubt from a recent shower, glistening against the raven waves.

“Hey!” you call, unable to bite back the elated grin that’s suddenly curving the edges of your lips. Kane is right about one thing, you think, stepping closer to Sakusa’s stiff form. This is kinda surreal. “We just finished closing up. Uh, this is Kane,” you wince, gesturing to the smirking face of your coworker.

Shit. Stop it. You sound like an idiot. He knows who Kane is. You’ve seen them talking at the register before, but the rambling introduction keeps tumbling out of you. “He works here. He’s usually at the register, he’s learning, um, the bar and–uh. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve seen him before, uh, probably...definitely...ha, but, er–”

“And that’s my cue,” Kane chuckles, shaking his head at your janky attempts to introduce him properly to a man that he’s known, in passing, for over a year. “Nice seeing you Sakusa-sama,” he bows, tossing you a cheeky wink from his polite curve, “you guys have fun.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the impassive Sakusa alone on the empty street.

A hushed quiet falls over the two of you as you adjust the straps of your purse, eyes lowered. Stop freaking out, you chide yourself, taking a deep inhale of air into your lungs, fingers padding aimlessly over the leather slings of your bag. Just talk with him. It’s always easier when you ask the questions first, since he’s not much of a talker. So ask him about something he can answer.

Volleyball. Yeah, ask him about that. It’s not exactly a groundbreaking conversation starter, but it will work.

Strategy set, confidence mounting, you open your mouth.

“So, how did your practice–” “How was your day–”

He speaks when you do, and the two of you clatter directly into each other, words smattering into nothingness as you both fumble into an uneasy silence again.

Hopeless, you’re both hopeless. It’s kinda funny, in a horrifically awkward way.

“Uh,” you grin, eyes finally lifting to his. “You first?”

The gentle thud of his heart echoes against his ears and his breath is hot under the cover of his mask. You’re so close. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch you, could drop his hand from his pocket and let it slip into yours again. That thought makes his palms feel itchy, and he scrapes his nails down the skin, easing the ache.

Not yet.

He watches you as you shake your head, a glowing smile breaking across your lips. You’re not just pretty, he thinks, unconsciously drifting closer, you’re captivating. It’s like you’re some kinda homing beacon.

He’s a cautious guy, always has been. But something about you makes him want to blindly reach, to be nearer to you.

“Practice was fine. Where did you want to go?” he murmurs, fingers lifting, tugging his mask down his face.

He wants to kiss you.

It’s been on his mind all day, through the training, through the practice games, hovering over him, shrouding him with the foggy remembrance of the pressure of your lips. He’d fucked your first one up and he wants to try again, to do better. But it’s different when you’re expecting it, when he can see your gaze following the downward pull of his hand, your eyes hooded and watchful as he reveals the lower portion of his face to you. When you bite your lip into your mouth, teeth pressing before slowly letting the plump flesh spring free again, he nearly groans aloud.

He wonders if you’ll let him do it, let him kiss you, and that thought makes him feel lightheaded. You’re so close––No, he gulps, jaw clenching and shoulders straightening, his back arching upward and right foot jerking a step, pulling away from your tempting openness. It’s too much, it’s too soon.

Just wait, he reminds himself, be patient. Not now, not yet.

You notice his shift and look up at him curiously, popping your weight onto your other leg, one hand braced against your hip, but you still smile up at him, acknowledging his unspoken cues for distance. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink.”

“I don’t like bars,” he blurts.

Your eyes widen and you suck a sharp breath into your lungs, lips falling into a half-formed ‘oh.’

No. He didn’t mean it like––Damn it.

Kiyoomi flinches, nose wrinkling and mouth pulling into a thin line. He’s not good at this.

“Mm, well, this is less of a bar and more like a gastropub. It’s small, laid-back. Plus, it’s a Tuesday night, they’re gonna be slow, and if they’re not, we can leave and try something else...”

“It’s fine,” he rectifies sharply. Again, he sounds too harsh. “I don’t care about any of that. If it’s slow or not. If you want to go, we’ll go. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I didn’t think it was rude.”

Kiyoomi jerks his chin up, his mouth pressing into a pursed frown, peering skeptically at you, eyes narrowed. You let out a laughed exhale and tilt your head, quickly shrugging your shoulders, attempting to mollify his mistrustful stare. “I mean it!” you insist, waving your hand. “I’ll take someone who’s blunt any day of the week. It’s exhausting trying to read people who are good at hiding behind smiles, or false facades. You always know where you stand when someone is straightforward. Seriously,” you continue, grinning up at his abashed expression, “it doesn’t bother me. Be yourself. Besides, I like it. It kinda makes me jealous…”

“Jealous?” Kiyoomi echoes, watching you step past him and down the darkened street. His heart is beating out that uneven tattoo again, and it feels like he can’t catch his breath. What do you mean, ‘you like his bluntness’? No one’s ever told him that. No one’s ever told him to ‘be himself’ either. And, as if that wasn’t enough for him to chew on, now you’re casually saying that you’re jealous of his unapologetic retorts. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” you nod, slowing your footfalls, letting him catch up with you as you stride down the sidewalk. “I always lean on the polite side of things, likely because I’ve spent too many years in customer service, haha. So it’s refreshing to hear someone just speak their mind. Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who’s careless with what they say to others; you’re candid, but careful, you just don’t mince your words. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I’m babbling, again. Looks like you kinda have that effect on me, huh?”

His lips quirk at your admission and he steps a little closer, the fabric of his jacket wicking across your clothed arm as he matches your pace. “Is it far?” he asks after a time, watching as the lights of the main street twinkle between the lumbering edges of the buildings.

“Not much farther. But you might wanna put your mask up, we’ll go past the cross street and that area is always a little busy this time of night.”

[ Damn. That’s––The fact that that thought would even cross your mind–– ]

His hand is out of his pocket before he can blink, seeking the soft warmth of your curled fingers, cupping over your knuckles as he heeds your advice with his other, tugging his mask up and pinching it securely over the bridge of his nose. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t look down. He likely should have asked. After all, he doesn’t know you that well. But you ease your digits against his, your thumb curling over the joint of his ring finger, and his lips twitch into a smile.

You greet the girl behind the hostess stand with a hug and a few other members of the staff walk up to the table that you select, big grins and booming voices calling out jovial ‘hello’s’ and ‘good to see you’s’.

“You come here a lot?” Kiyoomi inquires, slouching against the cushions of the booth, obsidian eyes peering around the space. The table is off to the side, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area and bar, and is half covered by a glass wall that provides the two of you with an extra buffer of privacy. It’s an ideal spot, and he’s inwardly grateful that you’d chosen it.

“I used to work here,” you answer, lifting your purse onto your lap before fishing around for something within the depths of the leather. “I–ah! Here it is. I always lose stuff in here, it’s like a black hole, no matter how many times I organize it, it goes right back to being a mess. Price you pay when you have a big bag, I guess.” You lift a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and dollop some onto your palm. He blinks, following the rapid motions of your hands as you clean them off with the solution. That’s...nice. Nice feels like a strange word for this observation, but it’s true. You spy his gwaping expression and hold the bottle out, nodding your head at his coiled fingers. “Want some?”

“Thanks,” he rumbles, mimicking your motions as he eases the cold sanitizer against his chapped hands. “So you worked here?”

“Yeah! I did this and the coffee shop for a while. I was behind the bar, mostly. It was a good job, but when things picked up with my degree plan, I had to drop it.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi hums, pulling his mask off and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s why you knew it wouldn’t be busy.”

“Yup! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always slow. This is likely the busiest it will get. They have food here too, if you’re hungry. Got some good sushi and the agedashi tofu is one of the best in the city.”

“I already ate.” [ Shit. ]

“Ohh-kay. Well, I’m probably going to get something. They’ve got non-alcoholic drinks as well. Should be at the bottom of the menu.”

“I said I don’t like bars, not that I don’t drink.” [ Fuck. ]

“Fair enough,” you shrug, cocking your head at his clenched jaw and averted eyes. “You see anything you want?”

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi sighs, lifting the paper menu and scanning the side that lists the specials.

“I told you,” your voice is soft, and he glances up at you, glad to see that you’re still smiling happily at him, “I don’t mind. Tell you what, if you go too far I’ll let you know, sound good?” You stretch your hand toward him, bunching your fingers, except for your pinky, which is waiting, outstretched, and reaching toward him.

“What?” he asks, chin dipping and heavy brows furrowing as he eyes your hand suspiciously.

“Whaddya’ mean, ‘what?’ It’s a pinky promise. You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he deadpans, blinking slowly.

You guffaw and the burst of joyous sound makes him snicker too, his shoulders easing from that all too familiar hunch, his head ducking, the faint stain of a blush seeping over his cheeks. It’s just a laugh, he reasons, annoyed by his flushed skin and twitching fingers. Why is he getting worked up? He takes a second to refocus, but when he does, you’re still waiting for him, your pinky wiggling, blithely enticing him.

“It’s easy,” you promise. “You just hook your smallest finger with mine and we shake once on it and boom, that’s an unbreakable promise. And, well, if it kills you then I guess you’ll go down in a book of world records or something.”

Kiyoomi scoffs at your jab and lifts his arm onto the table, holding his pinky out, waiting for you to make the last move, rolling his eyes at your dramatically slow approach.

Your touch is gentle, finger ghosting over the middle joint of his pinky, curling slowly, teasingly, before it wraps around the width of his digit. Then you give him a quick squeeze, swiftly bobbing your joined fingers in a mock shake. It’s over in an instant, but you maintain the touch, gradually untwining your crooked digits. “Your fingers are long,” you observe, eyes catching his before traveling back to that lingering connection, distractedly easing your fingertip down the line of his hand and pausing against the base of his wrist.

It feels like his entire arm is electrified and a fine shiver of goose flesh breaks across his warm skin. His mouth is open, lips parted as he sucks in a shallow drag of air and he can’t stop staring, wholly enraptured by your flirtatious strokes. When your eyes rake upwards to playfully find his, that pleased smile soft against your lips, he thinks he might just lurch forward and grab you.

“There,” you beam before pulling away. “Now that that’s done, what are you gonna’ order?”

He lets you place your drink order first, saying he needs to keep looking, that it has been a while since he’s had a drink, and he’s never been all that sure of his preferences, anyway.

It’s an unexpected admission.

If there’s one thing that you’ve been relatively sure of, it’s that Sakusa is a man who doesn’t hesitate. In the two years that you’ve known him, granted from the other side of the counter of a coffee shop, he’s always known what he wants and is confident in his selections. He can rattle them off by rote, by flavor, by taste, by temperature, so seeing him this off balance, a little frazzled and out of his depth, is a bit of a surprise.

He’s not fidgety, his hands are resting placidly in his lap, feet evenly placed on the floor, but you can tell there’s an underlying thrum of agitation behind all those half ducked glances he keeps giving you, his obsidian eyes sharp, gleaming like flints each time they linger against you. He’d laughed once, before you’d squeezed his pinky with yours, and then promptly fallen back into that sullen silence, answering your questions with one word quips or hushed murmurs.

It made you feel guilty.

He said he hated bars, so maybe you should have taken that admission a little more seriously. But out of all the places the two of you could go, this late at night in downtown Osaka, you’d figured that this was likely the quietest, the one where he’d feel the most comfortable.

“So you’ve played with them for two years?” you ask, giving your server a quick thanks as they sit your drink down. “That’s impressive. But you said you went to school for four? That’s different. I bet most players skip college and go right for the pros, so why didn’t you do that?”

“Volleyball isn’t everything,” he answers, tone clipped, matter of fact, as he watches you take a sip of your drink, waiting for the clink of the ice and the gentle clatter of the glass as you set it back down on the table before he continues. “I’m not invincible. Someday I won’t be able to play. And it makes sense to have a backup, something that I can do later.”

You pop your chin into your upturned palm, lips resting against your curled fingers. “True. You’re very thorough, you know?”

Sakusa’s forehead creases, and those two perfectly stacked moles lower over his right eyebrow. “I like to do things properly, that’s all. It just feels right. To take things one step at a time. I do that with everything. I guess most see it as something repetitive, or monotonous, all those basic tasks that you do day in, day out, but I like it. And if you think of them as mindful tasks, rather than mindless, then you can get to that point where those little things become pleasure, instead of drudgery. I know that I’m not guaranteed anything, but, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go out, to leave volleyball, satisfied. Knowing I did my best.”

It sounds stupid to his ears, pompous, and as soon as he finishes his preamble, he lets out an inaudible sigh, teeth worrying against the soft flesh of the inside of his mouth. Damn it. Why did he say all that? What’s the point? You’d only asked him about college and here he is, rattling off his ideologies and distant thoughts. Why did he–

“That’s...that’s a cool way of looking at it.”

His jaw is gritted, his face covered by a sheen of impassive blankness. But he looks up when you say that. He wants to see you, even if it’s only to take in your bewildered amusement. But you’re not giving him some piteous smirk, no, you’re looking at him like he’s helped you solve a long awaited puzzle, and your face is filled with the softest, haziest glimmer of ardent happiness that he’s ever seen. Your smile broadens, and he looks away, fingers feeling blindly for the pulse in his lowered wrist.

His heart’s pounding.

How do you do that? Then, as he tries to steady his shaking breaths, you lean back, lifting your glass to your parted lips to take a quick sip, a distant look in your eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way, but you’re right. I always have so much trouble explaining that mindset to new hires. Like, how do you tell them that, yeah, while this seems like a stupid thing we have you do, to keep busy during the slow period of the day, it matters in the long run. Take our cleaning routines, if you don’t clean something, and clean it diligently, then the gunk and grime builds up, and it’s harder to get out later. Things harden, become set in their ways, and I guess the same thing can happen to the pros too. It seems like most don’t go to school. They just slip right into the sport–after all, if you’re good enough to make it onto a division ranked team right out of high school, then there you go, that’s your end goal, right?

But I like that you took the little steps, the ones that people ignore, or try to bypass. It’s another sort of preparedness, really. Others may not see it that way, might think of it as wasted time, but you did what felt right for you and I know it’ll pay off. It’s–oh! Sorry! I’m babbling again! Ha, God, I’m gonna stop, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiyoomi utters, arms lifting from his lap, pressing against the smooth wood of the table, ignoring the racing of his heart. “I liked it. I’m glad that you...I liked it. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk. And, uh, can I try your drink? I know nothing about gin, or whiskey, or whatever that is. I usually just stick to beer and sake.”

You bite your lip, a soft chuckle falling between the two of you, and press two fingers bashfully against your nose, covering your giddy smile and pushing your drink forward, toward his open palms. “It’s kinda nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s flustered. Hmm, but here. If you don’t drink much, then you may not have had this before. Sorry if it’s strong. Also, I go for brown liquor, so it’s got rye for the base.”

“Rye’s a whiskey, right?” he asks, pushing the tiny black straw aside and taking a careful swig from the rim of the glass. It’s got a smooth flavor, almost like the caramel notes of his doppio con panna, but without that cloying sweetness that sometimes sits against the back of his tongue when he’s finished. Instead of the hum of sugar, there is only a shiver of bitterness and then the quick bite of the alcohol is gone, passing over his teeth and down his throat in a single gulp.

It’s good.

Better than he expected. And he passes the glass back, his fingers holding against the cool surface, waiting for yours. “I’ll get that,” he tells you, an impish smirk lifting his lips. “It’s perfect.”

After that-and a second round of drinks-the night went a little smoother. He did his best to not lapse into unsociable silences and you did just as he’d asked of you and kept talking.

You traded the basics, where you were born, talked about your family, your education, degrees, pets, and, slowly, the uncertainty simply faded away.

You were easy to talk with, impossibly so; always ready with another question, a congenial quip, or an antidote about your own life. Soon he was regaling you about his cousin, Motoya, the latest antics of his teammates, his hopes for the upcoming season, for the 2021 Olympics, for anything that he could think of, anything to keep you in that seat, to keep you chatting with him for just a little longer.

[ It’s late, but that doesn’t matter. Keep talking, ask her something else. ]

Is it supposed to feel like this?

He’s never really had a relationship; not when he was in high school or college, and any of his half-formed attractions always fizzled out before they ever really started. He was too busy, too one track minded to notice, [ to care ] to find the time [ to make the time. ]

It’s certainly not love, [ Tch. Love at first sight, who believes in stuff like that anyway, this isn’t some movie, plus he’s known you for years, so it’s not first sight either ] not yet, but there’s another feeling that’s laced within this humming excitement that keeps bubbling to the surface, that has him hanging onto every word that passes from your lips.

It’s want.

He wants more, greedily so, and he hasn’t experienced that feeling, outside of volleyball, in a long time.

“I’m not too far from here. I’ll just hop on the train and then be back in my district. Easy-peasy.”

Sakusa nods at your jovial reassurances, hoisting his track bag higher against his shoulder, following you toward the lights of the street. It’s late, later than he’s used to, and his eyes feel heavy. The lull of the alcohol isn’t helping either, so he shuffles closer, bumping unevenly against you every few steps. You twist your head toward him, a faint smile on your lips, eyeing his lumbering form skeptically. “Sure I don’t need to walk you to your station, Sakusa? You look dead on your feet. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

“You didn’t,” he sighs, his words rasping past a yawn. “I wanted to stay. I’ll regret it tomorrow. For now, I’m fine.”

“Pfft, okay, well, I’ll look forward to receiving your annoyed text about me keeping you out past your bedtime in the morning then.”

Huh? Text? You want him to text you in the morning? Can he do that? Be the first person you think of when your notification lights up your dark screen, the first one that you reply to. Shit. What–what does that mean?

Sakusa slows, his hand reaching for you.

He misses your arm and snags your purse instead, jerking the straps, and by association you, a little harder than he intended. [ Damn it. His coordination’s off. ] You stumble backwards, shoulders bracing against his broad chest, and you blink up at him. You lift your face, looking at him curiously. He’s already peering down, and the glow of the distant street-lamps makes the onyx of his irises morph from jet to a rich blue. For a long breath both of you simply stare, content to watch the other, waiting for some kind of advancement in this stalemate.

You cave first. “Um, you alright?”

“What are we?” he asks pointedly, large palms running up the sides of your arms, his head tilting, dropping raven curls over his brow.

“Friends?” you reply, but it feels more like a question than an answer and you let the word hang, unsure what else you can say, what else he wants to hear. You feel a bated breath leave his lungs. It dips you back as his chest falls, slipping you minutely closer even as his hands droop limply from the curve of your shoulders. His eyes shift from yours and his lips fade into a thin line as he steps away, letting you slip from his grasp. The air between you changes, hardening back into that early uncertainty, and by the time you turn to face him fully, his hands are re-tucked into his pockets and his slouch has returned.

“What’s wrong?”

You know, but you don’t want to assume. You’d warned him after all; you’re not good at being blunt.

He gives you a frank stare, dark brows creasing, furrowing his expression. “Friends means I can’t kiss you.”

For a moment you can’t feel your heart. You know it’s beating, still diligently pumping blood through your body, but as that declaration leaves his lips it’s like your entire world has narrowed. He wants to...how can he just say that? Just blurt out whatever comes into his head and not care what happens after. Where do you find confidence like that?

You flash your gaze upward and he’s still looking at you, his unmasked face open as he stares, dark eyes watchful, half veiled behind his lashes.

He waits. He’s good at that, you think, feeling a smile creep across your face as your tongue passes over the swell of your lower lip. He instantly tracks the movement and takes a shallow step forward. You can hear his fingers coiling and uncoiling inside of the slick lining of his pockets, but that simple, near silent admission of his nervousness makes up your mind.

“Well,” you begin, eyes lowering, easing closer, pressing until you can almost feel the heat of him against you. Your hands lift tentatively, passing over the flat, honed planes of his chest until they come to rest against the top of his stomach. His nostrils flare at the tempered stroke but the rest of him remains stock still, wholly rooted to the spot, listening, observing, a glimmer of distant hope cresting against the back of his mind.

[ Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. ]

Then, those final, all important words are leaving you, cast into the air.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before you can look up at him, his hands are hovering beside your ears, the ghost of his touch urging you upward as he lowers himself over you.

His lips meet yours with a gentle tap and you can feel his unsteady exhale pass over your mouth as he allows himself to linger against you. It’s more like a press than a proper kiss, but you indulge him, gripping your impatient hands against the thin material of his jacket, giving him time to adjust. He’s featherlight, his lips scratchy, but the lubrication that your swiped tongue has left behind eases the touch and he gasps when you lift to meet him, your lips gliding over his.

Then he’s wavering; like he can’t decide.

He shifts away, only to return moments later, lips never fully leaving yours, caressing until you’re doggedly chasing after him, a poorly concealed groan slipping from your throat. He hums appreciatively at your enthusiasm and steps impossibly closer, his fingertips tapping under your jaw and down your neck.

On one of his shuddering pulls you slip your tongue over his lips, tracing the seam, wordlessly asking for him to deepen the kiss. The sound he makes in return is garbled, caught against his throat and lost in the shuffle of his hands, his breath, his want.

His arms are like steel cables as they twine around your waist, holding you to him as he finally opens, his teeth clattering against yours in his rush. You smile against his eagerness and pop onto the tips of your toes, hands releasing his jacket, sliding up his face before you let your fingers coil into his obsidian curls, your teeth nipping against his dampened lip. He lets out another hushed gasp, the flat of his palm warm against your shoulder blades as he urges you upward.

“You’re — mmm, you’re too tall, Sakusa,” you complain, finally easing away from his greedy kisses, and grinning when he follows.

“Kiyoomi,” he insists, hands cupping, thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw, dropping another kiss against your upturned lips. “Call me that. I want to hear it.”

You laugh and he huffs impatiently against you, brows folding into that deep crease. “Not joking,” he grumbles, lips and breath hot against yours, “I want to hear you say it.”

When you manage, at long last, to pull away from him again, your eyes bright, lips kiss shined and swollen, he knows this image of you will be etched into his mind for weeks to come. It’s perfect [ you’re perfect ] and all he can think about is that he wants so much more.

“Kiyoomi,” you call, head canted at his staggered expression, eyes glittering with fond amusement. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

He scowls at your question and tugs you back, kissing you until your laugh fades away and his name comes a little easier.

[ You: 9:18am ]

You sure you want to go there? I don’t care if we do something else instead, your call.

[ Kiyoomi: 10:54am ]

Got the tickets. See you after your shift.

“Bringing your phone onto the court–ballsy move Omi,” Atsumu leers, dropping his bag beside Kiyoomi’s, a troublesome smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps, darkening the screen with a click and placing the device beside his trainers. “At least I know how to keep it hidden. And you’re the reason we’re banned from bringing them out here at all. You and your stupid snapchat stories.”

“Omi! Ya’ big jerk! Be quiet, ya’ know yer’ not supposed to mention that app where the coaches can–”

“Miya!” a booming voice calls from across the gym, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing! If I catch you on that phone, you can expect to do a hundred serves at the end of this practice match! Got it?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, a lackadaisical grin ghosting over his lips as he neatly dodges Atsumu’s elbowed jab. “See? I’m not the problem here.”

“Such a jackass. It’s a miracle (Y/N) is even giving you the time of day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiyoomi bristles, heavy brows creasing.

“Means I don’t know what she sees in ya,’ you big dummy. Where you taking her this week?”

“Why do you care?”

“Damn it. Why do I bother? I mean really, am I some kinda masochistic or something? Yer’ terrible to talk with, but here I am, attempting some harmless small-talk. Cut a guy some slack, would ya’?”

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi stares, onyx eyes narrowing at Atusmu’s haggard expression.

“You! I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know, checking in, seeing how yer’ doing. Making sure you haven’t screwed things up yet. Ya’ know, being polite!” Atsumu glowers, golden hair falling over one umber eye as he flashes Kiyoomi a fixed glare.

“What would I screw up?”

Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Tell you what, ask me that question again when you do, how’s that sound?”

“Miya–”

“Bringing your phone to practice, coming in late, or right before things kick off, yeah, you got it bad, don’t cha’? You better watch yer’self Omi.”

“The hell you talking about?” Kiyoomi sneers, chin lowering, steeling himself for one of Atsumu’s long-winded tangents.

“God, yer’ so dense, especially with shit that’s not volleyball. Come on, Omi, use your head. The coaches, the managers, they’re all gonna try and make you pick. That’s what they do. She’s a nice girl, and I’d hate to see her get caught up in all of that bullshit. Stop gaping at me like that! Like I’m not making any sense! I’m trying to look out for ya’! Not that you deserve it, being such a prickly asshole, and all...”

Kiyoomi sighs, lips pursing into a sharp point, his shoulders slumping forward, arms hanging limply against his sides. Fine, he’ll engage. Whatever. If it’ll get Atsumu to explain whatever the hell he’s talking about before the practice match, he reasons, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re going to the museum in Tennoji Park.”

Atsumu stares. “Damn. You agreed to go to a public park? In the daytime? That’s real big, if true.”

“I’ll serve every ball directly at the back of your head, don’t think I won’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the setter laughs, propping his hands against his hips. “Shocked yer’ not just staying close to that one restaurant. You seem like a, ‘this is what I like and I’m sticking to it’ kinda guy. Not one to branch out. You know, boring.”

“How do you know about the restaurant?”

“She told me about it?”

Kiyoomi curls his lip over his teeth. “When did she do that?”

“The other day, went by for a coffee.”

“Ugh,” he huffs, swinging one arm across his chest, stretching out the muscles of his biceps. “What else did she say?”

Atsumu grins, bracing his forearm against Kiyoomi’s shoulder, waggling his brows mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just ask her.”

“Ughhh, zero fun. That’s what you are. Tell me, ya’ got a mode that’s not: ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, ‘the world’s most boring man’,” Atsumu groans, head dropping as he lets his body hang limply off of Kiyoomi’s stiffened form.

“Shut up. What we do isn’t your business anyway, so enough with the questions. You’re just poking your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you,” Kiyoomi accuses, shrugging Atsumu’s heavy arm off of his, glaring.

Atsumu straightens, a quiet scoff puffing between his smirked lips. “Fine. So touchy today. And you think this crap ain’t gonna bleed into your playing? Yer’ way–”

“Line up!” the assistant coach booms, silencing Atsumu’s bristled retort. Kiyoomi opts to hold his tongue, letting the setter pace away from him, eyes narrowing while sucking in a steadying breath before he follows.

Damn it. He got so caught up in––Atsumu never told him what he meant.

It’s early afternoon and the broad concrete pathways of the park are mostly empty. The spring flowers are in bloom and the ginkgo trees sway in the crisp breeze that dips in from the sea. It’s a beautiful day, but Kiyoomi can’t shake himself out of his head.

He’d stared dutifully at the portraits in the museum, read the placards that rested below the painted screens and pottery, and listened when you asked him questions, or answered his own. He shouldn’t be like this, he fumes, adjusting the ear straps of his mask as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight once more.

Who cares what Atsumu was trying to imply. It was vague and unhelpful; likely meant to get under his skin, something that–

“You alright?” Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he looks down at you, brows unknotting, eyes softening as they rake over your curious face.

“Yeah. Miya said something at practice that I’m having trouble forgetting.”

“Oh? What?”

He tells you, and it feels like some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s nice.

Usually he’s guarded, quiet. Sure, he’ll let others know what he’s thinking with little finesse, but that doesn’t mean they know the truth of what’s on his mind. This is different. With you it’s easy to disassemble, unexpectedly so. It’s only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other, but in that time he’s opened up more to you than he has to anyone, outside of his family, and he’s still not sure if he likes that.

[ That’s a lie. He likes it; he does. He’s just not used to it. ]

“Make you pick?” you ask, skimming your hand over the red railing of the bridge, head cocked thoughtfully to the side. “He actually said that?”

“Mentioned it. Like I said, Miya talks in circles. I usually just tune him out, but this felt...different.”

“Hmm,” you ponder, easily keeping up with his long strides, your body close to his. “Well, maybe he means they, the coaches that is, don’t want you to be distracted? I could see that. I mean, you are playing at an extremely high level and next year is the Olympics. Damn, it feels strange to say that. I know someone who’s playing in the Olympics…”

“I know that. And I’m not distracted,” his tone is clipped and his chin ducks, his side swept curls fanning over his left eye.

You look over at his tensed expression and puff out an exhale of air. “Well, maybe he’s just messing with you? You said he likes to do that.”

“Told you, this felt different.” The words are sharp, punctuated by his clenched jaw and the forward roll of his shoulders, and you suck your teeth softly, staring across the shimmering surface of the pond as the two of you cross the last stretch of the bridge. You’re on the back foot here, a little unsure of how to reassure him, but you can tell he wants to shake this off, so you press the issue, hoping it’ll help ease that stiff tension that’s building in his shoulders.

“Okay, it felt different. How so?”

The words come without hesitation. [ This isn’t normal for him, but it’s also so damn nice to know that he can be this comfortable with someone. ] “Miya usually babbles. Goes on and on about the most inane things. But he also loves to chatter about his reasoning, and this time he didn’t. Instead of answering my question, he gave me that shitty smirk and changed the subject to something he knew would distract me––why else would he say he’d gone by the coffee shop?”

“I mean, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to provoke–to see if he can get a reaction out of you and...I know it’s not much of a reason, but maybe that’s all that it was?”

Kiyoomi gives you a curt nod and picks up his pace, his hands coiling into clenched fists within the confines of his pockets. You follow him, unsure if you should strike up another line of conversation or let him simmer for a bit. You opt for the latter and turn your attention to the scenery of the parklands, quietly studying the picnicking couples and laughing clusters of children that jostle beside a nearby set of monkey bars. No matter his mood, it’s a lovely day and you’re still glad he’d agreed to come with you to the park.

But when the trail reaches the main street, you pause. “Hey, you wanna call it a day?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. If he needs time, you rationalize, then you can give him that.

Kiyoomi jerks to a stop, his heavy brows furrowing as he stares down at you. “What? No,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of his mask.

You raise your hands in a gesture of supplication, palms facing his looming form. “It’s just...you seem like you’re upset...”

“I am upset,” Kiyoomi answers frankly, his breath heavy.

His honesty never fails to catch you off balance, and you laugh cheerfully at his stoic expression. Kiyoomi promptly fixes you with a perturbed stare, his eyes narrowing. “Kiyoomi, if you’re upset, then we should head back. You don’t have to stick around me if you want space, I totally–– ”

“I don’t want space. I want to be here, with you,” he bites, stepping closer, watching as your grin fades into a perplexed gape.

For a breath you’re flabbergasted, lips parted, eyes wide, but with a shake of head you step forward, your arm twining with his, and dipped forehead pressing against the sleek material of his jacket. “Alright, then stay with me,” you smile, hands squeezing against his coiled muscles, a pleased warmth spreading up your joined arms before flowing downward, into the pit of your stomach.

The contact, as muted as it is by the shell of his track jacket, makes him shiver and he can feel the thump of his heart speed up. It presses against his ribs and makes his chest feel tight and his head light, and when your fingers slip into the warmth of his pocket, your smooth digits tracing the knuckles of his hand, he lets out a contented sigh before lightly brushing his chin over the top of your bent head.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the rich tone of his deep voice dampened by the stretch of his mask, but you can still hear the creep of his smile within the clipped words, “I’ve got an idea.”

You’ve walked past the training facility plenty of times, so many that it’s a blip on your radar now, its jagged silhouette falling into the category of mundane, but never, not in a million years, did you ever see yourself actually passing through those glass doors.

It’s a massive space.

The blazing down-lights scatter brightness over the finely polished elastic flooring. You’d worn comfortable shoes to the park, but they still scuff loudly against the unfamiliar material so you stop gawping and look toward Kiyoomi’s arched shoulders.

“Uh, are you sure we can be in here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice down, but it reverberates around the vast space and you wrinkle your nose at the sharpness of the sound.

“Yes. I work here,” Kiyoomi answers simply, tugging his mask down and stopping just short of one of the white lines, cocking his dark head at your question.

“Okay,” you snicker, rolling your eyes playfully at his static features, “let me rephrase that, are you sure I can be here?”

“Why would you being here be a problem? Practice is done for the day. It’ll be fine. Worst case, Bokuto or Miya might show,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, a faint smile passing over his lips. “So what do you say, you wanna try to play?”

A full-throated laugh bubbles out of you, and you shake your head frantically. “No way! You’ll either kill me with one of those terrifying spikes, or be bored out of your mind trying to teach me the ropes. Besides, I haven’t played volleyball since middle school, and even then, I’m, uh, not sure a quick rotation in a 40 minute P.E. class counts as playing. It was more like all of us kids screwing around and testing out how many times we could annoy our teacher.”

He snorts at your explanation and strides over to a dark red cart, digging one of his long arms into the depths before straightening and returning with a yellow and blue Mikasa ball that’s perfectly balanced within his broad palm. “Humor me,” he smirks, one brow quirking upward.

“Tch, I’m not wearing the right clothes...or shoes,” you bemoan jovially, but you’re already letting your purse slip from your shoulders.

“So whiny,” Kiyoomi tuts, stepping away from the cart and tossing the ball rapidly between his spread hands. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” you tease, a beguiling smile lifting your lips. He looks so good in here, you think, admiring the flex and bounce of his hands, the lean coil of his powerful neck that peeks from underneath his track jacket, so different from the stoic man who walked beside you in the park.

As soon as he touched the ball, his entire demeanor changed. Within the space of a few seconds he’d gone from hunched and brooding to dauntless and firm, all of his early agitation and uncertainty forgotten as he slipped into the comfort of his element.

“All right, coach,” you sigh with mock dejection, “where do you want me?”

“On the other side of the net. See that line? The first one past the netting? That’s the attack line. Stand there.”

He’s clear-cut in his instruction, telling you where to plant your feet and how to stand with the correct form. You listen intently, nodding or asking one or two clarifying questions, and he’s patient with your queries, answering you swiftly and thoroughly, obsidian eyes keen as they follow your movements across the net.

“Alright, that looks good. We’re going to do a simple drill, the catch and throw. Don’t worry about setting the ball, or receiving it with your arms, see how it feels to position yourself under it, just make sure it never gets behind you, and catch it with both hands and toss it back to me. Try and keep it in an easy arc.”

You blink at him, pulling your lips into an exaggerated frown. “Just catch it? That sounds too easy…”

“It’s meant to be. It teaches you how to see the ball. If you’re wanting something harder, I can always up the speed as you get better at it. Now, you ready?”

You nod and the ball lifts from his fingers in a flash, gliding over the net cleanly, and you shift back, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly against the slick flooring. You catch it neatly and mimic his overhand toss, sending it back to Kiyoomi’s half crouched form. But the arc isn’t controlled and the ball paps against the tape of the net, screwing up the trajectory and sending it shuddering toward the gym floor.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at your clumsy return, but he’s already moving, his form a blur. He slides under it easily, back curved under his well-muscled legs, all ten fingers spread, as he neatly catches the ball, sending it prettily back to your side.

You’re so mesmerized by the fluidity of his supple form that you completely ignore the returning ball and it slaps against the floor with a crack. Always the professional, he’s intently watching the ball’s trajectory and doesn’t notice your open stare at first, but once his dark eyes flash back to yours a faint blush seeps across the well-cut apples of his cheeks and he ducks his head, obscuring his flush with a cascade of onyx curls. “That’s one point for me,” he sighs, his voice low, tone gruffly catching over the words as he studiously avoids your awed expression.

“Points?” you repeat dumbly, snapping your mouth closed before popping your hands on your hips, forcing yourself out of your stupor. “Hey! You didn’t say anything about points.”

“It’s a game,” he counters with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “of course there’s gonna be points.”

“Pfft,” you chortle as you walk toward the discarded volleyball. “What happened to this is just a drill?”

Thirty minutes later your hands are aching and you move sluggishly as your feet squeak over the polished flooring of the court. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, looks perfectly at ease, his eyes hungrily stalking the track of the ball as it flies to his side of the court. When you miss the next lightning quick toss that he sends your way, you drop your head and lift your hands, palms flattened and facing toward him, signaling your defeat as a heaving exhale leaves your straining lungs. “I think that’s it for me. I’m about to collapse onto the floor, like seriously. This is not a joke.”

Kiyoomi huffs out a bemused laugh and ducks under the netting, pausing beside your half crouched figure. He peers down at you through the lazy waves of his hair. You look staggered from the constant shuffling and overhand tosses, but you smile up at him and he can’t help but return it.

“I may be down for the count, but it looks like you wanna keep going,” you say coyly, eyes shining under the brilliance of the lights. [ You’re so pretty ] He [ wants to kiss you again ] sucks in a shallow breath and mutely nods at your assessment. [ Don’t go. ]

“Well,” you begin, lips falling into a thoughtful pout, arms twisting behind your back, “In that case, I’ve got some things that I need to finish up, anyway.”

[ No. Don’t go. Not yet. ]

“I left my laptop at the cafe, so I’ll head that way. Maybe I can see you–”

“Use mine.” The words leave him with a sigh, his voice hushed, but you hear him and your head whips up.

“What–I’m sorry, what?”

“Use my laptop. It’s here, in my locker.” [ Should he have said, please? He’ll say it, if that will get you to stay a little longer. ]

“You don’t...that’s not necessary–– ”

“I know. I want to,” he closes the distance between the two of you, his hand ghosting up the line of your arm. “Stay. If you want to.”

You contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your bottom lip, the flicker of a grin catching at the corners of your mouth. Finally, you nod.

[ Good. ]

He can feel his pulse against his eardrums and he feels jittery now but through that excited haze he tells you he’s going to change into his gym clothes and grab it, that there’s an outlet under the scorer’s table that sits at the edge of the court, and that he’ll be right back. He’s not sure why he feels the need to elaborate, that’s not like him, but he’s doing a lot of things that don’t feel like him these days.

He likes you; he thinks as he steps toward the double doors that will take him into the locker room.

He likes you so much.

When he returns, he’s wearing a dark pair of shorts and a bright yellow shirt emblazoned with the words Itachiyama VBC across his left pectoral. The laptop is propped under his muscled arm and he walks slowly toward you, dark eyes watching you thoughtfully. But you’re not meeting his gaze. No, your regard falls to the curve of his calves and the sharp jut of his ankles before you track back up to his thighs and linger over the ripple and pull of the corded brawn that peeks from under the line of his shorts, and it takes him clearing his throat to lure your eyes back up to his burning face.

You’ve seen him in his MSBY uniform, and you’ve seen him in various outfits over the last month, but the way you’re watching him right now makes his skin prickle and the air around the two of you feels charged, like the smallest push could create some kind of reaction.

He pauses beside the table and waits for you to sit before he leans down, one leg shaking restlessly under him as he clacks his passcode across the black keys. He’s lifting his right hand to click ‘enter,’ when you cup your hand under his jaw.

Kiyoomi quavers under your touch, a low shiver slipping up his spine as he twists to face you, his heavy brows arched and onyx eyes wide. He’s perfectly level with you and so close he can faintly smell your lavender shampoo. It’s a nice scent, lulling and woodsy and he wants to shift closer, but before he can act on his instinct you’re already leaning upwards and using your fingertips to dip his head forward, your lips pressing a chaste kiss against his topmost mole, breath warm against his heated skin.

“Thank you,” you purr, delicately resting the tip of your nose against his curled hair.

It feels like his body is sputtering to a halt, his arms heavy, his head desperately following your touch as you shift back, a half groaned sigh tight against his split lips. His fingers are twitching against the cool surface of the table and he knows he must look like an absolute idiot when he lifts his eyes back to yours, but he doesn’t care.

He’s glad you’re going to stay.

“Question for you,” you ask from your perch on the scorer’s table, your fingers flying over the computer keys as you clatter out another email. “How the hell do your hands do that?”

Kiyoomi smirks at your curious amusement and flips his wrists deftly upwards, easing onto his haunches, flicking his fingers out and rolling his newly stretched wrists as he finishes his final cool down routine. “It’s called joint hyper-mobility. Most lose it when they get older, I’ve been lucky.”

The two of you have been at the training facility for hours. You’d dutifully finished up some last-minute work enquiries and partially outlined the basics for your upcoming grant proposal, while Kiyoomi worked on his spin rotation and spikes.

You’d watched him intermittently, teeth plucking at the swell of your lower lip each time he lept into the air for a jump serve, or dropped low to the ground as he dug another ball up from his hit to the nearby wall, so you’d noticed when he’d finished his first water bottle. He’d set the plastic down, the tap ringing hollowly over the quiet gym, and rose from your folding chair, making your way over, already asking him where a water station was.

When you’d returned, passing the newly filled bottle back to him, your fingers stroked up his arm and swirled faint patterns against his clammy skin as he steadied the plastic in his grasp. And later, when you’d refilled his second water bottle, you’d pushed some of his raven waves back, lifting onto the balls of your feet to tuck the dampened strands behind the shell of his ear.

He was a sweaty mess, but that didn’t bother you.

Usually he didn’t like for others to touch him when he was like this. Something about the sheen and prickle of the salty perspiration bothered him, [ disgusted him ] so he actively shunned his teammates when they sought high fives during a game, but this was different.

The instant your fingers alighted against his skin he’d felt a jolting lurch of electricity, but instead of pulling from it, he’d leaned into it, draping his broad palm over your tracing digits, or resting his warm cheek against your open hand, eyes half lidded as they watched for your reaction.

He liked this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi? Uh, hello, Earth to Kiyoomi! You listening?”

The sound of your voice jerks him from his musings, and he glances at you. “Hmm?”

“I said, how do you feel about a low-key dinner?”

“I’d prefer it,” Kiyoomi replies, easing from his haunches to his feet, rolling his long arms over his head as he stands.

“Yeah, but I mean...low-key, low-key.”

He fixes you with a flat stare, his face falling into that well practiced blankness, obsidian eyes dimmed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve got some things that I’ve been meaning to cook and, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is...did you want to maybe have dinner at my apartment? I know you’re picky about how your food is prepared, so if you wanna go out instead, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended. I just wanted to– ”

“I’d like that, but...can you cook?” he rumbles, a teasing smile coiling against his lips.

“Oh, I see. No, you got me. Totally can’t. I just wanted to know if you’d suffer through burnt rice, and then lie and tell me you’d liked it, or some shit,” you threaten, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your face at his blatant leer.

“Don’t worry, I’d definitely tell you.”

“Pfft. You’re the worst, you know that? Now go shower. If we wait too long, we’ll hit rush hour at the station and I bet that’s pretty high on your list of things to avoid at all costs.”

Your apartment is small.

Well, compared to his. But his place is an empty shell, brittle, almost sterile in its vacant emptiness. He’s not there often, so why fill it with more than the bare essentials? It’s got what he needs, and he’s never been bothered by the Spartan coldness of the tiles and dark wood, that is, until he steps into your space.

There’s so much color.

The living room is blanketed in a mix of cheery yellows, warm reds, and deep purples. It’s not displeasing, but it makes him pause within the confines of the genkan, onyx eyes wide under his raised brows. It’s a difference. Now there’s an unexpected worry that’s pricking at the front of his mind.

“You coming?” you ask, poking your head around the cut of the wall that divides your living room from your kitchen, peering curiously at his tense expression.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, easing his trainers off of his feet. This place reminds him that there’s still so much about you he doesn’t know.

So, to alleviate himself from his lingering trepidations, he peers curiously around the apartment.

Most of your furniture is Western. And while there is a traditional chabudai beside your kitchen and a familiar kotatsu that rests beneath the glass doors of your balcony, the rest of the room is decorated with cushioned couches, stiff-backed chairs, neatly organized shelving units, a large tv and stand, and several side tables that hold a mixture of lamps, artfully stacked books, picture frames and candles.

He’s still gazing over the plethora of things when you appear beside his elbow. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. The remote for the tv should be on the kotatsu. You alright with soba stir fry and okonomiyaki for dinner? It’s easy, well, quick...”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, voice muted as his eyes rake over one of your bookshelves. “You could have taken one at the gym, you know...a shower.”

“Oh-ho, sure! Like a shower at your gym doesn’t come with the awful possibility that one of your teammates or, god forbid, coaches could have walked in. Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckle, shaking your head as you pad over to the small hallway that separates your kitchen and living space from the rest of your apartment. “I won’t be long. Please do not rob me, kay’?”

Kiyoomi blatantly scoffs at your remark but doesn’t look up until he hears the click of your bathroom door. Instantly, his feet carry him toward your collection of books and miscellany, one long finger tracing up paper spines. He will not miss this opportunity.

He’s curious, ravenously so.

There are small bowls that are filled with a mismatch of silver and gold jewelry, peeling bound novels with English titles printed down their spines, and asymmetric jars that carry the weight of seashells that gleam translucent and bright against the dimming sunlight.

Beaming smiles radiate from your collection of pictures. Some are snapshots of you and others who look enough like you he assumes they must be your family, while other images are older, with people dressed in vintage clothing, the photos sheened in dull greys and time blown sepia rather than vibrant, modern colors.

Then there are the books. The room is littered with them. Most are organized within the confines of the shelves, but a few are stacked on the kotatsu and he flips open one cover, eyes scanning the orderly lines of Japanese that dart down the pages.

There’s just so much here, so many little pieces of you that are scattered about, and he wants to see...no, he wants to ask you about all of it.

Dazed, he leaves the open space of the living room and steps toward the kitchen. It’s less cluttered in here, and he can smell the faint tang of bleach and lemon as he moves onto the dark tiles. Clearly, the fastidious habits you’ve displayed at the cafe are ingrained into your daily routines.

Cleanliness and routine. You’ll always have that in common.

His roving observations falter at your fridge. It’s covered in a scattered array of playful magnets, pinning down lists and newer Polaroids and he steps closer, index finger extended once more as he glides the digit down the faded ink and shine of the photos. Resting atop one of the larger check-lists is a crisp slip of cardstock. It’s clearly been given pride of place and Kiyoomi curves himself downward, somber brows wrinkling as he reads the print.

The departments of Anthropology, History, Languages, and Education invite you to attend:

The Deans Meeting

10th Annual Conference & New Faculty Welcome Event

Thursday, April 23rd

6:30 - 9:30 p.m.

Graduate School of Human Sciences, Osaka University

(Number Attending: ____ *limit of one guest per invitee)

Kiyoomi straightens, raking a hand up through his loose curls. The 23rd? That’s a month...no...almost five weeks away. He slips his cellphone out of his jacket, thumb tapping over to his calendar. It’s a Friday...but good, there’s no game that day–however there is a team meeting. If he asks now, he should be able to be excused from the meeting and maybe the mid-day practice as well. You haven’t mentioned this event to him, he muses, fingers rapidly tapping the date into his reminders, but it looks important and he wants to go with you, if you’ll let him.

He hears the telltale shudder of your shower’s cut-off valve and he turns, ready to walk back to the neutral safety of your living room when he spies a haphazardly cracked doorway that clearly leads into your bedroom. His feet are carrying him around the low base of the chabudai, and before he can justify his impulsive [ curious, hungry ] reasoning he’s already leaning in, unabashedly looking over the space.

The room is dark; the dusky light of the sunset is muffled by the curtains that drape over the large window, but Kiyoomi marvels, obsidian eyes whisking over the small space, greedily taking in the neat folds of your downy comforter, the soft pillows that nestle under the headboard, and the fan that sits atop the tatami mats. It smells like you in here; the chilled air holds the gentle scent of rich florals and spice and he wants to step closer, but then his hand is catching against the doorframe and he jerks back, hurriedly gulping down a sharp breath as his black hair slumps over his hooded eyes.

It’s...it’s not...he shouldn’t have looked. It’s not polite, but damn, he almost doesn’t care.

What would it be like to step past that threshold? To walk into something that’s so saturated with you? He feels like his skin is too close, too heavy, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out on the cool sheets of your bed to ease that simmer that’s thrumming under his heated flesh.

Wait. A bed. You have a bed.

Shit.

Kiyoomi’s always been content with his futon, satisfied with the simplicity of it. He’s always considered beds to be a waste of space, unnecessary, after all, he’s just sleeping on it. Why did it matter?

Unanswered questions whir around his half cocked head. What if you don’t like futons? If you think they’re uncomfortable, or inconvenient? Besides, now he’s picturing laying with you on a bed, [ this bed ] not a futon. Kiyoomi wants to see you stretched out beside him, comfortable and happy, with that tantalizing smile and those playful eyes watching him, waiting for him. What side do you prefer? Right? Left? And then? What happens when you’ve picked your spot and settled in?

Would you want him to shift closer? Could he run his palms past your arms and down the sloping curves of your hips? Would you do the same for him? What would your nails feel like as they scratched faint lines along his sides, over the muscles of his abdomen, or down his back? You’d be so close. So close that every sigh that passed between your lips would be shared with him and he’d inhale every sound, his lips rough against yours. And if you arched into him, your hands urging him to straddle himself over your intoxicating softness, your thighs spreading as he lowers his hips––

The bathroom door clicks and the fevered daydream fades, his feet cumbersome and tangled as he lumbers back to the living room, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t like this breathlessness, doesn’t like that his hands are trembling as he stuffs them into his pockets. Any second now you’ll be in front of him and he wants to hold you, to let the pull of your hands and the sleek drag of your lips satiate the feel [ throb ] of his unexpected [ visceral ] arousal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long, I just–– ”

The distance between the two of you is closed within a heartbeat, and his outstretched fingertips glide down the smooth line of your neck. You suck in a sharp breath, your body rigid under his hold, [ damn it, too fast ] and he drops his hands, easing you into the suddenness of his movement with lazy kisses against your warm cheek and neck, grinning when you lean into him at last.

[ Yes. Perfect. ]

You want him to kiss you properly, and you do your best to chase his lips, your arms folding around his bowed neck as you tap a few impatient kisses against his lowered forehead. But he ignores your temptations, not ready to move away from the intoxicating fragrance of your freshly cleaned skin. That soothing smell of peppermint and fresh lavender is near ambrosial, and he greedily digs his nose against you as his muscular arms drape over your sides, and his broad hands pause against the small of your back.

His sharp exhales against your shower dampened neck make you shiver but he maneuvers you closer, rubbing his lower lip against the dip of your shoulder before lifting to catch his teeth on your pulse. He knows just what you like now; he thinks smugly, tracing the flat of his tongue over a line of gooseflesh that bursts over your slicked skin.

In the last month he’s gained a steady mastery of your preferences when it came to his kisses. You preferred to start things slowly, to have him cup your face and stoke you up steadily, but once he eases down the intricate line of your neck, well, all that softness and coy sweetness would bleed into something else entirely.

You liked it rougher then; liked for these caresses to be charged with lightning fast pushes and pulls, your fingers alternating between the sides of his jaw or the coiled thickness of his hair as you swayed him closer, and that shift never failed to set his heart racing and often sent his tightly reigned control spiraling. But that’s not what he wants, not right now, so he’s careful to keep you at bay, distracting your breathless twists with a fresh set of nips and unhurried pecks against your throat.

He wants to lose himself in you; to blank out all the other worries. The differences don’t matter, not when he can hold you like this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” you gasp and only then does he stop his incessant assault, arms tensing as they clutch you to the broad slope of his chest, his dark waves falling heavily against your kiss glistened shoulder.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice reverberating against your wet skin.

“What...what’s gotten into you?” you falter, distracted by the hum of his low tone and the soothing pass of his hands as they curve along your spine.

“Dunno, just felt like kissing you,” he lies impassively, lifting his head from you, obsidian eyes shielded by his mussed curls, the tops of his cheeks aglow.

You exhale a tight laugh at his serious, but utterly flushed expression. “Okay–so why did you stop?”

“Liked it that much, huh? I’m hungry,” he clarifies, a smirk curling his erubescent lips and you laugh, melting that jaunty grin into his usual straightlaced frown. “Tch,” he tries again, sliding his dark eyes away from your open bemusement, a pink blush staining the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I...hmph, come on, don’t act like you’re not hungry, too...”

You were an excellent cook. Not that he’d fully meant his droll quip at the gym; after all, why offer to do something if you’re not good at it? But he’s glad he agreed to a home cooked meal.

Besides, there is something soothing about the whole thing.It was nice, watching you deftly maneuver around your tiny kitchen, turning on burners, setting timers, and arranging the ingredients in simple bowls and plates; it reminded him of the coffee shop. And he’s always liked watching you work. Your movements were always smooth [ elegant ]. You kept your hands close and your elbows in, so confident in the motions of your ingrained routines and the tidiness of your space, that you could easily carry on a conversation with him, your eyes careful to meet his over the top of the espresso machine.

But this is better than watching you in the coffee shop. There’s no divider now. There’s just you and him. It’s comforting and he wants to experience it again and again.

You let him set the plates out, chop the vegetables, prep the soba, and asked him to pick out some beer from your fridge, saying you trusted his choice and chuckling good-naturedly when he padded back to your side, four cans sticking icily to his palms as he asked a few [ five or six ] clarifying questions about the brews.He enjoys your cheerful teasing; he thinks as the two of you sit at the low chabudai; it makes him feel like he fits in, like he can be part of this side of you. You tuck your legs to one side as you sit, your shoulder gently bumping against his as you ease into a comfortable position on the tatami mats and Kiyoomi leans closer, indulging himself in the press long after you’ve picked up your chopsticks–a shared meal of of cabbage and onion okonomiyaki and salmon stir fry resting between the two of you.

It’s a simple thing, all of this touch, but Kiyoomi can’t get enough of it. Every time your arm brushes against his, or you ask him to pass you something from his side of the table, he wants to prolong the contact, to keep his fingers beside yours, or feel the warmth of your thigh and the jut of your hip as he shifts nearer.

He didn’t think he enjoyed being touched.

He always did his utmost to avoid it, shunning the clapped backs and constant high fives that always seemed to be prepackaged and expected in the contact heavy sport of volleyball. Not because he didn’t like his teammates [ sure, sometimes– eh, most of the time ] they were too much, but he genuinely liked playing with them. But he didn’t enjoy the balmy heat of skin on skin contact, or the worry of shared germs. Touching meant weakness. It allowed things to spread from person to person; it created variables, and more variables always meant things could slip out of his control. No, Kiyoomi valued the predictable, the known, the cleanliness and routine, and touch threw most of that out of the equation.

He doesn’t like touch.

Yet he’s craving yours.

It’s another thing that isn’t like him, he contemplates, passing his empty bowl to you, already missing that pleasing closeness you’d shared with him as you walk back into your kitchen and that stark absence makes him stand. It’s an urge, a compulsion, and it’s not something he wants to question so he listens to his instincts, feet planted firmly beneath him as he follows you, his hands lifted, reaching for you. When he tugs you against his chest, his dark head dropping beside yours, jet curls fanning beside your cheek and along your neck, he feels the ache within him settle and he lets himself wallow in the familiarity of crisp peppermint that sits against your skin. [ There. He can worry about the rest later, right now this is all he wants. ]

“I should go,” he whispers, the tip of his nose cool against you. He locks his forearms around your waist and sighs when you rest your temple against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

“Yeah,” you echo, cupping your fingers over his crossed arms and stroking them over his goose-fleshed skin. “I work in the morning. So I need to be up early.”

His steady breaths match yours and he pulls you closer, humming contentedly as the curve of your back falls into the hollow of his chest. “I’ll go,” Kiyoomi stalls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of your neck. He really should. There are only a few more trains tonight, but he can’t let go.

So he lingers, his heavy body leaning against yours, full lips dragging along your pulse as his arms loop tightly around you. You twist your head and he lets you return his caresses, groaning against the sweet pressure of your lips. You’re gentle with him, your kisses filled with restrained desire, and the gossamer touch makes him reach for more. When you pull away, your eyes shining in the gleam of your kitchen lights, he brings you back, his broad palms turning you to him as his chapped fingers tilt your chin, his arms cupping you so close he can feel the thud of your heart against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

notes: @kugutsuu made me these lovely lines. aren’t they pretty! (｡��̀ᴗ-)✧

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edens-breathless-melodies-moved · 4 years ago

Text

words: 2.9k

pairing: yamaguchi t. x f!reader

prompt: soft dom

warnings: unprotected sex, dom/sub relationship, yamaguchi being a fucking DADDY, yamaguchi with long hair lives in my mind rent fREE

summary: whenever your friends thought of you and your boyfriend, they always assumed that you called the shots; that you were the one in control. boy are they wrong.

a/n: this piece was actually heavily inspired by @introloves answer to this ask about soft dom yams, and i knew right there that i had to write this because holy SHIT that was hot and i hope i did it justice. please check out their blog, it’s literally immaculate.

yamaguchi tadashi.

if you were to mention that name to any of the main volleyball powerhouse school’s who played in 2012, they’d probably give you an odd look and ask, “who the hell is that?”

although making it onto karasuno’s volleyball team, yamaguchi wasn’t a starter like his fellow first years, and the only time he ever really saw any action on the court was if he was pinch serving.

in all honesty, yamaguchi tadashi was a nobody his first year.

but skip ahead to your last year of high school and you were to mention his name? suddenly the crowd would be alive with chatter, the air practically buzzing.

what had changed?

yamaguchi was a nobody his first year of high school because he didn’t want to be anybody.

since elementary school, yamaguchi always relied on someone else to tell him what to do; for someone to hold his hand and make his actions for him.

and for a while, he was content with that. from such a young age he believed that others were more wise and inept to tell him what to do than himself.

he trailed behind his best friend, tsukishima, and when they entered high school and met you, he trailed behind you for a while, too.

the day yamaguchi met you in the middle of his first year of high school, an unknown feeling embedded itself deeply in his chest. faint, but still there.

you had fit so seamlessly into his and tsukki’s little bubble that it almost seemed as if you were destined to have been friends with them.

you were incredibly smart (you were in the same class as them), you were witty enough to keep up with tsukki’s sass, but also kind and patient, lending an ear whenever he felt that he wasn’t good enough.

your never ending kindness sparked something in yamaguchi, and all he wanted to do was to give you everything you wanted. no matter what it was.

he was drawn to you because you were assertive, confident - a natural born leader. and to yamaguchi, you may as well have hung the moon and the stars in the sky just for him.

it made sense to anyone as to why he fell in love with you - you were all the things he wasn’t.

you realized even before you and yamaguchi began dating that he was more reliant on others than most, and it broke your heart.

even though he couldn’t see it, you recognized the potential in yamaguchi to be better than what he was now. he was such a caring and hardworking young man, he just needed that little extra push.

he recognized when to take charge, he just couldn’t see himself as the one to step up to the plate. in his head, there was always someone else to take the position, someone better than him.

so you decided to change that.

through the years of being with one another, you two slowly learned everything there was to know about each other, and you used that to your advantage.

slowly but surely, you helped yamaguchi overcome his dependability of others. you helped him grow confident in his skin and helped him realize his potential to lead instead of being lead.

like a farmer waiting for your crops to bloom, you watched him flourish with a deep pride.

but as much as you wanted to take all the credit for yourself, you knew that his friends on the team stood by yamaguchi’s side the entire time.

during your last year of high school, which only felt like yesterday (it was literally last year), you could still vividly recall the feeling of pure shock and absolute pride when ukai presented the captain’s jersey to your speechless boyfriend, the bold number one staring right back at him.

when his clear brown eyes met yours, that fire you’ve been waiting to see finally ignited in his irises, you knew your work was done.

now all that was left was to reap the benefits.

———————

you laughed at the loud belch that left tanaka’s mouth while tsukishima rolled his eyes in disgust.

all of karasuno’s old volleyball team sat around a large table outside the cafe, easily catching up with one another and sharing laughs and stories over drinks and food.

you smiled softly at the comfortable chatter of all your friends, chest warm as you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you. ‘this feels just like taking a break during practice freshman year.’

back then everything felt so simple, the only goal they had in mind was to make it to nationals. and although all of that was in the past, it still brought a sense of comfort to you.

your musings were cut short when you felt a firm but gentle pressure on your thigh, a familiar large hand squeezing you comfortingly.

you brought your eyes to meet with the hands owner, and yamaguchi smiled softly when you raised a questioning eyebrow at him, lips pulled into a cheeky grin.

“what? do i have something on my face or do you just want a picture?” hinata snickered at your teasing words and yamaguchi rolled his eyes playfully.

“although a picture would be nice, i just wanted to know what you were thinking of, love.”

a soft smile replaced your mischievous grin from before and you looked around the table full of all of your closest friends, eyes full of happiness.

“oh it’s nothing, honestly.” you muse, pushing around a stray strawberry from the cake tsukishima insisted they ordered after lunch. “all this just reminded me of our first year of high school, s’all. y’know, like the breaks during practice.”

“i can kinda see what you mean.” daichi hummed while asahi and suga nodded along sagely.

“oh? if this is going back to your guys’s first year, does that mean yamaguchi is still being lead around by (y/n)?”

noya’s loud voice carried across the table, and suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on you and your boyfriend.

“hah?” you questioned, headed tilted to the side in confusion. yamaguchi rolled his eyes again while the table snickered to themselves.

“oh don’t play dumb, (y/n)! we all know that you basically had a leash on yams all throughout high school.” tanaka remarked playfully, waving his hand causally through the air.

“yeah! it was like you wore the pants in the relationship, not yamaguchi.” hinata joined in with a mouth full of cake, and you stared them down flabbergasted. your face flushed as even the third years nodded their heads in agreement.

“yeah, and it seems like she’s still wearing ‘em.” kageyama muttered and you choked on your spit while noya and tanaka howled.

yamaguchi scoffed, face pinkening as a playful smile curled his lips at his friends teasing. some things never change, it seems.

“what? do i really still seem like a pushover?” yamaguchi joked, but his eyes widened slightly in shock as the whole table nodded seriously.

some (see: tanaka and noya) even wiggled their eyebrows suggestively at the young couple. “yup, i bet (y/n) even takes charge in the bedroom, too.”

the mortified sound that left your lips fell on deaf ears as the table erupted in a bunch of juvenile hoots and hollers as yamaguchi lightly spluttered over his words, cheeks positively glowing now.

“are you denying it, (y/n)?” suga’s words silenced the table as everyone settled their eyes on you. even yamaguchi peered at you from beside you, curious to see what you would say.

while you were pretty sure you were dying from the embarrassment, there was a gremlin inside of you that wanted to tease your boyfriend in front of your friends.

so like an idiot, you went along with her.

“while i usually don’t kiss and tell, his voice is rather lovely~” you say with a wink, and genuinely laugh when the table interrupts into full blown chaos.

your amusement is short lived however when the hand that never left your thigh gave you another firm squeeze, but this one felt just a bit harsher than before.

you nervously turned to face your boyfriend, already knowing what was coming.

yamaguchi simply smiled sweetly at you, eyes full of love and humor. but his firm grip squeezes your thigh once more, and you know it’s a warning.

“you’re so cute, (y/n).” his words are light and sincere, but there’s something darker underlying them, just a tad bit menacing and you know what he’s really implying.

behave.

the only person to pick up on this little interaction between the two of you amidst all the hollering is tsukishima, and he smirks to himself as he takes a sip of his drink.

if only these idiots knew.

—————————

surprisingly, suga’s words stayed with yamaguchi for the rest of the day without his permission. like a leech, they imbedded themselves in his head and refused to leave no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else.

they stayed with him for the rest of the lunch with his old teammates, long after the conversation shifted to something else.

they stayed with him as you both said your goodbyes and headed back to your shared apartment near the university you both were attending.

they stayed with him even as he slowly undressed your body in your bedroom, calloused fingers gently trailing over your smooth skin as his lips connected with your neck.

“dashi~” you moaned as he gently left a red mark on your neck, sucking harder than usual so it would stick, staining your skin with his affection.

you yelped softly when yamaguchi gently pushed you to sprawl against the mattress, brown eyes looking at you with a gentle mixture of love and lust swirling in them.

but like earlier, there was hint of something harder behind his loving eyes and you knew it had to do with the conversation from before.

like any sane person would’ve done, you know you should’ve just left your boyfriend alone and not tease him about the earlier conversation. the last thing you’d want was to upset him.

but that same gremlin from before wanted to see how far you could push your normally sweet boyfriend. she wanted to see how far he’d bend till he broke.

so like an idiot for the second time that day, you indulged her.

with hooded eyes, you slowly rose to your knees and crawled towards your boyfriend who still stood at the foot of the bed, eyes watching your swaying frame with curiosity.

the large tent already forming in his jeans made your mouth water, and with teasing eyes you leaned forward and hooked your teeth on his zipper. your gaze never left his as you dragged it down, and you smirked at the way his kind eyes seemed to darken.

with practiced ease you pulled his jeans down along with his boxers and practically moaned as his long and heavy cock sprung from its confines, slapping against your cheek softly.

a soft groan left yamaguchi’s lips as your wrapped your warm and wet mouth around his weeping tip, eyes slipping shut as you lightly sucked on the head before bringing it deeper into your hot mouth.

you weren’t joking when you said his voice was lovely.

just as he was about to thread his hands through your hair to encourage you to take more of him into your mouth, you pulled away suddenly.

yamaguchi opened his eyes and settled his gaze on your giggling face, teasing eyes staring back at him as you gave his tip a coy lick before pulling away with a grin.

yamaguchi doesn’t falter, eyes never straying from yours as he simply smiles down at your teasing figure. bringing a big hand up to your cheek, you lean into his soft touch immediately before he trails down to your neck.

you freeze as his fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing firmly enough to take away your breath.

he only keeps his grip on you for less than a second, relaxing his fingers immediately. but as his index finger curls back to gently tap against your carotid artery, it’s his turn to gaze at you teasingly.

again, you’re reminded who’s really in charge.

“you really are cute, (y/n).”

you shiver as his words from earlier dance in your ears, and that same undertone of something else is laced through them, just a tad bit more forceful than before to give you the same warning. he only needed to squeeze you once to remind you.

behave.

with a nervous gulp, you stare into clear brown eyes as yamaguchi pulls his fingers away from your throat, watching in satisfaction as all traces of your earlier bratiness practically disappears.

he gives you another soft and loving smile as you scoot back on the bed to lay on your back, spreading your legs for him just like he taught you so he could get an eyeful of your wet and glistening folds, cute little hole clenching around nothing.

he didn’t have to say anything to keep you nice and obedient for him, he already had you trained so well. after all, you both knew who really called the shots.

——————————

yamaguchi tadashi may have been a nobody his first year of high school, but ever since you came into his life, for the first time ever he realized he wanted to be somebody.

and that somebody was someone to give you everything you wanted, no matter what you asked for.

this is what made him the perfect soft dom, the perfect lover. he was always willing to give you what you asked for.

you’d ask for him to touch you harder; to thrust into you faster. you’d ask for all of his love and affection and he would hand it over to you on a silver platter.

but he also knew how to keep you in your place, and you thrived off of it. it was the gentle way he went about it, the kind manner he spoke to you in that made it all the more tantalizing.

it reminded you all too much of a sleeping lion, waiting to be awakened.

like the way he was in his everyday life, yamaguchi was gentle with you. he never would do anything to hurt you on purpose.

he was gentle in the way he asked you to spread your legs for him. he was gentle in the way he’d pull orgasm after orgasm from your twitching and gushing cunt.

you thought he had forgotten about your two little slip ups from earlier, but you obviously didn’t know your boyfriend as well as you thought you did.

he doesn’t intentionally bring up your bratiness from earlier, but he thinks you get the message of his lesson as he folds your body in half, thick cock spearing you open as he pounds a little harder than usual into your dripping core.

you may have said his voice sounded lovely, but you’ve obviously never listened to yourself as he fucks you nice and deep, cock stirring up your insides with each thrust and grind.

“d-dashi! t-too much!” you squeal out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he ignores your words, pumping his hips into you steadily.

his tip was hammering right into your poor cervix, dragging against your g-spot with each pass and you felt like you were going to hyperventilate.

he watches the way you attempt to cling onto any bit of sanity you have left, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks as drool drips down your chin.

he moans your name softly as he pounds into you, eyes filled with adoration at the absolutely lost look on your face, cute brows furrowed in the pleasure that he was giving you.

he flushed at the way your walls fluttered around him, wet cunt practically sucking him back in every time he pulls his hips away, only to stretch you back open as he slams in balls deep.

he knows this position allows him to sink in deeper than he usually does, and he knows you’ve learned your lesson when you beg him to slow down, voice growing higher in pitch as you approach your orgasm.

instead, yamaguchi increases his speed, hips hammering into yours as he groans out your name again, relishing in the way you tug on his hair until it’s pulled from the loose ponytail he placed it in.

soft green locks curtain your faces as you both breathe in each other’s breath, eyes locking as yamaguchi steadily brings you towards your climax.

the only time yamaguchi will hurt you on purpose is when his teeth dig into your neck as he prepares to tip you over the edge, hands gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises behind for tomorrow to see.

he pulls his lips away to watch with a possessive satisfaction as you fall over the edge, toes curling and nails breaking the skin of his shoulders as you scream.

your voice is broken and shot as you babble his name into incoherency, body twitching from overstimulation as his deft fingers never leave your clit, working you through your first orgasm and gently beginning to bring you to your second one, his hips slowing down but never stopping.

his eyes are full of pure adoration and love as you weakly cling onto him and babble out slurred ‘i love you’s. he knows you’ve learned your lesson, and he knows he’ll have to teach it to you all over again.

through the haze of your orgasm and the gentle building of your second one, you know he’s not done with you yet as he smiles down on you, freckled cheeks resembling a strawberry at the red blush dusting them.

“you’re such a good girl for me, (y/n). do you think you can give me another?”

taglist: @lovelypasteldreams @living-for-drama @arixtsukki @month-seasoning @bakarinnie

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anotherloganstan · 4 years ago

Text

The Hurt - DRLAMP

Summary: Janus has become to feel a little more left out of the group, it hurts him so much but perhaps he’s hurting himself more than the others are hurting him after all.

A/N: Thanks to @treeni for commissioning this piece and also to @candied-peach who this is written for as well, enjoy!

Warnings: angst, self-hatred, pining, hurt/comfort, getting together (with the others already in an established relationship)

Word count: 3k

-----------------------------

Janus is a lot of things, sarcastic, harsh, a liar, a little mean when he needs to be, but also emotional. But those walls were built up so high they even rival Logan’s own, well, before the somewhat recent development that is. And Janus was hurt. Painfully, deeply so. It hurt to see them together. To see them all together. The way Patton pulls each one of them into a hug only to hesitate when it came to Janus, that hurt. The way Virgil would make each and every one their signature drink only to ‘forget’ Janus’, that hurt. The way Roman would ruffle their hair, place the most delicate kiss onto a forehead – aside from his brother who more often than not got an affectionate slap over the head and a laugh – it still hurt. The way Logan will sit curled up close to another, holding hands while he reads, that hurt. And the way Remus, he closest friend, took off and left him for them, perhaps that hurt the most.

But he could not show that, could he? He was strong, a force to be reckoned with, spiteful, petty, and yet still hurt.

Many nights he spent alone, listening to giggles and laughs, loud conversations between the thin walls, sharp tears stinging his eyes and sniffles muffled by his pillows. It really, really hurt. The deep pain in his chest stabbing, aching, irrational, absurd. He was jealous. So very painfully jealous. Not of any of them in particular, no, he was jealous that he wasn’t a part of whatever they had, this closer, more intimate relationship that clearly, he was not worthy of. They did not want him, they did not need him, he was nothing to them, nothing but someone, something, to use, a convenience, to be there whenever they needed him to be of service and nothing else.

He could not help those painful, poisonous thoughts from plaguing his brain, his thoughts, his dreams. It got him down.

It’s a movie night, Janus is certain, the loud singing from the twins and Patton, the boisterous giggling, even the undignified screeches of ‘hey!’ from Virgil and Logan every so often. Janus is missing out but then again, he wasn’t invited. It is late anyway, too late to join them. Maybe he should simply go to bed, he won’t sleep but he’s not doing anything else either, other than wallowing in his own self-pity and depressing thoughts.

He gets up, puts on one of his favourite silk robes and decides that he looks decent enough to be seen and walks downstairs, even just to see what’s going on. Even just, for a moment, to feel like he’s involved.

But it is a bad idea. Seeing Roman sat on the floor between Patton’s legs, the other man playing with his hair in a way that must be soothing as Roman’s eyes are closed blissfully, yet a smile on his lips and giggles still slip past. Beside Patton is Logan, leaning against him but talking lowly with Virgil beside him – probably about something that set them all off laughing in the first place. Remus then beside him, well, half atop of Virgil who simply chooses to ignore him and his maniacal laughter for the most part.

“Shh, be quiet, we don’t want to wake Janus up,” Patton scolded the seemingly endless giggles from the others but unable to stop himself from snickering as Remus unceremoniously falls off the couch and onto the floor between his fit of laughter.

“Don’t worry, I’m already awake,” he says, deadpan and serious, if only to mask the slight hurt of once again not being invited nor included to one of their group hangouts.

“Oh, Janus, we’re sorry!” Patton apologises immediately, hand over his mouth to cover the remnants of his laughter. And Virgil at least has the decency to kick at both of the twins to get their attention, giving them ‘a look’ which they must understand as ‘shut the fuck up immediately’ because they fall almost completely silent.

Great, now he’s ruined their fun.

“It’s alright, Patton, I was awake already, continue, it seems like you were all having a good time,” he says, unable to stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice. God, he is such a bitch.

“Ah, we apologise, Janus, we assumed you were having a ‘self-care’ day as we hadn’t seen you all morning and this afternoon,” Logan explains from his position half on Virgil’s lap and half on the couch leaning against Patton.

“Right,” Janus responds, unsure of what else to say, should they not have assumed? Should they have come to him to ask if he was busy? Maybe that would have been nice, but he knows he would have been intruding much like he is now.

So, he lies. Again. Like he always does.

“Quite right, Logan,” he continues, at least attempting to sound somewhat unfazed and confident and content, “I have just come for a glass of water then I think a bubble bath and face mask is in order. Please do enjoy your movie.”

They do. Or at least Janus assumes they do. He gets his unnecessary glass of water from the kitchen and takes it back to his room, listening as they resume their movie, and the giggles start up almost as soon as he leaves. That only stings a little. He tries to brush off the feeling that maybe they are laughing at him. They would not, he knows, but the voice in his head tells him that anyway. He takes a bath regardless to keep up appearances and not to seem like such the filthy liar he actually is. They all hate his lies anyway.

He catches them again a few nights later. Perhaps they are not caught, after all this is all their kitchen, but Janus, again, feels as if he is intruding on something intimate. Date night, he presumes. Virgil on his usual place atop the countertop, in a slightly more formal purple jumper and jeans, sticking his fingers into something sweet whenever Patton, in the adorable pink apron, turns his back to scold at Remus for touching the hot trays. Roman sits at the table, poised and as beautiful as ever, clearly dressed up for the event, adding garnish to what must be their starter course. Logan sits beside him, stirring together some sort of dressing for the salad, listening but not participating to the conversation Roman and Virgil are having from across the kitchen.

“Janus, come in,” Logan says, having clocked him the moment he came to be at the doorway.

Janus flushes, unable to stop himself, the hurt and guilt combining, yet the invitation warms him just a little.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he responds, almost sheepishly. He feels very underdressed in front of them all, even Logan seems to have made an effort (though he doubts of his own free will).

“You wouldn’t be imposing, we’ve made enough for all six of us,” Logan says, the barest hint of a smile gracing his features and Janus is sure he wants to make Logan smile like that and more in the future.

“I shouldn’t, you all should be able to enjoy your date night without the need to babysit me, I would merely get in the way,” he tries, hoping that his raw emotion is not slithering through his somewhat humorous words.

Logan sighs. And Janus cannot help feeling as though he is the source of this disappointment, this frustration. But he does not say anything.

“What our nerd is trying to say is we want you here,” Roman interrupts, voice as loud as before, bringing the attention of others onto Janus who merely wishes he had not come at this point, “you can’t be imposing if you have an invitation, sorry, you’re not even cool enough to gate crash anyway.”

The good-natured insult makes Janus almost reconsider. Almost. Lost for a moment in thought, barely a smile on his face until it drops suddenly. He shouldn’t let himself feel too comfortable around them, especially on their date night, least he fall victim and break his own heart with false hope.

“I shan’t tonight, boys,” he says after a moment, all eyes on him, and he avoids looking at their faces – hoping to not see a look of disappointment or even more so a look of relief at his departure – “have a lovely night though.”

With that he is gone.

It is a few days later that he breaks. All the feelings trapped inside of him, festering inside of his soul and willing to break free. It was the glimpses of kisses, becoming the background for sensual touches and too long hugs, of soft whispers he definitely was not supposed to overhear, to the sounds of shrieked laughter from down the hall and loud conversations he had no part it. Their own little lives he had- has no part in.

They are in the living room again, music on low and the bursts of chatter flowing down the corridor and Janus’ curiosity gets the better of him. Sticky notes stuck to all their foreheads and smiles on their faces – that he tries to tell himself they all do not drop when he enters – playing some sort of silly game.

“Janus!” Patton exclaims at the same time Remus shrieks “I’m not a chicken?”

“Sorry for interrupting, I’ll just go.”

“Wait!” Roman raises his voice from between the grumbling amongst Remus and Virgil with Logan as a somewhat bored mediator.

Roman is at his side in an instant, having no issue manhandling Janus to face him, his smile big and infectious, almost making Janus believe he wants him there, but he knows he’s just being polite.

The other goes to say something before his face changes and what comes out instead is, “are you okay?”

And they have not asked that for a while. And Janus is not sure for the real answer. So, he lies. As always.

“I’m fine.”

It came out harsh, clipped, angry.

“You don’t seem it, are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine, leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Roman relents, “I mean, you don’t have to go just because we’re all in here, we do realise that you don’t spend so much time with us anymore, and that’s okay! Just, you don’t have to go because we’re in here too.”

“Yes, Roman, I do. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

“Any of it. I just… I can’t be around you all, it’s too much.”

He stops just short of telling Roman that it hurts. It pains him.

“Janus,” Roman begins, voice soft and gentle, not wanting to spook Janus, “you know you can tell me anything and I’m here for you, right?”

And Janus is sure if Roman held out his arms now that he would merely fall into the hug, cry and collapse against the romantic and let everything out.

Instead, he responds, “of course, Roman,” and takes his leave despite everything telling him to stay.

Alone, again, once more. You would think he has become used to the silence and the loneliness, sadly not. He lies on his bed, lights out aside from the small lamp on his bedside table, dressed for bed yet not tired, no, merely exhausted. He considers getting up for a glass of water (and telling himself he definitely will not change his mind and reach for the wine once in the kitchen) but then there is a knock at the door. A sharp, pristine, calculated knock.

Had it been anyone else Janus may not have opened the door, not in the mood for a loud, over exertive interaction. But he knows Logan stands on the other side of the door, perhaps alone, perhaps not. Janus does not know which he would prefer in all honestly.

He gets up and unlocks the door all the same, opening it to reveal Logan as he assumed, in his navy sleep shirt and shorts, and Virgil, looking a tad more tired and sheepish than the other, in a black tank top and joggers.

And Janus does not know what persuades him, but he opens the door further and says, “do come in, it’s not at all late.”

Virgil falters for a moment before trailing behind the seemingly oblivious Logan. And, well, Janus could make a joke about how he never anticipated these boys in his bed, but he decides against it.

“Janus, we are sorry for the late interruption but we thought it best to come and talk to you regarding, uh, the other day and we assumed that you would not appreciate being cornered by all of us so myself and Virgil thought it wise to approach you alone, apologies if this is an uncomfortable subject matter for you but we deem it necessary,” Logan explains, eyes on Janus as Virgil seems to be suddenly very interested in the black silk sheets.

Janus all but forces a casual smirk and wills his tone to remain calm as he closes the door and stays standing as far away from the others as possible, “I understand, my outburst the other day was most certainly uncalled for and will never happen again, forgive me.”

“That is not at all what we mean, Janus,” Logan responds after a beat, “and I think you know that deep down.”

Another pause.

“What exactly do you mean then?” Maybe his tone is too harsh, volatile, defensive. He can tell by the way Virgil flinches ever so slightly.

Logan opens his mouth to say something but clearly thinks best of it and closes it again. And Janus has never been more angry with himself than now.

“What Logan is trying to say is, well, you’ve noticed that we’re all kind of, uh, together-ish, well, mostly and we want to say that… we’d like to, I don’t know, extend the invitation to you too, fuck, that sounds really fucking formal,” Virgil finally grits out, voice quiet and rough, clearly nervous as his fingers pick at the sheets and he meets neither of their gazes, “we like you a lot, Janus, and we realised that we’ve kind of been dicks to you without even realising it and, well, that’s shitty of us and we’re sorry but we want you in this fucked up little relationship of ours too, it’s not the same without you.”

Janus, well, he laughs. He can’t help it, a short, sharp laugh escaping him before he can stop himself. He is sure Virgil is overly anxious especially now and he would not be surprised if Logan got up any moment and punched him in the face.

“Sorry, I just- it is kind of funny how I always thought you all never wanted me, you never needed me, I just assumed that, well, you were all doing just fine without me and you made that all very fucking clear,” he says, voice wavering, “I felt so, so excluded and you all just did nothing. I was so fucking alone, I had no one, you left me Virgil, you left us, and- well, fuck, Remus left and then I had no one. So, excuse me for feeling a little pissed off at you all.”

He sighs, runs a hand through his messy bed-head before coming to sit at the bottom of his bed across from the other two.

“I love you all, I do, individually and in some ways different to others but I loved you all and it hurt me so much to see you all go, it broke my fucking heart, and I don’t know if it’s fixable.”

They’re both looking at him now, softly, gently, beautifully.

“But I was jealous, so very jealous.”

He lets himself cry, silently, wiping away the tear trails with his bare hands. That is until each of his hands in captured by either man on his bed with him. Virgil’s hand is soft and warm, comforting, and familiar. Logan’s is cold, his fingers longer and able to touch more of Janus’ own, it makes him feel secure in a new way.

“We’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

They talk. All of them. Sometimes together, sometimes just two or three of them. Janus is slowly opened up to their relationship dynamic that is far more complex than he would have imagined. And he realises he does not want to kiss all of them in that way, only wants to hold some of them, touch some of them more intimately. But he wants all of them in their own special ways. He becomes closer to them all over time.

He kisses Patton on the forehead for the first time and the father figure bursts into tears and does not let him out of a hug for at least an hour when the others find them. He’s fond of holding Virgil’s hand, it is almost how they used to be but different, more open and accepting of their emotions, it is nice in a way Janus would never have thought of before. He enjoys kissing Roman, gently on his mouth, or even just catching his cheek, it is soft and the romantic flushes before offering a sweet kiss in return or, heaven forbid, a kiss on his hand. As for Logan he enjoys his presence, leaning up against one another late at night or early in the morning when the others are still in bed or occupied, reading or listening to music, there is a soft, unspoken love and gentleness between them.

Then there is Remus. For a while, the other does not dare come near him alone out of fear. And Janus understands the same feeling. Regret, guilt, abandonment. But when he finally gets Remus alone, gets his arms around the other’s torso and buries his head into the crook of his neck. He never wants to let him go again.

He never wants to let any of them go.

-----------------------------

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Love

One-Shot

Description: Asexual!Bucky thinks he is broken beyond repair, until you show him that he has been complete all this while.

Warnings: Angst, bad language, mention of sex toys, romance and fluff

@jtargaryen18 organised a writing challenge for reaching 4k followers and of course I have to participate multiple times! 😍 I am sorry this entry is a little late 🙈

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A/N: This is the first time I am writing an asexual character. Whatever I have written is based upon my knowledge that I have gathered by reading various articles and posts on asexuality. The reason I am writing this is because I want to have an equal amount of straight and LGBTQ+ stories in my masterlist, so that there's something for everyone to enjoy. Hence, if you are an asexual person or know someone who is, and you realise that anything in my story is incorrectly represented, then please let me know. I will immediately correct it, issue an apology and accept my mistake publicly.

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Karen shouted, "What are you like gay or something?"

Bucky winced at her venomous words. "You need to leave," he said in a quiet, respectful tone.

"Like hell I am going to leave. I want answers!" she placed her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "What is it? Am I not sexy enough for you? Are you not attracted by this?!" she gestured towards the skimpy lingerie currently hugging her body.

Bucky met her eyes as he responded, "I do not want to have sex with you."

She huffed, clearly not convinced, "Why not? We have been going out for what, 3 months now? And you still don't want to have sex with me? What is the issue here? Is it-" she paused suddenly, her eyes traveling down his torso to his crotch, "You can't get it up can you?" she sneered.

Bucky shook his head, too exhausted to deal with her, "Karen, it's nothing like that. I just do not want to get physical with you. That's all."

"Oh! Ooooohh!" she bent backwards a bit, "So it was fine to hug me, cuddle with me and hold my hands. But when it comes to sex, you suddenly become a pious celibate saint! What the fuck Bucky?"

Bucky sighed, and handed Karen back her coat, "We are done. Please leave."

She laughed dryly, "Oh abso-fucking-lutely we are done. You know what I think?" she asked while wearing the coat, "I think that you are too old grandpa and that your tiny ass tortured gay dick cannot salute on its own. Because no man in his right mind would deny this," she again pointed to herself. "Super-soldier my ass," she muttered as she left.

The door to his apartment closed with a loud bang, leaving an echo in its wake. Bucky stood still, rooted to his spot. If it were not for the silent tears rolling down his cheeks, anybody could have mistaken him for a statue.

Slowly, he sat on the floor, his gentle sobs rocking his body as he hugged his knees.

Decades of torture by the hands of Hydra had left him crippled, physically, mentally and emotionally. When he had been saved by Steve, he had started to piece his life back together, bit by bit. Things such as books, movies, music became tiny jigsaw pieces that slowly filled the void in his life.

After the final galactic battle with Thanos, Bucky had been officially initiated to the Avengers team, or rather what was left of it. The team soon became an extended family, a family that Bucky was still getting used to. It was especially irksome when Sam and Scott decided to set him up on a date with Karen from Research & Development (R&D), despite his protests.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't desire a relationship. He wanted to be close to someone, experience romance, feel their heartbeat in a close embrace and place light kisses on their forehead.

But he didn't want to have sex.

At first, he thought he might not have met the right woman. So he searched for porn online, which did little to sway his feelings. He put the issue on a backburner, the safety of the people and the urgency of his missions steering the wheel of his life for a while.

But when Sam and Scott proudly announced their grand plans for Bucky's date, he remembered his "issue" again. He looked at Karen closely whenever they went on dates together. She looked perfect. Beautiful hair, soft glowing skin, curves in all the right places, all packed in a graceful, slender body.

Bucky liked being close to her, but he was still not getting aroused. Hence, he stopped her advancements everytime she tried to get physical. Karen tolerated it for a while, before her patience wore out tonight.

As the sun rose in the sky, Bucky was still seated on the floor, his cheeks now stained with tears that had stopped sometime in the night, though a sniff escaped from him every few minutes. He looked at the sunlight pouring in from the window, broken by the window-panes, landing at his feet in two rays with a comforting warmth. It was in that moment that Bucky realised, Hydra had truly broken him.

🏳️‍🌈

"We have various types of dildos available. There's The Classic, Textured, Long and Thin, Short and Thick, Vibrators, Transparent Plexiglass Dildos, Strap-Ons, G-Spot Dildos, Double-Ended, Squirting Dildos and ones that also come with a suction grip. Are you looking for yourself or are you looking for something to enjoy with your partner?" the helpful saleswoman asked you.

You stroked your chin in thought, "It's only for me. I already have a vibrator that I bought about a year back. The G-Spot ones have never really worked for me. I am looking to try something new. What is the suction grip one?"

The attendant handed you the dildo and showed you the suction grip at the end of it, "You can use this to place and stick it on any flat surface you want, whether it's the floor or the wall or the side of your desk. It guarantees a completely hands-free pleasurable experience."

You stuck it on the wall besides the showcase to test the theory. It worked. "Neat! I will take this one," you smiled as the attendant went to fetch a fresh piece.

You paid for your new sex toy and walked back to the Avengers compound with your small white shopping bag in tow.

When you reached your desk, you heard Karen bitching as usual about something to Jessica. At first, you blocked them out like you did almost everyday, but then a name in their conversation caught your attention.

"He's the Winter Soldier alright. He's completely frozen down there," Karen whispered loudly with disgust.

"Even that red sexy lingerie didn't do anything for him?" Jessica gasped dramatically.

"No!"

"That's crazy! That hot-red piece will convert even the most gayest of the guys! And it didn't do anything for him? Wow," Jessica responded.

Karen added, "You know something? I have always thought he was extremely weird. Like, dude, I know you were tortured by Hydra or whatever, but get over it man! It's been years since he was free. He should enjoy life and stop being such a wimp. I am 100% sure he is impotent."

"You know I was digging into him the other night," Jessica said in a hushed whisper, "and I saw a message board online which suggested that his penis has been completely cut by Hydra. This person knows all such secrets about these alleged superheros. You should follow him."

"What is his username?"

"Proud-Flat-Earther-MotherFuckers. Wait, I will send you the link," Jessica offered.

Having heard enough of their nonsense, you made your way towards the HR department. Maybe both Karen and Jessica had forgotten, but talking about the personal lives of Avengers was strictly against the rules and was considered as reason enough to fire employees.

You filed a complaint with the HR and within a few hours, both the women were fired on the spot. You savored the moment with relish, as their faces turned aghast at the realisation that their actions had consequences. You went up to them, watching the pair clean their desks, with unabashed glee.

"You know something Karen?" you asked her, "Just because a man refuses to have sex, it didn't mean that he's a wimp, or gay or an impotent. But if you do choose to think of him that way, then it surely makes you a sexiest and a homophobic person."

Karen looked at you furiously, "You bitch! I lost my job because you went and blabbed in front of the HR!"

You chuckled at her outburst, "Oh my dearest Karen. Yes I did go and rat you out to the HR. But that's not what got the two of you fired."

"Then what did?" Jessica asked as she joined the conversation.

You folded your hands for effect, "Your hateful comments and toxic views cost you your jobs. People like you think that just by using the latest iPhone or following the latest trends, you are a modern, 21st century person. But in reality, it is your open mindset which makes you a member of the modern society. If you would open your mind just as much as you open your legs, trust me, the two of you will be much better off."

You turned to leave, but stopped yourself, "Just a suggestion. Stop using words like gay and impotent as insults. It will help you retain your next job for a longer time." You winked at their speechless faces, and happily returned to your desk.

Your job in R&D was taxing and so, you always found yourself working late. Today was no exception either. As you left your office at around 8pm, you saw Bucky heading towards the elevator which led to his apartment. You always had a soft spot for the brunette super-soldier. For starters, you couldn't even begin to comprehend the tortures he must have endured in his past. And the fact that he was trying to piece his life back together again? It was truly commendable.

He always kept to himself, his eyes downcast and his body language unsure. And after what you had heard today, you felt even more sorry for the guy. Turning towards the cafeteria, you picked up a box of vanilla-strawberry French macarons for him, thanking the heavens above for the free food available at the Avengers compound. You held the white bag with macarons in your left hand, being mindful of not confusing it with the similar white bag in your right which contained your new sex toy.

A few moments later, you found yourself in front of his apartment. You had visited him twice before to adjust his vibranium arm or to sort out a few tweaks, but never before had you visited him so late in the evening.

You knocked, feeling a little hesitant as you did so. He was surprised to find you standing on the opposite of the door, however, he still greeted you courteously nonetheless.

Before you could state your reason for the visit, he said sincerely, "I heard what you did today. Thank you. I really appreciated it."

Now it was your turn to be surprised, "Oh. Ummm. It's okay really Mr Barnes. It was nothing. You don't need to-"

"No. It wasn't just nothing. You could have turned a deaf ear and ignored them. Yet you chose to stand-up for me. Thank you," a small smile laced his face and you melted on the spot.

You had a crush on Bucky. A BIG one. Could anyone blame you? This guy was a hot, sexy mess of an ice-cream sundae that left you hungry for more even on the coldest nights of the year.

You realised you were staring into his steel-blue eyes like a creep, and immediately cleared your throat. "What-what they did was wrong. Karen had no right to demean you for your desires or lack of them. I-," you sighed, "I am sorry for what she said. It was disrespectful and hurtful. So I brought you something that I hope will cheer you up."

You awkwardly raised your right hand, "I got you some vanilla-strawberry macarons from the cafeteria."

Bucky did cheer up a bit at the mention of his favourite food. He eagerly took the bag with a huge smile, "Thank you," he said once again as you shook your head. "Thank you for everything you do to keep us safe Mr Barnes. I must be on my way now. Goodnight," and with that you left, grinning like an idiot.

🏳️‍🌈

You took a bath, ate your dinner and slipped into comfortable pyjamas. Excited to try your new sex toy tonight, you unpacked the bag expecting to see the nondescript box of the dildo. Instead, 5 delicious macarons stared back at you with innocence.

You stumbled backwards in shock, the impact of your action settling like a dull, heavy weight in your stomach. "Oh no no no no," you whispered, horrified.

You immediately rushed to your window and pulled aside the curtain to look at Bucky's building, as if expecting to see him staring daggers at you. One of the privileges of working with the Avengers? You got to stay in a nice apartment within the compound itself. Your residential complex was a little further away from the main building, covered easily by 15 minutes of walking.

Feeling hyper, you frantically searched for a coat and almost ran out of your house. You rushed back in to keep the box in the bag and again, dashed towards the elevator.

Hoping that Bucky would have yet to open the box, you sent a silent prayer to all the gods and goddesses in the skies above, even Thor. Meh, you never know when an ex-Avenger could be of help.

You sprinted towards the other building, a multitude of thoughts clouding your mind- What if he was offended by it? Would he file a complaint against me? It would be sorta ironic if I was fired for this! Shit he would think my apology was false and I am probably mocking him.

You reached his apartment, a panting, huffing mess of a person. You knocked frantically, his door shaking with force at your desperation. However, you jumped as Bucky whispered your name from behind you, "Are you okay? What's going on?" he asked with concern as you turned around to face him.

"Did-did you op-open the bo-ox?" you questioned him while panting like a dog.

He furrowed his brows in response, "No I was planning to open it in a few minutes. Please tell me what's going on. Why do you look so scared?"

You bent over double, your stomach cramping thanks to your impromptu running, "Thi-this is your bag," you held up the package, "That ba-bag is mine."

"Okay," Bucky said slowly, still unsure of your behaviour, "Should I open the door to retrieve your bag?"

You nodded as he stepped aside, "Why are you not wearing any shoes?"

You looked down at your feet at his query, small blades of grass had stuck to your naked feet along with dirt. "I was in a hur-hurry to get to you," you managed to say between your breaths.

Bucky just nodded in response. It was then that you noticed the pack of paper tissues in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, beckoning you to follow him. He pointed to the white bag kept on the table while he looked at it with worry. "Will it explode?" he solicited.

"Uhh no," you replied awkwardly.

"Is it dangerous?" curiosity etched on Bucky's face as you swapped the bags.

"No, it's nothing like that," you looked down at your feet, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks with embarrassment.

He narrowed his eyes, "Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you," you quietly admitted, "but here are your macarons. I am really sorry for this. Didn't mean to disturb you from whatever you had planned," you pointed to the box of tissues still in his hand.

Bucky noticed the underlying question in your statement, "I was about to watch a movie. So needed these to clear the mess."

Your eyes went wide at his sincerity. While you had a crush on him, you definitely did not want to know about Bucky's late night masturbation adventures. Shaking your head, you raised your hands and started walking backwards, "I am sorry I disturbed your nightly… activities. I get out of your hair."

"Actually, would you like to join me for the movie?" Bucky asked hopefully, "We have the macarons and you seem like you need to calm your nerves."

You were surprised for the third time that day. Did Bucky just ask you to masturbate with him? Or have sex while eating the macarons? Or did he want to eat them after you guys have had sex? A flurry of questions swirled in your mind as you stared at him with a slightly open mouth.

Bucky interpreted your gaze and stumbled to clarify himself, "As friends! Would you like to watch a movie with me as a friend?"

You slowly nodded your affirmation, "Yeah okay. Which movie are we watching?"

"The Notebook," he revealed with a smile, "It's an extremely emotional movie. Ummm what's the term? Tear-jerker? Uhh yeah, it's a real tear-jerker of a movie."

"Oh so that's why…" you pointed at the tissues. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I tend to cry a lot while watching that movie. And… ummm… I am the kind of person who cries ugly. You know, all tears and snot. So yeah… I need the whole box."

"That's… that's actually sweet," you smiled, "Trust me you are not alone. I start crying as soon as the titles appear on the screen."

He got excited at your confession, "Yes! Exactly! It's because you know what's going to come and you are just mentally preparing yourself."

You chuckled with him in affirmation as he led you further into his apartment.

You freshened up a bit in his washroom, making sure to clean your feet and the residue on your face from the sweat.

Bucky was standing besides your bag when you entered the living room, "Now that we are friends," he intoned, "will you please tell me what's inside of this?"

You sighed, "Mr Barnes-."

"Bucky," he corrected you and you smiled.

"Will you promise me you will not take any offense or be insulted by it? I really did not mean to swap the bags."

"I trust you," Bucky said with assurance.

"It's…it is a sex toy," you mumbled quietly. Any normal human wouldn't have heard you, but Bucky's enhanced hearing caught your words flawlessly.

He took a moment to process your words, and finally, to your amazement, burst out laughing.

You sheepishly smiled at his reaction as your heart felt a little lighter. "That is embarrassing," he agreed with a wide grin.

The two of you settled on the couch as Bucky's chuckles lessened. He kept the box of macarons between you two, but hesitated to begin the movie.

You sensed his curiosity, and clarified, "I haven't been in a relationship in a very long time. It's been… 2 years I guess… since my last breakup." You took a deep breath, "And my job doesn't exactly leave a lot of time on my hands for dating or one-night-stands."

Bucky seemed to consider your words for what felt like a long time. Finally, he asked quietly, "What does it feel like? To… to want another person… sexually?"

You blinked your eyes, thinking you must have misheard him. But then, his gaze met yours, and you knew his question was sincere.

"It feels like…," you raked your mind in search for the appropriate words, "...like your entire body is on fire, and you need the touch of the other person to quench your thirst. Like, just for a few moments, you want to shut your mind, and let your body think for you."

Bucky nodded slowly as you finished, "But what if you feel that in your heart? And not for your body?"

You squint your eyes at his question, "What do you mean Bucky?"

He placed his head in his hands, "I just… I don't feel like that with anyone. I mean, I don't want to have sex. Trust me I have tried everything. Literally everything. Still I don't feel aroused… I am broken, aren't I? Because this is abnormal, right? No matter how hard I try I will never be normal."

Your heart shattered at his words. You had heard about his horrid nightmares, but to think that he was struggling to accept himself, thinking that he was broken, even when he had so much love to give, was depressing. You could not just stand by and watch.

Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder, "Bucky, look at me." When he didn't comply, you urged him, "Bucky, you are not broken. It is completely normal to not have any sexual desires."

"No it's not," he scoffed.

"Yes it is," you coerced him, "Do you know what is asexuality? It is the complete absence of sexual desires. Many people-"

He interrupted you, "There is no such thing. You are making this up."

"I am not," you replied indignantly, "Research indicates that more than 1% of the American population is asexual. Also, experts believe that more people might be asexuals because they think that they "haven't found the right person yet"," you ended with air quotes.

With no reaction from him, you sighed and got up, "Do yourself a favour. Use the internet and learn about asexuality. It will help put your mind at ease." You left after giving that piece of advice.

Bucky stayed in the same position for a few moments after your departure. He nibbled on a macaron as he considered the movie playing in front of him. Unable to focus, he promptly shut it all and carried the box to his bed. The macarons disappeared into his mouth as he tossed and turned, feeling restless.

There was no way asexuality was a thing. If it was, then how come there were no movies, tv shows or even advertisements on asexuality? That's because it wasn't normal, right? Maybe you had just lied to him to make him feel better? Maybe you took pity on him?

He looked at his phone on the table near the tv set, your final words repeating in his head in a loop. The combination of tiredness and laziness encouraged him to take your advice in the morning.

🏳️‍🌈

You didn't see Bucky for 3 days after your fateful encounter with him. The fact that you still had your job at the Avengers Tower meant that he hadn't filed a complaint yet with the HR. And for that you were grateful. Friday came and you found yourself working late, again. It was around 10pm and you were still in your lab, almost done with the work. That's when you heard the small swoosh of the lab doors opening and closing.

You looked up from your table, and found Bucky staring intently at you with his blue eyes. He cleared his throat and tentatively took a step towards you. "You were right," he said slowly, "I researched online, read a few articles and spoke with the in-house therapist. I am an," he took a deep breath, "an asexual."

You closed your laptop and smiled at his confession, "How are you feeling now?"

"Honestly? A little bit better. I feel somewhat free," he admitted while gripping the white bag in his hand a little bit tighter.

"That's great! I am so proud of the progress you have made," you beamed at him, but sensed his hesitance as you neared him.

"What's wrong?" you gently inquired.

"You are… not… I mean… by any chance… asexual?" he winced at his own question.

You chuckled lightly, "No I am not."

"Ahh, then it's okay," he murmured and turned as if to leave.

You stopped him by placing a hand on his firm bicep, "What's going on?"

He shifted on his feet, visibly uncomfortable and anxious, "I was just… no nevermind it's stupid."

"Bucky," you said his name in a stern voice.

He sighed again, "I thought… I mean I owe you a movie because… of that night… and so… you know… would you like to watch it? The movie? But why would you? You deserve better… you are not an asexual. You are normal. Why would you want to go on a date with me?" he finally ended his mumbling.

You looked at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what he had muttered. "Did you just say you would like to go on a date with me? But it was stupid because you are an asexual and I am normal?" you blinked as he nodded.

"Who told you that you are not normal?" you asked him, a little irritated, "Bucky look at me." This time he complied, "You. Are. Normal. As normal as me, as the other Avengers or as anybody else in the world. Do not, for even one goddamn second, think that there's something wrong with you because there isn't. Are you listening to me? Am I clear?" you wagged your forefinger at him.

Amused at your outburst, he nodded with a sheepish grin. Clearing his throat, he asked you again, "Would you like to watch a movie with me tomorrow? As a date?"

You placed your hands on your waist, "Yes."

His grin widened as he asked you the next question, "Still mad at me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe these cupcakes will help," he shyly held up the white bag in front of you, "I made sure they were cupcakes," he added with a smirk.

You graciously accepted the bag, "Cupcakes will always help."

"Great! It's a date then. Tomorrow… at 4pm? My apartment?" Bucky suggested.

You agreed, and he left with a goodbye. As soon as he was out of sight, you opened the box, expecting to see the usual cupcakes inside. Instead, you found that the sweet treats were decorated with cute messages such as "U R Cute" , "Be Mine?" , "So Sweet" and so on. Feeling mushy at his adorable gesture, you bit into the sweet treat as you headed back to your apartment.

The next day, you made sure to wear a purple dress, complete with black, grey and white accessories - the colours of the asexual flag. Bucky beamed at you as he welcomed you into his apartment. He had made a snack mix from popcorn, crispy pretzels, chips and nachos, the perfect accompaniment to any movie according to him, and you couldn't agree more.

The pair of you watched The Notebook in silence, except for a few sobs and sniffs here and there and the straight up bawling during the emotional parts of the movie.

After a while, the film ended but your date continued. The two of you talked about everything, right from the meaningful discussions about the government policies to random questions like "which mythical creature would you be and why?"

Soon, it was time for you to head back to your apartment. Bucky offered to walk you and you happily agreed. But before you left, he asked you nervously, "Would you like to have a second date?"

"I would love to," you beamed, "Which movie should we watch the next time?"

He ran his hand in his somewhat disheveled hair, "Uhh… I actually made a date jar. Wait, I will get it."

He brought over a glass jar, filled with tiny bits of folded paper, "I thought we could have dates that start from each English alphabet. We can pick and choose at random from the jar."

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes again at his thoughtful and romantic gesture. You gingerly picked one note from the jar, excited for the adventure that awaited the two of you.

🏳️‍🌈

It took more than 2 years for the pair of you to finish every date in the date jar, except for one. Whether it was jet-skiing in the ocean, taking classes for flamenco dance, him teaching you self-defense or going on a wildlife safari together, you and Bucky finally got through it all. Only the letter "P" was now left.

In these 2 years, any distance between the two of you had practically vanished. Bucky was comfortable in removing his bionic arm in front of you. Moreover, he had started sharing everything with you. Right from his darkest and disturbing nightmares to a pretty butterfly that he may have seen during his missions, Bucky made it a point to ensure that you were a part of his life, and you had absolutely no complaints.

The two of you had also discussed about your sexual desires, and Bucky had been comfortable with you using your sex toys as and when you wished.

Bucky was the perfect boyfriend anybody could ask for. He was considerate, thoughtful, a hardcore feminist and gave the best foot-rubs in the world. And so you were nervous. Nervous because the two of you had never actually sat down to talk about the nature of your relationship. And as the day of the last date loomed nearer, your anxiety increased. At first, you thought of making a second date jar, but he had quickly dismissed the idea, stating that he would be caught up with multiple things after the last date ended.

As you sat in the car that Bucky had sent for you, your apprehension grew. Bucky always picked you up, however this time, he had asked you to come alone in the car. Maybe he wanted to break up with you?

By the time you reached the park it was pitch black. You were sure Bucky had paid the guards to keep the gates of the park open just for you.

As soon as you entered, you saw the pathway lined with 25 lamp posts, leading you towards a breathtaking archway decorated with fairy lights and your favourite flowers.

On every lamp post, a photograph of the two of you - which were taken on your dates - was stuck along with a note. The notes described how he fell in love with you over and over again on every single date. Your progress was slow, as read each of his meticulously written words with tears in your eyes. You collected all of his notes and the photographs, and finally headed towards the lit archway.

When you entered it, the instrumental notes of the song "All of Me" by John Legend reached your ears.

You walked ahead and reached a bend. Upon crossing it, you were showered with rose petals as the live music grew louder. And at the end of the archway, your boyfriend, James Buchanan Barnes, was standing in a tuxedo, looking as sinfully good as the forbidden fruit. The entire area around him was lit with soft fairy lights that cascaded gracefully between tall lamp posts. Even on the ground, small wooden lamps illuminated the grass across the area. A live band was playing the music and your Bucky was standing with the most gorgeous bouquet of red roses that you had ever seen.

Your vision turned blurry as you started crying, and looking at your tears, he started sobbing as well. "No no no I can't cry now," he managed to say between his sobs while giving you his handkerchief, "I have to do this."

He got down on one knee and took your hand in his. You both laughed as you started crying harder. He took a deep breath and said your name, "These 2 years have been the most magical years of my life. You have accepted me as who I am, what I am, and never once tried to change me or make fun of me for it. I never thought I would be treated with the amount of respect that-" he started crying, unable to finish his sentence.

You sat beside him and handed him your kerchief. "Yes," you said with a tear-stained smile.

"Let me ask you first!" he exclaimed between his sobs.

You laughed and wiped your snot as he cleared his throat, "I love you so much. You are the only one I want to-" he started crying again.

"Yes!" you answered his unsaid question.

"I haven't asked you yet!" he exclaimed again as the two of you giggled between your sobs.

"Okay c'mon Bucky you can do this," he muttered to himself as you beamed at him. "Okay," he looked into your eyes and whispered your name, "Will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?"

You choked up at finally hearing the words. Rendered speechless, you could only nod as fresh tears escaped your eyes.

"You have to say yes!" he almost shouted with excitement.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!!" you matched his enthusiasm as he slipped a ring onto your finger. His large arms then engulfed you in a bear hug, wrapping you in a safe and secure space for eternity to come.

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo @notyourtypicalrose @just-one-ordinary-fangirl

Bucky taglist: @loustan90

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or message!

#asexual #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #asexual!bucky barnes #asexual!Bucky #bucky x reader #Bucky barnes x Reader #winter soldier #lgbtqa #JTargaryen18s4K

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sleepinabath · 4 years ago

Text

“What happened this morning?”

Warnings: insecurities, body image,

Story Length: 2k

Summary: You are the kindest person of your year. Always lifting up others and giving a hand whenever possible. Behind the front you are insecure and broken. You never show anyone your pain, but one day after speeding out of the great hall Draco sees a glimpse of your hidden side.

A/N: This is my first imagine on tumblr. Let me know if I should make a part 2. (not my gif btw)

Y/n l/n was a kind Hufflepuff 5th year. She was the person that partnered with the new kid, the person who was positive through the tough times, the person anyone could come to judgement free, the person who always reminded her friends that they were perfect and beautiful. But when the sun went down and no one was there to tell her about their problems her mind filled with terrible thoughts. While everybody else in the castle was dreaming, y/n was reminded of all the things she hated about herself, all the things that made her less beautiful, all the things that she thought others hated about her. Fortunately y/n was good at hiding her pain, she attempted much more around her current boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, and so no one realized that all her happiness and confidence was a façade.

Coincidentally that façade had gotten her the boyfriends she tries too hard to hide from. When he confessed his feelings for her she asked why. Why would Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin want her, a simple Hufflepuff?

“For so many reasons y/n, too many to count. For starters you are beautiful, and positive...”

That is where y/n stopped listening. Her faux optimism had landed her a boy that almost every girl in the school swooned over.

Tonight was no different. Y/n pictured the scenario that had tormented her during her waking hours and disrupted her sleep. Draco Malfoy walking into the great hall with Pansy Parkinson on his arm. They would walk over to her house table and reveal her deepest darkest insecurities. The remarks weren’t the same every time. Some times Malfoy would touch on Y/n’s body issues saying:

“How could I ever date anyone that fat?”

“The moment I saw your body it was over.”

Sometime Parkinson would strike on her insecurity around cheating by saying things like:

“Did you really think he could have liked you? You were a cute charity case.”

and

“Did you not wonder why he never went further?”

Always after they spewed their hate and walked away the entire hall would begin to laugh and some of her closest friends would agree or worse point out how stupid she was to think that Malfoy would actually like her. Every time this played out in Y/n’s head she would cry.

Tonight Y/n decided to go into the dorms bathroom so as not to wake up her dorm mates. She looked at her red cheeks and puffy eyes and began to agree with the dream Parkinson and Draco. Y/n began to examine her body, only making; her cry harder as she traced her finger along the few stretch marks Y/n had on her hips and thighs, pulling on the little fat that clung to her calves and stomach. At this point y/n had ran out of tears and was exhausted, stepping out of the bathroom she looked around at the other beds. All these girls were beautiful and thin.

Why can’t I be like that?

Why can’t I have a body and face that I like?

~~~

Waking up the next morning y/n saw all her tired dorm mates starting their day as well. Some were brushing their teeth and humming a tune, some were picking out their outfit, and some like y/n were just waking up. You got out of bed reluctantly and started choosing your outfit for the day. Your options were all very similar, big jeans and a t-shirt with your robes. You decided on your favorite pair of white wash blue jeans and one of your dad’s old band shirts. You and all your roommates finished your respective morning rituals at around the same time and then walked to the great hall together for breakfast.

Y/n ate about the same thing everyday for breakfast, an egg, berries, and if she was really hungry a piece of toast with jam. Beginning to eat everyone started talking about classes and homework, the usual beginning of day complaints or excitement. You added to these conversations while also watching the hall door to see when Draco walked in and if he walked in with anyone.

Soon after you and your friends came into the hall Draco came in. He was accompanied by his standard group, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabinni, but today along with the usual crowd there was Pansy Parkinson right alongside him. Your heart dropped, you felt as though you were going to throw up. You didn’t let your feelings show on your face.

“Y/n what do you think will be more important on the herbology exam? Labeling or purpose?” asked her dorm mate, Diane.

“Uh… I believe that Professor Sprout said the test would be 50/50.” y/n said coming out of your thoughts.

“Well I’m fucked. I only know the practical.”

“Come to study group tonight. We would love to have you.”

“Thank y/n. You’re the best.” y/n had stopped paying attention at that point. y/n was trying not to notice as Pansy and Draco laughed together. It all became too much when she laid her hand on his forearm.

“Hey, I think I left something in the dorm. I’ll meet you guys in class?” y/n was just barely keeping her voice level. They all bid her goodbye and she walked very quickly out of the hall.

Tears were starting to spill from her eyes down y/n’s cheeks when she heard footsteps behind her. Y/n began to walk quicker trying to get as far away as possible from anyone.

You’re being so stupid. Crying over a boy

She was just trying to make you jealous, and you fell for it

She could not let anyone see her cry. Y/n was the confident, nice, Hufflepuff, and if someone saw her breakdown it would put into question anything she had ever said, every bit of advice would be watered down by doubt.

“Y/N!” This made her stop dead. It was Draco. She wanted to run until she was in the common room, run until he had given up, but y/n knew that Draco wouldn’t give up. Even if he had lost her in this moment he would bring it up again until he figured out what was troubling her. She didn’t run, but stopped quickly whipping her eyes and taking deep breaths as Draco caught up to her.

“Hey, what up?” Y/n said doing her best to sound nonchalant.

“You left the hall…” he paused now looking at your face.

“Good observation.” she faked a laugh. She wanted him to go away so that she could cry in peace.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Y/n moved to leave but he grabbed her wrist.

“Yes?” her voice broke a little.

“Have you been crying?” he face was painted with concern

“No, just allergies. I was actually just about to-” a tear rolled down her face. “To get my allergy medication but...” It was all y/n could do to keep the sobbs out of her voice.

“Hey-”

“Draco I really need to go.” y/n knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep her tears in much longer. Walking away she felt the tears fall fast and hot down her cheeks. Thankfully Draco didn’t follow her.

~~~

Y/n missed her first class of the day. She made up an excuse to her friends about being nauseous.

“Are you sure you want to go to class y/n?” Her roommate Diane said as you all walked to potions.

“Yeah, I’m fine now.” Y/n said quickly.

“Whatever you say.”

Y/n’s second lesson of the day was double potions with the Slytherins. When you walked into class you avoided his piercing gaze. She knew that Draco would try to talk to you during class. To bypass his awkward questions you sat next to one of her friends named Annalise.

“Not sitting with Draco?” Annalise asked.

“I can hangout with Draco any old time. Besides he’s not great shakes at potions.” y/n said this while pulling out your potions textbook

She made it through potions without having to speak to Draco. She was feeling more confident that he would drop it until you were leaving class. Y/n was walking with all your friends when she felt something cold wrap around her hand. She stopped creating a ripple effect among the crowd she had been enveloped in.

“Can I speak to you?” Draco asked in a low voice.

“Hey, I’ll meet you in class.” Y/n said to her friends. They all giggled as you two walked away. She didn’t feel like laughing at all. She felt like throwing up. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Draco about what happened this morning. Draco pulled you into an empty classroom, and began to pace.

“What’s up?” y/n said cooly.

“What happened?” he stopped his pacing to ask.

“Nothing, I just wasn’t feeling well.” she moved to him. She tried to comfort him by rubbing his arm. He moved away from his gesture.

“Bullshit.” he didn’t yell, but said it fervently.

Y/n didn’t have anything to say. Half of her wanted to break down in front of him, too cry and tell him all the things that plagued her mind by night. The other half of her wanted to leave the room and make him so mad that he forgot about all things that had happened this morning. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to do either, so she just stood there in silence.

“What happened this morning?”

“Nothing. I just wasn’t feel-” y/n began to lie again but Draco cut her off.

“What’ the real reason?” he said looking at her with a mix of caring and frustration

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Draco’s only response was an irritated sigh. y/n was also starting to get annoyed. Why couldn’t he just drop it. It wasn’t as if the real reason mattered greatly.

“You know what I realized today.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You have never once cried in front of me. You haven’t even confided a negative thought.”

“Because I don’t need to.” y/n stated flatly looking at her feet.

“Your telling me you have never once had a negative thought?” Draco asked doubtfully.

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“So if you do have other emotions besides inspirational, why have I never heard about them?”

“Because... Because I’m an optimist.”

“Optimist or not, no one can bottle up their emotions before losing their minds eventually.” She couldn’t think of anything to say. Y/n knew he was right. She had been so broke and defeated for so long now. All Y/n could think to do was continue looking at her shoes because she knew that if she met his eye she wouldn’t be able to hold it together.

“Look at me... please.” y/n could hear the concern all through his voice. Slowly she turned her face to his. Y/n was determined not to break down and just go to herr next class.

“We should go to class.” she said weakly barely meeting Draco’s eye.

“Class can wait, you can’t.” he spoke soberly which made it more confusing for him when Y/n giggled.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that if you knew what was going on up here.” She pointed to her forehead. “You wouldn’t have said that.” Draco moved swiftly to her and put his forehead to hers.

“I want to know. I want to know it all. Every dark and twisted thought to your wildest dreams and fantasies. I want to know everything if you’ll tell me.”

#draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco #harry potter #harry potter fandom #wizarding world

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cialbi · 4 years ago

Text

Summertime Happy Daze - Chapter Two

Summary: Working in a small, local grocery store down by the shore has its perks; good pay, free food and seven handsome coworkers. Your first day back after two years abroad your happy summer days have just begun.

Genre: Slice of Life, Friendship, Romance (fluff), Hurt and Comfort, AU

Pairings: BTS ot7 x Reader

Warnings: Language, Panic Attack, Flashbacks

Word Count: 7730

Based on TRUE Daily Events

⤎Previous

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

What was only minutes felt like hours as the cold began to slice through your skin. An air of panic had built as you and Yoongi stared, bug-eyed, at each other. The broken handle seemed to mock you as it laid on the ground, it's frozen metal face like a bad joke, and no one was laughing.

"Oh shit, Yoongi. What do we do?" You asked, breath shaky.

Yoongi swallowed, wetting his lips with his tongue. He thought for a moment before bending down to pick up the handle and then attempted to reattach it to the gaping hole from where it was once fixed. The handle gave a little cry of resistance and then fell back down to the ground with a 'clunk.' Well, so much for that.

"Fuck. Hold on." He said and picked the handle back up. When his second attempt failed, Yoongi inspected the face bore and cursed. "Dammit. I think a piece is missing."

"Shit, seriously?" Your eyes blew wide.

Yoongi nodded. "I think so... It should be around here somewhere."

Instantly, the two of you were on your hands and knees, searching for a piece that would belong to a door, though what that looked like neither of you knew. Your kneecaps ached against the freezing floor and a knot in your throat formed when you were coming up short-handed. You looked behind boxes, stretched hands beneath shelves and overturned every crate you could see, but there was no sign of the missing piece anywhere.

"Did you find anything?" You turned to look at Yoongi who had just finished setting a bucket of raw chicken thighs down.

"No." He shook his head in defeat.

"Fuck."

You scraped a hand through your hair and shivered. Cold pricked against your skin and almost every hair on your body was erect as your nose began to drip. The temperature seemed to drop by the second, the gravity of the situation lodging like a pit in your stomach. What do we do? Shit. What do we do? It's getting so cold I can barely feel my hands. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Yoongi, picking up on your struggle, placed a hand on your shoulder in reassurance. "Let's stay calm ok? We'll call out to Namjoon and Tae and get some help from the other side."

You nodded with a quaking lip.

The two of you pounded on the door and yelled in hopes of catching the attention of your two other coworkers, praying to God that they were nearby and not in the midst of helping customers.

"Namjoon! Taehyung!"

You heard a curious murmur that progressively grew louder as the two boys approached. You could practically see Namjoon's scrunched brow, wondering what could possibly be going on from inside the walk-in. There was a jostling sound from the other side, then a few moments of silence passed followed by a rap on the door.

"Are you guys ok?" It was Taehyung who answered first.

"What happened?" Namjoon's voice followed.

Yoongi let out a breath of relief, little cotton puffs haloing his lips from the cold air. "The door handle fell off and we're trapped inside."

"Shit." Namjoon groaned. "I thought I told you guys to be careful!" His voice was scolding, but there was a clear underlying tone of worry laced in his words.

Yoongi's shoulders flattened. "Now's not the time for a lecture, Joon."

You heard the butcher sigh heavily, knowing he was trying his best to think logically amidst this bad circumstance. "Ok, ok, you're right. I'll go get Jin."

"Hyung, I'll stay here with them!" Taehyung said after him.

"Hurry! It's cold as fuck in here!"

As you heard Namjoon's retreating footsteps, you shifted your attention to Yoongi, a clear look of fear swimming in your eyes. Yoongi smiled meekly and grabbed your arms, rubbing them with the best encouragement he could offer.

"Hey, don't worry. Namjoon and Jin will figure out what to do."

You sniffed, looking around the giant fridge.

The walk-in wasn't tiny, but it was also not very big. The door was the type that sealed shut without a crack as to maintain the temperature, keeping the chilled air from escaping out into the deli. Fluorescent lights beamed off the icy white walls and made you feel like you were surrounded by flashing paparazzi cameras. You gulped, dizzy.

You didn't bode well in enclosed spaces, especially enclosed spaces below thirty degrees, and you could feel your claustrophobia creep up your nerves. The walls felt like they were inching closer with every breath you took and your vision became narrowed as the worst case scenarios flooded your mind. You were starting to get that lightheaded, too-warm feeling that meant you were either going to hurl or fall down soon.

What if they can't figure out what to do? What if we're trapped in here for hours? What if Namjoon and Jin don't make it here in time? Shit, we're gonna freeze.

Not being able to stand any longer, you sank down to the floor and pulled your legs into yourself for comfort. Oh no. It's happening. You thought, the familiar sensation of a panic attack draped around you like a wet blanket.

Yoongi crouched down beside you with the barest of touch on the small of your back. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

"I uh... sorry, I just..." You trailed, not knowing how to put it in words.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you inhaled a breath. The rise and fall of your chest stung with every constriction of your lungs and pools of moisture trilled down your back. Yoongi frowned.

"What is it?"

You shook your head. The panic only intensified as your leg began to convulse with jittery thrusts and you swallowed thickly. Your breathing shallowed.

"It's nothing. T-this happens sometimes... I get nervous... " You bit back your words feeling extremely embarrassed for this to be happening in front of Yoongi of all people. Hurling definitely felt like the possible outcome.

"What happens? Tell me what's going on."

"Really.. it's nothing." You started, your body hot and freezing at the same time.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me." Yoongi eyed you with concern.

You'd be damned if you were going to admit you were having a panic attack, so you shook your head again and shoved your head between your knees. You wished Yoongi would just back off and let anxious dogs lie, but that smart-ass, god-bless-his-soul of a man refused to relent.

"Does your tummy hurt?" He asked.

Fuck yes your tummy fucking hurt. And your heart, and your brain, and goddammit it's cold. Why does Jin keep the walk-in so motherfucking cold? Part of you wanted to tell him to stop asking questions and let you be, but words just weren't finding you.

As if your silence was an answer, it finally occurred to Yoongi what was happening. He pulled back a little bit.

"Oh..." His eyes widened. "Oh." Yoongi's expression mixed with emotions, contemplating what to do. "Hey Y/N. Is it ok if I touch you now?"

Excuse me, what? Not knowing how to answer, you remained quiet.

"Ok." Yoongi said carefully. "I'm going to touch you now."

After a moment, you felt yourself being pulled forward as he cradled you against his chest. You could hear the gentle drum of his heartbeat and his body felt warm, though he was clearly as cold as you were by the way he shivered.

"Shh. It's gonna be ok Y/N." He whispered, his breath feverish against the shell of your ear.

"Hyung, what's happening?" Taehyung's voice called from the deli.

Yoongi's lips dipped, eyebrows furrowed in consideration. "I think..." He paused, thinking about his words. "Y/N's tummy hurts." He said, rubbing circles on your back. Something told you he knew exactly what was happening by how he'd asked permission to touch you, and you were more than grateful that he had respected your confidentiality.

"Is she ok?" Taehyung paused. "Sorry. Stupid question. Y/N it's going to be fine, I promise. We're going to figure this out."

From the other side, the raven-haired boy was seated on the ground, his face smushed against the metal door as he tried to hear what was proceeding. Worried was an understatement.

"Dammit. Where are they?" Taehyung bit his lip and looked back towards the front of the deli.

Inside the walk-in, Yoongi patted your back, using a soothing tempo that he hoped would calm you. Running a hand through your hair, he sighed. He understood that there was very little he could say to comfort you, so he decided to walk you through the anxiety instead.

"Hey. Y/N. Let's talk about something." He tried.

You sniffed. "A-about what?"

Yoongi shrugged. "I don't know, what do you want to talk about?"

"U-um..." You had trouble thinking of a topic, so you said "The s-store seems like it's g-going well." Great conversation starter. You sneezed.

Yoongi laughed. "Does it?" He rested his chin on your head. "I'm not sure. The store's been lonely without you."

"W-what?" You stuttered, wondering if you had heard correctly. You hadn't realized they were clenched shut until your eyes snapped open at his confession.

Yoongi's voice was gentle as he looked over to an assembly of chicken barrels, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. "Everyone's missed you so much, you know? Jin, Jimin and the others. Not me, obviously." You laughed a little at that, making Yoongi smirk. "It's uh... not the same without you. Quiet." Yoongi wanted to walk off a cliff at how cheesy he sounded. "Hey. Remember that time when Hoseok got so sunburned that he could barely move? He whined about using sunblock like a baby and we all thought he was crazy. He looked like a walking hotdog by the end of the day--well deserved might I add--but you made sure he applied plenty of aloe."

"He's so s-stupid sometimes." You grinned against your arm.

"Stupid. But means well." He paused. "I think."

"And Namjoon b-burned all the barbecue." You muttered.

"That's right." He chuckled lowly. "And then you spent hours showing him how to grill the food correctly."

"HE STILL BURNED EVERYTHING THOUGH!" Taehyung yelled from behind the door.

Another smile tugged at your lips as you could recall that afternoon very clearly. You could smell the salt of the ocean and how the warmth of the sticky sun greased your bare skin. The horizon had been an intoxicating shade of pink that day and the sounds of seagulls a pleasant melody amongst the cloudless sky. You could see the boys in their swimming trunks, splashing around in the water like puppies and the whoops of joy they had expressed as they ran down the shoreline in a flurry of sand and seashells. The taste of Namjoon's poor cooking ghosted your tongue as you brought up the image of everyone scraping charred pieces of meat and veggies with their fingers. The way Hoseok looked like a lobster after refusing to properly administer sunscreen played through your mind and you thought of later that evening when you had all packed up to go home.

"Aish. How did this happen?" Hoseok had whined, poking at his seared skin gingerly.

"We told you to reapply after swimming hyung." Jungkook had noted as he folded up the beach umbrella.

"But the bottle said waterproof!"

A little laugh escaped your lips. "So stupid..."

You felt Yoongi shift as he smiled against your hair. "Yeah. We really are. Stupid."

You felt your heart rate slow to a soft pitter-pat, and your clammy hands loosened their grasp from around Yoongi's hoodie, tangled nerves beginning to unravel. The nauseousness dispersed from your stomach, your jelly-like limbs regaining their strength. It took a minute for your mind to clear. Then abruptly, you pulled away in sheer mortification. Only one day back and you're already sobbing into a man's sweatshirt. What the actual fuck.

Fucking get yourself together you psycho! "I'm sorry." You mumbled.

Yoongi leant back slightly and smiled, unbothered. "Don't be."

Minutes flew by as you sat together in silence. Yoongi remained crouched by your side on the ground, watching you closely but you refused to meet his gaze. Blood rushed to your face as you realized you must have seemed incredibly insane just moments ago. Any confidence you had regained this morning shattered, and you felt your pride fly out the window and sail away into the distance.

You opened and closed your mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but words were lost to you.

From outside, a murmur of voices had clustered around the door. It sounded like Taehyung was talking to someone by the way his husky voice shifted in intervals. Your ears perked as the new voices of Jimin and Hoseok became apparent and you could hear Namjoon saying something in response, his tone flat but serious. Finally, Jin spoke.

"I don't care what it is, do whatever it takes to get them out. Stat."

Your shoulders slumped in relief at the sound of your boss's fierce, silky voice.

Yoongi touched your face with his fingers, the cool silver of his rings steamed against your blushing cheeks. "You see?" He said. "They're gonna do everything they can to make sure we get outta here."

You shivered and then sneezed. Shuddering, you hugged yourself tighter. Yoongi clucked his tongue and took off his hoodie then forced it over your head, helping your trembling arms through the respective sockets. Your own clothes had been baggy to begin with, but his sweatshirt was far bigger and encompassed you in a toasty blanket of heat that thawed your frozen bones. Your blush deepened, though you gripped the sleeves with sunken nails and steeped in the warmth and smell of mint. You noticed underneath he only had on a white, skin-hugging t-shirt that accentuated his lean muscles–a sight you would have normally found delicious if it weren't for your concern about his well-being.

"Aren't you gonna freeze?" You asked.

Yoongi just shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

You began to protest, but he silenced you with a finger as if to say 'don't start with me' so you nodded and pulled your knees to your chest.

"Thank you."

"Mmhmm."

As time ticked by with quiet, you found yourself wondering. Coming down off your anxiety-ridden high, you realized how flawlessly Yoongi had executed his actions and you began to wonder to yourself how he'd known exactly what to do instead of flying off to a corner of ignorance and aversion. Physical contact, consoling, grounding. The three steps of aiding a person rooted in an episode of panic. The three steps Yoongi had demonstrated with ease and precision.

"Hey Yoongi." You piped up, fiddling with your nail beds as you stared at your feet. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

You picked at a hangnail, thinking how to phrase your question. "Um... how did you know what to do?"

Yoongi fixed you with a perplexed look. "Know how to do what?"

You shrugged smalley, shrinking back into yourself, a twinge of shame poked at your gut. "You know... how to calm me down?"

"Oh." He considered his response for a second. You lifted your head when he didn't say anything and your eyes were met with an intense stare as he replied earnestly. "I have some experience."

You blinked at him. That was an answer you didn't expect.

What does he mean by 'experience?' You briefly speculated. Then it hit you, and suddenly you didn't need him to explain. Oh.

"Yoongi, I-"

'VROOOOOOOOOO–' A loud noise blasted from outside the door, the deafening blare of an electric bolt-screw interrupting your sentence. You and Yoongi exchanged looks of confusion as it hummed boisterously from the other side of the walk-in door. You covered your ears. It went on for a good five minutes before subsiding into stillness and you eyed the door skeptically as nothing happened. Then suddenly, the metal fortress jerked back with a thump and the glare of sunshine poured through the open void in a stream of whites and golds.

Simultaneously, you both stood up, your bodies stiff from the frosty air and muscles cracking under the pressure of sitting for so long on the glacial floor. You stepped out towards the light and blinked, adjusting your vision. Without warning, a ball of blonde hair catapulted into your arms and hugged you tightly as if you were a lost lover, finally reunited. The smell of flowers and soap wafted through your nose and baby-pink cashmere cloaked you like a curtain. It was Jimin.

"I was so worried! Are you ok? Oh my gosh you're so cold!" The boy pulled out from his embrace and rubbed his hands up and down your shoulders in attempts to warm you.

A wide smile spread across your lips. You'd never been so happy to see his pretty face.

"Hey Jiminnie. I'm ok." You said, pinching his cheeks. You breathed deeply, soaking up the new found heat of the deli.

Jimin let his arms fall, his eyes held yours with a worried expression. "You're blue."

You laughed softly. "Am I? Well it is cold in there. I don't recommend getting trapped inside, it's not fun."

Jimin made a face. "I'm just glad you're alright. If it weren't for Jungkook and Namjoon hyung, well... I don't want to imagine what could have happened."

You noticed off to the side, Jungkook and Namjoon busy heaving the giant door away from the walk-in, having unbolted its hinges in order to set you free. Their muscles flexed like gods as they moved it with incredible power, placing it to rest against the wooden counter of the sandwich block. You shot them a grateful look, which they returned with relieved smiles.

"Oh you poor thing!" Hoseok swooped through the room with a red fleece blanket that he then draped around your shoulders. His deep brown eyes twinkled with fret and his lips were pulled into a frown of concern. "Here you go, sweetheart. Do you want some tea?"

You shook your head. To be honest, tea sounded nice, but you didn't want him to go through the trouble. Just the sight of his face was enough to toast your wintry insides. "No, thank you."

"Do you need anything else? Some food? A heating pad? I can get you some aspirin if you'd like. I know I have some here somewhere..." The gardener fussed, reminding you of a clucking mother.

"No. I'm ok. I promise."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You'd tell me if you weren't sure, right?"

"Yes Hobi!" You laughed, touched by his maternal affection.

Hoseok squinted, not quite believing you. "Alright..."

Then suddenly, two sets of arms wrapped around you from each side as Taehyung and Jungkook gathered you up in a double hug. The strength of their biceps squeezing your waist had you gasping for air and you squirmed for release, but neither of them let up as they buried their noses in your frigid hair.

"Guys. Can't. Breathe." You squeaked.

"Sorry Y/N." Jungkook said, clearly not sorry.

"We've captured you, and we're not letting go!" Taehyung cheered.

"Seriously guys, air!"

"Yah! Don't crowed her!" The squawking voice of Jin cut through the room.

You craned your neck to see the shopkeeper, his perfect hair messy and his cheeks painted pink as your eyes met. He was standing behind the others with his arms folded firmly over his aproned chest. You could tell he was trying to look calm, but there was the distinct hint of worry slapped across his features.

"You know, I was in there too." Yoongi rolled his onyx eyes as he brushed past the flock of bodies to lean against the butcher's block. He palmed his arms to create circulation and sniffed his cherry nose to keep it from running.

Jimin dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Your heart is already frozen solid, hyung."

"You didn't do anything to her in there did you?" Jungkook raised a brow, lip turned up in jest.

Hoseok gasped. "The quiet ones are always the ones to look out for!"

Even Namjoon stiffened, throwing daggers at Yoongi's sea-green head.

Yoongi groaned, rubbing at his oncoming headache.

You smiled to yourself. If only they knew.

Taehyung looked down at you, a sudden serious expression fresh on his face. "Are you really ok?"

You sighed. Yoongi may have said your tummy hurt, but Taehyung wasn't stupid. Not that stupid at least. "I'm fine Tae. I promise." You said, ignoring the curious glances that shifted between you and Taehyung.

He furrowed his brows and made a face that said he wanted to say more, but, acknowledging your resistance, he backed off with a nod.

"Is everything ok?"

"What's going on, I can't see."

"I think someone got trapped inside the freezer."

"Oh no. That's terrible."

An ocean of hushed whispers pricked your ears and you turned to look up front at a small hub of customers who had gathered to witness the whole incident. Looks of concern mixed with intrigue at the promise of drama had you avert your gaze to the tiled floor of the deli. You felt watched. With all those wandering eyes and the boys fussing over you like a lost puppy, you suddenly felt very self-conscious and very embarrassed that you had been the cause of such a scene. Because leave it to you to walk straight into a cheesy twenty-first century drama.

Jin cleared his throat. Taehyung and Jungkook released you from their strongholds as the shopkeeper approached you with a gentle smile. He touched your arm softly and you shivered, though you were no longer cold. With eyes that could melt buckets of ice, he brushed a stray lock away from your face.

"Hey there." He said.

You smiled weakly. "Hi."

"Some first day back, eh?"

You laughed, faltering. "You're telling me."

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The moon was barely a sphere in the sky, peering from behind the clouds like a game of peek-a-boo as the sun took its final call for the day. The streets bathed in amber, glowed amidst the black of the paved road and lent a dazzling ray of evening light. It was quiet, save for the churn of automobile tires as they sped down the road in a glide of red taillights. The weather had shifted considerably, the greasy summer heat lessened to a sizzle and cool sails of air blew by reliably.

The streets were massive, like a highway, only less traffic, and the sidewalks merged so that the only barrier of protection they offered were painted white lines that stretched along the ground and out into the distance. You were strolling down the flat streets of the main boulevard, hands tucked into the pouch of Yoongi's hoodie, clocked out and work finished for the evening.

After recovering from the events back at Kim's Market, the day had pretty much returned to normal. Well, as normal as a day at Kim's could get. There had been no trouble reattaching the door to the walk-in, though there was still the matter of the broken handle, so Jin had decided that until everything was completely safe, the fridge was off limits. It was a relief that the walk-in itself still worked, otherwise the perishables inside would spoil. However, no one wanted to risk a repeat of what had happened so the shopkeeper had roped it off with some yellow caution tape and instructed Jungkook to fix the handle in the morning.

From beside you, Yoongi stretched, his muscles a ripple of pent up knots and a little sliver of stomach exposed itself from underneath his white t-shirt. The seafoam-green of his hair glittered a bright lime color against the setting sun and his handsome features lulled in a peaceful trance as he looked straight ahead. A curtain of awkward tension drifted between you two as you walked together in silence.

When you had gathered up your belongings from your locker, Yoongi had approached you with an offer to walk you home, an offer you had hesitated to take. You had told him your parent's house was only about ten minutes away by foot and that there was really no need, but he had insisted. And you, not wanting to be rude, accepted. So here you were, walking side by side and not a word exchanged as the hum of cars raced by.

Minutes dragged along painfully. You fiddled with your keys, tracing the outline of your cat-shaped key-fob to soothe your nerves. The weight of the anxiety attack hung on your neck and you found yourself without a word to say. You didn't know what to say, really. Shame was always something you had trouble vocalizing and 'sorry' seemed like much too much of an understatement by this point.

You glanced at Yoongi. Not seeming to mind the quiet, the man's eyes were fixed to the ground, the length of his lashes casted shadows beautifully amongst his sculpted cheekbones and his poreless skin glistened gold resembling the scales of a koi fish. Your lips parted in awe. He looked serene, like a portrait from a mid-centuries painting.

Having registered your stare, Yoongi lifted his head and turned to meet your eyes, their onyx shade of black pooled in reflected light.

"What?" He raised a brow.

You blushed, quickly throwing your gaze back in front of you. "N-nothing."

At 11th Street and Beachfront, you gestured for Yoongi to follow you around the corner. The road was open; rows of pretty, decorated beach houses lined the sides with cars parked out front of their porches or tucked away safely in driveways. The first house on the corner was huge, buried in wildlife and lawn chairs and an old tire swing hung from the tree branch of a large oak, its worn yellow twine caked with sap. A group of young children were gathered around it, crying in delight as they took turns pushing and swinging. One of the kids, a small mousy girl in a pink tank top, waved at you with a toothy grin. You smiled and waved back.

Here, the sun came slantwise through the trees across the road and made long gold stripes of light along the pavement. You walked along one of the gold stripes, watching your incredibly tall shadow walking before you. You heard Yoongi snort and you blushed, realizing you must have looked childish, like one of those kids playing back at the tire swing.

Your own house resided towards the end of the road, just by the narrow, sandy pathway that led out to the beach. Three houses down to be exact. It had been a long time since any of the boys had been to your parent's house and Yoongi's presence brought up the memory of your birthday when you had invited them over to celebrate. You remembered playing man hunt that night–a game you loved to play down at the shore, since the neighborhood was relatively safe and it offered many great hiding places amongst the bushes and trees. And since it had been your birthday, you had been tasked with tracking down your coworkers whilst guarding a lone pepsi can that sat in the middle of your driveway. Your eyes darted across your surroundings, recalling almost all their hiding spots with ease. Because on top of being an amazing sandwich maker, you were also a master at manhunt.

Jin had been the first to be found. The shopkeeper had been hiding behind a hoard of garbage bins, head tucked into his knees and hands folded over his head in a crouching fetal-position.

"Jin! I see you!" You had called and then raced after him as he attempted to flee.

"Seeing isn't enough! You gotta catch me first!" He had called back, speeding down the street in a blur of white. And you did. Catch him, that is.

Jungkook and Taehyung had been found next. The youngest boys thought they'd been smart by posing as friends on someone else's porch, but they had been too still and too quiet for a couple of teenagers on a Saturday night.

"Taehyung! Jungkook!"

"Oh shit!" Taehyung had faltered as you placed a hand on his shoulder and tagged him out.

"I told you we shoulda hid in the garden." Jungkook mumbled, pouting.

Jimin had been squatting in the thick of a bush, shielded by dark leaves and twisting prongs. You had had difficulty finding him amidst their shaded protection, but the glint of his corn colored hair had been a dead giveaway under the moon's radiant glare.

"Jimin!" You had yelled out, then paused, noticing he had been having trouble untangling himself. "You ok?"

"Yeah... just... gotta...shit, I can't move. Ok. You got me." He frowned in defeat.

You had laughed as you helped pull the poor boy out from the tumble of gnarly branches.

Namjoon and Yoongi had been the last to be found. The two older males had sought cover from beneath your patio, chests pressed tightly into the dirt. You may have never discovered them if it weren't for Namjoon who had freaked when a garden snake slithered over his burly hands. He had howled so loud you almost thought he'd been seriously wounded or something.

"Shut up! She's gonna find us!" Yoongi had knocked him over the head and shushed him but it had been too late. Once their hiding spot had been revealed, the two boys had dashed in opposite directions in attempts to throw you off, but Namjoon had tripped over his own feet and Yoongi--once again, god-bless him--had stopped running in order to help him up.

"Can you not be a total klutz for two seconds?" The older had muttered, eyeing Namjoon with contempt.

You had looked at them with a triumphant smirk, pride oozing from your eyes as you had gazed upon your captured prey.

Now all that had been left was...

"I did it!" Hoseok had whooped joys of victory as he kicked the can on your driveway and sent it flying into the trees.

The satisfaction on your face wavered as the gardener gathered you up in his arms and twirled you around in a fit of giggles. You'd let your guard down for seconds, not realizing it was just long enough for Hoseok to emerge from his hiding spot and sprint through the night time breeze like a fucking gazelle. Damn those long legs.

"Where were you hiding?" You had moped, lip jutting cutely in his arms.

His eyes had twinkled with stars as he placed your feet back to earth. "It's a secret."

The faintest smile ghosted your lips as you were pulled back to the present. He never did tell you where his hiding spot had been.

The blare of your porch light signaled your arrival so you stopped and turned toward Yoongi who was looking at your house as if he too were recounting a good memory. You hugged your arms sheepishly and rocked on the balls of your feet, not knowing whether you should say something or wait for him to speak first. Feeling your gaze, he turned his head and fixed his eyes with yours.

"Here we are." Yoongi said.

"Here we are..." You repeated. "Um... thanks–for walking me home I mean."

He grinned. "Sure. Don't mention it.".

Your throat felt swollen as you swallowed. "Right. So... see you tomorrow?"

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. No more words were forming in your brain, so you turned on your heel with a wave and began to ascend the staircase.

Then you remembered.

"Yoongi, wait! Your hoodie!" You called, lifting the hem over your stomach.

Yoongi looked over his shoulder and smiled wide, the largest one you had ever seen him wear. "Keep it. It looks better on you."

You stood there, dumbfounded as he once again commenced his retreat and disappeared down the road. You stayed planted in your spot even well after he was out of view, twirling your hair like a ring around your fingers. You grimaced, suddenly annoyed with yourself. What were you, a lovesick school girl?

With a second glance at the empty street, you turned and walked up the stairs to your door. You paused in front of it, staring at your reflection in the crystalline glass–you did look cute, in an elfish-sort of way– and smiled stupidly before shoving your keys into the lock. The door gave a subtle 'creak' as you pushed against it and let yourself in. Right as you stepped inside, you were met with another set of wooden stairs that led to the kitchen and your parent's room while on the ground floor was your own bedroom and a bathroom. The air smelled like palm and floor cleaner with a hint of honey, a comforting and homely scent that reminded you of your mother. She liked things clean and tidy. You sighed, feeling the weight of your day leap off your shoulders and disappear into the dark of your home.

Flicking on the lights, you tossed your neck to the side and generated a ripple of cracks that rolled through your spine. God, you were drained. Some alone-time was long overdue. You sniffed your clothes and shuddered, the smell of meat and cheese invading your nose. I guess let's start with a shower... and a change of clothes.

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Red lights flashed through your eyes. Broken bottles littered the ground, their shards of glass glinting angrily and the whir of a ceiling fan pierced through the room. The sounds of sirens blared aggressively in your ears like someone was screaming bloody murder. You felt dizzy, the taste of alcohol rose from your throat and a horrible smell like rotting garbage filled your nose. There was a knock on your door and then a streak of light filled the dark, the sound of footsteps echoing in its wake.

Suddenly you felt yourself moving, waving side to side, your brain rattling in your skull as you were lifted in the air. Everything hurt, your body heavy as it sunk into a hard, padded surface. The slow beat of your heart pounded in your head and your breathing had faded into a shallow hum amidst your ribs. You squinted. Although your vision was blurry, you could make out a huddle of faces peering down at you, their features cloudy and smeared.

'What is happening?' You wanted to shout at them, though nothing came out. You had the need to turn over and vomit, but your stomach was empty and your muscles were limp so you let out a strangled groan of pain instead.

Someone shook you, their hands careful not to hurt you, however, strong enough to send a jolt through your listless frame.

"L/N-san!" From somewhere your name was called.

Who's that? Who are you? What's going on?

Your mind started to blank and the world spun, turning white; a hot white that struck your nerves with searing agony.

Make it stop. Please.

A pair of hands lifted your shirt, their fingers like ice against your burning flesh and from somewhere else another pair of hands smacked your face. Your eyes rolled, unable to focus. A foreign voice barked orders you couldn't understand, their tone frantic and demanding. A slew of other unfamiliar voices answered followed by a repetitive beeping that made your head ache. Then there was a pressure of some kind of object on your chest, it was smooth and cold like metal. It rested on your skin like pools of solid water and you shuddered under its icy touch. All of a sudden, electricity surged through you, snapping your back off of the padded surface, fingers curling in convulsion. You gasped out a scream, an explosion of colored dots clouding your vision.

Stop! No more...

You begged for relief, tears streaming down your cheeks as the world was consumed by shadows.

"L/N-san! L/N-san!"

"Fuck!" You jolted upright in your bed.

With shaky hands, you clutched the fabric of your floral white comforter, sweat pouring down your back as you gulped buckets of air. Mouth dry and head pounding, you sighed heavily, rubbing your temples to ease the throbbing pain.

Great. Another dream.

You wiped the sleep from your eyes and stared vacantly around your room, wondering what time it was. By the way the sun glowed weakly, it couldn't have been past 8:00. After stretching your arms you rolled back on your side and combed the covers and pillows for your phone, finding it buried deep beneath the sheets by your feet. You must have thrashed in your slumbers, otherwise you had no idea how it could have possibly ended up there. Tapping your finger against the screen you squinted in discomfort as the light shone brightly in your face.

6:20 am.

A little moan escaped your lips as you fell back into the poofy embrace of your mattress. For a few minutes, you allowed yourself the luxury of lying on the bed, remembering your dream with vividity. Work didn't start until 11:00 and knowing you'd never be able to get back to sleep, you suddenly found a lot of time on your hands.

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A/N

Hope you guys enjoyed the second chapter! Chapters 1-2 were written this summer, so the writing may change from here on out. Just an FYI. Sorry for the wordiness, I'm trying to tone it down.

Cial

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gershwinn · 5 years ago

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Lili Reinhart Never Had a Backup Plan

A fan favorite on the wildly popular teen soap Riverdale, Lili Reinhart has major movie stardom in her sights. And if you ask nicely, she just might read your horoscope.

Refreshingly, Reinhart is not vegan, gluten-free, keto, or on a macrobiotic diet. She is a self-described picky eater and considers this a treat. "No one wants to go [here] with me," she says, excitedly, when we sit down. Though Reinhart is dressed unfussily, in a faded black tee, Topshop denim jacket, jeans, thin hoop earrings, and a taupe baseball cap pulled over her buttery blonde hair, she is promptly approached by a woman at the next table. There's a lot the cap isn't hiding. Off-screen, Reinhart's eyes look as wide, upturned, and full-lashed as a Disney princess's; her clear, milky complexion is dotted youthfully with freckles; and her dimples seem to take turns showing off: a slight divot in her chin, then twin creases that show up on either side of her face when she's amused.

The woman leans over and asks Reinhart if she is on TV. Reinhart's lips tighten, and a wince flickers at her eyes, but she gives a polite smile and nods slowly. The woman plows on. Her son is a big fan, she says, motioning to a grinning boy beside her. He's an aspiring actor, and they're in town from Texas to give it a try. Reinhart relaxes a bit. She asks what part of Texas they are from, sincerely congratulates the boy on his endeavors, and turns to resume our interview. Reinhart says this moment — and others like it — is more full circle than she would care to admit.

"It's funny. I went to this Cheesecake Factory with my mom when I was, like, 15," she says. "We had flown in for an audition. I was sitting at the table over there, and I remember I got the email that I didn't get the part." Also around that time, Reinhart recalls spotting Zac Efron in a doctor's-office waiting room and surreptitiously snapping a photo of the actor. "I feel so gross about it now," she says. "It is flattering, but it also makes you feel like a zoo animal. Even when I'm sitting in the cast greenroom, if [someone is] holding their phone up like this, I'm like, ‘What are you doing?' I've become very paranoid."

I ask what she thinks about that F-word: fame. She changes the subject. "Cute boots," she remarks. I am flattered and launch into a monologue about how much I love Primark, specifically the one in Madrid, before realizing what she's done and ask her once more to talk. About. Fame. "It's so weird," she says, finally. "I don't really think about it until I'm around people. I don't think about it until I see young women, because those are the people that recognize me. Then all of a sudden, I become very aware."

True to her word, I notice Reinhart physically tenses up every time a teenage girl — or worse, a group of teenage girls — nears us. But when she's not on high alert for high schoolers, Reinhart is unguarded to a degree I would not expect from any stranger, much less one whose privacy is under constant scrutiny. For starters, she texts me directly, rather than having an assistant or manager handle our communication (standard for most celebrities).

Later that night, we decide on a meeting location for the next day. "As long as we go somewhere with eggs, I'm happy," she texts, before we settle on Dialog Cafe in West Hollywood and push back the time — neither of us feels like showing up before 9 a.m. Reinhart has an ease and openness in conversation that makes talking to her feel more like a slumber party than an interview. She volunteers thoughts on cute babies (just her goddaughter, for now), romantic love (something she prefers to fall into rarely, and fiercely), taking a spouse's surname (she favors hyphenation), and being the "grandma" of her friend group.

"When I get drunk, my friends act like it's a national holiday," Reinhart says. She offers up snippets from her camera roll and Instagram direct messages: photos of the hot-air balloon ride her boyfriend, Cole Sprouse, took her on for her birthday, and a dog she wishes were up for adoption — a shaggy shelter pup with no eyes. And just when I think I couldn't feel any more like the real-life Veronica to her Betty, she asks me if I want to go shopping.

Reinhart leads us by memory through a sprawling Barnes & Noble, up to two flights of escalators, then over to the left and back toward the windows, until we end up in the self-improvement section. Reinhart used to come here with friends, back when she first moved to L.A., and spend time poring over books like The Secret Language of Your Name. She tells me the provenance of her given name: Daniel and Amy Reinhart of Cleveland fell in love, got married, and named their second daughter after the actor Lili Taylor. There wasn't any special connection. "They just liked the spelling of her name. It's the French spelling."

Reinhart drags a dictionary-thick tome from the shelf. "This is a book that I own," she says, handing it to me. It's as weighty as a textbook — it has to be, because it guarantees deep and profound knowledge about absolutely everyone, based on their date of birth. She helps me look up mine, which is hilariously titled the Day of Sensual Charisma. Hers is September 13, which the book has ordained the Day of Passionate Care. She reads the entry aloud. "Resilient determination. That sounds about right," she says. "This part is very true: ‘They may face great obstacles to their success, but not for a moment will the outcome be in doubt for them.' I always knew this is what I was going to do. I never had a plan B." It might be difficult to imagine what the aforementioned "great obstacles" have been, considering the fact that she had landed her role on Riverdale by the age of 19.

But being young and female in just about any work environment can have its dark side. Reinhart was 16 when an adult work associate attempted to force himself on her. "I felt physically pinned down to the ground while someone dry humped me, basically," she says. She has spoken publicly about the assault before — but in retrospect, she believes those statements were premature. "I think I shared my story…before I had really understood it," Reinhart says. "I kept thinking of it as something physical, but it was more so a psychological abuse...that spanned a couple of months. I went along with it and was trying to get his approval because we were working together…. I wanted my work environment to be easy."

She was also a minor at the time, being exploited by someone in a position of power. It's clearly difficult for Reinhart to recount. When trying to recall details — how long it went on, whether verbal abuse was involved — she speaks evenly, but frequently pauses and tells me that that time in her life is "blurry" or that she's "locked it away." "What makes me hopeful is people like [Supergirl and Glee actor] Melissa Benoist sharing her story of domestic abuse with the world, because I think she helped a lot of people by doing that. When people come forward about a sexual abuse experience or physical abuse or them struggling with a disorder, they're encouraging other people to not suffer in silence."

Another personal obstacle Reinhart has been vocal about is mental health. She recently read an article she can't get out of her head, about a child under the age of 10 who ended his life after being severely bullied. "Now more than ever, we need to be bringing the idea of mental health into schools and teaching it," Reinhart says. "It's about communicating clearly." She recalls experiencing crippling anxiety when she was growing up. "I felt very alone. But I was not being bullied, which made it really hard for my parents to understand," Reinhart says.

Her high school experience couldn't have been more different from that of Betty Cooper, who drifts easily between cheerleading, running the school newspaper, and solving mysteries, with a cadre of unusually attractive friends by her side. "I went through a semester when I didn't have any friends in my lunch period, and I didn't want to sit in a huge cafeteria by myself, so I would find classrooms to go sit in alone, or spend time in the bathroom, just chilling," she recalls.

By the time Reinhart began working (she supported herself as a waitress and a Pier 1 sales associate before she landed Riverdale), she was just trying to get through the week without having a panic attack.

Now that time in her life is growing distant. And she'll get to go to prom for the first time, on this season of the show. "Three and a half years ago, I had no money. I didn't have a love in my life like I do now. I didn't have any sort of confidence that I was on the right track, and now I have those things," Reinhart says. And her momentum shows no signs of stopping. The week after our interview, she filmed her first commercial for CoverGirl, which recently signed her as one of its faces. A forthcoming collection of her poetry, Swimming Lessons, will hit bookstores this May.

Pay, or equal pay, has been an issue and probably will continue to be. But Reinhart is prepared. "Cami [Mendes, who plays Veronica] and I have had to deal with that from Riverdale," Reinhart says.

"Going into projects in the future, I'm much more aware of it. So is my lawyer." She's also learned from the experiences of women like Michelle Williams and Taraji P. Henson. "I was taking notes," she says. "Taraji Henson had said something like, when she renegotiated for Empire, she knew her value to the show. She knew what that value was, and she demanded it." Reinhart pauses, choosing her words, sounding more sure of herself with each sentence: "I do know the value that I bring as someone who attracts an audience. And I'm not going to accept less than what I think I'm worth. And it's okay to fight for what I'm worth."

Source: Allure

#This is long but I don't care bc this interview is amazing!!!!#holy shit so much #in there #from the growin up stuff #dealing with fame #her mental health #knowing her WORTH #GO LILI #god the me too thing always hurts my heart #every time its brought up #her strenght tho #lr #lr allure #tldr: that love quote?#hit me right in he feels as it should #OH and hypenation?? thanks death

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dategetmy802 · 3 years ago

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Why the f*ck did I decide this was a good idea?

Well, to be fair, I didn’t.

When Sheena suggested going speed dating, it’s not like I leaped at the idea. I thought of the whole thing as very old-school and riddled with horny old men.

Besides, I already had Tinder for awkward one-liners and terrible pickup lines. I was starting to think the night would have been better curled up in bed with my dog, tea and 'Game of Thrones.'

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Several men had already gathered outside the bar where we were supposed to meet, an unremarkable Irish pub in the Financial District. A couple of Russian women were talking about their plans to get green cards out of the night.

That's a starter, I thought. At least the women will be just as sad as the men.

Before the official speed dating began, we began chatting with two men wearing business casual. They introduced themselves as Samuel* and Camden*.

Camden, who was Australian, made a beeline for Sheena. I talked to Samuel, but his gaze kept flitting around the rest of the bar, as if he were scanning for other prospects.

I couldn't believe he was rude enough to make his boredom known. I also can’t remember the last time I finished an entire glass of wine that quickly.

Speed dating is either a fantastic idea or a terrible one. If you don’t have the balls to approach men at a bar (or if you don’t have the patience to wait it out until they do), this is a sure-fire way to buy five minutes with any man in the room.

On the flip side, there’s nothing quite like speed dating to make you realize just how long five minutes can be.

When seven o'clock struck, we began settling in booths and tables that had been set aside for us. Women stayed in the same seats throughout the night, and the men moved counter-clockwise. It felt a little like musical chairs, and I was betting that most of us would strike out.

My first real “date” was a man named Reggie*. He was obviously the oldest man in the room and clearly way over the 30-something age cap. In fact, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t in his 50s. Sir, why are you still here? Why can't you follow instructions? This is why you're single, Reggie.

Every exchange felt like an interview, so I started using an interview format with the men I didn't particularly like. I found myself asking different men the same questions:

“Is this your first time?'

“What do you do?'

“Do you have any hobbies?'

“Are you originally from New York?'

After a few forgettable dates, I met Tom*, who handed me a rose and shook my hand. There was just something so try-hard about this that it was hard not burst out laughing.

Seriously -- this guy bought an entire bouquet of roses so that he could sweeten up his predictably mundane dates. He also took notes, like an overeager kid sitting in the front row in class.

No one likes a teacher’s pet, Tom.

Vishnu* followed. Poor Vishnu. He was short, and he spoke in such a soft, thick accent that I had to ask him to repeat himself after almost every sentence. His palms were visibly sweaty. I felt so bad for him that I almost wanted us to be a match.

Mitch* was the only one who truly irritated me. He could have been attractive -- with his dark complexion and his broody eyes -- if only he didn’t tell me to “be calm in (his) presence” after I mentioned that I was tired from work.

People like this exist, ladies, and they’re hiding in plain sight, waiting to pounce on your unsuspecting, single ass.

Ricky* gave me his phone number after our conversation (illegal in speed dating). “I don’t care about the rules,” he said.

The fact that I have dogs was more than enough to get his engine revved. He had a farm -- a f*cking farm -- and was looking for someone to help run it. I mean, there's a great pickup line on its own: 'Hey, girl, want to run my farm with me?'

Let's be honest -- I probably would have said yes.

I can’t remember the next guy’s name — Paul? David? Ellis? — but our exchange was memorable enough to make my night.

I asked him a simple enough question: 'So, what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?'

He responded with a typical list: hanging out with friends, the gym. Oh, and traveling. He loved to travel. Emphasis on travel.

The most rational follow-up question to this declaration was where his favorite places were to jet off to. He responded back, in total seriousness: “Florida. I love Florida. I’ve been to all the theme parks.'

I was waiting for a follow-up, a “just kidding. I’ve been to Timbuktu, and it changed my life,” but none came. He really f*cking loved Florida.

“Have you been anywhere else besides Florida?” I asked, hoping for a way to salvage this conversation.

He looked back at me meekly. “No. Just Florida. Well, I’ve been to Jersey, if that counts.'

By the time Sheena and I left (with Ricky and Samuel hot on our trail), I was horrified.

This was dating these days? Had we come to this -- to treating matchmaking like job interviews, with the same asinine questions and even more asinine answers?

I used to make fun of the girls who turned their noses up at everyone and thought they were too good for dating. But I slowly felt myself becoming one of them.

It took a few hours for the guilt to hit me.

In making fun of the try-hard Vishnu or old-fashioned Reggie, I realized I was acting like a majorly stuck-up bitch. Many of the men I met that night were simply too busy to meet women organically, like at work or a party.

Who am I to judge? I thought. I basically live my life on dating apps, and who’s to say those are any better?

Ricky texted me the next day, all smiles and excitement. I still haven’t responded. I mean, I'm not sure I want to run off and start my farm family with him.

I think I’ll still try my luck on Tinder.

*Name has been changed.

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dariodanoite · 5 years ago

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send nudists | bo & dario

LOCATION: the forest. PARTIES: @bemyfriendplease and @dariodanoite. SUMMARY: dario meets with the girl who lured the jaguar back into being human. bo accuses dario of being both a nudist and a furry. somewhere along the way they promise to be each other’s person.

Dario knew that he’d told Bo he’d show her the jaguar again, but the truth was— he didn’t have any plans of turning completely into the cat he had been stuck as for thirteen years. A very large part of him had thought to do so, to simply disappear into the forest for another decade or so instead of dealing with the grief for his family that came with being human again. But if he did that, who would avenge his family? Was losing himself again truly what he wanted? That was a part of the reason he’d been excited to find Bo again. Even if she didn’t know it was him, she’d known him in some way before he’d come back to civilization. It was at least some sort of link that he had, rather than coming back to nothing. However, that excitement had quickly dissipated when it had become clear she simply thought him insane, or a nudist, or both. So here he was at one of his favorite ponds in the forest, waiting for her to show up so that he might...well— he wasn’t entirely certain yet. Hopefully he’d think of some way to prove what he was, and that they’d known each other...in a way. His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of someone rustling closer, and he called out, “Bo?”, curious if she’d come.

It was a bad idea to meet a nudist, Bo knew that. Except this nudist she knew, vaguely. In glimpses in highschool, in slapping missing persons posters around, in--apparently--feeding him cookies in the forest like an idiot. She held her cookies closer to her, baking a fresh batch and putting it on one of her nicer tupperware containers. She stepped over roots and around branches, navigating with some understandable difficulty to a pond she’d never been to before--or maybe she had, all ponds kinda looked the same to her. Ducking under a branch, she was happy to find a clothed Dario waiting for her. “Y-yeah…” she gulped, suddenly a little nervous. This was a man that’d seen her cry, supposedly, and that vulnerability she hadn’t meant to show. “That’s me!” Bo coughed, stepping closer to the man and holding out her little container of cookies, still hot. “I--uh--brought the--uh--um--you look good! W-with clothes! The clothes suit you!” She gulped, again. Her voice fell small as she continued, “p-p-please don’t take them off.”

Dario looked at her, and little flashes of his time as a jaguar came rushing back, making him wince a little. It was always disorienting when his lost memories decided to bombard him like that. But he remembered her cookies, and now he remembered the...crying. Why had she been sad? Meanwhile, a flash of relief also made its way through him, glad that she’d actually come. There was also a shred of guilt though, for so far having zero memories of her in highschool. It was only made worse by the knowledge that she’d help put up his posters. Normally, he might have made a joke about looking good without clothes as well, but that would most likely only make her more nervous that she appeared. Instead, he sat himself on the ground next to the pond, trying to appear non-threatening. “Thanks, you look good with clothes, too.” She really thought he was a nudist? “I promise I don’t make a habit of taking all my clothes off unless the other person wants me to. Thanks for ah- coming, though,” he finished, rubbing at the back of his neck. His nose twitched a little in excitement as he smelled what was in her tupperware. “You brought cookies?”

Bo shifted uncomfortably, kicking at the dirt below and watching it give to her in a way the world didn’t. “D-d-don’t compliment me,” she stammered, holding the cookies out while turning her gaze anywhere but at him. This was so much worse in person. The vision of his abs was burned into her eyes, practically, and it was all she could see. Now she felt like one of those girls that spent highschool tripping over themselves for him--except she didn’t like him, she just turned red like she did. “Oh, um, I did!” She smiled, stilling avoiding his eyes, and opened the container. The cookies shone in all their lumpy, misshapen glory. One of them was even a dark, almost moldy-green! Just for that extra kick! She thought Dario might like the color, so she tried to mix one up a little special for him. Nevermind that it was splotchy, and the choice of white-chocolate chips was questionable. “Try one!”

Dario frowned for a moment. Didn’t girls usually like it when you complimented them? Something that simply added to his confusion was the concept of wanting Bo to like him, and having to… work for it? It was true that he was much changed from highschool, not as openly charismatic, or sending a charming smile to anyone that looked his way. And he couldn’t entirely explain the need he had for the girl’s approval. Maybe it was simply because he wanted someone who knew where he’d been for the last thirteen years of his life. “Why shouldn’t I compliment you?” he asked, eyes not leaving her face. As she turned pink, that was an expression he recognized, though he couldn’t be sure what had caused it. But then she smiled, and he was set a bit more at ease. That was something, right? “It’s true though- I remember thinking you were pretty.” His back straightened as he craned over the cookies, perhaps a bit too eager. “Oh, thanks.” Anything was a welcome respite from eating exclusively ramen. Naturally, the green one drew his eye, and he plucked it from the bunch. Had he seen a green cookie before? It wasn’t until the thing was in his mouth that he tasted the chocolate. He probably shouldn’t eat it, but surely just a few bits of lactose wouldn’t make him keel over, right? Then he patted the forest floor next to him, signaling that she should sit. He was still curious why she’d been crying, but figured it wasn’t the best conversation starter. “So...do you like the forest?”

Why shouldn't she be complimented? Wasn't that the question? Bo sighed, mouth shut tight around the right answer. That she wasn't good with them, that she never felt like a single one was deserved or truthful, or more obviously in this case, that she didn't want one from an alleged nudist. "I just don't like them," she admitted quietly after a moment. "Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes, a small laugh fluttering out of her mouth. "You didn't even remember me! And you probably think every girl is pretty." Being called pretty really wasn't much of a compliment coming from a guy like Dario, and even less knowing he'd slept with Beatrice. Beatrice was far prettier, unmistakably. But she watched him take a cookie, the one she made special for him, and bite into it without fear or coercion. She smiled a little wider and took a seat beside him. "It's—uh, nice?" Bo glanced around, the pond was serene, the trees were tall. Seemed like a nice spot to cry. "You said you liked it here?" She turned to look at him, "c-can I ask why that is? It kinda just seems like any old pond."

The little line between Dario’s brow deepened, not sure what to make of Bo and her aversion to compliments. Further than that, she was confusing him. She’d seemed...more sure of herself online, all too willing to yell at him about being a nudist. And now here she was stuttering through sentences. “To be fair— I’ve been having memory problems recently, and since I disappeared...and some of the time surrounding it.” Nevertheless, he gave her a slow and lingering once over, trying to will himself to remember something about her from highschool. It was no use, and he turned away in frustration, chewing angrily on his cookie. Had he really not noticed her in highschool? That was rather...shitty of him to do, wasn’t it? “I think a decent amount of girls are pretty, but not all girls. I mean we all have our preferences, right?” He looked towards her again, taking her in. “And you align with mine,” he finished with a simple shrug. Dario’s gaze shifted back to their surroundings., feeling a bit more serene as he took them in. “Well the pond is deep, and nice to swim in. And I liked climbing the trees. They were sturdy and tall. Also not many people came by here.” Then he realized such a phrase might offend her. “Not that I minded when you came by wherever I was.”

“So you...didn’t run away to be a nudist?” Bo looked over at him again, considering for the first time that maybe her idea was a little ludacris. Maybe, instead, that something terrible happened--like everyone had thought. But what explained the days spent in the woods? The days he seemed to remember being fed cookies? “I--uh--woah!” She blinked at him, “s-slow down! You’ll choke on the cookie!” She sighed, shaking her head. And then he continued and concern grew into shock and then anger, and then angry shock. “I said don’t compliment me!” She swatted at him, knocking her free hand gently against his, surprisingly, toned shoulder. At least the casual compliment-giving Dario seemed more like the one she knew, half-knew. “You...swim in there?” She looked back at the pond, brows furrowed in worry again. “You climbed the…” the way Dario was describing it, he sounded like some kind of feral jungle man living out Tarzan in the woods. But why? She opened her mouth to ask when he spoke again, and more than being called pretty, this struck her. “You mean...when I was crying? You didn’t mind that?” Bo turned to him, tilting her head. “I wasn’t...interrupting your manly jungle time; climbing trees and yodeling?”

This time, her nudist comment only earned her a gentle eye roll from Dario, finding her seemingly beginning to accept reality a bit amusing. “I did not run away to be a nudist,” he confirmed. Did she think that joining a nudist colony had been his response to his family being murdered and their house being burnt to the ground? She’d know about that, wouldn’t she? After all, she’d said she put up posters. Which reminded him of something he’d been wanting to ask. “Why’d you put up the missing posters of me? Or were you already working for the police?” One of the things that had unsettled him when he’d returned back was realizing just how ready White Crest had been to forget that he’d ever existed. Though...he supposed he couldn’t completely blame them. He’d only lived there for a year before everything went South. Still, it wasn’t the best feeling to realize that there was no one to welcome you back after being missing. However it was nice to think that...someone hadn’t forgotten he existed, even for a little while, and even if it was their job. Her insistence about the cookie made him pause for a moment, surprise flitting over his features before amusement took hold once again. But what garnered his first little smile since seeing her was, perhaps counterintuitively, the way she hit him. “Is this assault? Are you trying to go to jail right now? I know a cop. You know that, right?” Nevermind that the cop was her. “And I wasn’t even trying to compliment you! I was just saying the fact! Am I not allowed to say facts about you being attractive?” What was so confusing about swimming in a pond, though? “Yes? It’s nice and refreshing. And I like the way the water feels when I move in it.” Was this a part of her still refusing to believe that he’d been the jaguar? And he hadn’t meant to make it sound like he didn’t mind that she was crying. That made him sound insensitive, didn’t it? Of course, to be honest, he hadn’t really had much of a concept of crying when he was a jaguar. “I just mean- it’d been...a while since I’d seen a human. One that I didn’t want to...ignore, or have them not see me. So it was nice to have the change.” And have the person that had somehow triggered the change back to human for him. A light snort shook him. Manly yodeling. Where did she come up with these phrases? Alright, she definitely didn’t believe the jaguar thing still. “You know- I could show you how I climb the trees.” Maybe this was his chance to prove it to her.

Bo, still set in her nudist idea, simply gave Dario a solemn nod. His next question caused her to fall over, staring at him up from her place on the ground. “Why….why wouldn’t I put posters?” She didn’t answer the other part, the first thing having struck her as so completely stupid. “Why wouldn’t I care? I c-care about everyone that goes missing...and you--I knew you. I would have done anything to help. I s-still would.” She righted herself, coughing and swiping away dirt. “I don’t just care because it’s my job to, you know.” She sighed, looking at the pond and its steady waters. Oh, to be a pond in the middle of the forest where a weird nudist man would swim in you...well, maybe she wasn’t so jealous of that last part, but the steadiness was enviable. “I care. I care about you. I care about everyone. I cared that you were gone, and I care that you’re back. I keep---I keep track of it...or I used to. It’s depressing but I think...maybe if I remember every name and face that I’ll know if I see them somewhere, and if they come back they’ll know at least one person was waiting for them. But there’s been so many people gone, it got impossible to keep up with.” Not to mention her own missing father. Well, especially not to mention him, because she didn’t want to talk about it.

She snickered, now given completely to the idea of finally smiling. “You know, technically it is assault! That--” Bo paled, “oh no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to--” she pulled herself back from him, conscious to make sure no parts of their bodies were touching. Eventually she realized it was easier to stand and so she shot up. “I-It’s not a fact. Being attractive is subjective. A f-fact is that you….h-have nice arms! Oh no, wait, that’s also subjective…” Her brows furrowed and her attention fell back on to the pond. Oh to be a body of water instead of a bumbling young woman. “You could...just go to a public pool.” Rather than a pond with who-knows-what in it. But he was fine and not covered in a flesh eating bacteria so maybe it was okay anyway. “See you...climb a tree?” She looked back at him, “that’s...okay? Okay, sure? I guess? I’ll watch you climb a tree.” It was the oddest thing to offer to do, and odder still that she accepted it. But he ate her cookies, and somehow that was important here.

Dario stayed silent throughout her explanation, eyes intent on Bo as she spoke and not breaking away. Perhaps one of the things he still needed to get used to when it came to being a human again was appropriate amount of staring and eye contact. But he only had vague memories of her as a jaguar, and most of them were of the girl crying. Now, he found himself wanting to know what she looked like when she was wearing other emotions, to see what form her features took as other thoughts and feelings flickered over her face. And the fact that she felt so...much for these people, people like him. The fact that someone hadn’t forgotten about him, even if he hadn’t been in her thoughts every day, and even if they hadn’t been friends...it was comforting. To know that his existence hadn’t just been a blip, a fluke, that all he’d ever been was the popular boy girls liked to chase after. The thought gave him another stab of guilt. To think that she’d been out here doing her best to find missing persons, himself included. And...he couldn’t be bothered to remember what she even looked like in highschool. He wasn’t sure what to say, a foreign sort of thrumming coming from somewhere in his chest making it confusing to find proper words. For a moment his voice caught in his throat, and then he tried to clear it. “Thanks,” he started simply. “Thanks for...caring. You’re a good person, Bo.” Certainly better than himself. Most likely better than the majority of people on this Earth. The girl went around putting up missing posters and handing out cookies to stray jaguars. That was more than enough to prove his point. Her caring did something else though. It made...part of him want to try. Certainly she deserved that in return. His voice was more sincere this time as he spoke, “Um- why were you crying? In the forest?” He was an ass for not having already asked wasn’t he?

For a beautiful moment, his own smile widened into a genuine grin, enjoying her snickering despite himself. Christ, he hadn’t felt this human since...he wasn’t sure how long. But her quick turn from joy resulted in his face falling into confusion, unsure what had happened. “Bo—” he began, reflexively reaching up to try and lightly grasp her wrist. “Bo, you’re fine. I’m joking.” Then he was straightening himself from the ground, standing in front of her. She was getting flustered again, it seemed, and he did his best to try not to make it worse. Still, he couldn’t stop the smirk from sliding back over his lips. “You think I have nice arms?” he asked, brows raised in a small tease. “But fine, whatever. I find you subjectively attractive, then. It’s a fact to me, though,” he finished nonchalantly. “Mmm, pools have lots of people. And lots of those people are often screaming kids.” As she agreed to the tree watching, an unexpected bundle of nerves sprouted in his stomach. He’d been so keen to have her actually know it had been him in the forest, to...prove that they didn’t just know each other from highschool and her putting up the posters. But what if she reacted negatively? The only person in White Crest who genuinely cared that he’d returned, had remembered he was gone...what if that care went away? “Alright- uh- don’t freak out...okay? And don’t worry, my clothes will stay on. Just like...try to be...calm...please.”

Bo tensed, gazing into the still pond again. Being called a good person was...odd. Like any other compliment, she didn’t know how to accept it...or if she could. If he changed his mind, would she still get to keep the words? If she didn’t always feel like a good person, did that make his words more or less true? She clenched her hand, drawing dirt and bits of dead grass into her palm. “Everyone’s a good person...deep down, I think.” And so she decided it wasn’t much of a kind thing to say, because it was true of everyone, and she was as special as the masses--which was to say, not at all. Like this, she could take his words with more comfort. “Why was I crying here?” She looked at him, as though the answer was obvious and she shouldn’t have been asking. She’d come here adamant on not talking about the why so much, maybe explaining a lie to two about it. But Dario was being so honest, so giving...it was only fair she offered him some of that back. And maybe part of her wanted to. Part of her hoped he might not laugh. That he might understand it. “There’s nowhere else to cry, really. Not any place people don’t try to ask questions or...give advice. It’s--I’m really tired of the advice. It’s nice, I guess. People see someone cry and they try to stop it but...the solutions I want, they don’t have so it’s kinda pointless.” She looked back at the pond, imaging she might have filled her own once with how much she sobbed. “I dunno. I cry about everything. I can’t cry at the station, so I come here. I can cry about people who get hurt, people who go missing, people who are sad and can’t cry.” Herself, even. “When you hold everything in...it’s nice to just let it out. It makes the holding in a little easier.” And that was more she’d shared to someone else in years. The exchange left her breathless and eager to move on.

The officer shook her head, “I do! They’re kind of like really muscular trees!” It would be nice to be held by them, hugged. Not that she’d ever ask. At all. Ever. “You don’t like kids? They’re just really happy to be in water...I dunno what it is about kids and water. They go nuts.” Not that she understood it, she hadn’t swam since she was a child either. She hoped it was a skill that stuck, on the off-chance Dario threw her in the pond. Which she wasn’t yet convinced wouldn’t happen. “Why would I freak out?” She looked at him, blinking in confusion. She sat back down, and then sat up and then down and then decided that standing would give her the best view of...Dario climbing a tree. “Please commence operation tree climb, Captain Dario. The leaves await you!” She beamed, happy for the first time in...well, a long time. Everything she did was tinged with sadness, but for a moment, with the absurdity of watching the only man who enjoyed her cookies climb a tree, it didn’t matter. It could be okay, maybe. “I’ll be calm, you weirdo. Promise.”

Again Dario felt a frown tug at his lips. Certainly, she’d said she didn’t like compliments, but this was hardly a compliment, right? What was so bad about being called a good person? Yet again, he did his best to rebuttal her words, as if determined to make his sentiment stick. “No, they’re not,” he said bluntly. An old rage for the Hunters that had killed his family began to surface, but he quickly tamped that down, not needing it at the moment. “And even if they were, not many would be as good as you.” But he stilled once more as she decided to go on another lengthy explanation. Not that he was complaining. He liked listening to her talk, and the more she did it, the more he remembered having enjoyed it when he’d been a jaguar as well, even if a decent amount of it had been crying. Dario hadn’t meant the location so much as the why, but he listened still, content to hear whatever she saw fit to share. “People...don’t know what to do when someone cries. Or when they’re sad. They just want it to stop when it’s around them. So they try and offer shitty solutions.” She cried about...all these things? Bo probably thought more about others in the span of a single minute than he ever had in his entire life. And he hadn’t been the one to think about people and their bleeding hearts before, “Then I’m glad I came back. To give you less missing people to cry about.” He was surprised to find that the words were true, often warring with himself when it came to whether he should just go back to the forest, live out the rest of his life as a jaguar. Dario knew he’d go back one day, after everything was done, and after he got rid of those that had harmed his family. Being human...it just wasn’t right anymore. Not after everything that had happened, not with this burning grief in the pit of his stomach that he refused to acknowledge. He’d have to tell Bo when he changed back. Have to lie and say he was moving somewhere so that he didn’t add again to her pile of missing people she cried about. And just like that— he’d become one of the problem solvers he’d been so cynical of only moments ago. But it hadn’t only been because he was uncomfortable with the thought of her crying. He just wanted her...happier. So that maybe she didn’t have to spend quite so much time crying in the forest. “But uh-” Had it helped when he’d been her for her crying? Even if he’d been a jaguar. “You know- if you didn’t want to- cry...by yourself. I could uh- be here. Or whatever. Like before.” Absently, he rubbed at the back of his neck with a raised arm, obviously on shaky ground when it came to doing things like this. “I promise not to say shit. It’s probably safer for you, too. Keep the nudists away.” Was that weird? Was it...strange to offer to be there for someone when they cried?

A relieved sigh found him grinning once more, eyes crinkled in the slightest as they sailed back into more familiar waters when it came to topics of conversations. “You could touch them if you wanted.” Had he ever had his arms be compared to trees before? It was becoming clearer that her unique way of defining the world was something he enjoyed, something he found himself looking forward to whenever she answered once of his questions or spoke. “And I don’t mind kids. I swear they just turn into little gremlins at the pool.” With that, he was done being able to put off showing her at least a part of the jaguar, and he was left facing the tree in question. “Well I can’t keep the leaves waiting. I don’t mind Captain Dario, though.” A small, last joke to try and steel himself for any reaction she might have. But...so far things had been good, right? “Alright. Here we go.” With that, he willed his claws to slip out, letting the partial transformation take hold and holding his hands out for Bo’s inspection. “These...make it pretty easy to climb the trees.”

As clear as day, as simple as the fall of night and the change to day, Bo retorted without missing a single beat. “They are,” she asserted, looking at Dario with an unwavering resolve. “I know---I know what you mean. I’m an officer and I know. I know what people do, I’ve seen it. But you have to believe that deep down we are all creatures of good, capable of good. That we can be misguided, but we are good still. It’s---” her resolve shattered as she went on, and she blinked, lashes fluttering. “What else is there then? If you don’t believe?” Is that what Dario thought of the world? Should she have asked him what actually happened? Should she have inquired into his truth? She thought she might have been doing a kindness. Her normal nosy attitude pushed people away...as much as she didn’t really know Dario, she didn’t want to push him away. “I’m glad you came back too...but not for me. So you don’t have to live in a forest. So you can have people again.” She smiled, weak, but a smile nonetheless. And then, a laugh--equally as watery and weak, but a laugh just as genuine as the smile. “It’s okay, Dario. I think I should probably learn to stop crying so much…” she trailed off, her smiling growing just a little bigger; more valiant as she looked at him. “We can...do that for each other...you know? I can be your person and you can be mine? We can...cry with each other?” Was that dumb? It was probably dumb. “I don’t think either of us should be so alone, I mean! A-and I am really happy you’re back, even though I don’t know you so well!” It was weird. And it was getting weirder the more she went on so Bo swallowed back more of her word-vomit and moved on. “Yep! One nudist is enough for me.”

And it had been going fine, away from her weirdly personal babble and into more lighter territory until---”TOUCH THEM!?” Bo blinked, a slowly reddening face screaming her thoughts on that idea. “No, no, no, no,” and then she screamed them. “Absolutely not! I will not be doing---there will be no touching of you!” She gestured to him, scoffing like a nun. “Yeah! The kids turn into gremlins!” She whacked him again, finding that even in her embarrassment, she liked his company. And this odd humor they’d struck. “Okay, there, Captain. You--” she froze, staring at his hands. Had his nails always been that long? Wasn’t there some personal hygiene issue about that? Certainly, she hadn’t just watched them grow from him. That was absurd. She must simply have been too distracted from his tree-trunk arms to notice his clawed nails. “...You should really cut your nails, Dario. I mean...it’s pretty gross to let them grow out like that and is that--are they sharp? Did you sharpen your own nails?” She glanced at him, opinion skewed again. He had a nice heart though, and she was the one going on about believing in the good. “Uh, well, I’d be worried you’d break a nail if you used those. Are you sure this is safe for you?” At least he wasn’t nude...although maybe she wouldn’t have minded that.

Dario wasn’t sure if he agreed with her beliefs when it came to people. As much as he might want to think that people were pre-dispositioned to be good, that the goodness was always lingering inside them somewhere, fueling at least a little of their actions...he couldn’t let himself. How could he reconcile such a concept with the picture of the Hunters that had killed his family, that had murdered a little girl without hesitation...How could a person like that have even a single grain of goodness in them? But he wasn’t sure how to answer her question. What else was there? “I- maybe just...people. People that...aren’t good or evil. I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure whether he actually agreed with his answer, but he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Bo by not giving one whatsoever. And beyond that- he liked the certainty with which she spoke of her belief. That believing— it reminded him of how she wanted each and every person to come home, and that wasn’t something he wanted her to lose. So he could have people again. He didn’t know how to tell her that he wasn’t interested in people this time around. That picking up people meant you could lose them, and he wasn’t interested in losing people anymore. Nevertheless, he did his best to mirror her wan smile, not wanting her to be unhappy. “Honestly- the forest wasn’t bad.” Probably actually better than the weird cat lady garage he was currently staying in. “Especially since a pretty girl liked to come along and visit. Even if she was sad, sometimes. And that’s not a compliment,” he tacked onto the end, even if it was a lie. It seemed there was a direct link between her grin strengthening, and his own growing wider, but he still felt those nerves bundled with dread in his stomach. And yet...for a moment he decided to try and ignore them, to give Bo something she wanted, and give himself what he wanted as well if he were willing to admit it to himself. “I wouldn’t mind being your person.” He tried not to think about what would happen to her when he had to leave. Then he was blinking a bit owlishly, her words reminding him that there was truly no real explanation for the strange little string he seemed to feel that linked them together, that she knew him even less than he thought he knew her. She didn’t believe the jaguar stuff had really happened...right? “Yes. I’d probably just be jealous of any other nudists in your life.”

This time, his grin was brighter as she blushed, with a hint of a smirk as well. Old habits died hard, he supposed. “Alright, you don’t have to touch me. Should I touch you, then?” he teased, hand barely raised in her direction. An actual chuckle fell from him as she landed her hit, his head nodding forward a bit with the motion. “You said you wouldn’t touch me and then...you touch me. Do you see how I might be getting some mixed signals here, Bo?” You should really cut your nails, Dario. Well. At least she hadn’t freaked out. However at the same time...this wasn’t exactly...progress. “No- it’s not my nails,” he said, trying to hold them out further, retracting them into his hand, and then letting the claws slip loose once more. “It’s- I know you...you have to remember seeing...a jaguar...right?

Bo held herself, eyes fixed back to the pond—still, steady water. A sight she could parse, a sight that had easy answers. Maybe people weren't good or bad but then...what was the point? If everything was neutral then where did the hope go? She didn't answer his speculation, she thought even entertaining an idea like that would strike her frail optimism down. She looked back at him, hoping he'd understand that she'd been lying just a little; she needed that hope. She needed to believe. Even if everyone else didn't, she had to. But these were grand questions, probing introspection that she didn't want to get into. He'd already seen her cry, would he have to know how fragile each part of her felt? She'd never known how to lay those parts bare without thundering guilt striking behind each confession. "But it's a forest, there's no plumbing out here." She already felt like he knew too much and her throat tightened around her words, begging she swallow it all back down. Instead, she smiled a little wider still and let him go on. "Then it's official," Bo grinned, shyly tucking away strands of her hair behind a reddening ear. "We're each other's people." His height never bothered her until she decided she wanted to look him in the eyes properly. She propped her hand on her hip, indignant, just to make it seem like she wasn't hopelessly gazing up—wishing on whatever stars she could see. "I'd be jealous of any other police officers in your life." A beat. She threw up her hands a moment later. "Uh, b-but not really because you should definitely seek the help of everyone on the force if you ever need it!"

Bo didn't know her face could burn as much as it was now. "I'm not—hitting doesn't count as touching! It's not touching! I'm not touching! There will be no touching!" She jammed her hands into the tiny pockets of her jeans, awkwardly kicking at the ground. "I'll mix your signals," she grumbled, "you giant nudist with meaty arms." Bo had also never really learned how to insult people just right, though it wasn't a skill she ever wanted. Her eyes turned to his hands and she stumbled back, blinking. "That's some...interesting make-up work…" Stage plays used something similar for those fake-knives, didn't they? But she'd never seen it so realistic, done so effortless. Even Beatrice's magic (which was also fake) didn't look this good...then again, she never did look at it this closely, more marveled by the spectacle of it. "Jaguar?" She glanced up, meeting his eyes again. "That—that—" she had remembered one. But that was him...in a jaguar-suit? With those fake-claws? Was he trying to say that not only was he a nudist, he was one of those people that dressed up like animals? Bo stumbled backwards, inching away from Dario. "Y-yes I—I sometimes see things when I'm crying. It gets—I get really dehydrated... that's probably why. Jaguars don't live in Maine."

Dario didn’t feel any need to push the conversation about good and bad, pure and evil. That was something he himself didn’t have any wish to delve into, not wanting to burden himself with the emotional baggage that would seep into such a conversation. Besides, who was he to try and break Bo’s worldview? By the looks of it, she already had enough reasons to cry, and he was a little surprised to find that somewhere in the last fifteen minutes, he’d decided to never be a reason she felt the need to run to the forest and let tears loose. And yet, it was still impossible to not give a little sigh as she spoke about plumbing, obviously still not willing to marry the concepts of the jaguar she fed in the forest, and the man that stood before her. “No plumbing is correct.” But the warm little feeling in his chest was quickly returning as they got back to their declarations of people, and his soft smile was blooming in another moment. “Then it’s official,” he echoed, feeling a little stupid for how...content he felt in the moment. To think that he had someone here in White Crest that would be his person, and vice versa. It’d been far too long since he’d felt the bond of another human in a way such as this. Perhaps...he’d missed it more than he’d been willing to admit. “Don’t worry, Bo. I promise— you’re the only police officer for me,” he said, slipping into more flirtatious cadences once again without so much as blinking.

God, it was cute the way her face just lit up to the color of a tomato though, wasn’t it? And it couldn’t be his fault if he found himself increasingly endeared. Who wouldn’t have such a reaction to a sight such as this? “It definitely counts. It’s too late, Bo. You already touched me. There’s no going back, now.” He dropped the hand he’d teasingly been inching towards, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if he was misreading the situation. “You can mix my signals any time you’d like to,” he continued on in that smooth, effortless tone. He held his breath as she stepped back, a pang of nerves entering his stomach as fear made itself known. Would he lose this person so quickly? All because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing? “It’s not make-up, Bo,” he said gently, sincerely— very much disliking the hint of vulnerability that was coming through his voice now. “You’re right, they don’t live in Maine. Not regular jaguars, anyway.” Fuck, she was backing away again. A flash of panic set in, not wanting to drive Bo away. “Bo- please. I’m not- making this stuff up. I promise,” a hint of pleading entered his tone, along with a sense of worry.

Bo beamed, warmth settling into her in waves. It was official, she smiled. They were each other’s people, the definition of which she wasn’t entirely sure about but she liked the idea all the same. “And you’re the only nudist for me!” She beamed back innocently, whatever flirtatious tone he took, she was unaware of. She never was the best at reading those kinds of things.

Except...this did kind of sound like flirting, didn’t it? “Oh,” Bo squeaked, trying to figure out if he was earnest or not. Probably not. He did this sort of thing with women all the time, right? He probably did it with Beatrice too which made her feel...something. Something she definitely didn’t want to address. But really, was it any of her business knowing her ex-friend turned tentative-friend slept with the hot nudist with the tree-trunk arms? No. And so, like most things that didn’t make sense, she ignored the feeling. “I don’t want to touch or mix your signals!” She coughed to hide her impossibly red face. Eventually, the redness did fade, replaced with paleness. She continued to stumble back. “Th-that’s so cool, Dario!” Her laugh was nervous. Could she remember the way out of the forest? Was it a left and a right and then a left? Or was it two rights? “If it’s not make-up then what---” she gulped. She didn’t want to know. “You’re not...you’re not one of those people are you?” The small population in White Crest that screamed about Vampires and Werewolves and now...Jaguar people? No. That couldn’t be right. They were each other’s people. Dario wouldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t be like them, he wouldn’t throw his life away like her father had. “A furry!” She quickly corrected herself, “okay, wow! That’s sooo neat!” She picked up her things, leaving the box of cookies for him. “So awesome! I like Garfield too! Or whatever furries like.” Bo was nearly crawling away before she paused. Dario was being sincere and she was being...rude? “Okay,” she sighed, “It’s just---It’s getting late. And I need to...water my plants.”

Dario’s eyeroll and matched sigh were gentle enough, still simply pleased to have made a...friend? How long had it been since he made a new friend? He was fairly certain the bear he’d meet in the forest and sometimes hung around as a jaguar didn’t really count, even if they’d hung out a good amount...if you could consider a jaguar and a bear lying in the tree branches making various noises at one another...hanging out. A low chuckle rumbled through him while Bo’s face was still pinkened, and her voice was possibly too high pitched for her own good. This was the second time the word ‘cute’ had leapt unbidden to his mind, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Better just take it for what it was. If he found her cute, it made sense. Who wouldn’t? “You don’t have to touch me, Bo. Only if you want to, like I said. Just let me know,” he teased a bit longer, though his voice had toned i’s smooth and effortless flirtatious air down a few notches, a bit worried Bo might spontaneously combust.

All that joy was once again replaced by dread, disappointment, and a tinge of guilt. He shouldn’t have shown her, right? He’d made a mistake. But was it his fault for wanting the girl who’d somehow brought him back to the human world to fully understand what she’d done? Just how much he owed her? And should he be condemned for hoping that...she’d be happy to know him both as himself and as the jaguar? As quickly as they’d appeared, that claws were gone, and Dario was holding his hands alongside his head as if surrendering. “Sure, if that’s what you want to think...sure.” It wouldn’t be the first time he was called a furry. At this point, he was willing to go along with whatever she might say in hopes that she might stop looking at him like he was- well....a freak. To top it all off, it seemed like the chocolate chips that had been in her cookies decided to take their vengeance, his stomach gurgling and rolling in a very unpleasant manner. If he didn't want to make an even bigger fool of himself, Dario needed to get out of here as well. “Sure,” he repeated, retreating back into the closed off shell he’d made for himself upon returning to human-kind. “You go do that.” Taking a few steps back to give her some space, his hands thrust themselves into his pockets before he remembered to say. “Thanks...for the cookies.”

Bo lingered at the edge of the clearing, hand pressed to the rough bark of a tree. She watched him for a moment, seemingly defeated, and waited. Part of her thought he might transform into that strange Jaguar she saw in her tear-filled delusions, part of her thought his eyes had that same curiosity, tinged with that same sadness. Her fingers twitched against the bark and she fought back the urge to go to him, to ease away pain, to make things better like she always wanted to. She didn't like the way he nearly curled into himself, she liked him open and laughing and joking and saying he was her person, a lot better. She could fix this. She could fix that sadness. She could for him, and she would for everyone else in this town. "Dario," she called out, "thank you...for inviting me here." She bit her lip, searching for more words, "and thank you for...taking your fursuit out and listening to me cry and letting me rub your belly and—" she gulped. That wasn't exactly the comfort she was trying to go for. "You're a good guy, Dario. I hope good things happen to you." And with that, she left, mind on the strange man by the pond.

#// don't ask me how this got this long #we had feelings #wickedswriting #ch:Bo #chatzy #send nudists

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choupichoups · 6 years ago

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Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.6

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

He hasn’t heard from Eliott since Sunday.

The professor’s monotone drawling fades out to the background as Lucas flips between the apps on his phone-- a foolish attempt to keep himself from opening up the one he actually wants to check on.

Eliott hasn’t posted anything since the Saturday they were together.

He contemplates sending a message but he can’t think of a good conversation starter. Saying a simple hello is super lame. Eliott always starts their chats with a clever line. How does he come up with those, anyway? Lucas would really appreciate a little insight right now.

Lucas barely notices his classmates leaving the room and he scrambles to follow along, pocketing his phone so he’d stop staring at it already.

He’s only taken a couple of steps outside when a vaguely familiar boy with shaven head almost rams right into him.

“Shit, sorry!” Lucas steps aside at the last minute and the other boy’s arms do a hilarious windmill to keep balance. Neither of them end up on the floor so that’s awesome.

“Sorry!” The boy shouts back, looking at Lucas with wide eyes and a half formed grin. Lucas flinches, trying to hide the double take he almost does. This guy has the brightest green eyes a stark contrast to his dark skin and a bone structure that can cut glass. If he isn’t so ass over head infatuated with Eliott, his brain would probably register just how beautiful this person is. “Lucas?”

It takes a bit for him to realize that it’s weird how this person correctly guesses his name. “Uh, why?”

“Idris!” The boy -- Idris? Instagram Idris? -- says, enthusiasm evident in his voice. “I’m Idris, I mean. Eliott sent me.”

“Eliott... sent you?” Lucas keeps walking, not wanting to block the way to the classroom. Idris keeps up beside him. “But where is he?”

Idris hands him a cup of hot chocolate-- it’s the one Lucas gets once a month to reward himself for not keeling over in stress.

“He’s holed up in the library,” Idris says while Lucas’s still blinking down at the cup in his hands. “We have a project due very soon, me and him. We have to finish the storyboard.”

Okay, it’s been two days though. Lucas just hopes they’re getting enough rest. He’s seen a lot of the other film students walking from building to building like dried up zombies.

Idris keeps going before Lucas gets a word in. “His phone’s on airplane mode.” Lucas nods, watching Idris rub a hand over the top of his head. “Mine too, we do this thing. So we only focus on one thing at a time, you know.”

Lucas starts to smile as Idris looks at him, slightly wide-eyed. He has a feeling this guy’s been running on pure caffeine since the weekend. “Okay.”

“My point is, he’s not ignoring you.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Good. God, I told him he’s overreacting.”

Lucas laughs, holding the hot chocolate to his chest. “He’s doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Idris scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “He forgot to tell you about the whole project thing before, you know, shutting the world out so he’s been freaking out about it.”

“Why?”

“He thinks you’d forget about him.”

“What?” Lucas laughs louder. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah, well.” Idris shrugs, his laughter coming out in choppy chuckles. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get back to work, nice to meet you!”

“You too.” Lucas takes a step backward, smiling to himself as he sips at the hot chocolate. From Eliott. How did Eliott know about his favourite campus drink? “Idris!” He calls out before the other boy is completely out of sight.

Idris turns, raising an eyebrow.

“Good luck with the project! And tell him me forgetting him is the last thing he has to worry about.” He says in a rush, half of him hoping Idris doesn’t hear him but the other half hoping the opposite as he doesn’t think he can repeat that without combusting.

Idris opens his mouth as if to say something but then he settles for a pout, both hands shooting up to clutch at his chest. “Fuck, you really are adorable.”

Lucas turns away and brisk walks towards the next building.

Yann drops down beside him in the middle of Lucas doing his homework. He can feel Yann staring at him, but, infuriating best friend that he is, Yann doesn’t say anything as he does it.

“What?” Lucas breaks the silence, putting his pen down.

“What?” Yann returns, opting for the most innocent of tones. It doesn’t work.

“Spill it.”

“Nothing, man.” Yann looks down at the phone sitting innocently between them. “Just, you know, wondering if I should round up the guys to properly meet Eliott.”

That gets Lucas’ attention. “Why?”

Yann’s left eye twitches the slightest bit. “You can’t tell me there’s nothing between you two.”

“Well, there’s a thing.” Lucas shuts his textbook, losing any sort of motivation he had going earlier. “But there’s no thing.”

“Uh, okay?”

“He’s not my man or anything.”

“Why not?” Yann asks, incredulous like it’s easy. Or maybe for him it really is that easy.

“I don’t know, we haven’t really talked about it?”

He opens up instagram to a new private message, eyes narrowing when he sees the username.

emir.yous hey

lucallemant hi

emir.yous I heard you’re good at chem??

lucallemant I guess

emir.yous can you help me with somethin I think my brain’s melting

lucallemant ok, imane’s better than me though you can ask Abe to ask her?

emir.yous no she’ll think I'm stupid

lucallemant lol

“Lucas, his friends are messaging you.” Yann deadpans, obviously having read the conversation over Lucas’ shoulder because fuck manners apparently. “I think that’s a good indication of where he wants it to go.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know, Yann. What if-- I don’t know him that well.”

“Yet.”

“But what if I... I don’t wanna get too attached and then for it to blow up in my face.” Lucas fidgets with his pen, twirling it restlessly between all fingers until Yann stills him with a gentle touch.

“Lucas, not everyone will be like that.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve got to give people a chance to prove you wrong.”

“No one’s done it yet.”

His phone pings again, but this time it’s from a different person. Yann looks down at it and Lucas can see the hint of a smile fighting to lift his expression. “I don’t think you’re the one who needs to worry about getting attached.”

abebkhellal what are those chocolates you gave him? he won’t even let me take a bite

lucallemant I can get you some if you want

abebkhellal bro I’d love that but I also love my life and eliott will probably murder me in cold blood if you gave me the same chocolates you gave him

lucallemant lol I'm sorry

abebkhellal just show me where you get them I’ll buy some myself

lucallemant okay sure

Yann’s smiling when Lucas looks back up at him. “He talks about you with his friends.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re just cornering me into meeting them.” Lucas chuckles, sliding his phone inside his hoodie pockets. “And I talk about him with you guys too, it’s no big deal.”

“Are you kidding me? You never talked about Ra--”

“Anyway, what are we doing? Is this a slumber party now?”

Yann rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Are we exchanging our deepest, darkest secrets?”

“That’s not how it goes.”

“Oh, so you’re the master of slumber parties now?”

“Yeah,” Yann shuffles lazily towards the backpack he’d thrown on the ground earlier. “Only slumber party invitees get to play this.” He pulls out the new game he’s just bought while skipping class in the morning, waving it around with a flourish as Lucas gapes up at it.

“No way, that’s so expensive.”

“Yeah, I saved up.”

“Nerd.”

“Then don’t play it.”

“No, let me!”

“Slumber party people only!”

“There are two of us, I’m the one making this a party!”

“No, you’re not even wearing pyjamas!”

Lucas sleepily watches the television screen, fingers barely moving over the controls as he lets the final boss crush his character for the nth time. Beside him, Yann’s already passed out on the couch.

He stretches out with a groan as quiet as he can manage, reaching over Yann to grab the remote and shut the screen off. He’s about to head to bed when his hands smack against the phone still in his pockets, and his fingers automatically open up instagram before his brain even registers the movement.

srodulv you’re welcome

Lucas smiles, not exactly hating the flutter in his stomach at seeing Eliott back in his messages.

lucallemant no longer on the plane?

srodulv haha I've landed

lucallemant welcome back how did the assignment go?

srodulv it was okay

lucallemant okay that’s good

srodulv can I see you again?

lucallemant I mean, it’s a bit late

srodulv what are you talking about? 03h is the best time to go out and live our lives

lucallemant lol stop that

srodulv careful, you might hurt my feelings again

lucallemant so?

srodulv so you’re running out of ways to apologize :)

lucallemant lol

srodulv are you free on Thursday?

lucallemant what’s with you and Thursdays?

srodulv favourite day of the week

lucallemant lol weirdo

srodulv :) so?

lucallemant okay

srodulv okay, I'll wait for you outside your class

lucallemant how do you know where that is?

srodulv :)

lucallemant stalker

srodulv says the original stalker

lucallemant lol go to sleep eliott

srodulv good night ❤️

Lucas lays awake for a while after, tracking the cracks in the ceiling as his mind replays Yann’s words. You have to give people a chance to prove you wrong. He’s tried so many times, and every failure does nothing but strengthen the walls he’s trying so hard to scratch past.

But maybe.

Maybe this time.

Maybe.

lucallemant good night ❤️

Maybe Eliott deserves that chance.

#skam france #elu #elu insta au #lol im a minute late stop @ing me #fictag

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asheewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Doctor Visiting - Paris - pt 4

The angel sat there and flipped between the pages of the menu, tapping her finger, or smiling at the words in front of her.

She was distracted enough to let Asmodeus think. These ‘terms and conditions’ for him did not truly limit him. He could do as he pleased and Raphael would… simply refuse him if he ‘got somewhere’.

… but playfulness and teasing was… actively encouraged and possibly engaged with.

Easy to work with. Especially since ‘getting somewhere’ would be defined by him.

Hah.

A rather lenient ‘code of conduct’. By comparison of past ones – if he got one.

“It’s an impressive menu, sir. It’s a hard choice. Any recommendations?” She smiled sweetly. And spoke French. Seamlessly.

The waiter was pleased. Strings of French explanation falling from his tongue. Different glacing techniques, which salad was in season and how it complimented the truffles, differently ripened oils for dressing. The wild Salmon has a direct route from the ocean to their restaurant, their preparation will remove all fishbones, no need to break any eye contact.

“Very nice, I’d be happy to try it a-“ here she send a glance to Asmodeus, stuck with that for a second, then continued towards the waiter: “- all, but I think meat was an option?”

It did not curb his enthusiasm when he switched tracks and offered her the ‘Foie gras’, ‘Couilles de mouton’ and ‘Ris de veau’, along with stomach and feet and tongue of various animals as well as snails, including the different kinds of preparation.

After two minutes of talk she chewed on her lip and started asking about sauces and preparation techniques. As she asked for the roasting temperature, Asmodeus laughed: “I’d be delighted to eat your second choice, you are free to taste”

Her face lit up immediately. And the order came to: “Tapenade canapés, Jambon persillé, a cheese platter, Couilles de mouton, Le Gigot D'Agneau Pascal, a bottle of still water and… a white wine?”

She looked over to him and he chuckled and agreed: “Sure, we’ll be satisfied with your choice of vintage and origin, thank you”

“Thank you very much. If available, I’d love to peruse the dessert menu. Err... later”

The waiter scribbled and nodded and smiled and informed them their salads would arrive soon and… disappeared.

Raphael sat there. And closed the menu: “Thank you! I mean… I suppose you tried all this already and you know what tasted good, so… thank you for letting me try out something that you might not like and-oh” her face fell. “… I… should have asked”

“Raphael, it’s fine. I offered. But… you didn’t order any fish, is there-” The angel carefully avoided looking at him. Light topic of conversation. Right. “-well, thank you. So, the meat… do you… know what you ordered?”

She perked up: “Oh. Is that about the lamb? I think even Christi-“

“Testicles. You ordered testicles, Raphael.”

Excitedly the angel, nods and reports: “Yes! It’s very rare to have them on the menu. Even though it should be very interesting, since the texture should be different, especially if they ‘sauté’ – whatever that is – them in slices and marinate t before, because muscles are fascinating to work with. I wonder f the semen got drained or stocked in them. The high protein would be interesting. And I do wonder how that tastes, so… yeah, I did order them.“

‘I could help you figure out the taste.‘

It took a moment fight his every instinct. Sometimes, you have to consider your audience, even with the most imperative quips. Instead, he said: “I suppose the lamb will be my course, then,” since he rarely heard someone that excited about eating testicles, so.

“Then it’s decided. I got the three starters that can be the… most weird. So… maybe you get something interesting as well? I avoided cheese, mostly, because it’s rotten milk, but… they make the strangest things taste good. But then again… they have to eat, don’t they? Merci!” Their salad and water arrived. The waiter apparently didn’t have that many customers.

“We are in France, the cheese is actually delicious. The producers of the cheese make it an experience though.” Asmodeus watched Raphael’s eyes light up. This was easy…

“Really?” She bit into a small tomato, distracted for a second (“Crunchy”), before her attention returned to him.

“Mmmhmh, you can find all manner of farms offering tours in the French countryside. You get to pet the animals, see where to cheese is stored so it ripens… you get the full experience in the department of smell… it’s worth a look. And, of course, you get to taste the cheese”

She looked like she will disappear this instance.

“Another time, I can take y-“

“Yesplease”

He had to laugh at that: “I can also give you a map with the best farms and you can go explore on your own? If you are that eager”

“Oh. No, I can’t. I’m not allowed to meet the… err… civilians without a companion. Not yet. I didn’t get the true ‘field agent’-education yet. It’s a thing. Apparently. Figured it only recently. So. Besides. It’s more fun with company,” she looks to the side, “If the company has time and feels like cheese. In this case. Of course. Or feels like anything else and wants to change the destination,” she half-shrugged.

Huh. Well. Not all demons could go to Earth either. But an archangel? Huh.

Asmodeus tilted his head: “… you’d go anywhere with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, definitely. I mean… as long as it isn’t against any other rule. I don’t think it will ever be boring.”

It made his eyebrows raise. The answer left an odd feeling. And he decided not to comment. Instead: “Well, I couldn’t make myself out to be boring now, could I? But… thinking about it... You never rode a rollercoaster - you… haven’t even seen Disneyland. You weren’t in the Royal Albert Hall. You never visited Tokyo in its entirety. India in settled regions were off the table, too. What… did you do up to now… you… probably poked some of the most venomous creatures on the planet in Australia And visited some of the hottest – got you there - and coldest places… cold… Iceland… you probably never saw the penis museum either,” he snickered.

“Nope!” She finished her salad with a flourish. “But I’ve heard of it and it’s terribly amusing to me. Definitely worth a visit… but… I have to admit… the hot springs are more of a draw for me… it’s in the middle of snowy fields! It must be amazing” She laughs. “And you get to roll around in the snow to dry yourself. Afterwards off to a tiny wooden hut with a fireplace, a huge fluffy carpet to lay on and be buried in a heap of blankets, cocooning until your immune system – and, lets be honest, any blood circulation and muscles, too – boot up again . And… well, yeah. Iceland. Probably very cool. With all the museums, too” She scratched the back of her head and looked sheepish.

Someone dreams… elaborately.

“Paris does have the Louvre on the menu of museums as well,” he pointed out, already expecting the sparkle in her eyes. ‘Mostly European history mirrored in art’, something from every century, she listed works she had to see there, mostly birds. Maybe she can look at the original flute and figure how they made it sound like an actual bird. She started to get off topic with symbolisms of birds and how they can safe most old paintings for her, since the meaning is almost always something positive… and she likes crows, thank you very much.

He could have interrupted her, but he had a salad to eat. And she was excited. About old art. When he inserted the fact that he had known some of the artists, she stopped dead in her tracks. And stared. And actually needled him about it. That the one he had picked to tell her about was Raphael might have something to do with it.

The little excursion ended with the ‘Sistine Madonna’ and the tiny angels on the bottom line. Which, the angel Raphael pointed out, were terribly cramped and unhealthy-looking, but he possibly only had dead birds to look at anyway.

It gave Asmodeus pause, just for a moment, looking out at the very much living pigeons outside, and said: “… you think they could get that cramped?”

“Err… no. No, of course not. It’s a simple misalignment, he… didn’t put much thought in the connection between bone structures and the wings, so… it looks wrong to me, but I suppose if you don’t see the natural shape of… pigeon wings every day, it’s not that strange. Thank you very much!” She nodded at the waiter, who took away the salad plate and replaced it by the various appetizers.

This certainly was one way to answer, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He watched her sniff every piece of the selection and said: “… but you said cramped, so it didn’t look too unnatural? It could happen?” Wing injuries weren’t… something he ever wanted to pay much attention to.

She looked towards the ceiling, frowned and then shrugged: “Maybe. Depends on the structure of the wing. What kind of bird is sampled. Very unlikely. Haven’t seen it yet. And I’ve seen some… unpleasant misalignments of feathers. Recently, too.” She cut off a piece of the canapé, the taste test resulted in an excited squeal. “This is good!” She stabbed the second half of it and reached over the table towards Asmodeus: “Try! It’s GREAT”

His eyebrows rose and his eyes wandered from her excited face to the canapé. Standard, really. But he laughed. And leaned forward to pull the piece off with his teeth.

Raphael watched him chew with excitement. And… the verdict… was that it was a normal, if done well, canapé. He still said: “The goat cheese does compliment the fruit very well.”

It made her smile and she continued to sample, occasionally succumbing to the urge to feed him. Apparently that was a thing Raphael just… did. And he couldn’t help a smile.

“I… am glad you enjoy, but… recent feather misalignments?” It seemed… off.

She looked up with the fork still sticking out of her mouth, chewing slowly. After she swallowed, the answer was: “Well. Ahm… you… did show up at the clinic, recently. And apparently that… resulted in an uptick of customers from… your side - apparent approval from you and all – and… well… I am the only one treating wings. I can’t give anyone else the guilt of having caused a wing injury. So… I see an influx of field agents that didn’t dare ask anyone else for a long time, so… there is a bit of damage. So… for me it’s recent. For them? Months… years… who knows?” Again she shrugged. “It’s an offer open to anyone, if you want to spread the information? No one deserves damaged wings. But it’s… hard to actually ask, in some cases. The clinic is judgement-free, just know that the appointment is always at least a week later. And one can cancel or not show up to an appointment, no judgement there, either” She frowned and wrinkled her nose. “… this sounded like a sales pitch. But well, I mean it. Spread the word, maybe? Proper treatment needs a partner, and not anyone has that”

And then her attention returned to the cheese platter.

Ah. So… that’s how… that worked.

He nibbled at the piece of cheese held in front of his nose. A non-smelly piece. Mh.

#mercuryreddies Asmodeus #MyRaph xD #1945 words #AAAAND there's the end of the input I can use :)

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interstellarflowers · 5 years ago

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peter parker x reader | special

a/n This is a Peter Parker fanfic. Yup. Sorry in advance if it appears a little underdeveloped but it’s supposed to be since it’s just a one-shot, thinking of writing a series maybe soon? I don’t know, I hope you guys like this anyways.

t/w this is a sad one.

Peter Parker. How would you begin to describe Peter Parker? Intelligent for sure, kind, thoughtful, funny…Charming, absolutely adorable. Were you in love with him? Maybe a little bit. Just a little. Would you ever tell him? No, absolutely not. Peter Parker was like an enigma, sure maybe he seemed like your typical everyday guy, but you knew something others didn’t. You knew he was special. Peter Parker was more than Lego Death Stars, an intern at Stark industries, and a mathlete. Peter Parker was just, more. You weren’t quite sure what it was yet, but you knew he was special. Peter Parker was more than Peter Parker, you knew it, you just didn’t know what it was yet.

Peter Parker sits next to you in two of your classes and sits at the same lunch table as you. A true blessing. Peter turns to you taking you out of your mind,

“(y/n), wake up.” He jokingly shakes your shoulder.

“Peter, stop,” you whine, “I didn’t get to sleep last night.” Peter rolls his eyes playfully at you.

“Well, why is that?”

“Calculus.” you groan.

“I told you to call me if you needed any help!” Peter exclaims, “I cannot believe you! You could’ve slept at least three hours!”

“I’m a hopeless case,” you mutter, “didn’t want to bother you.” Peter frowns at you and then returns back to typing notes.

The truth was, that you couldn’t bring yourself to call or even text Peter. You’ve had his number since freshman year and had only ever texted him twice. Once when you were planning to go to a movie with him, Ned and a few other members of the mathletes and he was five minutes late so you texted him to ask where he was. Then there was one other time, the time that you were going to make your move, do something, anything, and then ended up asking what the English homework was. You were truly a hopeless case. Periods go by and you and Peter make light conversation when you see each other and then bid each other goodbye and to have a nice weekend before parting ways to walk home.

The second you get home you plop down on your bed and begin to think of ways to put off your weekend assignments, and decided to browse the internet to temporarily escape the inevitable. Anything to put off your calculus assignment. Hours go by, and before you know it it’s 11 o’clock at night. Then there’s a familiar tapping on your window, and your favorite superhero climbs through groaning.

“(y/n)!”

“Spidey!”

“I told you not to call me that.” His mask shifts into something that was presumably a frown.

“Why not?” You whine, shooting him a playful sad expression.

“Because! I’m Spiderman, I’m a man, (y/n)!”

“No, you’re not you’re a boy.” You tease as his mask shifts into even more of a frown.

“I so regret sharing my age with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” He takes a seat next to you on your bed.

Spiderman. How would you begin to describe Spiderman? Well for starters he was funny, selfless, sweet, charming, probably handsome. To be blunt he made your heart melt. You and Spiderman met one day as he was patrolling the city, you couldn’t help but notice that he seemed bored so you decided to invite the local hero over for some lemonade maybe some shade as it was a hot summers day and you were certain spandex didn’t help with heat. To your surprise, he agreed to and before you knew it you and Spiderman were hitting it off on your fire escape. That was a year ago. Now you and Spiderman frequently meet, and much has changed. It all started three months ago when Spiderman came in through your window bleeding and needed some patching up. One thing led to another and before you knew, Spiderman’s mask was lifted up on the bottom and you were making out with Spiderman on your bed. As bizarre as the whole thing was you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You knew there was probably something a little problematic with having feelings for Peter Parker and Spiderman, but you also figured it would never matter anyways so who cares. One thing Peter Parker and Spiderman had in common, neither of them would ever fall in love with you.

So, you and Spiderman talked for a while until he deemed it as being too late and took his leave, kissing your cheek goodbye. Sure, you and Spiderman shared some…we’ll put it as intimacy, but of course, what it was was just what it was. No feelings attached, for him at least. Just something fun with someone he enjoyed the company of when nights were quiet. That was all.

The weekend went by far faster than you would have liked and before you knew it you were fighting sleep Sunday night as you struggled to finish up your last few calculus equations. You were totally convinced that calculus was the worse thing that had ever happened to you, that was until you saw the news. Your phone buzzed as you got a notification from your news app, you checked the screen and when you read what had happened you couldn’t believe it. Spiderman…hospitalized…injuries…gunshot wounds…It was too much to take in, you collapsed. Your brain shut down, your heart seemed to stop, and you couldn’t catch your breath no matter how hard you tried. Why? How?

“I-I uh, I have to…I have to go, I have to do something…” You mutter to yourself, still completely out of it as you get up and run. Where are you running? To the subway of course. You need to get to Spiderman. Getting to the hospital was easy, convincing the lady at the desk that you were his family was easy, it had all felt like a sick nightmare. Up until this point. What wasn’t easy was the harsh reality that just past this door Spiderman was fighting for his life. The nurse explained to you hurriedly as you powered to his door that the doctors had taken the bullets out and that he was stabilized, for the time being, but there was still a chance that these gunshots would be fatal. You didn’t like that there was a chance. You didn’t like it one bit. Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and went into the room where Spiderman was lying, beaten, worn out, tired, possibly dying. You sat by his side and looked at his mask, wrecked in a few places, the rest of his suit gone.

“You always keep that thing on?” You ask jokingly trying to appear fine for his sake. He coughs.

“Sure do, you always sneak into people’s hospital rooms?”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You both sit in silence for a few minutes, just taking in the other’s presence.

“You know, you didn’t have to come,” he pauses to cough and grab his side in agony, “You weren’t supposed to see me like this…” You hear him silently choke back tears and the eyes on his suit shut.

“I did have to come. I needed to see you.” The eyes on his suit open again. They look contemplative, well as contemplative as his mask can look.

“I’m going to do something.”

“Okay…” You say slowly, already knowing what was about to happen, but not quite prepared.

“Can you please…” He nods his head a little, and you know what he wants you to do.

“Are you, are you certain? When you get out of this, are you sure you want me to know?”

The eyes on his mask close again and he shakes his head a little. You knew what that meant, you knew what he was thinking. He was silently saying that he didn’t think there would be a getting out of this.

“No, I won’t,” you pause and choke on your sobs, “I can’t do it.” Spiderman nods his head to the side again, a silent plea for you to please take off the mask. To free him from this persona, to set him free, to allow him to exit as himself. Allow him to accept his ending as himself.

“I can’t do that…” you sob, breaking any hope you had for staying composed and calm for him, you can’t.

Spiderman’s mask gives you a look that could only be described as disappointed and he goes to speak but goes into a fit of coughing. At this moment you look at him, really look at him. There was a lot of him. He was more than just his suit. More than just blue and red spandex. There was so much more to Spiderman, so much more you may never even get to know. Spiderman was just more to you. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him and squeeze his hand so tight that your knuckles turn white, you don’t want to let go, you can’t let go of him.

“I’m sorry (y/n).”

Then that’s it. He’s gone. Too soon, too quickly. People are rushing into the room and pushing you out. It’s too fast, it all happened too quickly. Your vision blurry, the nightmare has returned. You’re screaming, but you can’t even hear yourself, all you can hear is a deafening silence. The deafening scream of a world without Spiderman.

“I didn’t even get to know you,” you whisper in between screams as doctors usher you out of the room, “Wait for me, please.”

Please don’t leave without me, at least let me come with you.

“Local hero Spiderman dies from fatal gunshot wounds. The hero unmasked to be Peter Parker, a local high school student, and nephew of May Parker…”

You shut the news off, you can’t hear it again.

The second the doctors rushed you out of the room, they came out to the lobby where you sat hyperventilating and trying to see straight.

“I’m sorry ma'am, I’m afraid we’ve lost Peter. There’s nothing we can do,” the doctor gave you a sad look now having taken off the mask they had identification and they knew who the hero was, they knew how young he was. They knew before you.

“Does he have any other family besides May Parker? We contacted her but that was all we could find, do you know anyone else?”

“Uh, um,” you can’t breathe you can’t do it, you cannot believe what you’re hearing, you won’t believe it you will not accept this, “I’ve gotta go,” you mumble and sprint out of the dreaded building.

You now sat at home as news outlets began to report on what had happened. Everything is so unfair. Spiderman died. That’s unfair. A 16-year-old selfless hero died. That’s unfair. Most importantly though, Peter Parker died, and that is just the worst atrocity the universe could ever commit.

He was a lot of things. Intelligent for sure, kind, thoughtful, funny, charming, absolutely adorable, selfless, sweet, definitely handsome…Most importantly though. He was special. Spiderman was special because he was Peter Parker.

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karasuno-writings · 5 years ago

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(2/3)I also love math and sciences and want to work in those fields in the future. I actually in love with music and the way it makes u feel I know how to play the piano and can sing. I listen to aesthetically pleasing and punk songs on a daily basis. I am also a fairly good painter and love to draw and Paint in my free time. I painted all my friends calculators so yea. I committed to my aesthetics and try to make my fashion portray it aswell .I am naturally tan.Brown short hair & eyed . 5'4.

(1/3)Hey can I ask for a haikyuu matchup. I am an infj whose a ravenclawish huffelpuff . I am REALLY loyal with my friends but if they need there head to be straightened i wont hesitate to do so. i dont put up with anyone’s bullshit either if some ones offence i will call em out but other wise I am really kind and caring to the people around me . I am quite easy going and free spirited but if I feel like an odd one out I get really insecure.

(3/3) I m usually passive unless assertiveness is needed and thrive on independence.ILOVE little things that make me happy like watching a good tv show ,having a really good conversatio with some one.LOVE TEA AND HOT CHOCOLATE WITH ALL MY HEART(unironically drink horlicks)rainy days are the best.I really enjoy a day out with my good friends but i also really value my time alone to focus on myself.HUGS ARE MY THINGB OK CUDDLES I AM THERE.Iam big ass crackhead am not afraid to show people who I am

Hi!!! I’ll answer on this ask so you can get the notification!!! I really do hope you like who I matched you with bc it was all so clear to me and also he is one of my top two favorite characters (I’ll leave ya for a wild guess on the first ;D ) BUT I hope you like it and I hope you like him and you like this!!!! (Ishmel let me use the name and I have consent to do so so there’s that!)

__________________________________________

I ship you with: Yamaguchi Tadashi!

Yamaguchi was paying attention to math class, writing down the tasks that had to be done in teams and ready to pair up with Tsukki, when the teacher handed out the pairs that were to work together. He felt a small jolt down his spine, already hoping that whoever he was to work with he got along with, or that at least they were not judgemental. As he was deep in thoughts you approached him; “Hi, I’m Ishmel I think we are supposed to be working together”. He blushed, as you had caught him off guard, Tadashi shook your hand and smiled, accentuating his already red cheeks, “Yamaguchi Tadashi, nice to meet you”. He scoot over so that you could sit besides me. Yamaguchi is not a good conversation starter, so for the beginning he just made kind remarks and handed out ideas for the math work; silently admiring the art scribbled on your notebook and how cute your clothing was, specially how cute you looked on it…wait what? He blushed shaking the thought away. He really hit it of with you as a partner, he was grateful to have someone so kind and nice with him, so he had no problem opening up. While he was working he noticed you took his calculator, and started to absentmindedly draw on it. When you noticed him looking you quickly handed it back, apologising for the intrusion as it was almost a custom of you to draw on your friend’s material. Yamaguchi shook his head and handed it back “No please continue! It looks amazing and you are just getting started, I actually like it!”. Smiling you complied and the two of you kept on working.

The project was finished in about a week, a week in which the both of you got to know each other pretty well. Yamaguchi was slowly falling for you; he found your personality amazing, he loved how kind you were but how you knew how to stand your ground and call people out when needed. He also loved how open you were with what you loved, Yamaguchi loves science and talking to you about it was always so amazing, like you just got each other so well, and bonding over shared interests the two of you became close friends. He admired your skills, he loved to see your drawings and if you showed one to him he would tell you that you are really talented. He fell in love with your free spirit and honestly all about you but poor Yams did not think you would like him back, he was so smitten.

Yamaguchi had been teased by Tsukki non-stop on how he had not told anything to you yet. Naturally you had gotten pretty close with the tall blonde too, even if you had to stand your ground against him sometimes. Tsukki knew you would say yes if Tadashi asked you out, and was frankly annoyed at him for not doing so, so he called him out. Yamaguchi decided that he would try, he was going to ask you out.

Yamaguchi approached you, his face redder than ever, his hands shaking like crazy. He sucked in a big breath and handed out some beautiful markers with a little heart note attached. “Ishi…would, would you want to come with me? Like…on a date?” he spurted out, already tasting defeated even before you answered. However he was taken aback when you hugged him “Of course Dashi, I was hoping you’d ask”. He was such a gentleman, he passed for you to your house and took you to your favorite tea shop, he was beyond happy with how it turned out.

You two are goals together, your relationship is like a powered up friendship but with all the perks of being out like kisses and unlimited cuddles. This boy loves cuddles, at first he was shy but after a while prepare bc he is a cuddle-bug. He respects your alone time and likes that you respect his too, he appreciates that you do call him out if he ever does something wrong. He loves how genuine you are and when you are a little sillier he finds it hilarious and sooo endearing. He is very proud of you overall and is your number one supporter.

Headcanons

He loves to listen to you play the piano and sing, he actually has a very sweet voice so he likes to join you.

He loves to see you draw like he cannot get enough of it, he loves everything you do

He will slowly grow more confident and he is very honest with you, he would never hurt you but he is good when giving feedback.

You and him like to trade music, he likes the punk songs you listen to and hopes you like his taste in music

He is very detailed oriented and will make small things just to make you smile, he loves your smile

Your conversations always flow, they are never superficial, silence is never uncomfortable

Rainy days always consist of being cuddled in the couch, drinking tea and chocolate while watching your favorite shows and movies

Pls go to his matches to show him support, if he pinch serves and sees you cheering on him (bonus points if you draw him a cardboard) he will melt and he will give it his all.

#yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu matchup

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jzixuans · 5 years ago

Text

Gosh I Hope This doesn't Tell You The TimeI Submitted It

Great title I know. Listen I was just watching Fbawtft and thinking about your AU and then this happened. And now I’m sending it to you, because late night brain says we should do that and I don’t have any awake brain cells to argue, so here goes.

Logan stepped off the ferry, happy to find the ground firm beneath his feet once more. He paused at the end of the boarding ramp, taking a deep breath.

And immediately regretted it when he was met with a scent that was a mix of raw fish and smoke. He dissolved into a coughing fit, already missing Equatorial Guinea, with its fresh air and open plains and no one rudely poking his back because he happened to be slightly in their way.

Logan stepped to the side, shrugging his shoulders and ignoring the slight soreness where the person had been poking. Alright. Off to business.

The smell didn’t get any better as he headed into the city, the fish being replaced with more smoke, and new mingling scents of sweat and dust. It was choking. Logan would have considered using his handkerchief to cover his nose, but entering the city also came with hordes of people pressing in from all sides. He felt crushed enough just trying to follow the flow of the crowd.

Someone bumped into him rather harshly, causing him to stumble into someone else. Logan caught himself before he fell any further, both of the random someones once more disappearing into the throng before he could do or say anything to either of them. Brushing off his jacket, he didn’t notice his suitcase shake, or the fact that one of the buckles flipped open.

Logan continued on his path once again, more people brushing past him without a single apology uttered. He managed another five more minutes before he gave up, quickly pushing out of the crowd so he could just breathe for a moment.

His hair was undone, his jacket ruffled, and he had bumped enough shoulders to last a lifetime. Logan huffed. He didn’t understand people. He especially didn’t understand anyone who preferred them over creatures. Sure, doxies may have a sharp bite and a problem with poisoning every one they sunk their teeth into, but they didn’t rush right into and then keep going like they had just bumped into a mannequin.

He knew he’d prefer a doxy bite any day of the week over five more minutes of this madness, Logan thought as he set his case down and set about pulling his hair back into the neat, collected ponytail it had been in.

Busy with his hair, Logan didn’t notice his case shake again, nor did he notice as a dark, fuzzy little creature slipped out of the small gap. Just ahead of them, a man bent over to tug at his shoelaces, his golden watch catching the light, and the creature’s attention.

Just as Logan finished with his ponytail and picked his suitcase up once more, now noticing the open buckle and responsibly flipping it shut, the creature darted forward into the crowd. Logan frowned at the buckle he had just snapped back into place.

The case was as heavy as always, heavy as it would be whether or not the Titanic was stuffed inside it, but Logan still knew something was wrong. Someone was missing. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was instinct, maybe it was just the common sense that if the buckle was open at least one of his creatures would try and make a break for it. Regardless of how he knew, Logan knew: one of them was free.

He looked in front of him, finding the smaller, stationary crowd he had paused by to escape the constantly churning, moving, flowing one behind him gathered on the steps of some muggle building, all focused on one loudly speaking muggle lady.

A moment later, he noticed the flash of something dark clutching something glittery. He sighed. He really ought to come up with a better way to keep an eye on his niffler. Maybe if he started wearing a gold watch himself he would always find his way home.

Ignoring the lady’s raving- it sounded vaguely like she was trying to build an army of citizens against some darkness that flowed through the city; Logan just scoffed at that- he pushed his way through the crowd. Unlike some people in this city, he had human decency to spare, apologizing as he bumped past a hot dogger eater in purple and a whole group of men in drably coloured suits.

Logan paused for a moment near the front of the crowd, looking around after losing sight of niffler. There was shuffling behind him, and, caught up in his visual search for his greediest creature, Logan didn’t move in time to prevent the person coming up behind him from hitting Logan’s suitcase, stumbling a bit as he bumped into it.

“Oh, sorry!” The man said, brightly, flashing Logan a sheepish smile before continuing on his way. Logan just barely managed to return a smaller, even more sheepish smile back. Finally. At least there was one good person in this city.

“You! Friend!” Logan’s smile died as he internally groaned, turning his attention to the loud lady on the steps. She was now gesturing at Logan, the slight disturbance in the crowd having apparently signaled him out as someone who wanted to be bothered. “Are you a seeker of truth?”

“I’m more of a chaser, really.” Logan replied, hoping the woman would pick up on his tone and leave him be.

The woman, apparently too caught up in what sounded like a many times rehearsed speak, continued despite his response, “Well, hear my words and heed my warning- and laugh if you dare! Witches live among us!”

Logan rolled his eyes. If only she knew who she was speaking too. Another dash of darkness on the steps beside her caught his attention, her words quickly becoming a background drone as he focused on the little menace that was watching people hurry up and down the steps, looking for a new target.

“What do you say to that, friend?” Logan briefly glanced back at the woman, who had finished her speal and was once more looking expectantly at him. Eyes darting back to the miffler’s spot, he found him missing, but he was pretty sure he saw niffler running up the steps. The woman was still watching him.

“I- uh- excuse me.” Logan got out before pushing forward in the crowd, quickly freeing himself of it to stumble past the preaching lady and up the steps. He didn’t stop until he was to the doors, pushing one open and hurriedly stepping inside.

The atmosphere within the place was entirely different from that of the outside- greasy air replaced by artificially clean air, loud noises silenced by thick walls, gilded and smooth edges at every corner to compliment the sharply dressed people calmly waiting in line.

Logan knew perfectly well he probably didn’t belong there, but he also knew of a pesky little golddigger who didn’t belong there either. He was looking around, trying to find the black lump in the room of green and gold, when a man approached him.

“Can I help you, sir?” He asked, in a tone that suggested he was only looking to help Logan to the door. With another quick glance around, Logan spotted a pair of fine wooden benches near a wall. An excuse.

“No, I was just… just waiting.” Logan replied before quickly hurrying over to those benches, ignoring the wary eyes of the man on his back as he went. He sat down on the first one he came too, still eyeing the entire place as he placed his case down and looked around, unaware of both the person in purple from the crowd observing him from behind a marble pillar and the nice man who had bumped into him sitting on the other end of the bench.

“Hi.” Logan turned at the greeting, the kind man smiling at him from the other side of the bench, looking nervous. “What brings you here?”

The conversation starter was simple and easy, but Logan still froze on what to respond with. To be honest, he still wasn’t entirely sure where he was. “Oh, eh, same as you.” He eventually settled on, hoping that made sense.

“You’re here to get a loan to open a bakery?” The kind man asked, looking amused. Logan nodded at him before continuing to sweep the area, searching for his niffler. The kind man laughed, the sound both cheerful and worried.

“What are the odds of that?” He asked, but Logan had just spotted his creature, the niffler sniffing around some rich lady’s feet, a golden ring clamped in his mouth. Logan was sure it was soon to be stuffed in his stomach pouch. He quickly got off and headed after his niffler before he could escape again, unhearing as the kind man called after him, unaware his Occamy egg had slipped from his pocket.

He ducked between people, ignoring the brief, disgruntled looks he got from them as he moved past, trying to keep track of his niffler as niffler jumped between bags and coats, snatching every zipper, bracelet, and button that he could. For a minute, Logan lost sight of him, but he quickly found the bugger a moment later when he tried to steal the collar off a rather offended looking pug. Logan rushed to the stand niffler was hiding under with a mental sigh. He really had gotten quite the greedy one.

Of course, if Logan was being honest, he didn’t mind that much. Logan cared less about the stolen goods and more about keeping niffler safe. The only real reason he made niffler give all the valuables back before putting them away was to make sure he didn’t become spoiled.

That, and because some people were a little too obsessed with their wealth. He still remembered exactly what happened in Scotland. Of course, everything had turned out fine- never let it be said that Logan Scamander couldn’t take care of his creatures- but things had gotten a touch dicey. He’d rather it not come to that again.

During his self-reflection, niffler had hopped off again, this time moving from the floor to the top of the golden, dividing bars set on top of the counters, and right back to the floor- just this time on the other side. Logan quickly moved to the bars, watching niffler hop onto a cart rolling bags of gold by, standing on top of the spilt coins and looking over at Logan like he was daring Logan to come and get him.

Logan glanced around at the bank. There were so many people- he really shouldn’t use magic. He had no qualms using it in front of solitary muggles- no one ever seemed to believe them if they tried to share their stories- but in front of a group? He didn’t need a crystal ball to realize that wouldn’t end well.

He looked back at the smug little muffler, his cart being rolled into a lift as Logan watched. Maybe if he scaled the bars… he wasn’t the best with that sort of thing, but as long as he could get in the elevator before the doors closed, well, disappearing from inside it would be easier than convincing the bowtruckle currently in his breast pocket to never leave that spot.

Before he could carry out this plan, or think of a better one, however, Logan heard a shout from behind him, “Hey! Mr. English guy!”

Logan whirled around to find the source once more the kind man, holding up an Occamy egg. There was a small but noticeable crack already forming at the top of it.

“I think your egg is hatching!” The king man added, lowering the egg for a moment to look at it warily. Logan looked back at the closing elevator doors and the egg. He couldn’t let either of his creatures be left alone. He spared a single glance at the crowd of Muggles to the side, all too busy with their waiting in line to even notice him.

With one last look at everything, Logan pulled out his wand in a single motion, effortlessly flicking it at the kind man. A bright blue spark dazzled in the air for only a second before the other was shooting towards him, eyes wide, both of them disappearing in a blurred swirl the moment they touched.

They reappeared beneath the room they had been in, squished together in a tight staircase. The kind man was pressed up against the wall, looking through shocked, the Occamy egg still carefully clutched in his hand. Though his grip wasn’t tight, the shell continued to crack, a small beak popping out through the newly formed hole.

Logan quickly stuffed his wand in his mouth, having no where else to put it as he gently took the egg into his own hand, watching as the snake-like head the beak was attached to forced its way out as well. Smiling around his wand, Logan spared a glance at the Muggle, who was looking both awed and confused. Logan went back to watching the baby Occamy hatch, already trying to decide what he should call them.

The moment was broken only a few seconds later when the sound of clinking metal reminded him of the real reason he was in this stairwell. He ignored the kind man as he moved off the staircase, leaving his companion to sink down and sit on the steps, muttering incoherently to himself.

Logan settled down in front of open golden gate that was only a few feet in front of a simply huge, circular metal door, a large ship wheel of the same material mounted to the center of it- most likely a vault. He opened his suitcase, the imagery he saw down below a small representation of the actual world within.

As always, there was a small amount of chaos going on as he gently placed the new Occamy in with their siblings- Dougal had been mix-and-matching the others’ food again. He was only pulled from his attempts to reestablish peace in the mesh of ecosystems when he heard a slight squishing sound, the same one niffler made when he was squeezing into somewhere he shouldn’t. Looking up, he found exactly that- niffler was halfway inside of the vault.

“Alohomora!” He cast the spell, continuing to block out the sounds and voice behind him as the vault swung open. The wheels were still turning when he heard a new voice join the kind man’s- he barely glanced at him before casting, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Logan didn’t bother to watch the man freeze and fall over, his attention already back to the vault just as it fully opened, revealing his greedy little niffler already halfway through shoving the entire vault into his pocket.

He stood before niffler for a moment, letting the disappointment in his expression sink in for his niffler before he quickly grabbed him by the feet, shaking out every single shiny object he had grabbed since the start of this whole adventure. Niffler wiggled in protest the whole time, especially when Logan tickled his stomach, but he failed to free himself before Logan was completely sure he had gotten everything (or at least the good amount of it) out of his belly.

He reopened his case for just a moment, dropping niffler into his home, hoping the speed at which he returned niffler would convey his annoyance with yet another game of wild niffler chase. The fact that he had taken a moment to pat niffler’s head before doing so was definitely not undermining his weak attempt at discipline.

Logan got back up and turned back towards the staircase just in time to see a fleet of men rushing down it, the kind man having thrown his hands up and yelling for them not to shoot. Logan took a few quick steps forward and with another warp of colour they were outside the bank.

The kind man was bracing himself against the nearest wall, looking shaken. Logan placed his trunk down for a moment, checking that his ponytail was still in place and straightening his jacket when the kind man burst out, “What the hell was that?!”

Logan half-shrugged. “Nothing that need concern you.” He responded, rolling his wand in his hands. He felt a little bad about what he’d have to do. Of course, what the other man didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, but still. Obliviating him seemed cruel. “Now, unfortunately, you have seen far too much, so if you wouldn’t mind just… just stand right there, and all this will be over in a jiffy.”

“Sure, yeah.” The kind man agreed, almost placatingly, before he grabbed his case and swung it at Logan. It knocked him in the side, not hurting him so much as it did throw him off balance. The kind man took off in a run down the alley, shouting, “Sorry!” over his shoulder as he went.

Logan sighed. Oh well. Another Muggle out in the world with an odd story to tell and few people to listen to it. He wasn’t about to lose sleep over the matter. He picked up his trunk, ready to continue on, when he paused.

The trunk felt… wrong. Felt off. Even though it looked just as it should, and felt as though it weighed as much as it should, there seemed to be something peculiar about it.

Before he could dwell on it much, however, Logan noticed a blur at the end of the alleyway. Looking up, he found the person in purple from before beginning to make their way towards him.

Just walk by them he mentally coached as he readjusted his hold on the case, doing just that. If he just walked by them, acted normal, he’d be fine, and he could worry all about the odd feel to the case in a minute. Just walk by them. Nice and normal.

Almost there. A few more steps.

Logan’s arm brushed the purple figure’s. There was a blur of twisted colour, and a rush of wind, and they were gone.

Hmmm important things to note: No editing we die like men, yes yes this diverts from your AU and I’m sorry but I wanted long haired Logan alright, the reason I keep using they/them pronouns on Virgil is because I lowkey over here have decided to hc this Virgil transmale (hence why he’s living at an all woman’s place- and yes this means I hc this Roman as trans too) and Logan didn’t want to assume (and like. clearly you don’t have to also hc that for the AU. just my take), this was meant to go all the way through the scene where Tina/Virgil and Newt/Logan talk but the room has started to spin around me so I think I’m too tired for that. Also uh sorry I hope you don’t mind me just. Casually dropping this here. Okay I’m going to go sleep now hope you’re having a good morning-or-whatever-time-of-day-it-is-for-you-when-you-see-this

blink: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my HEART

y’all are really trying to get me to restart fbawtft huh

also let it be known that logan sanders officially has long hair that he keeps in a ponytail because lia’s a goddamn genius

@sleepless-in-starbucks

#virgil w a hotdog omg that's a funky image #also ooh i like the trans hc #fbawtft au #lia #submission #long post #also xkit says u submitted this after midnight ur time so :squints:

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