#if I’ve posted a link to this fic before then I certainly can’t find it

[ectogeo-art]

not unfaithful, but i’ll stray

[Kira/Winn, triple drabble (300 words), rated T, set during the episode “Strange Bedfellows,” written for @hellostuffedtiger during the Star Trek Femslash Drabbles Exchange 2024]

~

When the Prophets spoke to Winn plainly for the first time in her life, she’d felt transcendent. The illusion had crumbled quickly, though, and she’d crumbled with it. Pah-Wraiths. Not Prophets.

Broken, lost, she could only think to summon Kira.

Kira: touched by the Prophets, chosen as their vessel in the reckoning that Winn had cut short. If she’d let the battle play out, would Kira have prevailed? Would that have saved her from being tricked by the Pah-Wraiths? (On the other hand, wouldn’t a lesser Kai than her have been deceived sooner?)

Or had she been doomed to stray ever since the Prophet wearing Kira’s body had coldly ignored her?

Kira arrived, interrupting her spiraling thoughts.

In lieu of a greeting, Winn sank to the floor before her, knees cushioned by the layers of her robes. Tear-streaked, she looked up at Kira and clung to her heavily, trying to drag her down. She wanted comfort or, failing that, she wanted to find whatever it was that the Prophets loved about Kira and rip it from her. She was the Kai! She needed it more.

Kira braced herself, keeping her balance. She gazed down at Winn with no malice, only concern. In fact, she used all of her strength to help her back up to her feet, as though she had merely fallen accidentally.

This was too much to bear. How could Kira always be so trusting? It was insulting how effortless she made it seem.

Unsteady but supported, Winn leaned further into her embrace. She kissed her deeply, hoping to drink in some of her holiness and regain the Prophets’ favor.

(Or else to poison the Prophets against Kira by association. Then at least she wouldn’t be forsaken on her own.)

Kira froze… then kissed her like she was worth saving.

~

[The end! ao3 link]

[amhrosina]

Favorite Kind of Trouble (Matt Murdock x f!Reader x Frank Castle)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hiiiii! I feel like it’s been forever since I posted anything, but it’s only been a little over a week! While I battled writer’s block and also had one of the roughest weeks of my life, there was a resounding desire in my asks/replies for another poly!fic with Frank, reader, and Matt, and I finally got around to writing it today! I hope you enjoy it! Also a big shout out & thank you to my lovely beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great!

**This poly fic can be read separately from the others I’ve written, but at this point, they all take place in the same universe and are just glimpses into their relationship at different times, so if you like their dynamic, you can find links to the rest of the fics here or here!**

Summary: Frank and you get up to no good at a gala event, and Matt’s enhanced senses can’t help but focus on the pretty sounds you’re making from across the room. 

(Warnings: oh brother, smut, like pretty much all smut zero plot, somewhat dom!frank, somewhat sub!matt, switch!reader, semi-public fun!!!, fingering, dirty talk (frank mainly lmfao), blow job, choking, wholesome poly flirting, frank and matt think they’re unworthy of each other!!!, they’re all idiots in love) 

The gala had officially stretched into its fourth hour, and you couldn’t believe how incredibly unperturbed Matt looked as he politely chuckled at, yet another, bad joke told by the snobby businessman in the too-tight tux. You shifted in your seat, subtly stretching your legs towards Frank, who at least had the decency to look bored. Under the table, your left thigh brushed against his right, and his attention shifted to you as he cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

God, he was so pretty. You didn’t tell him enough, but every time Frank looked at you, even when you were out in public and he refused to let his guard down, the subtle softening of his eyes when they landed on you made him the prettiest goddamn man you’d ever met. You flicked your gaze across the table to Matt, who was putting on a good show and pretending to listen to a rather boring anecdote – the only man that rivaled Frank in the looks department – and they were both wound so tightly around your finger that you couldn’t imagine being happier with anyone else. 

Most of the public had no idea that you, Frank, and Matt were something of a trio. They didn’t even know Frank’s real name. To most people, and certainly to the prying eyes of the elites attending the gala, you and “Pete” were a wealthy, but private couple who knew Matt through connections in the art world. They had no idea that the three of you shared a bed, a home, a life together. As frustrating as it was to keep that part of his life a secret, Matt gladly played the part. They didn’t get to wake up wrapped in the arms of the people he loved, and that’s really what mattered to him, and that way, Frank could have the honor of staking his claim over you in public. It all worked out rather well, when he thought about it. 

Your gaze returned to Frank. Your eyes slowly followed the trail of buttons up his torso, over the bowtie at the base of his neck, attention snagging on his lips before finally meeting his intense stare. To others, Frank might look stoic, bored, and maybe even annoyed, but you saw the desire in his eyes, felt the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he shifted in his seat. He wanted it too, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

The gleam in your eyes told him you were up to something, and even if he wasn’t able to read the mischief in your smirk, the subtle twist in Matt’s neck as his ears perked up told him everything he needed to know. Frank leaned closer to you, brushing your bare shoulder with his lips before whispering in your ear. 

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, and you nearly swore when his fingertips brushed over your bare knee. An innocent stroke of the hand from a caring lover. A simple, loving gesture between the mysterious couple that kept mostly to themselves at events like these. That’s what anyone who might be watching would assume, and you knew it. 

“What if someone sees?” You breathed in a hushed whisper, but your legs were already opening for him. The effect he had on you was maddening.

“No one can see us.” He assured you, promptly glancing around the room again to solidify his promise. His hand rubbed lazy circles on your thigh, fingertips barely ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh as he slowly made his way up your leg. 

“What if someone hears?” You eyed him warily, though the spark of desire had shot through you like a bullet the second he’d made contact with your skin. 

“If you’re worried about it, you’ll just have to stay extra quiet, sweetheart.” He lightly flicked your nose with his free hand, grinning as annoyance briefly crossed your face. “Besides, Red’s bored too. He’s probably harder than I am right now, wishing he could touch himself under the table like I’m about to do to you.”

The abrupt sound of Matt’s knee crashing against the underside of the table pulled your attention from Frank. The guests seated near him jumped as he fumbled to catch his wine glass before it tumbled to the floor. You bit your lip in an attempt to smother your giggle. For a moment, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Matt cleared his throat, apologizing under his breath as he took a hefty swig of his wine. As the conversations around the room picked back up, Matt glared in your direction. You looked back at Frank, who was smirking.

“Want to play a game, sweetheart?” He whispered, breath coasting over the curve of your ear. 

“Is it at poor Matty’s expense?” You cooed, spreading your legs wider as his fingertips grazed the lace of your underwear.

“Maybe.” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

He shifted your underwear aside, and you had to take a deep breath so that you didn’t moan as the cool air kissed your wet cunt. Frank was normally a patient man when it came to coaxing an orgasm out of you, opting to draw out the experience so that you could enjoy it as much as possible, even if that meant teasing you for hours before finally giving in to your begs. But tonight, with his attention half on you and half on Matt, he had very little patience for games. Not that you were complaining. 

He slid a finger through your folds, relishing in the warmth and slickness he found there. You tensed in your seat, flicking your gaze to Matt, who looked like he was going to be sick. Frank’s warm breath heated your neck as he whispered against your skin.

“How long do you think Red will last like this?” He asked, eyes briefly flickering to Matt before returning to yours. He gently circled your clit, eyeing the heat that was crawling up your neck. “How long do you think he’ll be able to hear your pretty little moans before it becomes too much for him?”

Matt tugged at his bowtie, clearing his throat as sweat beaded on his forehead. The tension in the air was electric, and when he parted his lips, allowing the fullness of your desire to hit his senses, it nearly undid him. You were so wet around Frank’s fingers, and the sounds of your soft hums of pleasure combined with Frank’s teasing tone was enough to make him so hard that it ached. He tried and failed to divert his attention back to the conversation around him, only able to focus on your quiet sighs and Frank’s encouraging mumbles. 

“I know you can hear us, Red.” Frank teased, adding pressure to your clit. You gripped your seat with white knuckles, panting at the friction building in your core. “I couldn’t help myself. She looks,” he plunged an additional finger into your cunt for emphasis, “ravishing tonight.” 

Frank could feel how close you were, relished in the tightness of your cunt as it clenched around his fingers. Matt, he guessed, was not far behind you. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, fumbling with his glass as he tried to look interested in the story being told. 

“C’mon Red. You know it’s impolite for a man to cum before a lady.” He mumbled, breathing into your ear. His eyes flickered between you and Matt, and both of you looked like you were about to cry. Matt’s fingers tightened on the glass, and you clenched around him again. “Don’t you want to cum in her tight cunt later? Don’t you want to fuck your cum deep into her pretty pussy? She’s been such a good girl tonight. She deserves our cum, Red, don’t you think?” 

His vulgar words were your undoing. You wilted against his chest as your orgasm crashed through you, the throbbing pressure easing as he coaxed it out of you. You moaned as quietly as you could, muffled only by the fabric of Frank’s coat as you shuttered against him. Simultaneously, as you came around Frank’s fingers, Matt’s hand clenched around the wine glass so tightly that the glass cracked, and then shattered all over the table, spilling a red stain down the front of his pristine shirt.

The crowd around Matt shrieked, and Frank watched as he calmly excused himself from the table and hurried towards the bathroom. Guilt crashed through him, though he was sure Matt wouldn’t be upset about the shirt. He likely wouldn’t be upset about the small cuts in his hand either. Matt was forgiving like that. Frank didn’t feel like he deserved one bit of his kindness.

“Is she okay?” 

The voice drew him out of his thoughts, back into his body, which was half curled around you as you recovered from your intense orgasm. The stranger sitting diagonal from you and Frank eyed him warily.

“Too much,” you panted, excuse already on the tip of your tongue, “wine. I think I had too much wine, darling.”

You ungracefully attempted to stand, and Frank wondered how much of this was for show and which parts of it were genuine as you leaned into his arms for support. The shakiness in your legs was definitely real, he decided.

“I’m going to take her to the bathroom to sober up. Thank you.” He nodded at the man, who was already half engrossed in another conversation as he led you in the direction that Matt had come a few minutes earlier. As soon as the two of you were out of sight, you straightened, giggling at the show you’d had to put on. 

“I didn’t know I was dating an actress.” Frank grinned, rapping on the bathroom door with his knuckles.

“I didn’t know either.” You laughed again.

The door unlocked, and you and Frank covertly slid into the bathroom with Matt, who was a heated, panting mess against the tile of the walls. You could clearly see his desire tented in his pants, and you smirked at Frank in response.

“We did that.” You murmured, stepping closer to Matt’s whining figure. 

Frank hummed, reaching for Matt’s hand and inspecting the wounds inflicted by the wine glass. You paused, waiting for a signal from Frank that Matt was okay. Matt was so delirious and high on desire that you knew he could be bleeding out and would insist that he was okay. A slight nod of Frank’s head told you to continue.

You sank to your knees, quickly unbuckling Matt’s belt and pulling his cock free from his pants. Frank wrapped a hand around Matt’s throat, gently pressing him against the wall as you licked the underside of Matt’s cock. Matt whimpered, involuntarily bucking his hips in response.

“Be patient, Red,” Frank murmured, pressing a kiss onto Matt’s jaw, “We’ll take care of you.”

You wrapped your lips around Matt, bobbing up and down his length in a feverish haze. Matt was so worked up that you knew it wouldn’t take long to undo him. Matt tried and failed to keep his whimpers and groans quiet, and he was so loud at one point that Frank had to cover Matt’s mouth with his hand, smothering the noises he couldn’t help but make. 

You pushed yourself further down his length, opening your throat to him as you hurried your pace. Matt tensed, grabbing onto Frank’s arm as he let out a stunted groan. He grunted, and you felt thick spurts of cum make their way down your throat. You swallowed around him, grinning when he rested his head against the wall behind him, panting so hard that it sounded like he had just finished running a marathon. 

You stood, adjusting your dress as Matt’s consciousness finally returned to his body. He smirked as he adjusted his pants.

“You two are the worst kind of trouble.” 

“We're your favorite kind of trouble.” You corrected, chuckling and eyeing the stain that probably wouldn’t come out of Matt’s shirt no matter how hard you scrubbed it. “Sorry about your shirt.” 

“And your hand.” Frank added. Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it ebbed away as Matt kissed both of you deeply, hands gently cradling the two of you. Matt wouldn’t admit it so nonchalantly, but when he got the chance to hold both of you like this, he felt like he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. 

“I’m not upset. I love you. Both of you.”

Frank nodded, humming in acknowledgment, and you noted the way Matt’s jaw ticked. You knowingly squeezed his hand. Frank didn't believe he was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone Matty’s, and you and Matt both knew it. But it wasn’t the time or place for that conversation, and you had no doubt he would breach that topic of conversation later, when Frank’s guard wasn’t so high, and he was feeling comfortable and loved.

“Wanna get out of here?” Matt smiled, squeezing your hand.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” 

You snorted with laughter as Frank ran a hand down his face. 

“That was the lamest thing you’ve ever said, Red. I’m embarrassed for you.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” Matt smirked.

“You promise?” Frank dared, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, Frankie. I promise.” 

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @megmastersgf @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @alina02 @thedevilwearsblack @violet-19999 @shoxji @layazul @lazyxsquirrel @honeysucklepotter @m0nster-fvcker @matthewmurdockswhore @infinityisbright @myguiltypleasures21 @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @goddesspsyche @mxxnligxt @ladamari68 @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @dreadfulxives18 @schneeflocky

[coldpintglass]

I was thinking about what you said in your southkane post about how they both want to be in that supportive/protecting role to the squad and how Kane maybe does it better than Southgate. It would be soooo interesting to see that tension worked out around that moment when dearly loved/life and soul/heavily Villa-coded Grealish was sent home before the euros this summer and reportedly Kane went in on the squad’s behalf to ask Southgate why.

(Sidebar: also interesting how he didn’t do the same when Madders was dropped)

I feel like - through that duty lens you wrote so well about - Southgate would be so proud of Kane for doing that, but also so maybe personally self-defensive about his choice, and of course ultimately unmoveable on it… fun tension

Thinking about Southkane were you now? 

Ah, anyway, thank you for your lovely ask Laura!!! Yeah, honestly since that article dropped (which if you haven’t read, worth it alone for how cutting it is of Gareth. Obviously he’s not the only reason this Euros wasn’t successful but he’s certainly the root. It’s quite a sobering read) and it said that Kane rushed to Gareth, I’ve been thinking about that too. Woof. 

Some thoughts on this:

A: Harry and Jack are clearly good friends from interactions IRL and on insta. Jack even having a chat on Katie’s page! Hello!?!?

B: Jack has done what Harry hasn’t yet - play and help a team win a final. And honestly that counts a lot for England.  Not to say that in the finals Harry has played in that they would’ve won otherwise without him (probably not!) but like that experince of what it takes to push when on the right foot is so invaluable.

C: Jack is sooooooo the life and soul of the team. Such a joyful spirit, like he’s a daft bugger (drink driving again what IS it with these guys) but he gets a lot right otherwise, he’s great at footie, loved by team and clearly loves the fans. You absolutely could FEEL the Jack shaped gap in the England training camp videos - it felt odd him not being there.

D. Yep, still of the opinion that Harry is better liked than Southgate because he finds it easier to support and respect the team. Thinking of the poignant interview Dele did with Gary Neville when he opened up on addiction/childhood trauma. He mentions Harry as someone who especially checked in on him and tried to help him. Just seems like someone who although may not tactically be the best leader, is absolutely good at being the glue to keep the team together and get the best out of others. 

Harry asking him about Grelish - WOOOFBARKBARKBARKGRRRR. 

What you’ve written is perfect Laura, absolutely that double edged sword of “so proud of you Harry, this is exactly the initiative to take, you’re a leader through and through” vs “what do you mean??? I dropped Grelish because it was the right choice. I plan the team around YOU.” And also this happening on the spurs training grounds is just…! 

That HAS to have been the start of the undercurrent of tension between them over the Euros. Not huge or anything but something was there - the publication of this article the day after Harry said “we didn’t know when to press” after the Denmark game? Nah, can’t be telling me that it’s somewhat linked. 

Strikes me as Southgate trying to put Harry back in his place or keep him in line. It’s gutting to think that tbh, they’ve otherwise been such a brilliant pair (both IRL and RPF) but no denying there’s been cracks. Watching your son/mentee outgrow you in a way you can’t come back from, wishing desperately he could go back to being the pliant but loyal young man you loved and put at the centre of everything for so long.

Anyway, this is a long way of saying “I’m absolutely injecting this into my brain to whip it up into a fic/part of a fic”. Love you x 

[miraculousmultifan]

Taylor Swift prompt fest!

Steve / Eddie Shake It Off Season 02 AU - the Halloween Party The most Steve-coded of these Steve-coded lyrics: I go on too many dates But I can't make 'em stay But I keep cruisin' Can't stop, won't stop movin' It's like I got this music in my mind Sayin' it's gonna be alright

My ex-man brought his new girlfriend She's like, "Oh my God!" but I'm just gonna shake And to the fella over there with the hella good hair Won't you come on over, baby? We can shake, shake, shake (yeah)

hiii!! thank you so much for the prompt! i hope you enjoy the fic :D

as a reminder, this is part of my event: stranger things (taylor's version), and you can find the prompt list HERE

i'm also cross-posting this fic (and every other fic from this event) to my ao3, so if you'd prefer to read it there, HERE IS THE LINK

Shake It Off

When Steve stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Nancy to… freshen up, he hadn’t wanted to see Jonathan Byers right after. But nothing ever seemed to go his way after that slimy monster attacked them, did it? 

It doesn’t matter. Just shake it off, man.

“Hey, Steve,” Jonathan called to him meekly. “Have you seen Nancy? She invited me, but I haven’t seen her since I got here.”

It’s probably not what you think, Steve. Shake it off.

“She’s in the bathroom by the kitchen. She’s gotten pretty drunk so you should probably drive her home,” Steve replied, deadpan, trying to keep his voice even to avoid making a scene.

Jonathan cocked his head. “You aren’t taking her?”

Trying to think of any other excuse that wasn’t ‘we had a fight and the sight of her right now makes me want to scream,’ Steve replied, “I’ve been drinking too, man. Don’t wanna get a DUI.”

Without another word, they parted ways. As Steve was walking away, he heard Nancy delightedly exclaim, “Jonathan!” His chest clenched, and he attempted to stop the scowl from darkening his face.

Shake. It. Off. Steve!

Although he hadn’t realized he was doing it, Steve made his way to the kitchen to grab another drink. Beer wasn’t really cutting it anymore, but he remembered seeing someone dump vodka into the fruit punch, so he poured himself a hefty cup of the stuff. If he was going to stick around this party, Steve certainly wasn’t going to do it without adding a little artificial fun.

Once he had started feeling the buzz of the alcohol fogging up his brain pleasantly, Steve joined the thrum of people in the living room dancing. The current song was one that Steve couldn’t remember the name of, but he knew that he loved it!

While the kind of dancing everyone else was doing seemed to revolve around nodding their heads, tapping their feet, and just generally trying to look cool, Steve let himself loosen up. It was like he became the center of attention, feeling the music move through him as he matched the beat with his body.

And it was fun! Way more fun than if he decided to go straight home and mope around in his empty house because Nancy didn’t love him.

The thought of Nancy sobered him up a little, though. Now he was at the point where he could hear conversations happening around him.

“I saw Nancy Wheeler leave the party with that loner, Byers. Harrington really can’t make them stay. Imagine losing your girlfriend to the same guy twice.”

“You’d think after dating half of the female student body he’d figure out how to get a girl to like him for more than just a quick fuck.”

Steve tried to lose himself in the music again.

“Harrington really fell off, huh. That weird fucking dance makes him look like a barfing cat.”

“Literally! I can’t believe we all thought he was cool. This is so lame it’s sad.”

For some reason, Steve found himself sinking back into the feeling from before. He was having fun. He was making his own dance up, and it felt great!

Soon, though, the song switched to something with a different beat, and Steve had to find the rhythm again. When he opened his eyes to get a better grip on his bearings though, he was looking directly at Eddie Munson standing in the corner.

He looked unimpressed and generally disinterested, and Steve frowned. It was a really bad look to have someone unhappy at your party. Sure, technically it wasn’t Steve’s party, but as the proclaimed “King of Parties,” he was basically his duty to right this infraction.

Before Steve even realized he was walking, his feet led him straight to Munson, stopping him too close for the average person’s comfort. He started drafting what he was going to say, trying to find the right combination of words that would get Munson to have fun, but instead…

“If you’re here for weed, your Majesty, I’m afraid I’m fresh out of stock for the night,” Munson drawled, watching Steve with guarded eyes.

“What?” Steve blinked once. Then twice. Oh… “Ah, right. Weed.” Ever eloquent, that was where Steve’s mouth decided to shut off.

Munson raised an eyebrow at Steve suspiciously. “If you weren’t looking for weed, why are you standing here?”

“You’re not having fun,” Steve stated. Come on, get to the point, Steve!

Putting on a theatrical face, Munson sing-songed, “What an astute observation, my Lord! Though, I do regret to inform you that this is strictly a business venture. Nobody has fun when they’re conducting business, my Liege.”

All of Munson’s fancy words were kind of fucking up Steve’s ability to get the words he wanted to say out of his brain and into his mouth. “Huh?”

Munson sighed, obviously becoming fed up with Steve's conversation skills. “Did this conversation have a point, or did the braincells I lost while standing here just die for nothing?”

“Come dance with me!” Steve finally suggested.

“I beg your everloving fuck?” Munson answered, his face twisted in several different complicated expressions.

Steve grinned. “You’re not having fun, so come dance with me! I wasn’t having fun a couple minutes ago, and now I feel great!” He paused for a moment and frowned. “Though I guess that could’ve been the vodka…”

Munson pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled under his breath, seeming just to himself, “Why are you even entertaining this, Eddie? Get a grip!” Then he relaxed his shoulders and looked up, staring at Steve calculatingly as he said, “So let me make sure I got this right. You, Steve Harrington, are inviting me, Eddie Munson, to dance with you in this crowded room full of practically every popular kid in our high school.”

“You know, you have really nice hair,” Steve replied instead. “What conditioner do you use? It looks so soft.”

Squinting at him like he had two heads, Munson finally relented and snarked, “It seems like someone should be chaperoning you right now, so… I guess I can rise to the occasion for once.”

Steve beamed at Eddie and led him deeper into the mass of people so they could be closer to the music. Once he found what he deemed to be the perfect spot, Steve let himself feel the music once again. He wanted to get rid of all that other shit.

The gossipmongers at Hawkins High always start shit at every opportunity. Sometimes the most basic things get circulated through every rumor mill, and Steve had given up trying to plaster on a fake smile and put on a show.

Suddenly, Steve turned to Eddie and said, “Hey, you’re against all that conformist shit, right? Like doing your own thing or something?”

“Yeah, man… I am,” Eddie replied carefully.

Steve smiled, hoping he figured out how to get Eddie to really join him. “That’s what this is. Dancing like an idiot because it’s lame and so fun and I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s… bullshit.”

Eddie hummed, watching Steve appraisingly before his lips quirked up into something a couple of degrees off of affection. “Alright, I think I can get behind that. Wanna pretend like we’re the lead singers of this band performing a sold-out show?”

Brightening considerably, Steve pumped his fist. “Hell yeah!”

Once Steve gave his approval, Eddie whipped out an air guitar and started strumming viciously, his motions not at all synced up to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Steve grinned and picked up his own fake microphone, tilting the stand around like he was Elvis Presley while he headbanged aggressively. Cyndi Lauper was not an artist people would usually headbang to, but it was fun, so Steve was doing it.

Naturally, people started to stand and gawk at their display, but their confused and disgusted looks only seemed to fuel Eddie’s energy. Hey, that’s what Steve had been trying to do! Getting Eddie to join him was definitely the right choice.

Matching Eddie’s enthusiasm, Steve leaned in closer to him to share the microphone as if they were singing a duet. Eddie snorted out a surprised laugh at Steve’s antics, but he still joined in with the charade.

Even when people started whispering around them, Steve didn’t care anymore. Their words slid off of him like water off his back. Plus, Eddie looked like he was having fun too.

Steve was starting to forget why he had been so upset before… Eh, it was probably just some stupid bullshit anyway.

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

PSA for this post here

Currently, as of 12/9/22, the poll is still open, but here are some rules regardless of what comes on top:

Suggesting:

You can suggest themes for certain types of recs/rec lists for that week in question via my ask box. (I.e. “Snotlout-based works”, “multi chapter works”, “Snotlout one shots”, whatever.)

You can also suggest specific fics (preferably with links) if you want to see them recommended! Please note that everyone’s opinions are different and sometimes the fic you’ve recommended might not make it on a list immediately or I’ve already recced the fic before.

Asks are always encouraged here, and they will most certainly help with motivation as well as content for the weekly lists.

(ETA: While the main focus is fanfiction, if you ever want to recommend a fan-artist then please feel free! With links of course.)

What I will not be recommending:

My own works (discussion of them will be kept separate from this project)

Works that are recommended by the author and not a fan of the work(s) (this is because this project is about community and fandom and not self-promotion.) (Example: Person A can’t recommend Person A’s fics but Person B can.)

Works that are rated “explicit”. Mature works are acceptable (if they are merely mature and not incorrectly labelled so), but explicit porn for example is not. The same goes for NSFW pieces of art/artists.

AO3 works that have a dozen fandom tags and barely any HTTYD content. (Crossovers also have a less likely chance to be recommended.)

Works that aren’t written in English won’t be accepted because I won’t be able to read them. Authorised translations of an originally non-English fic are fine.

Unauthorised reposts of another’s fics or art.

Works about SH, SA, pedophilia, non-con, rape, gore, etc. won’t be accepted but the first two have a slim chance of being skimmed in case there is an exception to be made.

Works that ship the dragons with their riders. This goes for “dragon-shifter” fics as well.

Additionally, asks/requests with the terms “Snotfang” or “Hicctooth” will be taken with a grain of salt because of the many connotations surrounding the terms. Tone tags are always encouraged.

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[bi-naesala]

Scars

(Kinktober 28: Daddy & Mommy | Body Worship | Cockbulge)

Post Persona 3, Shinjiro Lives AU, Scars, Top Surgery, Trans Akihiko, Body Worship, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex

Akihiko and Shinjiro get intimate again after the latter wakes up from the coma. Everything should be good, but Akihiko's worried that the way his body has changed might be a turn-off for Shinjiro, whose only option is to prove him wrong.

(AO3 link)

(Fic under the cut)

Shinjiro almost finds it funny how, out of the two of them, Akihiko’s the one who’s insecure about his body, his well-toned and very hot body, and not him, the one who’s been in a coma for almost a year and has barely exercised afterwards – he just can’t be bothered, honestly.

“My chest is…” Akihiko mutters, gesturing to the general area in question.

“Yeah, you got your tits cut off, so?” Shinjiro asks. “I knew from the start that it was going to happen.”

Sure, they were soft and nice, and he loved burying his face between them, but they made Akihiko feel bad about himself; Shinjiro’s happy he got them removed.

“But the scars…”

At that, Shinjiro scoffs. “I have scars too, you know? Wanna compare?”

“… There’s a lot of them.”

Shinjiro sighs. Yeah, Aki travelled the world and got fucked up a bit, so? It’s not like he’s any better.

“Aki,” he begins, taking his face between his hands, forcing him to look at him in the eyes. “Do you really think I give a shit about what you look like?”

Akihiko hesitates only for a moment, before weakly shaking his head.

“That’s right,” and with that, Shinjiro drags him for a heated kiss to which Akihiko succumbs immediately, letting him hold the reins, as Shinjiro presses his body against his, wrapping his arms around his frame and sneaking his tongue past his lips.

Akihiko moans, shivering at the touch. Hearing that spurns Shinjiro on, as he pushes the other down on the mattress, settling between his legs.

It’s then that he starts to slowly, oh-so-slowly, remove his clothes, kissing the parts of his body that get  revealed as he goes on.

Akihiko wasn’t lying when he said he was full of scars: endless patterns crisscrossing on his skin, signs of the countless fights he’s pulled through in his life.

Part of him wants to punch him for being this reckless – seriously, would it hurt him not to rush into things without thinking? – but hey, at least he’s still alive, isn’t he?

In a way, these scars are badges of honor, because no matter how though the fight was, he always came out on top and… okay, fine, they’re hot too, okay? He’s admitted it – they certainly look better than his scars.

It’s endearing how much Akihiko squirms each time he presses his lips against the ruined skin, pressing soft kisses wherever he likes; well, he’s always been pretty sensitive, but never to this level, at least as Shinjiro recalls, though his memory is a bit hazy thanks to the coma, so he might be simply remembering things wrong.

It’s probably nothing, but he can’t help but to worry either way – he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, not when it’s been so long since the last time they could touch and hold each other like this.

“Hey…” he mutters, stopping the effusions just for a moment. “You good?”

Akihiko nods, though he can’t hide the fact that he’s tearing up, not from Shinjiro, who’s known him since forever. “Yeah, it’s just… a lot.”

“A good kind of ‘a lot’, or a bad kind?”

“Good… God, yes, good.” He cups Shinjiro’s face between his hands. “I can’t believe you… I’ve missed you so much.”

At those words, all Shinjiro can do is to kiss him, as if that will ever be enough to make up for all the pain he’s caused him, but it’s a start. Akihiko puts no resistance when he presses his tongue past his lips, welcoming him while placing his arms around his shoulders, holding him.

This is more than Shinjiro deserves, but… He’s trying to cut it out with all this self-loathing shit – everyone’s been telling him that it’s for the best – and to just accept the good things that are coming his way, so he sucks it up and keeps kissing Aki over and over again, until their lips are all bruised and puffy for the excessive use.

He is the first one to pull away, doing it only so that he can kiss down his neck, then his shoulder, only to move even further down, to his chest, which he lavishes with licks and kisses, sucking a few marks that he hopes will last at least a couple of days; to tell the truth, the idea of marking Aki sets something on fire inside him, but he tries to quell it down: now it’s not the time to be rough. Some other day, he’ll ruin him, but not today.

He spends a lot of time on his long surgery scars. They’re faded, now, and are barely visible in contrast with Akihiko’s already pale skin, but they can still be felt to the touch; they do seem to be a bit irregular, but Shinjiro’s willing to bet it’s because the idiot probably didn’t follow the doctor’s instructions and didn’t rest properly until they were completely healed.

Still, out of all the scars on his body, these are the ones he likes the most, because he knows they make Akihiko happy.

He takes his time with them, peppering them with kisses, while with his hands he caresses his hips, his ass, his legs, wherever he can reach.

Akihiko’s making the sweetest sounds, encouraging him to keep going. Fuck, he’s missed this so much.

It’s so weird, being glad for being alive, but if he weren’t, then he wouldn’t experience this, and that would be absolutely fucking terrible.

When Shinjiro brings his hand between Akihiko’s legs, he finds out that he’s already drenched.

“Christ, Aki…” he moans, slipping two fingers in, marveling at how smoothly they go inside, meeting no resistance whatsoever.

“S-Shinji!” Akihiko moans, holding him tightly in his arms while he starts to fuck him with his fingers. “Shinji! Shinji! Shinji!”

He’s close already, very, very close.

“Shinji… Inside, please! I need you!” he begs him, then, and who’s Shinjiro to tell him no?

He removes his fingers, replacing them with his cock, which would’ve been easier if Akihiko had let him go even for just a moment, but oh well, it’s done now – besides, it’s not like he doesn’t find all this attachment endearing.

He moves slowly, tenderly holding the body underneath him, gently pressing their foreheads together.

“Shinji… I love you,” Akihiko moans. Shinjiro can feel a slight burn on his back; he’s holding onto him, sinking his nails in his flesh – that’ll definitely leave a mark, a less permanent mark than the scars on their bodies, but Shinjiro doesn’t care.

“Me too, Aki… Me too,” he replies, before kissing him.

Akihiko is the first to come, but Shinjiro follows right after, burying himself deep inside him as he does so, making the other shiver at the sensation.

When he pulls away, he moves slowly, before collapsing on Akihiko, who grunts, but otherwise doesn’t push him away; actually, he looks like he’s enjoying having a “weighted blanket”.

“Fuck…” Shinjiro mutters, making Akihiko chuckle.

“That’s exactly what we’ve just done,” he replies, looking way too proud of the stupid joke he just did. Shinjiro smacks his head, not as heavily as he would’ve wanted, but he’s tired.

“Who taught you to talk like that? I’d like to have a few words with them,” he asks.

This time, Akihiko outright laughs.

The last memory Shinjiro has of him – one of the last, at least – it’s of him, distraught, trying to hold back tears as he watched him – supposedly – die.

This Akihiko, the one in front of him, looks completely different: he’s grown up, for starters, but also… Shinjiro can see that he’s truly happy.

Needless to say, he much prefers this version.

[winchesterandpie]

Done waiting

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Word Count: 1621

Warnings: Very self-indulgent, major insecurities, lots of fluff/comfort

A/N: I really appreciate the support on the other Rooster fics I've been posting--you guys are making it fun to post! This is based on a post that tumblr won't let me link, though I think it was originally intended to have a more goofy tone, so my apologies. Nonetheless, I enjoyed writing it! Without further ado, here you go!

You had been best friends with Rooster since you met in the Top Gun program. Somewhere along the line, you’d fallen in love with him. If you were someone else, you might have told him. However, you were well aware that he couldn’t feel the same, so you never said anything.

It was easier to ignore after Top Gun, when you were both on distant assignments and only able to text or call occasionally. Now, summoned back to Top Gun, for a mission they wouldn’t tell you about until you arrived, you were terrified. For yourself, sure, but also for Rooster. The fear for him was what had your feelings threatening to bubble over.

You needed to get it under control tonight, before the training started. Unfortunately, Rooster was making that difficult.

“Hey, are you okay, Hawk?” The man himself nudged your shoulder, snapping you back to awareness

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” You flashed a tight smile before taking a swig of your drink.

“‘Bout what?”

“They’ve called us all back here. It’s gotta be something serious, I just can’t figure out what.”

“I’m sure they’ll tell us tomorrow. No sense in worrying just yet.”

“Who said I was worried, Roose?”

“Please, I know you. Your eyebrows draw together here,” he said, lifting his hand to touch the spot between them, “and they lift just a little.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” you chuckled.

“Just to me.” Rooster’s half-smile matched yours. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk. We can catch up.”

“So, how was overseas? Meet anyone special?” you asked once you were out of the Hard Deck.

He laughed, leaning into you to stay upright. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe, big guy. They weren’t swooning over your every flex?” you teased.

“I’ll have you know I don’t just go around flexing.”

“Mmhmm, whatever you say.”

“What about you, then?” Rooster grinned, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What about me?”

“Meet anybody lately?”

“Nah, that was never my thing.” You brushed it off, dropping your gaze. You hadn’t had anyone interested in you before, and you weren’t going to start moping about it now. Certainly you weren’t planning to tell Bradley anything about it. Instead, you turned it back to him once again. “Really? No crushes, no dates, nothing?”

“Well, I…” It was his time to duck his head, catching your attention. “Not--”

“Uh uh, what was that?”

“What was what?” He turned toward you, stopping in the sand.

“You hesitated! There’s definitely someone.” Despite your teasing, his clear interest in someone hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Who said there was someone?” he deflected.

“Please, I know you,” you parroted his words from earlier.

“Fine, alright,” he admitted with a sigh. “There is someone I like.”

“Ooh, and the whole Navy is full of broken hearts for it.” Your heart was among them. “When did that start? Have you said anything to them?”

“I’ve been dropping the most insanely obvious hints for a few years now.” He started walking again, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly before he spoke again. “No response from her.”

“Ok, but what you think is obvious isn’t always actually obvious. You’re sure she would pick up on it?” Quietly, you told yourself that Rooster was your best friend. If this was how he would be happy, you resigned yourself to helping him win over his mystery crush.

“Phoenix said she could see it from a mile away.”

“You told Phoenix before me?” That stung.

“No, she saw it happen. Came up to me to tease me afterward.” It stung less, but the ache in your chest didn’t lessen with it.

“She sounds a little stupid, no offense.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not stupid. She’s quite smart, actually. Just a bit dense.” 

The undeniable fondness in his voice hurt. You had never been under any illusion that he would be interested in you. Bradley was so far out of your league in every way that mattered. Given time, you knew you would get better at acting. Perhaps you would even get past your feelings for him.

“Maybe you just need to be more obvious?” you suggested.

“How would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe just say it to her. Maybe ‘Hey, I love you,’ or something like that.”

“Not a bad idea,” he acknowledged before turning to address you by your name. Your real name, not your callsign. “Hey, I love you.”

“Exactly like that.” You swallowed the hurt of knowing he wouldn’t ever mean that about you no matter how much you wished he would. “Now just tell it to her. And let me know how it goes.” You bumped his shoulder with yours.

“Wow.”

“And y’know, if she still doesn’t get it, she’s too dumb for you, Roose.”

He said your name again.

You wished he would stop. Stop making you melt with just his voice. Stop making you feel things you knew better than to feel. Stop making you wonder if he might just reciprocate. Stop making you wish for what might be.

“What?”

“Do you really not know?” he asked, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Know what? You’re not making any sense.”

“Hawk, it’s you. I love you.”

You laughed incredulously and something like anger grew in his face. Still, you shook your head as you started off down the beach again. “No, no you don’t.”

He stood there for a second, stunned, before jogging after you. “What the hell do you mean I don’t?”

“I mean you don’t love me. You can’t…” You cut yourself off, trying not to cry. “You can’t love me.” 

The anger in his face creased into concern when he heard the sob you choked off. His arms opened, reaching for you. You went to him without hesitation, wrapping your arms around him as you tried to force your shoulders not to shake. His hand held the back of your head, keeping you secure against him. Bradley’s breathing was deep and even, something you used to slow your own gasping breaths. He held you for a long minute, even after you calmed.

“Why can’t I love you?” he asked quietly.

“Why would anyone?” you returned his question with another. “Especially you. You’re… everything--brilliant, talented, funny, gorgeous, kind, everything--and I… I’m just me. You could have anyone you wanted and I just don’t see how you could want me.”

He squeezed you tighter for a minute before he pulled back to look at you. You avoided his gaze, still sniffling a little. His hand moved to your chin, gently encouraging you to lift your head. After a moment, you did, bringing your eyes to his briefly.

“Sweetheart, I--”

You cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “If you’re going to keep talking, I want you to be sure you mean it. I had a guy ask me out as a joke once and I don’t think I could handle it if you did that to me too.”

Bradley took hold of your wrist, moving your hand so it rested over his heart. “I promise you, I would never do that.” He waited for you to nod before he continued. “I do love you. I have since you gave me that old record.”

“Really? That was all the way back when we were in Top Gun.” When you chuckled weakly, his lips tilted up into a half-smile.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to work up to asking you out since then. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Technically, you still haven’t.” You might have winked at him if you didn’t still feel raw. As it was, you managed a teasing tone that broadened his grin.

“You’re absolutely right. Allow me to rectify that mistake.” Bradley tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. This time when he said your name, delicious shivers ran down your spine. “Let me take you on a date?”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”  You felt warm as he looked at you in the moonlight. Perhaps it was the reflection of that light that seemed to glow in his eyes that made you braver. “I love you too, Bradley.”

“Yeah?” Shyness colored his tone--a rarity for him.

“Since you found me that time on the beach. You know which one.” You smiled, watching his hazel eyes. “I… I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I understand,” he reassured immediately. “I wish you knew how amazing you are, but until then, can you trust me to believe it for both of us?”

“There’s no one on this earth I trust more than you,” you said, your gaze turning a little uncertain after a moment. “You might have to remind me once in a while, though.”

He pulled you back into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before leaning his cheek there. “I’ll remind you as often as you need for as long as you let me.”

You were fighting tears again, this time wondering how you had possibly gotten so lucky. Bradley didn’t say anything, just held you close. He let you be the one to pull back, and you tucked yourself into his side for the walk back to his car.

“So, about that date,” you started, grinning up at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I was thinking we could make dinner, get ice cream, the whole nine yards.”

“When are you gonna pick me up, sunshine?”

“Same as always, sweetheart,” he squeezed you closer by the shoulders, kissing your forehead. “6 sharp from the locker room after whatever their training is tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

[chilucult]

posting my chiluc smut here first bc I don't have an ao3 account (yet)! will post the ao3 link once I get an account and get it posted.

again, this is smut, minors begone.

also, this is my first fic ever, so feel free to roast me.

another warning, this is long (~10k words)

fic under the cut!

The Fatui Harbinger had been coming to the Angel’s Share for the past few nights. He called himself “Childe”. Diluc was not very fond of him, what with him being with the Fatui and all, but he was a paying customer, so Diluc treated him as he did every other patron. Diluc just wished this Childe guy would treat him like every other bartender.

“Can I get another shot? Pretty please, oh pretty barkeep?” Ajax batted his eyes at Diluc, noticing the man give a slight eye roll before he began to pour the Harbinger his requested shot.

Ajax had been trying to get the attention of this particular bartender for some nights now. When he had first entered the Angel’s Share tavern, his sight had tunnel-visioned on the entrancing man behind the bar with fiery red hair. Ajax knew he had to have him. The bartender, Diluc, his name tag read, was not as perceptive to Ajax’s advances as he had hoped he would be.

Diluc set down the shot he had ordered in front of him, jerking him out of his musings. “Would you like me to add this to your tab, sir?” Diluc asked him, all business. Oh, but Ajax would never tire of hearing the man’s voice, wanting to hear how it sounded when it was screaming his name.

Ajax cocked his head to the side to appreciate the view from a different angle. “Yes, please; and like I said, call me Childe.” He tried not to get discouraged when he saw Diluc scoff a bit. “Actually, you can call me anything you like,” he shot back with a wink.

Diluc only scoffed again, wiping down a glass from another customer. “I’m not going to call you by some made-up name. ‘Childe’ is ridiculous, anyway,” he explained, choosing to ignore the wink the Fatui man had sent him.

Ajax downed his shot easily, smirking slightly at Diluc’s raised eyebrow. “I told you that you could call me anything you want. Although, I certainly didn’t mind ‘sir’ either, if that’s what you’re into,” Ajax all but purred, his eyes half lidded in intent.

Diluc chuckled a bit sarcastically at that. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he shot back, only resorting to responding in such a manner because the Harbinger was pushing his buttons.

Ajax leaned forward on the bar, getting closer to the man of his desires. “Oh I would absolutely love to know just exactly what you’re into,” he whispered darkly, knowing that Diluc could still hear his every word. Ajax mentally pumped his fist when he saw Diluc inhale sharply at that.

Diluc narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. “Are you... flirting with me?” he asked, genuinely unsure.

Ajax’s eyes widened at the question before he sat back on his barstool with a laugh. “‘Am I flirting with you?’! Um, yeah, actually, have been for the past few days,” he laughs again, thinking it absurd that it took Diluc this long to figure out. “But thanks for noticing, I guess.” He still shook his head to himself, wondering if he had lost his flirting skills or if Diluc was just particularly dense.

Diluc felt his cheeks start to heat up, and quickly turned his back to the Harbinger. The Harbinger that was flirting with him. Diluc couldn’t understand why. The man was clearly out of Diluc’s league, surely he hadn’t missed all the other patrons in the tavern staring at him, had he? So, as he fiddled with empty glasses, wiping them down just to have something to occupy his hands with, he softly asked, “Why?”

Ajax tore his eyes from where he was blatantly staring at Diluc’s ass to meet the man’s hesitant eyes looking over his shoulder. “Why? Are you kidding me? You’re kidding right?” Diluc broke their eye contact, shyly looking down at the floor, which was not what Ajax wanted. “I don’t think we have time to cover my entire list of reasons, Red.” Diluc looked back at him questioningly, both at the nickname and the statement.

“You just look so... breathtaking.” Diluc turned back around to face Ajax, but couldn’t meet his eyes just yet. “Since I first saw you a few nights ago, I knew I just had to have you. I wanna know how beautiful you look when you let your hair down, what kinds of noises you’ll make when I pull on it. Wanna know how you sound after I’ve broken you, how you’ll look after I’ve made a mess of you,” Ajax murmured, slowly standing from his stool and crowding into Diluc as much as he could with the bar between them. He smirked victoriously when he saw Diluc breathing a bit heavier, his cheeks flushed a bright pink.

A loud clang from somewhere in the tavern jolted them apart, someone probably having knocked over their drink. Diluc’s eyes darted about the place, hoping no one had seen them just now. “Oh my- gods, you can’t say stuff like that here, I’m working,” he seethed, attempting to convey his annoyance, but knowing the Harbinger could probably see right through him.

“Not here?” Ajax repeated, a feral grin beginning to grow on his face. “So I could do it, say, in your bedroom?” He asked suggestively.

Diluc couldn’t deny his attraction to the Fatui man. He was hot, what could Diluc say? He had just never thought the man would be interested in him, but he had clearly been wrong. Plus, the things that he had been talking about did sound rather enticing...

He lowered his voice, praying to the gods that none of the other patrons in the tavern could hear what he was saying. “If I say yes, will you quit... teasing me for the rest of my shift?”

Ajax pulled away a bit, suddenly serious. “Hey now, don’t make it sound like I’m forcing you. If you really want me to cut it out and leave, just say the word and I’ll be gone.” He couldn’t stop the small smirk from gracing his lips as he said his next words. “But something tells me that you really don’t want me to stop.”

Diluc flushed, averting his eyes once again. “Do you think I would even consider going home with you if I didn’t want it?” He whispered, embarrassed to have to admit his desires, but also wanting to make his intentions clear.

Ajax grinned wickedly. “Perfect,” he purred. “So when do you get off work, Red?”

Diluc pouted slightly at the nickname before he glanced at the clock on the wall. “In... a little less than an hour. Think you can be patient for that long?”

“If I get to take you home? I’d wait forever,” Ajax grinned easily. He could see Diluc’s cheeks redden, but could also see the weak glare the man sent his way. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to work in peace.”

For the next hour, Diluc tried to carry on with his work normally, he really tried. Yet, he found it impossible to ignore the stirring of emotions in his gut. He was excited for the night ahead, yes, but there was also nervousness and anxiety eating away at him. He knew he wasn’t the most... experienced person out there. He had only ever slept with one girl years ago, finding it not to his liking. He had never even been with a man (unless you count that one guy he made out with a few years back). He hoped his inexperience wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for the man.

He also found it hard to ignore the presence of the Harbinger. He had kept his word, not making any more moves at Diluc, but Diluc couldn’t shake the feeling of the other man’s eyes tracking his every movement. Every so often when Diluc would sneak a peek at him, he would find the Harbinger shamelessly staring at him, eyes roaming over his body slowly, hungrily. He couldn’t help the flush in his cheeks, nor the way he fidgeted self-consciously with his apron.

When Charles came to finally relieve Diluc of his bartending duties, he could see the clear excitement in the Harbinger’s eyes. Diluc took off his apron, leaning in close to the man to whisper, “Meet me out back.” He almost laughed at the way the man bolted from his seat.

Ajax was waiting patiently behind the tavern for only a few minutes before the fiery redhead made his appearance. “So, where to, Red?” His lips twitched into a small smile as they began walking, noticing that Diluc was just slightly shorter than him.

Diluc grumbled to himself, “Since you’ve been coming to the tavern for days, I would’ve hoped you’d bother to read my name tag once.” He continued when the man beside him chuckled, nodding his head in the direction of the city gates. “The manor is a bit outside the city, hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

Ajax cut himself off from the smooth retort of I’d walk to the ends of the earth to get you into bed with me to look at Diluc inquisitively. “Wait... manor?”

Diluc went on to explain that he owned the winery in Mondstadt, as well as the large manor house that was on the property. He also mentioned that he owned the tavern they were just at, internally preening at the impressed look on the Harbinger’s face.

After that, a silence fell between the two as they walked. Diluc didn’t seem to be one to make small talk much, and Ajax was perfectly fine just taking in the scenery, not feeling the need to run his mouth for once. It was comfortable.

Diluc was infinitely glad that he dismissed his house staff early each night, comforted by the fact that there would be no interruptions. As soon as he walked through the front door, his back was being shoved against the hard wood, the gasp he let out being swallowed by the incessant lips capturing his own. His eyes fell closed as he was kissed breathless against the door, a gloved hand gripping his hip and pinning him in place. Diluc slowly raised a hand to rest on the man’s shoulder as his mouth was invaded by the other’s tongue.

Diluc ripped his head back once the Harbinger gave him room to breathe. “H-hold on,” he panted, tilting his head slightly as the man hummed against the skin of his jaw in response. “I have... two things. F-first,” he stuttered out as the skin beneath his jaw was nipped lightly. “You need to tell me your name. I- I’m not calling you Childe.” His eyebrows furrowed in distaste at the name, even while his eyes slipped shut once again from the soft kisses being left on his neck.

Ajax chuckled against the skin of Diluc’s neck. He peppered light kisses across the skin of his jaw, making his way to the other’s ear, where he whispered, “It’s Ajax. Please do remember it, I want to hear you screaming it for me tonight.” He nipped at the skin just below Diluc’s ear, smirking at the way the man shivered slightly.

Diluc nodded absently, mouthing the name Ajax to see how it felt on his lips. He let his head fall back against the door as the man- Ajax- continued a trail down his throat. He hummed in content as his lips were captured in a searing kiss once again, only to have the noise turn into a weak whine as Ajax pulled away much sooner than Diluc would have liked.

“Didn’t you have another thing to say, baby?” Ajax questioned, reveling in the hitch in Diluc’s breath at the use of the pet name. Once his words registered with Diluc, he could notice the other man’s demeanor change, suddenly shy. His cheeks were flushed more in embarrassment than arousal, and his hand was nervously fidgeting with the clothes on Ajax’s shoulder. Ajax pulled himself back a bit, trying to give Diluc more room to get out whatever it was that he wanted to say.

“I- I’ve never... I mean, with a, uh, guy, at least... I’ve never, um... done... this,” he stammered out weakly, his words trailing off at the end. Diluc couldn’t bring himself to meet Ajax’s eyes, but he doubted he would’ve been able to read any expression on his face.

There was a moment's pause before Diluc heard Ajax ask, “Do you want to stop?” If there was any judgement in his voice, Diluc certainly couldn’t find it.

If Diluc thought he couldn’t get any more embarrassed than he already was, he was wrong. He internally cringed at how quick he was to respond. “No. No. I want... this. I just... thought you should, uh, know,” he finished weakly. He was emboldened, encouraged to continue by the soft smile on Ajax’s face. “Besides... you still need to follow through with your words,” he taunted, choosing to ignore the flush on his cheeks at the reminder of Ajax’s filthy promises.

The soft grin of Ajax’s face turned sharp as he crowded Diluc against the door once again. He buried his face into the side of the man’s neck, leaving a bite there before whispering against the skin, “Oh, baby. I’m gonna make it so good for you.” He reached down the grab Diluc’s thigh, using the grip he had on his hip with his other hand to lift the redhead, properly pinning him against the door. He smirked at the gasp Diluc let out, the way his legs scrambled to wrap around his waist.

Diluc was thriving. His head was tilted back against the door, his eyes slipped shut in pleasure. Diluc knew he was a large man, his muscles built well and even a bit bulky in some areas. So the way in which Ajax easily lifted him off the ground and was still supporting his weight against the door, was a bit shocking to Diluc. And, apparently, quite the turn on, if the rapid hardening in his pants was anything to go by. Diluc was glad that his long coat was still on, covering what had to be an obvious tent in his pants. He was embarrassed to be so turned on by just a little making out, but perhaps it was just the effect that Ajax had on him.

Ajax continued leaving a trail of bite marks down Diluc’s throat, encouraged by the way Diluc would tilt his head to the side, offering Ajax a larger expanse of skin to mark. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he muttered into Diluc’s skin darkly. He bit down at a spot at the base of Diluc’s throat rasher harshly, leaving his lips on the skin to suck on the mark, ensuring it would leave a nice bruise. He glanced up at the sound of a muffled whimper to see Diluc biting his bottom lip, no doubt in an attempt to keep his noises at bay.

Ajax let go of his hip, bringing his hand up to thumb at Diluc’s lower lip, urging him to release it from between his teeth. Diluc complied easily, his eyes slipping open when Ajax tutted at him. “Nuh uh, let me hear you, baby. I wanna hear all the beautiful noises you can make,” he smirked slightly at the small whimper that escaped from Diluc’s lips. “Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he finished with a whisper.

Diluc’s hands flew to the back of Ajax’s head, gripping his hair and bringing him down for a sloppy kiss. Ajax groaned into Diluc’s mouth, his tongue slipping between the other’s lips easily. With his free hand, Ajax attempted to push the heavy coat off of Diluc’s shoulders, but with his back pinned against the door, it was futile. He groaned into Diluc’s mouth again, this time in annoyance, before he ripped himself away from the mouth that was quickly becoming addicting.

Diluc could see that Ajax was about to say something, but cut him off. “Bedroom,” he panted out, knowing Ajax was thinking the same thing. Ajax let him down and nodded at him, and that was all Diluc needed. He grabbed the man’s hand, almost running through the manor to get to the stairs, zipping through the halls to get to his bedroom. He led Ajax into the room, seeing Ajax kick the door closed behind him, before he was promptly thrown onto his own bed.

Diluc gasped as he bounced back on the bed, his length twitching in his pants. He quickly kicked off his socks and shoes as he saw Ajax doing the same, before Ajax pounced on him. His mouth was everywhere, leaving kisses and bites so quickly that Diluc couldn’t even process it before he would move on to a new spot. His hands moved in a frenzy as well, hastily reaching for Diluc’s hands to strip him of his gloves.

Ajax pulled at the collar of Diluc’s coat, wanting the material off hours ago. The coat was still proving difficult, as he had to get Diluc to work his arms out of it, and Ajax declared the coat his new nemesis. He slowed his mouth leaving marks all along Diluc’s neck, carefully getting Diluc to help him pull his arms out of the offending jacket. He pulled back a bit to let Diluc sit up so he could throw the coat to the ground, Ajax delighted to finally be rid of it.

As happy as he was to be rid of Diluc’s coat, Ajax groaned in annoyance at the sight of more layers of clothing hiding the bare skin he so desperately wanted to see. He did take a moment to appreciate Diluc in his bartending uniform, the black dress shirt and white vest making him look oh so cute when paired with his flushed face and heaving chest. Ajax dived in again, mouthing at Diluc’s neck. “So. Many. Fucking. Layers,” he huffed out into Diluc’s skin, impatiently undoing the buttons of his vest.

Diluc let out a breathless laugh, his breathing still heavy from all the attention Ajax was giving his neck. “I don’t see you- ah. I don’t see you taking anything off,” he panted out, thinking it was a bit unfair that he was the only one being undressed. He let one of his hands move to Ajax’s hip, sliding up to feel the small stretch of skin that was exposed by the cut of his shirt. He let his hand wander further up beneath Ajax’s shirt, sucking in a breath at the feeling of abs and corded muscle.

Ajax hummed against the skin of Diluc’s neck at the feeling of his hand against his own bare skin. “All in good time, baby,” he chuckled, pulling away as he had finally gotten the vest unbuttoned. “For now, I want to see how beautiful you are under all these clothes,” he murmured as rid Diluc of the vest.

Diluc squirmed against the bed as Ajax slowly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, not used to being stared at so intensely. Ajax’s eyes were glued to where his hands were meticulously undoing each button, hungrily eating up every inch of newly revealed skin. Once he undid the last button, he unceremoniously pushed it to Diluc’s sides, putting his entire bare torso on display.

Ajax could do nothing but stare. The man laid out before him was breathtaking, and he wasn’t even fully undressed yet. Ajax wasn’t sure if he would make it through this night alive. But oh it would be such a glorious death. He was so caught up in letting his eyes wander about the wide expanse of skin that he didn’t notice Diluc wriggling his arms out of the sleeves. He only noticed when Diluc sat up a bit to toss the shirt to the floor, his abs clenching deliciously.

Diluc continued to squirm against the sheets, hating that Ajax was staring at him silently for so long. He didn’t find Diluc unattractive, did he? Diluc knew that much of his muscle mass was pretty well hidden beneath his clothes, but without them, there was no hiding it. He prayed to the gods that Ajax didn’t mind his extra bulk. “Ajax,” he whined softly, a small pout to his lips.

Diluc whining his name finally snapped Ajax out of his reverie. “Gods,” he whispered, letting his gloved hands slide up Diluc’s chest, coming to cup the pectoral muscles. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered again, still entranced by the way the flush on Diluc’s cheeks continued down his neck and to his check, covering the pale skin in bright red splotches. His eyes flicked up to Diluc’s face. “Oh, one more thing.” He reached behind Diluc’s head to undo the ponytail that was holding his hair back. After running his fingers through the locks, he leaned back to admire the view.

And what a view he was. Diluc’s face flushed a bright pink, red splotches of blush littering his beautiful pale skin, his chest rising with each breath he took. All of this, framed by a halo of fiery red hair, the curls spilling out and spreading across the sheets.

Ajax’s patience snapped. He dove down to leave a harsh bite at the meat of Diluc’s pectoral muscle, his hands feverishly wanting to map out every dip and curve.

Diluc let out a small “ah-“ at the harsh bite. A high-pitched keening noise ripped from his throat as Ajax laves his tongue over a nipple.

Ajax chuckled through his nose. “Do you like that? Does it feel good?” he murmured into the skin. Diluc let out a whine in response, which simply wouldn’t do, in Ajax’s opinion. “Diluc baby,” he began, pressing a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “I want you to answer me when I ask you something, okay? I need to make sure you’re still comfortable and enjoying this. Need to know what makes you feel good. Think you can do that for me?” He grinned as Diluc nodded his head. “Good boy,” he whispered, planting another soft kiss to Diluc’s lips before making his way down his chest again.

Ajax blew on one of Diluc’s nipples softly, enjoying the way Diluc shivered in response. He took the bud lightly between his teeth before closing his lips around it. Diluc let out a soft moan at the feeling of Ajax’s tongue, his hand flying up to rest on the Harbinger’s shoulder. Ajax pulled back enough to purr, “Now let me ask you again. Does that feel good? Do you like getting your nipples played with?”

Ajax smirked to himself when Diluc nodded his head again, before whimpering out an answer. “Y-yeah... yes, it- fuck- it feels good.” Ajax switched his attention to the man’s other nipple, almost getting thrown off his body from how hard his chest was heaving.

Diluc let out another curse. Ajax pulled his mouth back to watch his hands move across the pale skin. His hands came to rest, cupping under the pectoral muscles and pushing them up and together. “Gods, I fucking love your chest,” Ajax breathed to himself; he knew Diluc could hear him from the way his breath hitched in his throat. “Just like a pair of tits,” he mused, squishing the muscles together. He smirked at the way Diluc’s breath was punched from his gut. “So fucking hot...”

Ajax looked up to see that Diluc’s mouth was opening and closing, as if he was trying to say something. “Yes, baby?” he asked, his hands stilling. “Did you want something?”

Diluc nodded, tugging slightly at the material of Ajax’s shirt. “O-off. Please... a-at least the gloves, fuck, please.”

Ajax was now positive he would not survive the night.He couldn’t believe this was Diluc’s first time, not with the way he begged so pretty. He didn’t even need to tell the other to say please. Perhaps he was a natural-born pleaser, Ajax thought to himself.

He snapped his attention back to Diluc when the other tugged at his clothes once more. “Oh, such a good boy, telling me what you want. So polite, too,” he cooed at Diluc. He hummed in consideration for a moment before an idea came to him. He regretfully removed one of his hands from Diluc’s chest, bringing it up to Diluc’s face, the fingertips of his gloves a hairbreadth away from Diluc’s shiny lips. “Would you be so kind as to help me with the gloves, hm?”

Ajax watched in twisted delight as Diluc slowly took the fabric of the middle finger of his glove between his teeth. He pulled his hand back a bit, happy to see Diluc rear his head back, the glove sliding off Ajax’s hand with ease. “Good,” he whispered to himself, taking the glove from Diluc’s mouth. He brought his other hand up, and Diluc helped him out of that glove as well.

Ajax tossed his gloves to the side carelessly, too excited to finally feel Diluc’s skin with his bare hands. He trailed his hands slowly from Diluc’s jaw down his neck, heat pooling in him as Diluc tilted his head further back to allow him more room. He trailed his hands down the other’s chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat, then further down, watching his abs twitch at the featherlight touches.

His hands ended up cupped around Diluc’s pecs once again. His hands massaged the muscle there as he mouthed at the skin. When he heard Diluc let out a pleased sigh, he bit down, gnawing at the muscle between his teeth. The sudden bite caused Diluc to gasp sharply, his eyes flying open to see Ajax’s mouth on his chest. Ajax released the muscle, giving the aggravated area a few licks and kisses to soothe the sting before he smirked up at Diluc. “Do you like me marking up your gorgeous tits? They’re gonna bruise so pretty...” he trailed off, moving to leave a similar bite mark on the other side of Diluc’s chest, a punched out “fuck-“ leaving Diluc’s lips at the sting.

Ajax was mouthing at the newest bite mark when he raised a questioning eyebrow at Diluc. Diluc gulped. “Yes...” he breathed out softly, hoping Ajax could hear him. “Hurts but... f-feels good. P-please don’t st-stop,” he whimpered, moving his free hand to Ajax’s hair in an attempt to keep him in place.

Ajax groaned into the skin of Diluc’s chest, “Gods, you’re such a good boy for me.” He made note of how Diluc’s hips bucked up at that, and filed the thought away for later.

Ajax spent the next few minutes leaving harsh bites all over Diluc’s chest, soothing the mark with kisses each time. Diluc felt as if he was on cloud nine, the deep sting from the initial bite sending electricity up his spine, only for heat to curl in his gut at the kisses left there afterwards. However, he was getting a bit impatient. His dick was rock hard in his pants, and he could feel a wet patch beginning to grow in his boxers. Diluc wanted to get his pants off. Actually, Diluc revised his own thoughts, he wanted to get Ajax out of his clothes even more, the Fatui man not even having shed his shirt yet.

Diluc tightened his hold in Ajax’s hair just slightly, tugging on his shirt with his other hand. “Off... plea- hng- please. W-wanna... wanna see- oh fuck- you too,” Diluc panted out, pleased that he could even get out coherent words at that point.

Ajax would never get tired of hearing Diluc beg. He breathed out a shaky, “Fuck... okay,” before he pulled back enough to tear his shirt off, throwing it who knows where. He could see Diluc eyeing him appreciatively, but didn’t give him much time to enjoy the view before he was kissing the other man senseless.

Diluc groaned into Ajax’s mouth, his hands sliding down the man’s back, finally attaining the skin-on-skin contact he didn’t know he craved. He let his hands wander and feel to make up for what his eyes weren’t able to see. From his exploration, he could tell that the other was covered in scars, both old and new, as well as the fact that he was much stronger than he appeared, corded muscles tense beneath his skin.

Diluc was slightly amused by the fact that Ajax’s hands returned to his chest almost immediately. It made Diluc feel... almost confident, the fact that Ajax seemed to like it so much. So, he arched his back, pushing his chest further into those incessant hands.

“Fuck,” Ajax breathed harshly into Diluc’s mouth. His hands squeezed around the muscles. “So fucking hot,” he panted out, moving to mouth at the other’s jaw. “Bet if I squeezed ‘em together, I could get my dick in between and fuck your tits,” he rambled, words spilling from his mouth before he could really even think about it.

Diluc absolutely keened at that, his head thrown back as a high whine escaped his throat. His reaction only spurred Ajax on. “Yeah? Would you like that baby? Want me to fuck your tits?” he mumbled into Diluc’s skin, the idea almost sending him into a frenzy. Diluc was faring no better. His eyes were pinched shut, pushing his chest out even further, a constant stream of “yes, yes, yes” falling from his lips.

It was only when Diluc desperately ground his hips up into Ajax’s that the Harbinger remembered his main goal for the night. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Maybe later, baby,” he said, chuckling at the small pout Diluc gave him in response. “Definitely later,” he revised, happy to see Diluc perk up at that too. “For now, though,” he trailed his hands down Diluc’s chest, over his abs, and toying with the waistband of his pants. “Let's get you out of these, shall we?”

Diluc was all too eager to lift his hips to help Ajax undress him, any shyness at being bared being overshadowed by his desire. Ajax tossed his pants to the side, eyeing the large bulge in his boxers with a hungry gaze. Diluc let out a breathy whine as Ajax palmed him, finally giving his cock attention. He cursed when Ajax lowered his head to mouth at him through the fabric, hot breath and saliva dampening the material even further. Ajax hummed against his length, breathing out, “Gods, how are you even real?” as his hands slid up Diluc’s thighs.

Diluc cried out as Ajax dug his fingers into the meat of Diluc’s thighs, causing the Harbinger to groan. “Fuck, baby, your thighs,” he whispered reverently against Diluc’s length, feeling it twitch beneath the fabric. He trailed his mouth down to suck a mark into the flesh of the redhead’s inner thigh. “Can I mark ‘em up? Bruise ‘em all nice and pretty to match your tits? Mark ‘em as mine?” Ajax purred.

Diluc sucked in a wet, heaving breath. “Yes, please- oh fuck,” he panted out. He let one of his hands trail to his own chest, pressing his finger into one of the dark red marks that will surely bruise later. “Can you... can you- ah! B-bite? Fuck, please?” Diluc begged, craving the sting of Ajax’s teeth again.

Ajax groaned, reaching a hand down to adjust himself in his pants. “‘Course, baby,” he whispered. He returned his hand, using it to pull Diluc’s boxers off. Diluc squirmed at being fully bare, but Ajax just pressed a sweet kiss to his shaft, his hand wrapped around the base. He let himself begin to ramble as he slowly stroked Diluc’s cock. “Gonna mark up these perfect thighs. Gods, you’re gonna be so bruised tomorrow, you’ll look so gorgeous. Gonna mark you up so everyone knows you’re mine.”

Diluc couldn’t stop the near constant stream of moans and whimpers from leaving his lips. The feeling of Ajax’s hand finally on his dick is heavenly, and the man’s whispered words only add fuel to the fire in his gut. He lets out a sharp cry as Ajax’s teeth sink into the meat of his inner thigh, the noise turning into a low groan as Ajax soothes the sting with his tongue.

Ajax only removed his head from between Diluc’s thighs once he was satisfied that the redhead was as marked up as possible. He really hoped Diluc wouldn’t kick him out once they were done, he wanted to see how well all his marks turned into bruises for himself in the morning. He pulled his mouth away from Diluc’s thighs, stroking a finger over the bite-mark covered skin reverently. “These are gonna look so good, baby,” he murmured. “Can’t wait to see you covered in my bruises.”

Diluc whined, his hips jumping as the pace of Ajax’s hand on his cock had slowed significantly. Ajax must have noticed, because he was soon licking small stripes up the entire length. Small cries and high pitched whimpers were ripped from Diluc’s throat. He turned his head to the side, knowing that the sight of Ajax between his thighs with his mouth on his cock could probably make him cum.

Ajax trailed his lips up the shaft, planting a sloppy kiss right at the tip. “Love this fucking cock,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. He grinned at the moan Diluc let out. “Want me to suck it? Bet you taste so good,” he rambled, eyes eager to see Diluc’s reaction. “I can usually swallow everything, but you’re so big I might just choke on it.” He delighted in the hitch in Diluc’s breath, the way his hips jumped. “I’d love it though, choking on it. I’d let you gag me with it, ‘til I can’t breathe.”

He grinned evilly as Diluc let out a loud whine. “But maybe later.” With that, he sat up completely, leaving only his hand wrapped loosely around the base of Diluc’s length. He chuckled as Diluc balked at him, having had all the pleasurable sensations ripped away. “Sorry baby, but I gotta ask: do you want to top or bottom?” Ajax desperately wanted to fuck the other man, but since it was his first time, he figured he would let the redhead make the decision.

Diluc flushed, averting his eyes. “Oh, I, um, uh... w-want you to... to, um, f-fuck me,” he stammered out before blearing his throat. “Please.”

Ajax wanted so badly to hop on board with that and absolutely destroy the other man, but he felt it was only fair to give him a warning. “Are you sure, baby? It might hurt a bit,” he said cautiously.

Diluc took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Yes, I’m sure. And I- I... I trust you,” he finished quietly.

Ajax smiled, swooping down to press a soft kiss to Diluc’s forehead. “Alright. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” He planted a final kiss on the tip of Diluc’s nose, watching it scrunch up adorably. He patted the man lightly on the hip. “Turn over onto your stomach for me, baby. Also, lube?”

Diluc’s eyes widened a bit, heat rising to his cheeks before he complied, nodding his head toward the nightstand. As he was turning, he heard Ajax rummaging around through the drawer before closing it and tossing the bottle onto the bed next to him. Ajax grabbed a pillow from the headboard and placed it under his hips, making him flush further at the thought of his ass being put on display. Once he was settled, he grabbed a pillow to hug to his chest, giving himself something to keep his hand occupied with. He heard Ajax chuckle behind him, turning his head to look at the man questioningly, only to hear, “Of course you have a perfect ass as well,” spilling from the Harbinger’s lips.

Diluc jumped slightly when Ajax grabbed his ass without ceremony, a handful of cheek in each. He relaxed once again when Ajax began massaging his ass, kneading the flesh in his hands. He let out a soft hum, content. He didn’t even notice that Ajax had pulled his cheeks apart until he felt a thumb softly run over his hole. He jolted in surprise, making Ajax pull away, a worried look in his eyes. Diluc turned his head to the side, but wouldn’t make eye contact. “Sorry, sorry” he breathed out. “Just... surprised me. Keep going. Please,” he finished weakly.

Ajax wasn’t entirely convinced. “You sure?” he asked, not wanting to cause Diluc any discomfort. Diluc nodded his head eagerly where it lay on the pillow, and Ajax let out a bated breath. He put his hands back on Diluc’s ass, comforted by the way Diluc seemed to immediately relax into the touch. “Have you ever had anything in you before?” he asked quietly.

Diluc turned to hide more of his face into his pillow. “Mmfnhfnggrz” was the muffled response. Ajax could guess as to what was said, but he really wanted to hear Diluc say it himself. He continued to massage Diluc’s asscheeks, thumbs occasionally brushing the skin closer to his crack, but never getting any closer to his hole. “Hm, what was that baby? I couldn’t understand you.”

Ajax grinned as Diluc turned his head to face him more, his face almost as red as his hair, his eyes looking anywhere but at the Harbinger. “I- I’ve used, um... my- my fingers before,” he whispered.

Ajax’s grin morphed into a soft smile, encouraging Diluc to continue. “Mhmm. And how did it feel baby?” He tutted when Diluc buried his head in his pillow again, groaning in shame. “Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. I’m just trying to get more familiar with what your comfort level is. Like I said, I’m gonna make this good for you,” he explained, leaving a trail of soft kisses up Diluc’s spine.

Diluc turned his head to the side once again, his eyes pinching shut. “It felt...” he began, trailing off as he thought about the answer. “Fine,” he answered decisively. “Felt... felt full, it- it was good,” he sighed, the memory of his own fingers inside him fresh in his mind. “But it, uh, w-wasn’t enough to...” he trailed off, hoping Ajax would understand what he meant.

Ajax’s mind was reeling, head filled with thoughts and visions of Diluc desperately trying to fuck himself on his fingers, only to cry out in frustration when he can’t hit that perfect spot inside him. If he could ever get Diluc into bed with him again, he would need to make the redhead ringer himself open for him; Ajax was sure it would be an excellent show.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Diluc’s hips twitched a bit, pushing his ass back into Ajax’s hands. He planted one final kiss to Diluc’s shoulder before sitting up once again. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good you’ll see stars,” he chuckled breathlessly, watching as Diluc minutely thrusted into the pillow beneath his hips.

Diluc startled at the snap of the lube cap opening, relaxing again as Ajax pressed a comforting kiss on one of his cheeks. He inhaled sharply as Ajax’s thumbs spread his cheeks apart once more. “Gods, I’d love to eat you out one day,” he heard the Harbinger mumble into his skin, his hips thrusting against the pillow weakly at the thought. Ajax must’ve noticed, for he continued, “Would you like that, baby? Would you let me eat your ass?” As he said it, one of his hands disappeared, only to return moments later, spreading warmed lube across Diluc’s entrance with a thumb.

Diluc’s breath caught in his throat at the familiar feeling of the substance. What wasn’t familiar, however, was the feeling of someone’s else’s hands doing the work. They had barely even started, but Diluc already decided that he liked this much better than doing it himself.

The redhead’s breath escaped him in a shaky exhale as Ajax pushed just the tip of his thumb in, the rim fluttering around the intrusion. Ajax was keeping a keen eye out for any signs of discomfort from Diluc; when he found none, he slowly edged his thumb further in, up to the first knuckle. Diluc let out a quiet moan, his hips pushing back when Ajax stilled. Encouraged, Ajax continued.

He twisted his thumb around a bit, feelings Diluc’s walls stretch around him. He pulled his thumb this way and that, stretching the rim a bit further. Diluc was humming softly, quiet moans falling from his lips every so often. Ajax removed his thumb, smiling at the whine that escaped Diluc’s throat from the loss. He shushed the redhead quietly, leaving soft kisses along his thighs.

Ajax slid his index finger into Diluc, meeting little resistance. He reveled in the moan the man let loose, his volume having increased ever so slightly. He slid his finger in to the base, Diluc’s shoulders tensing a bit. “Doing okay?” Ajax asked softly, stilling his hand.

“Yeah,” Diluc gasped out. “Keep going.”

Ajax nodded softly, despite the fact that Diluc couldn’t actually see him. He slowly pulled his finger out until only the tip remained inside, and was just as slow in pushing it back in. Ajax was doing his best to go slow, despite his desire to just ram into the man below him, but the groan Diluc let out and the way his hips pushed back into his finger were really testing his restraint.

“So fucking good,” Ajax mumbled. He curled his finger a bit inside Diluc, the man letting out a whine. He removed his finger, two returning to Diluc’s hole before the redhead could even protest the loss. He slid his fingers in slowly, two being more of a stretch, pleased when Diluc only pushed his hips back further. “Take my fingers so well,” he murmured reverently. He paused as his fingers met some resistance around his knuckles, pulling them back only to push back in, loosening Diluc’s rim more.

Ajax slowly fucked his two fingers in and out of Diluc’s hole, the redhead letting out wet, panting breaths into the pillow he had clutched to his chest. After a short bit of time doing this, Ajax was able to slide both fingers in entirely, letting out a shaky breath at the delicious groan Diluc let out. He stilled, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of Diluc’s rim clenching around the base of his fingers.

Diluc felt his hips twitch involuntarily in impatience. He turned his head to look at the man behind him, his face partially obscured by his own fiery red curls. “M-move... pl- please, more,” he whimpered out, desperate for the feel of Ajax’s fingers stretching him open.

Ajax let out a low groan as he retracted his fingers slowly. He pushed them back in quickly, grinning at the way Diluc’s breath was punched from his gut. He repeated the action, Diluc letting out a low moan this time. He continued this, withdrawing slowly, only to push back in quickly- quickly, but not very rough. At some point, Ajax realized he couldn’t hear Diluc’s noises as well, looking up to find the man biting at his pillow.

Ajax tsked, using his free hand to grab some of Diluc’s hair and pull. A split second after he did it, he thought that he really should’ve been gentler, but the high, unabashed keen that was ripped from Diluc’s throat quelled his worries. He brought his lips down to Diluc’s ear, using the grip in his hair to get Diluc to arch his back just ever so slightly. “Nuh uh, baby. You gotta let me hear those beautiful noises, remember? You need to let me know how good I’m making you feel, hm?” he whispered, grinning dearly when Diluc took in a gulping gasp of air, his head nodding as much as it could with the grip Ajax still had on his hair. “Good boy.” He planted a kiss in Diluc’s hair, rewarding the man by twisting the fingers he still had inside him.

Diluc gasped at the feeling of the fingers inside him twisting, only for them to begin spreading apart, scissoring him open. This was always his favorite part of fingering himself, the feeling of his rim loosening, stretching further. He could never reach very far inside himself, but he did enjoy the feeling of being full. He enjoyed Ajax’s fingers much more than his own, as they were able to fill him as he desired, but they could also reach deep, hitting spots inside Diluc that had never been touched before.

“Feel good?” Ajax asked, snapping Diluc’s attention back to reality. Diluc heard a constant stream of soft whines and deep groans, embarrassed to find that he was the one making those noises. “Love the way you sound,” Ajax murmured, causing Diluc to flush, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Ajax’s fingers curled inside him. “Yeah, just like that. Gods, so fucking hot.” Ajax slowed his fingers. “Tell me how it feels, baby,” the Harbinger ordered.

“Feels... oh fuck, good, feels so good,” Diluc blurted out, his pride nowhere to be found. “P-please, want- want... ah- want m-more,” he whimpered. “F-feel... mmmn- full, f-fuck. N-need... full, ple- hnngg- please?” Diluc really hoped that Ajax knew what he was begging for, because he sure didn’t know himself. “W-want- FUCK!” He cried out as Ajax curled his fingers just so, pressing against a spot inside him that made him dizzy with pleasure. He almost jackknifed off the bed, but Ajax’s free hand was quick to clamp down on his hip, keeping him firmly in place.

Ajax grinned sharply when he found the redhead’s prostate, his grin only growing at Diluc’s reaction, despite having to hold the man down. He stilled his fingers for a moment, knowing Diluc would need some time to collect himself. “Wh-... what was that?” Diluc asked hoarsely.

Ajax laughed. “That’s your prostate, baby. Really sensitive,” he explained, soothing his thumb over Diluc’s hip as the man was still taking shaky breaths. His grin turned wicked. “I told you I would make you see stars, didn’t I?” He fucked his fingers into Diluc’s hole again at the same angle, basking in the sharp cry that was ripped from Diluc’s throat. “Tell me how good it feels,” he whispered, his fingers continuing their motion.

Diluc had never felt such intense pleasure in his entire life. He felt as if Ajax’s two fingers had fucked the sanity out of him. “So- fuck- so good... yes, fuck, oh gods... m-more, pl- ah- please,” he begged, words spilling from his lips before he could even process what it was that he was even saying. A filthy noise was ripped from Diluc’s throat when Ajax added a third finger, still hitting the same spot inside him. Ajax had been thorough enough that the additional finger didn’t cause any pain, but Diluc reveled in the extra feeling of fullness.

When Ajax switched to keeping his fingers stuffed inside Diluc, fingertips massaging and rubbing circles into that sensitive spot inside him, Diluc’s hips began thrusting. He wasn’t quite sure if he was thrusting back into Ajax’s hands, or forward, rutting his dick into the pillow beneath his hips. All he knew was that he wanted more. As Ajax continued his ministrations with his fingers, Diluc could feel heat pooling in his gut. “Fuck, fuck, gods yes... so- hnngg- so full,” he panted out. “P-please, I’m- ah!- close, fuck, please.”

Ajax’s eyes lit up, hungrily watching Diluc rut between the pillow and his hand. “Yeah? You gonna cum on my fingers? Just from being stuffed full?” he teased sadistically, harshly thrusting his fingers in further for emphasis. He grinned manically, his dick positively leaking in his pants, at the noise Diluc let loose, almost sounding like a sob. Gods, he would love to fuck the redhead to the point of tears. He ground his fingers into Diluc’s prostate insistently. “Be a good boy and cum for me. Cum on my fingers, baby,” he murmured reverently.

Ajax was in awe. There was simply no other word for it. He watched as Diluc rutted into the pillow beneath him, suddenly freezing at his words, body tensed, as he let out a garbled whine high in his throat. The redhead was positively shaking through his orgasm, tremors running through his entire body as Ajax’s fingers worked him through his high. He retracted his fingers carefully once Diluc’s shoulders had finally relaxed again, his body still shaking.

The Harbinger gently coaxed Diluc to roll over onto his back, tossing the soiled pillow off the bed in the process. Ajax fell over top of him, leaving gentle kisses along the skin of his neck. “So wonderful, did so good for me,” he whispered the soothing words. “Perfect, just perfect.”

Diluc worked to open his eyes a fraction from where they were pinched shut, his body still wracked with tremors. “A-aren’t you g-gonna... f-fuck me? Y-you still ha- haven’t...” he trailed off, attempting to weakly gesture toward the rather obvious tent in Ajax’s pants with a shaky hand.

Ajax cooed at him. How sweet of him, he thought to himself. “Oh baby, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Diluc frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “B-but... w-want you t-to fuck me? P-please?”

Ajax groaned at that. “Baby... you’re still going to be so sensitive,” he explained, trailing his fingers down to Diluc’s hips. The way Diluc’s hips twitched even at the light touch proving his point. “Are you sure?”

Diluc nodded his head eagerly. “Y-yes, please. W-want it. Wanna f-feel, feel you.” He could already feel his dick begin to twitch in interest again, and knew that it certainly wouldn’t take very long for him to get hard again.

Ajax sucked in a breath at that. “Gods, you’re incredible,” he whispered softly before continuing, his voice raised so that Diluc could hear. “Alright, baby, I’ll fuck you. You just have to let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?” When Diluc nodded, Ajax all but ripped his own pants off, eager to finally give his dick some attention.

Diluc was trying to angle his head to get a look at what Ajax had been hiding in his pants the whole night, curiosity taking over him, but the sound of the lube cap snapping open once more jolted him. Ajax hung his head over Diluc’s chest, letting out a soft hiss at his dick finally getting some contact. Diluc felt a sticky hand lightly pat the outside of his thigh. “Can you spread your legs for me, baby?” Ajax asked. Diluc complied, spreading his thighs apart, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he slipped his eyes closed.

Ajax positioned his hands, one on Diluc’s hip, and the other grabbing the back of his thigh, pushing his knee towards his chest. He internally appreciated the flexibility of the man. He positioned the tip of his cock just outside Diluc’s hole, feeling the rim flutter at the contact. “I’ll go slow, okay?” He whispered into Diluc’s neck.

Diluc nodded, not trusting his voice enough to respond. He gasped sharply as the pressure against his rim increased, letting out a breathy cry as he felt the tip of Ajax’s length breach the ring of muscle. Diluc’s hands flew to Ajax’s shoulders once the Harbinger had gotten the head of his cock inside, nails digging into the flesh there. He could barely hear the deep groan that was ripped from Ajax’s throat over his own pounding heartbeat and gasping breaths.

Ajax had to still once he had gotten the head of his dick inside Diluc, worried he might cum if he pressed any further. Diluc was just so tight, wrapped deliciously around him. After taking a moment to collect himself, Ajax pressed further. It was overwhelming. All the punched out little “ah, ah, ah”s Diluc was letting out, the feeling of nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, the heat wrapped around his length, everything was flooding his senses.

He was about three-quarters of the way in when he was finally met with some resistance, Diluc tensing beneath him. Ajax peppered his face with kisses, stroking soothing thumbs over the skin of his hips and thighs. “Shhh, you’re doing so good, baby, so good,” he whispered. “You’re almost there, Diluc, only a little bit left. Don’t you want to take me? Don’t you want to be a good boy and take all of me?” He began slowly moving his length in and out of Diluc, never pushing any deeper.

Diluc sucked in a heaving breath, his chest trembling slightly. “Y-yeah,” he whispered, face positively burning. “K-keep going. Please.” Diluc let out a whimper when Ajax continued to press forward slowly, the stretch slightly uncomfortable, but eventually turning into a twisted form of pleasure that he couldn’t exactly describe.

Ajax’s head fell to Diluc’s shoulder with a moan when he finally bottomed out, drowning out the small whine from Diluc. “Good job, baby,” he panted out. “That’s everything. Can you feel me stretching you out? Tell me how good it feels,” he asked Diluc, needing to take another moment to compose himself before he came immediately.

“I- It’s a lot,” he rasped out. “S-so big, fuck. F-feel so... mmmn- so full.” He wriggled his hips back, wanting to feel more of the length inside him. He stilled once he felt the grip of Ajax’s hands tighten, the one on his thigh digging into a mark the Harbinger had left there. “Y-you can move,” he whispered, giving Ajax permission to do as he pleased.

Ajax groaned as he moved to mouth at the marks on Diluc’s chest, pleased to see that Diluc’s cock was hard once again. He pulled his hips back at a snail’s pace, until only the tip was left inside. He felt Diluc’s hole clench around him. “Baby, I am not gonna last very long,” he laughed out weakly. With that, he slid back in just as slowly, listening to the symphony of Diluc’s whimpers and whines.

After a few thrusts at such a sluggish pace, Diluc began to squirm. “F-faster... pl- ah- please,” he whispered.

Ajax’s patience was stretched thin. He was going so slow, making sure not to hurt Diluc, when all he wanted to do was ram the man into the mattress. He picked up his pace at Diluc’s plea, still going slower than he would like, but it still felt incredible. He swooped to capture Diluc’s lips in a kiss, swallowing all the gasps, grunts, whines, and moans the man let out at the increase in pace.

Eventually, Ajax’s pace had gradually increased to the point where he could hear his hips slapping against Diluc’s own. He tore himself away from the redhead’s mouth, moving to sit up on his knees in between Diluc’s spread legs, taking in the sight before him.

Diluc looked... wrecked. His chest was flushed a deep red, covered in bite marks, and positively heaving with every breath he took. His thighs, also covered in Ajax’s marks, were quivering in the Harbinger’s hold. And his face- wait, Ajax thought to himself.

His expression was obscured, an arm thrown over his face to cover it. Ajax halted his thrusts, keeping himself buried to the hilt. He ground his hips into Diluc’s slowly, taking in Diluc’s low groan. He let go of the man’s thigh, reaching up to grab Diluc’s wrist, pinning it to the bed above his head. “Let me see you, baby,” he cooed. “Wanna see your pretty little faces.” He let out a deep hum, feeling Diluc clench around him. “Gods, love seeing how wrecked you look. All from my cock.”

Diluc whined high in his throat, partially embarrassed at having Ajax see him in such a debauched state. But if he was being honest, he was feeling so good that he began to forget why he even cared. He nodded absently at what Ajax had said, then suddenly threw his head back as the Harbinger resumed his thrusts.

Ajax sped his hips up, pounding into Diluc now. He moved his hand from Diluc’s hip to wrap around the man’s cock, keeping his other hand where it was pinning Diluc’s arm above his head. Diluc cried out at the contact, his head thrashing about. Ajax angled his hips, aiming to hit that spot inside Diluc that made him see stars. He knew he had hit his target once Diluc let out a sob.

Ajax sped up the hand on the redhead’s cock, feral grin growing as he saw a tear spill from where Diluc’s eyes were pinched shut. “F-fuck, yes. I- I’m cl- mmmn- close. ‘M g-gonna cum, fuck.” Diluc’s cries rang through Ajax’s head as he panted harshly.

“Fuck, so tight. Look at you, crying on my cock,” his thrusts became sporadic as he saw more tears sliding down Diluc’s cheeks. “Open your eyes, baby. Want you to look at me when you cum, make sure you know I’m the one making you feel this good.” He groaned low in his throat when Diluc complied, ruby red eyes opening and locking onto his, hazy and fogged over with pleasure. Ajax watched in awe as more tears spilled over, bottom eyelashes wet and clumped together.

Diluc’s hips bucked into Ajax’s hand, the coil of heat in his gut about to snap. “Fuck,” he whimpered weakly. A sob was ripped from him as he shot his release over Ajax’s hand and across his own stomach, some even reaching his chest. He continued to sob, more tears leaking from his eyes as Ajax continued to stroke him through his high, his cock never stopping it’s thrusting into Diluc’s ass. He thought he could hear Ajax let out something that sounded like a curse, but couldn’t decipher what language it was in.

Ajax continued pounding into Diluc and stroking his dick until the man began to wince and whimper, body wracked in tremors once more. He let go of the man’s cock, spent length flopping into the mess on his stomach. He tore himself from Diluc’s hole; if he hadn’t been about two seconds away from cumming, he would’ve felt bad at the sharp wince he saw from Diluc. However, as it was, his only concern was getting himself off. He crawled his way up Diluc’s body in his knees until he was straddling the man’s ribs. His hand (partially covered in Diluc’s release, Ajax noticed belatedly) flew to his own dick as he began stroking himself desperately.

A filthy groan was ripped from his throat. His hand was flying in his cock, Diluc’s cum making the slide wet and slick. He pitched forward, breath knocked out of him as he saw Diluc’s eyes squint open blearily. His eyes darted to where he was stroking himself, only to notice that beneath his dick (which was an angry red) was Diluc’s chest, marked up with forming bruises and bite marks, a few streaks of pearly white completing the masterpiece.

“Can I- ah- cum on your chest, baby? Get it all messy? All over those pretty marks?” he panted, hoping Diluc would give him permission because he was going to cum within the next ten seconds. He gasped sharply as Diluc nodded, dazed. “Fuck,” he bit out aggressively. “Gonna cum on your pretty tits, baby.” With that, he came, shooting ropes of cum over Diluc’s chest exactly as promised. He took wheezing, gasping breaths of air in as he continued to stroke himself, riding out his high.

Diluc let his eyes slip shut, letting out a content hum as his chest was covered. Ajax hunched over him, dropping his head so that their foreheads were touching. “You did... so good, baby,” Ajax panted out, Diluc preening at the words. Once Ajax released Diluc’s hand that he had pinned to the mattress, Diluc slowly moved it to Ajax’s hair, bringing the man down for a kiss.

It was a rather pathetic kiss, more just panting into each other’s mouths. But it felt oh so intimate, just holding each other close after they both reached their highs, hands softly caressing any skin they could reach.

Ajax fluttered around Diluc’s face, leaving kisses on his skin and whispering praises between each brush of lips. “Such a good boy.” A kiss to Diluc’s temple. “So wonderful.” A kiss to his cheek. “Just beautiful.” A kiss to his forehead. “So perfect for me.” A kiss to his lips.

Ajax took a deep breath, resolving himself to finally sitting up and pulling away from Diluc. He clambered off of the man, eyes darting around the room in hopes to find his (or Diluc’s, honestly) boxers somewhere on the floor. Once he spotted them, he rolled off the bed and snatched them up. As he was pulling them up his legs, he noticed Diluc watching him with a small frown, eyes questioning.

“W- ... what are you doing?” he asked softly, his voice weak. Ajax delighted in hearing how hoarse his voice sounded, the way the words came out slightly raspy.

He finished pulling his boxers on, turning to Diluc with a soft smile. “Gotta get us cleaned up, baby. Bathroom is this way?” he asked, pointing to a door which he assumed led to the bathroom. At Diluc’s small nod, he went in. He couldn’t take in how impressive the bathroom was or how organized Diluc kept his things, too focused on trying to find a washcloth or a towel. After digging through some drawers, he finally found some washcloths. He used one to quickly clean himself up. Grabbing another one, he ran the cloth under warm water, soaking the fabric and wringing it out to make it damp, but not dripping.

He returned to the bedroom, washcloth in hand, to find Diluc slightly more alert, but still pretty out of it. He crawled onto the bed next to Diluc, slowly wiping up the mess on his stomach. As Ajax moved the cloth up to clean his chest, Diluc’s head fell to rest on his shoulder. He planted a kiss to the crown of Diluc’s head once he deemed the man clean. “Do you want some fresh clothes to put on, baby?” he asked in a whisper, not wanting to shock Diluc out of his relaxed state.

Diluc hummed in agreement. “Boxers... Top drawer,” he muttered softly, nodding his head towards a dresser by his closet. He felt immediately cold as soon as Ajax left his side again. He shivered slightly, watching the man rummage through the drawer he pointed out, coming back with a new pair of simple black boxers. Diluc felt his cheeks heat up as Ajax dressed him, pressing kisses to the skin of his legs as he dragged the fabric up.

Diluc sighed in content, happy to have Ajax next to him again. They stayed like that for a while, Diluc’s head resting on Ajax’s chest. Ajax was drawing small patterns into his biceps from where the Harbinger had his arms wrapped around him. They stayed like that until Diluc began to get drowsy, his breaths evening out and his eyes slipping shut. He was sleepy enough that he almost didn’t notice as Ajax slowly removed himself from beneath him, only noticing once he was completely off the bed. His eyes blinked open blearily, seeing Ajax tiptoe around his room in search of his clothes.

“Where are you going?” he asked sleepily, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Ajax froze, the sound of Diluc’s voice startling him. He turned to the man. “I, uh, gotta grab my clothes. I, um, I figured you’d want me to leave, but I can’t exactly go without-“ he cut himself off as Diluc shook his head, then uttered the one word he had been hoping to hear all night.

“Stay.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

asserting dominance ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1074

request?: yes!

“I sadly can’t share links in an ask, but glitterqueen96 posted a gif (tagged #machine gun kelly) of Colson spitting alkohol in a fans mouth. This gif is doing things for me, could you maybe write something inspired by it? Idk, i would love smthg about him showing you/the power he has over you off in public (i have a thing for confident, dominant men). Would be awesome but i can understand if its too weird, thx for all your writing”

“Hey, just saw the other anon about dominant MGK or Rook and was reminded of a video i saw a few days ago here on tumblr, where Colson spit alcohol in a womans mouth and since then I kinda wish to read an imagine about that 🙈 I don’t know, that clip just showed sutch confidence that the woman just accepts his spit and stuff and idk, dominant men are just my type Thank you for writing such awesome fics for us!”

description: in which he likes to show everyone that she belongs to him and him only

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

If there was one thing that everyone knew about Machine Gun Kelly, it was that he was very protective over his girlfriend.

Colson loved you and treated you like a queen. He basically worshipped the ground you walked on and his friends often joked about how whipped he was, but he could care less. In fact, he would agree to this assessment with a smile on his face.

Of course, you felt the same way for Colson. You loved him more than anything. You couldn’t imagine your life without him at this point. But, surprisingly enough, he was the jealous one of the relationship.

With how many groupies and female celebrities that were trying to get close to Colson, everyone thought that you’d be the one to get jealous. You did have some moments of jealously sometimes, but you trusted Colson. You knew he’d never do anything, and he trusted you, too, but he couldn’t help but feel some form of jealousy when other guys tried to hit on you. He would always make some display to guys who were getting a little to close to show them that you were his and his only.

You and Colson were invited to a party by one of Colson’s friends on one of their rare nights off. You were dressed in a short, tight dress, one that showed off your every curve and drove Colson absolutely wild. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when you walked down the stairs.

“Fuck baby,” he said, wasting no time in grabbing your ass once you reached him. “I wanna take this thing off you already.”

“You’ll have to wait,” you told him, making sure to rub against him in a way to tease him more. “I spent a lot on this dress and I wanna wear it.”

Colson sighed and reluctantly let you go. You smirked at him before leaving up to kiss him.

His eyes were on you constantly throughout the night. Even when you were talking to others or dancing with your friends, Colson’s eyes were scanning your body. The beautiful body that he was fortunate enough to make love to every night.

But Colson wasn’t the only attention you had. A handful of guys in attendance also had their eyes glued to you as you moved your hips to the music. Colson noticed these looks and tried his best not to get too upset over it, but it was hard when they were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.

You stumbled off the dance floor towards the kitchen for another drink. The kitchen was so crowded that you basically had to shove everyone out of the way in order to get to the alcohol.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” a guy you had shoved asked as you started pouring your drink.

“First, I’m not that little,” you retorted. “And second, if a bunch of assholes were surrounding the alcohol you were trying to get to, you’d be ‘feisty’ too.”

The guy chuckled and put up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fair enough! My bad, I’ll stop surrounding the alcohol then.”

“Good. Other people want to drink too you know.”

He shrugged and held his cup out to you. “On that note, mind pouring me a drink?”

You obliged and filled his cup before placing the bottle aside.

“Thanks. I’m Brad by the way.”

“(Y/N). Nice to meet you, Brad.”

“You too, (Y/N). Not to be too forward, but are you here with anyone?”

You chuckled to yourself and shook your head. You figured this would happen. “I am. I have a boyfriend, he’s in the other room actually.”

“Should I be afraid then?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you going to keep trying to flirt with me?”

“If you want me to, I’d certainly like to try.” He even winked! Then openly checked you out after you told him you were there with someone! This bastard has some balls.

Your eyes drifted behind Brad to see an angry looking Colson making his way towards the two of you. You tried not to smirk, knowing what was coming next.

“Hey babe,” Colson said, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Just wanted to see what was taking so long.”

“I was just talking to Brad here,” you responded, gesturing to your attempted flirt. “Brad, this is my boyfriend, Colson.”

You could see recognition cross Brad’s face as he looked over Colson. You cuddled into his side, feeling a sense of pride at Brad’s sudden deer in the headlights expression.

Colson reached out and grabbed the drink you had just poured for Brad out of his hand, glaring at him in the process. He didn’t break eye contact as he took a mouthful of the drink. He moved the hand that was around your waist to cup your face and turn it to face him. He squeezed it in a way that opened your mouth.

Your eyes widened as you felt the harsh liquid hit the back of your throat. You coughed a bit after swallowing it, the alcohol burning your throat as it went down. Colson dumped the rest of the contents and threw the empty plastic cup back at Brad. He took your arm and guided you out of the kitchen and into a mostly empty hallway.

“Spitting in my mouth,” you commented. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, I kinda came up with it on the spot,” he said. I’m sorry, was it too much?”

“It was unexpected, but it was kind of hot.” You shrugged. “I like the ways you show off that I’m yours.”

“It’s not too much? I’m not too much?”

You smirked and leaned forward to start kissing his neck. “Not at all. I want every guy who tries to hit on me to know that I’m yours.”

A breathy moan escaped Colson’s lips as you sucked on his neck. His hands gripped your waist, one of them slowly trailing to grab your ass.

“Do you still want to get me out of this dress?” you whispered in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

“That’s all I’ve wanted all night,” he responded.

“Then find an empty room and fuck me so hard that everyone at this party will know who I belong to.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He grabbed your hand and yanked you into the nearest empty room.

[peterpparkerwrites]

revelations - part three

a/n: currently on hiatus - look at my pinned post for more info! this fic has a lot of parts so I’ll have it scheduled to post twice a day - once at 11:00 AM PST and once at 5:00 PM PST. since I will be gone and can’t update links, if you want to find previous parts, just scroll down my page :) warnings: a little angsty, language, the usual pairing: peter parker x reader word count: 2.7k summary: peter hates the idea of soulmates. he certainly can't afford to be with his soulmate when they do show up, not when there's a chance he won't come home one day from being spider-man. he can't do that to them, he can't lose someone he loves and he can't have them lose him - he saw what it did to his aunt may when his uncle died. but meeting your soulmate is inevitable, and it's not always so easy to avoid what the universe wants to happen.

masterlist ~ requests are closed ~ part two / part four

taglist: @lilbeatlebear @somefuckshit1 @hufflepuffseeker

~

"Stop grinning," Spider-Man grumbled, causing Shadow's smile to widen.

"How do you know I'm grinning? I'm wearing a mask."

"I can just tell," his mask's eyes narrowed at her, making her bite her lip to not laugh.

"I'm sorry," she finally let out a chuckle, "But that was the funniest thing I've ever seen."

"It was so not funny," he complained, throwing his arms up, "If it happened to you, you would not be laughing right now."

She burst into laughter, not able to keep it in now, while he just shook his head and crossed his arms. She didn't have to see his face to know he was pouting.

"Hey, don't be like that," she said between laughs, "It's not my fault you got owned by an eight year old!"

"That's not what happened!" He protested while she kept giggling, her hands on her stomach, "He ran over my foot with his scooter, that's it!"

"Yeah, but then he told you 'watch where you're going, bug boy'!"

He threw up his hands again while she caught her breath, still holding her stomach. "You can't deny that an eight year old schooled you for not watching where you were walking. Isn't it your job to keep people safe, Spidey? And here you are being reckless and not looking both ways before walking. We have to count of the youth to protect our sidewalks, now."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off, not able to keep the grin off his own face.

They fell into a silence for a minute, sitting on the ledge that had become their meeting spot for the last several weeks. Fighting together was now second nature to them both, and it was something they each looked forward to throughout the day.

Peter hadn't felt this comfortable around anyone. Of course, he wasn't necessarily uncomfortable around his friends or aunt, but he never presented this hero side of himself to anyone but Ned and May, who barely scratched the surface. He could completely be himself around Shadow, just minus the fact that she had no idea who he actually was. They hadn't shared much personal information with each other, and Peter had only let slip a few things that wouldn't give away his identity. She had been pretty strict on not saying anything about herself - he only guessed they were the same age when she mentioned homework once.

"Why do you wear a mask?" Her question startled him out of his thoughts. "Like, Captain America and Iron Man and all of them don't wear masks, or they at least don't hide their identity. So why do you?"

"Well, Iron Man is rich, and can afford to have every one know who he is," Peter chuckled, "And I'm pretty sure Captain America can protect himself. But I don't know, I think for one I don't want bad guys to know who I am because they can hurt people close to me but...also because I think I feel better behind a mask, ya know? Different, I guess."

"I feel different behind the mask, too" she agreed, "Not necessarily more confident, but definitely more me than I am without."

"Me too," he replied honestly, "If I told anyone I was Spider-Man, they'd never believe me. We're like...two entirely different people."

She laughed, "Yeah. Me too."

"You never talk about yourself," he commented.

"Neither do you," she countered, shooting him a look even though he couldn't see her face. "What's your point?"

"Well, shouldn't we know a bit about each other by now?" He asked curiously, his mask's eyes squinting a bit. "We do trust each other, right?"

"Of course," Shadow said quickly, "But we've both got identities to protect. I just...I don't want to give anything away that might be too much information, ya know?"

"I get that," he replied, "But like...what about little things?"

"Like?" She prompted.

"What's your favorite color?"

She laughed, "Really? That's the question you're gonna ask?"

"Well, would you rather me ask what your real name is?"

"Ha! Well, if you really must know. It's F/C."

He smiled a bit at that. "Mine's red."

"No shit," she gestured to his suit, making him roll his eyes. "Okay, my turn. Who's your favorite avenger?"

"Iron Man," he said instantly, making her burst into laughter.

"God, that was a quick answer," she snickered, "My friend loves Iron Man too. Mine has to be Black Widow. It's gotta suck being one of the only women in a group of men."

He laughed, "Yeah, probably."

The good mood was ruined when Peter noticed something on the horizon, his eyes squinting. Shadow followed his gaze, seeing what he had seen - a plume of dark smoke against the skyline.

"Shit, that looks like a bad fire," she muttered, looking at him, "I haven't heard any sirens. We should go."

He nodded, and soon enough he was swinging them to the building as quick as possible.

The scene was much worse up close. They both noticed someone on the phone in front of the building, likely calling the fire department. Flames were going up the side, luckily the building was a standalone so it wasn't spreading. But the wood caught easily and the whole place was probably aflame, inside too.

"You should stay out here," Spider-Man went to go inside, but Shadow grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Are you crazy? If you're going in, so am I," she said stiffly.

"Fine, just-just be careful," he stated, "Your suit doesn't look fireproof."

"Neither does yours, bug boy," she rolled her eyes, following him into the building.

Shadow had never been this close to flames before, and she never wanted to be again. The duo went opposite ways once getting inside, hoping to find any people (if there were any) and get them out as soon as possible.

"Anyone there?" She shouted into one of the rooms, one that wasn't as hot as the other side of the building, where Spider-Man ran to.

"Yes!" She perked up when she heard a woman's voice call out, and immediately headed for it, avoiding flaming wood that fell from the ceiling in certain spots.

"I'm here," Shadow breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a woman near the open window, holding her arm up to her face to cover from the smoke.

"Let's get you out of here," Shadow reached a hand out so she could help her walk over the weakening floorboards, "We have to get out now before the fire gets worse."

"My husband is still here," the woman held onto the wall a bit, "I can't leave without him."

"He's probably outside," Shadow said calmly, though she really couldn't be sure. "People have been coming out of the building. You need to come with me now, before this place burns down."

The woman hesitated but took her hand, letting her lead her out of the building. No cops or firemen had arrived yet so she had the woman sit on a bench, breathing in the fresh air.

"He's not out here," the woman said after frantically looking around, "He's still in there!"

"I'm sure he'll be out soon-"

"Please, he's-he's my soulmate, I need to get to him," the woman begged and tried to get up, but Shadow held her arm, not letting her budge.

"Ma'am, if you get closer, you might get hurt," she tried to reason with her, almost horrified by the desperate look on the woman's face. She had never seen someone so set on running into flames for someone else.

"Please, let me go," she tried to break her grip again, but Shadow was too strong.

"Spider-Man will get him," she said, hoping her voice didn't shake with doubt. They had been in there a while. "I'm sure they'll both be out any second."

"I can't lose him," the woman said tearfully, "I can't-"

She was interrupted when Spider-Man finally came through the door, holding a man around the waist, the man's arm slung over his shoulder as he coughed. The woman broke away to run to them and Shadow immediately felt relieved, not realizing how panicked she was at the thought that her partner wouldn't come out.

Firemen had showed up by then and were taking care of the situation while Spider-Man helped the woman's soulmate into an ambulance gurney waiting outside the burning building. She was sobbing over him while he held her hand weakly, not able to speak much when they put an oxygen mask over his mouth.

The whole scene put a lump in Shadow's throat as she watched him get wheeled in the ambulance, the woman not letting go of her soulmate's hand for even a second as she climbed in with him.

"Hey," Spider-Man's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked at his slightly charred suit. Without thinking she pulled him into a tight hug, forgetting momentarily how strong she was.

"Can't breathe," he choked a bit, making her step back immediately.

"Sorry," she whispered, "I-I was so worried you weren't gonna come out. You can't scare me like that."

"He was stuck under a fallen beam," he replied, ignoring the skip in his heartbeat at her worry for him. "It took longer than planned. But...we got him."

"You got him," she corrected, "You did amazing."

He smiled a bit at the praise, still slightly out of breath. "Thanks. Let's get out of here, before it gets too crowded."

"Good idea," she replied, checking how he was holding an arm around his stomach, "You're okay to swing us out of here?"

He scoffed, "Don't doubt me."

"Just checking," she smiled a little before frowning, the woman's distraught face still haunting her thoughts, "Let's leave before I go crazy still being here."

Moments later they were on their usual rooftop, taking a much needed break after the fire.

It was quiet between the both of them after they witnessed that. Shadow felt a pain in her chest at the look on the woman's face as her soulmate was stuck in a burning building. She felt horrible for being late to the scene, knowing Spider-Man felt the same.

"That sucked," she said flatly, glancing up to see him nod. "I feel so bad for them. I can't imagine what it's like to see your soulmate like that..."

"You-you haven't met your soulmate?" He asked curiously, wondering if he was crossing a line. She never talked much about herself, and he knew she kept her identity a secret for a reason, but it would be nice to know more about her.

She bit her lip, hesitating. "No, I haven't. I've been waiting to meet mine forever, but that...I would never want to go through what she just went through."

Peter nodded, "Yeah. Me neither."

"So you haven't met yours yet either, I take it," she mumbled, kicking a rock from the ledge. "Lucky us."

He chuckled lightly, "Nope. And I'm fine with that."

"You don't want to meet them?" She asked, frowning a bit.

"Not really," he admitted, and she waited for him to continue, but he ended it there. She felt a little sad to hear that, feeling bad for whoever his soulmate was. If he never wanted to meet them, well...it would suck to be them.

"Let's go see if there's a cat to save out of a tree, yeah?" Shadow changed the subject.

Peter smiled a bit, "Sounds like a plan."

-

"I freaking hate this class," you groaned dramatically, dropping your head on your friend's shoulder. He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest at you resting your head on him by laughing at you.

"If you hate chemistry so much, why did you go to a school designed for science?" Peter teased, making you roll your eyes and glare at him as you sat up.

"My parents are scientists, dummy," you tapped him on the head with you pencil, not noticing him frown at that statement like something just occurred to him. "They pushed for this school. Now stop being annoying and help me with this problem."

Whatever he thought of went away as he focused on the problem, muttering, "You only use me for my brain, I swear."

"Maybe so," you joked, "I don't get what it says here..."

The both of you went back to studying like you had been for the past hour, your brain starting to hurt after a few more hours. After a break for dinner with May and a bit more studying after she left for a late shift at work, you finally called it quits.

"If I don't know it by now, I won't know it for the test," you sighed, packing your textbook and notes into your bag.

"I'll walk you home, it's pretty late," Peter smiled at you, the same smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

"Thanks, Pete," you grabbed your bag and swung it over your shoulder, "And thanks for taking a break from the internship to help me with this."

"Of course, Y/N, anything for you," he said the sentence so easily, but those last three words really put butterflies in your stomach. He probably thought nothing of them but they made you more confident in your decision.

You were finally gonna tell him how you felt.

What Ned had said during lunch the other day sat with you for a while. You couldn't help but think maybe Peter did have some feelings for you - before Liz was in the picture you remembered how nervous he used to get talking to you, and while that part changed, you did know he was still sweet and funny and was always there for you even despite the internship. It was probably past time to tell him.

You tried to work up the nerve on the walk back to your place, Peter always bringing up a different subject before you could get the guts to spit it out. Luckily, he didn't seem to notice how tense you were.

"So..." you trailed off once it became silent, chickening out at the last second. "What're your plans for the rest of the weekend?"

"Well," he sighed, shrugging, "Internship a bit. I know May's been dying to see a chick flick that's out, so might go see that with her."

"Sounds fun," you mumbled, biting your lip as you repeatedly called yourself a coward in your head. You knew if you didn't do it now with all your pent up emotions, you never would.

Finally you reached the stop before your apartment, where you always parted after school.

"Well, I'll see you Monday," he grinned and went to head back, but you stopped him. Now or never.

"Hey, Peter?" You grabbed his wrist, your heart racing. You weren't going to chicken out this time. You weren't going to make some stupid excuse in your head.

"Uh, yeah?" He asked carefully, hearing your heart rate increase with his heightened senses. He was confused for why you seemed so nervous, when a second ago you were fine.

"I-I need to, to tell you," you bit your lip, trying to make eye contact with him and not falter. "I have feelings for you."

His eyebrows raised in shock, "You-what?"

You let out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, I...I've liked you for a while, in a more-than-a-friend-way. I just thought...you should know."

He felt his heart drop a bit, knowing that if you had said this last year, he would have been ecstatic. He still was - knowing you liked him made him so incredibly happy but terrified at the same time. You feeling the same wasn't something he had considered a possibility.

Things were complicated – not only did he reject any idea of being with anyone like that, soulmate or not, but now he had weird feelings he couldn't place for a certain vigilante, and while he still knew he liked you...he couldn't figure out how to respond.

"You don't have to say anything," you said after a minute, letting go of his sleeve, and stepping back a bit. His heart ached at the distance you put between the both of you, and how your eyes weren't meeting his. "I-I just needed to tell you."

"Y/N..." his voice trailed off and you nodded, trying to force a smile.

"I'll see you around," you said quickly, turning and heading home. He didn't call after you, or follow you, not that you'd expected him to.

The look on his face told you enough.

[ghoste-catte]

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

[sitp-recs]

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

[insaneoldme]

Can you rec buddie fics? Pretty please?

OMG it's my time to shine, bitches!!!

Sorry if I went a little nuts, but this fandom has some of the best writers I've ever seen. I have 186 Buddie fics bookmarked in my AO3,

I'll link here if you are interested in taking a look cause if I put them all here it would be too long. Also, I tried to show here some fics I very rarely see recced, and a little bit o the classics. This fandom has some very underrated authors, everyone in my bookmarks is worth taking a look really.

Please take a look at the warnings before reading, enjoy!!!

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies (Rated E )

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

My Heart's Been Borrowed by ElvenSorceress (Rated E)

aka the one where Taylor gives Buck his ultimate fantasy and uncovers far more than either of them expected, forcing him to confront his long held feelings for Eddie

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by HMSLusitania (Rated E)

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) (Rated E)

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

Keep It On by R_E_R6 (Rated E)

When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by ElvenSorceress (Rated T)

Buck nearly loses everything and Eddie has to follow his heart

hungry for your love by evcndiaz (Rated G)

prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

or; breadsticks are a metaphor for love and boning

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests (Rated M)

A glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

when things fall into place by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Eddie asks Buck to move in with them during lockdown to help look after Christopher, which leads to certain unresolved feelings being resolved.

Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.

Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.

Except for how... he might not.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates (Rated E)

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.

But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back.

He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.

ripples all the way down by iriswests (Rated M)

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings (Rated M)

Evan Buckley is lost.

It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door.

Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name.

Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Hi, I’ve never made a Reddit post before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing but I need advice and can’t ask anyone in my real life. So, I [30M] have this best friend [34M]…

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

fireflies where my caution should be by littlesnowpea (Rated M)

“You never talk about your parents,” Eddie says, which is not even remotely what Buck expects Eddie to say. He frowns, tilts his head, but it isn’t a question, as evidenced by Eddie charging on. “I never asked because I figured it was your business, but the look on your face any time they’re brought up tells me you don’t get along.”

Buck swallows hard, against a lump in his throat. His parents? Eddie’s right, he never talks about them, for good reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what he’s even going to say.

Eddie takes it as the answer Buck is trying to make it out to be. He squeezes Buck’s wrist again, takes a deep breath, like he’s on a call with someone who’s panicking. Buck finds his breathing slowing to match Eddie’s, and Eddie nods as Buck gets it under control.

“There are people on the porch,” Eddie says, voice even. “Saying they want to meet their grandchild.”

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable.

And that makes Eddie frustrated.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Memorable by JessicaMDawn (Rated T)

Six times Buck got recognized by people he saved during the tsunami, and how his team realized he was a hero.

All Bets are Off by NobodyKnows_U (Not Rated)

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

fire on fire by extasiswings (Rated T)

Or: Buck and Eddie get in the habit of sharing a bed while living together during quarantine. It's platonic until it isn't.

Better Together by Randomfandombloggs09 (Not Rated)

5 times Eddie sees Buck wearing his last name and 1 time its not just his

Daddy and Pops by EdithBlake (Rated M)

When Christopher calls Buck 'Pops' things get a bit confusing. Buck and Eddie have a talk with Christopher that ends up with both of them being even more confused by how right it sounds.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (Rated E)

unknown sender: Hi!

unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run.

unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way.

sent: hey um

sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but

sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

the dream you wish will come true by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

vienna waits for you by mottainai (Not Rated)

Eddie doesn't deserve a soulmate.

Work Husband by hideeho (Rated T)

“What...what have you done with Buck?” Eddie is going to kill him for messing with his phone. No, that’s too extreme. He’s going to maim him. Just a little.

“Check under H,” Chim offers helpfully, shooting a look over to Hen with a smirk.

Why the hell would he be under—

Then he sees it.

Husband.

Bad Neighbors by firstdegreefangirl (Rated E)

Eddie's new neighbors are keeping him up all night. He calls on his best friend for a little taste of their own medicine.

Cross the Line by Sirencalls (Rated E)

Eddie laughs, short and quiet and almost to himself. “No. If you want to learn, then I’m gonna be the one to teach you.”

Buck is pretty sure his brain stops working. “What? Why?”

Eddie turns to look at him and steps closer, their chests only a few inches apart. “Because there are people out there who will take advantage of how naïve you are. They’ll hurt you, and I won’t.” Eddie’s eyes are so intense that Buck doesn’t have any choice but to believe him. “If you want someone to do this for you, to—to dominate you, it has to be me. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

pretty in pink by dykeevans (Rated E)

Buck forgets that he and Eddie made plans to hang out until Eddie shows up and Buck's in the middle of laundry day.

His laundry day outfit consists of a small pink crop top and grey sweatpants.

Eddie loses his damn mind. Me too, though, me too.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Rated G)

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Something Old, Something New by dumbhuman (Rated E)

“Damn, I love weddings!” Buck’s face lit up as he closed the door.

If asked later, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to explain what came over him in that moment to make him ask the question. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have wanted to explain. The exhaustion was an easy excuse, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a real one.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

one of the few things by thatnerdemryn (Rated G)

five times that Eddie tells someone else that Buck is Christopher's legal guardian plus one time he finally tells Buck.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu (Rated T)

“Why is everybody taking my relationship status so personally? Can’t I be fine with being single?” Buck said.

“Hey, you don’t have to say yes, be sad and alone if that’s what you want,” Josh replied. “But, I’m just saying. I’ve seen photos and this guy is volcanic levels of hot. Also, single dad, super cute kid. Saves lives for a living like you. I think you should give it a go.”

(the one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there)

Keeping It In The Family by Wolves_of_Innistrad (Rated T)

A young man shows up at the firehouse looking for Buck. Turns out Javier was a Bartender with Buck in Mexico. He’s back in LA, looking to reconnect and very flirty. Cue Eddie realizing Buck is not as straight as he thought.

kiss me (like your ex is in the room) by rebeccaofsbfarm (Rated E)

Eddie Diaz gets drunk and protective and signs up for a fake double date to get back at his friend's ex.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania (Rated M)

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is… missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home

All my Buddie AO3 bookmarks

As I said this fandom has some very talented people, some of my favorite Authors's Tumblrs below, I recommend all the things they wrote and their blogs are very good.

@elvensorceress, @hmslusitania, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings

For gifs:

@arrenemris, @skylessnights (very lovely AU gifsets)

@from-nova(good gifs & content)

For Podfics: @mistmarauder everything she ever read is amazing, her podfics are high quality and she has a very lovely voice and her presence calms me down lol I recommend it

I'm sorry there are a lot more people but I'm kinda in a rush haha most of the people I follow are amazing, but the ones I mentioned here are enough to get you started or entertained for a while.

Buddie fics are amazing, this pairing has spoiled me so much, everyone I met because of it is nice and so active and talented.

Sorry mutuals if I forgot someone! 

I hope I helped Anon, have fun!

(Tell me if any link is wrong please, thanks)

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

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: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn. 

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up. 

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito​ for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you. 

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort 

pt. i: an opening 

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop. 

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter. 

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.  

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine? 

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back. 

Odd. 

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order– 

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ] 

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands. 

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic. 

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft. 

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down. 

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day. 

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression. 

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites. 

Wait. Favorites? 

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment? 

No. You must be joking. 

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.    

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face. 

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray. 

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move. 

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands. 

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips. 

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils. 

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much. 

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ] 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now. 

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch. 

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.  

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none. 

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.” 

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!” 

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum. 

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.” 

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now. 

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features. 

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask. 

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips. 

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches 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 doppio con panna with bitter lungo shots, poured affogato ] 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. 

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.” 

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine. 

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face. 

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?” 

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles. 

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence. 

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards. 

It’s stupid; he’s stupid. 

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.” 

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it. 

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath. 

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso. 

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans. 

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game. 

Wait. You asked him something? 

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway. 

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit. 

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice. 

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked. 

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia. 

It could be any number of things. 

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs. 

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that. 

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp. 

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team. 

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind. 

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs. 

They won. 

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken. 

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms. 

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh. 

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually– 

Ah, it’s you. 

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted. 

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him. 

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care. 

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him? 

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose? 

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes. 

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks. 

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe. 

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you. 

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here. 

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back. 

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned. 

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve. 

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding. 

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say. 

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way. 

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you. 

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree. 

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him. 

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.  

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes. 

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask. 

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy? 

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it. 

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl. 

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. 

What is there to say? 

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours. 

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!” 

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his. 

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.” 

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care. 

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number. 

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love. 

[unchartedcloud]

Okay, first off, I am a huge fan. I have absolutely fallen in love with your writing and have read legitimately all of it. I’m not the most interactive fan, but I’m branching out here because, again, I cannot get enough of your work. The serotonin levels I get make my brain go brrrrr.

That said, idk if you guys like to get suggestions/ideas for new chapters, but I have one idea that I would kill to read in your style bc I think you guys write possibly the best domestic Clexa I’ve seen, and I think this would be absolutely mint.

For the modern Clexa AU, a chapter where Lexa isn’t feeling well and Clarke takes care of her while Lexa stresses bc she’s not used to being cared for. You guys seem to have alluded to the fact that she had a rough childhood already, so I think maybe her feeling awful because of her period would be interesting. Maybe she’s extra tense about it bc she was always chided for showing weakness like that? Idk, I’m spitballing. If it’s before the break up, maybe have it so Clarke comes for one of their normal flings and then, when she realizes Lexa is struggling, instead spends the night taking care of her. A little sign that their rules are starting to break about keeping it casual. If it’s after, maybe she notices Lexa struggling in a meeting and Clarke is the only person able to convince Lexa to leave work and take care of herself. In my head I see them arguing over it and Lexa only caving when Clarke calls her “baby” or something similar (maybe for the first time).

I’m sorry for the rant lmao, I’m just obsessed with yalls work and need more vulnerable/flustered Lexa fluff.

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this, and to write what you do. You genuinely have fans and I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you have to rush.

When I tell you I could not SLEEP last night because I was too busy brainstorming different versions of this scene. Maybe our fics make your brain go brrrrr but that's precisely what this idea has been doing to mine for the last ohhhhh 48 hours or so.

We don't necessarily take requests, insofar as we're not in a place to guarantee any kind of timely turn around, but suggestions and ideas are always, 100% welcome. Please send them. They're a super quick way to get the creative juices flowing, and interaction from folks who like our stuff is a surefire dose of dopamine - so thank you for reaching out! And please please please don't ever apologize, we live for this shit.

(Tabby edit: we certainly take requests, we just can’t promise we’ll actually do the thing or do the thing in a timely manner — but getting a request from a reader makes the odds of us writing it about 200x better :P)

Brain rot (and spoilers?!? maybe??) under the cut.

EDIT: link to the fic here, fic is rated E.

Full disclosure: I haven’t had a chance to work this out with Tabby yet, which I emphasize because she always finds a way to take my humdrum ideas and add a twist to make them ten times better (cough cough grilled cheese cough cough) BUT I think my favorite version of this so far is a post-break up situation. I like the meeting setting, I like Lexa refusing to slow down until Clarke pulls the Power of the Petname on her. (There are so many things to love about this pairing, but seeing Lexa's world-shaping will bend to Clarke's affection is one of my absolute favorites. I'm sure that doesn't show in any of our fics at all.)

I'm seeing it as a pale, somewhat spacey, just visibly (to Clarke) unwell Lexa sitting in Arkadia's offices for one of their regular meetings, trying to force herself through her day while patently avoiding the Looks Clarke is trying to give her. She gets up to use the restroom and Clarke follows a few minutes later to check in, leading to Lexa stubbornly insisting she's alright to a Clarke who can see through her like wet tissue paper. They bicker, the temperature rising, until Clarke (who always has a Doctor Mode tm, even in a universe where Abby isn't a medical professional) goes to touch her forehead to see if she has a fever, and Lexa - who is a) very unused to touch in most situations, b) very unused to the idea of being taken care of, and c) is now extremely overstimulated - recoils and snaps at her. Enter that fun moment of realization as her overreaction breaks the tension, and though she stubbornly sees out the rest of the Arkadia meeting, Clarke catches her quietly calling Elena to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day.

Of course, Clarke doesn't trust Lexa as far as she can throw her when it comes to stopping work, so she heads to Lexa's apartment after work. she now has a key of her own it's fine. Commence domesticity and hurt/comfort.

I should be doing work, but instead I'm losing it over this idea.

I can make no promises that a version of this will ever see the light of day - and if it does, it'll probably be so far in the future you'll have forgotten you sent this, lmao. (though you will, of course, be credited) But I am positively buzzing about this and am about to go bother Tabby about it again. Might even have just the right title for it...

The idea of having fans is so beyond me, but we remain incredibly grateful for all of y'all who a) read our stuff and b) let us know that you've found it meaningful in some way. That's what makes all the work worth it!

The best domestic clexa. I am cry omg

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - The Answer

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @hiqhkey @serenzippity

That rooftop scene is growing closer, and so is my excitement :D

I’ve noticed a few new readers, and I just wanted to add a heads up that you can find the Tumblr post links and the AO3 links to each of the three fics at the top of my Tumblr, if that helps at all! 

Here’s the AO3 link to this chapter too.  

I hope you like it! <3

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

‘Chishiya, I’d hate to be your enemy.’ 

When Arisu had spoken those words right as he punched in the code, he’d already made his fatal mistake.

You are all my enemies, in a way.   

I stood back, watching as Arisu’s bloodied and unconscious body was slung over a militant’s shoulder and carried out of the royal suite. Usagi went next, kicking and screaming her boyfriend’s name. Just as she was dragged out the door, her eyes locked on me, and I could see the sheer betrayal there, the hatred burning and seething under her skin. 

I simply smiled. 

It wasn’t personal. It’s just how this world works.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to reach the king. 

The rest of us meandered out into the hall where the two traitors were being hauled towards their fate. I felt a hand clamp firmly on my shoulder, and fought the urge to move away when I saw Aguni standing beside me.

‘You did good, Chishiya. I never did trust those two.’ 

You should rethink where you put your trust. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ I said. ‘It’s the least I could do.’ 

There was a furious cry down the hall as Usagi bit someone’s hand, followed by a slap, and then silence. I already had an inkling about what would happen to the two of them. Knowing Niragi, he would have some fun with Usagi before disposing of her. Perhaps I should’ve felt guilty. Some people certainly would. But there was a small, satisfied part of me that was glad it was her instead of... 

‘That reminds me,’ Aguni said. ‘How did you know about them?’ 

‘Ah… that.’ I took the walkie talkie out of my pocket and flashed it to him. ‘They tried to get me to join them. I went along with it to find out the details, and you know the rest.’ 

Aguni’s brows furrowed at the sight of the device, but he didn’t ask to inspect or keep it. That’s when I knew I had him wrapped around my finger. 

‘I understand. If you see any other suspicious behaviour, let me know.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

I nodded politely as he disappeared down the hall and submerged himself in his room.

Now that those two were taken care of, the militants would be distracted for a little while. That left us a generous amount of time until dark, although the real plan wouldn’t take long to execute, especially now I knew where the actual safe was.  

Aguni may have been observant, but not nearly as observant as I was. Knowing that he had come so close to having the cards snatched from right under his nose, it would’ve unsettled anyone. And in such an unstable situation, it was only human nature to seek stability by making sure that your precious items are untouched. 

I guess I was wrong about the blank sheet. 

There was a room on the top floor that I knew wasn’t currently being used. In such close proximity to the royal suite, it was the perfect hideout where I could talk into the walkie talkie without worrying about eavesdroppers. 

Slipping inside, I pulled it from my pocket once again to tune it to a radio frequency I had told Kuina about earlier. Knowing her, she would have tuned (name’s) to the same one right after Arisu’s capture. 

I lifted the walkie talkie to my mouth. ‘Kuina?’ 

There was a drawn out moment of static, then Kuina’s voice crackled through. ‘I’m here. (Name) still needs a minute though.’ 

I figured as much. Once she realised what was happening, it was inevitable that she would react badly. Having Kuina there to keep her away from Arisu and Usagi had been for the best. And now she knew that I had unwillingly involved her in a plan like this, her opinion of me had probably sunk lower than before. 

Is this also for the best? 

I sat down on the unused bed, deciding that yes, it was. She would only be a distraction. If it came down to it, I needed to survive. And once we left the Beach, if she despised me so much that she chose to go down a separate path, it couldn’t be better. 

But still… 

‘Chishiya.’ Kuina’s voice interrupted the quiet. ‘I hope you feel guilty for this. I seriously hope a small part of you realises how screwed up this was.’ 

I smiled at her lack of understanding. I realised perfectly well, but for the sake of surviving in a world like this, you couldn’t allow yourself to slip to the bottom of the food chain.

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ I replied. ‘Are you backing out all of a sudden?’ 

‘Of course not. I can’t afford to, and neither can (name).’ She paused, then tentatively asked, ‘Did you know? About her… and you, you know.’ 

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Did you know she had feel—’ Kuina’s voice stopped, then she hushed, ‘She’s coming out now. We’ll be upstairs soon.’ 

The communication cut off, and all I could do was wait until they were in position. Wait, and mull over Kuina’s unfinished question. Obviously, they had been talking about me, but I almost didn’t want to know what they had said. 

I waited fifteen minutes, and there was still no sign from either of them. If they carried on at this speed, we would run out of time. Growing restless, I held up the walkie talkie. 

‘You two, how are things on your side?’

There was no response, but they would have to reply eventually. What I didn’t expect was her voice to come through. 

‘You’re all good to go from where I’m standing.’ Her voice was still dripping with unspoken anger and betrayal, and it was surprising she was even willing to talk to me. 

So you’re not as childish as you act. Who would’ve thought. 

‘Aguni’s still in his room,’ Kuina followed up with a sigh. ‘We’re getting bored now.’ 

‘Then should we get going with the plan?’ I suggested. The reply I got was scathing. 

‘We’ve already gotten going. It’s you who needs to hurry up.’ 

That attitude, it was almost laughable. How commanding (name) had become in an instant, as if she weren’t tagging along on someone else’s plan.

‘Patience,’ I reminded her, and turning down the volume on the walkie talkie, I cracked open the door. 

In the hall, there wasn’t a soul in sight. It couldn’t have been more perfect. The royal suite was unguarded, and I easily slipped by unnoticed. Inside, the room was bathed in darkness, and it became apparent Aguni hadn’t yet bothered to move his belongings in. There were still traces of the incident earlier. The carpet by the open wardrobe was spotted with blood. Arisu’s blood. 

I turned the volume on the walkie talkie back up. ‘I don’t know if Arisu is stupid or intelligent. Hatter was paranoid. He wouldn’t have hidden the cards in a normal safe.’

‘Where’s the real one then?’ Kuina asked. 

I turned to the deer painting on the wall. It didn’t particularly stand out as anything special, just a deer’s face and antlers against a blue toned background. And yet earlier that day, despite all the commotion and Arisu’s screams of pain, it had captured Aguni’s focus. 

‘When Arisu was caught,’ I said, slowly approaching the painting, ‘Aguni wasn’t paying attention. He was looking towards a certain picture on the wall. It turns out the paper wasn’t empty after all. It contained a drawing instead.’ 

Briefly placing the walkie talkie on a side table, I lifted the painting from the wall, uncovering the hidden treasure that I had been hoping for. The plaster had been carved up, forming a hole large enough to jam a small safe inside. And sure enough, there it was. A hotel safe, much like the one Arisu had tried, was embedded deep into the wall. 

Her voice, sounded through the static. ‘So, you had no idea where it was until then?’ 

I picked up the walkie talkie again. ‘Exactly. What happened to Arisu was necessary if we were going to find the real safe. Speaking of which, I’ve found it.’ 

Now it was the moment of truth. The final test to see if my code was correct. I punched the numbers in one by one. 8022. Each one held its own magnitude, and I half-expected an alarm to ring out. 

Except it didn’t. The safe display read ‘OPEN’. 

‘You used him just for that?’ was Kuina’s tired response. 

Really, after all this time, did she not realise that this was the price one had to pay? This world had a certain dynamic. In order to survive, you couldn’t allow yourself to get caught up in guilt or shame. 

‘In order to gain something, you have to lose something,’ I said. ‘He’s just a sacrifice. Things like this happen a lot, don’t they?’

'No, they don’t. Not at all. I really don’t want to be your enemy.’

I smiled, remembering the betrayal in Arisu’s expression. ‘I get that a lot.’ 

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

The deck was like a weight, swinging in my pocket. A surefire sense of power and danger, all hidden within a stack of cards. There was no way of knowing whether collecting them granted any passage back to the old world. But there was also nothing to prove that they didn’t. 

Either way, I’m certain something will happen once the deck is completed. 

These cards couldn’t be for nothing. 

After replacing the painting, I told Kuina and (name) to meet me near the patio exit at the east of the hotel. I could’ve caught up with them on my way down from the top floor, but I wanted to make a small diversion. 

I’d never felt any attachment to my room, and even now as I took one last look, there was nothing in particular keeping me here. 

Well, maybe just one thing. 

Pulling open the second drawer down on the desk, I felt around at the back for the tiny box. It was only small, and the ring inside even smaller. It sat open in the palm of my hand, the silver fashioned into a small sun with a glistening green centre. 

Somehow, its weight was even heavier than the cards. 

Is there any point?

I could’ve easily slipped it into my pocket, but it was practically useless. Even if I gave it to her, she would instantly reject it. 

I placed the box back in the draw. It would stay a secret for the next person moving into this room. As I shut the drawer, I suddenly remembered another, darker secret hidden inside the one below. I opened it up, seeing the little souvenir I’d taken from my first game. 

The pistol glistened inside, metallic and dangerous. Now that would certainly keep Niragi at bay. But again, was it worth it? It didn’t hold many bullets, and it wouldn’t stand a chance against a rifle. Once we were out of here, I could probably find something a little bigger, perhaps in Tokyo’s empty Yakuza hotspots. 

I left it there along with the ring. Even walking away felt like tugging at a string that kept pulling me back towards that tiny box. I would have to rip that string apart. 

Making my way down through the hotel, I strolled outside, dipping into the smaller paths where the patio was peaceful. The only sounds were the faded music drowned out by wind, and the soft trill of crickets. Two silhouettes came into view, one basking in the glow beneath a lamppost, the other hidden against the wall in its shadow. 

‘I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.’ I pulled off the wristband I had gotten so used to wearing. Just as I reached the brick archway at the edge of the grounds, Kuina spoke.

‘Don’t you feel sorry?’ 

I paused. ‘Sorry?’ 

‘About what happened to Arisu,’ (name) said. ‘I feel really sorry for him. We both do.’

Kuina hummed in agreement. ‘Don’t you?’

I turned, glancing from Kuina’s frown to the figure behind her. No matter how hard she tried to hide in her friend’s shadow, I could always find her, especially when her eyes looked so full of anger and hurt. Standing there, both bracing themselves against the cold, the two of them echoed off one another in perfect harmony. 

‘I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.’ 

I knew what line came next. She didn’t have to sing, so long as she was still breathing. Perhaps I could make her understand. 

‘Is there anything we wouldn’t do in order to survive?’ 

Clearly, there was. Their eyes widened, as if the truth of this world hadn’t fully hit them yet. As if all my efforts had been for nothing in their eyes. 

Fine. Very well. 

I smiled, no longer caring to hide the bitterness. ‘If you both feel so worried, then maybe you should go and help him.’ 

And of course, neither of them budged. They knew they couldn’t. They were both so happy to come with me if it meant escaping the Beach, yet they still felt the right to criticise my methods. I turned back towards the arch and took the first step forward into freedom, only to hear that tiny, oh-so-familiar sound. 

A buzzing. 

‘It can’t be,’ I muttered. 

This was always a possibility. But why here? Why now? Why, when I was so close to winning? Any other time, and I wouldn’t have minded. This, however, was simply annoying. 

I was so deep in thought, I barely registered the footsteps behind me… the familiar form sliding past me… walking closer towards the arch. 

‘Stop.’

My hand moved on its own, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back just in time. For one small second I felt the heat of her skin, right before it was yanked out of my grip. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She touched her wrist as if it had been burned, unaware that it had been the other way around. 

I couldn’t answer. The cold had settled back in, the emptiness. It only confirmed that nagging suspicion I already knew. The reason I couldn’t rip the string apart. She was the answer.

Kuina appeared at my side, waiting for an explanation. Her presence reminded me that there was something far, far more pressing at stake. Suddenly remembering the wristband I was holding, I tossed it into the arch. 

A glowing red laser shot through the centre and it clattered to the ground. 

The timing was almost ironic, too perfect to be true. Almost like the gamemasters had been watching us all along, just as they had with that little stunt they pulled in the Eight of Hearts. As frustrating as this was, I had to admire their creativity. 

I sighed, turning around to see a wall of lasers appear along the parameters of the hotel.

Touche.