#if i heard it live now i’d fucking weep

[starbuck]

oh pseudothyrum song we’re really in it now

[anxiouslyfred]

Drowned Net

Summary/ My idea for this fic: Jellyfish cryptid Remus, he doesn't mean to be unknown or hard to spot, but he's floating and following the interesting things. Humans are loud but dull and predictable to him.

Then there's Virgil, a cryptid hunter online who posts about his searches and just got recommended the Drowned Net of a small town on the shore.

Authors Note: Okay I KNOW, I freaking know for certain, this came from something @lazaruscorpse said some time ago. I cannot for the life of me find where, or remember when. Sea mentioned something about jellyfish cryptid and tumblr won't let me find it now. bleh.

/\/\

Remus was curious by nature. They wanted to know all the interesting things, like how far down would stop predators flocking to blood in the water, or how close they could get to the warm ones fucking.

In earlier years, they’d even been interested in humans for a while, but found them all too predictable soon enough: they see Remus’s back in the water and throw things at them; They see Remus’s face and either weep or scramble trying to pull them out before throwing things again.

Humanity is just predictable, even as they grew noisier and got sharper things to throw. Even the ones Remus saw in the water were dull, either lifelessly floating and ignoring all attempted to chat or screaming and splashing about.

In short, the water held far more of interest to Remus in its life and depths than humanities occasional visits ever would.

~~

Virgil’s latest challenge started, as a lot of them did, with a comment on one of his videos: No one ever covers the Drowned Net of Redwood. Are water cryptids too much effort to investigate?”

It was definitely harder to investigate them, but Virgil knew what it was like to wish something was known about and find nothing; that was why he’d started posting videos at all. So he replied, confirming the town’s location and added it to the cryptids he could investigate when up to travelling.

Now the few times Virgil had tried looking for ocean based cryptids he’d struggled to find any boats willing to take him out. Most sailors, fishermen and boat owners had healthy suspicions and a lot of caution against tempting the ocean to take their livelihoods, if not their lives. He respected that immensely and would then stick to what could be done on land.

For the Drowned Net however, no one worried about it. They laughed over ‘that old myth’ and were inviting him along before the request to could be said.

After checking if he minded being in his video, Virgil recorded a small interview with the sailer taking him out.

“Here is my Captain for the day: Thomas, tell me a little more about today’s cryptid.” He began, having already filmed a beginning for the video and knowing this could be cut depending on how things went.

Thomas shook his head, “I’m no captain, just a sailor. What questions do you have?”

“Most sailors tell me they won’t go near looking for any sea monsters or cryptids, but you like the Drowned Net?” He asked.

“What I like is animals keeping away from our boats. It’s better for us and them when they do and the Drowned Net does just that, sometimes with annoyed noises, I hear, but never any hassle.” Thomas easily replied. “Granted this is mostly things I’ve heard from other sailors.”

“Wouldn’t a fisherman want fish to come close?” Virgil asked, eyes narrowing.

Thomas shrugged, gesturing around at his ship. “I take my nets to them and even then have to try and be careful over what I catch. The wrong fish means a lot of dead ones being thrown back. Damn restrictions.”

There was a moment where Virgil nodded, wondering if he should entertain the diversion but decided to keep the interview focused. “Why is this cryptid called the ‘Drowned Net’? Is that what you think it is? I know the pictures have been thought to look like one.”

“Not at all. If jellyfish grew that big, or had solid limbs, I’d call it one of them from the glimpses I’ve gotten. Slow as the water if seen deep below on sunny day, but fast as a speedboat to dive down or away if it thinks we can see it clearly. You seen many jellies?” He asked, turning to the controls of the ship.

Virgil shook his head, “Nope, don’t get many inland. Why?”

“They aren’t the fastest movers unless a current gets them. Either Drowned Net controls currents or it can move itself better than a plain jelly could.” Thomas paused, glancing at the sky. “But we best be heading out now for the best chance of spotting it.”

“One last question: How many times have you seen it?”

Thomas paused, still looking out the window but at the waves now. “Twice for certain. Glimpses in the corner of my eye of shadows in the water leaving are countless, and as likely to be light or other creatures as the Drowned Net. My Grandpa use to say he saw it four times, following the animals of the waves.”

~~

It was fucking time and Remus couldn’t decided what to watch. So many goos and goops in the water waiting to become life, so many animals joining bodies in weird ways and they wanted to watch it all.

They had just chosen what to focus on when on of the human’s boats paused on the surface, forms looking over into the water. Deciding not to miss the show, they simply sunk lower in the water, ignoring it.

~~

Thomas stopped the boat seemingly at random so far as Virgil knew, but he went when called to look over the edge of the boat.

“Now, you’ve done your research on the Drowned Net, haven’t you?” Thomas asked, not pointing anything out yet.

Virgil huffed, feeling like he was being doubted. “Of course. I never go out in search of something unless most encounters reported are harmless.”

“That wasn’t why I asked. I’ve stopped us here because it’s a breeding spot for a few types of fish and your trip was timed perfectly for that.” He explained a little more, waiting for him to understand.

“So if we have a chance of finding the Drowned Net, then it’s more likely to be here.” He nodded, angling his camera down at the waves. “But it’s dark, how are we-”

As he spoke a paler area of the water shrank, as if something had descended drastically. “The pale shape was the Drowned Net?” He asked, a little stunned it had been so easy to see.

“I think so, but we’ll never get closer than that. It doesn’t like ships.” Thomas said, peering down as well. “Unless you’re a trained diver and haven’t mentioned that.”

“I’m not becoming a drowned man, all for a video on the Drowned Net.” Virgil replied, deadpan. It was the first time he’d actually seen the cryptid he was looking for, and just a vague shape was thrilling; definitely worth the travel.

[justinewrites]

Yo I don't really post snippets in public because I have a hard time thinking any one bit of writing is good enough to post on its own but

listen

you can have this one. First pass at a scene between Lucy and Nate (if you've seen me post about my pirate blorbos at all you know they CONSUME ME) after they've fucked nasty for the first time. Not explicit. Suicidal ideology within. Utter devotion ahead. Simping? I think the kids call it simping.

---

Nate did not sleep.

He dozed for a moment, succumbing to weariness and the alluring warmth of the bed. When he jolted awake, there she was -- alive and real and naked and next to him. Moonlight lanced through the curtains and fell upon her slumbering visage, illuminating the angelic nature of her features: wild, holy enough to burn his eyes out.

The desire to self destruct, a constant and once humble companion, had never been so strong. He shouldn’t have done this, allowing himself one night to experience the best this life had to offer only to finally, truly experience its absence. But what was the fucking point of living otherwise? He’d drown himself in the ocean come dawn. A happy death.

He could have been content in the wanting. The wanting, like the need for dying, had been with him his whole life and this was no different. It was the having that he couldn’t abide, not when he could not have it forever. The truth of it lying on the bed before him hurt so much more than anything his imagination could conjure. A vast emptiness yawned ahead: life after Lucy, not simply without.

Because this? Could not be real. It could not be constant — his usual companions were never so sweet. Lucy tossed her lovers aside like the bones of the animals she’d eaten and Nate was bloody grateful but also his life was over. She’d eaten her fill.

Given the slightest chance, he’d crack himself open and show her there was still marrow left, just for an extra minute, a moment more of her lips on him, before he was cast out to sea.

She blinked her eyes open, her lashes the wings of a dark butterfly stirring from the bloom. The corner of her mouth pulled in a slow smirk. “Already up?” she murmured, stroking a scorching finger over his cheekbone. “Haven’t I run you ragged?”

“I’m still breathing,” he said. A boyish hope blossomed in his chest, seized immediately by cynicism’s wicked vice. “There’s some life left for you to ruin.”

She examined his face, held his unwavering gaze. “You liked it.” Nate found himself at a rare loss for words. The statement would have been insulting, infuriating, had it not been uttered by those specific lips. He opened his mouth and a prayer almost tumbled out. The confession of his suicidal contemplations fought to escape. Liked it? He was bereft of purpose without it.

“I like how you kneel,” she said when he only gaped like a fish. “I like how you look at me. I’ve never been properly pleased by a man and not seen shame in his eyes.”

Shame? Shame? Shame was for Adam in the garden weeping at his own nakedness. Nate had always been the serpent, crawling on his belly and greedily devouring the remnants of fruits falling to the ground. Now the fruit, the whole bloody tree, came with his name on her lips and God would have to kill him Himself to make him stop crawling back for more.

“You’re such a good boy,” she murmured, just the way she had last night, the way that broke him into a million fiery stars. “You’ll be good for me on the ship, too, won’t you? If I call you to my cabin? Sometimes when you’re being good at your job I just want to do the most terrible things to you.”

Nate laughed, a wheeze, and then couldn’t remember how to get the air back for a moment. “Love, you could rise to Heaven and I’d find a way to break in just to hear you say my name. You’ll never be rid of me.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with equal parts salvation and doom. “I’ve heard of worse curses,” she said, her lips so close the words branded themselves into his skin. “And I don’t think you’ll need to worry about Heaven.”

He’d die for her. He’d kill for her. And now it seemed that the least likely of all was before him: he might get back on that ship tomorrow and live for her.

[this-will-be-what-kills-me]

It’s been 207 days since my mama died and all of the parts of me that died with her are somewhere buried in an abyss under a lifetime of regrets and 207 days of mourning. I’ll wake up tomorrow in a room full of things that remind me of her, things I put there but can’t make eye contact with. It will hurt, because it always does. I’ll smile when I think I should, because I always do. I’ll make the right noises in the right parts of conversations like I’ve rehearsed and practiced and I’ll put one foot in front of the other and I’ll crack the jokes and roll with the sarcasm and say thank you and I might even mean it but if you look into my eyes, you’ll know.

There’s a book on my shelf called ‘I’m glad my mother died’ that I bought when things were the way that they used to be, a little over a year before that phone call, a little over two years before she died and at a time when something like this happening to us seemed beyond any realm of belief. I thought I’d find resonance in the words and like some crazy premonition I never got round to reading it. Now that book mingles in with the rest of the things I can’t make eye contact with, all of the happy memories from the cancer haze and a reminder that I don’t know who the fuck I was then and I don’t know who the fuck I am now.

Once upon a time, I was a little girl who had never heard ‘I love you’ and then I was a teenager crying out for help and then I was an adult so lost and lonely it should be a crime. I cried and fought and battled and sat on leather couches spilling secrets until I grew, grew, grew and forgave and tried to forget. Who knew that it would be the cliche of death that would ruin it all. Out of 27 years, I got 17 months with the mum that I wanted, deserved, needed. I could fall to my knees and weep with gratitude for the holes that were healed in that time. I learned that time is short but you can make so much of it, if you really try. I learned that we all have wounds and we all have scars, there’s no shame in that. I learned that we all have light and dark within us, we all deserve love anyway. And maybe I’ll be the child that wasn’t loved enough forever, I’ll always be the teenager who hurt herself to ask for help, I might always be lost and lonely. But for 17 months I was a daughter and a friend and a confidante and a carer and a personal shopper and a hugger and a hand holder and my mum, my beautiful and strong and brave mum, she gave those things to me. She lived with her demons and she shared them with me and it was and is complicated, it will always be complicated. This will hurt forever. But my mama gave me happiness and sadness and hurt and anger and love and hope and dreams and she gave me life… I’ve spent 207 days trying to find the will to live it. Tomorrow it will be 208 and I’ll look up at the stars and thank all of them for you.

Mama. I miss you, I love you, I need you, I am never moving on. I think of you all the time. 💙

[autisticlancemcclain]

You Crazy-Assed Cosmonaut (Remember Your Virtue)

Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, General Audiences, 959 Words

Summary:

It's not about the fucking pen.

But that is why she's crying.

--- OR: Lance and Hunk have a very intimate relationship.

---

Shiro sighs, looking at Hunk with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“You really care about him, huh?”

Hunk looks at his hands where they’re clasped in his lap and smiles softly. Lovingly. “I got him a pen when we were, like, eight,” he starts. “It was this dookie little pen from the dollar store. I had just met Lance — it was our first week of third grade, he was homeschooled before then — and it had come up once in conversation that his favourite flower was the sunflower, because he loved that they were taller than he was. Said it made him feel like the flower was protecting him.”

The reverence in Hunk’s voice — it makes Pidge pause. She realises there are tears in the corners of her eyes. There’s nothing yet about the story that is very tearjerking, but the care that Hunk visibly has for his closest friend is just — she needs a moment. It’s a lot.

“Anyway. I remembered that, and I saw this little pen at the store with my mom. It was green and smooth and really wide, and it had this floppy sunflower on the end of it. All my eight year old self could think about was that my new best friend told me he loved sunflowers, and that I had noticed it was hard for him to hold the thinner pencils at school — his fine motor controls took a while to develop, although they are obviously excellent now. Anyway. I felt like it was magic, like a sign we were gonna be friends for the rest of our lives —“ Hunk huffs out a laugh at this, and everyone’s smile grows a little. Little baby Hunk had no idea how true that would be.

“So I scrounged up the allowance I’d saved up and I bought it for him. I gave it to him the next day at school, and I swear I have never seen anyone smile so wide. Lance had lost four of his front teeth and at that point, his smile was basically all gums, but it was just so radiant . Lance had never made a friend before me, and the idea that someone had remembered his favourite flower and bought him a little trinket made him so, so happy. He was so excited he couldn’t even get words out, just general happy noises. I remember thinking that it felt like the sun was shining extra brightly on me.”

Pidge chokes on a small and quiet sob, feeling the sentiment of that taking over her whole brain. She’s not alone in her reaction — Hunk has had tears streaming down his face for a while, and Shiro has his hand pressed tightly to the watery smile on his face. Keith lets out a deep exhale, eyes closed, letting the feelings wash over him. Coran has been openly weeping since Hunk opened his mouth, basically, and Allura is running her hands through her hair, like she does when she’s a little overwhelmed.

Pidge just — God . Baby Hunk saw his best friend smile and felt like the sun was shining brighter.

“Lance never lost that pen, y’know?” Hunk continues after a moment. “He wasn’t great at keeping small trinkets around, he always tended to forget where he put things. But not that pen. He kept that pen for its whole life, and he cried for hours when it ran out of ink. He never threw it out, though — he keeps it in his pocket, even though it doesn’t work.”

Pidge heard Shiro make a noise of distress, a kind of half-sob, and it set everyone off. No one was doing their best to keep their crying quiet anymore; the whole group just dissolved into a mess of tears and emotions. Pidge was no exception.

“He — he keeps the dead pen —“ she bawled. Hunk speaks around his own sobs and hitching breaths.

“He brought it to space — I sometimes see him holding it when he gets lonely or sad and I just — he loves people so much, y'know? He really cares with his whole heart. I've never once doubted that Lance loves me. I've never had a reason to. He just — I wish he would just remember that I love him just as much as he loves me."

Pidge is desperately trying to get a hold of herself, but she is just so… struck by the devotion these two have for each other. God. She knew on some level that the two were close, but it’s just — it feels like that one Euripides quote, the one about rotten work: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

The devotion of the quote is mirrored in the pen story — Hunk remembered all Lance’s small details. Lance never lost the pen. He never lost the fucking pen. He lost everything else, he loses things all the time, but not the pen. Not the physical marker of his best friend’s love. God . It’s a lot to take in.

She looks over at Lance in his pod, in stasis despite the gaping wound in his abdomen.

Do you know how loved you are? she thinks to him. Do you know how much it will shatter him if you don’t wake up? Shatter all of us?

She thinks again of a younger Hunk and Lance, friends for the first time, unburdened by the trauma of space and constant fear of failure and genocide. She imagines Lance’s pure joy at Hunk’s gift, and Hunk’s comparison of his friend to the sun, and she puts her head down in a prayer she’d never thought she’d pray again, not after finding her family.

Please. Please . For the love that is all that is good and kind in the world.

Bring him back.

[loving-barnes]

Vendetta - Loophole (15)

Pairing: Mob Boss! Bucky Barnes x Mob ! Boss Y/N Fox (Bucky Barnes x female reader)

Warning: some angst, some fluff, cursing

Autor’s note: I’m not even sorry. :D 

Viewer discretion is advised. This story is for readers 18+!

Word count: 4600+

Chapter fourteen

Vendetta Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Loophole (15)

“Y/N?” 

All four of them turned their heads toward the familiar voice. Their eyes widened in disbelief and Y/N’s body visibly relaxed. 

Yelena was sitting in an ambulance car, holding an oxygen mask on her face as a medic was checking her vitals. She seemed more than alive but visibly pissed. Her hair in a ponytail was messy and there was some dust covering her body and clothes. She was holding a thick folder filled with papers tightly in her grip. She protected them as if it was her child.

Y/N ran to her, immediately pulling her into a tight hug, crying in relief. “You are alive,” she whispered as tears kept falling down her face. “Fuck, I thought I lost you, Lenka. I thought I fucking lost you,” she kept weeping. The feeling of relief was nice. All the mixed emotions in the last half an hour got her and now she needed to loosen up the valve.

“I’m okay,” Yelena whispered, hugging her tightly. “I’d never let them kill me. Although I had to admit, that was a close one.” 

The boys came to them, glad that Yelena was alive and well. When Y/N pulled away, Yelena put the oxygen mask back on and took a few more deep breaths. It seemed like a miracle she was unharmed and survived the explosion.

“What happened?” Sam asked, curious to know more details about the incident. 

“In all honesty, I don’t know exactly what happened,” she started to talk. ���One second I’m on the phone with Y/N and suddenly, I feel a force throwing me against the wall as the place goes boom. The walls are falling, people are screaming and I am on the floor, covered in some wood and pieces of wall. Thank God I was about to leave the apartment. The walls around the door protected me, I think.” 

“Do you think it was a bomb?” Bucky asked. 

“I don’t know. I think it could have been from a gun, a bazooka or something that fired straight into the living room from another building,” she shrugged. “Good thing I got this,” she waved with the folder. “Honestly, I don’t know which one is worse – this,” she waved the folder, “or that,” and she pointed at the damaged building.

Y/N frowned. “What if they were after it? Maybe there is something inside that they don’t want us to see.” 

“Girl, I’ve read it briefly and you will not love what is inside of the documents,” Yelena shook her head. “We’ll discuss it once we are far away from this place where we can be sure no one is listening and watching.” 

Y/N’s phone rang. When she took it out of the pocket, she saw Ace’s name on the display. “What do you want? Quick, because I don’t have much time,” she said grumpily. The fact that he was calling at this very moment was suspicious.

Ace: I’ve heard there was an explosion at Yelena’s. Are you alright? 

Y/N squinted, eyes slowly finding Bucky’s who was already staring at her. Yes, it was too suspicious. “We’re fine. Everyone is fine and well.”

Ace: Good, that’s good. Can we meet and talk about it?

She shook her head and looked around, scanning all the people staring at the tragedy that happened. A shiver ran down her spine. “No, I need to sort things out now. I’ll talk to you later, or tomorrow.” She ended the call and turned back to Yelena.

“Who was it?”

“Ace,” said Y/N without any emotion in her voice. “Such a weird timing for a call, don’t you think? Anyway, how are you feeling? You good to go?” she stroked Yelena’s back. 

She was about to reply when one of the cops approached the group. “Miss Fox?” he asked for Y/N. “I need to talk to you for a minute, please.” When Y/N looked into his face, she recognized the man. In the past, Y/N helped them get evidence for a murder case that happened in Queens. Peter also helped and she paid him well for his services.

Together, they left the group, walking farther away from them. “Officer, it’s been a while,” she winked at him. “How you’ve been doing? How’s the wife and job?” 

He shrugged. “Well, with the things happening these past few weeks, I had a lot of work to do – and some clean-up, if you will.” Hearing that, Y/N cleared her throat. “First, your father had the funeral that ended with an explosion that destroyed the body – not mentioning more casualties. Now, it’s an apartment that also has something to do with you and your family. What the hell is going on?” 

“Listen, I’m sorry for complicating things and believe me when I say, that I am doing my best to solve this problem and clean up after us,” she sighed. “It’s been a hell of a ride and I believe that in a few days, it will all end. I know that we are putting people in danger but we are trying to keep it within our circle. Obviously, we are not doing a great job.” 

“Well, I hope this will all end very soon, Ms Fox,” he huffed, tired after the day he had. “It’s becoming more difficult to cover up after you,” he said. “I’ve been talking to Mr Wilson or Mr Lang about everything that has been going on around you. Promise me that the war happening between all of you will end soon. I really need a day off.” 

She frowned at him. “As I said, officer. I will handle the situation and end this nonsense. It won’t take much longer and everything will be solved. I can promise you that,” and she left him standing there, heading back to her group. 

“Can we go?” Y/N asked Yelena when the blonde put away the oxygen mask. Her mood shifted visibly.

She nodded. “Listen, Barnes offered us a shelter for the night,” she pointed a finger at the Wolf. “I think it would be a nice slumber party, don’t you think?” she winked at her. 

Y/N turned her head to Bucky, raising a brow. “Yeah, please, come and stay for the night. Lay low and we can talk more about,” he pointed at the folder Yelena was still holding, “that thing over there. Plus, I think it won’t be wise to stay the night in Queens. It’s dangerous. Also,” he continued, “you don’t have a place to live.” 

“Huh,” Y/N grinned at him. “I mean, sure, we can. It’s been a rough day. Fuck, it’s been a rough month I’d say. I need a strong drink and a nice warm bed.”

“You and me both, sister,” Yelena yawned. “And I need a shower to shower off this day and the dirt – and maybe after that to take shower to shower of the first shower.”

Y/N laughed at her sentence, shaking her head. “I’m glad you are fine,” she gave her one last hug. 

Both women went to Y/N’s car where she helped Yelena take a seat. Y/N was the driver. The Wolves took Steve’s car. Before they drove away, leaving another past behind them (for now), Y/N took a quick glance at Barnes who was sitting next to Steve. He let Steve drive his car. Unknowingly, she put a smile on her face. 

“What is that? What the fuck is that on your face, Y/N?” Yelena pointed a finger at her when she noticed her lips crook up. “What happened that I don’t know about?” 

“What?” Y/N chuckled. “Nothing happened, Lenka. I promise.” 

But that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “No, no, don’t lie to me, Y/N. I have been noticing your behaviour and your body language for the last few days. I can see the change,” she laughed. “Tell, me, what happened when you were with Barnes today? Do you think about him in more ways than one?” 

Y/N kept her eyes locked on the road. “I told him what really happened to his parents and we talked about it. Nothing more. Nothing is happening, my friend.” 

“You really like that fucker, don’t you,” she teased her some more. “Come on, admit it finally.”

Y/N bit her lower lip and shook her head. Her cheeks were already red and burning. “Unfortunately, I have to say… I do like him, Yelena.” 

“Ha!” she screamed with excitement. “I knew it. I told you, there is a thin line between love and hate, Y/N. You went from hating him, to loving him,” she danced with her hands in the air as if nothing happened to her minutes ago. “There is a thing line between love and hate,” she sang. “There is a thin line between love and hate.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Are you done now?” she said strictly. 

“No, my friend. I will be done until you two kiss and reveal your feelings.”

The traffic light turned red and Y/N stepped on the brake, making Yelena bump her hands on the dashboard. “Ouch,” she hissed. “Don’t be mean, Y/N. I’m just excited.” 

“He doesn’t like me that way,” said Y/N neutrally. 

“Oh, come on, have you seen how he looks at you? That man craves you. He wants to be with you.” 

“Oh my god,” she rolled her eyes. “Can we talk about it at least when we are done with other shit that we have going on?” she asked, annoyed. After that, the conversation died and they remained silent until they arrived at Barnes’ mansion. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Yelena kept grinning at her boss like a child that knew what kind of present they’d have under the Christmas tree. 

“Ladies,” Sam smiled at them once they stepped out of the car and all three men were waiting for them at the main entrance door. “Follow us.”

All of them took seats in the lounge room. There was a modern fireplace with a white couch set where at least ten people could sit. Bucky brought five glasses with a golden rim while Steve took a bottle of whisky from a cabinet where were many more bottles of expensive alcohol. Once the drinks were poured and everyone was sitting around the coffee table, the discussion could begin. 

“Uh,” Yelena looked at the folder she kept on her lap. “I had the opportunity to have a look at the papers… and, well, you will not going to like what is written there.” With that being said, she handed the folder to Y/N and quickly drank the alcohol in one go. Seeing that Y/N wasn’t ready to open the folder, Yelena continued. “There is a loophole – in order to avoid giving Queens to Hydra, you need to marry someone.” 

The liquid got through the wrong pipe and Y/N started to couch, shocked by what she heard. “Say what now? What the fuck?” she tried to catch her breath and talk at the same time. When she was finally able to breathe, she put the glass back on the table and opened the folder. The Wolves had the same surprised expressions on their faces. 

“What the fuck? This isn’t the eighteen century anymore,” Bucky scoffed. “What kind of bullshit did your father come up with?” 

Y/N was already reading through the papers, trying to connect the dots and find all the information. “Shit,” she said under her nose when she found what she was looking for. 

“In order to null and void the agreement between Alexander Pierce and Attila Fox, Ms Y/N Fox has to marry before the end of the deadline, where after Mr Fox’s death, the business in Queens must be transferred to Alexander Pierce,” she started to read out loud. “This act will transfer the family business to the husband that will become the new head of the family and the business.” Y/N’s face was red and ready to burst with rage. 

She continued. “In order to null and void the agreement… both siblings, Daniel Fox and Y/N Fox must be alive… What kind of fucking bullshit is this?!” she wasn’t able to finish the sentence. “Those fuckers knew what they were doing. God fucking dammit!” 

“They knew that by killing Danny, you won’t be able to find anyone to marry once your father dies,” said Yelena. “They had it all prepared and figured out.”

“They got rid of Daniel and waited until your father passed. With everything that’s been going on, they used the opportunity to wait a bit longer before reaching to you and giving you the document about Queens,” Steve joined in. 

“Those fuckers had it all planned since the beginning,” Bucky continued. “If Danny was alive-“

“They’d still go after him and not me,” Y/N jumped in. “Hydra would wait it out for a better opportunity and kill him later.” She put the papers on the coffee table and stood up, drinking the rest of the liquid. Without waiting, she threw the glass into the fireplace. Her blood was boiling and she felt pressure on her chest. Bucky didn’t say a word about the glass. He did the same hours ago. 

“Wow, you two really belong together,” Yelena commented. “What is with all the glass throwing? Is it some new competition or…?”

Y/N glared at her but didn’t say a word. The silence that spread around the room was uncomfortable. No one knew what to say or what to do. It seemed they were in a blind alley. Y/N hid her face in the palms of her hands. “I have over thirty days,” she mumbled into the hands. “Fuck.” 

“Listen,” Bucky started to talk calmly. “I think everyone needs some rest and have a good sleep. And maybe, just maybe, a few days off to gain energy and think clearly.” Silently, they all nodded. “Ladies, come, I’ll show you where you’ll stay for the night.” 

As promised, Bucky lead them into a guest bedroom. There was a big bed with fresh new sheets. There was a pile of clothes sitting on top of an armchair. “I called my butler to prepare the room while we were driving here,” he explained. “It’s all men’s clothes, I hope that’s fine.” 

“It’s better than nothing.” Y/N smiled at him. “That’s alright. Thank you, Buck.” 

“I’m going to leave you alone. Steve and Sam will be staying here for the night too. Also, you’ll find some toiletries in the bathroom. In case you need something, call me. Good night.”

“Nighty-night Wolf,” Yelena waved a hand with a teasing smile on her face. She noticed how his eyes lingered on Y/N and barely once looked directly at her. When the door closed, she reached into the pile and took out a black t-shirt. “Well, I’m going to take a shower and I let you daydream about him alone.”

“You are not funny, Yelena.”  

…

It was two in the morning and Y/N couldn’t sleep. Yelena was resting on her side, back to her friend and sleeping peacefully. No wonder, she escaped death by a miracle. She deserved a peaceful night. Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t. As much as she tried not to blame herself for the failure, she went there with her thoughts, shaking her head in disbelief. 

Was there anything she could do? No matter what kind of idea popped inside her head, it wasn’t enough. It all seemed stupid and too risky. This time, she knew she couldn’t do it alone if she wanted to see another day. 

Turning to her left side, she huffed. Suddenly, she felt a familiar scent in her nose. It reminded her of Bucky. Was the sweatshirt she was wearing his? It was possible. She knew he had a cologne that smelled exactly like this. And then, her mind was filled with moments she spent with him. From the night she faced him at her club until this very day. What was she feeling? It was a stupid question – she knew exactly what she felt towards that man. She kept thinking about him a lot more the past few days. Hell, she was excited to see him. 

Groaning, she slowly stood up from the bed and quietly moved to the door, leaving Yelena alone in the bed. A glass of water would refresh her dry mouth. She could go to the bathroom and drink there straight from the sink, but she didn’t want to disturb her slumber. 

Walking through the dark hallways, she was surprised she could find the main stairs that lead her to the lower floor. From there, she was able to spot the entrance into the kitchen. 

A small, automatic light turned on, making it a little bit easier to walk around. There was a glass cupboard where she found big glasses. Huh, Ikea, she thought. As much as she wanted to be silent, she managed to close the door with a thud, cursing under her nose. Shit.

When she finally poured some fresh cold water into the glass, she took it into a barstool where she sat and drink it. The automatic light turned off and she was sitting there in the darkness. Y/N didn’t mind; she welcomed it. 

She rested her elbow on the expensive marble counter and leaned her chin against the palm. She yawned and blinked a few times. The feeling of letting everyone down crept in. Maybe Tony was right; maybe they all were right – she couldn’t do this alone. She had to discuss her sudden plans at least with someone in the future – Yelena, Bucky… Bucky. Fucking Bucky. 

Sighing, she bit her lower lip and put a smile on her face. Fuck Yelena for always being right. Of course, there was a thin line between love and hate. Was it love or still a crush? No, it wasn’t a crush, not anymore.

“Y/N?” she heard her voice from the entrance door. Snapping out of her thoughts, she turned to the voice, surprised to see Bucky standing there. The automatic light turned on. Her breath got hitched in her throat when she took in his figure. This was the first time ever she saw more of his skin. He stood there in his sweatpants, his abs on display only for her. “I heard a noise.” 

“Sorry,” she apologised. “I accidentally smacked the cupboard door.”

He approached her. “Why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep. I have a lot of things on my mind and they are keeping me awake,” she admitted. “Why are you up?” 

He shrugged. “Some adrenaline, some thoughts running through my mind – it is a lot. Plus, I finished the paperwork I started today before you arrived. A-are you sure you are alright?” he stood next to her and stroked her shoulder. 

Sighing, she shrugged. “Just, thoughts, that’s all.” 

Bucky grinned at her. “What are you thinking about?” he kept the hand on her shoulder, enjoying he could feel her under his hand. 

“I’m trying to come up with a plan. I’m trying to figure out my next move and can’t come up with anything. It’s frustrating.” She tried to keep it together while he remained standing close to her. She could feel his body heat radiating and the fact he was half-naked wasn’t helping at all. She wanted to turn around and bite his ab. What the fuck is wrong with me? At least she turned around on the barstool and faced him.

But Bucky noticed how her body tensed a little, how she kept eyeing him. He took a step closer and put his hand on her cheek, gently stroking it. This was his moment and he had to take his shot. “Y/N, I-“ he cut off the sentence. “I’m here for you. If you need anything, please, come to me. I care about you and I want to be there for you.”

“I care about you too,” she admitted out loud, putting a hand over his big one. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to break the news about your parents.”

“That’s fine,” he smiled at her. “I’m glad you did. It shows that you really care about me.” 

She put a smile on her face. “Yeah, you wish, Barnes.”

“Mhm, I wish for a lot of things, you know?” he tilted his head. That’s when he saw it in her eyes. When she didn’t say a word and kept her eyes locked on his, Bucky leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers, kissing them gently. “I also wished for this,” he whispered when his lips pulled away slightly. 

She closed the gap, kissing him again and deepening it instantly. Her hands wrapped around his neck, needing to feel him as close as possible. His arms slid down her face and wrapped around her waist. He took her off the barstool and put her on top of the marble counter. He did it easily as if she weighed like a feather. 

He stood in between her legs, not breaking the kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, enjoying the feeling of the kiss they both longed for. Their tongues battled like wrestlers. Here and there, one of them would moan into the kiss. Before the kiss ended, he quickly pecked them one last time before he looked into her eyes, smiling at her. “How am I going to let you go after this?” he asked into the aether. 

“Buck,” she sighed and rested a hand over his left pectoral. Before she could continue, his lips were on hers again, kissing the living daylights out of her. It was a kiss she read about in stories and saw in movies and yet it was still better. She pulled away gently. “Marry me,” she said out of the blue.

“What?” he laughed, ready to be back on her lips again. 

“Marry me, for 48 hours,” she said again with a serious voice. 

Bucky shook his head and bumped his nose lovingly with hers. “No, if I’m going to marry you, I will marry you forever and not just for 48 hours,” he said with all seriousness in his voice. 

She couldn’t believe what he said to her. Without thinking, she was back on him. She longed for him even more than before. It was a hungry kiss. He admitted he’d want to marry her forever. Y/N thought her heart would jump out of her chest and run to his arms. 

His hands slowly moved to her covered hips, gripping them tightly. Bucky was enjoying her wandering hands over his chest, lightly scratching him. As much as he enjoyed her touch, he didn’t want to overstep – not after what she’s been through. 

Bucky pulled away and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “We should slow down,” he said. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything,” he admitted. 

After hearing that, she couldn’t believe what he said. Was it possible to love him even more? Her eyes widened. The realization hit her like a train. Burying the thought, she quickly nodded. “You are right. Thank you.”

“I’ll think about the marriage proposal,” he said when he pulled away from her. “Damn, I thought I’d be the one proposing to you and not vice versa.” It made her laugh. “Please,” he reached for her hand and kissed the top of it. “Go to bed and get some sleep. You need it. We’ll hang out more tomorrow morning.” 

Drinking the rest of the water, she walked to the sink where she put the glass. “Alright, I’ll go to bed.”

Before she left, he stopped her. Quickly walking to her, he had to give her one last kiss for goodnight. He couldn’t help himself. After that, he watched her leave the kitchen. 

Finally, he was able to make a move and she reciprocated his feelings. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t kiss him like that, right? In the end, it was worth it. Everything was worth it… And he was in love. 

When Y/N came back to her bedroom and hid under the covers, she couldn’t put the smile away from her face. She felt the rush of new emotion that dominated her body. It made her want to stay in that state as long as possible. As she closed her eyes, ready to sleep, all she could feel were his lips on hers. She went to the kiss over and over again, remembering every second of it. All she wanted was to be kissed by him again.

In the morning, Yelena was the first one up, yawning loudly and stretching her body. With those movements, she woke up Y/N. “Sorry,” Yelena mumbled with a deeper voice and rolled over to face Y/N. She had to laugh. Her friend’s hair was messy and she looked terrible in the morning. 

“God, you are like a worm, squirming in the bed,” Y/N commented with a sleepy voice. 

“Ah, you are the one to talk Miss I moan and laugh in my sleep,” she smacked her covered shoulder. “Was it at least a good dream? Was it about Barnes?” she wiggled her brows suggestively. When she saw Y/N’s annoyed face, she started to talk again. “What? I thought that it would be about him since you have this little crush going on?” 

Without any hesitation, Y/N admitted what happened at night. “I kissed him.” 

“Wow, spicy,” Yelena laughed. “Could you feel it in the dream? Because sometimes, I can feel some things happening to me in my dreams-“

“No,” Y/N shook her head. She looked into Yelena’s eyes, not moving them away. “We kissed, again, in the middle of the night. We met in the kitchen.” Her cheeks reddened and she couldn’t help but put that happy smile back on her face. 

“No shit!”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded. “I wanted water, made some noise and he came into the kitchen. We talked and then we kissed,” she said. “We kissed a lot and fuck, he is an amazing kisser. Also, I asked him to marry me for... “

“Wait, no, hold on,” Yelena quickly sat up and smacked her with a pillow. “You did what? No, honey, no, don’t do this,” she shook her head. “At least try him in bed to know whether you are compatible or not.” 

Y/N’s expression talked for her. “Calm down, Yelena. Of course, we are not getting married.” 

“Thank god, because I’d be pissed if you were and I didn’t know about it at all,” she crossed her arms akimbo. “So tell me more about that steamy night.” 

Y/N pushed Yelena back down and snuggled closer to her. “I really like him, Lenka. I’ve never felt like that before in my entire life. It scares me, though.” 

Yelena kissed her forehead and smiled happily. “I’m glad this feeling has awoken inside of you. All I want is for you to be happy and live a little. Even though a lot of dark things happened to you, you still deserve a great, happy life filled with love.” 

Y/N nodded. “I’ve been in denial but now, I feel some sort of freedom. As if a heavy weight was lifted off my chest by admitting those feelings – to myself. And what more, he was the one who initiated the kiss.”

“I’m so glad,” Yelena sighed contently. “But if that fucker hurts you, I’m going to chop off his balls.” 

They stayed in the bed for another hour, talking, discussing the night. Before they decided to leave the bed and face the new day, Yelena stopped her from leaving. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it?” 

Yelena bit her lip and sighed. “Can I get some time off? Not long, a few days at least? I need to gain energy before we come up with a plan on stopping Hydra.” 

Y/N nodded immediately. “Of course, you can. I think we all need it. Everyone will lay low for a few days and then, we will figure things out.” 

Chapter sixteen 

Tags: @lethallyprotected , @memeorydotcom, @valkyrie418 , @mannien , @brownlee-22 , @michaelfuckinglangdon​ ,

[mara-xx217]

SORRY THAT IT'S SO SUDDENLY AND ALL

you can ignore this request if you want, but I have been following your work on ao3 for a while, and now I read your last one-shot about how our beloved Mikey remains completely broken and alone and now I feel so bad (though, damn, at the same time it was so tasty) that I just can't help but ask you for a little pain/comfort, perhaps in the form of an alternative course of events, perhaps just another shot, where the s/o is still there and she calms him down...

If you actually take the time to do this, thank you very much in advance 👉👈 god I love your work, good luck!!

Yesss something light and fluffy and comforting coming right up! This was very pleasant to write and I enjoyed it very much~

Part One

Part Two

Part Three (Alt Ending)

You Didn't Leave Me...

When you reentered your home, you knew something was off. You couldn’t quite place what was wrong, but the atmosphere was just horrible. Setting down your shopping bags, you cautiously walked into your kitchen. Nothing out of place. Hmm…

“M-Michael..?”

No answer, of course. Please don’t tell me he killed someone else inside my house… Swallowing thickly, you take a deep breath. You… don’t smell anything, so that’s good. Probably. But still, you brace for the worst, anyways. You peek into the living room. Nope, nothing and no one. Bathroom? Nope. Oookaayy… Something’s seriously wrong… I can fucking feel it.

“Mikey..? Y-You here? Can you just… you know, come out for a sec? Michael? Ugh…” Why do I bother? I know he won’t answer me. You shrug it off. Maybe he’s asleep in bed? Anything’s possible with Michael, and he’s sleep schedule is nonexistent so…

You end up kicking off your shoes, not wanting to track any more dirt into your house. Michael does that enough for the both of us… Damn, you do need to clean again, don’t you? Well, as soon as I get this shit put up I’ll-

You stop moving, a sound catching your attention. It was really quiet, but the fact that you heard something freaked you out. It can’t be Michael..! So then who..?! You pause, wondering what you should do. You quietly fast walk to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from a drawer. Whoever it is, they must know I’m home, right? I was yelling, so then they must be waiting for me..!

As you leave the kitchen, you ready to call 911 on your phone, just in case. I’d rather not have to clean up another dead body in my own home, thank you very much… You thought as you steel your nerves against… whatever it is that you’re about to find. Licking your chapped lips, you call out again.

“Michael, if you’re here, you better make yourself known. I’m freaked out, and I will fucking stab you if you jump out suddenly. Again…” You add under your breath. No, nothing, yet, but you’ve realized that the sound is coming from your bedroom. Oh God… Please don’t be a weirdo stealing my underwear or something… I don’t need that kind of shit right now… Straining your ears, you try to pick out what it was that you were hearing. It’s… wait. Is… is that crying..?

Your heart stops, then surges up to your throat, the blood rushing in your ears. Is that… No, that’s… not Michael, is it..? You’ve never, ever seen that man cry ever. No matter the injury, he’s never so much as winced in pain, so then… it can’t be him, but… What if it is..? Your mind began to race. Was he hurt? What could possibly be wrong for him to be crying? Should I even go in there? Won’t he be angry? But… But.. if that’s Mikey… Then… Then..!

You’re already pushing the door open cautiously, thumb hovering over the call button just in case it isn’t Michael. But, to your utter disbelief and horror, it is. There he was, the Shape of Haddonfield, Michael Myers, curled up onto your bed, buried in your sheets and weeping like a small child. Instantly, you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. What could have possibly happened to cause Michael to break down like this..? Gently setting both the knife and phone down on your wardrobe, you quietly announce yourself.

“M-Michael..?”

Your blood freezes when he immediately snaps upright, seemingly in shock. He wasn’t wearing his mask, which was extremely unusual, especially if he’s this emotional, and he doesn’t even have his coveralls zipped up. He didn’t completely turn to face you, though, just peeked at you from out of the corner of his eye. You’ve seen him without his mask before, you’ve even seen him emotional. But never crying. A part of you wondered if he’d kill you then and there for seeing him so weak, but… He still hasn’t moved. Unsure of yourself, you decided that moving any closer would be stupid, so you’ll just try to see how he reacts to you talking to him, for now.

“M-Mikey..? H-Hey, honey… I-It’s me, Y/N… Are- Y-Y-You’re- Are you- Can I-? ..!?” You choke on your words as he suddenly stands and stomps over to you. You brace yourself to be roughly manhandled, but instead, you’re… hugged..?

Michael threw his arms around you, picking you up and crushing you in the tightest bear hug of your life. You wheeze as the air is forced from your lungs, but you don’t dare more or complain. Michael has never hugged you before. What is going on..?! He rests his forehead on your shoulder as his own begins to tremble and shake. You genuinely don’t know what to do. Michael is volatile at the best of times, and completely unpredictable and violent any other, so you don’t know how, or if, you should comfort him.

You let him squeeze you, trying to relax as much as you can. You rest your cheek against the top of his head, softly whispering that he’s going to be okay and that you’re here now. He backs up and falls onto the bed, with you laying on his chest. You let him manhandle you wherever he wants you, and you hold him as he crushes you and cries into your neck. It was genuinely upsetting seeing him like this, and you still have no idea of what caused this.

It must have taken hours of you shushing him and reassuring him that everything was okay for him to calm down enough to mostly stop crying. Mostly. Poor Michael nearly vomited on the both of you three separate times during his little break down, and you couldn’t blame him for actually puking the first time. Once you helped him control his breathing, you had to ask…

“Michael… What the hell happened..?”

He doesn’t immediately answer, just stares at the ceiling blankly. The thought that he may never tell you crossed your mind, but that was solely up for Michael to decide. Before you can add “you don’t have to tell if you don’t want to”, he speaks, voice hoarse from lack of use and his crying fits.

“….thought you left…” You furrow your brows.

“What..?”

“…”

“What do you mean, Michael?”

“…”

“M-Mikey…?”

“…”

“sigh…. Michael… why would you think that I’d leave, huh?”

“…”

“…”

“…stuff was gone…”

…oh…

Yeah, well… shit… You mentally berate yourself for being so idiotic. Of course he thought something was wrong! I knew I should have left a note!

“Oh… Michael… I’m so sorry baby…”

“…” He says nothing, just stares at the ceiling. You wondered what he was thinking. Wondering if he hated you… Your stomach twists in on itself.

“…I’m not going to leave you.”

“…where did you go..?” A fair question. You sigh softly, kicking yourself for causing such a monumental misunderstanding.

“I went out to run errands- wait, don’t look at me li- sigh… Just let me explain, okay? I cleared out my closet of clothes that I couldn’t wear anymore and donated them to the Goodwill across town. And I had to take all my papers and birth certificate and junk so I could get a new social security card. Remember? I lost it during my last move? I just thought of doing it while I was out… and I did mean to leave a note, but- I- I’m sorry- Michael forgot to leave a note… I’m so sor-…”

At first, you thought he was about to start crying again, but then…

“Pffft… HA! HAHAHAHA…! AH HAHAHA! Haa… Ahh… S-Shit…” He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. You furrowed your brows. A part of you was fucking terrified, and the other didn’t know how to feel. When he looked over at you, you held your breath, but quickly gasped in surprise as he smiled at you.

It was just barely there, a ghost of a smile, really, but it was as real as it was genuine, and you can see it reach his eyes. Warmth floods your entire body, pooling in your cheeks. You must have looked as starstruck as you felt, because he cupped your cheek and gently smoothed the pad of his thumb underneath your eye. It was… the first real moment of intimacy and gentleness between the two of you. It’ll probably never happen again, but today has been a day full of surprises, so who knows what the future may hold..?

The hand on your cheek goes to the back of your head, and you're guided down, closer and closer. A… kiss..? You close your eyes, and sure enough… It was a small little thing. Barely felt, but all too real. It was as light as it was brief, but you don’t really mind. You pull away, looking up at him sheepishly. Shyness was tugging your eyes away, and with the intensity that he was looking at you with made your insides ache. As he massages the back of your head, he roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, flipping your positions so that he’s now on top of you. As you yelp in surprise, he gets nose to nose to you, glaring.

“You leave me like that again, and you will be punished. Do you understand?”

There was a bite to his words, but there was a playful glint there, too. You looked up at him, all doe eyed and innocent, making sure to really ham it up.

“I understand, Sir…”

Bad move. When he grabbed the front of your shirt and threw you across his lap like a disobedient child, you knew it was going to be okay. Well, maybe not for your ass, but between you and Michael, everything was a-okay. For now, anyway.

[mountswhore]

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲 — mason mount

summary: you were getting tired of listening to mason’s problems with his girlfriend, so you plan on confronting him. until he shows up at your door.

notes: requests are open! btw i know i use the same job in a lot of these, it just makes them meeting easier.

“She doesn’t compare to you. No one does.” + “I’ll take the couch.” + “It’s us against the world.”

for @mountswdw

It was tiring, far beyond that, actually. Hearing the same leave his mouth words over and over, the same look on his face, it enervated you. You were exhausted with having Mason appear at your door at stupid o’clock, venting to you about his ‘girlfriend’ and their issues, and all you could do was listen. You’d tried giving him advice the first few times, but he never took it. You don’t even think he took it into consideration. and girlfriend was entirely the wrong word to use, they were more friends with benefits. That’s how she saw their relationship anyway. It was exceptionally worse, because you liked him so much. You wanted to scream in his face and tell him she’s pushing him around, but you couldn’t, it would ruin your friendship.

Mason was sat opposite you, pulling you out of sleep, just to talk to you about her. It felt as if he knew you liked him, and decided to torture you by giving you the inside scoop into their time-bomb of a relationship. You were curled up on the sofa, blanket still wrapped around you as you tried to cling onto your sleep, barely listening to him whine about how his girlfriend seemed like she didn’t care anymore. Your eyelids were so close to shutting again, but you managed to keep them open for Mason. As much as his girlfriend angered you, Mason was your friend and you had to be there for him. You wanted to.

“I think I might call it quits,” Mason sighed softly, eyes finally meeting yours after twenty minutes of squeezing them shut in anger, “I’m gonna do it.” He psyched himself up for it, attempting to steady his breathing. You were surprised the first time he said this, thinking you’d actually gotten through to him. But two days later, his Instagram story was filled with pictures of them both on a nice date. It ruined your Friday night in.

“Okay, Mase.” You whispered, standing up from your seat on the couch. You’d been sat there for so long that your exposed skin was now cold again, creating a strip of goosebumps that lined your side and legs. “You can stay here, if you want. You know where the spare bedding is.” It felt like a script at this point, repeating the same things to him as he found solace in you after an argument with his girlfriend.

“Yeah,” Mason conceded, watching with an achy heart as you shifted towards your stairs, “goodnight, Y/N.” Hearing him say your name never failed to give you butterflies, no matter how tired you were of hearing his complaints.

“Night, Mase.” Was all you said back as you reached your room, diving back into the now-cold sheets. Mason had set up his usual makeshift bed in the living room, your couch was actually comfier than most. That’s why he never hesitated to sleep on it. But his night was anything but full of sleep, despite the argument being fresh on his mind still, he was thinking about you.

Your friendship was different now than it was before. Before his girlfriend. You’d met when you were a trainee-massage therapist. Chelsea’s massage therapist had been kind enough to let you shadow him for a week, showing you the ins-and-outs of what his job was like. And you’d made friends with a few of the Chelsea boys, but ultimately caught Mason’s eye. Soon enough, you’d been offered a job alongside this massage therapist and here you were. Friendly flirting with Mason during work hours and after. Nothing came of it, you both saw it as flirty banter, and were good friends. Until his girlfriend came around.

Mason told himself he valued his friendship with you over potentially pushing it further, so tried to get over you. With Ella. Ella seemed sweet to begin with, but when Mason started coming to you for comfort, that’s when you saw how terrible their relationship was. She’d seen it differently to Mason, who felt it was more romantic than sexual. To say it stung to hear about his sexcapades with Ella, was an understatement. That’s when you began to grow tired of it, hearing about them constantly. It was the only time you’d talk really, apart from when you were having a session with him at work.

Laying there for two hours, putting himself in your shoes, it had all come together for him. He was cursing himself as he’d walked up the stairs, to give you more than just a fraction of the attention you’d gotten so used to. He’d imagined only seeing you when you complained about a boy you’d been seeing, and it dampened his mood. But thinking about you seeing another boy, that’s what made his feet move rapidly to your room. Knowing what he’d put you through for the past few months, it made him mad at himself. He’d never let someone treat him like this, so why should he treat his closest friend like this?

“Y/N,” you heard from behind you, startling you as you looked around in the dark, “are you awake?” Matching the voice to Mason’s, it calmed you down a bit. It wasn’t just a random intruder who knew your name and was considerate enough to let you know they’d broken in. “Y/N,” he repeated, his finger tracing down the arch of your back, “please wake up.”

“What’s up, Mase?” You somnolently questioned, yawning as he came into view. Your lamp was now on, illuminating his bloodshot eyes and tired smile. It was only something you’d wish to wake up to every morning. He said nothing, but pulled you into a hug. His arms a tight yet perfect fit around you, a small kiss was pressed to your shoulder as you shifted. Mason never wanted to let you go.

It was moments like this that slowly killed you inside. You and Mason had cuddled before, on one of the nights he’d come over after an argument, he’d snuggle up to you on the couch as you finished watching your movie. It would be a gentle night of intimacy, feelings locked away due to his relationship, and yet he’d still choose her. He’d always go back to Ella, so much so, it made you wonder what she had to make him crawl back each time.

Mason was now in bed with you, head on your chest and enjoying your warmth. He felt a lot better now, having you in his arms, giving you the attention you deserved. But this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want another cuddle with a friend, you wanted him. But you knew his heart still belonged to Ella. He’d fallen asleep pretty quickly, so you’d rolled him off of you and gotten some sleep for yourself before work tomorrow. Where you’d see him.

Throughout your day, you’d caught eyes with him a few times. He’d give you a cheeky grin and sometimes even sing your name as he walked past you. You told yourself not to be hopeful for Mason’s breakup with Ella, because it had never happened before. But not once had he mentioned her to you over the course of the day. A smile had been plastered to your face as you left your office for the day, you could no longer push the hope away, Mason could finally be calling it quits with her.

Until you saw that damned white Golf. She was stood there, a smirk upon her face, Mason jogging up to her and getting into the car. Your mood flattened, making your drive home depressing and your arrival even worse. Your bed still unmade, the creases from Mason moving around in his sleep last night. His jacket was still here, hung on the door of your bedroom. The note he left on your bathroom mirror saying ‘thank you for everything you do <3’, because he knew you’d see it there. Everything in your house reminded you of him, you’d never escape the love you had for this man.

And there you were, back on your couch again. Mason was clearly sticking with Ella this time, so it was a quiet night in for you. This time last year, when Mason actually seemed to be your friend, he’d be round most nights and you’d be arguing over who’s having the last Cornetto and what to watch. But now, it’s like you’re not even his friend. You’re his therapist. You could barely pay attention to the movie you were watching, your mind relaying the scene you’d witnessed today. Seeing him curled up in your bed this morning, and then running to his girlfriends car this afternoon. You’d decided enough was enough.

“I’m gonna confront this asshole,” you mumbled to yourself, changing out of your pyjamas and into a warmer outside attire, “he either stops coming to me about his fucking relationship, or he leaves me alone.” You were psyching yourself up, something you’d mirrored Mason doing a million times before. You’d spent so much time together, you were almost the same person. Sliding into your shoes, you grabbed the door handle. You either cried or screamed at him, no in between. You yanked the handle down to open your door, almost jumping out of your skin when you saw Mason at your door.

“Mason?” You questioned whether you were seeing things or he was actually clinging onto you and weeping into your shoulder. “Why are you here? What happened?” You wanted to be angry at him, you wanted to tell him how tired you were of hearing him complain about his girlfriend nonstop, but not even the worst argument could keep you from comforting him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, tears staining the material of your hoodie, “I never meant to treat you like this. You mean everything to me.” You brought him inside and sat him on your couch, seeing yourself where you were last night. Only this time you were more concerned. Mason had never cried in front of you, and you still hadn’t found out why.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry for making it feel like I only need you when I argue with Ella.” He simply stated, his large hand wrapped quite tightly around yours. “I promise I need you all the time, you get me through everything. I’d be nowhere without you, you know that. But I’m done, we’re done. I know you saw me getting into her car earlier, but I did it. I finally finished things with her.”

You were knocked out of breath, processing what you’d just heard. After months of having to pick up the pieces, there was no more of that. And not only had he surprised you by following through with his word, he’d apologised. Your Mason was back.

“Really?” You asked, unsure of whether to believe him or not. He just nodded and opened his arms, you falling into them almost instantly. “I mean I’m sorry, but I’m kind of glad. Nobody should make you feel that unhappy, that frequently.” He responded by squeezing you tighter, his hands gently grazing your sides. You wondered if this was going to be the moment a chance would appear — an opportunity for you to tell Mason how you felt about him.

Mason pulled away from your hug, his eyes catching yours briefly before he stared down at your lips. You felt like you were in a haze, eyes half closed as you stared back at him. You were entranced by him and you hadn’t felt as relieved as you did in months. Mason took this chance to inch closer to you, feeling your breath on his face and your hand resting on his thigh. “She doesn’t compare to you. No one does.” He whispered, finally closing the gap between you both. It felt electric, something that was long overdue.

“Mase,” you breathed, whining at the sudden loss of contact, he’d pulled away from the kiss to smile at you, “it’s been so hard watching and listening to her hurt you.” Mason held you close, his newfound confidence after kissing you had you speechless as you looked at him. “But I’d never leave you to deal with it alone.”

“It’s us against the world, it always has been.” He admitted, your legs swung over his lap as he held you tight. The night had ended exactly how you’d hoped, Mason in your arms and no more listening to him whine about Ella. It was the perfect end to your shitty day. But it was getting late, Mason was even yawning as he looked at the time on his phone.

You stood up, shaking off your coat and hanging it on the banister, as well as placing your shoes back onto the shoe rack. Sleep was calling your name at this point, and you didn’t want anything more than to cuddle up to Mason as you slept.

“I’ll take the couch.” Mason stated, reaching into the living room cupboard to grab the blankets out. But you’d grabbed his arm and pulled him up, his face towering over yours. Your eyes met once again, and this time you initiated the kiss. It was brief, and enough to show you still meant what you said.

“Don’t be silly,” your voice was soft, hand linking his as you led him up to your room. Bed still unmade, exactly how he left it this morning. He’d given you one last look, his usual cheeky smile on his face as he grabbed the backs of your thighs and lifted you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bed.

He was above you, and although you were both in the moment, it played out romantically. Mason smoothed his palm over the sides of your face, moving the stray hairs and taking in your beauty. You were effortless with how you looked, and still the most beautiful girl he’d seen. The way he looked at you, it was as if he’d been doing it for years. And he has, but you’d never know that.

[depressedacadamia]

Blood will have blood

Summary:  Being a healer during a war was a job that only few could handle- seeing soldiers who risk their lives was not for the weak. But Will questions everything as a powerful but very young demigod is about to die before his very eyes.

A/N: Day two of Will solace's bday week!!! I know I could have written another 3 Days in the infirmary fic but I thought I'd give some angst because I haven't done it in a while and I listened to somone talk about Patroclus' death; it was in the Podcast Let's talk about myths, baby! It's suuppperrr good but that episode had me close to tears. Thnks to @solangeloweek AND THIS IS REVENGE FOR THAT REALLY GOOD BUT SAD FIC BY MY FRIEND; THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE. Anyways, love from me <3 !!

Read on A03      Masterlist

“Move!” Will yelled as he hastily brought medical supplies to the healer who was working on fixing someone’s foot which had been sliced off.

“Fucking Gods, sending their kids to fight their battles, They don't know when to stop, do they?” Will gritted out aggressively as he crouched down by his patient- a powerful but young demigod who had been severely injured in a vicious fight.

Will washed the bloody cloth in the water and produced a clean one, at which he gently cleaned the wounds. He could feel their life force thinning, their heart beating softer and softer. He had given the demigod all he could- ambrosia, nectar and as much treatment as he could offer; but they were in a war- he couldn't dwell too much on the patients who he couldn’t save.

“If you don't require urgent treatment, you need to leave,” Will announced. “ Starting now, we are under triage. Red patients will immediately be accepted, yellow will have to wait- the walking wounded will have to consult their nearest field medic. I repeat, As of now, we are in triage!”

“Will, a new wave of patients are going to come soon- apparently the enemies have launched a fresh attack and our side wasn't prepared,” Kayla mumbled, handing out supplies to the healers. Will groaned but his frustration was quickly overcome with worry: how would his friends on the frontline fare with this fresh assault?

He worried for some of his siblings who had chosen to be soldiers over healers, he worried for people like Annabeth Chase and Piper Mclean- He even worried over Percy Jackson.

But most of all he worried over Nico Di Angelo. He was not concerned over Nico dying; he knew his boyfriend very well and the chance that he’d let someone else kill him was practically impossible. But he did fear Nico overworking himself, it was almost unavoidable.

Alas, he couldn’t worry about his boyfriend, he was in a war after all and he had to focus on his job- to heal the others.

“Will-” An urgent voice tugged him from his thoughts. “ Isn’t there anything else you can do for them?” The soldier pointed at his wounded younger sibling. His bruised, bloody face was contorted into a grim expression as his hand gripped the hand of the dying soldier.

“We can’t do anymore,” Kayla informed sadly. But as Will watched the young patient slowly being dragged to Thanatos, he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't this child's time yet- that's what they were, a child.

They were fighting a war, children were fighting a war while the almighty sat in their thrones above and watched it as if it were simply a film. Innocent children like the one beside Will were dying and.. And - and the gods just expected them to continue.

“There is something I can try,” Will started quietly. “But I can’t guarantee that it will work.”

“Will, you can’t-” Kayla quickly cut in. “You know how draining it is on your body and you've never tried it on somebody with such grave injuries before.”

“But I can still try,” Will told Kayla. His mind was made up- if his friends were out there risking their lives on the battlefield, this was the least he could do; risk his life to save this innocent, and powerful demigod. If this went right, their quick recovery would be essential to winning.

Kayla knew that nothing could stop Will as he peeled off his gloves and placed his hands onto the cold skin of the soldier. Will’s hands danced slowly around the bloodstained chest and abdomen of the soldier and every once in a while, his fingertips would accidentally brush against the wounds dipping the tips of his nails in a crimson substance that was still warm.

He glowed, as he healed- he always did. But his hands felt warmer than usual and when he felt it was time, he pressed his hands into the bloody wound that no longer poured blood- for there was no blood to pour. Wil drained himself, trying to heal what he could but it was to no avail- this child had died. There was nothing Will could give.

But he refused to let this be it- It couldn't be! The Gods couldn't let this child die, they were not a soldier- they were a child for god's sake!

So after he had given everything- all the healing power that he had been blessed with by his father, he found himself with his hands pressed into the lifeless body of the child. And slowly, as he weeped over their corpse, with every drip of his tears, he felt a little more of life ease into the child again. And so he bellowed.

He cried and let the tears pour into the wounds, healing, no- bringing the child back to life. They steamed down his face as he mourned as grievers do. He clutched at the child’s chest that no longer beat and he felt the life before his grow stronger. He heard a little ‘ba-dum’.

Then, the soldier opened their eyes and took a deep inhale.

There was clapping and laughter and crying as people across the infirmary watched the miracle being performed by the Head Healer.

Will felt a smile across his face. While he felt weak, so very weak, he felt pride as he looked at the child, who bleated as they choked air into their lungs like a new born baby goat, their cheeks rosy again.

And then he felt pain. Excruciating pain. It twisted and burned. He heard screaming, the scream of a mother who has lost their child before realising that it was his own voice- his hands, once covered in the blood of the child shot to clutch at his chest only to feel a warm thick liquid coat his hands like water running out of a tap.

He gasped for air. Urgent hands were on him, lifting him onto a stretcher as people immediately fell silent. The room, celebrating moments ago, fell into a trance watching. The healers worked desperately, tearing open Will’s clothes, working as fast as they could.

Will coughed and coughed and as the blood stained his lips he let out a small smile. His small smile turned into a laugh covered with his coughing which only forced up more of the substance as it trickled slowly down his chin.

“Will? Will?” Kayla asked desperately, watching him choke. His lips turned crooked as his face paled, displaying his freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks.

“Please frame these last words: Fuck the Gods,” He whispered, content with his last moments before he suddenly shot open his eyes as he recalled that he had forgotten something. “ Oh- and tell Nico that I love him and that jazz.”

His voice was weak and the blood began to dry on his hands.

“Tell me what?” A confused, alarmed and horrified voice echoed from the other side of infirmary belonging to a warrior holding their helmet under their arm and stygian iron sword in their hand.

[kawaii-harrys]

SAVING ME AIN'T EASY

WARNING: SELF HARM. GETS VERY DEPICTIVE, PLEASE STAY AWAY IF IT'S TRIGGERING, AND REMEMBER THAT I AM ALWAYS THERE TO TALK TO, NO MATTER WHAT, YOU ARE LOVED AND PROTECTED.

WORD COUNT: 903

Blood trickled down her arm, like a trail of rivers; and her eyes deliberately watched the race of drops, unphased. When did she become so empty? She should feel selfish for doing this. She should feel bad for doing this. But deep inside her heart, she knew, everyone had better things to do. Everyone had better worries than about someone who fakes a smile. The music outside is growing faint, indicating that the party is nearing the end. She was tugging down the sleeves of her shirt to go out when she heard a screech, “WHAT THE HELL!”

The British, thick accent indicated that it could be just one person.

How the heck did she forget to lock the door?!

“Oh, Harry…”, it was the only thing she could say, as his wide eyes were trying to process everything. She didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like him knowing this would change anything, but she didn’t want him to know.

“Umm, I’m sorry, I’ll just get out”, she said, realizing that she had been filling up the bathroom for a long time now. As she was about to walk out, he stopped her, blocking her path quickly enough and closing the door behind him. She chuckled lowly. “Harry, you know, if you close the door, people are gonna think there is something between us.”, she stopped chuckling as he glared at her through red-rimmed eyes.

Was he crying? Why was he crying? Why was he weeping? Why was he looking at her?

He was frantically searching through the sink for something. “Harry, are you okay?”, she asked, placing her hand over his shoulders. He slowed his movements for a while. “How many--”, the back of his throat was getting clogged with phlegm, “How many c-cuts di-did you m-make?”, he stuttered, his confident aura breaking. Her face fell. He shouldn’t be feeling this. He shouldn’t feel obligated. He shouldn’t.

“Harry, it is nothing to worry about”, she said, smiling. Broken, but smiling. That was what hurting him the most! “Y/N, Damn! It IS something to worry about! Why’d you think of doing something like this instead of coming to us for help! Why did you resort to this instead of talking to us?”, his voice was breaking. He always thought she was so beautiful, so herself. She’d always laugh at the silliest of things, always look so attentive to what someone was saying, never turn down anyone in need of help. Even if she were drowning, she’d always help someone else swim back to the shore.

“Everyone is having the time of their lives. Not to mention everyone has their own problems to deal with. Look at the bigger picture, Harry. All of you are worried about something or other in the big world. Are you sure you wanted me to add upon the luggage?”, she asked, looking at him through her empty eyes now. What was there to lose now? He knew. And now, he won’t fall in love with her, she assumed.

“I’d have preferred to listen to you rant about your shitty days to you having to resort to… this”, he couldn’t even say it completely. “I don’t want to bring the mood down”, you huffed and he yanked out a first aid box from a small cabinet in the bathroom. She was now slowly realizing that she was fooling him, manipulating him to fall in love with her, or so she thought.

In her head, she was hitting herself in the face for this.

Suddenly she felt a sudden bubbly feeling in her cuts and she looked down at Harry who was dabbing anti-septic on her cuts. She was trying to yank her hand away, but his grip remained firm, he didn’t even look up at her. “Harry, you shouldn’t have to do this”, she shook her head. “Right back at you”, he hissed. “Harry, can’t you see? I am fucking manipulating you! I am making you feel sad for me! I am making you feel bad for me! I am clutching you into caring for me!”, she raised her voice a little. “And what’s wrong with that?”, he finally stopped and looked up at her. Something in her heart moved. Somehow, she felt tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes. She could cry!

“I don’t want to depend on anyone”, she said moving her head away. “You need people to be independent”, he muttered. She cried. She fell onto his shoulder and cried. She cried like a baby. She wailed, hissed, wept, and cried. And Harry sat there, patting her back. The faint music couldn’t cover up her cries.

“I am sorry!”, she muttered, still whimpering. “Ain’t nothing to be sorry about.”, he gave a painful smile to her. “When things get rough, don’t break your skin, it’s too soft to bear that, and start talking to me, alright?”, he gave a smile.

“So that you can see me cry again?”, she rolled her eyes in sarcasm.

He huffed, realizing, fighting was her trauma response and sarcasm was her language.

“Believe it or not”, he clicked the first aid box shut, “I can be a good listener”, he kept the box away.

“I think I should believe it, considering the turn of events”, she gave a faint smile and Harry grinned.

He was happy, he was the one, who was at least, starting to save her.

_________________

If you need anyone to talk to, I'm always here. And I've figured out what I'm gonna do for the series. I love y'all.

[viking-raider]

Quarantine: Ink

Summary: Henry wakes up with some ink that you put on him.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 1,737

Warning: M - Language, Fluff, Prank, Smut - Mention of Cock-warming, intercourse, cream-pie, simulation

Inspiration: There’s a company called Ink Box I’ve always wanted to try and I thought it be funny to prank someone with it, and thought I’d write a prank fic with Hen about it.

Author’s Note: This story is for and dedicated to @littlefreya​! You have my deepest love and support, lady.

You ripped open the brown packaging and smiled at the two pieces of film inside. You had ordered them two weeks prior and received them the day before, and had intended on waiting on the best moment to reveal them to Henry, to convince him to use them with you.

But, one thing had led to another and you and Henry had ended up ripping each other's clothing off and making love in the living room, before ordering take away and having a sweet night in together.

Speaking of your beloved boyfriend, he was still upstairs in bed, sprawled out on his stomach and snoring softly. With quarantine in place, Henry got to sleep in most mornings, which was nice, he worked so hard, between his work outs and his filming projects, getting up at four-thirty in the morning, he deserves to sleep in til ten or eleven.

That's when the idea hit you, with a giggle.

Taking the items upstairs to the master bedroom with you, you smiled at your peaceful and oblivious Puppy, still on his stomach, arms folded underneath his pillow and his head resting on top of them. Biting your lip, you carefully pulled down the blankets still covering his stark body, your fingers, light as feathers, touched the base of his neck and traced down the slope of his broad back, lingering in the hollow of his spine, before cupping one of the cheeks of his plentiful tush in your palm; chuckling softly.

“You are beautiful.” You cooed at his sleeping form, a bubble of loving pride in your chest, before you carefully got into bed and straddled his hips, making Henry moan and grunt, shifting and his face pinching as you disturbed him. “Ssshh.” You purred, leaning down, and kissing the space between his wide shoulders.

“Sleep, Puppy. Sleep.” You mumbled, nuzzling his shoulder blade and rubbing the back of his head, until he moaned again, relaxing and dropping back off to sleep.

Henry settled, you relaxed and sat back, sitting on his thighs, and stared at him for a long moment, before nodding to yourself and picking up a single use, primer wipe packet that came with the two items you ordered, and ripping it open. You gently rubbed the wipe in circles on the back of Henry's right shoulder, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did, waiting and expecting him to wake up and catch you at any moment. But, he only made a couple of noises and shifted a few times, otherwise he was blissfully unaware and out cold.

Rubbing Henry's shoulder with the wipe for thirty seconds, you tossed it on the nightstand and let the spot dry, while you picked out which of the two items you wanted to apply to the spot, before finally settling. Gently peeling off the protective film from the back, you carefully pressed the sticky side down to the clean, dry and exfoliated section of Henry's shoulder, smoothing it out, so there were no wrinkles or creases, hoping Henry didn't move too much while it was there, for the next hour. With that one down, you moved on, starting to giggle again, but slapped a hand over your mouth, so you didn't wake Henry up with it. You opened the second primer wipe and used it on the exposed side of Henry's neck, being even gentler and careful, knowing just how sensitive the skin here was; but you couldn't resist putting this one here on his neck, where he would almost always see it and likely couldn't cover it up.

With both applied to his skin, you slipped off of him, laying down beside him, arm slung over the small his back and cheek pressed to his clear shoulder blade, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, drifting in and out of sleep yourself, until you heard Henry's alarm go off.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You protested, jumping up out of bed, pressing your hands down on his back. “Don't move yet.”

“Why?” Henry frowned at you, feeling the filmy patch on his neck and tried to reach out and touch it.

“You still have ten minutes.” You told him, catching his arm.

“What have you been doing, Nugget?” Henry sighed, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he laid back down and relaxed.

“You'll see in ten minutes.” You chuckled, peeking to making sure none of his moving wrinkled the film stuck to his skin, and was relieved when they weren't. “Did you sleep well?”

“You know, I always sleep well, when I'm buried cock deep in you.” He chuckled coyly, smirking, and his sleepy blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

You grinned, uncontrollably, and looked away from him, almost shy. “I do know that.” You chuckled back, licking your lips and clearing your throat. “But, you know what I mean, silly bear.”

“I did.” Henry sighed softly, reaching out to gently trace your side with the back of his fingers. “Did you?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, gently touching his neck. “Okay.” You smiled, gently peeling the applicator film off his neck and shoulder. “All right, you can look now.” You giggled, grinning, impishly at him.

Henry pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at you, skeptical, but got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, seeing what was on his neck first. “You did not!” He barked, coming back into the bedroom, his eyes huge and mouth hanging open.

“How could you!?” He demanded, but the betrayed amusement was very clear in his voice.

“And it'll only get darker over the next two days.” You grinned, stepping up to him, to touch the faint, blue-ish, World of Warcraft, Horde symbol on the side of his neck, just below his left ear. “You're a traitor to your precious Alliance now, my precious Paladin.” You teased him, tickled with delight.

“Did you see the one on your shoulder?” You asked, lifting a brow at him, more than sure he had not.

“What?” Henry snapped, his voice breaking a teeny bit, and turned to go back into the bathroom.

You followed him into the bathroom, watching him turn his back to the full length mirror and crane his head over his shoulder, struggling to see his back to spot the other temporary tattoo on his shoulder that you had put on him, then looked back at you, shoulders dropping and eyes even wider at the Cat nose and whiskers.

“Seriously?” He huffed at you, shaking his head.

“I was originally going to put that one on the inside of my wrist.” You explained, trying to hold back a burst of laughter. “But, I got carried away.” You told him, finally losing control and busting out into a hoot of laughter, doubling over.

“How long do these last?”

“It'll fade in three weeks, promise.” You told him, wiping away tears, seeing the panicked worry in his face.

“I am so fucked, if I have to do any interviews or PR stuff.” Henry laughed, looking at the Horde logo on his neck; tracing it with his finger. “Why the Horde crest?”

“They didn't have the Alliance Lion.” You replied, hopping up to sit on the counter. “Plus, I thought it would be funny, since I know you're such a die hard Alliance player.” You chuckled, leaning in to kiss the crest, hands resting on Henry's bare sides.

“What sense of humour you have, my love.” Henry cooed, turning his head to capture your lips in his own and stepped between your legs. “You do know, I will get you back for this.” He whispered against your lips, kissing you deeper, his hands grabbing the back of your knees and yanked you closer to him.

“I expect nothing less.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

A hum rumbling in his chest, Henry grabbed the back of your head and deepened the kiss, tongue swiping by your lips to flick across your tongue, making both of you moan at the same time. You rocked your hips against his, feeling his cock awaken against your thighs and folds. Henry's teeth pulled at your bottom lip as he pulled his body away from yours enough for you to slip your hand between your humming bodies to grab his hard length, stroking the throbbing organ, your thumb caressing the weeping, uncut head, before guiding it to your entrance.

“Christ, you feel so fucking good.” You moaned into his neck, hugging your legs tighter around his hips as he pushed inside of you.

“You too, baby.” Henry groaned, placing open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulder, while thrusting into you. “You're so snug around me.” He panted into your ear, planting his hands on the counter, on either side of you, and used the leverage to increase the strength of his thrusts, making the items on the counter rattle and a couple knock over

“Uh, Henry!” You cried out, one hand grasping the top of his shoulder, as you leaned back on your other one. ”God, fuck!” You let go of his shoulder and started rubbing your clit.

Both your and Henry's breathing was as erratic as your movements, lost in the moment of heated passion and pleasure. Henry grabbed you by the waist, slapping your and his hips together as his thrusts became wild and involuntary, starting to reach his plateau. You could feel the increased throb of his cock inside of you, the hot swelling against your walls as his balls tightened with his building orgasm. Henry snapped his hips into you one more time before throwing his head back and going completely rigid, his stiff cock pumping ribbon after ribbon of hot cum into your core, helping you tip over into your own plateau, your hand falling away from your clit.

Henry sluggishly wrapped his arms around your torso and hugged you against him, kissing your lips and temple, before breathily whispering into your hair. “I'm picking out yours.”

You chuckled, pressing your cheek to his chest, feeling his pounding heart slowing down. “I'll show you the website during breakfast.” You promised, turning your head to press a chaste kiss to the Horde logo on his neck.

[redbeardace]

I was asleep.

Everyone remembers where they were. I was sleeping.

I was in college then. Summer quarter had ended a few weeks ago, and Fall quarter was a few weeks away, so I had nothing to do that Tuesday. I was sleeping.

My mother would get up to help get my father ready for work. He'd leave a little after 6 AM. Then she'd stay up and turn on the KTLA Morning News. We weren't in Southern California, but we'd lived there and had family connections there, so it felt like a "local" newscast, even though it was a thousand miles away. So most weekdays, I'd fade into consciousness, hearing the rhythm of the broadcast.

Carlos to Mark, Mark to Jennifer, Jennifer to Sam, Commercial, Repeat.

That morning, none of that.

I couldn't really hear what was going on, but it wasn't normal. There were no jokes, no music, no commercials, no changes. Just a steady drone.

I started to listen, to try to hear what was happening.

I heard something about the Pentagon and a bomb at the State Department.

Well. That's not good.

I roll out of bed and into the living room. It was a little after 7:30.

There's a helicopter shot of giant cloud of dust on the TV. Dust. A few buildings. here and there. But dust. Everywhere. It looked like Mt. St. Helens had moved to the city and erupted.

It wasn't the Pentagon. It wasn't the State Department. Was that New York?

"Planes hit the World Trade Center towers." My mother's voice is shaky.

Okay, then, somewhere in that dust are the towers. They build those things to survive plane strikes. It survived the bomb in '93. The Empire State Building got hit by a plane and it's still standing. She told me that they'd fallen, but I didn't believe her. I couldn't believe her. They're just hidden by the dust and the dust will clear.

The dust will clear. The towers can't just fall. You'll see.

The dust will clear.

There was nothing there.

---

We watched what was unfolding on the other side of the continent all day long. I think my father got sent home early and joined us.

Watching a day like that unfold live is an experience that's hard to describe. You look back now, and there's a clear timeline, there are clear events. But on that day, nothing was clear. The news was an unbroken stream of numbing repetition and confusion. The anchors narrating what's going on have a worse view of it than you do, because they're squinting at small monitors halfway across the studio. You can flip between CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS, and pick up little tidbits here and there, but they can't. They only have what comes through their earpiece, what ends up on their TelePrompTer, what's handed to them on paper. No one knows what's going on, not even the people telling you what's going on.

That day was full of rumors and confusion. There were attacks at the State Department and the FBI, there was a plane that had crashed in rural Pennsylvania, there was a plane that had been hijacked in Alaska. We didn't know what was real, and what was a phantom of fear. But mostly, it was just the numbing repetition. There was nothing new to add. Nothing more to say at 1 PM that hadn't been said at noon. What got repeated is what had happened, what didn't get repeated hadn't. The plane crash in Pennsylvania got repeated. The attack at the State Department didn't.

All day long, it was the same video from earlier in the day. Maybe a new angle as reporters and survivors got their footage to a TV station. But we watched it again and again. Maybe there'd be a new detail to see, something to fill in another piece of the What The Fuck Just Happened puzzle we were now living in.

In a weird way, that day didn't seem as bad as it went on and the rumors subsided and the scope became clear. My morning started with a dust cloud that covered all of Lower Manhattan and obscured what had happened. Had the towers toppled sideways and crushed dozens of buildings for blocks around? It was 9 AM on a Tuesday, a work day, those buildings were full, and the area was a major commuter hub. 10000 people in each building, maybe tens of thousands passing through, hundreds of thousands in that cloud of dust. There's no one alive down there. The initial estimates they gave were 20-30 thousand in the collapsed towers alone, to say nothing of the people suffocated by that cloud of dust and smoke. And then Washington DC is under attack and they're even hijacking planes in Alaska. What are they going to do to us next? But the death toll steadily dropped, other rumored attacks were found to be false alarms, they didn't come back for a second round. But that "good" news didn't make us feel any better. What would've made us feel better would've been word that they had been rescuing dozens of people from the rubble, stories of survivors being found days later, but that news never came.

---

Where's the President? Why haven't we seen the President? Why hasn't he said anything?

"He's safe and in an undisclosed location."

On September 10th, George W. Bush was just a bumbling dumbass who'd stolen the election from Gore. He wasn't yet a warmonger, although he'd surrounded himself with them.

On September 11th, Bush was still a bumbling dumbass, but he was our President. I was actually glad that he was invisible and hidden most of that day. We didn't know what in the hell was going on. If I knew where the President was, then the assholes who did this to us would know where he was, and no matter how much I didn't like the guy, I certainly didn't want to see a terrorist attack on Air Force One or the White House.

But I was worried that he'd send in the missiles and bombers and turn everything from Morocco to Pakistan to ash, which is what some people were calling for before we even knew who was responsible. And that's not what happened. All that happened that day was... nothing. I respected that, and I still respect that. Rushing headlong into revenge isn't what we needed that day.

---

We ended that day, not with Dan Rather or Peter Jennings or Tom Brokaw, but with Hal Fishman, legendary anchor on the KTLA News at Ten. He was a plane guy. He'd know what happened. He was comfortable to us, familiar, and we needed to know there was still something out there comfortable and familiar.

---

The next day, my mother wanted a break from it all, so we went shopping. I don't think we needed to, and Wednesday wasn't the normal shopping day, but we just had to get out, so we went to Wal-Mart.

Throughout the store, there were TVs hanging from the ceiling. Normally, they'd show ads and music videos and things. Not that day. They were all tuned to CNN. People stopped in the middle of the aisle, watching Condoleezza Rice or Donald Rumsfeld or Colin Powell or whoever giving a press conference.

There was no break from it.

---

Does everyone else know it was a Tuesday? I mean, just know. Like somehow that is an important, integral part of what happened that day. Because I know it was a Tuesday with that same fierceness as I know that the towers fell. I don't remember all the flight numbers or which tower was hit first or which one fell first or even a single word of what the President said that night, but I know it was a Tuesday. And I don't understand why.

---

I've cried over it. I just did while writing all this. It's one of the few things I have cried about. But it's never sustained weeping. One tear. Maybe two. It feels like it should be more, but then it's like the scale becomes incomprehensible and unreal and it stops. What good will my tears do? They won't fix it. They won't change it.

---

"Never Forget", they say, but twenty years on, many of you have no memory of that day, maybe even weren't born yet. You've only seen the packaged videos from the perfect camera angles. You know what happened, the full story told from beginning to end across three acts in a two hour movie. You know the death toll, you know about the box cutters, you know how Osama Bin Laden ends, you know where the undisclosed location is, you know about the plane that said "Let's Roll". We didn't know any of that, sometimes for days or weeks or years. We only knew shock and confusion and sadness and anger and numbness and a giant cloud of dust that has not cleared and will never clear and still coats everything in our lives, even if we were thousands of miles away.

For those of us who saw that day...

Never forget?

How could we?

[tamagochiie]

when the rumbling came; erwin smith

pairing. Erwin Smith x Fem!reader 

synopsis. You were tired of work, of people, and of life treating you poorly. You quickly came to the conclusion that if you were going to end your life, now would probably be a good time as any. 

word count. 3.36k

tags + warnings. TRIGGER WARNING! depression, attempted to attempt suicide, reader being completely dead inside (metaphorically), modern!au, office!au (just a pinch), angst, comfort/fluff, 

notes. I don’t romanticize depression or suicide. Writing is my way of coping and dealing with everything that’s going on right now; don’t worry, I’m okay, really I am. So, this one shot is more or less self indulgent. Please, if you you’re going through some hardships don’t hesitate to reach out for help. My inbox is also free, and I’m always willing to listen. 

You had alway built yourself in a firm foundation made of rocks, that nothing could ever shake you and even if it did, you’d snap back like an elastic band. But very recently, very, very recently, you’ve been living on a faultline and for a while now there’d be tremors - nothing strong enough to shake you, though. 

But your foundation soon turned into sand as the weeks came by and stress came to you in waves. The little tremors eventually turned into big ones. You found yourself swaying, crumbling, and now you were barely reaching the end of the week without falling to your knees and weeping, your pleas for mercy hung in the air, right in your face as if it were mocking you. 

The home you had built for yourself had fallen into rubble and nothing could protect you. 

Nothing could save you from all the wind and rain, and quite frankly, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to be saved. Being saved meant continuing on, meant trudging through the fight and you had no more fight left in you. 

So there you sat, on the very edge of the roof of your office building with your feet dangling. Night life in the city glimmered and glowed, completely ignorant to you suffering. But it looked nice and you found yourself thankful because at least life was kind enough to give you one last “good” view before you did the deed. 

I’d just have to scoot and I’d be on my way to the pavement, you thought idly. 

You weren’t even scared, and maybe that’s what scared you, that you were completely okay with ending it here. That you didn’t even bat an eye when the idea came into your head while you bought yourself a sandwich during your lunch break. 

It kinda felt easy like solving 1+1.

So maybe it was your calmness that scared you. Maybe it's the fact that once you had made up your mind, you had been set as if you were picking out clothes for the next day kind of set. 

You swung your feet, feeling yourself scooch closer to the edge and your heart didn’t even race - not even a flutter.

You craned your neck back to look at the sky, not a single star in sight. You heavily sighed and played with your hands while you teared up and eventually cried. All the burdens you carried, the responsibilities you shouldered, and the insecurities you kept close to your heart flooded out of you in one single, painstaking sob. 

Your chest heaved and your voice cracked as you screamed into a void, knowing you’d never be heard over all the honking and clamouring from the city beneath you. 

“I dunno who's listening,” You croak to the night, your throat dry from all the crying, “but if I’m not supposed to die tonight, can you give me a sign...or something? Like, send someone out here to do a handstand or something. If - If there’s like, any sliver of hope I have left or whatever...If I’m not supposed to end here, then just do that because I really dunno if I’m supposed to hang on anymore...” 

You never prayed a single prayer in your life, maybe just once when you were wavering in your ability to attain such a fine job as this, or when both your parents fell ill and you were left alone to fend for yourself. But other than that, you more or less suffered silently, cried to yourself when you needed to, and pulled yourself out of trouble. 

It was late into the night, so the prayer was already silly to begin with. Everyone had gone home and you made sure of it because you hid in the bathroom until the lights turned off and the floor of your office was completely silent. 

And the more you thought about it, as you imagined yourself hiding in that bathroom like a dumbass, you felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Well, it wasn’t like you were going to be alive to bear it into tomorrow morning anyway. 

You flinched at the sudden sound of the fire exit creaking open, the metal scratching against the pavement. You turned your head and squinted at the shadows and the little light provided by the exit sign. 

“Hello?” You called out to the shadows and flinched when you saw it move, heedlessly pulling yourself away from the edge as you leaned back to take a closer look. 

You gasped lowly as a familiar, rather burly figure emerged from the darkness. It was your boss, Mr. Smith, who had his eyes widen in surprise, as if he was shocked to have actually found someone on the roof. 

He narrowed his gaze on you and wore a tight lip as he studied you intently. He stayed near the fire exit, hand in the pocket of his clean cut slacks while the other hung by his side. 

You had sworn everyone had gone home. 

Not everyone, you supposed. 

“Can I help you?” You asked through your sniffling, but Mr. Smith kept quiet; the silence grew to be quite awkward the longer he stood there. 

After a few beats, he stepped forward, rolling up the sleeves of his button up shirt before he ran his fingers through his hair. A tremulous breath escaped his lips as he spun on the heels of his shoes, facing the wall. 

You cocked your head, blinking owlishly at him. And in one, fluid motion, with little to no effort, he bent down to lean onto his hands and kicked his feet up to the air, leaning against the wall for support. 

He did a handstand. 

What? 

You would be laughing if you weren’t in the state you were in. 

Mr. Smith was still looking directly at you as he stood on his hands, his clothes bunched up beneath his chin while his face burned red from the sudden rush of blood to his head.  

All you could do was leave your mouth hanging open, blinking at him in bewilderment. 

With a faint grunt, Mr. Smith brought his feet back to the ground and pushed himself off his hands. He brushed his hands together to dust away the dirt before he looked back to you as he ran his hands down the creases of his vest. 

“Before you say anything,” He spoke, his voice deep and velvety, “I have absolutely no idea why I did that, but there was a little voice in my head that told me to.” 

You licked your lips and stayed quiet, still taking in what had just happened. 

“But my question is,” He began, “are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?” You spat, but you bit your tongue and cleared your throat when you realized who you were talking to. “Sorry,” You quietly muttered, twisting yourself back to look at the building in front of you. 

You listened as the footsteps behind you drew closer, ultimately coming to a quiet halt. 

“Mind if I join you?” He dipped his head down to look at you and you glanced at him in the corner of your eye, shrugging your shoulders. 

Mr. Smith took the spot beside you and swung his feet over the ledge, mirroring the way you sat before digging his hand back into his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. 

“You got a lighter?” He asked, sticking a cigarette between his lips. You shook your head, amazed at his nonchalant demeanor. “That’s okay, I’ve got one.” 

You watched him with a puzzled look as he lit his cigarette and blew a smoke. 

It was pretty obvious what you were trying to do; your eyes were red and looked sore, your cheeks stained with tears, and not to mention you were setting on the ledge of a build without your shoes on. 

How was he so calm?

“I’ve seen you around the office,” He recalled, blowing a few more smokes before he turned to you, “you look like a hard worker.” 

“Depends on how you define ‘hard worker’,” You mumbled. Mr. Smith brought the cigarette in front of you as if signaling you to take it. You do. “I’m more of a half-assed worker that’s just ebbing and flowing bullshit just to get the job done so I can go home and wallow in self-pity in silence.” 

He chuckled. It sounded sweet. 

“So why are you sitting on the ledge?” 

You drew out a smoke. 

“I don’t wanna live anymore.” You deadpanned. “I hate my life and I hate that it’s fucked me in the ass -” You blew another smoke before passing it back to Mr. Smith, your body a lot more calmer and your mind unfiltered, “ - without even my consent.” 

“I don’t blame you,” He said earnestly, and it shocked you. The golden boy who strolled up and down the office floors with his chest out, head held high, and a smile that made every woman’s knees go weak was agreeing with you. His eyes looked like it held all the hope and promise in the world, yet he was agreeing with you.“But are you sure you wanna do that? What if life gets better?” 

You snickered though no trace of amusement on your face. 

“I’ve been living on ‘what ifs’, Mr. Smith,” You pointed out plainly, “I’m not about to keep going. What’s the point of living on ‘what ifs’ when nothing happens? At the end of the day, I’m just an idiot that keeps thinking, ‘What if today’s better?’, ‘What if there’s a new flavor of ice cream that’s been released and it turns out to be my favorite?’ -- it’s stupid.” 

“What if your boss gives you a raise?” He smirked at you playfully but you only rolled your eyes. “What? It was worth a try.” 

“Your try was shit.” 

“What about if you tried a different approach?” 

“Look, Mr. Smith,” You sighed in annoyance and snatched the cigarette from his hand and propped it between your lips, “I don’t have a lot of fight left in me, okay? I’ve tried, I failed. That’s it. So, would you just leave me to do what I need to do? Please?” 

“If you wanted to kill yourself, you would’ve done it by now.” 

You threw him a sour look, offended that he didn’t think you could do it. 

But why would you be upset about that? 

“You don’t know me.” You muttered.

“I know well enough that if you wanted to call quits, you wouldn’t have sat here for nearly an hour, praying for a sign.” 

“You heard?” 

He nodded. 

“You lied!” You raised your voice and without giving it much thought, you punched him in the arm. “You said you didn’t know why you came up here!” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” He calmly argued. “Not completely, anyway. I saw you go up when I was on my way out. When I noticed you didn’t take your things, not even your phone, I had a gut feeling it was something bad.” 

“I waited for a little while,” He explained, “I thought that maybe you wanted some fresh air, but the longer I waited, the more worried I got. So I went up the steps just to check on you, and your voice...did you know your voice carries well in the stairwell? I heard your voice, small and completely detached from life. Even then, you were asking for help, and how could I refuse?”

“Do you make it a point to get into other people’s business?” 

“Only when they’re trying to take their life.”  

“And now what?” You sounded detached and uninterested, and he didn’t blame you for it. He never spoke to you outside of meetings or work, not even once. Of course his words wouldn’t have any impact. “Are you gonna tell me not to go through with it, talk me down or something? You gonna tell me ‘If you can’t live for yourself, then live for me’? That kinda dumb shit?” 

He shook his head, a faint pout on his lips. Despite your mocking tone, Mr. Smith remained calm and didn’t take it personally. Though you kinda wish he did, so he could leave you alone.

“No, nothing like that....” Mr. Smith weighed his options, choosing his next words and his next approach carefully.

He’s been here before and he falls into shallow thought, remembering all the things he didn’t do and see if he could do it now.  

“I - I’ve been both on both ends of the situation, I just -” Mr. Smith sighed heavily, as he rubbed his hands together, “- I didn’t do anything last time, so - so when I saw you I thought maybe I could somehow make up for it.” 

“That kinda sounds shitty,” You pointed out. 

It was indeed a shitty thing that you were somehow being used to clear a conscience, but you understood where his heart was at.  It was nice that he was trying - it was nice that someone had noticed. 

But that’s all that it was for you: it was just nice. 

“I’m just so fucking tired,” You admitted, your eyes stinging with fresh tears. You tilted your head back to keep it from spilling, but like all of your attempts at anything, you failed. “I’m so fucking tired of being tired, and nothing’s going right. I’ve tried different approaches, changing my mindset. I even did all these stupid Pinterest self-help boards, but that didn’t help either. I’m desperately grasping for straws and I’ve finally decided to just...stop.” 

You rolled your head, looking at your boss with lifeless eyes and it terrified him. He didn’t know what to say - not then and most certainly not now. But what does anyone say to a person who’s given up all hope and interest in living? 

You seemed to have made up your mind and Mr. Smith worried that he’d have another life in his hands. He didn’t want that and he found himself growing desperate. 

He liked you, whether it be a co-worker or something else, he liked seeing you around the office. You were smart and though you looked soft spoken, you most certainly weren’t. You never ceased to amaze him with the things you submitted, so he truly wondered why you felt so inadequate. 

Mr. Smith couldn’t help but blame himself for not paying attention.

“I say don’t die,” He said rather confidentiality, and you furrowed your brows at this. He was becoming persistent in his meddling. “I say wait it out another day or week, and then if you really wanna, fine. I’ll even leave the emergency exit unlocked for you.” 

You widened your eyes, your mouth parted but not a single sound came out. 

“Why should I wait when I can do it right now?” 

“Because of the ‘what ifs’.” 

You grunted. 

“I already told you --” 

“Yes, but what if I tried to help you?” 

“I’m not going to be your charity case, Mr. Smith,” You chastised. “I’d rather die than be your charity case.” 

“You won’t be,” He said rather calmly. A small smile crept across his lips and his eyes twinkled against the faint glow of the city lights. “You’ll be my friend and I, too, need a friend.” 

“Mr. Smith --” 

“Call me Erwin.” 

You cleared your throat. You felt embarrassed to say the least. You opened your mouth and found it weird when you spoke his name. You didn’t like it, but it was something you could get used to. 

“Why would you wanna be my friend?” 

“Because life’s fucked me in the ass without my consent, too.” It was weird hearing something so crass coming from the poster boy of perfection and all things pure. You almost thought you’d completely lost it and had imagined he ever said it. “And I heard that suffering with someone makes the experience a little less painful and a little more bearable. So, won’t you be my friend and suffer with me?” 

Mr. Smith noticed your hesitance, even more so when he held his left hand out for you to take. It felt formal like he was trying to close a business deal or something. It was a bit weird. 

“You’re not gonna be my reason for living,” You said, letting his hand awkwardly hang in the air. But he didn’t bother to retract it. “I’m not looking for a savior.” 

“You’re looking for your strength and so am I, so let’s just look together and see what we find, mm?” 

You looked at him, studied him. Why did he care so much, and why did you want to know? 

After all, you did ask for a sign, yet here you were being stubborn and pretending as if you hadn’t seen it at all. You didn’t believe in miracles or spectacular alignments of the universe, but when you took his hand, you felt a warmth of reassurance - a sense of peace. 

Suddenly, with a high pitch yelp from your lips, Mr. Smith quickly moved his left hand and wrapped it over you and pulled you down with him as he threw himself back onto the pavement behind you. His right hand cushioned your blow and he winced in pain when he caught you. 

You found yourself tightly gripping onto the material of his sleeve when you took a peak to check on Mr. Smith. He was looking down at you, a nervous smile plastered across his face. 

You shoved him off, muttering to yourself as you patted yourself down. 

“That was uncalled for.” You grumbled. 

“How would I know? You would’ve changed your mind for all I know.” 

“I took your hand!” You chided. “That was basically me saying, ‘Okay, I’ll be your friend’! What if you had thrown yourself forward instead!” 

“But I didn’t.” He replied calmly, a smile, one that irked you completely, pulled the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, but what if you had?” 

“But I didn’t.”

He stood up from the floor and patted the dust and dirt of his pants before reaching down to help you up from the ground. 

“Thank you for being my friend,” Mr. Smith grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.” 

You rolled your eyes as he kept his hold around your hand, shaking it. 

“Your promises don’t mean much to me.” 

 It had been months since your moment on the rooftop with Erwin. Though he had been keen, inviting you out for lunch, for dinner, and spared some time for small talk in passing, you were still walking on eggshells, especially because you worried that it might’ve looked unprofessional. 

But really, no one cared as much as you did. Everyone had just assumed Erwin was just being kind. But still, it gave you more stress than it did comfort you, and though you had spat a few unkind words his way, he never left. 

He always came back with a bright smile and offerings, whether it were candies or actual food. 

Eventually, you eased in and you were no longer agitated. You found yourself looking forward to Erwin’s occasional visits to your desk or when he’d ask you out for some coffee. 

At the end of every day Erwin would never miss a beat and would ask you how you were doing, and it never felt performative or forced. He was warm and genuine, and he’d share his burdens with you, too. 

And you found yourself realizing that he was right, that struggling with someone made things a little less painful and a little more bearable. That despite the struggle, knowing someone so patient and understanding, would be there to catch you. 

“Hey,” You spoke over the rim of your freshly brewed tea as you sat across the little round table of the coffee shop. Erwin’s eyes flicked up at you as he took a bite of his muffin. “Thanks,” 

He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side, “What for?” He asked, his words muffled by his stuffed mouth. 

“Thanks for being my friend.” 

He smiled, a few crumbs falling from his lips and onto his plate. 

“Thank you for being mine.” 

[wyn-n-tonic]

We Can Stay Like This Forever

Word Count: 2,385 Warnings: Uh... yearning. A crumb of smut. Dialogue heavy bullshit tbh. Author's Note: God okay, I've been sitting on this for like a month now? I wrote this when I couldn't focus on my own characters anymore and my brain needed to visualize parts of the scene I was trying to write using the body language of a character I already know and love so well. This is written in second person but the reader has a name. It was an experiment dashed out in a drunken fervor that made my editor weep. Anyway, if you see any of these lines in a book one day... no you don't.

MASTERLIST

“Javi, I haven’t loved you since I was twent—“

“That's bullshit and you know it,” he interrupts, voice coming out hard but arms crossed tighter than they have been all night, replacing the pressure of kevlar he’s so used to. Protective, defensive, stopping the bullets from reaching him where it matters the most.

Your lips are raw from dragging your teeth across them but biting down is the only thing that stops the tears from springing to the surface. You never thought you’d see him again, you never thought he’d be standing in your kitchen only strides away; two for him, four for you. You saw the news coming out of Colombia, heard it in the supermarket passed from ear to ear straight from his dad’s mouth. Javier Peña was the walking dead.

Javi left Lorraine for you. You gave him a choice and he made it and you, being certain he’d lean the other way, couldn’t live with that guilt. When you wrote that first letter, you didn’t expect a response. You just wanted to apologize, you wanted him to know that you were sorry. You didn’t expect to hear his voice on the other end weeks later when you picked up the phone. Hell, you had pushed the letter so far out of your mind that you’d forgotten you’d included your number.

And now he’s standing in front of you, tangible as ever. No longer just the boy you loved but a man aged so roughly by sun and stress that you are breaking within wishing that you had been there to smooth it all over.

“Goddamn it, Clara,” that hard tone reaches towards you again but he loosens his stance, the toned arms still holding close to his body but the tension bottoming out to his exhaustion, “are you going to say anything or are you going to just keep looking at me like I’m a fucking ghost?”

“Is that not what you are?” Your voice is broken when you find it again, the tears really do come now. “A ghost from my past come back to haunt my bad decisions? Tell me I fucked up?”

“Is that what you think I’m here for? Is that why you think I came to you first thing instead of my family?” He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and drags a hand through his hair, pinning you in place with his eyes. “Can I smoke in here?”

“I thought you quit.”

“Yeah well,” another exhale, the slightest hint of laughter on his lips, “I thought a lot of things I’ve been wrong about too.”

And god, those eyes. Simultaneously the warmest, softest brown but so black they look like blown out pupils. Like he’s the one who’s been snorting the cocaine, not busting those that do. You don’t even register the insult before nodding your head. What’s a little cigarette smoke when you run the risk of him walking out that door and not coming back?

But isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that the purpose of this conversation? Are you not being the same bitch you were all those years ago praying that he’ll be the one to walk out on you this time? Bringing it back full circle to that decision you forced on him half a lifetime ago?

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound sure and even though your eyes are anywhere but on his now, you haven’t felt his leave you this whole time.

“Yeah,” you whisper to your feet like they’re the most interesting goddamn thing in the world.

After years of practice, he’s quick about it, you don’t even realize he’s lit up until he lets go of that first puff and, with it, the entire room changes. It’s not angry, it’s not hard, it’s… twenty years of heartache and longing compounding, neither party believing they’re good enough for the other.

You look back at the tired man standing in front of you, “Javier, I—“

“No. No, let me talk,” he rubs his eyes with his free hand, drags it down his golden cheek and smirks. Another inhale and, “I didn’t come here to tell you that you fucked up, you’ve said it plenty. We’ve been talking for months, we fell back in stride like nothing ever happened, like I hadn’t spent years pretending every woman I fucked was you because it was like you’d never left my side. Almost twenty-five hundred miles, Clara, I was a world away from you and when I came home at the end of the day the last six months…” he’s the one biting his lip now, “I could call you no matter the time and the sound of your voice made me feel like a normal person. Like I still had a shot at this world beyond the bounty on my head.”

His exhaustion, his softness, is palpable now as he stops to suck in a breath like he hasn’t taken one this whole time and then…

“If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t have written. If you didn’t love me, you would’ve hung up. If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t answer the phone at one o’clock in the fucking morning to tell me to breathe through the anger and the sadness and the horror I witnessed. But if that’s the story you want to stick with, I’ll go. I don’t expect anything I just…” his voice hitches, the cigarette long forgotten between his fingers, “I just wanted to see if your face still lights up when you laugh or if that had changed after two decades. It hasn’t and it’s still both my favorite sight and sound in the world. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder to watch it grow through the years.”

He looks to the right of him and throws the cigarette in the sink. Pushing off the counter with his other hand, he takes one step forward and fixes his eyes on yours again. “Tell me I’m wrong, Clara. Tell me you don’t love me and I won’t ever darken your home aga—“

“I love you.”

And he’s on you. Just like that. Just one more step to close the distance and his body presses to yours. His large hands come up to cradle your jaw and his nose slots perfectly into place against yours and his lips touch down like a plane with faulty landing gear, crashing against yours all hot breath and stale tobacco and, oh god, the smell of him. Soap and sweat, the chemical make up of his scent flooding your senses to make you feel whole again when you didn’t even know how much you missed it.

His hands are sliding down gently, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. With his strong arms lifting you away from the counter, you no longer need to support yourself against it and you’re grabbing for him, trying harder to wring the space from between you like a worn rag but nothing is left.

The feel of him is something new, however. He’s not that scrawny kid who awkwardly held you to him, unsure of how his touches were affecting your body and pleasure. No, this Javier is different. Older, experienced, more tender than you remember him ever being, so sure of himself and just… thicker. Two shirt sizes up from the man you walked away from, his formerly wiry muscles are almost bubble wrapped in a way. What used to knot against you in hard planes of flesh and bone now give quietly against your touch as you’re pulling at the only thing that separates you now.

But suddenly, he’s breaking away. All heavy breaths and wildly flushed cheeks, his lips have left yours and the ache you numbed in his absence returns like a migraine after sleep. You need him and he’s gone again and you’re chasing his kiss with a whine as he replaces his lips with a thumb, cradling your face once more and shushing you, “Cálmate, mi amor. Está bien. Are we moving too fast right now?”

And you are breathless as you answer, “We are not moving fast enough, Javier.”

“I just don’t want you to think that this is all that I want. That you will wake to find an empty bed tomorrow.”

“If I woke to find an empty bed tomorrow, that’s exactly what I’d deserve.”

Those eyebrows knit up in confusion, the lines that have made their home on his forehead making you simultaneously weak in their beauty as evidence of his life and sad in the tragedy that you weren’t there to watch him earn them.

“Clarita,” his tone is so soft, the endearment coming to him as naturally now as it did in the before, “If it’s punishment you think you deserve then I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. I chose you, you didn’t beg for it. I did that of my own accord. And when you chose to walk away because you felt guilty, I did beg you. I’ll own it, I begged and pined but you couldn’t get out of your own head long enough to see that you were never the issue, you were the solution. You still are. I have searched for you in everybody I’ve ever met. So tell me,” his hands are wrapping around your arms now, “Are you ready to forgive yourself and find me in your bed tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” comes barely audible through parted lips as his find yours once more, knocking the breath from your chest as his hands slide down to your hips. He digs his fingers into the denim there and slowly starts to guide you through the home that’s not his thinking, correctly, that the only door at the end of the hallway is the destination he really booked from Bogotá.

And he is burning a hole through you, his entire being set on fire against you in the already blazing Texas heat. He is gentle as he pushes you down, climbing on top with one arm out to break both your falls. His shirt was abandoned somewhere in the kitchen, shoes kicked off in the hallway with your shorts not far behind. His belt buckle is riding against you as he rocks his hips down, forgetting the metal between you in his hunger for you to feel him.

He feels you wince, the whine swallowed between his lips but he’s pulling back like he’s electrocuted you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” your hands are shaking as you take advantage of the space between, “just take your pants off.”  

He hits you with that crooked smile and meets your hands where they’re still trembling at his hips and, god, he’s swift. He wastes no time kicking off his jeans and falling back into you, pressing back into you. You can feel him straining against his briefs but his patience is unmatched as he savors every taste of your mouth, every nip at the warm skin of your neck and chest. His hands are exploring the years that have marked your body as you mentally catalogue the scars that have taken over his.

He’s pushed your shirt up as far as it will go without leaving you but when he finally does to lift it away, the separation is so quick that it feels like nothing. He’s everywhere and you’re delirious, half thinking you’re imagining him moaning into you as he takes your hand in his to put it where he wants it.

You almost think…but, no, that’s not how that works. Your brain is fucking with you, unable to reconcile the man on top of you with the memory of the boy you loved once upon a time. But you swear, he’s bigger. He holds his breath as your hand slides between him and his waistband and he’s looking down at you like he’s never been touched at all. The sadness showcased across the softness of his face is made worse by the sheen of sweat and blush across his nose. You’d almost believe it if you couldn’t feel the heartbeat in his hardness, waiting for you to make the next move.

After two beats of aching silence, looking up into the galaxies he has the audacity to call eyes, your other hand moves to push at his waistband. If you thought he was urgent before, the graceful rush to join your efforts is gold medal worthy. Your senses are delayed, you’re not sure if the sound of fabric hitting the ground comes before or after he’s ripping at the only bit of fabric that separates you now.

“Fuck,” he rests his forehead to yours, “I'll buy you another pair.” The confusion bubbles into laughter as you realize that, yes, he actually tore them from your body.

But the bubbling laughter in your throat squeezes into a tight gasp, the air punched from your lungs as he steadies himself against you. His long fingers are brushing your hair to the side as he leans down and whispers against your lips, “Can I?”

“Please,” but your begging is lost in his response before the word has fully left your lips. He is grabbing in a way you haven’t felt in years. Hungry, like he can’t get enough, like it’s all he needs.

It is devastating, the build up. He’s ripping through the deepest parts of you and you’re convinced, wholeheartedly, that the only truth you’ve ever known rides on the waves of his name. His grip tightens, his teeth dragging down your jawline and warmth takes over as an earthquake shatters what little composure you’ve kept.

He moans low in his throat once.

Twice.

Three times it dies out against your ear like it’s only meant for you. Like it was all only meant for you.

He’s smiling as he softens, you can hear it in his voice as he slowly asks, “Can we just stay like this for a minute?”

You press your lips to that dimple, singular and lonely on the right side of his face; so far gone from a five o’clock shadow, you’d almost think he’s been forty all his life.

“Javier,” your fingers wind tighter through the sweat slick curls at the crown of his head, “we can stay like this forever.”

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ 

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Orlec

Rating: SFW Length: 1495 Pairing: Male Orc x Male Reader (both cis)

Some hurt/comfort and fluff with your dutiful pirate boyfriend. TW for mentions of blood, injuries, and torture.

xxx

“Cut him down from there.”

They are the first words I’ve heard since the screaming stopped. I’m barely clinging onto the last threads of my consciousness, blood and drool oozing from my mouth and onto the wooden post I’ve been lashed to. When the ties that bind my arms are cut, my knees can’t hope to hold me up, but they never touch the floor. Instead, I’m caught by gentle hands and my battered body is wrapped in my discarded coat, and then I’m carried out into the light of the late afternoon.

I remember the transition from the smell of blood to the salt of the sea. I remember soft whispers and exclamations of horror and despair. I remember bobbing like a buoy, floating and weightless, and then the fresh agony of my wounds being cleaned. The pain makes everything hazy at the edges, soft and insubstantial in a way that only an open wound’s prolonged exposure to astringents can manage to do. 

“He’ll always bear the scars,” I hear someone else murmur.

“It doesn’t matter,” says the first voice I heard before. “Just make sure he lives.”

I close my eyes. I sleep. I dream of restless things in the aftermath. Of clawing hands and sharp barbs, of drowning in the darkest depths of the ocean where no man dares go. I feel stiflingly hot, then chilled to the bone. I taste bile in my mouth and feel my eyes go raw from weeping. I surface from the depths for brief moments and beg for mercy, though I know not the manner in which I crave it be delivered.

When I finally come back to myself, I can tell that it’s been days. For one, I feel the ache of a man who’s lain too long in bed, and for another, I smell like one, too. My first attempts at movement are slow and halting, and I grit my teeth against the pain and the tightness I feel across my back. My wounds are dressed and for that, I’m grateful, but the rest of me is bare, and I make a note to thank the doctor for taking care of me while I was at my worst. I find spare clothing in my quarters and manage to wrestle into my trousers and shirt, but by then, I have to sit at the edge of my bed to catch my breath, dizzy with effort.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I look up with a start to my doorway and see that it’s been darkened by my surly first mate, a massive orc by the name of Orlec with skin like bronze and eyes like brushed steel. He’s a fearsome-looking man with one chipped tusk and arms like the trunks of trees, but he’s deadliest with the cutlass at his hip. Now, he has a towel over his shoulder and a bucket in his hand, which he brings over to my bedside and sets down by my knee. In it is steaming seawater—a luxurious bath for a pirate so far out at sea.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air,” I wheeze, trying for nonchalance. 

Orlec looks unimpressed. “You’re lucky I caught you before we hit a swell and the ship pitched your sorry ass halfway across the cabin.”

“You’d have caught me then, too,” I say with a grin, allowing Orlec to help me back out of my shirt and eagerly reaching for the rag resting over the lip of the bucket; Orlec swats my hand away and takes it up himself.

“You think this is some kind of joke,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes as he kneels in front of me and starts scrubbing at my skin none-too-tenderly. “You almost got yourself killed. Again.”

“I think it worked out quite well, actually, don’t you?” I quip, wincing through a laugh as Orlec’s grip on my arm tightens. “I knew my bold and intrepid crewmen would come to my rescue.”

“I should throw you overboard to the sharks,” Orlec snarls, pulling off my trousers and scrubbing from the waist down as though he were trying to polish the decks outside.

“Easy, easy!” I cry, cupping my hands over my poor abused cock. “You’ll tear it off, you big oaf!”

“‘Oaf’!” Orlec barks back, throwing the rag in my face with a wet slap. “The only oaf I see here is you! What the fuck were you thinking, turning yourself over to those damn privateers? We barely scraped you off the flogging pole!”

“I was thinking that I’d save you a bullet to the head,” I say between clenched teeth, my ire making my head spin a little. “Or did you forget the pistol they had pressed to your temple? It was you or me, Orlec. I chose me.”

“And what of my choices?” Orlec snaps, eyes aflame as his voice lifts. “Every day I choose to stay with you! Every day I choose to follow your lead because you’re a good captain, and you up and throw your life away at the first opportunity! I could have gotten out of it! I could have—” He cuts himself off, his great chest rising and falling like so many empires.

“There was no other way, Orlec,” I tell him, sympathy softening my temper. “I’m alive and they’re not. That’s what matters now.”

“Like hell it is,” Orlec grumbles after a moment spent collecting himself, snatching the rag back from me and continuing his work cleaning me up.

I can’t keep myself from laughing softly, reaching up to run my fingers through my lover’s thick brown mohawk. “Are you grumpy because you missed me?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m afraid I lack the flexibility for that.”

“I’m sure as shit not doing it.”

“Not in the state I’m in, no, but I hope that threat doesn’t extend too far into the future. Your sex is practically chiropractic.”

Orlec splutters, gently swatting my stomach with the back of a massive hand. “Shut up. I’ll show you chiropractic when I break your back over my knee the next time you do something this stupid.”

“Promises, promises,” I sigh, scraping my fingernails along Orlec’s scalp and watching as the repetitive motions soften the line of my lover’s shoulders. “I’m not so fragile as all that, my dearest.”

Just like that, the tension returns to Orlec. “You almost bled out. The doctor had to perform some emergency surgery, and then you were fevered for three nights. We almost lost you. I almost lost you.”

“Well, I haven’t been lost,” I say, “and I’ll surely never take that same risk again.”

Orlec squints his steely eyes at me, suspicious. “That better not be loophole-speak for ‘because that particular captain is dead now’.”

I avert my eyes.

Orlec pinches the inside of my knee.

“Yowch!” I yelp, jumping and then wincing when the act pulls at my new scabs.

“Shit, sorry,” Orlec rumbles, and to his credit, he does look apologetic. “Only meant to hurt your knee, not your back.”

“Not the kind of weakness I want you to cause in my knees, my love,” I breathlessly reply, and barely dodge the swat of the wet rag aimed towards my face.

“Do you think of nothing but sex?” Orlec grumps, shaking his head and scrubbing between my toes.

I try desperately not to wriggle. “No,” I say around my laughter, clutching at his shoulders. “I think about kisses, too. It’s been far too long since our last, don’t you think?”

“I’m not kissing you until you wash the bile from your mouth,” Orlec deadpans, shaking his head with amusement and finally helping me back into my clothing. He helps me do just that, offering me warm saltwater to rinse with as he tames the tangles in my hair with careful ease. By the time we’re done, I’m about ready to faint all over again, and Orlec��bless him—notices. Instead of taking me out to reassure the men, he tucks me back under the covers and gives me some concoction to fight an oncoming fever, only relenting in his mothering when I promise to stay in and rest.

“Now will you kiss me?” I ask, feeling like a schoolboy tucked in to his armpits by his nanny.

“Now I will kiss you,” Orlec relents, perching at my bedside and leaning in to press his lips to mine. The kiss is long and sweet, with Orlec taking my face in his big hand and curling his fingers over the back of my head to keep me close. As if I’d ever pull away.

“I love you,” I sigh as he pulls away, melting hazily down into the pillows and clinging to the last vestiges of my consciousness.

“And despite my better judgment, I love you, too,” Orlec grumbles, startling a drunken laugh out of me. He smiles crookedly, in that way that always makes my heart melt. “Sleep,” he tells me, and I do.

[kaistarus]

Fake Confessions Spawn Real Feelings

Pairings: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Noya asks you to help him make Kiyoko jealous, but like most of his ideas it doesn’t go the way he expects it to.

Notes: Chaotic Noya is my favorite Noya, so half this fic is cute and half this fic is him being a crackhead. Both versions I'm unhealthily in love with.

**there’s now a sequel with the first date**

Masterlist

“Noya what the hell are you doing?”

Nishinoya appeared by your desk the moment the final bell had rung bouncing with the energy of a caffeinated toddler. You were suspicious of the impatient look in his eyes that could only mean trouble, which was later confirmed by him pulling you out of your desk the moment your class materials were packed. Now, without explaining his actions, he weaved his way through the halls while dragging you reluctantly along.

“The most genius thing ever.” He said once you arrived outside the school’s gymnasium. Nishinoya dropped your hand and began looking around the empty courtyard.

“What are you looking for?”

“Kiyoko,” he opened his bag and dug around before producing an envelope. You raised an amused brow at the poorly drawn hearts adorning the parchment.

“Are you giving that to her?”

Nishinoya raised an eyebrow like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard. “What? No, this is empty.” He shoved it into your hands.

You blinked, raising the envelope into the light to confirm that it was indeed see through. “So, you just decorated an empty envelope? What’s the point of that?”

“Well, when Kiyoko sees another girl confessing her feelings for me. She’ll think I’m irresistible!”

He puffed out his chest after swinging his bag back onto his back.

“Another girl?” You snorted as you flipped the envelope over to admire the poorly drawn kissy faces on its back. “Who’s stupid enough to do that?”

“You are!” He said as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. You stared blankly. “You’re going to give me that fake love letter.”

“What do you mean I’m going to-”

 “Then she’ll be like, ‘oh Noya, I didn’t realize you were so sexy and talented, please don’t leave me’,” he said while clasping his hands together and raising his voice several octaves.

“I don’t think she’s going to-”

“And I’ll be like, ‘Kiyoko baby I would never leave you. I’d wait a million lifetimes sweet mama’.” He grabbed his cheeks and wiggled his butt around, clearly lost in a fantasy. “Then we’ll fall in love and get married at a destination wedding and have ten thousand children and Tanaka will weep of jealousy at my astounding awesomeness.”

“Ten thousand babies?” Your jaw dropped in horror before you quickly shook it off. You pushed the envelope against his chest. “Look, I’m not doing this.”

“C’mon, this is literally life or death.” He tried, shoving the letter back into your hands.

“What if someone sees? I’m supposed to live with the reputation of confessing to you and everyone thinking you turned me down?”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, everyone’s gone home by now.” Nishinoya shrugged. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The phrase alone made a long list scroll through your mind. “I wouldn’t even know how to confess.”

“I’m literally cool as fuck,” Noya smirked. “It should be easy. Just be honest.”

You gave him a once-over. “Do you want to impress Kiyoko or have me be honest? Pick one.”

Nishinoya glared at you before his eyes connected with something over your shoulder. “Okay, here she comes. Act natural.”

He released the envelope and you caught it on reflex, sneering at him while he straightened out his poster and uniform jacket. What did he mean to act natural? Absolutely nothing about this situation was natural.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/N). Why did you ask that we meet out here all alone?” Noya said, his voice awkwardly stiff and loud.

Your grip on the envelope tightened as you tried to keep yourself from becoming more agitated with Nishinoya. He has the nerve to tell you to act natural and then puts on a performance like that. “I have something important I need to tell you…” 

“I wonder what it is. As someone who respects all women I will take any amount of time out of my day to listen to your words.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shoots you a small thumbs up at his hip. It takes all of your concentration to not roll your eyes.

You heard a pair of footsteps echoing from the walkway that connected the main building and the gymnasium, so you figured one of them belonged to Kiyoko. In your peripheral you spotted her and Yachi pretending to stare down at a clipboard in Kiyoko’s hands, but you knew they were glancing up at the fake display you both were putting on.

“Uh, well, it’s just… um... ” You nibbled on your bottom lip from frustration. Thankfully, they probably took your hesitation for nervousness rather than the inability to think of something to say.

 It wasn’t that you disliked Nishinoya. You actually really admired him-not that you had ever imagined admitting it to his face. But… if you didn’t have a choice.

You took a deep breath.

“I think that you're really amazing,” you said, avoiding his excited amber eyes you knew were trained on Kiyoko anyway. “I like how determined you are to do your best and how that transitions to how hard you work in volleyball. I truly believe you’re the greatest libero there is.”

You felt Nishinoya’s focus become more grounded on you, so you lifted your stare to meet his. The longer you made eye-contact the more it felt like he was pulling the confession from you. “I like how much you care about your friends and that you work hard to cheer people up even when I can tell you’re not in a great mood yourself. I also admire how fearless you are and how you’re the first to try new things.” You looked down again and dug your shoe into the dirt. “I wish I could be more like that sometimes.”

You felt your cheeks warming as his mouth went a little slack and his brow creased. You knew you could probably stop at any moment, but the words were flowing too easily and a part of you wanted him to hear them now. Later you could pretend it was for the bit and not because your heart weighed heavy in your chest.

“I’ve always been jealous of how free it feels to be around you. Like, how chaotic and carefree you can be, but you still know how to be serious in certain situations.” You shrugged. “You’re also pretty cute or whatever, so that’s a good addition.”

Nishinoya looked in awe. You glanced back at Kiyoko and Yachi who were now watching from the gymnasium’s entrance-their heads peeking out from the doorway. You became self-conscious when you remembered it wasn’t just you and Nishinoya and you felt the urgency to wrap this up quickly.

“So, uh,” you held the poorly crafted envelope Nishinoya had made outward. “I really like you, Nishinoya. I hope you can accept my feelings.”

The moment had come where he was supposed to turn you down. Say he couldn’t accept and you’d be on your way to live life like normal. But, instead of saying anything he just kept staring at you.

You coughed awkwardly and waved the envelope in his face. “Noya…”

“Oh, uh, right.” His cheeks dusted pink and he took the empty envelope. “Thanks. That um… you’re also… pretty cool.”

He just stared down at the poorly crafted envelope for several moments before glancing back up at you nervously.

 “So, I get done with practice at around six if you want to hang out later? Unless you’re busy tonight. We can hang out this weekend or really I can make any time work. Dead ass, like, I can fucking skip practice if that’s what you want.”

You blinked.

...what.

“What’s going on?” You leaned forward to whisper, but he leaned away awkwardly. “This wasn’t the plan.”

“I know, but you said all those nice things and now I’m confused.” Nishinoya covered his face with his hands.

“Confused how?” You looked back to the doorway where Kiyoko and Yachi had been peeking out and frowned at how they were gone.

“Confused like my heart feels funny and now I want to get married and have ten thousand kids and stuff.”

Your face turned bright red. “What? I can’t have ten thousand kids.”

“One thousand?”

“I’m not having more than two kids,” you crossed your arms. “Besides, one kid with your energy is equivalent to at least two.”

He pouted. “Fine, but then I get to choose our destination wedding.”

“Absolutely not. You’d pick somewhere ridiculous like Nebraska.”

“What the hell is a Nebraska?”

“It’s a boring place in the US where nothing-” You waved it off. “Why are we even talking about this? You don’t like me, Noya. You like Kiyoko.”

“But I didn’t even know I was allowed to like you,” his brow furrowed as he thought. “I mean, I’ve thought about liking you, but it’s different ‘ya know?”

“No,” you responded. Next time Nishinoya pulls you into a ridiculous plot where he claims ‘what could possibly go wrong?’ you’d have to add actual confessions to the long list.

“You’re like a real person.” He gestured to all of you and you just tilted your head confused. “It’s like, Kiyoko can turn me down a hundred times, but she’ll still talk to me so who cares. But if you turned me down it’d be different. I might never get to be with you again. Does that make sense?”

“I guess… so…” You furrowed your brow and stared at his shoes that were tapping nervously against the ground. “Do you even know how to go on dates?”

“How dare you,” he placed a hand over his chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know I’ve read two whole romance books. No pictures.”

“Well, when you sell yourself like that.” You smirked before taking a deep breath. “I mean, I guess… it would be fine. If we had one date.”

“Really?” He fist pumped. “Fuck yeah. I’m gonna swoon you so good. This’ll be the best date of your life.”

“I’ve never been on a date.”

“Even better! There’s no standard.” He cackled as he spun around with his fist raised high. “I can’t even fuck it up.”

“I don’t think that’s how that-”

“I’ll text you,” he sent you a wide smile over his shoulder. “I promise that this is going to be really great. You’re going to love it.”

You gave a slight nod and watched him practically skip into the gymnasium. It took Tanaka’s disbelieving shouts to snap you out of your frozen stupor and you stared down at your hands in confusion.

What the hell just happened?

Mindlessly, you made your way to the front of the school where your bike was chained up so you could finally get home and relax. You spent the entire ride home in a numb state of disbelief that somehow, in less than an hour, you’d gone from refusing to admit you found Nishinoya even remotely cool to going on a date with him.

What kind of witchcraft had he pulled?

You assured yourself that it was just a date and nothing would come of it. So when you struggled with focusing on your homework that night because every few minutes your heart would do acrobatics at the idea of spending time alone with Nishinoya, you pretended it was just leftover embarrassment.

It also probably meant nothing that your face turned red when he texted you immediately after his practice with like ten smiley faces. And it definitely wasn’t a big deal that you giggled like an idiot while texting him until three in the morning about absolutely nothing. That was all just normal stuff that happened between normal people who had a normal non-romantic connection. No way had you actually fallen for Nishinoya.

You definitely weren’t in denial.

As you sat through a boring lesson the next day in class your eyes drifted, landing unsurprisingly on the boy taking up too much of your mental space. He was absentmindedly fiddling with his dyed strand of hair as he focused intently on the workbook on his desk. His tongue poked out in concentration as he repeatedly wrote and erased something on the same line in his notebook. You smiled fondly at the frustrated crease between his furrowed brow as he struggled to analyze that day’s literature passage.

Nishinoya must have felt you blatantly staring because he lifted his head confused before searching around the room and finally meeting your eyes dead on. You stared at each other briefly until he gave you a lopsided grin that sent your heart into a frenzy. You lifted your hand for a little wave and embarrassingly turned your attention back to your own schoolwork.

You rubbed your pencil’s eraser against one of your now pink cheeks.

Damn it… you thought, as you began underlining random sentences to appear busy. You really did like him. A small smile rested on your lips as your heart kept it’s irregular pattern. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing?

You snuck another peek and your smile fell when you saw him cross-eyed and balancing his pencil on his top lip. He’d apparently given up on attempting to do the assigned work for the day. You watched the pencil roll forward and he tried to catch it on his tongue before it clattered onto his desk, pulling everyone’s attention.

You groaned quietly and covered your face with your hands.

At least he was cute?