#just something i wanted to write today

[maximura]

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez story Part I | Part II | Part III | Park IV | Part V | Part VI (Words 1442, Warnings: swearing)

It’s dusk by the time most of Yunho’s friends have wished him a ‘Happy Birthday’ and headed off home. It left two figures alone near the corn fields, drinking what’s left of Hongjoong’s maize beer stash. 

Wooyoung is watching them through the back window, neither subtle or as hidden as he thinks he is. 

“Hongjoong, it’s The Guy!” 

“What guy?”

“The tall one Yunho has a crush on! The one who rides the motorbike!” Wooyoung hisses, beckoning his older brother over to spy on the scene unfolding in their backyard. “They’re talking!”

Hongjoong puts the rest of the dishes away before coming over to peer out the window. 

Sure enough, there was Yunho, sitting on one of the fence posts that surrounds the corn fields. He’s smiling and laughing at something a tall guy is saying. He looks happy. They’re a bit too far away to hear the whole conversation but even if they could, Hongjoong knows he should probably give his brother some privacy at a time like this. 

“Come on, leave him alone.” He says, dragging Wooyoung away by the scruff of his sweater. “Help me tidy the rest of this stuff.”

“What? No, wait!” Wooyoung protests, resisting the request by ducking out of his sweater entirely until Hongjoong is just holding the limp piece of clothing in his hand. 

“Wooyoung, stop watching them-“

“Oh no……he’s frowning, he looks sad, Hongjoong something’s wrong….”

It’s then that Hongjoong leans to look out the window again, curiosity getting the better of him. There’s a wide distance between Yunho and the other Guy now, and judging from the way Yunho is frowning and staring at the ground while the other Guy is awkwardly shuffling his feet, it wasn’t going well at all. 

“Do you think he got rejected?” Wooyoung asks, “Who does that? On a birthday?!”

Before Hongjoong can form an answer, the Guy is turning around to walk back into the house, no doubt to say his goodbyes. Wooyoung is yanked away from the window at the last minute and they both pretend to clean the kitchen table when the Guy shuffles in. 

“Um, thanks for inviting me, um Mr Kim, I’ll get going now.”

Hongjoong ignores the overly formal address and does his best to put on a polite civil face and ask if this punk ass kid who just broke his brother’s fragile heart would be okay to ride home. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. My new girlfriend would kill me if I drank too much anyway.”

Oh. 

It’s a pointed remark, too specific to be casual, but casual enough to masquerade as some kind of explanation without having to do any of the hard work. 

They wish him goodnight and thank him for coming to what would be a day that Yunho probably just wants to forget. 

As soon as the front door closes and they can hear a bike tear down the dirt track of their driveway, Wooyoung throws his tea towel down in defeat. 

“He’s going to hate us for throwing this party isn’t he?” The teenager asks miserably. “He didn’t even want to have it and now he’s sad. Should I go out there and cheer him up or something?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, planning to go comfort his brother himself, but before either of them could move, they notice there was still one more kid here. 

***

“Hey, you okay?”

Yunho is relieved when he recognises the voice and knows it isn’t attached to any harm but he just doesn’t want to talk. The heavy silence stretches on for too long and it's only out of courtesy that he finally makes a noise to acknowledge the question, stopping short of elaborating with an actual answer because he doesn’t have one. 

Wooyoung and Hongjoong had insisted on throwing him a small 18th birthday party at the house and spent the day rigging up fairy lights near the back cornfields. They told Yunho to invite his classmates and friends, and he did so obediently, but now he wishes he just said no like he had wanted to.

It wasn’t all bad, he got some cool gifts and it was nice to see his friends before they all parted ways on their journey into adulthood. Hongjoong had somehow gotten a crate of maize beer and their Uncles sent over vintage snacks that nobody had seen in about five years. 

As the sun set rusty orange and the music slowed down into something more comfortable, the initially chaos faded away into a mellow buzz. Or maybe that was just because most of the maize beer was gone by then. 

His place in the world was beautiful at that exact moment; warm and sugar cozy, surrounded by familiar friends, comfortable in his familiar environment with the reassuring rustle of corn stalks in the background. He could see his two brothers inside the kitchen, no doubt bickering about whether or not Wooyoung was allowed to drink any maize beer when it wasn’t even his birthday. 

Yunho could be forgiven for feeling optimistic and hopeful. 

A fool’s hope, it turned out to be. 

He had never been friends with Yugyeom. They weren’t even that close. But the tall classmate had helped Yunho in woodworking and home economics class enough times for a deep-seated-one-sided crush to develop. In hindsight the friendliness was just a misinterpretation after all. 

When all the other boys and girls started going on dates, he had wondered why he wasn’t doing the same. Rumours and gossip of who-was-dating-who barely registered on his radar, partly because he was busy grieving his parents, but mostly because he ate lunch with Mingi and Wooyoung most days, and those two nerds were always talking about anime and video games. 

Maybe if he had paid some attention, he’d have known that Yugyeom had a new girlfriend and maybe he would’ve stopped himself from asking and maybe he wouldn’t have completely humiliated himself at his own birthday party. 

But he did. 

It was small mercy by the grace of the Universe that no-one else was around to see it. 

But here he was again, in the exact same place with the same people. Somehow always feeling like an outsider looking at other people living the life he wishes he could live too. 

There’s a slight creak on the wooden fence post as another body sits down next to him, facing the other way, towards the vastness of the cornfield that seemed to stretch on forever in the evening dusk.

The sky was a deep blue now, it was still too hazy to see many stars yet and the thought makes Yunho feel lonelier than ever but at least the fairy lights were still on and provided just enough to illuminate the familiar angles of the presence beside him.

“You want to talk about it?”

Yunho shakes his head. “How much did you see?”

“Not much. I just came out to say goodnight but he was already talking to you and the next thing I know, he left and you’re still out here.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Okay.”

There’s a long pause where they just sit in silence. It's not completely uncomfortable but Yunho wishes the day would just end already.

“Since you’re already depressed, it won't matter if I make it worse right?”

“I guess...”

“Okay, so I found that limited edition Batman comic you wanted-“

"What-"

“-but your brother opened it by accident. So he already read it. Sorry.”

Maybe because his thoughts were shaken up so violently inside him, maybe because he was so confused by the emotional whiplash, maybe because he just doesn’t really give a shit anymore, maybe Wooyoung being a menace was so reassuring in its predictability that Yunho lets the laughter bubble out of him all ugly and loud and cathartic. 

The release felt good. 

“That little shit.”

“At least he had a good birthday, even if it was meant to be yours.” 

Yunho chuckles sadly. “One of us should have a good one I guess.”

There’s hesitation before he hears the clink of glass. “Well, you can still have a good one if you want. Do you know how hard it was to smuggle this past your brother?”

‘This’ turns out to be a small bottle of maize whiskey. Yunho stares at it in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you get this?”

“You really don’t wanna know.”

A gentle breeze ruffles by them and when Yunho finally looks up, for the first time since they started talking, Mingi is grinning mischievously at him, so bright and sparkling in energy, despite the blue darkness that surrounds them, that Yunho can’t help but smile back. 

"...thanks."

“Happy birthday, loser.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[khaire-traveler]

The gods breathe the air in our lungs. Their breath shakes the leaves in the trees and blows gently against our skin. Their touch is as light as the rays of the sun, and just as the sun, it can burn with too much force. We are fragile beings, and the gods know this. They treat us the tenderness of a shepherd to a newborn lamb.

[myokk]

clumsy🫶

[critterishere]

shout out to that au in my head where these two experience manmade horrors beyond their comprehension together 🗣

original image down here🏃

[technically-human]

So, @meraki-yao sent me a request today (thank you! I will work on it soon...ish) and I won't spoil what it is but it got me (and my girlfriend, because I showed her the request as I usually do) thinking and...

Edwin as Cinderella AU... Kind of

So I don't have a lot of details but the concept is basically one of Hell's tortures is just... Setting Edwin free for a few hours. Maybe he has to spend them at The Ball™ if we want to go the fairy tale route, maybe at St. Hilarions, the point is, he knows he has a limited amount of time because this is meant to be torture. Maybe it happens more than once.

He ends up finding Charles. They fall in love very quickly because this is a Cinderella AU, bla bla bla, come midnight, Edwin drops his map of Hell just like in the show and Charles goes after him, rescues him and they live happily ever after.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be torture at all. Maybe it was Death, or the Night Nurse, or someone trying to help, idk. But the possibilities.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

hey, here's a reminder that Foul Legacy loves you no matter what body type you have! personally he would be delighted if you were a little soft and squishy, it makes you that much better for hugging and snuggling with. no matter what you look like, he still adores everything about you, nuzzling his head into your stomach and purring; on bad days where you can't stand looking at yourself in the mirror, he scoops you into his arms and nudges his mouth delicately against your cheeks in his form of a kiss, occasionally giving you single cheeky licks.

Foul Legacy loves you, no matter what <3

[stunie]

it’s so easy to forget that you can literally write whatever you want

[crybaby-bkg]

Gojo is cruel in the way of liking when you shake when he’s finished with you. after the first time you shook all over when he made you cum, he’s made it a personal mission to have you trembling for him every single time, and today is no different.

“Aww, just one more for me, please?” He asks you, voice condescendingly sweet, whispered into the shell of your ear. but your head is fuzzy, filled only with static, with overwhelming pleasure taking over your entire form. he’s three fingers deep inside of you, crooking them over and over again until your knees tremble.

“I-I can’t,” you swallow, eyes clenched shut. your head is thrown back into the pillows, mouth dropped open in a silent gasp when he starts rubbing against that sweet little spot inside of you. “Not again, no more.”

“But it’s my birthday.” Gojo pouts before he grins, wide and evil. He’s got this glint in his eye that tells you that one more will never be enough, not until he has you shaking again. he hovers over you, his back hunched, glasses thrown somewhere on the floor, his eyes rounded and lit aflame.

“You said you’d get me anything I wanted for my birthday. And all I want is this.” he emphasizes the last word with another crook, another incessant press of his fingers inside of you. you can’t even warn him that you’re coming again when it floods you, entire body trembling as salty tears leak from your clenched eyes. your mouth drops open, a cry tearing out, your hands scratching burning lines down his shoulders and biceps.

“How many more until you’ve reached 34?” he asks once you’ve finally come down, head lolled to the side on his pillow, dazed. you side eye him, swallowing thickly as you think back on the agreement earlier. he makes you shake until he’s reached his age, only agreed to let up if you become too overwhelmed. but you swallow once again, lazily turning to look at him as you paw at his shoulders, bringing him down for a kiss.

“We’re only halfway there, I think. Lost count.” you whisper, breathy, pecking him once, twice, until you’ve lost count. Gojo pulls away when he feels you start to clench around his fingers again, smiling softly at you.

“We’ve got the rest of the day ahead of us. I think we can make it, don’t you?” he asks with a tilt of his head, grin devilish. you wanna protest, tell him that you’re through for the day. but he rests the heavy weight of his still confined cock against your leg, makes you feel how it throbs and pulses when it touches you. you don’t say anything, only nod slowly, pulling him down for more.

“That’s my baby.”

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday/wip wednesday

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 - tagging y'all back for wip wednesday 💖💖

doing two in one bc it's technically wednesday already idc lol - started a new wip I mentioned before (inspired by this video lol) and rn I'm rewriting what I wrote yesterday bc the past two days words were not wording and I hated everything I wrote, but I think I'm happy with it now haha I hope I'll manage to write it like I want to bc it's sooo good in my head istg haha

(wasn't gonna post until i have more but i need validation before i drive myself crazy over this lol)

___

It started as a random idea, more like a throwaway thought, really. Tommy was just checking the weather for the next few days – his hot pilot boyfriend always likes to be prepared – while they were hanging out, and he casually mentioned that “it’s gonna be nice on Saturday, perfect barbecue weather,” which got Buck to mention how they often have family barbecues at Bobby and Athena’s. Somehow, the conversation spiraled, and Buck’s not sure who threw out a more concrete idea, but here they are now, standing side by side in Tommy’s kitchen, preparing food – Buck’s currently slicing veggies for a salad, while Tommy takes care of the meat – for the barbecue where they invited way too many people than Tommy’s backyard can probably fit. It really is nice weather, the sliding door leading from the kitchen to the backyard open and letting in warm sunshine and a soft breeze that makes the air feel cooler. They work in pleasant silence, the only sound is quiet music playing from the speaker, and Buck can’t help a fond smile when he hears his boyfriend hum along, so off-key Buck’s not sure he even knows the song, but it’s still adorable.

The silence is disrupted by the doorbell ringing, and before Tommy can even move, Buck is dropping the knife on the cutting board, wiping his hands, and sprinting towards the door, shouting an “I got it!” over his shoulder. He’s followed by an echo of Tommy’s fondly amused chuckles. So he’s a little excited, sue him – they haven’t had a family day like this in a while, and there was only one he brought Tommy to, all of their schedules not so easy to align. And today his whole family will be here, including their spouses and children, and Tommy invited a couple of his friends and their families, too, and it’ll be just a big, loud, chaotic get-together that he’s hosting with his boyfriend. Buck never hosted one of these before, and he’s really enjoying it so far, and he just wants everyone to have fun.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck

@eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life

@diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway

@spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck

@sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings

@buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend

@daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[anonymous-dentist]

Five weeks out of prison, and Cellbit is buying his sick son cough medicine from the haunted convenience store down the block. It's late at night- too late at night, probably, so it's just him and the two employees and an old lady in an old fur coat...

"I said, put your fucking hands in the air!"

...and the guy in the giant moth fursuit robbing the store.

The girl behind the counter chews her gum and slowly, boredly, raises her hands. The other employee has his AirPods in and either can't hear the villain or doesn't care. The old woman is deaf. And Cellbit... well.

Cellbit picks up a bottle of NyQuil and adds it to his basket. The villain hasn't noticed him yet, so he doesn't have anything to worry about.

Tonight's villain is a low-rank street thug going by 'Moth Man'. He can fly, but only at night, and he sounds like he smokes eight packs of cigarettes a day.

Spiders, Cellbit hears as he sneaks to the next aisle over. It makes sense. Moths, spiders, they aren't exactly friends in the wild.

Of course, Cellbit considers as he picks up a box of tissues and silently slips it in next to the medicine, Moth Man could be scared of a different spider. The different spider.

He watches, mostly unconcerned, as Moth Man waves his Moth Gun in the clerk's face.

"Check it out, guys," he sleezes, leaning in close and shoving his phone right next to the gun's barrel. "She's totally freaked right now."

Moth Man is also a vlogger. More specifically: he's a TikTok streamer, and he's a pretty popular one, too. Honestly, Cellbit's surprised that the Federation hasn't shut his account down yet. (But, really, that would require them actually doing something fucking useful for once.)

Censors, Cellbit hears, and that one makes a bit more sense. He grabs a big bottle of hand sanitizer and adds it to the basket. Algorithm failure, face reveal, doxxing, spiderspiderspiderspiders.

"Absolutely terrified," the clerk unconvincingly says. "Do you want me to empty the register out, or what?"

Dogs, Cellbit hears from her. Needles, knives.

Moth Man's cheap plastic antennae flop embarrassingly as he nods, all fake enthusiasm. He looks down at his phone and thanks someone for the donation, another for a rose.

"No, it's real," he tells his chat. "See?"

He raises his gun to the ceiling, and he fires.

Cellbit jumps, nearly dropping his basket. He swears under his breath and kinda maybe hopes that Moth Man doesn't have super hearing, too, because he needs to get home. His son is sick, he doesn't have time for wannabe-villains in cheap costumes.

Horrible costumes.

Moth Man's felt wings flutter behind him as he lowers his gun and points it back at the shaken clerk.

"See?" he sneers. "Now give me the money."

Terrible costumes.

Honestly, villains these days are just kind of stupid. Where's the anonymity when everyone knows your shadow? How are you supposed to sneak around causing problems and slitting throats when you have giant neon green felt moth wings sticking three feet out of you? And those goggles had better be night vision, or poor Moth Man is going to walk face-first into a lamppost the second he leaves the store.

Cellbit shakes his head and goes to find the soup. Back in his day...

"I was!" the clerk shouts. "Here!"

She opens the register, and then two things happen in quick succession:

1. Cellbit picks up a can of chicken noodle soup. He's not a huge fan himself, but Forever swears by it, and Richarlyson's cold is bad enough that Cellbit's willing to try anything. (He's only had this kid for five weeks, but he thinks he'd kill for him, and that's saying something.)

2. A brilliant flash of red and blue crashes through the store's front display window with a whoop.

Spiders! Cellbit hears. He smiles despite himself, licks his lips just briefly before catching himself and biting his tongue back into his mouth.

Spider-Man's poses are maybe one of the more badass things about him. He lands on the counter in a classic pose, crouched with one hand flat on the counter and the other pointed directly at Moth Man's face. His forehead is pressed against the gun's end, and he's probably smiling under his mask, the freak.

"S-Spider-Man!" Moth Man squeaks. "What are you doing here?"

Spider-Man tilts his head. "Uuuuuh, kicking your ass?"

And then he punches the fucker right in the nose.

Moth Man skitters backwards, crashing into a rack of newspapers. His finger slips and he fires his gun right into the register, sending the clerk screaming onto the floor. Good, she doesn't need to be involved.

"What the fuck what the fuck-" Moth Man breathes.

He jumps to his feet and points his phone's camera at Spider-Man, who doesn't so much as give him enough time to start narrating before slinging a web and stealing the phone right out of his hand.

Silently, Cellbit slips his own phone out of his pocket and starts recording. Just for himself, really. He'll add it to the Google Doc later.

Spider-Man turns Moth Man's phone over in his hands thoughtfully.

"Dude, is this an iPhone?" he asks. "Since when do you have iPhone money?"

"Fuck you, I have money!"

He fires his gun again, this time on purpose. Spider-Man easily dodges the bullet, not even looking up from the phone's web-covered screen.

"With that costume?" Spider-Man snorts and shakes his head. "No way, man."

"My costume is awesome!" Moth Man snaps. "Fuck you! Die, Spider-Man!"

He's terrified, Cellbit can smell the fear coming off of him in waves. It's sour and black and foul and gut-turning, but it could be stronger. This guy might be dumb, but he's also too stupid to realize he's in a fight he can't win. It's embarrassing.

But, really, it's none of Cellbit's business. He's just gonna sneak out as soon as he-

A screeching Moth Man flies past him, his bare hand grazing Cellbit's nose, crashing into the back row of freezers. Cellbit flinches back a step, fumbling with his phone. He gets it level just as Spider-Man pounces on the villain from above with a happy little cheer.

Inexplicably, Moth Man screams and curls into himself, dropping his gun and cowering and muttering to himself.

Whoops.

Spider-Man stands above him mid-kick, confused.

"Dude," says Spider-Man, "what the hell is wrong with you? Come on, get up!"

Cellbit starts sneaking his way out, slipping away as Spider-Man tries getting Moth Man to get up and finish their battle properly.

None of his business, he tells himself. It's none of his business. He got his footage, it's none of his business. One step at a time, tonight is not the night for an interview. He has a sick son to take care of. Investigating can wait.

...He stops in the doorway to take one last video, this one of Spider-Man chasing the poor terrified Moth Man around the store practically begging for him to stop being weird, what kind of fight is this supposed to be?

Camera off, slip out onto the streets and start the trip back home.

Forever's gonna be pissed about the shoplifting, but at least it isn't murder anymore. Cellbit is trying to set a good example.

-

Based off of THIS AU

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Calling all enjoyers of the OrangeJuiceVerse and teenage shenanigans!

That’s right, it’s time for another episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE, and this one is SO self indulgent like I know that’s the purpose of this series, just self indulgent orange flavored bonus content, but this one, mannnnn.

Essentially (PCE stfu about OJV Kyle’s bad knee), I was thinking about how i really didn’t let my annoying ass get into the gang as 15 year olds very much post A Fall In The Springtime. So I wanted to explore that dynamic a little more, featuring stupid fights, getting scolded by your parents, Kyle being an angry little fucker, and the way one person in a friend group getting sick means everyone’s getting the plague lmao. Set a couple days after AFITS, here’s

•Fuck It, We Ball•

Stan sighed as he approached the bus stop, Cartman and Kyle already engrossed in whatever they were arguing about now. And so it begins.

He planted himself at Kenny’s side, kicking at the slush that had refrozen with the temperature dropping again over the last few days. Damn March and its unpredictability. “Dude, how do they have the energy for this at seven in the morning?”

“Oh, you know how these two get when they’re bored,” Kenny said nonchalantly. “Probably why Ky suggested takin’ the bus today.”

That made sense. While Stan and the others had taken to making their own ways to school being sophomores, carpooling and the like for the most part, occasionally they’d all load up on the bus for nostalgia’s sake on days nobody had to stay late for extracurriculars. Kyle had been leading the charge in that the past couple weeks, bored being out of basketball and irritable while his knee healed. It honestly wasn’t surprising that he’d find excitement in the childhood routine of debating Cartman, and Cartman just liked to rile Kyle up in general, not that it was hard these days. Stan had laughed his ass off just the other day at his boyfriend’s claim that he was “drowning in ennui”. Dramatic, but warranted.

“IT WAS STUPID WHEN WE WERE NINE, AND IT’S MORE RIDICULOUS NOW!” Stan’s attention was drawn to his boyfriend’s shrill screeching. “BEING GINGER IS NOT LIKE BEING A VAMPIRE!”

Cartman was grinning in a very self satisfied way. “You burn in the sun, you’re creepy, you suck souls…”

“YOU’RE SO GODDAMN STUPID!!!”

Kyle, directly ensnared in their friend’s trap, moved to swing at him with a crutch, but overshot and was slipping forward, slamming into the ground with a loud “FUCK!”

Stan, Kenny, and even Cartman froze, eyes wide and speechless because Kyle was already hurt; slipping on the ice like that had no doubt made it worse. Kyle curled into the fetal position, clutching his bad knee and cursing up a storm. Stan ran to him in an instant.

“Dude, shit, okay, okay. Fuck, did you hit it?”

“What the HELL do you think,” Kyle hissed, writhing a little in the snow. He’d only recently been able to bend his knee semi-normally again, only with support, and here he was holding it to his chest in a way that definitely couldn’t be comfortable.

“S-Stan, I… GOD, FUCK YOU CARTMAN!!!”

That back and forth was always a good indicator of Kyle’s level of aggravation. He was extremely quick when he was upset enough. Less aggressive on his own, Stan jumped to his partner’s defense without hesitation.

“Why the shit would you work him up like that, huh?!?” Stan demanded, taking their obnoxious friend by the collar of his coat. He gave him a shake, not enough to actually hurt, but Cartman still whined like a pitiful little creature. “He can’t fight anyone yet! He can’t even stand!”

Kyle dragged himself a little down the ice. “I can buttfucking stand! Dramaticfuckass-“

He crumpled under the weight of his own body. Stan caught his neck before his head could whack the ice. “Dude!”

“I’m going to obliterate you,” Kyle warned.

Stan wanted to roll his eyes, but didn’t dare. Instead, he gently scooped Kyle into his arms, relieved when he felt wiry arms latch instinctually around his neck. He turned to the other two as he rose. “Grab his shit.”

Thankfully, Kyle’s house was the closest to the bus stop, and under the rapid pounding of his own heart, Stan could hear Kyle’s pissed off mumbling and sporadic whimpers of pain.

“I’m trying to be careful, dude,” he promised. “I know it’s still hurting.”

“Yeah, because some FAT ASSHOLE made me FALL!” Kyle seethed in Cartman’s direction.

“Ay! You’re the one who was trying to hit me, JewBot!”

Stan spun around to shoot Cartman a glare. “You started it and you know it, fuckknob. Give the backpack to Kenny and fuck off to school if you’re gonna keep causing problems.”

Cartman snorted. “I would, but Kahl’s bitch mom is going to pitch a fit and I happen to find that shit funny, obviously.”

“DON’T CALL MY MOM A BITCH!”

Ohhhh boy. It was definitely too early for all this. Kenny bounded up to the porch, using Kyle’s crutches to knock on the front door. “Guys, tone it down,” he advised before turning the knob. Nobody really locked their doors around here, and they all knew it.

“Yo, Mrs B!” Kenny announced their presence as the boys filed into the foyer.

Only Kyle’s mom would be home around this time, Stan knew. Ike usually rode to his early college high school program with their dad, since it was closer to Gerald’s firm. Sheila tended to fill her days with community meetings and clubs and volunteer work, but she usually stuck around the house until the rest of the family was safely at school and work, ruling the group chat with an iron fist. A veritable lioness when it came to her boys, that one.

Which was why her alarmed gasp upon seeing her eldest son glowering in Stan’s arms wasn’t surprising in the slightest.

“Kyle! Boys! What on earth happened?!”

“He slipped on the ice,” Stan explained, gingerly easing him down onto the couch. “Bashed his knee pretty good.”

Sheila let out a “WHAT?!?”, and Kyle groaned, clearly already done with his mother. “Ma, please don’t freak out. I just need to put it up a few hours or whatever, it’s fine.”

She planted her hands on her hips and stared each of the boys down like only a mother could. Cartman actually cowered a little, avoiding eye contact.

“And just how did you fall, huh, bubbeh?” She demanded of her son. “I thought I told you to be careful.”

Stan hated having to do damage control, but Sheila trusted him, so he was probably the best bet at the guys avoiding too much trouble. “He and Cartman were just arguing. You know how carried away they can get.”

“Don’t look at me, Mrs Broflovski,” Cartman said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Kahl tried to whack me! It’s not my fault his little bird bones gave out.”

“SHUT UP CARTMAN!”

“Kyle!” Sheila scolded. “Inside voices! And how many times do I have to tell you boys not to roughhouse when it’s slippery outside?”

All four of them mumbled varying apologies, even though he and Kenny hadn’t been involved. Kyle’s mom kept raving.

“And here I was about to head out the door! Oy, I’ll have to tell the book club ladies I won’t make it to brunch, and goodness! The PTA meeting will need to be rescheduled, and I suppose I’ll have to put out a grocery order for delivery and miss the deals I’d get going myself-“

“Ma,” Kyle interrupted, even more overwhelmed than he had been. “You don’t need to change your plans or anything. I know you have a full day.”

“You can’t just stay home alone! What if you’ve hurt your knee worse?!”

Stan could tell his boyfriend wanted to roll his eyes. “It really isn’t a big deal, okay? And I’m not alone. The guys can help me if I need anything.”

Kenny had already taken to removing Kyle’s hat for him and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Yeah, we got ‘im, scout’s honor.”

“The hippie would probably stay anyway,” Cartman pointed out. He had migrated to the kitchen and was rifling through the freezer, hopefully for an ice pack and not to raid the snacks.

Well, as much as Cartman was a dick, he wasn’t wrong. Stan had no intention of leaving Kyle’s side.

Kyle’s mom pursed her lips and checked her watch. Stan could practically see her internal conflict: would she deviate from her carefully curated schedule to stay home and smother her son, or would she let four teenage boys skip school and hang out in her living room? He turned on his best “charming and trustworthy” face; he usually had good luck with adults.

Sheila sighed, and Stan felt disproportionately victorious. The woman was even more expressive than Kyle was. Clearly, the gang was about to get a day off class with no grown up supervision. Yes!

“Fine,” she relented. “But only because I’m already running late. I’ll see if I can get all four of you an excused absence.”

That definitely wasn’t going to be an issue. Principal Charles would just love the idea of them practicing “wholesome male friendship and emotional support” and all that. If that wasn’t the conclusion the principal came to on his own, Cartman was a master manipulator and could talk himself, and the rest of them by extension, out of trouble.

Sheila grabbed her purse and bent down to kiss her son’s forehead, leaving a lipstick mark. “You’re a little warm, Kyle, do you feel-“

“Ma, I was wearing a hat,” Kyle groaned. “Please give the worrying a rest.”

“Fine, fine,” she clucked, shaking her head. “You boys just behave, do you hear me? And Stanley, you call me if I need to come home.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When the door shut behind her, Kyle groaned yet again, dramatically throwing his arms over his eyes. “I swear to God, she’s gonna be fussing over me like I’m a kid until the end of time.”

“Totally weak,” Cartman agreed.

“She just gets concerned about you,” Kenny reminded him. “I mean, it’s not like she doesn’t have a reason.”

Stan almost expected Kyle to fly into a rage at that, but he just sighed. “Can’t wait to be done with the goddamn crutches so she can chill the fuck out.”

Yeah, Sheila Broflovski ever chilling the fuck out was probably about as likely as Randy sobering up. Not gonna happen. And Kyle had gotten more than just the hair, nose, and height from his mother; he’d also gotten her temper, so Stan chose to let him believe she’d let up once he could walk.

“Ha! That’ll be the day,” Cartman laughed as he turned away from the freezer, ice pack in one hand and a popsicle in the other.

Stan caught the pack easily when it was tossed his way, ignoring their resident troublemaker in favor of getting his super best boyfriend’s leg elevated better. “This okay, baby?”

“Yeah, it-“ Kyle cut off with a wince. “Doesn’t hurt as bad as it did at first.”

“Still hurts, though?”

“I mean, it never really stopped hurting,” Kyle said with a shrug. “Not all the way.”

Stan had done his research after his partner first messed up his leg. What the basketball coach guessed was a sprain turned out to be a hyperextended knee and partial meniscus tear, straining the outside ligament and everything. Not an injury that required surgery, since Kyle was young and relatively healthy, but he wasn’t supposed to put any weight on it at all for a full month, was supposed to be taking anti inflammatories and painkillers. Kyle tried to downplay it, sick of being out of commission, but Stan maintained that it caused him more trouble than he admitted.

Kenny hopped up from where he’d been perched on the arm of the couch. “Where’s your drugs? I gotcha.”

“I don’t need-“

“Nightstand,” Stan interrupted. Kyle wasn’t about to weasel his way out of medication. Kenny bounded up the stairs as Kyle angrily unzipped his coat and threw it in the general direction of the jacket hooks.

“Dude, I don’t want the fucking painkillers.”

Cartman snorted from his position on the floor, where he’d claimed control of the remote and was looking for trashy reality tv. “You’ve been on crutches for weeks and you still can’t walk, you dumb bitch. Take the goddamn pills if you hurt. That’s like, common sense.”

“You wouldn’t know common sense if it bit you in the fat ass.”

As much as Stan hated to agree with Cartman, he did have a point. “Kyle, please don’t be difficult about this. We’re just trying to help.”

Kyle scowled and crossed his arms. “You can help by getting off my case. I swear, you guys are as bad as my mother.”

“No can do, firefox,” Kenny re entered the living room, holding the orange vial of painkillers aloft. “Consider us on your case like white on rice. This bottle should not still be this full.”

“Let me see that.” Stan confirmed that it was pretty obvious that Kyle had been slacking on the meds. “Dude, c’mon. Have you not been taking these?”

“I took them “as directed” or whatever the first week,” Kyle protested. “I don’t like how they make me all foggy and tired!”

Stan fought the urge to groan. “Baby, you’re literally in pain. Your leg’s gonna hurt if you don’t treat the symptoms.” He didn’t add that the fact that Kyle had been hurting and doing nothing about it had definitely played in to his irritability. He knelt down and took Kyle’s hand. “Will you just take one? For me? Your pain is my pain.”

Cartman mimed throwing up. “Jesus Christ, you fucking simp! What is this, a shitty fanfiction?!”

“SHUT UP, CARTMAN,” Kyle snapped. Then his eyes met Stan’s, and his anger dissipated some. “Damnit, Staniel. Don’t give me the face! You look like a sad puppy and- ugh, fucking fine, but if anyone draws dicks on my face while I’m taking a damn high ass nap, I’m kicking the ass of everyone in this room.”

A threat not to be taken lightly, even with Kyle’s current physical limitations. Small, injured, about to nod off from the pill he’d swallowed while he was talking, but vicious.

“No dicks, promise,” Kenny said with a hand over his heart.

“Yeah, we all know the only dick you want on your face is Stan’s-“ Cartman was cut off by a throw pillow flung in his direction. “Fine! Geez, I won’t fuck with you.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Stan offered.

Cartman rolled his eyes and went back to flipping through daytime television. “I hate your gay ass, I’m so seriously.”

———

There was only so much Real Housewives the boys could take before it got old. And Stan really didn’t give a shit what the Kardashians were up to. Even Cartman had gotten restless after a few hours, corralling Kenny out the back door to throw chunks of ice against the fence.

Kyle was still sleeping through all of it, though his sleep looked far from peaceful. Kyle didn’t usually sleep well in general, and lying in an uncomfortable position on the couch with his face tight even in sleep, he looked to be struggling. Nightmares, probably, made even weirder than normal by the drugs making him sleep harder than he usually did.

Stan didn’t have the heart to wake him up, instead just in his lookout post on the floor next to the couch. He switched the channel to National Geographic and turned the sound off, letting his head fall back next to his boyfriend’s.

He couldn’t have been asleep long, before being jolted awake by a thump and a muttered “god damnit”.

Adjusting to the dim light of the living room, Stan landed on Kyle, who had apparently walked into the doorframe in his post nap confusion. He was immediately up and darting his way.

“Dude, you’re supposed to be using your crutches! Where’re you going?”

Kyle grumbled and rubbed at his leg. “I’m running the Boston Marathon, what does it look like? I’m on a piss quest, Stanathan.”

Stan swung an arm around him for support, helping him hobble down the hall. “For fucks sake, Ky, you’re gonna hurt yourself walking around like this.”

“Didn’t think about it,” Kyle argued. “I told you the pills make me all groggy.”

They stopped at the bathroom. “Can you make it?”

Kyle hopped through and shut the door. “I’m not helpless.”

Stan leaned against the wall, trying not to laugh at the frustrated look he’d flashed. “You have a good nap, at least?”

“Had a dream I was in a wheat field.”

“A wheat field?”

“Yeah.” He heard the toilet flush and the faucet start up. “We were trying to invade a kingdom of giants with a marching band. And then I was in my car and all the tires exploded. Pedro Pascal was there.”

Steadying his boyfriend on his way back into the hall, Stan chuckled. “The Mandolorian slashed your tires?”

“Apparently.”

Heat was radiating from Kyle like a furnace. Not that he didn’t usually run warm, especially when he slept, but even Sheila had noticed earlier. Stan helped him down onto the couch and rested the back of his hand on Kyle’s face, checking for fever.

“Dude, do you feel okay? You look kinda pale, and you’re hot.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Jesus, not you too. I’m fine. I can’t be sick on top of everything else, you just worry too much.”

That wasn’t how it worked, but okay. Kenny and Cartman came barging in the kitchen door, shaking ice from their shoes in a haphazard way that a certain matriarch wouldn’t appreciate.

“I need some fucking hot chocolate!” Cartman declared, Kenny letting out a muffled agreement through his scarf before unwinding it.

“Guys,” Stan started, “have you been sick at all the past week? Like, fever, dizziness, anything?”

Kenny shrugged. “I had the sniffles a couple days ago, that’s it.”

“I don’t get sick,” Cartman insisted. “My immune system is superior. Oh, lame, you guys! Is Kahl infected with some disease now too? I mean, more than just his default.”

Kyle moaned dramatically. “Please cut it out. I’m tired, assholes.”

Stan ignored him, at least until he had a chance to check for certain. “Ken, will you get the thermometer? Under the kitchen sink. I think I might’ve given you guys that cold I had over the weekend.”

“You got over that in like, two days,” Kyle pointed out.

“That was me. This is you. And if you’ll recall, I almost cracked my head open in your bedroom,” Stan reminded him.

“Because you’re a dick who tried to ignore it.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

Kyle opened his mouth to make some remark, and Kenny took the opportunity to shove the thermometer under his tongue. Kyle glared but didn’t yank it out, probably hoping to prove them all wrong.

“Ha!” Cartman was at least a little amused reading the screen. “Of course you’re sick. What, can’t handle a little seasonal bug like the rest of us?”

Moving to lunge off the couch, Kyle swung, not missing this time, but falling to the floor nonetheless. Cartman wailed like he’d just been stabbed.

“Did- did you guys see that?! Kahl totally got me in the eye! Oh, god, I’m blind! I’m suing your crippled ass!”

“Knock it off, Fatboy, you’re fine,” Kenny said tiredly. “Kyley, I think we should get you up to bed and call your mom.”

Stan was inclined to agree, not just because Kyle was definitely running a temperature now, but also because he’d just fallen for the second time in the span of a few hours, and there was no way even Kyle could deny how much that had to hurt. He scooted the coffee table out of the way to help him up.

“Okay, use the good side, I’ve got you.”

Kyle had gotten pretty graceful at using the pistol squat method to get up without putting weight on his bad knee over the past few weeks. He’d always been deceptively strong, even like now when he was sick and drawn, and Stan was just kind of there just in case he faltered.

“Don’t call my mom,” he pleaded. “It’s just a little fever. I can probably sleep it off.”

Well, considering his ridiculous stubbornness, Kyle could probably argue that illness going around right out of his body. “You can try, dude, but Sheila’s gonna be pissed I didn’t tell her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Kyle mumbled, accepting his crutches and letting Kenny and Stan accompany him to the stairs. “Will you guys stay?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Even Cartman?”

“Pshh, like I wanna stick around for the jew to get pissed off and try to kill me again.”

The guys knew Cartman well enough to know that was just his way of saying he didn’t want to be the reason Kyle got carried away and hurt himself, but they didn’t point that out.

“Then fuck off, fatass. Go manipulate the FBI or whatever you get up to,” Kyle said with another eyeroll.

Cartman snorted. “Eh, it’s still pretty early. Maybe I’ll start a cult or something.” He grinned mischievously. “See you assholes.”

Kenny flipped on the hall light. “I wonder what it is that he actually does in his spare time.”

“Something stupid or illegal.” Kyle groaned as he was helped into bed. “Or both.”

That sounded about right. Stan settled under the blankets next to him, Kenny having procured the cold meds still in the drawer from Stan having been sick. Stan read the pack carefully before handing Kyle a few capsules. “Here, dude. It’s the daytime shit. No acetaminophen or any of the crap that’ll fuck with your other drugs.”

“Thanks.”

Kyles massive “Ass Pro Shops” tumbler, a Kenny McCormick creation that was forever stationed on Kyle’s nightstand with its blue silicone straw, washed down the medicine before Kyle lied back with a sigh. He was clearly still in pain, and now feverish to top it off. “Have I mentioned yet that I’m really fucking annoyed?”

Kenny snorted, casually shooting the mini basketball into the hoop mounted on the closet door. “Darlin’, you’ve made that pretty clear.”

Stan wrapped him up in his arms, carefully, like his boyfriend might attack like a wounded animal. And here we see an injured fox, in his burrow, directly after fighting off the raccoon. He has allowed the continued company of the bear and the opossum, who continue to aid in his recovery. The rabbit often accompanies this ragtag group, though she would likely be unwilling to leave school, fearing both the agitated fox’s anger and a potential to be grounded.

Laughing at his mental nature documentary comparison was probably not in his best interest, lest Kyle assume he was being made fun of, so Stan just kissed his boyfriend’s flushed cheek. “You gonna be able to fall asleep again?”

Kyle snuggled closer. “Mm, if you keep holding me like this.”

Stan knew both he and Kenny would have to leave his side eventually. Kenny had basketball practice and Stan had off season football conditioning. He could get out of classes today, sure, but coach wasn’t about to ease up on him, not with Stan set to play first string in the fall. If South Park had one thing (other than cattle) to be proud of, it was high school sports.

Still, he’d savor this moment, getting to take care of him with Kenny for backup, and he’d probably cave and stay if Kyle asked.

———

The alarm clock on the nightstand flashed that it was almost three when Sheila poked her head in to whisper (or her version of it, at least), “boys!”

Uncharacteristically, Stan was the first to wake, followed by Kenny, who had curled up at the foot of the bed like a pet, while Kyle only moaned and rolled over.

“Yes ma’am?” Stan mumbled, rubbing his eyes and disoriented from their nap.

The matriarch planted her hands on her hips, one auburn brow arched in concern. “Is everything alright? Eric already left?”

“Mhm. A while ago. He went because he was making Ky mad again and they were trying to fight and we all didn’t want him to hurt himself more. It was Cartman’s decision.” Stan didn’t know why he was defending the dickhole who liked to mess with his favorite person. Maybe because Cartman had recently shown a few redeeming qualities, plus Stan felt bad in general about giving the guys his cold. “Kyle, he didn’t want us to call you, but he’s running a bit of a fever. Or, he was a few hours ago. We got some medicine in him, so hopefully it’s down.”

“WHAT WHAT WHAT?!”

Kyle sat up quickly, squeaking a little in his confusion. “Ma, what’s going on? Why are you freaking out?”

She rushed over, immediately all over her son. “Oh, I knew it! I knew you were warm this morning! Call it a motha’s intuition, but I knew you’d caught what’s going around that school of yours!”

“He’s okay, Mrs. B,” Kenny cut in. “Stanny and I both got over it quick, and Cartman definitely had it but didn’t even complain, and you know how he is.”

Sheila sighed, hands still on the face of an absolutely peeved Kyle. “Oh, I suppose. I just, I worry! About all of you! And my poor baby is already hurt, I can’t imagine how miserable it must be-“

“Ma, please. I’m okay. Just let me go back to sleep.”

Turning to the other two, who had gotten up and were standing attentively like seven year olds in trouble, she offered a motherly smile. “Why don’t the two of you go down and make yourselves a snack?” She suggested. “You have to leave for your sports soon, right? Can’t go on an empty stomach!”

Kenny opened his mouth to protest, but Stan knew how Sheila’s mind operated. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, especially while she had already blustered into full caretaking mode at the mention of her child under the weather. She’d do that for all five of them, yeah, but as much as Kyle would kick his ass if he said it, Kyle had always been more prone to physical problems than the rest.

“Will do. Ken, sandwiches real quick and we head to the school?”

“Works for me, brother. Thank you, Mrs B.”

Sheila smiled tensely, trying to force feed Kyle the lukewarm water at his bedside. Stan reached around her to squeeze his hand. “Okay, dude?”

“I’m okay. Little plague and a fucked up leg can’t take me out.”

“Kyle, language!”

Stan had to laugh. “We left the thermometer downstairs,” he offered. “If you want to check again. We’ll be outa here in a sec.” He kissed the back of Kyle’s hand, noticing how glassy his eyes were, all the brighter in their fever flush. “Can I come check on you after?” He was asking both Kyle and his mother.

They answered in unison, which made Kenny laugh. “Aight, loverboy, let’s feed us so we don’t die during suicides.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them when they made it down the stairs into the kitchen. “Dude, I really hate the idea of leaving him alone.”

Kenny retrieved sandwich supplies eagerly from the fridge and cabinets. They all knew where everything was kept in each other’s houses.

“He’s not alone. Got his mama, and you know she’s leaping at the chance. Where do ya think Ky gets it?”

True. Both Kyle and Sheila shared that overbearing motherly quality. They thrived on caring for people.

Problem was, Kyle was a godawful patient, and Stan liked to coddle him in spite of the protests.

“Make me a pb&j, will you?” He asked Kenny. “I’m gonna heat up some soup for Ky. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, if he did have that.”

“He’s gonna get annoyed,” Kenny pointed out.

That was true, but still. “Dude, my boyfriend is hurt, sick, stubborn as fuck, and diabetic. I’m not letting his levels get messed up.”

Kenny laughed. “Just marry him already. You’d make a great overprotective husband.”

“Sick, man, we’re kids!”

“That has nothing to do with what I just said. I’m talkin’ future shit.”

Stan dumped a can of chicken noodle into the pot he’s grabbed. “You deadass said “already”. We’re sixteen and fifteen.”

“You’re still gonna be a good husband one day.” Kenny was building sandwiches, didn’t look up. “We call him a mom, but you’re absolutely the type of dad to be waiting on the porch with a shotgun if your daughter brings home a date. Not that your pacifistic ass would use it.”

That was true, guns were not his favorite. “Ken, knock it off.” He checked on the time. “Hey, drink some water. We should head out as soon as we eat.”

Canned soup was easy and quick enough to heat up, and Stan had it poured into a bowl with a few crackers on the side by the time Kenny had gotten sandwiches and drinks set up on the bar. “Gonna take this up to Ky, be right back.”

“Leaning into that knight in shining armor complex pretty hard today, huh?”

Stan flipped him off over his shoulder.

In Kyle’s room, Shiela was humming at a low volume, fussing with the covers and the washcloth she’d laid on his forehead. Kyle saw him first.

“Dudeeee,” he complained. “Tell Ma I’m okay and she doesn’t need to smother me.”

Laughing and setting the soup on the table, Stan leaned over to run his fingers through Kyle’s hair. “Sorry, but I’m on her side, dude.” He gave Sheila a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I just, he was already getting pretty good rest and I didn’t want to rile him up-“

“Oh, believe me,” she said pointedly. “I know he’d have only worked himself up.”

“I’m right here!”

“See what I mean?” Sheila put on her all business face. “Bubbeh, Stanley and Kenny have to leave soon for practice.”

Kyle looked positively betrayed. “Dude, you’re actually leaving me?”

“You need more rest, baby. I can maybe come back and visit after conditioning?” Yeah, right. More than likely, his mom would veto any more company until Kyle was over the fever. “You need to eat and keep taking it easy.”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle grumbled sarcastically.

Stan suppressed another laugh and kissed the back of his hand again before turning to Sheila. “We’ll be out the door in a few minutes. I’ll ask before coming after.”

She nodded. “I think that would be best. Thank you for helping out today, Stan.”

“Definitely, dude.” Then he froze. He called his own mother dude, but he had never called Kyle’s mom that. Thankfully, she smiled fondly.

“You boys just put your dishes in the sink when you’re done. Have a good practice.”

Stan grinned and kissed Kyle again before heading back down. Kenny was halfway through his sandwich when he plopped down and snorted.

“Man, I totally just called Ky’s mother “dude”,” he commented.

Kenny giggled. “Only you, brother. Gotta tell ya, I think this basketball team thing? This is probably a one time deal.”

“You’re not planning to play next year?”

“It’s just, well, it was only fun with Kyle, and he’s out for a hot minute. Plus I could be spending my free time workin’. Lot to think about, ya know? And it’s not like you and football. I just wanted to try it out.”

Stan understood. He’d cycled through plenty of hobbies himself. “Why not just go ahead and quit?”

Kenny shook his head. “Season’s almost over, anyway. Gotta finish it out. So, for now…” he saluted with his sandwich. “Fuck it. We ball.”

[willowser]

katsuki jumps, startlingly, when you rub a hand up his back.

he's leaned too far down, bent over the counter at an angle that will give him an ache he'll complain about later, and his head whips up as you come to stand beside him. an e-mail on his phone is what previously had his full attention, but now he looks at you, eyes softening as you lean into his shoulder.

he's never been a very touchy guy. even after a year into your relationship, it's most often you reaching for his hand as you walk down the street; you pressing a kiss into his cheek while watching a movie on the couch; you running a hand through his hair as his breath steadies out beside you in bed.

it's not something you really complain about. you know how he is, knew before anything developed between the two of you, and you can't say it's a deal-breaker. there's little you know about his previous relationships or if he even had any, but you have the painful-gut feeling that affection just isn't something he's used to.

you press a smile into the sleeve of his shirt and his spine relaxes under your hand, finds that awful curve again. he watches you like he's waiting for something, tracing the tender details of your face.

"love you," you say, because do and you want to voice it aloud, put it into his mind even though you know he knows. as expected, his lips flatten into a wavering little line, shy suddenly, and your teeth wet the fabric of his shirt when you smile.

all you get is a little grunt in response and he dips his chin down in a wordless nod, accepting your lovey-dovey assault. it makes him feel a little helpless, you know, but you bring up an arm to wrap around him as he turns back to his phone, ears pink.

katsuki straightens with a dull pop!, stretching his arms up and allowing you to shuffle closer, so that your head is resting on his chest. you press your ear to it and wait, eyes closed, until the heavy promise of his heartbeat echoes like a drum in your ear. it's loud, and after a moment, your own falls into sync, right where it belongs.

"'s'wrong?"

"hm?" you glance up at him, the frown on his pink face, before breathing in the clean scent of his laundry soap. your laundry soap. and then you shake your head. "nothin'. just missed you."

"been home all day."

"i know," you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut again. the sound of his phone locking clicks and you can feel the slight down-slide of his sweatpants when he pockets it. "sometimes i miss you even though you're right here."

you expect — something; another grunt or laugh through his nose, a raspy little noise that voices his confusion. things like this can be hard for him; you know how he is, knew before anything ever developed between the two of you — but you don't think it makes him any less deserving.

katsuki steps back from you a little, and you feel the hesitant rise of his arm before you feel it. his hand comes up to your face — pink and scarred in your peripheral vision — and he tilts your head up, waits until you open your eyes.

when you do, it looks as if a million things are running through his head. his poker-face is good, it has to be, but you can see little bits of his vulnerability shining through. you wonder how long it's been since he showed it to anybody. he almost looks sad.

katsuki squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker, and his frown deepens when you laugh. "y're so...damn weird."

that's along the lines of what you were anticipating: one of his teasing little insults, warm with a fire he's still learning how to kindle. you don't get the chance to say anything before he's kissing you, eyes shut tight, lashes brushing against your own.

you expect something soft, because affection is a fickle thing, from him — but his hand never falls from your face and his tongue is sliding with yours suddenly, a heated gesture that throws your heart out of whack. you let him kiss you as deeply as he can, until your back arches painfully backward over the counter as he leans into you.

when he pulls away, his lips are a little swollen and his cheeks are burning, as he presses one into yours. "i—jus'—" katsuki tries and then abandons it, a hand curling into the material of your shirt. "i get it." he murmurs, there, into the heated skin of your face, heart beating in time with yours.

things like this are hard with him — but he makes them so, so worth it.

[hazelnootnut]

ED 13A - Hired Puppet It's all that you have ever wanted! Pray that you will never come to regret this decision.

(based on @youneedthisjob's current portrayal of protag that you should totally go interact/ send asks/ follow/ give love to because holy shit i've been going insane by fortune's characterisation of him. and protag's in a newly started arc akin to ED 13 so go send asks and get blasted with lore and pain)

((also also under the cut is a monochrome version without the pixel-esque overlay because he's too colourful. i want my grey tones.))

[cisthoughtcrime]

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