#maybe I just need more practice with fanfic writing?

[eternal-watcher]

Dash may or may not start a fic shipping Danny with whatever hero abolished the GIW (or at least whichever one seemed nice involved)

Many people and even governments have tried to take down ao3 to no succes. So, that’s how the anti-ecto acts come to light. I’m thinking either Tim, Jason or Stephanie for this. Just scrolling on ao3 with the real life hero fandom or a specific tag they were looking at, and they come across works of one real life hero named Phantom. Que a heartwrenching 10k oneshot about the hero and his own selfdoubt about why he would continue while humans want to tear him down, his enemies want to tear him down and he seemed to have no support.

Well damn, this hero sounded interesting. Clicking on this specific hero, they start reading more of the hero named Phantom. Just… every story contains some mention about the government and something called the anti-ecto act??? What’s this?

That’s how the JL finds out about this and resolve to abolish the laws. When Danny finally meets the bat that had discovered the laws I imagine it going something like this.

Danny: thank you, I was starting to loose hope of ever being considered my own person. *starry eyed, very thankful and just a bit (giant bucket) of hero worship*

Tim/Jason/Stephanie: ehhh, *cough*, I mean, detective work. Yes, a good detective knows the ins and outs of the law, it’s only natural I found out.

Danny: *hero worship and complete trust* you’re amazing🤩🤩🤩

I think using AO3 fanfic is an under rated way of figuring out your governments atrocities. Do with this what you will :)

[6mayhem]

anyway i need to hang out with my brother again he is the one person who i am pretty sure knows literally everything about me so he's the only person i trust that i can absolutely not disappoint. nothing i can do could be worse than the sum of everything i've been doing to that poor man (and him to me) the past 19 years

[gyuwoncheol]

Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

[catherinnn]

Hey can you do a fanfic where cheerleader reader tries to subtly ask Eddie out multiple times but he is clueless and never gets the hint. This goes on for a while until the hellfire club talks about how Eddie is missing out on Y/N, Eddie overhears and realises all the times reader has asked him out and how much of an idiot he's been. Reader confides in Chrissy feeling humiliated that she thought Eddie would like her, and decides to give up on Eddie. Then with the help of Chrissy and some Hellfire members, Eddie plans a romantic gesture for reader then finally asks her out.

Tenth Time's the Charm

a/n: Thank you for requesting love! Also, two fics in two days, I told you I was finally free. Don't doubt to write me more requests ♡

warnings: kind of insecure eddie, some swear words, and a bit suggestive at the end.

words: 2.3k. masterlist

You were coming out of cheer practice with your friends, running to finally have lunch. You catch a glimpse of Eddie at his table, bickering with his friends. You can't help but stare at his messy curls and his adorable brown eyes from afar.

"Go talk to him" Chrissy tells you when she notices your staring.

"What do you mean?" you play dumb.

"You have such a crush on him, I know you" she says.

"He hates cheerleaders too probably" i shake your head.

"Oh, that's just an act. He would die on the spot if you asked him out!" she chuckles.

"You think?" you doubt.

"Go! I'm telling you!" she says.

"Alright, fuck it" you walk up to his table. "Hi, Eddie"

"H- hey" he looks at you confused.

"Um, I was wondering... are you free this Friday?"

"Uh... why?" he frowns.

"Well, i was thinking maybe we can hang out?" you say nervously.

"Oh... you need me to sell at some party? Sorry, princess, I don't sell anymore" he figures that is what you need.

"W- what? I don't-"

"You see that guy over there? He's Kevin, you can ask him" He turns around going back to his food, ignoring you.

You look at his back confused.

"Oh there you are! Lets go have lunch!" Jess, another of your cheer friends grabs your arm and walks with you, starting to talk to you about her problem with her boyfriend.

"So? Did you ask him out?" Chrissy asks you once you sit down at your table.

"Yeah, but I don't think he understood" you say.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"He thought I wanted to buy weed!" you explain. "He told me to talk to that guy Kevin, and I just stood there! That was so embarrassing!"

"That’s not embarrassing! Just try again" she tries.

The next time you try it's when you find him at the parking lot. He was still bickering with one of his younger friends.

"Eddie?" you call him again.

"Yeah?" he frowns as he sees you again.

"Listen, I didn't want to buy anything from you earlier. I meant... Uh, you know there's a new movie, 'Ferri Bueller's Day Off'? They say it's really good" you say smiling.

"Man, hurry! We're gonna be late for rehearsal!" Another of his friends says from the window of the car. Gary you think his name was, something with a G.

"Coming! Uh, sure. Thanks princess, I'll be sure to swing by the theater if I'm free" he says in a hurry and runs into his van to leave.

You are left standing there once again, feeling foolish. Did he really think you were just suggesting a movie for him to watch? He cannot be that oblivious. Maybe you weren't being clear enough?

They say third time's the charm, so once again, you stand before Eddie at his locker.

"Hi, Eddie" you say trying to ignore the anxiety.

"Hey, I saw that movie you recommended, really fun actually" he says.

"Oh I'm glad! Umm, you know, there's a new ice skating place that opened up here in town. Maybe you would like to come with me?" you make sure to pronounce every single of those words in the question excellently so there is no more confusion.

"Ice skating?" he thinks and you nod. "Uh, I'm not very good at that, i broke my arm once doing it"

"Oh, well, It's okay. We can-"

"But you know who loves ice skating? Chrissy, you should ask her, she'd love to go with you" he says.

"What?" you ask.

"Yeah, she gets competitive though, so don't try to beat her!" he chuckles.

"Huh" you simply say.

"Anyway, see you in class" he smiles and walks away.

You sigh, staring at his back once again. You have to take the hint: he's not confused, he clearly doesn't want to go out with you. You decide to leave him alone. It's nice of him to not reject you directly, at least.

Eddie was about to get in the drama room that next Friday, when he thinks he might have forgotten his dices. He stands at the door, looking through his bag.

"Did you hear what he did on Monday?" Eddie can hear Gareth's voice behind the door. "She asked him out to go ice skating and he told her to go with Chrissy instead, since he's bad at it"

"That’s it? And then he left?" Dustin asks surprised. "I can't believe him, he has a fucking cheerleader asking him out three times already! And he rejected her every single time!"

"He's an idiot with a big ego" Gareth says.

Eddie was standing there confused, but not for long since he can hear an angry voice calling him out.

"Munson!" Chrissy walks up to him, almost red-looking.

"W- what?"

"What is the matter with you?!" she asks.

"Chrissy, I can explain-"

"You better have a good explanation! My friend is an incredible girl and you'd be lucky to go out with her! Are you stupid?!"

"Listen! Listen! I didn't know she was asking me out!" he explains.

"What?" she looks at him as if he is in fact stupid.

"Ugh, I mean, you saw her! How would I ever think a girl like her was asking me out?! I thought she was just being friendly, which was odd enough on it's own! I know I'm an idiot-"

"You are... very much so, an insecure one" she nods.

"Does she hate me now?" he asks.

"No, she doesn't"

"Is there any way I can make this better? I would kill to go out with her!"

"Fine, I'll help you" she says.

You can hear the honk outside your house, meaning Chrissy was waiting at her car. She came to pick you up to then go have a nice dinner together, maybe even go by the ice skating place after all as well.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Yeah, let's go" you confirm.

While she drives, you notice she took another route to get to the place. You look around confused.

"I have to make a quick stop first to pick something up" she explains.

"Oh, sure"

After ten minutes she stops at Forest Hill Trailer Park, a.k.a. Eddie's place.

"Come with me" she says before getting out of the car.

"Chrissy what are we doing here?" you ask getting nervous all of the sudden.

"Just trust me" she says and knocks on a trailer door before opening the door herself.

When you get in, you can see a living room illuminated with various candles, popcorn and wine already set at a table in front of the couch, acopanated by some movie options waiting to be chosen.

"Chrissy, I think we're interrupting something" you say, looking around. When you turn to Chrissy, you don't see her anymore, but instead you see Eddie walking out of his room, with flowers.

"Hey" he smiles at you.

"H- hi" you say surprised.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, first of all. I'm such an idiot" he starts, to then give you the flowers.

"These are beautiful" you smile at him.

"Listen, I would kill to go out with you, I swear. But I'm an oblivious idiot who thought you were just being friendly and sweet to me, recomending movies and inviting me to ice skate!" he chuckles.

"You cannot even begin to imagine what an asshole I felt when I realized you were trying to go out with me... but I mean, in my defense, in what world does the prettiest girl in this town wants to date the nerdy metalhead?" he continues.

"In this one, silly!" you chuckle too.

"What a beautiful world we live in" he jokes. "Princess, would you please go out with me?"

"I don't know, maybe Mike is abailable! you should check with him!" you tease him.

"Fair enough" he laughs.

"Yes, i will... you idiot" you walk closer to him with a grin.

"Thank God!" he grins too, wrapping his arms around your waist when you're close enough. "I picked out a few movies, Ferri Bueller's too! Maybe we can finally watch it together after all"

When you see that beautiful smile of his, so close to him as well, you just go for it, and finally kiss him.

You grab his face with your free hand, standing on your tippy toes and locking your lips with his plushy ones. He instantly wraps his arms tigher, bringing you even closer, smirking into the kiss.

"Maybe we won't pay much attention to the movie" you tease.

"It's alright, I already watched it" he says quickly before kissing you again.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

One Night Stand (Logan)

Description: Y/N and Logan have a one night stand but Y/N is very awkward about it and avoids Logan. While Logan is very cocky about it.

Warning: Smutty

Word Count: 1,046

Requests: Hiii, I was wondering if you could write a fanfic where y/n wakes up next to Logan after a one night stand? They aren't together and they don't realllyy remember it but Logan is cocky as usually and the reader is lowkey kinda awkward about it, also you can throw wade into the mix somewhere if you like 😭, thank you

His large hands caressed her naked hips as she rode him. His eyes stared up at her with lust as she moaned his name. She was doing all the work but yet she was praising him. He was so beautiful and had the best dick she ever had. He was huge compared to her but that turned him on more than anything. Her eyes were rolling back as she whined that she was close. He told her to cum for him and she didn’t need to be told twice. Her screams of pleasure and his name left her lips til she couldn’t make any more noise. Triggering his climax he groaned and bucked his hips as he let loose in her. The feeling of her tight and warm pussy was driving him mad. Her legs were shaking and he smirked and the fact that there was no way she would be walking for the next few days. 

Her eyes opened slowly to the sunlight outside. She groaned and turned away just to bump into something that definitely was not a pillow. She opened her eyes to see Logan in her bed and naked at that. Her eyes widened and it took everything in her not to scream. He was still asleep. She thought about leaving the room but realized that this was her bed. What did they do?

She tried to think back to the night before but only remembered that she was drinking. Great, She thought. They definitely had sex but she couldn’t remember how it happened or why. She poked him in the shoulder until he stirred and turned towards her. His eyes still closed but he was waking up. “Y/N?” He asked as he opened his eyes to be faced with her. She looked around the room avoiding eye contact with him. “What happened?” He asked and she gave him a shrug.

His eyes looked down at both of their bodies and saw that they were naked. He smirked and chuckled, “You finally got me in bed.” It was more of a statement than a question. A cocky statement and she just stared at him with no expression. What did he mean finally? “All it took was a few drinks to get you to admit you wanted me and here we are.” She rolled her eyes at him and got up. His eyes followed her naked form as she gathered his clothes, “You need to leave.” She told him and threw his clothes on the bed.

The smirk he wore didn’t disappear as he got his clothes on. She stared at his delicious body as he got dressed. He walked up to her and kissed her, “Woah what are you doing?” She asked. He chuckled and kissed her head, “Well I mean we slept together right? I should be allowed to kiss you.” She shook her head and walked to the bathroom that was connected to her room. Logan walked out of her room with a smile on his face. 

Y/N avoided him for the rest of the week. Any time he knocked on her door she pretended to be asleep. Tension was high and who better to notice than Wade? “You guys had sex?” Wade practically yelled. Logan shushed him, not wanting Y/N to hear what they were talking about. “Yes and I feel like she’s avoiding me.” Wade was confused, “But she likes you.” Logan knew that and that’s what confused him.

“Yeah I’m aware but she’s being so awkward about this.” He stated. “Well maybe next time I can join so it’s not.” Wade was joking but he wasn’t. Logan rolled his eyes at the merc and got up. Y/N finally came out of her room as she couldn’t avoid him forever. Both heads turned in her direction as she walked to the fridge. “Haven’t seen ya since you got drunk.” Wade said. “Yeah well a lot has happened since then.” She said and Logan huffed. “So I’ve heard.” Wade couldn’t keep a secret for shit.

Logan glared at him as Y/N turned towards them, “What?” She asked, only looking at Wade. “You get the guy you want and now you’re avoiding him.” Y/N glared at Logan who put his hands up. “You act like you weren’t screaming my name.” He said. “Damn wish I could’ve heard it.” Wade mumbled. Y/N’s face was red from his words. “I don’t remember it, you asshole!” She yelled at Logan and stormed away. “Though if she did she would enjoy it.” Wade said. “I heard that!” 

Logan had enough of her avoiding him like she didn’t come onto him. She was the one telling him how hot he was and how she gets super turned on when he wears the suit and the mask. He knocked on her door. It was 5 pm and he knew she wasn’t sleeping. “Come on Y/N, I know you’re in there. Just open the door. We need to talk about this.” He said. She refused so he sighed, “Y/N, I’ve had feelings for you for awhile now and when you came onto me I was so happy that you returned the feelings. I mean you were praising me during sex and it was the best. But Wade told me a few months ago that you liked me so I planned to make a move eventually but unfortunately it happened while we were drunk. But I don’t regret it cuz it was the best sex I’ve ever had.” He sighed and she opened the door.

He smiled at her but she just stared at him. “You mean that?” She asked and he nodded. She was truly afraid he only wanted to have sex with her but hearing that he had feelings for her made it all better. “Yes. I like you Y/N and I have for awhile.” He told her and she finally gave him a smile. Her awkwardness for the situation went away as she gave him a kiss. This time no pulling away until they needed air. “I like you too Logan.” He figured as much. “Now I have to go kill Wade.” She said and stormed down the hallway. “WADE!” She yelled and he watched her go up to Wade ready to beat him up.

[writerfromshikahr]

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Lath’halani - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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Lucanis knelt, examining the small flowers scattered across the ground. Their vibrant pink petals caught his eye, delicate and striking.

“Whatcha found?” Bellara asked, her curiosity piqued.

“These flowers, they’re beautiful.” Lucanis’s gloved fingers brushed the petals with care.

Bellara leaned over his shoulder, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! I know what they are. In Dalish they are called "Lath’halani", it loosely translates into "Love's Healing". The story goes, if you give them to someone special, they’ll always take care of your heart, and you.”

“A flower can do all that?”

“Well, not literally,” Bellara admitted. “It’s just a myth—but a romantic one! And sometimes, we all need a little more tenderness in our lives, right?”

Lucanis stood, levelling her with a look. “I’m a Crow, Bellara. What part of my work screams ‘romantic’ to you?”

She grinned impishly. “Which is exactly why you should pick some and give them to—” She stopped abruptly, her mouth snapping shut.

“Give them to who?” He frowned, waiting.

“Well,” she began, shifting awkwardly, “Look, you didn’t hear this from me because I don’t like to gossip—”

“Could have fooled me,” he interrupted dryly. “Go on.”

Bellara forged ahead, unbothered. “But I’ve noticed... something between you and Rook. The way you two sneak glances at each other—honestly, it’s adorable. Like one of those stories where they don’t kiss until chapter thirty, but the tension is delicious. She’ll probably tell you, one star-filled night in Treviso, that you’re the only person who’s ever made her feel safe. And, in the end, you’ll save each other. Classic.”

“You got all that just from me looking at someone and smiling?” Lucanis muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Bellara’s energy remained as bouncy as ever. “I swear, I’m writing this down later. The Assassin’s Promise—a tale of love, danger, and—”

“Bellara,” he cut her off, his tone sharp. “If you write anything about me, I’ll swap your sugar for salt the next time I cook.”

“Fine, fine,” she relented, though her grin said otherwise. “All I’m saying is maybe you should pick some flowers for Rook. Take them back to the Lighthouse. I think she’d love them.”

Lucanis regarded her for a long moment, then knelt again, plucking a few blooms. He wrapped them carefully in his handkerchief and tucked them into the small pouch he usually reserved for poisons.

“I knew it!” Bellara squeaked, clapping her hands.

Lucanis shot her a look and sighed, “What exactly did you know?” His tone was flat, but a flicker of curiosity lingered.

“That underneath all the grumpiness and doom, you’re just a big softie. A romantic at heart!”

Lucanis rolled his eyes so hard that Bellara feared they might stick.

“I assure you, Bellara, whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.” She clasped her hands behind her back and practically skipped alongside him as they headed back to the Eluvian. “You’re going to give those flowers to Rook, aren’t you? You should. She’d love them. She’d look at you with those big, doe eyes and probably blush to her ears. So sweet.”

“Bellara…” His tone carried a warning, though it lacked bite.

“But I digress,” she continued breezily. “If you’d rather be the brooding type who stares longingly across the room and never acts on his feelings, that’s fine too. Classic slow-burn. Delicious tension. So much angst.”

Lucanis stopped abruptly, fixing her with a flat stare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when it’s this much fun.” Her grin was unapologetic.

For a moment, Lucanis debated whether or not to toss her into the nearest river. Ultimately, he decided against it, if only because she’d probably swim back with more commentary. Instead, he shook his head, whispered something in Antivan to himself, and resumed walking.

Bellara trailed behind him at a respectable distance—or perhaps a strategic one—but she couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Just think about it, Lucanis. You, Rook, flowers, romance… a story for the ages!”

Lucanis didn’t dignify her with a response, though his fingers brushed the pouch at his side, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

[khuzena]

Elegy of the hopeless, a savior’s love

Pairing: Sunday & You (g/n)

Synopsis: There will come a day when you will have to choose between fleeting love and lifelong devotion. There was a clear gap between you two. Sunday, the former head of the Family in Penacony, an outcast. You, some nobody who aims to make it big someday, just a nobody. Both outcasts, both commoners. However, Sunday will always be the savior of the people, a man who devotes himself for the freedom and peace of mankind. And you? Someone who’s story is meant to take a different road.

C.w: Angst, trauma, happy ending, he needs therapy, I change my mind you both need therapy

Note: This was written 23 minutes before the release date of 2.7, there may not be any accuracies since I want to write this fanfic as a tribute for Sunday to guarantee a higher chance of getting him with my sad 89 pulls. Thanks.

Sunday was a man who once prided himself for being righteous.

However, the said Halovian was no longer a priest, no longer the decorated head of the Family. Despite this, not once had he abandoned his values, not once had he forsaken the dream he once dreamed as a child, to sing odes of hope and to bring salvation to those who maybe or maybe not worthy of paradise.

He who walks the path of the nameless, will one day make a name for himself. He will carve his own place in paradise, even if the world no longer deems him as a prophet.

Yet, he hadn’t expected falling for someone. Someone of your stature.

Before you both knew it, your affections for each other grew, and so was his devotion for you. But he had to choose between his goals and you.

His mind was riddled with memories that continue to haunt him. The piano keys carried the weight of his sins the more he played a low tune. A debut between who he was, and who he is.

That fateful day marked the day his faith was tested.

One, two, three.

The notes reverberated softly in the dimly lit room, his fingers brushing over the keys with a precision honed by years of practice. But each sound struck a chord in his mind, dragging him back to memories he’d rather bury. He couldn’t ignore how the melody warped, pulling him into the shadows of his past. The rise to power, the unrelenting pursuit of his dreams, the countless lives he’d affected—knowingly or not. The moments where he trapped innocent people in his grand vision, their lives twisted into threads of a tapestry only he could see.

He felt the weight of it all pressing on him, a phantom force tightening around his chest. Each note seemed to mock him, whispering accusations he couldn’t escape.

Then, there was you.

Some idiot from the Astral Express, bright-eyed and reckless, who somehow wormed your way into his life. You were no better than the Trailblazer—maybe even worse, an enabler of chaos and bad decisions. Yet you carried a dream so simple, so pure it made him envious: to travel the universe, collect stories, and one day become a writer whose words would immortalize the memories you crafted with your own hands.

Envy. Was that the right word?

How could he envy you?

You brought him peace, a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years. Piece by piece, you shattered the walls he had meticulously built around his heart. At first, it was the small things: teasing jabs, lighthearted jokes that made him bristle, then laugh despite himself. But before he realized it, you had become something far greater. He longed for you, craved your presence like a man starved of affection.

Sunday, who had never known love, yearned for something he could barely understand. He wanted your arms around him, grounding him under a sky filled with stars, your voice whispering that everything would be okay. That he would be okay. That he was more than the sum of his sins.

But the past never let him rest.

The piano’s melody faltered as memories clawed at him. The faces of those he’d hurt flashed before his eyes: expressions of fear, betrayal, and pain. He saw himself standing above them all, a figure of absolute power yet utterly alone. His hands, now gloved, trembled as he remembered what they’d done—what they’d created, what they’d destroyed.

“Sunday?”

Your voice broke through the haze, shattering the storm of his thoughts. He glanced up, startled, to see your concerned face. There was no hatred in your eyes, no judgment—only that familiar warmth that felt so foreign to him.

“You’re thinking too much again. What’s on your mind?”

He wanted to tell you. He wanted to lay bare every ugly, broken part of himself. But the words caught in his throat. What if you saw him as the monster he believed himself to be? What if your kindness was a fragile mask, hiding resentment and disgust?

“I’m just thinking,” he lied, the words barely audible.

You didn’t believe him. With a small shake of your head, you slipped onto the bench beside him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice laced with exhaustion.

The truth spilled from him in that single word: his fall from grace, the haunting memory of his sister’s absence, the crushing weight of his failures. He was at war—with himself, for you. He couldn’t save you from the wreckage of his mind, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of pushing you away.

“You should go to bed,” you murmured gently. “We’re dropping off at Amphoreus tomorrow.”

He didn’t move, his hands returning to the piano. The melody that filled the room was softer now, almost mournful. Each note resonated with the echoes of his guilt, yet drowned them out just enough for him to keep playing.

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop thinking.”

He wished he could.

Another kiss, then another.

“Just play the piano,” you whispered. “I’m still here.”

The tears threatened again, hot and stinging, but he swallowed them down. He didn’t deserve to cry—not for himself, not for his sins. Instead, he focused on the weight of your head on his shoulder, the steady rhythm of your breathing.

“Play your favorite song,” you suggested, your voice a soft murmur. “It’ll help.”

For a moment, his hands hovered over the keys. Then, slowly, he began to play. The melody was one he and Robin had composed as children—back when the world was simple, their dreams untouched by the cruelty of reality. The tune carried a bittersweet nostalgia, weaving through the room like a ghost of their innocence.

He glanced at you as he played. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, watching him like he was worth something more than his mistakes. At that moment, he almost believed it.

“I’m listening,” you said softly, your voice fading as you drifted into sleep.

His shoulders still bore the weight of his past, but with you resting against him, it felt a little lighter. The melody shifted, becoming softer, gentler. One day, he thought, he would compose something even more beautiful—something worthy of you.

Until then, he would keep playing. For you. For himself. For the chance to heal, note by note.

Maybe one day, he could repay your kindness a hundred times over.

Note: very rushed ig bc I started at 10:37 am and ended at 11:59 am bc I wanted to write this as tribute for the 2.7 update. !!! I don't know but jf there's any errors let me know lol my keyboard was so loud going TACK TACK TACKKK

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

Perfectly Misaligned

Vi x reader

Summary: Vi has always been protective over you ever since you moved in next door to a less than savory part of town. Nevertheless though she still tries to play things cool though and not cross any boundaries. Whenever she hears the way your friend really talks to you though from the other side of the door, all bets are off.

Contains: very very au! still kind of new to the arcane/LoL universe so this will not be following canon or anything at all (obvs because it’s fanfic but still), sweet and soft vi, protective vi, depictions and discussions of abuse (physical and emotional), injuries, hurt x comfort trope, fluff fluff and more fluff!! <3

basically a vi version of my first jb one-shot but I still included some differences! once again my first time writing for her so please be gentle! i hope you like it 🥹🩵

(PSA: i’m writing this from experience! if you are in an abusive situation like this please take care of yourself 💙)

“Jesus, have you ever managed to recall a single thing right?!” My best friend seethed, someone who should’ve been my best friend at least as she slung an already chipped dirty plate across the dingy kitchen.

I should’ve kicked her out at the first sign of violence. I shouldn’t have even invited her over to think of it. Somewhere in my stupid brain I thought that talking about it in person would help us work things out more. Maybe because in some way I thought she was more biting over text messages so it wouldn’t hurt as much in person either. Every moment of rationalization got stupider by the second.

“That never happened! I never said any of that! You’re doing just what you always do! Pointing the finger and making me out to be the villian! You really think you’re the innocent one in all of this?!” I yelped as soon as she slammed her hand down on the emotional support water bottle I was currently clutching onto until it hit the floor with a loud thunk.

The sound of a knock on the door made me flinch again, the tears burning my eyes until they started to ache. “Hey, y/n? It’s getting kind of loud over there, are you okay?” The voice followed from the other side of the door. Violet, probably the best neighbor I could’ve asked for in one of the trashiest apartments. It was definitely a rough part of town we lived in, the only thing we could afford really. She always checked in on me though.

I hated how pathetic I felt hugging myself, eyes wide as I peered up at my ‘friend’ as if I was fucking asking for permission. Permission she clearly wasn’t giving me. “Didn’t know you two were so close. Is this someone else you’re hiding me from? Someone else you’re probably painting the worst picture of me to?”

“Y/n, I’m coming in.” Vi echoed, fuck I had almost forgotten I’d given her a spare key for whenever she needed it or just wanted company.

The moment the door swung open though I could feel the weight of my ‘friend’s push shoving me towards the ground. The sting of broken glass biting in my skin as I yelped in pain, bits of blood now streaking across the ground. And Vi had seen every second of it.

“Did you just put your fucking hands on her?” She practically growled as she made her way into the apartment, thick combat boots kicking aside broken glass to make a path.

“Oh c’mon, do I really look like I would hurt somebody? She clearly fell-”

“Yeah, you do. Because that’s all I’ve been hearing you do since the moment I came home and thank god I got here whenever I did-”

“Vi, please don’t-” I squeaked out with yet another wince of pain as I tried to push myself up to a sitting position. I knew how she was. The way she stayed bandaged up and covered in bruises didn’t hide exactly how she made her money. But I had never wanted to see that side of her myself. I didn’t think I could.

The words were lost to me though, lifting my hand as if to latch onto her own only to see a piece of glass protruding from the muscle below my thumb. Vi only took one wide look down at me before shooting a sea of daggers towards the culprit’s way. “I’ll give you a headstart before I break every last finger that you laid on her? How about that?”

“Vi-” I tried to protest again, but I should’ve known better than to believe she’d actually try and stand up to someone like Vi. Towering over both of us with a plethora of tattoos in black ink and enough muscles to put a bodybuilder to shame, she’d be intimidating to anybody. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had stumbled out of her apartment the day I moved in with a hopeful grin on her face as she offered to help me carry things upstairs I probably would’ve been intimidated by her too. But she had charmed me from day one.

“Damn it, doll, what’d she do to you?” She whispered, kneeling amongst the glass without a single care of it scraping her up too. “Is it safe to pull that out?” She wondered, bandaged and bruised fingers gently taking my wrist into her hand to examine the damage on my palm.

“I think so… it isn’t too deep.” I spoke, sucking in another yelp of pain as I yanked the glass from my hand and shakily tossed the now red piece aside. “It’s not that bad- she- she just pushed me.”

“No, y/n-” It was the first time she directed that glare towards me and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wince at first. Only seconds later though I watched her icy expression soften with a shake of her head. “You can’t excuse it this time, doll.”

I didn’t say anything, even knowing she was right, she stared down at my scraped and cut knees while the tears dripped down my cheeks until they landed on the open wounds and made them sting. Knowing I would probably find some way, some reason to excuse what had just happened. I always did.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go over to my place and get you patched up.” She sighed, almost with a hint of disappointment before sliding an arm around my shoulders and another underneath my knees. I sucked in a breath of pain as I was separated from the pool of glass, microcuts now hitting the air as the pieces that had embedded themselves into my skin clinked to the floor.

My eyes felt heavy, my head already lolling to the side the moment I felt her sweeping me up with ease. My head ached from the amount of arguing, almost worse than the stings of the open wounds. Vi shoved open the door to her apartment next door, still the same chaotic mess it usually was whenever she invited me over. She never showed it, but sometimes I think she felt lonely. She was just the kind of person you could tell even by first glance that she had been through a lot. I never asked though. It never seemed appropriate to get too personal. She was a private person, and I respected that. Or tried to.

“This might sting a little.” She whispered once we made it to her tiny bathroom, leaving me propped up on the sink as she rummaged around for her first aid supplies. I tried to mask my expression of pain the moment she touched the antiseptic to my bloodied knees but ultimately failed as a whimper tumbled from my lips.

“I’m sorry.” I spoke through a sharp breath, “That y-you have to do this. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in our shit.” I lifted a shaky hand to try and wipe at my eyes, tears that seemed to have miraculously remained at bay until now.

“No, y/n, I got involved on my accord. Because it seemed like somebody needed to.” She shook her head, and I never knew that hands that looked so rough could be as gentle as hers were. Pulling them away from the wounds only to hold my chin in between her thumb and pointer finger. “Has she ever put her hands on you before, doll?”

I shook my head almost immediately, watching her expression harden, eyes icy enough to freeze. “Are you lying?” She asked again, a quiver setting into my bottom lip as she seemed to see through it all. Her anger was unmistakable, the way she pulled her hands away from me only to clench them into fists. Shoulders set like she was about to swing at something, anything. And still somehow I wasn’t afraid of her.

“Vi, Vi please… please don’t go after her right now. Please just- just stay with me. For a little bit, please.” I reached out to slide my hand around her bulging bicep just before she could put her fist through the wall.

I felt her swing around to face me, an arm sliding around my shoulder, fingers knotting through my hair as she held me to her broad shoulder. “You’re more important.” She finally spoke with another long breath that felt like she was loosening every muscle in her body. “She’ll get what’s coming to her though.”

“Promise you’ll be careful.” I begged into the fabric of her tank top.

“I can’t ever promise that, but I’ll always do my best.” The feeling of her fingers running through my hair was almost enough to pull the tears from my eyes again. Gentle touches I wasn’t familiar with. Gentle words I wasn’t used to hearing I almost couldn’t believe them. The feeling of safe muscular arms holding me to her warm chest as I clung onto her like I hadn’t ever done before. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I heard her softly shushing me from above, her chin propping up on top of my head. “Shhh, I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

She was careful whenever she inched away, gently drawing my body from hers. Calloused hands drawing down my bare arms as if checking for anymore tiny cuts the glass might have left. “Let me finish patching you up, and then I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

She wrapped my knees and hand in her bandages and placed little bandaids on every small wound. Whenever we made it back to my place though she didn’t hesitate to sweep up every last bit of the broken glass too before finally letting herself sit down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything, you know? I could’ve taken care of it.” I spoke into my lap, face drawn down as if in shame.

“I think you’ve cleaned up someone’s mess a few too many times.” Vi sighed before stretching an open arm out as if beckoning me in. “C’mere doll.” I was already moving into her arms, taking in her musky scent with just a tinge of iron that she always had whenever she returned from work. “I’m sorry I didn’t wash up first, I just heard the yelling and I came running and-”

“It’s okay.” I said with a shake of my head just before nuzzling into her chest. Her body could’ve swallowed me whole if she wanted it to, I felt like nothing more than a ragdoll curled up into her arms. And I normally would’ve hated it. But with Vi I felt like I could finally be small and sensitive and fragile and I’d be safe. It was just a matter of not having to be on guard 24/7.

Vi cleared her throat from above me, her fingers brushed underneath my chin as if nudging me to look at her. Blue eyes that I felt like were gonna send me into cardiac arrest, and with my hand bundled up into a ball against her chest I swore I could’ve felt her own heart kicking into gear. “Y/n, you know I really care about you, right?”

“After tonight, yeah, I- I think I do.” My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and all I wanted was to hide my face into her shirt again. But with the grip she had on my chin I knew she wouldn’t let me. “I- I care about you a lot too.”

“I know you do, I just feel like a lot of people don’t return the favor, you know? So I just… I want you to know that. I’ve got you. Regardless.” A long breath was shuddered from my lungs at her warm words. Feeling her cracked but soft lips drifting downwards to brush against my forehead just before she finally released my chin.

It felt like they held a lot of weight to them. Almost more than what they let on, than she wanted to let on. At least for now. They were enough though. Enough to get my eyes to tear up pathetically again as I burrowed my face back into her chest with a small sniffle.

“You’re my best friend, Vi.” I muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

She delicately slid her fingers around my wrist, softly stroking my pulse point until my teary eyes fluttered shut, “You’re mine too, darling.”

[mysterystarz]

kiss me maybe:

summary: finding a flier for the volleyball's kissing booth was surprising for two reasons. a) kuroo had created one of the worst fliers known to mankind and b) oikawa tooru, the school's resident pretty boy was capitalizing off the rumors surrounding him. still, you couldn't deny your attraction to the setter, and he couldn't hide that you were the only one he wanted to kiss

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 12.6k (please give this a chance)

genres + themes: college!au, sort of friends to lovers(?), fluff, angst, kuroo being an occasional menace, iwaizumi being the sexiest friend you can have, kiyoko being an icon, romanticized college experience, oikawa being an idiot but yours

warnings: cursing, a tad suggestive in some parts, absolutely not proofread

a/n: hi there i am back with a long fic. anyways this thing is my lovechild and probs the most fanfic thing ive written. its really just a fluff monster (lol) and i hope you give this a chance <3 also dedicated to @chimielie because her stuff gave me the inspo to write ily lia thank you for being so talented

It was said that Oikawa Tooru’s kisses were mythical. 

Some claimed that one press of lips from the kingly setter was like a hit of a drug, sudden in a way that sent you reeling. 

To some, his kisses tasted like the finest candy, hand served on an ornate dish. 

Most magically, it was claimed that a kiss from Oikawa Tooru could heal even the most broken of hearts. Just one thread through sun bronzed hair could make you forget about the most painful memories. 

And of course, like any celebrity would, he knew about each and every rumor.

Naturally, you reckoned you were bound to see the dreaded flier sooner or later. It sat there still, taped onto the tiny bulletin board outside of the Organic Chemistry I room. It was the worst godawful flier you’d ever seen in your life. In front of you was a myriad of colorful borders, and even more whimsical fonts atop of a cardstock page. It seemed to call out to you with its boldness, as if to say “kiss me” with its scrawling typography. 

Mystic Kissbooth, it read in an infuriatingly ornate font. Come and kiss your woes away (and kiss ours away too – a mutually beneficial fundraiser!) 

“I see you’ve seen our handiwork,” chuckled a voice. You didn’t have to turn around to recognize Kuroo, who simply leaned against the bulletin board in an attempt to catch your expression. 

Not that he would. You weren’t going to give him that luxury. 

“No wonder it’s such shit,” you laughed, gesturing to the list of names at the bottom, “I’m honestly ashamed to even know you.”

“Hey,” he frowned playfully, ruffling your hair as he began his signature large strides. Curse him and his stupidly long legs. “That was heavily inspired by your Canva templates…..you know….the bad ones.” 

You let out a long and dragged out sigh while you followed your best friend (unfortunately) to one of the secluded benches on campus. Beneath the hustle and bustle of students as they sprinted to class, it was almost peaceful to rest your legs for just a moment. 

Relaxing onto the bench, you placed your backpack at your side, creating a wedge between you and Kuroo, who’d taken the seat right next to you. He didn’t seem to mind, simply casting a grin in your direction. 

For starters, you weren’t sure how to feel about the Canva invasion. Yes, it was a design platform, and yes, you’d tried (and failed sometimes) to create infographics whenever Kuroo needed a helping hand. It was just a tad surprising to discover that Kuroo had drawn his inspiration from your least successful works. 

“What’s this whole thing about?” You decided on asking after a lengthy pause. Kuroo cast his gaze to meet your own, his grin almost glued into place. 

“Well, not that we’re in any trouble, but the volleyball club could use some funds. We’ve been trying to set up some pretty competitive matches and practice games, but we need the fuel to do it. Oikawa thought this was a great way to make use of all the attention we have.”

“No wonder. He’s probably the most popular one on the team….though Iwaizumi is honestly the one to be looking at.” 

“Rude,” Kuroo huffed, “There’s a lot of other people to be interested in, you know.”

“Hopefully you don’t mean yourself,” you chuckled, dodging a playful hit on the arm from Kuroo. “But in all seriousness, a kissing booth?” Kuroo paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over a proper response, when Iwaizumi entered your frame of vision. 

There were times you wondered why Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t consider a career in modeling. From where he stood, the sunlight almost seemed to caress his skin, tanned and sun bronzed from a summer spent playing volleyball on the beach. Upon seeing you and Kuroo on the bench, he extended a quick wave before jogging over, arms flexing as he got closer. 

“Stop ogling him,” Kuroo smirked, “You could stand to be a bit less obvious.” “Shut up,” you muttered just as Iwaizumi ended his jog to stand in front of you. 

“Nice to see you here,” he beamed, his eyes meeting your own, “I barely see you around these days. Did Kuroo scare you away from the club?” “No not at all,” you smiled, moving your backpack to make space for the handsome spiker. Some of the students on the nearby path stopped to turn at the three of you, and Iwaizumi, none-the-wiser, took a swig from his water bottle. 

He was never aware of the effect he had on people. That was exactly what contributed to his charm. 

“Y/N wanted to know a bit more about the booth,” Kuroo started. “I think you’d explain it better than I could.” 

Iwaizumi raised a brow, “It’s just a club fundraiser. I mean, it's the only decent idea that Oikawa’s had in a while.”

“So he really was involved, huh.” You said (more to yourself than anyone else). The two men looked at you confusedly, before Kuroo finally spoke. 

“You know, you always seem to get a bit fidgety whenever someone mentions Oikawa. And you always try to be away from him when you come to our practices…were the two of you involved or something? Because if you were, I am honestly offended you didn’t tell me.” 

You aggressively shook your head no, warranting a chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Well, if they were, I think it’s had an impact. You start to see him for who he really is.” 

The three of you laughed, choosing to enjoy the fresh breeze. 

However, even despite the simple beauty of this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the booth.

Oikawa stood at the front of the lecture hall, spinning his pen while meeting the eyes of his teammates. At his side was Kuroo’s flier, whimsically colorful in all the ways a magical kissing booth (like this one) was supposed to be. Iwaizumi sat in the front, close enough for Oikawa to catch the teasingly judgy stares of his best friend while he waited for everyone to settle down. 

Finding a free lecture hall had been no problem. All he’d had to do is smile nicely at a few eager students, verify with a few professors, and send a frantic “MEET NOW” to the club group chat. 

The real problem was convincing the rest of the team of this idea in the first place. 

“Hey guys,” he beamed, putting the flier down on the desk closest to him, “Thanks for showing up on such short notice. You guys are the best.” 

“We didn’t come for you,” Makki snickered. “We’re just here to see what crazy justification you have for this.” “Well,” he began, “We’ve been in the spotlight for quite some time now. A lot of us have been featured in the campus newspaper, we’ve made it onto our university’s podcast, and have you even seen the instagram fanpages for us? They’re absolutely insane. So, what better time to take advantage of this?” 

“And this has nothing to do at all with the rumors?” A voice asked. Oikawa turned to meet the eyes of Semi Eita, who sat on the left corner closest to the door. 

The team laughed as Oikawa shook his head in faux denial. “Absolutely not. Why would I ever do such a thing?” 

“Because you're smart!” Oikawa was almost surprised to hear the remark from Bokuto, who sat near Kuroo with his own flier. “And it’s a lot of fun.” 

The team murmured their respective agreements before the room fell silent again. Oikawa, ever the opportunist, slid into the silence with an explanation. 

“I was thinking we set it up as sort of a de-stress day after midterms. We could get the other clubs to join in their own mini fundraisers…like a carnival of sorts. We’ll set up the booth with colorful signs and posters, and we kiss based on the cash. We can take shifts to make sure the two of us aren’t running the whole show. All proceeds are for our matches and practice games. Sounds good?” “A question. Are you going to make people line up to kiss you?” Matsukawa asked casually. 

“You mean us Mattsun. And yeah, a line works just fine.” Oikawa stopped for a moment to admire the unanimous cooperation of his team. “I’ll talk to the other club leaders and see if we can come up with a date. If that’s all the questions you’ve got, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!” 

With this, his team filed out the door. He caught Kuroo animatedly discussing a design to attract customers to their booth with Bokuto, mentioning that he had a friend who’d know just what to do about it. In the midst of his rant, he’d mentioned a name. 

Yours. A name he hadn’t realized he missed hearing. 

A faint smile crept onto his face at the thought.

Kuroo was a menace. From the minute he’d found you at the library, he’d been nagging you the entire day, practically begging for you to come to their practice. 

“Y/N please,” he whined, attempting his own version of a pout, “If you see us, you could help design the poster to attract customers.” “I don’t think you need help with that.” That much was true. Especially with Oikawa headlining the event. They were guaranteed strong profits. 

Somehow in the midst of all this pleading, you’d ended up right outside the gym. The sounds of volleyballs hitting the wooden floors resonated off the walls, the sound so clear that you could hear it from your spot near the door. 

“You planned this,” you glared, watching Kuroo’s smile twist into one of faux innocence. Bastard.  

“What can I say? I am the master of distraction.” He opened the door, swapping his shoes out at the front and walking into the gym to the greetings of his team. You followed closely behind him, carefully striding across the polished wood and shutting the door behind you. 

The gym had always been grand. Your university’s colors were plastered onto the bleachers, with a wide curtain separating the different sides of the gym. There was space – so much of it – and the team spread out to practice various skills. 

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the childish awe of standing in a space so big. 

“I forgot how long it’s been since you’ve been here,” a voice greeted, “But it’s good to see you Y/N.” You knew that voice. You’d know that voice like the moon knew the stars. You’d know it anywhere. 

“Oikawa,” you said, turning to acknowledge the brown-haired setter. “Long time no see.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you drank him in. He seemed to be in high spirits this afternoon, hair artfully tousled in the way he always did, and lips so perfectly smooth that they seemed out of a Chapstick ad. 

“You don’t really come around anymore,” He said, taking to walking with you around the gym (much to your own surprise). “I was getting a bit worried actually.” 

“What do you mean?” You stared at a spot a bit beyond the setter, watching Bokuto’s cross court spike slam into the floor with dizzying speed. 

“Well….we talked a bunch. And you came here at the beginning of the year. You suddenly stopped though….so I wondered if something happened.” 

“You noticed?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised you paid attention.” 

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?” Oikawa raised a brow in confusion before suddenly, the answer seemed to smack him in the face. “You’re petty about that?”

“You barely paid me any mind,” was all you said, meeting Oikawa’s warm gaze, “It was like we’d never met at all.”

You’d met Oikawa Tooru on the flight to university. You’d waved your family goodbye at the gate, hugging them tight to your chest and memorizing the feel of them against you. 

You walked steadily, pulling your suitcase along as you made your way to the security check in. 

“Everything goes in a bag! Belts, shoes, phones! Take off your shoes and step aside. Laptops can stay in your bags! Move along!” 

You hauled your suitcase into the bin, placed your phone and wallet beside it and sent it over to the TSA associate, taking a minute to place your jacket and shoes into another bin and sending that over too. 

The gray bins were plain, old and rackety and classic, comparable to a washed out 1930’s movie. You trodded through the metal detector, feeling the cold floor through your socks. 

When you finally made it through check in, you were met with a TSA associate over your bag, looking straight at you as if you’d committed some heinous crime. 

“Excuse me,” the TSA officer asked, gesturing to your bags, “Are these your bags?” 

“Yes,” you affirmed, almost nervously. “Is there an issue?” 

“You seem to have some liquid above the restricted amount. I’m going to have to take a look.” 

For a moment, you were startled. What did you even bring? You’d diligently packed your belongings and made sure everything was secure….surely there had to be some mistake. 

Your breath wavered the minute the officer pulled out your favorite body wash. 

In the midst of your packing, you’d forgotten you’d slipped it into your carry on. 

“Oh.” Your voice shook as you meant the TSA officer’s eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s my favorite one.” 

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, it almost seemed like the man had sympathy for you, “But I’m going to have to ask you to pour half of it out. If you refuse that, you’re going to have to give it away.” 

Every step towards the outside garbage felt like a punch to the chest. While you kept composed on the outside, pouring away half of your prized wash felt miserable. 

A dying rose. A dying star. Something dying slowly and surely inside. 

Now you’d have to get another one. Brand new packaging lost to your honest mistake. 

This sucked ass. 

You meandered through the security area again, more ghost than person and collected the rest of your belongings. While your voice wavered, you didn’t shed a tear, and simply walked along. 

Somehow, in the midst of all your wandering,  you ended up in the departure lounge. In front of you were an array of connected seats with their generic cushioning and the customary TV screens telling you what flight was taking off when. 

The glass paneled windows to your right showcased the hangar, and from your spot, you could see planes parked out in front. The sun set down in the distance, leaving a watercolor blend of pinks and oranges in its wake. 

You could almost call it picturesque. 

You leaned your suitcase against a wall for a moment, scanning the lounge for an available corner. Unfortunately, your plane was packed. 

The chatter of students was overwhelming, and without a choice, you settled into a seat at the far corner of the lounge next to a pretty-boy who you were certain wouldn't speak to you. 

They normally never did. Why should it be any different now? And honestly, you didn’t want to talk. 

“This plane is probably fully booked.” A voice (the perfect blend of warm and deep) said. You turned to meet the eyes of said pretty boy, a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Light and bright and inviting. Almost like a mocha. Or a latte. 

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, slightly amused by the novelty of the situation. It wasn’t common for pretty boys to talk to you. Even less common for you to entertain any conversation, especially when you felt the way you did.  “When I waved ‘goodbye’ to my family, I wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd to tell them about.” 

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards invitingly. “I was more surprised at the lack of seats.” 

“You’d think they’d anticipate a college student stampede.” 

Oikawa laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was a simple laugh — chiming and lovely in the way that all laughs were, but you were certain you’d do anything to hear that again. 

His presence had a way of putting you at ease. 

The two of you coincidentally had seats right next to each other on the flight. As the plane lifted off, you snapped a picture of the city lights, twinkling their tiny goodbyes as they faded from view.

The cabin’s lights were dimmed, yet even in the haziness, you could make out the features of the boy next to you. 

High cheekbones. A defined cupid’s bow. Lips that seemed even softer than the lather of that soap you loved so much. 

You’d mourn your soap later. Even if it was an object, your attachment to it simply showed a care for your belongings. 

What could be more human than that? 

Oikawa turned to you, gaze friendly as the plane began its mounting ascent. 

“You know, the TSA can be real dicks sometimes.” 

What the fuck. Who was he? A psychic?

“What did they do to you?”

“They made me pour out half my expensive hair gel. I insisted it fit the requirements but they refused to accommodate me. So mean.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout he wore. It seemed even someone as vivacious as Oikawa couldn’t charm himself out of aviation regulations. 

Somehow the whole thing made you feel a lot better. 

You and Oikawa (Tooru as he later insisted) shared many conversations throughout the flight. Some revolved around human existentialism (with him quoting the “we were infinite” from The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Some revolved around space. 

Some even revolved around clubs, with him sharing high school volleyball stories and pledging your university’s team to greatness. 

When fatigue finally claimed you, the comfort of his shoulder was unmatched by anything you’d ever felt. He’d extended an invite for you to come and see them practice anytime, and laid his own head atop of yours. 

Of course, when you showed up for said practice, so had a bunch of other fans. He’d barely spared you a glance, let alone spoke to you when you’d tried to seek him out. 

A grand gym and an even grander boy. 

You just avoided him after that.

“Im really sorry about that,” Oikawa said. While his expressions were genuine, you weren’t sure how much you were going to trust it. Certainly, in all the time you’d spent apart, he must have changed at least a bit. 

To think he was the exact same boy who you met on the plane would be foolish.

“Yeah, water under the bridge.” 

“No, not really.” Oikawa paused to study your expression. Beneath all of your nonchalance was something fragile. Admiration? Loathing? He doubted it. “How long did you plan on avoiding me?”

“As long as I needed to.” You answered matter-of-factly. “Then again, that was when I thought you’d forgotten about me.” 

“How could I ever do that?” Oikawa’s expression morphed into a worried one, eyebrows knitted together and mouth downturned as if to say damn that’s an accusation. 

“Well-“

“Look I meant to seek you out after that day. I saw you there, wanted to come over, but at that point you’d gone off to continue chatting with Kuroo and met Iwa. And classes exist.”

“Okay. Water under the bridge for real.” 

His eyes lit up. “You mean it?” 

You nodded in approval, only to be dragged away by Kuroo, who’d suddenly appeared behind you. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not caring much for your use of profanities. Some of the nearby team members snickered as you were pulled to the corner of the gym, in front of an array of poster boards. 

“What?” Kuroo asked, “You and Oikawa seem to be fine now, so I thought I could ask you some questions about stuff that really matters. Namely posters.” 

You were met with various shapes and sizes of poster boards. Some were Elmers Tri-Folds. Some were the cheap foam boards you sometimes saw while grocery shopping. 

“If you want a design for your freaking booth,” you began, looking at Kuroo, “Give me some time.”

Oikawa was in the podcast studio. The room was secluded, plastered with posters and heart decals of all shapes and colors. Right beside the door was a framed picture of the volleyball team, with their silly faces frozen in motion. 

Shimizu Kiyoko walked out from behind the desk, nonchalantly acknowledging Oikawa with a nod. “Oikawa, what can I do for you?” 

“Hey,” he winked, unaffected by her lack of reaction, “Have any idea where I can find your host. I’d like her to do me a favor.”

“Advertising.” Kiyoko said bluntly. “I don’t think your booth needs any more attention. Our socials have covered it already.” 

“We always love the extra coverage.” 

“Doesn’t your friend help with all the designs? I think they’d be the perfect candidate to help with all this.”

“Y/N?” He asked, almost dumbfounded by how obvious that answer was. 

“Yes,” Kiyoko smiled. “They’re very nice. I’ve seen you talk a few times, though it honestly seems like they don’t like you very much.” 

“Not true.” He huffed. 

“Well it makes sense. Especially if the rumors are true.” 

People saw Kiyoko’s beauty and shyness and mistook her for a soft and innocent podcast manager. 

Anyone who’d dealt with her enough knew she was actually a force to be reckoned with. 

“The rumors are whatever you make of them. I’m simply an opportunist.” 

Kiyoko chuckled and for a moment, Oikawa felt accomplished. “You don’t need to tell me this. I already know.” 

He leaned against the door, and stretched out his arms in front of him before resting them at his sides again. “Would you at least consider telling the main host to help us out?” 

Kiyoko shuffled the papers in her hands, before meeting his eyes. “I won’t give any guarantees, but something tells me that if you do set up a de-stress carnival, your club will be the central focus of our broadcast.” 

“Thank you!” He beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “I could kiss you for that.”

“No thank you,” Kiyoko declined, “I’m not interested in confirming the rumors.” 

As Oikawa left the studio, Kiyoko walked into the recording room, a tiny smile on her lips.

Your Canva page lay woefully blank before you.

You’d promised Kuroo a design if he gave you time and Kuroo, ever the considerate friend, actually stopped bothering you about the poster. He seemed to trust in Oikawa’s judgment, and it seemed that the rest of the volleyball club did too. 

As a token of thanks, you’d come to the library, your brain and Pinterest providing you at least a vague idea of what it was you wanted to do. However, when it came time to put pen to paper (or more fittingly, hand to mousepad), it seemed that your ideas had been wiped clean. 

Your disappointment felt like a leaky faucet. Despite the minuteness of the feeling, it seemed to pool the more you thought about the situation. While designing was never an obligation, you owed it to your friends. 

You sighed, placing your bag onto the hardwood library table and casting your eyes outside. A slowly setting sun was what greeted you, a medley of pinks and oranges appearing onto a slowly disappearing blue sky. 

How cliche. Considering one's disappointments next to a sunset. 

“Y/N?” A voice called, almost saccharine in the silence of your surroundings. 

And there he was. Draped in the setting sun like a painted figure, cloaked in a veil of sunlight that skimmed his skin like silk. Oikawa’s eyes were almost honey colored in that lighting, and beneath the darkened shelves, he was almost a mystical apparition. 

“Oikawa,” was all you said, cursing every possible force for him appearing now, looking like that, when you barely had anything to show for it. 

“Kuroo told me you’d offered to help us put together some signs for the de-stress carnival.” Oikawa walked over, stepping away from the sunlight and placing his bag down at your table, opting for a seat across from you. “Which, in case you were wondering, I got approval for. A lot of the other clubs are going to be there.” 

“That’s good.” You allowed yourself a glance at him. Your pettiness had all but dissipated, but you were still wary of looking at him for too long. He was like the sun, golden and lustrous and magnetic. You weren’t quite ready to be pulled into his orbit. 

“So,” Oikawa said, taking a glance at your computer screen, “Rough designing?” 

“Yeah. Inspiration has been hard to find and your club is counting on me.” 

“If it means anything to you, we wouldn’t have asked for you to do it if we didn’t believe in you.” You looked up to see Oikawa’s gaze set firmly on your own, as if tracking your expressions. Under his stare, you felt raw. Vulnerable. If you were a cake, and he was cutting you open. 

You weren’t sure what to say. 

A beat of silence permeated the space between you, and the two of you made no effort to stop it. It was somewhat comforting. Unsaid words of yours were understood by him.

“It feels like a lot of pressure,” you finally admitted, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I want it to be worth your while.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oikawa was closer. His breath was soft, fanning over the side of your cheek like a secret. 

“I’m not sure.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper. 

Oikawa paused for a moment, as if contemplating something before decisively placing his hand on top of yours.

For a moment, you were startled by the warmth of his palm, grounding you in some way that didn’t quite make sense to you yet. Something about this was intimate in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Amidst a darkening sky and a slowly dimming library, you could almost consider this clandestine. 

You waited for the rustle of a book’s pages or the resounding footsteps of the librarian to break down the moment, but they never came.  

Oikawa looked at you, seemingly memorizing your features. He said nothing, but a slight smile appeared on his face the second he spotted a stray lock of hair by your ear. You could feel your face progressively heating with every moment spent in this proximity. 

Damn celebrity setters. Damn stupid stupid beautiful men who do this. Damn that Oikawa Tooru. 

Gently, as if touching something fragile, Oikawa smoothed down your hair, brushing the tip of your ear with his fingertips. He held your gaze fondly before suddenly, making an incredulous face. 

“What the-“ He said, looking at your hair again. “It’s back up again.” He looked at his hands in horror, as if their magic didn’t work. “Damn it, that’s not how that goes.” 

You couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting out of you at his antics, You swiftly flattened that pesky strand and looked back at him, feeling the amusement pool in your chest at his dismayed expression. 

“Sorry man,” you laughed, syllables coming out breathless, “Sometimes stuff doesn’t go to plan.” 

Oikawa seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, and feeling the need for some fresh air, you dragged him out of the library. Upon leaving the double doors (and air conditioning), you were met by the lit sidewalk and found the wooden benches by the line of trees. 

You sat down, gesturing for him to join you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before,” Oikawa mentioned off-handedly, “I mean I’m here a lot, but I’m not sure when this was put here.” 

“It’s been here…?” 

Oikawa sighed, tilting his gaze to the now dark sky. “You do have an eye for good things.” 

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?” 

“The stuff you make is adorable. And Kuroo’s always said that everywhere he brings us are all places you found.” 

“Really?” You leaned your upper body onto the bench. “I didn’t expect credit from him.” 

“He cares about you,” Oikawa said. “He gave a lot of shit when he realized that we’d talked on our plane and then not again. But I deserved that.” 

“I was petty. But it’s not like I can actually walk up to you.” 

“What?” Oikawa seemed puzzled, as if this was something impossible for him to fathom. “Why not? I don’t think I’m that bad.” 

“Iwaizumi says otherwise.” 

“Mean. But seriously, why?” 

You’d forgotten how refreshing Oikawa was. Even though you were sitting on a bench, you felt practically weightless. 

“Rumors,” was all you said, gesturing to him. 

Understanding seemed to flash into his eyes, and slowly, like connecting pieces of a puzzle, it all fell into place. He paused for a moment before meeting your eyes with a grin. 

“You know they’re just rumors right?” He smirked, “I went to a party a while back to kick off club season. There was this one girl who really wasn’t leaving me alone, so I ended up leaving. Turns out she’d told her friends that she and I made out at the party and gave me a whole lot more credit than I was expecting. Not that I mind making out, but I’m picky.” 

“Picky how?” You asked, words leaving your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over. 

“Picky as in there’s really only one person I’ve even wanted to kiss since I got here but haven’t got the chance to. I’m hoping they come to the booth. Just so I’ll get to know what that’s like.” 

You felt a subtle twist of something in your chest, though you weren’t sure what to make of it. Of course he had his eye on somebody. It was bound to happen eventually. 

“Why are you making a booth to do mass kissing then?” A valid follow up question. A guy like him could successfully pull whenever he wanted to. 

“Because I’m an opportunist,” he sighed, “And I’m not even sure if I can make a move properly. I don’t function like I normally do when they’re around.” 

“Of course you can. Anybody would say yes to you, Tooru.” 

With this, something in him seemed to snap and he immediately pulled you closer, your faces just an inch apart. His hands were firm around your waist, and the sensation was nearly searing. You could feel everything, from his hands to his breath to even the way his eyes seemed to scan your face. 

The way he looked at you now was like worship. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered shakily. With him all around you you could barely breathe, let alone think. 

“Making a move.” His eyes were on your lips. His hand gently left your waist to skim your arm before placing a hand on your cheek. “May I?” 

Your nod was nearly imperceptible before he captured your lips in yours. 

Soft, was your first thought as you felt his lips brush yours ever so lightly. You leaned into him, relishing the vaguely sweet taste of strawberry Chapstick on his lips as you swiped your tongue over his lips. 

Oikawa Tooru was a mystic. His fingers tangled in your hair and his lips searched for yours as if he was a lost man and you were his savior. He traced the curve of your waist and kissed you passionately, nibbling your lips when you pulled at his shirt. 

You could kiss him forever. You moved to nip at the tip of his ear, and his shaky breath had you considering if you should bite down harder. He pulled you back in and you melted into the feel of his lips and hands and the way his touch seemed to awaken something inside you. 

The way he held you was reverent. 

When you finally split for air, Oikawa held you close, his smile never wavering. He rubbed a thumb across your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“That was magical,” you murmured into his shirt, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit happy to hear the laugh you liked so much. 

You reckoned you’d be able to put together a solid design after tonight.

Oikawa had a skip in his step the following morning. He’d aced every assessment, finished all his homework, and made major breakthroughs at practice. His sets to Bokuto were so flawless that Bokuto could hardly believe he’d made those shots. 

Everyone on the volleyball team was certain that something had happened, but Oikawa refused to let up. 

He didn’t kiss and tell after all. 

“What is up with you?” Iwaizumi asked good-naturedly, tipping back a water bottle. “You’ve been in a surprisingly good mood all morning.” 

“It’s been a good day,” Oikawa smiled, offering no other details while picking up a few stray balls on the court. The gym floor seemed exceptionally shiny today. He’d be sure to thank whoever waxed the floor for their services when he could. 

“Something definitely happened.” Kuroo chimed in, scrutinizing Oikawa like he was something under a microscope. “The question is what.” 

“Am I not allowed to have good days?” 

“No you are,” Kuroo smirked, “But a day this good only happens after a sudden surge in popularity which —last time I checked— didn’t happen, or……did you make some breakthrough?” 

“With my sets, yes.” 

“No,” Kuroo smiled knowingly. “I’m gonna curse them out for not telling me anything.” 

Oikawa hid his surprise with a flash of indifference, though internally he cursed the middle blocker. It seemed that he was just as good at reading people as he was at read blocking. 

Iwaizumi caught on almost immediately, casting his eyes to his longtime friend, who all of a sudden, was acting like a deer in headlights. He found it odd that the nature of your relationship with Oikawa had transformed seemingly overnight. 

It seemed that you never truly harbored any resentment against him. 

Still, he resolved to approach you about it as soon as he could. 

The minute that you walked through the gym’s double doors, the entire team thought that they’d summoned you with all the prying they were doing. You hauled something large through the door and placed it against the wall, proud of yourself for the herculean effort it took to bring it through. 

The minute he registered your presence, Oikawa’s face looked like a puff of cotton candy. His cheeks were rosy with all the teasing and the memories of last night, and when he saw what it was that you’d leaned against the wall, he thought he should run over and kiss you out of pride. 

“Good morning guys,” you beamed, a smile so radiant that Oikawa had suddenly lost all the focus he’d had all morning. 

“Morning Y/N,” Iwaizumi greeted, walking over to greet you with a hug and a slight gesture to the object that was now leaning against the wall. “Is this it?” 

You nodded excitedly. “I got the inspiration to put it together last night. I think it captures the magic of the booth.” 

Iwaizumi leaned to flip over the posterboard and decided that he’d never seen anything more fitting in his entire life. 

The sign was a pastel wonder, a pale blue at the bottom and moving to a light pink at the top. Across the poster were small and light volleyballs, somewhat transparent against the background as if the pattern was a part of it. The borders of the poster were filled with various lip prints (and even funnier, some hidden Chapsticks).

The font at the center was a far cry from the scrawling archaic font that Kuroo had used on their initial flyers. It was a simple block font, a shade of pink with a glow filter and a pattern that made it look like a light-up sign on the part that really mattered.

The Volleyball Club presents, the poster read, written in a smaller font. Right below that, the light up letters spelled out The Mystic Kissbooth. Help kiss us to greatness. 

The team crowded around the board, marveling at both its quality and its thoughtfulness. 

“Y/N….” Bokuto trailed off, his eyes nearly bursting with amazement, “This is crazy!” 

“Yeah,” Semi added, “This is ridiculously good. Kuroo, where the hell have you been keeping them.” 

Kuroo simply crossed his arms and smiled with pride. He’d always believed in you. 

Oikawa stood shell-shocked at your work, feeling all the days of preparation finally coming together. He looked at you and smiled a smile so genuine, you were glad you’d finally pulled through. 

You looked to the floor bashfully for a moment before meeting the team’s eyes with renewed confidence. “Thank you. I’m glad to help.” 

Iwaizumi stood at your side, smiling fondly at you before turning his gaze to Oikawa. “Hey. Oikawa. What is the deal with the de-stress carnival? When is it, where is it, and where are we setting up?” 

Oikawa, still elated, looked around the gym at the team. “If you want details, I think we should call another meeting.” 

”That is a great idea,” you chimed in. 

“Wanna join?” Oikawa asked (hopefully). 

”I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. I’ve got a date with Kiyoko.” 

The team went silent. “You have a what?!”

The evening hues only made Kiyoko more beautiful. She was dressed casually, wearing classic blue jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan that only accentuated her figure. When she saw you approaching her, a smile appeared on her face instantaneously. 

“Y/N!” She greeted, “It’s good to see you.” 

You jogged up to her and pulled her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you too!”

You and Kiyoko fell into step naturally, opting to have dinner at one of your favorite places outside of campus. It was a quick walk from where you’d chosen to meet up, and in such good weather, it was a crime not to spend more time together. 

“I have a lot to tell you about,” Kiyoko began, “Starting with Oikawa Tooru. He showed up in my room and asked for the host. He’s got to know it’s me right?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know you use a modulator to stay under wraps so people take the podcast seriously, but he’s had a very good track record for being perceptive.” 

“That’s a pain” she sighed, “I hope he’s not going to spread it around.” 

“He won’t,” you assured her, “Oikawa can understand rumors better than anyone.” 

Kiyoko smiled relievedly, though she raised a brow at the mention of rumors. “Are those true?” 

You fought the heat that seemed to emerge onto your face the minute she mentioned that. You just hoped it would go unnoticed by her. 

Her blue eyes, unfortunately, were just as perceptive as they were pretty. 

She smirked, crossing her arms and stopping on the sidewalk path. “When did that happen?” 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep walking.” You wish your voice had come out more strongly than a murmur. 

“When?” 

“Last night.” Damn Kiyoko for getting answers out of you. 

“And…?” She raised her brows expectantly. 

“Rumors are baseless but I confirm them. He is magical.” 

“I ought to say something about that,” she giggled, and you wanted to bury yourself into your hands to avoid her teasing. 

“Shush.” 

The two of you had a lovely dinner and opted to grab a quick drink from the speciality beverage store next door. Kiyoko grabbed a strawberry milkshake and you opted for a tropical fruit floater that they’d just created. Thanks to Kiyoko, both drinks were on the house. 

She nursed the straw between her lips and took a drag of her milkshake before meeting your eyes. “I have some information on the de-stress carnival.” 

You urged her to continue, and Kiyoko did. 

“Looks like Oikawa and the other members of clubs decided to officially name it the Cool Down Carnival. They’re just going to refer to it as Cool Down for ease. They’re planning to organize it the Saturday after midterms and they’ve been working on concessions like cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn, and a whole boatload of stuff. Administration is also totally fine with this.” 

“Wow,” was all you could say as a response. You were honestly impressed with Oikawa. He put so much thought and care into a silly rumor that had transformed into one of the school’s biggest upcoming events. He was an alchemist of opportunities, taking a rumor of lead and transforming it to gold. 

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nodded, “I’ll get social media to cover it for me. So far, nobody doubts that I’m the manager of the ‘Cast, so it should be fairly reasonable for me to do.” 

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about how they’re planning to do the shifts of the booth?” 

“All I know for certain is that Oikawa said he probably wasn’t gonna do a headlining shift…or a shift at all. A lot of the other members were perfectly fine with taking this on, but there has been some backlash.” 

He was planning on not headlining the booth?

Your heart was suddenly very warm and fuzzy in your chest. 

Kiyoko knowingly smiled at you before tipping at the front register and dragging you outside. The breeze was oddly pleasant, something a bit uncommon for this time of year. It was approaching colder weather, but it felt nearly spring-like. 

“The weather isn’t making sense,” you said, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with nighttime out. 

“It hasn’t been making sense,” Kiyoko smiled, “We’re anticipating a fresh fair.” 

Springs and falls blended together. You found a beautiful leaf on the sidewalk and pressed it to your palm, preserving the feel and look in your memory. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you’d finally tell Kiyoko as you parted ways, meaning each and every word.

When Oikawa had showed up at your doorstep in the morning, your sleep-addled brain could barely fathom the reason as to why he would do such a thing. 

That was, until he walked into your room carrying breakfast in a brown bag. 

“Good morning Y/N.” He said, voice still slightly raspy from a good night of sleep. (You weren’t going to forget how that sounded forever). 

You greeted him with a morning greeting of your own and sat on your bed, stretching your limbs and analyzing the boy who—at this present moment—seemed like the happiest guy on earth. 

“Feel free to help yourself,” Oikawa grinned, grabbing a bagel and a pack of cream cheese from the bag. “I have some updates for you.” 

“Does it have to do with the Cool Down?” You walked over to the bag and grabbed something you liked from the inside. 

“Wow. How did you know about the name?” 

“I have my sources,” you winked. 

Oikawa simply laughed. “I know it’s Kiyoko dumbass. She’s one of the sneakiest podcast hosts of all time.” 

“So you do know.” 

“Obviously.” Oikawa lounged on the chair in your corner. “Nobody else is ever working in that office. She should get some people to join her.” 

You nodded and shifted to sit next to him on the couch. His warmth was a surprisingly pleasant addition into the morning, and you found yourself leaning into him. He didn’t make any move to stop it, opting to pull you in and place his arm over you. 

“We have classes soon,” you said groggily, “But I don’t want to move.” 

“We don’t have to right now.” 

“Thanks Tooru.” 

“Of course, Y/N.” He smiled. “Though we do have an afternoon meeting on how to divide the shifts. I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing about me.” 

You suddenly felt a lot more awake. You shifted your weight onto your unsupported arm and looked up at Oikawa. “Are you planning to take a shift?” 

Oikawa shifted nervously in his seat. “I’m not sure. I may have to for the sake of demand. Everyone is expecting me to live up to the expectation. I think we would be less successful without my involvement.” 

You felt a twist of something. Not jealously, but not comfort either. Something between the two. You rose away from Oikawa, walking over to the opposite side of the room where your bed was and met his eyes. 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, feeling partially unfair. There was nothing official between the two of you at the moment, but you’d thought after the kiss two nights ago…..you thought you had a chance. 

“I might,” he gulped, “But you know you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kiss.” 

You sighed exasperatedly. “I know that you came up with this as a business opportunity and because you thought we’d never…get anywhere, but a long shift is going to be a lot of people.” 

“I know,” he sighed, meeting your eyes with an expression in his own that looked a lot like sadness. “But the fundraiser might just have to come first for now— no that’s not what I—“ 

“Please leave,” you said, voice wavering a bit, “I don’t want to deal with the whole priorities thing right now. We can say we kissed once for fun. Headline it if you must. Later Oikawa.” 

You turned away from him and walked towards your closet to find appropriate clothes for the day. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. Things would become too complicated for you to handle. 

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Oikawa said from behind you, “That is genuinely not what I meant.” 

You turned to face him again, not even able to meet his eyes. “There’s got to be some semblance of truth in what you said earlier. You love your team Oikawa. They are important. I don’t expect you to throw away opportunities for me. We’re not even dating.” You laughed dryly. “I’d like a bit of space. We can talk a bit later.” 

Oikawa seemed like he had a lot more to say, but he wordlessly slipped out of the door, leaving your room noticeably empty. 

Once he’d left for certain, you collapsed onto the floor and let loose the dam of tears you’d held in for so long.

When Iwaizumi found you in the library, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were reddened ever so slightly, covered over by a splash of cold water to the face (most likely), and your usual cheerfulness when you greeted him was a lot less lively. 

He took the seat beside you, surprised by your lack of response. 

”Hajime,” you said softly, turning over to smile sadly at him, “Good to see you here.” 

Correction: something was horrifically wrong. 

“What happened?” He asked softly, wondering what was enough to dampen your normally resilient spirit.  

“Fucking Oikawa,” you laughed sarcastically, “Look at me saying I’d never get caught up in his web, and then doing exactly that.” 

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow. That day on the bench, he’d known enough to discern that you and Oikawa had some sort of history. That much continued to be made obvious by Oikawa’s constant urge to see you and include you in everything that he and Kuroo didn’t think was important enough to invite you to. 

However, he wasn’t sure when you and Oikawa became more than a past set of acquaintances….and that stung a little. He understood your reasoning though. Especially if it was as complicated as you seemed to feel at the moment. 

“Were you guys dating?”

“No.” You turned to face him in full, and he was struck by the magnitude of just how magnetic you were. Iwaizumi was guilty of being stuck in your orbit. “Just a kiss. Because he sweet talked me into thinking he wanted something.”

“Knowing him, he probably did.” Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa has a tendency to be obsessive to get what he wants, but also be blinded by obligations. This was definitely about him headlining the booth, right?” 

You nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in your throat at the thought. You weren’t ready to confront the morning’s events quite yet. 

“That dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned, “If he’d told us that he liked you and had actually managed to make a move we would’ve gladly taken his shift! Who gives a fuck about what the college body wants? Half of them thirst over everyone!” You laughed a bit at the truth of that statement. “Yeah, and Kiyoko told me she was also planning on making a little appearance.” 

At this Iwaizumi raised his brow. “Oh that’s about to be carnage.” 

“Absolutely,” you giggled, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky person.” Iwaizumi laughed, a sound that was low and sweet and comforting. “I think I’ll leave it to some of the other boys. They deserve a chance after all.” 

The two of you grinned at the mental imagery of the team fighting for a chance to interact with your beautiful friend, and suddenly, Oikawa’s shittiness seemed like something far less relevant. 

Still, even with the humor of the situation came the very uncomfortable realization that you and Oikawa–-whatever you were–-were done if you didn’t come to some consensus. 

You shoved your hands into your face, wondering how the hell you’d managed to go from avoidant and unattached to too attached. Maybe the rumors had some merit. A kiss from Oikawa was all that it took to get so jumbled. 

Iwaizumi’s warm palm on your back was what brought you back to your senses. He rubbed his slow circles and sat there patiently until you emerged from your cover of shame. 

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice raw and vulnerable and everything you’d rather it not have been. 

“Whatever you want to do.” Iwaizumi’s gaze was genuine, soft eyes studying you. “You’re entitled to your own decisions. Kuroo and I would never ditch you for Shitty you know.” 

“It’s for the team,” you whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your vision was hazy, and you blinked slowly to clear the water from your eyes. “So then why do I feel like this?” 

“Because you care about him, Y/N.” Iwaizumi squeezed your shoulder affectionately, “You and him clearly bonded on some intergalactic level, so having that be suddenly shattered in favor of something seemingly less important is going to feel like shit. In fact, he is the real piece of crap here.” “The team matters.” “The team is all about relationships.” Iwaizumi said firmly. “I have a hunch there’s someone in this tournament that he needs to beat. That’s why he’s been obsessively orchestrating the perfect way to raise money to have a practice match beforehand. Still, I won’t deny it. Oikawa is an idiot for doing this to you. You have all the rights to move on with your life.” 

“I think I’m gonna take my space from him for a few days,” you eventually responded. “I think I’ll also not visit the booth. I’ll give Kuroo the sign in advance so he can help with setting up?” 

Iwaizumi nodded solemnly. “If that’s what you need to do, I’ll be your number one supporter. I’d still love it if you could stop by though. We love having you around.” 

You nodded at him. “I’ll be there for you and Kuroo. Always. And you guys can hang out with me at the Cool Down when you’re off shift.” 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi smiled, “For you? Anything.”

“How do you say, ‘I’m angry’ in French?” The ping of the recording microphone tapped on as Oikawa paced quickly around his room. 

“Je suis fâché.” 

“How do you say, ‘I like to go out with my friends’ in French?” “J’aime sortir avec mes amis.” 

“How do you say, ‘I went to my friend’s house’ in French?” 

“Je ne veux pas continuer.” 

“Oui Monsieur. À Bientôt!” His phone’s recording feature switched off, leaving him in a silent room once again. 

He was regretful, so much so that he paced around in his room in the hopes that it would give him some sort of clarity. As much as he wanted to approach you, he knew you weren’t ready to talk to him right now. 

“Shittykawa,” he heard from his door, opening with a subtlety and closing with a bang. Classic Iwa move. 

He turned to face his best friend, who at this moment, seemed to be quite irritated with him. He could feel the lecture as certain as one could feel a thunderstorm in the air. 

Iwaizumi stood, arms crossed in Oikawa’s room, leaning against the wall and pinning him with a look so strong it might as well have been a thumbtack. Oikawa felt rooted in place, and all the words he initially planned on saying left his mouth. 

“So Ushijima Wakatoshi happens to be at a school just a bit over,” Iwa started, “I did my research. Why not play a practice match with them to start to see their setting style? Break down their setter, practice receiving from a left-handed person, and maybe we can beat him, right?” 

Oikawa sighed, feeling all the fight leave his body. He made his way over to his pale blue rug and sat down. “I know. It’s ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is what you did to Y/N.” Iwaizumi glared at him. “If you’d said something about liking them and actually successfully getting them to like you, then we would’ve been perfectly capable of handling the shifts. Hell, even Kiyoko is coming. That alone will give people incentive to come and kiss us.” 

“I made a mistake,” Oikawa cringed. He didn’t even want to think about the morning. What was intended to be a romantic gesture ended up being a horrible memory. His attempts to distract himself were futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Iwaizumi had found you. “But they probably don’t want to talk to me.” 

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa sadly. “They’re planning on skipping the booth. They’ve already decided to give their poster to Kuroo so he can help us with set-up. So don’t plan on seeing them.” 

He grimaced. “Not coming? Really?” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “I was pretty unhappy about it, but we’ve got to give them space to process everything.” The minute you’d smiled at him in the airport, talking about “college stampedes,” Oikawa knew he wanted nothing more but to know you better. He’d thanked every lucky star for the seats you had next to each other and relished every moment spent with you. 

He wondered why you avoided him for the next months, always daydreaming about what he’d say to you when you finally reappeared at practices. He’d searched for you in your classes, but he always missed you. 

When you walked into the gym on that fateful day, he thought he had a genuine chance. You were perfect. Your thoughts were exquisite, your smile radiant, and everything about you felt right. When he kissed you, he could’ve screamed to the heavens that his heart was yours. 

Perhaps that was why his heart seemed to tear a bit at Iwaizumi’s declaration. You wanted to move on from this. 

“Oikawa…you can still fix this you know?” Iwaizumi pulled him up from the rug, noting the reignited spark in his eyes. “You should probably get the fair set up, find Y/N, and explain yourself. I’m certain they’ll understand.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he said solemnly, “And if they still decide they want nothing to do with me, at least I did my part.”

You found him at Kuroo’s place at night when you’d stepped through his door uninvited (like you did at times). In your hands was your laptop, a few pencils, and the sign you’d made for the booth. The last thing you’d expected was to see the person you’d been trying so desperately to avoid. 

Oikawa, for a moment, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the door, brown eyes concerned and scanning you as if you’d just walked in through the wall. 

Nobody said anything. You stood still, too shell-shocked to process the fact that a night before the Cool Down, Oikawa was spending time with Kuroo. In fact, you could barely believe Kuroo had ever allowed Oikawa into his place in the first place, especially when he knew that you were planning on popping in at some point. 

Kuroo’s eyes followed your gaze, finding it landing right on the floor next to Oikawa (as opposed to straight at him). 

“Well,” Kuroo began softly, “I didn’t warn either of you.” 

“You could have,” you said, looking back at Kuroo, “I would’ve liked to know before I got here.” “But then you would have never showed up.” Oikawa’s voice was clear, slicing through the silence of the room with a blade of decisiveness that you hadn’t heard from him. He looked you over, seemingly analyzing your health since the day he’d fucked up. 

“I wasn’t planning on running into you,” you admitted, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “In fact, I was literally just coming to drop off the sign for your booth, talk to my best friend, and then go to bed.” 

“Please let me explain myself.” Everything about Oikawa seemed pleading. His face harbored an expression of guilt so boundless that you weren’t sure how to react. 

You wordlessly sat down in the corner chair closest to Kuroo’s door, setting your stuff down on the surface closest to it. 

“I’m sure Iwaizumi must have told you what it was that we were raising money for.” 

You nodded.

“I never had the chance to tell you more about what I struggled with in high school," Oikawa said quietly. “I was surrounded by talented players. Some of them are so talented that I thought I never even stood a chance.  I realized at the end of my matches that I deserved to be on the court just as much as anyone else.” 

“You’re a damn good setter Oikawa,” Kuroo interjected, “And even Semi admires your sets. He’s from the same school as Ushijima too.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa laughed softly, but even the sound was sad. He turned to meet your eyes. “I was out of line trying to say the volleyball club mattered more to me than what we were getting to be. I was worried they’d be weird at me for flaking, but they’re my team. Iwa told me they’d always have my back. Happy setter happy tosses right?” 

You took a moment to process everything that he was saying, ultimately coming to one conclusion. He really did feel bad. 

“Why are you so obsessed with having a chance to beat someone you had a rivalry with in highschool?” 

Oikawa paused, contemplating your question. His brow was furrowed, and his hands clutched anxiously around nothing, seemingly finding the best words to phrase—whatever it was—that he was feeling. 

“It was to give myself the confidence to know I can still beat tough opponents,” he said quietly. “But it was never worth losing you.” 

You gently moved onto the floor, kneeling your way over to where Oikawa sat. When your fingertips skimmed his cheek, cool from the fall time air, he seemed fragile. 

You gently curved your fingers to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you sure you mean it?” 

“Every last word.” Oikawa whispers, and maybe against your better instincts, you pull him into an embrace.

As far as Oikawa was concerned, you weren’t coming to the booth today. 

Cool Down’s set up began bright and early, and despite last night’s emotional clarity, Kuroo was still the one who showed up with the sign. 

The booth was placed in a central location, but deep enough into the carnival so that after a sweet kiss, everyone could go and support the other clubs. He hadn’t been able to spot Kiyoko quite yet, but he was certain they were bound to cross paths eventually. 

He walked across the grassy area where the carnival was being set up, watching the glorious “Cool Down” sign being placed at the front of the admit area. Many sports teams and board members of academic clubs were helping organize their own booths. 

“Hey Oikawa! I can put up the banner!” Bokuto shouted from across the field, jogging up to their area with a rolled up “Mystic Kissbooth” backdrop. 

“Be careful!” He yelled back, “We can’t have one of our best spikers getting hurt. I need those cross court and straight shots in perfect condition!” 

Bokuto grinned so widely that Oikawa couldn’t help but grin back. “You can count on me!” 

He took a moment to slouch against the now filled bouncy castle by their stand, clutching his clipboard to his chest. He could practically sense the excitement seeping into the space as the nearby club members set up their stands. 

He’d had the opportunity to survey the space beforehand, and was quite pleased with the nearby stations. 

The art club created a paint gun bullseye game to win handmade trinkets and jewelry. The president stood proudly at the set up side, excitedly loading up paint into the guns. He could already predict the boyfriends who’d attempt to win there.

To the other side of them was the statistics club’s probability stand. They’d set up numerous games: cards, a wheel, and even ring toss for the chance to win huge prizes. At the present moment, Kuroo was inquiring about the legitimacy of the airpods in one of the member’s hands (and yes—they were legit). 

“This is pretty amazing, huh?” 

Oikawa snapped out of his reverie, only to see Mattsun sporting his classic smirk. He looked around for Makki, but didn’t find him. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m honestly surprised our little flier accomplished this much.” 

“I’m not,” Mattsun chuckled, “You’ve been like this since high school Oikawa. Everyone here is really grateful for the rumors. Speaking of which…think the culprit is going to show up today?” 

Oikawa snorted, momentarily horrified at the sound 

that escaped him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not planning on being a headliner. Iwa’s got that covered.” 

Makki walked into view just a few moments later, looking thoroughly confused. “Where’s the rest of the team?” 

Kuroo walked over at the exact moment, clapping Makki on the back. “We decided to give them a little break, considering they’re going to be doing all the kissing later.” 

The group gathered together, and Mattsun pointed to the castle. “Who’s running this thing?” 

“Oh it’s just a free fun thing the school is putting up.” Oikawa smacked it for good measure. 

“How did midterms even go for you guys?” Kuroo laughed, “I pulled what I wanted in all my classes. Somehow. Orgo was a fucking miracle though. I genuinely thought I failed.”

“I was mostly fine,” Mattsun chuckled, “Though we won’t talk about history. Freaking liberal arts.” 

Oikawa’s midterms had gone more or less to plan, but the added emotional stress had made it much more difficult to keep cool. 

Standing there in that grassy field, he felt more at peace than he did the rest of the week. 

Maybe today would be okay after all.

You and Iwaizumi were in your room trying to devise a plan on how to attend the carnival. The cool wood of your desk hit your wrist as you spread out the makeshift blueprint of the event that Kiyoko had so graciously given you. 

Iwaizumi paced along the floor, inspecting outfits that you picked out while you devised a mental list of everywhere you wanted to go to maximize your enjoyment. Economic principles were literally designed off of utility, and you wanted to make sure all your contributions would have the best outcome for the clubs and yourself. 

Midterms had been stressful, and while last night’s talk had fixed most of what had contributed to that stress, you still wondered about Oikawa.  

Iwaizumi was the event’s new headliner, so what did that mean for Oikawa? 

You weren’t sure. 

The Saturday morning filled your room with sunshine that was comforting. From your window you were greeted with the multicolored leaves of campus, some floating down leisurely to hit the grass. 

Iwaizumi, it seemed, had finally picked your outfit. 

“Here,” he gestured, pointing to one of your favorites. “You rock this one.” 

“Why thank you,” you smiled, tossing him the blueprint. “I’ve finally figured out the order I’m going to tour the Cool Down.”

Iwaizumi caught the paper in one arm, muscles flexing ever so slightly as he did. You nodded appreciatively. He was going to generate a shit ton of money. 

He put a pen between his lips ever so slightly as he read the marks on the page. “Cotton candy. Art booth. Bouncy castle. Stats games. Chemistry lab. Apple dunk to win candy apples. Physics coaster.” He handed the page back. “That’s a pretty solid list. I think you’re missing something though.”

You pulled the pen out of Iwa’s mouth (surprised at your boldness) and smiled gently at him. “I’ll be sure to pop in at some point or be nearby to support you.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, “Of course. I just need to beat you at any and all games we visit after my shift.” 

You snickered. “Not a chance.” 

Iwaizumi simply smirked in response.

“Hey, I need two tickets!” A student hollered to her assistant, who at the present moment, was working on acquiring more admit tickets from the roll they’d customized for the event. “We have quite the line here.” 

“I’m working on it!” The assistant hollered back, jogging over with the entire row. 

The line for the Cool Down was large, and you were thankful you’d had the foresight to arrive early enough to avoid a majority of the crowd. Being friends with Iwa had its perks too–the minute that the admitting team had spotted him, they’d immediately ushered you to the front so you were in a position to visit him later. 

Soon enough, you were at the front of the line. 

“Well hello there friend of Iwaizumi,” the girl at the front smiled, “How many tickets do you need?” “Just one,” you said, surprised at the lack of prompt to pay the entrance fee. “What about the entrance fee?” 

“Oh, Iwaizumi took care of that already,” the assistant grinned, handing you a beautifully designed cardstock ticket and tying a wristband around your wrist. “So you can walk straight in.” 

You smiled graciously at the duo. “Wow. I’ll go find him and pay him back. Thank you guys.”

Stepping around the ticket distribution center, you walked straight through the decorated entrance area and walked in. 

For a moment, you were awestruck. The usually empty grass fields were filled to the brim with activity. All around you were the booths of various clubs, all with lines to try them out. You could smell the sweet and tart scent of caramel apples in the distance, and saw a couple trying out the physics club’s make-shift coaster with a cotton candy in their hands. 

The late afternoon was brisk and fresh, and you felt the possibilities of the evening unfurl around you. As the sky darkened its hues, the fair would begin to light up from the fixtures that trimmed everyone’s areas. Everything, from the food areas, to even the Mystic Kissbooth would create a movie-like scene. 

You decided right there and then that the Cool Down was the best fair you’d ever attended. You’d never seen anything as well thought out as what you saw today. 

You made your way to the popcorn area, finding new booths that you hadn’t seen on the blueprint. In front of you was a simple dart-throw, with the guarantee of winning a special edition Cool Down shirt if you hit within a certain range. 

This was intriguing. 

“Hi there,” you said quietly, walking up to the booth. “Can I give this a whirl?” The booth’s president looked up at you shocked for a moment before nodding. 

“Of course!” He said excitedly, elbowing his shift mate. “Y/L/N Y/N, right? We are huge fans of your work. Kuroo has told us so so much about you!” 

“My work?” You asked curiously as they pressed a dart into your palm. “Like my fliers?” “Hell yeah,” the president grinned. “Pay if you win okay? I honestly want you to get our design out of it. We were inspired a bit by your Mystic Kissbooth sign.” 

In the spirit of good fun, you aimed the dart as best as you could, so surprised when you hit a spot very close to the bulls-eye. 

“Hey!” you shouted excitedly, “I actually got in range!” The president smiled excitedly. “Amazing! What’s your shirt size?” You told him your size, tucking a good amount of money into the jar. As soon as the soft shirt fabric hit your hands, you were immediately overcome with a sense of pride. The design was beautiful and simple, capturing the essence in the fair in just an image.

“You’re the design club?” You grinned, “This is amazing!” “Ah thank you,” the president said bashfully, “It’s an honor to get a compliment from you. You’re more than welcome to join us. Canva art is still art we love.” 

“I’ll be sure to consider it!” You waved goodbye to the design booth as you made your way deeper into the fair, a t-shirt in hand. 

“Hey there! Want a chance to win a cool plushie? Come right over!” You turned your head to be met with the sewing club with something that looked a lot like “Bop-It” set up with sheets of papers next to them. Out of sheer curiosity you made your way to the booth, finding a larger crowd than you anticipated. “Okay,” one of the members began, “Here is how this works. You and your competitor will receive a pre-programmed Bop-It machine. Follow the color scheme as closely as you can and note the last color in each sequence on your sheet. If you don’t mess up before your partner, you win ANY handmade plush of your choice!” In front of you, you spotted a couple tucking money into the jar and competing against one another. The round was quick, ending when someone clicked the wrong color. The handmade plushie of the winner was adorable. 

Somehow, all your observations had led you to the front of the line. 

“Hello,” a student smiled, “Do you have a competitor with you?” You were about to share a response when you heard a voice behind you. “Yeah, they do. I’d like to play please.” You were pleasantly surprised to find Kiyoko grinning as she tucked a hefty amount into the jar. The student at the front seemed enamored, and so did the entire line. 

“Shimizu Kiyoko is here…” they all whispered. 

“Hey Kiyoko,” you smiled, placing your own money in the jar. “Planning to beat me?” 

“Of course.” She grinned mischievously, “I ran a volleyball team. I am competitive enough to beat you.” 

The game began as soon as the students got a grip of themselves. You frantically hit the colors and noted them down, only to tie with Kiyoko. You’d both walked away with adorable plushies, though Kiyoko had forcibly had to ensure that they didn’t hand her an extra. 

“I’m glad to run into you,” you smiled, walking with her further into the grass. “I had no idea what time you were planning to get here.” 

“I’m glad I found you.” Her smile was infectious, and soon enough, you stood in front of a candy apple stand. 

“Are you planning to visit the booth?” You asked her, watching her pay for her apple. 

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Oikawa begged me to cover, so I was feeling nice. Though he’s been sulking lately.” You raised a brow. When you saw him last night, you could feel his fatigue. You felt the stress melt out of him when you pulled him in for a hug, but you hadn’t realized the extent of his distress. 

“He hasn’t kissed today at all,” she smiled knowingly, “I think he’s saving an appearance for a special someone.” “He’s….not headlining?” You were shocked. After everything, it seemed that he really meant what he said. 

“Nope,” Kiyoko wiped some caramel from her lips. “And the booth’s sales have been spectacular.” 

Standing there in the field, you were hit with the intense urge to see him. “Go,” Kiyoko smiled, “They’ve been waiting for you to show up.” “We’ll catch up.” You smiled as you took off in a jog towards the booth. The wind swept your cheeks as you ran, and you could see the evening sun dip into different colors. Beautiful, you thought, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins. 

He really had meant everything. You needed to see him. 

When you arrived at the booth, you were shocked at the line. So many students lined up, money in hand as they waited for their chance to kiss a volleyball player. You were shocked to see the crowd, watching someone hand Semi a particularly large bill before leaning in for a kiss. 

You surveyed the booth for Oikawa, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You couldn’t stop the thrum of your heart in your chest from overpowering your senses. Where was he? What if you were too late? At that particular moment, Oikawa walked out from behind the stand, putting some Chapstick onto his lips. And then, he saw you. 

You stood in line, a large bill in hand and an expression that seemed almost desperate. Oikawa has never seen anyone look more perfect than you did right now. You held a handmade plushie and a shirt, lips flushed from biting them. 

You met his eyes, feeling your heart shock at the sensation. There he was. 

Before you even had a chance to think about what you were doing, you ran out of line to him, shoving the bill into his hands. 

“Tooru,” you said breathlessly, looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Kiyoko told me you weren’t headlining. I was afraid I wasn’t going to find you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” Oikawa could hardly hide his shock as the words tumbled from your lips. He studied your cheeks, and smoothed out your wind mused hair with a soft smile. “Hey, it’s alright.” You exhaled, looking at him like he strung the stars. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Oikawa simply grinned before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. 

This was different from the last time you kissed. He cupped your face softly and wrapped his other arm around your waist, tracing a small heart into your back. You could feel the curve of his lips as he kissed you softly, pulling you deeper when you smiled back into it. Everything about this was soft, almost loving. It felt like a truce. It felt like a confession. 

It felt better than both of those things. When you finally split for air, his smile was nearly blinding. He looked at you like you were a poet and he was your poetry, a product of your purest affections. 

“Go out with me sometime?” He looked nervous, standing there like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were the most special person in the universe. 

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling him down for another kiss.

©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited

if you got this far, thank you for reading <3!!

[elfwreck]

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

[jasperhaleobsessed]

Hey, could you write either a headcanon, fanfic, or anything of the sort with the reader dating Jasper and meeting the Major for the first time?

If you need inspiration, here’s an idea: Maybe the reader puts themself in a dangerous situation after Jasper told them not to. Jasper turns into the major and gets really upset at them (not really upset, just scared that they could have gotten hurt). Reader gets scared and backs away from him and Jasper/Major realizes reader is hurt and immediately starts crying to comfort and help the reader?

Fear

Jasper Hale x reader

Summary: The reader puts herself in danger and causes the major to come out due to Jasper's fear but ends up scaring reader and they both comfort each other.

Notes: Hope you enjoy! This is gonna be a shorter fic than some of my others! Also this takes place during Eclipse.

Warnings: The major gets a bit mad but nothing bad happens practically all fluff 😊

Word count: 413

He waltzes towards you. You felt your heartbeat pick up. You were unsure what to think or what to say. What were you supposed to say “Hello Major I’m Jasper’s girlfriend.” Yeah no. 

Your POV

Jasper told you about him. About the major. You never thought you’d ever meet face to face. But today you are. The first thing you noticed was how different they were from each other. He stood straighter and held himself more like someone who works in military forces. You also noticed his voice was deeper and more rough than Jasper's smooth and calming voice. 

“Hello sweetheart, what do you think your doin’?” He eyed you suspiciously. He looked like he was trying to assess the situation or something similar to that. It made you feel a bit self conscious. 

You took a deep breath and tried to sound confident as you said, “I was just trying to understand the situation and that’s why I came.” You explained. You hoped he saw how that was rational and reasoned to you it felt that way but you were unsure if he’d feel the same way. 

And you were right. He did not see it that way. “Really?” He said sarcastically. 

You inched closer, hoping to reason with him. “Like I said, I just want to understand how your family and the wolves will take down the newborn army. I’m worried that’s all.” 

You saw Anger and fear in his dark eyes. But that didn’t ease your fear as he said, “You're trying to get yourself killed!” He yelled. You back away, you feel shivers run up your spine. You knew he was scared but you couldn’t help but feel scared as well. You looked away from him and shrinked away. The major looked horrified as he cradled your face. If he could cry he would be right now.

He kept whispering “I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” You whisper. You wrap your hands around him and hug him tightly.

“Don’t. It’s okay.” He was initially shocked that you hugged him but returned it. He held onto you softly trying not to hurt you.

After a few hours Jasper was back and he apologized profusely. You whispered only sweet nothings and you did everything you could to ease his worries.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it's okay. You're both okay.” You leaned in and pressed a quick peck on his lips and pulled away and smiled softly at him. He smiled back at you caressing your face and you wrapped him up in a warm and loving hug.

The End

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 4/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Martin – no, Champion, for that was who he was now – crept through the institute, his ears flat against his head. 

How long had he been technically missing for now? At least a week, if not more. And no one had notified the police. Not Jon, not Tim, not Sasha. Not his own mother, despite the fact Martin would call her almost daily to check in on her. Not his neighbours nor his…well. He didn’t have any friends outside the institute. 

He didn’t have any friends inside the institute either, it seemed. 

Champion padded past the grand oak reception desk in the front lobby. Almost immediately, his paws left the ground, which drew a purr of surprise from him, his little blue eyes growing wide.

“Oh, Champion! You came to visit me, did you?” 

Rosie, Elias’ assistant, gathered Champion into her arms, her thin, angular face all smiles and framed with bouncing red curls. Everyone’s face was all smiles when Champion arrived. Champion, who did nothing at all to actually help the institute. He couldn’t read properly like this. He couldn’t research, staying up all hours of the night to finish reports. He couldn’t go investigate leads across the country, nor pitch theories for statements. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea like this. 

Martin could do all those things. And not once had he been given a genuine smile in return, not a single sparkle in someone’s eye to say they were actually happy to see him. But as Champion? 

All he had to do was walk on by. 

The first few days, that attention had overjoyed Martin. All he’d ever wanted. But now, it stung, jabbing him in the chest and reminding him that all this fuss wasn’t for him. Not really. 

That people liked him better as a useless cat than a man who tried too hard and apologised for existing. 

“Oh dear, little guy, why the sad ears?” Rosie continued, sitting down and depositing Champion onto the immaculate desk in front of her. “Was Jonathan a meanie to you? Do you want Rosie to accidentally misplace his expenses form this month?” She scratched behind Champion’s ear with a perfectly manicured nail, but he couldn’t even muster a false purr in response. 

Everyone liked him better as a cat. Hell, maybe he was better at being a cat? 

Maybe he should just…stay a cat. Let Martin Blackwood become just another missing person, lost behind a veil of barely asked questions. 

Something stirred under his skin at that thought, like a cold fog rippling through his blood, sending all his fur on end. Champion jolted in shock; all too easily, he had forgotten what he wrestled with here. Sure, being turned into a cat sounded silly enough, but the architect of all this had been a Leitner book. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts, caring not for the jovial packaging they came in. 

Champion, now dealing with an alarming amount of adrenaline, leapt from Rosie’s desk and scampered away. He dashed through the corridors, paw pads skidding on the hardwood flooring, his tiny heart hammering away. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts…

He practically slid across the Research Department, not stopping even when one of the researchers reached for a bag of cat treats. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts! What if it could see him or hear him or—

He bounded through the austere, silent library, not sure what he was running from or if anything was even truly chasing him. But instinct tore through his limbs, too aware now of the sense of some unspeakable shadow prowling after him and delighting in his isolation. 

When the panic finally subsided, Champion had to take a moment to look around the room he’d bolted into. The room loomed around him, gloomy save for one desk light working hard to chase it all away. 

His desk light. 

Champion padded through the archival assistants’ office, wandering past Tim’s empty desk and Sasha’s neglected chair. Was Tim at the station, weaving a story as to why they hadn’t reported their colleague missing sooner? Was Sasha in Elias’ office, distracting him from the whole affair? 

He hopped up onto his old chair at his own desk. He hadn’t been here since the day he’d read that damned book in the first place. Jon’s office took the place of his regular workspace, either curled up on Jon’s lap or snoozing under the radiator. 

Being a cat, admittedly, had been a lot more comfortable than being Martin Blackwood. The temptation to remain like this had, he realised, not been entirely out of spite and anger of the others not being too fussed about Martin’s disappearance. 

It had come from Martin’s own disregard for Martin’s disappearance. Like this, he couldn’t annoy people. He didn’t have to worry about messing up conversations or making a fool of himself. He could stay away from people in that way, yet reap all the benefits of getting affection and having his company be greeted with a smile. 

But…he also couldn’t offer Jon a cup of tea and get to see that momentary lessening of his scowl, the only time his frown eased up in the office. The silly little bloom of pride Martin got at being able to coax that out of him with a nice cup of tea – a silent victory, proof he’d done something right.

He couldn’t sneak out five minutes early for lunch with Tim on a Thursday, because they both loved Thursday special at the German kebab shop three blocks away and wanted to avoid the lunch rush queues.

He couldn’t buy a lemon and poppyseed muffin on a Monday to drop off at Rosie’s desk before she got in, earning him first dibs when she baked her amazing Malteser brownies during charity bake sales at work. She pretended she didn’t know Martin brought her breakfast every Monday, when he knew she ran late for work because she had to drop her father off at the physio, but somehow, a hearty slice of brownie would be wrapped in a napkin in the fridge with his name on it all the same. 

He couldn’t go to the little tea room five minutes from his house every Saturday and Wednesday, order the same cup of Earl Grey and the same ham-and-cheese toastie, and beam as the owner called him his favourite and most reliable customer.  

Maybe…Maybe Martin Blackwood did get noticed after all. Little nods, little appreciations. Maybe…that was enough? 

The cold retreated from his fluffy legs, though it didn’t fully subside. It loosened its grip on his tiny heart, but it didn’t uncoil. 

He had to completely undo this, Champion – no, Martin decided. He had to find the answer. And the best place to start had to be the book itself. 

Martin jumped down from his chair, flattening himself on the floor to scoot under the bookcase where he had bashed the book out of sight weeks before. 

A few cobwebs…a pen he’d lost months ago…some paper clips…a scrunched up ball of paper that stole all of Martin’s attention for five minutes or more as he bapped it between his paws in delight…but no book. 

Wriggling his way back out from under the furniture, he looked left and right. Where was it? 

Martin headed out of the archival assistants’ office and made his way towards Jon’s. Had Jon returned to the office to retrieve the book? Martin hadn’t noticed him doing so, nor had the book shown up on Jon’s desk lately. Given that desk doubled as one of Martin’s many napping spots, he was sure he would have spotted it if it had. 

Unless…he’d picked it up recently. Tim had just told Jon that there was no sign of Martin at all at his flat. Tim had done something incredibly important in that conversation, Martin realised in horror. 

He’d given Jon a mystery to unravel. He’d sparked his curiosity and given him a challenge – could he find Martin before a professional? 

Oh no. 

Martin scampered into Jon’s office at full speed, miaowing in a vain attempt to yell Jon’s name. But the room was empty. 

Panting, his head whipped this way and that. Where was he? It was 4:12pm – not a time that Jon would take a smoke break he thought no one knew about, nor a time he’d go for a tea or try to heavily hint for Martin to make one. He was always at his desk. Where was—

“Mrrrrowww…”

Martin blinked, his ears twitching. That…hadn’t come from him. “Miaow?”

A horrified pause stretched out across the office. And then, that same, low rumble of a miaow, sorrowful and irritated. 

“Mrrrrrooooowwww…”

Plucking up his courage, Martin followed the sound, his fur already sticking up on end. He tip-toed around the leg of Jon’s desk, already suspecting what had happened, yet praying it hadn’t.

There, beside Jon’s chair, was The Ninth Life, open on the last few pages. And on top of the book was the saddest, skinniest, scabbiest-looking black cat that Martin had ever seen in his life. Flecks of grey mottled his fur, which was missing in great clumps all over. Most of his right ear was missing, leaving a ragged edge in its wake. His eyes were far too big for his head, a brilliant green that somehow didn’t complement his black fur. Worst of all, the cat was sitting with its hind legs in front of it, as though determined to sit like a person. 

The black cat looked at Martin. 

Martin looked at the black cat. 

It scowled at him. Somehow, despite everything, the cat managed to scowl at him. 

The cat knew who he was, Martin realised. He knew he was Martin. 

…Jon? Is that you? Martin wondered, pacing slowly over to the scabby cat. He just wanted to get close enough to sniff him, to confirm that this was Jon and—

Bap! 

A paw plonked down squarely on Martin’s head, followed by a warning hiss. 

Bap! Bap bap bap! 

Yes, Martin realised, as he lay down on his front and tried to cover the top of his head with his own paws to shield himself. 

The scruffy cat before him was definitely Jonathan Sims.

──── •✧• ────

[penelopeswifey]

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS !

WRITTEN PROLOUGE

—

" Thoughts on Balladeer? Well, he's okay.. but I think he's kind of overhyped, I mean all he has is his looks.. c'mon, lets be honest he wouldn't be famous if he wasn't good looking.. "

You said without any care, laughing at the chats reaction tons of debates starting up in chat, it was around 3am? a late night stream. You couldn't fall asleep so you decided to stream to your fans who were also up late at night, lazily playing the low quality game your viewers suggested only the sounds of keyboard smashing to be heard. You yawned, maybe it was the mood or the dim lights but you felt your eyelids getting heavier.

Yawning more, you apologized to your viewers saying that you were too tired to continue smiling at their goodnights and comforting words, you started lazily moving your cursor to click "End Stream," when, in your sleepy haze, you misclicked. A different tab opens up.. Your writing document, still open from earlier when you were editing the fic.

Except, this wasn’t just any fanfic.

It was THE fanfic. The fanfic you spend a total of 2 hours on every night to update to your small fanbase  .. and the pairing? None other than Scaramouche, the very idol you just ridiculed on stream as “ overhyped "

For a solid few minutes, you stared in horror, unsure if you were dreaming or hallucinating. Then reality hit, and so did the panic.

" W- Wait?! No- No!! !" You fumbled for the mouse, your fingers shaky, eyes wide as you tried to close the tab. But it was too late. The chat had already exploded and damage has already been done..

Chat messages flew by at lightning speed..

h3izoufan: what.. what was that 💀

arcticmonkeyslover662: : LNFAOO WAS THAT A FUCKING BALLADEER FANFIC???

luumine_718: didn't you just say you thought he was overrated?? 😭😭

The chat keeps going, you couldn't even focus on a message before it disappears into the hundreds of others appearing

Your brain scrambled for an explanation, but the damage was done. You swallowed, looking at the screen into your chat.

" Listen. I- I was just.. I was just curious!! ," you stammered, your voice a higher pitch than usual. " Be serious, it's seriously just research?! I mean, everyone has read a fanfic once in their life— it's just curiosity! You guys are misunderstanding everything! " You said, eyes wide, stammering and a very, *very*, red face.

The chat wasn't buying it at all, having the time of their lives seeing you distressed

ree_1029: bro?? what research needs to look into " scaramouches smoldering gaze " 💀💀🙏 dpwm

yunjinslover: what the fuck are you writing LMFAOO 😭😭 ykw girl that's real tho can't even judge

Your eyes finally glanced at the page still open, horrified to realize just how romantic the scene was. There was no way of talking your way out of this one.

Just why did you have to write about his gaze multiple times?! Are you that fucking desperate?!

With a sigh and a very awkward laugh, you clicked out the tab. " Guys. I was seriously just practicing my creative writing skills. " You felt your face heat up even more as the chat continued the teasing,.

You sat there, staring at the chaos you had  unleashed. The chat, a whirlwind of laughter, teasing, and judgment, was moving faster than you could process. Some were full-on laughing at your situation, others mocked and reminded you of your earlier comments, and a few seemed genuinely angry

You nervously fidgeted with your mouse, your face practically burning as you tried to figure out how to salvage what was left of your dignity.

"Listen… before you all go crazy, let’s not blow this out of proportion, okay? You guys are overreacting.. " you pleaded, feeling the words get stuck in your throat. " I've said it so many times, it's just creative writing!! "  Your attempt to brush it off as a casual hobby fell flat, as the chat continued to descend into a storm of laughter and teasing, this has got to be the worst day of your entire career- not even career, your life!

yndefender: creative writing practice about ' his voice that compared to an angel's symphony ' ?? okay.. 🤔

You nearly choked on air, knowing the EXACT scene they were quoting from. Why did I have to write that part?? It wasn't even necessary in the plot! You cursed yourself internally.

As the teasing continued to flood the chat, the initial shock began to wear off, and reality hit you like a ton of bricks. You felt the weight of your earlier comments pressing down on you. Sure, you were putting on a casual front, but the embarrassment was still there..

“Okay. ” you said, your voice wavering a bit as you tried to regain some composure. “I think it’s time for me to end the stream before I embarrass myself even more. You guys are too much tonight.. overreacting so much for what.. "

The chat erupted in a flurry of reactions, with some pleading for you to stay and others playfully mocking your desperate need to escape.

realbeyonce3: nooo 🥺 don't leave dawg I still wanna know more about your thoughts on scaramouches smoldering gaze LMFAOOO

You could feel your face heat up again. “ Your all too cruel.. " Your voice was barely above a whisper, the shame creeping back in full force. “ I'm ending the stream.. it's already late.. "

As you scrolled through the chat one last time, you saw messages filled with laughter and teasing, but also support. Despite that, the overwhelming embarrassment felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

With a shaky breath, you forced a smile. “ Thanks for tuning in tonight.. Remember, it's just creative writing practice. ” The chat erupted again with laughter at your words.

“ Goodnight, everyone. I'll see you soon! Remember, just creative writing practice! ” you added quickly, your attempt at humor falling flat as you quickly clicked the “End Stream” button.

The screen showed the ended stream notification, and you exhaled deeply, slumping back in your chair. The laughter faded, but the shame remained, a dull ache in your chest. You could already imagine the videos that would circulate, you buried your face in your hands, feeling so nervous.

“ What the hell was I thinking.. ” you muttered, your face still buried in your hands as you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Recalling everything that happened, it was so. so. cringeworthy.

“ creative writing practice? Shit..” you whispered to yourself, trying to convince yourself that it was just a silly mistake. But deep down, you knew it was going to eat you alive for a while.

Putting your phone on silent and setting it aside on the counter you landed on your bed, looking up at the ceiling recalling every moment from that stream. Your face turned bright red again, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it as loud as you could. Violently punching the pillow until you tired yourself out and just laid there.. hugging the now messed up pillow as you started to feel your eyelids getting heavier.

" I'll just .. clear things up tomorrow. "

You thought to yourself as you finally fell asleep, falling into a relaxed state. Unbeknownst to you.. your phone began buzzing with notifications.. Wow. That's one way to go viral.

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS !

SYNOPSIS: You, a well-known streamer, have always kept your two hobbies separate. By day, you entertain thousands with your snarky commentary, but by night, you secretly write. fanfiction about your favorite idol, Balladeer. It was a guilty pleasure—until a late-night stream led to a slip of the tongue and exposed your secret to the world!

In a single moment of poor judgment and a misclick, which by the way was totally not your fault!.. I think.. clips and memes about you spread like wildfire! It was embarrassing enough for everyone to know about your fanfiction, but it spiraled down even further when they discovered you were writing about the very idol you  constantly claimed was overrated.

Just as you wallowed in self-pity, a notification pings on your phone. A familiar username and a blue checkmark.

Oh.

accidentally yours master list // chap 1 ->

a/n: help!! I'm so embarrassed, I sincerely apologize if the writing seems horrible I'm still improving! Prologue is complete, really excited to start!

taglist:

@kaeuri @kazumiku @kyouzki @skyoverkill1 @eternallykira-143 @lalalaloveallmydays @simonisferal

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE | Michael x Reader

a long awaited rewrite of my favorite fanfic i've written... i've come far since my first time writing it and i'm so so happy to be able to recreate my pride and joy!! if you want to see the original, here it is! but i'm thrilled to rewrite it and i hope you all like it :)

MICHAEL MYERS X FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence & injuries

NEXT

The smell of wet earth enveloped you as you made your way back home. The earlier afternoon rain had let up long enough for you to walk home from work, a long day spent at the farmers market and plant nursery. It was rewarding work and one of the few jobs you'd actually wanted to be hired at. Your family had moved here a few years ago and you'd fallen in love with the town instantly. You and your father lived on the edge of town, more in the woods than the city itself, but not too far that you had to go out of your way to go to work. Even after you graduated, you still hadn't moved out. Why would you? You helped pay rent, shopped for groceries, and could tend to your garden.

It was, as far as you were concerned, the perfect location. A lovely little house surrounded by trees and bushes of flowers, overgrown with vines, and a stepping stone path that led to the front door. The house itself was covered in a dark brick with the inside a beautiful white with dark wooden floors that smelt of books and fresh fruits and vegetables. And sometimes the smell of rain leaked in when you left the windows open.

So no, you had no intention of moving.

Today was one of those days where you'd get the house to yourself. As the current chief of police, your dad was known for working late nights and leaving you to your own devices for a few days. With Halloween coming up, the police were on edge. Rumors were circling in the station that Michael had escaped again but couldn't confirm yet. They were avoiding telling the public until they were sure.

You always enjoyed walking home more than you enjoyed driving. It gave you a chance to think while enjoying music in your headphones, hopping along to the beat. You were weighing your options for dinner in your mind as you got closer to home when you felt a sense of wrongness wash over you. When your song came to an end, you lowered your headphones to hang around your neck as you scanned the nearby area with scrutiny.

The smell of iron reached you in a soft breeze that brushed your clothes and skin. Coyotes weren't unheard of but you didn't exactly have a way to defend yourself if they got any closer. Not to mention there was the chance your cat had gotten out.

You picked up the pace, grimacing when the smell grew stronger and stronger. Had your head not been on a swivel, you would have missed the way the bushes shook. You froze, swallowing hard as a man stumbled out of the treeline and onto the paved street towards you. He was tall, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit and a white Halloween mask that rang a bell in the dark recesses of your mind. But you were too prioritized by the gunshot wound in his side that bled copiously, staining the jumpsuit in dark blotches.

"Are you okay?" You gasped, watching the man stumble for balance. He just made a grunting sound so you rushed forward to catch him by the shoulders. "Oh fuck, okay, uh, I might have a first aid kit at home. It's not far, c'mon." You said, trying not to panic. God knows how this dude was even standing with how much blood he'd already lost. But you slung his arm around your shoulders to practically drag him along. He was silent, which unsettled you slightly, but you didn't have the time to be unsettled. This man was possibly dying and that was far more important to you.

Did you need to talk to him to keep him awake? You were worried that if he did collapse on you, you wouldn't be able to move him. "How'd you even get an injury like that?" You tried, jostling him a little. The size difference was glaringly apparent like this but you did your best to move him. "You're lucky I live near here. Don't want to imagine you bleeding to death out here in the woods alone."

The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

The walk home felt like hours but you finally pulled him up to the back door, kicked the rickety old screen door open with your foot, and practically dropped the man on the floor against the counters. No way were you carrying him up the stairs, especially not when he could track blood all over the carpet. You threw your bags aside and ran upstairs to the bathroom, hurrying past your cat Mayhem who cried in hunger. "Later." You said quietly as you began rifling through the cabinet under the sink. "I should clean this out later."

First aid kit in hand, you tore down the stairs again and came to a stop in the awning of the kitchen. The man was slumped over where you'd left him and you took the brief moment to get a better look at him. Dirty, brown work boots that were covered in grass stains and wet mud had left a small trail of dirt alongside the blood drops. The jumpsuit was mostly clean except for what looked like oil stains and the blood on his side. As you approached him, you noticed blood staining his sleeves in streaks too. Odd. You made a mental note to check his arms when you were done.

You knelt down in front of him, close enough that you could hear his frantic breathing. Like he was attempting to stay awake. "Can you tell me what happened?" You asked softly, clicking open the first aid kit and reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit. When he flinched away, you froze. "I'll need to unzip you in order to take care of your wound."

He stared at you. Or you assumed he did. The black voids of the eyeholes left much to be desired.

"Just give me a nod." You sighed.

A moment passed but he finally nodded. A small little motion that you would've missed if you hadn't been looking. You gave him a little smile and unzipped the jumpsuit to his waist, careful to avoid brushing against the wound as much as possible. The black tank top underneath had ridden up slightly which made your cheeks warm. Stuffing that down, you helped him carefully shrug his sleeves down so you could better see the damage.

It was hard to see what had happened with how much blood covered his skin. So you reached into the kit, using one of the little sanitizing wipes on your hands before grabbing the disposable gloves. "Okay, uh, I'm not exactly a doctor so just let me know if the pain is too much, okay?" You gave him a nervous smile before hiking the tank top up more around his chest to let you wipe down the skin with a clean wet wipe.

The amount of blood was almost ridiculous. But you were eventually able to make out what was undeniably a gunshot wound. "Who the hell shot at you?" You mumbled more to yourself than to him. But he still gave you a tilt of his head as though answering. "At least the bullet went all the way through," You sighed, looking between him and your supplies as you tried to figure out what to do. "Okay. Let's… see what I can do."

You didn't know anything about gunshot wounds, much less how to clean them. But you'd helped patch your dad up when he stuck himself with a fishing hook so you figured it couldn't be that much more difficult. Anything was better than letting it get infected. "Sorry," you said softly before giving his hand a squeeze, "This is gonna suck."

And you poured the hydrogen peroxide on both ends of the wound, wincing at the pained grunt he let out. You kept apologizing as you fumbled around for the needle and thread, also dousing that in the peroxide before you tried to stitch him up. Sewing had never been a skill of yours but it was the best you could offer him. At least until you could get him to a hospital. You pressed gauze at either end of the wound before wrapping him tightly in bandages. "I think the wound is supposed to drain? I think I remember hearing stuff about that. We'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected." You tried to give him a reassuring smile and sat back to view your handiwork. It was probably sloppy, yeah, but at least it was cleaned and covered.

It could've been much worse.

"Can you pass me one of the wipes?" You asked, holding up your bloodstained hands and giving him a toothy grin. "I don't wanna stain everything with blood."

He offered you a blank stare before reaching slowly into the kit and handing you one of the little packages. You tore it open and got to scrubbing. "I'd give you a sucker for being a good patient if I had any. Would you take dinner and a shower instead?" You scooted back to clean up more, letting him stand on shaking legs. "My dad shouldn't be back till late. But he should be able to drive you to a hospital once I explain-"

At that, he shook his head violently no. "No, what?" You paused, brow furrowing. "No hospital?" He gave you a nod. "I'm not exactly a doctor. Your injury probably needs more than my below average sewing skills and half a bottle of peroxide." But still, he shook his head. "Fine. Okay. No hospital." You sighed loudly, giving him a quick once-over. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He tried to pull away but you finally saw it: a spot on his opposite shoulder where he'd been just grazed by a bullet. More a flesh wound than anything, but you'd missed it in your stitching him up. "Alright, c'mere mister," your tone was light as you raided the kit for more gauze and bandages. "Got anything else you're hiding from me?" You gave him a playful smile as you wrapped and cleaned his wound. "It doesn't look too bad. I'm way more worried about the gunshot wound." You trailed off. "I wasn't kidding about dinner and a shower though. My dad's got clothes I bet could fit you. Though the pants may be a bit short." He gave you a calculating look as you shrugged. "At least until I get your jumpsuit washed."

The two of you just stared at each other for a while. His head tilted slowly in confusion and you couldn't help but snort. "What, you think I'll just patch you up and throw you out? Not a chance. C'mon," you took his hand and led him towards the stairs. Mayhem had ventured downstairs and began to sniff you both over, hissing at your guest despite your soft scolding.

Once inside the bathroom, you tossed the first aid kit back in as the man took a look around the small space. White tiled floors and faint, floral wallpaper framed a huge mirror, spanning the distance of the smooth countertops. You pride yourself on keeping the bathroom clean, so you only winced slightly at the dirt on the work boots that left a small trail of dirt behind. "I'll get you some clothes if you want to get undressed. I don't mind washing your clothes for you." You gave him a smile, sidestepping him to slip back out into the hall. "A shower might help you feel better. Just try to avoid getting your bandages too wet."

You left him in the bathroom and slipped down the hallway to your dad's room. A rifling through his dresser earned you some plain sweatpants and an old, black shirt you knew he wouldn't miss. Worst case scenario, your guest bled all over the shirt and you'd have to throw it out.

Heading back towards the bathroom, a realization came to you. "Hey, I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced mys-" You froze in the doorway, words dying on your lips. The man had his back to you and had shrugged the jumpsuit off the rest of the way, his boots laying near the doorway by your feet and the blue material like a puddle around his ankles. His shoulders were broad and you could make out tiny scars that littered his forearms and shoulders. His mask had remained but that wasn't what surprised you.

He didn't have underwear on.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you slammed fresh clothes down on the counter, pointedly not looking at him. "Alright, here's your clothes, bye!" It felt like your words slurred together as you slammed the door behind you, leaning against it with an embarrassed sigh.

Once you heard the water turn on, you went downstairs to clean up the kitchen floor, grateful the blood hadn't dried too much yet.

Mayhem, having decided you'd spent long enough fussing over your guest, began to complain and shout for his dinner. "Alright, you needy thing, c'mere." You scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his fuzzy head. "Let's get you fed and then see about feeding our guest, yeah?"

Mayhem meowed, as though enthused only about the coming tuna.

The man took his time showering but you didn't really mind. He certainly needed it. Plus, you could empathize there - showers always made you feel much better too. In the meantime, you'd snuck back upstairs to grab his clothes and toss them into the washing machine. When you'd gotten a good look at his clothes, you recognized the auto mechanic company logo on the jumpsuit. "L. Smith?" You'd wondered aloud, frowning to yourself. "Pretty sure I'd tutored his kids when I was a junior…" But he didn't look anything like Lawrence Smith. "Maybe it's just a common name," you had mumbled. Something about this whole situation felt off but you couldn't exactly place why.

You shook your head slightly and sighed, trying to dismiss a nagging feeling you had in the back of your mind. Sparing a glance down at Mayhem, who brushed against your leg insistently, you frowned. "You don't think this is Michael Myers, right?"

Big yellow eyes blinked up at you and you sighed, chewing on your lower lip. Not much about the Myers case was made public beyond his crimes and his mugshot. Your dad had refused to divulge anything to you about the case and you'd only managed a quick peek at crime scene photos. Nothing about the way the man had been dressed or anything like that. Besides, it had been so long since that night that any details you could have seen have been lost to time.

"Impossible." You decided with a shaking sigh as you opened the can of tuna, not even believing your own words despite their conviction. "There's simply no way."

The sound of thunder outside was a welcome distraction from your thoughts. The rain had always been peaceful to you, the smell of wet earth and the chill breeze from the window had you relaxing. You smiled, whistling for Mayhem to come get his dinner and slipped past your hungry cat into the kitchen once again.

Cutting the vegetables and boiling pasta was peaceful, a wonderfully monotonous task you could just get lost in with the soft white noise of the rain. You would have missed the sounds of the shower turning off if you'd been any more zoned out. You had just taken the tomatoes out to cut them up when you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and took him in. The sweatpants had stopped just above his ankles, which you had expected. What you hadn't expected was the way his broad chest filled out the shirt, struggling to hug around his biceps. You turned back around to hide your swooning, biting your lip hard to keep yourself from smiling like a fool. He'd put the mask back on but you couldn't even bother to give it a thought.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat. "Are the bandages alright?" You asked, turning your attention back to the tomatoes. He didn't say anything but, then again, you hadn't really expected him to. "Pasta's boiling right now so dinner should be ready in a few minutes if you want to sit down." You gestured to the nearby dining room table with only a few chairs pulled up. But you didn't hear him move. The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck made you tense for a moment but you brushed it off. If he needed something, he'd let you know, right?

As you reached for a knife, his hand shot out and covered yours. You weren't even aware he'd gotten that close and you jumped in surprise. The eyeholes of the mask bore into you as you turned to look at him once again. "Do you… want to help?"

He just tilted his head, as though bewildered by your offer.

You move your hand aside to let him grab the knife, stepping to the side to give him room at the cutting board. "You just have to make them into small chunks. Try and get them around the same size, I'll get the garlic going." You hummed, your fingertips barely grazing the extra knife before he grabbed your wrist tight, jerking your hand back. A surprised yelp left you as you stared wide-eyed up at him, noticing the way he white knuckled his own knife.

Something about this was very wrong.

Swallowing back your terror, you held eye contact with him, the two of you locked in a standstill. The room was silent except for his heavy breathing, barely audible over the pounding storm outside. Soft bluish grey light cast shadows on his face, making the eyes of the mask seem like bottomless pits. Everything felt frozen in time as the two of you stared at each other.

You were the one who broke the tension, reaching over with your free hand to uncurl his fingers from your wrist as casually as you could. Anxiety pounded through you when you heard his breathing hitch. "Don't worry," you gave him a weak smile once you were freed, "I have every confidence in you." You said, giving a weak gesture to the tomatoes laying on the cutting board. You slowly moved towards the stove to set about roasting the garlic cloves, trying to appear as calm as possible while he continued to stare you down.

You only let your shoulders drop when you heard him start slicing.

Making the rest of dinner didn't take long, especially with your guest's help. He seemed unwilling to leave you alone now, hovering around you as you finished cooking and plating dinner - pasta with garlic sauce and dried tomatoes - and only retreated to the living room when you'd reassured that you were right behind him. He took a seat on the couch and you caught him staring at Mayhem comfortably sprawled out on his favorite chair.

"His name is Mayhem," you told him as you sat beside him, setting two water glasses down before digging in. "He won't bug you, he knows he's not allowed on the couch."

The man's head turned slowly to look at you, letting you get a brief sight of one of his eyes: a blue-green color that looked almost hazel in the darkness of the mask. You held in a soft gasp and turned away, trying to push the idea that the man was pretty from your mind. You hadn't even seen his face for crying out loud! Much less gotten his name.

Instead, you just clicked the television on. "Anything in particular you wanna see?" You asked around a mouthful of food. "We've got movies too but I dunno if you like horror." You hummed, setting your plate down briefly to shuffle over to the drawers in the tv stand, leafing through VHS tapes. "It's almost Halloween though," you smirked, "But, judging by your mask, you knew that."

His eyes were boring holes into you again but you just chuckled to yourself. While you pride yourself on being good at reading body language, his ramrod straight posture and silent staring was like gazing at a white canvas. But maybe that's one of the reasons you liked him so much: he wasn't complicated to understand, when he needed to be heard.

You pulled out a particular VHS and flashed it to him. "Do you like cartoons?" You asked, dangling 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' for him to see.

He nodded then - so clear and obvious that you didn't waste any time popping the tape in and sitting back down alongside him. You kept your eyes glued to the screen as you ate, hoping that would be enough privacy for him to comfortably eat. He'd have to give you his name later, at the very least, but you felt the urge to give him some semblance of privacy as he ate. So you kept your eyes off him and the two of you ate in amicable silence, both your attentions rapt on the little cartoon. He ate like he was starving for it and practically chugged the glass of water when he was done, which made your heart hurt a little.

How long had this guy gone without eating or drinking anything?

"There's more in the pot if you want. Help yourself." You said softly, bumping his knee gently with yours to get his attention. He'd tensed up slightly at the contact and you momentarily scolded yourself for that. He was clearly not good with touch, but it had just felt natural to do for him.

But he didn't seem to hold it against you and just stood up, retreating into the kitchen with his plate. You watched him with a slight smile on your face. He was, no doubt, intriguing. His mysteries had you utterly fascinated and there was so much you wanted to ask. But a part of you feared the answers, paranoid your suspicions would be proven correct.

He would have killed you if that were the case, right?

The two of you continued watching movies once you'd learnt he hadn't, in fact, seen most horror films. "Well obviously I'm going to show you 'The Thing,'" you'd said as Charlie Brown came to an end. "It's one of my favorites, I think you'll like it." His staring didn't bother you anymore so you took his silence as agreement when the movie began playing. The night continued like that, the two of you watching movies together. Horror films seemed to intrigue him and you swore he jumped a little at some of the visceral body horror moments. But the two of you had cozied up just a little. He'd finally sunken back into the couch and had tolerated you scooting closer to him.

You were halfway through Frankenstein when you heard the phone ring in the kitchen. "Be right back," you whispered to him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was nearly midnight and you frowned. Your dad should've been home by now and your guest didn't seem in any hurry to go home. Didn't he have somewhere to go?

Regardless, you stepped into the kitchen on socked feet and plucked the phone off the receiver. "Hello?

"Kiddo? Oh thank god you're alright!" Your dads voice sounded monetarily relieved, letting out a sigh as he spoke. "You should've called me after you saw the news." He said, once again becoming frantic. "Lock all the doors, keep Mayhem inside tonight, and-"

"Calm down," you cut him off, "What's going on? I haven't even seen the news, I've been watching movies with-"

Your dad wasted no time cutting you off as well. "Just stay inside, okay? Keep your eyes on the news and just- just stay safe. My pistol is in my room in the bedside table if you need it."

A sinking dread began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you twirled the phone cord. "Just tell me what's going on!" You became equally frantic, running your hand through your hair in frustration.

He was silent for a moment before sighing. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you. This is strictly police business. But the last thing I want is you digging into this yourself-"

"That was one time-!" You protested.

But he ignored you. "There's a killer on the loose." His words were like a gunshot to your chest. "We nearly caught him this afternoon but he managed to escape. We're- we're not sure where he'd gotten off to so I want you to stay inside and call me if you hear or- or see anything strange."

A lapse of silence passed and you can tell your dad was about to hang up but you quickly squeaked out. "What's his name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you." His voice had a finality to it. He didn't plan on telling you.

You knew how to play him though. You faked a sniffle and a sob. "Dad, please, I- I need to know what I'm up against! W-what if he gets inside?"

Despite his voice being barely a whisper, it was deafening to you. "Michael Myers."

Instantly, you sobered up. Your fears were confirmed and you felt your blood run cold. Michael Myers was sitting in your living room in your dads clothes after you'd had dinner together. He'd been fascinated by Charlie Brown and had jumped a little at the chest defibrillation scene in The Thing. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield had helped you cut tomatoes and let you tend to his wounds.

You were still alive. As terrifying as this revelation was, you were curious why he hadn't killed you. You didn't know Michael Myers to be very forgiving or benevolent…

Wrapping up the call with your dad, you practically slammed the phone back into the receiver, your back still to the living room. You steadied your resolve and forced your hands to still when you turned back around. You nearly slammed into him when you did. He'd been eavesdropping and the idea that his mercifulness would end made you talk before he could move. "Seems we're locked in tonight." You managed a smile and a shrug. "Dad says it's too dangerous to go out tonight so at least it'll just be us two. If you want, I can set you up on the couch to sleep when you're ready."

He continued to stare at you and you swore he almost seemed…surprised.

You sidestepped him to head back into the living room and he let you, though he was hot on your heels. "Means you and I get more movie time though." Grinning up at him, you sat back down with a soft "oomf" and looked up at him expectantly. If you just acted like everything was fine, maybe he wouldn't kill you?

It seemed as good an idea as any.

Eventually he rejoined you on the couch after staring at you for a few good minutes.

You knew. And you had a feeling he knew that you knew. But what could you even do? It wasn't like you stood a chance against him if he decided to attack you. In fact, a part of you felt almost guilty for withholding your newfound information from him. He was literally a serial killer and you didn't want to make him think you were against him.

Which bewildered you. Why would you feel bad? You knew, logically, you should call your dad back and tell him Michael was here and let him and the rest of the force come try and catch Michael before he ran you through with a knife.

He'd extended trust to you though. You recognized that. You didn't want to betray that, especially since you didn't know who the last person he trusted could have been.

As the movie came to an end, you decided to take a risk. "Want me to make popcorn, Michael?" You kept your tone light and casual as you stood and stretched.

You didn't even get two steps in before he was up, grabbing your wrist tight and spinning you to face him. You kept your smile light and tilted your head the way he liked doing. "I think I have M&Ms if you want me to mix those in too." He continued to stare and you finally sighed. "I already knew. I, uh, had my suspicions before we made dinner. But dad called and confirmed it, basically." His grip tightened but you brushed it off. "I'm not going to tell anyone." You finally admitted.

His posture remained rigid, like he expected a fight. You felt your heart break a little. Has he ever had anyone be kind to him ever since that night? "Do you know about doctor-patient confidentiality?" His blank stare was an answer in itself. "When a doctor treats a patient, that patient has the right to keep their information private. Including their name." You placed your free hand atop his in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. "So, since you're technically my patient, I don't have to tell anyone anything." He still seemed confused and you just let out a soft sigh. "I'm not gonna rat on you, is what I'm saying."

He seemed to consider this before giving you a slow nod.

A part of you was relieved. A fair trade, you thought as you went into the kitchen to make popcorn. You patched him up and fed him and, in exchange, he didn't kill you.

The two of you wound up watching movies late into the night, with you adding soft commentary as you munched on popcorn and M&Ms. By 2AM you were fading, your head lolling to the side and bumping against Michael's shoulder in your attempts to fight off sleep. He was warm and, despite knowing who he was, you felt safe.

So you'd nodded off.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were being shaken awake by your father. "Get up," he whisper-yelled as he turned off the tv, a quick flash of the movie menu disappearing as soon as you saw it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

You hummed, yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Early." A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly 6AM. "Sorry, guess I was up watchin' movies." You sat up and looked around a little before your sleep-addled brain immediately recalled that Michael Myers had been sitting on your couch last night and you looked around.

As your dad herded you upstairs and past the kitchen, you noticed Michael's boots were gone. The dishes had been left atop the table but yours had been placed in the sink as though to hide the fact there had been two people here. Once of the knives from the block was missing too, but that didn't surprise you.

If your dad's weary expression was anything to go by, Michael had escaped before he'd gotten home. "'m headin' to bed," he grumbled, "You should too." He said before shuffling into his bedroom, closing the door with more force than intended. You nodded to empty air before retreating into your bedroom, noticing Mayhem lazily dozing on top of your messy bedsheets.

Your bedroom was dim and cool, the morning light just starting to shift the pitch black sky into a dark tealish blue color. Raindrops still covered the window, indicative of the storm that must be still going. You frowned and went to close your curtains to avoid being blinded by the sun once it rose but you paused just before you could yank the fabric closed.

There, across the street, only visible thanks to the streetlight he stood under, you could see Michael Myers staring up at you.

Dumbfounded, you smiled and gave him a little wave, swaying on your feet as you tried not to swoon. You wanted to believe he wouldn't hurt you, seeing as he had ample opportunity to do so and had instead laid you gently down on the couch to sleep when he'd decided to leave. But the realistic part of your brain reminded you, as you closed your blackout curtains, that it should be more concerning that you'd become a fixation of his.

You'd heard of Laurie Strode and how she was assumedly his previous fixation, seeing as he'd stalked her for a while before deciding to take action against her friends. She'd been terrified of him for years and continued to lock herself in her house for the past two years to protect herself against him. Despite her fear of him, she'd yet to move out of Haddonfield.

There wasn't any point in trying to figure her out though. She was of no help to you. You couldn't tell anyone about what was going on or risk yourself or Michael.

You were far too tired to think about any of that for now and just flopped down into bed, freezing when your hands brushed an unfamiliar texture. After scrambling around under your stomach, you held up Michael's tank top. He must have left it for you when he'd gone to change into his jumpsuit. You felt your face heat up at the implications of him leaving his shirt for you, opting instead to shove it under your pillow with your cheeks burning.

The memories of him in the tshirt filled your head as you fell back asleep.

Crunching dry, brittle leaves beneath your boots, you made your way into town for work. You always liked the walk, especially with how beautiful Haddonfield got in the fall. A gorgeous watercolor painting of oranges, browns, and reds, touches of yellow and green giving pops of color. Despite the tragedies that had happened two years ago, Halloween decorations were still up in full swing, the town determined to celebrate no matter what. There was even a small festival at the farm nearby, complete with haunted houses, hayrides, and pumpkin patches. Halloween spirit was everywhere and you loved it. It'd always been your favorite holiday, even before a certain man fell into your life.

As you approached the plant nursery you worked at, you mulled that over. The police hadn't caught Michael yet but were working round the clock. And although you hadn't seen him in person since he'd stayed over a few days ago, you'd seen glimpses of him. Enough to know he was definitely stalking you. While you should logically feel afraid, you instead felt… oddly comforted.

You stopped beating yourself up over why. You knew why. Michael Myers was the most dangerous person alive and he was looking out for you, in a way. You felt safe with him watching you. So you played the game and pretended not to see him. It was easier to play along anyways and, as far as you knew, he hadn't killed anyone since he found you. No one your dad talked about at least.

So you'd been spending more time in town or out in the woods, hoping that entertaining him would keep him from killing. At least, you hoped so.

It didn't help that you still found yourself fascinated by him.

You'd stopped beating yourself up for that too. Most people you knew were predictable, bland, or boring. They had routines and patterns that were easy to predict. But Michael wasn't like that. You never knew what he was thinking or how he'd behave. He was interesting, unique, and unpredictable.

You liked that. Maybe that was sick or twisted of you, but it was true.

"Helloooo?" Your co-worker's soft voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Did those blackberries do something to you?" Kalei snorted, nudging you gently. "You've been staring at them for, like, ten minutes now."

You responded with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. Despite having only been at work for a few hours, you were ready for it to be over. "Sorry, jus' haven't been sleepin' well." You slurred as you tried to give her a smile.

"Bad dreams?" Kalei asked, frowning slightly as she set her own blackberry plant aside. Working at the plant nursery had been your idea, more interested in working with plants than people. But Kalei was a good friend and always looked out for you. It was nice to have company while taking care of the plants.

You chewed on your fingernail and gave her a little shrug. "Just been… thinking about a guy, I guess."

They let out a shocked gasp. "A GUY?!" Kalei squealed, ignoring your desperate attempts to shush them. "Tell me everything RIGHT NOW, oh my god!" 

You blushed, trying to get them to quiet down, flustered at the idea of Michael listening in. "It's not anything serious! Just, um, met this guy and he's… interesting. I like him." You blushed at the childishness of your own words, focusing on your plants to avoid meeting Kalei's eyes.

They gave you a nod. "Well, as your workplace bestie, I am obligated to give him The Talk."

You chose to not mention the fact there were only five total employees counting you both. "Kay, it's Illinois. I doubt he'd be interested in me, available or not." Which wasn't untrue. Even if Michael was interested in you, it likely wasn't anything beyond obsession. At least the obsession went both ways, you thought to yourself with a private smile.

"Well, regardless, I have a duty to fulfill." They beamed at you, hands on their hips. "You're a cute guy and, if I didn't have a partner, I'd take you out sometime." They ignored your snort and continued. "If this guy screws you over, I'll kick his ass for you."

If only they knew, you chuckled to yourself as you left Kalei to attend to a customer. Michael wasn't exactly great "bring-home-to-the-parents" boyfriend material. Much less introduce to your co-worker. When you'd finished helping the customer, you froze at the sight of movement in the tree line across the road. Standing in the tall grass and brush, you swore you saw Michael standing there…

As far as you were aware, he stayed close by to watch as you finished your shift. You hoped that as long as he was watching you, he wasn't out killing someone. Hopefully. For all you knew, he could be supernatural.

But you'd let him watch you. The whole rest of your shift, the walk home, and as you got in the car to go shopping. While you usually got vegetables and fruits from the plants at your work, you still needed to get normal groceries at the store. So you parked around back to be a little more secluded and went inside.

It was a cute little supermarket, clean linoleum floors and shelves lined with food. You didn't need much but you definitely needed to refill your medkit and find a proper first aid book, just in case. Thankfully, it was relatively empty that day, meaning you had free reign of the aisles to explore and take your time shopping.

You knew Michael wouldn't come in the store but you didn't doubt he was waiting for you outside.

So when you finished loading your grocery bags into the trunk of your car, you didn't feel surprised when you heard footsteps approaching you. Michael was definitely taking a risk being out with you in public but you hadn't exactly spoken to him in a few days and you were itching for the chance.

Turning around, however, you were met face to face with an unfamiliar black ski mask. Definitely not Michael. The stranger grabbed you by the arm before pulling out a knife, his head on a swivel. "G-gimme all your cash! Now!" He hissed, jerking you aggressively.

"I don't have anything on me." You said calmly. Your dad had always prepared you for situations like this so you didn't worry too much, even with the glint of his knife in the corner of your eye.

"D-don't bullshit me! I know you j-just got outta there. G-gimme what you've got and I'll b-be on my way!" He spat at you, pulling you closer to press the knife against your neck.

You caught the faintest of movement in the shadows of the alleyway behind him but you kept your eyes on him to prevent the guy freaking out. "Okay. Let's just calm down," you said, keeping your movements slow as you reached for your hip, pretending to go for your wallet. The guy kept looking around frantically as though expecting something to jump out at him. Police, most likely. But when you saw the white face of a familiar mask over his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

"C-c'mon!" He hurried you, jerking the knife again to threaten slicing your throat.

At that moment, you jerked back as hot blood splashed across your face. Michael had effortlessly slashed the guy's neck open from behind, bright red falling like rain against the concrete below. You closed your eyes as the choked gurgles of the mugger's voice faded to silence and his body hit the ground. It was like you were frozen in place, unable to make your muscles move as you listened to the sounds of Michael killing the man. The vicious stabbing sounds made your skin crawl and you turned away from the scene entirely to check yourself over.

You hadn't gotten blood anywhere besides on your face, which was good. Easier to clean.

This was inevitable, you reminded yourself. That man wanted to hurt you and Michael was doing you a favor. Still, you tried to steady your breathing, bracing on the trunk of your car as he dragged the body away, presumably to hide it.

You heard Michael start to approach you and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. His footsteps could be silent, almost supernaturally quiet, so if he was making an effort to be loud, you knew it was his attempt to make you feel better. To let you know he was coming.

He stood in front of you now, covered in fresh blood and gripping his knife tightly. You were thankful for the setting sun that cast dark shadows over you two, obscuring the bloodsoaked Michael from view on the streets. You noticed the body slumped against the wall a little ways away and you swallowed back bile. "T-thanks." Your voice was soft and you cleared your throat. "For saving me."

It was only an assumption that he'd killed that guy to protect you. He didn't have to. He could have just let you die or at least be robbed. You were confident in that assumption though. He wouldn't risk your game ending so soon. 

On some level, he wanted you alive.

The blood on your face was beginning to dry uncomfortably and you desperately wanted to go home. You gestured to your car and gave Michael a tilt of your head. "You coming?" He seemed to weigh his options in his head before casually making his way for the passenger seat after a brief deliberation. "What's the plan if we're caught?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow and climbed into your own seat.

Turns out, once the cops got wind of the body, they were very easy to avoid. Predictable, you thought as you gripped your steering wheel tighter, careful to not draw attention to your car as you drove through the windy roads that led to your house.

You got Michael inside, shoving the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter as Mayhem came around the corner, meowing for attention and approaching Michael to give him a curious sniff.

It was then that you remembered stories your father would tell you about how Michael would kill animals for fun as a boy. How he'd leave the dead bodies of cats and birds in his locker at school to terrify the other kids. You weren't sure how truthful the stories were but you felt a heavy pit of anxiety when Michael looked down to acknowledge Mayhem.

"If you hurt Mayhem, I will turn you in." Your voice was steady despite the way you trembled. His head snapped up to look at you and you could feel the glare behind it. "I mean it. T-this is one thing I'm not bending on. He's my kitty and I won't let you hurt him."

Michael was still for a moment, letting Mayhem rub against his boots and yowl as though expecting the man to feed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent over and let his fingers brush against soft black fur. The motion was gentle, like either you or the cat would lash out should he make a mistake. Mayhem loved the attention, purring and rubbing against his fingers more, which made you smile.

He was usually an anxious cat so seeing him this comfortable with Michael made you smile. You set about making up Mayhem's dinner while Michael tried to navigate petting him. He was shockingly gentle despite clearly never having pet an animal. "Did you have pets as a kid?" You asked as you scraped food into the bowl.

He didn't answer but you didn't really expect him to. His hand was still, just letting Mayhem rub all over it and meow at him. It was endearing, you thought as you set the bowl down and let Mayhem go to town on it. Michael's head tilted curiously as he watched and gently stroked his back once before standing back up.

"I think he likes you," you giggled, scritching the cat behind the ear.

Michael just watched the cat before slowly standing back up and heading back into the living room. You followed him, tugging on his sleeve gently. "Want me to wash your clothes?"

Your words trailed off when you noticed Michael was looking at a photo of you with your dad at your graduation party. A tired sigh left you when the man tilted his head. "I don't… want to talk about that." You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not like it's easy to plan for your own dad's murder." The words were heavy in your mouth and you forced yourself to look away from the photo.

Ever since your mom had died, you knew your dad had been different. She'd died in childbirth with you and all your dad's friends would whisper about how that changed him drastically. He'd always been distant with you, especially as you'd grown up. When you'd hear stories about him before your mom died, he sounded like an entirely different man: happy, enthusiastic about life, and excited to be a father.

But then your mom died and he retreated inward. As though the whole thing was entirely your fault. He didn't want to parent you on his own and therefore you had to grow up taking care of yourself instead. 

"Whatever you have to do," you swallowed, turning away from Michael entirely and your voice hollow, "Just make it as painless as you can."

It wasn't like there was an easy way to ask him to kill your dad painlessly. You tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to let him go. It wasn't exactly like he'd ever been there for you anyways.

"So. Your clothes. I, um, still have your shirt and the sweats you borrowed are clean, if you want to change." You changed the topic quickly, ignoring the way he stared at you. The last thing you possibly wanted was pity from the Boogeyman. "Either way, I'm going to go wash my face before someone sees me."

You went upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Michael to his own devices downstairs. You opened drawers at random until you found the wet wipes you kept stashed for when you wore makeup. Some good hard scrubbing and scented lotion and it's like you were never there, all evidence flushed down the toilet and out of sight. You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror as the events of the day hit you, leaving you feeling winded and exhausted all at once. You were complacent in a crime now. It wasn't just you hiding Michael from the cops, you'd let him kill a man in front of you.

Trying to argue with yourself that it was self defense was pointless. No use in lying to yourself.

When you opened your eyes, unsure of when you'd closed them, you met Michael's eyes where he stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry, do you want to shower?" Before you could even move to leave, he unzipped the jumpsuit, leaving you speechless.

You gasped in horror at the state of his chest. The black shirt was gone and left his bandages on display, dirty and stained with reddish-brown blood that mixed with ugly yellow pus from the drainage of the wound. It reeked of infection even a few feet from him. "Michael!" You hurried to him to get a better look, feeling sick for the second time today. "Christ, you should have come to me before it got this bad! With how wet it's been… Take these off and sit down on the edge of the tub. God, this looks awful."

Michael sat, watching you with amusement. At least you assumed it was amusement. Though you couldn't find anything funny about this. "I should have stitched you," you mumbled as you reached for your first aid kit and began sterilizing a pair of scissors, "Or at least looked up what to do."

Swallowing back your squeamishness, you cut him free of the bandages, practically retching when you got a better look at his wound. It had somehow gotten worse, a painful red and oozing pus. "Oh my god, Michael." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He tilted his head and you almost wanted to smack him. How he wasn't in any noticeable pain was bewildering to you.

You began to undress him, uncaring of any potential nakedness, and he grabbed your wrists tight when you reached forward to take off his mask. "Michael, this infection could kill you. I need to see if you're running a fever. So either let me touch your forehead or I'm touching your neck." 

He stood quickly, stumbling slightly as he grabbed the bloodstained knife from where he'd apparently set it down on the counter. But you didn't back down. "Be mad all you want, this is really fucking infected and I'm not letting you get worse." You sighed, racking your brain to come up with an idea to placate him. "If I close my eyes, will you let me take your temperature?" 

Slowly, his shoulders fell. Which confused you. You'd seen his mugshots, you knew he wasn't disfigured or anything like that. So his insistence at not being looked at confused you but now was not the time to be worrying about that.

Prettiness aside, you needed to help him.

So you shut your eyes and held out your hand. A minute passed without Michael moving and you briefly worried he'd left the room entirely. Before you could open your eyes, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist and press it to his neck. You felt him swallow and you tried your best to focus on how hot his skin felt and not how this was an incredible show of trust. Goosebumps erupted across your arms as you cupped his neck gently.

His skin was soft and feverish and you felt your heart clench.

"You're definitely running a fever," you sighed. "I'll look for a sewing kit or something to stitch you up but I want you to shower and get all that gross off first. Don't scrub too hard, okay?" Before you could retract your hand, his grip on your wrist tightened. "Are you-?"

He lifted your hand, letting your fingers graze his bare cheek. You felt Michael lean into the touch momentarily and you reacted quickly, holding his face gently. He was burning up so hot you weren't sure how he was even standing in this condition. When was the last time anyone had taken care of him? Or the last time he was even sick?

Judging by his height, he was likely slumped against the bathroom counter. The idea made your heart clench. Despite every instinct in your body telling you to pull away, you ran your hand up the side of his face in a gentle, soothing motion. Your fingers ran through tangled hair, soft and curly, before sliding down behind his ear to rest back on his neck. "You'll be okay," you said softly. "The fever will break and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Having had enough of being touched, he took you by the shoulders and moved you aside, careful to not let you stumble and fall. You kept your eyes closed when you heard the shower turn on and the curtain shift as he stepped inside. Only then did you open your eyes.

What... was that?

You looked down at your hand like it offended you before shaking your head in bewilderment. He'd never fail to surprise you.

You figured out pretty quickly that that instance of seeking your touch was the extent that Michael wanted you to touch him. He barely tolerated you checking him over for fever symptoms, opting instead to lounge in your bed like he'd been exorcised of a demon.

For the past few days, you'd done your best to keep Michael's presence in your house a secret. With your workaholic dad's late hours, he usually just came back home, ate a frozen dinner, and passed out in his bedroom before waking around 9AM to stumble to work and repeat the process all over again. So, provided Michael kept quiet, there wasn't any worry. You'd taken a few days of sick leave from work to take care of him, citing a head cold. Now you just had to hope that the police would continue their dedicated search even if people weren't dying.

You wondered, as you sat on your bed with a feverish serial killer half naked and asleep beside you, if hoping he recovered soon made you a bad person.

Probably.

But god he was a bitch when he was sick.

He kept the godforsaken mask on, which you had expected. But when his fever rose to 102 you had kind of hoped he'd take it off for the sake of wanting to cool down. He was persistent, you'd give him that.

You were getting the hang of his body language too. It was subtle but you'd begun to notice the slight shifts in his stance or the way his hands would twitch without a knife in them. At first you'd assumed it was just you projecting but you'd grown confident you could understand him now. Being sick definitely made him more expressive too.

Though, right now, you wanted to strangle him. "Michael, it's chicken noodle soup." You sighed, rubbing your temples. Trying to feed him was like dealing with a picky toddler sometimes. "It's chicken, noodles, carrots, and broth. All things I've fed you before." You could feel his glare at you and you were half tempted to get your own knife to speak his language better.

The infection was running its course, which was the only reason you had so much patience with him. His bitchiness was a byproduct of his fever and you had to keep reminding yourself that he probably hadn't been sick before.

That didn’t make you want to clobber him any less.

"If you eat the fucking soup I'll go buy you pumpkin pie when you feel better." You tried, glaring him down. "Because the sooner you eat this, the sooner you'll get better. And then you can go back to slaughtering the town."

He seemed placated by that. You turned your back to him so he could eat and you let out a silent sigh. You knew him well enough to know he liked that soup, he just wanted to be a jackass about it.

Later that afternoon you yet again threatened him with violence when he refused taking medicine. You weren't surprised he wasn't interested, seeing as he grew up in a hospital. But you were outgrowing your patience with him. You did smirk a little when you realized he absolutely wanted to throw you across the room for all but forcing the antibiotics down his throat. But once it was down, you softened. "C'mere, sleep will do you some good."

Michael glared at you but let you sit next to him against the headboard of the bed as he laid down. You'd learnt he was definitely a stomach sleeper and you could tell by his huffing that the heat underneath the mask was beginning to frustrate him. You jerked your head away when he ripped the mask off, throwing it with a growl and face planting onto the pillow.

"It's okay," you said softly, keeping your gaze straight ahead and fighting the urge to look down at him. "You don't feel as feverish today, you should be back on your feet in a day or two." You heard him grumble and you giggled. "Want me to rub your back? Might help you sleep."

He was silent. But he didn't immediately lash out so you kept your movements slow and purposeful. Like approaching an anxious, abused cat. He didn't know touch that wasn't associated with pain and you had to be careful to avoid startling him or overstepping. Your fingers made contact with his back and you slid your palm over his upper back, rubbing in slow, soothing motions.

Maybe it was exhaustion, the fever, or resignation to your touch but you swore you felt him relax.

Michael's skin was tacky to the touch and incredibly warm but that didn't deter you. You hummed a soft lullaby, keeping your movements slow and gentle. He looked painfully human and you were choking on the urge to care for this man. This strange, silent Boogeyman who'd fallen into your lap and sought you for care and food and attention and it made you want to cry.

If it weren't for his murderous hobby, you'd be infatuated with the sleeping man. The slow rise and fall of his chest made something in your own clench painfully as you continued to rub his back. You'd only known each other for a short time and yet you both had extended a lot of trust to each other. Most people met him with hostility or violence but you'd met him with kindness. A kindness he was unfamiliar with and must have been a welcome change. Either that or he just liked your cooking and bedside manner enough not to kill you. You weren't too picky about his motives.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't fond of him regardless.

The sound of the front door opening was like a bucket of ice down your back. You crept from the bed, carefully shutting the door behind you and heading downstairs, meeting your father's tired face. "You're back early."

"I'm only on my lunch break," he sighed as he shrugged his coat off, "Didn't feel like packing one so I figured I'd come check on you." He was giving you a strange look. "Are you okay?"

You watched him go into the kitchen as you loitered on the stairs, watching him through the awning closest to the steps. "Yeah, just been a little under the weather." You feigned a cough and sniffed. "Getting better though."

Your dad hummed as he opened the fridge. "Michael Myers killed a man at the store the other day." He reached in to pull out a sandwich you'd made for yourself at lunch and hadn't gotten around to eating. Trying to feed Michael was a laborious task.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. "I didn't hear about it in the news."

He watched you with a painfully blank expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong but… I think you were out shopping before you fell ill, am I right?" Your dad took a slow bite of his sandwich, poorly trying to act casual. "The store clerk said a man was following you outside the store."

Fortunately, you were a better actor than your father. "I didn't see anyone."

But, of course, he didn't believe you. He never did. "Son, a man was killed by Michael Myers the day you went out and now you've been hiding away since then." His cop voice grated on your nerves. It felt like he never stopped being a cop, even with you. Every conversation with him felt like navigating a maze to try and hide yourself from him. You hated it.

"The weather has been getting colder and I work outside. It's really not that surprising."

"Have you seen Myers?" He got sick of beating around the bush, his hands on his hips as he leveled you with an unimpressed look. "Is that why you've been hiding out here?"

The word "hiding" made your hackles raise. Like this wasn't the same man who'd told you to lock the doors and windows when he first informed you of Michael. "Nope." Your smile was fake and bitter and you could see the way he flinched. "Hard to miss a man walking around in a Halloween costume." 

"Kid-" He tried to placate you.

But you weren't interested. "I'll be back to work in a day or so, don't worry."

He seemed remorseful now. "If Myers is stalking you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

An awkward silence hung in the air. Your dad seemed to deflate and he ate in silence, pretending to not see you. "Have you talked to Laurie Strode yet?" You asked as you picked at a stray string on your sweater sleeve.

He swallowed and shook his head. "We're hesitant to let her know what's going on until we're certain he's still after her. Dr Loomis has been working with us to try and find him as soon as we can." He scratched his chin in thought. "Maybe I should make a statement soon, what with Halloween approaching."

You gave him another acidic smile. "You'll find him, I'm sure. You're very dedicated."

Your dad gave you a helpless look. If you were five years younger, you might have apologized for being so curt with him. But you weren't sixteen and craving your father's approval anymore. You knew that the family charade you both put up was only because you helped around the house. He wasn't home enough to give a shit who lived there anyways.

He didn't even know the killer he was hunting was asleep in your bed, stitched up with your string and your soup in his stomach. You had no intention of telling him, partially out of spite at this point.

You hoped Michael got better soon.

Lucky for you - and unlucky for Haddonfield - Michael was back on his feet a day later. He was still a bit warm but you knew it was fruitless to try and keep him inside any longer. He had to make another appearance in town anyways or else he'd risk you both. If people paid too close to timelines, your sick leave corresponding with his disappearance would be too suspicious.

But his stitches came out easily and his wound had healed decently. "Next time, come back before your bandages get too dirty." You'd smirked at him as you zipped his jumpsuit up. It felt too close to a wife sending her husband off to work for the day and the thought made your face warm.

You managed to get a few days of relative peace, especially once your father was occupied by Michael killing again. It had also been a few days since you saw Michael and you hoped that was just because his bandages were holding up well. The last thing either of you needed was another sick week.

Currently you were heading home after spending the afternoon reading at the park. Your little bag bumped against your hip as you hopped along to the music coming out of your tinny headphones. It was unlikely Michael had been watching you, since you didn't feel his eyes on you, but you still felt like taking a break from the house for a minute.

The sight of a cop car parked haphazardly along the sidewalk made you freeze. It had hit the curb slightly and looked like the driver had been in a hurry to get out. The door was wide open and you lowered your headphones slowly, the frantic voice over the radio better. The voice was staticy and it sounded like whoever it was was running but their words were crystal clear. "All units respond. Multiple fatalities reported on Orange Grove Ave. Suspect has been identified as one Michael Myers. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill. Over."

You felt your stomach drop and your head whipped around. Orange Grove Ave was just ahead so you took off like a shotgun, sprinting down the street. The only sound was that of your shoes hitting the pavement as you tried to come up with a plan. If they hadn't seen him yet, you just needed to get an opening for him to escape. You knew of Michael's unnatural ability to vanish if your eyes weren't on him.

Desperately, you didn't want him to get shot again.

You rounded the corner onto Orange Grove with a sharp turn, your eyes immediately spotting a second cop car. "Fuck!" You hissed to yourself as you picked up the pace. You should have gone looking for Michael sooner. Should have left for the park earlier in hopes of catching his attention. Anything, anything to have avoided him getting caught.

When you got closer to the car, you noticed a cop hanging halfway out of the car. His head had been smashed in, a puddle of gore, blood, and brain matter leaking steadily down the side of the car door. You felt like throwing up but you held it in when you spotted his partner. A young man, likely fresh on the force, clutching his gun as he pointed it down the alleyway. His trembling told you all you needed to know.

The officer gave you a quick glance, fear obvious on his face. "Get back!" He called to you.

You ignored him and looked down the alleyway. Michael stood there calmly, hanging back in the shadows between the two buildings. Another cop lay before him and you watched with horror as Michael's boot made heavy contact with the cop's skull, a wet, sickening crunch echoing out in the small space.

"Get down and put your hands in the air!" The rookie said, hands on the gun shaking as he kept his eyes on Michael. An idea came to you. It was stupid, reckless, and dangerous.

You lunged for the cop, knocking his gun from his hands and sending him stumbling.

He didn't even have time to do anything but look at you with horrified eyes before Michael descended on him. He grabbed the rookie by his collar and lifted him effortlessly before running him through with his knife, spilling his guts on the sidewalk in warm waterfalls of blood. You scrambled backwards to avoid being caught in the spray but Michael gladly covered himself in the fresh gore. The rookie's lifeless body hit the floor with a heavy, empty sound and Michael turned his attention on you.

You scanned the nearby area and spotted a little path between two houses overrun with grass and brush. Without a second thought, you took off towards it and just hoped Michael was behind you. Other members of the force would be on their way and you both needed to disappear. You ignored the scratching of sharp branches against your arms and hands, only wincing when a particularly sharp one sliced a thin cut across your calf.

But you didn't falter. You kept running through the town, your heart pounding hard and pumping pure fumes through you as you ran. As soon as you broke into the treeline of the forest, you collapsed to your knees and let yourself catch your breath.

A hand gripped the back of your shirt and for a brief second you feared you'd been caught. But Michael dragged you towards a tree, pinning you to it and holding his bloody knife close under your throat, the blade digging into your skin. "Wait!" You struggled against his grip, kicking out at him with your heavy boots. "What did I do?! I got you out of there without getting shot!"

You could see his eyes this close. Hazel, like you'd suspected. His eyes were narrow with hate and anger as he glared you down. But you stopped struggling and that only seemed to make him madder. "I wasn't just going to let you get hurt!" You hissed, reaching up to grab the hand that held your collar tightly, keeping you rooted in place. "I don't see what you're so angry about."

He didn't like that answer. The knife pressed in and you gasped when you felt a stream of your own blood run down, wetting his fingers. "Stop," you pleaded, clawing at him frantically. "Stop, please, I'm sorry."

That wasn't good enough for him and held you tighter. Tears welled up in your eyes and fell, mixing with the blood. Pain shot through you when Michael yanked his knife away, taking a few steps back and letting you slide down the tree as you gasped for breath. Your hands gripped at your neck, slightly relieved it wasn't more than a surface cut. Blood started to stain your hands, falling in rivulets down your arm and leaking over your elbows only to stain the grass beneath you a muddy red color.

His head tilted as he watched and you wanted to spit at him. "Y'know, I kinda thought we had a partnership going on." Your words were choked as you glared up at him. "Was I wrong?"

That seemed to get to him. He straightened up and stared you down. You got up on shaking legs and stumbled away from him and towards the forest. His footsteps were loud as he followed behind you and that only served to make you angrier. The walk home was silent and he stayed a few feet behind you the whole time, never getting closer nor straying. The only sounds were the twigs crackling under your shoes and you were too rattled to feel or think much of anything. Your only goal was getting home.

You kicked the back door open and stormed inside and upstairs to the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wanted to smack yourself for your infatuation with a killer who didn't care about you. The cut was, thankfully, small. And hopefully the amount on your arms could convince your dad you were just handling a blackberry bush at work or something. The one on your leg could be hidden under pants until it healed. So you began rooting around for bandages and ignored Michael standing in the doorway.

"I help you get away and you try to kill me?" You growled, glaring at him in the mirror. "I could have let that cop shoot you and I didn't because I fucking care, Michael." Tears threatened to fall again and you swallowed them back when he gave you a tilt of his head. "I get you aren't good with feelings and- and maybe this is just you needing me to clean and feed you but I wanted to help you." You dabbled your neck with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide and hissed at the sting. "If that's all you want me for then fine but I need to know where we stand."

He watched you bandage your neck, his shoulders set tight as he waited for you to finish. He set the knife down on the counter and reached for you but you flinched back. "Wash your hands." You mumbled and stepped back more to give him access to the sink.

The water ran for some time as the two of you watched the blood swirl down the drain and out of sight. Once the water ran clear, he pulled his hands out and reached for you again. You wanted to run but were backed up into a corner with no way out.

He covered your eyes with one and you frowned in confusion. "What are you-?" He took your wrist with his free hand and held it to his face again, silencing you. His face felt wet and that concerned you. "Are you bleeding somewhere?" You tried feeling around for any cuts but he shook his head no. "Was it raining?" Another no.

So an idea came to you. A dangerous one if you were wrong. "Were you… crying?"

He nodded. Your heart broke.

You pulled him in for a hug, keeping your eyes closed as you just held him. He dropped the hand from your eyes to hold your hip, leaning into your touch like he did when he was ill a few weeks ago. "What happened?" You tried, holding his face with both hands.

Michael just shook his head helplessly and bumped your foreheads together. Oh. Oh. "Were you… worried I was turning you in?" No. "Was it because I was there while you were, uh, hunting?" No. You chewed on your lip as another dangerous thought came to you. "You were worried I was going to get hurt."

His jaw clenched as his throat worked around a growl. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield couldn't afford to feel anything. He doesn't. As far as anyone is concerned at least. Yet here you were, defying all odds and earning Michael's favor. His protection. His care. And the idea of losing you had terrified him, causing him to lash out at you for willingly putting yourself in danger. Emotions had run high and he'd acted out. He hadn't known what else to do but scare you back. 

"I'm sorry I worried you," you said softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks and wiping the moisture away as you kept your eyes closed. "I was worried about you too. I heard the police radio mention shooting you on sight so I went looking for you." His grip on you tightened slightly and you sighed. "I know that you're used to people shooting at you or- or attacking you. But I'm not used to hearing about it."

You finally admitted to yourself and him: "I don't want you to die."

After a moment of silence, he pressed your foreheads together. You felt his breath ghost over your skin and your noses bumped together awkwardly. You hooked a hand behind his neck to just hold him and he squeezed your hips tight. "I don't want you to die," you gasped into your shared air. He made a muffled sound and this felt so much more intimate than any kind of kissing you'd done in the past. You just stood there in each other's spaces, sharing air and warmth and closeness that you hadn't had with someone else in a long time. You couldn't imagine how it felt for him.

"We're in this together now, okay?" You said softly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. Pretty, you thought absently. But you already knew that. Brown ringlet curls, one eye injured from his fight with Laurie Strode, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. His face looked damp and you brushed under his eyes with the hem of your sleeve. Despite that, his face was expressionless even though you could see conflict swirling in his eyes. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling. "We'll look out for each other, yeah?"

He gave you a slow nod and you smiled. Your foreheads pressed together again and you felt his shoulders relax as his eyes closed. Trust. You both trusted each other and were partners in this now. You accepted you'd be complacent in his crimes going forward and he'd learn to accept your care in time.

Just you and your Boogeyman against the world...

[captinamericashusband]

Flirt | Tony Stark x Male!Reader

A/N: Omg a fanfic that isn't about Steve Rogers?!?! Hope you enjoy :) Also, school is starting soon but I will try to write as much as I can. I actually do find writing these enjoyable. Fanfic writing is different but fun. It's nice to use my English somewhere aside from just writing essays 🥹.

P.S. Listen to this song right now or I will hurt you:

Flirt

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: During a night out with his close friend, Y/N encounters Tony Stark and they immediately hit it off. Get that bag, Y/N!

Warnings: Alcohol use

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"Are you sure about this, Sal?" Y/N said, uncertainty laced in his voice.

"100% sure. You need to get your mind off of that cheating douchebag." Sal responded with no hesitation. A small sigh came from Y/N's mouth. He knew deep down that she was right.

After finding out his ex had been cheating on him, Y/N had rotted in his house for almost two weeks, completely isolating himself from the outside world. Only today, when his closest friend Sal practically broke his front door down, had he been freed from his lovelorn pitying.

Now, Sal was forcing Y/N out for a much-needed night out in town, determined to help him forget about his troubles, at least for just a couple of hours. The two were currently headed to one of the liveliest bars downtown, with the promise of copious amounts of alcohol and good company.

"Look, I know this might not be what you want right now," Sal said, giving Y/N a reaffirming pat on the shoulder. "But, just trust me. We're going to enjoy the night, the drinks and the people, and," Sal's head turned slightly, giving a Y/N a small smirk, "we might even find you a nice man there."

Y/N turned downward and began shaking his head to hide the smile forming on his face – he ultimately failed. "Yeah, yeah alright." While his very recent relationship's ending was abrupt and messy, the idea of finding someone new was very enticing. His previous boyfriend was, according to Sal, "hot trash", so he believed tonight could be the chance to find a truly suitable partner for him.

"That's the spirit," Sal grinned, tightly hugging Y/N's side. "Now let's go and make very questionable decisions."

Y/N chuckled despite himself, softly pushing Sal off of him. Maybe tonight would be when he'd truly move on.

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According to Y/N's inner monologue, the bar itself was quite lovely. It was a quaint, hole-in-the-wall establishment yet very populated. People occupied the bar's booths in large groups, their conversations filling the atmosphere with a nice volume. The warm and soft lighting gave the space a slight touch of intimacy. As he continued looking around, Y/N grimaced as he glanced toward a corner of the bar and saw a couple making out, their hands touching in places that were definitely inappropriate for a public space. However, despite seeing the touchy-feely pair, Y/N could tell tonight would be somewhat fun.

The two settled down on two barstools at the bar's front. Sal, being the more outgoing of the one, wasted no time waving down the bartender. "Two tequila shots, please," she said with a grin. It was a tradition for the two to begin a night out with tequila shots – a nice ritual that set the tone for the night.

The bartender slid two shot glasses filled to the brim with tequila. The two each grabbed a glass, Sal raising hers and toasting, "to a night of fun and forgetting."

Y/N raised his also, saying, "Cheers to whatever comes our way." The two smiled at each other, clinking their glasses before downing their drinks in one swift gulp.

Y/N's face scrunched in pain upon swallowing. The feeling of tequila was familiar to Y/N as he and Sal have spent multiple nights out together. However, he never grew as much of a tolerance as her for the throat-burning it caused when ingesting it. He coughed slightly, but laughed, a tingly feeling spreading throughout his chest.

Sal leaned over, slightly nudging Y/N's elbow. "So, what'll it be next for us? Should we try something strong or should steady ourselves for tonight?"

Y/N thought deeply for a moment before responding. "Let's try something different," he said, feeling bolder. "How about margaritas?"

Sal laughed. "Alright, margaritas it is. Don't blame me though for how shit-faced you might get."

Y/N rolled his eyes, but couldn't prevent the smile from forming on his face. "I guess we'll see," he replied, feeling the anticipation from what the night has to offer.

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

Sal and Y/N had 3 margaritas and 4 tequila shots in each and were already a tad inebriated. Despite the bar being quite packed, their egregiously loud laughter carried around the room, causing people to look at them with slight annoyance.

Suddenly, Sal's eyes widened and she began choking on her drink. "Holy shit, bitch," she semi-yelled, catching Y/N's attention. "Don't look behind you, but Tony 'Richboy' Stark just came in with a really hot dude."

Y/N wasn't the type to listen to directions he was told – especially when inebriated – so despite Sal's warnings, he immediately looked. And Sal was correct. There, unmistakably, was Tony Stark clad in a simple tux with a black tie near the bar's entrance. Next to him was an equally attractive man, taller, with blonde hair and broad shoulders. Upon second glance, Y/N realized the other man was the Captain America.

Y/N's eyes had wandered on Tony while he was surveying the bar's interior. For a brief moment, their gazes met under the glow of the bar's warm lighting. Y/N quickly looked away. However, his curiosity got the better of him and he glanced once more. Tony's eyes were still on him, firm but with an undertone of curiosity. Y/N wanted to so desperately look away, but their stare lingered. The world seemed to fade during their intimate stare-off. A palpable tension was shared between them, and it wasn't until Tony flashed Y/N a small smile before heading to a vacant booth that it vanished.

A slight slap on Y/N's arm broke him from his trance. "Dude! I literally told you not to look and guess what you did? Look!" Y/N had to quiet down Sal's loud reprimanding voice, afraid a certain someone would hear her. She regained her composure after a few minutes of quiet yelling and continued drinking her third margarita. "Okay, but he was definitely checking you out," Sal slurred with a volume even a person outside the bar could hear.

A loud cough erupted from Y/N's mouth, an attempt to drown out Sal's voice. "He was absolutely not," he protested, taking a sip of his drink. "He was just checking out the place, and our eyes coincidentally met when he was looking at the front of the bar."

"Oh, Y/N," Sal said, slowly shaking her head. "I know you may be slow in the head–" Y/N was about to object before Sal put a finger to his lips, effectively shutting his mouth. "But you'd practically have to be blind to not notice him eyeing you like a piece of fine meat."

"Okay, but..." Y/N was at a loss for words, partly for the fact he was intoxicated but also because Tony Stark was definitely checking him out. Their stare-off lasted a little too long to be considered anything but friendly. "Wait, why were you looking at him I thought we weren't supposed to look?"

"Well, Y/N," Sal said, sloppily standing from the bar stool and grabbing her purse. "I will be going to the bathroom right now. I hope nothing significant will occur during my absence, like, say, a certain Avenger approaching you while you're sat here all alone." She winked, her gait wobbly from the alcohol.

Before Y/N could yell at her to return, she already turned the bar's corner into the restrooms. Y/N silently cursed, downing his margarita before ordering another one. His heart was beating fast, and he glanced towards where Tony was sitting. As if on cue, Tony looked up from his conversation with Captain America, catching his gaze. This time, Tony's smile widened, and he leaned in and whispered something to Steve. Y/N's pulse quickened. Then, Tony stood up from his booth and started towards Y/N. He quickly turned around, "fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered under his breath.

Y/N could feel Tony's presence approaching. He radiated wealth, power, and overall playboy hubris with each step. As he drew closer, Y/N's anxiety reached a peak. He started drawing his focus away from the intimidating man, attempting to look very intently at the bar's collection of liquor. But Tony's sensation, magnetic as ever, couldn't be ignored by Y/N.

Tony sat on the barstool Sal was on before she left. Y/N felt his palms and the back of his knees becoming clammy, unsure if it was from the alcohol or the undeniably attractive billionaire beside him. It was probably the latter. Tony cleared his throat to catch the attention of the bartender. "I'll take a beer, please."

After Tony got his beer, an uncomfortable silence washed over the two men. Tony wasn't speaking and Y/N was too out of it to verbalize anything. Wasn't Tony – billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – Stark supposed to start their conversation, he silently thought. Suddenly getting very impatient, Y/N put the burden on himself to verbally approach Tony first. "I always thought you were a hard liquor person," Y/N's voice came out, evident in his speech that he was decently drunk.

Tony glanced at Y/N, a hint of amusement in his expression. "I've been trying to lay off the drinking for a while," he replied, taking a sip of his beer. "Only wimpy drinks for me tonight."

Y/N nodded, trying to focus on Tony's words despite his tipsiness. He could feel Tony's eyes on him, curious and unwavering. His gaze was intimidating but felt strangely warm at the same time.

Tony leaned in slightly, his tone teasing. "And what about you. I didn't peg you to be a margarita guy."

Y/N smiled, his confidence from the liquid courage abating his nerves. "I like to keep 'em guessing, Mr. Stark." He took another sip of his margarita. "Only the good ones."

Tony's grin widened slightly. "Does that make me one of the 'good ones'?"

"That depends on how you treat me tonight," Y/N replied, his voice flirtier than he expected it to be.

Another silence came after Y/N's words – a comfortable one, unlike the last time. Y/N sneaked a few glances towards Tony, finding him looking straight ahead bearing a small content smile.

"So what brings you here with" – Y/N gestured towards Steve – "that hunk of a man," Y/N asked, cutting through the quiet.

Tony set down his beer. "Well, I just got off a very important business meeting and decided to head here to unwind. Heard this place had some...interesting company." He then looked towards Y/N. "Capsicle's here as my plus one."

Y/N felt his cheeks go red. "'Interesting company,' huh?" he echoed, his nervousness returning again.

Tony nodded, his expression playful. "Very interesting," he reaffirmed. "And it seems," Tony picked up his beer, gesturing it towards Y/N. "I've made the right choice."

A sudden cough erupted from Y/N's mouth, elicited by Stark's notorious innate flirtiness. "You can't just say that, Tony. We just met and you don't even know my name."

Tony chuckled, clearly amused by Y/N's reaction. "You're right," he admitted, leaning back slightly. "But I don't need to know your name to recognize you're someone worth talking to." He took another quick sip of his beer. "Names are just a formality anyway. I'd rather know the person behind the name."

Y/N felt a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. Despite knowing of Tony's infamous charismatic boldness, it felt nerve-wracking being on the receiving end of it. It was a strange experience. "You surely know how to keep someone on their toes, Mr. Stark."

Tony smiled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "So, whaddya say? Do I get your name or do I have to keep guessing for a little longer?"

Y/N hesitated briefly before deciding to play along with Tony's game. "Keep guessing, lover-boy."

Tony's eyebrows raised, clearly enjoying the challenge and the nickname. "Let's see..." he said, his face stern with faux concentration. "You strike me as a Jay. Or a Phil." He watched Y/N's expression closely, trying to see if there was any hint he was on the right track.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "Nice try, but you're way off. Guess again."

A small sigh came from Tony. "Dammit. I thought I almost had it," he said, feigning playful disappointment. "Okay, how about...Cameron? Or Mitchell?"

Y/N shook his head once more. "Nope. Not even close."

Tony leaned in closer, his smile turning into a small smirk. "Alright, I give up. What's your name, mystery man?"

Y/N also leaned in, relenting at Tony's surrender. "It's Y/N," he half-whispered. "But I did enjoy you guessing."

A genuine smile found itself on Tony's face. "Y/N, huh? I like it – it suits you." He raised his beer in a small toast. "To new friends, and to keeping things interesting."

Y/N clinked his margarita with Tony's brown beer bottle. "To new friends," he repeated.

"So," Tony said, taking another sip of his bottle. "Tell me more about yourself."

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Tony and Y/N talked for what seemed like hours, the passage of time becoming irrelevant to them. Y/N went on an extended rant about his ex-boyfriend, Tony listening intently, which Y/N very much appreciated. Tony in turn told Y/N about Avengers and Stark Industries business. Y/N tried hard to understand Tony's talks on logistics, all for the sake of how Tony's eyes lit up with interest when talking about the nitty-gritty of his company.

After I while, their conversation started dwindling down. The initial flirtiness settled down to a comfortable silence. The buzz from the alcohol had faded into a pleasant comfort that made Y/N feel warm inside. Y/N looked around the bar, noticing how the crowded place had thinned out. "Looks like we cleared the place out, huh?"

Tony set his beer bottle down, stretching his arms. "Guess we did. Time flies when you have fun. Or when you're with a cute person."

A warmth covered Y/N's face red. "It's been nice talking to you, Tony." He checked the time on his phone, eyes widening when he saw the time. "It's getting quite late. Me and Sal...where is that girl anyways?" Sal's entire existence completely slipped from Y/N's mind.

"Looks like Cap and your friend are hitting it off quite well." Y/N glanced towards the booth Steve was sitting in. There was very much indeed Sal chatting up a storm with Captain America. What surprised Y/N the most was that Steve actually enjoyed talking to her? He nodded, smile bright and charming as Sal's mouth moved continuously.

"Huh," Y/N mused. He looked towards Tony once more. Y/N wasn't quite sure how but Tony looked even more attractive since the last time he looked.

"I think it's time for us to call it a night, Y/N," Tony said, his voice slightly disappointed. Y/N also found himself unhappy as well. "Though, I'd like for us to see each other again. For margaritas or beer – or something stronger if you prefer." He pulled a sleek black business card from his pocket and handed it to Y/N.

"I'll take you up on that, Tony," Y/N replied, pocketing the card. Y/N stared softly at Tony, feeling a fluttery feeling in his chest. He noticed the closeness between them on the bar chairs.

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, his mind racing with both excitement and nerves. The temptation to close the gap between them was overwhelming, and he could feel himself gravitating towards Tony.

Tony's gaze flickered towards Y/N's lips, seemingly understanding his intentions. Y/N felt a surge of confidence rush through him. He wanted this, and he knew damn well Tony did too. Without thinking further, Y/N closed the space between him and Tony, lips connecting in an intimate kiss.

Their lips started slowly at first – tentative as if testing the waters. But then Tony responded, pressing back with a gentle ferocity that made Y/N's stomach flutter. The kiss was slow and exploratory, full of curiosity and intrigue.

Y/N's eyes closed as he felt himself melt into Tony's touch. His hands found their way towards Tony's shoulders, linking them around and slightly grazing the fabric of his suit. Y/N could feel Tony's hands lightly caressing his waist, sending tingles around his entire body.

When they both pulled away, Y/N's eyes fluttered open and met Tony's, a mixture of surprise and fluster playing around both of their smiles.

"Wow," Y/N said, breathless. "That was unexpected."

"Yeah," Tony responded, sounding winded himself. "I definitely want to see you again now."

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Tony and Steve insisted on driving Y/N and Sal home, however, Y/N protested heavily against it. Sal was definitely on board with the idea but was drowned out by Y/N's persistent opposition.

After saying their goodbyes to the two Avengers, Y/N and Sal started on home. "So...," she began, sporting a toothy smile.

Y/N reciprocated her wide grin. "We'll debrief tomorrow."

FIN

A/N: Catch the Modern Family names 😼 Hope you enjoyed it!

[cupids-chamber]

— " 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 " | Listen to this on loop for full experience.... ★. Content tags/warnings , 1.1k+ words, gender neutral reader, technically everyone x reader (including staff/not so much RSA), can be seen as both platonic and romantic, angst, mentions of food/eating less (reader no longer has an appetite), reader is tired, reader is having a really bad day, reminder: I haven't written in awhile.

Today was a difficult day, many days have challenged you in so many different ways, yet a keen feeling of gloominess had washed over you this particular morning. Your alarm rang blankly into the silent room, you let out a groan of displeasure as you sat up on your bed, staring blankly at the wall feeling a churn in your gut. The curtains were closed, a small ray of light shone through the empty space between your window and the fabric of the curtain; you took a moment to sit and stretch. 

Mentally you cursed yourself, reaching a hand to shut off your phone alarm. Perhaps it was a bad idea staying up late after all, yet how could you resist the urge to finish that new Twisted Wonderland fanfic you found on AO3 recently; The reader resonated deeply with you, and the author's writing was just what you needed. Your eyes stung, you felt like banging your head into your headboard just to stop it from ringing and aching, not to mention you could practically feel the weight of your eyebags.—had you known your body would behave in such a way, you'd have slept at least a bit earlier—Well that's what you're saying now at least, you knew you'd probably repeat the same mistake tonight if another storyline enraptured you just as much as the previous did. 

You began standing up, your whole body woozy from the lack of sleep, you found yourself stumbling over something you left on the floor. You recall how tired you were, too done with the day to be bothered to pick it back up. You walked right past it, 'today was going to end badly' you thought to yourself, since your morning had been a dead giveaway. 

You pocketed some random snack, as breakfast; Running a bit later as per usual. You'd lie to yourself, saying that you'd get up a bit earlier tomorrow but you knew for a fact that unless a miracle happened, you wouldn't. 

The rest of the day was but the same routine, you felt tired all throughout your morning classes, on edge. You would've fallen asleep but you tried to keep your eyes open, as your professor was going over some important project intel that you really didn't want to miss—though you were only half understanding what they were saying—their words felt like gibberish for your only half-functioning brain.

Lunch felt like a chore, despite it usually feeling like a break. You felt like something bad was definitely going to happen, which made you feel anxious; The churn in your gut made it difficult to eat, chew, or drink. Your lunches weren't all that gigantic, as you disliked the feeling of being bloated, yet you barely could find it in yourself to eat. You took a deep breath, you logged into tumblr, perhaps one of your favorite fanfic writers uploaded something new? Anything to distract this heavy mind of yours. 

You checked @kalims page first, they hadn't uploaded in a while—It's been a couple days since they've posted; you figured they'd be busy with school… You pondered on the following page for a while, checking @spadecentral‘s blog, they were far more active then most other blogs you’ve been following and their soft and sweet writings was perhaps just what you needed in this tim—They haven’t uploaded in a while as well? You looked at your screen, maybe everyone was just busy with their finals and/or finishing up midterms at this time. 

You hummed, scrolling frantically through your follows, you sighed softly, maybe today wasn't the day to read fluff, you started checking yandere blogs; ‘nothing like obsessive men to calm you down’ you thought as you clicked on @writingforatwistedworld‘s blog, you scrolled down.. 

‘Weird, nothing new..’, it was as if the whole world had conspired against you today, you took a sigh, perhaps @honey-milk-depresso had uploaded something new on her art blog, after all their wholesome tsundere ship art was just the perfect source of serotonin—And if you were just a bit lucky, perhaps she’s uploaded writing onto her main blog an—Oh.. She hasn’t uploaded either?..  

Your brows furrowed letting out a tired sigh, maybe you should just listen to some music. ‘How bad could this day possibly go?’—you consoled yourself with those words, as you tried finishing up at least a small portion of your meal. 

You forced yourself to clean up and change, crashing onto your bed afterwards. It always felt softer on these sorts of days. Like a welcoming warm embrace, that you didn't want to leave. You took a few moments to vent your stress onto one of your poor pillows, before getting nice and cozy with your warm blankets. 

You laid down on your bed, burying yourself in the blankets, as you grabbed your device from near you, turning the brightness to the lowest possible setting, perhaps you should finish your general tasks on Twst before you take a nap.. 

10 minutes passed and you let out a groan, where did the app go? You never heard of an app disappearing randomly; perhaps you miss-clicked and hid it by accident? A few minutes passed, and you still couldn't find the Twisted Wonderland app, you desperately opened up your computer.. Typing in panic, and yet the official website was gone as well—perhaps it’s just going through some weird update?—Maybe this was only happening to certain servers. You logged into tumblr once again, checking your mutuals profiles and.. some of them were gone? Most of the blogs had nothing from Twisted Wonderland left, the tumblr tags for Twst were completely empty. 

Two hours had only passed and your panic grew, it was odd. You scrolled through your mutual’s blogs for minutes on end hoping to find one post about the game which put a smile on your face on the daily... Yet none... You went on AO3 and even checked other websites which you'd only go to out of sheer desperation for content... Yet nothing...  

You took deep breaths, your breathing pacing as you scrolled till your fingers began to sting from pressure and stress.. Your back arched, as you stared at the screen with an intense expression, desperately tapping away…  finally you entered the app store hoping this was a weird dream or update, like those movies and manga’s and yet.. the app was gone. No mention of it.

You couldn’t even trace a single picture of the game down, not even on Pinterest where everything deleted was still sometimes somehow available. 

'Were you crying? You couldn't quite tell, you felt tired, perhaps this fictional world was just something you created as an escape, yet you didn't think you'd get this attached to some characters on a screen, and now that's it's all gone you feel... kind of.. empty.' 

‘Maybe it was all just a fragment of your imagination…’

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