#maybe ill apologize for whatever wins

[furbhii]

wait. we gotta do a poll about this.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

HI ILY!!! i was wondering if u could do a argument fic likeeeee katsuki and reader got into a argument and they are both DISTRAUGHT bc they’re so corny and in love and hate fighting but the argument was bad and they’re oh so sad whatever whatever !! and katsuki has to make it up to them EEE !! PLEASE I LIVE EAT SLEEP AND BREATHE UR FANFICS !! LOVE U CASHHH🤍

operation : trouble in paradise !

katsuki tries to get his boyfriend privileges back..

EEEE TYSM AND I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS ASK !! Its my guilty pleasure like both parties hating to argue bc they love each other so much im so sorry that’s adorable. and again ty SOOO much !!! hope you enjoy, ive actually gotten a similar ask, so that one ill try to have that come out soon !

FEM READER, katsuki is melodramatic, argument, fluff fluff despite argument, 3rd year bk squad boys !, kissing, making up yipeee, reader likes flowers,lemme know if i missed sum else !

“she fuckin’ hates me.”

for the past ten minutes he’d barged into kirishima’s room, bakugou has been moping. wallowing, even.

“no she doesn’t, man..” kirishima reassured. for the umpteenth time, he’s honestly lost count. he’d tried putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder earlier but said boy had shrugged him off angrily, grumbling out a dramatic “don’t touch me.” despite being flopped face down on his bed.

“i know her better, kirishima. yes she does.” the blonde insists, voice muffled by the redhead’s pillows. kirishima sighs, patting his friends leg before making his way to his office chair across from the bed, ignoring the muffled grumbles bakugou lets out.

“how bout you just..go apologize ?”

“i already told you i can’t. she—”

“yeah, she hates you. got it.” kirishima finishes his friends sentence, causing the blond to groan. “look dude, you’ll never know unless you try. you’ve been together for ages now.”

“a year.” katsuki corrects, he purposely forgets to mention he knows exactly how many months it has been too. kirishima nods excitedly, trying to get him out of his frankly sad state. “yeah ! so, this shouldn’t be anything man. arguments happen all the time, no matter how much you love each other.”

katsuki feels his ears burn at the word love on his friends lips, he’s told you he loved you of course. but it still felt weird to acknowledge it.

he turns just enough for his scowl to be visible to his friend, who sends him an encouraging smile.

“so what the fuck do i do then ?” kirishima grins wider, sharp teeth on display. “there we go, that’s more like ya, dude !” he exclaims. he quickly shuffles to grab a notepad strewn onto his messy desk (kirishima’s desk was so messy it made katsuki itch sometimes, a shiver almost passes through him whenever he sees the state it’s in)

kirishima drops onto the floor, placing the notepad onto his mattress and scribbling, with a pen katsuki has no idea where he fished out, a messy “operation: get your bf privileges back !!!!!!” bakugou fixes kirishima with a dead look, the other only tilts his head, still cheerful.

“what ?”

“what the fuck is this, kirishima.”

kirishima scoffs at the blonde’s dead tone, “listen man, you wanna win your girlfriend back or not ?!” bakugou squints at him, hard. but only let’s out a loud sigh. kirishima takes that as his answer and with a nod continues writing down notes.

katsuki groans to himself, looking down at his friend scribbling down his grand plan, and he better hope it works.

maybe you should call him..

no, you won’t. it was his fault you were like this anyway.

..but maybe you went a bit too far..?

ugh. you groan, rolling around in your bed. you’d tried to distract yourself by going through your tiktok feed but it seemed the world was against you or your fbi agent hated your guts. your feed was either overly cutesy couples content that made you miss your angry blond, or break up videos that made you miss him even more.

ugh. you shove your head even harder in your pillows.

you’re really trying to hold your ground, because you want katsuki to know he’d hurt your feelings, but now that you think about it you don’t even remember what you’d argued about. it was petty for sure, you’re about 80% sure it was a petty argument.

maybe you should—

you shake your head, steeling your nerves. so what if it was a dumb argument ?! that didn’t mean he could get away with everything!

“uuuugh,” you groan out loud, you miss your katsuki.

a knock at your door startles you. it must be mina, you’d texted her earlier that you were mad at your boyfriend and she’d told you that she “excepted all the deets of what his dumbass did this time as SOON as i get back !!!!” and you were waiting, maybe venting about it could make you feel better and less dramatic.

you open your door expecting to see your overly excited best friend. but instead—

flowers, almost whacking you in the face you might add, are shoved in your face before you can get a word out. you squeak in shock, they’re pretty though, your favorites. and you know only one person who knows what your favorite flowers are.

“wh-katsuki ?!”

and there he is, red faced and angry. scowl on his face and bouquet of pretty flowers in hand.

you can’t tear your eyes away from him, he can’t keep his eyes in one spot—flying from you occasionally to your door to the flowers and repeat. he blinks, you blink.

“here.” he grunts, waving the flowers towards you. “f’r you.” he glances at you.

“o-oh !” you exclaim suddenly, whisking the flowers towards yourself. the bouquet is big, it’s definitely a bit bigger than your head. katsuki searches your face to gauge your reaction“i—uhm! thank you..” you utter shyly, katsuki grunts. he shoves his hands in his pockets the moment you’ve gripped the bouquet, kicking at something you can’t see on the floor.

your heart skips a beat. tentatively, you lean against the door “didn’t take you for a flower guy..”

he scoffs, kicking the toe of his sneakers against the floor “‘m not.. but you like these, right ?”

trick question. he knows you do, you mentioned in passing these were your favorites, unless you suddenly decided you didn’t like these anymore. then he’s fucked. but he decides to continue despite the worry growing in his lower belly, the plan was already a go now.

“i—uhm, listen..” your boyfriend fumbles, he throws his head back and groans when his words won’t come out right. you give him a tiny smile, his eyes soften just a bit.

“i fucked up, okay ?” he admits, scratching at his nape “shouldn’t have said all that shit to you, or whatever..” you can tell he’s beyond embarrassed. he’d melt if he could get any redder, he keeps scratching and won’t look at you for more than a few seconds at a time and katsuki who’s always the loudest in the room can barely manage a mumble. you know he means it though, he never did anything he didn’t feel like doing. you wait for him to continue and he looks at you then.

“i don’t ever like arguing with you. ever.” he insists “so jus..forgive me, kay ?” he finishes quietly. your heart jumps and leaps and you can’t stand acting cold anymore. you walk a bit closer to him, the flowers block you from fully being close to him.

katsuki’s eyes are wide as you lean in to kiss right next to his lips, you laugh at his bewildered expression and his eyes soften when he snaps out of it. he rolls his eyes, you smile wider.

“i forgive you, i’m sorry too. i don’t like arguing with you either..” you admit, katsuki reaches for your hand, you feel the tips of his fingers brush against your skin, you give it to him and he grips it tight. then he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, it’s a sweet little apology kiss that turns a bit too passionate after a while, and you pull him towards you and into your room away from prying eyes. katsuki kicks the door shut behind him and pulls you closer by your waist.

“guess i gotta—thank shitty hair..” he mumbles in between kisses, “an’ i owe him twenty bucks.”

you make a noise against his lips and pull away, raising a brow and holding his shoulders when he tries to lean in to kiss you again. “what’s that mean ?”

your boyfriend huffs “told shitty hair i’d give him twenty bucks if his shitty plan worked.”

“plan, what plan ?” you ask, katsuki squints at you, a grumbling noise comes from his throat, almost a whine.

“yer really gonna make me spell it out aren’t you..” he mutter bitterly, shoving his head in your neck. he continues, “shitty hair helped me come up with a plan to make you not mad at me anymore. i told him it wouldn’t work, he said it would, and we bet on it.”

you laugh in disbelief, katsuki chomps at your neck to silence you, squeezes his arms tighter around your stomach to make you wheeze, but you can’t stop laughing. “that’s so cute !”

“shaddup.” he growls in response. you muffle your giggles in his shoulder. katsuki grumbles some more and you run your hands up and down his back.

“well then,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his nape, his arms around you tighten. “i guess we’ll both have to thank kiri then.”

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hii, this is my first time requesting and I wanted to know if you could do an Alastor x hard to get fem reader, who is somewhat stronger than him in the beginning, but as Alastor fights more overlords he gets stronger and tries to woo her into a relationship with him and she is just not having it. Maybe he goes as far as killing a member of the Goetia family to prove his strength but in turn makes the reader like panic and cast him away from her. Maybe Alastor wins her back by taking care of someone that’s been bother her than she doesn’t have time to deal with, like a stalker or something. I hope this wasn’t too much, I just really love your writing!

A/N: kiss your brain i love this so much!!! I love writing for Alastor and i’m so excited for the show to come out so this makes me extra excited!! I haven’t written in a little while so I apologize if this was a bit off, still getting into the swing of things! But I hope this was good!

Warnings: Obsessiveness, slight yandere!, murder, power trip, mentions of death, cannibalism, mentions of blood

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Hard to get

Meeting you wasn’t something Alastor thought would affect him as much as it did

You were different, but a different that scared him and he hated that

Your power and calmness together sent shivers down his spine, it gave him an adrenaline he had been craving and he didn’t even know it

After his fight with you he had fled, to hide away bask in your energy

He had gone as far as studying you from afar, watching the way you carried yourself and the way you went about your day

He would become stronger than you, to take you down but to also have you as his own; his bride

In his eyes you were a prize to be cherished, someone to love so dearly you wouldn’t need to lift a finger again

He had talked to you during a meeting with other overlords, after everyone was done cowering from his power

You were quiet, stoic and didn’t say much- hell you didn’t even spare him a glance

¨Hello dear!¨Alastor said calmly to you after the meeting.

You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him with a blank face, waiting for him to continue

¨May I help you?¨You asked, and he just grinned

¨Why yes you may! I couldn’t help but take notice to how awfully somber you looked all by your lonesome and felt it was my duty to accompany you.¨He said with a grin, leaning down to get a better look at your features.

¨I was actually doing quite fine before you came along thank you.¨You say, facing away from him and turning your nose up slightly. You clearly couldn’t be bothered to socialize with someone like him. His smile stretched painfully wide and he fought every urge to pull you to him right there.

¨Well I-¨

You cut him off

¨If you wouldn’t mind, the stench of blood is heavily present on you and I’d appreciate it if you cleaned yourself up properly and kindly left me alone. I’d hate to have a repeat of our first meeting.¨You said, side eyeing him.

He was stunned to say the least, and without another word, walked away from you, his dignity in shards at his feet.

You had really pushed him over this edge and a part of him was living for it but the other part really wanted to burn the entire city down.

Weeks went by and he was silent for a while, pondering over your words and what you had said. Clearly your standards were high, higher than him by far. He would have to play better.

He began taking his anger out on other overlords, claiming territory day by day and night by night. His carnage all over the radio, for you to hear. His subliminal message to you, that he was a changed man. Ready to be the man you needed him to be.

¨Please, whatever you want Ill give it to you, just please enough of this!¨ The overlord shrieked as Alastor rummaged through their belongings, his shadows making work of their lower ranked demons.

He stops when he sees a picture of you on their wall, a photo, where you were actually smiling.

Words couldn’t express how his dead heart felt, he was in such a state of shock he didn’t even remember killing the poor overlord. What a shame, and here he thought he could’ve asked some good questions about you.

He keeps the picture for himself, along with a file the overlord had made about you

Clearly you were smarter than you let on, because the file was made up of small things almost anyone could gather about you- poised, confident, but quiet

Alastor had made his way to where you resided, a large estate in a rural area, with a tower attached to the back of the building. It was gorgeous and seemingly had you written all over it.

Stepping onto the front grounds, he took notice to how the grass was withered and dead, but sharp black roses decorated the steps leading up to you’re front door. It was so elegant, so precise. So much so he had fallen in love all over again.

He hadn’t bothered to get flowers, knowing you would probably take them and kill them right in front of him.

Knocking on the door three times he waited quietly, hearing light footsteps make their way to the door.

A smaller, frail woman opened the door, and he smiled politely down at her.

¨Hello sir, I believe her majesty is not available right now. Though she expected your arrival. Would you care to come inside and wait for her with some hot tea?¨ The small woman asked.

Alastor just nodded and stepped inside, taking the interior in as best as he could, hoping to burn the image into his brain. The smaller woman led him through various halls, all elegantly decorated by your hand as she explained, before leading him to your study, a large library with a glass windows all around.

He took a seat, taking the liberty to put a record on, slowly humming to the jazz as he waited for your arrival.

Some time later you stepped in, Góetia prince in toe as you pulled a book from the higher shelves with your magic, handing it to the prince.

¨I believe this was all¨ was all you said. He nodded, the two of you giving Alastor a quick glance before shaking hands. The Goetia prince turned on his heel and left quickly, leaving you to deal with Alastor.

¨You have proven to be a constant thorn in my side.¨You sigh, sitting across from Alastor in your study. He just grins, finally happy to have some of your attention.

¨Well a thorn does belong on a rose, does it not?¨He asked, and you clicked your tongue.

¨Roses get their thorns cut off.¨You reply, still cold and monotone. There’s no expression on your face, and its then he takes in your appearance.

Dressed from head to toe in a long black dress that hugs you quite nicely. Your hair is done back, away from your face, making your features all the more present. You sit cross legged, and don’t say much else, waiting for a response.

¨Well that is also true.¨Alastor finally draws out. You hum, leaning back in your chair.

¨What it is you want from me?¨You ask finally, eyes shutting for a moment.

¨Well I-¨Alastor stops, the door opening to reveal the smaller woman again.

¨Excuse me your majesty, but the prince is back- and quite enraged.¨She said nervously, a loud crash coming from down the hall. You sigh, standing.

¨A moment please.¨You excuse yourself, leaving the study. The small woman stays inside, and Alastor decides to take this time to question her.

¨That prince, is he?¨Alastor asks, and the small woman shakes her head.

¨Goodness no, her majesty would never get with royalty. She’s trying to get away from that life.¨The small woman said. So the prince wasn’t your prince, that was for sure.

¨How long has she been down here?¨Alastor asks, knowing his arrival had been pretty recent.

¨twenty years. Died on March fifth, 1909.¨ The small woman said. ¨She was a child when she died, but thankfully to her power, she can continue to age as much as she wants here. Per her family’s request.¨ The woman said.

¨I hope you two are having fun gossiping.¨You said stepping back into the room, flicking a piece of glass off of your hand. Alastor sits up, now a bit more confident in talking to you.

¨Oh the most fun one could have.¨Alastor draws on, the small woman nodding to him as she steps out. You take your place back across from him, massaging your temples.

¨Lets get on with this shall we.¨You say, ¨I don’t know what you want from me. But let it be known I have felt you watching me, lurking as one would say. If you don’t want a detachment from your head to your torso I would politely suggest you leaving me alone.¨You say, your eyes sharper, but tone still calm. He could see the enragement behind your tone.

¨Why don’t we have dinner? I can explain much more than my dear.¨

¨Do not call me that.¨You say, and he laughs.

¨I will not be so easily swayed, unfortunately for you.¨He says grinning. He stands, tapping his staff on the ground to wake his radio up. ¨I do believe that my visit must be cut short. I have more sinners to erase!¨He grins happily, poofing himself out of the room and elsewhere thanks to his shadow.

You don’t hear from him for quite some time, and its almost comforting. He kept his distance at overlord meetings, even though fewer overlords were alive to be present thanks to him.

You had began getting small gifts, and seeing shadows whenever you turned corners. Almost like a mind game. Though you were sure it was him, you had more important things to tend too than his childish games.

It wasn’t until you had gotten home from the Goetia ball that you were face to face with him again.

In the foyer of your home, black tiles stained red, Alastor stood in the middle of the mess. The Goetia prince beheaded in your home.

¨What have you done?!¨You yelled, panic settling in. Alastor had worked so hard for this. A Goetia prince? Hell royalty was a new kill for him truly.

¨He wont bother you anymore my dear, of course I had hoped the mess would be cleaned by now but the fight he put up was quite time consuming.¨He said with a chuckle.

¨Alastor get out. Now.¨You said, and it was then he had froze. You were surrounded by an aura of black smoke, breathing heavy and eyes going full white. The room had began to get darker, and the doors behind you flung open, wind raging as he fought to keep his feet planted on the ground.

¨Cant we just-¨

¨I said- get, out.¨You said, swapping places with him in a blink of an eye, having his body pushed through your doorway with the wind, sending him into the forest far away from your home.

It had been ten years since then.

Alastor had felt defeated. He had tried all he could. Gifts, flowers, cleaning up your messes that you refused to admit were yours. Hed taken out such awful suitors who thought they had a chance with you.

It wasn’t until the next overlord meeting, when you didn’t show up, he had gotten worried. He knew he should’ve stayed away. But he just couldn’t. He hadn’t looked you in the eye for so long, but putting his own fear judgment aside, he decided to check up on you. Rosie, a friend he had acquired, had told him one visit wouldn’t hurt.

He found your doors wide open, the area eerily quiet, the dust coating your home entirely out of character for you. A man stood in your foyer, calling your name over and over frustrated.

¨ Please Y/n,talk to me! Anything!¨He said. The man was trying his hardest to get you to show yourself.

¨Excuse me.¨ Alastor said, and the man turned to look at him.

¨Who the fuck are you?¨ The man asked, and Alastor just smiled.

¨ Someone you’re going to wish you never met.¨ he said. The man doesn’t have time to react, his bones breaking on him, as he collapses on the floor with a loud shriek of pain. It draws out for a bit before the man finally dies, a slice to his chest shutting him up as he chokes on his own blood. Alastor hums as his shadows make quick work of cleaning the mess he made. He knew you hated your tiles stained.

¨Alastor?¨ You ask, standing at the top of the staircase. Your hair is down, still in the same dress Alastor had memorized so well. He smiles, his dead heart freezing over at the sight of you.

¨hello dear. Forgive me for my sudden intrusion. You weren’t at todays meeting and I thought to check up on you.¨He said, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping his hands with it. You walked down the steps slowly, taking in the shadows working on the now dead man on your floor.

¨ Did you do this?¨You asked, looking through the open door of your home. Your voice was softer than before. You looked a mess, but almost put together in a way. As if you were only slightly losing your mind.

¨Yes.¨He said, taking your hand and pulling you closer to him. He figured this was his last shot with you. Now that he had you here, he had to take advantage.

¨Mon cheri, I know you casted me away all those years ago. But I have you here now, and I cannot hold this will in my heart any longer without telling you.¨He said, his other hand turning your face to have you look at him. Your eyes were different this time, something he couldn’t read. But still, he kept on. ¨ I believe my love for you is strong in itself. I can protect you, you wont ever have to worry about some deadly sinner like this again. I know you didn’t believe I was capable of making you happy. But I must know now, if I am truly worthy of your love. I will do whatever it takes.¨ He said.

Your eyes were dark, with something he could only describe as pure lust. ¨Alastor please, you always were.¨You say with a smile. He had been so, immature before. But after years it seemed he changed, on the surface that was. Maybe you could give him a chance. Maybe he was worth coming out of the dark for a bit. Especially now, since he was stronger than you.

¨But, you must promise me something.¨ You say to him, and he nods quickly.

¨Of course.¨ He says. You grin at his willingness, and turn away from him, the mess he made now long gone.

¨Do not ever play me for a fool again.¨ You say. He stiffens and nods, hands as gently as possible reaching out for you.

He turns around around to face him, and almost jumps when he hears the doors to your home slam shut.

You don’t bat an eye, instead pulling him in by his tie and with a chuckle, eye his shadows as they snicker in a corner at the sight of the two of you. ¨ Dont worry, I know you wont.¨

Alastor just grinned, finally proud of himself. Not only had he gotten his power, no, he had gotten his hands on you as well.

[justaz]

arthur has always been suspicious of the tavern excuse for merlin’s absences, but he has no proof on the contrary and when confronted merlin either tells him outlandish tales of near death experiences that have no chance of being remotely truthful or he admits to and apologizes for slacking on his duties to get drunk. one day, he decides enough is enough and he and all the knights go to the tavern with merlin and arthur casually brings up merlin’s history in the tavern and says he could probably beat gwaine in a drinking contest. merlin tries to divert the discussion away from the idea but arthur is determined. they receive a round of drinks and arthur pushes a pint of ale into merlin’s hands with a look of challenge. merlin’s options are to either commit to the lie to hide his secret or admit to the lie and risk exposing his magic. he takes the former. merlin gives lancelot a Look and then slams back the pint of ale with a minor bit of gagging and pauses to breath. gwaine already finished his pint thirty seconds ago but its entertaining to watch merlin so he doesn’t say anything.

merlin (built like a twig, rarely drinks, lightweight) is proper sloshed. arthur is almost vindicated but he needs merlin to admit it. he orders two more pints and gives one to gwaine and the second to merlin, instigating the competition further despite the fact that gwaine won already. merlin grimaces and tries to do the same thing again but only gets a few gulps in before he folds. he slams the mug down and gives arthur a kicked puppy look before admitting and apologizing for lying. arthur is Vindicated. merlin is still wasted.

the nights wears on and merlin feels the effect of the ale more and more every minute that passes. he sits between arthur and lancelot and feels almost unbearably warm but that could be bc of the alcohol in his system, or the crowded tavern. merlin looks around and watches the people that pass their table by while the knights talk and joke and laugh amongst themselves. merlin feels relaxed and excitable now, his worries seem to have melted away and he cant seem to remember why he was always so stressed and worn down before. he sees a game of [insert game here] (i was gonna say darts but google says that game hasn’t been invented in canon time so ill leave it up to interpretation) going on and climbs over lancelot to join in.

the knights watch with amusement and anticipate merlin’s clumsy attempts at [whatever]. oddly enough tho, merlin is a fucking god at [game]. a small crowd gathers and betting pools form and then challengers approach and put money on the line to go against merlin and merlin absolutely demolishes them all. honestly if arthur didn’t know any better, he’d think merlin was using magic to win bc there was no way his bumbling fool of a servant was that good at…anything.

the challengers take their defeat with honor and grace. the audience is a huge fan of merlin and they keep buying him drinks but he just sends them to the table for the other’s to drink. many people come up to him and flirt, maybe motivated by all the money he won that night or maybe just bc he’s merlin, and when merlin responds to them he’s………..he’s a real good fucking flirt? like could put gwaine to shame and he’s rejecting them???? how can someone come across so flirtatiously while turning down offers to take various beautiful people to bed??

arthur was already itching to intervene when people were flirting with merlin but he seemed to have a handle on it so he let it slide, but then people started touching merlin and arthur’s hand had drifted to his hip where his sword was usually sheathed. however, again, merlin was very skilled at escaping the situations with little to no conflict and he came back to the table with his winnings. the knights cheer for him and order more drinks with his money which merlin is too inebriated to notice and truthfully doesn’t really care about. his eyes are on arthur and if arthur thought watching merlin flirt from afar was bad then having him up close in his personal space, hands brushing against his arms and dark eyelashes fluttering softly against his pale skin, breathing his name into the space between them and licking his full pink lips was absolute torture and the worst and best agony he couldn’t even dream up.

[arazialotis]

Get Him to the Con - Part 10

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 6520

Story Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Chapter Summary: Y/n visits Vancouver to see Jensen and, more importantly, to try to win Jared over.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: Always language. Grumpy Jared. After dinner, well, it gets NSFW 🌶️🌶️, 18+ Only

Although this is an RPF, these are fabricated characters and should not reflect back IRL. I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as a coping skill. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

The black Escalade wove through the Vancouver traffic, the sun beating down, melting the piles of slushy remnants from the first snow. What should have been an eagerly anticipated moment for your arrival was tense. Behind the wheel, Jensen was trying to be the bridge between you and his best friend.

“Lighten up, man. Y/n’s really excited to be out here again and wants nothing more than to hang out and cook us a nice meal.” Jensen pleaded your case.

He, in fact, suggested pizza on the risk of jetlag, but you had insisted, falling back onto the age-old idiom ‘the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.’ You already had one of their hearts, and you were convinced you could make Jared warm up to you, too, if only he saw you as who you were and not as a clingy fangirl. Yet you felt that rift growing every time you saw him. And the last thing you wanted was for Jensen to be caught in the middle.

“Would you try to like her? For me? Please.” Jensen nearly begged when Jared didn’t respond.

At least he was in the car, though Jensen didn’t give him a choice, with this outing as a pretense of drinks after work.

Jensen tried one more time, fed up with Jared’s stubbornness. “At least act nice.”

That got his attention. “Act nice? I’ll play nice if she does.” The accusation hanging heaving.

Jensen furrowed his brow. “Y/n doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.” Okay, you had a bit of a temper, were known to hold a grudge, and had a smart mouth, but Jared didn’t need to know that.

Jared scoffed. “Last time she came out, she literally laughed and criticized me for overacting.”

Jensen’s confusion grew, trying to remember the last time you came out. Then, the realization hit him as the three of you watched the latest episode together in another futile attempt for Jensen to foster peace.

Despite the animosity, Jensen couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, she laughed at a scene and apologized immediately, saying it was hard to take the show seriously now that she knows us. And I said that wasn’t it; it’s probably because you took your acting lessons from Bruce Campbell." His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he attempted and failed to control another giggle, still quite proud of the slight.

“It was a serious scene. I was acting my heart out.” Jared stressed. “You had just gotten back from hell.”

Jensen lost the smile. “In her defense, it does lose its impactfulness after the 17th time.”

“Whatever, man.” Jared pouted, looking out the window.

Jensen rolled his eyes and prayed to any god that would listen. “Would it make you feel better if we watch Devour together after dinner? Then we’ll just laugh at me.”

Jared said nothing, not taking the bait. The clicking of the blinker filled the silence as Jensen waited to turn toward the arrival gates. Jared ran his fingers through his hair as Jensen pursed his lips together, trying to think of something, anything. The light turned green.

“I don’t even know why I am here. Y/n has, like, what, two full days out here? You should be spending it together without having to worry about me third-wheeling. I’m sure there are other things that you would prefer to occupy time you don’t get over Zoom.” Jared rambled out loud.

Jensen’s eyes tightly blinked shut momentarily as he began seeking out an open spot at the curb. Jared was right, of course, only on account of his last thought, but he wouldn’t be at peace until he had the blessing of his best friend. Jensen inhaled through his nose, held his breath, and released through his mouth.

“It is important to me that you and Y/n find some common ground. If you gave her even the slightest chance, I’m positive you would start to like her.” He said calmly as he put the car into park.

“Why does it matter so much to you if I like her?” Jared pushed. To him, you were still only a rebound after Elena.

And then it hit him. Maybe Jared’s denial of his true fear of being replaced had come true.

“Because she’s my best friend and I love her!” He declared and then laughed through the shock.

It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. The silence was palpable as both men processed the weight of the words. Jensen wasn’t one to open up lightly. He felt deeply, but he was always careful with those emotions, cautious even. It had taken nearly two years before he said the same to Elena. Another before they started looking at rings. Maybe because it was one of the first serious relationships he had since the start of his career. The depth and commitment he had felt with her made the falling out that much more disastrous. He had fortified his walls to be higher and more impenetrable. Then you came out of nowhere and shattered everything he thought he knew about himself. He felt like a caged bird learning for the first time how to spread its wings, to feel the breeze on its face, and the warmth of the sun. With you, he felt free.

Jared’s eyes darted back and forth as if reading his thoughts, finding the right response. Jensen squeezed the steering wheel and nodded his head. “I love her.” He said again, the realization hitting him, fully knowing it was true. But then the terror of the statement hit him. The car door shuttered open, and the catapult of a backpack rolling over the seatbench crashing at the other end pulled Jared from his thoughts as you entered the car.

“Hiya!” You squeaked.

You pulled the door close with a thud and clicked on your seatbelt. You cleared your throat, looking up, momentarily afraid you jumped in the wrong car. But it was Jensen and Jared, alright. Jensen stared directly ahead, his face as white as if seeing a ghost. Jared scrutinized his friend. You sank back in your seat. You had thrown yourself directly into something.

Jared turned in his seat, blinking rapidly and addressing you in the most amiable tone he had ever taken with you. “Hi Y/n. Um, would you mind giving us a minute?”

Oh, you had definitely walked into something. It took you a minute to process this, but then you began fumbling with the seatbelt, “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.” And vacated the Escalade as fast as possible.

Jared’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to a whisper as you aimlessly knocked your fists together outside on the sidewalk. “You love her?”

He chuckled again and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I really do.”

Jared knew he should be happy for Jensen, knew they should be celebrating this, offering congratulations, but all he felt was dread.

“Have you told her?” Jared asked.

“Nah, you’re the first to know.” Jensen clapped Jared on the shoulder. “I want the moment to be right, you know. I want to be able to remember it for a long time.”

Jared thought about faking it, but he had to be real with Jensen. “You don’t know her.”

That set him off. “Why are you so set against her? Why can’t you be happy for me? I do know her. I’ve known her for seven months, been dating her for 4 of those, and talk to her almost daily.” His voice went up an octave higher. “I don’t know why I have to keep justifying my choices to you, man? When will it ever be good enough for you?”

Jared didn’t take the bait. “But you don’t know her. How can you truly? You haven’t met her friends or her family, and it sounds like her mom is a real piece of work. Are you ready to deal with that?”

Outside the car, airport security approached you. Both boys could tell from your over-exaggerated gestures that you were attempting to buy them more time.

Jared continued. “And no offense, but she isn’t spotlight material.”

“Fuck you.” Jensen's blood boiled over. He was about to leave the car to find another way to get back into the city. At that moment, he never wanted to see Jared again.

“Come on. Give me a break. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Though he kind of did. “All I’m saying is that if you truly are that committed to her, that this isn’t some fling, you should think about preparing her for the kind of attention it will warrant. The good, the bad, and the ugly. That kind of stress and attention can ruin a person.”

Jensen didn’t respond but wrung his hands on the steering wheel. There was a knock on the window.

“Please, know I’m just trying to look out for you,” Jared whispered as he began rolling down the window.

“Nobody asked you to.” Jensen snipped back before the security guard started to chew them out.

As the boys were on the receiving end of a very stern lecture, you slipped as quietly as possible into the back seat to avoid further angering or endangering yourself with security. Yes, spending a night in jail was on your bucket list, but this is not what you had in mind.

“Sorry, officer,” Jensen ended a profuse apology before hightailing it out of there.

You weren’t sure exactly what you missed, but the air hung thick with tension. Nobody spoke. There was only the hum of tires on the road. It hit you that Jensen never even acknowledged you. You fiddled with a loose stitch on the seat in front of you.

After five minutes and starting to get out of airport traffic, you couldn’t handle it anymore. “So…” You drew the word out, unsure how to break into a conversation.

Jensen blinked, realizing you had no reason to be as upset as him and that it was unfair to suffer from their drama, especially when you were not privy to it.

He cleared his throat. “I got the groceries you requested delivered.” However, he didn’t know how the three of you would sit through a dinner together.

“Oh, good! I’m starving. Airport food never really hits the spot, but the Cajun snack mix does kinda slap.” You rambled, trying for anything to get them talking.

They both hmmed in response. You were about to ask them about their favorite airport snack, but thank the gods, it was Jared who surprisingly saved you.

“What’s for dinner then?” He was trying. He had fucked up. He knew it. This was how he could try to make amends with Jensen.

You beamed, having perfectly planned it out, trying to finally win Jared over to your side. “We’ll start with a strawberry, basil, and balsamic whipped burrata and roasted bone marrow. Then, a small lemon watercress-radicchio salad for a palate cleanser before moving on to a butter-basted ribeye accompanied by potatoes au gratin and crispy brussel sprouts with mustard seeds and pomegranate.”

Jared’s stomach rumbled. Goddammit, that sounded good.

“And, I was considering a dessert, but Jensen said I already had enough going on, and because baking isn’t my strong suit, I let him handle the rest.” You explained. “You did handle the rest, didn’t you?”

Jensen's anger melted a little. With a smirk, he said, “Yeah, a tub of vanilla ice cream.”

Your heart dropped. “Stop.” There was a glint of teasing in his eyes as he looked at you through the rearview mirror, but the rest of his face remained deadpan. You couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “Okay, I guess I could repropose what I had in mind for the burrata, and if you have sugar on hand and something salty and crunchy, we could do a quick brittle. Oooh, maybe the cajun snack mix. Or perhaps…”

“Y/n! I’m messing with you. I have an assortment ordered from Thomas Haas.” He winked at you in the mirror.

Thomas Haas meant little to you, but anything would be better than a tub of ice cream. Okay, a tub of ice cream had its time and place, but not when you were working so hard to impress Jared. Still, you eyed Jensen skeptically, unsure if it would measure up.

“Some of the best in Vancouver,” Jared assured. “I’m sure it will compliment your dinner perfectly. I can’t wait. It all sounds very delicious.”

“Hmm.” You looked between the two of them.

There were still too many questions unanswered. What were they talking about before you arrived? Could you trust either of them to select a quality dessert or would you have to resort to brittle anyways? Were you now on a no-fly list due to the tiff with the security guard? When could you get Jensen alone (this stern look painted on his face was doing things you couldn’t control)? But most importantly, why was Jared acting so nice?

“I’ve had bone marrow before, but only in restaurants,” Jared continued. “I didn’t realize it could be done at home.”

“Oh yeah, it’s actually super simple if you can find a good butcher.” You explained.

Jensen interjected. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s been binging The Bear, and now her only goal is to become an Iron Chef.”

You smirked, impressed he even knew what an Iron Chef was. Aside from eating food, anything kitchen-related was the furthest on his interest list. You were rubbing off on him.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “It’s the easiest cheat code appetizer if you want to impress someone. You toast some bread, toss the marrow in the oven for twenty minutes, and add a few accouterments to a serving board. And bam, done.”

Jared laughed, actually laughed. “I’m sure you are underselling yourself. From what Jensen has told me, you are an excellent cook. I can’t wait to see it all come together.”

Jensen glared at Jared out of the side of his eye, the anger resurfacing. He was laying it on thick. Too thick.

You squinted, eyes darting back and forth between them. This wasn’t going to plan. You were supposed to cook the food and then become BFFs with Jared. This was happening too quickly. But perhaps you should take it for what it was. Maybe you had stuck around long enough for him to finally accept you. Or Jensen had talked you up enough. Whatever the reason, you had to stop ruminating on it. All you had to do was get through dinner. Perhaps after, you could corner Jensen into an explanation.

It wasn’t long until you pulled into the parking garage adjoined to the condos. Jensen popped the trunk, surprised to find it empty.

“Where’s your luggage?” He asked, oblivious as his conversation with Jared required most of his mental capacity.

You held up your backpack as a response, and his brow furrowed with confusion.

“What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He pestered, placing the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Shut up.” You snipped and then explained. “I’m practicing becoming a lighter packer.” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “Besides, I recall not needing much clothing last visit.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows, reminiscing, and then nuzzled his nose into your neck in anticipation of this weekend. Jared, having overheard, rolled his eyes and fought a gag. You laughed as Jensen pulled away, his eyelashes tickling your cheeks. And Jared plastered on his fake smile yet again.

“Let’s get upstairs,” He said. “I’m starving.”

-----

Dinner was coming along nicely. You were basting the last of the steaks in butter, and the boys were watching the end of a game in the living room. The thoroughly cleaned plates on the coffee table were the only lingering evidence that there had been appetizers. You snuck a bit here and there, but it was mostly to keep the two of them from sniffing around the kitchen.

With a final splash of liquid, the steak was done—perfect caramelization and crust. Now, the potatoes. You checked the timer—ten minutes, enough time for the steak to rest. And the Brussels? Shit. You scooped the last of them out of the oil in the nick of time. You generously salted them and would add the pomegranate molasses after plating. Satisfied with how it was all wrapping up, you whipped Jensen’s once pristinely white dish towel over your shoulder. There was a shuffling behind you as you began cleaning what you could.

“Need any help?” Jensen asked.

You were about to shoo him out when you heard the scrape of a knife. You snapped your head around to catch him red-handed. He stared at you like a deer in the headlights, the end of one steak pinched between his fingers and the knife hovering millimeters above. You scowled, and Jensen slowly set the knife down, held his hands in surrender, and backed up.

Your scowl melted into a smile. “A couple of minutes longer. If you’d like to help, you can set the table.”

He straightened. “Yes, chef.”

You playfully stuck out your tongue and whipped the dish towel in his direction, earning an exaggerated yelp.

Finally, after a few minutes passed, you brought the final plate to the table and scooched in. Jensen didn’t hesitate and dove in.

With a full mouth, he mumbled, “If this tastes as good as it…” Then it hit him, and his eyes rolled back in pure delight. “Oh god.”

Jared went in a little slower, cutting his steak and bringing it past his lips. He took several testing bites and paused, glaring at you. He was actually glaring at you. Dropping the act, he’d kept up all night, pissed at how good it tasted. He knew what tonight had been about. About you trying to butter him up, quite literally with butter braised steak. And god dammit. It was a good steak. And he was mad about it.

“Fuck.” Jared cursed aloud, snapping your and Jensen’s attention to him. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You smiled sheepishly, looking down at your plate. “I can’t say I’ve had that reaction before. Not quite as orgasmic as I was hoping for, maybe if I adjusted the…” Your face went pale, realizing the last part was out loud.

Jensen snorted, and Jared even cracked a smirk.

“So, um,” You attempted a recovery. “How was work this week?”

A few minutes of silence passed as Jensen gave Jared a chance to answer. When he didn't and caught him glaring again, Jensen kicked his shin under the table, prompting him further.

Jared grunted. “Well, hours weren't as shitty as usual.”

“Cause Collins hasn't been around.” Jensen teasingly interjected.

Jared chuckled. “Yeah, not as many retakes. Finally, it feels like we're making some progress this season.”

You nodded. The three of you looked back and forth, trying to gauge whether it was appropriate to continue the conversation or return to eating.

“What about you?” Jared coughed before going in for another bite.

“Same old.” You simply stated.

Silverware scraped against plates. A clock ticked in the living room. The sounds of the city rose from the streets. You dabbed the corner of your mouth with the black cloth napkin, then considered it. You’d be willing to bet good money this was the first time Jensen ever pulled them out.

Jensen tried again to spark the conversation again. “Should we talk Vegas?”

Your eyes lit up excitedly, ready to discuss a plan and details.

“So, about that,” Jared started. Jensen didn’t hide his scowl, but Jared's eyes widened, challenging him. “It’s not often we get that kind of time off work, and I’m going to meet Gen in Austin.”

Ah, so dinner wasn’t the wondrous miracle you hoped it would be. You cursed yourself for not trying a Wellington. Jensen reached under the table to graze your thigh, trying to communicate that this had nothing to do with you.

“Why doesn’t she join us?” Jensen shrewdly offered.

Jared’s lips formed a thin line before countering. “Actually, we are going to use the time to do some house hunting.” He hesitated for a minute. “We’ve started talking about, um, the next steps in starting our family.”

Kids? Oh god, Jensen was going to be an uncle. He was already an uncle to Harper’s clan, but this was Jared. All the tension momentarily evaporated as you both offered your excitement and congratulations.

“Yeah, our current setup isn’t going to cut it. We need more space, a yard.” Jared explained. “Y/n, are you interested in kids?”

Jensen choked on the last piece of steak, recovering with a swig of wine. The temporary peace was broken yet again.

“Oh, um.” You stammered, trying to think of a response. Every couple (that was serious, that is) had to come across this question. You just didn’t picture you were there yet with Jensen. And you didn’t picture the conversation would come about this way. “Well, I’ve recently only managed to keep a house plant alive, so maybe the next step is like a cat or something before moving onto a…” You gulped. “A child.”

“Hmm. So you haven’t given it much thought?” He clarified.

“I mean,” Heat was rising to your cheeks. “It might not be my first choice, looking after a little drooling, monstrous carbon copy. Don’t get me wrong, I love being Aunt Y/n to my niece but one of my own. It’s a lot of responsibility and sacrifice and time and money… I don’t know. There’s a lot of benefits, too, I’m sure. You and Gen will be fantastic parents!”

“Interesting.” Jared ignored your last comment. “Wasn’t it in Colorado that you said you’d have Jensen’s babies? Or maybe that’s changed after you got to know him more.” He chuckled a bit, trying to conceal it as a joke.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jensen attempted to shut this down.

“No, I never actually said that.” You talked over him and defended yourself. “Casey, a fan, although more than well-meaning, took several liberties that day. A decision that big should require careful consideration rather than something silly like initial attraction or blind devotion, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” he responded sincerely. “Such as your partner’s thoughts on the issue. Gen and I knew immediately that growing our family was an intention for our relationship. Jensen, you’ve always wanted kids, haven’t you?”

If looks could kill, Jared would currently be en route to the nearest morgue. But then he caught a glance at your wide, curious eyes awaiting an answer. There’s no way he would lie about this. Yet, this was the first time the subject of the long-term future had been broached. He swallowed the lump in his throat with another dose of wine, then threw his napkin on his plate.

“I have always seen my future with one or two kiddos running around.” He spoke softly and slowly. “But if my partner wasn’t on board, there’s no way I’d force that upon them. The two of us would always come first.”

Jared raised his eyebrows and nodded, staying silent as he finished his last bite.

You filled the silence instead, unable to handle the pause in conversation. “Similarly, I would never want to deny my future partner if that was something that was really important to them.”

Jensen closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. This wasn’t a relationship-ending kind of conversation. You did share common ground. And it was each other.

“That seems like a lot of sacrifice.” Jared circled back to the earlier point.

“But what is love?” You asked back.

Jensen whined a high-pitched melody under his breath, “Baby, don’t hurt me,” so over this conversation.

But Jared and you were beyond dialed in.

“You want to define that here, tonight?” Jared pushed. “Scholars, philosophers, religions; they’ve been trying to do that since the dawn of humanity.”

“Many of which have brought it back to sacrifice.”

“And many of which have used that ideal to perpetuate cycles of horrendous abuse.”

You pushed your plate aside, needing the space to talk with your hands. “I’m not denying that. But if you are talking on an individual level about two people in love outside of an institution, there are many components, but sacrifice is usually one of them.”

“So you’re arguing you shouldn’t be happy for the sake of the other person?”

“I’m arguing,” You strained. “Both people in the relationship sacrifice for each other, and not only are they happy to do so, but it is a privilege. You lift each other up and balance the other, and there is a net gain rather than elevating one over the other, becoming nothing more than a mere doormat. Trust me, I’ve been around enough narcissists to understand that never ends well.”

“So that’s your conclusion: love is sacrifice?” Jared asked.

Was he trying to trap you? “Like I said, it’s a component. But at the end of the day, I’d say love is a choice. There’s those initial feelings of lust and excitement and newness that will eventually fade away. And you’ll get on each other’s nerves, and there’ll be tears and fighting, and hell, we all get old, and gravity always wins. There’ll be moments where you have to choose. In fact, there’ll probably be moments where you choose not to. At the end of the day, I’d like to end up with someone who is my best friend above all else because you’ll have that to fall back on when it's hard to love.”

Jared didn’t say it contradictory but as a compliment to your point. “Friendship is its own kind of love.” He looked to Jensen apologetically.

“Very true.” You agreed. “What do you think, Jensen?”

Jensen sighed and shook his head. He stood up to start clearing the table. “It’s a mystery. Sometimes love is just love.”

You began stacking the dishes, bringing them to the kitchen as well. “It defies explanation, logic even.” You added.

Jared grabbed the bottle of wine, refilled glasses, and brought the fresh pour to you. “And definition. It’s the ultimate expression of humanity, isn’t it? To wrestle with complex concepts.”

You chuckled, taking a sip. “I guess that’s based on how you define humanity.”

Jared leaned against the counter. “Well…”

Jensen snapped up from putting plates in the dishwasher. “How about a movie?”

Jared lost his train of thought. “I have kind of been in the mood for The Matrix.”

You beamed. Perhaps this disaster of a night wasn’t ruined after all. It would be the perfect opportunity to bring up simulation theory with Jared. From what Jensen told you, Jared loved debating and theorizing over abstract topics. It would be the perfect foot in. Maybe you could impress him after all.

Jensen caught the mischievous look in your eye. He shook his head. “Don’t…”

But you beat him to it. “That sounds perfect!”

---

Later that night, hours after discussing perceived reality, you hovered over the kitchen sink, scrubbing down the remaining mess. Jared was long gone but thanked you for a pleasant evening. Jensen came up behind you, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs. He pulled your waist to his, wrapping his grasp around your hips, and nuzzled closer.

“Come to bed.” He whispered into your neck.

You half-moaned, leaning into his touch. “I just have a few more.”

“That’s what the dishwasher is for.” He said.

You paused and stiffened. “And ruin the finish on this cast iron? You monster.” Jensen gave a light chuckle before closing his eyes against your skin as you continued. “How do you think tonight went?”

He sighed, chewing it over.

“I know.” You agreed. “I should have done the Wellington.” That earned you a pinch to the side. You yelped. “Not when I’m washing the knives!”

“Honestly,” Jensen started. “I don’t know what to think.”

You took a deep gulp and turned off the faucet before turning to face him. You searched his eyes and ran your pruned thumb against his cheek.

“I don’t want to come between you two.” You strained.

He took your hand and his and glided your knuckles across his lips.

“You’re not.” He whispered.

Your glare pierced him.

Jensen continued. “He’s coming around, albeit slowly.” He added as your gaze held, “I promise.”

Your breath released, and the tension left your body, too tired to challenge him further.

“Come on, off to bed.” He instructed.

But you turned around and yawned, “Only a few more.”

Suddenly, you were swooped up and being carried away from the kitchen. “The rest can wait.”

You hit the mattress, immediately sinking into the plush duvet and feathered pillows. Jensen followed, his warmth and weight wrapping around you. The day's weight full of travel, cooking, cleaning, debating, and worrying all hit you instantly. You closed your eyes, darkness quickly closing in. Yet you couldn’t ignore the lips peppering slow, soft kisses at the edge of your navel.

“Mmmm. Jensen, I’m tired.” You moaned over the response your body had to his touch. His fingers danced along the hem of your shirt, trailing higher. Between kisses, he breathed. “You won’t have to do a thing.”

You popped an eye open and raised an eyebrow, looking down at him through the darkness. The city lights illuminated his features. There was a feral glow in his eyes, waiting for that sweet, sweet permission he longed to hear.

“Are you proposing to use me?” You questioned, rubbing your thighs tighter, seeking pressure to alleviate the quickly growing need.

And he knew it, too. A smirk that would impress even the devil crossed his lips. “That depends,” He brought his hand from your ribs, prying your thighs apart, and you whined in response. “Would you like to be used?”

You nodded even though you could barely keep your eyes open, “Very much.”

He made quick work of your clothing, your lazy attempts to help only impeding the process. The cold air of the condo brushed over your skin, providing temporary alertness as your hair rose and you shivered in response. His hands roamed over you, chasing away the chill, replacing the sharpness with tenderness.

Even as you wrestled sleep from taking you, eyes fluttering close, you could feel his eyes on you. From day one, he made it his mission to study you; taking note of every sharp inhale, every squirm, every crease of the brow. He had been a quick and eager student. His hand gently encouraged your legs apart, his hand roving over your core, parting your very soul as he found his mark. Satisfied, his eyes closed, and his head rested against your chest as he let instinct take over.

Dancing on the edge of sleep yet pulled to the waking world by pleasure, your brain couldn’t comprehend thoughts. The worries of the day, the countless insecurities, the what-ifs, they all melted from your mind. The only thing you knew was touch. It was the only constant. The concept of time faded, and at some point unbeknownst to you, fingers had been replaced with lips.

Incoherent words praised his practiced tongue as thoughts attempted and failed to form meaning. Your hand wound through his hair, gripping to hold him in place as you rocked your hips forward. His arms hooked under your legs, lifting you higher, spreading you farther as he lost his need for air. His only purpose in consuming you.

“Jensen.” You mewled his name as a curse. “Please. God, please.”

Teeth scraped against soft flesh, sending you soaring off that endless cliff. You cried out, a slew of fractured speech. Jensen idly continued as you floated back down to reality. Only as breath returned, hungry for air, did he stop, attempting to catch some himself.

“Turn over,” He instructed through the shallow pants. “On your knees.”

You whined, rubbing your face with your palm. “You said I wouldn’t have to do anything.”

He nipped at your inner thigh. “Brat.”

You lazily smiled until he grabbed your sides and flipped you over himself. That woke you up, but only momentarily as he shuffled behind you, allowing you a minute to bury your head deeper into the pillow.

“Oh, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

An arm snaked under your diaphragm, and you lost your breath as he pulled you up to a kneel, pinning you against his bare, hard flesh. His hands roamed your curves, already mapped in his mind, desperate to bring to fruition what he had imaged during the month apart. A hand came to your throat, gently squeezing, as he tilted it to the side.

“Color?” He cooed into your ear.

You only moaned, too tired for words, grinding your hips back into him, hoping it would prompt this process further along.

“Use your words.” He softly demanded.

“Green.” You placed a hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. “So fucking green.”

He buried his mouth into the crook of your neck, claiming you, possessing you, undoing you. But two could play this game. With your free hand, you reached behind you, immediately claiming your prize. You stroked up and down his length, stopping at the apex and rolling your grasp.

“Fuck.” He indulged temporarily before taking your hand, guiding it to the top of the headboard.

Your other hand followed suit as he gripped your hips. You arched your back and swayed side to side, inviting him in or, at the very least, enticing him to hurry.

“Patience has never been your strong suit.” He playfully scolded.

As he knocked your knee with his own, spreading you apart further and lower, he bent down, planting long, deliberate kisses on the small of your back. Your eyes fluttered close yet again, your mind at war with your body, demanding sleep. He neared your entrance, testing at first, then surged forward, completely filling you. You cried out, sparks turning to flame as he flooded you. Over and over, he built pace, seeking his own high.

It was unlike anything you had ever known. Nothing existed outside of this claiming rhythm, outside of this mounting heat, outside of this ecstasy. Your mind was blank. Your mind was numb. He was the only thing you had ever known—the only thing you were created for.

His hand gripped your shoulder, arching you deeper, pulling you more flush against his hardness, hitting the deepest parts of you. Your curses and praise garbled together, moans became mute, and blinding pressure rose, threatening to break.

“Come on, Y/n,” Jensen said through ragged pants. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

“Jensen.” You cried, tears spilling over. “I can’t, I’m so tired.”

His grip left your shoulder and joined yours on the headboard, intertwining his fingers with yours as he drove into you over and over and over.

“Yes, you can.” He encouraged. “Tell me where.”

He adjusted, giving you time to assess the effectiveness.

And then, suddenly, “Ah, right there. Fuck, don’t fucking stop.” You squeezed your eyes shut.

He did as he was told, gritting his teeth together, fingers digging into your flesh as he held on. He waited and waited until he felt you close in around him, constricting, demanding he fall off that cliff with you into the deep pool of bright light. Your hands slid from the headboard as you collapsed back onto the mattress. Jensen fell with you, his weight trapping you.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. But eventually, you found your way to the surface again, taking a deep, shuttering breath. Jensen rolled off you onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing in and out, in and out. Sweat outlined his sculpted frame as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. When his heart finally settled, his eyes found yours, and he pulled you close.

You were no longer aware if you were sleeping or awake, but still, you said. “I think it is safe to say we can move ‘exhausted sex’ from the maybe category to any fucking time or day.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Thank you.”

You groaned. “Oh please, let’s not start that again.”

“Fair.” He agreed and thought of something else to say. “You’ve ruined me.”

“I’ve ruined you?” You corrected. “Sir. You’ve gone and rendered the entirety of the male species inconsequential.”

“Okay,” He challenged, rubbing his eyes. “You can’t be that tired if you can spin that heap of bullcrap.”

You burrowed into the crook of his arm and closed your eyes before mumbling, “It's not bullcrap. You’ve ruined me too.”

His eyes darted back and forth in the darkness, contemplating everything you had said about love and god, even children. He looked back at you. Your breath had slowed and evened out. And he knew his epiphany remained true. His love for you was beyond his initial attraction, curiosity, or, frankly, his blue balls. He’d give it all up if you asked, find some office job, become a cat dad. And then it hit him why, and he chuckled, saving that thought for another day because now sleep was threatening him too, and he might not be thinking rationally.

He kissed your hair and whispered, testing it out loud. “I love you.” A cold, electric shiver ran throughout his being.

He froze as you stirred. “Hmm?”

He chuckled. “What would you think about going public?”

You shot up, fully conscious. Fully alert. Your brow furrowed, trying to comprehend.

“Aren’t we already public? You did ask me out at a convention?”

He also sat up, rubbing his hands through his hair to stir further energy.

“Well, kind of. People know I’m dating, but only a select few know who.” He explained trying to assess your emotions at the same time. “We’ve done a pretty good job keeping a wrap on your identity.”

“Probably ‘cause your ballcap and sunglasses are such a convincing disguise, Clark Kent.” You teased.

“Smartass,” he grumbled. “Probably more likely because I have a good manager and an even better team right now who locked down and scrubbed your social media.” He waited for you and added, “If you don’t want to…”

“No, that’s not it.” You stopped him. “I… Can I think it over?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need; there’s no rush.” He assured.

“I’ll have to talk to some people beforehand. Friends, coworkers, family.” You gritted your teeth. “My mom, she… Well, she might make things difficult.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up so late. We can sleep on it and talk to the team tomorrow. They’ll answer any questions you have and maybe provide some guidance on the hard things.” He bent down to look into your eyes. “Okay?”

You nodded in response.

“Let’s get some rest, yeah?” He encouraged again and pulled you down against him.

But how the fuck were you supposed to sleep now? Your whole world could change overnight. And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

---

TAGS:

Everything Jackles: @akshi8278

GHTTC: @maggiegirl17 @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @ghostofjoharvelle @ellen-reincarnated1967 @deansgirl79 @chriszgirl92

(Always feel free to ask to be added or removed (I won't be offended))

[cherryxcadbury]

Idk if you write for TAA but I thought in which you’re famous maybe like a writer or idk. Not model or singer, something different because people are delighted that he didn’t choose a “fake” girl, because you’re smart and show in his games every time you can.

this is my oldest request, from almost a year ago. apologies anon.

y/n-your name

2nd person pov

Post match meant time to celebrate and relax. Usually anyways.

It was Sunday, the day after the champions league final, where Liverpool had lost to Real Madrid.

Since then, all the WAGs, players, and coaching staff had made it home from Paris.

And currently, a smaller group of you were gathered around the sitting room of the Van Dijk’s home. Virgil and his wife Rike, stood ready to get whatever anyone needed as hosts.

Captain Jordan Henderson & his wife Rebecca were seated, squished on a small seat.

Andy Robertson, your boyfriend’s best friend was on the floor with a beer in hand, with his wife Rachel seated right behind him on a chair.

As for you and Trent, you two were seated on a slightly smaller sofa, squished, but content.

Usually Mo and his wife, who you’d spent lots of time talking to, managed to find time to come to these gatherings but their daughter had fallen ill.

“I just dunno how the fans will receive us.” Jordan confessed, with his head in his hands.

“If I were a fan I’d want to physically assault myself after yesterday.” Andy groaned.

“I fucked up bad.” Trent mumbled into your ear.

You lightly slapped his knee, telling him not to think such thoughts.

“Heads up guys. We win as a team, we lose as a team.” Virgil comforted everyone.

“You lot have got the FA cup parade tomorrow. That’s something to look forward to.” Rachel brought up, trying to add cheer to the conversation.

“Not the same as a champions league trophy.” Trent groaned.

Rebecca stood up, beckoning Rike & Virgil to sit down.

“We need to change the topic guys. If we keep talking about the defeat you guys are going to moping all the way until next season and into the World Cup.” She suggested.

“So change of topic anyone?” Andy asked, taking another swig of his beer.

“How about that Y/N’s latest book has just won a Pulitzer Prize.” Trent offered the newest bit of information.

You whipped your head in his direction. You hadn’t thought that he’d remember or had even noticed with all of the matches and finals going on.

When your eyes met Trent’s, all you could see in his face was pure love and joy.

“I’m so so proud of you.” He said into your ear.

Your heart swelled with happiness. You felt on top of cloud nine despite yesterday’s events in Paris.

“Y/N that’s amazing!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Was it Life as We Know it?” Rachel asked, referring to the novel of yours which had been an international success in the last year.

You nodded, “Yeah that was it.”

“I need to tell the team.” Jordan got out his phone and started texting rapidly.

You blushed, these very public gestures always made you feel shy. Shy but appreciated.

“This calls for a toast. Let me help with the drinks.” Rebecca, Rike, and Virgil made their ways to the kitchen to get some more wine and beer.

“WOOOO Y/N IS THE BEST WRITER EVER!” Andy’s hands shot up in the air and he started dancing around.

You and Trent looked over at each other. You tried to hide your laughter by snuggling into his chest, but it was impossible.

Andy was Andy. The loud, hilarious Scotsman.

*** “A toast. To Y/N. For making our dark days, brighten with some light.” Trent raised his glass, as the others followed.

You did the same, giving everyone a grateful smile, especially Trent.

You looked at everyone around you, they were happy yes. But as you squinted further you could still see the sad looks in their eyes. The stinging pain of the loss didn’t just go away like that.

“Thank you guys. I appreciate it, I really do. But it’s okay to feel bad for yourselves you know. A champions league final is a big thing. You can’t just get over it in less than twenty four hours. Don’t let me be the reason you have to suppress your emotions.” You told them honestly.

“The channels did say that you guys had quite a few things you needed to work on.” Rike responded.

“The different in caliber between us and Madrid was incredibly large.” Jordan agreed.

“Let’s hear them then.” Trent started.

“Y/N. You go first. You always have the best insight and you never share it with anyone except us.” Rachel began, gesturing to her, Rike, and Rebecca.

Trent shared a knowing smile with you. He knew how analytical you were. How easy it was for you to immediately spot the flaw in the lineup and what’s substitutions needed to be made.

“Well,” You sighed.

This wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot.

“Your defense was lacking for the majority of the match. When they finally stepped up, it was too late. You guys didn’t press enough until the match was basically over. And essentially, you let yourself be outplayed. It didn’t help that Courtois was a wall of steal either.” You explained.

“You have a good back line for the most part. Just need to strengthen the weak areas, like tracking back. And as for up front, you need to work on converting those shots.” You finished.

“This is better insight than what Klopp gave us yesterday.” Jordan murmured.

“I’m texting everything you said to him right now. Thank you so much YN.” Virgil smiled, his thumbs rapidly moving on his smartphone screen.

Trent drew close to you and pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“My beautiful, intelligent girl. I’m so so lucky to have you.” He whispered into your ear.

“Thank you for mentioning the Pulitzer Prize. I thought you’d forgotten to be honest.” You confessed.

He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re too incredible for me to forget anything about you. You’re on my mind every second of everyday.” Trent smiled at you.

“You guys are gross.” Andy furrowed his eyebrows at you and Trent, a small smile playing on his lips.

this is a bit of a mess. thank you for bearing w me

[justanotherhornycatgirl]

.

y'know, it's hard being someone who is chronically good at surviving

there's a running joke, one that has continued through almost every friend group ive ever had, about how im the least lucky person in the world

even when i dont bring it up, people tend to notice that the dice never roll in my favor

i actually learned how to cheat a coin flip just so i could actually win 50% of the time

the same with counting cards

but outside of games, i think the reason people tend to notice is just how often things in my real life go wrong

a semi regular event for me is witnessing a friend's face turn sad/horrified/concerned when i simply describe the events of my life

and I'm almost never trying to complain, there's just no way talk about my past without it sounding like an anthology of disaster

and part of me wonders if i am so unlucky as the price i pay for avoiding death so frequently

but that wouldnt make sense, all of the times where by all accounts i Should Have died wouldnt have happened in the first place if i wasn't so unlucky

but whatever the case may be, it means ive survived way more than i ever should have

ive had far too many people comment onnthe fact that i am seemingly unnaturally optimistic, confident, and happy despite my misfortune

way, way, way too many doctors and therapists praising how determined and self-aware and strong i am just for still being friendly and affable despite the few things i wouldve mentioned about my life to them

hell, just a year ago now i had a nurse in the emergency room comment on how "shockingly cheerful" i am despite the reasons i was under overnight observation

and to some degree, this is intentional

a deliberate effort to cling to joy and hope despite a lifetime of reasons to let both go

but also, i think it's to some degree a subconscious process

i think at a young age i learned that if i let myself feel the proper emotions for the way my life has gone, that no one would wish to be around the girl who was endlessly sad/angry/scared, even if she had every good reason to feel those ways

and i work on it these days, i try to let myself feel these things and express them to my loved ones

but it's hard

and i worry for the people around me

my ocd is doing okay enough right now for me to recognize that my loved ones' misfortunes and struggles are not due to proximity to me

the actual explanation for why all my loved ones are so often struggling is obviously that i gravitate towards people who are already struggling when i meet them

but i worry about the fact that i dont have a fix for theur struggles besides time

im too good at surviving, and throughout my life most of the problems ive dealt with could only be solved through sheer endurance

but so often the people around me wouldn't be as good at surviving

and id lose them

and id move on

find somewhere new

survive until i can make things good in this new place

and ive done this cycle too many times now

and i really like this place

and once again the only solution to the things hurting everyone is time

and im so terrified that once again no one else will have the endurance and that once again ill be the last standing

and i think, if that happens again, that it'll actually give up this time

because this is the best, the most secure, it's ever been, and if this place cant survive then i dont think anywhere with me in it can

but for now all i can do is hope it'll work out

idk, it's 5 am, maybe im just going insane again

either way, if youre reading this, apologies for literally all of that

[sins-slender-mansion]

Entry 2: Tim Wright, "Masky"

{This will be one of two characters I did not redesign, only tweaked his story a bit to match up with the rest of the au. His original design, voice, and face are from Marble Hornets, aka Tim Sutton.}

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

04/04/24

From far away it seems as if this man is much more reasonable than the other creatures and residents in this house. He is quiet and calm but I must warn anyone that if they encounter him, he WILL kill you, due to his position and morals.

-----------

Tim Wright Status: Alive Age: 28 Species: Human Danger: Lethal Appearance: A 5'7" man with dark, dark brown hair, side burns, and scruffy facial hair. He has dark, dusty brown eyes and dark circles from lack of sleep, thick eyebrows and always looks as though he watched you kill his puppy. He is a bit stout and chubby but this only adds to his surprising swiftness and strength. He has such an aura of sadness around him at almost all times. There's a sort of melancholy handsomeness to him. His face doesn't matter though because you will almost always see him wearing a white plastic mask with black lipstick and surprised eyebrows drawn on it, hence "Masky". Tim Wright is one of the first victims of Slenderman, who he knew as the Operator at the time of his manipulation. His friend, Alex, was killed in a series of incidents when they were in high school. Tim and Brian were the only ones to survive these events, a sort of 'initiation', as explained by Slenderman. Tim was sick. His parents and family thought it was schizophrenia, a mental illness that caused him to see images of the Operator when he was just moving from high school to college. Tim was growing more and more sick. He was coughing, bleeding, unable to sleep, in immense pain. Nothing seemed to cure it. Nothing anyone did could help. Slenderman offered him a way out. "These pills," he explained, "Will solve everything. You can get them from me. If you win." His friend group were pretty normal and all wanted to focus on film and writing, and during their first year they played a sick game that turned them all against each other. Alex died trying to win, trying to escape. Tim did not let him live. He needed to win, to have a cure to this sickness, a way to make it stop, even if it was just temporary. It was what was promised of he could win, if he could prove himself. It was sick, it was twisted, but he had no choice. After Alex died, the 'game ended', and Tim stuck with Slenderman due to the sickness, the need for pills, he was stuck. he was a husk of his former self. He didn't know who he was, what he had become. His parents didn't know. His friends were all gone. except Brian. It's all a blur now. Spending so much time around Slenderman seems to has rotted his memory of what actually happened. replaced it with false memories, maybe. But he knows he can never go back, he could never undo what was done. he can never apologize. He'll never see Alex again. Because wherever he goes when he dies, Alex will not be waiting for him.

Now he is a quiet, observant, obedient servant for the creature that stole his life away. He is usually calm and collected, and when he isn't he is smoking or drinking to drown out all the noise. He has never known a life without the static in his ears, scrambled images in his head. He is under constant pressure to perform well, to protect everyone, and to do whatever it takes to finish this war. And so he will.

"There's nothing I want more in the world than to be dead tomorrow."

[heat--end]

beat the scarlet/violet DLC! i havent done some of the bigger postgame stuff yet, but ive beaten the main story, which is really the important part

ill leave my longer thoughts under the read more to avoid spoilers

honestly, i really like how they handled this DLC. i think part of me likes kitakami as a place more, but this is also a really nice little spot. the terarium is a cool place, the pokemon in it are cool, etc.

what i REALLY liked was the story, as well. ive talked about this with a lot of other people, but SV's main theme seems to be getting yourself too lost in your own desires, so much so that you don't realize what happens, and this continues that. ambition is a great thing, but pushed too far, it can put others at risk. i think kieran's character is fantastic in this regard. it genuinely makes sense, and it's no surprise he ends up the way he does, and his desire to look up to the player becomes warped and corrupted because he wants to be better, he wants to achieve the dreams he's seeing the player reach, etc.

it's really interesting stuff. i really, REALLY like it, honestly, and i love how they handled briar in the way, too. briar literally gets so invested and excited about terastialization research that she's putting *three children* at risk. she actively realizes this and apologizes, and i like that they highlighted this. it's a neat theme, and i think the DLC tackles it really well

like the lore and extra stuff introduced is cool, but i feel like always, the character writing shines really well here. it's nice to see a bit of old kieran peek back out, him falling into old habits, but then we see him lose himself again as SOON as a sliver of a chance for him to be better than the MC arrives. for that, i'm a huge fan, i think they did a really good job there

also, big fan of BBQs. scratches that "i want to do PLA tasks forever" itch just enough to be satisfying

the one thing i wasn't a fan of was the battle difficulty, however. now, keep in mind, after asking my friends for some help i WAS able to adjust my team and have strategies to beat them and all that, but MAN, this is WAY too drastic of a leap in difficulty compared to base game, IMO. it'd be one thing if this was optional, but this is the main story.

now, keep in mind, i don't mind if they want to make pokemon games harder. i think it's a good thing. challenge and all that. but when base SV wasnt... ANYTHING like this, it is VERY jarring for them to like, legitimately start using competitive movesets and strategies and all that, without so much as a means to prepare you for it. i feel like there's gonna be a lot of people who just get hard walled by some of the battles, and idk how i really feel about it.

i AM glad this is here, but, i don't think it shouldve been the DEFAULT. some kind of toggle or even having these be post-game battles wouldve been great. but having it be the main difficulty scaling feels really bizarre in comparison to SV's base difficulty. hell, kitakami wasn't nearly as bad as this. it's a leap that is very, VERY drastic.

(and yeah, i did get fucked up bad early on, but keep in mind this is coming from someone who first tried kieran, who is the hardest battle in the DLC. so it's not like i was just playing poorly all the time)

also stellar as a tera type is kinda just whatever i feel. idk not really as interesting as it seemed to be. it's cool lore wise, but even then it's just like... eh, neat, i guess LOL

all in all, i really liked indigo disk. it wasn't the most mindblowing thing ever, and i feel like i MAYBE liked teal mask more, but honestly, it's not by a huge margin. it was pretty good, i had a good time. i'd say it won't win over anybody who already didnt like base SV, but it's worth if you like the base game because it improves on a lot. honestly, i think i like the DLC more than i do the base game, and i already liked SV, lmao

[widowsbite3]

With Many Regrets and Much Hope

Summary: Regulus wrote two letters the night he left for the cave. One for the dark lord, the other for himself.

CW: Mentions of suicide, suicidal tendencies. Discussions of death and mental illness.

If you are ever feeling lost or like there is no hope, please reach out to your local suicide hotline. No one should ever be forced to feel that death is the only way out. 💕

To Myself,

You will be dead long before these words are ever discovered, if they are at all, but I felt it important to write the words I never let leave my mind. The words in which I held inside for so long because uttering them felt a betrayal to the person I tried so hard to be…

Perhaps, that’s the point. That in my last moments I have lost all will to be that person. To be the perfect child that they all demanded I be. That for once I truly share just how I feel, just how lonely and broken I truly am. You see, all they ever saw was the perfect child, the one who never said no, the one with perfect grades, the one who would do absolutely anything, be absolutely anything, as long as it meant I would feel some shred of love from those meant to love me unconditionally. And yet, I sit here writing this letter and realize that I never felt love at all. What a sad realization that at death’s door the only one to look at me with any true emotion is the grim reaper himself. I thought I knew love once. Thought that it was the yellowing of bruises, the remarks at the dinner table to sit straight, to be polite. I thought love was the reprimands whispered in large crowds and shouted in private rooms. I was wrong. Love… feels like it should be so much more. It is what I desired from the start. It was the unconditional warmth that fuels your heart and reminds you to dance in the rain and laugh at even the stupidest joke. It is the days spent holed away with friends and dreaming of what could have been. It is the belief that I deserved so much better than what I received. It is knowing that the authors of the books that share what love is must have known something I did not, had experienced something I had not for I have never known the emotions that they write upon their pages…

I face death knowing that I am ready to find love and warmth and some… some sign that all the pain and torture that I have put myself through has been worth it. They say man should not fear death, but welcome it with open arms. I never understood, never could comprehend leaving behind those that needed me. But maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not about leaving people behind, it’s about making a choice for yourself. They’ll call me selfish, a coward, a necessary loss in a war that no side is winning, and at the end of the day people will move on. They will go about their lives and forget I ever existed. They will come to the same realization that I have; that I had always loved more than I had been loved…

I can’t keep chasing whatever it is I am after. Perfection, love, any kind of emotion to stop the dull numb that has washed through my mind? I am tired. I am so incredibly tired. My bones ache with exhaustion and the mere idea of moving forward feels like an impossible task. I want to rest. I want to feel free. I want to be let out of this cage that I have locked myself in. 

I was wrong. I was wrong to hate my brother, to spite him in the wake of his own freedom. I was so busy clipping my own wings that when I saw him take flight all I could feel was utter hatred and disgusting jealousy. And to you, Sirius, if you ever have the misfortune of finding this letter, I want to apologize. I’m sorry for putting our parents first, for letting my need to be perfect get in the way of what could have been a brotherhood we will never know. I’m sorry for leaving you with these words and nothing else. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the brother you deserved, but I am so glad you could find that in someone else. That in my failure you had James. A man I know who will stand by your side for eternity, a man much better than I could ever dream of being. 

To my younger self I wish to tell you that you will find freedom. You will find a voice beyond the silenced screams you so desperately wanted to release. I want you to know that in our finals moments we finally found peace. The anguish and hurt that you held in for so long will be set free. That in our last moments, in our last moments, we finally understood what it meant to live for ourselves. There were no more expectations, no more need for perfections… There was just us and a weightless chest no longer holding stuttering breaths of panic. To my younger self, I give you permission to not be ok, to not be the perfect son you expect yourself to be. I give you permission to live and not just survive. It’s okay, I promise.

Lastly, to the future heirs and heiresses that follow in my wake, I implore you to be better, not more perfect, no, but just better. I implore you to live better lives, to find better friends, to find better purposes in life than just pleasing others. It will surely be all our downfalls. There is so much I wish had been said to me as a young boy. So many times, I wish someone had seen the pain in my eyes and bruises upon my skin. Do not be silent in your suffering. Do not let those that lock you in gilded cages convince you that the riches within outweigh the freedom from outside. Do not be complacent in this ever-growing fear of incompetence. Do not believe that you are not worth the love you deserve simply for being you. And if no one else has told you today, let it be me, you deserve to live your own life and find your own love wherever it may take you. Be the person the younger you would’ve never thought possible. Heed my warning, and hear my strife, the wind in your wings will feel better than whatever any rainy day could bring. I may have lived and died alone, but you do not have to…

With many regrets and much hope,

R.A.B

[ice-connoisseur]

but there are much worse games to play

I’ve just re-read the Hunger Games for the first time in maybe fifteen years, and (mainly thanks to whoever has been reblogging Haymitch-and-Peeta gifs recently.  Was it @nire-the-mithridatist?  I feel like it was @nire-the-mithridatist) and maaan had I forgotten how heavy it gets.  I think in my head I’d equated it with Twilight and boy oh boy do I owe Suzanne Collins some apologies. 

Apparently my way of processing this was to spend the afternoon writing the first 1.2k of a GoT AU, because my default for writing anything these days appears to be a GoT AU, but anyway.  Not sure if there’ll be any more of this but I wanted to record the un-beta’d, unedited stream of thought that exists so far. 

Brienne Tarth wins the 59th Hunger Games and no one can work out what in hell to do with her afterwards.  Watching the confused consternation of the gamemakers is the most fun Jaime’s had in years.  He assumes they’ll never hear from her again; a tragic accident, perhaps, or maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones, allowed to retreat to a quiet life of solitude and deep psychological trauma.  She’d certainly made no effort to hide her distain and derision for King’s Landing and everything it stood for, but she was ugly and awkward and a truly terrible public speaker; little risk, even uncontained.  She has no obvious pressure points, her only family an elderly father so plagued by ill-health that his imminent death is too much of an inevitability to ever be a threat, but it’s not really a surprise when no one seems to think it worth the admittedly considerable effort that would be required to kill her.

Jaime meets her just once, on the last night of her Victory Tour, the Red Keep lit up for the Victor’s Ball; she looks more uncomfortable and unsure in the middle of Kings Landing than she did at any point throughout the two and a half weeks she spent in the arena, and when they’re introduced she blushes an impressive shade of red and can’t lift her eyes higher than Jaime’s shoulder.  Jaime laughs; he can’t help it, it’s just so ridiculous, that this creature should be this year’s glorious victor.  It shows the Games for the farce that they are and there is nothing Jaime loves more.  She somehow flushes even more at his laugh but it does at last make her lift her eyes properly to stare at him directly.  They’re bluer than the seas around Casterly Rock, and filled with contempt.  

Neither of them speak and then Renly Baratheon is there, shouldering in to claim her for a dance because the idiot will do anything to draw attention, and Jaime assumes that’s it.  Sure enough she’s packed off back to Tarth the next morning, and Jaime doesn’t really think of her again until a year later when the lunatic actually comes back.  

Most of the mentors are based in the capital, tied there through threat or lack of options or, in a few, select, cases, actual desire to be there.  The ones who manage to leave intact are never stupid enough to risk returning.  Except Brienne Tarth does.  She doesn’t need to, the Stormlands aren’t frequent victors but they’ve had enough over the years to have a small pool of mentors to call upon, but she’s there. Every year for fourteen years, looming behind whatever pair of unfortunates have been picked out this time, and she’s terrible at it, she must be, she’s got no charisma, no charm, no guile. Whatever schmoozing needs doing, to gather the Stormlands tributes their favours and sponsorships, falls solely on Davos Seaworthy’s shoulders.  By the time the tributes are in the arena she has nothing to offer them, and it takes Jaime a few years to realise that by then she’s already given them everything she can.

In fourteen years the Stormlands only has one victor; in more than one year neither tribute lives past the initial bloodbath.  And yet Tarth stays in the Mentor’s viewing room, day in day out, from the first morning to whenever the final victor is plucked from the field.  Jaime’s not always there, he has his own tributes to watch out for, palms to grease and sponsors to sweettalk, but after the first couple of years he stops being surprised by her presence, whenever he returns.  She’s never friendly, sometimes she’s downright hostile, but she’s somehow easier company than the rest of the mentors, and it makes the whole thing one tiny iota more bearable, watching whatever atrocities are unfolding on screen with her arm pressed warm against his.  He has no idea what she does or where she goes for the rest of the time, but for two, three weeks a year she becomes the best friend he has.  

Her only victor is a scrawny 15-year-old who wins more by default than any significant skill on his part, when the main pack are taken out simultaneously by an earthquake and the remainder mostly pick each other off until there’s just Podrick Payne and Mandon Moore, a hulking brute from the Vale, left.  Jaime has to watch the replay four times before he fully understood what had happened; Moore’s mace, crashing into the ground where Pod had lay moment’s earlier, the sword the smaller boy had pulled from Moore’s own scabbard and plunged up through his ribs.  Jaime’s watched Brienne Tarth through eleven games by this point, not including her own, has watched her watch twenty-one of the children she’s escorted to King’s Landing fall in the arena in twenty-one different, equally horrible ways.  The moment the twenty-second grips on to the ladder up to the hovercraft is the only time he ever sees her cry.  

Three years later, Robb Stark and Talisa Maegyr are reaped for the North.  There’s murmurings, of course, but it’s not the first time a prominent family has contributed to the Games, and Jaime is rolled out once more as living proof of just how true that is.  It won’t be an accident, of course, Robb’s inclusion the year after his father’s fall from grace, but no one, not even Brienne Tarth, is stupid enough to say so out loud.  It’s a typical Tywin Lannister move, masterful and pointed and shrouded in plausible deniability, and it backfires magnificently.  

Jaime doesn’t buy the love story the two teenagers weave, not for one second, but he can’t deny they do a very good job of selling the lie.  King’s Landing is entranced; Tywin is furious.  When Robb Stark reaches into his belt and pulls out the little handful of berries Jaime can practically hear the vein’s popping in his father’s forehead from a whole building away.  It’s a tactical masterstroke.  And all across country, from Kings Landing to the Wall, people are suddenly sitting up and paying attention.  And, quietly, carefully, asking questions.

Their death, in a train crash during their victory tour, is not a surprise.   But, Jaime can’t help but think, alone in his room that night, it might have been the biggest mistake Tywin Lannister has ever made.  Alive they were young and beautiful and charismatic, sympathetic and obvious targets for any malcontents to rally to.  Dead they are martyrs, transcending mortality to a higher, untouchable plane.  It’s not open rebellion, not yet, but it’s there, simmering, months of discontent and unrest that occasionally spills over in brief, barely supressed bursts of violence. Jaime spends months travelling from region to region, subduing disquiet and parroting patriotic garbage.  

He's in the Riverlands when the Quarter Quell is announced.

On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of King’s Landing, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.  Where there is no living victor the tribute will instead be reaped from their siblings, or, failing that, their descendants.  

The next time he sees Brienne in person she’s four chariots behind him, absurdly tall next to Pod’s stocky frame. Her face is set, expressionless, but when her eyes meet his they are burning with fury. 

[m1ckeyb3rry]

SHSHS YOU SHOUDOVE TOLD ME ABOUT THE SHITTING TYPO LMAOAOA im crying if I hadn’t gone back to read the tl myself it would’ve just sat there un-addressed forever….I was even thinking of making a master note of all the TLs I’ve had so far just to organize imagine I just copy pasted that omg…maybe I should’ve slapped it into grammarly or some spell check before hand

But FR shidou actually hyping people up when he acknowledges vs Emo Rin…

No I completely get it it’s like when you start using like a cringe term ironically and then it just integrates itself into your vocab LMAOOO I know the feeling all too well…

OMGGG guys oaeu is fr happening….wait now I’m torn past me would’ve immediately slammed the Karasu button but after our convo im not sure??? Karasu for obv reasons but wait the otoya ideas we talked abt were way too entertaining and the Nagi double date and then also aiku being like “Barou needs bitches” GUYS decisions…………………….and how could I forget our yuki prince aiku discussion too omfg

REAL lowk I see a lot of nagi hate nowadays?? Mostly the people going “haha nagi fraud” or “nagi u suck apologize to Reo rn” so errrrr I’m gonna need kaneshiro to show us the matches of other stratums pls im lowk sick of Isagi’s face I NEED to know what goes on in scenes Isagi isn’t in pls im begging (channel ur inner kaneshiro and save us please)

I’m ngl I was pretty caught up but I don’t remember anything about his backstory LMAOO based on his character im sure you’re right tho

Also WAITTT I ALMOST FORGOT ABT YUN I love him he was so cute but chigiri as yun so real….I could’ve sworn he also had a moment where people were like “you’re a dude???” Which kinda aligns with the whole chigiri “princess” thing LOL

Wait that’s actually lowk such a smart way to decide HAHAHAH lmk how the results of that go….ive seen a bunch of matchup events floating around too I hadn’t realized how popular they were

I’m not even kidding it’s a little scary how accurate your kiyora feels…like in your previous response you were like “I think I got it somewhat right?” and I went in reading it expecting it to be maybe a little off maybe more violent since that’s what you described it as and then I proceeded to read and it was just canon kiyora. Witchcraft. Kaneshiro is actually invading your brain telling you what to do.

Kiyora being kinda shy and showing his crush a more private, somewhat vulnerable side to him>>>> he’s lowk cuter than I originally thought is this a conversion moment….ill hold onto this sentiment LMAO kiyoranese has me laughing so hard I lowk see the instrument vibes but I’m ngl I think I prefer this one over the instrument…maybe also because I don’t like Kaiser as much HAHA both are so good though….

THATS ACTUALLY TERRIFYING I’m glad you both are safe bc wtf..maybe you should invest in a bottle of pepper spray jic SHEGAJ

LMAOO is the one who mouthed sorry also the one you turned down with an excuse or is this a different person (if it’s different you really have some crazy rizz aura because that was really quick work) ok but no violence is good I was reading that thinking like “wait how much of this is non fiction……”

Checking off another Mira banger off the list…excited for whatever’s next and also the oaeu….

- Karasu anon

LMAOOO no it was funny and i didn’t want to embarrass you plus i kinda forgot it once i started typing so i did not say anything i’m sorry 😩 next time i will though

YESSSS OAEU IS HAPPENING literally so hype it’s going to be so much fun plus season 2 starts soon so it’s like the perfect time to be working on it because the anime onlies are going to get into tabieitaken and aiku which is perf 🤩 LMAOO i’ve fed enough karasu content that the world is no longer starving so it’s more like bonus atp 😏 HAHA funnily enough reo was winning the poll for a WHILE there but now karasu’s in the lead again 😭 it might just be an audience bias thing though because there’s no way if you get random people from the fandom to vote they would pick karasu over sae nagi AND reo 😰 we’ll see there’s still a bit of time before the poll ends so the winner def isn’t locked in yet!! i think reo is second place atm (possibly tied w sae) and karasu is winning w barou in third but who knows how it will all play out

EVERYONE SWITCHED UP ON NAGI SOOOO FAST it’s like they all forgot who carried isagi in the second selection 😱 truly there would be no bllk if nagi wasn’t there to score 90% of team white’s goals 😭 and he was also the first to score on the u20s like i need everyone to put respect back on my man’s name 😒 he’s going to comeback TRUST and when he does everyone will start glazing again but i’ll know…i’ll remember 🙂‍↕️

YESS i distinctly remember yun being mistaken for a girl and being called pretty (he also calls himself pretty a lot iirc) so it’s literally perfect for chigiri!! maybe i have a type in the kind of media i like watching or smth the parallels are kinda going crazy

yeahhh they are surprisingly popular!! i haven’t done a ton before (one of my old mutuals did them so i think i did a jjk one and got noritoshi + choso + yuta so basically i’m pomegranate ink y/n 🤩) but i think it will be fun to see for like curiosity’s sake yk plus it might make me more decisive on who/what to write for…or not LMAO imagine i get shidou bruh i’d be at a loss for words (i don’t THINK i will but the chances are never 0 yk)

LMAOOOO that’s so good to hear i was worried i made him too extreme especially because when i answered you it had been a bit since i had finished so like the most memorable parts to me were him getting in the fight and him talking abt how he beat up the mayor’s son but i forgot he’s pretty chill for the most part in the fic!!

HAHA omg kiyoraism incoming…idt he’ll ever break into my top three (nagi karasu barou the it girls of the miraverse fr) but he’s def growing on me honestly he’s rlly sweet in his own way 🥹 no i def feel that because neither of us have ever been into kaiser + w the instrument it’s almost a less relatable story?? since the reader is a famous actress instead of a regular person…plus kaiser is the opposite of kiyora he seems chill and sweet on the outside but on the inside he’s a little off putting whereas kiyora is ready to smack a bitch on the outside but on the inside he’s just a cutie who gives people grape candy if he likes them and the latter is def a trope that i think we both enjoy more LMAOAAO

IT WAS SCARY and okay so there were actually three guys that night — the one who said sorry (he only half counts though ig because it was dubious whether we were being friendly or if he liked my best friend or me), the one who i rejected by saying i was too drunk, and the one who slid into my linkedin dms 😭😭😭 the rizz aura is a little crazy to be honest like just today i was at the library to print out my resume and a guy asked for my instagram (also was not into him alas but i did give him the insta because why not) bruh it sounds like i’m making it all up or smth but trust it’s 100% real…i’m only chronically online on the inside externally i look normal enough to be approachable ig 😩💔 HELP IF THERE WAS AN ACTUAL FIGHT I WOULD’VE CRIED luckily he just yelled at us a ton but i did use some direct quotes and paraphrases from him to really liven up the story FJFHSJSJ

ANOTHER BANGER DONE now i need to figure out which req i want to be inspired for next and get to work so we can get to the oaeu 🤩 not counting yours i have 5 left to do so hopefully i can get them out quickly!! two hiori ones, two karasu ones, and a nagi req 🤩 plus the ones you sent in ofc and then i got a req last night also for nagi but they missed the cutoff so i’ll work on that post oaeu

[demented-tours]

The project is simple: Dear World Rage Box. One photo, one text dump. Raw thoughts. Minimum editing. Fuck typos. Fuck perfection. No masking/curbing/appeasing. No apologies. I don't care how this sounds. Not sure why it needs to be public. Maybe it always won't. Maybe I delete these ten seconds after I post them. Maybe I print them out and make fucking wallpaper. Not creating yet another account for this, either. I've officially forgotten too many versions of myself to add another.

///

Dear World 1,

A half hour before my therapy appointment yesterday I learned my mother's stage 3 endometrial cancer might be back. My first response wasn't about her. It was about me.

How the fuck am I going to carry the weight of my mother's illness again? It almost did me in the first time. I was just starting to find energy/strength/reserves to feel ready for what's next.

Those doors didn't slam. But they creaked toward closed like a bad horror video game.

I don't know how to do all of it at once: deal with her co-dependency, her shut down, her undiagnosed everything and my long list of illnesses that I regularly use as a shield from her (from a lot of things) because it was the only boundary I had for decades. Because I didn't know what boundaries were. Felt like. Could do. Should do.

Some people are born to fight. I think I was born to defend. It's how I've never lost a game of chess. I just run the board until there's nothing left. Even if you might win, it'll take so long and be so painful you'll wish you'd just put down your king on move 2.

During the appointment, I told my therapist about the day I had last week which was--and I called it this--one of the top 3 worst days of this year. At least, so far. It can definitely always get worse.

I tell her I'm worried I'm depressed. I'm worried I've been depressed for a while. I tell her about Mom and about the day last week. I tell her these stories with my usual sprinkling of humor. Because I have to let her know Oh, yeah, even though it's awful I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

I'm not fucking okay.

She wants to circle back to the depression. Her use of language made me think of work which made me hate from my core being again. She asked me questions. I knew I wasn't going to answer the right way. She both could and could not tell me what I was experiencing was depression. I don't wish for depression. I wish not to have to justify whatever the fuck I'm feeling.

It's bad enough to have to justify my autism to my own mother. It's bad enough that every other week or so, I discover some other way my life was fucked up, and I see how I've defended it or transmuted it or run from it or hidden it because if I make other people feel more comfortable, then I win, right?

I feel myself on the brink of full melt down. I know now that these aren't panic attacks. They aren't me just being difficult. They aren't me being suicidal, despite the fact that they literally make me feel like what is boiling inside me is actually going to kill me.

My ambiguity over allowing that to happen still baffles me.

I got mad. My anger is my sharpest weapon. It was honed on the active battle field of my childhood. People who know me know this. People who know me who have experienced my anger first hand either know how to duck or left a cloud of dust as they ran. If you know me and don't know my rage, then you just don't know me.

that's okay. I wouldn't want to know me, either.

(Fuck. Editing. Stop that. Type, goddamn you.)

I got mad. My therapist got uneasy. Suddenly what she thinks and believes and hopes to do no longer applies. She tells me that the reason I may be so exhausted is I'm fighting the very feelings I tell her I have no interest in feeling.

I come at her. "So what?"

I see when that hits. I feel how that lands. Even though a screen. I hate that I'm this attuned instrument for feelings for a 1000 square mile emotional radius. I don't want my own. I definitely don't want yours.

But so what if it's exhausting not to feel it. It feels like death if I do. I feel backed into a corner, asked to defend a depression she seems simultaneously concerned I might have and certain I don't. I didn't want to bring it up to debate it. I brought it up to work on it.

I forgot there's a script she has to run when that word gets dropped into the session. I forgot how tired neurotypical scripts make me.

Nah, it's not holding back the emotions making me tired. It's living in the world that cause them that's doing me in.

Or both.

She speaks. I speak. I find some measure of calm. Less because I want it and more because she clearly wants me to find it. She tells me maybe it's time to find another therapist for autism. She can come with me, she says, but she doesn't have the tools to help me.

Yeah. I know that. But I've spent six years growing this sparse-ass garden of trust between us, and now you're telling me nothing else is gonna grow.

I've already looked into it. I've already found faces that seem kind. I've already thought this. I've already starting reading. I've already been doing research on what the fuck I might actually be for years, now.

But it still felt like another person supposed to help me who basically said I was too much once they catch a glimpse of this iceberg under the surface they thought they knew.

Which is shitty. But expected.

Today I saw this TIkTok wherein the narrator explains to me that he cannot trust his perceptions of the world when he's tired. He expounds on to say don't trust your thoughts when you're stressed/tired/hungry/hurting. They're tainted. Observe and let go.

Also talks about taking all the negative thoughts and bundling them into a single problem. Because then you don't have ten problems; you have one. And likely you've faced it before.

His problem was running out of time.

That video helped me more than the entire session with therapist. Maybe helped me more than the last ten. I don't want to do the math on how much I've paid for a glorified distraction and master class on masking just enough to make my therapist comfortable, but my brain's already done it.

Runaway train.

I also stumbled into some art student video content with horror-like elements that felt like visiting my dark thoughts generator and hearing some of the shit it says.

The algorithm might be evil, but sometimes evil is still right.

We don't know if it's cancer.

Fuck liminal spaces.

Fuck this year. Fuck thinking it'll get better. And fuck the fact that at the end of yesterday's session, I settled on, "Fine, I guess it's not depression. I guess I'll just say I'm chronically sad."

Apparently, that's situationally appropriate.

I hate that I agree.

I hate that part of me doesn't.

I want to burn something down.

/D

Photo: Wrecked tub. The cold water handle disintegrated in my hand after I tried to run it to fix another problem that didn't actually exist. The plumbing was welded into the wrong lines. It was a "Goddamned nightmare." Keep buying parts and finding more are missing. Felt like me.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Not to dampen the mood, but I'm struggling with depression today . How do you cope with a depressive episode?

aww, babe, i'm sorry. sending you hugs and lots of love 💗🩷💜

This is likely to be a long ass rant, so apologies in advance for what is below the cut, lmao. This is, as sad as it seems, my one area of expertise since i'm depressed 24/7. So... yeah.

some depressive episodes are worse than others and some days are harder than others, so i guess determine what kinda day you're having? Sounds dumb but like on really difficult days, when im not able to do jackshit, if I try to force myself to push through it, and i inevitably fail cuz mental illness, it can make me feel even worse about myself.

SO, i guess first, decide, is it a rotting day or is it a "lets do SOMETHING today"?

if it's a rotting day, thats okay! embrace it! put on the comfort show that you dont even have the energy to focus on watching, stay in your pajamsas if thats what you need. let yourself have that and remember that its a LITERAL ILLNESS its the equivalent of trying to walk with a broken leg, its fuckin hard, man.

I have a "depression cheat sheet" that I originally made for my ex cuz he was also a mentally ill human and when you have two of those in one relationship it's....yeahh...

I think it's something like this:

Drink a glass of water

eat a home cooked meal

take a shower

go for a walk

Those are the essentials. sometimes even those need to be abbreviated. like maybe you order in, instead of cooking, but if you can cook, it really helps to do 1 task from start to finish! or maybe instead of a shower, you just brush your teeth. sometimes even that feels impossible. if you have to sit down while doing it, sit down. there are no rules that say you must stand up to clean your teeth!!

IF it's a day where you are able to do more, maybe do stuff to engage your 5 senses? that usually helps to ground me in the real world and get me out of my head. so...fluffy blanket, a strongly scented candle, music, fresh air, anything thats about YOUR BODY.

and if its a day where you feel like pushing through, trust me, don't go about your day as normal. pick an easy task. people always say that you should put the hardest part of your to do list at the top. THAT IS NOT FOR THE MENTALLY ILL, YALL! start with something you KNOW you are likely to complete. for me, that's always reading 5 pages of whatever book im working my way through that day. but sometimes it's journaling for 10 min, sometimes its literally watching a matty healy slutty edit and then doing some morning stretches! notice howim not saying "read a whole chapter," or "journal for half an hour." THE GOAL IS ACHIEVABLE. SMALL WINS. It builds the momentum in your brain and makes you more likely to complete the next task if you start off with success. ESPECIALLY if you're an ADHD girlie like myself who already has a dopamine deficiency that makes your brain crave that shit.

Here's the hard part: routine. again as someone with ADHD and anxiety and shit, routine is so so so hard for me. but its the most helpful for depression. you'll be tempted, the second that your brain starts to feel even a bit better, to just do whatever you like. NO, NO, NO! stay on that routine. waking up and going to bed at the same time everyday, doing the same things like coffee/ breakfast, work/ exercise, in the same order, helps get you started. There's a reason that George mentioned it in that Tape Notes episode when mentioning his own depression. it helps. it sucks. but it helps lmao.

this one is lame but: you're a human being. you're allowed to fall apart, cry, suck, not feel okay, not be productive, feel like dying, etc. as long as you dont actually die, then its okay. life is fuckin hard man. being alive is hard. and every day that you successfully get out of bed in the morning is a win. the only reason you dont feel like that is because capitalism has taught us to put a quantity onto our self-worth but that is literally fake. you are worthy just because you exist and sometimes that is enugh.

you do NOT need to do x, y, z to "reward yourself" with rest or love or mysic or food or the things that make you feel good. you can feel good and deserve it no matter what.

i hope this helps. i love you. you are good. everything is gonna be okay.

[lesbiten]

pov you come home from being stuck in other dimensions for 30 years and you see your old buddy for the first time and go to greet him and he straight up has no idea who you are

[ryuureikun]

Confessions - SakuAtsu

A/N: I'm posting some twitter threads on here to preserve them! Enjoy!

Maybe it's a little mean- when Sakusa's staring at Atsumu through the doorway of Atsumu's bedroom like he's been burned, the silence stretching between them after Sakusa's confession, and Atsumu's first words are, "Are you kidding?" Sakusa slams the door in his face.

Atsumu doesn't go after him, even though he knows that there's not many places for Sakusa to hide in their shared house. Even if Sakusa holed himself up in his own room, Atsumu knows he would probably hear Bokuto or Shouyou's "Omi-Omi!" the minute he left it.

Atsumu doesn't go after him, because he's not sure what he would even say. Apologize? Well, Atsumu thinks his honest confusion is a bit fucking warranted, to say the least. "Miya," Sakusa says through gritted teeth. "I...I think I like you."

Sakusa didn't even have the decency to look pleased with the fact that he was confessing to Atsumu. He looked like he'd rather die than say the words out loud, but he had lost whatever violent battle he was having in his own head.

Atsumu has gotten many confessions, most being in high school when his volleyball team had their own fan club. Every confession included letters, chocolates, sweet words, nervous smiles. They didn't include the person looking ill with their displeasure at their own words.

Atsumu stares at his closed door for a long time, and tries to make sense of this. He's noticed, maybe, that Sakusa has been voluntarily spending more of his time with Atsumu lately.

Atsumu caught him in Onigiri Miya last week, sitting at the counter chatting with Osamu, looking up at Atsumu's arrival like he expected him to show up. Sakusa didn't stay more than five more minutes, but the conversation hadn't been as scathing as normal.

And then there were those few times this month that Sakusa made some vague comments about wanting to stay late to practice, and Atsumu latched onto it and stayed back with him. Atsumu's reasons were mostly volleyball- and maybe the delight of riling up Sakusa.

There's even that one time just a few days ago when Sakusa had a second cup of coffee prepared when Atsumu woke up and went into the kitchen. Sakusa- still sleep-soft and amenable- grabbed Atsumu's wrist when he reached for the cup and said, "It's still too hot. Wait a second."

Now that had been surprising to Atsumu, because Sakusa never touched him, like ever, and if he did it was by accident or one of those post-win highs when the players high-fived and Sakusa momentarily forgot his own aversion to other people.

If Atsumu thinks that moment in the kitchen had lodged itself firmly in his brain as a 'what the fuck' moment, this- this confession takes the cake. Atsumu thinks about it in the shower, while he gets dressed, while he goes on a run to clear his head. It doesn't help at all.

He thinks about it some more in his long, second shower after his run. He thinks about it while he makes himself lunch. He thinks about it when he glances down the hall and still sees Sakusa's door firmly shut. Maybe Sakusa had left during his run, but he doesn't think so.

As Atsumu thinks and thinks and thinks, his emotions range from surprise to confusion and then morph into anger. Who is Sakusa to drop this bomb on him? Who is Sakusa to storm out like a child afterwards? Who is Sakusa to flip Atsumu's whole perception of him upside down?

Who is Sakusa to make Atsumu replay every single interaction they've ever had since high school and reevaluate what all of those moments meant? As Atsumu sits on his bed and does just that, he thinks- no, a lot of those times were hatred. Or hatred adjacent.

They have never truly gotten along. They come together on the court beautifully, but Atsumu assumes that it's both of their competitiveness bringing out the best in them. Off the court, they bicker about everything. If Atsumu thinks one thing, Sakusa thinks the exact opposite.

If Atsumu likes to crank the AC up, Sakusa mutters curses under his breath as he turns on the heat instead. If Sakusa insists on everyone keeping their food labeled and on different shelves, Atsumu places his unlabeled containers on Sakusa's shelf just to fuck with him.

Atsumu is a twin- he's used to pushing. It's Sakusa's fault for always pushing back, which is exactly what Atsumu had been missing since moving out at eighteen. While it's frustrating when Sakusa fucks with him, he's excited when he can push back. It's kind of fun, he admits.

But what does it say about Sakusa if all of their nasty pushing and pulling has apparently manifested into Sakusa liking Atsumu? And worse, liking Atsumu enough that he felt the need to confess? What does it say about Atsumu that he can't stop fucking thinking about it?

Atsumu still hasn't made sense of it when dinner rolls around. Sakusa doesn't come out of his room to eat with them. "Is he sick, maybe?" Shouyou asks, sounding worried. Even if Sakusa is an avoidant sonuvabitch, he typically comes to "family dinner", named by Bokuto.

He normally eats his own prepared food after wiping down his place setting with a strong smelling disinfectant wipe, so lemony it practically ruins Atsumu's own appetite, but he still mostly always comes. Atsumu can't take the concern on Shouyou's face.

"Lemme bring the bastard some food," Atsumu says, getting up. "He'll starve to death by accident." He's that stubborn, Atsumu wants to add, but he really has no room to talk. Sakusa must be simmering in his own embarrassment, but Atsumu imagines he'd feel the same.

Atsumu carefully unwraps some onigiri that Sakusa had picked up from Onigiri Miya at some point in the week and places it on a clean plate, also making sure to add some umeboshi on the side that Sakusa had in a tupperware container. All perfectly labeled.

He then walks down the hall to Sakusa's room. He keeps his footsteps light, and when he stops in front of the door he presses his ear to it and hears some video presumably playing on Sakusa's phone. When he leans back and knocks, three quick raps, the noise cuts off.

"Hey," Atsumu presses close to the door to say, so the others in the dining room can't overhear. "You're freakin' Shouyou-kun out. I brought ya some food so either eat it in your room or come to dinner." There's no reply. Atsumu's sighs in irritation. "Are you five? Open up."

No reply. Atsumu closes his eyes briefly, wondering how the fuck he got here. When Sakusa first joined the team, Atsumu wouldn't have imagined that he would wait outside Sakusa's door holding food, pleading with him to eat. Atsumu wonders when he started caring.

He wonders when Sakusa started caring. He thinks about it, because of course he does, and he can't think of a single salient moment between them that must've been Sakusa's 'ah-hah' moment. Maybe those feelings were always there, buried underneath their biting remarks.

It's just- Atsumu has gotten used to Sakusa being around. He realizes it now, as Sakusa's absence at dinner seems noticeable. He sees Sakusa in the mornings, at practice, at games, in the evenings, all of the time- everywhere, always.

At first, Sakusa was like a fixture on the wall. Only noticeable when Atsumu wanted to mess with him. But now, it's like Sakusa has weaved himself into Atsumu's daily routine. Maybe you can't spend that much time with someone and continue to dislike them with the same vitriol.

Maybe Atsumu never truly disliked him, not really. He goes out of his way to be around Sakusa too, doesn't he? He pushes until Sakusa has no choice but to give him attention. Maybe Atsumu has always craved it; maybe Atsumu feels empty now that Sakusa isn't giving it to him.

Maybe Atsumu has always known that Sakusa is beautiful in a way that he tries to ignore. His assessing eyes, so cold that Atsumu feels a chill when Sakusa looks at him. His body stretching while he spikes, or his shoulders curving inward. His slender fingers adjusting his mask.

Atsumu feels something like a loss, now that he can't look. Atsumu has always looked his fill, unappreciative of what he was truly seeing. He was always around a lot of beautiful people in his line of work, so he didn't care at first. Now, he cares more than he knew he could.

Sakusa's beauty was easy to ignore when they were fighting. He could look, but not really notice that he was interested. However, now that Sakusa has flipped Atsumu's entire world view upside down, Atsumu is forced to confront that maybe he had been seeing things all wrong.

Maybe it's not just pushing and pulling, maybe it's something else too.

Maybe Sakusa feels the same way, fighting for that attention more than he would with anyone else, and has just been self-aware of it longer than Atsumu has. Maybe he understands Sakusa's displeasure with his confession; they don't like admitting that they've been wrong.

Atsumu sighs again. He leans his shoulder and head against the door. "You caught me off guard," Atsumu tries again, even quieter. He's not sure if Sakusa can even hear him. "I thought you were fucking with me." Atsumu winces at his own words. Still, he presses on.

"I mean, imagine if I came to you and said that. You'd probably throw up. I just- I didn't know." No reply. Atsumu closes his eyes. "But I want to. Know- I mean. 'Cause I'm kinda freaking out and having all of these crazy revelations and I need to know if you are too."

Finally, finally, Atsumu hears the rustling of Sakusa's thick, meticulously clean and white comforter and then heavy footsteps. He moves slightly back from the door just as Sakusa cracks it open. He just sees Sakusa's face, and his hard eyes.

"Don't do that," Sakusa mutters at him, voice low. "Don't say whatever stupid shit comes to mind because you're easily impressionable. That's-" Sakusa cuts himself off, looking mad. "I'd rather you just laughed in my face again." "First of all, I didn't laugh at you."

Sakusa looks angrier, and Atsumu meets him with his own glare. "I didn't, you asshole. And second, I'm not just sayin' what I'm sayin' because I think it's what you want to hear, or whatever. You know I'm not that fucking nice."

Sakusa's eyes drift briefly to the plate in Atsumu's hand and then back at his eyes. His eyes narrow, as if to say 'then why are you bringing me food?'. "This," Atsumu tries to explain, "is because you're being a huge baby right now. What, do I have to potty train you too?"

Sakusa's nose wrinkles in disgust, but he doesn't say anything. His smoldering eyes continue boring into Atsumu's. Atsumu takes another breath. "Look, I'm serious. I know I say a lot of shit just to mess with you, but I really have been thinkin' about it all day."

"Sorry if what I said causes your brain to fry from actual use," Sakusa says, ice cold. Despite the bitterness of Sakusa's tone, Atsumu smiles. Sakusa's expression goes blank, as if surprised. "I could do this all day, ya know. Talk to you," Atsumu says. "I'd never be bored. Maybe I'd be mad sometimes," Atsumu laughs, "but never bored. You just know all the right buttons to push for some reason." Sakusa's eyes trail over his face, in that quietly assessing way of his. It's so Sakusa that Atsumu actually feels his heart squeeze.

He wants Sakusa to keep looking, always. "You...do too," Sakusa says eventually, still looking slightly pained. "Maybe we're masochists, for wanting this." Atsumu smiles wider. "You want this? Like...you want me?" Sakusa rolls his eyes. "I'm not saying it again."

"You didn't even say it properly the first time." "Because you really would've laughed in my face, idiot." "How long?" Atsumu asks, ignoring that. Sakusa's eyes slide over Atsumu's shoulder. "I'm not having this conversation in the fucking hallway." "But you'll have it?"

Sakusa hesitates. Atsumu sees his mouth open and click back shut. "Oh, and you'll eat this too," Atsumu adds, holding the plate up. "Despite all my jokes about poisoning you with hand sanitizer, I don't actually want you to die. Or even starve."

It's not a remotely romantic thing to say, but Sakusa's eyes still flicker down to the plate and back up at Atsumu with a much softer expression. Maybe it's also this- Sakusa is the only person he can speak like this with, and he'll not only understand but push back perfectly.

"Did you practice saying that without gagging in the bathroom mirror while you spent hours in the shower today?" Atsumu gives him a cocky grin. "Aw, you're so obsessed with me you even monitor my shower time. What's next? Gonna make sure I jerk off right too?"

Sakusa rolls his eyes. "Gross. You wish." "Maybe I do," Atsumu says, surprising even himself. "You're unbelievable," Sakusa says quietly, but he opens the door wider and grabs the plate out of Atsumu's hands, their fingers brushing. Then, "Are you coming in to talk or what?"

Atsumu is filled again with the strange sort of feeling that's been building in him since Sakusa confessed; the feeling of being on the precipice of discovering something- something old that feels excitedly new, something achingly familiar that might be terrifyingly good.

Atsumu has never felt this way about anyone before, but he suddenly wants to discover everything that may come, both sharp and sweet. "Yeah, Omi-kun. I'm coming in."