#my hunch is that they’re gonna play a long game and when both of them have reached their career goal (replacing their parent in a executive

[forever-rogue]

hi! if requests are open for bucky, i like the concept of him being unsure of himself with reader (not a superhero/avenger, maybe just a mutual friend) and pining after them compared to how easy it was to get dates in the 40s. thank you!

tfatws revived my love for bucky im not ashamed

A/N: tfatws has definitely done the same for me! no shame whatsoever!

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You tore your gaze off of the television before you turned to look at Bucky. His blue eyed stare was trained on you, intense and unwavering. Sometimes it had managed to unnerve you, but you’d gotten used to it over the year you’d known him. He was more than just silent...he was calculating, but it never felt wrong. Waving your hand in front of his face you made a small sound to get his attention. 

“Bucky?” you whispered his name softly and that seemed to snap him back into attention as he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Even in the dim lighting of the room you could see that a warm flush of red had crept up in his cheeks, “everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, more at himself than anything else, a self-annoyed look crossing his features, “spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, watching his features soften when he realized you weren’t going to chastise him for zoning out, “I for one was watching the movie, which is more than I can say for you - you should love the Hobbit if you actually read the book when it first came out. And these movies are actually good. Pay attention, Bucky!”

You grabbed one of the pillows off of your couch and lobbed it at his head; but he was quicker, reflexes still sharp and honed after all this time. The corners of his mouth pulled into a smirk as he held the pillow before determining whether or not to throw it back at you. Immediately sensing what he was doing, you shook your head and jumped up, ducking behind the couch.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart, why are you hiding?” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as you peeked up at him. The nickname rolled easily off his tongue as it caused a shudder to run down your spine. You knew it meant nothing, that it was just something he tended to call people; it was definitely just a thing. It was nothing particularly about you or targeted at you but you couldn’t help but pause. You knew that you wouldn’t have minded if he called you that intentionally. But that could never, ever happen. This was Bucky after all and you were just...you.

“I know your game, Barnes,” you grinned at him, deciding to let the nickname slide, “I’ll call it a truce and we can go to your favorite place to get some dinner. I’ll pay! I’m waving my proverbial white flag.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he set the pillow back down on the couch as he stood up and raised his hands in surrender. Slowly you raised to your full height, but kept a wary eye on your best friend, “I keep my promises, you know that.”

“Fine,” you agreed as you grinned at him. Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked you over and he felt his knees go weak momentarily. He could stare at your smile for hours, “get your jacket and let’s go old man.”

He scoffed in jest as you grabbed your shoulders and jacket off the coat rock and motioned for him to follow, “I’m not that old-”

“106? Isn’t that old?” you raised an eyebrow, barely able to contain your giggles as he rolled his eyes dramatically, “just kidding, Bucky. You know I just love teasing you.”

“I am in my 30s,..technically, thank you very much,” he insisted as he slipped on his shoes and you handed him the leather jacket, “don’t push your luck, kid.”

“See,” you grabbed the keys and he opened the door, ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back, “I swear Bucky Barnes, you’ve been an old man since you were a kid. Now let’s go! There’s pancakes with my name on them waiting.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner with Bucky was easy...then again, everything with Bucky was easy. Every time you were with him, things just felt natural and normal, conversation and everything flowed freely. You’d met Bucky completely by chance, running into him, quite literally, on the street as you walked out of your favorite coffee shop and proceeded to spill coffee over both of you. He’d been apologetic, claiming it was his fault, but you’d been insistent that it was yours. One thing had led to another and soon enough you became inseparable friends. 

Much to his surprise, and delight, you’d never treated Bucky as anything but...Bucky. That’s how you’d met him and that’s all he was to you. Bucky. Of course, he was much more than a friend, at least in your mind, but you weren’t about to divulge that little piece of information. At least not yet. Maybe one day...or not. Probably not. No. You weren’t about to make a fool out of yourself and confess your feelings for a man that saw you as nothing but a friend.

Bucky, always alert and cunning, had noticed you’d become quiet throughout dinner as you both ate in silence. Normally he wouldn’t question it, but he knew your tells and could easily read you by this point and knew that something was up. 

“What?” he gently nudged your foot with his and you snapped back into attention as you looked at him, “you’re awfully deep in thought for someone that just wanted some pancakes.” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted nervously, swallowing your bite down and clearing your throat, “just...tired?”

“Mhmm,” he wasn’t going to push you, know you’d come around eventually, “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

There it was again, and you felt a warmth flush over your face as you focused your attention on the syrupy mess on your plate. It was silent for a few more minutes before you noticed a few women sitting at the diner’s counter, giggling among themselves as they cast longing glances at Bucky. Something in your stomach twisted and your heart constricted. Of course they were looking at him, women often did. And you couldn’t blame them; Bucky was handsome in almost every way, and you yearned after him as well. But unlike most other people, you weren’t about to be so obvious about it. 

“Looks like you have a little fanclub,” you murmured softly under your breath as you lightly motioned towards them women. Bucky slyly followed your gaze and studied the newcomers and huffed in annoyance. He abhorred any sort of extra attention, especially when it came from people that only liked him because of his looks. Besides that, it often didn’t last terribly long; usually people realized who he was - used to be - and that scared them right off.

“They’ll leave soon enough,” he shrugged them off before turning his attention back to you, “besides, I-I’m not interested. It’s not like it used to be…”

“Back when?” you quickly snorted in amusement as he jokingly glared at you, “back in your day? I bet you had them all over you then too.”

“Well, it certainly was easier,” he admitted as he played with the straw in his almost empty milkshake, “nowadays people are harder to read. They all either want one thing, or they just stick around until they find someone else. It’s not worth it...and honestly, now one has caught my eye.”

“No one?” you asked as you pushed your last bite around the plate, letting the fluffy pancake soak up the syrup, “I find that hard to believe, even for you, Buck. Everyone has someone they’re interested in.”

“Huh,” he mused as drained the last of the milkshake, “well then, is there someone that has captured your interest?”

“I...no, not really,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the lie. Instead he immediately made a sound of small disbelief; you should haven’t even bothered to try and lie to him. He could see right through you, “there’s nobody.”

“I thought you said everyone has someone that they’re interested in?” oh yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to let this go at all. 

“Except me.”

“I find that doubtful.”

“What about you then, Bucky Barnes?” you decided to deflect by throwing the question right back at him, “has anyone captured your interest?”

Bucky paused for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he mulled over his next words carefully, “yes. There is someone.”

“O-oh,” you stammered as his gaze shifted back to you, blue eyes keenly studied your features, “you gonna tell me who it is?”

“Well,” he started slowly, tapping his fingers on the table as he leaned towards, "there is someone, but I don't know if she knows or thinks of me as more than a friend, but god, I hope she does. She's been my friend for a while now and I kind of want to ask her on a date, a proper date, but don't quite know how."

"Do you...do you think she could feel the same about you?" butterflies erupted in your stomach as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Surely he couldn't mean you. But then...why was a light flush of pink in his cheeks? Why was he watching you so intently?

"I don't know," he confessed with a light shrug as he sat back in the booth, an arm extended over the back, the picture of ease, "sometimes I think she might, but I don't want to think she does and mess anything up. I'd rather keep her as a friend than lose her."

"I guess you won't know unless you ask her…" you were positive that he could hear your heart beating rapidly, "you never know until you try. I have a feeling she won't turn you down if you ask...just a hunch…"

"Hmm…" a smile, dazzling and brilliant, grazed his features, "well then sweet-"

"Excuse me," one of the girls from the counter had approached your table and was leaning into Bucky, with her back to you. She was twirling her hair around her finger as she offered him her most dazzling smile. She was definitely beautiful and you really had nothing to base your annoyance off of, but she rubbed you the wrong way, "I was just wondering if you'd-"

"Hi, excuse me?" you couldn't help yourself as you gently tapped her arm. Bucky raised an eyebrow as she gave her a surprised look on her face, "I don't want to interrupt but he's mine. And if you don't mind...we're on a date."

"O-oh," her eyes widened as she looked between you and Bucky, who was currently sporting the most shit eating grin, "I didn't know. Sorry…"

She scurried back to her friends as you looked back down at your plate. Bucky cleared his throat as he leaned in, hardly believing what had happened. You could feel his curious blue eyes on you, searing and questioning.

"So she feels the same way or she's a good liar," he said softly as you chanced a glance, biting on your lip, "I'm yours, huh?"

"Shut up," you groaned, "it was to get her away from you, so you're welcome."

"Mhmm…" god that smile made you want to melt.

"Bucky!"

"Thank you," he bowed his head slightly, "what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Nothing...why?"

"Can I take you on a date?" he asked as you looked at him in surprise, wide doe eyes meeting his, "a proper date?"

"I...yeah, Bucky. I'd like that a lot," you agreed softly, "see...I told you she won't turn you down."

"Guess you were right," he was causal, but inside his heart was fit to burst as he reached across the table and gently put his hand on top of yours, "I'm already hers, but she's my girl too."

Yeah. You could definitely get used to that.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[storiesforallfandoms]

safe space ~ corpse husband

word count: 1296

request?: yes!

“Ok I just had this random imagine idea for corspe husband pop into my head. Its kinda long but I think it would be cute. The reader gets panic/anxiety attacks too but the reader had never been able to calm down or have a safe space when they have them. One time they were on the verge of having one and corspe just held them and they calmed down and they were surprised. It happens like that a few times and the reader realizes he's their safe space. One time they were about to have one and corspe was in his room editing (not streaming or recording) and the reader goes to him and plops on his lap and he's confused and the reader mumbles something like safe space and he's just shocked and happy. Idk I think its cause I just had one that I thoguht of this. I know its long. I just want some long cute corspe fluff. 🖤”

description: in which she finds out that her safe space is in his arms

pairing: corpse x female!reader

warnings: swearing, anxiety attacks

masterlist

The first time we realized that Corpse was my safe space was during an Among Us stream. I was in Corpse’s room playing so that we didn’t accidentally cheat off of one another. The round had ended with me throwing and voting for Leslie instead of Felix, causing the imposters to win, which resulted in everyone immediately yelling when they could all unmute their mics again.

I knew they weren’t actually mad, but I felt myself becoming overwhelmed with all the yelling. My breathing was becoming quicker and more shallow, and everything I could possibly say caught in my throat. Tears were forming in my eyes and my hands were shaking so bad I could barley even try to type anything in the chat. No one noticed my silence over all the shouting, except for Corpse, who knew me all too well.

The door to his YouTube room opened and the next thing I knew, his arms were around me, holding me tightly.

“They’re not actually mad,” he whispered, soothingly, in my ear. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

Although it was still a long process of coming down from my attack, I felt myself relax in his arms quicker than I normally did. I cuddled my head into his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat until I felt myself feeling better. Corpse ended his stream and both of us left the game to spend the rest of the night just cuddling in bed together.

After that, Corpse became my safe place. Whenever he was around for an anxiety attack, he’d take me in his arms and would hold me as long as I needed him to. When he was busy, I’d put on one of his hoodies that smelled like him, which did the trick well enough but not as much as actually feeling his arms around me.

One day, I was hunched over my laptop, trying to make sense of the assignment I had been given for one of my classes. The wording of the assignment made absolutely no sense, and what was expected was extremely confusing. I didn’t know anyone in my class well enough to reach out and ask for help, so I felt stuck. And, of course, the stupid thing was due in a week’s time and I didn’t even know where to start for it.

My mind began to fill with anxious thoughts. I was convinced that this one assignment was going to lead to my ultimate failure of the entire class, and I was sure that that’s what I deserved.

You should’ve started earlier, a voice in my mind was saying. If you fail you deserve it. You have no one to blame but yourself, you lazy piece of shit.

Corpse was in his YouTube room, luckily just editing a video and not actually recording or streaming. As I felt my anxiety attack coming on, I debated on walking in without warning. I needed him more than anything right now, but I didn’t want to interrupt him when he was technically working. However, my vision was already becoming blurred from a combination of tears and how bad I was shaking, so I knew this would be a bad one that I couldn’t ride out on my own.

Corpse looked up at me as I walked into the room without knocking. He looked confused, but pushed his chair out anyways to give me room to curl up on his lap.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a mixture of confused and amused.

“Safe space,” I mumbled against his chest. My shaking was already becoming less intense.

He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly to him. We sat like that for some time. I listened to Corpse’s steady heartbeat, a soothing sound that could’ve lulled me to sleep if I wasn’t still coming down from my near attack.

After a while, I felt Corpse move his chair back to his desk. He leaned forward ever so slightly as to not disrupt me on his lap and continued to edit his video. I watched as he did so, giggling at the parts that made me laugh, which was approval enough for Corpse to keep them in the video.

We were sat like that for nearly an hour. I had long calmed down, but I was so comfortable in Corpse’s arms that I didn’t want to move. When he finished editing, I turned to face him, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked, resting his hands on my hips.

“I am now,” I confirmed. “I’m sorry for bothering you while you were editing.”

“You don’t have to apologize, baby. You have nothing to apologize for. You know you can always come to me when you need me.”

I ran my hands through his hair and gave him a light kiss on the nose, causing him to chuckle.

“You’re too good to me,” I said, my voice low in a whisper.

“Saying I’m too good to you implies that you don’t deserve someone who is going to be there for you at all times,” he said. “Which you do. You deserve that and so much more.”

“You’re gonna make me cry!” I said, blinking away the tears of happiness that were forming in my eyes. “Stop being so cute!”

“I can’t, it’s a disease. I can’t get rid of it.”

I giggled and kissed him again.

“Want to talk about what had you so worked up?” he asked.

I sighed and leaned back more to look at him. “It’s that stupid assignment for my class. I’ve left it for too long and now it’s due next week and I have no idea what to do for it. I’m afraid I’m gonna fail, the assignment and the class...and I feel like I deserve to fail for leaving it so late.”

“A week is plenty of time to work on it once you have it figured out,” Corpse said. “Can you email your professor to get it explained?”

“I can try, but she’s awful for responding. Last time I emailed her she didn’t respond until the day it was due, and by then I had already bullshit my way through the assignment and submitted it. I don’t even know I can do that for this one.”

“It’s worth a try. You can email her, then I’ll see if there’s any way I can help you figure it out while you wait. I warn you though, I am not the brightest person out there.”

“Well that’s a lie. You’re much smarter than I am.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s the simp in you clouding your judgement of me.”

I chuckled at this as Corpse pulled me to him to kiss my neck. I let out a squeal as he rose from his chair, my legs still wrapped around his waist and his arms still holding me tightly.

He carried me back to his room and basically threw me down on his bed. He took my school stuff off the bed and proceeded to flop down on top of me, effectively pinned me down to the bed.

“Get up! I gotta email my prof!” I laughed, trying - and failing - to push him off of me.

“You can email later. I want to cuddle.”

I playfully rolled my eyes, but in truth I was grateful for this moment. No stress, no anxiety, just the love of my life in my arms and his head on my chest. I played with his curly brown hair as he ran his fingers gently over my sides.

This was my safe space, my happy place. And I truly couldn’t ask for a better one.

[datleggy]

Buck & Eddie got married and forgot to tell everyone and this is how it gets out:

It’s been a long day and it seems as though the 118 has finally caught a break; they’re in the middle of some much needed down time, hanging out in the kitchen lounging area, when Bobby gets the email. 

“What on God’s green...” He half mutters, blinking and scrolling back up because there’s no way he read that correctly, is there? He stares at his laptop screen but it’s there, written in black and white, clear as day. 

Normally he would call both parties into his office and deal with this privately, but it comes as such a shock that the Captain blurts out, “You two got married?!” without a second thought. 

Hen and Chimney look up from the game of cards they’re playing, confused for a moment before everyone’s gazes ultimately fall on Buck and Eddie, who were sharing the loveseat, watching some sitcom they both like. 

“Oh,” Buck clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers. “Yeah, I almost forgot about that.” 

“Wait, you what? This is for real?” Hen drops her cards on the table, revealing her hand, though she can’t be bothered to care at this point. 

The Captain blinks again, shaking his head. “Why am I only hearing about this now in an email from HR?” 

“And why weren’t we invited?” Chimney complains. “Maddie’s gonna hear about this.” he says, already taking out his phone to text her the gossip. 

Eddie shrugs. “Well for one, we were drunk.” he says. 

Buck nods in agreement. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, though. Still is.” 

Hen snorts. “Oh God, and pray tell, how?” 

“We got into this whole long conversation about that time we were all suspected of having robbed that bank--you guys remember, right?” Eddie starts, acting as if it’s no big deal. 

Bobby nods slowly, confused as can be. “Yes? And how exactly did that lead to marriage?” 

“Buck mentioned how if we ever did commit a crime--” 

Chimney tries to hold back his laughter but it’s impossible, especially at the look on the Captain’s face as Eddie goes on. 

Buck shrugs helplessly. “What? Not saying we would, just like, it’s a possibility!” he tries to defend himself, nodding at Eddie to continue. 

“So anyway, he said spouses aren’t legally required to snitch on each other and uh, you know, one thing led to the other and I mean, c’mon, we live in LA, there’s no waiting period after you get your marriage license, so. Yeah.” 

“Oh my God.” Hen covers her face with both hands, unable to stifle her own laughter. “And you guys didn’t think to maybe get it reversed once ya’ll sobered up?!” 

Buck shrugs again. “When we did sober up the next morning and realize what happened we talked about getting the marriage annulled.” he admits. 

“But the more we spoke about it the more we realized it would just be easier to stay married.” Eddie says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Buck is already in my will as Christopher’s legal guardian if anything were to happen, so really, the fact that we’re married now--” 

“Woah woah woah, hold on, wait, what?!” Chimney gapes. “My heart can only take one piece of juicy gossip a day, folks! My fingers can only type so fast!” 

Bobby turns to Eddie, “You put Buck down as Christopher’s legal guardian?” He asks, looking between the two now, with raised brows. 

Eddie notes the way Buck sinks into the loveseat a little further, the way his shoulders hunch, and he hates that he knows damn well what Buck is thinking. That everyone will ask Eddie what he was thinking, to reconsider, or something stupid along those lines. So he quickly goes up to bat for Buck. “Of course. There’s no one I’d trust with my kid more.” he says, confident and unwilling to back down. 

He feels Buck relax beside him and it tugs at his heart. 

The Captain smiles warmly in response and sighs fondly. “In that case, let me approve these HR forms.” he waves the two of them over. “C’mon, to my office, you two have a lot of forms to fill out.” 

As soon as the three men are out of sight Hen turns to Chimney and purses her lips. “Karen predicted this would happen and I told her she was outta her damn mind.” she sighs. “I owe my wife a crisp twenty.” 

Chim stares at Hen. “I know you’re married to a genius but there’s no way in hell Karen predicted this exact scenario, c’mon.” 

Hen shakes her head. “I shit you not, she said those two are gonna end up married for Christopher’s benefit before they even realize they’re in love.” 

“Of course she did.” 

[stopeatingwhales]

football hysteria x damon albarn

I LOVED THIS SM LMAO !!!!!!!! football obsessed damon is so cute

Pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

Warnings: noneeee

Word count: 2.281

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

"Who you supporting?" Graham asked me, handing me a beer as he sat himself beside me on the couch next to me in the middle, Damon sat on the opposing side. Damon had dragged me over to Graham's house to watch the Man City and Chelsea game tonight, and knowing just how competitive Damon came to football, I knew it was better that I simply went along with things rather than moan about how much I really didn't want to spend two hours watching two teams pass around a ball for entertainment.

"Erm, Man City." I replied, quickly flicking the can open to taste the bittersweet barley flavouring of the heineken beer as it embellished the walls of my mouth.

"You don't support Chelsea?" Damon questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

A small chuckle left my mouth. “Of course I don't, they're shit." I sneered, aware of the havoc that my statement was going to cause. Immediately, Damon's mouth fell agape; stunned by my malevolence, as well as partial shock from the new-found information surrounding my opinions on football.

Graham's laughter rang through the room and my ears as my eyes continued to burn into Damon's piercing gaze, him just as amused as I was. Nobody was as big a football fan as Damon had become. "They're anything but shit," he continued, eyebrows now raised as he scoffed. "You're telling me that you support Man City? Gallagher-brother-Man-City?"

"Okay I'm going to sit between you both,'' Graham announced, swiftly standing up, shoving my body to the side he had just accompanied, placing his body between me and Damon, a blockade to prevent either of us going at each other's throats. "Just so we can all be alive by the end of it."

“Well I wouldn't have fucking invited her over if I knew she supported those manic twats, Graham."

"Piss right off Damon, we're in Graham's flat, not yours." I bit back, completely unphased by his childlike behaviour. It had been made quite apparent to the media that Chelsea were indeed the band dominated by the south, as well as Blur, and Man City were celebrated in the north by Oasis. However, it was quite comical noticing the immediate flush of anger that filled Damon's face after my sly comment. Leaning back into the loveseat, my back adorned the soft feel of the cushion behind me. "Graham, who do you support?" I asked, curiosity laced in my words as the football pitch came into view on the television screen - initiating the beginning of the match.

My eyes were focused on Graham as I watched him toss his glasses onto the coffee table in front of us, which had been cascading with countless bags of crisps and other treats to keep us stuffed as the ninety-minute match played through. "In all honesty, I'm not that phased with football," he began, reaching over to open a bag of crisps. "It's Damon here who's completely obsessed with it."

As the match began, tensions were already built to a high degree between the three of us. Small but meaningless comments had been thrown into the atmosphere of the apartment, merely portraying our silliness and how neither of us had seemingly outgrown the competitive side of our personalities, something that would be more apparent during teenage years. Unfortunately however, very early into the game, Damon's supporting team had decided to skillfully snatch the ball from one of the players, eventually managing to get it into the goal - portraying the first goal scored subsequent to the game's start.

Damon instantaneously rose at the goal, shouting loud enough for the neighbours to hear every single word that rumbled out of his throat. "Told you we were bett-" he said, smugness intertwined between his words so effortlessly, though shamefully his words had been cut off by the sound of the cushion, once placed behind me, now hitting his face. I couldn't help but allow a tiny smirk to illustrate itself on my facial features as I admired his face dripping in absolute bewilderment towards my actions. “What the fuck was that for?” he scoffed, falling back into his side of the sofa, as I sustained the grin on my face, watching him. The atmosphere that was once overflowing with hostility was now completely serenaded with Damon's egocentric giggles, forcing my body to hunch into a sulk at how quickly my team had been warranting for a loss so early into the match.

Mid-way through the game, Graham had decided to go to the corner shop by his apartment to get more beers for us to share, due to us having run out to share between the three of us. I dreaded being alone in the room with the game ongoing with Damon present, full-well knowing that his upbeat jolliness would attempt to torment me upon the fact that he was winning, which, to my demise, was exactly what had occured. The air fell still in the room once the sound of the door slamming etched through the flat walls, my gaze focused entirely on the match following on the screen, attempting to focus my mind on anything but the room that I was currently occupied in - though my peripheral noticed Damon's head almost instantly turned to look in my direction once it was made evident that Graham wasn’t inside the flat anymore. As if reading my mind, he decided to shift his body weight, which was once adorned to the other armrest of the burgundy couch, right next to me, where he attempted to wrap his arm around my shoulders, warming me into an embrace. In spite of this, I could feel his intense stare on my features. Using all my strength to avoid connecting eyes with him, I wasn’t going to admit defeat so easily, my stubbornness proving a point.

Once Damon realised, he carried on watching the game, however his body had continued it's embrace with mine. At one point, I was thinking that the match was going to be a lost cause from the performance shown by Chelsea, However, things began to turn around, and Man City managed to score a goal, to Damon's consternation. The sudden win resulted in me lunging from my seat, swiftly detaching myself from Damon, my whole body cheering towards the goal as it replayed on the screen. What was amusing was that, after I had finished my applause, I noticed that Damon had moved back into his seat by the side of the couch, distancing himself from me. "Aw, you don't want to sit with me anymore?" I sarcastically questioned, not waiting for an answer as a small smile crept on my lips. It was very amusing, pissing Damon off. I must say, watching his ego deflate into nothing but a simple sulk at the corner of a room was really the sight.

"What did I miss?" The sound of graham's voice sounded through the room, paired with the clank of multiple beer bottles as he reached into the plastic carrier bag to place them on the table. Each and every one had an individual water-streak pattern, indicating that they had just been chilled - when they taste best.

"Man City scored!" I exclaimed, reaching out for one of the glass bottles as I got the bottle opener to unfasten it from its metal clasp, promptly taking a swig from the beverage. The intent was, of course, to provide Graham with the extra knowledge upon the events that occurred during the match whilst he was absent, however knowing myself, I had also wanted to remind Damon of said occurrences, to surge him to the edge of his frustration. Exclaiming it at the top of my lungs held just enough power to do just that.

A chuckle immediately left Graham's mouth from my enthusiasm. "Need me to sit between you both again?" He jokingly asked, yet an element of seriousness was laced between his words.

“Depends if Damon's gonna stop sulking or not.” I replied, focusing my view on the game playing on the screen.

"You're the one who was fucking throwing the cushions!" Damon shouted, reaching over to grab himself a beer.

"Because you were pissing me off!" I answered, shifting my gaze onto Damon, who was, to my surprise, staring directly at me. There was a certain look of annoyance glazed on his features, though the agitation seemed to subside as soon as we locked stares, as if he was longing for my eyes to bear their sight toward him, as if it was an examination, an analysation to confirm whether we were still on good terms or not; of course we were, while conflicting preferences drew evident tears between us during that moment in particular. After a few seconds had passed, Damon leaned back into the cushion, carrying on watching the game unfold, satisfied with his response from my eyes. Switching my gaze over to Graham, I took notice of a look of question illustrated on his features, to which I decided to mime that it was alright, in order to move myself next to Damon once again. It would've been a lie, and a mere understatement, to say that I hadn't missed his arms around me.

Bunching up next to him, enough space was made to allow graham to sit himself down next to me, though that thought was the last passing my mind; my body was shivering from nervousness, the close proximity between us, regardless of our romantic acquaintance, never failed to bloom butterflies at the pit of my stomach. Due to my body's weight pressing down onto the cushion next to him, it was obvious that he was aware that I moved to sit next to him - but at a cause of his stubbornness, him averting all his attention onto me, admiring me as if I was the only living being in the apartment, a home that hadn't even belonged to me, would never happen - it would take much more to result in his feign of irritation to melt away. Placing my arm around his shoulder, I granted my hand to reach up to his beautiful head of hair, my fingers caressing his strands gently as I brushed any parts that were sticking out on the sides of his head. His arms were wrapped around one another, like a child encompassed in an angry stupor at their parent due to them not allowing them a packet of sweets from the grocery store, though I was playing at his heartstrings, aware of just how much he adored me playing with his dirty blonde locks.

For a short sum of time, we both sat there, my hands never halting their actions. The next few minutes of the game played out of continuous dribbling and passing to other teammates, oftentimes resulting in the other team taking hold of the ball and running around with it for a while until their attempt to score. Randomly, Damon's arm had released itself from its shared embrace with the other, engulfing my body with his as he encased his left arm around my shoulders. We were in a sense of comfort with one another, though from Damon's avoidance of my stare it was made obvious that he was still in the least carrying a small element of annoyance, nevertheless, as I allowed my eyes to linger onto his delicate, paradisiacal features, holding back a grin was seen much easier said than done, a small curvature sneaking itself on his lips.

"Look who's won." Graham mumbled, his voice detaching me out of my trance that I was enamoured in.

A laugh rang itself out of my throat as I admired the lengthy team cheering as they enveloped one another in a massive embrace. "Told you they were better!" I grinned as I diverted my gaze onto Damon, the same look of frustration painted on his demeanour, still avoiding his eyes on me. "You want a kiss?" I asked, tilting my head in order to make sure I was the main thing in his sight, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up his facade so easily. "Kiss kiss?"

I continued until his eyes met mine. It was as if, for a short segment of time we were frozen in place, momentary seconds passing of us merely marvelling at the view illustrated forth one another, my hands snaking their way around his neck as I leaned in slightly, noticing his blue orbs fall onto my lips, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his mind wandered through fields of appraisal. It was then where I couldn’t hold resistance for any longer, and I doubted that Damon could, bringing my head forward as I let my lips latch onto his, allowing time to flow as they lingered still before he kissed me back with gentle force, enough to notify me of his desire that encompassed him just as much as me. The kiss held innocence, portrayed adoration in its true beauty, nevertheless, also embodying eagerness, a yearning of lust.

"I'm going to be honest," I mumbled, removing my lips away from his, panting as I attempted to recollect my breath. "I don't actually support Man City."

"Of course you fucking don't." Damon laughed, our lips connecting once again as he perched his head forward, intoxicating me with the very thing that I desired most in that significant moment.

"If you're gonna shag, please go home." Graham groaned, causing our bodies to jolt at the sudden awareness that we weren’t alone together. Pulling away instantly, a wave of embarrassment covered my cheeks as we looked at one another, infatuation the single thing flowing out of our eyes.

“Sorry Graham.”

[harveywritings92]

Bnha Mafia AU Scenario: You need a new bra

[Summary: Busty reader! the last of your bra hooks break while lifting boxes at work! Leaving you in a bit of pickle, so, you text your friend telling her to go your house get you another bra... At least you though you thought it was your friend...]

"Goddamn lazy sons..." You huffed bending down getting another box of the floor, Naoki your male co-worker was supposed to be doing this but he decided texting on his phone and flirting with Mei from accounting was productive then doing his job! you huffed lifting a box full of text-book up when you felt your bra loosen..*Crap, one of the hooks must've snapped...oh, well I still got two more." then you felt your bra start to slip off did you realize your mistake...

This was the bra from last week! the one that had a broken hook after playing with your cat, you felt the second one snap this when you were putting on your jacket this morning...  Your face was on fire as you awkwardly looked around making sure you were the only person in the storeroom before unbuttoning your blouse and and taking off your broken bra to examine it to see if may the hook didn't break, maybe it just bent and you could fix it! Nope, it was definitely broken... How embarrassing you huffed grabbing your phone and texting your friend telling her it was an emergency!

{My bra broke, I need you get me another at my house! and please hurry my supervisors gonna be here any minute! I'm in Storeroom 13} 

[seen a 12:45 ✔✔]

Twenty minutes later...

"Y/n I got your text open the door"

You blinked bemused that didn't sound like your friend it sounded like... 

____________________________________________________________________________________

Shigaraki Position: the big boss: You open the door to see Tomura standing outside in the hall, You stared at the mob boss incredulously, before registering what he said *he saw my text...*, You looked down at you phone and saw his name on top of the screen...Your face felt like it was on fire as Shigaraki cleared his throat, you looked at him and saw he was blushing as he held out a bag from a very every expensive lingerie brand which looked at bemused did he buy her a new bra... "Y-you Didn't have get m-" He cut you off "Just take it!" You blinked and took the bag from the white haired mob boss, who waited outside thinking about the embarrassing situation at the lingerie store... 

He got that text and went to ask Kurogiri to bring the car around as he was going to attend to your wishes, until Dabi got a look at his phone and snorted. "Well, no shit it broke, she's not even wearing the right size!" the hit man noticed his boss eying him suspiciously. "And how exactly would you know that?" the scarred man just smirked knowing Shigaraki doesn't have a lot experiences with women.

"Boss I'm hit-man, it's my job to analyze people right down to what brand of socks they wear, You think I wouldn't notice a chick with {y/cup} size boobs in a {not y/cup} bra? it pretty obvious, especially when she does that little squirmy shrug thing with her shoulders."  

Shigaraki seemed to take this to heart as he didn’t like the thought of you being uncomfortable, So he had Kurogiri to take him to a lingerie store instead of your home, needles to say the staff were all on edge when the notorious head of the Shigaraki group came waltzing into their shop, looking around nervously at the various styles and varieties of underwear and sexy sleepwear.

One of the sales ladies finally mustered up the balls to approached and asked if he needed help. Shigaraki explained the situation and the lady put on a tight smile and helped him with obvious reluctance, before setting on a sky blue bra, but then Shigaraki paused when he saw a couple of other sleep sets he figured you'd like and one that he liked that was made to look like a game controller bought those too. 

He heard the door open and saw you walk out, Tomura cheeks were pink when he noticed that your chest looked like it had gotten perkier, that extra padding really was worth it, he'll have to have Kurogiri send those ladies at the Lingerie store a card or something... "D-does it fit alright?" He stammered scratching his neck while looking a you nervous about your reaction. "Yeah, actually it fits nice..." You said surprised that you're boyfriend got your size right. 

"That good! that's nice!...um I have to go I see you after work" he said kissing you on the cheek and walking out the back door, just as your worried boss rounded the corner asking why the head of Shigaraki was here? and where had he gone, yeah forgot to mention your company in under the Shigaraki's protection, but that was long before you and Tomura were a thing.

Needless to say when you got home that evening you were very surprised to find at least four more bags of Lingerie waiting for you on your coffee table, your face felt like a furnace as you read a note from Tomura detailing his high hopes that you'll be wearing at least one of them, and what he plans to do with you when he comes over to play later!~ 

===========================================

Dabi Position Hitman/Enforcer: There stood Dabi dried blood on his jacket (at least you think it was dry, the jacket too black to tell.) with a pervy grin on his face as he held up a bag from a lingerie store... your eye twitched and went close the door in his face when he wedged his foot in the door to stop you. "Easy there Fairy~ I'm just answering your distress signal!" he said teasingly causing you look at him oddly.

"What are you on about?" He put his hand in mock hurt. "Oh that text wasn't for little ol'me?" Again you looked him like he'd grown six heads, before looking down at your phone and saw that, yes. You had texted Dabi instead of Abbi, oops... "Actually that text was meant for Abbi. " the hit-man took then shrugged. "Well then I guess I'll be goin.." You grabbed his arm. "h-Hold up!, hold up lets not be hasty now!" he looked back at you with a smirk as he handed you the bag.

Dabi waited outside the door when he heard you muffled "What the fuck?" then you angerly yelling at him. "Get in here right now!" the hitman resisted the urge to burst of laughing at your face, as you held up a cupless bra for him to see. "If you seriously think I’m gonna wear this I'm cutting your dick of right now!" you hissed as Dabi feigned innocence. "What. what wrong with it?" He eyes watched you reach for a shelf where they store the extra blades for the Paper-guillotine, and he put his hands up.

"Okay, okay I’m just kiddin' with ya!" he took the bag from you and pulled out a dark purple bra with teal polka dots the inside of the cup was also teal, you hummed before putting it on and were pleasantly surprised that it fit you! "That feel better than that [not y/cup] size rag you've been wearing?"  You gawked at him bemused "Wait...I was wearing the wrong size? How did you notice?" Dabi said you squirming your shoulders and walking around like the hunch back of Notre-Dame was a dead giveaway.

You hummed putting your shirt back and Dabi with this little smirk on his face seeing the improvement that bra. "Looks like Patty and Selma are safe and snug in their new home.~" he purred watching them puff up when you crossed your arms. "I still don't get why you named them after the aunts from The Simpsons." You say as you watch him check his phone. "Because!" He kissed you on the cheek before going to the window. "...They're always smokin~" he winked before hopping out the window and running into the foggy afternoon, just as you boss cam in asking if you were done with inventory? And where the hell was your male co-worker?! that night Dabi was pleasantly surprised to find you trying on the cupless bra; checking yourself out in the mirror let's just say the Hitman was definitely buying you more underwear if he gets to come home that every night!~

============================================

Hawks position smuggler/police informant: You were confused seeing your boyfriend standing in the hall "Hey Dove." he greeted smiling coyly and holding a sparkly bag from a Lingerie store, you looked at him oddly. "Uh...Hi?" you looked to see if your friend was hiding behind him, nope just his wings... "Why are you here?" you asked. "I got your text, see?" he took his phone and showed you his phone, your face felt warm as you saw your text staring you in the face.

You must've mistaken Keigo for Kaiko "Oh... That wasn't for you. " You hummed embarrassed Keigo didn't seemed to mind as he held out the bag to you causing you heat up realizing he bought you underwear... Which you were reluctant to take. Now it's not that you didn't trust Keigo it's just his track record buying you clothes isn't very good... but then you looked at your options and sighed taking the bag from the blond; not seeing the sneaky smirk Keigo was trying to hide.

 before he heard you go "what the hell?" he snorted and walked in the storeroom to see you holding up this, ugly neon yellow mesh bra littered with green sequins in the shape of peacock feathers that covered your nips, You looked at the bra then him at almost scared. "Dude..." You murmured in disbelief that he actually expected you to wear this! he burst out laughing you pouted and started hitting him. "Ow...ow, haha! Okay!...heh, Okay!" He snorted as he checked the bag he gave you and under all the cray paper he pulled out this red bra with little gold stars on it, it looked cute but you were skeptical as you put it on. 

"Holy crap, it fits...."You looked at him suspiciously as you were putting your shirt back on. "Who helped you?" You asked watching at he stiffened up "I don't know what you talking about..." he smiled coyly as you crossed your arms and cocked a brow, before watching Keigo's smile drop, your brows furrowed as you watched one of Keigo's feather's shot out through a gap in the door and you heard a yelp!

You both went outside in the hall to find your co-worker Naoki pinned to the wall by Keigo's feather his cell phone laying at his feet, the blond's eyes narrowed as he picked it up and looked through it, Keigo growled when he found photos of you changing on it. He looked at Naoki in disgust before crushing the phone much to your co-worker protest and hawks pocketed the memory card, then turned to Naoki. "I'd keep my mouth shut about this if I were you bub.”

Keigo hissed as brought another razor sharp feather up to nervous man's face and pressed it against his cheek. "Or else you'll learn the meaning of “”Snitches get stiches””... Ya get me?" Naoki nodded and Keigo put him down and watched him run, The blond then turned to you with a cheeky smile. "Wanna go the lunch?" You agreed and hastily left with your birdbrained boyfriend.  

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VI

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader, Zeke Yeager x fem!reader wc: ~ 11.2k

Warnings:  explicit sexual content, ass play, jealousy, possessive behavior, humiliation, manipulation, OC introduced (read A/N), non-con coming inside, fighting, miscommunication A/N: As I was writing this, I decided to bring original female characters in to play the “bad guys” because I didn’t wanna demonize the canon AoT girls. Just didn’t feel right. So, everyone, meet Rhi. Enjoy~

Mike is extremely fucking aware of you sitting a foot away from him on his couch. You're hunched over and whining about him beating you in Mario Kart again, and honestly, he doesn't know how he's doing it because he is so not focused on the game. 

 You came to the party in tight jeans and a sparkling top, and all Mike can think about is getting you out of them, spreading you out underneath him just like he used to. 

 But, he's not gonna say anything about it, not even gonna allude to it because he feels awful about pushing so hard at the Pike house. He never thought he'd be that type of guy, but he's been known to go a little off the rails when it comes to you. 

 "Have you ever played this with all banana peels?" Mike asks, trying to get his mind off of the heat he thinks he's radiating. 

 "What?" 

 "Like, you set it so all the items are bananas."

 Your eyebrows raise. "That sounds nightmarish."

 "Oh, it is," he agrees. "But you should experience the chaos at least once."

 "Alright, fine. Nanner me up, then." Mike snorts as you sit back against the cushions, examining the Switch controller in your hand and mumbling, "Could they have made these any smaller? My hands are too big. How are you even playing?" 

 "Practice. We played a lot of Don't Drink and Drive my sophomore year."

 He toggles to change the settings, and you both pick characters again. Mike selects Baby Park and grins too widely when you squeak. 

 "This is the worst possible—"

 "It's the best possible track," he corrects you. 

 The next minute or so is spent with Mike swearing and you screeching, but a melody of giggles can be heard in between. 

 He stands up like it'll help him focus, and you follow suit, bouncing and leaning forward until Mike thinks you might lose your balance. It's the only match you actually beat him at, and you raise your arms in victory, acting like the terrible winner you are. You dance and poke him in the chest so that Mike rolls his eyes and shoves you with just enough force (so, not a lot) to make you fall back onto the couch. 

 "Wow, rude!" You exclaim with a little pout.

 Mike stands next to you, a little too close as a retort forms on the tip of his tongue, but the angle is awkward, and he watches your eyes flit from his face to his waist (or what's a little below it) for just a split second, just long enough for him to notice, and he has to fight a smirk as you meet his eyes again. 

 He can imagine your cheeks are feeling pretty warm right now, but Mike doesn't say anything about it, just takes his place beside you. If he's sitting a little closer than before, neither of you mention it. 

 It's nearing one in the morning, and both of you are starting to feel it, eyes and hands too slow to keep playing the video game, so you switch to a movie. Mike doesn't think much of it when he lays down, legs hanging over the armrest, head in your lap. You tense for about two seconds before relaxing into the position you both know so well. 

 The first Jurassic Park plays from the TV, but Mike isn't paying any attention, too busy watching the way you're nibbling on your bottom lip. It's your thinking face, means you're lost in your own brain, just as far away from the film as he is. 

 It's stupid that you're both fighting this. Mike doesn't understand. If he wants it, and you want it, what the fuck is standing in the way? Zeke? That pretentious, clay-stained fuck? You don't even fit well together. In any way. He's too arrogant and philosophical (or so Erwin says). He probably doesn't appreciate your sense of humor (or so Mike says). And, he won't fuck you (so you say). How are you happy with him? 

 "Miche," your voice is quiet, but still loud enough to send a shiver down Mike's spine. 

 "Hm?"

 "Stop staring at my mouth."

 "You looked at my dick earlier."

 "Shut up, no I didn't."

 Mike laughs, turns his head to bury it in your stomach, and you start carding fingers through his hair. It's natural with the two of you. Nothing is forced. It took a while to get back into the groove of your friendship, but now you're here, and Mike is breathing in the smell of your perfume and fabric softener and you, and he wants so badly to just raise your shirt and plant kisses all over your soft skin. 

 Your body rises and falls with a deep breath. Your hand stops at the crown of his head. Then, you whisper the words he wants to hear most: "Just one more night?" 

 Mike sits up so fast, he nearly smacks into your chin with his forehead. He turns to face you again, eyes too round, voice too hopeful as he assures, "Just one more night."

 He knows the only reason you're considering this is because Zeke has you all wound up, but that's okay. Mike will take care of you. He'll scratch that itch and then some—remind you of what you're missing. 

 "Alright, yeah, I—"

 Mike is suddenly standing and taking your hand, leading you to his bedroom as the Jurassic Park theme plays you both out. 

 He knows you'll want to snoop—it's sort of your thing—but he doesn't give you time as he bends and catches you in a kiss, hands holding your face, tilting your head. He feels you curl your fingers into his shirt, using him for leverage as you balance on your tiptoes, and he lets you dance like that for a little while, desperate little ballerina as you open your mouth for him, but as soon as he feels your tongue against his, Mike lifts you clean off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist, no need for straining muscles now as you both lick and suck and hold on to each other too tightly. 

 Mike paces over to the bed, nearly tripping over the shoes he left in the middle of his room earlier that day, but he’s able to drop you onto the mattress and catch himself above you before any real damage can be done. 

 You laugh out a, “Real smooth, Zacharias,” that he ignores in favor of taking his shirt off. 

 He can’t see well in the darkness which just will not do as you begin stripping, but then he remembers, “Oh,” and leans over you to plug in the string of lights he somehow managed to hang around the flag pinned above his headboard. “Ambience.”

 You crane to look at them, suck your teeth, and say, “Let me guess. Erwin told you to do it.”

 “How’d you know?”

 Another little giggle as you tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear—“Because Erwin is the fairy lights type of motherfucker, but you…” You don’t finish that thought, just shake your head and tell him, “They’re cute. I like ‘em.”

 Mike hums, “Good,” then leans down for another kiss. Several more, actually. 

 He’s missed this so fucking much, the way you taste on his tongue, the way you sigh into him, the way your body moves beneath his. It hurts to think this will be the last time he gets to experience it with you, but he plans to savor every second, never let himself forget and, hopefully, make sure you never forget either. 

 Cheesy or not, the lights cast incredible shadows on your body once it's bared to him. Your silhouette is something he could stare at for hours, days, a lifetime. If he were even slightly artistically inclined, he’d probably try to paint it, but as that’s not the case…

 Starting at your jawline, Mike leaves a trail of little bites, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your neck, though, he begins sucking, dragging his teeth over new-forming bruises so that you whimper and arch to press your chest to his. He moves slowly, barely even registering your breathy pleas as he holds a patch of skin captive between his incisors and laves over it. 

 A mark on your neck. One on the swell of your breast then on the side of the other. The space between two ribs. Just above your naval. The hollow of your hip bone. And, finally, the insides of both thighs. 

 Last time he did this, on the bed in your old room doused in moonlight, he wasn't trying to be possessive. 

 Tonight he is. 

 “M-Miche, please.” Your voice is catching as if you’re crying—as if Mike is torturing you. He supposes he is. You’re ready for relief, and all he’s doing is winding you tighter and tighter. It’s okay, baby, he thinks to himself, I’ll make it worth it. 

 Swiping his tongue between your folds, Mike groans at how wet you are. He almost feels sorry for you. Now, he’s gonna have to spend even more time drinking you in. 

 You throw your legs over his shoulders with no prompting, letting him sink further into you. Mike licks in long, deep strokes that make your thighs tremble and jump around his head. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slick and swollen against his tongue, and makes sure to move his face just enough to make a mess of the hair on his chin. 

 You’re begging again. For something. For nothing. He isn’t quite sure. But, when Mike moves to lick around your dripping hole and uses a finger to flick over your sensitive little bud, you sing for him, and he realizes just how pent up you are. 

 Oh, he can have fun with this. 

 Pausing to suck more bruises onto your thighs, Mike tries to calm himself down, find a way to ignore the throb between his legs, but that doesn’t seem likely judging by the way you just keep trying to spread yourself further and further, like it’ll get him to move faster. 

 He crawls back up your body, face level with yours as he teases your entrance with a finger. You let out the cutest sounds, brow furrowing like you’re focused as you shift your hips in a silent demand that Mike does not follow. 

 His face is slick with you, and he knows you can taste yourself as he forces you into another long kiss. You let out an honest-to-god sob when he pushes his finger inside of you, throwing your head back and clenching around him while praising, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, tha—thank you.”

 Mike pumps in and out a few times, finds your spot with ease and massages over it until he sees true tears leaking from your eyes. 

 Then, he pulls out, slaps a hand over your cunt, and warns, “Don’t thank me just yet.”

 Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling seemingly in shock. Mike raises to his knees and wipes his chin on his shoulder, glances back just in time to see you sit up and attempt to tackle him back on the bed. 

 Mike snorts, catching you by the wrists and leaning in close. “What do you think you’re gonna do?”

 Your eyes are a little wild, lips kiss-swollen, body marked to hell and back from Mike’s mouth. You just can’t get enough, shamelessly cock hungry, and god, he is so glad he's here to witness it. To be a part of it. Maybe he should send Zeke a gift basket, an edible arrangement or something. Thanks for letting me satisfy your girl since you can’t. 

 It takes no effort to lay you back down, just like it takes no effort to flip you over. Mike raises your hips, enjoys the view of you whining into his pillow for a second, then turns his sights to your ass. He gives it a couple spanks, biting his lip at the way it makes you clench your muscles, then spreads your cheeks and spits. 

 “M-Mi—”

 “‘S’okay,” he tells you before letting more of his saliva drip from his mouth and land on your asshole. “Gonna feel good, I promise.”

 He’s never done this with you before, not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he figures if there’s any night to go all out, it’s this one. 

 The first press of his tongue against your hole has you inhaling sharply, and the first press of his fingers into your pussy has you moaning low in your throat. Just like that, you relax for him. Mike works himself inside of you, opening you up until you’re nothing more than a drooling mess on his bed. You allow him to lick inside of you, to take in every exposed part of you as he rubs your g-spot over and over. 

 “Mm, gonna… gonna…” Your words are thick and wet. Mike isn’t even sure you realize that you’re speaking. He knows what you’re trying to say, though, so with a mischievous smile, he removes his face and hand, admiring his handiwork as you drop back to the bed and whine for him. 

 There’s a bottle of listerine in his nightstand, one he only planned on using when he would wake up in the early morning hours with that dead animal taste in his mouth. Turns out, it has more than one use. Mike takes a swig so that you won’t freak out if he tries to kiss you after eating your ass, swishes it around, then swallows. 

 “Not supposed to drink that,” you slur, already looking much too fucked-out for someone who hasn’t even taken his dick yet. 

 “Harmless in small doses, babe,” he tells you, recapping the bottle and tossing it back into the open drawer. “If I just chugged all of it, it’d be a different story.”

 You let out a little scoff, mumble something he can’t hear, then ask a little louder, “You ready to fuck me yet?”

 Mike smirks, pushes you to roll over again, then strokes a thumb over your face. “I am literally always ready to fuck you. Just trying to draw it out tonight.” 

 It makes you pout, but he thinks your eyes clear a little. Like you understand what he’s feeling. When you pull him down for another kiss, much softer than all of the previous, Mike smiles—another little snapshot he’d like to tuck away. 

 Without any warning, he pulls the pillows your head is resting on out from under you, snickering at the grunt that leaves you. He taps a hip, “Lift,” and shoves them underneath when you do. He should probably ask if you want him to wear a condom, but that’s nothing more than an afterthought as Mike begins to push into you. 

 “Ohh, thank god, thank god, thank god,” you pant, and Mike chuckles, dipping a hand down to gently stroke over the tissue stretching around his cock. 

 Every shallows thrust pushes more slick from you, and he can’t help but gather some on his finger and hold it to your mouth. You’re quick to lick it off, but instead of dropping his hand, Mike moves to press a thumb to your chin and hold your mouth open. You stick your tongue out, and he mumbles a low, “Such a slut,” before spitting on it. 

 As soon as you swallow Mike snaps his hips forward and starts a hard, fast rhythm. The way your face splits into a crooked grin almost has him coming on the spot, so fucking pleased with yourself, but he wants to make sure you’re seeing stars by the time he’s finished with you—wants to make sure you can’t even get out of his bed. 

 You're sucking in air through your teeth, little hisses that could be from either pain or pleasure, but the way you keep raising yourself off the pillows to meet Mike halfway is a pretty good indicator of which one it is. 

 While your voice seems muted at the time being, your sloppy little cunt is not—lewd, wet noises echoing through Mike's room as well as his head. That fucking squelch he hears every time he pushes in, the mirroring suck whenever he pulls out… You always get messy with him, or maybe he always makes a mess out of you—either way, it's one of the many things Mike adores about you. You were shy about it maybe the first two fucks but not anymore. Now, you wrap your legs around Mike and pull him closer, claw down his back and try your hardest to fuck yourself on his cock until he's laughing in your ear. 

 "Here, hold on."

 You whimper when he pulls out, but it's only to flop down in his back and let you climb on top. He expects some kind of break, a single second to breathe, but you just sink down on his length and let your head hang back. 

 "Mmygod," you moan, taking him in as far as you can then rocking back and forth. 

 Mike can feel your thighs break out in goosebumps, traces a finger over your arm to find the same effect and hums. Bracing yourself on his chest, you plant your feet on the mattress and bounce like your life depends on it, that drunken smile back in place as Mike coos, "That's it, baby, take what you need." 

 He reaches up to grope your tits, cupping both of them, brushing calloused palms over each nipple. It makes you arch your back and gasp, but the rhythm of your hips doesn't stop. Mike can feel the way your pussy is drooling on him, slick little rivers that add to that filthy, beautiful symphony. He wants to hear it every night on repeat. Most played song of—

 "Oh fuck, oh fuck," you whine, and Mike reaches between your spread legs to press a thumb against your clit, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh as he rubs in tiny circles. 

 You sit and take it for several seconds before your eyes find his, widen, then roll as you start to come. 

 Mike takes over, lifting and lowering you on his cock as you twitch and cry for him. You're so pretty like this, hair out of place, damp with sweat and tears, thighs painted with your own orgasm. He doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want this to be the last time. 

 With your pussy still spasming around him, Mike switches positions again, lays you down like before and situates his head between your legs to idly lick everything that's dripped out of you. Your legs are shaking, kitten-like mewls meeting his ears. You jump whenever he runs his tongue over your clit, but you never move to stop him or swat him away. 

 Mike waits for you to go boneless before scooping you up and sitting on the edge of the bed. You're clumsy and slow as you straddle his lap, letting him slip inside you once more, but it's nowhere near as frantic as before. 

 He guides with gentle hands under your thighs, coaxes you to uncurl them from underneath you and wrap around his waist instead. Chest to chest, you rise and fall together. Mike breathes heavily into your neck as he hits that unforgiving wall inside of you. It makes you wince, but you don't shy away from him. 

 He's careful after that, makes sure everything he does is slow, tender, and when he sees fresh tears shining in your eyelashes, he knows it isn't from anything he's doing to you. 

 Mike is able to suck a few more bruises onto your neck and shoulders before he feels you nose at his cheek. Your kiss is dream-like, deep and relaxed but so full, and Mike knows he would be able to just do that all night if his orgasm wasn't about to run into him like a train. 

 He breaks away, looks to the ceiling only to have little fingers curl around his jaw and bring him back. You watch him with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, and that expression—that need to see—it makes the cord in Mike's gut snap. He sees a vague twinkle in your gaze as his jaw drops then blackness as his eyes are suddenly facing the back of his god damn skull. 

 Every line of cum he shoots inside you has him groaning, his fingers digging into the swell of your ass as he fills you up. You purposely squeeze him, clenching on his cock to milk him of everything he has until Mike is shuddering and whispering, "Okay, okay, okay."

 "Okay?" You question then squeeze him again, giggling when he grunts and twitches. 

 Lying back on the bed, Mike lets you pull your legs out from under him, but you remain straddling his waist as you lean forward to lay on his chest. It’s quiet for a long time. A different Jurassic Park movie is playing now, the music too intense for the deep, even breaths you’re taking, for the way you’re lightly tapping Mike’s shoulder in time with his heartbeat. 

 His head is beginning to clear again, the lust and excitement ebbing away into those reflective thoughts that always seem to hit him after a mindblowing orgasm. It’s mostly questions: Why are you doing this? Why is he doing this? Why can’t you keep doing this? Why didn’t you pick him? Why don’t you want—

 “Okay, I gotta get up,” you grumble. “I can actually feel your cum dripping out of me.”

 Mike snorts, looking over his nose at you. “Never complained about it before.”

 You push yourself off of him, both of you hissing at the sensation, then Mike watches you stand and glance around, probably trying to figure out which door is for the closet and which is for the bathroom.

 “It’s the one on the left,” he grunts, staring at your ass a little too long and suppressing a groan when he catches sight of white fluid streaming down your thighs. “God dammit.”

 The toilet flushes, the shower starts, and Mike is left to wonder if you need the alone time or if he should treat this like any other time and join you. Are you in there trying to wash him off of you or—

 “You comin’?” You peak out from the door, wet hair dripping, tired smile in place. 

 “Just did,” he shoots back while sitting up. Like every other time. Just keep it casual. 

 The water is hot, but you’re even hotter as you lather your hair in shampoo and soap up your body. Since he’s back to pretending like this is nothing more than your old routine, Mike has no problem pressing himself against you from behind, running his hands up your sides, “helping” in the bathing process by squeezing your tits, feeling the suds get caught in the webs of his fingers. 

 “You’re playing with fire, Zacharias,” you tell him, and he can see your lips pulling into a smirk. “You need to stop unless you wanna go for round two.”

 He nips at your earlobe, uncaring of the soap that gets in his mouth. “Or three, or four.”

 You laugh and turn to face him, but your eyes are shut as you rinse your hair. It gives Mike time to admire all the marks he’s left on you—too many, probably—and he doubts you’ll be very happy with him once you notice, but fuck, you’re so pretty covered in him. 

 The shower ends. Mike expects you to ask for a ride back to the dorms (that he doesn’t understand why you’re still living in), but it turns out you’re not all talk. After sitting on the couch for only a few minutes, trying to make sense of the dinosaur movie you’ve walked in on halfway, you’re crawling into his lap again, teeth dragging over his neck this time as your hand trails down his torso to rub over his rapidly growing cock.

 “Oh, shit, I didn’t actually think you were serious,” he chuckles through a kiss.

 You grind down on him, bite his lower lip, then remind him, “I told you I was frustrated.”

 He smirks, gives your hair a little tug that makes you moan, then makes sure his words just ghost over your mouth when he teases, “Like a bitch in heat.”

 This time he takes you over the armrest of the couch, leaves you swollen and dripping his cum again. 

 Another shower, the steam on top of such vigorous activity has both of you deliriously tired, and Mike is honest when he tells you, “I really shouldn’t drive now. I’m about to pass out.”

 “You and me both.” 

 So, you slip into one of his shirts and crawl into bed with him, but neither of you get more than a couple hours of sleep before the morning sun is shining in through the window. Mike’s grumpy groan very quickly turns to one of interest when he feels you push your ass against his morning wood, and then you’re at it again. He’s never fucked this much in such a short amount of time, and he can’t imagine doing it every day or even every other day. In fact, he thinks he might be a little burnt out for a bit. Unless it’s with you, of course. He’ll always make an exception if it’s you moaning his name and hiking a leg over his hip and milking him dry. He guesses if this is the last time he gets to do this for the foreseeable future, he’s at least made it worth it.

 Back in your little party outfit, you step up into Mike’s Jeep and almost doze off in the short time it takes to get to student housing, but you’re roused when he pulls into the parking lot and steps on the breaks just a little too hard.

 Mike snickers when you jolt forward and grunt, cutting your eyes at him and muttering, “Fucker,” before undoing your seatbelt and leaning over to pull him into another kiss. He cradles the back of your head, holds you there for too long as he tries to make you feel everything he’s feeling through tangled tongues, little nips, and the string of spit that stretches between two bottom lips. 

 He thinks he’s been good at hiding it, but now as you’re about to slip out and away, those words are lodged in Mike’s throat again, and no amount of swallowing will get rid of them. He takes a deep breath and forces one of those horribly insincere smiles, and you can tell because the look you give him is thoughtful and sorry, and your voice comes out as a whisper when you say his name, “Miche.”

 “Hm?”

 “Uh… Thanks.”

 He lets out a humorless laugh and asks, “For last night? This morning?”

 “For everything. I mean, last night and this morning were incredible, like… Incredible. But, it’s more than that. For helping me with everything you have in the last year or so.”

 Mike’s heart drops into his stomach, and he sits back in his seat as his mind starts racing because this doesn’t sound like gratitude; this sounds like goodbye. 

 But, why? He’ll see you on campus in a day or so, at the PKA parties you end up going to. You probably won’t be able to attend a ton of his games, but that’s fine. He understands. Are you just being dramatic—sad that you won’t be able to fuck him anymore?

 He can’t ask any of this, settles with a half-hearted, “Yeah, no problem,” as he fights the confused frown that’s slowly taking over his face. 

 “I’ll see you around,” you tell him.

 Mike nods and watches as you slide out and start walking to the bland building. He doesn’t like how that just ended. It doesn’t sit right in his head or his gut. It could be that you’re already regretting it. It could be that you're fearful of the consequences. It could be that you think this might be the final straw in your friendship. You’d be wrong on that one, though. Mike is willing to let you get away with a lot—too much—before he runs. You can use him in whatever way you need, and he’ll keep coming back. He just can’t help it.  

 *

 That had been a bad idea. A really, really fucking bad idea. The ache in you has been completely satiated, and you loved being able to hang out (and fuck) Mike—wouldn’t really trade it—but as you walk up the stairs to Zeke’s apartment sore as all get out and see his face when he swings the door open, it really hits you—

 That had been a terrible idea. 

 “Why the fuck did Eren say he saw you leave the party with Zacharias?”

 “Alright, I’m just gonna turn around,” you say, pivoting back toward the staircase because you really don’t like the way Zeke’s tone is tying your stomach in knots and making your neck prickle. You haven’t ever been one to be scared of men, but in this moment, you would much prefer to not be anywhere near him. 

 “No, no, let’s talk about this,” he says with a suck of his teeth.

 His grip on your arm is just shy of painful, and you take note of the way he forcefully guides you into the apartment rather than tugs you. 

 You chew on the inside of your cheek, setting your purse down on the counter as you follow him over to the couch. Zeke sits down at the other end facing you, as always, blue eyes narrow behind his glasses. “So, is it true?”

 “Yeah,” you admit before diving headfirst into a lie, “It was just to play videogames, though. Neither of us were diggin’ the party, so—”

 “That so?”

 You nod. “We used to all the time.”

 “And, what else did the two of you used to do?” He mocks, and you keep your mouth shut, bottom jaw sliding as your lower lip starts to quiver. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 “Thank whatever you want, Zeke. I was just hanging out with my best friend, okay?”

 “Your best friend?” He snaps. “Tell me, sweetheart, just why might you be covered up head to fucking toe, hm?”

 You cringe inwardly, taken back to the debate you’d had with yourself in front of the mirror. Your normal casual wear would show off some of the bruises Mike had littered you with—cold spoons can only do so much—but getting buttoned up would be suspicious. You had opted for the latter, hoping it would escape Zeke’s notice, but of course it didn’t. 

 Now, you’re sweating in your jeans and a fucking turtleneck you’ve never even worn before, and Jesus Christ, you just want to leave. Zeke is hot, but not hot enough to put up with this kind of bullshit.

 “Don’t have a comeback for that one, do ya’?”

 Mental note: kick Eren’s ass next time you see him. You knew that kid rubbed you the wrong way for a reason. 

 You don’t know who to be more upset with, the little brother or yourself. You could be irritated at Mike if you really wanted to—he hadn’t been subtle about wanting you last night, but then again, you hadn’t really expected him to, and you can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his feelings. There’s no way you could actually be mad at him.

 This is your fault. You need to deal with the consequences without bringing anyone else into it.

 “What d’you want me to say, Zeke? What’s the right answer here?” You ask exasperatedly. 

 “The fucking truth!”

 “We hooked up, alright? I fucked him! ‘Cause you don’t wanna fuck me, which would be fine if you’d just tell me why, but you won’t!” You’re starting to breathe a little heavy, voice rising as you continue, “I feel like you’re just waiting to see how long it’ll take for me to lose it, and apparently it was last night, and you know what?” You grin at him, nerves on fire the more you let every frustration fly from your mouth. “It was awesome. It was so fucking good, you don’t even understand.”

 Zeke’s eyebrows are high as he lets your little rant die off, obviously annoyed when he asks, “You finished?”

 “I think I am,” you laugh. 

 “Fantastic. Take your shirt off.”

 You choke on your tongue. “Excuse me?”

 “You heard me. Take. Your shirt. Off.”

 “No!"

 “You just said you wanted me to fuck you, so—”

 “Not right fucking now!” Even if you wanted him to, you wouldn’t be able to take him. You don’t think you’ve ever been so sore after having sex, but that could also have something to do with the multiple rounds of being impaled on Mike’s horse cock. God, you already miss it. 

 “Swear to god, if you don’t take it off right now—”

 “You’ll do what? What’ll you do, Zeke?”

 Your breath gets caught in your throat when he lunges at you, one foot planted on the ground as his other knee digs into the couch in a way that cages you in. His nails scratch against your skin as he pulls roughly at the material, and you hear the sound of threads splitting as you grunt and squirm and try to keep the terror rising in your chest at bay because this is not happening. This is not happening. 

 Zeke manages to rip the turtleneck off of you, and you shiver on the cushions as his eyes trace over every inch of you he can see, icy blue somehow becoming colder and colder. 

 “One,” he growls, shoving a finger into your neck. It smarts the way every bruise does, and you bat his hand away only for him to move it to the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Two.” He shoves your bra up to find hickeys three and four, making you wince as he digs a fingertip into both. “Five,” your ribs. “Six,” your stomach. “Seven,” your hip. 

 Your face is incredibly warm, tears stuck at your waterline as humiliation washes over you in waves. And naturally, it just gets worse. 

 “Are you gonna take your pants off, or will I have to?”

 You aren’t breathing deep enough anymore, and you can feel a burning in your lungs as a result. When you don’t answer quick enough, Zeke threatens, “I’ll rip them if I have to.”

 “They’re denim,” you snark, but that last piece of attitude is stomped out when he unbuttons and unzips your pants and tugs each corner, effectively tearing past the zipper. 

 You let out something frighteningly close to a whimper as he pulls them off, then sits between your legs and starts counting the marks dotted along your thighs. 

 “I’ve gotta hand it to him—Zacharias is a pretty thorough guy.” He pinches you a couple times, chuckling at the way you jump and hiss. “Did you like it when he was treating you like a fucking fire hydrant? Marking his territory like a dog?”

 “Shut up,” you grit, sitting up only to get shoved back down by a hand that curls around your throat. 

 You stare at Zeke with huge eyes, finally letting that fear bloom inside you—what is he about to do? What is he about to do?—and as he leans over you, tears start streaming down the sides of your face.

 He lets out a condescending little, "Oh," then lowers his face to run his lips over your temple and whispers, "Don't be scared. It's okay."

 A gentle kiss, and then he pushes himself up, stands, then disappears into his room. You stay on the couch, trying to catch the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Shivering as you sit up, you reach for your close only to find them ruined. 

 Zeke must have known that the moment he ripped them off of you (honestly, you should have known too) because when he returns, he tosses a ball of material at you—an old t-shirt and pajama pants. 

 "I'm gonna throw a pizza in the oven. That okay with you?" 

 You blink at him, unable to respond as he glances over his shoulder and makes a face like he's annoyed. 

 "What, are you stupid on top of slutty now? I asked if that was okay with you."

 "I—Ye—I need to leave," you mumble, quickly slipping the clothes on and standing. "I'm gonna leave."

 "How about you just chill and watch a movie instead?" 

 "Why would I want to—"

 The look Zeke gives you is chilling, mouth downturned, one eyebrow raised. It's a challenge, one you don't have the energy or fight to rise to, so you drop back onto the cushions and sigh. 

 It’s fine. You’re fine. He didn’t go nearly as far as you thought he was about to—just got upset. He had a reason to, right? There were better ways to handle it, a fucking conversation for example, but at least now he’s giving you a little space, cooling down in the kitchen while you gather your thoughts. You could go without the name-calling, though. 

 He just lost his temper, wanted to remind you that it’s him you’re with. You have been for a few months now. And, until now, Zeke has been a nice albeit slightly arrogant guy. He’s personable, he’s smart, he’s funny. Most importantly, he’s level-headed. You probably just pushed him a little too far. It could have been worse. It could be worse.

 You play it over and over in your head as Zeke hands you a plate with a slice of pizza on it. You play it when he sits down and throws an arm around you. Then, you play it when he walks you to your car that evening and kisses you like nothing ever happened.

 Could be worse. Could be worse.

 *

 Mike curls his tongue over his bottom lip and squints at the array of cups on the table across from him, picking one out before tossing the ping pong ball with a flick of his wrist. 

 It bounces off one of the cups' rims, and Nile easily snatches it up and smirks at him. 

 "Dude," Erwin starts, frowning when Mike turns to him. "Why do you suck so much tonight?"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "Man, fuck off."

 "No, I'm serious. What's up with you?"

 "Nothin'. Just having an off night."

 "More like off week," Erwin scoffs. "Month."

 Gelgar sinks his ball into the middle cup, and Mike quickly reaches forward to grab it, extracting the plastic before downing the beer. 

 Erwin is right, but Mike refuses to tell him that. He's been off since the last party a couple weeks ago, the last time he saw you—last time he touched you. He's spotted you around campus several times since, but you're always hanging off Zeke's arm, and Mike isn't about to pry you off him (despite how much he wants to).

 Honestly, he's a little surprised at how close you still are with him, how unaffected your relationship is by the hookup. Maybe Zeke just never found out. Mike has tried to ask you about it, sent more than one text, but they've gone unanswered which is a concern all on its own. Two weeks without talking at all. Mike feels like he's going insane.

 Could it be that you're mad at him, upset that you gave into temptation and you're blaming Mike instead of yourself? He understands the need to scratch that itch, but if you really hadn't wanted to fuck, you could have just said so. 

 Mid-terms are next week, so Mike figures if you still haven't talked to him by then, it's definitely time to worry about the state of the friendship. He's trying not to get himself worked up, but honestly, just the thought of you being upset with him is enough to make his stomach roll. He just needs one text. One everything's fine. That shouldn't be too hard for you, right? 

 Mike misses another shot and swears to himself, sticking a middle finger up at Erwin when he throws his arms out. 

 "It's just beer pong, bro. Calm down."

 The party is like every other—loud music, rowdy college kids, too many girls Mike doesn't care about making eyes at him from across the room. He really just wants to go home, but he can't help but stay in hopes that you might show up. It's highly unlikely, but that slim chance keeps him rooted to the spot, missing cups left and right until Nile and Gelgar win. 

 Erwin is not happy as he drinks his share of the remaining beer. Once he finishes the last, he tells Mike, "You owe me for that pathetic fucking display. Tell me what's going on."

 Mike comes close to just turning his back and walking away, but he can see that even through his irritation, Erwin is worried for him. 

 Running a hand through his hair, Mike just asks if Erwin has heard from you at all recently. "I just can't get ahold of her, and I can't tell if it's 'cause she's busy or ignoring me or what."

 Erwin's thick eyebrows knit together as he shakes his head. "No, I haven't talked to her in a while. Did something happen between the two of you?" 

 "I mean, we hooked up at the last party—"

 "Oh, that ended up happening?" Erwin asks, surprised. 

 Even after making up last semester, Mike has tried to keep the details of his sex life with you to himself and away from Erwin specifically.  After the shit he pulled that drove the rift between them in the first place, Mike isn't willing to be quite as open about you as he previously was, but he did have to break that code at the last party when he was convinced you would end up fucking. Buzzed and excited while still at the house, Mike had asked Erwin if he'd be cool with the two of you using his room (with the promise of cleaning up, of course), before you ended up just retreating to the quietness of Mike's apartment instead. 

 So, Erwin knew the potential that evening had, but Mike never followed up with him until now. 

 "Yeah, it did."

 "Well, what did Zeke think of it?"

 Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Dunno. She hasn't talked to me since then."

 "Shit." Erwin looks genuinely taken aback. "It's been that long?"

 "Yeah. I'm trying not to freak out, but like—"

 "No, I get you. If I end up hearing from her before you do, I'll let you know."

 Mike nods, "Thanks, bro," and forces a smile when Erwin claps him on the back, then breaks away from his friend to mope around somewhere else. 

 What if something happened? What if Zeke had found out and lost his temper with you? Mike will murder him if he finds out that four-eyed fuck put his hands on you. Gruesomely murder.  

 If he could take back what you both shared that night, he would. Things seemed to be getting somewhat back to normal between you—talking and making dumb jokes, like you were actually comfortable around him despite your boyfriend. If Mike had known one last night would fuck that progress up, he wouldn't have ever brought it up. 

 Then again, you had told him. I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke. And, he had still pushed, tried to get you to give in, and god, that's embarrassing. Mike is glad you called him out on his shit, but looking back on it still makes his face heat. That was fucked up. He fucked up.

 "It's Mike, right?" 

 Mike's eyes snap downward, caught off guard by the girl suddenly standing in front of him, dainty fingers with painted nails clutched around a beer bottle. It's the same kind you would drink only to end up giving it to Mike. 

 "Uh, yeah, that's me."

 The girl smiles at him. He's seen her around the college, events shared between both frats and sororities, and the more Mike looks at her face, the more he recognizes her as one of the chicks who used to hang around the baseball team a lot. In fact, he's pretty sure she's—

 "I'm Rhi. You played really well yesterday. I was watching you."

 "Thanks."

 She bats her eyelashes at him as she returns, "You're welcome," then clicks her tongue and asks, "So, who ya' lookin' for?" in a sing-song voice. 

 "What do you mean?" 

 "I mean, you've been scanning this room for the last, like, fifteen minutes. Looking like you're playing Where's Waldo or something."

 Mike snorts, flipping hair from his face as he lies, "No one in particular." 

 He recognizes the look of satisfaction that blooms on Rhi's face, has seen it many times before on many different girls. It makes him sigh inwardly because he really could not be any less interested. 

 "That's good." Rhi's wide grin shrinks into a smirk before she adds, "I was hoping you'd say that."

 Mike feels his mouth tug up on one side in what he's pretty sure comes off as a sad little smile. 

 Fuck it, though. At least she's pretty. 

 *

 Things don't change all that much between you and Zeke. After spending a day or two rationalizing, you're able to look at him and smile again, to laugh at his jokes and listen to his tangents. He's back to playing with your fingers on the table while you sit face to face for lunch, back to shoving his hand in your back pocket while you walk around campus. It's like nothing ever happened. 

 If anything, you start spending even more time with him. He walks with you to and from class whenever he can, tells you to come watch his practices because the teammates he's closest with—his best friends—want to get to know you better. It's all normal, and you get used to the slight change in routine without a problem. You like the Galliard brothers, Marcel who plays shortstop and Porco, the catcher, so it isn't a chore to hang out with them after games and practice.

 What is a chore is watching Zeke talk with his bubbly ex as he walks with her to the science building you're waiting at. Leaning against the brick wall under an awning, you squint as they approach. Rhi is looking at him with those huge, entranced eyes you know too well, a little too much pep in her step making her tits bounce in a way that's fucking impossible to ignore. 

 You shouldn't be territorial. If anything, you should probably still be mad for the stunt he had pulled with you, but… if he gets to be possessive, so do you. It only makes sense. 

 'Cause that's how healthy relationships work, you think with a snort, pushing yourself off the wall when they both stop in front of you. 

 "Babe, you remember Rhi," Zeke reintroduces her like you haven't been at least a little wary of her for the last couple months. 

 "Yeah," you nod, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

 "I'm great!" She grins, looking at Zeke for one reason or another, like he needs to approve her answer, which is fucking dumb, but you also kind of understand because that's just the effect he has on people. 

 "Glad to hear it." You turn your attention to your boyfriend, content to ignore her from here on out, and ask, "Did you wanna grab something to eat before practice?" 

 “Yeah,” he nods before glancing at Rhi and offering a, “Catch you later,” that sounds too promising for your liking. 

 You don’t glare at the other girl as the two of you leave, but you definitely do not smile, and as Zeke drives you both to your favorite cafe, you whine to Hitch through texts.

 i wouldn’t be too worried about it, she tells you. she’s in my psych class and she’s kinda dumb. i doubt zeke wants to put up with that again. probs why he dumped her in the first place

 You try to appear unbothered through lunch, but you’ve had a pretty shitty day so far—woke up late, probably failed a quiz, got no response from Mike despite texting him three times in rapid succession, and then you had to witness that doe-eyed little brat blatantly pine for—

 “You know, you don’t have any right to be jealous, right?” Zeke asks after swallowing a bite of salad. 

 You blink at him, having to process for a second before you understand what he’s saying. And, why he’s saying it. How can he just read your mind like that? You don’t think you’ll ever understand. 

 “‘M not jealous,” you mumble, stirring soup you really have no intention of eating. 

 Zeke smirks across from you. “No?”

 “I’m just having a bad day. Don’t make assumptions just ‘cause I didn’t smile at your little ex.”

 His expression of self-satisfaction falls into a frown, and he asks what’s going on. When you tell him, you purposely leave out the detail about Mike ignoring you because it would only further Zeke’s point about you having no right to get possessive especially considering how fucking upset you are about the matter. Why the fuck isn’t he talking to you?

 “Want me to help take the edge off?” Zeke asks when you finish venting.

 You look at him with one raised eyebrow, tempted to reply with a smart-aleck ‘only if you plan on seeing it through’, but that sounds like too much of an ultimatum, too manipulative. You’ve made it this long without being a shady bitch, and you have no intention of becoming one. 

 He can see the gears turning in your head, leans forward and grabs your hand before urging, “Come over. Skip your evening class, and we can just… Relax.”

 You snort when he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, possibly the first time you’ve smiled today. “I really shouldn’t skip. We’re reviewing for our exam next week.”

 “All the more reason to. You’re not getting any new information. You can just go back over it on your own.”

 He has a point. You have all the notes and PowerPoints, and the idea of just lounging and fucking is very tempting since the last time you had sex was the night with Mike.

 And, just like that, your stomach is in knots again. Why won’t he just text back?

 Sighing, you come to the conclusion that a distraction is exactly what you need.

 “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

 “Oh, I’ll make sure it’s more than nice.”

 Zeke finishes his meal then asks for a to-go bowl for yours, and after about fifteen minutes, you’re in his apartment. 

 “Let’s watch something while my food settles, and then we can you know…”

 “You know,” you mimic, putting the leftovers up in the fridge then joining him on the couch.

 He turns on some underground horror movie that doesn’t exactly set the mood, but you power through about half of it before all but throwing yourself at Zeke as soon as he pats his lap.

 Chuckling, he helps take your shirt off, kisses your collarbone and murmurs, “Damn, should we just move straight to the bedroom?”

 “I literally could not give less of a fuck. Whatever you wanna do.”

 He grips your thighs and stands, making you hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he walks into the back and drops you on his bed. You immediately kick your pants off, a constant stream of ‘yes yes yes’ running through your mind. You need this. God, you need this. 

 But, when Zeke curls over you, he doesn’t feel broad enough, and when he kisses you, his beard is too thick, and when he trails his hands down your body, they’re barely calloused. 

 You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to turn your brain off—please, just turn off—because you should only be thinking of Zeke. 

 Zeke who circles your nipple with his tongue, who brushes fingers over your bare pussy and groans at how the sensation makes you arch into his mouth. 

 “Can’t wait to stuff this pretty cunt,” he breathes before grazing his teeth over pebbled flesh. 

 His voice isn’t deep enough. His blue eyes have a different shine from the green you're so used to.

 Fuck, fuck, fuck, just let him—

 Shimmying down your body, Zeke spreads you open and pushes spit from his mouth to land on your clit and drip downward. It makes you gasp, and you feel that familiar throb of arousal that grows when he starts rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bundle. 

 “Oh, shit,” you huff.

 Heat pools between your legs as he continues the motion, only stopping to replace his finger with his mouth. 

 You let out a high-pitched moan, thinking to yourself, what about pillows? You can get a better angle with pillows. It doesn’t matter in the long run as he drags his tongue over your entrance, dipping inside for just a second before going back to swirling the muscle around your clit. 

 A finger is pushed into you a little too roughly. It’s not quite long enough, not quite thick enough, but it still feels good, especially once Zeke finds your g-spot and massages it until you’re whimpering and begging for more.

 “You think you’re ready, sweetheart?” He speaks into your thigh, a thigh that was once littered with dark bruises from another mouth. 

 “Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please, please, Zeke.” Even his name feels foreign falling from your lips despite having said it hundreds of times.

 You don’t understand why your mind is sabotaging you like this. You’ve been desperate for Zeke for months now, so why is it that you’re finally getting what you want but can only think about Mike? What is wrong with you?

 He scissors two fingers inside of you, making sure you’re nice and stretched, and you want to tell him to hurry up, that you’ve taken someone substantially longer and thicker, because yeah, Zeke has a nice cock, big enough to be satisfying, flushed pink at the tip and dripping, but it’s doubtful that he’s gonna hurt you. 

 He has a lovely upward curve that drags over your spot as he slides into you, and it makes you groan, eyebrows knitting together as Zeke swears.

 “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, giving a few experimental thrusts. 

 You can take him without issue, wet and stretched, and god yes, finally. Finally. His pace quickens, coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your clit and causing your eyes to roll back. Locking your ankles around his waist, you grin at the new angle, and Zeke huffs out an appreciative, “So fucking sexy when you smile for me, baby.” You stick your tongue between your teeth, something between a moan and a laugh leaving your throat, and he coos another, “Feel good?”

 “Ye-es.”

 Your mind is finally cleared—for a few minutes, at least—until Zeke pulls out and tells you to turn over. “Hands and knees.”

 You comply, and when Zeke spreads your cheeks and shoves his cock back into your wet pussy, the memory of Mike’s tongue on your asshole flashes through your brain. 

 “Jesus Christ,” you whine. 

 Zeke’s balls slap your clit with every snap of his hips, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room. It’s so fucking lewd, the sweat breaking out on both of you only making the noises more obscene. The fingers of one hand are gripping you tightly while Zeke brings his other down on your ass with a little too much force. The burning that follows feels good, makes you hiss and push back against him.

 Pulling out so that only his cockhead is inside you, Zeke stills to focus solely on spanking you, alternating between cheeks as heat radiates from them. You cry and keep moving to the best of your ability, fucking yourself on his length as you get lost in sensation. 

 You lose track of time. Zeke switches between abusing your ass and leaning over you to grope your tits. No matter what he’s doing, you’re moaning, and eventually your own hand travels between your legs to play with your clit, the pressure in your gut becoming too much. You need to come, need that release, and when your back arches and your muscles tense, Zeke growls against your spine, “Fuck yes, come on my cock—just wanna feel you—”

 He lets out a little, “Ha,” when you pulse around him, gushing slick and leaving you overstimulated as he continues to fuck into you harshly. 

 Your arms give out, elbows buckling and sending you falling face first into the pillow. Every noise you make grows in volume but remains muffled. Zeke is relentless in his strokes, but he thankfully doesn’t last much longer, droplets of sweat landing on your back as he curls over you once again, breathing heavily into your ear, “Can I come inside? Lemme come inside you.”

 Before you can realize what you’re doing, you shake your head, turning your cheek to the cushion and panting, “No, don’t.”

 It shouldn’t matter. You’re protected, and you’ve done it before, but…

 You only want to do that for one person. You don’t want to let anyone else.

 “Don’t, Zeke, I—”

 “Did you let him come in you?” He suddenly asks. “Did you let him fill you with cum?”

 He reaches around you to pinch your clit, and you squeal and squirm, trying to get him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t, just holds it with two fingers and taps the swollen bud without mercy. 

 “Did you?”

 “No!” You lie, voice rising. “Fuck, I didn’t let him!”

 Zeke scoffs. “I don’t believe you,” pinching hard enough to make tears spring up in your eyes before letting go. He returns to your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your skin as he gives a few more thrusts and groans, spilling into you then moving you back and forth on his cock, watching his own cum get pushed further into your hole and coat the entirety of his length.

 “God dammit, what the fuck, Zeke?” You speak through gritted teeth, shoving back against him suddenly and with enough force to make him lose his balance and fall backward. You can feel thick fluid dripping down your thighs and turn to glare at him only to find him smirking at you. 

 The space behind your eyes grows hot with tears you refuse to shed in front of him. Instead, you get up and walk to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before sitting down on the toilet with your head in your hands. 

 You shouldn’t be as upset as you are, generally like the feeling of guys releasing inside of you. It’s just hot. But, you had not wanted it this time. You weren’t ready for it, and now you can’t help but feel… tainted. 

 You pee then hop into the shower to rinse off, to cleanse yourself and calm down, and once the hot water has drained you of most of your anger, you slip into one of Zeke’s t-shirts and go back outside. He’s in sweatpants, sipping on water as he stares at the TV.

 “Feel better?” He questions without actually looking at you.

 You’re free to roll your eyes, but you think you sound convincing when you answer, “Yeah, a lot.”

 He hums. “Didn’t seem like it.”

 “I mean,” you sigh and move to sit down next to him, one leg tucked under you as you think about how you want to word what’s on your mind. “When I ask you not to do something, I, you know, want you to actually listen."

 Now, he turns to look at you wearing an expression frighteningly similar to the one he'd worn the day he humiliated you on the very couch you're sitting in. 

 "Oh, so you want me to respect your wishes." He doesn't sound at all sympathetic. "Kind of like I wanted you to respect mine before you went and fucked Zacharias."

 "Alright," you drawl. "We're back to this again. Awesome."

 He didn't ever explicitly ask you not to sleep with anyone else. At that point, you don't know if Zeke even saw you as a legitimate girlfriend. And, you understand why he's annoyed by your actions, but you're getting extremely fucking tired of him dangling it over your head. 

 "Uh, yeah, we are."

 Taking a deep breath, you try to keep a level head, to appear collected when you tell him, "Look, I see your frustration. I get it. But, me sleeping with Mike is a little different than—"

 "How?" Zeke cuts you off. "How is it different?"

 "Because what you did in there was against my fucking will. I told you not to come inside me, and you still did."

 Zeke is on his feet in an instant. "Is that a fucking accusation?"

 "No, no," you hold your hands up in defense as you peer up at him. "I'm not trying to say that everything that happened in there was non-consensual—"

 "Sounds a lot like you are."

 You're starting to panic. You don't like how hostile he's getting when he isn't even trying to understand you. 

 "You're trying to fill in blanks that aren't there, Zeke. I'm not trying to accuse you or get you in trouble or anything. I'm trying to explain how fucked up—how scary—it is for someone to ignore your boundaries in the bedroom."

 He makes a little, "Tch," then mutters, "You're blowing it out of proportion." 

 It's about the worst thing he could say to you. Firstly, he's the one getting offended by the situation, and secondly, it completely invalidates you. 

 "You're the one who was so desperate for sex you went and fucked someone else," he adds. 

 You massage your temples, figure you need to remove yourself before saying something you can't take back. 

 Your phone is still on the armrest where you left it before going to the back, and it lights up with a text—Hitch—and displays the time. It's only five. If you wanted, you could still make it to your six o'clock class. 

 "You know what, I'm gonna put a pin in this so we can both simmer down. We can revisit it later."

 Zeke doesn't seem to like that solution, or lack thereof. You grab your shirt off the floor then pad back to the bedroom to change into the clothes you picked out for the day, texting Hitch back while you're hidden. 

 She had asked what you were up to, and you reply with, at Zeke's. Could you by any chance pick me up? I didn't drive and we just got into a spat. 

 on my way 😘

 You waste a little time before deciding to brave your boyfriend again, simply telling him that you're just gonna go to class and that Hitch is coming to get you. 

 "Fine," he dismisses.

 You think about giving him a little peck but decide against it, opting to just grab your backpack and slip on your shoes. 

 "I'll text you," you tell him. 

 He replies with a short, "Sure," and you take that as your cue to leave. 

 It doesn't take long for Hitch to get there and takes even less time for her to ask what happened. 

 At last, you give her the full scoop (barring Zeke's meltdown after originally finding out you slept with Mike). She frowns almost the whole way through, and you expect her to either soothe you or tell you that he's being an asshole, but instead, she clicks her tongue and mutters, "I don't get why you aren't just dating Mike. Like, yeah, Zeke's hot and all, but you and Mike have always had a thing. And, you both obviously like each other so whyyy," she ends in a frustrated whine. 

 "Because Mike and I…" You trail off. You don't really know, honestly, not for a few seconds at least, and when it hits you, it isn't some big epiphany. It's more like a natural thought. "Because Mike is long-term. If we got together it would be, like, the real deal. And, I don't think either of us are ready for that."

 It feels good to admit both to Hitch and to yourself. You never thought about it in depth before, mostly because while you've known about his feelings for you for a good while, you haven't fully accepted your own. 

 But, if the hurt you're feeling at him not texting you back is anything to go on (not to mention how much you thought of him while fucking Zeke), your fondness for him has probably turned into something more, something deeper. 

 "I don't understand what's so bad about the real deal, but whatever. You guys will sort it out in your own time."

 "I don't know about that," you mumble. "He hasn't talked to me since that morning. Just won't reply to any of my texts or calls."

 "That's weird," Hitch thinks out loud as she pulls into the parking lot. "If anything, I thought he'd be fighting even harder now."

 "Yeah, well, that is clearly not the case." You grab your bag out of the backseat, guessing, "He must be mad at me or something."

 "Maybe. Maybe he's just trying to give you space."

 Shrugging, you get out of the car, forcing a smile as you thank your friend for the ride. 

 "Any time. One more thing, though," Hitch stops you." You tilt your head in curiosity as her face grows uncharacteristically serious. "Next time Zeke uses that against you, tell him to fuck off. And, consider dumping him."

 "I mean, I did fuck up by sleeping with Mike."

 "Yeah, but you and Zeke aren't gonna work if he keeps holding that over you. Something like that isn't supposed to be leverage. If he can't handle it, he needs to leave."

 It's rare that Hitch loses her happy go lucky attitude, so seeing her like this is a little jarring. 

 "I'll take it into consideration."

 As you walk into the dorms, you pout about how your shitty day only got shittier. All you want to do is talk to your best friend, but that's obviously not gonna happen. 

[ next ]

[palbabor-writes]

Quarter-Century

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild heavy petting, but this is pretty tame, oh & lots of fluff, likely enough to kill someone, so watch out for that, k?

What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do.

Words: 3754

Notes: if i call this a drabble are y’all gonna get mad at me? 

Quarter-Century quar·ter-cen·tu·ry /ˈkwôrdər/ - /ˈsen(t)SH(ə)rē/ noun  a period of 25 years

Twenty-five.  

It’s always spoken about like it’s some kind of milestone. Eh, it’s just another year, Kiyoomi thinks, tugging his sweaty shirt off of his back and walking toward the MSBY team dressing room, there’s nothing special about it. 

He’d woken up at 5:25, taken his first shower, kissed your sleeping form absentmindedly on the cheek before he left the bedroom, and jogged the three miles to the training facility.

He’d worked on his digs, on his jump float, and looked over the drills. The team had two practice games and had huddled up for the review at the end, the same as always. As Kiyoomi made his way out of the locker room Atsumu and Bokuto had both clapped him on the back, joking about the fleeting joys of ‘youth,’ and congratulating him on his performance on the court before they all went their separate ways, each gliding along their own trajectory. 

No, there’s nothing special about birthdays.

You’re not back from work when he gets home, so Kiyoomi pads around the empty apartment, flitting from room to room, disjointedly flipping on lights and switching them back off seconds later. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Should he take a nap? He could sleep off these uncharacteristic and frustrating jitters that keep coursing through him. No, he reconsiders naps just make him groggy and irritable. What else?

He’s showered twice today, there’s no need for another, and it looks like you’d cleaned up the living room and kitchen before you’d left for the day, so there’s nothing for him to clean either. Ugh, what’s with this restlessness? 

There are old matches that he can watch, already primed and loaded onto his laptop, but it’s charging in the bedroom, likely tucked under some of your leaflets and various heapings of paperwork. It’d be a pain to move everything.

Eh, he could start a puzzle, maybe flip through some channels, see what’s on TV, and there’s that book that you’d told him he should check out, he’s weeks behind on starting that, but it’s in the bedroom too, and–

Damn it. It feels like he’s stuck in some kind of loop.

He flops down on the couch, tipping his dark head back, obsidian curls fanning around his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do. He smiles at that thought, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep exhale. It’ll be alright, he reasons, you’ll get back and he’ll shake himself out of this funk, and then maybe he can–

The sudden scrape of the lock turning makes him jump, and he pops his head up just as you step through the door, a smattering of canvas bags tucked under your coiled hands. You spot him as you tap the door closed, a broad grin lighting up your face. “Hey there!” you call out, stepping toward the kitchen to deposit your purchases. “Did you just get home? Practice go okay?” 

“It went well,” Kiyoomi replies, hunching forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That reminds me, the next match is this weekend, you still planning on going?”

“Yeah!” you confirm, tucking a few things into the fridge before you pace over to his seated figure. “It’s right before the playoffs start, so it’ll likely be one of the last ones I can get a good seat to. Once you guys get in those end of season bouts it gets...Hey, you sure you’re alright? You look a little, I don’t know, downcast?” You kneel in front of him, your hands reaching, stroking gently over his hair and down his jaw. 

“I’m fine. Feel a little...off...is all. Happens.”

“Off?” you question, bright eyes finally catching his onyx. “Well, we can’t have that. Not today!”

“Hmph, it’s just a Saturday,” Kiyoomi huffs, catching your wrists and lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yes,” you continue, watching as he distractedly toys with your hands, trailing his thumbs over your fingers and flipping your palms this way and that within his hold. “It’s also a Saturday where I’ve played the role of good– no great, girlfriend and got us some tickets! Surprise!”

“Tickets?” he echoes, his head cocking to the side as he lifts his gaze back to yours. “To what? If it’s some kinda concert, not to be an ass, but I don’t really want to go to a–”

“Really?” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at his morose expression. “You think, after two years of dating, that I’d take you to a concert? You? Kiyoomi Sakusa, the man who is pretty much allergic to crowds, who completely dipped out of a shoe store once because there were five people in the ‘athletic wear’ section, who abhors the mere thought of tight spaces and groups of twenty or more, thought that I, his loving partner, decided to put some some color into his living nightmares, and on his birthday no less, by bringing him to a concert?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and exhales a tight laugh. “When you put it that way, no. But on the off chance that you did, and you’re trying to bluff your way out of the situation by over elaborating your reasons for not bringing me, well…I’m gonna have to decline the gift.”

You narrow your eyes at his impassive face and purse your lips. “And to think, I was gonna come over here and give you a kiss and everything.” 

“You’ll still give me one,” Kiyoomi smarts, a coquettish smirk lifting his lips when you openly scoff at him. “So, out with it, what are the tickets to?”

“Oh? Now you wanna know? Suddenly you’re curious. Well you can hold on to that buddy, cuz’ I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my birthday,” he intones simply, broad palms already sliding up your arms, pulling you closer. You smell nice, Kiyoomi thinks, lips barely missing your own as you twist playfully away from him.

“Pfft, what happened to ‘it’s just a Saturday?’” you tease, following his insistent tugs, one knee pressing down into the cushions of the couch as you lower yourself over his lap. 

“Changed my mind,” Kiyoomi states, finally catching you and caressing his lips sinfully against yours. “I’m allowed to do that,” he continues, sucking a rasp from you as he drags his sharp teeth across the plush swell of your lower lip. “Mmm, you might have gotten a little distracted, so let me repeat my question: what are the tickets to?” 

He is genuinely interested; he wants to know what you’ve planned for the two of you, but his hands have already started that downward journey, long digits stroking over the curves that flow down your side, cupping and pulling just the way you like. Your knees lift when he buries his fingertips into the flesh of your upper thighs and you sigh, breath warm against his flushed cheeks. 

Actually, this is fine. After all, he’s good at this. He’s had plenty of time to learn you, to practice, and he loves that he knows just what to do to make you quake between his heated palms. But when he jerks you closer, your lips slip from his and you’re careful to brace yourself away, momentarily safe from his distracting caresses. 

“Baseball,” you pant, hands resting over the hard plane of his pectorals.

“Huh?” he queries, heavy brows furrowing, wholly distracted by the rise and fall of your uneven breaths and the gentle twitch of your spread legs against his hips. 

“A baseball game. I got us tickets to a baseball game.”

“It’s smaller than what I was picturing,” Kiyoomi says, adjusting the placement of his mask before looking down at you. “And what are you gonna do with that bag? Can you even take that in here?”

You laugh at his question, hoisting the thick strap of your insulated pack higher on your shoulder. “It’s the Yomiuri Giants, they’re part of the minor league so it’s a smaller stadium and don’t worry, they let you bring coolers and snacks in.”

“Eh? Snacks? Don’t they have concessions? Seems counter-productive if they let you bring your own food. How are they supposed to make money? Atsumu said that half of our vendors make a good deal of their revenue from their booths during the playoffs and the regular season. So I don’t see how that’s practical. What do you have in there, anyway? It looks heavy. Oh. Did you want me to carry it?”

“I’m not sure which one of those I should answer first,” you grin, dodging his extended hand and stepping forward. “Come on, I think we can head in now.”

The seats are located in the shade of the upper deck, right behind the third base, giving you both a perfect bird's-eye view of the action that will take place down on the field below. True to your word, the ticket inspectors had let you and your pack pass through without a word of protest, and as he flipped down his plastic seat, you carefully tucked the thick canvas between the two of you. 

“What’s in it?” he asked again, peering over your shoulder as you unzipped the long teeth and reached into the dark depths, hands searching for something. 

“You’ll see,” you promise, leaning back once you found your prize, a small bottle of hand sanitizer. You pop the lid up and nod for his palms, carefully pressing some of the clear antiseptic onto his hands. “Game should start soon,” you inform, repeating the cleaning process yourself before closing the top and tossing the bottle back into the bag. “And I wanna make sure you’re set before I head down to the concession stands.”

“So it’s food,” he determines, slipping his mask off of his face, tucking it under his chin, an appreciative smile winding its way up his lips. 

“Of course it is! You think I’d leave you to languish for 9 innings while I sit beside you, gorging myself on the delicious food they sell at the concessions, which you refuse to eat? Alas, not even I am that cruel. Nah, I brought something that I hope you’ll like.”

“I’ll like it,” Kiyoomi replies, resting his muscled shoulder against yours, watching as you arrange a few clear sets of Tupperware in your hands, lifting them evenly out of the bag. 

“Careful,” you jab, tossing him a mischievous grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s from you; I’ll like it.”

Your hands still after his declaration and you twist your head back to him, eyes wide, searching his placid expression. “Okay,” you laugh, setting the Tupperware aside, fully turning to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down to your seeking lips. “That was too much. There some sort of class you stoic types take? How to make others swoon in five lessons, or less?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, prying your hands from him. “It’s true. No need to make a big deal about it. You put a lot of effort into today, and I...I just think that...I mean...thanks,” he finishes lamely, dark eyes balefully avoiding yours. You chuckle again and reward him with another peck to his cheek.  

“So cute.”

“Stop it,” he grumbles, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Weren’t you gonna show me something? Better hurry. After all, there’s still time for me to mess it up.”

“What does that mean?” you puzzle, pulling away.

“I dunno. I always say the wrong shit. You know that.”

“Well,” you ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “We’re at a baseball game, so, in the spirit of the sport, why don’t I give you three strikes?”

“Just three? I mean, wow, that’s so generous of you.”

You flash him a quick glare, tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Oooh, swing and a miss. Strike one!”

He’s just about to give you some retort when you press two of the containers into his hands. The heat of the plastic feels nice against his calloused palms, and he can see the fresh steam that surrounds the food that’s waiting inside. “Onigiri?” he questions, popping the lid, mouth watering at the sight of all of that pristine rice. Damn, when did you have time to make these?

“Homemade onigiri with pickled plums,” you inform him, a gleeful smile lighting up your face, pleased that he’s already reaching for one, a look of genuine happiness falling over his usually impassive expression.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, picking up the carefully shaped ball and lifting it to his lips. He bites into the fluffy rice, fastidiously letting the flavors fall over his tongue and across his pallet. It’s perfect, he thinks as he chews, just the right amount of pickled savoriness and clean, delicate grains. Damn, when did you do all of this?

You let him finish the first onigiri before you pass him a can of beer. It’s chilled, likely sitting toward the bottom of the bag, and he flicks a stray chip of ice off of the rim. A sealed can of beer, a carefully packed meal. Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

He’s just about to turn, to tell you that...well, he’s not sure what exactly. Maybe it is something about how lucky he is. How he’s somehow stumbled into something so sublime, so wonderful, as you, and how he should tell you that more, when you stand. 

“I’m going to hop down to the food stands. Inning should open up any minute. I’m glad this is an off season game, we’ve pretty much got this whole deck to ourselves! Be right back, ‘kay?”

He nods, eyes lingering on your hands, your smile, your eyes, just everything that he can see that’s you, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. What’s he gonna say? Don’t go? Stay here. He’ll go down. 

He’ll do whatever you want; anything for you, anything.

You tilt your head at his stony, almost stricken expression, but you don’t comment on it, content with tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear before you spring up the steps, stepping away from his overwhelmed and utterly entranced form. 

Damn. 

He’s scrolling through his phone when the 1st inning ends, thumb whisking over the lists of required paperwork, the $50 dollar notarial fee, the Kon-in Todoke, mentally counting up the required signatures, the necessary witnesses. This is crazy, he thinks, skimming over the U.S. Embassy & Consulate regulations on the ‘Affidavit of Competency to Marry’ in Japan, he hasn’t even talked with you about this, but he’s honestly never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Right as he flips to a secondary tab, one that holds a few jewelry stores and ideas about ‘how to pop the question,’ he catches sight of you. You slide down the row of empty seats, your hands filled with various snacks and a tall glass of foaming beer. 

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting to take that long, I completely missed the 1st inning! Good thing no one scored. Hopefully things will liven up with the 2nd and 3rd innings.” You settle in beside him, setting your beer against the cold concrete before jostling your popcorn and hot dog to your opposite hand, eyes peering over the brightly lit field. 

Kiyoomi bites back his grin and switches his phone off, obscuring the glittering pixels of diamonds and his future plans from view and tucks his device into his jacket pocket. You turn to look at him, your eyes narrowing and brow arching at his poorly controlled attempts to hide his giddiness. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, slinging a long arm around your shoulders, tugging you close and planting a quick kiss against your temple.

“Liar,” you accuse, leaning back, eyes following the sharp angles of his handsome face.

“What made you pick baseball? You feeling homesick or something?”

“Hmph, no! I just...hmm, how to put this. I figured it’d be nice to take you to a game that’s not volleyball. One that we can just watch. There’s no need to worry about analyzing anyone’s performance, or your own here…you can just relax.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head at you, a few errant curls falling over his brow. “Do I do that when we go to a volleyball game?”

You nearly choke on your beer. “Mmm...koff...do you do that? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, obsidian eyes watching you closely. Wait, is he a pain to go to a game with?

“Kiyoomi?”

“Hmm.”

“I wasn’t about to take you to a volleyball game for your birthday. That’d be like you taking me back to the office and asking me to celebrate with you in the staff break room. I mean, I know you love the sport, but it’s your job. It’s what you do all day. Besides, the last time we went to a match I don’t think you said more than five words to me and you were constantly writing down the plays on your phone. I–Oh! That’s not a bad thing, not at all! It makes sense,” you amend, catching sight of his abruptly ashen expression. 

“It’s just...you’re good...no good doesn’t cut it...you’re amazing at what you do. You’ve got that hunger that all the sports documentaries I’ve ever watched talk about and you’re constantly looking to improve. It’s impressive, really! But...I just thought this might be a change of pace. Something that we could both go to, could watch, with no additional stakes. Who cares who wins? I mean, I want the home team to, obviously, but we can leave here when it’s over and just take memories, not more worries or challenges. And definitely not any notes. Sorry, that prolly’ sounds so rude, but I really want you to relax today. You more than deserve it.”

“It’s perfect,” Kiyoomi confirms, finally leaning back against the strong plastic of his seat, pulling you closer, bringing his knee toward your thigh, pressing until he can feel the heat of you past the material of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” you laugh. “It’s the least I could do. If you’re happy, then I’m happy! Oh! Speaking of, you gotta try this beer! It’s so good!”

He looks skeptically down at the plastic glass that’s still clutched between your fingers. “No. I’m not drinking out of that cup.”

“Kiyoomi,” you begin, fixing him with a hard stare. “You know we live together, right? If I pick anything up from this, then, and I hate to tell you this, but you’ll get it too, eventually.”

With a scoffed exhale and a curl of his lip he leans away from you, nose wrinkling distastefully at your threat.

“Come on,” you taunt, shaking the cup playfully in your hand, “You won’t regret it!”

“No.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, you know that?”

“Never heard that before,” he laughs, coiling himself toward you, his arm around your back, squeezing you closer, holding on as tight as he can. 

It’s dark when the two of you get back home, but you won’t let him flip on the overhead lights, not yet. “Just wait, gimme a sec. There’s one more thing I wanna do...why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll turn on the lamp and be right back, promise.”

Obediently, he perches on the edge of the cushions and waits. 

He can hear you as you move around the kitchen, and he feels like he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. Throughout the game, on the cab ride home, as he stood behind you in the darkened hallway, waiting for you to unlock the door, he’d kept his hands on you. It was like you were some kind of magnet and he couldn’t help but be tugged forward by your irresistible pull. 

“Hey! Close your eyes!” you call, feet soft against the wood as you pad back to him. He shakes his head at your request, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but he obliges you. How can he not? “No peeking,” you warn, and he it’s like he can almost feel you again as you come to stand in front of him once more. “Alright…I think that’s good. Now...open them!”

The space in front of him is bathed in a soft glow, with whisking yellows and gentle oranges dancing, flickering across your arms. The light from the candle illuminates your face, catching against your eyes and making them shine, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing anymore. 

“I know it’s not much,” you justify, cupping your fingers around the delicate flame and lifting the cupcake toward him. “But I learned my lesson last year. Got you that huge cake and the leftovers languished in the fridge for almost a week. And you know what they say, less is more, right?”

Without thinking, his hands race forward, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. “Woah,” you exhale, a laugh bubbling from your lips. “Careful! I don’t wanna catch you on fire. Some birthday that would be. Come on, time’s a’wasting birthday boy, blow it out and make a wish!”

He’d lied earlier. 

When he’d thought that there was nothing special about birthdays. There is something special about this birthday and, for the first time, he knows just what he’s going to wish for. 

It’s easy to blow out the light. It’s a little harder to protect the cupcake from his downward tug, his hands insistent, firm, but somehow you safely tuck it behind you and twist back to him, fingers lacing into his onyx curls. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask, settling yourself across his lap.

“Can’t tell you yet,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, lips already seeking yours.

“Huh? You’re not supposed to tell me at all!”

“Too bad,” he intones, silencing any further retorts with the heady persuasion of his caresses and wandering touch. “I’m gonna tell you soon. Now let me enjoy you.”

notes: hbd! shoutout to @albinoburrito for her excellent edits and suggestions :*

[creacherkeeper]

ooh 16 or 19 (hand-holding) for fig and aelwyn?

only linking the pinkies together, not ready to let go completely

-

The backyard swing had been put up by Jawbone and Gorthalax the week prior. No one had spent less than an hour on it, swinging and laughing and spinning until the chains were tangled, like maybe the group of adventure-roughened teens that hung around Mordred Manor were no more than children delighting in a shiny new playground. Fig had gone the highest, much to Fabian’s dismay, who confidently deemed he could go higher—and did. He didn’t laugh so much after Ayda caught him mid-air, halfway across the yard to the treeline. The rest of them did. Adaine had been content to merely sway back and forth, a book in her lap, but a smile permanently etched on her face as she pretended to tune out the rest of their boisterous laughter.

Aelwyn hadn’t touched them. Everyone noticed, but no one mentioned it. They figured they’d give her time, give her space, and if she wanted to use them, she would. It wasn’t like it was important. They were just swings. Freeing and childlike.

Now, Fig watched her behind the sliding glass door. It was late, but the moon was lighting the yard and garden in a blanket of cool blue. Her pupils expanded in the soft reflection as her darkvision took over, drinking in the dim light.

Aelwyn kept a good distance away from the swings—a few yards, at least—with her body angled like she wasn’t really looking at them. A more casual observer might think she was looking at the woods. But her arms were crossed so tight, ears pinned backwards in displeasure. So, Fig knew. They’d spent enough time together in the long months since returning home. She knew what was troubling the older girl, and why.

The door squeaked as it slid open, and Aelwyn’s ear flicked even from across the yard. Crisping leaves crunched under Fig’s feet as she approached, taking note of her stiffening posture and straightened back.

“Hey,” Fig said, voice feeling too loud in the quiet night. “It’s cold out. I brought your cardigan.”

Peeking over her shoulder, Aelwyn stared at her. Light eyes flicked down to the thick, blue cardigan draped over Fig’s arm.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly.

“There’s goosebumps on your arms.”

“I was about to come inside anyway.”

Fig’s lips twisted. It was always a game with Aelwyn—like coaxing a puppy with treats when it knew it was going to the vet. You could tempt it all you wanted, the thing still had teeth. Fig, both metaphorically and any time she had dealt with an animal in her life, preferred getting bit to not trying.

“Well, I think I’m gonna swing a little bit, if you want to keep me company.”

Not bothering to watch Aelwyn’s expression, she turned away and walked to the far swing, leaving the closer one open for the other girl. She sat down with a huff of contentment and started pushing herself back and forth with her toes.

Aelwyn sighed. It was a short, angry sigh. An, “I’ll bite, don’t make me, I will” kind of sigh. Fig tilted her head up to the clouds and pretended not to notice.

When the silence stretched, and it was obvious Fig was not going to rise to the bait, Aelwyn spoke up.

“They’re stupid.”

“Hm?”

“The swings.”

Fig looked at her, continuing to rock back and forth with her hands wrapped around the chains. She shrugged, glancing around at the structure. “I like them. They did a good job. I thought there would be a lot more blood, to be honest. Had a healing spell prepped the whole time.”

Blue eyes glanced away—out at the woods, down at the ground. A frustrated expression had settled over her face.

“They’re for children.”

And there was the heart of it, Fig thought. She’d had a hunch. Pretending to be different people, you had to get good at understanding motivations. If she was playing a character like Aelwyn, she’d feel the same way. It’s childish, it’s frivolous, it’s foolish. I’m so far above them that it makes me angry you’d even dare to have fun, I’m certainly not secretly pining that I could get off my high horse and have fun as well.

Beginning to wind her way in circles, getting the chains nice and twisted, Fig said, “So what?”

“So …”

In the middle of each circling, Fig could see her furrowed brows and pinned ears.

“So- ugh, Fig, you know my point.”

“No. I don’t.” She stopped as the chains got so tight that she could barely reach the ground. “Watch how fast I can go. Riz did this and almost threw up.”

She lifted her legs and began to spin. The world raced by in blurs of faded color—trees and garden plants and the house and smudgy moonlight. She laughed, a bubble of excitement in her chest.

Hands gripped the chains. She jerked to a stop.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Aelwyn said harshly, her face spinning as Fig’s head caught up with the sudden lack of movement.

“Spoilsport. Fine.”

Fig let her feet find the ground again as Aelwyn let go, slowly working her way backwards, little tiptoeing steps as the chains unwound.

“This is what I mean. You’re too old for this.”

“I’m not. And what would it matter if I was, anyway? Why’s everyone in such a hurry to grow up? If I want to swing, I’m gonna swing. If I want to watch cartoons, I will. If someone wants to collect action figures or fingerpaint or sleep with a stuffed animal, then let them. Literally who cares?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. Your parents did.” The chains unlinked, and Fig came to still in front of Aelwyn. She looked up at the older girl, who stared down at her with a pinch to her face. “Their expectations of you were unreasonable. You should’ve been allowed to be a kid. Pretending you’re not and never were doesn’t actually solve anything or help anyone, especially you. No one cares if you want to have fun, Aelwyn. We want you to have fun. We’re not here to judge you, so you don’t have to be so defensive all the time, you know?”

Throughout the yard, little bugs chirped and chattered, and a breeze blew through the leaves in the woods. Aelwyn stared down at her and did not speak.

“Please swing with me? Just for a little while.”

After a moment, silently, Aelwyn sat in the other swing. Her hands were clasped firmly in her lap, and she didn’t move, just sat there and stared out into the dark ahead of her.

“Okay, well that’s- you’re halfway there.”

“I don’t know how.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been allowed to use the swings before.”

Something in Fig’s chest cracked. She lifted a hand and held it out between them. “Come on, I’ll show you. Like this.”

Cautiously, Aelwyn reached out, and let their pinkies link together. Fig tiptoed back and forth, their joined hands tugging the other girl forward until they were both swaying softly in the night. They got a little higher, a little faster, as Fig ducked and pushed her legs forward and back. She didn’t let them go too fast, or too high. But, after a while, a little smile creased one edge of Aelwyn’s mouth.

“It’s not awful, I suppose.”

“See? It’s nice, right?”

In the chilled air, Fig’s hand—barely linked, but linked—warmed Aelwyn’s cold one. The devil in her soul was good for more things than one, she mused, as they swung in time.

“Fig?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

[a-minion]

This is gonna be long so just keep scrolling if you want. I just want to (rant) talk about something that's been in my mind since Season 1 of Haikyuu. This part: Kenma getting lost in Miyagi.

He's in an unfamiliar place, he probably got distracted by a game and wandered off unknowingly. Okay. Understandable.

But here's what's bugging me about this whole thing; why didn’t he just use a map to find his way to the place they're going to stay in? (Who do we ask for help when we don’t know which way to go?) I mean, he was fiddling with his phone when Hinata saw him. He definitely has some form of internet connection because he seemed like he was either browsing the net or playing a game (and it's so easy to find a free/open wifi in Japan). Since he was casually doing that, battery doesn’t seem like an issue either.

So why on earth did he have to wait for Kuroo to come get him when he could have just used a map?

Am I overthinking this? Yes. Am I unnecessarily nit-picking over a random detail? Yes.

It's part of my fic though and while I was writing a particular part, I couldn’t come up with a reason why Kenma couldn't just ask where his team went via chat/sms and go to them instead of having someone fetch him. That seemed more time-efficient to me.

So then, I thought, maybe he's not good with maps or directions? I kid you not when I say this but I have gotten lost even with both Google Map and Waze telling me exactly which turn I should take (How would I know which side is east Google?! I'm not a freakin' compass!!). Yes, I am that bad at directions (please don't judge me)

But I could hardly believe that Kenma is like that too. I honestly believe he's waaay smarter than me.

Then a fact about Kenma made me realize why. He's a gamer, a very analytical one too.

I feel like he's the type to research extensively and study all the routes he can take before going on a trip. He probably looks at the street view of places to find landmarks he could use for finding certain locations.

But since he was already there, he didn’t have time for that. In that point of view, it does seem more practical and time-efficient to just wait for Kuroo as opposed to trying to find his own way back. The possibility of getting even more lost is not something he would want to risk.

That and Kuroo probably told him to just stay put being the mother-hen the captain is.

But here are other things I noticed in that episode. Seemingly small things that are actually impressive, storytelling wise: Kenma's body language.

He is an introvert, I think we can all agree to that.

The moment Hinata approached him, you can tell how uncomfortable he is. His voice was soft, his eyes were shifting, his posture was hunched and closed off, and he was constantly turning away. He even flinched when Hinata sat too close to him (more like rabbit-hopped next to him).

But you could also see Hinata's unbelievable trait here. Normally, people who are boisterous and loud just turns reserved people like Kenma further in their shell but Hinata somehow got Kenma interested.

Initially, Kenma flinched away when Hinata sat near him but when the subject of volleyball came into play, he relaxed a little (just a very subtle change in the way he speaks). It's definitely not intentional but Hinata used the subject to further get Kenma talking and comfortable enough around him. Eventually, Kenma was talking on his own, not needing questions to contribute to the conversation.

Hinata's energy was just too much to turn away. He was also such an animated storyteller that Kenma was now turning his body to face Hinata.

And then Hinata started sharing his insecurity (about being small for a middle blocker) which Kenma related to. Kenma was now sharing something personal to comfort a stranger.

The best part for me was Kenma suddenly looking at Hinata in the eye telling him that his team is strong.

The shift from discomfort to curious to confidence is just so well done. It's subtle but so well done. That interaction, for me, felt very important because that's what made Kenma's next interactions with Hinata more believable, more natural.

I guess in general, Furudate and the animators of Haikyuu are really good at storytelling and showing how relationships are formed in sports. I'm not talking about romantic ships here, just friendship and sportsmanship.

I don't know how to end this so… say bye Kenma.

[milkypompon]

𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖 | Reader x Sokka x Zuko

< ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 || 𝕊𝕠𝕜𝕜𝕒'𝕤 𝔼𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 || ℤ𝕦𝕜𝕠’𝕤 𝔼𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 >

𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖 | Y/N and Sokka crushed on each other for the longest time, but neither of them had the guts to tell about their feelings. Sokka tried to ignore how he felt by flirting and dating other people, which left Y/N confused. Until, Y/N met Zuko, firing up something within Sokka.

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖 | I received a good handful of Zuko x Y/N x Sokka, so I’m gonna warm up first with some headcanons! Also, I’ll be writing a Part 2 because I wasn’t able to think of how I want to write the confession part + “smutty 👀” part just yet!

WARNINGS: Fluff! Angst!

𝔼ℕ𝕁𝕆𝕐

Being a waterbender from the Southern Water Tribe meant Y/N spent many of their youthful days splashing water and flicking shards of ice around the snow with Katara. They’d playfully chase the Boomerang Man, also known as Sokka. The three were attached to the hip and the trio grew even closer when they were dragged into the whirlwind of Aang’s Avatar duties.

Progressively, Katara began to blush a little harder everyday around Aang. She’d quietly whisper her subconscious thoughts about the Avatar to Y/N when they’re alone looking for firewood.

Katara clears her throat as she pushes around a pebble with the tip of her boot. “Y’know… Aang has been real nice to me recently,” she said in a small voice.

Y/N bumped their shoulder with Katara’s. “Oh please, that boy has been extra nice to only you,” they rolled their eyes.

She elbowed Y/N’s stomach, earning her a groan. “Anyways! What’s with you making goo-goo eyes with my brother, huh?” Katara raised her eyebrow.

Y/N inhaled sharply, feeling their ears heat up.

Little did the childhood friends know that as the boys picked berries and scavenged for nuts, they were talking about Katara and well, Y/N.

Sokka deadpanned at Aang, gripping his shoulder, “You gotta stop talking about my sister to me… IT’S WEIRD!”

Aang timidly scratched the back of his neck, muttering, “Sorry…”

Sokka sighed, “But, go ahead. You have my blessing. Blah, blah, blah!”

The poor boy lightened up, then his demeanor changed into a teasing one. “Sooooo, what’s with you and Y/N? Eh, Sokka?” Aang clasped his hands together and puckered his lips.

Sokka’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing an embarrassingly red hue. He pushed Aang’s face away with the palm of his hand, “NOTHING! Absolutely nothing! We’re practically like siblings!”

“So stop talking about my TWO SIBLINGS, AANG!” He exclaimed.

Sokka flirted and hit one everyone (everything) that seemed to emanate singleness (well, except for Yue).

He’d ask Y/N for advice on how to catch the eyes of others. It worked of course because who’d turn down the brilliant, handsome, and kind boy?

What Y/N didn’t seem to realize was that Sokka only did this to get his mind off of his childhood best friend. He doubted that a practical sibling could reciprocate his true feelings for them.

Sokka attempted many times before of course, but his throat seemed to tighten and his hands became clammy every time Y/N would look at him with doe-like eyes that sparkled under the moonlight.

So, he continued to play his game of “Let’s break Y/N heart and mine by hooking up with other people!”

When Y/N saw Sokka finally getting together with Suki, they knew it was the end for their possible confessions and relationship. Even though they’d practice in front of the water’s reflection of how they’d confess, Y/N couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Sokka. Y/N wasn’t a homewrecker!

No one, LITERALLY, no one filled in Toph with any of this information, but she just knew! Even Y/N realized that Toph knew.

Y/N would lay on the grass with her at nightfall, detached from the group. They both knew that if Y/N watched Aang snuggle up with Katara, and Sokka’s head nestling on top of Suki’s shoulder, Y/N wouldn’t be able to take it.

So, here they were, Y/N spilling her lonely heart to Toph, who just nodded and hummed with affirmation.

“I don’t understand why I’m doing this to myself,” Y/N’s voice wavered.

After what seemed like ages, Toph sighed, “You know? I don’t either, but you need to find yourself another man.” She turned her back against Y/N and began to snore.

Then, Y/N met Zuko at the Air Temple.

The Gaang was in a fighting stance as the Prince of the Fire Nation, nervously introducing himself.

Y/N locked eyes with Zuko, those fiery ember eyes of his. Y/N blushed profusely, quietly moving behind Toph.

The earthbender elbowed Y/N in the ribs forcefully. “Anyone, but him, dum-dum!” she whispered.

Of course Y/N didn’t listen.

Zuko and Y/N would exchange stares, which progressed to small smiles and waves. They’d voluntarily scavenge for food together and small talk was made as they walked side by side. After a routine was made, they bump shoulders teasingly and joke around.

“ZUKO! THERE’S A SNAKE BEAR NEAR YOUR FOOT!” Y/N exclaimed “WHAT! REALLY-” Zuko froze and looked down immediately, to his relief there was nothing. His face deadpanned and he snapped his fingers to make a small flame. “I’ll set your hair one fire Y/N.”

Y/N doubled over from laughter. “You should’ve seen your face! SNAKE BEARS DON’T EVEN EXIST!”, they wheezed in delight.

None of this went unnoticed by the Gaang, especially Sokka.

Due to the dangerous life of being a Kyoshi Warrior, Suki decided to break things off with Sokka. But deep down, she did it in order to allow Sokka to set things right with Y/N.

Sokka would shoot sharp glares at Zuko and would immediately leave if Zuko approached the Gaang.

Zuko knew that the Gaang didn’t necessarily love him, they at least tolerated him, but Sokka was a different story. And he knew exactly why. He didn’t have the details, but oh how strong his hunch was.

It didn’t stop him from being close to Y/N. Their knees would touch as the team sat around the fire. Zuko didn’t do this to make Sokka jealous, the Prince genuinely felt a flickering warmth spreading throughout his chest when Y/N looked at him. Even just being in the presence of Y/N seemed to make his cheeks flush.

Sokka was fed up with the pair’s interactions. At nightfall, when the Gaang ate dinner around a campfire, he pulled Y/N aside.

Y/N and Zuko conversed and giggled quietly to themselves as they sipped up the last of their soup.

Sokka’s eyes no longer squinted in disgust at the sight, but instead it watered. Everyone seemed to notice at his change of demeanor the past few days, everyone except for Y/N.

He stood up quietly and made his way to Y/N, startling them with his gentle touch on their shoulder. “Can I… uh talk to you Y/N? If it’s alright with you?” Sokka’s voice whispered, the Gaang quieted down. Y/N looked around, earning them similar looks of sadness even from Zuko, finally meeting Sokka’s, they nodded.

The pair walked away with eyes still set on them, which quickly diminished when Aang cleared his throat. Their conversations returned.

Sokka kept a decent distance between him and Y/N, not wanting to make them uncomfortable by the sudden time alone they have together. He sat on a fallen log, dusting it off with his hand.

Y/N could read Sokka like a book. They frowned as he stalled around, “What’s wrong Sokka?”

Sokka looked up, his eyes unreadable. He drew his lips into a thin line, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? That’s what you’re gonna ask!”

Y/N flinched at his sudden burst. Sokka was the cool and collected one, that simultaneously bounced around with happiness, but now they could only see his color draining.

“I’ve been watching you cozying up with Zuko! You’d give him these looks and he'd look at you back the same way. Those jokes and trips you make with him,” Sokka’s voice raised a pitch higher

“YOU’RE NOT MAKING IT EASIER FOR ME EITHER! It’s not fair for you to throw around Zuko’s name like that, when I could list all the people that happened to magically kiss you on the lips-”

Suddenly, a chaste kiss was sloppily placed on Y/N’s lips by Sokka. Y/N forcefully shoved him away.

“Y/N… I- I’m sorry-” Sokka approached them carefully.

Y/N clenched their jaw, “No, you don’t get to say sorry.” They backed away slowly, which quickly turned into a sprint back to the campfire. Eyes still stinging from tears that were being held in for too long.

𝔼𝕟𝕕𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖 | THIS IS SO SAD :( Anon, why did you do this to us! But for real, I actually really loved writing this because it literally broke my heart. Is that sadistic? Or masochistic??

Give me your thoughts!!

[queen-scribbles]

Jinx!

Remember when I talked about the idea of Janine and Felix jinxing each other when they go to propose at the same time? Yeah, what better day to share the result with the world than Felix’s birthday :D

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

Janine didn’t think she’d ever seen Felix voluntarily sit still this long in all the time she’d known him. If he were human she’d be wondering if he’d fallen asleep. And they weren’t even watching a movie or anything.

That had been the plan when Nate shooed them out of the kitchen, but then they’d plunked down on Felix’s bed all cuddled up and neither could be arsed to find the remote. This was good, too. And surprised as she was at him not turning into a fidgety mess after two minutes, she was enjoying it too much to tease. They so rarely got to just be, without peril and running around and other stuff. This was nice.

“I like having you all to myself,” she commented, snuggling closer.

Felix didn’t reply, and Janine arched a brow. Maybe he had actually fallen asleep.

“Babe.” She poked him in the ribs and he yelped as he twitched away. “Ah, you are awake.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was thinking. About how amazing you are,” he added before she could ask, tone genuine and mischief in his eyes.

Janine giggled. Anyone else, she’d think they were buttering her up with a line like that out of the blue, but not him. “Well, don’t let me distract you.”

Felix grinned at her. “By all means, babe, distract away.”

“In that case...” Janine rolled from her position tucked under his arm to straddle his lap, her skirt pooling over his legs and her arms loosely around his neck. “Care to stroke my ego a little and share what makes me amazing?”

“Aside from everything?” Felix snorted, but the sincerity in his eyes belied the teasing tone. “Your smile, your laugh, the way you wanna help people...” his arms slid around her waist, “...your happiness, you have a way with words that could charm a banshee out of a snit” --he stole a kiss-- “But I’m glad you decided I was a better use of your talents.” Another kiss, slightly longer. “What else.... that little wiggly-bounce you do when you’re excited. And you have great taste in men-”

She kissed him, hands braced against the wall, then laughed, giddy, breathless, overwhelmed he’d reeled that off so quickly. “That’s quite a list.”

“Didn’t get to my favorite one yet,” Felix murmured, breath warm against her cheek. “You stuck around.”

“Felix...” She kissed him again, one hand curving the back of his neck and her thumb brushing over the hair at his nape. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly, resting her forehead against his. “I like the rest of the team too much, and I love you.”

His breath caught, pulse jumping against her fingertips. “I love you, too.”

She loved when he said it like that; like it was a secret just for them, a treasure too precious by half, a truth that couldn’t be contained in words. It made her heart swell, made her want to throw caution to the wind, shout from the roof of the warehouse, something to tell him and the world how much he meant to her.

There was something. It was the very definition of throwing caution to the wind, of impulsivity, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that. “Felix-”

“Janine-”

“Will you marry me?” One question fell from two pairs of lips in the same moment, and all other emotions--surprise, elation, wild excitement--were momentarily eclipsed by playground rules from when she was six, and Janine whooped, “Jinx!”

At the same moment as Felix.

Half a second later, realization clawed out from under schoolgirl habit and grey eyes met gold, both wide with glee and horror in equal measure.

Shit. Janine clapped  hand over her mouth to hold back a giggle. What do we do?! she tried to ask with just her eyes. If vampires, werewolves, and various other supernatural forces were real, no way in hell was she messing with a jinx. It might actually give her bad luck.

Felix looked just as flummoxed--and amused--as she felt. He shrugged and bit his lip. Great.

Janine’s phone chimed as she tried to work out the easiest way to fix this  When she wiggled it out of her pocket, there was a text from Tina. Need you at the station. Should be quick 🤞. She wrinkled her nose and turned the phone to show Felix the text.

He nodded, eyes still laughing, and tugged her in for one more quick kiss before she climbed off the bed and hunted down her flats.

This might be a good thing, she mused as she headed for her car. If Tina greeted her by name it would break the jinx, she could handle this ‘quick’ problem, and come back to say ‘Yes, Felix’ and unjinx him if he still needed it. Yeah, this was good. 

---

Tina greeted her with an apologetic smile. “Hey. sorry to bother you on your day off, but the Captain decided these need to go to the big city” --she jostled the case files in her arms-- “and I need the detective’s signature.”

Janine nodded, fighting down  glower that Tina hadn’t used her name(but of course today would fall in the handful of occasions that happened). She got a pen from her desk and spread the files out to start signing off. There were only five, and Tina kept up a stream of chatter about her post-shift plans--never once saying Janine in the whole ramble. It was as she finished checking and signed the last file Tina poked her in the shoulder.

“Hey. You’re being awful quiet,” she pointed out, brow furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”

Janine shook her head..

Tina’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Just not feeling chatty today?”

Janine wrinkled her nose and shrugged, and Tina’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, my god, you got jinxed, didn’t you?!” she crowed as she collected the files.

Janine huffed grumpily and raked back hair that had fallen from her bun.

Tina grinned. “Who got you?”

Janine curved her hands to form a heart against her chest and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Felix?!” Tina’s grin went wider and decidedly mischievous “So I guess now you need to be unjinxed, huh?”

Janine nodded, pressing her palms together in a pleading gesture.

Tina tapped one finger against her chin and smirked. “Now, let’s see, what do I want in return for this favor....? Any ideas, J- oh, right, I’m on my own for this one.”

Janine pouted and lightly whacked her friend’s shoulder in protest. That’s not fair!

“I’d play nice if I were you, my friend,” Tina teased, wagging a finger. “Give me another second to think.”

Janine managed to control herself while Tina stroked her chin in exaggerated thought, but internally she was making strangling motions.

“I know,” Tina finally said with a giggle. “How’s a baker’s dozen pastries from Haley’s sound? Fair trade?”

You and your sweet tooth. Janine bit back a smile as she nodded. If that’s what it takes, fine.

“Promise?”

She rolled her eyes and made a heart-crossing gesture. Best I can do.

Tina grinned. “You’re the best, Janine.”

“No, you are,” Janine said fervently, wrapping her in a quick, tight hug. “I’ll get you the pastries tomorrow when they’re fresh, right now I have to go.” She darted for the door. “Thanks, Tina!”

“You’re making me think I should have aimed higher!” Tina hollered after her. “Like rights on being your bloody maid of honor or something!” 

Janine snorted a laugh at the irony but didn’t even slow down.  She could explain later.

----

Felix had never been good at patience, but this was even worse than usual. He paced his room with bouncing steps for all of thirty seconds before even that wasn’t enough and he headed out to find... someone.

Mason was on patrol, Rebecca had been called to some meeting.... Maybe if he tried to sneak back into the kitchen he could get Nate to scold him and that would do the trick.

But Nate wasn’t in the kitchen anymore when Felix got there. His face crinkled in disappointment and he lightly kicked the bottom edge of the counter.

He needed to be unjinxed by the time Janine got back. Even if this quick problem stayed quick to fix, he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to be able say ‘Yes, absolutely, just try to stop me!’ as soon as she walked in.

Of course, the fact they’d both asked was sort of a yes on its own, wasn’t it? Felix eyed the fresh tray of cookies sitting atop the stove and shook his head. Didn’t matter. He wanted to actually say it.

Denied freedom via scolding, Felix wandered back out of the kitchen in search of Nate or Adam or somebody. The few agents he passed in his quest nodded politely but all looked too preoccupied to stop and help him. Somewhere in his random meanderings, he started picking up the sound of rhythmic blows and he grinned. Shoulda know Adam would be working out. His route became much more deliberate as he started making his way to the training room.

Adam was clearly focused--though no doubt noticed he had company--so Felix waited by one of the benches for a... safer feeling moment to finagle what he needed out of the team leader. It didn’t take long--though it felt like an eternity to Felix--for Adam to finish the series of moves he’d been... rehearsing? Practicing? Whatever you’d call it, he’d actually left the practice dummy in one piece this time. Normally Felix would jokingly applaud his restraint just to get an eyeroll. 

“Did you need something?” Adam asked without turning around. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

Felix wrinkled his nose and hunched his shoulders. This isn’t gonna work unless you look at me, he grumbled silently.

Adam turned with a frown creasing his brow. “I do not feel like playing games, Felix. What-”

Yes! Felix pumped one fist and grinned. “No, nothing, I’m good, thanks.” That was easier than I thought it would be.

Adam’s frown deepened, suspicion mingled with annoyance now. “Then why are you here?”

“Don’t worry about it, not important anymore.” Felix started edging toward the door.

“Felix.”

“Ugh, fine.” Adam was going to think this was silly, he knew he would, but the older vampire looked ready to haul him up by his collar and let him dangle until he explained. He wouldn’t, probably, but explaining was the path of least resistance, and Felix was fond of those. Knew I shoulda looked for Nate.

Just as he opened his mouth, however, the training room door burst open to reveal Janine, loose wisps of hair hanging in her face and determined excitement burning so bright in her grey eyes it brought out the matching stripes in her dress. She hesitated a fraction of a second after catching his eye, probably worried about a repeat.

Felix was too excited to share her concern and launched himself toward her with a loudly whooped, “YES!!!”

She was giggling as he crashed into her, as she stumbled back into the door, as their hands latched onto each others’ clothes, laughing as she kissed him, deep enough he saw fireworks. Which was fitting because this deserved celebration.

It wasn’t until a deep, long-suffering sigh rumbled out of Adam they remembered they had an audience. “Do I want to know?”

Felix and Janine broke apart, grinned at each other, and both started rattling off explanations. Felix shut up a few sentences in; Janine was doing a much better job explaining that he would have. Besides, this way he got to look at her. At the way her eyes lit up, the extra wisps of hair curling and bobbing around her face as she reeled off an enthusiastic play by play of the events leading to now. She looked like she was glowing, or maybe that was just the light through the high windows, but Felix liked the thought of her glowing better.

Adam had a very skeptical eyebrow arched by the time she finished. “Jinxes are mere superstition, Detective. They cannot cause you harm because they are not real.”

“Says the vampire,” Janine shot back immediately with a grin and arched brow of her own.

Felix barely swallowed a whoop as he slung an arm around her shoulders and turned to grin at Adam. “She makes an excellent point.”

“Supernatural races existing outside legend is a different matter entirely,” Adam insisted, then shook his head as if dismissing the matter entirely. He ran a searching look over the two of them. “This... development will bring up things to discuss, but,” one corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I am happy, for both of you.”

“Thanks, I’m happy for us, too,” Janine said brightly, shuffling herself and Felix out of the way as Adam headed for the door.

“Me, three,” Felix chipped in, kissing her on the cheek.

One small chuckle escaped Adam, and he offered them a single nod of approval before he left the room. Soon as the door closed behind him, Janine;s fingers dug into Felix’s scarf and she kissed him deeply, soundly, long enough to set lights sparking behind his eyes.

“Fireworks,” he whispered mischievously, and she grinned and kissed him again so they could see some more.

[isawrightless]

love, we shine like a falling star

Leon Kennedy, Claire Redfield It's slow, this particular kiss. Gentle and sweet, demanding in its own promises.

Rating: M --- The death he finds in his drinks and the life he seeks in her kisses, a sharp contrast, she soothes away his pain with just a touch. And she's angelical, downright divine, and he's just a man with way too many problems and too many vices and sometimes, well, sometimes he thinks these vices are getting the best of him. But isn't she a vice, as well, isn't she the love of his life, the one he wants for forever, the one, his one, his girl? How does he go on about that, how does he even trust reality when she makes it possible for him to feel out of this world? When she’s like this, on her knees, head moving back and forth, lips wrapped tightly around his cock. His eyes are closed, right hand on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. His mouth hangs open when she hollows her cheeks and hums in appreciation; she loves his taste, loves to have him this way. It’s a secret she’s shared not too long ago---that sucking his cock makes her wet, sends her spiraling out of control, she could get off on that action alone. He's a lucky man, no doubt about it, a lucky and foolish man, drunk in love, drunk in her. He's hers until the universe wipes him out of this god-forsaken place, he's hers afterwards too, in the emptiness that follows, he'll wait for her there when it's time, he swears he will. She makes him hunch forward and moan when she swallows him deeper, takes him until his cock hits the back of her throat, holds him there until she gags and her eyes water. His heart beats fast and his hands shake as she slowly pulls back, her lips dragging along his shaft, his cock covered in spit and precome, her lips pink and swollen when she lets him slip away with a pop. “Fuck," he lets out in a breath. "I'm not gonna last like that, sweetheart." She smirks, wraps her hand around him and starts stroking, baby blue eyes scanning every reaction on his face. "No?" she teases. "You're not gonna last if I keep sucking you like that?" "Claire..." he thrusts into her hands, instinct speaking louder here, but he's still got some semblance of self-restraint. "What?" she instigates him further, holds him tighter, rubs her thumb over the head of his cock. "What if I want you to come in my mouth?" He groans at that, the mental image  enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation. She knows exactly what she's doing, what she's saying, she knows it's one of his favorite things: to watch her swallow every drop he has to offer. And she always does such a good job, she's so sweet to him, so kind, takes everything---even after all this time, it means something, it has to. It means something that she welcomes him even after seeing the worst of him. That she touches his skin with an adoration he's certain he doesn't deserve. So he plays her game, reaches out and gently holds her chin up. "You'd just let me, wouldn't you?" he starts. "Would let me come down your throat like the good girl you are." She nods even though there's no need to. He smiles, grabs her by the arms and pulls her up to his lap so she's stradling him while he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He takes a moment to look at her, leans in and plants a small kiss in between the valley of her breasts, makes his way up until he reaches her neck, bites and sucks on the skin there, leaves a tiny, red mark, a small bruise that will be hidden by her hair but will be there nonetheless. His hands run up and down her sides, stop at her hips as he leans in to give her a kiss. It's slow, this particular kiss. Gentle and sweet, demanding in its own promises. She smiles in the middle of it, moans into his mouth, gives him a thrill when she gets lost in it, rolls her hips to get some relief from the ache between her legs. They're out of breath when they break apart. There's a slight flush on her face that makes him proud. He brings a hand up to her cheek, a gentle caress as he drags his thumb across her bottom lip. "I could use your pretty little mouth some more--" "Then do it," she says. "Do it, please," another roll of her hips, his cock trapped between their bodies,throbbing and hot. And she's a needy little thing, she is, when it comes to him at least. No other man has ever made her feel this way, no other man has made her crave for something as much as she craves for him, for any part of him, any form of comfort or touch. He shakes his head, smirking like a boy. Leaning in close, he buries his face on the crook of her neck, breathes in her scent, her perfume--jasmine with a hint of vanilla--only to then whisper in her ear, "But I want your cunt." There's a sharp intake of breath from her, as if his confession has traveled and trembled through her bones, but he's not the one in control here. No, he's a man with a stolen heart and an impossible need. Because holy hell, he needs her. Needs to taste her, to fuck her, to kiss her. He needs her smiles and minutes long kisses, needs her messy hair and grumpy face when it's too early in the morning, needs to hear her voice so he can be reminded that there's still good left in this world. He needs and she gives and he takes because she lets him. She's got him wrapped around her finger. She's so worked up and ready, she places her left hand on his shoulder to steady herself, reaches down with her right one, grabs his cock and gives it a light tug just to hear him gasp. She raises her hips slightly and guides him to her entrance, sinks down onto his length slowly, viciously so, until he's all the way in and she's looking down at him as if he's hung the stars in the sky himself. "Like this?", her tone is candid as she grinds against him, moans when she feels him so deep inside. He closes his eyes, his hands moving down to grab hold of her ass. "Yeah, fuck---" he breaks into a moan when she squeezes around him on purpose. Both  arms on his shoulder now, she holds on to him, works her hips. His mouth finds her breasts, he licks and sucks into one, watches her throw her head back, neck exposed, hair falling behind her like a curtain. It's gotten long, her hair, as long as it was when they first met and she's beautiful anyway but this is too much, too much for him to handle. So he trails a hand up her back, grabs a fistful of her hair, she looks down at him, mesmerized, and he starts thrusting into her, still softly sucking on her breast. She tries to keep up with him but he holds her in place, god, he's strong and handsome and he's got her, he's got her---"L-Leon," she chokes, fingers digging into his skin. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he says, releasing her breast. Her nipples are hard, her left one slightly darker and wet with his saliva. "How are you so gorgeous?" Because I'm made for you, I'm made for you---she thinks and she wants to say it out loud but his thrusts are hard and fast, his pace is overwhelming, she can only close her eyes and feel him, she's so wet and good and he slips in and out of her easily. "You're gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he sounds absolutely wrecked as he buries his cock deeper and then grinds up into her, heart beating so fast he's certain she can hear it. "Gonna come on my cock?" "Yes," she lets out in a rushed breath. "Yes, please, I'm so close, god---fuck," her voice falters when he lets go of her hair and brings his hand down to press his thumb on her clit, caressing it in circular motions, applying the pressure he knows she likes. She makes this keen sound that is half a moan and half a sob and he just wishes every single day could be like this. "You're the only thing that makes sense, sweetheart, the only fucking thing," he says, watching her intently, the expression on her face--eyes closed, mouth open, a few strands of hair sticking to her lips, fingernails sharp on his shoulders--and he feels himself close to his own release. "So soft and perfect--yeah, that's it, come on my cock, be my good girl--" and she does, she does, cries out loud and tightens around him as it hits her, she clings to him and he holds her steady, keeps her safe, helps her ride out her orgasm, his thrusts now a bit slower and deliberate. She comes back from it dazed, holds his face in her trembling hands and leans down until her forehead is pressed against his. "You...you too, I want you---" "Want my come in you? That what you want?" he asks, voice hoarse. She tries to answer him but all she manages is a small nod together with a moan. He increases the pace then, goes harder, stares right into her eyes, the slapping sound of skin against skin filling the room until he thrusts into her one final time and comes with a raspy groan, cock pulsing and twitching, spilling inside her. Breathless, he stares right into her eyes and then looks down at her lips, manages to give her a quick kiss before dragging his mouth down her neck, turning his face and resting his right cheek on her chest, his arms wrapped around her frame, holding her close. She's panting, trying to calm down, and she moves one of her hands up his neck, buries her fingers in his hair and lightly scratches his scalp. They stay like that for a moment, both of them unable to let go. He's going soft inside her and they're both so sensitive that any kind of movement proves to be too much. A comfortable silence sets in, and there's no need to break it. Eventually she pulls back a little, smiles at him and slides off of his lap to lie on the bed, on her back. She can feel her slick and his come slipping out of her, running down her thighs in an obscene display of affection. She closes her eyes for just a second and when she opens them again he's lying right next to her, smiling too, some strands of hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat on his skin. She fixes his hair for him and he catches her wrist mid-action, brings it close to his mouth and plants a small, quick kiss there on her pale skin. It spreads warmth throughout her body and she chuckles, prompting him to do the same and they lie there, content, in no hurry to be anywhere else. He counts the freckles across her nose in his head, adores every single of them, says, "I love you." It's a rare thing for him, for them, to say it out loud. They've both been robbed of so much sometimes it feels like tempting fate every time they utter such heavy words. "I love you, too,” she says. And he is, he truly is, a man of vices and sorrows and regrets and traumas. He's broken in too many places. Shattered. But he's also a man of his word and he means it with every cell in his body that, in this whole goddamn world, she is the only thing that makes sense.

[dreamteamspace]

I have a writing idea this is all of ya’lls fault /lh

Tubbo and Tommy speak before the festival, finally adressing the elephant in the room: Schlatt. It’s time to pick a side.

Canon divergence.

---

“And I’m gonna get to hold a SPEECH!”

“That’s great Tubbo.” Tommy’s voice falls flat, walking quickly with a stiff back. Since they’ve reached the forest and are finally out of earshot, Tubbo’s been going non-stop.

“Schlatt put me in charge of the decorations, too. Do you think a game where you can dip yourself in water for refreshment is a good idea? Karl told me it might be a bit much.“

“Sure.” Tommy flatlines back, holding some branches out of the way to let Tubbo deeper into the undergrowth.

Tubbo goes quiet, watching their friend make way for them as they continue on deeper.

The silence between them is filled with the crunching of leaves beneath their feet and the rustling of the trees in the wind. Tubbo stares at Tommy’s hunched back as they follow, trying to imagine the storm that must be contained in the young teen right now. Tommy must be so cold in his t-shirt right now, with autumn right around the corner.

Tommy stops abruptly, and Tubbo almost runs into him.

Tommy turns around to face his smaller friend.

Tubbo expects Tommy to look angry, to get an earful of how bad Schlatt is and how terrible the festival is going to be. Internally, they’re ready to calm Tommy down and tell him it won’t be all that bad, and that they’ll make sure to send back the clothes Pogtopia needs for the winter, and how everything will work out-

but Tommy doesn’t look angry. He looks exhausted. Exhausted and worn down, conflicted, thin frame dressed too lightly for the weather.

Tommy places his hands on Tubbo’s shoulders reassuringly.

“Tubbo, be honest with me.”

“Y-yes?”

Tommy looks down to Tubbo’s green, fluffed jacket.

“Are you... happier?”

Tubbo looks at their friend, unsure what to feel.

“I...”

Tommy looks up at them, firm and determined, trying his best to show that he’s ready for whatever the answer is.

“Please just... be honest.”

Tubbo stares at him. They don’t like conflict. They don’t like seeing their best friend so broken, so cold, so thin-

“I’m... taken care of.“

“Is he... Is Schlatt... better than Wilbur?”

Tubbo can see the way Tommy had to ring the words out of his own mouth, force them out of his chest. There’s a bit of fear in his eyes that Tubbo hasn’t seen in years. Fear that everything they fought for, everything they believed-

Tubbo knows they have to be honest. Maybe, if they can convince Tommy...

“Well, I haven’t know him for very long, but... he’s... kindof nice. He trusts me with all these tasks and makes sure I have everything for them. He said I’m a really good builder.“

Tubbo grows quieter and quieter as he talks, and Tommy listens, taking in the information with a deep breath. He knows Wilbur never gave Tubbo the attention he should have, with how much effort Tubbo placed into everything he helped them with. Come to think of it, they all spent such a long time ringing for Wilbur’s attention, his appreciation, his goodwill, his trust, his respect.

Tommy and Tubbo look at eachother in silence for a moment.

Tommy lets go of Tubbo’s shoulders, taking his hands back as he rethinks everything he knows.

But there’s one thing he knows, more than anything: He’ll do anything to make sure Tubbo is happy.

And that happiness is at stake right now.

“Tubbo.”

“Yeah?”

“You know that... you coming here puts that at risk, right?”

“Well...”

“What if Schlatt finds out that you’ve been helping us? That you’ve been visiting Pogtopia, and giving us stuff? Information?” What if you’re forced to come back to Wilbur to endure the pain you left behind all over again? He can’t bring himself to say that last part, but it hangs in the space between them, thickening the air.

“Tommy...”

Tommy turns his head to the side to hide his hurt face expression. Tubbo deserves better than this. They deserve better than Wilbur.

“Tubbo, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to betray Schlatt for us.” He sounds far more confident than he sounds, trying to convince himself along the way.

He looks back at Tubbo, face softer. “We pulled you into this, but you... you deserve to be happy, okay?“ Tommy’s voice cracks at the last word, and Tubbo can feel the vulnerability of their friend almost like his own.

“Well what about you guys? I can’t just leave you!”

“Tubbo, listen to me. You should get to be happy, and we’ll figure this out somehow. You’re young, and-”

“You’re young too! You’re like, half a year older than me!”

Tommy’s face hardens. “I need to stay with Wilbur. He needs the stability. He needs somebody to stop him from doing something very, very stupid. Tubbo, Wilbur’s going crackers! If I don’t hold him back, he could ruin everything!”

Tubbo raises their voice in protest. “But- what about you?! Tommy, I’m not leaving you alone with this. Do you hear me! I’m not leaving you with... with Wilbur like that!”

Even when they get louder, Tubbo’s protests have something caring, something insistant. Tommy stares back at his friend, and Tubbo’s chest hurts at the water they can see in Tommy’s eyes.

Tubbo steps closer and takes Tommy’s hands, still suspended in the air, holding them tightly. “Tommy, I’m not leaving you alone on this.”

Tommy stares back at them, hurt and vulnerable.

Tubbo sighs, and lets go of his hands to hug their friend.

Tommy returns the hug, squeezing them tightly, face pressed into the warmer jacket. It’s so warm. The wind is so cold.

They stand like that for a while, standing out of earshot of Manburg and out of earshot of Pogtopia, somewhere in the forest, somewhere in the middle between both sides, suspended in their moment of comfort.

They part, and Tommy sees something unsure in Tubbo’s eyes. He stops, looking at his best friend.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo clasps their hands together nervously. They take a deep breath before letting it out again. Now or never.

“Tommy, what if... you came to Manburg with me?“

Tommy blinks, unsure where this is going. “Wha- What do you mean?”

“Schlatt... okay, listen to me for a minute.”

Tubbo can see Tommy focus, eternally grateful for Tommy’s full attention. “Okay.”

“Schlatt... I don’t know if he’s better than Wilbur. I just know living in Manburg right now is better than living in that ravine. Schlatt doesn’t like Niki, and he exiled you, and he... he already knows, Tommy.” There’s some fear, some desperacy in Tubbo’s voice.

Tommy’s brain goes blank. “What do you mean?”

“He knows about my visits to Pogtopia. He knows. The festival is a test, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes grow wide, his voice quiet with disbelief. “What?”

“He wants to test my loyalty. He doesn’t know what, but he knows Wilbur has something planned for the festival, and he wants to see what I’ll do when that happens, and if I’ll try to stop it. If not, then...”

Tommy’s voice shakes ever so lightly. “Then what?”

“...I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be exiled too.”

Tommy’s hands clench into fists on instinct, anger and energy bubbeling up to the surface at the thought of somebody hurting Tubbo.

Tubbo sees their friend’s face expression, hurriedly cutting in, knowing it’s now or never. “But I have an idea. If we both just... go to Schlatt, and tell him we’re on his side, and save the festival, maybe he’ll trust us?“

Tubbo looks at their friend carefully, knowing the chances of that proposal sitting right with Tommy are not high.

“What?! But he’s- He’s no better than Wilbur!”

“I know, but even if we take him down... maybe we can do that from the inside. With Niki. And Fundy. And maybe Eret?”

Even through his anger-tinted glasses, it’s hard to miss the hope in Tubbo’s voice. They just want them all to work together again. To be together again. As a family.

Tommy freezes. He seems to think for a long moment. His voice is quiet, more mumbled to himself than anything. “We would save L’Manburg.”

“What?”

Tommy just shakes his head. L’Manburg wouldn’t be blown up. They’d have Niki again. Fundy is sure to still be on their side once they’re no longer with Wilbur, right? And Eret... anger still coils in his stomach at the thought. Maybe without Eret. Or they’d have to do something damned good to prove themself to them...

“...Tommy?”

Tommy zones back in, knowing deep down there aren’t many other options they could take. What if he can’t stop Wilbur from blowing everything up on his own?

“What about Wilbur?”

Tubbo talks quietly, choosing his words wisely. “I talked to Niki about that, and she told me... Wilbur is an adult. He... he lead the revolution, right? And we... have to take care of ourselves too.” Tubbo looks up at his friend, pleading him with their eyes. “This isn’t just about Wilbur, Tommy. A-and we’re,” Tubbo gulps, “we’re kids. Niki told me that... she doesn’t think we should be responsible for all this. We grew up in a war, and maybe... we need to catch up on some stuff before we’re all grown, and it’s too late, you know?”

Tommy’s shoulders sink, eyes wide and another wave of exhaustion washing over him. He rubs his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to go back to Wilbur. He doesn’t want to have to convince him to stay sane. He doesn’t want to have to listen to Wilbur tell him he’s never going to be in charge of anything.

He feels guilt, immesurable guilt even at just considering this. But if he doesn’t, and he fails, Tubbo will be with them in that ravine, stuck hiding along cold stone walls. Manburg, or what’s left of L’Manburg, will be no more. There will be nothing to fight for.

And he knows, as the only one who knows of Wilbur’s plan, that he’s the only one that can stop this from happening.

He takes his hands down, watching Tubbo patiently awaiting his answer.

His vision blurrs again as a cold wind grasps into his skin, making him shiver. He wants to eat Niki’s pastries again, and make wood swords with Tubbo to play with, and weave flower crowns and get to have his turn at discussions.

He’s tired of hiding. He’s tired of freezing. He’s tired of having to shed blood to get his point across.

He takes a half step towards Tubbo, and Tubbo wordlessly hugs him again.

Tommy blinks his vision back to being clear. He has to stop Wilbur, and he can’t do that on his own.

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah?”

“What if... he says no? A-and I’m still exiled?”

Tubbo pauses for a moment before answering confidently. “Then I’ll come with you. It’s both of us or neither.”

“You’re right.” Tommy squeezes Tubbo tighter, a fresh, new, raw resolve forming within. “It’s both of us or neither.“

---

[obeymeaskme]

Obey Me!: Human and Demon hearts!

A/N: I've been working on a Fanfic for Obey me with a close friend of mine. It takes place after the game, and possibly in a AU. Each of my chapters are about 10 pages long, so I have split them up into sections for everyone! Please enjoy!

Chapter one: The Arrivals (1/2)

Word Count: 1,530

Rating: 18+

The world is an ever changing place. Some make a fair living, and others struggle with the flex and flow of life. Yet there were still opportunities left for two young girls looking for respite from their previous lives. Noelle, a short pudgy, artistic type who was the one to suggest moving to the countryside. Bella, Noelle’s long term friend who was searching for work, had agreed due to the open jobs in the town they had settled into. Even with their seemingly bright future, the skies above their trailer grew darker by the minute. It seemed almost unnatural to them. Noelle had paused outside while helping unpack boxes into the house. She looked up at the sky to stare at the shifting clouds, and shuddered when she caught a glimpse of lightning whip through the clouds.

“I know we're nowhere close to tornado alley out here, but I swear if these creepy clouds mean there's a storm coming, I'm not going to be happy...”

Bella laughed and stole the boxes from her hands, taking what was left of the packages.

“If you're that scared don't stand outside, silly!”

Soon enough the air was thick with humidity, and the girls made their way inside. Noelle began stretching as Bella took a seat on a stray bean bag chair and began to complain.

“I don't know what's gonna suck more. Unpacking, or trying to find our beds. I'm so tired...”

“I'm tired too. We did bring a blow up mattress. I can get that going, and one of us can hoard the bean bags...” Noelle responded with a flat tone.

“You want to sleep on the bean bags don't you?” Bella playfully accused.

Noelle gave no verbal response, and opted for just nodding as she rummaged through the boxes for the air pump and mattress.

Later on in the evening they unpacked most of the Tupperware, ate their dinner, and unfolded their bedding; Creating a small space for temporary living. In the corner of boxes they had placed a kindle that was playing a news station. Noelle had given a second shudder as the Anchor explained that the dark purple clouds was just a rare occurrence, only lasting a few days. Even when pronounced that the possible storm wasn't deadly, the atmosphere felt like it was about to crack. Furthering the girl's concerns.

Bella had crawled out of her makeshift bed, and found a box labeled “Bella's Stuffed Animalz”. The 'Z' was scrawled over the 'S' in an attempt of a joke done by her current roommate. Dumping out the contents, an armful of cow plushies, and a realistic seal squishy covered her bed. Tossing the seal towards Noelle's way she stroke up conversation about their new life. The longer they chatted, the more they yawned until finally both girls had fallen asleep. Unaware of what the next few days will bring.

Morning came, and so did the sun, but instead of golden rays, the previous forecast had turned the world around then into a filter of purples and blues. The same news station played in the background as the girls continued their adventure in unpacking boxes. After the morning had dragged on, a break was in order. It was a new day, and most of the boxes had dispersed. A sign of their hard work. Hard work that Noelle decided was to be rewarded with a trip to the nearby town. Begrudgingly Bella had agreed, and the two made their way down the road. The Town itself was nothing special. A straight way of small stores, and a handful of side roads that probably lead to other houses. Two Stomachs growled at the sight of a Pizza shop where they chose to spend lunch before they had gone window shopping.

Both the girls were fairly happy with the lack of social introductions, and the short walks to the stores were even better. It was a slow pace that they both ached for after years of past hardships and day to day life. A final destination came about, but only by the sheer magnetic allure the oddity shop had given them. The Purple banner had matched the sky above them, though the clouds seemed as if they were soon about to part. A bell jingled against the door as they walked in. Both in awe that such a store would exist in this kind of town.

The shop was a mix of herbs, Wicca and witch tools, and various other hand crafted items that seemed to sparkle on their own. The further the girls went in, the more drawn to the corner of the store they became. Very quickly they had walked up to a bland bulletin board that was littered in 'Help Wanted' and theater ads. Yet among all the paper clutter, they had both reached out to a paper advertising for a transfer program. The touching of their hands had broken them out of their trace, and they looked at each other, then back to the paper to examine it more.

The ad seemed like it was hung up a millennium ago. Stains and aged finger oils had caused the paper to look ill compared to the others. Yet the black ink border and description seemed fresh, and also most modern.

“Where does one's soul inlay in the human body? The Heart? The Mind? Or the Nature of a human's will and desire for knowledge. Come forth to the Royal Academy of Diavolo! Help Create A Peaceful Change with the Human Soul!

No School-Age-Or Degree Necessary”

Noelle chuckled as she shook her head.

“This sounds more like a cult than an Academy. ‘Cause Diavolo sounds like a cult god...”

As if on cue a creaky old voice spoke from behind them.

“So close, but no dice!”

Chills ran down the girls spine as a hunched over, yet tall elderly woman had seemingly mocked them. A blush ran across Noelle's face, and Bella had shifted from discomfort.

“Oh please, don't get so nervous. I'm only playing around. That ad you read is for a very well and respected school, that not many people get in. Well... half because not many people are interested.”

Noelle had shaken off her nerves and read the ad again, taking an application form from the packet. She considered it, and then took a second one.

“there's no number to call...”

“The RAD is a bit old fashioned, but that's precisely why they're good at what they do. Yet they somehow manage to barely hit the mark for modern day technology. I know the headmaster personally, and I tell you, if you want the experience of a lifetime, I'd risk filling one of those out.”

The Woman didn't leave. She seemed to be waiting for an answer. Only when the girls told her they'd think about it, did they get to exit the shop, and walk away from the old ladies tracking eyes. To say they got back to their small home as quickly as possible was an understatement.

After they made a beeline to the door, Bella had turned around and locked it. Giving the girls a feeling of satisfactory safety. The house was calm for once, and though the sky above had finally started clearing up Noelle's hand seemed to twitch and itch towards the papers in her bag.

“I... I kind of want to fill one out... Do you?”

“No, not really. You said it yourself, it sounds like a cult...”

“I just looked it up, and the only thing I'm finding out is that Diavolo means Devil...”

It was a false, calm, silence and both of their tangled up nerves returned as they laughed. Only to try and relieve stress. Bella shook her head and took one of the applications, and scoffed.

“I'll fill it out, but it's not like we're going to actually send them. There's not even a return address on these.”

Noelle read her paper over and over again. Bella was right. It was a basic form with Name, Number, past Achievements, and a whole other list of personality questions. The Academy symbol wasn't even on it. It came down as a simple prank to them. That woman might just be trying to scare them off. Maybe the town had a hallmark type of thing against newcomers? It didn't matter. No, now they had begun filling out the papers as a joke. They took the questions seriously. Noelle wanted to mock “Diavolo” since he'd never receive those papers. And he'd never get to read them. Soon after finishing the applications, they had thrown them out after tearing them up, and reminisced about the achievements written on the papers. Poking fun of their personality assessments telling them both that they were likely candidates.

Dusk had taken over the day, and the clouds had finally cleared. Signaling another day has gone by, and sleep once again took over the household. Leaving behind a finished home, and two cautious sleepers.

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

You’re the only one I want to charm

Pairing: Sirius x reader

 Summary: You and Sirius are both head over heels for each other, but both refusing to admit because you’re adamant the other doesn’t feel the same way, so James and Lily take it upon themselves to meddle and prove you both wrong.

 Word Count: 1.8k

 A/N: I would love it if someone shipped me my own personal Sirius Black please. This is just some lovely fluff to sustain you throughout the day.

 Requests are still open!

 Warnings: there’s one singular curse, and other than that just my poor writing of quidditch, sorry about that.

  “No Sirius you’re wrong, that’s not the right wand movement at all.” You chastised him as you both sat in the common room, hunched over sheets of parchment as you went over your charms notes.

 “I’m completely right here! You’re thinking of the wrong charm!” Sirius fought back, although neither of you were taking your debate too seriously, and your laughs could be heard in all corners of the common room. In fact, they could be heard by the group of four students who were sitting watching you with disbelief painted on their faces.

 “Seriously, how do they not realise that they are sickeningly in love with each other?” Lily asked, rolling her eyes as yet another one of your laughs echoed throughout the room – it seemed that Sirius had been right about the wand movement for the charm as he was teasing you light-heartedly and overdramatically, clearly arguing that he was the superior wizard.

 “Aw, come on Lily-Flower.” Her boyfriend nudged her lightly in the ribs, a smirk playing on his lips. “You took long enough to realise you love me.” She rolled her eyes at him, shoving his shoulder away from her gently, although in a similar fashion to Sirius took the overdramatic route and let himself fall backwards onto the sofa, hand over his heart in mock dismay.

 “The difference, James, is that we were never that.” She pointed to them, not laughing so much anymore as the concentrated on the parchment before them, sitting impossibly close together and you offering Sirius squares of your chocolate every so often, which he insisted you feed to him. “Sirius hasn’t even had a girl hit on him in months, because everyone already thinks they’re a couple. I overheard some of the Ravenclaws talking about it weeks ago.”

 “He likes her, he told me.” Peter piped up, a hopeful expression lighting up his face.

 “Yes Peter, we all know. The only one that doesn’t is (y/n).” Remus replied, rolling his eyes at the boy next to him. “That settles it, we’ll just have to prove to them that they have it bad for each other, and then we don’t have to keep watching whatever this is.”

 …

 “So, you and Sirius?” Lily asked you as you sat together in the Quidditch stands, watching the aforementioned boy help James to practise before an upcoming game. Distracted, watching the way his muscles flexed underneath the shirt he was wearing, and the way his hair flew behind him with the wind, it took you a couple beats longer than it should have to turn to Lily with a reply.

 “What do you mean, me and Sirius?” You asked, trying to look confused, but unable to stop the rush of blood to your cheeks. Hoping Lily would assume it was just the cold wind whipping around you, you still turned your face back to the boys, hearing James’ successful whooping echo around you. “Me and Sirius, are two of the most fun people you’ve ever met? Me and Sirius are also the smartest two people you know? Me and Sirius-“

 “Are totally in love with one another?” You choked on the drink you had brought out with you at her words, leaving Lily to gently pound on your back whilst you cleared your throat. “Come on (y/n/n), you’re smitten and I know it. You can’t deny it.” Sighing, you gave in, knowing that Lily was much to observant to let you get away with lying to her this time.

 “Okay yes, I really enjoy spending time with him. He makes me laugh harder than anyone else can, and it seems like he just knows how I’m feeling all the time, and knows exactly what to do with those emotions? I don’t know, he understands me, but he also respects me more than any guy I’ve ever been interested in before.” You rambled, finally having someone to listen to your outpouring of emotions. You shook your head, however, getting lost for a second in your mind. “It doesn’t matter Lily, he doesn’t feel the same. There’s no point getting so wrapped up in this, I’m sure if I just leave the feelings alone they’ll go away.” You sighed, pulling your jumper tighter around you.

 “Are you kidding?” Lily exclaimed, her voice loud but thanks to the wind not loud enough to carry to the boys. “Considering you just claimed to be two very smart people, it’s incredibly thick of you not to be able to see that he feels the same.” But you just shook your head, and knowing that she wouldn’t be able to press you any harder on this, you both turned to watch the boys carry on their practise.

 …

 “So,” James shouted, having to raise his voice loud enough for Sirius to hear it both over the wind and over the distance between their brooms. “You gonna ask (y/n) out any time soon?” He asked, throwing the Quaffle towards the hoops, and having shocked Sirius into a frozen state, managing to score. Recovering quickly, Sirius flew down and caught the Quaffle before it hit the ground, flying back up to James’ height and throwing it back to him.

 “I don’t think so, Prongs.” He shook his head slightly, diving to the left and catching the ball when James threw it again. “I really like her, but I don’t know if she feels the same, and I really don’t want her to not be a part of my life. I would rather just let the feelings go away and keep her as a friend than fuck this all up, you know?” He asked as they both flew around a little, distracted from their practise as they looked over to the two girls watching them, who both waved excitedly as they realised they were looking.

 “Mate, you can’t be serious.” James shook his head.

 “But I am.” Laughing at his joke, James turned back to look at him, his incredulity rising slightly.

 “She’s literally wearing your jumper! And she’s come to watch you help me practise Quidditch. Ask her. If she doesn’t feel the same, I’m resigning as captain.” James encouraged, confidence now radiating from him as he assured his friend. Sirius just shook his head with a slight chuckle, throwing the Quaffle back to his best friend, but with a new thought, a new hope, now tugging at the back of his mind.

 …

 The tense excitement of the atmosphere was stifling as the Quidditch game played out in front of you, Gryffindor vs Slytherin, always a highly anticipated game and this year one of the first in the season, a game which would set a precedent for how the teams would play for the rest of the year. Lily cheered loudly on your left, as Sirius, Remus and Peter were to your right, all of you enthusiastically giving your support, dressed in your supporting colours of red and gold.

 The score was currently 110-100 Gryffindor, and the pace was picking up, passes being made and teams intercepting almost too quickly for the commentator to keep up. “And Potter’s got the Quaffle, and he shoots – and he scores! That’s another ten points to Gryffindor!” You all screamed loudly, congratulating James as if he could hear you. You all quietened down again quickly though, as the game continued and you watched with eager eyes.

 The seekers had been circling above for the duration of the game, keeping their eyes peeled for the snitch, and you suddenly smacked Sirius arm, gaining his attention as you pointed up to show him the Gryffindor seeker suddenly diving and weaving her way through the players, reaching out in front of her and closing her fist around the snitch, winning the game for Gryffindor.

 Roars erupted all around you, pure delight from all members of your house, as well as a considerable number of people from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses. You turned to Lily and tightly squeezed each other, as the boys all huddled together in celebration, before Lily quickly fled to the pitch to congratulate her boyfriend, Remus and Peter following her, although not in as much of a rush. You turned to Sirius, bright smiles on both of your faces at the success of your friend, and at the prospect of the huge celebration there would be that night.

 You jumped into his arms, your own snaking around his waist as you held each other tightly, pure adrenaline pumping through your veins, although you weren’t too sure if that was from the game or from the scent of leather which surrounded you. The both of you pulled away slightly and you looked into Sirius’s grey eyes, which were crinkled slightly from all the grinning.

 Without really knowing what was happening, your eyes were closed and you were leaning in, Sirius’ lips were against yours and you were kissing him back, pure joy exploding through your chest as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that this was actually happening, he was actually kissing you. And boy, was he good at kissing. Eventually, your happiness won over your desire and you were smiling too wide, causing Sirius to break away, his expression matching your own.

 “I like you,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself from telling him. “And I don’t want that kiss to be a one time thing.”

 “I would hope you do.” He laughed, tightening his grip on you as he threw his head back. “I haven’t lost my reputation as a lady killer for no reason, you know.” He continued, leaning in closer to you with a wink. “There’s just one witch I wish to charm now.” You closed the gap between the two of you, reconnecting your lips, and not noticing how you were the only two people left in the stands.

 James’ smile at all the congratulations dropped slightly, as he looked at the circle around him and noticed what was missing. “Where’s Padfoot?” he asked, making a show of counting his friends to show someone was missing. “Why is my best friend not here to congratulate me on my team’s win?” Remus smiled, pointing up to the stands where two distinct figures could be seen in each other’s embrace.

 “He’s slightly preoccupied. I’m sure he’ll congratulate you later”. Remus smirked as James and Lily high fived and cheered for their success.

 “Ah, I understand.” He commented, a mock seriousness playing in the tone of his voice. “At least I can keep my position of captain now.” He smiled up at the two of you one last time before he and the rest of the group made their way up to the castle, knowing that you had both found the person who would make you the happiest.

[tngrace]

Confessions

TK gets hurt during a training exercise at the academy which leads to a confession to Carlos about his past.

The background for their freshman year & how they met is in part one. But I don't think you have to read it for this to make sense.

Thanks to @moviegeek03 for helping this along and encouraging me to make this into a series. Your support means the world girl!

Read on A03; Tarlos/911 LS Masterlist

Sophomore year was going smoother than Carlos expected. TK had enrolled in the fire academy, and Carlos was still taking courses at ACC. He still wasn't sure what path he wanted to take, but he knew one thing for certain. He wouldn't be where he was without TK and his unwavering support.

Their friendship had steadily built all throughout freshman year. When TK made the decision to stay, Carlos decided to move into TK’s apartment wanting to get away from the family ranch and have a little freedom. Their closeness only grew once becoming roommates, and their friendship solidified into one of the best things in either of their lives. Right before school started back, he made the leap and kissed TK one night during Netflix and chill. They were both surprised, happily surprised, but surprised Carlos was the one to make the move. They’d both been thinking it, but Carlos was always so patient with TK, TK wasn’t sure Carlos would take the leap. It took a couple weeks, but when they became official, there was no stopping them. Carlos was well on his way to falling in love. He knew TK still had things he wouldn't talk about, and Carlos respected that because he knew he had his own share of things he wasn't necessarily hiding but just didn't talk about. They were building a strong foundation though, and he truly believed in them.

His class schedule varied each day. Mondays and Wednesdays were his longest days. Tuesdays he didn't have any classes, so he worked at a community center that offered activities for kids, teens and elderly . Thursdays and Fridays were half days and he would go to the center after that. TK's schedule was pretty straight forward being in the academy. He was in class until five each day, and he worked most weekends at a coffee shop with the occasional night shift at a restaurant for extra money.

Carlos was surprised when he pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex mid-afternoon from class on a Wednesday to see TK's jeep. He was just running home to grab a book he'd forgotten that morning, but he had a bad feeling his afternoon classes were going to be forgotten. Carlos didn't recall him mentioning being home early, so he was a little worried. TK was laser focused on finishing the academy at the top of his class so something must have happened for him to already be home. He grabs his bag and heads inside. "TK," he calls out, closing the apartment door behind him.

There's no response so Carlos's concern mounts as he heads back towards the bedrooms. TK is curled up in his own bed, which is odd considering they've slept together every night in Carlos’s room since becoming official. "TK?" Carlos raps his knuckles on the door frame.

He gets a groan in response, so he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He gently pulls the covers back. He manages to hold in his soft sigh at TK's tear stained cheeks. "What happened?" He murmurs softly as his fingers graze TK's cheek.

"Got hurt."

Carlos manages to hold in a sigh once more. He's learning TK can be a danger magnet without meaning to be. "How bad?"

TK shrugs and winces. "Definite bruising. Possibly cracked a rib."

"TK! Did you go to the hospital?!" Carlos is too exasperated with his boyfriend to watch his tone, his fear that TK is hurt in any form of way sneaking into his voice without him meaning too. He hates when it makes TK shrink in on himself some, but cracked ribs are no joke.

"No. Will be fine," he huffs.

"Come on let's at least go get you checked out." When TK doesn't move, Carlos does let his sigh escape. "Please? It'd make me feel better to know you're gonna be ok." He breaks out the pouty face he knows TK can't resist.

"Fine. But they're not gonna tell me anything I don't already know; EMT remember? And you have class."

"Just humor me. Class will be fine without me for one day." Carlos helps him up and gets TK's shoes back on from where he'd kicked them by the door. He decides to take TK's jeep knowing it'd be easier for him than trying to sink into Carlos's car. Once TK is buckled, with a lot of wincing on his part, Carlos heads for the hospital.

TK is quiet, and Carlos can tell his anxiety is spiking by the way TK's leg bounces and his thumb gets bitten. He gently reaches for TK's hand pulling it from his mouth and lacing their fingers together. "Wanna tell me what happened?" Carlos asks quietly to try and help alleviate TK's anxiety.

TK sighs but nods as he stares out the window. "Was a training exercise. What would happen if we were in the middle of the rescue and was ordered out because of the fire and structural concerns. Someone was still trapped and I thought I could get them. But the floor gave way and I fell. It's all simulated so it wasn't like I fell far. But with all the gear…."

Carlos squeezes his hand softly in support. "I landed on something down below. Don't think my ribs are actually broken. Just maybe cracked. The instructor told me to go get checked out, but I just came home."

"Can I ask why?"

TK is quiet for so long Carlos isn't sure he's going to answer him, and his leg has started bouncing again. "Don't like hospitals," is the only answer he gets before they arrive so he decides not to push it. He finds a parking spot, and then runs around the jeep to help TK out. "Come on. If you're as fine as you say you are we won't be here long. And if you're not, it's better to know," Carlos says quietly as he wraps his arm around TK as they head in.

TK stays quiet and he sneaks out from under Carlos's arm when they get inside the ER. He knows Austin is more progressive than Texas, but it's still Texas and he doesn't want Carlos to feel any kind of judgment for being with him. He signs in and the receptionist at the desk gives him paperwork to fill out. He tells Carlos he's got it and he can go sit, but Carlos tells him to bring it with him. TK shakes his head and tells him he's fine as he moves to the side and hunches over the desk to fill it out. Carlos knows TK has a stubborn streak so he tries not to argue with him even though he’s not sure why TK won’t come sit down.

Once the paperwork is done, TK passes it back to the lady behind the desk and they go to take a seat. Carlos can tell TK is in pain and he wishes more than anything he could take it away. They wait about forty minutes before they're called back. TK tells him he doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to, but Carlos just squeezes his hand in reassurance and goes back with him.

Carlos helps TK get changed, barely suppressing his gasp of surprise at the bruising across TK's chest. He's as careful as he can be getting TK's shirt off, but he can still see the pain in his eyes. They're not back in the exam room long before a nurse comes and wheels TK away for X-rays after taking his vitals. Carlos can feel her judging stare when she enters the room and sees their laced hands. He wants to snap at her when it makes TK shrink in on himself even more, but he doesn't say anything in fear she'd take it out on TK when Carlos wasn't with him.

Carlos texts a classmate to take notes for him for his afternoon classes, and then plays a game on his phone while he waits. The nurse brings TK back, and he can feel the anxiety radiating off his boyfriend in waves. The nurse doesn't say anything when she leaves, and Carlos scowls at her as he moves back by TK's side. TK won't hold his hand making Carlos curse the nurse even more. He rubs his hand up and down TK's thigh trying to reassure and calm him. " 'm sorry you're having to deal with this," TK eventually says.

Carlos reaches up and gently pulls TK's bitten lip from his teeth.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He runs a hand through TK's hair. "A team remember?" He leans up and pecks TK's lips, holding his head steady when TK tries to pull away.

"Carlos."

"I don't care what she said. It's me and you," he murmurs, but he does pull back not wanting to add to TK's anxiety.

TK goes for his hand finally, but the curtain moves and a different nurse enters, making TK jerk his hand back causing him to wince.

"Want me to get you some pain meds sweetie?" This one asks as she takes TK's vitals again.

"No. No thank you. I'm fine."

"You sure? You look like you're in a lot of pain."

"No pain meds. Please," TK says, not looking at Carlos in any way. He can only think that the nurse hasn’t read his file.

"Ok maybe some advil then? Something to take the edge off?"

TK tenses at her words, his face draining of color. Carlos is looking at him curiously wondering what is going on, but TK has recoiled even further into himself.

"Maybe in a bit," Carlos finally answers so the nurse will leave and his boyfriend will hopefully relax again.

"No problem. Just push the button when you're ready for it. The doctor should be around with the x-ray results soon." She pulls the curtain as she leaves.

Carlos doesn't push. If there's one thing he's learned about TK in the year he's known him it's that TK will shut down even further when pushed. He runs a hand through TK's hair hoping to provide some comfort. TK's poor lip is bitten raw, but Carlos doesn't try to stop him.

The doctor enters about half an hour later and confirms TK's self diagnosis of a few cracked ribs. He suggests some breathing techniques to help with deep breathing to prevent from getting pneumonia. He also suggests TK take a week or two off from the academy to heal, but TK wouldn't hear of it.

"Well Mr. Strand since we can't prescribe you any pain medication, I would recommend you at least take it easy. I can write something up to give to your instructors, but I wouldn't recommend you complete any training exercises for a little bit. If the pain becomes too much, come back and we'll see how we can help." Carlos watched TK get paler as the doctor talked. He wasn't sure why the doctor wouldn't prescribe TK any pain meds knowing he had to be in severe pain, but it didn't seem to surprise TK so there was something Carlos was missing. He was debating how to bring it up when the doctor announced the nurse would be by with his discharge papers in just a minute. TK became more anxious after the doctor left and they were left in silence.

Carlos did his best to distract him, deciding now wasn't the time to ask what was going on. "Once we get you home, we'll put some ice on your ribs and get you settled on the couch with Netflix,” Carlos attempts a grin. TK nods but doesn't say anything biting his poor thumb nail to the quick.

The same nurse that offered TK advil earlier returns with discharge papers and a paper to give to his instructors. Carlos thanks her, and then helps TK back into his clothes. It's hard doing it without hurting TK but they finally get him dressed in his sweats. "Alright cariño, let's get you home." Carlos wraps his arm across TK's shoulder, and TK is too tired to shy away from him this time. He sees the same judging nurse from earlier, but Carlos just tightens his hold on TK and gives her a smile. She can take her judging and shove it as far as Carlos is concerned. If he wasn’t focused on getting TK home, he would find her supervisor and report her. His priority though will always be TK.

TK is quiet the whole way home, staring out the window, leg bouncing, and biting his lip. Occasionally his hand will run through his hair, and Carlos wishes more than anything he could take this anxiety and pain away from him. He periodically squeezes TK's knee in reassurance, but he's not sure it's helping much. Once back at the apartment, he hurries around to help TK out. Luckily they have a ground floor apartment, so he doesn't have to worry about getting TK up any stairs. Once through the door, Carlos tries to steer TK towards the couch, but TK stops. "What's wrong?"

TK won't meet his eyes, and Carlos can feel how he's vibrating with anxious energy. "I can't have pain meds because I'm an addict. I got… I got addicted in high school." He starts pacing and Carlos lets him even though he really just wants to pull him close and comfort him. "I went to a party with a boyfriend. He… I was young and stupid but that's not an excuse. I just wanted to feel something, something other than ignored. The pills helped, but I had to keep taking more. Dad…."

TK lets out a shuddering breath as he tugs at his hair. Carlos can't stand it, can't stand to see TK so upset. He walks over to TK and pulls his hands down as gently as he can. TK is tense, his breath coming too quickly for Carlos's liking. He gently wraps his arm around TK and pulls him against his chest. TK stays stiff in his arms, but he doesn't pull away.

"Slow deep breaths please," he whispers. He keeps his own breaths measured, slow, and deep as he lets a hand gently rub TK's back. He can hear TK almost wheezing, and he knows that has to be increasing the pain. "You're ok, TK. Everything is ok. Just match my breathing," he murmurs softly, guiding TK's hand to his chest to try and help. It takes a few minutes, but TK starts to slow his breathing matching it to Carlos's. "That's it. You're doing good. Everything is ok." Carlos just keeps up the slow breathing and rubbing TK's back until he feels TK sag in his arms.

He half carries half guides TK to the couch. He does his best to get him comfortable before kneeling in front of him. He carefully wipes the tears from TK’s face. “You’re ok. You’re going to be ok. You don’t owe me any explanations you don’t want to give ok?”

TK takes some shuddering breaths as he nods.

“Easy cariño. Slow breaths. I’m gonna get some ice to put on your ribs. Just want you to relax, ok?”

TK gives him a shaky nod; Carlos kisses his forehead and goes to the kitchen. He has some homemade ice packs from soccer strains that mold more easily around body parts, so he grabs those, an ace bandage and a towel. He gets TK a bottle of water before returning to the couch. TK has scrubbed his eyes free of tears, and is holding his ribs carefully. “Shirt on or off?”

“Off,” TK whispers, his voice scratchy.

“I’ll be as careful as I can,” Carlos promises as he sets everything in his hands down. He eases TK’s shirt over his head, sharing a wince when TK winces. He gets TK to hold the towel over the worst of the bruising, before he lays the ice pack down. TK winces again because it’s so cold, but he knows it’ll help. Carlos loosely wraps the ace bandage around him to hold the ice pack in place. “Can I hold you?” Carlos asks tentatively once the bandage is wrapped. “No pressure. No need to talk. Just want to hold you.”

TK nods, so Carlos crawls behind him on the couch. He eases TK back against his chest getting him as comfortable as possible with cracked ribs. Once TK is situated, Carlos runs a hand through his hair to help relax him. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough afternoon. But there’s one thing I want you to never forget,” Carlos murmurs quietly. “I’m always going to be here for you no matter what.”

He can feel TK’s body relaxing the more Carlos rubs his head. “You’re the only other person who’s been to the hospital with me. Dad was the other,” TK whispers so quietly.

Carlos kisses the top of his head. “I’ll always be there babe.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”

“Don’t. It’s been a stressful afternoon. It’s ok I promise.”

TK relaxes more into Carlos’s chest and just starts talking. “I got addicted to opioids sophomore year of high school. I was dating a guy named Alex. He turned out to be a real ass. He was all into partying, and I went along with it just wanting to feel something. Mom and dad were always so busy after the divorce; I think I was just looking for attention from anywhere I could get it. Dad found out when I OD’d senior year and he found me in the bathroom passed out. He decided to be more present; he helped me get clean. He was the one who thought it best to get out of the city. Mom just wanted to micromanage me, but dad seemed to get it to a degree. I’ve always looked up to him, wanted to be just like him, and mom hated it. When dad suggested an escape, I randomly picked a place on the map, and here I am. I’ve been clean for two years. I went to meetings all the time freshman year, I just didn’t tell you. You were, are, the best thing in my life and I didn’t want to lose that. I found a good therapist here too. She’s been really helping me.”

“I’m glad TK. I’m so glad you chose here. I’m so glad you found someone to connect with that you are comfortable with. I’m so glad you shared this part of you with me. I feel honored.”

TK glances up at him, and offers the first smile Carlos has seen from him all afternoon.

“You were the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I’m the lucky one.” Carlos gives him a soft smile, but he can see the afternoon was worn TK down and he doesn’t want the exhaustion to stress him out. “Why don’t you try to rest. I can help you to bed or we can stay right here. I’m going to do some reading for class before cooking.”

“I’ll just stay right here with you.” Carlos kisses his head again as TK drifts off finally looking peaceful. He grabs his book to read making sure not to jostle TK. He knows the coming days are going to be painful for TK, but he feels he has a better understanding of his boyfriend now. He ends up skipping a couple of classes to help TK; TK goes to meetings wanting to keep himself accountable. He even invites Carlos to one of his therapy appointments as his therapist’s suggestion. It takes almost two weeks for the bruises to fade and TK to get back to one hundred percent. While Carlos hates that TK got hurt, he also has learned to appreciate every little thing with TK because he always feels more in love with him after.