#open starter: all bottled up

[dropsnectar]

Witches Brew 

Slime monster x afab!witch

Happy October! Here's some spooky smut for the spooky season!

It was October and Halloween was just around the corner! So! Of course you were bubbling up some witches brew for one of your most busy seasons of the year. 

You stood in your studio apartment, walls covered in wooden shelves. Atop of those shelves were bottles full of your favorite things: dry herbs, powder mixes, and other potion and spellcasting tools you would need for your work. In the middle of the room stood a big cast iron cauldron. You had arranged some cement blocks to hold an electric fire starter underneath it, as you didn't have a fireplace. It was hard being a witch in the city, but you made do. This was where all the clientele was, after all.

You were standing over the boiling cauldron, an old grimiore in one hand, and mixing the golden liquid with another. The grimoire was your great grandmother something you had recently inherited. You were practically shaking with excitement! Your great grandmother had been an excellent witch, known far and wide for her potions. You had flipped through her book and found it, a recipe for her “Extremely Special Witches Brew”, the first two words being underlined. Witches brew was the basis of so much potion work. If it was extremely special then that must mean it was incredibly potent!

You had been brewing for about six hours now. The recipe started out incredibly normal, but had specified that you stare it down for the next hour, adding a lock of your own hair and some mermaid scales. This had been the most difficult bit, as mermaid scales had a habit of boiling over the pot unless babied with compliments and sweet words. Unusual for witches brew, but you trusted your grandmother. 

You had finally finished your hour of staring, marveling and cooing, turning off the fire starter. The next step was to let it cool. When it was finished, the grimoire specified, the mixture would condense and turn a lovely green color. 

You waited another hour and checked on the brew. Strange. There had been no change in consistency, and the color remained as gold as the sun on a winter's day. You waited another hour. Nothing.

You cursed. Were had you gone wrong? This recipe had been incredibly expensive, and you'd made ALOT of it, expecting to use it for the rest of the year. Upset, you went to bed early, muttering yourself to sleep.

It was around midnight when something started to stir in the cauldron. Any waking ear would have heard the sputtering and gurgling as the magic started to awaken.  Slowly, a small green tendril dripped its way onto the floor, continuously flowing until the full glob, the size of a small person made its way to the floor. Slowly, it rolled across the carpet and stopped at the bed. It watched you sleep for a moment before pulling itself up into the foot of the bed, under your covers.

You woke up feeling something crawl up your thighs. When you opened your eyes you glanced up, not seeing anything. But their was a pressure on you, something cool and wet, like a weighted blanket was curling itself up towards your core.

You tore your blanket off of you and saw it, a dark building sludge, glowing beautifully under the moonlight streaming from your window. 

You were so shocked, you didn't react. That was, until it had decided to pull itself under your panties and push itself between your lips. You gasped out as it completely covered you, gliding back and forth against your entrance and up towards your clit. It was pushing and closing all around you, the wetness feeling so good against your skin. 

Despite the fact that your stomach was in knots you tried to push the glob off of you. Your hands made contact, but pushed right through, into the creature. You tried to pull your arms out, but the thing tightened around them. You tried to leverage your weight, pulling back as hard as you could, but only managed to pull the thing with you as you rocked back.

The thing was heavy, pushing down your tummy and making its way up your chest. It did not stop sliding up and down your vulva, your breath hitching as it seemed to catch at your entrance. There was an experimental push there and you squirmed, your heart in your throat. 

Suddenly, the area felt even more slippery then it did before. The creature started to glow, a soft grass green, as all across your skin, the thing seemed to seep some sort of liquid. You could feel it drip down the crevices of your groin, down the slopes of your chest as you noticed the thing start to disintegrate your nightgown.

You wriggled as much as you could, trying to push back arousal as you shimmied to the edge of the bed. But the creature had a grip on you and the more you moved the faster it started to glide and explore the planes of your now exposed skin. It was fully enveloping you.

You gasped as it pushed into your entrance, a slippery tendril slowly making its way up and around your walls, leaving behind a sticky liquid as it moved. Your body was slowly starting to tingle. Your breathe was becoming even more ragged and the cool and slick textured of the sludge started to feel even more pleasant then it had before. 

Your mind was getting fuzzy. The feeling of the thing on your skin, paired with the weight, while previously scary, was really stoking the fire in your core. Hadn't you been so desperate lately for a feeling like this? To feel the weight of a lover as you mewled out from under them?

Your vision started to get fuzzy too. Fuzzy. You felt fuzzy all over. The need in you continued to grow as all you could concentrate on was the sudden movements on every part of your body. Hot. You felt hot..

Your waist, the curves of your breast, your inner thighs, your nipples, they were being caressed, grabbed, groped. All of this continued as a sharp sucking started to occur on your clit. You cried out, not caring if the neighbors could hear you as it sucked wave after wave of pleasure from your skin. 

More tendrils had made their way into your hot wet cunt. The girth of it made you buck your hips, straining beautifully under the the green glowing creature. You liked how it pushed you back down, experimenting with where to shift its weight as you keened out.

Green.

The witches brew. The Extremely Special witches brew.

Fuck.

You weren't able to think further as a large girthy tendril suddenly shot itself into you, thrusting into you with force. There was a needle like sucking of your nipples as the thing glided circles over every surface of your body. It was so much sensation you could barely think. The thrusting quickening its pace, pushing harder and faster into you until you broke, your orgasm rocking through you like an earthquake. 

But it didn't stop thrusting. And you didn't stop wanting it to fuck you, jerking your wobbly pelvis into the tendrils with futility. You giggled as the slime started to massage more fluid onto your vulva and cunt. Cum and aphrodisiac trickled out of you as the thing bullied that spongy spot that made you see stars. 

You had started to drool, which attracted the attention of the glob near your chest. A slimy tendril made its way to the drool streaming down your neck and chest, sucking. It seemed to be devouring the liquid as it made its way into your mouth, sucking your skin and tongue. You moaned around it, an herby taste oozing. You recognized some of the notes as ingredients in your brew.

 A silent chuckle vibrated through your chest. Mermaid scales. Worth every buck.

You came again. And again. And again. The slime fucked you over so much that you couldn't quite understand where it started and you began. You were so needy and so desperate for the next orgasm that you didn't notice the sunlight streaming down onto your conjoined bodies.

Some tendrils had made its way to your face, pushing back hair and sucking lazily on the sweat streaming down your forehead. Then, the coil within you snapped one more time, washing over you like a gentle wave on the beach. And the thrusting stopped. The sucking stopped.

The tendrils within you started to recede and form back into the main glob of the creature. It started to absorb all the slick of your body, leaving a lone bouncy weight on your skin. 

The two of you laid like that for a while as you caught your final breath, barely able to stay conscious. The thing started to prod circles into your sore aching muscles. You heard a keening sound. That surprised you a little. But that keen had been filled with so much affection, your heart couldn't help but be affected. 

As you lost consciousness, one thought stayed in your mind.

Best fucking spell ever. 

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[chukys-mouthguard]

7 minutes in heaven with matt 🙄🙄🙄 But you’re the awkward wall flower that’s minds there business and it’s definitely not your setting at a party that your friend dragged you to and you end up getting pushed into the closet with him after spin the bottle or u chicken out and just end up making out on the washroom seee yaaa.

kiss me i dare you

1.9k words

genre: fluff

request: yes

featuring: matt rempe x female reader

note: happy birthday to the angel baby that is matthew rempe, I’ll be taking a shot or two in his honor tonight 😘

How the hell did you end up here?

You knew coming to this party was not a good idea, but somehow your best friend convinced you. Wanting to have an exit strategy in case her plans of chasing her crush didn’t end well.

The plan was to try and keep to yourself, hide off in the corner if you had to, and hope the time passed quickly. But that plan flew out the window the moment your friend drunkenly pulled you into the circle for a game of 7 minutes in heaven. Rolling your eyes at the idea of such a childish game that was clearly just a way for a bunch of twenty somethings to have the excuse to make out without seeming too forward and just making a move on someone randomly.

Despite your protests, the game started and you were now a part of it. The rules were simple: spin the bottle and whomever it lands on is who you have to head off into the closet with for 7 minutes.

Watching the group, you noticed how everyone was eyeing one another. Trying to figure out who they’d most want to land on, and who they didn’t. You simply kept your eyes on the bottle, disinterested and hoping that somehow you’d make it out of the game without having to participate.

“Not a fan of party games?”

The low and husky voice of the boy sitting next to you caught you off guard, making you jump as you looked away from the bottle to catch his gaze.

“How could you tell?”

The two of you slightly laughed as he reached into a cooler that sat open next to him, cracking open a seltzer before he handed it to you.

“Well for starters, the moment you walked in you already looked ready to walk right back out the door. And, you haven’t had a sip of anything all night. Not quite sure how anyone could put up with a party like this without alcohol.”

Taking the can from his hand you took a few sips, noticing the smile on his face. Clearly proud of himself as if he’d cracked your hard exterior a bit and got you to loosen up.

“I’m Matt by the way.”

“Y/n.”

He smiled as he held out his beer can, cheersing your seltzer as you two watched the game continue. More and more pairings heading off for their 7 minutes, though you’d now come to realize that no one was keeping track and this was more of a game to find someone to hook up with for the night.

As the circle got smaller and smaller, it was now your turn to spin the bottle. Looking at your options that remained, you could only hope it would land on Matt. At least you’d gotten to know him briefly before you’d be expected to shove your tongue down his throat.

As the bottle spun in circles, your heart raced. Matt noticing how nervous you had become, he decided to try and help make the game a little easier on you.

“Oh shit are there cops here?!”

Matt pointed to the front window, causing those around to all quickly turn their heads. While the crowd was distracted he grabbed the bottle, stopping it to face himself. Shooting you a wink before everyone turned back around.

“Sorry guys, must’ve just been car lights. False alarm!”

Putting his hands up apologetically, he then looked to the bottle. “Oh shit, guess you’re stuck with me then huh?”

Rolling your eyes at the shit eating grin he had plastered on his face, you stood up and headed off down the hall. Matt stumbling behind you as he tried to catch up, bumping through the crowd.

“This fine?”

He shrugged as he walked inside, waiting for you to join him before closing the door. You sighed as you looked around, trying to distract yourself from the point of you being there in the first place.

“Look, let’s just get one thing straight, I’m not sleeping with you.”

Matt cackled as he found a box to sit on, earning a disgruntled look from you. “What?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to sleep with me. Hell, I honestly didn’t even expect you to come in here and kiss me.”

Taking offense to his reaction, you immediately wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling embarrassed for thinking that maybe he was a decent guy. That he’d actually wanted the bottle to land on him. Instead, it seemed as though he was loving the opportunity to embarrass you and laugh that you actually thought he was interested.

“If you rigged the game just to laugh at me, or make fun, I would’ve rather you let me get stuck with some other prick from that circle.”

As you tried to head for the door, ready to get the hell out of there and leave the party altogether, Matt quickly stepped in front of you.

“Okay wait…I’m not making fun or laughing at you. I said those things because, I knew you weren’t into the game. And to be honest, I just wanted a chance to get to know you. To talk to you away from the party and everything. So yeah, I rigged the game. But not to get a quick make out session, or to try and sleep with you. That was the absolute last thing on my mind.”

Taking a step back from the door, a soft smile on your lips, you found yourself a box to sit on, signaling to Matt you weren’t trying to escape anymore.

“Okay then, you’ve got me away from the party. What now?”

Matt smiled as you finally seemed to be letting your guard down a bit, feeling more comfortable away from the party being able to sit and talk. No alcohol being shoved in your face or crazy drinking games where you were being forced to participate.

“To be honest, I didn’t think this far ahead for anything to talk about.”

The two of you laughing at Matt’s buzzed brain fog, simply enjoying the time away from the party. Occasionally asking one another something random that came to mind.

“I have an idea. Since you loveeee party games so much!”

Rolling your eyes you shot him a glare, earning a chuckle from Matt as he sipped that last bit of his beer.

“Truth or dare?”

A scoff leaving your lips as you crossed your arms, soon realizing he was serious and figuring you had nothing to lose at this point. He’d already gotten you to relax and actually smile at this party. Something you had not expected upon arrival.

“Truth.”

“Why did you come tonight anyways if you’re not interested in any of this stuff? Or like trying to hook up with someone? Cause that’s usually how these parties go.”

“Oh so you come to parties like this to hook up with girls? Got it!”

Playfully winking at him, Matthew chuckled as he awaited your answer. “Well I didn’t volunteer to come. I was dragged here by my friend who is chasing some guy who she’ll probably sleep with and then end up heartbroken when she realizes he just wanted a hook up.”

Matt nodded as he could relate, “Yeah, I’m usually just here to play wingman for the guys. Not much of the hookup type. I honestly only jumped in the game to try and get a chance with you. Like, a chance to talk, not anything sexual or whatever.”

You laughed as he quickly turned red, not sure if it was embarrassment or the alcohol.

“Talk to me? Why?”

“Well, you’re beautiful for starters. You didn’t seem like every other girl walking around here hammered and looking for a guy. I don’t know, you took me by surprise and I wanted to know more. You intrigued me.”

You watched as he counted on his fingers all the compliments he was paying you, a blush coming across your lips as you surprised to hear the things he was saying. Having fully assumed he was just another asshole guy getting drunk at a party just looking for a hook up.

“Well thank you, happy to know I intrigued you. Especially in an establishment as fine as this one, it’s probably hard to pick just one person in the crowd that’s intriguing.”

Matt laughed, enjoying your sense of humor and appreciating that he was breaking down your exterior a bit more.

“Exactly! See, I knew I wanted to get a chance to know you. Cute and a sense of humor, what more could a guy want.”

The two of you sat and talked for another twenty or so minutes, fully abandoning the 7 minutes in heaven that was the original intention of going into the closet. Enjoying the time away from the party to talk and avoid the crowded rooms and loud music.

The buzzing of your phone in your pocket pulling you from the conversation, seeing a text from your friend letting you know she’d left the party with the guy she was chasing. Abandoning you with no ride, Matt sensing something was up based on your reaction.

“Everything okay?”

“My friend left with her dream man, and now I’m without a ride home.”

Sighing as you stood up, figuring you’d try your luck with an Uber, Matt figured he’d try his luck at saving the day.

“Or I could drive you?”

Shooting him a questioning look as you glanced at the empty beer can sitting next to him, you shook your head.

“No way, you’ve been drinking. I’ll just call an Uber.”

“I pinky promise, I haven’t had a sip of beer in almost an hour. I would never put you in harms way, and Ubers aren’t the safest thing in the world for young ladies all alone.”

Rolling your eyes you held out a pinky to him, “you swear Matt?”

“Pinky promise, cross my heart and hope to, well I’d say die, but let’s say get you home safe and sound instead!”

The two of you laughing as you headed out and through the house, Matt leading the way to his car that was parked down the street. Opening the door for you before he jumped in himself, popping your address into his phone.

The drive was filled with continued conversation, the two of you laughing at Matt’s bad jokes and funny party stories. And before you knew it, he was pulling up to your apartment. A bit of sadness washing over you as you didn’t want to bid him farewell.

“Truth or dare?”

Matt looked at you confused as you sat in the passenger with a smile on your face. “What?”

“I never got to ask you, so truth or dare?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he chuckled, “ummm, dare?”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

His eyes went wide as he looked at you, as if he didn’t understand the words you said.

“What?”

“Oh are you scared of a little dare? Scared of a kiss Matt?”

As you laughed and mocked him with stereotypical chicken noises, he shook his head. Soon enough he closed the distance between the two of you, his lips finding yours catching you off guard. His hand resting on your cheek as he slowly pulled away. A smile on his face as you were still a bit shocked he actually did it.

“Definitely not scared of a little dare.”

[cutielando]

period | c.l.

synopsis: in which he comforts you during your period

a/n: thank you so much @rayaharper for requesting this !!❤️

my masterlist

You hated being a woman.

Well, that wasn’t technically true.

You hated specific parts of being a woman. Like periods, for starters.

The pain that always enveloped you every month was the most barbaric thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

From headaches, backaches, all the way to your tummy cramping up and simulating what it would feel like to get stabbed in the gut hundreds of times over and over again. That’s how you would describe the cramps.

Charles, of course, tried to help as much as possible. He knew the signs that your period was approaching a week before that. 

You would be crankier and more emotional than normal, you’d complain about the fact that your breasts were sore, you’d be bloated and would raid the cupboard you had with chocolate and all kinds of junk food.

He knew you already. 

And when your period would finally come, it would be like a switch was turned on in his head.

He’d turn into the most attentive boyfriend and human being you had ever met. Asking you if you needed anything, if he could bring you anything to eat or drink, encouraging you to take some pain medication to help ease your suffering, offering to just lay with you and hope his presence brings you some comfort. 

He had even mastered the art of heating up your water bottle to perfection. 

You really couldn’t have asked for someone better to handle you when you were on your period.

And just like every month, you were now bound to your shared bed, snuggled under 3 blankets with your head buried into your soft pillow, small groans and whines coming from you every once in a while.

Your period had just started a half an hour before, but it was already swinging in with fresh forces.

Charles has been on the simulator for the past hour, so he didn’t know that you were currently dying of pain in his bed. You figured there was no reason to bother him, it happened every month and you were already used to it.

But you regretted it as soon as your body hit the bed. You wanted the warmth of your boyfriend, his arms around you in a hug that only he could give you, have his undivided attention and just lounge in bed with him.

And yet you couldn’t even find the energy to get out of bed and go to him. You couldn’t even find the energy to take your phone and maybe send him a message.

You would just have to wait for him to finish his game and come looking for you. He shouldn’t be that much longer, right?

God seemingly took pity on you, because not even 5 minutes later the bedroom door opened and Charles stuck his head in to see what you were doing.

“Amour?” his voice was soft, thinking you would be asleep and not wanting to wake you up.

You only grumbled from under the covers, which immediately alarmed your boyfriend.

“What’s wrong, mon amour?” he now fully opened the door and hurried to your side of the bed, slowly caressing your cheek and brushing your hair back from your face.

“Cramps” you mumbled out, almost sighing in relief once his hand made contact with your skin.

He immediately knew what you meant, mentally kicking himself that he had not come to check on you sooner.

“I’ll go get you some medicine and prepare your heating pad. Do you want anything else? Something to eat, maybe?” he said, smiling when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Maybe some chocolate?” you smiled cutely, making him smile and nod.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead before he hurried out of the room and towards the kitchen.

Immediately getting to work, he put some water to heat up and got your medicine, also finding the chocolate that you always craved when you were on your period.

As soon as the water was heated, he poured it into the heating pad he had got you and hurried up the stairs, not wanting you to be in any more pain.

“There we go, amour. Drink this” he said as he sat next to you and handed you the pills and a glass of water.

You slowly sat up and swallowed the pills, taking the pad out of his arms and putting it on your belly.

“Did you bring the chocolate?” you asked, searching for the sweet relief.

He nodded and handed you the bar from behind him, smiling when he saw how your eyes lit up when you saw the chocolate in your line of vision.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, caressing the side of your leg.

“Cuddles?” you asked, making grabby hands at him and patting the empty spot next to you.

He smiled and immediately got rid of his clothes until he was only in his underwear, knowing that you loved the warmth of his body when he had nothing on.

The moment he laid down next to you, you latched onto him like a koala, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in the crook of his neck to inhale his scent.

You guys stayed like this for half an hour, having turned on the tv in the meantime to pass the time quicker. 

Charles tried to be as still as possible, thinking that you had fallen asleep.

“Thank you, Charlie” you mumbled, making Charles surprised that you hadn’t already fallen asleep.

“For what?” he was confused, he hadn’t done anything that would require something like that.

You lifted your head from his chest, his eyes softening when he saw the adoration in your eyes as you looked at him.

“For taking such good care of me. I know I get cranky and irritated and all, I appreciate you being patient with me” you explained, settling your head on his chest again and starting to play with the string hanging from his hoodie.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Being on your period is normal and I know how bad your cramps can get. I just want to make you feel better in any way that I can” he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around your frame and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you” you whispered, eyes closing and sleep finally coming to you.

“I love you too”

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[hatsukeii]

the curious case of kageyama tobio's love life / kageyama tobio x reader

genre(s): crack + fluff! timeskip au (third year/graduation), investigative report format, secretly dating trope, drunk x sober LMFAO

warnings(s): drunk people and house parties... (underage drinking is not! recommended here!), defs multiple/many uses of y/n because of how the fic is formatted but you need to trust the process PLEASE (sorry!) also reader's ass gets slapped by kags as a dare...

wc: ~4k

tldr; below is a transcript, recounted by partygoers hinata shoyo, tsukishima kei, yachi hitoka, and yamaguchi tadashi, of the happenings at hinata shoyo's graduation house party, set on the night of 29th march. any and all hearings have been sworn to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. they think. probably.

[Report #1- Initiated by Hinata Shoyo]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 7:20pm

Location of occurrence: Living room

Kageyama Tobio is the third guest to arrive at Hinata Shoyo's residence, twenty minutes after Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi. He carries with him the items that were agreed on the night prior- two twelve-packs of beer, one two litre bottle of coke, one Nintendo switch, and two Nintendo Pro controllers. Upon entry, Hinata Shoyo greets him at the door, and the following conversation ensues between Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #1- provided by Hinata Shoyo]

S. Hinata: You're here, what's good! You got the stuff too?

T. Kageyama: Yeah. Where's everyone else?

S. Hinata: Daichi's on patrol until eight, Suga's picking him up when he's done. Yachi's lining up to pick up the cake with y/n-

T. Kageyama: Cool, I'll put the stuff down there. (He signals to the kitchen counter across the living room)

[End of transcript #1]

Kageyama Tobio proceeds to the television, where he sets up his Nintendo on the dock. He then offers a controller to Tsukishima Kei, who accepts, and joins Kageyama in a game of Super Smash Bros. Upon opening the character menu, half of his characters are unavailable for use, evident by the following conversation that ensues between Tsukishima Kei and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #2- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

T. Kageyama: What the fuck?

K. Tsukishima: For someone who's had this game since release, you're pretty shit if you can barely move past the starter characters.

T. Kageyama: Shut up. [He proceeds to the home page of his console.]

K. Tsukishima: Sure.

[End of transcript #2]

Kageyama Tobio then leaps to the dock, unplugging it for a total of forty-two (Hinata Shoyo estimates) seconds. During its downtime, he is seen to be wiping his neck with one hand, tapping at the screen with the other. The game of Super Smash Bros ensues when he replugs it onto the dock, to reveal a fully unlocked character selection screen. Kageyama Tobio, who plays Sonic the Hedgehog, loses 1:2 against Tsukishima Kei, who plays Sora. But don't tell him that Hinata Shoyo kept count. Thanks.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #2- Initiated by Yachi Hitoka]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 7:46pm

Location of occurrence: Living room, kitchen

Yachi Hitoka and y/n are the sixth and seventh guests to arrive at Hinata Shoyo's residence. By the time they step foot into the house, Hinata Shoyo is three vodka redbulls in, courtesy of Tanaka Ryunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu's contributions to the party's catalogue of available drinks, and is shooting down a fourth with Yamaguchi Tadashi, who is on his first drink of the night. Tsukishima Kei is one can of beer in, and is wrestling Kageyama Tobio on the couch, who is two cans of beer in. Upon entry, Hinata Shoyo slings an arm around Yamaguchi Tadashi, and drags him along to greet the two guests. The following conversation ensues between Yachi Hitoka, Hinata Shoyo, Yamaguchi Tadashi, and y/n.

[Transcript #3- Provided by Yachi Hitoka]

Y/n: What is going on...?

S. Hinata: You're heeeere! C'mon, take a bit from me! [Hinata Shoyo proceeds to tilt his glass too far into his face, and breathe in roughly 250mL of redbull mixed with vodka. He chokes. Yamaguchi Tadashi attempts to worm out of Hinata Shoyo's grasp. His attempt is unsuccessful.]

H. Yachi: If this is what forty minutes looks like, I don't think I wanna know what happens later.

Y/n: Why are they wrestling like... that?

H. Yachi: Men.

T. Yamaguchi: Men.

S. Hinata: [coughs]

Y/n: Understandable.

[End of transcript #3]

Y/n heads to the kitchen counter, where they set a cake into the fridge. Kageyama Tobio breaks free from Tsukishima Kei's sloppy side pin at this moment. Tsukishima Kei heads for the bathroom, and does not return until twenty minutes later. It is unsure what occurred in the bathroom, but not of importance. Kageyama makes a beeline for the fridge, and stubs his toe on the corner of the kitchen counter. He is...unusually uncoordinated, and barges into the space beside y/n, only to grab a third beer and push his way out again. Y/n shoots him a side eye, one that nobody else notices, except for Yachi Hitoka, who is currently writing this report. It's pretty scary, actually, they're a little scary with the side eye. But that is besides the point.

Y/n does not take a drink, but instead heads to the now empty couch, where they pick up the discarded Nintendo Pro controllers off the ground, and invite Yamaguchi Tadashi and Yachi Hitoka to a game of Super Smash Bros. Upon entering the game, y/n selects Sonic as their character. Kageyama Tobio returns to the couch with a can of beer at this moment, and the following conversation ensues between y/n, and Kageyama Tobio.

[Transcript #4- Provided by Yachi Hitoka]

T. Kageyama: Why aren't you picking Ness?

Y/n: I feel like Sonic today, so why not?

T. Kageyama: Sonic's difficult, even for me. Fun, though.

Y/n: I never get to play Sonic, so now that I can, I'm using him.

T. Kageyama: ...Fair enough.

[End of transcript #4]

Following the conversation, Kageyama Tobio does not leave the area. He leans with his forearms against the edge of the couch, and his hands hanging just above y/n's shoulders. He does, however, watch the game and the game only. Y/n, who plays Sonic the Hedgehog, ties with Yachi Hitoka, who plays Kirby. They both lose to Yamaguchi Tadashi, who plays Joker.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #3- initiated by Tsukishima Kei]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 9:02pm

Location of occurrence: Living room

Disclaimer: Tsukishima Kei would like to preface that from this point onwards, his recounts may be liable to errors in continuity and/or accuracy. This is because by 9pm, he was three cans of beer, and one can of Jack Daniels and coke in. Daichi Sawamura, in his fancy police uniform and all, insisted on staying sober, so he will be fact checking any of Tsukishima Kei's recounts up until the point when he leaves the party prematurely. Daichi Sawamura will be aided by Sugawara Koushi, who also insisted on staying sober. For the children, he said. From Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi's departures onwards, any and all informtaion provided by Tsukishima Kei is subject to human error and inaccuracies. Apologies for the inconvenience.

[The following is fact checked by Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi]

Hinata Shoyo, who has managed to hold in four vodka redbulls, one can of beer, and half a vodka cruiser thus far, makes the suggestion to play drunken truth or dare. At this point in time, Kageyama Tobio is three cans of beer, and two cans of Jack Daniels and coke in. He is half-asleep on y/n, who looks visibly distraught, like when a guy you're not really into thinks he's allowed to sleep on your shoulder. At Hinata's proposal of truth or dare, y/n speaks into the air, however, it is inaudible to Tsukishima Kei, who has just returned from another twenty minute break in the bathroom. What can be said? The guy needs his downtime away from the rest of these drunk idiots. (This is a Daichi Sawamura approved comment)

In y/n's hand is a red cup, however, it is unconfirmed whether its contents are alcoholic or not. Everybody sits in a circle on the ground of Hinata Shoyo's living room, and in the fourth round of truth or dare, the following conversation ensues between Hinata Shoyo, y/n, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, and Yachi Hitoka.

[Transcript #5- Provided by Tsukishima Kei (aided by Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi)]

S. Hinata: Who's to SAYYYY...it isn't somebody...RIGHT HEEEEERE! [Hinata Shoyo swirls a bottled vodka cruiser in circles, and spills rougly 15mL of its contents onto his carpet. Nobody notices this. The carpet is not cleaned until the next morning. This will be of importance.]

T. Kageyama: Yeahhhhh...YEAAAAAAH! It HAAAAS to be somebody here, riiiiiiight?...RIIIIIIIGHT? [Kageyama Tobio nudges y/n's shoulders as he prods on. His inquisition is futile, as y/n does not respond directly to his advances. However, they shoot him a look. You know, the look of panic when a guy that you're a little bit into starts totally hitting on you in front of everyone.]

Y/n: Yachi's question was are you into anybody. Yes, I am. Who's next?

K. Tsukishima: Well...it's no FUN if you're not telling us whooooo! C'monnn, a guy hits on you every other day...it's BOOOOORING if you don't tell usssssss...specifics! Yeah, specifics!

T. Kageyama: You're...stiiiiiill getting hit on by OTHERRRR GUYSSSSS? [Kageyama Tobio proceeds to grab y/n by the shoulders, and turn them to face himself. Y/n is visibly taken aback. They shoot another look. the kind of look where your mouth is open and you suddenly stop blinking because you aren't sure how to anymore.]

Y/n: Can we...can we please move on to the next person? Thanks! [Y/n taps Kageyama Tobio's wrists two times. Kageyama Tobio releases y/n from his grasp, and folds his arms.]

H. Yachi: Goooooootcha! [Yachi Hitoka takes a swig from a red cup. Its contents are known to be cream soda and vodka in a 7:1 ratio, courtesy of Hinata Shoyo's contributions to the party's catalogue of available drinks. At this moment, Yachi Hitoka is two drinks in, and that is already two drinks too many.] So, Yamaguchi! Truuuuuuuth...or dare?

[End of transcript #5]

This round of truth or dare continues for another thirteen minutes. No further interactions are recorded between Kageyama Tobio and y/n within this timeframe. Daichi Sawamura and Sugawara Koushi leave the party prematurely at 9:20pm.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #4- Initiated by Tsukishima Kei]

Date of occurrence: March 29

Time of occurrence: 9:52pm

Location of occurrence: Living room, kitchen

[The following is not fact checked by Daichi Sawamura or Sugawara Koushi, and may contain inaccuracies. Ensure to cross check with multiple reliable sources. As reliable as you can get with a group of hammered, freshly graduated young adults, and their enabling seniors, at least. For the record, Tsukishima Kei has ceased his consumption of alcohol by this point in time. Tsukishima Kei's brother, Tsukishima Akiteru, gives him the talk when he returns home the following day, but that is not of importance. So don't worry about it. Just know that Tsukishima Kei was the second most responsible drinker of the night. Thanks.]

At approximately...9:52pm? Yes, 9:52pm, sure. At 9:52pm, y/n separates from the truth or dare circle, and proceeds towards the kitchen. They are seen filling up a red cup with coke, and nothing else. While y/n is away from the larger group, the following conversation ensues between Nishinoya Yuu, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, and Hinata Shoyo.

[Transcript #6- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

Y. Nishinoya: No...I'VE GOT a GOOOOOOOOD ONE FOR HIM! ...KAGEYAMA! I...daaaaaare YOU!

K. Tsukishima: He asked for a truuuuuuuuuuth, not a...DAAAARE!

S. Hinata: GODDAMN LET HIIIIIIM FINISHHHHHH....

Y. Nishinoya: Yeaaaaaah, asshooooooole. Leeeeeet me FINISHHHHHH! [Nishinoya Yuu sniffs, and stares into the ceiling for four seconds. Not a single thought is coherent in Nishinoya Yuu's mind.]

T. Kageyama: Whaaaat am I dooooing! I'm gaaaaame enough...for ANYTHING! ANYTHIIIIIING! [Kageyama Tobio possesses a look that is a little insane, and proceeds to...beat at his chest? What the fuck? Did he actually beat at his fucking chest? (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved. Please cross check with reliable sources.)]

Y. Nishinoya: I daaaare YOU! To smack y/n's aaaaaaaass...hahah...ha.... [Nishinoya Yuu falls over to the side. He remains in slumber for the next thirty-two minutes.]

S. Hinata: Thaaaaaat...is CRAAAZY! Kaaaageyamaaaaa...are youuuuu! Gaaaaaame enoughhhhh!

[End of transcript #5]

Kageyama Tobio pushes himself off the ground at Hinata Shoyo and Nishinoya Yuu's provocations. He snickers to himself, and walks to the kitchen, where y/n is placing the two litre bottle of coke into the fridge. Kageyama Tobio proceeds to advance towards y/n, and smacks their behind, before…squeezing it? And then jiggling it in his- what the…fuck is going on? (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved, please cross check with reliable sources.) Y/n snaps around at the abrupt impact, and empties the contents of their cup onto Kageyama Tobio. It's a shame Nishinoya Yuu is too knocked out to witness what he has provoked. Sucks. The following commotion ensues between Kageyama Tobio, and y/n. Please note that parts of the conversation were inaudible from the truth or dare circle's location.

[Transcript #6- Provided by Tsukishima Kei, Yachi Hitoka, Hinata Shoyo, and Yamaguchi Tadashi]

Y/n: WHATTTTT the FUCK KAGEYAMA.

T. Kageyama: [inaudible]

Y/n: Oh...my fucking God! You are! Very drunk!

T. Kageyama: [Turns to the truth or dare circle.] TOOOLD YOU! I'M GAAAAAME ENOUGH! FOR AAAAAAAANYTHING!

Y/n: [inaudible]...NISHINOYA! [Y/n shoots a look towards the truth or dare circle. One of disdain. Contempt, even. In hindsight, the dare was much too inappropriate. Here is a reminder for everybody to apologise at the next available chance.]

T. Kageyama: Soooorry, [inaudible].

Y/n: [inaudible]...God, I should have never did it to you the first time. Not the place. Not! the place! [Y/n proceeds to grab Kageyama Tobio by the shoulders, turning him around. Kageyama Tobio is ushered into the bathroom, alongside y/n. Y/n shoots one more look at the truth or dare circle. Tsukishima Kei, as he writes this transcript, is beginning to understand Yachi Hitoka's slight fear of y/n. It's the side eye. They are definitely a little scary with the side eye.]

T. Kageyama: Ouuuuuu, the BAAAATHROOM! Thaaat's a firstttttt. [Kageyama Tobio wiggles his brows, and it's kind of creepy. Like when a guy is trying a little too hard to get laid, and is throwing every existing pickup line at you. Y/n smacks him in the side of his head, and pushes Kageyama Tobio into the bathroom. They slam the bathroom door shut and lock it. The two do not return until fifteen minutes later. It is unsure what occurred during that timeframe.]

[End of transcript #6]

When Kageyama Tobio and y/n return to the living room, it is approximately 10:12pm. Nishinoya Yuu is still asleep on the floor, and shows mild signs of...nevermind. Yachi Hitoka and Yamaguchi Tadashi have moved on to drunken karaoke. Hinata Shoyo and Tanaka Ryunosuke learn to do the Rasputin beside Nishinoya Yuu's unconscious body. Kageyama Tobio and y/n settle beside Yamaguchi Tadashi and Yachi Hitoka respectively, and pretend to be at a concert where the singers can barely remember their own lyrics and aren't sure what notes to hit. Tsukishima Kei wants to go home, but hasn't gathered a satisfactory amount of blackmail yet. Therefore, Tsukishima Kei stays the night. He passes out on the living room carpet at 12:03am.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #6- Initiated by Yamaguchi Tadashi and Hinata Shoyo]

Date of occurrence: March 30

Time of occurrence: 12:12am

Location of occurrence: Living room

Disclaimer: Any and all recounts made my Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi from this point onwards may be liable to errors and inaccuracies. Since Tsukishima Kei made the disclaimer, the two believed they too were responsible for making one of their own. They admit that they were not responsible drinkers. They also admit that this will, undoubtedly, happen again.

12:12am is a time of silence. By this time, Tsukishima Kei has fallen asleep on the carpet, just beside Hinata Shoyo’s cruiser spill. He does not wake until 11:13am of March 30. Yachi Hitoka leaves the residence at approximately 11:30pm, alongside Tanaka Ryunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu, who are all picked up by Kiyoko Shimizu. Yamaguchi Tadashi and Hinata Shoyo are positioned at the kitchen counter, where they eat the graduation cake with their bare hands. At this point in time, Yamaguchi Tadashi has ceased all alcohol consumption, tapping out at two vodka redbulls, and two cream soda and vodkas in a 5:1 ratio. Hinata Shoyo, who has thrown up twice between this report and the last, has also ceased all alcohol consumption, tapping out at four vodka redbulls, one can of beer, and one vodka cruiser. Does cake work as a hangover cure? So sinful, so decadent…who gets to eat the happy graduation chocolate sign? Pay that no mind, for it is unimportant. What is of importance, is Kageyama Tobio and y/n’s current form.

Kageyama Tobio, who has tapped out after three cans of beer, two cans of Jack Daniels and coke, and an additional shot of pure vodka, stirs in his half slumber. This is no regular half slumber, but is one of intimacy, and of lovesick vulnerability, evident by his entire body splayed across y/n’s lap. At the time of this report, it is unsure whether y/n has consumed any amount of alcohol, but their sobriety is to be applauded regardless. (Please do not inform Kageyama Tobio of Hinata Shoyo’s comments on his character. Thanks.)

Y/n proceeds to bounce their leg twice, no, three times. Yes, three times is what it takes for Kageyama Tobio to stir awake. Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi advance towards the couch at this moment, with the intention of smearing cake over Kageyama Tobio and y/n. However, upon entering the vicinity of the living room, the following conversation ensues between Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shoyo, and y/n. Please be reminded that Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi are both drunk out of their mind, and that the conversation was one of whispers. For that reason, any and all details of the transcript are liable to errors, redaction, and/or inaccuracies. Apologies for the inconvenience.

[Transcript #7- Provided by Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi]

T. Kageyama: [inaudible]…leave?

Y/n: Do you? [inaudible]…car [inaudible]

T. Kageyama: I don’t [inaudible]…ow. [Kageyama Tobio rubs at his temples. Hinata Shoyo believes he is crying, but also don’t tell Kageyama Tobio he thinks that. (This is not Daichi Sawamura approved. Please cross check with reliable sources.)]

Y/n: Alright. Upsies now, I’ll drop you off. [Y/n pushes Kageyama Tobio’s body off of their lap. Kageyama Tobio whines. Hinata Shoyo is recording this entire ordeal, but there is frosting on the camera from fumbling for his phone with cake-covered hands. It is unclear who is speaking in the video, or what is happening, really.]

T. Kageyama: Drop me…offffffff? BUT I THOOOOOUGHT- [Y/n proceeds to punch Kageyama Tobio in the side, to which he doubles over. Kageyama Tobio begins to giggle uncontrollably on the ground.]

Y/n: Yes. I'm dropping you off, Tobio. Hinata? [Y/n turns to Hinata Shoyo, who throws his phone onto the ground upon being spotted. They leave the couch, and attempt to pull Kageyama Tobio to his feet. Kageyama Tobio is still giggling, and is unable to find his grounding.]

S. Hinata: Y-yeeeeeees...? [Why are they looking at Hinata Shoyo like that? No, seriously, he's getting scared thinking about it again as he writes this transcript.]

Y/n: I think I'll head out, Kageyama needs a drop off and I'm getting tired. This was fun! Thanks for holding the party, happy grad! I'll catch you around, yeah?

S. Hinata: Of COUUUUUUUUURSE...! Youuuu're NEVER! Getting rid of USSSSS!

Y/n: Yeah, of course. See you soon, Hinata. Good luck with the cleanup. [Y/n has finally managed to pull Kageyama Tobio to his feet. They yank Kageyama Tobio by the arm, and push him out the front door.]

[End of transcript #7]

At 12:15am, Kageyama Tobio and Y/n leave Hinata Shoyo's residence. Yamaguchi Tadashi, and Tsukishima Kei do not leave until the day of March 30.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Report #7- Initiated by Tsukishima Kei, Hinata Shoyo, Yamaguchi Tadashi]

Date of occurrence: March 30

Time of occurrence: 11:13am

Location of occurrence: Living room

Tsukishima Kei is the first to wake from the stench of the cruiser spill by his nose. God, fuck, everything hurts. Is this what death feels like? A hangover? Also, that spill? Foul, fucking rank. It comes as no surprise that vodka, steeped into the fuzz of an unwashed carpet, would undoubtedly stink. That is beside the point. Tsukishima Kei leaves the ground at the stench, and searches for his phone. He is afraid. He promised to be home by midnight. His brother is going to kill him. Following two minutes of mindless smacking at the ground, Tsukishima Kei finally finds his device. Upon closer inspection, however, the following conversation is shown on the phone.

[Transcript #8- Provided by Y/n]

Y/n: r u dead???? -1:02am

Y/n: hurry up i wanna sleep:( -1:02am

Y/n: im not hearing water istg if ur not showering im gonna fucking drown u babe i dunked SODA all over u -1:03am

Y/n: r u hearing me -1:05am

Y/n: kageyama tobio r u hearing me because i still am not hearing water from my bathroom -1:05am

Y/n: if you don't shower ur sleeping on the ground tn -1:07am

Y/n: tobio r u done omg hurry up i wanna sleep sb -1:27am

[4 missed calls from: Y/n]

[End of transcript #8]

Upon this discovery, Tsukishima Kei wakes Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi, who sleep on the couch for the night. The three ruminate on their next course of action, before the phone rings. The following conversation ensues between Tsukishima Kei, and y/n. Hinata Shoyo and Yamaguchi Tadashi choose to act as bystanders.

[Transcript #9- Provided by Tsukishima Kei]

Y/n: ...Fuck.

K. Tsukishima: So.

Y/n: He dropped it while wrestling you, didn't he.

K. Tsukishima: ...We wrestled?

[End of transcript #9]

[Case Closed]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

bonus:

When you realise that Tobio's phone is MIA, he finally returns from your bathroom. Barely clothed, he shakes his head, and droplets of water come flying from his hair. His feet are heavy against the floor, and he isn't sure if he'll even make it to your bed at this rate, until you come darting out of your room, phone in hand.

"Tobio, where is your phone?"

"My phone?" His phone, it's in the bathroom, like it always is when he showers, right? Tobio grunts, annoyed at the extra return journey to the bathroom. He swipes at his T-shirt on the bathroom counter-right, that's where his shirt has gone. What meets his fingers is cold porcelain, and he frowns, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Not...here? Good question...where is it?"

You drag Tobio to your room, shutting the door behind you. When he spares no time to roll into your bed, blissfully unaware, you glare at him, and remind yourself that you do, in fact, love the guy. Even if he drunkenly slapped your ass in front of everybody four hours prior, forgot about your warnings and drank much too far past his limit, and has by now, probably outed your relationship to everyone at the party, despite keeping it perfectly hidden for over a year. Unfortunately, you remind yourself once again that you indeed, do love Kageyama Tobio, so this can wait. What is important now, is catching up on lost slumber, and forcing Tobio to join you.

Crawling into bed beside him, you finally melt into his arms for the first time tonight, away from the eyes of the Karasuno volleyball team. Tobio smiles, satisfied with the way that you're relaxing against him, instead of pushing him off and smacking his head. He inhales the scent of your shampoo, slips his hands beneath your shirt to hold your bare waist. This is comfortable. You are comfortable. Better than whatever he was on at that party.

"Oh well, who cares? You probably dropped it while wrestling with Tsukishima."

"...I wrestled Tsukishima?"

author's note:

I hope this is as fun to read as it was to write and i also hope it's actually good because it's so crack that there's not really any fluff until the bonus bit at the end BUT i'll come back with some proper butterfly inducing fluff and or angst soon!! love u all!!

tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @catsoupki @hiraethwa @laughingfcx @akaakeis @kuroppiii @tulip-room @wyrcan @wishi-selfships @fiannee @bailey-reeds @zzwon

ok thank u for waiting n reading love u all see u soon bye bye

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

What I Mean When I Say, "I Ship Huskerdust"

When I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean that I think it would be a perfect example of a healthy relationship. Because it wouldn't be.

They've both got issues that they would need to work through if they wanted their relationship to succeed.

On Angel's side, there's the fact that his prior interactions with Husk basically consisted of him flirting with Husk, and Husk making it clear that he wasn't interested, and Angel ignoring that and doing it again. That's harassment.

Yes, Angel stops doing it after Episode 4, but he never explicitly apologises for it. That was a missed opportunity, in my opinion. It was a change for the show to say loudly and clearly, "Hey, trauma sucks, we get that, but it's not an excuse to treat people badly yourself. You grow by owning up to your mistakes and trying to be better than the person who hurt you."

Speaking of trauma...

Angel is being abused by Valentino and exploited in the porn industry. That's not a personal failing. It's not Angel's fault. But it has affected him deeply, and it's something that he and Husk would need to work through.

It's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Angel will cry, Angel will get angry, Angel will lash out. He will behave inappropriately, and he will keep being hypersexual because he knows how to do it and sometimes it feels like the safest option. And he will have no idea how to just rest with a loved one and trust them. So Husk will need to be the bigger person and take all the ups and downs and keep loving Angel through the dark days.

But I don't know if Husk has what it takes to do that.

That leads me nicely onto the issues on Husk's side. For starters, there's his judgemental attitude. He's a gambler, and therefore believes he can read people and know everything about them. Angel's "It's not an act!" outburst shakes Husk and makes him realise that he didn't really know what was going on.

But even after that, Husk is still judging Angel. It happens in Episode 6, when Angel is offered drugs by Cherri Bomb and Husk says, "Look, you wanna fuck up all your progress, be my guest. I just ... I just thought you were better than that."

Addicts can relapse if they go back to their old environments and old relationships. It happens. And it's probably not a good idea to be so condemnatory about it.

Can you imagine what Husk's reaction would be if Angel really did relapse? Would Angel feel safe opening up to Husk again if he knew how badly Husk could take it?

Sometimes, it seems as though Husk puts Angel on a pedestal. In Episode 8, when he tells Angel, "I guess you have changed," Angel doesn't look convinced, instead changing the subject. Husk sees Angel as better than Angel thinks he is.

And that goes hand-in-hand with when he was judging Angel more harshly in earlier episodes. Husk applies higher standards to Angel.

I think part of the reason why Husk is so hard on Angel is because Husk sees something in Angel that he doesn't see in himself - youth and potential. Husk has made it clear that he isn't trying to get into Heaven. He probably doesn't think he deserves it. That's why he told Angel not to look for answers to problems at the bottom of a bottle, but continued to drink himself.

My theory is that Husk is working on Angel because he finds it easier than working on himself.

It's much easier to judge and boss around others than to acknowledge and rectify your own flaws. To borrow a metaphor from Jesus Christ himself, Husk is trying to take specks of sawdust out of Angel's eye while he's still got plenty of planks in his own eye.

One of those planks being his complicity in the Overlord system.

Yes, I should probably mention that Husk used to be an Overlord. He used to participate in the very system that is now trapping and torturing Angel.

And he gambled with the souls that he owned! He put their afterlives at stake! Can you imagine being owned by Husk, thinking you knew where you stood, and then waking up one day to be told that you were now owned by someone else? Potentially someone as bad as Valentino?

(Now, I don't think Husk ever actually played a game with Valentino, given that he can't seem to remember Val's name in Episode 6, but still, the implications are horrifying.)

Angel didn't have too big a reaction when Husk opened up about his past. But that's probably because he was still reeling a bit from his own outburst. Once it had sunk in, how did he feel?

How can Angel feel safe and loved around someone who used to own souls and gamble with them carelessly? Someone who apparently still has his Overlord powers? Someone who could turn into yet another Valentino in the wrong circumstances?

How can a romance work?

Can a romance work?

Despite all of that?!

No, when I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean, "I think they're fluffy and adorable and 100% unproblematic." I mean, "Huskerdust contains interesting dynamics that are fun to explore." There's something about their interactions that I enjoy.

And Huskerdust could be a good way for the cartoon to dive into its themes of redemption and second changes.

Husk could change Angel for the better. We can see that, after Episode 4, Angel is willing to be more honest about what he's going through. He actually tells Niffty about the gruelling 16-hour shift Valentino put him through, instead of trying to pretend he's been all right.

If they became an official couple, Husk could show Angel what it's like to have someone genuinely care for him and his wellbeing, not just use him for money-making or self-gratification. Since Husk isn't interested in Angel's hypersexual porn star persona, it would be a chance for Angel to take the time to figure out who he (Anthony?) really is.

Angel could change Husk for the better, too. Other Tumblr bloggers have pointed out that Husk seemed to be drinking a little less after Episode 4. Perhaps watching Angel attempting self-improvement encouraged Husk to give it a go as well, albeit in a more low-key way.

And if Husk was the one who got Angel out of his contract with Valentino, that would be a great culmination of his character arc. It would be his own personal redemption for participating in the cruel Overlord system, because he'd be freeing someone from an Overlord's control. He'd be correcting his past mistakes. I for one would love to see that in a future season.

That is what I mean when I say "I ship Huskerdust."

TL;DR Angel and Husk are not perfect people, not by a long shot - but they could be perfect for each other.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Charles and Lando come to your apartment for the thank you dinner as promised. Warnings: 18+ only, sexual tension, alcohol, touching? WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Black smoke billowed out of the pan you thought you had turned off and you rushed to toss it in the sink before opening a window. The breeze was a moment too late to clear the air of the dark tendrils snaking higher and they soon reached the smoke detector, the piercing sound of its alarm filling your kitchen. 

“Shit,” you cursed as you tried to jump and hit the detector to shut it off but you were just too short. “Double shit.”

A knock sounded at your door and you threw it open, grabbing whoevers hand it was and dragging them inside. “Thank god, hit that fucking thing for me will you?” you asked, realising it was Charles who had arrived on time, unsurprisingly.

His nose wrinkled at the heavy stench of smoke and he rose onto his toes to reach up and turn off the alarm. “You look like you have been, um…creative.”

You smiled at the attempt of a compliment before laughing at the situation. In the cold pan on the stove were the chicken breasts that were meant to be frying and you slapped your forehead as you realised you had turned the wrong element on. “Looks like we are going out to dinner, which is probably safer. I don’t think I could have kept my promise not to give you food poisoning by the looks of it.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” he said as he looked down at his polo and chinos.

“Are you kidding me? You look like a damn model.”

“Thanks. It’s not easy being this handsome,” Lando said as he walked in the front door that was still open, a bottle of wine in his hands. “I see your cooking skills are as good as mine.”

“Har-har,” you drawled as you reached into the cupboards and got three wine stems out. “Liquid dinner it is.”

“Haven’t you sworn off drinking?” Charles asked as he rummaged around your cutlery drawers, finding the corkscrew for Lando.

“Pfft, that was just for summer break to stop the PR team from riding my ass,” you said with a grin. “Plus, you two won’t let me get into trouble. At least not too much.”

The cork popped open and Charles took the bottle from Lando to read the label. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he laughed as he handed the Prosecco back. 

“What?” Lando asked with a frown as he turned it around to see the label. “The lady at the shop said this was good.”

“Sure, for an afternoon at the beach, but it won’t get you drunk.”

You took the bottle from his hands and kissed his cheek to erase the pout on his face. “It is the perfect starter course, and my bar is fully stocked with the hard stuff.”

“No,” Charles sighed as he took the bottle and poured three drinks. “I’m sure there is something salvageable to eat. No drinking on an empty stomach.”

You raised your glass to him. “I wish you luck, my kitchen is cursed.”

He tapped his glass with yours and winked. “I’m a miracle worker, watch me.”

You sat with Lando at the kitchen table as he showed you some photos he had taken throughout the year that hadn’t been posted online, keeping you entertained with stories that would get him in trouble if they ever got out. Every now and then you would check on Charles who familiarised himself with your kitchen, opening and closing all the cupboards and drawers before sighing.

“Admit defeat yet?”

His green eyes narrowed at you from across the room. “Never. I just can’t find any- of nevermind. What is this monstrosity?” He pulled a large jar out of the fridge and grimaced at the sight. 

“Crushed garlic,” you said obviously but he grew even more offended by the jar as he held it at arms length away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered as he opened the lid and sniffed it. “It will do, I suppose.”

“What are you cooking?” Lando asked as he saw the ingredients lined up on the bench.

“Chicken pesto pasta.” He didn’t even look up as he sliced some limes up, muttering that lemons would have been better. 

“See, this is what I was looking for,” you said to Lando as you rested your chin on your hand watching Charles navigate the kitchen comfortably. “He cooks for me, you did my laundry, you’re both good looking and funny. That’s what I need from a man, I need the love child of Charlando. I give up. It’s impossible. I’m never going to find that.”

“Okay, this definitely isn’t going to be enough,” Lando said as he took the almost empty glass from your hand and rose from the chair. You and Charles both watched him cross over to the wet bar and tap his fingers along his lips as he debated what spirits to choose. “We need to cheer you up, I’m thinking tequila sunrise or strawberry daiquiri?”

“And music,” Charles added as he diced an onion that had been hiding at the back of your refrigerator for who knows how long. “Not mine, because it’s all depressing.”

“So music and drinks…why don’t we just go out?”

Neither looked happy at your suggestion and they both shook their heads. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture from your brother,” Lando admitted.

Lando plugged his phone into your stereo and some soft pop song started to play in the background as Charles said, “And it's too loud to talk in a club. This is nice, no?”

“I guess the company is half decent,” you teased.

Charles chuckled and beckoned you over with a curl of his finger that had a dollop of creamy pesto sauce on the end. “Taste test.”

Your stomach clenched as you parted your lips for him and his eyes held yours, the moment too intimate to dare break. His lips parted with a silent sigh when your tongue rolled over the pad of his finger, and he took a harsh breath as your lips sealed around it and sucked it clean. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned as the flavours coated your tongue and you pulled back, licking your lips as you did. “Oh my god, Charles, that is delicious.”

You couldn’t help noticing how the green of his eyes had been swallowed by his blown pupils or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed twice before he could muster a response. “Now that I’ve seen your cooking, I’m sure everything else tastes delicious.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said with a laugh as your attention was pulled away and a shot glass was placed into your hand. “I thought we were having cocktails?”

“We will, but,” Lando said as he reached past Charles to grab the salt before he sprinkled a line across his hand. “Tequila first, sunrise later.” He grabbed a wedge of lime next and pinched it between his teeth with a daring curl of his eyebrow. 

The food was forgotten as Charles watched you wrapped your fingers around Lando’s wrist before running your tongue across his skin. The grains of salt coated your tongue as you raised the glass to your lips and tipped the liquor back under their heated stares. You swallowed the liquor and inhaled the fiery burn that followed as you eyed up lime waiting between Lando’s lips. 

This moment balanced on a knife's edge and you could feel how influential it could be on making or breaking the friendship you had with both Lando and Charles. This was the line in the sand that once you crossed there could be no return.

No one dared to breathe. No one dared to move. 

They were waiting for you. 

You licked your lips of the salty spirit residue and stepped closer to him. Your fingers trailed up his neck to tease the short hairs on his nape as you pulled his head down to meet yours and you bit the lime, tearing it from his lips as the sour juice ran down your chin.

“You’re a bad influence,” you teased as you wiped away the excess and stepped back. 

The tension in the air evaporated with his proud grin and Charles chuckled as he turned back to the pan before it burned for a second time.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he replied innocently.

He made his way back to the wet bar with a little dance that had you laughing again. “It’s working.”

The sunset made the perfect backdrop over Monte-Carlo as you stepped out onto the balcony with a plate in each hand and placed them on the small square table. The music drifted out from the french doors after Lando queued enough songs to last the night and joined you and Charles with the extra strong drinks he had made.

“We should do this more often,” you said as a calm settled within you and you watched the yachts dotting the sea beyond the marina.

“What should we toast to?” Lando asked as he placed your glass in front of you, the cocktail matching the orange skyline.

“Single life?” you offered, earning a snort from him as he dropped into the seat beside you, mirroring Charles on the other side.

“How about the hunt?” Charles joked and you groaned at the reminder. “Since we are all looking for love now.”

“Not me,” you surprised them. “I’ve deleted every dating app from my phone and given up. I might even get a cat to keep me company.”

“I thought ‘a girl had needs’?” Lando teased with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Nothing a little self love can’t take care of,” you muttered to your drink as you took a sip, making Charles choke on his. “What? It’s true. You can’t tell me that you don't use your hand out when you need it.”

“We definitely need to do this more often,” Lando chuckled as he spared a fork full of extremely overcooked pasta. 

Charles sent a grin across the table to Lando before their eyes turned to you, a mischievous glint reflecting in both pairs as Charles agreed with a nod. 

“Then let’s cheers to that,” you said as you raised your glass. 

“To the three of us,” Charles winked, clinking your glasses.

“The three of us.”

The empty plates were neatly stacked and the last rays of light had long disappeared, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. The air was growing cold and the fading solar lights dotted around the deck were starting to attract bugs, interrupting the peaceful lull in conversation. 

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie? You probably shouldn’t drive anyway.” You hoped your question didn’t sound too eager and tried to cover it up with the logical statement. It was needless though as they both perked up at the offer and started to clear the table.

“I’m up for a movie night,” Lando agreed as he took the glasses, leaving Charles to take the plates. “Another round?”

 “Yes, please. I’ll meet you on the couch.” 

You went to your room and changed out of the jeans and top you were wearing, opting for an oversized white AlphaTauri shirt you often slept in instead, before dragging the quilt off your bed. You switched the lights off around the apartment as you passed them and flopped down onto the couch between the two men who had been quietly chatting. Lando reached for the refilled glasses on the coffee table and handed you yours as you asked, “What are we watching?”

“Nothing sad or Charles will cry,” he said with a little laugh as he helped spread the blanket over everyone.

“And nothing with shooting or Lando will cry,” Charles shot back with his own teasing smirk.

“And nothing with romance or I will cry,” you added as you swiped up the remote and scrolled through the options on Netflix. “Guess that leaves horror. Paranormal Activity?”

You wanted to look away but you couldn’t as the crackling image on the screen only grew darker. You knew what was coming but it still didn’t stop the squeak that escaped your lips or the way your tense body startled at the jump scare.

The guys chuckled as if you hadn’t felt their legs knock yours at the sudden slam of a door and the blanket shifted until you felt a comforting hand on each thigh, resting just below the hem of the shirt. It took everything in you to keep still as their palms warmed your skin and the heat spread to your core and you felt Charles’ thumb start to draw soothing circles.

Under the guise of settling back into your skin after the fright, you laid back into the cushions and stretched your legs out. From the corner of your eye you could see Lando bite his lip as the shift left their hands even higher up your thighs, almost brushing the lace edge of your panties.

“Scared, chérie?” Charles asked, his voice a little deeper than usual.

It wasn’t the horror movie that was causing a fine tremor to work its way over your body, setting every nerve ending alight. And it certainly wasn’t the horror movie that was causing the goosebumps to tingle across your skin. 

It had been a long time since a man came so close to you that your core was turning to molten lava without even being touched and you lost the battle to remain still, your thighs clenching together in search of friction. You could feel a second heartbeat throbbing between the juncture and as the blanket slipped down your body your peaked nipples were easy to spot through the thin material. 

“Not exactly,” you uttered as Lando’s fingers squeezed your thigh, almost as if he were silently begging you to part them for him. 

“You’re shaking,” Lando murmured close to your ear. 

“I know,” you whispered as your throat clogged with the pleas for them to touch you, to slide their hands just another inch higher and sate the need your body craved. 

You felt the touch of Charles’ shaped beard along your jaw before his lips brushed your ear. “Breathe, chérie. We’ll take care of you.”

His thumb drew another circle and your chest expanded with the softest gasp as you felt the pad of his digit run along the seam of your underwear. 

Lando mirrored his friend, his breath hot on your neck where his lips set a trail of scorching fire to your ear. “Will you let us take care of you?”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @destourtereaux @severerebelearthquake @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @secretlyangrymagazine

[steveseddie]

pity hand-hold

for @steddie-week day two “hands”

rated: t | cw: none | wc: 1,7k | tags: post vol. 4, pre-relationship, hand holding, steve is curious and eddie is happy to help

click here to read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know for how long he’s been staring at Eddie’s hands as he paints his nails. But it’s enough that by the time Eddie is already applying the second coat, Steve is still on the first page of the comic book he picked to pass the time. 

The problem isn’t the comic book- it’s not particularly boring or anything like that. It’s just that watching Eddie is more entertaining. From his focused expression, mostly obscured by his hair falling like a curtain over his face, to the delicate movements of his hands as he moves the small brush over his nails. 

He’s painting them black like usual, but it’s the first time Steve is there to watch him do it. He didn’t know Eddie was such a perfectionist- working slowly and carefully so he doesn’t get nail polish on his hands. And he didn’t think Eddie could keep his fingers still long enough to not smudge the freshly painted nails. 

Eddie rarely sits still for long, and if he does, he’s always moving his hands- wringing his fingers together, playing with his rings, picking on his chipped nail polish. 

Not that Steve spends a lot of time paying attention to Eddie’s hands- just a normal amount. They’re nice hands, that’s all, and right now Steve is taking advantage of how still they are to study them closely.

Eddie’s fingers are long and thin and Steve spends some time trying to figure out if they’re bigger than his. He knows Eddie’s hands wouldn’t be soft like all the girls’ hands he’s held over the years- they’d be calloused from playing his guitar and from occasionally helping Wayne work on his truck. They’re also scarred- a demobat bit a chunk of his left hand and the skin didn’t heal properly, there’s also a long, thin scar across his palm from when he cut himself while trying to open a can using a knife (“Can openers are a thing, you know?” Steve told him in a bitchy tone the day he told him about that one.)

Steve finds himself wondering what it would feel like to hold them- Eddie’s hands or just a guy’s hand. He wonders how different it would be from holding Nancy’s hand or Heather’s or Kelly’s. Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and grab Eddie’s- find out if he likes rough hands as much as softer ones, if he likes long fingers as much as smaller ones, if he likes short chipped nails as much as long perfectly manicured ones. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought about it. It’s not even the first time he’s thought about it while staring at Eddie’s hands, but unlike those other times, Steve actually brings it up.

“Have you ever held hands with a guy?” He asks, breaking the silence they’ve been sitting in for a while. 

His voice startles Eddie, who jumps and knocks over the nail polish bottle. Steve quickly gets it upright again before it can spill over the sheets.

“Whew! Thanks,” Eddie chuckles. Steve holds the bottle still so he can stick the brush inside, already done with the second coat. “Have I what now?” He asks, bringing his fingers close to his mouth to blow on them. 

Steve blinks his eyes away from Eddie’s pursed lips after a few seconds to repeat himself. “Have you ever held hands with a guy?” 

Eddie’s hand freezes. He blinks at Steve, his cheeks going pink. “Uh, no,” he mumbles. 

“Never?” 

“Nope,” Eddie says, biting his lip. 

“Why not?” Steve asks, genuinely confused. Eddie has very nice hands- it doesn’t make any sense that no guy has ever wanted to hold them.

Eddie snorts out a startled sort of chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement as he resumes blowing on his nails. “Well, for starters, most guys in this town would punch me in the face if I tried.”

Oh. “Right,” Steve agrees. That does make sense even if it sucks. “What about girls?”

Eddie screws up his lips, eyes narrowed as he thinks. “Maybe when I was a kid? Before everyone thought I was Satan’s spawn, but not recently.”

“Hm.”

“Why?” He asks, making grabby hands at the nail polish bottle so he can apply a final coat. Steve uncaps it and holds it still for him. 

He shrugs. “Just that I’ve been wondering what it’s like to hold a guy’s hand,” he says and watches as Eddie’s hand twitches and the brush misses his nail, leaving a black stain on his sheets instead. 

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, grabbing a cotton ball and some nail polish remover to try and clean it up. “You- uh, you want to hold a guy’s hand?” He asks, keeping his eyes down, not meeting Steve’s.

“I don’t know, maybe. I want to know how different it is from holding a girl’s hand. I’ve held plenty of girls’ hands but not a guy’s.”

Eddie gives up on the stain, tossing the cotton ball away and picking the brush back up. “Uh, well, I don’t think I can answer that for you. Sorry, man.”

“No,” Steve agrees, but then he perks up with an idea. “But you can let me hold your hand.”

Eddie squeaks, his hand slipping again and leaving a bigger stain this time. “Motherfucker!”

“Dude,” Steve chuckles softly, shaking his head at Eddie’s clumsiness. 

He decides two coats of nail polish is enough and screws the cap back on the bottle. Then he narrows his eyes at Steve. “You want me to hold your hand?”

Steve nods, his eyes darting down to where said hands have started fiddling with his rings. Steve has held hands with girls who wore rings, but they were all small and dainty. Eddie’s rings are big with skulls and devils and horns. Steve wants to know how they would feel against his fingers. Cold probably. “Uh-huh.” 

“For how long?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes further. 

Steve snorts. “What? Are you afraid I’ll give you something?”

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Maybe. You did say you’ve held a lot of girl’s hands. Who knows what they gave you.”

“I think you’re safe, man. The last time I held a girl’s hand was-” He trails off, trying to remember when that was, and when he does, he gasps. “Right before Spring Break actually.” Right before he met Eddie and they were thrown into yet another interdimensional crisis. 

“Damn, Harrington, you’ve been striking out lately,” Eddie sniggers.

Steve makes a non-committal sound. Truth is he hasn’t been trying hard enough to consider it striking out. He’s been busy- saving Hawkins at first, then taking care of Eddie as he recovered, and then hanging out with Eddie as they grew closer. Among other things, of course.

“Is that enough to make you hold my hand out of pity?” 

Eddie chuckles. He shifts closer to Steve on the bed, careful to avoid the nail polish stain, until they’re sitting next to each other, their backs against the headboard. 

“Sure, Stevie, I’ll give you a pity hand-hold,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. 

Steve feels heat climb up the back of his neck. “How do you make that sound dirty?”

“It’s a gift!” He says with a smirk. Then he holds out his left hand with his palm up on the bed between the two of them. “There. Go nuts, big boy.”

Steve gives a fond shake of his head before he looks down at Eddie’s hand. Knowing he’s about to hold it, he feels nervous all of a sudden, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

He subtly takes a deep breath and places his hand on top of Eddie’s, palm to palm. The touch sends blood rushing through his ears, but he thinks he hears Eddie inhale sharply at the same time. 

For a few seconds, he just rests his hand there. Then he finally intertwines their fingers together and just like that he’s doing it. He’s holding hands with a guy. With Eddie. 

Right away he realizes that it’s different in all the ways he thought it would be. Eddie’s hand is bigger than any other hand Steve has ever held, his fingers are longer than Steve’s but thinner. The callouses on his fingertips are rough against the back of Steve’s hand. He can feel the scar on Eddie’s palm against his own and the one left behind by the demobats under his thumb. 

But it’s different in other ways too- mostly in how it makes Steve feel. Eddie’s hand being as big as Steve’s makes something hot burn low in his stomach. His fingers being so long makes Steve wonder what they would feel like somewhere else. Eddie’s calloused thumb rubbing over Steve’s knuckles makes his cheek flare bright red.

“So?” Eddie asks and Steve jumps a little as it snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“What?”

Eddie holds their hands up with an amused expression. Steve’s eyes zero in on them just as one of Eddie’s metal rings catches the light filtering through the window. He thought they would feel cold against his skin, but Eddie’s hands kept them warm. They feel nice against Steve’s fingers, he bets they would feel nice somewhere else too, around his throat maybe-

“What’s the verdict?” Eddie asks, and Steve has to shake his head to stop that train of thought. “Is it different than holding a girl’s hand?”

“Yup. Yeah. It sure is.” He never thought about Nancy’s tiny hands wrapping around his throat, that’s for sure. So, yeah. Different. 

“Bad different?”

“Nope.”

“Huh, so you like it- holding hands with guys?” Eddie asks, and there’s something off with his voice that Steve can’t quite pinpoint. 

“I do,” Steve says because he does. He likes this. He just doesn’t know if- “Or maybe I just like holding hands with you.”

Nervous laughter tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Ha! Well, I’m happy I helped,” he gestures vaguely with his other hand, “satisfy your curiosity or whatever.”

Except Steve’s curiosity isn’t satisfied yet- he answered one question, but he’s still left with many more. There are other things he’s done with girls that he doesn’t know if he’d like to do with guys. Or with Eddie at least. 

Steve feels Eddie trying to free his hand from and he tightens his grip. 

“Steve?” Eddie asks, big brown eyes blinking owlishly at him. 

Steve’s eyes drop to his lips. His pink, slightly chapped lips. Much like with holding hands, Steve finds himself wondering if it would be different to kiss a guy. To kiss Eddie. 

For the second time that day, he perks up with an idea. “Hey Eds?” He says, his eyes finding Eddie’s again. He gives him a cat-like grin. “Have you ever made out with a guy?”

[themidnightcrimson]

bump, set, spike ࿏ wm

summary: in which your new volleyball coach has a thing for degrading you.

words: 4.7K

warnings: volleyball coach!wanda, f!reader, degradation, I MEAN DEGRADATION, mommy kink, I SAID MOMMY KINK, slight dubcon/non-con, use of cumstrap, breeding kink, authority kink, yes i was a volleyball girl

this post is for 18+ only. minors: dni.

masterlist.

“I heard she’s a total hardass,” your teammate huffed as she bumped the volleyball to herself, staggering around to keep her balance as she bumped it into the air and down, then back up again.

The coach of your volleyball team had left in quite a hurry, leaving your college team without a proper coach for weeks on end. Finally, the university acquired one of the best coaches in the state, and this was your first scheduled practice with the coach whom you had no idea about except for the floating rumors that players were constantly passing out from her hard practices.

The wooden floor squeaked under your tennis shoes as you walked to the side of the gym, volleyball under your arm, to grab your water bottle and drink from it. Your teammates were casually bumping to each other, some lying around on the floor talking to each other as you waited for the new coach to arrive. It wasn’t customary for a coach to be so late to their first practice—your teammates had already set up the net in preparation. You sighed and sat down on the floor to relace your shoes.

Finally, the gym doors squealed open, and, as you sat on the floor with your shoelaces in hand, you glanced over to see your new coach walking in. She was wearing knee-length black tights and a fitted t-shirt that left no room for the imagination. Her brownish blonde hair was short and pinned halfway up, the curl of bangs resting over her brows that were arched in curiosity as she glanced over the room of girls, already analyzing and sorting out her new team at her hands.

“Good morning,” she called confidently, her dark green eyes flickering between the stunned faces of your teammates. She was a young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, her body fit under her tight clothing and her face beautiful but stern. She seemed to suck up all the air in the large gym, everyone going suddenly silent.

Your fingers fumbled with your laces when her eyes finally landed on you. She stopped walking halfway down the length of the net to stare at you, her eyes boring into you like two sharp arrows. You felt your face getting hot under her viridescent stare, finding her rather formidable even with her obvious beauty.

“Why are you on the floor?” she asked evenly, her tone a sense of eerie calm.

You glanced down to your shoes then back up at her. “Tying my shoes.”

Her dark lips twitched into a half-smile. “What’s your name?”

Your heart started to unreasonably pound in your chest. “Y/n.”

She nodded instantly, as if she didn’t even listen to what you told her your name was, but it surprised you when she repeated it meticulously, “Y/n, are you a starter?”

There were some whispers from the other girls. Of course you were a starter. You were the team’s best hitter, earning them three-fourths of their offensive points every game. You only dumbly nodded, finding that your voice was incapable of escaping your throat.

The new coach hummed, nodding politely before the smile on her face faded. “If you spend one more second wasting practicing by lying around, you will not be a starter anymore.” Her words only had a millisecond to dumbfound you before she snapped, “Get up!”

Your body obeyed her clipped command instantaneously, jumping up to your feet and standing upright like you were in the military. You were thankful that you had just finished tying your laces. She only stared at you for a moment longer, turning slowly before she looked to the rest of the team who also were now all on their feet. “I’m Wanda Maximoff. You will call me Coach Maximoff.” Her hand grazed the net as she walked along it. “I was a little stunned at your statistics when they asked me to step in as coach. You guys hardly win a game.”

She turned around again, eyes dancing on you from across the room before they slipped away. Why were you sweaty all of a sudden?

“I can change that. If you give me respect, diligence, and consistency, I can help you guys out.” She paused, coming to a stop and placing her hands behind her back. “If you don’t, you will run suicides until the first person passes out.”

Some girls in the back giggled—the rumors were true, apparently.

Coach Maximoff smiled tightly, and then she asked for everyone to say their name and their position on the team, and whether they were a starter or not.

That practice was one of the toughest ones you’d ever had. She introduced advanced drills that none of you had ever done before, and every time someone messed up too badly, everyone had to run in a line around the gym for five minutes. Practices were usually only a couple hours long, but this one lasted until well into the afternoon.

You noticed that every time you glanced at Coach Maximoff, she was already looking at you. You must have pissed her off or something, because she called you up first for all the drills to “show them how it’s done,” only to reprimand and correct every single thing you do.

“Alright,” she began after she blew her whistle, looking at your team of sweating, panting, red-faced players from the other side of the net. She swooped under the net easily, looking at the lot of you. “Since you ladies are playing like junior varsity players, we’re going to do a simple practice that surely you can understand.” She took a ball from the stand beside her and held it up. “Bump, set, spike. I want you to get in a line, and I will serve the ball. The first person will bump it back to me. I will set it. The next person will spike it, and so forth. Got it?” There was only a pause of nodding and humming before she suddenly pointed to you. “Y/n. Up first.”

Why was she calling you first for every single drill? It was starting to aggravate you, especially since you were so tired and worn out from all the running and the tough drills. You bit back a groan and went to the first of the forming line, lowering down into receiving position.

Coach Maximoff smirked a little as she watched you lower down, raising the ball up into the air. You took a deep breath—your previous coach was always a soft server, but you didn’t know how Coach Maximoff was yet. Eyes pinned to you, smirk still set on her features, she tossed the ball up with one hand and quickly slapped her other hand over it, sending the ball spiraling quickly at you with a loud slapping sound that echoed in the gym.

It was so fast that you didn’t even see it before it hit you right in the knee and bounced away. There were some whispers from the girls behind you as your face turned red in embarrassment, and it only worsened when you looked up to the coach to see that she was staring at you with an expression of irritation.

“Why didn’t you get it?” she snapped coldly.

You blinked, rubbing your sweaty palms on your knee pads. “I—I don’t know, it came too fast. I wasn’t ready.”

“Wasn’t ready?” she echoed with a huff, amusement on her face. “Well get ready.” She grabbed another ball and you lowered again, hands spread in front of you, ready to receive. She tossed the ball up and hit it harder again, the sound slapping even louder than the last time. You expected it to be a low serve that you had to dig for like the first time, but this time it hurtled straight to your face. Normally, you would know to receive it with a set instead of a bump, but your hands fumbled and just went straight in front of your face, blocking yourself from the ball that slapped your hands and bounced to the floor limply.

Coach Maximoff rubbed her face over her hands and sighed in aggravation. “That’s it. Run.”

You stood there like an idiot, feeling fiery with shame. “Run?”

“Run!” she yelled, throwing her finger around the gym. “Run until I tell you to stop if you want to keep being a starter!” Her voice was like that of a snarl, low and vicious. Heart already pounding, you set off in a stumbly jog, running a lap along the wall of the gym.

Coach Maximoff continued the drill with the other girls, and you went green with jealousy at how easily they were receiving her serves and spikes, so seamlessly and perfectly. She even praised them, and something in your chest tugged.

You thought maybe after a couple laps, she would drag you back to the front of the line to redo the drill, but she never did. You ran for an uncounted amount of time, to the point where your legs were shaking and you were sweating through your shirt and finding it hard to breathe. Finally, she ended the drill and turned to see you jogging exhaustedly across the gym. “That’s enough!” she called, and you instantly fell to your knees, thankful that you had your kneepads on as they hit the floor hard. You bent over, gasping and wheezing loudly, wiping the abundance of sweat from your forehead.

With a blow of her whistle, she dismissed the practice, and you limped over across the gym to collect your things and get the hell out of there. “Practice tomorrow afternoon!” Coach Maximoff called to the team as other girls were already hurrying out the door, prepared to pass out or puke or both. You fell to the floor with a huff and began tugging off your shoes, feeling blisters forming around your feet.

Maximoff walked over to you as the other girls were leaving, and you looked up, seeing that she was standing close to you, towering over you. “I want you stay tomorrow night after practice. I think what you need is some one-on-one coaching.”

Dread filled you. Not only did you already have plans with friends tomorrow night, but you did not want to be around this villainous coach any more than you had to. She obviously had it out for you, and the embarrassment in front of your teammates was enough—you could only imagine how much she would belittle you alone. “Sorry,” you mumbled, still out of breath. “I have plans tomorrow night.”

Wanda’s lips pursed, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in slowly. Placing her hands on her knees, she crouched down in front of you incredibly close, her face only inches from yours. You froze, glancing around to see that everyone else had already left.

“It seems to me that you don’t care one bit about this sport or this team,” she said quietly, her voice rasping in a way that made your ears burn. You could see every shade of green in her eyes from this close, the curve and suppleness of her lips. “If you want to keep your position, you will see me tomorrow night after practice. If you don’t, I will have no choice but to reconsider your role on this team.”

Your eyes widened—was she threatening to kick you off the team?

Her hand reached out suddenly, placing itself on the middle of your thigh. You glanced down, seeing her long, nimble fingertips pressing into your skin. “And make sure you stretch before coming tomorrow. I need you to be flexible.”

A smirk curled at her lips, leaving you dumbfounded with an even redder face. She stood up and walked away, leaving you on the floor.

The hours leading up to the next day’s practice were unbearable. You were nervous about being alone with her, worried you would not meet her expectations and get yourself kicked off the team, but you also could not stop thinking about her hand on your thigh and the words she had said to you in such a low, raspy voice with that damning smirk on her lips. It was etched into your mind like a fire.

The practice went the same as the day before. She called you up first for every drill, which you failed miserably at. Why were you messing up so much around her? Of course, you were nervous, everyone was intimated by her, but no one else was messing up as much as you were. Your knees felt wobbly the whole time, your hands sweaty, your mind too distracted by the way she looked at you, and the way she moved, and her words still circling in your mind like a cyclone.

Practice was finally over, but that didn’t help your nerves one bit, because now you were going to be alone with her. While everyone else flooded out of the gym, some crying because Wanda made them run so many laps around the gym, you stayed sitting on the floor off to the side, rubbing your ankles that were blistered and nearly bleeding.

You watched Coach Maximoff go across the gym and pick up stray volleyballs that didn’t get picked up. She was wearing a pair of thick black sweatpants today and a tiny red shirt that showed her midsection every time she lifted her arm to serve the ball. She was so beautiful and confident, albeit mean, that you couldn’t help but wonder what she was like outside of being a coach, if she was actually a kind, gentle person who had hobbies like reading or art. Part of you thought maybe she ate the hearts of the innocent in her free time with how monstrous and unrelentingly cruel she was in the gym.

When she’d replaced all the balls back to the standing bag, she looked over at you expectantly. Her face lowered, eyes shadowing under the overhead gym lights, and she lifted a finger and curled it towards her.

You found yourself standing up to walk towards her, limping a little from the blisters on your ankles. When you came to a stop, her eyes flickered up and down your body, landing around your hips. “Do you usually wear shorts that short to practice?”

Glancing down, you looked at your tiny spandex shorts and shrugged. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Those are a little revealing, don’t you think?” she murmured, boldly reaching her hand out and running her fingertips under the hem of the tight shorts, tugging on the fabric and then letting it snap against your thigh, making you jump. She smirked and tilted her head, stepping closer to you. “And this shirt…” Her hand took the hem of your tight long-sleeved shirt and tugged at it. “Take it off.”

Heat swelled in your face as you blinked, making sure you heard her right. “What?”

“You’ll get too sweaty in that. You’re wearing a bra, right?” Her tongue peeked out of her mouth and ran across her lower lip. “It’s just us two in here. You can take it off so you won’t get too hot.”

Feeling somehow breathless, you looked down at your shirt and reluctantly took the hem. You had been just fine wearing it all during practice, and most of the girls wore long-sleeved shirts to help protect their arms from so much bumping. You wanted to say that, but her smirk turned into a stone gaze.

“I’m your Coach, y/n. There needs to be a level of trust between us—and respect. That means—” She leaned closer and whispered, “You do what I say.”

Gulping, you only nodded, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands and slowly peeling it over your head, leaving you only in your sports bra and shorts. She bit her lip and let her eyes run down your figure as she finally stepped away. “Good girl.”

Your face grew immeasurably hot. Wanda walked to the standing bag and took out a volleyball, holding it on her hip and pointing to a few feet in front of her. “Come here. We’re going to do bump, set, spike, until you get it.”

You wanted to tell her that was such a simple drill and that normally you would have no problem doing it but found it hard to keep your composure around her, but you didn’t. Instead, you let your voice die in your throat and walked to the spot on the floor, turning to face her.

“Get in position,” she commanded, so you did, bending your knees and spreading your hands. Without warning, she quickly tossed the ball up and spiked it towards you, sending it slapping across your thighs.

“Ow!” you instinctively exclaimed, clapping your hand over the red spot forming on your thigh, but Wanda was already getting another ball and served it to you twice as quick, and this time you had to jump out of the way before it smacked you in the face. “Jesus!”

Wanda gave a mixture between a sigh and a huff as she rubbed her hand over her forehead. Your face burned in shame as she stared at you, trying to think of what to do with you. Finally, she clicked her tongue and said, “You do not know how to receive a serve at all, do you?”

Feeling frustrated, you threw your hands up in the air. “I’m a hitter, not a libero!”

The coach ran her tongue over her teeth and stared at you for a moment. “Fine, since you somehow made it into college volleyball without knowing how to receive, I guess I’ll be the one to teach you.” She started towards you. “Get down into what you think a receiving position is.”

Huffing, you lowered down in the same way you had. Wanda neared you, eyes flickering over your body as she started walking a slow circle around you. You could feel her standing behind you, your heart starting to race.

Suddenly, her foot came and kicked at your ankle, forcing your legs to open wider. You gasped, nearly tripping, until you found you were lowered down even farther with your legs spread wider. “Keep ‘em open,” she murmured behind you, and you didn’t realize how close she had been standing behind you until you heard her lips right behind your ear.

Trying to remember how to breathe, you felt her hands come to rest at your elbows, adjusting your arms to a different position. “You want to keep them closer together,” she whispered, her breath moving strands of your hair. Her hands, once finished moving your arms, slowly slid up them and to your shoulders, tracing down your back. She pressed in at the middle of your back, causing it to arch into a curve. “Your hips…” she trailed, and you felt her hands leave you. It made you feel cold without her touch.

“W-What about them?” you asked in nearly a whisper, feeling like the large gym was suddenly half the size it usually felt like.

“You need to bring them back more,” she said in a husky tone, and then her hands were on your hips, squeezing the bones there before she jerked them backwards. You gasped when your ass pressed right against her crotch, and from the force of it you could tell she had bucked her hips towards you. You were about to start apologizing, but her hands held your hips still.

Then, when she moved her hips a little to get closer to you, you felt it—something hard and large tucked inside her sweatpants, bulging out right against your ass. Sharply, you stood straight, feeling your back hit her chest as you did. Her hands kept hold of your hips, digging herself into your ass and letting out a throaty moan that brought chills up your spine.

“Coach?” you whispered, panting as you felt yourself throbbing within. You could feel her breath on the back of your neck, her lips grazing your spinal cord as she pushed herself closer to you, grinding her hips into the swells of your behind.

“I don’t think you know how to respect your coach,” she husked into your ear, her lips pressing against the skin there. One of her hands left your hip to swerve around your tummy, diving up towards your chest. “Or how to obey.” Her hand grabbed at your breast from over your bra, bringing a sharp gasp of surprise from your throat.

You knew that it was incredibly wrong, letting her touch on you and press against you like that, but the rasp in her voice and the domineer in her hands was turning you on so much that you felt like you were rapidly growing a fever.

Her hand left your chest and dove straight down into your shorts, reaching past your thin pair of panties to grope at you between your legs. Your lips fell open, head falling back against her shoulder as her svelte fingers started to grab at your clit. She smelled like perfume and the rubber scent of volleyball material, her lips pressing against the corner of your jaw before biting there.

“Coach, please,” you groaned as her fingers started to rub hard at your clit, her cock pressing harder against your ass all the while.

“You can call me Mommy,” she whispered into your ear before biting it, inciting a moan from you. “You’re pathetic. All wet and needy for me.” She pulled her hand out of your shorts to show that her fingers were glistening under the gym lights. Reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, she yanked your head back so that your lips opened, and she dove her fingers inside your mouth. “Suck,” she demanded in a harsh whisper against your ear, so you did, sucking your own juices off her fingers as your face turned bright red, tasting your own arousal and the hint of salty sweat on her fingers.

When her fingers were all clean, she pulled them out and growled before she used her hand in your hair to push you forward so hard that you crumpled to the ground, your kneepads hitting the hard wood as she followed you down, kneeling between your legs.

“You want to be a starter, huh, little whore?” Wanda asked from behind you as her hands started grabbing at your shorts.

Dizzy from the fall and from the neediness throbbing within you, you let out a small, “Uh huh, Mommy.”

“Fuck,” Wanda hissed when you called her that, yanking down your shorts to expose your bare ass and pussy. “Then you will take all of Mommy’s cock so she will let you be a starter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, the wooden floor cold against your face. “Yes, Mommy.”

“What a fucking slut,” Wanda murmured as she yanked her sweatpants down a little so she could take out her strap. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was big when she started to rub the tip up and down your wet folds. “Listen to that, slut.” You could hear the wet sounds that your folds made when her strap parted them. “I didn’t make you out to be such a dirty whore.”

Keeping one hand in your hair, pushing your face onto the floor, she thrust her cock into you all at once, your walls opening for her as she slid through them.

You cried out at her size, grabbing helplessly at the floor as she pulled out before snapping her hips back into you, shoving herself hard inside you. It was so rough, and you felt so dirty lying on the floor as your coach took your pussy from behind, but you loved it, finding yourself lost in a whirlwind of primal pleasure as her grunts and your moans echoed in the loud gym.

“What would someone say if they walked in right now,” Wanda said between her thrusts, and you heard the sound of skin slapping together, “if they saw you lying on the floor getting fucked by your coach like this?” You could tell that she loved the position of power she had over you, both technically and physically. “Offering up your pussy to me so that you’ll be my favorite.” She tugged at your hair, lifting your upper body off the floor and hissing against your ear. “Do you think they’d call you a slut?”

Shame filled you just like it did when she had first seen you and scolded you for sitting on the floor. You could only give a string of unintelligible noises, so she yanked your hair harder, demanding you to speak. “Yes,” you finally gasped. “Yes, they would, Mommy.”

Wanda laughed at how pathetic you were, pushing your face back into the floor. Moving her hand to your ass, she grabbed at your flesh there, letting out an unashamed moan as she thrust her hips harder into you. You could feel your own juices sliding down your inner thighs, your eyes squeezing shut as her strap went deeper and deeper inside you, causing your legs to tremble.

“Fuck, I knew you’d have good pussy,” Wanda breathed, and her words were spinning a coil of pressure in the pit of your tummy, her own voice starting to falter as her thrusts grew wild and unrhythmic. “I wanted to throw you down and put my cock in you when I first saw you yesterday.”

Her words were making you burn so hot you thought you would melt right through the floor.

“You’ll make such a good fleshlight for Mommy—fuck—letting me bend you over just like this everyday after practice, won’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you squealed, mouth falling open as you felt an orgasm impeding upon you.

“That’s right, you will. If you want to be a starter, you have to be Mommy’s fucktoy first—ah!” She hissed, her hips snapping into you harder and sloppier. “Fuck, you gonna take Mommy’s cum?”

You let out a gasp when she hinted that it was a cumstrap she was wearing, and you knew that you were moments away from cumming helplessly all over her strap. “Yes, yes, Mommy,” you whined, feeling her hand tighten its grip in your hair.

Wanda reached down to grab the base of the strap right as her climax reached her, growling loudly and grabbing hard at any spot on you she could grab, squeezing the base and letting her cum squirt deep inside you, painting your inner walls and filling you up so that you came instantly, moaning and bucking your hips backwards against her.

Wanda sighed, grinding her strap slowly inside you as you rode out your own climax, watching some of her cum drip out of you each time she pulled her strap out a little. Grinning, she pulled out and stood, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over on your back. You looked up at her in a daze, legs still trembling as you panted.

“Open up,” she said with a wide grin as she kneeled over your face, her strap glistening with a mixture of juices that dripped from the end and splattered across your chin. Desperately wanting to obey her, you opened your mouth, and she lowered her hips, shoving her cock deep into your mouth. You choked at first, letting out a quiet gagging sound that she laughed at until you caught control of yourself and started dutifully sucking her clean. She looked down at you with her lip caught between her teeth, humming in appreciation at how cute you looked with her strap in her mouth.

Once it was clean, she pulled out of your mouth with a popping sound and pushed her strap back into her thick black sweatpants that easily concealed it. You were burning up and shaking, inebriated with all the degradation she’d poured upon you, feeling your pussy full of her cum that was slowly dripping out of you.

“Good girl,” she whispered as she stared down at you, reaching out and wiping the liquids away from your chin. “Same time tomorrow? Don’t wear underwear this time.”

[festering-obsession]

How You Fell Into Their Trap II

TW: Hollywood-ized Disorders, Creepypasta, Slight Canon Divergence, Violence, Blood, Cannibalism, One Mention of Pregnancy (no plot relevance), Toxic Relationships, Stalking, Slight Suggestive Content, Kidnapping

Ticci Toby:

It was senior year of highschool when you encountered Toby Rogers himself. By then, nearly everyone at school had knew of the boy, his reputation. His stutters, his low self-esteem, his weird behaviors, but the rumor of how the poor bastard could not even feel pain fluttered around even more. Fortunately enough, he had switched to homeschooling. Poor boy.

In a way, you pitied him. However, you were not high on the popularity chain that comes with the shackles of high school. You tried to keep to yourself and graduate, keep away from any negative attention and keep leering eyes off of you.

Yet, fate did not have the in plan for you.

You had met his sister at your part time job, Lyra was her not, wasn't it? Time seems to fly as you're stuck in this mansion.

She had talked about her brother at times, how she feared he was falling behind and her parents did not seem to care it all. But, she was too busy working to help with school. Before you knew it, you volunteered yourself to help tutor him. Her smile was so bright that day when you told her.

You didn't think too much of it before it was too much to try and cut off.

Toby was very skittish and nervous, constantly pulling at his skin and hair nervously when you were near. As you were trying to go over calculus, you could not help but turn around and finally break the edge of professionalism, despite being the same in age.

"Toby, I promise you, I am not going to judge you. I'm hear to help you, and besides I don't have any room to judge..." You say, trying to offer him a hand on the desk but he shies away.

"H-How do I know?" He says, his hands grasping at his jacket.

"Well, I'm not doing this for money for starters..." You begin. "And your sister said we might have some things in common? I like movies..."

He nods, his brown eyes carefully watching you. "Yeah, m-me too..."

His courage slowly built up around you.. as well as his possessive nature. Everytime his father would break a beer bottle or his mom would yell, he'd grab to you for security. His hand clutched onto you as if you'd dissappear.

The days you didn't work, you'd head back home after school usually. One day of the week helping tutor Toby would turn into any day you did not have work.

The days you did work, he'd near be constantly blowing up your phone with messages. Anything from what he's eating, how he finished his homework, to what his favorite color is, what his father yelled at him this time for...

One time you forgot to mute your phone and it went off in class. You had to turn it into the teacher, and did not get it back until the end of the day. By the time you turned your phone back on, it was flooded with messages.

"Hey y/n!! You haven't responded in your usual time are you busy????? :D"

It didn't take long for the messages to grow more frantic.

"Are you hurt?"

"Do you not like me anymore?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't leave me please don't leave me"

You called him as soon as you could and went to his house. Thankfully, his father was out, probably at a bar. As soon as you opened the door, Toby pulled you into his arms, grabbing onto you desperately as he sobbed. You rubbed his back, letting him go until he decided when he had emptied all his tears. You made sure to keep your phone silent at school after that.

Despite his already possessive nature, it took a turn for the worse when unfortunately... His sister died in a car accident. His pathetic father had lived.

You were there for her tiny funeral. And most importantly, you stayed glued to Toby's side the entire time. His tears were gone by the time of the actual funeral, no more to give as he had run dry. Yet, his iron grip on your hand and blank expression told you differently of his grief.

The days after Lyra's death was a flipped switch in Toby's brain.

As you got closer to graduation, Toby was more possessive. He had convinced you to quit your job. You need to focus on your school, right? And help him too, right?

If you somehow was not convinced to stay the night at Toby's house, he'd be on the phone with you until you were almost asleep.

At that point, it felt like your life revolved around Toby. You'd tell him anything... except your college admissions. Telling him you'd be out of arm's reach or heaven forbid meet new people, he'd throw himself into

It did not take long before Toby's sanity had finally left. You were staying over at his house, his drunken father had opened the door in a flood of rage.

"Toby fuckin... Rogers..." He slurred his words. "Did you knock this bitch up? Oh I swear if you, if I have to deal with a mini one of you, I'll fucking kill it... And that bitch!" He rushed forward to grab you and slam you out of the bed.

You did not know how to react, your mouth agape. You did not even interact with Ron before, how was he just now acknowledging you?

Toby had slammed into him first, away from laying his hands on you. He dropped to the floor along with him.

"Don't... Don't you fucking touch her.." He near growled, his brown eyes in a glare. You stared at the scene in front of you, just now pushing out the bed as Toby looked off into the distance, seemingly into nothing.

"Lyra, y-yes, I will protect her..." He said, hands shaking. "I, I'll make father regret k-killing you, too."

He stood up, his father groaning in the background as he gripped your hands. "You'll be with me fo-forever right? Just li-like in the movies we w-watched?"

You didn't know what to do or say besides nod. "Yeah, Toby..." Your eyes couldn't leave his father laying on the ground.

"Leave. Now." Toby ordered. "I have t-to do something for us. For o-our future, tog-together." It didn't take much for you to run out his house, confused and scared.

You were lucky enough to not see the grisly scene. But you were not lucky enough to not see the house light on fire, collapsing onto your knees as the fire rage on in the night sky.

Your friend was missing and you had to continue life as if he wasn't. A few years had passed as you couldn't shake it out your mind. Could you have saved him? Stopped him from killing his family and then himself?

Years and therapy helped lessen the pain, but it didn't for Toby. Even in his service to Slenderman, he couldn't shake you from his head. Slenderman's reward for his loyalty was the reveal of your location.

And that's why you are in his bed. It did not take him long to kidnap you and haul you back. The mansion was nice at least, even for a bunch of serial killers and paranormal creatures. Though the smell of blood nearly never left the halls.

You turned over in the bed as Toby gripped onto you, eyes lost in your own as you continued to think of how you ended up here.

"Th-Thinking..?" He asks as he moves a piece of your hair out your face.

"Yeah.." You mumble out as he holds onto you tighter, pushing him away would only cause him to freak out and worry if you hated him.

"Y-You know, I'm so-so happy you're here." He smiles as he rubs his cheek against you. "All th-those tasks for Slenderman, worth i-it for you..And, I have y-you here as mine."

"I um, I'm glad to have you back too.." You nod at him.

"I th-think, I f-fell in love with you... The f-first time I saw you." He mumbles out, hands shaking in excitement as he holds you closer to him. "And wh-what do y-you know? You're my-my girlfriend now!"

"Funny how life works, hm?" You muse out, looking out the window from your captivity.

"C-Can I have a k-kiss?" He asks. "Y-You don't mind.. the scar-scar right?" He looks down sheepishly. You've learned its better to give him what he wants, then to deal with an episode.

You cup his cheek, slowly pressing your lips over his cold ones. You can feel him smile against yours as he holds your body closer to his.

He'd never truly let you go.

Eyeless Jack:

You never felt alone, not in your apartment. And when you were with other people, you felt as if you were being hunted. It was just near about driving you insane.

Not to mention the fact of your doors opening, floors creaking, window being cracked open, random footprints of shoes. Maybe you really were just going crazy.

It didn't help the fact you'd be missing things either. A random shirt, chapstick, hell, one of your favorite underwear was gone missing.

But even then, as much as you looked around your apartment in fear, deadbolt all your locks, you saw nothing. Even when you'd have a friend stay the night, they would laugh it off and think you were playing a joke on them. They never saw anything either.

Then, it finally began to happen. Crumbs of what you thought your delusion was into reality. A part of you was glad it wasn't you going insane, the other part not quite realizing the nightmare that was about to play out for you.

You had gone out with your friends, a celebration. They had dropped you off at your apartment as you were giggling to yourself the entire ride, tipsy and having a great time.

Yet, you did not go straight to your apartment as the car drove by. You went to the convenience store as your mind swirled with getting snacks and a sweet treat.

It was a dark night, very few people at night and each one keeping to themselves. Your mind was too sloshed to hear the echoing footsteps behind you. Your eyes were too trained at the bright glowing lights of the store as an icee was the only thing circulating your mind.

You were pulled into an alley sharply. An old man in a black balaclava had you pinned with a gun against your head as he demanded everything. Purse, wallet, cash, whatever you had on you. That snapped you of your drunken haze.

Just as you were about to give the man everything as tears were going down your face, the man crumpled to his knees, gun dropping.

Scapels lined his back, each one with the intent on landing on a fatal area. Your mouth was opened, clutching your purse as you stared at the lifeless man before you.

And that's when you first saw him. A tall man in a black hoodie. The only defining trait about him was his dark blue mask... with some kind of substance dropping from under the eyes.

He looked you up and down, head tilting to the side as he walked over the man, pulling out each scapel pulled out from behind his back as he crouched over him. You didn't know why you didn't run, all your senses urged you to run as his eyes - or mask? - never left your form as he pulled out each weapon.

Then, he lifted his mask slightly as he brought the scapel to his mouth, a long black tongue slithering out as he tasted the blood.

That finally got you to move, running out of the alley straight home. Your breath uneasy as all you could think of was your blood being on that scapel instead. You slammed the door shut as you started hysterically telling your friends, your flip-phone shaking in your grasp.

By the time you finally fell asleep, the sun was up. You pulled yourself out of bed as you pushed the door open, half expecting to see the monster there.

What was on the news told you it was not a nightmare. A man named Edwin was found dead in his home by his brother Mitch. His brother was telling the news reporter what he saw the night before he left his brother's house. A man in a blue mask, but they pushed it off as a bad omen before the tragedy stuck. Then, it moved onto the unidentified body found in the alley. You bit on your nails as they revealed the details. He was found disembowled. That... that wasn't right. All that man did was just kill him, right?

You lived the next weeks in terror, over analyzing each step and news story just in case you saw the man again. Just as you felt the horror was finally leaving your senses, your nightmare would appear again.

You fell asleep on the couch, the movie you were watching long forgotten as it bored you to sleep. You awoke, feeling something wet hit your face.

Black eyes were trained over your body, blood slipping down from the mask hitting your face and just as you were about to scream, his cold grey hand held itself over your mouth.

Your hands scrambled to push him off, but he stayed there, silent and watching as you were trying to crawl him off. He put a finger over his mouth, telling you to settle. Stubbornly, you did and he finally retracted his hand.

"Finally, I have you in my reach." He said, voice rough and calloused. You couldn't help but hear the tiny amount of joy in his tone.

"Are... Are you going to kill me? Eat my organs like you did that man?" You said quickly, anger in your words.

He tilted his head before he chuckled. "Kill you? No, no, you're too precious for that... Well, I was going to at first."

You sucked in your breath as the monster laughed again lowly, caressing your cheek. "But, you grew on me. And, I think I'd like you better alive and warm with me then being a cold corpse, though I'd bet your kidneys would taste so sweet.."

You tried pushing him away but he got closer, sitting next to you on the couch as he held you tighter, his grip on your waist unmoving.

"As for eating you? Was my orginal plan, you look like such a sweet thing to devour and so easy, too. Your locks were not hard to pick through." He sighed as his head craned down to your neck. "But, I watched you like a pet. Your habits were endearing, and you looked so lost all the time... Why not take you in for myself?"

"F-Fuck no, I'm not your pet and you're a murderer..." You said, feeling his tongue graze at your neck.

"But I saved you, didn't I?" He murmured, tasting the nervous sweat building against your skin. "You taste so good..."

"And killed others. Fuck, I should call 911 on you..." You said as you felt his tongue gather your sweat.

"I already destroyed your phone. You won't be needing it anytime soon." He said nonchalantly as he pulled back, licking his finger. You couldn't help but notice the sharp teeth lining his mouth.

"Please, please just let me go..." You cry against him. "Or just eat me, kill me, I don't want you to take me."

"Eating you would be the ultimate form of intimacy for us.." He muses. "But, I like you too much to not see you around. Besides, there's... other ways of eating you without killing you." And you could almost hear the smirk in his voice as you glared at him, flustered.

You felt a sharp sting in your hip before seeing him drop a syringe to the floor.

"What... What the hell?" You said as you push away from him, dropping to the ground as your movements grew sluggish.

"Just enough to knock you out. You'd draw too much attention being conscious." He says, standing above you. "Don't worry, you'll wake up somewhere better, with me."

You turn onto your stomach, vision blurring as you clawed on the floor trying to get to the door. You heard him laugh behind you, before you felt his shoe land on your back.

"Just go ahead and give in, surrender yourself." You hear as you feel yourself growing near slumber, your mind numbing until you were out.

He carefully picked you in his arms, it would be a good distance from the forrest to get you out this damned city.

But now that his prey was in his grasp, he didn't mind.

[obeythebutler]

For the fluff prompt, may I please have Lucifer and "making funny faces behind the computer while the other one is in a boring Zoom meeting" with Mc being the other one???

It starts small.

The most insignificant of details that the eye won't catch at first glance, but the brain notices something is amiss.

For starters, the pair of spectacles Lucifer always dons is sitting on his desk. You swear he was wearing them just a moment before—your eyebrows furrow—but then you divert your attention back to the screen. The demon continues with his paperwork.

End semester projects require regular progress checks. Your group members are done informing the professor of their progress, now it is your turn to speak up.

"We are done with our research," You say, involuntarily straightening your posture. "We have encountered several problems while trying to know more about the economic practices of the Devildom in the year 1121. Astarion and I have gathered what we could find and compiled it in the document attached in our recent email to you."

"And what is to be done next?" The demon asks.

Magoth speaks up, and you take the moment to grab the bottle of water next to you. You open the cap and take a sip, eyes darting behind the screen.

"We have already verified it from—"

You choke on the liquid in your throat.

Several voices of concern chime in through your speakers as you hack and cough. Hurriedly wiping your mouth, you splutter and blurt out words of assurance. The talking resumes, and your brain can't believe what it saw.

Lucifer, pouting as he stares into his phone, the device outstretched in his left hand. Puckered lips and and all.

"Don't." You mouth the words at the demon, who smirks and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

"This project will be submitted by the end of next month," You pipe in, voice confident of your group's ability to meet deadlines. "There's a survey also planned for extra credit, and Astarion has already formulated the questions."

"Very good! Ah, that reminds me, I've made a new email id—please mail me your survey results on..............."

You make the mistake of glancing at Lucifer.

You have to resist the urge to smile after.

He's winking at you now, comically so, and the demon looks ridiculous.

You mute your mic, and let yourself giggle. "Lucifer," You whine, "I'm in a meeting!"

"Can't I have a little fun now and then?" He says, picking up his pen again. "Besides, you should be focused on the meeting, and not on external variables."

You glare at the demon.

"MC?" Magoth chimes. "Are you trying to say something? Your mic's on mute."

You force yourself to make a polite smile. "Everything's alright! Just a little disturbance. Please, carry on."

You lean back on your chair. The sound of pen scribbling on paper makes for a suitable background noise, and you finally focus on the meeting being held.

You assume the demon has finally calmed down on his rare antics.

Progress is made, conclusions revised, and the meeting is wrapped up in the next twenty minutes.

You close your laptop after, and nearly jump in your seat.

Because there is Lucifer, eyebrows furrowed and a hand grabbing his chin. Lower lip being bitten by his teeth.

This time, you let yourself laugh freely.

[zvdvdlvr]

baby, pass the bottle quit with all the stallin’…

🥃 — synopsis. You- Draco’s fiancé- make a bet.

🥃 — warnings. Alcohal consumption. I messed with the timeline like I always do. Weird scenario? Idk. I wrote this to get back to writing for Draco.

Draco watched your bet Ravenclaw Booker Winston 20 galleons you could down a bottle of Firewhisky before he could. Booker raised the stakes to 50 galleons: you were a fifth year and he was a seventh so obviously there was no way Booker could be out-drank by someone so early and so early in the evening.

Your bet got little attention. People had bet against Booker before and lost. But you confidently accepted and handed him a bottle. Booker’s friends waited until both bottles were uncapped before yelling ‘go’ over the blaring music.

The rest of the fifth-year Slytherins watched in awe, screaming ‘Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!’ while you put the opening of the bottle between your lips and throw your head back. Mattheo chuckled in disbelief, smacking Blaise and bringing his attention from the lightskin he was flirting with. Blaise sucked his teeth and shook his head. 

“Go get your woman, mate,” he said into Draco’s ear. “Before someone else makes a move on ‘er.”

By now you were about done with half of the 750 ml bottle of Firewhiskey. Your chest heaved and the white button down you were wearing flashed along with the color changing LED lights. He parted through the crowd of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs alike as he reached where you were just finishing the bottle. You threw the glass down on the ground, whooping. You coughed and Draco watched you scream along to Chase Atlantic’s ‘Okay’ as you caught your breath.

You hadn’t even noticed Draco, basking in the hoots and hollers of everyone in the party. A fifth year had downed a bottle of Firewhiskey before Booker Winston! You’d definitely be the legend for the years to come. And honestly, Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t find the way your teeth shone in the seizure-inducing lighting and how much your chest heaved as you sang along to the music. You were definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Another wave of screaming filled the room as Booker- pissed- threw his hands up and gave you a sack of 50 galleons. You held the bag in the air and laughed as fifth-years carried you on their shoulders as if you’d singlehandedly won the Quidditch World Cup. 

Draco followed as you savored the victory over a seventh year on the shoulders of your classmates. You laughed at something one of your friends had said and slid down, letting men and women pat you on the back to congratulate you for unofficially taking over Booker’s spot as the ‘Keg King’ (an odd name, yes, but it was an honor nonetheless).

Finally Draco appeared at your side, one hand at your waist as you danced with your girl friends and spun around with the people that entertained you. Your shirt was almost entirely unbuttoned, revealing the emerald green of your sports bra. “Merlin, trouble,” Draco muttered as you turned to him and immediately linked your hands together around his neck and stepped closer to him. “How does it feel to be the Keg Queen?” He joked, lips grazing your ear.

“Like I’m fuckin’ invincible,” you replied. You looked at Draco with that million dollar smile that so many had tried to copy. “Definitely a party-starter, don’t you think?”

Draco laughed. His ring-clad hands grasped your hips and pulling you closer to him as more people showed up to get drunk and have a good time. “Yeah, trouble.” 

You swayed with Draco, caught in his eyes. It goes without saying that you were one of the most influential pureblood witches was an understatement. Luckily you got along with your parents enough to pick the pureblood candidates to marry (your parents believed arranged marriage was best to keep the blood pure). Your parents and Draco’s were more than pleased with the arrangement as you had all known each other since conception. Everyone knew you were together, but not that you were getting married as soon as seventh year was completed. 

Everything was always too much for both of you. But right here and now, just being two drunk and in-love teenagers was perfect.

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

Ruin My Reputation

pairing : cooper howard (the ghoul) x (fem) reader

summary : he’s soft for you

warnings : blood, drug use kinda, talk of shooting

a/n : just something short and sweet so the fallout brainrot subsides.

“You know damn well I hate when you show up like this.” You let your medical supplies clatter onto the table where the ghoul sits, waiting like a hurt dog. Eyes awfully resemblant of the animal.

It’s likely that the only reason he’s here, looking this run down, is cause he’s got no vials left. If you knew better, you’d hide yours. Or better yet, get rid of them all together.

“Now c’mon darlin’,” he pauses to sputter out a cough and take a deep breath, “I thought you loved seeing me.” Shakily, he grabs his hat off his head and places it on the table.

“I love you a whole lot more when I don’t have to worry about you showing up at my doorstep on the brink of death you old..” Your words trail off and whatever insult you were ready to throw at him is taken away by the stream of air you let slip past your lips.

“I told you to quit your worryin’, I ain’t gonna die on ‘ya.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you suppose it is you’re doing right now?”

“Well if you’d quit your yappin’ and get to fixin’ I’d be doing a whole lot better, wouldn’t I?” He offers an unwelcome smile, which disappears when he winces in his pain. You hand him a vial of his favorite yellow liquid before you get to unbuttoning his shirt. After downing the vial he opens his mouth again but you're quick to cast your eyes his way.

“Looks like I didn’t need your medical attention after all, huh? ‘S a damn shame.”

“Mhm, waste of my time. Well then, I’ll cut right to it, thought I told ‘ya not to come around anymore after the last time.” Your voice trails off as you disappear to the back room to grab him a shirt that isn’t littered with holes and dirt and a shit ton of blood. Most of which probably isn't even his. And he follows behind, limping, like he’s in a trance and can’t help himself.

You hear a grunt from the other room as you rummage through a small storage box of his discarded things. Anything he left over the months he had been making himself a frequent quest in your home was in this box. You wanted to burn it. All of it. Use those little bottles of yellow liquid as a fire starter and make him watch while you did it. But anytime you tried, you couldn’t actually bring yourself to part with the tiny symbols of his presence.

“We both know you didn’t mean that,” he appears in the doorway behind you, blocking your exit, “besides I always come to my girl for help when things get rough. She's got all the good chems.”

You throw the shirt into his arms, a bit harder than intended, but he catches it with the reflexes of a man who kills for a living. Because, well, he does. You’re not sure why but every comment is making you angrier about him being there. A chem stash, huh? That’s all he thought of you?

“I wish you wouldn’t. I ain’t got time to sit around and tend to you, wait for you to get all better and leave again.”

The shirt now hangs on his body loosely, buttons open, “Now what’s got you so sour tonight. Usually you're a lot kinder to little ol’ me.” He leans against the doorframe

“Maybe the fact that I’ve got a half dead cowboy making himself comfy in my home every two weeks doesn’t sit well with me. You ever think about that before you kick your dirty boots off on my carpet?” You pause to stare at him with a raised eyebrow, “Oh, which reminds me, you owe me a new carpet.”

“What’re you talking about, woman?”

“You got blood on my carpet.”

“It was already covered in blood and dirt anyway!”

“Well, you got more on it. I liked how it was. So now you owe me a new one.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Where would you like me to go for said carpet? Anything I find you is gonna look exactly the same as the one already sitting on your goddamn floor!” He moves in slowly, cautiously like he’s practiced the art a million times. “Now I know you’re not worried about that piece of fabric out there. What is the problem?”

He swoops in close, close enough to wrap his arms around your waist with his hands clasped together at the dip in your back. You don’t push him away, though you want to. Although, all you think about is how your gun is sitting merely 5 inches away on the end table beside you. You could shoot him, if you wanted. But you probably won't.

Cooper’s eyes find your avoidant ones, the rough pads of his fingers grabbing at your chin to make you look at him. He’d never raise his full hand to you, smart man. God knows you’d think he was moving in to slap you, and his hand would be gone before he could yell ‘yeehaw’.

“You know damn well that I worry about you Coop.” Your arm finds his forearm, tugging his hand away from your face, “I just want you to stay for once, so I won't have to worry about you dying in the middle of the wasteland somewhere.” His hands find the dip in your back again, running along your skin until they rest on your hips.

“Hey now, you know I can’t stay, I got business to take care of out there.”

“Yeah, it’s always business. Always. Well you know what, so do I. So go on and get ‘fore I shoot yer sorry ass.” You step away from him, pushing him out of your way but his hands are quick to find your hips again and pull you back to him. Works like magnets.

“Now you're just being dramatic.. Alright alright, if you ask me nicely I’ll stay for a little longer than usual.”

You stare at him, eyebrows flexed in annoyance but the rest of your face has seemingly cooled down. You don’t need to say anything, he’s already agreed. He looks down at you with a soft smirk, thumbs rubbing into your hip bones.

“You are the easiest woman to please in the whole wasteland.” You feel your eyebrows relax as one of his hands reaches up to cup your cheek in his rough palm. His lips part, gazing at you with deep adoration.

“Think you’re making me go soft darlin’, gonna ruin my damn reputation.”

[theladycarpathia]

Happiness, love, cohabitation (Clipboards and couches notwithstanding)

a.k.a. Tommy's still smitten by Clipboard Buck. (sequel to To Do List: Me (Buck's Tasklist)

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Eddie says under his breath, just as the moving truck pulls in.

“Ready for what?” Tommy asks, shielding his eyes against the sun. “Happiness? Love? Cohabitation?”

Eddie just gives him a look. Perhaps there’s a reason that he’s the only person from the 118 that volunteered to help today. Hen and Howie were conveniently otherwise engaged. Cowards.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says darkly, nodding at the gleam of Buck’s truck down the road. It sounds ridiculous but Tommy’s stomach still dips a little at the mere suggestion of Buck.

“Evan’s moving in today,” Tommy says, choosing to ignore every single thinly veiled, ominous word out of Eddie’s mouth. “I swear to you, I have no idea.”

“Yes, you do,” Eddie says, as Buck pulls in, the flatbed still somehow piled high despite the large truck filled with Buck’s belongings. It hadn’t made a lot of sense for Tommy to move into Buck’s loft so it had been an easy decision. Tommy lives close enough to the 118 that it’s not that much more of a commute for Buck. “But you’re being a dick about it.”

“I told you,” Tommy says easily, as Buck climbs out, balancing a box on his knee as he shuts the door. “I’m happy.” Eddie just shakes his head.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” he promises, as Buck bounds over.

“Hi,” Tommy says and Buck beams back, beautiful and soft.

“Hi,” Buck returns, almost looking uncertain. Tommy’s had to face a few wobbly moments in the past few weeks. But he gathers that the past few times Buck’s moved in with someone it hasn’t gone very well.

“It’s not until Eddie pointedly clears his throat that Tommy realizes they’re just standing in the drive, with the removal men waiting patiently.

“Sorry we were a bit late,” Buck apologizes, looking as flustered as Tommy feels. They’re still in the ‘honeymoon stage’ as Hen likes to quip. Which is bull, because Tommy knows that when it’s the right person that it never just goes away. Hen and Karen for starters, are not exempt. “There was some trouble getting the furniture down the stairwell. I don’t remember it being so difficult to move in…”

“That’s because it was flat packed, Buck,” Eddie says and rolls his shoulders. “Where do we start?”

And then - alright, so Tommy had been expecting it, he had - Buck reaches into the cardboard box and pulls out a clipboard.

The look that Eddie gives him is very nearly worth it.

“I fucking told you,” Eddie says, tipping back the bottle of water until it’s empty. “God, I just knew it.”

“So you did,” Tommy says and Eddie crumples up the bottle.

“Are you telling me that you don’t see it?” he demands, tossing the bottle towards the recycling. “Are you seriously telling me that Clipboard Buck is just…Buck to you?”

Tommy’s been hearing about Clipboard Buck for nearly as long as he’s been dating Buck. Like Maurice, the jinx and the heist, it’s one of those things that seems to just pass into the 118 lore. Clipboard Buck is like a unicorn that occasionally appears before vanishing once more. If unicorns wore frowns and clicked their pens if you forgot to follow his exacting instructions.

The thing is that Tommy doesn’t mind. Everyone has their quirks. Howard smacks his gum, Hen frequently forgets to turn off her mothering, Eddie veers to the over dramatic. It’s just one of those things you learn to live with for someone you love.

“It’s endearing,” he says defensively, while Eddie snorts. “Besides, you just have to know how to use it.”

Eddie pauses, mouth open, before he wrinkles his nose. It didn’t take him long to think of the implications.

To be fair, it hadn’t taken Tommy all that long either the first time he’d seen Buck with a clipboard.

“Actually,” Eddie says, grabbing a few new bottles of water from the fridge. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Want to know what?” Buck asks, appearing in the doorway. It’s been hard work - it’s a beautifully sunny Los Angeles day and even with Buck’s loft, there’s still an astounding amount of stuff that needs to be moved in and arranged. Tommy’s - now theirs - bedroom has a significant pile of boxes lined up against the far wall.

Absolutely nothing obstructing the bed. Tommy had been very clear about that.

“What you do with that clipboard,” Eddie says bluntly and ducks out. Tommy reaches out to grab hold of Buck’s waist and pull him closer, deftly removing the clipboard from his grasp.

“This isn’t unpacking,” Buck says against Tommy’s bottom lip. Tommy slides a hand down the curve of Buck’s rear and isn’t surprised that Buck doesn’t take a whole lot of persuading to lean in. They’re pressed together, chests down to knees, and Tommy is pretty sure that Eddie handing out water to the removal guys can at least buy them a few minutes.

“We deserve a break,” Tommy insists and kisses him.

And yeah, a break turns into a few minutes of making out like horny teenagers against the kitchen island but sometimes you take what you have to to get through the day.

“This is going to make it very difficult to move the bookcase,” Buck sighs, letting Tommy kiss along his jaw.

“How’s the list?” Tommy asks, because that’s another, unforeseen advantage of Buck’s clipboard. Aside from the very memorable occasions where Buck writes out every awesomely filthy want in his head (to be ticked off meticulously) it also gives them an end goal for when everyone else goes home.

“Getting there,” Buck says, sliding a hand around Tommy’s neck. “A few more boxes, some bigger items. Are you sure all this stuff is going to fit?” Tommy shrugs. He hadn’t worried about it too much. He’s got the space and they’re both off tomorrow. Tonight they can christen the bed and unpack Buck’s essentials and tomorrow they can make a start on combining their lives.

“We’ll manage,” Tommy soothes. He can hear noises outside and they don’t have long but he wants to keep Buck here for just a moment longer. He smells faintly of sweat and lemon shower gel and Tommy wants to just keep breathing it in.

But when they emerge from the kitchen - the back of Buck’s hair rather obviously ruffled - they encounter an obstacle in the living room. Literally.

“We’ll have to shift that,” Tommy notes, because there’s not quite enough space for his couch, Buck’s couch, and the armchair. “It’s not exactly going to…Buck?”

Because Buck is staring, wide-eyed at the collection of furniture currently crowding Tommy’s front room.

“You have a couch,” Buck says and Tommy blinks.

“Yes,” he says. “Most people do.”

“I have a couch,” Buck says and Tommy is completely lost. He’s learned a lot of things about Buck by now - the jealousy (the incident with Sal was a good indicator,) the insecurities, the abandonment issues, and the obvious Clipboard Tyrant tendencies. Not one of them has been a deal breaker, despite Buck’s concerns.

But this is new.

“Still not seeing the problem here, Evan,” Tommy says. Eddie passes by the open doorway, hands now empty of water bottles. He sticks his head through, and briefly makes a confused face at Tommy behind Buck’s back.

“My previous couches came with girlfriends,” Buck explains and Eddie hurriedly disappears again.

“Did this couch come with a girlfriend?” Tommy asks, eying the blue three-seater that’s been wedged up against the wall.

“Look, I never had a couch because I lived in a frat house and then with Abby. And then couch one was chosen by Ali, who left me. Couch two had to go when Taylor moved in and then she moved out and I didn’t have a couch. And then my mom bought me a couch but Cameron had her baby on it and Couch four had to go to Goodwill because it was chosen by Natalia the Death Doula.”

“I see,” Tommy says, although he really doesn’t. But there’s not a lot of point in trying to decipher Buck when he babbles like this. “So. You bought this couch. By yourself?”

“No girlfriends,” Buck says and gestures to the couch in question. “Statistically, I don’t have the best luck with couches. Or girlfriends. If I get rid of this couch, I’m starting the cycle all over again. I know Hen told me to stop counting but if I buckle on this it’s very not Buck 5.0.”

Not one word of that made sense to Tommy. But he knows when Buck is spiraling and for some reason right now, Buck is spiraling.

“Evan,” Tommy says and rests his hands on either side of Buck’s face. He strokes his thumbs over Buck’s cheeks until he stops talking. “It’s fine. We can keep your couch. Mine can go downstairs or we can move the armchair. You don’t need to get rid of it.”

“I don’t?” Buck asks, looking dumbfounded.

“No,” Tommy says firmly. He still doesn’t quite understand it but the thing is that he doesn’t need to to soothe Buck. Buck’s worried about something and he can fix it. That’s all there is. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow. Your couch looks nice up here.”

“Okay,” Buck mumbles and then slumps against Tommy. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Tommy says and presses a kiss against the port-wine stain of Buck’s birthmark.

They stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, Buck tucking his head in the curve of Tommy’s neck.

“I knew there might be complications moving in together, I just didn’t expect something like that,” Tommy says frankly when Buck finally lifts his head up.

“I’ll explain later,” Buck says, looking a little sheepish now that the moment of panic is over. “We should get the rest of the stuff in. Where’s Eddie?”

“Run away like a chicken,” Tommy says. “Does he know about the couch theory?”

“He knows,” Buck says darkly. Okay, maybe this is another part of the 118 lore - and Tommy needs to remember to ask later about the Buck labeling system. What was Buck 1.0? Does he even want to know?

When they emerge out into the sunshine again, the removal men and Eddie are sitting on the grass out front, drinking water.

“All good?” Eddie asks and Buck offers him a hand.

“Good,” he says, pulling Eddie up. “Are we nearly done?”

“You tell me,” Eddie says, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Tommy. It’s very much saying ‘You asked for this.’

But all Tommy can think as Buck hurries back inside for his clipboard is that yes, he absolutely did.

[angelliicc]

signal

“i send you a sign, send you a signal

but it doesn't work at all”

a/n: hey guys im back again. enjoy because this is based off of a real life story to me :)

warnings: none

masterlist

| your team jumped for joy, forming a circle. “WE’RE GOING TO CHAMPIONSHIPS!!” you all exclaimed. the playoffs were a very close game, your team winning by a point yesterday. tears of joy filled the gym when you all realized you were going to the finals game.

“wanna watch the next game to see who we’re playing tomorrow?” coach asked.

“sure.” your team replied. you climbed up the bleachers sitting in the middle. you sat next to your friend, just as about it was tip off. you had no idea which schools they were. they were just yellow vs. black to you. the first half was quite boring, so you scrolled on your phone. halftime ended and it was the start of the 3rd quarter.

black was in possession of the ball until a girl from the yellow team stole it and made a wide open layup. woah. you thought to yourself. shes good. really good.

you couldnt take her eyes off of her. the way she played, her defense, her handles, her height, everything. you were admiring her from afar. you can finally see the back of her jersey. 14, williams.

you received a pamphlet of all the schools and players who were eligible to playoffs. you grabbed yours and flipped the pages quickly, looking for a williams.

“#14, ellie williams, point guard.” ellie huh? you thought to yourself.

the game eventually ended, with ellie and her school winning. meaning you were playing her tomorrow evening.

“im so scared, nervous, and excited.” you tell dina at school.

“im sure you guys will be fine! you have an undefeated season!” dina replied.

“i have a feeling we might lose. they’re really good and tall.” you said

“im sure everything will be fine, good luck tonight tho!” dina spoke

“thanks, i need it.” you joked back.

school ended at 3, the game was at 7. you had to get ready quickly since the play you were playing at wasn’t close. you brought your gym bag and water bottle and jumped into the car.

you were the first one there, with tons of emotions flowing through your body. you had a mental breakdown yesterday since you didn’t play to your expectations, which resulted into your mom scolding you. you wanted to make sure you played your best today.

more and more people arrived, parents, athletes, coaches, anyone. the gym was divided, half being in pink to support you and the others being in yellow to support your opponents.

tip off was in 5 minutes, you weren’t a starter, but you understood. your emotions were trying to get the best of you, but you tried to stop it. your coach gave you and your teammates some advice and where everyone should go, then the buzzer rang.

“on the court lets go!” the ref shouted. you sat down on the bench, watch the ball fly up in the air, then one of your teammates swinging it to your team.

“is ellie starting?” you thought to yourself. you didn’t see her on the court, but found her on the bench, watching eagerly just like you were.

2nd quarter had arrived, 15-24. you were losing. “you, go.” the co-coach told you. you got up, making sure your shoes had grip and ran on the court. you saw ellie was also playing. a foul got called against your team, so an opponent got 2 free throws. you were waiting on the 1st one.

“what are you doing? get ready!” coach scolded. when the opposing team got the rebound, coach called a timeout.

“you, take a charge on #14 if you can. shes too tall and drives fast.” coach ordered

“but who will the foul get called against?” you questioned.

“she will, shes in foul trouble.”

but before he can even explain more, reg blew the whistle, ordering everyone to get on the court. her team now had the ball. you tried your best to take a charge, but chickened out. coach subed you out. that was the only time you played.

it was a close game, but the other team started to give out towards the 4th quarter. your team took advantage of that. less than a minute left. shot clock. 52-48. your team had possession of the ball. there was 6 seconds left. ball up in the air, and it was a good. a 3 pointer made with 6 seconds left.

your team were champions. an undefeated record, the first in your schools history. you and your team gather outside to do an “undefeated” chant. all of a sudden, you see ellie in tears. you walk up to her, trying your best to comfort her. “hey, good game out there. you played good.” you said, attempting to cheer her up. all she could do was nod.

a few days later, you couldn’t stop thinking about ellie. “why can’t i get her out of my head?” you asked yourself. its like she owned your mind, and she was the only thing in it. you had no choice but to find her online, somehow.

you figured out the schools name, and decided to check the following list on it on instagram, when you see her username with a profile picture that looks exactly like her. “oh shit, its ellie. should i follow?” you ask yourself “you know what. fuck it.”

you pressed that blue follow button. next moment, your phone buzzed. she followed you back. it was like you were on cloud 9.

you went through her stories, seeing that she plays volleyball. you decided to dm her saying who you were, and that you played against her.

r: “hey, are you one of the players from the championship game?”

e: “yes, are you one of our opponents?”

r: “yup, i just wanted to say like your really fucking good i saw your semi-final game on sunday you killed it.”

e: “thank you so much omg you are rlly good too. i saw you guys play at the finals game. you are rlly good.”

r: “thank you, how long have you been playing?”

e: “7 years, wbu?”

r: “technically 2, i player when i was younger and i play now. i played volleyball for the first time this year, it was interesting.”

e: “vb is amazing. why, what happened?”

you then told her the unnecessary drama that happened at that time. it was definitely an experience.

r: “i wanna join club vb but its so expensive”

e: “fr like thousands of dollars to hit a ball over a net?”

r: “there’s a club near my city, but they want $6k”

e: “jesus, for hitting balls?”

r: “exactly! i can do it for free at my house”

you both then continued to talk about club volleyball, until you mentioned her volleyball videos. god she was amazing, you can see her going pro one day. she complimented you for your kind gesture. you both talked about how you can go against each other in the future again.

the next couple of days, you were contemplating weather or not to try out for club vb, so you texted ellie about it.

r: “hey ellie, i kinda wanna try out for volleyball. do you have any tips or what to expect?”

e: “theres gonna be passing, hitting, and serving. just keep practicing those.”

the conversation continued until it was getting late, and you both stopped responding to each other.

over the summer, you kept throwing hints to her how you liked her. you were head over heels for her, but you didn’t know if she liked you. you went complete stalker mode, looking at her reposts. you put songs on your story that reminded you of her. you replied to her stories and her notes, but she just didn’t get it.

over time, you made it to her close friends list. you felt like you won the lottery. you told dina and jesse about this crush, but they weren’t supportive.

“you can do better.” jesse commented

“first of all, what the fuck? and second, shes cute and a good baller.” you replied.

“i don’t think she likes you, sorry.” dina said. “shes friendzoning you. you’re the one always texting her first, replying to her, etc. i think you need to stop.”

“and what if i don’t?” you questioned.

“you’re gonna get your hopes up, all for nothing. don’t let her break your heart.” jesse added.

from then on, the signals you sent her died down. you didn’t text her as often as you did. you replied to her stories only rarely. you were forced to fall out of love.

i give you a glance and keep throwing hints

but you don’t understand

[forest-hashira]

Cool Touch

hello hello everyone!!! i know i just updated Noble Blood a few days ago, but the mental image of this one wouldn't leave me alone, so i went ahead and wrote it. this is the first of my entries for @threadbaresweater's "summertime (and the livin' is easy)" collab event! my chosen prompt for this was gojo + sunburns. not much happens here, but nonetheless i hope you enjoy it! also as usual this is not proofread at all so please forgive any mistakes haha

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.9k | cw: gender neutral reader, ambiguous relationship (can be read as romantic or platonic!), kinda implied autistic gojo (mentions of sensory issues & such), sunburns (obviously), that's pretty much it!

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding.”

Your words earned you a glare from Satoru as he stood in the doorway. His sunglasses had slipped down his nose as he looked at you, and for once, the dark lenses stood out less against his skin than the stark blue of his eyes.

“Do I look like a liar?” he retorted, opening the door a bit wider so you could come inside.

“More like a lobster,” you said as you stepped around him, before you could even really think about the words. “Sorry! Too soon, I guess,” you added quickly, dancing away from him as he reached out, probably to pinch you in retaliation for your comment on his appearance.

“Yeah, too soon,” he grumbled, shutting the door. “I don’t think I slept at all last night, I was so uncomfortable.”

“That’s what you get for not reapplying sunscreen like we told you to.”

“‘We’?” Satoru asked indignantly, dropping down to sit in one of his dining table chairs as he looked up at you with wide eyes. “Who else told me to reapply?”

“Me, for starters.” As you spoke, you set the shopping bag down on the table in front of you and began to pull out the things Satoru had asked for: multiple bottles of aloe vera gel, four flavors of ice cream, a box of popsicles, ice packs to be stuck in the freezer for later, and a few large bottles of water – your own addition, not something Satoru had requested. “And Suguru, Shoko, Kento—”

“Nanamin??”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “He does actually kind of like you, you know. And we’ve talked about the interrupting thing.”

“Right,” he sighed. “Sorry. I’ll put the money in the jar later.”

“Good,” you hummed. You tried to hand him the receipt from the drug store then, but he waved you off.

“Just leave it on the kitchen counter when you grab spoons,” he told you, leaning against the back of his chair, though h e quickly sat up straight again with a hiss when his skin made contact with the wood. “Hurryyyy,” he whined as you walked off. “I’m literally going to die if you’re not slathering me in gel in the next five seconds.”

“First of all, why the fuck did you have to phrase it like that?” You opened the silverware drawer, grabbing two spoons for the various ice creams you had gotten. Before you left the room, you stuck the receipt to the fridge with one of Satoru’s kitschy little magnets – you were pretty sure the one you grabbed was some sort of fish, but it was a little chipped and faded, and you didn’t bother to look at it for too long before you were walking away again. “Second of all, you are not going to die, you’re just uncomfortable.”

“And itchy. Soooooo fucking itchy.” Satoru was quick to snatch one of the spoons from you, already having the pint of cotton candy flavored ice cream in his lap. 

You wrinkled your nose at the sight, never quite able to understand how he was able to enjoy the flavor, but you said nothing as you came to stand behind his chair. Setting your own spoon on the table, you picked up one of the bottles of aloe gel.

“This might be cold on your skin,” you warned, though he barely acknowledged your words with a hum, his mouth too full of pink and blue ice cream for him to be thinking about much of anything. With a shrug, you squeezed some of the gel out into the palm of your hand, then set the bottle aside. You took a moment to rub the gel between your hands to warm it up a bit, then placed your hands on his tomato red shoulders.

Immediately, Satoru jumped, making an almost hilarious squawking sound as he moved away from your touch. “What the hell?” he demanded, ice cream and spoon still clutched in his hands. His eyes were open wide and his sunglasses had slipped all the way down his nose, seeming to cling to his face for dear life. “Warn a guy next time!”

More than a little shocked by his reaction, you blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “But… I did warn you?” Your brows furrowed as you spoke, and you cocked your head a bit as you looked at him, more confused than anything else.

“You definitely did not,” Satoru argued, now scowling at you.

“I said ‘this might be cold’,” you reminded him. “That counts as a warning.”

“But you didn’t say it would sting!”

Though part of you wanted to roll your eyes at Satoru for his dramatic reaction to the feeling of the aloe gel on his skin, you managed not to; you were well aware of how jumpy and antsy he could be in moments of vulnerability – physically or emotionally – and that generally he didn’t take well to perceived judgment during vulnerable times. Instead, you took a deep breath before apologizing.

“I’m sorry for not warning you about that part, too, Toru. If you’d like to come and sit back down I’ll put the gel on your sunburn. It’ll help you feel more comfortable in your skin, for at least a little bit.”

He eyed you for a moment longer, and you were certain if he had cat ears, they’d be in airplane mode as he decided whether to trust you again or not. Eventually, he let out a somewhat exaggerated sigh, then walked back over to the chair you still stood behind. “I appreciate and accept your apology,” he said quietly, settling down and taking another bite of his cotton candy ice cream. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him, glad that he was comfortable enough with you to be vulnerable, and that he trusted you to take care of him this way. He’d come a long way since you’d first met; he’d never been standoffish, really – he was the life of every room he walked into, party or not – but he’d kept anything he deemed “too personal” close to his chest, not wanting to give anyone a reason to dislike him. He’d been slow to open up to you, but once he’d realized you could be trusted? He’d become your closest friend, constantly in your space whenever you were in the same place. It had surprised you, the sheer amount of love he was capable of, when he deemed someone worthy – and trustworthy – enough to show that side of himself, but you felt honored to have his love directed at you.

Even if he was dramatic and difficult sometimes.

“Thank you,” you told him. “Now, I’m about to touch your back and shoulders again, alright? It might be cold and it might sting again, but hopefully not much.”

“‘Kay,” he replied around a mouthful of his frozen pink and blue treat, and you shook your head at him, a small chuckle escaping you.

Doing just as you’d said, you placed your hands on Satoru’s shoulders again, spreading the gel over as much of his skin as you could reach from your current angle: across the tops of his shoulders and down around to his collarbones; up his neck to his undercut; back down below his shoulder blades, rubbing it all in and doing your best to make sure it wasn’t layered on too thick, knowing that would aggravate his sensory issues.

Satoru tensed and shuddered for a fraction of a second when your hands came in contact with his fried skin, but he quickly relaxed again, letting you do all the work for him, since the worst of his burn was on his back and shoulders, where he couldn’t get a great angle to rub the gel on himself.

Grabbing the bottle of gel, you squeezed a bit more of it out into your palm. “I need to get the rest of your back,” you told him. “Could you lean forward a little more so I can reach it better?”

“Sure.” He did as you asked without complaint, even setting aside the now empty pint of ice cream and reaching for one of the water bottles you’d bought, twisting off the cap and taking a large sip of it.

“Someone’s thirsty,” you couldn’t help but tease. It was so rare to see Satoru drink anything that wouldn’t give anyone else a cavity just from looking at it that you had to make note of it any time it happened.

He grumbled at your words, but if he blushed, it was impossible to distinguish from the red that already tinted his cheeks. “I am thirsty.”

“I know,” you soothed. “That’s why I bought those. I always get really thirsty when I get a sunburn.” You uttered another warning before placing your gelled up hands further down his back than before, once again working the substance into his skin as well as you could. From the new angle, you could tell the burn ended where the waistband of his swim trunks had been, so you didn’t let your hands wander any places they weren’t needed. Though you didn’t need another reason to keep your hands to yourself (so to speak), the way Satoru shivered when your fingers dipped the tiniest bit below the waist of the current shorts he wore was reason enough.

“I’m done with your back,” you told him after a bit, stepping out from behind the chair to better look at the snowy haired man you had just thoroughly aloe-d. “Do you need help with getting the gel anywhere else?” The smile he shot you struck you right in the heart.

“No, I think I can do the rest of it. Thank you.” 

Keeping eye contact with him suddenly felt too intense, so you looked away. Your gaze landed on the open water bottle on the table, and you were pleased to see that he’d nearly emptied the bottle; the sight made you smile.

“You’re welcome,” you said back quietly. Then you remembered the ice packs and popsicles, so you picked them all up and walked back into his kitchen, sticking them all in wherever you could them, in between all his boxes of frozen chicken nuggets and other microwave meals – his kitchen skills were minimal, and the man knew what he liked, so you couldn’t really fault him for sticking with the ease of frozen food.

When you returned from the kitchen, you saw Satoru beginning to rub the aloe gel along his arms, so you were satisfied that you had completed the job you’d come here to do. You pulled your keys out of your pocket, making sure you had your phone before you made for the door.

“Wait!” Satoru called after you, and you stopped, turning back to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his expression was some combination of confused and… dejected? “Where are you going?”

“You said you didn’t need any more help with the aloe, so I was gonna leave you to it.”

“Oh.” His face fell at your words, but he spoke again anyways. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Not really, no. Why?”

Satoru perked up so quickly it was enough to give you secondhand emotional whiplash. “Oh, good! I was hoping you’d stay, maybe watch a movie or something?”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, with his sunglasses hanging crooked on his nose, his frosty white hair falling into his eyes, his boyish grin aimed full force at you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ll stay. What movie were you thinking?”

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