#sometimes you just dream of being the dick in the room going. okay does anyone know how good his fh dropper is

[batsplat]

thoughts on challengers ? 👀

haha okay sure. I was overthinking this when I first saw this ask but since then I've sent half an hour worth of voice notes to my number one person I send half hour's worth of voice notes to (listen she keeps encouraging me to) and I've ironed some of my thoughts out. also I should probably watch it again. some of this might be me misremembering shit. also it's not that serious. quick warning, this ended up being just. too long. it's basically just a long rant. under the cut it goes

so first of all, I really enjoyed watching this film. I liked the central premise a lot, I liked the chemistry between the characters, tashi was very hot, the score was fantastic, the cinematography was at least interesting, and a lot of the non-tennis bits are interesting

having gotten that out of the way. there's an interview where guadagnino says he doesn't watch tennis matches because he finds them boring, which to be clear is completely fair enough - but I do think it does slightly come across in how the tennis is filmed. there's definitely fun, neat stuff in there: the shot where it follows around the ball, the shot from underneath the court, all of that stuff. and I think there's obviously a lot of challenges with filming tennis when you have to make sure you can't, like, see the actors actually play tennis, and I don't know anything about film-making so I don't want to judge it too harshly. but there are a few established angles from which tennis looks good, and this film doesn't really use them all that much. it was interesting to what extent they went for side shots (basically from the tashi pov in the final match) rather than... well, picking a side, and at different points of that match actually giving the viewer a clearer sense of the visceral nature of what they're doing here. like, if you're going court level from behind the player, that's how you capture the weight of the shot on screen. which felt was a little bit... missing

okay... ffs this next section ended up kind of being tennis tactics 101, and then the other bit ended up being about how matches work. my basic point here is that I think this film did some interesting stuff with the tennis but, and this is part of my more longstanding frustrations about the untapped narrative potential of sports, I think you could've done a lot more and communicated a lot more through the actual tennis. not just for annoying people who want to go 'oh look that's an extreme western grip and explains why her forehand has so much spin but can also be fragile when absorbing pressure!!' but for the general viewing audience. I want to be very clear here: I do not really care about realism except when I'm being annoying in voice notes, I care about storytelling. if you understandably do not give a shit about all this tactics and match construction stuff, skip to the bit marked 3 for more of my thoughts related to the actual film

1

now you might go 'okay but this film isn't about capturing tennis and doing it justice - it's not even about tennis'. yeah, but tennis is the central metaphor! tennis is a relationship, right, but it's also a conversation. it's a way of communicating something to the audience, yes, in a way non-tennis fans can also pick up on. and a lot of the tennis looked pretty same-y. the points were very similar - the intensity was ramped up mainly by the characters just... whacking the ball harder, running side by side, and then sometimes they both move forwards. this isn't a realism issue, it's a storytelling issue. you can tell a story with a tennis point, you can construct these points in different ways to tell you different things

just to give you an example (I promise this is relevant): okay, the most common rally pattern in tennis is hitting cross court. so either you hit on the deuce court (from your pov, this is from the right side of your court to the left side of the other player's court, aka the forehand side for right handed players) or the ad court (the opposite, and thus the backhand side for right handed players). this is for a bunch of tactical reasons. the net is at its lowest in the middle so, y'know, you're less likely to hit it. perhaps most importantly, it's a question of angles and... okay look I don't want to bore the two people reading this with the details but just to very quickly explain, here:

say player a is hitting the ball along the red line to player b, the orange zone depicts the theoretical area in which the ball trajectory of player b's answering shot can go. like, if you want to get the other player to move 'out of the court', you can only do so by going back cross court... which is obviously where, in a cross court exchange, the other player is already standing. this is why a lot of the times, players don't 'recover' after their shots to the exact centre of the court, but instead make a judgement of where the centre is of the theoretical zone the opponent can hit. to put it in plain english: I hit a forehand cross, I don't move back to the exact middle of the court because I know where you can hit the ball back and I need to be in the middle of that - which skews to the right of centre. also, I just know it's more likely you're going to go cross again, because that's just how this works

you want to move the other player around, right, first of all to get the ball past them - but also to make it harder for them to attack you. you're trying to construct a point so that eventually they are the one who can't reach the ball/makes an error, not you. a lot of the times, continuing to go cross court is the smart option. it's less risky than going down the line, and also if your down the line shot isn't perfect, where it isn't a winner or at least a shot they'll struggle to attack, then you're setting up a situation where they have all the angle in the world to work with, where the centre of their theoretical hitting zone is nowhere near where you're actually standing and they can easily whack the ball past you

now, why the fuck does this matter when we're talking about the tennis threesome film? obviously, I don't expect the director to interrupt the film to explain angles to the audience. in tennis terms, 'go cross court' is tactics for babies, but it's still not something most viewers will be instinctively familiar with. but think about what it actually does if players keep exchanging shots cross court because they can't risk going down the line: they're engaging in a direct contest! they are measuring one shot against the other, my forehand against your forehand, my backhand against your backhand, and they are trying to assert dominance. sometimes, you have no choice to escape that exchange even when it's risky because their raw cross court shot is better than yours. sometimes, you're trapped in that exchange. how you can extract metaphors from that should be fairly obvious, and I don't think this should be visually too tough to get across - it's a power struggle between two people contained within a simple shot pattern. it adds variation to what the viewer is being shown (and, yes, it does make the points feel more realistic), but it's also a way of gradually ramping up intensity. my shot against your shot - who wins? who is willing to risk deviating from the norm? who sets themselves up for a trap - does patrick sucker art into attacking him down the line? can he then manage to counterpunch (to use attack as defence) by making it to art's shot in time and placing his response into the open court? who blinks first etc etc

look, this is only one way you can visually use tennis to add to the story. another common tactic is (if you're a right handed player) hitting forehands from the ad court, to 'run around the backhand'. that's an expression of dominance, it's a power play - you're trying to bully your opponent with your most powerful shot (which is the forehand for 99% of players, some might have better backhands but they won't have stronger ones), and you're deliberately recovering less to the centre. you're camping out on the ad side, and going 'yeah I don't actually think your down the line shot is good enough to hurt me, I actually feel very comfortable standing right here so I can more easily move far enough to the left to continue hitting forehands'. it's a tactic that is implicitly passing judgement on the opponent, and again, I refuse to believe you can't show this in a way that the audience understands roughly what's going on. have patrick bully art with his forehand into the weaker backhand or vice versa - they can use their faces to show how comfortable they are with their respective positions. y'know, make the actors act. have one of them find the backhand down the line, fire it into the bit of the court the opponent has completely left open. your characters are using tennis to assert dominance over each other, to manipulate, to deceive each other - you can do that with the actual tennis they're playing

you can also express character through tennis. I'm not saying different play styles function as a personality quiz, but inherently the way you play is going to reflect what you feel comfortable with doing on the tennis court. is your preferred point three shots long or twenty shots long? are you looking to dominate your opponent with your big weapons, or are you looking to trick them with your variety of shots and smarts in using them? or are you looking to just grind them into submission with sheer relentless consistency?

take the drop shot: a shot that 'drops' right after it clears the net as a result of how the player has put a different kind of spin onto it. ideally, it's so close to the net the opponent can't sprint forward quickly enough to reach the ball. how effective your drop shot is depends on several things. obviously, it's how good the shot and the placement and the spin you've put on it is. it also depends on where you're standing and where your opponent is standing, which means that particularly effective dropshots usually come after big, heavy attacking shots that have forced the opponent to move back and have allowed you to move into the court. and it also depends how good your disguise is: for as long as possible, it should look like the shot you're playing is going to be a bog standard forehand or backhand - until you readjust your grip at the last moment and slash the racquet downwards (vs the upwards motion you'd make with the bog standard forehand or backhand). this is a shot that depends on the element of surprise. it's about trying to fuck with your opponent, it's about choosing your moment. it's about playing with them! and you can get pretty memorable reactions from your opponent. if you wrong foot them well enough, they'll literally stumble when they realise what's happening and never even start running. maybe they'll comically flail their arms

I feel like when the men's world number seven throws his arms up in shock every time somebody hits a short ball, you can probably convey this kind of dynamic in a film

and think about what it says if somebody's using a shot like that. again, you're trying to fuck with the other player, and you are relying on your knowledge of the opponent to figure out when they might be susceptible to it. now, obviously, this is tough to do when you're playing someone for the first time and (unlike top level professional players) don't have a vast amount of data to work with and how often xyz shot works against them in xyz situation. this is generally why early in a match, it's a good idea to just like, test some stuff out to give yourself a sense of how they'd react, if it's a good idea to use it in a pressure situation (you also do a version of this in the warm up if you're smart, just check how they react to that high ball to the backhand! all about being curious y'know). but if you know someone, if this is an established rivalry, if this is someone you've played with since you're kids... well. then it's a different ball game entirely

patrick has the psychological edge in that match-up, right, and the whole point of that final match is that it shouldn't be that close but it's that close due to the mental dynamics between the pair of them. patrick constantly wrong-footing art and frustrating him is the easiest way in the world to visually demonstrate that dynamic. you're constantly trying to guess what your opponent is going to do, you're constantly trying to anticipate, yeah? you know what I said above about how you're 'recovering' to the centre of the theoretical zone and all that? well, sometimes you don't do that - you guess where the opponent is going to go. most often, you've got to do that when you know the opponent has a relatively easy shot and they can hurt you with it, so you have to play the probabilities and hope you get it right... it's basically like a penalty kick in football. it's a quick judgement you're making on the basis of past data, of what you think your opponent is thinking, of how big a risk you want to make - of when to time it, because if you move too early they can still change the trajectory of their shot and go the other way. maybe you even feint one way before darting the other. and your opponent might shoot one way or the other... but, sometimes they'll drop shot you while you're moving in one direction as you frantically try to change course. or, which is even more humiliating, they'll go straight down the middle - since you're no longer standing there

in narrative terms, what does it tell you if a character guesses rightly or wrongly? what would it say if art or patrick had that kind of intimate knowledge of each other - I know you usually do this, but I know you know that so I'm going to go the other way - round and round in circles, a mental contest between people who are so familiar with each other that it can become actively confusing to try and preempt their moves. tennis is a relationship and it's a conversation and the way we construct a point tells us a story about the history between you and me. it tells us a story if art, the six time slam winner and more accomplished player by far, is being read so perfectly by patrick that he's tripping over himself and getting in his own way and flailing. one of the most common commentating cliches is about the ball, or indeed the player, being attached to the end of a string. the extension of that metaphor is that one player is the puppet master and the other player is a puppet. easy visual metaphor bingo

you can literally express how the characters feel about each other by... where they're standing. if you're scared of your opponent's shot, then you're going to try and give yourself more time to react. if you are on the attack, then you need to move in, to take the ball earlier, to take time away from the opponent. to me, if you're showing fictional tennis, you really should be playing with time and how you can use cinematic techniques to play with that sense of time. now, you can do this on the broader level of the match, because your subjective sense of time is dependent on how well you're doing in a match. time never moves faster than when you're losing a six love set. but it's also obviously integral to actual points, because you are usually trying to maximise your own time and minimise your opponent's, trying to make sure you will always have enough time to get to the ball and making sure they won't (obviously often u kinda have to pick one of those because of how time works)

where you stand on the court is an integral part of that, for obvious reasons related to 'basic physics'. and, again, it's also psychological. take the return position, right, aka where you're standing when the opponent is serving. most people have a built-in preference for both the first and second serve, and a kind of basic 'return strategy' of what kind of shot they'd like to use and where to move. generally, you'll stand further back for the first serve because it's more powerful... but hey, maybe you have a slightly unorthodox return strategy where you're just trying to 'block' the first serve and use the weight of the opponent's shot against them, and then you step back for the second serve and have a massive whack at them. just as an example

and, again, this is another way in which you try to fuck with your opponent. there is nothing more annoying than seeing the twat on the other side of the net move in to the court by an insulting amount because they don't respect your shitty second serve and think they can take a swing at it from in front of the baseline. some players just do this in general - prime offenders on the women's side are garcia and ostapenko (and with all love to them, they do this more than is perhaps tactically prudent)

(for the other end of the spectrum, see another place from which you can theoretically return a serve from if you're out of your fucking mind) (this particular player's return strategy has been like a top five discourse point over the last few years but we do not have time to get into all that)

but you can also vary it up in a match, and you probably should if you're being smart. so for instance (and there's a specific match in 2022 I'm thinking of here), if you know your opponent has an awful second serve and a lovely little habit of double faulting when under pressure, maybe as the returner you just... well, look, the ball from the first serve has rolled right to your feet, so obviously you need to politely pass it to the ballperson, and maybe it just takes a little bit longer so that you know the server is looking right at you when you meander in front of the baseline to wait for their second serve. and then they double fault and that's the break of serve right there. you're not always standing that close to return second serves, but you're standing there when you know it'll make them most nervous. again, I am not saying the tennis threesome film needs to explain the difference between jelena ostapenko's and daniil medvedev's return strategies, but these ARE the kinds of things you CAN organically integrate, and give you very blunt and easy to understand messages about the characters and their dynamic

and like... different people have different play styles, yeah? let them express a little character! tashi is relentless, maybe she's constantly attempting to take everything with her forehand to attack and attack, or maybe she trusts herself to attack from any place with any shot. maybe she's so lively and confident and uncompromising that she uses down the line shots more than anyone else, or maybe there's surprising subtlety there in how the intensity and rage fades away for a moment as she flutters a slice across the net. what is it about her game that so captivates the two boys, its aggression or its complexity? is her game already more complete and well-defined and self-aware than it has any right to be from a high school student? or is it raw and untamed and a little wild and so full of potential?

art has a one-handed backhand and uniqlo gear in a very obvious federer allusion, but does he share any more with federer than that? is he particularly prone to rushing the net, especially after the serve? does he want to end points quickly? does he have good hands, is he trying to wrong-foot his opponent - or is he the one constantly getting wrong-footed as the others dance around him? is he constantly trying to assert his dominance, to end points quickly, and initially you think it's a sign of his power and confidence... but then you realise that it's insecurity - he's worried what will happen if they go on too long, if he gives too many chances to other players to outsmart him, if he's uncomfortable playing defence because it makes him feel reactive and weak. maybe in the second set he has to knuckle down and accept the rallies will be long and gruelling - which is a central aspect of tennis, it's about patience and managing risk. maybe he's so tense and nervous that he's just an error machine in the first set, but then he decides to just slow the pace and live with patrick in those forehand to forehand exchanges, let his natural weight of shot do the talking for him and force patrick to change things up

and patrick, with the unorthodox technique and the sleeveless shirts and the money and how he never really grew up - what does that tell us about his tennis? is it rough and energetic, big swings at the ball, layering on more and more spin to propel it high over the net? does he throw a massive forehand at art's backhand, making him hit it at a high point that is naturally uncomfortable for the one handed backhand? wouldn't it be interesting if you had patrick have a strong point to his game that naturally matches up to art's weak point, the chink in the six time grand slam champion's armour? what about the physicality, does he lunge further and harder and throw himself into balls just that little bit more? is he stronger than art, or is he faster, or is he neither? is he driven by instinct and gets in his own way less than art does, or is he tactically more astute and gets the better of art that way?

obviously you can't do all of those things in a film and you shouldn't because it's distracting. but what I'm trying to demonstrate here is that there is a whole range of potential storytelling you can tap into here. now, nobody's actually doing this, and my thing with challengers is that in many ways it came closer to the kind of narratives I would like to see. but then it still falls short just a touch, which is where the frustration comes in

a rivalry has got a history that is woken up again every time you step on court to face your old foe - you remember how they play, you already know what you want to do to beat them this time. you are trying to unsettle them. you know how they want to play and you want to deny them that opportunity. inevitably, any defined play style tells us something about the player and their personality and their approach to the game. the film is quite scarce on details about its lead characters and using the tennis more deftly would've been a great way to give us a stronger sense of who they are in a very economical, concise way. what does it mean for tashi's game that she can no longer run? yes, obviously it means she can't compete any longer, but the injury does different things symbolically depending on how big a part movement was of her game. often, tennis injuries directly affect your strengths. take a player who puts a lot of heavy spin on the ball by snapping their wrist - they are putting more strain on said wrist and may end up injuring it (a particularly terrible part of the body to injure for a tennis player). there's something extra cruel about that because it also affects how they'll recover, if they'll ever be able to trust that body part again. these are career-threatening injuries not just for physical but for psychological reasons. same thing if you're a great server with a shoulder injury... or if you're a great mover with a leg injury

also, and okay this probably did come across as nitpicking and it's not really an issue if it worked for people who aren't familiar with tennis... but omg the last point was so confusing. did check and this wasn't just a me problem, though I'd be curious if it worked for people less familiar with the game. when they came closer and closer to the net and hit back and forth, I thought what was happening was that they'd like, given up competing and were just hitting back and forth as a symbol of defiance or something. that they'd basically decided to stop playing the match and just play with each other. because like, you just can't do that in a match, the point would immediately be over especially if they're just standing there - they're too close! you'd immediately get the ball past! so I only realised when the film was over that it was supposed to be a really intense point... but I think that's the kind of thing where most people watching will probably be fine with it, so again. y'know. whatever. I do think you could have staged that point a little more cleverly to get to the same conclusion in a more natural way, but also. whatever. it's fine

(obviously there are also some other broader suspension of disbelief issues that I'm far less bothered about. the technique was like, not great, but also probably about as good as you'll get from actors, though again I would've liked a little more thought put into what they're doing beyond 'art's got a one handed backhand and patrick's got a quirky serve!' I thought the patrick serve thing was really neat and fun and theoretically you could hit a serve like that, though quite frankly in the men's game you'd probably be fucked because you need more racquet acceleration than that - but that does fit in with his character and the stubbornness and all that so it's fine. the art serve quirk... well, most players deliberately construct serving rituals like bouncing the ball several times or ball placement or whatever because it's the one shot in tennis that's completely 'on your own racquet' but is also really tough, so you're trying to trick your brain into always doing the same thing. I find it a little tough to believe art wouldn't have been aware of what he was doing, but again, not a massive issue. beyond my concerns about the lack of variation in the points they were showing, it did also trip me up whenever they were obviously stranded in no-man's land - you need to be either on/behind the baseline or right at the net and there's certain areas of the court where if you spend too long in them you are very much fucked. the whole concept of 'recovering' after a shot is like, as important part of tennis movement as getting there in the first place, and there's whole footwork patterns you use while you're hitting the shot and immediately afterwards to get yourself in position again. at times they'd just be standing in place in the fuck end of where on earth are you standing until the next shot comes and. listen. it really Does Not Matter beyond how it's fun to be annoying about this stuff but it did make me a bit twitchy)

2

so. match constructions and narrative arcs. I think if a literal match of tennis is the framing device of your film, you should think about the natural narrative tension that exists within a literal match of tennis. again, a match is a conversation, it has its ebbs and flows and peaks and troughs and all that other stuff. you are more tense at *4-5 30:30 than you are at 1-1* 15:0. you are feeling better about your life choices at 6-4 *5-3 than you are at 7-6(8) 0-6 *1-3. you change over the course of a match, as you test yourself physically and mentally and acquire a situationally specific data bank about yourself and the other player, as you notice and learn certain things about what's going on in your own game and your opponent's game. maybe you have a moment where you go 'yup the backhand's a catastrophe today, time to slice everything and hope for the best' or you go 'lol that's the third consecutive djokosmash they've hit, maybe I'll throw the ball high up again next time they get to the net'

also obviously all these things vary over the course of a match - and they do so more than they have any right to! there's no logical reason why 6-1 1-6 6-1 scorelines should happen, but they do! because game breaks and changeovers and set breaks and all of it can represent massive shifts in momentum. you play a *5-0 game differently than a *0-1 game, and suddenly those beautiful forehands you were ripping for half an hour are all flying out of the stadium and, shit, time to change tactics to defend more except now you're really screwed because you're playing your opponent's game. the most important thing to remember about tennis is that it fucking sucks. matches are psychological torture. I want to feel that part when watching the tennis threesome film

the basic mechanism of narrative tension in a match is the serve vs return dynamic. if you serve, you need to protect your serve, because those are the games you are supposed to be winning. if you return, you need to attack the opponent's serve, because those games represent opportunity. you want your service games to be short and fast and you want your return games to be long and tough and miserable for your opponent. and after every game, it ticks back again - you are literally passing the ball to the other side of the court. your turn, have fun!

there are a million different ways you can construct tension on a micro level within a match. you have breakpoints/matchpoints, obviously, which to some extent the film did feature. you have games that just get stuck on deuce, with neither player able to win the requisite two points in a row to release them, so it's like... basically groundhog day in sports as you keep trotting from one side of the court to the other, both players frustrated, one unable to escape the danger and the other unable to seize the opportunity. battle of the wills. games can completely realistically last more than twenty points. obviously you've got tiebreaks, which again the film did feature (though icl I had no clue what the score was supposed to be, again it doesn't matter but). you have the old cliche of 'it's not a break of serve unless you've backed it up' (aka by holding your own serve) and how common it is to be broken straight back for various nasty psychological reasons

I wish they'd played with this a little more, just showed a little more of why the players were reacting emotionally in the way that they were at certain stages of the match - rather than just basically reacting to the flashback we've just seen. like, there's plenty of reasons why a player might get particularly angry at a certain point of a match in a way that just feels a bit more organic. if tennis is the medium through which to explore this three-way relationship, then showcase that push and pull factor, those changes in momentum. the film suggests patrick has always had the upper hand - I'd make more clear this is the classic 'pigeon' dynamic where basically the head to head between two players is more skewed than it has any right to be given how 'good' those two respective players actually are. usually that means there's something funky going on with the play styles or it's something mental or it's an interaction between the two. patrick really cares about art, right, and then he's always able to beat him because he gets him and knows how to mess with him. art has the more raw ability(?) but it takes a bit longer for him to actually realise how good he is, in part because he always lost to patrick

the way they should've done this imo have a place where art does actually choke a sizeable lead, a kind of unexpected switch of momentum. like have this be the first set where art comes in hot and is y'know the obviously better player and all that, but then patrick just increasingly manages to unsettle him. make it a proper bad one, say *5-2 to 5-7. throw in a long deuce game. and then art is confronted with all his old demons again, his inadequacy, all that stuff. and then you've got the momentum switch after the set break when art manages to pull himself together. the thing is, they do actually show a fair bit of the match, but it's not always that interesting because it lacks a little bit of specificity, a little bit of detail... just make a few adjustments that accentuate the central dynamic. you don't have to go with this exactly but go with SOMETHING, 6-2 2-6 is such a nothingburger score lol like what does that tell us... 7-5 1-6 is what it's all about

(dumb nitpick corner: unlikely a time violation would get called between first and second serves, and if you do so then you'd better hand out a time violation if the receiver starts faffing about between points right after, rather than quietly talking to them off-mic. but hey, the establishment is corrupt, they obviously wanted art to win. also, there's a mistake on the scoreboard at the *5-6 game where they accidentally make it look like art is serving for the match at that stage, which would completely change the dynamic of that game and the previous game and the implications if art had let it go to a tiebreak - aka he would have choked. just slightly confused me when the umpire called out 'thirty love' after patrick won the point lol)

3

so maybe this all does come across like I hate the film, which I really did not. I enjoyed it a lot, and honestly it's not like there's much to choose from in terms of 'sports media that seriously engages with the narrative potential of the actual sport'. there were plenty of storytelling details I really vibed with, especially the dynamic between the central three characters and the push and pull between them and how they work as a trio. all three sides of the triangle were good fun. the way the two blokes were so in sync at times, that kind of easy intimacy and familiarity - again, I think you could have expressed that more through actual tennis but that did absolutely work for me

the actual 'playing a challenger before uso' thing was also fun, though I was wondering what his ranking was like because it must have still been kinda in the pits. like, you can't show up to a challenger as a top ten player. not that it actually matters matters but just. whatever. I do think the premise is neat

(though, that challenger audience was not keyed in enough! like omg if you're showing up to some random challenger to watch a top player on the injury comeback try to rack up some wins and the final is against the guy he played doubles with to win a junior slam, everyone watching would be SO aware of it. those spectators aren't just randomly being drawn into the drama, they know what's up!! you just know the challengers tv stream is racking up crazy figures. idk this is obviously more of a subtle thing, but I feel like it was supposed to give off the vibe of the non-tashi viewers being surprised by why they were being such weirdos all of a sudden but nah they would be ON IT with their patrick zweig backstory. including the fact he used to date tashi lol, like yeah they'd Get It)

I loved a lot of tashi's characterisation, how fucking obsessed she was with tennis and how everything was About Tennis for her... like yeah very real!! of course it eats her up!! I had a bit of a debate about this but I personally really liked the college tennis thing because it felt like a complete curve ball given her characterisation. it's good though, this idea that she wants to fool herself into believing she's more than hitting a ball but she's actually not... because of course she isn't.... none of these people are.... I like that element of self-delusion, even though it still... hm, I'm not entirely sure the film COMPLETELY sold me on that level of self-delusion because it was so obvious she didn't care about anything except for tennis... like it never quite felt entirely clear what she thought she was getting from that experience. but yeah, the central premise of it all... like the fact she just can't say goodbye to that world, that she can't really escape it, that she has to pursue something related to it to feel alive, even by proxy, the suspicion that all she needs art for is to have that kind of second hand thrill... really good!!

I was talking about this with the unfortunate recipient of my voice notes, and she's more familiar than I am with american college tennis than I am for the fairly obvious reason that only one of us has attended an american college. she said she'd discussed this with some of her friends and that that kind of injury did feel a touch unrealistic in the context of college tennis, partly because you're less likely to be playing with the kind of schedule that professional tennis requires of you. now, this doesn't really bother me, but I almost wish they'd leaned into the tragedy of it more - that it was unlikely and she didn't even get it while playing professional tennis! she was engaging in this grand act of self-delusion that there was more to her than tennis, which, let's face it, just really isn't a thing when you're a very good junior player, and she got injured before she ever even got close to 'making it'. it's tragic because it should never have happened. whatever injury art picked up (can't remember if they mentioned) would be statistically more likely to actually fuck you over, given their respective ages and time on tour and all that. you don't typically randomly get career ending injuries when you're running for a ball, not if you've trained properly - both in the sense that you're moving 'correctly' on the court and you've developed the muscles to protect yourself (which admittedly she was looking a touch light on). perfectly fine as a narrative choice, lean into it more

the churro college conversation between patrick and art was good, but that's another thing I would've integrated more into the tennis. like, the thing about him actually going for what he wanted and all that? you can do that through tennis! I also kinda wanted more of a sense of what tashi brought to the coaching dynamic, just something very simple and straightforward even the non-tennis viewing audience can understand. again, you've got this fairly obvious federer expy set up going on with art, and the glimpses we got of his game ... I mean mainly the one handed backhand, it does lean towards him being a player that's naturally oriented towards aggression. I would've maybe gone for the whole.... y'know. him not really being able to embrace that, him always holding himself back a little bit, not willing to fully give himself over and throw himself into the game. that tashi kinda has to get him to go for it, to go after the ball, to step into the court and use that technically excellent flat forehand stroke and trust himself to find those angles and rush the net and play the game, rather than letting the game play him. linking that into his loss of motivation post injury, where he feels like he's achieved what he wants to, where maybe he kinda retreats into himself. which is partly a motivation issue but also about trusting yourself post injury... not really being able to go after it in the same way any more, struggling to commit to that kind of aggressive mindset when your heart just isn't it any more. or something! just a thought!!

that's the thing right - sure, tennis might be a relationship, but the tennis will always be a character in its own right in whatever twisted threesome thing they've got going on. at the end of the day, the real toxic relationship is with the tennis! it's sad tashi can't leave it behind, it's tragic she's organising her whole life around something that'll always be lost to her. but it won't ever let her go, even though it hurt her, even though it caused her physical pain as well as emotional. it's the truest love in the whole film, tashi and the game itself, and all other love is subservient to that. it's also the most interesting relationship that needed to be... well, a little more foregrounded. she's always chasing that high, that moment of perfect communication and understanding and all that - and it's an entire lifetime of work, chasing the briefest of moments and now even that is gone. something she won't ever be able to recapture. she can't live her dream and she can't move on, so she is forever trapped, in stasis, frustrated and tormented by desires she can't act upon, the worst kind of repression imaginable. and it's not just about playing tennis in general - it's about playing matches. the height of competition, the moment in the point and in the match in which losing or winning feels like an equal possibility, where anything could happen but only one player will eventually emerge victorious... she's chasing the high of uncertainty, of suspense - the equivalent to showing up to the bedroom of two blokes and knowing anything could happen, not knowing yet what choice she will make, who will win, who will lose. if you really want to get abstract about this, she's essentially functioning as, y'know, the tennis gods with these two boys, where she is the one to make the choice of who wins and who loses. she is the one creating the uncertainty, the suspense. and she's doing it all for the love of the game, because that's all she ever truly loved

or that's what I think they should've gone for idk. I also have a few kinda dumb thoughts like 'ugh I needed more of a sense of what patrick's career looked like, are we talking never made it to the main draw of a 250 or slam quarterfinalist because both are plausible'. but anyway I think narratives in sports are neat and I wish more people did stuff like challengers did, even if I think I was just looking for something a little different from what that film was doing. you do kinda need somebody who's really into sports to do some of this stuff I feel, but. well. sports rivalries really is a bit of a tragically under-explored storytelling set up. they're good narratives. somebody write them

[tua-five]

Season 3 Episode 7

⚠️⚠️ S3 Spoilers! ⚠️⚠️

I always miss things. Like Lila going back and watching the Handler kill over. She repeatedly watches it. Rewinds it over and over. She is absolutely distraught because she thought she loved her. But she killed her. And then Herb and Dot come in. Kicking her out. "Oh, I get it. Ding-dong, the bitch is deal, so make her daughter pay instead." And she plays the drum pretty hard.

And Reginald, of course, causally sings while his dead "son" whom he killed is in the trunk. Who then proceeds to wake up. And reginald tells him he could've taken all of his organs... yeah. Okay, Reg. Thanks.

"You two sentient STDs." Okay, Five 😭

"I didn't get this my giving a mummy a handjob, okay?" Yeah, I didn't think so, Diego. Thanks for that information, though. Seriously, who wrote the script 😂 this is hilarious.

Okay, and once again, they don't miss Klaus. Barely notice he's gone. Like in season 1 when he was kidnapped. This time, he was, too. Ish? They ask where he is, and their response is probably Kugelblitzed. And then they move on, no grieving Klaus. There was no moment of silence for him. Nothing. That's a moment I hate. Despite him being the "druggy" brother, they still loved him. Diego was especially there for him, and for all of them to just dismiss him? No. I don't like that at all.

And Viktor, too. He's not there. And they're once again having a meeting without him. Are you serious? When has that ever gone good? Idiots. I mean, genuinely. What the heck? It's a family meeting. With both families. And they don't include Viktor. Who literally is the strongest. The best powers. Most powerful. Whatever you want to say. And you started the meeting without him. Bad move.

Diego's question is valid though and sometimes I wonder it too. "If we kill you do we get our ben back?"

And here comes Viktor, pissed and wondering about Harlan. And Allsion says she killed him. And Ben being Ben, bets on Viktor. Obviously. He now knows what he's capable of. Of course, he'll bet Viktor's gonna win. And Allsion reveals Harlan killed everyone's mom. And everyone just reacts and then continues to blame Viktor and blame Harlan. He actually genuinely didn't mean to hurt anyone. It's not his fault. It's no one's fault.

Everyone's reactions to Allison getting more aggressive are just... all over the place. Five says to take it easy, Diego looks concerned, Ben is just smirking like this is the funniest thing, Luther is yelling at Allison to stop, Five gets more concerned about Allsion yelling at Viktor and making him stop breathing without saying "I heard a rumor"... it's just... like, stop with the fighting. Luther only tells Allison to knock it off with the powers, but not the fighting.

Diego only steps in when Allison says they should've left him in the basement. Low blow. What the actual heck. No. That's too far and she knows it.

Then Viktor hits Allison, and Five checks in on HER. Not Viktor.

This is why I hate Allison. I know I've been saying that I know she's been through a lot, and I feel bad for her, but seriously.

Olay, fine. Enough of this for now. Viktor walks into Ben's room, and there's drawings everywhere. One is even being labeled Jennifer. Previously, Ben asked who Jennifer was. So either he lied and does know, didn't know they were talking about that Jennifer, or he's having dreams or flashbacks or memories of her. Of what happened with the umbrellas. A way to show that umbrella Ben is still in there. Fighting for a way out.

And Reginald. Asking what the Umbrellas did for fun. Asked where they went for family trips. Nowhere. Because yeah. Reggie really did put the "dick in dictator."

And finally, for once, Fives disappearance is mentioned. Whenever the brellies talk about what broke the camels back, they talk about the Jennifer incident and Ben's death. It's like Five never mattered to them. They only ever left after and broke apart after Ben died. And it's terrible that Five was just there. And then gone. He was looked at as arrogant and all high and mighty and thinking he's the better of them all. And he has no way to say different. Because he's gone. He doesn't come back until for him 45 years later. For them, it's just 16 years. They've kept that imagine of him for so long, and they keep it because he still looks exactly as he did. And he has to act like that because he has to save the world. He has no choice but to do everything in his power to stop doomsday because he can't bear for his siblings to die. He can't witness that again.

So I'm grateful that Klaus started to explain how the academy fell apart with Five's disappearance. Because at least Klaus noticed.

"Do you trust me?" No, Reginald. Absolutely not.

"Yeah. 🤗 I trust you." Flipping idiotic, naive, Klaus.

HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON!

How come no one is talking about this? Not only does Klaus come back to life, but he also returns back to normal. After getting shot, nothing. Barely a scar. After getting hit by a bunch of cars, his broken legs are back to normal in seconds. He heals so fast. Like... that is so powerful.

Also, with all the cars that have hit him... has no one called the cops?? Like, hello???

Ben calls Viktor emo. For crying on his bed. But Ben is really the emo one. Let's be honest here.

And of course, Reginald drops Klaus off in a cemetery. Great. He has to face his literal demons.

Also, Allison and Lila was a duo I never expected.

And Grace turning evil I never expected either. Sure, she's a robot, and in every show and movie ever that's what happens, but not with dear old Grace. That's just cookoo bananas.

And poor Five has to be the to kill her. He just has to go through everything, huh.

Reginald tells Klaus that he made everyone confused about their powers so he could control them. And now he's helping Klaus master his. To control him. Klaus's is to naive to realize that, but everything is about Oblivion for Reginald. It always has been and always will be. He will always want a different timeline where he's in charge.

Christopher farting is crazy though.

Then they all celebrate. Not knowing the world is still over. It doesn't work. And what did they think they were going to do with the burning buildings outside? The billions of people gone?

Who knew luther was so crafty? That he could make a ring? And it's so sweet that he put the moon rock in it.

Oh, and Lila's pregnant. So I guess there's that huge announcement too.

"Hey, that was really nice of you. Kill Mom so Diego didn't have to." Yeah, that was n—

"My, God, we are a weird family, aren't we?" Right..

"Sorry. Yeah, I heard it as I said it." Yeah.. that was definitely weird. I'm realizing. Shouldn't be normal... 😬

"Do you know why I wanted this last jump to work so badly?"

"Because you're old and tired?"

"Because I slaughtered a boardroom full of people to buy our way back here."

Yeah. Yeah, he did.

"Little advice from someone who's been there? Don't do the math. That equation does not exist. There's no 'save five Harlans for every two Claire's' formula."

Yeah...

"People like us, we will never save enough lives to make up for the ones that we take."

"I don't accept that."

"Then you'll down. This is the price of being powerful. Sometimes, we step on ants. And the sooner you face that, the safer we'll all be."

He keeps saying we. He knows he's powerful, too. They all are. But he was an assassin, and he had cons to terms with everything. He knows what it's like.

"You know what they call a superhero who works alone and doesn't listen to anybody? A villain."

I used to interpret this as Five only calling Viktor that, but o think he's calling himself a villain too. Because he knows. And he's really trying to be better.

"But lie to us again... Viktor, I'll kill you myself."

That was harsh. He wouldn't. He can't. It's not in him. He won't. I refuse to believe it.

My lovelies, her are today's gifs

[zmediaoutlet]

Hey, z! I was hoping you would see this in a chat box, but it probably got lost or something, so here is a copy: Hey! I've been re-reading Constant Vow again 💔 suddenly had a thought about how all that was from Dean's POV. Was he...attracted to Sam early or felt something and it just developed in more during their together time. The part of some dialogue was stuck with me: "Don’t know how I ended up in this universe," Dean says. Very soft, so soft Sam has to tip in to hear. Dean looks at him, and then down at his stomach, and then—further, to where Sam's dick has gone soft and is lying over his thigh. Sam swallows and the room's so quiet that the creak of his throat is loud, and Dean huffs, shakes his head. "Never thought I'd…"

I would love to hear your thoughts! 💜

Constant Vow is probably my favorite work of yours so far! 🤍

aw, bud. <3 I did miss that, thank you for making sure I saw it. Always nice to know that anyone's thinking about the stuff like -- at all. And re-reading! Heck.

That's an interesting bit you pull out! I have a lot of fun when writing with trying to make the other character pretty opaque -- sometimes you know what your conversation partner is thinking, but most of the time you really don't, and especially in a new relationship (even if, at this point, Sam's trying to pretend it's not a relationship) everything's such guesswork.

To be honest I don't have a super solid idea about what Dean was thinking in those early days because Sam doesn't know, and keeping it right behind Sam's eyes -- it's a mystery! But you have pulled out exactly the biggest clue to my headcanon for what was going on in the parallel POV, which is: yeah, Dean's thought about it, but he would have never, ever, ever made the leap from nervous guilty dreams he crams down in the light of day to -- this. But that 'never thought' line combines with some of the ways he's very insistent about it not being Sam early on, plus that he actually feels pretty okay about the whole situation as of the first part of the cure -- it doesn't 'paint a picture' exactly but it does sketch the ghost of one.

When I started out writing the fic I really did want to approach it as much as possible as a no one's pining here situation -- they really are thrown into it without desire and come to a new understanding -- and I think that's mostly there. But it turned out that the point of the fic wasn't the sex at all, was it -- not for them, and not for Denise, either, really. Sex is just the clumsy way that we're able to engage in intimacy and communication and desire-for-closeness, and it's the way that Sam and Dean are able to reach an understanding together that they are each other's one and only, forever and ever, amen. A conclusion they're able to come to with no need for sex at all in s11; in s6 they're nearly there, but they need a little nudge. Required orgasms will do. :) Point being -- whether Dean very occasionally got a look at Sam in all his Samness and had to swallow his tongue and turn away, it kinda doesn't... matter. That he had a partner and a kid and walked out on them for the hope of a brother who'd come home: that's the ticket.

Oh man. Thanks, canon.

[pathetic-dumpling]

Coming to Terms

Dream has been having a bad day, which has quickly turned into a bad week. Techno and Phil both need to go out and do essential tasks around the tundra, but they can't leave Dream alone either. So... they find a babysitter. words: 5,188 - read on ao3 instead

CW: overstimulation, implied panic attack, unintentional self-harm, referenced abuse

Dream has been having a bad day. Correction, he’s been having a bad week. He’s been caught in a bit of a spiral for the last several days, and the exhaustion from an attempt at healing keeps dragging him down before he can get out. The last thing Techno wants to do is leave Dream alone like this, but he and Phil have already pushed off as many necessary tasks as they can. They need to head out, but they can’t leave Dream alone… So in comes the Syndicate.

They consider a few people. Niki is chosen.

“Look, all you need to do is watch him for a day. We’ll be back by the end of it, and you can leave, alright?”

Niki scrunches her face up, which is, in all honesty, reasonable. She’s one of the people who didn’t want to interact with Dream, but Techno and Phil are running desperately low on options.

“Is there anyone else?” She asks. “What about Puffy? She’s a therapist, right? Wouldn’t she be more equipped for something like this?”

“A, we don’t want more people knowing about Dream than necessary, and she’s already refused to give Dream treatment. B, we don’t trust her to not psychoanalyze Dream when he really doesn’t want to be psychoanalyzed. Plus, we don’t know what kind of domestic issues there are because Dream hasn’t opened up about that part of his life yet.”

Niki winced. “What about Ranboo?”

“Well, you see, Ranboo’s been growing into himself recently,” Phil interjects, beside Techno. “Which is good, by all means, but that also means he’s been embracing that he’s a little bit of a dick sometimes. You’re literally the only person we can think of who can be… pleasant and hold your tongue around Dream.”

“And- and we don’t wanna sound misogynistic,” Techno quickly adds. “This isn’t a ‘the kind woman puts up with the toxic man’ situation; it’s just… Dream is fragile right now, like, really fragile, and we’re pretty sure you’re the only person who has the kind of self-restraint to not break him any more, you know?”

Niki raises a brow but ultimately sighs. “This is your only option?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Phil laughs.

“...alright. I’ll watch him. One day, got it?”

“Oh my gods, thank you so much, Niki.”

So Niki is given keys to the house. Mentally, she prepares for whatever Dream might try. She saw him, briefly, in a Syndicate meeting or two, but only between several layers of fabric and zero spoken words. She doesn’t know what he’s like if he’s grown out of his… nastier habits yet. Techno has done everything in his power to tell the Syndicate that Dream has changed, but none of them have actually seen any change. Niki kind of doubts it, if she’s being honest, but she trusts Techno’s judgment more than anything. She knows Techno wouldn’t lie to her and lead her on like others in the past.

She wakes up the following day when things are still dark. Niki can see her breath, even within the small haven of an underground city warmed by countless fires and lanterns. She throws on her Syndicate cloak, getting ready to head out to the arctic. Hopefully, Techno didn’t want her to do anything with the animals because she definitely wouldn’t be able to stand being outside for that long. When she arrives, Techno thanks her profusely. He pledges to show her around the house and offers a few tips while Phil gets ready for their trip outside.

“Alright.” Techno swings his hands by his sides. Niki has noticed he’s stopped clapping them when he begins to speak. “First things first, Dream hasn’t eaten in, like, three days, so we really need you to try to get him to eat something. His diet has been pretty limited so far, but we left a list of things he’s been able to eat so far on the counter. Try to stay fresh- anything stale makes him throw up, and so does steak. Don’t offer it. We keep apples in a little icebox downstairs because he likes fruit cold. Also, Dream likes himself cold, too. He gets anxious when he’s hot.

“If Dream hides in his room, he’s most likely hiding under his bed. If you need to interact with him during that time, do not try to pull him out. That will scare him and he might bite. Instead, just kind of lay on the floor and face him and just… wait until he’s ready to talk. If you try to push him, he’ll probably just curl up more, and he tends to get really distant for the next day or two when that happens.

“If he asks for something, it means that he needed it about three hours ago and has only now gotten the courage to ask for it. Even if he prefaces it between a lot of ‘only if you want to’ and ‘you don’t have to,’ don’t believe him. We’re trying to teach him that asking for things is good but it’s been a bumpy ride. Also, he’s iffy on touch; I’d say it’s better to not try.”

Techno stops, tapping his lip. “Try not to let him outside without supervision; we haven’t really been able to block off potential hazards yet. Other than that, I think that’s everything. Dream is sleeping right now, but he knows you’ll be here. He might get startled anyway. Try not to stare or anything. It makes him uncomfortable. Just treat him like a nervous cat or something.”

Niki blinks, trying desperately to process all of the information that was just dumped on her. Techno waits patiently as she mentally backtracks and tries to commit everything to vague memory. Nervous cat? That’s what the ruler of the server has turned into?

“Okay… I think I got all of that?” Niki says, hoping she got everything she truly needed down. She knows how awkward things get when she or Techno has to start repeating themselves.

“Cool.” Techno sighs, running a hand through his hair until it gets caught in his braid. “A nervous, injury-prone cat… That’s Dream. Thank you for doing this, really. Dream just started being okay with being in the same room as boiling water, and I think I might have a breakdown if I have to leave to make tea again. This means a lot. Anything you need from us, me or Phil, we’ll be happy to help as soon as we get back.”

Niki nods. “Honestly, I didn’t think this would be on the agenda when I joined the Syndicate, but I’m happy to help you, Techno.”

“Of course.” Techno bows his head. “Of course. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Again, don’t let him… do anything to himself, okay?”

Niki gives another nod and a thumbs up. “You can count on me, Techno.”

Techno gives a strained smile and then, awkwardly, does a slight bow before leaving. His muffled voice filters through the door as he calls out to Phil, and then they head out. Niki takes in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before sighing as she watches the silhouettes of her friends disappear over the horizon.

Alright. She can do this. She may not like Dream, but she did agree as a part of the Syndicate to… help. This is just for Techno and Phil, to keep them from worrying. To watch Dream and make sure he doesn’t try anything he shouldn’t. Niki could do that. In fact, she was happy to keep the man out of trouble, if it were for Techno’s sake. Now she just needed to find something to do until there was someone to watch.

Niki glances around the house, finding things pleasantly clean. The chests were a bit of a mess, but things weren’t lying all over the place, and it looks like it’s been cleaned recently. It looks like the house has been somewhat baby-proofed, too, which makes a little chuckle bubble in Niki’s throat. They’ve only been housing Dream, and he’s certainly a grown man, isn’t he? What would they need to keep him out of drawers for?

Niki gets to entertaining herself with one of Techno’s many book recommendations, making a tiny home for herself on the couch. She opens the blinds and curtains, letting any sort of light filter in as much as it can. The sun is slow to rise in the arctic, and candlelight can only do so much. Slowly, as the sun rises over the north, Niki finds herself growing more hungry, so she starts making some food. It gets bright soon after that, lighting up the room with the near-blinding rays of the sun. Niki adjusts soon enough, simply happy to have more than enough reading light.

A few hours later, after Niki has already eaten and taken care of her share of the dishes, Dream emerges. The first thing she notices is that he’s completely maskless. Secondly, he looks exhausted to the bone, drowned in a dark green jacket and a black shirt underneath. Loose-fitting pants cover Dream’s legs, almost completely hiding his figure from view. Dream’s eyes are dark, his posture slouched inward, and his hair is messy, long, and frail. He looks unbearably tense. His eyes squint at how bright it is, but he tries to shake it off quickly with a flick of his hands. He does a quick double-take on Niki, eyes darting around the room before relaxing slightly. His attention never leaves her, though. His gaze makes a shiver crawl up Niki’s spine.

“Good morning, Dream!” She says politely because maybe Dream is worse in the mornings.

Dream waves tiredly, and Niki notices his bandaged finger. Something about it looks off until she realizes it’s too short to be normal, missing nearly the entire first section. She wonders how it happened, how she’s never noticed before. Dream takes his bandaged hand, dragging it down his face. He lets out a long sigh, sitting down at the circular table in the kitchen, leaning heavily on it for support. He raises his hands, and although they tremble and shake, Niki recognizes one thing. Dream is signing.

Oh. It looks like Technoblade forgot to mention one thing.

“Oh!” She says quickly, tucking her book into her chest. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know sign language.”

Dream, from the table, raises a brow at her. He raises his hands, signing what Niki can only assume is: you don’t know sign?

“I always meant to learn, but the only people who use it actively on the server are Callahan and….”

Me. Niki can guess that one well enough.

“Yes… you. I’m sorry.”

Dream waves his hand dismissively. He gestures for a pen, which Niki retrieves without much hesitance. She may not like Dream, but she still needs to communicate with him if this day even has a chance at going well. She places the pen and small pad of paper on the table, stepping back quickly. Dream lets out a long breath before beginning to write.

I’ll show you some stuff I probably won’t be able to translate in the moment, Dream writes. Writing looks a little more challenging with the ever-present tremor in Dream’s hands and his shortened finger, but he makes do. He writes down a few simple words: can’t, stop, no, sorry, and shows the signs for each of them. Niki furrows her brow.

“These are all negative responses. What about… ‘yes’?”

Dream struggles to meet Niki’s eyes for a second, looking away almost immediately. He seems borderline uncomfortable. Slowly, he curls his hand into a fist, nodding it forward twice.

“Yes?” Niki asks in conformation.

Yes.

Niki nods, trying to commit this information, like everything else dumped on her today, to memory. Dream drops the pen after that, cradling his hands in his lap. They certainly… don’t stop shaking. Hm. Niki would ask about it, but she doesn’t really want to poke at any boundaries. Dream fiddles with his fingers, beginning to bounce his leg.

“Em-” Niki starts, catching Dream’s attention and picking at the back of her neck awkwardly. “Techno told me that you should probably eat today, right? I made food a few hours ago, but I can make something for you or….”

Dream waves his hands, furiously shaking his head. He scribbles down variants of I’m not hungry, and you don’t have to, which Niki isn’t given a chance to object to. Dream carefully gets up, grabbing the notepad beside him and pushing past Niki. He makes his way over to the couch, plopping himself down and sighing. Niki watches him, unsure of what entirely to do. She knows what Techno told her, but there was only so much that was truly in her power. It didn’t help how dismissive Dream appeared to be with her attempts at offering him food.

This Dream is… new, to say the least. She didn’t know the old Dream outside of what she heard from her peers, but she especially doesn’t know this Dream. Is he better? Does he know that what he’s done is bad? Terrible? Unforgivable, even? Does he regret it at all, or does he just think he’s a victim in all of this?

It takes two more attempts at getting Dream to eat before Niki’s patience starts running a little slim. She’s never had the time to talk to Dream before, but right now, he just seems nothing more than tired. He looks fine, if not a little skinny, maybe a little quiet. For all Niki knows, this could be a ploy, a trick, to live the high life off of Techno’s dedicated care and then run off into the woods. Niki feels a little nasty for thinking this, but what if Dream is just faking this all? What if he’s just playing it up for show and sympathy? To get free protection while his next plan brews quietly in the background? She’s heard about the lengths Dream was willing to go to in the past; what would make this different? She knows how convincing an actor Dream can be, and dedication to a part can take someone a long way.

Well… Now is as good of a time as ever to get a few things off her chest, Niki supposes. If Dream isn’t faking, he’ll have some kind of genuine reaction, and if he is, then, well… Niki can keep her friends from getting used again. It’s a win-win, really.

“You know, you’re very lucky Techno decided to care for you so much,” she says from the kitchen because the distance makes her feel safer. “He didn’t have to do all of this, you know? It’d certainly be easier for him to have ignored your favor. I would’ve.”

From behind, Niki hears a sharp intake of breath, but no objections come. Niki looks behind her at Dream, still sitting on the couch, wide-eyed and staring at her. He swallows, eyes darting to the side like he’s sorting through his thoughts. He gestures at Niki, a sort of go-on movement, so she turns around and continues. “Things like Wilbur, Doomsday, the festival, you played a role in all of those, you know? You’ve been the authority figure of the server for so long. You-- you had control over exile and Tommy and… Everything you’ve done, it’s hurt all of us. It’s- it’s hurt me, and I-”

There’s a loud, distinct sniffle behind Niki. Slowly, she turns to look behind her, finding Dream curled up on the couch. He brings his knees up to his chest, pressing tightly into himself. He’s looking to the side, almost shameful. His shoulders are shaking.

“...Dream?” Niki asks. Maybe this is the genuine reaction she’s looking for.

Dream nods sharply. He looks up, meeting Niki’s eyes, his own glassy and red and wet. His eyes fill with tears, so he quickly hides his face again, pressing it into the arm wrapped around his knee. It feels like he’s forcing himself to keep his gaze on Niki, and that information tastes a little bitter going down Niki’s throat. He lifts his head just enough to meet Niki’s eyes again, folding his hand into a half square and pressing it to his temple. Niki doesn’t know the sign, but she doesn’t need to.

I know, he says. I know.

Dream takes a shuddering breath, fingers dancing across the parts of the body he’s gripping. They speed up and slow down as he filters his thoughts, eventually coming to a standstill. He grabs his notepad with trembling hands, scribbling down something hastily, ripping out the paper, and holding it out for Niki while hiding himself. Nervously, Niki steps forward because the memory of powerful and quick and ruthless Dream has never left her, even when presented with the sight of the trembling man before her.

I know, the paper says. I want to listen. But not today. I can’t today.

Niki swallows. She looks at Dream, trembling and crumbling in on himself, and nods. “Okay,” she says. “I understand. I… I’m sorry. That was out of line, I...”

Dream nods quickly and sharply. His fingers tap quickly against his leg. Niki feels awkward, standing in front of Dream like this as he fidgets and shuffles. She puts a little distance between the two of them, retreating back to the kitchen. The house is plunged into a small period of unrelenting silence. Niki wished that she knew at least a little sign because maybe things wouldn’t be so awkward. Dream doesn’t look all too thrilled to be talking with her either way, though, so perhaps it was wishful thinking. He’s running a hand through his hair, pausing to tug on the long strands every few seconds.

Niki frowns. Has Techno told her anything about how to handle something like this? Sorting through her memory quickly tells Niki that, no, Techno hadn’t spilled anything helpful for a time like this. He’d asked Niki to make sure Dream didn’t do anything to himself, but certainly, he wasn’t that much of a danger to his own wellbeing, right? Techno had mentioned some other useful things, but he seems to have forgotten some details Niki would’ve loved to have. She sighs.

Niki supposes that the best she can do right now is swallow her words and try to be helpfully polite. To, in kinder words, simply watch Dream. She tried to ask him about some things here or there but mostly ended up talking at Dream instead of with him. That’s okay, Niki didn’t mind. She didn’t really go into today expecting some sort of riveting conversation, and the one she’d already tried to have ended oh-so-splendidly.

Suddenly, the sound of Dream’s stomach growling caught her attention. Niki looked back from her chunk of dough that she’d started kneading to fill the silence at Dream, who was caught like a deer in headlights. He looked to her quickly before starting off on what Niki thinks is a garbled bundle of excuses about how he wasn’t hungry again. Niki laughs kindly, making Dream’s hands pause mid-air.

“I’ll go get you an apple or something,” she says, running her hands under the sink to wash off the extra flour. “Techno showed me where everything was before you woke up. I’ll be back in just a second. Stay put, okay?”

Dream nods, hiding his face and giving a small thumbs up. The trip downstairs is quick, only interrupted by a skulk of three foxes Techno apparently kept in his basement. The box with cooled fruit was propped up, probably to keep the foxes out of it, Niki mused, if the scratch marks on the side were anything to go off of. Dream was sitting in virtually the exact same position Niki had left him in, nervously glancing at her when she approached. At least he’s good at following directions, Niki noted. She held out the apple, waited a long few seconds for Dream to take it, then set it on the table next to him. Dream’s eyes watched her with rapt attention, almost like he was afraid she was suddenly going to turn around and attack him.

After that little experience, Niki went back to kneading dough as pleasantly as she could. She couldn’t explain the small smile that crept onto her lips when the inevitable crunch of an apple being eaten hit her ears after minutes of silence. Niki chalks it up to the fact that Techno would be happy that Dream ate and tries to move on from it as passively as she can.

Shuffling fills the corners of the house between the clanging of various pans and Niki’s humming. Dream had come a little closer, sitting stiffly at the counter and watching Niki work after throwing his apple core into Carl’s stable from the window. He keeps the notepad close to him, bouncing the pen back and forth against the solid surface. Niki greets him and starts explaining what she’s doing, to which Dream nods along. She tries to suggest Dream join the baking whenever she can, moving pans around and into the sink when they’ve become dirty. Dream’s eyes follow her hands as she gestures around, eyebrows twitching downward every few seconds. Every semi-loud sound makes his eyes blink in surprise and something else Niki can’t quite place. It goes on like this for about half an hour, with various levels of participation coming from Dream.

Eventually, he begins to look more and more lost in thought, distracted, even borderline frustrated, eventually dropping his pen roughly and tapping his pointer finger against the counter. His other hand goes to his hair, pulling, as a small whimper tumbled into the air. Dream’s nail makes a quick tap, tap, tap that sounds borderline panicky, only increasing in speed. His shoulders are tense, and because Niki is so used to providing comfort to those unscarred by touch, she reached out for his shoulder.

Dream jerks away as soon as her hand meets his shoulder, a small, distressed noise leaving his throat. He stumbles onto shaky legs, looking almost as if Niki burned him. Niki, in return, pulled her hand back to her chest. Dream holds up a finger, a small give me a moment, before distancing himself. He hangs his head and holds up his hands, shaking them out almost violently as he paces the living room.

“Dream?” Niki begins to ask, watching the man pace and shake his hands. What was he doing? What was going on?

Her thoughts are abruptly cut off by a sharp yelp when Dream suddenly turns and pushes over a chair. This is still Dream at the end of the day, and once upon a time, he was terrifying and dangerous. Niki clamps her hands down over her mouth to keep any further sound from escaping when it makes Dream flinch. His breath picks up in shakiness and speed until a loud crash makes the house go silent.

Dream’s head whips around, finding a pile of shattered glass on the floor next to the chair he flipped over and the table it apparently took on its way down. He stares at it for a good, long second, the breath stolen from his lungs. A quick, strangled sob leaves Dream’s mouth as he drops to his knees, scrambling for the glass pieces. Hot, fat tears fill the corners of Dream’s eyes. His hands are shaking so much it makes the glass pieces he picks up clink against each other. Almost desperately, Dream tries to wipe away the tears, and Techno’s worry about Dream hurting himself suddenly becomes much more apparent as the world catches up to Niki.

“Oh- Dream, no, we- let’s not-” Niki drops to her knees beside Dream, holding her hands out gently. “Let’s not do that, okay? You’ve got glass in your hands.”

Dream doesn’t stop. The tears and sobs only spilling harder and faster. Niki doesn’t think this can get any worse, so she slowly puts her hand over Dream’s, grasping it and pulling it away gently. There’s no resistance, even as Dream digs his chin into his chest. Pricks of blood are already forming on scratches left on Dream’s cheeks from the glass, quickly mixing with tears. Dream starts signing something frantically, and Niki doesn’t know what he’s saying, but, oh, she wishes she did.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Niki tries. “Are you worried Techno will be angry?”

Dream nods, choking on another sob.

“I’m sure he won’t be!” Niki presents her hands, cupped, to Dream again. “He really cares about you, alright? He won’t be mad over a broken cup, okay?”

Dream makes a strangled sound that almost sounds like a “but” as he snaps his head up to face Niki.

“No. No buts.” Niki pushes her hands forward pointedly. “I’ll clean up the glass, okay? I think you should go lay down on your bed and rest. Calm down a little, alright? I’m supposed to be here to help, and Techno would be upset if you hurt yourself. I’ll let you know when everything’s been taken care of.”

Shakily, Dream brings his free hand up to his face, fingers touching the newly formed cuts as his lips trace Niki’s words. His eyes go wide, pressing down on the tiny bubbles of blood forming. He drops the glass into Niki’s hands, staggering up with a sharp breath. He mutters something too faint for Niki to catch before disappearing into his room. Niki picks up the rest of the glass, her hands thankfully much steadier than Dream’s own despite what just happened. Periodically, she glances up to Dream’s room, watching, waiting.

She isn’t quite sure what she’s waiting for, maybe for him to come bursting out, angry at being coddled, or perhaps for him to come slinking back with shaky hands and hot tears and try to help again. Whatever it is, it never comes.

Carefully, Niki spends a few minutes making sure no shards had spread out over the house or that she misses any finite pieces. After her searches come back clean, Niki moves to the knocked-over furniture. She rights the table and chair Dream had knocked over, huffing out a small sigh of relief. The living room was clean again, thankfully. She hopes Techno won’t be mad. That would just make her look bad when Dream was so clearly distressed over the whole ordeal.

At the thought of Dream, Niki makes her way over to his room. She knocks, the wood giving way and opening up into the small room. Dream lays on his bed, curled up into a ball, and appears to be fast asleep. The blankets look almost deliberately untouched around him. Niki steps into the dark room, noting the closed blinds on his window. Everything is kept down to nearly a depressing minimum, the only trace of life in the room being the messy, yet unmoved, sheets and a single flowerpot laying on a chest.

It would be better to let him sleep, Niki thinks. The room is kept cold, and Niki doesn’t want Dream to get sick, so she decides to drape the untouched sheets over Dream’s sleeping form. As she pulls up the blankets around the sleeping body, though, Dreams’ eyes flutter open, and his body tenses. He turns his head to watch her silently.

“I’ve cleaned up the glass, so the living room is good to be in again,” Niki offers. She pulls her hands away, crouching down so she doesn’t loom over Dream. “I was going to let you sleep; sorry for waking you.”

Dream shrugs, not really looking like he had been sleeping in the first place. He sits up, glancing at the sheets pooling around him. Dream glances around, scrubbing at his face and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Despite Niki’s protests, he gets up and shuffles his way into the living room. His eyes fall on the now empty space on the table, sucking in a soft, shuddering breath. Niki comes to stand beside him.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m not angry, and they won’t be either, okay?”

Dream’s eyes flit from the table down to Niki. His body, slouched forward, leans a little closer to her as he nods silently. He looks back to the room, eyes squinting. He shoves his hands in his pockets and produces the pen and paper he’d kept on him; scribbling down, can you close the blinds? Niki smiles. She needs to encourage him to ask for things, too.

“Sure.”

Dream makes a home for himself on the couch. He eyes Niki’s book and they make idle chatter over it, Niki sitting across from him in the chair. They slide the notepad between each other on the table, both patiently waiting for the other to read or write before responding. Dream apologizes for the outburst. He said that he was feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t had to deal with something like that in a long time. The apology was accepted. Niki even manages to get a small laugh out of Dream, one that tugs gently on his throat and makes his chest stutter. It’s nice to see Dream’s smile, the way it cracks his face as he chuckles to himself. Somehow, it’s the most pride she’s felt in a while.

When Niki gets up to make herself some food, Dream takes her up on the offer to eat together. The list Techno left with what Dream could eat suddenly became very useful when preparing dinner. He doesn’t eat much and apologizes about it, for the hassle he must be causing, but it was what Niki was expecting anyway. Dream goes to sleep soon after that, pausing at his door and sending a quick, earnest thank you to Niki. She smiles.

“You’re welcome, Dream.”

Techno wasn’t mad, and neither was Phil. They seemed more focused on the fact that Dream actually ate a decently sized meal for the first time that week than anything else. Dream, who was hovering in the back, made sure to send Niki off with a little wave.

If she feels a little protective over him during the next Syndicate meeting, that was only her business. If she spoke in a hushed tone and kept an eye on him so he wouldn’t get into trouble, it was just general caution mixed with a bit of care. When she brought the loaves of bread with her on a visit, they were for Techno, Phil, and Dream, but she couldn’t deny the tiny bit of excitement that bloomed in her chest when Phil suggested Dream learn how to bake to help with tremors and outbursts.

If she let Dream into her stash or secret recipes for pies and bread, it stayed between them. Dream promised to keep them secret, and Niki didn’t doubt him. He smiled at her one day, growing nicely into the freckles that had started to speckle his skin, while his third batch of experimental dough was baking. Niki couldn’t help but smile back.

[pinkczennie]

Dirty Mind | Yuta (m)

Part of this playlist fic!

Pairing: Yuta x female reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ only, mature language, explicit sexual content, protected sex

 She’s got a dirtier mind than my mouth. 

Holy fuck, the man is hot as hell. I’d let him absolutely rail the shit out of me, you thought to yourself when a mutual friend of yours, Mark, first introduced you to his friend, Yuta, after a victorious soccer game. 

“Nice to meet you, y/n,” he smiles, showing off his pearly teeth, as he extends his hand out for you.

His long, black hair tied in a low ponytail that you imagine threading your fingers in between to pull on, and his long fingers painted with black nail polish that you want shoved knuckles deep in your pussy. 

You can’t believe you’re having such impure thoughts about someone you just met, but you couldn’t help yourself in the presence of such an attractive person.  

“Nice to meet you too, Yuta,” you take his hand in yours and shake hands.

When his attention is no longer on you because someone else came to congratulate Yuta on his win, you continued to gaze at him from afar until you felt a nudge against your arm, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts.

“Hey, are you staring at Yuta?” Haechan asks as he follows the direction of your eyes.

“What? No, I wasn’t,” you quickly deny, hiding your flustered face.

“Oh my god, you totally were!” he gasps.

You groan, “Okay, yes I was staring at him. Sheesh, I didn’t realize how obvious I was making it.”

“Holy shit, are you into Yuta?” he asks. 

“Maybe… god, he’s so hot,” you reply honestly. “He probably has a huge dick. Fuck, I would let that man rearrange my guts in all kinds of positions.”

“Ew, okay, I didn’t need to hear that,” he grimaces, disgusted. He wishes he didn’t have that visual in his head.

You meant it though. Bless Mark for introducing you to such a fine ass man. 

As a celebration for winning the game, his frat house throws him and the other soccer players that are in the fraternity a party. 

Thankfully, you had some connections, aka Mark and Haechan, so you only knew about the party through him and were able to get invited. 

Throughout the party, as you mingle with other people and some friends, you couldn’t help but occasionally search the crowd for a certain someone. 

Your eyes wander from people to people until you finally spot him with a beer can in his hand while chatting with his friends. Yuta sports a white tee and ripped black jeans, looking fine as always. 

Your head is empty besides the thought of riding Yuta’s thighs, staining his pants with your juices while he showers you with praises for being such a good girl. 

“Why don’t you just go up and talk to him instead of staring at him like a creep?” 

You look at Haechan with narrow eyes, “And say what?”

“I don’t know. ‘Hey I think you’re hot. Wanna fuck?’” he suggests.

“Are you crazy? I just met him like a few days ago, there’s no way I can say that.”

“I mean it’s better than just staring at him like a creep,” he mumbles.

Was I being creepy? You wonder and mentally slap yourself.

You tried, emphasis on ‘tried’, to keep your staring to a minimum of just a few quick glances, but unfortunately, you were not very good at being subtle with your staring because, damn, was it hard for you to look away from Yuta sometimes, so said man has caught you multiple times. He notices you staring at him, and honestly, you peaked his interest. He wonders what you are thinking about when you stare at him like that.

He finds it cute how you would awkwardly look away when Yuta catches you staring, your face turning a shade of pink pretending like he didn’t just catch you.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night,” Jungwoo states as he leans against Yuta. 

“Yeah, I know,” Yuta says as he takes a sip of his beer. “She’s pretty cute.”

“I can tell she’s into you. I even heard from Haechan that she talks about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuta perks up at this new information. “What does she say about me?”

“How you’re hot and that she’d let you rearrange her guts in all kinds of positions,” Jungwoo repeats Haechan’s words.

“Damn, that’s fucking hot,” Yuta mumbles as he bites the nail of his thumb to suppress the grin spreading across his face. 

“Why doesn’t she just make a move already? She’s practically making it obvious.” Jungwoo wonders.

Yuta doesn’t think you would dare approach him first, so Yuta knew he had to make the first move.

I want to be the person that you do it to

After way too many drinks, you needed to pee so you excuse yourself to search for the restroom. You’re pretty tipsy but you can walk a straight line, so you can manage yourself just fine. 

After using the restroom, you walk down the hallway, passing by the frat member’s rooms, and stopping dead in your tracks when something captures your attention.

You don’t mean to be intrusive and just walk into someone’s room, but when you notice a soccer jersey hung nicely on the wall with the last name ‘Nakomoto’ in full display, you realize this must be Yuta’s room. 

You peek around to see if anyone is looking before carefully making your way into his room and close the door halfway behind you. You won’t stay long enough for someone to see you in the room, but you just wanted to see what his room would be like. 

His room is quite simple, a bed, a desk, a laptop, a closet, and soccer gear scattered around his room. It was a little messy, like the blanket messily tossed on the bed, and some papers and textbook thrown around the floor, but honestly it was what you typically imagined a male college student’s room to look like. Honestly, it kind of just screams Yuta in your opinion.

You walk up to examine his soccer jersey, imagination running wild with thoughts of Yuta fucking you while you’re wearing his soccer jersey. 

Oh, what you would give to make that dream come true to let Yuta do nasty things to you until you’re fucked dumb. 

After examining his room and jersey, you turn around to leave but your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you see Yuta leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed around his chest staring intently at you. How long has he been standing there and how did you not even hear him?

 “Hey, you. Whatcha doin’ in my room?” The man asks.

“Oh...I-uh was just- um- I wanted to admire your jersey up close,” you laugh awkwardly, cringing at your very lame and probably unbelievable excuse, but it was the best thing you could come up with under pressure. 

“Oh really? What do you think about when you look at my jersey?” he asks as he slowly starts to approach you. 

You gulp when he’s getting closer and closer to you. “I just thought about how cool you were when you won that soccer game.”

“Oh really?” Yuta stops when he’s standing right in front of you, blocking you from any escape routes. “I think you’d look cute in it.”

Are you just hearing things or did Yuta just say what you think he just said? 

You blush, “O-oh, thanks.”

He unhooks his soccer jersey from the hanger and turns to you, “But you’d look even cuter wearing it while I rearrange your guts on my bed.”

You feel your heart skip a beat before your face turns beat red now as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“So..I heard that you think I’m hot and you’d let me fuck you,” Yuta takes a step closer until his face is right in front of you, looking down at you with dark eyes, “Want to turn that fantasy into a reality with me?”

You feel yourself clench around nothing, and you feel something snap inside you. This devilishly handsome man right here is asking if you wanted to have sex, and who were you to say no? There was no way you were letting this opportunity pass. 

“Fuck, yes,” you breath out as your lips attack his in a hungry kiss. 

She just wants to fuck me all the time

That’s how you ended up in Yuta’s bed, wearing only his oversized soccer jersey, with your face down ass up, while his dick slams into your soaking cunt at an animalistic pace. 

Both your lips are swollen red from kissing and eating each other’s mouths. Your original clothes and his clothes are discarded all around the floor as you both try to strip as fast as possible. You get into his jersey while he rolls a condom on. 

The party is still going on outside but the door is locked, so no one can interrupt you two. But honestly, you and Yuta probably would not be opposed to leaving the door unlocked for someone to walk in on you while you’re in the middle of the deed. It just adds to the thrill of being caught. 

The blaring music from the living room helps drown out the sound of skin slapping against skin, the moans, and the bed creaking with every thrust.

His length is stretching your walls and filling you to the brim that you can feel every ridge of his dick. 

“Damn babe, you feel so good,” Yuta breathes. “Your pretty little pussy being stuffed full of my cock.”

“Y-yuta,” you whimper. 

“God, I could fuck you all day until you can’t walk for a week and you’re covered in my marks to let everyone know what a dirty little slut you are,” Yuta purrs.

The dirty talk is making you even more turned on. You can’t believe that this man is actually fucking you right now after fantisizing about this moment for so long. 

Yuta watches his member disappear inside of you as he thrusts forward. You look so small in just his jersey and he wants to absolutely ruin you. He couldn’t help but slap your bare butt, causing you to yelp.

You grip the bed sheets and throw your head back when Yuta repositions himself and brushes against a certain spot that had you seeing stars. The bundle of nerves in your lower stomach is ready to burst and you disregard any thoughts of holding back your voice. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure that you could cry. Your mind is clouded with lust and desire that you can’t think straight anymore.

“I’m close,” you breathe.

Yuta’s thrusts become even more harsh and his grip on your hips will surely leave marks. He bites his lips when he feels your walls squeezing around his dick because he feels his release coming soon as well.

With one final thrust, a silence scream escapes your lips as you release all over his cock while Yuta groans as he shoots his seeds inside the condom. 

You both pause for a moment, just catching your breaths while Yuta remains still inside of you. Your heads are spinning after that intense climax just now. You both stare at each other’s exhausted and sweaty state. 

After a few seconds, he pulls out of your entrance, leaving you feeling hollow and you whine a bit which makes Yuta chuckle. He discards the used condom into his trash bin and settles next to you on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

You turn to admire post sex Yuta, his hair stuck to his forehead due to the sweat that accumulated on his skin and his chest rising up and down as he inahles and exhales oxygen. 

You smile before climbing on top of Yuta to take a seat on his lap, surprising the man. 

“Round two?” You suggest.

Yuta stares at you with wide eyes, shocked by your stamina of wanting to go again, before bursting out into laughter. “Ride me this time.”

Hopefully, no one will be looking for you or Yuta because you two might be at it for a while.

[waithyuck]

PUPPY

pairing: werewolf!lee jeno x reader (f) *halloweenie special*

genre: smut, supernatural au

word count: 4k

warnings: mature content, excessive explicit language, sexy times (meaning sexual content), I used the word ‘penis’ ONCE and only ONCE, mentions of a knot, knotting (I’m sorry), slight impreg kink, cumming inside, unprotected sex, blood, aggressive behavior, other stupid cliche werewolf things that are most definitely prob in hundreds of fics, jeno does NOT like being called a puppy even tho he’s called it oNCe

a/n: the first release of the dreamie halloweenie series! I hope this one sets the tone for what’s to come 👀 sorry to anyone who hates werewolf cliches and for the extreme lack of any substance or plot lmaoooo anyway I hope y’all enjoy reading

| next >

~10/10/2020~

~~~~

“are you cool with jeno staying the night?” your brother shot out, startling you as he spoke, not even looking at you as he spread too much peanut butter on a slice of bread nestled in his hand.

you looked up from where you were sitting at the kitchen table to face your brother, not saying anything in reply as you got lost in your thoughts.

jeno was an oddball. he was nice and he wasn’t creepy or even that weird, he just had his moments that were just well, odd. he was your brother’s friend of about six years; they met in their second year of high school and have been inseparable ever since. because of that, you have also been surrounded by jeno in all that time as well.

in the first couple years, you didn’t notice anything strange about him. he seemed like a normal and healthy young teenage boy. he was incredibly handsome, so of course your poor soul developed a small crush on him that only grew as the years progressed.

since you paid such close attention to him, you could pick out the oddities in his behavior occasionally pretty well. just from that, you’ve deducted that his sense of smell was almost god-like, like he could smell things that a normal person couldn’t.

now, you supposed that it wasn’t that weird that he had a good sniffer; there were probably tons of other people in the world with the same ability...but it wasn't just his sense of smell that had you curious.

sometimes he would act strangely at night; not often, but enough to have you questioning it. he would either disappear completely without a word or come up with a half-assed excuse to leave and then run away like a frightened animal.

it was just plain odd...and you couldn't get over it, no matter how much you tried to will yourself not to think about it.

snapping out of your stupor, you felt your heart jump at the thought of jeno coming over, even though he’s been here countless times, but you didn’t let it show and you shrugged your shoulders.

“it’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” you stated truthfully, looking down to pick at your nails. “you would have just said he was coming over anyway if I said no.”

your brother smiled at you, beaming as he placed the bread down and patted your head.

“you know me so well, y/n.”

you rolled your eyes, shoving him away. “yeah,” you retorted, slightly annoyed. “It’s not like you’re my brother, or anything.”

he didn't say anything further and you left him alone with his sandwich, getting up and making your way to your room where you could successfully hide for the rest of the night. before your cold make it far, you heard your brother yell something about jeno coming around 8, but you didn't say anything back and just minded your own business all the way upstairs to your room.

you pathetically holed yourself up in your dark room for about four hours, only coming out to quietly sneak to the bathroom and then you would go back into hiding once again.

even when you got word that there was pizza downstairs, you ignored it and continued to watch horror story narrations on youtube.

you just couldn't deal with being in the presence of your long time crush today. it took everything in your power to stop yourself from going downstairs and being potentially spotted, but you managed to pull through successfully and be a pathetic hermit in your room.

it was around 3 a.m. when you were finally finished with watching youtube videos, and you felt gross. you supposed that the two boys would be sound asleep by now, considering your brother never ever sacrificed his beauty sleep for anyone. you grabbed some clean clothes and gathered them in your arms before trudging tiredly to the bathroom, swinging open the door without a second thought, not realizing that the light was already on when you got there.

your heart almost jumped out of your chest as your eyes bulged out of their sockets.

“holy fuck!” you screeched as you took in the sight of jeno, in the middle of the bathroom completely naked, stroking his painfully hard cock right before your eyes. you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the show and you accidentally discovered that there was something not right about the way it looked...

your mouth fell agape and you barely heard him gasp loudly before trying to cover himself with the closest towel.

“jesus christ, y/n!” he yelled back, both of you not even considering your sleeping brother that was just three rooms over.

your eyes stayed glued to where he was covering himself with the towel, still thinking about the oddity of his dick. it seemed to be swelling at the base, which was definitely not normal for a human penis to do.

“what the fuck is wrong with your dick?” you blurted out unapologetically, causing a blush to cover his entire face and neck. you tore your eyes from his covered crotch to look at his eyes, which were now a shocking shade of bright yellow. you jumped back, dropping your clothes on the floor as you watched him breath heavily, most likely trying to calm himself down the same as you.

“oh my god, what the actual fuck is happening?” you murmured out loud, your eyes wide and never leaving his own as he stood silently in front of you. “am i dreaming? am i fucking high?” you tried to reason out as to why you were seeing what you're seeing, but jeno didn't give you much time to think before he spoke.

“you’re not dreaming,” his voice came out low, almost like a growl, and you felt your heart freeze up. “I dunno if you’re high...but what you're seeing is as real as it gets.”

your mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping out of water, trying to formulate the words to say next. your brain literally couldn't think of anything except his abnormally large and weird dick.

“okay…” you trailed off, your hands coming up to rest over your racing heart. “so then I’ll ask again: what the fuck is up with your dick??” and then you quickly added, “and your eyes??? I'm so confused right now, jeno.”

he sighed heavily and turned around, giving you a full view of his ass before he gathered his clothes to get dressed and cover himself. you really should have looked away, but your eyes wouldn’t listen to your internal screaming no matter how hard you physically tried to stop staring.

when he pulled his shorts on he finally turned to face you once more, forgoing a shirt much to your dismay (but really, you were dying on the inside at the sight of his abs). he stared at you for a second, his eyes back to their natural deep brown color.

“...there's a lot we need to talk about.” was all he said before grabbing your wrist in his scorchingly warm hand and dragging you out of the bathroom and down to your room. you didn’t protest and you let him practically drag you all the way there, closing the door behind him and guiding you to plop down on your bed. jeno walked to the opposite side of the room, distancing himself from you as much as possible.

“um..so,” he started hesitantly, trying to form his words correctly. “I’m uh, I'm a werewolf.”

your eyes bulged out of your head in disbelief, but you didn't say anything in reply. you both stared at each other across the space of your bedroom, not uttering a single word.

at first you were ready to call him crazy; there was absolutely no way that it was true. but then you thought about his eyes, his sense of smell...and then thought about his cock...holy shit wait, was that a fucking knot??

“um, yeah, it was…” you heard him say suddenly. you jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, not expecting him to reply. did you say that out loud by accident?

“you did.”

okay fuck, you needed to stop thinking and pull yourself together. what were you supposed to say to that? ‘oh cool, your cock has a knot and you’re a fucking werewolf, that’s super, jeno!’

jeno went on to explain the ins and outs of being a werewolf to you over the next twenty minutes, the small pink blush on his cheeks never truly leaving as he went into detail about everything. he even corrected certain cliches that were not true, a scowl making its way to his features with each inaccuracy you brought up.

“so...my brother doesn’t know?” you questioned quietly, looking down at your lap.

“no one knows besides you and my family.” he confirmed, and you looked up again to see him lean against the wall behind his back, eyes gazing sharply at you.

you panicked slightly, thinking that holy crap, now that you know, he's gonna have to kill you so the secret doesn't get out.

“oh my god,” you whimpered out, “are you going to kill me now?”

you watched his eyes widen before he choked, coughing violently before composing himself. he straightened his posture, but still didn't make any move toward you, still keeping his distance.

“what?!” he practically shouted, startling you. “of course not! why would I do that??”

you felt your face grow hot and you looked away once again, wringing your hands together on your lap. you shrugged, murmuring quietly, “i dunno...I thought you'd kill me to keep the secret, well, you know, a secret…”

you heard him sigh exasperatedly before hearing his soft voice grace your ears from across the room.

“I don't kill people, y/n.” he sounded slightly sad, and you then felt bad about assuming something so terrible of him. “the only time I kill is when my instincts become too much to control, and I snap.” his head hung low, but he quickly added. “but I’ve never actually killed a person, even if my instincts were screaming at me to.”

you tried to wrap your mind around what his wolf instincts were like; he only briefly touched on that topic earlier, seeming like he didn't want to talk about it too much. you being yourself, of course you had to pry.

“so like, what you’re saying is,” you started, your hand cupping your chin in thought as you pondered over your thoughts. “that if you were to like, hypothetically, snap right now and go all feral, you would want to kill me?” the question came out inflected as a statement, but you nonetheless awaited his answer patiently as you took in the sight of his face going through about five different emotions in the short span of a couple seconds.

“I don’t think…” he trailed off, looking down at the floor while clenching his fists. “I don’t think killing you would be my first instinct,” he looked up at you, his eyes blazing a slight yellow again as he seemingly stared into your soul. “...if you catch my drift.”

at first you were completely confused, not sure what other instincts he could express while being feral, but then it all clicked and it had your body heating up at the thought.

“oh.” you simply retorted, your eyes glazing over at the implication of him pinning you down and taking you as he pleased. “oh, fuck. you’re fuckin’ serious?”

his eyes were dark as he drank you in, his nostrils flaring slightly as he subtly sniffed the air between the both of you. dear god, you hoped that he couldn’t smell the sudden arousal that consumed you. you watched his eyes glow into a bright yellow and you felt your instincts screaming at you to run, but you held his gaze as he let a low growl escape his mouth.

“y/n,” he said, low and strained as he tried to fight his animal instincts. “you need to leave if you don’t want this, right now.” his words were final, no room for questioning.

you briefly tried to think it over; what would actually happen if you stayed and let him have you? you could probably die, first and foremost, but you shook that thought away even though it was a very real and serious possibility. you couldn’t deny your arousal at the whole thing, being taken like a bitch in heat by a guy you’ve been thirsting over for a while now. you may not get the chance to fuck a werewolf again, so you quickly made your decision.

“I’m…” you trailed off, dragging your gaze down to his neck and collarbones where you could make out the sweat forming on his perfect skin. “I’m staying, jeno.” you spoke softly to him, watching his brow furrow in confusion before smoothing out again.

you made your way to him and he stiffened up, watching your every move like a predator as you tentatively stopped in front of his panting form. reaching a hand up, you caressed his face, your breathing shaky as you leaned in closer.

“you can have me, puppy.” you threw in the last little jab with that sudden nickname just for fun, your heart soaring at the sound of the deep growl he let out upon hearing it. you fought the smile off your face as he practically pounced on you, pushing you over to the bed and pinning your body underneath his in one swift movement.

“I’m a puppy, huh?” he questioned darkly, his glowing eyes roaming over your face before his head dipped down to nose at your throat. you whimpered softly as his teeth nibbled on your sensitive skin, earning a satisfied growl from him.

you felt your shorts stick to your core from how insanely soaked you had become, and you grew hot at the idea of him pulling them down to find that you were, in fact, pantieless. he had your wrists pinned down against the mattress, not allowing you to touch him much to your annoyance. you tried to struggle against his supernaturally strong hold, but was met with a deep snarl in response. you immediately grew pliant underneath him out of pure instinct.

he pulled back, sharp canines prominent in his mouth as he fixed you with his glowing stare, red swirling with yellow in his bright irises.

“don’t fucking move,” he spat, his voice coming out low and gutteral, causing a flood of your own arousal to escape you down below. his nostrils flared for the second time that night, and he breathed in deeply at the scent of your wet and begging cunt. “be a good girl and take what I give you.”

the statement was final, and you barely had time to nod before he was tearing your t-shirt in two, biting the skin of your shoulder. his sharper teeth did not sink deep into your flesh, but when he drug the canines across your skin, you felt them rip you open. you let out what could be considered a poorly concealed scream, but it came forth as more of a moan as you felt hot blood trickle down your arm.

your shirt was in ribbons, and he looked extremely pleased as he took in the beautiful sight of your naked breasts, no bra in his way. he watched as your chest heaved up and down in anticipation, and he released your wrist to gently trail both of his hand over your body.

“your tits are so pretty,” he murmured, diving down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. he worked your other boob with one of his hands, kneading it and flicking your sensitive nipple.

your back arched into his touch, and you tried your best to stay as quiet as possible in fear of your brother hearing you.

he suckled hard; nibbling your nipple and dragging his teeth along it, causing shivers to run up your spine and your core to clench around nothing. your shorts were without a doubt ruined at this point.

your nails scratched down his back and he continued to ravage your chest, alternating between both of your breasts and teasing your sensitive buds with no remorse. it felt like hours of play, but eventually he pulled back to roughly grip the fabric of your shorts and tear them down your legs, exposing your dripping core to his hungry eyes.

you whined as he stared at you, reaching your arms out towards his own pants, wanting to see his cock again now that you were laying there, desperate and pouting for it.

his eyes shot to your face, smirking as he watched your brow furrow and your lips purse, your hands trying to grab at him from your place on the bed.

he didn’t allow you to pull his shorts down for him; instead he hooked his own thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down slowly, exposing his cock inch by inch before it finally sprung out, slapping against his stomach proudly.

your mouth watered at the sight of him once again and you moved to try to sit up, but didn’t get very far. he grasped your non-bleeding shoulder and roughly shoved you against the mattress once again, not saying anything. the stare he gave you oozed enough dominance for you to clearly get the message that he was trying to send.

jeno didn’t waste any time spreading your thighs open, two of his fingers immediately swiping through your embarrassingly wet slit before easing inside your tight hole. the stretch burned at first, considering he was starting you off with two fingers instead of one, but you welcomed the slight pain that mixed with the pleasure of him reaching up with his thumb to graze over your throbbing clit.

jeno thrusted his fingers into you gently at first, gradually picking up the pace as he went along. before you knew it he was adding a third finger, stretching your more than you’ve been stretched before.

you gasped at the feeling, your back arching off the bed as you cried out while he started finger fucking you with earnest.

“shhh, baby,” he said quietly, his movements never ceasing. “just gotta open you up for me, make sure you can take my knot.”

you held back another moan at that, thinking of how his cock would stretch you open, and how full you would feel with his knot nestled inside you.

he abruptly pulled his fingers from you, causing your back to arch again as you protested the loss of stimulation. his strength amazed you, and with one hand on your belly he pinned you down completely, sucking on the fingers of his other lewdly while stating you in the eyes.

after licking his fingers clean, (which caused heat to crawl it’s way down your belly), he kissed you sloppily on the mouth once again before gripping your waist and roughly flipping you over onto your knees.

your chest was flush against the mattress as well as your face, and your hips were lifted high in the air and you could feel the heat radiating off of him as he positioned himself behind you.

his nails drug down your sides and he gripped one of your hips with his hand, using his other to position himself at your leaking entrance. you wiggled your hips in anticipation, whining as he drug the head through your folds before slowly sinking inside you.

your fingers gripped the pillows as he bottomed out, his knot already slowly forming at the base of his shaft. it stretched you ever so slightly at the entrance of your core, and you whimpered out in pleasure as he started thrusting in and out.

the small form of his knot caught on your entrance with each precise thrust, and you were finding it very difficult to stay quiet. jeno’s breaths were heavy and every so often he would let out a soft growl as he felt his tip pound gently into your cervix.

your small whimpers were short and staggered, escaping your mouth with each thrust, which spurred him on to create a faster and harsher pace. he leaned over your back and didn’t relent as his cock punished you pussy, and when you let out a cry that was just a little bit too loud, he shoved your face right into your pillow to silence you.

“shut up,” he panted, a rumble low in his chest following his words. “just fucking take it.”

you nodded your head in response to the best of your ability, biting your lip to keep quiet as the presence of his hand left the back of your head.

he seemed to be getting close now, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge as well. it was uncommon for you to cum without any clitoral stimulation, and you were amazed at his ability to reach all of the most pleasurable spots inside you.

you felt your stomach tightening up and you gasped sharply when you felt his cock press right against your sweet spot, making you reach your high almost instantly.

you clamped around him, barely registering that he buried himself completely inside you and was now stretching you to the max with his fully developed knot. the pain of the stretch only intensified your orgasm, which had you screaming into your pillow to muffle your cries of ecstasy.

jeno growled loudly as he came shortly after, biting the back of your neck aggressively and painting your walls with his cum, emptying completely inside of you while his knot kept a single drop from escaping.

he withdrew his teeth from you, surprised that it didn’t break your skin, and gently moved the two of you to lay on your sides as you basked in the afterglow of what just occurred.

your chest heaved as you fought to catch you breath, you pussy still stretched to its limit as you laid with him. you reached an arm around to caress his face, a small show of affection as you smiled in bliss.

after catching your breath, you sat in silence for a bit, just bathing in each other’s warmth, before you had to go and open your big mouth again.

“so your knot is supposed to like, plug me up?” you questioned, your voice still sounding slightly out of breath as you panted. “to make sure I get like, hypothetically, pregnant or whatever?”

he groaned in response and gripped your hips tightly, his hips bucking and causing his still painfully hard cock to sharply jab against your sensitive insides, making you yelp.

“dear god, y/n,” he whined, his nails digging into your skin. “don’t say things like that, fuck.”

“oh, so you like that idea?” you teased, turning your head to try to look at him to the best of your ability considering your current position. “fucking me full of babies?”

his eyes stared down at you intensely, the color of his irises brightening up as he growled lowly at you. he suddenly gripped your hips and turned you both over, his body completely laying on your own as you were pressed against the mattress on your stomach.

“keep talking, y/n,” he growled out lowly, his hips pressing tightly against your ass, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. “I’ll fuck you again right now, and give you my fucking babies.”

he couldn’t see you, but you smiled contently, preparing yourself for another intense round with this beast of a man. there was a small chance that you would actually get pregnant, considering the IUD you had…but the thought of it had you ready to go at it again.

in some fucked up way, you were content with this, and you threw your hips up to grind back against him, grinning even wider as he pinned your body down even harder.

jeno fucked you like an animal until the sun came up, and your brother was none the wiser.

[scuttling]

Present

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 4,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Voyeurism, Masturbation in shower, Sexting, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Protected Sex, Established Aaron/Sophie Summary: Sophie sends Aaron a sexy video while he’s away on a case, Spencer watches it, and smut ensues. Collection: Part 1 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr because I was thinking about it today. 🤤 Link to A03 or read below! “I sprained my ankle. I’m not injured, not really. I can even walk on it,” Sophie assures as she pours them each a cup of coffee in the break room. She sets the carafe down, takes a step, wobbles, and Aaron catches her around the waist with a raised eyebrow of judgement. “Okay, so I can’t walk that well, but I can certainly sit in a conference room bouncing ideas around and drinking coffee. That’s all Rossi does, anyway.” He chuckles softly, knows she’s still… warming up, to Rossi and his idiosyncrasies.

“You know the rules.”

“Yeah, because we’re so good at following the rules,” she teases with a smirk, running her hands down his stomach, stopping at his belt. He looks over at the bullpen out of the corner of his eye, shoots her a warning look that makes her sigh and pull away.

“Think of it as choosing our battles,” he suggests, hoping that might get her back on track. “If you want to continue making out in my office, you have to stay here this one time.” She smiles, crooked, nods her head.

“Okay, when you put it that way, I’ll take the make outs.”

“I thought you might. Plus, you get to spend all day with Garcia. I figured that would be like a dream come true.”

“It is, definitely. It’s more the long, cold, nights that I’m worried about.” He sighs, because she’s being so dramatic, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of making him smile again. He can’t be looking as smitten and infatuated with her as he is all of the time. “I’m going to be so lonely.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage without sex for a few nights,” he teases, and she looks scandalized, as if that wasn’t exactly what she was getting at.

“It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy, comfort, sharing my bed with a big heavy man who scares away the bad dreams.” She grins lecherously and he prepares to roll his eyes. “And who has a dick that won't quit.”

“Like I said,” he enunciates, taking his travel mug of coffee for the road, “you’ll be fine for a few nights. If you do decide to touch yourself, though, make sure you send me a present,” he reminds her, because they aren’t separated often, but when they are, a couple of racy pictures or videos almost always exchange hands. He bends for a quick kiss on the lips, brushes her cheek. “I love you. Behave.”

“I love you,” she murmurs, all tenderness and no heat, now. “Be safe.” Two days after taking the case, the team is on the jet for a night flight home. Spencer is tired, but he can’t sleep; JJ is stretched out on the couch, Morgan and Emily are slumped over in their seats up front with pillows and headphones, and Rossi has been snoring softly since they took off, so it’s just him and Hotch awake. They are in seats next to each other, Spencer by the window, because he knew he would be a little restless, and that Hotch wouldn’t sleep, so it seemed like the safest bet if he didn't want to disturb anyone’s rest.

He also enjoys the comforting presence of the older man, always, but especially in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the flight home.

He tries to listen to music, a podcast, but he eventually pauses it and just rests his eyes, his head, listens to Hotch as he flips pages or taps away at his phone. He’s probably texting Sophie, who’s home with a sprained ankle and who hasn’t stopped grumbling about it since. He smiles at the thought, likes when she’s comfortable enough to complain to him. Likes being someone she turns to.

He sighs. Feelings are complicated. Sometimes he hates being part of such a tight-knit team because it makes the things he feels all the more confusing, especially when the two objects of his (totally manageable) affection are in a relationship together; he feels like the odd man out, as always, can’t deny that it hurts sometimes.

He’s drifting in and out of the not quite asleep stage when he hears sound coming from Hotch’s phone, shuffling, ambiguous noises. He lifts his eyelids just slightly to see a video up on the screen, a wall that looks vaguely familiar, like a bathroom, maybe. There’s nothing particularly intriguing about that, but then he sees a pair of smooth, bare legs standing inside a bathtub and his interest is… piqued.

There’s another sound, unmistakably a shower being turned on, and then the woman—it is Sophie, no doubt; even if he can’t see her face, the tattoo on her forearm is easily identifiable—squats down, and she is so gloriously naked that he just… freezes. His body and his mind are suspended in a conflicting state of this is wrong, I shouldn’t be seeing this, and this is the best thing I’ve ever seen, and why is Hotch watching this right now, with me right next to him, and hnnng.

She pulls the shower head into view, lets it pour over her hair from what he can see of it, then down her breasts, her stomach, arms and legs; after that, she adjusts it to a stream that is harder and more controlled than one would typically use in the shower. He wonders why, thinks it could be uncomfortable, until she moves it to hover over her pussy, moaning softly, and then he really, really gets it.

His heart is racing as she runs her hand over her body, thumbing at her nipples, sighing at her own touch. She rocks back and forth a little so the stream of water hits her clit, then lower, between her lips, against her opening, and Spencer swallows hard.

“Mmm,” she sighs, and the sound goes straight through him; he feels himself getting hard as she murmurs, pressing her hand against the rim of the tub for leverage. “Mmm, yeah.” He can see that Hotch is breathing heavily next to him, eyes fixed on the screen. It’s too dark in the cabin to see his lap, but he knows he must be aching in his pants, too, wonders what it would be like if he reached out and touched him there.

Sophie is incredibly gorgeous as she works to reach her climax, bouncing lightly on her heels as the pressure builds, her moans longer and louder, but it’s when she stops moving and presses the shower head closer, directly over her clit, that he knows she’s almost ready to come.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she whines, pinching a nipple, arching her back, and her voice is high and breathy and addictive. He would give anything to be in the same room as those sounds, to pull her wet body close and help her get off. “Fuck, mmm,” she purrs, bringing the stream even closer, and she comes, short, loud moans that sound like they’re being ripped from her throat as her thighs shake, her chest heaves.

She drags a slow hand down her body, like she’s soothing herself, and then shudders, pulls the shower head away like maybe the pressure is too much where she’s sensitive. With a sigh, she reaches for the phone, tilts it so her face is in view, cheeks flushed and wet hair clinging to her shoulders. She turns up her lips in a coy smile. “See you soon.” The video ends.

It takes Hotch a moment to lock his phone, and he looks a little dazed when Spencer risks a glance up at his face—with good reason. If he was on the receiving end of videos like that, he would never be able to focus on anything.

The rest of the trip is quiet, certainly uneventful in comparison. Spencer makes a show of opening his eyes fully, stretching, thinks it would be too awkward now to admit he saw and heard every incredible second; Hotch looks over at him with an expression he can’t read, and then flips open a new case file.

When they land, he and Hotch are the last two to grab their bags, and Hotch brushes up against him in a way that feels purposeful, but is probably wishful thinking. “Do you have anything going on for the rest of the night?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head.

“Nope, nothing.” Maybe masturbating—definitely masturbating—but he doesn’t need to know that. Hotch nods, thoughtful.

“You should come home with me.” Spencer looks at him with wide eyes.

“What?”

“We both know that you saw the video,” he says in a low, no nonsense tone that makes him gulp. “I told Sophie, and she seemed… interested in the prospect. So you should come home with me. If you want to.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Hotch raises a hand, halting his train of thought.

“I may have had a suspicion that you were awake when I chose to play the video, so don’t be so hard on yourself.” Spencer looks at his face, trying to determine if he’s saying what he thinks he’s saying. He did that on purpose? He knew that Spencer was watching? “No pressure, if you don’t want to come over. I would never want you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I do want to… do… whatever it is we’re doing,” he rambles awkwardly, and Hotch chuckles.

“What we're doing is having sex. And I won’t touch you, or anything, if you don’t want that. It can be me and Sophie and you and Sophie.” Spencer swallows hard again, so turned on and breathless that it makes him feel bold.

“What if I do want you to touch me?” he asks, and Hotch leans in slowly, hot breath at his ear.

“Then I’m going to touch you.” When he pulls away, his fingers brush over Spencer’s jaw. “Do you want to come home with me?”

His answer is an emphatic yes. Aaron is due home any minute, and Sophie is vibrating with nervous energy, puttering around the apartment in her robe, couldn’t sit still if she tried. She waits for him on nights he has to work late and can’t bring it home, sure, but it’s almost never like this, where they are apart for days on end. It’s seriously affecting not only her sex drive, but also her mental state, which she hadn’t expected; she feels clingy, needy already, wants to smell him and touch him and taste him and be caged in by him, and it’s frankly getting a little out of hand.

It doesn’t help, she guesses, that she sent that video, but she was horny and wanted his attention… and boy, did she get it, had several texts come through a couple of minutes after she sent it, all very sweet and dirty and good.

Then she saw one about Reid, wanted to be mortified, but she just… wasn’t.

A: So, Reid saw me watching your present.

S: Oh, really? Did he like it?

A: Yeah, he liked it.

A: I bet he’d come pretty quick if he got to see the real thing.

A: Touch you… taste you.

God, how can this calm, controlled man make her such a whimpering mess with just a couple of texts? It’s unfair, is what it is.

S: Maybe we should invite him over sometime.

S: I’ve seen him looking at you, too.

S: Imagine how pretty he would look between us.

That was about an hour ago, and the only thing she received in reply was a brief message letting her know they’d landed and that he was on the way home. She hopes she didn’t upset him, knows that he’s mentioned being interested in men but that he’s never slept with one, hopes she didn’t hit a sore spot. She promises herself they will talk about it when he gets home.

But when he gets home, he kisses her so deeply she feels faint. Her body is lit up in an instant, suddenly desperate for more of him.

“I brought you a present,” he says, so low and sexy, and she grins, breathless, wraps her arms around his neck.

“Ooh, you know I love presents. What is it?”

“It’s not a what, it’s a who,” Spencer says, then, from the open doorway, and she glances between them, bites at her bottom lip. He steps inside and closes the door.

Fuck.

“Hey, Spencer,” she greets, but she can hear the tremble in her voice when she does. He looks to Aaron, and Aaron reaches back, wraps a hand around his wrist, guides him closer.

“I told him what you said, about how pretty he would look between us. He happened to agree, so I figured, why wait?” He looks her over intently, like he’s making sure she’s okay with this.

She is so okay with this.

She wants to speak but she’s so out of breath, her heart beating so fast, that she just pulls him down for a kiss, messy and graceless, and then she reaches for Spencer’s shirt and pulls him close as well, doing the same. She takes turns kissing them, ten kisses each, probably, until Aaron pushes her back gently with a soft laugh.

“Easy, baby. He’s going to stay the night; we have time to go slow.” Her chest is heaving, and he walks around so he’s standing behind her, unties the sash of her robe, pulls it off to reveal the lacy black bra and panties she thought would be a sexy surprise.

He kind of outdid her in the surprise department, but she’ll forgive him this once.

He runs his hands over her panties, her stomach, her boobs, and she bends her neck back, arching up for his lips, moaning against them. Spencer approaches, a bit hesitant, puts his hands on her hips and kisses her exposed throat, her chest. She feels like she’s died and gone to heaven, two pairs of hands on her, two mouths, her body pressed between them tightly. She thinks offhand that she’s glad her ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, because she could stand between them all night long, if they keep this up, would be content to never move again.

Then one of Spencer’s beautiful, incredible hands slips down the front of her panties, and they stop kissing her to kiss each other, and she whimpers, and her knees give out anyway.

“So dramatic,” Aaron whispers teasingly in her ear as he holds her up, big hands on her body, and she shakes her head, wets her lips.

“Not being dramatic. This is so fucking sexy.” Spencer—apparently not worried about the fact that she almost collapsed on them because Aaron wasn’t—slides two fingers over the slippery wet lips of her pussy, and she groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take all the attention,” she murmurs, moving her hips against his hand. “Kiss some more, please.” Spencer huffs a laugh and leans in, catches Aaron’s lips with his. From her point of view she can see the slide of their tongues, lips pressing together, and she groans again.

“If it’s okay with you,” Spencer says to her when they separate, “I would really like to eat your pussy now.” He kisses her softly on the cheek, and she exhales, shaky.

“Yeah, please—please do that.”

“I’ll hold you,” Aaron whispers, lips at her ear. “I’ll be right here, I promise.” She hums, leans back against him, and Spencer drops to his knees, guides her panties down. She’s so wet there’s slick on the insides of her thighs, and when he lifts one leg to hook her knee around his shoulder, he licks it away. She shudders.

She feels like she should have known how hot and skillful his mouth would be, because he talks so fast sometimes that his brain—his incredibly high-functioning brain—can’t even keep up, and she usually finds his mouth cute, but right now she finds it sexy, will probably never be able to look at it without thinking of the way he feels with his tongue in her pussy.

He is very enthusiastic, licking her quick and deep, with one hand on her waist and the other rubbing her clit like he’s got a PhD in bringing girls to orgasm, and she knows she’s moaning like a slut, gets even louder when Aaron bites at her earlobe, kisses her neck, squeezes her breasts. “Fuck, oh fuck, yeah,” she pants, reaches a hand down to wrap it in Spencer’s hair, making him groan; she rocks against his delicious mouth, which he encourages, moving his hand to her ass and guiding her closer.

“Come for him, baby,” Aaron urges, hand inside the cup of her bra to pinch her nipple. “Isn’t he pretty, down on his knees for you?” She drops her head back against him, brings a hand to his hair, too.

“So pretty.” He stoops down to kiss her as best as he can, and Spencer’s looking up at them, gorgeous, and she comes tugging on both of them, panting into Aaron’s mouth.

When Spencer stands up and kisses her, mouth soft and wet after working her through her orgasm, and then Aaron leans in to taste both of them on her lips? It’s a wonder she doesn’t get weak in the knees again. Sophie is soft and pliant after she comes, clinging onto them, and Aaron lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bedroom, Spencer following closely behind. He sets her on the bed, unhooks her bra and pulls it off; Spencer watches closely as he does, kneels down to kiss her, brush his hands over her bare breasts, and she sighs at the treatment.

“What do you want to do?” Aaron asks them, getting down on his knees as well, and he kisses them, thrills at the similarities in their soft lips, soft skin.

“I wanna suck you both,” she says, and he touches her face gently.

“Are you sure you’re up for that? You look a little fuzzy.” He didn’t think that she would get submissive so quickly, since he hadn’t actually dominated her, but can see how feeling at the mercy of two men might make her go to that place; he just wants to make sure he does what’s best for her while she’s there.

“Might not be able to get you off, but I want them in my mouth. Can I?” She looks up at him, then at Spencer, who swallows visibly. Aaron gave him a little insight on the way there about how they normally interact with each other, how she likes to ask for permission and he likes to give it—or deny it, depending.

(Aaron Hotchner’s crash course on having a submissive girlfriend—he might have to find a way to monetize that, somehow.)

“You can, for a couple minutes. Then what do you want?” He looks to Spencer to see if he has anything in mind.

“I don’t—I’ve never done this,” he says quietly, and he and Sophie both touch him, and she nuzzles against his shoulder.

“Neither have we, it’s okay. You want to, though?” He looks at them with soft, open eyes, and nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, I want to.” Aaron takes his face in his hands, kisses him deeply.

“Okay, good. Sophie,” he says softly, touches her face too, “do you think you would be alright being with both of us at the same time?” She licks her lips and frowns a little like she’s confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we could lay you down, and one of us could be inside your pussy, and one of us could be inside your mouth. I’ll take your mouth,” he decides quickly, because she doesn’t like it too fast or rough and he knows her limits, doesn’t want to hurt or overwhelm her. “You’ll be full of us, baby. Do you think you want that?” She closes her eyes, nods, and Spencer touches her throat with long, gentle fingers.

“You’d give us that?” he asks like he’s in awe, and Aaron gets it, knows how much it means that she trusts them with something like this. “You’re incredible, Sophie,” he murmurs against her lips, and she sighs, pulls him closer.

Watching them make out is a very enjoyable thing, made all the more so when he decides to come up behind Spencer to unbutton his pants, untuck his shirt. The younger man moans at the feel of his hands helping him undress, and he presses back against Aaron’s chest, panting and eager. He guides him to stand, gets him naked, and wraps a hand around his long, hard cock, stroking it a couple times.

“You want her mouth on you while I get undressed?” he asks, and Spencer bucks up into his hand, nods quickly. Sophie reaches for him, pulling him closer, and she licks at the head, moans. “Gently,” he murmurs in Spencer’s ear, “let her be in control.” He nods seriously, presses a hand to Sophie’s cheek when she takes him in.

Between the two of them, their moans are so filthy, wanton, that he craves the heat of their mouths, so he captures Spencer’s in a kiss when he can, pulling off his clothes slowly so they can enjoy the time together. “Sophie,” Spencer murmurs, and she looks up at him, and Aaron’s arms around him, and whines. She pulls off of him, licks her lips looking hungry.

“I’m ready for you guys.” The simple sentence makes his dick throb, and he lays her back on the bed, kisses her soft and sweet and slow. Spencer curls around them, kisses them and rubs his hands over their bare skin.

“Spencer, can you get in that drawer and take out a condom?” he has presence of mind to ask, glad that the ones they have should fit him, and he stretches up, all long, lithe muscles, grabs one and tears the wrapper open, rolling it on. Neither Aaron nor Sophie can take their eyes off of him, and when he’s finished, Aaron moves out of his way so he can settle between her legs. She hitches up her knees, and he knows first hand how inviting that can be, understands completely when he shivers with pleasure.

Aaron kisses Sophie a few more times, whispers sweet, loving words into her ear, and then he crawls up by her head, the tip of his dick at the same level as her mouth.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, running his hands over her breasts, and she nods, puts her hands on Spencer’s hips and pulls him closer until he is fully sheathed inside her; he keeps still, panting, and Aaron leads forward to brush his hair back. “You’re so gorgeous, Spencer,” he coos, and then he presses into Sophie's mouth, sighs.

She takes him in hand, guiding him in and out at a pace she’s comfortable with, so he just lets her take the lead and runs his hands over her body, Spencer’s fingers where they press against her thighs. He is pumping into her deeply now, an easy rhythm Sophie matches with her hand, and the room is filled with a symphony of soft, wet sounds and moans and hums that Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He is wholly unsurprised when he is the first to come, because watching Spencer’s hips move against her, his hands careful where he holds her down, and feeling her moan around his cock because she loves feeling full, it’s all too much for him. He spills with a groan, and Spencer watches his face like it’s art, which makes him feel warm in his chest. Something to explore at a later time.

Sophie lets go of him, panting, and he slides down to his belly so he can kiss her mouth, caress her. He looks up at Spencer, who appears to be trying so hard not to come, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and he rubs Sophie’s clit to help get her close, so he’ll stop trying so hard and just let himself feel good.

“Oh, god,” Sophie whines, brings her hands up to squeeze hard at her breasts. “This is good, so good, mmm.” She starts bucking hard against him, her neck stretched long, and he knows the instant she comes, her mouth opening in a wordless moan before she all but howls her pleasure. Spencer groans, shifts his legs a little so he’s hovering over the both of them, and he thrusts for a few more seconds before finding his own orgasm. “Hmm, yes,” Sophie sighs, and he kisses her slowly, passionately; Aaron rubs both of their bodies as they shiver with aftershocks, and they all sink into the mattress, deeply spent.

They cuddle together for a few minutes, until Sophie complains she has to pee, and she and Spencer go into the bathroom together to take care of business. Aaron runs a hand through his hair and exhales long, because this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen, while also being one of the most unforgettable nights of his life; he knows they’ll look to him for guidance about what to do next, and he’s really not sure what to say when they do.

When they amble back into the room, they’re both smiling softly, and Aaron smiles because he can’t help it. They climb back onto the bed, Spencer in the middle, though Sophie reaches across him to rub at the hair on Aaron’s chest.

“So that’s a thing that happened,” Sophie says eventually, propped up on her elbow, looking over at their two blissed out faces with nothing short of affection. “Is it a thing that’s going to happen again, or a thing we swear up and down didn’t happen?—No pressure, only asking so I know how to compartmentalize my many, many thoughts.”

Aaron looks to Spencer and can’t help but feel like there’s something more worth exploring, there. He thinks Spencer feels the same when he pulls him in for a tender kiss.

“I think it should happen again,” Spencer murmurs, and Sophie leans down to kiss him too.

“Yeah, it should happen again.” Aaron sits up, smiles at his girl, guides her mouth to his.

“Okay, then.” They kiss again, easy, sweet, and he breathes a laugh. “We owe you for this, you know: you and your little shower performance.”

“Oscar worthy,” Spencer says with a grin, and Sophie shoves him playfully.

“Hey, a girl has needs.”

“And we’ll help you meet them,” Aaron promises, running a hand suggestively along her body, and she covers it with hers.

“No way. I’m tapped out, buddy. Unless I get sleep or pizza, no more sex from me tonight.” Aaron feigns hurt, pulls away, flops onto his back with an exaggerated sigh, and she crawls past Spencer to straddle his waist. “So dramatic,” she teases, leans down for a kiss, then climbs off the bed altogether. “I’m good with pizza—I don’t want to go to sleep just yet, not when I’ve got two pretty boys in my bed.”

“I second pizza,” Spencer murmurs, his face pressed against Aaron’s bicep. Sophie pauses in the doorway, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Do you think they’ll do a third veggie, and a third pepperoni, and a third Hawaiian? Or am I gonna have to order two pizzas?” She comes back over to the bed, kisses them both soft, affectionate, and smiles. “Always complicating things, Spencer Reid.”

[redhead-batgal]

Hiya😊 if you're taking requests can I ask for dick grayson x reader starting off angsty then fluffy ending?

Maybe reader used to be a low level criminal in the past or used to work for a villian and this is somehow now causing problems in dick/readers relationship

Angst 1. Do you enjoy this? Causing me pain? Or is it just a side effect a causalty of knowing you? ( said by dick)

Angst 17. It's okay, really. I never expected you to actually love me (reader)

Then later on dick apologizes and Extreme fluff 4. I love you so much I can't imagine loving anyone else but you

Just thought I'd ask but if you decide not to write this that's totally okay : )))

Type: One-Shot

Pairing: Fem! and Former Criminal! Reader x Dick Grayson/Nightwing

Prompts:  ✢1: “Do you enjoy this? Causing me pain? Or is it just a side effect, a casualty of knowing you?” ✢ 17: “It's okay, really. I never expected you to love me.”  ♕4: “I love you so much I can't imagine loving anyone else but you.” [Okay so I added this prompt just to make the fluff and the angst equal also because it literally fits so well!!! ]  ♕3:”You are every dream I’ve ever had come to life. Every single wish I’ve made. You are my hope and my life.” 

Content:  Cursing, angsty beginning, fluffy ending, some violence, mentions cartoons (I am a kid at heart sorry not sorry y’all😂), writing some parts of this nearly made me cry so like good luck y’all. 

Word Count  : 4,911 words

Y/N: Your Name, L/N: Last Name, C/N: Criminal Name

(P.S: If y’all can spot the reference let me know, I may or may not post a version of this from Dick’s POV if enough people find it. 😉😂 )

(P.P.S: I am so sorry for this taking so long. I just got out to college and set up my room and started classes so yeah I’ve been busy. So my next one-shot might also take me a while) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is like an endless roller coaster, filled with ups and downs and unexpected corkscrews. Sometimes life hits you as hard as a quick drop does. Unfortunately life isn’t as kind as a roller coaster, you suffer from much more than your stomach flipping in the giant drops of life. 

Some drops, corkscrews and turns in life aren’t exactly what you expect them to be. Sometimes they’re experiences you have to go through, emotions you have to feel even relationships you have to develop.

And a lot like your stomach flipping you can suffer consequences due to these drops, corkscrews and turns. Sometimes it’s minor and you feel nothing more than a little sad, other times it’s intense and you get heartbroken. 

A lot of the time, these consequences could be avoided, especially in regard to relationships. Miscommunication or a lack of communication are a cause of these consequences. Relationships end due to someone saying something they later regret, not saying what they mean or not saying anything at all. Sometimes to save a relationship you just have to say something. 

It had nearly been a year since you had switched sides. Since you had turned from a menace and minor villain in Gotham to a hero... well not exactly. You didn’t technically do anything illegal, however you weren’t one to stop justice from coming to corrupt politicians and conceited CEO’s. 

This attitude, unfortunately stopped you from becoming an official hero, well that and the fact that your plans and schemes were still being used by villains and criminals alike all around Gotham. While you hadn’t been supplying anyone with your schemes and plans since you switched sides, the heroes had yet to understand that... most of them that is. 

Which caused you to have little to none in the friend department when it came to the heroes. You had a few from the bats, but that had more to do with the fact that you were dating Dick Grayson, well Nightwing. He was one of the reasons why you switched sides, not a major one but a reason nonetheless. 

As far as you could tell your relationship was going well. You loved him, would give your life for him, you trusted him. And you thought he loved you back, that he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, that he trusted you as much as you trusted him. You, unfortunately, thought wrong. 

It was probably close to one in the morning. Instead of sleeping like a majority of normal human beings did at this hour, you were sitting on Dick’s couch eating a bowl of his cereal while watching Tom and Jerry. 

Just as Jerry slammed the piano lid down on Tom’s hands you heard the sound of a window sliding open and feet hitting the ground. For a moment you froze till you heard the window sliding shut and a familiar grunt, relaxing you continue to chomp down on the cereal. 

However when you heard the barely audible footsteps instead of the shuffling sounds you usually heard after patrol a bit of worry washed over you. Setting the bowl down you tried not to look too worried as you peered over your shoulder at the still costumed Dick Grayson.

“Hey baby,” You stated softly as he worked his way to you, “how was patrol tonight?”

Flopping down on the couch next to you, he presses his face into the crook of your nest before mumbling out an answer. You sighed running your finger through his hair before deciding to try asking him again. 

Getting a good grip on his head you pulled it away from you and shot him a look. He sighed before wrapping an arm around you and twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.

“Patrol was fine...it was normal.” 

You shot him a look of disbelief and he sighed before pressing his head against yours. 

“That is all baby, I promise. It’s just been a long day.”

You could tell that was a lie, but seeing how tired he was, seeing that he just wanted to be near you after today’s patrol, well it was enough that you didn’t push the matter. 

Letting out a sigh you blinked, tilting your face up slightly, you press a quick kiss onto his forehead before pulling away. 

“You need to get changed and go to sleep, you have work tomorrow.” 

Dick nodded and got up from the couch pausing for a moment to take a look at you. However your phone buzzed so instead of meeting his gaze you pulled it from your pocket to take a look at what was going on.

“What about you?” He asks as you stare at your phone screen.

You had received a text from a kid you knew, a kid in the youth group you had helped start. A group to stop kids from ever getting into a situation as bad as yours was. 

For a moment you saw an angry version of yourself, a version who didn’t care about others. A version who just wanted what they wanted and didn’t care how you did it or who you hurt; as long as you got what you wanted in the end. 

Swallowing you pushed away the memories and looked at the text.

Gene: I’m gonna need the package

Looking up at Dick you shook your head. Shoving your phone back into your pocket you stood up. 

“Uh, I have something I need to do real quick then I’ll be back.” You remarked as you looked around for your jacket. 

Grabbing it you moved over to Dick and pressed a kiss to his cheek before giving him a soft smile. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” 

Waving goodbye you turned and headed out the door. Hurrying down the stairs you made it to the ground floor then out of the apartment building. Walking over to your car you quickly unlocked it and pulled out a bag filled with blankets and a notebook. Closing the door you locked your car and began your way down the street. 

As you walked you thought about Gene and the situation you got him out of, then you thought about yourself, your past and all the things you had done. All the things that you had gone through. Shaking away the memories you recalled for a moment a similar kind of anger you had been displaying that you used to have. 

Too many people were getting hurt, too many children were suffering due to others actions. While you didn’t condone hurting people, some people needed to be punished for what they did. And some people, well they needed to be taken out before they caused anymore pain. 

It scared you a little, how much you were still like that older version of yourself. While your motives had changed you were still brutal and ruthless when it came to your sense of justice. You could tell it bugged some of the vigilantes, the only person who didn’t seem to have a problem with it at all was Red Hood. 

He knew why you did what you did, hell he was a volunteer at the youth group. If you weren’t proof enough that just because you thought some people deserved to be punished for what they had done, but could still be kind and help people, that you could still be good; then the both of you should be. 

Slowing to a stop you looked around before moving into an alleyway, you saw a figure moving down the other side towards you and you nearly sighed in relief. Gene looked a little shaken but his face slightly lit up when he saw you. 

Jogging towards you he asked, “Do you have it?”

You nodded and offered him the bag. He took it with a small smile but the smile faulted when he saw the notebook.

“What’s that?”

You paused for a moment then took in a breath, “Remember the book I kept telling you guys I was going to write? With all the names and stuff? Well I finally did it, this is the safety book. I thought since I’m done you’d like it.”

Gene blinked and you offered the book to him, he took it and gave you a quick nod. You smiled at him and he looked around before turning to leave. However before he even got three feet away he turned back. 

“Thank you Y/N.”

“It’s fine, now go!” You replied, waving him along.

You watched him nod a smile on his face as he turned and hurried back down the alleyway. Turning around you began to exit the alley when you heard a slight thump and very faint footsteps. You froze and turned around slowly seeing a strangely familiar figure in the darkness. 

Stepping towards you the figure came into the light and you saw Dick Grayson- Nightwing standing in front of you. The look on his face was clearly upset and you furrowed your brow. However before you could ask him what was wrong he took a step towards you remarking in a slightly heartbroken tone. 

“What the hell were you thinking? Selling your plans to a villain? I thought you got out of that life? Was it all a lie? What else have you done?”

You blinked in surprise and took a step back. What was he saying- a villain? He thought Gene was a villain and you were selling plans? What, why? You were so confused and a little hurt. 

“First off,” You began pointing a finger at him, “I didn’t sell shit. Second, I am out of the life. Do you think for one second I could even do anything remotely like I used to while I’m with you? Don’t you trust me?” 

Instead of replying he gave you a look and your stomach dropped. He didn’t meet your eye but he had a frustrated and slightly disappointed body stance. Clenching your fists you shook your head. 

“You don’t trust me.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, “Why the fuck don’t you trust me?”

You watched him for a moment and he looked at you. A big mistake. You could tell just by the look on his face it had to do with your past. It had to do with the fact that you had been a criminal- a villain for a period of time. Despite the reassurance he had previously given you, it was clear that was the center of his doubts. 

“It has to do with my past doesn’t it? Even after you told me that there was no reason for me to worry about it bothering you or anyone else... What else have you lied to me about?” 

“What else have I lied about? What else have you lied about? Did you ever actually switch sides or was this all some kind of ruse? A game?  Do you enjoy this? Causing me pain? Or is it just a side effect, a casualty of knowing you?”

You were shocked, hurt and everything felt like it was falling apart around you. Your chest ached and you couldn’t breathe. A gasp escaped you and you let out a slight sound before shaking your head. 

“Enjoy it? Enjoy this? I should ask you the same damn question you lying bastard. Did you ever love me? Did I actually matter to yo-” You stopped yourself shaking your head, “You know what, no. I don’t even want to know.”

You felt ruined, completely and utterly ruined. Fighting off the tears, you pushed away the feeling of being shattered. Swallowing heavily you looked him in the eyes.

“Not that it matters, but Gene, the boy I was with; is the newest member of a youth group for troubled street kids. I’ve been helping them out, supplying them with food and clothes. The person who started the group was a former street kid herself. I helped recruit Gene, I got him out of the gang life. He was here because he needed some blankets for homeless kids who weren’t ready yet to join the group.” You remarked raising your chin high. 

You had done nothing wrong, in fact you were helping, doing the exact opposite of something wrong.

“What about the notebook you gave him?”

“I wrote down places that had free food, free WIFI, safe places to hang out. Places where kids like him- kids like us could get jobs. Places kids like I used to be could use. Places I wish I knew about before I lost my childhood. People who would take kids in, only for the price of a conversation. I gave him a book of safe places and allies. Not fucking plans. I gave him the key to keeping his childhood just a little longer...” You trailed off looking away from him, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, it’s not as if you’ll believe me.”

Biting your lip you fought off more tears before taking a breath in. Looking up directly at him you let the breath out. You weren’t going to let this- to let him break you. Not after all you had been through, Dick Grayson- Nightwing, didn’t have that much power over you... right? 

“Goodbye Nightwing, I hope you’re happy now that you’ve chosen this... I hope it brings you bliss. Believing this... bullshit. over me. I hope that not only are you happier, but you get exactly what you want.”

Clenching your fists you turned around, with your head raised high and tears spilling down your face you walked away. Your heart shattering as everything around you began falling apart.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

It had nearly been a month since you and Dick had the argument. You had waited until the next day when he was at work to get your things from his place. You were now essentially off the grid. You were living in a friend’s apartment while she was traveling Europe. 

You could still hear his words echoing in your ears, the accusations, how little he thought of you and then of how shattered you felt. Your brain was scrambling for an explanation, a reason why all of it happened. For something to make it hurt less, but every idea it came up with fell flat. It didn’t exactly fit or there was some kind of huge flaw. 

It hurt, sharply and vibrantly, like you were experiencing it all over again. It was a betrayal, you were turned against. He had decided to trust someone else, to tell someone else of his suspicions. This much you now knew. 

As you dug deeper you began to realize why. Why he thought all he did.There were images. Images of you interacting with the kids from the youth group, images of you telling gang members to back off of the kids. Of course only you knew that. 

You had come to realize that while what Dick was wrong... so very wrong. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Well sort of. If he had asked you what you had been doing you would have told him... but you would have become defensive. You would have thought he didn’t trust you.

As you played the situation over and over in your head you knew it could have gone better, but it also could have gone differently. It could have gone very differently if he had let you explain, if he had given you a chance, but he hadn’t. Of course you knew the evidence against you was strong and no one on the street would give you up, no matter what you were doing. 

You now knew how bad it looked, but what got to you the most was that he so readily believed it, Dick didn’t try to get your side, he just..... he believed the worst of you. And no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t figure out why. 

You can still remember the last words you said to him, you were still in love with him which made it all worse. You remember getting calls from him, voicemails you refused to listen to, so you waited. Waited until you knew he’d be too busy to answer your call. You left a voice message and you can still feel the words, the painful words on your lips, you could feel the lies hammering away at your heart as the truths burned the scraps. 

“I want you to stop calling. It doesn't really matter,” You had lied, “I don’t care about how sorry you are. I don’t care what you thought was going on. You lied to me and thought that I was using you. This has made me realize what we had... it wasn’t love. You can’t say what we said to each other to someone you love... and I’ve realized. It’s okay really, I never expected you to love me. Not actually. I mean after everything I’ve done... I should have known, known that despite all my hopes and beliefs, my expectations were right. Anyways, this will probably be the last you’re gonna hear from me. So I’m sorry, sorry for not telling you things, but I’m also sorry you felt you couldn’t trust me enough to ask me. Ask me if I was doing bad things, ask me if I actually was back in the life. So I guess this is goodbye. I want you to know I’m never going to forget you or what we had despite it’s downs. You saved me in a sense. So thank you, thank you and fuck you. Fuck you for giving me a glimpse into what I could have had, for taking it from me. Fuck you for raising me up and then shattering me whole. Goodbye Dick- Goodbye.” 

A knock at the door yanks you from the memories, from the sharp jabs at your heart. You looked towards the door and stilled your breathing. Then you heard another knock and someone on the other side. 

“Y/N it’s Barbara. Can you please come let me in?”

You froze, if Barbara had found you it was possible so had he. And while you didn’t want to care so much you did. You could feel your heart picking up at the thought of a chance to see him again. However you didn’t move. Sitting still on the couch you tried your hardest to remain quiet. 

“I’m alone, Y/N. But if you don’t open the door I am going to call Dick.” 

For some reason, Barbara’s statement had you on your feet. You walked to the door and realized what you were doing as your hand touched the handle. Taking in a breath you looked through the peephole and saw Barbara in her wheelchair alone.

You yanked the door open and she gave you a look before shrugging and wheeling her way into the apartment. As you closed the door she off-handedly remarked,

“You look almost as bad as Dick.”

Locking the door you turned back towards her, determined to keep a distance in case she tried something though you had a feeling she never would. Turning towards her you raised an eyebrow not moving. 

Barbara rolled her eyes before she pushed up her glasses and crossed your arms. You mirrored her stance and the two of you began a stare down. A game of chicken almost. However the fear that she was here to somehow stall you while Dick got here had you caving in fairly quickly. 

“What do you want Babs?”

Barbara gave you a look, it was a look of pity almost. It was as if she could see all the damage your heart had taken, as if she could see the pain you were going through and wanted to stop it. 

“He’s bad, you know. Without you. I honestly don’t think the man’s slept in the past few weeks... I’m fairly sure Tim has gotten more sleep than him, Tim.”

You shifted slightly, your heart panging at the thought of him not sleeping, of him not taking care of himself but you pushed it back. Feeling the hurt- the hole he had made in you. 

“I don’t understand how that has anything to do with what you want. I made it very clear to him we are done.”

You saw something flicker in Barbara’s eyes and watched as her entire body language changed from soft, pity filled and somewhat worried to stiff, tense and slightly angry. 

“Yeah, I know about that. What the hell were you thinking by the way?”

You responded without thinking,

“Have you asked him the same question about what he did that night? Because if not, you have no right to question my motives for what I did.” 

The reply came out sharp and bitter and so much harsher than you meant it to. Barbara relaxed slightly looking you in the eyes and you turned away from her.

“If you’re just here to try and get me to talk to.. him. It’s not going to happen. I explained everything and made myself very clear.”

“You didn’t let him get any word in. How was he supposed to defend himself? How was he supposed to explain?”

“I’ve been asking myself almost the same question. But in reference to that night, and with me instead of him not being able to talk at all.” You began straightening out as anger flooded the hole, “He assumed many things that weren’t true and accused me of awful things. I did not for a single damned second say a thing in that voicemail he should feel the need to defend himself against.” 

She went still for a moment and you could see that she saw how hurt you were. How deep it went and how far you were willing to take it. You didn’t like pain, you wanted, so badly wanted it all to go away. But here you were talking about it once again. 

“Is there anything else you want Barbara? Or do you want to continue to argue with me about something that is very much not only not your business but over.”

Barbara nodded somewhat slowly and she began to wheel herself towards you- towards the door when her phone buzzed and she paused. She looked at her phone then at you and a light flickered in her eyes. 

“I do have something... would you mind helping me? I need someone to go check out some suspicious activity. Dick is... out of commission. And everyone else is either on patrol halfway across the city or not in Gotham at the moment.”

You gave her a look, suspicion was strong in your chest but reluctantly you found yourself nodding. 

Barbara smiled before telling you an address and rolling out the door. Closing the door behind her you cursed under your breath. What had you just agreed to?

Before you knew it, you found yourself in front of the building that Barbara had directed you too. You were wearing the costume Dick had given you and the feeling of it against your skin stirred up memories that made the hole feel a little bit bigger. 

Ignoring the memoires and the feelings you began to investigate. As you scanned the building’s outside you saw a man standing on the berth of the doorway holding a large briefcase.  

Just as you were about to take a step towards the man you felt a wave of heat. A loud boom followed it and suddenly something slammed into you. It was a black and blue blur that sent you flying away form the booming sound and heat. 

You slammed against the ground before letting out a slight cough, your eyes watering as you felt a weight press you against the ground. 

“What the hell?” You mumbled.

A familiar voice hit your ears and your blood went cold. “Y/N, are you alright?”

Blinking you found Dick- no Nightwing above you looking extremely concerned.

“Fine, fine, get off of me.” You remarked shoving at him.

He did as you asked and you pushed yourself to your feet giving him a quick glance as your heart did spins in your chest. Turning away you moved to go after the man when he grabbed onto your arm stopping you in your tracks. 

“What are you doing? There’s a criminal right there!” You snapped tugging on his grip.

“You’re more important.” Nightwing remarked in a slightly desperate tone.

“What?”

“I need to talk to you.”

You blinked in shock that he would be using this situation to demand a conversation. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Rolling your eyes you nodded and commented, “Of course you do.”

“It’s because you’re wrong.” Nightwing said firmly, pulling you towards him. 

Shaking your head you dug your heels into the ground laughing bitterly as you stated somewhat sarcastically, “What a lovely thing to tell someone who is seriously pissed at you!”

“What we had- what we still have is love.”

“Excuse me?” You remarked freezing for a moment. 

“You said what we have isn’t love, but it is. The reason I was able to say those things to you was because I love you.” He said looking at you. 

“Pardon?” 

“I love you, and the thought that you didn’t love me back that it was all an act terrified me. Because... well because  I love you so much I can’t imagine loving anyone else but you. And if I loved you that much but you didn’t love me-”

The look on his face, how genuine he seemed made your heart do bigger turns, ones so sharp your breath caught.

“It would have ruined you.” Your words came out in a whisper as you stared at him not fully believing his words. 

As if he could tell you didn’t fully believe him, he took your face in his hands. Staring into your eyes he took in a breath. 

“I love you.” He said, “I love you, I love you. And I refuse to let my fears tear you away from me.” 

You shook your head, feeling tears once again beginning to appear in the corners of your eyes. You  looked away from him and he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“I don’t-” You began as your voice cracked, “I can’t- no. I don’t believe you.”

“You,” He began staring at you, “are every dream I’ve ever had come to life. Every single wish I’ve made. You are my hope and my life.  I can’t imagine a life without you in it. You are my everything and I am hopelessly lost without you.”

You sniffed and bit your lip as you avoided his gaze. He sighed and pulled away from you. 

“I have no excuses for what happened, it was wrong and it should have never happened. But I do regret every single second of it. If I could go back I would change everything that happened. I am so sorry that I hurt you, I don’t know what to do with myself knowing I cause you pain.”

As he began to ramble on with apologies you realized that if you didn’t matter to him, if he didn’t love you he wouldn’t be trying so hard. As you half-listened you came to the conclusion that you were nearly as bad as him. In love, deeply in love, to the point of where it didn’t seem real. It’s why you so badly wanted an explanation. A reason for it to hurt less. 

You looked at him and opened your mouth to tell him you felt the same when something he said stopped you. 

“I know you may never trust me again, I hurt you- I broke your trust by not believing in you, but I will keep trying to prove that you can trust me. Because I do trust you. I trust you with one of the most important things I have... my heart.” 

You snorted, pulling away form him you began to laugh and he gave you concerned and confused looks. 

“What- did I do something wrong?”

“OH, you really need to stop watching those rom-coms.” You giggled

He looked at you and relaxed with a slight smile. Wiping at your eyes you shook your head smiling.  Pressing your heads together again he smiled and laughed slightly. However a large boom stopped any words from being shared between the two of you. 

“Are you two-love birds done or are we going to have to deal with the bomb welding manic on our own?” Batgirl shouted as black and red smoke swirled behind her. 

You looked back to Nightwing- Dick and smiled a bit wider. Turning back towards Batgirl you shot her a maniacal grin before standing up straight. 

“Why Batgirl, didn’t you know. Bomb welding maniacs are my personal specialty.” You remarked causing her to laugh. 

You paused just for a moment looking back at Dick. You were actually glad  he took the time to talk to you. You were glad he explained everything. You were glad he had the courage to say something. Because if he hadn’t you didn’t know where you’d be. But right now you were happy, feeling a bit less broken. It wasn’t where you used to be with him, but it was a start. A start to something... permanent. Something good. 

It was a start, with endless possibilities, but it was a start. 

Tag List: @andromedaj2003   @battlenix    @sol-the-salmon 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Ram Sweeney x Reader || Headcanons

Topic: Dating HC's

Notes:

*Sigh*... I write regularly write for creeps like Freddy Krueger and Offenderman... and am one of the few tumblrs that write for Sheriff Hoyt romantically... and yet Kurt and Ram are my real guilty pleasure characters.

Anyway I hope someone other then me wanted this XDD I'm gonna do a Kurt one too.

Warnings: Some NSFW but not explicit.

Your song: The Way I Loved You (Taylor Swift)

He respects my space and never makes me wait

And he calls exactly when he says he will

He's close to my mother, talks business with my father

He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable

...

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

And it's 2:00 a.m. and I'm cursing your name

So in love that you act insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breakin' down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kinda rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

You two as a TV/Movie/Book couple: Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush (The DUFF)

Having the kind of relationship that no one else understands at all. Like, you have nothing in commen except commen history and your feelings for each other (Which are, on the other hand, totally clear to everyone) but when you're together you're always laughing and being affectionate.

Being in an on and off relationship throughout middle school and highschool- but never and I repeat; Never, is anyone permitted to mess with you at all. Because Ram always considers you his, even when you arent together.

So yeah, you always have 2 (Ram, and Kurt) large football star bodyguards at your disposal.

Being very playful together.

SOOOOoooooo much PDA. Including: Making out in the hallways and at school events like football games (You dont care who sees), sitting in his lap or at least squished close to his side at lunch, him throwing you over his shoulder to carry you places, him giving you piggy back rides, him picking you up and twirling you around, him just standing behind you with his arms around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder when he's bored (With everything but you), his arm being over your shoulders as you walk together, you wiping peanut butter on his nose to get a rise out of him and then running away so he'll chase you, you peppering his face with kisses to make him laugh, etc.

Having a turbulent relationship. Because while, when all is well you two are like peanut butter and jelly and seem like the perfect highschool sweethearts, when you arent it's because Ram has gotten really jealous over something and called you a terrible name (Skank, whore, slut, bitch- any of those) or you understandably got irritated by his bullying and/or being a perverted, sexist asshole and you have huge, blow out fights in the middle of school and by the end of the period the whole student body knows about it.

You give him the silent treatment and the cold shoulder after those (If you didnt break up, that is) and he sends Kurt to give you messages.

When you make up its because he sincerely apologises although he doesn't 100% understand what he did wrong which becomes part of the next fight.

As you've been together so very long, he is basically part of your fucking family. He's so familiar and casual with your parent/s and/or sibling/s. They love him so much that, whether you're with him at the time or not, they allow him into the house and your bedroom with a cup of tea and snacks. (Its the 'American dream' popular-boy / football-star thing.)

So yeah, sometimes when you're mad at him or he wants to get back together (Which generally you want to do, to. You honestly have the same biological timer. Its like, 3 weeks pass by of being broken up and then ding ding ding! You both get the feelings its time to get back together and start sharing grins in the hallway and talking to your friends about eachother) you'll just find him waiting for you in your room when you come home.

Hanging out a looooooot with Kurt. Movie nights at your place, hanging out at the mall together on weekends sneaking out to see them at the football field at night time, etc. When you're sad, they'll both turn up wherever you are to cheer you up, too! Goofballs.

This does not mean there arent times where Ram shoo's Kurt off, though, when you two want some alone time together (*Eyebrow wiggles*) because of course. I'm just saying, you're a close-knit group.

When you are alone together, not much changes from when you're around others honestly XD You're still just as playful and affectionate. You just, you know, also have sex.

When he's down, you rusk your graceful image and climb through his bedroom window to be there with him. You dont fuck, you dont even really kiss. You just climb into bed with him and he'll tuck you under his chin and close his eyes. Legit old married couple. And you two sleep- by morning, he usually feels better and refuses to let you get out of bed with him.

"Five more minutessssss, babe!" He whines, holding you against him and pressing kisses to your head. You know he'll just say that again in 5 minutes time- and over, and over, and over again.

"Oh- no. I've been caught in this trap before Ram. We have school, so we have to get up. Come on!" You push firmly at his stomach (or abs) with your fists; not that that does much as he just just groans or gathers your little wrists in one big fist to stop you (Either way he certainly doesn't even flinch). His eyes are still closed. You sigh.

Now you have two choices, you can either give in and snuggle back into him for the rest of the morning, or threaten to send an attack towards his groin and he'll literally fling himself outta bed. Like "OH LOOK AT THE TIME- Kurt's gonna be waiting for us outside. Lets go!"

There are also mornings that you wake up with him (No sad Ram the night before necessary) and are all too happy to stay there with him. You just adorably nod into his chest, eyes still closed and making the cutest half-asleep morning sound when he asks if you wanna stay here a bit longer and he happily pulls the blanket over both your heads; shielding you both from the real world for a while.

OKAY MOVING ON FROM THAT FLUFFINESS.

You are also the only person who has any sort of control over him and Kurt. Like you can take them down a few pegs with just a look.

You two do date other people when you're broken up but its clear to anyone watching that these are just nice place holders for eachother. Neither of you are ever as happy with others as you are with eachother. You're ridiculously in love, actually.

Ypu were the first one to say I Love You, and he immediately called Kurt for guidance XD

Places you've had sex (Because it is always the full monty with Ram): Both your bedrooms so so so many times, the school bathrooms, his car, Kurts car (Kurt was NOT pleased.), the back of the football field, under the bleachers during a game or pep rally (he was benched for being too violent) + under the bleachers during practise + under the bleachers when the football field is deserted, the back of the school, the faculty parking lot at school, Kurts and Heather Chandler's houses (Parties. Basically a Westerburg High party is not complete without Y/N L/N and Ram Sweeney breaking in someones bed), his parent's car, the woods, cow pasture (a picnic blanket was used), and finally some mall changing rooms.

You leave him messages on his answering machine. He listens to every one of them (Which means something because he doesnt listen to anyone elses, unless he's gotta get through them to get to yours).

Him being SUCH a jealous asshole (With everyone except Kurt).

HIM STANDING UP TO THE HEATHERS FOR YOU.

#PromKingAndQueen

Having Kurt "Smartest guy on the football team," Kelly be your (Occasionally, live in- yes, he has slept over with the two of you on the floor so he could break up fights) couples councellor. Often his advice is 'fuck it out' but he also comes up with oddly wise shit sometimes. Mostly he's just very exasperated though. Like, its obvious you two are gonna end up together- stop bothering me with this shit. Let me get some pussy for myself guys please-

You two getting a bit frisky on movie nights with Kurt and he throws stuff at you. He just starts bringing a pool noodle (That he drew an angry face onto) along with him and hitting y'all with it whenever he feels its necessary. Cuz I mean, on one hand, of course he's happy for his bro Ram that he's getting his dick wet, but on the other- ITS FUCKIN MOVIE NIGHT, PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER FOR T W O S E C O N D S (Oh the irony- it does indeed escape him). He'll park his ass right in the middle of you two if you keep it up.

If he had survived, you and Ram would have broken up after graduation and spent college apart, before bumping into each other again back home as new (Improved. Especially him) people that fit together better now and ended up getting back together for good.

[spiltscribbles]

Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

.-

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes. 

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

.-

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius  can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it. 

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year.  Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon  and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one  who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too. 

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

 Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people  had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods  when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself.  “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

.-

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw. 

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally  touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

.-

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

.-

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair. 

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon. 

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.”  His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion. 

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?” 

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter. 

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of  him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

 “You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and  gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Stars/Dreams

Master List

It was Dick’s turn to zeta to Paris and grab Damian today. He once again looked up and found Damian on the Eiffel tower, sitting there staring at the stars. Tears streamed down his face, that he would immediately brush off before any others saw. But the evidence that stained his sleeve, cheeks, eyes, and his whole being could not be covered up. 

Just as he was about to make his way up the tower to get him, try to calm him from another nightmare he probably had, he saw another figure sit themself down near Damian. Upon closer inspection, it was Marinette’s childhood friend, Kim. 

He made it up the tower just in time to see Damian break down and pull his knees to his chest, face in his knees, his body shaking from how hard he was sobbing, with Kim rubbing circles on his back. At that moment, he knew it was best if he stayed put. 

“I miss her too, but if Nette is anything, she’s stubborn.” Kim spoke softly, still rubbing circles into Damian’s back, “I doubt she’s in heaven or hell or any afterlife up or down there. I bet she’s still here watching over everyone, probably haunting some people too.” That got a chuckle out of Damian, if only a small one. 

“She d-didn’t deserve what h-happened to her.” Damian said softly, his voice was raspy from all the crying, and he hiccuped every now and then.

“She didn’t. No one deserves that.” Kim paused, unsure of how to continue. Comforting people was not his forte, so he thought about what Marinette would want, “But she wouldn’t want you to spend day after day crying and wasting your life because she’s no longer in it.”

"H-how would you know?" Damian rubbed some snot onto his sleeve absentmindedly.

"I've known Nette since we were 3, I know many things about her Damian." Kim handed him a tissue out of nowhere. "One thing I know that she would never want, is for people to waste their time crying over something from the past, something they can't change. She would want them to look forward to the future, even if it's without her."

Damian stayed silent for a long time, so long Dick was about to make his presence known, but then he started talking, hiccups and hesitation gone from his voice, "She said her favorite place in all of Paris was here. She loved gazing up at the stars, they were her favorite thing in the sky. Unlike the sun they didn't overpower everything else in the sky, or make you want to stay inside when it's too hot. And unlike the moon they don't disappear unless you're in the wrong place." He paused, thinking over what he was about to say next, "She liked to say that each star was special to someone somewhere. Her special star was that one." He pointed to a star to the right that was a little more separated from the other stars, but it still glowed brightly in the night. "She was always too embarrassed to tell me why though."

"That's where I come in." Kim grinned proudly, like he had just won the lottery, in a quieter voice he began to explain, "While it may be hard to believe, when we were younger Nette was the "loner" out of all of us." He made air quotes with his fingers when saying the word, "Nino had joined the art club, I had joined a few sports teams, but Nette always kept to herself. Not saying that as a bad thing that's just how it was back then." He seemed to think of a way to phrase his words, probably so he wouldn't accidentally offend Damian in his sensitive state, "One day while we were hanging out on her balcony she pointed up to the sky and told us, 'You guys both choose a star and I'll choose a star.' That's all she said, me and Nino were used to her crazy shenanigans so we didn't think much of it. I chose that star," He pointed to a star that was close to Marinette's star, but still had many stars surrounding it. Near all the others it didn't glow as brightly,  "And Nino chose that star." He pointed to a star that was also close to Kim and Marinette’s star but also close to the other stars, directly in the middle of the two groups, however it was much dimmer than Marinette and Kim's stars.

"What is the point of all this?" Damian interrupted, his voice gaining its annoyance back but couldn’t cover the curiosity it held.

"I'm getting there, okay? Anyways we both told Marinette the stars we picked and she asked why, we both didn't really have an answer. So she answered for us, she was always good at reading people." He gave out a small chuckle, and Damian cracked a smile, a small one but still a smile, "I chose my star because while I'll always be close to her, I like having a big group of friends, specifically where I'm in the center, but allow others to shine. Nino chose his star because he'll always be in between me and Marinette and his other friends, as you are aware. He never really shines, always one to follow the group, but when he does, he shines brighter than all the others."

"You really have all of this memorized?" Damian commented.

"It's just one of those memories you never forget. It's stuck in your head for no specific reason." Kim turned back to face him. "So then we asked what star she chose and why, she pointed to her star. Then said 'I think despite me maybe having friends in the future, deep down I'll be alone, deep down I won't have many people by my side. Maybe I'll only ever have you guys, but I'm okay with that.' And that was what it was like for a while, until everything happened."

"So she chose that star because she was a loner?"

"That's what she says, but knowing her it's probably deeper than that. So here's my theory, she always knew deep down that when it came down to it, not a lot of people would be on her side, so instead of taking chances with other people she kept to herself. But while me and Nino sometimes depended on other people to help us shine, or they outshine us, Marinette didn’t need anyone to help her shine. Or outshine her for that matter. She always worked better independently, for certain things of course."

After Kim's explanation Damian sat there in silence, Kim waited in the silence as well, and Dick didn’t dare break it. After what seemed like an eternity Damian finally spoke, “Thank you for that Kim.” 

Kim smiled at him, glad that his story had helped, “Anytime Damian, I know how much she meant to you.” He stood up, preparing to get down from the tower, but turned one last time to look at Damian, “If you ever want any more stories like that, or just about her, you know where to find me.” And with that he started his trek down the tower, because he wouldn’t be Kim if he used the elevator. 

After a moment of silence Damian started to get up, speaking as he did, “I know you are there Grayson, you can come out now.” 

Dick came out from where he was hiding, at least having the decency to look ashamed for eavesdropping, “Sorry Damian, I didn’t want to interrupt but we gotta get back to Gotham.” 

Damian brushed past him as he headed for the elevator, “Tt, Let’s just go.” 

They took the zeta tubes back to Gotham where Damian, surprisingly went straight to bed. This left the others feeling worried. 

“Who’s going to be on nightmare duty tonight?” Tim asked, even he was worried for Damian, Marinette’s death had been the hardest on him. 

“I can do it.” Dick volunteered. 

“Are you sure Dick? You already took the ‘Fetch Damian from Paris shift’. Maybe someone else should take this one.” Steph suggested. 

“No I’ll do it. I honestly don’t think he’ll need it tonight but just in case. Plus I know some things you don’t.” And with that cryptid message Dick left to go stand guard near Damian’s room. Leaving the others to wonder what on Earth happened when Dick retrieved Damian that he had information that could help him and his nightmares. 

Damian had thankfully not had another nightmare that night, but his dream was still strange. 

As he drifted off to dreamland he suddenly appeared to be sitting on something, upon closer inspection it seemed to be a star. Suddenly he heard giggling and turned so fast that he almost fell off the star. 

Sitting on another star not so far away from him, was Marinette, still looking as beautiful as the last day he saw her. “Hi Damian.” Damian wanted to believe that she was here, but he saw her dead body, he knew that she was dead. 

“You can’t be here. You’re dead.” He stated like he was stating a fact, his voice cold and without feeling, that was the only way to stop the tears from flowing. 

“I am dead Damian. But Kim was right you know, I’m much too stubborn to leave Earth, especially without making sure that everyone I left behind would be okay.” She started floating over to him and that’s when Damian realized this must all be a dream, his mind trying to convince him that Marinette was still here. 

“This is a dream you can’t be here. You’re not actually here, just my mind trying to convince myself you are here.” 

Marinette smirked at him, one of those playful smirks that she always flashed when she knew something he didn’t, “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, then go ahead and believe that.” 

After a few moments of silence he spoke up, “Did Kim really know you better than I did?” Damian’s voice was soft and vulnerable when he spoke. 

“Both of you knew me very well. I think the grief is just clouding some things for you.” Marinette softly smiled at him, “Kim did make a very good point though Damian.” She waited for him to face her before she spoke again, “I don’t want you to stop living your life just because I’m no longer in it. You have so much to live for, and in order to do those things you can’t keep wishing I was there to do them with you.” 

“But how am I supposed to forget you?” 

“Not forget Damian, move on. Be able to accept the fact that I’m not gonna be here any more but that doesn’t mean that you have to stop living your life.” 

“I’m gonna miss you.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, as a sort of reassurance that she was here. She held both his hands with her own.

“I’m gonna miss you too. But I’ll always be here, watching over you and making sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.” 

“So is this goodbye?” 

“Yeah this is goodbye, but promise me something okay?” She brought him into a hug as the tears that were trapped in her eyes finally flowed free, “Do not, under any circumstances, stop living your life because I’m not there with you. Alright?” She pulled a tiny bit away from him so she could look him in the eyes. 

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Good now I believe it is time for you to wake up now.” She grinned at him, despite the fact that tears still fell from her eyes. 

“Already?” Damian asked as tears escaped his own eyes. 

“Yeah,” She pulled him in for one last kiss before pulling away and smiling at him, “Goodbye Dami, I better only see you in like 70 years.” 

“Yeah, goodbye Mari.” 

Damian woke up with a small smile on his face as he clearly remembered the dream he had last night. That smile quickly turned to a frown as he remembered that it was just that, a dream. 

He got dressed and made his way to the dining room only for Alfred to drag him to the kitchen before he got there. His protests died in his mouth when he saw what was on one of the kitchen counters. Flour was all over the counter but in the spaces there wasn't flour there were words. 

'It wasn't a dream Damian, don't worry, you're not crazy.'

He sank to the floor and cried again, this time it was happy tears though. For now he knew that while she wasn't here with him, he at least got the opportunity to say goodbye and know that she would still always roam the Earth and watch him and others. That was good enough in his book.

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Forgot to tag the people who helped me! @ramos123 @nightlychaotic @boldlyanxious

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 5

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 6.8k

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 4 || Part 6 || masterlist

“Your lips aren’t disgusting,” Tsukishima says quietly, but loud enough to reach your ears. You did hear him the first time though. You just didn’t understand what he meant so you brushed it off as garbled words induced by your sleep-deprived brain. 

You didn’t expect him to contradict the subtle insult you unconsciously threw at yourself. From his reaction to your suggestion a while ago, you’d think he’d be glad that you instantly discarded it instead of pushing it further. 

You pull back just enough to see his somber expression meeting your baffled one.

“I thought you didn’t want to do it again,” you mutter softly even though the kiss snapped you out of your drowsiness.

“I changed my mind,” he simply says.  

“Uhhh. Care to elaborate?” you ask, still confused as to what his change of mind entails. Does he now agree to your earlier proposal? Or is he just saying that he doesn’t mind kissing you again? 

...Wait, isn’t that the same?

Okay, so apparently your mind is still fuzzy and not digesting the situation clearly. His closeness isn’t helping either. 

Maybe you’re actually still asleep and you’re having sleep paralysis on their sofa. In just a matter of seconds, Tsukishima’s face will turn demon-like and scream at how moronic you are for dreaming about this.

“You’re allowed to kiss me when it’s just the two of us,” the boy sitting in front of you announces.

Tsukishima tries not to look away so you wouldn’t think he feels awkward agreeing to your suggestion the same way you offered it. You look way better and more alert after he kissed you so he’s expecting you to say something sassy to get back at his brutal words. 

Instead, you wrap a hand around your throat. Before he can even process what you’re doing, your hand is already joined by the other. 

“What are you doing?” he asks both confused and worried as your hands tighten on your neck, but you don’t answer. He only confirms that you’re indeed choking yourself when you start gasping for air. 

“What the fuck!” He hurriedly yanks your hands away from your throat, gripping each wrist and pulling them away from one another. 

You inhale sharply from the absence of your hands blocking your windpipe.

It didn’t work. You’re still in sleep paralysis and with absolutely no idea how to get out.

You close your eyes and dejectedly lean on his chest. “I’m too tired to tell if this is real or a poorly conjured dream. Demon, begone,” you mumble while feebly knocking your head against him.

“Tsukishima will think I’m an idiot,” you add.

He usually doesn’t care about the aftermath of his words. The more they get under a person’s skin, the more it amuses him. But you seem to have really taken his words to heart this time, and he hates the fact that he’s bothered by it. He’d rather be annoyed by you than plagued with guilt.

He admits he was being a complete dick earlier, but he didn’t expect it would get to you like this, to the point that you’d even think you’re dreaming.

He sighs, accepting that he needs to deal with the consequences of his sharp tongue. “You’re not an idiot, y/n,” he softly says. You lift your gaze and look at him like he’s grown two heads. “So stop acting like one already,” he spurs on, unable to help himself as his true nature immediately returns.

You detach yourself from him as life returns back to your eyes. “Okay, I’m not dreaming. You’re definitely Tsukishima.” You shake your hands, probably to shake off the lethargy from your nap, then slap both your cheeks with your palms. 

You steady yourself as you face him again. You verify the vague exchanges you two had with one question. “I take it we have a deal then?” 

He holds your resolute stare, trying to come up with some set of rules but weariness is already hitting his cognitive capabilities. However, there is one that’s extremely necessary for the both of you to follow. 

“No one should know about this.”

You scoff at his answer. “No one  will  know about this,” you repeat his words with a more convincing variation. So despite the insane premise of the arrangement and its lack of detail, he agrees.

“Deal.”

--

Tsukishima heads straight to the kitchen as soon as he gets home. In spite of the audacious agreement you now have, neither of you felt awkward when he walked you to the main road to see you off. Once again, you were right. Accepting that he is also attracted to you somehow cleared his head. He still doesn’t like it, but it’s better than constantly being irritated at the strange pull you have on him. 

Since you’ve proven yourself to always be right, he’ll give this a go. It’ll only be until the end of the project anyways, which won’t be long from now considering the timetable you laid out. 

As he gets a pitcher of water, he sees Akiteru approaching the kitchen as well. He moves away from the fridge to make way in case his brother is going to get something from it. But Akiteru passes him by and leans on the counter next to him instead. 

He pours himself a glass while growing prickly of Akiteru’s not-so-subtle staring.

“If you’re going to say something, just say it,” he snaps. 

Akiteru laughs lightly at his displeasure. “She’s very lovely,” his older brother comments randomly, and yet he already knows Akiteru is without a doubt talking about you. 

Lovely?

His mind instantly goes back to when you were: (a) dancing like a crippled fledgling; (b) squawking like a dying seagull to imitate a crocodile; and (c) choking yourself because you thought you were dreaming. 

“If an alien in a human suit is lovely, then sure,” he answers dryly as he returns the pitcher back to the fridge.

“She’s really just a classmate?” his older brother probes. 

Akiteru has been insinuating for a while now that he should get a girlfriend, as if not having one will cause him to miss out on this ‘great’ experience of life. So now that he’s finally brought someone home, Akiteru had decided in his head that you’re a potential romantic partner. 

“How many times do I need to answer that?” he responds sourly. 

His brother smiles apologetically, but his face shows a regaled glimmer. “Sorry, Kei. I must have misunderstood since I don’t kiss my classmates on the lips.”

He stills right as he was about to bring the glass to his lips. 

He did not hear Akiteru’s steps back then. If he did, he’d quickly give himself adequate distance from you. He’d blame you for the distraction, but you weren’t really doing anything outrageous at that moment. You were actually unobtrusive and reasonable for the first time. It was him and his guilt that preoccupied him well enough to not notice Akiteru.

He finishes his water and leaves the glass on the counter. “Goodnight,” he says without looking at Akiteru as he hurriedly goes back to his room. 

It hasn’t been an hour since you two made the deal but someone -- worse, his own brother, has already found out. His only consolation is that Akiteru doesn’t really talk with his social circle so there’s no need to be worried. Also, Akiteru is not really the type to babble about stuff like that. 

The disadvantage is also the same as its advantage, it’s Akiteru. He might get all excited and continue assuming that there’s more to the two of you than this limited agreement, when the truth is you’re just two individuals who agreed to make out in secret.

But that’s something he wouldn’t dare reveal to anyone, most especially to Akiteru.

When he reaches his room, he immediately texts you. 

‘We meet in your place next time.’

Hopefully, Akiteru will forget whatever he saw tonight if you don’t come back. 

--

Surprisingly but not really, you and Tsukishima are getting along swimmingly since you made the deal. ‘Swimmingly,’ meaning he still ignores you and regards you as a pest during practice. During your private meetings, however, he is agreeable. 

It still seems unbelievable to you when you actually think about it. You and Tsukishima exchanging kisses when no one’s around? You’d have a good laugh if someone even suggested that idea to you before you shared that first, completely unintended kiss.

It is indeed comical, how you two would sit across each other, and with only a certain glance, both of you already know what’s up. Eventually, it became a bother to stand and go over to one another just for a kiss so you two sit side by side now.

Tsukishima is funny though. Sometimes, he wouldn’t act upon it because he expects you to take the initiative. You don’t mind doing it, but it’s fun to see him all bothered while trying to study. 

“Tsukishima, you look weird. Are you okay?” You feigned concern even though you clearly know why. 

He didn’t spare you a glance at all and just mumbled, “I’m fine,” while typing.

“Hmmm, alright! I’m done so we can wrap up now,” you let him know as you started fixing your stuff up. You thought that he’d hold on to his dumb ego and follow suit since you’ve finished cleaning up, but he still hadn’t done anything. 

You held back a smile when you felt him grab your arm. You swiftly composed yourself before turning to his direction. 

“What?” you ask like you don’t have a clue.

He glowers at you. “You know what.”

You pursed your lips to the side as you gently shake your head. “I am very confused right now,” you acted persuasively.

He puffed tempestuously before he grabbed your nape and roughly descended down on your lips, utterly disregarding his unnecessary pride. You willingly reciprocate it. You latched your fingers in his wrist beside your cheek as you responded to each suck and nip of his lips.

When it ended, you smiled into his mouth which effectively gave you away. 

He harshly pulled himself away from you. “You fucking knew,” he muttered furiously.

You scrunched up your nose and grinned mischievously as you gently tapped his cheek. “Of course, I knew. See you tomorrow at the match, Tsukishima,” you said, gesturing to his scattered belongings.

Needless to say, he was extra salty with you during the match with the Lions. But hey, at least they won the game. 

However, despite the Lions now out of the picture, your workload isn’t any better because winning only means needing to prepare the next opponent’s profile. You’re just a bit thankful now that unwarranted and unexpected kisses are no longer bothering you since the two of  you acknowledged the stupid attraction you have for each other.

Still, that doesn’t mean that your body has magically recovered and you’re no longer stressed all of a sudden. Because you are. You are stressed as fuck. With your academic load also on the line, you can’t rest yet.

You’re starting to feel overwhelmed and whenever that happens, you succumb to your one coping mechanism: stress eating. 

You’re about to meet Tsukishima but you have a few minutes to spare, so you head to the nearest cake shop. You buy a mini cake for yourself and one slice for Tsukishima. You don’t feel like sharing yours so you just get him his own. 

With a paper bag in hand, you see Tsukishima waiting for you by your dormitory’s entrance. You waste no time and ask him to follow you even though he probably already knows where exactly your room is. 

One would think that when the door closes, you two would jump on each other’s arms and just get on with your deal, but nah.

You two get to your usual seats with your mind solely on the cake you bought as both of you take out your notes and laptop. 

After you pull up the journal you need to look at for the day, you eagerly bring out the cake.

‘Hnnnngg,’  you groan internally. The cake’s design is so pretty that you almost don’t wanna eat it. But of course you will. You’ve never had strawberry shortcake from that shop before, so you’re curious to taste if it’s as good as it looks. 

Just as you’ve been ogling at your cake, you catch Tsukishima staring at it as well. “Do you want some, Tsukki?” you ask before you give the slice you got for him. 

“Why would I want something childish?” he asks back with a scowl. 

“I don’t see how a cake is childish but okay.” You would’ve felt bad, but you’ll have the extra slice for yourself anyways so it’s not really that bad.

Normally, you would like to savor the pastry while doing something fun, but you don’t have the time for it right now. You’ll just eat it while doing your assigned stuff for the day. 

For someone who thinks cake is childish, he keeps glancing at you with tiny hints of envy every time you take a bite. When he sees you catch him peering at the cake, he instantly flicks his eyes back to his laptop.

To verify your hunch, you moan exaggeratedly the next time you take a spoonful of the cake, instantly earning you a menacing glare from the blonde across you. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just so good, you know. The bread is so fluffy. The cream is not too sweet. The strawberry filling has actual bits of strawberry.” You enact a chef’s kiss after your detailed remarks. 

“Amazing. Best I’ve ever had. 10/10 would recommend and buy again,” you give a positive review before getting another slice.

When you get another spoonful, you groan again and roll your eyes for added effect. You look at Tsukishima and you can tell that it’s getting to him. Yet, he’s still not saying anything. He only keeps staring as if silently imploring you that you should let him have a taste as well. 

As if you’ll bend to his will just like that. 

“If you want some, just say so,” you taunt him with a smirk as you scoop the last spoonful in the plate, giving him not much time to swallow his pride and ask. 

Before you can put it in your mouth, he stops you. “Fine,” he says as he grits his teeth. “I want some.” 

Tsukishima really is funny. It’s only cake but he sounds so angry and embarrassed just because he asked for a tiny piece. How can you not tease him just a bit more?

You take the remaining piece and move beside him. You get the spoonful of cake, extending your arm and offering it to him that way. 

He looks at the cake and then you. “I know how to eat,” he enunciates coldly at your attempt to spoon feed him. 

You shrug it off with an ‘okay,’ then proceed to withdraw your hand so you can have it for yourself. 

“Wait.”

You comply and let your retreating arm stay in place. A faint pink tint surfaces on his cheeks as he leans down and takes the cake from the spoon with his mouth. When he starts munching on it, he looks away and slump a little while savoring the small remains you gave him.

You press your lips together to repress a smile cause you know he’ll be even more embarrassed. But holy crap, Tsukishima is so cute like this! You want to take a picture of him right now and just ogle at how adorable he is when he’s this flustered. 

The Sendai Frog’s nastiest middle blocker, standing at 6’3, likes strawberry shortcake. You’re reeling internally at your astounding discovery. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he snarls with the tiny blush still on his face.

You can’t help it anymore and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing,” you squeak out from how hard you’re trying not to gush at his cuteness.

He suddenly regains his composure as he narrows his eyes while studying your face. 

It’s your turn to be conscious from how he seems to have discovered something about you as well. 

“What?” you ask warily.

You’re completely caught off guard when he puts a hand on your shoulder and lunges down. His lips capture the skin just beside the corner of your mouth, delicately sucking on the skin before brushing his warm tongue against it. 

You go rigid on your seat at the totally unexpected action from him. It’s not even a kiss but you feel goosebumps prickling your skin while the air you’re breathing gets stuck in your throat. 

That’s all he does then hoists himself back up, his features devoid of any emotion as if he didn’t just do something bold. His hand on your shoulder goes up to spot he just licked and strokes it with his thumb. 

“You eat like a ten-year old,” he says blankly. 

Just like that, the situation is reversed. He now has the upperhand while you’re completely frozen as your mind helplessly tries to come up with something, anything, to hide the fact that you’re a complete muddled mess on the inside.

But nothing. Your mind does not work and all its attention is still on the little stunt Tsukishima pulled just now. 

Being the manager of the Frogs, you’ve always seen them as cute little puppies you need to take care of. You’re the one in charge of them so you always feel like you’re the one in control. The sense of control is even more reinforced with other male athletes getting swept away with your antics during matches. 

Even with the several kisses you shared with Tsukishima, it’s only now that you’re rendered utterly disconcerted. Your lips start to tremble while your brows contort with horror from the foreign feeling that’s creeping on your whole body.

Fuuuucck, you curse silently at your mind’s incapability to come up with a solution to handle the situation. 

To make it worse, the corner of his lips start to tug up, forming a smug grin that suits him ludicrously well. 

“You okay, y/n?” His pompous demeanor lets you know that the question is not out of concern. He is very much aware of the effect he has on you. He’s just milking it.

And it’s fucking working.

He drags his thumb to your chin and tilts it up to get a better view of your features growing even more at loss by the second. “What’s wrong, hmm?”

You press your quivering lips together as you harshly avert your gaze from his. “Nothing,” you say too softly, losing the playfulness you had not long ago.

“What’s that?” He pretends to not hear it. 

Seems like you’ve had enough because you swat his hand away from your chin and cover your whole face with both hands. 

His grin spreads wide from your surrender as a chuckle escapes his throat. To entertain himself even more, he pries your hands away from your face. It’s easier than he expected since your wrists are like twigs with no strength in them.

Your face is a furious shade of rose as you glare at him with both shame and anger. You try to retrieve your arms but he’s obviously way stronger than you. “Tsukishima, you smooth li’l shit, let go of me!”

With that, he releases you as he cackles from your remark. He can now see the merits of acknowledging the inexplicable magnetism between him and you. Now that he doesn’t have to feel conflicted about it, he can relish breaking your previously impervious defenses by teasing you this way. 

There wasn’t even any cake on your face. He just made it up to get back at you for toying with him like one of your dumb admirers. 

You give off one enraged puff then you go back to face your laptop.  You try to look fine but you’re trying too hard. He can tell that you’re still bothered by it even when you’re focused on your screen now. 

He gets back to his own as well, the same grin he had earlier still there. He thought you’re going to keep ignoring him for the rest of your meeting, but before he can even focus on his own task, you awkwardly slide him the paper bag you had. 

“I actually got you a slice in case you wanted one,” you huff timidly while meeting his surprised gaze. You don’t say anything else and get back to working. 

That was… thoughtful of you. You got him one even if he didn’t ask for it. And despite teasing you like that, you still gave it to him. If it was him, he wouldn’t have bothered.

He gets the cake and saves it for later at home. He’d like to enjoy it alone away from your cheekiness, ridding you the chance to make fun of him the second time.

When he looks at you again, you give him a brief glance before settling in to do your assignment. He does the same since you two have frolicked enough for the day. 

He had learned something about you from your former meetings:  you have unbreakable focus when you start concentrating on something. You don’t talk. You don’t fiddle with your phone. You don’t even peel your eyes away from the screen unless you’re checking something on your notes.  

The remarkable thing is how efficient you are. You work fast and come up with decent output. He’s seen it both in your write up for the project and in the reports you give to the team.

It’s almost impressive, if not for its inevitable downside: you run out of steam just as fast, which is what seems to be happening right now. He’s ignored the first two yawns he’s heard from you, but he can’t dismiss the third consecutive yawn. 

He looks at your direction and confirms that you’re indeed starting to drop your attentiveness. Your eyes are becoming lazy and you’re just pressing your keyboard too hard one key at a time. 

“Oy, it’s still early for you to be sleepy,” he scolds you.

You tap your face, a futile attempt to wake yourself up because your eyes are still dazed when you look at him. “It’s the cake. I overfed myself and now I want to sleep like one.” You groan as you realize your mistake. “No worries though. I just need coffee,” you mutter. 

He slams his palm on the wooden surface of your table. “Do not get coffee,” he warns almost threateningly. He does not want a repeat of what happened the last time where you’re one wheeze away from death because of your damn coffee.

“But I need it,” you protest.

“No, you don’t. What you need is rest.”

“Don’t wanna. It felt weird last time. I don’t like slacking off when someone else is being productive,” you insist further.

He sighs irritably at your obstinacy. There’s no need to rush because you two managed to get back on the schedule you set, but then again he understands why. You’re trying to get as much shit done before your responsibilities become too much for you. 

That’s probably how you’ve been getting by for the past three years, being a university scholar while managing the team. If being a student while being an athlete is already difficult for him, how much more  for you who has grades to maintain while working as well?

If it were anyone else, they’d have exploded from the humongous amount of work that entails. Yet, you come to the gym with that carefree attitude of yours like you’re not burdened in any way. In all the times you’ve met with him outside the gym, not once has he heard you complain about it. 

You don’t whine. You just do what needs to be done.

It’s something worth respecting, to say the least. But you should really rest when your body tells you to. 

“I’ll stop doing the report and watch volleyball clips from last year’s Olympics. Take your nap,” he says. 

Your face brightens up at his suggestion. “Can I watch with you?”

“No.” The point of him watching is so that you can rest easy, not for you to join him. However, the look on your face tells him you won’t budge unless he lets you watch with him. 

“I swear, it’ll do me better than a nap,” you press on. 

He rubs his temple with irritation as you leave him with no choice but to agree. “Fine.” You squeal at his approval and scamper to his side. 

He opens his folders of volleyball clips he’s yet to watch while you tuck your knees together the same way you did last time you watched documentaries for your project. 

Halfway through the first clip, he feels your head bump his shoulder. He peers at you from his peripheral and sees your hazy eyes fighting off sleep. He doesn’t say anything and just waits for your drowsiness to successfully take over. 

By the end of the first video, he feels your head bobbing forward which he can no longer ignore. “Can’t you just go to your bed and sleep?” he asks almost desperately. 

You fix your posture and open your eyes again. “I’m fine.”

He rolls his eyes and gives a resigned huff as he skids his laptop to your front. You shoot him a puzzled look while he positions himself behind you. 

“Continue watching then.” He scoots closer until your back is pressed to him, effectively caging you as he extends his legs on your both sides. There’s no use trying to convince you to sleep when you’re this stubborn. So, he’ll just provide you the means to do so. 

You frown at him which he answers with a raised eyebrow. In the end, you just shrug it off and go back to watching. 

Just as he anticipated, you’re already unconscious in a matter of minutes. Your head falls back to his chest. He lets you settle deeper in your sleep, watching you unconsciously find a position you’re most comfortable in. By the time the second video ends, you’re no longer wiggling around and have found refuge on the front of his shoulder with your arm loosely wrapped around his bicep. 

Although he did say that he’ll slack off with you, he sees no reason to uphold it now that he’s finally got you to rest. Unlike you, he works at a normal pace. He needs to continue doing his own tasks so when you wake up, he’s already done as well. 

He carefully reaches for his laptop and closes the video currently playing. He gets back to working on the current draft of the project, feeling the strain on his back with nothing to support him while you lean against him. 

He shouldn't be doing this. There is no reason for him to be inconvenienced this way by you. This isn’t part of the deal.

But seeing how you’re working so hard yet still face everyone else with that vexatious cheerful smile of yours, he deems you deserving of that serene look on your face while you’re peacefully snuggled within his grasp. 

Just as he allowed you to kiss him, he also allows you to hold on to him like this. 

--

“Hey, number 17!”

Tsukishima hears someone yell. He’s sure that it was him who’s being called because he recognizes the voice. It’s someone from the Jaguars, the team they’re up against after winning against the Lions the previous game.

Still, he’d like to pretend that he doesn’t know it’s him the other athlete is shouting for. The gym is filled with other number 17s from different teams anyways. He can easily dismiss it. 

However, he hears his last name not long after, automatically singling him out from the other players who also wore his jersey number. 

Even though he despises small talk, it would be rude to ignore other players when they specifically call for him in public. Not that he bothers about what other people think of him, but more about how he represents his team. 

In high school, he didn’t care at all. But things are different now in the professional level. He’s forced to engage in insignificant nonsense with other players. 

He just hopes that this time it won’t be one of those times and that whatever this is is actually important

He turns around lazily and sees not one, but two Jaguars approaching him. It’s their starting setter and their pinch server. “I thought you couldn’t hear us, dude,” the setter says. He doesn’t reply and just stands his ground while waiting for what they’re going to say. 

“Anyways, mind if we ask the number of your manager?” 

It’s worse than nonsense. They approached him because of you.

They turn towards each other and simper at how they seem to think that it’s a genius idea to ask him instead of you. 

“You can ask her yourself. She’s just over there with the rest of the team,” he passively suggests. He’d be glad to lead these two poor hopeful souls if they want to. He’s sure you’d be more than happy to entertain them, in your own kind of way. 

“Nah. We know how she disses everyone. That’s why we’re asking you, Tsukishima-kun,” the pinch server counters. 

He’s the least protective of you compared to the rest of the team. He doesn’t care if you flirt all day long with these people or if you give your number to every single person here at the stadium. 

But whatever these hoodlums the idea that  he’ll  be the one to give your number to them? It’s not his to give. It’s yours. “It’s not really my decision to make,” he responds. 

“Is she really that good of a manager that you won’t share her?” 

He would’ve not perceived anything out of it if not for the malicious grin that surfaced on the setter’s poor excuse of a face. The two athletes step closer and speak in a volume only for him to hear. 

“Come on now. Don’t tell us you guys are not touching that hot piece dangling itself in front of you.”

‘Lowlives.’ 

That’s the most fitting word he can describe these two uneducated imbeciles who talk like you’re a slice of meat. No one deserves to be treated like that, especially you who madly dedicate yourself out of actual interest and affection for the team and the sport. 

Yet, these two fucking dimwits are insinuating that you’re available for him and his teammates to sleep around with. It’s more than just disrespect. It’s an absolute mockery of the effort and commitment you have for the job. 

It’s not his place to be angry. He’s not the one being slighted. But the image of your exhausted features fighting off sleep to do the report of these scumbags in front of him makes him want to do something about their blatant lack of intelligence. 

“Don’t look so scary now. We’re not going to steal your manager. We just want to know what it’s like to have a hot one managing us,” the setter once again proves his brainlessness to Tsukishima, successfully provoking him to do what he’s been itching to do. 

He offers them a too-pleasant smile that he gives to people who are about to get a taste of his snide irony. “Sorry, but it’s not really my problem that no one wants to manage a bunch of unsightly goons.”

A vein on the setter’s temple looks like it’s about to pop out as his hand yanks Tsukishima’s collar. 

“The fuck did you say?!” The setter of the Jaguars lashes out, quickly losing his temper amidst the public gymnasium.

The feigned smile on Tsukishima’s face is replaced by a genuine smirk as the two dimwits react exactly the way he wants them too. Although he can rile them up even more than he did, something tells him that these peabrains will actually resort to violence if he does so.

They’ll definitely be held out from playing the game if they do get violent, but so will he if he gets involved. 

Even though he looks unmotivated and lazy, he actually likes being on the court. And if he’s going to be honest, he looks forward to blocking the tosses of the setter who’s clutching his shirt at present.

“You shitty blocker,” the pinch server backs up his teammate. 

The shift of attention from you to Tsukishima doesn’t surprise him at all. From slandering you, they quickly move to verbally attacking him. His eyebrow twitches up from the remark but doesn’t bother responding to it. 

Why would he when he’ll just prove them wrong later? Instead of engaging with these two, he should be getting back to the rest of the team to get ready for their match. 

He’s about to grab the setter’s wrist to yank it off him when a set of feminine fingers beat him to it.

“My, my. Thank you for wanting to be friends with one of our players, but he really needs to warm up now,” you say with congenial sympathy to the upcoming competition. 

They seem to have forgotten that you’re the reason why they approached him. The setter releases Tsukishima’s shirt with a glare before the two Jaguars walk away.

“Bye, bye! Let’s get along well, yeah??” you shout and wave at them way too enthusiastically. You probably didn’t catch them talking about you, which is a good thing because you didn’t need to hear that kind of horse shit.

You put a light hand on his shoulder, making him anticipate a lecture from you for dawdling around. But you only tell him that you two should go back already. 

As you both turn around, the smile on your face drops while your grip on his shoulder tightens. 

“Did it bother you that much?” he asks as you both walk back to the court. 

“You bet it did. The gall of them to call you a shitty blocker, those fuckfaces. I swear to God, I would’ve,” you take a sharp breath then slowly let it out as you take your hands off him. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just the usual gibberish talk among athletes,” you say to yourself, more than to him.

“What about what they said before that?”

Your brows scrunch up as you try to figure out what he’s talking about. “You mean when they assumed I’m sexing everyone from the team? Nah. I know some people think I’m a slut because I’m too sexy for their lame asses. I’m used to it so I don’t really care about crap like that,” you explain way too casually. 

He thought that at this time and age, people would be a little more progressive with how they think. Apparently, he was wrong. He’s always observed how you put yourself out there, entertaining any flattery that’s thrown at you. It’s also very obvious how open you are to showing affection for the team.

But he didn’t think people would have such indecent assumptions about you. What surprises him even more is you’ve been aware of it for some time now. Still, you continue being yourself.

“But Goooood. Their childish shit talking really pissed me off.” Your previous attempt to calm yourself down fails as anger graces your features once again.

“Promise me something, Tsukishima,” you tell him a few steps away from the court.

“What?” 

“Up your blocking game and win. I want to see those fucktard’s faces pulverized with defeat,” you announce as you seethe with fiery determination.

“There’s no need to promise,” he says calmly before the curve of his lips form a subtle yet definite grin. You immediately get his message as you mirror the arrogant pride on his face with a smirk of your own.

—

You’re not particularly competitive. Even as the captain of your own team before, you did not play to win. You played with your very best because you want to experience all the sport has to offer.

Maybe that’s why you stopped playing and decided to be a manager. You love the sport, but not as an athlete. You just love pushing people to their potential and being their support so they can give their all during matches.

Although you do like winning, you’re not hellbent on it. As long as the team gives their everything and you see them at their best, you’re happy with that.

This match is an exception.

At 23-24 with the Sendai Frogs on their match point, you’re clutching your notebook way too hard that the pages become crumpled and the edges dig in your palms.

When you saw Tsukishima earlier approached by the two Jaguars, you didn’t intervene immediately. You were near the area, watching and listening as to how things will unfold. You didn’t hear much of their mumbled conversation, but you caught enough words to put together that it was you they’re talking about. 

You do gain a lot of attention, but some of them are not exactly wholesome. Apparently, being outspoken and open equates to being easy to bed.

You just wish they said something more interesting because you almost yawned at how unoriginal their speculation is. You fucking around with the Sendai Frogs? Groundbreaking. 

What amused you though is Tsukishima’s response. Right at that moment, you wanted to kiss his snarky mouth. Not because he defended your honor, but from the clever snide comeback he quickly spat at their faces. 

Your amusement was quickly ruined when one of them laid a hand on him. You didn’t care that the fuckfaced setter did it in public. Even if he did it with no one around, your blood still would’ve boiled. But when he said that Tsukishima was a shitty blocker? The palm of your hand itched to get roughly acquainted with the opposing setter’s face. 

If this isn’t a tournament, you would’ve had a hard time deciding whether or not you’d have done it. But since this  is  a tournament, you can’t do that. You need to be civil and maintain good relations with every team, even if some of their members lack basic decency and  proper manners. 

Luckily, there is a way to get back at them: that is to win this match which has got you to the edge of your seat as soon as it reached the 20s of the second set. 

With Tsukishima, Eiji, and Kogane in front, there’s nothing to be scared about. It’s just that you really want them to score that last point already. 

The ball gets to your court and is received by Kogane, effectively cutting out your most optimal set-up to attack. 

“Tsukki!” Kogane calls out. Tsukishima runs to the center of the court, right in front of the net. The opposing blockers observe him to predict who he’s tossing the ball to, only to leave him completely open as he dunks the ball to the Jaguars’ side of the net.

You were sure it happened fast, but the pounding of your heart made it seem like the ball hitting the ground was in slow motion. You wait for the referee’s signal, hoping that there were no misplays on the Frog’s end that would prolong the game. 

The referee whistles and extends his arm to the Frog’s court, letting everyone know that it’s your team’s win. Cheers from team members themselves roar inside the gymnasium, soon joined by the applause from the audience. 

You’re supposed to check the losing facade of the Jaguars, but the joy and relief of winning floods you that you completely forget about how they insulted your clever middle blocker. You leave your tally notebook on the bench and rush to the court along with other members. 

You’ve always been impressed with Tsukishima’s blocking skills, but to win from his offensive mindfuckery with the other team just sent you to a whole different level of being proud. So it’s him you first go to. 

Without putting any thought to it, you wrap your arms around his waist. You don’t mind that he’s sweating and that his body heat is emanating from his skin. You’re too thrilled that he scored the winning point to even care. 

“Good job, Tsukishima!”

Right after saying it out loud, you feel him tense beneath your touch. You lift your gaze up to him and meet his eyes which are wide from shock and panic. Immediately after, your eyes do the same when you realize what you’ve done.

The loud cheers from the team have stopped.  You slowly turn your head to see why, even though you already know the reason.

It’s like a paused scene from a movie where everyone completely halts whatever they’re doing. The only difference is they stopped with their attention completely on you, specifically on how your limbs are enclosed around Tsukishima’s waist and your cheek flat on his chest. 

Shit. 

You’re hugging Tsukishima in public, in front of the whole team.

Part 4 || Part 6 || masterlist

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[leondraisaitlsglove]

Yearn

Read it on ao3

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. Fuck Leon couldn’t give you an accurate number of how many times he’d walked on a teammate fooling around with a girl before. But Leon didn’t think he’d have to use the “walk in with your eyes closed first” method when he got to Connor’s house mid-afternoon on a Tuesday.

He wasn’t being too loud, but he also wasn’t trying to be quiet. He had texted Connor that he was going to come over to hang out, they did that on days off. Just watched tv and chilled, talked some hockey but not a lot. Sometimes they played ball in Connor’s gym, sometimes they went for a walk in the river valley. This whole situation wasn’t an uncommon thing.

So taking two steps into the house to walk into Connor’s kitchen. His mouth went dry at the sight before him.

A blonde haired girl arching her back against the counter. A strong hand was up her white shirt, as Connor dipped in to close his mouth against hers. She laughed into the kiss and he grinned, pulling hr closer. She moved her hand, and Connor moaned.

Her hand was down his shorts. Leon dropped his keys.

Connor jumped back from the girl in front of him. Leon didn’t know her but Connor’s Connor and  anyone would be so lucky.

“Hey-hey man-uh,” Connor cleared his throat, face flushed red.

The girl didn’t look too embarrassed, more or less amused as she hid her smile under her slender fingers.

Leon couldn’t speak. All that kept pumping through this brain was Connor’s lips, Connor’s hands, Connor’s moan, connorconnorconnor.

“I’m gonna go,” the blonde said with her overly chipper attitude.

“Yeah yeah.” Connor replied, sounding four times as awkward. She grabbed her bag and coat off the couch before stalking right up to Leon.

“It was nice to meet you” then over her shoulder “Connor text me,” before flashing Leon a smile on her way to the door. None of it seemed genuine. She left with a click of the door, and all Leon could think was ‘ does she realize how fucking lucky she is ’.

He had walked in on so many of his friends it was almost a blessing during his junior days to not have heard how one of his teammates moans sounded.

But— fuck hearing Connor. There was a first for everything and christ was it everything.

Leon’s seen Connor is all sorts of types of undress, they’re hockey players for fucks sake. The locker room isn’t really a place to be a prude but y’know everyone does try to give off the impression of decency.

The first time he’d caught a glance of Connor in full frontal he couldn’t sleep for a week. His dreams haunting him of asking for something he’d never thought about before. He convinced himself he wasn’t like that- that he had a disease or something.

When he finally admitted to himself that okay yeah Connor’s kinda hot, maybe he wants to suck his dick and it’s okay to think that (as long as no one finds out). It got easier to manage and hide. Storing away those tender moments or quick locker room glances for much need alone time.

“Hey Leo sorry about that,” Connor says well scratching the back of his neck.

Leon finally looks at him. Sees how ruffled his hair is, how his neck is all chewed up, how flushed his cheeks are. The counter is hiding his lower half so Leon can’t be sure but he’s probably hard.

A thought flashes through his mind of pushing his captain against the counter and begging Connor to let him get this out of his system once and for all.

His knees shake as the fantasy fades. Connor’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I think I’m gonna go” Leon coughs. Connor’s face falls. Shit.

“What? I’m really sorry about that it was only bad timing.”

Leon shakes his head, looking down at the tiled flooring. If he looks at Connor he’s gonna do something stupid, “no no I know I- it’s not that I…”

He can’t come up with an excuse, he feels like the wind got knocked out of him. His chest tight, along with his pants. He hopes he never forgets how Connor’s moans sound.

Connor scoffs, “out of everyone I wouldn’t have expected you to be like this.”

Leon freezes. Was that… an insult? “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he barks.

Connor shrugs, “you’re usually pretty chill about… y’know… this kinda stuff.”

Not when I’m in love with you asshole. Leon shutters for the impact, before realizing he actually didn’t say that out loud.

Leon purses his lips, “sorry that I was expecting to come over here and hang out. That’s all.”

“Yeah well, I-” Connor pauses. The flash of hurt that washes over his face makes Leon realize he wasn’t looking for an argument, “Sometimes we see things we aren’t supposed too.”

Leon stares at him, confusion more or less being the key emotion here. But he’s also still a little pissed off too.

“I told you I was coming over.”

“It’s my fucking kitchen.”

“Yeah and it’s only your Fucking Kitchen cause you don’t know how to cook.”

“Oh grow up Leon.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Sorry I got uncomfortable. Guess we aren’t those kind of friends.”

Connor stares at him blankly, “I’ve literally heard you talk in detail about you going down on a girl before.”

Leon sighs sharply, “Well that was in the past.”

Leon watches as Connor balls his fists up “God what the fuck is up with you lately!”

“Huh?!”

“You’ve not been yourself and everyone is starting to notice. The guys have been putting it on me to do something about it but that’s not my fucking job is it? And now this— you’re mad at me? It’s me Leon! I would never throw this back in your face for any reason!” He breathes heavily “I literally fucking haven’t just to spare you but god you make it so difficult.”

Leon feels himself shut down inside. And here he thought he was doing such a good job of hiding his feelings, and yet.

“I’m not having this conversation” Leon deadpans.

Connor’s eye narrow, “Fine. Fuck your feelings on this one.”

“What…?”

They’re still standing a whole kitchen apart from each other. Connor pacing in his small circle while Leon shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“Few weeks ago when we were in St. Louis, I came to your room to borrow some sweats cause I had left my only pair at the rink.”

This isn’t a riveting story, this is fact. This happens all the time, them sharing clothes. Going into the others room without much thought. It’s never been an issue, nor has either of them walked in on something incriminating.

Or so Leon thought.

“You listened to me jerk off? ” Leon shouts.

Connor rolls his eyes, “fuck off you know that’s not all I heard.”

Leon thinks and then the realization hits him. Oh no. oh no oh no oh fuck no.

Connor’s smiling wickedly. What the fuck.

“Con I can explain—” Leon tries before Connor shushes him.

“How can you possibly explain you jerking off to a video of me calling you Leo, in any, way, shape or form hmm?”

So what if he’d given himself permission to act on his desires. Connor was the only person on this planet who could actively call him Leo. Everyone else, he shut that shit down. To Leon, it was a term of endearment and hearing Connor talk about him in an interview. All positives and a slightly dumb smile.

Leon would be lying if it didn’t give him hope that maybe Connor felt the same. He ached so hard for it, he came in the shower to the syllables of his nickname on Connor’s lips.

“I-I’m not gay” Leon says.

Connor huffs, “Bi maybe?”

“Just. Stop.”

Leon can feel his heartbeat in his throat, his palms damp with sweat, possibly some multiple organ failure too.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until it’s too late.

And when the first tear hits his cheek, Connor’s running across the tile to him.

“Jesus Christ Leon,” Connor says hoarsely. Grabbing his face to make Leon look at him.

Leon smiles through watery eyes, “I’m fucked up Connor. I never ever wanted you to know. Especially not like this.”

“Hey hey it’s okay. Fuck. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to make this worse.”

Leon pulls away from Connor’s hold. Connor lets him.

“Fuck” Leon mutters under his breath, breathing into his arm to slow the tears.

There’s silence. It’s awful. Leon fucking hates it. There’s not even a fan or a tv to make it somewhat bearable. Just Connor’s breathing behind him, his knowing eyes, his gorgeous face his boring personality that’s also kind, and endearing and oddly funny at times. Leon’s never loved anyone the way he loves Connor. What a disaster.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you requested a trade” Leon mutters out through a sniffle. Unable to look at the other man.

“A-A trade?” Connor coughs “Leon… Leo… Come on…It’s me.”

Leon turns on his heels and stalks up to Connor’s face, “Don’t Connor I fucking swear to god don’t do that shit to me.”

Connor shakes his head. Anyone would be terrified of Leon right now, breathing hard, staring intensely, hand up in accusement. But not Connor.

“Leon I’m here telling you that I’m not…” He sighs “I’ve had my time to process this. I was willing to ignore it to save you the hurt. But I see you Leon.”

Leon shakes his head, in disbelief? In hurt? In denial? He has no clue.

“I realize how much it’s eating you up and not being able to anything about it. It’s not only affecting you Leon.”

Leon stares dumbly at him “then what?! What am I supposed to do?”

There’s a pause.

Connor licks his lips, “kiss me.”

“What?! No?! Connor- this isn’t-”

“What? A game? Don’t you think I know that” He says gesturing to Leon entirely, “you’re physically upset. You’ve been more of an asshole in the last month than any other time that I’ve known you. This is clearly something you feel deeply and I’m giving you permission to act on it.”

“But-ohmygod what is happening right now-”

“This isn’t a game. This isn’t anything. I’m only trying to help you Leo.”

“This is so messed up.”

“Isn’t it what you want?”

“Want. Fuck yes absolutely, you have no idea” Leon says aspirated, desperate even, “But it’s …dirty- feels wrong. It won’t be genuine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Cause you don’t like me like that.”

Connor pauses, takes a deep breath and takes one final step closer into Leon’s space, “how do you know that?”

“Christ Connor-” Leon bites back.

“Kiss me. See if everything you’ve been wanting is worth it.”

Leon captures Connor’s lips with his own.

And Connor kisses him back.

“Are you gonna text that girl back?”

Connor fucking giggles, “fuck no.”

Leon picks him up and pushes him onto the counter. Connor leans forward ready to pick back up where they left off. Leon looks down, his hands on Connor’s thighs, “I’m sorry for being a bitch lately.”

Connor rubs at Leon’s forearms in comfort “I know what it’s like to feel trapped in your own head. I couldn’t take see it on you anymore.”

“So was this…planned then?” Leon asks.

Connor goes red in the cheeks, which sparks more curiosity.

“I couldn’t get your fucking groans out of my goddamn mind. I hooked up with that girl to hope it would, I don’t know, snap it out of me. But.”

“So today was what?”

“A really bad coincidence. She left her coat here almost 3 weeks ago, showed up on my doorstep right when I was replying to your text.”

Leon kisses him because he can. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

Connor sighs, “The things I felt for you, I chalked them up to just being in awe of you. You’re talent, your friendship, you’re overall everything. Little did I know, I think I’ve been equally yearning for you too.”

“We’re so dumb,” Leon chuckles.

“The worst,” Connor agrees.

They kiss again.

[playlistmusings]

Everyone knows you're the way to my heart (Chapter 5)

(1) Prologue (2) Yelled down the hall, but nobody answered (3) Always surprised by what I'd do for love, Some things I'll never expect (4) But I feel something when I see you now (5) And I've never seen you smiling so big

Chapter 5- And I've never seen you smiling so big

Cardan felt like he was floating, or perhaps this was the most grounded he had felt in years. Jude looked dazed and a little terrified, her eyes fixed on his palm flat on her thigh. Cardan moved to stand up, to leave the room before he did something he regretted, like telling her that he knew she loved him-- or even worse, told her that he loved her-- but as his fingers instinctively flexed on her thigh as he moved to rise out of his seat, Jude let out a soft gasp and Cardan knew this was it. This would be a defining moment, for worse or for better, something was going to change and Cardan couldn't do anything to stop it.

Jude's eyes moved up from her thigh to look up at Cardan, full of so many different emotions as they worked their way up his chest and made Cardan uncharacteristically self conscious of the way his top four buttons were undone, exposing chains and necklace that glittered over top his chest. As her gaze reached his neck her soft voice filled the air, "Cardan? Why do you have the same necklace as me?"

"What?" He removed his hand from her leg and walked away from her spot at the table, annoyed that all the build up was seemingly for nothing, that Jude would brush all their, her, feelings under the rug and pretend like nothing had happened.

As the pain from the necklace rose steadily on his chest, he heard Jude stand up behind him. When she spoke he could tell by the tension between her words that her hands were undoubtedly in tight fists, swinging at her sides as she paced, through the tension between her words. "I just-- Cardan, we have the same damn necklace. The one I got from the Roach to find you. I just don't understand why you would have a tracking necklace and still be so determined to avoid me. It just doesn't make any sense."

Cardan turned around to face her again, confusion coloring his face, briefly wondering what the actual fuck Jude was rambling about before she cut off his train of thought.

"Oh no, no, no, no. Oh, I'm sorry-- I didn't even think that-- Sorry, I just, sorry." Her eyes pierced his soul while she said the last word, looking as close to sincere as Cardan could ever imagine Jude being.

"Jude, what are you talking about?"

If it were possible for Jude to look even more embarrassed and apologetic, that's what happened as the words left Cardan's mouth. Her eyes refused to meet his as the next words spilled out.

"I didn't even think that maybe you were trying to find someone else. I was so caught up in myself and you and me that I didn’t even think that maybe you would be looking for someone else. I mean, you're constantly around people, why would you even care about me? Why wouldn't you have a necklace to know where a friendwas?" The word friend came out sounding like she had poison on her lips, as if the only thing stopping her from spitting it out at his face was the chaos in her mind. And that's when it clicked into place.

Jude was jealous. She was jealous of some unnamed, unknown-- nonexistent, Cardan's mind supplied-- person that took up his time and, he barely let himself think, space in his heart. Cardan had to struggle not to laugh, he knew she loved him and he loved her and here they were, about to argue about a stupid necklace and pretend like they both weren't going insane every time they saw eachother.

"Jude." Cardan's voice rang out into the empty room. "Jude, what are you going on about? I'm not tracking anyone."

Jude rubbed her forehead, looking less apologetic and more exasperated. "Cardan I don't know what dumb loophole meant you could say that and not lie, but I don't care, you don't need to deceive me." Before Cardan really knew what was happening, Jude was walking towards him, pulling a chain around his neck towards her when she reached him. "I have the same necklace. The Roach gave it to me to track you, because you're a dick who always hides from me. So you can't fool me, I already know it heats up around the person you're looking for."

Cardan could barely look down at the pendant in her hands, her proximity suffocated him in a way he never wanted to forget. "Jude, I don't know why you think that's a tracker. It's one of the Sensum necklaces, it alerts you of people's true feelings." As the words left his mouth, Cardan realized why the name of the necklace had sounded so familiar. He thought of the faint memories of fairies around him speaking about the Sensum necklaces, a pair of necklaces with powerful charms meant to clarify feelings between people, meant to only work in conjunction with eachother. Which meant that-- "Jude, your necklace doesn't track me."

Cardan felt himself shift on his feet as Jude gazed expectantly up at him. This was it. This was the moment Cardan could choose to reveal everything, to stop hiding from the truth, from Jude.

"Why don't we sit while I explain." There was no way he would be able to get through this with her so close, not with her hands inches from his burning skin. Cardan moved towards his forgotten seat at the oak table, reaching out to turn Jude's chair towards his before she sat.

When they were seated, Jude looking at him in a way that screamed just get to the damn point and nearly made Cardan smile, it was just so Jude. He cleared his throat once before starting. "Have you ever heard of the Sensum necklaces?" Jude shook her head, confirming what Cardan had already assumed. "Okay, well, they were made and charmed a long time ago, before anyone could remember. They have a unique charm, one that only works when both necklaces are being worn by separate people."

At this Jude seemed to absent mindedly pull at the chain around her neck, revealing the counterpart to his necklace that was resting beneath her shirt all this time, he forced his eyes away from her fingertips resting at her neck, looking past her at the wall. Cardan let out a deep breath before continuing, "So, they were charmed to show people's true feelings. So, if the person wearing the other necklace had feelings of resentment or anger then your necklace would cool. Some people said they would sometimes get so cold that they would get frostbite, especially in close proximity to the other wearer, because that, for whatever reason, is another thing they do-- they get stronger as they get closer."

Cardan risked a look at Jude's face, where she looked like she knew something big was about to happen, before she abruptly stood, reaching out towards Cardan's chest for the second time that day. As her fingertips brushed his skin, the heat around his pendant evaporated and Cardan looked deep into her eyes. They were shining and Cardan had just enough time to think about how utterly fucked he was before she spoke.

"What does it mean if they get warmer around the other necklace?"

Cardan nearly groaned as she got even closer as the words left her lips, the breath from them washing over his face. Cardan forced himself to think straight, focusing far harder than he should at getting four words out. "I think you know."

At this Jude closed the, admittedly, very short distance between them, pushing her lips to his. Cardan could vaguely register her hands in his hair and the way his own hands reached towards her waist to pull her closer to him, onto his lap. It was even better than their first kiss all that time ago, where he was desperate and a little drunk and focused on so much more than the way her lips felt against his own. After what felt like forever Jude pulled away, just barely, before standing and pulling Cardan up, ignoring the way he made a sound of reluctance and confusion, "For fuck's sake Cardan, I'm not going to let our first, second, and third kisses to all involve me forcing myself on you while you're sitting in a chair."

Cardan could barely realize what she was saying, his mind lingering on the way she said third kiss, the way she was going to let him kiss her again. With that single thought in his mind, he surged forward, pushing Jude towards the table until her legs knocked against the wood, savoring the gasp she let out when his hands held her sides. He leaned forward, "Well, no, of course not, we can't have that." Cardan ground out, his mouth moving to kiss beside her ear before moving down her jaw. "How else am I supposed to get you to finally admit that you love me if you have all the power?"

Jude didn't waste a second before spinning them, shoving Cardan's hip against the thick oak. Her lips ghosted his as she whispered, "Don't lie, Cardan. We both know that I always have all the power."

Her lips against his consumed Cardan's thoughts, her hands moving up to his neck, tugging him down slightly by the pendant resting against his chest. He let his hands wander, brushing against her back, her shoulder blades, before tugging her even closer with a firm hand resting on the nape of her neck. As Jude gasped into his mouth, she whispered, "But I don't think you'll have much trouble convincing me to admit that I love you."

Cardan groaned before moving to kiss away her smirk and deciding that he must be dreaming because there was no other way to account for the way his stomach fluttered at her words or how his chest grew warm even with her hands tugging his face towards hers. Cardan didn't think he could ever get sick of this, of the way Jude was finally so close.

He pulled away, breathing deeply and staring into Jude's eyes, "I love you, too."

The smile in Jude's next kiss was something Cardan couldn't forget even if he wanted to.

@jurdanhell @braiawrites

[whumperooni]

pls imagine that after natsuo decided to get revenge and became a fuckboy he also gradually started to get farther away from his cutie of a lil sister! he brings home some bitchy bimbos to fuck and doesn't even notice her anymore so little sister being the adorable thing she is, she becomes very upset and sad that her brother doesn't want her anymore, so who is better to take care of her then papa enji! i want to see natsus face when he realises his plan backfired in the worst way possible!

What else is a little sister supposed to do whenever her nii-chan abandons her? u.u

tw: incest, fuckboy!Natsuo, mentions of drinking and drugs

It starts with one drunk girl that doesn’t make it out on time before Enji can see her. Usually, Natsuo doesn’t bring women home- it feels like something he shouldn’t do; he can’t bring anyone back to that place.

(Not that he hasn’t had any other woman since entwining with you- how could he when he has such an adoring little sister to love and cherish and make squeal with pleasure? Why would he want anyone else?)

But that night? That night he just doesn’t care. Drunken from too many shots and too much cheap beer, he crashes with the girl he had somehow stumbled home with and, in the morning, he fucks her again through their mutual hangovers before sending her off to never come back again.

There’s a twinge of shame and guilt when he passes you in the hallway on the way to show his hookup out. Your wide eyes and disappointment prick at him like tiny needles, the pucker of your brow has him regretful. Whenever he nudges his hookup out of the house and comes back to you, asks you where you slept last night, the mumbled “Shoto-nii’s room” makes him feel even more guilty.

You only sleep in your brother’s long empty room whenever you’re feeling particularly lonely. Natsuo hates when you feel lonely- you should never feel lonely with him around.

He opens his mouth to tell you that he’ll make breakfast for you, that he’ll make up for last night, but he’s cut off whenever a gruff voice comes from behind him and says,

“Don’t bring whores into my house.”

In an instant, Natsuo’s regret gets flipped to rage- just the sound of Enji’s voice makes him want to snap and having him insult his hookup makes it even worse- and he glares at his father- mouth opening to argue only to be ignored as Enji turns around and lumbers off to the kitchen. He barely registers your shocked “daddy” that you gasp out- he’s too focused on his father and the annoyance that had been written all over the man’s face.

Fuck him, Natsuo thinks. Fuck. Him.

His anger is only quelled whenever your hand lightly, nervously touches his and he looks back at you to see your worried expression. It takes a moment for him to calm- lips pressing together and a long, deep breath needed- but he does and he swallows back his anger, his headache to force a small smile your way.

“Have you had breakfast? I’ll make you something.”

A mumbled thank you, nii-san and your fingers lacing through his helps soothe the rest of the lingering irritation. Natsuo tugs you to the kitchen and he tries to forget his father’s face and the satisfaction that had flicked through his anger over it.

──────────────────────────────────────

He brings home another girl a month or two later. It’s not something he sets out to do, no.

But it happens. And the morning after is just about the same as the previous time- only with you more upset when you spot the hickeys all over the girl’s neck and Enji’s glare darker than before, his irritation more pronounced.

The third time is on purpose- something he seeks to do in a tipsy, vindictive rage after a particularly nasty argument with Enji.

He brings home another girl- someone dumb and sweet and just a little trashy- and he fucks her with the intention of making her scream for him, spending the night making her moans fill the estate.

You can’t look him in the eyes in the morning, but he feels no guilt- only satisfaction over the fury on Enji’s face and the way his hands clench and unclench from trying not to slug his son in front of his upset daughter.

Another nasty fight- one that you get caught in.

“-a goddamn disgrace. You think your sister needs to see this? How do you think this looks on me when you’re going around acting like a fool? I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you-”

“Daddy, please! It’s okay! Please don’t-”

“-I’m a disgrace?! That’s rich coming from you. You parade around acting like you’re so superior but all you are is-”

“Natsuo-nii! Please stop! Daddy doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t you turn this around on me, boy.”

In the end, Natsuo stomps off with red cheeks and gritted teeth- turning his back on his glaring father and his teary eyed little sister.

He stomps off and all he can think is I’ll show you a goddamn disgrace.

──────────────────────────────────────

Life for Natsuo quickly becomes a mess of clubs, hookups, hangovers, and arguments. With every girl he brings home, his father only gets more and more angry- fire bursting out in quick jets when he finds a pair of discarded panties on the lawn, some dumb slut eating at the table draped over his son’s lap, vodka bottles and condoms in the trash.

The fights get worse and worse. Natsuo starts staying away from home- only coming back to drag some girl home to rile his father up and to sometimes spend time with you whenever his guilt over your tears and upset becomes too much. He makes new friends with this new direction in life- crude boys he used to stay away from, men who fondle their girl’s tits right in front of everyone while talking about weed and parties and who has access to molly, who can get good coke.

They’re bad influences. He knows it. He knows.

But he doesn’t stay away from them. Soon enough he’s drawn into partying along with clubbing- weed and booze and more and more giggling sluts that want to ride his dick, suck him off.

One night he gets drunk enough to steal his father’s credit card and buy henny for everyone, weed and an obnoxiously expensive dinner, a solid gold chain that his flavor for the night talks him into buying despite Natsuo never wearing something like that before.

He doesn’t go home that night, but he ends up in someone’s penthouse and wakes up at four in the afternoon- classes missed and a whole block of time missing from his memory. It’s only when he checks his phone that he realizes what all has happened- snapchat showing him reeling and laughing, joking about his father’s money being blown.

It also shows him getting some sloppy head in some restroom he can’t remember. It shows him, too, that he had filmed a girl riding his dick- that he had spanked her ass and turned his phone around to show the world a drunken grin and bloodshot eyes, a gold chain around his neck.

Watching it is surreal. He knows that it’s him doing all those things, but he just can’t quite connect it at the same time. He’s never been into that stuff before- he’s never wanted to be into that stuff before. It makes something bitter and uneasy settle on his tongue, something uncomfortable weigh down his stomach.

He tries to ignore it and he checks the rest of his notifications- quickly swiping away Fuyumi’s worried texts and the messages on snapchat. There’s nothing from his father to be seen and that’s a relief that he pretends he doesn’t feel.

There is a little popup that sounds during his scrolling that shows that you’ve posted and Natsuo opens it almost absently, blinks whenever he sees a photo of a nice lunch captioned with Lunch with daddy💕

The daddy makes him scowl, but something in him twinges- guilt, a touch of sadness. He can’t remember the last time he talked to you, the last time he held you close. He used to be with you daily- hands holding yours, kisses pressed to your cheek and lips and forehead often, your cuddly body warming his late at night and holding him snug inside after a sweet ravishing. It’s been so long since he’s been with his little sister- it almost feels like that past affection had been a dream.

Guilt eats away at him and Natsuo runs his hand through his hair, buries his face into his palms after.

What have you been doing while he’s been fucking around? Sleeping in his bed because you miss him? Seeking comfort somewhere else- with someone else? Who has been taking care of you?

Your lunch post flashes through his mind and Natsuo feels sick then- knots twisting in his stomach whenever he thinks about who else you love in your life.

The last time he had been at home, you had clung to Enji- barely trying to break up the fight and sniffling through it, burying your face into your father’s chest.

You had clung to him then- are you clinging to him now?

Natsuo swallows and he stands from the bed, ignores the sleepy mumble that sounds off behind him.

It’s robotic how he dresses and drives home- sunglasses doing nothing to prevent a throbbing headache as he clenches the steering wheel and tries not to throw up last night’s indulgence all over his lap.

Getting home makes his stomach feel even worse, but he pushes it all down and forces himself to walk inside the house- mind racing as he tries to think of where you could be right now.

He finds out whenever he hears a loud gasp and a moan of “daddy.”

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to see. His body and mind don’t connect, though, and his feet move automatically- one in front of the other until he’s in the doorway of the kitchen.

There’s flour on the floor from where it’s been knocked off the counter. Plates in the sink and magnets on the fridge he doesn’t remember ever seeing. A new mixer tucked away in the corner and daffodils in a vase on the windowsill.

And there’s you too- perched on the counter with your apron and the skirt of your sundress flipped up, mouth open with a cry, cheeks flushed pretty and sweet as Enji curls his thick fingers inside your cunny.

“D-Daddy! Please! More!”

“Shh; I’ve got you, little one.”

Bile rises in Natsuo’s throat as he watches you mewl and arch- hands reaching for your father and lips pressing against his needily whenever he gathers you in his arms and starts to slowly slip inside of you.

“L-love you, daddy,” you sob. “Love you- please- please don’t ever- don’t leave me...”

“I will never leave you, little one,” Enji promises gruffly as he spreads you apart and makes you whimper. “Never.”

Turquoise eyes flit to the side and Natsuo freezes in the doorway whenever they lock onto his - heart breaking and shame flooding through him in thick, hot waves when his sweet, sweet little sister who he loves and has neglected begins to mewl “daddy, daddy, daddy!”

Tears prick at Natsuo and he turns from the kitchen- walks away with a hand covering his mouth and his body bent forward as he struggles not to heave.

He drove you into Enji’s arms. He drove his sweet, beloved little sister into the arms of the man he hates the most. He neglected you for what- bimbos and booze and petty revenge?

God, he’s so fucking stupid.

Natsuo stumbles into the bathroom and he grips the sink tight- eyes wet and bloodshot whenever he looks in the mirror, face pale and neck mottled with hickeys, the stupid chain mocking him as it shines in the light of the bathroom. Far off, he can hear you moaning and Natsuo grits his teeth as he glares at himself in the mirror.

He really is a disgrace.

[writing-imagines]

“A Late Night Walk, Talk and Kiss” A Cassie Howard imagine

Possible warnings: swearing, mention of Cassie being slut shamed, mention of divorce

Parties were never really your thing. Even in grade school, you hated the idea of sitting in a room with people you didn’t know that well and celebrating something. High school parties were no exception even with your best friend there.

“Are you having a good time?” Lexi asked over the blaring music and other loud conversations.

“I’m not having a terrible time, but I wouldn’t say I’m having a good time either. You know how I feel about parties.”

“I know. I just thought maybe it would do you some good to actually socialize for once.”

“I socialize a lot. You’re just not there to see it all the time.”

“Texting Rue while hanging out with me does not count as a lot of socializing.”

“Of course it does. You’re just jealous I have other friends.”

“No, it-oh, hey Rue.” You turned your attention from Lexi to a very angry Rue.

“Gia is hanging out with Troy. I need your help, Lexi.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back, y/n.” Lexi quickly jumped up, causing her Bob Ross wig to bounce, and followed Rue into the other room.

So, there you sat alone on Kat’s couch watching everyone dance around in their Halloween costumes. You had to admit that although most of your classmates had the intelligence of a worm, they had pretty cool costume ideas. Even though you enjoyed people watching (and a few drinks), you were tired and it was getting close to your curfew. Figuring Lexi would be a while, you made a mental note to text her that you left rather than trying to find her again. You quickly finished your drink before getting up and making your way to the front door. Just a few steps away from the door, you were stopped by some guy dressed as a zombie.

“Hey, you hang out with Lexi, right?”

“Uhh...sometimes, yeah?”

“You know where she would be?” While contemplating telling this strange man where one of your closest friends were, you noticed a girl who looked like Cassie storm past and out the front door.

“Uh...she already went home.”

Before he could say another word you pushed passed him and jogged out the door. Sure enough, Cassie was walking down the street in her Alabama Worley outfit. If it were anyone else, you probably would have let them walk away. But you couldn’t let your best friend’s sister walk alone at night.

“Cassie! Cassie, wait up!” You called out as you ran towards her. She looked over her shoulder and stopped walking when she realized who you were.

“What do you want, y/n?”

“I saw you run out of the party. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Judging from the mascara streaks down her face, Cassie defiantly wasn’t okay.

“Thanks. I just...” Cassie let out a sigh and visibly faught back tears.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Let’s just get you home, okay?” Cassie let out a sniffle and nodded her head.

“Okay.”

Cassie started walking again and you followed distantly beside her. You two weren’t necessarily close, but Cassie was nice to you anytime you hung out with Lexi or stayed the night at their house. Of course, you would be lying if you said you didn’t have a tiny crush on her, after all, she was one of the few girls in town who were beautiful and had a great personality. It broke your heart to know that most people overlooked her personality and just focused on her looks. You were pulled out of your thoughts when a sharp breeze blew past you, making Cassie shiver.

“Here. Take my sweater.” You stopped walking and carefully pulled the sweater over your head. Cassie looked at the sweater for a moment before taking it from you.

“Thanks. I guess I should have worn a warmer outfit.” Cassie quickly put the sweater on and enjoyed the warmth. You couldn’t explain why, but seeing Cassie in your clothes nearly made your brain short circuit. Cassie continued walking while you tried to form senerences.

“I like your costume. True Romance is a great movie.”

“You’ve watched True Romance?”

“Yeah, like a hundred times. I took a film class at my old school and for my final project I analyzed it.”

“I didn’t know you went to another school.”

“Yeah. I lived in Colorado before my parents got divorced. Life was pretty good there, but I defiantly like it better here.” You could tell the alcohol was defiantly hitting since you never really talked about your past with anyone.

“Really? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this town sucks. Everyone is in everyone’s business.”

“It’s like that in most towns though. Unless you live in a major city or out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I want to live in a huge city someday. Like so big no one can track me down or-” Cassie stopped talking and let out a sigh, leaving you confused.

“Or?”

“Or know me for my nudes.”

In that moment you froze. When you first moved to town there had been talk about some girl’s nudes being sent around. It wasn’t until you started school that you were able to put a face and name to the rumor. You saw how everyone would watch her walk by then whisper horrible things about her and it killed you, especially when you became friends with Lexi.

“I haven’t seen them. I think it’s really fucked up that people spread them around.” You looked from the road to Cassie. She had an almost hopeful look in her eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I avoided them at all costs.”

“Thanks. That actually means a lot. Most people in this town have seen them and judge me. Do you know how many people see me as a brainless slut?”

“No, I don’t.”

“All the guys in this town think that. That’s why I left Kat’s party. You know Daniel, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes I do.”

“He told me I was boring and anyone who is interested in me in lying because I’m only good for sex.” You stopped dead in your tracks, causing Cassie to stop too.

“Are you serious? He actually sad that to you?”

“Yeah, he did. But don’t worry about it. Daniel has always been a dick.”

“Fuck him. You’re such an amazing person, Cassie. Do you want me to beat him up? I’m non-confrontational ninety nine percent of the time, but I will go back to that party beat the shit out of him for talking to you like that.”

“Easy, killer. He’s just another stupid boy, it’s okay. Come on, let’s keep walking.”

Cassie held your hand and the two of you kept on your walk. You couldn’t deny that you liked the feeling of holding her hand. You kind of wished the walk wouldn’t end, but you figured it was just the alcohol talking. After a few more minutes of walking you found yourself at Cassie’s doorstep, still holding her hand.

“Thank you for walking me home and listening to me. I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure. I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“Are you going to make it home safe?” She asked with a grin since you only lived three houses down.

“I don’t know. It’s a pretty long walk. I could die of exhaustion.”

“Maybe this will help you.” Cassie let go of your hand and leaned forward to kiss your lips. You swore you were going to pass out right then and there.

“Y-Yeah. I think that’ll keep me going.” That made her grin and let out a small laugh.

“I’m glad. Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Cassie.”

You stepped off her doorstep and made it a few feet away before she called out for you again.

“Hey, what about your sweater?”

“Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

Even though you were a few feet away, you could still see the blush across Cassie’s face. You couldn’t fight the smile that crept across your face either, so you continued your short walk home.

When you finally made it inside you allowed yourself to breathe since Cassie kissed you. Part of you wondered if the whole walk home was a dream and that you would wake up any moment with a broken heart. That moment never came though. Instead, you fell asleep with Cassie on your mind.