#stilt-fishing

[deadpanwalking]

what does punk mean in gay?

This is a great opportunity to remind everyone that I'm not amenable to followers who are mentally and/or physically under 18 years of age. I'm not holding your youth against you, but as things stand, I can barely produce enough breast milk to keep up with my cat's nutritional demands—it would be irresponsible to take in another child.

[swordmaid]

have this hc that shri’iia has a particular way of talking as in she’s been conditioned to treat every conversation as a (sort of interrogation) and that she always tries to fish out more info about the person she’s talking to and give little to no info about herself but it’s not obvious …. the high charisma and charm ! makes it feel like you’re having a nice convo with her but by the end you realize you’ve just info dumped and told her about your backstory and trauma and name of your first best friend, security pin number, mother’s maiden name and the only thing you know about her is her name and she has a mole on her chest.

oathbreaker shri’iia is trying to break out of that habit obvi she’s trying to unlearn everything her matriarch has programmed into her but it’s funny to think about…. like if she was a bg3 companion and you talk about the first tadpole dream/dream guardian visit to her she’ll be like

‘well mine wasn’t anything significant, what about you? what did the dream figure look like? what could they want? did they look familiar to you? someone from your past? did they tell you anything that could be useful to us?’ and so on and so forth and she’ll just let you yap but she won’t share anything from her end

[travelinsrilanka]

Tiny Coastal Town With High Value - Koggala

Koggala is a lovely city in southern coast of Sri Lanka. It’s got one of the longest beaches in the country, and the place is just stunning – really peaceful, away from the crowds.

Koggala Lake is a must-see too, with its little islands and heaps of birdlife. Even though there’s been some development, the town’s still got that laid-back vibe, and the seafood is unreal at the beachfront restaurants.

Whether you are up for surfing or just chilling out on the beach, Koggala is the perfect spot to escape and soak up the beauty.

[mowgliproductions]

Stilt Fishing The Dying Tradition of Sri Lanka Explore The Unseen

[sheltiechicago]

Stilt fishing by Chantal van Dam-Nederstigt Via Flickr: Weligama, Sri Lanka www.channedimages.com www.facebook.com/channedimages

[nazumichi]

michiru is wearing glasses like marie’s, no one touch me rn i’m gonna d

[anony-mouse-writer]

grian as the strange man who appears suddenly on gem’s dock with no explanation. no one knows who he is.

no one saw him arrive and he has no car.

he’s never bought anything from the store, and a few locals said they saw him simply cooking and eating the fish he catches on the spot.

the only belongings he seems to own are his fishing gear.

when asked where he lives, he points to the cliff. there is a tiny blue house there, balancing precariously on wooden stilts. the house has never been there and no one’s seen it before, but the local gas attendant pulled up a 40 year old photo of her grandma on the beach, and sure enough, the tiny house is there, a wee speck of color hanging like a barnacle on the cold, wet bluff.

the age of his mysterious little home aside, no one’s sure when he visits it. he’s at his little dock before the earliest ships cast out, and the sickly glow of his lantern can be seen long into the coldest of nights.

the man has pulled the strangest things from the ocean. fish, to be sure, but other, stranger things. lily pads, far from their native biomes. fishing poles, tattered and worn, of various makes and styles- some look positively ancient. boots. giant shells with twisted patterns to match no living thing. a genuine horse saddle once. bowls. a bone that looked just a bit like a human femur.

and books. perfect, unblemished books, nearly glowing with some kind of energy and filled with a script both unfamiliar and unsettling to see.

he opens them each with a breathless anticipation that tastes like brine or maybe tears.

but whatever he sees in them is not what he wants, and each book is tossed aside with resigned disgust and something like despair, before the weathered pole is taken up to cast a line to sea once more.

[noras-dc-shenanigans]

Adoption | Learn

“So let me get this straight.”

Danny stared at the group of vigilantes in front of him, a look of utter disbelief etched onto his face.

“Batman had a baby with Catwoman, she hid it from him, gave the baby up for adoption, and that baby is me. And you’re all here because Batman’s other ex also had a hidden pregnancy, but she’s a homicidal maniac who wants to make sure her son is the only blood child because of some weird cult rules?”

If they’d been in a cartoon, there’s be crickets chirping. He continued, voice growing less disbelieving and more angry as he went.

“And because some cult wants to kill me, I have to give up my whole life, cut off all contact with my family and friends, go live in a state 900 miles away, and stay cooped up— for an unknown amount of time— in Bruce Wayne’s mansion, because that’s who Batman really is.”

A stilted silence filled the room of the safe house Danny had been dragged to a few hours ago, sans the unnecessarily long explanation he’d just summarized.

After a few more moments, Nightwing stepped forward and smiled gently at him an oh, that rankled Danny. He did not need whatever kid gloves the guy was about to pull on. Before Bluebell had a chance to open his mouth, Danny channeled his inner Jazz and raised his hand for silence. Nightwing paused, and Danny proceeded to give them all a single, flat, unimpressed look, and then stated factually,

“I’m not leaving, I’m not staying with yet another frootloop billionaire, and I’m not in the least concerned with dying. So. You can all go back to where you belong, I’ll stay here, where I belong, and if any cultist come knocking I’ll deal with them just like I’ve been dealing with every other threat in this town the last six months: alone. Because apparently the entire Justice League is too busy to respond to calls for help about inter-dimensional threats popping in and out of my parents basement on a daily basis.”

… Okay, so Danny may have been yelling a bit by the end, but it was justified! And oh, Danny really wished his life was a cartoon right now, because that cricket chirping would be been perfect. He’s pretty sure he broke a few of them. Nightwing looked ready to cry.

Good. Danny was too tired to deal with this sh*t.

Thanks to the whole Pariah Dark thing last month, Danny was apparently immortal now anyways, so even if the cult people managed to completely destroy his body, he’d just reform in the Zone. Because he was now connected to it, and only another ghost could End him like he had Pariah, because of some weird dimensional rules. Apparently, since humans couldn’t rule the Infinite Realms, they just, like… didn’t qualify to kill him. That went for aliens, demons, gods, and other non-human beings of sentience.

So Danny’s got that going for him at least. About time something useful came outta this whole disaster of a school year.

But he’d gotten off track. Before him stood a truly ridiculous number of vigilantes, and they all looked like he’d just slapped them with a fish and then played violin with it. For a few minutes, Danny just basked in the stuttering and bewildered looks, before he noticed Nightwing drawing himself up in righteous determination and decided that yeah, he was done now.

At this point, being a dramatic a**hole to people (or ghosts) who were annoying him was just second nature, so he straightened to attention, raised his hand in a salute, and then let himself sink through the floor, perfectly stoic.

The stuttering turned to panicked shouts, and Danny’s last view of his apparent siblings was a few people lunging for him and missing, winding up tangled together on the carpet.

‘Ahhhh, yesss, I will treasure that memory always! Ah well, time to get home! Maybe I should scout out for those cult people, mess around with them. Maybe follow them back sometime, meet my half-brother. That could be fun, me and Ellie can make a road trip of it this summer! Maybe by then, the Justice Losers will have gotten their heads out as their butts.’

Meanwhile, back at the safe house, several frantic calls were being made about the dimensional threats and the League of Assassins and the possibly meta human, definitely vigilante brother.

Amity Park was about to get a lot more chaotic.

[loud-mouth-loser]

not him - 2

summary: marc has had his eye on you for a while now. he's seen your interactions with steven and has held himself back from taking you for himself, but what happens after he finally makes a move?

pairing: marc spector x reader

rating: more angst

cw: pining (really intense pining), jealousy, miscommunication, mentions of past kiss.

wc: 2.7k

part one

[author's note is at the end of the chapter to avoid chapter spoilers!]

---

Marc’s POV

It’s your laugh, that soothing, sweet sound – so inviting that he wants it to soak right into his skin. When he hears it, he holds it close to him, making sure he doesn’t miss a single note. Letting it replay in his head until the next time he sees you. 

Marc has never considered himself a funny guy – or hadn’t for a while. He never had a reason to joke around, a reason to smile or laugh, but then there was you.

So now he tries his best to incite that laughter, if only for a mere taste of your sweetness.

He’s equally addicted to that view. The sight of soft lips parting into a bright smile, your shoulders shaking with each stilted breath, your eyes glistening with unerupted joy; a bliss that he’s craved to know since the day his brother passed. And it’s genuine. 

Everything about you is genuine. 

Then, when you come down from the laughter, you look up at him with a ghost of a giggle still thrumming in the air, still tugging at the corner of your mouth. He can’t help but stare back, wishing this moment could last forever. 

It’s just you and him, nursing sweating bottles of beer on his ratty old couch, the TV running quietly in the background as you unconsciously lean closer as the night progresses. He plunges into that gaze wrapped in innocent moments and admiration, a look that whispers unspoken sentiments and unattainable promises. 

You are looking at him, yes, but you also see him. 

He feels it wrap around him, a warmth that reminds him he’s worth being around, that you want to be there with him. It sparks a revelation within himself that if he could make you laugh, or even look at him the way you do, maybe…being him is ok. 

And maybe he wants to stay.   

But then there’s that smile – no, not your usual amused grin or the bashful one he attempts to lure out whenever he gains enough confidence to tell you how pretty you look – the cherry-red lie that’s specially curated for Steven. 

It’s a mask you use to preserve your friendship, to convince the oblivious man that you’re happy for him even when your side of the bond is crumbling, struggling to stand up straight. 

The first time Marc saw that smile was from the reflection in his apartment. 

He usually doesn’t stir or interfere while Steven is fronting, unless there’s an emergency of course, but there was a pang of energy that woke him up. And now he’s wondering if it was you. 

He watched broodily from the fish tank; jaw clenched tight as Steven sat in front of you holding your hands in his. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, but he can’t help the ire burning low in his chest as he watches you position yourself closer to Steven, eager to hear what he has to say. 

Marc’s eyes drift from your hopeful face to your joined hands. 

He wonders how that feels: to hold your smaller hands in his, to squeeze them just so as to remind him that you’re real and there with him, to feel you squeeze back and run the soft pads of your fingers over his callouses. 

Your softness smoothing over his jagged ends. 

You like it – the touch. Steven’s touch.

He can see it. 

But you’ve always liked it when Steven gives you physical affection, even if it was all platonic. You’d lean into him, practically craving it, eagerly presenting yourself to his hand. And he’d give it to you, merely enjoying the closeness you offer him – nothing more. 

Your eyes are wide, and you lean in, listening intently, but at the same time, you’re not hearing a thing. Marc can see that you’re lost in Steven, a feeling he’s often had around you. 

The giddy comfort you felt from his touch instantly dissolves as he continues to speak, “And we kissed…” You lean back from him, quickly covering your reaction with a blank expression. Marc can see right through it. 

Needless to say, Marc also isn’t too happy hearing about Steven’s escapades with his estranged wife; He’s always been protective of Layla, but now more than ever. Layla had once been his rock, keeping him grounded as life attempted to sweep him away. She was the only person he trusted for a while, the only one he could lean on and hold whenever he wanted to give up. 

Because of that, he left. 

Too much of a great thing can only lead to a horrible ending. 

Right?

He convinced himself he did it because he didn’t want her to get involved in his life of violence, of his life as an avatar. She was always getting dragged into business that wasn’t hers, used as bait to lure him out of the shadows, and Khonshu was starting to hint at making her his next avatar. 

That is a reason, a sound reason, but he can admit now that that wasn’t the main reason. At some point, Marc realized could never love her the way she wanted him to.

When he first felt it, he couldn’t shake it. He was forced to face it until it utterly consumed his thoughts, until he could taste it hanging from each word, turning every whisper into a sour void. He felt unworthy of her affections and ashamed that he continued to take and take, drinking in every last drop of warmth she could supply. Anything to numb that looming darkness that threatens to drag him under the bloody viscous waves of his past. 

And all he could give in return was surface-level words and cool kisses. Guilt dripped from his embrace and soaked against her soft skin, and he knew he had to pull away. 

Steven, the lovesick puppy, was completely oblivious to what he was inviting her back into: danger, violence, and an unspoken truth.

Marc should be jealous that his wife and alter are continuing to fraternize behind his back, or angry that Steven went against his wishes and welcomed her back into his life, but he’s not. Mostly, he’s nervous to face what he wasn’t strong enough to do, scared that he’ll continue to push it away until it swallows him whole. 

Then there’s you.

Your eyes are glassy and empty as you nod robotically as Steven rambles, lost in his own words. “...the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.” Your hands attempt to retreat from his and Steven doesn’t notice, but he does. 

The audacity of Steven to talk about this stuff to your face astounds him. How can a man who shares his body be so clueless? So stupid to not see what’s right in front of him, offering herself for any ounce of attention he shows.

“I love her.” 

And there he sees your heart shatter. 

“That’s great, Steven. I’m so happy for you.”

—

All he can do is stare back, eyes taking in your swollen lips and wrinkled clothes. Your bodies breathe together, catching a breath as you process what just happened. There’s a voice in the back of his head urging him to pull you back in, to drink the ambrosia of your lips until you melt against him and beg for more, while he still has the chance. But he knows that if he were to move the spell would be broken.

And he was right.

When the stare breaks so does the moment. You clumsily slip off of his lap and sit back on your side of the couch. His hand hovers over your figure as you move away from him, a ghost of the touch he once had on you, desperate to stop you from leaving him. Fingers grip painfully into his palms as they curl into a fist of frustration and loss.

You both sit there for a second. It’s easier to think when your bodies are pressed against each other. When you aren’t tempted to lean in for one more kiss.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to get this far. 

Ever since meeting you, he’s tried his best to keep his distance, to watch you pine for Steven from afar as he harbored his own longing for you. Marc never believed he deserved it, you, always taking three steps back before he could touch a perfect thing. Before he could ruin what was already breaking. 

He’s supposed to be detached from real life, from anything outside of his work. He’s convinced himself that he was okay with letting you go, even promising Steven he would give him complete control of the body once he was done with Khonshu. But now he doesn’t think he can. He can’t leave you.

Marc finally builds the courage to look over at you. 

Your eyes are closed, not squeezed shut, just closed. The soft glow of the TV pools over your body. You could probably feel his eyes on you so you begin to talk. 

“I’m confused.”

“Confused.” He repeats with a soft nod, letting the word settle in his mind.

He doesn’t know what else to say. Of course, you’re confused, this whole night has been a series of bold actions and heated words. One second you’re having a pity party at your crush’s flat and the next you’re crawling on top of his alter. You still haven’t had time to really go through your emotions.

“You like me…” You finally look at him, brows furrowed as you navigate through your thoughts.

“I do.”

“And I like Steven…” He frowns at that but nods. You both know it, that’s how you ended up here in the first place. “..And Steven likes Layla, but you’re still…married?”

He sighs, “It’s been over for months, sweetheart.”

“Well, aren’t we a group of lovers?” You joke. 

Neither one of you laughs.

Deep brown eyes meet yours, “I meant what I said. Steven is blind if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

“I-I don’t know where to go from here.”

He places his hand on top of yours. And you let him. 

“Stay…” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, didn’t mean to say anything at all, but when he’s with you, he feels out of control. 

He sees the little furrow of your brows as you digest the implications of his suggestion. Stay and forget about the consequences. Stay and pretend it's just us. Stay and let me love you.  

“Marc –” 

He interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

“For tonight.” He just isn’t sure he’d be able to take what you were about to say. If you could stay like this, even for one more night, just you and him and the memory of that embrace, he thinks, maybe he’ll be okay. Even if you leave him in the morning. Even if you run away from what could have been. “It’ll be easier to understand after a night of rest.” 

You stare solemnly at the edge of the couch, “Yeah.” For a moment he holds some hope that he’ll be able to hold you tonight and sleep like everything is right in the world. But then you gently slip your hand out from under his. “I should probably go though.” His palm burns. You push yourself off the couch in search of your discarded jacket and shoes.

“You can crash here,” He feels desperate. You’re slipping from his hands and he’s frantically grasping at the evading warmth. “It’s late and there’s more than enough space in this flat.” He wants to reach out again but he’s afraid you’ll reject his touch this time.

“Steven has work tomorrow morning.” You say sheepishly as you slip an arm into your jacket. Of course, you’d know Steven’s schedule. “He needs to wake up early…and it would be awkward to find me on the couch.” As if he’d let you sleep anywhere but in his arms.

“Ok, but I should walk you home.”

You tug at the bottom of your coat, flattening it onto your body. “It’s fine,” You look back at him, hovering by the door, “Really, I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss how you’ve switched from talking about the situation to yourself.

He murmurs your name, not knowing what he can say to make you stay.

“Marc.” You echo back, voice soft and – tired. “I guess I’ll see you later.” 

—

“Whot was that?”

Steven didn’t wake up for work the next day. In fact, he didn’t ‘wake up’ at all. Marc did. He woke up around 1 pm with a throbbing headache and a loud, berating British man yelling at him from the inside out. 

After you left, he sat there in silence and moped, hoping you’d stop in the middle of your commute home and realize you wanted to come back to him. You didn’t. Once he received the ‘got home safe.’ text from you, he decided to drink whatever was left in the fridge before passing out. He’s regretting it now.

“Steven, please.” He presses a hand over his forehead, trying to soothe the ache as he blearily stares at the mess of empty bottles from last night. “Not right now.”

“Not right now?! You snogged my best friend!”

“Oh, come on.” Marc tugs on a shirt before making his way to the bathroom. In the small cheap mirror, Steven stares right back at him, a disgruntled glare burning right into his skin, “You weren’t going to do it.” That makes him blush. 

“If–If I had known…”

Marc tries to ignore him, splashing some cool water on his face to wake himself up. How can Steven even complain about it when – “Wait – how did you even find out?”

“I saw her…” He says uneasily, “pulling away.”

Marc groans into the towel as he dries off, “You were there? How much did you see?” 

“It’s not like I planned for it! I’m not a perve or anything, I was just…pushed to the front all of a sudden!” Shit, he must’ve gotten too excited. “I tried to leave as soon as I got there.”

“For the record, I wasn’t planning on any of that happening either.” 

“Why would you do it then? You’re going to confuse her.”

“Confuse her? Steven,” He shakes his head, “She’s obviously in love with you and you still wave whatever weird relationship you have with my wife in her face.”

“Well, hold on a minute–”

“Go back to sleep, Steven.” Marc walks over to the couch, longingly staring at the spot he was in last night. “I gotta clean up.”

–

Your POV

Your hands nervously fiddle with your phone, opening, closing, and reopening your messaging app. You stare at the text you sent last night:

‘got home safe.’

You actually got home 15 minutes before sending the text, but he doesn’t need to know it took you that long to type out 3 words. It’s crazy, you tell yourself, how many texts you drafted, edited, and deleted before hitting send. What if he doesn’t want to hear from you again? What if Steven gets it instead of him? What if he thinks you’re being clingy just because you shared one kiss? One, blissful, enamoring, show-stopping, kiss?

He hasn’t answered it yet. 

Read 1:56 am

Which is fine. You’re fine. It’s only 3 pm and Steven is probably still at work, so he hasn’t had a chance to text you back. It’s fine.

You hate the way your heart skips a beat when a typing bubble comes up. Fuck, did he see your pathetic attempts to text him earlier? You quickly exit the app, not wanting to expose yourself if he sends the text and you immediately ‘read’ it. The phone vibrates abruptly in your hand as a banner drops from the top of your screen.

‘Hey 🤠! –’ Already from the emoji use you can tell it’s Steven, ‘–Wanna meet up for tea ~4:30? Let’s go t…’

You let out a sigh. You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed. Steven is your best friend and you love hanging out with him, but there’s this anticipating giddiness when you think about Marc. The feeling you used to have about Steven…

It’s crazy how one kiss can flip your life so completely. Not just that, but how fast you went from mourning the chance of one relationship to melting into the development of another.

You open up the conversation. You really should talk to him. 

‘okay 🫡 i’ll meet you there'

---

a/n: sorry this took so long (literal months). i had half of this written for a while and was so sure i'd get it done within a few weeks, but then I let it sit in my drive until I picked it up TODAY and finished it lmao.

so most of this chapter delves into marc's thoughts before and during what happened in the first part, some of steven's thoughts + the aftermath of the kiss. i know a lot of ppl wanted a confrontation between the reader and steven, but I didn't want to rush into it when we don't even know how marc really feels ab the reader :3

i thought it would be interesting if steven found out about the kiss through marc (and I also didn't know how to write out the reader admitting it to him) bc that's how marc found out ab steven breaking the readers heart. i also wanted to explore how the reader is grappling with her feelings towards the two guys!

i def want to write more, but I can't promise when the next part will be out. I'm a notoriously inconsistent and SLOW writer, so bare with me. thank you for all the support on my angsty journey and I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

[someforeignband]

🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday!🪱

having thoughts about eddie and steve going to visit steve’s grandmother! (im spending the week with my nanna and am having thoughts)

It starts with this nebulous idea that Steve’s parents didn’t want to take care of Francesca’s mother after her husband died, so they moved Steve’s maternal grandmother to a 65+ community in Sun City, Arizona. Just like their son, they’d much rather ship off Franny’s mother instead of dealing with her needs. So, they leave sweet Cecilia in a massive 2,900 square foot condo in the Arizona desert, all by herself.

One afternoon in march, Steve gets a call from his Nonna. She explains she has had some plumbing issues and neither Franny, nor Richard is returning her calls. She complains that there’s palm fronds in her yard, and with the state of her back, she just can’t fix all of these things on her own.

“How do you feel about a trip to Arizona?” Steve would ask Eddie, after a two-and-a-half hour long conversation with his grandmother.

Thusly, a PanAm flight to Phoenix was booked. It was Eddie’s first time on a plane. Despite his nerves prior to getting on the flight, he has a marvelous time. Eddie discovers that he loves turbulence and puts his hands up and giggles the whole time.

Steve, to Eddie’s dismay, is the exact opposite. He squeezes the armrest the entire 3.5 hour flight. He can’t stand how relaxed Eddie is, not understanding how someone like Eddie could just be so calm.

Once they land, Steve tries to brief Eddie on his Nonna’s disposition. “She’s sort of a firecracker, Eddie. Very particular about pretty much everything. I’m sorry if she’s mean to you.”

Eddie tells him not to worry about it, assures him they’ll get through the weekend.

To Steve’s delight (and Eddie’s utter surprise), Nonna takes to Eddie like a fish to water. He can talk about the Bible with her. Wayne’s been pretty devout his whole life, so when Eddie makes a comment about her dish towel with Philippians 4:6-7 printed on it, Steve knows Eddie’s going to practically be family.

Cece is ecstatic to be able to show the boy pictures of Italia and tell him stories about her upbringing. She shows him pictures of Franny, pictures of her late husband, and her collection of photos of Steve’s baptism. It keeps Cece distracted, while Steve gets to work fixing her kitchen plumbing.

Steve can’t help but grin to himself like a madman as he tinkers with her pipes, listening to his Nonna and his boyfriend volley back and forth. Sharp as whips, the both of them, and god it was nice to watch Eddie get on with someone who was blood to him.

Steve didn’t have much family that bothered to be in his life.

It was nice.

And best of all— at least for Nonna— Eddie can eat her food. Eddie can seriously put it away. Steve stops after one helping of Parmigiana di Melanzane, but Eddie has two more servings, and saves room for dessert.

“Eat up, Edoardo,” Cece pats his cheek. “Too skinny, Stephano. You starving him?”

“Never, Nonna,” Steve laughs, shaking his head, watching Eddie shovel another spoonful into his mouth, grinning at Steve across the dining room table.

Despite the fact that they’ve been seeing each other for a few months, after dancing around each other for the better part of two years—Eddie’s feeling things about Steve fixing his grandmas plumbing, doing yard work, etc. The flush in Steve’s face, hands on his hips, complaining about the state of the yard: Eddie’s never felt more in love (and other tingly, warm sensations).

Further, Eddie watches Steve and Cece scream at each other in stilted Italian as she tries to pick up a scorpion and take it outside with her bare hands. Finally, after about forty-five seconds of screaming and the scorpion trying to wiggle away, Steve takes Eddie’s boot and smacks the thing with a scared squeal. It crunches under the sole and twitches a few times before dying on the salmon colored tile, guts splattered everywhere.

“You handled that well,” Eddie muses, once the whole ordeal is over, taking a dishcloth and floor cleaner, scrubbing at the thing’s guts.

“I couldn’t let her get stung. She’s seventy-nine!” Steve says, then shudders. “I never wanna do that again.”

Later that night, Eddie sips coffee out of a lumpy clay mug, a Stephano Original, while she and Steve play rummy. Catching eyes over the table, they smile at each other, knowingly. After a while, Eddie gets tired, slinking off to the office, where Cecilia had set him up with an air mattress.

Before Steve retires to the spare bedroom that night, his Nonna pulls him aside, wrapping him in a warm hug.

“Ti voglio,” She whispers, kissing his temple, smoothing his hair back.

“I love you too,” Steve answers quietly, thrown off by the unexpected display of affection.

“And,” She pauses, scrunching her dark eyebrows together, deciding exactly what to say. “I really like that boy, Stephano.”

Steve’s chest fills with warmth, not knowing exactly if she means what he hopes she means. But at that moment, he’ll take it.

“Me, too, Nonna.” He whispers, grinning at her. “Me, too.”

TAGGING ONLY @yours-etc!!!! WRITE SOMETHING I MISS YOUR WRITING

[moonstruckme]

OK so this idea is for like Sirius its the holiday and they’re exchanging gifts well siris gift to her it’s kind of meh not a lot of thought into it. So she freaks out because her gift to Siri is like really personal after she opens up her gift she snatches his away from him and runs(of course he gets her tho) Blah blah blah cute convo turns out he had another gift but was scared to give it to her blah blah blah

Xoxo love you 💕

Thanks for requesting sweetness! I am totally tapped out of gift ideas atm so you'll have to forgive the poor gift choice in this, just imagine them as whatever you like haha

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Come on,” you tug Sirius over to your Christmas tree by the wrist, sitting in front of it eagerly. 

“I thought we were going to do gifts after the movie,” Sirius complains, letting you tug him down beside you with a reluctance you know has to be feigned. Sirius loves gifts, giving as well as getting them. You’d been just friends for years, and you’d held back from getting him anything too sappy that might reveal your humiliating mega-crush, but now that you’re dating you’ve finally given yourself permission to get him whatever you like. 

“Oh, don’t bother, I know you want yours already,” you tease, fishing it out from under the tree and setting the box in front of him. The resistance doesn’t completely fade from Sirius’ expression, but he gives you a small smile. 

“Fine, I’ll be generous,” he says. “You can open yours first.” 

You grin at him, leaning over to kiss him on the lips and marveling at the fact that you can. “Thanks! I’m so excited.” 

“I can tell,” he jokes, somewhat quieter than usual. It nettles at something in your nervous system, but you ignore it for now, taking the tissue paper out of the little bag with an enthusiasm you can’t bother to be embarrassed about. 

You peer in, and it’s all you can do to keep the smile plastered on your face when you see what’s inside. “Candies,” you say, imbuing your voice with as much pep as you can manage. “Wow, I’ll be well fed this year. Thanks, Siri!” You can’t stand to stay under his gaze a second longer, swooping in for another kiss. It feels stilted and awkward. 

“They’re your favorites,” he says with a tentative little smile. “I thought I’d better stock you up.” 

“You’re a genius.” You grin, unwrapping one of the candies and popping it in your mouth. “Mm, thank you, honey.” 

“Course.” He looks down at his present, starting to fiddle with the ribbon. “My turn, I guess.” 

Your heart turns to stone, dropping all the way to your stomach with a dull thud. “Actually,” your voice squeaks a bit as you reach forward, taking your gift back, “I think I gave you the wrong one.” You start looking under the tree, trying to find a replacement that won’t be too sorely missed. 

Sirius brow puckers. “Really? It had my name on it.” 

“No, I think this one is for Mary—”

“Babe, I saw my name right there.” He leans over you, taking the present from where you’ve stowed it in your lap. “See? Right on the top.” 

Your blood rushes in your ears, which is ridiculous, this is Sirius, you’ve known him for years, you shouldn’t be nervous around him—but fuck, how can you really be sure you know each other at all after what he just gave you? If he’s expecting something similar, you’re about to be so mortified. “I think that might have been a mix-up,” you say weakly. “I’m pretty sure yours has someone else’s name on it too—”

“Hey,” Sirius seizes your wrist when you grab for the gift again, holding it protectively to his chest, “what’s wrong with you? I know you didn’t mix up the names, sweetheart.” You strain against his grip for a few moments, but Sirius is surprisingly strong when he decides to be. It’s little effort for him to keep you at bay. He gives you a hard look. “What’s going on?” 

“I just…” You give up your attempts to steal the gift back, but you can’t look at him. You gnaw at your lip. “I’m sorry, I might have gone a bit overboard. It’s…you can open it, just, sorry.” 

Sirius' features soften, but he’s quiet, wary as he peels off the wrapping paper. Your heart climbs back up your throat when he opens the box. For a horrifying second, he’s frozen, but then his hand dips into the box and emerges with your gift, holding it all too delicately. 

“Baby,” his voice is barely more than a whisper as he admires the small clay ornament, a likeness of his animagus form. “Where did you get this?” 

“I made it,” you admit, shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “I couldn’t find one that looked right in the stores, so…”

“You made it?” Sirius sounds awed. “Fuck, it’s amazing.” His eyes move to yours, still holding your gift suspended in the air between you. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love it.” 

It’s like someone’s been inflating a balloon in your chest and has just finally let it deflate. You can breathe again. “I’m really glad,” you say, and your smile may not be huge but at least it’s not faked. “I was worried it was too much.” 

“No, this is perfect.” Sirius places the ornament back in its box with heartbreaking care, giving you a sad look. “Fuck, I’m an ass.” 

“No, you’re not—” you start automatically, but he cuts you off. 

“I am. I’m a total coward, too. I’m so sorry, doll, I just—I freaked out.” He puts a hand in his hair, fingers curling in the dark locks. “I have a better gift for you, just one second.” 

He stands, leaving you in confused silence. You hear something rustling by the entryway of your flat, and then Sirius comes back a second later with a nicely wrapped box. 

“What’s this?” you ask when he sets it in your lap. 

“Your real present.” Sirius seems almost bashful, looking down as he gets situated on the floor again. “Go on, open it.” 

You almost don’t want to destroy the wrappings on this gift, clearly done with much more care than the first, but you take the paper off bit by bit, opening the top of the box. 

“Sirius,” you breathe. “Honey, what is all this?”

“It’s, uh, it’s just stuff from our first few dates.” You look up, and he’s playing with his rings. “Pictures, receipts, ticket stubs, shit like that. I know you’re a sap for that stuff, so.” 

“I’m a sap?” Laughter comes fizzing up out of you despite the tears blurring your vision. “You’re the one who collected it all!”

“Oh, technicalities, I only—hey.” He finally meets your eyes, noticing your state. “Hey, don’t cry. Shit, I knew this would happen. I should have stuck with the candy.” 

“I don’t understand,” you warble as he chases determinedly after your tears with painfully gentle fingers. “Why were there two?” 

Sirius sighs, pressing an apologetic kiss to your cheek. “Like I said, I freaked out. I was planning on giving you this, but on the way over I started thinking about how we haven’t been dating that long, and maybe it was too soon for something so…relationship-y, you know? So I panicked and bought a bunch of candy at the store.” 

You’re laughing by the end of it, shoulders shaking with amusement even as tears continue to dribble down your face. Sirius coos and kisses them away. 

“I guess I am a sap,” you say cheerily. “I never even thought about if my gift would be weird.” 

“Not until I made you,” Sirius groans, pulling you in for a hug. “Pretty sure that doesn’t make you a sap so much as it makes me an idiot, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” You smile into his shoulder, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt. “We both got to give our sappy gifts, and if the apocalypse goes down, I’ve got enough candy to last through New Years’.” 

[onceonafullmoon]

Meet Cute

Micheal Kaiser x GN! Reader

No warnings, just pure fluff! Reader is in college and from America. Reader is an anxious mess and a football fan. Apologies if the german is shit, I did my best. This fic is kinda scuffed but I wanted it to be done lol

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question. He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you peruse the selection of the ice cream tucked away in the freezer section, but you can’t help but smile to yourself at the welcome sight.

Yes, it was that time again, that familiar time in every college student’s life, the time to eat away your feelings after struggling your way through midterms.

Fuck midterms.

And fuck proper societal conventions as well.

Because here you are, in your pajamas, doing a late night grocery run and regretting it with every strange look served your way.

Sometimes you forget that you aren’t in America anymore, and your people-of-Walmart activities will inevitably lead to your downfall, but at least that day isn’t today.

Well, it was a small mercy that no matter where you were in the world, whether in Germany or America, that at least ice cream was a true constant that remained in your life.

You analyze the see-through fridges with slight disappointment as you realize the selection you have to work with is slightly smaller than what you’re used to, although maybe upon further inspection you’d find it refreshing not being swung at visually by 15 brands in one shelf, all desperately vying for your attention.

Either way, you find yourself drawn to the same flavor you always pick, a true creature of habit, and you pull open the fridge door to grasp at the item of your choosing.

At least you are until you find your hand colliding with another, a silent gasp parting your lips before you pull your hand back in surprise.

“Sorry!” You blurt out before realizing your mistake. “...err, I mean– entschuldigung!”

(Your German is hardly passable to be frank, but you figure you should at least try speaking the language of the country hosting you for the semester.)

Anyway, the sound of your stilted dialect is enough to bring out a light chuckle from the person, the man judging by the timbre of the voice, next to you and you finally look over to see…

Holy shit.

Is that Micheal fucking Kaiser?

You stare shell shocked at the blond superstar soccer (football, you correct in your head) player next to you, as he begins to speak.

“Kein Problem.” He says smoothly, and you have to make a conscious effort to shut your slightly parted mouth as you continue to stare at him with widened eyes.

At this point, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to grab your ice cream, pay and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but unfortunately for you, your mouth didn’t catch the memo.

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.

He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

You feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment as the realization dawns on you that you’re standing in front of a world class athlete in the middle of a grocery store in a wrinkly, old, oversized t-shirt and shorts.

“Sie möchte ein Autogramm?” He asks amusedly, giving you a subtle once over that you normally would have missed had you not been so self conscious.

“Ja, bitte.” You say, fishing for a pen and paper in your bag.

“...I don’t normally look like this, I swear.” You can’t help but add as you find your paper and pen, switching over to English out of a combination of embarrassment and lack of language knowledge.

“You don’t?” He asks lightly, humoring you and switching over to English before taking the pen and paper out of your hands. “I would have thought you looked like this everyday.”

“What, messy?” You ask in a light tone despite being slightly offended as he scribbles his name on the paper.

“No.” He says with a smirk as he finishes, handing you the paper. “Gorgeous.”

You blink at him for a moment before you feel your cheeks warm up again, averting your eyes to the side to avoid his gaze as you try to process the fact that a celebrity, more importantly, an attractive celebrity is flirting with you.

“Ah– um, well I– uh, thank you.” You eventually get out before willing yourself to look back at him, your stomach doing a flip as you see the same smirk on his lips that you’re used to seeing on TV.

“Kein Problem.” He repeats again, that same amused lilt in his voice. 

“I mean–” You start again and you feel yourself regretting the fact that you decided to speak again. “For both uhm, the autograph and the compliment.”

You pause for a bit, unbelievably flustered, before you blurt out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward, I’m just gonna leave now.”

He laughs at this, his eyes seeming to soften a bit before he speaks in a quieter tone, almost as if he’s afraid to scare you off. “No you’re fine… it’s cute.”

Your heart thumps in your chest rapidly, like you’ve just gotten done running a marathon, and you feel the heat rush to your face along with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. All these sensations combine to force a rather undignified sound from deep within yourself, sounding equivalent to a mouse caught in a glue trap.

You feel your face heat up further from the strangled sound that emitted from your very being and scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment away from Kaiser’s prying gaze.

When he laughs, you feel the embarrassment return tenfold, although the fluttering feeling in your heart might just be also because of the rich timbre of his chuckle.

“Hey, look at me.” He says after a few seconds, and despite your longing to keep your eyes closed you can’t help but obey his command.

So, slowly you open your eyes, taking in the sight of his handsome visage, his lips quirked up in a smile and it almost feels painful how your heart thuds.

“...what?” You question weakly.

“Just needed your eyes on me for a second while I do this.” He says before leaning over ever so slightly to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at the apex of where your ear meets your cheek before finally pulling away.

“...” You can’t help the way you gape at him, momentarily speechless as he takes in your facial expression with his signature smirk.

“Sorry Liebling, your hair was bothering me.” He offers up as an explanation, but you can tell from the delighted gleam in his eye that he’s lying.

“Y–yeah, right.” You stutter out despite your best efforts to remain unphased and straighten up. “Anyways, it was nice meeting you, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“No, it was a pleasure.” He says smoothly, and you can’t help the twinge of jealousy that runs through you at his composed demeanor. “Take care, would you?”

“Of course, y-you too.” You manage to get out, and he smirks at you one last time before confidently striding away from you, leaving you slightly shell shocked in the ice cream aisle.

It would be a while before you fully collected your thoughts after you paid and exited the store, and that’s why perhaps you didn’t notice three things in particular.

One, that you forgot to pick up the goddamn ice cream that you were so looking forward to getting. 

Two, that your beloved celebrity had also forgotten to get his ice cream that he was reaching for because he was also that flustered despite his confident demeanor.

And three, the little number written next to your autograph with the small written letters next to it “Ruf mich an <3”.

---

Taglist: @gigiiiiislife

[chaxiu]

growing sideways

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem! reader

summary: kuroo tetsurou is all grown up. you think you might have to learn to let him go. or: an exploration of love, and loving things.

note: sorry that it's been so long!! college has been so silly funny goofy (derogatory) but i'm on break now and pretending that i dno't have to go back in a week.

sort of spoilers for occupations (kuroo, kenma, yaku) post-timeskip! (but also doesn’t really follow canonical futures… sort of a mess, to be honest.) my attempt at reconciling what i’d hoped for him and what he becomes.  title taken from a noah kahan song of the same name that has next to nothing to do with the actual fic.

cw: mention of throwing up (doesn’t actually happen, though)

___

When Kuroo Tetsurou gets scouted to a professional team in Russia, you’re the last person he tells. Technically, he doesn’t tell you at all – it’s Kenma who does, blinking up at you from behind a curtain of his hair.

“I thought he’d told you already,” he says, voice as apologetic as you’ve ever heard it, which is to say apathetic, as always, but with a dash of sympathy mixed in.

“No,” you say, because there’s nothing else left you can say. “He didn’t.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, shifting his focus back to his game. You take the moment he offers you to exhale, quietly. To resituate yourself around this new hurt in your chest.

“Does everyone else know?” you ask. Kenma lifts one of his shoulders up, a half-shrug.

“Maybe not his mom,” he offers. This is poor consolation, and both of you know it – Kuroo hasn’t talked to his mother beyond stilted platitudes in years, not since she uprooted her life and his sister and half his chest and taken it with her, leaving a husband, a son, and a house with too many rooms.

“So he’s gonna take it, then,” you say. Kuroo is a lot of things – mercurial, bright, a pain in the ass when he puts his mind to it – but everyone knows that first and foremost, he’s a volleyball player. You’d realized it for yourself, back in your first year of university, when one of your friends had dragged you to a match and you’d spotted him, arms outstretched, fingers splayed and braced as if he thought he could hold a sun in his hands. When he’d landed, you’d caught sight of his grin, almost too large for his face.

Ah, you’d thought. So this is what it means to love something.

The next morning, at your eight-thirty introductory economics lecture, you’d shuffled in and put your head down on the desk, drifting closer and closer to sleep every second. 

Then the person behind you had poked you, hard, and you’d let out a half-scream, jolting up in your seat in a way that made every single person in your lecture hall, including your professor, look at you.

The person behind you had started laughing – an ugly laugh, cackling like a hyena, the kind of laugh that made you want to join in, despite your burning embarrassment. You’d swiveled around to face him as the professor resumed his lecturing.

“What is wrong with you,” you’d hissed. It was the boy from yesterday– the middle blocker with the awful hair.

He’d raised his hands up in surrender, although there was still a crooked grin on his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he’d said. “Just was wondering if you had a pencil.”

“You know,” you’d said, fishing one from your bag. “There are easier ways to ask people for a pencil than giving them heart attacks.”

You’d passed the pencil to him, and he’d given you a jaunty little salute with it, one that made your lips curl up despite yourself. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he’d said, and you’d turned back around again, and that was that.

Except the next lecture, you’d arrived at your usual seat to find a disposable cup of coffee there, likely from the little cafe downstairs. You’d turned to the boy behind you, raising your eyebrows.

“As a thank you,” he’d shrugged, leaning back in his chair in a way you’d suspected was meant to be cool and casual. “And also so that you don’t keep falling asleep in lecture.”

“How do you know I’ve been falling asleep in lecture,” you’d said, a little grumpily, pulling the cup towards you and taking a sip nonetheless. It wasn’t your usual order, but it was drinkable, and if you were being honest, you’d need all the caffeine you could get.

He’d watched you take a sip of the drink, a pleased smile playing on his face. “I sit right behind you. I’ve seen you take a nap at your desk every single week.” 

“I’ll have you know that that’s just the posture I learn best in,” you’d sniffed.

“What, drooling?”

“I do not drool,” you’d said, haughty. “And even if I did, how would you even know? You’re such a stalker.”

“Harsh,” he’d whistled, although the smile didn’t leave his face. “I’m just observant.”

You’d rolled your eyes at him, swiveling around to face the front of the room as the professor began his lecture. And if you’d managed – for the first time this entire semester – to make it all the way through without falling asleep, well, that was nobody’s business but your own.

The next week, another cup was waiting for you. 

“You know,” you’d said, “I think you’ve repaid your debt from the pencil in full.”

“Oh, this isn’t about the pencil,” he’d replied. “I didn’t get the right order for you last week, did I? I wanted to try again this time.”

You’d blinked at him. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Kuroo,” he’d said. “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Well, Kuroo Tetsurou,” you’d said, “did you ever think about just asking me for my order?”

“What’s the fun in that?” he’d asked.

The drinks kept coming, every week, without fail, ranging from plain to ridiculously extravagant. He still hadn’t gotten your order, although at some point during the semester, he’d migrated from sitting behind you to sitting right next to you, passing you stupid notes and doodling all over your notebooks.

The last lecture’s drink was wrong, again, although you kept drinking it anyways. “You should come hang out with me and my friends sometime,” he’d said, sudden, and you’d nearly choked.

“What brought this on?”

“I dunno,” he’d said, uncharacteristically shy, looking away from you. “You know when you meet some people and it’s just like, they’re meant to be in my life, so you have to try really hard to not let them go?”

“So making a girl scream during lecture is your idea of an ideal introduction,” you’d said, and he’d rolled his eyes, leaning over to lightly push at your shoulder.

“You know what I mean.”

“I saw one of your volleyball matches,” you’d told him. Suddenly you’d wanted him to know. “At the beginning of the semester. Before we’d met.”

He seemed to understand what you were trying to say.  “What’d you think?” 

“You must really love it,” you’d said. “Playing volleyball.”

“I do.”

“Well, then, Kuroo-kun. I’ll come meet your friends, under one condition.” He’d raised his eyebrows at you, expectantly.

“I get to tell you my coffee order,” you’d said. “Some of these drinks are becoming downright disgusting.”

“You drink them anyway,” he’d replied. “But I suppose that’s a fair trade.”

You’d grinned at him, and he’d grinned back, and it’d all gone from there. 

You’ve known since you started talking to him that Kuroo is a natural at getting people to orbit around him. He draws people near – crooked grin, warm eyes, quick wit – and then holds them there, at arm’s length, never quite letting them get any closer. You’d thought, perhaps, that you could be an exception to this. That he’d seen something in you that was enough for him to want to let you in. To pull you close. The thing is this: in your heart of hearts you are a romantic, and to you Kuroo has always been a little like the sun, like tilting your face towards the golden wash of afternoon and remembering, soft and gentle like falling into something, So this is what it is to love.

“I don’t know,” Kenma says, and you look at him looking at his game. He is, out of anyone, the most likely to understand how you feel: the air knocked out of you, leaving you gasping and breathless . But he has the reassurance of more than a decade of friendship behind him, built on neighboring houses and the squeak of shoes on a gymnasium floor. Some days you feel like what you have with Kuroo is fragile and insubstantial, playing-card houses on a precarious surface. Like if he left he’d take it all with him.

“Of course he’s going to take it,” you say past the lump in your throat. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, but the little sound effects from his game pause. He blinks up at you through his bangs.

“We should throw him a party,” you say. “Or something. To celebrate.”

“If you think that’s a good idea,” he says, noncommittal. 

There is an ache in your chest and you think that once you leave Kenma’s apartment you won’t be able to stop yourself from crying. “Of course it’s a good idea. You know how much Kuroo loves having everyone he loves in one place.”

“That’s exactly the thing,” Kenma murmurs, but you don’t hear him, already pulling out your phone to make a list.

“Invites, decorations, food… Oh! Kenma, do you think Kuroo would like it if we made him saba? Or went out to a restaurant that specializes?”

“Probably,” he says. The game resumes. “He’s always going on about doca-something acid.”

“Docosahexaenoic acid,” you correct absently, scrolling through a list of nearby restaurants. Kuroo’s talked about it enough – and despite your better judgment, you’ve listened to his rants enough times – for you to remember the name in full. 

You miss the look that Kenma gives you, exasperatedly fond.

It turns out that Kuroo knows a lot of people. Even more than you’d thought. There are the guys that he plays with on the volleyball team, of course, but then there’s also his other business major friends and the other undergraduates who work in the same lab that he does in his free time (because of course he’d be the type of person to do that.) Then there’s the neighbors he’d had freshman year and still miraculously keeps in touch with, and the ones from sophomore year. Then Kenma casually mentions that Kuroo still frequently talks to everyone from his volleyball team his third year of high school, and you have to beg him to let you use his phone and ensure that everyone from there will be able to attend.

Then there’s the issue of getting enough food: you know from prior experience that volleyball players can eat, and there’s a part of you that worries that the budget you’ve scraped together from whatever your friends managed to donate won’t be enough for one of them, let alone the stampede you’re about to invite into your apartment. And besides, there’s decorations to think about, and maybe a present for Kuroo, and maybe it would be cute if you could get one of those places that rents out cats to send over a couple – do those places actually exist or was the whole thing just a stress-induced hallucination? Either way, the stress of budgeting is enough to make you understand why Kuroo had succumbed to his base capitalistic tendencies and become a business major. You’ll never be able to make fun of him for it again.

Kenma solves this problem readily enough, extending a credit card towards you with barely any hesitation when you mention it in passing.

“Stop stressing out,” he mutters. “It’ll be okay. Kuro’s not the kind who’d care about things like that.”

You blink at him. He determinedly avoids your eyes. “Kenma,” you say. “You know what I have to do, don’t you.”

He sighs, setting down his game. “If you must.”

You launch yourself at him in a bone-crushing hug, and although you hear him click his tongue at you, you can also feel the way his hands come up to rest on your back, soft and steady. 

“He asked me if I’d seen you around recently,” Kenma mentions when you separate.

“What did you say?”

“Said you seemed busy. He said he hadn’t seen you and was worried he’d done something.”

There isn’t much to say back to that. You busy yourself by picking at one of the threads in your shirtsleeves.

Kenma says your name. 

“I know,” you say. “I know. I just – I don’t know.”

Kuroo has many smiles, you know. There’s the one when he’s trying to get a rise out of someone, lazy and lean. There’s the one when he sees a cute animal or a small child or the old lady you always run into the market, the one that reminds him of his obaa-chan. There’s the one he gets when he sees you, sometimes, and doesn’t realize that you’re seeing him back, small and fond in a way that makes you a little afraid, sometimes. At the enormity of it. At how fragile it seems, some days. At what it could become, if given the chance.

And there’s the one he has when he’s playing volleyball, the one that makes his eyes go all squinty; the one that’s a little too large, just on this side of feral, because he’s so happy that he doesn’t remember to think about things like presentability and not scaring the people around him, both on his side and the other side of the net. The one he has when he hits a kill block, or a no-touch ace. 

You don’t think you could stand to take that from him.

“I’ve just been busy. With the party planning, and all,” you finish, meekly. You know he knows you’re lying. Still, Kenma doesn’t push.

“If you say so,” he hums, turning back to his computer. “It seemed like he missed you, though.”

You hate yourself for the small spark of want that blooms in your chest. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, in another life, could probably be yours. You’ve seen the way his ears turn red sometimes when you press a little too close, thighs close enough to be touching at one of the tables of your favorite izakaya. You know he knows your favorites the same way that he knows his own, know that in his head there’s a file of nothing but his knowledge about you, filled to bursting. You know that there are days, hours, moments where his touch lingers on your wrist, your cheek, the back of your arm – never long enough to presume, just long enough for you to notice.

In this life, you’ve seen the way he plays volleyball clearly enough to know that he loves it. That in terms of paths, this is probably the most natural one for him, as easy as breathing. That the world is so big and he deserves to go out and see it, that he’s growing up and some days you feel in your bones that he’s leaving you behind, in the same way that you’d left behind the yellow rubber rainboots you’d adored as a child, outgrown and overworn.

You busy yourself with party planning, so that at least everyone except Kuroo knows that you have a valid reason for ignoring him. Once the budgeting crisis is averted, things go surprisingly smoothly: money really does make the world go round, you think, in a rare moment of reflection between arguing with the caterer and double-checking that you have enough chairs in your apartment.

It’s good, to keep busy. Drowns out your heartbeat in your ears. He’s leaving, he’s leaving, he’s leaving. He’s leaving and you’re not gonna even ask him to stay.

The day of the party is bright and clear, because the universe loves Kuroo in the same way that you do. Bokuto – one of Kuroo’s teammates, and one of your favorites out of all of Kuroo’s teammates (although you’ve long maintained that it would be difficult for Bokuto not to be anyone’s favorite) – is tasked with distracting Kuroo for the day, then leading him to your apartment. This is a good plan because Bokuto is, himself, easily distractible, and Kuroo is, more often than not, perfectly willing to go along with Bokuto’s distractions. However, this is also a bad plan because Bokuto is, out of everyone you’ve invited, perhaps the second-most likely person to spoil the plans for the party. (The first being Lev Haiba, naturally.) To counterbalance that, you’ve asked Akaashi Keiji, one of your juniors, to go along – he has a natural talent for keeping Bokuto in check, more so than anyone you’ve ever met. But you’d feel bad, leaving Akaashi alone to deal with the two of them like that, so to ensure your plan had the greatest chance of success possible, you convince (read: bribed) Kenma to go along with the three of them. Odds are good that he won’t do much to curb Kuroo and Bokuto, but you’re willing to hope that his presence will keep Kuroo from doing something completely insane.

Back in your apartment, you’re adding the last finishing touches to the streamers hanging in the doorway. Yaku, next to you, squints at the streamers. “They’re a little crooked,” he says.

You bite back your immediate response, which is to tell him that if you had a stepladder tall enough that he could reach you’d gladly go get it for him so he could fix them himself. Instead, you ask, “How is it, over there, Yakkun?”

“In Russia?” he asks, and you nod. He pauses, considering. “It was rough, at first.”

“But you got through it,” you say, voice coming out a little more desperately than you’d like. “You like it there now.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It won’t ever be Japan, but I think I can make it home. And Kuroo’s always been able to land on his feet, wherever it goes. I don’t think you need to worry about him, even if he does decide to take the offer.”

“Of course he’s going to take the offer,” you say. “Why wouldn’t he –”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You take it out to read a text from Akaashi. Heading back, it says. Be there in three.

Hurriedly, you jam your phone back into your pocket. “Okay, everyone, places!” you call, watching with a critical eye as everyone tucks themselves away.

“Lev, that’s not gonna work. Hiding behind the lamp’s not gonna do much.”

“Idiot,” you hear someone – Yaku? – mutter, and you laugh a little despite yourself. Your phone buzzes again. In the elevator, you read, and hastily you dive underneath a table with one of Kuroo’s kouhai from high school – Fukunaga, you think – to hide yourself, just as you hear the sound of a key in a lock. 

“I just don’t understand why she’d ask you to take care of her plants,” Kuroo says as he steps through the door, sounding a little bemused. “I mean, I love you, bro, but I still haven’t forgotten what happened that one time –”

Three, two, one, you mouth silently, holding your fingers out where everyone can see them, then –

“Surprise!” you call out, stepping out of your hiding place. The others all scramble to follow, adding their own voices to the chorus.

It is, to your delight, one of the few times you’ve seen Kuroo properly surprised, enough that he actually staggers back a step, eyes wide. 

“What – how – when – what is this for?” he asks, directing his question to you, standing right in front of him.

“To say congratulations, Kuroo,” you reply. Suddenly your throat is a little dry. “On getting the offer.”

This time his eyes widen with realization – and maybe a little flash of guilt. He covers it quickly, though, and you’re left a little uncertain, like stepping on uneven ground. 

“So you didn’t actually ask Bokuto to take care of your plants,” he says instead, and you laugh. The sound is a little brittle in your ears.

“Of course not,” you say. “I haven’t forgotten that one time when he –”

“Did I mention we have cake?” Bokuto swoops in. “I picked out the flavor myself and everything. You gotta come see it. The lady at the store was so nice, though I don’t think she understand exactly what I was asking her to put on it at first –”

With a wry eye roll to you, Kuroo lets himself be dragged away. The rest of the partygoers take it as their sign to start mingling, and you let yourself fade into the chatter, becoming nothing more than background noise. It fits uncomfortably, now, where before it might have been a little more natural. Kuroo has always been good at creating space intentionally, whether it be for you or anyone else: a sly smirk for your eyes only, a joke directed towards you and you alone. It’s one of the reasons why you think everyone feels like they can fall into his orbit more effortlessly. 

Kenma appears by your side, unobtrusive as usual. “You should talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Whatever you want.”

There is a want in your throat and it chokes you. I want you to stay. I know you should go. I’m terrified that I’ll never see you again, either way – if I made you stay and you resented it, if I let you leave and you loved it. 

“I’m worried that he’s getting bored here,” you say instead. “Like it’s not challenging him enough. Like he wants more.”

There are things that you’re willing to admit you can be slightly paranoid about: like putting too much of your heart on the table, like finding someone who loves all of you but the worst parts. Like loving someone and watching them start to resent you, like wanting to learn how to love in the right way but really only learning how to suffocate. And you know it’s possible that in this could be a combination of all those things, that rationally Kuroo knows better than anyone what’s his to keep and what’s his to give away. But you’ve known him for so long now, and there’s a part of you that likes to think you know him better than almost anyone in the world. It’s that part of you that insists you can see Kuroo Tetsurou getting tired, a little bit. He walks off the court with his head tilted back, eyes closed against the glaring lights on the gymnasium, far above. When he looms over the net, you think of it as less a state of being and more of a conscious action: a weary sigh. Another day at work. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, you think, is learning to want new things. To love new things. And that’s okay – that’s more than okay. There’s just a selfish part of you that wishes you could be there to see him through it. 

Kenma hasn’t said anything, staring at you patiently. You think you might throw up.

“I have to go,” you say, limp, and spin on your heel to slip out the back door. Somewhere behind you, Bokuto’s cheers rise above the din, followed by Kuroo’s cackling laugh. It makes your chest ache a little, but at the very least it provides you with some cover.

Your little apartment building stands at an intersection between two streets. Turn right and you’ll get to the park with the stray cats, the ones who’ve started coming around more frequently now that Kuroo has started showing up (now that Kuroo has started bringing them treats, although he denies it every time you bring it up.) Turn left and walk far enough and there’s a little embankment that slopes down to a river. Sometimes in the mornings joggers will pass through the area, but in the dead of the night like it is now the grassy slope is deserted. You sink down onto it, ignoring the way the cold sinks into your skin.

Part of you wants to cry. Most of you is glad you aren’t: can’t, maybe, or won’t. 

You tell yourself the grand lesson in this is that you have to be better at letting go. That there is a lot that your hands could hold – a lot that your hands could want to hold, given the time. Given the opportunity – but not all of it is meant to be held by you. That there is a whole world out there and tonight it feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

Perhaps the grand lesson is just this: that loss exists. That wanting perseveres.

“Hey,” a voice says from behind you. You know without turning who it is, fingers tightening in the grass.

“Hey,” you say back.

“Can I sit?”

You wave a hand listlessly at the space beside you. “There’s space available.”

He settles in next to you, close enough that your thighs could brush if you were a little more careless, if you hadn’t been holding yourself strung tight and stiff.

“Why aren’t you in there?” you ask finally, when it becomes clear that he has no intention of saying anything, that he’s planning on waiting until you start first. “It’s your party.”

“Why aren’t you in there?” he counters. “You planned it.”

“It was a little loud,” you offer. “Was getting a little sleepy.”

“You weren’t there anymore,” he says. “Kenma said he saw you heading out.”

The words stick in the hollow of your throat, between your collarbones. You can feel them lodged there. “Kuroo,” you say, careful to not let your voice shake, “you can’t say things like that.”

There’s a hand on your knee, long fingers and broad palms spreading over your skin easily. His hand is warm. You direct your gaze down to it. His hand is big enough that it nearly covers your knee.

“Why not?”

“It’s not fair,” you say. “I know you’re not that stupid, Kuroo. You can���t go saying things like that when you’re about to leave.”

He says your name, sharp and soft.

“And of course I’m happy you’re going. I know you’re not happy – not as happy here as you could be. I know it’s an incredible opportunity. I know you deserve it, and you deserve every incredible thing that comes your way. Or at least – I want to be happy for you, Kuroo. I want to be able to give you that much, at least.”

He says your name again. It sounds fond enough that you gain the courage to look up at him. He’s looking right at you. The hand on your knee reaches for your jaw, instead, cradling it tenderly.

“I think I’m gonna stay,” he says. “And I’m sorry for not telling you about the offer earlier. I just – I didn’t want you to think I was leaving. I wasn’t even sure if I was, at first. But then I kept coming back to it – the fact that I didn’t want you to think I was leaving. Not at all, not even a possibility. It made me realize that – well. Russia would be incredible. But I think – I know – I would rather stay.”

The words take a moment to sort themselves out in your brain. Then:

“Kuroo, you can’t,” you choke out. “This is your dream.”

“It was,” he says. “For the longest time, it was. And I thought it was something I had to keep loving. Something that I had to pursue. Like I would be doing a disservice to the me I was when I was little, if I decided I didn’t want to follow the path I’ve wanted since I first started playing volleyball.”

You say nothing. There is a sun rising in your throat. You are afraid to let it go.

“But you know,” he says, thoughtful, “I think there is a difference between loving something and being in love with something.”

“Yeah?” you say. He reaches for your hand, flipping it over from where it rests in the grass so that your palm is facing upward. Slots his fingers through the gaps between your own.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing once, twice, three times. “Like – I love volleyball, you know.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“But I’m in love with it here. With Japan. With the connections I’ve made, with the people who keep me here.”

“I’m glad,” you say, because you are, selfishly so.

“And,” he says, hesitant in a way that you’ve only ever seen once before, back when he was just the boy with the awful laugh and the ugly hair and who kept getting you coffee and getting it wrong, “I’m in love with you.”

And the sun, blooming over the horizon.

[mixelation]

reborn au but it's minato & kushina trying to have friends in their 30s

so i do like the headcanon that mikoto and kushina are close friends. we know they were canonically at least FRIENDLY and so in reborn AU kushina went to mikoto a bunch with baby questions after naruto's birth and they went from "friendly" to "close friends." their sons are the same age, so there's a ton of playdates.

i feel like the natural outcome would be "couple friends" but. but but but. i can't see fugaku getting on very well with kushina OR minato? like there's no active dislike. there's just no.... platonic chemistry.......

they do hang out as couple/families sometimes, but what effectively keeps happening is kushina will run off with mikoto and then minato and fugaku just have THE most stilted and awkward conversations. minato doesn't mind him around in group conversations but the moment it's one-on-one and it's not, like, a professional conversation about the police force then minato is just going "aaaaaah!!!" internally. fugaku's advice on fatherhood sounds... mediocre? minato didn't have parents, but he's pretty sure it's not that good. they have no shared interests. their most interesting conversation was on AC unit repair.

at some point minato realizes he literally prefers talking to itachi (who is a child and also notoriously bad at cpmversation) and he's like. oh no. oh fuck because fugaku is his only adult friend*

*kakashi and jiraiya are both adults but their student/teacher relationship to him means they don't count. i think minato would count his genin teammates as friends but canon didn't even give us a name for one of them so for reborn au, i'm killing them off.

and also! he can't even make new friends!! because he's hokage and that makes him EVERYONE'S boss!!!!

rasa comes for the chunin exams and minato is like. a little bit desperate for socialization. their sons are the same age! their both kage! oh, you-- assassins, you say? and then kushina loses her mind and then rasa gets unseated. NOT good friendship real estate

B U T i think the ame trio are like the same age and sasori is only like ~5 years younger. prime friendship real estate

ame trio: (invite minato to visit as a power move)

minato: yeah okay i'm here. do you want to share a beer and complain about the cost of fish

[darksigns-exe]

and suddenly, i had a valentine - nicholas ruffilo x laurie (ofc)

warnings: none, pure fluff

word count: 2.2k

note: for @deathblacksmoke who wanted to our boy Nicholas Ryan to be taken out on a cute date <3

set immediately before remember where we started out

dividers: @saradika-graphics

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

The call of his name makes Noah perk up. Laurie calls for him again, and this time his body actually kicks into action. He closes the lids of his and Laurie’s water bottles before taking hers with him. 

“Where?” He calls through the mostly silent house. 

“Bedroom.” The reply comes seconds later. 

He climbs the stairs two at a time, maybe a little too eager. 

Noah finds her in front of the mirror, bending to try and reach the zip of her dress. 

“Oh.” He can’t stop the sound from leaving his lips. 

“Like it?”

He places her bottle on the little dresser next to the door before he steps up behind her. 

It’s a tight little number, soft fabric that clings to her body perfectly. 

“You’re gorgeous. This is— I like it a lot.” He stumbles around the words, as if he hadn’t buried his face between her thighs just hours earlier. 

“I’m taking Nicky out on a little date. Thought I’d dress up a little.”

There’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. It dissipates before it gets to form fully, though. 

“Oh, he’ll love it.”

“You think? It’s not too much?”

Noah shakes his head, “I bet he’s gonna do that thing where he gets all flustered and looks like a fish out of water for a moment. You know what I mean.” 

He mimics the expression perfectly. Wide eyes and stilted breathing included. 

Noah wraps his arms around her middle, so that he can rest his chin on her shoulder. 

“He’s gonna love it. Where are you going?”

“That new place that does the Neapolitan pizza. We can all go together sometime if you want?” Laurie fixes him in the mirror. 

“I’d love that.” He presses a soft little kiss to the side of her jaw, “But tonight is not about me. So you go and treat our boy right. I think he’s starting to run tracks into the carpet. Jerry’s getting annoyed with him pacing around like that.”

“Gotta zip me up first.” She says then, “Can’t reach it.”

Noah does as she asks, one gentle hand placed on her waist while he drags the zip up the length of her side. 

“Thank you, dear.” Laurie says with the softest little smile.

He stays and watches while she puts on her perfume and what he assumes to be lipstick. It’s not as colourful as her usual one is, but it makes her look so very kissable. He’s almost tempted to steal a kiss from her before she goes down to wrap her arm around Nicks. But Noah knows that she’ll scold him for messing up the colour, and so he settles for a chaste kiss against her cheek. 

He stays up on the landing, quietly watching Laurie descend the stairs and calling for Nick. He does exactly what Noah had prophesied a few minutes earlier. Noah forces the bitter sting of jealousy back down his throat as he watches Nick gaze at her so lovingly. Nick gives him the same attention, looks at him with that same soft look on his face, but at that moment Noah wants to worm his way between them so desperately. They deserve the night out, though. Nick’s been working a lot and hasn’t had nearly as much time with her as Noah had. They deserve this. 

The two are out of the door a moment later. Nick calls a Bye Noah over his shoulder as they leave. He waves when Laurie turns back to blow a little kiss his way. 

It’s not like they never go out. 

Even when it’s already been a few years since they became a couple, Nick had always made sure that they went out regularly. Sure, Laurie had initiated date nights too. But something about her asking him out like this – flowers included – had made his heart leap with that feeling of falling in love with her again. She’d come by the shop while he’d been locking up. That itself hadn’t been unusual. Laurie would usually come around when they were both working late so that they could head home together. Especially after they’d moved out of her little apartment. 

That day she’d come with flowers and a pair of jam filled donuts somewhat reflecting one of their first dates. 

To see her now all dressed up, wrapped into a pretty satin dress, fills his head with even more fuzz. Sometimes, he can’t quite believe that he gets to call his woman his girlfriend. He does feel a little bad for Noah, although the younger has made it very clear that he’ll be fine. Nick, above all else, wants both of his loves to be happy. 

Tonight is all about them, though. 

Laurie has been surprisingly secretive about her plans for the evening. He knows that it’s usually so very hard for her to keep secrets from either of them. She’s a horrible liar, and watching her trying to dodge questions about presents is an absolute delight. 

He feels horribly underdressed next to her. Somehow this woman manages to look incredible in everything she wears, but when she gets all dressed up like this she’s entirely out of his league. 

“Take a left here.” 

She still hasn’t told him where they’re going, which is a little impractical when he’s the one driving. 

“Park where you can, we can walk the rest of the way. It’s not far.”

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see when we get there. I can’t drive you there, so I’ll have to be secretive about it.” She says with a little giggle, “Won’t have to wait long.”

Laurie drops her hand to his thigh, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze. 

She holds his hand while they walk to wherever she is taking him. Laurie was right, it’s only a short walk until the red and white striped canopy comes into view. They’d talked about this place before, made plans to go some time, but never really got around to it. 

“You got a table?” he asks, trying to hide the excited edge in his voice. 

Laurie squeezes his hand, “Of course. Thought I’d give some of what you do for me – us – back. Treat you as nice as you always treat me.” 

And she does. Nick feels flustered and on edge with nerves from the moment she holds the door open for him. He’s done it for her so very often, and to suddenly be at the centre of her attention is very new. Laurie’s always been so very sweet and caring with him, but this is new. Her hand presses against the small of his back, mirroring the way he would guide her when they enter a location. And it makes him feel so fuzzy and warm inside. 

They’re seated in a comfy little corner, shielded from most of the commotion. The waiter lights the candles set between them on the table, casting Laurie in gorgeous, warm light. It reflects of her hair, the soft skin of her cheeks. 

Miles out of my league, he thinks. 

Sometimes, he can hardly believe that he gets to call Laurie his – let alone her and Noah. 

Her hand curls around his, manicured nails tracing across his skin just barely. 

“Nicky?” she asks softly, squeezing his hand just so gently.

Nick shakes himself back into focus. 

“What’s on your mind, dear? You look lost in thought.” 

He turns their joined hands over, allowing him to see the little sweetheart tattoo with his initials in the centre of it. They’d been together for a little over a year when it had come up as a joke. A week later, when Laurie had come to pick him up from the studio, he’d shown her sketches he’d made. 

“I think I could fit a second one next to it.” he says idly, not quite looking at her, “There’s space for him there.” 

What he really wants to say is that there’s space for Noah between them, that he fits between them so perfectly. 

“Would be nice. I’d have both of you with me, even when you’re off doing your thing.”

She’s smiling at him when he looks up at her, that gentle little smile that makes his heart race a little. 

Nick feels a little like he did when they had just started going out. He’d taken her out on a date to a little pizza shop. The place had been so small that they’d been seated so close that their knees kept knocking into each other. It feels nice to know that they could afford a little more than that now. That place hadn’t been bad – they still stop by sometimes – but he likes knowing that all of their hard work has paid off. And it’s not as if they’re swimming in it now, but things are going well and this is a well deserved treat. 

Laurie had been adamant that he should let her pay tonight. They’re not very strict about this normally, but he can’t argue with her when she looks at him with that little stern edge. Laurie always says that he takes care of them, but deep down they all know that she is the one who keeps them in order. Laurie’s the one who reminds Nick to drink water, who tells Noah to be a little easier on himself. She’s the one who kisses him so sweetly when she tells him how proud she is of him. 

He tries to give as much of it back as he can, but somehow it always feels more profound when she says it. 

Her attention is entirely on him throughout the evening, and for a brief moment he forgets that Noah is waiting for them at home. 

“Didn’t you say that the other one looked good when we looked at the menu online?” Laurie asks when they discuss what they want to get. 

“Didn’t see how expensive it was.” Nick replies meekly. 

Just because she’s paying doesn’t mean that he wants to empty her pockets entirely. 

“Nicky.”

“This is just as fine. I’m —”

“Do you want the other one?” She reaches out for him again, places her hand atop his so carefully. 

“It does look good.”

“Get it. We got a little bump in our wages and there’s no one I’d rather spend it on.” 

Nick can’t shake this feeling. There’s no denying that Laurie is his person, but so is the boy waiting for them back home. Perhaps they were always meant to be a trio. He can’t imagine himself without either of them, and he hopes that he’ll never have to think about that. 

He stares a little love struck when the waiter wants to hand the check to him, and Laurie tells him very sternly that she asked for the check and that she intends to pay. The wink and smile she shoots his way afterwards sends a shock of warmth through Nick’s body. 

She holds his hand when they walk back to the car, and Nick still has that first date buzz in his belly, even though it’s been years already. 

“They were awfully stuck up.” Laurie comments as they walk, “It’s not that unheard of that the woman pays, right? I mean, come on. I should be able to treat my boyfriend to a good dinner without having to justify it. I don’t know if we should take Noah to that place. If they can’t take me paying for one of you, what’s that waiter going to do if I pay for both of you?”

His heart flutters a little a that. 

“I think Noah’d be fine if we go to that little place we usually go to.” he finally replies, giving a gentle squeeze to her hand that says don’t get too riled up about these idiots. 

“I know.” She says firmly, “But I want to give both of you the treatment you deserve. And I love that little pizza parlour, but I want nothing but the best for my boys.”

The house is quiet when they get home. Nick closes the door behind him as gently as he can, but even then it still gives its horrid squeak. Laurie steadies herself on his shoulder when she moves to take off her shoes. Without the heels, she reaches up to his shoulder. Laurie reaches up, placing her hand against his cheek. Nick feels himself melt into her touch. He meets her in the middle when she guides him down for a kiss. Nick feels the residue of her lipstick linger on his lips when they part. 

“Bed or –” Laurie trails off.

He’s tempted to drape himself over her on the sofa, but he can see the exhaustion on her face, even if she tries to hide it. 

“Bed sounds good?” he offers instead. 

The relief on her face is evident, “I love you, but I was hoping you’d say that.” 

When Nick cracks open the door to their bedroom, he finds Noah curled up in the middle of their bed. The sight makes him feel all soft and gooey inside. Noah has been slowly warming up to his touch, and he’s found his way between them like this more and more often. 

With the way Noah has positioned himself right in the middle of the bed, they’ll have to fit themselves around him somehow. Nick slots himself behind Noah, wraps an arm around his middle. The young moves in his sleeps, presses himself against Nick’s bare chest. Laurie joins them a moment later. She curls herself against Noah’s front and Nick knows that at some point during the night they’ll untangle their limbs from each other, but right now he feels so very comfortable and safe.

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken

[sanjoongie]

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓟𝓼𝔂𝓬𝓱𝓸~ 𝓢𝓪𝓷'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸collab with @daesukiii. Read her part first here

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Pairing: Choi San x Reader (f)

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Genre: Horror, smut

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Au: non-idol au

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Trope: established relationship, yandere

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Word Count: 1,275

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Rating: 18+, MDNI

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Warnings: ⚠️ yandere behavior ie sweet on the outside but would kill to protect their darling, violence, blood, death (a lot) ⚠️

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Kinks: oral (f), strength kink, wall sex, glove kink, blood kink

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Author's Note: this is dark, this is gritty, this is gorey, please be advised when you read this, it's really not for the faint of heart!!!

(♡´▽`♡)🔪🩸Banner by @daesukiii and divider cut from it

San should be focusing on the feeling of the once-hard skull feeling squishy in his hands but his anger burned too high for textile pleasures. Who did the waiter think he was to be even perceiving his darling? Let alone look down your shirt?! Your breasts, your body, YOU were his and only his. 

“Why?” San said in a growl that lifted his lip in a sneer. “Don’t you have any manners? Or know better? Stupid little rabbits like you think they can nibble clover without watching out for the fox?”

San frowned slightly, sure he made a mess of his outfit. Did he have brain matter on him or was it just blood? Finding pieces of people he killed on him later was like finding food crumbs. Inconvenient at best. 

Slowly, he ground the pulp that was once someone's head into the grating brick wall of the alleyway of the restaurant he had just finished eating at with you. His blood boiled to a loud rumble in his ears as he recalled how uncomfortable you looked discovering the waiter looking down your décolletage.

“Jokes on you, chump!” San giggled, high pitch and definitely off. “I’m the one who’s going for ice cream with her after. I’m the one taking her home and you’re never going home, are you?”

“San?”

Nothing draws his attention faster than your soft voice in his ears; his love, his life, his purpose on this earth. San shoved the body unceremoniously behind a dumpster, cleaning up and preparing for a more pleasant evening moving forward. 

The next few days are stilted yet comfortable at the same time. San studied your movements, which were the same only tainted with a hesitance now that you had seen the side of him that loved you unconditionally. He didn’t understand why you were so afraid now. 

It took him a few evenings to realize that you weren’t afraid of him; you were afraid of this new side of yourself that appreciated what he did for you. 

It started with a test. San was used to your false friendliness with others. You did this to fit in, much like himself. But he watched with his Adam’s apple bobbing, as you flirted with the convenience store clerk. That one found an untimely death on the roof with a plastic bag over his head. A man who bumped into you when you walked in the park one afternoon hand in hand ended up fish food in the pretty pond in said park. 

And every time he took care of the trash that dared bother you, he always made sure to kiss your temple and tell you he would love you forever. 

One particular night, when he was sliding through the shadows along the hallway after killing a man who he had overheard speaking about your ass, he found your soft, perfect form was in a chair in the living room. 

“San?” You called out with confidence that made San curious.

“Babe?” San straightened, automatically adjusting the gloves he ritually adorned before his kills. 

“Don’t clean up just yet,” You demanded.

San tilted his head and smiled, his eyes disappearing in his adoration for you. “Of course, my love, whatever you desire.” He stood with his hands loosely in front of him, one hand on his wrist, awaiting further instructions.

“You didn’t give me a kiss yet. You always do when you get home.” You mentioned, a little too casually.

San, without hesitation, crossed the wooden floor with quick steps, to press his lips to yours. He could practically feel the vibrations of your shudder run through your body and into his lips. What did that shudder mean? San’s hands, still gloved, whispered over your robe and automatically stroked your spine. You practically melted against his jacket, as you usually did when he attacked your most vulnerable spot. 

“Only my hands can touch you,” San murmured into your hair. Your scent enveloped him and he couldn't help but inhale deeply. 

“San, do you truly love me that much?” The question comes from a different line of thought and he was pretty sure he knew what you were thinking. You are his darling, of course, he knows everything about you.

San pushed you back by grabbing both your upper arms and then moved his hands to cup your face instead. His thumbs stroked your cheeks, eyes almost teary-eyed in his insanity. He could never dwell on just how much he loved you otherwise he’d go over a cliff he could never come back from. You needed him so he could never entertain it, even though he was sure he would have some fun along the way. 

There is blood on your robe, smeared along your face, and San thought perhaps you’ve never looked more beautiful than covered in the blood of the man who dared touch your privileged body. “If I can’t protect you, then what is my purpose?”

San watched as you fought with your logic and your beast. You knew what the wet substance was against your face and you knew what was on San. But when your tongue sneaked out subconsciously to catch the drop along the corner of your lip, San thought that he loved you even more than before. You were his to protect, his to twist, his to love forever. 

“I love you,” You whispered and San’s heart dipped and soared. 

San smiled through the tears that did actually fall down his cheeks. You, his beloved, his love, loved him. He knew you did, of course he did, but it never failed to knock him senseless when you said it. San peppered your face with kisses, sniffling and laughing, until he kissed your lips and you moaned into his mouth.

It wasn’t long before he pulled the knot to your robe to discover you had nothing underneath. With one gloved hand on the small of your back and the other cupping the back of your head, San had your back against the wall between the windows, making out with you and grinding his slacks against your bare cunt. San was fully clothed and you had your robe falling into the crook of your elbows, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

You whined against his mouth until he broke the kiss. “San, make love to me,” You pleaded.

San shook his head. “No, let me pray to you.”

San, with the help of you balancing back onto the wall, slid down your body so that your legs were over his shoulder as he braced his hands against the wallpaper. He had only the use of his mouth but it did not hinder his lips and teeth nipping and pulling at your lower lips. 

Your hands dived into his hair, holding him against you, encouraging him to make love with his lips against yours. His tongue worked against you sloppily. At first, he was more in the mind set to sweep up as much of your wetness along his taste buds than give you pleasure. His muffled groan at the taste of you made you cry out in pleasure. 

San brought you to completion as your thighs shook and he slurped up all the creamy goodness that came from your cunt. You breathed heavily above him and he let you slide down with him until both your asses were on the floor. 

San leaned over, unhinged and unleashed, and licked your cheek, where the blood had been smeared against your face. “I love you, forever.”

You giggled, an edge to yours that San recognized, having balanced on the same knife’s edge of sanity. You were so perfectly his. “I love you too, Sannie.”