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foreveia · 3 months ago

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palentine’s day ⤨ kuroo tetsuro

⨭ genre; fluff, childhood best friends!trope, valentine’s day special!

⨭ pairing; kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 18.5k

⨭ description; kuroo suggests a ��palentine’s day” when you both admit to being adults with no sense of a love life on valentine’s. that being said, obviously he becomes yours.

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, suggestive dialogue

⨭ a/n; guys i made this over the course of like one day. it's literally NOT proofread at all (i am not sober rn and will do so tomorrow morning) so if ur early, deal with it. jk thank u so much for reading my bullshit on ur valentine's if ur reading this also check out 'in full bloom' aka pt 1 of my valentines gift to tumblr

edit; gave up on proofreading so if u find any mistakes. well

song i listened to writing this: 'pretty in pink' by lostboycrow

one.

JFK stands for ‘John F. Kennedy’ International Airport, but as you wait in the masses outside the pick-up zone, you can’t help thinking that it should really stand for ‘Just Fucking Kill’ yourself.

You tend to avoid the airport as much as humanly possible since TSA agents are evil and you always get lost, but today, you’re forced to be here: Kuroo’s flight lands in ten minutes, and he whined so much about the cost of an Uber to your apartment that you finally gave in and agreed to pick him up yourself.

Predictably, you’re already regretting it.

The arrivals area is a literal zoo: people standing way too close, aggressively waving handmade signs that say things like Welcome home, Papa! and Jorge & Melissa 4Ever!, and a seemingly endless stream of passengers getting on and off flights. A man in a suit shoves past you, nearly smacking you in the face with the obscenely large bouquet of roses he’s carrying, and an elderly woman parks herself directly in front of you with a luggage cart, as if she has no idea that you exist. Meanwhile, Kuroo is nowhere in sight.

Leaning back against a pillar, you sigh and clutch your coat tighter around yourself, because despite being a major international airport, JFK still hasn’t figured out how to keep the cold air from blasting in through the automatic doors. The little icon next to Kuroo’s flight says baggage claim, which means you probably have another fifteen minutes before he actually appears—maybe more, if he’s being slow (which he always is).

You pull up your messages.

(3:27 PM) y/n: hurry up tetsu: awh, miss me? 😘 y/n: keep it up and i’m leaving without u

Shoving your hands back into your coat pockets does little to restore warmth, and the irritation building in your chest isn’t helping. You should’ve just let him suffer through the Uber surge pricing. He deserves it: you’re already letting him crash at your place for the week, rent-free.

Your phone buzzes again.

(3:32 PM) tetsu: omw. don’t leave me 🥺 tetsu: remember when u were a baby and followed me everywhere?

You scoff, choosing not to dignify that text with a response.

What a bitch. It’s been years since you last saw him, ever since you moved to NYC for your PhD and he stayed in Japan to work for the JVA, but some things never change: he’s still the same guy who kept you humble your whole childhood, who was your older brother’s—and by extension, yours—sole and only friend, who was the coolest person you knew as a kid because he was in second grade and you were still a kindergartener. You grew out of it by the time you both hit middle school (though he, unfortunately, never grew out of reminding you).

And now he’s here, in your city for a full two weeks as he promotes some upcoming tournament. You guys call semi-regularly, but it really is different when he’s here in real life and in person, because you can no longer just hang up when he starts to get annoying.

That’s when a pair of arms suddenly loop around your waist.

A startled jolt runs through you, heart seizing in your chest before the familiar scent of his overpriced department store cologne registers. Funny how smells bring back memories; he’s been using the same Armani Acqua Di Gio bottle since your undergrad years (you’re both shocked and impressed that he hasn’t finished it yet). His arms squeeze lightly, then drop away.

“Hi, babyface,” he coos, smirking.

Spinning around, you glare at him for still clinging to that dumbass childhood nickname—he overheard your parents call you that literally once, and has insisted on it ever since. He’s probably the sole person left in the world who refers to you that way, but whatever—you’ll tolerate it for two weeks.

Kuroo stands there, dragging a comically oversized suitcase behind him. Honestly, he doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him, three years ago when he and Kenma sent you off at Haneda Airport. He’s still got the same stupidly tall frame, same messy bedhead that somehow makes him look effortlessly cool instead of disheveled and gross, like it should.

But he’s older now. More… grown up. His face is leaner, more refined, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners when he smirks, as smug as always. It’s not that he’s annoyingly attractive, you tell yourself: his confidence is just so in-your-face, it’s impossible not to notice.

“Took you long enough,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He holds up a paper cup from some overpriced coffee joint inside the airport. “In my defense, I needed this. Been up since three in the morning.”

“Oh, poor you.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s just go. I’m sick of this crowd.”

“You Kozumes are all the same,” he grins, but when you turn to lead the way, he swings an arm around your shoulders with easy familiarity, guiding you through the herd of people clamoring for their reunions. The crush of bodies is suffocating—someone smacks into your elbow with a backpack, and you shoot them a dirty look. Kuroo just laughs and steers you closer to him, like he’s shielding you from a crowd of middle schoolers who haven’t learned personal space.

“Where’re you parked?” he asks, glancing around. The overhead speakers crackle as an announcement for a flight to Chicago booms through the terminal.

“Garage 4,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “It’s, like, a mile from here, so get ready to hike.”

“Sounds like fun,” he drawls. “Can’t wait.”

A scoff slips out, but the tug at the corner of your mouth betrays you—there’s something about him that makes you nostalgic for days when running around after him and your brother was your favorite activity. You guess old habits die hard; he still reaches back when you fall behind, still makes sure you’re not lost in the crowd.

When you finally reach the elevator, the two of you squeeze in with half a dozen other travelers plus an extremely disgruntled-looking airport employee. Kuroo tries to maneuver his luggage behind him without bumping everyone’s ankles, which, of course, is a losing battle.

“Sorry,” you mutter to the group while jabbing the button for the garage level.

The elevator lurches upward. From the corner of your eye, you catch Kuroo’s sideways grin.

“What’re you staring at?” you ask after a moment, realizing his gaze is fixed on you.

His lips twitch. “You. I haven’t seen you in forever, remember? Trying to see what’s changed.”

You resist the urge to smack him because this space is way too cramped for violence. “What’s changed is that I have zero tolerance for your bullshit now.”

He lets out a loud laugh, drawing a few curious glances from the other passengers that should make him feel more embarrassed than it does. “Sure, you do,” he murmurs, leaning in. “That’s why you came to pick me up, right?”

“I should’ve let you take the subway. You’re lucky I’m so kind and benevolent.”

Unfazed, he grins. “I’m very lucky,” he agrees, voice dropping an octave that sends a weird heat through your cheeks.

Thankfully, the elevator dings and the doors slide open, saving you from having to come up with a retort.

Stepping into the parking garage, the cold air slams into you instantly—JFK has no business being this miserable in February. Tucking your chin deeper into your coat, you exhale sharply and brace yourself against the wind.

Kuroo whistles low under his breath, dragging his suitcase along the pavement with a clatter. “Damn. This city really doesn’t give a shit about warmth, huh?”

“Welcome to New York,” you deadpan. “Now shut up and walk faster before I lose feeling in my fingers.”

He chuckles, shoving one hand into his coat pocket while gripping his suitcase handle with the other. You can hear the low hum of an airplane overhead, the distant honking of taxis below, the way his footsteps fall in sync with yours. It’s strange—how easily he slots back in, like no time has passed at all.

Your car is parked at the far end of the lot, tucked between an SUV and a sedan that’s way too close to the line. “There,” you say, pointing.

Kuroo groans. “You weren’t kidding about the hike.”

You ignore him, fishing your keys from your pocket as you approach the driver’s side. “Just get in, princess. Your chariot awaits.”

He snorts but doesn’t argue, tossing his suitcase into the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. The moment you settle in behind the wheel, you blast the heater, letting the warmth seep back into your body. Kuroo exhales in exaggerated pleasure.

“Ah, yes,” he sighs, holding his hands up to the vents. “This is the hospitality I deserve.”

You shoot him a look as you adjust the side mirrors. “Buckle your seatbelt. I wanna go.”

“So eager to get me home already? At least buy me dinner first.”

“Get out.”

Kuroo smirks, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Not a chance—you’re stuck with me now, babyface.”

And you just sigh and kick your car into gear, promptly backing up and heading out of the maze of a parking lot, because even if you were to argue, it would be a lie. You’ve been stuck with him for almost two decades, and whether for better or for worse (definitely for worse), you don’t see that changing anytime soon.

two.

Your apartment building’s leasing office has plastered pink and red hearts on just about every open space in the hallway, so it’s safe to say that you’re slightly annoyed as you lug Kuroo’s freakishly huge suitcase to the door of your flat. The wheels squeak in protest, and you’re 99% sure you hear something clanking around inside—like maybe he’s sneaking free weights in there, or some equally ridiculous item you’re going to have to store somewhere in your already-cramped closet.

“Seriously,” you grumble, pausing to readjust your grip, “what did you pack? An entire gym? A small car? Did you kidnap Bokuto or something?”

Kuroo, trailing behind you with his coffee cup that’s somehow still not finished yet, lets out an overdramatic groan. “Oh, come on. I need my suits, my shoes, and, of course, my extremely heavy hair-care products. Gotta keep this—” he gestures at the bedhead that somehow counts as a hairstyle for him “—looking flawless for the cameras.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

“It’s okay,” Kuroo replies, stepping around a giant pink heart taped to the floor. “You love me anyway.”

You roll your eyes, key in hand as you finally reach your door. Jamming the key into the lock and wriggling it furiously, you mutter, “I can’t believe I’m letting you stay with me. Your fancy JVA job couldn’t get you a hotel?”

“They could, but the Marriott doesn’t have you,” he says proudly as you drag the suitcase over the threshold and inside your apartment, propping the door open with your hip. “I’d rather stay with my darling friend in her little one-bedroom place on the Upper East Side.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes again—half because you’re exhausted, half because your heart is doing that annoying stutter-step in your chest, and you really don’t want to analyze why. Instead, you drop your keys on the small side table by the door and flick on the overhead light.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, and the words come out more begrudging than you intend. Despite this, he kicks off his shoes very casually, setting his half-empty coffee on your kitchen counter and taking a quick scan of the place. Inside, your apartment is as cozy as ever—small, but comfortable, and the warmth from your radiator is a welcome contrast to the drafty hallway. You drop the suitcase in the living area, exhaling with relief.

He smirks, reaching out to flick one of the pink paper hearts taped to your kitchen cabinet. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of love.”

“The leasing office gets way too into seasonal themes. They gave us all these cut-out hearts to tape up, like we’re in grade school,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I figured it was better to play along than have them slip passive-aggressive notes under my door.”

“Ah, yes, the joys of city living,” he intones. He peels one heart off the cabinet and sticks it onto his own chest like a ridiculous badge. How appropriate.

“The bathroom’s down the hall to the right. Towels are in the cabinet.” You pause momentarily, considering. “Do you think you can fit on the couch?”

Kuroo regards the couch in question—lumpy cushions, old springs, barely big enough for someone your size—then flicks his eyes to you, expression dry as if to say obviously not. In truth, you aren’t totally surprised. He’s always been freakishly tall, and the piece of furniture doubling as your “guest bed” is basically a glorified loveseat.

“Uh,” you say, slightly distracted as you take in the way his broad shoulders fill your kitchen, “maybe if you sleep diagonally, you could?”

He gives you a slow, sarcastic clap. “Wow, babyface. Thank you for that helpful geometry lesson.”

Your cheeks warm, partly in annoyance and partly because something about him looking so large in your space sets your nerves on edge. “Well, then I don’t know what to tell you,” you mumble. “Unless you wanna sleep standing up against the wall.”

Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly comfortable, either.”

You throw up your hands. “Then what do you expect me to do? I only have a full-sized bed in my room, and that’s barely big enough for—” You stop yourself, but it’s too late. You can practically see the grin forming on his lips.

“Oh?” He shifts his weight, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “I don’t mind sharing. We used to all the time.”

You open your mouth to retort, but no sound comes out. You can’t deny that a part of you has already considered this possibility. Sure, you’ve known him forever, but the last time you shared a bed, Kenma was also there, and you were eleven-years-old having a sleepover because you were all way too invested in Monsters, Inc.—very different from sharing a bed with him now.

“Tetsu,” you start, forcing yourself to sound composed, “my bed is also a tight squeeze. There’s no guarantee we’ll both fit comfortably.”

Kuroo shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not picky. I can do my best to take up minimal space.”

You snort. “You? Minimizing anything? Please.”

He laughs, and the rich sound echoes in your small living area. “I’m not that tall.”

“Pretty close,” you counter. “But fine.” You exhale, feeling the weight of two weeks’ worth of future awkwardness settle on your shoulders. “If you promise not to kick me in your sleep, you can share the bed.”

He smiles with infuriating smugness, like he’s won some big debate or secured a massive deal. “Noted. No kicking, no thrashing. I can be a good boy when I need to.”

At that, you turn away and take a sip of your water, because if you let yourself stare at him any longer, you’ll start overthinking everything (you already are). Like how you’re going to handle waking up next to him. Or how it’ll feel if one of you accidentally rolls over onto the other in the middle of the night.

“Go shower. You reek,” you say instead, tersely and very much avoiding eye contact.

Kuroo salutes you with two fingers. “Yes, ma’am.” He starts unzipping his massive suitcase, rummaging around for clothes. When he locates what looks like sleepwear, he straightens and tosses them over one arm. “I’ll be quick. Don’t fall asleep before I get back.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, heart still fluttering at the reality of what you’ve just agreed to.

You’re about to share a bed with your old friend—your insufferable old friend, who shows up with enough luggage to stock a small department store, calls you babyface, and then makes your heartbeat skip whenever he so much as looks at you a certain way.

So in other words, you think you’re probably fucked.

three.

He emerges from the bathroom a little while later, hair damp, wearing a rumpled t-shirt and basketball shorts that show off way too much of his long legs. You pretend you don’t notice. In the meantime, you’ve perched on the edge of your bed—both of your bed, you remind yourself, trying not to linger on that detail—flipping through your phone for the best takeout options.

“You hungry?” you ask, keeping your voice casual. “I’m too tired to cook.”

Kuroo sets his towel on the back of a chair and rubs at his damp hair a final time. “Absolutely. I owe you for picking me up anyway. Let me buy dinner.”

“Deal,” you say, pulling up a nearby Mexican joint’s online menu—you can almost taste the cilantro and lime already. “I vote burritos. Guac and chips on the side. Whaddya think?”

He moves to sit beside you on the mattress, leaning in to read the menu on your phone. Your shoulders nearly brush, and you feel a flicker of awareness at the close proximity.

“Let’s do it,” he says. “I’m a sucker for a good burrito. Extra beans, though, or it’s not worth it.”

You snort, tapping in your order. “Fine. But don’t complain if you regret it later.”

He laughs proudly. “I have no regrets. Order some chips and salsa, too.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you finalize your selections on the app. “Fried plantains or no? They have them here.”

“Absolutely. Throw ‘em in.”

Satisfied, you place the order. “Alright, burritos en route. They said it’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes.”

Kuroo drops onto his back for a moment, groaning dramatically into one of your pillows. “I might not last that long.”

“Quit being dramatic or I’ll eat your half when it arrives.”

He pops back up, smirking. “You’d miss me if I starved to death.”

“Sure,” you say dryly, setting your phone aside and hugging your knees to your chest, getting comfortable. “Anyway, what’s been up with you lately? Aside from the glorious JVA life. You haven’t actually told me much.”

Kuroo shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, humming nonchalantly. “Mostly traveling, setting up events. Lately it’s been a lot of PR for an upcoming international tournament—making sponsor deals, meeting with potential partners, that sort of thing. It’s never-ending.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you say, and mean it. “But you seem to thrive on that chaos.”

He smiles. “I like keeping busy, yeah. What about you? Kenma mentioned something about you publishing an article in a big journal.”

A self-conscious warmth settles in your chest. “It’s not that big,” you insist. “Just a decent academic journal. But yeah, I’m pretty proud. Trying to balance that with my research duties and teaching labs at university is… a lot.”

He bumps your shoulder gently with his own. “Still, that’s impressive. Your parents must be bragging left and right.”

You exhale, a small smile tugging at your lips. “They are. Kenma, too, apparently.”

“He’s proud,” Kuroo confirms, then yawns. “Man, I’m wiped. But I gotta stay conscious long enough to demolish this burrito.”

As if on cue, there’s a buzz from your phone. You glance down to see a delivery notification: Your order is arriving soon.

“Perfect,” you murmur. “I’ll grab it in a minute. Might as well eat in here—it’s more comfortable than the couch.”

He grins, reaching to grab his wallet from his bag and handing you a few twenty-dollar bills. “I’m not opposed to an in-bed picnic.”

A few minutes later, you’re answering the knock at your door. Your hallway briefly fills with the mouthwatering scent of fresh tortillas and spices; you’re only realising now that this is practically the only thing you’ve had all day. Once you pay the delivery person, you lug the paper bag back to the bedroom. Kuroo shifts to sit cross-legged, making space for the containers between you.

“Dig in,” he says, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You unwrap your burrito, steam curling upward, and suddenly you’re reminded of all those nights you spent eating junk food with him and Kenma back in Tokyo—late-night convenience store runs, microwaved meals shared on the couch while you watched random movies. It feels oddly nostalgic; you almost want to put on Shrek 2 (the best one) just for the sake of it.

“Mm,” you manage around a mouthful of seasoned rice and beans. “That’s gas.”

Kuroo tears into his own burrito, letting out a satisfied hum. “New York burritos aren’t half bad. Who knew?”

You smirk. “They’re still not exactly authentic, but they’re decent. We have some good Mexican places nearby—if you stick around long enough, I’ll take you to this hole-in-the-wall joint in Queens that’s even better.”

He perks up. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.” Then he gestures at one of the pink hearts still taped to your wall. “Speaking of good times, we got Valentine’s Day coming up, right?”

You pause, taking a sip of your soda to stall, humming. “Yeah, next week. Not exactly my favorite holiday.”

“You doing anything?” he asks, fishing out a chip to scoop some guacamole.

You shrug, eyes fixed on your burrito. “No. I’m, uh… single. So it’ll just be another Tuesday for me. Maybe a glass of wine and some Netflix.”

He nods slowly, as if absorbing that information. “Right. Me too, actually. Single, I mean.”

You hazard a glance at him. “Really? I figured you’d have someone lined up,” you tease, trying to keep your tone light. “You’re always bragging about how charming you are.”

He snorts, looking faintly amused. “No takers at the moment, guess I gotta step up my game.” Then he sets his burrito down, brushing stray bits of rice from his fingers. “Honestly, though, I’m not looking to date just anybody. I’m picky.”

The confession sends a flicker of warmth through you. Don’t read into it, you warn yourself. “Well, guess that means we’ll both be alone on V-Day.”

Kuroo’s face brightens with an idea. “Doesn’t have to be alone-alone. We should hang out! Watch a movie, go ice-skating, corny shit like that. We’re in New York City, after all.”

Your stomach does a little flip, and you hope he can’t see the sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. “You want to hang out with me on Valentine’s Day?”

He shrugs, looking casual, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “Why not? Better than moping around separately. We can do the whole anti-Valentine’s vibe. Or, y’know, a Palentine’s Day.”

“Palentine’s Day,” you echo, rolling the phrase around. Part of you wants to jump at the chance, but you’re also cautious—because this is Kuroo. Kuroo, who’s seen you when you were still climbing into Kenma’s bed every time you had a nightmare. Kuroo, who carried you home on his back when you twisted your ankle playing tag at the park. Kuroo, who knows about every embarrassing photo of you in your entire house and is featured in practically half of them.

Kuroo, who was your first childhood crush, who took you to your senior year formal, who still makes your heart stutter like no one else.

Jesus fuck.

“Sure,” you say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “That could be fun. As long as you’re not too busy with your JVA stuff.”

He offers a crooked grin, the one that always makes your pulse pick up. “I’ll make time. Promise.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of wrappers crinkling and the hum of traffic outside. You focus on your burrito, but every so often, you peek at him from the corner of your eye—how his long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, how he smirks just before taking another bite.

When you finally polish off the last of your dinner, you exhale in satisfaction, leaning back against the headboard. Kuroo does the same, patting his stomach. “That really hit the spot,” he says. “Might have to get seconds tomorrow.”

“We can’t keep eating like this,” you tease, crumpling up your napkin. “We’ll both end up broke, living off takeout.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Worse ways to go, babyface.”

You give him a mock glare, but you can’t hide your faint grin. Babyface. Somehow, it doesn’t annoy you the way it used to. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, you think, or maybe you’re just too used to it by now.

“Anyway,” he adds, glancing at the clock on his phone, “you ready to crash? ‘Cause I’m about to pass out any second.”

A twinge of nervous excitement flutters in your chest. You’d momentarily forgotten the whole bed situation. You clear your throat, stacking up the empty takeout containers so you can toss them. “Yeah, I guess so. Let’s clean this up, then… bed.”

He nods, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on tidying up. Two weeks, you remind yourself. He’ll only be here for two weeks, and then things go back to normal—whatever normal means when it comes to the two of you.

But for now, as you glance up to see him smiling at you—fond, amused, and something else you can’t quite name—you have the strangest feeling that nothing about this trip will be normal. And you’re not sure if that terrifies you or thrills you.

Considering it’s Kuroo, the answer is probably both.

four.

As it turns out, Kuroo lied about being a supposed ‘good boy’, because he grabs just about everything in his sleep, including your comforter, your pillow, and you.

The first thing you notice upon waking is that your arm is asleep—completely, pins-and-needles numb. The second thing you notice is that it’s probably because Kuroo is draped all over you like an overgrown cat: one arm slung across your waist, a leg hooking over yours, and his face half-buried in the pillow you share.

It’s still early. The faint gray glow of dawn filters through your curtains, and the radiator in the corner hisses quietly, pushing lukewarm air into the room. You try to move—gently, so you don’t jostle him too much—but his grip tightens reflexively, pulling you closer.

Your pulse hammers a little faster. Not exactly the start to the morning you pictured when you offered to share a bed. Hesitantly, you lay there, blinking sleep from your eyes as you let the situation sink in. On one hand, he’s so much warmer than the drafty air swirling around you. On the other… well, this is Kuroo.

He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. You can’t help noticing how his dark hair flops forward onto his forehead, or how his breathing sounds steady, almost comforting against your ear. A little flutter stirs in your chest, and you decide it’s definitely the awkwardness. Or maybe hunger. Definitely not anything else.

You inch your free arm over to nudge him carefully in the side. “Hey,” you whisper, cringing at how scratchy your morning voice sounds, “mind letting me breathe?”

He stirs again, blinking blearily. When he opens his eyes, for a split second, he looks adorably confused—like he’s forgotten where he is. Then the realization dawns, and a slow, smug grin spreads across his face.

“Mornin’,” he drawls, voice husky from sleep. And he still doesn’t move his arm.

You clear your throat, refusing to let your face heat up too obviously. “Care to explain why you’re suffocating me?”

“Am I?” he says, sounding wholly unrepentant. “Sorry, babyface. Didn’t realize you were so delicate.”

Rolling your eyes, you lift your numb arm and give him another nudge. “At least release my limbs so I can feel them again.”

He finally relents, scooting back a few inches but still remaining obnoxiously close, the mattress dipping under his weight. You sit up, wincing at the twinge in your shoulder, and rub at the pins-and-needles sensation. Meanwhile, Kuroo stretches luxuriously, arms overhead, shirt riding up just a fraction.

“Not a bad night’s sleep,” he remarks, yawning. “This bed’s cozier than it looks.”

“No thanks to you,” you grumble, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Despite your best efforts to stay composed, you can’t quite suppress a tiny shiver at the morning chill. “Next time, keep your limbs to yourself.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you make a great pillow,” he counters, smirking.

Before you can toss a pillow at him in retaliation, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach over, scanning the screen: a news alert and an email from your department. With a sigh, you set it aside for now.

You flick your gaze back to him, noticing how the sunlight is slowly brightening the angles of his face. “What’s your schedule like today?” you ask, if only to give yourself something normal to focus on.

He scrubs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair—somehow, it still looks frustratingly cool—and shrugs. “Meeting at noon with the local organizers. Press conference in the late afternoon. After that, I’m free.”

“Alright,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed. “I have a lab to teach at eleven, so I’ll be gone most of the morning and early afternoon. I’ll give you a spare key in case you need to step out while I’m gone—just don’t get lost.”

“Aw, you’re giving me a key to your place?” His grin turns positively wolfish. “This relationship is moving so fast.”

You scowl, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “Shut up,” you say, grabbing a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and tugging it on. “I’ll make coffee, then we can figure out breakfast.”

Behind you, you hear the creak of the bed as Kuroo stands. “Coffee sounds great,” he says, padding after you. “But only if you have the good stuff. None of that cheap instant brand.”

He catches up to you in the hallway, and for a moment, you’re hyper aware of how tall he is, how his eyes are still a bit sleepy, how your bedhead probably resembles a hedgehog. Yet, there’s a comforting ease in the way he fits into your space—like he’s been here a hundred times before, even though it’s been years since you last lived in the same city.

You toss him a lazy glare over your shoulder. “You’re lucky I still have some leftover beans from when Kenma visited. Otherwise, you’d be stuck with the dreaded instant.”

Kuroo feigns a dramatic shudder, but his grin stays easy. As you flick on the kitchen lights, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. It strikes you again how right he looks here, in your cramped little kitchen, sporting wrinkled sleep clothes and bed hair you’d tease him about if he didn’t look so… comfortable.

“By the way,” he says, voice lower, still thick with morning grogginess. “Thanks for letting me crash here. And, y’know… for not kicking me out of bed for being grabby.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you say, ignoring the warmth creeping into your cheeks as you fill the kettle with water. “Tonight, you stick to your side, got it?”

“Scout’s honor.” He raises three fingers in a mock salute, the picture of insincerity.

You roll your eyes and turn on the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He shuffles a little closer, peering at the kettle. He’s definitely invading your personal space again, but maybe you’re starting to get used to it, if the jump in your heartbeat is anything to go by.

It’s a strange, domestic moment: you, still half-asleep, and Kuroo, leaning in with his arms caging you in, braced on the kitchen counter, with the faint hum of traffic outside. Despite the tingle in your arm and the slight ache in your stiff neck, you realize you don’t hate the idea of waking up like this. For once, you’re not quite as alone in the big city, you justify to yourself.

He meets your gaze, one brow raised. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, dropping your eyes to the kettle. “Just that the coffee needs to hurry up or I’m gonna be late.”

He chuckles, the soft rumble filling the space. “Sure, sure.”

But he doesn’t push, just stays close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. And for now—just this once—you decide to let it be.

five.

Kuroo looks unfairly good in a suit.

You realise this while you’re curled up on your couch, half-watching the new season of Single’s Inferno on your TV and half-dozing off with a bowl of stale popcorn balanced on your lap. The door swings open without so much as a warning knock—typical—and then there he is, in all his post-press-conference glory: crisp blazer, tailored trousers, tie loosened just enough to give off a casual but effortlessly hot vibe.

Your stomach does a funny little flip. It’s probably the stale popcorn.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door behind him with a nudge of his shoulder. “You look cozy.”

“I am cozy,” you huff, wriggling deeper into your throw blanket. You drop a piece of popcorn into your mouth and make a face when it crunches unpleasantly. “You look… fancy.”

He glances down at his outfit, as if he’s just remembered it exists. “Right. Forgot I was still wearing this.” A small smirk crosses his face. “Didn’t want to keep the fans waiting, so I came straight from the conference.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure your admirers really appreciated that.”

“Jealous?” he teases, toeing off his polished dress shoes. His shirt collar gapes slightly as he unbuttons the top, revealing a sliver of skin at his throat. Annoyingly distracting, even after all these years.

You pointedly look back at the TV, where two contestants are locked in a tense conversation about who picked whom for a date. “Not even remotely.”

“Ouch,” he says, sounding mock-offended. “And here I was, about to tell you that I saved you some fancy hors d’oeuvres from the event. But if you’re not interested—”

You sit up immediately, dislodging your popcorn bowl. “Wait. Real food?”

Kuroo snickers, pulling a napkin-wrapped bundle from his pocket. He tosses it onto the coffee table with a flourish. “Straight from the VIP section. Mini sliders and some kind of salmon tartare thing.”

You snatch it up without hesitation, peeling back the napkin to inspect the offerings. “See, this is why I tolerate you.”

“Tolerate?” He feigns a dramatic gasp. “Babyface, we’ve been through too much for that kind of slander.”

You grunt, already stuffing a mini slider into your mouth. “I don’t know. If I remember correctly, you used to tie my shoelaces together and push me into Kenma just to watch me trip.”

Kuroo grins, unbothered. “Building character.”

“Being an ass.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he singsongs, shrugging out of his blazer. As he drapes it over the back of the couch and rolls up his sleeves, you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying not to be obvious about it.

Because it’s unfair, really. He’s always been annoyingly attractive, but there’s something different about seeing him like this—sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loose, like he’s caught between polished professionalism and the boy you used to know.

Kuroo flops down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “You know,” he muses, “you’re getting a little too comfortable trash-talking your own husband.”

You freeze mid-chew. “Excuse me?”

His smirk widens. “Our wedding? First grade? Ring any bells?”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters treacherously. “Oh my god, not this again.”

“Oh, yes, this again.” He props his chin on his hand, clearly reveling in your reaction. “It was a beautiful ceremony. You wore that little yellow dress with the flowers on it, I looked dashing in my Spider-Man t-shirt, and Kenma officiated with a Pokémon book instead of a Bible. Very classy.”

You scoff, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. “It was a fake wedding.”

“That’s not what you said at the time,” he counters, smug. “You said we’d be married forever.”

You glare at him, but warmth is creeping into your cheeks. “I was six.”

“And yet,” he hums, leaning back against the couch, “you still haven’t divorced me.”

You want to argue. You really do. But the memory of that afternoon—standing in your backyard, clutching a dandelion bouquet while Kuroo grinned at you with all the unearned confidence of an eight-year-old—unfolds so vividly in your mind that you go momentarily speechless.

It’s stupid how much of that day you remember. How he laced his fingers with yours, grinning like he had just won something. How Kenma droned through a “ceremony” while barely looking up from his Game Boy. How, when it was over, Kuroo had squeezed your hand and whispered, Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?

He’d been right, even if you both did eventually grow up and start dating around. And yet, as you sit here—knees almost touching on your too-small couch, the memory of that dandelion bouquet and his smug, gap-toothed grin dangling in the air—you realize there’s a piece of you that never truly left that backyard.

You swallow the last bit of the mini-slider, hoping it’ll ground you. “So,” you say, feigning a dismissive shrug, “we grew up. We definitely child-broke-up.”

Kuroo’s dark eyes glint with amusement as he shifts his weight, the couch cushions dipping under his long frame. “Mm, I don’t recall signing any annulment papers. Actually, I can’t recall you ever giving me back my ring.” He holds up his left hand to wriggle his empty ring finger. “I guess I should’ve at least invested in a proper Band-Aid ring for you.”

You make a face, ignoring how your heart lurches at the implied you he keeps tossing out, like he’s reminding you this is your story—both of yours. “Band-Aid ring, huh? How romantic. You really know how to woo a girl.”

“You always did love Pokémon bandages. Remember how you insisted on Bulbasaur for every scrape?” There’s an unmistakable fondness in his tone, and you wonder if he’s indulging in the same wave of nostalgia that’s been drowning you since you let him through the door.

Trying not to give yourself away, you tilt your head, pretending to examine him. “I see your memory is as annoyingly perfect as ever.”

He flashes a grin. “I have an eye for important details—like your shoe size, your favorite weird pizza topping combo, and the fact that you still haven’t actually denied liking me.”

You snort, heat creeping up your neck. “In your dreams, Tetsu. Where do you get off assuming things, anyway?”

He spreads his hands, tie swaying lightly at his chest. “Can you blame me? You did let me crash at your place. You drove all the way to JFK in rush-hour traffic just to pick me up. If that’s not love, I’m not sure what is.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again when you realize you’ve got nothing. Yes, you did pick him up. Yes, you did offer him half your bed. And yes, some traitorous part of you is glad he’s here, sprawled out in your living room, reminding you of all the reasons you used to practically worship him when you were a kid.

“You’re insufferable,” you say finally, in a voice so soft it barely carries any bite.

Kuroo chuckles, shifting so he’s angled toward you—elbow braced on the back of the couch, one long leg tucked underneath the other. “Goes both ways, babyface. You’ve always driven me insane.”

The word always lingers in the space between you.

You try to distract yourself by flicking the TV volume higher, but the dating show is a blur. “So how was the press conference?” you ask, setting the empty napkin aside. “Any major breakthroughs? More sponsors falling for your cheesy grin?”

His responding laugh is short, a bit self-conscious. “You know how it is: they ask the same questions—how the tournament’s being organized, who our top competitors are. I say the same rehearsed lines. Then I shake some hands and get out.”

“Bet you loved the attention, though,” you tease, nudging his ankle with your foot.

“Of course,” he deadpans, “you know me too well.”

A quiet pause descends as you both sink further into the cushions. The overhead lamp is dim, casting long shadows on the walls. It feels intimate—too intimate, almost. A far cry from the raucous energy of the press conference he must’ve attended.

“Do you…” You’re not sure why you’re hesitating. Maybe it’s the sudden vulnerability creeping in at the edges of your rib cage. “Do you ever miss being a kid? Everything felt simpler back then.”

His gaze settles on you, something soft reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah. A lot, actually.” He reaches out—hesitates for a second—then pokes the side of your thigh. “But I’m glad some things haven’t changed.”

Your breath catches. “Like what?”

A beat. Then: “Like you still call me out on my bullshit. You’ll still eat half my food if given the chance. You still follow your own weird rules—like never paying for Netflix because you say you can mooch off Kenma forever.” He grins. “And you still look at me the same way. Even if you won’t admit it.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you’re too caught off guard to pry. Look at him the same way—what does that mean, exactly? You’re suddenly hyperaware of how close he is, how he’s studying you in the dim light, how the old tether between you two has always refused to snap, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

“Anyway,” he says, shifting back with a little exhale, “got any more of that stale popcorn? I’m starving.”

You clear your throat, trying not to sound frazzled. “Go for it, but don’t complain when it tastes like cardboard.”

He leans over, snagging the bowl from the couch cushion and taking a bite. “Mmm, delicious cardboard.”

His faux-enthusiasm makes you roll your eyes—again. But there’s a familiar warmth curling in your stomach, almost like relief that this little moment is yours to share. Like you’ve both come home, just for a second, to the world you used to know.

You let the show drone on in the background while the two of you work through the stale popcorn in comfortable silence. Every now and then, one of you drops a sarcastic remark or a joke about the contestants on-screen. But beneath the banter, there’s something else stirring—a question you’re not sure either of you is ready to ask.

For now, you settle for glancing sideways at him, at the way his profile looks against the glow of the TV. You let yourself wonder, just briefly, what it would mean to take that childhood promise seriously again. And though you push the thought away almost as quickly as it comes, there’s no denying the giddy little thrill that runs through you when you realize Kuroo might be thinking the exact same thing.

six.

Three days later, it’s the weekend, and you’re free of labs and classes. So obviously, that’s the night Kuroo manages to wheedle you into going to one of his PR parties—with obviously, a Valentine’s theme because the entity in the sky hates you.

“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” you say in slight disbelief as you wait in the lobby of your apartment for your Lyft. You’re just the slightest bit wine tipsy already and are stumbling a tad bit on your three-inch heels. Kuroo stabilises you with an arm, pulling you into him.

“You’re such a lightweight,” he says, amused.

You scowl at him, nudging your heel against the toe of his polished dress shoe. “Says the guy who made me do a round of shots before we even left.”

Kuroo lifts his free hand in mock surrender, though the grin playing on his lips betrays zero remorse. “Hey, I never forced anything. You’re the one who decided it’d be a good idea to keep up with me.”

“You can probably metabolize alcohol through sheer arrogance alone,” you mutter, leaning into him a bit more when your heel wobbles on the slick tile. The building’s lobby has a floor so shiny you can see your own reflection. You catch sight of how red your cheeks look—definitely from the wine.

He snorts, sliding his arm more securely around your waist. “Arrogance is a powerful superpower.”

Before you can retort, the Lyft driver texts that they’ve arrived, and you and Kuroo shuffle through the lobby’s sliding doors. The crisp February air slaps you in the face, clearing some of the pinot-fueled haze from your head.

“God,” you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk up to the waiting car. “Why does it feel like it’s negative a thousand degrees out here?”

Kuroo hums sympathetically, tugging you close so you can huddle in his warmth. “Isn’t it romantic? Attending a Valentine’s party in frigid weather, half-tipsy, with your beloved husband—”

You jab him in the ribs. “Do. Not. Start.”

“Ow.” He laughs, not sounding at all wounded, and opens the car door for you. “Alright, princess, let’s get you warmed up.”

You slide into the backseat, tucking your purse by your feet. Kuroo follows, closing the door. The car smells faintly of peppermint and some floral air freshener, and the driver has a local pop station on low volume.

“Party tonight, huh?” the driver says, catching a glimpse of your outfits in the rearview mirror. “Happy early Valentine’s Day.”

You force a polite smile. “Yeah, it’s a work thing for… him.” You gesture vaguely at Kuroo, who’s already fiddling with the seatbelt.

Kuroo pipes up, flashing an easy grin. “She’s being modest. She’s the star of the show.”

You give him a side-eye, but your stomach flips a little at how casually he includes you in his world. “I’m definitely just background noise. He’s the big fancy PR guy.”

He drapes an arm across the back of the seat, leaning in with that smug energy you always pretend to hate. “C’mon, babyface, we both know you’re the real highlight.”

The driver chuckles to himself at your banter and pulls out onto the main road.

The city lights blur by, and despite the wine, you’re keyed-up enough to notice just how close Kuroo is. His thigh presses against yours as the car bumps over a pothole, and you catch his scent—still that overpriced cologne. You almost tease him for using the same brand since undergrad, but some part of you likes the familiarity too much to make fun of it.

Kuroo scrolls through his phone—likely checking last-minute details for the event—and you let your gaze wander. You wonder what you’re walking into: a Valentine’s-themed volleyball PR party probably means pink cocktails, goofy heart-shaped decorations, and sponsors angling to chat up Kuroo for new deals.

You sigh softly, leaning back into the seat. At least you’re not teaching labs tomorrow.

Feeling your eyes on him, Kuroo pockets his phone and glances over. “You okay?” he asks, voice quieter so the driver can’t overhear. “Too tipsy?”

“Barely,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods. “If you get overwhelmed or bored, just say the word, and I’ll whisk you out of there.”

Your heart does that unfortunate flip again. “I won’t hold you back from schmoozing with your sponsors,” you say, trying to sound casual.

Kuroo just shrugs. “Eh. The only person I really need to impress is right here.”

He grins when you roll your eyes for the millionth time, but there’s a note of sincerity in his gaze that makes your pulse stutter uncontrollably (and feeling less and less like it’s the wine).

seven.

The Lyft pulls up to a sleek downtown hotel with a bright red banner above the entrance: Welcome, Pre-Valentine’s Volleyball Gala! The curbside is abuzz with people stepping out of taxis and rideshares, all dressed in varying degrees of fancy.

You thank the driver and step out. Immediately, the cold hits you again, but Kuroo’s hand is there, steady at your back. Together, you make your way through the glass doors into the lobby, which is decked out in pink and red balloons. You spot a heart-shaped ice sculpture near the reception desk and suppress a grimace.

“This is… a lot,” you say under your breath, scanning the crowd. Everyone seems to be brandishing name tags and sipping champagne. A table off to the side offers color-coded wristbands for something—“Single,” “Taken,” “Open to Networking,” and so on.

Kuroo leans in close, lips by your ear so you can hear him over the lounge music. “Brace yourself, babyface. Corporate Valentine’s chic in full force.”

You can’t help a snort. “Don’t call me babyface in front of everyone,” you hiss, trying not to look self-conscious.

He smirks. “Fine. Mrs. Kuroo it is.”

You elbow him gently in the ribs, and he lets out a playful “Ow!” just as a man in a suit rushes over to greet you.

“Kuroo, hey!” The guy beams and extends a hand. “Glad you could make it. We’ve got the sponsors over by the bar, and the press is setting up in the lounge area.”

“Thanks, Daichi,” Kuroo replies smoothly, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll swing by and say hello in a minute. Oh—this is my plus-one.”

The man’s smile widens. “Great to meet you!” He doesn’t even blink at the slightly flustered expression on your face, just hands you both event badges. “We’re color-coded, so choose whichever suits your mood. And enjoy the party!”

You glance at the bands in your hand: pink for “Single,” purple for “Open to Collaboration,” red for “Taken.” There are even gold ones for “VIP.”

“Seriously?” you mutter, turning to Kuroo. “This is next-level marketing cheese.”

He laughs, plucking a gold band from a nearby tray and snapping it onto his wrist. “I’m definitely VIP, babe. No shame.”

Rolling your eyes, you settle for a purple one—“Open to Collaboration” seems neutral enough, right? You have no intention of wearing the pink “Single” band all night.

Kuroo’s gaze flicks to it, and you catch a slight smirk before he ushers you forward into the main ballroom.

Which, by the way, is massive: vaulted ceilings, floating heart-shaped lanterns, a champagne fountain at the center. You can practically smell the wealth. A DJ in the corner is playing some inoffensive house music that somehow fits the glittery vibe.

“Wow,” you breathe. “They really didn’t hold back.”

“Volleyball PR events rarely do,” Kuroo says, threading his fingers through yours before you can process it. It’s casual and familiar, like he’s done this a thousand times, but your heart jumps all the same. “Let’s grab a drink, yeah?”

He guides you toward the open bar. A bartender in a bright red bow tie greets you with a grin, asking for your orders.

“Champagne for me,” Kuroo says, then glances down at you. “And for my lovely companion…?”

You pause. “Champagne’s fine. Might as well fit the theme.”

As the bartender works his magic, you turn to Kuroo. “So, what’s the plan? Do we mingle for half an hour and then dip? I’m not sure how long I can stand being reminded that Valentine’s Day is literally next week.”

Kuroo’s eyebrow quirks. “Aren’t we hanging out anyway? We promised each other a palentine’s date—remember?”

You feel your cheeks warm. “I remember. Just… these decorations are overkill.”

He hands you a champagne flute, then raises his own in a mock toast. “To corporate romance,” he says with a smirk.

You clink glasses, taking a sip. The fizzy sweetness bursts across your tongue, and you can’t help but think it tastes like anticipation—like something is about to happen tonight that neither of you saw coming. Then you convince yourself that it’s just the alcohol.

Over the next twenty minutes, you watch as Kuroo does his job—he introduces you to a cluster of sponsors, some old teammates, and a few local sports reporters. He’s charismatic in that effortless way he’s always been: breezing through small talk, sprinkling in jokes, and deflecting every flirty comment from others with easy charm.

You mostly hover by his side, alternately sipping champagne and trying not to feel out of place in your heels. Every so often, his fingers brush your elbow or settle low on your back, like he’s silently telling you: You’re not alone here.

It’s strangely reassuring—even if you can’t quite decide what it means.

Eventually, the crowd disperses into smaller clusters, and you manage to snag a moment of relative quiet near the pink-lit fountain in the center of the room.

“You okay?” Kuroo asks again, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Not too bored?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. It’s actually kinda funny watching you switch between your used-car-salesman voice and your normal voice.”

He snorts. “You want me to hit them with the real me? That might be too much for these delicate souls.”

“I can handle it,” you say, surprising even yourself with your boldness—maybe it’s the champagne.

Kuroo’s gaze flickers, something mischievous in his eyes. “Oh, I know you can handle me, babyface. You’ve done it since you were six, right?”

Your heart skips. He just won’t let you live that childhood wedding down. And, annoyingly, you don’t really mind.

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s no heat in your voice. “Anyway, what’s next on the agenda? Are you supposed to give a speech or something?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. “Nah, not tonight. Just an appearance—shake some hands, charm some sponsors.” He shrugs, then lowers his voice. “We could slip out soon, if you want. Go somewhere else—somewhere less… pink.”

The offer sits in the air between you. You can’t help wondering what exactly he’s proposing. Drinks at a quieter bar? A late-night walk under the city lights? Going back to your apartment to continue that half-finished bottle of wine?

You muster a casual tone. “I’m not opposed. But won’t your absence be noticed?”

“I showed up, I mingled,” he says, brushing off your concern. “That’s enough for them.”

He flashes that signature grin—so easy, so Kuroo—and a flutter of nostalgia collides with the champagne buzz in your bloodstream. You think about how this night started: you, tipsy in your lobby, letting him steady you on your heels. You think about Valentine’s Day looming, and how all of this might be leading to something (which, you’re still trying to figure out if it’s good or bad).

“Alright,” you say, taking another sip from your glass. “One more round of goodbyes, then we escape.”

Kuroo’s eyes linger on you, almost thoughtful. “Deal.”

He downs the rest of his champagne and sets the empty flute on a nearby tray, offering you his arm. The little gesture makes you laugh under your breath; he’s always half-joking, half-serious. But you slip your hand into the crook of his elbow all the same, taking advantage of the moment with a small grin.

He is your date tonight, after all.

eight.

You two end up at a 99cent pizza shop.

It’s one of those shitty ones, where the lights blink every other second and are open 24/7 and catering exclusively to drunk people. You order a pepperoni slice (which is $1.50, absolutely criminal), Kuroo gets a slice with mushrooms and peppers like a weirdo, and a ten-piece garlic knots because you’re both absolute whores for shitty food.

The cashier barely looks up as you pass over a crumpled bill, his expression one of pure indifference. It’s the kind of place where no one gives a shit if you waltz in wearing a ballgown or, in Kuroo’s case, an untucked dress shirt and a loosened tie that screams former professionalism turned reckless abandon.

Kuroo nudges your shoulder as he grabs the tray of food. “Find us a seat, babyface.”

You glance around. The booths are occupied by a mix of exhausted bar-hoppers, students pulling all-nighters with greasy paper plates in front of them, and one guy hunched over, presumably contemplating his life choices. Classic New York.

You settle for a two-seater in the back corner, mostly because it’s the only spot that doesn’t look like it’ll give you tetanus. Kuroo sets the tray down between you, sliding into the seat across from you with that ridiculous, smug expression that hasn’t left his face all night.

“You’re staring,” you say flatly, reaching for a garlic knot.

He props his chin on his hand, unbothered. “You look cute.”

Your hand freezes mid-air. “What?”

Kuroo, the absolute bastard, takes a slow bite of his pizza like he didn’t just casually drop a grenade into your bloodstream. “I said, you look cute.” He gestures vaguely at you with his slice. “All dressed up in a shitty pizza joint. Very Serena van der Woodsen in Gossip Girl vibes.”

You recover quickly, snorting as you take a bite of your garlic knot. “You did not just compare me to Serena van der Woodsen.”

“Hey, I know my pop culture references.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But seriously. I like this look on you.”

The warmth in your chest spreads far too quickly. You shove it down with a bite of pizza. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not gonna work.”

Kuroo smirks. “You sure? It worked when we were kids.”

You shoot him a look. “I was six. You bribed me with strawberry Pocky.”

“And you fell for it every time,” he says, grinning. “You were so easy to manipulate.”

You kick him lightly under the table, but there’s no real venom behind it. He just chuckles and takes another bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at you again.

“So,” he says after a moment. “What was the verdict on tonight? Was it as painful as you thought?”

You hesitate, twirling the crust of your pizza between your fingers. The thing is, you actually had fun. Not just tolerable, get-through-it-and-leave fun, but actual, laughing-with-Kuroo-in-the-middle-of-a-stuffy-corporate-party fun. The realization makes your stomach flip.

“It was fine,” you say, playing it cool. “Drinks were good. Company was tolerable.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh. “Tolerable? Damn, I’ll take it.”

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—so easy, so damn fond—makes it hard to breathe for a second.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your plate. “Anyway, it was nice to see you in work mode. You actually seemed like a functional adult.”

Kuroo sighs dramatically. “I know, it’s exhausting.”

You snort. “I imagine so. Having to use, like, three brain cells at a time.”

“It’s really pushing my limits,” he says with an obnoxious frown.

The conversation drifts into easy territory—inside jokes, exaggerated retellings of childhood disasters, a debate about whether New York pizza is actually better than Tokyo’s (you say yes, he remains stubbornly neutral). It feels natural, like slipping into an old sweater that still fits perfectly despite the years.

At some point, he reaches across the table, swiping a garlic knot straight off your plate.

“Hey,” you protest, swatting at his hand too late.

Kuroo just smirks, popping the whole thing into his mouth. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, babyface.”

“Possession is going to be me slapping you in the face if you steal another one.”

“Violence,” he muses, chewing. “That’s how you treat your childhood husband?”

Your face heats. “Tetsu.”

He winks. “Relax. I’ll buy you more next time.”

Next time.

The words hang there for a second longer than necessary. He says it like it’s a given, like this—you and him, nights like this—is a thing that should keep happening.

And the stupidest part? You don’t hate the idea… not even a little bit.

You pick up another garlic knot, breaking eye contact like that’ll do anything to slow your heartbeat. “You better buy me more.”

Kuroo just leans back, watching you like he already knows something you don’t, and you are slightly terrified of whatever that implies.

nine.

Monday night, after you get home from an excruciating day of labwork (like… you entered at 6 AM and left the next day at 2 AM—you’re really going through it these days), Kuroo is already changed and in his pajamas, reading a book and playing a vinyl you bought when you went through your #artsy stage. He looks up with a smile from his spot sprawled across your couch as you come in, drop your keys on the side table, and promptly collapse on the floor.

“I’m so tired,” you wail, fake sniffling, slumped against the wall. Kuroo looked momentarily alarmed until your pleading; he lets out an exhale that’s vaguely close to a laugh when he realises you’re just being dramatic.

“Welcome home,” he says, his smile practically audible in his voice. “Take it you had a long few day… days.”

You sigh, nodding, wobbling over to the couch and plopping on top of him. You’re so tired you don’t even care about the proximity—you want to lie down, right now. “Yeah. But I think I’ve discovered something pretty interesting, so I’m hoping I can get into Neuron this time around.”

“You’ll get it,” Kuroo says completely calmly, sounding insanely confident in you. He doesn’t even look away from his book—just lifts his arms enough to let you put your head on his chest, and then resting them against your shoulder blades. “Smartest girl I know.”

“...Shut up,” you mutter, burying your face into his t-shirt to hide your embarrassment.

You let out a weary groan, face still hidden in Kuroo’s t-shirt, and he just chuckles under his breath, shifting slightly so you can get more comfortable. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers raking through it in a surprisingly soothing motion—like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Can’t believe you’re still awake,” he remarks, eyes darting back to his book. “Look like you’re about to pass out any second.”

“Very astute observation,” you mumble into the soft cotton. “Nothing gets past you.”

He snorts, lightly tapping your shoulder in retribution before turning a page. “Hey, just looking out for my genius scientist here. Big day tomorrow, right?”

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Big day? I mean, I guess I have more lab stuff…”

Kuroo tilts his head, arching an eyebrow at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Not that,” he says, exasperated. “Valentine’s Day, babyface. Remember?”

Your heart does a quick, uncomfortable skip. Valentine’s—not Palentine’s. The difference lands in your head like a small explosion, especially considering you’ve both been referring to it as Palentine’s up ‘til now.

“O-oh,” you stammer eloquently, trying to recover. “Right. Valentine’s. Sure.”

He watches you carefully, eyes gleaming with amusement as he gently closes his book. “You didn’t forget our plans, did you?”

Plans. Right. He invited you for something—ice skating or a movie, or maybe both. You’d said yes in that flustered, I’m-pretending-this-is-just-a-friendly-thing way. But the way he’s saying it now, with that particular lilt in his voice, has your mind racing.

You force yourself to sit up slightly, though you don’t leave the comfort of lying half-on-top of him. “I—uh. I didn’t forget. I guess I’m just… used to calling it Palentine’s.”

Kuroo smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek with casual familiarity. “Oh, right. My bad. I must’ve slipped.”

Slipped, he says, which makes your pulse do an annoying little flutter.

“I mean, it’s not like it matters,” you continue quickly, your words tripping over themselves. “We’re just hanging out—like always. Whether we call it Valentine’s or Palentine’s or ‘Tuesday’… right?”

He hums in response—low in his throat, almost thoughtful—while his hand drifts from your hair to the back of your neck in a comforting weight. “Sure,” he says, a bit too lightly to be casual. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

The tone in his voice suggests that maybe it does matter, that maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t want to hide behind the ‘Palentine’s’ façade anymore.

A moment of silence settles between you, broken only by the faint crackle of your old vinyl spinning and the ever-present traffic outside. Your nerves feel strung tight as a bitch, and you wonder if he can sense how tense you’ve suddenly gone.

“Anyway,” he says, clearly trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness, “I was thinking we could do something painfully cliché tomorrow. Romantic comedy marathon, maybe. Or that ice-skating idea. Hot chocolate, the works.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. “That sounds… nice.” You fidget with a loose thread on his t-shirt, trying not to overthink every micro-expression on his face. “You sure you won’t be busy with, like, sponsor stuff, or—”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you kidding? I’d rather be with you—binging Netflix, falling on my face on the rink—than stuck in another press conference.” He gives a lazy shrug, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Besides, I’m all yours tomorrow.”

I’m all yours.

There’s that pesky little flutter in your chest again, ramping up several notches. You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding where you’re still sprawled half-across his torso. Possibly. Probably.

“That’s… good,” you manage, trying not to think too hard about the myriad ways Valentine’s could be interpreted. Trying not to let the prospect of him wanting more—maybe wanting you—send you into a full-blown panic. Because a teeny, traitorous part of you is really hoping that’s what it means.

“Now,” he says, clearly sensing the rabbit hole your mind might be running down. “It’s past midnight, and you’ve had, what, negative hours of sleep?”

“That’s not even physically possible,” you argue, though your eyelids suddenly feel very heavy.

“Sure it is,” he counters, wrapping an arm more snugly around your waist as he tugs a throw blanket from the back of the couch. “I’m pretty sure you’re living proof. C’mon. Let’s just crash right here for a bit.”

You don’t have the energy to protest, and honestly? The idea of dozing off to the low hum of the vinyl, warm against Kuroo’s chest, is downright tempting. Besides, you’ll have to drag yourself to bed eventually—but for now, this cozy bubble is enough.

“Fine,” you mumble, feeling your limbs already going slack. “But if I drool on you, it’s your own fault for not kicking me off.”

He laughs quietly, letting the book he was reading slip onto the coffee table. “I’ll live. I’ve survived worse. Like the time you threw up all over me after that carnival ride in middle school.”

You grumble something incoherent in protest, too exhausted to muster a real comeback. The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement, and he shifts just enough to angle you more comfortably against him.

As your eyes flutter shut, you can’t stop replaying the word Valentine’s in your head. Tomorrow. Kuroo said it so easily, like it was obvious. Like it was a given that you wouldn’t just be celebrating as friends or old childhood buddies. Warmth pools in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves. Maybe you’ll just have to see how tomorrow plays out—maybe you’ll finally figure out if this… thing you’ve been dancing around for so long is actually real.

Because if there’s one thing you are sure about, it’s that Kuroo has always had a way of turning your world on its axis. And this time, you really hope he doesn’t stop at Palentine’s.

ten.

You wake up to the smell of french toast.

Which, honestly, you lowkey don’t love nearly as much as waffles. But you aren’t going to be picky after your crash out last night.

You stumble into the kitchen, vaguely rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, blinking away the sleep to read the Eevee alarm clock Kenma bought you when you moved in. 12:19PM. Honestly not your worst: once, during finals season in your undergrad years, you pulled a three-day all-nighter and passed out for sixteen straight hours after. Kuroo had to practically drag you out of your dorm room after that one; he and Kenma basically froze your phone with the amount of texts they sent in a futile attempt to wake you up.

Kuroo’s back is to you as he stands at the stove, his compression shirt accentuating his muscle definition. He looks straight up like a model you’d see at the mall in a Calvin Klein billboard, and it makes you flush as you remember he said Valentine’s last night. He senses you without even turning around—he, without even bothering to look up, says, “Mornin’, babyface. Do you want strawberries or whipped cream?”

“You doubt me. Both,” you snort, stepping closer. Despite your attempt at nonchalance, your stomach flips when you get closer and can see just how freakishly good he looks in that stupid ass shirt. The memory of him casually calling it Valentine’s still sizzles in the back of your mind.

Kuroo casts you a brief over-the-shoulder grin. “Both it is, princess.” He deftly flips a slice of french toast on the pan, the sweet, eggy aroma curling toward your nose. “Hope you’re hungry. I got a little carried away.”

“Oh, I’m starving,” you say, eyeing the small stack of bread slices he’s already prepared on a plate. “Seriously, I might eat all of this. If you don’t move fast, you won’t get any.”

He chuckles, dropping another piece of bread into the batter. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind while I guard my breakfast with my life.”

You open the fridge for the strawberries, and sure enough, there’s also a can of whipped cream on the shelf—Kuroo came prepared. “I can’t believe you actually planned this,” you mutter under your breath, rifling around. “Is this your way of bribing me to be your Valentine?”

He pretends to think about it. “Might be. If it works, I’ll make waffles next time, too.”

You huff a laugh, grateful your face is still hidden in the fridge so he can’t see the fond smile spreading across your lips. Might be. It’s clear he’s leaning full-throttle into the idea of spending this entire Valentine’s Day with you. The thought warms you more than you want to admit.

Sliding the carton of strawberries onto the counter, you catch him drizzling a bit of honey on the toast. “Fancy,” you tease, dragging out the syllable.

Kuroo shrugs one shoulder. “Hey, can’t help being an overachiever. Besides…” He flips off the stove burner and slides the last slice of french toast onto the plate, stacking it neatly. “I missed this.”

You glance up, curiosity and something else tangling in your chest. “This? Cooking breakfast?”

He sets the spatula aside, turns around, and leans against the counter. “Cooking breakfast for you,” he clarifies, pausing as if testing how you’ll react. “Y’know, we used to hang out all the time—before you left for New York. I guess it just reminded me of those days. Late nights, lazy mornings, that sort of thing.”

Your cheeks warm at his candidness. “We still hung out a bit after we graduated,” you offer, though you know it was never the same once you’d moved halfway across the globe for grad school.

Kuroo nods, his hand lingering on the handle of the frying pan as if he needs something to ground himself. “Yeah, but once you officially moved here? We both got busy. Kenma did his whole streaming empire thing, I jumped into work. And you were—”

“Neck-deep in studies,” you finish for him, remembering those endless days in the lab, how you’d chug energy drinks and blink against fluorescent lights until your eyes burned.

Kuroo taps the counter with his knuckles, a soft exhale escaping him. “Uh-huh. And Kenma and I, well… we kinda promised each other we wouldn’t make a big deal about how much we missed you.” He flashes a small, wry grin. “Figured you already had enough to worry about without dealing with our whining.”

You pause, strawberries in hand, staring at him. “Wait. You both made that promise?”

He nods, and for once, you catch the hint of sheepishness in his expression. “We might have texted constantly about how weird it was without you around,” he admits, chuckling under his breath. “But we agreed to keep it low-key so you could focus on your research. Didn’t want you feeling guilty if you started missing home too much.”

Your chest tightens. “I—God, that’s so stupid of you guys.”

He arches an amused eyebrow. “Stupid?”

“I would have been fine!” you insist, though a pang of fondness (and maybe regret) flickers through you. “Yeah, I’d have been sad, but I would’ve rather known. Going months without hearing from you two sometimes was way worse.”

He huffs a laugh, pushing off the counter to move closer. “Yeah, guess in hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan. But we were, what, twenty? Twenty-one? And mostly worried you’d drop out of grad school to come home if we made you feel bad.”

“Drop out?” You roll your eyes. “Please, as if I’d ever let you be that important.”

Kuroo tosses you a smirk, but there’s a gratefulness in his gaze. “Hey, I’m plenty important. Just not more important than a doctorate in neuroscience.”

“Damn straight,” you retort, but your heart is pounding too hard for sarcasm to land with its usual punch. He missed you. More than that—he and Kenma both actively hid how much they missed you, just so you wouldn’t feel sad or guilty. That’s… an annoying level of sweet.

Before you can dwell on it, he gestures to the french toast. “Anyway, let’s eat? Unless you’d rather stand here and get all sentimental.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but your tone is more flustered than harsh. “Give me the plate.”

He hands it over with a dramatic bow, then grabs the strawberries and whipped cream to set on the table. You both sit across from each other, and he insists on adding the toppings to your serving, swirling an absurd amount of whipped cream atop each slice.

“Seriously,” you scold, swatting his wrist when he won’t stop pressing the nozzle, “we don’t need that much foam sugar.”

He just laughs. “Oh, come on, babyface. Live a little.”

“Hmm,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your grin. “Fine. But if I get a sugar crash in like two hours, you’re dealing with the aftermath.”

He mock-salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s a small, silly moment, but something in the easy way you banter—especially right after that confession about how hard it was when you left—makes your chest swell with warmth. Perhaps it’s just the Valentine’s vibe that has your mind spinning in circles, but you can’t help wondering what he’s getting at here.

You try a bite, letting the sweetness and cinnamon melt on your tongue. “Damn,” you mumble through a mouthful, “this is actually pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” He sets a hand against his heart in mock offense. “I slaved away in the kitchen—”

“What, for like ten minutes?” you interrupt, snickering. “Yep, truly backbreaking labor.”

He pretends to wipe away a tear. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

Despite the teasing, he looks satisfied when you reach for another slice. You don’t miss how his eyes follow the movement, nor how his gaze lingers on your face, like he’s taking mental snapshots of you enjoying the meal. It’s disconcertingly tender—especially for a guy who’s teased you your entire life.

Eventually, when you’ve both eaten more than enough, you lean back in your chair, hand resting on your full stomach. “All right, Chef Kuroo. That was acceptable. Now what’s the plan for the rest of Valentine’s Day, hmm?”

He clears his throat, fiddling with a piece of crust on his plate. “Well, we could go ice skating later—like we talked about. If you’re still up for it. Or we could do that rom-com marathon and eat a bunch of store-bought chocolate. Or both.”

“That’s… definitely an option,” you say slowly, feeling a little thrill ripple through you at how nonchalant you’re trying to be. “Which one first?”

He meets your eyes, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. “Why not flip a coin?”

You snort, standing up and collecting the dishes. “No way. I have the worst luck with coin tosses.”

“Then I’ll rig it so you win.” Kuroo grins, pushing back his chair to follow you to the sink.

“And you call me the overachiever,” you toss over your shoulder, cranking on the faucet. You start rinsing plates, the soap suds foaming around your fingers.

“Mm,” he murmurs, stepping up behind you. “At least let me help.”

He crowds in, reaching to take the plate from your hand. You don’t protest—mostly because your entire body goes rigid at the realization of how close he’s standing. His chin practically brushes your temple, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound is the running water, the faint drip of the faucet, and the thud of your own heartbeat in your ears. You can’t help the way your breath catches.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, noticing your sudden stillness.

“Yeah,” you manage, forcing yourself to relax. “Just spacing out.”

His lips twitch into a small, understanding smile. “Same here.” Then, with a deft motion, he takes the plate from you and resumes scrubbing, shoulders barely an inch from yours in your cramped kitchen.

This shouldn’t feel so charged, right? He’s just helping you do dishes. But everything with Kuroo feels different this morning—like there’s some invisible line you both keep brushing against, neither one wanting to take the leap but both too invested to step back.

When the last plate is clean, he sets it on the drying rack, shuts off the water, and dries his hands with a dishrag. “So,” he says, turning to you. “Breakfast? Check. Next item on the Valentine’s agenda?”

You roll your eyes—can’t believe you’re actually calling it Valentine’s now, you think, but you don’t correct him. Instead, you tilt your head, as if deep in thought. “Well, you did promise me cheesy romance, so maybe we do the rom-com marathon first and ice skating afterward, if we still have time.”

His grin is immediate. “Sounds perfect.” He turns and saunters toward your living room, tossing the dishrag onto the counter. “I’ll pick the first movie?”

You’re about to agree when you suddenly remember—he said he’d rig the coin toss. So you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, how do I know you’re not just rigging this in your favor?”

Kuroo snorts, grabbing the TV remote. “Hey, I’m giving you exactly what you want, babyface. I call that your favor.”

You roll your eyes for the millionth time, but you can’t keep the small smile off your face as you follow him into the living room. For the first time in a long while, you feel light—like maybe the missing piece of your life that you left behind in Tokyo is right here, making you french toast and joking about Valentine’s Day.

eleven.

You easily binge Netflix’s Love Is In The Air recommendations for several hours, to the point where, by the time that you wrap up The Kissing Booth 3, the sun has already started to set. Outside your fourth floor apartment, you have a relatively unobstructed view of the way the sky melds into a blend of purples and blues, casting shadows and making your living room’s lighting feel even warmer.

Somehow (you say, knowing full well that you climbed into this position with full intentions of doing so) you end up curled up in Kuroo’s arms, one of your legs draped over his thigh while his arm wraps snugly around your shoulders. His other hand lazily scrolls through the Netflix homepage, searching for the next rom-com victim. You barely pay attention, though—too busy noticing how ridiculously warm he is, how easy it is to fit against him, and how the dark colors of the setting sun outside look so damn pretty.

Finally, after a half-hearted scroll through the Looking For The One category, you decide: “I’m hungry. Let’s get sushi.”

He perks up, setting down the remote. “Now you’re speaking my language. Which place should we order from?”

“There’s this little spot a few blocks away that does really fresh rolls,” you say, grabbing your phone from the cushion beside you. “They deliver in like fifteen minutes, too.”

Kuroo nods, giving you a light squeeze. “Cool. Just let me know how much I owe you. Or consider it your Valentine’s gift to me, I guess.” He snickers.

You roll your eyes at the terrible suggestion, pulling up the menu on your phone. “I’ve got it, I’m feeling generous. Plus, this place is kinda special to me anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Special? Because the sushi’s that good?”

You shift, trying to type your order without meeting his eyes. “Uhh… well, an ex brought me here once. That was back in like, grad school.”

Kuroo’s hand stills against your arm. “Excuse me?” he says, feigning dramatic outrage. “I can’t believe you’d talk about your sordid affairs on Valentine’s Day, babyface. You wound me.”

You snort, giving him a playful shove that doesn’t move him even an inch. “Relax, it was ages ago. It’s not like it was a big deal. I mostly liked him because he kinda looked like—” You stop mid-sentence, eyes widening.

“Kinda looked like… what?” Kuroo parrots, amused suspicion lighting up his features. “Finish that sentence.”

You clamp your mouth shut and tap furiously on your phone screen instead. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no no no, you don’t get to drop that bomb and then pretend it never happened. Spill.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply swiftly, your cheeks burning. “And for the record, it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.”

He sets his jaw, locking you in place by tightening the arm wrapped around you. “Alright, guess I’ll have to guess. Let’s see—you liked him because he kinda looked like…” He pauses, tapping a finger to his chin in exaggerated thought. “Me?”

“Oh my god, no,” you say, maybe a bit too quickly. “That’d be weird, Tetsu. You’re—well, you’re you.”

Something fleetingly vulnerable flashes across his face. He frowns a little, brow knitting. “Do you really think so?” His tone goes quiet, serious in a way that has your stomach dropping.

Your pulse stutters. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” You flail, phone clattering onto the cushion as you try to find his gaze. “I just—look, it’s not weird. Of course I—I mean, you know I—” You exhale shakily, feeling your words tumble over themselves. “I like you, Tetsu. Please don’t be upset.”

There’s a beat of tense silence… and then Kuroo bursts out laughing. Actual, stomach-jostling laughter. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to compose himself, and you realize, with rapidly boiling annoyance, that he’s been messing with you.

“You jerk!” you sputter, smacking him on the arm. “That wasn’t funny! I thought I actually hurt your feelings.”

He just grins, easily absorbing your weak swats. “Aw, sorry, babyface. You should’ve seen your face, though.”

Your cheeks feel molten. “I hate you sometimes, you know?”

“Mm-hmm,” he drawls, pulling you back against him, his palm smoothing over your shoulder. “But the good news is, now I know you do like me. And that some of your exes looked like me, which is a really nice ego boost.”

You groan, burying your face against his chest. “Shut up.”

He keeps talking anyway, voice taking on a more pensive note. “I mean, it’s not like I can judge. I think about you whenever I meet someone new.”

Slowly, you lift your head, eyebrows knitting. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs one shoulder, as if it’s no big deal. “Just, like, whenever I go on a date, I find myself comparing them to you. They’re never as funny or as smart, or I wonder if they’d get along with Kenma the way you obviously do… that kind of thing.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. “Tetsu…” You’re not sure how to respond to that confession. Warmth and a spike of adrenaline rush through you, and you can only open and close your mouth in silence.

At your speechlessness, Kuroo just laughs, scrunching his nose in amusement. “Aw, come on. It’s not that shocking, is it?”

“Uh,” you manage, blinking. “I—uh.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, so you do the only thing that makes sense in your frazzled state: you announce, “I’m gonna go pee.”

“What?” He snorts. “Really? That’s your best response to my heartfelt confession?”

“You think I chose this response?” you squeak, scrambling to your feet. Your cheeks feel like they could combust. “I don’t control your unfiltered romantic drivel, and you don’t control my bladder, okay?”

Kuroo just shakes his head in disbelief, though his eyes gleam with delight. “I’m not stopping you, babyface. Go pee. The sushi’ll be here in a few minutes anyway.”

You nod, fleeing the scene for the bathroom, heart pounding in your ears. Even as you slam the door behind you, you can hear him chuckling softly in the living room.

Leaning against the bathroom door, you take a steadying breath. He compares everyone to you. You literally admitted you like him, too. And he’s laughing, because this is all apparently just… normal. Suddenly, the entire dynamic shifts—like everything you’ve both been dancing around for so long is right there, out in the open, and you’re not quite sure what to do next.

Well, you do know one thing: you really do need to pee.

“Okay,” you mutter, “priorities.”

And as you step toward the toilet, part of you wonders how to keep your composure once you walk back out to him—because from here on out, there’s no more pretending you don’t both feel something real.

twelve.

After peeing and washing your hands with your favorite bougie ass soap (Christmas gift from your boss; you could never afford it at department store rates), you whip out your phone and call Kenma. You know it’s 8 AM over there, so there’s a good chance you’ll be waking up your brother, but you don’t care because you need his objective opinion right now.

It takes until the third call, but on the fourth ring, he finally picks up.

“What?” he mumbles groggily. “I was sleeping.”

“Sorry, but I don’t care. Give me some good advice right now,” you hiss into your phone, pacing back and forth in front of your shower like a maniac.

You hear fabric rustling, followed by a prolonged yawn. “Fine. I bet it has to do with Kuro.”

You freeze, biting down on your lip. “...Maybe.”

“Ugh,” Kenma sighs. “I literally can’t believe you’re calling me about him at eight in the morning.”

“It’s not that early, y’know.”

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, then says more clearly, “So what’s the crisis? I’m not sure how many brain cells I have at this hour.”

You rub your forehead, letting out a strangled groan. “Kenma, is it weird if I kinda—I don’t know—wanna make out with him? Like, a lot? Maybe not just make out—maybe, like, really make out—” You shake your head vigorously, cheeks flaming. “But is that weird?”

There’s silence on the other end for a long moment. Then Kenma’s voice, flat as ever: “That’s my sister and my best friend you’re talking about. Gross. But also not really weird. Because I literally officiated your wedding in second grade, remember? You two are basically old news.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, your free hand clenching at your side. “Oh my God, not you too. Kuroo keeps bringing it up, and now you’re enabling him. When did that wedding even become a real memory to everyone but me?”

“Uh, it’s always been a memory. You wore a yellow dress, he had a Spider-Man t-shirt, I was reading from a Pokémon handbook.” He yawns. “I was, like, seven, but I still remember, because Kuro wouldn’t shut up about it. And apparently, still won’t.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff, pacing faster. “He mentions it daily, I swear, and it’s driving me insane—like, I get it, we had a pretend wedding when we were literal children. Does he have to bring it up every chance he gets?”

Kenma’s voice goes deadpan. “He brings it up because he likes you, dumbass.”

Your pacing halts so abruptly you almost trip over the bathroom mat. “...Oh.”

A beat passes; the only sound is your heart thudding in your ears.

“Yeah,” Kenma continues, dry as day-old toast. “He’s liked you forever. You’ve liked him forever. You’re both idiots. Congrats.”

You gawk at the phone, mind spinning. “Wait—he—he’s always…? Does everyone know this except me?”

Kenma yawns again, unperturbed. “Probably. I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle growing up. Dad used to tell me he was more worried about you running off with Tetsu than, like, your middle school crushes.”

You gape. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.” You hear the faint click of a laptop or a Switch—knowing Kenma, he’s probably opening up a game to pass the time. “Anyway, is that all you needed to ask? Because I’d like to get at least another hour of sleep.”

You groan, but you can’t quell the swirl of hope rising in your chest. “This is… surreal. He just told me earlier—like, not directly, but he basically said he thinks about me whenever he meets someone new. And I might’ve implied I like him too—oh God, Kenma, what do I do?”

He’s quiet for a moment, presumably considering. “Make out with him. I don’t know. You literally said that’s what you want to do.”

“That’s it? That’s your profound, brotherly wisdom?”

“What else do you want me to say?” he drones. “You both already know you like each other. This was the most obvious outcome in the world. Just do your thing, get it out of your system. Or get married again if you want. Could be a nice full-circle moment.”

You let out a mortified noise, pressing your forehead to the cool tile of your bathroom wall. “You’re—urgh, never mind. Thanks, Kenma.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Tell Kuro he owes me five bucks for something… I’ll think of a reason later. Bye.”

Before you can protest, he hangs up, leaving you with your phone still pressed to your ear. You stare at the blank screen, a mix of exasperation and relief swirling through your chest.

He likes you. You like him. You’re idiots—Kenma’s words, not yours. And apparently, neither of you has been hiding it as well as you thought.

You inhale slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. Then you square your shoulders. “Okay,” you say to yourself, “I can do this. Just… go out there and act normal. Or as normal as possible while wanting to jump his bones. Easy.”

With that pep talk, you push off the wall, open the bathroom door, and step into the hallway, with completely unfounded confidence in yourself.

thirteen.

That confidence goes straight out the window because as soon as you walk back, you are caught off-guard by Kuroo standing in the middle of your living room, hands behind his back and wearing the guiltiest expression you’ve ever seen, obviously hiding something from your view. You’re scared, and immediately a little suspicious.

“What are you doing?” you ask warily, taking very slow, careful steps toward him. “What is that?”

He ignores the question entirely, instead breaking into a triumphant grin. “Babyface,” he declares, “I have a Valentine’s Day gift for you.”

All the tension in your shoulders uncoils in one quick moment of relief. “Oh.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Okay, this should be good. What is it—a frog? A cricket? Remember when you gave me that cricket in fourth grade?”

Kuroo stifles a laugh, as if recalling the memory of your horrified shriek when you opened a tiny shoebox to find a chirping insect. “I was trying to teach you about biology. You always liked science-y stuff,” he defends. “Besides, a cricket is romantic if you think about it long enough.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please don’t tell me that’s what’s behind your back right now.”

He steps forward, eyes warm with mirth. “I promise. This is way better.”

He produces a small, flat object from behind him—a rectangular folder, sealed by a thin, glossy cover. At first, you’re genuinely perplexed. It’s too big to be a normal card, and there’s no way it’s a book, unless it’s some custom print job. The corners are crisp, the material looks like maybe photo paper. Curiosity coaxes you closer.

Catching your confusion, Kuroo grins wider. “Look inside.”

With a hint of skepticism, you slip your fingers under the cover, peeling it back. Inside is a high-quality color print—like a medical scan or something from a research article. Black-and-gray cross-sections and bright neon highlights fill your vision, and as you blink, trying to parse the image, your mouth goes dry. You recognize the shape of a human brain from an fMRI scan: swirling patterns in vivid oranges and reds indicating activated regions.

“Is this… an fMRI?” you breathe, your hand trembling slightly as you lift the print to the light. Definitely an fMRI, your trained eye confirms—distinct slices, certain labeling, the faint text from the imaging software. “Tetsu, why the hell are you giving me…?”

He shifts, almost shy, scratching the back of his neck. “I asked one of the JVA’s partnered sports med facilities to do a little favor for me.” A pause. “A small, borderline unethical favor.”

Your eyes dart back to the vibrant splotches. “The nucleus accumbens,” you whisper, tapping a bright orange blob near the center. “And the hippocampus. They’re… lit up.” You draw in a sharp breath. “These areas activate when you’re—”

“—experiencing motivation, reward, or strong emotional attachment,” he finishes gently, voice hushed. “Like, for instance, thinking about someone you love.”

Your heart stutters so violently you nearly drop the print. “So, you—this is… from your brain?” you manage, your throat suddenly tight.

Kuroo nods, looking almost bashful, which is a jarring contrast to his usual smug confidence. “They scanned me while I was, uh… focusing on a particular mental image.” He glances away, expression uncharacteristically shy. “I figured you’d like the hard data. You being a scientist and all.”

You force yourself to swallow past the dryness in your mouth. “You’re telling me you literally got an fMRI done while thinking about… someone?” Your voice trembles on the last word, and you can’t quite meet his eye.

He exhales a quick laugh. “Uh-huh. Didn’t take long. I just, you know, had to fill out some forms, promise it was for a PR stunt about brain health or something. Then I, well, closed my eyes and pictured—”

“Who?” you interrupt, not even caring that you sound breathless. You’re clutching the fMRI print so hard you can feel the edges biting into your fingertips.

Kuroo’s grin turns downright sheepish, and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Take a wild guess, babyface.”

Heat floods your cheeks, your mind flashing back to all the data you’ve read about how the nucleus accumbens is heavily involved in romantic love, addiction, reward. All those nights you taught undergrads about dopaminergic pathways and the hippocampus’s role in forming new memories—specifically, emotional memories.

“You… you were thinking about me?” you ask, voice scarcely above a whisper.

The sheepishness melts into something warmer. “Yeah,” he admits, gaze holding yours. “Obviously.”

For a moment, your living room goes silent—no hum of traffic or whir of appliances registers in your ears, just the thud-thud-thud of your heart as you stare at the bright orange smears on the print. He was literally focusing on you, flooding his mind with thoughts of you, enough to trigger all these hallmark signs of love and emotional resonance in his brain.

“You—” you start, but your voice is shaky. You take a breath, dropping your eyes to the image again. “This is probably the strangest and most… scientifically romantic thing anyone’s ever given me.”

He clears his throat, stepping closer. “I hoped you’d see it that way. I know you’re not into the typical Valentine’s gifts—flowers and cheesy cards. So I thought, you know… I’d show you proof.” He shrugs, but there’s an earnestness in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. “Real, measurable proof that you’re always in my head.”

Overcome, you tear your gaze from the print to search his face, half expecting him to burst into laughter and say it’s another joke. But there’s no sign of teasing. He’s dead serious, a bit vulnerable, and it reminds you painfully of how you’ve known him forever—how under all the arrogance and jokes, he’s always worn his heart right there on his sleeve.

“I—” You can’t find the words, so instead, you lean forward, pressing your forehead gently against his shoulder. The fMRI print stays clutched in your hand at your side, but the rest of you rests against him, trying to steady your breathing.

Kuroo’s arms come up, enveloping you. You feel the softness of his shirt and the warmth of his body, and it’s equal parts comforting and electrifying. “So,” he says softly, voice rumbling through your hair, “was this too much?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “No,” you say, the corners of your mouth tilting up in a shaky smile. “It’s just… a lot to take in.” You let out a small laugh, one that wobbles on the edge of tears. “You literally went out of your way to prove you’re thinking about me with actual neuroscience data. How am I supposed to top that?”

He grins, the tension in his shoulders easing. “You don’t have to. Maybe just trust me when I say you’re stuck in my head, yeah?”

A breathless little chuckle escapes you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… can do that.”

For a second, the two of you just stand there, pressed together, the overhead light casting a soft glow on the fMRI print you still clutch in your trembling hand. Then Kuroo’s voice breaks the silence:

“Hey,” he murmurs, “since we’re on the subject of your super-scientific interest in my reward pathways… maybe we can do a little experiment?”

Your brow arches, a half-laugh catching in your throat. “An experiment, huh?”

“Mhm.” He carefully closes his hand around your wrist—the one holding the print—guiding it so you can set it gently on the coffee table nearby. Then he slides his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “I wanna see if I can spike some more activity in that region. Because I’m definitely thinking about you right now.”

Your heart stutters. The last time he teased you about wanting to test something, you were six years old, and he was coaxing you into believing that tying your shoelaces together would make you run faster. This, though? Vastly different stakes.

Still, your lips twitch into a wry smile. “Just… kissing me won’t show up on an fMRI unless you, I don’t know, plan on hooking up electrodes or something.”

He smirks, fingers trailing up to brush the line of your jaw. “Nah, no fancy medical tech needed. I just want an empirical result—like, say, a moan or a heartbeat spike.”

A shiver runs through you, and you swear you can feel your pulse jump beneath his hand. “You’re such a nerd,” you whisper, lips quirking. “But sure. For science.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and easy, like the last golden light of sunset spilling through half-open blinds. Then, before you can think too much about it, he closes the distance, tilting his head just slightly as his lips brush against yours in a kiss that is warm, lingering, and unhurried. It steals your breath, not in the way a storm might, but like a tide gently pulling you under, enveloping you in something deep and inevitable.

The taste of him is familiar yet new all at once—there’s the faint trace of the toast from earlier, or maybe just the memory of it, mingling with something sweeter, something unmistakably him. His fingers ghost along your waist, their presence featherlight but grounding, like a silent promise that he’s here, he’s real. And when he pulls you closer, his body pressing flush against yours, you feel it—the way your heart flutters wildly against your ribs, the way warmth spreads through your chest like a sunrise breaking over the horizon.

For a moment, the world holds its breath. Everything fades away—the hum of the city beyond the window, the soft glow of the overhead lights, even the thoughts that usually crowd your mind. There is only this: the way his lips move with quiet reverence, the quiet hitch in your breath as your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his shirt, the subtle shift of his body as he deepens the kiss just enough to make your pulse race.

And then, suddenly, you realize—you don’t need a machine or a calculation to tell you how you feel. The answer is already written in the way your entire chest hums, in the way your skin tingles where he touches you, in the way something inside you feels like it’s come alive, like a supernova has replaced your heart.

God, the astrophysics department should be studying this instead.

When he finally pulls back—foreheads brushing, breath mingling—he searches your eyes, his own half-lidded with affection. “So,” he murmurs, “did I succeed in lighting up your hippocampus?”

Your laugh comes out a little breathless. “If you keep that up,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest, “you might just rewire my entire brain.”

He grins, leaning in again to drop a quick peck at the corner of your mouth. “Good. Then I’ll have all the data I need.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another lingering kiss, feeling the warmth of his smile against your lips. In the back of your mind, you’re distantly aware that your own reward pathways might be exploding, nucleus accumbens glowing neon, hippocampus forging brand-new memories like a bonfire. And for the first time in a long time, you’re okay with letting the feelings have free rein.

Because sometimes, science can capture how people feel, but it can’t fully capture why. And right now, with Kuroo’s arms around you and that precious fMRI print still waiting on the coffee table, you think you’ve finally found your “why” in the easiest, most obvious place of all:

He loves you, and you love him back.

fourteen.

Three hundred and sixty-four days later, Kuroo is helping you move into a new apartment. In Tokyo. Because Columbia offered you the chance to do an exchange with the University of Tokyo before the end of your doctorate studies. For two entire years, slicing open human brains and figuring out what’s going on beneath, because your article published in Neuron made the cover page and you got a fat and juicy grant from the school. Two entire years of being close enough to hear your parents bragging about you in person again, and to have shitty takeout dinner with Kenma after his video game streams but before his corporate mojo.

And two entire years of getting to live with your boyfriend. Kuroo, your very wonderful boyfriend who you love more than life itself and who you want to be buried with one day. The Kuroo who was the first person you liked at six years old and is still who you like at twenty-six. The Kuroo who you have successfully managed an international relationship with because you’ve already went three years apart without the spark dying. Still, you’re absolutely beaming as you carry in boxes and boxes of clothes, because you always love getting to be with him, in person and in real life, and now you get to every single day.

You can’t hang up on him when he gets annoying anymore, but it’s worth it when he makes you breakfast daily and reaches for you in his sleep.

You heave another box into the apartment—this one filled with mismatched mugs you’ve collected from half a dozen coffee shops—and set it down with a groan. Kuroo flashes you a grin from across the living room, one hand resting casually on his hip as he surveys the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and hastily labeled luggage.

“You brought an entire suitcase just for shoes,” he points out, amused.

“Hey,” you protest, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, “if I’m living here for two years, I’m not just gonna live in sneakers.”

He ambles over and nudges the box with his foot. “I guess that’s fair—though I’m not carrying that one up another flight of stairs if we end up moving again. You’ll have to bribe Kenma for help.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips free. “Fine, fine. Now, major question: where are we putting our bed?”

He waggles his eyebrows, eyes bright with mischief. “We?” he echoes, as if you haven’t been living together for all of thirty minutes. “I’m pretty sure I get ultimate bed placement rights, given my extensive experience in interior design.”

“Oh, sure, because black-cat-themed t-shirts and old gym hoodies scream ‘interior design mogul.’”

He smirks. “Hey, I’ve got taste.” With that, he gestures expansively toward the center of a wall in the room you’d marked for the bed, where the largest patch of light from the window splashes onto the floor. “I say we put the bed there. We’ll get a queen, obviously.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A queen? As if you’re actually gonna stay on your side.”

His grin turns lazy. “Exactly. I can find you in the expanse.”

“And you wonder why I think you’re annoying.” You toss him a mock exasperated look, which only earns you another chuckle.

“You still chose to live with me,” he points out, that devilish glint in his eyes returning, “because you’re stuck with me, right here.”

“Lucky me,” you tease, while your heart still does that stupid flutter thing at the thought of waking up next to him every day.

He walks over and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. It’s such a simple, tender gesture that you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“Speaking of tomorrow,” you say, turning back to break down an empty cardboard box, “it’s Valentine’s Day. Any big plans, or are we just, y’know, gonna eat convenience store chocolates while finishing the bed frame?”

Kuroo shrugs, far too casually for someone who’s obviously up to something. “Mmm, I might have a surprise,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do. You and your surprises. Is it expensive, by chance?”

His brows lift in feigned innocence. “Depends if you consider a diamond ring expensive.”

You almost drop the box, now flattened and very, very large. “A what now?”

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You heard me.”

He’s kidding. He has to be fucking kidding, right now. He did not spend a small fortune on a rock for your finger.

“Fucking return that,” you blurt instantly, your heart skipping not one but multiple beats. “That’s so expensive. Why would you do that?”

“Well, if I’m gonna get my future wife a ring, I’m gonna make it an investment,” Kuroo replies with an ease that makes your chest tighten all over again.

“Wait—what the… Are you—are you serious?”

He leans closer, lips tilting in a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

Your mind whirls, half in shock, half in outright giddy disbelief. You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything: his calm breathing, the faint noises from the street outside, the way the newly painted walls catch the late afternoon light.

“Are you messing with me?” you finally manage.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, and then taps the tip of your nose affectionately. “But trust me, you’ll like it.”

It’s maddening and wonderful all at once, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth you got lucky enough to stumble into a future that looks a whole lot like happiness—especially if it involves a ring.

But for now, you tamp down the frantic beating of your heart and glance at the corner of the room. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Queen bed. Got it.”

He laughs. “We’ll get the perfect one tomorrow. After all, we have at least two years of me latching onto you in my sleep, and then… maybe forever.”

And you roll your eyes, but you know what’ll happen tomorrow. Because of course you’re going to say yes. Because Kuroo Tetsuro has been the love of your life since you were a kid marrying him with dandelions, and because in every version of your imagined future, he’s still there, standing across from you at the aisle, regardless of if it’s a Band-Aid or an engagement ring he’s putting on your finger. Because he still makes every reward center in your brain light up (and because you’re putting that fMRI in your office at the university).

Honestly, love is a system of chemical reactions. Scanners and artificial intelligence will probably take over the world sooner or later, and the scientific community is getting better and better at understanding the whys. You can measure the dopamine flooding your brain, track the firing of mirror neurons, and map out which regions of your cortex light up at the sound of his laugh. But still, science is flawed, because all the scanning techniques in the world can’t replicate the soft, certain rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm, or the way his eyes crinkle in tender amusement when he looks at you.

In this moment, your hippocampus diligently encodes every detail: the slight scuff on the floor, the teasing quirk of his lips, the warm press of his shoulder against yours. The memory crystallizes, even before tomorrow’s promise fully forms, because you already know the answer. You always have.

When you finally pull your gaze away, the last rays of sunlight spill over the spot where you’ll put your new bed—the place you’ll fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms, night after night. You picture the days ahead: lazy mornings that begin with his sleepy kisses, evenings spent side by side, peeling back the layers of the human mind and finding new depths in each other all the while.

And as your heart thrums with a rhythm that science can’t quite pin down—something that defies clean categorization in textbooks—you realize that in this bright, messy, glorious future, every neuron in your body is wired just for him.

And if that’s not proof enough of love, you’re not sure what is.

⨭ closing notes; i love being able to write bc i can create purely self indulgent things like this. i'm a neuroscientist and my bday is nov 14 (exactly 9 months after valentine's day) and im from nyc so this one really has a lil kick to it. did u notice i made it perfectly 14 chapters cause feb 14 lol i rly used my brain for that one. anyway happy day of love!! whether ur celebrating or not, please know i love u all <3

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readerstories · 3 months ago

Text

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 9/?

Hello, hello! Real life has been busy, but finally I've been able to sit down and write! *Edit: added some more details and dialogue. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 10)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 3263

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

It's been three weeks since you saw Wade or Logan.

Which you are happy about.

But your body definitely isn’t.

Your joints are aching constantly. Some days it feels like you’ve been thrown into a wall multiple times, not breaking or bruising anything or anywhere, but leaving you sore and hurting like a bitch.

There are also the headaches (something that edges close to a migraine at some points) that have no apparent reason behind them, that leave you grumpy and in a foul mood.

Well, there’s no apparent reason that you want to think about.

You only throw in the towel the day after a particular bad headache that had actually turned into a full migraine.

You had spent all day curled up in bed, for once not happy about the big windows in your apartment. You had thought about curling up in the bathroom with the lights off and heated floor on, but there was no way that would have been comfortable with your aching body. The heat might have been nice, but not the hard tile.

So, you bite the bullet, and go to their apartment. It doesn’t matter that you’ve only been there once, finding your way there is easy.

You are tempted to drive there, but with your aching body and head you don’t trust yourself behind any wheel or handlebars.

So the subway and walking it is. That’s not pleasant either, but at least you are not a threat to others. And it’s not like you can teleport. You only stumble once on the way, muttering an apology to the guy you bump into. He sends you a nasty look, but it turns less harsh as he takes in your state, and he mutters a “don’t worry about it” back.

You hadn’t looked too closely in the mirror that morning, but with the way you are feeling, there’s no way you look your best.

It takes you a good amount of time, but you finally knock at their front door, trying not to sway on your feet. They really should look into doing something with the main entrance to the building, you had managed to slip inside again even in your state. There’s some shuffling behind the door, a muffled “coming” barely reaching your ears.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever reaction you are about to get.

Wade, wearing black sweatpants and a pink hello kitty t-shirt, opens the door, freezing with his mouth open as if he was about to say something. His control on the bond to you slips for a moment, you feel the utter confusion before it goes back to its muted state. You snort out a laugh, trying not to wince when that of course, with your luck, pulls on something that hurts; you’re not even sure what.

“Can I come in?”

“You are not our Chinese food.” You expect some sort of joke to follow, but there’s none, just Wade looking you up and down, “You look like shit pookie.” Is what you get instead, making you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I am fucking aware. Which is why I am here.” It should be annoying how you can fucking feel your shoulders lighten as you stand there, just looking at each other, but all you can feel is relief.

You swallow, throat dry. “So, can I come in?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Wade opens the door wider, stepping to the side to let you in. You slowly do so, looking around. You have already been here, but it has been about two months.

The door clicks shut behind you. Wade doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on your back as you look over the place.

There’s a couch, a few lounge chairs, a tv. There’s also of course the dining room table that you got stitched up on, chairs surrounding it, several of them having clothes thrown over the backrest. It’s a little messy, but looks mostly clean, except for some weird stains on the floor you do your best to avoid as you step just a little closer to the lounge chairs and couch. You are tempted to sit down, but stop as Logan appears from somewhere further in the apartment. He’s wearing a grey flannel and jeans, looking down at his feet as he walks, chastising the ugly as sin dog as it runs around his legs, but as he looks up, he freezes mid-step.

“Was about to yell that we got company, peanut.” Wade says quietly, calm behind your back as you and Logan stare at each other.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that.” A beat of silence where no one says anything.

Then the dog, Mary-something or other, (you think), barks loudly, once, before running over to you. You look down at her as she stands on her hind legs, pawing at your pants. That seems to break Wade out of whatever state he was frozen in, as he scoops her up, and starts talking.

“Good to know we weren't the only ones hurting, for a bit there we almost thought this was some very elaborate prank, or a super shitty version of one. Like Punked, just with writing instead of TV cameras. You held out for a long time, and you didn’t even have another soulmate to lean on. Or, oh! Foursome? Or fourway if you wanna be clean about it.” You lick your lips, taking a deep breath, unsure of what to feel. You want to be annoyed, but there’s no annoyance to be found.

“No.”

“Good to know! Now I’m imagining a fourth though, fun to think about! Who though? Cable? Colossus? Buck? Well, I’ve touched all of them before and got nothing, so unlikely. Who do you think the author would throw in? Maybe Spidey? Andrew Garfield version, hopefully. His hair is almost as great as peanut’s.” You glance over at Logan, tuning out Wade for a moment. There’s a barely there frown on his face as he looks you up and down, taking in the state of you. He looks a lot better than you, normal even, and so does Wade.

“-hurting too. Well, for me more than usual. Wait, does this mean cuddle sessions on the couch?” Wade lets out an excited gasp, and for a moment your mind zeros in on the “more than usual” comment, but Wade just keeps going. “Omg, I’m already imagining it, the greatest cuddle pile to ever exist in this universe! Soft blankets, TV going, some scented candles to really set the mood.” He winks, you scowl.

You take a few more steps so you can plop down on a lounge chair with a groan, leaning back with your legs spread, hands in your own hair, and close your eyes. There’s a spike of something through your bond that’s gone too quick for you to recognise, but you pay it no mind as you massage your scalp. You are not sure if it’s helping, or if it’s the effects of your body finally being in the same room as your soulmates. All you care about is that your persistent headache is slowly fading, your head hurting less by the second.

“You know, touching not from just yourself would also help.” You swear you hear a wink in Wade’s voice; you are sure if your eyes were open you would have seen it.

“Touch me and I will cut your fingers off.”

“Are you even armed?” Footsteps next to you, and then you get a few pokes by a single finger on the side of your thigh before it connects with a hidden knife sheath.

“What are you doing?” Logan asks from behind you.

“Checking if he’s actually armed, I didn't think putting my hand down his pants would have gone well.” You hum, you should make good on your threat, but find that you can’t be bothered right now, too relieved by the tension in your body easing by the second.

“Would have been your whole arm instead. The close proximity should be enough to make me feel and look less like shit.” You rub your temple, opening your eyes to glance up at Wade who is still standing close, while Logan makes his way over to the couch.

“And what if it isn’t?” Logan asks as he sits down, tilting his head to the side as he takes you in. You roll your shoulders, noting to yourself how they already feel looser, more relaxed, even if it’s only been minutes.

Fucking soulmates.

“We’ll jump off that bridge if we get to it.” Wade laughs, but no one gets to say anything else before they are stopped by the doorbell. This turns out to be the earlier mentioned chinese food. You close your eyes when the smell of it makes your nausea return. You dig your hands into the armrest of the lounge chair.

“Well, we weren’t planning on a dinner guest, but we always order enough food for half an army, since we gotta stay big strong boys, so if you want some there’s plenty to go around. And I’m not just talking about food.” Yet another wink you can hear. You shake your head.

“I’ll hurl, so no thanks.”

“Hurtful pookie.”

“The food dumbass.” You bring the sleeve of your jacket up to your nose, breathing in the familiar scent of your laundry detergent to focus on something else. You get a few breaths in before there’s a weight in your lap, making you open your eyes and look down. The round eyes of Mary look up at you, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

“Awwww, she must really like you. She’ll normally beg for food even though she knows she can’t have any. Even if she’s technically indestructible, she will get an upset stomach and shit everywhere if she eats some human foods.” You blink at Wade, who has taken a seat next to Logan and spread out a frankly ridiculous amount of food on the living room table.

“Indestructible?” Your voice comes out a little muffled from behind your sleeve, but Wade seems to understand you just fine, grinning.

“Ohhh, is it exposition time?” Apparently answering his own question, Wade launches into the story of how they met, how they got Mary Puppins, and apparently saved the universe.

The story is told with a lot of words and gestures, mostly by Wade, though Logan fills in bits and pieces here and there, and sometimes protests when there’s part where Wade is apparently “painting a fucking rosy picture with a lot less guts”.

As Wade talks the nausea slowly dissolves, so you move from holding your sleeve in front of your nose to petting Mary. She doesn’t have much fur, and is still ugly as sin, but she is already growing on you in a weird way. You can see why Wade instantly fell in love, but also why Logan didn’t, at least according to the story Wade tells.

“-and that’s how this hunk of a man came to live with me and Al.” Wade lets you digest all that they have told as he takes a few big bites of the now cold noodles in front of him. Logan takes a sip of his beer that he had gotten at some point, eyes flicking between you and Wade.

It’s an insane story, and you’re not sure how much of it you believe, but there’s a part that’s missing.

“When did you touch each other?”

“Oh, multiple times. Want me to tell the Honda part all over again? I assure you, it was just as juicy and could have been a lot juicer if Di-”

“No, I mean, when did you realize you were soulmates?”

“Oh! When we got back to this place, and I handed Logan some spare clothes that he could shower.” You tilt your head, then you realise why it happened that late.

“Oh, gloves.”

“Yup! All that touching and handholding, and it was all with gloves. Though his disintegrated alongside his shirt with the ripper, showing off that glorious hairy and sweaty chest and abs, I was still wearing mine. No-one wanted that freak-show.” Logan elbows Wade as your mind goes elsewhere for a moment.

You can’t help it, you imagine it for a fleeting second, glancing over Wade and Logan, the latter of whom tilts his head just the teeniest bit to the side.

“I didn’t take my gloves off until the safety of home, so we had a nice bonding time in the shitty bathroom. Freaked out Mr. Growly over here, he doesn’t have soulmates in his universe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I want to live in your universe.” Logan scoffs, taking a drink of his beer.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Wait, if you don’t have soulmates, how….?”

“We figured it must have been all that sexy hand holding, our particles getting mixed by the time ripper, and Madonna.”

“What does Mad- You know what, doesn’t matter.” Your shoulders are high, trying to tense, but being closer to your soulmates Wade and Logan are making them more relaxed. It’s an odd combo, making it feel like your shoulders are slowly rolling up and down.

“So you got the kitten claws and kitten ears in your hair, and you got super healing with a side of skin disease.”

“Hardy har, don’t bully me I’ll cum. But something like that, just with a much deeper and so, so tragic backstory. But there has been enough exposition for today, don't you think?”

“Sure, right, whatever. So the two of you saved the fucking universe and got each other in the process, fucking fabulous.” You scrub your hands over your face, before combing through your hair a few times. “Where in the fuck do I fit in in this mess.” You mostly mumble it to yourself, trying to make sense of it all.

“I don’t know, but if you let us, we could figure it out together. Like some weird sort of buddy cop movie, but in an ACAB way.” You snort behind your hands, not being able to help yourself. Wade’s humor has already grown on you.

“Come on, what you’re doing now is just making it fucking worse for yourself, even if you don’t like it.” Logan supplies.

“Yeah no shit, I feel the same way I look.”

“Hot as shit.” Wade winks at you, you roll your eyes.

“Just shit.”

“Agree to disagree, pookie.” A few moments of silence, where you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling, take a few deep breaths, and try to not concentrate on how your bonds are practically vibrating with excitement even in their muted states.

“Soooooo, how are we going to do this?” Wade is, of course, the one to break the silence.

“Do what?”

“Start of this beautiful journey of loveeee and self healing?” Wade wiggles in his seat, pushing his shoulder into Logan, who rolls his eyes at his antics, but throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Fuck if I know.” A few beats where you try to think, now that you can focus on something else other than pain and nausea. “Regular-ish meetings would probably be good. Try to keep the side-effects, but also the contact, minimal.”

“Hurtful pookie.” Wade says again, but Logan talks before you can respond to him.

“Let’s start with once a week, and if that’s not enough, we’ll try more.” He suggests.

“Feels like I’m starting a god damn drug trial or some bullshit.”

“Trial of love pookie.” You groan as Logan snorts. Wade claps his hands together. “Well, consider this the start of many wonderful nights to come! Wanna watch a movie? Al is still out who the fuck knows where doing fuck knows what (probably coke) for a while, so we got the place to ourselves” You shrug. Might as well, if you are going to be forced to spend time with your soulmates so your body doesn't start to feel like you've been run over by a truck.

A movie will hopefully keep your mind distracted, it’s not like you need to stare deeply into each other’s eyes, or talk about feelings, for it to work and calm down your body and mind.

Wade puts on a Barbie movie of all things, and begins to yap about the Barbie movie universe, or the BMU. Logan gets up to fetch some popcorn, which you take a few handfuls off as your stomach and body has settled for now. You pet Mary Puppins as you try to pay attention to the movie.

Thirty minutes into the movie, you are out like a light, the relief of your body making you fall asleep where you sit, Mary Puppins resting in your lap with your hand on top of her barely fur-covered head.

—---

When you wake up from your unplanned nap, it’s to your neck hurting from being at an odd angle for way too long. You have no idea what time it is, but it’s dark outside the window, the only light in the room is the rays spilling in from a lamp-post somewhere outside.

Taking stock of your body as you sit up properly, the only thing that aches is your neck and upper shoulders. A blanket that wasn’t there before falls into your lap as you move, Mary Puppins no longer occuping it. You realize that somehow, at some point during your sleep, the sofa, which apparently is a pullout, had been transformed into a bed.

Which Wade and Logan are currently sleeping on, with a dog bed next to it where Mary Puppins is curled up.

How they had managed to do that without waking you, you don’t know.

You must have been really exhausted, even more so than you realized.

You rub both your hands over your face, moving one to your neck to knead at the sore muscle there. You bite your lip to keep in the groan that threatens to slip out, glancing at the bed to make sure neither man wakes.

And then you keep looking.

Logan is on his back, one arm around Wade, whose head rests on his chest. Their legs are intertwined, both of them snoring quietly. They are both wearing shirts, though Logan’s have ridden up to show a hairy happy trail, which disappears underneath the edge of the blanket that covers their lower halves.

They both look surprisingly soft.

You shake your head as soon as that thought appears, banishing it to the darkness of the void. Where in the world did that come from?

That’s not a question you can answer, at least not with something that you will like, so instead you focus your energy on getting up from the chair as quietly as possible.

It must fail somehow though, because as you put the blanket down in the chair and stand up fully, there’s a soft call of your name.

Looking over to the pullout, Logan’s head is raised from the pillow. He’s looking at you, in the limited light it’s hard to tell his expression, but you don’t think he’s scowling.

You think that’s about to change though.

“See you in a week Logan.” You whisper, and take the few steps needed towards the front door, opening it, and then closing it behind you with the softest click you can manage.

This time you don’t run, even as much as your brain is screaming for you to do so.

In the opposite direction of where you are actually going.

(Part 10)

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jollyhunter · 5 months ago

Text

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 13.

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.11 (Temptation)

Summary: You and Dean manage to piss off an Amor and in return he "gifts" you with a life-swap with two strangers for the next hours. Not much of a deal for you two, you think. You're hunters after all, so how bad could it be? Oh how wrong you were. Remember one of Dean's biggest fears? Yeah. About that.

Words: 3,100

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Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: Alrighty, this was a bit of a wild ride.

I really need to write less and yet I end up writing more every time and keep screwing up my sleeping schedule damn it. This is the first time I've written this much dialogue. :') I'm still new to writing fanfics and now I'm a bit anxious about posting it haha. I really hope I got Dean right - I didn't get to proof read it yet, so maybe I'll adjust some small things tomorrow (or rather when I'm awake again in a couple of hours). EDIT: Yeah, I did edit it now. Just a quick heads up. Although I am still not entirely satisfied with it… I might rewrite this one someday but for now I gotta move on to the next prompt.

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13th Dec. - Freaky Friday

"Love is in the air!" The amor chanted before popping off. At that point you didn't know yet that naked bastard meant it quite literally.

Next moment you open your eyes, you're stuck on an airliner with a screaming Dean next to you, in pilot uniform.

“I’m gonna kill that crotch-faced angel!” Dean yells, his face beyond pissed.

“Jesus- What the hell just happened!?” You sputter, blinking at him rapidly. You find yourself clinging to the armrests as your body tries to catch up with the sudden shift of surrounding. One moment you’d been standing in a dining kitchen, next thing you know you’ve been hurled into a cockpit’s seat 30’000 miles in the sky.

“Goddamn sky nudist, that’s what happened,” Dean growls, hands instinctively patting down his new clothings in search of his colt. He grits his teeth with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “Of course he stripped me of my stuff.” His eyes roam the cockpit, the realization slowly settling in and his stomach twisting into sickening knots, “This gotta be some kinda sick joke.”

“What joke?” A voice startles both of you, Dean even briefly clasps his chest with his hand. You both snap your heads around to face a young, scraggly guy who looks like he’s one sneeze away from lifting off.

“Who invited you to the party?” Dean asks sarcastically, eyebrow arched and eyeing the poor lad with scepticism.

“I- uhm – I’m part of the cabin crew… I’m Bob.” He sputters, his fingers fiddling with his name tag before his eyes dart back and forth between you, curiously. “What party?”

“He’s being sarcastic, Bob.” You crack an amused, lop sided smile.

“Great, we’ve got ourselves another birdbrain. Just without the angel-juice.” Dean quips, rubbing his face in annoyance. “You better buckle up, kid. This’ll be a bumpy ride if it's real.”

“Maybe… it’s just a dream?” You try to reason, although you are pretty positive that this is anything but a dream, “I mean, he’s an angel after all. He wouldn’t put you in charge of 200 passengers, right?“

“660,“ Bob chimes in matter-of-factly, „It’s 660 passengers. Plus 16 cabin crew and that’s-”

“Bob. Not helping.“ You cringe inwardly.

“Including me…” he adds in a small voice.

“And who gave you permission to add your crap?” Dean deadpans at Bob before his head snaps back at you, “And you kiddin’ me? When did angels start to care about any of us?“

“Right - fair enough. Then, uh, let‘s just get the co-pilot. Bob, where‘s the man of the moment?” You turn to glance at the steward again.

“Uh,” Bob mutters with a nervous smile, “That would be you, miss.”

“What?” You look down and notice just now, that indeed, you were wearing a pilot’s uniform. “Really? No stewardess? Well, uh, that’s… refreshing.”

“Fantastic. Just fantastic.” Dean mutters next to you.

„Tell you what — I‘m gonna call Cas,“ Dean fumbles for his phone, „He can shazam us out of this shitshow- Nah! Come on!“ he cuts himself short and throws his hand in the air, “That son of a bitch took my phone as well!“

“Dean - breath - you’re panicking-“ you try to calm him down but get cut short.

“I’m not panicking! I’m peachy as fuck!” he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just because I‘m a little worried about being stuck up in this flyin’ tin can of death doesn‘t mean I‘m freakin’ out.” Dean defends himself, his eyes narrowed, trying his best to act tough and offended. When in reality his grip on the armrest is close to a breaking point.

You reach out a hand to place it on his arm, when suddenly the plane shudders and Dean’s eyes go as wide as saucers, his grip on the armrest now enough to strangle the life out of a man.

Bob pipes up with recovered confidence, “It‘s just a little bit of turbulence, Captain. I fly this same route every day, it‘s perfectly normal.”

Dean’s head whips around to shoot Bob a deadpan glare, “Yeah, ‘cuz you’re totally unbiased, aren’t ya?” Bob blinks at him, seemingly not understanding a single word he said. “I’m not your Captain, kid.” He clarifies with an exasperated groan.

Bob looks like his face has been hit with a wet towel, “But… you’re wearing a pilot’s uniform.”

Dean shoots you a sarcastic smile. “Oh, bless his heart.”

You sigh, “Thanks for stating the obvious, Bob.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“So... you are pilots.” he concludes.

“Shut up, trolly-boy.” Dean snaps gruffly before he turns back to face the sky in front of them. He runs a frustrated hand down his face, unsure what to say with his usual bravado seemingly dissipated.

“I need a drink,” Dean mutters to himself after a moment of silence, the sweat beading on his forehead.

Bob takes this as his cue and proudly hands him a bottle of water.

“This better be gin.” He grumbles and uncaps the bottle, downing it in one go. He sets the empty bottle down on the ground, his eyes flicking across the dashboard of the cockpit. His hair gets ruffled by a frustrated hand of his, before Dean suddenly pushes himself off the seat, muttering. “I need some fresh air.”

“Sure, let’s just open a window - are you insane??” You shout after him, turning in your seat. Bob shoots you the look of a deer caught in headlights, his face drained of all blood as he watches him walk out on them. You roll your eyes before you get up to rush after Dean.

“Just keep the damn plane in the sky.” You clap him briefly on the shoulder, at which Bob stutters something along the line of ‘this not being part of his job description’. But you cut him short with a mocking smile and a brisk slap to the chest. “It’s your lucky day, pal. You just got promoted. Now just don’t screw the pooch ‘till we’re back.” And off you went, slamming the cockpit door shut behind you. Leaving poor Bob back with nothing less but 10,000 switches, dials and buttons. And an empty water bottle.

***

You hurry after Dean who just disappeared in the lavatory. “Dean, wait-” you get inside as well, already feeling a slight deja-vu of the cooped up situation in here, but choose not to comment on it now. “Look, I know this sucks but… I think I’ve got an idea how we can get out of this.”

Dean tries and fails to pace in the narrow cabin. He’s now running his hand through his hair in a frantic manner instead. “Oh yeah? Please, indulge me.” He says sarcastically, his breath slightly shaky.

“Dean, listen to me,” you pause, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, “God… I can’t believe I’m saying this but…” you take a deep breath, fighting the urge to curse out a certain naked love-angel, “The way I see it… Right now, the lives of 676 innocent people depend on your dick.”

“Uh-“ Dean stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, “Are you trying to flirt with me? ‘Cuz that’s one hell of an odd pick up line.” His lips shift into a mischievous smirk, “It’s kinda hot though.”

“DEAN,” You groan in exasperation, “I’m being serious! Lives are at stake here!” You reach over to lock the door with a bit more force than needed. “Including my ass!” You add as you whip around to face him again.

Dean throws his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, okay! I get it! Just sayin’, it’s a weird thing to say to your boyfriend!” He plops down on the toilet seat behind him, his expression one of mock-seriousness, his lips twitching, “So what’s my dick gotta do with the fate of this plane?”

You sigh and lean back against the door, your knees almost touching his in the narrow lavatory. “Love is in the air.” You state matter-of-factly before you continue, “That’s what the Amor said, remember? It’s a lesson, Dean - we gotta… ya know-” while you speak you make an obscene hand gesture to get your point across, “- do it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline, “Whoa, whoa, whoa - slow down there, Squeak. You can’t be serious, you really want us to-”

Before he could finish the sentence, the plane lurched suddenly, causing you both to grab for each other and almost knocking heads. Your eyes lock, realization dawning on you that time’s ticking. Fast.

“No time for explanations,” you blurt out, “You just gotta trust me on this.” You drop to your knees between his legs, your hands working the buckle of his belt. When suddenly Dean pipes up.

“I can’t.”

Your mind just came to a screeching halt at those two words. “What?” You sputter, looking up at him in disbelief.

“I can’t do it.” He repeats in a low voice, clearing his throat this time. And his eyes dart around the lavatory in an attempt to avoid your flabbergasted look.

Silence.

“We literally fucked in a public fitting room the other day and you want to tell me you can’t do this?” You stare at him wide-eyed. This entire situation seemed like a stupid joke to you. Dean’s dismissing a chance to bang you? Ridiculous.

Dean looks taken aback by your argument, his face scrunched up in an offended manner. “Hey! That wasn’t 30’000 miles in the air - s’not the same!-” His voice turns into a little screech when you cup his privates in the middle of his arguing, “Hey, hey- whoa- easy there!” He sputters, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. His fingers wrap around the edge of the toilet seat in a death grip, forcing himself to regain his composure in front of you.

His cheeks flush with a faint pink when his eyes finally meet yours again. “He’s-” he croaks out before he cuts himself short. He clears his throat and forces his voice to its usual confident, gruff tone, “He’s scared. Alright?” His jaw clenches and he looks away again, forcing a sarcastic smile when he scoffs, “Go on, laugh it up.”

Oh. Now it clicked in your head. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at him, but you still can’t help the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He felt so embarrassed, it was almost endearing. “Well,” you smack your lips, your soft voice carrying a hint of teasing, “Guess I’ll just have to step up my game then.” You push yourself to your feet and before Dean gets to object, you disappear out the door with a quick wink at him. Dean stares at the door in confusion, his eyes occasionally darting down to his half-exposed boxers and its non-existent bulge. His jaw clenches and he curses a silent “Damnit”, already regretting that he told you.

A few minutes later, the door to the lavatory swings open again. And Dean’s breath hitches at the sight in front of him. “I thought you’d like this, Captain Winchester.” You drawl out his name in an extra sultry tone. Your finger playing at the neckline of your tight stewardess outfit. And his attention was effectively drawn to your subtly bobbing breasts whenever the plane shook. It had taken some smooth talking but you had managed to trade clothings with one of the stewardess’. Not without raising a few eyebrows though. But hey, lives are at stake here. And if the Winnichester needs some coaxing then you’ll damn well do so by wearing a super short blue skirt and a tight blouse with your pushed up boobs hanging out halfway. “Damn,” Dean swallows thickly, his voice cracking slightly, “You- uh- you look hot.” He starts to fidget around on the toilet lid, his eyes roaming you up and down with a sudden look of lust.

“So do you, Captain.” You hum, your teeth grazing your lips slowly. The pilot uniform fit him perfectly. Just how you had always imagined him. You secretly always hoped that the day would come where he’d need to wear one for a case, but of course that chance never came. Until now. And damn, the sight made your stomach tingle and the fabrics of your panties dampen.

But the moment is ruined by another strong turbulence, making the plane lurch again, this time stronger. You stumble forward and Dean panics, his hands braced against a wall each, “Oh come on! This can’t be normal!”

You take the chance and with one ‘wrong step’ you land on his thighs, both your knees straddling his hips. Taking the moment back by force. Dean startles for a moment, gasping for air as he’s torn between panicking from the planes sudden alarming noise, or feeling turned on by your bold action.

You shift on his lap, your wetted panties grinding against his covered crotch. Dean’s eyes briefly flutter closed, biting back a groan. Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in a passionate kiss, which Dean quickly succumbs to. After a moment, you break the kiss again, leaving him breathless and still a bit befuddled.

“You listen to me,” you command in a sultry tone while you cup his cheeks with both hands, holding his gaze, “You will fuck me now as if our lives depend on it. Ya hear me, Dean Winchester? I know you can do it.” Because our lives do depend on it, you add mentally.

Dean swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly going dry. After a moment of silence, despite the unsettling increasing clattering of the cabins and the rattling of the floor beneath them, Dean nods. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He replies huskily.

You can see in his darkened eyes how his fear is slowly dissipating and making room for excitement and lust. His hands slide off the walls to move to your waist and he rolls his hips up against you to show the effect you’re having on him. And indeed, his erection is twitching against the fabrics, begging to be released now. He looks up at you with that cocky smirk of his, finally carrying his usual confidence again. “Ready to be air-boned?”

“Seriously now?” You snort with an amused chuckle, your eyes roaming his pilot uniform, “Come on, Captain,” you playfully swat his thigh and then lean in, your lips grazing his ear, “I’ve always dreamed of gettin’ laid by a pilot. Hard.”

At that Dean’s green eyes glint with eagerness and desire. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “That so?” Without a warning, he grabs you by the hips and he pushes off the toilet lid. With a tight grip on you, he whips you around and bends you over the small washbasin. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself shoved into the mirror, your hipbones pressed firmly against the edge.

He leans down next to your ear, whispering gravelly, “Hold on tight,” His fingers dig into your hips to angle them slightly up, making you arch your back. “’m gonna make this so much better than your dream, sweetheart.” You shudder from his touch, the heat already pooling between your legs. He runs his hands up your inner thighs until he reaches your skirt which he slowly nudges upwards until he’s got his eyes on your exposed ass. He bites his lips with a low groan. “Damn, you look so beautiful, baby.” His fingers hook under the hem of your panties pulling them down to your knees in one swift movement. You stifle a moan, your thighs already dripping wet. Dean pulls his boxers down and his hard erection twitches against your ass as he leans down again, his chest firmly pressed against your back as he traps you underneath him. “Gonna fuck you ‘till we touch down. That sound good for you?” He growls with a cheeky smirk, his hot breath tingling your skin.

A low whine escapes your lips, pleading with a “y-yes- please.” You’re begging for him to take you already, to pin you down and fuck you like an animal. Your throbbing clit was aching for relief by now. You pant against the mirror and you feel your mind going hazy. Your head drops forward when you feel his fingers brush against your slick folds with a low groan of his.

“Jesus, you’re killing me sweetheart…” he whispers against the nape of your neck. He hooks his two fingers into your cunt to pull you back with a quick tug. You moan loudly but quickly get muffled by his hand, his middle finger slipping past your lips for you to suck on. And you suck hard, drawing a moan out of him this time.

“You ready to be banged to the heavens?” he asks deeply, his fingers slipping out of you again to part your folds open.

You nod, eagerly, a low muffled moan leaving your jammed mouth. Dean hums satisfied with your response and next moment he pushes his thick cock inside you. Despite his size, you take him with ease by now. But not without a guttural moan and you buckling for a moment. Dean quickly slips one hand underneath to your stomach to hold you in position. He doesn’t hold back long, after a few slow in and outs, he thrusts into you like there’s no tomorrow. Seemingly unloading all the pent-up tension from before. The hand on your stomach dips a bit lower, his finger flicking over your swollen nub, determined to get you there along him. His other hand leaves your mouth to push down on your lower back, pinning you down beneath him while his teeth graze at the skin of your neck. He grunts and groans, slamming into you like an animal. You meanwhile whine and whimper, your legs shaking from the relentless thrusts of his cock getting driven inside you, the turbulences only adding to the sensation. He picks up his pace, deep and rough, just the way he knew you liked it.

It didn’t take long for you both to reach the edge. Equally panting and trembling. When you finally come undone with one last hard thrust, you almost scream his name and your walls clamp him, taking him over the edge with you. Dean collapses on top of you with a shuddering, exhausted groan, but quickly makes sure to not bury you beneath him by propping himself up on his elbows.

After a moment of catching his breath, he whispers softly, “Damn… that was… intense.” his forehead drops to your shoulder and he pants heavily against your back, his damp hair tickling your neck. “You doing good, sunshine?”

You finally manage to flutter your eyes open again and it takes you a second to realize where you are. “Oh my God, Dean.” You exclaim breathlessly. You tip your head back, nudging him with your back-head. Dean slowly raises his head, just enough to look over your head, expecting to see his reflection in the mirror. But instead is faced with a swaying kitchen pan.

“Jesus,” he mutters a bit shocked, “Don’t tell me-” “Yes!” you cut him short while wiggling free from underneath him, “It worked! Love is in the air, baby!”

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Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation

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Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

#dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #spn reader insert #dean x you #spn x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #spn #kinky advent calendar #supernatural smut #supernatural

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writtenbyan-aries · 1 year ago

Text

Summary: Reader accepts Zach's invitation about coming onto the podcast, despite going through a hard time.

Warnings: there won't be smut in this (I can always do a part 2), but there will sexual innuendos and other things that make it feel like it belongs in this book, kinda sad beginning, swearing, joking around, reader is good friends with Zach and Jared, reader feeling sad/down, long distance relationship? possible angst?

I will be using some actual dialogue from their videos, but most of it will be from me.

Word count: 6.3k | not edited

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

It's been a few weeks since you and Sam sat down and had a long discussion about your relationship.

You both agreed that it was best you "cut things off'' until things start to settle down - but you both didn't know when that was going to happen.

No matter how hard you tried, your schedules were always packed. You were flying to one state on the other side of the county.

Sam was flying to the opposite.

It didn't really make sense, because things really didn't change romantically, you still said I love you. You still FaceTimed when you could.

It's just, everything was always over the phone.

Through texts, phone calls, pictures.

You haven't seen each other since the night Sam left with Colby to do their overseas haunted tour thing that they've been planning for months.

That was three weeks ago, and it's killing you - both.

You both agreed that you need to give both of your lives all you got, and that's where it made sense. Putting your careers first, getting ahead so you have time to plan out the future together.

You hated it. Absolutely despised it, but you truly believed that if your love was real, and you truly believed it was..

It will always contain the habit of coming back.

You hugged Sam tight, not wanting to let him go. His arms stayed around you, chin rested on your head as he basked in the last moments you had together before he had to fly to Romania.

Then to Spain.

Then Ireland.

It was going to be non stop.

"Hey." Sam whispers, "I love you." You sniffle, mumbling into his chest, "I love you." He slides an arm over your shoulder, tilting your tear soaked face up to look at him.

He smiles slightly, biting his lip to hold back his own tears, "I don't care how complicated things gets. I still want you."

You nod, "Always your girl."

He kisses your forehead, "Always my girl."

You can tell he nods, meaning Colby has signaled him, and you let out a sigh, "Let me know when you land."

"You know I'll update you any chance I get." He pulls you into a hug, squeezing tight, "I love you. I love you so much."

You try your hardest not to cry, but you can't help it and sob into his chest, "I love you."

He cups your cheek, kissing you deeply before leaning back, "I don't want to, but I gotta go."

"Go." You smile, "But don't have too much fun." You laugh slightly before it quickly turns into crying again and you fight it, "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, "Never be sorry." He kisses you one last time, "Wait for me."

You nod, turning around to see Colby standing behind you, "Safe travels." You reach up, wrapping your arms around Colby's neck and he hugs you tight, "It'll be okay."

You nod, leaning back, "I know." You wipe your face, watching as Sam and Colby walk towards the gate.

Sam smiles slightly, giving you one last wave before he walks through.

Once he's out of your sight, you cover your face, absolutely breaking down and you didn't care that it was in the middle of the airport.

Your friend walks up, wrapping her arms around you, "You guys are inevitable."

"I have to go in like ten minutes, we're getting ready to head to our next place." Sam says from the other end of the phone.

You pout totally forgetting about the time difference, "Okay."

"Hey " Sam tilts his head, "Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything. I've mastered waiting until we hang up." You laugh and he sighs, "Girl. You're going to kill me."

"If I was going to do that, I would have done it before you left."

You've been coping with jokes and humor. You were still absolutely dying inside with not being able to lay with him. Kiss him. Hug him.

It was still eating away at you, but, as said, you've just mastered it with humor.

"Part of me wishes you did." Sam mumbles with a laugh, "This is hell."

You sigh quietly, sitting up as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand, "I know." You smile as you think about what your friend said, "But just remember that we're inevitable."

"Damn right." Sam smiles and you hear Colby yell at him, "Alright, enough with the phone sex. The car's here."

You laugh as you watch Sam's mouth drop and he pans his phone over his fully clothed in layers body, "Does it look like I have my d-"

"I don't need to know what nasty shit you guys are in to." Colby laughs and you sigh, "Alright. I love you."

You see the phone get ripped out of Sam's hand and Colby's face appears suuuper close to the camera, "I love you, too."

You shake your head, laughing, "oh my god."

Sam gets his phone back and he smiles, "Talk later?"

You nod, "You know it. Be safe. Good luck!"

Sam smiles, "Yes ma'am." He salutes you, "Alright, I love you." You smile, "I love you."

The call ends and you feel that sudden rush of, once gated, emotions hit you all at once. You fall into the bed, specifically on Sam's side and take a deep shaky breath, "Fuck."

You lay a pillow over your face and lay there for a second, taking yourself down from crying.

Your phone dings and you hesitate for a second before you toss the pillow next to you and search for your phone.

A laugh leaves your lips as you see a message from your friend, Zach Justice, Hey sweet cheeks. Come on the podcast.

You click on it, typing out, oh now you want me to come on?

You take a screenshot and send it to Sam. You stare up at the ceiling as you wait for a response from either one, trying to convince yourself that what you're going through, is going to benefit your future with Sam.

Together.

You bring your phone up, rolling your eyes at Zach's response, Not so much me, but the people in the comments. Your name is infesting every video I post.

Infesting? That's a.. weird way of putting it lol. I'll see if I can squeeze you in to fit in my busy, busy schedule.

Your friendship with Zach has always been playful banter, ever since you met, but he's always there for you.

You haven't said anything to him, or Jared, about your current situation with Sam, but you know that just going on the podcast would definitely help you get through this easier.

You bring your phone back up and laugh as what Zach had to say, So kind of you to consider hanging out with me.

You laugh, I know, I can be sooo nice. I'll come if you buy me a plane ticket.

And pick me up from the airport, with donuts.

You see the message change from delivered to read and his face pops up on your screen. You take a deep breath and hit answer, "You couldn't have just texted me?"

"Donuts you say? You must be really going through it."

You laugh, "You have no idea."

"Does this have anything to do with Sam?" He raises his brows when you don't answer him and he hums, "Thought so."

"We're.. together but we're not together? If that makes any kind of sense. I don't know. We both agreed that our schedules are too much for us to be labeled as a couple right now, so we just, agreed to put more focus on the business of our lives?" You shake your head, "I'm just.. feeling a lot."

"Yeah, you're totally coming on the podcast." He laughs, "I'll get your plane ticket." You can tell he's focused on something else and you laugh, "I was joking. I can get my-"

"Done."

"Zach." You laugh, "I don't even know when I'm free."

"Well, you better be free next Thursday." He smiles, giving you a wink, "See you then."

"Don't.. wink at me. That's weird."

"Ugh" he groans dramatically, "Sorry." He smiles, "See you next Thursday, I'll send you the deats." He winks and hangs up before you can yell at him again.

You see a message from Sam and your attention shifts as you read what he says, You should definitely do it, babe. I think it would be good for you.

You tap the screen, Zach really didn't give me a choice. He bought my plan ticket for me already so now I have to move stuff around, but I agree.

Your eyes move up to the time, groaning lowly as you realize just how late it is. You remembered you have a meeting for a brand deal within the next four hours, so you reach over, turning off your lights so you can try and get at least a little bit of sleep.

Why'd he have to get such an early flight, you think as you zip your suitcase closed. You lift it off the bed and set it upright on the floor before replacing the spot on the bed with your body.

The last two days, Sam and Colby have been camping in a place they don't have service, so you haven't talked to him.

Your phone dings and you lift in hopes that it's Sam, but it's Zach, On your way to the airport?

You laugh quietly, You act like you're exited to see me or something, but soon. Waiting on my friend to get here to take me.

Your friend texts you, letting you know that she's there and you get a move on, pulling the handle from your case and wheeling it behind you as you walk out to the living room.

She comes in, "You ready?"

You look over at her, "Yeah I just have to grab my headphones, they've been charging." She nods, "You doing okay?"

You shrug, "I mean, yeah. For the most part." You laugh slightly, "As good as I can be."

"Where did he say they were camping again?" She crosses her arms and you look at her, "Some.. demonic forest? I have no idea. If I don't hear from him by tomorrow I'm sending a search and rescue team."

She laughs, "No I don't blame you." She walks over, grabbing the handle of your bag as you stuff your headphones into your carry on, "I know how Zach is, and he's a jokester.. are you going to be alright?"

You nod, "I talked to Zach about everything last week, I told him that joking is my way to cope, so I gave him the green light."

"I can't wait for this to come out. I just know it's going to be better than the others." She laughs and you nod, "Oh you know it."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Walking into the airport was almost like you were reliving that day with Sam all over again. Luckily, you had to go to a different gate in a different part of the building, which really made it a lot easier in the long run.

"Well. I'll see ya in a day or two." You lean in, hugging your friend, "Thank you."

She squeezes you, "Don't need to thank me. Have a good flight."

You nod, "I'll try. I'll text you when I land."

You turn, walking up to the lady to hand her your ticket. She smiles, "Hi, y/n. I have to tell you, my daughter is a huge fan of yours."

"Awe." You smile, "You'll have to tell her I said thank you.

The lady nods, "I will." She smiles, "Safe travels, y/n."

You smile and walk in, turning back to wave to your friend before boarding the plane.

You sit down in your seat, checking your phone to see if Sam texted - but no message. You sigh, unfolding your headphones and slipping them over your ears.

You've been on enough planes to know the routine.

After pressing play for your music to play, you send a quick text to Zach, letting him know that you boarded and should be there in about two to three hours.

Your flight feels longer than it should be. It felt like time was dragging by as slow as it could possibly go.

But once you land and are able to exit, you practically bolt to the baggage claim.

I got my bags, where are you?

You look around, waiting to either see Zach or hear back from him.

Moments later, he texts, Standing in front of the Starbucks. Someone didn't send me their gate number so I figured I'd treat myself to cheer myself up.

You laugh, grabbing your bag as you type with your thumb, you're ridiculous, did you at least get me one?

Zach replies, No why would I do that?

You roll your eyes and walk to the Starbucks, smiling as you see him holding two coffees, "You did in fact do that."

He turns, smiling as he opens his arms to hug you, "Yeah yeah, don't ruin it."

You step back, taking the coffee he hands you, "Ready?" He nods, "right this way, sweet cheeks."

"You just going to keep coming up with new nicknames each time you talk to me?" You laugh and he stares at you, "Um, yeah. That's what I've been doing? Right?"

You roll your eyes, "What are you going to do when you run out of nicknames? Recycle the old ones."

He laughs, "Boy are you funny. Listen here." He stops pointing to his head and you tilt your head as you watch him tap his temple, "This baby can go for miles. Don't ever underestimate me."

You hold your hand up in defense, "Message received, sweet cheeks."

He gives you a look, trying not to laugh and he sighs, "Not cool." He laughs, turning to lead you to his car.

The ride to the house was filled with small talk, mainly catching up and what not since it's been over a year since you've seen him last.

Once there, you're greeted by Jared and Alyssa with hugs.

"How was the flight?" Jared asks and you shrug with a laugh, "Long."

"Did you do your hair recently? It's so pretty." Alyssa plays with a stand and you nod, "Yeah I went after a meeting last week. I figured I needed a change or something."

"You know, I think I seen it on Instagram." She laughs and Zach rolls his eyes, "girl talk, yuck. I'm not doing this." He walks over to sit down and puts his headphones on.

He motions to the empty chair, "Are we doing this?"

"I still don't have a choice do I?" You laugh and Zach sighs, "Now you're finally getting it."

You set your stuff down, walking over to sit on the red seat. You put your headphones on and look around as Jared and Alyssa get settled in.

"We good?" Zach asks and looks at everyone, and you all nod.

"What's up guys. Welcome to one ninety six of Dropouts." Zach starts in a loud, cheery sing songy tone, "Were here with the guest you've all been waiting for..."

Jared gives Zach a drum roll and Zach looks at you, "Miss Y/n y/l/n."

"Hi everybody." You smile, "Just to let everyone know, Zach didn't give me a choice to do this, so everyone should go flood his comments-"

"No, cut that out. We're cutting that out." Zach tries not to laugh, "Listen. It only took how long for you to finally get here?"

"She's a very busy girl, Zach." Jared laughs, "Speaking of.. Did I, or did I not, see that you're going to be on the next cover of vogue?"

"You guys heard about that?" You smile and look at Alyssa and she claps for you, "Powerful woman."

You smile and look at Zach, "Jealous?"

Zach raises his brows, "That I'm not a woman? Please. I don't need anymore problems." He takes a deep breath, "Anyway. Besides that, I want to ask you a very serious question."

You time your head, "That could be anything.."

Zach fights back a smirk, "You seen, two or three episodes back that we had.. Sam, and Colby on here, right."

Jared laughs, "Zach, where are you going with this?"

"No where. Well. I mean." He laughs, "Somewhere, but just, wait. We aren't there yet."

"Clearly." You and Alyssa say at the same time and you both laugh.

Zach points between the two of you, "See. This is why I don't like having them both here, they like tag team me and not in the way any man would want to happen, ya feel me?"

You roll your eyes, "Sam and Colby, your question." You laugh when he looks at you and he smirks, "You and Sam.. getting down and dirty yeah?"

You laugh, "If you want to put it that way, I mean. Yeah, but not like.. recently."

"Why's that?" Zach rubs his chin with his fingers and you shrug, "in the words of Jared, she's a very busy girl, Zach."

"Mm, okay." He raises his brows and shakes his head, "Now another question I have for you.. and don't get mad at me for asking this, because if I'm correct, they confirmed this when they were here."

You raise your brows, knowing exactly where this is going, "Mhm."

"Did Sam leave the states to be with Colby officially because, now, this is what I was told, you threatened to turn Colby into a spirit himself?" Zach leans back and you stare at him for a few second before laughing, "Oh my god."

"That's.." Jared laughs, "Who did you hear that from?"

Zach makes a face, "Oh so now you're going to sit there and pretend like that isn't what you told me last night?"

"Whoa, okay. No. Y/n. I didn't-" Jared laughs and Zach cuts in, "Oh, see. He can't deny it. His face is as red as the seats and he's starting to smell because he's so full of it."

"What the fuck." Jared rolls his eyes and you sigh, leaning in towards the mic, "For the record, I have never threatened to turn Colby into a spirit."

"But you aren't denying that they're married?" Zach tilts his head, pointing his finger at you, "But even then, you'd have to ward off Colby because I'm sure his spirit will just attach to Sam."

"No that's little girl spirits." Jared laughs, emphasizing again, "Spirits. We've been over this with them. Please don't take that the wrong way."

"Anyway." Zach shakes his head, "When's the last time you talked to either one of them?"

You sigh, "Oh gosh. This will be day three, but I've already said, if I don't hear from him by the end of today I'm sending in a search and rescue team for their asses."

"Oh gosh, that just.. wow." Zach sighs, "Can I just.. that just brought up something very serious and I need to say it, like right now."

"Or what you'll explode?" Alyssa asks causing you and Jared to laugh. Zach looks over at her, "Can you just shut up for two seconds, I have something important I need to say."

Alyssa raises her hands, fighting back her laughter.

Zach looks at you and he takes a deep breath, "Now this.. might be hard for you to hear, as well for everyone else watching and, or listening.. but.." he looks into the camera, "If you wanna see me go retrieve Sam and Colby from." He pauses and looks at you, "Where are they right now?"

You fight back laughter, "Camping in some demonic forest."

He picks right back up, "Camping in a demonic forest, subscribe to the Patreon, you can see all of that plus stuff that's already happened."

"You're.. insufferable." Jared shakes his head as he looks down and Zach just shrugs, "People like them. And if they know that I'm willing to help them, they'll like me, too. Okay. Moving on."

"So you literally got in today? Like your flight." Zach asks and you just stare at him. He cracks a smile, "What?"

"You're literally the one who picked her up from the airport, Zach." Jared laughs and you gasp, "Oh, and he brought me donuts like I said to last week and a coffee at the airport while he was waiting for me."

"Hey hey hey." Zach says quickly, "Don't be telling everyone lies. You know I spit in your coffee before I gave it to you."

"That's atrocious, Dude. What the fuck." Jared closes his eyes and shakes his head. You stare at Zach, "No you didn't." Zach shrugs, "The world may never know."

"I don't know if I believe him, because I can totally see him doing that, just like to fuck with someone close to him." You laugh, "Oh god, I drank all of that, too. Did you really do that?"

Zach sighs, nodding his head as he speaks, "No, I didn't."

"See!" You point to him laughing, "You're a child."

Zach laughs, "Yeah and you're the queen of England." He pretends like he's using a gavel, "Case closed. So. Back to Sam and Colby.. Since you're so close with them, like have you gone on any investigations with them?"

"I used to. Like right before my channel took off, I would go with them maybe twice a month?" You answer and Zach nods, "Is that why your channel blew up?"

You can tell he's asking something that does relate to being touched or spoken to by a ghost, "Are you-"

"Yes." Zach cuts you off and you laugh, "No. I didn't sell my soul. I'm pretty sure it's still there, I mean I don't know how to check but."

Zach reaches over and feels your wrist, "Still there."

"Zach." Jared bursts out laughing, "that's her pulse man, not her soul."

Zach shrugs, "You never know. She may have turned into some sort of succubus demon thing that doesn't have a pulse but she has one. She's good."

You roll your eyes and you can feel your phone vibrating in the pocket of your sweatpants, "I'm getting a call."

"That the devil calling, he wants to return your souls." Zach says and you laugh, "That was good." You pull your phone out, not even hiding your happiness when you see Sam's name, "It's Sam."

You push your one headphone off your ear and bring your phone up, "hey!"

"We just got to service, are you okay?" Sam asks and you keep smiling, "Yeah I'm actually doing the podcast right now."

"Oh fuck, right now? I'm sorry." Sam says and you shake your head, "No, you're fine, how was it?"

You look over at Zach and he wiggles his fingers, "Put him on speaker." You hold up one finger and continue to listen to Sam speak, "I'll have to FaceTime you later and show you. It was pretty nuts."

"Oh god, yeah I'm sure. Zach wants me to put you on speaker so I'm going to do that here in a second." You take the phone away and tap the button, "Okay."

"Is y/n a succubus?" Zach asks straight away, obviously catching Sam off guard, "What.. the fuck?" He laughs, "Is she a what?"

"A demon. I mean I checked her pulse and she has one so I think we're good, but I figured I'd check in with the main ghost hunter because you'd know her better than any of us."

"What kind of things are you talking about on the podcast?" Sam laughs and Zach sighs, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see when the video comes out."

"Um.. okay." Sam laughs and you take him off speaker, "You're off speaker, now."

"Yeah so give it to her good, Sammy my boy." Zach yells and you roll your eyes as Sam laughs, "There's something wrong with him."

"Oh I know. But according to him, his brain can go for miles."

"Y/n. What did I say about telling my secrets." Zach shakes his head and you shrug, "Sorry, that must have been the devil taking over."

Zach raises his eyebrows, "Clearly." He nods, "Ask Sam if he got my text, since they now have service and what not."

You relay the message and Sam takes a second to check, "Oh yeah, I got it."

You nod to Zach, "Yeah, he got it." Zach nods, fighting back a smirk, "Cool, cool."

"Why are you acting like that?" Jared asks and Zach tilts his head, "What do you mean?" Jared looks from him to you, "You're being.. more weird than usual."

"I have my meter for weirdness and it sits right here." Zach holds his hand up, "and I haven't gone above that level since... Mm. Let say. Tuesday?"

"What's going on?" Sam asks and you laugh, "Oh Zach and Jared are arguing. Normal stuff, you know."

Sam laughs, "Oh yeah. Typical." You hear him sigh and you know what's about to happen so you cut him off before he can say anything, "Talk later?"

"You know it. I love you." Sam says and you smile, looking down, "I love you."

The call ends and you look up, "Alright."

"Alright, now we can get on with other things." Zach claps his hands together, "Are we still going out after this?"

You raise your brows, "Out?"

Zach furrows his brows and looks from Jared to Alyssa, "Is your guy's stuff acting up?" He motions to his headphones and they both shake their heads no.

"Mines good, why is yours?" Jared asks and Zach shakes his head, "No, I'm just trying to make sure that y/n can hear me alright because out is exactly what I said."

You roll your eyes, "Oh my god. Shut the fuck up."

"I didn't know if you could hear me okay or not, was just double checking, jeeze. No need to be so aggressive." Zach tries not to laugh and you shake your head, knowing that no matter how much you try and talk yourself out of it, you'll still be going out.

So you just sit back and accept your fate.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Almost two hours later, the podcast comes to a close and you set your headphones down on the bench, "Is it just me, or did that podcast feel like it went longer than normal?"

You look between Zach, Jared, and Alyssa.

"I don't think it felt any different." Jared shakes his head and shrugs. Alyssa nods, "I think it went over just a little bit, but not much."

You nod and Zach stands up, "That jet lag must be really doing a number on you."

You shrug, "I don't know, but are we at least getting dinner because I haven't eaten since this morning."

"You are such a cry baby. Let's go." Zach laughs as he walks away and you scoff, following him out the door.

You all pile into the car and start driving to the restaurant, "So where was Tara?" You ask leaning forward, "I texted her but I haven't gotten any answer from her."

"She's like, really sick." Zach says, "I called her this morning and it sounded like she swallowed her phone."

"Oh god, if she sounds that bad then she's probably sleeping it off." You lean back, looking down at your phone, "So what did you and Sam talk about?"

You look up at Zach and he looks back at you in the rear view, "When did your name change to Nelly because you're awfully nosey."

You laugh, "Fine then don't tell me. I'm sure he'll tell me anyway."

"Yeah, he probably will." Zach turns into the parking lot and you roll your eyes, accepting that reverse psychology doesn't work on him.

As you get out, you check your phone. You let out a sigh and slip it into your pocket before closing the door.

"I don't know much about the situation.." Alyssa says as she walks over to you, ".. but I know that you and Sam are major endgame if you ask me."

You smile, "Thanks. I just.. we talked about putting pause on our relationship and it's just so hard because the only thing that really changed was us making time for each other. I mean, it didn't really happen much lately anyway, but the fact that we just cut it all out in one shot.." you sigh, "I hate it."

She nods, "I'm sure it's rough, but you both have great careers, and I promise that it'll work out in the end. It might not seem like it now, but it will."

"Thank you." You take a deep breath, "I actually needed that."

She smiles and rubs your back, "Come on, Zach is probably in there bitching."

You laugh and roll your eyes, "Probably."

You walk into the restaurant, making your way to the table that Jared and Zach are sitting at and Zach looks up, "So they didn't get kidnapped."

"You can't get rid of us that easily." You laugh as you sit down, "So what's good here?" You look over at Alyssa and she explains some of her favorite dishes.

Throughout dinner, you caught yourself checking your phone and your sadness grew each time you seen zero notifications from Sam.

At this point, you wanted to go to a hotel and just sleep off your day.

But that wasn't happening.

"Why do you look more miserable than normal?" Zach asks and you look up at him, laughing slightly, "I'm just.. getting really tired."

Wasn't a full lie.

"Uh huh. Well you better wake up, because where we're going next will get your mind off, being tired." He tilts his head and you roll your eyes, "I hate that you know me."

"You secretly love it. Now come on." He stands up, along with you and everyone else and you make your way out to the car.

You're quiet for the most part, except for when they force you to join in on conversation.

"When did you hear about Vogue?" Alyssa asks and you can't help but smirk, "I found out a few days ago. I kind of just waited, kept it to myself. It really didn't hit until Jared asked me about it."

"So wait, the post that they made with your picture titled the next face of vogue didn't make it set in?" Jared asks and you shrug, "honestly, no."

You laugh and sigh, "How much longer?"

"We're here." Zach replies and you nod, looking out the window at the building, "So is this like a bar scene? I'm not dressed for that." You joke and Alyssa laughs, "You look fine, trust me. Your sweats were the way to go."

"I am super comfortable." You laugh as you get out, not even bothering to check your phone.

You follow them in, handing the bouncer your ID, letting him check it before making your way in.

The music is loud and it's filled with a few faces that you've met before, not anyone you're really willing to sit down and have a conversation with, though.

You walk up to the bar, ordering your drink as Alyssa does the same.

"So don't.." she laughs, "Don't tell Zach I told you this, I mean, he'd kill me if he knew you knew this.." she pauses and you nod, smiling, "secret is safe with me."

She leans in, "Zach is actually worried about you. He's afraid that you're working yourself too much and now he's worried that this whole Sam situation will break you."

You're actually kind of surprised, but at the same time, you're not, "I kind of thought that when he called me that night instead of just texting me.. but I'm actually really happy to hear that from someone who's close to him each day."

You take your drink, laying down your money, "keep the change."

Alyssa does the same and looks to you, "Just let him think that he's doing something you don't know about. I don't want him firing me."

"I won't let that happen." You laugh, "Thank you."

She nods and you walk back towards Zach and Jared. Right as you walk up, Zach stands up and walks way, phone pressed to his ear and he doesn't say a word.

You furrow your brows and point to him, "What was that all about?"

Jared sighs, "Last minute cancellation for the podcast. He's not taking it good."

"Oh gosh, who was it?" You sit down and Jared looks to Alyssa before he leans in, "Don't say anything, but it was the triplets."

"Chris, Nick, and Matt?" You raise your brows, "Why'd they cancel?"

Jared shrugs, "No idea, that's what Zach is trying to figure out." You pout, "oh gosh, I have Chris' number. I can text him and see-"

"Alright. We're good to go." Zach comes back and sits down. You look over at him, "So the triplets are coming on? They're not canceling?"

He looks between Jared and Alyssa before tilting his head, "You're not supposed to know.. so just.." he lowers his hand in reference to you lowering your voice and you nod, "Ahh." You lower your voice, "Gotcha."

You sip your drink and pull your phone from your pocket as you feel it vibrate, "Oh. It's Tara."

"What did she say?" Zach says and you read over her text, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the podcast. I was super sick this morning. I just now woke up, but I'm feeling a lot better, are you still in town? Would love to meet up with you before you leave again."

"What's the name of this place? I'm going to text her where I'm at." You look up and Jared tells you the name before you shoot her back a text.

"She said she'll be here in an hour." You put your phone back in your pocket and look down at your empty glass, "I'll be right back."

You get up, walking up to the bar to get another drink.

"Are you okay?" Zach asks and you look over at him, "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?" He shrugs, "I'm just.. asking. Jeeze. Can't a guy just ask a girl if she's okay?"

You fight back a smirk, knowing that he really cares, "Yes, Zach. I'm fine, and you.. and Alyssa and Jared have all helped me get through the day without crying."

"Good, because I really don't think I could handle you crying.." Zach laughs slightly, "Tara said she'll be here in an hour?"

You nod, "Yeah, she has to get ready first, I guess."

He nods, "Of course she does."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Mm." You set your glass down, "Tara's here."

"She is?" Jared asks shocked and you look at him funny, "That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Jared tilts his head, "You've been around Zach for too long." He laughs and stands up, "I'll go get her."

"No I will. I haven't seen her in so long." You stand up, but the three follow you out anyway. You glance behind you, laughing slightly as you shake your head.

You make your way to the door and look around, "Where is she?"

You get a text from Tara, Patio, sorry I saw someone else I haven't seen in a while.

You look at Zach, "She's on the patio."

"To the patio we go." He points, leading you down the side of the building. You round the corner, seeing Tara standing there with a huge smile, "Ahh!" She yells as she runs towards you, "I've missed you!"

"Hey!" You yell and hug her, "I've missed you!" You lean back, "You look so good!"

"Same for you miss cover of vogue!" She pushes your shoulder, "How fucking amazing is that?!"

You nod, "Pretty amazing."

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you think it's just Zach pulling you away to pick on Tara, but when you turn, your heart falls into your stomach, "No fu-fucking way."

Sam is standing there, a huge smile on his face, "I couldn't go without seeing you anymore." He pulls you in for a hug, face buried into your neck and the tears you've been holding in all damn day are finally let loose.

"Hey. Hey, hey." He lays a hand on your head, shushing you quietly, "It's okay." He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "I'm here."

You're glued to him. You want to let go so you can lean back and look at him but your body just wants to hold him.

"I'm taking time off. I'm traveling with you. I want to be with you." Sam whispers and you lean your head back, just enough to look at him, "Really?"

He nods, "Really. You're more important than anything in the world. We're making this work. I'm going to make it work."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

The end feels kind of rushed, and I promised you guys this yesterday, but I've been battling a migraine attack non stop for the last four days, so I just wanted to get something out.

A part 2 (with smut) is definitely in the brain for this, you know when I can get it to stop working against me.

But as always, let me know how you liked it. Thanks for reading. I love you all! 🖤

likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #sam and colby #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach one shots #sam Golbach #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach and colby brock #Sam Golbach one shot #dropouts ft y/n #dropouts podcast #dropouts #dropouts Zach justice #zach justice #ft Zach justice #y/n #sam golbach x you #famous!reader #famous!y/n #influencer!reader

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mrsdesade · 7 days ago

Text

Stars and stripes between the sheets

note: another little Homelander x female!supe (Ophera) but this time I used a kinda spicy theme: what is gonna happen If he caught his love entertaining herself with a little specific toy from his 18+ brand?

tw: sxx toys (mentioned), soft nsfw, kinda provocatory

1,4k words (sorry I love writing dialogues)

The sun was bleeding out behind the skyline when Homelander returned to the Vought penthouse, boots quiet against the polished floor. The halls were still — eerily so — the silence only broken by the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak from the ceiling as the building settled.

He didn’t expect anyone to be there. Especially not her.

He was halfway through unbuttoning his belt when something odd caught his attention. A soft noise. A muffled sound? From the bedroom?

He narrowed his eyes, head tilting. Quietly, he floated over the floor, barely touching it, his curiosity piqued and a smirk already tugging at his mouth. The door was cracked. And the moment he pushed it open, reality hit him like a heat vision blast to the chest.

Ophera. In his bed. Legs splayed. Silky robe barely clinging to one shoulder.

And between her thighs— A Vought-branded sex toy. His colors. His logo. That ridiculous little red and blue thing buzzed in her hand.

She didn’t notice him at first — eyes closed, breath caught between a moan and a curse under her tongue. But then she opened her eyes.

They locked with his.

A split-second of utter, helpless mortification passed over her face — mouth slightly open, cheeks flushing bright, one hand instinctively tugging the robe over herself with zero success. “…shit!” she breathed, eyes wide. “You—you weren’t supposed to be home for another hour!”

Silence.

The toy gave a pathetic bzzt and died in her hand like even it had enough. “This is not what it looks like.”

Homelander stood frozen in the doorway, stunned into complete silence. His eye twitched.

“That—” he pointed, voice cracking. “—That’s — That’s my—what the hell are you doing?!” He blinked. “That’s not even anatomically correct!”

“I—I can explain,” she stammered, then immediately groaned and threw the toy under a pillow as if it would somehow vanish from existence.

“Really?” he said, moving into the room, cape fluttering. “Because exactly what it looks like… is pretty flattering.”

“Shut the hell up.” she snapped, scrambling to grab her robe. But her foot caught the corner of the rug, and she nearly slipped — catching herself on the armrest with a grunt of frustration.

He crossed his arms, mock-serious. “I mean, I always suspected, but now I know you think about me when you—”

“I don’t! It was… it was free merch!” she shouted defensively, gesturing wildly toward the object. “Ashley sent me a whole care package around one year ago! There was a candle too!”

“Oh yeah? Does the candle smell like justice?”

“God, I hate you.”

He laughed and walked toward her, slowly — his usual arrogance softened by clear delight. “Ophera, relax. I’ve walked in on much worse.” Then he glanced at the toy again, sitting abandoned and innocent. “You know...If you ever want the real thing.”

“Don't you dare—”

“Hey. You could’ve had literally any of those other Vought toys. Deep. Noir. Maeve, even Starlight…”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.” He paused, grinning wider. “You picked me.”

“It was the least hideous one.”

“Sure. That’s why it’s worn down to medium speed.”

Her jaw dropped in pure horror. “You—! Oh my—!”

He just laughed again, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll drop it. You win.''

Still visibly flustered, she covered her face with one hand. “God, just kill me already. Melt me. Right here. I’ll hold still.”

He made a noise that might’ve been a laugh or a sob. “Why would Vought even make that?”

“They made one of me too.” she muttered, regaining some of her poise. “Limited edition. Glitter in the silicone.”

Homelander stared blankly, confused.

She exhaled, defeated but now smirking again. “And yet.” she added dryly. “...you’re hard.”

He looked down, betrayed by his own body, and groaned. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, welcome home.” she said with mock-sweetness, curling back onto the pillows.

He approached slowly, kneeling beside the bed with a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She ran a hand through his hair. “Haven’t you heard? Playing hard to get drives narcissists insane.”

Homelander smirked. “That so?”

“Mmh.” she hummed, feigning indifference. “Studies say your kind respond to emotional starvation like lab rats in a cheese maze.”

He raised a brow. “Wow. What a sweet pet name.”

“Oh, I have worse.”

“I bet you do.” He sat down at the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, utterly delighted. “You know, this moment is now officially a highlight reel in my brain.”

She opened her mouth, ready to fire back — but hesitated. Something unguarded passed across her face. She blinked it away fast, but not fast enough.

He saw it.

“Wait a second.” he said, voice low and teasing. “Are you blushing?”

Her eyes went wide. “What? No.”

“Oh, you are,” he grinned. “Ophera. Embarrassed. I should call a press conference.”

“Stop it.”

“Admit it — you like that I caught you.”

She looked at him then, caught somewhere between flattered and resigned, lips twitching.

Their banter hung in the air, fizzing with tension — the kind that never really left them, even at their worst. But beneath it, something softer pulsed. He looked at her for a moment, more sincere now. “You could’ve gone to anyone’s bed tonight. And yet. Here you are. After weeks of treating me like I was radioactive.”

She exhaled slowly, eyes softening. “Maybe I got tired of my own.”

For once, he didn’t push for more. He just lean down beside her, laughing again. “Lucky me.”

They laid down, limbs tangling naturally. As he stroked her back with slow, absent fingers, she traced idle shapes on his chest with her nail.

“You always this affectionate when you’re not trying to screw me?” she asked.

He kissed her forehead. “You bring out the romantic in me.”

She tilted her head slightly to face him, her lips brushing his in a ghost of a kiss. And a quiet pause settled in.

On the nightstand, the absurd little toy — red, blue, and heroic — sat forgotten. “I still can’t believe you used that thing,” he muttered sleepily.

Her voice, half-lost against his neck: “Next time, I might use mine, glitter are more my style than stars and stripes.”

He snorted. “God help us all.”

They both laughed — soft, real.

#homelander #homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #homelander the boys #homelander x fem!reader #homelander x y/n #homelander x oc #homelander x reader #john gillman #the boys fanfic #the boys series #the boys oc #writing #the boys #my post

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whumpay · 1 year ago

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babe wake up new whumpay prompts dropped. like last year, im posting early for more time to prepare

Welcome to Whumpay 2024! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list, as well as three mini challenges (and by extension, the extreme edition)

Rules are the same as usual

You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.

I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.

Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.

This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2024 tag throughout May. For real this time.

These all also apply to these three special mini challenges, consisting of a 7 day, a 10 day, and a 14 day prompt list.

EXTREME EDITION: This year's extreme edition doesn't have its own prompt list, but instead, youll be taking all three mini challenges in order along with the main prompt list. Some of these fit pretty well, others less so.

1 - Mad Science:

Day 1: Strapped To An Operating Table

Day 2: Paralytic Drug

Day 3: Made A Lab Rat

Day 4: Vivisection

Day 5: Truth Potion/Serum/Spell

Day 6: Russian Roulette

1 - Attacks, Mental & Physical:

Day 7: Heart Attack

Day 8: Asthma Attack

Day 9: Animal Attack

Day 10: Panic Attack

3 - Ineffective Medical Care:

Day 11: Medical Torture

Day 12: Withholding Medical Treatment

Day 13: Medication Tampering

Day 14: Injury Brushed Off

Day 15: No Anesthetic

4: Mindfuck

Day 16: Presumed Dead

Day 17: Memory Loss

Day 18: Stockholm Syndrome

Day 19: Phantom Pains

Day 20: Love Potion/Spell

Day 21: Role Reversal

5. Nature's Revenge

Day 22: Slowly Running Out Of Air

Day 23: Natural Disaster

Day 24: Struck By Lightning

Day 25: Snowed In

Day 26: Heatstroke

6. Traps & Trauma

Day 27: Caught In A Net

Day 28: Traumatic Touch Aversion

Day 29: Used As Bait

Day 30: Flashbacks

Day 31: Choose Who Lives

Mini challenge #1: Torture

#1: Tortured For Information

#2: Whipping

#3: Branding

#4: Begging To Be Killed

#5: Recorded/Broadcast Torture

#6: False Execution

#7: Shock Collar

Mini Challenge #2: Dialogue

#8: “Why are you doing this?”

#9: “Don’t look.”

#10: “You look awful.”

#11: “Who did this to you?”

#12: “No one is coming for you.”

#13: “No one cares about me.”

#14: “Don’t lie to me.”

#15: “Stay with me, please.”

#16: ”You’re scaring me!”

#17: “You’re a monster.”

Mini Challenge #3: Aftermath

#18: Fighting Against Caretaker

#19: Seeking Revenge

#20: Taking The Blame

#21: Barely Conscious

#22: Disassociation

#23: Carried To Safety

#24: Scars

#25: Unhealthy Codependency

#26: Infected Wound

#27: Survivor’s Guilt

#28: Touch Starvation

#29: Abandonment Issues

#30: Cradled In Someone’s Arms

#31: Adrenaline Crash

Alt Prompts:

Death Game

Came Back Wrong

Attack The Injury

Healing Malfunction

Left For Dead

Mistaken Identity

Dazed

Trapped Under Rubble

Drowning

Disowned By Family

Hostage Situation

Have fun everybody!

#whump #whump event #whump writing #writing #whumpay #writers #writing event #whump prompt #whumpay2024 #prompt list #whump prompt list

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luvtonique · 7 months ago

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I wanna tell a little story. Just a little one. [Edit after typing: Yeah I ranted for a while. Oh well.]

I grew up with a dad who was extremely racist, extremely homophobic, and extremely abusive. Used to beat me and my brothers for 20+ years of my life, left us all with mental disorders and trust issues, you name it.

One such story of his homophobia and beatings is that my brother had a boyfriend at one point, and my dad hit him with a belt and screamed at him until he agreed to break up with said boyfriend, which he did.

Now cut ahead 20 years, my dad met an openly gay celebrity online and became friends with him. All the sudden, my dad was Mr. LGBT Pride. He was a writer, and suddenly started writing a book about a gay cowboy called Buck Justice. He would rent movies with gay actors in it, or gay themes, and was suddenly super pro gay.

It just left all of us disgusted, my brothers and my mom. We knew this man, but people on Facebook didn't. He had this huge friend group all the sudden of people calling him "Dad" and "Big Bob" and shit (When in reality, my dad called himself N*gger Bob and even had that written on the whiteboard next to his phone number), and he kept telling us all these stories and laughing and having a good time about how "Cool gay people are."

You see, it left a poor fucking taste in our mouth.

Because we had personally seen how horrible this man was. He beat us. He beat my bisexual brother. He was a fucking monster, but now that he was in some clique with a big popular movie star friend, he was suddenly this shining beacon of gay pride.

That's what bothers me when I see people on the internet acting the same way. I see the disingenuous nature of their actions. I see the popular people they're brown-nosing, I see the big popular bloggers and streamers they're trying to be friends with who are spouting the same bullshit.

And the reason it bothers me is because I know who these people are. I go back in their blogs like 1 month and find death threats, calls for violence, mental instability, extreme rage.

I go to their YouTube channels and find videos of them watching rats die on glue traps.

I get invited into their Discord servers and scroll back through the history of them talking with their friends and see just mountains of hate posting, calling for violence, wishing people would be killed, celebrating the death of people they hate.

That's why I don't do that shit. And why I don't tend to hang out with people who do. Because I know those people aren't really respectful people. I know they don't truly want equality.

I know the truth. From 20 years of belt marks on my back.

I know y'all are fucking disgusting people who are just pretending to be respectful advocates for equality and peace because the big celebrities and vloggers and streamers you wanna be friends with are saying the same shit.

You people aren't real. You are NPCs spouting NPC dialogue in hopes of getting some pseudo social credit score with big e-celebs while all it takes is 10 seconds of scrolling through your blog to find out you are the most disgusting, violent and unhinged person on the internet.

Case in point, y'ever seen a cat owner before?

Tell a cat owner you don't like cats.

Watch what happens.

It's been 9 years since I made a post saying I don't like cats and I still get those fucking psycho pieces of shit sending me extremely descriptive anon asks about how they want my throat to be ripped out by a dog in my sleep. That's who these people really are.

All it takes is one thing that sets them off and they go from your 11-year-running best friend of all time to a person who sends you multiple paragraphs of descriptive ways they hope you die.

I've learned from experience with my dad.

Y'all want equality? Just treat people with respect no matter what. Don't act like there's versions of people or groups of people who deserve more or less respect, because guess what, THAT'S CALLED PREJUDICE YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT.

If you have to say "I am LGBT friendly"

You clearly have something to hide (which I guarantee is like 10 posts down in your blog and is horrifically violent and descriptive) and you are the last person I would expect to actually be LGBT friendly, or any kind of friendly.

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shallowseeker · 20 days ago

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#and what stings me a little more about this is how much metatron’s words here reminds me of crowley’s back in s6#“it’s either this or the apocalypse all over again. everything you’ve worked for- everything that *sam and dean* have worked for…gone.#…you can save us castiel. god chose you.”#it’s of course worded a little differently but it’s still the same “only you can do it” and “we need your special strength and protection”#just another “you’re gonna do this for *their* sake” while leading him to a very dangerous destructive path…#and of course when cas’ attachment to the winchesters became more of a hurdle than an exploit crowley urges cas to cut ties with them#only it’s interesting how metatron goes the opposite way and further manipulates cas through his desire to protect his loved ones#“his true weakness is revealed: he’s in love….with humanity” “ultimately it was all about saving one human right?” and all that.#AND THE “Locking Heaven/Protecting His Family” ISNT EVEN REAL!! he just ends up POWERLESS. UNABLE to PROTECT Sam and Dean#dean prays for help regarding sam and cas can’t answer. and instead dean has to tell HIM to go hide in the bunker to protect himself.#hmm yeah no wonder cas didn’t listen and instead tried to lead this other angel that of course ended disastrously…#“they don’t want your help castiel. they want your head. via @hoarderheart

Oh, this is wonderful!

BOOKMARKING MY OWN THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS PARALLEL (wow this really is like a diary, isn't it?)

Reminding myself to lay out all the Crowley and Metatron parallels because Metatron meta is something I've done precious little of despite him being one of my absolute favorite characters.

Their almost one-to-one parallels in many instances are so DELICIOUS. It's more than the manipulation, it's also the scene where Dean faces off against Metatron and yells at him in season 9 (when he's trying to kill him), with dialogue that is SO SO similar to how Sam yells at Crowley in season 10 (when he's trying to kill him).

I will also say that the Alastair-Crowley parallels are top notch too, (and now just the first name and last name echoes). It's how they carve WHAT they want out of WHO they want and call it a miracle, hoping to make anew animal out of someone in their own tainted image, echoed in both Crowley using Dean as a knight of Hell and saying as Dean is reborn into a "new (animal) life"" and": "see what I see / feel what I feel."

WIth Metatron, it's a bif off-key, but he's still telling Cas to "go marry a human wife" in season 8. And in season 9, he's actively trying to mold Cas into what HE wants: a kind of Lucifer 2.0-style villain.

Underneath it all... It's all about using people to get what you want and/or making them into something else. Or worse, trying to make them into you, rather than appreciating them for who/what they ARE originally!

You have the real family screaming PLEASE STAY YOU when villains saying "eh, actually... be something else, like maybe be useful to me, or maybe be my a super soldier-weapon, or maybe even be LIKE me enough that no one else will want you and then I get to keep you and live vicariously through my image OF you."

EDIT:

9x23 - Dean VS Metatron (Dean is ANGRY and hell-bent on TAKING OUT THE THREAT and GETTING REVENGE)

DEAN [starting to unwrap the First Blade in his hand]: I'm blaming you for Kevin! I'm blaming you for taking Cas' Grace. Hell, I'm blaming you for the Cubs not winning The World Series in the last 100 freaking years. Whatever it is... I'm blaming you. METATRON: The First Blade. Nasty piece of work, isn't she?

Metatron knowingly hurt Cas and ordered the hit on Kevin.

///

10x22 - Sam VS Crowley (Sam is ANGRY and hell-bent on TAKING OUT THE VERY REAL THREAT and GETTING REVENGE)

SAM: You're the reason Dean has the Mark of Cain! Everything that's happening! All of this. It's your fault! So this.... you've had this coming for a long time. [CROWLEY sees that SAM is holding Ruby's knife.] CROWLEY: You really think I'm frightened of that toothpick?

Crowley ordered the hit on Kevin and knowingly hurt Dean.

///

Metatron knowingly destroyed Cas's angelicity, and Crowley absolutely knew what he was doing in destroying Dean's humanity.

#not an ask #for later #don't wanna forget #metatron crowley parallels #season 9 season 10 parallels #alastair crowley parallels #he #too #was willing to accept death #rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be #It's life -- a new kind of life #the idea of the siren is... the merging of all things familiar #the SOMEONE JUST LIKE ME folly of immaturity and youth #bookmarking my thoughts #bookmarked thoughts

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bookished · 15 days ago

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the ultimate collection of rivals-to-lovers drunken confessions dialogue prompts, featuring all the flavors. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips.

(get ready to drown in tension, longing, and messy emotional disaster (the good kind).)

MUTUAL DENIAL – the “we’re not flirting” pack

“we’re not a thing. we’re just... violently close.”

“you keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna forget how much i ‘hate’ you.”

“this isn’t sexual tension. this is rage. rage.”

“we are enemies. sworn rivals. so shut up and hold my hand.”

“if we kiss, it’s only to shut you up. not because i want to.”

“what do you mean we look good together? take that back.”

“you think i like you? i tolerate you. barely.”

“if you keep being sweet, i’m gonna start liking you, and we can’t have that.”

“we’re just partners. that’s it. stop smiling like that.”

“stop being charming. it’s making things complicated.”

ONE-SIDED SPIRALING – the “they’ll never know” collection

“they smiled at me and i blacked out. it’s fine. i’m fine.”

“they’ll never like me like that. but god, if they ever did…”

“they called me their favorite. i will be crying about that until further notice.”

“they don’t even know how soft i get around them.”

“i love them. i’ve never said it. but i do. it hurts.”

“watching them flirt with someone else is my 13th reason.”

“they don’t see it. the way i look at them. maybe that’s for the best.”

“i’d never say it out loud, but they feel like home.”

“i want them to choose me. just once.”

“i’d burn the world if they asked. and they don’t even know.”

TRAPPED TOGETHER – “two enemies, one small space” edition

“don’t talk to me.” “then stop looking at me like you want to kiss me.”

“we’re stuck here. the least you can do is stop being so hot.”

“we’re going to die in here and my last thought will be about how nice your stupid eyes are.”

“i still hate you. but i also kinda want to hold you. weird.”

“you’re warm. don’t get ideas.”

“it’s not cuddling. it’s survival.”

“if you mention this moment to anyone, i will kill you.”

“i never noticed how soft you are when you’re not yelling.”

“do you always smell this good?”

“shut up.” “make me.” “...don’t tempt me.”

FAKE DATING – “but the feelings are real” edition

“this was supposed to be fake. you weren’t supposed to look at me like that.”

“we only have to pretend in public. so why did you hold my hand when no one was watching?”

“stop acting like you care. you’re gonna make me believe it.”

“i think i forgot how to pretend.”

“everyone believes we’re in love. i think i’m starting to believe it too.”

“it’s not real, right? none of this is real… right?”

“you kissed me for the bit. i’m the one who made it weird.”

“it was supposed to be fake. until i started wishing it wasn’t.”

“you smiled like you meant it. tell me i’m wrong.”

“you’re my favorite lie.”

BONUS: VULNERABLE & UNHINGED (aka “oops i’m in love”)

“i don’t want to hate you anymore.”

“you’ve ruined everyone else for me.”

“i said i’d never fall for someone like you. i lied.”

“i hate how much i care.”

“if you asked, i’d drop everything.”

“i’ve loved you since the second time we argued. i think you did too.”

“loving you is the worst idea i’ve ever had.”

“i don’t care if it’s messy. i want you.”

“do you want me? even just a little?”

“tell me to stop loving you. and i will.”

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nightprompts · 2 years ago

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&. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( dialogue prompts taken from episodes 1 & 2 ( "romance dawn" & "the man in the straw hat" ) of the netflix live action one piece series. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ do you have any last words? ❜

❛ the sea's been calling. well, not exactly calling, because i pretty much can't swim, but you get the idea. ❜

❛ so what do you say? are you with me? ❜

❛ liar! i know zoro must be after me. who else is worthy of his pursuit? ❜

❛ who's the most powerful pirate on the seas? ❜

❛ first things first. do you have any food here? ❜

❛ you don't look like a pirate. ❜

❛ i'm not afraid of getting hurt. and i'll prove it to you. ❜

❛ i don't get it. why would anyone want to be a pirate? ❜

❛ you have the wind on your back, the salty sea air, your loyal crew by your side. you never know what's on the horizon. it's all about being... free. ❜

❛ you should never let anyone tell you what you can't do. ❜

❛ well, remember the name, 'cause i'm gonna be king of the pirates. ❜

❛ people often visit shrines to light candles for those they've lost. who are yours for? ❜

❛ you've been following me for three days. what do you want? ❜

❛ look, i've been practicing what my face is gonna look like on my wanted poster.❜

❛ i've no doubt your mug will be on a wanted poster one day. ❜

❛ all he did was spill a drink on me. ❜

❛ you should've fought back! why didn't you kick his ass? ❜

❛ not everything can be solved with violence. a man needs to be strong, but he also needs to be good. ❜

❛ you're not a real man. you're nothing but a coward. ❜

❛ you ate a devil fruit? ❜

❛ ever since i was a kid, i wanted to protect people that can't protect themselves.❜

❛ if that's what you want, i think you should do it. i'll help you out. ❜

❛ my crew was attacked by pirates. i barely managed to make it out alive. ❜

❛ rice balls. for you. ❜

❛ you shouldn't draw your blade unless you're prepared to use it. ❜

❛ don't kill me, please. my father will give you anything you want. ❜

❛ i'd say you live up to your reputation. ❜

❛ what's up with the third sword? i mean, where does it even go? ❜

❛ what do you say, puppy? do you want to do a trick for me? sit up and beg. ❜

❛ i kill your kind for a living. ❜

❛ i mean it. i don't owe you anything. ❜

❛ you are going to get us both caught if you keep stomping around this place. ❜

❛ that was amazing. admit it. we do make a pretty good team. ❜

❛ so why did you decide to become a thief? ❜

❛ i needed to eat. you do what you have to, to survive. ❜

❛ you're right. nothing is more important than food. ❜

❛ all great fighters call out their finishing moves. ❜

❛ i don't work for you. ❜

❛ i'm sensing a little bit of tension amongst the crew. ❜

❛ before we met, every choice was made for me. but now i'm gonna do what i want to do. ❜

❛ next time we meet, we might be enemies. but for now... we're friends. ❜

❛ i'm feeling so... so piratey. ❜

❛ well, you're gonna end up feeling watery if i have to throw you overboard. i told you i need absolute silence. ❜

❛ don't mess with my hat. ❜

❛ oh, i'm sorry. were we interrupting your beauty sleep? ❜

❛ don't like what you see? look away. ❜

❛ you have a lot of names. i bet everyone in the east blue knows who you are. ❜

❛ are you making fun of my nose? ❜

❛ i know your type. if there's nothing to gain, you're out. ❜

❛ truthfully? i'm kind of hungry. ❜

❛ who are you trying to impress? a lost love? an absent parent? or was it someone that you worshipped? ❜

❛ i used to know a pirate that wore a hat just like this. ❜

❛ for a time, i even thought we were friends. until he betrayed me. just like all the others. ❜

❛ he wanted to keep me out of the spotlight! he wanted to keep my star from shining too brightly! ❜

❛ is that what he did to you? did he betray you, too? ❜

❛ you can slice me and you can dice me, but i'll always put myself back together again. ❜

❛ i've been thinking about you for years. ❜

❛ i know you're upset, but you should eat something. ❜

❛ you're never not hungry. what's going on? ❜

❛ you can spill a drink on me and i'll let it slide, but don't you ever threaten my friends. ❜

❛ you can't make people love you. just like you can't make them smile. ❜

❛ you really think anyone is coming for you? they don't care. and no one is gonna miss you when you're dead. ❜

❛ get lost. ❜

❛ i'm just glad that you're okay. ❜

❛ what was that? i couldn't hear you over all the drowning. ❜

❛ you really don't fear death, do you? ❜

❛ what's the plan? you do have a plan, right? that's your thing, plans. ❜

❛ you want out? you know the price you have to pay. ❜

❛ you want a piece of me? let's see what you got. ❜

❛ i think i'll miss you most of all. ❜

❛ we're gonna be the greatest pirates the world has ever seen. even greater than your crew. ❜

❛ this hat is the most precious thing i own. it means the world to me. and i want you to take it. ❜

❛ when we meet again, you can give it back to me. ❜

❛ is every day gonna be this crazy with you? ❜

❛ if the path to what you want seems too easy, then you're on the wrong path. ❜

#one piece #opla #sentence starters #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #rp memes #inbox memes #rp starters #dialogue prompts #ask memes #tv

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nukedimplosion · 1 year ago

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Why I believe Spade King will be redeemed

The Spade King is a... controversial character to say the least. From what I've seen, opinions of him range from a complete monster to an abusive douche with little leeway.

So, making a post about how this villain will be redeemed in future chapters may seem like a slap in the face. Let it be known that none of this is to upset real survivors of abuse, but instead it is to highlight the many indicators I feel show that Spade King is not beyond redemption.

I personally have had this theory since around when chapter 2 came out, and time has only solidified it, but this is the first time I actually got the confidence to post it.

That being said, let's get into the evidence.

THE FOUNTAIN

In the 6th anniversary stream for Undertale, Fangamer played through an edited version of Deltarune with Toby Fox making comments about development, the characters etc.

When facing the Spade King, Fangamer talked about how they hoped Spade King had been a good dad 'before the other mouth grew in'.

Toby Fox then says this;

'I mean, I think that fountain definitely changed his behaviour. For sure.'

This quote is stated around the 3 hour mark of the livestream video below.

So what does this mean? You may want to argue that Toby was not be literal when he made this statement, and that the fountain was a simple temptation instead of something that directly effected his behaviour. But then there's the queen...

The queen seems to have also experienced this fountain brought phenomena despite only wanting to use it to serve the Lightners instead of oppose.

She threatens and attempts to kill the Lightners. She establishes a regime significantly more strict then the last. She won't stop going on about the Knight. These are all things the King does as well.

It seems that the fountain abstracts the behaviour of their respective rulers for the sake of the Knight.

Okay, so the fountain impacts the King's behaviour, great. Doesn't change the fact that he threatened his son, and refuses to apologise or acknowledge his wrong doing now the fountain is closed.

Well, that leads me onto the next part...

HIS SON

Let's immediately establish one thing; the Chaos King does care for his son. While how genuine that care is is debated by the fandom, I would like to make the case that he was a good dad and does want Lancer to be happy.

First of all is the quote about the fountain that Toby made in the anniversary stream, which was a reply to a comment about how Fangamer hoped that he was a good dad.

Replying then seems to indicate that the fountain did impact his ability to be a good father.

More importantly is his dialogue in jail.

Here, he asked directly if his son is happy, in hesitant, even reserved manner. This is in direct contrast to how he mocks the Lightners with his boisterous grin or cruel frown.

Remember when he was yelling that he'll 'KILL ALL OF YOU' while his subjects dragged him away? An insurrection led by his son, who he called a traitor? Despite this, he seems to hold no ill will towards his son or his fellow darkners (we'll get to that). This behaviour I believe was caused by the fountain, thus the attitude change.

And yes, I do acknowledge that he has lied for sympathy before (his act before Ralsei healed him in chapter 1), but this is different. There is no reason to lie at this point; there's no way they would believe him.

He also admits that if he HAD let his son go, Lancer would have just... bounced. He then calls his son a bouncy little pumpkin. This line is notably similar to a line right after Susie casts pacify on him, calling her a 'sweet little pumpkin', again hinting that he was a good dad before the fountain and his love towards Lancer isn't a lie.

'But' you may argue, 'Lancer was afraid! He knew his son was scared of him but kept threatening anyways!'

Which is a valid point, and is obviously horrible.

BUT combined with the fountain being an impact for his decisions, I think it is also a valid idea that there's more to it than 'The Spade King is abusive'.

Both the Queen and King are callous when it comes to the opinion and wellbeing of others. Queen spends the entirety of Chapter 2 attempting to force Noelle to do as she says, even threatening to kill her classmates (and crush) for the sake of her goal.

What King does is similar, making Lancer watch as his friends get killed because he didn't do as he said. It's cruel, yes, but this is another case where you can argue the fountain may have led to this mutual behaviour.

(You may argue that the Queen has the excuse of being a computer who isn't completely in tune with peoples emotions. This argument doesn't really make sense because she actively uses Noelle's emotions against her in a way that shows she understands how upset it makes her.)

I do believe that Spade King knew his son was upset and still went along with it. This post isn't some elongated argument for Spade King's sainthood.

But I do have to say, him being aware and still going along with it may explain why he's hesitant to talk about Lancer in his jail cell. He knows he messed up and is feeling guilty post-fountain, he's just too prideful to up and say it to the face of the enemy. What he did is not a show of Spade King's abusive inhernet nature but an example of the fountain clouding his full judgement at that moment.

Also, you may argue that Spade King was neglectful of his son, leaving him to Rouxls Kaard to be cared for. I do believe that there has been a bit of exaggeration on this point. Yes, he does put his son in the care of his employees perhaps more than he should, but he's also straight up a King. He's a busy guy.

'Oh, but he doesn't feed him, the poor boy is starving!'

Honestly, my big question is why he's cooking in the first place. He's a King, he has subjects literally fanning his son and he can't afford one chef? It seems like this is more a downtime thing he does with his son for the sake of family bonding (may explain where the food based nickname of 'sweet little pumpkin' came from) and he knows his son will be fed by his employees when he's busy.

Again, too dependent, but I don't see any signs of such an intense neglect to call him a bad dad.

Of course, this is more in the assumption category. It is possible the neglect is more active and that the King is just a douche, but I feel that we are being purposely mislead here.

Now, onto the final point.

HIS SUBJECTS

Let's talk about why Spade King did what he did.

Spade King hates Lightners, that much is obvious. He calls them scum, says that 'their existence goes against our own' and feels absolutely no guilt towards trying to kill them post-fountain.

Which isn't really not justified. Darkners were made to keep Lightners happy, only to be abandoned by them. The Chaos King has to watch as the kingdom, HIS kingdom, rotted without meaning. He had to raise his son with the understanding that he would never be 'truely happy' because the so called only source of happiness for Darkners left them to the wayside.

So, when the Knight came, is it really that surprising he would try to create a 'new purpose' as he said? Yes, perhaps world domination is a bit insane (maybe he's dramatic like that, maybe it was the fountain, he does hate Lightners so it's likely both) but the core of his ideals, that darkners can be something beyond what they are to Lightners is not only justified but correct.

In the scene where the gang are walking to the castle in Chapter 1, Lancer acknowledges how happy he is to be here, feeling like he's doing 'something important'. Ralsei replies that this is because he is serving the Lightners and that is the purpose of the Darkners.

Susie is notably uncomfortable, and dismisses Ralsei's point as 'weird purpose' talk and simply says that Lancer is just happy because he ate a weird berry. This is the first sign that the plot beat of Darkners only gaining happiness from Lightners is not just going to be an accepted status quo by the main cast and that there is likely to be more contention about the subject in the future.

(I would also like to mention that Ralsei in this scene asks if the Spade King is happy, in which Lancer very hesitantly says he's not sure.)

Then, in chapter 2, Ralsei is shown to be confused about friendship. He starts to understand that friendship is more than just being nice all the time and that he should be more 'Ralsei-like', meaning more like himself.

The problem is that he doesn't know what that is. He's spent all this time forming himself into the perfect companion but he doesn't know how to be himself. This is a result of his purpose, his wish to be the perfect Darkner for his friends. Now, his purpose seems more cloudy. Should he continue being the perfect little angel for his friends or should he become someone who is more genuine on their own terms, like what his friends seem to want?

While Ralsei is still doing everything he can for the Lighteners, he is slowly becoming his own individual, which is what the King wanted for all Darkners.

Then there's the general themes of control. Be it Kris, the secret bosses or the Spade King, all of these people wish to be more than the binds that control them. While the Spade King is acting on behalf of the Knight, he does so to free his people from the influence of the Lightners, to make purpose on their own terms and be their own people.

Just like how Kris wishes to be free from, you, the player, also making their own purpose and be their own person. May I remind you that the Darkners are media and toys, fun things meant to be enjoyed. They are in universe equivalents of video game characters, made to entertain Lightners, just like Kris, Ralsei and Susie are made to entertain us. The only difference is that the latter is closer to the forth wall.

So yes, while his world domination thing was wack, I believe the Spade King is righteous in his core values.

So why doesn't any other character seem to agree?

Ralsei completely believes that Darkners can only gain happiness from Lightners, Queen does everything she does for the sake of Lightners, hell, the town that the Darkners live in isn't named after the Prince or anything but you, a Lightner. They even call you boss!

At this point, the only character who cares for Darkners having a purpose outside of Lightners is locked in a jail cell.

Now, it is possible that Toby Fox introduces another character who has Spade King's beliefs but is less nasty about it, but that's lame. It's also possible that Ralsei has an epiphany and realise that Darkners deserve better and that becomes the result of his arc. Better, and I can see him going in that direction, but I still think it's less satisfactory.

In any route in which you don't get all recruits, the King is the only person who acknowledges this and is actively upset about it. Even the Queen is hesitant yet still ultimately okay with leaving her subjects behind because the Lightners are onboard.

The goofy cutscene where he asks for cashews? Gone. He simply remarks on how you left them behind like Lightners left the Card Kingdom darkners behind and tells you to 'Begone'. The first line is said with a smile, knowing that he's been proven right but after that, the smile leaves and he's just... cold. He seems genuinely upset about what happened to the Darkners you left behind, portrayed with a '...' in his second line and the loss of his smile. He is not trying to trick you, you simply disgust him at this point. He cares for Darkners in a way that no character has shown yet (aside from Nubert (the goat))

This is why the title of this post is why Spade King is GOING to be redeemed and not me saying he SHOULD be. The difference in levity between an interaction with the Spade King post full recruits and not full recruits indicates that by getting recruits, the King is more willing to acknowledge you and, perhaps with time, your points and intentions. If Spade King was supposed to be this abusive bastard, having characters such as the Queen be on positive terms with him seems strange. You can argue nuance all you want, but the Queen, a character who we're supposed to like, being friends with a character we're supposed to end up hating seems like a strange writing decision no matter how you slice it. Especially if he's a straight up child abuser.

(yes I know she might not know but are you really expecting an epic drama where Queen finds out he's an abusive scumbag and calls him out? Having a morally positive character be friends with an abuser can work but in this situation, it is objectively a weird choice and I will argue on that)

He asks for cashews in this chapter and suckles out a giant hamster water container. Maybe the second serves to make him look pathetic, but then the Queen apparently has the same thing but bigger. The cashew bit is played off as endearing more then anything.

This is all because you got those recruits. Without them, he doesn't even talk to you. Therefore, it can be concluded that Spade King does have a chance. After all, if all of him was completely against you and believed you would be bound to abandon them, he would not be talking to you in any route. It's only when you prove it directly that he stops.

Toby Fox uses the recruit dialogue to endear you to him, which I presume is to set up a redemption if you continue to go down the recruit everyone path. By proving him wrong in future chapters, I presume he will talk more about himself and his ideals and perhaps listen to the Fun Gang and his son in turn.

CONCLUSION

My prediction is that over the course of the chapters, players will see more and more endearing aspects of the Chaos King, with things such as his theoretical neglect and love for Lancer being properly clarified and elaborated on, but only if you keep all recruits. He will still be sceptical, perhaps even leading to him going against you when the Knight returns, but he will ultimately fight by your side if you have successfully convinced him through your treatment of the Darkners that Lightners aren't bad after all.

Hopefully by the ending point, Ralsei would have had enough of an extential crisis to hear the Spade King out on his whole 'Darkners deserve to be happy without the Lightners' deal. Susie would absolutely be on board with her friends finding happiness without needing Lightners (I can see her arguing with Ralsei about it in a future chapter).

I can see him sacrificing himself, but I don't want Lancer to deal with that.

The final point I would like to mention is his place in the narrative. A lot of people have argued that all he is meant to be in an objective evil to prove that Ralsei was wrong about fighting never being the answer and that a redemption would ruin that, and yes, that is his role is chapter 1.

But if that was his only purpose, bringing him back as the only person to actively acknowledge the consequences of your lack of recruits seems pointless. Giving him moments of endearment and clarifying he loves his son is unnecessary. You, again, can argue it's for the sake of nuance but I think at this point I have clarified that there is a lot more to it than that.

Besides, what would be more satisfying to see than the most stubborn character of your journey, the only one you could not convince in the chapter he appeared in, joining your side as a result of you sparing every darkner you can?

In a game with only one ending, making routes like full mercy seem worth it is kind of important if you want players to bother caring about those mechanics. The few dialogue changes we do get really don't cut it.

But witnessing the development of a character who you started off hating but then becomes your ally due to your decisions and comes to help you in your darkest hour?

That would be worth it.

---

Thanks for reading this theory! It's been a while since I've written a theory like that. Do say your opinions, I know this is a desisive topic but I am still happy to hear people's perspectives!

#deltarune #spade king #chaos king #deltarune theory #deltarune analysis #deltarune chapter 2

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minusboy · 2 months ago

Text

20 questions for fic writers!

thank you for the tag cherri @chuuyanakaahara <3

how many works do you have on ao3?

8 as of today! i've been writing for a long long time but i've only been publishing fanfiction for little over a year

what's your total ao3 word count?

137,322.. whoa

what fandoms do you write for?

mainly bsd for now but i'll write about anything that makes me feel feelings

what are your top five fics by kudos?

since i only have 8 works top five is already most of them but i'll list them anyway. for fun: 1. french exit 2. bitterwood 3. cotton candy (i hate this!!) 4. a head of a skeleton with a burning cigarette 5. apocynum

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i try my best to! but i don't always have the time or energy to respond so my replies can be... a little delayed sometimes.

what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

definitely bleeding heart dove or oolong that i just posted today haha. something about late winter/early spring makes me want to... kill my characters i guess? i don't know.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

the skeleton fic. i just felt like it deserved a happy ending after all... gestures vaguely. that.

do you get hate on fics?

people yell at me in my inbox sometimes but it's mostly positive, so no. knocks on wood.

do you write smut?

sometimes but i don't usually write smut exclusively, except that. coughs. one time.

do you write crossovers?

not really no. nothing against crossovers it's just not something that really interests me.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

not by a real person as far as i know. but by ai, yes.

have you ever had a fic translated?

not yet but if someone wanted to i wouldn't mind as long as they ask permission

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

i've only cowritten one fic in my short fic writing career and it is our terrible child that i wrote together with sai vi and ela. you should not read it.

what's your all time favourite ship?

ohh.. tough one. if you asked me for my current favorite my answer would be very different, mind you. but all time... it's hilson.

what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm. i have one almost 30k wip that i wrote nearly two years ago but i wouldn't say i've completely given up on it, it just needs some major editing and i'm just currently not inspired to do it.

what are your writing strengths?

this is one of those things where i think one thing and everyone else seems to think otherwise but i really enjoy writing dialogue and i like to think i'm pretty good at it.

what are your writing weaknesses?

i'm not always very good at planning ahead. i like to see where the story takes me but sometimes this makes me run into walls.

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

english is not my first language, so technically i already do so sure. why not.

first fandom you wrote for?

bungo stray dogs. unless you look at my old ao3 from when i was 13 then it's [redacted]

favourite fic you've ever written?

french exit... it was just so fun to write.

i'm tagging aforementioned @evilkaeya @starrynightarchive and @ryuvnosuke as well as @wildflowerteas and everyone else who wants to join! have fun!

#suddenly appears after being gone for days.. so sorry i died #i cant believe lawlight omegaverse is in my top 3 someone please save me #..anyway this was fun :)#tag games

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thinking-through-some-things · 4 months ago

Note

Curious about your EPIC rework because I was also disappointed by it

like i mentioned in my other post here (before i gave up), this definitely isn't the only possibility; you could focus the musical around something else. for my version, though...

as i said, i would build the musical around the idea of duty vs desire, and tie that into mercy vs ruthlessness. i think it would focus less on odysseus's guilt overall, which seems to be the real focus of the musical, and focus it more in this direction. still plenty of angst, but a little more pointed.

a lot of my changes probably take the musical further away from the odyssey. i'm actually not too concerned about trying to faithfully follow the source material; i think it's more important to actually tell a coherent story, and when you're abridging the material, you need to cut stuff. just be clear that's what you're doing.

(also i'm not going to cover everything i think needs to be fixed. mostly just elements to support my theme.)

i think it's a given that the saga format doesn't work for the final draft of a musical. no shade, it was a really smart way to gradually release the musical. ultimately though, it limits the story because then they were blocked into sticking with a theme, and you end up with too many epic finale songs... but i'll stick with it to help organize here. i'm just not sticking with a "theme". mostly because i'm getting rid of the wisdom saga to better distribute its songs.

unsurprisingly, i've written far too much and it's poorly organized, so this is just act one. i'll reblog with act two.

act one

overall, i would say act one is by far the stronger of the two. i'm probably going to cut at least 30% of the current act two, but act one mostly just needs editing. some songs might need more work, but mostly they still get to stay in the same place. add some spoken dialogue and you've got a pretty decent start.

the troy saga:

most of the troy stuff is fine. i think it helps to set up this idea of ruthlessness, and shows the peacekeeping side of odysseus. could it be stronger? yeah. but i like it setting this whole thing up. i have 2 main changes here.

1) every time odysseus mentions penelope and telemacus, he needs to mention anticlea. the musical has a bad habit of not introducing characters/elements until they're relevant, and i think it suffers for that. including odysseus's mother in the list of people he wants to get home to makes her death more impactful. i was so confused when she showed up the first time; she needs to be in here from the start.

2) to go with my theme, i would do this: the reason odysseus needs to kill the baby is because the baby would grow up to kill him; however, that doesn't necessarily mean ithaca would suffer. zeus can word it really carefully - i don't think that distinction needs to be immediately clear to the audience, but after you know how the story ends you can go back and realize that when you re-listen to it. this doesn't require much tweaking, but it helps to really set up the idea of making decisions for the greater good vs for selfish reasons (maybe he could have raised the kid? and only he would have died in the end? i want the audience to question this!)

moving into the second half of the saga, i think we need to introduce odysseus's men earlier. maybe a scene of him commanding them in troy? since i'm talking about a full musical instead of the current format, this might just be dialogue, not a song. but i think we definitely need a little more of polites before he dies. i don't really like having odysseus start out untrusting and jumpy, which is how he comes across to me in open arms. it doesn't make sense for this to be a lesson he needs to learn now, after being king of ithaca for well over a decade. originally i was just going to cut him, but my fiance persuaded me to let him stay. plus his death to polyphemus is a very brutal turning point.

instead, i would have a song/scene where we set up eurylochus and polites as odysseus's two advisors, two different sides of his leadership. you could rewrite open arms to fit here. polites argues for presuming peace, and eurylochus views things with suspicion and wants to attack first to keep the men safe. this really helps set up mercy vs ruthlessness. it shows odysseus is already a leader who balances peace and action, and it makes polites's death all the more tragic, because he represents the death of odysseus's inclination towards peace.

finally, i find athena's introduction and focus on being ruthless in this and the next saga confusing. she's mad at him for not being less emotional and more ruthless, but i don't see what that has to do with him being a "warrior of the mind". instead, i would make it clear that she thinks he isn't being cautious enough. she's mad because she thinks he isn't being shrewd, not because he's being nice.

athena and eurylochus should be coming from the same place: we need to be overly cautious and strike first, because that's how you stay safe. and rather than having a jumpy odysseus being taught to trust people by his soft bestie, i think he should be a general, exhausted from fighting for 10 years, jumping on the idea of relying on trust so he can relax and not feel so jumpy. his duty is to balance these two ideas, mercy vs ruthlessness, but because he chooses only mercy without remaining vigilant, polites dies and now he only has eurylochus to give him advice, meaning no one else is trying to suggest mercy. (i don't think eurylochus is bad - actually, he clearly prioritizes the crew and is always suggesting whatever is best for them. but often what is best for you isn't the best for those you come across, which is why it's the leader's job to balance those two things - again, the theme i'm going with in this version.)

anyways, athena needs to focus on pushing odysseus to be more suspicious and calculating, not more ruthless. she scolds him at all the same points, but now it actually makes sense. i don't love their flashback, but i don't have suggestions to fix it, so we'll leave it alone for now.

the cyclops saga

not too many notes here. getting to see the crew more gives it a little more weight (the stage production needs a tiny dialogue scene where you get quips and comments from nobodies so they're a little more recognizable when they die! make people even sadder!), but this is a really chilling series. the exposition bits need rewording (and again, a stage production has the benefit of 1) spoken word, and 2) stage directions so you can just show things happening).

odysseus's convo with athena needs work. as is, this doesn't seem like a good place for "what good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use." this is supposed to be the stance athena takes at the end of the musical, but this particular act of mercy seems to lead to the death of most of his men in the very next act - which really makes it weird that athena apparently agrees with that sentiment.

i don't hate everything about this line, especially if we actually see athena ruminating over the line over the next 10 years. but it needs to be clear that it is not mercy but pride that leads to the death of his men. or, if we want to make it about mercy instead of pride, it shouldn't be as the sort of threatening brag that it currently is; instead, frame it as "even now, when we've beaten you, we're still choosing to let you live. because i, odysseus, king of ithaca, have chosen to show you mercy." obviously yes it's still his pride, but then when everyone blames his "mercy" for getting his men killed it makes more sense.

(coming back to really hone in on the idea that mercy isn't the problem here - maybe eurylochus notices something is off before polyphemus starts singing, tries to point it out, and gets brushed off as being too suspicious and bloodthirsty? yet again, i find the musical's stance on mercy confusing. is it good? they seem to want it to be - that's definitely what open arms implies, especially since it gets repeated so often. except the musical stresses that mercy is *why* everything went south here, and it rarely actually shows mercy working. it's confusing. i think this whole thing should feel more like odysseus was reckless, the only thing athena calls him that actually makes sense, and that's why this didn't work. the characters don't need to say it directly, but the musical needs to better frame it that way.)

(an aside, but they still grab sheep on their way out? obviously they're still starving but like. i'm side-eyeing the way everyone (in the musical) acts like he was so "merciful" for leaving polyphemus alive, but even after he learns the sheep are polyphemus's friends and their deaths are what drive him to violence, he still makes a point of stealing and killing them... this isn't a serious criticism i'm just poking fun at it. but hypocritical much?)

athena's anger in my goodbye makes no sense to me - not that she's not justified, but that her reasons make no sense. she calls him "sentimental" and "soft", but that's absolutely not the problem here. she should yell at him for being prideful and cocky. accuse him of sparing polyphemus just to feed his own ego, or of being short-sighted - she mentioned the danger of leaving him alive in the last song, why not bring that up again? why doesn't she scold him for foolishly giving up his name? it's really weird that she keeps harping on the idea that he's "emotional".

odysseus's retort is good, but also a bunch of people just died so it's weird that he's so confident about how right he is. "my friend is dead, our foe is blind. the blood we shed, it never dries" from the last song, and "unlike you, every time someone dies I'm left to deal with the strain" in my goodbye are really good lines. more of his position needs to come from his exhaustion, because odysseus is smart. he's a brilliant general. this does a better job of explaining why he's making so many mistakes early on, and why he's pushing back against athena so hard despite the fact that he just fucked up real bad. he was wrong. he should have acted faster like she warned him to. but making him a man, exhausted from a decade of fighting, desperately trying to grant mercy where he can? his pushback makes more sense.

also, him jabbing at her for wanting "to be known" and being alone? really weird. the musical frames athena as this loser whose only friend was odysseus. i don't get it. especially when you're calling her a goddess who doesn't understand feelings right before that? which is she, a powerful goddess or a lonely girl? stick with him accusing her of not understanding human emotions and interactions. it still gives her a reason to stick around - she can be offended by the insinuation that there's something she doesn't understand, and it gives her a reason to dwell on his comments and eventually change.

the ocean saga

eurylochus needs to call odysseus out; if he'd listened to him, if they'd acted faster against polyphemus, they might not have lost those men, including polites. obviously that might not be true, but it feels like that's what his position should be. it's really weird that they're nervous about the wind god because "your luck might run out" rather than "you did just make a bad call that got people killed". especially when odysseus says "i took 600 men to war and not one of them died there." sure, not there, but you just lost a couple to a cyclops. this more deliberate questioning makes the sidebar with "i can't have you planting seeds of doubt" a little more serious. it's not just "what if you're not lucky," but also "what if you're not as sharp? what if you're making mistakes and bad calls?" the luck thing works for the rest of the crew, but eurylochus's role in this musical is to question odysseus and challenge him as a leader, to make sure odysseus is doing what will keep the men safe.

eurylochus questioning odysseus more pointedly makes the betrayal in the next song make more sense. we should already have the sense that he's starting to doubt odysseus's judgement. his "luck running out" doesn't really explain why you're doubting him with the wind bag; but if you think he's hiding things or making bad decisions, suddenly it makes a lot more sense. i think the implication in the show is that it's just curiosity, and we don't even hear eurylochus asking about it. now, if we have already established eurylochus is already questioning odysseus's judgement, it's a little less weird when we learn he's the one who opened it.

again, we need a mention of anticlea, and she should sing with penelope and telemacus.

honestly? basic take here but i like ruthlessness. i'm fine with not changing my theme to use a better word because this one is a banger. and the one animatic with him as a creepy horse? more horse poseidon imagery, please.

i think poseidon needs to call out specifically how hypocritical odysseus is more. lean into that "false righteousness". the problem is that he isn't being "nice" or "merciful", at least not in those moments, not in how he's currently behaving. most of this interpretation is already there; honestly, just changing the delivery of some of the lines would go a long way. "you are far too nice" needs to have the last word almost spat out - poseidon doesn't actually think odysseus is nice; nice is just a word odysseus is hiding behind to justify his actions. i'm sure it could use more work, but at a glance i really like this one.

it goes without saying that the ending sucks ass though.

i can't imagine anyone thinks that was a good ending. idk how to fix it because the current one is so bad it's hard to think of any way to have something good there. you just can't have the jaunty "open this bag" music in there at all. i know they like to mix in motifs and call back to other songs, but it fucking kills all the momentum in what is otherwise a very dramatic song - and we need to be able to take this song seriously, because it's what the entire rest of the musical is based on. i'm open to a completely different ending, but if you want it to stay relatively close to the current staging: poseidon and odysseus stare each other down. poseidon asks "any last words?" and you think odysseus is about to say something dramatic and instead... he yells "eurylochus!" poseidon is confused, but eurylochus responds with "captain!" and, understanding what he's asking for, throws odysseus the wind bag (he helped odysseus close it, so maybe he got it then, or at some other point, idk). and then odysseus opens the bag in poseidon's face. then everything poseidon does is the same, the effect is the same, you just don't get the musical equivalent of a wet pool noodle slapped across your face.

the circe saga

first! an addition! the musical wants athena to be a foil to odysseus, but they do such a poor job of exploring her character or logic at all, it just doesn't work. her character revolves way too much around odysseus. she says goodbye, and then we see her 4 sagas later (half the musical) where, apparently, she's decided odysseus was right because... maybe if she'd agreed with him they would still be friends. and then she defends everything he's done... look, i'm getting rid of god games, so i won't go into that now. yeah, odysseus is still what prompts her to change her mind in my version, but he's just the start of that journey. she's going to have other reasons. i want to add in a couple songs throughout the musical, just to show the transition a bit. additionally, they can help show time passing in odysseus's story by breaking it up a bit.

this first song is a small one. it's just telling us what athena is thinking and what she's going to do. it's basically her mopey and angry that odysseus insulted her. but she's a goddess of wisdom and intellect, so she's kind of intrigued - maybe there is something to learn about leading with kindness. i haven't decided how she ends up back in ithaca, but she's decided to investigate this. i know the popular (not academic, more fandom-related) interpretation of greek gods is that they're all stubborn and that's the whole point, but for the sake of this story and the theme (and also the character), i think athena should take the stand that if there is wisdom to be gained, it is her duty to learn it. again, this one is pretty short - a verse of angry, and then she talks herself down, and then she's setting out to investigate - a little bit to learn something new, maybe a little bit to prove odysseus wrong.

the athena song can also go at the end of the circe arc. i was going to put another one in there, but the pacing and time line don't match well, and monster is definitely the finale to act one. i wanted to fit something along the lines of the start of the wisdom saga in here, but i think i'm going to put it at the beginning of act two, so. only one extra song for now.

onto the actual saga: i think it's done pretty well. some of the phrasing is awkwardly fit into songs, but that might just be me, and it's overall not egregious. i will confess that "she had us in just two words" "come inside" "damn" does make me giggle every time like a 12-year-old boy. i didn't mention it in my post on the musical's women because i don't think the text directly addresses it, but there's a definite implication that circe is as harsh as she is to protect her nymphs from sexual assault, which they might have faced before. removing the undertones of that from her relationship with odysseus was the right call - i don't think that's a conversation this musical actually wants to have, and it muddles her justification for how she handles the men.

circe is also gives us someone to compare odysseus's leadership to; she's basically the only other leader of a cohesive group that we see. her harsh policy stands in direct contrast to odysseus's earlier choice to start with unchecked "mercy". in turn, her nymphs are safe. we see her later learn that there are times where you can extend mercy and trust, so she even has character growth. (you could make a very interesting comparison between circe & her nymphs and the sirens, but that's a discussion for outside of the musical, so i'll leave it for now.) i wouldn't be surprised if other people have criticisms, i just haven't been able to find basically any critical discussion of the musical, so.

you could mostly leave this saga alone, but i'm inclined to take my red pen and make some bigger changes. i'm just not sure how to. i really don't like hermes and the flower being inserted here - again, i think there's too much bloat in the musical of "oh here's a thing that's in this specific bit, clearly just because that's what happens in the odyssey, and then we won't talk about it again." hermes does appear in two songs, but actually, does he need to? i'm of the opinion that the musical needs fewer characters so that it can better focus on developing the ones that actually need to be in here. the only problem is that odysseus needs the flower from hermes to explain why he has magic in the next song. okay, so what if no magic is used, and he just uses his wit to convince her? except that's basically what the plot of the next song is. so at this point i've basically gotten rid of two songs and completely changed the third, and that doesn't really work. or need to happen.

i stand by wanting to remove hermes. i think you can just give odysseus some line to eurylochus about having heard about a plant on these islands that makes one immune to being transformed by magic for a time. i don't think it's important - it's literally a small, one-time detail just to explain why circe doesn't immediately turn him into a pig. he doesn't need magic in done for - he can just fight with a sword while circe is slinging spells at him. and then you can still go into there are other ways.

the one change that i think does need to be made is that odysseus needs to spend a year on the island. he needs to be stuck here. it does mean you have to basically cut the song in half, but that just means the second part, where circe decides to help odysseus, needs to be a reprise. i think you have circe trying to seduce odysseus, and then she's shocked when he rejects her. the difference is that he doesn't fully win her over; instead, she decides to give him and the rest of his crew one year. for one year, his remaining crew recovers on the island and rebuild the ship, helping the nymphs with whatever tasks they ask and basically proving "not all men" are terrible. finally, odysseus shows that there's payoff to being a merciful leader! he saves all of his men! as they're finally preparing to leave, penelope shows up, we get the reprise, and she sends them to the underworld. all is well!

the underworld saga

or, all is not well.

this is where i spell out my theme: while a good leader is merciful, mercy takes time. and that extra time can be detrimental to personal goals.

this is why it's important to mention anticlea earlier, and why the crew spends an extra year on circe's island trying to save the rest of the men. taking a year to save his men makes odysseus a good leader, yes, but it might have cost him a chance to see his mother before she died. it doesn't matter when she actually died in the odyssey - what matters is that this is really what makes odysseus question the cost of mercy. this is where he starts to put his own desires over the safety of the crew, because the cost of taking too long is suddenly real - as is the cost of taking time to be merciful.

i actually don't have too much to add. some edits might need to be made to fit with other changes, but overall it's fine.

okay, there's act one! this is definitely long enough, so i'll reblog with act two. suggestions and conversation are welcome; again, my fiance already changed my mind on one part. i haven't actually see any discussion on changes yet, so i'm happy to consider other changes, or for mine to be challenged (by something other than "actually this is perfect").

#epic the musical critical #anti epic the musical #probably wont finish act two until sometime tomorrow #thank you for asking me though! because this is really what i wanted to talk about #i made the mistake of trying to start a conversation with my friends on potential changes and couldn't get past #'the theme was actually really clear and done super well'#and 'actually the gr threat in hold them down is realistic and really well done'#i really want to enjoy it but if no one is going to question and critique it. i just can't #no work is perfect. i can enjoy flawed/slightly problematic things. but only if we recognize and point out those elements

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