#what are the odds he has one in his bedside table and another under his pillow and another in his glove box and another in his trunk and

[clotpolesonly]

Declan and his guns

Dream Thieves ch 2 // Dream Thieves ch 22 // Call Down The Hawk ch 38 // Mister Impossible ch 37 // Greywaren ch 25

[servicpop]

i'm doing it, are you? domestic au ; detective oc (callahan) x bottom male reader

: cw : dialogue bolded , use of daddy (1) , phone sex

Callahan was a quiet man. Usually at home he wouldn't speak a word to you with the exception of a few breaths and murmurs, asking you to move aside when he's walking by or telling you to come sit with him when he's reading a book.

Callahan was quiet, yes, but that didn't mean he didn't care about you. He'd call you over, fingers tangled in the stiff pages of a classic as he beckons you over with his index finger. When you so obediently oblige, he loosely wraps an arm around your waist, hoisting you closer to his body. Callahan's fingers trace down the exposed flesh of your thigh, grabbing it and draping it over his own leg.

He doesn't say another word to you, he just held you in his embrace while he read. You weren't complaining though, with multiple hours of seemingly unsolvable cases and heated discussions was sure to have burnt Callahan out, and you respected and cherished the little moments you two were together.

The majority of the week had been Callahan in his office, staying late while he chipped away at a particularly difficult case. You barely saw him, only seeing him in the dead of night taking a shower and quietly slipping into the blankets of your shared bed. He was always gone by morning.

Callahan couldn't take it! It had been so long since he's got a proper look at your adorable face — he hates to admit how deeply he adores you. His index and middle finger were pressed into his temple, rubbing deep circles into his head. Callahan sighed, throwing his pen onto the stack of papers and folders as he leaned back into the chair, picking up the phone he discarded onto the corner of his desk to avoid distractions.

Your contact was at the top of his list. He was quick to call you — face time you. When you picked up, Callahan couldn't help the small huff of relief to see your face so close to the screen. "Hey," He murmured, wedging his phone between his keyboard and his monitor, letting the phone stand on its own.

"What's up, Marshall?" He just wished you'd actually say his first name for once; 'Marshall' reminded him too much of work. He watched as you mimicked his actions, placing your phone against a cup full of ice on your bedside table, praying that it wouldn't fall over. His eyes flickered and a smile threatened his lips. You were tightly wrapped in your blanket, hair dishevelled, and a toothy smile on your stupid face.

"How... has your day been?" Callahan asked, his voice monotonous and low. His fingers rested on his thigh while he watched you through the screen, his eyes twitching at the sight. You shuffled to propose yourself up on an elbow and Callahan got a peek of your collarbone and a hint of your perky chest. You were wearing your pyjama shirt with nothing underneath.

"It's been alright," The breath Callahan let out was one that would be recognised in bed, shaky and filled with desire. Your voice was so soft and almost grumbly from how comfortable you were. Since when did his pants get unbuttoned?

Your eyes fluttered when you noticed his odd movements, his eyes seemed to be trained to the screen and his hand disappeared under the desk. You could only see his watch. "What are you doing?" You giggle, your eyebrow raising in slight confusion. Callahan just sends a glare to you through the camera, the slight hitches of his breath were picked up by the microphone.

"Take it off, show me," He grumbled, punctuating every word. Callahan glanced down at himself, his thick cock draped over his palm, pulsating with need. Shit, he was so down bad for you. You seemed to comply with no hesitation, shifting the camera so it could prop up against the headboard. You were sat on your shins, staring up into the camera with those round eyes of yours.

He watched as you slipped out of your pants before stripping off your shirt. "Face down, ass up," Callahan barked out a command like he was giving an order. His hand dragged from the base to the head, biting back a groan as he watched you bend down, your hair spilling over the sheets as you laid your head flat on the bed.

"Put a finger in." His voice was hushed, almost embarrassed from how lewd his words were. He felt like a teenage boy asking someone for nudes. It wasn't mature, he knew that. But you somehow brought that out of him.

Callahan watched as your arm tucked underneath your body, your finger plunging into yourself. He could see it with the way your eyebrows knitted and your lips parted into a thin 'O'. His fingers grazed his tip, circling his thumb and his index around the head, imitating what it would feel like pushing into you.

"Put another one in, you know I'm bigger then that," He breathed out pushing his fingers along his length with the timing of your hands. Callahan glanced back at himself on his phone screen, realising that he wasn't giving you much to work with other than his voice and the image of his face.

Reaching out his left hand, Callahan pulled his phone forward and tilted the screen down so you could see his entire dick plaster the screen. He still left a bit of his face in frame — he knew you liked it that way. With the timing of your hand, he fisted his cock with the same pace. Everytime you rocked yourself against your fingers, Callahan pumped himself.

Just the sight of you gripping his white sheets with one hand and the other occupied with pleasuring yourself, caused beads of pre-cum to bead from the slit of his tip. "Faster," He grunted, his hand turning into one blur on your screen from how fast he was moving his hand, "You wanna make your daddy proud, yeah? Go, let me see those pretty eyes." Right now, Callahan would've gripped your hair and lifted your face off the bed to get a good look at your face. He was enamoured by how your eyes were always wet with thick tears.

When you lifted your head, Callahan busted all over his hand. He groaned — as if he was caught off-guard from how quickly he just came — and sat there with a hand over his cockhead, attempting to catch the sticky substance in his hand instead of it spilling all over his desk.

He breathed heavily, his sunken eyes glanced to his screen and saw you mirror his actions, your thighs trembling as white painted the already white sheets. "Miss me that much, Callahan?" You teased, wiping the back of your palm against your forehead to collect any stray drops of sweat.

When he heard you coo his first name, Callahan knew he had to come home. He turned off his camera before grabbing a tissue, roughly cleaning himself up before pulling his pants on, fumbling with his belt as he slid it on. "I'm coming home," was all Callahan said before he ended the call with you.

a / n ; just something quick for Callahan ... this isn't canon btw !! an alternate universe where reader is Callahan's spouse or partner !

[maopll]

Could I request something like this https://www.tumblr.com/maopll/712602219674058752/hello-hello-may-i-request-zhongli-kaeya-ayato?source=share

but with Kaveh, Itto, Childe, and Thoma?

My muse | genshin edition !

#pt.1 here || pt.2 !

⌗:, where you draw your lover in a sketchbook only for him to soon find out the peculiar way you show your love and adoration for him ♡

⌗:, a/n: what if I draw them in jojo poses ?...

⌗:, warning: there are gingers and blondes and bullchucker. there's mention of blood in childe's part.

⌗:, pairings: kaveh, itto, childe & thoma w/ gn!reader

KAVEH —

It was a warm Sunday evening. The afternoon glow of the sun illuminated the room. You and your lover, Kaveh, are basking in the quiet comfort of eachother. On the sofa, you sat crossing your feet and sketching countless pictures of what or of who. Your lover sat on the other side, making minute and very careful details of splendid architectural designs. You noticed the way his face would scrunch up when he would make those little designs on the railing or even on the roof. The way he would do a soft 'yes!' When he got something right on his first try. You recorded down every single detail on the small sketchbook of yours. When you would feel his gaze upon you, you would be quick while closing the book lest he sees what you made.

However, on his birthday you decided to gift him the sketchbook. He was dumbfounded and asked why you would give him something you were using. Until he flipped the pages and marvelled at the beautiful drawings you made of him. for him. It was simple yet so meaningful to him. His eyes filled with tears with how pure and sweet your love for him was. You were his everything, a beacon of light in his world.

ITTO —

Having you as his s/o was like winning the lottery. There wasn't a single moment that he didn't enjoy when he was with you. Whenever he would be playing onikabuto fights with the kids in hanamizaka, you would shelter yourself under a tree and sketch away the little doodle of your lover. Capturing each and every little detail of his face. The way he would scrunch up his nose when he would be thinking of his next move or the utter look of shock on his face when he would lose for the nth time...

Nevertheless, you find this hobby to be quite comforting. The sun was already starting to set, and the kids had returned home. Your lover hadn't won a single round, but he doesn't care much about it. As soon as they were gone, he went up to you screaming, "Hey babe!" only to find that you have fallen asleep. It's alright he's strong enough to carry his lover on his back, but he was in for a little surprise. When he picked you up in his arms, he saw the sketches, doodles of his and his...abs? although he has minimum knowledge about art and anatomy, he was still surprised seeing someone looking very similar to him and his name on YOUR notebooks. Ofcourse your one and only oni should be the one to grace the pages of your sketchbook! and also to grace your soft lips!

CHILDE —

Bloodshed, Bloodlust, Bloodthirst. That's all he knew all his life. He barely found respite, but with your coming into his life, things started to get a lot better, and he found happiness with you.

Your lover, childe, has gone out once again to take care of some "business." Apparently, he has loads of things to take care of, so today was another one of those sleepless and quite cold nights in Snezhnaya where you yearn for your lovers warmth but unfortunately he cannot be there. The candle was lit by your bedside table. You used the faint glow it provided to draw on your sketchbook. After all, you needed something to help you sleep, and this was the best thing you could do now. It was 3 p.m. now. Childe entered through the front door into your shared home. He tiptoed softly and carefully to not wake you up since it was an odd time to be awake. He stepped foot into your room and smiled, seeing you fast asleep. It was quite cold, and your blanket wasn't on top of you. While pulling the covers over you, he saw him drawn on your sketchbook. He looked at the drawings and he felt butterflies in his stomach. A faint shade of pink was dusting his face and a small smile graced his lips. "ajax?...you're home?" you spoke in a drowsy tone. He smiled and said "I'm home" while removing the sketchbook from you and setting it aside. Although the room was quite dark, you swear you saw a faint glimmer in his eyes...

THOMA —

He runs back and forth around the house from morning to evening. As expected, he grows tired by the end of the day, even if he tries napping during his breaks. You, however, seize this opportunity to admire his angelic features more closely since he is static in one place. At least for some time...

The Kamisato Estate was obviously busy with him conducting some classes about housework and dealing with the housework of the estate. Finally it was four o'clock in the afternoon and he had finally got his much needed rest. While he dozed off on your lap, taking in the comfortable warmth, you were busy sketching away on your sketchbook. His eyes, his sleepy face, his ruffled hair, his parted lips. Not a single detail would you miss. When his rest was finally over, he got up, but you had fallen asleep. It's understandable since you also work around the house with him a lot. When he tried getting up, the book fell from your hand. Whilst trying to pick up the book, he saw his sketches on your book. He was amazed and embarrassed since he was drawn so intricately on such a small piece of paper. A soft hue of pink bloomed across his face. He turned his body towards you and gently caressed your face. He kissed your temple and whispered "sleep well dear.."

[brittleangel]

❝ HEAVEN’S IN YOUR EYES ❞

!! SONG RECCOMENDATION: a soundtrack to my life - mage tears

content: yuta okkotsu x reader / another list of headcanons yippieeee!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و

genre: fluff <3

warnings: none!!

notes: hhhhh might be a lil half-assed sorry!!!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

- yuta is awkward at the start. he never thought he’d be able to fall in love again, and he doesn’t know what to do with this pecculiar feeling bubbling in his heart. something about your relationship is different from the one he had with rika, and well, it’s not surprising. he was just a kid back then. but now, he doesn’t know what to say, or do, and neither does he know where to put his hands. although, hes willing to learn. for you. he takes his time, and he soon learns that loving once more is not as hard as he initinally thought. he learns how easy it is to be vulnerable around you, how easy it is to be comfortable with you. you’ve warmed his heart, the walls he has built around it melting just for you.

- he’s a sucker for skin on skin contact. it’s not even in a sexual way, he just loves feeling your skin against his in a way he can’t describe. let it be his fingertips tracing your collarbone when you wear an off shoulder top, or his hand wandering under your shirt to hold your waist while the two of you cuddle in bed. your warmth is more than enough to make him feel safe.

- yuta has a habit of nearly always having a hand on you. he’s the type to worry, be nervous over things that might seem silly to other people. but you keep him calm. so, when he’s in the train with you, dont be surprised if he takes your hand and plays with your fingers. or when he places a hand on your thigh while you sit next to him somewhere.

- he leaves notes for you sometimes. he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up in the morning when he has to leave for a mission, you simply look too peaceful. so instead, you recieve a kiss on the temple along with a note on your bedside table. he’s definitely the type to scribble hearts on it as well.

- however, if both of you have important matters to attend to and he’s the first to wake up, he makes sure to wake you up gently. he’ll take your hand in his, and place soft little kisses to your fingertips, your knuckles, and then eventually, your face. even if you two slept in and you’re running late, he’ll make sure to wake you up in the softest way possible, because he believes that’s the only way to wake up an angel like you.

- sometimes, you make him nervous too. but he feels nervous in the best way possible. your actions, such as throwing random compliments his way, never fail to get his heart racing. and at times, he lets you know. he’ll take your hand, placing it against his chest and so that you’ll be able to feel his heart pounding beneath your palm. the soft chuckle that slips past his lips afterwards is the best part of it.

- he can’t handle you flirting with him, it’s too much for his heart to take. he feels as though he’s about to turn into a puddle in your palms as you stroke his cheeks and innocently toy with him in that way. he’ll forget his train of thoughts, simply staring at you while stuttering throughout nearly every word that comes out of his mouth. and as you giggle in response to his pure embarrassment, he’ll sigh and place his hands atop of yours.

- yuta is a busy guy. and as much as he hates it, there are times where he needs to be away from you for long periods of time. sometimes it’s quite short, other times it’s unbearably long. during these times, he likes texting you. it calms him down, knowing you’re doing fine. he’d be a little shy, but after gaining the courage to do so, he’d also ask for you to send him a picture of you. he misses you. a lot.

- he’s the type to tie your shoelaces for you. for some odd reason, he really likes doing it. perhaps it’s about the little amount of success he feels after providing you his assistance. it might sound silly, sure, but even a gesture such as small as this is able to make him feel even the slightest bit of genuine happiness.

- yuta loves gently, unconditionally. so tenderly, you feel like it could make you cry. his kisses can be chaste, quick and soft, but they can also be passionate. he holds you so tightly, and at the same time, his embrace is so delicate that he sometimes feels as if he’s holding something sacred. he’ll love the ugly parts of you, and he will always find them beautiful.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

What are your eruri headcannons? Modern au or cannon—or both! Doesn’t matter!

I have 8 years worth of headcanons and ficlets posted on AO3 here: Skin on Skin. There's 54 chapters here of canonverse and modern AUs, some of them are short, sweet and smutty, others are painfully angsty. Hopefully there's something here for everyone! Here's a little taste of some of them...

Skin on skin

Sometimes, when Levi cannot sleep at night and needs to feel the warmth of another body, he makes his way to Erwin’s quarters, undresses, climbs silently into bed beside him and curls against his back, arm around his waist. He’s always cold and his chin digs into his back but Erwin says nothing, just clasps his hand and pulls him closer, because it’s everything just to have him there.

Smooth

From this distance, the distance from the bed to the mirror, Erwin looks entirely hairless; smooth and flawless like the marble statues Levi once saw in the halls of Mitras. As he lies in the Commander’s bed and idly watches his morning ablutions, Levi quietly envies and adores his flawless perfection. But he knows that as Erwin turns, just so, the light will catch the fine strands of gold that dust his arms, his thighs, the darker blonde scattered across his chest, the thick trail tracing down his belly to the dense tight curls where Levi loves to drag his fingers and press his lips.

Sleeping on a Clothes Line

Headcancon that although Levi can barely sleep longer than an hour or two at a stretch, he has the ability to put himself to sleep at will, anywhere, at anytime. The Survey Corps members become used to finding him folded up in odd chairs and corners around headquarters. They joke that the Captain could sleep on a clothesline, but no one ever dares wake him. Like a cat, he has his favoured spots; a bench in the mess hall when it’s quiet, the chair in Erwin’s office, the space in Erwin’s bed.

It takes Erwin years to coax Levi into spending an entire night in a bed, and even now, years after the war, he still wakes sometimes to find their bed empty. Padding through to the kitchen he finds Levi curled up on the old couch by the window overlooking the ocean, empty tea cup by his side. Erwin settles beside him, draping his arm over his shoulders and pulling him close, careful not to disturb him. He sits quiet, content, Levi sleeping by his side and watches as the sun rises over the sea.

Warmth

Headcanon that when Erwin gets out of bed first, Levi rolls over into the warmth left by his body and presses his face into the pillow to breathe in his heat.

The absence of Erwin’s warmth in his life is one of the things he misses most.

Tea, Lee

Levi wakes early and, unlike Erwin, is not one to lie in bed. Unless his mind is on “other things”, he chafes and fidgets. He refuses to admit it, but he craves tea when he wakes, the same way that Erwin needs the kick start of coffee late in the afternoon. So Erwin has learned from long experience that the only way to keep Levi in bed is to bring the tea to him. As soon as Levi shifts and wakes beside him Erwin stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen. After years of practice, he has almost perfected the art of making tea without fully opening his eyes. He shuffles back through to the bedroom while Levi is still yawning and stretching and places the cup on the bedside table.

“Tea, Lee.”

Then he slides back under the covers, grateful to return to the warm cocoon of their bed, curling around Levi’s hip as he sits up to drink his tea. Erwin drifts off to sleep again with Levi’s hand tangling in his hair.

(I also have a list of nsfw headcanons with fics attached 😏)

[cevansbrat0007]

I'm obsessed with this series. I'm such a sucker for love that's given often and shown so freely. Andy and Reader are each other's world. I feel like they're the type of (one day) elderly couple who if one passes, the other is following right behind in a few days to months.

I can't wait to one day read a little drabble about them when they're old and retired, maybe having their kids and grandkids over for christmas and their kids' POV watching Andy and Reader sway and canoodle under a mistletoe.

At Last...

Summary: True love stories never end...

Warning: the following answer contains talk of death as well as celebrations of love and life. Read at your own risk. Takes place in my ongoing Growing Pains Series. __

Thank you. It makes me so happy that you've fallen in love with Growing Pains as well as Andy and Reader's love story. Those two are so incredibly and irrevocably devoted to one another - they really are each other's entire world.

If I'm being honest, I have thought about what the end of their time on this planet would look like. And Baby Girl always outlives Andy. Not just because she's a few years younger than him, but because there is just no other way.

He could never live without her. Not even for a month, or a couple of days. So, when the time comes and life finds him on his deathbed, they make a plan.

They're both such stubborn people, you know? So damned headstrong even up until the very end. Andrew Barber doesn't want to go.

Not yet.

But while his spirit remains young, his body is old. After all, fighting your way into your nineties is no easy feat. But he's also got four children right here in this realm to take care of, and an errant wife to look after who is just as much of a brat as she's always been.

And the doctors, well, they don't understand how he's made it so long. From everything indicated on his chart, he should've left this world days ago. But somehow Andrew Barber continues to defy the odds.

That stubborn ass ogre.

But he's also in pain. Even as he's fighting, refusing to give in. However, it's not sustainable. And Reader knows that her Big Man needs to rest. She spends every day by his bedside, rarely leaving for more than a few minutes at a time. It's been a few days since she's been able to catch a glimpse of his beautiful blue eyes, every once in a while, she's treated to a gentle squeeze of her hand.

Baby Girl knows her husband better than any other person on the planet. She knows that in order to leave her behind, even for just a little bit, she has to give him a purpose. So she crawls into bed with him, bad hip and all, and tells him her plan.

It's just between them - this task that she gives him.

She tells him to go on ahead and get their home ready - their dream home. And start decorating it the way he knows she'll like. She even promises not to get mad if the color schemes aren't quite right, because she'll just fix it all when she gets there.

Simple as that.

And while he's taking care of the house, the next thing she wants him to do is find Jacob. Wherever he is. Because she expects him to be at the dinner table sharing a meal with them for her first night in their new home.

And in return for doing all of that, she'll handle everything else with BiBi, KitCat, RoRo, and A.J. and all of their precious grandbabies. She swears that she will make sure that every single little detail is taken care of, and when it's all done...

She'll come find him. And when she does, they'll share a dance in their kitchen to the tune of their favorite song - At Last by Etta James. Baby Girl goes on to assure him that it will be the first of many.

Some time later that night, her sweet Andy Bear takes her up on her offer. But not before opening his eyes one last time to see her sleeping in the chair at his bedside. Now that makes him crack a smile.

Because in the last dream he had he could've sworn he told her fine ass to get to bed. A real bed. Not a chair.

His sweet, beautiful girl never fucking listens.

Reader knows when he leaves. She later describes it to their children as feeling his lips brush her skin, right behind her ear. His favorite place to kiss her.

She and the kids keep the actual ceremony small, but then they throw a party - a celebration of Andy's life. And after that, Reader spends the next two years making sure everything is in order.

Just like she promised.

Andy comes to her in her dreams every now and again. And in those dreams he always looks like he did when they first met - her handsome man.

And when it's finally her time, Reader passes on surrounded by their babies. But she tells them not to worry, because their father has been sitting by her bedside for the last few days. She knows they can't see him...

But she swears he's right there. And he's brought along Jacob. She tells her sweet babies that she's finally ready to join the love of her life. They even share a little laugh when she tells them how their father keeps pestering her all because she owes him a dance.

And when she takes her last breath, the sweet sound of Etta James is playing softly in the background. Bianca and her siblings sit there quietly for a few minutes after her passing holding hands and reveling in the fact that they know their Mama went home.

She's finally back in the arms of the man that she loves. They have no doubt that their Mama and Daddy are finally sharing that dance. And wouldn't you know it...

Somewhere in the great beyond, they were right. Their Mama made it home at last. And she left the light on for them too. Just like she told them she would.

[littleelephanty]

Hey! I looooooooved the family story. Another family story pls? Thank you sm!

After her sons moved out, two rooms were free in her mother's sister's house. Janet didn't really know what to do after she finished school, so her parents sent her to her aunt's house by the sea to look for a holiday job. Aunty Marygold was a loving woman, her husband was odd but unremarkable. Janet loved it there and moved into her eldest cousin Noah's room. Noah was working on the other side of the country at the time and living with his girlfriend. Janet had been living there for four weeks, working in a beach bar and living the typical life of a city girl who moves to the seaside for the summer to stay with some distant relative. One night she closed the club at half past three and went home to her aunt. She unlocked the house, slipped off her shoes and scurried straight to the bathroom. She stuffed the dirty clothes into the laundry basket in the bathroom, which she had to herself anyway, as her aunt and uncle had en-suite bathrooms. As everyone was already asleep, she quickly ran naked across the corridor to her room. She didn't switch on the light, as she knew exactly where the bed was and didn't want the brightness to dispel her tiredness. So she slipped into bed and cried out when she realised that someone was already lying there. A hand was immediately pressed over her mouth and she tried to defend herself, but someone whispered in her ear: "It's Noah! Fuck! I completely forgot that Mum told me you were here! Fuck!" She stopped struggling, he switched on the night light and saw her lying completely naked in his bed. "Holy shit Janet!" She hid her body under the covers. "Don't you have any pyjamas here or anything?" "I like sleeping naked!" Janet defended herself. "Didn't you see my toothbrush in the bathroom?" Noah asked. She shook her head. She had been watching another video and hadn't paid any attention to anything else. She never did. Noah sighed. "You better not tell my parents. After all, it's you sitting naked in my bed, not me." He pointed to his pyjamas. Janet stood up, still holding the blanket in front of her body. "I'll go over and see which room has an empty bed. But what are you doing here anyway?’"Noah sighed. The last time they had seen each other was years ago. He had grown older, taller, broader shoulders. He wasn't unattractive and under different circumstances he would have been Janet's type. "My girlfriend and I broke up. Or at least we had a bad, bad argument. We just shouted at each other. I really needed to get out of there. So I got in the car and arrived here about" he glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table "two hours ago. Mum and Dad were already in bed."

Janet sighed. She was so embarrassed by it all. She awkwardly wrapped the blanket around her. "Hey, what should I cover myself with now?’"Noah asked as Janet walked to the door, wrapped in the blanket. She turned round, shrugged her shoulders and said, "It's not my problem now." It was only when she was standing in Zach's empty room, which was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials, that she realised that all her clothes were in Noah's room and that she would probably have to sleep naked. Her uncle's computer was on Zach's desk, with the printer next to it. There was a desk chair in front of it, the bed was in the room and a wardrobe. Zach had taken everything but the furniture with him when he moved out. Janet sighed, then lay down on the bed, on which lay a simple bedspread, and fell asleep because she was really, really tired after the long shift.

Janet was woken by the light coming on. Her uncle was standing in the room. Janet sat up, the blanket slipped and she accidentally exposed her bare breasts. "Oh!" said her uncle, startled. He didn't move from the spot. Janet quickly got up, again with the blanket wrapped around her body and ran over to Noah's room to finally put some clothes on. Noah was sitting there on his bed. "Well, you night owl!" he greeted her. “Your dad just barged into Zach's room where I was sleeping!” Janet complained. Noah laughed. "Will you please go so I can put some clothes on?" Noah grinned cheekily at her and said, "I saw you completely naked yesterday. Even that cute little landing stripe on your pussy. I just need to make a quick call to my girlfriend and I'm expecting her call in two minutes. I'm not leaving here.” His cell phone rang at that moment. Of course Janet could have taken her clothes with her. But she didn't want to. He didn't deserve it any other way now. Noah answered to settle his differences with his girlfriend, but Janet wasn't going to let him get away with such inconsiderate behavior. She dropped the blanket. Noah stared at her as she began to move sexily before his eyes. He stammered a greeting over the phone. Janet smiled, this was how she wanted it. He was unsettled. She fondled her own breasts. He turned away and talked to his girlfriend, but Janet wasn't done yet, she walked around the bed into his field of vision. He wasn't shocked now though, just a little distracted. Janet had to resort to higher means to upset Noah. So she grabbed the brush from her toiletry bag on the desk, sat down on the desk chair and leaned back. Noah couldn't look away while Janet began to push the dildo inside her. This also had an effect on the phone call. His girlfriend screeched so loudly in frustration at his distracted and short answers that Janet could hear it. That's what he got for his lousy behavior! At that moment, the door opened and Aunt Marygold stood there, her mouth agape with shock. Janet hastily pulled out her brush handle and pulled herself up. “You rotten little bitch!” she exclaimed. “That's not proper! Is this how a decent girl behaves?”

Before Janet could answer, her aunt had already grabbed her and dragged her out of the room, while Noah was still trying to calm his girlfriend down and make up with her. Marygold pulled her naked niece into the living room, where she laid her across the table and began spanking her ass with the very brush that had been in Janet's pussy earlier. “You're seducing my son like a horny whore, that's absolutely audacious!” she scolded as she did so. Janet whimpered under the blunt spanks that made her ass warm. It hurt but it was bearable. After about 25 strokes, her aunt stopped beating her with the brush. “Go upstairs and put some decent clothes on!” she ordered and pushed the brush into Janet's hand. Janet quickly straightened up, the imprint of the edge of the table was visible on her stomach. She hurried upstairs. Her odd uncle met her on the stairs: “nana, someone must have a penchant for presenting themselves naked to others!” he commented. She blushed. Although she had enjoyed embarrassing Noah, it was quite different from having your uncle look at you greedily from top to bottom. In Noah's room, where all her things were still, Noah sat on the desk chair where she had been lolling and masturbating only minutes before. He looked dejected, but his face brightened when he saw his naked cousin. Janet closed the door. “Well, did mom punish you well?” he asked her. She gave him a dirty look. Then she turned around and showed him her red ass. “Oh, you were brave, you didn't cry at all. Come here,” Noah said, suddenly sounding gentle. She walked over to him and he pulled her between his legs so that she could lean on the desk. Noah stroked her bare ass. “I'm uncomfortable,” Janet said softly. “No shit! You didn't look like that when you slid your brush handle between your wet, thick labia,” Noah contradicted her. She continued to let her cousin stroke her ass. “You know I can do anything I want to you, because after that performance, mom won't believe anything you say.” Janet nodded. He was right, she had acted like a slut. “It's all good, cousin. I'm here and I'll look after you. You'll come to me tonight, completely naked of course. And then you're going to help me lighten my mood a bit, because believe me, my girlfriend is pretty pissed and I'm pretty tense. So you're going to crawl naked under my blanket and give me a really good, sloppy blowjob. And if you don't, I'm going to tell mom that you're offering yourself naked here again. You know she doesn't believe you." Janet nodded, still half propped up on the desk while her cousin fondled her arse. She straightened up and went to grab her things when he held her down and pinched her left nipple. ‘I didn't understand you. Tell me what you'd love to do tonight and ask me if that's okay with me!’ Janet was startled by her cousin's harsh tone. She knew he had her in the palm of his hand. He could make her aunt call her parents and then she would have to be ashamed of herself for the rest of her life. She would have to give up the summer here, a summer in which she had made lots of new friends, had a great job and felt like she was on holiday all the time. No, she wouldn't give that up. So she said dutifully, her eyes fixed on the wall: "Noah, I would love to come to your bed tonight and give you a blowjob. Please, please let me!" He grinned and reached for his mobile phone, which had been lying on the desk next to her the whole time and had been recording without her noticing. But he secured the recording before she could knock it out of his hand. "Be a good girl and make it a little easier on your dear cousin Noah while he gets over his girlfriend here, will you?" asked Noah in a far too sweet, ironic voice. "Then Noah will make you a nice couple of weeks at his parents' beach house, too."

[calciseptinefic]

then out of nowhere, somebody comes and hits you with an ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh

Marvel || Wade Wilson/Peter Parker || Part 1 notes: Title from 'Mad Sounds' by Arctic Monkeys and is inspired by the courage of my waifu, who once maxed out the title character limit using lyrics from Mitski. To you, waifu, an eternal source of inspiration. this fic is also available on ao3 warnings: none

.

Wade wakes. His hand is under the pillow, gripping the handle of his gun, unlocking the safety as he sits up. A lifetime of instinct and years of military training pinpoint the shadow against the dark of his bedroom and he fires—one-two-three times—the rapid pops loud despite the long silencer affixed to the end.

The shadow dodges the bullets—

Jumps up—

Sticks to the ceiling—

Wade's gun follows and—

People can't stick to the ceiling, Wade thinks. A dream?

A hesitation. His finger goes slack on the trigger at the same time a near silent thwip emanates from the shadow above him. Something cool and vaguely sticky hits his hand and coats his gun. He tries to move his fingers on the grip and cannot.

"The fuck?" Wade snaps as the shadow above him says in a deceptively friendly tenor, "Nightmare?"

The shadow drops, feet landing softly upon the bare wooden floorboards. The lamp on the bedside table is switched on and—

"Oh," the shadow says, freezing in place, one hand on the lamp pull, as Wade says again, more loudly, "The fuck?"

The shadow is a man in red-and-blue spandex. Large, white lenses dominate his mask and black piping radiates like a web over every inch of his body. A stylized spider sits atop his sternum, an obvious target Wade keeps his gun trained on. They stare at each other. Wade is sure that the shadow is taking the details of him in too: his scars, his hard-earned and hard-kept muscles, his sleep-wild hair. Wade cannot tell who is more surprised, him or his oddly dressed intruder.

"What are you supposed to be?" Wade asks incredulously. "Some sort of... man-spider?"

"Spiderman, actually," answers the spider-man faintly.

"Of course, how silly of me." Wade glances at his immobile hand. Both his hand and his gun are covered in gauzy, white fiber not unlike spider silk, and since he's not ready to process what the hell that is, his eyes flit back to the spider-man. The body beneath the costume is lean and corded with muscle. Wade's eyes drift down from the curve of the spider-man's shoulders to the narrow taper of his waist, assessing.

"I'm not here to hurt you," the spider-man blurts, stepping back from the bed and holding both hands palm out. A plea for deescalation. "So don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

"Shoot your gun. The webbing around your hand dissipates force about a hundred times better than Kevlar, so the bullet won't make it half an inch out of the barrel. You'll just hurt your hand—trust me, I've seen it."

Wade hums. Tries to wriggle his fingers again. Again cannot move them, even a little. He thinks briefly about how quickly he could grab the Bowie knife taped to the underside of his bed frame. Quick enough, he supposes, though truthfully, he doesn't think he needs to. The spike of adrenaline that woke him has faded and he cannot discern any negative intent radiating from his surprise visitor, which is... odd. Usually people who sneak up on Wade are trying to kill him.

Put another tally into the dream category, Wade thinks, and lets his incapacitated hand fall to the mattress. Aloud, he asks, "So are you here to kill me, my little arachnid assassin?"

"Kill you?"

"Murder me. Turn me into worm food. End my earthly career. Put me six feet under. Make'a me sleep with the fishes—"

"Do you have to butcher the accent like that?"

"Bumped. Smoked. Whacked. Snuffed. Offed. Iced—"

"Oh my god, shut up," the spider-man says, but there's an edge of laughter in his voice. "Jesus, this is weird enough without you listing as many murder euphemisms as you possibly can."

"You're the one standing in my bedroom dressed like a Power Ranger reject," Wade points out. "But hey, dreams are weird. For example, mine usually involve more lingerie than second degree criminal trespass. And no matter how skin-tight your costume is, I don't think what you're wearing qualifies as sexy underwear. It's more like... one of those BDSM leather bodysuits. Do you think this is my subconscious's way of telling me that I need to open myself up to new experiences?"

"Wait wait wait wait wait," the spider-man says quickly, slurring the syllables together. "What do you mean, dream?"

"I mean that as much as I would love to be handed a vaguely anthropomorphized arachnid stuffed into the body of the hottest twink alive, the real world just don't work like that."

"Twink?" The spider-man's voice hits a high note.

"That can't be the first time you've heard that, baby boy." Wade smiles at him. It's the same, wide and charming smile he uses when he wants to get laid or get in a fight. "And you've just beat out Cary Elwes for first place on my 'Dudes in Tights I Would Bang' list."

The spider-man freezes once again. The stylized lenses of his mask haven't moved, but the line of his shoulders and his sudden stillness convey his shock perfectly as he tentatively says, "... Wade?"

"Yes. Obviously." Wade rolls his eyes. "Aren't figments of my subconscious mind supposed to know who I am? Oh, wait! Maybe you're my id trying to communicate a hitherto unknown kink which, that ass? I'll toss your salad until there ain't nothing but ranch."

"Yeeeep." The spider-man pops the p. "Wow. You're definitely Wade Wilson."

"In the flesh! Or, umm, whatever not-flesh non-corporeal bodies are made of. Really makes you wanna get all philosophical, doesn't it? Nature of reality, value of truth and knowledge, all that Plato shit, blah blah blah." Wade jazz hands using only his unwebbed left hand. His right hand and gun are still immobilized. Wade doesn't know if he's impressed or frustrated by the continuity.

"Wade," the spider-man says slowly. "This isn't a dream."

"Of course it's a dream," Wade answers. "And not to like, rush you or anything, but I'm bored, and also really curious as to what the next stage of this subconscious sequence is. Are we gonna bump uglies in ye ol' human tradition? Does this spider theme extend past foreplay? Oh! Are you gonna bundle me up in a blanket of cobwebs? Drink my blood while you fuck me? Bite off my—"

"What? No! Wade, I don't drink blood or bite anything off—"

"But the cobweb bondage is still on the table? I have to say, this stuff is ridiculously strong. Does it come out your butt?"

"My—? Nononono—it comes from my wrist canisters!" The man holds up a hand and shows him a small lump beneath the red fabric and a trigger mechanism that protrudes subtly from it. "And before you ask, it's a polymer I developed that mimics the properties of spider silk. I synthesize it in a lab. It's definitely not... organic."

Wade's shoulders slump and he pouts. "I don't know why I find that disappointing."

"Neither do I." Then, "Out of curiosity, why do you think you're dreaming?"

"Exhibit A: the didn't-come-out-your-butt polymer." Wade holds up the white mass covering his right hand and gun, and waves it around a bit for emphasis. The webbing is surprisingly lightweight for how ridiculously strong it is. "Exhibit B: you were on the ceiling two minutes ago."

"And that's... unusual?"

"Where I come from, yes. And Saskatchewan churns out some real fucking weirdos."

"So there's no one like me here? At all?"

"Nope! You're the first arachnid-themed twink I've ever seen."

"Mazel tov," Arachni-twink says, but he sounds more dazed than sarcastic. He crosses his arms over his chest and absently rubs his chin, obviously thinking. "This... might sound weird but how much do you know about the multiverse? Alternate universes? Parallel realities?"

Wade wonders why his brain would rather play out this borderline mundane scenario than a much sexier or scarier (or scarily sexier) (or sexily scarier) version of a wet dream, but hey. Even the most exciting rollercoasters have their boring bits. Might as well play along.

"Not really. Why?" Wade cocks his head to the side. "Do you have a sexy evil mustache under that mask?"

"Negatory, Captain. Not from Roddenberry's mirror universe." He flashes a quick ta'al. "And do you know anything about the Avengers?"

"I'm guessing they're not a boy band."

"Superheroes?"

"Last summer blockbuster was funny enough but lacked the real emotional substance of its predecessors."

"Weapon X?"

"Can't say I know her."

"And... the cancer?"

"El cancer?" Wade shrugs. "Yeah, we have that here. Mom died of it when I was five. Got a small bout myself a few years ago and—let me tell you—that radiation therapy shits sucks balls. Also took one of my balls. But hey, still swinging." A pause. "Half swinging? What's the terminology here?"

The spider-man hesitates before saying, more quietly, "...And Peter?"

"Pumpkin eater? Had a wife? Couldn't keep her?"

"Yeah, uh, something like that," the spider-man says. Then, mostly to himself, "Oh, okay, ouch."

Wade hears the strange undercurrent of real hurt which.

Huh.

Can dream people feel hurt? Wade wonders.

They fall into a second silence. This one lasts longer than the first. The spider-man standing by Wade's bed has lost himself completely in thought, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath and tap-tap-tapping one booted foot against the floor. Wade has no idea what said thoughts are about, but they look intense. At one point, he takes a cellphone out from a hidden pocket and attempts to use it; he even opens the window and stretches out as far as he can to get a signal, and is unsuccessful.

"Okay okay okay," the spider-man says after he comes back inside. Wade, who had turned his focus to futilely picking at the webbing around his right hand, looks back up at him. "Um, well, firstly, I just want to say that, uh, I'm sorry I broke into your apartment at three in the morning. This is... my apartment in my universe. I just wanted to go home and sleep. I did not mean to wake you up and scare you and make you shoot at me."

"You're apologizing to me for... shooting at you?"

"Yes. That is what I am doing."

"Weird flex but okay." Wade shrugs. "Apology accepted."

"Secondly, I would like to revise my previous assertion that all of this is not a dream." The spider-man moves his pointer finger in broad circles, as though to encompass what he means by 'all-of-this'. "What is happening right here, right now, is one-hundred-and-ten percent a fever dream. And it was brought on by the, uh, the bad beef lo mein you ate before bed."

There is something strange in the spider-man's tone and body language that makes Wade sit up straighter. He doesn't know why. Instinct, maybe, or awareness of a shift in mood. But Wade's gut is what kept him alive through special ops and mercenary work and his cancer scare, so he's learned to pay attention and—more importantly—listen.

"How the fuck do you know that?" Wade asks, eyes narrowing. He thinks again of his trusty Bowie knife. "Did you dig around in my fridge as recon or some shit? Because questionable leftovers are sacred, a holy secret meant to be between a man and his god. I'd rather you look at the questionable porn stash underneath my mattress."

"Weeeeeell," the spider-man says. "Since this is a dream, and I'm part of the dream that you are dreaming, dream-me who is actually dream-you knows that the beef lo mein is making you dream crazy things. Crazy things like Spiderman—"

"Oh, I hear the capitalization now."

"—climbing on the ceiling and babbling on about the multiverse. And it had to be a dream because superpowers aren't real, and superheroes aren't real, and the manipulation of space-time is purely theoretical. In this universe." He pauses and says, slowly, "Which is... the only... universe. Yeah."

And suddenly—

Overwhelmingly—

Gracelessly—

Wade knows to his bones that this is not a dream.

This is real.

This is real.

A spider-themed superhero from a parallel universe broke into his apartment.

The epiphany hits him hard, as most epiphanies do, and he laughs at the absurdity of it. Spiderman watches Wade as he laughs harder and harder and harder, until his cheeks are wet from his leaking eyes and he's clutching his abdomen and he's choking on every painful inhale. It hurts and it verges on hysterical, but what else is Wade supposed to do? There's a man from another fucking reality standing less than four feet away.

This is the thought that cycles through Wade's brain on repeat. A man from another reality. A man from another reality. A man from another reality. Wade's never been real book-smart; he has a knack for languages, and if it involves fighting or fucking, he's a goddamned savant, but he's never been a memorize-and-regurgitate kinda guy, so the concept of other universes existing alongside his own has always been in the realm of sci-fi. He's never bothered with the nitty gritty of it or thought about it too long. It has always been a concept beyond himself, like black holes or string theory or teleportation. Cool, but largely irrelevant.

But now?

Maybe Wade wouldn't be so overwhelmed if he hadn't seen Spiderman crawling on the ceiling. If his hand and gun weren't wrapped up in a weird white goo unlike anything he's encountered before. Perhaps if Wade were literally anyone else, he would be less affected. But Wade's had to learn to take in the reality of a situation without hesitation, to accept the improbable and strange instantly, to adapt. Ignoring the truth only gets people killed and, well, there's a reason Wade's in his mid-thirties and still kicking.

The hysteria wanes eventually and Wade's existential crisis laughter lessens to intermediate hiccuping. His sides hurt. He scrubs the wetness off his cheeks and Spiderman asks, "You don't think you're dreaming anymore, do you."

It isn't a question.

Wade answers anyway.

"Not really, no." Wade's voice is raspy. "It's just that... you're a spectacularly shitty liar."

"Yeah." Spiderman sighs. Deeply. Puts his masked face in one gloved hand and rubs at his eyes in a multi-universal display of begrudging acceptance. "So I've been told."

"I mean, you're so bad at it that I immediately believed all the bullshit you were saying before just because you tried to lie about what I already thought was the truth."

"Wade..."

"I have, like, so many questions." Wade pulls his comforter off and gets out of bed. Standing, he finds that he's almost a head taller than his late-night visitor, who barely moves away or acknowledges Wade's ridiculous pajama pants. Interesting. "But I'll start with some easy ones. Firstly, can you get your webbing off my hand and, secondly, do you like pancakes?"

.

Part 2

.

[peacespun]

it started the same way it had before.      he started to feel weak,      exhausted faster than he did after the first few months post surgery.      for the first couple of doctor appointments,      they didn't see anything.      perhaps they had assumed it had something to do with the medications he was taking post surgery,      side effects is what they called it.      but after some time the rhetoric turned around completely,      after dean and abe both raised their concerns.      this was how it started last time,      i just need someone to listen.     and when they had,     that was when abraham knew things had shifted.    "we'll monitor it. if something changes in the next few weeks, we'll know for sure."     but the more they waited,      the worse abraham felt.      he stopped doing what he loved,      stopped visiting dean in the office because getting out of bed was difficult and cost him too much energy.      and while he often tried to make it a point to see dean in the craft shed after he'd come home from work some days,     both out of want to see him and for some attempt to move around,      some nights even that proved difficult.

he went back on a list not an hour after his next doctors visit,    priority just under several other candidates in need of a heart.     this one was failing him too.      it would be his second transplant.    abraham was made acutely aware of the odds of something like this happening to him,      how often new hearts will fail despite all that is done to keep them from doing so.      its not uncommon.     he knew his odds from the beginning and still it felt like a heavy weight of shock when it was confirmed.

each day was harder than the last.      some days all he could do was sit on the couch and watch dean work from their kitchen table or right beside him after they made an effort to move him there.      other days he simply laid in bed and slept for ten,     twelve,    sometimes sixteen hours.      some days he couldn't manage anything at all.      until the day dean came to him with great big hopeful green eyes,      with news.      he'd been working on a transplantable heart in the craft shed all this time,     something tangible between human and robotic.     and there was a doctor willing to try something completely mad,      that has had very limited amounts of success in the past.      but he knows that he won't make it off that list,      he'll die waiting for another heart if he didn't at least consider other possibilities.      even fucking wild ones.

it went like usual:   meeting the doctor,     running the tests,     getting the same results back  chronic heart failure,      stage d.      but doctor tilman didn't seem swayed in the least,     which surprised him.     a man confident in his work and his ability to help.      then came the paperwork,      signing agreements and a few other things that moved under his eyes in a blur from him to dean.     then before he knew it,      it was surgery day.     kisses were plenty,     dean never let go of his hand and abraham never wanted him to.      at least until they passed those doors to the operating room and a last goodbye was signed.      one last i love you.

that is all he remembers until this moment.      soft blues carefully blinking open to the room around him,     to dean there at his bedside.     it worked.     it worked it worked it worked.      abraham cracks a smile to his husband,      giving such a weak squeeze to @warspun's hand,          "   is this heaven?   "

[blednone]

it started the same way it had before. he started to feel weak, exhausted faster than he did after the first few months post surgery. for the first couple of doctor appointments, they didn't see anything. perhaps they had assumed it had something to do with the medications he was taking post surgery, side effects is what they called it. but after some time the rhetoric turned around completely, after dean and abe both raised their concerns. this was how it started last time, i just need someone to listen. and when they had, that was when abraham knew things had shifted. "we'll monitor it. if something changes in the next few weeks, we'll know for sure." but the more they waited, the worse abraham felt. he stopped doing what he loved, stopped visiting dean in the office because getting out of bed was difficult and cost him too much energy. and while he often tried to make it a point to see dean in the craft shed after he'd come home from work some days, both out of want to see him and for some attempt to move around, some nights even that proved difficult.

he went back on a list not an hour after his next doctors visit, priority just under several other candidates in need of a heart. this one was failing him too. it would be his second transplant. abraham was made acutely aware of the odds of something like this happening to him, how often new hearts will fail despite all that is done to keep them from doing so. its not uncommon. he knew his odds from the beginning and still it felt like a heavy weight of shock when it was confirmed.

each day was harder than the last. some days all he could do was sit on the couch and watch dean work from their kitchen table or right beside him after they made an effort to move him there. other days he simply laid in bed and slept for ten, twelve, sometimes sixteen hours. some days he couldn't manage anything at all. until the day dean came to him with great big hopeful green eyes, with news. he'd been working on a transplantable heart in the craft shed all this time, something tangible between human and robotic. and there was a doctor willing to try something completely mad, that has had very limited amounts of success in the past. but he knows that he won't make it off that list, he'll die waiting for another heart if he didn't at least consider other possibilities. even fucking wild ones.

it went like usual. meeting the doctor, running the usual tests. getting the same results back: chronic heart failure, stage d. doctor tilman didn't seem swayed in the least, which surprised him. a man confident in his work and his ability to help. then came the paperwork, signing agreements and a few other things that moved under his eyes in a blur from him to dean. then before he knew it, it was surgery day. kisses were plenty, dean never let go of his hand and abraham never wanted him to. at least until they passed those doors to the operation rooms and a last goodbye was signed. one last i love you.

that is all he remembers until this moment. soft blues carefully blinking open to the room around him, to dean there at his bedside. it worked. it worked it worked it worked. abraham cracks a smile to his husband, giving such a weak squeeze to @bledgrace's hand, " is this heaven? "

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Too Old For This - Chapter 9 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Leroy wasn't sure what he'd expected but not exactly what he saw.

It was a small room with a double bed pushed against the wall.

There was a study table that was pressed against the bed's lower edge with a chair on the other side but it seemed that Zachary used it from the bed, for the most part, judging from what direction the stack of books and the laptop was facing.

The room smelled strongly of medical-grade pain relief cream and a hint of candles and essential oils.

"Hey," Zachary said, making Leroy turn his gaze toward him.

There was a small smile on the older man's face... a bit unsure... maybe nervous.  

"Hey," Leroy said, walking over to the chair propped on the other side of the desk before sitting down.

He had wanted to sit beside Zachary on the bed but he'd come to the conclusion that it would be a little weird.

Also, there was a cat right next to him and the cat wouldn't take too kindly to Leroy moving it out of the way.  

There was silence after that, with none of them saying much but random pleasantries.

Leroy had asked about Zachary's sister and the older man had confirmed that, yes, that was in fact his sister before asking Leroy how his night was.

The younger man had shrugged, mumbling 'good' under his breath and just like that the silence returned.

They sat there awkwardly, both occasionally looking at their phones in between the odd staring contest they had established.  

"Erm, you said you wanted to watch a movie," Zachary said after a while of awkward silence.

"I wasn't sure what to pick but I do have Netflix," he muttered, reaching for the laptop on the table before flipping it open.

He was on it for a bit, before flipping it to face Leroy.

"Whatever you want to watch. I don't mind," he added, giving Leroy another awkward smile before picking up his phone.      

"Sorry about the smell if it bothers you," Zachary said, making Leroy look up from his phone.

The two locked eyes for a bit, before Zachary, blinked and moved his gaze to the bedside table with a humidifier.

"I know it's strong but it helps."      

"It's okay," Leroy said, smiling a little and Zachary gave him an awkward smile back.

"So, do you want anything? A drink? A snack?" Zachary asked, moving to get off his bed.

Leroy noticed his little wobble but the older man didn't make a fuss about it.

"I'm sure Avery has some Diet Coke in there somewhere."  

Leroy chuckled.

"I'll have Diet Coke, sure."

"Okay, I'll be back in a bit. Maybe find a movie before I get back."

Leroy nodded, watching Zachary slip out of the room before he turned to the screen of the laptop in front of him.

Just like Zachary's phone, the laptop was questionably ancient with its compact keyboard and clunky mouse pad, though the software was updated.

Leroy scrolled through Netflix, looking for something they could watch together.

They generally had the same taste, so he didn't have to compromise as he did with his sisters or friends when they had video-call movie nights.

As he was scrolling, he noticed the 'continue watching' tab and raised a brow at the shows he saw.    

Err, there wasn't really any other way to put it besides that he noticed that they were a bit... a bit gay.

One show was a shrug worthy, two a coincidence but every single show with maybe two not being a bit gay was pushing the whole 'probability' thing he'd been going with was starting to push it.  

He took in a deep breath, debating whether he should just ignore the whole thing and keep scrolling for movies but his curiosity got the better of him and soon he had clicked Zachary's Netflix list, noticing the pattern of shows and documentaries he'd liked to watch.

Sure, they were in the same genre he liked as well but Zachary had conveniently omitted that... well... he was really into gay media.

'He's gay.'  

Leroy felt the words buzz like white noise in his ears.

He wasn't sure why he felt stunned and a little self-conscious.

He had gay friends... he'd had them for years but learning that Zachary was potentially gay made him feel awkward and a bit self-conscious.

Despite this mix of emotions, Leroy couldn't stop himself from snooping.

He opened up another tab and quietly went through Zachary's bookmarks.

Most of them were innocent but some of them made him blush a little too hard.  

"Fuck," Leroy cursed under his breath, closing the new tab before returning to the one with Netflix opened.

"I shouldn't," he sighed, forcing himself to stick to what he was originally told to do... find a movie.

He settled on 'The Colony' and sat still for Zachary's return.

'It's okay,' he told himself, nibbling on his bottom lip.

Zachary was gay and so what?

The man had always been respectful, hadn't come on to him and seemed to keep it to himself quite successfully.

Zachary didn't seem interested in him and their friendship had worked up until now, so it would keep working with or without the knowledge of his sexuality.  

Leroy nodded to himself, affirming all his internal statements but he couldn't quite rub off the fact that he felt a tad disappointed.

Maybe he was a little upset that Zachary didn't trust him enough to tell him.    

It was definitely more complicated than that.  

In the rawest of terms, it was upsetting that Zachary didn't want him.

Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

Leroy had no clue it just felt bad.

[indyflanery]

4, 6, 15 and 18 :)

A PEAK AT WHAT’S INSIDE THEIR . . .

04. car glovebox.

Indy doesn't actually have a car glovebox, or a car, so this question doesn't count. He has a motorcycle.

06. bedside table drawer.

An odd assortment of cliché and noncliché things, if he's being honest. He absolutely has condoms and lube in there, but he also throws his journal in that drawer. Probably his phone charger and other random things he needs to hold onto but doesn't know where he'd put them without losing them.

15. bookcase.

Which bookcase is the better question? Indy has multiples. One has a lot of paperbacks science fiction, historical fiction, and adventure books being favorites. Another one has the beginning of his academic resource collection...

18. “secret” hiding spot.

He doesn't have or need a "secret" hiding spot as a grown adult. As a teenager, a secret hiding spot would have been in a niche under his bed. And while his father left him to his own devices and didn't go into his room, he absolutely was the teenage boy that stashed his porn there.

[roman-cates]

It's good to see Roman walking, even if he is only able to go a few feet at a time. The house is small, so he'll be able to get around even if he's a bit slow.

Which means Bryce should make sure everything he shouldn't access is locked up.

"Take your time," he tells Roman, and goes into the kitchen. He adjusts the rice on the stove and grabs the bottle of painkiller. He leaves the vitamins out, hard to abuse those. The kitchen is short and narrow, barely enough room for two people even if neither has crutches, so he glances at the living room -- nothing there to move -- and heads goes to the other hallway.

There's three doors at the end. Bryce he takes a key from his pocket and locks the one on the left. Storage, laundry, and two small holding cells. Better if Roman doesn't see that. He slips into the door on the end that he's claimed as his bedroom and deposits the medicine inside. There's a cage in here too, but Bryce has never actually seen this one used.

He locks the door behind him and opens the door on the right. This room is motel-simple: a full bed, an empty dresser, a bedside table that holds a clock with glaring red digits. A rod in place of a wardrobe, sunk deep into the walls. No hangers, good. There's a chain scattered across the floor, anchored in the center of the room. It has an ankle cuff attached. Bryce kicks it to the side so Roman won't trip. He won't need to even think about using that for a few weeks, and so he does not think about it.

He returns to find Roman has almost made it to the living room.

"You're allowed to sit on the red chair in here, on any dining chair, or I might let you on the sofa sometimes." He'll have to explain if anyone sees Roman on the furniture, but the leg is a safe excuse for now.

"There's a bedroom for you through that hall," he gestures, "It's open. The other doors there are off limits." That's about it, right? Oh, and…

"When I leave the house, you need to engage the second deadbolt for safety." That's about it for now, he thinks. "I'll get you some more rice."

Previous

Roman focuses on getting out of the bathroom and into the main area of the house. It takes a lot out of him. He's not very strong at all after two years almost exclusively chained in a basement. Still, he's determined. His determination makes up for the lack of strength.

Once he gets past the hallway to where he can see the main rooms, Roman looks around. Under the guise of being amazed and interested at the new environment, he's really looking for ways to escape.

There are windows. Roman is able to tell what time it is roughly. It can't be later than 3 in the afternoon. It looks... so bright outside. The windows are all barred. No way out through them.

There's a door, too. Only one. Unless there's another door somewhere he can't see, then that's the only way out. Roman puts that information into a safe corner of his mind. He can't use it right now, but he sure as hell will later.

Eventually, he gets out to one of the chairs that Bryce says he's allowed on. The remark about being allowed on the sofa 'sometimes' makes Roman feel like he's a pet. Then he realizes that... he kind of is...

Somehow the though of having a label like pet is worse than having the label of captive. At least captives are still human beings, there against their will, but still recognized as a person— even if their captor doesn't care. A pet... Well. Pets aren't humans. Pets are there for their owners amusement.

Roman is curious about the bedroom down the hall, but his arms were already screaming at him to stop by the time he got to the closest chair, so he can't go look right now. He has to take a break.

When the rice is ready, Roman is allowed to feed himself this time. Bryce takes the crutches away once Roman has settled in. He's gone for an odd amount of time. It feels long. But when he brings the crutches back, they don't have blood on them anymore. Bryce doesn't say anything about it, so Roman doesn't either.

After a while, Bryce picks out a DVD and puts a movie on— there's a much bigger TV out here— before making his own dinner in a microwave. Roman is more interested in watching Bryce than watching the movie, trying to glean any information that might aid an escape attempt.

When Roman starts getting tired— which doesn't take very long— he's allowed to go to the open room at the other end of the hall. It's hard to get there— his arms are already too tired— but he makes it.

For a moment, he freezes in the doorway when he sees the chain on the floor. It looks much too similar to the one J put on him— only this one is longer. It takes Roman a minute or two to swallow his fear and go into the room anyway. He doesn't sleep well.

[spindrifters]

@lynxindisguise dared me to post all 35 instances of the word cry in this goddamn fic, and who am I to deny the world more dampness? spoilers + nsfw + long post under the cut. a not-surprising amount of this is actually just about food.

1. Remus could cry with relief. He wouldn't dare, of course—and anyway, he hasn’t cried for years, not since maybe a year or so after they’d ripped him from his mother’s arms—but that doesn’t lessen the pure relief coursing through his veins like a shot of pure adrenaline.

2. Sirius bites back a cry. Sets his jaw instead. He won’t give her the satisfaction.

3. The plate sitting on the little bedside table between his bed and Stephen’s is, as promised, still so warm that Remus has to give it a few tries before he’s confident it’s not too hot to touch. There are two massive cuts of steak on it, with greens and roast potatoes and gravy piled high, and he could positively cry at how delicious it smells.

4. But for the first time in his life, Remus doesn’t go to bed hungry. For the first time in his life, Remus could cry with how good the food is.

5. “Alright,” he says, averting his eyes because the hamsa is heavy against his chest for all of how tiny it is and Sirius is still looking at him in that way and he is not going to cry right now. “I’ll be down soon. Promise.”

6. “A what?” she asks. Her throat is raw and scratchy, from crying or from smoking, he doesn’t know. Maybe both.

7. Remus doesn’t let himself finish that thought. He does, however, let himself go. He lets himself cry, for the first time in years, here in the safety of the Come and Go Room, because he wants his mum and there shouldn’t be shame in wanting and god, he wants so much.

8. “No!” cry others. “Bring them into the fold, put a wand in their hand and educate them well, for surely the population of wizard-kind—so much smaller than that of the muggles, though they would never dream to rise against us—cries out for new blood!”

9. She could fight this. She could use her wand, or not, and fight or run. She could scream and yell obscenities, or cry at the desperate unfairness of what’s about the happen. But she doesn’t. She makes herself a martyr instead.

10. He doesn’t know why it feels like such a relief. It’s not as if there’s been anything more than the odd tussle here and there. But maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s something he knows how to accept. Because benevolent as it is, it’s also a far cry from the hug they shared in the aftermath of Sirius enchanting the map. And while Remus very much was the one to initiate that, he doesn’t know why the thought of it now makes him feel so odd. He flicks that away.

11. Another lash of fire races across his backside, and he jerks instinctively towards the chair, as if he might somehow get away. Remus grits out a hiss, and what is wrong with him? He’s seventeen. He can take a beating quietly. He won’t give her the satisfaction of crying out.

12. Remus, safe. Remus, at Phoenix. Remus, who’s still alive. Sirius could cry at the thought. He’s very close to it, really.

13. Sirius, it reads, and already he wants to cry. This is your best chance. Don’t waste it on pointless heroics. Do you remember our talk, last spring? You weren’t entirely right, back then. I’ve never wanted to distance myself from you. Not like that. I needed you, for such a long time. I’ll always need you to be my brother. But we’re two different people, with two different paths, and I can take care of myself better than you can now. I have to.

14. They spend the rest of the morning—because it’s morning now, three days and four nights since Black Manor, and Remus has been out cold all that time—curled up against each other, laughing and crying and doing their best to fill each other in on the last three years.

15. Lily Evans at seventeen isn’t such a far cry from fourteen—she’s made of the same stuff, at least. Salt kindness and dark humor and the sort of practical righteousness that defined a childhood of bumping up against, and she still swears even worse than him. Remus turns towards the comfort of these familiar things like a houseplant straining for the sun, and tries not to wonder if he seems like too much of a stranger to her in turn.

16. They fade off to sleep like that, tucked in against one another, and Remus can’t help but wonder at how easy this is. Like fitting a glove back on. Like this could be any night in the seven years they spent at each other’s side, secrets and snorted laughter whispered into the dark, the distant crashing of waves and cry of gulls the only hint that anything might have changed. Only it has. Everything’s changed.

17. A moment’s pause, then Sirius nods, landing on the sand next to him. There’s nothing for a moment, nothing but the slight bruising on his arse and the cry of gulls and Sirius nervously pulling back his hair, and the static crackling between them, and god it’s fucking hilarious, actually. Have they ever been this awkward with one another? They’ve been stilted and formal and completely ballsed-up mortified, sure, back before they really knew each other, but awkward? No.

18. Ana nods, still grim. “If someone gets it in their head to do something about the situation, if they try to talk to others about it, maybe even muster up support… Those wards do their job very well. A muggle’s more than welcome to hold grand plans of revolt in the privacy of their mind, but the moment they open their mouth, the thought leaves them entirely. Which is a crying shame, because strength of will in numbers like would be a formidable weapon, even against magic.”

19. “Mum.” It trips out of him, that unused word again, and her copper eyes shine—too many years of having to be strong to let herself cry. He rests his other hand on top of where the both of theirs are clasped. “I believe you, yeah?”

20. There’s something primal to this, something utterly right as he curls into the crook of her chest, and he isn’t crying. Not really. There’s a tear or two, maybe, yes, but the catharsis goes deeper than that. Her body, wrapped around his, the way it must have been a hundred times before. He doesn’t remember, not really. But his body does.

21. Sirius wakes early that next morning, the cry of gulls and the soft dawn light creeping red over his eyelids until he finally squints one open.

22. “You’re a good man, Sirius. So just… thank you. It goes so much further than you can understand, knowing all you’ve done for him. Knowing that he hasn’t been alone. That he still isn’t.” There’s a weight like a stone in his throat, and Sirius is not going to cry. He isn’t.

23. “I want that, too, Remus, but I need you to talk to me,” he says, smoothing one hand up the length of his back, and Remus could cry from how long it’s been since anyone touched him there with something like tenderness. “I need you to tell me when it’s too much. What you like. What you don’t. Think I’d probably need that with just about anyone, but especially when it’s you. You’re… You’re too important. I can’t muck this up.”

24. “Can I try something?” Barely a moment passes before Remus is nodding, a deepening behind his dark eyes, and Sirius could almost cry from how quick he is to agree, this willingness to trust they’ve worked so hard for.

25. It’s unrushed and lazy, even then. Even as Sirius whispers, "Gonna take care of you, Moony,” into his ear again. "This is all for you." Even through the gorgeous red flush across dark freckles and golden cheekbones, that haze of exquisite pleasure coating clever amber eyes. Even as his own cock alerts to the rising peak of Remus’s low and breathy moans. Even as thick, sticky stripes land across Remus’s stomach, their mouths still locked together through his crying out, as though to break apart would be akin to dying of drought, and Sirius thinks that he’s been thirsty for a hundred years. He works him through it, giving Remus what he needs until he begins to soften again.

26. Four kilometers out from Merthyr Tydfil, Frank holds up his wand arm, and their company comes to an abrupt halt. It hasn’t been the worst trek down, and Sirius knows they’ve been going slow for Remus’s sake, but still. It’s a far cry from casual walks down well-worn trails in the woods of Phoenix Isle. They’ve been picking through the untread outskirts of the disused Brecon Railway, winding steadily downhill through dense forest and outcrops of boulder in the gathering dark, and he can tell from Remus’s slowing-down that it isn’t just his hip that’s bothering him now.

27. The heavy thump of someone—Hope, his mum—falling in the distance with a cry, Sirius still some meters away as the Aurors close in around them.

28. “No, no, ” Remus tries again, and he feels half insane with it. Frank was there. Frank saw it happen, the crack of crimson light and Hope’s crying out in the distance as she fell. It wasn’t the killing curse, he knows that much, but still. That doesn’t stop her from being injured or captured or worse. And Frank was there, so why doesn’t Frank seem to understand? 

29. Mum, slamming to the ground in the far distance with a heart-stopping cry, the flashing red of the Auror’s curse too fading fast to properly make her out in the Welsh night.

30. A crack through the air like a whip, and Remus flinches, and a cry of pain erupts from Sirius, who pulls his hands back protectively into his chest. Remus’s own dart out in an instant, any residual annoyance or anger be damned, and his heart is hammering in his chest as he twists Sirius’s palms upward. But there’s nothing there. Just the same smooth, white palms that hold him in the night.

31. Mum doesn’t cry, but he thinks it’s a very near thing. She wraps him up in her arms instead, the heavy rise and fall of her now-familiar chest against his, and Remus doesn’t feel any different. Not the way he might have expected to, anyway.

32. “Your dad had to take you into the Ministry to get that done,” she tells him, thumbs running at his temples, and she’s standing on her own more and more every day now. “Put it off as long as he could… I’d never seen him cry the way he did when he got home that night.” A pause. “We should’ve sent you off to Phoenix instead when we had the chance, but…”

33. “I’m not asking your permission, Sirius,” he says, and it drops like a stone in his gut, that shaking ache of knowing this isn’t something he can fight. The incongruous relief fighting against the still-stubborn crying out of no. “I’m telling you. If you’re doing this, then I'm going with you.”

34. Sirius takes his time, and Remus knows what he’s doing. His arms and chest, the healed clawmarks slashed across his ribcage, that curse-emptied brand at his collarbone—Sirius takes his time with each and every one, every mark and scar left behind, and he could cry with the gentleness of it.

35. Remus gasps when he reaches his arse, strong hands at his hips holding him in place. The scars there are newest, only just faded from July’s angry red, and he can’t hear what Sirius is murmuring into his skin but his breath is hot and his tongue is wet and Remus could cry with the firm but gentle attentions where once there was nothing but pain.

wip word search

ty for the tag @kaaaaaaarf & @lynxindisguise

Go to this generator and search your WIPs for the first instance of that word. I got cry (I swear I didn't rig this).

Remus could cry with relief. He wouldn't dare, of course—and anyway, he hasn’t cried in years, not since maybe a year or so after they’d ripped him from his mother’s arms—but that doesn’t lessen the pure relief coursing through his veins like a shot of pure adrenaline.

tagging @plecotusauritus @fruityindividual @worldenough-and-time @crushofdoves @divinerapturee

[kyyuri]

to be or not ! -yang jungwon

27 ! love (written)

★彡 synopsis: what happens when y/n, who is hopelessly pinning over her best friend, jungwon- gets betrayed by not one, but both of them ?! and what happens when jungwon falls for her despite all odds ?

word count: 1.3k

taglist 2 ! open <12 slots left> may or may not have a taglist 3 :( so send an ask if you wna be added and ill add u once im back from hiatus <3

perm taglist open

a/n: take this as my hiatus gift before i go missing for another 1.5 months ? exams are honestly such a pain in the ass :(

you stood in front of jungwon’s front door. as much as you hated how you gave in so easily to help jungwon, you still decided to knock on the door, knowing how yujin isn’t going to come help the poor boy anytime soon. “yn ? come in… ” he looked so pale and yet so adorable with his teddy bear pjs and a long soft blanket draped over his body. “here’s the notes for today.” you handed him a stack of papers. with a grateful look, he muttered a quick thank you and reached for it, leaving the teddy bear he was clinging onto under the blanket exposed to your eyes. it was the bear you bought for his birthday years ago. it honestly shocked you how he kept it for so long and likely cuddles it to sleep. “you still keep it ?” eyes directed at the plush in his grasps “yeah. why wouldn’t i ?” jungwon asked with an innocent look on his face. choosing not to answer, silence fell upon the both of you again.

as he made himself comfortable on his bed once again, he looked at your awkward figure that’s standing by his bedroom door. he chuckled “why are you acting so weird ? this isn’t the first time you’re in my house.” “it’s the first time im here as someone that isn’t your friend.” you almost felt bad instantly for the comment you just made. “i’m sorry..” he muttered softly “i really am i-” before he could finish, you decided you’ve heard enough today, “I’ll go make some soup for you, just rest jungwon.” unknown to you, jungwon said softly, “ i hate it when you call me jungwon…”

having been to his home often in the past, it didn’t take you long to find the ingredients and utensils needed to whip up his favourite soup. it only took a while before the soup was ready to be consumed by the sick boy when there was a knock on the door. Preparing mentally for yujin’s arrival, you cursed yourself for not leaving once jungwon apologised. “hee ?” “yn, please hear me out.” “okay you have five minutes.” heeseung grabbed the bowl of soup “ I believe jungwon would want to hear about this too.” with you following behind, the both of you headed upstairs. “how are you feeling, jungwon ?” surprised, he sat up, “ im doing ok hyung, what brings you here ?” “ i figured i have something you might want to see.” placing the bowl of soup on the bedside table, he pulled out a pink envelope and places it on jungwon’s lap. “ you should open it and see what shenanigans your lover has been pulling.” inside held a delicately decorated piece of parchment paper.

“heeseung oppa,

i really really really like you. i think you know that. i also think that you like me back. after all, youve been nothing but nice to me. it must be hard keeping your feelings hidden, but we dont have to do that anymore. yn is just using you to get to jungwon and im using jungwon to get to you. i believe it would be a fair trade. yn isnt good for you. i am. give me a chance and i’ll show you what true love is all about. oppa, i hate it when you look at other girls the same way you look at me. i hope you can make me someone special~ i will break it off with jungwon if you agree to give me a chance, give US a chance. what do you say, my love ? meet me after school ?

ily <3 yujin”

from the way jungwons face fell slightly, you could tell he was disappointed. “i.. kinda saw it coming but.. kinda didnt… i suppose i was in denial… but.. but it doesnt.. hurt ?” the two of your head turned towards jungwon in shock. his own girlfriend just admitted that she was using him and there was physical evidence yet he didnt feel upset by it ? heeseung didnt seem to understand either.

“won. im here !” a sing song voice came from the door. “what the fuck are the both of you doing here ?” she shrieked. “baby did they hurt you ?” she cooed towards jungwon. “were we not allowed to visit our friend ?” heeseung sneered at her. “o-oh of course y-youre allowed.” she sheepishly turned away. “baby how are you feeling ? i brought you your work from school.” she said, completely ignoring your presence. “dont’ baby ’me. you dont deserve to.” it honestly shocked you how jungwon was finally standing up for himself against yujin. after justifying her actions on her behalf for so long, it felt refreshing to see jungwon fight back. “what ?” a hint of annoyance appeared from her voice. he picked up the pink envelope and flung it towards her. yujin’s face drained of blood. “yea. its your love letter.” “i was framed ! it wasnt me !” she frantically pleaded. “yn ! she tried to frame me ! it was you wasnt it ? you witch !” she pushed you off the corner of the bed. “yn !” jungwon rushed to your side immediately, not giving a damn about what yujin think. “thats enough yujin. its time to leave.” heeseung took yujins bag and threw it at her, causing her to stumble upon impact. “i showed jungwon the letter YOU wrote to me. stop trying to ruin yns reputation. its not going to work. i appreciate the fact that im likeable but not the face that YOU like me. for the last time..leave yn alone !”

a sniff was heard. knowing that yujin was crying, jungwon didn’t hesitate to make her cry even more. “please leave yujin. you’re not welcomed here any longer. and for the record, whatever we had going on between us, its over. you’ve crossed the line way too far this time. its time to humble down. you can take your leave now. thank you.” he opened his bed room door and signalled for her to leave. with one last glare towards you, she stormed out of jungwon’s room.

everything that had happened today was too much for you to even process. first, you though heeseung had betrayed you. next, you head to jungwons house and heeseung showed up as well. then the whole love letter fiasco happened and now jungwon and yujin were no longer a couple ? it hurts your head honestly. “i think i’ll take my leave too. rest well jungwon and hee, im sorry for the way i acted earlier today. i’ll see you around.” you grabbed your stuff and gave them both a final wave before heading home.

once you had left, jungwon buried his head in his hands. “why didn’t it hurt when yujin left hyung ?” he was in so much distraught over this matter. “you dont love her as much as you believe you do. rather, i have every reason to believe that you have feelings for yn.” heeseung chuckled. “i-i have feelings for yn ? thats… impossible.” “how so ?” “im not sure… but i know i dont ! because around yujin, i feel different from when im around yn !” heeseung chuckled once again. “but you dont love yujin… you know what that means right ?” it was as if the realisation had finally dawned on him. “i-i love yn… all this time..” heeseung gave the poor confused boy a pat on the back “take care of yn’s heart. its fragile. it killed me that i didnt have a chance with her but im glad that its you that stands a chance. not any one else in this world.” heeseung stood up and with that he bid his farewell to the lovesick kid.

<prev> <masterlist> <next>

taglist 1 ! @enhacolor @yougeans @anti-romantic5 @urresidentdrugdealer @ncityy04 @tyonvrs @fairydosii @dazzledsohn @hwalllllllelujah @mitsukifilms @yizhoutv @kyutiepeachy @tlnyjoong @sunshine-skz @meiiiwa @pr0dbeomgyu @tobiosbbyghorl @yogurteume @alderiasamantha @woopetals @beemarkie @hibuki-chan @nyfwyeonjun @yvesismywife @yjwfav @diestheticu @woniecore @wonluvrbot @enhawonie @nyfwyeonjun @acciomylove @missmadwoman @hiqhkey @wntrsgf @jungwonerz @cuteyeonnie23 @angel-hyuckie @hobistigma @alo-ehas @rielleluvs @heesunki @yubinism @wonsgf @dinosdance @nrksrealgf @sunheeluvbot @aria-grace-scott @luvrjn @c9tnoos @tomorrowbymoa-together @wonie-core @lunaflvms

[watevermelon]

Touch-Averse | Kiyoomi Sakusa x Reader

✧ Summary: Physical affection was something you loved, and while Sakusa was not exactly the biggest fan, you didn’t want to encroach on him. You weren’t expecting your boyfriend to get jealous!

➳ A/N: Hey! This has been waiting around for so long; I think I steered a little too into the angst with this one asfdgfhj ;-; ➳ Tags: Angst with a happy ending, komori is a lil shit; ➳  Masterlist 

—xXxXxXxXxXx—

By all intents and purposes, Sakusa was the perfect boyfriend.

You were friends before through Komori since junior high and one thing led to another before the wing-spiker finally asked you out. You knew long before as his friend that he was averse to physical contact — even if it was under two layers of gloves.

No, the germaphobe kept everyone at a distance further from arms length. He wanted to keep things neat and orderly and straying from that made him uncomfortable.

And it warmed your heart that, despite this life-long struggle, Sakusa still let you into his world in little ways.

He would hold your hand through the halls of school (of course, you had to thoroughly wash your hands first and then get his personal approval). And, on lucky days like when Itachiyama won their practice matches that week, Sakusa would kiss you on the forehead openly in public.

All you had to do was vocalize things, keep the roads of communication between you two and he would respond. If you wanted to come over to his family home or vice versa — just let him know ahead of time and he would be happy to accommodate you. You want to go on a date to the arcade? Sure, send him a text and he’ll pencil you in for a couple days from now. A part of you also liked wearing his sweaters, the ones that plastered his last-name across the back. And on request, Sakusa let you wear his own to school.

Sakusa was generally aware of your needs and was not against being vocal about your relationship. You knew all about this prior to being his official girlfriend and had even found it endearing how much he cared about your personal health.

All it took was a look. 

A single look was enough to plant the seed of doubt and make it take root. 

It was after volleyball practice — you had stayed behind after your student council duties and went over to the courts instead of heading straight back to the dorms. You hadn’t told Sakusa before that you would be visiting, just popping in so you can walk back together.

You waved at the others, Komori noticing you first from the sidelines and greeting you. Some others from the team took notice beside him and recognized you from being friends with the second-years.

Between the break, you approached Sakusa’s pack where you knew he would go, happy to greet him.

He shot you the most disgusted look you had ever seen.

After, Sakusa had greeted you in his usual monotone voice. Voice clipped and simply drinking his water, Sakusa was there for a quick minute before returning back to the match without so much as a goodbye.

Your walk back to the dorms was eerily silent.

It could have been nothing, just a look that he always had in his resting judgmental grandma face. But for some reason it stuck to you, how mean his tone was towards his girlfriend of all people and how quick he was to get away from you after.

You tried to wave it off, give him the benefit of the doubt as you lay awake in your dorm room. Not saying anything to your roommate, you internalized most of your feelings and let it continue to fester below the surface.

He already didn’t like physical touch with you. But you had just greeted him, hardly pushing into his comfortable space. But even so, it was clear Sakusa had still been disgusted with you.

Was this what he really thought about you?

You tried your best to wave it off — maybe he wasn’t feeling too well that day? Maybe the match was annoying him? Maybe something just happened with his other teammates?

And so the next day after you were done with your extracurriculars, you dropped by the gym again just to see how Sakusa was doing.

Sakusa was quick to find in the crowd of boys, his tall height and curly black hair bobbing along as he readied to jump in the air. Seeing him spike, hearing the smack of power as it slammed into the floor, it always made you so proud at how fair he had come.

That moment didn’t last long.

No, it was pushed out by another emotion entirely.

The coach called the players on the opposite side, ringing them in to give some tips to them specifically. Sakusa’s side backed off to grab drinks of their water, the main manager running up to him with a towel in hand.

And Sakusa let her wipe at his face.

A small dab at his forehead and at the sides of his face and the moment was over. But that was not what you saw. You saw your boyfriend, your long-term friend, allow someone in his close space to touch his face of all things! You still had to wear gloves sometimes. And here she was, noses only inches away from one another, as she was allowed into his world.

What was it that made you so undesirable?

Was Sakusa annoyed with you? Had you been asking too much of him? You knew he was averse to the things you liked, but you never thought that it would push Sakusa away to this point.

You loved Sakusa and you had tried really hard to accommodate what he was looking for in a relationship. But was that really fair? Was he being fair to you at this point? Did he even view you as anything special, as his girlfriend?

Walking out the gym without a single word, you turned around with all intents to go back to your room and reevaluate your decisions. You failed to notice Komori’s wandering eyes that followed you out the open doors.

Your roommate commented that you looked terrible that night and was a willing open ear for you. You were grateful beyond compare, she was an awesome friend that you shared classes with and was alsoa member in the student council.

But instead of venting, you just relished in the tight hug she gave you. This physical touch was what you crazed and, while it had never really affected you before, it made you sad that this was something Sakusa would never want.

Was it really fair to have to schedule a hug with him? 

Did he even want you as his girlfriend?

You internalized this hard and the it was hard to even look at Sakusa the next day at school, these thoughts only propping up again and again. What hurt even more is that you were actively avoiding the wing-spiker and it seemed that he did not even notice. Just went about his day, avoiding most people and sticking to corners alone.

But you were his girlfriend. He avoided most people but should that really include you?

Did he feel like you were suffocating him? You loved him and didn’t want to lose him. And so if he wanted space, you were willing to give it to him. But for Sakusa to treat you so cruelly when you were trying so hard - was it even fair at this point?

A text-tone from your phone permeated the room and you felt your spirits almost physically lift themselves up at the prospect of Sakusa reaching out to you.

But his text only made your heart drop.

Give me back my sweater already. Sakusa’s words read, Don’t you have your own?

And suddenly your thoughts of doubt were solidified as fact in your mind.

Grabbing the sweater from your bedside, you almost cried as you folded it up. Sakusa’s terms of endearment were few and far between, you wearing his sweater was one of the few things you could compromise on. And now he did not even want that.

You went about your morning weakly, going into Sakusa’s homeroom and leaving the sweater in a bag there. Alongside it was only a small note that you did not have time to wash it while it was in the bag. You did not wait a moment longer, dropping off the package and hoping to avoid him the rest of the day.

And throughout the school hours, you were doing a good job. During lunch you were able to avoid spending time with both Sakusa and Komori, leaving your classroom the moment the teacher dismissed you and retreating to the outside area behind school. Would it do you any good to confront Sakusa over something that he probably did not even care about? Was he planning on breaking up with you?

These thoughts only continued to plague you throughout the day and the more you continued to ponder on it - the worse it got. Maybe he always viewed you this way, just humoring your relationship for the sake of your friendship.

Your mindset spiraled downward worse and worse and you had little initiative to even go to club activities after school. Your roommate had vouched for you at the student council meeting while you went back to the dorms depressed and very not well dressed.

The moment your phone dinged to life you shot up in repressed excitement, wondering if Sakusa had noticed your mood and reached out.

It was Komori.

Hey, missed ya during lunch. Wanna catch dinner together?

Of course, it was Komori.

You wondered for a hot second if it would be smart to go with the libero out to dinners the campus cafeteria. Odds are you were going to pour your feelings out to the boy and he was undoubtedly loyal to Sakusa. Komori was always one of your closest friends, even before dating the wing-spiker.

Another ding ringed out a second later.

Come on, you’re my friend too.

It was almost like he was reading your mind - the poor boy was probably so used to your evasiveness from before that it was no doubt he remembered it.

You typed back, Okay, I’ll meet you after practice.

See you then <3

You texted your roommate that you would be meeting with the libero, so as not to worry when she returned. In the meantime, you hung around your room and completed some of your homework early. Once Komori texted you that he was ready, you put on a large hoodie and some leggings, trying your best to look presentable despite your solemn expression. 

“Hey!” Komori perked up when he saw you, already at a table in the cafeteria. Thankfully he was sitting alone. The moment you were close enough, Komori pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

Komori always gave the best hugs and you squeezed your arms around his middle right back. It had been a while since he, or any male for that matter hugged you like this. Most of the male population at school was well aware of your relationship with Sakusa and all it took was a look from the strong spiker to get most to back off.

But with Komori being his best friend and also one of yours, he was one of the few people who could get away with sharing you in a warm embrace. However, you did notice as of late that he was withholding some of the best hugs from you.

“Thanks for joining me tonight.” Komori continued, leaning back while you were still in his arms. “I know you’ve been kind of down.”

“Yeah.” 

“Listen, you can tell me anything or nothing if you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with - I just wanted to spend this time with you so you know you’re not alone.”

You almost teared up on the spot, with the exception of your roommate, it had been so long since someone had been so considerate with your feelings. Komori was the best bro and just all friend anyone could ask for.

Nuzzling further into his chest, you shakily replied. “You’re the best, Komori.”

Komori guided you to the seats, telling you that he had actually placed a comfort food order and was waiting for the number to be called. You smiled at him in response, placing your hands on the table and mentally preparing for what you wanted to say.

It felt almost therapeutic, admitting to the libero all the feelings that you had bottled up over the past few days. Komori nodded along, listening to you without cutting in or interrupting with his own point of view. He took in every word, keen on gaining your perspective before he added on.

“It makes me wonder, does Sakusa even want to be in this relationship?” You asked aloud, baring your insecurity to him.

Little did you know that Sakusa was reacting exactly opposite to what you were thinking.

Komori had actually invited the wing-spiker to join this dinner, but he had simply walked away in silence back to his own dorm.

Sakusa would never admit this aloud, but he cherished you in so many ways that it frightened him. Your relationship was built on years of knowing each other. And from the beginning of it all, Sakusa knew that he was all in. From high school to the end of your days, he was sure that this was the only relationship he wanted to ever be in. You were the first and only person he ever loved and he wanted to be that for you too.

And with that thought, Sakusa had always been afraid of losing you. He wondered, on multiple occasions, if you would be happier with someone else. After all, yes you were friends for a while, but you were much closer to Komori before you were in a relationship. 

Sakusa saw it all - he knew how you leaned into the libero for tight hugs and how the both of you were still fond of spending time alone together. He had never doubted you or his cousin’s loyalty; neither you nor Komori would ever do anything to hurt him, Sakusa was sure. But he had a much more looming fear, one that frightened him simply because it was probably true, that you would probably be happier with Komori.

The libero was capable of easily reading your mood and reacting to it properly. It was Komori after all that noticed you had left the gymnasium the other day without greeting either male. He was very in-tune to your personality and it seemed the both of you were very agreeable. Sakusa remembered the time that many of your classmates had thought it was you and Komori dating after all.

Sakusa would honestly never forget that.

And so the wing-spiker had thought on multiple occasions if you would be happier in the arms of another. Maybe someone who had more time for you, who liked being as affectionate as you did.

Admittedly, Sakusa knew something was off from the moment you returned the sweater. He knew that you cherished wearing it for some reason. But you had it over a week and it was time for him to wash it. After all, it must have been dirty from overuse at this point and he did not want you possibly getting sick from something he wore.

Besides, he could just lend you another cleaner sweater for you to wear.

This was simply the way he thought - cut and dry and oftentimes misconstrued by other people.

But the last person he ever wanted to hurt was you.

Sucking in a hard breath, Sakusa attempted to figure out what to say. Not that he was unsure what to get across, but that he wanted to get out the proper wording before he caused any true damage to you. He must have been standing in the middle of his dorm room for a good twenty minutes, trying to keep a level head as different phrases evaded him.

Calm and collected, he told himself as he got near the cafeteria.

The last thing he wanted to ever see greeted him - you and Komori standing alongside a cafeteria table, you in his arms as he held you tightly.

It seemed you were still in the middle of your meal, your trays of food still stacked with chopsticks to the side. Regardless of the situation, Sakusa stalked over quietly and made his presence extremely known.

From Komori’s nice hug to suddenly pulled into another, your ten seconds of panic morphed into surprise at seeing your boyfriend.

“Sakusa!” You exclaimed, head against his chest as he continued to stare down his cousin. “This looks bad, but I was just talking to Komori about something.”

Komori only laughed, picking up his tray and taking it with him elsewhere. “See you tomorrow, lovebirds.”

“I--” You stuttered over your words as the libero made his quick escape, “We were in the middle of a meal!”

“We need to talk.”

Wait. 

Was Sakusa breaking up with you right now?

You felt fresh tears break your visage as you asked him outright, “Are you breaking up with me?”

Sakusa recoiled before grabbing your hand, “No. Let’s go.”

You allowed him to drag you wordlessly, following along as he led you back to his dorm. He unceremoniously brought you along with him - was he sparing your feelings by breaking up with you away from the public eye?

The worries must have shown up on your face since, once you entered the elevator, Sakusa took one look at you before pulling you into his embrace again. He lingered for a second, as if unsure where to place himself, then leaned down to put a small mask-covered kiss on your forehead. You stilled at the motion, surprised that he was willing to show any display of affection in public.

The moment was only broken when he pulled you toward his dorm room, closing it loudly behind you.

“Why would you think that I would want to break up with you?” Sakusa asked, not at all sugar-coating his words.

You hesitated, looking at the ground before back at him. “Sakusa, are you even happy being with me?”

His eyes peeking over the mask widened in surprise. In the next second, Sakusa pulled his mask off and threw it in the direction of his trash bin. You took a step back at his aggressiveness, but he only followed the movement and wrapped an arm around your waist.

Sakusa pulled you against him and stated clearly, “I want to be with you forever, if given the chance.”

“Really?”

He did not hesitate in response, “Yes.”

You smiled at how sure he was, but his actions from the last few days still had you on edge. With a hand on his chest, you bit your lip before asking. “You don’t feel like I’m suffocating you?”

Sakusa angled his head in question before shooting back, “Why would you assume that?”

“I just feel like you don’t really want me around?” You admitted, words coming out slowly. “I mean, the other day you just seemed like you didn’t want me at your practice. And then I saw your manager dabbing you with the towel and even I can’t even hug you without warning.”

Sakusa simply stared at you as you spoke, his full attention to your words as he recalled the past few days.

“I like spending time with you, but at practice I was sweaty and you were still in your school uniform. It would be unfair to you if I was the one to sully it.” Sakusa replied, “While I am not close to the manager, handling the towels is one of her responsibilities. And I prefer to get toweled down rather than do it myself then touch the volleyball with sweaty hands.”

“Oh.”

You were at a loss for words once he explained himself.

“What about the other day?” You recalled, “I get that you don’t like me wearing your sweaters, but you should have just told me outright.”

You were not expecting Sakusa to shoot you a tired smile.

He moved to kiss your forehead again, lips lingering above your brow before he spoke. “I like seeing you in my sweaters. It reminds everyone that you’re mine.”

“What?”

“But you had that sweater for more than five days, right?” Sakusa answered with a question, “I have the proper detergent to clean it. It would do you no good if you got dirty or even sick from one of my articles of clothing.”

“Oh.”

You were an idiot. 

An overthinking, doubtful, big dumb idiot.

You felt the small exhale against his chest, tantamount to a small laugh from Sakusa. “Oh?”

“I just--” You tried to articulate yourself, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” You admitted, “There are just these moments. I know you don’t like physical touch that much, but there are times I want to hug you or kiss you. And I get the feeling that you don’t like it.”

You heard Sakusa exhale above you, before feeling a slight nudging at your chin. Using his free hand, the wing-spiker was guiding your gaze back to him. He had an oddly fond expression on, before he leaned forward to slot your lips against his.

Leaning forward into the kiss, you carded your fingers in his curly mop of hair, arms crossed behind his neck. He pulled you as close as possible, lingering in the moment of your passionate lip-lock before settling you back down on your feet.

“I love kissing you.” Sakusa stated fondly, eyes still glued to yours.

You laughed breathlessly, “I know that now.”

“Good.” Sakusa replied, “I’m not good at these things. I can’t comfort you like others do, but please trust in me. Communicate with me - not your roommate and not Komori.”

“Okay. I’m sorry that I closed myself off.” You apologized, receiving a second kiss back.

You were caught off-guard, like the hesitation Sakusa had before was suddenly lifted from its floodgates. He pecked you one, twice, returning over and over as he lost himself in the feel of your lips against his.

“I have two newly cleaned sweaters for you to choose from.” Sakusa whispered, as if this was his version of sweet nothings. “I would prefer it if you wore one tomorrow.”

You shot him back a radiant smile, one that he eagerly savored in the back of his memory. “I would love to.”

Your relationship did not magically fix in that single night, but you resolved to continue working on your communication. It was a two-way street, one that the both of you had to work on.

But by God, you two loved each other. 

And that was all that mattered.