#why are there over ten fucking articles to read between classes

[unnamed-atlas]

Thinking maybe I'm being a hater irrationally to my comp professor, but also I love comp idk how you've made me dread this class in less than two weeks, last semester we had two essays and a group project all due within the span of a week and i still didn't hate that class or the professor or the assignments. girl wtf did you do we've had two classes

[bullet-prooflove]

Tiger, Tiger: John Shen x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

Silly Little Boys (NSFW) - John's not like the other men you've been with.

In The Summer - You discover John's secret.

You’re lying on the floor of the boxing ring when John finds you, your hands resting on your diaphragm as you stare up at the stained glass mural above you. The place used to be a church back in the day but dwindling worship figures had led to it being sold off ten years ago to the owner of your boxing club.

It had emptied out over an hour ago after Fight Night finished and you’d offered to stay to clear up because you still had that adrenaline coursing through your system. The crash hit about ten minutes ago, the energy seeping out of your body like you’re bleeding out.

The left side of your face throbs where you caught a punch during your match. It was a stupid mistake, one you walked right into. That seems to be the running theme of the day.

“You’re gonna have a shiner.” John’s voice breaks through your thoughts as he slips underneath the ropes. He knows all about this place and your fights, he’s been in the audience a couple of times with a few people from The Pitt on the charity nights. “You should put some ice on it.”

“And you should leave me the fuck alone.” You tell him as his face appears in your vision. He’s wearing a black, tailored suit with an expensive wool coat draped over the top. His features are cleanly shaven, his hair artfully styled.

An absolutely perfect look for a meal at the most expensive restaurant in the city to discuss your upcoming nuptials.

“I know I fucked up.” He tells you, lowering himself to the canvas instead. You inhale sharply as he lies down alongside of you, his shoulder bumping lightly against yours. “I’m not engaged but I should have told you what was going on, I planned to over brunch but then that got side tracked-”

“Don’t lie to me.” You say tiredly as you close your eyes, your teeth grinding together as you try to shift away. “I read seventeen articles this afternoon about how much your wedding is costing. People don’t throw away that kind of money for something that isn’t happening.”

There’s silence then between the two of you, you think he’s going to get up, walk away but instead, he tucks his arm underneath his head and focuses on the stained glass above you.

“My parents do. When they want something to happen they make it happen by putting so much pressure on you that you break even though you know it will ruin your life.” There’s an exhaustion in his voice that mirrors your own, a burden that bares down on him that he can’t hope that you will ever understand. “It’s why my sister is married to a man that beats her, why my brother has himself shoved so far back into the closet he has to take Viagra to get it up for his wife. Our oldest brother Michael, he killed himself because he couldn’t live up to the weight of their expectations… my parents don’t even talk about him because he was ‘weak’, because he ‘brought shame’ down on the family.”

His voice cracks and you focus on your breathing, on the rise and fall of your chest because as much as you don’t want to forgive this man, you want to understand him. You want to know the real John Shen.

“My parents are tiger parents, strict discipline, high expectations and corporal punishment when you don’t comply. Those tattoos on my back, they cover up the belt marks my dad left on me because although I was academically gifted I could barely still in class because I had ADHD. I was the bad one, the rebel, the disappointment and it has been that way my entire life. My med school wasn’t Ivy League, they didn’t have a surgeon in the family, nothing was ever good enough because it didn’t contribute to their social standing, it didn’t elevate them.”

“But now they’ve found a way to make you useful.” You say quietly, your voice echoing through the empty boxing gym. Your own family were the same, only it was drugs instead of social standing and sex instead of marriage. You were worthless to them until you hit puberty and then suddenly you weren’t.

“Yea.” John says frankly. “It just involves marrying a woman I met once during a charity event, whose as a vapid as the paint on that ceiling over there.” He gestures at the faded white patch alongside the stained glass window that someone’s tried to paint over. “They don’t care that I said no. They’re determined to rail road me into it by planning a wedding I do not want.”

His frustration, it’s palpable you can taste it in the air as his hand settles next to yours, his knuckles brushing lightly against your skin.

“I went there tonight to reiterate my position and my mother threw a glass of water in my face and called me an ungrateful little bastard. If I don’t turn up to the wedding then they disown my completely, that means no contact from them, my siblings, my nieces and nephews. I’ll be completely on my own.”

You’d faced the same ultimatum once upon a time.

Lose your family but keep your soul.

They hadn’t expected you to save yourself, to leave them far behind in the rearview.

“People who love you don’t put you in that position.” You find yourself telling him, your hand capturing his. “They don’t make you choose.”

“I know.” He says, his fingers entwining with yours. “I told her as much which is why she threw the water jug.”

You tilt your head towards him and you can see the tiny shards of glass still glittering in his hair. You reach out, brushing them away from his features with your fingertips and those dark eyes of his, they shine like onyx as they look back at you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers as your thumb chases over the slender cut on his cheek. “I should have told you sooner. It’s just a really fucked up situation I didn’t know how to explain.”

There’s such earnestness in his voice, you can’t help but believe him. This history, this is the part of him he hides underneath his capability, underneath the lightness he portrays to the rest of the world. This is the John Shen that no one gets to see, not until now, not until you.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” You tell him and the edges of his mouth tip up into that handsome smile, the one that makes your heart beat a little harder in your chest. “But you gotta be open with me from now on, forced weddings, tiger parents, secret babies…”

He huffs out a laugh as he shifts into a sitting position, his elbows coming to rest on his knees.

“No secret babies, I always use protection.” He assures you, tilting his head up towards you as you raise to your feet. “But I promise from now on you’ll get to hear all about my crazy shit. The good, the bad and the batshit insanity that is my family.”

“Alright then.” You say, holding out your hand to help him up. “John Shen, you’re second chance starts now, don’t fuck it up.”

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[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

TGR CHAPTER 13 THOUGHTS

***also i forgot to add to the last posts but goes without saying THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS

- i have a full day at uni today so i won’t get to read much :/ gonna do my best tho

- the trojans having to lock down the campus and hire extra security to deal with reporters and busybodies oh boy u guys are practically foxes now!!

- random thought but i want everyone to know that pretty much everything i have learnt about american states (where they are, their names etc), how american high school/college to professional sports works, and the american college system has been because of reading aftg so thank u nora for that

- jean 🤝 neil

being passed around by their teammates in their first week of classes

“Shane left Jean with Xavier and Min instead, who turned him over to Nabil an hour later, and then Emma and Mads came to steal him away. Jeremy returned only ten minutes before Cody could stake a claim on Jean’s time.”

it’s just so funny to me

- “Knowing it had come off another man’s body made it twice as terrible.” *olivia rodrigo voice* jealousy, jealousy!!

- FALL BANQUET TIME LETS GOOOOO

- ok we are finally finding out more about jeremy’s past and why he doesn’t go to the banquets,, will check back in!

- also jean only looking at the articles about jeremy for his picture 😭

- “Not the kind of guy you wanted to get in an argument with back then, you know?” ok interesting interesting, getting to know past jeremy a little bit

- oh fuck.

oh jeremy. this is so much sadder than i expected. i cannot imagine how fucking guilty jere feels about his brothers death

- disregard my earlier excitement about the fall banquet i am now very sad and nervous

- jean saying he will ask jeremy for his past rather than listening to someone else tell him and saying he will protect jeremy at the banquet is soooo neil and andrew coded

- “ He’d gotten Neil through three weeks at the Nest; dragging Jeremy through one banquet would be easy. Having to behave would be the only difficult part.” :((

- “trust the man to never run out of anything to say.” so u called for jean

- “I will leave you behind at the next rest stop.” ​Jeremy’s smile was radiant and unafraid, and Jean had to look away even before Jeremy said, “You wouldn’t.” OKKKK I SEE U ANDREIL PARALLEL

- “I’m not learning French for anyone but you.” ​Getting kicked in the chest would be a little less painful. “ BE STILL MY BEATING HEART!!!!!!

- “They get you all the time. You should stay and gossip with us.” again, may i repeat, i fucking love derrick and derek

- “a ridiculous demand when there was nothing to gain from his company this far from a court.” absolutely devastating, someone let me kiss jean on the forehead and tell him he is worth more than just his ability to play

- jean offering to teach jere a phrase in french just so jere can use it if he wants to leave the banquet is so fucking wholesome and sweet

and then

“Jean mercilessly bullied him until he got it right.” ofc he did

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

- YES GOD PLS WATCH THE FOXES GAME IM BEGGING FOR MORE CRUMBS I MISS MY FAMIKY SO MUCH

- THE FOXES WON THEIR FIRST MATCH!!!!!

- rematch between the foxes and ravens is on my dads birthday that’s crazy

- “Jeremy couldn’t make the first move here no matter how desperately he wanted to tug a few more buttons loose.” jean is making jeremy lose his mind i love it

-“Jeremy would be lucky to know his own name when Jean was standing between his legs like this.” SHUT UPPP I CANT DEAL

- “No. Not to you.” LEAVE ME ALONE RN JEREMY WOULD NEVER LIE TO JEAN!!! HE WANTS JEAN TO BE ABLE TO TRUST HIM!!!

- “No. The details cannot matter tonight. You are my captain and my partner; that is all I need to know. I will stand with you against them.” ​“You and me against the world,” i think nora is actively trying to kill me

- wildcats captain: i’ve heard so much about u jean!

jean: i don’t fucking know u bitch don’t talk to me.

- guys i’m not so happy to confirm i was right about the drugs and that being one of jeremy’s big secrets. scared to find out more

- go fuck urself all the way to hell connors u piece of absolute dog shit

- jean defending the trojans is so neil and kevin coded

- torres our knight in shining armour we love and appreciate u!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

- “Let me fight him. I will make sure he never plays again.” When Jeremy only shook his head, Jean promised, “I will do it with no witnesses.”

- ok jean holding jeremy by his chin and making him look at jean is mirroring andrew’s neck hold for neil - they are grounding, a reminder that the other is there and a desire to be let in

- “Derek and Derrick brought over a gaggle of friends they’d made over the years, excited to show off their infamous teammate, and Jeremy heard Tanner hyping him up at one of the freshmen’s meet-and-greets.”

GODDDDD i actually can’t describe how happy this makes me like it’s exactly what jean deserves, for people to want to be friends with him to enjoy his company and be silly and playful with him

- “acouple players who’d studied French in high school or were currently taking it sneaked over to practice with Jean, and Jean gave them his undivided attention.” FUCKING ADORABLE

- Lmaooooo jean not wanting to speak to a signal person for a week post banquet is sooo me after extensive socialisation. i become a hermit

- fuck this faser guy, jere u deserve better

- “it all seemed so childish and self-centered compared to Jean’s more brutal tragedies.”

once again, please don’t compare your family/home life issues and trauma to others. u have endured enough without torturing yourself into thinking u don’t deserve to be upset about your problems and the way u were treated because u think that your experiences are not as bad as someone else’s. do not invalidate urself or ur feelings

- jesus fucking christ this is so fucking depressing. oh jere my heart goes out to u. the whole party and noah situation is such a tangled mess and at the heart of it all is jeremy’s guilt

- well that was a rollercoaster chapter

[donjuaninhell]

I've seen this article posted by others, it's pretty alright and it avoids the trap so many of these sort of essays fall into, a reductive thesis of "smartphone bad" and expands into just how dystopian the perverse incentives of "teaching to the test" have become and the fecklessness of "vibes based literacy". I just wanted to share it because this part was a real "what the fuck" moment for me:

As a college educator, I am confronted daily with the results of that conspiracy-without-conspirators. I have been teaching in small liberal arts colleges for over 15 years now, and in the past five years, it’s as though someone flipped a switch. For most of my career, I assigned around 30 pages of reading per class meeting as a baseline expectation—sometimes scaling up for purely expository readings or pulling back for more difficult texts. (No human being can read 30 pages of Hegel in one sitting, for example.) Now students are intimidated by anything over 10 pages and seem to walk away from readings of as little as 20 pages with no real understanding. Even smart and motivated students struggle to do more with written texts than extract decontextualized take-aways. Considerable class time is taken up simply establishing what happened in a story or the basic steps of an argument—skills I used to be able to take for granted.

This is absolutely wild to me. Completely alien and opposite to what my experience in undergraduate was like. Here are excerpts from a syllabus for a class I took in 2014:

There are between eighty and one hundred fifty pages of reading here each week. I don't have the actual syllabus on hand (it's in a file-box in a closet at my parents) but here's the reading for a class I took the year before:

We read the entirety of these books. Well over 1750 pages of reading in eleven weeks, or roughly 160 pages a week. This was one class, and I had reading in Greek and Latin to do on top of all that. This was undergraduate level.

Now I know that Classics isn't a field you go into unless you're insane, and it's generally more intense than other humanities majors but things can't have gotten so bad that ten pages is considered intimidating, can they? Jesus, maybe it's a good thing I became too disabled to stay in academia.

[hyogonokitsune]

longing -- suna rintarou x reader

college!au, tw alcohol use, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of angst, some smut at the end because I can’t fucking help myself 🥴 (oral -- m and f receiving, choking, creampie, cockwarming hnnff)

11,600 words

--

“Hey, ‘Samu, I gotta go lie down.” You had to practically yell to hear yourself over the music blaring from the speakers. Osamu was less than two feet from you, but you might as well have been yelling from a mile away.

“Huh?”

“I said I gotta go—fuck! Where’s your room?” You had to speak directly into his ear to make yourself understood; Osamu leaned in close to respond to you.

You hadn’t had that much to drink, but the atmosphere of the party was wearing you down. The insanely loud music and the crush of so many sweaty bodies were starting to give you a headache, and you were in desperate need of a quiet place to recharge. Most of the people were crowded into the living areas of the house, so you decided to escape to your friend’s upstairs bedroom to catch your breath.

You shut his door behind you, muffling the sounds of the party downstairs, and laid down on the bed, closing your eyes. Even here, you could feel the bass pounding in your head.

The door opened then, but when you lifted your head to look, it wasn’t Osamu standing in the room. You groaned; you definitely were not in the mood to deal with a random guy.

“Can I help you?” you asked in a hard voice, sitting up to look at him better.

“Can I help you?” he replied, utterly deadpan. He walked over to the desk in the corner and plugged his phone into a charger, his back facing you. “You’re in my room.”

“What? This is Osamu’s room.”

“’Samu’s room is the last door on the left. This is the last one on the right.” He turned around to look at you, his expression indifferent.

Your eyes widened as you realized your mistake, quickly hopping off his bed. “I’m so sorry! I must have misheard him. I just needed to get away from there,” you explained, gesturing towards the door.

He smirked at you. “Too much to drink?”

“No, there are just too many people down there, felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

His expression softened at your words. “Yeah, that’s why I came up here, too.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” you said, moving towards the door.

“You’re Osamu and Atsumu’s friend, right?” he said, stopping you. “They said one of their old friends was gonna come over tonight.”

Your hand dropped from the doorknob as you nodded, telling him your name.

“I’m Suna,” he said.

“Oh! You went to high school with them, right? They’ve told me about you.”

“Nothing good, I bet,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a grin.

“Almost all good things,” you responded truthfully.

“’Almost’”, he repeated, a low laugh escaping him. Suna watched you for a moment, looking as if he was thinking about something. “You can hang out here, if you want,” he said, motioning for you to sit back on the bed as he pulled out his desk chair. “As long as you don’t puke on anything.”

“I told you, I didn’t drink that much!” you huffed, but you sat down all the same. You had wanted to get away from all the noisy people downstairs, but this guy seemed laidback enough that he wouldn’t make your headache worse; besides, you were interested in talking to someone who had known the twins in high school.

Suna put on a playlist from his phone, setting the volume just loud enough to block out the house music blasting from downstairs. “You’ve known them a while, yeah?”

You nodded. “Since we were kids, but I didn’t go to Inarizaki with them.”

“Good call.”

“They’re not that bad!” you laughed. “Don’t tell them this, but I actually missed seeing them every day, so it’s nice that we ended up going to the same university.”

“Maybe I will tell them that, then they’ll spend more time harassing you instead of me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You both laughed then, before falling into an easy silence. You shifted to get more comfortable on his bed, crossing your legs underneath you.

“Do you not like parties?” you asked.

“They’re alright,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m not too crazy about having ten thousand strangers in my house, though.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head. “Yeah, what’s fun about having random drunk people sweating all over you? I’d rather just hang out with a few friends, ya know?”

He snorted. “Hopefully it’ll be more like that in the future, but Atsumu really wanted to throw a big party for the start of the semester.”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes. “He just wanted to introduce himself to as many girls as possible.”

“Yeah, that was his not-so-secret motive.”

There was another pause. Suna scrolled through his phone, searching for something.

“You wanna see some embarrassing photos of the twins?”

“Yes, absolutely I do.”

He grinned, unplugging his phone to come sit next to you on the bed. He leaned in close, tilting his screen so you could see it. “Oh, here’s a good one,” he said, trying to suppress a smile as he showed you a picture of Osamu lying face down on the ground. “He tripped when we were jogging, completely ate shit.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the image, especially with Atsumu in the foreground holding up a peace sign over his brother’s body.

Most of the photos were of the two of them fighting; having grown up with the twins, it was a little comforting to see that they acted the same around their new friends as they always had with you. You felt somewhat nostalgic at the thought.

Suna paused on a closeup photo of Atsumu, his eyes red and puffy as he tried to swat the camera away. “Ah, this was after he got rejected by a girl and he swore he wasn’t crying.”

“Oh my god, I totally remember that day!” you said, laughing hard. “’Samu called me, begging me to talk some sense into ’Tsumu because he kept whining about being turned down.”

“Seriously? God, knowing that makes this so much better,” Suna said, a crooked grin on his face.

“Please don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

He showed you nearly three years’ worth of pictures, pausing at the memorable ones to tell you the stories behind them. It was easy talking to him; you felt able to laugh naturally and relax around him despite being strangers, something that you weren’t able to do with most people you just met.

You didn’t realize how long you and Suna had been talking until you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket; seeing that it was a call from Osamu, you answered it.

“Y/n, did you leave?”

You were surprised by the panicky note in his voice. “No, I told you I was going upstairs.”

“Yeah? Well where the fuck are ya, ’cause I’m standing in my room and you’re not in here.”

“I’m in Suna’s room—”

Before you could finish your sentence, you heard footsteps stomp across the hall and the door flew open.

“What the hell are ya doing in here?” Osamu asked, still holding his phone up to his cheek.

“We’re fucking, obviously,” Suna deadpanned. You giggled, but Osamu didn’t look amused.

“I got the rooms mixed up, ’Samu,” you explained, getting up off the bed. “Suna’s just been telling me about your time in high school.”

“Oh, great,” Osamu said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s late, you want me to walk ya back to your dorm?”

“Can you even walk, or are you too drunk?”

“It’s Atsumu you should be worried about. He fell asleep on the couch downstairs.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you laughed. You made your way over to Osamu, turning at the door to address Suna. “It was nice talking to you, I guess I’ll see you around.”

He was scrolling through his phone again, only giving you a brief disinterested glance. “Yeah, see you.”

 --

 You poked your head into Osamu’s room, only to find that it was empty. It was a little disappointing; you had been hoping to hang out with him for a bit, since you hadn’t had time to see much of him that week, but if he wasn’t around there was nothing to be done about it. The book you had borrowed from him a few weeks ago was already in your hand, so you placed it on his desk and turned to leave.

Stepping back into the hallway, you noticed that the door across from Osamu’s was open. You casually glanced inside as you walked past, catching Suna’s eye from where he sat in front of his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he parroted as he took his headphones off his ears.

“I came by to return a book that Osamu lent me, but I guess he’s not around.”

“I think he’s meeting with a professor.”

“Ah.” You fell silent, and Suna turned his attention back to his laptop. “What are you reading?” you asked.

He looked up again, his expression a little sheepish. “You’re gonna think it’s boring.”

“Try me.”

He sighed. “It’s an article analyzing the influence of Shakespeare’s histories on English nationalism.”

Your face brightened as you spoke. “That was published last week, right? I bookmarked that so I could read it when I got the chance.”

Suna looked surprised at your response, his eyes widening slightly. “It’s pretty interesting so far.”

“I have to say, though, you didn’t strike me as the type to be into that kind of stuff,” you said, just a hint of a teasing tone in your voice.

His expression was blank again as he responded, “Well, I am a literature major.”

“So am I!” you said, smiling at him as you walked into his room and leaned against his desk. “I don’t think we have any classes together, though.”

“It’s a big school.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You paused, thinking of a way to keep the conversation going. “What’s your favorite Shakespeare play?”

Suna glanced up at the ceiling, bottom lip rolling between his teeth as he thought. “I guess I’d say Hamlet. There’s just so much shit going on.”

“Ah, so you love the drama of it all,” you laughed. “I think it’s a tie between Hamlet and Macbeth for me. The twist at the end is just—” you cut yourself off to do a chef’s kiss, prompting Suna to laugh a little.

“‘Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped’, such a raw line.”

“Yes, exactly!” You were beaming at him, happy to learn that you shared a common interest. Over the course of the last few weeks since you first met Suna, you hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know him, despite him being your best friends’ roommate. He usually kept to himself, and on the few occasions when he joined you and the twins to play video games or get dinner together, he didn’t talk much. He seemed like a naturally reserved person, and as you remembered this, you felt a small pang of guilt for disturbing him.

“Well, I’ll let you finish that article,” you said, getting off his desk and making for the door.

His voice stopped you before you could leave. “You can hang out here until Osamu gets back, if you want.” You turned to face him, a little surprised.

“You sure? I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he said. “I can finish this whenever.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling like this was a rare invitation coming from him. Your heart beat a little faster at the thought.

“Have you ever seen ‘Scotland, PA’?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“It’s an adaptation of Macbeth that takes place in a fast food restaurant.”

“Yeah?” he snorted, a grin appearing on his face. “You wanna watch it?” Before you could answer, he was unplugging his headphones and bringing his laptop over to you.

“Sure, if you want to,” you told him, feeling like you were really lucking out.

Suna sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, patting the spot at his side as he started searching for the movie. You sat down next to him, careful to leave a space between you.

When you watched movies with Atsumu and Osamu, their incessant talking usually got on your nerves pretty quickly, but you found that you didn’t mind listening to Suna’s comments. Watching the film together seemed to make any lingering awkwardness between you two disappear, and before long you were laughing and leaning into each other.

“Oh, I hate this part!” you groaned when you reached a certain scene, turning to press your face into Suna’s shoulder.

“Jesus, that’s fucked up,” he chuckled, grimacing as Duncan’s character fell face-first into a deep fryer.  

“Then why are you laughing!” you said, lifting your head, but you couldn’t keep your own laughter from bubbling up in your chest. Suna gave you a crooked grin, your reaction only making him laugh harder.

“Oi, Sunarin! You got a girl in there or something?” Osamu’s voice floated in through the open door, his head appearing a moment later. His eyes widened when he spotted you. “What the hell are ya doin’ here?”

“Hello to you, too, ’Samu,” you said dryly. “I came here to return your book, but you were too busy to see me, I guess.”

“Took ya long enough,” he grumbled, but he grinned at you all the same. “I’m starving, you wanna grab something to eat?”

“Yeah, later,” you said, turning to look at Suna. “There’s still a bit left in this movie, you wanna finish it now?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a little surprised that you’d postpone hanging out with your friend to finish the movie with him.

“Ugh, fiiiine,” Osamu groaned, rolling his eyes at you, “guess I’ll go shower, then. But don’t take too long, I’m so fuckin’ hungry.”

 --

 “Maaaan, I can’t wait until this semester’s over,” Atsumu sighed. “I feel like it’s draggin’ by.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to go home for break.”

The two of you were standing on a patch of grass outside the gym, passing a volleyball back and forth. It was chilly, your breath coming out in silvery puffs, but after spending most of your time inside studying for the past week, you had both wanted to get some fresh air.

“I just know I’m gonna fail my bio final.”

“You’ll be fine, ’Tsumu,” you chuckled as you bumped the ball back to him. “You’ve been studying more in the last few days than I’ve seen you do in your entire life.”

“Hey, I studied in high school!” he huffed, his face contorting in mock annoyance as he set the ball. “Just ask Suna!”

The mention of his roommate’s name made your stomach flutter, causing you to mess up the course of the ball.

Atsumu quickly stepped to the side to get under it, giving you a nice, high set in return. “Jeez, you’ve really let your skills slip, huh?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Shut up, piss head.” Your cheeks were already pink from the cold, but you felt them heating up.

“Why don’t you play anymore anyway? I’m pretty sure there’s a women’s club on campus.”

You shrugged as you responded. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m good enough to play for a college team.”

“Bullshit.”

You heaved a sigh. “Fine. I just think it’d be weird to play on a new team. I liked my old team, ya know? All my good memories are of them, I don’t think it would be fun to have to learn a whole new dynamic with new people. I’d feel like I was… I don’t know, like I was cheating on them or something.”

Atsumu looked at you like you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s still bullshit.”

“Well I don’t expect you to understand, you freak. You wouldn’t care who your teammates are, as long as you get to play volleyball.” You gave him a smile as you passed him the ball. “I still have fun playing with you and ’Samu, though.”

“You better. If that ever changed, I’d have to rethink this whole friendship.”

You both laughed, but a part of you wondered how serious he really was.

“Fuck, okay my fingers are actually starting to go numb. Can we go inside now?” you asked, shoving your bright red hands into your jacket pockets.

“Yeah, you wanna grab some dinner?”

“Definitely.”

The two of you set off for the campus dining hall, huddled close together for warmth. The sun was just beginning to set, making the bare trees cast long, spindly shadows on the path in front of you. You quickened your pace, shivering a little.

The dining hall was just beginning to fill up; you and Atsumu managed to grab a table near the back of the room before all the spots were taken. You wrapped your freezing hands around your bowl of soup, savoring the warmth. Atsumu wasted no time digging into his own meal.

“You might wanna wipe that rice off your face, ’Tsumu,” you told him in a low voice, “that girl over there is checking you out.”

“Huh?” he asked, his mouth full. His eyes glanced over to the direction where you were tilting your head. “Eh, whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your face. “You still hooking up with that girl from your stats class?”

“Yeah, I actually really like her,” he said, swallowing a massive bite of food. “She’s sweet, and funny. And she’s really good at—”

“Stop,” you said, holding up a hand. “I really don’t wanna know.”

He smirked at you. “I was gonna say helping me study. Jeez, what were you thinking about?”

You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile.

“What about you? You been seeing anyone?”

“You know damn well the only guys I hang out with are you and ’Samu.”

“And Suna,” he added. You took a big gulp of your soup so you wouldn’t have to say anything in response. He was right, though; lately you had been spending more time with Suna, even without the twins around. “I’m kinda surprised at Suna, actually,” Atsumu continued.

“What, that he’s hanging out with me?”

“No, that he’s not hanging out with any other girls.”

Your brow furrowed a little. You had assumed that Suna got around; he was handsome, after all, and he had that mysterious, reticent personality that most girls went crazy for.

“I mean, back in high school he was kinda known for just having a ton of hookups. I figured he’d keep that up in college. I don’t know, maybe he’s too busy now,” Atsumu mused.

You mulled it over in your head. It seemed to you like Suna had more free time now than he would have had in high school; almost every time you stopped by their house, he was either in his room reading or listening to music, or else playing games with the twins. You were pretty sure he could have fit in a hookup or two if he wanted.

“Maybe he just wants to focus on his classes,” you offered, but it didn’t sound realistic even as you said it.

Atsumu snorted. “Yeah, like he’s gonna trade pussy for his GPA.”

“Charming, ’Tsumu,” you sighed. “It’s not really any of our business what Suna gets up to, though.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little weird for him.” Atsumu’s arm stretched out to steal some food from your tray. “Maybe he’s met someone he really likes.”

His words made your stomach turn over, but you weren’t entirely sure why.

 --

 A few days into the spring semester, both Atsumu and Osamu came down with nasty colds. By the time the weekend rolled around, they were completely incapacitated, unable to do anything but huddle up together on the couch, sniffling sadly.

You had taken pity on your friends, so on Saturday night (after receiving several dramatic texts from Atsumu that he was dying), you decided to go over to their house to cook them dinner. The twins were curled up on the couch watching a movie, wrapped in thick blankets with used tissues scattered around the coffee table in front of them. From where you stood in the kitchen prepping ingredients, you had a clear view of them over the counter; the sight of them looking so sorry for themselves reminded you of all the times you had gone over their house to keep them company when they got sick as kids. You smiled to yourself, thinking of those fond memories.

“Y/n,” Atsumu whined from the living room, his blanket pulled up over the top of his head. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him tighten the blanket around himself, a dopey grin on his face. “Y/n called me ‘baby’,” he said happily.

“Simp,” Osamu muttered under his breath.

Atsumu stuck a leg out from under his blanket to kick his brother. “Don’t be jealous, you scrub!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at them; their usual bickering sounded especially cute when their voices were so congested.

“Even when you’re sick you guys can’t shut up.” Suna had come downstairs, rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sunarin! Are you finally gonna hang out with us?” Atsumu asked excitedly.

“Absolutely not. I don’t wanna catch whatever weird disease you guys have—”

“You make us sound so disgusting,” Osamu grumbled.

“I just came down to get food,” Suna continued, grabbing a Cup Noodle from the cupboard.

“Oh no you’re not,” you said, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m making dinner for you guys.”

Suna’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he didn’t object. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, watching as you dried the vegetables.

“Suna, could you chop up the mushrooms for me?” you asked. “Oh, but wash your hands first, please!”

Without saying a word, he did as you asked. You could hear Atsumu snickering from the couch.

“Talk about a simp. Y/n actually got Sunarin to help out in the kitchen,” he said, smirking. Suna balled up the paper towel he was using to dry his hands and chucked it at Atsumu’s head.

“You’ve got snot dripping down your face, dude.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu cried, sniffling as he burrowed deeper into his blanket.

With Suna’s help, prepping the ingredients went twice as fast. You expected him to leave the kitchen once it was done, but to your surprise he stayed, leaning against the counter again to watch you as you cooked. Occasionally he asked you a question about what you were doing.

“The chicken takes a little longer to cook than the veggies, so I’m adding that to the broth first,” you explained. “The order you add things affects the flavor, too.”

“How many times have I offered to teach ya to cook, Sunarin?” Osamu called from the other room. “Guess ya only wanna learn when Y/n’s doin’ the teaching.”

Suna glared at him over his shoulder before turning his attention back to what you were doing. “I didn’t really have to know how before.”

“It’s never too late to learn,” you reassured him.

“Nothin’ sexier than a man who knows how to cook!” Osamu yelled, grinning. Suna ignored him, but you noticed the tips of his ears turning pink.

When the food was nearly done, you asked Osamu to clear a space on the coffee table. With Suna’s help, you carried over the meal you had cooked together, setting down the steaming bowls of soup, rice, and vegetables in front of the twins.

“My nose is all stuffed up, but this still smells so good,” Atsumu said, eyes closed as he sniffed the air.

“Yeah, your cooking’s always the best, Y/n,” Osamu agreed as he reached out with both hands for a bowl of soup.

“Oh, I picked up your favorite tea on the way over here, too,” you said, going back to the kitchen.

“What?! You really are the best!” Atsumu wailed. You walked back into the living room, carrying two mugs in each hand. “What did we ever do to deserve you?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” you replied, but the smile on your face was gentle as you handed the twins their tea. You passed the third mug to Suna, and the look he gave you was nothing short of tender as you sat next to him on the floor. The sight of it made your heart pound in your chest.

When you had all finished eating, you and Suna carried the dishes back to the kitchen while the twins dozed on the couch. After packing up the leftovers, you started washing the dishes and cooking pots, with Suna drying and putting them away.

“Thanks for making dinner for us,” he said quietly, not making eye contact with you.

“Of course,” you said, offering him a smile. “I don’t mind doing it.”

“You must really like those two idiots, if you’re willing to do so much for them.”

You looked over the counter into the living room where the twins were passed out on the couch. Osamu was curled up on his side, his head leaning against the armrest and blanket tucked up tight around him; Atsumu had his head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he snored softly. The sight of them sleeping so peacefully made a feeling of warmth spread throughout your chest.

“I’ve known them since we were three,” you told Suna, gaze still pointed towards the twins. “They’re like brothers to me.” You paused for a moment, thinking, before turning your attention back to the dishes in the sink. “I think it’s normal to want to do things for the people you care about.”

You caught Suna’s eye as you looked up to pass him a freshly-washed plate. He was staring at you intently, brows slightly furrowed, but you couldn’t quite name the expression on his face.  

 --

 It came as no surprise when, a few days after taking care of the twins, you came down with a bad cold of your own. You managed to suffer through your classes and had just returned to your room to sleep for the rest of the day when, less than five minutes after changing into your pajamas and climbing into bed, there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open,” you called out, thinking it was one of the girls from your floor coming to check on you.

When Suna stepped into your room, you nearly fell in your haste to jump out of bed.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to come in?” he asked as you disentangled yourself from the blankets.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you told him. You grabbed a hoodie from your closet and quickly pulled it on over your tank top, attempting to hide the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Oh,” was all he said. The two of you stood there staring at each other awkwardly for a moment, before you noticed the bag he was holding in his hand.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at it.

Suna blinked as if he had suddenly remembered why he was there. “The guys told me you weren’t feeling well,” he said, setting the bag down on your desk and pulling a container out of it, “so I thought I’d bring you some soup.” His voice got softer at the end, and you noticed a slight blush on his cheeks as he held it out to you.

He must have made it and immediately brought it over to your dorm, because the container was still hot to the touch. You struggled to keep your lower lip from shaking at the sheer thoughtfulness of it. “That’s really sweet, Suna. Thank you.”

“It’s probably not nearly as good as yours, but…” his voice trailed off. He scratched at the back of his head, the blush deepening on his face. “I tried to do what you showed me the other night.”

“Do you wanna have some with me?” you asked, but you were already taking down two bowls from the shelf above your desk and pouring out a serving for each of you, before putting the rest in your mini fridge. You ate a spoonful, eyes closing as you savored the taste. “Mmm, this is really good, Sunarin!” you smiled at him.

“It’s not bad,” he said, grinning a little bit.

“It’s really good for your first try!” you pressed on. “You know, if you want more practice, you can cook for me anytime.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that’d be a pretty sweet deal for you. But what would I get out of it?”

“Duh, you’d get to spend more time with me.”

“Oh, then pass.”

“Suna!” You pretended to pout, earning a genuine laugh from him. It felt good to joke around with him again, after not being in contact with him at all over the winter break.  

“Do you wanna hang out for a bit?” he asked when you had finished eating, setting his empty bowl on your desk. “Or were you just planning on sleeping for the rest of the day?”

You were a little taken aback at his question, since he had gone out of his way to avoid Atsumu and Osamu when they were sick. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch whatever I have?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If I was gonna catch it, I would have caught it from Thing 1 and Thing 2 already.” His expression faltered a little. “We don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“No, I do!” you said, a little too quickly in your eagerness to not let this chance slip through your fingers. “I just don’t want to get you sick, that’s all.”

“I’ll be fine.” Suna rolled his eyes, smiling. “You wanna watch a movie? I’ll let you choose, since you’re sick.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” you teased as you carried your laptop over to your bed. You sat down, propped up against the pillows, and shifted to the side so Suna could sit next to you. “Can we watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’?”

“Sure.”

“I feel like you’d kin Miranda Priestly.”

“I will leave this room, right now,” he threatened, beginning to stand up.

“No, no! I was only joking!” you laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down. He rubbed at his face, but you could see his slight smile hidden behind his hand.

The movie was almost over before Suna realized that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. When he first felt your head lean against him, the pounding of his heart had prevented him from daring to look at your face, but after several of his comments had gone ignored, he finally peered down at you, surprised to see your eyes closed. When the credits rolled, he had intended to get up and let you rest, but when he tried to move, your body shifted to turn towards him, an arm reaching out to wrap around his torso.

“Rin,” you murmured in your sleep, and the sound of your voice saying his name caused all of his resolve to disappear.

With you sleeping so peacefully, your warm body pressed up against his, Suna couldn’t bring himself to risk accidentally waking you up. The sun had already set, making your room dark and cozy, and so he figured he could wait there for a little bit until you woke up from your nap. Lifting one of his arms to put it around your shoulders, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, sunlight was streaming in through the window. He blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His movements prompted you to wake up, your gaze slowly focusing to find yourself leaning on his chest like a pillow.

“Guess we were both more tired than we thought,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Mmph,” you mumbled, noticing a damp spot on his shirt from where you had drooled on him. God, how embarrassing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, shifting to look down at you.

“A little better,” you said. Sitting up properly, you rubbed at your face, attempting to hide your blush from him. “Sorry that I fell asleep on you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling a little before his face shifted into a more teasing expression. “Did you know that you mumble in your sleep?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands even more. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“It’s kinda cute.”

“Please don’t make fun of me this early in the morning.”

Suna pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Ugh… I’ve got class at 9:45. I gotta go home to shower and get ready before then.” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. You lowered your hands from your face just in time to catch a glimpse of his toned stomach as his shirt lifted up; the sight of it made your cheeks burn anew, your head turning quickly so he wouldn’t notice you staring.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Y/n,” he said, putting on his coat.

“Thanks again for coming over,” you said, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

He grinned a little sheepishly as he made his way to the door. “Well, ya know… you gotta do things for the people you care about.”  

 --

 Stepping out into the brisk early springtime air, you spotted a familiar head of dark hair a few yards in front of you.

“Hey, Sunarin!” you called out, waving at him when he turned around. He stopped walking to allow you to catch up with him. “Are you done with class for the day?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got practice.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

He didn’t respond, but the slight shrug of his shoulders as he took off again told you that he wasn’t bothered by your company. You walked side by side, your hands brushing against each other’s occasionally, each brief contact setting off butterflies in your stomach. If it had any effect on Suna, he didn’t let it show.

“Have you thought about what classes you’re gonna take next semester?” you asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Why, you gonna start stalking me?” he added, lips quirking up into a grin.

“Just making conversation,” you grumbled, turning your face so he wouldn’t see your blush.

“Y/n!”

You looked up in the direction the voice came from to see a guy from one of your classes making his way over to you. You greeted him politely, and he launched into a conversation about the latest paper you had been assigned, falling into step beside you.

“Are you doing anything now? You wanna go get dinner with me?” he asked eventually.

“Oh, I can’t, actually,” you told him. “I have plans with a friend tonight.”

His face fell a little, but he quickly bounced back. “That’s alright, some other time maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what you’re doing for spring break yet?”

“I’m not really sure, I’ll probably just stay on campus,” you said.

“Oh, me too!” he said, grinning at you. “Maybe we could get together then.”

You had reached a branch in the path, and he turned right to continue towards the dining hall.

“See ya around!” he said with a wave.

You waved back, noticing that Suna’s eyes lingered on the other guy’s back as he walked away.

“That dude likes you,” he said in a deadpan voice.

“Huh?”

“He was trying to ask you out, dumbass.”

“What? No he wasn’t. I don’t think he’d do that in front of you.”

“Well, if he asks you again you should say yes.” Suna was smirking at you, but his voice was devoid of any emotion.

His words pricked at your heart, making your chest feel tight. The idea of him encouraging you to go out with someone else was a little upsetting. You turned your head away from him.

“Yeah, maybe,” you said absentmindedly. In truth, you had no interest in going out with that other guy, but Suna’s comment had left you unsure of what to say.

His brows creased a bit. Turning back to look at him, you saw that his gaze was significantly colder than it had been before. You opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he cut you off before you could.

“I’m gonna be late for practice,” he said flatly, walking off quickly and leaving you to stand alone on the path.

 --

 After that day, things between you and Suna were different. He was suddenly making himself even more scarce than usual, and during the few times when you managed to see him, he was quieter than before. You couldn’t think of what would make him act so coldly towards you, and the possible explanations you came up with in your mind only made you feel worse.

You were waiting outside the gym one evening for Atsumu and Suna to get out of practice. When you saw them walking out the door you went over to greet them, handing over the bag of pork buns you had picked up at the convenience store.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Atsumu said, gratefully accepting the food you offered him; Suna, however, stepped away before you could pass it to him.

“Sorry, I’ve got stuff to do,” he said cryptically before turning from you.

“We were planning on playing Smash later, are you gonna be around?” you asked.

“Probably not,” was all he said, waving one hand over his shoulder as he walked away.

Stung, you turned to Atsumu. “Suna’s been avoiding me, right? I haven’t been imagining that?”

Mouth full of pork bun, he shook his head. Swallowing thickly, he said, “Nope, he’s definitely been MIA lately. I don’t know why, though.” Seeing the way you bit your lower lip in worry, he was quick to speak again. “I’m sure it’s got nothin’ to do with you! Sunarin’s probably just busy.”

“Do you think he’s seeing someone?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“Nah, if he was I’d know about it. He’s never brought anyone back to the house.” He crammed half a pork bun into his mouth, struggling to chew it. “Honestly, he might just be a little homesick.”

“What?” It was hard to imagine someone like Suna being homesick; considering he spent so much time on his own, you didn’t think of him as the type of person to miss anyone.

“I mean, he told me he’s goin’ home for spring break to spend time with his sister,” Atsumu explained. “He must really miss her.”

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the news. A part of you had hoped that Suna’s avoidance of you actually was due to his busy schedule, and you had been looking forward to your spring break as the perfect opportunity to get some quality time with him. The fact that he wasn’t going to be there confirmed your doubts, proving, in your mind at least, that he really didn’t want to be around you anymore.

“You got any more of these?” Atsumu’s voice brought you out of your own thoughts.

“Yeah, here,” you said, giving him the bag of pork buns intended for Suna.

He continued chattering the whole walk back to the house, but you hardly processed a word. You were too busy wondering about what you could have possibly done to make Suna no longer want to be your friend.

--

 It had been several weeks since you had spent any time with Suna, aside from the brief moments when you saw each other at the house when you were visiting the twins, but he always gave an excuse as to why he couldn’t hang around. You knew he was a private person, but his sudden avoidance of you hurt twice as much after he had seemed to be getting more comfortable around you. Several times you had texted him to ask if he wanted to get food with you or watch a movie together, but he either claimed he was too busy with classes, or ignored you altogether. Eventually, you gave up trying to contact him.

But that didn’t stop your heart from fluttering when you did see him in person. You found yourself living for the moments when you would be sitting in the living room with Osamu or Atsumu, and Suna would come downstairs, giving you a quick nod before rushing out the door; or when you would be hanging out in Osamu’s room and Suna would walk down the hallway, locking eyes with you for half a second before going into his own room and shutting the door behind him. Each time you hoped he would stop and actually say something to you, and each time you were left disappointed.

So it came as a surprise when, one day when you and Osamu were in his kitchen making onigiri together, Suna came downstairs and actually lingered for a bit, even after spotting you. Not wanting to scare him off, you bit your tongue as he sat on the counter, watching you form the rice balls with your hands.

“Those look good,” he said; you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or Osamu.

“Here,” Osamu said, putting some on a plate and passing it to his friend. “You headin’ out soon?”

Suna nodded, his mouth full of rice. “Yeah, I’ve gotta meet with my advisor.”

“We’re going out to eat later, you should come. You haven’t hung out with us in a while.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been kinda flakey lately,” he said, his tone apologetic.

You couldn’t help yourself. Looking him in the eye, you spoke. “We’ve missed you, Rintarou. It’s not as fun without you around.”

“Gee, thanks,” Osamu muttered, but you hardly heard him. For the first time in weeks, Suna was looking directly at you, his gaze almost soft.

“Can’t imagine how rough it must be for you to have to spend time with these two goons,” he said, grinning.

“I’m standing right here, man,” Osamu said, his voice sounding only slightly annoyed.

You laughed, and to your amazement Suna returned it. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, hopeful that this awkward tension between you two was finally over.

“Text me when you guys are leaving, okay?” he said, hopping down off the counter and making for the front door. “I’ll meet you there.”

You couldn’t keep the giddy smile off your face even after he left. The thought of spending time with him again was almost too much for you.

“I wish you guys would just fuckin’ kiss already,” Osamu griped, his hands still deftly forming perfectly-shaped onigiri.

“Huh?!” you spluttered, nearly choking as his words sank in. “Who?”

“You and Sunarin, you clown. Do ya have any idea how painful it’s been watchin’ you two idiots for the past few months? Jesus, even ’Tsumu noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“That you guys like each other!”

“I don’t—wha—,” you fumbled over your words, not entirely sure what to say. “Suna doesn’t like me!”

“Uh huh, yeah, okay. Y/n, the man made you a whole-ass pot of soup when you were sick. I’ve known him for years and he won’t even let me borrow his phone charger.”

“If he likes me, then why has he spent the last two months completely ignoring me?”

“Because Rintarou has the emotional intelligence of a fuckin’ cantaloupe.” Osamu finally turned to look at you, his hands resting on his hips. “Look, he’s never actually liked someone before—not for real, anyway—so I don’t think he knows what to do about you. He’s never gonna fess up and tell you how he feels, so his next best option is to just avoid you entirely. But he’s been missing you, real bad. I can tell.”

“So I’m supposed to be the one to tell him?”

Osamu smirked at you. “So you actually like him?”

You paused for a moment, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, I like him.”

It was the first time you had admitted it even to yourself. A wave of relief immediately washed over you, as if you had been holding onto a secret that you no longer had to hide.

Ignoring the blush you felt creeping onto your face, you forced yourself to look at your friend.

“But isn’t that weird for you? I mean, we’re your best friends, would you really be okay with it if we started dating?”

Osamu glanced up as he thought about it, taking in a deep breath and exhaling loudly. “It’d be a little weird at first, but I’d get used to it. But it doesn’t matter how I feel about it.” He looked back down at you. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“’Samu,” you wailed, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

“So, you gonna tell him or what?”

“I don’t know… what if he doesn’t feel that way about me?”

“He definitely does.”

“Well, maybe it’s just not a good idea for us to date… I mean, neither of us has ever been in a real relationship before, what if we just crash and burn?”

Osamu took in another deep breath, looking as if he was preparing himself for something unpleasant. “Look, you know I’m not a sappy guy, and I feel gross even saying this, but honestly, you and Rintarou are two of the most compatible people I’ve ever met. Even I can see how cute you guys are together. You’d be stupid not to date him.”

“Seriously, ’Samu, you’re actually gonna make me cry.”

“Whatever,” he said, turning back to make more onigiri. “Just hurry up and confess already, I miss hangin’ out with my friends.”

 --

 You waited until Atsumu and Osamu were out of the house; that way, if things didn’t go well, you could quietly slip away to collect your dignity without having to answer any questions from them first.

You stood in Suna’s doorway, heart pounding furiously in your chest as you steeled yourself for what you were about to do. He was sitting on his bed with his headphones on, looking at something on his laptop, but when you knocked on the door frame he glanced up, noticing you for the first time.  

“Hey, Rintarou,” you said, your voice a little shaky. “Can we talk?”

He took his headphones off and shut his laptop, setting it to the side and scooting forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you stepped into his room and sat down next to him. He was looking at you intently, a small crease between his brows. You glanced down at your lap, fingers twisting nervously, before looking at his face again. If you weren’t honest with him now, you never would be.

“I like you,” you said bluntly, “more than just a friend.” Suna’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continued, really struggling now to hold his gaze. “I just… I had to tell you. And I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, that’s not what I want. Your friendship means a lot to me and I don’t want to lose that, so even if you don’t—”

“Y/n.”

Your words caught in your throat, afraid of what he was about to say.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was impossibly soft, the question sounding so delicate as it fell past his lips.

You could have sworn your heart stopped beating for a moment. You nodded your head. “Yes.”    

Suna’s hand reached up to cup your cheek before he leaned in, agonizingly slowly, to press his mouth to yours. His lips were so soft, his touch incredibly gentle. Placing both hands on the back of his neck, you melted into him, sighing as his other arm wrapped around your waist to pull you in closer. You could feel him grinning against your lips just before he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“I like you, too,” he said softly.

Returning his smile, you leaned in to fit your mouth to his again, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, to have him kiss you so tenderly. It took all of your willpower to pull away from him.

“Rin, I have to go,” you whispered against his lips.

“What?” His expression was puzzled as you abruptly stood up.

“I have class in ten minutes,” you explained, making your way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna drop that on me and then dip?”

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, grinning. “Yup.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but the smile was still on his face even as you left.

 --

 The first few weeks after you and Suna started dating passed by in a blur. The heartache you had felt when he kept his distance from you had been replaced by a constant feeling of joy at the knowledge that you were together now. You still got butterflies every time you saw him, your heart melting each time you pressed a kiss into his cheek and saw a blush creep onto his face.

The only complaint you had was that after three weeks, you and Suna still hadn’t slept together. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, but there was always something that prevented you from actually succeeding: he was too exhausted after finishing volleyball practice; you both had term papers to work on; someone on your floor burnt popcorn in the microwave, setting off the fire alarm. The closest you two came to doing anything was one night when you thought you had the house to yourselves. You and Suna were making out on his bed, and he was just about to take off your shirt when Atsumu suddenly burst into the room to ask if they were all out of laundry detergent. He had quickly left, smirking, after realizing what he was interrupting, but you were too embarrassed to continue after he closed the door.

At this point, it had been over a year since you last had sex, and you were starting to go a little crazy. You were pretty sure Suna knew it, too, based on the smirks he gave you when he happened to catch the way you would stare at him periodically. After the length of time it took for you two to finally admit your feelings for each other, it was incredibly frustrating that the universe seemed to be keeping you apart again.

The end of the semester rolled around, and the twins decided to throw another big party before finals week. You managed to convince Suna to not hide in his room the entire time, and to your amazement he seemed to be having a good time, laughing in the corner with some friends from the volleyball team.

You were sitting on the couch next to Osamu, slowly sipping the beer in your hand. He was talking to you about your plans for the summer, but you couldn’t stop your attention from drifting over to your boyfriend every once in a while, grinning at him each time you happened to catch his eye.

“Our parents are renting that beach house for two weeks in July, you wanna come with us again?” Osamu asked, drawing your gaze back to his face.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that sounds fun,” you said, a little distracted.

“Your boyfriend can come, too, of course,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to hide your blushing face by downing the rest of your drink.

“Bet you’re gonna miss him, yeah? Three months is a long time to be apart from your lover.”

“I swear to god, ’Samu, if you don’t shut the fuck up…” you grumbled, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face at your friend’s teasing.

Osamu’s attention was stolen then by someone asking him to go do shots, so you got up and walked to the kitchen by yourself to throw out your empty beer bottle. After you tossed it in the bin, you felt warm hands encircle your waist and a familiar voice whispered into your ear.

“It’s getting kinda crowded down here, you wanna go upstairs?” Suna’s warm breath tickled your ear, making you shiver in his arms. Turning around to face him, you gave him a quick kiss before taking him by the hand and leading the way to the stairs.

Closing his bedroom door muffled the sounds of the party, and you were able to breathe easier now that you were alone with him. Suna scrolled through his phone briefly before finding the playlist he was searching for, setting his phone down once the music started playing.

“Hey,” you said, grinning as you recognized the song, “this is the same playlist that you put on the night we met.”

He took a few steps towards you, arms snaking around your waist to pull you in close. “I know,” he said simply before leaning down to kiss you. You allowed him to deepen it, lips parting for his tongue, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt.

Without breaking away, Suna guided you to his bed, gently laying you down and crawling on top of you, his knee coming up to press between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, feeling him grin against you. Breathing hard, you pulled his shirt over his head, leaning back so that you could look at him. You had known he was fit from all the times your body had been pressed against his, but seeing his muscular form with your own eyes was different. You squirmed under him, feeling your arousal growing between your thighs.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Y/n,” he whispered, leaning down to press kisses into your neck.

“I know,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” He pulled your shirt off of you, warm hands burning into your skin. “Do you know what I’m gonna do next?” he teased in a low voice, mouth moving down over your collarbones as his hands came up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples through your bra.

“Rin,” you whined when he pulled down the fabric to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, his other hand coming to rest between your thighs, groaning against your skin when he felt the wetness seeping through your shorts.

“Yeah, baby?” He was kissing a line down your stomach, goosebumps rising in his wake. He tugged off your shorts and panties together as you sat up to unhook your bra, tossing it onto the floor without taking your eyes off his face. Your hands immediately moved to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them as you planted sloppy kisses across his chest. He wriggled out of them and threw them to the side, before wrapping a hand around each of your legs and spreading them apart. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, lips gliding over the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me, baby. I know how badly you want this.”

You whimpered, fingers running through his hair and gripping tightly. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, making you shiver again. A loud moan escaped you when he finally pressed his tongue against your pussy, running slowly over your folds and circling around your clit before moving back down. He repeated the motion, making your breath come out in short pants as your fingers tangled themselves further in his hair.

“God, you taste so sweet,” he moaned against you. His hands pressed down on your hipbones, pinning you in place as you started trembling around him, small whimpers leaving your mouth the closer you came to your release. You drew your legs up, the heel of one of your feet resting on his back as your spine arched, pressing into his mouth.

“Fuck, Rin, I’m so close,” you gasped out. He hummed, hands reaching up to trace his fingertips along your sides. You started moving your hips and he stilled, holding his tongue out for you to grind against. Within seconds you were cumming, legs shaking and nails digging almost painfully into his scalp. He kept his mouth open to allow you to ride out your high, gaze trained on your face.

“You’re so cute, baby,” he murmured, moving to plant a row of kisses up your throat and over your jaw. “So fucking cute.” His lips fitted against yours as he grinded into you, the friction against your clit making you gasp.

“Rin,” you whispered, pulling away to look in his eyes, “lie down.”

He rolled off of you, reaching out with both hands to pull you on top of him. You kissed him once, teasingly, before sitting up and gazing down at him. With one finger, you traced a line from his throat down over his chest and stomach, coming to rest where the skin dipped down between his hipbones, smiling to yourself at the way he shivered from your touch. Hooking your fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers, you gently tugged them off of him, watching the way his thick cock sprang out to slap against his abs. Heart pounding excitedly, you dragged your nails over the top of his thigh, pleased when his muscles tensed beneath you.

“Don’t tease me, baby,” he groaned, fingers digging into your arm. “I’ve had to wait so long for this.”

You would have been content to make him wait even longer, wanting to hear him begging you to touch him, but the pleading look in his eyes softened your resolve. “I know,” you purred, leaning down to run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, grinning to yourself when you heard his sharp inhale. You swirled your tongue around the tip, letting your spit run down his length, before wrapping your lips around his cock.

Soft moans and pants reached your ears as you slowly took all of him into your mouth. When the head of his cock hit the back of your throat you paused, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from the stretch of your jaw. You slid your tongue along his cock as you hummed lightly, eliciting a loud groan from him. Your hand came to grip his cock as you started bobbing your head up and down, moving in tandem with your mouth. Suna tilted his head to watch you, his chest rising and falling heavily. Keeping your eyes on his face, your mouth left his cock with a wet pop and moved down to suck on his balls, your hand continuing to jerk him off.

“F-fuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow. His fingers entwined themselves in your hair, gripping firmly, but you had reached the limit of your patience. You crawled back on top of him, thighs planted on either side of his hips, and used your hand to drag his cock along the folds of your cunt.

“I wanna feel you, Rin,” you said breathlessly as his hands gripped your hips. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Pressing his tip into you, you slowly sank down onto him, loving the way his mouth fell open as you took him completely inside you. The stretch made you gasp, head falling forward to rest against the crook of his neck. You kissed the skin just below his ear as you started grinding your hips against him, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. The sensation on your clit made you moan into his skin.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he whispered.

“Feels good,” you whimpered, your pace quickening. “S-so good.”

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight…”

The knot in your stomach was rapidly tightening. A few more motions were all it took for you to be cumming again; you pressed your lips against Suna’s, tongue reaching into his mouth as your orgasm washed over you.

When your hips stilled, he lifted you off of him and flipped you over onto your back, nipping at the skin of your neck as he repositioned himself between your legs. With a groan, he sank into you again, hips snapping against you urgently. Your body already felt worn out, but the sensation of him fucking you so deeply had you clawing at his back, desperately trying to pull him closer to you. He lifted your trembling legs onto his shoulders, the new angle of his cock thrusting into you making you cry out.

“Is that your spot, baby?” he crooned, repeatedly hitting the place that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Yes, yes, yes, right there, Rin, p-please don’t stop!” you babbled. One of your hands reached out to grab his and bring it to your neck, eyes pleading with him.

His fingers tightened around your throat. “Fuck, you look so cute taking my cock like that. You gonna cum again, pretty girl? Gonna cum all over my cock for me?”

His grip on your throat was making you lightheaded, the friction against your clit sending pleasant vibrations throughout your entire body. The spot his cock was hitting inside your pussy had you hurtling towards the edge again, eyes rolling back as you incoherently begged him not to stop.

“Rin, I-I’m cumming—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you practically sobbed as your pussy clenched around him again. He released his hold on your throat, moving his hand up to lift your jaw and kiss you deeply, relishing when you moaned into his mouth. Your lips parted and he rested his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes, continuing to pound into you as you came. His breath stuttered as his thrusts grew more erratic, his face flushed as his cock throbbed inside you, hot cum filling your cunt.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again, slower than before. He pulled out and laid down beside you, breathing hard. You reached up to brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, fingers running over his cheekbones.

“Why did we wait so long to do this,” you asked, making him laugh.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” he said with a grin.

You exhaled happily, moving closer to him and nestling your head against his chest. His arm reached out to wrap around you and press his palm into your spine to pull you closer. He was warm, but your uncovered body shivered against the chill in the air, goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Here, cutie,” he said, shifting so that he could pull the comforter over you. “Comfy?”

“Hmm,” you hummed, closing your eyes and pressing a kiss into his collarbone.

With Rin’s arm around you and his steady heartbeat in your ear, you fell asleep almost instantly, feeling more content than you had in a long time.

 --

 You woke up before Suna. He had moved in his sleep, now lying on his back with one arm outstretched underneath your head. You watched him for a moment, smiling at the calm expression on his face, before climbing out of bed slowly, careful not to disturb him. Putting on your panties and one of Suna’s oversized t-shirts, you slipped out the door to walk to the bathroom down the hall.

Osamu and Atsumu’s doors were still closed, a fact that you were grateful for when you reached the bathroom and saw your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a tangled mess, your neck littered with little love bites, damning indicators of what you had been up to the night before. Splashing your face with water, you tried to scrub off the smeared remnants of yesterday’s makeup. Satisfied when you no longer looked like you spent the night in a club, you crept back into your boyfriend’s room.

“Hey,” Suna mumbled when you stepped back through the doorway, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his eyes with the other hand.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you shut the door.

“Take those clothes off and come back to bed.”

You giggled, shrugging out of your clothes and stepping towards his outstretched arms. He pulled you into a tight embrace, peppering your face with kisses. He settled you down on your side next to him, pulling your thigh up to rest on his hip.

“Rin!” you squealed when you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance.

“I just wanna be inside you, baby,” he murmured. His touch had already made you wet, allowing his cock to slide into you easily. You sighed as his hips pressed up against yours.

His lips met with yours, his kiss achingly sweet. “I don’t ever want you to leave this bed,” he breathed out. You smiled against his lips, fingers running through his soft hair. He shifted his hips then, and the sensation was too much for you.

“O-oh,” you whimpered as your pussy tightened around him.

“Are you cumming?” he asked, the corner of his lips quirking up into a grin.

“Sh-shut up.”

He didn’t say anything else, simply tightening his arms around you and kissing you again. The two of you lay like that for a while, slipping into a peaceful state of half-sleep, until the sound of a distant door being flung open pulled you back.

“Fuck,” Suna mumbled under his breath. Not a second later, a loud knock sounded from the other side of his door.

“Sunariiiiin,” Atsumu’s voiced whined from the hallway. “Are you guys up yet?”

“Is that door locked?” Suna whispered to you. Commending yourself for your earlier foresight, you nodded. “Good.”

“Suna! Y/n!” He pounded on the door. “I know you guys can hear me, come on!”

“I gotta get my own place,” Suna grumbled, his eyes still closed. You giggled, and when the knocking on the door stopped you snuggled in closer to him, ready to go back to sleep.

Until your phone started ringing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, reaching out to grab it from the nightstand. “What do you want, Atsumu?”

“Aha! I knew you were awake!” He sounded very pleased with himself for succeeding in getting you to talk to him. “Can you make me pancakes?”

There was a pause as his question sank in. Holding your phone to your head and staring at Suna, you pulled away from him and sat up, eliciting a low groan from him. “You want me to make you pancakes?” you repeated in an incredulous voice. Suna cracked open his eyes, his face scrunching up as he heard Atsumu’s request.

“Yeah!”

“Get Osamu to do it.”

“He doesn’t make them as good as you!”

You could practically hear him pouting on the other end of the line. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you heaved a sigh. “Give me a minute.”

“Thankyouthankyouthanky—” You ended the call before he finished. Climbing out of bed, you pulled on your clothes again.

“Are you actually gonna do it?” Suna asked.

“He’s just gonna keep harassing us until I do it anyway,” you said. “Besides, it’s almost ten o’clock, we might as well get up.”

Suna rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, groaning loudly. Grinning, you tossed a clean pair of boxers and a shirt at him.

Atsumu looked way too happy when you finally appeared downstairs. He and Osamu were sitting at the kitchen counter together; they nudged a steaming mug towards you when you walked in.

“We made you coffee,” he said, his grin wide across his face.

“Uh huh,” you grumbled.

“Where’s mine?” Suna asked as he trailed in behind you.

“Make your own, dick,” Osamu told him, smirking as he sipped his own drink.

Suna rolled his eyes, going to pour himself a cup from the coffeemaker.

Trying to hide your laughter from him, you gathered up the ingredients and set to work. When all the pancakes were done cooking you passed half of them across the counter to the twins.

“Mmm,” Atsumu hummed, closing his eyes as he took a bite. “So good.”

“I gotta teach you how to make these yourself, ’Tsumu,” you said, taking a bite of your own breakfast.

“Yeah, that way you clowns can let us sleep in for once,” Suna added.

“Don’t pretend, Y/n,” Atsumu said, “you know you love seeing my cute little face first thing in the morning.”

“I prefer seeing ’Samu’s, actually,” you teased. Osamu stuck his tongue out at his twin, laughing at his crumpled expression.

When you all finished eating, Atsumu and Osamu jumped up to wash the dishes for you. Holding your mug of coffee with both hands, you leaned into Suna’s side.

Looking over his shoulder at you two, Osamu grinned. “So, how was your night?”

“Fine,” you said in a casual tone.

“And that’s all you’re gonna get out of us,” Suna finished.

Osamu rolled his eyes, turning back to the dishes in the sink. “As if I’d want any details.”

“My night was great, thanks for asking,” Atsumu chimed in.

“Yeah? Was that before or after you puked in the backyard?”

“’Samu!”

You couldn’t help the relaxed smile that found its way onto your face, happy to get to listen to them teasing each other like always. With one hand resting on the counter, Suna’s other reached around your waist to tug you closer, fitting your body against his. Standing there laughing with your friends, with his arm around you, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

--

➣epilogue

--

➣masterlist

[im-frickin-trying-okay]

Random BNHA Headcanons

(This is my first time doing this 😭)

Summary: A bunch of random BNHA headcanons. So, basically the title. The only reason I’m adding a read more is because I want it to be easier to navigate my page, lol

Bakugo is oddly nice when he first wakes up, but he's not exactly a morning person. He's less "I hate the world, why am I awake???" And more like "I'm extremely comfortable and the only thing that can ruin my mood is becoming less comfortable." He likes hovering between awake and asleep, y'know? Which is why if he's sleepy, his guard drops. When leaving the dorms, if he hasn't fully woken up, he goes from "outta my way, shitty-hair," to "mornin' Eijirou," and by the time he's actually aware of what he said, Kiri's already freaking out. If he's in bed all day for any reason other than being sick, he's probably soft for at least a few hours.

Kaminari's the type to wake up at 2 AM with an idea, go to jot it down, and then realize that he wrote a ten chapter book and now he's late for class. He'll probably put it into a google doc or something, so he can continue to add onto it throughout the day. I also feel like he probably will also randomly get a question and then spend hours researching it and any surrounding topics, before rambling to Kiri about "bro, if I went to the beach, I could make a bunch of glass! Probably! Maybe!" And then have to try and convince his friends that he can just make windows if anyone needs them.

Sero had added moves to his skill set, and practiced particular actions, with the sole intention of mimicking Spiderman. When Kirishima questions him on it, he compares Spiderman to Crimson Riot. They have a conversation that's essentially fanboying, both of them saying "we are not bringing All Might into this," and then more fanboying.

Jirou has an extremely eclectic music taste. If you can name a song, she probably knows it. She can memorize full melodies and all the lyrics within two or three listens, because she's just that good. Some people call her the human Shazam, because if you play the first five seconds of a song she likes, she'll immediately know what it is. She's also called out artists if they made a clear rip-off of a much better song. Her music taste is all over the place, which therefore makes it superior. However. This does not stop her from listening to the same six songs on repeat for a week. The six change a lot, though.

Koda has trouble with bugs, especially big ones. They scare him. But he has pretty much no issues with tigers, lions, horses, or even wolves. He loves animals, he really does. If you just showed up at his doorstep and shoved a bear cub in his arms, he wouldn't really question it, because he'd be happy to have a cute animal to play with.

Todoroki believes himself to be the opposite of moody. His definition of moody is switching emotions for no reason. He, personally, doesn't feel any emotion until something happens that day, be it a thought or an event, and his emotions stay fixed like that until something else happens. He could be having a great day, and then suddenly, it's a horrible day, and he can't figure out how people just "get over it." He does, however, find that unless something REALLY bad or REALLY good happens, his brain does a little emotional reset when he goes to sleep. Like, go to sleep feeling down, wake up feeling kinda meh.

Kirishima has considered re-dying his hair. Come on, hot pink is so manly! How could he not consider it? But he eventually resigns himself, because red just is his color now. Also, I feel like once, before dorms, he was really out of it, so he went to class with his hair down, and this was the first time anyone had seen him like that, and everyone was just confused as hell. Especially Bakugo. "Your hair's less shitty today. What the fuck."

Uraraka takes part in stupid bets all the time. Partially for the fun, and partially for the profit. She once floated Bakugo to the ceiling for 26 minutes before she had to put him down, because Kiri said that if she survived, he'd give her a dollar per minute. She ended up having to go to the recovery girl's office, but at least she got her money.

Mina is one of the few people who can understand and keep up with Deku's mumbling. This is not because she specifically tries to, (like Uraraka) or because she's known him long enough, (like Bakugo.) She's just used to gossipping with Hagakure at 4 AM, and therefore can understand high-speed low-volume speech. She's called him out on things before, but only when she's interested. She completely tunes out things about All Might and heroes and whatnot, but if he ever has anything to say about his classmates, specifically about Uraraka, Todoroki, and Bakugo, (because she, Hagakure, and Denki placed bets,) she hears every word.

Iida secretly loves to break the rules. He acts strict in front of anyone who he respects, or wants respect from, but after he thinks everyone's asleep, he relaxes, doing things that he considers rule-breaking without any remorse. Denki heard someone walking around outside while on one of his late-night internet searches. After finally willing himself to break away from an article about pandas, he popped his head out of the door to find Iida sneaking around. After some silent observation, Denki realized that not only did Iida just get back from breaking curfew, but he casually stole Hot Cheetos from Bakugo's room on the way back to his dorm. He said nothing the next day, at least not directly, but he sorta shoved Sero and Iida in the same room so that they could be bad influences on each other.

Despite it being a major part of her quirk, Hagakure almost never feels invisible. She has a lot of friends to talk to, she can wear cool outfits to stand out, and she is always talking. The only time she's not talking is during stealth training, and when she's using said stealth training to spy on people.

Tsu's little "ribbit" thing is actually just for fun. It feels right to do it, so she does it. Nothing wrong with that. However, pretty much everyone else assumed it was a part of her quirk. It took an insane amount of convincing to get that idea out of their heads. Deku was proud to be one of the few who never actually associated it with her quirk. He could prove it if he wanted to, actually, but that would require showing someone his notebook, which would open a whole other can of worms.

Oh yeah, speaking of Deku's notebook, he has multiple. Six to be exact. One is on his fellow classmates, one is on most pros, one is on the LOV, one is specifically on All Might, one is on his own quirk development, and the last one is a narrative of what's happening in his life, which is why he's constantly thinking as if he's telling a story. He mentally narrates everything that happens in his life, although he sometimes wonders if he's dramatizing things because of that. His internal monologue is constantly running its mouth, and sometimes he ends up speaking over it.

Tokoyami really likes plague doctors. He just does. He wants a plague doctor mask so he can walk around with less judgement, or maybe more, who knows? He just loved the concept. He claims that they're just really cool, which most people agree with, but he's never told any of them that he likes them because he saw a plague doctor mask for the first time at the age of six, and immediately thought bird man.

Sato likes baking, but he can't cook normally to save his life. Well, he can, but he can't. He hasn't burned water, and he knows how to do the very basics, but he can't function without a recipe, not to mention the fact that he's googled how to saute mushrooms three times and still doesn't get it. Baking comes pretty naturally. Exact measurements, precise times and temperatures. Cooking does not. Eyeballing ingredient amounts, guessing if the flame is high enough, trying to figure out how often 'stir occasionally' is. He actually once asked Bakugo if he had advice, to which he responded, "Why the hell are you asking me?!"

[nohoney]

You and Me (And Him)

notes: Part 2 of the Us Series, also posted on my ao3

characters: Dabi/Touya Todoroki, Takami Keigo/Hawks

warnings: 18+, drug use, toxic relationships, open relationships, angsty-ish, threesome

summary: 

“If this happens… will it be just sex or will it be more?”

Golden eyes stare back at you. “It can be whatever you want it to be (Name).”

You scrutinize him under your gaze for a little bit, silent for a few moments before asking, “Will you kiss me?”

“Of course.”

Touya had introduced you to Keigo when your relationship was just two months old. You remember being astounded by his eyes at first, they were so bright and friendly as opposed to Touya’s which were piercing and intimidating. Keigo was such an easy going guy, his manner of speaking and his certain lilts when he talked made you feel comfortable immediately despite how nervous you were at first. He fit easily into your life, a friend that you knew you could rely on for almost anything.

Where Touya was apathetic and aloof, Keigo was magnetic and charming.

It was a wonder how those two got along, you had to figure that the ‘opposites attract’ concept worked out for them. You’re not certain what the turning point was in their relationship that Keigo received permission to address Touya by his birth name, but obviously it meant a lot to your boyfriend and Keigo seemed touch to be apart of his inner circle. Aside from pills they ingested and the powders they snorted that bonded them together, they had a genuine friendship.

It goes to say that Touya and Keigo are close, and they’re close enough where apparently there’s an option of sharing you between the two of them.

“I gave you permission to fuck who you want doll, Keigo is not the worst person you could choose. In fact, I’d like it if he were the one to keep you warm for me.”

You liked to believe that you and Keigo had a strictly platonic friendship, but Touya had essentially ruined that perspective for you now.

Had Keigo always felt that way from the very start or was it gradual during your budding friendship? Did he want to be your second boyfriend or was he looking for something a little more casual?

Those were all important questions but there was one that you needed answered first before you did anything with Keigo.

You were working up the nerve to ask Touya this ever since that day when he fucked you while Keigo was right beside you. He sat on the edge of his couch with his laptop on the coffee table, reading over an article needed for one of his classes. Drug dealer aside, he was actually a good student, breezing through his classes easily. Though you know that the only reason why he would finish up so quickly was so that it wouldn’t interfere as much with his dealing. As opposed to Keigo who liked to sit down and really make sure that he retained the knowledge.

“Touya, can I ask you something?” you ask from your end of the couch, shifting your feet towards Touya until they were on his lap. He props your feet in his lap and he strokes his hands over your shins and calves, his expression bored but attentive as he turns to look at you. “That thing you said before about Keigo wanting to… do stuff with me. You weren’t just saying that so that I’d bother you less when you go out right?”

When you go out and sell to your whores. You want to add that part but you know it’s best not to bring it up; you’ve already had this conversation with him and it’s too soon to open it back up again.

“I said it because I know that Keigo will treat you right doll. I trust him and I know that he’d be good to you.” Touya answers honestly.

“You’re good to me.” you tease, lightly nudging your foot up into his hand.

Touya smirks at you and crawls his way over to your side of the sofa. He moves to make you sit on his lap, your legs straddling him as he leans back against the sofa. Your hands touch his shoulders before drawing down, your index fingers tracing his chest beneath the white, sleeveless shirt that he’s wearing. “I’m fucking great to you doll. I’m so fucking great to you that I wouldn’t mind if you fucked my closest friend.”

You grind down on Touya’s lap, his cock stirring beneath the dark sweats that he’s wearing and moan when he thrusts up into you. Ghosting your lips over his, you tease him just a little bit when he tries to go in for a kiss and pull back with a giggle. Touya isn’t having it though, putting his hand on the back of your neck and keeping you in place so that he can go in for a proper kiss. You like when he asserts himself like this over you and renders you helpless before him, it gets you going. “I wouldn’t mind if you fucked me right now baby.” you purr.

The discussion is tabled for now as you ride Touya’s cock and he leaves you a shaking mess afterwards.

Keigo comes to the Touya’s apartment later on during the week. You walk in after finishing up at your part time job to see them splitting an eightball between the two of them at the dinner table. You’d never done more than a gram of coke before and even then you usually split up that gram with one another person. “Geez, what’s the special occasion?” you ask as you set your purse down and shrug off your sweater.

“Nothing in particular, just thought of relaxing today.” Touya answers as if it’s the normal thing in the world. Relaxing with a six pack of beers with the boys, that’s normal; relaxing with an eightball of cocaine with the boys, that’s not.

But this is your life with Touya as your boyfriend and as long as he or Keigo don’t overdose on you, then everything should be fine. You know that this definitely is not their first time and you once again remind yourself about the gap between you and the boys.

“Dove, do you want a line?” Keigo asks as he uses a credit card to cut three white lines on the surface of one of the dinner plates. You don’t think it’s really a question because he pretty much made a third one anyway for you to take. He’s waving you over, an expectant smile on his face that you can’t bring yourself to say no to. Instead of sitting in the chair next to him, Keigo pulls you onto his lap instead and hands you a rolled up bill.

Just one line. you think to yourself as you inhale the powder through the bill.

That one line ends up becoming ten instead, very measly compared to the boys but considered a lot for yourself.

Touya and Keigo pretty much polish off the rest of the eightball and talk amongst themselves at the dining table still while you moved yourself over to the couch. Laying on your stomach and facing away from the boys, you idly scroll through your social media on your phone to keep yourself entertained. Your brain is a little wired so you’re just waiting for the coke to pass through your system and then you can sleep properly. From behind, a hand goes underneath your shirt and slowly smooths up your spine. It feels pleasant and your body shudders in response, pushing back against the hand as a silent beg for more. You’re surprised that Touya is massaging you, most of the time he tends to just skim the tips of his fingers all over your back until you fall asleep. Deft fingers press into the right spots on your back and you can’t help but let out a quiet moan along with a whined out, “Thank you baby.”

“You’re welcome dove.”

You turn back to see that Keigo had been the one massaging you while Touya just remained at the table, watching from his seat with eyes full of mirth and a grin to match.

How blatant of the both of them.

And that’s only the beginning.

Every instance Keigo is in your presence, he begins to invade your personal space more often and pushes the boundaries of your friendship into something more. Touches to your waist or the small of your back, quick pecks to your cheek or your lips, sometimes putting his hand on your thigh, even his pet names become a little more affectionate like little dove or songbird. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable per se but you’ve yet to really come to a conclusion about what you want to do about him.

You know that if you don’t say anything about it, if you don’t verbalize a ‘no’ or ‘stop’, Keigo’s just going to keep on going. After all, if you don’t stop one's actions they assume that it’s okay to keep on going and possibly to do more.

It appears that Touya’s getting a little impatient with your inaction, confronting you about it after fucking in the backseat of his car one day.

“So are you going to let Keigo smash or what (Name)?”

“I… don’t know. You and me and him, don't you think it will be weird?”

"Only if you make it weird."

You lay naked together rather comfortably despite the small space, your cheek resting against his chest where his heart is beating so close to your ear while he’s petting your head. It’s quiet between the two of you, just trying to catch your breath before having to get dressed and dropped off to your own bed. You want to be in Touya’s bed or have him sleep in yours, but he has a drop off to replenish his inventory later on and wants you where he knows you’re safe. It’s sweet how he doesn’t risk you like that, he only allows you to know so much. Maybe that’s part of the reason why he’s pushing Keigo onto you, to keep an eye on you when he’s not able to.

Touya loves having you in his sights, doesn’t like when you stray too far from him, even if he doesn’t show it on his face. You know by his tells, squeezed just a little too tight in a hug or the constant question he asks just right before you leave ‘are you sure?’ or the way his jaw clenches just a smidge too tight when you want to sleep in your own bed instead of his.

He pats the back of your head twice to let you know to get up.

Touya’s quicker to get dressed and you move to the side so that he can crawl to the driver’s side first. You’re still pulling on your pants when you feel his large hand wrap around your bicep to get your attention. “Baby?”

“If you don’t want to do anything with Keigo, that’s fine (Name). The least you can do is to tell him to stop flirting if you’re not interested though.” Touya tells you, a hint of irritation behind his tone. You don’t get to say anything else as he crawls to get to the driver’s seat and starts up the car. “Come on, I can’t be late.”

You sleep alone in your bed that night, thinking about you and Keigo and Touya.

A few more days pass before you finally give an answer.

Touya holds you from behind, his arm curled around your waist and his face nuzzled against the back of your head, he’s resting in your bed peacefully after a long night of being up. It’s getting close to noon and you’ve pretty much skipped your classes for the day because his hold on you is iron tight. He’s still fast asleep but you’re wide awake and desperate to use the bathroom to pee so you try to wriggle out of his hold. The movement disgruntles Touya but he releases you to flop on his back to continue sleeping.

You relieve yourself and wash your hands in the sink, glancing up at the mirror to check your complexion briefly before walking back into your room. Touya always looks most peaceful when he’s asleep, not like the bored expression he’s always sporting on his face whenever he’s out in public. You get back in the bed, not with the intention to sleep more, but you just want to be close to your boyfriend just a little bit longer. Reaching a hand out to massage his scalp, your fingers are brushing through his hair and he groans under your touch. You hold in a giggle as Touya sticks his hand down his boxer briefs, just letting his hand rest on his soft cock and doing nothing else but continuing to sleep.

“Touya? Touya, it’s almost noon.” you call out to him.

“… Doll.” he grunts out, slightly annoyed at being woken up.

“You want something to eat? You hungry?”

Touya just dismissively waves his other hand at you, the one that’s not shoved into his underwear.

“Okay, I’ll just make something so that you can have the leftovers later on and I want to have a proper threesome with Keigo.” The last part you just quickly blurted out to get it out of the way.

There�� said it, finally told him what I want to do.

He’s silent for a few seconds before he opens his eyes to look at you. “It can just be you and him doll, I’m not making it a requirement for me to be there.”

“I know but I was thinking about it and I think I just want to officially induct Keigo by having a proper threesome.”

Touya pulls his hand out from his underwear and pats his thigh, signaling you to come sit on his lap. He puts his hands on your hips as you sit on his cock, his thumbs teasing the hem of your panties and has you grinding slightly on him. “You want Keigo to stuff your mouth while I drill this slutty pussy? Or I can fuck your face instead and he can go balls deep in you? How about double penetration? You love it when I play with your ass while I fuck up your pussy with my cock. I think it’d be nice to cream you in both of your holes. Or maybe we’ll just cum on your sexy body together. Last time he came on your tits, you have no idea how wild that drove him.”

“Okay, you sound way more excited for it than I am.” you laugh as you take Touya’s hands off your hips and lace your fingers together. “But yeah, I want to do this… with Keigo.”

“Alright doll but you have to be the one to tell him.”

And so you do later on that day, Touya smacks your ass on the way out of his apartment as you go to meet up with Keigo. He gives you a shit eating grin as he watches you walk away, proud that he can see the slight limp in your step.

So you sit with Keigo at a booth in back inside a cafe as he tells you about his week; he’s always busy in between his classes, completing his lab work, studying and tutoring. You’ve realized very early on that he likes to be a busy person, he likes keeps his scheduled jam packed sometimes. Yet he handles the load of all his responsibilities with ease, like he’s barely trying and that it’s as easy as hanging up a shirt and moving onto the next. You’re certain that if you even attempted to imitate his lifestyle that you wouldn’t be able to handle it as well and just burn out.

It could be the Adderall that Touya supplied to Keigo that helped him sometimes, but even without it he still held himself together rather well.

You’re trying to find the right way to tell Keigo, wondering what’s a smooth transition into telling him-

“Let’s have another threesome.”

Way to be fucking smooth!

Keigo was in the middle of telling you about this plant nursery he thought you’d like when you interrupted him. His golden eyes are set wide in surprise, as if someone had put him on pause and he’s waiting to be set right again. He’s still for a few seconds when he finally blinks and looks at you.

Golden eyes just stare at you and you’re squirming under his gaze.

Maybe I waited too long and he’s not interested anymore?

“Aw dove, you realize how cute you look right now? You’re like a shy schoolgirl asking to hold hands for the very first time.” Keigo coos at you, leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand and smiling. “You sure you want to? I’m also okay if you want nothing to change between us, I love being your friend.”

“A friend who wants to fuck you.” You remember Touya’s words from that time.

You nod your head and reach for his hand to take it in yours. “I just have to know something. I already asked Touya but I need to hear this from the only person I know that probably knows him the best. You’ll be honest with me, won’t you?”

Keigo’s hands are warm as he gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Of course (Name).”

“It’s just, you know, the whole thing with Touya and the other girls that he does his business with… I’m not accepting it still, I guess I’m just letting it happen because he insists that I’m the only one that gets all this special treatment from and I’m believing him for the time being. I just wanted it to be me and him, just us, and now there’s you. I just need to know that he’s not proposing us, this arrangement, so that I’ll harass him less when he goes to see them.”

Despite the arrangement of bringing Keigo in, no matter what your relationship with Touya comes first. It still bothers you when he goes out to the others and you do your best to not let your jealously show, there’s no point in having consistent arguments about it. But you can’t help the paranoia in your heart that he only proposed this so that you don’t have a reason to bother him. As long as you have someone else to sleep with then Touya can continue doing what he’s doing, that’s what you think.

Keigo sighs as he holds your hands in his, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles. “Don’t tell him that I told you this but there used to be more girls before you came along.”

Your jaw clenches.

“How many of them do you know of at the moment?” Keigo asks.

“Three or four I think.” you answer.

“It used to be eight. After he met you, he pretty much cut that list down to half.”

Your heart twists at the truth but it still changes nothing. “So I’m supposed to feel grateful that he liked me enough to only keep half the whores he still wants to fuck? He says that I’m his number one but what happens when he ends up liking whore #4 more? Am I just going to get bumped down the list? Am I just whore #1 for the time being?”

Keigo scratches the back of his head and seems a bit reluctant all of a sudden but he continues to speak to ease your doubts. “It’s not like that dove, it really isn’t. Touya’s never been the best with confronting his feelings but I see how he cares for you. I know to you it seems like he still has whores he wants to hang onto, but in reality he’s been slowly letting go so that he can focus on you. I can’t tell you when the others will be gone but all I know is that you’re his priority. This is new for Touya, he’s never had a real relationship before you. All he’s ever had is just a casual thing—hell the girls that he’s sold to, you can’t even call it casual, it’s just-”

“Business.” Touya’s used that word plenty of times.

You already had a feeling that he had commitment issues, it’s obvious in the way he keeps you around but still sees the others.

“I remember how upset Touya was when you left that one time to sleep with someone else because you were angry at him. I’d never seen him get so upset over anyone else (Name), it’s just been you. The feelings he has for you, it's intense.”

“My question still isn’t answered Keigo: does Touya only want this to happen so that I’ll bother him less when he goes out? Like it’s okay for him to go out and get his dick wet, struggling with whatever feelings he has for us, while I’m wetting yours? Is it just easier for him knowing a friend is plowing me instead of a stranger? It just all seems so convenient for him.”

Keigo’s posture stiffens a little bit. “He knows that he’s the one who proposed it but he didn’t want to backtrack and change his mind once he realized that you shouldn’t be a random whore for someone else to use as they please… ironic coming from the guy that uses random whores as he pleases. He feels you only deserve to get fucked by people who love you, those were his words.”

“I trust him and I know he’d be good to you.”

Whoa… love? No one said anything about love.

Touya tells you how much he loves your pussy, he’s never said himself that he loves you. And Keigo? He just said not too long about that he loves being your friend…

“Wait, did Touya actually say that he loves me? What kind of love are we talking about?”

Keigo’s golden eyes briefly widen in surprise before realizing that he might have said too much, speaking of things that Touya told him he wasn’t ready to talk about with you just yet. “I… shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that… uh fuck I can’t really speak for Touya.” Keigo curses and takes his hand back, scrunching his hand in his blond hair and looks down in embarrassment. “He’s going to kill me.”

What happened to just proposing a simple threesome? You didn’t realize that all these feelings were going to be involved when you were going to talk to him today.

“Keigo, you are being honest with me though right? You’re not lying?”

Golden eyes look up at you, full of conviction. “I could never lie to you (Name).”

You hate that Touya still sees his other whores, he sells to them and fucks them. It didn’t matter that it’s been impersonal this entire time with the others, it just hurt that you couldn’t have all of him. And yet Keigo’s admission had just changed everything, all with just one four letter word, that apparently Touya was more wrapped around your finger than you thought. The situation itself is still twisted but you’re not trying to escape it. Instead you sink deeper and deeper into it.

"Did Touya say he loves me?" you ask, not surprised that your question is met with silence. It's clear that Keigo wasn't supposed to mention that to you at all. "Do you believe what he said? That I should only be fucked by people who love me? Do you love me Keigo and is that love the same as Touya's?"

His eyes betray nothing, now set on remaining mum when it comes to this topic it seems. His silence is an answer in of itself, though it's not exactly a clear one. You won't waste anymore time asking these questions, you set out here with a mission. “If this happens… will it be just sex or will it be more?”

Golden eyes stare back at you. “It can be whatever you want it to be (Name).”

You scrutinize him under your gaze for a little bit, silent for a few moments before asking, “Will you kiss me?”

“Of course.”

The kiss is nothing like the one at the house party when the two of you were rolling on ecstasy. There’s no enhanced euphoria to make it better or any other substance to get in the way of what it is; just a tender, chaste kiss. Luckily you two are seated in the back so there’s no one around to witness this, not like at the house party with so many people around. Even when you pull back, Keigo still leans forward to pepper your face with little pecks here and there.

You’re leading Keigo by the hand back to Touya’s place, the door already unlocked for you since you know he wasn’t going out today anyway. He’s emerging from his bedroom and grins at you when he sees you holding Keigo’s hand. A knowing grin comes onto his face as he leans against the wall, looking you up and down.

“Uh where should we do this?” you ask, squeezing Keigo’s hand and shifting your weight from one leg to the other in nervousness.

Touya approaches you and kisses your forehead before taking your other hand in his own. “Well what’s a place to have a ‘proper threesome’ doll? Just the bedroom? Last time we fucked on a couch so I think it’ll do just fine this time as well.”

“A proper threesome? Is that what you called it songbird? That’s so cute.” Keigo laughs and nuzzles his head against yours. “Though I can’t disagree, I didn’t really do anything to you.”

“Hey, I offered at the time and you said no.” Touya banters with Keigo as he leads you to the couch, having you sit down on it first. “You can’t really say that you weren’t given a chance.”

Keigo simply shrugs his shoulders in response before looking down at you. You sit way too stiff on the couch, back as straight as an arrow and your brows crinkled with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. He reaches a hand towards you and pats the top of your head, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against your scalp and massaging to get you to relax. He thinks how cute you are, acting like as if he hadn’t already seen you naked and what you look like when you’re getting railed. He’s just excited to be able to play with you with his own hands this time, manipulating your pleasures to his own tastes while coordinating with Touya.

“What are you acting like such a virgin for? Keigo already knows what you look liked when you’re getting fucked. No need to be shy.” Touya quips at you and chuckles at how you hide your face in your hands. “Quit it doll, you’re not so innocent. He’s seen it and I’ve seen it, now be a good girl and take off your clothes.”

Touya speaks in that tone when there’s no room for argument, that you dare not talk back or else you’re going to get a punishment. And normally you love to test his patience when he speaks to you in that manner, you know he loves it when you get all bratty with him but with Keigo present you’re a little bit more reluctant to be so cheeky. So you follow directions and reach towards your pants zipper to get your bottoms off first but then Keigo catches your wrist in his hand.

“Wait, I want to undress her.” Keigo announces.

Touya allows it with a passive wave of his hand.

So Keigo kneels down to do the job himself, taking his time and touching you appreciatively while you look away from his gaze. It reminds you of when you tried undressing yourself at the house party when you were rolling to jump into a pool and he caught you just in time, helping poor little you dress back up because you shouldn’t have been trying to get naked with a bunch of strangers around you. Your face is warm as the tips of his fingers skim across your naked skin, completely in the nude and absolutely self conscious as your hands go up to cover your breasts.

Keigo gently pulls your hands away and asks Touya, “Was she this shy with you the first time?”

“Tch, shy? She’s the one that had me by the cock the first time we fucked, bratty little thing pretty much demanded that I blow her back out.” Touya chuckled as he pet the top of your head before lifting your head up. “Isn’t that right doll? You remember?”

You nodded as the memory resurfaced into your mind.

“So why so shy now dove?” Keigo asks as he sheds his shirt and moves to undo his belt buckle.

“It’s different, you’re a friend Keigo. And I’ve never pleased two guys at the same time.”

Touya just merely whips off his own shirt and palms his erection through his sweatpants. “You don’t have to worry about anything (Name). There’s nothing different about sex when there’s an additional person. Keigo’s got plenty of experience in this, he’s been to a few orgies and a gangbang once.”

You whipped your head back to look at Keigo who merely just scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Hehe, there’s no need to tell her that Touya. But things will be fine dove, we know you trust us. Remember what I said earlier?”

“Y-Yeah… I remember.”

They love you… though you’re not sure what the extent of their love is for you. It’s dangerous to confuse possession for love and that’s the feeling that you get from the both of them. The logical side of you is very aware of this fact and yet you ignore it once more. Love or not, this isn’t exactly your ideal relationship but you’re not quite willing to walk away just yet.

“Can you kiss me Keigo?” you ask, figuring that you might as well just start off.

“Of course songbird.” he says as he pulls you up from the couch and leans down to kiss you. He wastes no time in gliding his tongue against the seam of your soft lips, drawing a quiet moan from you. Keigo is definitely a gentle kisser, or at least for now he’s being gentle, and any nervousness you felt washed away in the tender way he held you in his arms. Keigo’s erection pokes at your thigh and you move one hand in between your bodies to hold it in your hand. You didn’t get a good look at it last time but from the feel of it you can tell it’s a bit smoother compared to Touya’s, a prominent vein underneath as you skim the tips of your fingers over it.

“Get on your knees doll, show Keigo how good you are with that mouth.”

Sinking to your knees, you get a good look at Keigo’s cock; it’s a pretty pink color that’s a little flushed at the tip and the length is close to Touya’s though skinnier in girth. You give it a few experimental pumps in your hand before dipping your head down to take him into your mouth. The taste is a little musty but that’s to be expected when your genitals just sit in your pants all day and it doesn’t bother you at all. His cock glides smoothly over your tongue and when it hits the back of your throat, you moan around it before pulling back with an audible pop.

“You’re looking at my cock like you’re in love with it dove.” Keigo teases. He expects you to quip back at him but you merely open your mouth and stick your tongue out, a quiet ‘ahh’ from you makes his spine tingle. “Eager girl.”

Touya watches you as you swallow Keigo into your eager mouth, your eyes looking up at him and meeting his golden gaze. Watching you on your knees for someone else is getting him hard as fuck, fisting his cock in his hand and proud that you’ve let go of your inhibitions. There was no reason for you to be so shy earlier, Touya knew that you’d relax instantly with Keigo; he always had a charm about him that made everyone comfortable once they met him.

Still though, you’re his girl and he does feel a bit left out so he takes you by the back of your head and directs you to go down on him instead. Touya sees how enthused you are at the familiarity of having his cock in your mouth and how you look up into his own eyes. You’re stroking Keigo with one of your hands while the other plays with your clit messily, all the while you’re smoothly sucking him off; you’re his slutty little multi-tasker. Back and forth you trade off between Keigo and Touya’s cocks and having completely forgotten how shy you were from before. You suppose that Touya’s words from before actually ring true.

Hands go underneath your armpits and you’re lifted to sit on the couch, ass hanging off the edge with your legs held open and leaning back on your elbows for support. You barely get a word in when Keigo smoothly slides down to his knees and proceeds to eat you out like he’s the hungriest man in the world and the first meal he’s given is absolute ambrosia. He’s fucking good with his mouth, a goddamn expert as his tongue flicks over the petals of your pussy, you can’t help but wonder if he got so good from those apparent orgies that Touya said that Keigo attended previously.

Touya has one leg kneeled on the couch and is balanced with one foot on the floor as he watches once again from the sidelines for a brief moment. He thinks of all the times the two of you had sex in front of a mirror, watching your reflection as he railed you on his cock and keeping his eyes forward rather than on you. It’s different to see you in this perspective, being touched by someone else and hearing you moan for his closest friend. If you were moaning for anyone else, if Keigo wasn’t the one Touya had chosen, he’d go crazy with jealousy. He thinks of the scumbag men he’d seen eye you up and down when you weren’t looking, how he knows that they would see you as just a hole to fuck rather than a precious gem to treasure. They wouldn’t cherish you like he did, wouldn’t appreciate you the way Touya does, the things he’d do for you he knows that no other man would. Keigo is the only person he would trust to lavish you with all the affection you deserve.

She’s mine. Touya thinks before looking at Keigo. She’s ours.

You’re obedient when Touya reaches a hand forward, his thumb pressing against your plush bottom lip before you take it into your mouth. Keigo’s teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and has two fingers moving inside you, golden eyes set on you as you look up at Touya. Your eyes are fluttering though, struggling to keep them focused as his fingers steal your concentration by finding your g-spot and dragging the pads of his fingers down before repeating the motion. A drawn out groan rumbles out from your pretty mouth and you drop your head back.

“She just came.” Keigo states as he withdraws his fingers from you and licks up your juices. “You enjoy yourself songbird?”

You answer with a tired nod of your head.

Keigo chuckles quietly, rubbing his hand on your thigh before looking to Touya. “Does she need a minute?”

“No, she can keep going." Touya kneels down to you and kisses you briefly, waking you from your orgasm-induced stupor as you reach up to touch the back of his neck and kiss you deeper. You and him are lip-locked as Keigo kisses up your body, focusing on your breasts as the pads of his fingers press into your hipbones and make you shiver under his touch. You think that maybe Touya was right from before, that sex isn’t that much different when you have another person around. Kissing is still the same, blowjobs are more or less the same, so is being eaten out, but you’re getting twice the pleasure and excitement.

One hand reaches down and scrunches through Keigo’s blond hair, soft tresses glide through your fingers and you’re reminded of the last time you rolled. His hair was just as soft when you had first kissed him at the party and you think briefly about what kind of shampoo and conditioner he uses to keep his hair so soft, maybe he uses hair masks and stuff like those internet hair recipes for it to feel so nice. So you grab a handful of it and pull his head back, giggling when he grunts and the faint hiss of, “Naughty little dove…”

Touya moves aside to make way for Keigo as he slides up to kiss you once again. In the midst of it, you feel the blunt head of his cock push against your entrance. You won’t dare break from the kiss from Keigo and you blindly reach for Touya’s hand, which he takes and holds it gently. There’s more nudging against your pussy and you think of that song that you’ve heard circulating on the internet, a specific lyric that you think is a fitting theme for tonight: I wanna ruin our friendship.

You could change your mind, tell Keigo to get off you and make Touya back off as well.

“I’m going to put it in now, okay?”

But you won’t tell them to, you decided you want this.

You think of your come down from when you rolled last and how this is almost the same situation except that Keigo is the one to fuck you while Touya sits nearby with his cock in his hand. So you brace one hand on Keigo’s shoulder and widen your legs for him, looking between turquoise eyes of your boyfriend and the golden ones of your friend. “Take his cock doll, fulfill Keigo’s fantasy and let him wreck you.”

It must be Keigo’s eagerness to have been wanting to fuck you since you met because he wastes no time in pummeling his cock into you. He’s not as rough as Touya but there’s definitely enthusiasm in his movements, his eyes entranced on your tits as they bounce with the momentum of his thrusts. Touya has your hand on his cock and makes you jerk him off, calling you a pretty, dirty whore and you vocalize your agreements.

“Fuck she’s such a slut!” Keigo says more to himself rather than Touya. He grabs a handful of your hair in his hand and yanks it back, making you gasp as your neck is exposed and he leans forward to bite down on your soft flesh. This is everything he dreamed of and more, of course the real you is far better than the nights he spent imagining what you would be like with his dick in his hand. Touya is his friend and he always painted a pretty picture with his words whenever he felt like bragging about good at sex he was, which was all the fucking time, but Keigo knew that you were different the more Touya kept on referring back to you before the relationship was official, knowing more about your pussy first before actually learning about who you were.

Touya used to get nudes pretty frequently from some of his former whores, some quick spank material before deleting it but you were different. Whatever you sent to Touya, whether innocent or not so innocent, you got your own personal folder with your name on it and if he was feeling a little generous, he’d show his friend. So Keigo pretty much knew what you looked like naked by the time the two of you were introduced but you didn’t have to know that.

So here you are, naked and getting railed on his cock right with his very own eyes.

No more digital or imaginary substitutions, Keigo was getting the real thing now.

“Hands and knees, I want her sucking me off.”

Pushed into the desired position, your hands brace the armrest of the couch to steady yourself, seeing as you’re about to get fucked from both ends. Keigo’s hips slap against you in a steady and firm rhythm while Touya gags you on his cock. Fingernails dig into the surface of the couch and you strain to look up as you’re getting face fucked. Porn makes having a threesome look so easy and fluid but you’re struggling a little bit with the different rhythms from one end compared to the other. It’s hard to concentrate on sucking Touya off as Keigo fucks you from behind, neither one of them wanting to give you a break.

It’s a struggle but you don’t want to stop.

“Open your mouth wider.” Touya commands and you happily obey. His cock is soaked in your spit so it glides smoothly into your mouth and with practiced eased you deep throat him. Every thrust Keigo delivers, it makes you bump forward slightly but it doesn’t deter you from doing the best you can with a cock in your mouth. Their praises mix together and it makes you feel heady, you want to be good for them and hear more of ‘good girl’ and ‘that’s right songbird’.

And then Keigo yanks you away from Touya, laying flat on your back on the couch and he pushes back inside you with your legs pushed to your chest. You want to look into his eyes, take a dip in those honey-colored windows to his soul and hold his gaze while he practically ravages your pussy. You’re sure that his gaze is as intense as the fucking that he’s giving you, so intense that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and you can’t look him in the eyes like you want. So instead you’re fucked stupid by Keigo and can barely muster any praises back to him like ‘you fuck me so good’ and shit like that.

It’s okay because Touya can do the talking anyway.

“Look at you doll, looks like you’re losing it over his cock. You’re such a good little whore right now, you make me proud.” Touya strokes his cock in one hand while the other reaches down and lovingly strokes your hair. “You wanna let Keigo fuck you from now on? You wanna be with the both of us?”

“Wan’ you both… yes, want you two!” you groan out and reach one hand up to touch Touya’s wrist. “Ungh, fuck!”

“Shit, I’m going to cum!” Keigo hisses as he sloppily fucks into you before pulling out and cumming all over your tits. Warm splatters of liquid fall onto your chest as you cum as well, finally able to look at Keigo from your vantage point but disappointed that he didn’t cum inside you. “Fucking hell… baby bird…”

Ah, you’ve unlocked a new pet name.

There’s no break for you as Touya takes you back, sitting on the couch and putting you in his lap. You groan at the familiar stretch of his cock slipping inside you, you’re a leaking mess as Touya fucks his hips up into your pussy. You’re getting fucked in his lap, clutching onto his shoulders and moving in practiced sync. Normally you’d get lost looking into turquoise blue eyes but you look to the side to see Keigo leaning against the arm rest and catching his breath.

Touya’s hands cuff underneath your ass and gives support as you ride him, his mouth pressed into your neck as he gives you wet kisses all the while Keigo sits back and watches. It’s different and new and you’re not necessarily sure how this may turn out for you in the end. Your conversation from earlier rings in your mind and your mind sobers briefly at the recollection of it: “He feels you only deserve to get fucked by people who love you, those were his words.”

Love… you’re still trying to fathom it.

Wanting to just have sex was one thing, adding love into the mix was another. It should make you sit down and consider what the fallout may be but the thought of Touya being in love with you, being just too shy or obstinate to bare himself open, it made your heart flutter in the same way he wouldn’t allow you to call him Dabi anymore. And Keigo too, a selfish part of you wanted to indulge yourself silly on these two men who apparently didn’t like the idea of relinquishing you to just anyone.

Don’t be a whore for anyone else but us.

“Look here doll.”

You look away from Keigo and look to Touya instead, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him. Contrary to how he may seem, Touya loved to kiss you during sex. It drives him wild every single time, especially when you’d scrunch a handful of his hair in your hand and tugged on his roots. He curses at you and gives a sharp smack to your ass, a guttural growl rumbling in his chest as he asserts control over you. All you can do is manage to hold onto his shoulders as he presses you to sit back against the couch and fucks into your already sensitive pussy, so he’s not necessarily surprised when you cum on his cock. He reaches down to overstimulate you by toying with your clit and you practically lose it, sobbing as you cum more for him.

When you peer up at Touya, you can tell by the way his brows are pinched that he’s about to cum. You beg for him to cum inside you like he always does, you’re anticipating it. Instead he pulls out and makes you kneel on the floor, Keigo coming to his side with his cock in his hand; you hadn’t even realized that he got hard again. “Open wide sweetheart.” Touya tells you.

So you do, your eyes on the boys as the cum all over your face and your tits, mixed drops catching on your tongue as you’re coated in hot cum. When they’re both thoroughly tapped out, you smear it all over your chest and giggle how they both groan at the sight of you. “Mm… I loved it!”

“Glad you did baby bird.” Keigo leans down to kiss your temple while Touya kisses your cheek. “As pretty as you look with our cum all over you, why don’t you go wash up?”

No arguments there, dried cum isn’t exactly the greatest feeling in the world especially since you were showered in so much of it. So you get up and walk in the direction of the bathroom but turn back briefly and lean against the wall. “Hey.” you call out and they both look to you. “I’m happy that that we did this. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this, I want you to know that.”

You’re tempted to put out a simple ‘love you’ just to see what Touya’s reaction would be, but you think it’s best to not breach that subject for now. If it were still just you and him, then you probably would have put it out there but the addition of Keigo changes it a bit so you have to reevaluate the pace of the relationship. It’s a whole mess, that much is certain, but you want to stay with Touya. You wonder how much poking and prodding you can get from Keigo to reveal more. You feel a certain sense of pride that apparently he’s never devoted himself to anyone else until you came along, though if it weren’t for Keigo accidentally revealing such precious information then you never would have known in the first place, if not this soon in the relationship. For the time being, you just blow an air kiss and leave to go clean up.

Under the shower spray, you think hard about you, Touya and Keigo. “Eight girls… he used to see eight fucking girls!” you mutter to yourself. It sort of figures that Touya had that many whores but you had no clue that the number was so high before you came along. You still get mad when he comes to you smelling like them, you won’t even let him get near you unless he washes up first and he’ll always cater to you afterwards. Just because Keigo is included now doesn’t mean the jealousy won’t stop, it just means that now he provides a distraction when Touya goes out and wrestles with his commitment issues while balls deep in other girls.

But if what Keigo says is true that Touya loves you then you can hold out until you can draw that confession out of him.

━━━━✧

Part 3 of the Us Series: Do It For Me

[parvuls]

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

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The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

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“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

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The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

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Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

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So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

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.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

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Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

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Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

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The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

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Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

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Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

[pepperful-qt]

Hi there! Can I request hcs of kuroo, kita and semi with a big brain s/o? It doesn't just apply to s/o academically, but more so about life in general (like having ~streetsmarts~) thank you!

you said street smarts my mind went to jj bittenbinder. ngl i kinda used the wisdom proficiencies from d&d as reference for this hahaha nerd i hope it’s what you want! also i just want to thank you for requesting my not-so-secret fav semi semi

Kuroo, Kita, & Semi with a big brain s/o

* * * * *

Kuroo Tetsuro

oh this man appreciates it. he’s so entertained

you know that drinking game that Tyrion does with Shae where he guesses something about your past and if he’s right you have to drink, if not he does? that’s what you do minus the drinking part obv,, unless

as a person with high charisma himself, you make it a game to see who can bluff out and/or fool the other (you almost always win)

any time there’s a game night and you’re playing a social deception game you always win. no one can get a lie past you

if it’s a teamwork one, you and Kuroo crush everyone else

you find ways to skimp on your hw but still come out fine. he has no idea how, and it both annoys and impresses him

“i thought you stayed up watching buzzfeed unsolved instead of studying last night??”

“yeah so what?”

“but you got a 96%”

he knows that intelligence isn’t just defined by what you’re able to memorize out of a book, and you’re a perfect example of that. he respects you a lot

you’re the type of person that reads random articles and therefore has the most random bits of trivia that you throw in conversation

he can have an intellectual conversation with you, since you always come up with unique perspectives. he loves asking your opinion on things, bc who tf knows what’ll come out of your mouth

you don’t know what a derivative is to save your life but you know the location of every 7/11 in a ten mile radius, and if they carry a specific type of onigiri or cup noodle flavor

but fr you give the best advice and are always there to lend an ear

you watch murder mystery movies together and try to figure out the culprit, sometimes actually arguing over it

other times you’ll watch a drama and make bets on who’s gonna do what or end up with who

rip Kenma in the corner just trying to live his life

it’s hilarious seeing you interact with someone who is not “big brain” or street smart

let’s just use Lev as an example for no particular reason, just bc

you quickly learned that Lev would believe almost anything you said, he was that fascinated by your apparent wisdom

so you and Kuroo will sometimes join forces and see what you can get him to believe. you once convinced him that if you kill an insect you’d become that insect in your next life and die the same way, and for a solid month he would start crying if he ever stepped on an ant

chaos couple™

you have this whole atmosphere about you that is just “do not fuck with me” bamf if i do say so myself

which tbh is one of the things he finds most attractive about you. you knew exactly what he was up to the first time he started flirting with you, but you weren’t intimidated one bit. you became a challenge~

10/10 best looking couple of the three

* * * 

Kita Shinsuke

the two voices of reason, bless you both. you’re very similar, but also very different

he’s the definition of high intelligence & high wisdom with low charisma cleric kita omg, while you have both high wisdom and high charisma with an intelligence stat you barely use (high or low lol)

he’s the kind of guy who always thinks things through with logic, and he’s always sure of his decisions

you on the other hand, have an intuition based logic

freaks him out when you rely on your gut instinct but somehow it always pays off

“why?” 

“just because” 

“but why??”

you’re adaptable in almost every situation, always know what to say, and have an uncanny ability to read people

which actually comes in handy in your relationship

he’s not the best at expressing himself but you always seem to know his emotional state and thought process, something no one else except his granny has really cracked yet and you do it so easily. sometimes he wonders if you’re a mind reader

you knew he liked you before he did & you asked him out first ~

“Shin-kun, you look happy today!” 

“Ah, I was able to clean all the volleyballs after practice and still had time to fold and organize the scrimmige vests by color.”

meanwhile Atsumu: “hE litERALLY?? looks the sAME??!”

speaking of the twins, you’re great at handling them

Atsumu tried to scare you away the first time you showed up at practice before you and Kita announced your relationship, but you were calm and polite

which tbh put him off more than if you’d clammed up or gotten angry. he almost felt bad for being rude. almost.

imagine how bad he felt when Kita found out

the both of you are both feared and respected by the team 

you’ll help Kita out with his self-assigned chores sometimes, figuring out new ways to be efficient and not lose quality

he also loves how he can trust you to take care of yourself, whether it’s walking home alone or losing you in a crowd or just looking after your health. he still worries and dotes on you but it’s out of love, not because he’s concerned you’ll hurt yourself unintentionally 

he loves a person with common sense @ inarizaki

you’re both really good at getting gifts for each other, since you’re both very perceptive

one time you guessed his favorite flavor of ice cream and it made the butterflies a’flutter

there’s this silent competition between you two of who can give the better gifts

wishes you would study more though ngl. he knows you’re smart you just don’t always dedicate that intelligence to your schoolwork

he finds it charming how you’re always looking at things from different angles rather than the straightforward path. he thinks it’s a very good quality

that “yeah but what if...” kind of mentality

we already know he appreciates that attitude if he doesn’t really take it on himself

you’re both able to appreciate the nuances of life and enjoy the moment together

your relationship is one of the most balanced and strong out there tbh,,

* * *

Semi Eita

you’ve got this charm that makes people respect you. a certain type of confidence, if you will, that made him first notice you

lots of students were intimidated by the members of the volleyball team, for their height and reputation etc, but you never showed any reservation, not even with Ushijima

as well as your conviction, you have take no shit attitude that comes in great handy with certain members of the team it’s also hot af

you can banter with Tendou and you provoke Goshiki all day long but never Shirabu bc you know what’s up

you do however irritate him with mind games, bc you know he’s a little shit who stole your bf’s spot and needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

you: *describing the quantum wave trolley problem”

Shirabu: *screams*

all the while Semi is trying and failing to hide the smug little smirk on his face

with Semi though, you’re able to just talk

he enjoys conversation with you bc he’s never bored. you make him think and you make him laugh, both good things

sometimes you’ll point something out that just makes him go “oh” bc it seems so obvious when you point it out

other times it’s something so outlandish that he can’t help but crack a smile or let out a laugh 

sometimes it’s the connect the dots meme “you didn’t connect shit” lmao

again, solid advice giver with no holds barred. anyone who needs to be straight up told what they need to hear comes to you, bc you're usually right

and Semi himself can get lost in his own head so it's nice to have you to ground him

you’re decent in your classes sure, but where you really impress is your strategy in game. any game

once you were invited to play laser tag with the team and you whipped out a battle plan that annihilated the other team

alternatively, you show no mercy in monopoly or uno, damn your relationships

it’s actually very annoying how quickly you pick up the rules and nuances to games and use them to your advantage

if you’re both very competitive, it’s usually better for everyone if you’re both on the same team

but he likes a challenge heh

okay, we know he’s bad at dressing himself when it comes to casual outfits. no common sense. you notice this too

“Eita, sweetie, if you go out like that you will get mugged,, even in Miyagi.”

you’ll walk down the street hand in hand and you make random guesses or stories about the people you see 

“that guy is totally a scammer” or “bet that lady looking at the papaya is trying to start a diet for the third time, look at her face” and he’ll chuckle

he knows there’s always something going on inside your mind and he wants to know

when you’re lost in thought he’ll tap your forehead

“hey what’s going on in there?”

he enjoys listening to your musings and thoughts and opinions. you either have a crazy gut instinct or have some unique thought you’ve internally debated over for months

gets inspiration from you actually, even if he doesn’t realize it

likewise, you realize he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say, but you have a way of making him say it, even if he is hesitant and abrasive at first

you’ll call him at 3am with a random thought and he’ll grumble a bit but actually will listen to you with the smallest smile on his face

* * * * * 

i hope??? this was good??? also lmk if this is too long without a read more i’m not sure :P

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

Korosuu Translation - Chapter One

Some notes before we begin: 

This is the only piece of official Ass Class content that - to my knowledge - is not translated anywhere. It doesn’t look like anyone has any plans to, so I’ve decided to take the task upon myself. This book is kind of like the korotans, but teaches maths instead of English. It also has a Chiba and Hayami focused short story, which is what I will translate here.

I am not fluent in Japanese. I’m a mere university student who has been studying for about two years now. Whilst I feel confident enough to get the general meanings of things, I have had to use a dictionary pretty heavily with this and some word meanings and grammar parts might be incorrect. I’m only making this because I want people to be able to enjoy the book, so it’s no professional calibre translation and I please ask that you take everything with a pinch of salt. I know there are mistakes and sentences that don’t feel right, but I think you can still get the general meaning.  

The tenses are weird because Matsui kind of wrote them that way, and I generally decided not to alter them. This is my first time translating prose (I’ve only done manga panels in the past), so I’m not sure if this is a common thing in Japanese books or not. 

Whilst I’ve naturalised some sentences, others are a little more hard for me to reword so a prewarning that they may come across as a little stiff and awkward in parts. I’m still learning with this. 

Okay now that’s out of the way, the chapter! 

Chapter One - Invisible Sniper Time

During the usual E Class’ usual lunch break, Chiba Ryuunosuke, Okajima Taiga, and also Takebayashi Kotarou are gathered together, and are enjoying chatting as usual. This was the usual scenery that happened every day.

However, the usual atmosphere was a little different that day. The trigger was something that Chiba murmured.

“That’s why Chiba, you’ve tried that method over and over again, yeah? I realised that it wouldn’t be enough, so right now I’m using it in combinations with other methods.” Okajima said with a dumbfounded face, whilst holding a camera.

“I get it, that’s why I wondered if you could do it.” Chiba answered in a way that might seem blunt to people who he didn’t know. Since he covered his eyes with long bangs, he was easily misunderstood by a few people, but his close classmates knew that with the same old warmth, he was a cool and collected guy.

Takebayashi heard that, and points out whilst fixing his glasses with his index finger “if you snipe with a single shot, the sound of fire will always arrive before the bullet. Korosensei will sense the trajectory in the direction of the sound and easily avoid it. Afterall, he’s a Mach 20 monster.”

“What are you talking about?” They were interrupted by Hayami Rinka. Alongside Chiba, she’s the girl with the highest sniper results.

“Nah, Chiba was saying there isn’t a way to assassinate Korosensei with just a sniper.” When Takebayashi answered, Hayami tilted her head.

That assassination had been tried many times by Chiba and two people. There were shooting results from the two top participants. However, it all failed due to the reason Takebayashi said, and the superhuman ability of the target teacher. A simple sniper alone cannot kill him first. That should be the conclusion made between the two of them.

Chiba saw Hayami’s expression and immediately understood her thoughts, and then connected them to words. “I know it’s impossible, but it feels regrettable to do nothing like this.”

“Yeah,” Hayami nodded.

“Class, please listen.” Karasuma Tadaomi entered the classroom, and stood on the platform as he spoke to everyone on the spot. “I’ll tell you whilst he’s gone. The government has hired a new assassin.”

They weren’t surprised, because this wasn’t the first time. The government has hired professional assassins several times, but it was the usual pattern to give advance notice when there was a risk of involving the students in the E Class.

“Karasuma Sensei, what type of assassin is coming this time?” Kataoka Megu, who was chatting close by, asks.

“A slightly famous person. According to the source, they’re called the ‘Legendary Sniper’.” When Karasuma answered, Chiba and Hayami’s faces immediately perked up.

“A nickname without a twist…” Okajima forces a smile.

“Their exaggerated name means they’re not ashamed of their great skill. In everything, they seem to have succeeded in sniping many times from an impossible position.”

“Impossible position?” Takebayashi shook his head at Karasuma’s words.

“If I’m talking specifics, they would be behind the building, but still hit the target on the other side with a bullet. Of course, without shooting through the glass or anything like that. Is that an interested face?” The last word that Karasuma spoke was directed to Chiba and Hayami, not Takebayashi.

The pair nodded at the same time.

“From this standpoint, you can’t help too much, but there’s probably something you can investigate. Especially for you two and the others, it might be a reference for future assassination?”

“I don’t think there’s any reference if the sniper kills Korosensei.”

At the sound of Takebayashi’s voice, Karasuma shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so. He can’t be killed by a human who doesn’t even know him at all. Even if this opponent is called the Legendary Sniper. Isn’t it better for you?”

-

Gathering information had never been so difficult. They searched their smart phones and their own laptops for sniper related incidents in the international news, and found many such articles. Most of it was written in English, but thanks to Nakamura Rio, who was close by to Takebayashi, it didn’t take long to read.

“That’s exactly what Karasuma Sensei said… Look at this, they were shot between the bullet proof limousine door the instant it opened. The line of fire should have been from this direction.” Chiba lifts the screen of the laptop he was looking at. Right there, there was an article that said the leader of a criminal organisation was assassinated under strict vigilance.

“Is that difficult?”

When Okajima looked at the screen, Chiba nodded.

“It seemed that it they were surrounded by bodyguards when they got out of the limousine, and the building they were trying to enter was an organisational building. There is no sniping point you can use to shoot into a limousine from over there.”

“Is it possible to hide and shoot?” Additionally, Okajima leant over.

Chiba shook his head. “They were only about ten meters away from the building. No matter how well they hid, they were probably able to shoot at such a distance. But this article isn’t sure where this sniper was.”

“That’s also true. They were shot from the front of the building whilst the police force were guarding. Not only the front, but all surrounding buildings were closed, and they were being monitored from above.” Hayami was looking at a case in Europe where a top enterprise was shot.

“The headline is also ‘A Magician’s Work? The Fear of the Invisible Sniper’. If this is a tabloid paper, I won’t do it anymore,” Nakamura said, looking at his laptop over Hayami’s shoulder.

“I found a number of different articles dealing the same case, so it seems like it really happened.”

“That’s right. But doing this is refreshing, hmm.”

Hayami thinks about Nakamura’s words.

“Hey, look at this. ‘Strangely, the bullets found on the scene were spherical, reminiscent of muskets’. Could this not be a hint?” At the point where Nakamura pointed, there was an English sentence she translated, and a small photo next to it was a silver bullet like a pachinko ball placed side by side with a rifle bullet for comparison.

Chiba also leaned to look at Hayami’s smart phone, and gave a big nod.

“Yeah, it helps, Nakamura. I think this is probably a really big hint.” Chiba, who usually doesn’t express many emotions, gazed at the screen whilst speaking with an unusually warm tone.

“Hey~, what have you been doing for so long?” Kurahashi Hinano called from behind Nakamura. When they explained clearly, Kurahashi replied with a smile. “Huh, it looks interesting doesn’t it? So, did you understand anything?”

“Originally, there isn’t enough information in online articles. I think we need to do something more.” Takebayashi answered.

Chiba nodded whilst Takebayashi was speaking.

“Right?” Kurahashi’s face perked up as she looked at Takebayashi’s laptop.

“If that’s the case, why don’t we go to the article and look at them?”

“That’s a good idea, but it’s all about Europe and America… right?” After answering Nakamura, Chiba looked at his own smartphone and frowned. “This article is in English, but it looks like the scene is in Japan.”

“What happened?” Nakamura used the smartphone and clicked on the screen that appeared. “Ah, there was also an article in Japanese. It looks like they did it for the news. It’s in Shibuya, Tokyo. It looks like they wrote about a mafia boss of the international expanding yakuza.”

“It’s decided~ This weekend, let’s have a picnic at the crime scene in Shibuya!!” Kurahashi pounded her hands on the table.

That’s the end! It took me quite a while to do this, so don’t expect the next chapter right away! I’ll try my best to complete the whole book, though! 

Chapter two

My comments under the cut 

I don’t really get why Karma and Nagisa are in the illustration, when they’re literally not even mentioned lmao. 

Karasuma acts like this is a regular thing? That they just get random assassins joining their class every now and then? I guess it’s OC time for those wanting to write missing episode fics! 

It’s really nice to get some proper Chiba and Hayami dialogue, I hope this will be helpful to those who want to write them. I also love the dynamic of Nakamura joining in. 

It seems like the students bring their own laptops to class? That’s an interesting canon addition. 

And can we just have a moment to talk about Kurahashi? Literally slapping the fucking table in excitement at the prospect of having an assassination picnic? Incredible. We stan. 

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (8/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

Lexa walked in ten minutes after opening time the next day. Clarke had just rung up a coffee to go when she saw her, her raincoat unzipped and revealing her sweater and the collar of her shirt beneath it. Beige this time. Clarke liked beige. Then again, she couldn’t think of a shirt Lexa had worn that she hadn’t liked. One couldn't help but wonder how large Lexa’s wardrobe was. It had to be quite the collection.

Waiting for her turn, Lexa kept her eyes on the display case. When she finally stepped up to the counter, Clarke arched a playful brow.

"Good morning," Lexa said.

"Pretty good so far."

Lexa visibly tried to contain a smile. “You changed the display."

Clarke glanced at the display, remembering all too vividly how she’d been pressed up against it. Judging by the way Lexa looked at her, she remembered it too.

“It's honey cake and croissants today - still warm,” Clarke replied, noticing just then that Lexa was fiddling with the strap of her satchel.

It was something Clarke had recently noticed about Lexa. She appeared confident, sometimes even stony-faced, but there were subtle signs showing the contrary. She was a master at hiding her nerves, but Clarke was starting to pick up on how she did it.

"Oh I meant to tell you - Wells loved Gus' honey. He was pretty die hard about his old brand but he's interested in switching."

"He did?" Lexa seemed very proud. "I'll have to let Gus know. And maybe try a slice of the cake then."

“For here?” Clarke asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yes. Please.”

“No drink?”

Lexa took out her wallet. “Coffee is fine.”

Clarke leaned closer. “Lexa, you don’t need to force yourself. You don’t like it. It’s fine - I don’t take offense.”

“I know. I just feel like a fraud staying here if I don't. Like wearing sneakers on an ice rink."

Clarke chuckled. “Well, speaking of ice, let me make you a chilled one. I'll go easy on the actual coffee part."

“You don’t have to go to the trouble-"

"It’s on the menu. You know that, right?”

Lexa looked up, as if noticing the menu above the coffee machines for the first time. It wasn't a long selection but, sure enough, there was an ice coffee and tea option.

“I hadn’t..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fuck.”

Clarke fully laughed then, her voice still a bit raspy from the early morning. "God, just go grab a seat. I’ll be right up with your order.”

Lexa left a crisp bill in the tip jar as she always did. She sat at her usual seat and took out her laptop and notepad. After she'd skimmed through some of her recent notes, Clarke came over with her slice of cake and iced coffee.

"Thank you."

To Lexa's evident surprise, Clarke took the seat opposite hers and propped her chin on her hand.

"I need to be sure you like it. No more grimacing in my café."

Lexa sighed bashfully. She picked up the cup and took her first sip of the chilled drink. After licking her lips and pausing for effect, she hummed.

"Hats off to the barista. This is really good, Clarke."

"Well of course it's good!" Clarke beamed, pleased with herself. "Now your funny faces can stop giving us a bad rep."

"Hardly doubt the press picked up on my expressions."

"You never know who's paying attention."

Lexa looked at her and smiled. "You?"

Clarke's cheeks felt warm. She glanced down. "That's one person."

Whatever that meant for them, Clarke didn't know. It was a strange place to be in. To know the woman sitting in front of her was responsible for the best kiss she'd had in recent memory, if not her entire life. She was aching to talk about it, but her worry Lexa would bolt was stronger.

Lexa cleared her throat and looked around. There was only a couple and an older man seated for now, but then again the sun wasn't even out.

"Not too busy yet?" She asked.

Clarke shook her head. "I give it thirty minutes. College classes and rush hour starting."

"Have you had more customers recently?"

"Definitely. I'm still not sure if it's all due to Finn's fall from grace, but I'm not complaining."

"You know what made me wonder?" Lexa asked. "He knew Echo and I were from the Gazette. He knew she and I went to his shops to write about him, but somehow he couldn't fathom it would be for anything other than praise. He wronged everyone on his staff and lied his way into smaller businesses believing it was justified. Now he's looking into suing for defamation. Can you imagine the ego?"

"Sounds like Finn Collins."

Lexa noticed a change in Clarke's expression. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just bad history. Finn had me believing a lot of things too. It might be the one thing he's actually good at."

"I see."

Clarke bit her lip, unsure where to go from there. It seemed like Lexa was thinking the same.

"Are we still…" Lexa lowered her voice. "Is this weekend still happening?"

Clarke's heart leapt. "If you want it to."

"I do."

Clarke forgot all about Finn Collins, her bitterness replaced by sudden excitement. "Give me your phone."

Lexa took it out and watched as Clarke typed her number in. She then grabbed her own phone and sent Lexa a message:

Coffeemaker ☕ Nice flannel today, I'd guessed blue

"I don't have a lot of blue," Lexa chuckled, then frowned. "Bit of a reductive name. I'd definitely give you something better."

Clarke shrugged. "That's between you and your phone. Anyway, I'll send you the details. I checked the weather and there's just a small chance of rain, so we should be good. We can do the River to Nowhere hike."

"Never heard of it."

"I figured. It's kind of a local secret. The view on Costial and the mountains is amazing though."

At Lexa's silence, Clarke felt a pang of worry. "This is still good, right?"

Lexa looked up. "Yes. Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

Clarke nodded, still not entirely convinced. But at least Lexa had come back. She was here, sitting where she belonged. Clarke stood up at the ding of the bell, knowing she didn't have much time before the morning rush.

"I hope you enjoy the cake."

"Thank you, Clarke."

* * *

Lexa came into the café every day. She apologized that she couldn’t stay too long before going to work, but she still came every day. Mostly in the morning, but once in the afternoon. Clarke saw the slight, quick pout on her face when she noticed her seat was occupied that day, and practically heard her sigh when she eventually found a tight spot on the other side of the counter.

"I thought we said no funny faces," Clarke told her in passing, too busy to stop but still yearning for interaction.

Lexa looked up, realizing then how close to Clarke this new seat was, though also much noisier and not conducive to writing. "My apologies," she said, just loud enough for Clarke to hear.

Clarke smiled to herself. That was mostly how they communicated that week, pleasantries here and there, asking how work was going, how Lexa's articles were progressing, if Clarke and Wells were going to start interviews soon. It was as casual as could be, but beneath the simple nature of their brief conversations was something neither of them could deny.

Desire. The kind that had Clarke panting into her pillow at night while she touched herself. The kind that turned every look and every touch into the most excruciatingly good form of foreplay Clarke had experienced.

It was in the way their fingers brushed together when Clarke gave Lexa her drink and pastry. The way Clarke caught Lexa looking her way, or perhaps Lexa caught Clarke. In those moments, Clarke felt the same thrill she'd felt when Lexa had entered the café after closing time.

But they had yet to actually talk about it, which made Clarke both impatient and anxious for the weekend.

Lexa could run or she could stay. It was something Clarke was keenly aware of, which was why she'd promised herself to be as honest as could be. The way they'd approached things before hadn't worked. Things had been left unsaid on various occasions, piling up until they became a tangled mess. That couldn't happen again. Clarke knew it and she had no reason to doubt Lexa knew it too.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her apron. Clarke finished making an order for a pick-up before reading it:

Lexa I'm off to work (yes I do have a real office despite appearances), but thank you for saving a croissant for me

Clarke glanced toward the fig tree, where she saw the empty table.

Clarke Ha, I was starting to think you'd quit. You're welcome

Lexa I'll see you tomorrow?

Clarke Yep, pick you up at 11am. Wear good walking shoes

Lexa Stilettos it is. Have a good rest of the day :)

Clarke chuckled, liking this lighter side of Lexa. Hopefully - and Clarke's hope had blossomed these days - it was a facet of Lexa she'd get to see more of.

* * *

Lexa didn't wear the stilettos, though Clarke wouldn't have been too upset if she did. She had a hunch Lexa had quite the fashion sense beyond her professional attire. Not that the shirts, blazers and tight pants didn't work for Clarke. Today it was her dark green knitted hat that had Clarke melting a little.

She drove through sleepy Costial with Lexa in the passenger seat, something she would have never imagined happening just a week ago. Clarke talked about some of the resumes she'd read with Wells over the week. One in particular made Lexa laugh out loud.

"Eating is a commendable skill, Clarke."

"It was the only word in the skills section. Just eating. What do I even do with that?"

"Well, hopefully they figure out they're better off being your customer than your employee."

"I just feel bad for Wells, he takes on so much already."

"No one stood out?"

"One woman did, but she'd be out of our budget. Honestly Wells doesn't even care about fancy certificates, just passion and impeccable hygiene."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

Clarke spotted the sign on the road that pointed them to the small parking area. It was a ten minute walk from the actual mountain trail, which itself was hard to find for anyone unfamiliar with it. Clarke hadn't been here in months, but it was perfect timing. The weather was kind and there wasn't a grey cloud in sight.

She parked the car and popped the trunk open.

"Are you ready?"

Lexa nodded. "Let's go."

They stored their water and food in one backpack that Lexa insisted on carrying, as the other one felt lighter than air. The trail was hidden behind a particularly spruce, but once they were on it, there was a clear grassy path snaking through the sprawling forest. In a few weeks, everything would be covered in snow. For now, it was a lovely clash of browns and greens, with shrubs and moss at the foot of pine and hardwood trees. 

"You know, I tried looking up this trail in the Gazette's search engine," Lexa said. "Not even one link. When you said it's a local secret, I didn't think you meant top secret."

Clarke smiled cheekily. "One thing you have to know about Costialites: we love tourists in our theaters and shops, not our nature."

"Any other hidden spots I might discover?"

Clarke stepped over a fallen tree, dead and yet full of life, with lichen and mushrooms covering the sides while insects skittered inside.

"Nu-uh. The inquisitive journalist's cap comes off. You can pick it up on the way back."

She heard Lexa's small laugh behind her. "If you say so."

They walked without speaking for a while, slowly going up as they appreciated the fresh air, bird chirps, and the novelty of doing something together for the first time. Clarke had been on this path with friends before; had even shown her mother - but she'd never come here with a potentially romantic partner. It was fun with friends, but there was a more intimate quality to it with Lexa. After days of only seeing each other surrounded by other people, it was a welcome change.

But Clarke remembered her earlier promise to herself.

"Lexa… I need to get something off my chest."

Lexa glanced at her, understanding this wouldn't be shoptalk.

"The push and pull between us…" Clarke started, fighting her nerves. "It really confused me."

"I know."

"It's just that, from my point of view, you sat in the café every week for six months but you were still a mystery. Then suddenly we were talking and… the mixed signals threw me off." Clarke paused, unsure how to word the next part delicately. "You run when things get too close, but then you come back and I think - this is it, she's taking a step forward. But it's not." Clarke stopped to look at her. "What I'm trying to say is I can't do that again. I don't need a label for whatever this is, but I do need to know we're on the same page. I'm sorry if this is brusque-"

"No, that's fair," Lexa interrupted. "Thank you for telling me. I want to be on the same page too."

Clarke waited for more, but Lexa turned her head toward the source of a trickling sound. "Is that the river?"

Clarke swallowed back her disappointment. "Yeah. Come on, we can follow it upstream."

* * *

If what Clarke had said had affected Lexa, she certainly didn't show it. Instead, Lexa started asking questions like she had at the café, interested in knowing about Clarke's life without divulging too much about hers in response. Clarke had to call her out on it:

"I thought you'd agreed to leave the journalist cap behind."

Lexa seemed surprised. "I can't ask about your job?"

"Can I ask about yours?"

Lexa kept her eyes on the rocky stream bed at their right, where the water flowed slowly down the slope.

"Sure."

"Did you always want to be a journalist?"

"No."

Clarke waited, then sighed. "A little more?"

Lexa slid her hand beneath the straps of the backpack. She was quiet for a while, then cleared her throat. "My grandmother raised me, but after she passed away when I was seventeen I had to grow up very quickly. I started working in a motel to save for college. Met a lot of people left behind by laws, so I had a fantasy of going into politics. Be a part of change."

Clarke startled a bit at the amount of information Lexa had unloaded in the space of a few seconds.

"I didn't know you were… I hadn't realized-" she stuttered. 

"Don't worry, I'm not a traumatized orphan, Clarke," Lexa said with a self-deprecating smile. "Anyway, it all worked out. Even got a scholarship."

"Still. That must've been hard."

Lexa nodded in acknowledgment. "When I got into college, it was like an all you can eat buffet. Politics didn't feel exciting anymore. But my counselor told me change could come from anywhere."

"So you took up writing?"

Lexa's expression suddenly changed, like she was in pain. "No, not right away."

Clarke left it at that, not wanting to push. A few minutes later, she stopped on the path and took Lexa's arm.

"Come on."

She guided her behind a pine and past a couple shrubs, where finally they reached the flat rock that overlooked Costial and its surrounding mountains. Lexa took off her backpack, stopping just a few feet from the edge.

"Jesus, Clarke."

"I know."

They took in the view for a few minutes, until Clarke laid out the quilt she'd put in her own bag. She sat down and looked up at Lexa, noticing just then there were tears in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She worriedly asked.

"Just give me… I need a minute."

Clarke waited patiently, knowing they had both reached a point of change. She would stay here the entire night if Lexa needed it.

Lexa sat down next to her. "I never wanted to confuse you," she finally said, her voice full of regret. "It's just that I didn't expect you."

Clarke caught her eyes, hoping Lexa wouldn't look away. She didn't.

"But you took the first step."

"I was… hoping I was ready." Lexa swallowed hard. "I keep to myself and I don't get close, because… because the only three people I chose to love passed away."

Clarke froze, hardly even blinking as she absorbed Lexa's words.

"First there was Luna, my best friend since I learned how to walk. We did everything together for years. Had our best and our worst ideas together. She drowned during a family vacation." Lexa's fingers dug into a patch of grass by the quilt. "Then there was Ontari, in junior year. She was my first… everything. Most of the time she was angry because her mom was a drunk, but she was kind with me." Lexa's jaw clenched. "She was stabbed by some lunatic for seventeen dollars and her bracelet."

If Lexa had managed to keep her voice from breaking before, her efforts were in vain this time.

"And then Anya," she said tearfully.

Clarke sat closer.

"Hey, you don't have to-"

"No," Lexa abruptly said. "I want to. I need to." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Anya was my sister - how I imagined a sister would be anyway. She took me under her wing in undergrad. Pushed me toward journalism when I hesitated and kept me from making bad decisions out of anger. Without her, where I am today would only be a dream." Lexa's voice steadied then as she contemplated the three blades of grass in her hand. "Four years ago Anya lost her fight against breast cancer. Her last words to me were, I fought like hell, didn't I?"

Lexa let go of the grass. "You were right that night at the bar. In a way I do use people for their stories. I eat up their words and I spit them back out because my own stories - they're no good. The good ones are all tainted. I don't talk about my past because my memories only have ghosts in them. And nothing hurts more than realizing the only people who knew you are gone."

Clarke felt stricken, overwhelmed with sadness for the woman baring her soul in front of her. She couldn't imagine losing a best friend, let alone three. She couldn't imagine having so many of her memories tarnished by sudden, senseless death. Losing Wells would be like losing a piece of her heart. He knew her fears just as well as her dreams. He knew how to make her laugh and how to get her to stop crying. If he disappeared from her life, Clarke could see how that would feel like losing a part of herself. Memories shared would be wrecked by grief.

"When the visions happened," Lexa continued, "suddenly it was like hope was on everyone's lips. Lincoln was the first to tell me his. I was on the opposite coast, living life like a robot, when my estranged cousin calls to tell me he's seen us dance together at his wedding." Lexa smiled at the memory. "I thought he was losing his mind - couldn't even remember him honestly. But then more reports came in. And he kept calling, kept talking to me about Costial, this beautiful city he'd always wished my grandma and I visited. Apparently she used to send him postcards every year. For her sake, I agreed. I reconnected with Lincoln and… I fell in love with Costial."

Clarke knew how easy that was. It hadn't taken her long to know she'd build on her dreams here. After college, leaving had never even been in question.

"I wanted to do something to honor it," Lexa said as she stared at the skyline. "I know there are already thousands of pieces on visions out there, and I know there'll be thousands more after mine, but they won't be on this place. They won't be about Indra Keene reconnecting with her brother thanks to her vision of them having dinner. They won't be about Jonathan Murphy working hard to get his GED after seeing himself graduate college. I know I haven’t been here long, but this place is the first that's felt like home. I thought it deserved to be written about."

Lexa looked at Clarke. "And you… I guess I wanted to know what hope looked like for you. You're at the café every day, always smiling at people, even the rude ones. You seem so happy, so eager to put in the work to make your dream a reality. I couldn't help but wonder what else you might dream about. But really I just transcribe what I hear. I'm no more than a typist here."

"You sell yourself short."

Lexa shook her head. "I don't mind being the one listening. I like how I fit in Costial. When I got here - when I was driving with the trunk of my car crammed with my stuff, I passed the welcome sign and I… I just felt so relieved. Like I could finally breathe. Move forward."

"And you did."

Lexa nodded. "When I found out the Gazette was hiring it all clicked into place. But the pain crept back eventually. Change isn't… Well, old habits die hard and all that."

"But you've already brought so much good here. Look at your article on the Mountain Men."

Lexa shrugged. "Hermit solidarity."

Clarke chuckled softly. "You're not a hermit, Lexa. You clearly have a talent with people… It's not just all because you listen. But you also need to be kind to yourself. Does Lincoln know?"

"Lincoln understands more than he lets on I think. He's been the best support I could ask for, but it's different with family. You… you made me want to hope again."

"You can."

"Anya said the same."

Clarke waited a beat. "Lexa… do you think you're cursed or something?"

Lexa lied back on the quilt with her hands on her stomach. "It's not like that. Clearly there are powerful unknowns out there, but I don't believe a witch placed a curse on me, no. What I do believe is that some people attract bad energy. That no matter how hard you try, your place in the world is destructive."

"No," Clarke breathed out, horrified. "I don't believe that one second."

"But wouldn't you wonder - in my position? Wouldn't you try to put your theory to the test?"

"So you're just going to be alone for the rest of your life? That's your big experiment?"

Lexa shrugged. "I have everything I need - a good job, good apartment. It's not like I don't know anyone. Lincoln's practically introduced me to half the town. I know how to be sociable. I know how to work a room. I don't need anything more."

"People talk a whole lot about what they need in this town," Clarke sighed. "But what do you want?"

Lexa swallowed thickly as she looked up at her. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Lexa reached for her hand, hesitant at first, just fingers brushing. "Your vision... if that's what you wanted from me, I could give you that. I could be that person."

Clarke knew what Lexa was offering - wish fulfillment. Sex without the next morning breakfast. Sex without intimacy. Clarke had gone down that road before. She was good at it.

"No." She said the word before she even thought it. No, she couldn't do it. She couldn't spend a night with this woman and watch her slip out into the night. She couldn't pretend it hadn't happened the next morning; that they could go back to normal. There was no normal with Lexa - there never had been. "I want all of you, Lexa. If you're not ready for that, and I understand it, then we can be friends. But you need to stop looking at me like you do because otherwise I'll..." Clarke shook her head. "I won't even be able to be that. I did the whole casual thing and frankly I'm over it."

Lexa nodded silently, then retracted her hand. Her brow furrowed in thought, but she didn't add anything.

Clarke lied down next to her and sighed. "I think you're stronger than you know and I think your vision proved it. Your future doesn't have to be some kind of condemnation to solitude."

"And what if I hurt you?"

"My father used to say pain is a part of relationships, even the best ones. It doesn't mean we stop fighting for them."

"I don't mean hurt you by forgetting to clean the oven, Clarke."

"That would definitely be a blow." Clarke turned on her side, taking in Lexa's jawline and the fading tear tracks on her cheek. "But I don't believe in curses or bad energy. I believe in people and people acting on their choices. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Lexa turned to face her as well. She brushed a finger down Clarke's temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're very stubborn, Clarke Griffin."

Clarke smiled. "You have no idea."

* * *

They packed up quietly after snacking on some pieces of honey cake, the emotional toll weighing heavily on both of them. Clarke knew Lexa needed the space, but she'd said her piece and it had felt right. The ball was in Lexa's court.

They went down the same path they'd taken, zigzagging with the river. Clarke thought to bring up Lexa's article, but felt a strong drop crash on the top of her head and froze.

"Oh no."

Lexa frowned. "Did you forget something?"

"This is your first autumn here, right?"

"Yes?" Lexa replied hesitantly.

"Hm. Well, there's this thing called the Costial shower. Usually in the winter, but sometimes after a long week of rain it creeps up on you. Doesn't last longer than a few minutes, but yeah."

Lexa looked up. "I don't feel anything."

As soon as she said it, a downpour started. Lexa flinched at the sudden wet cold, the weight of the rain making the tip of her green hat sag.

"Lovely," she deadpanned.

"Run."

"What?"

Clarke bolted like a bat out of hell.

"Clarke!"

Before she even knew it, she started laughing as Lexa called her name behind her. Luckily the trail was more grass than mud, not yet too slippery. Lexa caught up to her.

"I'm pretty sure you can't outrun rain," she yelled before laughing herself.

Clarke hadn't felt like this in a long time; adrenaline pumping through her as she laughed like a kid on the playground. She spotted what she'd been running toward just a few feet away.

"No, but you can reach the canopy in time!"

She slowed to a stop and then pointed up. Lexa realized the rain didn't reach them anymore, though they could still hear its angry fall. They were sheltered by the dense crowns of the trees, high and thick above them.

Clarke bent down with her hands on her knees, her laugh fading. "Ah, fuck. Haven't run like that since college."

Lexa pressed her back against a tree, catching her breath as she arched her brow at Clarke. A few drops still dripped down her face, but their clothes weren’t too wet.

"What?" Clarke asked. "It was finals week and I wanted tacos before closing time."

"I know I left my journalist cap out there, but you could've mentioned this."

"I really didn't think this would happen."

A slow smile spread on Lexa's face. Clarke felt her heart race, this time not from running.

"Lexa."

"Yes?"

"I told you not to look at me like that."

"Only if I wasn't sure."

Clarke held her breath, not knowing what to say for once. Lexa crossed the path and stopped in front of her.

"I've… been running my whole life. Moving from place to place thinking it would be easier each time. Running's never made me happy." Lexa exhaled deeply, nervous but not hesitant. She let out a small laugh. "Until now."

Clarke pulled on the straps of Lexa's backpack and kissed her. She felt Lexa cup the back of her neck and moaned, this kiss nothing like the one at the café and yet just as talented at making her legs weak. This was slow, purposeful, the full meaning of it hitting Clarke like a force. Lexa nipped on her bottom lip.

"I want all of you too," she said in a low voice, as if they weren't already alone in a forest. "I can't promise I won't mess up, but I want to try."

"Okay," Clarke stuttered in response, dangerously affected by Lexa rubbing circles on the back of her neck.

"Is slow okay?" Lexa asked.

"Slow is good. Slow is perfect."

"Thank you, Clarke. For being stubborn."

"My pleasure."

* * *

On the drive back, Clarke found it hard to stop smiling. Their shoes occasionally squeaked, but the discomfort was worth the memory that preceded it. Lexa took off her hat and started braiding her damp hair, humming along with the music Clarke had turned on. Lexa insisted Clarke drive home and didn't need to drop her off, as the view on Costial had made her want to walk in its streets for a bit. Clarke desperately needed a hot shower, so didn't protest too long. 

She understood the reasoning better when Lexa followed her to her apartment door. 

"I see how it is," Clarke grinned.

"A proper first date always ends on the stoop. That's what my grandmother used to say."

Clarke leaned back against the door. "First date, huh?"

Lexa stepped closer. "Slow," she murmured.

"Absolutely."

Lexa pressed a kiss against her neck. When Clarke thought she'd pull away, Lexa instead pressed closer and started sucking slowly. Clarke's mouth parted open and she closed her eyes, dropping her keys when she felt Lexa's hands on her waist. Her arm went around Lexa's neck, breathing harder when Lexa's tongue licked over her pulse, soft and tender and yet more sensual than Clarke had felt in a long time.

Lexa pulled back with a satisfied smile. "I want to take you on another date."

"You better," Clarke rasped.

"Hmm. I'll text you."

"Are you sure you don't want a towel or something?"

"If I stay one minute longer I don't think I'll leave, Clarke."

Clarke's eyes darkened. "Fuck. Okay. Get out of here."

Lexa had the gall to smirk before she turned around, walking down the hall like she was worth a million bucks. Well, Clarke thought, she could do slow too. She could wind up Lexa Woods very, very slowly.

-

[part nine]

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

For the Flame Always So Loved the Stars - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Kara Kent, Clark Kent, Lois Lane Pairing: jondami Summary: Nothing stays the same forever. But fairytales always end the same way. A/N: This is just a whole fucking lot of self-indulgent garbage. Takes place over 5 years, Damian is 18-23, and Jon is 15-20. The last section is just their superhero way of saying ‘I love you and always will.’ but like. Subtly. I wrote this for myself, but I’m pleased with how it came out, so I hope you like it too. Sorry not sorry for literally the first line of this fic haha. The legend was googled so I took the most similar parts in all the wikis I read. I ignored the part where they all said ‘their story always ends in tragedy and betrayal’ but I’m going for happy endings dammit.

~~

Dick Grayson died when Damian was eighteen.

He wasn’t there. No one from the family was. It was a simple carjacking gone wrong. A single bullet, straight to the chest, from a scared kid who thought completing the initiation to the local gang was his only option to survive in this life.

It was almost funny. A single bullet. No poison, no torture. No evil mastermind, or world-ending apocalypse. No battles against armies, or lives and loves at stake. Not anything they dealt with daily.

Just an old car with a purse left on the passenger seat that someone saw. Just a weak spot in aged armour that was going to be replaced in the next year or so.

Just a single bullet.

Damian doesn’t remember much from after he was told, after he came home from class and found his siblings and Stephanie waiting for him in the parlor. He remembered knowing it must have been bad; Tim’s face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Stephanie was the one who told him. Cassandra held his hand. But that was about it. That was all his mind supplied.

That, and the fact that his first thought after being told was: ‘But that’s not fair.’

Not fair because Dick was the best of them, in every way. Because he was funny, smart, kind, and every single thing a hero should be. A good person.

Not fair because Damian only got eight years with him, his closest confidante, one of his only friends. Because Damian decided at age ten that a world without Dick Grayson was not one he wanted to live in, and yet here he was, in the worst reality he could think of.

He doesn’t remember much from after he was told. He remembers Stephanie saying: “Dick died, Damian.” He remembers thinking: ‘But that’s not fair.’

Then...he remembers a pain in his knees. Remembers blinking and finding himself staring at the floor, which was much closer than it should have been. He remembers his sister kneeling in front of him, allowing him to press his  forehead into her shoulder. Remembers Jason next to him, rubbing his back, asking if they should get him water, or take him upstairs.

He remembers hearing Tim sob, and that might be the most memorable thing of the moment, because his body registered that that’s what he wanted to do too, he wanted to cry.

But he couldn’t, because you don’t cry over things that weren’t real. And that’s obviously why he collapsed, why he couldn’t form words to come out of his mouth, why his mind was refusing to remember this moment.

Because it wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

~~

Jon was antsy. Nervous.

Alfred had called days ago to inform him and his parents what had happened. And Jon had already been halfway out the door when the butler interjected to request that none of them visit, not right now. The Waynes and their closest companions were grieving, and needed to be alone.

And he hated that – he hated being away from Damian on a good day, but now, when Damian was going to need him? It was pure agony.

So two weeks later, when Clark gave him the okay, he took off to Gotham faster than he ever had before, and bypassed every bit of security measures that Bruce asked him to complete upon arriving.

He found Damian in the cemetery, and he had a feeling it was a place Damian didn’t often leave anymore.

Jon said nothing as he approached. Just plopped next to Damian and silently wrapped his arms around the other’s neck. Damian didn’t say anything either, but he leaned gratefully into the embrace, reaching up to cling to Jon’s forearm.

“I’m so sorry.” Jon whispered, leaning back. He didn’t leave Damian’s personal space, though. Kept their shoulders touching, knees keeping each other warm. “I…I don’t know what else to say. To think.”

“Me neither.” Damian murmured. His voice sounded dry, and Jon wondered when he last drank anything, or ate. “But…I’m glad you’re here.”

Jon let himself smile a little bit, and reached out to hold Damian’s hand. Damian didn’t refute the gesture, and even squeezed Jon’s fingers between his. “I wish I’d had been allowed to come sooner.”

Damian shrugged. “It was better you didn’t see any of us as we…were.”

“Were, huh?” Jon asked dubiously. He glanced forward towards Dick’s grave. Flowers and statues covered it as a makeshift memorial, and the flowers were starting to wilt. “…How are you doing with all this?”

Damian absently shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

Jon waited, sensing there was more. Had a feeling that in their grief-induced isolation, not many feelings were shared amongst the Wayne family. That they probably all suffered in silence, despite being together.

“I…I didn’t get enough time with him.” Damian continued, just like Jon knew he would. Because Damian didn’t trust easily, but when he did, he trusted you with everything. And Jon knew he was one of the few Damian trusted. Maybe the only one, now. “Eight years. That’s it.”

He squeezed Jon’s hand again.

“If I’d had known that’s all we would have gotten, I…I wouldn’t have wasted it. There was so much I wanted to do with him. Learn from him.” Damian sniffed, and Jon looked up at his eyes. But he didn’t see a hint of tears. In fact, he saw nothing. Damian’s eyes were empty. “But now I’ll never get the chance. I’ll never get to ask how he escaped Father and Gotham. How he survived on his own, and found himself, or how can I do that too. How I can leave Robin, and start over somewhere else like he did. How he rebuilt his life, how he became and remained kind. Did he think it was possible I can remain kind too? Did he…did he believe in me? Or what about how…”

Damian trailed off, and Jon was almost glad he did. Because in his ramblings, Jon heard something, and he wasn’t so sure Damian meant to let it slip.

“You want to leave Robin?” Jon asked softly. Damian’s mouth clamped shut. “Since when?”

Damian stared at the stone in front of him for a moment, before sighing and looking at the ground.

“A few months.” Damian admitted. “I…just don’t fit in it anymore, I don’t think. Or it doesn’t fit me. And I can’t stay in Batman’s shadow forever, no matter who is wearing the mantle. Besides, Grayson left it when he was around my age. As did Drake, even if it wasn’t by his choice. I might as well follow the tradition as well.”

“…Does your dad know?”

“…No. No one does.” Damian frowned. “I was going to speak with Grayson about it next time I saw him, but now…now you’re the only one who knows by default, I suppose.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.” Jon smiled. He waited a moment, then looked up at the sky. “So…what do you want to do after you leave Robin? Find a new name? Quit and go on the straight and narrow?”

“I don’t know. That’s…what I was going to speak to Grayson about.” Damian admitted softly. “I want to still help, of course. But…is behind a mask the best way? Is Gotham where I’m best utilized?” He sighed, and curled his knees to his chest. Though he never let go of Jon’s hand. “But now…now I am even more confused.”

“Why?”

“Because Batman needs a Robin, and I can’t leave my father now, Jon.” Damian almost snapped, like it was obvious. “He’s grieving, and he’s lost. He shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Absolutely not. I agree.” Jon nodded. “But…it can’t all fall on you, D. Just like it can’t fall on Alfred or Tim. He has his family, no matter where in the world they – you – are, and he has his friends. He has my dad, and Diana.”

“This is different. This is the loss of Richard. And not even Superman can heal that wound.” Damian shook his head. “Not to mention…if I left now, would my father see it as a betrayal? Abandonment? Would the family?”

“They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.” Jon argued. “You’re growing up, and they all know how it is. You can’t be stuck as the Boy Wonder forever, that’s not fair to you. Does the timing kind of suck? Maybe. But also…maybe this is the best time.” He hesitated, but squeezed Damian’s hand and said his thoughts anyway. “Maybe this is exactly what Dick would want you to do. Spread your wings and fly, so to speak.”

Damian stared at the ground. “…I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Jon. I truly don’t. What if, without his guidance, I’m tempted by my mother again, and actually consider any offer she makes? What if I stray, and Batman cuts me loose, like I was burden in the first place? What if-”

“Hey, hey – stop. Don’t talk like that.” Jon shook their clasped hands. “None of that is going to happen, okay? Despite the fact that it won’t ever happen at all in the first place, I won’t let it. I promise. Alright?”

Damian didn’t look at him. But after a moment, he let himself tilt to the side, and lean his head on Jon’s shoulder.

“…Thanks for being here, Kent.” Damian whispered. “It means a lot.”

Jon let go of Damian’s hand, only to wrap his arm around his shoulders instead. He looked at the tombstone at their feet, sent a silent prayer up to Dick himself. “Don’t even mention it, D.”

~~

A few months later, Robin had all but disappeared off the streets. It prompted news articles and primetime specials. Conspiracy theory websites and Twitter hashtags.

Jon liked to print them out and bring them to Damian every time he visited.

He was still in Gotham, and even still going out on patrol with Batman and the rest. But now his uniform was all black, and he stayed in the background as much as he could. This new shadow of Batman’s was never mentioned in the papers, never caught in a photo. A ghost, almost.

That wasn’t Damian’s new moniker, though. He still hadn’t chosen one.

“Not even a general idea?” Jon asked one day, as he and Conner visited. Tim had taken the newly printed article and was reading it over with an amused smirk, Conner cackling behind him. “Or like, a motif?”

“Not a priority.” Damian had shrugged. “Maybe I’ll never pick one.”

“Now you’re just being stubborn.” Jon pouted. “…How’s Bruce doing?”

Damian shrugged again. “Same as always. Attempts to lock himself in the cave, or in his office with work from Wayne Enterprises. I drag him out of the house at least every other day.”

Jon pursed his lips.

“But he’s been smiling lately. Like real smiles. So, it’s a start.” Damian promised. He knew Jon didn’t like this, Damian caring for Bruce. Because he knew that same care was not being reciprocated in the way it should.

“How long are you going to stay?” Jon asked, as he did every visit. “In Gotham, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Also not a priority.” Damian sighed. “I’m needed here, both in uniform and at home. When I feel I’m not necessarily needed, then I’ll start considering my options elsewhere.”

~~

Something felt different when Jon was nineteen.

Clark and Conner found him sitting in the kitchen, staring fiercely into a soda can when they arrived home one afternoon.

“Hey, champ.” Clark hummed, leaning down to kiss Jon’s temple.

“Hey, Dad. Hey Kon” Jon sighed. “How was Gotham?”

“Gloomy, like always.” Conner chuckled, plopping down across from him. “Damian said hello, by the way.”

Jon felt himself blush a little bit. And he shouldn’t have, he’s known Damian forever. But lately, it felt like the two of them were growing closer, in a way he never expected when they were just teenagers trying to live up to their fathers’ legacies.

In a way that included flirting, holding hands in a park, in front of paparazzi. A way that included what may have been a date, since it ended in a quick, barely there kiss.

“He said he was going to give an answer to a question he knows you’d ask.” Clark continued, drawing Jon out of his reverie. “No, he has not decided on a new codename yet.”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “He knows this isn’t like a blood contract or something, right? It doesn’t have to be permanent! It’s not that big of a choice!”

Clark held his hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger, son.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jon sighed. He sat back up and watched his father grab a glass and start to fill it in the sink. “Speaking of codenames and all that…”

Clark tilted his head as Conner sat up.

“I don’t…when do you think…” Jon huffed. “Conner, when did you realize you didn’t want to…be called Superboy anymore?”

Conner pursed his lips, looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Guess I never really thought about it. Just…stopped using it. And eventually everyone else did too.”

“I don’t think I knew that.” Clark mumbled sheepishly. “What do you go by now, may I ask?”

“Nothing, really. And not like Damian where I’m still deciding something. But just…Kon, usually. Different enough from Conner, honestly.” Conner grinned. “A lot of people also seem to think it’s Con – as in Pros and Cons? Works real well for the taunting wordplay and all that too.”

Clark snorted. “I’m sure your friends love the puns.”

“Bart does. Cassie, depends on the day. Tim is like a disappointed dad all the time anyway, so he doesn’t count.” Conner waved off. He returned his attention to Jon, whose attention seemed to be drifting off again. “Why do you ask, squirt?”

Jon frowned at the name, and that was new. Normally he didn’t mind the random nicknames his older brother gave him. “Because…I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t think…I want to be called Superboy anymore.”

Clark joined them at the table, sitting down carefully. “Why not?”

“Because, I’m not a boy anymore. I’m a teenager. I mean, I’m…I’m practically an adult!” Jon sounded exasperated already, like he’d had this conversation a million times. “It’s…it’s demeaning, and childish, and…and…”

He trailed off into a huff, slumping in his chair.

“I don’t even know if I want to keep the Super part, honestly.” Jon glanced at Clark. “Sorry, Dad.”

Clark shook his head, raising his hand. “None taken, Jonno.”

“Especially since I don’t feel all that super most of the time anyway.” He sighed.

“…If you want out of the life, Jon, I wouldn’t blame you.” Clark offered. “I’d love it, honestly. It’d just mean you’d be safer.”

“No, no. I want to be a hero. I want to help. I just.” Jon leaned back forward, hiding his face in his hands. “This is stupid. I feel stupid.”

Conner smiled and leaned forward, slapping his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Not stupid. Pretty sure every hero has gone through it at least once in their tenure. Even Batman.”

“And he settled on Bat. Man.” Clark winked. “So obviously not all names are winners.”

Jon looked over to Clark. “…You’re not disappointed?”

“That you want a new codename? Not at all.” Clark grinned. “My only request is…don’t take over four years to decide something like Damian is.”

Jon smiled. “I’ll try.”

~~

“Maybe I’ll just go by Krypto.” Jon lamented from the bed. “He’s a dog, so I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“If you started going by Krypto.” Damian countered from the bathroom doorway. “I’m disowning you as my friend.”

Jon rolled to his side, deeper into the blankets. “What about as your potential bedmate?”

Damian’s face twisted, even as he came forward. “Christ, Jon. We haven’t even done anything, how do you still make that sound so dirty?”

“Because I know what annoys you. And if you’d just let me say boyfriend-”

“Which we are not officially.” Damian countered. “…Yet.”

“-Then I wouldn’t have to say things like bedmate, or friend with benefits.”

“We haven’t done anything, there is no benefit for either of us at this point.” Damian reiterated, even as Jon tugged at his arm when he got close enough. Damian sat on the edge of the bed, and almost smiled when Jon shimmied over to place his head in his lap. “Though I am finding your company less beneficial by the minute…”

Jon cackled, even as he felt Damian’s fingers twist into his hair. “Hey, if nothing else, I’m a good cuddle buddy, right?”

“My cat is better.” Damian shrugged. “Probably.”

“I’ll take the probably as a win.” Jon grinned. “…But hey, think about it this way.”

“Hm?”

“Even if I went by something dumb like Krypto, at least I picked a new codename.”

Damian frowned, and pulled his hand back. “For as charming as your parents are, neither of them taught you how to flirt properly, did they?”

Jon immediately pulled his arms out of the blanket, latching on to Damian’s waist. “You hate when I sidetrack a conversation. I was getting back on point.”

“…Fair.” Damian sighed. “I’ll allow it.”

“…Are you any closer to picking anything?” Jon asked. “According to Barry, you’re throwing off everyone’s betting pools.”

“I...have an idea.” Damian murmured, keeping his gaze away from Jon’s. “But I still need to think of a backup.”

“What? Why?” Jon asked.

“…Personal reasons.” Damian murmured. “And I don’t wish to get my hopes up.”

Jon watched him silently.

“But we aren’t talking about me.” Damian countered. “Have you thought of any other suggestions for yourself?”

“I don’t know. Something related to my dad, like Krypton? Or even like your dad – he named himself after what he was scared of, right? Or weakness. So, Kryptonite.” Jon listed. “Or maybe I should just be lazy and follow everyone else’s lead. Starman, or Sunguy or something stupid like that.”

“Hm. Well. Those are certainly…options.” Damian tilted his head apologetically. “I’d offer assistance, but…well…”

Jon laughed.

“Be my distraction instead, how about that?” Jon suggested instead. Without warning, he used his momentum to throw Damian back onto the bed, cocoon him in the blankets as he loomed overhead. “Because there’s totally a lot of other things I’d like to be doing than thinking of new codenames.”

Damian smiled as Jon leaned in for a kiss.

~~

He didn’t know how Damian had lasted four years without a name. It’d only been a few months for himself, a few months of not using any name, and he felt like he was going crazy.

He also felt like he was a total letdown.

He was a Kent, for crying out loud. Son of Superman and one of the world’s greatest journalists. And here, he couldn’t choose a name, couldn’t pick a damn word.

Not to mention, it was detrimental in the field. When he didn’t notice an enemy coming behind him, or someone needed his help – he had no name to be called. And they couldn’t just shout Jon.

How did Damian make it look so easy? Because Damian and his family were freaks. They all moved too in-sync, too well trained. They were like animals themselves – they didn’t need to speak, movement was like instinct. Communication could be silent, because all of them were always three steps ahead of each other.

He let out a guttural groan as he entered the apartment, slammed the door behind him a little too hard. Heard the squeak of the chair in his mother’s office as she stood to greet him.

“Hi honey.” She called, walking into the room. She took in the annoyance on his face and gave him a sympathetic, knowing grin. “It’s not the end of the world, Jon. Names aren’t that big of a deal. So long as you’re helping, who cares what your name is?”

“I know, I know.” Jon mumbled, kicking off his shoes. “I’m just frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard! Why doesn’t anything feel right?”

“Because it’s not.” Lois shrugged simply, leading the way into the kitchen. She motioned for Jon to sit, and got out a mug for him. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. It might take a while, but – when you know, you know.”

Jon groaned again. “Mom, I love you – but that was literally no help whatsoever.”

“Sometimes, the truth isn’t helpful.” She laughed, pouring him a glass of ice tea. She set it in front of him, and kissed his head. “But if you’re really struggling with this…talk to your father. He’s helped a young hero or two discover a new path before. You’re no different just because you’re his son.” She paused. “In fact, I’m a little surprised Damian hadn’t told you.”

“Told me what?” Jon stomach nearly dropped. “Dad finally helped him decide on a name too?!”

“Of course not. Damian is as stubborn and tight-lipped as his own idiot of a father.” Lois rolled her eyes, but it was fond. “No, his brother – Dick.”

Jon blinked.

“Nightwing was a Kryptonian name. From the Kryptonian legend of Nightwing and Flamebird.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Even if you don’t want you father’s help on a name, ask him about the story. It’s very good.”

~~

Tim found Damian in the cave alone, and his gut immediately told him that something was off. Not wrong, but…not necessarily good.

“Hey.” He offered. “What’s up?”

Damian didn’t move from the computer chair. He looked too much like Bruce in that moment – slouched, hands steepled in front of his face, looking too thoughtful for someone so young.

“I’d like to talk to you.” Damian returned, just as vaguely.

“I’m all ears.”

Damian hesitated a moment. Dragged it to two. Tim was about to speak, to push the conversation along, when Damian sighed. “I…we didn’t do it right last time. And I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Not here. Not with you.”

“…Damian?” Tim asked, moving towards him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No, no. I just.” He sighed. “I wanted to ask your…opinion.”

“On?”

“I think I’ve chosen a new moniker to go by.” Damian murmured. “But I want to make sure I had permission first.”

“Permission?” Tim repeated, bewildered. “I mean…as long it’s not like Red Robin or Red Hood or something, I think you can go by whatever you wa-”

“Nightwing.”

Damian’s voice was so quiet when he said it, Tim almost thought he’d misheard, or that maybe Damian didn’t actually speak at all. That it was maybe a breeze, or a ghost.

But when Damian said nothing else, eyes still not on him, Tim realized he said exactly as he’d heard. “…Really?”

Damian nodded, but seemed to swallow a lump in his throat.

“I mean, those are quite some shoes to fill, especially after all these years, but…” Then Tim paused, replayed what Damian already said. “…Wait, why would you need my permission to use Dick’s old name?”

Damian still didn’t look at him. “Because last time I changed names, I took yours.” He frowned. “I stole yours.”

Tim shrugged. “It was over a decade ago. I know you and I have held a lot of grudges in our lives, but trust me. I’m over that one.”

“And I know Todd would never want Nightwing.” Damian continued as if Tim never spoke. “But…you were next in line. You loved Grayson like I did.” Finally, he looked up, eyes boring into Tim’s. “And you’d deserve it.”

Tim stepped back like someone had punched him in the chest. “Damian…”

“You do, and you know it.” Damian continued. “You’ve fought tooth and nail for respect in this family, for every title you’ve ever carried. You fought for your independence, and have thrived as Red Robin. In a way, you are everything Nightwing embodies, and you deserve the title most.” Damian’s gaze dropped once more. “And I don’t want to take that opportunity from you. Not like I’ve taken everything else from you too.”

Tim just stared.

“He would have chosen you himself. I know it. If he were…” Damian trailed off. Seemed to have to take a moment to compose himself. “…If he were still here.”

Tim lowered his own eyes at the thought. It’d been five years since their beloved older brother died. Despite what the world tried to say, time didn’t heal all wounds, and the loss of Dick Grayson was a wound that seemed almost infected now, especially for Damian.

The world was less without him. Less bright, less kind, less happy – less everything.

Just…less.

After a moment Tim smiled. Picked his head up and moved forward so he could crouch next to the chair, leaning his arms on it. Despite being twenty-three years old, Damian turned his head away so he didn’t have to look at Tim, just like a child.

“I don’t want Nightwing.” Tim said honestly. “I’m happy with where I am and what I’m doing. But I appreciate you asking. I’m…honored, in fact.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I guess.” Damian mumbled.

“But I have to say I disagree with you.” Tim leaned his chin on his arms. “Dick wouldn’t have picked me to succeed him. He wouldn’t have picked anyone. But he would have been so proud to see you take it on after him.”

Damian closed his eyes, sucked his lips between his teeth.

“Because, for once, I’ll toot my own horn a little bit. I won’t disagree with you on this one. Maybe I do deserve the Nightwing name.” Tim admitted. “But I’m not the only one.”

Damian didn’t answer, but shook his head.

“You do too, Damian.” Tim reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. “You’ve overcome so much. You’ve done so much. And Dick was proud of you for it until the day he died. I know he was.”

Damian opened his eyes and looked at Tim. The tears immediately fell down his cheeks.

“And he’d be honored, knowing you wanted to follow in his footsteps, and carry on his legacy, for a second time.” Tim chuckled. “Especially after your first words to us when you were a kid was how badly you wanted to be Batman.”

“One day I still will be.” Damian blubbered with a laugh. Tim laughed too.

“I know.” He hummed warmly. “But that was all a long, surprisingly emotionally-charged way to say: while it’s not mine to give, yes you have my permission to become Nightwing.”

Even as his tears continued to fall, Damian stared at Tim for a few more seconds, before leaning forward and, once again to Tim’s surprise, enveloped his older brother in a hug.

“Thank you, Drake.” He whispered. Tim just let his smile widen as he held Damian just as tightly back. “Thank you so much.”

~~

“Tim told me Damian finally picked a new name.” Conner said one morning, as the two of them sat on a rooftop overlooking Metropolis. “…He also mentioned you two might be dating?”

Jon’s eyes widened slightly as he tried to keep his heart rate in check. Damian had told Tim?

“He hasn’t told me about choosing a name.” Jon said instead. “When did this supposedly happen?”

“The other day. Maybe he hasn’t made it official yet.” Conner shrugged. Then he grinned. “Though you’d think he’d tell his boyfriend about it anyway.”

Jon frowned. “We’re not dating.” A hesitation. “Officially.”

“Ooooh.” Conner mocked, scooting closer. “Tell me everything.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but laughed as he pushed Conner’s shoulder. “First off, not your business. And second, there’s nothing to tell? We hang out. We hold hands. We…do things.”

Conner wiggled his eyebrows.

“Stop.” Jon chuckled. “I just…like being with him. Being close to him makes me feel happy. Safe. All that cliché stuff.”

“Has he reciprocated?” Jon nodded. “Then why not official?”

“His choice. I think he feels like he’d be judged for having actual emotions or something.” Jon shrugged. “I also think he feels like he’s…not good enough? Or a bad person, or something, and is hoping I might find someone else before we’re legit.”

“Ouch.”

“It sucks, but…I get it.” Jon sighed. “And he just…has stuff going on. Mentally, I think.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we started flirting a little bit right before Dick died. So our whole relationship so far, romantically, he’s trying to deal with the loss, with the vacuum that loss created in his family, and growing in his role as a hero.” Jon listed. “He’s stuck in his own head so much that honestly I’m just happy when I can get him to smile some days.”

“That’s sweet.” Conner grinned. “And proof you’re head over heels.”

“I mean…did I ever deny that?” Jon grinned back, but it was sad. Conner’s own smile fell slightly.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Jon exhaled a bitter laugh. “That obvious?”

“Does he know?”

“I think so?” Jon thought out loud. “And I think that’s why he thinks himself such a terrible person.”

“Because he doesn’t love you back?”

“No, no. I think he absolutely does.” Jon said confidently. “It’s just like I said – he thinks himself as a bad person, and that I deserve better.”

“That’s…” Conner pursed his lips. “…quite the conundrum.”

“Yeah.” Jon smiled wistfully. “But anyway, the name. Did Tim say what name he chose?”

“Nope.” Conner kicked his feet against the building. “Tim said it was incredibly personal, and he wasn’t the one to share it.”

“Interesting.” Jon muttered. “Wonder what it could be?”

~~

He was twenty, very much an adult, but oh boy, did he feel like a rebellious teenager right now.

After all, how else were you supposed to feel when you and your not-quite-boyfriend were lying almost naked, cuddled up in your parents’ bed?

Somewhere in his mind he was panicking. If – when – they found out, he was doomed. He’d never live it down.

(But at the same time, it was also totally not his fault. Their apartment was closer to downtown than his was, and the room he still had here only had a single bed. There was no way they’d fit. And since his father was in space and his mother in the Philippines, the bed would have just gone to waste being empty, so…)

Though, simultaneously, any fear of repercussions was drowned out by the utter bliss he felt at being cocooned in Damian’s arms, and using his collarbone as a pillow while they watched the nightly news.

Under his ear, he felt Damian’s heartbeat slowing, a clear sign he was falling asleep. So it was the perfect time to ask:

“I hear you picked a new codename.”

Damian stirred a little and hummed, “Yeah.”

“What name did you pick, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Damian hesitated a moment, then whispered, “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Never.”

“…Nightwing.” Damian answered sheepishly. Quietly, like he wasn’t allowed to say it. “I…decided to carry on Grayson’s legacy.”

Jon turned and looked up at him. Without thinking he cupped Damian’s cheek in his hand. “Oh, Damian, that’s wonderful.” Damian kept his gaze over Jon’s shoulder, face heating up in an embarrassed flush. “He’d love it, he’d be so happy.” He stroked his thumb across Damian’s skin. “I’m so proud of you.”

Damian snorted. “Nothing to be proud of. It took me five years to pick a name someone had already used.”

“For good reason.” Jon countered. “And an homage to a great man.”

Damian allowed himself to look at Jon now. He stared at him for a moment, taking in his face, then carefully took hold of Jon’s wrist, and leaned in for a kiss, which Jon ate up greedily.

After a moment, they separated, and Jon twisted back to stare at the TV, Damian’s arms still tight around him.

“…What about you?” Damian asked softly. “Any ideas?”

“I don’t know. Superdude is sounding better and better every day.” Jon said dryly. “But I guess I haven’t really been thinking about it either. Been focused on some other more important things lately.”

“Oh? Like what? School?”

Jon grinned, kept his eyes on the weather report now lighting up the room.

“You.”

Damian didn’t answer, but Jon felt him gently kiss his temple, and lean their heads together.

~~

“Mom said I should ask my dad.” Jon hummed as he paid for their coffee. “But we haven’t seen each other in a while, and you know more about Krypton and all that stuff than he does, you know?”

“Sure.” Kara smiled, taking her cup from his hand. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re so interested in some old Kryptonian legend?”

“Just curiosity, mostly.” Jon shrugged. “Dad helped Dick Grayson become Nightwing back in the day, and now that Damian is taking the title on, I figured I should learn a little bit about it myself.”

“To support your future husband?” Kara smirked.

“Stop.” Jon groaned. “I should have never told Conner the truth.”

“I’m just glad to know you’re happy.” Kara squeezed his hand as they walked outside. “And also that I now have a viable reason to beat Damian up.”

“And that reason would be?”

“For the honor of my littlest cousin.” She winked. Jon found himself laughing. “Thanks for walking me back to the office, by the way. I’m sorry we couldn’t have lunch today.”

“I totally understand. I have to get back to campus for class soon anyway.” Jon waved off. “Rain check for a movie night, though?”

“Absolutely. Go buy a lot of tissues, wine and chocolate, because I am in the mood for some tearjerkers.” Kara demanded. “And…Damian is more than welcome to join us, if he’d like.”

“He’d never.” Jon promised as they jogged across a crosswalk. “But he’ll appreciate the invite.”

“Are you just saying that, or would he really?”

“Honestly, he really would.” Jon swore. “He’s trying not to take little things like that for granted anymore. Not since…well. You know.”

Kara frowned. “…I miss him too.”

“Everyone does.” Jon murmured as they stopped outside a building. Some people waved to Kara as they exited and jumped into a taxi nearby. “He was the best of all of us.”

“Give Damian my regards, and a hug for me. Tell him I’m sorry about Dick, if you think it’s appropriate.” Kara murmured as she turned to her purse, and began digging in it. After a moment, she held out a book. It looked old, and pages were misshaped, almost like they’d been gnawed on, or burned. “First, last and only edition.”

Jon took the tome, marveling at the etched green cover, and symbols seemingly floating around the image. But then he frowned. “Kara.” He sighed. “You know my Kryptonian isn’t that good.”

“Well then this will be a great tool to learn.” She smiled, squeezing his bicep. Someone suddenly called Kara from the door. She smiled and waved back before glancing to Jon. “Gotta go, kiddo. It was great seeing you! Tell your pops hi for me!”

She turned, and began to jog away, when Jon called after her. “Kara, wait!”

She did, glancing over her shoulder.

“Give me a quick summary?” He tried with a lopsided grin. “You know, to keep me interested?”

Kara twisted her lips in thought, then smiled. “Nightwing and Flamebird always find each other in the end.”

She took a sip of her coffee and disappeared into her office.

~~

By two o’clock in the morning that very night, Jon sat at the desk in his apartment, tears pouring down his face.

The legend was magical, breathtaking, awe-inspiring…but heartbreaking. The most heartbreaking thing he’d ever read.

But it also made him realize exactly what he needed to do. Exactly what his future was.

Exactly who his future was.

Without thinking, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and laughed as he stood, turning towards his window.

It would be a quick flight to Gotham, and surely Alfred was still awake at this hour.

~~

Damian stood on the top of Wayne Tower, staring at the city below him. The city he’d come to think of as home. The city that was…his.

He felt weird without the cape, without the hood. Was still getting used to the tight, plain bodysuit. The lighter armour. The dip of red across his chest.

He could take Grayson’s name, but he could never take his colors. That blue was too pure. Damian refused to taint it.

He inhaled and held his breath, then exhaled slowly. It was his first night in his new gear – would the villains know who he was? Would they mock him? Could he live up to his brother’s standards? Would he honor his memory?

“Damn.” He heard off to his side. “You look good.”

Damian glanced over, and found himself at a loss for words. The other man was in a similarly simple bodysuit, though instead of black, it was a deep blue. Opposite of the downward red arrow on Damian’s chest, the bright, near-blinding golden arrow on the other pointed upwards, almost looking like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Damian stared for a moment, taking it in, before meeting Jon’s eyes. “This is new.”

“You like?” Jon asked, practically shy. “Alfred helped me make it.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Jon stepped forwards. His boots, which matched the shimmering yellow on his chest, seemed to flicker as he walked, like fire. “I mean, he helped make yours, and it’s only natural our designs match a little bit.”

“Why would they need to match?” Damian asked. Then he squinted. “Jonathan Kent, have you chosen a new moniker?”

“I did indeed.” Jon grinned. “Surely Dick told you how he got his name.”

“He did.”

“Did he tell you the story behind it?”

“He did not. But I’ve heard of it.” Damian found his voice going quieter, his throat drying up. “Your father told me, I believe.”

“Mhm.” Jon reached out, gently taking Damian’s hand in his, raising it between them. “And do you remember how it goes?”

Damian blinked, then smiled. “Refresh my memory.”

“Nightwing can’t exist without Flamebird.” Jon smirked. He pressed his lips to Damian’s knuckles. “And no matter the universe, no matter the situation, they always find each other in the end.”

“…Well, Flamebird.” Damian whispered softly. “I’m glad you found me.”

“I’m glad you found me too.” Jon stood back up. “Ready for our first official patrol in the new digs? Say goodbye to Robin and Superboy forever?”

“Do you want to call it our first official patrol?” Damian let his grin widen. “Or perhaps our first official date?”

Jon gaped at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “For real?”

“For real.” Damian promised. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting-”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Jon surged forward, wrapping him in his arms and lifting him off the tower’s ledge as he smashed their mouths together. Damian let his surprise linger for only a second, before grabbing both sides of Jon’s head and returning the gesture.

The moment felt like it lasted both an eternity and no longer than a blink. When they parted, they were both out of breath, and trembling from the emotional adrenaline.

“Flamebird.” Damian breathed as Jon lowered him, his hands still on Jon’s face. “I think I like it.”

“Good. Because I didn’t have any backups.” Jon chuckled.

“It suits you, I think.” Damian smiled.

“Nightwing suits you just as well.” Jon countered. “…Dick would be so proud.”

Damian just lowered his gaze, but allowed himself to keep smiling.

“…Well.” Damian exhaled, looking out into the city. “Shall we?”

Jon bowed, holding his arm out. “After you, ‘Wing.”

Damian laughed and turned, stepping off the building and allowing himself to freefall. “Follow me, ‘Bird.”

Jon smiled, and jumped right after him.

[ktheist]

an empire of lies | kth

muses. ability type!taehyung x heir!reader

synopsis. taehyung usually comes knocking on your window - yes, window - at something a.m. every once in awhile. it’s the closest you get to being that girl whose crush throws pebbles on her bedroom window and serenades her with a song played on his guitar.

except taehyung comes around to rummage your fridge and free load for a couple days before disappearing like the thin air that always seem to blow when he’s around.

oh, and your apartment is on the 19th floor.

words. 2k

note. this is a spinoff drabble from my partially written draft. can be read as a standalone!

x

“why are you covered in blood?” you ask, curiosity no longer being a distant concept after knowing the man for almost a decade now. the gust of wind that always seem to be around the corner whenever he pops up in front of you, now greets you in a burst. forcing your eyes to flutter shut from its force.

the saint laurent article that you would usually see on him, is missing. instead he tears the tubes prodded deep inside his veins, the once pristine white hospital gown now marred with crimson blood, joining them on your recently mopped floor a second later.

“it’s not mine.” he says simply. if you were younger and didn’t know any better, you would have freaked out. scenarios would have filled your brain and made you consider calling the police on this inhumanly attractive man that’s walking around in your kitchen, half-naked with his pants hung low around his hips.

a sigh escapes you as you pick up his discarded items, tossing them in the trashcan next to the counter before bumping him with your hip as you tell him to move away from inspecting the content of the fridge, “this is the last time i’m cooking for your free loading ass.”

you don’t miss the way taehyung nods and walks away instead of shooting you one of his boyish grins and showering you with empty compliments for being such a good host.

“it’s more like feeding a stray dog that comes around every once in awhile.” you would remark whenever praised you for your kindness. just to set a line and ground yourself to the fact that this tall and handsome as hell man is only here because your late grandmothers happened to be best friends.

“you got any beer?” he asks some time after a passing of silence and the first sizzle of the pan.

to say you’re surprised is an understatement - you spend a good one minute staring at taehyung’s tanned back, marred with scars he’d never talk about, as he pries your cupboard open one after another.

if there’s anything kim taehyung is, it’s wine, high designer fashion and everything along the refined way of living. and the beverage he’s asking for couldn’t have been so far shoved on the other end of the spectrum.

but you know not to mention that - not right now when he looks like he just came from a hunt. who and what, you’re fine not knowing.

“i can make a quick trip to the grocery store and see if they have some.” you offer, but quickly add, “i’m running low on strawberry milk anyway.”

just so you wouldn’t come off as going the extra mile for him. which is something you never usually do. but taehyung’s lack of smile is neither an unusual sight.

the aforementioned man lets out a noise, something like a chuckle that gets blocked by a tired sigh, “you and your strawberry milk - you do know they didn’t add real strawberries, right?”

you shoot him an accusatory look, “do you also go around telling kids that santa doesn’t exist?”

his shoulder line shakes as he chuckles - a real, actual one this time. hands held up in surrender, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

“well, the messenger better sit the fuck down or i’m turning off the stove and you’re left with half boiled pasta and half cooked salsa.” you huff, going back to adding a half cup of cilantro.

his “yes, ma’am” is a tad dull, obscured by the dark clouds hovering over his eyes yet not so much in need of a cut.

with that, you see him shuffle out of your periphery. seconds later, the squeaky sound of the chair hits the air, sticking out like a sore thumb against the fine sizzle of the salsa.

“you really need to get this chair fixed,” he comments, but you bet your memories of your grandmother that if you’d turned around, you’d see him sitting on the same chair he criticized while there are possible two more good ones on either side, “better yet, buy a new one.”

“if i buy a new one, i’ll have to buy the whole set otherwise it’ll look awkward as hell and ruins the aesthetic.” you shrug, as in to say, oh well, it’s a squeaky chair but it’s my squeaky chair. and apparently, taehyung likes that chair too.

silence lapsed between you while you cook - you don’t know what taehyung is doing to fill in those fifteen minutes until you finally plated a pasta for a serving of two, when you turn around, however, you don’t expect the sight before you.

the man has his arms folded over the counter, head propped over. his eyelashes flutter just the slightest bit from the movements of his eyes behind their lids. probably dreaming.

you set the plate a few inches away from him just so he wouldn’t end up dipping his hand into it out of surprise when you go around the counter to tap his shoulder, “taehyung?”

but your palm never touched his skin. instead, you find yourself staring at a pair of mesmerizing brown eyes. never mind the much larger hand wrapped around your wrist midair - you can barely feel it as you fall down down the rabbit hole and into his never seemingly ending gaze.

it’s in that moment that your phone rings, bringing you back to the reality of it all - that though taehyung makes himself approachable and puts on a friendly facade, at the end of the day, he comes and goes like the winds blowing through cities.

“so you weren’t sleeping.” you find yourself asserting, pulling your hand back as though his touch is molten lava, “eat up. i’ll get you some fresh clothes - well, they’re yours from the occasions you actually remember to bring a spare.”

but just before you get to take any step forward after turning your back on him, a pair of muscled arms wrap around you, holding you tight yet tenderly. like a glass case around a plucked rose.

his breath is hot against your neck, his head leaning on your shoulder. even when he’s sitting, he still manages to make you feel like a child. short. tiny. defenseless.

he’s everything your mother, a strong woman who raised you until the age of ten before her untimely death - your grandmother never said it, but you knew your mother didn’t die in her sleep, had told you to run away at first sight.

“never, never meddle with classes, ___ - promise me you’ll live a normal life, like a human.” at the time, you thought she meant the people adorned with golds and diamonds with a whole lot of money to spend and a lack of cause to spend it on. you thought those people had lost their humanity along the line as they chased for fame and wealth.

it isn’t until you met taehyung - the boy whose eyes were always drawn to the clouds and on one fine day, got lifted off the air, up to the tree to save your cat and bring it down to you with a silly grin - that you realized she meant those people. the ability types.

taehyung doesn’t say it, but you suspect he’s at least a second class.

“i really missed you.”

you couldn’t believe your ears. not after the still silence that follows suit. as though he didn’t say anything. as though your mind was playing tricks on you.

“what happened out there?” the question finally hits the air, not sharp enough to cut poke or even hurt the elephant in the room, but loud enough to be heard, “what happened to you?”

you tumble a step back as taehyung pulls you closer until his thighs encase your hips and arms wrap around you too perfectly, “i can’t tell you - i promised granny cheong i won’t rope you into this - not when you have a real chance to live a normal life.”

your shoulder line stiffens at the mention of your grandmother - the image of a fifteen year old taehyung by her deathbed and the subtle sound of her telling him something, floods your mind. it was then, you were so sure - she made him promise to leave you alone just like she knew she was about to that night.

on nights you stayed back at the office, you still wonder why she’d deliberately made sure the only other closest person you had to a family, left you too.

now, you don’t know what you and taehyung are.

your hand covers his arm that’s banded around your tummy, noticing the slight tremble in his bones. heart racing, mind making up a million scenarios for what you’re about to say.

he could recoil - he could leave you like he did right after you graduated high school. and this time you might not see him again but something inside you writhes with a desire that you’ve pushed to the very pit of your stomach all these years but if you don’t say it now, if you let taehyung leave this place and disappear for another six month-

“what if i don’t want a normal life? what if i want to be with you? classes or not.”

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t pull away like you’re a made of fire either. yet your heart seem to palpitate faster than before.

“should we run away? just the two of us?” his voice is oddly calming - that’s how you know he’s only entertaining you for the sake of not offending you.

“stop that.” you force out despite the lump in your throat.

“stop what?” and he still chooses to pretend like everything’s fine.

“don’t tell me you’ll run away with me and let me wake up to an empty bed in the morning-” your breath falls short, “-that’s too cruel, taehyung.”

he doesn’t say anything for the longest moment. and within that moment, your thoughts run rampant. and you actually thought, for one sweet second, that he would tell you he means it. that he’ll leave everything - whatever shit he’s in - and hop on the plane with you to wherever land.

“i have to settle something first.”

the first scoff hits the air like vapor against heat, “there’s always something - just... just let me go, taehyung.”

you push his hands off you, not caring if he wanted to take refuge here or if he’ll leave. all you know if your car keys are in the bowl next to the door and you own a whole building in case push comes to shove and you end up without a home. well, your home will still be here but taehyung won’t by the time you return.

or so you’d planned.

but nothing ever seem to go your way. not since your mother brought you to tokyo and raised you there only to leave you and have an elderly woman show up at the orphanage that you spent a week at and claimed that she was your grandmother.

not since that grandmother raised you with the boy who had the brightest smile and left you with a scar so deep, you’re never really the same again.

as soon as taehyung’s warm arms releases you, the sudden chill of the something a.m. breeze engulfs you. but it is short lived as you find yourself staring at the man who spun you around with one hand and a another on your back, pulling you flush against his body.

you hate yourself for melting into him like an ice cream on a bright summer day.

all of a sudden, you’re both 11 and trekking down your grandmother’s backyard that makes up a whole private forest reserve.

“it’s always been you.” his voice trembles. as though he’s a push away from falling into pieces, “everything i did - it was to make sure they won’t touch you.”

“t-the organization?” it’s purely reflex - you know who they are. the causes of the deaths in your lives. timely or not. “why would they want to have anything to do with me? don’t they hate me? because i’m ordinary?”

the chin resting on your head shifts as he shakes his head, arms encompassing you so tightly, it’s almost hard to inhale and yet breathing isn’t a priority at the moment, “it’s in your blood - you may be ordinary but you were born from a long line of first classes. they can’t rule out the possibility of your kids being ability types - maybe even zero’s.”

“taehyung,” your hand clenches into a fist over the area of his chest where his heart palpitates underneath. his gaze pierces into your soul when you crane your neck to look at him - he always felt like a fresh air and open meadows.

until now.

now, it feels like you’re trapped in the heart of the hurricane. whirling and writhing in a vortex of emotions you’ve never allowed yourself to be acquainted to before.

“what exactly did you promise grandma?”

it’s the way his eyes shake and brows twitch even though his face remains neutral - unmarred by the creases of tension that no doubt graces your own features.

the only indication that he’s reluctant to respond is the pressing of his lips together before he breathes out the softest sigh. as though bracing himself. but his voice has never been so sure.

“i promise i’d kill you myself if they ever approached you.”

[justasparkwritings]

The Word of Your Body: Holy {4}

Previous: You’re Gonna Be My Bruise

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Pregnancy, Fatherhood, Questioning Religion 

Listening: Holy by Justin Bieber 

Master List

      Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you.

        When he had asked you to marry him, he felt an inkling of what prayer was. There was nothing he wanted more than to marry you, to create a family, to live his days intertwined with yours. He was positive you were going to say yes, but he found himself wishing and hoping for your answer amidst the ten seconds it took before you responded. He didn’t realize it was prayer, nor did he think his hope that you would say yes would be constituted as a form of worship. But on bended knee, in the few seconds before you answered, he offered it up.  

        Your resounding yes sounded like an alleluia on Easter morning, a sensation he had experienced with you a year prior. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it.

        “I don’t understand why you participate in it,” He said, drinking his coffee at your favorite local breakfast spot the day after his first Easter service. The two of you had come to your home to spend the holiday with your family, which meant showing him where you grew up and yes, bringing him to church.

        “Why?” You asked, sipping your coffee.

        “It, it doesn’t make sense, why would you believe in something that’s so, cynical?” He wondered.

        “The religion you’re speaking of and the religion I subscribe to are two different things,” You said.

        “How?”

        “Because the religion your speaking of is God as a vengeful, omniscient dictator, demanding sacrifices, demanding life, wanting fees and fines designed by man to prove your loyalty to capitalism, not to God. The God that I believe in, that I celebrate, is merciful. He fights for what is right and just, for equity, for love.”

        “Like Sailor Moon,” He smiled.

        “Without the talking cat,” You winked.

        He hadn’t understood what you meant until you’d given him a copy of your favorite book, which detailed the life of Jesus and his wife, Ana. It wove the notions of Jesus as savior with Jesus as man and expanded his understanding of what a savior could mean. It wasn’t that he suddenly believed in religion, or had faith, because he didn’t. Reading your favorite book had only made him fall more in love with you and made his understanding of religion murky at best. He did admit that he could see its place in your life and accept it for what it was.

        The second time Namjoon had prayed was when you took your last pregnancy test. Conceiving wasn’t easy, and he beat himself up every time a test came back negative. You tried to dissuade his fears, tell him that it took time, it wasn’t going to happen the first time you had unprotected sex. He knew he wanted kids; he knew he wanted kids with you. The inability to get you pregnant for two years, even with increased hormone treatments and meticulous care placed on both of your bodies, he felt like he was exhausting all options. Every choice he was making led to further disappointment when the test came back negative.

        Why couldn’t his body do the one thing it was designed to do? Was it the dancing in tight pants? Was it working out too much? Riding his bike too often? Why weren’t different positions, different times of day, number of orgasms leading to the creation of life that was half you, half him?

        He found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for any sort of solace when he came across a quote you had typed into his phone’s notes for when he felt nervous. You said it every time you had an interview or presentation, a Bible verse imprinted on you during adolescents. As he read the words, the idea of prayer came into his mind… he quickly looked up how to pray before closing his phone. Wasn’t the point that you didn’t need to have a formal way of asking God for help or guidance? Dejectedly, Namjoon bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the words flow out of him.

        Namjoon’s heart soared when you took your first positive test. It nearly erupted at your first sonogram. The thump-thump-thump of your child’s heartbeat had been like angels singing. You had created a life; you were going to have a child together. Maybe with his eyes and your nose, or your heart and his mind… Either way, he had heard a chorus echoing every time he saw your bump and felt your baby kick.

        He couldn’t reason with himself though, did he now owe God something because whomever it was had fulfilled his prayer? Would he have to baptize the baby, offer it up on an altar like Abraham or split it in two like Solomon? Was God holding a grudge against him now because he hadn’t exalted him fully?

        He had borne his soul to you shortly after your eighth month. His conscious was weighing heavy.

        “I need to tell you something,” He said, sitting next to you on the couch.

        “Okay,” You said, setting your phone face down on the coffee table. “What is it?”

        “I, I did something, and I don’t know what to do next,” He couldn’t tell if he was ashamed, nervous, or bashful. Would you laugh or be surprised or lovingly tell him it was okay?

        “What did you do?” You asked, cautiously.

        “I,” He sighed, “I prayed.” He glanced up at you through his lashes, gauging your response before proceeding.

        “Okay, and?”

        “What am I supposed to do now? Do I owe God something? Is our child a sacrifice?”

        “Well, what did you pray for?” You asked.

        “A baby.”

        “Namjoon, look at me,” You said lightly.

        “What?” He reluctantly lifted his gaze to lock with yours.

        “I did too,” You smiled.

        He felt the baptismal waters crash down on him.

        “You did? Oh, fuck. That, that makes me feel better. Do, do we have to do anything?” He reached for your hands as you laughed. Your baby kicking at the movement in your body.

        “We can say a prayer of thanksgiving, but that’s not really how God works.” You said.

        “I’ve read articles, and books, and the expectation that you offer something up to God in thanksgiving is everywhere. He grants a prayer and you give thanks. I’ve spent the past seven months trying to figure out what that thanksgiving is supposed to be.”

        “Namjoon, why is this bothering you? You don’t normally adhere to organized anything,” You said intertwining your fingers.

        He nodded his head before speaking. “I’ve never prayed about anything, but I needed solace, someone to listen. I was scared to tell you or the guys because I don’t believe in it, but I did it anyway.”

        “That’s what faith is. It’s throwing your hopes and fears up and believing someone will catch them. Be it fate, or karma… or God or Allah or Krishna… it’s hoping that something will move the chips in your favor, and knowing you’ll be okay if it doesn’t.” You answered, lightly squeezing his hand.

        “Do I owe anything?” He whispered.

        “No, that’s not how God works, at least in the evangelical sense. Just, be a great father, and an excellent husband, and your actions will show your thankfulness.” You said, moving his hand to rest on your belly, baby kicking excitedly as Namjoon’s hands held it gently.

        “That’s it?”

        “God doesn’t want for much, Namjoon.”

        He had spent the next six weeks studying books on organized religion, alternating between writing lyrics for BTS, unpacking the idea of GOD, and preparing for the baby. He read every parenting book, went to every class and watched birth video after birth video. He took to your body like the gentiles took to John the Baptist, following its every inkling, tending to it with care. He prepared baths and scheduled massages. He gingerly placed lotion on your growing belly, and proceeded to rub natural remedies on your cervix, anything to make your eventual labor smoother. He kneaded your growing breasts and never hesitated to help you tie your shoes. God had smote the Egyptians for worshipping their golden calf, and here Namjoon was, on his knees, singing exaltations to your growing form.

        The third and fourth time Namjoon prayed was when your water broke, and with it came an excessive amount of blood. You had rushed to the hospital and were diagnosed with late term placenta previa, a condition they should’ve caught earlier. Upon examination, you were rushed into a C-Section, and as he sat clutching your hand, tears streaming down your faces, Namjoon braced himself for the worst possible outcome. He prayed diligently, every second you were in surgery, every moment he wasn’t whispering to you or kissing your hair, he prayed.

God, Jesus, Allah, anyone… Please let my wife be safe. Please do not take her or our baby away from me. Please let us live our lives together. Please let them be okay, please, please, please.

      He offered up penance, a term he’d learned reading about the evolution of the Catholic church. He’d offered up his career, his bandmates, his money, his time. Anything he could trade to keep you and your baby.

      Namjoon had thought he’d heard a gospel chorus whenever he saw your bump or felt the baby kick. It wasn’t until his child took its first breath and let out a cry, that Namjoon realized the crescendo of expectation, fear, relief and hope raking through his brain was the angels, singing the Halleluiah Chorus, proclaiming the birth of the savior. He could see it, you Mary, the unassuming mother of the Christ child, him Joseph, a lowly craftsman, the doctors, the shepherds, guiding life into the world.

      As your tears turned to joy, Namjoon muttered to himself, “Unto you a child is given.”  

      It was past midnight when Namjoon finally had a minute to breathe. He held your new baby securely in his arms and glanced at your peacefully sleeping form. The past 48 hours had been a whirlwind. You were recovering from a C-Section and unable to lift or move much. On the one hand, you were relieved. You were emotionally exhausted from a traumatic labor, and physically exhausted from undergoing a major operation. Bed rest was welcomed as your body began to heal, from the nine months it had spent growing life, and as your hormones began to fall and rebalance. On the other, you wanted to spend every second staring at your child, guessing what they’d be like, wondering if their eyes were shaped like your husband’s or yours. Smelling their head for that new baby, fresh on the planet scent, and memorizing every feature.

      Namjoon was grateful, it gave him time to spend with your child, knees deep in fatherhood. He could carry your child everywhere, sing to it, love it, create a strong bond before he would eventually be pulled to tour. He was savoring every diaper, every midnight feed, every coo and cry. He couldn’t imagine life before your child was born, and he wanted to cherish every millisecond he had with you both.  

      He hummed to your baby quietly and again glanced at you, your milk had slowly started to come in and leak onto your shirt, or rather, a tour shirt of Namjoon’s that you’d kept every time he left home. He remembered the day you fought over him not having a t-shirt in your size and been pleasantly surprised when he had found this one in some drawer. Over the years it had become your comfort object. You kept it at his place indefinitely, and once you’d moved in together, had insisted he wear it before he went on tour to capture his musk. What had started as an argument over insecurities had blossomed into one of your favorite traditions.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue iii.

after hours

masterlist

Warnings: dub con sex (oral, intercourse)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is surprised.

Note: Fic daddy here. Please tell me to stop calling myself that. I’m here, writing this still and this part is 🔥🔥🔥 I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply!

...

Sunday morning. You woke up in a foreign bed with a foreign feeling of someone laying next to you. Steve's hand was on the blanket along your stomach. 

You barely remembered falling asleep. He was too tipsy to drive and didn't trust your own state on the subway. So you relented and stayed, only too eager to sleep. Now you wished you'd left as you peeked over at him.

He laid on his side, his arm stretched across you. He was peaceful. He looked older. Well, he acted younger than he was. You rubbed your forehead and slipped out from beneath the covers. 

You grabbed the white robe hanging from the closet door and wrapped it around yourself. You went to the floor length windows that overlooked the city and stared out at the early morning traffic. You yawned and lost yourself in the distant lights and muffled cacophony of the streets.

You sensed movement behind you. You didn't look back as you focused on the colours and people below. What were you doing? Why had you done it again? 

You just couldn't help yourself. He had this power over you. The ability to pull your guiltiest urges to the surface. To make you forget all qualms and surrender entirely.

"Coffee?" His voice was still thick with sleep. "There's a machine here."

"No, I think I'll get one on my way out. I gotta study. I've got my first midterm this week." You turned slowly to him as he neared. Naked.

"You got your bag. You can study here." He coaxed as he pulled you into his arms. "I have some running around to do so I won't bother you...until I get back."

"Thanks, but I can't." You ran your hand along his chest.

"Fine," He shrugged, "Will you at least leave me with a little something to distract me?"

Your brows knitted as you considered him. He was insatiable. "Again?" 

"It's a new day," His hand dipped down and squeezed your ass. "Let’s end the weekend on a high note."

You sighed and brought your arms up along his shoulders. "I suppose you've got a point."

-

Monday you had class until one and then the workshop at three. You expected it to last a couple hours and you’d be ready to settle down and study until you fell asleep. A full day to start a full week. 

Wednesday was your midterm and you spent every empty minute going over your notes, even at the expense of your other classes. Next week, you’d deal with those as you crammed for three exams in as many days.

Your morning classes were slow. The first lecturer was a small old lady who refused to use a mic so every student hunched over their desk to hear her. Your second was a younger man, a new hire all too eager to enrich the minds of those only a few years behind him. You diligently recorded your notes and ignored the buzzing of your bag. Steve was as relentless in text as he was in person.

In the hours between, you grabbed lunch and checked your messages. Kylie wanted a study night as she crammed for the exam she’d forgotten about and Steve wanted what he wanted. You told both you’d see what happened. Neither was happy. The Rogers’ were rapacious.

You were early to the workshop as you were early to everything. The door was open and you peeked inside to find only Professor Barnes inside. He was fiddling with the projector remote and you shyly stepped inside. Since your night of beer with the two older men and you little conversation with Steve, your nerves had grown more frantic when thinking of him. 

“Um, hey,” You alerted him to your presence as you entered. “Looks like I’m early.”

“Or just in time,” He flipped the projector on and tossed aside the remote. “You wanna help set up?”

“Um, sure.” You set your bag down along the front table and crossed to him. “What can I do.”

“Just have some packets that need to be distributed. We have about twenty people. You can space ‘em out.” He pulled out a stack and dropped it on the table along the front. “Oh, and another favour…”

“Yeah,” You looked up at him as you pulled the pile over to you.

“Don’t mention our little beer night to anyone.” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“Oh, of course,” You agreed with a nervous chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” He smiled and turned back to dig around in his bag.

You went along the tables and doled out the packets. You glanced over at the professor now and then and wondered. Had Steve been wrong? He surely didn’t want to fuck you. Steve just liked to flatter you. He was good at that. Liked to tease you over your stupid little crush. You shook your head as you came to the end of the stack and kept the last for yourself.

You sat beside your bag and tapped your fingers on your desk. You picked at the corner of the front page and Bucky cleared his throat. Professor Barnes, you corrected yourself as you looked up. He neared the other side of your table.

“You have class after this?” He asked.

“Nope, only studying for my demise,” You answered.

“Hmm,” He nodded. “Would you be open to discussing your last paper then? Only fifteen minutes or so but I thought you’d rather that than stay behind on Friday.”

“My paper?” Your voice quavered without your consent.

“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” He assured you. “Don’t worry so much. So, does that work for you?”

“Sure, yeah,” You shrugged. “I haven’t got anything else to keep me.”

“Great,” He smiled and backed away. 

He glanced up as voices echoed down the hall and grew nearer. Other students began to trickle in and you pulled out your phone. You sent the same message to Steve and Kylie. ‘Appointment tonight. Dunno when done. Sorry.’

-

The workshop went relatively quick. Barnes reviewed the schedule and the basics of journalism and publishing. The ten-week program would include visits to magazines and editors all over the city and culminate in the chance to have an article published by one. It was exciting and you wondered what kind of strings the professor had to pull to set it all up.

When he dismissed the class, chairs scraped and voices filled the silence quickly. You packed up and checked your phone. Kylie had sent a sad face and Steve was much less affected; ‘no problem ;)’. As you slipped your phone away, Barnes looked up from his bag.

“Hey, you didn’t forget already, did you?” He kidded.

“Of course not,” You grabbed your jacket and bag. “Just in here?”

“Nah, there’s a class coming soon, we’ll have to head to my office but it’s just a few floors up.” He hooked his bag over his shoulder and waited at the end of your table. “Elevator’s under service right now though. You’ll get a decent work out in.”

You giggled and followed him out of the room. You hated how dumb you sounded when he was around. How you must have seemed like some little girl. You weren’t, not anymore. The summer had made you a woman and you were tired of being treated otherwise.

When you reached his office, you were out of breath. You needed to start walking as much as you read. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside with a wave of his arm. You entered first and were surprised when he closed the door behind him. Most professors made a point of leaving their offices open.

“I don’t wanna keep you all night,” He put his bag on his desk and threw the flap open. “We’ll just go over a few things.”

He sifted through the papers within and pulled out a stapled bunch. You neared the chair opposite his desk and set down your bag and jacket. he was beside you before you could sit. 

“I’ve underlined all the errors, as few as they were. Comments in the margin.” He handed you your paper. “Again, minimal, but helpful. We learn something new every day.”

“Uh, yeah,” You took it and thumbed through it. “Thanks.”

“You make all the corrections and it’s perfect.” He praised. “Ready for submission.”

“Submission?” You turned and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a contest in Media Scope Journal. I think you’ve got a good chance of winning and I’d hate for you to miss the opportunity.” He explained. “A second year, published in a scholarly journal is a hell of a thing to have on your CV.”

“You--you really think I could get in?” You marveled up at him. “I--” You looked down and let the title page fall flat. “Thanks. I’ll make the changes and get it back to you.”

“Great,” He patted your arm but his hand lingered. “You’re a smart girl. You could go very far.”

You looked at his hand and then up at him. His blue eyes gleamed and his silver-laced beard defined the natural angles of his jaw. You smiled back at him and your cheeks burned. He squeezed your arm and slowly his fingers brushed along your sleeve. 

Without a second thought, you stood on your toes and pecked his lips. The tickle of his beard and the smoothness of his lips broke you from your trance at once. You backed away and slapped your hand over your mouth as the paper threatened to slip from your grasp. He blinked but was calm as ever.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You pressed your palm to your hot cheek. “I didn’t--I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have--” You turned and grabbed your bag and shoved the paper inside. “I should just go work on this.”

“Wait,” He followed closely, his hand planted on the back of the chair to block you as you turned to flee. “You don’t have to. It’s...okay.”

“It’s really not,” You cringed. “That was so--so--”

“Right.” He finished for you. “Don’t you feel it? This thing between us.”

You stared back at him stunned. Did you knock your head and pass out? What was going on?

“It’s wrong,” You insisted. “You’re my professor.”

“So,” He countered. “It shouldn’t matter. I mean, I’ve never...with a student. Never felt like this but…”

“Professor--”

“Bucky,” He corrected breathily, his hand on your shoulder again. “Call me Bucky.”

“I...I...I…” You stuttered. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” His hand came up to cradle your face. “You’re young. You have the whole world ahead of you. What’s one little lapse.”

You searched his face. His finely lined eyes, his cheekbones still perfectly chiseled, his soft lips just beneath his thick beard. He was a handsome man, despite his age. The time only seemed to have complemented his looks. He leaned in and all your reticence slipped away. As his lips met yours, the tension snapped and you were swept up in the rush. You dropped your bag and jacket to the floor.

He turned you and pushed you against the desk so that you were caught between him and the wood. He was strong but gentle, his hand tickled your neck as he kissed you deeply. He was fervent, determined, as if he has been thinking of this as long as you had.

His hands traveled along your arms and gripped your hips. They slipped around and he lifted you onto the edge of the desk as he slouched to keep his lips on yours. He pulled at the hem of your knit sweater as he pushed between your knees.

You raised your arms as he parted to pull the sweater over your head. Your wore the same grey bra beneath and his eyes flared along the top of your breasts. He cupped one and bent to bury his face in your chest. 

His beard tickled and you giggled. His teeth surprised you as he nibbled the flesh and you exclaimed. He was rougher than Steve, his touch as decisive but without the same tenderness. Bucky didn't think of you as a girl, you realized, liked Steve did. He treated you like a woman.

His fingers unhooked the button of your fly and pushed the zipper down. He slipped below your panties and you spread your legs wider. You welcomed him as he played with your clit, his lips inch back up you neck and to your mouth.

He rubbed your bud as your breath caught and you pulled away to gasp. He kissed your neck and teased your skin with his teeth as he continued to toy with you. You grinded against his hand and his fingers slid back to your entrance. 

He pushed two fingers inside and you moaned in surprised delight. You never expected him to be like this. Straight to the point. He pressed his palm to your clit and curled his fingers. His hand moved steadily and he raised his head to watch your face contort in pleasure.

You pouted and rasped as your nerves started to buzz. His other hand grasped the back of your head as his blue eyes bore into yours. Don't look away. You were ready to burst as you clasped his shoulder and your other hand squeezed his bicep.

"Come on," He bent and whispered in your ear. "Let it go."

The orgasm tore through you like a storm and left your wits scattered. He eased you down from your peak and slowly removed his hand. He held up his glossy finger and licked them. The sight inflamed you.

"Get down." He ran his hand along your thigh. "Turn around."

You stood shakily and obeyed. When your back was to him, he took your hands and placed them flat to the desk. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back so you were slightly bent over. 

He tugged your jeans and panties past your ass and the cool air tickled your pussy. He grabbed your ass and squeezed. Then slapped it so hard you squealed. He gave a dark chuckle and drew his hands away. You heard his belt, then his zipper. Your lashes fluttered and you peeked over your shoulder. 

He spanked you again. “I didn’t say you could look.”

You bit your lip and faced the wall. A small window behind his chair looked out onto campus below. You had a sudden sense of deja vu. He stepped closer and his cocked poked your ass. He purred as he pressed himself to your back and his hand fiddled around between you. He guided himself to your entrance and pushed inside. 

He was thick and stretched your as he got deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk and he reached around to cover them with his own. He bottomed out and nibbled your ear with a growl. 

“Fuck.” He swore and squeezed your hand as his other floated up to your chest. He pushed your bra up and tweaked your nipple. He kneaded your tit and gave a long slow thrust. “You want more? Ask.”

Your tongue slipped out between your lips and you groaned. You pushed back into him and wiggled your ass.

“Ask,” He pinched your nipple again.

“More, please?”

“Please?” He repeated and nuzzled your neck.

“Please, Professor Barnes.”

He snarled and slammed into you. The buttons of his shirt rubbed against you and caught on your bra. You were on tip toes as he crashed into you again and again. You whined as the reverberations rippled through you. Your thighs and back tingled with the mounting pleasure. Steve was firm but never this harsh. Never this savage.

Your hips hit the edge of the desk each time he rocked his hips. Your hands slid across the wood and messed the papers and pens atop his desk. He pounded into you until you were bent over it entirely. His hands went to your shoulders and he pinned you down.

He never wavered. His grunts and groans filled you with pure heat. You gripped the far edge of the desk and panted into the wood. You exclaimed as you came again. This time it was even more intense. Your feet were off the floor as he rutted against you.

He grabbed your hips and fucked you harder. His thrusts grew erratic as his breathing got louder. He pulled out of you all once and growled. You felt warm ribbons spill along your left thigh as he came. His fingers spread across your ass as his other hand stroked him through his climax.

When he was done, he tapped your ass and backed away. You trembled as you pushed yourself up and looked between your legs. His cum was all over your panties. You turned to him as he tucked his cock away. You would’ve been embarrassed if the haze of lust hadn’t blinded you.

“Just take ‘em off,” He said as he smirked at your dirtied panties. “Or keep ‘em on...that’d be kinda hot.”

You glanced up at him in shock. The eloquent professor, the disciplined scholar, was as lewd as any fratboy.  You shoved your pants down and swiftly untangled your panties. You pulled your jeans back up and buttoned your fly. You frowned at the wet fabric. You folded them carefully so that the mess was hidden.

“I...should go.” You took your bag and buried your panties at the bottom. You grabbed your sweater from the floor and stood. “Study.”

“Sure,” He neared and his hand traced the curve of your waist. “I need those changes by Thursday. Can you do that, baby?”

You blanched at the nickname. It sent a thrill through you and yet it sent you into a spin. You had fucked your professor. In his fucking office. And he just happened to be buddy buddy with your best friend’s dad. Who you had also fucked.

“Of course,” You smiled and he brought both his hands up to cradle your face. 

“Good girl.” He kissed you hungrily, his tongue pushed inside and he didn’t stop until you were breathless. “Go. Study.”  He caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll see you around.”

[turbulentt]

Detention

genre: smut | joshua!teacher x fem!reader!student

word count: +2.6k

warnings: explict content, dirty talk, sir kink, public sex

summary: your english teacher has been getting on your nerves since the first time you’ve met. hopefully, things get sorted out after your detention, where you get to be alone with him.

It had been probably the worst school year you've ever had, everything only because of that bloody English class. Your grades were totally fine at all subjects, even math which you had a great problem with, but English had to be the death of you.

And not because of being difficult, which, at least for you, it was not. It dammed you because your teacher never gave you the final grades you deserved, even with straight A's on all tests and quizzes, he would always fuck up everything.

Not just that but he, annoyingly, would also straight up ignore you during the entire time. He asks a question; you raise your hand to answer; he looks at you and you think you're going to be picked; no, you're ignored and he demands the answer from someone else. Annoying, annoying, annoying! God damn you, Joshua!

But he pays the price. His classes are never peaceful, at least not when you're there. Since you're not picked for anything you tend to slightly fuck around. Making jokes about some things Joshua says, throwing paper balls everywhere, saying unnecessary things that make everyone laugh and take Joshua's patience to the limit. 

"And don't forget to read the article I gave you!" the teacher warns while everyone is packing their materials "Class dismissed. Have a good day, everyone."

"Yeah, good day my ass," you whisper to yourself while trying to fit your books into your backpack. When failing to do so you grunt in rage and roll your eyes. While thinking that your day couldn't get worse, you feel Joshua's shadow blocking the light.

"Do you need some help?" he kindly questions and you look up at him. "No, thanks," you answer small as if his presence scares you. "Can I ask you something?" he sits on the table next to yours and crosses his arms. Seeing your little nod he continues "Why are you always playing around and disturbing my class? I've spoken to the other teachers and they said such good things about you."

"I don't know," you lower your head and let out a sigh when finally fitting your books in your backpack "I just feel like it."

"That doesn't seem like a legitimate answer." he approaches your table and rests his hand there "Try again."

You close your eyes tightly in search of spiritual forces to help you say everything that has been on your mind.

"Okay, I'm going, to be honest. Your class fucking annoys me. I'm one of the best students, if not THE best, and you act like I don't exist. Whenever I raise my hand to answer a question I'm never the one who's picked and it really makes me angry. So yeah, that's why I fuck around and do nothing in your classes. Maybe if you gave me more attention I would behave better." you let everything out like your life depends on it.

"You are my best student." he brushes his hair with his fingers with a slight grin on his lips "And I never pick you because I know you're going to answer correctly without any problems. I could never ignore such a top student."

"Then why do you give me shitty grades?"

"Can you please stop using those kinds of words? That's not appropriate, Y/N." he says firmly, almost in a groan, with a serious expression "And I don't give you better grades because of your behavior in class."

"Well, it is your fault." you huff at his response, and the annoyance can be seen in his eyes. "You're making me really mad. Stop saying it's my fault. You're the one acting like a brat." he says, dangerously close to your face. "But it IS your fault, what can I do?" you talk back enjoying the unsatisfied look in his eyes.

"Here's what you can do, you can meet me in detention in fifteen minutes." he slams his hand on your table and leaves to his', ignoring your whines and apologies.

Fifteen minutes never went by so fast like those, and you couldn't be more depressed. You just wanted to get it over with and go home to rage about how frustrated you felt because of your teacher.

When the time came you entered the class and sat at the back of the room with your headphones on and looking at the window. Probably no one would appear at that hour to have detention, it was too early. Which means you would have to be all alone with Joshua. "Great. My biggest dream." you ironically mumbled to yourself.

"What's your biggest dream?" A loud voice echoes through the room making you jump on the chair "It's just me." he giggles at your startled expression. "I wasn't expecting." you pouted like a little kid and got back to your music.

Joshua just sat by his table and took some things out of his case. You didn't even want to glance at him, but for some reason, he looked so attractive with his glasses on and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. You couldn't help yourself, you had to take in his beauty for just a moment.

He could be annoying and do unfair things to you but you couldn't deny how fucking ethereal that man is. You feel blessed by his beauty honestly, although his personality haunted you. 

To your surprise, he raised his head suddenly and stared back at you. He only gave a chaste smile before paying attention to his work again. Embarrassed, you just set your eyes back at the view outside.

Not even ten minutes into the detention and you were already grunting as if it was physically hurting. Being on your phone didn't distract you enough and the tension inside that room was too strong. Due to the hot weather, it got incredibly hot inside and Joshua needed to undo one of the buttons of his shirt. At that moment things got even hotter, and it was definitely not the classroom.

Trying to fade away these thoughts you laid your head on your backpack, which laid on the table, and closed your eyes. At least that way you wouldn't be looking at your teacher and wouldn't seem like a thirsty teenager.

Ten more minutes passed and you felt a gentle hand caressing your head. Not actually realizing who was its owner you leaned into the touch and almost purred out of satisfaction.

"You look just like a kitten." his low voice whispered on your ear and your only reaction was too raise your head slowly and blush aggressively at the sight of your teacher. "You looked really peaceful but I can't let you sleep here," he spoke gently, as always, his gentleman side got you soft and you smiled agreeing.

"Mr. Hong?" you called softly and he smiled at the sight of his name exiting your lips. "Yes?" he raised an eyebrow but kept his smile on. "Can you do that again?" you blushed, shy for making such a stupid request.

"Do what?" he was slightly confused at the beginning but understood when you looked at his hands. "Oh.." he raised one and stroked your hair again "This?"

You nodded smiling and closed your eyes. It actually felt good. His strong and soft hand caused so many different sensations. They made you forget how much you hated him, at least at that moment.

Slowly you felt his hot breath dangerously close to you and, in a split of a second, you felt the texture of his sweet lips. Not regretting a bit you leaned closer to his touch and kissed him back. It was so wrong but felt incredibly good.

Not letting the kiss continue he got away from you and stared at your lips as if he just did something terribly wrong and wanted to do it again. "I'm really sorry." he didn't seem to have the words to express what he was feeling at the moment so he just smiled like he usually does, which made you get a little bit mad. "If you were really sorry you wouldn't have kissed me. And if you regret it you wouldn't be staring at my lips like you wanted to kiss me again. If you really want to do so, then be a man and fucking kiss me."

Something in your words made his personality shift and an intense gaze could be seen in his eyes as if he was a hunter searching for his prey. Desperately he attacked your lips and started a dominant kiss. And wow, he did know how to be dominant. The position you were in was quite uncomfortable so he just sat on the chair next to yours and, without letting go of your lips, he pulls you to his lap.

His sudden change of behavior kind of scared you in some way but you really enjoyed it. Actually, it was a big turn on. So, there you were: sitting on your teacher's lap as you kiss him and almost moaning at the touch of your skins.

Needing some air you ended the kiss, only to start leaving wet kisses all over his pale neck. "What are we doing?" he chuckled throwing his head back feeling aroused just by the touch of your lips on him. "We're having some fun, Mr. Hong." you said innocently looking at his eyes, which were filled with lust "Don't tell me you don't want me because your hands don't say the same."

And, in fact, they didn't. They were grabbing your hips strongly, keeping you really close to him, as if he never wanted to let go of you. "Well, I can't say I haven't dreamt about this once or twice." unprepared for his sentence you blushed intensely and hid your face on his neck.

"Don't be so shy. I saw the way you were looking at me just now." he grins and gets up carrying you with him. "Where are we going?" you ask confused. 

"To my table, so we can have more space." he raises you slightly and grabs you by your ass. You moaned at his grip and ground on his body asking for more attention. He laid you on the table and quickly got on top, kissing you harshly this time as if he remembered something that got him furious.

Your hands were at the back of his neck caressing and mildly pulling his hairs. His hands were each by the side of your head sustaining his body. He pulled away and looked you dead in the eye "I should punish you for being such a brat, Y/N." he lowered his head, and between soft bites on your neck he kept talking "I didn't really enjoy the way you talked back at me today. You need to know your place, kitten."

You moaned at the nickname, it sounded so good coming from him. Slowly he unbuttoned your pants and lowered them gently as if he could break you just by doing so, he was back to his gentleman side. Eagerly he kisses your inner tights making you throw your head back in anticipation, you could already imagine what wonders his mouth is capable of.

Seeing your wet panties he smirks and raises his eyes to yours "So wet already, kitten?"

You look away in embarrassment and he grabs your thigh firmly. "Stop playing, Joshua." you let out almost in a moan.

"Did I give you permission to call me by my name?" he scoffs and presses his thumb on your clit making you gasp loudly "It's sir for you." he takes his hand back "Understood kitten?"

"Yes, sir." you saw his pupils dilate the double just because of what you said. He never seemed like the kinky type, but know that you see it, it really suits him.

With his glasses on the tip of his nose and his shirt almost all undone and wrinkled he stod in front of your lower parts facing your core. "Tell me, kitten." he slowly grabs your panties with his teeth and lowers them to your knees "Do you think you deserve to be well treated?"

You nodded aggressively holding yourself up by your elbows just so you can look at Joshua. He lets out a tsc before getting rid of your underwear completely. "I don't think you do," he smirks and you pout, whining in response.

"Please, sir. I promise I'll behave." there it was, what he wanted. Now you knew your place, and you would do anything for his touch. Now Joshua knows he has you in his hand. 

That said you just feel his warm tongue on your pussy and moan loudly Joshua's name out of pure pleasure. Your hands run through his hair and push him slightly more to you, his skilled tongue playing with your clit was making you see stars and you could feel your body warm up more and more. His eyes never leaving yours making you even more aroused.

"Oh God, yes.. yes... Josh... Joshua..." you moaned loudly as he sucked your clit. "Are you almost there, Kitten?" he backs away for a bit to ask you when he sees your body twitch with pleasure. You nod and he stands up "Then bend over for me, fast."

You get out of the table and do as asked, bent over the table, ass up and legs wide open for Joshua. At the sight in front of him, he slowly walked his hands through your whole body making you shiver since you were still so sensitive. You rub your ass on his pants making him groan at the feeling of your body on his boner. "How bad do you want it, kitten?" he asks huskily in your ear as you hear him unbuckle his belt.

"I.. I want it all inside me, sir," you say panting. He quickly undoes his pants and gets them off, the same with his boxers, and stands behind you. "Then be sure to take it all well, kitten." he kisses your neck while rubbing his hard cock on your heat. You nod eagerly and watch as he gets a condom from his wallet. The sound of Joshua's grunts and low moans only made you want him inside you even more.

So, your wishes were fulfilled. He started entering you slowly, caressing your hips to distract from the pain, and made sure to only move when you told him to. After listening to your first moan he knew he could start and firmly moved inside you. His steady pace became more and more irregular as he increased his rhythm and you thought you were going to hit your limit right there at that moment. "You feel so good, kitten." he grunts as he watches his lenght move in and out of you "You love my cock don't you?"

"Yes.. oh yes... I love it.." you say between moans. Suddenly Joshua discovers your sweet spot and starts ramming into you hard and deep, hitting it multiple times, making you almost scream. "Oh, I'm so close.." he kisses the back of your neck, never losing his pace "cum with me, kitten."

It only takes a few more hits to make you release all your juice and right after Joshua does the same.

Panting, he comes out of you and smiles as he helps you both clean yourselves. After you're fully dressed and back to normal he looks at his watch and smiles "Detention time is over."

You smirk and take your stuff to walk away from the classroom. As you're leaving you hear him call your name once again.

"Don't forget. You have detention tomorrow, kitten."