#I thought it's a nice thing to balance out the nastiness with some Real Questions :') | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bktaro · 3 years

Text

seven-three (part 2)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: drinking, sex clubs, rough sex, daddy kink, slight bondage, dom/sub, slight degradation, size kink, face fucking, dacryphilia, squirting, fingering, oral

wc: 6.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

tagging: @angelofthorr @lilalalila

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Nanami always did consider himself to be a man that wasted no time, and tonight was no exception.

Time was of the essence. Nanami wanted to waste not a single minute further on idle things that could be used in exploring your body and making you feel pleasure like never before.

“You’re right, I think we are a good match— we understand each other well. I completely agree with what you said earlier, I also hate wasting time.” Nanami’s hand reaches upwards to caress the side of your cheek, tilting your head up to look into your eyes. “So, that’s why I’m just going to say exactly what I’m thinking to you.”

Nanami’s other hand slides down your bare arm, until it lays on top of one of your smaller hands scrunching up the hem of his shirt. He motions you to release your grip from his shirt, and when you oblige, he takes the opportunity to grab your smaller hand within his larger one, lacing your fingers in between his own. His figure is quite taller than yours, prompting him to bend his body over to whisper into your ear.

“Let’s get out of here already so I can fuck you stupid.”

You grin at the request, a low throb jolting in between your legs at his words. He had cut right to the chase— and you loved that.

“What are we waiting for then?” You give a hard squeeze to his hand intertwined with yours, alongside the corners of your lips tugging further upwards into a larger, cheekier grin. “Let’s go.”

—

Within what felt to be mere minutes, with his hand in yours Nanami had placed a wad of cash at the concierge desk connecting the club to its sister company of hotel rooms with the request for the finest room they had to offer. The staff didn’t ask further questions, already in understanding of the nature of most of its clients. Much like the club, from the outside the hotel seemed to be a standard, elegant establishment— but in reality it served to act in partnership with the club as a ‘love hotel’ of sorts instead.

“The penthouse suite?” You ask, watching him slip the key card into the pocket of his tan blazer. “A fancy guy, aren’t you?”

Nanami lets out a low chuckle, leading you inside the elevator that was now open in front of the two of you. He steps in first, pressing the button to the desired floor, but you’re just behind his tail, following him inside instantly and standing beside him.

He’s frankly a bit astonished to find the elevator is empty, fully expecting another couple to already be partially within each other’s pants when the steel doors part open in the middle. But a new thought arises in his head— he thinks perhaps the two of you could be that couple. Elevator public sex was on his bucket list, after all.

“I like a good view, and I’ll get the best money can buy me.” Nanami replies instead, shaking the thought out of his head. He had to at least have some self-control… for now. And it wasn’t completely a lie either, he did like all things beautiful, especially the simple, natural things in life like a beautiful view with an equally beautiful woman on his arm. “The sunrise is beautiful from this high up, you’ll see later.”

A moment of foreign silence envelopes the air in between the two of you, the only sounds being the dinging noise signaling the closure of the doors soon, and the faint mechanics of the elevator whirring in the background. Although brief, the silence churns your thoughts, making you realize it’s the first time you've probably ever been alone with Nanami. At the office, your department was one of the largest in the company. Being alone with anyone was slim to none— especially Nanami who typically went out of his way to avoid pointless interaction with others.

So, you start to think you’re one lucky girl. Maybe you’ve saved a nation in your past life, something remarkable of that nature to be in the position you’re in now.

Nanami doesn’t give you much more time to get lost in your thoughts, however.

The instant the steel doors of the elevator shut close once again, you gasp at the sudden force of movement. Nanami leans his back against the wall of the elevator and pulls your hand to drag you in front of him, making you stumble in between his legs. His hands find themselves on the small of your back, supporting your balance, and all you can do is look up at the mischievous smirk that has formed on his lips.

“Maybe I also want to show you off to the entire city below too. Fuck you right up against the window so everyone can see.”

Your cheeks begin to feel warm, feeling a sudden tinge of embarrassment strike at your chest. You give out a silent prayer in thanks to the mask that conceals your now blushing face, swallowing the lump in your throat and mustering up the courage to respond in the most confident way you can.

“Oh, so you’re not fancy at all— just plain old nasty .”

Nanami lets out another laugh, this time louder than the previous. God , the sound of laughter is like a sweet melody, just as gorgeous as his smile. Maybe you really did save a nation in your past life to be able to be alive in this very moment.

“Ouch, that one hurts. Aren’t ‘fairies’ like you supposed to be nice?”

You laugh alongside him, both your hands trailing up to rest flat on his chest. Standing up on the tips of your toes, your face comes inches away from his and your eyes trail to look at his lips in front of yours.

“Aw, did I hurt you, handsome?” You give me a quick wink, a hand grabbing his silk tie to pull him forward towards you. “Don’t worry, I can kiss it better.”

Nanami follows your lead, tilting his head and leaning forward to catch your lips on his. Contrary to your conversations filled with urgency and lust, the kiss is gentle, a soft greeting to each other's bodies for the first time. His lips are plush against yours, a little bit of tongue slipping in when his tongue swipes yours and grants access but still remaining tender, molding effortlessly in sync together. All you can do is close your eyes, completely indulging in the moment at hand.

You pull away moments later, much to your dismay in the need for air. When your eyes reopen, you catch the curve of Nanami’s lips hitched upwards in front of you into a satisfied grin, resulting in another giggle surpassing your lips.

“What? Fairy magic got you feeling better already?”

“Absolutely. You’re quite a phenomenal kisser.” Nanami’s grip on the small of your back dives lower, his hands now gripping the curve of your ass in an effort to pull your body even closer to his. “I think I’m addicted already— give me some more, will you?”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice.

Your hands move to wrap around behind his neck, closing the gap between your bodies. With your body in between his legs now completely latched on to his, your hands tangle the back of his head, bringing him down for another kiss.

The kiss this time around is desperate, needy, and in the search for more. Lips now acquainted, they waste no time in smashing against each other, tongues likewise dancing to explore one another deeper. Clothes began to feel constricting, and the seconds felt excruciatingly long during the remainder of the trip up the elevator to the top floor, hands exploring every inch of the skin available to both of your reaches.

You’re frankly not too sure how exactly Nanami managed to do so, but he successfully guided you into the correct suite without his hands and lips ever tearing away from yours. They only leave you momentarily to unzip the thin fabric of your dress off and on to the floor, tossing your now nearly exposed body onto the king-sized bed and pinning you underneath his larger frame.

Just from the way his hands worked, gripping and grabbing onto every inch of your skin he could, you could tell he’s already insanely rough in bed— and a tiny smile creeps up on your face at the pleasing thought.

Nanami Kento is truly nothing like the reserved, timid and calm man from the office you thought you knew.

“You’re a real freak, aren’t you?”

Nanami leans his face lower, lips hovering over yours. A proud, cocky smirk forms upon his lips at your words, the canines of his teeth peeking through.

“Maybe I am.” His voice is low, dripping with lust at the sight of your partially naked body, now merely inches away from your lips. “But something tells me you’re not that much different from me.”

You let out a chuckle, reciprocating the smirk on his lips afterwards with your own while your fingers begin fumbling to undo the buttons of his blue dress shirt.

“Maybe I am too.” You mimic his words, pausing your efforts to undo the buttons momentarily to grab onto his patterned gold tie again, pulling him even closer. “Maybe I’m just as freaky as you — so give me everything you got.”

Before Nanami even gets the opportunity to respond back, you bring his lips onto yours. The kiss is passionate, his lips swollen and plush from the earlier make out session, tongues now more than familiar with each other, yet still desperate for more.

“ Everything ? Are you sure?” Nanami asks, pulling away momentarily. He had to ask you now where the boundaries lay, immensely cautious of your limits and not to cross them. “I’ll stop anytime if you ask, the last thing I want to do is anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure, as long as it’s nothing entirely soul crushingly degrading and humiliating.” A small, reassuring smile curves on your lips. “Seriously though, I’ve never been surer about anything. And I’m on birth control too.”

Nanami smiles half-hardy back at you, and you can sense the hesitation still lingering behind. He liked his sex rough, and he just wasn’t too sure if you did too yet. Plus, he knew how sleazy certain people could be in these environments— he wanted to make it a hundred percent clear that you weren’t obliged to anything and had the power to opt out at any time.

You were genuinely appreciative of his concern for you, noting that he was truly a kind man at heart— another thing you wouldn’t have known about him from just his presence in the office. But you sincerely did just want the man in front of you to fuck you senseless and use your body in whatever way he wanted too. You had to take it up a notch for him to sincerely ease his apprehension— and you had the perfect idea.

“Look, I’ll let you know immediately if I feel uncomfortable, okay? So don’t worry about going too far for anything.” You bring a hand up to his jawline, gently stroking the soft skin in encouragement. “But what I really want is to help you grant your wish— daddy .”

Nanami’s eyes widens, a newfound flame burning up fueled by lust flowing across his body and a small, genuine grin now forming at your response.

All it took was one, single word to shake off his hesitations, replacing them with a newly awakened beast. Unknowingly, you’ve unlocked a new side of Nanami Kento he himself rarely finds activated.

Sure, he’d been with many women during his weekend rendezvous, but he’s beginning to find truth in Gojo’s words— there was no one quite like you who had the right talk and walk, flicking on a switch in his brain that made him a man that wanted nothing more in his life than to fuck the shit out of you.

“You’re saying then you can take anything daddy gives you then, right?”

His thumb grazes over your bottom lip, and in response you open your mouth just a bit wider, wrapping your lips around his thumb.

You were more than prepared to take on this new challenger— Nanami Kento had met his match.

“Use me however you want— I’m your little slut.”

Nanami sucks his teeth at your words, the other free hand now working to loosen the tie around his neck. The bud of his thumb presses harder down the pad of your tongue, and your lips wrap tighter around it, holding onto his hand with yours and looking right at his eyes visible through the eyeholes of his mask.

“You want to be my little fuckdoll tonight, don’t you?”

Unable to speak with his thumb in your mouth, you nod your head, looking up at him and grinning the best you could. Nanami smiles again, satisfied with your response.

“You’re going to be my little slutty fuckdoll...”

The long silky gold and speckled black fabric of Nanami’s tie soon finds its way around his hand. Releasing his thumb from your mouth, you let out a gasp with wide eyes as Nanami grabs a hold of your wrists, bringing them up to the headboard above you and tying them together with his tie.

You were now completely under his discretion, your body laid out in submission, truly like a doll only for him to use however he liked— and the thought is enough to initiate another familiar throb in between your legs.

“... and you’ll do just as daddy says.”

A small shiver travels down your spine, feeling Nanami leaning forward and trailing soft kisses from the side of your jawline and down your neck, taking his time to lick and suck the sensitive areas of your skin.

He pauses when he meets the cleavage of your breasts peeking out from your bra, hands gently guiding you to arch your back off the bed. Lean fingers skillfully undo the clasp on your back, sending the strapless piece of fabric to join your other discarded garments on the floor and leaving his mouth watering at the sight of your naked, perky nipples in full view.

“My gorgeous fucking doll.”

Large hands cup and roughly squeeze the mounds of flesh, resulting in a soft, breathy whimper to leave your mouth. His tongue works on one perked nipple, licking the sensitive bud while he pulls and pinches the other with his thumb and index fingers, repeating the process again and again until you’re left squirming under his touch.

Nanami finishes giving attention to both your breasts, proudly eyeing the trails of small bruises peppered over your chest afterwards. The tip of his index finger gently begins to dance upon your skin, beginning in between your breasts at the center of your body. He traces the small love marks, loving the way you shiver and let out a small whine at even the slightest touch and slowly slithers all the way down only pausing when they reach the wetness of your cunt, concealed past your damp underwear.

“Won’t you look at that.” Nanami smirks, pressing his fingers against your underwear. “Someone’s drenched already, aren’t they?”

Your body flinches when his fingers dig deeper in between your folds, a muffled moan escaping past your lips at the slight roughness of the fabric digging into your cunt.

“Tell me, doll, who made your pussy this soaked already?”

Nanami brings his face to hover over yours again and tilts your chin upwards to look you in the eye, awaiting your response.

“ You , daddy.”

The proud grin on his face widens, a thumb joining his index finger to slowly rub your clothed clit in small, teasing circles. Your breath hitches at the new sensation on your most sensitive bud, arching your back off the bed once again and letting out an airy moan just slightly louder than the previous.

“You’re really such a good girl, listening to me so well.” He coos and leans forward, leaving you a tender, yet teasing kiss that leaves you wanting more against your lips. “Makes me want to just eat you right up.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Nanami arches his eyebrows behind his mask, slightly taken aback but simultaneously impressed with your reply. A stifling chuckle soon breaks past his lips, bringing his hand up and squishing your chin in between his fingers, causing your mouth to partially open, tongue sticking out.

“You’re right. Good, slutty girls like you deserve a reward, don’t they?”

His hand moves again, this time finding its way past the band of your underwear and inside the fabric instead. Two fingers slowly stroke past your bare clit, and then in between your wet folds, touching just enough to give you some sort of relief, but not enough penetration to fully relieve you. It leaves you whimpering, loving the touches you’re getting, but wanting even the slightest bit more .

“Tell me another thing, doll.” The finger covered with your slick leaves your underwear, Nanami bringing it up for both you and him to examine in between your faces. He spreads his two fingers apart, and the both of you watch the glistening slick stretch between the two fingers. “How do you taste when you’re all wet because of me?”

Nanami’s two fingers press down on your tongue again, and you close your mouth, embracing the digits with your tongue. Your tongue laps around his fingers, eyes looking right into his as your tastebuds savour the flavour of your own juices. Your tongue hangs out when you open your mouth again, freeing his fingers from your tongue after you suck all the slick clean off of them.

“It tastes so delicious...”

“My pretty girl likes her own flavour, hm?” Nanami’s grip on either side of your cheeks gets the slightest bit firmer. “Let me get a taste for myself.”

He leans forward, giving you a single, slow lick against your tongue with his, another whimper vibrating in your throat at your now pulsating core. When he pulls away afterwards, a low chuckle can’t help but leave his mouth, looking at your needy expression in desire for more than what his mere teasing leaves you with.

“Hm, I’m definitely going to need a better taste than that, don’t you think?”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response, already beginning to leave a trail of kisses down your body. You slowly pry your legs open for him when he reaches your pelvis, allowing him to shift his body to lay flat on the bed in between your thighs. A tender kiss is left on one side of your inner thigh, ushering you to prop your legs upwards so he can get a better view, and you can’t help but let out another shudder at his lips ghosting closer to your most sensitive area.

His hand trails upward towards the band of your underwear, fingers latching onto the sides of lacy garment resting on your hips. With the tug of his fingers, the fabric peels off of your body, a glossy string of slick trailing from your wet cunt to the center of your underwear now stained with a patch of wetness. Nanami assists you eagerly in pulling the garment all the way down your legs, until he’s able to grab them in his hands and toss them somewhere in the floor of the hotel room to join your previously discarded clothing.

It’s a sight that makes his mouth water and cock stiffen inside his pants even more, suddenly starving in the pit of his stomach to get even the tiniest taste. It’s a sight he’s again, seen numerous times before in his weekend rendezvous, but the first to get him riled up the way he was before he even truly began to explore your body.

Your legs are spread and propped open, drenched pussy glistening with slick dangerously close to staining the sheets below, and arms still bound by his tie tied around the headboard of the bed. Your breaths come in shallow pants, heavy in anticipation of whatever is to come next, your body squirming desperately searching for even that tiny moment of relief. And in the middle of it all, watching your every movement is Nanami in between your legs— a smirk plastered on his face and a glowing twinkle in his eye.

You were a feast laid out just for him, a beast wanting nothing more than to devour his prey.

And so, he decides to do just that.

“Daddy’s going to make you feel so good baby, your pussy will be wet just like this all week thinking about me.”

Nanami leans forward, spreading your cunt with his fingers and taking the first, agonizing slow lick up your dripping slit, collecting the juices threatening to spill on to his tongue. You let out a whine, head instantly thrown back at alleviating sensation.

“Fuck…”

Your pleased curse comes out in a mutter, but it’s more than enough to fuel Nanami. He traces his tongue back and forth on your slit, occasionally sticking his tongue in and out of your cunt, and increasingly picking up his pace every time he hears you whimper in delight and your body gradually wriggling more and more. The sound is music to his ears— a melody of sorts he’s more than determined to play all night.

When the tip of his tongue deliberately finds its way to brush on your clit, your body jolts, and another, breathy moan fills the air. Nanami instantly holds you down, wrapping an arm around your thighs, restraining your movements to jump away from him, and allowing him to continue to attack on your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh…my god… please…” You whine, your tied up hands searching for something to desperately grasp on to but finding nothing. “...please don’t stop… ”

It’s all you can groan out, Nanami showing no mercy in sucking on the swollen bud, flicking his tongue rapidly against it like it’s all he knew how to do. His tongue is incredibly skilled, and Nanami knows it too— simply by the way your body was thrashing already under him, a sign he knew too well of what was to come next.

He wonders how much farther you can go, what kind of reaction he can get from your body if just plays around with you just a bit further. Curiosity controls his movements, a long, lone finger on his free hand coming up and teasingly stroking your wet cunt, before inserting itself effortlessly in.

And you like it— so much so you feel yourself dripping even more , without a doubt now staining the bed sheets below when his finger curls and picks up the pace, fucking your cunt alongside his tongue working on your clit. But both Nanami and you know one isn’t enough, despite the fact he can hear your whimpers grow louder and can practically feel your cunt clenching, throbbing on his one sole finger, he knows he needs to stretch you out even further to fully prepare you for the main course— his dick in his pants that was now harder than ever.

You were close, so close already, hips thrusting to fuck his finger and face the best you could being under his grasp. When Nanami adds a second finger to join the first, fingering your pussy relentlessly, your eyes shut close, the pit of your stomach tightening and your body beginning to convulse from the intensity of it all.

“Oh my god… I… I’m going to—”

With one last final cry, your back arches the best it can under Nanami’s strength, holding your thighs down while your first orgasm of the night rips out, liquid squirting all over him.

Nanami lets you ride your orgasm out on his fingers and tongue, leaving slower, gentle licks and flicks on your clit and cunt. When your thrusting stops, he pulls away, a grin forming on his face now wet from your squirting, looking at the scene of liquid splattered on the bed sheets, the skin of your stomach and thighs, and your puffed, swollen clit.

You’re left panting, body now completely relaxed on top of the bed in an attempt to recollect yourself. You’re truthfully a bit in a state of shock, not only from how mind blowing it was to be eaten out by the Nanami Kento, but how fast it all happened. You weren’t normally one to reach an orgasm, let alone be so turned on and fucked good to squirt the way you did so quickly and easily— but you really shouldn’t be that surprised. Nanami Kento was definitely nothing remotely close to your ordinary hookup.

Nanami adjusts his body to sit back upright, undoing the last few buttons on his shirt before letting it fall onto the floor behind him. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his now naked torso, his upper body somehow even more chiseled and built than what you fantasized it to be.

It leaves you wondering what other areas—specifically below the belt— will be even better than what your fantasies envisioned them to be.

“You made a mess.” Nanami’s tone is stern, yet simultaneously integrated with a hint of pride knowing he’s the complete reason why the mess is there in the first place.

You lift your head up, examining the damage done. He’s entirely correct— drops of your liquid drip down his chin, his chest, and ultimately join the damp bed sheets below.

“It’s your fault.”

“Maybe it is.” Nanami leans back in hovering over your face once more, leaving soft kisses on the side of your neck in between his words. “But you know, I think you should still be responsible for cleaning up after your own messes.”

Continuing to leave your neck with gentle kisses and nips, his hands work to swiftly undo the knot that binds your wrists together. The soreness of your arms bound together alleviates almost instantly when they fall onto the bed, allowing for a moment of peace and calmness to overtake your body.

Indisputably, it lasts just a moment and not even a second longer. Time was of the essence to Nanami, after all.

In a blink of an eye your body is flipped. You were now laying on top of Nanami, an arm wrapped around the back of your waist and the other lifting your chin up towards him once more.

“Lick it all clean off of me, and maybe you’ll get a reward you’ve been waiting for at the end.”

Nanami grips your chin, pulling your face in for another passionate kiss on your lips. A faintly salty flavour remains on his lips causing you to graze your tongue against his in the hopes for a better taste, and when you do you can’t help but to express your satisfaction through a small, moaning against him.

“My sweet, dirty doll.” Nanami smirks against your lips in between the kisses. “You like the taste of yourself that much, don’t you?”

You pull away, countering a smile back.

“I’ll like the taste of you better.”

Parting from his lips, you shuffle your body again to sit on your knees in between Nanami’s spread legs, his back now against the headboard behind him. Leaning forward to rest your upper body on his pelvis while your hands roam the muscles of his toned abdomen and forearms. You begin to trail down his body, slowly tracing with your tongue the liquid droplets across his neck and torso, cleaning and wiping them away from his skin and onto your tastebuds.

Your eyes flicker upwards, watching Nanami’s eyes pierce at your every action in awe observing you drag your tongue lower and lower across his body until your fingers start to play with the waistband of his pants. Your breasts push up against the now evident bulge in his pants, his cock throbbing for anything more you could give him— causing Nanami to desperately chew on the insides of his bottom lip to prevent himself from just pinning you back down on the bed and fucking you senseless already.

“You’ll let me taste you, won’t you, daddy ?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, and even through the eyeholes of the mask Nanami is struck by your request, hard in more places than one. “I want to make you feel so good you’ll cum in my mouth and I can taste how delicious you are.”

Unfastening the button of his pants, you bring your finger to slowly undo the zipper, teasingly brushing against his cock desperate to be released from its constriction past his briefs. The bulge is even bigger than you imagined now released from the one thicker layer of the fabric of his pants, making you gulp in anticipation.

“You want to make daddy feel good?” Nanami hisses, a hand sneaking up behind your head to tangle in your hair.

You tug at the rest of his bottoms, pulling down the remainder of his pants and briefs until they pooled to his ankles, kicked off and discarded with the other articles of clothing on the floor. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight before you— his veiny, erected cock standing proud, both extremely generous in length and girth.

Nanami definitely was in no way exaggerating earlier in the night when he used the numbers eleven and six to describe his cock.

A flurry of questions enter your mind: how was something of this caliber supposed to fit inside you? Down your throat? But how would something this large feel? Your cunt throbs at the imagination alone, subconsciously rubbing your legs together just the slightest.

There was only one way to find out the answer to your questions.

“You got so big and hard— just for me…” You whisper, wrapping a hand around the base only to let out a breathy exhale when you see how it’s not enough to even grip the entire circumference. “... I can’t wait to taste you…”

Gathering a pool of saliva inside your mouth, you let a trail of spit land just on the tip of his dick, covering the head with a new, sheen gloss. Your two hands begin spreading the saliva onto the remainder of his dick, slowly stroking up and down his shaft in what Nanami feels is an almost painfully agonizing pace.

It takes an immense amount of self control from Nanami to hold himself back again from just thrusting his hips upwards into your ajar mouth, jaw dropped simply due to how mesmerized you were by the shape and length of his cock. Unknowingly, your breath is hot, and mixed with the warmth of your hands wrapping tightly up and down makes it insanely difficult for Nanami to keep his composure intact. He wonders what you would look like if he just shoved his dick in your mouth right now, pushing far enough so his cock would protrude out of your cheek, maybe causing a tear or two to escape your eyes because you're choking on his cock, far too big for your tiny mouth.

But in this exact moment, all he can do is watch you, patiently waiting in anticipation of your next move and when you’ll free his throbbing cock from it’s imprisonment. He doesn’t see the need to dwell in imagination any further— he would make sure to see it play out soon enough in reality.

“Oh!” Your eyes go wide for a second, before a small smirk spreads across your face when you realize just what that unfamiliar feeling under the palm of your hands is. “I felt that… you’re thinking something nasty right now aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about you .” Nanami groans out, voice caught in between your hands gently squeezing just a bit harder. “How pretty you’ll look when I fuck that cute little mouth of yours, making you choke on my cock until you cry.”

You let out a small giggle, grazing a thumb across the slit of his cock that causes another wince upon his face. A small ooze of precum seeps past the slit, and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

“Do it then.” You lean forward, taking a single lick of the tip of his dick, eyes locked onto his pupils behind the mask while the salty taste bombards your tastebuds. “Fuck my pretty little mouth just made to suck your big cock.”

Your tongue slowly begins to swirl the head of his dick, a thumb coming in between to graze across the sensitive slit. You can feel a particular prominent vein rubbing down the shaft of his cock throb under your grasp once more, inspiring you to trace your tongue along it up and down in the hopes of calming it down.

But you and Nanami know all too well it doesn’t— in fact doing quite the opposite in reality. His cock becomes even more stiff at the sight of your tongue providing just a tease of what he needs, hungry and desperate for just some relief.

Nanami ultimately begins to think you're more of an angel instead of a fairy. A horny, beautiful, ethereal being that answers his silent pleas at last when you finally take his dick in your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the entire head, taking his length into your mouth and beginning to bob your head up and down. His dick is too big, your mouth only able to take barely half of his length, one hand working in its place to pump the remaining area your mouth is unable to reach.

The breath Nanami has been holding back finally escapes, eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back succumbing to the ecstasy of your tongue working in sync with your puckered lips, swirling around his shaft just perfectly every time his length enters the depths of your mouth. Nanami’s blown away at how good— really fucking good— your tongue works his cock, and he begins to become convinced maybe your mouth really was made to suck cock.

Yet, he thinks with a little help from him, you could make it an experience even better than ever before.

“You suck my cock so good, doll.” His hand lands gently on the top of your head, caressing it in encouragement briefly before it sneaks past to the back of your head again, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull it back and away from your face. “But I know you can do even better than this.”

The hand on the back of your head guides your pace, raising the speed of your head bobbing back and forth alongside the increase of spit formulating onto his cock, dribbling out the corners of your mouth. The sight of trails of spit coming down your chin releases an almost animalistic groan from Nanami, holding your head down just the slightest bit further than before and allowing the tip of his dick to meet the back of your throat.

Nanami holds your head there, watching your eyes begin to glisten looking right up at him. Your entire mouth is filled with more of his length than you could take, now being unable to even breathe properly, choking on his cock instead.

The sight is just as good as his imagination, perhaps even better . Messy, dirty, and sloppy— Nanami’s favourite type of blowjob, done effortlessly by you.

You gasp for air when Nanami releases your head, a trail of spit connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. A smile curves on your lips looking up at Nanami’s expression above you, chest rising up and down in the growing lack of steady breaths, a bead of sweat rolling down from the side of forehead, teeth gritted, and a hand pumping his now wet cock.

“You like choking on cock, don’t you?” His free hand comes up to grab just under your chin, lifting your face up towards him. “That little cunt of yours is probably just dripping wet after taking a fat cock down your throat.”

Your hand trails down your body, feeling the wetness of the dripping saliva and sheen of sweat beginning to coat your body. A different type of wetness is found when your fingers reach between your legs, however, enough present to drench your entire cunt.

“I love choking on daddy’s cock…” You moan out, slipping a finger effortlessly in your own lubricated pussy. “...it turns me on so much, makes me so horny for more.”

Nanami curses under his breath, subconsciously pumping his cock faster watching you whimper and whine at your own finger fucking your cunt.

“Open that fucking slutty mouth again.” Nanami commands. “You’re going to let me fuck that throat of yours until my cum is shooting down your throat— and add another fucking finger in your pussy while you're at it.”

You oblige without hesitation, slipping another finger inside your cunt while opening your mouth once more. Nanami’s hand rejoins the back of your head, holding you steady before sliding his cock into your mouth.

It becomes incredibly difficult to breathe, the little air you do have used on moaning against his cock repeatedly thrusting without mercy into your mouth. The head of his cock continuously attacks the back of your throat, now sore from the consistent assault but you can do nothing but take it, a situation that makes you throb between your legs.

You were being used just like a doll, his doll— and in this moment there was nothing more you wanted than that.

Stars fill your vision, and you’re not entirely sure if its from how good your cunt feels, fingers knuckles deep fucking yourself, or if its the sound of Nanami’s moans filling the air growing louder and louder as his hips start to lose their pace. Perhaps it's the combination of both, unwinding the familiar knot in your stomach that makes you release a loud, muffled moan against his dick, your fingers frantically riding out your high.

The vibration of your moan against his dick is the last straw for Nanami, letting out one last groan before shooting his ropes of white cum down your throat, the salty flavour bombarding your tastebuds. It’s a taste you’ve been dying for, and you savour every last drop, swallowing it all down your throat.

“Show me.” Nanami pulls his cock away from your mouth, instantly gripping your chin one again, forcing you to open your mouth. “Show me you swallowed it all.”

You lick your lips, before opening your mouth wide open, sticking your tongue proudly out to display the cleanness of the pad of your tongue.

“Two out of seven.” Nanami smiles, leaving a kiss on your lips that’s tender and comforting before the grip on your chin firms once again. “Five more baby, we’re only just getting started.”

#Nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami reader #nanami jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

the in-between | i (kuroo tetsurou)

➵ it took you and kuroo 24,000 words and 69 pages of pure behemoth far too long to learn that love was never singularly defined. it can be both striking and understated, sudden and unhurried, gentle and all-consuming. and most of all, it can be anything else in-between.

wc: 9k (part 1 of 3)

warnings: f!reader, good old f2l (do i write anything else?), depictions of anxiety & depression, cursing

a/n: i cannot thank @w-yuren enough for all the love and care she poured into beta-ing this :( i’m honestly so touched you worked through this absolute monstrosity w me (and put up w my incoherence) ren u deserve the world <3 (also @jupiturde erin ilysm thank you for reading this over So Many times you’re incredible!!)

m. list | ch. 1 ↠ ch. 2

"I'll help you," Kuroo sighed. "On one condition."

The scant bit of confidence you’d worked up was starting to crumble. You clenched your fists, steeling yourself. At this point, you're willing to do just about anything.

"Manage the volleyball team for a while."

Your face fell. "What, really?"

"Mhm," Kuroo nodded, still slouched over his desk.

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh."

This wasn't quite how you’d expected the situation to go. And quite frankly, you were just upset that you were even in this situation in the first place. But, who wouldn't be?

Begging Kuroo Tetsurou to help you with chemistry wasn’t a situation you’d envisioned yourself ending up in. But, something had to be done about those abysmal exam marks. Your grades in everything else were fine; good, even. Certainly high enough to earn you your spot in Class 5. But that chemistry grade was something to be concerned about. Your homeroom teacher had warned you as much on the very first day of the school year.

And for the handful of weeks since, you’d been driving yourself mad trying to think of a solution. Hard work had only gotten you so far, and none of your friends felt they were competent enough to tutor you. You needed help – desperately.

So there you stood, in front of the desk of a boy you’d never had a proper conversation with before, asking for his help – all while uncomfortably aware that this was cutting into his lunch break.

You hadn’t quite known what to expect from this interaction. You weren't really friends, after all; you’d been vaguely aware of him over this past year and a bit, but knew little, if anything, about him. All you knew was that he was topping the grade when it came to chemistry, and therefore, turning to him in this time of need might help.

You hadn't expected this ultimatum.

"Why?"

It was a genuine question.

"Hm?"

"Why ask me to be your manager?" You asked, tilting your head at him. "I know nothing about volleyball."

"You'll learn."

You frowned. "This is the only way you'll tutor me?"

"It's not the only way," Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow at you. "But it'd certainly bump it up my priority list."

The worst thing was that it didn't even seem like he was trying to be a dick.

Right, you thought. Pros and cons.

Cons: being a manager would eat up a lot of your time. Presumably. Maybe. You didn't have any real idea.

Also, it would mean spending a lot more time around sweaty boys. That sounded kind of gross.

And what time did practice finish? Walking home after sunset was always a little scary. Certainly scary enough to stoke a bit of anxiety.

More importantly, it sounded like responsibility. Maybe you were overestimating just what being a manager meant, but it sounded like there was plenty of stuff you could mess up.

Pros: it'd look really, really good on your college applications.

Just like a passing chemistry grade would. Which you weren't going to get all on your own.

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at you. “Just a couple of months. And I’ll be your resource to use as you please.”

You blinked at him, baffled at his choice of phrasing.

“How about you just drop by practice this afternoon?” He suggested, balancing his chin on his fist. “You can get a feel for it.”

You sighed.

“Alright.”

You were willing to do just about anything, after all.

✧ ✧ ✧

Teenage boys, no matter how polite or kind or accommodating, are always scary in packs.

That little revelation came to mind as you pressed yourself meekly against the wall of the gym, watching a gaggle of boys running back and forth, jumping and hitting and shouting. Part of you wanted to melt into the wall, hoping that none of these giants would pay you much attention.

You’re painfully aware of one of them staring at you; a first-year, judging by his use of honorifics. He’s tallish, but not enough to be scary, with close-cropped hair and grumpy eyebrows. There’s a certain intensity to him – he seemed like the sort of person with too much tenacity for his own good.

And yet, he seemed terrified of you. Was he the sort of boy who couldn’t talk to girls?

You smiled to yourself. Such dichotomy in one personality, huh?

There was another boy that caught your eye. A quiet one, with chin-length black hair who seemed to want to sink into the ground. He didn’t look like the sort of boy you’d expect to find on a high school sports team. He was a little shorter than everyone else – except for Yaku, who’d greeted you quite amiably when you’d first arrived.

But Yaku seemed like he wanted to be there. Like he enjoyed it. This kid? He looked like he just wanted to melt into the shadows. He always flinched whenever anyone called out to him. Hell, he seemed to flinch even when someone so much as looked at him. Was he okay? Should you ask if he’s okay? Should you point him out to Kuroo? But Kuroo had already spoken to him a few times…

Well, checking in with people’s well-being would be part of your job as a manager, right? It’d be your duty to make sure that the club members were doing okay.

But practice was still going. You’d have to put a pin in that thought.

The third years were frightening, as expected. But, you felt as though your upperclassmen would always be somewhat scary. The captain had traded a handful of words with you – hellos, nice to meet yous, a what are you even doing here – but he hadn’t made any particular point to help you out.

That job was left to the coach, who, thankfully, seemed quite kind. You had said very little to him, but you could tell that he loved his job just from the serene smile that graced his face as he watched his team go at it.

Practice was over before you knew it. The sun was setting outside the windows, the sky blushing orange. You bit your lip. Maybe you’d be able to get home before it got too dark…

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the gym floor. Maybe you should try talking to one of the boys… Yaku had always been friendly. Maybe he’d tolerate a conversation with you? Oh, what about Kai? He’d been very quiet, but he seemed nice… There was Kuroo, too…

You pressed your lips together, eyes scanning over the gaggle of boys in front of you as your mind ran through the pros and cons all at once.

You frowned. The third years were yapping at that quiet boy; whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem exactly friendly. You froze. Should you do something? Was this normal? Was it a problem? He looked terrified – not that he showed it outright, but it was in his eyes.

Kuroo was standing behind him, saying something to one of the third years. You couldn’t quite hear them, but Kuroo’s expression was… cold. Not confrontational, just unyielding. Whatever he’d said, the third years stalked away.

You watched closely as Kuroo’s expression softened as he looked at the shorter boy. He looked concerned. Were they friends?

“Oi, manager chick!”

You cringed. It’s one of the third years – not the captain, but someone you’d noted had quite the nasty serve.

“Help clean up!”

“Right!” You gave a quick half-bow, your head flicking around almost frantically as you looked for something to do.

You settled for collecting stray balls, rushing them back to the ball bins. All the while you watched the sky darken beyond the gym windows – and with it, your anxiety began to blossom.

By the time you were picking up your bag to go home, the sky was positively black. You bit your lip as you stared out the gym windows, your eyebrows a little furrowed.

“Hey.”

You looked up, a little startled. Kuroo, forehead slick with sweat and cheeks tinged red from exertion. You resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose. Being this close to a sweaty teenage boy wasn’t high on your priorities list.

“What’d you think?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel.

You shrugged. “Seems intense.”

“But you don’t hate it, right?” He smiled. It’s hopeful. Almost pitifully so.

You bit the inside of your cheek. In truth, you didn’t. There’s something quite fun about watching them play volleyball up close. They all got so into it. It was always nice, watching people care about something so deeply that enjoyment seeped through every part of their being.

“We’ll see,” you said. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He smiled brightly at that half-promise. Brightly enough that you knew you didn’t want to let him down.

This side of him was already a far cry from that trickster-like figure you’d negotiated with this morning.

“Hey, uh…” He cleared his throat, one hand finding its way to the back of his head. “I was wondering… did you need me to walk you home? I know it’s getting kind of late, so…”

You felt something that’s not quite elation, but certainly a bit more intense than relief. Tokyo’s a safe enough place, yes, but that fact’s never enough to quell the anxiety you’d always felt from walking home in the dark.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You tried to make your smile look relaxed and natural, but you knew some hint of tension had made its way in there.

“Cool,” Kuroo said, giving you a little nod as his eyes scanned your face. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, slouching down a little. Was he… trying to make himself smaller? “But, uh… where do you live?”

By some miracle, it’s not all that far from his place. You caught the relief on his face, even if he made an effort to hide it. Would he really have walked you all the way to your house, even if it wasn’t in the same area?

He didn’t give you time to think about it, turning around and waving a hand in the air.

“Hey, Kenma!”

Your brows rose instinctively as the shy kid scurried over, head hunched down and hands stuffed into his pockets.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo smiled, nodding at him. “He’s my next-door neighbour.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah,” Kenma nodded in a quiet response, not quite able to meet your eyes. You didn’t press it. You offered him your name quickly, a bit like an afterthought, but Kenma gave you a little nod in recognition.

“You guys ready to go?” Kuroo looked between the both of you, tilting his head at the door.

You glanced over at Kenma. He didn’t glance back.

“Yeah,” you nodded, relieved that you wouldn’t have to walk the dark streets on your own.

✉

[YOU] 7:21 PM: hello! Is this kuroo?

[Kuroo] 7:34 PM: you got it

[YOU] 7:36 PM: thank goodness! I just wanted to say, thank you for walking me home today. I was a bit worried about it, but I didn’t want to impose

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: not a problem. I’m more than happy to do it again tomorrow

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: since you are coming to practice, right?

[YOU] 7:40 PM: Sure :)

✧ ✧ ✧

Kuroo Tetsurou hadn’t been what you’d expected.

For one thing, he’d actually made good on your deal. You’d half-expected him to bail on tutoring you – though you couldn’t exactly say why. But, you supposed it would be hard for him to dodge the ire of his club manager. Regardless, he dedicated most afternoons to helping you study.

You’d meet up in the library before practice and you’d always start with chemistry. He was actually kind of good at explaining the concepts to you in a way you understood, without all the bells and whistles. He had a way of simplifying the concepts to their bare bones. That’s not to say that it wasn’t difficult; you still felt like you’d been left far, far behind. But, Kuroo was something of a comfort.

Somehow, you’d end up working on other subjects. Apparently, Kuroo’s surprisingly bad at literature. He was doing well enough, but it was something he just couldn’t wrap his head around. Maybe you’d been a bit gung-ho about offering your help, but you were just glad you finally had something to offer in this arrangement. Even though you were still managing the volleyball team, overwhelming as that could be sometimes.

But, you’d made a deal, and the whole manager business was less scary than you’d first thought. And you felt that with time, you’d get the hang of it. Maybe.

More often than not, your study session before practice wasn’t enough time to cover all the content you needed. So, sometimes, you’d continue it after practice, holed up in the library until you got kicked out. Kenma usually stuck with you guys, sitting in the corner with whatever game console he’d brought that day.

And without fail, Kuroo walked you all the way to your house every night. And during those walks, you talked. Rather animatedly.

“What I’m saying is that the divide between the arts and the sciences is arbitrary,” Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “When they work together, incredible things happen. Genuine art happens.” He cocked his head at you, that perceptive grin of his spread across his face. “You’d really disagree with me on that?”

“I didn’t say I disagree,” you grinned. “I’m just surprised that you’re not one of those sciencey people who thinks that the arts are worthless.”

He scoffed at that, shaking his head. “Excuse you. I’ve got more nuance than that.”

“Sorry for doubting you,” you giggled.

“You better be.”

The thing you’d been most surprised about, above everything else, was just how enjoyable it was to talk to him. How easy it was to get lost in a conversation that most of your other friends might get bored by. It’s not that your other friends treated you badly, but Kuroo had a way of naturally drawing out your thoughts, and he usually treated them with enough respect to engage with them. Of course, there were times when he loved to tease, and you’d learnt to not take it too personally.

Kuroo Tetsurou was far more interesting than you’d first given him credit for. And you felt kind of bad for that. You’d known he wasn’t just some dumb jock – he wasn’t topping chemistry for nothing – but you hadn’t expected him to be so… clever. So playful. So fun to talk to.

You were beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could end up being quite close to.

✉

[YOU] 10:41 PM: hey, kuroo?

[Kuroo] 10:46 PM: what's up?

[YOU] 10:47 PM: i was just wondering, why did you ask me to become manager?

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: oh ahaha

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: i thought having an extra pair of hands around would help the coach out a bit

[YOU] 10:48 PM: wait really

[YOU] 10:48 PM: that's it?

[Kuroo] 10:50 PM: ??????

[YOU] 10:51 PM: you were so seedy about it!

[Kuroo] 10:51 PM: was i?

[YOU] 10:52 PM: i–

[Kuroo] 10:53 PM: :)

✧ ✧ ✧

“Kenma wants to quit.”

Your head shot up, turning to Kuroo with wide eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, one hand raking through his hair. “The third years have been giving him a really rough time.” He bit his lip, glancing at you. “You’ve seen it yourself.”

You swallowed. “I hoped I was just being too sensitive, but…”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand down his face. “They’re such assholes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. The third years had almost made you want to quit in the early days. They were scary, sharp, unrelenting. But they’d left you alone pretty quickly once you’d settled into the thrum of your responsibilities.

Kenma hadn’t been so lucky.

“Is he okay?” You murmured, brows knitted together. “I mean, I know he’s getting picked on, but is he… is he… I don’t know…”

“I get it,” Kuroo sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about that sort of stuff.”

You set your pen down on the dining table, shifting in your chair to face him directly.

Practice had been cancelled for the afternoon, and Kuroo had bustled you out of school before you even had a chance to ask why. You’d been surprised when he had asked if the two of you could study at your place that afternoon – and some part of you had dreaded what your parents might say about you bringing a boy home – but you’d conceded. He’d seemed stuck in his head; something not unusual for him, but he’d been just withdrawn enough to pique your concern.

This must’ve been why.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I don’t want to push him too hard or anything, but I don’t think he’s making the right choice.”

You bit your lip.

“Why?” You asked, feeling bold.

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want him to quit,” you said. “Other than the obvious.” You sat up a little straighter, grabbing your notebook and picking up your pen. “We can brainstorm together.”

“Other than the obvious?” He tilted his head at you.

“You know,” you shrugged. “I know you want him to stay around because he’s your best friend, but... there’s more to it, right?”

“Well…” Kuroo swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back in his chair. “We’re not gonna get very far without him.”

You scribbled that down quickly. “Why’s that?”

“He’s a good strategist,” Kuroo said carefully, “And he’s great at running through all the potential outcomes on the spot. And nobody on the team’s as observant as he is.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you transcribed. You weren’t narcissistic enough to think you knew Kenma better than Kuroo did. Nor did you want to presume you were closer to the second-year than you actually were. But you wanted to help.

“Why don’t you… explain that to him?” You asked, peering down at your notebook.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… just tell him the logical reasons you want him to stick around,” you shrugged. “I think he’d respond well to that.”

“I guess…” Kuroo pursed his lips, looking at you with a frown.

“What I’m trying to say is that… maybe putting it into terms that’ll resonate with him is the best way to go.” You weren’t quite sure if your point was getting across. You just had to hope that he understood.

“I get you,” he nodded, crossing his arms. “I dunno if it’ll work though.”

“He’ll listen to you,” you mused, propping your hand on your chin.

“Huh?”

“It’s obvious you mean a lot to him,” you shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t really use his words to express that.”

Kuroo blinked at you, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

“I mean, he’s stuck it out with volleyball this long, hasn’t he?” You smiled at him, watching his cheeks grow even pinker. “That’s because of you.”

He cleared his throat as he looked down at his lap. It was strange to see him so… speechless. He was the sort of person that always had a comeback. You were never able to get a one up on him. Sincerity, however, seemed to be his hamartia.

“I just… I wanna go as far as I can with this team,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, me and the other second years… when we first joined the team, we were asked about our goals.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “We all said that we wanted to win nationals.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was telling you all this. He didn’t know where it came from. But he knew he’s grateful to be able to just talk. To share this with someone.

“Yaku and I used to fight all the time,” he smiled sheepishly, casting his gaze at you.

“I can see that,” you giggled. There was always a little fire between the two of them; it’d given you a good laugh many times.

“It was kind of stupid, but… we got over it. We learned to work together,” Kuroo sighed.

“I feel bad for poor Kai,” you smiled.

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah…” He sighed as he leaned over the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Nekoma used to be hot shit, you know.”

“Did we?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Made it to nationals a couple of times. But, we sort of… fell off. We haven’t been as good as we could be for a while. And… I want to change that.”

He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing. “We can’t do that if we don’t work together. And I know that sounds obvious, but… we need to focus on our teamwork more. We’ll only be great if we all learn to rely on and trust each other. We’ve gotta make the best use of all our strengths while covering our weaknesses.”

You nodded, making a little noise of agreement. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to him. This side of Kuroo – this genuine, honest one – was quickly becoming your favourite.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sitting up straight. “Didn’t mean to ramble at you there.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You shook your head. “Ramble all you’d like.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you for that, but he was smiling.

“Hey, Kuroo?” Normally, you wouldn’t have thought to ask the questions that were currently poking at the back of your mind. But he’d just been so honest, so open with you in a way he’d never been before. Maybe it was okay to be a little bit curious. Just this once.

“Hm?”

“I have a genuine question,” you said, folding your hands in your lap.

He looked at you, pouting a little.

“Why volleyball?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow creased ever so slightly. Usually, he’d just dodge a conversation like this; not because he was particularly embarrassed by it or anything like that, but because he didn’t want to talk about himself too much. He didn’t want to be rude and dominate the conversation.

But, you were asking. And, you seemed genuinely interested.

A little bit of sincerity wouldn’t hurt, right?

“My family moved here when I was pretty young,” he said, shrugging. “And I didn’t really… know how to make friends. Before I moved, I’d been part of a volleyball team. All my friends were on it, and… I had to move away from them.”

It was a little strange, trying to pull up all these memories. And trying to condense them was harder than he’d expected. “When I first met Kenma, we just played video games. I didn’t really… know how to talk to him. But he agreed to play volleyball with me, and that made things so much easier. I had something to talk about.”

You smiled to yourself, the image of a shy little Kuroo more endearing than it should be.

“I even convinced him to go to a weekend class with me,” he smiled, looking down. “You know, I even remember when I first met Coach Nekomata.”

“Huh?” You frowned.

“The old coach who used to work here. Rumour is he’ll come out of retirement sometime soon,” he smiled.

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand.

We bumped into him at one of those classes,” Kuroo said. “He told me, ‘do what you love, and success will come.’ I still think about that.”

Do what you love, and success will come. Yeah, that definitely sounded like something that’d resonate with Kuroo.

“Anyway, I joined the team in middle school, and that made it a lot easier to make friends,” Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t know. I love volleyball. Have for as long as I can remember. It’s fun. And… it helped me connect with people, even when… even when I couldn’t find the right words.”

He looked at you, a bit more tentative than usual. But, you were smiling, your chin propped up on one of your palms as you listened to him talk.

“Believe it or not, but I was a really shy kid.” He didn’t know why he’s still talking. And honestly, he’s a little embarrassed by it. But, you’re still listening. And for that, he’s grateful.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you grinned.

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?”

“You think so much,” you mused, looking upwards. “But, like… in the way introverts do, you know?” You blushed, looking down at your hands. “Well, I mean… I tend to overthink everything I say, right?”

“No, really?” Kuroo gasped, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Shush,” you shot him a half-glare, suppressing the urge to stick your tongue out at him like a child. “It’s just that… I see a little bit of that in you, too. Not… massively, but it’s there.”

You couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t one you’d seen before. And honestly, he wouldn’t know how to describe it himself. He was caught between the relief at being seen, at being understood, and the embarrassment of being called out. People didn’t tend to pick up on that part of him – and yet, you had.

He wasn’t used to being the one getting read.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I really didn’t mean to ramble so much.”

“Oi,” you giggled, “I said it’s fine, didn’t I?”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s nice that you care so much about the game.” You were smiling at him. Nothing unusual. But the look in your eyes was so genuine, so bright that he could feel his face burning up from looking at it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, breaking eye contact with you. God, he really didn’t know what to do in conversations like these. “Anyway, should we get back to chem?”

✉

[closet introvert] 9:22 PM: so

[YOU] 9:25 PM: so

[closet introvert] 9:25 PM: i think i’m gonna try to talk to kenma after school tomorrow

✧ ✧ ✧

If there was one thing you were fairly decent at as manager, it was looking after the first and second years. Bit by bit, you’d worked up an adequate rapport with each of them, and you had most of their personalities sorted out. Most importantly, you knew what to do when they were down.

You just had to let Yaku rant – let him shout and gripe and swear, and he’d be okay. Kai liked a constructive conversation, had in soft, measured tones, and offering a solution or two. Yamamoto wanted fire and conviction, a challenge to do better, to be better. Fukunaga liked a distraction, something to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Kenma liked to be left alone to sort things out for himself – but you were permitted to make him a care package or two.

You’d known Kuroo long enough by now to know that he was rather reticent when it came to his own feelings. He wasn’t the sort to talk about them upfront; you had to peer at the silences and the spaces between his words to find out what he really meant. You had to look at his behaviour; he was never too straightforward. That sort of thing seemed to overwhelm him.

That presented a bit of a problem. If he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, he simply wouldn’t. He’d deflect the conversation, or downplay how he was feeling. Sometimes he gave you bits and pieces, but he rarely spilled his true thoughts and feelings. They were exceedingly difficult to draw out of him – he had to offer them up himself. And most of the time, he bounced back pretty quickly from his more melancholic moods on his own.

But not today.

Kuroo wasn’t exactly loud. At least, not in the same way Yamamoto was – or that rambunctious wing spiker from Fukurodani. It was well within Kuroo’s abilities to be obnoxious, but he wasn’t loud. But even for him, he was being uncharacteristically quiet today.

Practice had gone fine, as far as you could tell. Nothing had gone obviously wrong, and nobody had gotten injured. From your perspective, things had even gone well. Admittedly, your knowledge of volleyball didn’t run particularly deep just yet, but you were trying your best.

Kuroo was usually so bright after practice, always grinning or cackling at something despite his exhaustion. Half the time he’d point things out to you, explaining certain moves they’d practised or formations they were trying out.

But today, he’d just picked up his bag dourly, waiting at the door for you and Kenma to leave. He’d said very little on the walk to the train station when usually he’d be rambling about something or other. You and Kenma exchanged a look; he was just as concerned as you were.

And just like you, he didn’t know how to breach the conversation.

“So… how do they even work?” You asked, blinking down at Kenma’s DS screen.

You couldn’t stand the silence for much longer. And you knew that a sure-fire way to get Kenma talking was by asking him about video games – especially optimization.

“EVs are gained by defeating specific Pokemon,” Kenma murmured. “If you defeat a Pokemon with naturally high HP like Chansey, you’ll gain EVs towards your own HP. However, you can only gain 252 EV’s towards any one stat.”

You nodded, opting to let him ramble. Usually, Kuroo would’ve led the conversation between the three of you. But, you’d valiantly taken that task up yourself today – and the easiest way to help things go smoothly was to get Kenma on a roll.

“You can gain a maximum of five-hundred and twelve total, so realistically you can only optimise two stats at a time,” he continued, eyes still glued to his screen. You took a moment to glance at Kuroo. He was staring out the window of the train, his expression worryingly forlorn. Was he even listening?

“IVs are a Pokemon’s innate capabilities.” Kenma was still going. You made an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, nodding. “A Pokemon with a high attack IV will have a naturally higher attack stat than a Pokemon with a low attack IV, even at the same level.”

On the one hand, it was nice to know that Kenma was comfortable enough with you to ramble like this. It was also nice to see Kenma talking freely; a rare and precious sight.

On the other hand, it just made you more stressed about Kuroo. He hadn’t breathed a word the entire ride. He hadn’t even taken a moment to gaze fondly at Kenma while he was rambling. And he always did that when Kenma was on a roll.

You managed to ask enough questions to fill the distance to Kenma’s house. He was speaking more than usual. That much was obvious, yes – but even for a Kenma that was geeking out, this was unusual.

And with the way his gaze kept flicking to Kuroo, you knew it was because he was truly, deeply concerned.

Kuroo still made somewhat of an effort to say goodbye to Kenma, despite his mood. The usual “make sure you don’t go to sleep too late, okay?” and “make sure you drink enough water, so you don’t get a headache.”

But before Kenma walked through his front door, he looked at you. And when you looked back, he held eye contact. Then he looked very pointedly at Kuroo, who was staring up at the sky. By the time you turned to look at Kenma again, he was already scurrying through his front door.

“You ready?” Kuroo asked, now looking at you.

You nodded, half-jogging to join him on the street. Even today, even when it seemed like he just wanted to go home and sleep, he was still walking you home. Sure, your house wasn’t all that far from his, but he still went out of his way every night, just to make sure you felt comfortable.

That quiet thoughtfulness was part of who he was. You’d seen him direct it at Kenma all the time.

The same Kenma who’d just sent you a silent plea.

The Kenma, who never looked you in the eyes for longer than half a second.

The Kenma, who had just asked you to speak to his best friend.

That was all the push you needed.

“Hey, Kuroo?” You murmured.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You asked.

Kuroo looked at you, one eyebrow raised. He was torn.

Should he really burden you with this? Was it right for him to worry you again?

But you’re looking at him with such genuine concern, such genuine care. And the advice you’d given him when he was worried about Kenma had been both helpful and effective. And surely, you wouldn’t have asked that question if you didn’t want a proper answer, right?

Fuck it, he thought.

“I feel like I’m not measuring up,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “My blocking hasn’t been improving. And I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to work on my read blocking but I just can’t get it down. I can’t even fix the problem because I don’t know what the problem is.”

He took a deep breath, his steps slowing to a stop. “I convinced Kenma to stay on, but I’m not a team-mate he can be proud of.”

“Kuroo…”

You looked at him, cloaked in the shadows of the street. His gaze was cast at the ground, his brow furrowed and the smallest of pouts on his lips. You wanted to hug him, but you weren’t sure if that’d help.

You didn’t quite know what to say. You knew what it was like to get caught up in your own insecurities – you were sure most people did. You knew he couldn’t see himself the way you saw him; tenacious, hard-working, passionate.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. No, that was too soft – too wishy-washy. “I know that it… seems kind of silly for me to say, but you are.”

You clenched your fists to steel yourself, taking a step closer to him. That got his attention – he looked up at you, eyes slightly wide.

“You feel like you’re not measuring up, or that you’re not improving… but I don’t see it that way.” It was true. You watched him push himself harder each and every day, improving little by little. And when he wasn’t, he’d learn from those mistakes.

“It must be easy to lose yourself on the court, but from where I’m standing… you’re improving every day.” Your eyes searched his face, looking for any indication that your words were having some kind of impact.

“And… you don’t need to be the world’s best middle blocker, you know?” You said, tilting your head at him. “You’re good, Kuroo. And you know you’ve got space to improve – that’s your strength. That makes you a team-mate worth being proud of.”

He was staring at you, eyes still wide. The dim light of the street hid the blush on his cheeks. For that, he was thankful.

“Uh…” He felt like he should say something. But he didn’t quite know what. ‘Thank you’ would’ve been the natural response, but those words just wouldn’t come.

“Sorry,” you blushed, your nerves finally catching up with you as you looked away from him. “I didn’t mean to… push your boundaries or anything like that, but… if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Had you overstepped his boundaries? Had you made him uncomfortable? Those questions plagued you for the rest of the way home, Kuroo still quiet and reticent at your side.

You hadn’t overstepped his boundaries at all. Kuroo just couldn’t find the right words, even as you closed the distance to your house.

In all honesty, he’s touched. Touched that you cared so much. Touched that you reached out, even though he could tell how nervous you were. Touched that you were paying that much attention.

As he walked through the door of his own home, he couldn’t get the image of you looking up at him so resolutely out of his head.

He’d have to thank some deity above for the fact you were bad at chemistry, wouldn’t he?

✉

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: hey so uh

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: i just wanted to say thanks

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: for listening to me be all emotional like that

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: i put a lot on you but you were really nice about it

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: so yeah

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: thanks

[YOU] 10:59 PM: NO! DON’T APOLOGISE!

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: !?!?!?!

[YOU] 11:00 PM: honestly, i don’t mind! and i’m happy to listen :(

[YOU] 11:00 PM: i’m here if you need to talk to anyone, okay?

[japan’s okayest tutor] 11:04 PM: you too

✧ ✧ ✧

You were alone.

Your sobs were the only sound fracturing the fragile silence of the empty gym as you slumped against the wall, your knees brought up to your chest.

Why did you have to fuck up so bad? You’d managed to survive your first year with no drama, the only cause of concern being your studies. They were overwhelming enough to deal with on their own. You’d certainly felt down about your grades and whatnot before, but those ruts were a little easier to pull yourself out of. ‘They’re just grades,’ you’d try and tell yourself. ‘You can improve next time. And they don’t define you as a person.’ Even if you didn’t quite believe any of that, it was nice to have some rhetoric to at least attempt to counteract those thoughts.

But now? Now you truly felt alone. Like no-one cared about you.

You felt like you deserved it. Like anyone who cared about you was wasting their time. Like you were taking up their time and attention undeservedly.

It was all too overwhelming.

The pain choked you. Every thought, every feeling you’d been trying to fend off for so long ripped through you like an arrow.

Fuck, why couldn’t you just hold yourself together? Why did you have to be so weak?

You let go. And you cried. And cried. And cried.

The sound shattered the vacuous silence of the gym. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, letting your sobs rack through your body.

Your throat was sore.

Your eyes stung.

You were alone.

And you deserved it.

“Woah.”

You froze. You knew that voice.

“Hey.” Kuroo knelt in front of you, his hands finding their way to your forearms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He was knelt in front of you, eyebrows knitted together as his eyes roamed your face.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Shit, why was he here? Why hadn’t he just headed home?

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You didn’t want to worry them.

Kuroo’s arms found their way around you, coaxing you gently towards his chest. You collapsed into him, burying your face in his chest.

Fuck, that didn’t help at all. Your sobs came with more voracity, rawer and harsher than they had been.

He just held you, chin propped on your head and one hand rubbing your back. He didn’t say anything; he knew you didn’t need that right now. He knew that in moments like this, it was nice just to be held. To feel like someone’s there.

And then slowly, breath by breath, everything seemed to calm. Your sobs grew softer and softer against his chest, his gentle hums setting a new rhythm for your fractured mind. He was grounding you; each touch, each sound was an attempt to bring you back down to earth. You could tell it wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, crouched awkwardly in front of you while holding you to his chest, but he stayed.

He stayed until your breathing had levelled out, and your grip on his shirt had loosened.

“There you go,” Kuroo murmured, letting you go. He shifted to sit next to you, and you immediately missed his warmth. You found a little comfort as he looped an arm around your shoulder.

You took a long, shaky breath. You weren’t sure how long you’d keep it together for, but you were glad for the reprieve.

“What are you doing here?” You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have made him worry about you.

“You didn’t show up for our little study session,” he said, eyebrows knitted together. “I tried texting you, but you didn’t respond. And I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Shit. You’d forgotten to tell him you’d ‘headed home early.’

“I was worried about you,” he murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You swallowed roughly, the guilt bubbling up in your chest.

“I’m sorry–”

“No.” Kuroo shook his head. “Don’t apologize. If you need to get it out, you need to get it out.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. Your knuckles blanched pale as you clenched the fabric of your skirt.

“And,” he swallowed, “if you need to talk to someone… I’m here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt everything rush back. The fight. The loneliness. The insomnia.

Kuroo didn’t need to hear this. And you didn’t want to burden him with this.

But God, you needed to talk to someone.

“I- I had an argument with Hana,” you sniffed, fingers playing with the hem of your jacket.

You could barely remember how it started. Something stupid, probably. Something immature. But it had blown way out of proportion, and she wasn’t speaking to you anymore. You’d been spending your lunchtimes alone, behind the gym or in an empty classroom. You didn’t have the strength to face the rest of your friends, nor did you know what she’d been telling them.

It had struck at the worst possible time, too. The usual anxieties about grades and the future had been compounding recently. You’d been a bit more down than usual, and this whole Hana debacle had exacerbated that. You were usually able to manage feelings like this, finding ways to keep your head above water.

But not this time.

“I just,” you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “I just feel like something’s missing. And, and I’m… there’s… there’s this gap in my heart, and I don’t know how to stop feeling so empty.”

You took a deep breath, feeling it tremble through your body. “But… but I also just feel so numb.”

And all of it, even the numbness, was overwhelming. No matter how desperately you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. Nothing worked. You’d lost too many nights sitting at the bottom of your shower, letting the water run down your back as your mind ran in the same repeating circles.

You were exhausted.

“And part of me,” you swallowed, your throat rough and dry as your emotions tried to hammer themselves into something coherent. “Part of me feels like… like it’s wrong to feel like this.”

God, that felt stupid. Stupid, but true. On top of everything, you felt defunct.

And frankly, you couldn’t say why. Was it shame? Guilt? Something else?

“Hey.” Kuroo’s voice was low, almost soft as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel,” he murmured, “You shouldn’t feel guilty about that, okay?”

He felt you tremble as you tried to take a deep breath.

He knew that your pain wasn’t a one-to-one reflection of his own. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to understand exactly what you were going through.

But he knew what it was like to be a small child, so afraid, so alone, without an understanding of what was really going on around him.

He knew what it was like to feel as if something was missing, like there was a constant gap in your heart. He’d felt that way when his parents had split up. He’d only been a kid, too young to properly comprehend why that had been happening.

All he had known was that his family had crumbled to pieces around him. And then his mother was gone, half a world away with little more than a kiss on his forehead as a goodbye. He hadn’t been ready for it. He had felt like he might never be.

That feeling of separation had followed him, even into his teen years. It was quieter now, a half-whisper on the bad days. Usually, he could ignore it, setting his mind to more productive concerns. But, it never quite disappeared.

Kuroo knew what it was like to be lonely.

And he hated seeing you go through the exact same thing.

Lonely. Afraid. Probably hoping that someone, somewhere, would acknowledge your pain.

That was the worst part. Wanting your suffering to be known. Wanting someone to look at all of it, to see it for what it was. But no matter how palpable that desire was, how desperately you wanted it, it was too terrifying. To speak up was to be a burden. To speak up was to expose yourself to pity; and that was always the last thing you needed.

Pity’s useless. All you were asking for, all you really wanted was understanding. Acknowledgment. To have someone see.

He knew exactly what that was like.

“You, uh…” The sentiment caught in his throat, somehow both persistent and reticent.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

They were the very words he’d wished someone had said to him all those years ago. The words he’d wanted someone to offer him, a child who didn’t know how to reach out. To cry out for help.

And in that moment, with his arms around the manager who had looked after him and his boys so well, Kuroo felt that call.

✉

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: hey

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: how are you feeling?

[YOU] 8:45 PM: alright

[YOU] 8:45 PM: i ate dinner and i’ve just been watching youtube

[YOU] 8:46 PM: and i’ve been drinking a lot of water

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: i’m glad to hear that

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: make sure you get an early night, yeah?

[YOU] 8:47 PM: i’ll try

[passable at best] 8:47 PM: and if you need anything, please text me

✧ ✧ ✧

"Come to the temple with me."

The surprise was evident on your face. You’re glad he couldn’t see you. "What… just us?"

"Yeah." There's a pause. An almost painful one. "I couldn't get Kenma to leave the house, so…"

You pretended you weren’t disappointed. If anyone could see you, they wouldn't be convinced.

"Oh, well, uh…" Your fists curled into your nightgown. "Sure."

"Great!" You could hear the smile in his voice. It's the one you like best; full of sunlight, pure and whole. The one that reached his eyes. "I'll, uh… see you at eight?"

Usually, if someone had called you at seven-thirty in the morning, you would've simply ignored them. But when you’d seen that it was him, you’d answered immediately. The lack of hesitation was almost frightening.

There was no reason that your fondness for a certain Kuroo Tetsurou should scare you. You just knew that you adored the guy. In less than a year, he’d become one of your favourite people. And, he’d been such a solid support for you. Of course you’d go to the temple with him.

But as you stood at the temple steps, swallowed up by a coat and two jumpers, you wondered if anyone was worth being this cold for.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You glared up at him, nose embarrassingly red.

“What?” He groaned, hands dug deep in his pockets.

“It’s cold.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Hey,” he grinned, reaching up and ruffling your hair with a gloved hand. “You could’ve said no.”

You huffed. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Well, I’m touched,” he chuckled, looking up at the sky. “It’s a nice morning, though.” He looked back down at you with a grin. He was far too peppy for this hour of the morning. “You ready?”

The walk up the steps was almost laborious, given just how cold it was. Your breath misted in front of you as you told each other about your first dreams of the year; he’s still regaling a tale about Kenma turning into a dragon with five heads and chasing him through the streets of Tokyo by the time you reach the fortunes.

You tried to shake off the superstitious jitters as you carefully chose one of the knots on the string. Kuroo showed much less care.

As you read the fortune written out on your strip, you let out a surreptitious sigh of relief. You looked at Kuroo, tilting your head.

“What’d you get?” You sniffled. You hoped you wouldn’t get a cold from this.

“Bad luck,” he said, turning the strip towards you.

You snorted. “Oh, ow.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression said otherwise; it was that half-grimace he had whenever he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. Or that Bokuto had done something cool.

“Really?” You grinned, tilting your head at him. “You’re not bothered by it at all?”

“Alright, what did you get then?” He peered down at you, puffing out his chest.

“A little luck.” You held your strip towards him, and he scowled.

“Bad luck’s more exciting,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be mad about it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow. “God just likes me more.”

“Oi,” he huffed, ruffling your hair with a cold hand.

“Hey!” You wacked his hand away, but he just cackled.

“Anyway, you’ve forgotten the most important part of a temple visit,” he yawned, looking back at the fortunes lined up on the strings.

“Hm?” You frowned.

"You gotta make a promise," he sniffled, his fortune scrunched up in his hand.

You pouted, your hands dug deep in your pockets. A promise, huh? Did he mean a wish? You weren’t about to argue the point. He’d win it, anyway.

“You go first,” you mumbled, a little embarrassed by the fact that nothing was coming to mind.

He paused, staring at you for a moment. You squinted back, perhaps half as a challenge.

"Hm," Kuroo puffed his cheeks out, looking up at the sky for a moment. "I promise… to always be there for you. No matter what."

You blushed. What sort of promise was that? And why did it make you feel like… this?

Thwump!

You were only half aware of it as you punched him in the stomach.

“What was that for?” He wheezed, hands clamped on his stomach as he stumbled back a few steps.

“You can’t say things like that!” You whined, feeling the colour in your cheeks growing deeper.

“Why not?” There was something a little too genuine in his frown.

“Because I was going to say something really lame!” It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and Kuroo had already worked his way under your skin. And you weren’t entirely sure he’d meant to. “If I knew you were gonna say something like that, I’d’ve said it back.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You still can, you know.”

“Oh.” Yeah. You could.

That was all he needed. In an instant, that familiar grin was once again adorning his face, and he was towering over you. A little closer than maybe was appropriate.

“Is that… a blush I see?” Oh, he looked far too pleased with himself. You had half a mind to punch him again.

“Shut up,” you huffed.

“Aw, have I made you all embarrassed?” He grinned, ruffling your hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words spoiled by his fake pout.

“If you don’t shut up, I won’t say it,” you threatened, glaring at him as resolutely as you could. The weird twang in your chest made it more difficult than it usually was.

He shut his mouth immediately, eyes a little bigger and much more expectant than usual.

“Kuroo Tetsurou–”

“Are you about to propose?”

“You know what? Nevermind–”

“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” His shoulders were slouched towards you, head tilted to the side and a bright smile on his face. “I’ll shut up.”

You took a deep breath. It certainly felt a bit like you were trying to propose to him. You shuffled that thought out of your mind as quickly as you could. Once again, Kuroo had put you in a situation you hadn’t quite anticipated.

“No matter what comes, and no matter how irritating you are–”

“Hey!”

“–I promise that I’ll be there to support you,” you managed to say, cheeks flaring and fists clenched. “I… really care about you.”

You couldn’t bear the look he was giving you. It was the look you’d give something you positively adored – something you believed would bring nothing but light to your life. It was a look so full of affection that you felt like you might shatter beneath it.

He reached out and wrapped you in his arms, pulling you gently into his chest. You snuck your arms under his jacket, circling them around his waist. You’d done it mostly on instinct, but you weren’t upset about it. It’s warm, and it’s nice, and you didn’t want to question it.

There’s too much to worry about – studies, volleyball, the fact that it’s really not all that long until you’re third years. That took precedence. Whatever’s going on here – whatever this was – couldn’t take priority.

All you knew for certain was that you loved Kuroo Tetsurou. In what way didn’t matter. And this in-between, this unnamed space was comfortable. And, as far as you could tell, it belonged to both of you. If he didn’t want to say anything about it, then neither did you.

✉

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: hey hey

[YOU] 5:21 PM: hey hey hey!

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: no don’t do that

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: anyway, i just wanted to make sure you’re practicing appropriate after-cold care

[YOU] 5:21 PM: why do you always have to phrase things Like That

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: no idea what you’re talking about

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: anyway, drink a tea or two, stick a heat pack (or seven) in the microwave, and rug up

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: can’t have you going and catching a cold

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuuwritersnet #once again what are tags #i didn't want to cut this up but it got Too Long i'm so sorry #n e way hope you like it??#the in between

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hoekaashi · 4 years

Text

3 am Talks - hq pt 2

a/n: i hope you enjoy these! they take place some time during the time skip or close to when the six years are up. pairings: oikawa x reader, iwaizumi x reader, mattsun x reader, kuroo x reader, kenma x reader warnings: some spoilers, smoking weed taglist: @babydabi, @suckersuki, @bakugoustanaccount, @animoozies part 1 | part 3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

⇾ c o n s p i r a c y t h e o r i e s ⇾ lots of aliens talk ⇾ will try to convince you that he did in fact, see a UFO once ⇾ but also, will complain about the flat ass comments he constant receives ⇾ spills his secret that not even iwa knows - he dropped a shitton of cash to work out with the Kardashian’s personal trainer in hopes to get a nice juicy bubble butt ⇾ spoiler: it didn’t work ⇾ if he’s in a more serious/softer mood, he would talk more about the mistakes he made in the past in regards to his relationships ⇾ friendships or romantic ⇾ a very vulnerable moment for him where he just let’s everything he’s been holding in out

“I swear! I was seven, I went camping with Iwa-chan and his family!” Oikawa was sitting back on his heels with his right hand up, swearing to you. You rolled your eyes. “What, did the aliens abduct you and perform a surgery? You got a nasty scar on you somewhere?” He narrowed his eyes. “I will prove it. I just need to find the picture for you.” “Right. Wait, have you been working out more?” His expression quickly changed from utter disbelief to a smirk. “I have.” “Well, none of it is helping your ass.” He hung his head in defeat. “All that money wasted. I can’t believe I actually thought the Kardashian’s trainer would be able to help me.” “Babe, they’re all plastic and I think that’s the only thing that will help you at this point.” “Every amazing thing about me is natural. Why would I ruin that by enhancing my features unnaturally?” You shrugged. “At least you have that going for you.” “What do you mean ‘at least’?” he asked with air quotes. “I have you, don’t I?” You didn’t expect him to say something like that. “What?” “If you’ve stuck around this long, I must be doing something right. I know I fucked up in the past, but I’m glad you’re so patient with me. It can’t be easy dating someone who only thinks about volleyball.” You smiled softly as he continued. “I want to apologize to Kageyama properly for the way I treated him. And Iwa-chan too. He always had to deal with my bs and that wasn’t his place as my friend.” “Well, he stuck around you all this time, so you must be doing something right too.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ since california is 16 hours behind, these talks would be in the middle of the day for one of you until a surprise visit happens ⇾ but usually, it would just consist of the two of you catching up ⇾ in person though, he would talk more about how freeing it is to be in a new place, away from everything that was familiar ⇾ how it feels good not to live in anyone's shadow and just start fresh ⇾ (not that he hated being with oikawa, it was just something new for him) ⇾ but also how he doesn’t want to get left behind in the game of life ⇾ how even his new friends *cough* ushiwaka *cough* is going after his dreams

“So how do you like California?” It was 2 am, you just picked up your boyfriend from the airport and you were heading back home. It was a long drive back which gave you plenty of time to talk. “It’s nice. You’re not there, but other than that, I like it.” “Don’t let Oikawa hear that,” you laughed. Iwa slid down his seat a bit and got comfortable. “It feels so freeing. It’s a new start. No one knows me as the ace of Seijoh or as the guy who’s friends with Oikawa. I enjoy people not assuming I’m gay for my best friend.” Even though he was being serious, you couldn’t help but snort at the comment. After all, you had been one of those people too. “It’s like I hit restart and I’m enjoying every minute of it.” “Do you miss anything though? You sound like you’re really enjoying it there.” “Of course I miss things and people. Even though it’s fun, I do miss Shittykawa’s annoying ass and walking in on Makki and Mattsun getting high. Hell, sometimes I miss not being around all the fangirls. But everyone is moving on with their lives, so I can’t stay stuck in the past.” You hummed to let him know you were still listening. “I refuse to get left behind. Even Ushiwaka is going after his own goals.” “Who would’ve thought you would go to a new country, run into him there, and become friends?” Iwa laughed. “Not me, and definitely not Oikawa. He still brings it up, to this day. It’s been two years and he thinks I’ve replaced him.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ high talks ⇾ i feel like he’s not stressed about much that he needs to vent or get something off his chest ⇾ would probably feel free when he’s high - free from being an adult - and would talk about that ⇾ maybe some funny stories from high school ⇾ makes lots of jokes ⇾ but once it hits him, he’ll be talking about deep shit ⇾ talks about life and everyone’s purpose, why we’re here, that sort of shit

“And then Iwa got so annoyed, he just pantsed Oikawa in front of the girl.” You giggled as Mattsun finally got the story right. “So what happened with the girl?” you asked. “I think she died in the spot because she got to see Oikawa in his underwear.” He took another hit of his blunt and blew the smoke out, over his head. “I wonder if he’s enjoying Argentina.” You glanced up at him before turning your attention back to the show neither of you were really watching. “I’m sure he misses you guys.” “I hope he finds his purpose. All that practice to never make it to nationals…” He sighed. “Iwa is studying to be a trainer. Him too. I hope he gets what he wants in life.” “And you?” Mattsun chuckled. “My purpose is to enjoy my time here. There are enough people in the world who are stressing over something or another. I’m here to balance the scale. Can’t have too much stress in the world or the negativity will just take over. That’s me and Makki, we just chilling through life. What's that saying? Que salsa?” “Que sera sera?” “Yeah that one! Oikawa said that to me when we were talking once.” “I’m surprised you remembered it.” “I’m smarter than I appear. I can’t threaten the nerds either. Balancing the scales.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ would range from crackhead ideas to deep conversations ⇾ could go from reciting a funny story about kenma to his insecurities in your relationship real fast ⇾ so kuroo is a scorpio and l i t e r a l l y every scorpio I know absolutely sucks ASS at opening up, doesn’t matter what gender ⇾ a part of his insecurities is that you’re constantly trying to get him to open up more and confide in you, but even after knowing him for as long as you have, he barely does ⇾ and it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s just he doesn’t like to feel that vulnerable with anyone ⇾ there would be a lot of thanking you - for being so patient with him, for dealing with his teasing, for accepting his friends, etc ⇾ he doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys serious conversations too much so if he felt awkward, he would try to make things more light, cue talks about the latest scientific discoveries

The two of you were calming down from a story Kuroo told you about Kenma that happened recently. “I’m sure deep down, he wishes we never became friends.” “It’s not hidden very deep. He texted me that this morning.” Moving closer to Kuroo, you rested your arms on his chest and placed your chin on top of your hands. One of his hands automatically went to card through your hair. Kuroo’s face softened as he took a moment to stare at you. “I’m sorry.” You stared at him confused. “You’ve been with me for so long. I feel like I know your entire life story and your life stories from your last five lives and here I am, unable to even bring up my childhood and family problems. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.” You shrugged slightly. “I mean, yeah it’s pretty annoying but I’ve just come to…” You bit your tongue. “Come to what?” “Come to not expect anything,” you said with a sigh. That caused Kuroo to sit up, making you sit up as well. “Do you really not expect anything from me now?” “Well, not nothing. More like I’m not expecting you to open up. I’m tired of sounding clingy whenever I try to even ask about your day.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know I never want you to feel like that, right?” You shrugged again. “I just… I don’t know, it’s just hard for me to open up to other people. I guess I’m just used to having someone who understands me without me having to say anything. Vulnerability feels so strange to me so I just try to avoid it when I can.” He took both your hands into his. “I’ll do a better job, I promise. Thank you for being patient with me.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ he’s not much of a talker, we all know this ⇾ but if you ask him the right questions (ie. being annoyingly persistent) he’ll talk ⇾ LOTS of appreciation ⇾ very grateful to all the people he’s met in his life and how each one that he holds dear to his heart plays a different role in his life ⇾ how much he cherishes the people he loves ⇾ and then the conversation would turn to you - how much he appreciates you ⇾ let’s be honest, kenma sucks ass at being affectionate, his love language is probably quality time because just knowing that you’re willing to sit with him as he streams is good enough to make his gamer heart happy ⇾ so he would take the time to fully express how much he does love you since he rarely makes it known to you in other ways

“Kenma, how much longer are you gonna play? You have class tomorrow,” you said while he was streaming. Glancing at the time, he told his viewers that he was going to wrap it up for the night and he joined you in bed. You were talking his ear off about the meet up you had with some of your friends and you could see him grow more and more irritated. “Why did you call me to sleep if you were just going to talk.” “Oh. Well, this is the only time I got to be with just you today…” You pulled the blanket higher up on your body and curled into a ball with your back to Kenma. You felt him shift under the covers until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I’m sorry. Tell me what happened next.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, we can talk in the morning.” He buried his face in your neck, giving you a soft kiss. “I love you. I don’t say that enough. I cherish you even if I don’t show you that. You and Kuroo and Shoyo. All of you are the closest people to me, and I appreciate you all so much for the different ways you’ve helped me.” You placed your hand on top of his and interlaced your fingers. “I love you too.” “How about we have lunch tomorrow? I can cancel the stream at night and we can watch a movie.” “What about the viewers?” “They can survive one night without watching me. I owe you since I’ve been a bad boyfriend.”

#oikawa tōru #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #mattsun x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kenma kozume #kenma x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

A bit of the Twins

Felt really inspired on this scene, so I thought I'd share. If you remember Lawrence Crane (Bird) and his sarcastic demon, then happy day for you cause here it is again, bothering Bird's sons. Well, "happy" is maybe a bit generous :/

1.6k, angst/trauma memories, dark magic, inherited problems

“The cliff is called Lovers’ Last Kiss.”

"How romantic."

A shivering voice came from the darkness, or more specifically, from a patch of darkness that was deeper than the rest, more solid. And vaguely human shaped.

It stepped from the trees but became no less clear, just a shadow extending farther than the tree should be able to cast it. It reminded Orai instantly of how his father's shadow had been Wrong.

"Love has nothing to do with it, my little duckies. Kissing, maybe, but it's the joining that matters, not the emotions or lack thereof."

A wave of revulsion struck Orai and Iaro both, different ends of the same awful moment of their father's history. A girl, chained and struggling, blood and bruises the only things covering her skin. A boy, equally bound and beaten, if that would be more to his taste. And the sour/metallic rage/horror that burned up his throat as the first prickles of magic kissed his skin. He knew that magic, the heady sweet whispering of Cretia's promises of love and devotion--twisted. He had never experienced something so hideous in his life, and he was meant to wield it?

No one said against who, boy.

The voice echoed with the same shivery duality of the too dark shadow's, and both boys broke from the vision/memory with a gasp.

"What the fuck," Orai panted, doubled over on his hands and knees. Spit dribbled from his open mouth, the sickly tang herald of bile yet to come. Beside him, Iaro had not been so lucky. Every bit of dinner came back up and then some.

Damira knelt at Iaro's side, though she kept the shadow in view. She stroked a cool hand over his forehead, brushing away the sick sweat and chasing his hair back.

Khat had instantly put herself between the shadow and the group, a wall of fire hovering midair between them. The flames did nothing to give detail to the dark form.

"Are you alright, Orai?" She called behind her, unwilling to take her eyes from the thing in front of her.

Damira cupped her hands, calling cool water to them as she offered it to Iaro to drink.

"No need to hold onto those nasty memories, my lovelies. Call of your guard mara and I'll eat them back up for you."

If a formless shadow could hold up its hands in a gesture of harmlessness, the one before them did now. It was less seeing and more seeming, and it seemed to be contrite, and a little wistful.

"If I had a prettier way to show you, I would have. But we all have things that Bind us to this world-- well, maybe not this world."

It looked around the dreamscape, shimmering and shifting as it did. The darkness tried to take on a shape, but the two shapes were so opposed they seemed to cancel each other out.

"Its a nice place you've got here. A nice antithesis to its birth. Lovers' First Kiss Island. Cute."

Khat's eyes narrowed, and she called back, "Orai?"

It was Damira who answered. "Draw down the fire, but stand ready."

Clenching her teeth, Khat did so, pulling the fire back into herself, but not fully extinguishing it there.

Orai watched the shadow approach, knowing he knew this spectre from somewhere. It felt like staring into the void, like brushing uncle Naj's power, but different.

"That'd be the Dai bindings, sweets. We all feel a little bit the same, those of us brushed by their evil. Now, may I eat those nasty memories again?"

Orai's eyes widened, as if dilating would make more light bounce off the nothing. But that’s what it was. Not a shadow. An absence of light.

"You're dad's demon."

The being seemed to smile.

"He likes to think so. May I?"

It offered the idea of a hand, and trembling Orai looked to Iaro.

Iaro desperately did not want to scan anymore of the thoughts around him. Not Damira's, not his brother's, and most definitely not the nothing's. But his brother was reaching out. And he would not let his brother down.

He sat up, leaning back into Damira's touch, shielding tighter than he ever had before.

"I don’t want to feel like that ever again."

His voice was low but firm, betraying none of the horror he’d felt.

"I can arrange that," the nothing said.

"I wasn’t talking to you!" Iaro snapped. To Orai, he asked, "Do you trust it?"

Orai was surprised to find the answer was yes.

"Its been with dad for a long time. That's a stupidly long con, if its goal is to harm us now."

Iaro frowned, still not quite ready to unclench.

"Damira? Khat? Any insight?"

Damira smoothed his hair back, feeling her spine straighten as she looked at the darkness.

Her voice low and even, she told Iaro, "If it intended harm to any of us, it would be stupid to intend it on a literal island of our power."

The shadow radiated pleasure and pride.

"Very good, little fish. You should hold onto this one, son of my tether. She's very wise--and very hot."

Iaro grit his teeth so hard they cracked.

"If you speak out of turn one more time I will blast you back into the oblivion from which you first crawled."

Dominion was definitely his brother's gift rather than his own, but Iaro knew his words were not empty. "Son of my tether" was weird, and formal. In it's own way, the nothing was... what? Offering fealty? Trying to sink new tethers? He didn’t care. He would banish this thing and not feel at all bad. He did not like this thing.

Orai reached out, brushing Iaro's arm. Iaro flinched, scales bursting out at the touch. But that action helped soothe him, helped balance out his uncharacteristic display of temper.

"Ia, please. What about dad?"

What about dad indeed. He was mythically old, supposedly. Looking at this darkness, he could believe it. But he also knew if this wretched thing was the only thing keeping his father alive, then better he fall than be sustained by such wrongness.

But it would break Ruby’s heart, and destroy Orai's trust in him. For that, he would let the shadow remain.

But the shadow didn’t need to know that.

"Dad's got plenty of tricks that have nothing to do with this thing." He shot a glare towards the shadow. "Isn’t that right?"

"Exactly so, eijye."

Iaro growled. "Don’t mock me. But thank you for holding your peace. Show us your good faith by taking the memories and nothing more."

"As his father's heir commands."

Orai waited for Iaro to move first. But apparently his suddenly commanding brother was going to watch the shadow for any tricks. Fine then. The sooner Orai was free of this Seeing, the better.

Orai reached for the nothing, and felt a distinct Something, but nothing his mortal mind could name. Still, he was utterly and acutely aware of the thing taking, of a real and quantifiable quality leaving his being. And he was all the better for it. His breath came easier, his body felt lighter, and the air tasted sweeter, almost a tingling quality of delicate starlight kissing his skin. He looked up and saw the stars dancing above him, winking and singing in their endless joy.

"Much better," the shadow murmured. "Such wonderment is more fit this place. I quite approve of your solution for the waste magic, by the way."

"You've said as much," Iaro spit out. More tenderly, he asked his brother, "Rai? You good?"

Orai nodded, feeling the coolness of open tears streaming down his face. He hadn't realized how awful he felt until it was gone. How awful he’d been feeling, for a very, very long time.

He looked to the shadow.

"How far back did you go?"

Iaro's head snapped to the thing, but Orai held out an arm to stop him. The shadow seemed to nod.

"Very shrewd, brother of the heir. I could make the effort to speak plainly, but I have thought in riddles for so long, and it takes much of my attention simply to be here while the father is yet awake."

"Answer the question," Iaro insisted. He didn’t like the nuance of this things phrasing at all.

"Of course. Memory it was named but not memory of the sort called by yellow scales. I lifted the memory of your father's taint, o brother of the heir. And if you so wish it of me, he who speaks with the air of his fathers, I will lift if from you as well."

Iaro was about to order it to speak plainly, but again, Orai bid him hold.

"You mean like a lingering effect, something that ties us to you or the Dai or whatever, inherited from our father's half of the magic."

The shadow nodded. "Just so, my tether's son. It is the greatest thing that connects us, so it has the loudest pull. By your leave, I took the stain of it back into myself, from whence it came. Your magic and person is now free of it."

Iaro gave a soft gasp of understanding.

"That's what drew Damira to me, to us. We shared the magic of Dreaming, and Orai and I shared magic to command the stain."

The shadow clapped in delight. Orai thought he almost saw it do it. Almost.

"Very good, heir of my tether. Well sussed. You have an eye for threads."

Iaro frowned but didn't say anything.

“So what do we do?” Orai asked. Though whether he was asking it of the shadow or his brother, he wasn’t sure.

Iaro’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean…” There was no delicate way to put this. “If that’s what made this all work, what happens when it’s gone?”

#my writing #Iaro and Orai

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h2bakugou · 4 years

Note

hello! first i’d like to say i love your writing!! second i’d like to request a todoroki x reader fic where reader is fighting dabi during her work study and she’s alone for whatever reason, and 1-a is watching it on a news broadcast and she falls but she has like a carol danvers moment where she stands up after a while and beats his ass and they’re all cheering her on? bonus points for a water/tsunami type quirk kinda like katara?

a/n: hello! thank you so much love <3 !! this is such a cool idea, i love this so much, and captain marvel was a v good movie and i might just have to rewatch it lol. i too have an orange cat named goose which we conveniently adopted after seeing captain marvel for the first time. he’s a chonky boi.

summary: while attending your work-study, you get caught in the crossfire and end up fighting with dabi. todoroki and your classmates view the televised fight from the dorms as you take on the man by yourself.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / water manipulation - your quirk (think like percy jackson’s powers)

warnings: swearing, fluff, a bad fight scene and some blood, angst

word count: 1.4k

»»————-　★　————-««

To say this was unexpected was an understatement. You were just trying to do your work-study, and now you were caught up in a nasty fight.

What was even more unexpected, you were now up against Dabi, who had been making recent news.

You could hear the helicopter flying above as they broadcasted the whole thing across several news channels. You bit your lip in frustration as you stared back at the raven-haired man with an evil smirk on his lips.

“You shouldn’t go poking your nose in someone else’s business, kid.” He spat at you, cracking his knuckles.

“I do when you’re doing something illegal!” You yell back. Dabi laughs at your statement, taking a few more daunting steps toward you. were you ready to fight this guy?

Could you even land a punch on him? This was a fight you weren’t sure if you could win.

“I’m not usually this nice, but I’ll let you go if you go now. Otherwise, it’s going to get pretty nasty for you, dollface.” He stops walking toward you as he stares you down. You shake your head.

You weren’t backing down, you couldn’t. Being a hero meant defending those who can’t defend themselves. What kind of a hero would you be if you ran away with your tail between your legs, letting this guy go hurt dozens of others?

“I’m not leaving.” You protested, charging at him. He nodded and lit up a fist with his blue flames.

“Have your way then.” He commented, sending a fiery fist into your abdomen. You coughed as you felt the air leave your lungs as your back smashed into a brick wall.

You could feel warmth on the spot of the impact. Determining if it was blood seeping through an open wound or the heat from his flames was something you didn’t have time for.

Mustering all your strength, you placed your hand on the broken concrete, drawing out as much water that was trapped underground. Forming a large ball of the water in the air, you sent in flying at him.

It had enough force to knock him back a few feet, but not enough to cause any real damage.

“You’re pretty lucky, with a quirk like that you should be no match for me. But you’re weak, and it’s going to be the death of you.” He scolded, charging at you again, his azure flames trapping you between the wall and him.

You ducked through his legs as he flung a fist into the wall. You scurried behind him, standing to try and land a kick to his face.

His hand gripped your ankle mid-air, pulling you forward. You struggled to keep your balance as his hand heated up, blue flames escaping from around his grip, burning your leg.

You cried out in pain as he did so, raising your hand retrieving moisture in the air to spray it in his face.

He let your foot go and you stumbled back.

Todoroki watched in horror with the rest of the class. Why the hell were you alone? Where was the hero you were doing your work-study under?

“She’s gonna defeat him right?” Uraraka questioned. Todoroki gripped the ends of his sweater as he watched you.

You can do this. I believe in you.

“She’s gonna win! She can do this!” A few classmates yelled, cheering you on from the dorms.

You glared at Dabi, refusing to give up.

“It’s gonna take a little more than a splash to the face to take me down.” He mumbled, wiping his face off with his sleeve. You took the opening he’d left to try and attack him head-on, but it was a distraction. He moved his arm, swinging it down into your face.

You groaned as you fell back onto the ground.

Dabi hovered over you, his hand coming down to your face. You went to move, but he was one step ahead of you.

Placing a boot on your left arm, he gripped your hair hard, raising and then slamming your head into the concrete below.

Your vision went foggy and the figure standing over you multiplied.

“Don’t start fights you know you can’t win.” Dabi spat. That warm feeling erupted through your body again. Fire.

It was getting closer.

You could feel the flames as they floated against your skin. You could barely move. Your body was in pain, and your head hurt like hell. Was this what hangovers felt like? Forget about ever getting drunk.

You couldn’t give up now. This guy was going to kill innocent people. Why had he spared you? Does he think your dead? Surely he’s smarter than that.

Todoroki’s eyes widened as he stared at your limp body, everyone else watching in silence as a few sniffles filled the air.

“Get up.” Todoroki spoke quietly.

“Please get up.” Todoroki was on the verge of tears. He wasn’t a crier, but he couldn’t lose you.

As the blue flames taunted your vision, you could feel your senses slowly come back. The ability to move a finger or two came back just as the feeling of something tickling your nose. A nosebleed?

“It’s a shame you had to die like this.” Dabi spoke, kicking over an unstable iron beam, watching as broken bits of concrete fell over you.

You held your breath instinctively, calling for any water underground to come and protect you.

Mina cried out as she grabbed onto Tsu and Toru. The girls wept as they watched the screen, not wanting to believe what they’d just seen.

No.

Todoroki thought. He stood up from his sitting position, a few eyes drifting away from the screen to him.

He waited for you to move. He needed you to move. You couldn’t die. He couldn’t lose you.

With each minute, it felt like an eternity. But the rumbling of concrete startled Dabi.

A fist broke through the concrete as water began sprouting through the large broken bits, like a geyser. The concrete was pushed away as you stood up, the large stream of water dying down.

Dabi’s eyes widened as he stood amazed by the sight. He could see a shadow emerging from the water, and he readied himself.

You bent the water, forcing a heavy stream to spray at Dabi. He groaned as it hit him, unable to dodge it as you continuously targeted him.

Leaving the water be, you charged at him yourself, landing a strong punch to his jaw.

“I know I can win this!” You yelled, dodging his next attacks, guiding the water to put out any fire that he tried to use against you.

“Just die already!” He groaned, swinging his arm at you. You caught it, much like he had done with your leg, and pulled his arm back, leaping over his shoulder. His arm made a nasty cracking sound. You’d broke it.

He hissed in pain as he raised a hand, guiding flames toward you. You smirked and raised more water, pushing against his fire.

As his flames disappeared, the gap between you that he had tried to create shrunk.

Todoroki and the others were cheering you on as you fought, thankful to see you alive.

“It’s over Dabi!” You screamed as you landed a blow to his head, knocking him out. You panted as the water died out, collapsing beside him.

You stared up at the sky as a few raindrops fell from the clouds up above.

The rain soaked into your skin, each drop feeling like a kiss from heaven. Your body healed ever so slightly, smaller wounds closing as the rain evaporated into your skin.

The sounds of sirens and yelling voices came to your aid as they dragged you to a hospital.

- - -

Awaking the next day, the entirety of class 1-A was standing around your hospital bed. You were feeling great, a little headache and some scars to tell your friends about later.

Todoroki was the first to see you. He cut everyone off in placing his lips to yours, kissing you. A few wild ooh’s and ah’s were heard as he pulled away, red tinting both yours and his cheeks.

“Glad to see you’re okay.” He smiled, a rare sight, but one that made your heart melt.

“We’re so happy to see you.” Mina smiled, hugging you as soon as Todoroki stepped to the side.

After everyone had said a few things, they all shuffled out of the room, leaving you and Todoroki alone.

“You really scared me.” Todoroki sat by your bed, resting his arms on the hospital bed.

“I’m sorry. But I did kick that guy's ass.” You smiled, ruffling his hair.

“That you did.” He commented, placing a kiss on the back of your hand as it fell from his hair.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

Text

imagine → taking care of darrel after a rumble

requested by/for: @cheoldetat ! my baby boo!! we stan me finishing fall requests in spring :0 djfksdjkfjs im sorry LOL. anyway, ily!! xx

warnings: mentions of a fight, brief mentions of blood/knife/cut/etc., smut; gender-neutral reader, blowjobs, handjobs, the SLIGHTEST angst if u squint extra extra hard!!

You know why he walks home like this -- leather jacket over his black tee despite the sweat dripping down his forehead and the humid temperature outside. After sparing a glance to Soda and Ponyboy and seeing they’re mostly unscathed -- courtesy of their older brother -- you turn your attention back to Darrel. His shadowed blue eyes betray the half-smile he sends in an attempt to keep you from worrying. I’m fine. I promise.

Without saying a word, you drag him to the bathroom, forcefully but not holding his hand too tight. His knuckles are probably bruised and bloodied like always, and you don’t want to hurt him any more than the rumble already has.

The other boys and their groans become muffled as you close the door and run the sink, searching through the disorganized cupboards for a washcloth.

“I need to check on them,” Darrel grunts, reaching for the doorknob.

“They’re fine,” you reassure, looking over your shoulder to send him a look that says “dare me.” You know he’s mostly worried about his brothers, like always, but besides a few bruises, you doubt they’re in too bad of shape. Soda can always handle himself when he’s got Steve by his side, and with Darrel, Dallas, and Two on the front lines, you doubt many Socs get through them anyway.

Your boyfriend sighs, but it’s less exasperated and more tired. The water is warmer now, and you’re able to soak the cloth quickly before shutting the tap off. Normally, a quick once-over is enough to point out the obvious injuries, but his jacket is in the way this time. You know why. It’s not often he puts it on after a rumble, but when he does, it’s because he wants to hide something.

“Jacket off, now.” His tough facade crumbles for a second -- he almost looks fearful. But, you don’t let up, staring at him until he shifts to pull his arms out.

You don’t miss the grunt of pain he lets out, but you don’t point it out either. Taking the jacket from his dirty hands, you set it on the counter. Immediately, your eyes are drawn to his side. His black tee is already dark, but it’s obvious there’s a wet section -- fabric clinging to his torso.

Without hesitating, you reach for the hem and tug it up, exposing a cut a couple of inches in length. Darrel hisses as the cold air hits the sensitive skin. It’s not too deep, thankfully, but it’s not small either.

“Jesus, what happened?” You immediately press your washcloth to the wound, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Switchblade, I think.”

“I thought there were no weapons this time.”

“There weren’t.”

A part of you is about to question if he called the Soc out, but you swallow the words. You know he doesn’t want to participate in these rumbles -- doesn’t even wanna be a greaser. You doubt he’d willingly start an argument that would lead to an even more violent fight. Maybe if it were Soda or Pony. Not himself, though. Convincing Darrel to prioritize and care for himself is impossible -- you’d have better luck asking Two to sell his old car.

Staying silent, you pull back the washcloth, happy to see the bleeding has mostly stopped, the swelling and irritation declining steadily.

You reach for the cabinet that holds the bandages -- the second to left. The rest of the bathroom might be in disarray, but the bandaids and gauze are always in the same spot. It’s a simple patch-up job, considering it’s not the first blade cut you’ve dealt with, but you’re as gentle as ever as you cover the wound.

Darrel’s stomach tenses and he lets out a little gasp as your fingers softly press against him, securing the bandaid. Worried you’re hurting him, you look up from between his legs, eyes wide.

“Are you ok?”

He nods, swallowing.

You give him an odd look, before glancing back down, and realizing. His jeans are tight, leaving very little to the imagination. His toned torso seems to grow a thousand degrees hotter, and you pull your hands away quickly.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t--.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. It’s the first real smile he’s given you all night, and you can’t help but laugh a little too.

“It’s ok. Your hands are just… nice.”

His cheeks are flushed red now, matching the dried blood on his knuckles. It’s… sweet. His flustered expression gives you some confidence, and you move back to your previous spot, this time letting your hands rest on Darrel’s thighs.

“Can I… Can I take care of you like that too?”

Blue eyes grow wide, and you half-expect him to scold you for your dirty mouth, but he just nods, then smiles a lopsided grin.

He’s still leaning against the counter, and you watch his hands reach behind him to grab the lip of the sink for balance as you drop to your knees. He’s so much from this angle, all lean muscle, and warm, tan skin. The thought of getting your mouth on him almost makes you drool.

You unbutton his jeans quickly, and his large calloused hands help you to tug the denim and underwear beneath down to his mid-thigh. It’s careless and messy, but considering the boys are getting rowdier from beyond the door, and they’re bound to be knocking in a minute or two, you don’t really have another choice.

Darrel is hot and hard in your hands, and he sucks in his bottom lip with a quiet gasp as you stroke him gently. He’s tired and weak and you know it won’t take long to get him more worked up than usual.

Still, you take your time, slowly sliding your hand up and down, before letting your tongue trace the same path. His breathing grows heavy quickly, but you don’t relent, licking back up to his tip before sucking it fully into your mouth.

“Darling, please.” It’s not often you get a beg out of him, even though this time isn’t much, but you savor it regardless.

You take a little more, hands still working him, pace growing faster each stroke. Within a few moments, his hips are twitching, fingers digging harder into the counter. You don’t let up, only pulling off every now and again to take a breath, and letting your hand glide through spit and precum to cover every inch of his aching cock.

He’s right on the edge when the commotion in the living room grows louder, and the boys start getting antsier for their turn to wash up. Darrel’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, so you continue your motions -- though much faster now.

“C’mon Darry, just let go. It’s okay.” Your thumb presses against his tip before your lips follow, sucking gently on the head of his cock. Your tongue circles the warm skin, and you look up with gentle but reassuring eyes that beg him to release. He does so with a choked groan, and you take all he has to offer, swallowing eagerly and letting his hips jerk himself deeper into you as he rides out his high.

Only when his hand drops to push you away do you let go of him, lips glossy as they frame a dopey smile.

“Better?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Before he can answer, a loud knock fills the small bathroom, and you’re thankful you remembered to lock the door. The boys may be many things, but respecting privacy is not a skill they can claim.

“You two alright in there?” Johnny asks, truly concerned, but you hear Steve and Soda giggling like the girls that stop by the DX to ogle them.

Darrel is quick to readjust, and you wait until he nods to unlock and open the door. All the others are crowded at the threshold, and you can only hope you don’t look a complete mess.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say. “Darry had a nasty cut, and I had to patch him up.”

“Had to get handsy, huh?” Dallas jokes, gesturing to Darrel’s rumpled shirt. You know they don’t have any clue what just happened, and are blaming your boyfriend’s red cheeks on his apparent pain, but you feel your own cheeks heat up regardless.

“It was just his stomach,” you retort, hoping your lie isn’t too obvious. None of them seem to notice though, and Soda and Pony are already too busy scolding their big brother for hiding the injury. He lifts his shirt to show them the bandage, and any attention previously on you is instead on the large bandaid covering his side.

“Well,” Dallas whistles, “looks like you got one hell of a nurse.”

Darrel scoffs, but you shoot him a discreet wink.

“What can I say?” you joke with an exaggerated sigh. “I just know how to take care of people.”

a/n: I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING. THANK U GOD. darrel curtis is just THAT BITCH huh?? we cannot do anything but stan!!

#the outsiders imagine #the outsiders #the outsiders smut #darrel curtis smut #darrel curtis imagine #darrel curtis #darrel curtis x reader #the outsiders imagines #darrel curtis imagines #darrel curtis x reader smut #darrel curtis drabble #the outsiders drabble #darrel curtis oneshot #the outsiders oneshot #darrel curtis x reader imagine #t: writing

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hailbop1701 · 4 years

Text

Welcome back to Prompt Wednesday everyone! We have prompt #42 chosen by @fandoms-and-sunshine!

Fandom: Almost Human

Type: John Kennex X Reader

Whiskey Business

Word Count: 2,424

Okay so this was supposed to be crack-ish but it ended being pure angst. 👀😅 I hope ya'll like it and please don't mind the typos I have no beta for these! Please note the reader is a paramedic in this and I don't know what they do day in and out. So if I got things wrong or it sounds a little off I'm sorry! I also wanted to say thank you to those who are Paramedics/EMS and firefighters. You guys do so much and I feel you should be recognized more often!

-H❤🖖

The day had been long and exhausting both emotionally and physically. Huffing out a frustrated breath still pent up on adrenaline and anger you took another big swig of whiskey. The bottle was half gone and you gave up on using a glass a while ago. Lifting the bottle you took another swig hoping to wash out the nasty taste that day’s events left you with.

Your day started out like any other. It was rather dull until a call came in for a bad car accident downtown. You and your partner took the call and made it record time,

“Traffic laws don’t apply to us,” your partner Jinnie tried to convince you as she hopped over the median strip. The rig jangled and bucked but was otherwise unharmed, you couldn’t help but laugh at her insanity and roll your eyes.

“Marcus is going to kill you one of these days!” you chuckled thinking about your boss who wore a permanent scowl. Jinnie smirked and winked like she knew a funny joke and couldn’t wait to tell you the punch line, “Marcus and I have an understanding!” she giggled. You wrinkled your nose and shook your head, “Nasty Jin, just no,”

She cackled as she made a sharp left turn; outside the rig, horns blared and honked, curses were thrown at you from afternoon commuters out hunting for a quick lunch. “Hey don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jinnie said wickedly. You let out a pained groan and made a dramatic gagging sound,

“Never gonna go there Jin, Marcus reminds me of my uncle Artie, who by the way is one pill away from the nuthouse, “ you said bracing your hands against the dash as the ambulance screeched to a halt at the call. The intersection held four smoking damaged beyond repair cars. One of which was overturned with blood coloring the windshield. Jinnie threw open her door tossing a “Call for backup” over her shoulder.

Picking up the radio you made the call ordering more ambulancs and for police to hurry their collective asses up. Looking up you saw Jinnie climbing into the overturned car with her kit. Cursing you saw the crowd getting bigger and pushing their way closer to the scene. Tossing your radio to the side you kicked open your door the rest of the way-

The doorbell rang bringing you back to your dingy apartment. Safe, alive, and curled up on the couch clutching onto a now almost empty bottle like it was a lifeline. The doorbell rang again repeatedly like the person in the hall was trying to play chopsticks with the ringer; hissing in annoyance you set the whiskey bottle down noisily on the glass coffee table and stumbled toward the door. Blinking away the cotton and shaking the blurriness away you reached your front door without too much incident. Staring at the doorknob intently for a few seconds you waited until there were at least three of them, only then you decided to guess which one was the real one.

Swinging the door open you blinked and glared at the moronic soul who dared disturb your grief-induced drinking binge. There stood John Kennex holding two large bags in his hands; you knew John easily enough. The two of you would run across each other often at scenes, whether they were accidents or not so much. You were actually one of the ones who kept John alive on the way to the hospital after the raid. That had been a bad day, just as bad as this one was. He contacted you again sometime after he woke up from his coma, the two of you have been hanging out and getting closer ever since.

John pressed his lips into a thin line the both of you silent and appraising each other,

“Are you sober?”

you scoffed at the dumbass question, with a roll of your eyes you responded like any other time he’s asked you something dumb. You gave him the most smart-ass reply your whiskey drenched brain could come up with at that moment.

“I’m moderately functional,”

John breathed out a heavy sigh catching the strong whiff of alcohol and depression coming from you. “I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered pushing his way into your apartment, you scowled at his back as he disappeared into your kitchen.

“Please come right in,” you slurred dramatically bowing, gesturing for your imaginary friends in the hallway to join you. Slamming the door shut you carefully work your way to where John was rummaging around in your cupboards, you mumbled obscenities under your breath and made your way back to the living room where your bottle sat waiting for you.

It was gone, “John what the actual fuck!” you whined stomping your taco slipper-clad foot down angrily. John shot you a grimace from the kitchen as he pulled down plates and grabbed forks, “You don’t need anymore, besides there was like a sip left so I drank it,”

“Dick move Kennex,” you growled flopping down on the couch. The offending man gave you a sad smile, he walked in holding two plates piled high with Chinese food and balanced two bottles of soda under his arms. Pitying the poor struggling man you took the sodas from him so he could set down the plates. Sighing John flopped into the couch next to giving you a cheeky smile,

“You brought me food,” you mumbled looking at the takeout confused. John hummed cracking open your soda and forcing it into your hands so you get something else in you other than cheap whiskey. Taking an automatic swig of the sugary beverage you winced at the change of pace.

“Why?”

Your question threw him off guard a little; fork half-way to his mouth with noodles hanging off of it he looked at you like he was choosing his words carefully. John set his plate down and turned to face you, “Because you’re my friend (Y/N) and you’ve lost somebody. You shouldn’t have to be alone and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be drinking with a concussion,” he said adding the last part offhandedly.

Your ears still rang and the pounding in your head -now that he’s reminded you- hurt like hell. But that’s not what made you flinch; what you’ve spent hours working to forget was flooding all back.

The smell of gas unmistakable, your eyes searched the ground and around the other cars as you worked to stabilize a teen girl in an old Prius at the front of the pack. “Is everything okay?” the girl moaned out watching your darkening face, her own expression melting into one of panic. Turning back to her you give her a shaky reassuring smile,

“Yeah, I just need you to hold still for me, okay?” The girl returned the shaky smile, her lips trembling, tears streamed down her face. You shushed her gently as you put a neck brace on her, “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Gwen, my-my name is Gwen,” she croaked, sniffing trying to put on a brave face. You gave her another smile trying to keep the apprehension from your voice. The smell of gas was getting stronger by the second.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gwen, my name is (Y/N),”

“I can’t move my legs,” Gwen whimpered struggling, you immediately stopped her.

“Gwen I’m gonna need you to hold still for me hun,”

The girl whimpered again in both fear and pain, “I just want to go home,” she cried tears flowing again. You nodded, “I know sweetheart, I know. We’ll get you out soon,” you promised and internally winced. Never make promises.

Looking over your shoulder you saw Jinnie loading up your rig’s gurney. She looked at you and gestured to your surroundings in question. The lack of other ambulances and police were getting tiresome. You shook your head and gave a shrug; Jinnie huffed and talked into the comm that was on her vest.

“(Y/N) I can smell gas, is that bad? That’s bad, right?” Gwen sobbed struggling against the steering wheel again. Her legs were pinned and you were going to need the fire department to get her out. Feeling helpless you tapped your comm.

“Jin, where’s the FD? We’re going to need sand ASAP,” you kept your voice even and without the panic you were feeling. Gwen started breathing hard; the beginnings of an anxiety attack.

“Gwen I need you to breathe, I can’t have you passing out on me now,” your voice seemed to soothe the girl so you kept going. Taking her hand you talked about anything and everything until her breathing was under control again. The sound of screeching tires and sirens pulled you from a story about your older brother, some firecrackers, and a little too much hooch. You heard Jinnie in the background berating anyone who would stop and listen to her,

“Where in hell have you been?” her voice carried over the chaos. Looking in the side mirror you saw your best friend and partner shouting at another paramedic, who was shrinking back from the small woman. A firefighter was jogging up to you holding his helmet in place,

“What do you need?” he asked breathlessly, giving you a flirty smile. Any other time you would have been flattered but right now you were just pissed off. “Sand and her legs are pinned,”

At your tone of voice, the firefighter shrunk back a little and cleared his throat nervously. Hastily he spoke a few orders into his comm. Peering into the car the man muttered to Gwen that he was going to get her out of there by supper time. ‘Should have been earlier than that,’ you thought sourly.

“(Y/N) I need your help over here!” Jinnie called waving a hand wildly. Biting your lip you tuned back to Gwen, “I’ll be right back okay Gwen? I’m going to be right over there,” you pointed in the direction of a group of ambulances. Gwen sniffed and nodded watching the firefighter work on pulling the driver’s side door open.

You were a good twenty feet away when you heard a startled scream. Whipping around you saw Gwen’s car on fire; the firefighter struggled and fought with the car door trying to desperately get it open.

“(Y/N)!” the girl screamed and before you knew it the fire spread to the cab. Gwen screamed in terror and pain as the fire engulfed the vehicle. You surged forward without thinking to try and help but a pair of arms stopped you from doing any further. Screaming out the girl’s name you elbowed the person who had a hold of you. Before you could run forward you were pushed back by an explosion.

Landing on your back you looked up at the cloudless blue sky in a daze, someone was calling your name repeatedly but they seemed too far away to understand.

“-(Y/N), I need you to calm down for me, okay?”

The touch and sound of John pulled you back gasping. His hand held yours to his chest over his heart, it fluttered but beat steadily under your touch, his breathing even. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly as your own breathing slowed to match his. He rattled on about this, that, and the other thing. Your mind started to function almost normally again as he talked about how Dorian kept tuning into Korean radio.

Tears streamed down your cheeks making him stop mid-sentence, scooting closer to you he slowly wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened in his for the briefest moment before breaking down.

It was quite sometime later when you finally sat up and rubbed away any traces of tears and snot. “I’m sorry,” you whispered embarrassedly, eyeing the wet patch on his shirt. John waved it away his eyes searching your for any sign of panic or distress,

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured gruffly, grabbing your discarded soda from the coffee table. You frowned at the offering, ‘When did I put that down?’ you questioned taking the beverage. Uncapping the soda you took a decent swig, the bubbles cleared your head a bit more. John stood and grabbed both of your still full plates and headed to the kitchen. You watched as he put them in the microwave one at a time. His gaze would flit to you every few seconds or so just to make sure you were still okay.

Getting up you wandered over to him, pulling your sweatshirt tighter around yourself you give him a sad grateful smile. “Thank you,” you had said it so softly that he almost didn’t catch it.

John pushed off the counter wrapping you into another hug, this one you fully returned. You both swayed to the hum of the microwave the smell of Chinese drifting through the air. John rested his chin on the crown of your head humming softly. “Tiny Dancer,” by Elton John you guessed by the tune.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at how out of tune he was. “Don’t ruin the song, John,” you murmured into his neck. His chest vibrated as he laughed, his fingers gently carding through your hair. “I’m not that bad,” he defends half-heartedly. You shook your head and pulled back just a little to raise an eyebrow. Upon seeing your expression John huffed and nodded,

“I’m that bad,” he agreed.

The microwave beeped signaling that the food was finally heated up and ready to eat. But neither of you wanted to pull away. Grumbling you glared at the offending machine mentally willing your food to float across the kitchen to where you were standing. When nothing happened you cursed at it instead,

“Damn, the struggle is fucking real,” you sighed stepping away from John to retrieve your food. Picking up his plate John followed you back into the living room, he grabbed the remote for your TV and flicked it on to an old classic movie. The Jurassic Park theme echoing throughout the room made you smile in nostalgia.

Sitting down you easily molded yourself into John’s side and for the rest of the night that’s where you stayed. You knew everything was going to be alright, even if your heart still ached for Gwen and the firefighter who you never knew. You accepted that you were going to be upset for a long time because of what happened but you were at least not going to be alone.

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b4kuch1n · 4 years

Text

The Future Is In Space! (and so is the rest of you)

Okay, so. Gordon should’ve seen this coming.

And he did, to be fair: Joshua’s always loved space. Joshua loved the idea of flying cars when he was a tiny little thing, if the fact that all of the toy cars he had were thrown with intense force at one point or another meant something, and he clapped at the night sky once when Gordon got them both stuck at a gas station in the middle of nowhere due to… circumstances… which was super, ultra, uber cute as fuck . Especially because Gordon had just applauded him for singing along to a song on the radio when they parked, and that was very possibly the first time Joshua registered clapping as a possible positive reaction to something he likes, or whatever like that. Gordon Freeman has a PhD in theoretical physics and theoretical physics only.

The point is that Gordon loves Joshua so fucking much. No, the point is that Joshua has always liked space. He chose for himself a set of space-themed PJs when Gordon took him to the mall, and he likes food with weird colors because that’s “alien food”, and he has given away all of the toy cars he had to make space for toy space ships of many sizes, and Gordon has had to have a conversation with him once about upending a dusty fish bowl onto his own head so he could look like an astronaut. He doesn’t do that anymore, because Joshua is genuinely a really smart kid who just needs the required pieces of information to put things together by himself.

Gordon loves him so much.

Gordon also has only experienced a single year of relatively radiation-free, sludge-free, organic, non-Black Mesa- poisoned air and also freedom (to an extent) since. You know. Almost dying and also losing his right arm in Black Mesa. Where he jumped into a few portals, one of which leading to an alien world called Xen, where he had to kill what seemed to him at the time a spiteful god against his own existence.

That, and not the Joshua-loves-space part, is the part he didn’t see coming. Hadn’t. Still doesn’t, if he can be honest for a minute. There are days it still doesn’t feel real, just to contrast nicely with the days when what’s left of his right arm and his right shoulder hurt, and days when power outage hit unexpectedly and the lights went out without warning, and days when he fights to not let some stupid fucked up slights against him go because that’s just how the world is that’s how things are now keep your head down and don’t think Gordon just shoot just let your trigger finger pull itself in you are in a comedy of error a laugh track a monkey on a leash just dance just move your feet j

Hey, no digging your heels in there. Throw yourself off your rhythm, Gordon. Joshua. Joshua loves space. Joshua is going to an elementary school now. Joshua just came home from a “career” day, and the parent invited to speak is a retired astronaut.

Joshua said: “I wanna be an astronaut when I grow up!”

Joshua likes numbers. Somewhat. He’s not averse to them, at the very least, and homework’s kind of bullshit from the concept to the execution but when Gordon and Tommy and Coomer sit down to keep him engaged while he does it he has fun with math homework. He likes video games, he likes the puzzles in the youth magazines they signed up for at his school, he likes messing with shape blocks and pulls out some cool combinations Gordon doesn’t see coming sometimes. Joshua is a smart kid that enjoys a fair challenge. Joshua is totally astronaut materials.

Joshua is going to space.

Joshua is absolutely going to space.

Xen is, coincidentally, also in space.

Gordon is calm. He totally has a good poker face. He performs well under pressure, especially very specific types of pressure, e.g. when there are rules in place he can cling to and ground out an appropriate plan of action. He could improvise a presentation in class in a pinch, because he knew what presentations are and what he’s been working on and what the teacher expected. He could jimmy his car out of an ice patch, because he knew how cars work and how ice acts. He can smile and say “That’s great, Joshie! You just gotta work hard for it, and then you’ll be in space in no time.”

Gordon has an image he can provide to show how he feels.

[Picture ID: a drawing of Gordon Freeman standing in front of his son Joshua, cut off at their chest. Gordon is a tall man, a bit heavyset, with tan skin and mid-back length, messy curly brown hair that’s greyed at his temples due to stress from surviving the hellhole that is Black Mesa and Xen. He’s wearing his comfortable worn-and-faded t-shirt, which is orange with a very faded graphic printed on the front. Joshua is a young boy with brown skin and short dark curly hair, brown eyes that’s brimming with light and happiness, and a wide happy smile. He’s wearing a light green t-shirt. Gordon is smiling at him, with another shot of his face enlarged and superimposed on the drawing right next to his head. This Gordon is screaming. This Gordon is screaming his heart out, and his face is scrunched up while his mouth opens wide, and he’s screaming a silent scream and he will never stop.]

---

Contrary to how it appears to everyone, Benrey doesn’t live full time at the Freemans’.

Well. He does “sleep” there. If he actually sleeps. That’s one of the questions that Gordon has had ever since Black Mesa that he never got to or bothered to ask, and then when they had to defeat Benrey in the final boss fight he thought that was it with his chance to ever ask. And then Benrey came back and the situation took a hard left into throw-the-whole-suitcase-out awkwardness and Gordon thought it better to never bring those questions up ever again. It’s. Ongoing. Like his climb back into being a normal, mostly law abiding, neutral good citizen, who has no ties to that research facility that blew up and opened a portal to hell in space.

It helps that Benrey really is just… a dude. Now that he’s not eighty feet tall and clipping through walls anymore, he can definitely pass as someone who just really loves to mess with people for a laugh. Which… well, Gordon’s judgement of character is probably better discarded in the kitchen trash compactor now, but he’s not gonna lie and say that’s all Benrey seems to him. He doesn’t even mess with people for laugh, not really. He is just. Like that. He’s an alien, but in the sense that’s…

Well, to Benrey, humans are alien. So that’s that.

And also Black Mesa did stretch the definition of ‘human’ in the physical sense pretty thin. So, again, that’s that. It all fits together like sliced pita bread.

The other thing that helps is that Gordon has the tendency to forget about risks or consequences when they are not directly in front of him, which he sometimes overcorrects, but this time around it helps move the sentiment into the philosophical window pretty quick, and then he can throw a brick through that one, because philosophy sucks ass. Gordon’s moving along well! He only had to change prosthetics twice because the first two were in order too heavy for his shoulder and too energy consuming, and all three are fully covered by the overlords that didn’t want Black Mesa to become a Thing in history, and now he works remotely for a uni that just lets whatever happen. It’s chill. It’s mostly chill.

He could’ve just chugged along never thinking even an inch deeper about Benrey’s Benrey-ness again, and Benrey makes that easy, because Benrey loves walking around and looking at things and being a bit of a spectacle with a straight face. Okay, Gordon doesn’t know for sure if Benrey loves doing those things, because he’s not Benrey. He just knows that Benrey does those things, frequently, and with an expertise that baffles even him, who knows full well how Benrey is. Well enough. Awkward territory, all of this is, really. The Point Is that Benrey actually doesn’t appear at home too much! He plays games through the night sometimes, sure, and ever since he called second dibs on any cereal in the apartment he always appears at the right time to claim that, but the whole thing is. Balanced. Benrey doesn’t seem to have physical personal belongings outside of the PS3 and four copies of Heavenly Sword he lugged back one day (the rest of the game library everyone kinda chimed in here and there to build up, because console is common ground fair use for everyone, while PC is where Gordon streams and also works, so it’s off limit), and he rarely uses utensils to eat anything, so to anyone but the team it’d seem like he’s barely there at all. Except for his presence of course. That’s… a lot harder to negotiate.

Gordon’s gotten very, extremely good at it though. It’s his life. Things fit together, mostly. He can deal, he has been dealing, and it’s even been fun. It’s definitely really funny here and there.

Gordon’s about to break the equilibrium. Introduce a nasty new specimen into the scene.

“Bro I knocked for a hot minute,” Benrey says, at the same time as Gordon’s blurting out, “I need to go back to Xen.”

“Huh.”

“Wha- Why do you knock? You’ve never knocked. You’ve literally only ever broken in.”

“Wanna… start now.” Benrey intones in that exact way, and then knocks on the door again. It doesn’t even sound good. These doors are all made with the weird thick composite that makes a dull plastic sound when knocked on.

“Don’t do that, just use the doorbell if you want to-” Gordon catches himself. “No matter. I need to go back to Xen. As soon as possible, but anytime in the next… twelve years… will work.”

Benrey just looks at him for a long time. An extended minute. Maybe even two.

Gordon is just staring back.

“You’re at. The door.” Benrey says, in a low voice. Gordon blinks. “Rude… rude little boy Freeman, huh.”

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Benrey-”

“Gonna let me in? Soon? ‘s bad etiquette… greeter… doesn’t even let guests in. Bet your wares aren’t even good.”

“Alright! Alright.” Gordon snaps, but he also does step back for Benrey to walk in, which. Really, that’s never been necessary. Benrey’s always come in and out as he pleases. Usually Gordon just walks out into the living room and Benrey’s already on the couch playing whatever game catches his eyes on that day. The decorum of knocking and walking in is simply never present.

Well, Benrey does knock on Joshua’s bedroom door. But that’s it.

They walk together into the living room, then Benrey situates himself on the couch, and Gordon settles on the carpeted floor next to the table to observe him. He’s never seen Benrey actually fold his limbs up into the position he’s usually already in when walked in on before. It’s mostly normal movements, which still catches Gordon off-guard a bit.

“Nice couch you’ve got here,” Benrey says, and pulls out his phone to fiddle with. It’s a Nokia 2700 Classic, with a theme downloaded from the Ovi Store, and a firefighter-themed 2D platformer that does get insanely hard in places. Tommy got him a snazzier Blackberry a while back, but he refused that one. Gordon didn’t really get it, but. Whatever.

“It’s always been here,” Gordon replies on reflex.

“Liar… Gordon Lie… man.” Benrey seems to need to chew on that one for a second. “Gordon Lieman. This building’s like. Ten years old.”

“That’s practically forever dude. That’s longer than they sent me to MIT for. Joshua’s not even that old.”

“He’s gonna. In… seven… years.”

Gordon remembers what he needs to talk with Benrey about again. “Goddamnit,” he slaps his own face - not with the hard prosthetic this time, thank you very much. Took him six months of HEV training and a year with a prosthetic to get it to heart. “Okay, so. Xen.”

“Wait. Math’s wrong… eleven. Years.”

“Don’t distract me! Xen!” Gordon throws his arms up, finally making Benrey actually look at him proper. “Joshua wants to be an astronaut when he grows up.”

Benrey puts his phone down.

“Yeah,” Gordon scrubs his face, with his flesh hand. “So I need to… do something about Xen. I have a plan. I need to find materials, and then I need a way to Xen…”

“What’s an astronaut.”

“A- no.” Gordon sits up straight. “No, you’re fucking with me. You’re doing this on purpose. I’m fucking about to go nuts, dude.”

Benrey looks him up and down, makes sure his head movement is clear in the dark living room, lit only by the lamppost outside the window. “Yeah,” he says, “no shit. You wanna go back to… Xen… and stuff. Freeman lost his mind.”

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but then closes it with a click. “Okay,” he mumbles after a moment of thinking it over, “okay. I get where you’re coming from.”

“Haha, get it. ‘cause I’m from. Xen. And shit.”

“Not funny, dude.” It is a bit funny. “But I’m not- okay, so, listen, Joshua’s a determined kid, alright? He’s smart, and he’s healthy, and he likes space. He’s… the chance of him becoming an astronaut is not zero.” Gordon pulls his legs up to his chest. “If it’s up to me, it’s gonna be a hundred percent, ‘cause that’d make him so happy. But even if I’m not the one writing the almighty script I’m still gonna do my best to help him if he’s serious.”

Benrey continues looking at him. “Uh-huh.”

“And… that includes. Never letting him near Xen.”

“Mm.”

“And I know, I know Xen’s like. Ten fucking floating rocks at least a million Texas lengths away from Earth, but it’s still there, y’know? It’s still there. You’re from there! You know it’s still…”

“Yeah?”

“... I. Want to blow Xen up.”

Benrey settles into the draw-me-like-a-French-girl pose. “Sounds good. How’re we doing that.”

“Well, we’ll need explosives that can actually detonate in Xen’s climate, and acquiring that’s gonna put me on so many shitlist-” Gordon almost physically grabs his own hand to yank himself back to Benrey’s answer. “Wait. Are you really just… relenting? Are you actually in this now. Benrey?”

“Say more about the explosive though.” Benrey blinks innocently at him. “Please? Explosive cool. Maybe illegal. Super cool though.”

Gordon is not doing the frog mouth thing. He’s not. He’s totally not. He sighs a long sigh; there, no more rude expression. “I am only thinking about using explosives, because it’s costly and we’re gonna have to transport it. So you have nothing to snitch about. Who would you even snitch to, anyway? Fucking- we are under an indefinite two-way nondisclosure clause, if any of us ever open our mouth to a stranger about that we’re gonna get sacked, but. Wait are you even involved in that? You came back after we signed those papers. Well Tommy’s officially ‘representing’ us, so it’s all tangential kinda, so maybe he can just add you, but why would you-”

“No explosive run huh… What’re you gonna… use. Then.”

“-subject yourself to the law- alright, yeah uh. To be honest I was thinking raw force? Because I do have around twelve years to make this work, and Coomer has insane strength that has leveled a Xen island before, and Bubby is… I think he just isn’t aware that there’s supposed to be a limit to human strength at all. They forget to put that in when they pumped him with knowledge juice. He can- wait, Bubby can just make fire. He can maybe negate the climate conditions for us, so explosives are still in the question here, and- Darnold, last I heard he’s doing some ‘Sour Patch Kids but real’ stuff… sounds like seriously corrosive stuff… We can. We can have a plan.”

Benrey is on his phone again. “Nice.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gordon dry swallows some dust from the carpet. He realizes he’s gripping on it pretty hard with his prosthetic; he’s close to ripping a chunk of it out. He takes a deep breath and relaxes the plastic hand. “We’re gonna need to make and test the explosives, and we’re. I need to tell everyone. Convince them to help. And we’ll need a portal back to Xen.”

Benrey’s still clicking away on his phone - probably playing that firefighter game again - but he’s looking at Gordon at the same time. Gordon looks up just in time to catch the sharp grin disappearing from his face.

Alright. Maybe Benrey does love doing Benrey things. At least one of them’s actively enjoying this.

---

Gordon’s well aware how ridiculous he is. Is sometimes seen as. Perceived as. Terminologies.

Mostly he copes fine with that. He’s lived it for as long as he’s alive. Most decisions he makes are met with a raised eyebrow at the sublest and outright laughter at the rudest. Transitioning, that was a long, long period of his parents going from “haha funny joke but don’t tell it in public yeah” to “oh shit that’s for real huh? That’s for real” to confused, but silent, silence. Him applying for MIT and seeking a scholarship was definitely the career advisor at his high school laughing uncomfortably for a long time, because Gordon’s never held down a project properly, has he? How’s he doing this? And then him adopting Joshua officially was at least ten separate conversations with Joshua’s grandparents patting him on the back, it’s okay if you don’t! We can care for him. It’s nice to have children around the house again! We know you’re busy! We know there’s things youngsters like you want to do before getting tied down with children. Trust us, we know. You don’t have to .

Gordon knows. He’s never had to make any of the decisions he actively made, but one, that’s why they’re decisions and not punishments , and two, in many ways including cerebral, he did. Kind of have to. In many ways those are the only steps that make sense for him to take. They were the foundation to who he is as a person, with a sense of self that must be supernaturally obscure, because he’s. He’s got a lot of things to balance. A lot of tight ropes to walk.

Gordon’s many things, a lot of those he doesn’t fucking recall himself. Maybe that’s by itself absurd enough. He’s had a lot of time to learn, and a bit of time to relearn, being okay with being absurd.

Black Mesa “helped”, in the same way it spared the rest of him when it got his arm cut the fuck off. It’s a horror comedy. It gave him a bit of a new perspective on absurdity.

“Don’t you dare,” Gordon grouches, because he’s learning. He’s always learning. “Don’t use the a-word.”

Bubby puts his arm together in front of his chest. “I’m not about to! Don’t presume you know what I will do.”

In a way Bubby’s incredulous look stings worse than Benrey’s deflection, Gordon reasons, because Benrey has emotional (?) stakes in Xen’s existence. Maybe he has an external heart or something that’s still beating and keeping him alive on Xen, though Gordon hopes he’d’ve at least been transparent about that when they talked about blowing the place up. Bubby though, Bubby doesn’t have emotional ties to many things altogether. Bubby’s also a tube baby who sets himself on fire with his thoughts. Himself and other people and/or objects. Not as absurd as Benrey being Benrey, but absurd enough to be way above Gordon on the a-scale, and thus has no rights to call Gordon absurd.

“You have to admit though,” Bubby says after a moment of silence.

Gordon takes a deep breath. “No, actually, I don’t have to admit shit,” he says, with what he can call patience with just a little bit of definition stretching, “you ever thought of that? I actually can just never admit that blowing up a whole planetoid system is a bit out-of-the-box thinking of me. I can just say that it’s totally normal and expected behavior of me, and what’re you gonna do with that? Huh? Do go on.”

“Oh don’t be pissy at me,” Bubby huffs, and goes back to staring at the buoy bobbing on the water surface, tied to his fishing line. “You’re scaring away the fish, Gordon. Everyone knows you don’t talk and stomp around on the piers while people are fishing. It’s rude.”

“You’re literally only trying to see if you can set a fish on fire as a prank,” Gordon points out, more for his own sanity than to prove anything to anyone, least of all Bubby.

Benrey looks like he’s ignoring Gordon and Bubby’s exchange, just sitting at the edge of the piers, legs swinging evenly, but Gordon well knows he’s listening in. If not because he’s somewhat invested then because most things that frustrate Gordon is great entertainment to him.

He is, maybe, a bit, somewhat invested though, must be. He brought Gordon to where Bubby and Coomer are camping, afterall. No reasons else to do it, especially when they have time to wait for them to come back to civilization. Twelve years, in fact.

Gordon can wait (he can forget, but in his book that’s the same as waiting, really), and he doesn’t begrudge Bubby and Coomer’s “honeymoon trip”, which has consisted thus far of them trampling about in ~~nature~~ , e.g. deep ends of the world that they do not and should not have access to, but somehow end up in anyway. Gordon only knew because Coomer’s grown fond of taking pictures, and once in a while if they get wifi he sends everyone some. The most memorable one was a pitch black square except for two dots of light in the distance, with the geotag pointing to them being in the Mariana trench.

They’re having fun, and Darnold and Tommy take effort to “decontaminate” them between trips, as well as make them learn wildlife interaction guidelines (Bubby probably already knew, but he didn’t care, and still nobody’s sure if he cares now), so Gordon doesn’t mind. Has no reason to mind. Until now, but only a tiny bit.

They decided to stop in a seaside town somewhere up North three days ago, and wifi’s spotty at best but Coomer still managed to send them pictures again - of him fighting a dolphin and Bubby making fun of a goat skeleton in a museum - and then Gordon got tired of staying up thinking about Xen at night and shot his shot. It took them another day to check their message again, and Bubby replied saying “don’t third wheel other people, weirdo” and Gordon just sighed and resigned himself to staying up way too late for another week or so. But then Benrey asked him to go to GameStop with him, which. Admittedly that was suspicious as hell, but Gordon reasoned Benrey knocked and asked to be let in the other day, so what the fuck, right. And then he stepped through the GameStop’s door, noticing the glass being darker than usual, and ended up on this piers where Bubby’s been trying to have a laugh at some poor fish’s expense.

Bubby made fun of him for third wheeling again, despite Benrey also being right there, and despite Coomer not even being there.

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Gordon asked, because maybe he can be a little bit spiteful. He’s allowed.

“No,” Bubby grumbled. “Harold impressed Gregory with his punching power, so he’s invited to the Punching Tournament. I don’t like being in water for a long time so I stayed. Their sandwich’s not even good.”

Gregory turned out to be the giant squid that lives a few kilometers off the shore, and another few kilometers under the sea level.

“I’m gonna issue an a-word ban, actually,” Gordon declares, when he comes back to where Bubby’s sitting on his journey to wear a track into the piers. “I think that’s more conducive to real conversations.”

He’s being distracted, he knows. And maybe he’s letting himself be a bit distracted, so he can have a minute to improvise a script. Benrey just fast traveled him here, he did not prepare any materials, he doesn’t even have his notebook with him. That’s where all of his plans are! And his doodles. Mostly his doodles, but that’s a part of his thinking process, so he’s allowed.

“Alright, Mister Fucking-Insane-Person,” Bubby shrugs.

“Doctor.”

“Oh, my bad! Doctor Fucking-Insane-Person.”

“Also that’s a ban dodge and you know it. Also you still don’t have any rights to call me anything! I refuse to submit in this matter.”

Bubby turns around fully to put his hand on crossed legs and stare at Gordon. “You sure, Gordon? Are you very sure about that, when you warp out of thin air to where I am missing my husband very much and not torturing fishes for fun, saying things about blowing Xen up ? Is that not ragingly absurd, Doctor ?”

Gordon takes another deep breath. For his own benefit. For his own wellbeing. “Okay, one, Benrey warped me here, I was not responsible for that. Two, you’re trying to set fishes on fire, and your husband is punching more fishes while a giant squid cheers him on, probably. And three, which part of blowing Xen up is absurd, now? Feel free to elaborate on it. I’m all ears.”

“The very idea of it!” Bubby exclaims, accidentally shoving his fishing rod off the optimal position, chasing away the few fishes not shunned by his radiating malicious intent yet. “Who even thinks of that?”

“Me,” Gordon snaps back, “and you guys kinda ruined what ‘absurd’ even means at all for me, so don’t try me at it.”

Bubby shuts his mouth with a click, but his brows are still furrowed in the exact way that claims, loudly even if soundlessly, that he thinks that’s stupid.

“No, go on, Doctor Bubby,” Gordon presses. “You’ve got the quiz. Try your hand at it again, go ahead.”

“Alright, then, how are we even doing it? If we’re doing it. And there’s no we yet, mind you.”

“I- okay.” Gordon holds his hands up. “I’ll admit I do not have the specifics yet. But logistically at least, it’s entirely possible. We’ll need,” he calculates a number real quick, “thirteen hundred pounds of column charge slurry, but if we have something high corrosive we can wrap up safely until detonation we’ll need even less. We can. Make that much. If we have Darnold’s help. We need access to Xen itself, which Tommy has the biggest chance to get. We’ll need to put the explosives deeper into the ground than surface level, so we’ll need to dig some holes, but with Doctor Coomer’s strength we can take care of that. And then we’ll need to trip it, and that might pose a problem in Xen’s climate, but we can manage a chemical fuse, or. Y’know. Just burn it hot enough to explode, which.”

He ends that speech with a vague and a bit jerky wave of his hand towards Bubby.

Bubby just blinks. “Huh.”

Benrey snickers under his breath, either at a fish or at Bubby’s reaction, Gordon doesn’t know. He wouldn’t even be able to guess, since Benrey still has his back to the entire commotion.

Gordon catches himself holding his breath, so he consciously exhales slowly. It’s okay. It’s whatever. He has twelve years. He can take some detours if necessary. He can forget, even. Maybe.

“That Doctorate turns out to be for something, huh,” Bubby continues. “That does sound pretty plausible, afterall.”

“Huh,” Gordon’s turn to blink. “Wait, that’s it? You’re in now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bubby swings his arm out, “even though I’d like to be testy for a while longer, I also want to blow things up. Outside is very large, but it severely lacks opportunities to see things explode, so I’ll have to make it happen myself now.”

That’s a tiny bit worrying, but Gordon’ll take it. He’s used to Bubby being a tiny bit worrying anyway. Wouldn’t be Bubby without it.

“Now shoo,” Bubby turns around to fiddle with his fishing rod again, carefully moving it back to the optimal position, “you chased all the fishes off. Gonna have to start my work from the beginning now. It’s hard work tricking fishes, you know.”

“Don’t tell Coomer,” Gordon warns, “I want to let him know myself.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Aren’t you ever.”

Gordon figures he’s done all he can on that front.

Benrey catches up with him when he’s walked away dramatically for a few minutes and is now at the main street of the town. “Rudeman.”

Gordon did forget him at the piers, so that’s on him. “Sorry, but also, do you have a plan to get us home, or what? ‘Cause I don’t have my car and I’m not hitching a random ride if I can help it.”

“Gotta... find a GameStop first. Score some Sports Champions 2 for the. PS3.”

“Alright.” Gordon nods. “Wait, do you need a GameStop to transport us? Is that a thing?”

“Huh,” Benrey just looks at him, and then pulls out his brick phone.

Gordon rolls his eyes, but then catches a glimpse of the screen, and sees the digital clock. “It’s- fuck, it’s almost five! Joshua’s almost home.”

“Oh look, no GameStop on the… roadside. What’re we gonna do.”

“Benrey, you- goddamnit,” Gordon frantically pulls his phone out of his pocket. He tries to yank his right arm out of Benrey’s hold to hold it steady, but Benrey doesn’t yield. “Fucking, let me,” he unlocks it and finds Joshua’s number, which is on top, because he added ‘01’ before his name, because he’s had plenty of experiences with arranging files so they don’t disappear on him, “c’mon, c’mon… Hey Joshie! Are you at school right now?”

“Hi Dad, yes,” Joshua answers, at the same time Gordon registers that he’s walking, Benrey pulling on his arm.

“Sorry I called in the middle of class, buddy, but we’re gonna. I’m gonna be a bit late home, okay? I’m outside right now, but I’m on my way- oh, no, we.”

They’re in his living room. Gordon puts his arm, just released, on top of the couch. This is his couch. The bowl of cereal he finished right before Benrey dragged him out’s still on the table. The PS3 lays silent in the TV cabinet, as it’s always been. He does go around the table to put his free hand on all of these things just to be sure.

“Dad?” Joshua asks from the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”

“I.” Gordon dry swallows. “No, yeah I- I got home. Me and Benrey were out for a bit and we got? Lost? But we found our way back, and I’m. I’m home now. I was really worried I wouldn’t make it back in time to open the door for you, so I called! But I’m home now.”

“That’s good!” Joshua says, even though Gordon can still hear worry in his voice. Sweet kid, his boy is. “Thank you for telling me in ad-advance.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your class. Dad’ll be more careful next time.”

“It’s okay. What are we having tonight?”

Gordon takes a deep breath, holds it in for a moment, and then breathes it out, slowly. “We can have mac and cheese again, or we can try our hand at naan and make some soup to go with it,” he says, willing his voice to calm down. “We still have the yeast Ms. Juney gave us last month, right? We can go get bread flour when you’re home.”

“Okay.”

“Go back to class, buddy. See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Can we have chowder tonight too?”

Gordon laughs. “We’ll look into it, but sure! If we can find the ingredients for it. Alright, bye now. Love you, honey.”

“Okay,” Joshua says again, and when Gordon’s about to move the phone from his ear, he adds, “Love you too, Dad.” And then he hangs up.

Gordon goes to the couch and sits down. He’s maybe cradling his phone a bit. It’s still warm from him gripping on it way too hard. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“That went well, huh,” Benrey says, from the hallway. Gordon looks up to see him closing the door behind him, what looks like a copy of Sports Champions 2 for the PS3 in hand.

Gordon laughs, again, for real this time. “That’s- where'd you even get that?

---

They did make naan, or a version of it. Joshua likes messing with flour, Gordon caught him walking his fingers through the bowl, leaving tiny “footprints”. They couldn’t agree on a fish to put in the chowder, so they shelved that plan and bought some canned beef-and-vegetables soup instead. The naan turned out… fine. They tasted enough like naan, and Gordon only burned like two. Which was maybe thanks to the apartment’s stove top burning a bit less hot than it did the last time they used it; Gordon made a mental note to check on the gas or. Whatever one does. When that happened. He just needed to look up a number, call it, and stand next to the (hopefully) professional who would come while they did their work.

Benrey sat at the couch while the Freemans cooked and ate their dinner, either being on his phone or scrolling idly through the PS3’s library. Joshua asked if he could try and throw naan pieces into Benrey’s mouth from the kitchen table, which Gordon allowed, but with the preset limit of only three pieces, and the condition that he picked up the ones that missed himself. He then asked Benrey very politely if he could open his mouth to catch the bread, and then made a lot of mental calculations before throwing each piece. The first one missed, but the other two were snatched up by Benrey in a somewhat shark-like display, which Joshua clapped excitedly for.

Gordon heard Benrey come to the kitchen table, which Joshua was wiping off with the designated kitchen rag (the fourth one this month alone; it feels like someone’s eating them as they’re replaced sometimes), while he was cleaning the dishes. “Hey lil’ gamer dude,” Benrey said, and Gordon could hear him rustle around in a pocket of his puffy vest. “Scored big in the. Minigame.”

“Thank you,” Joshua replied politely.

“Here’s your price,” Benrey said. Gordon assumed Joshua was holding out his hands to receive whatever Benrey gave him, because he couldn’t hear any noise that thing made, just Joshua’s little excited gasp.

“It’s like the... Intarna-Internation… nal… Space Station!”

“Huh,” Gordon could hear Benrey blink, “that’s what it is…”

“Yeah! These are, here, they’re solar panels! They charge the batteries in here.”

“Nice.”

“Thank you Benrey!”

“Yeah, GG.” And then Benrey shuffled back to the couch, if Gordon interpreted the noises correctly.

Joshua held onto the price trinket until he asked Gordon to put it in the tool cabinet, along with the cake moulds and decoration kit courtesy of Gordon’s hectic MIT years. It was… Gordon could see why Joshua thought that was where it should go. It could be considered a cookie cutter, if the shape weren’t kinda suboptimal for a cookie. It also did look like the ISS, with wings and all.

Nobody in this household’s baked anything sweet in this apartment for at least a year, but. Well. Never say no to free, reusable stuff.

Gordon’s phone vibrates when he’s just sat down at the kitchen table again, a mug of garbage instant coffee in hand. He abandons it to go get his phone from where it’s charging on the living room table.

It’s Coomer. “It’s Coomer,” Gordon says out loud. “That’s weird- he’s. He doesn’t call.”

“He’s calling. Now.” Benrey says from where he’s sitting, on the couch. Gordon takes a deep breath and doesn’t deign it worth a rebuttal. He accepts the call instead.

“Hello Gordon! I heard you want to blow Xen up.”

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bubby told you.”

“He did! In great details!”

“I- alright, whatever, I didn’t expect actual results with that one anyway.” Gordon remembers about his coffee. He comes back to where it’s waiting for him on the kitchen table, and takes himself a generous sip, letting it burn his mouth. “Fuck!” He sets the cup down maybe a bit forcefully. “Oh that’s a bad decision. What did- what did he tell you?”

Coomer takes a moment to gather his thoughts, leaving a blank minute where sounds of the wind and waves on the shore come through his mic. Gordon hopes he isn’t thinking about sleeping out there tonight, for the full nature flavor or whatever. “ A large part of his speech was about explosion! And how big and grand it would be. And also about how much he fucking hates Xen!”

“Glad we agree on that front,” Gordon mumbles.

“So am I! I also fucking hate Xen!”

“That’s. That’s fair, really, it’s a garbage place. But- did he, like. Have you heard anything about the actual plan? Did he tell you anything about the actual plan I definitely mentioned to him?”

Coomer pauses for another moment, probably to recall. “Nope! Not a word about a plan-”

“I fucking knew it,” Gordon mumbles.

“-though that is very thorough of you, Gordon!”

"Okay, listen,” Gordon picks his mug of coffee up and starts pacing. “I actually don’t… have all of it yet. I know me and Benrey are in,” he flicks his gaze to Benrey again, who does nothing to deny the statement, “and Bubby’s now in as well. I still need to- okay, the plan’s basically that we find or make enough explosive for the ten asteroids on Xen, we bury it at the core of said asteroids, and we blow that up so it blows Xen up. I have- I don’t know the specifics of how to make that much explosive yet, but I’ll convince Darnold somehow, and if he sits this one out then we’ll borrow his lab when he’s not using it. And I’ll ask Tommy about a way back to Xen, his. His dad’s done that plenty. He doesn’t seem to like Xen much, right? That’s the impression I got, so we can spin this into us doing him a favor or something. And then we transport the explosive to Xen, I can borrow a truck for that, I know someone, and then we dig into the ground there, that’s where we can really use your superstrength, and then we put the explosive in and. Set it on fire. Bubby, uh, agreed to take care of that.”

Another beat of silence follows Gordon’s speech. He seems to have been making that one a lot recently, mostly to himself, in his room, while writing things down in his notebook. He finds himself chewing on his own lip, so he makes himself stop and takes another gulp of the coffee, which has thankfully cooled down to gulp-appropriate temperature.

When Coomer speaks again, he seems to have chosen his words carefully. “I will need to ‘sleep’ on this, Gordon. You are right in your assessment that you do not have your plan together yet!”

Gordon takes a deep breath. “It’s okay,” he says, as much to Coomer as to himself. “It’s true. It’s half-thought up right now. I still need to figure out- figure out Darnold and Tommy and Mr. Coolatta. I, yeah,” his voice’s dropped to a mumble by now, “I think I need to sleep on it too.”

“Gordon.” The rustles that accompany Coomer’s voice gives the impression that he’s sitting down onto the pebble-littered beach as he speaks. “I would like to see Xen obliterated, and I think we can get it done.”

“That’s,” Gordon stops on his pacing in the kitchen, “That’s not. It’s okay if you’re not interested, Coomer. You don’t have to walk it back on me.”

“Please do not question my fucking hatred for Xen, Gordon.”

“O-okay.”

“But I am not in favor of hazy dreams anymore. I have gotten to see a lot during my ‘honeymoon’, and now I have broken free, and mere words on a script cannot placate me. I would like to see proof that it’s possible before I participate.”

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“I believe you can do it, Gordon!”

“Thank you,” Gordon says, a little bit dazed, while Bubby’s voice comes through from a distance at the same time, “Are you reciting poetry again?”

“In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes?” Coomer answers. “On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?”

“Stop praising that tiger while I’m right here!”

“I’ll,” Gordon says before Coomer can get fully caught up in Bubby’s antics again, “I’ll come back to you with. The details. When I’ve hashed it out. Thanks for,” he exhales, “thanks for holding out for me, Coomer.”

“So it is, Gordon, so it will be!”

Coomer hangs up there, and Gordon sits down at the kitchen table again. He finishes the mug of coffee in one long gulp. It’s gone a little bit more room-temperature than he likes.

“Sleep on it,” he mumbles, “good advice.”

“You should. Do that.” Benrey says from the couch. “Sleep good for body for soul.”

“You know what, when you’re right,” Gordon says, and stands up and goes brush his teeth. He then sits down at his work table and writes down questions until four in the morning.

---

Gordon used to suck at making phone calls. He’s kind of a champion at it now.

Funny thing is there’s an epiphany to it as well: he didn’t grow up with cell phones, so making phone calls was a hierarchical thing for him until he was like. Twenty years old. Kids used the landline when absolutely necessary only, and adults used it whenever they damn well pleased, because they paid for it and they had businesses to take care of . And Gordon was… not much of a rule breaker, surprisingly enough. Oh he fell short of where rules lay plenty, but he didn’t really intentionally break them. So he took calls when his parents said he could and when he absolutely needed to, and that habit persisted well into his adulthood.

He might also just be not very good at holding his tongue when speaking and. That was no good for phone calls. Kiddies phone calls. ‘cause he just realized one day that adults said whatever the fuck they wanted on the phone really, and nobody chastised them for it, no divine punishment, no sudden death round.

A sermon on self-love, that was; Gordon just takes phone calls now. Worst case scenario, he just turns his brain off and lets his mouth do its work. When people don’t presume they know better than him, they don’t presume he’s talking out of his ass ninety percent of the time.

That’s- that’s what he thought. Gordon’s wrong, a little bit. He can be wrong. Has been wrong plenty before. He can correct himself, here, he’s gonna do it right now: worst case scenario, he has to recite his plan, conceived so far in total isolation from anyone he knows and whose opinions he cares about, to the person who’s the most skittish and averse to what his plan is bringing about among those people, over the phone, where he can’t see and gauge body language and facial expressions.

Gordon would… like to meet Darnold face to face for this. But. It’s work. It’s, well, it’s closer to work than to play, given that he’s gotten mildly stressed out over it, and their lunch at the only Taco Bell in the whole desert is strictly pleasant, not-work talk only. And Gordon really, really enjoys those lunch dates, because he never has to think about damage control or having an identity crisis in the middle of one. They’re just nice, normal, a tiny bit shouty (the Taco Bell is usually packed and the acoustic’s not good, but it’s a Taco Bell, and it’s a ritual now), mostly jovial, lunch with a friend, eating subpar food he’s learned to enjoy. They don’t talk about what happened at Black Mesa, they don’t talk about work in general, they don’t even talk about soda outside of appraising the gaudy color combinations for any new sponsored drink. They talk about Joshua, about Darnold’s cat Lumbar Support, about Coomer and Bubby’s travelling, about new game releases, about Sega vs. Nintendo, about the weather.

Gordon doesn’t want to fall short of where the rules lie, not this time. So he calls.

“Doctor Freeman?” Darnold answers with the title, which sets the tone pretty well. Gordon takes a deep breath and steels himself.

“Doctor Pepper.” He pauses. “Darnold. Hey. I, uh, I’ve got a thing I wanna ask.”

“Go ahead!” Darnold goes quiet for a moment, to finish his sandwich, Gordon’d guess. He’s called in the middle of Darnold’s lunch break. “I must preface however that we’re working outside of office hours, and I can only advise you at the moment. Anything further will have to go through the… official channels.”

“Okay, that’s alright. I just.” Gordon worries his lips. He realizes he’s tugging pretty hard on his left sleeve; he makes himself let go. “I have a. Plan. That’ll need your expertise.”

“I’d be delighted to help then! Feel free to share more.”

“It’s about, uh.” Gordon takes another deep breath. He’s been consuming a lot of oxygen recently. “IwanttoblowXenup?”

Darnold goes, predictably, quiet for a moment. It doesn’t sting less when it’s predictable.

When he speaks again, it’s in a clipped, professional-but-barely tone. “Please say that again, but slowly.”

Gordon closes his eyes against the sunlight streaming in from the window in his bedroom. “I want to. Blow Xen up.”

“Gordon,” Darnold sighs. “Doctor Freeman.”

“I know.”

“Your megalomaniacal tendencies have grown since we last met.”

“It’s not- I’m not doing it for fun!” Gordon throws his free arm up. “Okay, this is genuinely a lot of effort and stress for something I’d do for pleasure, Darnold. I also couldn’t care less about fucking Xen - okay that’s not true, I’ve lost like a week of sleep over blowing it up, that’s not not caring, but like. I can’t. I need it to not be there,” he stands up from his bed and starts pacing, “and I have. A plan. Half of one. About that much. So it’s not hopeless-”

“Gordon, please slow down.”

“-as long as I have your help and- and Tommy’s, okay, I will. uh.” He taps on his thigh with his free hand too, for good measure. Go the whole nine yard with fidgeting, why not. “I. So, Joshua wants to be an astronaut,” he intones, and for the first time in a while he’s reminded again of how this started, how it took over his life for a hot minute, and it almost gives him the hiccups, “and. Y’know. Xen is in space. So it needs to not be there anymore. So I want to. Blow it up.”

Darnold goes silent again. Gordon thinks he can hear the epiphany punch the air out of him. Fuck, he hates phone calls.

“As much as I want to berate you about how you’re treating this matter and yourself,” Darnold resumes primly after a moment, “my lunch break is ending in exactly fifty-two seconds, and this sandwich will take me another two bites to get through. I’ll see you in the Taco Bell’s parking lot at three AM this afternoon, Gordon. Drink water.”

He hangs up. Gordon goes drink water.

Benrey clips into the apartment when Gordon’s on his third mug of iced water. “Whoa, hydration streak,” he says, settling himself on the kitchen table.

“I can go a bit crazy,” Gordon mumbles. “I’m allowed a little bit of funk and insanity. This is my house.”

“It’s… actually. MFA’s.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I tried to forget that. Also it actually belongs to the NRC, since they apparently can just scare MFA into giving employees housing, which I’m really fucking horrified by, but I’m choosing to not think about it, and you can’t make me.”

“It can be mine soon.”

“Do not attack and dethrone Nils Diaz.”

Benrey huffs. “Killjoy Freeman.” He shifts his pose so he’s sitting up straighter. “You wanna… try out Premium Water? Free trial for a week, you can manually cancel your. Subscription. After.”

Gordon stares at him. “What’s Premium Water.”

Benrey opens his jaws, wide, showing his teeth. He points inside as if there’s anything Gordon wants to find at all in there at the moment. Then he closes it with a click and stares back at Gordon.

Gordon just sighs. “No, Benrey.”

“Guaranteed beddy bye time, no charge,” Benrey blinks at him. “Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ a hundred percent effective. Five stars… satisfaction… rating.”

“You’re fucking lying, because I’d never leave it five stars. You get three at best.”

“Gonna catch you when you fall off the. Chair. Gonna be romantic.”

Gordon laughs. “No, not allowed.” He sighs and finishes the mug of water like it’s mead and he’s some Dungeons and Dragons elven ranger. He gives himself brain freeze. “Ah, fuck, oof,” he slaps his own forehead, “bad decision. Bad decision. Okay, I. I appreciate you asking instead of just going for it, but that’s the reality of asking, right? The person you ask can say no. And you’ve just gotta learn how to deal with it.”

Benrey just keeps staring at him, but he’s used to that now. It’s only a tiny bit unnerving. “How’s learning’s... satisfaction rate.”

Gordon sighs again. “It sucks ass. Fucking hate learning.”

Benrey grins at him, and then he checks his phone and it’s already time to go.

“Drink this,” Darnold says immediately when Gordon climbs into the shotgun seat of his car, and holds out a beaker of bubbling purple liquid.

Gordon just stares at it. “Darnold, what is this.”

Darnold sighs. “It’s the Potion of Not Telling. I also drank a sample before coming here,” he holds up an empty beaker with some of the same purple liquid at the bottom. “It blows us up if we tell our employers what we’re up to.”

Gordon ponders this very carefully. “Does. Tommy, for example. Does he count as my ‘employer’?”

“No,” Darnold says. “‘Employers’ only cover people and/or establishments you’re currently under an employee contract with and receiving salary from.”

“Alright,” Gordon intones carefully, and downs the whole beaker. It tastes like… the jello packaged like seahorses Tommy brings over sometimes. The red ones, specifically. It makes him feel a bit bloated, immediately, and he rubs his side a bit anxiously when he sits down in the car. “You’re actually under NDAs at all times, huh,” he says, as an opening line.

“Same as you, Gordon.” Darnold takes the beaker back from Gordon’s hand and puts it in with the other one. “Black Mesa seeked me out and offered to find me a position in a brewery, as well as fund any of my independent ventures, as long as I do not say a word about what… transpired… back there. The official record’s that I was stranded on an island with curious dino-esque creatures for four years, instead of worked in Black Mesa’s mixology department, and honed my craft with their help, using the fruits native to that island.”

Gordon laughs, and rubs his face with the prosthetic hand. It’s like putting your face on the car’s dashboard. “Sounds like them alright. At least yours sounds exciting, instead of fucking insane. They said I was ‘chasing an entropy in the desert’ and it ‘ate my hand’. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“We attempted feats of miracle, only it was not under their accountability,” Darnold says, “and we were punished for it. No matter, we have more important things at hand. What is this plan you’ve cooked up, Gordon?”

Gordon takes a deep breath, finding it easier than it’s been for a while, and relays what he’s got down of the blow-Xen-up plan to Darnold. They never look at each other meanwhile, both staring at the cars lined up haphazardly in the lane across from them, Gordon in a barren calmness as words leave his mouth, Darnold with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his whole presence compacted into a contemplative, silent piece.

“That is an intense reaction to a faraway threat, Gordon,” Darnold says when Gordon’s speech is over. “Xen is not only at least a galaxy away, but also a few dimensions over, if I understand the briefing right. I haven’t thought about that wretched place for almost a year.”

“Sorry,” Gordon says, not really feeling any of it, but making the effort.

“You don’t have to. I understand where you’re coming from.” Darnold taps idly on his own arm. “I was… extracted… swiftly from Black Mesa after I met you and your friends. I did not witness what happened after, but I saw… enough.” He takes a deep breath as well. “We can all have intense reactions to anything.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not maladaptive,” Gordon says. He’s gone to therapy. It was really good for helping him build a system that filters out the things that actually fucks him up and makes some sense of the rest, but it doesn’t lift him out of the comedy of his life itself. It can’t. That’s not what therapy’s for.

“Indeed,” Darnold says. “But I can’t be the judge of that. My domain lies with potion mixing, and I dare say I am a true expert at it, but I can’t claim expertise at other people’s life. Especially not yours.”

“I get it,” Gordon nods. The world kinda bobs a tiny bit when he does that. “I. Know not to indulge my impulse mostly. But sometimes decisions come back to haunt me, and those are usually just about choosing one furniture over another, or tying my shoelaces in the bunny ears way instead of the circle way and having them undone in the middle of a meeting and stepping on them and falling on my face, but this time it’s. It’s Joshua’s life. And there’s just no limit anymore to what can happen, not since.” He swallows. “Black Mesa.”

Darnold nods.

Gordon blinks. “I know it’s a little bit crazy.”

“It might be,” Darnold says, “but as a famous mixologist once said: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if that gain is just your peace of mind.”

Gordon lets out the breath he isn’t even aware he’s been holding. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to,” Darnold smiles, “I do stand to gain from this as well, since I really need to test this flavouring that’s supposed to land on pleasantly tart on the taste scale but goes into intestine-destroyingly sour territory instead. I need to know what makes it that corrosive, and testing on humans is entirely unethical.”

---

Gordon got home before Joshua. Benrey’s also not home. He lays down on the couch and takes a nap.

He wakes to a quilt over most of him, light turned on in the living room and in the kitchen, and silent chatter. His sense of smell kicks in a minute or so into him still laying on the couch, blinking up at the ceiling; he smells fish sauce and sugar cooking.

“Tommy’s over,” he mumbles.

“He awakes,” Benrey says, seemingly into thin air. Gordon feels the couch shift minutely as Benrey makes to stand up from where he’s sitting leaning back on it. “Good eatin’. I’ll go get the. Food. Coloring.”

When Gordon’s gathered enough of himself to sit up, Benrey’s nowhere to be seen. Tommy’s shifting something animatedly on the stove, while Joshua carefully carries one bowl at a time to the kitchen table.

“Hey Dad!” Joshua says when he catches Gordon’s eyes. He puts the bowl he’s carrying down to free his hand for waving. Gordon waves back.

“Hey Joshie, hey Tommy. What’re you guys making?”

“Caramelized pork b-belly!” Tommy says from his stove station. “And... sautéed vegetable medley.”

“With rice!” Joshua adds.

“A perfectly balanced meal.”

“I picked the vege-ta-bles!”

Gordon folds the quilt to busy his hands. This one’s definitely not his. He may have one somewhere in the closet, but it hasn’t made an appearance in… six months. He thinks. “What did you get for us, buddy?”

“Carrot!” Joshua holds up a finger. “It has a lot of vita- vitamin… A.”

“Awesome,” Gordon says and goes over to the kitchen table to high five Joshua. “What else did you choose?”

“String beans!”

“Oh?” Joshua hasn’t been much for that.

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna teach me how to eat them!”

“A dash of- of flavour, packed in one Kn●rr’s Complete Seasoning packet, is all you’ll need!” Tommy switches to a lower voice when Gordon peers over his shoulder at the pan on the stove. “That is not true. Kn●rr is only… fit to be- be on the floor.”

“Are- you’re not putting that in then?”

“No, I just use salt and pepper.”

Joshua giggles. Tommy extends a hand that Joshua can slap on in place of a high five.

Gordon gets out the utensils - spoon for Joshua, chopsticks for him and Tommy - and brings the rice cooker to the table once the light’s jumped to orange. He plates the pork, scooping Joshua’s helping into his personal plate first, while Tommy finishes with the vegetables. Tommy lets Joshua choose which vegetables to go on his plate; Joshua bravely gets a little bit of everything.

They eat dinner on top of companionable conversation, Gordon and Tommy taking turns asking Joshua about school and other things.

“I heard you want to- to be an astronaut,” Tommy asks. Joshua dutifully finishes his mouthful before answering.

“Yes! I want to go to space!”

“Do you want to meet- aliens?”

“Yeah!” Joshua’s excitement cools down a little bit as he scoops up another spoonful of rice with a piece of string bean carefully balanced on top. “I read the Wiki-pea-dia about it though. They say there’s no dis-discernable e-vidence of aliens yet. We sent the Voyager Golden Records an’ they haven’t… answered yet.”

“That’s how p-physical mails are,” Tommy smiles while getting himself a piece of the caramelized pork. “It used to take… weeks... before we hear from our friends who are far away. And the- the universe doesn’t have a… an Everywhere Wifi Network yet.”

Joshua shares a conspiratory look with Gordon and mouths not yet . Gordon laughs. Gordon’s clutching his bowl maybe a bit too tight.

“You can become an astronaut and- meet aliens. In space,” Tommy waves his chopsticks with a flourish.

“I’ll teach them what- what e-mails are!”

“It’ll take a- a lot of hard work, and you have to be able to eat string beans.” Tommy takes an exaggerated look at Joshua’s plate, now cleaned of food. “Oh! Would you l-look at that! Mister Joshua Freeman is… perfect astronaut materials, according to… the NASA guidelines.”

Joshua beams with a pride that knocks something loose in Gordon’s chest.

They finish dinner and clean up together, then Gordon sends Joshua back to his room to do his homework, agreeing to an hour of video game after if he can get it done before nine. Gordon cleans the dishes while Tommy puts the kettle on and makes them both hot chocolate.

“I bought some-something for Joshua today,” Tommy prompts. Gordon looks back to see him hold up the exact same cookie-cutter-thing Benrey gave Joshua the other day.

“Oh- oh my god.” Gordon laughs. “Holy shit?”

“Wh-what’s the matter, Gordon?”

“Do you guys have like a hivemind or something?” Gordon pulls off a glove to open the tool cabinet and pull Benrey’s gift out. “Benrey gave Joshua this. I don’t even- what’re these supposed to be? Where d’you guys even get them from?”

“It’s the- International Space Station Biscuit Cutter!” Tommy puffs out his chest, slightly indignant, but definitely bemused as well. “They’re issued by- NASA, cut from the s-scrap metal of the hulls of… prototype spaceships. They’re very rare!”

Gordon stares at the one in his hand. “And now we have two of them.”

“They’re… very valuable! You can sell them for a high price.”

Gordon smiles. He puts Benrey’s apparently rare and expensive gift back into the tool cabinet and puts the glove back on. “You’ve gotta ask Joshua about that. It’s for him, afterall.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, crumbled into grains only by the click-clack of dishes in the sink and the water running from the faucet. Gordon weaves himself into a solid piece of nerve, bracing, bracing.

Tommy’s… better acquainted with the crazies of these things than most, maybe. He’s apparently said “fuck it” to the administrative work that his dad would’ve liked to hand back to him at one point, and just. Got a PhD in nuclear physics instead. Gordon’s been through something like that, and from experience he can tell that it would’ve taken real nerve to do it. He also can tell that no matter what it still rubs off on you, and you don’t recover from that kinda consistent exposure to idiosyncrasies, because you don’t ever feel like there’s anything to recover from , really. It’s just how it is, and the world’s off-kilter, not you. Like Benrey, Tommy’s world runs on a different axis, and he and the rest of them are, in many ways, looking both through strange eyes.

Gordon’s a little bit jealous of that. He’s honestly not sure if he can ever fully get Tommy, but then. Plenty of people never get him, and here he is. He can learn to wear it as well as Tommy, one day.

Right now though. Tommy’s important to the plan. Gordon knows that, in a theoretical way. Ha, theoretical…

“I would like to not be insane,” Gordon says, more to himself, at the same time as Tommy setting his cup of hot chocolate down and saying, “Benrey… told me.”

“Oh… I. That’s? Good?”

“Wha- you’re not insane , Gordon!” Tommy waves his hand. Gordon can hear it, even if he can’t see it. “You’re… creative.”

“Thanks Tommy,” Gordon says with a huff of laughter that he doesn’t think reaches Tommy at all. “I. I get it though. I got Bubby to turn around on it, but everyone else did say that it’s a little bit fucked up that I thought of doing that at all.”

“But they… agreed on helping you anyway.”

Gordon taps on the metal wall of the sink. “That’s… yeah. Well, other than Coomer.”

“Doctor Coomer doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Tommy protests. “He just has... boundaries.”

“That’s fair. He’s allowed that. He more than deserves that.” Gordon blinks. “Wait- why am I arguing down on my side? I need you to be on board for the plan to work.” He laughs, bowing down over the sink. He’s shaking a little bit. “Wow. I’m a little bit gone. Can I be a little bit gone?”

“You’re… totally allowed, Gordon” He feels Tommy tug on his elbow. With a deep breath, he lets go of where he’s gripping on the edge of the sink with white knuckles, and lets Tommy lead him to the kitchen table. He dutifully sits himself down on a chair, lets Tommy take off the gloves, and holds the cup of hot chocolate Tommy pushes into his hands carefully. “It’s your house.”

“It’s MFA’s.”

“It’s yours,” Tommy says, determinedly, and Gordon takes a deep breath and sidesteps every implications that has. “You can have your fears, and… and your plans, and your hopes. For Joshua. It’s your place, Gordon.”

Gordon takes a shaky sip of the hot chocolate. Tommy puts on the gloves and finishes washing the dishes for him.

“Sorry,” Gordon says, mostly aiming at the dishes thing, but. He also just kinda wants to put that out there.

“There’s nothing to be… be sorry for,” Tommy replies, amidst the noises of the dishes and the water running.

Tommy talks while Gordon drinks his hot chocolate; in the end, whether he wants to or not, he’s accepted a bit of the job the Gman holds. Gordon knows this, that’s how Tommy vouched for and kept the Science Team from a much worse fate than relative freedom except for a story no sane man’d believe anyway. Mister Coolatta Senior seemed to be impressed by the choice, aside from all the worries that come with it.

“He’s… he’s proud of me,” Tommy says, softly. “I know he only wants what’s best for me.”

“He’s been awfully accommodating,” Gordon says, remembering about the movie night they had after Tommy’s birthday bash last year. That man pulled a gun on him. As if he’d walk out on Tommy, if Tommy’d asked for him to stay around.

“He… doesn’t involve me… with his problems,” Tommy says. “Some parents do that.”

Gordon can’t find anything to say to that, so he finishes his hot chocolate.

“I got a vote when they brought Xen up the-the other day,” Tommy says, when the dishes have all been cleaned and put on the rack to dry. He pulls out the chair next to Gordon and picks up his cup of hot chocolate. It’s still steaming, somehow. “I-they were thinking it was- it’s too risky to leave a bridging point open like that. They want to… demolish it.”

Gordon chuckles, and then it becomes a full body laugh, and then he’s curling up on himself, the empty cup between his hands. He shouldn’t clutch it like this, it might break. He’s broken the handle off of a mug before, when one of his old prosthetic wasn’t calibrated perfectly. He can’t stop laughing though. Not enough to let go of the cup now.

“Holy shit,” he wheezes. “holy motherfucking shit. We’re doing it. We’re doing it? Xen’s fucking going down.”

“It sure is!” Tommy says, and claps a polite golf clap for Gordon’s victory.

---

Gordon does have shit he needs to do for the online classes he teaches, but outside of it he’s still way too idle. He and Joshua go to the aquarium and the museum whenever the schedule works out, and once in a while they drive by Roswell to catch a plane taking off into the sky, and he does grocery runs and tries to clean around the house and do laundry on a timetable, and there’s always the PS3 Benrey dragged back that’s now public good, as well as his probably too long Steam list, but. Gordon’s shit at talking himself into and out of doing things. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right to start doing something, so there’s a black hole of time between him thinking “I should get to this” and him actually doing it. And Joshua’s life isn’t just him; his son’s going to school now, and he’s made friends at school, and he talks to them on the phone and goes hang out with them on weekend afternoons.

Gordon’s not as good at holding onto time anymore, now that things’ve. Changed.

So figuring the explosives out’s been good for him. It’s just what he does back in uni again, except without a supervisor, without having to write anything down properly (just legibly’s enough), and without peer review. It’s mostly math, but with the spirit of two middle schoolers stealing sodium crumbs from the school lab to throw into puddles. It’s closer to play than he expected. Closer than playing Horse Simulator 3D on the PS3.

He and Darnold spend the day building the corrosion rate equation, pouring Darnold’s concoction on rocks Gordon figures have the same make-up as the ground on Xen. Benrey doesn’t bring the venture up often, but every other day Gordon finds clumps of dirt and random rocks that weigh suspiciously little for their size in his glove compartment. He brings those in for the pour test as well, and they build a simulation based on them.

Balancing the corrosion with the heat’s a bit tricky; Gordon needs to know how hot Bubby’s ignition can go, since their number’s high. He was about to shoot Bubby a call when Coomer’s latest photo arrived. Gordon recognized the street in it.

They put the project on hold for an afternoon so Tommy and Darnold can have the lab to decontaminate Coomer and Bubby. Gordon spends that afternoon getting the air fryer he ordered last week out of the box while Benrey reads the manual out loud wrongly. He calls Joshua to let him know they’re having guests over that evening, thankfully in the middle of the school recess this time. Gordon tries to remember Joshua’s exact timetable at school, he really does. It’s just not fruitful a task.

When Joshua arrives home, Gordon’s in the middle of arguing with Bubby over how much water’s left in air fried food. “Hey Granpa! Hey Bubby!” Joshua waves at Coomer and Bubby, “hey Uncle Tommy! Hey Doctor Darnold! Hey Benrey! Hey Dad!”

Gordon steals the chance to close the air fryer while Bubby’s joining in with the “Hey Joshua!” chorus and distracted. “We’re making spring rolls and egg rolls!” He calls after Joshua, who’s in his room putting his backpack away. “You can choose the filling yourself!”

The kitchen barely fits everyone, so comes dinnertime they move the living room table up next to the TV cabinet to make space for the spare straw mat, and lay out a tablecloth on top for good measure (Gordon’s had enough experience to remember to do that). They sit on the floor in the living room together, almost shoulder to shoulder, and at some point the conversation gets away from Gordon entirely. He just nods when Joshua points at something he wants and gets some in the bowl for him.

“I’ve heard somebody wants to become an astronaut,” He hears Coomer say at one point.

Joshua puffs out his chest proudly.

“Doesn’t everybody at some point,” Bubby says. “I wanted to be an astronaut too, when I was forty.”

“Oh I have seen the photos,” Coomer continues, a gentle light in his eyes, “It is very beautiful out there.”

Joshua asks for help with his homework after dinner, and Tommy and Darnold sit down with him for that. Benrey joins Gordon at the sink while he’s pouring dish soap into one of the large bowls they used. He doesn’t know what to do but blink at him, dumbfounded.

“Check this out,” Benrey says, and spits lime green into the sink. When the light clears, the dishes have become spotless.

Gordon stares at the sink. “I- you- th- is that- you can do that? ” He points at the plates. leaning on the sink’s edge.

Benrey grins. “New… new skill acquired bro. Just got the EXP for it.”

“You spent your EXP on dish cleaning ?”

“We should conserve water, Gordon!” Coomer declares from behind him next to the kitchen table. “Water shortage is caused by corporate greed, but with certain individual actions we can improve the situation ourselves!”

“Please don’t kill Mark Schneider.”

“Worry not, Doctor Freeman! His death will not be by my hand directly!”

Gordon laughs, helplessly. “Everything happens so much,” he laments, only semi-jokingly, as he takes off the cleaning gloves and puts the plates on the rack.

“Keep up, Doctor Freeman,” Bubby says.

“They certainly do,” Coomer says, much more nicely. “I’ve heard your plan is soon coming to fruition!”

Gordon nods. “Yeah, it’s. Yeah. We were,” he swallows, “Darnold and I, we were about to ask for Bubby to let us test his fire. Figure out if he can reach the ignition point we need.”

“Well now, that sounds like a challenge,” Bubby says.

Gordon finds a price tag still stuck on one of the bowls that he’s very sure wasn’t there when it was brought out. “Benrey,” he groans. Benrey just gives him a shit eating grin. “You’ll need to hold a temperature for about three minutes, and then the mixture takes care of the rest,” he says to Bubby, while swatting Benrey on the shoulder.

“Just three minutes, isn’t it.”

“Do not try and stay for more. I’m serious. When it explodes it’s gonna turn seriously corrosive. You’re gonna be sludge ten seconds after it gets on you.”

Gordon can hear Bubby blink. “Oh- oh. This is serious huh. We are blowing Xen up.”

“We are, darling,” Coomer affirms.

Bubby shifts on his chair. “I’ll need. A minute.”

When Gordon’s done with the dishes, he turns back to the kitchen table to catch Bubby letting go of Coomer after a hug. “Son of a bitch, you went for it, you motherfucker,” Bubby says, a bit too loudly, fixing his glasses.

Benrey sings a very high note over his voice. “Language!” Gordon hisses.

“Oh, sorry.” Bubby pats his own mouth. “Forgive a man, I’m still working through it.” He switches to a mumble, seemingly only to himself. “It’s real. I’m gonna set Xen on fire. Gonna show Black Mesa what for. It’s really gonna happen…”

Coomer pats Bubby on the back lightly, making him almost hit his face on the table. “We’ll finally move fully away from the game, my dear Professor,” he says, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling very wide.

“I can be your Professor,” Bubby mumbles. “I can blow Xen up.”

“ We can blow Xen up,” Gordon corrects him. “Me and Darnold didn’t agonize over a- darn modifier for a week and a half so you can set our work on fire and take all the credits.”

“Hush, let me process things, you rude bastard.” Benrey censors bastard with another burst of pinkish light.

“I can see the other end,” Coomer says, cheerfully. “Now, Gordon, I’ve heard you need help digging into the core of a few asteroids?”

---

They mark a date for the excursion.

He ‘woke up’ early, and made himself and Joshua an actual breakfast for a change while Benrey finished off the box of cereal that was open. “Dad’s got a work thing coming up,” he told Joshua while scooping extra egg onto his plate. “I’m gonna have to stay on site for a night.”

“So you’re not going home tonight?” Joshua asked, taking the plate handed to him by Gordon, but making no move to go back to his chair.

Gordon nodded. “I’ll be home tomorrow though, but you’re gonna have to stay at your grandparents’ tonight. I’m gonna come pick you up at their place tomorrow afternoon. You should pack a spare change of clothes and your pajamas to bring to school.”

“Okay,” Joshua said. And then, “What’re you staying on-site for?”

“I’m,” Gordon said, “Okay, you can’t tell anyone this, yeah? I’m blowing asteroids up.”

He could see Joshua’s eyes brighten. It was visible . “ In space ?”

“Yes,” Gordon laughed. “But it’s very experimental, which means…”

“It’s not ready for the public eye yet,” Joshua whispered, almost reverently.

Gordon laughed again, and took off the mitten on his hand to ruffle Joshua’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay staying at your grandparents’ place? If you don’t like that I can ask someone else to come over instead.”

“It’s okay,” Joshua said, finally content to go sit down again. “Can I bring my skate shoes?”

“Sure thing, put them in a bag.”

Gordon called Joshua’s grandparents to let them know to pick him up at five (Joshua chimed in to ask them to remind him about the roller skates), and then Joshua got his backpack and spare clothes and bag for the shoes and the house was once again vacant.

They don’t have a vehicle, but Tommy sings and Bubby joins in and Darnold keeps a beat and after a while Benrey starts playing songs out of the shitty speaker on his phone. Gordon’s even spent the day before sleepless, but that’s kind of everyday now. He hadn’t anticipated having to get used to a day having twenty four hours again, but well. He hadn’t anticipated anything while going through Black Mesa, really. It wasn’t really ideal thinking-far-ahead environment.

Benrey seems bouncier when he’s on Xen. Gordon didn’t think about it, but when he steps through the portal he has a flash of that image from what feels like a lifetime ago: Benrey giant as the Earth itself, blocking everything else in sight, his form longing to catch up with his already immense, oppressive presence. Taller than any walls, any mountains, any barriers between himself and a measly human’s fleeting existence.

Gordon shakes his head. At his least incomprehensible, Benrey’s said it was “a show”. “Like. Cable TV. A television series,” Gordon’s asked.

“Like a cutscene,” Benrey’s replied, as if Gordon was the one too slow for the course.

Benrey now felt nothing like whatever that was that happened to him and the Science Team last year. Benrey now felt just… like a dude. Doing a barrel roll, while saying “Ooooo barrel roll” with a straight face. While his Nokia 2700’s still crushing whatever song it’s playing into oblivion.

Gordon doesn’t deal in implications anymore, so he starts singing along to whatever everyone else’s singing as well, and focuses on carrying their homemade Xen-specific dynamite blocks to where they’re going to dig their largest hole into the core of this wretched piece of rock.

It takes a day, kind of; he doesn’t sleep, out here in the thin atmosphere of Xen, where the stars don’t blink and red light comes in a hue from inside the dirt. He doesn’t have to force himself to go lay down at midnight like back home, he just sits down, at the edge of the portal, when the explosives have all been installed, and watch Coomer and Bubby ready themselves.

They can hear Bubby’s cackles ringing in Xen’s air and also in their comms, as he lays in Coomer’s arms and they race the fire, starting from the outer ring of asteroids to the main Xen island. They jump from rock to rock, red light trailing after them while the dirt itself breaks apart, not with a boom, but with the sound of bubbles breaking after a wave crashes on the shore. Xen glows brighter than it probably ever has, in its disintegration.

Benrey sings a few vacant notes, standing on nothingness; the light from his mouth blends in almost perfectly with Xen’s dying light.

“You got all of your belongings outta there?” Gordon asks, half as a jab, half serious. “Didn’t leave anything important in your old apartment?”

Benrey doesn’t answer, for a moment. When he does, it’s just to mumble, “oh look, there’s fireworks.”

---

They got home early from it.

Gordon takes a nap on the couch; he only wakes up from Benrey turning the sound up to max and then shooting a rocket at a truck in Far Cry 3. “Dude,” he throws an arm up over his face, and winces when it’s the plastic arm. “What the fuck.”

“Go pick Joshua up,” Benrey says, definitely too conversationally, and barely understandable under the noises from the game. “Gordon. Sleepman.”

“You’re slipping,” Gordon comments as he wrestles himself out of Tommy’s quilt. He forgot to give it back to Tommy, he realizes sleepily, picking up the phone he left charging on the living room table. It’s seven already.

The drive to Joshua’s grandparents’ place is not a long one. He finds Joshua sitting at the porch of the little house, backpack and the bag with the roller skates at his feet. Joshua jumps up at the sight of Gordon’s car, and before he can walk through the gate he’s already found his arms full of his son.

Joshua clings to his neck with a death grip. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Gordon says. “I was tired, so I took a nap, and forgot the time.”

“It’s okay,” Joshua mumbles, “you were tired.”

“I blew up so many asteroids though.” Gordon says, and Joshua laughs.

They drive home after saying goodbye to Joshua’s grandparents (Joshua’s grandpa put a wrapped up pot pie in Gordon’s hands with an iron grip and a gaze that communicated clearly what would happen if he refused it), and Joshua agreed to take a detour to the Roswell airport for the night. Gordon absentmindedly texts Benrey taking the kid to watch airplanes, get your own food , and puts his phone away for the drive. The radio’s on, but Joshua doesn’t sing along. Gordon’s vocal cord’s still tired from Xen (no more, Xen-no-more it is, there’s just a vast of empty space inbetween dimensions there now) so he also stays silent.

They get ice cream at a drive-thru on the way, and then they’re at the highway, parking on the roadside, looking over the rail at the airport. A plane leaves the ground there and goes into the air. Gordon’s struck by how different it is from a bird or a moth; nothing about the plane communicates any internal movement, it just. Moves. Up and up. Like a JPEG sliding across the screen under someone’s puppeteering with a mouse.

Joshua stares at the plane, unblinking. “Is it dangerous in space, Dad?” He asks.

Gordon taps his hand on the steering wheel. “It’s.” He starts saying, but stops to clear his throat. “It can be. There’s a lot of math going into making things that bring a human into space, and a lot of different people doing different parts of that math, and. Sometimes some people do their math wrong. Sometimes they try something new, and we don’t have the good math for that new thing yet. Sometimes new things break into the old math, and we need to. Work around that new thing.”

“What happens if,” Joshua swallows, “someone does the math wrong?”

“We try to catch it,” Gordon says. “That’s why there are so many people doing the math. So if someone gives the wrong answer, they can spot it early, and fix it.”

“What if nobody does,” Joshua says. He’s still looking through the car’s window, at the stroke of cloud the plane’s long flown past.

Gordon puts his hands on the gear stick. “That’s very, very rare to happen,” he intones carefully. “They have to check, over and over, before they send a ship into space.”

Joshua turns from the window to Gordon. He looks at Gordon’s prosthetic hand, on the gear stick. “I’ve only found books about spaceships that have gone to space,” he says, quiet.

Gordon turns over, and holds out that hand. Joshua climbs over the gear stick to give him another hug. “Experiments are important to those ships too,” Gordon says. “They give the people who make the ships important information to make them safe.”

Joshua just buries himself in Gordon’s arms.

“I’m really sorry I came home late and didn’t call you, Joshua,” Gordon says, and hugs his son tighter. “I won’t do that again. I’ll always call when I’m home late.”

“I don’t have to be an astronaut,” Joshua mumbles.

“Oh, no- nononono, listen,” Gordon says into his hair, with all the determination he can muster up. “Listen, Joshua, you become whoever you want to, okay? You don’t have to be anything, but you don’t have to not be anything either. That’s my mistake, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re good. You’re good. You’ll be an incredible astronaut. You’ll be the first man on Mars. Jupiter, even.”

“Jupiter is a gas giant,” Joshua mumbles. “There isn't any land to land on.”

Gordon nods. “That’s why it’s called landing , I get it.”

---

They drive home after, and Joshua asks to sit with Gordon while he and Benrey play Mario Kart. Gordon agrees, which means he has to clamp down on any curse he almost lets out when someone bumps him off the damn road, while Benrey does some magic or whatever on his screen. Who the hell knows.

After their third match, Benrey elbows Gordon in the arm to signify a break. “Beddy bye hour,” he says, not even looking at Gordon, “for… babies. Hattrick means I make the rules.”

“You didn’t come first in the second match,” Gordon argues, but quiets down when he looks down to see Joshua asleep leaning on him. “Okay, don’t fucking choose Toon Link for me again while I’m away,” he points a finger at Benrey, who’s residing smugly in the to-be-chaos of his own making. “I’m fucking serious.”

He carries Joshua to his bedroom and tucks him in, and then detours to the kitchen for some water.

“Ooh, hydration,” Benrey comments idly.

“What d’you know about it,” Gordon mumbles when he settles back down on the couch. He looks at the TV screen to find Inkling on one of the shitty bikes. “What the hell man, this bike sucks ass. Fucking Shit Taste McGee over here.”

Benrey laughs.

Gordon plays the game, while thinking about the sendoff party they’re throwing for Bubby and Coomer next week, before the grandpas go off gallivanting in yet another forbidden corner of the Earth. Coomer lovingly calls it their “honeymoon”, but Gordon has full faith this is gonna be what they do forever. Or at least until they’re bored of Earth, and start aiming for the Moon instead. Probably not a bad place to be in.

“Thinking Xen thoughts, aren’t’cha,” Benrey says, while sending a shell after some poor computer character.

Gordon grins. “Ha! Sike! I’m not even thinking about Xen.” He pauses, catching the full force of a fireball a Mario shoots at him. “I haven’t thought about Xen at all actually. Since I got home with Joshua.”

“Achievement unlocked,” Benrey says, and extends a hand. Gordon stares at it.

“Wh- huh?”

“High five, idiot.”

“Oh,” Gordon says, and slaps that hand. Benrey’s eyes widen at the noise.

“Yo that’s a. Crunchy noise.” He claps his hands together, and he’s laughing now, light flowing out in a thread of something like baby blue. “This rules,” he says happily.

Gordon smiles, and then some motherfucker flings a shell at him, so he falls off the road again.

He stays up way too late again, and time doesn’t stop slipping, and when Darnold gives him a vial of neutralizer for the Potion of Not Telling at their little party the week after it gives him something like mania and he hugs Coomer like an idiot while the old man slaps his back in a motion that’s supposed to be comforting. He sleeps that off as well afterwards, and wakes up to Tommy surfing the channels on his TV, complaining about lack of daytime talk shows. When he forgets about the scheduled blackout a month after, he still calls the concierge with shaking hands and then climbs into his bed like he’s four again and there’s a storm outside. He still thinks about Black Mesa, and about Xen.

There’s just a little addendum now, that he can remind myself of.

It’s weird how quickly it blends into everything else, but. Well. It’s weird everything .

He makes cookies again, comes the winter, and teaches himself how to decorate cookies, just to have something to do. Joshua throws his pencil onto the notebook one day to go dig out the lumpy, supposedly-ISS-shaped cookie cutters from the tool cabinet.

“Careful,” Gordon calls after him.

Joshua toddles back with the cookie cutters in hand. “Can we have ISS cookies?” He asks.

Gordon says yes. He also looks up a buncha references, prints them out, and tries to get the cookies exactly correct, making two “outside” cookies and an “inside” one, with schematics of the inner chambers of the ISS drawn on. Joshua loves it.

“Here’s where the astronauts sleep,” He points at the spot that’s supposed to be the service module, and Gordon’s proud of getting that part right on the cookie.

He ruffles Joshua’s hair again. “Hey, maybe you’ll sleep there in twenty years,” he says, and marvels at the levity to that sentence. Just a little bit. It’s washed away with Joshua’s smile, and then they busy themselves with folding bags for the cookies instead.

#hlvrai #gordon feetman #joshua freeman #benrey #tommy coolatta #dr. harold coomer #bubby #darnold pepper #fanfiction #ask to tag #+ one art inside but it mostly has to do with the fic #I will. draw more from this fic and put them in as time goes on #the formatting's a bit wack bc I just copied the formatting from ao3 #I will come back to fix stuff up later #okay now I take more naps #have a good day! and also thank you for reading this fic if you do!

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ronnytherandom · 3 years

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I started Writing My Thoughts On Things Again, I'm Sorry

15/8/2021:

Mass Effect Legendary Edition (Whole trilogy w/ all dlcs, Adept Class, Hardcore difficulty, 68 Hours):

Still brilliant! I adore this series. The first Mass Effect was one of the first games I ever played back in 2010 and Mass Effect 2 is one of the games I’ve played the most accruing several hundred hours over multiple playthrough from 2010 onwards, while Mass Effect 3 is a game I greatly appreciated but have more mixed feelings towards. Retrospectively as much as I liked the first Mass Effect, I did not nearly appreciate it enough back in the day. For a first entry in a new IP it is incredibly fleshed out with interesting Lore, an intriguing story and a cool galaxy to explore. I appreciate its combat far more now than I did back then but would still argue it is relatively weak in comparison to more modern titles and its own successors. Though the VA is rough in some places it is excellent where it matters, especially in the case of Sovereign whose iconic dialogue on Virmire is etched into my brain. A key element of the first mass effect I felt was sorely missing from the later entries was its exploration. While the galaxy grew routinely larger no game after the first had a drivable Mako, a vehicle I adore, and further lacked the opportunity to land on and explore the terrain of alien worlds for resources and side missions which I feel lends a lot to the atmosphere of the setting and could be made even more compelling using updated technology and a larger selection of assets and interiors which might have emerged from the higher budget successors. As it is I appreciate its inclusion in the first game. Mass Effect was also my first encounter with impactful choices in a video game and this is certainly something I appreciate but leads me to a major criticism specifically targeting the dialogue wheel layout as it is strange to me how you can puzzle out all of these possible dialogue outcomes but put exactly all of the positive outcomes behind the Upper Left dialogue option. While this is less pronounced in the First entry as the Renegade dialogue fills roughly the same purpose while sounding more badass, it becomes truer throughout the series as renegade options routinely just become nasty and exclusionary.

Mass Effect 2 innovates in some key ways which I have grown to appreciate more in the past 20 hours of play than I did when it launched. Primarily, its focus on characters and your relationships to them. Barring a couple of notable exceptions I found myself greatly invested in every single member of the Normandy crew and I think it’s a remarkable feat that each crewmate could be written to be so sympathetic, relatable and interesting in a world so full of appreciable elements. I would go into specific examples but id end up listing every character except Miranda and Jacob. This of course plays well into the Suicide Mission narrative which is perhaps my favourite overarching plot within the trilogy as it incorporates not just all of these incredible characters and plays upon your investment in them but also relies on the threat of both the Reapers and Collectors which are two excellently designed enemies which I find significantly more compelling than Saren and the Geth or Cerberus and the Reaper Husk Armies. Mass Effect 2 has a powerful horror element composed of the Collectors phobic horror and the reapers cosmic horror and it does wonders for the game’s atmosphere. I remember at this moment the Collector soundtrack which, like the rest of the soundtrack is absolutely excellent. Inasmuch as I would criticise it from a purely musical perspective for being simple at times and perhaps overly repetitive it perfectly fits the camp space opera that is mass effect. Galaxy Map and Suicide Mission are absolute bangers. I would hesitate to call the combat great. Playing the game as a weapon heavy class is superior, I’d argue as even with an armour build dedicated to decreasing ability cooldown it is too long to adequately utilise the powers of ability heavy classes like the adept. Additionally, ability play feels far more limited than in the game’s predecessor due to the limitation of this games skill tree elements which are frankly a step too far in simplifying the interface. It doesn’t massively affect enjoyment of the game but I couldn’t help but note every time I visited the abilities menu how much I missed Mass Effects abilities menu. So while I would say Mass Effect maintains a very well balanced game with regards to combat, roleplay and story, Mass Effect 2 eschews combat and mechanical roleplay in favour of an excellent story. Additionally while lacking an exploration aspect the more structured side-missions found by scanning planets throughout the galaxy create a lot of fun moments and interesting gameplay, emblematic of the fact that mission design vastly improves between this game and its predecessor.

Mass Effect 3 goes some way to resolve its predecessor’s imbalance as the majority of the game possesses enhanced combat, a much better abilities mechanic and an excellent story. First the addition of more mobility, loadout and engagement options benefits the combat greatly, while the addition of more complex enemy types than previous games pushes you to fully utilise these new options. A massive reduction in ability cooldown combined with liberal cooldown reduction bonuses in the skill tree means that abilities are very useful and versatile and you generally feel very powerful. Sometimes too powerful if you’re thinking from a balancing standpoint but given it’s a single player game this criticism is much diminished and being powerful is fun regardless. The skill tree system in this game forms a synthesis between its predecessors’ systems and comes out the better for combining a regular sense of empowerment with interesting choices within your own character build. All of this contributes to a much-improved combat experience, especially over Mass Effect 2. This also lends itself to the old multiplayer system which I honestly enjoyed when it launched (who cannot love a playable biotic Volus?) and feel is sorely lacking from this legendary edition. I would argue the only real problem with the multiplayer was requiring a player to engage with it in order to achieve the best story outcome; the actual multiplayer gameplay was thoroughly enjoyable and it gave players the opportunity to experience combat as an STG agent or a Krogan Warlord which were both fulfilling experiences from my memory. The aforementioned story is truly excellent and successfully builds off events in previous games but primarily succeeds due to Biowares exceptional character writing which persists from Mass Effect 2. Even in the case of its worst side mission content but especially in its primary missions the stakes and outcome of events are thoroughly compelling and the involvement of beloved Normandy crewmates is bound to incite intense emotions. This is possibly the only game that makes me cry multiple times throughout a normal playthrough. Unfortunately my goodwill often runs out when it comes to consider the ultimate ending of this series which I do not approve of. I admit there are mitigating factors: you should not play the mass effect series for the culmination of its plot. This series lives and dies with its characters and all of the major character arcs reach satisfactory endings before the final moments of Mass Effect 3, so the final moments have no real meaning as the thematic purpose of the series is achieved by galvanising the galaxy and uniting all these disparate races into a single force to fight the Reapers. Thematically the game is a success but the extent to which it utilises the choices the player has made, upon which the series builds its reputation, is limited in scope. This can likely be laid at the feet of the leaks of the original story ahead of the games launch which pushed the developers to create a new ending to avoid spoilers, but the quality of that ending is poor as it boils all the choices made throughout the series down to selecting the colour of a space laser. To make an odd comparison, this is why I think Game of Thrones’ and Mass Effect’s endings are different kinds of bad. Mass Effect reaches a fully satisfying conclusion in the moments immediately after launching the final mission, whereas Game of Thrones built its whole series asking the question “Who Will Sit The Iron Throne” With the final answer being “Actually, no one” after slogging through multiple series which did not live up to the quality of the first. Mass Effect answers its dramatic question of “Can Shepard Unite The Galaxy Against The Reapers” satisfactorily following sixty hours of excellent content and the colour of the space laser doesn’t actually matter. It just hurts to think that the finale could’ve been so much grander and more interesting. I would recommend the games, the disappointment of the finale doesn’t even come close to outweighing the grandeur that is the rest of the experience of Mass Effect 3, let alone the whole series.

There are only a few pieces of content I had not encountered prior to this Legendary edition playthrough. The Mass Effect DLC Bring Down The Sky is fun in that it adds an interesting combat experience with incredible stakes and immerses you in a stellar scale event, but the experience is very short. As part of the legendary edition I recommend it but having to pay extra for it at its time of launch I would have found it disappointing. Mass Effect 2s Overlord DLC is very good, introducing fun combat encounters, an opportunity to operate the fairly fun Hammerhead vehicle (even if it doesn’t live up to the Glory of the Mako) and explore a nice open environment with a truly haunting ending which is a kind of non-choice but it is gratifying to make that choice anyway. Additionally the visuals in the final station when interacting with the VI elements are very nice. The Arrival DLC is also quite fun, with a pseudo stealth section to open it, something which I believe occurs nowhere else in the series. The general element of operating solo is quite novel for mass effect as I believe outside of this moment, the opening of the Citadel DLC and the final moments of Mass Effect 3 there is no point where you fight alone. The indoctrinated nature of the project team does not come as a shock but regardless the dlc is enjoyable as a combat experience and the scale of destruction shown necessary to even slightly inconvenience the reapers lends a lot to the scale of their threat. I do not believe I played any DLCs in Mass Effect 3 before, insofar as I did not consider From Ashes DLC content as it was already on the disk and all buying the day one dlc did was activate it. Leviathan is very interesting from a lore perspective and does interesting things with its investigative process but I find it to be a relatively passive and uninteresting experience for the most part. Omega was more my style with a lot of good combat and interesting new enemies and a bit of bombast besides but still left me largely unmoved. Citadel was excellent but mostly for its “endgame” content rather than its story content. Despite featuring many hilarious moments throughout the actual plot it failed to interest me but I was definitely there for all of the fun character moments and the party is absolutely hilarious.

Ultimately a hearty recommendation but with tempered expectations for the finale.

Deaths Door (True Ending, 13.7 hours):

A Delight. Deaths Door is a charming little game about a bird that stabs things and I love it. It is incredibly impressive that this was made by a team composed of two people. The gameplay is fun in all regards. Navigation is a good time especially when all of the environments are lovely and full of personality. Obstacles come mainly in the form of puzzles and these are at a sweet spot between ease and frustration without being at all complex. Combat could’ve used a bit more work, primarily to create more meaningful distinctions between weapons or add a little depth, but it is still engaging and good fun. While the main bosses are challenging and satisfying to defeat, I worry over the side bosses; perhaps something could’ve been done to make them more distinct from one another? But a small gripe. I like the world, the aforementioned environments are well realised, the general aesthetic is artful and distinct and the story is good if slightly sparse. One notable element is the dialogue which is very good with a quick wit. The finale of the main game has the right amount of spectacle and weight while the endgame is cool and fantastical, with an ample supply of secrets and collectibles to find. Over all the music is incredible, soundtrack full of absolute bangers. I really enjoyed completing this game and I’d recommend it to anyone who’s into action adventure and souls-like games.

The Bad Batch (season 1):

This was Allright. To open I cannot overstate how good the animation and art of this series is. It is routinely beautiful and well-choreographed. Visually there are no complaints. The problems begin with the opening episode which I feel overpromised on a relatively dark take on the Star Wars universe by immediately dropping us into an Order 66 plot full of death, danger, brainwashing and the threat of an emergent empire. Now granted this series never explicitly promises that all of this would continue but I enjoyed these elements of the first episode and I was dissatisfied by their limited usage throughout the rest of the show. This is not to say I disliked the show, I did enjoy the characters who are all good fun, and most of the plots were good. This series I felt had a lot of filler episodes, which I’d simply describe as episodes I enjoyed less due to underwhelming plot or conflict, but they were still enjoyable despite what id perceive as a lesser quality. The show also “suffers” from what I’d called Star Wars Syndrome of Filonitis which is how Everything Must Be Interconnected, with regular cameos from extended universe characters which I feel is beginning to get a bit much. These features feel to me more often like nostalgia grabs rather than organically featuring a character in service of the plot and development. For example, I appreciate the Captain Rex feature as that served to highlight the inhibitor chip problem and drive the characters to seek a solution, however I appreciated Rafa and Trace’s feature less both because I’m less attached to those characters (especially Rafa) but also because the episode didn’t serve any particular purpose or create any particular set piece which couldn’t have been achieved without those characters. This is a similar issue I have with The Mandalorian, I adored season one as it was relatively self-contained and only featured vague or subtler references to the wider canon: to contrast season two is full of cameos from the wider universe sometimes for no reason other than to have a cameo when those roles could easily have been filled with new and creative content which doesn’t rely upon nostalgia to make something interesting. Ultimately Bad Batch is worth watching for the characters and the good episodes, it is fun and entertaining, it just has its issues.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: The Phantom Blood:

Its uh, its not good. Now that’s a very broad statement, as to assess this show critically at all is to take it far more seriously than you should, but to be more even handed the show certainly has a bunch of fun elements. Only from a story perspective, there isn’t really that much there; and from a pacing perspective it needs to be seen to be believed. I’m certain that if you condensed the show down to a reasonable size for the amount of content it has, you’d probably have a movie with a two-hour runtime at most which would be quite enjoyable but on a whole this first part wastes about 80% of its time on overlong drawn-out internal monologues and the dilated timeframes of the show’s fights. It also has an annoying habit of overemphasizing the weight of a moment or the genius of a characters unexpected action usually with no less than three people commenting on any slight manoeuvre which ruins the pacing beyond belief. Now I understand this is a staple of the Jojo series, only part 1 handles it very poorly in comparison to later parts. The fighting is especially hindered by this as most actual combat usually involves only four or five punches but they tend to take twenty minutes getting to each one. Additionally, Johnathan Joestar is pretty boring as a character with no notable qualities aside from being good both morally and at fighting. The intrigue of the stone mask is cool but this part deals in that very little. Like I say though, Part 1 is still fun to watch if you can disengage your brain and admire the potent meme quality of the series. It is not “good” from a critical perspective but it is incredibly amusing and the campness gives it a degree of charm. If you just want to watch a bunch of beefy men shout at each other and perform magic punches this is a good time. Speedwagon, despite being the worst offender of the “Explain Everything Twice and Ruin the Pacing” category, is still entertaining for the awful accent and endearing character. He’s also definitely in love with Johnathan and I will not be taking questions on that. Baron Zeppeli has a cool hat. Theres a lot of fun to be had as the show embraces the weirdness of everything that’s going on. So, check it out, it might just be a So-Bad-Its-Good Masterpiece.

300 (film):

This film was not so great in my eyes. I think there was one particular shot of the landscapes around Sparta which I felt was visually cool but everything else about the film lacked quality for me, barring practical effects which have aged significantly better than the graphical effects. The visuals are largely uninspiring, the washed-out colour pallet doesn’t help. Perhaps the dialogue was amusing at release but for me it’s all been memed to death. I can’t say any of the performances are particularly compelling, nice to see Magneto and Faramir though. The action could’ve been good and there are certainly moments where it has impact, but the constant application of slow motion I feel reduces the sense of power that should be there, like watching people fight on the moon. Ultimately, I can’t stomach it for two primary reasons: Historical inaccuracy and Racism, which feed into each other. The values of the Spartans do not accurately reflect ideas that historical Spartans held to and I must ask why? Historical accuracy is the default state, so to usurp those ideas in favour of others means the author of the graphic novel Frank Miller and director Zach Snyder replaced those ideas with purpose, in order to make the film more appealing to a mass audience or to express their own ideas perhaps? And the values they chose for the Spartans were freedom, justice and democracy which were things the slaving and monarchical Spartans did not believe in at least in the modern sense. This reeks of an imposition of the propagandised values of western nations on a historical society. This in itself would not be so much of an issue without the demonisation and perversion of the Achaemenid empire and the peoples therein. To establish the primary conflict as one of Civilised white westerners against barbarous non-white easterners, when historically the conflict was between two nations of a broadly similar heritage both possessing facets of good and evil, in the early 2000s? It feels as though some reactionary interpretations of the War on Terror have simply been recreated here with classical history as window dressing. Add to that reactionary attachment to the battle of Thermopylae as a representation of the western world’s struggle against the eastern world, in addition to other more problematic interpretations, and this film plays straight into extreme right-wing ideas of race. Cannot recommend, there’s a lot more better things you could be watching.

18/08/2021: Darth Vader (2015) comic (incl. Vader Down event):

This was really cool. The first comic I’ve ever actually read so I don’t have much frame of reference but I certainly enjoyed this. It was compelling, I’ve blitzed through this whole run in a single day. I think it serves a valuable purpose of demonstrating Vader’s potential and development between Episodes IV and V, as well as the nature of internal conflicts within the Empire. A side note, it is amusing that Palpatine identifies infighting as a factor in the fall of the Sith Empire and yet encourages it for his own political purposes anyway. I felt that the art and style was very good and fit well with the Star Wars aesthetic, though I couldn’t say if it is truly excellent or just standard: it certainly wasn’t bad, though I think a few designs such as Dr Aphra’s ship were hard to read as it were. Speaking of, I think characters new and old were well portrayed. The titular Vader is unmistakably the same character as appears in the classic trilogy, similarly for Han, Luke and Leia etc. And it was a pleasure to see Chewbacca absolutely destroy someone. The aforementioned Aphra I thought was fine but she lacks distinction to my mind, the real star was Triple Zero and by extension Beetee who I thought were excellent comic relief in addition to being a genuine threat, something I can’t necessarily say I felt with regard to the antagonists. This latter part doesn’t matter overmuch, I think the purpose of these antagonists was more to present Vader with pressure to fulfil his personal goals rather than actually oppose him and they work well in that regard, but are unmemorable beyond their basic attributes. What I think this comic does particularly well is create a kind of puzzle narrative and its almost thrilling at moments when Vader’s plots might be discovered. As a result of this I am looking forward to reading more comics in future.

The Suicide Squad (2021): Highly enjoyable! A big step up for the suicide squad as a franchise and a lot more fun, playing into a brighter and more humorous genre than its predecessor to good effect; This time with good editing, soundtrack, direction… well good everything in comparison. I enjoyed all of the characters and their acting particularly the rivalry between Peacemaker and Bloodsport and Margot Robbie is still fantastic as Harley. They all pale before King however, who is endearing beyond belief and a lot of fun to boot. The “villain” if that term is applicable is very interesting and actually threatening, no mere beam of light into the sky! And the willingness to engage in more mature elements such as gore and character morality is of immense benefit, serving to distinguish it from generally more childish superhero media and reach towards more interesting themes around colonisation, foreign intervention, America and such. Only a reach towards however as I don’t think it ultimately says anything beyond “This thing, kinda bad and dumb”. As I saw noted, it observes the theme but doesn’t comment on it which is a shame as that would bring it all together quite neatly. I feel it can drag a little at times and sometimes the dialogue and specifically its humour don’t hit right but the rest is of such quality that it hardly matters. It looks good, sounds good and offers a chance to engage in a little mindless and bloody violence. I hope Harley keeps the javelin.

27/08/2021: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 2: Battle Tendency: TW: Mention of Nazism, Discussion of Sexism

This is MUCH better. Part 2 covers most of the problems I had with Part 1. The Monologues are less egregious so the pacing is much improved; the lore is fully integrated into the story and creates a genuinely good narrative and Joseph is a much more compelling and interesting protagonist with a quirky and entertaining personality. The Pillar Men are excellent villains and the fights are fully engaging. Even when you know that Joseph will pull out a “And next you’ll say” twist at the end of a losing fight it’s still surprising simply by dint of the strange and wacky solutions he creates. And these adventures are even more bizarre, playing into the weird camp of the series which works so well. All in all, the quality is excellent here HOWEVER there are some highly problematic elements. The show being set in the 1930s is a neat part of the travelling through time factor of the series but when you’re globetrotting around Europe you need some solution to the problem of Nazis popping up everywhere and this show does not provide one, and fails so drastically to offer even a slightly critical perspective on the fascist characters. The noble sacrifice of Von Stroheim and his later resurrection and heroism serve to idolise a Patriotic German Nazi Officer, which is not good, and this unchallenged perspective on an Actual Nazi is troubling especially when the character himself is an unrepentant mass murderer. Additionally, the show has a horrible attitude towards women, who exist almost exclusively for sex appeal and romantic interest in this show. Lisa Lisa does demonstrate ability and character but when presented with genuine combat is relegated first as a bit of eye candy during the fight with Esidesi (notably eye candy for Her Own Son) and later as a Damsel in Distress during her fight with Kars. Women are frequently used as objects in this part; Caesar Zeppeli uses women as props by controlling them with his Hamon powers and Suzi Q exists only to be rescued from Esidesi and then to be romanced by Jojo. It’s pretty ridiculous to be honest. I am informed that this improves over the course of the series but as for this part in particular it is a lot of fun just so long as you can ignore some incredibly troubling portrayals.

13/09/2021: Rick and Morty Season 4:

There is ultimately not much to say as Season 4 is simply more Rick and Morty and operates as such. It is good, even very good. It’s still very funny. Its voice acting is still the pinnacle of such work. It is still smart and has a lot of interesting ideas, only not to the extent of the copypasta fan boys. Its sci-fi universe is cool and its design and aesthetic are still excellent. I feel the show has passed a threshold however as there’s only so much time you can spend on the “dysfunctional family is dysfunctional theme”. I hope season 5 proves me wrong once I get to it, but season 4 is fun and I’d recommend it all the same, it’s just more Rick and Morty and I think that’s enough.

Shang-Chi and the Ten Rings: Spectacular! Very easily amongst the best if not The Best Superhero Movie (aside from Into the Spiderverse). To begin with complaints as they are limited, the colour grading was a bit dark in a couple of the fight scenes and in some moments of the climactic fight the CG effects are a little Too Much and distract from the central action of Shang-Chi, Xialing and a Dragon owning the shit out of a multiversal super spectre, which incidentally is fucking epic. Additionally, the standard MCU comic relief dialogue is a little meh at times but what’s new there? They still need to get a handle on that, especially because this film was really strong when it was serious. As much as I love Ben Kingsley’s Trevor Slattery, he was just a tad much here. Aside from a few moments of weak dialogue however the rest of the film is excellent. Acting is good, effects are good, the film is quite beautiful primarily once Ta Lo is reached and the score is bangin. I appreciate most of all the fight sequences which to me look well-choreographed with interesting arenas which were always appropriate to demonstrate the characters abilities; the sequences serve to develop character and plot at key moments also. The way the camera is handled during the fights is also a big step up, with wide perspective and long shots rather than the snappy close shots of old which serve to really show off that choreography and don’t muddy your understanding of the flow of combat. There is a good thematic line throughout the film of reconciling the bad and the good of your familial and personal history, to understand yourself better and channel that into developing and achieving your ambitions and I adore how that ties in with Shang-Chi and Wenwu’s final confrontation due to the nature and treatment of the Ten Rings themselves. They are a very interesting fantastical element especially once Shang-Chi acquires them and the way that he utilises them create a very cool combat style I can’t wait to see more of, even considering that their full potential is yet to be unlocked. I additionally approve of how they have been differentiated from their comic counterparts which to my understanding are just slightly weaker infinity stones; thus, a one-to-one reproduction would’ve been a boring mistake to make. It’s a fantastic film, go see it.

26/09/2021: Sable (20 hours, 99% complete) Sable has the makings of an absolutely fantastic game, it just has a few hiccups and hurdles to deal with. Thankfully most can probably be dealt with by patch as there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the game; but a game should never be released in a state where it needs a patch to function normally. This game is incredibly buggy. Probably one of the buggiest games I’ve ever played at launch, and I preordered Skyrim. Most of my complaints are with the menus, which simply do not work properly sometimes, but there are other documented issues with collision detection and weird bike movement among others including one annoying persistent issue with the soundtrack being replaced by random ‘bong’ noises. For these reasons I cannot recommend the game Right Now until it is patched or if it is on a significant sale. However, once the bugs are fixed this game will be a stunning achievement. The story is good and leads to powerful emotional moments, aided along by an excellent atmospheric soundtrack and beautiful visuals. The style and colour give this game an exceptional look, though diminished by a fairly rapid day/night cycle. I understand that this creates a visual contrast to make the daytime feel more vibrant and impressive, but I would also hold the sun still in the sky if that were an option. The world is well built, with interesting lore and cool design work. Varied environments show off a range of colourful landscape all with their own distinct atmospheres and landmarks which are good both for navigation and exploration, this being the bulk of the game. Exploring these environments is satisfying for curiosities sake but also offers collectible Chums that I adore and an intriguing backstory and world history to consider. Riding a hoverbike is cool and fun, and the customisability is nice though I would take issue with the “balancing” of bike parts as the best bike can be acquired only a few hours in and must be bought, where bike parts earned through long quest chains pale in comparison. This annoys me as I believe players should be rewarded more for great deeds than for acquiring currency, besides which the quest bikes look cooler. This is of little importance however as the game is a very casual and chill experience, keeping an excellent balance where it is not strictly challenging but does maintain your focus and attention. This world is full of strangeness and a little sci-fi magic; though I would argue it could use more of this I think that would threaten to overwhelm the player when even this world’s most mundane elements are still stunningly cool. I think a thick coat of bugs covers what is ultimately a magnificent game with many cool things to explore and even marred by its worst features I still had a great time playing it.

27/09/2021: The Matrix

Brilliant. A very cerebral action movie which definitely earns its place as an iconic work of cinema and its clear to see why its influence is so widespread. Fantastic action with a clear and open perspective which utilises the interesting and dynamic cinematography that runs throughout the movie. I particularly enjoy how over the top the fights are in terms of environmental destruction and gestures as a whole, with a great deal of emphasis added by practical effects which I enjoy. Cool characters, good dialogue and excellent performances across the cast. And, an interesting world well-built and designed. The robots particularly are quite intimidating and I like their arthropodal form. All of the design works well to create the feeling of a greasy industrial post apocalypse which contrasts sharply with the boring homogenous simulation, the latter having its own value as a setting due to its familiarity which would’ve been especially prevalent when this film first released. I love the soundtrack, especially the final feature of Rage, but most of all I love how deeply you can read into this film and its meaning. Having watched many videos about it I was primed on the trans allegory going in and it is very clearly a present part of the narrative before even considering the context around the Wachowski sisters and their own experience. It is a very interesting part of the story and plays well into other themes built around deconstructing the illusions pressed on us by our society, drawing strong parallels between the struggles of living as a trans person and fighting against an imperialist capitalist society. It is worth watching for any of its constituent parts but together they form a magnificent work of art.

28/09/2021: Star Wars: Visions

The series is a bit of a mixed bag. It definitely overpromises with its first episode which is of a remarkably distinct style, is incredibly cool and has great wacky moments in addition to tasteful call-backs to the wider Star Wars canon. I love the umbrella sabre, it’s a fantastic idea and there needs to be more of them. From there a few episodes are fantastic, The Elder and the final episode, and id rank the Ninth jedi just below them, but the rest of the series is definitely not to my taste. The wide variety of styles on show are all fantastic and the animation is universally very good, just some of the plots are more childish than I would appreciate and the rest are simply not engaging for me to the point that despite a great deal of spectacle occurring I would often be distracted. It’s worth a look if you’re into animation and unique takes on star wars but I find generally lacking.

Django Unchained (2nd Watch) TW: Discussion of Racism and Slavery

Red Flag: Tarantino Movie is good. Very good. Stellar performances from Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Leo Di Caprio, Christoph Waltz and everyone else in the movie to be frank; a special note for the trivia about Leo Di Caprio’s cut up hand during the dining room scene, a lot of respect for a man who can keep working through that kind of injury. We can go through a Tarantino Checklist say the film is well shot with beautiful environments; has excellent and witty dialogue with good attention to detail and mannerism; and finally has great and gory action which does not flinch from terrible injury and really appeals to a perverse bloodlust that seems to crop up from time to time in normal people. Strangely enough however, I could not recall if Tarantino indulges in his predilection for feet here. This film does indulge in Tarantino’s other predilection however and that’s the N-word, but here I respect it. Unlike his non-period works, the use of the N-word is a facet of slavery just as chains, whips and plantations are and slavery is the subject of this film which seeks to be historically authentic. If anything, the absence of the N-word would be very wrong in this case despite being the project of a white man as without it the film would lack the context of a key form of oppression that still exists today. I think Django does an excellent job documenting and commenting on the institution as it existed in the pre-war period. Django experiences every level of status a black person would encounter in this setting: first a slave, then a freedman, a black slaver and finally a Liberator and the final message of the film is that slavery deserved to be destroyed and any argument made for its return is horseshit which is kind of a “Duh” statement but with the state of modern politics and the state of education in the US it’s something that needs reiterating. You can interpret this beyond the bounds of slavery itself in addition, by arguing that there are existing powers in this world which seek to discriminate based on skin colour amongst other factors and create oppressed minorities for the benefit of a wealthy few with power and should the systems that create this environment be completely destroyed it would be cause for celebration. Beyond this I particularly enjoyed the historical authenticity of the environments, of the very varied biomes of the wilder parts of the US at the time, and the contemporary outfits especially King Schultz’ coat which I desire more than any item of clothing I’ve ever seen. The film is good at building suspense both in the moment to moment and through longer story arcs, particularly the second act, but I do feel like the 2nd act lulls a little, perhaps spends slightly too long reaching its climax. This is a great spectacle of a film which looks and sounds fantastic, puts excellent performances on show, tells a great story and has quite a bit of meaning bundled into it.

29/09/2021: The Road to El Dorado (Unfinished)

Despite not finishing it I think this film is actually really good. It certainly has a few elements which don’t fully gel with me but I enjoyed my time with it; I only felt like I should really be doing something else and that I wasn’t fully engaged with it, potentially as I’m not keen on cons and high stakes acting as it feels like a form of vicarious embarrassment for me which makes me immensely uncomfortable. Personal hindrances aside most everything about this film is excellent, I loved the animation and the very colourful world. The characters were fun, the voice acting good, the constant horniness was a great bonus also. I take issue with the music, much as it’s not my right to criticise Elton John, I feel it would’ve been better fully incorporated into the film. I enjoy animated musicals more when said music is diegetic and I think them beginning to employ non-diegetic music is part of what led to their downfall, outside of market saturation. Additionally, I was not a fan of The Trail we Blaze, just not a song that worked for me. I also appreciate the integration of 3d and 2d animation here as I felt the styles were reconciled better here than in most movies, especially for the time. I might take issue with what seems to be a plot about two Spanish men of the colonial age coming to central America and “enlightening” its people through humanitarian acts and music as that would reflect some troubling attitudes but I hold out hope that by the end of the film they decide to come clean about the lie, return the gold and help defend El Dorado from Cortez and his troops. Its enjoyable, I don’t feel drawn to finishing it though.

30/09/2021: Hunters Moon, Ghost

Here’s a new one, music reviews. This single is pretty good I enjoy it a lot. Opens slow and gentle and rapidly builds into some strong rock with a very 80s feel which scans with Ghosts whole historical rock and metal style they’ve always employed but have gone in extra hard on since Prequelle. The lead riff the track opens on is really nice and I would love to have seen it explored further, but the heavier style that ramps up progressively as the song continues is still great climaxing on the 9/4 post chorus riff which goes hard as fuck and I love that bit especially. It feels like it would be spectacular to witness it live. The bridge is a moment I’m not so keen on, the initial bass work is a little bare bone and overly repetitive but it definitely picks up once the guitar and vocals come in, even if just for the final moments. The final chorus leads into a good finale though I think it’ll serve better on an album version with a transition into another track, as I usually prefer to be fair. Technically I enjoy all of the different sounds and effects employed on all the instruments, especially in that leading riff, all of which are played well with good time. The vocals are great as usual. It’s a great track, I feel it was maybe a little short and could’ve explored some of its musical ideas or given them a bit more time to breathe; perhaps less time could have been given to overrepresented elements like the bridge and given over to work more into the very atmospheric leading riff but this is still a hard and heavy rock track and I enjoy it greatly.

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rpd-rookie · 4 years

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I’ll Make An Agent Out Of You - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: Leon has started training with the US.STRAT.COM but he still has much to learn. Hopefully, you’re an amazing teacher. If only you were less attractive.

Author’s Notes: Sorry it took so long to publish this. It had to struggle with procrastination and lack of inspiration. But it’s here now. Though, not as good as I thought it would be. Hope you will like it.

Warning: Language, NSFW (masturbation and explicit sexual content)

Panting and exhausted, pearls of sweat rolling over his toned chest and muscular back and often dropping onto the mat, Leon had been relentlessly training for hours with an incredible focus and determination. His fists were burning, knuckles and fingers reddened from punching the leather bag over and over. They hurt a bit, tickled mostly, but the overall sensation felt so good nevertheless, steam blowing off more and more with every punch.

Music was playing in the training room. A song he used to love so much before but that he hated now, a song he couldn’t help but listen to and that could take him back to a night he could never forget. “Forget yesterday. It ain’t worth the pain. The pain of remembering.” But Leon wanted to remember. He wanted to remember everything, all the horrors he had seen, and all the people he hadn’t been able to save. Marvin, Ada, the gun shop owner and his daughter, every one in Raccoon City. They were his fuel, the only thing that made him want to fight, want to win, want to see Umbrella fall. The only thing that made this tiresome training with the US.STRAT.COM worth going through.

Vivid bloody images flashed in his head and his fists hit the bag again, harder this time, as animalistic groans of frustration and rage escaped his mouth. “Someone’s angry.” Leon jumped slightly and turned around.

You were standing against the doorway, watching him, arms crossed over your chest. “Sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know you were here.” “It’s okay. It gave me to opportunity to see how you do against a poor defenceless punching ball.” Leon chuckled and you approached him with an amused small smile on your face. “And?” “You’re terrible, Kennedy.” You confessed with a sharp sincerity that you didn’t even try to soften, knowing that it would not take it too seriously. “That bad?” He joked. “They’re some nice punches but you should move your legs more. Fighting is not just using your fists and your arms. You need to use all your body. Here.” You placed yourself in front of the bag to slowly show him in details what you meant. “Knuckles up, fingertips facing the ground. And as you punch, you pivot both feet to the right, put your right heel down and left heel up. Pivoting your feet gives more power to your hook and make sure your hand and hips and feet all move as one.” Then you repeated the movement at a quicker speed to demonstrate how efficient it truly was. Leon watched, genuinely impressed and wondering where you had learnt this. A question he would ask another time. “Got it?” “Think so.”

You invited him to give it a try and he placed himself back in front of the bag to throw a few punches, following your advice to the letter like a very attentive student. And it didn’t surprise you. It actually fitted his righteous and grounded behaviour. “Not bad.” You admitted. “I’m a quick learner.” He dared brag with a smile but it was more adorable than arrogant. “Don’t push it, would you? It’s just a punching bag. Wait till you try to do that against a real person.” “Like our dear friend Marine Guy?” He winked, enthusiastic, knowing you couldn’t stand the man as much as he couldn’t stand him. “Someone does want a revenge. Angry he smashed your pretty face in?” You pointed at the ugly purple bruise and the stitched cut on his right brow, the result of a nasty uppercut thrown by Marine Guy yesterday during fighting class. It didn’t look good at all. “I’ve been through worse … but do you really think I’m pretty?” He smirked proudly and almost seductively, in a way that could have made you shiver if Leon hadn’t such a baby face. You shook your head, amused and exasperated. Such cheekiness didn’t really suit him and you actually never thought he had that in him. After all, he always seemed so sweet and polite, so perfect, almost childish and innocent even, a bit like a boy scout. “Pretty like a baby.” You scoffed and he laughed briefly before showing a bright smile. “I always knew I should try to grow a beard.” He said as he scratched his non-existent stubble “We both know you can’t.” You teased and he pretended to be offended. “Ouch. That was mean.” It was your turn to laugh, amused by his adorableness and thinking that you were lucky to finally have a man like him to train with. You liked Leon. He was so open-minded and so tolerant, always treating you like an equal, not like those machos goggling and whistling at you each time you were working out.

“Anyway. If you want to take down Marine Guy you must work on your speed. I noticed you were exclusively focused on your strength. It’s wrong. While fighting someone like him – or anyone bigger than you for that matter - you must not do that. You must rely on things like speed and agility, aptitudes big guys like him lack. See what I mean?” “Yes. But how?” “Come here.” You waved him to follow you to the centre of the room and put yourself in fighting position, arms up, ready to defend yourself. “Try and hit me.” “I’m not gonna hit you.” He retorted, shocked, and you sighed. Of course. “Why not?” You dared ask, expecting the answer he was about to give you. “You’re a woman.” Bull’s eye. And not surprising at all. Leon had that knight in shining armour aura around him. It was oozing out of him. But that was not misogynistic. It simply suited his personality: caring and protective. “And that was your biggest mistake.”

You quickly kicked him hard in the calves. Leon grunted as he lost his balance and you used the moment as an opportunity to immobilise his body with your hips and legs and throw him above your head as you rolled over to slam him on the mat. Leon’s back hit the ground with a loud thump that made him gasp and almost moan in pain and you kept him flat against the floor using all your weight. “What the fuck?” He cursed, breathless. “Never underestimate an opponent.” You said, straddling him and keeping his hands pinned over his head. “What was that?” “A suplex.” You calmly responded as Leon was squirming under your body to get away from your grip. “And you lost.” You tightened your grip around his wrists and laid more against his body, feeling the muscles of his burning chest against yours. You never thought he was that strong. “You’ve got to teach me that.” He sounded very excited and impressed and his eagerness pleased you a lot. Rare were the persons that asked you for lessons. “Someday.” You smiled softly. “But first try to master what I taught you today.” “I’ll do my best.” He grinned and you let go of his wrists to tap on his chest, still sitting on top of him. “I’m sure you will.” You said but suddenly saw Leon’s face turn a bright red. “You’re okay?”

He was not. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest and he could feel a terrible hotness started flowing in his entire body especially in his lower area upon which you were comfortably sitting. He gulped, blue eyes scanning his surroundings to find a way to escape from underneath you while his mind was weirdly focused on your body pressed against him.

“Leon?” You removed your hands and adjusted yourself on top of him but your small movement made him hiss and curse and realise the hard erection building in his pants. “Fuck.” He pushed you away and quickly got up, refusing to face you, definitely embarrassed in a way he had never been before. “Are you alright?” You asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m fine. Sorry Y/N. Really … I…” He mumbled as he cleared his voice, trying to get rid of the weird knot that was choking his throat and doing everything he could to hide his growing bulge. “I’ve gotta go.” He said before rushing towards the changing room, ignoring you calling his name.

Once alone and in front of his locker, Leon looked down at his pants. The bulge was huge now, impossible not to notice. “You gotta be kidding me.” He sighed and hit his forehead against the cold metal of his locker, eyes closed and muttering his embarrassment and shame. That was bad. That was really bad. That was disgusting. He was disgusting. Poor Y/N. Hopefully she didn’t notice. But come on. How did that happen? He wasn’t sixteen anymore. He should be able to control his body. This, this hard-on, that wasn’t worthy of him. That was puerile and … Fuck, he needed to get rid of it and fast.

He quickly started to undress himself, clumsily dropping all his clothes to the ground. Once in his underwear, he dared glance at his hard on again. His underwear was stained with pre-cum and his throbbing bulge hidden beneath the skin-tight fabric was begging for release. He chose not to touch it and immediately entered the nearest shower. Hopefully it would fix this. He was wrong. The cold water didn’t do shit except making him grunt because of how freezing it was. It didn’t do anything because his brain was venturing towards obscene images of you.

Images of you, removing your sports clothes on top of him, undulating against his bulge in a way that was driving him insane and even hornier. “Fuck.” He groaned as he leant against the shower wall, his cock twitching and begging to be touched under the wet fabric of his boxers. “Why now?” He tried to breathe and think about something else, hoping it would help him getting rid of his hard-on. He thought about everything, from Marine Guy to Raccoon City and even about his mother but it didn’t work, his brain still finding its way back to you.

Finally admitting his defeat against his arousal and his frustration, Leon quickly looked around to check if he was indeed alone in the locker room and then immediately pulled down his underwear. His cock sprang free, all hard and perfectly erected, the tip reddened and glistening and Leon reluctantly allowed himself to sigh, relieved, as he touched it with his fingertips. It was so sensitive it hurt a bit and maybe that was better this way. He grabbed his shaft, feeling the small veins ready to burst, and spit on it to lube it. He looked up around him again as he spread his saliva mixed with his pre-cum along his cock. That first contact sored. And Leon hesitated to continue for a few seconds, his mind stuck between lust and reason. It took him a couple of seconds to finally give in to what most men would have given in to. He started jerking himself off, slowly, looking away from his penis. “What the hell, Leon?” He told himself, his length in his hand.

The caress made him hiss. That was creepy. As creepy as imagining you riding him and bouncing on top him, perky breasts calling for his mouth. He wasn’t like that. That’s now how it had been raised. Gosh, his mother would kick his butt from here to Kentucky if she knew.

But then he actually dared imagine your rosy nipples between his lips and his mouth sucking on them greedily. “Jesus.” He cursed as he quickened his pace, a tighter grip around his cock, imagining your pussy around him instead of his fingers, a feeling of terrible guilt mixed with his lust for you. He told himself again and again that it was awful and disgusting, that he should be ashamed, that he wasn’t a teenager with raging hormones anymore, that he should be able to control such urges. But then, as pleasure started to take full possession of his entire body, he forgot about all this. He forgot about everything and he let his mind dream of all the things he would do to you if he actually had you against him.

His movements became faster, going up and down intensely and his left hand began massaging his balls. Goodness, he wished this hand was yours, wished to hear the sound of your moans coming from your agape mouth, wished to see the lust tinting your eyes and feel your hand toying with his length. He wished he could fuck relentlessly right now.

Leon’s grip became suddenly very sloppy and he stared panting in a very unusual way. Even training could not make him breathe that irregularly. “Fuck.” He growled between his gritted teeth. He was so close and he wanted to cum so badly. And so he shut his eyes tight again and let himself growl as he kept pumping his cock for the last times. He was loud, probably too loud despite his attempts to stay quiet. His stomach tensed and then he felt his thick sticky hot cum spurt on his toned abs. He milked his cock until there was no drop left, grunting and imagining his sperm covering your gorgeous body instead of his.

When he managed to open his eyes again, he couldn’t help but notice the mess he had done in the shower. There was so much cum. That was crazy. It had never cum that much before. It was literately flowing on his stomach down the shower drain. “Fuck.” He whispered again as he wiped it off with his fingers and splashed it away to get rid of it, wishing he could get rid of his shame that easily.

But despite it, he was forced to admit it had definitely felt good.

Probably not as good as real sex but he wouldn’t know... yet

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #fanfic

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generallypo · 4 years

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move over maschenny, we’ve got a hotter and cooler Khun princess in the tower now.

introducing Khun Aguero Jahad, the one and only princess that Jahad actually, sincerely hopes never wins the competition.

excessive rambling under the cut + a short fic under that. all my warnings are dead and void as of now. cheers!

-- -- -- -- -- --

i sat on my salt for a couple of days -- and then finally, finally decided to do something about it. my previous TOG post kinda went ham on that. yeehaw.

i imagine jahadprincess!khun is a little more snakey than the original (is that possible?). having climbed the tower at a blistering pace following her selection, she’s also a more competent fighter, though it additionally means she needs to use her brain less. though she plays more by her family’s and Jahad’s rules, she’s not particularly ruled by her bloodlust in the way Maschenny is, or utter complacency like Repellista. her outfit is shamelessly ripped off of Yuri’s and the casual officewear aesthetic khun sports in s1.

anyways, i did The Big Write. it has been 3 years since i have attempted such a thing. the process was complicated and stressful, i drank milk tea to compensate. i wanted to depict the moment of a big decision in which a characteristically selfish person does something shockingly altruistic, as well as the bystander who questions her motives. it’s not quite khunbam, more like an intense, one-sided dedication and some sorely needed soul searching.

played fast and loose with characterization, timelines, general TOG canon while banging out this beast. like every middle child, i’m not super proud of it, but it gets the job done. i had a great time with it! really!

-- -- -- -- -- --

Unsurprisingly, it’s Yuri who finds her first.

Her heels, lustrous and scarlet, click faintly on the rooftop tiles, and their mild echo belies nothing of the thunder on her face, or the sibilant presence of the Black March at her side. Aguero turns to meet her, inclines her head in response.

“Why, princess Yuri. It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Cut the crap, Aguero,” she snaps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Aguero raises her hands. From one of them, Manbarondenna dangles innocently, unclasped buckles gleaming under fake starlight.

“Waiting for my ride. I’m not expecting a plus one, though.” She smiles pleasantly, eyes narrowed. “Run along now. This is a single-passenger trip.”

Yuri growls. “Seriously?” She steps forward with intent, and Aguero momentarily tenses, fingers flying to her bag — but just barely, Yuri’s features soften, and she stops. Dramatically, she cocks her head, ponytail bobbing with vigor.

“You,” she points emphatically. “You’re actually going to do this. You’re not worried about the consequences.”

She states it like an accusation, but the palest shade of concern colors her voice. Are you sure of what you’re doing? Leaving this place -- leaving all of us? A complicated expression crosses her features, and she scowls.

“This won’t just affect you, Aguero.” Firmly, her hand rests on the Black March’s handle. Do you want me to stop you?

“… I’m aware.” A pause, and oh, ugh, Aguero’s doing it again — that nasty, calculating look on her face, the one that reminds onlookers, in no uncertain terms, exactly how the princess had come by her position. Yuri balks uncharacteristically, and steps away.

It’s not like she doesn’t think she can take Aguero in a fight… but it’s not what she had come here for in the first place. After knowing each other this long, the least she can do is offer her support, not another enemy. Aguero has no problems with making — and gleefully crushing — the latter.

She looks at the woman before her. Khun Aguero Jahad, formerly surnamed Agnis. Not so long ago, a nameless little nobody — somebody’s second, second-choice, second-rate daughter, born in a family with too many offspring to invest attention into a daughter lacking outstanding martial prowess or an especially fetching face. A forgotten girl, wholly incongruent to the imposing figure Yuri knows her as now.

The air around them vibrates with tension, laced with an inexorable chill -- it’s not a trick of the light, Yuri notices, that her breath seems a little more visible than normal, that the sweat on her forehead feels almost solid to her skin. Aguero is watching her, face bright and predatory, and it’s a stark reminder that even beautiful things can be cold and unforgiving.

The crown jewel of the Khun family sneers, and Yuri braces herself for impact.

— — —

Khun Aguero Agnis had almost always been a slippery, unremarkable thing, with willow branches for arms and a sullen, snarky mien. On her placid, faintly superior face sat two intelligent, gem-blue eyes — pretty enough, but also afflicted with an attitude chilly enough to wither even the most persistent suitor’s desire. To her family, and an equally hostile Tower, she was both undesirable and unsupported — and consequently, insignificant.

Yuri had met her before, once. It had been an event much, much longer ago, during a nameless, perfectly ordinary mission to deliver some sealed goods. A loaded favor of sorts, from one family to another. Bright and on the cusp of princesshood, hair still bound in youthful twin tails, she had been greeted at the door of one of the numerous Khun establishments by a slim joke of a girl.

Thanks for your work, the girl had said, eyes blue and sleepless and unreadable. I’ve been expecting you. With mechanical efficiency, the girl received, inspected, and stowed the package away, vanishing from the gate within seconds.

Baffled, Yuri withdrew, scratching her head. She’d been given a verification stamp to use at the end, but the package had made it to the correct address regardless.

I’ve been expecting you, the Khun girl had said. That counted as a mission complete, didn’t it?

If not for the silvery-blue shock of her hair, no one would have guessed the girl a child of one of the great ten families. Favored Khuns, after all, were generally not disposed towards handling petty messenger duties. The observation had barely registered for Yuri, and not much later a more exciting adventure came along to wipe the encounter from her mind. Favored or not, there were more interesting, deadly things in the Tower to focus on.

A couple hundred years ago, though… things had changed, and drastically so. Yuri doesn’t know or exactly care for the inner politics or delicate power balances among the characters of Jahad’s court, but the truth of the matter is this:

Khun Aguero Jahad might have only been recently crowned — but she has always been a threat.

Since the dawn of the ten families, the Khun staples of education had remained true to three essential subjects: warfare, politics, and assassination. The children learn young, or not at all. A daughter true to her heritage, Khun Aguero Agnis had bared her fangs only at the most opportune moment, sinking them firmly in the throats of her blood sister, a rival from a nearby branch family, and a number of prominent, up-and-coming girls vying for the princess candidacy.

It had been, without a doubt — a flawless victory, the perfect display of brains and cruel strength. And of course, with those eyes, a blue as deep and pitiless as the sea: beauty, and the arrogance to wield it.

It had taken the entire upper floors by complete surprise, propelled Aguero’s name to the top of the gossip columns, and whispered unrest among the current princesses in a way that hadn’t been felt in at least half a millennium. All it had taken was a hundred years’ worth of waiting, a lighthouse, a well-placed knife, and some dead girls.

As expected, a mere three months after her candidacy was announced, Khun Aguero Agnis became Khun Aguero Jahad, and not a single voice spoke out to disagree.

— — —

“Are you going to stop me?” Aguero’s voice is low and cool. Like magic, a small blade glimmers in her hand, and while Yuri can’t predict what kinds of weapons her sister carries on her person, she knows better than to think this is her only, or most lethal one.

“... No,” she admits ruefully. “I don’t think I’d be able to, anyway.” Deftly, she stows the Black March in her inventory, and spins around to sit cross-legged by the princess’s side. It’s always a gamble, relying on Aguero’s temper, but it’s more likely than not that the other girl isn’t actually looking for a fight. She can’t afford the attention a real one would draw, or the physical exhaustion it would inflict.

Aguero lets her, and she grins with satisfaction. “I’ll wait with you until your ride is here!” The and buy you time, if necessary, goes unsaid. Yuri yawns, and then stretches, eyes crinkling with cheeky fondness. It won’t take long for her to get bored. What better way to kill time than with invasive questioning?

“Is he really worth it, Aguero? That boy?” Yuri pouts, eyebrows raised. “This better not just be because he’s cute.” Her words have the subtlety of a berserk Shinheuh, but she’s genuinely curious, and Aguero will understand.

A quiet huff of laughter has her squinting in surprise. Dawn hasn’t quite made it to their corner of the rooftop, but she can make out the faint, yet unmistakable curve of a real smile.

Huh, thinks Yuri, wide-eyed. It’s not a bad look on her. It’s not that Aguero has never smiled, per se, but the intrinsic softness of it all is a wholly foreign creature to her, and she likes to think Aguero does consider her a friend. Or at least as close to one as a Khun is allowed to call a person.

“Oh, he’s cute all right. Like… a puppy, I guess. Big, gold eyes, really nice voice, listens to everything I say.” Aguero snorts, fiddles with her hair. “… For the most part, at least. There was a girl that he came here chasing after — ” and here she pauses briefly, expression hard like ice chips — “but she’s, ah, not a problem anymore.”

Yuri blinks. By her feet, frost gleams in elegant, spiraling patterns. For a moment, curiosity steals across her thoughts— what kind of girl could that have been, to catch the eye of Aguero’s sweetheart? To make even the pride of the Khuns lose her famously unshakable cool? And what the hell had even happened? But instinct cautions her otherwise, and it’s yet to lead her astray.

Yuri shakes her head. Best not to pry into those matters.

“Okay, then. And what are you going to do after you go?” she presses. “You know you can’t come back.”

At first, there’s no response. The seconds slide uneasily by, thick like a finger swirled through honey. The other girl’s face is thoughtful as she slowly replies: “I’m gonna help him climb the Tower.”

Aguero shifts slightly, and meets Yuri’s gaze. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure about that either at first. He… he’s really weak, you know.”

Yuri cackles, just to fill the silence. “That bad?”

“That bad.” Aguero exhales. “But he’s a monster, too. He has these… moments, when he gets a certain look in his eyes, and it’s almost terrifying. It’s funny, because he’s the gentlest thing I’ve ever met. But he’s going to be amazing in the future. I know it.”

“... Like Jahad? Or better?” Is it the boy’s power you’re after? His life? It’s not like Yuri can’t understand. But in the Tower, the asking price of violence and overwhelming force comes laughably cheap, and for something as easy as that Aguero would never be so reckless. The conditions of their status are admittedly stifling, but few things are truly unreachable for a Jahad princess.

Or is it something else?

“They’re nothing alike,” Aguero says flatly. “And I don’t want him to be.”

Frustratedly, she runs a hand through her hair, gesturing vaguely. “It’s hard to explain, but he…he’s good, Yuri. He’s good. All those years stuck in a cave, all the trials the Tower ran him through, all that death and backstabbing and grieving that they make the Regulars practically eat and breathe — he fought through it purely by his own merit, and still, nothing's broken him of it. I can’t understand it myself.”

Aguero murmurs to no one in particular, looking bewildered herself. “… It’s dazzling, honestly.” It only lasts a heartbeat, but there’s a heat to her entire bearing, an unexpected intensity, and it looks a lot like hope.

“He’s going to flip this Tower on its goddamned head, just you wait. He’ll need someone to watch his back when he does.” She smiles again, sharp and secretive — and it leaves Yuri reeling from the whiplash, this girl — who suddenly looks more like sunlight on new snow, like devotion underneath domed ceilings and glass sculptures praising unshakable belief, than the glacial stoicism of her bloodline. “The Regulars are supposed to form teams, right? I intend to be his light-bearer.”

“A-aha…I see it now. You’re crazy,” offers Yuri, more weakly than she would prefer. She thinks she can see the bigger picture now. She isn’t sure whether she likes it or not.

… So it’s his love you’re after. Do you think it’ll make you happy?

“I’ve got it all planned out, of course. I had a quick chat with Headon about starting fresh as well, so the Ranker rules shouldn’t apply to me.” It shouldn’t be possible to make throwing away your life so easy, so fulfilling, but Khun Aguero does it somehow, conviction radiating firmly from her entirety. She laughs, bright and determined. “We’re gonna give the floors so much hell, Yuri.”

“As for being a princess,” she continues, “I have a couple of ideas as to making sure no one looks too closely. That’s a secret, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Aguero shoots her a mild look, and it’s the end of that discussion. She flicks her fingers with impatience. But one last question still burns a hole in Yuri’s chest, the one that hadn’t actually been answered, and she can’t let the other girl leave without a proper response. If she does, there won’t be a second chance.

The first hints of day yawn loomingly across the horizon. Shades of carnation and marigold, thin and pale, send tendrils of light across the sky. In just a few more minutes, the stars will disappear, eclipsed by their vibrance. And Aguero will be gone, gone, another name to be struck from the records.

After all their years of friendship, this is where the line gets drawn. It’s a little lonely, if she thinks about it. Yuri steels herself. A younger, less jaded girl might have asked Aguero to reconsider. But regardless of whatever answer she would have been given, it’s not the one she needs to know right now.

No regrets now, Aguero.

Princess Yuri Jahad looks the defector in the eye, feeling fully well the pride and colossal pressure of her status. Bending the rules has never, ever seemed so daunting before. Maybe the weight thudding cold in her chest is her grief. Maybe, she thinks sheepishly, it’s her jealousy. She wouldn’t be surprised if it were all of the above, and more than just her own fair share of the bitterness.

Believe it or not, she has been a princess for a very, very long time. The other girls would want to know the same.

It’s with hushed longing that she opens her mouth again, one last piece of idle gossip. With resentment, for countless eras spent in solitude and misplaced spite; loneliness, for every generation of lost, loveless young women. Every missed opportunity, every broken dream, every petty, contrived falling-out. She’s old enough to remember most of the worst. Aguero is escaping their shiny little showcase of a birdcage, at the price of losing everything else.

Please, she thinks desperately. Let her be right, this time. This is one of their sisters, after all. They must not have another Anaak Jahad.

“...Aguero. He’s worth it?” she repeats.

Khun Aguero Agnis steeples her fingers against her chin, staring forward. The sun rises ahead of them, unrelenting and pure, and the light catches on her face and draws it all out in ferocious streaks of gold.

“Yes,” she answers. “He is.”

#tower of god #TOG #kami no tou #webtoon #khun aguero agnis #jahadprincess!khun #fem!khun #genderbend #fanart #sketches #fic #writing #princess!khun runs away from home #yep that's it that's the fic #long ass emotional screeching

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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Tom Holland - Back Home (2/2)

Plot: Five months ago, you broke up. Five months ago, you walked out of Tom’s house because it was all too much. Five months ago, Tom left his home without you. And now he’s back, realizing you shouldn’t have never broke up.

Harrison watched with sad eyes as his friend came over to the counter once more, shoulders slumped down and eyes on the ground. He knew the breakup had hit Tom harder than any other, because just from the way he talked about you could be understand that the relationship was everything to him. He loved you, he respected you and he made you laugh; even for Harrison, who had been your friend too, was hard to say why you tore apart.

The birthday boy walked away from his friends, until he met Tom in the middle. As if he had switched a light, Tom collided with his chest and locked him in a hug. To anyone watching, they could only see a brotherly hug. But Harrison could feel the wet patch Tom was leaving on his neck, and the way his friend was barely holding himself up.

“That bad?” he whispered, and squeezed him harder.

“I fucked up” Tom chocked out. “I thought – I thought I was doing alright, b-but she felt – I made her feel like… like a I was ashamed”

“What?” Harrison pulled him away, and looked deep into Tom’s wet eyes. “That’s not true! What did she tell you?”

Tom told him, between shaky breaths and too many blinking, what you had felt through the last months of his relationship with you. It never ceased to amaze Harrison how Tom would put himself second in every situation; it was clear that it was a problem of misunderstanding, and both of your faults. Yet Tom insisted on how it was all on him, and whined to his friend about the past mistakes.

“Can we just… leave?” Tom finished, sighing. He rubbed his hand lazily over his eye, collecting the last tears. “I don’t want to face her again. Or him, for the matter. I’m sorry it’s your birthday but –“

“No buts, we’re leaving. Don’t worry. There are plenty of pubs”

Tom gave Harrison an apologetic smile, and followed him to the group of guys. They all seemed to know what had happened; either from listening to the conversation, or from looking at Tom’s face. Harry and Sam quickly picked up their coats and Jacob gave Tom a short hug, that only made him tear up a bit more.

The pub had grown incredibly full over the few minutes that your conversation had lasted, and leaving it turned out to be a difficult mission. People pushed from right and left, front and right, and some girls had no decency in respecting personal space. Sam was the most offended by it, as he kept pushing them not so nicely, while Harry flashed them some nasty looks.

Music blasting from the band on the corner, the group of boys found it almost impossible to leave the pub. They all created a small circle to try and make a decision, but they could barely hear each other over the noise. Finally, they decided to try and meet on the front in case they got separated.

Which, of course, happened within seconds.

Sam was the first one to disappear, swallowed by a group of guys that seemed taken from a rugby team, and Harry soon followed after him. Tom started to panic, oxygen becoming short and sight blurry. Jacob did his best to try and put the crowd away; but someone had noticed him, and then at least ten people were purposefully crowding him to ask for some photos or autographs.

Someone pushed him hard enough to lose balance, and then Harrison was out of sight too. Noises, lights and smells were becoming too much, so he got up from the ground and pushed his way outside. He couldn’t remember if he hurt someone, if that someone actually collided with a stool, and if a small group fell to the ground. Tom could just remember pushing, shoving and walking himself out of the pub.

Then air.

“Thank God” Jacob appeared behind him. “Did you – did you see that? Dude, that was mad! How can people be so disrespectful?! I can’t – I can’t believe them”

Jacob kept rambling angrily about the crowd inside, walking in circles and trying to call any of the boys. Meanwhile, Tom just got stuck looking in the distance.

He wondered if communication would have been the answer. When you first broke up, he spent nights crying in his room, re-visualizing every decision he had made and thinking when things went wrong. With the busy schedule he had filming, he didn’t really have time to stop and try to reach you, and he was too angry with everything to try.

Tom hadn’t wanted to press you into living with him, or anything, so he didn’t insisted in the option of you traveling with him; and he didn’t want to tell you he would move for real to England either, because he didn’t want you to think he was making a decision for you. And with the ‘going public’, he knew the consequences; and wanted to keep you away from harm.

He had wanted to many thing for you, he realized, that in the end he forgot what you wanted.

The door behind him opened again, the noise coming back, and a body was catapulted towards his back. So hard, that it fell to the ground with a loud thud and Tom almost followed it. Jacob stopped talking and let him mouth fall open, and Tom turned back to see you on the ground.

You were gripping your elbow while half-sitting on the ground, grimacing in pain and squeezing your eyebrows together.

“Y/N” Tom mumbled, and quickly reached down to help you up.

“Ow, ow. Wait – Wait, I can’t – my knee. Ow… ow!”

Tom got you to stand up fully, and looked down at your knee. He couldn’t see much, just the small stain of blood seeping from your ripped jeans and the gravel stuck to the cloth. Leaning on the arm he was supporting you with, you bent down a little to clean the dirt from the pants, and moved the ripped part so that you could see what you had done to yourself.

Wincing, you peeled off the cloth from the skin and looked at the scraped part of your knee. It had a bit of blood on the edged; nothing major, but nothing pleasant.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, and mentally slapped himself. “I’m sorry – I mean, is it bad?”

“I don’t think there is anything broken, if that’s what you’re talking about” you chuckled, and covered the bruised skin again. Then, you took a look at your elbow. Your coat was laying on the ground a few feet away, so your blouse had been the only barrier between the hard ground and your body. “Well, it doesn’t –“

“Oh my god, Y/N!”

Jacob’s screech got the attention of the few people close to you, who were half making out, half arguing between the parked cars. Tom ignored them and cradled your elbow on his hands, that was for sure where it wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t just facing a completely opposite direction, but was so swelled that was the same size as a potato. There were blue, black and purple shadows around, and blood was pouring out of a few cuts.

“To answer your question, no, I don’t think I’m okay”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stop! Just – oh, ow, oh! Tom!” you tried to move away in the small space you were given, but Tom chased you. “Don’t press that hard! It hurts!”

“I’m not even touching it yet, Y/N” Tom chuckled.

As if it was a normal day, he grabbed your hips and dragged you closer to him again. You were sitting on the sink of his bathroom, at six A.M in the morning and with the first rays of sun slipping through the window. Tom had gotten ridded of the nights clothes, that were wrinkled and strained with blood, and then was wearing soft pyjamas and the most relaxed expression you had seen him with since the encounter of the bar.

Once you were on his reach, he took your arm and stretched it slowly. It stung, hurt and you wanted to just kick him away; but the doctor at the emergency room that once the blood had dried from the bandages he had given you, you needed to put clean ones.

“You’re doing it on purpose” you pouted, although you knew he was being as careful as possible. “I’m going to call Tessa”

Tom looked at you and rolled his eyes.

When you had left the pub, on Harry’s car and with a panicking Tom by your side, you hadn’t thought you would ever see that playful and happy side of him again. You hadn’t even thought you felt anything else for him, after months of crying and suffering. But then, he had stood with you in the emergency room for hours, and had sat beside you when the doctor finally let you in. The worried attitude, the offer of spending the rest of the night, or day, at his house between blushing and stuttering, and the comfortable and warm feeling you got when you were beside him let you know that you weren’t over him.

You missed him more than ever. You missed Tessa, who had come barrelling at you when she had smelt you and had knocked Tom over in order to lick your face in happiness. You missed your home, that was in that apartment; with the crappy TV that Tom didn’t want to throw, the furniture made by him that had seen better days, and the kitchen with the high cabinets that none of you could reach.

You missed wearing his clothes, using the bathroom together or just reading on the bed while he studied a scrip in a low voice. It was all so familiar, that suddenly, you felt misplaced in the apartment you were renting.

Before you could think about what you were going to say, you blurted it out.

“Did you mean it?”

Tom stopped with the cotton midway to your elbow. He seemed frozen for a second, with his gaze fixed on your skin. Since his hair was shorter, to you, he seemed more mature. As if life was really taking a toll on him. He was broader, too; and there was a little stubble on his cheeks that hadn’t been taken care of. Still, you could see the young boy that got angry when he lost at UNO in his eyes.

He dared a look at your eyes, but when he saw you already looking at him, he looked back to your elbow and resumed his task. There was nothing else to clean on your elbow, and the excuse of going to his house because he had bandages and all that shit, and because it was closer to the hospital, was coming to an end. Soon, you would be back to no talking to each other, unless you did the right thing.

“The whole moving here for real. And going public” you continued. Tom kept quiet, just moved away to throw the cotton to the bin and open the drawer of the bandages. When you noticed he wasn’t going to say anything else, you talked again. “That… you still love me”

The bandages fell to the floor, unrolling and covering the surface. Tessa, who had been waiting outside the door as the obedient dog she was, couldn’t resist the urge of messing with the moving clothe, and ran inside the small bathroom to play with them.

“Damn” Tom whined, and bended down. “Tessa, no. No! Tessa! Stop playing –“

“Aren’t you gonna answer me?” you interrupted him, and got down to the floor. The knee was as healthy as ever, just a big nasty bruising, so you bent down and helped Tom pick up the bandages. “I think I deserve an answer, Tom. You can’t just tell me that and not say anything”

He didn’t answer, but kept picking up the bandages.

It took you a few minutes to put everything away, because even if Tessa was a wonderful girl and was trying to keep away as Tom told her, she kept getting to excited and messing with the bandages. Tom picked most of it away, occasionally picking some from you; but he was doing most of the job.

Finally, it was all stored away, and he was taking another bit of bandages to wrap them around your elbow. When he spoke, you didn’t expect his voice to be so low, so thick with emotion, and so full of pain.

“Why didn’t you say something why I told you that at the bar?” he started. He had your elbow on his hands, and was sweeping his fingers across the bandages. “Why – why did you break up with me, then? I know… I get you had your doubts, about the relationship. But I thought I made it clear that I loved you, Y/N”

“Tom”

Lowering your head, you took his chin with your good hand and made him look up, until your eyes met. There were unshared tears on his brown orbs, that made him look at least five years younger, and his bottom lip was shaking on the right side; everything he did before breaking down. Not letting you talk, he continued.

“It’s so hard without you. I can’t – my life, I imagined it with you, Y/N” he chocked a sob, but kept looking at the bandages. “And those months, ago – they were, I can’t…I-I don’t want to live without you”

“I-“

“And of course I meant it!” Tom finally looked at you. “I love you, and the problem is – I think I always will. I can’t, I don’t see myself not loving you.”

There was a pregnant pause, where Tom finished to wrap up your elbow.

Before you had ran after Tom, exactly two seconds after he had disappeared through the crowd, you had told Derek a poor excuse about an emergency. There was something about the British actor, that no one could give you. His selfless personality, his caring actions, and his sweetness. You hadn’t met someone like him, and knew you never would.

“I still love you too” you whispered.

Tom didn’t waste time in looking at you that time. Tessa, who was barking softly on the door of the bathroom, seemed to catch up on something, because she stood from where she was laying and padded away. You had to bit your lip to prevent yourself from smiling, as Tom seemed to have broken.

He kept quiet, hands still and brain trying to process the words.

“You do?”

“Yeah” you answered, nearly spitting it out.

Without missing a beat, you leaned close and sealed the space between your lips. The position wasn’t the most comfortable, but you were already used to it. You were already used to everything that had to do with Tom, with his body or with his house, so you opened a little your legs and let him push himself to you, and answer to the kiss with the same love.

The kiss was slow. Very, very slow. For a second, you just touched each other’s lips, like you tasted a food that you hadn’t eaten in years. Then, you opened them to allow Tom’s to lock with yours. Your hand made its way to the back of his head, where you missed the curls; but you found the small bump on the middle of his neck, and pulled him closer.

Tom rotated his face so that your nose weren’t touching, and his hands landed on your hips. He smiled into the kiss, and pulled you even closer. Until there was no physical space between your bodies, until you were both giggling between kisses and mumbling silly ‘love you too’.

You trailed your lips down his jaw; not in a sensual way, just like someone who runs their hands through the walls of his old him. Remembering the patterns. He counted your moles, and filled your face with butterfly kisses, concentrating them in the spot that made you laugh and squeal.

And you hugged, in that bathroom sink, as the sun finally came out. The birds sang, the sky cleared and everyone seemed happier. Because Tom was finally back home.

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romioneficfest · 4 years

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Halloween at the Burrow

Title: Halloween at the Burrow

Prompt/Day: Day 8 · Skirt

Tumblr name:

Rating: K

Brief summary: Halloween has been a yearly affair at the Burrow ever since Teddy Lupin declared it was his favorite holiday, and this year is no exception. Harry and Ron, with little Rose in tow, are convinced they have the best costume this year— but their wives may give them some competition.

“It’s perfect,” Ron snickered under his breath, slowly pulling on the black skirt over his gangly legs. “Oh, Harry, this is bloody genius, they’ll never see this coming.”

“Keep it down, Ron,” said Harry, though he was also trying his hardest to stifle a giggle as he struggled to pull on the tight khaki Quidditch pants. “Last thing we need is for them to come snooping ‘round and find out before it’s time.”

“It’s bloody brilliant, I tell you,” said Ron enthusiastically, now shaking on a black top. “Blimey, I think this is the most excited I’ve been for Halloween in a while.”

Halloween at the Burrow had become a yearly affair ever since Teddy Lupin, in a shock of bright blue hair, declared it was his favorite holiday because it was the only day of the year he could freely Metamorph without earning some weird looks his way. Of course, Ron thought fondly, it may just also be the only day of the year the bugger knows he can outdo us all: having grown up between magic, Teddy whined constantly about not being able to do with his wand what he saw his family do, and telling him that he’d be able to do it when he went to Hogwarts seemed to be of little comfort. This was the one are where he knew he could do something not even Aunt Hermione’s strongest Disillusionment charms could measure up to.

So the greatest event of the night was always seeing what Teddy had chosen to Metamorph into. Last year, he’d appeared as a porky, greasy short boy with a piggy nose and a nasty shock of blond hair, inspired —as he’d told them— by how “Uncle Harry always tells me about that mean boy from when he was my age”, and Harry had had to leave the room wheezing at how well Teddy had incarnated Dudley. This year, Ron thought, he’d do something less revolting: he’d noticed him staring at Victoire, whose usual fairy attire accentuated her long silver-blond hair, and he thought this year he may go for impressing her.

Arthur and Molly always paired up and went as a variety of Muggle character duos, which Hermione happily kept supplying when they looked for new ideas: Archie (which paired nicely with the hair) and Betty, Gomez and Morticia Addams, Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Fred and Velma Flintstone… They didn’t always get them 100% right, which was understandable, and Harry and Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell them they highly doubted Bonnie and Clyde would’ve approved of Molly’s bonnet.

Fleur, in an attempt to improve her English, had once purchased a thick book on the history of the United Kingdom, and had pulled images from it to dress like a new English royal every Halloween. The most notable one was where she dressed like Anne Boleyn and Bill (who always went as a rockstar, given all he had to do was wear a different band tee under his usual clothes) joked all dinner about how he was losing his head over how great she looked.

In a similar move, Hermione was partial to dressing like Jane Austen heroines, and she once had gotten Ron to don tails and a top hat to accompany her (which he’d sworn, gasping and pulling at the tight collar, he’d never do again), and she’d likely be going as one tonight. Ron found ways to dress up as every snack available at Honeydukes: a giant cardboard box became a carton of Every-Flavored Beans, a small Hover charm and some tulle made him a convincing Fizzing Whizzbee… His costume was usually Teddy’s favorite, since he was too small to understand some of the adult’s references, but candy? Oh, candy he knew. Ginny picked a different Hogwarts professor to embody every year, and so far, her McGonagall had been the most convincing, though her Flitwick had been funniest. Harry usually just wore jeans and a blue T-shirt and, to anyone who asked what he was supposed to be, he’d amusingly pull out his own Chocolate Frog card (where he was wearing the same outfit) and would say, in a mock insufferable voice, “I’m the Boy Who Lived, haven’t you heard?”

But tonight, he and Ron were switching it up. They’d gone into town and made off with a couple of wigs, some dark black women’s clothing, a Gryffindor scarf, and Quidditch robes they’d gotten at a fan store: in short, everything they needed to turn into their wives. As a two-year-old James whizzed around their legs, knocking into their ankles with the handle of a toy broom and dressed as a Hippogriff, Ron adjusted the bushy chestnut wig on his head and kept fussing with it, saying in awe, “Blimey, how does she manage with all this hair?”

“Beats me,” said Harry as he struggled to button the tight pants that’d go under the emerald robes with WEASLEY in gold on the back. “How Ginny can fit into these and still look incredible, now, that’s the real question…”

“Oi, mate, that’s my sister you’re talking about,” said Ron in faux offense, tossing a box of hairpins at him, which he caught easily.

“Also my wife,” Harry smiled, looking down at James as he made his way around them, hooting gleefully. “Say, Ron, how does it feel to be in the clothes of the brightest witch our age?”

“I wouldn’t know, just last week the instructions to building a couch stumped her,” said Ron, now draping the Gryffindor scarf around his neck. “I told her we were gonna do it with magic, but no, she said it had to be the Muggle way— granted, I almost impaled Rose last time I tried to charm a screwdriver…” he said, gesturing vaguely to Rose, who was bumbling contentedly on the bed. To complete the Hermione Granger look, her rosy toddler face was shrouded in ginger fur, part of the Crookshanks costume they’d gotten her into. “How about you, Harry? What’s it like to be the youngest player ever signed by the Holyhead Harpies?”

In response, Harry merely did a whirl to send the tail of his uniform and the tips of his long orange-red wig flying, and attempted to pose defiantly, but lost his balance and tripped back onto the bed.

“Mate,” announced Ron as he pulled Harry to his feet again, “let’s hope to Merlin she’s not that clumsy on the field, otherwise the Harpies have lost the season already.”

Giving the last finishing touches to their costumes, Ron picked up Rose and held her in the crook of his hip, bouncing her lightly: “We’re gonna give Mummy a surprise, aren’t we, Rosie? She’ll never see it coming… You ready?” he said, turning to Harry.

Harry nodded, his face split in a giddy grin, and opened the door slightly to let James whizz out on the broom— a herald of their eventual descent. Then, Rose in her father’s arms and Harry clutching a broom, they tiptoed down the stairs stealthily, careful not to send any boards creaking so their appearance could remain a surprise, containing their snickering as they imagined the look on their wives’ faces.

When, finally, they reached the landing, Ron turned for one last knowing look at Harry, cleared his throat, and put on a mock high-pitched voice as they swung into the kitchen: “Oh, Molly, do you happen to know whether Ron and Harry have come—”

He and Harry stopped cold in their tracks when they saw the sight that met them: Hermione bore a shock of red hair and an almost-exact replica of the dreadful dress robes Ron had once worn to the Yule Ball, while Ginny had appropriated Harry’s usual blue tee and jeans, drawn a lightning scar across her forehead and placed glasses on her nose, and carried baby Albus —who was lost, just like Rose was, in a sea of white feathers, the Hedwig to Ginny’s Harry— in the crook of one arm. Shocked, the two men looked at their wives with their mouths ajar, disbelieving the triumphant looks on their faces. Silence pervaded for a few more instants as the two couples (Harry and Ron in shock, Hermione and Ginny in victory) examined one another— and then shattered as they both broke out laughing at the same time.

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated K #Ace Safe

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

Private Time - Ch. 4

Klaine, 9k, A03, M

Yup, here’s another chapter...

Chapter 4: "... now you’re always taking up the washer with your nasty sheets, the hallway by Kurt’s room smells awful, and every single package from Amazon is just more lube!”

*****

It’s a Wednesday afternoon (or maybe Tuesday? Blaine isn’t sure, the days are blending together so much he can hardly tell, they’re months into quarantine by now) and he is sitting around the coffee table with Sam and Kurt playing What Do You Meme. It’s a dumb game even in the best of times, especially without the benefit of alcoholic beverages, but Sam just got the Game of Thrones expansion pack and he begged them to play. It’s not like they have better things to do.

Just as Kurt is complaining again about what to play for a Tyrion card (“he only has one expression, there’s no opportunity for creativity here”) Rachel comes down the stairs and plants herself in front of them, hands on her hips.

“I think we need to reconsider private time,” she announces, chin in the air.

Blaine’s brain (and a less rational part of his body) immediately sounds an alarm. This is serious. Since he and Kurt have gotten together, private time nights have been, without question, his favorite nights of the week, possibly of his life. There’s no way he can let Rachel do away with private time. He concentrates on keeping his face schooled to his most earnest choir boy expression. “Why, Rachel? What’s wrong?”

Rachel harrumphs and glares at him. Guess the innocent look didn’t work this time. “You know what’s wrong. All of you do.”

Sam, bless his heart, really doesn’t. “Do you need more time to practice? We could add another night. Friday, maybe?”

Rachel turns her glare to Sam. “No, we don’t need more private time.” She drops down onto the less ratty of the two armchairs with a dramatic flounce. “I didn’t think it would be so bad, living with three guys, since two of you are, you know, generally pretty well groomed and understand the critical importance of personal hygiene. And until lately you all seemed fairly well behaved about... stuff. But now you’re always taking up the washer with your nasty sheets, the hallway by Kurt’s room smells awful, and every single package from Amazon is just more lube!” Rachel’s voice cracks at this last bit, and she buries her head in her hands.

“That’s not true, Rachel, our last Amazon box had this new card game expansion pack-”

Rachel whips her head up and Sam falls silent. “Right, of course, how could I forget – and you were so excited you couldn’t even save it for game night.”

Blaine frowns. “We can save it for game night, Rach. When’s the next one?”

Rachel stands up and points her finger at Blaine, her freshly polished nails catching the light (the color is actually called “Teal the Cows Come Home,” although when Rachel did his toes with it earlier he pointed out that it’s a little too blue to properly be called teal). “Exactly!”

They all stay quiet as Rachel storms back up the stairs.

“I don’t even know when the next game night is,” Sam says, dragging his fingers through his blond hair. It’s gotten a bit long these past few months. Maybe Blaine will offer to trim it for him.

“I think that was her point, Sam.” Kurt rises from the lumpy couch and goes into the kitchen. Blaine and Sam trail after him, and they crowd together to look at the big calendar taped to the refrigerator. It is mostly filled with doodles and alcohol wish lists (“margaritas? Need limes/lemons/Sprite?”). Blaine has to look back two weeks to find a game night.

“Rachel’s feeling left out.” Blaine shifts his gaze to the other two, who quickly slam “not it” fingers on their noses. Blaine sighs. “I’ll go talk to her.”

*****

Blaine pauses outside Rachel’s door. There’s a shiny gold star with “Diva Sleeping” hanging from the doorknob, and it swings back and forth when he knocks.

“Who is it?”

Blaine stifles a laugh. There really aren’t that many possibilities.

“It’s Blaine. Do you want to go for a walk? It’s really nice outside. Sunny and almost seventy.”

“You always go running with Sam.”

This is true, although Blaine still wishes he could just go by himself sometimes. Alas, that is not to be, not if he wants to maintain roommate harmony in these crazy times. “Yeah, I know, but we could just go for a walk. Head over to campus, see what things look like these days.”

There’s a pause, and then a quiet “okay.”

Blaine turns to go back downstairs when Rachel sticks her head out of her door. “Blaine - what should I wear?”

“To go for a walk?”

Rachel narrows her eyes at him. “Yes, that’s what I said. Is this an exercise walk, or a…” she trails off, her eyebrows drawing together as she searches for the word.

“A stroll?” Blaine suggests. It sounds suitably Rachel-appropriate that it might cheer her up.

Rachel allows a little smile to tug at her mouth. “Yes. A stroll.”

“Which do you want it to be?”

Rachel looks back into her room, and Blaine knows she is considering her outfit choices. It’s fine, he gets this from Kurt all the time.

“I have a new dress I was going to wear for the music department’s spring awards ceremony…” She looks up at Blaine. “I hate that everything is cancelled.” The ongoing disappointment at everything they look forward to disappearing is hard to escape. Blaine knows how she feels.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Rachel nods, and then straightens her shoulders. “A stroll, then.” She gives Blaine a look that clearly indicates what she thinks of his sweatpants and old Dalton shirt. “You have to change too.”

“Obviously,” Blaine replies, smiling.

When they meet up downstairs a little while later, Blaine is quick to admire Rachel’s pretty pink dress and matching white tote bag adorned with pink and yellow daisies. Rachel beams, and praises Blaine as well (he’s got on a blue shawl neck sweater that he knows Kurt will enjoy petting later, over a pink button up and slim dove gray pants).

“Have a nice time,” Kurt says as they leave, giving Blaine an appreciate wink.

As soon as they get outside, Rachel does a little twirl on the sidewalk. She takes Blaine’s arm as they start off down the street. Blaine takes in a big breath of fresh air, and they exchange a pleased look. This was definitely a good idea.

There are quite a few blocks of residential neighborhood before they get to campus. As they get closer, the rickety multi-family buildings and student apartments give way to more respectable looking houses, interspersed with smaller university buildings. The atmosphere seems strange, though, as it always does these days. It’s definitely not normal without the expected traffic from cars and bicycles – there’s far less of that since everyone is working from home. Most classes are over by this point anyway, but it still seems odd without clusters of students hanging out and walking purposefully here and there.

At least the weather is starting to get better. New England doesn’t so much have spring as an extended winter followed by surprising sunshine in June.

They make their way through the law school campus, commenting on how the grass miraculously always looks green in the quad. The university is apparently still spending plenty of money on grounds keeping. At least it means some people still have jobs. Rachel lets out a melancholy sigh as they go past the music buildings. “It seems like forever since I practiced with a real piano.”

“I know,” Blaine says, squeezing her arm in sympathy. Then he gets an idea, and wonders why he hasn’t thought of it before. “I can play the piano, you know. I could accompany you on my keyboard, if you wanted. It might be fun, even if we’re just messing around.”

Rachel turns and gives him an appraising look. “Are you any good? Because I don’t want to waste my time if you’re not.”

Blaine isn’t even offended, it’s such a Rachel thing to say. “I am, I promise. But we can try it out and you can judge for yourself. No worries either way.”

Rachel nods. “Okay. Maybe when we get home.”

They pass the big science center and walk through the plaza, stopping for a minute to watch the fountain which sprays water over a bunch of big rocks. Usually this time of year there are tourists congregating here, but today it’s quiet, like everywhere else.

Blaine gets a whiff of what smells like curry, and he looks around to see that the tandoor food truck is pulled up in its usual space. “Looks like they’re doing call-ahead orders,” Blaine says.

“I would die for some biryani,” Rachel replies wistfully. “And veggie korma. They do such a good job with their vegetarian options. Do you think we could get take-out on our way back?”

“Sure. But we have to let Kurt disinfect the containers before we open anything.”

“Of course,” Rachel says, agreeing easily. They had some heated debates about take-out in the early days of the pandemic, with Blaine arguing that unless they put the food directly into their eyes there was no way for the virus to be transmitted, and Rachel going through a period of intense anxiety about anything that couldn’t itself be quarantined for three days, but after a few weeks their desire for pizza and hot wings won out. Kurt insisted, however, that he be the one to make sure that everything that came into the house was carefully cleaned before they touched it, and that everyone washed their hands before any actual eating commenced. No one objected. It’s been hard to find a balance between feeling safe and living their lives, but they’re doing their best.

Blaine and Rachel pass through a tall ornate metal gate and into the yard. There are a fair number of people here, spread out on the grass enjoying the mild weather. Blaine glances quickly at Rachel. “Do you want to sit for a while?”

She looks around. “It’s more crowded than I imagined it would be.”

“Amazing how quickly we’ve adjusted to the idea that people are dangerous,” Blaine says. He knows how she’s feeling. Even with masks on, and at an appropriately socially distancing six feet away, it doesn’t feel right to be close to other people. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

They weave between the stately brick buildings and find a smaller courtyard with a little less foot traffic. “Perfect,” says Rachel, taking a rolled up sheet out of her bag and spreading it on the grass. They sit down, and Rachel pulls out two bottles of flavored seltzer and a tupperware container with a bunch of grapes and some wheat thins.

“It’s the not most elegant picnic, but I thought it was better than nothing.”

“It’s lovely, Rachel, thank you.”

“I’m sure Kurt would be appalled at the lack of cloth napkins.”

Blaine chuckles. “I wouldn’t know. We haven’t been on a picnic.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “You haven’t? That’s one of Kurt’s favorite date ideas.”

Blaine frowns. “We haven’t exactly gone on many dates.” <i>Any</i> dates, he thinks to himself. He and Kurt got together in such a weird way, trapped in quarantine for weeks while they crushed on each other until they couldn’t resist any longer. Their date opportunities are severely limited - they can’t go out to restaurants, or coffee shops, or see a movie or a show. While they have the perfect excuse to spend time together, it might be nice to do something special for a change. “I guess I really don’t know what kind of date he’d like.”

“Oh.” Rachel pulls out a grape and pops it into her mouth. “Well, then, you’ve got some thinking to do, haven’t you?”

“What, you don’t think eating every meal in front of the television while Sam tells us how many crunches he did is sexy?”

Rachel grins. “It depends. What is Sam wearing in this scenario?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Blaine pulls a grape off the stem and rolls it around in his fingers. “Maybe you could give me some ideas of things you think Kurt would like? You know him a lot better than I do.”

Rachel gives him a fond smile. “I’d be happy to.” She finishes chewing the cracker in her mouth and lies down on the blanket, closing her eyes. “I miss sex,” she says, and Blaine nearly chokes on his seltzer.

“What?”

“You heard me. Not all of us were gifted with a quarantine-approved boyfriend. I miss sex. The fun, the excitement. The awkward noises. The orgasms.”

Blaine squirms a little but he knows it must have taken Rachel quite a lot to reveal this. Taking a breath, he lies down next to her. She clearly needs to talk, and it might be easier for them both if they aren’t looking at each other.

“Were you, um, dating anyone, before the shut-down?”

Rachel sighs. “Not for a while. I haven’t had a long-term relationship in years, but there were a few promising possibilities.”

“It’s kind of tough to date now,” Blaine says.

“Right?” Rachel sighs. “Some of my friends are still hooking up, you know.”

This strikes Blaine as insane. You can’t hook up from six feet away. “Really?”

“Really. I even thought about it… there’s an old flame I see every once in a while, Jesse. I think he’d be up for it-” Rachel cuts herself off and giggles at her phrasing.

“He’d be crazy not to want to be with you, Rachel, but I don’t think now is a good time. Even if he says he’s healthy, he could be asymptomatic. And then you could get sick, and…” And all of us would catch it, too, Blaine thinks.

“I know, I know. I’m not going to do it.” Rachel shifts and turns on her side, and Blaine turns to face her. “Can I ask you something?”

Suddenly they’re a little too close for comfort, and Blaine tenses. Rachel isn’t going to ask to kiss him, is she? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl thought he’d be open to it, even though Blaine has always been clear that he wasn’t interested in girls that way. But Rachel knows he’s with Kurt, she’d never… well, only one way to find out. At least she’s asking first and not just groping him while he’s drugged up on cold medicine. “Sure, you can ask me anything.”

Rachel bites her lip, then apparently decides to go for it. “Do you think Sam would be interested in me?”

Blaine almost laughs at his own obliviousness. Of course Rachel’s not interested in him, she definitely seems more into the jock type anyway. “Sam? I don’t know, maybe.”

“Come on, you guys are close. You must have some idea. What does he think of me?”

Blaine tries to think of the best way to answer this. “I know he thinks you’re very attractive,” he begins. None of them have missed how Sam practically drools over Rachel when she does yoga with Kurt. Frankly they all leer at each other during yoga. It’s a group leer-fest, everyone’s invited.

“Well, of course,” Rachel says, smiling to show that she’s joking – partially joking, anyway. “But do you think he’d be interested in, you know…?”

Blaine is quite certain that Sam would jump at the chance to get hot and sweaty with Rachel, but he’s not sure what would happen after that. It might make the rest of their quarantine very awkward if things didn’t go well.

“Do you think I intimidate him?” Rachel goes on, pressing the subject. “I do that to people. I know I’m bossy, it’s one of my best traits. I like to tell people what to do. A lot of guys like it.”

Blaine absolutely does not blush, thinking about how he and Kurt have been engaging in some rather arousing professor-student role play. Nope, not thinking about that at all.

“And it doesn’t have to be a big thing-” Rachel snorts. “Although, you know, if it was, that would be fine-” Another snort-giggle.

Blaine puts his hand over his face. He can’t bring himself to respond.

“I mean it doesn’t need to be too serious,” Rachel goes on. “We can just have a wank together, help each other out. Enjoy some <i>private time</i> but, you know, with mutual orgasms. I know how much Sam enjoys his time alone… he’s very… vocal about it… I bet he wouldn’t mind some company…” Rachel’s voice has acquired a sultry tone Blaine has never heard before. “Blaine… am I making you uncomfortable?” She’s clearly having way too much fun with this, and Blaine can’t decide if he is more amused or embarrassed. In either case, it’s time to change the subject.

“We should probably get back.” Blaine sits up and puts the lid on the tupperware, pressing it down to seal the edges. Rachel leans up on an elbow and smirks at him. “Too much information?”

Blaine shakes his head despairingly. “We’ve been in quarantine together for two months, and there’s no end in sight. I think ‘private’ has kind of lost its meaning.”

Rachel stands up and smooths her hands down her dress as Blaine rolls up the blanket. “Well, it’s decided. I’m going to take a long shower, slather myself in body lotion, put on my favorite lace underthings, and proposition Sam. Tonight.”

“But private time isn’t scheduled until tomorrow.”

Rachel looks at Blaine as if he’s gone off his rocker. “I’m not going to spend my private time hooking up with a boy, Blaine. I need all the time I can get for vocal practice. I’m serious about my instrument, and I’m not going to allow this pandemic to get in the way of my future stardom.” Rachel huffs and walks away.

Stunned, Blaine quickly grabs their belongings and follows Rachel, chastising himself. He’s become so used to having relations with Kurt during private time that he forgot private time wasn’t supposed to be for sex. He’s just about to apologize to Rachel when she turns and grins at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Gotcha!”

#klaine #klaine fic #glee fic #blaine anderson #rachel berry #private time

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