#Lils writes

[jellyfishyy]

BLUE COLLAR PATRICK ZWEIG X BIMBO READER

SUMMARY: When her pink convertible sputters into a no-nonsense auto shop, she’s expecting a fix — not a mechanic with grease on his hands and a cicky smirk always on his face. Patrick Zweig is rough, quiet, and the kind of trouble her friends warn her about. She’s high heels and shiny clear lip gloss.

content warning: mild swearing, smoking, gendered stereotypes, implied sexual tension, suggestive language

She was driving her baby-pink convertible to the nail salon when the engine started choking like it had just smoked a pack of cigarettes.

She barely managed to pull into the nearest open garage, the sign above the entrance reading:

"Zweig Auto Repair" — No Bullshit, Just Engines.

Inside: low rock music, the smell of rubber and coffee, and a guy half-covered in grease with a rag hanging out the back pocket of his oil-stained work jeans. He was leaned over a small metal table in the corner of the garage, doing God knew what on his phone.

That was Patrick.

He didn’t look up at first, but she wasn’t exactly subtle either — a denim mini skirt, pink crop top, perfume that smelled like strawberries, and a little purse with more charms than anyone could count, jingling with every step she took.

She cleared her throat to catch his attention, suddenly feeling a little out of place after taking a quick look around the place

Finally, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning her once — head to toe — then flicking back to the car after doing a double take.

“You lose a drag race, or just drive it like you hate it?” he asked dryly, his gravelly voice echoing through the garage, blending with the rock music in the background.

She blinked. “Excuse me?” she asked, clearly taken aback by his tone.

He smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. “The car’s crying sugar” he said with a condescending tone

She was torn between being offended and impressed. “That’s so rude. You don’t even know her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Her?” he said, confused but amused.

“She’s called Baby. She’s special.”

“…Right,” he said after a moment of hesitation, not sure if she was joking or actually serious.

The tension was instant. He was rough hands and dark sarcasm; she was pink lip gloss and no patience for anyone’s attitude.

But the way he looked at her wasn’t dismissive — it was curious, like he was trying to figure her out.

He leaned into the open hood, muttering something about spark plugs and engine abuse, while she leaned against the wall, casually snapping her gum, arms crossed — watching him. Maybe a little too much.

Finally, without turning around, he called out:

“You gonna stand there looking pretty, or tell me what you did to it?”

She smiled slowly. “Maybe I look pretty and know exactly what I did.”

He straightened up, eyes meeting hers with that cocky little half-laugh he gave when someone surprised him.

It was the first time he really saw her.

There was a beat of silence. He stepped a little closer.

“You talk a lot” he said.

“So do you” she replied looking up at him

He didn’t say anything — but a grin flickered on his lips.

Patrick turned back to the engine, the air between them still humming with whatever had just passed.

She didn’t move from where she stood, arms crossed and one heeled foot pointed slightly outward, like she was posing without trying to. Her eyes stayed on him — on the way his forearms flexed as he leaned into the hood, sleeves rolled halfway up. His hands moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he didn’t care whether anyone noticed.

Of course, she noticed.

“Okay, be honest,” she said, loud enough to cut through the hum of music and tools. “Is it, like, dead-dead?”

He didn’t turn around. “Depends. You treat it like a car, or like a purse on wheels?”

She scoffed, offended. “That’s sexist, you know?”

He smirked. “That’s an engine full of coconut-scented disaster.”

She rolled her eyes but chuckled, despite herself. “It was cute. And the bottle was pink.”

He finally looked at her, eyes steady. “That engine doesn’t care about cute, sweetheart.”

She shifted her weight to one hip, unfazed. “Whatever,” she said, then paused at the moment of silence that followed.

“Office is open,” he said eventually, voice low. “If you wanna wait while I check the damage.”

She hesitated — then nodded, but stayed where she was.

“Let me guess. No air conditioning, no Wi-Fi, and an old, stained, dirty couch that smells like gasoline?” she asked with a slight tone of disgust.

He shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve been here before, sugar”

“I haven’t,” she said. “You just seem like the type.”

That pulled a real smile from him — small and slightly crooked, a little cocky too

“Yeah?” he said. “What type’s that?”

She took a step closer, lips parted just enough to hold his attention. “Rough, controlling, and has issues with girls who wear platform heels.”

He looked her over slowly, from her pink crop top to the sparkle of the tiny gems on her nails.

“Maybe I just like when people know what they want.”

“Maybe I do.”

He held her gaze a second longer, then — with no warning — turned back to the car.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Whatever game this was, he wasn’t playing it safe.

“Fifteen minutes,” he called over his shoulder, already elbow-deep in the hood again. “Then I’ll tell you if she’s worth saving.”

His voice rang out, muffled under the metal.

She watched him work for another beat before finally walking toward the office, hips swaying and eyes still lingering.

And though he didn’t look up, she was sure of it:

He was watching.

Thank you for reading ♡

(ask box in my profile :>)

[wzrd-wheezes]

five years away

(a little poem i wrote about drifting apart from a friend group)

all of my friends are five years away.

shuffled up in card games with rules I’ve forgotten,

tangled up in jokes, the punchlines rotten.

in the missing pieces of board games,

and in the unremembered nicknames.

all of my friends are five years away.

at the bottom of a pint glass in the old village pub,

in the lyrics of the songs we sang at the club.

their footprints stain the sticky bar floor,

ghosts of the past dancing once more.

all of my friends are five years away.

strangers in small squares on a screen,

showing up occasionally in a dream.

“we’ll stay in touch forever” is what we all used to say.

now, all of my friends are five years away.

[reki-of-the-valley]

Sweet as Sugar

It’s actually quite simple: the icing glues the whole things together and makes the house stand. The process of building a gingerbread house is pretty basic, really; it’s definitely a thousand times simpler than the complex boards Reki has built and perfected over the years. It’s so easy, and yet, he still can’t manage to make his little house hold together. Every time he tries to put two walls together, they just collapse over each other. And he’s tried putting more icing, less icing; he’s tried it all and still he fails. And in the odd event that he does manage to get two walls to hold up, the third one makes everything tumble over, leaving Reki groaning in annoyance. 

“I don’t see what’s the big deal with getting everything to hold. We’re gonna destroy is anyway.”

Reki side-eyes Langa as the boys pulls a chair next to him. He has to slap his hand away from the bowl of chocolate before he finishes it. Again. He’s already emptied two bowls of chocolate chips, and at this rate, there won’t be any left when comes time to actually decorate the gingerbread house.

It had been a mistake to bring out the cany decorations before they were needed. He now knows he should have left them sealed, stashed away from Langa, but it’s too late now. Even if Reki were to put them away, Langa knows of their existence. It would only be a matter of minutes before he’d find the open bags of sweets. And no matter what anyone said, Langa is anything but an airhead. That boy is sharp when he wants to be, and when he wants something, he will get it, no matter the cost. Anyway, Reki isn’t in the mood to fight with a sugar fiend or deal with a pouting 18-year-old.

“We are not going to destroy it, as you say.” He huffs as he narrows his eyes onto Langa, slapping his hand away yet again. “And isn’t this like a Canadian thing or something? Didn’t you make gingerbread houses as a kid?”

Langa shrugs as he drops a pinch of colorful sprinkles in his mouth. Reki sighs as he watches him, not bothering to stop him from the house’s eventual decorations; he’ll have to content himself with decorating it with only icing, it seems.

“The most we did were the gingerbread men. Never actually made a house. My mom always insisted we decorate them as a fun family activity, but my dad preferred them without the icing and as soon as I was in front of the cookies, I’d forget I was supposed to decorate them. So I’d end up just eating them like that and my mom gave up after a few years. So we didn’t really…”

Langa gestures at the mess of collapsed walls as he sticks of the tiny candy canes Reki had found at a market a few weeks ago. He seems so unbothered, but Reki is determined, a smile spreading across his cheeks.

“You’re a menace, dude.” He nudges Langa, causing him to drop a few of the sprinkles he had snatched yet again. “C’mon! Help me with this! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Langa’s smile mirrors Reki’s as he leans into him. It’s instinctual, the intertwining of fingers under the table; they know they don’t have to hide their affection, but it’s become a habit. After months of having done it, it just feels natural there. It feels natural to pull Langa’s hand onto his lap. And with Langa this close, Reki can’t help but grin as that pretty smile is pressed to his cheek. He can’t help the giggles that break form his lips as Langa whispers into his skin.

“Anything with you is fun, Reki. You make everything fun.”

“Only because you’re also there.”

Both burst out laughing, foreheads pressed together. They giggle together, their noses brushing against one another. They smile at one another, smiles that are impossible to hide or supress – Reki knows that no matter what happens, even if their project is a complete failure, they’ll have enjoyed themselves trying. And just like the walls of the house Reki had tried building, the pair break down, laughing that uncontrollable laughter, that laughter caused by nothing more than a glance. They laugh until it’s hard to breathe, the air between them too heavy. An when it gets heavy like that, silence falls. Silence falls as does Reki.

“Reki?”

Reki hums, his eyes having fallen shut. He never really can keep his eyes open around Langa, not when they’re this close. He likes falling into a world of fantasies, one where he can kiss Langa without any worries. He likes that world where nothing really matters, nothing except the one he loves. He likes falling into that world, a world he finds against Langa’s lips.

“Reki.”

Reki sighs, but his eyes stay shut. He doesn’t want to leave this dreamland, not before he’s gotten his kiss. And with the pad of Langa’s thumb pressed to his bottom lip, Reki can’t help but want that kiss even more.

It feels so close; it feels like it’s right there. It’s not a kiss yet, but with Langa’s warm breath on Reki’s lips, it’s only a matter of moments before the distance is closed. It’s a matter of moments before he can feel those lips against his, the ocean of love crashing against him. It’s only a matter of moments before the tide washes him ashore, finding his paradise.

“Reki…”

Finally. Finally, a kiss. It’s chaste, nothing more than a quick peck to the lips, but it’s a kiss nonetheless. It’s a kiss and Reki is more than happy about it. He’s so happy as love spills against his lips, love like and overflowing, ever-flowing fountain. It tastes like their first kiss, the warmth of Langa’s breath, the cool of his lips. It tastes like their first kiss, quick but sweet. And as Langa presses another kiss to Reki’s lips, a kiss that lasts longer this time as he moves even closer, their knees bumping together under the table, it feels like time has slowed around them. When it’s just them, everything fades. When it’s just them, all that remains is the love that unites them.

“Reki?”

His eyes finally flutter open to find the ocean-blue of Langa’s eyes. Waves of emotion play in those eyes he loves so much, color that glistens under the kitchen lights. Langa really is the prettiest boy Reki has ever laid his eyes on; who could possibly be prettier than the boy in blue who saves his look of adoration just for Reki? Who could ever feel more like home than him?

“Reki? Don’t we have a house to build?”

“Our home.”

Langa’s breath hitches as Reki pulls him close, closing the distance with another kiss. Home is found in those lips. Home is found in those eyes that grow wide before being squeezed shut. Home is that skin that’s always so soft. Home is that silky hair that slips between Reki’s fingers. Home is Langa, all that he is and all that he will be.

“We’ll build a home.”

“A home as sweet as you, my Love. A home I’ll love more than even those sweets you refuse to let me eat. A home where everyone will know that I love you and only you.”

“A home where all I’ll do is love you. Because it’s you. You’re my home, Langa. You’re my home and I love you. And I promise to love you infinitely.”

One last kiss. One last kiss to seal the promise. One last kiss before more giggles break them apart. One last kiss before they turn back to their project: building a home out of gingerbread.

[linilou-von-hevring]

Lakefront

Read it here on ao3!

“Whatcha doing there?”

It takes a moment for Byleth to look up from the lake. Ripples break her reflection as she pulls her soaked cloak onto her lap. Red stains the fabric, stains that bleed onto the girl’s hands and knees. And she almost seems frazzled as her eyes find Claude’s; or at least, she seems as frazzled as an emotionless Ashen Demon can be.

“I’m trying to get these stains out before it’s too late.”

“Why not just use another one instead? If you want, we can get you a new one as soon as we’re back in the capital.”

Claude must have been blessed by the goddess, or perhaps it’s just a stroke of luck. Regardless, it’s nice not being chased away as he takes a seat next to Byleth on the grass. The summer air is almost choking, dry heat pounding down onto the heads that have the misfortune of being exposed, but by the water, it’s a little more bearable. It’s a little fresher, the cool breeze brushing Claude’s cheeks. Or maybe it’s the sparkle in those green eyes that makes it worth being outside under the blazing sun.

“Jeralt said the same thing.”

He waits for more to come, but the wait is in vain. Byleth simply goes back to scrubbing her cloak, her green eyes glistening like the still lake under the sun. She seems determined to get her cloak back into its original state, but the blood is stubborn, clinging to the fabric. It clings like the memories of the last battle, one that had been far more brutal than the rest. It clings like the pit that forms at the bottom of Claude’s stomach; he couldn’t ignore the casualties that had come with his lack of preparation. He can’t ignore the wave of nausea that hits him, the smell of bloodshed leaving him sick all over again.

“You were good in the last battle.” Claude’s eyes leave the bloody garment only to fall back onto Byleth. She doesn’t look away from her work, but he knows she’s addressing him. He knows the words are for him, an attempt at comfort; he knows she had seen him detach himself from his celebrating troops to be sick on his own. “You did what you had to do to win, even if it wasn’t the victory you had wanted.” Green eyes find each other; they’re dusted with sunlight, a flicker of warmth he’s never seen in Byleth. “You’re a good leader. You’re a smart one.”

The blush that heats his face catches him by surprise. Claude’s heard it a million times before, heard the whispers and the praises for how smart he is, how cunning he is, how he plans for everything, but none of those compliments had left him swelling with pride. Every pat on the back he had gotten had felt like a stepping stone leading him to his next scheme, approval for him to keep going, but coming from Byleth, it feels different. From Byleth, he believes it; Claude doesn’t feel the need to be humble or deny his intelligence. With Byleth, he doesn’t need to put up this perfect political leader persona he has perfected for everyone else; Claude can just be himself, this kid that’s just trying his best to survive a worthless war.

“You’re pretty smart yourself, you know. And you’re crazy strong, taking those guys out like it was nothing to you.” Maybe the wink and bumping of shoulders was unnecessary, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t back away or leave; she simply shakes her head as she continues scrubbing her cloak. “I mean it, though. You’re an incredible mercenary. And I kinda wish we had met sooner, been on the same team from the start. Kinda wish I had gotten to know you sooner.”

Byleth hums, a sound Claude has grown accustomed to hearing. He still hasn’t figured out the meaning of the sound, but he knows it’s better than silence. He knows that if she’s humming, it means she’s not chasing him away. If she’s humming, it means he gets to stay by her side, even if just for a moment longer.

It’s peaceful by the lake. Everything is still besides the weak ripples of water Byleth produces from plunging her cloak into the water. Everything is calm; birds chirp from the treetops and Claude even spots a pair of ducks diving for fish. Everything is so serene; if it weren’t for the camps set up a little further away, if it weren’t for the bloodshed that stains the soles of their shoes, if it weren’t for the dark circles that stain Claude’s face, it would have been impossible to know they were plunged in the midst of a war. If it weren’t for the weight on his heart, everything would have almost felt normal.

“Here.” Byleth furrows her brows as Claude pulls her cloak out of her hands. “Let help.”

“I’ve never seen a king be so adamant about doing laundry before.”

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he plunges the fabric into the water. He’s never had to wash anything on his own before, he’s always had someone do it for him, but it’s never too late to learn. And maybe he’s not as methodical as Byleth had been, maybe his fingers are not yet familiar with the weight of wet cottons or the proper way of scrubbing stains out, but it’s not so terrible. It’s almost pleasant, the little mundane tasks Claude never got to do, having been raised in silks and perfumes. He almost feels normal, just a little more like everyone else. Maybe once this wretched war settles down, he’ll take up doing more chores instead of delegating them. Or maybe he’ll content himself with this one time, enjoying the freshness of the water against his skin.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; Claude knows waiting is useless. “Friends help each other out.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Around Byleth, there’s an ease to every one of Claude’s grins, an ease he hadn’t known possible for him. Every smile he’s sported before, be it for his friends or for his troops, they’ve always weighed him down. They’ve always been an obligation to Claude, a duty he owes his people, especially during wartimes. Smiling has always been a tool for Claude, a way to instill confidence in the people he faces, but here, with Byleth, it almost feels like none of that matters. He doesn’t need to convince her of his abilities as a leader. He doesn’t need to convince her of anything, really. With Byleth, it almost feels like everything will simply be alright.

“You’re kind.” Byleth purses her lips as she tilts her head at Claude, her eyes running over his body before settling on his face. “You’re a lot kinder than most nobles I’ve come across.”

The statement begs for questions. It’s right there, an invitation for Claude to pry, but he doesn’t dare. Every question that forms at the tip of his tongue is swallowed back; he knows better than to try to break Byleth open. If she wants to tell him about her days before being hired by Leicester, if she wants to tell him about all her wandering, all the people she has met before him, then she will. She will tell him on her own terms. She’ll open up, little by little, whenever she feels like it. And as much as Claude hates waiting, his impatience and curiosity getting the better of him most of the time, he knows when to back down. He knows he has to content himself with the bits of information that are slowly handed to him.

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pushes himself up from the grass. Byleth’s eyes flicker between the boy standing before her and the cloak he’s left laying at his feet, left to soak in more stains than what Claude had gotten out. Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t move. She makes no move to take back what is rightfully hers, nor does she follow Claude’s lead. She simply sits there, her expression unreadable as always.

Maybe Claude should have let her be. Maybe he should have sat back down and gone back to the little task he had imposed upon himself. Maybe he should have been thinking more rationally, but whatever brains he’s known for has since been left at the conference table. Here, under the blazing sun, under that green gaze, he’s letting his heart lead. Here, now, he’s following where fate leads him.

“I don’t know if kind is the best way to describe me, but,” he holds his hand out to Byleth, a hand she contemplates for a moment, “I promise you I’ll never be like any of the nobles of this place. Not Lorenz, not Hilda, not any of them. I’m just not one of them, no matter how hard I try. So please,” finally, fingers curl around the hand that touches his, “think of me as your friend instead of your leader, your king. Please?”

Pretty eyes roll back as Claude pulls Byleth to her feet. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her this relaxed; it’s the first time he doesn’t panic at their proximity, afraid she might take his life. It’s the first time he feels they’re equals; it’s the first time they feel like just people rather than soldiers striving to survive a war.

Byleth’s hand quickly falls away from Claude’s, but not as quickly as her eyes. They fall onto the horizon, onto the sun that’s still high, still plummeting down onto their heads. They shimmer like the lake reflecting the leaves in the trees, they’re captivating as always, always filled with a mystery that draws Claude in, but they’re not alone in holding his gaze. He can’t help but trace the lines of reddening skin, skin he knows is normally so pale. He can’t help but want to touch the splotches of burns that have started to sprinkle Byleth’s skin. And maybe that’s why she always has something to cover herself; maybe she, unlike Claude, burns under the scorching summer sun. Maybe Byleth, unlike Claude, didn’t spend her entire childhood playing under blazing rays.

“Not to pry or anything, but,” green finds green once more, “when’s the last time you just had fun?”

“Fun?”

Claude almost laughs at the way Byleth tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed. It’s almost as if she’d never heard the word; it’s almost as if it had no meaning to her.

“Let loose, had fun. Didn’t think about the shitty state of the world. Just thought of yourself for a moment, been a little impulsive maybe. Not been all serious all the time.” Claude shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’know, just had fun.”

Byleth furrows her brows once more, concentration staining her delicate features. She’s searching for a time she had done something other than work; by the looks of it, maybe the answer to Claude’s question is “never.” Had the Ashen Demon ever had a moment where she just got to have fun? Or had she been born a fighter, born with a sword weighing down her little hands? Did a mercenary, no matter how young, ever have the opportunity to just kick back and have fun in their life?

Claude doesn’t wait for an answer. If Byleth has never had the chance to let loose before, then it’s become Claude’s personal mission to change that here and now. Now matter how dire their circumstances, they’re allowed a moment of indulgence. No matter how deadly the outside world is, they’re entitled to a moment of peace, a moment of their own. No matter what, they’re allowed to take back a moment of their idle childhood and make the world their own. They’re allowed to reclaim the childhood they lost to war.

Green eyes fall back onto Claude, eyes that follow the lines of his body as he spins on his heel, his arms thrown back behind his head. He knows Byleth can’t look away; ever since she’s been hired to be a part of the Leicester army, her eyes have rarely left him. She’s followed his every movement as if it had become her personal mission to ensure his safety. She’s never been far; she’s always known his exact whereabouts. And it makes sense: the death of her employer would mean the end of her income. It makes sense that she has to ensure her own survival; money is just as vital to life as not being cut down by a sword, not that Byleth would ever be careless enough to be ambushed. It makes sense that her eyes are drawn towards Claude, but this time, she’s not looking at him as if he were this fragile little thing that needed protecting. This time, she’s looking at him, all of him, all of Claude. This time, she doesn’t seem as guarded as she watches him. Perfect.

The sound that breaks from Claude’s lips is far pitchier than he had expected from himself. It’s far from that deep battle cry, that powerful voice he uses as he sends his troops forwards. This scream is one far more natural, a yelp one would expect from a child rather than from a man leading an army. This shriek as he trips back towards the water is one that pulls Byleth’s complete attention to him, her eyes suddenly huge as she reaches out to grab him. And she’s right where Claude wants her; his fingers curl around the hand extended towards him and yank the girl forward, both bodies plunging into the lake.

Cool water surrounds them as Claude pulls Byleth into his chest. It’s almost as if time slows as they sink into the lake, glistening freshness enveloping them like a blanket. Down here, the blazing hot sun can’t reach them. Down here, the world seems to disappear. At least, until Byleth is pushing Claude away and rising to the surface. Or maybe the world vanishes even more as he watches her glide against the water. Everything goes away, everything but Byleth’s elegance as she pierces through the surface, her fanned out hair now clinging to her cheeks. Nothing matters when Byleth’s looking that pretty as she catches her breath, coughing out the water she’s accidentally swallowed. Everything is Byleth, Byleth who has never seemed more human than in this moment.

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he joins her at the surface. It’s uncontrolled, rolling out in snorts and choked breaths, but it’s by far the most genuine laugh he’s let out in a long time. It’s a laugh he’s forgotten himself capable of, but as Byleth glares at him, her soaked hair a mess, how is he supposed to not laugh? How can he help the fits of laughter as he sees her face twist upon realizing she fell for another of his dirty little tricks? How can he not laugh or sport a grin so wide it hurts his cheeks? It’s not every day he gets to trick the Ashen Demon, the girl who’s always so on guard, so ready to read through every one of his schemes. Claude’s not as predictable as she had made it seem; Byleth hadn’t planned for this outcome.

More laughter spills as a wave slaps Claude across the face. He can’t see the face Byleth is pulling, too busy rubbing the water out of his eyes, but he can imagine it. He can perfectly picture her half-hearted frown, that near pout that perfectly encapsulates her disappointment in herself for falling for something so obvious. She should have known better than to be fooled by Claude’s scream. She should have known that he isn’t one to trip over his own two feet. She should have known that he was as steady as any archer needs to be in order to survive. She should have known so much, expected so much, and yet she had been fooled by his cunning. She had expected the best of him, which had been her biggest mistake.

“You tricked me.”

“Told you I wasn’t kind.”

Another grin breaks across Claude’s face as water washes over him, a wave he gladly returns. He won’t be the only one engulfed by the cool water sent his way; Byleth disappears into the lake, though only for a split second. It’s only a second before she’s bobbing back up, having pushed herself back to the surface. It’s only a second before she’s back on the offensive, blinding Claude through the means of splashes and sunlight.

He shouldn’t have expected any less from the Ashen Demon. Why wouldn’t she be just as competitive as she is fearless? It’s anything but a surprise that she wants nothing more than to win the battles she’s engaged in, even if those battles are silly little games played out in the middle of a lake. She’ll force Claude to surrender if she must, just as she had once tried on the battlefield. She’ll do anything to hear his gasping breaths declaring her the victor. She’ll force him into a corner, trap him just as he had once trapped her, but such a feat doesn’t come as easily as she might have hoped. If she’s stubborn enough to fight until the very end, then Claude is three times stubborner than her. He has to lead her to her demise. He has to lead her to surrender rather than to victory.

“Is that really the best you can do?” War-hardened eyes narrow onto him as he grins, trying his best to not sound winded despite the exhaustion starting to weigh him down. “Guess the rumors about how strong the unbeatable, the unshakable Ashen Demon is are all wrong. Because I swear I’ve fought stronger practice dummies.” Claude shakes his head as he let out another laugh. “And here I was expecting a bit of a challenge. Guess you’re just too predictable.”

Something flashes in Byleth’s eyes. It’s a glint Claude’s only seen a handful of times, a twinkle he had once feared when he opposed the Ashen Demon on the battlefield. It’s a shine that had once shaken him to his core, leaving him sleepless from the paralyzing fear of her power. But here, under the blazing summer sun, fear is left to the shadows; now, as heat flushes Byleth’s cheeks, he knows the shimmer can only mean he’s in for a good time. Who would have guessed that all it took was a little taunt for Byleth to take the bait? Who would have thought that a little taunt would be enough for her to rise to the challenge, ready to display her true strength to Claude, though this time without the worry of his life being taken? He’d finally get an up-close glimpse of the tactics of the fabled Ashen Demon but without the anxiety that had accompanied him the last time he had challenged her on a battlefield.

Byleth’s a lot faster now, disappearing underwater before reappearing behind him. She’s a lot more silent, a lot more unpredictable. The splashes she had once directed at Claude, the waves that had washed over him, they’ve become more precise, as if magic is controlling the bursts that catch him off guard. And every ambush has Claude’s mind racing, trying desperately to predict and counter Byleth’s next move. Every attack pushes him further from his goal; maybe this is the time he finally loses to her.

Another yelp breaks from his lips as he’s dragged down into the lake. Arms wrap around his neck as water engulfs him. The sun seems to be growing farther away as Claude reaches out to the surface. The light seems to disappear as he tries his best to wiggle out of his opponent’s iron grip. Everything seems to fade away when he finally breaks free, finally able to push himself to the surface, which seems so far away.

Everything seems to vanish. Maybe the water had gotten to his head, hazing his mind. Maybe he had sunk too deep. Maybe he had been deprived of oxygen for too long, even if he knows he’s stayed underwater far longer in the past. But what other explanation can there be for his gasps as he reaches the surface, gasps that sound like he hasn’t had a chance to breathe for hours? Why else would his eyes feel so wide, the sunlight blinding him completely? Why else would he think he met his siren at the bottom of the lake?

Everything had happened so fast, from the plunge to the resurfacing. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye, fragments Claude is only now starting to put together as he catches his breath. Everything had felt unreal; maybe none of it happened, or maybe everything really did happen.

Byleth’s arms had been iron-tight around Claude’s neck as she pulled him down into the water with her. She had been a lot stronger than he had anticipated, immobilizing him in a way he hadn’t known possible. She had been a lot swifter as well, her arms falling away from him before she circled him. And she had been stunning in that moment, despite the blur of water. Byleth had appeared before him like one of the paintings that had adorned the walls of the Riegan estate, those paintings of worship he had once spent hours observing, those gorgeous painting which depicted beauty incarnate. Right there, she had seemed almost divine under the filtered sunlight.

Byleth had been the only thing Claude could see despite his burning and blurring eyesight. Byleth, she had been so breathtaking with her hair suspended around her as if forming a halo around her face. Byleth, how could something so deadly be so pretty?

Maybe it’s the loss of oxygen playing tricks on Claude’s hazy mind. Maybe the burning lake water had been the reason he had squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe everything that supposedly happened is nothing more than the replay of a fantasy Claude has dreamt up. Maybe he’s making everything up, convincing himself that his desires are reciprocated. Maybe he’s nothing more than a dreamer; but then again, everything had felt too real to be a figment of his imagination.

He couldn’t have conjured up the feeling of hands on his cheeks. He couldn’t have made up the way he had been pulled closer. He couldn’t have imagined the light touch of lips to his. It couldn’t be a fantasy playing over in his mind; he knows the feeling of Byleth haunting his dreams, always three steps too far for him to catch her. Claude knows the difference between dreams and reality; he knows he didn’t imagine grabbing Byleth’s arm as he tried his best to press a kiss back to her lips. He knows he’s not that delusional; he can’t be that delusional. If this had all been delusion, why had Byleth broken away from him, leaving him with nothing but his gasps, air bubbles rushing from his mouth to the surface?

Everything had happened so fast; everything had felt so real, yet so uncertain as Claude raises a finger to his lips. Who would believe him if he told them the story of what had just happened? No one would; no one had witnessed the scene, not even the sun. And as Claude remains alone at the center of the lake, drenched and heaving, he knows he’d have been called a liar. Byleth is nowhere near him; she didn’t resurface alongside him, coughing out water as she had earlier. No, she’s far from him, already sitting on the shore and ringing out water from her hair. If it weren’t for the fact that she, too, was soaked down to her core, Claude might have even believed he had made up the plunge they had taken together.

But he didn’t make anything up. His sleepless nights had not caught up to him, leaving him with fabricated memories. The sun had not been too much for him. He’s not going crazy from some cold that washed over him from the bit of time he spent in the lake. It’s impossible, even if he knows nature is more unpredictable than he’ll ever be. It’s impossible for the sun to have pounded such delusions into his head, even if he’s been warned that it has the power to daze and confuse those who stayed under it for too long. Claude knows he hasn’t gone crazy. Not yet, at least. He hasn’t yet lost all his senses to the one sitting there, all pretty under the harsh sunlight.

Byleth’s eyes rise towards Claude, but they quickly dart away as she kicks the water her feet are soaking in. And something pulls on Claude’s heartstrings as he watches her fidget with her hair. He’s never seen her like this; he’s only known her to be the fearless Ashen Demon, the girl who had glared daggers at him, the girl who had narrowed her twinkling eyes onto him. He’s never seen Byleth look shy, glancing away as he draws closers to her. He’s never seen a blush stain her cheeks. And she looks so beautiful like that, the color creeping into her face, leaving her looking bashful. She looks beautiful and human; maybe she’s not as untouchable and mysterious as Claude had thought.

“I shouldn’t have…”

Byleth purses her lips. Her eyes flicker all around before falling back to her hands now resting against her lap. The thoughts are racing through her mind; Claude can see them bounce all around. He can easily imagine her trying to grab onto a few of them, trying her best to find the right words, but nothing comes of it. She remains silent, biting the insides of her cheeks.

Claude can’t fault her for her silence. He knows what it’s like trying to explain a decision that has no explanation. He knows what it’s like to act impulsively, act rashly. He knows what it’s like to do something only to realize too later there were other ways. He knows the feeling all too well.

“But you did.”

Green eyes flicker towards Claude as he pushes himself out of the water. He’s heavy from the lake-soaked cottons clinging to his skin, and he feels gross, sinking into the now flooded muddy grass, but neither say anything about it. Neither seem ready to acknowledge what has happened. They don’t mention the plunge they took, nor do they mention the moment they shared. At least, they don’t mention it outright; putting it into words, addressing it, that would make it too real. They know it happened, but talking about it, it’s scarier than the battles they lead. The only thing more terrifying that talking is the prospect of losing the moment to foggy memories.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” A pause. The longest pause Claude has ever had to endure. “I wasn’t thinking. It was impulsive.”

“Do you often go around disarming your opponents with kisses?”

Something swells inside of Claude as Byleth shakes her head. The smallest sliver of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she lets her head hang forward. The tiniest hint of a laugh drips from her lips as she straightens out, leaving Claude to fall for her smile. It’s the first time he’s ever seen one on her, and it lights up her face. It leaves her glowing, leaves her with a radiance he has never witnessed before.

“No. Only you.”

Claude’s heart flips as slender fingers find his against the grass. They curl over each other, locking together as a perfect fit. It’s almost as if they had been fated for this moment, this exchange of shy smiles and glances. It’s as if Claude had been destined to fall for that smile, that smile that is all for him, caused by him. That smile he had only dreamt of witnessing, what ever had he done to be deserving of such beauty?

“I think—” Byleth purses her lips once more before shaking her head and turning to Claude. She sucks in a breath, her exhale a little shakier than usual. “I’d like to do it again. Without catching you off guard. Not impulsively, but on purpose this time.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Nothing’s ever been easier than the grin that tugs at the corners of Claude’s mouth. Nothing’s ever felt better than the butterflies that erupt in his stomach as he brushes a strand of hair out of Byleth’s eyes before closing the distance between them. Nothing has ever felt as good as the smile pressed to his, a smile he never even dared dream of tasting. Nothing can compare to this. Absolutely nothing.

Claude knows no one will believe him if he spills the secret behind his pounding heart. He knows no one would believe that the Ashen Demon had smiled at him or that Byleth had let him thread his fingers through her damp hair. He knows he’d be called a liar or a dreamer if he dared insinuate that he has gotten a taste of those soft lips. He knows it all sounds too good to be true, but even so, he knows he didn’t make it up.

No one will believe Claude’s tales, no one but the sun that has borne witness to the tender hearts learning to beat for one another. No one would know if this moment, no one but the ducks that cheer as laughter fills the little space separating the two. No one has witnessed Claude’s compliance as he’s pulled closer once more, no one but the birds that sing of love. No one could imagine the beauty that has bloom under the summer sun, no one but the trees that had swayed as another kiss seals the promise of care and devotion.

[suguruverse]

your personal space has never really truly been yours since you’ve started dating him. his muscled arm around your waist when you wake up in the morning, has become as familiar as the sunrise itself. it used to be cute, his warmth a cozy start to the day. but now, it's suffocating, like he can't bear to let you go, even in his sleep.

you shift carefully under his weight, not wanting to disturb his sleep. his breath keeping its steady rhythm against your neck, and you wonder if he dreams of you as you lean in to kiss his forehead gently. he smiles in his sleep, a small, contented expression that almost makes you want to slip right back into his arms.

the sheets rustle softly as you slip out from his grip. you slowly tiptoe across your shared bedroom, craving the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy making coffee alone. the smell of freshly ground beans fills the kitchen, and you lean against the counter, enjoying the quiet morning.

but as your coffee brews, a twinge of guilt creeps in and you can almost imagine when he'll wake up and wonder where you've gone. despite enjoying the well needed alone time, you knew the longing to be close to him will pull you back into his embrace sooner than you'd planned. almost as if in complete sync with your thoughts, you hear a mumble approaching the kitchen, and then his voice, thick with sleep, calling out softly,

"angel cmon back to bed with me, you know i don’t like sleeping without you"

ੈ✩‧₊˚ gojo, nanami, bakugou, iwaizumi hajime (27) althetic trainer, oikawa, kuroo, geto, choso, yuji, midoriya

[chloesimaginationthings]

Poppy playtime should have more Harley Sawyer ngl

[sanctus-ingenium]

split tongue / print

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[demonicsuffrage]

Baby Robin Dick, shaking Bruce awake at 3am: Bruce, I'm hungry

Bruce:

Bruce and baby Dick, now shaking Alfred awake: Alfred, we're hungry

[ofbatsandballads]

Based on that little blurb you reblogged can I request the batfamily finding out that Jason has a girlfriend by him rummaging through the stuff in his pockets?

They're like dang dude what do you have in there? and it's all hair ties, lip stick, and a recipe for two 💕

-🍬

oh I love a good “Jason hides his lover from his family only for it to get revealed dramatically” fic and now thanks to you, nonnie, I get to write one!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include canon typical injuries, sibling violence, and slight hints at the batfam’s more traumatic interactions. this is mostly a good ol’ batfam fic, because reader is only alluded to, but I really like it. sorry I made it angsty for a sec there, I just can’t resist the Dynamics™️.

Jason should’ve known better. Really, he should’ve. Taking on Killer Croc alone? A fool’s mistake, but he was just too stubborn to say yes when Bruce asked if he’d like some backup. So now here he is, loopy in the Batcave after Waylon absolutely rocked his shit.

“‘S not even that bad,” he slurs.

The fact that he trips on his own feet and nearly faceplants before Bruce catches him says otherwise.

“Sure it’s not, Jaylad. Let’s get you to the medbay,” Bruce grumbles, worry creeping into that stone cold exterior.

“I’m fine, old man. Lemme jus’ go home,” Jason whines.

He’s met with a grunt that firmly negates his request.

“You can stay in your room tonight,” Bruce says.

“Not my home. Wanna go home,” Jason mumbles as he drops onto the medbay bed.

If Bruce’s face drops a bit, if guilt and sorrow flash across his eyes? Well, Jason’s too concussed to notice. Bruce just nods and begins to assess any other injuries Croc may have left on him. When he reaches for the collar of the Kevlar top, Jason flinches away from him so hard that he slams into the wall behind him. It’s only when Bruce realizes that he’d brushed his fingers against the scar on Jason’s neck that he understands why. His heart sinks and he can’t even look at his son. His shame doubles when he hears a trademark sigh of disappointment from behind him.

“C’mon, Littlewing. Let’s get all of this off you,” Dick says gently as he pushes past their father.

Jason doesn’t flinch when Dick starts to remove his gear. In fact, the presence of his older brother sets him at ease.

“I told ‘im I had it covered, Dickie. He didn’t fuckin’ listen,” Jason complains.

“Yeah, had it so covered you’re concussed in the family home?” Dick teases.

“What the fuck, Richard?” Jason groans before breaking out into giggles.

“How hard did Waylon hit him?” Dick jokingly asks Bruce.

“There’s no fractures, but the contusions are appearing rapidly. Jason’s lucky that’s all he got.”

Dick stares blankly at Bruce. He goes to open his mouth to retort that he was kidding, then decides it’s not worth his effort. Tim thinks it is, though.

“Wow, for a guy that’s chronically online for vigilante reasons, you still know nothing about the internet,” Tim laughs as he wanders into the medbay and flops down on the bed next to Jason’s.

Bruce ignores the teasing and catalogs all the injuries that are revealed to him as Dick strips away Jason’s tattered gear. There’s plenty of lacerations on his torso and likely some on his back. A few are deeper but nothing they’ll need to call Leslie for.

“Or maybe your jokes just aren’t funny, Timothy” Damian says haughtily as he sits himself next to Jason.

The thirteen-year-old tries to put on a mask of indifference, but it wavers when he spots the gash on the back of Jason’s right shoulder.

“Akhi, in what world did you think apprehending Waylon Jones alone would go well for you?” Damian scolds.

Jason narrows his seafoam eyes at Damian and lowers his voice.

“Ya really wanna talk about apprehending people alone, demon spawn?” he taunts lightly.

Damian’s eyes widen and he drops the subject because no, he actually does not want to talk about that on account of the fact that he tried to bring in Clayface alone two weeks ago and nearly got immortalized as a clay statue until Jason swooped in. The two of them had scrubbed his Robin suit within an inch of its life to try and hide the excursion from Bruce. It worked; only Alfred noticed the faint hint of clay in the threads of the cape and all he’d done was sigh and shake his head.

Jason’s gear is fully removed and his head is starting to clear a bit, wooziness replaced by a hammering pain in his temples. The headache masks any pain he would feel from the stitches being placed in his back, though he also suspects that those are less painful because Damian is doing them.

“Your technique is gettin’ better, y’know?” Jason whispers, the compliment unheard by the other three men bustling around the room.

The hands stitching him up freeze and he can imagine the look of surprise on Damian’s face even without turning around.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I think it will be useful for future endeavors.”

Jason smiles to himself. He knows the kid wants to be a doctor, and he thinks it’s a damn better fate for him than whatever Bruce or Ra’s could’ve planned. The silence that settles over the medbay is peaceful, only broken by the sound of clacking computer keys or the zipping of evidence bags. Then, like an unholy boom of thunder, comes the voice of Tim Drake.

“What the hell is all this?”

Jason’s head whips to the side and he sees Tim rummaging through the pockets of his tactical pants. He goes to scramble off the bed and feels the harsh pull of thread that was mid-stitch through his skin.

“Mind your fuckin’ business, replacement!” Jason shouts.

He grabs a pillow and chucks it at Tim’s head, but he just ducks and continues to empty Jason’s pockets. The contents that spill out on the sterile tray are…perplexing to say the least. Two lip balms (one tinted red), three scrunchies (one black and two red), a grocery list with the word strawberries and a woman’s name underlined, a recipe for chicken stir fry with enough for two portions, and one single soft chocolate chip cookie lay unexplained in the harsh white light of the medbay.

If looks could kill, Tim Drake would be dead and buried six feet under.

“What part of mind your fuckin’ business did you not get?” Jason growls, glaring daggers at the nineteen-year-old.

“Holy shit, he’s got a fucking girlfriend!” Tim exclaims.

The pillow hits him square in the face this time. All four sets of eyes turn to him with varying emotions. Shock is evident in the forest green of Damian’s gaze, smugness and vindication in the icy blue of Tim’s, panic and guilt in the ocean blue of Dick’s, and some weird mix of sadness and fondness in the gunmetal blue of Bruce’s eyes that Jason doesn’t want to think about for too long. The acrobat quickly moves across the room and sweeps all the belongings off the tray and back into the pockets of the tac pants. He grabs Jason’s gear from Tim and hands it back to its rightful owner, who clutches it to himself protectively.

“Don’t make assumptions, Tim,” Dick says. “Civilians leave stuff on us all the time.”

It’s true. They’ve all come home with someone’s forgotten work badge or piece of jewelry before. The oddest thing was when Bruce had a Hello Kitty keychain stuck to the end of his cape. Jason casts a subtle look of gratitude at Dick for trying to give him plausible deniability. Not that it works. Tim stares not at Dick, but through him with his pale eyes in a way that makes a chill run down the spine of the eldest son.

“You knew already? How?” Tim asks incredulously.

Really, he’s a bit miffed that he hadn’t figured this out already. He has contingency plan files on each member of his family (himself included) and he had not a clue that Jason might be in a relationship.

“Drop. It. Now.” Jason warns.

Tim doesn’t consider it until he sees Jason’s fingers twitching in the direction of the butterfly knife on his belt. He doesn’t need another scar from Jason shanking him. Well, at least not today.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I have to bring Bernard here for Thanksgiving, then you have to bring,” and he pauses to remember and recite the name on the grocery list, “home too.”

He knows he’s pushed it when Jason lunges at him, dragging Damian and a threaded suturing needle behind him. Tim barely jumps out of the way in time to avoid a punch to the jaw.

“Robin! Knock it off!” Bruce barks.

It’s almost comical the way all four of his boys freeze in place. It is slightly less comical the way they all proceed to glare at him.

“Fuck it,” Jason grumbles as he settles back on the bed for Damian to continue stitching his wounds. “Just get these done so I can go home.”

“Home to his girlfriend,” Tim murmurs.

“I will fuckin’ slash your throat again, you second-rate fuck!”

Bruce lets out one long suffering sigh. He doesn’t know you yet (a quiet part of him hopes he may one day be allowed to) but he already feels sorry that you’ve been roped into all of this. He feels even more sorry when the butterfly knife flies past his head and buries itself into the wall inches from Tim’s neck. Really, what is he going to do with these boys?

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Can you just imagine Nanami letting you ride him? Giving the illusion that you’re in control, praising you for being such a good girl bouncing on his cock so well. His big hands running up and down your sides as he watches and waits.

Waits for you to falter.

Waits for your legs to grow tired and your rhythm to falter as you whine that you still got it and that he doesn’t need to take over.

And he’ll humor you. He’ll indulge you until your bouncing turns to grinding down on his cock, your clit rubbing against his hip bones with each roll and he’ll wait until you’re close before he flips you over and pounds you until you’re squirting <3

[jellyfishyy]

BLUE COLLAR PATRICK ZWEIG X BALLERINA READER

SUMMARY: When a ballet studio renovation forces her to rehearse in the backroom of an industrial garage, the last thing she expects is an audience.

content warning: mild langague, MxF

It started with the music one boring Saturday

Patrick was under the hood of a car when he heard it — muffled strings, the kind that didn’t belong anywhere near motor oil. At first, he thought someone left a radio on. But then it happened again the next day. And the next, and so on for the whole week

It was always in the late afternoon, bleeding in from the back wall of the garage — soft piano, sometimes violin, sometimes silence followed by a sharp thud, like something hitting the floor.

The fourth day, he walked back behind the storage unit and found the source: the old industrial backroom, now cleared out and lit with harsh fluorescents, was being used as a makeshift dance studio. And right in the middle — pink tights, a black wrap top, a low bun that was coming undone — was her.

She was standing on her toes, arms curved, sweat running down her spine. Focused. Light. Fierce in a way he hadn’t expected.

She didn’t see him, not yet, so he stepped back before she could.

But now he was curious, of course he was, who wouldn't be?

They officially met on a Friday. She had come out for air, towel around her neck, clutching a water bottle like her life depended on it

The garage door was half-open; Patrick was smoking outside, leaning against the frame.

Their eyes met.

"You the one dancing through the walls?" he asked, exhaling smoke, eyes unreadable.

She blinked. "You the one revving engines like it's a demolition derby?"

He smirked. “Touché" he already liked her, fierce, he tought

She looked at his grease-stained hands, the rolled-up sleeves, the disinterest carefully painted across his face. He looked at the ribbon marks around her ankles, the polish on her toes and the stubborn way she didn’t look away from him

"You always rehearse in a warehouse?" he asked.

She shrugged. “You always live in one?”

His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, reluctant but real. “I work here.”

“I dance here.”

“You any good?” he asked

“Come see for yourself,” she said

He didn’t. Not that day.

But the next week, she left the door cracked. And he lingered longer by the wall. Watched the shape of her silhouette in the mirrors. The way her body moved like it was made of glass and lightning at the same time.

She noticed. Of course she did.

One afternoon, the music cut out halfway through a piece.

She muttered something under her breath, crouching beside her phone, clearly annoyed.

Patrick knocked twice on the door frame. She looked up

“Power strip,” he said. “That back socket shorts if you don’t wedge something under it"

She arched an eyebrow. “You spying on me now?”

“Fixing your problem,” he shot back, but there was no bite to it.

She smirked and stood. “You want to help, grease boy? Hold my phone so I can restart.”

He stepped in without hesitation. Their hands brushed as he took the phone, and for a moment, they were both still. Too still

She stepped away and spun into the first move like it cost her nothing — but Patrick didn’t leave

He watched the whole thing. Start to finish. Didn’t blink.

When it was over, she turned toward him, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at her collarbone

“Well?” she asked

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing slightly. Not with disapproval — with something deeper. Respect. Fascination.

“You’re not bad,” he said, voice low.

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “That’s it?”

Patrick walked to the door, flicking his cigarette to the ground as he went.

Right before leaving, he looked over his shoulder

“Don’t fall for me, ballerina,” he said. “I’m bad for your posture"

She laughed, full and unexpected. “Please, i have better taste in disasters"

But that night, neither of them could stop thinking about the other.

Thanks for reading!

(Ask box in profile ♡)

[artist-rat]

fine dining at the blushing mermaid. with the boogieboys

[reki-of-the-valley]

Summer Time (Family) Madness

Hey. Hi. Hello. How long has it been? Idk but the ova made me crave some Renga. But I'm also tired so this is all I have to offer <3

First | < Previous | Chapter 7 | Next >

AO3 | Original Chapter 1  | Original Chapter 2 | Original Chapter 3 | Original Chapter 4 | Original Chapter 5 | Original Chapter 6 | Original Chapter 7

“Langa! Langa, c’mon!”

The quick-paced pitter-patter of Emily’s shoes was unmistakable, only a few steps behind Langa, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn to her, wait for her, look at her. He just wanted to get back into the apartment. He didn’t want to deal with her. He just wanted to be alone. He just wanted to be rid of her. 

Just the thought of talking to Emily left an uneasy pit in Langa’s stomach. The very idea of having a conversation was sickening. There was just too much going on in his bran, emotions and feelings jumbling together, hazing any rational thought he might have previously had. And maybe he had never been the best at deciphering what exactly was bubbling in the pit of his heart or stomach, but right he knew he was furious. Right now, he knew there was a rage in him that a conversation could not and never would quench.

Everything inside of Langa fizzed and popped with anger. All his rage were stabbing at his insides, though he wasn’t quite sure who he was mad at. Was this irritation directed at Reki, Reki who had only been himself, flirting with a girl he obviously found pretty? Was it because Reki had flirted with his cousin of all people? 

Or was his fury pointed at Emily for bothering him at work? For having such an effortless smile that always made the boys fall for her, even when they were kids? For knowing just the right way to laugh, for always excelling at being social and never stumbling when talking to those around her? 

Or was Langa’s wrath aimed at himself, stabbing him in the heart for being the worst of traitors? Was this all just him being pissed at himself for allowing his feelings to be hurt by something so inevitable? He knew this would happen at some point. He knew he’d eventually watch Reki be mesmerized by someone who wasn’t him. He knew he was doomed from the start. Was Langa simply furious at himself for falling for yet another straight boy? 

“Langa! You can’t keep ignoring me like this!” 

Emily’s voice had grown distant, buzzing at the back of Langa’s mind. The familiar voice aggravated him, like that of a mosquito circling him. It was as if she were doing it on purpose, poking and prodding him until he finally screamed. Until he finally cried. Until he finally let it all out. Until everything around him disappeared, leaving him in a void of nothing. 

There’d finally be no Emily in Okinawa. There’d be no Okinawa at all. No Japan. No awkwardness. No feelings. No flutters. No boys. No Reki. Or maybe, only Emily would go away. He’d be finally out of his life, letting him return to all he had known these past few months. He’d finally be back to feeling nothing but numbness, just as it was before she had set foot in the country. Langa wouldn’t be feeling any of this anger he hated so much. And all he desperately wanted was to feel nothing, just like before, because nothing was so much easier than everything. It was so much easier to be numb. Empty. Emotionless. Feelingless. Mess-less.  

“Langa!”

It was a reflex, violently yanking his arm back as fingers curls around his skin. His knuckles had gone white around the doorknob. The world had gone red around Langa. Anger burned him, but cold laced his words. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Langa! It’s been three days!” 

Three long and painful days of withdrawal. Three long and painful days of having that damn giggle play over and over in his mind. Three long and painful days of remembering that smile, that twinkle in Reki’s eyes. Three long and painful days of feeling like a nothing in the eyes of the one who was everything.

“What did I even do for you to suddenly avoid me like the plague? I don’t even know why you hate me!” 

She didn’t know what she did? The princess was unaware of the pain she had caused? The little angel didn’t know she had done the one thing she had sworn up and down she would never do? Sweet, sweet Emily was innocent as always, wasn’t she? Her and her cruel and twisted, sick fucking jokes.

“You know exactly what you fucking did!” 

A wild look bloomed in Emily’s normally calm but playful eyes. Maybe it matched the look in Langa’s eyes, matched the flames that hazed his vision. The distant honking, the cries of children, the sound of tires against pavement, it all faded out the moment Langa snapped, whipping around to face his cousin. The whole world seemed to stop, cowering at the sight of Langa’s wrath. Everything faded, everything except Emily. Emily with the bright expression. Emily with the glare of ice. 

“I actually don’t fucking know, Langa! I don’t fucking know what I did because you won’t fucking tell me! I didn’t fucking do anything, goddamn it! You’re just being a fucking asshole and honestly, I don’t even think you know why you’re being such an insufferable fucking bastard! But if you do so happen to know why you’re being such a fucking ass, please, I beg of you, enlighten me. Enlighten me with the knowledge, Langa. Because I don’t fucking know what I did and I would goddamn fucking adore knowing why you’re making everyone so fucking miserable with you shitface attitude. So please, if you would be so kind as to tell me, that would be abso-fucking-lutely fantastic!”

A laugh threatened to spill from Langa’s lips. It was an impressive speech, after all. Not everyone would be able to pull out such eloquence, a curse at every second word. But he held back. Langa bit back the laughter, scoffing instead as he folded his arms over his chest. 

So he was the one making everyone miserable? He was the one with a shitty attitude? That was news to him. Really. Or perhaps, Emily had simply never heard of the concept of a mirror. 

As the words formed on Langa’s tongue, he felt the venom drip, hot and dangerous. He’d never been one to be explosive, or even easily angered. Truly, he was more in line with someone who let things roll of his back; he never particularly cared for others or what they had to say about him. But here, now, well, control and politeness were possible the last things on his mind. He’d regret his words one day, maybe, but there was no point in keeping recklessness and danger trapped like a caged bird. 

“That’s real rich coming from the reason why I feel like absolute dogshit. Not that you’d care in the slightest. I should have known. You’ve been the world’s most entitled little brat of a princess. Or rather, there’s only ever been you in this world.” 

Bitter, poisonous laughter spilled from those perfectly pink-painted lips. Flawlessly manicured fingers touched at her heart as the girl scoffed. And something twisted on her face, something Langa had never seen before. Craze or mania might have been the closest descriptors he could think of to describe the look. 

“Me? I’m the brat? Me?” More choked laughter broke her speech. “Are you… Are you fucking hearing yourself? You refuse to fucking talk to me for three fucking days, purposefully avoiding me, but I’m the brat?” 

“Always playing the fucking victim. Well news flash! You’re not the one who’s all alone! You still have everyone you love! You’re not fucking losing everyone you’ve ever cared about!” 

“Oh don’t you dare fucking try to guilt trip me! The sad boy card isn’t going to work on me.  I’m not going to fucking pity you because boo-hoo, little Langa is sad again and mommy isn’t here to kiss it all better.”

“I don’t fucking want your pity, anyway!” 

“Langa! Emily!” 

The shout was a bucket of ice water, silencing the two cousins. For the briefest of moment, solidarity was born, an exchange of looks that confirmed what Langa knew was behind him. Ever so slowly, he turned to face his mother. Nanako, the sweetest woman Langa had been blessed to call his mother, despite her anxiety sometimes hindering him while growing up, was almost unrecognizable. Fury filled her eyes as she stood in the doorway. A chill of terror shot through Langa’s bones as she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes never breaking contact with either child. 

“In the apartment. Both of you. Now.” 

Like schoolchildren, both followed the woman up the stairs, their gazes fixed on their feet. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but it was nowhere near as palpable as the fear that coursed through Langa’s body. He felt his nails digging into his palms, his anger still pulsing through his veins. His cheeks were flushed with burning rage, but never could it compare to the ice of fear. It was that which kept him from talking. It was that which kept him silent. He wouldn’t dare make his mother angrier than she already was. 

Like schoolchildren, Langa followed Emily’s lead, dropping his body into the opposite side of the couch. She wasn’t looking at him, refusing to acknowledge his presence, and once more, he followed her lead. If she didn’t want to see him, then neither did he. His feet would be far more interesting than her stupid face could ever be. His lap and feet would be the only thing he’d be looking at for awhile; it was still far scarier to face his mother than it would be to look at a fuming Emily. Every little glance Langa had gotten of his mother, the woman standing in front of them, her arms crossed as she tapped her foot repeatedly, had sent chills down his spine. The mixture of anger, annoyance, and disappointment was more than Langa could ever bear. Never had he felt so small under her glare. Never had he felt so scared of his own mother. 

“So,” Nanako let out breath, something to stabilize her unnaturally calm tone. However, despite her efforts, it was still painfully obvious she was not pleased with either child. “Which one of you two is going to explain to me why I could hear you yelling profanities outside at each other from my kitchen?”

“Langa’s being a little bitch.” 

“Emily, language. You are talking about my son.” 

More poison broke from Emily’s lips. Her huff leaned dangerously close to mocking laughter as she leaned into the armrest. Her eyes still didn’t dare meet those of Nanako; she didn’t have a death wish, after all.

“Exactly. He’s your son. You’re gonna take his side no matter what happened. So what even is the use of his? Just do your worst and lets just it over with already.”

Nanako sighed, her eyes falling shut as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It was the first time since the start of this whole ordeal that Langa found the courage to look at his mother; her age began to show through her expression, fatigue and annoyance seamlessly intertwined with one another. And yet, it was still all so new, that look of what might have been exasperation, or maybe annoyance. Langa wasn’t sure; he’d never seen that look upon his mother’s face. 

“You guys aren’t five anymore. You aren’t children fighting over the last candy bar. And I’m too old to be scolding you and sending you to your rooms to reflect on your actions. You’re both adults. You are adults who are smart enough to know right from wrong. You are adults who should be capable of acting your age. You are adults who should know better than to get into a screaming match, yelling at each other like children.” Another deep breath shook Nanako’s breath. “I’m not going to take anyone’s side, because I know you are both partially responsible for what happened. Neither one of you is some kind of innocent angel, but I want to understand why I’ve been living through hell this week. I want to understand why you,” brown eyes locked with blue, sending once more chills down the boy’s spine as he straightened out, “have been avoiding your cousin like the plague. And you,” Emily recoiled when Nanako turned to her, “I want to know why you were swearing enough to put a sailor to shame. And loud enough for the whole world to hear you? This is a quiet, residential area, not downtown Vancouver where you can barely hear the person you’re yelling at.” 

Silence fell over the two once more. Neither one of them was ready to talk. Neither one of them was ready to explain anything. Langa knew he wasn’t in any condition to be rational and clearly explain his side of the story. He knew the moment he would open his mouth to try to explain anything, try to put everything out there, he would break down. He knew that if he dared try to let anything out, a waterfall of something would beat down on the earth, something he wasn’t ready to let the world witness. And yet, despite those fears, he knew he had to be the bigger person. He knew he had to break the silence. 

“I’m sorry, mom. I’ve just…” Finally, finally courage swelled deep within Langa’s bones; finally he found in himself to meet his mother’s eyes which seemed to have softened for him. “I’ve been a mess.” 

“Kiss ass…” 

It was too strong. The words snapped out of his mouth, escaping him before he could swallow them back. It was wrong, he should have kept everything to himself, but he was no saint. He never claimed to be one either.

“Prissy bitch.”

“Enough!” Langa flinched at his mother’s snappy tone. “I’ve had enough of you two! Both of you, rooms! Now!” Both remained frozen in place, staring at Nanako who seemed unfazed by their wide eyes. 

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Slowly, hesitantly, Langa pushed himself off the couch; Emily seemed to follow suit. “And I want you both calmed before dinner. And you will be talking this through whether you like it or not.” 

Another huff fell from her lips as she made her way to the kitchen, immediately reaching for a mug. She seemed so stressed, so strained, so exhausted. She seemed like a shell of her former self, of the woman she normally was, and yet, Langa couldn’t bring himself to focus entirely on that. Maybe if he had been a better son, then he would be more concerned with his mother’s sudden outburst. Or maybe there wouldn’t have been the need for an outburst; Langa had no idea how to deal with this type of situation. No, all he could do was let his legs lead him to his room. All he could do was feel the numbness wrap itself around every one of his organs, draining him of any type of feeling that might have flowed through him. The only thing left to feel was shame, something adjacent to the burning cheeks of a child stomping off to their room to pout. All he felt was ridiculous and childish.

Cautiously, he shut his door behind him, his back pressed to the wood. Maybe in another life he’d have Emily’s explosive energy, slamming his door as she had. Maybe in another universe he’d have let out every one of his frustrations, let them finally fizzle out. Maybe in some other world, he’d scream into his pillow. Maybe he’d punch something. Maybe he’d sob until sleep finally took him. Maybe he’d finally find a way to physically strain himself enough that his body would give in, completely passing out. Maybe he’d finally feel normal, less numb. Maybe some other time he would exhaust himself more than only emotionally, but not today. Today, he couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. Today, he didn’t have the energy to do anything. 

It was strange, remembering the one time he had let everything out in a fit of violence. Langa had been much younger then, maybe 12, maybe 13. It had been after a particularly bad snowboarding competition, though the moment and reasons had now grown hazy with time. But one thing had been certain: tears had steamed down his face, sobs choking him as he kicked and hit whatever he could in his room. His pillow had taken the bulk of it, ending up half torn up from his fit. And none of it had left him feeling satisfied. All he had felt afterwards was regret and exhaustion. His misery didn’t magically vanish; it was instead amplified upon seeing the state of his room afterwards. 

Langa simply wasn’t explosive, not like Emily. Screaming and shouting and slamming doors just wasn’t the way for him to evacuate his frustration. No. No, Langa, he just… he needed to disassociate until everything felt almost okay. That was how he had coped when… 

Langa let his body flop onto his bed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Nothing interesting flashed as the screen lit up. A few texts from Reki appeared in his notifications, though far less than usual. Maybe such was the effect of ignoring the only friend he had. 

The first day Langa had felt anger well up inside his core, Reki hadn’t seemed to take the hint. He had sent him the usual dozens of skating reels and clips. He had been Reki, the same cheery boy he’d always been. The second day, worry seemed to have begun washing over Reki. Text after text came through, asking Langa if everything was alright. And as the hours passed, so did the number of texts Langa received. By the third day, his phone had become a desert. Or at least, almost; Reki was still persistent, sending him a little something every few hours.

I don’t know what happened Langa please tell me I’m sorry Langa Can you please answer me? At least tell me you’re ok? I’m about to call your mom to make sure you’re not in the hospital or something Langa please

Langa knew it wasn’t fair of him to be such a shut-in. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to refuse to tell anyone why he was mad. He knew all this, but he also knew he wasn’t ready to let it out, as much as he would have loved to just put it all out there. If he were to answer Reki, who knew what might be said; Langa wasn’t going to test fate, allowing the possibility of him snapping at Reki as he had just done at Emily. He couldn’t risk being cruel to yet another person he cared for. 

Silence fell with Langa’s phone as he sunk deeper into his mattress. Another day of silence, it seemed. Another day, but it was for the best. Reki could finally spend time with his other friends instead of having Langa monopolize his time, energy, and attention. He could maybe finally find the time to go talk to all those pretty girls his eyes go wide for. He’d finally be able to make them giggle, flirt with the prettiest of the bunch. And his smile; he’d be smiling wider than he ever has as his fingers intertwine with this pretty girl’s fingers, as she’d pressed a kiss to his cheek. Reki would be so thrilled to spend time with someone he liked. He’d be so thrilled to be able to hold hands, touch, kiss. Reki would finally be able to have that sweet first kiss he’d been dreaming of for so long. He’d finally have a chance to chase that dream, rather than limiting himself to a pathetic and clingy Langa.  Langa who was so lonely in this dumb, stupid world. Reki didn’t have to be like that; he was allowed to have friendships, relationships outside of just Langa. 

Langa rolled over, burying his face into his pillow as he groaned. The more he thought about Reki, the more he thought of that faceless girl who’d get to do everything Langa wished he could do with Reki, the more Langa felt sick. Just the thought of some girl getting to kiss Reki, come home to him every day, marry him, share everything with him, it drove Langa insane. Everything inside of him twisted; a little more and he’d be sick on his bed. Pathetic. Useless. Ridiculous.

“Langa, baby?”

Reluctantly, Langa lifted his head from his pillow. His eyes followed the sound of the creaking door, finding his mother standing there, two mugs in hand. Her shoulders seemed heavy, leaning into the doorframe, but that didn’t stop her from sporting that maternal look she always had when looking at her son. A sliver of a smile hung from her lips as she waited for him to let her in, be it just with a curt nod as he readjusted his body on the mattress. And with that, she made her way into the room, placing one of the mugs on the nightstand before settling at the edge of the bed. 

Nanako’s touch was comforting, that same little pat to Langa’s leg she had always done as he sat up, legs crossed on the bed. Her smile stretched and her eyes relaxed as she pressed the mug into the boy’s hands. 

“I made you hot chocolate since I know you’re not that big on tea. Thought you could use the pick-me-up.” 

There was no reason for Langa to feel so embarrassed. There was no one to judge the scene. There was no one who could laugh at him, pointing fingers. There were no voices chanting that he was a mama’s boy. In the confines of his own home, in his room, there was no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed of being cared for by his mother, the woman who had always made it a point to remind him that she would always look out for him, even when he would be big, even when he would be living his own life, even when he would have kids of his own. There was no reason, and yet, the feeling lingered. It lingered as he mumbled out a thanks and took a sip of the drink. It wasn’t quite like back in the day, not quite like the chocolates he’d have on the couch after a long day on the slopes, not quite like the hot chocolates that would wait for him on the kitchen table after school, but still, it was sweet. It was sweet enough to fill him with a comforting warmth. 

“Langa? What’s wrong, baby? You’re not usually so…” Nanako chewed at her thumbnail, brows furrowed. “You’re usually so much calmer than this. I’ve never seen you…” 

The waver in his mother’s voice was enough for Langa’s chest to tighten. He had to be a fool to not notice the exhaustion or the worry that lingered on hr facial features. Every word she let out, it was laced with a mother’s natural protectiveness, and yet, it seemed like she was walking on eggshells. Perhaps she genuinely did think that one wrong statement would be enough to send Langa back into a fury. And having all of that staring back at him, all that potential guilt, it was enough to make him choke up. It was enough for him to begin cracking. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry in your mother’s arms. You’re stronger than this. You’re not a baby anymore. Don’t sob. Hold it in. Don’t—

“I miss Dad.” 

The words fell out as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He should have held them back, bottled them as he had always done. He shouldn’t have let the gasp break from his lips, let the sobbing begin. But then again, was it not that very thing that led him here? Was this confession not the real reason he felt like utter, absolute shit? Was it not, in a way, the root of all of this misery? 

How long had he been afraid of losing someone else so dear to him? How long had the paralyzing fear of being all alone, completely destabilized, abandoned once more held him in such a chokehold?  How long had he feared to lose Reki to another? Was this not the very reason for all his frustrations? His anger towards Emily? Towards Reki? Towards himself? 

“Oh, baby…” 

Langa hadn’t realized he had begun shaking until his mother was prying the mug from his fingers and pulling him into a tight hug. He hiccupped into her shoulder, gasping for air between the sobs, as she stroked his hair, pushing his bangs back and gently hushing him as she had always done all those years ago. And just as it had help soothe him the last time he had broken down this badly, the gesture was a welcoming comfort. It had, once again, made opening up just every so slightly easier. 

“I—!" Langa gasped, his grip on his mother’s sweater tightening. “I miss him. I miss him so much…” 

“Sh… Sh, I know, baby. I know.” 

“I miss Canada. I… I miss my room, and our house. I just… I miss home, mom. I miss grandma and grandpa. I miss it all so much. I just… All of it.” 

Langa peeled himself off of his mother as he wiped the tears away. It had been so long since the last time he had sobbed into his mother’s shirt, soaking it with salty tears. When had been the last time he had cried so much? Maybe back when he had been a child, back in Canada, in the neighborhood’s park, scrapping his knee after falling from the swings? Maybe it had been after a particularly bad loss, out in the mountains? Or maybe after he failed a test for the first time? All those times, the pain had seemed unbearable, but slowly, it faded away, dissipating with every stray tear. Every time, things had felt a lot more dire than they actually were; this time, things were as bad as they felt. Unlike the previous wounds, this one cut much deeper; this one hurt a lot more. This was a wound that had been left untreated for far too long. 

“I miss the noise of the city. And the snow. And the cold. I miss…” Langa hiccupped again, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. “I just miss it all. I miss not having to translate everything and think of every single word I want to say. I miss only having grandma and grandpa to speak Japanese to. I miss not being so behind on everything and I miss being able to write normally. I miss not struggling to read even the most basic signs like a restaurant or street name. I just…” Langa wiped the last few tears away, finally having managed to calm himself down completely. “I miss being myself.” 

“Baby, haven’t you been yourself? With Reki?” Nanako’s hands were cool against Langa’s burning cheeks, the circular motion of her thumb soothing as it had always been. “You’ve been smiling so much more lately, if we ignore the last couple of days. And it had been so long since the last time I had heard you laugh as you do now. You seemed so happy, baby.” 

Langa watched as his mother paused. A weak smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she pulled back, her fingers curling once more around her mug. There was more she wanted to say, so much was obvious, but just like her son, wording it was difficult. So they sat there, basking in the silence, until Nanako’s light chuckle broke it once more. 

“You know, I was so afraid that bring you here wouldn’t change anything. I was terrified that it would be Canada all over again. I stressed morning, day, and night that you’d still be terrified to talk to kids your age, if not even more now because of the language barrier. Because, I just… I really thought you were just a shy kid and that it was completely normal for you to hide behind me or your father whenever anyone would talk to you. I remember laughing about, thinking it was the most adorable thing when you were a toddler. But then, you were still doing it at 14. And I don’t know if you were scared of talking to others, or if you genuinely had no interest in them, but all I ever wanted was for you to have friends your own age. And real friends, kids that you would hang out with after school and go do whatever dumb things boys normally do. That’s all I ever wanted for you. I wanted you to break out of your shell, and finally, you did! Baby, you have a friend! You have Reki! And I don’t think you know how happy it makes me to see you go out all the time. Langa, it makes me so happy to see you happy. I’m so grateful to see you be, well… you.” 

Had he really been himself with Reki? If anything, it felt like the opposite; Langa felt so deceitful, so not himself around Reki. He had always made it a point to hide parts of himself that he knew wouldn’t be fun to have around. Or was he being himself? Was it possible for him to be himself but also conceal crucial parts of himself? Was it possible for those two things to coexist? There was just so much more to Langa; there were a million extra little things that made him who he truly was, but none of those things could be brought out, shown to the sun. 

“I can’t…” Langa felt his throat clog up, but still, he persisted. “I just can’t… There’s no way for me to… He still doesn’t know that… I’m just— He— I—!” 

“You’ll figure it out, I know you will. I know, because you’re my son, and I know my son can do whatever he sets his mind to.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Langa’s mouth as his mother gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Things will be alright; I promise they will.” 

He didn’t resist his mother pressing a kiss to his hair, whispering an ‘I love you’ as she had once had the habit of doing. A lifetime might have gone by since then, but still, Langa remembered needing his good night kiss, every night. Without it, there was no way he was falling asleep, at least not until he was about 10, suddenly deciding that kisses were only for babies and moms weren’t cool anymore. Oh, the influences of eavesdropping around the playground at school. 

There was not point in denying to himself that he wished his mother had continued pressing kisses to his head and cheeks, despite all his youthful protests. If she had continued, or had Langa not been so stubborn, then maybe things wouldn’t be so tense. Nowadays, Nanako didn’t give him much physical affection. Smiles and reminders of her love for him still happened nearly on the daily, but hugs between them were scarce and kisses even rarer. But now, a warm feeling swelled inside of Langa as Nanako held him, showering him with affection just as she used to when he was a child. And it was nice. It was a nice feeling that Langa had forgotten about. It was a really nice feeling. 

“So, will you finally tell me why you were screaming at your cousin outside?” 

Langa blinked, finally being pulled back to the present day. His argument with Emily, he had basically forgotten about it. He’d been so caught up in his own downpour of emotions that he had forgotten that the scream-fest right outside the apartment complex had been the reason for his current captivity. He had long forgotten about the bubbles of anger in the pit of his stomach. 

Langa’s gaze fell aside as he took a deep breath. Now, with this new found clarity, the reason for his outburst was stupid. Like, really stupid. 

“Reki hit on her?”

The whisper that left his lips sounded way worse than when it was but a scream in his head. Not only did it sound absolutely ridiculous, but those words also forced him to relive the scene over and over again, as if the darkness of the night wasn’t enough to torture him with the mental images. Those words, they conjured up the image of the smiles. Of the laughter. Of the teasing. The obvious chasing. The buzzing. The ringing. The panicking. The blurring. The leaving. The running. The crying. Those words, they forced Langa to relive the situation, something far worse than living it in the moment. Thinking back to it forced him to acknowledge what happened, searing the images in his mind. Another nightmare turned to reality.

“Baby, are you certain?” 

The laughter felt like venom dripping from Langa’s lips, bitter and angry. Was he certain? Absolutely. There was no doubt in Langa’s mind that Reki had been flirting with the traitor. He’d seen him flirt in the past; the near same exact words had been used again. And Emily? Well, Langa hadn’t stuck around long enough to know what she had done in return, locking himself in the backroom before he would be sick. 

“Langa, have you tried talking to Reki about this?” 

“And say what?” Nanako barely reacted as Langa threw his hands up in the air before crashing back into his mattress, fingers gripping at his hair. “Hey, could you not hit on my cousin and flirt with me instead? Could we pretend I’m a pretty girl instead? I’ll even grow my hair out longer if that could help you out! Or how about you open your eyes to see how absolutely broken I am? Or,” the laughter was hysterical, tears welling at the corners of Langa’s eyes once more, tears he couldn’t claw away fast enough, “or how absolutely fucking I am in the head? How I’m not normal for… for this mess? Because I’m a… I’m…” 

Langa gasped for air. Suffocating. He was suffocating in this room, this room that was too small, this room that was closing up on him. He needed air. He needed to be outside. He needed to be out in the open. He needed to be anywhere other than in this room. He needed to be let out of this cage. He needed to get out. Trapped. Choking. Out. 

“Baby.” Nanako’s hand on his leg pulled Langa back to earth, back to the room, back to a place of safety. “You’re none of those things. Langa, you know you’re none of those things.” 

“Why can’t I just be like all the others? Why can’t I just… It’s be so much easier if I just liked girls.”

Never in his entire life did Langa think he would utter those words. Never had he ever thought of a single instance where he would have to say those words. For as long as he could remember, he had been proud of his sexuality. It had always been a part of himself that he had embraced without a problem, never shying away from the fact that he liked boys. He had never felt the need to hide that part of himself. And sure, it probably helped that his parents did not flinch when he first hinted at it; they had never questioned him, nor had they ever suggested it was unacceptable. And while he never explicitly came out to them, he had been pretty open about his queerness. Everyone had accepted it as fact that Langa liked boys and that was the end of the conversation. Well, other than his grandmother who still asked him when he was going to bring home a nice girl from school. 

Truly, being gay was the least of Langa’s problems. At least, it used to be. It never mattered to him that he liked boy. And if people couldn’t accept that, then there was no reason for Langa to associate himself with them. There was no denial phase; never had he tried to convince himself that he liked girls. Never had he ever wished himself to be straight. His sexuality, there was never any questioning or any desire to try to fit into a mold. He liked boys and that was that. End of story. At least, until now it had been.

Now, well, there was no desire to become straight, not that he could change that core part of himself. No, but maybe it would’ve been easier if he had just been like the majority and liked girls. And it wasn’t like it would be difficult! He wasn’t stupid; anyone with eyes knew that girls were pretty. Just like how boys could be pretty. Just like how Reki was just so goddamn pretty. 

Maybe everything would have been so much easier if he didn’t like Reki as much as he did.  

“You know that’s not how that works.”

A pillow swallowed Langa’s muffled groan. “I’m painfully aware.” 

Nanako signed as she got up from the bed. She gave Langa’s leg one last comforting pat, a warm touch that was enough for him to peer above his pillow again, before sending him a smile as she made her way towards the door. And that smile was what Langa needed to realize how lucky he was to have her as a mother. He hadn’t fully grasped how lucky he was to have a mother who loved him as unconditionally as Nanako did. He never stopped being her baby boy; if she was here now, she’d always be there for him.

“I’m going to go check on your cousin, see if she’s a little calmer now. And I’m going to go make dinner. If you need me, you know where to find me.” She pushed the door open before turning back to her son with that same soft smile she always wore for him. “You can always talk to me, Langa. Always. Whenever. Even when it’s weird. And while I don’t promise to always know what to say, or how to answer all your questions, I will always try my best. And I’ll always be there for you.” A pause; the crinkle by her eyes was almost embarrassing to spot. “I love you, baby. I love you so much, my son.” 

“Love you too, mom.” 

“And you’re perfect. You’re not broken. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

Langa sighed, dropping the pillow back onto his head as Nanako closed the door behind herself. You’re not broken. The words rand in Langa’s ears. You’re perfect. He definitely didn’t feel perfect. If anything, he was a complete mess. There was so, so much he could fix about himself, and even more that he could change about himself. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be a little easier if he managed to be who everyone else wanted him to be? 

The buzzing in his ears echoed in his brain. It echoed through the room, that rhythmic buzzing that always seemed to get louder. It just didn’t stop. It just buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed. And… 

Langa’s heart leap to his throat as he scrambled off his bed. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. His phone. It was his phone. It was the phone that had fallen earlier. It was his phone that was echoing through his room. It was his phone that was struggling to light up the underside of his bed, lost among the stray socks and t-shirts he had kicked under there in an attempt to clean his room. 

Hastily, he grabbed it, his eyes falling on Reki’s contact picture flashing across his screen. A smile was bitten back as Langa stared at the immortalized grin directed right at him. That smile, it was all for him. It was a grin no one else got to see. That one, it was the brightest, widest grin Langa had ever gotten the pleasure of seeing in his life; it was no wonder he had felt the need to pull out his phone to capture the moment. And now, with the tricks of time, he had forgotten why Reki had smiled that wide. Maybe it was because he had finally pulled off a trick he had been practicing for hours, days, weeks. Maybe it had been the victory that accompanied a good test grade. There was no way to truly knowing anymore what had caused such a grin; the memory had turned hazy, its details lost like the days prior. But one thing was for certain: that was the brightest smile of all and he would do anything to—!

Silence and darkness rested in the palm of Langa’s hand. His reflection stared back at him before being briefly broken up by a flash of a notification: Missed call from Reki. Reki had called him. Reki who never, ever called, had dialed his number. Reki was reaching out to him and Langa had failed to answer. He had missed his one chance at actually talking to Reki. 

Mortified didn’t even begin to describe the feeling growing in his chest and cheeks. How could be so stupidly caught up in staring at a picture of best friend that it didn’t register for a single second that it was a call coming in? How could he be so stupidly mesmerized by Reki’s ridiculously adorable grin that he had forgotten that his phone wouldn’t ring forever and that he had to answer his fucking phone? How could he be such a fucking dumbass? Why was he such a dumbass who was way too down bad? 

The screen lit up once more, Reki’s name reappearing. 

Sorry, guess you’re busy I just miss you

Langa’s inside tightened once more, his heart skipping a beat. Reki missed him. Reki wanted to talk to him. Reki wanted to hear his voice. Reki was reaching out. And it was stupid to have not realized any of this earlier. It was worse that he hadn’t done anything to prevent them getting to this point. It wasn’t like Langa didn’t want to hear Reki’s voice as well. If anything, he didn’t just want to hear that laughter, that voice that always picked up whatever broken part left shattered on the ground; Langa needed to hear Reki’s voice. He needed to call him back. He needed to finally do something about this mess he had created. 

Clumsy fingers unlocked the phone before frantically scrolling through the ungodly number of apps that needed to be deleted. But all of that could wait. Right now, only one thing rang, pounded in Langa’s brain: phone. Reki. Phone. Reki. Nothing in the world other than calling Reki mattered. Nothing. 

“Langa?”

A wave of relieve crashed against Langa’s chest, a feeling he wasn’t particularly proud of. Still, it left him with a dopey grin he didn’t even try to hide. Reki’s voice had come through only an instant later; he hadn’t been like Langa, staring at the screen, not doing anything. Reki, he barely let the phone ring a single time. Reki, he was so quick to fill Langa’s head with his sweet voice. Reki, whether or not he knew it, he was undeniably Langa’s anchor in life. 

“Hey.” 

Langa felt his voice crack on the single word. No matter how relieving it was to hear Reki’s voice, something still choked him from the inside. Relief crashed against his ribs, but something was still stabbing him. Something hurt. Something made Langa’s inside twist. 

Reki was everything he had wanted. His voice was the one thing he craved more than life itself. Getting to talk to Reki again was his one goal, and yet… Nothing had ever hurt so badly. Reki… 

“You alright, man? You sound…” There was a pause, a deafening silence between the two. “You sound like you just cried.” 

It was almost scary how easily Reki would pick up on things. He’d always been weirdly perceptive with these types of things, never needing to be near to know something was off with Langa. He didn’t need to see the puffy red eyes, the shaky, heaving breaths, or the tear-stained cheeks. All it took was a single word for Reki to know something was wrong. Just one crack and Reki had him all figured out. Well, almost figured out. If Reki really was a mind reader, or if Langa was as much of an open book as he felt in the moment, then neither of them would be in this current situation. If Reki had known everything, then he could have walked away a long, long time ago.

“I’m fine. Really. But you called.” A pause. “You never call.” 

“Just wanted to check up on you. You just… seemed to be avoiding me and all since our last shift, and I don’t really know why. But I know it’s something I did or maybe some dumb shit I said? Since I’m always saying some dumb shit because…” The short, choked laugh felt like another stab to the heart. “Y’know, I’m just dumb and—”

“You’re not dumb.” 

“But I am sorry.” 

An apology? What was Reki apologizing for? He didn’t really have anything to apologize for. If anything, Langa was the one who needed to apologize to Reki. He was the one who needed to say sorry for running off, for ignoring him, for being dumb. Not Reki. Reki didn’t really have anything to apologize for.

“You don’t even know why you’re apologizing.” 

“I hurt you somehow and I want to say sorry for that. And maybe I don’t really know what I did, but I know I did something. It’s pretty obvious something upset you. So I’m saying sorry for upsetting you and hoping that you’ll tell me what it is I did so I can never do it again. So, please, Langa? Tell me what I did wrong?”

Tell me what I did wrong so I can never do it again. If only Reki knew. If only he knew what had started this whole spiral of Langa’s. But asking him to stop, that would be unfair to Reki. Never repeating what he had done was impossible. It wasn’t possible or fair to stop Reki from flirting with people, with the girls he liked just because Lagna wanted to be the center of his universe. Reki was allowed to fond someone to eventually love; Langa wasn’t allowed to get in the middle of that. 

“You didn’t do anything. I’ve just been having bad days.” 

“Is that why you’re crying?” 

Crying? Langa wasn’t crying anymore. Maybe before, maybe when his mother had been in the room with him, but not anymore. Now he was—oh. 

Instinctively, Langa touched his damp cheek. So there were more tears. There were more pathetic tears.

“Langa, I’m coming over. I gotta. I can’t just leave you like this.”

“Please don’t.” Another chocked sob was muffled by Langa’s hand. “Please.”

“Langa…” 

Oh, there was nothing worse than hearing Reki pleading to be let in. He had never been one to push, always preferring to let things happen when the time was right, but he also knew first hand what it was like to be hurt by his best friend. He knew what it had been like to be hurt by Langa. And he had sworn to never let himself hurt Langa, or at least never let it fester as they had the last time. If there was one promise he would not be breaking, it was the promise to make things better. He had promised to be the shoulder Langa could cry on. Reki promised to be there, Reki who knew how much it sucked to be crying alone. 

“Langa, please, can I come over?” 

“Okay.”

It was barely over a whisper. It barely left Langa’s lips, barely making it into the world, but Reki had heard him. Reki had heard his answer and that was all that mattered. All that had ever mattered was that Reki was there.

Everything had gone so quickly; everything had been so chaotic. Langa hadn’t managed to pinpoint at what moment exactly Reki had left his house, but he knew he was outside under the setting sun. The wind whooshed, a scratching sound muffling Reki through the phone. But that didn’t stop the boy from rambling on, talking about everything and nothing. He just kept talking, filling the silence Langa had expected. Because he really had expected Reki to hang up before making his way to the apartment, but he never ended the call. He just did what he did best: he held a conversation with himself, retelling funny stories that Langa had already heard a thousand times but always managed to pull a laugh out him. Reki just talked: about his sisters, about work, about S, about their friends. Reki repeated stories about all of them, never stopping, always talking by himself. And never was there a hint of discomfort or awkwardness; this was, after all, another of Reki’s many talents. 

The call disconnected as a light knock on the door echoed through the room. Langa didn’t have time to answer before the door was creaking open, revealing amber eyes and a pretty smile. A pretty smile all for Langa. A pretty smile that was not for Langa. A pretty smile that filled Langa with joy. A pretty smile that filled him with hurt and dread. 

“What happened to you, man?” 

Langa pressed his back to wall and pulled his knees to his chest as Reki sank down into the mattress. His eyes flickered between the boy and the floor as he thought of an answer to the question, because what had happened to Langa? Everything? Nothing? It felt like a lifetime had happened to him in only a few short years, months, days, hours… So much had happened, too much had happened, and yet, nothing that he could share. He couldn’t tell Reki a single thing that had happened to him. 

“Just in a mood.” That was what Langa settled on. He accompanied it with a shrug, hoping, praying that his voice wasn’t betraying him once more. 

“Is it something I said? I know I can be an idiot sometimes and I—!” 

“You’re not an idiot, Reki. Don’t… Don’t ever say that about yourself. You’re not dumb or idiotic or any of those things. You’re amazing. You’re…” Big amber eyes stared at Langa, eyes that seemed full of something he couldn’t quite describe or understand. “I’m the idiot.”

Silence weighed down on both boys, a silence so different from that comfortable one Langa was so used to. This time, it was tense and thick enough to slice with a knife. It was one of the worst things Langa have experienced in a very long time. 

“When she let me in, your mom…” If those amber eyes flickered one more time between Langa and Reki’s knees, he might have just screamed. “She said that you got into a fight with your cousin and that’s why you’re all…” Reki gestured vaguely in Langa’s direction, the cuffs of his hoodie covering most of his hands. “And I just… Is it ‘cause I suggested teaching her how to skate?” 

Yes.

“No.” 

More silence. Nails picked at skin before being swatted away by Langa. Then eyes. Big, round, amber eyes filled with pain. A look of fear, something akin to a puppy being kicked. 

“It’s just that she seemed so bored and I know that skating cheered you up, so I thought… maybe it would cheer her up too? And I don’t know, but I thought maybe she’d pick up on it as quickly as you did? And she’d get to feel free or something like that? ‘Cause you don’t have to talk or anything when skating? And also, I thought it’d be kinda cool if she did end up being good at skating, ‘specially since we don’t know any girls who skate?” 

“Koyomi skates.” 

“Yeah but that’s my little sister! It doesn’t count and it’s not cool!” 

“Emmy’s my cousin. What’s the difference between her and Koyomi?” 

Reki chewed at his lip. He had no answer, just as Langa had expected, because there was no difference between Koyomi and Emily. Or rather, it was because of one very obvious difference between the girls.

“It’s because you like her, isn’t it?” 

The question dripped in pain, pain he hadn’t meant to let slip out but simply could not contain anymore. He couldn’t bottle it up anymore. The uncertainty, the possibility, it was slowly killing him. Not knowing the full extent of the truth was like death by a thousand cuts; it was slow and excruciating. But now, now that it was out in the open, maybe, just maybe, Langa would be able to grieve properly. With Reki’s agreement, with his confession, he’d finally be able to let his feelings die down; he’d finally be able to move on from whatever little hope he so desperately clung onto. With Reki finally admitting that he liked girls, he liked Emily, Langa would finally be able to stop breaking his own heart with the smallest slivers of delusion.

“No! Yes? I mean…. I don’t know, man. Like, she’s cool and all, but I… I just… Do I like her?” 

Langa shrugged, not quite able to meet Reki’s eyes. His head was saying yes, but his heart was screaming no. And no matter how hard he tried, Langa knew there would be no consensus between those two fundamental parts of himself. There was simply no way they could agree on this topic. Then again, rationality and feelings rarely agreed with one another. 

“Emily’s real cool and all, but…” Hoodie sleeves covered Reki’s hands once more, the fabric being pulled and stretched and twisted and bunched. “Like, I know it’s kinda hard talking to her since, y’know, the whole language thing, but I still do like hangout with her. I like hanging out with her and talking to her ‘cause she just… I don’t know… She kinda reminds me of you?” 

Langa blinked at the boy who was now staring at him. He stared as he processed the words; Emily reminded Reki of Langa. Emily, the preppy, over-the-top, extroverted chatterbox, reminded Reki of Langa, the boy known for his silence. Emily and Langa, the cousins who could not be any more different from one another. Somehow, Reki saw some Langa in Emily. And by that logic, he saw some Emily in Langa. 

“How?” 

A snort escaped Reki before he could clasp a hand over his mouth. A snort followed by an eruption of laughter, a sound that had his whole body shaking. A sound that had Langa’s heart melting and freezing over all at the same time. 

“I- I don’t know? You two are just… You’re both so stupidly stubborn and reckless. And neither one of you care that others think of you! You’re also both…” A deep breath steadied Reki’s speech. “Okay, so you’re way more polite than she is – I’ve never actually seen someone flip a person off in the streets, but I guess the guy did deserve it – but you both stand up for yourselves. And you’re also both super impulsive and just… I don’t know! You’re just similar!” 

Similar. Langa and Emily. Emily who was the definition of outgoing. Emily who lived on a stage. Emily who made a show out of everything she did. Emily who lived to be the center of attention. How was she anything like Langa? How could she be anything like the boy who dreaded being around other people? How could she be anything like Langa who hated talking, who didn’t give a single shit about what other people thought of him because that would require him to acknowledge others thought of him? How was she anything like him, the boy who panicked so easily but rarely ever showed it? It was impossible for them to be anything alive; they were, by definition, polar opposites. South and north. Hot and cold. 

“You are insane, Reki.” 

“Gee,” Reki rubbed his nose, chuckling lightly, “thanks, man. Real good for the self-esteem there.” 

Langa tensed at the words. Another difference between him and Emily: she was amazing with people while he was absolute shit. He always managed to say the wrong things. He always managed to make everything worse. 

“I’m kidding! Dude, I’m just joking! Don’t gotta freak out!” 

Reki’s voice faded out as warmth wrapped around Langa’s shoulders, leaving him frozen in place. A hug. Reki was hugging him. Reki was hugging him, fingers gripping the back of his t-shirt. Reki was hugging him, holding him close, holding him like he could slip out of his grip at any moment. Reki was hugging him, and Langa? What could Langa do other than loop his arms around Reki’s waist, hugging him right back? 

“You mean everything to me.” The English broke out, Reki’s shoulder muffling the words. Langa simply didn’t have the words in Japanese to say what he needed to say; the words he knew weren’t correct. English was just easier – safer – as he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to stain Reki’s sweater with more tears. The wobbly English was just easier than any attempt at formulating a Japanese sentence. “I don’t know if you know this, but you’re my everything. You’re my favorite person, my only person. You’re honestly the only person I actually like, because… You’re just so amazing. You’re the most amazing person I have ever met and you’re just so great. You’re… I don’t know what I’d do without you. So please…” Another gasp. A tighter grasp of Reki’s hoodie. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. Please… Please, you’re just… You’re my everything.” 

Langa’s fingers dug into the fabric of the hoodie as Reki patted his back. He could feel himself shaking as he clung onto Reki. He could feel the horrid feeling pulsing through his whole body, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Reki. Not yet. Right now, he just needed this. He needed Reki for just for one moment more. 

“Hey, Langa, dude…” Another pat. “I… have no idea what you just said, but like, everything’s gonna be fine. But also, dude, I have never heard you talk so fast? I couldn’t even make out where the words separated! You talk crazy fast, d’you know that?”

“S’fine.” The sniffling felt gross, but better sniffling than ruining Reki’s hoodie. “T’was nothing. Just dumb stuff. Nothing important.” Reki gave Langa’s back one last pat before pulling back, creating some distance between the two. His smile was bright, something so similar to the morning sun, warm and beautiful. This, this was a smile just for Langa. 

“If you say so, dude. But,” Reki rubbed his neck sheepishly, a grin to match, “I really should be heading home now. I was so worried for you, man, that I skipped dinner at my place.” 

“You can eat with us. There’ll be enough.”

Reki opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it as Langa placed his hand on Reki’s arm. It was selfish, sure, but he needed just a little more time with Reki. He needed just a little longer with Reki present, physically. 

“Please, Reki?” Everything was on autopilot; when had his fingers curled around Reki’s wrist? “Please, for all the times I’ve eaten at your place, please stay this one time?” 

Reki signed, his whole body slouching down as he nodded with a grin. “Fine. Sure. And if there isn’t enough for me, then I’ll just eat out of your plate since you eat more than a small family of four.”

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with Logan is one of those ideas that sound good on paper, but could never work in reality. Listen up, and I’ll tell you why. (18+)

The heat of you enveloping him is nirvana itself, your hands on his body sending him to cloud nine. They linger on his chest, pawing, caressing, blazing a trail from his collarbone to his face, nails burying themselves into the darkened locks as you stare at him with nothing short of pure adoration.

“Feel good?” You ask, and he’s so drunk off you that he can only bring himself to nod, breath hitching when your hips circle themselves in his lap. Your laughter is nothing short of melodic, pressing yourself into the broad length of his chest.

He feels everything like this—the heat of your nude body against his, the scent of your body wash, your shaky breaths—every sense on overdrive. It’s there you sit, unmoving, unwavering, every movement causing your pussy to clench around him, and in turn, makes his chest rumble appreciatively.

“Should listen to you more often,” Logan mumbles, biting his lip at the feeling of you nibbling at his neck. “Just full of bright ideas, ain’tcha?”

“Full of a lot of things,” you sigh, and the sound makes his cock twitch.

But, there’s something missing.

Your quiet whimpers, your doe eyes staring at him from above—the way your pussy clenches in response to every touch, pulsing around his cock—it’s good, but it’s not enough.

Tugging at him, an itch he can’t scratch, it gnaws away at his mind until he finds himself searching for more, and the realization hits him like a wave.

It’s patience he lacks, an epiphany that has his lips curling into a smirk. It’s a lesson soon learned when his fingers dig into your hips and lift, surprise evident on your face. His downfall, as with most things, is his lack of patience. When it comes to you, he could even go as far to call it greed.

“Logan?” You ask, not a word given in response. His palms run up your back, large digits squeezing at your flesh, and yet the feeling does little to settle the sudden flare of nerves that build in your core. The calm before the storm, the impending sense of doom, women’s intuition—or maybe it’s because you’ve become intimately familiar with the devious smile that spreads across Logan’s face.

“Logan? What are you—“

You’re soon cut short, interrupted by the feeling of him slamming you back onto his cock, your short gasp making ego soar to new heights.

“Sorry doll, change of plans,” he grunts, bouncing you on his lap without a care in the world. The sudden change of pace has you scrambling for purchase, hands clamoring around his neck as you struggle to keep up.

“Logan, wait—ohmygod—“ you whine, and the sound is like music to his ears. His attempt at soothing your worries is his hand sliding across your ass, the sharp sting of it making you jump, but lucky for you Logan’s there to pull you back onto his cock.

Up, down, up, down. A constant rhythm that finally satiates the beast within him, the dull thud of skin on skin enough to have him melting into his chair, a wave of content spreading through every vein of his body. In contrast, you feel your own becoming more tense by the second; toes curling, breath caught in your throat, an incomprehensible string of noises leaving your lips as Logan watches with bated breath.

He tuts at you, the sound nothing short of mocking. “No runnin’ away sweetheart, this was your idea.”

“Not like this,” you moan, hiding yourself in his neck. “Wanted to relax…”

Your voice trails off, unable to speak when Logan’s practically fucking every rational thought from your head. Slowly but surely, any idea of protest is drowned out by the heat that burns inside of you, a dull ember that builds into a blaze, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Logan or his cock grinding inside you.

You can hear his laughter bellowing deep within his chest, amused at your brainless state, right before he quickens his pace. “Trust me sweetheart, I’m real fuckin’ relaxed right now.”

[kenchann]

as usual i love drawing the hw boys with my yuu o(*￣▽￣*)ブ yuus fit (i might change it lol etcetc)