#and hes rooted hard in my mind now the guy got himself a playlist and everything good lord

[spearxwind]

Hhrggg i wanna talk about my hollowridge guys so much i want to draw so many things

[unwanted-animal]

Matt/Frank : T E E T H

Explicit. M/M.

Tags/CW: Teeth, Mouth Likely, Consensual Torture, Blood, Tooth Trauma, Dark, Romance, Don/sub, Rutting, Coming In Pants, Bloody Kisses, Please Do Not Let Matt Murdock Perform Oral Surgery On You

My gifts for @lovetincture for this year’s @daredevilexchange :D The prompt I chose to roll with was “Romantic Teeth Trauma”, and it lit a spark inside me! Which is why my gift is two moodboards, a playlist, AND a fic lol

AO3 for the playlist and Alt Text (will be live when the collection opens!)

“Are you sure about this, Frank?”

Matt crouched in front of the chair, head tilted to the side as he listened for any changes in Frank. His breathing. His heart rate. His tone. If there was any sign he wasn’t confident about his request, Matt planned to stop. Frank liked pain, sure, but this? This was beyond normal pain.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, Red. Only you. Anyone else I wouldn’t think about it, but you? You get me. I, I trust you. Y’know?”

“And you want no anesthesia?”

“None.”

No change. Even breathing. Steady heart rate. Frank was out of his goddamn mind, letting a blind man cut out one of his teeth. The thought brought a smile to Matt’s lips. Frank was mad, but that madness, that dedication to seeing things through, that only endeared him to him. He patted Frank’s leg gently and stood up.

“Okay. Can you reach the tools, push them toward me? Please?”

The rattle of metal filled his senses, making the room feel full and featureless. Matt groaned and shook his head to clear the cloud stifling his ‘sight’. Once the tray stopped, his access to the space returned. Deep shades of red, sparked by changes in the environment, that let him see - in a sense.

His world on fire.

Frank burned brightly in his special sense. Rugged, body made of valleys and hills and broken roads, sound made him shine. And Frank? Frank shone the loudest when he screamed.

Matt placed one hand on the handle of the cart. The other hovered over the tools.

“Scalpel,” he said softly.

“Four inches to your left. Blade facing away from you.”

He followed Frank’s instructions and lifted the surgical knife from the cloth. It was cool in his grasp, the handle weighted and the blade light and sharp enough to cut through muscle and tendon. Matt let out a slow breath. His hands were steady — no tremor. No fear.

Just a blind man performing intimate oral surgery.

“Once I’m in your mouth you won’t be able to instruct me, so if there’s anything you need to say to me, Frank? Now’s the time.”

Something about Frank’s gaze, Matt could always feel . He stared at him now , and from the way his pulse quickened he knew it was affectionate. Tender. He’d seen that look once, when the sirens lit the graveyard after the Irish. That hangdog, loving look in Frank’s sad eyes turned to him now, and he was certain there was a hint of madness to it. Of thrill. Frank wanted this. Hell, it’d been his idea.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got somethin’. Yeah. Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t fuck it up,” Frank teased. “I love you.”

Matt smirked.

“I know. Open up for me.”

Frank opened his mouth, as wide as he could. His wrists tugged against the handcuffs holding them to the legs of the chair, the rattle reassuring. Frank wouldn’t get out if the pain was too great, which meant Matt wouldn’t wind up with a fist in his face when he dug into the root. It was a precaution, sure, but he had to admit he liked Frank tied up.

At his mercy .

Matt slipped two fingers inside his waiting mouth and slid them along his tongue. Frank shuddered, gagging slightly as he pressed down. Drool pooled around his hand and ran down, down the curve of his chin, spattering on his bare chest. Matt felt the wetness and smiled down at Frank.

“I bet you can do better than that.”

He lifted the scalpel and guided his fingers up. Picking a molar was the hard part. Humming, Matt tapped between three of them, whispering that familiar mantra.

“One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime — Ah. This one.”

The back molar. One Frank wouldn’t even know was missing.

“Here we go, Frank.”

All he got was a huff of a growl in response.

Matt pressed the blade into the soft meat of Frank’s gum. Blood welled from the wound, mixing with the drool, and Matt wished he could see it. The ecstatic look of agony carved into Frank’s Roman features, the mess he made, the wild rush burning in his eyes… He cut again. Again. Tracing the tooth. Beneath him, Frank snarled and roared.

“That’s right. Like that. Make noise, nobody will hear you here. Nobody but me.”

His noise made it easier for Matt to see what he was doing. Vibrations traveled through his mouth, and the loose skin he sliced through swayed from side to side. Soon he had most of the tooth exposed, the gums cut and peeled back with careful - if amateur - care. Frank pulled against the cuffs and rocked the chair as his fingers touched the wound, but Matt didn’t stop.

Frank had had plenty of time to revoke consent before. He didn’t. His fingers weren’t tapping out his safeword on the wood. Frank loved being out of control, submitting to Matt in such a deep, intimate way. Pain, even the extreme kind, wasn’t foreign to their relationship nor their sex.

This, this was dedication. A declaration. One far more beautiful than any other words or gestures could be.

Matt used Frank’s moans to find the forceps. He traded out his scalpel for the pointed steel, clicking them together a few times as Frank simply sat there shaking. His lips trembled, but he kept his mouth open to the cool air.

A good dog. Loyal. Obedient.

He guided the new tool inside, easily finding his way back. The blood dripping on his knuckles couldn’t be missed. Matt’s forceps closed around the tooth and he began to pry. Grunting, he pumped his arm, moving the bone in its tight little socket. Frank roared in pain, hips coming up and rubbing against Matt’s thigh.

He was hard, hard enough that the brief touch sent a shiver down Frank’s spine. Matt grinned, his dimples deep as he pressed his thigh back in response.

“Rut. Like a dog. I wouldn’t want to leave you all worked up, not when you’re behaving for me. Go on. Consider it a reward. A treat, Frank.”

Frank didn’t hesitate. He started thrusting against Matt, breathing hard through his nose as his cock strained against his jeans. A low moan vibrated in his throat as Matt yanked again, pulling, fighting to get the tooth free of his jaw. Frank screamed around his hands, tears flowing down his cheeks, and Matt’s world burst with vivid red color. He could see Frank. See the blood. See the wide-eyed and hungry stare Frank fixed on him. He was a beacon at the center of Matt’s world, pulsing with every shuddering sob.

“Beautiful,” he said, voice low and soft. “You make the world so beautiful .”

A loud crack split the air. Another. Another, as Matt leveraged his strength to force it out. With one last tug it snapped free of Frank’s jaw, clutched firmly in the forceps. Frank slammed his hips forward as he came, eyes rolling back in his head as that final surge of pain pushed him over the edge. Matt stumbled backward and held the tooth up triumphantly. His prize. His token.

While Frank’s sounds grew quiet, Matt’s vision faded back to darkness. He couldn’t see the sloppy smile on Frank’s face as he drooled blood onto his bare chest.

“… That,” Frank slurred, barely able to move his jaw. His words were mumbled, accompanied by dribbling blood. “Is yours. Yeah. Gonna take it to, to, to your guy. Drill a hole, get a chain. Wear it. Always.”

Matt released the tooth into his hand and ran his bloody thumb over the bone.

Frank’s bone.

A piece of him, to keep forever.

“… I love you, Frank. You know that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I, I love you too.”

He slipped the tooth into his pocket and lowered himself down on Frank’s filthy lap. His hands were just as messy, bloodied up almost to the elbow from Frank’s coughing and screaming. He slid one through Frank’s curls and tugged him into a rough, heated kiss. Blood filled his mouth, and Matt let it. He savored the taste of Frank. It was no different from kissing him with a split lip.

Except this time he could swallow the mess.

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Chapter 1

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (maybe mature later)

tags:  Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

(The way overdue long-form version of the Foster Sib AU I wrote for @szajnie for Secret Santa 2020.)

music: Asynchronous With You by burokkurubeats & my playlist

He wasn't the first child.

Somehow he had expected to be.

A girl his age, age six, and her older cousin had already been living here for a year now.

They had family, they were just… deemed unfit.

Maybe they'll take them back, when they get their act together. He doesn't know. He only knows he doesn't have the luxury of hope that they do.

Nobody was coming back to get him.

And he had nowhere to go back to.

The foster lady with the ruby red eyes showed him his bedroom.

At first, Naruto thought Hinata and Neji were close, so much so that no one could ever be closer.

Then he thought it was their tactic to keep others out, self-preservation in blood.

Hinata was nice enough, but she never strayed far from Neji.

That was because he never let her.

She wasn't just fiercely loyal to him. She was scared of him.

He tried to get Neji in trouble. Kurenai-obachan needed to know. But Hinata stopped him. She told him not to split them apart. That she didn't mind Neji bossing her around. She would never be okay if she didn't know where her cousin was.

So he tried. But it was hard. He still picked fights with Neji.

That didn't make Hinata happier, either.

He still thinks it's Neji's fault when she finally breaks down, telling them both off before running to her room.

He runs after her, but she won't let him in.

He goes to his room and talks to her through his wall. He has to press himself flat against it, straining to hear any sound.

Could she hear him, too?

"I'll leave Neji alone, okay?" It's a bitter promise, because it makes him feel like he's surrendered when he did nothing wrong. But part of him also feels tired of this pattern day in and day out. He'd rather spend his time better.

The silence stretched passed the point of comfort, and he pictured tomorrow, a tomorrow where Hinata may hate him. Enough to shun him in his own home. And would he really do what he's always done to others to her? Would he really go that far for attention?

His unconscious concerns spilled out, running through his fingers before he could stuff the words back in and swallow them. "Hinata… can I bug you instead?" He flinches and freezes, and he waits.

It's faint, but he heard her.

"Sure," she said.

His shoulders lowered as he slouched down the wall, the tension leaking from his body and he smiled.

Their early years would be shaped by a secret language shared between the two of them from that moment on, where a pinch on the arm and a retaliatory swat was a polite exchange in the morning. Where a "missing" item from their bedrooms was an excuse to search the house together, and where a stolen item was an invitation to enter each other's bedrooms. Hinata really liked to show him her new collection of pressed flowers, and he really liked to show her his latest Gachapon figurine. Whenever that happened, it was usually one of those new things that went "missing" shortly after.

It wasn't that Kurenai-obasan didn't spoil him as much as them, he could have new things all the time, too. But she hadn't been planning on taking him, she hadn't been prepared for him. If he wanted more things, Hinata would have to have less.

And the time he could spend with her was more than enough for him.

____________________________

Halfway through their grade school years their secret games waned. Being in the same grade helped to keep them in touch throughout the day, but at lunch time she was Neji's, and after school she was Neji's. That's just how it was.

But they were maturing. Their experiences were expanding. They had so much to talk about.

But how could they? It had to be at bedtime. And because it had to be bedtime, they had to be quiet.

He got the idea to drill a hole into their bedroom wall so that way they could easily whisper and not get caught.

That was one of his first thrills: vandalism.

"I think you mean 'home improvement'," Hinata giggled.

He had to process that.

He never realized until then that he still hadn't considered this his home.

Thanks to Kurenai-obasan, he had food in his belly and a roof over his head. He had a bed, some video games, and a safe route to school.

Thanks to Neji, he had a model of masculinity. Not a role model, mind you, but a model nonetheless. Some things about Neji were cool, even admirable. And other things he would never do in his life. They were both abandoned, confused and alone, sure. But it was always annoying how Neji couldn't help but look back. Naruto always had to look forward.

Maybe the way they both did things was equally imperfect.

He smiled to himself, as this is where he had to thank Hinata, for she kept them both grounded and present. Because that's how she lives her life, like each day is a gift not to be squandered.

Who cares about being hurt yesterday? Who cares about what hasn't happened yet?

Right now, at this moment, he was home.

This was his home.

____________________________

Girls at school always cupped their ears when they were eavesdropping. They cup their mouths when they're telling secrets or bad-mouthing others.

Hinata cups her ear around the hole in their wall when he's telling her stories. And she cups her mouth when she's telling him hers.

Her ears are sensitive, so he tries to watch his volume. He forgets himself when he gets excitable.

Her breath tickles and teases a memory from his brain, one that fills him with both sadness and relief.

When he tries to sleep, he searches for the root of this feeling.

The next day on television, there's a mother murmuring her baby to sleep.

He adopts that image as his own forgotten memory.

And the following night, Hinata's soothing whispers confirm that he had a mother once, and she used to sing him to sleep.

____________________________

Hinata's a wimp.

He loves the girl, but at school she is a gosh damn trouble magnet.

He jumps in front of her bullies, fists blazing, and he loses.

A lot.

But he gets to pick fights again. He gets to be cool from time to time. And when he gets better, he becomes the best. He gets a reputation!

By the time they reach fifth grade, he doesn't even have to raise a fist.

A well-aimed death glare is enough.

When Neji's graduation forces the two cousins apart for the first time in their lives, the older Hyuuga undergoes a personality shift.

He expresses legitimate concern for Hinata.

Maybe it's been there all along.

They're both standing on the empty landing just outside of their elementary's gymnasium where the remainder of the proceedings were taking place. Neji's stare, heavy with expectations and ultimatum, bore down on his little shoulders.

"You're the only one I can ask."

"Yeah, don't worry. I got this!" Naruto flashed his patent overconfident grin, and this time not a hint of condescension passed across Neji's face.

His heart thumped wildly when he and Neji returned to the gymnasium, with Neji returning to his position amongst the other students in the center of the room. Family members lined up against the walls in foldable metal chairs, a spattering of pride and loss playing out across their faces; Their children were growing up.

When Naruto took his seat, he stole a glance at Hinata on the other side of Kurenai-obasan. Her gentle profile seemed to unlock something inside of him. Waves upon waves of warmth filled his body, pulling him in deeper into a languid pool of contentment.

He would be her protector from now on.

He would be her brother.

____________________________

He never noticed how their paths lead each other further and further apart.

Their daily routines had remained the same.

Aside from a few exciting developments.

Like Kurenai reconnecting with a childhood friend. The man was a Marine and a chainsmoker, but he seemed cool.

Or how Naruto happened to find a collection of discarded skin mags behind the pool storage room at school. They now safely occupied the space beneath his bed.

There was also the neighborhood shrimp squad of grade-schoolers who loved to call him 'Boss' whenever he came over to play.

Or that time he was hanging out with Sasuke, and unusually the stoic lad had insulted a group of delinquents before he did at the local arcade.

Sasuke may have taken out four guys by the time Naruto took out one, but he still got the win.

But way, way before all of that something had really surprised him: Hinata becoming Deputy Class Rep to their own Haruno Sakura.

She was volunteered for the position based on her equally outstanding grades. Or, at least that's what they had believed.

Over time, it became apparent that they had volunteered Hinata to be Sakura's foil. Hinata was considerate and much more approachable. If the students wanted something, they went straight to Hinata first.

But then her unchanged nature became more detectable.

Like he's said before, Hinata's a wimp.

She crumbles at the slightest disapproval.

She implodes when she's convinced she could do better. When she thinks she's failing.

So halfway through their first year, she started to get abused. Girls and boys alike tried to strongarm her into making their lives 'better'. Making her fetch their lunches and dumping cleaning duty on her every day, then throwing her words back at her when she tried to complain. They'd say, 'But it's what you signed up for', and 'Isn't this your job? Don't you care about your classmates?'.

Somehow Sakura never noticed. He tried to tell her, but she didn't take him seriously. He tried to tell the teachers, but they acted like he had no evidence.

Liars! They just didn't want to get involved! What good are teachers if they don't help their students?!

Some weeks later, the following exams were posted outside the classroom.

Sakura was number two, just below Ino. They were always competing for the top, always unevenly dethroning the other.

Hinata was number three. Always suspiciously number three. And he was dead last.

Hinata could rise to the top, but she never tries.

He always tries, but he can never seem to rise.

He realized then that he hasn't been doing enough as her brother.

Compared to her, he has no future, no potential. It wouldn't be a waste if he took on her burdens.

He can take abuse, because during those first six years at a state-run orphanage, abuse was all he knew.

He realized what he had to do. Resiliency was one of his best traits, after all.

The following day, he took Hinata's place as the class slave. He fetched their lunches, got them drinks whenever they asked. The only thing they never asked him to do was their homework. Because… yeah.

Nobody knew they lived together.

If they did, well, he might've been forced to copy Hinata's assignments all the same.

He never noticed how their paths lead them apart, how their daily routines boxed them into two different social spheres never to overlap.

He was still her brother. Her protector.

But by high school, he'd also become the embodiment of trouble itself.

And he couldn't let that stuff disrupt her life.

____________________________

Naruto’s sprawled belly-down on the sofa playing on his Vita handheld when Kurenai-obasan calls out to him as she’s emerging from the laundry room.

“Naruto, I’ve stared at this hamper for three weeks,” She drops the hamper at her feet with a weighty thump for emphasis. “Are you going to do it or not?”

“I just forgot.” He surreptitiously powers off his game and abandons his handheld on the sofa as he ambles off the couch.

He’s dramatic when he slouches his shoulders and drags his feet, head lolling backwards in anguish. He hauls the hamper back inside the laundry room. He doesn’t look when he opens the washing machine and dumps his clothes into the drum. But the pile is sticking up. He tries to smash it all down, but he can’t. It’s already full.

“Crap.” He scoops out his month-old laundry in four armfuls and disposes them at his feet. He reaches in to grab the damp garments sticking to the sides of the drum, then begins to throw them into the dryer. At least that’s empty.

He doesn’t notice the butter yellow hoodie with white polka dots on the kangaroo pocket. Or the frilly linen top that needs to be dried on the line. Or the no-show socks with rabbits on them.

Once the drum was cleared out, he hurled his fermented clothes into the washer and started up both machines.

He went back to his game for several hours. Kurenai had to remind him to dry his clothes as she delivered the dryer’s contents to Hinata’s room. This was because Hinata was at cram school.

As he moved his items to the dryer, he recalled how Neji had done cram school too before moving onto a prestigious high school deep in the city center.

Naruto never knew whether to be jealous or not. School work was utterly useless and he didn’t envy the workload of overachievers, but maybe that was only because he couldn’t handle it. Maybe if he were smarter, he’d appreciate it better. Or maybe he’d figure out more ingenious ways to skip it all.

He played his game in the laundry room, waiting for the final ding to go off. He used the same dirty hamper to gather up his clean clothes and dragged it inside his room, where he promptly dumped it all out on his bed. Fresh laundry was intoxicating and he didn’t fight the urge to belly flop into the softener-drenched warmth.

He deeply inhaled as he sank into the heat. His cheek felt particularly nice against this satin material.

His left eye opened a peek. Vanilla and lavender stripes met his eye, with a rose lace and ribbon trim along the waistband.

He shot upright, his face no longer hot from the laundry, but hot with horrified embarrassment. He stared at the garment like it might come to life, jump on him and eat his face. It hadn’t so far.

‘It should be fine to pick them up, right?’ He thought with his frozen hand stretched out.

Why was he acting weird about this? They used to mix their laundry up all the time when they were younger. It’s actually how Hinata acquired a love of hoodies in the first place, because she loved to wear the beige one Obasan got him. She can pull off softer colors, but he can’t, so it was easily hers from that moment on.

He plucked up her panties by their corners and held it away, like it were an envelope full of Ricin, and he gazed at it mindlessly. Somehow they were exactly what he expected Hinata to wear, they were girly and cute.

Pale skin flashed before his eyes, a taboo image of Hinata in these panties, lifting her pleated uniform skirt up had startled him and he dropped the undergarments with a yelp.

Did he really just imagine her that way?

Naruto tried to smack the stupid from his mind until his cheeks burned with physical pain, then with everything he could muster, he snatched up the pair and ran for her bedroom, adding it unceremoniously to her hamper of clean clothes.

He pretended to be asleep by the time she got home.

He ignored the sweet voice that slid through the hole in the wall until she gave up and stopped calling him.

There was simply no way he could hold a conversation with her after that experience.

And to think he had to rely on his skin mags to purge him of his sin.

____________________________

Weightlifting was doing wonders for him.

For starters, it was taking his mind off of his libido.

For another, his physique was changing. He was starting to sprout up, too. Hinata’s former bullies were starting to learn some new feelings, like reluctance and fear. They eventually moved onto the freshman to enslave, leaving him alone to finally live his final year of middle school the way he always wanted.

The more he did weights, the more girls started to look his way, not just at Sasuke-teme.

Life was looking good!

Is what he thought when he was hanging out on the roof with Sasuke and two Ojou-gyaru types. One girl was straddling Sasuke while Naruto spooned the other girl from behind.

A dire thought hit him when he realized only six months remained until graduation. A choice he had been overlooking was rapping its knuckles against his temple, and he could hardly shoo it away.

“Hey.” Naruto turned his head towards Sasuke.

“Hn?”

“Where are you going for High School?”

Sasuke turned his head up towards the sky. He was pensively silent. Then he shrugged. “I’m going to stay here.”

“So you’re going to Konoha Normal High?”

“Just like everyone else.” Sasuke said.

‘Everyone else’ didn’t include Hinata, and he was supposed to stick close to her.

How suspicious would it be if he chose to follow her to her high school?

What if he couldn’t? What if she was following the same path as Neji?

Neji would be there until her senior year. Was his responsibility to the both of them over already?

Naruto would later get a text from Obasan that she would be spending the night with Asuma.

K-Obasan: There’s curry udon in the fridge.

He narrowed his eyes at the text.

Just because you add noodles to leftover curry doesn’t make it a Naruto-approved dinner!

“Udon’s not even the same thing!”

His steps slowed in the school corridor. It was enough for his rooftop date to catch up with him.

“Your face looks weird when you’re glum.” She giggled as she poked his cheeks.

“Yeah, well, I just realized I’m about to go home and no one’s going to be waiting for me.”

“Oh?” She circled her arms around his own and leaned in close. “Good for us, huh?”

His eyes widened with realization. A goofy grin stretched across his face, the corners curling lasciviously.

‘Yeah,’ he thought, ‘I’m owed this.’

____________________________

Author Note: I'm forgoing the one-shot because I still don't have that kind of discipline. ;D I'll definitely try to finish this short story to the end. I had received some good title suggestions for this story, but I ended up going with another song name because I can't seem to do anything else. ¯\_༼ ಥ ‿ ಥ ༽_/¯

I'm still going to try to adhere to the canon of the original fic to the best of my ability. I would totally declare this new canon, honestly, but then it'd be a Secret Dating fic with smut and it would never line up with what I already wrote. 😓

Anyways, I hope you liked this so far!

[buckyskorpion]

11 Hours - part one

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: um yes so hello another au and another wip..... dont hate the player hate the game. i hope you enjoy this though! this is my take on a biker!bucky au because we definitely dont have enough of those. let me know your thoughts on this, critiques, predictions, anything! my ask is open. also i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask. 

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

You lie on your stomach, sheets pooled by your ankles, and watch Bucky watch you. One hand propping him up on his side, the other tracing slow, hair-raising circles on your bare back. He’s not really seeing you though, eyes glazed over so they look shiny and huge, big enough to get lost in. You roll away from him, off the edge of the bed and onto your feet.

“Going?” he asks, voice rough. You can’t remember the last time one of you spoke - the time between breathless moans and now seems stretched, like a liminal space you’ve both been sitting in for far too long.  It’s time to get back to the real world. You shrug one shoulder, rooting around his bedroom floor for your clothes to redress.

“It’s late,” you say. He huffs an agreement. The two of you didn’t get back to his apartment until after midnight, so who knows the time now.

“Let me call you a cab,” Bucky says, rolling onto his back to pat around the bedside table for his phone. You toss him a look over your shoulder, chosing to ignore him as you pull your skinny jeans up over your ass. Bucky pauses to watch, tongue flicking over his lips and not bothering to hide his grin when you catch him. You throw your jacket at his head which he catches with ease, laughing himself back into the pillows. Ugh, he’s such a menace.

You walk back over to the bed once you get your last shoe on, closing the distance you’d created that was so obvious in the contrast between his bare skin and you, fully dressed. You lean over him, letting him tug you close with a hand on your hip while you pull him up with a grip on his dog-tags. You kiss him, a hard press of lips and a quick swipe of your tongue that he tries to follow but you pull away. He lets you go, rolling his eyes at the tease.

“See ya later, tough guy,” you say, backing up to the door. He tosses your leather jacket back to you, and you catch it with one hand as you head down the hallway. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to a goodbye from him, so you let the front door click shut without another word.

You shrug into your jacket as you race down the stairs of Bucky’s apartment building, heading for the laundry room. It’s not like you know Bucky - all you do is fuck on any day you both happen to be free, starting at a grungy bar in downtown weeks ago and ending here, in some strange friends with benefits situation (minus the ‘friends’ part). He’s hot, and you’re not looking for a relationship, so it’s perfect. Only, something about the scars on Bucky’s knuckles and the motorbike he drives you home on after the bar makes the hair on the back of your neck raise. Something about Bucky is bad news, and you’re not about to get caught up in it just for some (mindblowingly good) sex.

So, you head to the laundry room and climb out the window rather than using the lobby doors. Nobody sees you, and it’s easy to get to if you stand on the dryer in the far right corner. You don’t know why you think someone might be watching Bucky’s apartment, or following you from your late night visits, but your dad always said you were paranoid and it’s never hurt you this far in your life. You swing a leg through the window and drop down into the patchy grass below.

From here you scale the fence into the gym parking lot next door and enter the street that way, nobody the wiser. You stuff your hands in your pockets as you walk down the street, itching for a cigarette or some gum or a pair of earphones, something to keep you company as walk home in the middle of night in New York. There are still people out and about, because of course there are, it’s New York. You make it home without a hitch and immediately head to the shower to wash off the night.

Naked again, before you get under the jet you check your phone. Bucky has texted you - probably a joke or something, his pretence for checking you get home safely. Tough guy my ass, you think as you open the picture he’d sent. He’s holding up the black lace panties you’d been wearing, the one’s he’d pulled off with his teeth and tossed aside without a second thought. Under it, he’s sent another message. Think you forgot something.

Did I really forget them? You try to bite back a grin, because it’s sad to be standing in your bathroom smiling at your phone, but you’re unsuccessful. You watch the three dots under Bucky’s name start and stop, then start again, making your heartbeat pick up. You’d made the oh-so-confident Bucky ‘dont know his last name and don’t need to’ falter. It still gives you a thrill.

Don’t think you’ll be getting them back.

Consider it a present, perv.

You like it

No comment.

You jump in the shower, leaving your phone on the vanity. You can’t leave the shower until you rub one out, the rounds of sex you’d had a mere hour ago long forgotten at the thought of Bucky doing the same thing as you to the panties you’d left behind. Maybe you don’t want to get caught up in whatever shit Bucky is in to set off your paranoia radar, but you certainly want to get caught up in him. If you aren’t already; irreversibly tangled.

***

You never find Bucky, he finds you. Or rather, he gives you a call and you know within a few hours you’ll be at whatever bar or diner he asks you to meet him at, building up the tension until you both can’t take it anymore and go back to his apartment. It doesn’t matter what you say to him, or how many times you say no - you both know you’ll be there.

This time he catches you leaving your dad’s place, pushing through the gate as you put the phone up to your ear. You turn to wave goodbye to your dad in the window he always stands at to see you off towards the subway, and say, “So soon?”

“Hello to you too,” Bucky grumbles, but you know there’s no heat in it. You’re grinning as you dodge pedestrians, tugging your puffer jacket tighter around you with your free hand - the New York winter chill has started to set in and it’s biting through even the hoodie you’re wearing under the jacket.

“Hello, Bucky,” you say, hoping he can pick up on the thick condescension you’re handing him, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I can hang up,” Bucky warns, and you smirk. You’re winning this round, at least.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby.” You jog down the subway stairs, hoping your line doesn’t cut out as you move underground. It doesn’t, Bucky’s reluctant laugh filtering clear as day through your phone.

“Baby, huh? Moving onto pet names are we, doll?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Ugh, not if they’re from the nineteen forties, no thank you.”

“I’m sure you hate it,” Bucky says, sarcasm heavy. You can hear his eyeroll from here. “What are you doing?”

“Getting on a train,” you say, as you do indeed slip through the almost-closed doors and try to avoid any and all surfaces around you. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” Bucky says, grin audible. It’s your turn to huff now - Bucky never tells you anything about his life, what he’s doing, who he’s with. It’s another thing that makes you think he’s hiding something, but instead of finding it infuriating and a dealbreaker like you should, instead you’re fascinated. Your mission is to figure Bucky out, piece by piece.

There’s a muffled voice on the other line, someone talking to Bucky and you imagine him covering the receiver with one big palm. A hand that you want on you, running down your skin and pressing down over your throat and dipping between-

“You there?” Bucky asks, jolting you out of your daydream. You’re blushing, suddenly too-hot in the layers that were previously not doing enough to ward off the chill.

You clear your throat and say, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, what?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky says, clearly amused. “I said, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Something a bit different.”

“Oh?” It had been weeks of going to dive bars and underground diners, meeting Bucky in dark corners to drink rum and cokes and eventually fuck each other senseless until you’re sure Bucky must get noise complaints. Never had he once indicated he might want to change the routine you’d set up. Never had he asked you for a favour. To say you were intrigued was an understatement.

“Come to a party with me tonight?” he asks. You have to replay his voice in your head to make sure you heard right, stunned into silence. He takes your pause for a ‘no’, hurriedly filling it with, “I get if it’s a no, but my friend Nat is a drill sergeant and she’ll give me the third degree if I don’t bring-“

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you say, interrupting his nervous ramble. You’d never heard Bucky sound anything but aggressively confident before. It’s throwing you for more of a loop than his invitation. A large part of your brain tells you to say no. You don’t trust Bucky, really - you barely know him. But thats why you want to say yes. Going to this party might change that. “I’ll go. What time?”

“Eight tonight,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh. You organise to meet at his apartment, not quite ready to give him your address yet, and hang up. Your mind is reeling, sure everyone on the train must feel the impact of that phone call, too.

They’re all going about their business as if something monumental hasn’t just happened. Bucky has invited you into his life, to meet his friends, as his date. What happened to not-friends with benefits? What if this changes the arrangement you’ve carefully cultivated, so perfect for your independent lifestyle and Bucky’s obvious commitment issues?

The temptation is too much. You practically run home when you get off at your stop, anxious to get ready. You’re about to get a few more pieces of the Bucky puzzle and you have to look good for it.

***

Bucky stops you in the front hall of the house, a hand on your arm as he stares down at you. He looks comically large in the tiny Brooklyn town house, even if it is ten times nicer and more beautiful than your place will ever be. The party filters in from further inside the house, loud music and laughter and the obvious clink of beer bottles sounding muffled through the bubble of you and Bucky.

“My friends are… a lot,” he says, drawing his lip between his teeth. You tilt your head at him, amused by what you can only assume is nerves radiating off Bucky. He rolls his eyes at you, kisses you on the forehead quickly, and adds, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I can handle myself, tough guy,” you say as he tugs you by the hand through to the living room where the party is in full swing.

“I hope you’re not calling that punk ‘tough’, lady,” a man calls out from the couch, pointing the neck of his beer at Bucky. His tone sounds aggressive but the wide, gap-toothed smile he gives says otherwise. He gets up and pulls Bucky into one of those manly half-hugs. Bucky doesn’t drop your hand as he pats the guy on the back, and you try in vain not to read too much into that.

“Sam, this is (Y/n),” Bucky says, and to your surprise Sam pulls you into a hug as well. You make wide eyes at Bucky over Sam’s shoulder but he just smirks, clearly amused. He’s still holding your hand.

“Nice to meet you!” Sam exclaims, a bit too loud in your ear but you don’t mind. His happiness is infectious. “Come meet Natasha, she’s going to love you.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, letting yourself be led by Sam with an arm over your shoulders to the couch he’d just vacated. Bucky drops his grip but follows too-close behind you, his body heat almost like a physical touch on your back, reminding you he’s there. You wonder if he’s nervous about what you’re going to say to his friends, or what his friends are going to say to you.

“Because,” Sam says cryptically. You roll your eyes - he’s sounds just like Bucky.

Sam stops in front of the redhead woman he was sitting next to when you entered, dropping the arm from your shoulders. She immediately stops her conversation and stands up, giving you a once over with a smirk tucked tight in the corner of your mouth. You try not to feel intimidated but it’s hard - she’s beautiful, and scary, and did you mention beautiful? She shoots an amused look to Bucky over your shoulder, and in response Bucky rests his fingertips on the small of your back. Barely there, but just enough.

“You’ve brought someone, James,” she says, turning her attention back to you and holding a hand out. “Natasha, lovely to meet you.”

“(Y/n),” you say, taking her hand. It’s soft -  you half expected her to break your hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, you’re adorable,” she says, and you don’t bother hiding your frown. You don’t like feeling condescended and Natasha seems to be exuding that in palpable waves. Bucky must feel you stiffen because he steps closer, if possible, and slides the hand on your back around to grip your hip.

“Nat,” he says, with warning, and you glance up at Bucky to find him having some kind of silent stare off with Natasha over your head. Eventually he looks back down to you, smiling a bit and squeezing your hip, don’t worry about her. To you, he says, “Let’s go say hi to Steve.”

“See you later, (Y/n),” Nat says, wiggling her fingers in a wave as you follow Bucky to the kitchen. You ignore her, stepping closer to Bucky on instinct as you weave through people packed wall to wall. That was weird, but what did you expect? Bucky did warn you.

Steve turns out to be a giant blonde teddy bear who sweeps Bucky into a hug that lifts him onto his toes. It’s endlessly funny to see huge, muscled, intimidating Bucky being manhandled by a touchy, clearly tipsy behemoth. Bucky doesn’t let it stand for too long, though, bringing Steve into a headlock and sending them both tumbling into the kitchen bench.

“Jerk,” Steve gasps when Bucky lets him go, eyes narrowing. Bucky grins, breathless, and punches him on the shoulder.

“Punk,” he says fondly. You’re mesmerised. You’d wanted to see more of Bucky’s life but you never expected this. It’s like watching him with his family, and it makes something soft and fuzzy swell in your heart which is bad. Very, very bad. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

Steve finally notices you’re there and you do the normal introductions, watching your hand disappear in his huge one as he shakes it. They’ve all been very welcoming, in their own ways, you notice (bar Natasha, but something tells you she’s always like that). They don’t seem to question your sudden appearance at their party or with their friend, holding Bucky’s hand and being tucked into his side as he passes you a beer and gets to talking about things you have no hope of following. You’re happy just to watch Bucky, smiling and laughing with pointed teeth and crinkles by his eyes. You still don’t really understand why you’re here, but you’re not going to question it. This feels like a stolen moment, something you’re not meant to see and might not see again so you try and commit as much to memory as you can.

The night goes on, talking with Sam and Steve and Natasha who appear to be Bucky’s closest friends and the only ones he bothers making time for. Bucky doesn’t stop touching you the entire time. At first you think it’s nerves, but the more you observe the party around you when the conversation turns to something you can’t contribute to, the more you think it’s for everyone else rather than Bucky’s nerves. You catch a lot of people eyeing his hand on your hip or his arm around your shoulders, or just looking at Bucky in general. Hardly anyone interrupts your little party of five but not for ignoring you - it’s almost like they revolve around you, in tune to the groups’ every movement, but they wouldn’t dare approach. It’s weird. You try not to look too hard into it but your dad is right. You’re paranoid.

Eventually it’s just you and Bucky sitting on a bench outside, a canopy of fairy lights casting shadows from his unfairly long eyelashes as he looks down at your entwined hands in his lap. You tug against his grip, causing him to look up at you and you almost lose your train of thought. Bucky’s eyes are searing blue, the hottest part of the flame.

“You’re being very possessive tonight,” you say, squeezing his hand for emphasis. He doesn’t look away from your eyes, cocking his head to the side and you have the distinct feeling you’re being tested.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer straight away. Truth be told, you have no idea what’s going on. You went from fucking Bucky on a semi-regular basis, keeping it at strangers who bone and nothing else, to being glued to his side at a party with his closest friends in what feels like no time at all. Whiplash, is what you feel. You don’t think you hate it, though.

“I never said that,” you tell Bucky, and watch as his face morphs from calculating to that shit-eating, confident smirk you’ve come to know. You’re relieved to see it, the sparkle of his eyes as he leans closer to you in the dark of the garden. This, at least, you know.

“You’ve done well tonight,” he says, and you hate how you glow at the compliment when you should be rolling your eyes. “I know I’ve asked a lot.”

“It’s alright Bucky,” you say, smiling at his seriousness. You’d think he’s asked you to commit a crime or something. “Although, I don’t know why you needed me here. I’m glad you did, but…”

“But you thought I only wanted you, to fuck you?” he finishes, kicking his eyebrows up in amusement. You hate the way you blush, ducking your head from him to try and hide it.

“I feel like that was a very logical conclusion,” you say defensively. What else had he given you? You didn’t even know his last name.

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back up to look at him. He’s smiling soft, not condescending at all, and he moves his hand to cup your cheek in his palm and hold you there, looking at him.

“Maybe this was a test,” he says, licking his lips. Biding time. “To see if I can trust you.”

“Do you?” you ask, eyebrows kicking up.

“Jury’s still out,” he says with a grin, light-hearted, playing it off as a joke but you know from the look in his eyes that he’s being somewhat serious. He looks out at the garden then, still holding you close, and says almost thoughtfully, “My friends like you, though. Even Natasha.”

You scoff at that, and he turns back to you with that crinkly, squishy smile he gave to Steve before. It catches you off guard, enough to not see the kiss before it comes but you catch up as fast as you can. You want to slide into his lap and run your fingers under his shirt, but that’s probably a bit inappropriate in front of a bunch of people you just met. You settle for a frustrated groan against his mouth, biting his lip and tugging so he’s forced to chase you against the back of the bench, crowding your space. He drops your hand to slide his up your thigh, fingertips dangerously close to your crotch, kissing you hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth is scalding, stubble against your skin a delicious burn, and you would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for the very pointed cough from behind Bucky’s shoulder.

It’s Natasha, standing with her arms folded and a smile hidden somewhere in the green of her eyes. You try to mentally will away the flush in your cheeks as Bucky pulls back, hand still on your thigh but turning to glare at Natasha. You find yourself somewhat hiding behind the bulk of his shoulder despite yourself, letting him take the reins.

“Steve is puking,” she reports, raising one eyebrow. “Sam requests your assistance.”

“Fucking ‘course he does,” Bucky grumbles roughly, getting to his feet. Right before he storms away he pauses, leans back down to kiss you again, and then he’s back on a warpath through the house. Other guests part for him like the red sea, and you watch with furrowed eyebrows as they also seem to watch him go. He never goes anywhere without an audience. Perhaps you were right to be paranoid about him.

Natasha is still standing there when you blink yourself back to the garden, watching you with an unreadable expression. You straighten your holey, vintage t-shirt under your leather jacket and stand, not enjoying the power difference with her standing above you. You wish Bucky had taken you with him, even though you didn’t particularly want to watch Steve throw up everywhere. It would be preferable to being stuck under Natasha’s x-ray vision, though.

“I like your boots,” she says. It takes you aback - such a typical girl thing to say at a party to someone you don’t know, and Natasha doesn’t give you ‘typical’. You glance down at your Docs, and then back up at her pretty sundress with a sexy v-cut.  Sure you do, you think sarcastically, as you both stand there like night and day.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, “And again, for inviting me. The party’s been great.”

“Has it?” she asks, and why do you feel like she’s asking three questions at once? As if sensing your apprehension, she smiles and adds, “Just, I know we’re a bit full on and being the new girl at a party is always difficult.”

You blink, surprised once again. The sincerity throws you for a loop, as everything seems to with Natasha. You say, “I mean, yeah, but you guys are great. You all seem really close, it’s- nice. Like  a family.”

Something flashes in Natasha’s eyes, that amused little smirk returning to her face that fills your gut with dread. Was it something you said?

“Come on,” she says, and just as you think you can’t be surprised by this woman anymore, she winds her arm with yours and starts leading you back into the house. Throwing you a conspiratorial look you’re not sure you’ve earned, she says, “Let’s go find the boys. I’m sure Steve’s finished throwing up by now.”

Part Two

~~~~~ please let me know what you think!

[cno-inbminor]

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

-

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. “Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

-

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

-

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

-

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

-

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

-

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

-

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

-

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

-

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

-

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

-

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

-

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .  

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”  

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

-

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

-

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriend­TM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

-

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.  

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

-

fin.

[tchallasbabymama]

Gone

Hey y’all, here’s Chapter 6 of Playlist. Check out my masterlist HERE to read the other chapters if you haven’t already, and check out my other stories too!

CW: alcoholism

Word count: 4894

Two months had passed and T’Challa was still not taking it well. He was still internalizing  the guilt he felt for putting Ashanti in harm's way, and it was all he could think about. He felt numb most days, and when he felt anything at all it was grief  over losing his love. Whenever he wasn’t working he hid away in his chambers, staring at the walls and playing sad music. Today his favorite song to wallow to was “Gone” by N*Sync. He laid across his bed sipping from a bottle of whiskey with the song playing on repeat as tears ran down his face. 

There's a thousand words that I could say

To make you come home

Oh, seems so long ago you walked away

Left me alone

I remember what you said to me

You were acting so strange

and maybe I was too blind to see

That you needed a change

Was it something I said

To make you turn away?

To make you walk out and leave me cold

If I could just find a way

To make it so that you were right here

But right now..

I've been sitting here

Can't get you off my mind

I've tried my best to be a man and be strong

I've drove myself insane

Wishing I could touch your face

But the truth remains..

You're gone..

You're gone..

Baby you're gone

Girl you're gone, baby girl, you're gone..

You're gone..

You're…

He barely spoke to his family anymore. Not even N’Jadaka could get anything out of him on their occasional walks when he would visit from Oakland. The king was a steel trap of emotions, and nobody could get in. His cousin could tell something was off, and began to worry about his health so he and Shuri decided to confront him about it. They knew it wouldn’t go well, but they never expected him to insult their intelligence. 

T’Challa had been able to hide his drinking from Queen Mother, but it was hard to get anything past the other two. N’Jadaka had seen friends go down a similar route and he knew the signs, and Shuri had overheard the kitchen staff talking about sending three bottles a night to the king’s chambers. When he was scheduled to leave for a mission with the Avengers she was scared out of her mind that he would get hurt, so right before he left she and her cousin confronted him. He lied to them, for the first time ever, and straight up denied the accusations. Shuri was hurt to her core knowing her brother was in such a bad way that he would stoop so low, but N’Jadaka expected his response. When he left they saw him off as usual, but Shuri broke down in her cousin’s arms after the Talon took off. Ramonda quickly became worried for both of her children when Shuri told her of the burden she had been carrying for her brother. They both internalized too much, and Ramonda had Shuri start therapy immediately. She also had a grief therapist and an addiction counselor on standby for T'Challa's return. She would be damned if she lost her son to his depression.

The Avengers had also noticed a change in T’Challa’s behavior, so much so that even Sam of all people was concerned for him. Thor had tried to lighten the king’s mood with their usual banter, but nothing changed. Wanda tried to regale him with her physics-defying powers to no avail, and Natasha couldn’t get anything out of him in their sparring sessions. Eventually Steve and Sam took it upon themselves to do something, Steve as a friend and Sam as a former counselor. 

“Catman, let me holler at you real quick,” Sam interrupted T’Challa’s brooding on the couch. He rolled his eyes, but reluctantly got up anyway. Sam led him into the kitchen, where Steve was already seated at the large table. Sam pulled out a chair and turned it around before sitting and resting his forearms on the back. 

“Ok, talk. You’ve been moping around the entire time you’ve been here and you’re bringing the energy down-”

“I think what Sam is trying to say is that we’re your friends and we can tell something is wrong... come on, man, you really think I haven’t picked up on your new drinking habit?” he asked in all honesty before trying to lighten the mood a little. “You know, for a cat, you’re not that sneaky.”

T’Challa closed his eyes and sighed. He had hoped nobody else would notice before he could get it together. When Shuri and N’Jadaka confronted him before he left he lied to their faces. He had never done that before, and as soon as the words left his mouth he was filled with shame and had to leave quickly to avoid them prying any more into it. When he looked out the window of the Talon after taking off he saw his baby sister break down in tears, and his heart broke. He decided then and there that he would stop drinking, but it didn’t exactly work out that way. Here he was, a month later and still no improvement. He was doing his best to keep it under wraps, but for once his best wasn’t good enough.

“Problems at home?...Is it about Ashanti? I haven't heard you mention her in awhile.” Steve continued, trying to get something out of him.

A lump formed in the king’s throat and he nodded before averting his eyes to the table.

“She left me.”

He proceeded to tell them the whole story and watched their faces twist in disbelief.

“Wow, that’s...wow,” Steve couldn’t believe it and his heart went out to both of them for what they went through and for what T’Challa is putting himself through now. “You know, for the longest time I blamed myself for what happened to Bucky. It ate me up inside, but you gotta let that stuff go, man. If not, you’re gonna start spiraling out of control, and nobody needs that.”

“He’s right, T.”

T’Challa and Steve looked at Sam in shock, he never referred to him by his name or anything close to it. It was always “Catman” or whatever cat joke he could come up with at the moment. 

“You need to talk to someone before this gets worse,” Sam said in earnest.

He thought back to his mother’s words shortly before he left Wakanda, “I’m worried about you, unyana wam. You have not been your usual bright self.”

T’Challa sat forward, placing his elbows on the table. He decided then and there that he couldn't keep doing this to himself. He was a king, he was a warrior, he was a superhero for Bast’s sake. He couldn’t afford to be a drunken shell of himself anymore, it was going to start catching up to him. He couldn’t keep blaming himself.

“You’re right.”

-------

After the incident, Ashanti moved back in with her parents so they could care for her. Kwame and Binta were over all the time, and Shuri even made a visit to bring her the new pinky she made for her. It took some getting used to how it felt on her hand, but she eventually got the hang of it.

At first, Ashanti was scared to leave her parents’ home, so they found a therapist that made house-calls. It took some time for Ashanti to trust her, but eventually she did and Jamila was able to convince her to go outside for the first time in two months. They stayed in her parents backyard for a few sessions, before Jamila gradually got her to move further and further from the home. After about 6 months, she was able to go to the bazaar on her own. She still wasn’t up for running Taj’s, so she let her new employees Zina and Jafari handle it. So far they had been doing a great job and she wasn’t too worried about getting back to it just yet. She took some time to find herself again, painting for the first time in almost a year and spinning clay at her pottery wheel whenever she felt the need. She caught up on the books she had been meaning to read, and she slowly got back into the habit of running in the mornings. 

 Ashanti surprisingly had no problem with moving back into the house with Binta and Kwame. She missed the twins more than she could verbalize, but really did need her time away. Eventually,  things went back to normal and it was almost as if the chapter of her life that included T’Challa never happened at all.

After a few months the twins pushed her to get back out there and she started dating a River tribe guy she met on her run one morning. She had tripped over a root and ended up falling flat on her face, but luckily another runner saw her fall and came over to help. He was a hot doctor named Zane. After he checked her ankle, he looked up and was captured by her beauty. He asked her out then and there, and three months later they’re still going strong. He was sweet, and smart, and funny, and all the things she wanted in a partner...but he didn't automatically know her favorite flower, and she didn't feel electricity from his touch. His kisses didn’t ignite a flame, just a little spark. He was a great lover, but the passion wasn’t there. 

In short, Ashanti was faking it, but she was too scared to break his poor little heart.

Even her parents and roommates could tell she wasn’t really feeling Zane, so they sat her down to talk some sense into her.

“Why does this look like an intervention?” Ashanti joked when she walked into her kitchen and saw her family seated around the table, all looking up at her.

“Because it is, girl. Sit down.” Kwame pulled out the chair next to him and she tentatively took a seat.

“Sithandwa,” Bisa started , “you know we love you-“

“What’s this about?” she cut her off, nervous and ready to cut to the chase.

“Zane.” Binta and Kwame stated, matter of factly. 

Ashanti knew what was coming. Each one of them had pulled her aside at some point to have what was sure to be the exact same conversation.

“Honey, you’re playing with that poor man’s heart. We can all see you don’t want him, he’s the only one who can’t.” Kwame reached out and grabbed her hand in his.

Ashanti sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She hated being called out on her bullshit, especially since it didn't happen often. She knew they were right though, she was wrong for stringing him along.

“He’s a good man, I know, but you both deserve to be with people who want you the way you want them,” Bisa added,

“I know,” Ashanti let out a sigh before hanging her head and collecting herself. “I know, I just- he’s a great guy so I just keep hoping he’ll grow on me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Everyone seemed to look at each other out of the corners of their eyes without Ashanti noticing. They knew exactly what the problem was.

“Nothing is wrong with you, intyatyambo. You are just still in love,” Chidi cupped her face with his hand and she stared at him in shock.

“No, it’s been over a year. I’m past that now,” she tried to dead the conversation before it went somewhere she really wanted to avoid.

“Are you?” Binta asked. “Because everytime you see his hologram on the news you smile a little without even realizing it.”

“And don't forget when you ducked into a random bathroom and  texted me panicking because you saw Dora Milaje in the bazaar and thought he might be there.” Kwame added.

“I-I just didn’t want to see him, that’s all.”

“Mhm, then how come when I called you were you primping in the mirror?”

“I was not!”

“Sis…” he gave her the look.

Ashanti hung her head again.

“Fine,” she gave in. She knew why she wasn’t feeling Zane and why her palms still started to sweat when she saw pictures or holograms of him and why her heart almost beat out of her chest that day in the bazaar. She still dreamed of him. Her body still responded to the thought of him. Hearing his voice still sent chills down her spine. She still loved him, but she never wanted to admit it.

“Fine?” Chidi asked as he and his wife shared a hopeful glance.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. Happy?” tears came to her eyes, and as hard as she tried to keep them from falling she eventually lost the battle. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel the loss after the breakup, and it was all catching up to her right there in front of her family.

She sobbed on Bisa's shoulder and Chidi wrapped them both in an embrace while Binta rubbed circles on Ashanti’s back and Kwame held her hand. All four of them were relieved to see her finally come to terms with her emotions. They had been concerned that she seemingly blocked out that whole chapter of her life, not sure if it was due to the trauma or the heartbreak or both. Her time in therapy had focused on getting her through the trauma of what happened to her, and barely even touched her breakup. All she had done was lock her feelings in the basement and throw away the key, but they were still there and just as strong as ever.

After a few minutes Ashanti pulled herself together and looked at the people around her.

“I love you all so much,” she was able to get out through her tears and snot. Chidi grabbed some tissue and wiped her face.

“We love you too,” they all responded.

_______

After that day, Ashanti found herself thinking about T’Challa a little more than usual...ok a lot more than usual. Everything she saw reminded her of him, and it was starting to weigh on her. She still felt the same way about being with him, but she missed him more than she could say. Eventually she got the idea to give him a call. She talked herself out of and back into the idea for several weeks, and one day just said “Fuck it” and pressed his contact on her beads. She never got around to deleting it.

The trilling sound that followed filled her with dread. What if he didn’t pick up? What if she’s blocked or he changed his beads? 

She didn’t have time to go too far down that rabbit hole because the trilling stopped and her ex boyfriend appeared in the palm of her hand. They both stared at each other in silence before T’Challa spoke.

“Miss Ashanti, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She was saddened by his formality but stunned by the smoky timbre of his voice. She had missed it so much.

“H-hi, how are you?”

“I am well, how are you?”

“I’m doing ok.”

“Just ok?”

“Yeah, just ok…” Ashanti trailed off, leading to a long silence between the two. 

“Ashanti, is there something you need?”

“Oh, um, no not really. I just-,” she sighed, “You crossed my mind a couple times and something told me to reach out so I did.”

A small smile appeared on the king’s face.

“Just a couple times? I’m disappointed.”

She laughed, a sound he hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing in over a year, forcing his crooked smile to grow larger.

“Ok maybe a few times,” she said, while smiling back. 

“But seriously,” her voice softened, “how are you T’Challa?”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she said his name, but he wasn’t surprised she still had that effect on him since it happened every time he thought of her. He wanted to answer her honestly, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her about his drinking problem and stint in rehab a few months ago. He went back and forth on the decision for a few moments before making up his mind.

“I am well now, it has been an uphill battle.”

“I know what you mean,” Ashanti replied before they both just stared at each other in silence for a moment. “Well, I um, I know you're busy, and I didn’t really want anything so I don’t want to keep y-”

“We’re going to be late, baby,” Ashanti was cut off by a gorgeous woman in a red dress entering the room behind T’Challa. She hadn’t even noticed that he was talking to anyone, barely looking up from her beads as she walked back out of the room. T’Challa cleared his throat.

“Unfortunately you caught me at a bad time, tonight-”

“That’s ok! Uh, have fun!” she panicked and ended the call. 

“Why would you just hang up like that?” she asked herself out loud before flopping back onto her bed.

After that embarrassment, she doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to talk to him again. Of all the different ways she imagined that conversation going she never accounted for the fact that he could have already moved on to someone else. She knew it was selfish and hypocritical since she had been with Zane, but something about the idea of him with anyone else made her blood boil and tears come to her eyes. She let a couple fall before getting up and going on about her day.

Late that night as she laid in bed scrolling through her social media she came across an article about the king’s 30th birthday celebration on the 9th. It was open to the public, and for a moment she considered going, but then she remembered the silky, high pitched voice emanating from behind T’Challa and decided against it. She’d rather not have to feel that embarrassment in public. Ashanti shut off her beads and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her for the night.

-------

The drummers were extra hype today, playing their hearts out as all of Wakanda danced and celebrated their king’s birthday. As they partied into the early morning T’Challa spent the whole time glued to his girlfriend Tamala, the Mining tribe princess. She had a habit of being clingy and wouldn’t allow anyone else to steal a dance. Around 1 in the morning, he had finally had enough and excused himself to go to the restroom. Making his way out of the venue, he caught the eye of someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Kwame?”

“My king,” he saluted T’Challa, but he waved him off.

“Please, you know me.”

“Better safe than sorry. Happy birthday man!”

“Thank you, thank you. Are you here alone?” T’Challa’s eyes scanned the crowd.

“No, I'm here with the usual people,” Kwame said, smirking in the king’s direction.

“So Ashanti is…”

“Over in the back corner avoiding you and the aggressive supermodel on your arm,” he took a sip of his rum punch. 

“I can understand that,” the king and Kwame stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to continue the conversation.  “It was good seeing you Kwame.”

“You too!”

The two quickly parted ways and Kwame ran straight to his friends at the table they had commandeered in the back. He sat down on Omar’s lap and told Ashanti of his interaction with the king, leaving out that he told him where to find her. Ashanti noticed Omar’s hands make their way around Kwame’s waist and she wished she could feel the king’s arms around her like that one more time. 

“I knew I shouldn't have come here, why did I let you two talk me into this? He has a girlfriend already.”

“Because your man knows how to throw a damn party!” Binta slurred a little, very obviously teetering between tipsy and drunk. Ashanti rolled her eyes at her ‘your man’ comment but agreed, looking around at all the happy partygoers. She sighed, wishing she could enjoy herself like they were. 

On his way to the restroom T’Challa was stopped by not one, not two, but three separate elders commenting on how good he and Tamala looked together and asking about marriage plans. T’Challa knew the council was anxious for him to get married and produce heirs, but no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t see it with Tamala. She had everything he was looking for, but she was missing a special something. More like she’s not that special someone. She’s not her.

For the rest of the night, T’Challa avoided the elders and slyly kept his eye on Ashanti and her friends. He was mesmerized by her colorful curve-hugging jumpsuit and her natural hair that had grown much longer in the year they’d been apart. Her shoulders seemed to glow and her deep purple lipstick drew his eyes to her lips. His eyes travelled down her body, noticing that she had kicked off her shoes and he smiled fondly, remembering her disdain for heels. She looked up and caught him staring more than once, but he just couldn't stop. Everytime she caught him she’d quickly look away, too embarrassed to hold his gaze. His staring angered Tamala who also caught him staring more than once.

“Do you know her?” Tamala asked with an attitude, standing in his line of vision. T’Challa rolled his eyes because he sensed another argument coming. Tamala was a lot of wonderful things, but jealousy was her worst quality, hands down. He had never been one to have a wandering eye when he was with a woman, so normally her jealousy annoyed him to no end. However, this time he understood where she was coming from. 

“Yes, I do. She’s an old friend.”

“A ‘friend’ huh? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Tamala, please, not here. This is a celebration, try to be happy. For me, please.” 

The Mining tribe princess rolled her eyes and stormed off, shoulder checking Prince N’Jadaka on the way.

“Yo, me and your girl are gonna fight fight one of these days. Like, for real,” he said as he walked up to his cousin.

T’Challa chuckled as he sipped some more of his non-alcoholic ginger beer. 

“Let's go for a walk in the gardens,” he requested and the prince obliged. N’Jadaka pulled out a pre-roll and lit the tip, passing it to his cousin. “She’s upset because Ashanti is here.”

“Oh! She is, huh? Interesting...I’m surprised she showed.”

“I’m not,” he handed the blunt back to the prince, “she called me the other day. It was a very short conversation but...I still felt something and I think she did too. She looks good, really good. She asked how I had been but I couldn't really tell her the truth... She seems like she’s gotten so much better since the last time I saw her.”

The two walked in silence for a couple minutes passing the blunt back and forth before N’Jadaka broke the silence. 

“So you still love her?”

T’Challa didn’t even have to hesitate.

“Of course, I never stopped.”

---------

The next day, Ashanti and her roommates were all laying in the living room nursing hangovers while they half watched an old classic Wakandan movie. Ashanti was sick to her stomach, but she couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the sappy love story she was forced to watch. After it was over, Binta pulled up the news and right as the meteorologist finished explaining the upcoming weather patterns, a huge picture of T’Challa and Tamala kissing took over the screen. Bile rose in her stomach as Binta scrambled to change the channel. Before she could, Ashanti heard the anchor say the very words she dreaded hearing, “Could there be a royal engagement on the horizon?” 

Binta turned the hologram off altogether, and the three of them sat in silence for a while until Kwame couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you ok?”

“I will be, it’s just rough right now. I’m happy he found somebody though, they look happy.”

Neither twin wanted to pry so they left it at that and changed the subject to food.

“I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like cooking.” Binta said in a huff, throwing herself back into the couch..

“Mood,” Kwame and Ashanti replied. 

“Ooh how about I grab some food from my parents? They’ve been wanting me to stop by,” Ashanti offered. 

“Bast bless you, my child.” Binta grabbed her hand and kissed it.

Ashanti threw her shoes on and was out the door in no time flat. She needed to get out of the house and clear her head. They looked so happy…

She was on autopilot when she reached the restaurant, barely even shooting a glance towards Taj’s before immediately heading back home. Chidi and Bisa could tell there was something bothering her, but chose not to pry.

Almost a week passed by with her being forced to see the new “it” couple everywhere she turned. It was starting to get to her so she called Jamila for a session, which turned into Ashanti seeing her on the regular. After a couple more months she no longer felt weighed down by her seemingly unrequited feelings for T’Challa and was genuinely ready to move on. She even downloaded a dating app on her beads and started meeting new people. Nothing really came of it, but she enjoyed herself nonetheless. Ashanti threw herself back into work, mostly focusing on her commissions while her employees handled Taj’s. Princess Shuri had spread the word about the artist after she received her necklace and since then Ashanti’s business had been booming. Everybody from farmers to nobility was knocking down her door for a custom piece. She even made a necklace for Shani, Chieftess of the Jabari. thAll was going well in Ashanti’s life and her therapy sessions were working, so when she saw the news of the royal engagement she allowed the grief to wash over her before shaking it off and going on about her day. On the other side of Birnin Zana, King T’Challa sighed as he watched the media coverage. He knew she was out there somewhere having to see it and he pushed back against the feeling of guilt that often tried to overcome him. He had to do it, though. He had been pushing the council to allow immigration into Wakanda and they just wouldn’t budge, just like he hadn’t budged on the issue of betrothal. It wasn’t until he announced to them that he had plans to marry Tamala that the council started to see things his way. This way everybody would be happy. He would be able to open up Wakanda more to the Lost Tribe, and they would have a queen and hopefully, soon after, an heir to the throne. A week later the news leaked to the press somehow and it quickly became all anyone could talk about.

During his weekly visits to the Merchant tribe T’Challa tended to avoid the Bazaar for fear of running into Ashanti, but this time he decided to venture in. People greeted him as he walked through, perusing the merchandise, and stopping periodically to chat. This is why he loved coming there, everyone was always so cheerful and bright. He had crouched down to talk to a nine year old girl who wanted his attention, and on his way back up he saw a woman in a purple headwrap walking out of a storefront, going in the opposite direction. He would’ve recognized that walk anywhere. T’Challa wanted to call out to her, but didn’t want to embarrass her or start a scandal. He watched her turn the corner and disappear from his sight. The king said goodbye to the little girl and her baba before heading off in the same direction she went, almost leaving his Doras in the dust. When he rounded the corner he stopped abruptly at the absolute vision staring right back at him. She was in shock, obviously not expecting to run into her newly engaged ex.

“T’Challa, h-hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, wanting to kick himself for not being more articulate.

“Um, congratulations on your engagement. I saw the news, well, everywhere.”

“Oh, uh, Thank you.”

“What brings you down here?”

“Just my usual weekly rounds.”

“Oh yeah, I remember those.” She smiled at the memory and his heart thumped a little louder in his chest at the sight. “You always looked forward to Mondays just for that…”

“I still do.”

They both awkwardly stood there, neither one of them saying what’s on their mind.

“Well, I uh, I have to go open up the store. I’ll see you around T’Challa.”

There was so much that he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t get it out. Being in her presence again after so long had him freezing up, something he never did.

She saluted him and winked before turning around and heading towards Taj’s. He couldn’t help but watch her hips twitch as she walked away and something told him she knew he was watching. She did.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@maddeningmayhem, @theblulife

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟒)

part three

note - i wanna thank everyone for reading once again! i'm currently in the process of writing imagines, those will be posted throughout the week, i don't want to clog up my blog bc i want y'all to see this chapter!

this one switches pov a lil more frequently, so bear with me <3 also not as smutty as other chapters, this is more of an emotionally-charged chapter!!! still a teensy bit smutty thooo. i want to make it clear that while this fic is definitely rooted in smut & sex & sex work, it is not porn without plot & will not ONLY be smut as i put effort and time into plot development / character development! i'm sure y'all know that tho. there will be conflict, there will be plot!!! i feel like that's clear already but there's discourse on smut happening rn and i wanna voice myself! omg anyways luv y'all enjoy the reaaad <3

new taglist!

playlist

word count - 8.3k

warnings - age gap, sex work, smut, vibrator, ANGSTYYY like hella dramatic, dirty talk

That slight shift that you and Steve both felt, that happiness that you realized came from talking to one another, only lasted so long... for you. You could hardly sit in your feelings about your situation with Steve before another thing that occupied all your time came crashing down upon you. Except this time, the thing brought you no such happiness or curiosity.

    You had spent almost your entire senior year working on a special lab project about drought tolerant plants in Southern California where you lived and went to school, and your professor was making completing your project incredibly hard for you. And you felt incredibly stressed out about the entire situation - not only was the project necessary to graduate, but it was your heart and soul for the past year. Now, your professor was basically saying it was "ineligible."

     "Ineligible?" Aaliyah repeated after you, after you told her what your professor had said.

     "Whatever the hell that means," you huffed as you power walked down the street, hand in hand with Aaliyah, your free hand holding a coffee.

     "That's so fucking annoying, holy shit," Aaliyah pressed a hand to her forehead. "He had the whole year to talk to you about changing your topic and...”

     "And he never did," you sighed, frowning. You settled down onto a bench where the two of you sat next to each other, staring out into the busy streets and sipping your iced coffees.

California was a beautiful place, and you were a native, you'd lived there all your life. You knew the ins and outs of your city, knew Southern California like it was your backbone. And you loved it here - loved the sun, the beaches, the way the people were either shady in the best way or incredibly friendly. You'd never really known any other place like you knew this place. You were just glad that if you had to be stressed, you could do so in California.

Aaliyah pouted, feeling for you. She placed her hand on your knee to be comforting,

     "Babe..."

     "It's okay," you sighed. You sucked it up, like always, because you had learned how to fend for yourself ever since you realized that depending on others could only lead to downfall. You would figure this out the same way you figured everything else out... on your own. You figured out your house on your own, your job, your finances.

     "Is it, though?" Aaliyah pursed her lips and squinted at you. Despite how much you tried to fend for yourself, Aaliyah was always there for you. She was one of your biggest supporters.

     "I'll just keep visiting during his office hours and work this out."

Aaliyah rolled her eyes,

     "Men are so annoying, girl. You know what, he probably wants to fuck you. With your fine ass. That's why he's doing all this."

You chuckled, shaking your head and covering your mouth, trilling back in response,

       "Okay girl, don't get too ahead of yourself."

       "I'm serious! Men are evil. Oh, except your fave."

You made a face, nearly choking on your iced coffee. This was news to you,

       "Who are we talking about?"

       "You know," Aaliyah sang slightly, nudging you and leaning against your shoulder. "Mr. Won't Show His Face."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but bit down on your straw with a knowing smile, eyes peeking out over the top of your shades. If you were being honest, this idea of Steve, whoever he really was, had been a fun thing to entertain during this period of stress. You'd been talking and engaging with him for two and a half weeks now, and the connection you two had was undeniable.

But you knew better - maybe he wasn't just another customer, because you could really talk to him and felt like he was real - then again, he was strictly a customer. You liked him, a lot, but you couldn't like him any more than you already did. That would be dangerous and silly, and create unrealistic expectations. It wasn't like you could go on dates or anything.

    Still, talking to him (and performing for him) did help to distract you from your stress, at least for a small amount of time. Steve was becoming less shy, less inhibited. He cracked jokes and was starting to keep up with your innate sense of sexuality, starting to navigate you, find you the way a bee might find its nectar, hidden deep inside the curvatures of a flower.

If you were a flower, you'd probably be a sunflower - bright, yellow, almost always in a positive mood, or at least trying to keep yourself in a positive mood. More than that though, sunflowers were tall and looming - you felt like that represented your put togetherness and how hard you worked, how smart you were. Only sometimes it was hard to keep yourself up and tall, but you always did it, time and time again.

But when it came to Aaliyah's comments about Steve, she mostly just made you laugh.

    "Haven't seen him yet, have you?" Aaliyah asked, raising her brows expectantly.

     "No. And I'm fine with that. He's simply another very loyal customer who I happen to like."

     "Hm," Aaliyah hummed, and you could tell her mind was up to something - some very wishful, and mischievous thinking.

     "What are you up to?" you narrowed your eyes at her and glared at her, and she just shook her head with a lazy smile,

     "Nothing. Just thinking that maybe it would be cool if he really was this really hot guy that you actually knew and he wasn't creepy and y'all... you know... started dating. Just to get your mind off a lot of crap. I know, I know, strictly against the rules, blah blah blah. No feelings for customers, it's basic shit. But in a perfect world..."

      "I know," you sighed without thinking, sipping at your drink.

     "You know?" Aaliyah questioned, surprised.

You shrugged,

     "So I've thought about it. Except, you know, in a perfect world, I'd meet a guy like Steve in like, a farmer's market or something. Not on my shady ass cam shows."

Aaliyah snorted laughing, and at the sound of her laughter, you joined in.

You continued,

     "I mean, not Steve exactly, because that would be weird. I just mean, a guy like Steve."

     "You mean a guy who makes you feel the same way he makes you feel," Aaliyah corrected you, and you glared at her again, pushing her gently.

     "Don't push it," you teased, but you meant it - you might have liked Steve, but that was all there was to it - you liked him, he was a distraction. And maybe even that was too much.

✺ ✺ ✺

As for Steve, he thoroughly enjoyed his time with you. He thought constantly about how you made him feel, how much he looked forward to talking to you. How everyday, his worry about your situation becoming more serious dissipated slowly. He could feel himself easing into you, everything that made up this character you created called Moonrose. Conversation seemed casual, like you knew each other in real life, it felt easy, and there was no pressure.

As for your connection, he had finally acknowledged that it was real, and more than either of you had wanted to realize at first. But now, there was no shame, no worry in acknowledging what the two of you had, because you were both smart enough to keep it at this level. It was like a shallow pool. There would be no drowning.

He mostly talked to Bucky about you when it came to the emotional aspect of it. He still feared that if he talked to Tony, it might come across as an issue, and might put a pause on what he had with you. But everyone noticed how different Steve was acting. Even without the phase he had gone through where he was sexually frustrated and angry, he still acted different.

Lighter on his feet, more smiley. And he was always on top of his work. You weren't distracting him from his duty, so that made the fact that he knew you had a unique connection with him more bearable. Because of you, he was learning to worry less. To have a little more fun.

    It was a bright day that week, the sun filtering in through the large windows of the meeting room where everyone was gathered. Steve was engaging in some mindless conversation with Sam and Bucky in which they were debating whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

     "No. I'm not sure why everyone keeps trying to put all these twists on pizza. It's pizza," Bucky scoffed, Sam rolling his eyes as a result.

    "You're just closed off. With your old ass," Sam retorted, and Steve made a face. Sam raised his hands up in surrender. "You know what I mean. What about you Steve?"

Honestly, Steve had never even tried pineapple on pizza and he didn't understand why there was such a big fuss about the banal question.

    "I don't really have an opinion," he shrugged, not expecting Sam and Bucky to start clamoring over him and trying to force him to pick a side.

    Before he even got to grasp the situation, he felt Natasha patting his shoulder,

"Hey, mind if I use your laptop? Mine's gone haywire, don't really feel like messing with it right now."

"Yeah," Steve agreed without a second thought, setting his laptop on the table and letting Natasha handle it- she was better with tech stuff than he ever was.

Natasha would use his laptop to showcase some data and start off their morning. It seemed innocent enough —a simple, barely impacting sacrifice. But Steve clearly hadn't thought everything through, because the moment Natasha logged in and hooked up Steve's computer to the holographic projector, more than just data appeared on the screen.

In fact, a whole array of women, all of them engaging in various sexual acts or preparing themselves to, showed up on the screen. And at the top, where the browser was, were the words "girlsonfilm.com."

Steve hadn't noticed all the clamor, too busy thinking (thoughts of you and thoughts of work), until Bucky called it to his attention.

"Steve," he nudged him frantically, his voice a loud whisper.

When Steve looked up at the screen, his face couldn't have gone any redder. He hadn't thought about this at all, and he had clearly forgotten to close out his browser. His heart sunk all the way to his stomach - because it wasn't just Natasha seeing this, it was everybody. And that included Tony, who was glaring pointedly at Steve from the head of the table. Meanwhile, all the others were too busy heckling Natasha and making brash comments about what was appearing onscreen. To Steve's relief, your face didn't show up, but this just might have been worse than only your screen appearing.

     "Woah, Nat, I didn't know you got down like that!" Sam hooted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

Natasha, though she was in shock as well, rolled her eyes,

     "This is Steve's laptop."

Now a hush, then another clamor of confusion and heckling, all directed towards Steve. He couldn't recoil any more, feeling the pangs of embarrassment as his eyes flashed between every one of his teammates. He felt as if there were an asteroid approaching fast, and he was right where it would land, too slow to move out of its way.

     "Steve, what do you know about 'girls on film'?" Sam nearly cackled, reading the name of the site.

Steve sighed deeply, locking eyes with Natasha as he mouthed "turn it off" to her.

     "I am, I am," she ensured him, quickly disconnecting the laptop from the projection, unplugging completely.

A beat passed, everyone staring expectantly at Steve, who was staring down at the table, trying to process his own thoughts. Like for starters, why didn't he log out the last time, and why didn't he remember to log out? And then his mind went to deeper places. He hadn't been intentionally secretive with his actions, but he had been intentionally private. It had to do with his own growth, he was learning how to navigate a world that was new to him and somehow helping him at once. He didn't want to have to share this with everyone, it was nice having this to himself, he had no intentions of revealing what he had been doing in his past time that made him so happy.

One of the reasons he didn't want everyone to know about his situation was because he didn't want to have to be concerned with what everyone else might think. Because to begin with, being on a site for cam shows wasn't exactly everyone's idea of what Captain America might be up to these days.

It was a matter of his image, what values he was supposed to hold. This didn't exactly match, and Steve had just gotten over the idea that he was a bad, sneaky person because of what he chose to indulge in. At least here he knew it was ethical and not causing harm to you as a human being.

He also didn't want to have to deal with the insufferable questioning and teasing his team would put him through, or the judgment he thought they might put him through. He felt embarrassed, exposed, and like he had been ill prepared for a situation like this. He was just grateful they hadn't seen more, because that would've been a disaster. What they had seen was only at the surface level of what he'd been doing.

But his thinking was interrupted by Tony's voice, which broke through all the silence, and made Steve realize again the eyes that were on him.

     "Well, jig's up," Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Care to explain?"

Steve locked eyes with Tony, as if hopeful that he wouldn't have to, but he knew it was best for him to just spit it out. Tony shrugged apologetically, and Steve took in a deep sigh, looking around at everyone at the table.

     "What was that?" Scott whimpered, probably the most distraught by what they had all seen.

Steve nodded solemnly and began to explain himself. He would tell the truth, but that didn't mean he had to tell them everything. You would be left out of this, if anything. He'd just explain to them that sometimes, duty calls - and sometimes, it's not at all work-related.

✺ ✺ ✺

It was just hours before your cam show when another disaster struck, the first one being the fact that your professor was giving you shit about your project. You were in the bathroom, getting ready for your show, fixing your hair up and doing your makeup, laying out an outfit, doing all the things you did to feel pretty before a show.

    Your phone lay beside you on the bathroom table, pinging with messages every now and then. You ignored it, leaning closer into the mirror to get a look at your lipstick, dabbing your fingers into the pigment on your lips.

You smiled, feeling that gratifying sense of achievement. Despite what was going on with your professor, you felt like you were doing well in life. You usually had a positive mindset, enjoyed your work although you sometimes felt as if you were buried deep in all your occupations: student, office worker, cam girl, designer, young woman. Your life was never dull, and you wouldn't trade it for anything. Talking to Steve helped too, but it was more than that.

But that sense of satisfaction all seemed to dissolve when you looked down at your phone, and saw a text from an unsaved number, glaring bright on your glowing lock screen of you hiking with Aaliyah. Still, you recognized it immediately.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I miss you. Text me back.

✺ ✺ ✺

Steve wasn't exactly keen on joining your live show today, but he did so anyway, because he still had time to himself despite the spiral of events that had happened earlier. There was nothing else to do, and he didn't want to miss out on you after attending almost all of your shows for the past almost three weeks. Didn't want to just leave unexpectedly.

It felt strange that he felt this tug of commitment, but he brushed it off. He was just fulfilling his needs, which should even be expected of him. He was stressed again, after being caught up like he was. And maybe that was all the more reason not to watch your show tonight, but he wouldn't devoid himself of the simple pleasures of life. He'd learned that lesson a while ago, from a special someone called Moonrose.

After everything transpired, he explained himself calmly to his team, slowly to ensure that they'd understand that this wasn't the beginning of a deviant phase, that he wasn't throwing away his work responsibilities to lurk on the NSFW side of the internet. Not that they ever thought that to begin with, they never questioned his abilities or his authority for a minute, not even in the midst of what they'd seen that had shocked them.

This was the product of Steve's own insecurities and his admittedly silly fear that he was somehow letting his team down. He told them that he was on the site, as recommended by Tony, to relieve some "frustration" that he felt he didn't have the time or the means to release in real life. He said that while it had helped him do that, he wasn't throwing away his responsibilities, nor was he dependent on the site or the things on it, or the people on it for that matter.

He knew that if they knew about you, all those private sessions, all those conversations you'd had, the connection you had built between the two of you, it might be a different story. But because they didn't, they appreciated his honesty. They were confused, it didn't seem like the kind of thing Steve would be into, and he ensured them that it was a shock to him as well.

But they didn't mind on the whole, it was just a shock to everyone at first. They didn't think it called for a meeting, thought it was almost humorous how serious Steve was being about such a trivial situation. Wanda had joked about how we've all been there, Thor denied ever having to do such a thing because: "I have all the romantic partners anyone could ask for. I could introduce you Steve, but these Asgardian women are fiery, far beyond anything I believe you could handle." In the end, Steve was relieved, felt like it didn't have the disastrous outcome he'd been expected.

But he could feel his guard slowly coming back up. That was a close call, and it was a little too close for comfort. He didn't want to disregard you, but he couldn't afford to sink further in, and get his team involved. He just didn't want to face the consequences he could imagine if they knew how much he decided to stick with you, how much you talked, how it was teetering off the range of normal customer to cam girl interaction.

It wasn't like he was careless when it came to his interactions with you, but he also didn't want his team to know about his business when it came to you. He didn't want them thinking he was engaging too much, didn't want it to get to the point where he was worrying again or felt like he needed to deny himself such wonderful feelings.

All these things were on his mind while he waited for your live show to start. When it did, and he saw your face, he felt a little bit alleviated. Just for now, he could have this fantasy to himself. If they knew about the site, so be it. At least he had you to himself.

      "Hey guys," you mustered a smile, waving to the camera.

Unbeknownst to your viewers, you had spent the past few hours off camera panicking, on the verge of tears, calling Aaliyah frantically so she could help calm you down. That text from that mysterious unknown number had been from your ex's number. The same ex who made you fall into dependency patterns that you worked so hard to get out of, the one who made you feel like you had to work for his love. Like it wasn't something you deserved, just like anyone else.

You had worked so hard to finally wring out all the effects of him, all the bad habits you had fallen into because of him. That was part of the reason why you worked so hard. Not because you were actively avoiding him specifically, but because you were actively bettering yourself. You weren't looking for a relationship. But you knew that if you were in one now, the same things would never happen to you.

When you got that text, it triggered a flood of memories. Feelings you had to work to suppress and actually get over for months so you wouldn't fall back into the same desperate, needy patterns when it came to your relationships with people. All over a simple text from someone you hadn't heard from in almost a year. It hurt you how easy it was to get you to crack, even if you didn't spill out all the way. But on top of the added stress because of school, you were damn close.

You would do the show tonight, anyway. It helped you to escape, although Moonrose was a part of you, it didn't one hundred translate into real life. So in a way, this helped you escape real life. Just for a while. Just like Steve.

You grinned when you saw concerned comments from your watchers:

johnGuy182

Are you okay, moonrose? You seem a little sad.

zenongirl

Girl r u ok? i missed seeing your face!!!

     "Guys, I'm okay," you grinned. And you actually felt better seeing comments from your supporters. It reminded you to cheer up - they were looking for a good show, not a sob story. You leaned back, revealing your stomach in the sheer, sparkly fringed bra you chose to wear (another piece you had designed by yourself). "It's been a looong day."

Steve watched silently, observing your behavior. He didn't notice drastic changes, but you did appear less chipper. Then again, he brushed it off. He didn't expect you to be smiley all the time, you were human too, and this was your work.

"But I'm okay," you reassured, giving that signature grin, genuine and charming and alluring. You were trying to gently distract yourself, get into your act. "I hope you're all just as lovely as I am. I have a special game for you today."

You directed your viewers to your spinning wheel, which you had been working on crafting that week for a game. You grinned as you spinned it. Each act on the wheel cost a certain amount of tokens, and by the end of the game you would garner a bunch of funds. The show went by relatively quickly as you played the game, eventually ending up completely naked.

As ordered by the spinning wheel, you were to use a vibrator. You held it against your clit at the highest setting as you watched the numbers of viewers and the tokens jump up, Steve watching as he stroked himself leisurely. Your legs shook as you restrained yourself from your orgasm so as to increase the length of your showtime, garner more coins to encourage you to come.

     "Mm," you moaned, massaging the vibrator against your clit, getting wetter and slicker by the minute, sliding the toy between your folds. You laughed, breathless. "Fuck, this thing is so powerful. Someone make me come, please make me come. Just a few more tokens for me to come for you."

Steve was hesitant, but he decided to go ahead and give you the amount of tokens you needed. And when you heard the chime of the tokens being added to your account, and saw the name it was attached to, it was like a blast of euphoria. When your legs started to shake, when you started to moan and your stomach started to rise up and down, it was genuine. It was like you were back in a private room with him, although you weren't.

Your orgasm was blood-curdling in the best way, and you felt like you were releasing part of the stress of the past day, the past week. It didn't get any realer than this, once again you felt like he was really there to satisfy you.

      "Oh!" you exclaimed, your mouth dropping open and your blood flowing, moaning. "Yes, Steve, I'm coming for you. Thank you for making me come, Steve!"

Steve had been stroking himself along with you as he watched, and only let himself come now that you had come, his cheeks heating up as he heard you moan his name, something he hadn't been expected. Something about you saying his name like that where everyone could hear, even though he enjoyed the intimacy of private rooms, felt victorious. It felt lewd, salacious, but he couldn't help but enjoy that aspect of it. He moaned through grit teeth while he came, stroking himself to completion.

You came down, thanking everyone for attending and ending the show. But it wasn't long after that you had requested Steve for a private chat. He accepted, because he had gotten used to you doing this a little more frequently. It didn't scare him any more, he just thought of it as making conversation, taking advantage of this connection you had with each other. So when you requested, who was he to say no.

When the chat log opened, you put on your best happy face for Steve, trying to conceal how fatigued this week, today in particular, had made you. But your tired, bleak voice gave it all away, buried deep beneath your smile,

    "Hey, Steve."

Steve was surprised at the sound of your voice. Again, while he understood that you wouldn't be a happy go lucky fairy like personality all the time, he wasn't expecting this. You were smiling, but the weariness in your eyes was hard to miss. And your voice, which usually told light hearted tales, sounded worn down as if from tragedy. He was concerned, his eyebrows furrowed gently,

     "Hi. How are you?"

     "I'm good!" you exclaimed, trying your hardest to really sound "good."

But you were just tired. Tired and sad, and scared - scared of what the future had to hold. You were already dealing with school stress, and the text from your ex-boyfriend was like a bad omen, an anxiety-provoking assurance that things actually would not get better and they would in fact get progressively worse. You weren't even sure why you thought you should be talking to Steve if you were tired and just wanted to sleep off the weight of the week. It would be a weekend tomorrow, and one of your very rare days off.

Maybe you figured that you wanted to talk to him despite your fatigue, because conversation with Steve was a nice distraction. You had let yourself forget that this was still your job, and that you were too tired for anything sexual — you knew he liked talking to you, but you hadn't put into consideration the fact that he might request a sexual act from you. You would be burnt out if he did. The fact that you didn't think about that should've been telling, but your brain was too scattered to think straight.

Anyway, Steve called your bluff, and laughed quietly, his voice inquiring and pressing,

      "How are you really?"

That was all it took to get a deep sigh to come from out of you, all it took to allow yourself to show your true feelings, at least the surface of them, what you felt comfortable showing a customer. You felt a sense of relief and gratefulness for Steve, like he was letting you breathe. And if anything, he especially wasn't enlisted to listen to your problems. But he wanted to, and for that you felt foolishly grateful.

    Steve noted the deep sigh that came from out of you, and he frowned slightly. He could tell you had been holding this in for a while, and some part of him felt remorse for the fact that even though you clearly weren't in the right mindset, you went on and did your show anyway. He felt some guilt for being a part of the reason why you did your show.

    You answered, allowing your voice to be as honest as possible.

    "Honestly?" you chuckled a little, albeit bitterly. "I don't know if you really want to hear me rant to you."

Steve shook his head.

    "Don't be silly," he grinned. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

You felt a warm rush in your chest from the reassurance, and the corner of your lip quirked up in a small smile, before you decided to dive in. You'd spare the emotional details, spare your private life. But it would be nice to talk to someone, just about the general things, right?

    "Well, it's been a pretty stressful week, honestly. I mean, school's been the main source of my stress. My professor's such an asshole, he's basically been telling me my entire senior project, which I need to complete to graduate, needs to be redone? And I can't even fathom how I would have enough time to do that with like, two and a half months left of my senior year. I mean, he said I can keep most details, but I'd have to rework it, whatever that means."

    You kept your emotions at bay, sighing in annoyance just at the story you told, because it really was irritating you. But then you felt deeper things, even more went into why you really were upset.

    Steve nodded, just listening. He was prepared to offer advice, but in your situation, he thought that maybe just letting you rant would be best.

    "That's gotta be annoying," he shook his head understandingly. "Whatever your project is, I'm sure it's wonderful. He shouldn't be forcing you to rework it or make any last minute changes."

    "I know!" you nearly jumped up, feeling amped up now. "And it's just so fucking annoying because I work so hard and I'm really passionate about this project and it just feels like..."

    It felt like you were about to overflow, like a pot of water that had been left on for too long. You were ranting almost uncontrollably now, maybe because of the fact that it was more than this that was tugging at you. Because you'd been carrying the weight of your life on your shoulders all the time, like Atlas carrying the sky, and it felt like that weight was finally starting to mean something.

    Steve could see you were unraveling and he let you, he let you take the time you needed to feel everything you had been holding. If your connection was strong, it was at its strongest here. Sure, you and Steve chatted about a little bit of everything, even had deeper conversations here and there as the weeks went by. But you had yet to genuinely complain to him, because every time you spoke with him, you were happy go lucky Moonrose, with nothing to complain about to begin with. But now, you needed a release by any means, and you were just glad Steve was there for you, even if he wasn't really there. How unlike you to unfold in front of strangers.

   Your breath stuttered as you took in a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm down, only further driving yourself into your rambling. You felt yourself tear up, your voice becoming watery as you continued,

    "It just feels like all my work is turning to shit, and it's so fucking frustrating because I work so hard all the time, I do so much and I manage so much all the time."

     The "hard work" you were talking about wasn't just school and work-related, it pertained to your journey, and how hard you had worked to be a better person. To support yourself. The emotions pent up inside of you, they were more than just being upset over a school project. The idea of someone toxic trying to re-enter your life, someone who had forced you to rework the entirety of your life, made you feel like you were on the verge of crashing. You knew better, but you didn't want to return to those dark days, where the light at the end of the winding tunnel that was your relationship seemed so far away. It was why you were so weary of relationships today. It was crazy how one person could change your life so easily.

     Now you were crying, before you even noticed that you were crying. Tears just seemed to leak out of your eyes, sloshing wet and sudden against your cheeks and underneath your lashes. You wiped them away quickly with the back of your hand, frazzled at the fact that you were crying in front of a customer right now. Steve said he'd listen to you, he didn't say he'd watch you cry and be your therapist. You instantly regretted it, although you couldn't stop yourself, tears threatening to emerge again. If you were cracked before, you were spilling now.

    Steve was surprised too, at the fact that you were crying. You appeared so put together to him, it was almost something he didn't expect from you. He was in shock at first, so much so that professionalism was not on his mind - it was an afterthought. Right now, instead of wondering if this was appropriate, he was occupied with you.

    "I'm sorry," you murmured, but you still hadn't stopped, tears falling out as you blinked. Composure was nothing now, you were sobbing, your shoulders slumped and your head hung as you sniffled. Still you enforced control, wiping away every tear that fell with the back of your hand. "I'm really sorry, I don't mean to cry to you over this, that's so-"

Steve cut you off, shaking his head slowly,

    "It's okay to cry, doll. We all have those days. I know better than anyone that we all have those days."

    You mustered a smile, feeling cared for, feeling accounted for by someone who wasn't even obligated to have to see you like this. Still you shook your head, sniffling,

    "I know. But it's-it's stupid, I shouldn't be crying in front of you."

    "I'm not judging you," Steve said, so nonchalantly and firmly, so genuine that it almost scared you.

You blinked. He should've cared, and he should've judged you. To cry in front of Steve, a customer, was to imply he had some duty to comfort you when he probably just wanted a show. You knew that you didn't have to do anything you didn't want to, but even you had rules when it came to what your customers got to see, and to you, that meant they didn't have to deal with your blues.

     "Really?"

     "Really," he reassured you with a nod.

    Was Steve scared that by giving you this reassurance, this entire situation could become deeper than either of you could handle? Yes. But did he let himself shut down because of those pervasive thoughts that he might get himself into trouble? No. He didn't see you as a liability right now. Right now, even though the situation was certainly questionable (and this was something he had no doubt about. When emotions get into the mix, things could get tricky- he knew this), he saw you as someone who desperately needed someone to talk to. Maybe it wasn't smart of you to make him that someone, but regardless, he was, and who was Steve Rogers not to listen to a person in need?

    You blinked away the last of your tears and swallowed hard. You were making this choice consciously, to tell Steve what had really gotten you to your breaking point. And maybe telling him meant you had trust in him, maybe too much trust for someone who, while great, was still a customer. But you felt like there was nothing you could lose from telling him. Maybe you'd even feel better after the fact.

    You looked down, picking at the body glitter on your arm that you had applied before the show. Your voice was considerably quieter now perhaps because you were looking back on the moment with a clear mind for the first time since it happened. You hadn't been thinking straight ever since you received the text just hours ago. Now your brain was a little quieter with the help of your tears and Steve's reassurance.

       "I think that the stress of this school project is making me resent how hard I work for everything, just to be met with this kind of result, you know? And it's even worse when... things seem to be going backwards. You know, like when you make so much progress, moving on from things that don't serve you, and you've finally done it and you get to flourish in it and then, it just gets taken away from you. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but that's just how this feels."

     Steve nodded, his jaw ticking as he let your words settle in. Somehow, although your situation was so different from his, he felt like your words perfectly described how he felt with the world sometimes. It was even part of the reason he'd held off on talking to you like this, held off on getting too involved. He too had made so much progress in this world, which took so much getting adjusted to in a way that absolutely nobody else could relate to.

    It was a world that he didn't even know, a world that he had never been properly introduced to. He'd had to fend for himself. He did his healing on his own, just like you had. And yet sometimes it felt like he had no control, like the universe was going the opposite way of all his plans. Then he felt stupid for even having plans to begin with, because in life, making plans was like comedy for the gods.

    There was a weird feeling in his chest and stomach, like he'd been stabbed with a gutting realization, and the knife was just turning inside of him, churning his insides. He began to feel a sense of unease, because this deep conversation was beginning to feel incredibly personal. Even though you were talking about your own situation, he couldn't help but think about how much he resonated, and the fact that he felt like he could relate to you on such a deep level scared him. This was more than the conversations you'd had before, more than the simple similarities you and Steve shared. This felt like a conversation that might be too telling for his good and your own.

     He swallowed his words as he listened to you continue. You chose your words carefully, but you had shed yourself of your inhibitions when it came to being truthful.

     "Earlier... I heard from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. And it kind of pushed me over the edge," out of your mouth stumbled a laugh. You were calmer now, and looked up at the camera, Steve swallowing hard when you did so. It was all so real, just like it was when you touched yourself and moaned Steve's name. "I think it just made me feel all those things I just explained. Because I feel like I worked so hard to rid myself of this person and them trying to come back just feels like all the things I worked so hard on are going to unravel. Even though I know they aren't, it feels like a setback. And that was like, the icing on the cake to this already terrible day, I guess."

      You let out a breathy laugh and smiled gently, shaking your head slowly.

     "I normally wouldn't be telling this to a customer. But here we are. Again, I'm sorry... I feel like I shouldn't have said anything? Should I... have said anything?"

In the brief silence that followed your question,  both you and Steve were thinking the same thing - were you going to regret this? Intimacy both physically and emotionally was good when you capped it at what you both knew to be appropriate. When it came to the physical aspects, you each let your fantasies unwind.

    And on the emotional aspect, though you had both grown closer and more open, some things just didn't get touched upon. But now you had just cried over the screen, and spoke from the depths of your heart. It was scary to open up in such an uncertain situation where your own privacy was an aspect that got involved. There was no doubt that it was too much. It was just a question of whether the result would be negative.

     Steve sighed deeply, a crease forming in his forehead as he furrowed his brows together, folding his arms over his chest.

     "I don't know..." he trailed off, took a breath, a leap, his body practically lurching forward. "But... it can't be a bad thing that you feel comfortable talking to me about this, can it?"

      And there it was, that glint of hope he was trying his hardest to conceal. That feeling he got when he got off that call with you, the one where you both started giving into those unspoken thoughts. That this couldn't be so bad, that you could enjoy each other's company without worrying.  

     You smiled gently,

    "I guess. It does feel weird though, it's not something I normally do. It feels like something I shouldn't be doing."

    You could hear Steve breathing in deeply, and for a moment, you imagined what he might look like, envisioning the outline of a troubled face, eyebrows knit together. You snapped back to reality and made a face, confused by your abrupt thoughts. You had long gotten over the very brief desire to see Steve's face- why was it coming back again?

    "I'll be honest, same here," Steve agreed with your sentiments.

    "Do you always feel like you have to restrain what you say when you talk to people? Or is it just with me?" you added that last part in a quiet voice, biting your lip.

Steve chuckled briefly,

      "Are you asking me if I have trust issues? Because I'd tell you, but I'd have to trust you to do that."

You shook your head and laughed at Steve's stupid joke, and shrugged.

     "I could say the same thing, I think. This person I heard from earlier is... I developed those trust issues because of them. Or, my already existent trust issues became worse. But what's funny about it is that this person was once someone that I loved," even as the words were coming out you questioned why you were letting them, why you were allowing yourself to be so truthful in a situation like this at a time when you were so vulnerable.

      Steve didn't reply, again feeling that sick feeling in his stomach that stemmed from his fear. The fear that this conversation were too serious, fear surrounding the fact that he was able to relate so much to such a personal situation of yours.

    You spoke again, daring to ask the question that felt like a final blow to Steve's stomach,

    "Have you ever been in love, Steve?"

Now Steve knew he was in uncharted territory. Not because he feared you might try to exploit him, but because he was so struck by the fact that he had allowed himself to feel so safe with you and get so close to you. He was surprised at himself for letting you feel safe enough to have these kinds of conversations with him. It all felt like a mistake now. He wanted a way out, any way out. He knew if he even attempted to answer that question, he would be making a big mistake. He had shared some of his most intimate moments with you, but always keeping in mind a very sharp line he didn't want to be crossed.

And in his mind, he thought of the one love he'd had, the one love that hadn't been fulfilled because of the situation he had been thrown into, one he had never signed up for. He thought of how the things he cared most for in life had been discarded, how, like you, he felt like it had gone to shit. How sometimes, though he tried his best to be grateful and had taken that journey of self-healing just like you, it all felt like some sick joke.

Could he even call it love? He wasn't sure. And he wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to answer at all, because he wouldn't be talking to you again. There would be no chance for this dilemma to resurface, not with you, not on this site. He made the decision with haste and a heavy heart - he was done here.

      The discomfort was well evident in his voice, answering loud and clear, though his voice was morose and a bit closed off. You sensed the shift immediately.

     "I... I can't talk about that right now. Listen, I have to go."

    You felt a pang in your chest at the sudden switch in his demeanor, straightening up and trying not to frown. All this time you had been letting the words spill out, telling yourself not to worry so much, reassuring yourself it was okay to make your feelings known. Now it felt like you should've never said anything at all. You started to stammer.

      "Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I was just... I feel like I got a little overwhelmed." You laughed nervously. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Steve felt his throat ran dry as he blinked, feeling emotions come up to surface that he wasn't quite familiar with. Maybe he was grieving in advance, regretting the decision he was making to no longer speak with you, regretting the fact that he was letting fear get in the way of what he wanted so badly to be a good thing.

    "No, I'm sorry. I feel like I let things go too far," Steve apologized, but the apology felt more like an insult.

Was he implying that whatever this was, you couldn't handle it, and that it was his fault for somehow leading you on? You had both made the connection with each other, it was an equal effort. And why was he acting like the two of you communicating at all was somehow below him, somehow a risk? If anything, you were the one risking it just by talking to him the way you did. You were opening up to him. 

     You almost felt betrayed - you had convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to listen to your problems and you told yourself it wasn't his responsibility to listen. And then he listened anyway, told you that he wanted to hear it, and you cried to him. You felt like you had made so many unusual accommodations just for him to scare off like this. He was just another person you had expressed your feelings to, only to regret it in the end.

    "Too far?" you questioned, furrowing your brows.

Steve swallowed. In your voice he could hear a hint of frustration, but even worse- hurt. It pained him more than he cared for you to know.

    "I don't think we should talk anymore," he said instead.

    "What?" you were taken by surprise. "Steve, I'm... I'm not understanding. I... I don't usually open up to people like this, I mean, I thought maybe it was fine here, because I feel like I know you. But you're still a stranger. I understand you're a customer but I thought we were talking, I thought we broke through that wall-"

    "We did. And we shouldn't have," Steve said, his voice so calm and firm that it was almost cold.

    By now you were just staring into the computer camera, as if you were looking at him and waiting for him to come to his senses. But as you did that, you slowly came to your own. Because you weren't looking at him. You were looking at a black screen with his voice behind it. You realized you hadn't known Steve, not enough to talk about these things. And just like him, you too were full of regret. You kept all those walls up for the sake of customer relations, only to put them down and be met with this disastrous result.

    Steve almost couldn't bare to look at your face anymore. You were confused, hurt. He could tell you regretted the fact that you had opened up. He was hurt too, but he wouldn't show it, or let it overcome him to the point where your methods of communication with each other became something neither of you could control. Still, yes, he was hurt.

    But he had been through plenty of hardships in life. What was one more, even if it shouldn't have come to this point anyway?

    "I'm sorry, Moonrose. We can't. Goodbye."

Chat over.

[nightglider124]

RobStar Week 2020: Day 1

Tis RobStar Week, guysss! Ugh. Yas. That means content for the week of my two disgustingly adorable children. We love to see it. 

I do believe it runs from 5th July - 11th July so check the robstarweek tag each day for some robstar joy :3

So, I haven’t written anything really for a while. Especially not based in the TTA universe. But, I’m mildly happy with this one. In theory, it doesn’t actually have much of the kids but it has Robin talking bout his crush with Wally. 

Confession... I don’t love the prompt of destiny/fate/star-aligned... all of that. Idk why cos like in essence I believe it. My babies are destined for each other. Buuut, as a prompt, I just never am a fan. So, I tried my best, I swear! XD

This oneshot is set after ‘Titans Together’ but before the movie, ‘Trouble In Tokyo’.

Uh, I know Robin talks about when Starfire kissed him and I know that he doesn’t discover that she learns languages through lip contact until the movie but like... c’mon. Robin is a smart guy and would have thought about it in the time since they first met. I don’t think he would bring it up cos he awks but I think he would put two and two together. So, when it’s mentioned, he is just kinda speculating and then it’s confirmed in the movie. That’s how I’m viewing it anyway. XD

Hope you like it. Happy RobStar week! ^.^

________________________

Star-Aligned/Destiny

The upbeat music drifted and pounded around the whole tower, with the epicentre of the noise coming from the main room, which was fairly packed with Titans from all across the globe, enjoying their Friday night. 

It had been about a week since they’d taken down the Brotherhood of Evil and put all the criminals that had been affiliated back in their rightful places within penitentiaries across the world. The ordeal had been difficult on each and every one of the Titans and it had taken a lot of time and energy to ensure that the threat was dealt with and the Brotherhood were dismantled for good. 

So, when Beast Boy and Cyborg had approached him about having a party to relax and say thanks to the whole Titans Network for their help in defeating the long standing villains, Robin had been reluctant to say no. He felt that a little fun was well deserved and decided it wasn’t often that they all let loose and just got to act like normal young adults, even if it was only for one night.

He felt good as he sat at the counter, dressed in civvies for the first time in a long time, with a glass of cold soda tantalizing his lips. He knew that some of the boys had snuck in a bit of alcohol and since all of the Titans were technically 18 and over, they were legally allowed to drink in private locations, according to Jump City law. So, he was letting it slide, but that didn’t mean he was about to consume it himself. Robin was all for unwinding but… he still had his wits about him, just in case any alerts came through.

Of course, in the morning, there were a few individuals who he wanted a word with regarding how they purchased the alcohol but he resigned himself to waiting until tomorrow, rather than putting his leader head on right now.

Robin cocked a small smile as he scanned the room from behind the safety net of his mask. He may well have been in casual clothing but the mask always stayed put; an unkickable habit of his, he mused.

Cyborg was over by the sound system, setting up playlists upon playlists with Bumblebee at his side, helping to sort through the music. He could see from where he was perched, every time she saw a song that she clearly didn’t like, she would delete it from the playlist when Cyborg wasn’t looking. It’d provided Robin a good few laughs throughout the night to see his cybernetic friend become confused, scratching his head and wondering if he had had too much to drink, despite only really having about one beer.

Beast Boy was lounging on the sofa, game station controller in hand; his gleeful chuckle echoing every now and then as he challenged those around him to a racing game that he’d practically lived on for the better part of the past year. Herald, Hot Spot and Killowat were huddled around him, each trying to gain the upper hand on the changeling who had won the 4 games prior to the current round. 

Robin turned his head, noticing Red Star was talking with Aqualad, Pantha and Argent over near the windows with all of them holding a beverage each and laughing, getting to know one another better since they were all teammates and they’d never really had a chance to interact with one another until now. Robin saw tonight as a good opportunity for the Titans Network to get a little more acquainted with one another so that they had a good roster of friends and colleagues for future events and missions, if necessary.

Directly ahead of him, Gnarrk and Wildebeest were sat at the table, conducting an arm wrestle to see who had the superior strength with smirks so smug that Robin could feel the bravado permeating the air around them. Kole was standing by her best friend’s side, offering quiet encouragement; believing in his abilities wholeheartedly. She smiled as Jericho turned to her, seemingly signing to her, his faith in Gnarrk to win as well; a gesture that made Kole turn a rosy pink and Robin couldn’t help but wonder if there was a bit of a connection brewing between the two.

Behind Wildebeest, Thunder and Lightning were cheering loudly, waving their hands and hooting in favour of the humanoid chimera who simply grunted in acknowledgement of their vocal support. 

Robin chuckled quietly to himself and took a sip of his drink, minutely shaking his head as he inwardly wagered on who he thought was more likely to come out on top of said arm wrestle. 

In the right hand corner of the room, Robin could see Jinx who looked less than thrilled as she was effectively sandwiched between Kid Flash and Mas Y Menos who were, by the looks of it, having a lengthy debate about who had the faster abilities. 

Scrunching his face up, Robin took a moment to consider how that conversation was going considering he knew for a fact Wally didn’t know much Spanish, if any at all. 

He shook his head and his eyes travelled over Speedy and Bushido who seemed to be talking and sharing fighting tips, with Speedy making gestures with his hands to explain the types of arrows he used when he battled.

Robin sighed in content, happy for the warm atmosphere surrounding them all. When he’d first started recruiting the people in the room to be a part of their hero network, he hadn’t even considered what it would mean for them to gel together but every single Titan in the tower had proved that they could work effectively with one another, without really even knowing much about those around them.

He was proud of his teammates and friends and he felt confident that if more threats on a larger scale were to ever crop up in the near future, then they would be prepared and ready with a strong force in place. 

Tapping his fingertips against the side of his glass, a lingering silver laugh caused him to pause; a tingle descending down his spine with a simultaneous heat prickling his skin. He lifted his head and his gaze inadvertently fell upon Starfire who was sitting on the back of the sofa, her long legs dangling down with her ankles crossed over one another. 

Her hands were clasped and in her lap as she talked animatedly with Raven, who in turn, was responding in her usual way of nods and small smiles, only speaking here and there. 

Robin gripped his glass a little tighter as he watched the alien Princess shrug her gorgeous mane of ruby hair over her shoulder, pooling down the length of her back. 

It had been futile to try and ignore how she looked tonight with Robin deciding how well Earth clothing suited her. She wore a lilac playsuit with a white floral pattern printed all over the fabric. The spaghetti straps of the garment fell perfectly on her shoulders with the rest of it hugging her body comfortably without being too tight or loose enough not to flatter her.

Although, Robin rebuffed that thought immediately. She could wear a trash bag and she’d still make it look amazing.

It was a short faux dress outfit but it was far from distasteful considering it was longer than her day to day uniform. The light frills at the hem were a nice touch, giving the illusion of it being a dress when in fact it wasn’t.

All in all, Robin had a tough time keeping his eyes off of her and it had been that way since the party started earlier in the evening.

He exhaled quietly to himself as he lost in himself in a momentary trance, with Starfire being the pinnacle of it all. Every single thing she did was endearing and he finally understood what people meant whenever they would compare a person to that of sunlight.

Starfire was the epitome of a ray of sunshine; constantly smiling and being her bubbly self, no matter who she was around. She could be around the grouchiest person in the universe and she’d still be able to coax a grin from them, without so much as even trying to. 

She was just so naturally inviting; like moths to a flame, Starfire was a friend to all and he could honestly admit that he had never met someone as kind and carefree as her which in his eyes was what made her so unique within their world of heroes. 

Robin stared after her, watching the way her jade eyes would shimmer whenever Raven said something remotely funny or something that Starfire could relate to. Her orange skin seemed to glow with every thousand watt smile that found its way onto her cupid bow lips. 

Just beneath his rib cage, Robin felt his heart rate start to increase; a quiet thumping of his chest, the longer he stared after her. 

Swallowing heavily, Robin averted his eyes, instead choosing to stare down at his bubbling soda. Despite this, his mind remained rooted on the one thing in the room he took the most interest in. He couldn’t help but inwardly dwell on his feelings for the Tamaranean girl, no matter how hard he had tried over the years to refuse and deny what his heart had been singing all along, since she first crash landed on the planet they called home.

It was a constant struggle for him; trying to figure out if it would be worth the risk or if he should remain stoic and unfeeling like another vigilante he was familiar with.

A sudden gust of wind enveloped him, causing his hair to rapidly fly out of place. Staying still, Robin merely sighed and blinked in annoyance, already aware of who was now leaning against the counter beside him.

“Wally…” Robin muttered, reaching a hand up to sort his hair out, casting a scowl in the speedster’s direction.

Kid Flash chuckled and pulled up a seat beside him and nudged his shoulder, “Hey Dick.” 

“Do you have to do that every single time?” 

“Duh. Think of it as… a privilege of being best friends.” 

“Pretty lousy privilege.”

He made a ‘psh’ sound and gave him another shove, “You get what ya get.” 

“Uh huh.” Robin replied, leaning forward to take a swig of his drink, feeling the cold liquid slither down his throat. Despite his best efforts to stay inconspicuous, he was unable to stop himself from stealing another glance at Starfire who had moved from her spot on the back of the couch with Raven.

She was giggling with Bumblebee and Argent, swaying her hips and dancing to the music that was swirling in the air; a catchy beat that seemed to be luring quite a few Titans into dancing now.

He could feel his face heating up as he registered that Wally was staring at him with a teasing smirk laced upon his lips. He cut him a scathing look and attempted his best batglare, making Wally snort.

“C’mon. When has that look ever worked to make me stop?” He laughed, taking a gulp of the beer he was holding,

Robin took a deep breath, awaiting the onslaught of jabs. He’d known Wally for most of his life, ever since he’d gotten adopted by Bruce on account of his links with the league.

It’d taken just one encounter with the redhead on a visit to the watchtower and they’d been inseparable. 

Of course, that changed somewhat after he left Gotham; the communication dropping with Robin being more so to blame, after effectively shutting those around him out. 

It picked up again though, once he had become more established with the Titans, going as far to offer him a spot on the team. Wally had declined at first, unsure how he felt about being with a team but after a while, he came around. 

It helped that he happened to run into Jinx whilst he was still mulling over the decision.

Robin sighed and half turned his body towards him, “What are you doing over here?” 

“Just wanting to catch up with my bud… obviously.” Wally replied, trying to appear aloof but failing miserably,

Leaning back, Robin spied Jinx still standing where Wally had been beforehand, staring at the twins in bewilderment as they babbled to her in Spanish.

“You know, you’ve basically abandoned Jinx.” Robin muttered,

There was a mischievous glint in his lime eyes as he waved a dismissive hand, “Bah, she’s fine. She needs to socialise with good guys more anyway. Needs to build on her newfound hero ways.” 

Robin shrugged and tilted his chin downwards, eyes on the counter top to avoid any more fleeting glances at anyone in particular. 

“So…” Wally drawled, in that tone.

Sighing heavily, Robin looked up at him, “What?”

“Star’s looking hot tonight.” He taunted and it took everything Robin had not to react in the way Wally clearly wanted him to,

“Mhm. She looks great.” Robin mumbled, not really in the mood for this kind of conversation. He had been feeling pretty mellow but he could sense that slipping away and being sent spiralling into the mess of emotions he experienced from time to time where Starfire was concerned.

“Dick… c’mon.” Wally persisted, levelling with him, “Your crush on her isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Well… she doesn’t know so it seems to be working so far.” 

Wally snorted, “To practically everyone else, it’s obvious that something is going on.” 

Dick took a deep inhale and gripped his glass with both hands, preparing himself for more of Wally’s insistence, “Well, there’s not. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Dude.” He paused and leaned into him, his tone shifting into a more sincere one, “Maybe there would be something if… y’know… you made a move on the ol’ Princess?” 

Whilst it was in his nature to deflect anything to do with feelings; especially romantic ones, at all costs, there was something gnawing at him; encouraging him to open up a bit. It was Wally, after all.

“I can’t.” Dick sighed, loosening the grip of his fingers around the glass,

“Sure you can. Just get up, go over there and ask her to dance or… I don’t know, smooth talk her.” Wally suggested,

“No… I mean… I can’t. I’m the leader of the Titans… Bruce always taught me not to get involved that way with a teammate. It causes rifts in team dynamics and-”

Wally cut him off with a scoff, “Who cares? If you feel that way about her, which you obviously do, you deal with those kinds of things and work it out as you go along.” 

Dick sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past 10 minutes, “It doesn’t matter.”

Sensing that he was retreating into himself again, Wally tried an alternate route, “You know… with all the doe eyes you make at her, you never told me how you actually met.” 

Without really even being aware of it, a soft smile graced Dick’s lips, “Uh… I’d just got to Jump and was dealing with this thief and saw this… streak of green across the sky. I went to check it out and turns out, she’d quite literally crash landed to Earth.” 

“That must’ve been so cool, man.” Wally laughed,

Dick inclined his head a little, “It was… different to anything I’d had in Gotham.”

“Yeah, but Starfire is… sweetness and joy.”

The ebony haired hero chuckled to himself, “Uh… not at first. She…” He paused and glanced at her, gauging just how much he should leave out about where she came from on that day, “She was… being held prisoner by these aliens… Gordanians are what they were called. Long running warfare between them and Tamaran and… a few other planets.”

“Prisoner?” Wally queried, clearly vying for more information,

“Let’s just say… she was forced from her world and it… wasn’t because of any crimes.” 

Wally stared at him for a long moment before something softened in his expression and he nodded, “So… what was she like?” 

“As you can imagine… she didn’t trust any of us. Hissing and seething and blowing shit up.” 

“Badass.” Wally grinned,

Dick chuckled, “Yeah… she didn’t know English either so… couldn’t exactly explain to her that we just wanted her to stop.”

“How’d she get so fluent in the language then?” 

His cheeks turned red almost instantly and he cleared his throat, willing the blush to dim until it vanished, “Her people can learn languages instantaneously through uh… lip contact. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well… after she… did it… um… she spoke English… so I just assume…”

Wally blinked in surprise, “Wow. That’s a useful trait-” He cut himself short as he recognized the discomfort on his best friend’s face, “Oh my god. She learned it from you, didn’t she? You got a kiss from her on the first day you met her!” 

Dick snapped his head in Wally’s direction, “Can you shut up, please? We’ve… never talked about it. Kissing isn’t a thing on her world… and I never brought it up.”

“She knows what ‘lip contact’ means on Earth though, right?”

“She knows now… I mean she must know, considering how many romance movies we’ve sat through on movie nights.” Dick shook his head, “Like I said… we’ve never talked about it so… I don’t know what she thinks on that front.”

Wally chuckled, “No wonder you’ve been smitten with her since day one. I would be too if a hot space girl kissed me in the middle of telling her to stop ripping a city apart.” 

Dick was about to protest, but relaxed and smirked, “Yeah… well… she made an impression, to say the least.”

“Sounds like… Mm… I don’t know.”

“What?” Dick prompted,

“You’ll just wave it off but… I mean… maybe it was meant to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“People who are meant to be in your life don’t just fall out of the sky on a day to day basis, Dick.” Wally droned, looking at him like he was an idiot,

The Boy Wonder chewed on the inside of his cheek; his mind a bubble of thought, “It’s… not the craziest thing.” He paused and looked at her again, still dancing around without a care in the world, “She brought us together… we know for a fact… she’s the glue that keeps us together; the heart of our team… without her… we wouldn’t last.”

“See? That, my friend, is fate.” Wally surmised,

“I don’t know about that, Wally. It… just so happened we were all in the area at the same time.” Dick rebuffed,

“Listen… whether you want to admit it or not… don’t you think it seems a little too coincidental that you all met Starfire on this one day and it basically set out your futures for the next few years at the least?” Wally asked, raising an eyebrow at him,

“Okay, fine. Let’s say that it is… fate or whatever… are you saying that the same applies to how I feel about her?” He challenged,

Wally scoffed and flailed his hands around slightly, “Duh! I’m telling you, there is no way that you ‘just so happened’ to meet Starfire and your team, start a network of teenage heroes that extends across the world and end up falling for the one who caused this… cataclysm… just by chance. It just doesn’t happen.”

Remaining silent, Dick felt the urge to mock him ebbing away, the more he tried to reason with him.

He was probably the furthest thing from a believer when it came to things such as fate and destiny, having turned cynical shortly after his parents were murdered.

By Wally’s logic, everything in life happened for a reason, with the goal of eventually fulfilling the path set out in stone for you when you’re first brought into existence.

“Wally…”

“The universe didn’t exactly have you meet her to just be ‘best friends’ for your whole life. You wouldn’t stare at her or think about her or want her the way you do, if it wasn’t supposed to happen dude.” 

Dick blinked, “This is the most philosophical way of telling me to make a move that you have ever used.”

Bursting into laughter, Wally lifted his shoulders and smiled, “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you know what I’m saying, at least on some level, makes sense.”

The Titans leader evaded admitting something like that, “Mm… what I know is that you’re only spewing destiny related stuff because of one beer too many.”

Wally looked scandalised for a long moment before he shrugged, “Okay, I might be a tad tipsy but it’s still relevant, Dick.” He sighed and threw an arm haphazardly around his best friend’s shoulders, “I’m trying to push you… for you. Whether you wanna believe me when I say it’s some kinda fate or not, the fact is… you can’t expect her to wait forever.”

Tugging himself away, Dick pulled a sour expression and turned to him, “And what if I do and it blows up in my face, huh? What if I go over there and ask her out and she says no?” He deflated and looked down at the counter top, “I doubt she sees me that way anyway so what’s the point?” 

Chuckling almost instantly, Wally rolled his eyes and looked at Dick with a raised brow, “Seriously? Dude, I’m not even on your immediate team and I can see that she likes you just as much as you like her.”

Dick cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink on their own accord, “You don’t know that for sure.”

“Okay well, it comes across pretty clearly except to you, apparently.” Wally paused, “Besides, aren’t you basically our biggest risk taker? You love that whole thrill of not knowing.” 

Dick grunted, “Not on this kind of thing.” 

“Right, right because it makes you all vulnerable and junk.” Wally drawled, earning another glare from the masked hero but choosing to ignore it, “Dick… I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. I don’t think anyone can since you’re stubborn as hell. But… just remember… Starfire is beautiful and super sweet. You’re not the only guy in this hero network that thinks so… and if you don’t move your ass and at least make it known to her you’re interested… you might lose your chance altogether.” 

Opening his mouth to protest, Dick was cut short from doing so as Wally lightly nudged his shoulder and stared pointedly across the room, waiting for Dick to follow his line of sight as well.

Over near the large glass window panels, Starfire was standing, looking happily flushed from all the activity buzzing around her; something she constantly thrived on whenever parties were in full swing. Her smile was soft and patient as she bobbed her head, laughing at what was being said to her. 

Dick felt his stomach lurch and his heart started pounding painfully  within his chest as he noticed who was standing alongside her. Speedy was grinning at her, talking and making jokes about god knows what. He watched as the archer took a step towards her and gently touched her arm. 

Starfire appeared unbothered by the gestures but it greatly unnerved Dick, considering he could tell from Speedy’s posture that he was attempting to ‘woo’ her.

He bolted up from the stool he’d been sitting on at the counter, his fingertips pressing against the surface of it so hard, they were turning white. He could feel his chest constricting as his breathing turned harsh, an odd type of panic overtaking him.

“Hm… strange reaction for someone who doesn’t have feelings for her…” Wally murmured sarcastically before taking a long sip of his beer,

Narrowing his eyes, Dick turned to scowl at him, “How long has he been talking to her?” 

“Only about 2 minutes. Though… he sure looks like he’s getting comfy with your girl there…” 

Taking a deep breath, Dick let his hand slide off of the counter and he cleared his throat. He felt nervous but there was a knee jerk reaction in him that was yelling to get over there and interrupt Speedy’s attempts at romancing his best friend.

His gaze fell on Starfire who seemed oblivious to the obvious signals Speedy was sending towards her. Dick cocked a half smile, glad that she wasn’t playing into it. It gave him a rise of hope that maybe she wasn’t responding like a typical girl because she already had feelings for another guy that was possibly him. Maybe.

“What… what should I do when I get over there?” Dick queried, suddenly feeling the confidence drain from him,

“I don’t know. Ask her to dance?” Wally smiled sympathetically at him, “Dick… it’s Starfire. Isn’t she like… the one who makes you feel the most at ease?”

Dick swiveled his head back towards the auburn haired beauty, “She is.”

“Then it’ll be fine once you get over there.” Wally encouraged, tipping his beer bottle in his direction,

Nodding, Dick offered him a slight smile, “Thanks… Wally.”

“You know me, man. I’m a man of loveee.” 

Dick sighed, “And there’s the idiot.”

With that, he picked up his soda and made his way through the strings of Titans as casually as he could, without appearing as though he was desperately wanting to get between that tiny space that was still between Speedy and Starfire.

Watching through bright eyes, Wally smiled to himself as Dick reached the two. Speedy looked to be quite put out about his appearance but the speedster wasn’t paying much attention to him.

Rather, all he could see was the way Starfire lit up at Robin’s emergence. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, her emerald eyes shining with joy as she clasped her hands around his upper arm in an exuberant greeting. 

In return, Dick grinned back at her, talking with ease and a relaxed aura about him. Speedy looked effectively closed off and shut down, which if it were any other girl, Wally would feel pretty bad for him.

But, he knew how long Dick had had a thing for the alien Princess. He just hoped he would actually get it together and do something about it before it was too late.

“Well done, Grayson.” Wally chuckled to himself, before taking another sip of his drink and scanning the room for a certain pink haired sorceress.

[sallytheseamstress]

HAPPIESTPLACEHQ Task 2 - Sally Finkelstein

Playlist you feel best describes your character

Touch In Mine (fingers) - Esperanza Spalding “Touching surfaces every day Feeling no spark of tenderness within” Sally is a very sensitive person, both physically and emotionally: loud sounds, bright lights, strong smells can overwhelm her easily, as well as angry words and open displays of aggression. That is partly why she keeps to herself, to her routines, to her little comfortable bubble; but as she has become older, Sally finds that this existence is now wearing her down, and has come to realize that, even with the friendship of Jack (who is so often locked up in his own world as well) and Zero (who, much like her, keeps to himself), she craves affection and love that, so far, hasn’t experienced neither from family nor friends.

Like Someone In Love - Björk “Each time I look at you, I'm limp as a glove And feeling like someone in love” Just a little love song that very accurately depicts Sally’s sort of clumsiness towards her own feelings, and how she feels she could express them towards a loved one. It is a beautiful, if rather awkward, way to feel for her, one that sticks to her mind and heart and colors her world, filling her with conflicting emotions -giddiness of being lovestruck, fear of being found out, sadness at the inevitability of vulnerability, hopefulness at the chance of being requited.

Your Woman - White Town “Now I know your heart, I know your mind You don't even know you're being unkind So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways Just use me up and then you walk away Boy, you can't play me that way” Even though this is a break up song between a romantic couple, this could very well reflect Sally and her father’s codependent relationship. With no family beyond him, no other place to go and with her low-paying job, Sally is basically dependent on her father for everything; and, similarly, her father, being in a wheelchair and stubbornly determined on never leaving Redwood Hollow, depends on Sally for everything he cannot do himself. Sally does recognize her father’s brilliant mind, his cultured thoughts, his well-read expertise and knowledge, but even though he spouts a philosophy of mutual aid, of small-town solidarity and community that he passed down to his daughter, Sally knows deep down this is pure bull -when he himself seems to regard her as a slave, something he owns and is in his right to mistreat, withholding any sort of affection or praise or kindness, treating her more like a robot than as a child.

Glory Box - Portishead “Sow a little tenderness No matter if you cry Give me a reason to love you Give me a reason to be a woman I just wanna be a woman” Going back to the first song, what Sally wants most is affection, and that means vulnerability both from her part and from whom the affection comes from. Since she was very little she has learned to keep her emotions in check, not asking for much, never be a nuisance. This has also led to her feeling somehow disconnected from her own self, from her gender and age, as well as from society at large. Now that she has arrived to her thirties, Sally feels like she needs to break out of this subservient position she has been chained to, and that means, in part, reclaiming her own self as a person with autonomy, as someone capable of and deserving of love, and as a woman with the capacity to socialize with others, to be nurturing, to be affectionate; and, as well, partly resenting her status as a woman as someone who needs to fulfill that nurturing role, to provide for her father, to cook and clean and do the domestic chores.

Sounds Of Blue - Morcheeba “A sort of stoned silence Sat on that boat floating out The waters left me open All my emotions fog my lenses” Despite acknowledging her own sensitiveness, Sally isn’t very good with emotions; she knows the basics of comforting, to leave her shoulder free for someone else to cry on, to be available and listen to someone in need; but she is awful at managing her own frustrations and despair, choosing instead to bottle it all. Sometimes, it can feel almost asphyxiating, to be so full with words she can’t pronounce, with nowhere to pour them. This often makes Sally feel even more alone, like a boat in the middle of the ocean. As she grows older, though, she has begun to try her best and be mindful of what she feels; instead of simply allowing the emotions to overwhelm her, Sally tries to question them, to dive deeper and find the root cause, even if that means giving in and having to have a good long cry about it.

Walking In The Rain - The Ronettes “When he's near me, I'll kiss him And when he leaves me, woah, oh, oh, I'll miss him Though sometimes we'll fight, I won't really care And I'll know it's gonna be alright 'cause we've got so much we share” Sally would like to think of herself as the practical sort; but, of course, this doesn’t mean she has a romantic side as well. Being raised by her father, homeschooled, with no distraction beyond books and constantly monitored TV watching, she grew up during her teens with a strong idea of what true love is like: it is instant, it is irresistible, it is everlasting, it is passionate, it is destined... As an adult, she knows this isn’t realistic at all (especially having witnessed, from a distance, the romantic troubles of the rest of the town); but a part of her still wishes she could be whisked away by a prince, somewhere far away, to an idyllic world of tenderness and freedom.

Good Morning Heartache - Billie Holiday “Stop haunting me now Can't shake you, no how Just leave me alone I've got those Monday blues Straight through Sunday blues” Kind of a byproduct of her buried-deep-down idealizations of love, and her repressed emotions and expectations, the weight of Sally’s loneliness can sometimes pull her down to periods of depression. As a full-time worker, both as her father’s caretaker and in her work at Jack’s Attic and in the Community Events Committee, Sally often has to put on a happy face to deal with the daily grind; but, once she has some time alone, she either tries to keep herself distracted, or gives in to that despair for as long as she can allow herself to.

Les Fleurs - Minnie Riperton “For all of these simple things and much more, a flower was born It blooms to spread love and joy, faith and hope to people forlorn” Most of all, Sally feels most comfortable in nature: as at home as she is in her own house, it also feels, increasingly so, as a place of repression, lack of change, and constant surveillance. Nature, especially Redwood Park and the surrounding woodland, feels to Sally as the place where change is required, where it is most clear, where it is most, well, natural. Whether it is a rainy day with the air thick with humidity and the tension of a coming thunderstorm, a sunny afternoon having a small picnic at the shade of a tree in full bloom, or a lovely, glittering snow morning, snowflakes falling quietly and magically from a cotton-clouded sky, Sally loves it when she can be outside, forget about her responsabilities and duties, and focus on the sensation of the world, the real world, around her.

Day Dreaming - Aretha Franklin “He's the kind of guy that would say Hey, baby, let's get away Let's go some place, huh Where I don't care” This is also a continuation of her own ongoing matureness and acknowledging of how she tends to idealize the idea of love. Sally tries her best to reject her old teenage conception of a prince coming to sweep her off her feet, but at the same time, especially when she can allow herself some time to doze off and daydream, she still nurses that little hope that, whoever it is that will come along and give her the affection she wants so bad, will wish, just as she does, to explore the world beyond Redwood -it doesn’t matter where, since they would be together, mutually helping each other in their struggles, loving and trusting each other, and that would be everything they would need.

Please Don’t Make Me Cry - Lianne La Havas “I'll try to let it go, my fingers are crossed I show you my pretty scars, they make us whatever we are” Sally knows fully well that she comes with a good deal of issues, and that’s what scares her most when considering pursuing a romantic relationship. She is, however, aware enough of her traumas that she feels she could be honest about it -of course, as long as she manages to not let herself be drowned by them. Honesty is a very important quality for her. The only problem, then, is that while Sally truly wants to confess just how much she feels what has happened to her, she is still afraid to intimidate someone else, to be seen as “high-maintenance”, as someone hard to love. Once more, while love is her goal, vulnerability is her greatest fear.

[cherrytdatt]

Sadness Ritual pt. 3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: ~3.6k

Summary: Will Harrison's engagement party solve things between Y/N and Tom?

Warnings: N-O-T-H-I-N-G!

A/N: PART 3 IS HERE!!! after struggling a lot I finally did it. Part of this was inspired by the engagement scene in 'set it up' also know as my favorite rom-com ever so think about that vibe! I hope you guys like it. I really liked.

Playlist: No playlist...I heard so many things...It was a rollercoaster!

Part 1 | Part 2

Three months ago, at 3 am, Tom stood in your kitchen and said the words you wished for months to hear from him. And yet, you felt your entire chest hurt, and you couldn't look at him. You sent him home, and since then, you didn't see him again. But now, the inevitable was coming. Anna and Harrison's engagement party is in one day. You're the maid of honor, and Tom is the best man. Anna asked you if you would be okay seeing him again and, to be honest, you don't know, but it’s her engagement party. You won't deny the presence of her fianceé's best friend and best man.

"Ready for the party?" Anna asked while you two looked at some dresses in some store.

The party would be something small, just family and friends, in Tom's backyard. You wanted to help, but going to Tom's house, knowing he would be there, wasn't in your plans.

"Yeah! I'm so happy for you. And Harrison. Since your first date, I knew you two would get married," you said with a smile. "I remember I said I would be a shitty maid of honor," you said with a laugh. "And Tom said he would be a great best man," your smile faded a little when you thought about Tom.

"Did you talk to him?" Anna asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," you said simply.

"Harrison said he's feeling better, but still misses you," Anna said with a weak voice.

You cleared your throat. "I miss him too," you said almost in a whisper.

"Why don't you talk to him?" she asked.

"I don't know. Things got pretty bad between us. I'm still sad with him, and I'm sure he is sad with me too," you said, and the sadness in your voice was almost palpable.

"I'm sure he forgave you. And I think you already forgave him. You're just afraid," she said.

"Maybe. Let's see how mad I'll be when I see him tomorrow," you chuckled, but your voice was still sad. "D-do you...hum...do know what happened...to the girl?

"Oh, please! He ended things with her the morning after your fight, and never saw her again," Anna said.

"What you think of these?" you asked, putting a black floral dress in front of you, and changing the subject to hide how happy that information made you.

"Loved," she said animatedly.

"I'll try it," you said, going into the dressing room.

You didn't wanna think about Tom and all the situation now, but the talk with Anna got stuck into your head. 'He still misses you'. Her voice was louder and clearer than when you talked. You decided to buy the black dress for Anna's party. Thank God she chose a very casual party, so you could go with comfortable clothes.

"I see you tomorrow," Anna said goodbye, leaving you in front of your building.

You got into your apartment, still thinking about your talk with her. You missed Tom, more than anything in your life, but every time you thought about those pictures, and the fact that he did all that even though he liked you, you felt a strange and bitter feeling in your stomach. All you wanted was to talk to him and solve things, but you felt so afraid of what he would do and what he was willing to do to make things better. 

You used the rest of your night writing some essays you had to finish this week and watching some comedy on TV.

'Hey. How are you? I just wanna say that I can't wait to see you tomorrow. And I want you to know that I'm cool if you decide not to talk with me. I just want you to be okay 🙂' Tom's message took your attention away from the TV. You stared at the text, not knowing what to say. Of course, you wanted to see him, but talk to him would be the best thing? You really didn't know.

'Hi. I'm great. And you? I'm okay talking to you tomorrow,' you typed, throwing the phone on the other side of the couch like it was a bomb ready to explode. "Fuck!" you said, noticing the smile that appeared in your face.

'I'm good. That's good. I miss talking to you. How crazy it is that our friends are getting married?!@#$' The bleep from your phone made you smile again, and you reached for it, reading his text.

'Crazy as shit! We're not old enough for this,' you ignored the first half of the text on purpose. You missed him, but you weren't ready to let him know that yet.

'I keep saying this to Harrison, but he doesn't listen to me lol. But they love each other very much. Harrison showed me his speech, and I cried like a baby,' he said, and you laughed, remembering how easy it was for him to cry. He had a playlist just for that.

'Well, It's not that hard to make you cry lol. I chose not to hear Anna's speech. I wanted to be a surprise,' you confessed. She told you it would be very emotional, so you decided to enjoy with everyone else at the party.

'I don't cry that easily. I didn't even cry in my last movie,' he said, and you remembered you didn't watch the movie with him because the release happened when you were not talking.

'Congratulations on the movie, btw. I heard it's very good,' you said, confessing you didn't watch it. The real reason for you not to watch you weren't confessing. You didn't wanna hear see him or hear his voice. It was too painful.

'You didn't watch it yet? 😱' he asked, and you could see the shocked and offended look on his face.

'I'm sorry. I didn't have time,' you lied.

'We need to change this! This is unacceptable!' he said, and you wanted to invite him over to solve things once and for all. You wanted to sit in front of the TV, with Tom by your side, like you always did, and watch as many movies as possible.

'I'm going to bed now. See you tomorrow at the party,' you cut him off before he could ask anything else, and Tom noticed that. Because in one minute he was smiling at his cellphone, just about to ask you to watch a movie with him, and now he was staring at your last text, questioning everything he could've said or done to make things different.

"Hey, mate. Are you okay?" Harry asked, entering the TV room, and seeing his brother with a weird face, ignoring the TV.

"Yeah. Just...talked to Y/N," he said, pointing at his phone.

"Really? How did it go?" Harry asked, genuinely interested. He saw his brother whining and moping around the house for the last three months. After the pictures got released, Tom freaked out. He had to go to therapy, you stopped coming to their house, and he wasn't that cheerful guy anymore. Now, he was in a good place. Not like before, but he was getting there. And talk to you was the last step to make everything go back to normal.

"It was going back to normal, but then she shut me down. Not aggressively. She just didn't give me the opportunity to make things as normal as before," he said.

"Oh! I'm sorry, man. But that is better than nothing, right?" Harry shrugged. "And you are seeing her tomorrow. Who knows what can happen?" he smiled, and his brother did the same.

To say that this night was hard was an understatement. Tom couldn't sleep. He scrolled through his entire timeline on Instagram, watched a movie, then another one, ate, played video game, and when there was nothing else to do, he decided that 5am was a good time to go to the gym. But not even that helped him relax. He could feel every fiber in his body suffering from anxiety. Tea with his mom after lunch was the only thing that kept his mind calm for a few hours. After that, he went home to get ready for the party. 

There was no set of clothes in his closet that worked. Nothing was good enough. "Hey..." Anna called him from the door. "Want some help?" she offered.

"No. I know you have other things to do. I don't wanna bother you," he said with a smile.

"Not a chance. Everything is settled and I'm ready. Harrison is the one taking forever," she rolled her eyes. "I can help you," she said, getting into his room, and sitting in his bed. "What are your choices?" she asked.

"I don't have any," he scratched his neck, a little embarrassed.

"I think I know what to do," she said, getting up and going through his closet. "It will be simple..." she said, picking up a black pair of jeans and throwing at him. "But very cute..." she picked a black shirt.

"How can a black shirt with a black pair of jeans be cute?" he asked, looking at the clothes she gave him.

"Please..." she rolled her eyes. "You'll look cute," she picked a black cardigan, that he rarely used, and gave it to him. "And will match with the maid of honor, cause she's wearing black too," she finally gave him a white sneaker and a pair of glasses that he liked to use as a fashion statement.

"I'll match the maid of honor?" he asked, biting his bottom lip, trying not to smile.

"Perfectly!" Anna said with a happy smile.

Tom looked at the ground. "I talked to her yesterday," he said, putting the clothes on the bed before Anna could leave.

"And?" Anna said expectantly.

"I was just telling her she didn't need to talk to me today if she didn't want to. But, she said she was okay talking to me," his shrug was trying to sound like he didn't care, but his smile was showing the truth.

"I think you two will work things out," Anna said with a smile, leaning in the doorway.

"I hope so. I miss her so much, it's physically painful sometimes," he confessed with a sad voice.

"I know. I'm rooting for you," Anna said, going to him, and giving him a hug.

"Thanks," he said, and she smiled, leaving him alone.

Soon, the house was getting crowded. The backyard was decorated with fairy lights and wooden furniture. The waiters and waitresses walked around the house, serving beer and pizza.

Tom tried to distract himself, talking to as many people as he could. His mom, dad, and brothers were there since they were practically Harrison's family. His mom was feeling his son's anxiety.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to him.

"Great," he said, but his voice sounded anxious. He kept moving his weight from one foot to another. "She'll be here soon," he said.

"I know. And you'll let her be. Otherwise, you'll scare her," she said.

"Yeah...sure," he agreed. He glanced at the door as he did at least fifty times in the last hour, and for his surprise, this time you were there, taking off your jacket, revealing the black floral dress Anna said you would wear. And you two were matching. Tom's smile grew wilder unconsciously. You talked to some guests that were inside the house and then went outside, joining Anna and Harrison. You looked like an angel. Tom couldn't believe he survived all this time away from you. You looked at him for a second, and he saw Anna whispering something to you. You smiled, widely, and Tom felt like he had won the night.

You walked toward him, going to talk to his family. You didn't see Nikki for so long. You missed drinking tea with her, talking about your life, asking for advice.

"Hey, Ms. Holland," you greeted her.

"Hi, sweetie. Long time, no see,' she said, hugging you.

"Yeah. I was...busy," you said, looking at Tom for a split second and then to her again.

"I imagined. How is everything going? College. Work. Life?" she asked.

"Pretty much the same. I meant to call you a few times in the last months, but I didn't wanna bother you," you said sincerely. You really thought about calling and talking to her.

"Don't be silly. I would've loved talking to you," she said with a kind smile. "Let's have lunch this week. What do you think?"

"I would like that very much," you said, relieved that she didn't hate you after all the drama.

"Dom, look who is here," she said, calling her husband's attention. He said goodbye to the person he was talking to, engaging in conversation with you two. Sometimes your eyes met Tom's, and he noticed a sparkle in them every time you did. He didn't say anything while you were talking to his parents. He didn't want to upset you. "If you excuse us, darling, we're gonna talk to some friends," Nikki said, caressing your arm.

"Sure, go ahead," you said with a smile. They left, and it was just you and Tom.

"Hi," he said softly, trying to contain his excitement.

"Hey," you said, scratching the label of the bottle you were holding, anxiously.

"You look really good," he said, drinking a sip of his beer after.

"Thanks. You too," you were avoiding his eyes.

"Anna helped me choose this," he pointed to his clothes.

"It looks good," you smiled, finally looking in his eyes.

Tom couldn't hold it anymore. His mind wanted to keep it cool, but his mouth was faster. "I miss you. Everyday," he said. You looked at him, and all your worries were dead. All you could think was how much you missed him and how much you wanted him back in your life.

"I..." you started.

"Okay, everyone...it's toast time," Anna said clinking her glass with a fork. You and Tom looked at each other. Tom was afraid he had ruined his only chance. You were sad cause you couldn't tell him you missed him too.

"I'll go first," Harrison said, and some people cheered. "So...Anna. What can I talk about Anna?" he joked. "I'm kidding. I'll just say that the first time Y/N brought you around," he looked at you, raising his bottle, and you smiled. "That day, I knew I would marry you. I didn't say anything cause we were all friends, and I didn't want to scare you. But then, we were watching England's game at the 2018 World Cup, and when we lost, you cried. At that moment, I knew I had do something to make you mine, cause we were made for each other. Two months later I asked you out, and we started dating. Now I'm happy to say that we're gonna cry over the English team together, forever," he said the last part, looking at her. Everyone around cheered and applauded them and Anna gave him a quick kiss.

"Okay, now it's my turn," Anna said, taking a step forward. She was a showoff. "Are you ready to cry?" she asked, looking at him, and he smiled, nodding. I thought I would never find someone that I loved enough to ignore their flaws and accept spending my life with them. Unlike from you, when we first met, I thought great eyes, great body," she laughed, looking at him. "We could be friends. I mean, Tom and Y/N were always together. It wasn't like we could ignore each other," she said, and you and Tom looked at each other. A bit of sadness in your eyes, thinking about how that part wasn't true anymore. "But then, I got to meet you better, I started to see your flaws, and yet, dislike you wasn't an option even if I tried. My grandma always said 'we like because...we love despite...' I like you because you're nice to me, you are my best friend and you always search for me in a room when someone tells something funny, just to see my reaction. And I love you despite you being the last one to get ready, your gym schedule, and all the times you yell 'Wonderwall' in my ear, even though you know I hate this song," she finished. Her eyes were glistening with tears, just like everybody else. It took a few seconds for people to start cheering and clapping them. Harrison hugged her, with a wide and bright smile.

"Great speech," you said, going to her and Harrison, and hugging them. Tom following right behind you.

"I almost cried again," Tom said, hugging Harrison.

"Almost?" Anna asked, her thumbs brushing the corner of his eyes, cleaning a tear that threatened to fall.

"It was a really good speech," he defended himself.

"Thanks," she smiled. "We're gonna talk to...some people. We see you guys later?" she said holding your hand, and you and Tom nodded.

"We're gonna eat something," he said, resting his hand on your lower back, and they left. "Can we talk?" he asked, once Harrison and Anna left.

 "Yeah, sure!" you said, and he noticed the anxiety in your voice. At least he wasn't the only one that was afraid.

He walked to his room, opening the door so you could go in first. You walked to the window, looking at the party that was happening downstairs.

"It looks really good from here," you said. "They are so happy," you smiled, watching Harrison and Anna dance together.

"I'm happy to see you," he said, cutting you off. "I've missed you. Everyone did," his hands were in his pockets, and he was trying to stay calm even though his heart was loud in his ear.

"I missed everyone too. It was good to see your mom," you said, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. The room went silent. Tom didn't wanna push you, but he wanted to be with you and talk like before. Maybe he didn't think this through. The only noise was the music from the party. "I'm sorry," you said, taking a step forward, and Tom looked at you, waiting. You were nervous. "I'm sorry for pushing you away the way I did," your voice was heavy. "We were both sad and broken-hearted, and I was selfish. I only thought about the pain I was feeling. I'm sorry for ignoring your feelings," you said, and Tom felt his heart beating faster. He never thought about that night this way. He always thought about how much pain he caused you and how guilty he was feeling.

"I should've talked to you. I was so focused on the reasons why we couldn't be together," Tom said, taking a step in your direction. "I never thought about the reasons why we could," he confessed. These last three months he thought a lot about what he did wrong, and not talking to you sooner, giving you the chance to decide if you two could work, was his biggest mistake. "I was a coward. With you, with me, with that girl," his voice was trembling. "And I regret every day for what I did," he finished. You were looking at him, and your expression was unreadable. Even for him, that knew you for half of his life.

"I love you, and I," you started, but then you stopped. Your eyes blinking heavily. "I love you," you repeated after a few seconds, touching your lips with your fingers, looking away from him. It was like you could touch every word. "I...I love you!" you said like you just realized that. You had told him that before, but you were so hurt that you never let yourself feel that completely. Now, standing here, with nothing in your way, that was all you could feel. "I love you..." you smiled, looking at Tom that still had a lost look in his face. "I love you!" you said one last time like you were declaring your feelings for him.

Without giving you a chance to say it again, Tom walked the two steps that were keeping you apart, holding your face in his hands, and kissing you. It was urgent and frantic at first, but then you felt your heart slowing down and it was like the entire world was in slow motion. Your hand went to his waist, holding his sweater, while his fingers tangled in your hair, one of his hands holding your neck, deepening, even more, the kiss.

"I love you too," he whispered against your lips, breaking the kiss. He smiled, looking into your eyes. "And I really think we should go on a date."

~

1 year and 7 months later...

"Lunch is ready," Sam called from the kitchen, and soon footsteps and a door closing were heard upstairs.

"Y/N! You're cheating!" Tom yelled.

"Stop whining. I just closed the door!" you yelled back, running down the stair.

"Racing again?" Sam asked, seeing you enter the kitchen breathless.

"He said he would clean the room if I won," you shrugged. You yelped, feeling Tom lifting you up by the waist. "NO! PUT ME DOWN!" you yelled. 

"You cheated!" he said, carrying you to the backyard and locking you out. He pointed and laughed at you through the glass door.

"I can't believe you are doing this. Let me in. I'm hungry!" you said, crossing your arms on your chest.

"If you wanna get in you'll have to do three things first," he said.

"They are being idiots again?" Harry asked entering the kitchen and seeing you two.

"What's going on?" Harrison asked, and Harry pointed to the glass door.

"Idiots," Anna said sitting on a chair around the dinner table.

"What three things?" you asked.

"First, you'll apologize for cheating," he said and you rolled your eyes. "Second, you'll help me clean the room. And third," he put his hand on his pocket, taking out a black velvet box. He opened the box, revealing a ring, and your eyes grew wider, noticing what was happening. "Marry me?" he said, and you covered your mouth in shock, just like everyone else behind him.

"Yes!" you said, feeling your eyes burning. "Yesyesyes!" you repeated, nodding frantically, while he opened the door, pulling you into a hug.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[madasthesea]

A Far Green Country

Suggested listening: (x) (x)

“FRI, how’s the kid doing?” Tony asked when he had a moment to breathe between killing aliens.

“Peter’s heart-rate is high, Boss, and he hasn’t moved in almost a minute,” FRIDAY reported.

“Is he hurt?”

“Karen isn’t reporting any injuries.” Well, that was something, at least.

“Patch me into his baby monitor feed, just the audio,” Tony ordered, eyes still scanning the battlefield in front of him.

“You’re... you’re going to be ok,” Peter was assuring someone, his voice shaking. Tony’s heart plummeted.

“You’re pretty new at this, huh?” said a female voice. Her words were thick with pain. “I’m a nurse, Spidey. I know what a fatal wound looks like.”

“FRI, give me Karen’s analysis of her injuries,” Tony muttered. Instantly, a chart pulled up on Tony’s HUD, flashing red in all the areas she was hurt. There was a lot of red. A broken spine, broken collarbone, one leg pinned with rubble, and the worst part, a long splinter of wood piercing her abdomen, perforating her large intestine.

She was right. She was going to die.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Peter chided gently. He had the same diagnosis Tony did. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole,” she said. Tony dove toward a rogue alien, blasting it with both repulsors. Black Widow sprinted past him, a pack of the creatures chasing her; Tony twisted in midair and followed, picking them off one by one.

“Nice to meet you, Nicole. I’m Spi—I’m Peter.” Tony squeezed his eyes closed for a brief moment. Peter would never compromise his identity, not if he knew there was any chance of her getting out of this alive.

Nicole seemed to realize it, too, because she let out a small sob.  

“You-you have to tell my fiancé, ok? Jonathan. He, uh, he’s got brown hair and-and glasses, and you have to tell him.” Her voice broke.

Tony mechanically dodged an attack, blocked a hit meant for Sam. His mind was with Peter, in whatever devastated apartment he was crouched in with a dying woman.

“I will,” Peter vowed. He sniffled and Tony swallowed hard. He wanted to go and find Peter, pull him away from the scene so he didn’t have to see this. No one should have to watch someone die. But he couldn’t. Peter would never forgive him from depriving Nicole some comfort in her last moments.

“Give him this. He... won’t believe you otherwise.”

“This is the Evenstar. From Lord of the Rings.”

There were only a handful of aliens left. Tony landed by Steve, helped him with a small herd of them.

“Yeah, he got it for me at comic-con. Where we met,” Nicole said, chuckling breathlessly, only to cut off in a small cough. “So, Spider-Man’s a nerd?”

“The biggest,” Peter assured her, and Tony could picture the reassuring smile he would be giving under his mask, the way his eyes would be filled with tears.

“Good. Te-tell him that I’m going to a far, green country.”

Peter sobbed. “Ok. Ok.”

“You crying for me?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, unashamed.

There was a small moment of quiet, where she seemed to comprehend the importance of a superhero, kneeling at her side, crying for her loss. “Thanks, Peter,” Nicole whispered.

Peter hiccuped again.

“Don’t you have some aliens to be fighting?” she asked.

Tony had to stop himself from cutting in, from telling Peter that they were done, that Clint and Sam were taking care of the last couple right now. That Peter shouldn’t leave her.

“I can stay. It’s alright,” Peter assured her. Because he never would have left. Not when someone needed him.

Nicole whimpered, her tears audible through Peter’s comm. “Thanks, Spidey.”

Tony listened as her breathing quickly got worse, as she started gasping in pain. Peter gently shushed her, reminding her that he was there.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you need, ok? It won’t hurt me.”

There was the sound of wet coughing, interspersed with pain-filled cries.

“Hey, Karen,” Peter said quietly. “Play “A Far, Green Country” from my study playlist.”

“Of course, Peter,” Karen replied sympathetically.

Soft cello music began to filter through Tony’s earpiece. He stood still, watching in a detached sort of way as ambulances and firetrucks started arriving to the scene of the battle, as people began to peek out of their hiding places.

“Hear that, Nicole?” Peter asked. “Just focus on the music, ok? It’ll be ok.”

“I love... this one,” Nicole murmured.

The music crescendoed. Her ragged breaths slowed.

She was dead by the end of the song.

Tony listened, jaw clenched, his own eyes surprisingly damp as Peter started sobbing, the sound muffled like he was covering his mouth.

He went on to the team channel.

“Can you guys handle clean-up? I need to get Spidey out of here,” Tony said, his own voice soft in the aftermath of what he heard.

“Is he hurt?” Steve asked quickly.

“No. No, just... it’s his first big battle. He’s in shock.”

There was a moment of silent understanding. They’d all gone through the same thing the first time they had fought in battles that were more destruction than preservation, more dying than saving.

“Make sure he eats something,” Nat said over the line, and that’s all the confirmation Tony needed. He switched to a two-way comm.

“Hey, Pete,” he said softly. He heard sniffing, the sound of Peter wiping his tears away.

“Mr. Stark. Sorry, where do you need me? I can be-“

“Stand down, kid. Fight’s over.” He couldn’t make himself talk above a murmur, like speaking any louder would be the final straw before Peter lost it completely. “We’re getting out of here. Where are you?”

Peter rattled of a quick address, but then hesitated. “I... I’ll meet you in a few minutes, ok? There’s something I have to do.”

Tony flew over to where he was anyway. He stood in the shadow of fire engine, watching as Spider-Man crawled down the side of a partially destroyed building. There was a crowd of onlookers standing behind a police cordon, their faces pale and scared.

Peter walked over to them. There was a man with brown hair and glasses in the second row of people. Tony almost wanted to look away.

Instead, he watched. He watched as Peter carefully led him a few feet away, as he held out the necklace Nicole gave him and delivered her message. He watched as the man’s face crumpled, as tears spilled over, and finally, as his knees gave out.

Peter caught him. Lowered him to the ground and held on, hugging him on his knees, his own shoulders shaking with sobs.

Watching him, Tony felt his heart clench in nearly physical pain. It hurt to see the man mourning his lost fiancée, but for some reason, Peter’s grief affected him more. He wanted to go over and comfort him, wipe his tears away. The need to make Peter feel better was so strong he almost couldn’t stop himself from flying over that second.

He knew he needed to let Peter have this moment, this first step toward acceptance, this chance to be his own person for a moment, to let the world see the same kindness and compassion and heart that Tony saw in Peter every single day.

He just wished it didn’t come at the cost of Peter’s innocence. He just wanted Peter to be happy. More than anything in the world, he wanted Peter to be happy.

Oh, Tony thought as that realization sunk down into the pit of his stomach and took root.

I love him.

A few other onlookers had come forward and taken Jonathan by the arms, assuring Spider-Man that they would take care of him.

Pressing pause on his epiphany, Tony stepped out of the shadows. Peter turned to him like a child looking for his parent in a crowd.

“Hey, bud,” Tony said. “Ready?”

Peter nodded, his breath still catching. Tony picked him up, making sure Peter was secure, before carefully taking off.

When they got to the tower, Peter waited until Tony set him down gently on his own feet, then walked forward without speaking, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Tony stepped out of the suit and followed, watching carefully. Peter sunk down into the nearest chair, a stool at the breakfast bar. His hands scrabbled weakly at his mask, unable to find the seam. Tony came closer and stilled Peter’s hands with his own, then tugged the mask off with one hand. He set it on the counter, then smoothed out Peter’s wild curls.

Peter’s face was pale, the redness around his eyes stark against his dark irises. He trapped his hands between his knees to try to hide the shaking, but Tony had already spotted it.

“Nat made me promise to feed you,” Tony said, his voice loud in the quiet of the penthouse. “What’re thinking, kid? I can do boxed mac and cheese, frozen chicken nuggets, or good old PB&J. Or all three, if you’re a masochist.”

Peter carefully didn’t look at Tony, probably trying to keep him from noticing his red eyes.

“I—” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not really hungry.”  

“Not an option, kiddo. Sorry. How about I get you some juice to get that blood sugar up while I get cooking, alright?”

Tony rounded the island, busying himself with getting Peter some of the cranberry apple juice he liked so much, turning the oven on to start preheating. The kid needed some protein to make up for all the calories he burned fighting.

When he looked over his shoulder again, Peter was sitting with his head on his folded arms, his face hidden. Tony’s heart plummeted. He could still hear the echo of those muffled sobs, the sounds of a kid who thought he was too old, too strong to be crying, but who was too heartbroken not to.

Tony would never judge the kid for crying. He knew Peter was strong, he knew it possibly better than Peter himself. He also knew how overwhelming and horrifying your first battle, your first loss, could be. He hated that Peter felt the need to hide his emotions, his incredibly empathetic and tender nature from Tony.

Standing on the opposite side of the counter, he reached out and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter’s breath hitched just a little, and he slowly raised his head until he could look at Tony through the fringe of his lashes.

Tony seized the opportunity and slid his hand down to Peter’s chin, raising his head further. There were no fresh tears on Peter’s face, so maybe he hadn’t been crying after all. He still looked devastated and wrung-out.

He didn’t know what to say in the face of such innocent, honest grief that wouldn’t sound cheap and patronizing.

“I... I’m really, really proud of you, Pete,” he finally murmured.

There was a flash in Peter’s eyes, a single heartbeat where he thought Tony was mocking him. Then he slumped, his jaw pressing further into Tony’s hand.

“Mr. Stark, I... there was this woman,” Peter said, his voice gravelly. “I was trying to clear an apartment building and I found her and, and she was hurt really bad. And I didn’t want to leave her but I knew you guys needed me—” Peter’s eyes flit to one side, as if too ashamed to look at Tony, “—and I didn’t know what to do so I... I stayed. And I held her hand. Instead of coming to help you. You could have gotten hurt and it would have been my fault, but I just kept thinking if it had been me I wouldn’t want to be alone and she-she died, Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccupped. His eyes were full of tears again, and suddenly Tony could picture it so clearly, Peter kneeling by a stranger’s side and crying even while he comforted her. While he played music to distract her from the agony and fear.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony sighed. He came around the counter and pulled Peter in by the shoulders. Peter buried his face against Tony’s sternum, sniffling.

“Firstly, it’s not your job to look after all of us, ok? That’s why there’s a team of us, so we all can keep an eye on each and no one has to shoulder all of it. We were all ok, we were looking out for one another. Sometimes you get busy and can’t help for a bit, that’s fine. And you did a great job today, buddy, you really did.”

Peter’s fingers tentatively grasped Tony’s t-shirt and his heart constricted.

“Secondly—” Tony once again raised Peter’s face to meet his eyes. The kid looked desperate, fervently listening to any shred of wisdom Tony might bestow on him. “You never, ever have to apologize for being compassionate. That’s something you can’t learn, kid. You either have it or you don’t, and you have it. I wish I was as empathetic as you.”

Peter looked up at him, half hope and half doubt, and something in Tony’s chest settled.

How had it taken this long for Tony to realize that he loved him?

When Tony reached up and squeezed the back of Peter’s neck, his touch was gentler than it had ever been before.

“Why don’t you go take a shower before the rest of the circus troupe come and screw up the water pressure?” Tony suggested.

Peter nodded, swallowing. Tony kept a hand on his elbow as he hopped off the stool, just to make sure he was steady. Then he watched as Peter slouched off to his room, the Spider-Man mask drooping dejectedly in his hand.

His mind buzzing, Tony carefully spread the chicken out on a pan and put it in the oven, making sure to put on a timer. Then he slumped in the chair Peter had just abandoned and thought.

He had never been great about recognizing his own emotions. It had taken Afghanistan for him to realize that Rhodey and Happy were his family, that Pepper was much, much more than his assistant that he liked to flirt with. He’d kept them at a distance on purpose, too self-absorbed and miserable to let himself have that small piece of happiness.

Maybe for the kid’s own good, Tony should have done the same thing with Peter, but he couldn’t seem to make himself. Because Peter... Tony liked everything about Peter. His optimism, his enthusiasm, his uncompromising morals. He liked the way the kid got lost in his work, the way he fell asleep during movies, the way he talked a mile a minute to his AI when he was nervous. He liked the way Peter made him act—the responsibility and softness and sometimes silliness that the kid brought out in him.

He tried to think back, to a time before he loved Peter and found he just... couldn’t. Obviously there was one, but now every memory was so colored with fondness and bone-deep admiration that he couldn’t find a before and after. Every time Peter was there in his memories, there was love. The two words were almost synonymous. Now that Tony had connected them, they couldn’t be separated.

He felt the same palpable adoration when he thought about Pepper, but where Pepper was a fire, burning constant and steady and familiar in his sternum, Peter was an eternal sunrise. Bringing the promise of light, of warmth, of a new beginning. Infinite possibilities about to unfold and Tony loved every one of them; he loved the Peter that had just been sitting in front of him, sweat curled hair and fidgeting hands, and he loved every version of Peter that would come—the exhausted college student, the nervous new father, the CEO or inventor or doctor.

Now that he recognized the feeling in his chest that he got whenever he so much as thought of the kid, he felt full to bursting with it. It was a surprisingly good feeling.

Peter walked back into the room, his hair curling and damp. He looked a little less worn out, a little more like his usual self. He’d just need time, Tony knew, to recover. He never stayed down for long.

Tony found himself smiling as he watched Peter comb his fingers through his hair. The room seemed brighter with Peter in it.

Gosh, he was a sap.

“Perfect timing, kiddo,” Tony said as the timer started beeping. He got up and pulled the chicken nuggets out of the oven, serving them up onto a plate. “Ketchup, right?”

“And mayo,” Peter reminded.

“Ugh, that’s right.” Tony pulled the condiments out of the fridge, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s the best way to eat them, Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted as he busied himself mixing the two on his plate until there was a puddle of pink sauce next to his mound of chicken nuggets.

“So you say,” Tony said as he sat down next to the kid. He was happy to watch Peter eat, pleased that Peter seemed to perk up as he did.

After a moment, Peter pushed the plate toward Tony, silently offering. Tony stared at the food for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something as childish as chicken nuggets, especially the cheap frozen brand that Tony had seen in May’s freezer a couple months ago and purchased in an attempt to stock up on “Peter food.”

Peter was watching him, amused. Finally, Tony shrugged and picked one off the plate. Peter’s barely noticeable smile grew a little bit, and he rotated the plate so that his ketchup-mayonnaise monstrosity was closer to Tony.

“Ugh, fine,” Tony groaned. He dipped the chicken into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, just so that Peter would stop saying “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Mr. Stark,” all the time.

It was, actually, really good. Dang it.

“Well?” Peter asked, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, alright, fine,” Tony conceded, rolling his eyes.

Peter beamed at him.

Tony loved that, too.

[hvrtlings]

                               “ no matter how fast light travels, it finds                                    the darkness has always got there first “

* ╰   lorenzo zurzolo ;  18 ;  he/his  —— wow,  lachlan hawthorn  sure has changed. i guess  he  is feeling isolated from the other  gryffindor  members. guess you can’t really blame him. i still remember him being so  curious & adaptable  now he just seems  frustrated & evasive  guess being a  halfblood  isn’t helping matters much either.  i’m hopeful though. they’ll be just fine.  (  zoe ; cst ; 21 ; she/her  )  

WARNINGS:  infidelity, murder, car crashes, mention of war & hospitals & general bigotry    ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   lachlan’s stats page, playlist, & pinterest board   ADDITIONAL NOTES:  this is fully a few thousand words longer than either nate’s or alecto’s intros and i should edit it down but i also need it to not be in my drafts. really sorry about that. if you want a tldr version please hmu!! or if you just want to plot!!!

when lachlan’s biological parents married, rumors abounded. plenty of couples from their class got married right out of hogwarts   ---   but none of those other couples were such a puzzling case to their peers. no one knew what sweet serena alessandri saw in declan glynne. sometimes, even serena wasn’t quite sure what it was about him; he was a dark beauty, something she could only call him in her head. he was the sort of boy who’d bristle at such a feminine compliment as beautiful; never mind that it was true. but for all his good looks, no other girl had been interested in him. maybe because he wasn’t a sweet guy   ---   just a guy who was sweet to her. 

sweet serena alessandri: deposed princess of a new money pureblood family, she hailed from italy and had lived her whole life in clueless luxury. right up until her new money family found themselves newly penniless, and escaped to england to hide their shame. 

the girls and boys she’d grown up with, gone to school with   ---   they turned on her and her family the moment they lacked the funds to support the frivolous life italian purebloods led. 

oh, but they were mean. they rubbed her family’s new poverty in her face with well calculated cruelty. they were the reasons she vowed to keep her head down when she transferred to hogwarts. she was wary of befriending muggles and muggleborns, but wary of hating them, too. haughtiness got you nothing; she knew this well. 

serena was hurt and young and foolish   ---   not to mention ever fearful of seeming those things. declan never acted like she was; maybe that’s all there was to her love. a sense of safety, if only from ridicule. 

surly declan glynne: why, he hardly warranted a full backstory. he was an angry pureblood boy from a long line of angry pureblood boys who’d never had enough money to back up their feelings of superiority. 

he was almost militant in his hatred of muggleborns and muggles; he hated muggles with a quiet passion, but muggleborns were the real problem. muggleborns infected his everyday life, stole opportunities directly from him. 

hardly a radical feeling, but still   ---   his bigotry and working-class roots didn’t make for a winning combination. swimming in friends and admirers, he was not. 

so the unlikely hogwarts sweethearts settled down months after graduating, and bets were made among their peers on how long they’d actually last. 

everybody who bet that the answer was  ‘ not long ‘  had plenty of evidence to support their stance   ---   namely, that while declan scrounged up a job in the magical maintenance department at the ministry, serena went to muggle university   ( excelled there, in that world of finite answers and figures, like she never could in the magical theory and feeling and pronunciation at hogwarts )   and ended up working at a muggle accounting firm. 

that while serena was making more money than the highest ranking official in declan’s department, declan stewed in his anger. 

his resentment bled into the relationship. they’d never had too much in common; when the sweetness declan used to treat her with left, serena was so confused. but she hated asking questions   ---   fearful as ever of seeming young and hurt and foolish, wary as ever of showing a chink in her armor to people far better equipped for cruelty. just as she learned that the purebloods of her childhood were crueler than her, she knew without needing the lesson that her husband was crueler, too. 

serena’s muggle coworkers and classmates had always liked her. 

she’d always told a version of the truth, to explain why some simple things confused her so much   —   after all, it wasn’t a lie that she was grew up in a rich italian family who lost the fortune when she was in her teens and left her kind of adrift. 

her confusion at taxis and ball point pens could be laughed off as a sign of her former rich-girl ways. 

as could her need to be liked. they all knew she attended a string of elite boarding schools but ended up having to pay her own way through university   ---   knew that she worked hard and wanted people to see that about her. 

so, yes: they’d always liked her. she was kind. 

her coworkers noticed the seemingly sudden shift in her mood, and one brave man she’d worked on a few projects with took that notice a step further   ---    friendly and concerned about her, just as kind as serena had always been to him, andrew reynolds asked her out to lunch one day. and there, he asked why serena was feeling so low.

the sweetness and the kindness from him was enough to open the floodgates. maybe, she could admit, she’d felt a little starved for those two things. declan’s moods had only ever gotten worse. she answered andrew’s questions with all the honesty the ministry allowed. 

she revealed that her husband wasn’t sweet to her anymore, that he was actually kind of cold. she revealed she was hurt and unsure of what she did wrong. andrew paid for her meal and told her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. 

that one lunch, where he said he’d be there for her, devolved into many lunches, and then late-running meetings, and finally time spent out of the office. they fell in love   —   and she became pregnant.

she hid it from declan for a while; they hadn’t been having sex all that frequently, with his sudden ire at her putting a dent in romance. but she hurried to initiate it as often as she felt was  ‘ normal ’  for a happy marriage, after she found out she was pregnant.

she wasn’t happy being married to him, but the idea of separating was alien to her   —   so she needed him to think that the baby was his.

she only got more unhappy with him, when she figured enough time had passed that she could reveal the pregnancy without suspicion. serena wasn’t sure how she’d have felt if declan had been pleased to hear they were having a baby   —   if any excitement or warmth would have won her back to him, if a return of love would’ve erased all her hurt. but the news only seemed to make him more miserable; so serena never had to find out. 

fast forward: lachlan is born, the staff at st. mungo’s hurrying as best they can to get out of a room so tense where it should be joyous. declan named the baby, and serena let him. a pang of something wrong rang through her but she ignored it in favor of plastering on a warm smile.  

then the trio returned home. 

apparently declan   ( who’d never been all that smart, whose suspicions never seemed to touch his wife, for all his anger at her and the world at large )    had wondered at serena’s change in mood before the pregnancy. he hadn’t really noticed she’d started feeling small and hurt and lost at home until she was happy again. and when she was happier, he got suspicious. he followed her physically when he could, spied on her magically when he could, and never got proof of an all-out affair   ---   but declan glynne had been born suspicious. he could wait. 

here’s the thing: all babies kind of look the same. lachlan’s looks weren’t a shocking departure from declan’s and serena’s. andrew reynolds had been white, too, so it wasn’t like baby lachlan’s skin tone was super different. but declan had just made a deal with himself, like   —   serena and I both have light hair; if this baby’s hair isn’t almost transparent, I’ll know. 

baby lachlan was born with a shock of honeyed-brown curls. so that was that. 

declan was, all records would show, an anti-muggle wackjob. and he was beyond furious that serena   ( his wife. he may not have loved her any longer, but she was his )   thought to pass off some  ‘ muggle’s bastard ‘  as his son. 

they lived in a little wizarding neighborhood a small ways away from godric’s hollow; some might say, kindly, it was more quaint than godric’s hollow. others, honestly, might point out it was a way cheaper godric’s hollow. a neighbor saw and understood what the flash of green light in the glynnes’ windows meant, and alerted the aurors. 

baby lachlan was left generally parent-less, as serena was dead and declan ended up in prison. he might have ended up dead himself, had the aurors not arrived on time. godric bless nosy neighbors, and all that. 

declan wasn’t a smart or wealthy enough pureblood guy to get away literally murdering his wife over an affair. 

some people probably sympathized with him   ( serena cheated on him with a muggle. when that saucy story hit the news, that fact was hammered in and plenty of people got where he was coming from )   but it wasn’t enough to keep him out of prison. 

lachlan definitely did have a still living parent who would’ve jumped at the chance to take care of him   —   but the wizarding authorities never even considered andrew reynolds for any real length of time. 

a peek into the auror office’s thought process:  if we give him the baby we have to explain how and why and that serena’s dead. and it’s just easier to not do that.

a peek into the world of wizarding adoptions: even smarmy, blood purist wizarding society is all about preserving magical blood. so magical orphans aren’t long left without homes; magical orphanages aren’t a thing. wizarding families are often huge. so orphaned wizards are shopped around to even distant relatives and then, if that doesn’t work out, given to other families.

scandalous, family-less, little baby lachlan wasn’t long alone.

meet the hawthorn family   ---    edmund hawthorn was born edmund shafiq and was quietly exiled from his sacred twenty-eight family when he came out. which was fine, because his husband travis hawthorn came from a sprawlingly big and welcoming half-blood family and they took edmund in right away. 

edmund still wrote to his parents, and they wrote back; they hadn’t disowned him out of bad blood. he knew his parents still loved him. they just loved the family’s image more, and needed to give him the boot in order to name his brother orlando the heir  ...   since he could give them more heirs. 

travis, conversely, had a lovely relationship with his family. 

both edmund and travis were pretty high ranking ministry workers. edmund worked in the office for the department of magical law enforcement   —   not an auror, but someone who puts together files and goes over paperwork and traces patterns. travis was a liaison minister with the department of international magical cooperation. they’re good guys with good reputations and the ministry was honestly relieved when they offered to adopt lachlan. 

lachlan grew up with two sisters: della, who was five years older, and laurel, who was just ten months older. he loved them with all his heart. 

people tended to think he and laurel were twins, especially growing up   —   the dads cut her hair a little short because she was always getting into a mess, and it was easier to clean mud and neon paint out of shorter curls than long ones   —   but with their matching hair and their alliterative names, their propensity to always cause trouble as a team   ...   they just seemed like twins.

him and laurel seeming like blood related siblings to the outside eye made it easier for the world to forget that the hawthorn’s son was the baby that caused that big scandal.   

edmund and travis never lied to the two of them and said they were blood related twins or siblings, outright. but they did let the world outside their family assume that. they figured life would be easier for lachlan if that was the readily accepted truth.

lachlan wasn’t all that adventurous on his own, but found himself dragged into his sisters’ adventures; he could vouch from experience that mud and neon paint were a pain to wash out as it was, and couldn’t imagine adding more hair into the equation. 

his sisters might’ve been better at getting into messes, but lachlan made up for it by being a mess. he was always having a crisis as a kid   —   his stuffed dinosaurs were just ravaging the block city, dad, but what about the finger puppet people in that apartment building? do they even sell dinosaur insurance?? why didn’t I think of the implications here  ... 

he and laurel played knights a lot, with toy swords and helmets modeled after the suits of armor in hogwarts  ( travis asked edmund if that wasn’t a little much, when they bought them; they were a few years out from school, after all, they didn’t care that the helmets were accurate   —   )   and lachlan always wondered about the ramifications of two knights fighting each other. laurel always took the ensuing soliloquy of hypothetical questions as opportunity to knock him flat backwards.

he was a needy kid   —   he always had questions at his lips, a thousand moral quandaries to discuss. he had an active imagination and a tendency to let situations snowball into situations.

he was often hilarious, and rarely on purpose, and very easy to like. anyone who knew his birth mother would’ve been surprised to see lachlan   —   he truly was nothing like serena. he was bright and sweet and openly curious about everything. he loved storytelling and art and music; a perfect case to show that nurture always won out over nature.

when it was time for him to go to hogwarts, he wasn’t at all sure what house he’d get sorted into   —   it wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever been hung up on thinking about, for all that he’d wondered about every other part of the hogwarts experience. his dads had both been in different houses, and he had no way of knowing what houses his birth parents belonged to. the sorting hat cried out GRYFFINDOR a scant few moments after touching down on his unruly curls, and lachlan decided that felt right.

he loved hogwarts.  

 lachlan made friends easily and often   —   he’d grown up in the constant companionship of his sisters and knew well how to start conversations and shift them from uncomfortable topics, was skilled at asking questions that made people feel good and liked. 

he was a little overzealous in class, but most of his professors liked him well enough. lachlan was still a curious guy, and seemed to genuinely care about each subject   —   something that went a long way towards endearing him to hogwarts’ staff.

though, some of the staff might’ve been endeared to him even if he wasn’t generally endearing. 

his interesting past wasn’t a secret from most of the professors; travis and edmund had done well enough redirecting people’s memories around their son, but then most people had already forgotten about serena and declan, or else had never really known them in the first place. but many hogwarts professors recalled teaching the couple, recalled the shock their ending gave them, when the news hit.

lachlan’s  ‘ story ‘  wasn’t something his dads had shared with him just yet, so lachlan himself didn’t know. it was a little maddening walking around the castle, when it felt like all the adults looked like they knew something he didn’t. 

dumbledore, being dumbledore, took it upon himself to tell lachlan the whole sordid tale himself, when lachlan was just starting his fourth year. it was a shock   ( it majorly pissed off travis and edmund, who never found out why the old man did such a thing )   but the next time he went home for the holidays his dads sat him down and explained that, no they weren’t hiding it from him and yes, they’d had plans set to tell him when he was seventeen and of age.

wizarding authorities could have hunted down andrew reynolds and told him he had a son, but they didn’t. travis and edmund, however, wanted to find andrew just in case lachlan ever wanted to meet him. so lo and behold   —   once lachlan knew, his dad’s set up a meeting for the four of them in muggle london. it went well; kinda full of shock and crying, even without breaking the  ‘ wizard ’  of it all to andrew, but still well.

lachlan was perfectly happy with his sisters and his dads; for all that he’d always known he was adopted and for all that he’d always been curious as hell, he’d never really pushed his dads about his birth parents. his dads just were his dads. end of story   —   no need for questions. 

which was part of why it was easy for him to go fourteen years before learning about his past. lachlan could not be paid to stop the flow of his curiosity, but there were somethings that seemed so solidly true he never thought to question them.

so while it was kind of cool meeting andrew, it was also kind of weird. knowing about andrew at all was weird   —   because it meant knowing that his mother had died days after giving birth to him, alone and scared and unhappy. and that her husband had been a bigot and a murderer; that declan glynne was still alive in prison somewhere. it was a suckerpunch to the gut knowing that lachlan had come close to being killed himself, if a neighbor hadn’t called the aurors on their house just in time to save the baby he used to be.

listen, he’d never wanted to know where he came from. 

but he knew he’d feel, like, kind of bad if he just never saw andrew again. so with his dads’ permission   ( and encouragement; edmund and travis thought this would be good for lachlan, like getting to know his Muggle Heritage from his Muggle Birth Father )   he hung out with him on occasion, during holidays and school breaks.

even though the professors clearly knew about his past, and his dads did, and his sisters did once he decided he wanted to tell them   ...   lachlan kept it all under wraps around his friends at school. he liked to think he was an open book, before. but learning where he came from made him want to play his cards a little closer to his chest. he couldn’t put his finger on why   —   he knew it worried his dads, he knew it did, and figured he’d get over it in due time, once he settled into the truth.

it just didn’t seem like the truth wanted to settle around him.

declan glynne had family. he was a middle son from a whole gaggle of bigoted, disillusioned glynne brothers. the ministry just never considered them when they were trying to figure out who would take lachlan on. they looked at serena’s family and saw no options, but declan was not lachlan’s father and, like andrew, was never even considered. 

ian glynne had a bone to pick with this   —   had a bone to pick with lachlan’s whole existence, too, had a problem with that almost more than being overlooked. 

( he thought that if serena had just kept her legs shut she’d never have gotten herself pregnant and gotten herself dead and gotten her husband sent to prison. more than that, he thought if she hadn’t gotten the idea of a muggle career into her head and made his brother upset, what with her math and her decent paycheck, she really would’ve staved all this off. but serena was dead   —   so it was easier to blame the baby, who wasn’t. )

he was a fan of simmering in his anger and hatred and kept up with the news about lachlan, at least enough to know who he ended up being adopted by.

and from there he got an idea; the hawthorns were good people   —   a compliment that would’ve come out as a sneer if ian voiced it, the judgement and sarcasm inherent in every syllable. he figured at some point, they’d tell lachlan who his birth parents were, maybe even introduce him to that homewrecking muggle. and if they did, and if ian kept a low profile, kept observing   …   they’d lead ian right to the muggle at the root of his brother’s injustice. 

he wasn’t always watching lachlan, just keeping an eye on him by keeping an eye on his dads. he’d never been all that smart or ambitious   —   the glynnes were a family that thrived in their self-righteousness and self-importance and didn’t feel like they should have to act on those things to get what they deserved.

but his anger, his half baked plot, was enough to spur ian to action for the first time in his life. he rose through the ranks of the ministry through pure determination and will and ended up working in the same office in the department of magical law enforcement as edmund. they almost became friends; not earnestly, not honestly   —   not on ian’s part. but they did. friendly enough for ian to ask after edmund’s kids and get answers, friendly enough to hear about the trip into muggle london to visit someone edmund described as one of the kids’  ‘ distant relatives. ‘

he followed them.

and he didn’t do anything that time lachlan and the muggle were in the same place, but he started to plan.

it would’ve been too hard to keep magical surveillance over lachlan and the hawthorns, so he hadn’t, not ever. just kept an eye on them the old fashioned way, through word of mouth and casual water-cooler conversation. but andrew reynolds had no means of catching ian glynne in the act of spying. so, spy he did.

muggle police would later rule it a tragic car accident   —   shaking their heads at the carnage as they carted lachlan off to the muggle hospital while he clung with bloody hands to consciousness. it took hours for the dads to find him there and by the time his family reached him he decided he wouldn’t tell them any of the truth of what happened; told the official from the auror department once he got relocated to st. mungo’s, but only because he had to. 

he never asked if that official told his dads. none of the hawthorns talked about the situation anymore than they had to, after that.

here was the situation:

ian glynne tailed lachlan and andrew all day   —   a saturday during easter hols during lachlan’s fifth year wherein andrew showed lachlan around muggle london. the pair had lunch together, looked in a few shops, and were set to drive out to andrew’s home outside of the city, where edmund and travis and lachlan’s sisters would meet them later for tea. 

ian glynne got them on a secluded section of road just far enough away from both the city proper and andrew’s home to cause immediate alarm.

he came out in front of the car and andrew made to swerve around the man, but ian cast some defensive spell lachlan had yet to learn at the hood. it exploded   —   felt like they crashed into another vehicle even though they were the only car on the road.

lachlan and andrew both slammed into the windshield, but neither crashed through it. ian came ‘round to andrew’s side of the car and started screaming questions at him about serena and declan; then he shot him with a muggle handgun, something lachlan had surely never laid eyes on before.

andrew did not die from that initial gunshot   —   ian was a terrible shot, and was half out of his mind besides. the bullet just grazed him, and he inelegantly dragged andrew out of the car after. 

lachlan made his way out of the vehicle too, bleeding and hurt, all cut up and bruised from the crash and the glass he had to wade through. he thought, maybe, he was in shock. he was certainly in shock once he finally bambi-legged his way out of the demolished vehicle and saw ian cast a cruciatus on his biological father. 

and, still in shock when he saw ian whammy andrew with a killing curse after that. 

ian did not attempt to turn his wand on lachlan   —   this was the second time in his short life that a glynne brother forgot to kill him once done with a more satisfying target. ian took for the bare april greenery lining the road and lachlan   ( curious, trauamtized dumbass that he was )   ran after him. found a gun pointed at him for a terrifying moment before the muggle police sirens cut the air and sent ian apparating on out of there.

he fought to go back to hogwarts right away; it was only the first saturday of the holiday that all this went down, so lachlan felt, since he spent the whole rest of it in hospitals and bed, surely he was fine. the dads disagreed, and his sisters disagreed, and the auror working on ian’s case disagreed. he’d just become, in a way, an orphan. and it felt like no one around him cared to see him recover in the way he wanted to.

lachlan managed to bargain that he’d get to return to school as soon as ian was sent to join his brother in prison   —   none of the world any wiser that he’d been there when the newest glynne family crime was committed. 

laurel decreed that it’d look less strange if both of them stayed home until then, and that was that. the dads wouldn’t begrudge lachlan the company of his sister, if he couldn’t return to full normalcy just yet.

della was graduated at this point, technically an adult working a fancy job at some boutique robe shop, but she came home every day from work and glued herself to her younger siblings’ sides. lachlan recovered his new, strange orphan-hood with his not-twin and big sister at his side, dads hovering around as much as their jobs allowed.

the hawthorns were tight knit and loosely configured all at once   —   always brimming with love and independence in spades, care expressed tenderly and roughly, like no one was sure how to be earnest. edmund and travis had always expressed affection like that: through arguing and debating and ribbing more than any big displays. 

the kids worked the same way. family dinners used to be more running jokes and teasing than anything, raucous like none of them knew the definition of serious.

the five hawthorns weren’t really sure if that old normal was still achievable; lachlan’s brush with near-death met the daunting news lurking on the edge of their world. the whispers of war.

things became very real for the carefree family   —   the fact of edmund’s disownment, and travis’ famous half-bloodedness.

that all three kids were adopted with far-from-simple origin stories   ( even if lachlan’s was the loudest, neither laurel nor della came from a closet free of skeletons ),   that the dads were gay and the kids were open in their opposition to anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn sentiment

ian glynne might not’ve gone after lachlan for any of that, not really. but the possibility started to hit with dizzying closeness.

two weeks after the holiday officially ended, laurel and lachlan returned to hogwarts. if lachlan had seemed new and different upon receiving the news of his biological parentage, then he seemed really different following his brush with death and new witness to murder. it was the kind of different that was hard to put your finger on. he smoked now, and drank more; he was liable to fall into fits of melancholy. 

cynicism did not come easy to him, but he found that wariness did, that secrecy did. it was shocking.

he finished his fifth year chomping at the bit to do something, anything, about the awful ways in which his world was changing. the next year only held more tragedy   ---   attacks and deaths and disappearances. no one knew what happened to him unless he chose to tell them   ( and in truth, there was almost no one he chose to tell )   but he couldn’t help but feel a kinship with everyone newly hurt by this world. he’d been hurt by it, too, after all. 

there was a small degree of safety offered within hogwarts’ walls, but he couldn’t help but want to be free of them. to be out there, doing something. lachlan would wait for now, ask questions and notice things and store them away the way he always had. but it started to feel like he was just biding his time until he had something to do with every new thing he learned. 

[5-secondsofcolor]

The New Year

Note: This is one of the first fics I’ve ever written and the first one I’ve ever published anywhere. I’m far from an amazing writing but part of my new years resolution is practicing and gaining confidence in writing. It’s a little clunky so, please, feel free to leave me feedback! K, thank you for reading.

Warnings: Some swearing? None really.

-----

Calum’s family decide to stay through New Years; David’s freshly retired, Joy is more than happy to spend more time with Cal, and Mali’s just along for the ride this year. They tell Calum not to fret, to enjoy his new year as he planned but he can't leave them.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, he realizes what he's got to do. Introduce Laura to his family. It's not like they weren't friends before, he's known her more than a year, and she's not a secret to anyone. The issue is that they still find themselves in an in-between. What've they got? Monogamy? Yep. Sleepovers? Yeah. Weekends away? A few here and there with a final one planned to close off the year. A New Year's cabin trip just for two. Well they had to reschedule that one.

Joy quickly throws together a dinner, inviting Ashton, Luke, and Michael and his parents, of course. She’s happy to get them together for dinner again, anytime with the boys together is special for her. Knowing they’ll be there has also brought some relief to Laura; she’s still getting to know Luke and Ash but Michael and her get along like a house on fire. Rapidly pairing together at parties and clubs they're dragged out to, there’s a comfortable understanding that they’ve got one another’s back.

Nervousness grips Laura on December 30th, a full day before it needs to. She tries on outfit after outfit trying to find something good enough to meet his family in. Suddenly there's an issue with every item in her closet, it's either too small or too large, too formal or too frumpy, long story short it's all fucking wrong. Then she finds it, a maroon wrap dress buried in the back of her closet. It’s not perfect but it'll work. Now, what in the world does she bring to this thing?

--

“Laura, this is Mali. Mali this is Laura, we've..umm been dating.” Calum says quickly introducing them.

From the corner of her eye, Laura sees a shit eating grin break out on Ashton's face; he's rooting for them, she knows it, but he also finds it extraordinarily amusing that Calum's found someone so similar to himself. both of them said “fuck love” until they found one another. Ashton can see the change in Calum, the way he's stopped saying it in interviews, so now he's just waiting for the day they announce its official.

“It's great to finally meet you.” Mali says ignoring Laura's extended hand and going in for a hug. “I love this dress. The color looks amazing on your skin.” She notes.

“It's great to meet you, too. Calum talks about you so much, it's great to put a face to the name.”

Dinner starts without a hitch. Laura can see why Calum told her to bring drinks; Joy has covered the table in food, cooking every dish she could. After a quick speech from Calum and Joy, everyone digs in. The boys dominate the conversation, Ashton and Luke fighting to give Joy updates of their lives in-between bites.

Luke’s also met a girl this year, he tells Joy all about her, unfortunately, she’s away for the New Year but soon they’ll go to Australia to meet his mom. Ashton goes off about his new project, something about photography or was it film? He’s got so many it’s hard for everyone to keep up from time to time.

“Laura, what do you do for a living?” Joy asks trying to bring her into the conversation.

“Ma, I'm sure she doesn't want to talk about work.”

“It's ok, Cal. I work part-time conducting demographic research at a marketing firm and I work freelance for a few local companies, setting up their online marketing and consulting. I like to write a lot on the side but it'll be a while before that's making me any money.”

“If you keep writing the way you have with Calum, you’re gonna be a songwriter soon enough,” Michael adds hardly lifting his face from his plate.

“Are you a singer?” Mali asks.

“Oh no," She shakes her head. Laura's tone-deaf at best but editing runs in her veins. "I write more poetry than anything but I give feedback to Cal’s writing sometimes.”

Joy gives her a soft smile before Luke grabs back the attention. For once, Laura's grateful for his and Ashton's larger personalities. They feed off one another as they continue telling stories of their last tour and their new album. They miss Joy almost as much as they miss their own mothers. Laura can see why, Joy’s genuine pride at all they've got going on is infectious.

Laura feels herself relax as dinner goes on. All the dialogues slowly bleed into one, allowing her to sit and observe for a moment. Her favorite pastime, watching how enthusiastically people speak about things they’re passionate about. There’s always a glimmer in Luke’s eyes when he speaks about love. Ashton’s smile never breaks from his lips and his gestures get even larger. Mali, much like Calum, smiles wide when she’s happy making her eyes small as happiness takes over her face.

“So how'd you meet?” Mali asks as she finishes a story.

The table falls silent as everyone pauses. Joy and David look inquisitively as Michael snickers. He swears his phone call set their entire relationship in motion.

“I lost my phone outside a coffee shop and this one found it,” Calum explains briefly. Laura nods in agreement but everyone turns to her, waiting for her side.

“Honestly, that's it. I found his phone, held onto it until he came to pick it up, and we kinda just started having coffee together. It had to have been almost a year ago? Right after your birthday. I didn't let him buy me a coffee the day I found it so he came back a week later, and he bought me a coffee then. Let's be honest, he just wanted an excuse to grab the best coffee in this area.” Laura teases rolling her eyes in Calum's direction. “He started joining me while I worked once or twice a week and we unintentionally started a little writing club.”

The entire time Laura speaks, Joy’s eyes are trained on Calum. He holds her hand under the table while he listens attentively, his eyes never leaving her. For years she's been worried, they haven't heard a peep out of Calum about anyone until Laura. There's hardly a peep about her but the few times she's come up there's been excitement in his voice. A little peace comes to her seeing him try in love again.

Ashton and Luke are off after dinner, heading out to some parties. Laura and Calum are up first to volunteer go do the dishes. Laura starts a quiet playlist before taking her usual spot of scrubber beside Calum. Joy runs in occasionally, finding random dishes to hand them. They work slowly on purpose. Calum sings to her and places gentle kisses on her temple as they bask in the silence, enjoying the small amount of time stolen away in the kitchen. The dishes hardly feel like a chore as they playfully lean into one another, a gentle reminder that the other is there.

There's no questioning the feeling they have; it's love but logic says it’s too soon. Neither of them can fully wrap their head around it. There's something different about their love. There's no madness, no crazy proclamations are needed, nobody will be shouting it from rooftops. Much like them, their love is silent, it's found only by those who'll take the time to observe.

“Want to break open that Christmas whiskey and have a quick drink in the backyard?” Laura dries off her hand on a kitchen towel.

“I'd love to,” Calum says grabbing two glasses and a bottle Laura's gifted him as they sneak into the backyard.

Calum hands Laura a drink and watches her in the soft light. She's got a way about her; from the day they met it's kept her coming up in his mind. The girl in the coffee shop with her work scattered about, a simple way of romanticising everyday, and her smile? It's out of this word. The only reason why he left that day was a phone call. Had Michael not called him, where would the conversation have gone? Two, three, four times she came to mind the weekend after they met and Calum knew he had to befriend her. He wasn't sure what she'd be but it wasn't a “What if?” he was going to live with. With nothing but hope, he showed up to the same coffee shop a week later, sat at the same table, and for once let fate take the reigns.

“Happy almost New Years, guy I’m dating,” Laura says taking the glass.

“Happy almost New Year, phone sitter.”

They clink their glasses together. Does she make everyone feel that way? Like they're the center of the universe. She says something but all he can focus on is the need to hold her in his arms, to run his fingertips over her beautiful brown skin. He takes her drink and places it down before pulling her into him. She'll bring up the lack of attention later but, right now, he just wants her close. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder, as they sway to the music pouring into the backyard. Unbeknownst to them, Mali and Joy are peaking into the backyard from a window.

“Dad, look. They're absolutely precious.”

“Window’s open, Mal.” Calum says. Laura hides her face in his chest, her face warming quickly.

“Shit. Sorry, guys!”

“Y'all want some whiskey? It's fancy stuff I got Cal for Christmas.” Laura calls into the house.

With that, David’s off the couch and joining them in the backyard. They all settle outside together. Laura dipping her feet into the heated pool and Mali joins her after a moment. They talk about living in London for a while. Laura recalls the winter she spent abroad in London and Mali adds her own humid summer horror stories. Soon Joy joins them too. She takes the cake telling them of the Australian summers of her youth. Summers hot enough that the pavement would melt the soles of her shoes. Her children call her a liar but Joy presses on. David and Karen corroborating her stories until the kids concede.

The stories continue, everyone sitting around listening to David, Joy, and Karen reminisce on years passed. Memories of the kid's childhoods are traded back and forth until they intersect and begin to overlap. Karen and Joy meeting for the first time, the boys starting the band, having their sons follow insane dreams, and the bouts of sadness that can be found in all the joys of their success. Karen and Joy give Laura the whole story or at least they give it a shot as midnight approaches.

Midnight comes and brings with it hugs and kisses, the sounds of clanking of crystal, and explosions off in the distance as they ring in new opportunities. All of them stay outside watching the fireworks go off and chatting for a little longer.

The whole world’s alight but Calum can only see Laura, the world doesn’t matter. This is the New Year but the only thing that makes him feel any different is standing beside him, staring up at the night sky. The whole year came down to a few points and it’s taken him until now to realize the fateful day he dropped his phone was a one. Fate making sure he took pause long enough to see her and, now, he knows he’ll keep an eye out.

--

“Ok. Ashton had told me you two were cute but she's amazing. Please tell me you're taking her seriously.” Mali says the second Calum returns from walking Laura to her car.

“Mal… please no.”

“Calum, are you serious? You're in love, she's in love, there's basically turtle doves hovering around you.”

“Mali, that's enough.”

Giving her a stern look, he takes the last of the leftovers into the kitchen. He settles onto the kitchen island, helping his mother tidy the kitchen. She sworn by the superstition for years: a tidy house at New Years means a tidy house all year.

Calum knows Mali’s right but fear is louder. Laura terrifies him. Even when they were simply friends, there was so much that began to lead back to her. Writing, happiness, home -- all began to lead back to her and he doesn't want to fight it. He wants to share them with her and it's a feeling that's only gotten stronger in the last few months. But it all boils down to a game of risk. What if he gets too comfortable and she leaves? What if this leads to nothing but new heartbreak? Will this become another reminder to not fall in love?

“Baby, what’s on your mind?” Joy asks, seeing Calums face twist as he runs through all his thoughts.  

“How’d you know dad was the one?” Calum asks, settling on the kitchen island as she packs away the last of the leftovers.

“Dad is the one. I know because, in the harder moments, he always stays. It’s easy to love someone through the good but when things get hard and people pull away, when life wedges in all the reasons to leave, and he chooses to stay, that’s when I know he's the right one.”

Calum nods and stays silent for a moment.

“Laura’s something special isn’t she?”

“She is. It just all came so suddenly, I wasn’t expecting it, mum.”

“Sometimes it’s not about what you’re expecting but about what life knows you’re ready for.” Joy says packing away the last of the leftovers. “Goodnight, baby. Happy New Years.”

“Goodnight, mum. I love you.”

---

The next morning Calum’s hardly slept, his mind a jumble of thoughts. He grabs Duke before going out for a cigarette. He's surprised to find Mali already in the backyard with her writing journal.  

“Good morning.” She coos down at Duke.

“Good morning." He settles beside her and thinks for a moment, "I'm sorry I was short with you last night.”

“It's fine, Calum.” She tries to wave him off, figuring the issue wasn't her.

“No, it wasn't. I'm sorry. It's just… I just don't know how to speak about Laura.” He shrugs unable to find the words even hours later. “Mali, I don’t want to get ahead of myself but I feel stupid not rushing in. It's like when we started the band, my gut’s just saying it's right.”

“Then what's holding you back?”

“I can't… I don't think I could make it if this…isn't real.” Calum says slowly. Unsure of how to voice his fear.

“Cal, I know it's scary to take a leap but if the feelings that strong, listen to it. Just from what I saw yesterday, I think she's on the same page as you  Remember, you'll always have Ash and I, too.”

It's the final push he needs, the most important women in his life have his back. With a sigh, he finds the resolve to see her. He doesn't have a plan but he can't hold all the emotions in any longer. Calum pulls up her contact and dials her number. Knowing full well she's not a morning person, he hopes she's already awake.

“Bueno?”

“Morning, beautiful.” Calum says, rolling his eyes as Mali holds her heart and gives him a silent ‘awwwww’.

“Hola, cariño.”

“What're you doing?”

“Umm writing.” Laura admits, her cheeks burning. She's been caught in that act. In a mad attempt to capture even the smallest part of the way he's making her feel, she's spent the morning writing about him. She's hoping to silence the ruckus in her mind, so much so that she's up early. She's unsuccessful, truthfully, it seems that the only thing that truly silences her thoughts doubles as their source.  

“Mind if I come over? Just for a little.”

“Yeah, I have something for you.” Laura admits, rolling her lips between her teeth.

“Do you? Well then I can't show up empty handed, how does some Nautical Bean sound?” He can't help the smile breaking across his face.

Laura laughs lightly, “That sounds freaking amazing and that way I'll hopefully get this done before you get here.”

“Mm, I can't wait to read it. I'll see you soon. Bye.” Calum says as he hangs up.

“Mal, tell-”

“Tell mum and dad you'll be back soon. Yeah, yeah. Go on now!” She shoos.

Before he knows it, Calum's got their coffees and he's running up the steps two at a time. He knocks softly before letting himself in.

“Hi.” Hey says breathlessly.

Every bit of nervousness leaves his body as he sees her sitting on her couch. A large blanket drapes around her shoulders while she works on her laptop. These are his favorite moments to share with her. When both of them quietly working on something, happy not to go at it alone. He settles in beside her, waiting for a moment while she finishes her work.

"G'morning, bub." She says with a smile, placing her laptop down on the coffee table. “Thank you for the coffee”

“Ok now I gotta hold up my end of this deal,” Laura says opening to a page in the small journal before handing it over to him. “I know I said you aren't allowed to read my personal journals but today's an exception,” He wants to say something but the words stick together, creating a lump in his throat. They share a knowing look, her journal is everything to her. It's her best friend holding the pieces she's afraid to share. He's holding a piece of her heart. She gives him a nervous smile as he starts to read an entry from the night previous.

“These hands have held me in another lifetime.

I can't explain it. Not fully, not even in parts.

I don't understand it, yet it is.

The same way birds fly, it looks impossible, improbable, yet they take flight every day so it must be.

I see it just the same with us.

Neruda’s poems make sense, they're clear in a way I've never known.

Paths are simpler as the future comes with one piece set.

I am not afraid to get my heart broken by you.

Maybe it's foolish, stupid, reckless but something in these hollow bones of mine tells me to take flight.

Tell me, do I sound insane?”

Calum reads the paper twice over; his heart feels ready to burst. He clears his throat, finally finding words to say.

"Well, that makes things a lot easier,” Calum says quickly closing the distance between them and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. He feels a smile grow on her lips as she pulls away. He shakes his head, knowing he can't possibly top her writing, "Last year, your friendship alone meant the world to me. You were there patiently through the worst parts of it and I don't think I could've asked for anything else from you. I hope I returned the favor through your rougher moments. Through the good and the bad we fell into something more that has been an absolute gift to me. I know it won't always be this smooth. I know there'll be days where things are off, when I'm gone and we both feel alone, where we'll both struggle but that's ok. Even in the bad days, I'll still hope it's you I get to love. I don't want any of this, the bad or the good, with anyone else but you. Te quiero mucho. Did I say that right?”

“Yeah.” She whispers, eyes brimming with tears. Without a second thought, she takes back her journal, and careful tears out the page and hands it to him.

"How does the first of the month sound to you?" Calum asks folding the paper carefully before placing it into his wallet.

"For what?"

"To start celebrating anniversaries?"

"Sounds good." She says pulling him in for another kiss.

[thosekidswhohuntmonsters]

Keeping Your Promises 

Summary: Thor is more oblivious with one eye than he was with two, especially when it comes to realizing how the people around him feel about him. With a push from Loki will Thor finally realize how the reader feels about him?

Word Count: 1660

Authors note: omg my first Thor imagine!! If you guys want me to write more Thor just lmk!!

**if you reblog or comment on my fics there’s a 100% chance I’d now die for you**

      As Loki walked past your room he stifled a chuckle. Leaning against your doorframe he asked, “Could you be more obvious, and my brother more oblivious”. Picking up your head from your book you turned to face him.

Baby you’re like lightning in a bottle, I can’t let you go now that I got it

You raised one of your eyebrows, pretending to play dumb. He didn’t budge, the look he was giving you made you know he had seen right through you. As the song continued he smirked.

All I need is to be struck, By your electric love

Baby, you’re electric

Reaching for your phone you skipped to the next song on your playlist. Without looking to him you softly said, “I thought you were the god of mischief, not the god of smugness”. Loki’s smirk grew, you were the only one he’d let toy with him like that.

“And I thought you midgardians were desperate to fall in love, and here you are denying it”. With that he left your room and continued to walk to his own. It was hard to tell who was smiling bigger, you or him.

Shaking your head you closed your bedroom door, and the second it was shut your mind continued to think of Thor. It had been a year since they’d returned from Ragnarok and had decided to live in the tower.

And it had also been a year since you’d first developed feelings for Thor. He had always made your heart skip a beat, but now given how much he’d grown emotionally you just couldn’t help yourself.

Thor had lost the most he ever had, but his heart was so giving that you would never know it. He constantly spoke of friendship and that “home” was rooted within people not places. It was like after all these years he’d finally found himself.

Although Thor remained oblivious to your feelings, Loki picked up on them instantly. He was used to people fawning over Thor, but none had ever had the character that you had. You weren’t another maiden, you were more.

Loki considered you one of Midgard’s only redeeming qualities, which was why he was so supportive of your feelings for his brother. Loki knew that the last person Thor ever thought about was himself, so it was hard to see when someone truly cared for him the ways in which you did.

He’d always believed his brother to be oblivious, but now more than ever. To make matters worse Thor shared your feelings, but was too unsure to act upon them. You were both lucky Loki refrained from locking you in the same room for 24 hours.

“Brother you’re staring, and quite possibly drooling”. Instantly Thor stopped leaning against the kitchen counter and stood back up straight. He tried to look casual, “Yeah well you’re also staring..staring at me..”.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s lame comeback. He leaned a little closer, “The men in this house wildly outnumber the women, might be time you remember that”. Loki motioned his head forward, leading Thor’s gaze to you and Bucky.

Bucky was pulling you out of your glum mood by forcing you to dance with him. He turned up the speakers, “You know doll, dame’s used to line up just to dance with me”. As Bucky watched you slowly smile he knew he was getting through to you.

“Just dance with you?”, you teased knowingly. His loud laughter filled the room, and he pulled you a little closer. With a smirk he said, “That’s why you’re my best girl, you catch on quickly”.

Quickly he spun you out from his body before pulling you back into his chest. Placing both of your hands on his chest you rolled your eyes, “Okay consider me cheered up Barnes”. For a moment he held you there, not letting you escape his grasp.

Softly he whispered, “Good, because Thor over there is about to smite me where I stand”. While shaking your head you playfully pushed him back. Smiling you added, “Actually…wanna know what would really cheer me up?”.

Bucky finished your sentence, “Joe’s Pizza on 7th?”. You nodded your head, your stomach already beginning to grumble. Bucky motioned you to follow him, you both moving to get your coats.

For some reason Bucky stopped in the kitchen before going to the hallway with all your coats. He sighed, “You know what doll, I forgot that I’d promised Steve we’d train today. I can’t go get pizza with you I’m sorry”. You knew exactly what he was doing.

Loki realized too, “I would accompany you (y/n) but I can only stand so many midgardians at a time…but I know Thor doesn’t share these feelings. He loves Midgard and many of the people on it”.

As Loki turned to Thor his grin was enormous. After glaring at his brother Thor finally answered, “I’d love to go drink pizza with you (y/n)”. Biting your lip you tried to hold back a giggle but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Thor was amazed how you made even the smallest actions so arousing. You smiled, “Alright then I’ll show you the best Pizza this city has to offer…and we eat it not drink it. I mean you could drink it but-”.

As he heard the door close Loki turned to Bucky, “I do have to say that was well done on your part”. Bucky grinned, his earlier smugness returning within seconds. He shrugged his shoulders playfully, “It was a team effort really”.

Thor looked down at the food before him quizzically. He looked around him to see how other people ate the food, hoping to copy them. Slowly he brought his hands to fold the pizza, wondering for a moment if it was still alive and this technique helped finally kill it.

When the pizza crunched he jolted back a little bit, and as redness seemed to ooze from it he was convinced it had been once alive. Your voice brought his head back up, “If you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it”.

With that you began to eat your food, savoring every single bite. He watched you, “I thought you didn’t eat animals (y/n)?”. You raised one of your eyebrows at his question.

“I don’t..this isn’t an animal..oh my god”. As you pieced things together you laughed loudly. Thor was slightly embarrassed, but as he watched that beautiful smile of yours form every other emotion except desire left his body.

He smiled too, “Maybe I’m not as versed in midgardian culture as I thought”. You shook your head at his cute naiveness. Without thinking you let it slip, “No you’re cute”.

Knowing that you’d never get those words back, and he clearly heard them, you were eager to quickly move things along. Hoping to push away the moment you began eating the pizza again.

Thor noticed the blush on your cheeks, it was as red as what you’d told him had been the sauce. He now understood why it had felt like such a shift, with how you were reacting over a simple compliment it clearly meant more to you.

He’d heard you call many things cute, even Loki’s threats to destroy everyone in his worst fits of rage, so this cute obviously represented much more to you. Suddenly it all started to click in his mind.

Thor regained his confidence, “Hmm cute? Like how you look right now all flustered? You can tell me if I’ve used the term incorrectly”. Smugly he watched you blush even harder, and he felt Loki would even be proud of his boldness.

You knew that Loki was adopted, but right now Thor was mirroring that infamous smirk of Loki’s. Fumbling you managed to get out, “Uh..no you got that one right Thor…”. He nodded his head, his smile only fading as he took another bite.

You went to take another bite of your food too, but you just shook your head. Smiling you sighed, “I guess there’s no going back now huh?”. Placing down his pizza Thor held your gaze.

His smile was enormous, “No”. As Thor watched you bite your lip in contemplation he felt his heart race. He had seen women do the most obscene things while trying to get his attention, but you nearly had him begging on his knees without even knowing it.

You thought over the past year, and how much you all had lost. If there was anything you’d learned it was that nothing was promised, not even your next breath. Thor clearly liked you, so you needed to stop the voice in your head and finally act on your feelings.

“You know Thor, one day I’m going to get you all hot and bothered and see how you like it”.

It was a little more daring than you’d planned, but you liked the immediate reaction your words had caused. He was a fucking god, and here you were making him smirk wildly with your words.

“Oh I think I’ll quite enjoy it love, I just hope you keep your promises.”. Thor ended his sentence with a wink and continued to eat his pizza. Quickly he looked up from his food, watching your cheeks flush with color.

Thinking over his words you nodded your head, there was no going back now. Summoning all your courage you looked directly into his eyes, “Don’t let my innocent eyes fool you, I’m a woman of my word”. It was your turn to wink before continually to nonchalantly eat your food.

“I swear on Odin’s beard you shall be the death of me (y/n)”. Thor groaned while taking another bite, and you wondered if it was because of the delicious pizza, or you. Smiling to yourself you realized that the next time Thor made that noise around you, he wouldn’t be eating pizza.

——————————————————————————

Forever tags: @lovelyttom @mizz-kraziii @dolphinpink310 @potterwolf16 @blackirisposts @darkmystress00 @esoltis280 @msvega24 @destielinamoose  @jade-taillia @courtneychicken @thisisbullshytt @lipstick-kami @sonofadeanwinchester @buckysmusculararm @capandors @omghelenabonhambae @sincerelydorky @cravingmustard @mister-doctor-john-waton @princess-yuna @xinyourdreamsx @supermerlinwho221b @queen-maximoff @thatpeachybandgirl @nikkiofasgard @generouslyuniquestudent @pandawolfunicorn @yumtummytumyum @we-dream-the-same-dreams @multifandomgirlrandomstuff @darlingotaku

*a line through your name means it won’t allow me to tag you*

[asterythm]

No Winning on Halloween

Title: No Winning on Halloween

Pairing: Nothing in particular. Mostly just platonic fun times with the buddies; maybe a tiny bit of Prinxiety if you squint hard enough?

Prompt: Costume Party

Word Count: approx. 3.4k

General Summary: The Sides’ annual costume party is going perfectly… right up until an unexpected guest shows up.

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit. Also, there’s a hint of Roman angst? I meant for this to be a fluffy story, I swear!!

Read this fic on AO3

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the abomination lying before him. It had been so beautiful, but now its very soul had been sucked out; the poor, helpless thing had been mistreated horribly and discarded without a second thought. It was awful — terrible — absolutely revolting. Swearing vengeance, Virgil opened his mouth to release a mighty war cry.

“Alright, which one of you absolute cretins had the brilliant idea to take a single bite into this Halloween Kit Kat, without breaking it in half first, and then just leave it on the table?” Virgil demanded.

Patton, who was the only one who heard him over the deafening sound of Spooky Scary Skeletons being blasted at full volume, gasped so hard his Fix-It Felix hat almost fell off and rushed over to where Virgil stood. “What? What kind of monster would do that?”

It wasn’t long before Logan took notice of the two Sides standing around the snack table, and made his way over, inquiring, “Are you two quite alright?” He adjusted his Sherlock Holmes scarf as he spoke.

“No!” Patton wailed, furiously waving his hand at the candy bar at the root of all this trouble. “Someone ate their Kit Kat the wrong way!”

Logan frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought it was merely a wafer chocolate; what about this particular confectionary makes it so special as to have a right and wrong way to consume it?”

“You can’t just bite into both halves of a Kit Kat without breaking it first! That’s… that’s like a crime!”

“But why does it matter? Either way, the Kit Kat gets eaten. I don’t understand what I did wrong—”

“It was you? Oh, Logan, how could you betray me like this?”

Virgil didn’t really care too much about the half-eaten candy, and, listening to their banter, he had to smile. Figures that Logan would know the entirety of Hound of the Baskervilles word for word, but wouldn’t know the proper way to eat a Kit Kat, he thought to himself, shaking his head as he quietly excused himself from the conversation. The anxious side made his way over to Roman, who didn’t seem to realize that he was now alone on the dance floor. Actually, he probably just doesn’t care. Virgil cleared his throat. “Hey, Princey.”

The prince in question turned around. “Virgil.”

“Gotta admit, this party’s actually pretty good. Still mad that you stole my idea to dress up as a Nightmare Before Christmas character, though,” Virgil teased. He didn’t really care how Roman dressed up — he just wanted to get a conversation going.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Well, how was I supposed to know you were going to dress up as Jack Skellington? And besides, I make a fantastic Sally, thank you very much.”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just wanted an excuse to break out your red wig again. You were a pretty good Merida last year, could’ve just stuck with that,” shot back Virgil.

“Excuse me?” Roman put a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “You expect me, the most creative Side of all, to wear the same Halloween costume twice? Never! Never, I say!”

“Okay. That’s what I was hoping you’d say, ‘cause I cut up your Merida dress to make the coattails for my costume. Glad you don’t mind.”

“You what?” Snickering, Virgil winked before running away as fast as his legs could take him. He didn’t need to look back to know that Roman was chasing after him. “Virgil, get back here!”

Dashing through the mind palace, Virgil found himself laughing, really laughing, for the first time in as long as he could remember. He loved fall, of course — how could he not? It was Halloween season! — but Thomas’ “autumn anxiety” had been acting up that year and he’d found himself working harder than usual. He had to admit that it felt great to be able to just relax at the annual costume party that Roman always held, even more so than usual this time.

Or maybe it just felt great to mess with Roman. That, too.

Either way, Virgil was… happy to have a worry-free day where he could just eat candy and drink bad punch and hang out with the other Sides. He had complained when Roman told him that the number one rule for the costume party would be “no overthinking anything” — But that’s what I do best! he’d whined — but he had to admit that he was glad Roman had made him promise. It was nice to know that Roman really did care.

Dashing through the halls of the mind palace, Roman hot on his heels, both of them shouting friendly taunts to each other, Virgil felt almost… carefree. Like nothing could stop him.

Moments later, something stopped him.

Virgil stopped in his tracks and stared. Roman came flying around the corner and crashed into him only moments later. “Hey, what’s the big… idea…”

Roman trailed off as he caught sight of the reason Virgil had stopped so suddenly. His eyes narrowed.

“Deceit,” Virgil hissed.

Indeed, before them stood Deceit. Virgil’s lip curled up in an automatic snarl, but a second glance told him that Deceit was not quite his regular self today.  Instead, he seemed to shrink in on himself. Virgil recognized a lot of Deceit’s body language as mirroring what usually was his own — hunched shoulders, hands gripping the container tighter than necessary, head slightly bowed, eyes darting. He seemed… nervous.

Not to mention his unusual outfit. He was dressed in an odd-looking robe; a colourful mishmash of many different fabrics that was at once regal and eccentric. In his hands, he held — was that a Tupperware container?

“What are you doing here?” Roman stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger. “What’s in the box?”

Roman was expecting a witty remark, a smug smile. He got neither. Rather, Deceit opened the container with a hopeful look on his face. “Er… I brought cookies.”

Virgil and Roman stared.

“Is it the costume? It’s too obscure, isn’t it? I’m dressed up as Prospero. You know, the guy from The Tempest?”

Virgil and Roman stared.

An awkward moment of silence.

Virgil and Roman stared.

Deceit held up the cookies to their faces, seeming to think that the two other Sides had somehow missed them.

Virgil and Roman stared.

“Did I mix up the dates? I thought today was the costume party.”

  xxx

  “Absolutely not.”

“Sure thing!”

Logan and Patton spoke at the same time. The other Sides turned to Patton, incredulous.

“How can you possibly think this is a good idea?” Logan asked him.

“Well, you said he didn’t seem like he wanted to cause trouble, right?” Patton addressed Virgil, who nodded. “And it is true that Roman sent out an invitation to all the Sides. That includes Deceit.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant all the light Sides! Not that two-faced treacherous toad!” Roman

protested.

Logan sighed. “His motif is that of a snake, Roman, not a toad.”

“I’m sorry, I had to make it alliterative.”

Virgil was losing patience. “Guys, can we please focus?” He turned to Patton. “I get that you wanna make Deceit feel included or some dumb nice thing like that, but we can’t trust him,” Virgil insisted. “What if it’s another trick? I don’t understand how you’re so okay with him joining us.”

“Agreed,” Logan chimed in. “Deceit has lied to us before; in fact, it’s at the very core of his being. It’s what he does best.”

“I guess, but… but that doesn’t mean that he always lies! Roman, you mentioned that he was wearing a costume,” Patton argued, “and he brought cookies! Cookies! You can’t possibly say no to cookies, can you?” Roman started to speak, but Patton talked over him. “I get it. You don’t exactly trust him. Honestly, I don’t either. I mean, he stole my identity — not cool. But Deceit just wants to have fun. Can you blame him? Everyone deserves to be able to take a break from time to time. We all know the Dark Sides aren’t the liveliest bunch. Can’t we just let him have this one day?”

Patton’s last words echoed in the room. The other Sides were silent.

Finally, Logan spoke up. “I… suppose… it couldn’t hurt to let Deceit join in on the festivities for a day.”

“What? Logan, you can’t be serious!” Roman objected.

Logan held up a hand, silencing Roman effectively. He continued, “You must admit that Patton has a point. All of us work hard to keep Thomas safe and healthy, and although Deceit’s way of doing so may be… counterproductive… he still ought to be allowed a day of amusement. I’m not saying we need to treat him like a friend, but perhaps we can consider setting aside our differences today and forming a truce.”

The most anxious of the Sides was still apprehensive, of course, but Virgil started to see what Logan and Patton were saying. Slowly, he nodded. “I guess it would be okay, just for today.”

Roman, on the other hand, could hardly believe his ears.

He’d worked so hard for this costume party! He’d put so much effort into making sure it was absolutely perfect. Everything had been carefully thought out, from the party playlist song order to the location and arrangement of all the fake cobwebs to the exact shade of orange icing on the chocolate cupcakes. He knew how excited Patton had been for October to arrive. He’d noticed how Logan had been staying up late to work on Thomas’s videos. He’d seen how Virgil had been even more stressed than normal, trying to keep up with all the unwanted negativity that had arrived with the cold weather.

He’d planned and planned so that they could have the best costume party yet, and then Deceit showed up and just had to ruin it for all of them. They’d been having fun! They’d been relaxing! They’d been happy! And now they just wanted to throw away all of his hard work… for what? To appease a filthy liar?

When Roman spoke, his words were sharp and dripping with venom. “Well. I suppose I understand what you’re saying.”

“Oh! Um, that’s great, but are you sure?” Patton asked, cocking his head to the side. He hadn’t expected Roman to give in so easily.

In fact, Roman wasn’t quite finished. “Oh, I’m sure, all right. I may have spent countless all-nighters pouring my heart and soul into organizing this party for you all, but if making a Dark Side feel good is your priority, well, don’t let me stop you! I completely understand. Who cares about all the hard work I did, right?” Roman laughed bitterly. “Well, go ahead! Go bring the good news to your new best friend! I won’t stop you.” And with that, Roman sunk out.

  xxx

  “Well, um, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Patton said to Deceit, who had been waiting in the halls where Virgil and Roman had left him. “The good news is, most of us are okay with you spending time with us today.”

“Most of you?” said Deceit quizzically.

“Yeah, uh, Roman… won’t be there, though,” Patton fumbled in response. “But you can still come and have fun with the rest of us!”

Deceit sighed. There was a nasty feeling gnawing away at his gut — guilt. He’d driven Roman away from his own party.

“You know what, Patton? I really appreciate it, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll be attending the party after all.” He gave the Tupperware container to Patton. “You can keep the cookies, though.”

Deceit pretended not to hear Patton’s confused protests as he disappeared from sight.

  xxx

  A series of gentle knocks on Roman’s bedroom door alerted him to another Side’s presence. Probably Patton.

“Leave me alone,” grumbled Roman. No, please come in. His ego would never let him admit it, but he’d been hoping that someone would come to check in on him. Patton had come faster than he’d expected, though. Usually, the other Sides gave him some time to mope before coming to cheer him up with compliments.

The door opened with a soft click, and Roman was surprised to see that the one standing on the other side wasn’t Fix-It Felix, here to give Roman a tap with his golden hammer and make everything better. It was Jack Skellington, coat-tails and all.

“Virgil?”

The anxious Side invited himself inside and sat next to Roman on his fancy four-poster bed, fidgeting a little bit. “Hey there, Sally.”

The two of them sat in silence for a couple minutes, until Roman heard a very quiet snort of laughter. He whipped his head around immediately. “What are you laughing at, Hot Topic?”

“I just… I can’t take you seriously with that bright red wig of yours.”

Roman flushed with embarrassment. He’d forgotten he was wearing that. He removed the incriminating hairpiece. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Okay, so did you come up here for a reason, or did you just want to laugh at my hair?”

Suddenly serious, Virgil’s smirk disappeared. “Yeah, actually. I just felt like I owe you an apology.”

  xxx

  Deceit sat, alone, in the darkscape. Stupid! the darkscape wailed in his own voice. So stupid! What on Earth were you expecting? For them to welcome you with open arms, just because you were all dressed up and baked some cookies? Ridiculous. You’re a Dark Side. They don’t like you.

He closed his eyes tight and tried to drown out the never-ending cacophony. He was used to the whispers that were always echoing through the hallways, but today they were so much louder than usual.

It was no use. Showing weakness had been a bad idea — the voices grabbed hold of him and pulled him down, down, down…

  xxx

  “...we didn’t really consider your feelings when we made our decision, and that wasn’t fair. All of us really do appreciate how much work went into your party. So… uh, we’re sorry,” Virgil finished. He finally made eye contact with Roman (he’d been staring at his hands for the entirety of his apology) and was surprised to see the Side who had previously seemed so downtrodden was grinning like a fool.

“How many times did you rehearse that apology?” Roman asked.

“Wh— huh?” That was not the answer Virgil had been expecting. He hadn’t even been expecting to be able to get through his entire apology (which, by the way, he had only rehearsed six times, thank you very much!); he’d been sure that Roman would cut him off somewhere in the middle with some kind of snarky comment. When Roman was silent, Virgil had gotten more than a little nervous. Roman was never silent unless he was either angry or touched. And yet, the huge smile on Roman’s face showed that he was anything but angry. So that meant…

Mistaking Virgil’s confusion for concern, Roman hastened to comfort him. “I’m joking. That was very sweet of you, Virgil, and I really do appreciate it. I have to admit that I overreacted a tad bit. It’s just been an exhausting couple of days, you know?”

Virgil listened and nodded. “It’s great that you wanted to take stress off our shoulders with this party, Roman — really, it is — but it seems like you ended up just taking that stress onto yourself. You mentioned that you pulled a lot of all-nighters, huh? I get that you were excited, but come on, Princey. You can’t do that to yourself.”

Roman hated to admit fault, but… “I suppose you’re right, Jack Smellington.”

“Hey! Come on! Again with the name-calling? I thought we were having a heart-to-heart here!”

Roman nudged Virgil playfully. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I suppose that I have some apologizing to do, as well. Come on.” He got up and crossed over to the door, Virgil following close behind.

The two of them walked side-by-side, Side by Side, down the mindscape halls. When they reached the living room, Virgil hurried in first and sat down on the couch between Logan and Patton, who had long since stopped the music and were now sitting in silence, expecting Roman to step in.

Virgil spent a full minute wondering what was taking Roman so long before he got up and went back to check. “Ro?”

The hallways were empty. Roman was nowhere in sight.

  xxx

  Time was a fluttery, doubtful sort of thing in the darkscape. It was a single silver ribbon that twisted and folded and, every once in a while, even stopped entirely. Sometimes, Deceit might just blink and weeks would flash by. Other times, he would lie down and sleep for what felt like an eternity, and wake to find that it had only been a few minutes he’d been unconscious.

Deceit didn’t know how long he’d been listening to the savage screams tearing away at his very core like vultures descending on a slab of dead meat. He didn’t want to know. At first, he’d wanted to escape to the safety of his room where the darkscape’s words were almost imperceptible, but to do that would be to admit defeat, and Deceit had had enough of that for today. So he sat and let the darkscape do its work, filling him up with bitterness and self-doubt.

Until, suddenly, there was someone’s hand on his shoulder — a grip that was firm and assertive, but not too tight. The whispers that filled Deceit’s mind disappeared with a puff of smoke as he turned to look at the unexpected visitor.

“...Roman? What are you doing here?”

The flamboyant Side spoke as if reciting words he’d already heard once before. “I just felt like I owe you an apology.”

  xxx

  “What’s wrong, Virge?” Patton asked, voice full of concern.

The panicked Side exclaimed, “Roman was right behind me, and now the idiot’s just run off to who-knows-where!”

Logan got to his feet, alarmed. “He didn’t give you any hints about where he was going?”

“No,” Virgil said. “I just went up to his room to apologize and then he said that he needed to say sorry to you guys too, so we came downstairs and now he’s just gone.”

“You’re quite sure that he desired to talk to us, specifically? Not anyone else who he perhaps may have hurt?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, who else would he need to…” Virgil trailed off as he realized what Logan was implying. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh does seem appropriate for this situation,” Logan agreed.

Patton blinked, not quite catching on. “What? What are you guys talking about?”

“Roman didn’t mean us. He meant Deceit. He’s gone to the darkscape,” explained Virgil. “Oh, man. Why’s he gotta be such a clueless moron all the time? What made him think it would be a good idea to go down there?”

“He’s gone down to the darkscape?” cried an incredulous Patton. “But that’s dangerous! We gotta go bring him back before he gets himself hurt, Virgil!”

“I know, I know, I just… really don’t want to go down there again.” Virgil shuddered, and Patton’s voice grew quiet.

“Oh, I’m— I’m sorry. Er, if you don’t want to, it can just be me and Logan...”

After a moment of quiet focus, Virgil said, “No, I’m coming too. I wanna give him a piece of my mind, anyway. And no one knows how to deal with Deceit better than I do.” Patton couldn’t deny the truth in that statement.

“Alright,” Logan said impatiently. “Well, then, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Taking a deep breath, Patton and Logan stood, Virgil getting up a second later. The three of them had determined expressions on their faces, and stepped out into the halls, ready to run into Roman and bring him back to safety.

They weren’t expecting for that to happen in quite so literal a fashion. As Logan turned the corner, he collided face-first with Roman, who stumbled backwards — right into Deceit.

Patton gasped. “Roman! Behind you!”

Rubbing his forehead, Roman cracked the slightest of smiles.

“Yes, I’m aware. I was just bringing him to the living room so that we could join you guys, but it looks like you decided to meet us halfway, anyhow.”

He lowered his voice. “We’re still not friends. But just for today, we don’t really have to be enemies either, you know?”

  xxx

(The cookies were delicious, by the way.)

xxx

A/N: This ended up being a lot longer and a lot more confusing than I intended. I wanted to write a cute little 500-word fluffy fic and post it the same day I wrote it, but then my hand slipped and before I knew it I was writing a 3k in ten-minute writing sprints in between all my homework. Since I wrote this for the SS Spooky Month, I threw this on here without doing.. uh.. any editing. So yeah -- definitely not by best work, but hey, this is my blog and I’ll post what I want, haha!

PS - Anyone who guesses the reference in the title gets a cookie :P

[madpanda75]

“Roadtrip with Rafael: Part One”

Ok, I had this idea in my head for ages and it took me forever to get it done (writer’s block is a bitch!) I hope you all like it! 

 Part Two 

Epilogue  

Thanks for all the likes, reblogs, and comments! I read them all and they make my day! 😊

Tags: @amirightcounsellor, @obfuscateyummy, @sweetsummertime99, @lyssa1385, @letty-o and if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know ❤️

Rafael stood outside the precinct, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch every few minutes. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed your number for the 5th time that morning.

You heard your phone buzz in your pocket. “Must be Barba.” You thought to yourself. Speeding down the road, you glanced at the clock, it was 6:45 am. Both of you were on your way to Buffalo, New York for an assignment and you were late picking him up.

A week ago, your squad had arrested a serial rapist and murderer, James Cleary. Cleary had terrorized the city for a month, raping and murdering 5 young college girls. There were also several other cold cases which you believed were linked to him. During an interrogation, he had let it slip that his killing spree had begun in Buffalo with his old army buddy, Michael Shaw. Shaw had already been arrested for theft and murder in upstate New York, your lieutenant had arranged for a meeting with him in the hopes he would provide information on Cleary and his victims. Rafael had made an agreement with the DA in Buffalo, Shaw would get a deal in exchange for his testimony against Cleary.

Rafael turned his head and held his arms up in exasperation upon seeing you pull up to the front of the precinct. “You’re 45 minutes late, Y/N!” The ADA exclaimed as he got in the car. “We have a scheduled appointment with Shaw at 2:30! It’s a 7 hour drive upstate. What if we miss it?”

You rubbed your temples, it was too early in the morning to hear Barba barking in your ear. “Calm your tits, Barba! I’m sorry, I set my alarm for “PM” instead of “AM.” Besides, the way I drive...we’ll be there with time to spare.” You said pulling back onto the street and speeding down the block.

“Great...as long we make it there in one piece.” Rafael grumbled. You reached down into the car console and handed him the extra coffee and breakfast burrito you brought him. “Just relax, Rafael. Have some coffee, eat some breakfast and we’ll be there before you know it.” He graciously accepted both, “Thanks,” he replied.

When you first found out that you would be accompanying Rafael to Buffalo, you were less than thrilled. This was your first big assignment and you wanted to do a great job without any distractions or fighting. You and Rafael always seemed to be butting heads. Your first time meeting the ADA, he had mistaken you for an intern and tried to shoo you out of his office. A year later and you both still pushed each other’s buttons, but as much as you bickered with Rafael, even you had to admit that the two of you did make a great team. You both brought out the best in each other, always pushing the other to be better, get more evidence, find a new way to prosecute a case.

Underneath the arguing, there was also an undeniable sexual chemistry between you two. He may have been an ass, but Rafael was incredibly sexy, many times you would watch as he confidently strutted into the bullpen. His seductive green eyes, lustrous hair and that ass that reminded you of two scoops of butter pecan ice cream, you didn’t know if you wanted to fight him or grab him by the lapels and kiss him hard. For awhile, you thought your lusting after Rafael was completely one sided but there were moments when you would catch him staring at you. As soon as your eyes would meet, he would adjust his tie and clear his throat, a flush creeping up on his face, which made you think perhaps this lust filled infatuation was mutual.

On your way over to the precinct this morning, you made a pact with your head and your heart. You would try to be more open to Rafael’s side, especially when it came to this case and squash any burning desire you had to ride his thick Cuban cock into the sunset. “Open mind, closed legs” was your mantra for the trip. Of course being inches away from Rafael, breathing in the heady scent of his cologne, was making the closed legs portion of your promise incredibly difficult to uphold.

You stopped at a red light and turned to face the ADA, “Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye on certain things, but I want to try to work together and not argue so much. Let’s just have a good trip and nail this bastard.”

Rafael smirked and nodded his head, “I agree.” You smiled and waited for the light to turn.

While you were focusing on the road, Rafael looked over at you, studying your profile. He thought you were an amazing detective, which is why he would push you as much as he did. He also liked that you gave as much as you got. Although you and him always seemed to disagree, there was something more between you two, bubbling beneath the surface. Often Rafael would find himself stealing glances of you, taking in your large eyes, shapely mouth, the way your hair framed your face, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Over the months, his desire for you grew stronger.  While laying in bed, he would think about what it would be like to kiss you, to taste you, to feel your legs wrapped around him while you moaned his name. Sometimes, he would catch you out of the corner of his eye, staring at him, blushing and biting your bottom lip, only causing blood to pump further south to his shaft.

“You’re awfully quiet, counselor.” You casually said waking Rafael from his reverie. “Do you want to listen to some music? If I have to drive for 7 hours in silence, I’ll go crazy.” You handed your phone over to the ADA. Rafael looked through your playlists, amazed at your collection. “Oh my God, Y/N. How can you have so music! You really listen to all of this?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I love music, how it makes you feel, the significance behind songs, the artistry. It’s really beautiful. I can go from listening to Spice Girls in the morning, by lunchtime I’ll switch over to Hole or some Fleetwood Mac and end the day with Childish Gambino or Leon Bridges. It’s amazing how in one day, your mood can just change all through music. It can make you happy or sad, it’s like….art in motion, people baring their souls in just a few short minutes of a song. Nietzsche said, “without music, life would be a mistake.”

Rafael looked at you amazed, he had no idea how passionate you were about music. “So do you always make your passengers the DJ and quote German philosophers?” You giggled, blushing a little. Rafael deciding it was the cutest thing he had ever heard. “German philosophers no, but I always let my driving partner pick the music and the squad loves it. Fin plays 90s hip hop, we listen to Wu-Tang Clan while we debate about who shot Tupac and Biggie Smalls. Sonny and I rock out to The Ramones and The Clash. Amanda has opened me up to country music and we both love Old Crow Medicine Show. Mike is all about the Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel.”

“What about Olivia?” He asked. You looked over at Rafael. “Promise not to tell?”

“Of course,” he replied with a smirk. You let out a breath, “Olivia loves disco.” Rafael began to laugh upon hearing the guilty pleasure of his good friend. “You’re lying, Y/N.”

“Would I lie to you? I promise, she is a major disco queen. We listen to Abba, Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, everything.”

“Olivia Benson….disco queen.” Rafael mumbled as he looked through your playlist, finding his choice. “Ok, Y/N. You ready for my song choice.”

You playfully purred, “Mmmmm do your worst, Rafael.” He smirked at you and pressed play, suddenly the car was filled with the opening song to Hamilton. You smiled, surprised at his choice. “I never took you for a Hamilton fan, counselor.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, detective.” Rafael replied. “Well we have 7 hours, tell me everything.” You playfully demanded.

The two of you rocked out to Hamilton, even singing a few songs together, when the soundtrack finished, there was still 5 hours left of your road trip. The two of you passed the time talking about everything, your childhoods, likes, dislikes, your passions. By the time you reached Buffalo, you both had a new found appreciation for each other, you really enjoyed talking to the ADA. The conversation felt comfortable, it was almost as if the walls Rafael had built up over the years were starting to break down and you were just now getting to know him for the first time.

The two of you made it to Buffalo Correctional Facility with 20 minutes to spare. Sitting next to the ADA, you both waited for Michael Shaw to come out of his cell.You jostled your leg, starting to feel nervous, you really were hoping Shaw could give you the information you needed. You felt Rafael’s hand on your shaking leg, his fingertips radiating warmth, “Hey, Y/N. It’s going to be ok.” You gifted him a small smile, while he gave your leg one last squeeze. Finally a buzzer rang and in walked Michael Shaw.

Shaw licked his lips and looked you over, his gaze made your skin crawl, but you pulled your shoulders back and sat up straight. “Wow, if I had known that someone as beautiful as you was coming to talk to me, I would have combed my hair or something. Mmmm I bet you get all the guys going where you work, darling.” Shaw said before looking over at Rafael and winking.

The ADA clenched his jaw. You were gorgeous and he was used to seeing men at the precinct stare at you, even some of the perps would make crude comments to you, but something in Shaw’s mannerism was making Rafael feel uneasy. He felt a deeply rooted urge to protect you from Shaw.

“We’re not talking about myself, Mr.Shaw. Let’s talk about your friend, James Cleary, remember him?” You asked the inmate.

Shaw looked up, as if the answer to your question was in the air. “James Cleary….sounds familiar. Maybe?” Rafael slid a file across the table to Shaw containing James’ photo along with photos of the missing girls, “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.”

The inmate looked over the pictures while you began to talk. “You tell us what you know about Cleary and any of these missing girls and there may be something in this for you.”

“Quid pro quo, Mr. Shaw. With the information you provide, we may be able to strike a deal and lessen your prison sentence.” Rafael said. Shaw mused over the files before looking up at you, “These girls don’t hold a candle to you, gorgeous. Too bad we didn’t meet a few years ago before I ended up here. I would have rocked your world, baby doll.”

You kept your poker face, when deep down you wanted to throw up at Shaw’s insinuation. “You couldn’t handle me, honey.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Shaw said as he licked his lips. Rafael clenched his fists to keep from beating the man up, “Do we have a deal or not, Mr. Shaw?” He barked at the inmate.

Shaw leaned forward and looked directly at him. “That depends, is she part of the deal? I get a little conjugal time with your pretty little detective here?” He replied motioning towards you. Rafael stood up and banged his fists on the table with such force, you jumped. “That’s enough, Mr. Shaw. Either you tell us about James Cleary and these girls or you rot here in your cell.”  He growled at the inmate. You had never seen Rafael this angry and defensive, he stared at Shaw not backing down.

The inmate looked at the two of you for a moment and laughed. “Relax, I was just messing around. Sit down counselor and I’ll tell you all about Mr. Cleary, provided the deal is still on the table.”

Rafael sat down and looked over at you with a hint of a smirk. “Start talking Mr. Shaw.” You said to the inmate.

After Rafael threatened to take away the deal, Michael Shaw was more than willing to spill the beans on his friend and you were able to identify two more of his victims. You left on a high, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Well I don’t know about you, Barba, but I could use a drink and a steak. Want to check into our hotel and then grab some food maybe.”

Rafael was grateful it was beginning to get dark to conceal the flush he was getting on his cheeks. It’s not like you two hadn’t had causal drinks with the rest of the squad before, but now it was just the two of you alone. After everything that had happened today, it felt different. Not wanting to seem overeager, Rafael maintained his composure, “That sounds great, Y/N.”

The two of you got in the car to head towards the hotel. Before you put the key in the ignition, you squeezed the ADA’s shoulder, “I meant to say earlier….thank you for defending me back there with Shaw. He was a real creep and I really appreciated you having my back.” You placed your hand in his own, Rafael looked down, it looked so small compared to his larger paw. He smiled back at you and gently squeezed your hand, “You’re welcome.” The two of you kept each other’s gaze for a few moments. Rafael’s eyes moved down to your lips, desperately wanting to just reach out and kiss you. You blushed and pulled your hand back, starting the car.

“So Y/N, where would you like to go for dinner.” Rafael asked, hoping the topic would help to dissipate the sexual tension. “Well I did a bit of research on this area and I think I know the perfect spot. You up for a little fun, counselor?” You said with a mischievous smile. Your flirty comments sent a tingle straight to Rafael’s groin, “Lead the way detective.” You pulled out of the parking spot and headed towards the hotel, excited for your evening with Rafael.