#anyone who needs a translation: “you have a red shirt and a big fucking head

[qifreyplushie]

i heard this audio and immediately knew what i had to do

[bazwillendinflames]

Second Chances (Dylan/Ryan)

When Dylan accidentally overshares his meet cute on his college radio show, the listeners are suddenly invested in his love life. Meanwhile, Ryan is intrigued by his not-so-secret admirer.

When a second chance meeting occurs, will they be able to work it out?

Read on Ao3

Word count: 2423

“I’d take you a lot more seriously if you didn’t fall in love with a hot stranger every week.” 

“Um rude.” It had been at least two weeks since Dylan had last shared his romantic woes with Kaitlyn. “Anyway this wasn’t any hot stranger. He was the one, I could tell.” 

“Oh boy,” Kaitlyn said, taking a long, noisy sip of her iced coffee. “Did you actually talk to this mystery stranger? Or did you just stare like a creep whilst planning your wedding?” 

“Yeah. I mean, words were exchanged. And no one talks on the subway!” Dylan found himself smiling again. Sue him, he was a hopeless romantic. 

“Holy shit. That’s a big step for you.” Kaitlyn seemed genuinely proud of him, which hurt more than her usual sarcasm. “Fine. Tell me about this guy.” 

That was all the encouragement that Dylan needed. He leaned forward. “So, we’re on the train and it comes to a stop with a big screech. And the train announcement says some crackly garbage. And I go ‘anyone able to translate?’” 

“Hilarious,” Kaitlyn said dryly. 

Dylan waved a hand in her direction. “Shush. Let me finish. And then this guy sitting on the other side of the carriage laughs. He laughs at my joke and we make some pretty intense eye contact.” 

“Oh boy.” 

“By the way, this guy, absolutely gorgeous. We’re talking tall, dark and handsome. We’re talking cool punk vibes. He was even wearing a Cult Damage shirt. Hello, hot and good taste in music. We were meant to be.” 

“That’s it?” Kaitlyn asked. “Someone laughed at your lame joke.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “No. He also said ‘bad day to forget my earbuds’. And then the train started up again.” 

“And now he’s the one?” Kaitlyn asked. “Dude, no.” 

“You mock me now, but…” Dylan stopped half way through his sentence, noticing the red on air sign. “Oh fuck.” 

“What?” Kaitlyn asked. She looked over at the sign too. “Uh, how long has that been on?” 

Dylan had already pressed the nearest button and the next queued up Arctic Monkeys song played. Double checking the mic was actually off this time, he ripped off his headphones and buried his head in his hands. 

“I’m a fucking idiot.” 

“No,” Kaitlyn said. She patted his back. “It was just a little mistake. Look, it’s live college radio, how many people will have actually heard… all that?” 

“I quit.” 

“No you don’t,” Kaitlyn said. “Put your headphones back on, the song is almost over.” 

Dylan pulled himself together, taking a deep breath and getting back into the mindset of funny radio host Dylan. 

“Sorry about that guys,” Kaitlyn said smoothly, “just a few technical problems. But next up we’ll be playing ‘guess that professor’ so get ready…” 

 “So, I’ve heard you are quite the heartbreaker.” Laura grinned at him. “One look and you have them enamoured.” 

She had heard the radio thing too then. “It might not have been me he was talking about.” 

“We both know that it totally was,” Laura said. “It’s fine, I’ll keep you anonymous. Take it as a compliment. You have a secret admirer.” 

“Who does?” Max joined them a moment later, dropping a pile of books on the table with a thud. “Should I be jealous, hun?” 

“You haven’t heard? Ryan has a secret admirer.” 

“It’s not exactly a secret. He said it on the radio and everyone knows who runs the station. It’s on the school website.” 

“Oh wait, you’re the stranger on the train that Dylan Lenivy is in love with?” Max asked. “Good for you dude.” 

“Maybe you should call in?” Laura suggested. 

Even the idea left him modified. “Absolutely not.” 

She smiled. “I’m just teasing.” 

“Anyway, it’s not like he’s not in love with me,” Ryan said. He picked at the black nail varnish on his fingers. He would have brought his fidget cube if he knew she’d bring it up. “It was more of a funny story, ‘oh I’m so hopeless, I’m thinking about someone I met once’ thing.” 

“Take it as a compliment,” Max said, “of anyone he could have chosen to gush about on the radio, he chose you.”

“It’s probably worse for him,” Laura added, “no one has figured it out but us.” “How did you figure it out?” Ryan asked. 

“The band he mentioned. You’re probably the only two people our age who listen to your indie 70s rock.” 

“Hey, for that reason alone, you’re probably soulmates,” Max joked. “I’m going to grab a coffee, you guys want one?” 

Ryan already had one but Laura followed Max up to the counter, the two of them laughing together at something. They made the high school sweetheart thing look easy. It did leave him feeling a little like a third wheel. 

As he waited alone, he found himself thinking back to the radio show. Beyond it being embarrassing to be called out like that, even accidentally, he was intrigued. 

Ryan remembered the moment. He had been trying to figure out the tattoo on his arm, left with nothing to do but people watch with his headphones back at his dorm. He’d thought he been caught out staring, but the cute stranger had smiled at him and made a dumb joke. Maybe Ryan would have said something if he had connected the moment to the same radio station he liked listening to during his morning shifts. He always liked the music they played. 

Not that it would have gone well. He wasn’t good at talking to people. Maybe Dylan would have told the story with the added twist of him ruining any allure with his awkwardness. 

Ryan doubted it, Dylan always seemed so nice. Not that he actually knew him beyond hearing his show. But maybe he wanted to. 

Not that he’d admit it to Laura. 

  Dylan’s little college radio project had started when he was a freshman. He’d always like technical stuff and the idea of getting paid to goof around for a few hours every morning had seemed fun. Kaitlyn had been running it for the last two years and had given a surprisingly intense interview before announcing he started the next day. The forced proximity of having to spend four hours a day had made them fast friends. 

He knew they had some regular listeners, half of his conversations at parties started with ‘aren't you that radio guy’ or ‘I know your voice’. Kaitlyn basically bullied all their friends into tuning in at least once a week and occasionally joining them. 

But now it seemed like half of campus had listened to his embarrassing rant about his crush. Emma had started calling him Romeo and it had quickly caught on. And once Kaitlyn had used the same corny nickname on air, that’s all he was known for. 

Even Mr H, the radio manager, had picked it up. 

“Remember what I said about swearing on air Romeo.” 

So literally everyone knew. 

“I brought you a coffee.” Kaitlyn practically shoved the cup at him. “It’s got oat milk.” 

“You’re being nice to me,” Dylan noted suspiciously. “Why are you being nice to me?” 

“Because it sucks to wake up at six in the morning.” Kaitlyn sipped her own coffee. “Also, sorry about not being supportive.” 

“It’s fine. I’m sure all the teasing will pass.” Dylan could only hope. “I mean it’s good for ratings right?” 

“Yeah. I keep getting suggestions to record our programme. I guess people are invested.” 

“Well I don’t have updates,” he said. His subway experience had been hot stranger free, which was probably for the best. 

“Best not to encourage it,” Kaitlyn agreed. “Come one, we start in ten, we better pick the songs. No more Mitski though.”

“She’s my comfort listening,” Dylan said. 

“One song,” Kaitlyn agreed, “and that’s only because I feel sorry for you.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

  Ryan spent most of his shifts with one earbud in, stacking books at the campus bookstore whilst a steady mix of podcasts, music and radio played. Although the latter was a new addition to his routine. 

Ryan kept listening to the station. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for - he hadn’t seen Dylan again, even though he was trying to be more alert on the subway. He had been cataloguing all the music mostly, Max’s mention of musical soulmates in mind. 

From their banter, he could usually guess who picked which song. Kaitlyn seemed to like more pop music - she always played at least one Taylor Swift song, along with a rotation of other upbeat music. Dylan was into more indie bands. He had recognised Ryan’s Cult Damage shirt but as far as Ryan could tell, he hadn’t actually played any of their songs. Maybe obscure 70s grunge didn’t fit with the vibe of Walking On Sunshine. 

Dylan wasn’t on air today though. Kaitlyn was joined by Jacob, who had hosted last year. The two of them were making some inside joke about an old cereal that Ryan had never heard of. Whatever the punchline was, he missed completely, because he just realised why Dylan wasn’t on air. 

He was in the book shop. Ryan hid behind a shelf, which wasn’t very professional of him, but helped with his suddenly racing heart. He pulled out his earbud and tucked it into his shirt. He took a steadying breath. He considered hiding in the back and calling Laura, but Dylan had already stepped into the store and seen him. 

Judging by the carefully masked expression he had, Ryan would bet Dylan was banking on him either not remembering him from the subway or having heard the radio, or the rumours around it. Unfortunately for Dylan, Ryan remembered both incidents well. 

“Hi, can I help you find anything?” He asked. He shoved the books he was meant to be putting out onto the nearest shelf. 

“Um…” Dylan dragged it out for a little too long. “Sciences?” 

“It’s on the shelf behind you,” Ryan said. As soon as Dylan turned around, he sped walked away and stood behind the counter, tapping his nails against the plastic table. 

Whilst Dylan was browsing the books, or at least pretending to, Ryan took out his phone and texted Laura.

 I can’t talk right now but Dylan Lenivy is in the store

I might be panicking 

Ok, just remember to breathe

It’s probably more awkward for him than you 

Max says play dumb 

I don’t know

I feel pretty awkward (unsent)

 “Hey.” 

Ryan jumped, almost dropping his phone in the process. He shoved it under a pile of loose postcards and hoped Dylan wasn’t the nosey type. “Hey. Did you find everything?” 

“Yeah.” He seemed grateful for the small talk. 

Ryan ran through his books, both on some kind of physics that was so complicated he wouldn’t be able to decode the title. He went through the process of ringing him up on autopilot. There was a long pause as the till slowly spat out his receipt. 

“I heard you talk about me,” Ryan blurted out. 

Dylan went pink in the face. “Oh fuck me.” 

“Um. It was flattering I guess.” The receipt had stopped half way and Ryan punched the top of the till to get it going. “My friends keep calling you my secret admirer.” 

“It’s not exactly a secret,” Dylan replied. 

“Yeah. That’s what I said.” Ryan finally freed the receipt. “I like your taste in music.” 

“Oh thanks.” Dylan crumpled the receipt into a ball and shoved it and the books into his backpack. “I’m sorry. About objectifying you on live radio. It was an accident and like Kaitlyn said, I’m kinda a hopeless romantic. Emphasis on the hopeless part.” 

“I’m pretty hopeless myself,” Ryan said. “I didn’t mean to blurt out the whole thing earlier.” 

“It’s fine. I’m the idiot who screwed up in the first place.” Dylan finally zipped up his bag. “Okay goodbye forever.” 

“Wait,” Ryan said, before his brain could catch up. “I like you too. I mean I like your show. It’s funny. You’re funny.” 

Dylan had gone past pink and was now very red. Ryan was certain he wasn’t helping. “Thanks. I’m pretty good at putting on funny Dylan. For the show. Obviously in real life I’m a hot mess.” 

“I like hot mess Dylan,” Ryan said. 

“It’s just Dylan Dylan,” he replied. “But feel free to call me hot again. Maybe even in public, you know, to even it out.” 

“Does Dylan Dylan like coffee?” 

He blinked and for a moment Ryan was concerned he had scared him off. 

“Yes. I love coffee. With you. If you’re asking.” 

Ryan wrote his number on the back of one of their free bookmarks. “Maybe call Ryan Ryan up to ask then?” 

Dylan smiled, taking it from him. “I will. I might not even make it out of the store before I do so. Sorry, that was lame. Yes.” 

He left the store and Ryan finally let out the nervous laughter he had been holding in. His phone buzzed. There were a few missed texts from Laura from ten minutes ago. 

 It’ll be fine

Ryan? Are you okay? 

I can come cover for you if want

I can only assume the worse from you not replying 

 He deleted his half finished text and sent a new one. 

 I’m okay

I think I accidentally asked him out 

 The most recent buzz was from an unknown number which Ryan saved as ‘Dylan Dylan’. 

 nice to meet you ryan ryan <3

i will try and be normal on our date 

(it was a date right?) 

  “Okay, it’s time for our request hour. I have already been told that we’re uninvited to brunch if we don’t play Emma’s new favourite song, so let’s kick it off with Natalie.” 

With the song on, Kaitlyn turned to him. “Um, spill.” 

“Because that went well last time?” 

“We’re off,” Kaitlyn said. “You are all smiles this week. What’s it about?”

“My platonic love for my favourite co-host?” Dylan winked at her. 

“Nope.” Kaitlyn crossed her arms. “Dylan, you love telling me your stupid crushes. Who's the newest?” 

“It’s an old stupid crush actually,” he said. “My little slip up actually worked out.” 

Kaitlyn punched his arm. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Dylan rubbed his arm. “I’m telling you now.” 

The song faded out and Dylan switched the mic back on. 

“That was Milk and Bone’s Natalie for Emma. Now, next up we have a request from a certain cute guy I met on the subway.” 

[salemwritesxx]

𝓭𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽.

𝔹 𝔸 𝕂 𝕌 �� 𝕆 𝕌  𝕂 𝔸 𝕋 𝕊 𝕌 𝕂 𝕀

     ⇴ male reader      ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ request: pro hero crazy buff baku meeting y/n's cutesy femboy ex boyfriend? And he gets jealous / insecure bc they are so different

↣ rating: general audiences ↣ warnings: jealous bakugou, fluff, implied nsfw but nothing explicit, hickeys

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Hand in hand, you were strolling through Akihabara with Bakugou. The other hand holding two bags of merchandise you had bought – a successful hunt indeed. Katsuki, however, only had one small bag with a new video game he bought for you both to enjoy, so all in all the free day you two had was very relaxing and stress-free for once.

Until it all went down the drain…

“Babe, do you wanna get something to eat before we go back?”, you asked while already looking around. You knew an incredible restaurant that wasn’t too far away from your current location.

“No, [Your.name]! Did you forget already? We need to cook something with the chicken in our fridge before it gets bad.”, Bakugou playfully rolled his eyes while nudging you. To think he was ever having such a …domestic talk with someone. A year ago he would have laughed hysterically at the thought of living together with someone and managing a small household.

“Oh… right.”, you chuckled before you leaned in to smooch him, “Ain’t I lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend who remembers these things.”

“Yeah, right. Keep sweet talking and I might even-“

“YOOOO [YOUR.NAME]!”, someone yelled, interrupting your intimate moment, hence Katsuki shooting him a death glare, however…

“Oh! Akitoshi, hey.”, you greeted the significantly smaller male as well.

“It’s been a hot minute. How you doin’?”, he grinned, then looked at Katsuki, “I see, already slipping into the next pair of panties, huh?”

This little bastard- Though Bakugou’s string of thought was cut when you just awkwardly laughed and hugged his muscular body closer to your side.

“Akitoshi, this is Bakugou Katsuki, my boyfriend, so be nice, okay?”, then you turned to Katsuki who was scowling, “Babe, this is my ex, Ninomiya Akitoshi. We mutually agreed to separate so there weren’t any harsh feelings, he’s a good guy.”

“Nice to meet you, bro!”, Aki tried to break the ice by going in for a fist bump, but Bakugou was not having it as he just kept staring at him.

“Hey…”

While you were talking to your ex for a few moments, Katsuki couldn’t help but start eyeing him up and down. He was small, skinny, feminine looking and kind of dainty. Everything he wasn’t. To be quite honest, Bakugou was the complete opposite. He was as tall as you, very buff and well-trained and suits wanted to cry when he would try them on because of his sheer build he acquired due to being a pro-hero for many years now. And seeing how your type was, very obviously, something very different before you met him… Bakugou was suddenly a little insecure and he hated feeling that way.

“Okay, well, Aki, it was nice meeting you, but we need to go now and catch a train.”

“Same, dude, same. Glad you’ve found someone you like, you look happy, man.”, he said with a small smile as he looked at you and Katsuki, who was still just grunting and holding extra tight onto you.

And with that, you and your boyfriend finally walked back to the train station.

.

Once you were at home though, you watched as he flopped onto the couch, hence you asked, “Okay, what is going on? Ever since meeting Aki you’ve been quiet.”

“What? No! He’s…”, he paused, then tried to fake a smile, “really… lovely. A nice guy.”

“Babe… I love you but holy fuck you can’t lie.”, then you sat down beside him.

“Hey, talk to me. Did he do something? I know the slipping into panties thing was weird, but-“

“That’s not it, [Your.name].”, Katsuki sighed and crossed his arms.

“Then what is it?”

A long pause followed where you just looked at him and Bakugou stared at the desk in front of him with your and his bags on. Only for him to finally open his mouth after a few moments of silence.

“I look nothing like him.”

“… And that is a problem… why?”, you were visibly confused.

“I mean, fuck he is… he’s a fucking femboy. I just- I am NOTHING like him. Your type is a skinny little dainty femboy and I am literally the complete opposite, so like- Why the fuck do you even like me?”, Katsuki finally blurted out, gesturing with his arms wildly before he flopped back onto the couch.

You, on the other hand, just stared at him for a moment in disbelief.

“That… That is what it’s about? Really?”

“Yeah… You probably could swing him around like a toothpick while I am… well I am heavy.”

“Babe, please. I love you, just the way you are. Just because Aki was one type of guy, doesn’t mean I can’t find another type of guy attractive as well, you know?”, reaching out, you took his hand in yours.

Drawing circles on the back of it, you then slowly progressed to touching his face and softly turning his head so he would look at you eventually.

“Hey…. I love you. I love that you could snap me in half at any possible second.”, thankfully, Katsuki snorted and mumbled an “Idiot.” yet he didn’t break eye contact as his hand slowly wandered down to play with your t-shirt.

“I love you too, [Your.name]… Thank you. I don’t know what happened to me, I guess seeing your ex just fucked with my brain for a second there.”, he then said before leaning in for a kiss that you happily returned.

“Hmh, it’s okay… I know you’re very different from everyone else I’ve dated before, physique and personality vise, but… I am also the most happiest when I’m with you.”, you gently played with his hand while smooching him over and over again.

“So I am better than anyone else, hm?”, Bakugou grinned instantly while being pushed back into the couch willingly, his big, heavy body pressed against your own.

“Hmm absolutely.”, you purred back.

Your hands were already busy slipping underneath his t-shirt as your lips pressed hot kisses onto his sensitive neck, earning his little groan that made your heart jump. Even though Bakugou probably wouldn’t believe you if you said it out loud, but… he certainly was very cute, even if he wasn’t dainty or small.

--

A very delicious smell softly shook him awake, ruby eyes fluttering open as he looked around for a moment. Sitting back up, Katsuki inevitably had to smile a little when he saw the blanket you put over his naked body, realizing once more how stupid it was to get jealous.

“Babe?”, naked as he was, he walked into the kitchen where the scent was coming from.

“Hey, Kat.”, you turned around a bit, though was it already too late when arms snuck around your hips and you felt a weight on your shoulder.

“Hey… The chicken?”

“The chicken.”, you chuckled and softly nudged his head with your own.

“If you hurry, you can still take a shower before we can eat.”

“Hm… sounds good.”, Katsuki whispered.

However, before he could walk away completely, he turned around once more, catching you off guard a little when he was back to hugging you from behind.

“Also… thanks.”, he only mumbled with red cheeks, before he nudged your head to the side to connect your lips.

“Hmmm…”, you purred while returning his kisses happily.

“Always. Now go.”, with a giggle, you playfully smacked his naked butt when he finally turned around and walked away.

And as Bakugou stood in front of the big bathroom mirror, he couldn’t help but blush even more intensely. His muscular body was visibly covered in hickeys, making him facepalm and sigh. Though… he also couldn’t suppress hat little grin that formed on his lips.

Really… getting jealous was so stupid.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: once more thanks for the request! I really really like buff baku, knowing he could very well snap me in half while still whimpering like a lost puppy and letting himself go during sexy time makes it all the better!

[unabashegirl]

Pax Romana; Part I

Author’s note: Hey everyone, here is the first part of this mini-series. I hope you like it! Let me know if you want to be on the tag list. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN only for H. 

DISCLAIMER; I DONT KNOW ITALIAN! (only English, French and Spanish) I clearly used a translator. I am aware their translations are SHIT sometimes. Therefore I am sorry if I butcher it! I didn’t mean to!

masterlist 

----

Harry Styles, can still recall the first day he was enthralled by her conspicuous beauty. At first, he reckoned he had done the unavoidable. He had moved to Italy for the summer, and he had managed to fall in love with an Italian girl; that he had never spoken to. He had only observed her from afar — too shy to ever think of approaching her. Nonetheless, the young woman was a sight to behold.  He promised himself that he would only watch from afar. It felt forbidden and somewhat illegal. The feeling that bubbled within him was enough reason to continue his study of her.

After his first visit to Italy, he had fallen in love with the country. Hence, why he had rented out a house in a coastal town. The country’s natural and effortless beauty inspired him to write new music for his upcoming album. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny mornings, the art, and the food brought peace and tranquility to him. It was the perfect place for him to hide — for a while.  It was on one of his morning runs; he first noticed her. 

She wore a bright yellow bikini that exposed most of her olive skin to the sun rays. She sat on a striped towel that she had laid out on the hot sand.  Her hair was slicked back and wet after she had dipped in the ocean to refresh her body. 

Of course, she never caught sight of his dilated pupils or the way he had leaned forward — lured by her beauty.  Her attention was preoccupied with a hardcover of Pride and Prejudice; that she had brought along as a source of entertainment for the day.  The young woman appeared too indulged in the printed words to notice his existence. 

He watched her for a few hours. Now and then he would remind himself of the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t approach. He had even managed to take a few steps towards her. Harry eventually removed himself as soon as it became too much. He had beaten the temptation. 

The first time he spoke to her was at a local restaurant. Harry had taken himself out on a late lunch date. He had dressed up nicely and had walked to the bistro. He noticed her presence after taking his first sip out of his freshly served Chardonnay. She sat on the table across from him. This time she wasn't submerged in a book. He could finally admire her natural beauty up close. The fullness of the apples of her cheeks, her long dark eyelashes, her red-tinted lips, and of course light sunburn on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. 

A few minutes later, her order had arrived. It was ricotta and mushroom stuffed ravioli in a black truffle sauce. She was stuffing her face when they made eye contact. Harry’s lips curved upwards creating a lopsided smile as she scrambled to clean the creamy sauce off her face. He hadn't said anything to her, but she already felt embarrassed. 

”Sono deliziosa?” He had done it. He couldn’t just watch her and pray she’d take the first step. It was time to put his Italian to the test. He had been practicing his Italian and even though he already had a few weeks on the Amalfi coast; he still struggled to comprehend. Harry only hoped she would be able to understand him.

”E molto deliziosa” She smiled at him for the first time. She beamed, radiating an intoxicating wave of warmth and happiness towards him. Her lips parted open for a split second but before she could utter a word the waiter approached. 

“Hai bisogno di qualcos’ altro?”  He was asking her if she needed anything else. She understood what he was asking, but she couldn’t remember how to say cheese.

“Fuck” she said under her breath. “Queso. Fromage. Cheese” She had forgotten how to speak. All her languages had mixed in one and the wires had crossed. “How do you say it?” She whispered under her breath, her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as the waiter tried to comprehend. 

“Formaggio. Ha bisogno di formaggio parmigiano, per favore” Harry interrupted, noticing her uneasiness and her inevitable embarrassment. He knew that it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation, but he had to help her. 

The waiter turned his attention to the young celebrity. He was also a bit surprised that Harry had spoken for her. He had seen that Harry kept to himself. He usually attended dinner on his own and hardly even bothered to use his phone. “Inmediatamente”. 

“Thank you” She thanked Harry as soon as the waiter had left in search of the parmesan cheese that she so craved. Harry’s excessive focus on watching the server carrying out her request had prevented him from realizing that she spoke perfect English. He had to stop himself from gasping when processed her delicate voice. She had an accent. Slight. Gentle. Barely-there and it wasn’t Italian. He would later learn that her R’s made it more prominent. 

“It’s alright. It happens” She instantly recognized who he was. Her heart raced for a minute or two, but she restrained herself from making a huge scene. After all, it was Harry Styles. Whom she considered, the most stylish man of her generation. The man could wear a curtain and still pull it off. “I am Harry” He rises a bit from his seat, extending his right hand. 

“Catalina” She shakes his hand with a smile. “So, what brings you here?” Even her name was attractive — he wondered. 

“Is’not obvious?” 

“Not really. Enlighten me” The stranger gives him a small smirk while placing her napkin over her lap after crossing her legs under the table. Harry purges his lips as he uses his index finger and thumb to slightly tug on his bottom lip. 

His whole plan to stay away from her had failed. Did he regret it?. Hell no! He just hoped he had chosen wisely. 

“The art” He reveals as he watches her cut one of her ravioli before putting it in her mouth. She responds by only nodding; too indulged in the explosion of flavors within her mouth. 

“Music?” She hums as she brings the glass of wine up to her mouth. “ I thought you were more of a  dolce far niente type of man” her mouth curved into a smile. Dolce far niente means pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. Harry instantly identified the phrase from Julia Roberts's famous movie — Eat, Pray, Love. She remembered reading somewhere that he was a rom-com fan. 

“Are you?” He shot back. There was no doubt that he was intrigued by her. 

“Si” She shrugged as she pushed around some ravioli. 

“Then we have more in common than I thought, Catalina” Her name rolled off his tongue without any strain. It was as if he had been practicing for months. She had never heard her name sound so attractively. Sure, he had an accent, but it was still beautifully pronounced. 

Harry’s order arrived moments later. He had ordered the classic spaghetti bolognese. He grabbed his fork and knife and right before digging into the plate, he looked up at her. Catalina had been watching him since silence had fallen upon them. His smirk grew into a soft chuckle as their eyes met. She giggled at him and first noticed his dimples. She now understood everyone's obsession with his smile. 

“Would you join me?” Catalina spluttered after a few minutes of mentally debating with herself. She felt her heart beating in her throat and her hands dripping with sweat as other parts of her body. It was all very hot. 

Catalina wasn’t the type of woman to initiate conversation. She rarely even texts first!. Her excuse is usually that she doesn’t want to bother or interrupt. In reality, she is scared shitless to make a fool out of herself. Therefore, she was quite surprised by herself to have asked him to have dinner together. 

Harry cocked his head with his lips pursed. To her, he looked very pensive as if he was making a big decision. She didn’t blame him. He was on vacation and the last thing he wanted was to be photographed with a random girl and for questions to be asked. Although, he had already agreed in his mind. He just couldn’t come across as desperate. Even though he was. Harry wanted to know more. 

His fingers tucked his clothed napkin into the collar of his shirt. A chuckle left his lips as he pushed his seat back and raised on his feet. He held his plate and utensils with one hand while his glass of wine with the other. 

“So, where are you from?” Harry was first to ask, as he twisted his spaghetti around his folk. Catalina leaned back on her seat, her fingers clenching around her wine glass as she finished swallowing. “I am English” he laughs as if his accent didn’t give it away. 

“Really? Bet my life you were Italian” Catalina bantered 

“What gave it away?” 

“The facial hair and the good head of locks” Harry grinned covering his face with his hands, feeling his cheeks heating up. He felt ridiculous for blushing at such a minuscule compliment. “But anyway, I was born in South America, but raised in Spain by my aunt”. She revealed playing with the small droplets around the cup of ice water that had been forgotten. 

“And what are you doing here?” 

“I study here” She had just finished her first semester. “Well not here, but in Rome. I am majoring in art history”.

The not so strangers sat for hours and indulged in one more bottle of wine. Harry encouraged her to pick but she politely refused. She said that she hadn’t spent enough time in Italy to know what was best. 

She told him about her parents. Her father had walked out on her mother after she had told him that she was expecting. Catalina also shared with him how she felt after losing her mother to cancer when she was only ten. She was quite surprised at herself. She had never shared so much with anyone. Let alone, someone she had met that same night. Harry brought her some kind of comfort that she had no idea she needed. 

Harry listened to her. She hadn’t finished speaking and answering his previous question and he already had another one formulated. He liked hearing her speak. She allowed him to pick at her brain and he liked what he saw. She was driven, independent, somewhat lonely, but incredibly smart. Catalina was also unbelievably wise for her age. 

“What about you? Is fame all you thought it would be?” Catalina asked moments after they had been kicked out of the restaurant. They eventually had to close. Harry held what was left of the bottle as they walked down the isolated streets. 

“That’s a heavily loaded question” He chuckled, “It’s way more complicated and difficult. I think I expected to never feel lonely by the continuous abundance of people around me. But in reality, sometimes it feels lonelier than when I was just Harry” Harry shrugged, masking the pain that the vulnerability that he suddenly felt.

“I get it. The screams and faces don’t match the number of people close to you” Catalina was not famous but she could understand where he was coming from. Sure, her aunt had raised her, but she had felt lonely for most of her life. Her mother's death had felt a gaping hole in her life that no one has ever been able to fulfill. 

“M’not ungrateful for my friends but I do feel lonely. I guess I haven't found what I am looking for” Harry flashed her a reassuring smile as they walked down to the main road. “Let me help yeh” He had seen her struggling to walk over the cobblestone streets. She wore low heel sandals that complemented the white satin dress that she has opted for. Unfortunately, the heels were thin enough to slip through the stones making her overly cautious where she stepped. 

Harry switched the bottle to his other hand and offered his hand for her to take. She stopped momentarily and stared at his massive hands. They were bare. His famous rings were missing as if they had gone on a vacation too. She took his hand and was slightly surprised at their softness. She had expected them to be rough but they were quite the opposite. 

“Thank you” 

“No problem” He wanted to spend more time with her. He wished that the night wasn’t ending. “I would invite you for some gelato, but it’s quite late. I doubt there is any place opened” 

“How long are you staying?” Catalina asked as she noticed them approaching the entrance of her hotel. 

“A few more weeks” the splendor of the lights of the entrance of the hotel illuminated her features. Harry couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked. 

“I’ve had a lovely time. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“M’not planning on goin anywhere” Catalina reached up, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek. 

“I’ll see you around then” She gave him a little wave as she walked her way through the doors. She would later realize that she hadn’t only kissed him because it was part of her culture and tradition but because he managed to ignite a flame within her — that one had ever done before. 

[masterthespianduchovny]

Let’s chat:

When I say that loss is mostly on Ted, it’s because it is.

Although there were three other coaches involved, the issue with the game was systemic and not simply a poor showing. And that is a reflection of the head coach.

None of the coaches are on the same level, ranking wise, nor do they have the same experience and responsibilities. As a result, when certain things happen, you have to look at it from a micro to macro level.

Is what happened a one time thing or a reflection of a greater issue?

Depending on the severity of the issue, that falls directly on the head coach even if they weren’t directly involved.

Because how Richmond loss isn’t an isolated event, it’s either poor coaching OR Ted not being as involved or as aware of the team. Ironically, Ted was more involved last season when they were losing. As a result, because Ted is distracted, he is missing vital things that showed itself way before the match. He missed red flags because he wasn’t emotionally present enough to see them.

If Ted wasn’t so distracted this season, which is understandable poor mental health is a bitch, he would’ve checked Nate’s behavior and corrected the problem. He could’ve been a better mentor to both Nate and Roy. Despite them both being coaches now and Roy being a former player, they are both new coaches and need guidance.

This also falls on beard because he should know better. Nate is smart and knows the game, but that doesn’t immediately translate to knowing what you’re doing right away. An inexperienced coach was leading training for a big match without the support or presence of the other coaches???

This only flies as acceptable if they’ve been working together for a year or two (honestly, more). And that’s if Ted was actively involved in developing Nate. But because the coaching staff is a mess since they get along and they had no idea they’re a mess, that’s what led to being routed by Man City.

Now some may think, it’s Man City, of course this was going to happen. And this reminds me of Roy during “Lavendar” and talking about his former team Chelsea.

Roy: No. I think they played like shit.

Analyst: Would you care to elaborate, Roy?

Roy: All right. Chelsea was shit today. They were shocking. Watching them, you’d never know they were playing at home. They were too timid. They were too respectful of United. They were lucky they didn’t lose by three or four or ten.

Analyst 2: That’s harsh, Roy. United’s been on a good run recently.

Roy: Who gives a shit, Chris? That’s no excuse to play like you’re afraid of them. You could see it in their faces: abject terror. Like children waiting in line for the handsy Father Christmas. Have some fucking pride in your shirt or don’t fucking wear it.

Do you think that if Roy was still an analyst and watching this match, he say, “it’s Man City and they were at home.” No, he’s tear them a new asshole.

Richmond aren’t amateurs.

These are professional players. Roy wasn’t upset because his former team lost, he was upset because they played like shit, it showed, and they didn’t play up to the level they were capable of nor were they as competitive/aggressive as they should’ve been.

There is a difference between losing and not coming to play at all mentally.

A team being better than you doesn’t give you an excuse to play poorly. Either you come to play the game or don’t come at all.

We constantly talk about how the writers introduce small things that seem like they’re nothing. In retrospect, does Roy’s speech just seem like cutting remarks that shows he enjoy commentating (he didn’t) or does it also foreshadow what eventually happened with AFC Richmond in some respects?

The only sports I’ve truly watched extensively is basketball and, maybe this is different for football, but no matter how much another team outmatches their competition, esp in the playoffs, most games are competitive. All of these players are still pro athletes at the end of the day.

When one team gets routed 1. Either the losing team played like absolute shit 2. Or the winning team was on fucking fire.

However, even when a team is far outmatched, giving up during a game is almost always seen as unacceptable in basketball. Playing poorly is constantly criticized. In the 07 finals, I believe (basketball), lebron’s team was clearly outmatched and, in real time, people saw him give up during a game (this is actually a common occurrence for him) and he was torn apart.

It’s easy to say that Man City was just that good, but like Roy said, timid teams gets routed. Unlike Chelsea, Richmond wasn’t lucky enough to only lose by a handful of points, meaning 1-2.

They played poorly. This was an atrocious showing by them.

I don’t even see how anyone can say, “Man City is just that good” when 1. A Richmond player kicked the ball into the leg of another Richmond player. 2. They scored on their own goal. 3. Zoreaux looked an absolute mess out there, like he wasn’t a professional goalie.

And that’s on fucking ted.

Like I said, I get why, but that doesn’t make him any less responsible.

Which means, this loss is also on Rebecca. We don’t need to do over her hiring ted in the first place. Despite his ignorance, he is a good coach. However, Rebecca knows that ted has panic attacks and knew he had one that day. And rather than forcing him to deal with his problems, she let him blow her off. And she did that for personal reasons not professional ones. When it involves an owner, coaches cannot do whatever the fuck they want.

If Rebecca held ted accountable, there would’ve been transparency sooner, maybe, and ted perhaps assessing his locker room closer. And this includes the coaching staff.

What happened at Man City is largely on Ted and Rebecca.

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 5 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 

____________________________________________________________

~Cassian~

A week later, I’m exceptionally proud to say I haven’t given in yet. No matter how much I want to.

Tensions the past seven days have been... high, to say the least.

Both of us are doing our absolute best to drive the other insane.

She’s doing it so I either sign the deed and give in or turn to someone else, both which would give her Sera back.

I’m doing it because if I have to suffer, she can bet her pretty ass she does, too.

Ironically, tonight’s our engagement party. A celebration of our undying love and an announcement to the world the Russians and Italians of New York should no longer hate and murder each other.  

They’re allowed to be sexually frustrated as hell, but no, they can’t kill each other.

I’m waiting for the little minx who’s spent the week making me regret ever even asking for the club, drinking bourbon so I’m too drunk to even be tempted by her--which is likely enough to kill me--when she finally deigns to grace me with her presence.

I take one look at her, starting at the high blonde ponytail that would wrap around my fist at least twice and ending at the very high, very red shoes I immediately want by my shoulders.

“Fuck.”

Obviously the reaction she was looking for, she smiles.

Her dress is a cream color thing that clings to her curves and is short enough to showcase her long legs. It’s somehow classy, while low enough to draw my eyes to her breasts as she comes down the stairs towards me.

Nesta stops right before me, close enough I smell the jasmine and vanilla of her skin, and looks at me through her lashes.

I turn my gaze to the ceiling, vowing to keep it there until I trust myself to not do something stupid like tell her she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m so fucked,” I mutter hopelessly.

If possible, she comes closer, sliding all the interesting, female parts of her against me. “You would be if you just gave me back my shit.”

I glare down at her. “I don’t like to lose.”

“Would you really be losing?”

I keep my mouth shut, because the answer to that question is a big fat no. God, she’s good.

“Tell me again why you refuse to put us out of our misery?” I ask in return, trying to remind myself who the fuck I am.

Even though I wonder if it is our misery. I can’t read her, can’t tell if this is affecting her like it is me.

She gives me a cold look. “What do you see happening after we get married, exactly? You think you’ll work a few hours at the club I spent three years building from the ground up, come home and eat a home cooked meal, then fuck your complacent little wife however you want?”

I have no idea what to say, because when she puts it like that, I sound like the biggest douche in the world.

Nesta sees the hesitation in my eyes and rolls hers. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow you to disrespect me like that, stronzo.”

“I respect you,” I say immediately, meaning the words.

“Just not enough to value my career.”

“Nesta-”

“Deal with it. If you somehow keep the board from voting you out in the next two weeks and manage to not sleep with me--which is unlikely, considering the way you look at me--the club will be yours.” She takes a step back, steeling her spin. “But I will not.”

I’m conflicted as hell, torn between wondering if she’s just playing me or being sincere.

Apparently done with the verbal smackdown, Nesta spins towards the door.

Hand on the handle, she turns back around and cocks her head. And then she answers the questions I hadn’t realized I’d been too scared to ask.

“No and yes.”

My brows raise. “What?”

“No, it hasn’t all been just me trying to mess with you. Yes, I want you as much as you want me. But I respect myself too much to allow someone who blazes into my life and steals something from me without a care or even a real negotiation to have my body, too.”

She walks out the door, leaving me standing in the living room stunned.

I eventually follower her down to the garage and we leave for the party Rhys is hosting for us downtown. But even though I go through the motions once we arrive, my mind is on the woman next to me the entire night.

I hate admitting it, but she’s right.

I took something that belonged to her, didn’t even question talking to her first, then acted like she was in the wrong for doing whatever she could to get it back.

I’ve said I like how strong and independent she is, but I tried to take that independence and turn her into something else. I bulldozed my way into her life, then acted like I was the one inconvenienced by it.

And seriously, why am I even fighting for this place? Yeah, I like it and think it’s unique, but the place is above board. Which to me translates as boring.

The past two weeks, I’ve had to go to investment meetings, deal with sending out the nightly invitations for entrance, and plan events for upcoming holidays. Things I never do with my other properties.

I hate managing things--I hire people to do that kind of thing for me. But I know I can’t hire someone, because who the hell besides my fiancé would do the job right?

No one.

I realize that on the drive home, and it gets me thinking. By the time we’re inside the apartment, I’m already mentally finalizing the details.

I tell her I have to take care of something, go to my office, and close the door.

Then I pull up the marriage contract, along with the deed to Sera, and hit print.

~Nesta~

A week after our engagement party, I realized I’ve started to lose hope.

Cassian’s managed to wrangle or bribe or threaten the board into not voting him out, and the employees have stopped calling me to ask when I’m coming back. He hasn’t touched me or tried to seduce me in six days--probably a record for him--and I start to feel like I’ve lost.

My club will be his in a week, and after we’re married, only him signing the deed over will get it back. Something that will never happen, considering it’d be a serious hit to his pride to do something as weak as give me what’s rightfully mine.

My club will be his, but like I said, I won’t.

Which honestly is just as upsetting.

Even though he’s a stubborn, boneheaded stronzo with a big enough ego for us both, it’s hard for me to overlook the moments of the past three weeks that haven’t revolved around Sera.

Little moments that have made it harder for me to pull away from him.

He’s made me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met, whether with his foul sense of humor or stories about his violent, wild childhood. He stopped leaving the toilet seat up when I pointed it out. He hasn’t said a word about me ordering take-out all the time or working in bed while he tries to sleep.

He even dealt with one of Alexei’s buyers for me when they tried to renegotiate the price originally agreed upon.

And he hasn’t really pressed the celibacy thing. Sure, he’s complained about it enough for me to want to smack him, but I don’t know any other Made Men, Russian or Italian, that would’ve respected my wish after how much I’ve teased him.

If he would just-

I cut that train of thought off and focus on the report in front of me, because at this point, it’s obvious he won’t.

I sip my wine, which is starting to grow on me, and look over shipment records from one of Alexei’s yards, flagging crates that need to be smuggled instead of brought in through the main channels. Repressing a groan at the thought, I realize I’ll have to go down one night this week and make sure they arrive without problem.

I take another long pull from my glass.

“Drinking to forget?” Cassian asks, leaning in the doorway of the bedroom and looking me over.

I shrug, not much in the mood for banter.

“I got you something.”

Sighing, I reply, “Yeah, me too. It’s on the nightstand.”

His brow furrows as he walks over and picks up the ring box, opening it to look at the titanium band inside.

Just another symbol of our lifelong, happy, sexless marriage.

He puts the ring back in the box and extends a hand. “It isn’t a ring.”

“What is it?”

“Get your ass out of bed and find out.”

I would, except I don’t want to. And I don’t really want whatever stupid, materialistic thing he’s bought me-

He closes my laptop and pulls the cover back, ducking when I swing a fist towards his head. “Violent little wolf,” he teases.

“Stop calling me that,” I demand, trying in vain to keep the blanket on me so he can’t tell I’m not wearing anything underneath the t-shirt I stole from him.

He pauses, sighs, and scoops me up, blanket and all. “I love watching you fight how much you love me calling you that.”

“I don’t have to fight anything except he overwhelming urge to smack you.”

Cassian just huffs, walking us out of the room, through the living room, and into his office. Then he puts me down, smacks my butt to get me moving, and grunts when I elbow him in the ribs.

“Maybe this will fix your bad mood,” he mutters, flipping the light switch on and bathing the office in golden light.

I take an involuntary step forward, eyebrows going high on my forehead.

I’ve only been in here once before, just long enough to notice the obnoxiously big desk and wall of windows behind it. I’d taken in the black leather couch and wing-backed chairs, determined it was a typical male office for a typical male, and vowed to work somewhere else.

But that was a while ago, and it’s obvious he’s done some home improvement.

There are decidedly now two desks in the corners near the windows, angled in to the middle of the room where two cream-colored leather chairs sit. The desks are identical, mahogany and classic without being ostentatious.

A rug covers the hardwood floors, a deep maroon color that matches small details throughout the room.

It’s beautiful.

Cassian leads me with his hands on my shoulders to one of the desks, and I let him guide me around to the chair and push me down in the soft leather.

I look up to ask him what this is about, but he jerks his chin to the desk where to two papers lie.

One is the deed to Sera.

A rush of surprise goes through me as I see he’s transferred the building back over to me, even going so far as to deem the process irreversible. It’s signed and dated a week ago, the night of our engagement party.

My eyes are shiny as I look at the other document and read through it.

“What is this?”

“A partnership, of sorts,” Cassian explains, leaning a hip on the- my desk like he did in his Capo’s office. “You’re now a partner at my businesses, and if you sign, I’ll be yours.”

My eyes find his, and I see that he’s serious but still choke out, “What?”

He smiles and shrugs, like signing over half of your life’s work is easy. “You had me pegged when you first saw me and figured out I’m a fighter. I hate everything about running a business except the in-person negotiating and knitty gritty shit. It’s boring to me, and while I can do it, I’m not nearly as good at it as you are.”

“Cassian-”

“So run them both. I’ll do the day to day shit I know you hate, and you’ll do the rest.”

I can’t hardly process what he’s saying.

“What if we disagree?” It’s a valid question, considering we’ve basically been fighting the entire time we’ve been engaged.

“We talk about it and try to figure it out. And if we can’t, the original owner has the final call and veto power in all situations.” His eyes say he knows how important it is to me as he says, “You’ll still be in control of your property, and I’ll still be in control of mine.”

I don’t know why I’m still asking questions, because it sounds great, but there’s one more thing I want to know.

“Why?”

He sighs, sitting on the desk fully and looking down at me with open, honest eyes. “Because I’m tired of doing this shit alone. I’m tired of going to work and dealing with every single thing and then coming home and having no one who understands.”

He looks out the window, shoulders tight. “I thought you’d be like my friends’ wives, which is why I was such an ass. I thought you’d be just another thing for me to take care of, and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realize you could be my partner, not just my wife.”

His eyes are back on mine, the heat in them making my heart pound. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I’m sorry I stole Sera in the first place, then refused to hear you out and give it back. I have a tendency to be a little stubborn.”

My lips twitch, and his eyes soften at the sight.

“But what you said about respecting yourself stuck. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t respect you, because I do. You’re smarter than me, cool when I’m rash, and have the mind for business I never have.” He smiles softly. “I know you’re just as alone as me, and just as tired of it. So say yes.”

I feel a smile on my face as I get to my feet, moving to stand between his thighs. “Are you just doing this so I’ll sleep with you?”

He sighs, dropping his head in shame to rest against my chest. “You caught me.”

My arms wrap around his shoulders, his going around my waist, and I use the opportunity to play in his hair. It’s so soft and curly, and he makes a content sound as I run my hands through it.

“Are you saying yes, little wolf?” he murmurs against my collarbone, dropping his head to rub his face across my breasts.

I roll and tug his hair to keep the randy bastard away. “Yes, pervert, I’m saying yes.”

Cassian smiles a big, goofy smile so ridiculously charming I lean in and kiss him.

His hands lock at my waist, resting on the curve of my back, and for a moment, he just lets me kiss him.

It isn’t our first kiss by any means, but it’s the first one where neither of us have ulterior motives, so I take my time.

I kiss his top lip, his bottom lip. Find I like them both equally.

My hands work across his shoulders, the thick muscles contracting under my hands, and I sigh his name.

Cassian’s hands fist in the fabric of my pajamas--which happen to still be his shirt--and draws me closer. He kisses my neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, biting down softly and making me gasp. “It drives me crazy.”

His hands slip to the back of my thighs, then I’m on his lap, knees on the desk next to his hips. “You drive me crazy,” he clarifies.

He kisses me again, hands sliding up my thighs to my ass to grind me against him. Callouses scrape against my skin as he sweeps the shirt off and tosses it behind me.

“Shit,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to take me in.

The fact that he’s still fully dressed while I’m in nothing but my underwear makes me feel even more exposed, doing strange things to my mind. I start unbuttoning his shirt while he kisses down my chest.

He teases one with his hand while he takes the other in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. I squirm, pressing my hips more fully against is, but he holds me still, kissing and teasing me until I can’t take it anymore.

“Cassian,” I murmur, tugging his hair to pull his gaze to mine. “Thank you for the desk. I love it.”

His brows furrow, and I can see him start to think about how much I’ve teased him, but before he can worry that’s what I’m doing, I whisper, “Now fuck me on it. Please.”

A muscle in his jaw flickers, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips.

Before I can say another word, he stands and spins us around, sliding me on the desk. He holds my thighs around his hips, and then an idea seems to dawn.

“Wait right here.”

“Seriously?” I ask, even though he’s already half-way out of the room.

“Don’t you dare fucking move!” is the shouted response.

I roll my eyes, but he’s back quickly, holding the red stilettos I wore to our engagement party. I howl with laughter, and a faint blush colors his cheeks, but he stays firm in his desire and puts them on the floor beside my feet.

Then he leans against the window and watches while I slip them on.

His golden eyes blaze as I lean back on my elbows and slowly spread my thighs, in nothing but lace panties and heels.

“I’ll buy you all the desks you want, if you sit on them like that.”

Laughter bubbles out of me, and he’s suddenly on me, leaning over me to kiss me in a frenzy.

I rip his shirt open, and he doesn’t even break the kiss as he throws it to the floor. I hear the telltale clink of a belt, and then he stands up to slide my panties down, grab my legs, and guide them up.

I feel him brush over the center of me, instinctively lifting my hips to give him a better angle.

But he doesn’t give me what I want.

Cassian just stands there, gaze gliding from the hells on his shoulders to the apex of my thighs.

“Hold that thought,” he mutters, dropping to his knees and putting his mouth on me before I can even blink.

My back leaves the desk, a gasp escaping me.

“Cassian.”

“I want you to come on my tongue, then you get to come on my cock.”

“Cassian.”

He hums, the sensation sending shivers down my spin. He kisses me like he’s doing it for him, not me, mouth on every part of me it can reach.

I can see the lines of his tattoos on his shoulders, the top of his curly hair. It’s too much to handle, so I just lay back down on the desk and throw my hands above my head to hold on to the edge of the desk.

The only time he stops is to tell me things that apparently can’t wait five minutes, but I don’t even care because every word out of that sinful mouth makes me burn hotter.

“Come for me,” he demands breathlessly a few minutes later.

“Don’t boss me around,” I groan, even as I do exactly what he wants.

He lets me ride it out, dropping kisses to my thighs and stomach and hips.

As soon as I catch my breath, he’s on his feet, putting me in the exact position I was in earlier.

And then he’s pushing inside me, and I honestly almost come again from the feel alone. “Thank God,” I groan, the past three reminding me of the misery teasing him put me through.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfect.”

Hands on my thighs, he holds me in place as he starts to move. But as he picks up speed, going harder with each thrust, his hands have to slip to my thighs to keep me still.

I say his name, sounding like I’m begging him for something, and he groans. His head’s thrown back, bare skin shining and making him look likesome sort of beautiful devil.

“Hurry up, little wolf,” he almost pleads.

The sound of that stupid fucking nickname does me in, and I come with a loud moan. I would’ve kicked him in the head if he hadn’t immediately dropped down on top of me to kiss me without abandon.

His hips still but he keeps kissing me until he has to break for air.

I’m boneless and limp beneath him, and he looks me over with male satisfaction.

Then his mouth drops open, betrayal in his eyes, and he says, “I just realized you didn’t speak even French! All these weeks of me fucking fantasizing about that... well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again.”

“Accorde moi un instant,” I pant in French, asking for a moment.

He grins down at me. “Take your time. We have a lifetime.”

My lips twitch, and I don’t stifle the urge to smile.

I’m about to say something, but then his expression turns serious. “You realize I have to fuck you on my desk now. Equality and whatnot.”

I laugh and pull his mouth to mine. “As long as you know I’m still not giving you my side of the bed.”

He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “We can share.”

~

We get married seven days later, surrounded by a crowd of family, dirty politicians, thieves, drug and arms dealers, and friends.

In the past week, we’ve solidified our business model to a thing of perfection. I handle public relations, real estate and development, and negotiations for the shipping business. Cassian handles both the Bratva and Cosa Nostra soldiers in New York, training new recruits, drug distribution, and negotiations for the arms business.

Basically, I do what I’m good at, and he does what he’s good at.

I know it’s ridiculous to trust someone with half my business after only a month of knowing them, but like Cassian said, I was tired of doing this shit alone.

I’d been dreading the future, dreading taking over and doing everything myself. And now I don’t have to.

I have him to lean on, him to trust.

Looking up, I notice him watching me as we dance, not at all paying attention to the crowd. “What are you thinking about, little wolf?”

“I’m thinking how I thought of this marriage as nothing but an alliance at first. I guess it still is that, but... it’s also more.” He spins us around to the music, watching me with a knowing expression. “You’re more to me than that. And I’m... I’m happy. Working with you and the thought of our future makes me happy.”

He smiles. 

“You love me,” he states with quiet confidence. 

My heart starts pounding, because I’ve never told a living person that before. 

But it’s never been true before, and it is now, so I respond steadily, “I do.”

“I love you, too, Nesta Orlov. Have since the moment I saw you.” He sounds so relaxed about it, the words falling from his lips so easily.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” I ask, not understanding how he’s the calm one all of a sudden. 

“Anything you love something, there’s the risk you could lose it or it could hurt you.” Cassian brushes a thumb over my cheek. “But I could never be scared to love you.”

I shake my head and start to say something, but he cuts me off. 

“Every morning, when you wake up, there’s this little moment where you look around, confused. And then you look at me, and that hesitation in your eyes just... melts.” He dips me, wrapping his arms tight around me. “You look at me like you trust me, and love me, and want me.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “That look is worth every risk and hardship and whatever else loving someone entails.”

I kiss him back as he brings us to standing. “Italians are such saps.”

He shows off the smile I’ve realized he only gives me, and I say the words I know he needs to hear just as badly as I did. “I love you, Cassian. You’re worth the risk, too.”

______________________________________________________

THANK U FOR READINGGG soft ending for the win

[doublekrecs]

ethanol (k. tetsuro)

ethanol (k. tetsuro)

synopsis: your lab partner in chem is annoying.

word count: 4.2 k

college!au, barista!akaashi, e2l, mean!kuroo, meg thee stallion stan!atsumu fem!reader

warnings: a lil angsty, swearing, nsfw, smut, some semi x reader smut, fingering, oral, face sitting, drunk sex, drinking, mentions of weed, degradation, hate sex??, unprotected sex, overstimulation, a lil breathplay?

walking into a stem class, especially chemistry, you expected at least a few girls to be in there with a male majority. it’s not that you didn’t get along with boys, in fact, your best friends were men themselves. but being a girl in a science class meant constantly being talked down upon, sometimes sexualized by some weird ass incels.

so when you walked into your small class as the only girl who knew no one with nowhere to sit, you settled for the next best thing: sitting next to a guy who had seemingly okay vibes. and you spotted exactly that. you couldn’t deny that he was kind of hot, a little rugged looking with his messy rooster hair. though he was only sitting down, you were also able to tell he had some height on him.

you took your seat next to him and waited in silence for the professor to start the class. this class is only a semester long. this repeated in your head like a mantra. one semester. one semester. and it’s next to a seemingly normal hot guy. you could do this. as the professor got right into the topic, you got to work right away. notes were scribbled, important topics were highlighted, your focus completely spent on the class.

“god, your perfume reeks. what did you do? dump the whole bottle?”

you looked to your left. gears were turning in your head and you felt yourself tense at the sound of his first spoken words. are you fucking serious? yeah, you liked your vanilla scented perfume. bokuto did, too. hinata loved it. akaashi was indifferent, but he never said anything negative. one semester, you repeated to yourself. one semester.

“your hair looks like absolute shit, but you don’t see me complaining about it.”

and that was your first impression of kuroo tetsuro, your lab partner. a complete asshole.

-

“and he fucking asked me if i dumped a bottle of perfume on myself! i’m not going to survive this semester with this rooster bitch.”

you sighed loudly and turned to bokuto and hinata who listened intently. while you came down from your red, hot anger, the faces of these two angels helped you feel good again.

“i’m sorry, (y/n), but there’s this one guy in my math class you might get along with. he said he was taking the same chem class, so just tell me when you need help,” bokuto responded, putting his arm around you, “but for now, it’s dinner time.”

“from where?”

“osamu. hinata won a bet against atsumu and now we have free onigiris.”

hinata snickered in the kitchen while akaashi typed away on his laptop. your roommates really were the sweetest.

-

for the next two weeks, the class slowly started more and more labs. you and kuroo mostly stayed silent unless you needed to talk about what to do with various liquids or what solid formed from what. it was okay like this. he was tolerable, except when-

“you’re off by one mililliter.”

“what?”

“you heard me, you’re off by a milliliter.”

you turned to kuroo and your sight is met with his usual stoic expression, “does it even matter? this is a huge beaker and one milliliter is like nothing compared to the rest of the solution.”

“you want to get consistent results, don’t you? so stop being sloppy or else we’re both going to fail this class. you can’t treat this class like the way you treat your perfume.”

shock took over, then boiling anger.

“sloppy? you come here looking like a fucking rooster.”

“what do you mean?”

“have you brushed your fucking hair in the last 3 years? have you looked in the mirror?”

just one semester. one semester.

you calmly composed yourself, remembering that bokuto and hinata had planned a movie night. you can get through this stupid class period. -

“and he lost his shit over one fucking milliliter! can you believe it?”

akaashi listened as he poured the milk into your coffee. you always liked to visit the cafe during the slow hours to check up on your roomie. plus, the quiet atmosphere, the smell of pastries, and akaashi’s pretty face was the perfect setting for ranting about your stupid fucking lab partner.

“i don’t know, (y/n). he’s a bit of an asshole, but maybe he’s just meticulous. it could be a good thing, you know.”

“metic-a-what? i need you to translate your big boy vocabulary, kaash.”

“you know i hate that nickname.”

“yet you have no problem when bokuto calls you that. you’re warming up.” he sighed in response while you gave a toothy grin back up at him.

“you got me there. but what i’m trying to say is that he pays attention to small details. he looks at little intricacies, especially in your assignments.”

“intri-ca-what?”

-

the next month of chem went by fast. you and kuroo had little snarky remarks here and there, but nothing too bad. he was just less of an asshole for right now.

you sat in your usual spot with the same scent of vanilla lingering on you since the first day of school. the class period went by with the usual routine: notebook? check. pen? check. highlighters? check. asshole lab partner? check. until halfway through the lecture-

“shit.” the highlighter ink was running low, your notes were getting less and less vibrant. while you knew highlighting signified some kind of shallow understanding of the subject, color coding helped you organize your thoughts.

you made a note to yourself to buy a new pack the next day.

but then the next day came and there was already a new one at your desk. midliners, in fact, the ones with prettier colors. the ones that were slightly more expensive than your usual ones with a post it note that read your name on it. you had no problem with accepting this anonymous gift, picking it up with admiration shining in your eyes. now you can continue class with your usual routine: notebook? check. pen? check. highlighters? check. asshole lab partner? check.

-

“so no one was going to tell us that we were going to throw a party tonight?”

akaashi spoke sternly to the two children on the couch while you prepared some snacks. for a party. that you discovered was happening tonight. ten minutes ago.

“aghaaashi, we haven’t thrown one in awhile. plus, it’s been awhile since all of us drank together.” bokuto whined. hinata had his full puppy dog eyes on as if he was a little boy begging their dad for a puppy.

“fine. but if anyone throws up, you guys are the ones cleaning the bathroom.”

while akaashi turned around, the children celebrated by excitedly putting out their drinks. this was going to be a long night.

-

there’s some whores in this house. there’s some whores in this house. there’s some whores in this house.

dim lights? check. henny and sprite? check. meg thee stallion? check. the basic tools necessary for a fun night.

tsumu drunkenly held onto you as if you were some kind of pillar. who knew it only took a few shots for such a big man to lose his ability to walk straight?

“(y/n)!!! wap is playing!!!”

“i know, baby, it’s your song!!”

“i know damn well flattykawa isn’t stealing the fucking show!! hold my drink, babe.”

that’s when you kissed his cheek good luck and your buddy disappeared onto the dance floor. and your eyes were met with the sight of a pretty boy staring at you.

“kaashi, who’s that?” your roommate turned to you, the pretty boy, then back to you.

“semi eita. he was in one of my literature classes. he was also on the volleyball team at shiratorizawa in high school.”

“the one with big daddy ushiwaka?”

“yeah,” he grimaced, “he’s in a band now.”

“A BAND??”

“you know what? just remember to use protection-“

kaashi was interrupted by the sight of tsumu throwing it back to hinata. the tangerine haired child really was doing his best, but tsumu was a big man. although, he really did show oikawa up.

“shoyo is so small. is he going to be okay?”

“not my problem.”

your focus went back up to the blondish grey haired musician. ruffled hair, cuffed jeans, a loose shirt. semi eita. huh. you took your last sip and discarded the red solo cup. you took another peak at him. bedroom eyes.

“hey, (y/n), the guy in my math class just got here- oh.”

“i’m gonna have to meet him some other time, bokuto.”

kuroo poured himself another drink and immediately found bokuto full of energy and red faced from the alcohol. a hyena laugh filled the room at the sight of hinata and tsumu, until he scanned the rest of room and saw you. in the hallway. with some guy with grey hair. who you led to an empty room. his heart dropped a little, but he didn’t know why.

“hey, my roommate is kinda busy right now so i can’t really introduce you two,” bokuto apologized, “why do you look like that?”

“like what, owl head?”

“sad.” he spoke with concern.

“oh, i thought i saw this one girl from one of my classes. but it doesn’t matter. let’s go drink.”

-

not even ten minutes later, you were in your bedroom with the pretty grey haired musician, most of your clothes already on the floor. you straddled him and cupped his face as his lips met yours, then your neck, then your shoulder.

his fingers found their way into your panties, quickly finding your clit as he sucked the sweet spot on your neck.

“s-semi.” you whined, grinding on his hand.

“you wanna cum on my fingers first, babe?”

you nodded quickly, lips once again meeting his. he laid you down on your bed, head resting in the crook of your neck. you felt two fingers enter you as semi curled them, his thumb rubbing your clit. the pace was agonizingly slow, but the more vocal you were, the more he sped up.

“you’re so fucking wet, baby. you’re so fucking tight.” he mumbled in your ears.

his mouth made contact with your nipple, swirling his hot tongue over the hardened bud. his mouth continued to move south, eventually replacing his thumb. you felt his tongue circle your clit quickly as his fingers continued the assault on your g spot. you clenched around his fingers, letting out small whines as the coil in you began to tighten.

“i’m going to cum, semi.” you breathed out.

he let out a low groan of affirmation, “don’t hold back, then.” his fingers began to move faster, your g spot being hit even harder. his mouth was back on your clit, sucking the small nub harshly. your thighs began to shake as his fingers fucked you through your high.

he pulled his fingers and his mouth met yours once again, your teeth pulling on his bottom lip. his fingers were brought up to your lips and you sucked on them greedily. this was going to be one hell of a night.

-

the crackling sound of the oil filled your ears as akaashi cracked some eggs onto the pan. the smell of food and coffee drifted in the apartment. the morning after was always nice for you two since you guys rarely drank a ridiculous amount of alcohol. sure, you had to take out some trash and clean up here and there, but surprisingly, no one threw up last night.

“when do you think bokuto and hinata are going to wake up this time?” you asked sipping your coffee while akaashi added rice onto the pan.

“hinata’s awake, he just feels like shit. bokuto fell asleep in the bath tub, so you know the drill.”

you nodded, walking up to the fridge to make your classic hangover concoction. as if on cue, bokuto walked into the living room with his fingers pressed onto his temple and hair looking all sad.

“good morning, you baby.”

“you hooked up with semi, didn’t you?” bokuto responded with a smirk on his face.

“i did what?”

and that was the moment semi decided to emerge from your bedroom shamelessly. his hair was messy, his clothes were all disheveled, and the memories from last night hit you all at once. you didn’t even notice that he was sleeping next to you in your bed when you walked straight to the kitchen for breakfast.

“morning.” he smiled at you and gave you a peck on the cheek. bokuto snickered while akaashi was unphased by the interaction.

“morning.” you responded, your face getting hot as you recalled the events of last night. he was good. very good. you couldn’t deny the fact that he had some talented fingers. and a pretty good stroke game.

“you want any coffee?” akaashi offered, as semi headed towards the door.

“no, i’m good. i’m supposed to eat breakfast with wakatoshi.” he replied groggily. semi let out a yawn and bid bokuto and akaashi a farewell before he pulled you aside.

“thanks for last night. call me if you want to do it again some other time. or not.”

you nodded, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as he left.

“(y/n), you fucking asshole!! you were supposed to get with the guy in my math class!! i knew him in high school he’s a big sweet nerd!” bokuto whined.

“yeah, yeah, i’ll meet him when there’s another party. me and semi were just a one time thing.” you brushed him off as you put all the ingredients in the blender for the hungover children.

-

“all of you are going to have to collaborate with your partner for this lab report.”

you threw your head back with a silent groan. this was going to be a long assignment. you looked to the asshole on your left. his face was expressionless as he looked back at you.

“i know you despise me, but we both want an A on this.”

you couldn’t disagree with him. he had become more tolerable the past few months, often lending you notes that you had missed with the addition of some snarky comment. plus, you often got good scores on your assignments, some of his insight being helpful. at this point, you had developed the habit of going to the cafe akaashi worked at after to rant. he would make you some coffee, lend you some advice, and calm you down as you ranted about your asshole lab partner. it was a whole routine.

“fine. the cafe after class. my friend works there and it isn’t too crowded.”

“okay.”

the rest of the class period went by in the blink of an eye and you finally found yourselves entering the small shop. the scent of coffee and pastries filled your nostrils and a sense of happiness and familiarity flowed through your veins.

“kuroo?” akaashi furrowed his eyebrows.

“kaaaashi!!” he responded excitedly, “i didn’t know you worked here.”

“well, i gotta make money somehow. plus, (y/n) here likes to snag some free coffee during my shifts.” akaashi narrowed his eyes at you.

“wait, you two know each other?” you asked. how did this asshole know your sweet, stoic roommate?

“our volleyball teams played a lot in high school. i used to practice with bokuto and akaashi. you’re their roommate?”

the barista nodded as he prepared your iced coffee, “i was just at your party a week ago. small world.”

kuroo looked at you and the puzzle pieces came together in his head. so this was the cute roommate bokuto boasted about. not bad.

“how do you two know each other?”

“he’s my lab partner.” you grumbled quietly.

“you wanna say that a little louder, sweetheart?”

you flinched at the nickname while kaashi tried his best to hide a smile. it was a small world indeed.

the next few hours were spent sitting across from kuroo, entering data, highlighting important results, interpreting the recorded numbers. it was plain busy work in a cafe, but it oddly felt warm. when it came to writing about applications, kuroo seemed a little better than just tolerable. you would have an idea and he wouldn’t shut it down. instead, he engaged in them and spoke with intent. you would make a small connection to an environmental solution and his face would light up and his eyes would widen in excitement. the input that followed was filled with insight and it almost felt like his heart would pour out. he really did live and breathe chemistry. it was nice to see someone just as passionate as you are.

the bell of the cafe rang signifying another customer. you instinctively looked up, your face immediately lighting up.

“tsum-tsum!!” you jumped excitedly, “i haven’t seen you since you threw back to hinata bokuto’s party!!”

“please do not remind me,” he said with a disappointed sigh, but quickly turned back to his trademark smirk, “but did i look better than flattykawa?” he asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“no.”

“wow, that was cold.”

while tsumu ordered his muffin, you let kuroo know that you were going to take a small ten minute break to catch up with tsumu to which he responded with a grumble.

you quickly got up and sat at another table with tsumu, quickly catching up about the past week and telling him all about kuroo.

“ooo (y/n), you wanna kiss him so bad? he probably wants it, too. i can feel his death glares.” tsumu said with a wide grin and raised eyebrows.

“what? no! that’s my asshole lab partner!” you whisper yelled back.

“whatever you say. the fact you two hate each other thickens the sexual tension, baby girl,” tsumu stood up and placed a kiss on your cheek, “remember to come to my volleyball game on friday, there’s gonna be a party at later that night. i’m sure bokuto told you already.”

you nodded and pulled him into a hug before he left.

“so miya atsumu, huh?” kuroo spoke up as you returned with your iced coffee.

“what about him?”

“you’re dating? i don’t see another reason to waste time that could be used on a project that’s worth a good chunk of our grade.” he replied snarkily.

“he’s a friend, i don’t see why you need to be a dick about me wanting to catch up with a friend.” your head hurt. fifteen minutes ago, he was sweet and insightful. but now, he was a cold asshole again. what the fuck was this guy’s problem?”

“well maybe you should stop slutting around with your ‘friends’ while we’re supposed to be working.” you scoffed. slutting around? is he fucking serious?

“i can’t believe i thought you were a sweet person for a few hours. i can’t stay here if i’m just going to get slut shamed for the rest of our work time. i’ll see you in class tomorrow, you fucking asshole.”

you got up and checked up on akaashi who was already clocking out. he was going to get an earful on the way home tonight.

-

“(y/n), you better not hook up with anyone tonight. you’re meeting my classmate tonight and i don’t want to have to tell him that you were ‘busy’ again.” bokuto pointed at you with a stern look on his face.

“yeah okay, ko.”

“good.”

you walked out to the living room with some light makeup and a skirt. hinata’s eyes lit up as he sped towards you. akaashi rolled his eyes while bo coughed.

“(y/n), you look so pretty!! when did you get that skirt? oh my!!” hinata poked and bombarded you with compliments and questions like the sweet child he is.

“(y/n), why are you wearing your horny stress outfit?” akaashi asked, glaring at the skirt.

“my what?”

“whenever you want to relieve some stress by hooking up with someone, you wear a skirt, dummy,” bo explained, “oh no. the victim better be my math buddy.”

you huffed. sure, they weren’t wrong, but still.

“is this about your lab partner?” akaashi questioned, pulling you aside from bokuto and shoyo.

“maybe,” you paused, “okay, yeah, but there’s been so much tension after that incident and i hate it. it’s stressing me out and the project is due in a few days. let me hook up with bo’s friend.”

“fine.”

-

dim lights? check. henny and sprite? check. meg thee stallion? check. the basic tools necessary for another fun night. now, you were just waiting for bo’s nerd friend to appear.

“tsum tsum!!” you yelled happily, immediately jumping into the arms of one of your best friends.

“i’m glad you made it, (y/n), i missed your ass,” he kissed your cheek, “so who’s the victim tonight?”

“bo’s friend if he’s into that. i’m supposed to be meeting him here.”

“ohhh, the nerdy one, right?”

you nodded while taking a sip of your drink. you already felt more relaxed from the environment of the party. plus, a faint scent of weed filled your nose. it was probably from suna.

“kuroo-san!!” bokuto called out. wait. did you hear him correctly?

“bokuto-san!!” oh, no.

“(y/n), come here! this is my friend from high school! the math one-”

you and kuroo stared at each other, his face expressionless, yours morphing into disbelief. everything bokuto said drowned in the background noise of the party. and suddenly, you connected the dots. oh shit.

“y-you!” you pointed at him, unable to form a full sentence.

“me?”

“yeah, you!”

bokuto paused and watched the scene happening in front of him, “you two know each other?”

“he’s my lab partner, you dumbass!” you yelled while bokuto’s hair spiked up in nervousness. he decided to slowly back away and find hinata before something happened to him.

you poured more henny into your red solo cup and prepared another drink for kuroo. yeah, he was an ass, but you might as well give him a chance to loosen up. maybe get an apology. you held out the cup to him and he muttered a small thank you.

“so,” he started, “our project is due in a few days.”

you sat down next to him while mindlessly playing with the ends of your skirt, “yeah, i guess.” you two sat in awkward silence for another minute.  

“look, asshole-”

“i was just about the apologize, but then you decided to bitch again-”

“you didn’t talk and i want to leave this situation immediately so i can go hook up with-”

“with semi? with atsumu? is that the reason you came?”

“you’ve been on my goddamn nerves lately, i think i’m allowed to sleep with whoever i want so that i can relieve some-”

you were cut off by a pair of soft lips on yours. maybe it was the alcohol, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. the taste of liquor and something sweet on his mouth was intoxicating and you wanted more of it. but you hated him. he was your asshole lab partner after all. but he was also an excellent kisser. kuroo pulled away quickly, but before he can say anything, you spoke.

“what the fuck was that, kuroo?”

“i don’t know, but do you want to do it again?”

“...yes.”

and so you both got up, drunkenly stumbling to a random room. you were immediately pushed onto a bed, kuroo sucking on the spot below your ear as he pinned your body down to the bed.

“you know, i fucking hate the smell of vanilla, but because of you, it’s become one of my favorite scents,” you blushed at the comment as he pulled down your underwear beneath your skirt, “lace, huh? were you planning to get laid?”

“you’ve been stressing me out, what do you fucking think?” you responded with an attitude.

he began rubbing your clit in small circles and you let out a small sigh of relief, “so, you’re a fucking brat, huh? is this how it’s going to go?”

“well, you’re a fucking asshole, so i don’t know how else you expected this to happen.” he pressed harder and quickened his pace as you mewled under him. he found the sweet spot on your neck and began to suck harshly. you felt two fingers enter you slowly while thumb continued the assault on your clit.

“f-faster, tetsuro,” you cried out as he sucked more hickies onto your neck. he curled his fingers and assaulted your g-spot harshly while you clenched on his fingers.

“you’re already close, i can tell,” and then he halted his movements, “but i don’t think you deserve to cum yet.” you whined.

and with that, he entered his fingers into your sensitive cunt once again, kissing his way down your body until he reached your clit which he greedily sucked. you let out small whimpers and moans and you swore you felt him smirk. then a sudden feeling of emptiness.

“fuck you!” you pushed kuroo off of you, getting on top and straddling his lap, “i’ll make myself cum.”

your lips met in a heated kiss and he groaned as you grinded on his clothed crotch, “you’re a fucking brat.”

“i don’t care. shut the fuck up and let me sit on your face.”

he brought your pussy up to his head and gripped your thighs ensuring that you would stay in place while you lifted up your skirt. you felt kitten licks on your clit which only made you go lower until you were able to feel more of his tongue. he licked a strip from your pussy back up to your nub, sucking it harshly. you let out another moan, gripping his hair which only egged him on. the wet muscle found its way into your pussy and fucked you deliciously.

“fuck, tetsu, i’m coming-”

with the sounds you made, your skirt, your tits, and the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, kuroo thought he was going to cream his pants. you shamelessly grinded on his face until the knot in your stomach became tighter and tighter until it eventually broke.

you removed yourself from his face and appreciated the image of your juices on his face, his thick lashes, and sharp cheekbones, until you snapped out of it and went to work on discarding his pants. slipping off his underwear, his cock sprang free. pre cum spilled from the pink tip. sucking a hickey on his inner thigh, you took his cock into your hand, slowly moving it up and down to agitate him as he thrusted into your fist. taking the tip in your mouth, you sucked gently until his hands found themselves tangling into your hair and pushed your head down until he hit the back of your throat.

“you look so good with your mouth stuffed full of my cock,” you sucked in your cheeks and he let out another groan, “who knew this was the way to get you to shut the fuck up.”

you could only moan at his response, sending vibrations down his dick. your head bobbed up and down until you pulled him out of your mouth. you smirked, drool and pre cum dripping down your chin, knowing you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

bringing up your lips to his ear, you spoke, “how does it feel now?”

he replied by pushing down onto the bed and pinning down your wrists. you could feel his tip rubbing your clit, “i was planning to cum in your pussy anyways, slut.”

you felt yourself get wetter at the sound of his voice until he swiftly pushed himself, instantly bottoming out. the stretch stung, but the mix of pleasure and pain had you wanting more. your skirt cinched around your waist, the sight making him even harder.

“fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he gave you another kiss before he pulled out all the way and snapped his hips back into you.

his mouth made it way onto your hardened nipple, swirling the bud with his tongue as he set a fast pace for his thrusts. you were vocal, whining every time he buried his cock inside of you. wanting you closer, kuroo harshly grabbed your ass and pulled your body into a new position that hit deeper into you.

“you’re a fucking slut, you know that?” his pace quickened. you were a babbling mess, your breasts bouncing and the knot in your stomach tightening. the sound of your moans and skin slapping against skin filled the room as you came closer to your high. his hand squeezed the sides of you neck firmly. the only thing you were able to feel was him.

“you think atsumu can fuck you like this?”

you were unable to respond coherently as he pounded harder into you, your legs wrapping his waist as you came again. he kept going.

“how about i make you cum again, brat?”

“i-i don’t think i can,” you whimpered.

“sure, you can,” he gripped your hips tighter, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. you felt completely spent, but he refused to quit. he brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly in fast circles and you felt your second high coming.

“f-fuck (y/n).” he let out a final groan as your pussy milked his cock while you saw stars.

kuroo laid on the bed while you two distanced yourselves. you didn’t know what to say, so you scanned your surroundings.

“shit.” you muttered. “what?”

“this is atsumu’s room.”

you both looked at each other for a few seconds before he let out a hyena laugh. you giggled along with him.

“how do you know?”

“i’ve been in here before. just didn’t quite register where we were. we could have fucked in a closet and i wouldn’t notice.” you answered in a light tone.

“so, you’ve been in atsumu’s room before?”

“i mean, yeah. to hang out and stuff,” you turned to him, “why do you care so much?”

“well i thought that reason was obvious considering we just had sex,” he grumbled, “now we’re three feet apart and everything feels awkward.”

“i mean i couldn’t tell if it was just sexual tension from hate or if you actually liked me. it’s kind of hard to tell considering other.. events?”

“well, i like you. i thought you were pretty ever since the first day i met you. i just didn’t know how to tell you so i insulted your perfume and gave you some highlighters,” he rubbed the back of neck, “sorry.” he added quietly.

“sorry,” he looked at you in shock, “for, uh, calling you an asshole, i guess.” you mumbled looking back at him.

“i’m also sorry for calling you a slut. i might have been a bit jealous when i saw you with atsumu. and semi that one night.” he awkwardly laughed and looked the opposite direction.

so he wasn’t good with his words. you scooted your body closer to him and wrapped your arms around him as you got into position to straddle his lap. your head rested on the crook of his neck and his breath hitched.

“don’t worry. you don’t have to say anything.” you kissed the spot below his ear and beamed at him when you pulled away. he swore his heart skipped a beat.

“why are you blushing?” you asked, smirking up at him.

“it’s the ethanol,” he said quickly attempting to hide his face by looking away, “you know how alcohol makes your face turn red and stuff.”

“is the alcohol also the only reason we just fucked?”

“n-no!”

“then do you want to go another round?” you asked innocently, grinding on him once again.

“ye-”

“(y/n)? what the fuck did you and rooster head do in my bed?”

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 32

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 32

The stage was lit up with twinkling silver and blue lights. A black-haired girl with bangs was surrounded on the raised stage, her delicate chin nodding to the beat, matching the drumbeat as a new song began. The men and women on the dance floor were cheering and screaming loudly. Coupled with the sound of the glasses shaking like dice on the table beside him, the noises hit Lin Yan's temple like a chisel and pierced straight through his skull. Lin Yan downed the rest of his whiskey. He sank into the sofa, crossing his arms and legs, staring blankly at the stage.

There was a whistle from the crowd. Several boys pushed Weiwei onto the stage. She tried to wave her hands in protest, embarrassed. When she found that there was no getting out of it, she just laughed and followed the black-haired girl's dance steps. She danced even better than the other girl. Her overalls and beret were tidy and sophisticated. She moved like a queen dressed in casual clothes, and each of her confident expressions looked vibrant.

There was a wave of cheers. Not only were the guests who came to celebrate Weiwei's birthday cheering, but even the rest of the bar patrons stopped to cheer for her. Lin Yan gave a depressed smile. This scene was so familiar to him. This time last year, they were having a passionately entertaining and wild time. Back then, he lost the game and was punished to rush onto the stage to take off his shirt. He kissed Weiwei with his shirt off, earning the envy of the audience amidst the roaring cheers that almost blew the roof of the bar.

Lin Yan cast his gaze to the ceiling. The small bright blue spotlights were magnified into a blurred mess. His drunken state dulled his senses, but he was still very much aware. An empty space of air isolated him from the joy and noise of the crowd. He drowned his sorrows in the dark corner alone, isolated and miserable. There wasn't a lonelier feeling than witnessing the happiness of others. Lin Yan filled his glass with more alcohol. The half-melted ice clinked against the side of the glass. The whiskey dried out his throat, his face burned. . .

A chill covered his hand. Lin Yan shrugged him off. He kept silently muttering: leave me alone, leave me alone.

I'm really pissed off.

My life shouldn’t be like this. Xiao Yu, do you think that this is the day I'm supposed to be living? I'm tired of being on edge every day for something I can't even see, not knowing whether I'll live or die. Every day I’m locked in my apartment learning fucking Maoshan techniques. Why me? Why did you pick me?

"Lin Yan!" Weiwei waved at him vigorously from the stage. Her cheeks, damp with sweat, glowed. She was like a butterfly fluttering in glimmering gold glitter, "Come here. Dance with me."

Lin Yan held the table and tried to stand up, but his legs were too weak to listen to him. He shook and flopped down again. He lay across the table, feebly waving his hand at Weiwei

The queen gracefully leaped off the raised stage. She moved through the crowd on the dance floor and walked towards him. Her thin figure and loose overalls looked beautiful, and she impatiently pushed away the men that tried to come up and talk to her. Weiwei pulled up a chair across from Lin Yan and sat down. She fanned her face with her hand: "It's boring to drink alone. Give me a cup and I'll join you."

"Here." Lin Yan slammed his cup on the table. He picked up the whiskey bottle and slid it towards Weiwei. Before she could respond, he took a big swig of his own drink, the spicy liquid pouring into his stomach. "I haven't wished you a happy birthday yet. Cheers."

He felt himself laugh. even though he felt like crying. Through his drunken gaze, Weiwei's champagne-coloured image was dangling in front of his field of vision in a hazy glare, familiar and untouchable, like in the good old days that were never coming back. Just get absolutely wasted. He didn't have to think about this stuff if he was blackout drunk. Lin Yan unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, tilted his head onto the back of the sofa, and took another sip.

"What's wrong? Happy-Go-Lucky Comrade Lin Yan drinking booze? Unheard of." Her long slim hand unscrewed a bottle of black tea, a string of silver bracelets clinked as her wrist shook. Weiwei handed the drink to Lin Yan: "Water it down a bit. You'll end up puking later. We're all celebrating my birthday. You got yourself drunk. I'll take it as a sign that you still haven't moved on from me. I might have to take a few measures."

Lin Yan hummed. He turned towards Weiwei, his warm breath mixed with the stench of alcohol hitting her face: "What kind of measures? Like giving me your body?"

Xiao Yu sat off to the side, his icy gaze piercing Lin Yan's heart like a thorn. He avoided Xiao Yu's eyes. Under the influence of alcohol, everything he had been through recently was fighting to come out. He suppressed his thoughts and pushed them down, but he wanted to cover his ears and scream his mind at the top of his lungs. But he couldn't say anything. No one would believe him. The only thing he could do was open his eyes and try to find a way out of the lonely darkness. Lin Yan irritably tugged on his collar. He took Weiwei's wrist and pulled her against the back of the sofa, leaning forward to face her gold-dusted eyes. Why not? Why shouldn't he do this? This was the life he deserved!

Weiwei froze. She struggled to free herself from Lin Yan's grip: "You've had too much to drink. Give me your keys. I'll take you home."

Another wave of dizziness washed over him and the ceiling spun in circles. Lin Yan couldn't help but bend over and dry heave a few times. His stomach flipped. He staggered, supporting himself on the table, and moved towards the bathroom. He couldn't support himself but, before he could fall, two hands wrapped around his waist to catch him. Lin Yan turned his head, confused, and bumped into Weiwei. It was just like old times - nothing had changed. The only thing that had changed was him. He had been dragged into the darkest corner of the abyss by invisible forces, endlessly falling, unable to find anyone who could save him.

It was a warm and soft embrace, with the unique scent of a woman's perfume. It was completely unlike the one he was used to; the chilly aura, cold and untouchable, his slender fingers, his thin waist. . . The secret and sinful fantasy he was imagining made Lin Yan shudder and burn with shame.

"Stay away from me." Lin Yan panted heavily. He covered his mouth to keep himself from vomiting: "I'm a fucking walking plague. Anyone who touches me is cursed."

He dropped like a sack into the back seat of his car when Weiwei drove him home. Even the cold wind that kept pouring into the car couldn't keep him conscious. He couldn't remember how Weiwei's slender body managed to help him into the elevator. In the darkness, he instinctively grabbed onto the person next to him. He could smell her sweet orange-scented lipstick. Her shoulders were too narrow to lean on. . .

The hem of a red dress flashed around the corner of the stairs and a silver bell-like giggle sounded from the depths of the corridor. Lin Yan's heart sank.

This desolate corridor led straight to hell.

Lin Yan struggled to pull out his keys. When Weiwei's arms wrapped around him from behind, he bit his lip and roughly pushed her away. "This isn't what I meant." Lin Yan frustratingly pulled at his hair: "You need to go. Don't stay here."

"Let's start over." Weiwei played with the shiny silver bracelets on her wrist. "I'm not seeing anyone either."

"I'm with someone already. I'm getting married." Lin Yan gritted his teeth, a chill shooting down his spine: "Hurry up and leave! Are you listening to me?"

"You still don't want me. You always tease me and never want me." Weiwei's eyes grew desperate. "What's wrong with me? What is so wrong with me that you constantly have to tease me like this?"

"Go. You need to leave now." Lin Yan's gaze moved behind Weiwei's shoulders and focused on the tall dark shadow behind her. His cold face was overwhelmingly volatile. He saw Xiao Yu's hands and protruding knuckles wrap around Weiwei's throat, commanding, domineering, and selfish eyes staring back at him. Lin Yan shook his head. He staggered into his living room and slammed the door in her face.

I just want to go back to my old life. What's so wrong with that?

Xiao Yu coldly looked down at his embarrassing state, his frigid body lingering in the darkness like an endless nightmare.

I can't do this anymore. I can't live in this hell anymore.

Lin Yan knelt on the floor, his head leaning on the sofa, sobbing like a child. Why do you have to take everything away from me? I would give anything to go back to the life I had before. No more ghosts, no more curses, no threat of imminent death. I want to be able to go to my parents’ house for dinner with my fiancée and watch boring news broadcasts every night. Will you let me have that again? Will you let me go?

The violent dizziness made it impossible for him to stand back up. Cold hands hugged his torso, wrapping around his waist, and pulled him down onto the sofa. Lin Yan helplessly held his head in his hands. Now I can't even get a fucking hard-on when I'm with her anymore. Xiao Yu, you bastard. You owe me the life I deserve!

Icy lips covered his. He nipped at Lin Yan's tongue, sucking up the blood that oozed from the bite. The possessive kiss took Lin Yan's breath away, his face flushed red. Xiao Yu suddenly let go of him. He clutched his shoulder and said: "Lin Yan, don't mess with me."

"Who the fuck is messing with you? Who's the one provoking who here?" Lin Yan stared at him with red-rimmed eyes and whimpered: "Aren't you the one who wants to follow me? Why shouldn't I do that? There's nothing that can happen between us. I wouldn't be able to tell my parents about us. I wouldn't be able to tell my friends anything. I'll be a bachelor for the rest of my life in everyone else's eyes. Xiao Yu, you’re dead. You’re a ghost. Why are you forcing me to do this? You took everything from me. I don’t want to like men. I don't want to be gay. I don't want to be treated like a fucking psycho that talks to the air!"

Lin Yan fell onto Xiao Yu's shoulders and cried, cursing. He had never been so wronged or humiliated like this before. However, Xiao Yu just sat silently, his expression chillingly frightening.

After a while, he pushed Lin Yan away and strode towards the bedroom. When he came out, his arms were filled with a bunch of things. Upon closer inspection, they were all things left by Weiwei when they broke up. Lin Yan had wanted to keep them as a memento. He didn't want to throw them away.

"What are you doing!?" Lin Yan's voice trembled.

In the next second, he understood. Lin Yan curled up on the sofa, watching Xiao Yu throw everything Weiwei-related he had in the apartment in front of him. Pyjamas, slippers, the box with an engagement ring inside, the bag he hadn't gotten rid of yet, a teddy bear, matching couples mugs, photos; everything was destroyed one by one in front of him. Ceramic cups were smashed into pieces on the ground, pieces of fabric falling like bits of snow. The whole room was a disaster.

"Stop it, this is my home!"

The sound of torn cloth tore through his head like the sound of a chainsaw.

"That's enough. . ." Lin Yan said with a low, dishevelled voice.

The destruction didn't stop there. Her toothbrush was snapped and thrown on the ground, nail polish was spilt everywhere, her umbrella was slashed into threads. The ghost carried on like no one else was in the room. Soon the living room floor was covered in debris. Chairs piled with all the items tumbled to the floor.

Xiao Yu yanked off all the buttons on a long skirt and then tore it in half with a sneer. It fluttered to the ground, covering the ripped-up teddy bear on the ground.

The last thing Xiao Yu picked up was a velvet jewelry box holding the engagement ring he bought for Weiwei. Xiao Yu took out the sparkling little stone and snapped it off, forcing it into Lin Yan's chest. The deformed ring bounced into the gap between the sofa cushions, disappearing for good.

"Lunatic! You're insane!" Lin Yan had a splitting headache. He covered his face and looking at the room full of debris. A photo of him and Weiwei was on the ground, torn down the middle, and Weiwei's face had been scratched into a deep black hole. He trembled with anger and incoherently screamed at Xiao Yu: "You. . .you're such a jealous man! Have you finished venting yet? Get the hell out! This is my home!"

Xiao Yu raised his chin and coldly said: "No."

"What the fuck do you want. . ."

Before Lin Yan had finished speaking, Xiao Yu was already fiercely kissing him.

[florenceandthemachine]

cutting down the family tree

@buckleydiazs​ said:

High school au where Buck’s the sad lonely kid with the shit family and Eddie’s the popular captain of the wrestling team who makes it his personal mission to make Buck an honorary Diaz and convince him that he deserves nice things I am just saying

WOW this got a lot longer than I thought, so I abandoned the ask and put everything all up in here. Only barely edited, SORRY LMAO.

8.5k, Buddie HS AU. underage-ish if you squint I guess? tw for abuse.

--

Buck was good at going unseen.

It was a defense mechanism—his parent’s couldn’t get upset with what they didn’t realize was there—and it had only amped up once Maddie graduated. Once she went off to college, Buck had no reason to be a distraction anymore, to try and pull attention off of anyone; so he just got better at it. He could pick things up and set them down without a sound. He constantly walked on the balls of his feet. He even kept his breathing even, slow and low, whenever he wasn’t alone.

At home, Buck had gotten really good at—nay, he had perfected—the art of becoming invisible. So it only made sense that it translated to his school life, as well. 

He got good grades—straight A’s—but only high enough to keep his grades at a 4.0, not high enough to earn Valedictorian, no AP classes, no crying over tests. Enough to ensure he would have opportunities after high school, but not enough to bring any student or teacher attention his way. 

He worked out every day, and had for years, years of defending himself or defending Maddie meant he had to be in the best shape he could be in—but while his body was packed with lean muscle and quick reflexes, he drowned himself in clothes that were a size too big, making him look smaller, unassuming. He kept his posture slouched whenever he wasn’t standing to take a few inches off of his height, to the point that he could get lost in a crowd while you were still looking at him.

He didn’t participate in after school activities. He didn’t run for school president. He didn’t have a flashy car, a high status girlfriend, he didn’t show any interests that might make him friends or enemies.

Buck was invisible to absolutely everyone.

Well... everyone except Eddie Diaz.

Eddie Diaz, who was a senior, like Buck was, but was new to Pennsylvania, moving over the summer — who was 18, a year older than Buck, because he was held back in the third grade for fighting — Eddie Diaz, who had joined the wrestling team and made captain in an embarrassingly short amount of time (well, embarrassing for the rest of the team). 

Why did Buck know all of this?

Because this was also Eddie Diaz, who, on the first day of Senior Year, locked on to Buck with laser-like focus, ignored all of Buck’s defenses, and apparently decided to take him on as a new friend pet project. 

And much to Buck’s annoyance, he just couldn’t. Shake. Eddie. Off.

He definitely tried. He changed his walkways, he changed the bathrooms he used, he changed where he parked, he did everything except change his schedule—and Eddie was still there, keeping up mostly one sided conversations. The only time he had to himself any more was his free period, the time he spent in the school weight room, and never before had be been so thankful for that regular moment of peace.

Buck finally hit his limit one lunch period, spent huddling in the library, when Eddie sat down across from him. "Eddie, isn’t there someone who actually wants to have lunch with you? Some of your friends, or teammates, or someone who isn’t me?” Buck had asked, barely looking up from the text book he had been reading—he wasn’t a fan of the ‘mean’ route, but he was at his wits end. When Eddie paused, Buck actually felt hope rise up in his chest, that he would be alone again. 

But Eddie had just leaned forward, made eye contact, and said “Nope.” with the biggest, shit eating grin Buck had ever seen.

Fine. It was less than a year. Buck could handle Eddie being around him for less than a year. 

--

Buck could not handle less than a year. 

Because Eddie, Eddie was nice. To him. To Buck, who had never said more than ten words to any other student since the day he started high school. Eddie was nice to him, and it was going to kill him.

It was going to kill Buck because he found himself wanting to be nice back. 

Not that Buck was a mean person, because he wasn’t, but niceness was followed by friendship, and friendship was followed by attachment, and that was simply unacceptable as far as Buck was concerned. 

... not that he hadn’t wondered, of course. He had always wondered what it would be like, to be able to hang out with friends, to have people come over to his house for his birthday, to have more contacts in his cell phone than the front desk of the gym near his house, his parents, and Maddie. 

He had wondered, sure, but he had never missed it. He had never craved it. He knew it was more important for him to be on his own, at least for the time being—an attachment would make it that much harder to get as far from the east coast as possible when time came for college, and that was unacceptable. 

But...

As he pulled in the parking lot, to a familiar spot near the back of the school, and saw Eddie waiting there for him so they could walk in to class together... 

Alright, so he wanted it. So sue him. 

“Buckaroo!” 

Well, that was a good way to make him want it a little less, at least.

“Eddie, I’ve told you,” Buck said with an exasperated sigh, locking his car behind him. “It’s just Buck.”

(Eddie had called him Evan once. Just once. Once the blind panic had subsided, Buck had put a stop to that, real quick.)

“And I’ve told you,” Eddie said in a sing-song voice, “it’s a nickname. Nicknames are what friends do, remember?”

“Your words, not mine.” 

Friends. Is that what they were? He rolled his eyes and shouldered his bag instead of thinking about it too deeply, but he couldn’t deny the spike of anxiety that rippled through him as Eddie started to ramble, falling back into the easy habit of talking for the both of them. He didn’t want friends. He just wanted to get out. 

“...and so I told him...”

Besides, it wasn’t like Eddie actually considered him a friend. They had barely spoken—well, Buck had barely spoken anyway. There was no way in hell that Eddie actually cared about him, right? He had to have some secondary motive.

"and after that, she...”

But that was frustrating in and of itself. Buck had been so sure that Eddie was up to something, or had some ulterior motive, or but damn it if Buck hadn’t been able to determine what it was. None of Eddie’s little douchebaggy wrestling friends had approached them, Eddie hadn’t even tried to get Buck out of his comfort zone yet, he hadn't done anything, and somehow, that was even more frustrating.

“...just because Ms. Syzmaski’s a wrinkled old bitch.”

Buck let out a laugh, in spite of himself, as Eddie rambled on, shaking his head. Ms. Syzmaski wasn’t that bad, and—oh. 

He covered his mouth as soon as he realized what he had done. He didn’t think he had laughed at all since Maddie left, and to have one pulled out of him so suddenly was a little surprising, to say the least—but as he turned to Eddie, beet red, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one surprised. 

The look that Eddie was giving him, however, was the closest thing to “starry eyed” that Buck had ever seen.

“I, uh, I have to get to class. Bye Eddie.” Buck blurted as he turned and booked it down the hall, not quiet quick enough to miss the smile and the incredibly soft “Bye, Buck” that followed him.

--

Things only got worse as more time went on.

Better?

No, worse. Definitely worse. 

Because Eddie could make him laugh, and the more time he spent with him, and the more he actually listened, the more likely those moments were. He was nice, too nice, on the rare occasion that Buck actually had lunch in the lunch room instead of hiding in a stairwell or the library, Eddie said goodbye to his friends and joined him kind of nice. The kind of nice that worked its way past Buck’s defenses, instead of breaking them down.

The kind of nice that made Buck actually want to open up, which, as he would never forget, was a dangerous kind of nice.

It was also, as he learned too late, the kind of nice that made him fucking cave in way too easily to Eddie’s whining. 

“Come on, Buck,” he had begged. “I’m going to be failing Chemistry if I don’t get a B on the midterm, and if I fail chemistry, I get booted from the team. You have to help me.”

And like a sap, Buck had sighed in agreement, giving up a Friday night doing nothing to help the intellectually infirm (“Hey!”).

Wincing as he touched up the concealer on his cheek, Buck dragged his backpack out of the passengers seat of his car, giving an appreciative look up to the small, ranch style house that spread out before him. It probably said a lot about his own expectations if he already felt more comfortable in front of a row of little ranch houses than he would in front of his own house, but… well, that was just it. His house was a big, gaudy house in a neighborhood full of big, gaudy houses. But everything about where he was now—the sound of a dog barking, the smell of someone cooking on the grill, the fact that you didn’t need to ask anyone to buzz you in to a front yard—screamed home.

He didn’t think anything could spoil how light he felt—and that was certainly proven true as Eddie opened the door before Buck even had a chance to knock. 

“Hey Buck, thanks again, you… uh, wow. You look, uh, great.”

It was a small surprise, but a nice one. He had ditched his regular, baggy, hiding-in-plain-sight clothes for a simple pair of jeans and a polo shirt, casual but comfortable, and he tried to ignore the smile tugging at his lips even as his face heated up. 

“I mean, it’s nothing special, it’s just jeans and a—“

“Eddie! Bring your friend inside and close the door!”

It didn’t matter how he had tried to prepare himself, there was something about a parent yelling that would probably always cause Buck to tense up, and tense up he did. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t say anything, thankfully, just hooked his elbow in Buck’ as he yelled right back. “His name is Buck, Mama, I told you that!”

He tried to get his heart to calm down as he felt Eddie tug him to the doorway, his free hand clinging to his backpack strap for dear life, bracing himself as he walked into… 

…something that could not have been more polar opposite of his own life if it tried. 

Eddie’s house was smaller, sure, but it was homey in a way that Buck had only imagined or seen in Hallmark movies. He was all smiles as Eddie introduced him to both of his parents (he knew how important first impressions were, had had that beaten in to him from a very young age), but he found that it wasn’t fake—he was genuinely glad to be there. Even if it still threw him for a loop when Eddie’s mother had insisted on being called Helena, had shoved a tray of snacks into Eddie’s arms, and sent them to Eddie’s room to study. 

“Go on, we’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Get your studying done.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“And leave the door open!”

“Mama!”

Buck was only mildly placated by the fact that Eddie was blushing as brightly as he was. 

Any concerns that Eddie wouldn’t be taking this seriously, or was just looking for a reason to hang out and fuck around, were quickly put to rest as Eddie pulled out his chemistry book. It was comforting to know that Eddie was just as serious about his grades as he acted, and it made things a lot easier—when Buck didn’t have to spend half of his time telling Eddie to pay attention or to focus, as he had feared, things moved at a pace he hadn’t anticipated. 

Eddie was incredibly smart. That much was obvious from the get go. Chemistry just didn’t click with him, but that was easy enough to rectify—he just had to help Eddie see things from a different angle, to focus more on the process than the end result, and “seriously Eddie, would it kill you to take a legible note for once in your life?” 

Buck had set to work on transcribing some of Eddie’s rushed notes into a legible format while Eddie continued to work on a few practice problems, and before Buck knew it several hours had gone by and they were both being called down for dinner, and… look, Buck had a live in cook for most of his life, but damn if Helena’s enchiladas didn’t blow them out of the water. 

He found himself drawn into the family dynamics easily—Eddie had introduced him to his sister, Sophia, explaining that Adriana was out for the night, and they talked, bickered, poked fun, everything that Buck had figured was out of his reach for the longest time. He spoke when he was asked questions, and let himself engage in a few conversations, but more than anything, he just sat and ate and soaked up the delicious atmosphere.

Was this what a family really felt like? He didn’t think he had ever felt like this at home, even before Maddie had graduated, even before his father had started drinking. He felt something white hot burn in his chest as the night dragged on—not jealousy, or envy, something more dangerous, want. It seemed like a cruel joke, that someone so close to him got to have it all, while he had… nothing, but as he looked over at Eddie, his head thrown back in laughter at one of his mothers jokes until Sophia flicked a piece of corn into his open mouth and he sputtered, he wouldn’t wish the reverse on even his worst enemy.  

--

The good part about Pennsylvania was that it didn’t matter what time of the year it was, it was usually cold. Cold meant long sleeves and sweaters to cover the arms, and long pants to cover the legs, especially as the sticky feeling of Summer turned to foggy breaths and dew, and Buck could breathe a little easier. 

Just a little easier, though, because when you were tugging your hoodie down over your head to cover a black eye, you couldn’t relax. Not really. 

He was usually so careful. He was usually so good about covering his bruises (hell, he was usually good at getting bruises anywhere other than his face), but the last time he had touched himself up, he had forgotten to cap the concealer and the entire tube had run dry. He was sloppy. He had been reckless and stupid and sloppy and now he was paying the price; because as confident as he would have been a semester ago about getting through the day with a shiner and no one noticing, the day now included Eddie. 

He didn’t know if he could avoid Eddie for an entire day. What was worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to.

The day had started off pretty well. He took the train to school instead of driving so Eddie wouldn’t see his car. He was barely on time to each and every class to avoid Eddie in the halls. He ignored every text that came in—though he did allow himself a grin when Eddie sent him a picture message of his Chemistry test, a big 91 circled on the front of it. He even managed to find a new place to eat his lunch, one he was sure that Eddie wouldn’t know about. 

And then everything had gone to shit. 

He had finished his History midterm early, turned it in with his head down, and walked out of the classroom. His next period was his free one, so he decided to head to the gym early, taking a quick stop in the locker room to change into a baggy, long sleeved shirt, chucking his hoodie and his backpack in a locker before getting to the gym. There was only one other person in the room, back turned to Buck as he walked in—it was as good as it could get, and he sent a silent prayer up to anyone who was listening in thanks.

It was going to be a cardio day, Buck could tell—his right wrist was a little sore, and his shoulder too, and while thankfully neither of them felt dislocated it definitely wouldn’t be a good idea to try to lift weights. He could feel the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he started to stretch out his hips and legs, nearly ignoring the telltale buzz he felt at the base of his skull until it was too late. 

“Buck! There you are!” 

Buck bolted upright at the same moment as a hand clapped onto his shoulder, squeezing in the friendly way Buck had become so accustomed to—but now, instead of a familiar warmth in his stomach, it sent a bolt of pain through his body. He sucked in a gasp and jerked his body away from the pain, fists halfway up as he turned around, his body sagging when he saw Eddie standing opposite to him.

Eddie, who he had been avoiding all day, who’s multiple messages he had left on read, who now looked like he was face to face with a ghost. If he could imagine how he looked right now, he might have laughed—black eye, slumped shoulder, pale, panicked face. It was probably hilarious, even if Eddie didn’t seem to think so.

“Buck?”

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Buck, what... what happened to you? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

The biting comment was on the tip of Buck’s tongue, to tell Eddie to fuck off, to get lost, but Eddie sounded so small and scared he couldn’t bring himself to snap. Instead, he offered a weak smile, shrugging his good shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle. You should see the other guy, right?”

It probably was in poor taste to go for a joke, and Eddie’s dark expression only confirmed that fact, but what was Buck supposed to say? ‘Hey, no worries, my mom broke a picture frame so it was either let her get the shit beat out of her or take the heat?’ Yeah, no.

Suddenly, his face was in Eddie’s hands, and oh wow that was nice, and he had to work to keep from sighing as Eddie’s fingers went feather light over his skin.

“Buck, this wasn’t just a little love tap.” Hah, no, there was no love in it at all. “You know, I could teach you how to block a few hits. Some self defense.”

Buck laughed, humorlessly, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay. Not a lot of good there, I don’t think.” he shrugged, shaking his head, even as Eddie opened his mouth to protest.

“But I can—” 

“Stop. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Buck, I am serious. I’m really worried about you, have been all day.”

Buck had to swallow at that, his heart sinking, and he looked down as he weighed his options. Neither were good. But if one kept Eddie from worrying...

“...fine. On one condition.” Buck said, his voice a little thick as he looked back up to Eddie, who... well, he looked like he would do anything Buck asked at that moment, and wasn’t that an interesting swarm of butterflies in his stomach?

“You stop asking about how I got them.”

Eddie’s face did a funny kind of flip flop, but eventually, he nodded. “Fine. First lesson starts now.”

Buck sighed again as he thumbed the hem of his shirt, debating for only a moment before he pulled it off. The tank top he was wearing beneath didn’t hide a whole lot, but he figured Eddie had already seen one bruise, and had promised not to ask about the rest, so he didn’t think much could come from getting rid of the heavy, hot garment.

What would come of it, apparently, was Eddie gaping at him, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Buck felt a sense of shame pool in his stomach, ready to put the shirt back on in another second—he didn’t think the bruises were so bad, but maybe—

“Buck, you’re—you’re ripped.” 

What?

“How are you not on the wrestling team with me? Or the lacrosse team, or football, or... something?”

Buck blinked for a moment before he felt blood rush to his face. Oh. Oh. Eddie wasn’t staring because he was disgusted, or horrified, but because he apparently... liked what he saw. From a sportsman perspective. That had to be it. Right. He cleared his throat, willing the pink to die down on his cheeks. “Eddie, are you gonna teach me or what?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up, wide as dinner plates, voice an active higher as he spoke. “Right!” He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Buck. “Okay, so, if someone is going to come at you from the front, if they try and throw a punch, you just move the outside of your arm to knock the arm back, and—good.” 

Buck didn’t even wait for Eddie to finish speaking, as soon as the hand was up he batted it away with perhaps a bit more force than needed, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face. 

“Okay, but then you need to follow through with a hit when they’re open. See—” 

Eddie moved to throw a punch again, slow and painfully obvious, and Buck followed his instructions, pushing it away, and then... not doing anything. Eddie scowled, raising his hand again, and just like before, Buck knocked it away with the inside of his fore arm, trying to focus on the best point to hit to knock the hand away.

“Buck, you have to follow through. Blocking is great but you have to use the opening to hit back.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Punch- block. Eddie started picking up the tempo, moving around Buck, 

“I’m not hitting back, Eddie.”

Yeah, right. Buck hit back, and he’d probably get beaten beyond recognition. Pass.

“I can see that, but you have to. If someone is going to try and hurt you, you have to strike whenever you’re open. One good hit and you can run like hell.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Where exactly was he supposed to run to? The living room? The kitchen?

“No.”

Eddie gave a quicker shot—still weak, but Buck ducked, pushing the hand away from him. This was actually proving to be pretty useful.

“Look, I get not wanting to hit someone, but you just need to daze them if you’re going to get away.”

“Eddie, I don’t hit back. That’s now how this works.”

“Well why the fuck not—” 

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter!” Buck yelled, his tone taking himself by surprise, as did the heat that suddenly burned through his face. “It doesn’t matter if I land a hit or not, it doesn’t matter if I get hurt, as long as he doesn’t hurt anyone else!” 

“He?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and dark, and Buck almost swallowed his tongue when he realized what he had said. 

“Buck, who did this to you?”

“I have to get to class.”

It was too much. Buck swallowed as he turned around, abandoning his belongings in the locker room as he fled through the gym doors. He didn’t have to run far—thankfully he had his phone and wallet with him, which meant he had a train ticket—and only when he managed to throw himself between the closing doors of the Thorndale line did he manage to breathe again. 

He pulled his phone out when the train took off, shooting a quick message to Maddie, asking her to call him out for the rest of his day.

Then he turned off his phone, put his head in his hands, and started to cry.

--

When Buck came to school the next day, he had his concealer on, and as far as he was concerned, the day before had never happened. He parked in his regular area, locked the doors, and tried not to sigh too heavily when he saw Eddie waiting from him. 

He didn’t have it in him for a fight, but Eddie had both his hands up, and that was enough to keep Buck from running again. 

For now.

“Look, Buck, I won’t ask details, but.... just tell me, are you okay?” Eddie asked, his voice slow and unsure, and Buck felt a frown creeping over his face in spite of himself. 

He tilted his head as he looked Eddie over, brow furrowed. “You really care about me.” A statement, not a question, but Eddie nodded all the same. “Why?”

If the question caught Eddie off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked away, seemingly chewing over his words as he tried to answer. 

"Because you’re worth being cared about, Buck.”

Buck hummed as he considered the answer, acting like it didn’t just rock him to his very core, and sighed as he opened his arms and pulled Eddie into a hug—Eddie seemed surprised, but pleased, and Buck didn’t have to wait long before Eddie was hugging him back, so gently and mindful of Buck’s body that he thought he might start crying again.

“So, it’s not just these rugged good looks?” he mumbled into Eddie’s hair, and Eddie groaned, shaking his head. 

“Buck, please.”

“My charming personality?”

“Buck, please.”

--

Somehow, nothing changed, and everything did. 

Eddie didn’t bring up the bruises anymore, possibly because they weren’t visible anymore, but he held himself differently around Buck—instead of grand claps on the back, he tugged at Buck’s elbow, instead of a teasing elbow to the ribs, it was a playful shoulder bump—all, Buck knew, things that Eddie could do without risking aggravating an unseen injury.

Any doubt in his mind that Eddie knew what was going on was dashed almost immediately, when Eddie intentionally steered the conversation in their little friend group (which was mostly the wrestling team, who had decided beyond all reason that Buck was okay) away from family matters. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Buck was sure it was at least a little obvious when you got to know him where the bruises came from, but that was why Buck had been so hesitant to get to know anyone in the first place.

What was new, though, was the hand holding. It started off as Buck being led around, but then Eddie never really let go of his hand. Buck didn’t mind it, even though he felt he should—he was more or less dying for any physical contact that didn’t hurt, an itch he didn’t even know he needed scratched until Eddie showed up. But it was still... weird.

It wasn’t until later on, as Thanksgiving break loomed around the corner, when Eddie let his hand trail over his shoulders while dropping a burrito and chips from the Qdoba off campus did Buck start connecting dots. 

Eddie was always a touchy feely guy, and it had only increased as of late.

Eddie had blushed when Buck took off his shirt—and for good reasons, apparently. 

And now, Eddie was treating him to lunch. 

They were all fine things on their own, but once was an accident, twice a coincidence, and three times, a pattern.

He swallowed his bite of burrito—the perfect order, even though he was sure Eddie had only asked him what he liked once, weeks ago—and derailed whatever train of thought Eddie had going in one fell swoop.

“...but if you look at the—” 

“Eddie, are we dating?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A denial, maybe? Or another blush and topic change?

What he wasn’t expecting was for Eddie to nod his head, his smile a little wider, and then just continue on. 

“Anyway, as I was saying—” 

“No, hang on. We’re dating? This is like, a lunch date? You bought me lunch, because we’re on a lunch date?”

Eddie’s smile was so soft that Buck instantly felt at ease, even though he knew he was probably asking the dumbest questions of all time. “Yeah Buck, this is a lunch date. I didn’t want you to freak about it, but I knew you’d come to the conclusion eventually.”

Buck hummed as he reached over, stealing one of Eddie’s chips, chewing it thoughtfully before he rose his brow. “Well, this is a pretty nice first date, then.”

He tried not to be offended when Eddie snorted, raising his brow as he met the challenge. 

“Buck, this is at least our second or third date. Our last date was me bringing you home to meet my parents.” Eddie said with a smirk, but Buck frowned, shaking his head. 

“Wait, Eddie, that was forever ago. What was our first date then?” Buck asked, confusion written all over his face. 

Eddie actually blushed—okay, Buck was officially never getting tired of seeing that—as he looked up, humming in a way that was probably meant to be nonchalant but definitely wasn’t. “Oh, uh, well I consider our first date to be the first lunch we had. Um, the one where I made the joke about Ms. Syzmaski’s wrinkly old ass?”

Buck was honestly lucky he had swallowed before Eddie spoke, because that would have been a spittake for sure. “What the fuck about that joke made you think of that as a date?” 

Eddie was pink again and Buck had to physically bite his tongue not to goad him about it, but he was steadily getting redder as Buck waited. Finally, Eddie threw up his arms, sighing in defeat as he buried his head in his hands. 

“It was... it was the first time I made you laugh, okay? That’s why it was so nice.”

Oh, that was cute. Fuck, that was so cute. Buck could actually feel his resolve start to give way, which was unacceptable on more than one level, and he took a breath as he steadied himself. “I’m not staying.”

Eddie look like he had been punched. “What?”

“I mean it. I’m not staying. As soon as I graduate I’m getting out of this state, hell, this time zone if I can.”

“Buck—“

“I mean it, Eddie, I can’t—can’t stay here. And I like, you, I really like you, but if you’re staying in state, you have to know that I won’t. Not for anything, so if that’s a dealbreaker for you, you should just…”

His lungs ran out of his air as he forgot to breathe, but it was probably for the best, Eddie taking the moment to jump in before Buck could continue freaking out. “Buck, what makes you think I’m staying?”

Buck swallowed, his thoughts completely derailed. “What? You just moved here, why would you be leaving again?”

“The only reason we’re here this year is for my dads work. He has a year long contract, then we’d probably be moving back to Texas, but even then, who knows? No offense, but I have zero urge to stay in this snooty, Ivy-League bullshit state.”

Buck spoke slowly as his brain tried to catch up with what Eddie had said, brow wrinkling in a way that Eddie was definitely going to remember to call cute later on. “So… you’re not planning on staying. And you don’t care if I leave either.”

“No, Jesus. All I want is for you to be happy.”

It probably said a lot about how much that simple statement shocked him, but at this point in his life, he wasn’t sure anything would sit as “normal” for a long time. 

“Oh. Well, then, care to explain how we’ve apparently gone on three dates and you haven’t kissed me yet?”

Eddie lit up like a Christmas tree as he scooted forward on the bench, his eyes bright. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? I didn’t want to scare you off or anything—“

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss me right now, I swear I’ll—“

He didn’t get to finish his threat—which was mildly annoying—but the warm pressure of Eddie’s lips against his own drowned out any other objection he thought he may have.

He was almost late to class, his lips bruised in a way he absolutely loved, and he regretted absolutely nothing.

--

The day before they were due back in school from Winter Break, Buck had been planning on spending the entire day in bed, recuperating from the incessant display of familial togetherness that the holidays usually had brought. Eddie had been his one saving grace—near constant phone calls, texts, and snapchats had been the only thing keeping Buck’s temper low enough to avoid a few new bruises.

And, if the sight of Eddie wearing the simple leather corded necklace that Buck had gotten him for Christmas made his heart beat a little faster whenever he saw it, that was between him and God.

The past three months had been… alarmingly good, if Buck was being honest. If his home life had taught him anything, it was that the other shoe always dropped—so as much as he loved spending time with Eddie, as much as he loved their kisses, and rare dates, and holding hands in the hallway, as much as he honestly, truly thought he could see a life beyond high school with him, he was constantly, constantly waiting for that other shoe to drop. 

Which was why, when Eddie called him at one o’clock on a Sunday, Buck let it ring a few times before he gathered himself to answer the phone.

“Hey, are you busy tonight? I want you to come over and meet everyone.” 

“What do you mean, meet everyone? I’m pretty sure all of your family knows me by now.” That much was definitely true—Buck had been spending more time at Eddies than his own whenever he could help it, and while there was always someone out on an errand or at work or doing something else, he had participated in enough dinners, family calls, and video chats that he knew more of Eddie’s family than he did his own. “What, you have another set of siblings you’re hiding away from me?”

Eddie’s resounding laugh was a little too loud, a little too tense, just enough to spike Buck’s curiosity without making him fear the worst. He agreed easily after that, asking if he needed to bring anything, and made plans for a few hours later.

When he pulled up to Eddie’s house, though, it was almost unrecognizable. There were streamers tossed through the tree in the front yard, balloons tied to nearly every horizontal surface Eddie could see, and there were enough cars parked out front that Buck had to squeeze in behind a truck and a fire hydrant (and hope that he wouldn’t get a ticket). 

As usual, Eddie met him at the door (Buck had teased him once about waiting by the window, and when Eddie blushed and didn’t deny it, Buck had gone in to full hysterical laughter), the obvious nerves he was displaying not enough to dissuade Buck from punching him in the shoulder. “Eddie, what the fuck! Is this a party? You told me not to bring anything, I could have—“

“Oh whatever, I’ll sign your name on my card, calm down.” Eddie said, like he wasn’t the bundle of nerves himself, leaning forward to press a kiss to Buck’s lips (which he accepted, of course, he wasn’t a monster even if he was annoyed). He easily succumbed to the whirlwind of introductions—aunties and uncles and people who were clearly of the Diaz family, and damn, Eddie wasn’t kidding when he told Buck he wanted him to meet everyone. Eddie’s nerves started to hitch back up as they made their way to the backyard, and Buck was about to call him out on whatever it was that was going on when Eddie beat him to the punch.

“Alright, you ready to meet the man of the hour?”

“Only if you’re ready for me to.” Buck said with a hum, smiling as Eddie’s face did some impressive expressive gymnastics. “Eddie, you’re wound like a damn spring. If you don’t want me to meet this person, or any of these people, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He said, bringing his other hand up to link with Eddie’s as well.

Eddie, to his credit, looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his chest, and he beamed as he leaned in to kiss Buck agin. “God, you’re perfect. Have I ever told you that? Well, probably not enough, but it will have to wait, because…” Eddie pushed through the back door and towed Buck along with him, where a circle of chairs were set up around a table stacked high with drinks, snacks, party games, and in the middle of it all— 

“…because here’s the birthday boy!”

—was a high chair, fully equipped with a tray table, a soppy cup, and a baby. 

A baby. 

Buck felt every nerve, every tense minute, every rational thought melt in his body and turn into a warm puddle of goo at the very core of his soul, and his face must have reflected that fact because Buck was vaguely aware of two of Eddie’s sisters laughing at him, but who cared there was a baby and it was the most adorable, pudgy, perfect baby Buck had ever seen. 

The baby quickly let out a high pitched squeal as his attention landed on Eddie, smacking his hands against the table in front of him, and Buck could not be held accountable for the noise that he made when Eddie swooped forward and undid the tray, pulling him out of the high chair easily, tucking him into an arm like he was a seasoned pro.

“Buck, this is Chris.”

And now Eddie was walking toward him with the baby, the baby who’s name was Chris, and Buck only waited for the barest hint of a confirmation from Eddie before he moved closer, cooing toward the excited little bean in Eddie’s arms. 

“Today is Chris’ first birthday.”

Which, that made sense, he was still so small and pudgy but still so energetic, and Buck nodded along with the rapid fire babbling as he squeezed Chris’ little foot playfully, feeling more proud of anything at the peal of laughter Chris let out at that.

“Chris is my son.”

Well, that made sense, Chris had the same complexion as Buck did, and he was just as quick to smile, and even though his hair was lighter in color it was still thick and wavy, and—

Wait. 

His brain caught up with his ears and yanked him out of his baby haze as he looked back up to Eddie, and oh, yeah, there was that nervousness that Buck had felt radiating off of him all afternoon. It seemed to echo around the yard, where there was conversation and laughter just a moment ago, everyone seemed quieter now, hushed, or maybe that was just the rushing in Buck’s ears. Things started fitting into place as Buck thought about it—how he had met all of Eddie’s immediate family, but not at the same time, probably because someone had probably taken Chris out whenever Buck came over. How Eddie so obviously loved his family, but still got a little awkward talking about them at times. Why Eddie had only rarely badgered him about going out after school, because he was spending most of the time himself with his son.

“This is your baby.”

“Yes.”

Oh. 

“You’re his father.”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

“Eddie, he’s beautiful.” 

Eddie sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, the tension bleeding out of his body, and the smile he shot to Buck was more open and honest than he had ever seen before. He could feel a collective sigh breathed around him as the voices picked back up, apparently approving of Buck’s reaction. “He really is, isn’t he? When he was born last year, his mom wanted to give him up, but… I couldn’t even imagine that. My parents stepped up and really helped me out, we took him home, and it was just… perfect. Like it was meant to be.”

Buck looked up with a smile as Eddie spoke, utterly entrapped in how soft he looked as he held his son, his voice low and slow as to not startle the curious kid safe in his arms. “When my dad took a contract up here, I thought it would be the perfect chance to start over, you know? I wouldn’t give Chris up for anything, but I could tell teachers were going easier on me, boosting my grades, and I didn’t know if it was pity or… whatever. This was the chance for me to prove I could do it. You, uh, you’re the only one outside of my family who even knows.” Eddie said, and Buck had to physically bite his tongue to prevent himself from gushing.

“He’s perfect, Eds. You’re perfect. I’m… I’m really honored you told me.” Buck said easily, leaning forward for another kiss, mindful of the giggling body between them. “But if you think I’m going to let you forget that you told me not to bring anything to your baby sons first birthday, you have another thing coming, I can’t believe you didn’t let me get a gift or something—no, seriously!“

Eddie let out a groan as he leaned forward into Buck’s bickering, the sudden lull in the party long since forgotten as the night carried on.

--

The other shoe always dropped, though, and Buck 100% blamed himself for not seeing it coming. Hell, he 100% blamed himself for letting it happen. He had become complacent, he had let his guard down, Eddie had wormed his way into Buck’s heart and showed him how good things could be, and Buck had dared to believe him. 

Buck had had hope, as stupid as it was, and now, here he was, standing at Eddie’s door, knocking at the wooden frame, begging, pleading for him to open the door—he didn’t realize how much he loved Eddie always meeting him at the threshold until it didn’t happen, until he wasn’t sure if Eddie was going to open the door at all, until he didn’t know what else he could do.

As it was, Eddie wasn’t the one who opened the door. It was Helena, who he had just spent the day with, and the sound she had made when Buck came into view was unholy. 

The day had started off so well, too—Eddie and Buck had both been accepted to Texas A&M (while Buck’s pre-acceptance letter had come almost a month ago, he still waited until Eddie received his to even open the envelope), and Eddie’s parents had been so thrilled with him—with both of them—that they had insisted on treating everyone to breakfast before cheering Eddie on at what was likely the last wrestling match of the season (because as great as Eddie was, the team as a whole sucked). 

Helena had forced him into a “Team Diaz” shirt, and Buck looked at himself probably a little too long in the mirror, tracing the name over his chest—if anyone noticed, no one said anything, though the smile on Helena’s face told Buck all he needed to know. Eddie, on the other hand, had absolutely lit up when he saw them all in the stands, his gaze lingering a little too long on the word Diaz splayed across Buck’s chest, and the look he gave Buck when they locked eyes again was nothing short of sinful (Buck was glad that he had been put on Chris duty—holding a baby was probably the only way he was able to distract himself from the sight of Eddie in spandex).

So, it didn’t come to a huge surprise when Helena opened the door and let out a sound that would have pushed him over the edge, had Buck not already been crying. 

Well… halfway crying. He was only really tearing up in one eye, the other was too swollen to do anything more than squint. 

His front was covered in blood, the “Team Diaz” stained red, his lip split and swollen and his cheek covered in bruises. It was probably for the best that his left eye was swollen shut, because blood was leaking around it from a split in his eyebrow, so he probably wouldn’t have been able to see anyway. Beyond the lip and the eye, though, the biggest concern was his nose—he didn’t think it was broken, but it was still sluggishly bleeding, and it just wouldn’t stop. 

Helena pulled him into the house and immediately started barking orders (“Adriana, bring Christopher to the nursery and put him in his playpen. Sophia, tell Edmundo to get home right now, his Buck has been hurt. Ramon, give me the first aid kit.”), steering Buck easily to the back yard as the rest of the family scurried around.

By the time Eddie got home, Buck had been mostly cleaned up—or, at least, his nose had stopped bleeding long enough to mop up most of the blood on his face, and Helena had taped the gash on his brow closed with butterfly bandages, and had a cold compress pressed against his face. Eddie looked wild, his eyes wide and face unforgiving as he kneeled next to Buck, and if Buck had any tears left in his body he probably would have started crying again as Eddie cupped the uninjured side of his face. 

Buck knew that Eddie was trying to find words, but he also knew there were a hundred wrong things to say at that moment, so he took the step for both of them.

“My dad found out about us.” There was no sense in sugar coating it, no sense in leaving the bandaid on too long, he just had to rip it off so they could move on. “Apparently he didn’t much like the idea of his son not carrying on the family name, he… didn’t take it well.” 

Eddie let out a sound that could only be described as someone breaking, and Buck blindly reached for his hand, feeling something burn through his chest, deciding then and there that he wouldn’t let another ounce of his father hurt Eddie the way it had hurt him. “But you were right. One block, one hit, all I needed to get away.” His tone had soured into something dark and sticky, good eye burning as he remembered Eddie’s little self defense lesson, all those months ago. He could tell the moment that Eddie’s mind reached the same conclusion, and he scrambled to look at Buck’s hands—there were some bruising around his right knuckles, but that was it. 

One punch, that was all he needed. 

One punch, and just like that, he had left everything behind—his phone, his car, his father bleeding from what Buck could only hope was a broken nose, coughing and sputtering on the entryway floor. The only thing he had on him was his wallet and his hoodie, and even the latter was tossed into the trashcan as he got off the train, too thoroughly wet with blood to be of any good at keeping him warm.

Instinctively, he had gotten off the train and trusted his feet to take him somewhere he knew he would be safe. He had finally realized that that place would never be with his family, would never be his house. His house would never be his home.

“Eddie…” Buck started, his voice thick with emotion. “Eddie, I… I don’t want to go back. I never want to see them, ever again. I’ll call up Maddie, I’ll… I’ll do something, but I can’t go back there, ever.”

Eddie looked like his heart was breaking; but before he could open his mouth and tell Buck off for considering going anywhere else, Helena spoke again.

“You will do no such thing.”

Her voice soft but hard as steel, leaving no room for argument, and Buck looked at her with pleading eyes (well, eye) as she shook her head. 

“You will not be going back there. I have half a mind to drive over there right now and—no. I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to see them again.”

Buck could feel himself sag in relief, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding coming out ragged and raw, even as Helena continued.

“And Buck, I don’t know Maddie, and I’m sure she would be happy to help you out however she could, but. I would never let another Diaz out onto the street. Never in my life.” She said, and Buck had to swallow when he realized who she was talking about. 

They considered him a Diaz?

“So if you would really be happier, or safer, we can get in the car and I’ll bring you to your sister tonight, but it’s just a few months until you and Edmundo leave for college anyway, and—“

“Please stay. Please. God, Buck, please, at least stay with us until you heal up a little. Please.” Eddie had apparently had enough of his mothers talking in circles, his voice shaking as he spoke, and Buck’s shock must have shown on his face because Eddie looked like he was going to start crying again.

They really considered him a Diaz.

He wanted to question it, to object, to do anything to prevent himself from being in their hair, but just like it was the first time they had lunch together, Eddie had worked his way too far past Buck’s defenses, and apparently, he had brought his whole family with him.

Buck barely had to nod before Eddie had him wrapped up in his arms, tight, and Buck returned the favor easily, seamlessly, his head buried in Eddie’s neck like he belonged there. 

The thought resonated as Helena went back inside, letting the two of them have their moment; though, just a moment, announcing that it would be a lovely night to have dinner outside on the patio. It bounced around his head as Eddie kissed his cheek when they passed each other with plates and glasses, setting the table beneath the string lights in the yard, the spot on his cheek tingling long after the contact had broken. It took root when Buck found himself laughing, sitting easier in his own skin than he had ever done before as Eddie tried to justify whatever foolish thing he had done in Ramon’s story, failing miserably, his hand laced tightly with Buck’s beneath the table.

Maybe this was where he belonged.

For the first time in years, Buck saw something that was worth holding on for, that was worth keeping and protecting and letting grow.

For the first time, he had hope.

[babayagakeanu]

You’re Everything- Neo/Reader*

Summary: Reader’s first time with Neo

A/N: I watched The Matrix: Reloaded again, and  the sex scene really hit me in the feels 

Y/n paced around her room aboard the Nebuchadnezzar, the combination of three shirts and an oversized sweater making her sweat a little. She had gotten jealous earlier, seeing Neo talk and flirt with one of the new members of the crew. She was pretty, there was no denying that. Long brown hair, Smokey eyes and pillowy lips. She had dropped her cup out of anger, the metal clanging to the floor with a loud bang. She had caused everyones heads to turn, and as Neo’s eyes landed on hers, she felt the blush creep onto her cheeks and immediately stormed off to her room. 

It had been a little under an hour when someone knocked on the metal door, and she had half the mind to ignore it if it weren’t for her already rushing feet. She swung the door open and found Neo standing on the opposite end, the holes of his sweater exposing the flesh she desperately wanted to grasp at. The feelings she had begrudgingly suppressed were rising back to the surface, and she didn’t know if she could hold back any longer.

“Y/n, I came to check on you.” Neo stated, watching as your eyes were cast down to the floor in embarrassment. “I wanted to see if you were okay.” Y/n nods, motioning for Neo to come inside. He steps over the metal threshold, taking a look around to find that everything was neat. 

“Uh, thanks, Neo. I’m fine.” She watched as he stretched to put away some little things that were strewn across her bed, the muscles of his back stretching and gliding with his movements. 

“Yeah? That’s what people who aren’t fine say, so tell me.” She stays silent, her eyes cast down again as her feet fiddled with the cold floor. “You’re never like this, Y/n. Please?” He lifts her chin up and his honey eyes stare directly into hers. She sighs, the slight push of her blowing her hair out of her face. 

“It’s nothing, Neo. Please don’t push.” She turns from him, the sting of his hand still on her chin. Neo sighs, running a frustrated hand through the growing hair on his head. Groans of the ship fill the room, a heavy silence between them. She doesn’t know why she can’t tell him, maybe it’s the close friendship they’ve builded over the years, or maybe it’s the slight possibility of rejection. Ultimately, the truth will come out eventually.

“Y/n, I’m not pushing. All I want to do is make you feel better,” Neo paused, distracted by the way her sweater falls off her shoulder, exposing the silky skin that lied beneath. He’d always dreamed off kissing her, feeling her soft lips against his, and watching as she came apart underneath him. He’d loved her, the moment she took the red pill, he knew he was hers forever. Every waking moment of his was spent thinking about her, wishing she was his, wishing everyone knew she was his. “We’re friends, y/n. You can tell me anything.” It was in that moment, that everything she had kept below the surface, had boiled over.

“Is that all I am to you? A friend? Neo, for being the one, you are fucking stupid!” She shouts, not caring who hears the two of them. “Every single day, you are on my mind. You were never just a friend to me, I didn’t take the red pill to just join out of thin air, I joined because the moment I saw you, I loved you. I still do Neo. I love you.” She was in front of him now, gaging his reaction. When she sees that he has nothing to say, she breaks the connection between the two, probably to go cower in a corner of her room. When she’s almost out of his  reach, he stretches and yanks her back into his hard chest.

He stares down at her, his once honey eyes now mahogany. Her breathing is erratic, and her pulse is running at 60 miles per hour. “ Do you mean it?” He only asks one question, only needing the truth to confirm his greatest desire. She only nods, and before she can say anything, Neo catches her lips in a bruising kiss. 

“I never thought,” He said in between fast and heated kisses, “that you felt the same way. I would’ve told you three years ago.” She moans low in his mouth, the taste of mint filling her mouth. His hand cards through her hair, pulling it a bit to give himself access to her neck. Soft, flirty kisses are left in his wake, sighs of pleasure escaping her mouth. Her grip on his sweater tightens, her nails digging deliciously into his pale skin. The small gathering was still going on in the background, the laughs of their friends filling the ship. Neo slips his warm hand under her shirt, and feels her tense up, worrying finding it’s way onto his soft features.

“Is this okay, Y/n?” he asks, searching her eyes for any indication of discomfort. She nods, she wants to have sex with him, of course. The only thing that’s stopping her is her virginity. “I, um,” she twiddles her fingers together, eyes  cast down to the floor again, a common thing to do when she is embarrassed.  “I’ve never done...it.” Neo removes his hand from her shirt and brings it up to cup her cheek. “That’s okay, sweetheart. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can wait for you, baby.” He kisses her lips, gentle this time, pouring all the love he had for her into the kiss, hoping the words would translate. 

“No.” She shakes her head, and Neo almost frowns but she continues, “I want to. Frankly, I was saving it for you, when this time would come, and it did.” She’s all smile now, looking as Neo stared at her as if she was the only girl in the world. 

“I love you, y/n. We’ll go as slow as possible, and if we need to stop, you need to tell me, okay?” Once she nods, he’s kissing her again, much more passionate than the other, and she’s pressing her body against his. “You’re so beautiful.” He states, laying her down and marveling at how angelic she looked. Hair splayed against the ratty pillow beneath her, her lip red and swollen from his kisses, and her soft stomach exposed underneath the holed sweater. She blushes at his comment, and he smiles down at her. He grabs the bottom of her sweater, silently asking for permission and she obliges, tearing off the couple of layers beneath it as well. Her breasts almost knock the wind out of him, perfectly shaped and full, with nipples hardening at the chill of the room. He lays soft, teasing kisses on the swell of her breasts, her breathing becoming erratic at the sheer pleasure. His lips finally find a nipple, kissing it first before going in to suck at it, watching as her mouth falls open. He takes it a step further by slightly grazing his teeth against her hardened peak, chuckling at the sound that departs her lips. 

“You taste like heaven, baby. Can’t wait to give you my love.” he says, breathless and needy. “Neo, please...” She gasps as he pays her other peak the same attention, hips involuntarily jutting against his own. He groans as he feels her core, warm and waiting for him to devour. His kisses leave a hot trail down her stomach, teeth biting and sucking at the softened flesh as he reaches her navel. His teeth toy with the band of her sweatpants, leaving her completely in awe of him. She’d never seen him so aroused, especially by her. She’d never seen him so beautiful in this moment, the impending actions awaiting before them, the excitement hiding behind his brown eyes. This was real, and she let that sink in for a moment as his hands pull her sweatpants down, leaving her in her black panties, a little white bow resting at the top. Her legs close, suddenly ashamed at the fact that she didn’t have the proper underwear. Neo sees this and frowns, “You’re a fucking goddess, y/n. Don’t shy away from me, can’t you feel how bad I want you?” He presses his covered member, hard as rock and waiting to fill her sweet cunt. She gasps loudly, a sound that rings throughout the room and if anyone would have walked by, they would have heard them. He takes his rough hands and spreads her legs out so that they lay flat against her bed. 

His lips leave kisses, each kiss gets closer to her heated core, wet and needy for him. She’d masturbated before, sure, and she’s felt arousal too, but never like this. It’s different with someone you love. She watches in a hazy awe as his hot tongue lay flat against her clothed core, and wiggles a little, causing her to squirm under his hold. With a final kiss on her covered clit, he finally shrugs off the last piece of clothing that is guarding her womanhood. He stops and shrugs off his clothes, y/n watching as his hard cock flings back against him stomach. To say he was a good size was an understatement. He was big, thick and long with a nestle of dark hair sitting at the base of his cock. Neo smirked at her, following her eyes and returning her gaze with his heated one. He sinks down again, laying flat against the bed, the sheets causing a delicious friction under his cock. He stares at her cunt, swollen and drenched in her wetness. She was ready for him, and he was ready for her, too. His lips attached themselves to her clit without warning, inducing a loud cry from her lips. 

“Fuck, Neo! I-I need more,” she moans, her hand running roughly through his hair, catching a vice grip in the short strands. He chuckles into her folds, the vibrations making her legs shake against the smooth of his back. His tongue drags slow circles around her clit, teasing her as he inserts a finger into her dripping cunt. The foreign intrusion makes her wince a little, but it subsides after she feels Neo’s tongue move faster. “Oh, Neo!” She gasps, feeling a knot form in her stomach, the ache chasing the pleasure. “I’m gonna—” She screams, her grip on his hair tightens, making Neo groan as he laps up every drop of her juice. He talks her down from her high, caressing her face as if she was a porcelain doll. He kisses her again, the combination of her juices and Neo making her moan into his mouth. 

“Okay, princess, I’m gonna go slow, okay? You let me know if anything hurts and I’ll stop?” His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration for her as he slowly pushes into her, the pain that had briefly subsided was there again, this time at full force. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and Neo kisses them away. “Are you okay, baby? Do I need to stop?” 

She shakes her head roughly, “No, please don’t. I’m okay, just keep going until I tell you to move.” He presses a chaste kiss to her lips, before pushing himself deeper into her burning cunt. Once he’s buried in her to the hilt, she motions for him to move, the slight rush of pleasure slowly eating away at the pain. Once she’s moaning, her hips jutting against his in an attempt to go faster, Neo finally rocks into her, his pace quickening just like his breath. 

“Fuck, y/n. You’re so tight around me, you’re practically milking my cock.” he grumbles, fucking into her as she mewls into his mouth. He pulls out of her and flips her over, her back bent and her ass up into his face, her pussy swollen and dripping with arousal. He thrusts back in, the new position making y/n see stars. Her low moans turn into high whines as his tip brushes against her sweet spot, her impending orgasm looming over them like a cloud. “You feel so good inside me, baby! I fucking love you so much, Neo!” She gasps, the sound of his balls slapping against her thighs adding background noise. 

“Fuck, I love you too, sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for this for years. I don’t know how long I’ll last.” He’s slamming into her at a brutal pace, causing y/n to clench around him as her second orgasm hits her harder than ever before, slumping around him as her legs shake and her body spasms. He holds her with a strong arm around her stomach, continuing to thrust into her as his hips stutter and stall, spilling deep inside of her with a throaty groan. 

———————

They lay in bed, sheets thrown over them as they stare at each other, basking in the post orgasmic glow. Her lamp creates a golden hue, and Neo presses soft kisses to her shoulder. 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Neo asks, throwing an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his chest, the warmth making y/n sigh in delight. “Surely, you must’ve see the way I looked at you, y/n. The way my heart felt like it was in my throat when we spoke, or when I would make you laugh, your hand would always hit my chest or rest on my arm. You’re everything to me, y/n, I love you.” 

She was asleep, but he knew she heard him subconsciously, and that was all he needed as they dozed off, ignoring the whoops and hollers from the team. 

[cats-obsessions]

The Survey Never Lies

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Modern au, something fluffy

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier convinces Geralt to try Speed dating. The results are not what either of them expected.

----------------------------------

Geralt isn’t exactly sure what possessed him to agree to this. It’d been a rough past few months, with contracts being few and far between, and when they came, they were truly the worst. To say that this dry spell had extended to other areas in his life was an understatement; even Yennefer was able to move on by now after their latest, seemingly permanent, breakup. ‘Move on’ might be an understatement- enough time had passed for Yennefer to go into full-blown party mode, get over it, begin a new and honestly adorable relationship with their mutual friend Triss, and make up with him to the point of being hostile friends again.

That is to say, it has been a long time.

With next to no money and even less company, even Geralt could admit he has been feeling down. And yet, of course, Jaskier was always there right beside him through it all. It was always that way. Which is precisely why he got himself into this mess.

Initially, when the troubadour had suggested they try speed dating, Geralt was quick to strike the idea down. He’d already gone through the pains of using that awful dating app at Jaskier’s insistence, and he wasn’t about to have a rerun of that disaster. But then, Jaskier started to frame it as if he was the one that needed a date, and Geralt accompanying him would just be a favor- just to keep him company if it was boring, and to keep him safe if things went wrong. Geralt knows that was just a ploy to make him go, but between that and big blue puppy dog eyes, he found himself reluctantly agreeing.

Jaskier did not, however, tell him how horrible it would be. ‘it won’t take long’. Bullshit. Over an hour of small talk with strangers, and Geralt feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin. The establishment isn’t the finest, either. Everything is cheap- 90s music playing on shitty speakers grate on his eardrums, dimmed florescent lighting and fake candles on every table make it feel morel like a pizza parlor than a romantic dinner. And then there’s the people.

They’ve been paired into groups based on some benign personality survey they were forced to take when they got there, then paired off for short conversations. Five-minute sessions are timed on a buzzer, each blessed ring marking the end of the conversation, and bringing with it another stranger. They’re awkward at best and insufferable at worst.

It’s Geralt’s personal nightmare incarnate.

The best conversation he’s had all night was about one woman’s five cats. The worst was probably when a man tried to lean across the table and grab at his medallion without asking and Geralt found himself releasing an inhuman snarl before he could stop himself. The poor guy ended up hiding in the bathroom for the remaining duration of their five minutes, but that’s what he gets for trying to touch people, especially a witcher, without asking.

Even the cheap beer doesn’t make it better. When the timer dings, and all the participants in the room begin to shuffle to new tables, Geralt takes a moment to look down at his glass, taking a long, long sip of tasteless beer. By the time he has glanced up again, Jaskier is seating himself across the table, wine glass in hand. The bard flashes him a toothy grin, leaning in closer, propping his elbows on the scratchy, off-white tablecloth. As per usual, his button down shirt is left undone far too low, exposing a far too distracting patch of chest hair that Geralt most certainly doesn’t stare at, nor do his eyes slowly trace up exposed skin of his collar bones and neck to the slight blush tinging his cheeks.  

“So, how’s it going, my friend? Found the new Mrs. Rivia, or Mr., though, I suppose it’s not guaranteed he’d take your last name. Not that it’s guaranteed with a woman, either. You could take her name. Though, I do like yours- better than my own, actually.”

Geralt glances away, trying his best to hide his smirk at Jaskier’s prattling, “Hm.”

“Oh, come on now, use your words. We’ve talked about this. You’re not going to find someone when I’m the only person that understands your unintelligible grunting.” Jaskier chides, though it is true. Somehow, over the years since they met in that shitty bar in Pasoda, Jaskier has come to understand the witcher well- better than most. Where other humans shy away from him, Jaskier became stuck to him, following him on hunts and writing songs about their adventures- reluctant at first, he’s now thankful for the bard.

Geralt sighs “This is hopeless, Jaskier.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is. They’re all- ugh, I don’t know.” Geralt rubs his hand over his face, “They’re all either freaked out by me or oblivious to what I am, and they just talk about their normal lives and normal jobs and- and how Geofry from accounting fucked things up again, while I’m sitting here thinking last week I was swallowed by a fuckin’ kikimora. I don’t fit in here.”

“That was horridly disgusting, but lots of people are into adventurous men. What about Eveline? She seemed amenable.” Jaskier gestures to the woman a few tables down with long red hair. Yes, she had found Geralt attractive, in dim lighting which hides his scars and expands his pupils into circles rather than slits, but that doesn’t translate to companionship, or even a night of fun. Yet, Jaskier is always the optimist, “There’s still hope yet!”

Geralt shakes his head “Easy for you to say. You don’t need to go speed dating to find someone. Everyone likes you.”

“As flattering as that is, I think, there’s nothing wrong with speed dating. Anyone who isn't interested in you is a fool. Besides, it's not always that easy for me! I’m looking for something a bit more committed this time. Not that I didn’t have great affections for my previous romances. Just…” Jaskier trails off, tongue sticking out slightly as he looks for the right terms.

“Momentarily and in measured amounts?”

“Mm,” Jaskier hums in agreement.

“Infatuation has to wear off some time.”

“So I’ve been told. Seems some hang around longer than others though,” He mutters. He casts his eyes down as if in thought, his ever-moving hands finding the rim of his wine glass, a long finger tracing it in a way that emits a high-pitched noise the musician likely isn’t even aware of. Geralt grunts, frowning slightly as he grabs Jaskier’s hand to remove it from the glass. The bard lets himself be moved easily, fingers warm and inviting under the witcher’s touch.

“Noise,” he grumbles.

Jaskier smiles apologetically, “Ah, witcher hearing. Sorry, my dear.”

His fingers tap on the tabletop, looking for something to fidget with in the wine glass’ absence. He finds the long-abandoned conversation que cards so kindly provided by the event’s organizers, as if they knew rightfully well how miserably uncomfortable this predicament would be.

“Have you looked at these at all tonight?” he asks, picking them up to glance through them.

“Tried not to. They’re deplorable.” Yet, the well-worn corners of the cards attest to how many attendees truly rely on them.

Jaskier smiles coyly “You’ve been showing people pictures of your lovely lady Roach again haven’t you?”

“Maybe” he blushes, both of them chuckling. “People like horses”

“Mm, that would only be a good pick-up tactic if she didn’t bite strangers.”

“She’s shy.” He defends, though he knows she’s not. She’s just picky; she’s never tried to bite Geralt, or Eskel or Vesemir for that matter. These days, she likes Jaskier enough to let him ride her when they visit her stables at Vesemir’s farm.

Jaskier glances to the clock, red numbers counting down the seconds until he will be subjected to yet another stranger. “We still have a bit of time, want to try these dumb questions?”

“Is silence not an option?” Geralt groans, though not without the hint of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier swats at him lightly, ignoring the comment. He flips through the cards, reading a few under his breath “What color is your personality? That’s dumb- yours is blue, obviously, and mine is yellow. Hmm, Ah, here’s one.” Geralt tilts his head, waiting “Describe your best friend.”

He can’t help but snort at that “Annoying.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, appropriate answers could have included handsome, funny, talented, brilliant, loyal” Jaskier counts his claimed attributes on his fingers, likely to go on forever lest Geralt interrupt.

“Reckless, frivolous-” He jumps in, a teasing, toothy grin on his face.

“Fun. Fun is the term you’re looking for. It doesn’t matter though. I know you adore me.”

There’s too much truth in the words; though he wouldn’t hesitate to call Jaskier his friend -his best friend- adoration is a strong word, a word unknown to many witchers. Yet, he can’t deny the way Jaskier makes his heart fill with warmth, makes him feel alive and safe like he never has before. But that is something he’d much rather keep to himself. Geralt looks away, surely blushing as he lets a curtain of white hair falls in front of his face, hopefully hiding the pink tinge.

Jaskier watches him quietly, that soft warm expression in his eyes that somehow seems to be reserved for the witcher. A moment of silence passes before he snaps out of it, only a few seconds left on the clock “Wanna get out of here?”

At that, Geralt perks up, “I could use a real drink, but what about your search?”

“I don’t think I’ll find the one in this crowd,” he says, looking out on the group, a disappointed little pout pulling at his lips for just a moment before he turns back to Geralt, ever bright smile returning to his face.

Geralt nods, standing up and slipping on his jacket in preparation to leave. He catches Jaskier’s eyes roaming over him for a moment before the bard diverts his gaze, catching his lip between his teeth. Geralt does his best to focus on anything else. Whatever warmth or fluttering feelings it may give him, he knows he’s just imagining his friend’s interest.

They almost make it out with everyone around them shuffling to new tables. But, of course, they’re stopped by the group coordinator. They’d met him when they came in- a young man far too invested in this program, reciting his company provided lines with an unnatural enthusiasm.

“Looks like you two are having a good time. I’m glad to see some real sparks fly tonight! Sneaking off already?” the man grins, a little too much, as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, we were just-” Jaskier begins, laughing slightly under his breath.

“No, don’t tell me- for liability reasons and such. But good news!” he exclaims, “According to our survey, you two are our most compatible couple of the night, and the survey never lies!”

“Of course, we-” He’s cut off again, and next to him, Jaskier cringes.

“Which means, if you’re interested and it certainly seems like you are, you have won our luxury romance date package!”

“I think there’s been a mis- Sorry, what?” Geralt stops as the boy pushes a bright pink, sparkling gift card into his hand.

“$200.00 to the White Orchard, free drinks included and guaranteed reservations within the month. All you have to do is go together, have fun, and discover the romance of your lives!” The boy’s smile doesn’t falter as he continues to speak. “I’m legally obligated to tell you we have not run background checks on anyone.”

“But we’re-” Jaskier tries to speak, but not before Geralt can stop him.

“Excited!” Geralt grins, grabbing Jaskier’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you!”

$200 is $200. He’s not about to let the first chance he’s had at a fine dinner in who knows how long go by because of Jaskier’s big mouth. So, with that, he leads the bard outside, their hands still firmly grasped together, and pointedly doesn’t think about why his thumb is rubbing circles into the back of his best friend’s hand. Nor does he consider how well their fingers fit together. He certainly doesn’t notice the disappointed pang in his chest when their hands separate as they step out into the cold night air outside.

One glance between them and their prize, and neither of them can stifle their laughter. “I can’t believe you almost said no to the nicest restaurant in town.” Geralt chides, elbowing Jaskier lightly as they begin to walk home.

“I can’t believe it either. It’s like the offer didn’t register in my brain yet.” Jaskier chuckles.

Geralt rolls his eyes at him “Seems to happen a lot.”

Jaskier deliberately ignores him, instead leaning over his shoulder to look at the gift card, still cradled in Geralt’s hand “It is ‘luxury romance’” Jaskier snickers, “We may have to keep up this act a bit longer.

“Apparently it’s not too difficult.” Geralt sneers “Some survey. Of course, we match; we spend all our time together.”

Jaskier’s chuckles quiet down, a silence hanging between them as he seems to think it over, “I have known you longer and more deeply than any other in my life. There’s no one I’m more comfortable with.”

“And I you.” He doesn’t often admit such things, but somehow in the silence of the night, with the way Jaskier had stated it so gently, he can’t help but know he truly means it when he agrees. After the silence becomes too heavy, Geralt clears his throat “Anyways, it’ll be fun.

“Yea, fun.”

Somehow, Jaskier’s voice comes out flat, preoccupied. When Geralt glances over at him, his lip is caught between his teeth again, his face scrunched in deep contemplation. It’s not a long walk back to their apartments, their complexes within walking distance of each other. Geralt doesn’t push, silence between them doesn't normally bother him after a night of so much noise. But try as he might, he can't help but wonder if Jaskier is bothered by the implication they were- could be a couple. Instead, he tries to focus on the sounds of the city, cool air blowing around them, leaves crinkling as they skip across the cement sidewalk.

When they approach Jaskier’s apartment complex, they stop in front of the old brick stairs leading inside, and Geralt waits for either an invitation inside or a declaration that Jaskier has changed his mind about drinks. He looks… uneasy. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Um, Geralt?” Jaskier says, voice uncertain for once.

“Hm?”

“I, um,” Geralt barely has time to see Jaskier stop biting his lip before suddenly his lips are on Geralt’s, his hands in his hair, caressing, not forceful. The witcher could pull away without much of a fuss, but he finds himself pulling Jaskier in by his waist, holding him tightly as if he’s afraid he’ll lose him if he lets go.

The kiss is equal parts gentle and desperate. He feels like he’s on fire; he feels like there’s electricity running through him, between them, and- and butterflies in his stomach, for maybe the first time in his life. It’s all so new and different, but he finds he doesn’t mind- not one bit.

When Jaskier pulls away, he finds his head feeling light “Jask,” he breathes lightly, their noses bumping each other lightly.

“Sorry, I-” Jaskier moves to step back, a spark of caution and panic glimmering in his eyes, as if he hadn’t felt Geralt’s desire in their embrace. “I thought-” he begins, but Geralt pulls him back in.

“I didn’t say stop.” He smiles softly, bringing up one hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek. It relaxes the bard, all the tension melting away to be replaced by a mischievous smile as the witcher pulls him into another kiss.

****

Rays of morning sun beam through the windows of Jaskier’s apartment, illuminating every inch of it. Below, the city is bustling with noise, but here, things are peaceful. Geralt woke up first, no surprise there. He would have been more than content to stay in bed all day, wrapped tightly in his lover’s embrace- the thought of that word describing Jaskier brings a smile to his face. But cursed with his witcher metabolism, he was dragged out of bed by a growling stomach.

Rummaging through Jaskier’s kitchen for breakfast, he barely notices the other man enter the room. When he turns around, Geralt is met with striking blue eyes watching him intently as Jaskier leans against the counter, dressed in his boxers and a hoodie he’d stollen from Geralt long, long ago. Geralt chooses not to dwell too much on the thought that he’s been sleeping in it all this time- for now, anyways.

“What are you so smug about?” Geralt grins, abandoning his task to invade Jaskier’s space.

The musician smiles, unabashedly staring as he runs his hands over Geralt’s exposed chest, settling above the hem of the sweat pants he snatched from Jaskier’s closet this morning, “Who wouldn’t be smug after getting a boyfriend as beautiful as you?” Even though they kissed all through the night, Jaskier’s lips on his send a shiver down his spine.

“You know what they say.” Geralt murmurs, kissing his way down to Jaskier’s neck.

As he presses dark marks into the pale skin of his throat, Jaskier only breathlessly hums in response “Hm?”

“The survey never lies.” He quotes mockingly.

Jaskier snorts, shoving at Geralt’s shoulder playfully, but the witcher doesn’t budge, only nuzzling in closer against his neck. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Very.”

[dayas]

15 + jiara

15. “Don’t tell me you’re fine, I can see the blood!” 

Ah yes, the angst. The angst meant specifically for me. K’s angst.

NO BUT FORREAL ty for sliding me this! The moment I saw it I was like YESSSS.

So let’s get it!

—

Kiara Carrera is many things. A coward isn’t one of them. She likes to think she’s one of the best of the Pogues when it comes to being under pressure. The honor of Baddest Motherfucker With The Coolest Head goes to John B, seeing as he doesn’t ever let panic blind him. He’s quick on his feet, always lurching forward.

Kie’s second merely because her jitters tend to show a little bit. When she gets scared, she’s a little antsier. Far from bouncing off the walls like the Maybank pride and joy she knows and tolerates (read: way more than tolerates, but that’s beside the point). She tries to stay calm and keep everything under wraps, but she’ll glance around, run her hands through her hair, little things.

Pope is third, because despite his ever present, “We’re gonna die!” whenever shit gets a little too real, he’s eerily cool and calm in a crisis when he needs to be. Anything medical he can handle, slicing through his panic like he will when he’s got a coroner’s scalpel in his hand one day. Kie’s gotta hand it to him; when Pope is truly needed, he always shows up.

That leaves JJ, and the reasons go as follows. One, that boy cannot keep a cool head to save his life. Panic seems to engulf him, sharpen him in some ways, soften him in others. His regular fidgeting and antsiness turns up to a thousand, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from sprinting off and leaving them in the dust.

(She doesn’t realize until much later that he stays with them because he would rather face whatever comes together. Even with the choice to run away, he stays.)

Two, his movements. They become grainy, lost in translation muffled by shaking, creating the first rains for a hurricane of panic. He’s always jumpy for a few moments after the danger has passed, too. Kie’s spine doesn’t soften until he exhales afterwards, head back, eyes closed.

Three, the final storm. The hurricane of panic, when it blows, is as gut wrenching as it is illuminating. It’s a different sort of torrent than when he’s angry and brings a firestorm in his wake. He closes in on himself, makes himself smaller. It’s kind of funny in a sick way, Kiara thinks, because JJ can never be small. He’s too big of a person to hide, and she figures that’s why he fights. Even if he’s freaked out, his fists will fly and land, consequences be damned. They always come, but if it calms him down, she can’t be too mad. She hasn’t quite figured out a healthy way for him to release all that anger yet.

But this isn’t about him. At least, not entirely. It’s about her, and it’s about fear. Kiara’s chilling at the Chateau when her phone lights up in a text. Then another, and another, and pretty soon it’s dinging every second. She scrolls through, heartbeat slowing when she reads them all. It’s just JB and Pope in the groupchat, trading puns and jokes. JJ’s silent, but then again, he could be off doing a JJ Thing. So Kie rolls her eyes (both at herself and her friends), sends off a few remarks and laughing emojis before settling back in. The book she’s reading is for school, which is a little out of pocket for her. Doing her homework at The Chateau isn’t Kie’s style. This place is Pogues Only; Kook trinkets aren’t welcome here, be they backpacks or books. But she hasn’t been able to put the story down.

And yet, she can’t concentrate.

Every time her phone lights up, she checks it. At the slightest noise, she’s glancing around. Is this what paranoia feels like, she wonders bleakly as she attempts to return to her book.

You need to calm the fuck down. Now.

She takes a few deep breaths, remembering a few exercises from a project she did on stress her freshman year. God, that was ironic. It takes an hour and a half, but she’s finally to the point where she can read without her brain scattering at every wayward thing in the background. At least, until the door damn near pops off its hinges as it bursts open, slamming against the wall.

Kie’s book flies off of her lap, open pages fluttering as the spine hits the ground when she leaps up off of the couch. She turns quickly, exhaling in relief when she sees a flash of blonde.

“What the fuck, JJ, you scared m — ” she begins to exclaim at his back, following him into the kitchen, only to stop dead in her tracks when he turns around. There’s a gash on his forehead the length of her hand, fingers to wrist. From what she can see, it isn’t deep enough to need stitches (Thank God) but it’s still able to be considered serious. He’s favoring his right leg over his left, left arm awkwardly cradling his side. The pieces click in Kie’s mind as she traces the bruises she can’t see, and one hand reaches up and yanks on her hair.

“What happened?”

She curses the way her voice quivers, but she can’t help it. This looks really bad, all of it.

“Nothin’, Kie,” JJ shrugs, swallowing. She catches a dot of red on his lips and steps closer, shaking her head vigorously. An exasperated sigh escapes her lips, snapping out through the air like a rubber band.

“I’m serious. Don’t worry about it.” His words do nothing to tamper her sudden blaze of attitude.

“This is not nothing, JJ.”

“Dude, chill out. It’s cool, I just got into a nasty brawl with some kooks, and one of those fuckers pulled a knife on me. But it’s all good.”

“What about this is fucking ‘all good’?”

“Everything, Kie! I’m fine!”

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, I can see the blood!” 

Siezed by a strange urge, she rushes up, grabbing paper towels and pressing them against his head wound. It’s still bleeding, and she knows they bleed a lot and she knows Pope would be better at this and she knows she still has to clean him up but she can’t leave well enough alone and right now, she’s all he’s got.

Kiara’s trembling now, with rage, with frustration, with fear. Panicking around a person who needs help is never good, but she’s understood since they were kids that when it comes to JJ, every single rule gets thrown out the window. She’s closer than she needs to be, her body gently pressing his back against the edge of a counter while she applies pressure through the blood soaked paper towels.

“Did your dad do this?”

She has to know. It’s none of her business and it won’t change the situation, but that doesn’t stop her from asking about it. They’ve never really talked about what his dad does to him, but he’s never come home as fucked up as this.

Kie watches a tear fall from his eyes and she forgets about what she’s doing. Red and white hit the floor as she wraps her arms around his neck, holding onto him. She doesn’t squeeze, mindful of the injuries that could be underneath his shirt. He doesn’t seem to care, arms curving around her waist and pressing her to him. She cards her fingers through his hair gently as he shakes in her arms. Her hair is a little wet, but she couldn’t care less about it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to him, and it’s not about pity. It’s about how fucked up it is that the person who’s supposed to love and protect their child could almost kill them himself. It’s about the fact that he has to face this and there’s nothing anyone can do about it, because if you live on The Cut and the DCS comes knocking, nothing good ever comes of it.

“Me too,” JJ mumbles into her hair, and she fiercely responds, “Don’t ever apologize for that bastard. Ever.”

“For scaring you,” He ammends quietly, and her Oh reverberates around the room silently.

“You didn’t scare me,” she lies and she thinks she hears some remnant of a chuckle when he says, “You damn near ripped your hair out when you saw me like this. You were scared shitless, Kie.”

She doesn’t let his words sink in, because if she does, she will be tempted to do something both of them will regret. Even so, the little rebellious part of her brain tilts her head and presses a kiss to his neck. She thinks she feels him freeze so she holds him tighter, and she hopes her gesture is forgotten. It’ll live in her head rent free for the rest of the week at least, but if it makes her friend feel better, she can deal with the fallout.

After an eternity, she pulls away. Their hands link as she leads him to the bathroom, cleaning him up. He’ll be limping for a couple days due to the injury he sustained on his leg, but it should heal up fine.

When Sarah finds them tangled up on the futon together the next morning, she doesn’t say a word. She pulls a blanket over them both and heads out to distract John B and Pope until they can wake up.

It’s a strange sort of feeling, panic. Sarah felt it walking in and seeing them. Not for herself, but for them both. Panic is what curls Kiara against JJ. It keeps their legs interlocked and her head on his chest. Sarah doesn’t have to know what went down to know what two people holding onto each other for dear life look like. She and John B had the same thing after the Phantom went down. So she goes out of the Chateau and does what she needs to do.

In her sleep, Kiara smiles.

—

That’s all for this ask! Thanks for asking!

[brianc521]

Meet the Brothers | Nap Date 3

Now that things were official. Now that Ember Mills was officially Shawn Mendes’ girlfriend. Now that Shawn Mendes was officially Ember Mills’ boyfriend. The next big thing to do was to officially, and formerly, have her meet the brothers.

Ember had met Raul in passing. It wasn’t something that they could avoid, sharing Juniper in common. Ember and Juniper have known each other since high school. 

Juniper was a quiet shy person until she met Raul. She kept her nose hidden in books, she only ever spoke if spoken too, and she absolutely hated when the attention was on her. Ember? Ember was the opposite in high school. She was outspoken, she was the girl in the halls that everyone was intimidated by. Not that she did anything but speak the truth to deserve that description. If you were being an ass she’d tell you, if you were in her way she’d let you know by pushing you out of it. 

They are polar opposites, and the best friends you could ever see. 

Juniper is Ember’s Brian to Shawn. 

So when Juniper started dating Raul 2 years ago every now and then they’d cross paths. It was nothing more than a;

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

To say Ember was nervous would be an understatement. Raul and Peter were everything to Shawn. She doesn’t know what she’d do if they don’t like her. All she can think about is, what would Shawn do if they don’t like her? 

“Emi?” Shawn calls as he pokes his head into her apartment. 

She knew he was coming over, so she left the door unlocked and told him to just come on in. Shawn planned to pick her up and take her over his place where the boys were currently playing fifa. Shawn is anxious to tell her it would be more than Raul and Peter she would be meeting. When Brian and Matt caught wind that his brothers were meeting his girlfriend they requested to be there as well. Before he could even speak up to say no fifa tournaments were already being planned, and the next thing he knew it was suddenly a lowkey party at his place. Connor was even able to fly out to join. 

“Bedroom!” She called, throwing yet another shirt into the massive pile on her bed. They are all her rejects. 

“Hey Gorgeous.” Shawn smiled as he walked into her room. His eyes went wide at the sight in front of him. 

Not only was his girlfriends room completely destroyed but she was standing in front of her closet in nothing but her bra and panties with her hair wrapped in a towel on the top of her head.

“I said 2 right?” He looks at his watch, double checking he had the time right.

“Yes,” She huffs. “I just don’t like anything.” 

“Baby.” He grins, taking her hand and tugging her to stand between his legs as he sits on the corner of her messy bed. “It’s just the boys.” 

“But I don’t want to look like a complete slob, and at the same time I don’t want to look like a slut either.” 

Shawn squeezed the back of her thigh at the choice of her words. “You’re not a slob, nor are you a slut. So stop speaking like that please. You’re beautiful and pretty in everything you wear.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” She pouts at him.

“I think you’re the prettiest.” 

She sighs and leans into him. “You make everything better.” She wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Please keep that in mind when I tell you what I’m about to.” 

“What?” She looks at him, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“It’s not just Raul and Peter you’re meeting today.” 

“What?” She steps back from him. 

“No come back.” He reaches for her hand.

“Who else am I meeting today Shawn?” 

“Brian, Matt and Connor.” He cringes.

Her eyes go wide and she turns around with her face in her hands. “Oh my god.” She freaks. “Oh my god. Might as well have your parents and sister there too. Holy fucking shit.” She rambles digging through her closet with more force now. “No-” She throws a shirt behind her. 

“What’s wrong with this one?” Shawn asks as he catches the thrown fabric. “I like this one a lot.” 

“No red translates to sexy, the v line is to deep, and if you’re brothers and friends think I’m a slut then they won’t like me because then I’ll be seen as some user. If they don’t like me you’ll break up with me and then-”

“Whoa.” Shawn stands, grabbing a frantic Ember. “Who said anything about breaking up?” 

“I just-”

“If they don’t like you then they’re dumber than I think they are. But I can promise you Baby, they’re gonna like you. Raul knows you a little, and keeps going on and on about how good of a friend you are, and how he can’t wait to meet you.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Why?” He cups her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth under her eye. 

“Because what if they don’t like me?” 

“They will.” 

“You aren’t hearing me Shawn.” She shakes her head, looking up at him with the slightest hint of tears in her eyes. “What if they don’t? What happens if they don’t?” 

His eyes go wide before softening, he’s finally understanding what her worries are. “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I’m with you.” He gives her a pointed look. “No matter what anyone else has to say. You’re mine, I’m yours, and it’s gonna stay that way.” 

“Promise?” 

“If I have it my way Baby it’s gonna stay that way for the rest of our time.” 

She gasps as she looks at him in shock. “What?” 

He quickly clears his throat and goes to her closet, pulling out her blue NY Giants shirt that’s a little tight and hugs her body well. “Wear this with your skinny jeans. It’s so cute, and the guys will be impressed.” 

“Okay.” 

“And you look really good in this shirt, so I’m getting a treat as well.” He wiggles his eyebrows. She slaps his chest in a playful way as she takes the shirt from his hands.

**

On the drive to his condo she can’t stop bouncing her leg. It’s her nervous habit and Shawn keeps glancing down at her leg. He reaches over and plants a hand on her thigh to stop the movement.

“Baby don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“I just-”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I told you, they can’t wait to meet you. I promise you once we get there you’re gonna go ‘wow I was overreacting’. To be honest I doubt they’ll put their remote controllers down long enough to even realize you’re there.” 

“What?” She asks, threading her fingers through his on her lap.

“They’re having a fifa tournament right now.” 

“No! Shawn!” She throws her head back. “I don’t want to be that girlfriend who interrupts guy time.” 

“Excuse me?” Shawn chuckles. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” She looks at him. “The girlfriend who is always around, never letting her boyfriend have a moment with his friends. The one who’s clingy and attached to his hip. The joykill?” 

“Okay,” He parks in this gated parking lot. “I’m trying to be understanding because you’re nervous.” He turns to look at her. “But I’m getting a little mad about the way you’re talking about yourself. So I’ll reiterate. You are not a slob. You are not a slut. You are not ‘that’ girlfriend. You are not clingy. You are not attached to my hip. You are going to be loved by the five boys upstairs. You hear me?”

“Yeah.” 

“So take a deep breath.” She does as he says. “Now, we’re going to go upstairs. I’m going to introduce you to my brothers and friends. I’m going to make you a drink,” He winks at her. “And then you and I are gonna team up and kick their fucking asses at fifa. Okay?” 

“Okay.” She nods. 

“Okay.” He nods, leaning forward to kiss her. “Let’s go.” 

They climb out of his jeep and head for the elevator that will take them up to his floor. 

“Can you hold my hand?” She asks softly as the doors close. “It calms me down and-” 

“You don’t have to ask.” He smiles at her, taking her hand in his. “Literally just grab my hand, I’m not gonna complain. I wanna hold your hand all the time.” 

“Okay.” 

“It’s gonna be okay Baby. I’m gonna be with you the whole time. Like you said, I make everything better right?” 

“Right.” 

“So let me make it better.” He gives her hand a squeeze as a reassurance that he’s there with her and that she doesn’t need to be worried about anything.

She’s staring up at him, arms wrapped around his as they walk into his apartment. It’s loud, you can clearly hear Raul and Brian shouting at each other. Shawn rolls his eyes, tugging her a little closer as they round the corner from the hallway to the living room. 

When they walk in it goes silent. Shawn’s never seen a game paused. Ever. Not even when him and Ruel were playing after a show and the whole couch flipped. This is the first time a fifa game has ever been paused in Mendes history. 

Raul and Brian turn, faces red but lips shut. Connor and Matt sit up, and Peter waves a little from the corner of the couch he was sitting in.

“Okay,” Shawn says eerily when all eyes go to him. “Boys this is Ember.” He smiles as he looks down to his girl on his arm. “Emi,” He squeezes her hand. “This is Raul, Peter, Brian, Matt and Connor.” He points to each one, as if she doesn’t already know who each boy is. 

All the boys pile over to hug her, as if they’ve known her for years. They suck her into their conversations, arguing over who gets to sit next to her and who gets to tell the most embarrassing stories of Shawn there are. 

Shawn takes that as a moment to pour her a glass of her favorite white wine, and lets out a sigh of relief in the kitchen when he’s alone. He had to be the rock when he picked her up, show that he wasn’t worried at all. But truth be told, he was freaking out too. He’s starting to come to terms with the idea of Ember being the rest of his life, and the thought of his brothers and friends not agreeing was terrifying, but everything is going just the way he said, and he couldn’t be any more glad.

He returns to Brian and Raul arguing again, this time over who gets to be on her team for the next tournament. 

“You both lose.” He chimes in from behind her. He leans over the back of the couch, handing her the glass of wine. 

“Oh, thank you.” She smiles up at him. 

“Can I get you anything else?” 

“You could get me a jack and coke.” Brian holds his hand out expecting Shawn to place a glass in it. 

“Look, I see two legs on your body. Why don’t you go get it yourself.” He remarks, slapping Brian’s hand away. 

“Oh I see how it is. Get a pretty girl and all of the sudden we’re chopped liver.” 

Ember looks up at Shawn with wide eyes and Shawn could strangle Brian for the slightest of moments. “Oh don’t go feeling special, you’ve always been chopped liver, when have I ever doted on your needs?” 

“Touche.” Brian laughs, standing and freeing up the spot next to Ember. Shawn plants a hand on the back of his couch, hopping over the back and landing perfectly next to Ember in Brian’s spot. 

“Oh what the hell? Move Shawn.” Raul grumps when he goes to move into that free spot. “Ember and I are fifa partners.” 

“No, you’re not.” Shawn shakes his head, grabbing Raul’s controller. “I’m her partner.” 

“What? No!” 

Ember just watches with wide eyes, confused with why everyone wants to be her partner. 

“It’s okay, I’m not really that good.” She says to clear some of the tension. 

She only gets scoffs from every single boy in return. 

“Shawn’s shown us videos, we know you’re good.” Peter mumbles, selecting a team.

“What?” She looks to Shawn. 

“Um,” Shawn scratches the back of his neck, blushing a light pink. “You’re really good?” He tries to save himself. 

“I can’t believe you took videos of me playing.” 

“He’s just showing you off.” Matt shrugs. 

They all play it off as if it’s no big deal, but to Ember it is. She would have never thought that she had qualities that Shawn would want to show off. 

“We’ve probably seen every picture from your instagram like three times.” Brian pipes up as he walks back into the room with a glass in his hands. “‘Look guys, she’s so pretty.’’” He imitates Shawn. 

“Don’t forget ‘Look how cute! That’s my girl!’” Connor points to Brian. 

“Or ‘I just wanna go play with her hair and tell her she’s pretty.’” Raul punches Shawn’s shoulder.

“What the hell!” Shawn lunges for Raul. “How’d you know about that!” 

“You’re not alone all the time.” Raul shrugs Shawn off. 

Ember smiles, blushing as she looks at a nervous Shawn. He won’t make eye contact with her, no matter how many times he tries to get his attention. It’s not until she slips a hand up into his curls and leans into him the way she does when they’re alone. 

“Can I help you?” He hums looking over at her. 

“You’re cute too.” She smiles at him. “Really cute. And my boy.” She whispers into his ear. “And I like to play with your hair and call you pretty too.” 

He blushes, looking down into his lap. “See I told you tonight would be a success.” He grins looking back up at her. She giggles and pecks his lips quickly before looking back at the screen getting ready to beat Raul and Brian’s ass. 

[cathylemons-blog]

The Red Shoes

Where you walk will give you the eyes and ears for blues—and what you survive will give you the strength to translate it all to … anyone listening.

—Cathy Lemons

“Don’t think—just listen.”

Those were the words that ran through my head as I turned the corner inside the small bright shoe store … just a little ahead of my trick.  His name was appropriately called “John,” and he was obviously not going to let me out of his sight.  I was there to pick out a pair of dancing shoes—his gift.  He noticed that I wore only one pair night after night, and so he made this magnanimous offer—eyes gleaming.

“I wear a size 8, where are the sizes … here they are … oh these are nice!” (the routine).

“Why don’t you pick up several pairs,” asks John dear.

“Oh no, that would be too much.  I just need one pair—I want something elegant—a little flashy even—like these.”

I picked up a pair of red high heeled shoes and ran my hands along their smooth surface.  I could smell the new leather—high arch, long heel line, elegant tip—sleek. Like me.

I tried them on and they looked wonderful.

“What do you think?”

“Hmm … red shoes ... they look terrific—get 2 pairs—get the black ones too--go ahead—on me—no strings, really.”

“Well, I don’t know ….”

“Come on—it’s a small gift from me.  Go ahead and take them up to the cashier and I will pay for them.”

I did take them up—but only one pair—the red shoes--to the chubby woman behind the counter who promptly rang them up.  I watched carefully as she stuck the receipt inside one of the bags and handed them over to me from behind the counter top.

“Good choice—they look really great on you,” she said with a big approving smile.

“Do you think so?”  I didn’t wait for her answer.  I opened the glass door and walked out with John only a few steps behind me into the bright, blasting parking lot.  He touched my upper arm very slightly and guided me towards his car.

“I’ll take you home now.  Will Deirdre and I see you at the club tonight?”

“Yes, I have to work,” I said trying not to look thoroughly depressed with that horrific prospect.

He smiled his gray, lifeless smile.  “Fine.”

We drove down the crowded freeways and by ways, ramps and endlessly long and flat thoroughfares of Dallas.  Every tree looked scorched from the sun—dry and dazzled, hanging off center, leaves brownish green.   Even the neat rows of endless suburban houses fell victim to that bright, merciless, pounding, malignant, never weakening, all encompassing grip of the sun.

We passed through drug territory—West Dallas—“Mexican Town” my drug territory.  I could just smell the chiva and see the little tin foiled papers in my hand.  My stomach tightened.  I only turned and smiled at my trick and with genuine concern said, “Are you sure this was not too much to ask—you giving me a ride home, plus the shoes?  I think I should pay you back—I’d feel more comfortable.  That way I won’t feel so bad.”

“Feel bad—why would you feel bad?”

“Oh … I don’t know—I suppose I like to think I am self-sufficient.  And after all—I hardly know you or Deirdre.”

He said with a strange sort of sideways glance, “OK—if you want to pay me back, you can.”

I could feel him watching me now, measuring me, studying my hands and arms, looking for telltale tracks, scars, repeating his study already made, again, quietly, subtly.  He wasn’t sure at all about me.  I had him—he did not have me—not yet, although that was indeed trying to scent out the game.

We pulled up in front of the hotel.  Paint was peeling off the small door—cottage #7.  For good luck.

“Thank you so much John.”

“It’s really nothing—you know.  But I do want to talk to you some more about your singing career.  I was really surprised by that tape—what was that guitar player’s name?  Anson Thunderbird? You know you have a REAL voice.  I could help you make a great deal of money—but you have to trust me.  You know?  And Diedre really likes you.  She’s a smart girl Diedre.

“Oh ya, she’s smart all right.  She has a pimp that’s 5 foot 2 who looks like he just dug his own grave and has lived in Illinois forever--where there’s no fucking sun—AND he handles ALL her money,” I thought.

I stretched my back and arms out a bit and smiled at him.  “I gotta get ready for work now.  Thank you so much John for everything—and sure.  We can talk some more.”

“OK.”  He nodded and turned towards the car. I watched his white, weird, Chinese looking high collared shirt.

I waited until he pulled out of the motel driveway.

Then I scrambled for the bag and the receipt.

…

One night after I finished my “dance” Diedre came up to me and said in an iron skillet toned voice—the kind that rings wrong—“Jaahn wants to know why you aren’t wearing the red shoes.”

“I just haven’t thought of it—that’s all.  I’ll wear ‘em.

She looked at me and handed me a small white piece of paper.  “Jaahn wants you to call him—says it’s important”.

“Sure, sure.”  I walked away with my dress hanging from my bare shoulder.  And I threw the paper on the floor.

…

I had to change clubs to dance in.  I had pissed off the owner of Geno’s.  I had been given a gift—a blue satin jacket—a sports jacket—but it looked sexy and good with my blue eyes.  And the owner liked to see me wear it with my jeans.  Well I sold it to Cathy—that is the other Cathy.  For $15.00 because I didn’t have enough to get myself and my partner well—not both of us.

So—the owner guy found out—nodded his head and looked at me with disgust.  Not his favored girl anymore.

I got so tired then—like the bottom was going to spill out from under me.  The only way I could keep going was to stay high—high on speed, high on coke, high on heroine.  But it was the heroine that worked best for me—took the crawl out of my stomach—took the fear out of my gut.

…

I was working at the new club now and had managed to keep on top of the motel bill and the heroine bill—the rest was just fluff.  I was losing a lot of weight—not good for the breasts. I checked myself in the mirror—a sequined G-sting—beautiful strong legs—my breasts still stood up—I smiled—applied my lipstick.

…

Then I had a bad day.  I had a very bad day.  I could not get enough money to get well.  It was so damn hot—and it was the end of September.  I was at a pay phone when two guys in a pickup truck approached me.  I had on a short sequined white sweater and my belly button was showing.  They stared at my beautiful belly.

“Say—can you tell us where—we—you know—uh—can you help us get some coke?”

I squinted up at one of them.  I couldn’t believe it—a dream come true.

…

I was inside the Mexican dealer’s house –the cool dark wooden box—hiding under the window sill watching for the white truck.  The dealer had ripped me off and sold me mostly cut.  I never got well.

“You know—theez is not so gooood—you can get hurd lieek dat.  Man oh man.  You gotta get outta heah.”

“Yes.  Yes.”  I kept watching the street.

….

I was dancing on the front stage when John walked into the new club and headed straight for me—stood in front of me—looked up at me.

“I have been trying to contact you for 7 days now.  Diedre says she gave you my number.  Now I am giving you my number and I want you to call me tomorrow.  I want the money back for the red shoes or else I wanna see the shoes.”

I looked down at the short pimp trick.  He made me sick.  He turned his back and I immediately threw the piece of paper onto the stage floor and kicked it.

Fuck him.

…

I had missed 2 days of work.  The 2 guys in the white truck were looking for me. I did a no show and then showed up for my check.  My time was up.  I knew that.

And then in comes Cathy all pissed off.

Back in the long hall of the dressing room with half dressed girls everywhere in there little booths I was tweaking away with my legs propped up high on the artificial wall.

And Cathy knocks my legs down and screams “What the fuck did you do? Some guys came in here last night—and they thought I was you and they dragged me by the hair and tried to pull me into the parking lot.  And if it wasn’t for Bob I don’t know what I would a done.  And then they crashed into a bunch of cars on their way out—messed up the night for everybody—nobody made any damn money, Cathy!  Nobody!

I stood up and smiled, shrugged my shoulders and said …

“Red shoes.”

The End (but not for me!)

[teenagebeautyqueen]

today's prompt for #TransBillyHargroveWeek was Camp!Au. i wanted to do a larger piece but i had to google a few translations and i got sucked away by some hyperfixations and one thing led to another.

buuuut, here we are. it's 11:52 PM for me so technically it's on time.

ship: tomgrove, background harringway.

includes: trans billy hargrove (obviously!), brief mentions of transphobia (no actual transphobia tho)

“Did Tommy H just run into a tree?”

Billy looked up from the thumb fight he was in with Vicki, causing the lattest to trap his digit and smile in victory.

“I think he did, yeah”. It did look like it, Billy thought, looking at the freckled boy who was currently rubbing his head, probably at the spot that met the log. And looking at him. With a lot of intensity. Oh, and blood, that’s blood.

“Damn it, Hagan” Billy muttered as he got up and walked towards the boy.

“If you need a room, mine is free! But don’t stain the sheets, I’m gonna need them tonight!” He hears Heather yell besides him. He hopes the muffled voice he also hears is Steve asking his girlfriend to have some sense of privacy, but he’s pretty sure Harrington is blushing.

Whatever. He had more important things to do. Like the boy in front of him who probably had a contusion. Wait, that came out wrong. It’s not like he’s gonna do him. (Though he totally would, if he was asked, then again, there were more important things to care about).

“Um. Hi”. Was Tommy's answer to the blond's what-the-fuck-are-you-doing silent question.

“Hi. You’re bleeding.” Billy pointed out, because what else was he supposed to do. Cabin 9’s monitor was currently looking at him like he’s seeing an angel or something. Yep, definitively a contusion.

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. I’ve bled before”. The brunette informed him lifiting his chin, and Billy fought a snicker.

“Come here. I’m gonna take you to infirmary”. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the other boy by his elbow and dragged him to where he would hopefully get patched up before the night's event. He was met with no resistence, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Tommy was staring at his chest.

Oh.

Oh shit.

His chest.

“Fuck”. He cursed out loud, getting curious eyes up and away from his chest, from the scars, to his face. Which, hey, at least he isn’t looking at them anymore, but maybe it wasn’t a good idea because now Billy can only look into those beautiful, emotional, big eyes.

He stops walking. Tommy leans against him like a dead weight. They both stumble until Billy’s back hits the wall, Tommy perched over him with a loose grip on his hip and his face on Billy’s shoulder, looking at him with adoration, and really, Billy’s getting sick of this whole “The boy I’ve been drooling over for the entire summer runs into a tree because he was looking at me while I didn’t have a shirt on and you could see my post-operation scars and now he’s got a contusion and looking at me like I wish he looked at me while not having his hair squashed by blood” situation.

“What’s wron'? ‘S it anyone from here? I’ll show 'em”. Not only did he tried to protect Billy, which was adorable, but he also dragged the words like he had been drinking for the past two hours, which was double adorable.

Billy considered screaming for help. He decided against it, since he didn’t want to explain that the only threat was a stupid crush that wouldn’t go away.

He realized he hadn’t responded yet and cleared his throat. “No, no, nothing like that, or they would've had it a time ago”. Tommy nods in agreement. “It’s just, I didn’t realice I didn’t have my shirt on. Sorry”. Billy doesn’t think Tommy is transphobic, he’s sure he isn’t, but he can also understand if a cis straight guy got weirded out by his scars. Specially when Billy is kind of pining over said cis straight guy.

“Mmhhh. Yeah, I was distracted by those”. He broght one hand up, tracing over the scars, and Billy thought he might die. “You’re so hot”.

Okay, maybe it’s Billy the one with the contusion all along.

“What.” Is his very mature and logic response.

“I said you’re really hot. And I’d like to make out with you.”

Billy died and this is Heaven. Or Hell. Or both. That’s called Purgatory, I think.

“… If that’s okay with you, of course. I didn’t mean to freak you out and I’m really sorry if I did–”.

“Oh my God, Hagan, shut up and kiss me already, you dummy.”

Tommy did.

(They ended up going to the infirmary a lot later than planned. They were distracted, if the hickeys on both their necks, their dishevelled looks, their red lips and the looks the kept shooting each other were any clue).

@transbillyhargrove @blurbwitch

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Cyrano Who?

Commissioned by the fantastic @likearumchocolatesouffle! Commission info is here!

~

“He doesn’t like me,” Rabiya muttered, bouncing her tennis ball off the wall.

“So?” James asked, scribbling in his notebook and glancing at her often. He was still having trouble describing her eyes.

“So… I feel like he should.” Rabiya threw the ball extra hard and dented her wall.

“Hey, easy!” James protested, reaching out to touch her arm. Rabiya stopped and turned to look at him sullenly. “Do you even like him back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she replied forcefully, frowning. “I mean… I think I do. He’s nice, and handsome, and rich, and mom and dad like him...”

She sounded utterly unconvinced. That hurt, but James didn’t say that. If Rabiya wasn’t attracted to Geoff, who was quite a few things besides nice, handsome, and rich, then what could she see in James, who was depressing, ugly, and poor?

“Maybe you just have to get his attention,” James suggested, a little weakly. “Do something that will interest him.”

“Like what?” Rabiya snapped. “He’s at the same law office as me, he reads the same books as us, and that’s it.”

James frowned, wracking his brain. The best he had ever done to attract a lady’s favor had been… “Write poetry?”

Rabiya finally laughed and punched James’ arm. “That’s your answer to everything!”

“Sometimes it works!” James protested.

“True, true.” Rabiya stopped laughing, and stared into the middle distance, thinking. James knew better than to interrupt her thoughts. Instead he listed every brown gemstone he could think of, trying to match her eyes. Sweet Rabiya, with her beautiful brown eyes and brown skin and her favorite shimmering purple hijab…

Suddenly, her face lit up, and she whirled on her cushion to grin at James. The gleam in her eyes scattered his thoughts, and instead of longing, he felt the excited dread he usually felt when she had a grand scheme.

“You write the poems,” she told James.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“You write them! We’ll say they’re from me, but you’ll be the writer! You’re better anyway.”

“Rabi, you know I can’t write poems about guys!” James protested, feeling his face flush. She was the only one who knew he was bi—and also the only one who knew he was worse at talking to guys than he was with girls. “And I don’t know him.”

“Ah!” Rabiya raised her hand, holding up one finger as she grinned. “But you will know him. You’re going to the company picnic with me, aren’t you?”

“Well… yes...”

“And Geoff has said he will be there, with his sister!”

“Rabi, I think I know where you’re going with this...”

“Get on her good side. Use your Adorable Face. We both know girls are suckers for your Adorable Face. Talk to her, be friendly, ask about her relationship with her brother, and glean as much info as you can. Geoff told me she’s talkative; all you have to do is encourage her and ask questions!”

Put that way, it sounded relatively simple. James swallowed hard. The pure glee on Rabiya’s face made him long to write another poem about her. Finally, he sighed. Anything for her. “Alright, fine. When do you want me to start writing?”

~

The first poem was insipid and lacked depth, but Rabiya said it was perfect and slipped it to Geoff the day before the picnic.

The picnic itself was… well, stressful. A bunch of mature adults in mature clothing, teenagers in mature clothing that they were obviously uncomfortable in, and small children in comfortable clothes perfect for playing in the dirt and woodchips. The adults spoke—whined, really—about youngsters these days and the cost of champagne and politics. The teenagers talked about school, teen drama, and politics. The children just ran around on the playground shrieking and laughing.

James felt even more uncomfortable than the teenagers. He was only twenty-one, but that was too old to talk to seventeen year olds. It was also too young to be taken seriously by the older adults. And his one nice outfit was a little tight and he couldn’t help adjusting it constantly. He knew he should’ve begged his mother for a new shirt at the very least.

Rabiya was cool and effortless, chatting with lawyers and doctors and CEOs as if she’d been doing so for years, despite also only being twenty-one. It was probably because she was tall, and looked damn good in a dark purple suit and an even darker hijab. James felt severely outshined, which wasn’t unusual.

Geoff and his sister were standing at the other end of the veranda, also looking out of place. Geoff’s locs were pulled back in a ponytail, and his face was set in a pleasant smile, but from the way he fiddled with his cup, James guessed he was bored, or nervous. Seeing the glazed eyes, James chose bored.

Geoff’s sister was not dressed like the other women. Her hair was wrapped in a bright yellow-and-red scarf, and her dress was of a fluttery fabric in red, yellow, and green. She stood out, proud and bright, lounging on the veranda pillar with a champagne flute. No pastels or jewel-tones there. James found himself thinking immediately of how the warm colors gave a rosy tint to her dark skin, how the green on her dress suggested ever-present life in the fires of the universe, how—

They both saw him staring. He looked away quickly, blushing furiously. There was nowhere to run, though. He had a drink, nonalcoholic punch; he had already had a few snacks, he didn’t want anyone to glare at him for going back to the snack table; and Rabiya was so engrossed in a conversation about private versus federal prisons that she barely noticed him.

James felt very alone and forgotten.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He jumped and spun, and the hand gripped his bicep to keep him upright.

“Hey, hey, sorry about that,” Geoff said, smiling. He had a very nice smile, his hand firm and warm as James steadied. His voice was nice, too; soft and smoky and still with a Jamaican accent. “You look a little bored. I’m Geoff.” He held out his hand to shake, and James returned the favor.

“I’m James,” he answered, ignoring how his hair flopped in his eye. Again. He really should’ve gotten it cut a while ago. “Um. I came with Rabiya.”

He didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but Geoff’s face lit up anyway. “Oh, Rabiya! Yes, I know her. She’s fantastic. If you came with her, you must be her friend the poet.”

James blushed. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“Do you want to hang out with me and my sister? We’re both tired of talking to the old people.” Geoff made a face, and James smiled. Well… maybe he could write a few poems easily enough.

Geoff’s sister hadn’t moved an inch, but when Geoff introduced James, she smiled and shook James’ hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice lighter than James had expected. “I’m Marie. Want some champagne?”

“No thank you,” James replied. “I don’t drink.”

“Good,” she said cheerfully, “’Cause this stuff tastes like pi—”

“Company,” Geoff interrupted. Marie stuck her tongue out at him.

It was actually quite nice, how quickly James relaxed with these two. They were funny, and kind, and Marie teased Geoff constantly. They had both read plenty of work by Maya Angelou, who was the only poet allowed in James’ parents’ home, and Marie had plenty of recommendations for Jamaican poets that James eagerly noted in his phone.

“My dad is pretty bad with poetry,” he admitted in a small voice, “And my mom can’t read English very well. I translate the English orders usually.”

Geoff and Marie nodded in understanding, and didn’t push the issue with the usual questions that made James feel small and sick.

He didn’t need to use his Adorable Face. The conversation was so natural that he picked up plenty of information without even meaning to. Then all three of them went on Facebook on their phones, and the siblings sent James friend requests. He accepted them so fast Marie laughed, but instead of feeling embarrassed, James just felt relieved. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind his daily haikus.

Rabiya glided over, and all three of them greeted her with pleasure. The catering had come and gone and everyone else was eating by the time they realized that several hours had passed. There was only one open spot big enough for the four of them, close to a table of loud children. James felt terrible upon seeing the spread of food, and only took one ham-and-cheese sandwich and a scoop of potato salad, while Rabiya, Geoff, and Marie loaded their plates. They all took their seats, and before any of them could take a bite, one small child leapt up from his seat, pointed right at James, and started making squealing noises like a pig.

The other small children laughed. James blushed so hard his face hurt, and he didn’t touch his food, even when the boy’s mother snarled at him about manners. Rabiya said softly, “James, really, it’s okay,” but he just shook his head and mushed his potato salad around. He hadn’t been hungry, anyway.

Around 8PM, the picnic broke up. James was glad. The small children had continued making pig-noises at him, no matter how many times parents or his friends told them off sharply. He felt sick and tired and the more he realized what bad company he was being, over something small like kids being kids, the more guilty he was.

When he and Rabiya climbed into Rabiya’s car, he was close to tears. Rabiya hugged him, and said quietly, fury in her voice, “Those fucking spoiled-ass brats. I’ll get you a smoothie. We can play Mario Kart for a bit before you go home.”

James nodded because if he refused, Rabiya would be sad, and he didn’t want her to be sad.

The smoothie helped, and he realized with another pang of guilt that most of his being upset was because he actually had been hungry. Rabiya’s parents were having another shouting match and didn’t notice them slip upstairs to her room.

James felt better after playing Mario Kart and telling Rabiya everything he’d learned. She teased him when he went on at length about how well-read Geoff was, but this kind of teasing he was used to. He could smile and pretend it didn’t hurt.

When he got home, his father was drunk and asleep, and his mother was painting again, some of James’ poems. They hugged, she gave him some soup, and he went to bed.

~

Poetry is hard.

James was used to filling up pages and pages trying to describe nature or emotions or Rabiya, but trying to write about a guy he barely knew was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Finally he decided to write about his voice. It had been a lovely voice. Very sexy. James emailed the poem to Rabiya, she printed it out and doodled some hearts and flowers, and then she slipped it to Geoff.

This was the point where James realized Rabiya actually wasn’t interested in Geoff.

He’d read her poetry. It was fantastic. Her love-poems were moving and her prose was spectacular. But… she could not draw up the emotion to write one of these poems for Geoff.

“I told my parents I was sending Geoff poems, because they were badgering me about marriage again,” she told James heavily over the phone. “They seemed pleased.”

“Are you pleased?” James asked.

She sighed. “James, let’s not go there. I’m tired of discussing it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

The more James forced himself to consider Geoff and write up as many passionate poems as he could, the more baffled James was. How could Rabiya not be interested in Geoff? It was very confusing.

One night, James was on Facebook, scrolling through some of the poetry groups he’d joined, when someone messaged him. Thinking it was Rabiya, or maybe Carl back in California, James opened the message without reading the name.

It was Geoff.

Hey, James! I have a conundrum and I was hoping you could help me. I keep getting these poems in my mailbox at work and I think they’re from Rabiya.

James’ stomach dropped.

I like them a lot, she’s an awesome poet. But I was hoping, can you help me write back to her? I’m not good with poetry. I’ll pay you if you’d like!

James took a deep breath, swallowed hard, wondered why he felt so anxious and sad, and answered.

No payment necessary! If it’s Rabiya, I’ll definitely help you out.

I insist. What’s your Paypal?

When they had negotiated the terms (which was really just Geoff wearing him down and offering him ten dollars a poem), James wrote up a poem to Rabiya’s lovely writing skills and emailed it to Geoff. Geoff thanked him, paid him, and they talked about other things until midnight. James was sorry to stop talking to Geoff.

The next day, James was finishing up his latest editing gig when Rabiya called him.

“Someone put a poem in my box at work!” she started right off with, sounding panicked. Not excited, not gleeful: truly frightened. “I swear I thought no one saw me put one in Geoff’s!”

“Hey, hey, chill a bit,” James cut in, trying for a soothing tone. “I’m sure it’s fine. What did the poem say?”

Rabiya recited it, but her frightened tone sucked all the warmth out of it. James felt awful all of a sudden. She was scared—of reciprocation? Of it being so soon? Why? He didn’t know if he should ask.

“Do you want me to stop writing poems to him?” James asked, startled to realize he didn’t want to.

Harsh breathing on the other end of the phone, and a hard swallow, then Rabiya replied shakily, “No. No. This is fine. This is fine, this what we were aiming for. God, James, I’m sorry, I’m just… I don’t know why, but I started crying, and it wasn’t happy-cry. I was genuinely scared, and I don’t know why, and that scared me more. He shouldn’t know yet.”

“Who else would put poems in his box about how wonderful he is?” James replied. “You’re the only nice person there.”

“Melody is nicer,” Rabiya retorted, uncertainly.

“But does she have access to his box?”

“No. She’s also seventy and has grandkids.”

“So you’re the most likely person.”

“I… yes.”

“So it probably wasn’t hard. It’s okay, Rabiya, we can stop if you’re scared.”

A whimper, and then she said, her voice almost a wail, “I hate this! I hate trying to make people like me! Why can’t I live alone and be a boss-ass bitch lawyer?! I don’t want love!”

James blinked, and stared at the poem on his wall that his mom had painted and illustrated. Not one of his; one by his grandfather, who was actually a published and renowned author back in China. Almost a prayer, asking for strength and heart and freedom. James had needed it often in high school, and he suspected he needed it now, because he really didn’t understand—but he had to. For Rabiya.

“Then… you don’t need it,” he said slowly, trying to think past his own bewilderment. “If you don���t want love, and it scares you, then you don’t need it. You don’t even need to get married.”

“My parents,” she sniffled, and James saw the second biggest facet to the problem. “They want me married off, fast. But I don’t want to. We’re still kids, James. We have legal responsibilities, but we’re kids.”

James frowned worriedly. “Could you… marry someone you at least get along with? Not me,” he added hastily, startling himself. “I do want love. But you could, I dunno, sift through some people and agree to marry and you can keep it open. Your parents will be happy, and won’t be after you about it, but you’ll be happy too, because it’ll be more business than love.”

The sniffling was quieter. Then Rabiya asked softly, “Do you think that would work?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“...Do you have the next poem ready?”

~

Six months later, James realized he was well and truly fucked.

Rabiya had insisted on tapering off the poems a few weeks after her scare; James had agreed. Geoff had called him, and asked worriedly if Rabiya was alright, and if he should stop commissioning poems for her; James soothed him and said she was just going through a rough patch, and that probably all sympathy should be kept to a minimum, because Rabiya was just like that. Geoff had sighed, thanked him, hesitated, then asked James about his work. So they’d talked on the phone for a few hours, and James had found himself laughing, and being sad that they had to hang up.

Loving Rabiya didn’t feel like this. Loving Rabiya felt like passionate despair and pained yearning, knowing she was too good for him and if he confessed, she wouldn’t want to be his friend. Talking to Geoff felt… nice. Like something he could do every day.

Marie messaged James on Facebook to say, If you break my brother’s heart, I’ll break your nose.

What? It’s not like that! He doesn’t like me like that!

Hmph.

And she’d logged off.

But now, every few days, James and Geoff would meet up, and hang out. Sometimes Marie came along, and James was happy to see and speak with her, but he couldn’t help being a little grumpy, because Geoff was less candid around his sister. When it was just the two of them, they talked about all kinds of things. Movies, visiting family in other countries, books, video games, work. Geoff liked to knit; James sewed a lot of his own clothes. It was… enjoyable, to spend time with him.

He told himself he was researching for his next poem. He knew that wasn’t it.

Rabiya was getting jumpy. They would go out to movies or clubs or their favorite frozen yogurt shop, and one minute she’d be laughing and talking easily, and then the next she’d be tense and fidgeting. James couldn’t figure out what was wrong. It hurt, that she wasn’t comfortable around him anymore.

Finally, one day after playing Mario Kart, she asked him abruptly, “Do you like Geoff?”

“Yes,” James replied, puzzled. “He’s a great guy.”

“No, I mean do you like-like him?”

James opened his mouth to say no, then closed it. His face began to burn. Rabiya sighed—in relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she said, and patted his arm. “Then you won’t mind if I marry him and you come live with us.”

“What!” James squeaked, looking at her in horror. “What, that’s—what do you mean?!”

Rabiya snorted. “You told me once to think of marriage as a business transaction,” she reminded him. “So, I talked to Geoff about it.”

“When?!”

“Oh, a couple months ago.”

Months. James’ stomach dropped. Months. He’d been blissfully unaware, falling in love with Geoff and writing poems for them both, and they’d been talking about this for months.

Rabiya looked at him, and her face clearly showed sudden guilt. “Oh, James,” she said, and tried to hug him. But James didn’t want to be hugged, he didn’t want to be—comforted. He felt—betrayed, and he wasn’t sure why or by who. So he stood up and walked away, still staring at her, shocked.

“Months?” he said, quietly, and his voice was shaking.

Rabiya’s arms were still outstretched, and now she looked just as upset as he felt. “James—I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you—we both did. But it didn’t seem right. We both love you, okay? Just—you’re my best friend, and he loves you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him.” But it was weak and shaky and he still felt cold and alone.

Rabiya stood too, slowly, her arms falling to her sides. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. He didn’t want to see her guilt. He’d start wanting to forgive her, and that just wasn’t right. He looked down instead. He was hugging himself. He hadn’t realized. God, he just wanted to disappear. This was just too much. The two people he loved most, letting him believe this fiction of them both trying to woo the other, while they plan a marriage, and just like that, she drops it like a bombshell and breaks his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she sounded like she was trying not to cry.

James couldn’t think of a response. So he left.

~

Geoff called him three times that week, leaving voicemails that got more and more frantic, until the last one sounded like he was crying. Marie sent James a message on Facebook saying she was so sorry, she hadn’t known, she’d yelled at Geoff and he really was sorry. James didn’t reply to her.

He sat in his room, quietly, staring at the poem on his wall.

Mom left him dinner outside his room. He took showers when he knew his parents were asleep. He refused to talk to anyone until he had thought this through completely.

About ten days after Rabiya had told him that, James sent both her and Geoff an email asking them to meet him at the diner that all three of them used to go to. He got agreement from both of them within minutes. He tried to feel something about that, but he was already feeling a lot of things.

Fear. He was afraid. And hurt. But he’d thought about it. And he thought he knew what to say and do.

He got to the diner first, and sat in a booth at the back, precisely placed so neither of them would sit with him. They arrived together. He only knew because, since he was staring at his glass of water, he didn’t see until they both slid into the seat across from him.

He raised his head and looked at them both. Neither of them looked like they’d slept well. Rabiya’s eyes were red. Geoff’s hair wasn’t as neat as usual. They both looked scared, and hopeful.

James would’ve cried, but he’d already thought it all out, and he no longer had tears for this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, deciding to get the hardest question out of the way first.

“Because it… it didn’t feel right,” Geoff answered, haltingly. His voice was rough, like his throat hurt. “I figured it out after the first few poems you sent me to give to Rabiya. You have a really distinct style, and… and I didn’t know what to do. Marie has already smacked me for not just asking either of you. And then we started hanging out, and...” He blushed and looked down at the table.

“I wasn’t thinking about the love part,” Rabiya admitted softly. “Because it just… didn’t seem important. I thought, well, hey, you two loved each other, if we did this then you two would be happy and everything would be fine. I didn’t think about if it would hurt you. I’m sorry, James.” Her lip trembled and two tears escaped her, as she stared at him. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

James nodded, and went back to staring at his water. That made sense. Rabiya didn’t know that he loved her, and he had been the one to suggest the business line of approach. She was one of those people who was so focused on the goal (get married and get her parents off her back) that she sometimes forgot about others on the way (like James). And Geoff… well, Geoff was hesitant. Didn’t like to make the first move until he’d thought about it hard, and then sometimes it was too late. He had told James, and demonstrated, that he was the opposite of impulsive.

And James was a fool for thinking they wouldn’t team up behind his back.

But they had considered him. They had decided that they would make room for him. It was just Rabiya’s poor word choice, bad timing, and James’ own fear that had made the moment a botch.

“You should have asked,” he told them both.

“Yes,” Geoff said simply. “We should have. And we are sorry.”

Rabiya swallowed hard, and asked softly, “Can we try again, James? Please?”

James had already known the answer to that. He reached out both hands, and Geoff and Rabiya grabbed one each, tightly. “Yeah,” he said, raising his head and managing a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

~

The wedding was great, and James just smiled softly as Geoff and Rabiya led the dancing. It had been about a year since their talk in the diner, and he sometimes worried that he would, at any moment, be thrown to the wayside.

But that hadn’t happened. They’d all three moved into an apartment together, and James had found out that Geoff was an excellent kisser. Rabiya had made obnoxious kissy noises at them until James threw a crumpled piece of newspaper at her. They might all have been drunk.

Ostensibly, the master bedroom was for the engaged couple, and James had the smaller one. In reality, Rabiya had shoved them both towards the bigger room and told them to “work out which side of the bed is whose”. James still felt a little odd, sharing a room, but cuddling in bed was great, and sometimes Rabiya would come in and drape herself over them and eat rice crackers while they all three watched She-Ra or The Last Airbender or even just some crime drama that Rabiya and Geoff would thoroughly eviscerate from a legal standpoint. James loved those days.

Geoff was very much his mother’s child, in that he insisted that James stop skipping meals out of shame. Since the meals were uniformly delicious, James found it easier to accept this new rule. When cuddling, Geoff would sometimes end up with his face smooshed against James’ soft tummy, and James could never help feeling such a strong surge of love that he almost cried. After years and years of people taunting him, there was someone who appreciated him—all of him.

So James watched the wedding from the sidelines, and didn’t even care when people gave him their fake condolences that the woman he loved was getting swept away by someone else—by a better man, though they didn’t say that.

He just smiled and thanked them and drank his soda contentedly.

After the wedding, when they made it back to their apartment and divested themselves of their wedding finery, Rabiya called, “Dibs on first shower!”, grabbed a towel, and darted into the bathroom. James shrugged and Geoff sighed morosely. There was glitter on his face.

“You knew what you signed up for,” James teased gently, putting his arm around Geoff’s waist. Geoff grinned and wound his arms around James.

“Yes, I certainly did. May I have this dance?”

Swaying to Geoff’s lazy humming, they danced slowly in the living room. Their wedding dance. James wondered if anyone had ever been as happy as him in this moment.