#genuinely it is a Problem for me i come back from home and rot in bed until 5-6pm

[roboyomo]

day 2 of not giving in to the urge to rot in bed immediately upon coming back home can i keep it up to a full week,,

[tallykale]

episode 19

as you can probably tell, i've thought a lot about what post-canon one would look like in my vision... i've said before that i have issues with straightforward fix-its, and i do genuinely love the tragic open-ended conclusion that the series has, but i... am not immune to playing with characters like dolls LOL

here's some writeups about where everyone is at mentally in these pictures. please please please PLEEEASE feel free to ask me more about this cuz i love talking about my beautiful mind palace

charlotte: somehow the most optimistic person in here, mostly out of necessity. when she died, she saw parker leading her out of a cave as her waiting room and was about to take his hand when airy respawned her, so she has a brief moment of bonding with bryce when he talks about the waiting room and seeing stella. with the knowledge that there is potentially a way to get out (bryce and liam being the proof) and the fear of rotting away again she is by far the most actively motivated to help liam figure out the computer. a lot of her days are spent talking to liam over the mic and writing out the code in the dirt so she can try to understand it. she still has to push against her natural misanthropy (and often shouts at liam or bryce for being fucking stupid and useless) but both working on the code and helping amelia give her something concrete to focus on outside herself. she wants to get home so she can make amends with her friends. charlotte is scared of dying! she's really genuinely horribly scared of dying and has awful vivid nightmares about rotting away. she often pushes amelia into talking about her life which causes some tension, but it's because she really hates seeing amelia lose herself like that - a metaphorical rotting away of the self.

subway seat & atom: not on the same level of pure existential depression as the batch 1 contestants, but they both feel the hopeless mood pretty harshly regardless. subway feels very lonely as the only hidden object still 'awake', and likes to carry whippy creamy around rather than just leave him sitting on the ground constantly. tray is too big and unwieldy for him to do that with, but he 'hangs out' with her anyway, talking to her and whippy creamy in the hopes that it'll get them to want to wake up again. atom doesn't talk much, but he still carries his piece of grass. he's definitely the person who's the least affected by the prospect of being stuck on the plane forever, since he… doesn't really perceive existence in the same way as everyone else? he's an atom. but his time in the competition definitely made him view everyone else as friends, and he feels even more powerless than usual in the face of this incomprehensibly difficult problem.

amelia: falls into total hopelessness when bryce rejoins, basically seeing it as the final sign that they're never going home. still calls everyone their competition names (she actually gets into a big fight with bryce about it lol). she gets really clingy and dependent on bryce when he first comes back but it crashes and burns pretty quickly when, during an argument, bryce tells her how much he wishes he could just go back and never have let liam in and forgot about everything… which really sucks for amelia to hear, given that she's part of that everything. after that, with bryce isolating himself, she's kind of reliant on charlotte to keep her going. she blames liam for airy dying and secretly kind of thinks he killed him but just isn't telling them… she also doesn't really believe there's any way of getting out and is just kind of waiting around to die of, like, old age i guess. after how long she's been here, amelia is convinced that she has nothing to even go back to and frequently forgets details about her life. regularly cries and hates being alone. the shift markings on the side of the water tub have changed from being a way to keep track of time and stay sane to a horrible reminder of how long they've been here and how much longer of an eternity they have before them.

bryce: hates himself and liam and airy and the plane and his entire stupid fucking life. bryce is really, really fucking pissed off at liam for losing the notes and letting texty die and every other mistake he's made, and isn't shy about telling him that. as well as being angry, he's also incredibly miserable, because he was finally starting to turn his life around (he quit drinking after the plane) and now it's all for nothing - and even worse, those 7 months he spent getting better were 7 months he did nothing to help the rest of them, especially amelia. he's horribly guilty about that, and that he didn't tell amelia about the fake votes before he was eliminated… but finds it easier to just let liam take the heat for that one at first. after he fights with amelia about it he becomes a bit of a hermit, hanging out by himself next to the plug, and never responds when liam tries to talk. contemplates suicide regularly but pretty much the only option is drowning himself, and the idea of that still scares him more than staying like this forever. would kill for a beer.

liam: tortured by horrible guilt every day over a million different things. these include getting bryce pulled back into this (plus delayed guilt over getting him for real killed), letting texty die and not saying anything about the charger, not telling amelia that everything was fake, knowing that charlotte is going to die if he doesn't get really smart really fast… he's frequently gripped by fits of rage where he almost smashes the computer and has to hobble around outside with the axe for a while to blow off steam. he has really bad nightmares and dissociative episodes, made worse by the isolation and spending hours in a dark cave. liam really wants to fix things with everyone but genuinely has no idea how to start that conversation. he assumes airy killed himself (and views it as an unforgiveably cowardly move) and directs a lot of resentment towards him. he has a lot of things he wants to say, especially to bryce, but the fact that he cant talk to anybody one on one makes things difficult. spends a lot of time just reading through the code, too afraid to actually make any changes in case everyone explodes, but talking it through with charlotte at least makes him feel like he's doing something. more than he would like to admit, liam catches himself staring at the plane as if it's a simulation or a livestream.

[almost-fully-life-size]

i am so unwell about the xavier-sarah-jeanluc character constellation actually

xavier is genuinely such a well written improvised villain character. he's such a perfect representation of the persuasiveness of facism when it comes to men specifically and how it caters to them, considering how strongly facism is also rooted in sexism and an entitlement to women. and how it manages to make its victims defend it, like, facism comes hand in hand with a bad economic situation, and we know that xavier can't afford new clothes due to the occupation and that his job pays badly. i know during my first time watching i found the switch from him critiquing the occupation in that way to him revealing himself as a nazi quite the 180 turn, but it only showcases how facism manages to successfully sell itself as the solution and reflects the true problem away from itself - the problem is not the facism, it's the emancipation of women. taking the dominant role above women means reclaiming power and control and agency and that's an appealing prospect if you're economically struggling.

which is why it's so hilarious to me and yet so fitting that he'd choose to pursue sarah. because sarah is definitely economically better off than xavier (i'm inferring that from the main three points that: 1) going by "von ponte, one house, one pond" i'm inferring a countryside residence, as opposed to a farm 2) she can finance her chainsmoking 3) she can afford to employ a cleaning lady). which just goes to show how deep that entitlement to women runs because sarah would have no solid reason to be with a man who's economically worse off. especially because she's a pow wife. but it's also because she's a pow wife that xavier might have had a real chance of being successful, preying on the loneliness that comes with it which i'd say he is very much explicitly doing ("you don't want to become lonely, do you? You don't want to rot away, cold and alone. You need a man, I am a man.")

there's also a certain inconsistency in ideology wherein facism advocates that women become properly submissive to their husbands again (see xavier's villain reveal speech) while xavier is actively trying to get sarah to cheat on her husband. considering how emancipated sarah is (relative to the time period anyway), that doesn't fit the facist idea either and the first idea, of suppressing her, takes priority.

now jean-luc is the antithesis to xavier. man's so loyal he feels it in the breeze that something's wrong with sarah from over 1300 km away and makes that his primary reason for attempting a prison break, then beelines straight back home with zero awareness of time and place. considering that he initially seems to believe that sarah was about to cheat on him, he's incredibly quick to forgive (if that kiss and dip are anything to go by), so sarah's explanation of just being a flirty person must've convinced him. what i'm inferring from that is that he knows her to be just like that and trusts her enough to know she'd not actually cheat on him.

on a side note, it is also hilarious to me how xavier thought he could win in that knife/sword fight, considering jean-luc was in the army while xavier avoided service.

on another sidenote, apart from struggling with loneliness because her husband's away and in captivity - and this is a big inferral on my part -, there is also this small, overlooked confrontation with the fact that sarah's friend is extremely dismissive of jean-luc (the "oh well, xavier will have to wait until jean-luc's 'officially dead' then" line, which is a fucked up thing to say about your friend's husband if you think about it). so apart from the societal pressure that comes from the image of the ideal woman, that sarah fails to fulfil, there's an additional point of hurt because very apparently the people around you don't even want your husband, who you love, to return and make that sentiment known to you. like, "aww your husband was captured, well i hope he dies"???

anyway, i think xavier is an excellent example of a character embodying the insidious attractiveness of facism in how he has this very confident, sensual presence but ultimately nothing to show for it. a representation of how persuasive facism is for men specifically.

[timetravellingkitty]

hii i hope ur having a good day :3

ive been following u for a while but im too scared to not be anonymous lol

ive been thinking about going abroad for college because theres close to nothing for art students here but the amount of indian racism everywhere is freaking me out

if i stay here i feel like itll hurt my career and i really hate people treat any minority or anyone a little out of the norm and im so sick of being stared at everywhere and having a 7pm curfew in like all hostels while boys have a way later one. and afaik theres no way to get hrt or anything regarding that for trans or nb people? not too sure. ig im hoping leaving this country will let me be queer and figure my shit out a little. its all so unfair and idk how to deal tbh

anyway i think ur very funny and awesome yay

i dont really know why im saying this , you dont have to respond or anything

hello you have unlocked a kind of angst I usually keep to myself but I get you. sorry for doing this to your ask so ignore this if you want to

the thing is I sympathise with people aiming to leave india because there is genuinely not a lot of options for many reasons and the evergrowing vicious cycle (I'm sure you get what I'm referring to) it's that my attachment to this place that really prevents me from leaving. like even if I do go abroad for studies or anything I'd want to come back as soon as possible because when I was in the usa for almost 3 years as a child I missed india a lot but felt so bad about it because my home country was UNDERDEVELOPED and THIRD WORLD and of the GLOBAL SOUTH and MISOGYNISTIC and POOR meanwhile I was in america the most developed place on planet earth (lie). I think an adjacent identity crisis about being disconnected and being cognizant of how awful anti indian racism both irl and online is, is what can make lots of young privileged indian americans prone to uncritically flout around narratives about caste and religion just to resolve it

everything here is so unfair tbh the societal rot is so so sickening and suffocating and it is a driving factor behind a lot of people leaving cause of how unsafe this place is. I strongly believe no one should be forced to leave their home just to be safe. I'm privileged enough to get access to the means to leave india but the vast majority of indians aren't even close to and will most likely never be even close to this. going back to vicious cycle and whatnot - whatever I want to do, i want to do it here. whatever privilege I have insulates me from a lot and I don't want any of it nor do i want to be a part of said cycle. no matter how much I hate fascists and nationalists I love the rest of the population even more and I love this place as a home, as something that's familiar to me and as something that's me and mine wait who said that

so honestly? idk how to deal with this either. I do know that there's nowhere else I'd belong and I want to stay here but I don't know what and how to do what it is I want to do. I wish things went differently after we got free from british colonisation and that we fr acche se decolonised and all idk how to word this but I'm sure you get what I mean it's a kind of insane going from being violently exploited by britain to hindu fascism I don't like this cursed continuation chat

there's no loving the indian state for me tho idgaf about genocidaires and their lackies it's been mid from day ONE it's just getting so so much worse now

but uh tldr i lost the idgaf war and I'm making it your problem now because I don't just want things to get better for everyone here I also want to help make it better (because obviously one person will give us the revolution) so I feel you nonnie I hope you're staying awesome apologies for not having much hope to give you

edit: sorry I forgot to mention but I don't have a lot of advice about getting hrt, except that it's easier to get in urban areas and more varied, especially estradiol. transitioning in india is a on the harder side ofc but it is a possibility here. I hope this is of some use to you

[monsterblogging]

So, I think I finally sorted out why I find Karl Heisenberg kind of weird and incoherent as a character concept when I actually stop and think about it. It took me several weeks and two watchings of Why Do You Always Kill Gods in JRPGs? to finally put my finger on it, but here it is.

So, the Resident Evil franchise is a series that has been loaded with metaphor and allegory from day one. The games have talked about stuff like labor exploitation under capitalism, eugenics, theocracy, neoimperialism, and even how the existence of counter-terrorist organizations creates perverse incentives to make more terrorists so the organizations have something to do.

Now the thing is, these are all systemic issues. For most of the franchise, the focus has been on large scale systemic problems.

Resident Evil 7, however, changed things up a little. While systemic problems are still a thing, they're put on the back burner in favor of focusing on a toxic family dynamic. Specifically, it focuses on what happens when people internalize a loved one's irrational fears and unhealthy behavior patterns. The mold here represents the emotional bonds between these people, and the way it's rotted their physical home represents how it's destroyed the family as a home. As a concept it's pretty solid; the only issue here is the execution, which treats Eveline as if she's an unsympathetic monster when she's actually the primary victim here. But still, solid base concept.

Resident Evil 8 tries to do both interpersonal issues and systemic issues. It took a lot of cues from Resident Evil 4 (the "theocracy is bad, oh my god keep it out of the government" installment) and threw in a lot of systemic issue shit while also trying to be about a toxic family dynamic. For the most part, this works out fine.

You got Mother Miranda representing the power of theocracy. Lady Dimitrescu's here representing stuff like conspicuous consumption and worker abuse/labor exploitation. Donna's representing toys/entertainment used to distract people with unhealthy illusions rather than giving genuine enrichment. Moreau represents a neglected healthcare system. Heisenberg is here to be the military-industrial complex... or, is he?

The first three characters do a solid job of embodying actual systemic issues. Heisenberg, however, is kind of a mess because the game tries to code him as two completely different kinds of people: the militaristic leader, and the exploited blue collar worker/engineer/mechanic.

Many of Heisenberg's lines seem to suggest that he sees other people as means to an end; things to be weaponized. He frequently praises Ethan's body and wants to weaponize him against Miranda. He also wants to do the same with Rose. This is, of course, how the military as an institution tends to view people.

But one problem here is, Heisenberg doesn't dress the part. They could have put him in a ratty old officer's cap and jacket and given him a dozen swords (the weapon of the ruling class) to magnetically control. But instead, he dresses like a member of the working class and carries a fucking hammer. So while Capcom probably meant Ethan's rejection of Heisenberg's offer to come off as "fuck off, I'm not letting you exploit me!", it... sorta also comes off as "fuck you, I don't need no stinking unions!"

Heisenberg also complains that Miranda has humiliated him by putting him under her control. This might have been meant to reflect how actual militaristic shitheads love to complain that they're being humiliated and emasculated by not being allowed to inflict violence willy-nilly. But the problem is, Heisenberg's complaints are actually valid, because he's actually being abused by his mother figure. Your militaristic shitheads aren't being abused; they're just pissed off over not being allowed to go kill people wherever they feel like manifesting their destiny and becoming great men of history.

Additionally, Heisenberg just doesn't embody the toxic masculinity that your militaristic shitheads insist makes you a Real Man™. Yeah, his traumadumping is ill-timed and obnoxious, but he's actually talking about his trauma instead of just bottling it up. He's doing what toxic masculinity considers unthinkable - making himself emotionally vulnerable to another man. He's actually less aggressive than the other lords, since he doesn't actually try to kill Ethan until Ethan tries to kill him. Furthermore, in calling Chris Redfield a "boulder-punching asshole," he displays contempt for over-the-top displays of male-coded power.

And of course, Heisenberg making soldats could be read as a metaphor for how the military dehumanizes people by turning them into instruments of destruction, but the problem is that he's using people who are already dead. Sure, he's definitely been considering using living people, but the fact that this thought only comes after years of nothing else working and he's never actually done it says that he hasn't actually committed himself to this, so if that was the intention here... it also doesn't work.

So yeah, IMO Heisenberg ends up being a kind of weird, incoherent character concept because the game wants him to represent both the military-industrial complex and the exploited engineer/mechanic literally just trying to survive, and uh, these are two very different concepts and don't really work together in the same guy.

[lifmera]

hi ! so I’ve been deep in the tokrev tags and something magical brought you to my feed bcs I’ve been searching for someone that does matchups. I would like to ask if I could request a matchup with tokyo revengers.. please take your time getting to this!

my pronouns are she/her, I’m 1.72cm, I swear too much, my favorite color is green, I’m a Pisces, and I’m pretty much a bedroom goblin. If I’m not reading or drowning in my headphones, then I’m sleeping because I love my bed a lot.

Personality wise? I won’t say that I’m antisocial, but I’m a loner. 😭 I prefer my solitude (I don’t have a problem vibing by myself), but I would enjoy spending time with my friends if I had any. I’m pretty much unapproachable thanks to my severe case of RBF and I tend to stay away from big gatherings, but if I attend them I try to separate on my own in a corner after awhile (for some reason ppl still come up to me though, it confuses me greatly)…I’m actually softer once you get to know me though and I’ve been told I have a warm presence that makes it easy for people to gravitate towards me & talk about important things (I always know someone’s deep secrets 😭). It’s easy to talk to people, I just choose not to. 😭

I can be sarcastic and I’m also straightforward. When it comes to relationships/feelings/intimacy, platonic or romantic, I am VERY awkward, it’s hard showing & receiving feelings. I am emotionally constipated until I trust you. I can be a little stubborn and sometimes reckless but it’s only when it comes to protecting my people and my freedom. I’m also very free spirited/carefree and will cut you loose if I can’t have my time to be adventurous. Even though I seem very cold and uninterested (50/50 I am), I am a hopeless romantic at heart.

I’ve typed out as enfp if that adds anything, but I’m not the stereotypical bubbly kind.

Hope that’s more than enough, thank you for your time and I hope life treats you well today and so on. <3

AYYY HI!!

Its finally your turn after stalking this 6 different times. LOL.

I’ve decided to pair you with…. INUI!

I think you guys would get along great. Genuinely.

I think he’d probably want to rot in bed alongside you. Someone he’d be comfortable with. I dont think he has many friends- other than koko and takemichi. And koko is…

I think your rbf wouldn’t do much to deter him. Let’s be honest he does too. He isn’t one to judge!

I think he’d love your warm nature. It’d draw him him like a moth to a flame. Kinda like how he’s with takemichi. You’d mean a lot to him!

I think he also doesn’t like to talk much either. He’s super quiet and would probably just want to rot in bed. I honestly can imagine you both laying on bed with one ear each with an earbud listening to a playlist and just. Staring at the ceiling.

I have to admit, i think you’d also remind him a little bit of koko. But Inui is also pretty much emotionally constipated too. He has trust issues- but i think you both definitely would overcome it together realizing you have a lot in common. And probably becoming super close with each other.

He’d be fine if you’re Adventurous. But I think he is the type of guy who either wants to be in bed all day, or not really go back home.

~~~~

I hope this was okay. Honestly writing this kinda took me for an emotional ride because inui is a comfort character and i love him sm. Also you are such a sweetheart and i hope the rest pf your day goes well when you see this <3

[marriedtomymarriage]

Kitchen Chronicles & The First Time I Saw His Eyes Turn Black

From the moment we met, I made it clear- I'm no cook. I enjoy making basic meals for myself, but cooking for others has never been something I was comfortable with. He accepted this without hesitation. In fact, he assured me that it wasn’t a problem at all.

He claimed he had worked in restaurants, that he was some sort of a chef- that he had experience in the kitchen. He even said something that stuck with me: in a relationship, if one person is bad at something and the other is good at it, the one who is good at it should take the lead. He reassured me that I must be good at other things he wasn’t, and in the kitchen, he would handle things. That put me at ease.

And for a while, that’s exactly how it was.

COVID & The Kitchen

When COVID hit, we couldn't go back to the ship so for a while were stuck in my parents' apartment alone. He cooked every meal, never once pressuring me to cook for him. And he was good at it!

Over time, I started feeling bad that he was doing all the cooking. So I made an effort. I tried my best. I made meals for him, even though I’d get nervous, especially about the rice (my mom is a master of it, so I felt an invisible pressure). But there was one thing I was confident about- my omelet. He seemed to love it. Even when we went back to the ship, he would talk about how much he missed my omelet. That gave me confidence!

He never criticized my cooking back then. If the rice wasn’t perfect, I'd apologize, and he'd say, “It’s not the best, but you made it with love.” And that was enough for me.

Moving to the US: Cooking Becomes an Obligation

When we moved to the US, everything changed. He worked, and I stayed home, unable to work due to our situation. I felt guilty that after a long day, he would have to come home and cook, so I started cooking regularly. But this time, things were different.

I noticed he was actually very picky. Suddenly, my food wasn’t just something he accepted with love- it was something that had to meet his specific standards. And that made me even more self-conscious.

Then came the food waste. I’d cook meals for both of us, he’d say he’d eat, but the food would sit in the fridge and rot. Spicy food, too, because I had to learn how to make it for him. But still, untouched.

So, I told him I wasn’t comfortable cooking for him anymore. Why put effort into something he clearly didn’t enjoy? And he agreed. He said, “That’s okay. I know how to cook. I can cook for myself. That’s the benefit of dating someone who knows how to cook.” He acted somewhat nonchalant about it but I could tell he was at least little annoyed.

And for a short time, he actually did.

“A Man Who Cooks”

At first, he stuck to what he said. He would come home from work and cook for himself. He never cooked for me, but he did cook. I remember watching him make his meals, always adding way too much pepper, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to eat it even if I wanted to. But he was doing it. He was making his own food, just like he said he would.

And then, I tried again. I told him, "Listen, it’s not fair that you’re cooking after work. Let me try again!"

I genuinely wanted to make it work. I didn’t want to be that person who just refused to cook. So I made an effort, even though I was still hesitant. I started cooking for both of us again, trying to make things the way he liked. But the same cycle repeated- he’d sometimes eat it, others eat just a little, or just not eat at all and I'd throw it away after days in the fridge, since I eat like a bird.

In the 3 years we’ve lived in the US, including that short window that he was cooking for himself, he has probably cooked around 15 times total- and every single time, only for himself. Unless I asked- it was never a nice treat. Breakfast in bed? Not once.

And yet, he still bragged. He still went on about how “most men are like children” but oh not him. About how it was so great that he knew how to cook. But what’s the point of knowing how to cook if you never actually do it?

I remember he once asked men if I ever dated a man who cooked. It felt so good to say yes. Yes, I've dated multiple men who cooked for me. Like he's really not as special he thinks he is... Cooking is a basic life skill. I gave the example of the last man I dated, right before him. His childish response was that if I missed him, I should consider going back to him. Like wtf...

The Fight That Changed Everything

One of the worst fights we ever had started over something so small, I don’t even remember what it was. We had just finished grocery shopping on a Saturday morning when things escalated in the car. As we argued, I told him to stop the van so I could walk home. He refused. I asked again, saying I did not wished to be there at that moment. He kept declining and driving.

So I screamed, “Stop the fucking van!”

And he did- by slamming on the brakes so hard that I, already without my seatbelt, flew forward, hitting the panel before crashing onto the floor. He didn’t help me up.

I told him it was over. That I was done. That I hated him for this. And he just kept yelling, blaming me for what had just happened. This was the first time I saw him furious.

Complete silence in the remaining 10mins of driving. As he started to park, I couldn’t even wait for the van to fully stop. I opened the door and walked away. We lived in this beautiful condo with a gigantic garden and a lake with ducks and geese, who I made friends with. I sat down a bench and not knowing who to talk to, I ended up calling his mother-in-law, crying. She listened. She comforted me. She promised not to tell him I had called. But later, I found out she and his father had talked to him. And what did he complain about? That I didn’t cook for him.

Not that he had just thrown me across the van. It was my fault. He'd get home and have to cook so he'd get tired and cranky.

Later, his mother-in-law called me again. This time, instead of comforting me, she scolded me. She told me I was wrong for not cooking for him. That a woman should cook for her man, especially if she’s at home and he’s working. I felt so humiliated.

The irony. He was the one constantly saying couples shouldn’t talk about their relationship problems with other people. That wasn't the first time he bragged about having to cook once he got home. He did it once in front of me, to his mother. I don't know if it was to hurt me or just to brag that he's superman. I genuinely don't know if he was trying to be a victim or a hero. Apparently there's no in between with him.

The Reality of Our Kitchen Currently

For someone who brags so much about being a man who knows how to cook, he never actually cooks. Not even on weekends. Not even when I’m sick. Not even for me.

I used to wonder why. But now I just choose to match his energy: of not caring. I don't need anyone cooking for me.

Every single day I prepare him fresh meals. Like one plate a day. And I take pictures sometimes, because I make them look cute too- I take my time. I put in the effort. I cook with care. I'm proud that I'm no longer self concious about it.

And lately, he’s been acknowledging that I got so much better at it. He calls me a pro in the kitchen. He tells me I’m perfect, that my food is amazing, that my rice is the best he’s ever had- even better than his mom’s, and she can make rice with her eyes closed. That’s a big statement, because to me, my mom makes the best rice in the world! I don't really believe him, but I take the compliments.

The "Simple Man"

He claims he’s not picky. That he’ll eat anything. That he’s a simple man who isn’t difficult about food... But that’s far from the truth.

Every week, I have to ask him what he wants to eat next because if I try to just make something, there’s a good chance he won’t eat it. I would love to cook meals with more vegetables, with more nutrition, because I care about his health. I'm no doctor but I just know the 20 supplements he takes daily is NOT enough for keep his system healthy.

But it's pointless to say it. He'll do whatever he wants, rarely listening to what I have to say. He hears- but doesn't listen.

If I try to add some nicely done carrots or any other veggies on the side, he’ll straight-up say, “I don’t like that.” It doesn’t matter how good it is, how well-seasoned, how balanced. If it’s not what he wants, he might eat because it's on the plate. But he'll tell me not to do it again.

He has a narrow list of approved meals. And that’s why he eats almost the exact same thing every single day.

And honestly? I know this could be used against me one day. I can already hear it: “She always made me eat the same thing every day.” As if he didn't choose this. He chooses to limit his own diet. He chooses to eat the same meals over and over again.

So yeah, I cook for him. I always have. And I cook well.

[ralaferin]

i feel very melancholy today

ive been going over in my head how to approach breaking things off with my partner for… a while now. At the same time, the fear of being alone and nobody really “seeing” me and nobody being as patient with me as he has been is absolutely crippling. the thought of him not being in my life anymore after we’ve been friends for close to a decade before dating is agonising. i know it’s going to crush him. i know that he can sense something is coming, because the more i withdraw the more he seeks reassurance that i just can’t put my heart into.

I don’t think he’ll understand if I try to explain the sexuality stuff. I lingered for too long on a lesbian tiktok while we were watching my fyp a little while ago and it was enough to make him suspicious and ask me if I feel like he’s holding me back. My people pleasing/fawning issues made me immediately say “no of course not!! Far from it :-)” but my heart just fucking aches because whenever I close my eyes and I imagine where I would be in my ideal endgame scenario, it’s ALWAYS been a woman there. Since before I even knew what that meant! but I’ve only ever dated men, and the sex has never appeared to be a problem (because again. people pleasing. if ive had negative feelings, they’ve been crushed very far down so he can’t see them.) so i feel like if i come out and say directly that i think i could be a lesbian he’s just going to be confused and hurt and feel like I’m lying to save his feelings, when really it’s something ive thought about for my entire teenage and adult life.

On top of that, my skin condition stuff has been fucking killing me for the last few days. It’s genuinely horrible. I’m constantly itchy and in pain, and it literally makes my underarms fucking stink constantly even with consistent hygiene because I can’t wear deodorant without it triggering a flare. There’s one cream brand that I can usually use but I can’t use it if the skin is broken, and there’s a heap of splits there now, so I just have to rot in my room covered in ointment and hope it heals. I’m fucking sick of it. It feels like I constantly smell like shit and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it. I’ve spent so much money trying different products and it’s gotten me nowhere.

I have the great privilege of being on TNF blocking medication which means going to the dermatologist and having to do a medication application every 6 months. Roughly $500 each time. If I stop taking it, the HS will cause scar tissue to spread and it can get bad enough that surgery is the only issue and mine is all over my groin and armpits and flares under my boobs, so it’s all super fucking invasive for the dermatologist to look at to begin with without it getting worse

I still can’t drive, I still don’t have a car, I still haven’t had a job, my resume looks like shit, I have thousands of dollars of hecs debt that I’ll never be able to pay off from studying that never got me anywhere, I’m stuck in my childhood bedroom because I was forced into being my mothers carer while my dad gets to break up with her and fuck off travelling wherever he wants without us being the weight holding him back. I have no savings. I’m 26 and I already know I’m basically doomed to struggle with money my entire life.

Everything just fucking sucks. I honestly can’t see a way out or forward. all around me I’m watching people I grew up with getting older and getting married and having kids and buying homes and I’m just… stuck here, and it feels like drowning

[burnedbyshoto]

my hero

— Walking alone in the middle of the night isn’t the best of ideas, but that’s okay, you had a hero waiting to save you.

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, exhibitionism, strangers fucking, dirty talk, praise, belly bulge, attempted kidnapping

word count: 5,197

a/n: and we’re back! sorry for the super late uploads, I hope you can forgive me. pls enjoy, I had fun writing it :D

kinktober day 18 main kink: exhibitionism | kinktober masterlist

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You really needed to stop walking the streets so late at night.

It was a bad habit you’ve grown in the past few months. Your building anxiety and untouched, restless energy made you bounce around your apartment. But you didn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything but pace from corner to corner. 

The wood of your apartment floor must have been streaked with the dye of your socks, and you swore you could see the small indents from where you drag your feet to and fro your wall. The restless energy you had was untouchable, and your friends soon became worried about you. Eventually, after one night of taking a new 5,000 steps in the small living room of your apartment, your friend said to go for a run.

Sure, it was six in the evening, and yeah, maybe the spring night was cold, but Jesus fuck please, your pacing made them anxious. So, that’s how you began your journey of running at night because your once six pm runs evolved into eleven pm jogs. You had always been one to carry your pepper spray in your pocket and had a concealed sharp key in your fist as you ran. You were still prepared, even if you never ran into a situation that caused you to need either item.

But tonight was different as it always was.

You were dressed in your black joggers and a dark grey sweatshirt.

The slight chill of the fall night barely seeping into your skin that was hot with your exhaustion. It was late out, and as you went from a jogging pace and slowed into a stroll as you entered the park approximately two blocks away from your home, you stopped. 

Stretching your arms over your head, you stretched out your slightly sore limbs and took in the tranquility of the park at night.

The park was a beautiful one, in your opinion.

It was thick with trees; every ten steps you took, there was a new tree. Wooden benches and picnic tables littered the floor and winding concrete everywhere, showing just how great the place could be to enjoy while the sun was out. There was a playground by the entrance you came through and a basketball court at the gate you exit from.

Altogether, it was beautiful and simple.

But as you pressed the sleeve of your sweatshirt to your forehead, wiping the beaded sweat on your skin, you froze when you heard the sound of leaves crunching behind you. 

You froze as you turned around, your eyes wide and lips falling open when you saw a man stumbling toward you. There was no reason to panic, probably, you thought as he looked occupied on his own phone, his head down, his steps quick and focused. But there was no denying the small, almost horrible feeling that pooled into your stomach as you watched him approach nearer and nearer.

You grabbed the pepper spray that was in your pocket as a premature, ready to fight movement, your feet moving to get out of the path in case he tried to do anything. Your breathing was soft, not entirely too loud, but to you, It seemed to ring loudly in your ears as he got nearer and nearer.

He passed by you, his eyes not even trying to look your way as he went one step, two steps, three steps away from you. You wanted to sigh in relief about your stupid freak out; of course, it was nothing, it was always nothing, so there was no reason for you to freak out. But then he stopped, and you were too late to see the twitch in his shoulder, the way he spun around faster than you could scream and tackled you to the floor. 

His hands were all over you, grabbing you, shoving his dirty, grimey hand into your mouth to silence you, fisting into your mouth so that even your biting, snapping closed jaw was stupid weak against him. Tears welled in your eyes as his knee buried into the center of your lungs, shortening your breaths as you struggled to get the pepper spray from your pocket.

You found that you couldn't.

You couldn't grab the canister from inside your pocket as the man's smile grew wider, terribly cunning as you struggled to do all that you could to get him off you. 

Pathetic.

Useless.

Weak.

Tears began to stream from your eyes, the fear that twisted and rotted in your stomach festering like a stench as you cried against his fisted hand. You wouldn't be heard, wouldn't be seen. You were being assaulted with no way of being saved because no one went out here this late at night. You cursed your inability to do anything on time, cried that your dumb anxiety only felt better after running for an hour, and your lungs burned with the slowly depleting oxygen coming to your veins.

But just as your eyes were beginning to close, your hope and ability to wish for the best outcome was simmering into nothing but ashes and smoke, something large, hard, and fast knocked onto the man on top of you. You gasped for air as you immediately turned onto your side, your hands and knees buried into the dirt floor as you gasped and choked for air. 

There, finally, was the sweet taste of grass and nature that filled your senses, but your watering eyes fell onto your attacker and the... the man?!

Your savior was another man.

His red hair still somehow easily discernible in the darkness of the night, and his large, strong muscled body absolutely punching and keeping your attacker down.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?!" your savior demanded, his hand grabbing the hair of your attacker and slamming his bruised and swollen face to the ground, the win most obviously won by your savior. You looked at the anger-fueled rage on your saviors’ face, the way his eyebrows were knitted together, and how his lips were pulled back into an angry snarl. The fight had been obviously won by your savior, and you couldn’t help but keep staring as the workout clothes clad savior took a few more deep, almost shaky breaths before he turned his gaze onto you. “H-Hey? Are you okay? Call the police, and I’ll keep on this bastard!”

“I-I’m fine!” your voice rasps, your hand rising shakily from the floor to softly rub your tender throat. “I’m fine, it’s okay! You can let him go!”

Your savior freezes, his eyes looking at you like you’re batshit crazy, and honestly, you probably are, but you don’t want to deal with writing up a police report or anything of that. It just wasn’t worth it since you ended up okay.

“You… do you want me to let him go?” your savior asks again, his eyebrows shot up, obviously not buying your words in the slightest.

You nod your head, you collapse down so that you’re sitting on your knees. Exhaustion is slamming into your body post the sudden demanding rush of adrenaline.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” you smile weakly as your red-headed savior frowns. He sighs, obviously not in agreement with what you wanted to do, but he turned his attention back down to your attacker, who was still struggling against his weight and strength.

“You’re going to get the fuck out of here, or else I won’t hesitate to kick your ass and call the cops myself,” the man snapped, shoving the man further into the ground for good measure before climbing off of him. The red-headed angel walked in front of you. His considerable height incredibly intimidating to even you as the man on the floor wheezed before running off, his tail between his legs until the echo of his feet hitting the grass can no longer be heard.

“Wow, that was crazy,” he spoke softly to the wind, his hands resting on his hips before he turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide with concern. Even with the minimal light of the light post in the park and the moonlight that barely pierced through the canopy of tree leaves, you could see as clear as day that your savior was handsome. There was a scar over his right eye, and his red hair was styled and pushed back with a bandana. He had a windbreaker on and gym shorts but still looked ridiculously handsome. He turned to face you, crouching as he spoke, “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you flush, your eyes dropping to your dirt-covered hands that rest on your lap. “I’m fine now, at least. That was pretty scary, I have to admit.”

“Fuck, I bet,” the man agreed, his head nodding as he drops onto his butt. “I’m glad I decided to come through the park to get to my car today. Typically I walk all the way around this park.”

Indeed seemed like fate, you thought, your smile spreading small and thin on your face. “I was running; it helps with my restless energy. But, this is the first time anything like that has happened.”

“I’m sorry that had to happen at all,” he frowned, his face full of genuine remorse and guilt. “That was entirely cowardly of that asshole to do; I’m glad you weren’t hurt, though.”

“Ah, I got thick skin,” you slightly joke, enjoying the way the sweet smile spread on his face. Remembering your manners, your eyes shut, your head shaking slightly at your rudeness. “Um, I’m y/l/n y/n, though. Thank you for saving me from whatever that could have become.”

“Kirishima Eijirou!” the man cheerfully introduced himself too. “And it was no problem; literally, any good person would have done what I did!”

Modesty was somehow disgustingly, hotly attractive on the large, muscular stranger, and you wet your lips as you stretched your body closer to his. “It wasn’t just ‘no problem,’ though,” you state, matter-of-factly. “You quite literally saved my life; you’re a hero. You’re my hero.”

Although you couldn’t see the color flushing against his skin, you were without a doubt that he was blushing as profoundly as his hair if the riddled embarrassment in his eyes and face had anything to say about it. 

“I-I, oh, aha, um, well, that’s very kind of you to say! I was just trying to be a manly guy, and really that was nothing?” Kirishima embarrassingly rambled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as you found yourself drawing nearer and nearer to him. 

Your warm hand found itself pressing onto his strong knee, your upper body leaning even closer to his flustered state. His eyes were shifting everywhere, not quite looking at you, but would linger on your body as you drew nearer and nearer. For some reason, you couldn’t help the jarring sense of attraction you had for your hero before you, the way the familiar warmth in between your legs made your voice hum as you grew nearer.

You wanted to show him just how grateful you were to have had him saving your life.

“That was nothing? You saving my life was nothing?” you tease, your words slow and thick on your tongue as you find yourself by his side, mouth brushing teasingly soft against his jaw. 

“W-Well, of course not! It was a valuable life, don’t get me wrong! It’s just me doing that was nothing! I’m no hero!” Kirishima stammered, his voice in a soft whine as goosebumps flashed across his neck, where your breaths warmed his skin.

“Hm, that’s too bad,” you whisper, your tongue wetting your lips as you drew in closer. Your heart was hammering loudly in your ears, but you didn’t care, way too transfixed on the way the heat emitting from between your legs demanded Kirishima’s cock. “I like showing my gratitude to heroes in the world, ya know?”

His face finally turned to you, his wide eyes meeting your half-lidded ones in an electric gaze. No one spoke; only the softly chirping crickets and the wind brushing through the leaves made noises. 

“Y-Yeah?” he whimpered out, his voice weak and caused great pleasure to crawl down your spine. “How do ya’ suppose you show your gratitude?”

You hum, thinking about it, but as the adrenaline from your attack finally was replaced with the blatant, blistering want for the huge red-headed man before you. You find yourself straddling his lap, slowly sinking onto him. Your knees once more buried into the soft, dewy grass of the park.

Your arms wrap around his neck, his eyes wide and incredibly expressive as his large hand’s press to your waist. 

“Any way you crave me,” you speak with finality, placing the future of your actions into his hands. 

“Holy fuck,” Kirishima curses, and without a second more of hesitation, his lips and mouth are crashing against yours. 

There’s something unworldly attractive about making out with a practical stranger in the middle of a public park at nearly midnight. Your hands move possessively against his back, fingers digging into his fabric as he draws you nearer, your torso pushed tight against his. His lips move expertly against yours, the sharp points of his teeth dragging and biting into your bottom lip until he pulls away, your lip in his teeth, his eyes dark and full of lust. That lasts less than a few seconds as you’re back on him, mouth desperate against his, tongue curling into his mouth to move languidly, possessively against his. 

His body radiates heat, the warmth of his body quickly seeping past the sweaty thickness of your own sweatshirt as your hips begin to roll against his growing bulge. 

“S-Shit,” he gasps, your lips trailing down his hot neck, his throat muscles clenching as he gulps. Your smirk against his skin, sucking and nibbling on a concentrated spot as he helps you to roll your hips against his hot, thick length. “I-I don’t live nearby; it’ll be a bit of a drive.”

“I’m two blocks away,” you confess, pulling away from the dark purple and red bruise on his neck that makes you drunk with lust. “But I don’t think I can make it.”

Kirishima splutters, his hips instinctively bucking against your slowly throbbing core that sends your teeth biting into his thick skin again. “Do you wanna, fuckk… Are we gonna—?”

“Don’t tell me my hero is afraid to fuck in public?” you tease, your hands traveling down his tight, muscular torso. You admire the way you can feel his trembling abs against your hands, and you grin when his head dips backward when your fingers find their way against the waistband of his sweats, your weight shifting harshly against his cock as you tease along his upper crotch. “It’s late. No one’s around. I got a strong man to protect me. And I want him now,” you speak against his jaw, your lips pressing hot kisses between every sentence.

You notice that his eyes are red as your lips come up to brush against his, teasing the both of you as neither of you moves to seal your fates. Your position on the situation needs to be resolved, needing an answer from him.

“Whatcha gonna do, big guy?” you asked, lips ghosting against his, and at that moment, you shiver at the way his pupils expand to the edges of his iris.

His mouth is against yours in a renewed passion, lips pressing and pushing fervorously against yours, making you tremble in his arms, completely lust-taken. You kiss him back with equal force, hips rolling against his in your accepted need. 

“Fuck, you know what you’re doing, huh?” Kirishima gasps the moment you grind your increasingly wet cunt against his mountain bulge in a way that has his hips snapping up towards yours. You laugh, teeth pressing onto his lower lip and pulling away, eyes focused on his through the curtain of your lashes before you let go of his lip.

“I aim to please,” you bat your lashes, your hands working their way under the waistband of his shorts. “Now, you want me to suck your dick, or what?”

You had never seen a man’s face go through such wild, intense agreement. The blackened look in his eyes and the way a shiver so obviously tittered down his spine had you smiling like a champion.

Mouths came back together in a blazing, needing kiss; you shift up onto your knees, the kiss becoming a clash of sharp teeth and simmering tongues. Blindly, your hands come down to his shorts and assist him in getting his pants off. Shock and amusement rushing through you the second you feel the top of his cock slap the back of your ass. The heat emitting from the skin burning through your own layer of clothes.

With your lips sucking onto his tongue, your hand moves behind you, grasping and pushing the throbbing, thick cock between your ass cheeks. And for a moment, for a few painfully slow grinds, you press him to your ass as you grind against him. Kirishima moans loudly, his hands shifting all over your body, fingers rubbing your skin from the dips of your hips to your soaking wet cunt. 

The air is static, disgustingly hot that you swear with the heaving, panting breaths emitted from both of your mouths, you swear you can see the condensation.

“C’mon baby,” Kirishima rasps, his tongue finally permitted back into his mouth, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your throat. “I thought you were going to suck my dick?”

“What if I don’t want to anymore?” you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your thumb that is on his cock pressing onto the slit of his dripping cock. “What if I want you in me now?”

“Suck my dick with that pretty little mouth of yours, and I promise you — your hero promises you that I’ll fuck you better then any other fucker has,” Kirishima grunts into your skin, his biting kisses bruising your skin.

Well, you didn’t need to be told twice. 

You shift backward, the tip of his pre-cum leaking cockhead spreading his pre-cum all over your own leggings. But that doesn’t faze you, nor do you care enough as you finally get to see the near monstrosity of a cock Kirishima has.

Long, thick, veiny, and with curly soft black pubes.

“Not a natural redhead?” you tease, your body leaning down, making sure to accentuate your breasts as you begin to slowly stroke his thick length. Kirishima can only shake his head as your tongue pokes out to give his swollen head a kitten lick. “Mm, I bet you look hot with black hair too.”

There’s no room for a second opinion for your mouth sinks entirely onto his length, just enough to be the slightest bit uncomfortable, but the results were immediate. Kirishima’s head slammed to the wood of the tree, his hands gripping your head as you bobbed against his length. The musk and scent of his dick were strong yet pleasant. You found yourself sinking lower and lower onto his size, pleased with the way he was tearing into his bottom lip to keep his ringing moans from being heard, his fingers tugging at the roots of your hair as he meets your sinking mouth in sloppy, restrained thrusts.

Your tongue traced the bulging veins on his length, swirling and twisting around his girth, a desperate attempt to show that his size didn’t scare you, that you were taking him all in. But his lust clouded gaze on you thrilled you. The pure, unadulterated passion that settled on his eyes and gaze made you shiver; he was so responsive, moaning, and gasping for you in every right action you made. But you want to get bigger, bolder reactions out of him, and closing your jaw just the slightest bit, you let your lower teeth scrape just gently against his sensitive skin.

The result was immediate, and much wanted.

Despite the immediate relaxation of your jaw and throat, Kirishima burying his entire length down your throat made you choke, gagging as your nose buried into his pubes. He was entirely large, uncomfortably thick in your throat as your muscles flexed and fluttered around him.

“Take it, take me all in,” Kirishima gasps, his hips shifting into small, tiny thrusts to ram his cock further and further into your awaiting mouth. “That’s i-it, holy fuck, that’s it! You are so good at this shit, baby. F-Fuck… you’re amazing! So fucking perfect!”

The praise makes you whine, the drool that seeps from your mouth helpless and joined with the tears of discomfort from your eyes. But you continue to impress him, continue to let him fuck your mouth and throat wholeheartedly without restraint or worry.

Soon, the wet gagging noises fill the air, your throat feeling raw as Kirishima is unashamedly fucking into you with more significant, more powerful intent. He praises you without hesitation, the words curling warmly into your gut, making your cunt throb and demand attention as you hollow your cheeks. Kirishima nearly howls at the vacuum sensation, the lustful, long noise growing in his lust as you raise up to his cockhead, your tongue lashing around the salty pre-cum that is weeping from his swollen tip.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, wait!” Kirishima gasps, his hips bucking wildly, trying to go further into your mouth again. But your grip and commanding are more robust than he could ever be, and he can’t sink his cock further into the wet heat he so craves. “Wait, wait, wait! I want to cum in you, baby! Please let me cum in you!”

You’re off him immediately with a sharp, loud pop.

His eyes are unashamed in his request, and you think about the issues of an absolute stranger busting a nut inside of you. Your tongue dips out of your mouth to lick the pre-cum that’s dribbled onto your lower lip, and you whine at the back of your throat.

“O-Okay.”

His response to your approval is immediate.

You shriek in slight fear when he tugs you up onto your feet, twisting you and shoving your back against the cold hardness of the tree he was resting upon. Your breathing is unsteady, heart absolutely pounding in your throat as his lips consume yours again. Just as you did before, you melt into his kiss, his touch as his hot, calloused fingers shove your shorts down your legs, exposing your throbbing, wet cunt to the cold air.

Hissing at the contact, you feel your voice being smothered by a wet moan that escapes your mouth. Kirishima has his cock rutting between your wet folds, his fingers leaving lasting bruises on your waist.

“Want you so badly, baby,” he grunts, his mouth swallowing your moans and pitched whines as you grind against him, shaking against his hold. “Want to see you take me all the way in.”

“Put it in,” you keen, hips bucking and thrusting faster and faster against his waiting cock, your actions pathetic and needy. “Put it in Kiri, I want you in me, fuck me already, please fuck me.”

In what you could only describe as being the strength of god, Kirishima lifts you up, hands shifting from your soft waist to the mounds of the flesh of your ass and pressing you into the tree. You squeak, embarrassed, and entirely self-conscious of your weight despite the lust haze clouding your mind. Your struggle in his arms is fruitless, his broad, thick chest pressing up against yours as you find your mind absolutely melting when his thick cockhead pushes against the clenching wet cavern of your cunt.

“P-Put me down,” you gasp, squirming despite the fire that burns in your core and cheeks. “I-I’m too—”

“I’m your hero,” Kirishima speaks calmly, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes locking on yours in such a way that was too intimate for strangers, too world-shifting for two unknowns. “I can carry you just easy, ya know. These muscles aren’t just for showing off.”

The grin on his face is childish, almost too boyish if it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes held that profound, pristine promise and want for you. So, in an action that has your back arching against the wood, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your legs tightened firmly around his waist as he buried his cock into you.

Melodious moans echo between your mouths, horribly silenced by your crashing mouths because, dear god, you’re fucking in a public park. 

He kisses you with a passion and a soul that strips you bare, and his hips begin to fuck up and into you without hesitation, the full feeling in your core stretching and fluttering with every driving intent from him. In and out, his cock goes into you, up and down your hips grind against him.

It’s a synchronized dance, a coming of your bodies that sends your toes curling as he begins to fuck into you just a bit harder, just a tad faster. It makes you shiver, makes your fingernails bury into his skin as you moan and beg for his name.

Kirishima curses as you clench around him, his hand grabbing your wrist and slamming it onto the tree, holding it there as he fucks you with growing strength and speed. Every snap of his hips sends a burst of colors to the back of your eyelids, and every squelch of your meeting, sloppy wet sexes sends a blabbering, incoherent sentence from your lips.

“More, more, more,” you beg, the tree trunk absolutely uncomfortable against your skin, but you can’t feel it anymore; you don’t care about the pain. You crave it, you want it. “Give me more.”

The curve of his cock, the girth, and the veins that drag up and down your puffy velvet walls are driving you insane. He holds insane power with every admittance of his cock in your clenching cunt, and he buries his nose into the crook of your neck and nods his sweaty head.

“Can you take it? You gonna be able to take my cock fucking you entirely?” Kirishima gasps, almost as if he was afraid of hurting you, and for some reason, that makes your brain shut down.

Fingers buried into the dyed red hair at the nape of his neck, you tug his head back, your legs tightening around his waist so much that he can’t fuck you anymore. The both of you are there, staring at one another as you hold him, bottomed out in you, your stomach stretching just a bit from having him entirely within you.

“If you don’t fuck me with everything you have,” you breath, your nose brushing against his, lips avoiding his that seek yours out for contact. “I’ll scream.”

“You seem like a brat,” Kirishima teases, his hold shifting on your ass, pressing you even more uncomfortably onto the tree.

“I’m just a girl who knows what she wants,” you bite back, allowing him to shift your arms so that you were supporting part of your weight onto the tree, allowing for a better balance.

“Brat,” Kirishima enunciates, his lips spreading into a teasing, seductive smirk. 

But before you could fight back, before you could argue that you were, in fact, not a brat, Kirishima begins to fuck into you yet again. Your jaw drops immediately, the burning nearly exquisite pain-filled pleasure of his untapped strength fucking into you.

Your voice begins to scream out, the feeling of his vicious, thick cock snapping into you, shoving your shoulders further and further into the tree was sending your head spinning. Your body is convulsing as he fucks you with new vulgar need and strength. But before you could scream your praises, Kirishima’s fingers shove into your mouth, silencing your words and noises as he fucks you again and again and again.

“You’re so fucking loud, baby,” Kirishima chuckles, his voice strained with his exertion of energy, his hips slamming so powerfully into your clenching core that his balls were slapping against your soring ass with no restriction. “So fucking loud, but we’re not in the place for you to be wailing my name unless you want to be caught. Do you wanna be caught, is that what it is?”

You shake your head pathetically against his fingers, your tongue lazily swirling and inserting itself between his parting fingers as you moan. Your head is spinning, the overstimulation of his conquesting cock, the rising orgasm in you, and the thought of someone walking through the park and seeing the two of you fucking under the yellow light of the park light making your walls flutter. His cock twitches with the flutter, and the both of you moan inexplicably loud. 

“Such a good wet cunt,” Kirishima gasps, his fingers beginning to reciprocate the length and rhythm of his pounding cock in your throat, something you take without a second of hesitation or doubt. “I’m so glad I got to be your hero today, aren’t you so glad?”

“Mm-mhmm,” you gag around his fingers, your hips bucking with near madness as your vision swims with lust and need. You were so happy that he found you, so delighted he saved you, that he was your hero. 

But the building tightness and demanding need in your cunt was growing louder, hotter, completely undeniable. Your teeth sinking against his skin as you whimpered loudly, absolutely pathetically as you shifted faster, fucking against him harder.

“C-Close,” you manage to gag out, and a sharp escape of air comes from his nose.

Kirishima nods, removing his fingers from your mouth, the string of cold saliva dangerously cold against your blazing hot chin. “I want you to look at the way your belly bulges when I fuck you, I want you to watch it bulge as you cum, baby.”

You whimper, the strain in your neck almost insufferable as you peer down at your hastily exposed stomach, and you nearly faint at the pornographic, near-insane image of your stomach bulging with his hammering cock. And just like that, you come tumbling down from the heights of your building orgasm. White heat and light spread through your body, your jaw slacking as you moan loudly, screaming his name as you convulse against him, body entirely limp. Kirishima, who was barely hanging by a strand, completely loses it when your core clenches like a vice against him. 

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock, his heavy, shaking gasps the only thing you can hear as he fucks into you once, twice more for good measure before the both of you sink to the grass. It’s hot, almost too hot as he lays on top of you, the sticky fluid of his cum radiating against your already blazing walls, and for a bit, there’s silence.

“So um,” you rasp after a moment, the silence warm and comfortable. “You gonna walk me home?”

“Depends,” Kirishima mutters into your sweaty neck.

“On?”

“Will you give your hero your number?”

[mrs-march-ahs]

How the Evans Cheer You Up

Headcannons and a short imagine for how the boys would cheer you up

I know this idea has been to done to death but I really wanted to have my own go at it. I sincerely hope you like it. I’m still unsure with this one. I tried to make up different reasons for the reader to be upset, I hope they all sound like reasonable reasons to cry. :)

Tate

-Notices you’re upset, so he comes and approaches you slowly

-Understands if you don’t want to talk about it

-Subtly checks your wrists to make sure you haven’t cut yourself

-Comes and rubs your back

-Tries to make some light jokes to see how they land

-If he’s in a particularly goofy mood, he’d come and tickle you to cheer you up

----

Tate’s heart races as he runs up the stairs and stands in front of the door to your bedroom. With you still alive, occasionally school days and family trips set you two apart for longer periods of times. After not seeing you for a long weekend, he opens the door to your room, and looks at you laid on the bed, facing the window. He quietly walks in and shuts the door behind him, before creeping you behind you. Then, suddenly, he jumps up on the bed and puts his hands on your tummy, tickling away. You look up at him angrily and push him off you, making him open his mouth in shock.

“Heyyy, I’m sorry, I’m just messing about… just happy to finally see you”, he says happily and leans in for a kiss, but you lean back and look at him. He sits down, genuinely hurt at your reluctance.

“Should I… leave?”, he says quietly, like he’s afraid of the answer. But instead of giving him one, you explain your worries.

“Tate… we got turbulence… really really bad”. He softly takes your hands and kisses your knuckles, slightly calmed down by the fact you’re not mad at him.

“I know it’s scary, but it happens, baby”

“No…no… I thought I might die”, you pull your hands away from him. “Tate, what if I died? Away from the house?”. Your voice gets louder and shakier, and tears fill your eyes. Tate quickly swoops you onto his lap and wraps his hands tightly around you.

“What… is our future? We can’t move out together… we-…”, you are interrupted by Tate shushing you, and holding your face so you look at him.

“Stop worrying so much about the future, I just want to be with you now”, Tate says. Every word that comes out of his mouth drips with sadness and worry, but his eyes look hopeful and… in love.

Kit

-Comes up behind you and softly talks to you, to not scare you

-Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you

-Kisses your cheek or your shoulder

-Wipes or kisses your tears away

-Suggests doing something together like watching a film

-Cuddles you throughout and makes sure you’re watching and not distracted

-Insists you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to

-A few days after you being upset, he would subtly try to talk to you about what you were upset about

-Always up for ways to be a better husband and ways to improve the relationship

---- Taking a step towards the fridge, you slip slightly on the butter you dropped earlier. You manage to hold onto the counter and not fall completely, but groan loudly in annoyance. Today wasn’t your day. You wipe the floor clean and get eggs out of the fridge, and as you take one out of the carton, you are greeted with the sound of the front door opening, and your husband entering. You turn around and he gives you a big warm smile. You manage to return the smile, and you focus on cracking the egg on the edge of the bowl. “Whatchu makin’, Miss Walka?”, he questions.

“Cupcakes, red velvet, your favourite”, you say with a monotone voice. You crack the egg into the bowl and sigh loudly when a part of the shell falls in. Kit walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist, and you fish the shell out of the bowl. He kisses your shoulder lovingly, watching you stir the bowl, and lets out a breathy laugh when some of the flour spills out and falls on the floor.

“Lemme get that, clutz”, Kit laughs, and bends down to wipe the floor with a towel. But once he stands back up and goes to kiss your cheek, he notices the tears in your eyes and immediately squeezes you into a tight hug.

“Hey, hey”, he warmly coos, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t know it’d upset you”. Guilt fills your heart when you hear Kit blaming himself.

“It’s not that”, you sniffle into his chest, “I can’t seem to get anything right today”. You look up at the ceiling, refusing to cry over spilled flour. Kit looks down at you with a worried expression and cups your cheek. He kisses your nose and rubs your back, and all the subtle, sweet and loving gestures together make you cry. You quickly push your face against his chest and breathe in his scent, hoping to calm down. Kit doesn’t judge you, instead rests his head against yours and continues to rub your back. You take a deep breath of Kit’s aroma and can’t help but feel safer and protected. A combination of his muscly arms wrapped around you and his manly smell feels like home.

 Kyle

-At first, he’d solely try to cheer you up and hope it’s nothing major

-"Heyyyy, what’s with the tears, hm?”

- Rub your back and ask what’s wrong

-Wouldn’t take “fine”, or “it’s nothing” for an answer

-He’d squat down next to your bed and look at you as you told him

-He’d listen carefully and keep strong eye contact as you told him, to show he’s listening

-Would stroke your cheek as you told him and wipe any tears away

-Would suggest going to a party or going out bowling or doing something fun

- “I don’t want you in your bed rotting away in sadness, let’s go ice-skating”

-But if you wanted to, he would definitely have a movie night

- “Hey since we’re going to watch a whole loada movies anyway, how about Star Wars?... Hey hey no don’t cry”

Franken Kyle

-Would come and sit with you

-Touch your tears and then look at his finger

-He wouldn’t know what’s happening but he’d know it’s bad

-He’s point at your watery eye

-Look at you concerned

----

You sob quietly into your pillow and take deep breathes, trying to calm yourself down. It was the afternoon, and you knew it was soon time to make some dinner for Kyle, and make sure he eats it. You loved him with every inch of your soul, and you didn’t mind taking care of him, but sometimes it felt you were raising him. The pressure of shaping him to be a member of society sometimes got to you too much, but always let it slide. After so long of it rotting inside you, the built-up pressure and guilt overflowed and you couldn’t help but spend a minute crying. You sniffle quietly and soon see the door very slowly open, and Kyle’s blank expression peeking out. You smile at him and quickly sit up, and as he closes the door and walks towards you, you try to wipe all of your tears to not concern him. He looks at your face closely with furrowed and intrigued eyebrows and points at your tear-filled eye. You sniffle and put your hand on his shoulder.

“These are called ‘tears’, Ky”, you gently explain to him. He knew a few words, and though communication wasn’t the biggest issue, it took him a while to get comfortable using new words, and he got frustrated very easily when he got things wrong. Looking at him open his mouth and his dry lips tremble, your heart shattered, knowing that he has so much to say but struggles to express himself. A tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek, and you sigh softly. Kyle cups your cheek with his warm hand and looks at you.

“T-Tears…mm…bad”, he grunts, “No…tears”. He wipes your tear with his thumb and puts his arm around you. You melt against his soft skin and can’t help but smile, reassured that you’re doing your job right.

 Jimmy

-He’d focus on cheering you up rather than listening

-He’d keep making jokes to lighten the mood

-He’d just want to see you smile rather than fix the problem

-He would cuddle you though

-And he’d stroke your hair and back

-Might tell you about his day to distract you, or tell you a story

-Subtle compliments

-“You’re too pretty to be upset”

- “What does my princess have to be sad about?”

- “Who upset my little girl? Does somebody need a Jimmy Darling ass-kicking?”

----

The warmth of Jimmy’s hands rubbing your back comforts you, as you push your face against his chest and sniffle into it softly. He pulls the blanket from the end of the bed over both of you and puts his head on top of yours. He gently shushes against your head and you breathe deeply, trying to calm yourself.

“Hey, look at me doll”, he says softly, and looks down at you. You wipe your face against his shirt and look up at him, making him grimace and laugh.

“I know this shirt is white, but I think you’re confusing it with a tissue”.

You can’t help but laugh, looking at the massive wet stain on Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy smiles down at you, finally seeing your beautiful smile, and pulls you back into his chest. He places a tender kiss on the top of your head, knowing that this too, will pass.  

 James

- “Darling, has something upset you?”

-Would not take no for an answer, even if you really didn’t want to talk about it

- “Who’s responsible for your tears? I demand an answer…the person to upset my Queen must pay”

-If you weren’t upset at somebody and just had a bad day, he’d ask to cuddle

- “Physical contact always comforts you; shall we engage in affection?”

-He’d hesitantly stroke your hair as you cried into his chest

-If you explained why you were upset, he would have an intense conversation with you about it

-If you were insecure for example, he would sit you up and look into your eyes and tell you how incredible you are

-Not softly, though

----

James’ eyes wander around the room, desperately searching for the right things to say to try and comfort you, as you gently sniffled against his chest. He holds his hands on your lower back while you straddle him, and he occasionally slides his finger across your cheek and wipes your tears against the bed. The silence of your sadness kills James, and he speaks up.

“I simply do not understand how you could look in the mirror, wearing that dress, and not fall in love”

You sigh softly and close your eyes, knowing you already explained it to him when he walked in on you trying it on, upset in the mirror at how you filled the dress.

“I look terrible, it’s such an important night, such a gorgeous dress, and I’m ruining everything”, you whimper. “I might as well not go at all… just go to Devil’s night tomorrow by yourself. I don’t want to ruin your birthday by you having to show up with me”.

The self-depreciating words about your appearance make James gasp and push you back to face him. He cups your face with both hands and looks you deep in your emerald/ ocean colored/ chocolate/ grey /hazelnut eyes.

“Nonsense darling!”, he says, looking at you with puppy eyes and pleading eyebrows. “I simply must be accompanied to Devil’s night by my beautiful bride”. You exhale softly and look at him, knowing how much this means to James.

“When I first laid my eyes on you, I felt immediate infatuation”, he says softly, hoping to make you melt. “If you had told me that the gorgeous woman blessing my hotel with her presence will one day become Mrs. March, I wouldn’t have believed you, and I would have sent Iris to buy a lottery ticket”.

Although the sweet words made you smile, you found it hard to believe that you landed such an incredible man, and that he was that in love with you.

“Thank you, Jimmy”, you reply, hoping to see James smile. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he frowns. “It breaks my heart to know that you don’t believe me”.

You lean into his hand and close your eyes for a second.

“I’m sorry, my self-esteem is all over the place. I have better and worse days”.

“As we all, darling. But somebody like you shouldn’t question their worth, even on the worst of days”. James places a passionate kiss on your trembling lips, and pulls you into his chest.

 Kai

-He would enjoy seeing you upset, mainly because every weakness is an opportunity for growth

-But also it’d turn him on

-He wouldn’t be soft on you, put his arm around you, or even squat next to you

-He’s sit by you and make you talk yourself out of being upset

-If you learned into to hug him, he’d refuse

-He’d insist that you can resolve this yourself

-He’d tell you that he’s proud of you once you did overcome it

-If you solved the problem or talked yourself out of it, but were still gloomy for the day, then he might be a little softer

-Not physically but he’d give you a few compliments to cheer you up

- “I knew you’d be able to solve this yourself”

----

You sit on the sofa with your head in your hands, looking at the ground. Tears fill your eyes, and your heart feels like it’s shrinking. You blink hard and watch the tears fall to the ground, and sink into the carpet, leaving tiny wet patches. In the silent basement, with your tears splashing and quiet weeps being the only sound, you heard immediately as Kai walked down the stairs, but you didn’t dare to look up at him, knowing that he would never console you. Although you knew Kai very well, and knew that he didn’t really have a soft side, you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence, and when he sits down next to you on the couch, you look up at him and put your arms around him. But as usual, he leans away from the hug and holds your wrists. He lays them gently on your lap and looks at you, with slight concern in his eyes.

“What’s the matter?”, he whispers to you.

“I’m worried that you’ll leave me…for somebody better”, you reply, trying to keep your cries at bay, knowing Kai can’t stand sniffling and sobbing.

“Somebody better”, he echoed.

“Somebody w-with views like yours… somebody you could talk to better than you can with me”

“You’re scared I’ll leave you for somebody with views like mine”

“I mean… I know you’re not dating me for my views and they’re n-not that important but…maybe”, you explain yourself. Though Kai wasn’t saying anything new, repeating your sad words to you made you realize how they sounded.

“I know it’s unreasonable”, you continue, “But I’m insecure”. He hums listening to you and shakes his head slowly, watching you wipe your tears. Ever since dating Kai, you always felt like you needed validation from him for everything. Even the way you felt. So, despite him not asking, you go on mumbling about your insecurities.

“I know y-you love me but- ”, you hesitate. You look up at him with your sad pleasing eyes and he gives you a loving and reassuring smile. You look into his eyes and whisper, “no buts”. He smiles wider at you and puts his arm around you.

“I knew there was no reason for me to intervene”, he says softly and cups your cheek. “You talked yourself out of it, all by yourself”. He rubs your tears with his thumb and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. Perhaps Divine Ruler did have a soft side after all.

[angel-anoetic]

Hey! 🌿 here, I've been having Jack Manifold brain rot recently. He's so pretty and genuine and has such a nice singing voice. And then I was struck with this idea of Jack and Reader being reincarnated souls of dryads who waltz to save the world when the egg takes over and reset the timeline minus the corruption that happened and only Foolish remembers (because he's a god) even if you don't write it, thank you for writing all of my requests, it means a lot to me! ❤️

hey hey 🌿! i too have had jack manifold brain rot or it might be the gender envy but anyways- his voice is so pretty. Anon, you always give me the best writing prompts to and i always love writing your requests! i hope you enjoy !!

Don't forget to like to save, and reblog to share

c!JackManifold x gn!Reader - Saving Souls

genre: /rom, soulmates almost (?), fantasy, Dreamsmp au

warnings: none! (let me know if i missed anything)

masterlist <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you had noticed any kind of power, you were maybe 5 years old. It wasn't too obvious at first, things that could be passed off as mere coincidence Leaves seemingly following you, flowers turning to face you.

But you couldn't ignore the big signs, the bigger things. Vines growing around you, the flowers you picked immediately sprouting a few more in their place.

It scared you, but over time you got used to it. It gave you something to do on the hot summer days and cold winter nights. Spring gave you the most power and let them flourish, literally and metaphorically.

It had been some years ago when you met a young man who went by the name Jack Manifold. It was a nice day and you decided to cross the river that surrounded your home when you came upon a field of flowers after walking for a few minutes.

There were so many that you could feel their energy fill your veins. But there was something else. Someone. An energy that matched your own, too powerful to be a plant or a part of the Earth. Then he appeared, seemingly from nowhere. A tree a few yards away suddenly a boy.

From there had blossomed, no pun intended a friendship and relationship that held so much power. You two had grown and helped each other through work through the cons of your powers. Learned how to control them before they controlled you.

So one day when you received a message from an old friend regarding a certain evil that had taken over his friends and one of his homes, you couldn't ignore his call.

You and Jack showed up a few days later, and after a brief meeting with Foolish, you considered your options as you and Jack walked to the Egg's resting place.

"Maybe we could find if its core, and if we're lucky it'll be plant-based. Or Foolish did say that there are lots of vines and other plants surrounding it. We can just bury it so deep it won't be a problem ever again."

"No, Foolish wants it gone, and I think we should exhaust all of our options, whether we destroy the Egg or not."

As you two made your way to the Egg, people began to stop and consider the new visitors. Some looked tired, others just seemed angry or upset.

Then you two found it. The entrance to its resting place. Its red color illuminating what otherwise would have been a darkroom underneath the SMP. Vines and some other plants that you weren't sure you had ever seen.

"Oh my god." You looked at Jack, his eyes glowing against the room's tainted glow.

"What is it?"

"This is worse than what I would have expected, Y/N. These plants...I've only seen them once before in a very bad place. But it could work to our advantage."

You both made your way down the stairs, the sight of the Egg pushing beyond what you could have ever imagined. It stood tall, and the pure energy and heat that it gave off were almost enough to make anyone tired.

You began to feel a sense of panic rising in you, your hands slightly shaking at the sight of the object.

You felt the energy rushing out, towards the palm of your hands as a small flutter of energy found its way to the ground. As soon as the small seeds touched the ground, they grew into enormous green and white flowers.

A terrible scream suddenly emitted from the room, one that neither of you could hardly understand.

"Y/N, do that again."

"W-What?"

"The flowers, help them grow, just like those."

You focused on the type of flower, seeing it in your mind, then three more sprouted out of the original one.

Another scream filled the room.

"Alright, I have a plan. I'm not sure it will work but I do know it's worth a chance."

You couldn't look away from the Egg. It was like a monster staring you down, one that you were seconds away from fighting.

Jack turned to you, grabbing your face gently, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

"Hey," he whispered, "It's alright. We are gonna take care of this in no time and help so many people. And we're gonna come out of it together. Okay?"

You nodded, grabbing his hands with your own, leaning into his energy.

"Alright, the plan is simple. I am going to try and manipulate these plants and grow the ones you just did. The Egg, it doesn't like the sight or the addition of plants that aren't connected to it. So while I'm carrying that out you need to start making something to protect us. I don't care what it is, how big it is, as long as it's strong enough to get us through a really bad thing. Can you do that for me?"

"I can do that."

You both smiled until Jack spoke. "Then let's do this."

Jack picked one of the flowers and one of the crimson plants that encased the room. He placed them gently together in front of the Egg and began to focus on transforming them into whatever he could.

You on the other hand began to pull together whatever plant matter you could find. Some pieces of wood and plants you had never even seen in your life still seemed to bend your will with just a little resistance. A small burrow was slowly being formed around you. When you looked up you could already see Jack had formed a large hybrid of the red and white plant which was now surrounding the Egg in a spiral.

The screams returned, nearly knocking Jack off his feet. He was a mess, the focus combined with the pure power that he needed to do what he needed was taking its toll slowly but surely.

Eventually, the Egg's screams, while still loud, became weaker, and a sudden rumbling came from the ground around you both.

"Jack! Jack get in here!" You screamed from your makeshift plant and wood bunker.

"Just a minute!" He continued his work, the vines and leaves already infiltrating the Egg's core.

You looked up, the ceiling above you caving in slowly. Right above Jack.

All he felt was the large vine wrap around his waist, then a harsh pull as he fell next to you within the bunker, moments away from the boulder that nearly crushed him.

"Keep going! It's not over yet."

You turned your attention away from the bunker and began to help Jack. The screams had to be the worst part. Your ears were basically going numb. You weren't even sure if Jack could hear your encouragements or if you were even talking.

All you know is that both of you were trying, the shaking of the ground was strong, and a sudden bright light was exploding from the Egg.

Then silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were the first to wake up. The ringing was still in your ears, but less powerful and daunting. Jack was situated against you, sleeping peacefully.

You leaned back against your arms and tried to shake him awake. Eventually, he stirred up, and you were able to clear away your shared 'bunker'.

After you made your way back up you saw the change immediately. The skies seemed happier. People were less scared to move about town.

You and Jack walked around, people greeting you as you did. You spotted Foolish atop a hill.

When you finally met him up there he smiled.

"Y/N, thank you so much. It happened. Whatever you two did...it worked." The tears filled his eyes as he engulfed both you and Jack in a hug.

"I don't know what you did, but no one here even seems to know what happened. It's like they went to bed and woke up new people. A fresh start."

You laughed. "That's great Foolish. I'm happy we could help. It was all Jack in the end."

You both turned to each other, the light in both of your eyes new.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

[honeytae]

I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces.

hi my loves! this is just a very very soft piece revolving around the reader having a bad day and jimin being the thoughtful sweetheart he is. but like, if i’m honest, it was just an excuse to write tooth rotting fluff for our sweet angel jimin lol i hope you all enjoy it :) tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @jjlovr2015 genre: fluff

word count: 2.2k

Jimin’s clutch on the wooden spoon loosened at the sound of a key entering the lock on the front door, eyes darting from the pot on the stovetop to the digital display of the time, confirming that you were home from work with the familiar order of numbers in front of him. 

Leaning over the top of the pot to sniff at the meal he’d been working on, he pulled away with a single nod to himself, deeming it good enough for you to eat after your long day. Already having an inkling that it had not been your best, he was fully prepared for you to come home in search of some rest and relaxation. 

And it seemed he was right; it was clear that you were not in a good mood.

It was clear from the loud huff past your lips as you slammed the door behind you and the thud of your bag making impact with the hardwood floor echoing throughout the apartment, further proving his suspicion that today has completely sucked for you. 

It was hard to miss the hunch of your tensed shoulders as you walked into the kitchen to join him, the loose wrap of your arms around his slim waist and lazy peck of your lips to his back making him frown sympathetically. 

“Hi, dove.” He cooed at you, stretching his arms behind him to wrap around your body, neck straining as he tried to get a glimpse of you to no avail.

You mumbled an incoherent greeting back to him, nuzzling your face further into his body as you closed your eyes.

“Bad day?” He asked gently, hearing you sigh behind him at the question. 

“How’d you guess?” You mumbled tiredly into his shirt, Jimin swiftly turning around in your haphazard grip to face you. 

“Your texts kind of gave it away. You didn’t sound like your usual self.” He frowned, you humming as your shoulders raised in a tired shrug. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, baby. Just wanna make you feel better, you know?” He tipped his head adorably, looking much like a puppy with his wide eyes eagerly awaiting the release of your true emotions. 

“Thank you.” You whispered softly, leaning in to plant a kiss to his soft cheek, a noticeable quirk in the man’s lips at the action.

“Now, what can I do to help?” He asked softly, genuine in his ask as he stared at you, surveying every dampened feature with a sad gleam in his eye. 

“Can I just have a hug?” You smiled shyly, Jimin beaming as he quickly wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest as you set your arms over his shoulders, folding them behind his neck with a grin.

“I can do that.” He replied happily, feeling your previously tensed shoulders sag more and more with each moment in his arms.

You sighed into his neck as you nuzzled into the warm skin, the comforting feeling of his hands soothing up and down your spine causing you to go lax in his hold. 

“You always give the best hugs.” You exhaled, Jimin chuckling as he dropped his lips against your shoulder in a quick kiss.

“You know, Taehyung says that as well. I think you two are trying to give me a big head.” He joked, pulling you in tighter with his hands pressed to your back. 

You laughed at his words, moving your face so that your forehead was pressed to the center of his chest, fingers on his neck lightly tracing over the hair at his nape.

“Thank you.” You repeated, Jimin humming in response before he pressed repetitive kisses to the side of your head, the way his lips puckered against your hair over and over again nearly causing you to melt in his grip.

“Of course.” He responded, pulling back slightly to look at you with a soft smile. 

He seemed to be studying your face, assessing the emotions written in your expression with a concentrated gaze. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna cry.” You chuckled, Jimin scoffing with a roll of his eyes as he locked his arms around you tighter, leaning his forehead onto yours. 

“You can cry. You can always cry with me.” He smiled warmly at you, the giggle escaping your lips making his eyes shine at you in adoration.

“I know.” You responded softly, closing your eyes at the feeling of his lips pursing against your cheeks, moving up to plant gentle kisses to your tired eyelids. 

“I just want to make you feel better. And sometimes crying is the perfect way to do that.” He shrugged, causing you to gently smile at him before pressing your lips to his.

“You’re cute.” You explained the sudden action, Jimin’s cheeks darkening at your words as he tried to suppress a smile at the unexpected praise.

With a final peck to his bottom lip, you began to pull yourself back from him, although not fighting the reassuring gesture of Jimin’s fingers entangling with your own. 

“I’m alright, Chim, just tired. I should start dinner, though. Can you grab the frying pan that I bought last week? I’ve been trying to use it but haven’t gotten the chance and-”

“No, no, I made dinner.” He stopped your rambling, your eyebrows raising in surprise at the words as you shot him a confused look. 

It wasn’t that Jimin was a bad cook, per say. He was no michelin trained chef, that was for sure, but he was decent enough. 

The thing with Jimin was that he liked companionship. Every experience was heightened if he got to do it with you, so almost all nights that he made dinner, he waited for you so that he could cook while chatting to you about your day as you sat across the room from him, fondly watching his every move. 

The majority of the time, you ended up helping him, as there were common mishaps that often left him in need of some guidance. “How long was I supposed to leave that on for?” and “When did that start boiling?”, each question causing you to get up and stand beside him at the oven, helping him transfer the pots with a gentle smirk. 

This was new.

“I don’t know, it might suck, but I just didn’t want you to have to worry about cooking and I just kinda wanted to take something off your list and, yeah,” He finished his rambling, gesturing with a throw of his hand to the dish behind him on the stove, you curiously leaning over to look at the food you’d completely missed upon entering the room before pulling back with a gasp. 

“Is that- How did you make that?” You asked in shock, completely astonished at the pot sitting atop the burner, not only something Jimin had never made before but something you hadn’t even attempted to make yourself.

Your favorite childhood dinner.

“I, well,” He hesitated, smiling bashfully when you raised your eyebrows at him and his stuttered speech, “I kind of got the recipe from your mom.”

And you swore in that moment, if you hadn’t been completely head over heels for the man before, you were definitely fully whipped for him now. 

“You,” You paused, entirely endeared as he shuffled nervously in front of you, your expression unreadable as you opened and closed your mouth in a loss for words. 

Jimin’s utmost consideration and love shined through in many, many ways. But this gesture was a whole new level.

You couldn’t imagine how long he’d spent making it; it was a classic family recipe, and even your mother, who’d perfected it decades ago, couldn’t get it done and ready to eat for a few hours. 

“Okay,” you started, feeling tears prick at your eyeballs as you looked at the dish, switching your focus from the stove top to your boyfriend whose eyes softened immediately at the sight of your eyes welling up with unshed tears. 

“I know I said I wasn’t going to cry, but now you’re being really fucking cute and I don’t think I can hold it back anymore.” Your voice wavered as you spoke, immediately putting Jimin into action as his arms pulled you into his chest.

“Oh, dove. I love you.” He soothed into your hair, pressing a kiss to the spot as your tears spilled out onto his neck. 

You didn’t even know how long you were standing there in his arms, concentrating on the circling of his palm on your spine in order to comfort yourself. 

His whispered small assurances to you slowly coaxed your tears to stop falling, picking your head up from his chest and meeting his big brown eyes, slightly creased in worry as he cupped your face, tracing his thumbs over the skin underneath your eyes.

“What happened today? You wanna talk about it?” He asked softly, worry etched into his features as your back shook underneath his hand in your effort to control your cries. 

Jimin’s eyes eagerly locked with your own in a way that told you he was trying to get you to let him in, studying your irises as if they would relay all your problems to him. 

“Maybe later. I just wanna be with you right now.” You pouted, Jimin nodding in understanding before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

You nearly caved into another sob as he moved his hand from your spine to your face, fingers gathering the strands of hair that had stuck to your wet cheeks and soothing them back behind your ears. 

The sweet gesture had you tearing up again, sniffling back the salty liquid threatening to spill over your cheeks again as Jimin gently scratched his fingernails against your scalp. 

“Shit, I got your shirt wet.” You mumbled as your eyes locked onto the dark patch on his t-shirt, Jimin scoffing at your words as he widened his eyes at you. 

“Is it my shirt we should be worried about right now?” He asked, eyebrows raised in amusement as you nodded adamantly.

“Yeah. That’s expensive.” You justified your answer, Jimin rolling his eyes with a fond smile as he pulled you into another hug.

“You’re silly.” He kissed your temple, beginning to sway you slightly side to side. 

“Chim.” You mumbled softly, the man humming in response.

“Do you know how much I love you?” You pulled your head back, Jimin’s eyes softening at your words, hand resting underneath your jaw so that his thumb could swipe across your chin affectionately. 

“I do. But I love you more.” He replied childishly, your sigh of annoyance causing his giggles to fill the kitchen. 

“Seriously, Jimin. Thank you so much.” You spoke genuinely, Jimin smiling as he nodded with a slight tint of pink on his cheeks.

“Let’s get you fed, angel.” 

Reaching for a plate, he scooped a portion out onto it, gently handing it off to you. You surprised him with a kiss to his cheek in thanks, smiling at the skin heating in a blush before you turned around to sit on one of the chairs placed at your kitchen island. 

“I’m too lazy to set up the table.” You explained as you sat down with a huff, grabbing your fork as Jimin carried his own plate to where you sat. 

“This works, baby.” He reassured you, taking the seat next to you and leaning his cheek on his palm in order to watch you scoop up a forkful, his eyebrows nervously shooting up as you raised it to your mouth. 

He waited expectantly for your review, eyes surveying you as your mouth began to move in chewing motions. 

You hummed around the food in approval, eyes widening in surprise before a closed mouthed smile spread across your cheeks.

“Jimin, this is amazing. Are you sure my mom didn’t make this? Holy crap.” You said, gathering another forkful as Jimin blushed at your praise. 

“Is it really?” He wondered, you responding by putting your full fork at his lips, his mouth parting to allow you to feed him the dish he’d worked so hard on. 

You waited for his reaction as he took the food off of the fork, bobbing his head from side to side as he chewed, swallowing with a shrug.

“Not bad.” He commented modestly, your eyes widening as you shook your head, negating his answer.

“Not bad? Jimin, this is just like the original. You’re amazing.” You said, the man’s cheeks once again glowing red at your praise before turning his face to plant a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing.” He emphasized, eyes looking deeply into your own in an attempt to plant the compliment in your head. 

With a sigh, you ducked your head to his neck, kissing the spot of skin underneath his ear in a silent response to his words.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Chim.” You mumbled, his arm wrapping around your back as he soothingly ran his palm along the expanse of your spine. 

“You’ll always have me, dove. I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces.” He replied softly, smiling at you when you lifted your head from his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, Jimin playfully tapping the tip of his pointer finger against your bottom lip in response. 

“Alright, now eat up. I have to call your mom after this to properly admire her hard work.” 

You giggled at that, turning back to your food and obediently picking up your fork to continue eating, Jimin mirroring your actions.

[platonicteenwolf]

Second Chance At First Line

(S1E2) Part II

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: I am absolutely KILLING IT with these updates. Expect a lot more coming up. Also I don't think I'm going to continue making three separate parts for pronouns whenever a part doesn't use any pronouns for the reader.

Any Pronouns

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of a dead body

“What do you mean you can’t play the game tomorrow night?” Coach asks as Scott follows him into his office.

“I mean I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

“You mean you can’t wait to play the game tomorrow night?”

“No, I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

“I’m not following.”

Scott sighs looking around the office. “I’m-- having some personal issues.”

“Like what? Is it a girl?”

“No.”

“Is it a guy? You know our goalie Danny is gay.”

“Yeah, I know, Coach. But that’s not it.”

“You don’t think Danny’s a good-looking guy?” Coach cuts off, looking shocked.

Exasperated, Scott tries to continue; “No, Danny’s good looking. But I like girls. And that’s not it anyway--”

“Is it drugs? Are you doing meth? My brother was hooked on meth. You should have seen what it did to his teeth, all rotted and cracked. It was disgusting. He was a mess.”

Genuinely concerned, Scott asks, “What happened to him?”

“He got veneers. They look perfect now. Is, is that what this is about? Are you afraid of getting hurt McCall?”

“No. I’m just having some issues dealing with... aggression.”

“Well, here’s the good news, that’s exactly why you play lacrosse. Problem solved.”

“Coach. I can’t play the game.”

“Listen, McCall. Part of playing first line is taking on the responsibility of being the first line in the game. If you can’t shoulder that responsibility then you’re back on the bench until you’re ready.”

“If I don’t play the game, you’re taking me off first line?”

"McCall,” Coach says pointedly, “Play the game.”

-----

Stepping back into the corridor and into the rush of students, Scott jumps when his phone RINGS in his pocket. He takes it out to read a text message from his Mom:

Got the night off! Coming to see you play! So excited!!

Scott breathes a sigh of frustration. His phone BUZZES again with a second text from his Mom:

What does LMFAO mean?

He’s about to type back when he notices someone coming down the corridor to find him; Allison Argent. As she walks through the crowd, every teenage male eye seeming to follow her. But her perfect smile is reserved for Scott.

Nodding to his phone Allison asks, “Hey, you busy?”

“No. It’s just my Mom. She’s nothing. I mean it’s nothing. I’m never busy. For you.”

“I like the sound of that... I have to run to French class but I wanted you to know I’m coming to see you play tomorrow.”

“You are?”

“And we’re all going out afterwards. You, me, Lydia, Jackson. It’s going to be great. And bring Stiles too. Save me a seat at lunch, I’ve gotta go.”

Scott barely has a chance to nod as she hurries off. But just before she disappears into the rush of students, she smiles at him again. With a quick wave, she’s gone.

Scott slumps against the lockers muttering to himself, “I am so screwed.”

-----

Down the adjacent hall, Allison stops at her locker, quickly spins the combo, grabs her French book and suddenly stops when she notices something strange inside. Slowly, she pulls an item out, one that shouldn’t be there... her jacket from the party.

As she eases the locker shut, she notices how very alone she is in the corridor. She gazes down one end of the hall and then the other. Not a soul. Not a sound. Until--

The second bell rings, startling her. Breathing a short laugh at herself, she hurries off to class.

-----

At the chalkboard with other students solving algebra problems, Lydia whispers to Scott.

“Why is there a rumor going around that you’re not playing tomorrow?”

“Because I’m sort of... not.”

“I think you sort of are. Especially when you brutally injure my boyfriend by ramming into him.”

“He brutally injured himself ramming into me.”

The math teacher steps past, eyeing their work on the board.

“Jackson’s going to play Saturday, but he’s not going to be at peak. I prefer my boyfriend at peak performance.”

“Okay...” Scott responds, wondering if she’s still talking about lacrosse.

“See, I date the captain of a winning lacrosse team. If they start off the season losing, I date the captain of a losing lacrosse team. I don’t date losers. You understand how that works?”

“Losing one game isn’t going to kill anyone. In fact, it might save someone,” he argues back.

Lydia looks at him. Doesn’t get it. Doesn’t care. “Fine. Don’t play. We’ll probably win anyway. We’ll go out after like we’re planning. I’ll introduce Allison to all the other hot players on the team. And while she gets the attention she deserves, Scott McCall can stay home surfing the net for porn. "

She finishes her math problem, wipes the chalk off her hands and saunters back to her desk. Scott returns his attention to his own equation on the board.

The math teacher walks up behind him chastising, “Mr. McCall, you’re not even close to solving your problem.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott quips back.

-----

As Stiles and I turn the corner to the hall our next class is located, I see someone familiar talking to the vice principle.

“Wait-- is that Noah?” Grabbing the back of Stiles’s collar I drag him back behind the wall to hide us from view. Peeking around the corner, there Sheriff Stilinski standing in the middle of the hall having a seemingly serious conversation to the vice principle.

“I can’t hear them, what are they saying?” Stiles whines.

“I don’t know I don’t have super hearing.”

And as if a lightbulb went off in his head, Stiles bolts off looking for someone who does in fact have super hearing as I continue to keep an eye on the targets.

Hearing stomping footsteps behind me I turn around seeing an out of breath Stiles, Scott in tow.

“Come here, come here, tell me what they’re saying,” I ask Scott as the boys follow my gaze down the hall. I can see Scott focus, attempting to tune in the voices.

“...animal attacks... just don’t want the kids out... 9:30pm... institute the curfew....”

With a look of annoyance Scott turns back towards us.

“A curfew. Because of the body.”

Great.

“Unbelievable!” Stiles starts to complains, “Seriously unbelievable. My Dad’s out looking for a rabid animal while the jerkoff who actually killed the girl is just hanging out doing whatever he wants.”

Interjecting, I add, “Well, we can’t exactly tell him what’s going on with Derek. He’d want to do something about it.”

“Well, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Like what?” Scott asks.

“Like find the other half of the body.”

And with that Stiles walks to his next class. Waving a bye to Scott I go catch up to him.

-----

Scott stops when he spots Allison shaking hands with an extremely good-looking lacrosse player. Lydia wears a big smile while introducing them while staring right at Scott.

Allison turns to see him approaching as Lydia and the lacrosse player slip away.

“So, Lydia’s introducing you to everyone?” Scott questions.

“Yeah, she’s been so unbelievably nice. Usually, the popular girls are totally evil when I move to a new place. But she’s making it really easy for me.”

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe she gets how much being the New Girl can suck.”

He’s about to reply when he notices with alarm that she’s carrying the jacket from party that Derek had.

"Where did you get that?”

“My jacket? It was in my locker. I think Lydia brought it back from the party. She has my combination--”

“Did she say she brought it back? Did someone give her the jacket?” Scott is starting to get more urgent; how did Derek get into her locker? Was he still here? Is Derek going to hurt Allison?

“Like who?"

“Like Derek."

“Your friend?”

“He’s not my friend. How much did you talk to him when he drove you home?”

“Not much at all.”

“What did you say?"

Allison can tell he’s getting more and more aggressive; cautiously she replies, "Sorry, but I have to get to my next class. Can we talk later?”

“Allison--”

“I really have to go.”

She hurries off, leaving Scott ruminating on the jacket. But then he turns, moving with focus, faster and faster--

-----

On his bike and pedaling at top speed, Scott charges down the road. Finally, he whips onto a driveway leading to the rundown Hale house.

“Derek!”

He lets his bike clatter to the ground, school bag with it. In a flash he’s on the porch, looking in each window.

“Derek!”

Still no response. Scott slips around the side of the house and to the back. Then something catches his attention-- At the edge of the woods, he sees FRESH DIRT covering the ground. As if something had been dug up. Or buried.

But before he can approach, a sound stops him in his tracks... a heartbeat. At first, it’s a tiny rhythm in the distance. But then it rapidly gets louder, stronger. Scott starts to back away, moving for the front of the house again and for his bike when Derek steps out of the woods. No sudden appearance, no theatrics. He just calmly walks out of the shadows while Scott tries to stand strong.

“Stay away from her. She doesn’t know anything.”

“What if she does?”

Derek keeps coming, backing Scott away from the house.

“You think your little buddy Stiles can Google werewolves and now you’ve got all the answers?”

Reaching down to Scott’s school bag, Derek picks up the lacrosse stick, playfully turning it over in his hands.

“You don’t get it yet, but I’m looking out for you. Think about what could happen. You’re on the

field. The aggression takes over. And you shift in front of everyone. Allison, your mother, your friends...”

Derek’s hand comes up and his claws are out. Scott flinches back, both in fear and surprise at his display of mastery over his abilities.

“And when they see you--”

He rakes his claws over the net.

“Everything, falls, apart.”

The slashed threads flutter away from the head of the lacrosse stick, the net now in tatters. Derek tosses the ruined stick. Scott catches it. When he looks up, he’s alone, Derek having vanished yet again.

-----

Bursting through the front door of the McCall’s home, Stiles sprints up the stairs towards Scott’s bedroom. Chuckling to myself I close the door behind me and head the same way. “Hey Ms. McCall!” I shout

“Hey sweetie!”

As Stiles bursts through Scott’s door and into his room I can already hear him shouting about the news. Scott called me with an update on the body, said there was some evidence at Derek’s and we needed to get over there as soon as we could.

I greet Scott with a wave as I follow Stiles into the room. At his desk, Scott works on something, concentrating on it with exact focus

“I found something at Derek Hale’s,” he starts

Still full of energy, Stiles shouts, “Are you kidding? What?”

“Something’s buried there. I smelled blood.”

Interjecting, I ask, "You think it’s from the body?”

“That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. And when we do, we’re going to help your dad nail Derek for the murder. And then we're figure out how I can play lacrosse without changing.”

Scott stands, revealing what he’s been working on so intently: his lacrosse stick. Now perfectly re-laced, he spins it in his hands with a look of pride.

“Because I’m not missing out on that game”

-----

The doors of Beacon Hills Hospital slide open. Stiles, Scott, and I casually walk past the front desk trying not to be conspicuous in front of waiting patients, nurses and orderlies. Stiles nods to a set of double doors and a sign pointing to the morgue; exactly what we need. While Scott and I quickly push through the doors, Stiles heads to the waiting area to keep an eye out.

As Scott and I step inside the almost pitch-black freezer room, he lights the display on his phone using it to search the labels on the drawer.

“Why’d you leave the lights off, this place is mega creepy!” I whisper to him. “Who decides to leave the lights off when they’re around a bunch of dead bodies?”

“Would you keep it down? You’re gonna get us caught!” Scott says as he finally located the body.

JANE DOE – partial. Police Evidence, Do Not Tamper.

We both take a breath as Scott yanks open the display.

-----

Standing outside in the corridor, Stiles looks to the waiting area and does a double take. Lydia Martin sits in one of the chairs. It’s a moment of opportunity he simply cannot pass up. Leaving his post, he tentatively approaches her.

“Hey, Lydia. You probably don’t remember me, but I sit behind you in Biology. And I know you’re dating Jackson and all that, but I always thought we had a kind of connection. Unspoken, of course. But I sort of think it would be cool to get to know you. Sort of.”

“Hold on. Give me a second.”

Stiles looks at her, quite confused. But then she pulls out a Bluetooth headset that was covered by her hair.

“I didn’t get any of what you just said. Is it worth repeating?”

“Uh... No. Sorry.”

As she gives an irritated sigh, Stiles takes a seat far away from her, head falling into his hand.

-----

Scott covers his mouth while gazing down at the lower half of the body. He slowly pulls the drawer open to where the sheet finally flattens out just above the severed hip. The smell coming from the body is absolutely putrid and I can tell his face is getting greener by the second.

“Don’t throw up on the body,” I joke.

Removing his hand from his mouth, Scott sends me a lighthearted glare and then pulls the sheet up to reveal the decayed and rotted feet. Then, unable to stand anymore, the sight or the smell, he covers up the body and slides the drawer shut. We’ve found all we need.

-----

Back in the waiting room, Jackson comes around the corner to find Lydia. He walks up to her while massaging his shoulder.

“Did he do it?”

Nodding, Jackson replies, “He said it’s not a good habit to get into but one cortisone shot won’t kill me.”

“You should get one right before the game too.” He gives her a concerned look. “What? The pros do it all the time. You want to be a little high school amateur?” Teasingly, she continues, “Or do you want to go pro?”

She pulls him into a kiss that’s all tongue. As they walk off, Stiles watches with a jealous gaze from behind the pages of a hospital pamphlet.

-----

Walking back to the waiting room with Scott, I see Stiles holding up a pamphlet titled: All About Your Menstrual Cycle. Inconspicuous. Scott yanks it out of his hands, surprising him.

“The scent was the same.”

“You’re sure?”

Scott nods and starts off with the two of us following.

“So he did bury the other half of the body on his property,” Stiles confirms.

“Which means we have proof he killed the girl.”

“Then I say we use it.”

After watching the boys go back and forth I interject,

“Scott, are you doing this because you want to stop Derek? Or because you want to play the game Saturday and he said you couldn’t?”

“There were bite marks on the legs. Bite marks. And if he knows about Allison now...”

“Okay. Then we’re going to need a shovel.”

We slam through the exit door and out into the night.

-----

Derek’s black Dodge Challenger roars out from the long driveway leading to the dilapidated house. In its wake, Stile’s Jeep slowly pulls forward.

Now carrying a shovel and pick, Scott and Stiles head for the house while I hold the flashlight. But Scott pauses, glancing around.

“Something’s different,” Scott says while glancing around.

“Different how?”

But Scott shakes his head. He looks back to the road, listening for any sounds.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Unnerved now as well, Stiles and I follow him around the house to the edge of the woods. Waving him over, Scott kicks at the dirt on the ground. It’s loose, gravelly. They start digging. Piles of dirt landing on the grass nearby while I keep watch. They work fast, Scott pulling up his sleeves as sweat starts to drip down his forehead while the two start bickering.

“This is taking too long,” Scott complains.

“Just keep going,” Stiles replies.

“What if he comes back?”

“Then we get the hell out of here."

“What if he catches us?”

“I have a plan for that.”

Now sitting down next to the hole they’ve dug, I interlude,

“Ah yes, Stiles Stilinski with the genius plans.”

“Oh shut up Y/N”

“Well, what’s the plan then,”

“I run one way, you both run another. Whoever he catches first? Too bad.”

Scoffing, Scott says, “I hate that plan.’

They dig faster, harder. Muscles burning, Scott keeps throwing nervous glances to the driveway.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Stiles shouts.

Dropping the shovel, Stiles clambers down into the hole. He feels around and finds a dark FABRIC in the dirt. Both of them now digging with their hands they finally uncover a black drawstring bag tied in tight knots. Stiles digs at the knot with his fingers.

“Hurry,” Scott urges.

“I’m trying. Did he have to tie the thing in nine hundred knots?"

“I’ll do it.”

Both of them claw at the drawstring, almost frantically trying to get the knot to come undone. And then finally it loosens. The black bag flutters open to reveal the body inside--

Except it’s not a dead girl. It’s the body of a wolf. Stiles and Scott both holler, jumping back.

Poking the carcass with a stick, Stiles asks, “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a wolf.”

“I can see that. I thought you said you smelled blood? As in human blood?”

“I told you something was different.”

Scott pulls back the edge of the bag to get a better look. The remains of the wolf peer through, a tangle of legs and blood-crusted fur.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Still looking around nervously, Scott urges, “We gotta get out of here.”

While the boys talked, I had gotten up to look around the area. Suddenly I notice a purple flower in the ground. It sticks out of the dirt as if it had only recently been planted there.

“Wait,” I call to them.

Looking up, Stiles sees what I’m looking at.

“Do you see that flower?”

“What about it,” Scott wonders.

“I think it’s wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane?”

I look back towards the duo as Scott has a confused look on his face.

“Haven’t you ever seen The Wolf Man? Lon Chaney Jr.? Claude Rains? The original classic werewolf movie?” Stiles questions as Scott shakes his head. “You are so unprepared for this.”

"Aconitum napellus, or Wolfsbane, is a common known weapon against werewolves. It's toxins can cause your heartrate to slow to a fatal amount," I explain.

Kneeling next to the flower, I gently feel around the stem. Pulling it up, it’s revealed that the flower has sprouted out of what appears to be a very thin but strong twine interlaced from its stem and root.

Jumping out of the hole, Scott and Stiles take several cautious steps back as I continue unearthing the purple-flowered rope. Soil falling around my shoes, I walks in circles around the grave.

As I continue, the Wolfsbane rope leads back to the grave in an almost perfect spiral. Finally, at about ten yards out, I finally reach the end of the rope. With a pile gathered into my arms, I turn back to the boys who are staring back at the grave.

At barely a whisper, Scott says, “Look...”

The rope slips out of my hands, falling at my feet as my eyes widen. The wolf is no longer a wolf. It’s the upper half of the girl.

-----

Tag List: @linkpk88 @mochminnie @im-a-stranger-thing @that-winged-rat @avengersgirl1221 @everybirdfellsilent

[mego42]

OK but!!! Come over here and randomly sink the 8 ball???? Can we talk about this???? Does rio not understand how the game of pool works??? Was he just hanging out playing against himself prior to this??? Is it a metaphor??? Is 8 the only number he knows???? THOUGHTS????

the fact that we open the scene with a center shot of beth, all bambi-eyes and openly???? letting him see???? her vulnerable????????

the fact that she still sees him as a lifeline and turns to him for help in spite of him being demonstrably useless literally every time she’s asked

the fact that he’s open to it and asks what she needs

aaaaaand then shuts her down when she says it’s for dean

but also is still giving her some p solid, if, you know, a touch sociopathic advice

and then the fact that said advice more or less amounts to please let your ~technical husband rot in jail crime wife

and yes, the fact that he is, apparently just hanging out! in his own bar! after hours! alone! playing pool with himself!

which sounds like it should be a euphemism tbh but no! it is entirely literal!

everyone involved in this show is a lunatic including all of us!

i love it!

literally wtf are you doing rio

i would like to point out he is losing to himself which is fucking hysterical

and also extremely apt, tbh

he climbs up the pool cue when he stands. why. to what purpose.

he told her to be smart before he murdered her co-worker and beth’s like, not even phased at all by that reference

i am teLlinG y’alL murder is their foreplay, the hitman thing’s gonna be fine

if anything he’s gonna be hurt she outsourced it

which, valid!!!!!!

why are his fingers so long why why WHY

every time he lines up and takes a shot i make this sort of garbled hairpin in a vacuum cleaner noise

i didn’t ask to be like this

and when he sees that the please let him rot please please please pitch is not helping beth’s stress level he pivots and like, actually tries to be comforting????????

but is also incredibly bad at it

remember when beth was like my husband took my children and rio was like that sucks, here’s an open tab byyyyyyeeeeee

he is not the best shoulder, is what i’m saying

and yet!! she keeps going to him anyway!!!!

he’s like SIVER LINING MAYBE YOU’LL WANT TO FUCK YOUR HUSBAND AGAIN AND BETH JUST STEAMROLLS RIGHT PAST THAT

it like doesn’t even register

fuck that guy? don’t be absurd crime husband

also like

who exactly might want to hit what again hmmmmmmm HMMMMMMMMMMM

i am just saying it feels like there are some layErs here

he is so satisfied when she points out nothing sticks to him i want to slap him i want to slap myself i want to slap everyone

i gOt lucK oN my siDe / mayBe yoU do tOo

smells like foreshadowing in here

also jumping back the way his smile s o f t e n s when he says maybe you do too

the urge to slap remains strong but now with a side of leave mE here tO diE

(bringing back @pynkhues​ tag meanderings bc it lives in my head now, is this rio’s way of saying he can protect her class please discuss)

and now we arrive at sink the eight ball

i know it’s ridiculous i know but i can’t help it they’re standing there with a the pool cue and the pool table and it’s all weird tangled intimacy that’s about to flip over into intense sexual tension and i am not coping well with this at all

i’m not okay

THE WAY HE PULLS THE CUE AWAY

AND THE WAY SHE’S LIKE THIS MOTHERFUCKER I STG

let beth boland unhinge her jaw and devour the world 2k21 she deserves it

idk what to tell you beth you like it

like let’s pause for a sec and examine the situation shall we? this ep provides some really interesting contrast between beth’s extremely different relationships with the men in her life.

1. we have dean who is, i would argue, shown throughout the ep to be a complete albatross of guilt and long expired, turned toxic gratitude dangling from a rapidly fraying thread called parenting. he’s furious with beth to the point of not wanting to see her while in prison, choosing to stay in prison to avoid coping with how thoroughly their house of cards is tumbling down and the reality of who beth is and who they are to each other that collapse is exposing. 2. we have fitzpatrick who repeatedly tramples her boundaries in a tunnel vision pursuit of the person he thinks she is and his fantasy of the relationship he could have with this person who doesn’t actually exist and we’ve seen how uncomfortable it makes beth to the point that she finally blows up at him, reasserting who she is and it, idk if i would say scares him, but it definitely turns him off. 3. and then we have rio who she is locked in a nightmare game of cat and mouse with, who she has convinced herself is the source of all of her problems and yet when push comes to shove is still the person that she turns to for guidance and support, who she has no objection to sharing physical space with (i hear rumors the pool scene reads wildly divide and yeah i can see how but i am firmly camp they are both experiencing some stupidly complicated emotional upheaval and that’s what that face is, y’all take it how you will), who is also the only person this ep to witness the single, genuine, uncomplicatedly happy glimpse of one elizabeth boland née marks (who can’t help but grin in response to her joy and honestly who wouldn’t she is so gd cUte before he rips the rug out from underneath her)

i got worked up and forgot where i was going with this

something about contrast

but also the like, comfort and familiarity and ease even when Extremely Annoyed

idk i just think it’s neat

let’s see what else happens

oh right they play """"""""""pool"""""""""""

wait no, we’re not there yet

first rio’s gotta do that big-eyed disney princess look he shoots beth’s way from time to time, 209 being the notable example that comes to mind

h E Lp

so now we’re at sinking the eight ball

yeah, no, he does not know how pool works

i’d say it’s embarrassing but what isn’t with them

SPEAKING OF EMBARRASSING

or maybe i mean inexplicable

i tried to be v hardcore on not letting myself speculate about the pool scene and how it would come to be so sexy bc speculation has only ever led to either disappointment or me getting really, really over the top competitive about it to the point where it isn’t even fun for me anymore (which is saying something) but i couldn’t help spinning out potential scenarios bc like why???? how????? the man is draped over her like a blanket and smELliNg heR haiR surely that doesn’t just happen??????

WHAT A FOOL I WAS

LITERALLY FOR NO REASON AT ALL RIO’S LIKE FUCK YOUR PERSONAL SPACE CRIME WIFE IT’S OUR PERSONAL SPACE

AND BETH’S JUST LIKE YEAH SURE CRIME HUSBAND THIS IS FINE AND NORMAL I HAVE NO FURTHER COMMENTARY

LIKE?????????????????????????????????????????

h An dS

hAn D S

H a nD s

anD theN hE smelLs heR hAir like a fuckiN lunAtic

i just

TO WHAT PURPOSE

SCIENCE P L E A S E E X P L A I N

i know we all like to argue until the cows come home over what specific flavor of sloppy the show is and then we argue with the cows but like

this didn’t happen out of nowhere

they’re setting something up

(they fuckin’)

(do not argue with me or my cows)

thE shoUldeR roLl

no thoughts just that

AND THEN SHE MAKES IT

(and everything b o u n c e s)

AND SHE’S SO CUTE????? MY WIFE???????? I LOVE HER????????????

no but literally when was the last time beth was that happy

it’s so pure

and it makes him lauGh toO

s Of t

and then rio’s like no but seriously fuck your husband let him rot in jail and beth’s facce falls and my heart breaks and everyone remembers everything is terrible bc they are absolutely inFURIATING nigHTMARE PEOPLE who caNNOT USE THEIR WORDs

what was the actual question here i don’t even remember

oh right why the eight ball

probs bc it color coordinated with both his and beth’s outfits bc he is A Heaux Like That

[krappykawa]

ಌ i mildly like you more than like (p.5)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

warnings. language

word count. 4.6k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. second to last part 😼😼 idk if you could call this angst but whatever it is will end next chap bc next chap will probably be teeth-rotting 😄

previously ...

“ You can feel Hanamaki stand straighter and you’re sure that he has the stupidest triumphant grin on his face. “No. Not until you stop crying over captain pretty face.”

“Y/N-chan’s crying over who now?”

You feel Makki freeze in the middle of his marching. Awkwardly, you turn to see Oikawa’s figure at the door from your position thrown over Hanamaki’s shoulder. You forgot that he was the only one that doesn’t knock.

Something in Oikawa’s expression is odd.

“Makki, fix this or I cut off your dick,” you whisper into his ear. He gulps.

“Oh, hey Shittykawa. We’re just helping Y/N with her captain pretty face problems,” Hanamaki says. You already don’t like the way that this is heading.  

“Who … exactly is .. captain pretty face?” Oikawa’s eyes are on you. The irony of the nickname is not lost on you. You can only hope that the words that come out of Hanamaki’s mouth next are not the words you’re dreading.

“Don’t worry. You’re not captain pretty face. Kaoru is!” The world does not seem to be on your side.

Oikawa’s smile drops and suddenly you have the urge to cut Makki’s dick off anyways, because he just made this a lot, lot worse. “

“Ah, so I’ve been replaced by another captain pretty face? Y/N-chan I’m wounded!” Oikawa closes the door behind him as he laughs, but the sound is hollowed and not at all what a genuine laugh of his sounds like. You shoot a look to Iwaizumi, but find that he’s scrutinizing Oikawa in the same way that you were just moments ago. 

With a light punch to his back from you, Makki slowly sets you back down onto your feet. You lift a hand to tidy your hair. 

“Makki’s lying. He’s just being a pain in the ass,” you reply. In saying that, you’re well aware of the fact that you’re potentially diving into dangerous territory. It would be too easy for Oikawa to decide that he wants to know more and possibly ask you the questions that you’re so dreading, but there’s something wrong about having him believe that you actually like Kaoru that you find more dreadful than potentially having to tell him about your year-long love for him. 

Oikawa sets his bag down next to a bin full of his things that he’d left over the years before turning back to look at you. The expression he meets you with is almost off-putting. The corners of his mouth are flicked upwards in what might be disapproval, but his eyes reflect something else - something akin to regret. “Is he really? I mean you have been spending quite a bit of time with Kaoru-kun as of late, haven’t you?”

His voice sounds like it’s dripping with lies, though you can’t quite understand why that’s so because he technically wasn’t lying. You decide that maybe you've just gotten so used to the realness of Oikawa that you forget that his natural tongue is fluent in lying. The only people that have ever been able to see right through his tone are all standing in this room. 

Inevitably, you find your eyes flicking to Makki’s. Oikawa notices. You see the facade drop the mildest bit. 

“I don’t. You know that you would be the first to know if I did,” you say. It’s true. Growing up, he’s always been the first to know about your crushes, no matter how small. He’s known about all crushes, except for one. Him himself. 

Something changes in his expression then. It’s a miniscule change - the slight upward tip to his lips that makes the almost imperceptible indent of a dimple peak out - but you’re so attuned to him that you know that means that his smile is genuine. “I’ll hold you to that Y/N-chan. Don’t you go around replacing me.”

The air in the room seems to sigh in relief. You turn your eyes away from him when you feel yourself start to smile. You don’t want to give Makki, Mattsun, or Iwaizumi anything to make fun of you for later on. 

“Cut the dramatics in front of them. It’s like you’re asking to get made fun of,” you say instead. 

Oikawa just shrugs. “According to Iwa-chan, just having this face is already asking to get made fun of, so there’s really no big difference.”

Iwaizumi snorts from his position on the couch. “I said that your face when you look dumb is asking to get made fun of, but it’s good that you’re self aware.”

Oikawa sticks a tongue out at him.

“As mature as always captain,” Mattsun says. 

Oikawa flicks his gaze to Matsukawa before he says, “Hm, that reminds me. Y/N-chan please accompany me to the kitchen.” He’s already walking to the kitchen without waiting for a response. 

You exchange looks with Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki. Hanamaki has the decency to look apologetic. You make hand motions at him that elicits a chuckle from Matsukawa.

When you enter the kitchen, Oikawa has a cup of ice and a handkerchief sitting on the counter. He’s carefully dropping a few ice cubes into the middle of the handkerchief.

“What’s that for?”

He’s quiet as he finishes and wraps the handkerchief around the ice. “Close your eyes,” he says softly as he walks towards you and presses the cold ice against your eyes. “You were crying before I got here.”

You stay quiet. Of course he noticed. 

“What happened? Are you sure Makki was lying? You can tell me you know, if something happened with Kaoru.”

You let out a breath and allow the cold of the ice against your eyes ease you into a lie. “I wasn’t crying over Kaoru. They just found out that he walked me home today and decided to roll with it. I’m really just exhausted from classes.”

The hand that Oikawa was using to dab at your eyes suddenly stops. “Kaoru … walked you home? From the bakery?”

Slowly, you let your eyes flutter open, your puffing eyes already missing the cold of the ice against your eyelids. Oikawa’s eyes are trained on you, and you get that odd feeling that he’s searching you for answers. You’ve found that he’s been doing that a lot as of late - this whole reading instinct he uses for people he’s just met. You still aren’t used to him using it on you. 

You flick your eyes away from his and break the eye contact. Instead, you look at his hand and reach up to take the ice pack from him. He hands it to you gently and takes a step back. You watch him as he clears his throat and moves to disappear behind the fridge door. 

“Yeah, he did walk me home,” you pause, debating with yourself about telling him. “I think he came to ask me on a date, actually.”

You think you imagine Oikawa’s body stopping mid-movement. “Did you say yes?”

“No. He asked if I was free today. I told him that I already made plans with you four.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says as he pulls out a cup of mint chocolate chip. 

“Yeah.”

As he makes himself busy with finding a spoon, you lean against the counter and continue to press the ice against your eyes. Oikawa sneaks a glance at you. “If he asked again, and you didn’t have plans. Would you say yes?”

His voice is unnaturally quiet. You aren’t sure what to do with that knowledge. 

“Probably not. I broke up with him for a reason.”

A noise of agreement comes from Oikawa. “You said that you two didn’t click.”

“We don’t.”

A comfortable silence engulfs you two as Oikawa leans against the counter next to you. You try not to watch him as he takes a bite of ice cream and unintentionally smiles, his eyes looking serene for the first time in a while. Instead, you make yourself busy with alternating the ice pack between your eyes, though now you were mostly just doing it so that you had something to do other than get the urge to stare at him. 

After a moment, Oikawa speaks again. “I still don’t believe for one second that you were only crying because of school.”

You let the hand holding the ice pack finally fall to your side. “Well you better believe it then because it’s the truth.”

“Maybe. But I get the feeling that it’s a half truth.”

“Half truths aren’t all bad.”

“So I’m right.”

You make yourself busy with throwing the ice into the sink as you scramble your head for a decent lie. “Bad day at the bakery. I fucked up the honey buns.”

Oikawa hums. “So now it’s a two-thirds truth.”

The other third is that I’m in love with your dumbass and you’ll never know.

“That’s it. Promise.”

Oikawa switches tactics. “Y/N-channn. You’re lying to me.”

“Tooruuuu. I’m not lying to you,” you say as you roll your eyes. 

“Yes you are. You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Tapping your right middle finger on your thigh.”

“I do that?” You look down and find that you were indeed tapping your finger against your thigh. You start to wonder how many other times he could detect your lies, but for the sake of your sanity, you decide not to dwell on it.

He reaches down and stops your tapping finger with his own hand. The moment lasts too long -- feels too personal. You pull your hand away and take a step back so that you’re leaning against the opposite counter. 

“Whatever. I’m telling the truth.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am!”

“Mhm. Lies, lies , lies,” Oikawa says playfully. “Sorry for not being here earlier. I got caught up in playing this new game Takeru bought. You should’ve called me over. I would’ve come in a heartbeat if I knew that you were having a hard time.”

You make a waving motion with your hand. “It’s fine really. I just got overwhelmed by stuff. No big deal.”

Oikawa frowns. The sight doesn’t look natural on his usually smiling face. “Stop putting yourself down like that. I don’t care how small you think your problem is. If it makes you cry, then it’s worth talking about.”

“Don’t get all team captain ‘Kawa on me. I appreciate it, I really do. But this time it really wasn’t a big deal.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “I walked in and your eyes looked redder than Mattsun’s ass after I accidentally hit him with a serve.”

“How the fuck would you know that?”

“Don’t question what goes on in the locker room.”

A laugh bubbles up from your lips and you have to tip your head back so that Oikawa doesn’t make fun of the way your face contorts as you laugh. When your laughter finally dies down, you look back to see that Oikawa’s staring at you again. He’s looking at you like you’re an opponent he can’t quite get a read on. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he pauses. “Do you think I should invite Hishoko next time? You know … to be a .. good boyfriend.”

Suddenly it hits you again. It hits you that you can’t just live in this perfect little bubble where you and Oikawa are making jokes at each other in your kitchen forever. It hits you that this Oikawa - the Oikawa that’s so very real and rough around the edges but makes you laugh louder than anyone - isn’t yours. It hits you that while he might look at you one way, he might look at Hishoko in a completely different way that you have never been privy to. 

It rips you back to reality, and suddenly you’re aware of the voices in the living room and how Makki and Iwa seem to be fighting over whatever movie’s better. 

“Oh yeah. I don’t mind.” You smile up at him with the most convincing smile you can. Suddenly, the thought of spending one more minute in this kitchen with him and getting lost in this perfect little bubble makes you want to cry all over again. “We should head back. I think hell’s going down over there,” you say lightly. 

Before he can even get a word out, you’re already making a beeline for the living room. You try to slow your steps to a normal pace when you start towards where Iwaizumi is now sitting on the floor. You make sure to make him move over so that you can sit on the side where the couch ends so that Oikawa can’t sit next to you. 

“Fucking finally. Don’t ever leave me in a room with Makki and Iwaizumi ever again,” Matsukawa says. You laugh a little when you notice that he’s saying that while being sprawled across Makki’s lap. 

“It’s not my fault that Hanamaki can’t appreciate a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Hate to break it to you Iwa, but Godzilla vs. The Cosmic Monster isn’t anyone’s favorite movie.”

Oikawa’s voice joins in as you hear steps from the kitchen. “Makki, that movie’s a fucking masterpiece. Please shut your mouth.”

You try not to listen to the way Oikawa’s steady steps back into the living room come to a halt when he notices your choice of seat. 

He looks up at the stars twinkling against the blackened blue of the contrasting night sky with a heavy sigh. Oikawa always felt a sense of stability and tranquility when looking up at the sky, as if it was a reminder that his life was just a minuscule dot in the cloth of the universe. That maybe, his worries were something so small that he needn’t have to worry about them. 

He remembers the way that the night sky was his company when his father had left so early on in his life, or when his sister had come home crying because she had a human growing inside of her and the man she was supposed to marry left her in the same fashion that their own father had, or when he thought that maybe his love for volleyball would have to be ripped from him after his injury in his first year. 

He hopes to look up at the dark indigo of the sky and feel that same tranquility. For just a moment. It does. 

But even now, as his chest rises softly, he can still feel the unease weighing on him. 

The night went by unnaturally fast for a night with you, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. After a few fights between the guys, all five of you finally sat down and got around to watching the movie (which, to Oikawa’s distaste, was some old film from the 60s that Matsukawa had picked because he was drawn to the odd looking cover). 

The movie came and went with more than a few complaints from him. It was the type of movie that he especially hated - the kind with a plot that made absolutely zero sense and had an ending that made Oikawa want to rewind the last two hours because he just couldn’t believe he spent 2 hours of his life trying to figure out what the hell was going on just for it to not have a satisfactory ending. 

He wouldn’t put the bad movie down as the reason for his irritable mood, but if anyone asked, it would be the answer that they’d get. 

Nobody else seemed to be particularly fond of the horrendous movie either (except for Matsukawa, who insisted that they just simply did not have to brain to appreciate the masterpiece. Makki just insisted that the movie was a pile of shit, which Oikawa found himself agreeing with). 

Soon after, the five of you found yourselves cramped into your tiny kitchen, which really should never happen again, if the glass that broke after getting knocked over was any indication. It only really happened because Matsukawa swore that he could create the best soup they’d ever put anywhere near their mouths, but that plan went up in flames. Literally.

The incident of Makki almost setting off the fire alarm seemed to sober everyone up, as if whatever energy had previous possessed the five of you had suddenly run out. Oikawa didn’t mind too much, considering the rest of the night was spent watching reruns of one of your favorite shows that he was particularly fond of. 

What he did mind however, was the way that you seemed to decide to avoid him for the entire night. He was sure that Iwa, Mattsun, and Makki must’ve noticed, but by some odd agreement, nobody dared speak a word about it.

He tried not to think about anything whenever he felt his eyes drift down to where you were huddled against Iwaizumi’s side, a position that had been his and yours for as long as he could remember. He tried not to think about it then because he was sure that if he did, he’d end up saying something he didn’t mean to say. 

He knew that he’d have to think about this in the silence of his own thoughts where there’s nothing but his own annoying emotions chiming in. 

So now he’s here, sitting on a bench in your backyard and staring up at the sky like it’ll give him the answer to whatever question he wanted answered. 

He hadn’t meant to bring up Hishoko, he really hadn’t. He just remembered the way his stomach fluttered once more at the sound of your laugh and the way it made him panic, because for the love of everything he wasn’t supposed to feel like that. 

“Oikawa?”

Oikawa tears his gaze from the sky and turns to meet Iwaizumi’s head as he slips through the door. He must not have heard the door open. “Hey Iwa-chan. I couldn’t sleep.”

Iwaizumi lets out a low chuckle as he walks to where Oikawa’s seated in the middle of your rock garden. He takes a seat next to Oikawa on the bench. “Leave it to you to be the only one that stays up when everyone else crashed two hours ago.”

“Mhm. Why are you awake? Last I checked you were as passed out as the rest of them,” Oikawa says with his gaze still flickering over the stars. 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Had to use the bathroom and then realized that you weren’t anywhere to be found.”

Oikawa seizes the moment to don his cheeky smile, turning his head from the stars and to Iwaizumi’s sleep-ridden face. “Awe you worried about me Iwa-chan?”

The reaction he gets from Iwaizumi is an eyeroll, but Oikawa doesn’t expect any less. “After you spent the night looking like you were one second away from an existential crisis? Yeah I did.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond to that. He wonders if you noticed too. 

“Spit it out.”

He ponders with himself for a moment, wondering if it’s a good idea to finally just talk about it with someone. He decides that if there’s anyone he’d talk about this with, he’s glad it’s with Iwaizumi. “It’s about Y/N and Hishoko.”

Iwa doesn’t miss a beat, as if he was expecting that. “Mm. What about them?”

“I think I made a mistake.”

“You make a lot of those, ‘Kawa.”

“No, I mean, I shouldn’t have accepted Hishoko’s confession when the only reason I did it was because I didn’t know how I was feeling. It’s not fair to her that the only reason I’m with her is because I’m too cowardly to decide how I felt after I ...” Oikawa trails off, unsure if you’d be okay with Iwaizumi knowing. 

It seems he doesn’t have to worry because Iwaizumi finishes his sentence for him. “Kissed Y/N?”

Oikawa’s head turns to Iwaizumi. “You know about that?”

“She told me, yeah.”

“Why … why would she tell you that?”

“You’re not fucking dense, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says with a side glance at his best friend. “I think you know the answer to that.”

For a moment Oikawa considers the possibility that you did feel the same way (a fantasy he’s entertained more times than he’s willing to admit), but he knows that he has to get this out now, has to figure it out and solidify what he feels for you now, because he won’t be able to stand it if he has to keep tiptoeing around you because he’s a fool that can’t admit his own feelings to himself.  

The question that comes out of his mouth next isn’t exactly what he meant to ask, but now that it’s out in the open, Oikawa guesses that maybe that’s the question that’s been holding him back this whole time. “What if I mess up?”

“Mess up how?”

He sighs. “I don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to relationships.” So far, out of the six relationships he’s had, only two of them will even look at him without disdain, and one of those is his current girlfriend. 

“No shit,” Iwaizumi snorts. 

Oikawa fakes a pout before crossing his arms. “You could’ve at least pretended to disagree.”

“When you’re out here moping because of it? No I won’t.”

A silence falls over the two of them. Oikawa can feel his own breathing synced up with Iwaizumi and finds that it clears his head a little bit. He gets the feeling that Iwaizumi isn’t going to talk again until he does. 

“Hishoko’s great, really she is,” Oikawa starts again. “But I just-“ He lets out a frustrated sigh, slumping further down against the bench. 

Iwaizumi hums. “Don’t like her like that? Because there’s someone else?”

Oikawa blinks, still slumped down like a limp noodle. “When you put it that way it sounds so uncomplicated.”

“Because it is.”

Oikawa ponders that. Maybe it is that simple, but for how confident he is about everything else in life, he’s never had a firm grip on romance or how to deal with it. He always seemed to do the exact opposite of what anyone with a good instinct would do. 

He’s read enough shoujo manga with you to know that love isn’t as easy as “kiss and live happily ever after”, especially if that love is with your best friend. A shoujo manga he especially remembered liking in first year was of a story of best friends that fell in love, but as fate had it, they fell in love with the right person at the wrong time. 

That manga really shouldn’t be something he compares his own love life to, but he can’t help but worry, especially given his past relationships. Oikawa doesn’t usually feel such anxiety about jumping into relationships (mainly because the relationships he did get into were never relationships he really took as seriously as he should), but now he feels that shadow of insecurity come lurking back like a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. It seems he can never escape his own fear of never being enough.

“But Y/N’s different,” he finally says after a hefty silence. “Most of my exes hate me now because of how badly I keep messing up. I don’t know what I’ll do if I mess up with her.”

Iwaizumi crosses his arms tighter. “Y/N’s been through tons of your bullshit. She won’t give up on you that easily, as long as you don’t colossally fuck up.”

Oikawa nods, but there’s already another question bugging him. “How can I be sure that I love her like that? I mean, I remember thinking that I loved Yua, but now that I look back, I wonder if that was only because she was the only relationship I had that kept me around for so long.”

He doesn’t even want to think about the possibility that he might mess up that badly - that he’ll take back his feelings for you within a few days like he’s been known for in past relationships. Oikawa thinks that that would most definitely count as a colossal fuck up. 

“I’m not trying to label your feelings or anything, but I think you’ve been in love with her for a long time now,” Iwaizumi says in the softest voice Oikawa’s ever heard it be in the years he’d known him.  “I just think you’re only starting to realize it because well, you said you kissed right?”

“We did.”

“Then yeah, that probably woke your brain up a little.”

“She’s not just a case of raging hormones,” Oikawa replies. 

“I know she’s not,” Iwaizumi says mildly. “I’m just saying that sometimes you don’t realize that you feel like that for someone until something happens that forces you to think about it. For you, it was probably that kiss.”

Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi is probably remembering his own experience with Hanamaki. The look of heartbreak on his best friend’s face when they found Matsukawa and Hanamaki with their lips locked against the side of the school building was not one he would easily forget. He wonders if Iwaizumi knew the extent of his feelings before that moment or if he went through something similar to what Oikawa’s going through.

The remembrance of Iwaizumi’s past feelings also makes Oikawa wonder if he’s felt like this toward you even before all this, just like he knew of Iwaizumi’s feelings for Hanamaki before Iwaizumi himself did. 

“I think I would’ve noticed if I felt things towards her before all this. Maybe not a lot, but I would’ve noticed to some extent.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “No you wouldn’t. You’ve got the mind of a genius when it comes to volleyball, but when it comes to any aspect of your life that isn’t volleyball, then your brain is like a pile of horseshit.”

“Iwa-chan, so mean!”

“I’m right and you know it.”

“No you aren’t,” Oikawa says, though he’s not so sure he believes himself. 

“You’ve centered your whole life on volleyball ‘Kawa. You’ve neglected shit about yourself because of volleyball. I’ve seen it, Y/N’s seen it. Volleyball is the center of your mind and everything kinda revolves around it like a solar system. But once you get used to something being a small little planet in that tiny brain of yours, you just accept it as a natural part of your thinking because the big old volleyball is still vying for your attention.”

“Please, Iwa-chan. It’s two in the morning. Please speak in a language I can understand.”

“You loved her when we were kids, right?” Iwaizumi pauses and Oikawa just nods. “Then your love and feelings for her were put into this nice bubble labeled ‘positive feelings’ and you never realized when you might’ve started looking at her differently because being in love with her is still a positive feeling.”

“And I’ve been so focused on volleyball and practice that I didn’t even notice?”

Iwaizumi raises a brow at Oikawa. “Are you trying to say that you haven’t neglected parts of your life before for volleyball?”

“Okay, good point.”

Iwaizumi’s explanation does make sense to him, now that Oikawa has something to latch his thought process on. He always liked having you around, and you had become one of the anchors that kept him from breaking over the years. He’s always known that being around you gave him ounces of joy, but he never really looked further into it because well .. Iwaizumi was right. 

It was in the way where he unknowingly looked for your figure in the stands when he won the Best Setter award back in junior high. He hadn’t really noticed because he thought he’d always done that.

It was in the way that he would sometimes head to your place after a particularly grueling practice just to make rice cakes for the both of you because he was so exhausted that the only thing he wanted to do is see your smile as you compliment his cooking. He hadn’t really noticed that he got giddy at that prospect because he felt as if he’d always felt like that.

It was in the way that he would sometimes lay his head on your shoulder and only focus on your breathing because it calmed him down in ways that nothing else can. He hadn’t really noticed that he was doing so because he’s always done that.

You had become a positive constant in his life and loving you one way or another became the default. He just hadn’t been paying close enough attention to when it was that the hugs, the support, the little glances, and the nights spent falling asleep on each other might have become something more than the childish blind love he held for you as children. And then that kiss came along and hit him like a volleyball to the face. 

With that, he finally lets himself admit it to himself, with no qualms or worries about how he might find a way to mess up. He lets himself admit that he might be a tiny bit in love with you.

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter. 

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” 

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face. 

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next chapter is the final chapter :D if you wanna be added to the taglist for the last chap then just send an ask!