#i stayed up late as hell watching the damn thing on loop. you forget what a hyperfixiation does to you until youre in the throes of one.

[tamaharu]

in honor of accidentally getting back into two of my old musical hyperfixiations: a very, very old au that im breaking out for one last job

[petri808]

Oh look at the date! Klance ficlet for @diablosart they know why lol 😏

“What the hell we’re you thinking?!” Keith snapped as he popped his helmet off and chucked it hard at the ground. “Thanks to you were now trapped in a cave in!”

“Look, I’m sorry! I got distracted!” Lance snapped back.

“By what?! We were supposed to be scanning for the jababian dagger. What were you doing, watching your smut videos again?!”

Lance pulled off his helmet with a scoff. “First off, I don’t watch smut videos. Second, even if I did, that’s none of your business. And third, no, I was scanning, just wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Keith rolled his eyes and spat back with a sarcastic riff. “Well that explains why you knocked both our cats out of the damn air crashing us into this place!”

Using a flashlight, Keith scanned the inside of the cave and noticed a lot of fractures spanning the walls. According to the computer in his Lion, the cave was full of an unstable and weak type of volcanic rock. ‘No wonder it caved in so easily…’ He groaned again. “Just great, if we try to blast our way out, it might collapse the ceiling on us.” Keith walked over to his helmet and picked it up. “I’ll need to do a thorough analysis before attempting to break free. The computers on the ship could do a better job scanning this cave, but they won’t arrive until morning.”

“Are you serious?! We’re stuck in here?!”

“At least for the night, so, stop your bitching since you’re the one who got us into this mess! Why don’t you start a fire while I get to work with the computer.”

“Fine,” Lance stomped away muttering to himself. He was just happy Keith was too irritated and didn’t press him further on what he’d been distracted about.

The pair had been sent ahead of the rest of the Voltron group to look for some kind of special dagger. Lance couldn’t remember what was so important about it, just that it possessed magical properties and they didn’t want it falling into the enemy’s hands. A distress signal was sent out to their ship, so now they just needed to settle in and stay warm until help arrived. He managed to find a cache of old animal bones deeper in the cave to use as fuel for the fire, coupled with some dried leaves and tetrodontyl feathers that must have blown in over the years for kindling. Whether it would last the night was yet to be seen, but it was all he had to work with. Their Lions only held so much in terms of supplies because they weren’t meant to hold long term reserves. But luckily there were emergency blankets and some instant rations they could eat.

Lance never realized just how cold and uninviting a cave could truly be until he became stuck in one. It was creepy with the sounds of bugs scurrying in the darkness, water drops echoing through the silent air, and occasional cracking sounds from any temperature fluctuations. He hated the quiet emptiness because it left open room for his mind to wander and more thoughts to break through as he stared into the flames of their campfire. Lance frowned and brows furrowed, remembering the distraction that led to this debacle. Of course, this was the opposite of what he would have wanted! Their lions sustained damage, and to be stuck, alone, with the reason for his distracted mind was causing his stomach to turn inside out.

Maybe Lance should have pushed Keith harder to drag Pidge or Hunk or Allura along on this trip and not him, anyone but him. He didn’t want to come. Didn’t want to be alone with the man. Hasn’t, for a while now ever since he’d developed different feelings for the guy. ‘How ironic,’ Lance groaned in his head. To go from professional jealousy to romantic pining, he was such a fool. Could anyone blame him? Keith was handsome and smart, but not surprisingly it took someone who could be as hot-headed as himself to catch his eye. Or maybe it was surprising if Lance really thought about it. Girls easily caught his attention, but with Keith it was an attraction that grew through close working confines and of admiration. In essence, he fell for the character of the man and not just for his looks.

“Oi?” Keith snapped his fingers to get Lance’s attention. “The eta is now 8 hours till Shiro and the rest get here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, okay.” Lance responded in a rather distracted tone that mirrored the monotonous looping thoughts in his head. He felt horrible about causing this disaster in the mission while at the same time kept thinking about Keith…

“That’s all you can say?” Keith questioned his teammate. “Okay?” But when he received no response, he pushed the man’s shoulder hard. “What is going on with you lately Lance? You’ve been distracted a lot and it’s starting to affect your performance.”

“Am I not allowed to have a bad day?” Lance retorted. “Everyone has their bad days, man, it’s not always a crisis.”

Keith sighed. His anger had dissipated but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still annoyed. He thought they were close enough friends that would turn to each other if something was wrong, but apparently he was mistaken. “It’s my job as the leader to worry, so cut the bullshit Lance. I know enough to know something is really bothering you. If you don’t wanna talk about it, fine, but you need to figure it out cause this,” he gestured to their damaged lions, “can’t keep happening.”

“I know, I know,” Lance dropped his head with a long exhale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw up. It’s just— there’s something eating me up and I have no idea what to about it.”

A silence took hold as the two men sat there illuminated by the fire’s light. Keith didn’t want to keep pushing, but he could see the angst on Lances face and it bothered him. In all the years they’ve known each other, there was only one other time he’d ever seen the man so… sad? But it couldn’t be for the same reason, because if Lance had met a new girl he was interested in, Keith was certain he would have heard about it immediately. Lance wasn’t exactly shy about the subject unlike himself. So, what could it be? Keith stared at the fire as he pondered what to say next, but nothing really felt right to say to his friend. This wasn’t exactly a topic he was skilled in with his own little buried secret. For the next couple of hours, they stayed that way, shifting only to stoke the fire or eat some of the rations they had available. It would probably be a great idea to get some rest, but neither made a move to do so. Just… kept staring in awkward silence at a dying fire.

The temperature change in the cavern was slower than it would have been if exposed to the outside air, but nonetheless, by the mid-way mark of their wait the pair could feel it dropping. Blankets were pulled tighter around their bodies in an effort to hold back the cold, and the men had moved closer together to conserve the body heat between them. Maybe it was the exhaustion kicking in, but the limited distance no longer bothered Lance. The hours of silent reflection were also leading him to one conclusion. If he wanted to stop the frustration, coming clean was the best solution. Yet one thing kept holding him back from making the leap— the proverbial aftermath.

Yeah, so telling Keith how he really felt might take the weight off his shoulders, but what would happen after that? What if Keith is disgusted? He’ll not only lose a friend, but how could they continue working together? That would be so uncomfortable! Lance groaned in his head. Would he be willing to give up his role in Voltron? What if Keith ended up leaving instead, causing him to feel guilty about it? Would the others hold it against him? Maybe if they talked it out, they can work out something amicable… ‘Argh!’ Lance screamed in his head as cradled his lowered head. Why did he fall for a teammate!

Keith looked over at the movement and saw Lance’s demeanor. “If you’re tired, why don’t you rest?”

“It’s not that,” Lance mumbled. “I mean I am, but it’s not that.”

“Oh…”

“Have you ever had a crush on someone but didn’t know how to tell them?”

‘So it is over a girl…’ Keith’s brow raised. “Why can’t you tell them?”

“Because, it’s awkward when you’ve known them for so long.”

‘Huh, so maybe it is Allura.’ Keith couldn’t say he was surprised, but it stung just a little. “You should probably just tell them, I mean if it’s eating you up this bad, isn’t it better to just know how they feel too?”

“I don’t know…” Lance sighed. “It’s not like they’ve ever given me a reason to think they’d like me back.”

“Still, once you do know, you can start moving forward again, cause right now you’re stuck and that’s worse.”

Lance glanced over to Keith who was looking in his direction. The man was right. Didn’t make a decision any easier… but he was probably right and all he could do is hope for the best. That didn’t mean he was ready to face Keith head-on either or see the physical reaction the man might have. Lance turned his head away and kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself for protection. “It’s… you…” he mumbled quietly.

“Come again? I didn’t catch that.”

“I said… It’s you.” Lance mumbled again, but this time a little louder.

“Me??”

“See, yeah, I told you it would be awkward— just forget I said anything. I feel better just getting it out.”

Keith forced Lance to turn back to him. “No, I mean I was just surprised cause you’re always chasing after women, but—”

“I’ll just drop it and move on,” Lance cut him off. “I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.”

“But that’s the thing,” Keith interjected, “I’m not. It’s okay because I’ve liked you too but I just thought you weren’t into guys.”

Lances eyes flashed wide. He really hadn’t expected such a response, especially not this quickly. “You do?” His voice trembled as he verified the man’s statement.

“Yeah…” Keith blushed. “I don’t exactly have experience in this stuff, but I like you too Lance.”

Lance jumped up in excitement. “Wow— for once my screw up turned out to be a good thing!”

“Uh-huh…” Keith chuckled. “But don’t do that again!”

[ssa-babygirl]

Out of my League [Part 7]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 2.5k (i know it’s so short i split it up again so part 8 will be out quicker)

Summary: Months later, you finally get a call after midnight from Spencer and he seems… off.

Warning(s): Angst, mentions of grief and death, swearing, allusions to schizophrenia, mentions of sex/smut, partially unedited cuz grammarly’s a lil BITCH but it’s ok i’m good at grammar

Author’s Note: HI IT’S HERE SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG HAVE FUN ENJOY I’M GONNA GO BACK TO MY DEPRESSIVE EPISODE NOW 

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

(not my gif)

10 Weeks Later

(Reader POV)

It was a little after midnight when you were jolted awake by your phone buzzing next to you. You just nearly rolled over and ignored it, but you were already up. You reached across your empty bed to your nightstand and turned your phone over, the bright screen burning your eyes. Squinting, you tried to read the name displayed across the top: ‘Doctor Spencer.’ 

You sat upright in bed immediately and answered, “Spence?”

His voice was a bit frantic, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, I was up,” you lied, “What’s wrong?”

“How soon can you get here?”

You were already climbing out of bed and looking for your keys by the time he asked. He never called you that late unless something was wrong, “I’ll be right over.”

And that’s how you ended up driving through the almost deserted streets at top speed, racing to see the man who you hadn’t heard from in almost three months, the man who kissed you and then kicked you out, the man who needed you at nearly one in the morning.

The man you loved.

You didn’t drag your feet getting out of the car. You went straight up to Spencer’s floor and went to knock on the door before it swung open. Spencer was waiting for you. He only met your eyes briefly before turning away and walking back into his apartment, leaving the door ajar for you to enter.

“Spence—” you started before he cut you off.

“Am I crazy?”

The question caught you off guard, “What are you talking about?”

His fingers ran across the scars on his forearms, trying not to scratch, “Am I?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Answer me.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong here. It’s been months, I don’t even get so much as a text, I have to hear about how you are from JJ, and now you’re calling me over to your place at one in the morning, begging me to tell you you’re not crazy. What’s going on?”

“Emily’s alive.”

You hear the words from a million miles away behind walls and walls blocking the sound from your ears. You can’t move. Your voice feels like shouting, but sounds like a whimper, “What?”

“I can’t tell if it’s all a dream, or I made it up, or something, I don’t know, just please, tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Spencer.”

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just some kid. It’s the same exact look you gave me when I told you about Alexa! I hated it then and I hate it now, so just… stop.”

You struggled to find words after his sudden outburst, all you could manage was “How—”

“She’s been hiding in Paris. Call her if you don’t believe me.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer was already dialing a number into his phone and handing it to you.

“Hello?” A groggy voice came from the speaker. It wasn’t Emily’s.

“Sorry to wake you up, JJ—”

“Y/N? What are you doing on Spencer’s phone?”

“Long story.” You chewed your lip for a moment, “Actually, no, it isn’t. What’s this about Emily?”

Dead air crackled through the phone.

“He told you?”

“Of course he did, he can’t sleep over it.” You avoided looking at him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell anyone, you have to understand that.”

“I do. I just wish it hadn’t come to that.”

“Me too,” her voice was smaller than it was before, shrunken not by sleep but by guilt, “Wanna talk to her?”

“Is she there?”

“Yeah, she’s staying with Will and I until she finds a new place.”

“Well I don’t wanna bother her if she’s sleeping.”

“You think she’s sleeping?”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Before you can say anything else you hear a voice that you never thought you’d hear again, “Hey.”

The sound brought tears to your eyes as you were finally able to bring your gaze back to Spencer, “Oh my god…”

“Surprise!” You could hear the guilt bleeding through into Emily’s voice like she was scared you’d be angry with her, like any of this was her fault.

“You’re…”

“Yeah. It freaked me out too.” Yep. It was really her alright.

“How… I was at your funeral, Emily.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. You’re…” you fought back a sob, “you’re back now. That’s what matters now, okay?”

“I’ll take it.”

“And we have brunch plans soon, understand me? We have months to make up for.”

She laughed, god, did you miss her laugh, “It’s a date. Give my love to Jamie.”

“Of course. Bye, love you.” You weren’t missing your chance to say that to her again.

You lowered the phone from your ear and nearly dropped it from your loose grip.

“Am I crazy?” Spencer asked for what felt like the hundreth time.

“No.” You crossed the room and placed the phone onto the table beside him, “She’s alive.”

“Did she ever really leave? I mean this whole thing just feels so ridiculous it can’t be—”

“Do you trust me?”

His silence stung.

“Well do you?” you croaked.

“Yes! Of course I trust you, Y/N, you haven’t been lying to me!”

It was absolutely not the right time, but it’s not like timing had ever been your strong suit, “Actually I have, Spencer.”

“What?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“What? Is everything okay?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Y/N stop fucking with me what the hell are you talking about?” He rarely cursed with you, and his expression softened once he noticed your shock at his language.

“You’re either a shitty profiler or I really should have pursued acting—”

His jaw clenched once more, “Damn it, Y/N, what is it—”

You practically lunge yourself at him, pulling him down to your level by his collar and smashing your lips to his. His hands were quick to land on the small of your back, arms looping around your waist and pressing you close to his body as your hands danced from his collar to the nape of his neck, carding through the hair on the back of his head, the tears on both of your cheeks mingling, the past ten weeks of missing each other poured out into that kiss.

You weren’t the one to pull away this time. He guided his hands back down to your hips and pried himself away from your body, “Woah, wait, wait…” he mumbled against your lips as he tried to break the kiss. 

When his shining brown eyes met yours, he looked at you like it was the first time he ever saw you. He held your face like you were a precious thing made of glass.

“Is this real?” Was all he could muster. The hoarse whimper cut through to your heart and summoned a new wave of tears to your eyes. 

“This is real, I’m real,” you gestured between the two of you, “This is real.”

“You actually want this?”

You nod, breaking out into an earnest grin.

“Please say it.”

“I want this. I want you, Spencer.”

You just barely get the words out before his lips are on yours again. The kiss was brief before he broke it again, pressing his forehead to yours and just holding you close, taking heaving breaths and trying to memorize how you felt in his arms.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“I meant for real. You deserved better than…” He tried to shake the memory from his head, “Y/N, I—”

“Me too,” you rushed out, desperate for him to know already.

“Please let me say it, I’ve been waiting the last eighteen years.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, go.”

“I love you.” He sighed, peppering kisses against your smiling cheeks as he whispered, “I love you so much,” Kiss, “I have loved you ever since you helped me up off the locker room floor and I don’t think there’s been a minute since then that I had ever stopped loving you.”

“I love you too, Spencer.” You couldn’t help but giggle as his little kisses migrated from your cheek to your neck. You’d never loved anyone like this before, and you were glad it was him. You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and brought his lips back to yours. It was slow and sweet and gentle, so different from the previous kisses that were filled with the last few years of longing for each other’s touch.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything. The past few months. I should have just talked to you, but I was convinced you hated me and I didn’t know what to—”

“Spencer. It’s okay. Just,” you fixed the collar of his pajama top, “talk to me now. No more dancing around things. If we have something to say, we say it. Deal?”

“Deal,” he sighed and kissed your forehead, “I love you so much.”

          (Spencer POV)

The next few weeks felt almost exactly the same. Our dynamic didn’t change much after that. The only differences were the occasional dinner dates and the consistent ‘I love you’s. And the kissing. That was all new. We were still navigating that part about a month later when I attempted to make us dinner and ended up ordering Chinese takeout and watching Doctor Who reruns on my couch. I forget how exactly she ended up on my lap, but I wasn’t thinking about the chain of events when I had more pressing matters on my mind.

My hands were in her hair, hers on my chest. How I was still breathing, I had no clue. Not an inkling of where I got the confidence to move my hands to her waist. For one of the few times in my life, there was not a single thought in my mind because my fingertips brushed over the bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. The sigh she let out against my lips did nothing to bring me back to reality, I was still a million miles away in my own little world where this was happening and it wasn’t freaking me out.

My hands involuntarily drifted upwards, meeting the underwire of her bra, which was another reality check I completely missed out on. I was nearly convinced that it was all a dream when she pulled away.

“Hey, can we stop for a sec?”

This definitely was not part of my dream.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Yeah! Uh, fine, it’s just...” Her eyes wandered around the room as if looking for an excuse.

I lifted her off my lap and placed her next to me back on the couch, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” She stayed silent, “Is it something I did?”

“No! No, no, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You can tell me anything,” I tried to give her space, but still laced my fingers with hers. 

“I know! I just…” She trailed off and avoided eye contact, eyes fixed on our hands in her lap, “I haven’t done anything like this is a while.”

I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief, “Alright, is that it?”

“Yeah, can we just… take things a little slow? I don’t wanna seem like a tease—” She rushed the words out, almost like she thought I’d be upset with her. 

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that, okay? I love you, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Her shoulders relaxed, “Okay, thank you.”

“You don’t have to answer this, but how long has it been since you… did that?” She covered her face out of embarrassment, bashfully grinning a little bit, “Seriously, don’t answer if you don’t w—”

“No, it’s fine, just… don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”

She bit her lip and spoke so softly I almost couldn’t hear her, “Since I left Kyle.”

Well, I definitely didn’t laugh. The guilt bloomed in my chest almost as quick as the genuine shock that flashed across my face, “Sorry, I—”

“No, I get it! It’s a lot!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how?”

She giggled at the absolute bewilderment on my face, “Well I didn’t really have a lot of time for dating when Jamie was little, I was working two jobs, so I didn’t take my friends up on their offers to set me up. And when I moved out here, I just didn’t know anyone.”

“But you’ve lived here for years now, you didn’t go on any dates at all?”

“Well, by the time I had friends here…” She finally met my eyes after far too long, “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Oh.

I didn’t realize—

She didn’t want anyone else.

She wanted me.

After years of trying to feel what I felt for her with people I hardly knew, I find out she only wanted me. She didn’t go on dates like me, she didn’t hook up with strangers like I did. For the first time ever, I’m with someone I’ve had more sex than.

The first emotion I felt at that moment was guilt. I never thought she’d want to be with me, let alone wait for me, but she did and I was the asshole that slept around. But it’s not like I knew how she felt. I was in love with a woman I thought I’d never get, so why wouldn’t I try to get over her? It’s not like it worked anyway. If anything, it made me feel worse. No one I slept with made me feel as much as I did when Y/N smiled at me.

The next thing I felt at that moment was extreme pressure. She’s been waiting years for me. What if I don’t live up to her expectations? What if I disappoint her? Would that be so bad she loses feelings for me?

The next emotion at that moment was embarrassment. That was ridiculous. If sex mattered that much to her, I highly doubt she would’ve gone back to Kyle so many times.

The last emotion I felt before I kissed her was relief. The last guy she was with was Kyle. As if his name isn’t enough of an indicator that he was sub-par in bed, Penelope let it slip that Y/N had confessed to faking it with him during a night of drinking.

The kiss was short and sweet. I was the one that pulled away, not wanting to start things back up if she wasn’t comfortable with it. She just smiled and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Did you wanna stop doing that?” I asked in reference to what we were doing before. She laughed and shook her head, “Are you sure? ‘Cuz I can just make us some tea and—” Her lips were on mine again.

It didn’t matter to me how much longer I had to wait for her. She was mine.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @purelyprentiss @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper @theweirdobella @sammypotato67 @k-k0129 @helloniallslovelies @dazzlingnights @uhuhuh @booksarekindaneat @crimeshowtrash @carlgrxmes @collectiveuniverses @annesauriol @eevee0722 @supersouthy @spencerwaltergubler @llilithsdaughter @silverhetdanes @voidtruealpha @takeyourleap-of-faith​ @unholyobsessions​

[starlocked01]

The Black Coffee Widower

AO3 Link

Dukexiety Week Day 3- Coffee Shop

WC: 4.2K

Summary: Virgil works the late-night shift at the local coffee shop. That's where he poisons and picks up his victims. He wasn't ready for the one who didn't fight back.

Content Warnings (there's a lot today): Serial Killer/Coffee Shop AU Unsympathetic Virgil, Poisoning, Kidnapping, Swearing, Gun Violence, Negative Self-talk, Self Hatred, Murder and Attempted Murder, Implied Sexual content. Sexual innuendo, referenced rape, referenced mutilation, Strangulation, Hospitals, Police

@dukexietyweek

The simple fact was that they glowed. Virgil had long ago given up on trying to explain it to himself; they just glowed when he saw them. It was like a premonition- a beautiful soft light that needed to be contained lest it sullied the rest of the world by leaving it dim and grungy in comparison.

Virgil was grungy. He knew very well he didn't and would never glow as they did. Maybe that was the reason why. Maybe if he ever had to tell someone why he did it, he'd tell them that.

He killed them because they glowed and no one should be able to glow.

However, he'd never cared all that much about the whys. The hows were so much more fun. How did he pick his victims? Easy. They glowed and walked in at the wrong time. How did a weak, little, pathetic loser subdue the perfect glowing people? Bitter coffee was a perfect cover for bitter poisons. How did he end their lives? Any way he pleased.

How did he avoid detection? A healthy dose of anxiety kept him careful. Too many of the brightest glowing people escaped because they'd be missed. He never went by his legal name anywhere. He stayed patient and alert. He was the nobody that no one could ever remember. Playing barista sucked but it was the perfect cover. No one ever suspected the sulky, little, dimwitted worker stuck on the insomniacs shift at the quiet little 24-hour cafe. And no one ever really noticed if the store's hours were a bit unpredictable between 2 am and 4 am. That was the best time for hunting; it worked and Virgil wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

---

Virgil knelt, his latest catch already unconscious and tied up behind the counter when the doorbell chimed. Cursing at himself for forgetting to lock the door, Virgil grabbed a refill pack of napkins and stood cautiously. He gasped, finding the man who had entered shone twice as brightly as the woman he already had tied up. Certain that Miss Double-Soy-Latte-with-Hazelnut-Syrup-and-Whipped-Cream-you-got-that-Sugar? wasn't about to wake up and cause a scene, Virgil watched the man as he studied the menu.

The first thing he would do is take the man’s studded wrist gauntlet and fishnet fingerless gloves. Those things couldn't belong to someone who glows. Virgil squinted and could just make out a loosely looped studded belt to match, hanging off the man’s hip and exposing his lack of undergarments. Virgil hungrily followed the curve of that hip with his eyes up to the man's stomach peeking out underneath the ragged edge of a homemade cropped band t-shirt. He wanted to punch that stomach, to feel what it was like when the man tensed and when he stayed soft in compliance.

Next, he stared at shapely arms crossed in front of the man's chest. Those arms looked strong as a vice and he wondered how much effort it would take to break those delicate bones to render the muscles useless. Would he break first?

The man wore a sleeveless leather vest, displaying a museum's worth of inkwork, tentacles and snakes, and other writhing forms accented periodically with teeth and eyes and fangs and beaks. A rendition of the Harry Potter Death Eater mark set into the shoulder and tattooed thorns circled his neck. Virgil found himself getting hot under the collar and decided two in one night would be a fun challenge.

It was hard to see the man’s face until he flashed Virgil a brilliantly blinding smile as if on cue. The smile was all the sign Virgil needed to know this man would die tonight. He was practically begging Virgil to save him from the light radiating from his face. His gorgeous, handsome, wild-eyed face.

Virgil wanted so badly to touch the messy, overdue 5 o'clock shadow, to feel the scars left by razor nicks and frequent skin irritation. He wanted to wipe away the heavy eyeliner and mascara, run dirty fingers through greasy, dyed hair. He wanted those eyes to see him for who he is so he could spare them the pain of hoping there had been another ending once he'd entered the shop.

If the stranger was uncomfortable with his intense gaze, he certainly didn't show it as he approached the counter. Virgil squirmed as a cacophony of overlapping mismatched beats of a second hand overwhelmed his entire sense of hearing. Looking down, he quickly spotted a wristwatch on the unconscious woman's wrist and stepped on it to deaden the maddening sound. Soon all he could hear was the new customer's watch ticking erratically as though it needed to be wound up.

"Heya, kitten! Like what you see, baby?" the man smirked at Virgil as he leaned down on the counter and made sultry suggestive eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" Virgil hissed, recoiling from the familiarity.

"Woah, kitty's got claws huh?" the man giggled. Virgil stiffened, well aware how close the man could come to looking down and spotting the woman. And if he attempted to turn him in it wouldn't end pretty. He didn't want to have to clean up the shop after a struggle before having his fun.

"What are you ordering?" Virgil asked tersely.

"Me-ow. Guess you don't swing my way- darn. I bet you've got a totally bodacious booty too," the man batted his eyelashes at Virgil.

"That isn't on the menu. Order or get lost, yeah?" Virgil growled, trying to seem as disinterested in the enticing man as he could manage.

"Right. Seven shots of espresso, a shot of creamer, and a shot of the pineapple ginger concentrate, s'il vous plait," the man listed off as though he'd ordered the same thing a hundred times.

Virgil froze, unsure how to ring up the disgusting concoction, "what the hell? What kind of drink is that?"

"It's like me. One of a kind," the man beamed, brushing bleached silver hair out of his eyes, "can you handle that, kitty kat?"

"Stop with the pet names," Virgil rolled his eyes and finished inputting the drink, "um.. that will be… $6.69."

"Eyo! Sixty niiiiiiine," the man giggled emphatically while pulling out his money to pay.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "childish. Name for the order?"

"Uh, your phone number."

"What?"

"Damn you don't take hints!" the man placed one hand on his chest and bowed with a flourish, "my name is Remus, and I think you're very cute, kitty kat."

"You are maddening! Just call me Virgil!" he snapped, getting a cup ready to prepare the last drink Remus would ever have, "it's gonna take a minute to pull all those shots. Gosh… that much caffeine could kill you…" Virgil smirked at his own joke.

Remus took the smirk for a friendly smile and grinned, "I got all night for you, Virgil."

"That's cute. I'll let you know when it's ready," Virgil smiled, making direct eye contact as he added his favorite blend of sedatives to Remus’s cup.

It only took 30 seconds before Remus hit the floor with a confused grunt. Virgil was almost impressed the man had downed half the drink in one gulp. Moving quickly, Virgil locked the shop and dragged Remus back behind the counter, binding and gagging the flirtatious idiot. Tonight was going to be so special.

---

It hadn’t been easy, moving both bodies- cursing his weak, pathetic self the entire time. He made sure to dose both of them again after stashing them in the trunk so he could go back and finish out his shift.

He smiled pleasantly at the officers who stopped by just before the morning shift, careful to not give them any reason to be suspicious as he packed up day-old donuts and prepared two drinks nearly as caffeinated as Remus’s drink had been but significantly less poisoned. But still a little poisoned because fuck the police.

It took every muscle in Virgil’s body to not run gleefully to the car when the morning shift came to relieve him from work. He hid his excitement behind his usual persona of snarky disinterest and exhaustion until he was safely in the car and blasting his favorite CD on the drive home.

Pulling directly into the garage, Virgil shut down the car and giggled as the door shut slowly on his prisoners' last hope for rescue. Working at a leisurely pace, Virgil dragged first Remus then the woman down into his basement, both drowsy and barely able to make a complaint. It only seemed fair they die in the order they'd been caught so Virgil laid Remus out on the couch while he tied the woman down to his workbench.

The woman began to moan pathetically just as Virgil was tying down the last limb. It was not a moment too soon. He chuckled to himself and smacked her face a few times to help her wake up.

"Look alive, sunshine! You won't be much longer, I'm afraid," Virgil quipped as she blinked awake and started to panic at the restraints holding her down.

God, he hated when they screamed almost as much as he hated the watches. Virgil waited as long as he could stand the high-pitched whining pleas for freedom and help before loudly shushing until she quieted.

"Shh! Stop yelling or I will restrict your breathing," Virgil hissed, laying a prohibitive finger to her lips, "I promise you'll live longer if you stay quiet."

"You'll let me go?"

"No. I'll just take my time," Virgil smirked as the color drained from her face and her lip began to quiver, "ohh. Ohh, don't be so dramatic, sweetheart. It's time to grow up and realize death is inevitable."

Virgil laughed as she started screaming again, only turning away when Remus stirred from his sleep.

"Oh, dear. You've woken up my other guest. Now you know, he's special. You're going to have the life choked out of you, slowly but surely, but he gets to lose a lot more than his life. Count yourself lucky, sweetheart." Virgil turned to examine the man on the couch again as he blearily blinked up at him.

"You coulda'sked, kitkat," Remus mumbled nearly incomprehensibly. Virgil tilted his head in confusion as he watched Remus. The man slowly regained awareness, and even as Virgil stood above him with a hard frown, he smiled back up at his captor.

"What the hell are you getting on about?" Virgil asked with a growl, hoping to startle that unsettling grin off Remus’ face.

Remus laughed, "you coulda just asked if you wanted to do a scene, cutie! Although I love the attention to realism. Like you actually drugged me to bring me home!"

Virgil stared, completely in shock at what he was hearing, "wait.. you think…"

"That you were too shy to ask me out so you drugged me and dragged me back home? Yes," Remus nodded enthusiastically, "if you have some whips and an electric hand mixer we can have some real fun, you sexy little kitten!" Remus bumped his eyebrows suggestively, leaving Virgil absolutely stunned.

"What is going on here?!?" the woman on the table cried out.

"Shut the hell up!" Virgil barked back at her, too confused to do much more than stare at Remus. Why did he like this? Why did Virgil like that Remus liked this? He felt hot and confused but also certain about one thing he absolutely wanted.

Experimentally he reached down and laid his hand on Remus’ exposed stomach. Watching Remus for his reaction, Virgil slowly slid his hand along the skin and up to Remus’s chest. Remus shut his eyes with a smile and shivered at the touch, "oh yeah, baby. I can purr for you, kitty. Anything you want."

Virgil inhaled sharply, pulling back his hand and looking back at the other prisoner as she lay whimpering on the table.

Well shit, what was he supposed to do with a captive audience?

---

Virgil didn't know what he'd been thinking, letting Remus go after all was said and done. Remus had been fun and so down for all of his sickest fantasies, supplying quite a few of his own. He'd stolen Remus’ watch and put it on the woman's body before shooting both timepieces on her wrist. The ticking had probably driven him to let Remus go. That had to explain it

He dumped the woman as far as he possibly could and hoped beyond reason that Remus wouldn't recognize her in the news and realized what he'd done. For a week he lived in fear of the cops showing up at work or worse his house, armed with search warrants and one hell of a witness. For a week, nothing happened.

It turned out he'd worried for nothing. Just when Virgil began to itch again to get rid of another glowing being, despite the police pressure pushing him to lay low, Remus came back in during his shift.

"Hello, my little purrrfect kitten!" Remus beamed as he walked into the shop.

Virgil froze and slowly turned back to face him, "you- you came back?"

"Mhm. Never got your number but I wanted to see you again, Virgie. Figured we could have some more fun this time," Remus smirked as he leaned casually against the counter, "one usual with the special sauce please!"

"Special sauce?" Virgil asked, still amazed Remus had even come back to the cafe.

"You know," Remus leaned in close and whispered, "the stuff that knocks me out so you can take me home and we can get it on freakier than my last BDSM club"

"Wow, you- you liked it that much?" Virgil let out a low whistle. He studied Remus again, stricken by the fact he didn't glow so much this time. Even though Virgil wanted to take care of another glowing bastard, he was so much more interested in this willing abductee.

"Yeah, I did! That shit's hot as fuck!" Remus beamed. Virgil checked the time on his terminal display and realized it was nearly the time his least favorite police patrons would be making their morning run.

"Look, uh… why don't we save the tranqs for my place?" Virgil smirked as he started to prepare Remus’ strange order, "I'm amazed this drink doesn't put you in a coma already."

Remus giggled, "sometimes it takes a little something extra to get the heart pumping, yeah?"

"Hm. Well, I get off in two hours-"

"I'll be sitting right here in the corner then. I wanna get to know you, Virgie."

"A horrible mistake for you, really," Virgil laughed, heart fluttering far too much.

"Plus I think I left my watch at your place…"

"I haven't seen it this week. We can look though," Virgil lied smoothly, knowing very well the police had the timepiece in evidence.

Remus kept flirting as Virgil cleaned the store and served the early morning crowd, true to his word about waiting to leave with Virgil. They walked out to his car and Remus held out his arm expectantly when they sat down.

"What?" Virgil asked suspiciously.

"You're off the clock, let's get this party started. Surely you have the special stuff in here- you injected me last time."

Virgil flushed, "um.. really? You don't want to wait to know where we're going first?"

"How am I supposed to pretend I'm getting kidnapped if you don't knock me out? At least tie my hands?" Remus bat his eyes at Virgil who rolled his eyes and leaned over to grab a scarf out of the glove box.

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah but you like it, kitten."

---

Logan stared at the evidence bored, absolutely baffled. In 5 months there had been 18 victims, a consistent signature, and every promise that someone would turn up with a connection to this perp. Or someone should know where these folks had been headed when they fell into the unsub's trap.

And then after Lydia with the two watches- nothing. No bodies were found for weeks. No whisperings of the media-named Black Widower who aggressively mutilated his male victims almost beyond recognition after raping them and humiliated the women after strangling them with silk scarves.

"I just don’t understand. Guys like this don’t go dormant! It's against every drive they have. What are we missing, Patton?"

Patton looked up from his third cup of coffee, "I don't know, Lo. What about the two-unsub theory? Maybe they met up and are keeping each other occupied?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "oh sure. Two serial killers, one who's gay and one who hates women meet and start playing house. Real cute."

"It could happen…" Patton replied defensively, already reaching for a second donut as his partner glared disapprovingly.

"No. I think it's the same unsub. The watches are always shot while the victim wears them. It's consistent. It's a single, unique signature that the media still hasn't published. If it's two different killers, they knew about each other and were purposefully copying each other long before they went dormant."

"Well, I'm not going to complain that we aren't finding more victims. I'd rather people not be mysteriously killed and maimed by the Black Widower...s," Patton lifted his chin defiantly. He stood and walked over to the evidence board, studying the geographic profile again, the map showing a confusing cluster of dumpsites, victim's homes, and last sightings, and puzzled over the strangeness of the case.

"If this case goes cold, we may never find the unsub. He lives his life, free to decide to start again while all of his victims lay rotting in the ground. Their families don't deserve to live with that fear," Logan sighed heavily in near defeat, "of course I don’t want more victims. I want this man caught. Why did he suddenly stop?"

---

For a month, Remus had come in once or twice a week, asking Virgil for the secret sauce and flirting with him until the end of his shift. The randomness of his timing and anticipation of his visits made it impossible for Virgil to hunt. He didn't quite mind because seeing Remus was always better than the thrill of the kill.

Virgil finally relented and watched with quiet admiration as Remus celebrated over getting his number, and their relationship only moved faster after that. Pretty soon Remus was able to convince him to go on an actual date after work, grabbing breakfast at a nearby diner and hitting up his apartment afterward. Virgil had rarely spent so long away from his own home, but being out with Remus made him feel almost normal.

Media slowly stopped covering the Black Widower and Virgil smiled to himself just imagining how frustrated the police must be that they couldn't find him.

Virgil was happy, laying next to his boyfriend who loved him despite almost every eccentricity. He almost believed nothing could go wrong with Remus there.

"Uh, kit kat? I have a bit of a confession to make," Virgil winced, cursing himself for being so naive to believe that foolish sentiment.

"What’s up, dukey?" Virgil rolled to his side to face his boyfriend, "you can tell me anything."

"I don't- promise you won't get mad or like.. react badly?" Remus asked quietly, alarming Virgil even more.

He gently laid a hand on Remus’ neck and rubbed that roughened cheek with his thumb, "what's going on, Rem? You're scaring me."

Remus visibly gulped and whispered, "I know what happened to my watch. Virgil, I've always known.."

Virgil pulled back slowly. So this is what it actually felt like to be caught. His heart hammered in his throat, making a verbal reply impossible. He strained to not start crushing Remus’ throat and his own heart in his panic. This was love and this was a threat and god the way Remus looked at him right now only complicated everything else so much more.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't wriggling away from Virgil’s touch. Remus stared death in the eye unflinchingly.

He'd always figured his boyfriend must be brave or stupid, but Virgil hadn't counted on both.

"I know… what you are… and I still fell in love with you, Virgil. If you're gonna… could you at least drug me first and let me kiss you with my last breath?"

Very quickly several pieces fell into place as Virgil stared at the man who loved him despite every flaw and couldn't even beg for his own safety or life.

Remus knew what happened the night they met.

Remus had made the connections to the other murders and the subsequent drought of victims.

Remus could have turned him in- directly to the officers at the shop a half dozen times and a hundred other times when they weren’t spending time together.

Remus loved him.

Remus loved him and was scared of this confrontation.

Remus was not scared of dying.

Killing his boyfriend would be the exact link the cops would need to capture him.

Not killing his boyfriend for knowing his secret would be the largest risk imaginable.

Virgil couldn’t live without Remus

His hand was slowly choking Remus out despite his reluctance to take action.

Virgil gasped and pushed Remus away roughly, darting out of the bed and down the hall. He didn't stop until he heard Remus calling out for him.

Shit.

"Virgil!" his voice came out hoarse and painfully weak sounding. Virgil knew he should run.

But Remus was calling for him. And this was his fault.

"Virgil?" it was a question, asked in a voice that couldn't get enough air to support itself. He could leave and Remus would probably die a very painful death, all alone, with his fingers and palm emblazoned in the bruising that would provide the cause of death.

Remus loved him. He couldn't let this be the end.

Virgil flew back into the bedroom, grabbed the landline, and made the call.

"Remus, I am so sorry. Just keep breathing, baby. I am so so sorry!" Virgil apologized profusely, waiting for the emergency operator to pick up.

---

Hospital staff had to pry Virgil from Remus’ side as they moved him quickly into the O.R. Virgil paced and wondered how exactly to explain Remus’s injuries without getting arrested to distract himself from the fear that Remus would die in surgery.

He should have never let himself get so close to someone so smart and funny and perfect and… glowing. Virgil sat and waited for the doctor's verdict, pulling his hood over his eyes to block out the throngs of injured, sick, frantically glowing people around him.

Ages passed until Virgil heard his name and looked up suddenly for the source. A doctor and a police officer stood before him and all of the adrenaline in his body screamed that he needed to run.

"Uh.. how is he, doc?" Virgil asked, fighting himself to not scream or make a scene.

"Remus Crowne is currently in recovery and you may visit him. Due to the nature of his injuries, we have contacted the police to speak with him first," the doctor intoned, voice dripping with suspicion.

The officer took the pause to speak up, "would you like to make a statement, Mr. Kier?"

"I just want to see him," Virgil replied in a raspy voice, shaking his head in denial as he stood.

"Very well. This way, sir," the doctor led Virgil and the officer back towards the recovery rooms. When they arrived, Virgil nearly choked seeing Remus talking with the same two officers who came into his shop each morning. The shorter one knelt beside the bed to hold Remus’ hand. He spoke softly and asked all the questions while his partner stood tall and took notes, looking incredulously at the injured man. Virgil instinctively wanted to barge in and protect Remus from these pigs but the third held him back with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Before long the two officers left the room, eyeing Virgil disdainfully. He waited for the words that would send his world crashing around him even more than it already had.

"You- you can go in now, hon," Virgil's head tilted in confusion as the third officer let him go, "just be more careful in the future."

"I- what? No charges?" Virgil barely whispered, glancing towards the bed where Remus laid watching the tv.

"Believe me, if it had been me, I don’t care how consensual- I would have pressed charges for sending me to the E.R. have a good day, sir. Come along, Patton." The stricter-looking cop turned, gesturing to the kinder one and all three left quickly. Virgil beamed and ran to Remus’ side.

"You're welcome, kitten," Remus coughed and reached for Virgil’s hand.

"I'm so sorry- I didn't want to, Rem-"

"Shhhh. I told them it was a sex fantasy gone a bit too far. If I'd known you liked strangling dudes too-"

"Now you shush!" Virgil leaned in close, "you get better fast now, okay?"

"I always wanted to date a serial killer.. promise you won't leave me over this?" Remus grinned weakly up at Virgil, "I could help you, ya know."

"Shhhh this is just the pain meds talking. You don’t know a serial killer," Virgil laughed as tears of relief streamed down his cheeks. He gave Remus a dramatic stage wink and held his hand securely.

"Aww, you're right. I'm just stuck with a pretty boy who doesn't know his own strength," Remus grinned and watched Virgil rather than the tv until a nurse came to shoo his boyfriend away for the night.

Remus couldn't wait for their first hunt together.

[triplexdoublex]

That’s My Baby

Pairings: Mod Sun x Reader

Warnings/tags: Pegging, use of a strap-on

A/N: This takes place in the same universe as my other Mod fics but it can still be read as a stand alone.

“Hey, you’re home!” You greeted Mod at the door. “I was starting to get worried, you usually text if you're gonna be home late from the studio.” 

“Sorry, I got a little distracted,” he motioned to the pink store bag in his hand.

“Oooh is that for me!?” You questioned excitedly, retrieving the bag from his grasp.

“Uhhh… yeah, I mean technically —“ he winced as you opened it, uncertain of how you would react. “I know we had talked about spicing things up and I-I just happen to pass that new sex shop they just opened on the way home, so I stopped in , and - and umm, yeah I thought I might be into trying... that” he spoke quickly, with both hands shoved into the pocket of his jeans, awaiting your response.

“Oh..” you gasped in shock as you pulled the apparatus from the bag. “A strap-on? Y-you want me to —“

“Sorry—” he began, with his head hung low. “I-if you’re not into it we can just—“

“Hey, hey, look at me,” you placed it back in the bag and stepped closer raising his chin with your fingertips. “You just caught me off guard that’s all. I’d be honored.” You smiled.

“Yeah?” His face lit up. 

“Yeah,” you pulled him in for a kiss. “C’mon,” you took his hand in yours, the bag in the other and walked him towards the bedroom. 

“Now?” He questioned, in surprise.

“Mmm, hmm” you hummed in confirmation , tugging him through the bedroom door.

“Damn, you spoil me.”

“You know it, baby.” You smirked before pushing him down on the bed, with a hand to his chest. You placed the bag at the foot of the bed for the time being as Mod rid himself of his shirt. You crawled over his sprawled out body on the bed and began kissing his neck. 

“God, I fucking love you!” He spoke with a hint of soft laugher to his voice. “I shoulda known you’d be cool with this.”

“Of course, anything for you, baby,” you began kissing him lower, and lower, trailing your lips and tongue over the permanent artistry that adorned his flesh until they disappeared below the denim horizon of his jeans. He lifted his hips as you unbuttoned his pants, aiding in their swift removal; his boxers stripped away with them. You took him in your hand and slowly pumped him while you lowered your mouth to the tip with a teasing, single swipe of your tongue. 

“Always such a tease!” He remarked with an impatient whine looking down at you.

“Can’t help myself, love watching you get all flustered and needy,” you continued to taunt him, holding him motionless in your palm as you licked around the base and mouthed his balls. His eyes were locked onto yours, watching you work. His hands were gripping at the sheets with eager frustration, his cheeks rosy and flushed.

“Please!” He begged as he lifted his hips from the bed with desperate need, trying to fuck into your fist. Eventually after teasing him a little bit longer you obliged and took him fully into your mouth; a satisfied hum falling from his lips. “Finally!!” he cried out gently threading his fingers into your hair, his hand bobbing along for the ride as you worked your mouth up and down his length, taking him in as deep as you possibly could and pumping what you couldn’t. You kept at until you felt his hand pushing at your shoulder; a breathy “stop, stop” bringing you to a halt. “Didn’t wanna cum yet,” he huffed “Wanna wait until —“ his eyes finished his sentence, drifting to the pink bag at the end of the bed. You got up off the bed and quickly retrieved the bag, as to not keep him waiting. 

“Oh good, you bought lube too” you noticed when taking out the strap-on. “Here,” you tossed it to him.

“I’ll be right back,” you excused yourself to the bathroom to put on the device, saving you both the awkward embarrassment of trying to figure out how to put it on.

Inside the bathroom you stripped off your clothes and struggled to find the right orientation of the contraption, turning it around as you tried to pinpoint which of the multiple adjustable loops were meant to wrap around your thighs and which were meant  to encompass your hips. Once you got it figured out you stepped into it, and pulled it up, adjusting the straps to fit you snuggly.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said as you stepped back into the bedroom. “I swear you need a degree in engineering to put this thing on,” you laughed. “Ohh— getting started without me I see,” you took notice of Mod prepping himself on the bed; two lubed slicked fingers working him open. “Ready for me yet?” You asked crawling onto the bed and settling between his thighs.

“I-I think so” he slid his fingers out.

“How do you wanna do this?” You questioned. 

“Just like this,” he answered. “Wanna face you.”

 You cracked open the bottle of lube and drizzled it over the pink, phallic shaped, object strapped to your pelvis and used your hand to make sure it was fully coated before bringing the tip to the slicked pucker between his cheeks.

 You were met with resistance at first, barely able to inch your way inside “Try not to tense up or it’s gonna hurt more. Just relax,” you coached him, rubbing soft circles with the thumb of your free hand on his hip. It took a few moments but eventually Mod relaxed enough and the head of the toy popped in, being swallowed by the tight ring of muscle. 

“Mmm, fuck!” Mod groaned, squeezing his eyes tight.

“That’s the worst part I promise,” You stayed as still as you possibly could. “I’m gonna give you some time to adjust, let me know when you’re ready.”

“You’re right it’s not so bad now, think I’m good,” he said after a few minutes. “You seem to know what you’re doing, have you done this before?” He questioned as you began slowly rolling your hips.

“No, but do think I’ve never been on the receiving end of anal before? Did you forget I used to date Colson?” You laughed.

“Ah, Touché” he laughed as well. “Speaking of Colson, please don’t tell him or the guys about this.”

“If that’s what you want baby, I can respect that, but I want you to know that this doesn’t make you any less of a man or whatever it is you're worried about?” You reassured him, gripping his waist with both hands as you gently thrusted.

“Mmhhmm uh, I-I know that, but I’m not sure the boys would agree,” he answered through strained moans.

“Pleasure is pleasure, if whoever the hell made humans didn’t want men to get fucked up the ass then perhaps they shouldn’t have put the male G-spot there,” you said in all seriousness.

“That’s a good point,” he laughed looking up at you with his crystal blue-green eyes. “This is why I love you,” he cupped your face, with a smile on his, and connected your lips.  You swallowed down his moans one after the other as you slowly increased your sped and depth. “Mmmmm mhhmmmmmn,” he broke the kiss with a long and throaty moan when you brushed against his prostate. “Aw yeah, do that- do that again!” He exclaimed breathily, gripping your backside, pulling you in deeper.

“Yeah, that’s my baby, that’s my baby. Let me hear you,” you praised and encouraged him. Typically Mod wasn’t one to be openly vocal, you knew he had the potential but he usually chose to hold back for whatever reason, but there was no stopping him now. 

“Uhhh , baby, fuck! This feel so ah- amazinggg!” He whined, covering his face with his hand.

“No, lemme see you,” you pushed his hand away and cradled his face. “Look at me. You close?” You questioned. Mod nodded. “Wanna watch you cum for me.” You reached your hand down between your two bodies and began stroking him to assist with his release. He tried his best to keep eye contact; his eyes fluttering closed in sync with the ebb and flow of your thrusts. Suddenly, you felt him twitch in your hand. “You gonna—“

“Yes,yes —- oh fuck! UhhMmmm,” His eyes rolled back and his shaft pulsed as he came, emptying on his stomach. You gave him a few minutes to come down from his high.

“Might sting a little” you warned, before you slowly pulled out, producing a brief whimper from Mod. “Stay right there,” you said. “I’ll be back with something to clean you up,” You once again excused yourself to the bathroom where you rid yourself of the contraption and wet a face cloth with warm water before returning to the bedroom. “You did so good,” you praised him as you wiped the cum and lube from his body.

“ I seriously can’t thank you enough, that was absolutely incredible,” he smiled at you fondly as you finished cleaning him up.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled back. “You might want to take it easily for the rest of the weekend, you’re probably gonna be a little sore.”

“Oooooh yeah, good idea,” he groaned as he sat up. Just then his phone went off. It was a text:

Colson: 11am tomorrow don’t forget!

“Oh fuck! I forgot I promised Colson I would help him move his shit into Megan’s place tomorrow.” 

“Can you cancel?” 

“No, I already smoked all the free weed that he gave me in advance in exchange for helping him.” He laughed 

“Yup sounds like something you would do!” You giggled “I’ll go with you tomorrow to help.”

***************

“Aye, perfect timing!” Colson shouted as you and Mod pulled into the driveway. “Just about ready to move my dresser out into the truck. Mind giving me a hand, while the boys take a break? Rook, Slim and Baze have  been helping since eight am but I know that’s early as fuck for you and you need your beauty sleep or whatever.” He laughed “let’s go.” 

Inside both boys lifted one end of Colson’s dresser and removed it from his room, and headed down the stairs with it. Mod was moving slower than usual, feeling a little sore as to be expected. 

“Aye, Mod you think you can walk a little faster here, my fuckin’ arms are getting tired.” 

“I’m walkin’ as fast as I can, Kells. You want help or not?”

“Walkin’ like you got a dick up your ass is more like it,” Colson taunted in friendly banter. “I’m the one walking backwards down a staircase here bro.”

“Kells, just shut the fuck up.” Mod laughed as they continued down the stairs.  He could feel himself beginning to blush and hoped he could just play off his pink hued cheeks as exertion, before Colson started asking more questions.

“Yo, Y/N!” Colson yelled over to you as you were loading some of the smaller boxes. “What the hell did you do to my boy last night? He joked. “Man can hardly walk. Did you finally break him out of his little Vanilla shell and give his thighs a workout making him fuck you good and hard last night or some shit?” Colson truly had no filter at times.

You looked at Mod with a smirk before answering. “Yeah, something like that.”

[cheezygoddess]

Couldn't stop thinking bout this AU

Angsty angst angst, gladiator Sam au

…...

"S, Sam?" Peter asked. The monumental finality of it finally sinking in. Sam was leaving.

Sam didn't answer. Sam was leaving.

"Sam, what…" Peter said, voice shaking. Sam was leaving. Sam was leaving him. Sam was leaving him and Peter couldn't even blame him. Peter wondered how Sam could have put up with him for as long as he had. Peter had heard his suffering and done nothing. Had convinced himself it was exactly what Sam deserved for his cruelty. But now faced with the harsh, brutal truth of Sam leaving him, never to return, Peter unable to even confirm if Sam was even alive. He found he needed Sam to stay.

"Oh God, Sam, no. No please, fuck no, you can't leave!" Peter said, horrified. He could be disgusted with himself for needing the monster Sam had become after he had Sam by his side. Right now, he didn't care. He needed Sam. He was selfish and a fucking back stabbing bastard but he didn't care. He needed Sam.

Sam's only response was a slow tired blink. Peter couldn't even be sure if he'd heard and understood him. Sam had said nothing to him the entire flight. Hadn't even really seen him, even when he looked right at him. The hollow, empty expression he wore had certainly never held any spark of recognition for him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sam," Peter said. Knowing that it was much too little, far too late. He'd hurt Sam more cruelly than any villain ever could. And he was a selfish, stupid asshole to only see that now, when he could do nothing to fix it.

At Peter's desperate apologies something like life sparked in Sam's eyes. So Peter kept apologizing. He shoved aside the stupid fucking helmet that had been the entire reason any of the hell of the past year and a half had happened. It was ownerless now and useless and Peter wanted to melt it in the fires of Mordor's Mount Doom to keep its power away from the entire cursed universe.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter repeated in supplication. Peter was only just now realizing the magnitude of his failure to Sam. In every aspect of his duty he'd failed him. As his team leader, as his teammate, and worst of all as his friend. Every chance Peter had been given to make things right between them he'd turned his back to Sam's pain. 

Sam was looking at him now. No, Sam was seeing him now. Peter flung himself at Sam. He was perfectly, painfully aware of how badly this could go for him. But at least if Sam finally killed him he wouldn't have to figure out how to be without Sam.

Sam didn't kill him. 

"Sam please, God, fuck, don't leave me," Peter pled. 

Sam continued not killing him as he clung to him hard enough he was probably hurting him. Peter couldn't manage to let go. Sam actually had an expression. The first he'd seen since Sam had freed the both of them from Titus' enslavement. Sam and Peter were slaves, yes. But Peter had been kept in the most luxurious and expensive cage credits could buy. While Sam… Sam had been in the gladiator pits. Peter had only been there twice. First, when Titus had sold Sam and second… second had been when Sam… when Sam had 'earned' a reward for his skills in the arena and of everything, all the things in the entire fucking galaxy, he'd asked for Peter. Peter remembered that meeting better than he remembered the feel of web swinging across New York. Better than he remembered the taste of Aunt May's wheat cakes. He remembered it just as keenly as he did watching a man getting robbed and doing nothing and the feel of his uncle's chest rise and fall and never rise again.

He'd failed. 

Again. 

The exact same selfish mistake he'd made as a selfish child and had gotten his uncle, the man who'd raised him and loved him like his own son, killed. Sure this time it wasn't letting a mugging go by without stopping it when he could have. This time it was even worse. He'd been so wrapped up in himself, wrapped up in his guilt for getting Sam in this horrible situation in the first place. So busy feeling his guilt at watching Sam kill that first time, and every time after. He'd known Sam was trying, he'd known Sam was trying so hard. But he'd thought… he'd thought Sam was in as real danger of death as his opponents, and if only Sam… if only he'd do something, anything different...

He'd seen Sam for the first time in months and the first thing he did, first thing he said, he asked Sam why he'd enjoyed killing them. Every day Peter tried to forget and every night he relived it. Every night Peter watched himself crush Sam more thoroughly than the gladiator pits of chitauri prime ever had or ever could. 

Peter deserved death. But he kissed Sam instead. Sam didn't kill him. He didn't do anything. Peter kept kissing him, trying to speak at the same time, "Sam, Sam, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sam" Peter said, nearly choking on his words.

Sam's mouth opened under Peter's and Peter deepened his kiss with frantic desperate energy. Sam shuddered, wrapped his arms around Peter, and fell into him as if he was marionette whose strings had been cut. 

Peter moved his hands from Sam's shoulders and pulled him close. The only thing Peter could get out of his mouth, when he wasn't desperately kissing Sam, was 'Sam' and 'Sorry' and 'Stay please God stay'. 

Sam shuddered again, then sobbed out his name. Peter lifted him up to hold him even closer. Sam clung to him, arms around his shoulders and legs around his hips.

"Peter," Sam sobbed again. Peter pulled his face away from Sam's. But instead of letting him look at him and maybe say something more helpful than the loop he'd gotten stuck in, Sam used leverage Peter hadn't realized he'd given him to flip him onto the table and kiss him back. More teeth and tongue than lips and sweetness but Peter took it all the same. "Peter," Sam sobbed out again.

"Sam," Peter gasped, damn near sobbing himself.

They kissed. Again and again. Peter tried to show Sam now what he should have been doing all along. After only a few more frenzied kisses, Sam pulled away. He pressed his head against Peter's shoulder and broke down in earnest. Peter held him close, crying into Sam's too long hair.

"Peter, how… how can you still stand me?" Sam choked out around his sobs.

Peter made a wretched sound and laugh-sobbed uncontrollably for way too long. Eventually he managed to say, "I hurt you. You asked for me, me! Out of everything in the Galaxy! And I hurt you! And kept hurting you! And you're asking me how I can stand you?"

Sam clearly didn't understand. Peter successfully bit back his sob. He'd broken Sam so thoroughly that he wished Sam really had killed him. But he hadn't and he still wasn't and here they both were.

"Please Sam, stay," Peter said, voice cracking. 

Quiet. So quiet that Peter only heard him due to his enhanced hearing. Sam answered. "Okay."

[palukoo]

andy, toby, and cj!!

thank you!! i always reblog these forgetting I can't pick favorites to save my life but! I will try!!

Andy

First impression: god i love her

Impression now: god i love her (but now with more depth!)

Favorite moment: see this is the favorites thing... remarkably hard considering how little she's there. I have to go with "the good people of Maryland. MARYLAND!" but really anything she does in that ep (esp the "you know i'm gonna get sued" conversation) or... in general... is great

Idea for a story: oh boy... well i AM going to write the long cj/andy fic at some point! hm. let's get specific... @otzi this is for you... cj, andy, and toby at a cher concert.

Unpopular opinion: are there popular opinions about andy? hmm, i guess maybe that i don't really blame her for the "you're just sad, toby" conversation because it is like. rude, obviously, and all that, but i think it's hard for me to begrudge her after he says he thought she was just being cute when saying she didn't want to marry him again. i think mostly though i just... think more about andy than the average tww viewer.

Favorite relationship: cj/andy! also cj/andy/toby or andy&toby bc yeah! but i also have to shout out donna&andy bc I want it so badly

Favorite headcanon: hmmm i have a lot, really. i mean, like, that she isn't straight... that she's one of the most liberal members of congress, probably. that she's also half jewish. that she's always wanted kids. that she struggles with like survivor's guilt after gaza... idk!

Toby

First impression: I honestly don't know but I didn't like Toby as much on my first watch as I do now bc I thought he was condescending and I'm right but like. They all are, kinda

Impression now: i love him! he's very funny and i love his dynamics with everyone and i go a little crazy thinking about him never working on winning campaigns and writing for rafferty and being so cynical but so idealistic at the same time. he still has written by a man disease (honestly. sorkin deserves his own subtype) but i love him!

Favorite moment: fuck! uh. um. hmm. okay obviously the "your father used to hit you" is a good scene and so is like. the better angels line... toby gets a lot of really good lines damn! i might just have to go with in excelsis deo as a whole though because it just shows him as a really good person, and it's bonkers to me with the context from later seasons that. he spends his entire birthday trying to track down next of kin for the dead homeless vet. idk. toby really gets a lot of sorkin's idealism dialogue which can be very lovely... but i think a lot of other moments i'd pick for him would be a lot more about his relationships with other characters bc. that is how i consume media

Idea for a story: honestly, while i love him, it's hard for me to think of doing like. a toby centric story. he definitely fits into a lot of my cj/andy(/toby) stuff obviously, but i tend to more cj centric... hmm. perhaps the post post canon toby & amy fic of my dreams where she writes a book that he critiques endlessly and they run someone's (probably rafferty's) campaign together

Unpopular opinion: i... don't hate his s7 plot? i totally, 100% get why people do, especially going back and watching s1, because his whole thing is loyalty and that jed is his guy and all that, but he also argues with jed over calls all the time, and i think... hm. the late seasons kind of break all the characters? and i get why people don't like that obviously, but i think it's just about pushing them to a point where there going to act differently than we expect them to (cj keeping will and toby out of the loop like she would've complained about and having to become much more pragmatic, josh leaving, donna leaving, toby committing treason, jed sort of losing power, etc...), and it's interesting development and it's weirdly something i accept at face value rather than push back against?

Favorite relationship: romantic? idk, i like cj/andy/toby and i like josh/toby too. friendship? everyone lmao. i really really love cj&toby and josh&toby and toby&sam and you get the point. tww is a family it's hard to individualize

Favorite headcanon: like i am obsessed with bi toby. idk, like. bc of what i want to write about, i sorta think of his relationship to the concept of family a fair amount... and then like this isn't even headcanon but there's a richard schiff interview somewhere where he says "his desire to cut people down is minimal. It's something he could do in his sleep, and it's not the point." and i just think about that so much.

CJ

First impression: wow!!!! wow!!! holy shit!!! i love her!!!

Impression now: all of that still and i would very very much like to hug her and want her to be happy and god she is so so good i lose my mind. i stay up at night thinking about her.

Favorite moment: there's too many!! cj has so many funny moments that i adore and they're a huge part of what makes me love her but i also love her heavier things. i love her trying to leak the story about the gay kid's dad in season one to danny. i LOVE her trying to quit until jed asks her to stay. i love her laughing and saying "the fall's gonna kill you" and i love her crying alone as she walks around new york and hallelujah plays. i love (maybe, it's complicated) her and donna in no exit. i love her when she starts as chief of staff and i love her answer to the press about her sexuality. i love her now knowing what the hell she wants in late season 7. hmm. i'm gonna say balancing the egg.

Idea for a story: okay well i'll talk about the cj/andy wip here in broad terms because like. it's about cj relearning how to be happy but like more specifically how to think about what she wants after canon, because i don't think she's like completely unhappy for all of canon and she's very optimistic compared to a lot of the others but like, she does spend a fair amount of canon just making sacrifices, and i want her to get a break and have a family!

Unpopular opinion: idk how popular or not this is, i just can't get behind cj/danny. i can't. it's too much him chasing after her while she seems mostly indifferent or vaguely annoyed. i hate that her ending is with him because to me the whole point of that episode wasn't "cj can't see a good thing in front of her" but was "cj has a hard time stepping away from what she perceives as an obligation/thinks she should do (usually to make other people happy)" and should've culminated in her not working with santos and not being with danny.

Favorite relationship: cj/andy! again i cannot possibly choose a platonic one... i'm going to SAY cj&josh bc. i love them, but in two seconds i'll remember anything about any other interaction of hers and go insane

Favorite headcanon: hmm again i have a lot! largely about family and that whole concept! huh. god. i think a lot of it is like canon or at least strongly canon supported, or i've already mentioned. like, cj being really good at disguising her emotions is just plainly canon. oh! hey! i really do love she/they cj!

[mimiri22-6]

I really need to get back into watching the streams I miss (which is all of them) because

I JUST WATCHED FUNDY'S MIND STREAM AND I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!

SO MUCH! JUST SO MANY THOUGHTS!!!

IS THAT BLACK FIGURE WHAT A DREAMON LOOKS LIKE? IT WAS BAD'S SKIN, BUT IN ALL BLACK! IS THE EGG THE FORM OF A FUCKING DREAMON?!

I was just thinking about all the strings connecting all the plotlines on the SMP and they all come back to the Dreamon, The Egg, and memory stuff. and now more recently Dream XD. With the whole dreams having consequences-OH MY FUCK I JUST REMEMBERED TOMMY SLEEPWALKING INTO THE OCEAN WHILE IN EXILE! THERE'S SOMETHING THERE I TELL YOU *insert red yarn insane person here*-in the real world thing, That's Dream XD's THING rn with George(once again, this is the only stream with lore that I've watched in full in-god A Fucking While, I don't even know how long, so all my info is second hand). I was Just thinking about all of this and how it all connects at lunch earlier so everything I've been internally freaking about is kind of fresh in my mind.

I could go one for days and days and paragraphs and paragraphs of the hints connecting things back together.

the black figure looks like bad

the Inbetween looks like all the colors have been sucked from it, like what the egg does to red, making the Inbetween formally red tinted

Dreamon? Black(If that was a dreamon). Everything the egg touches? Sucks the red away and inverts color pallets...tho I think that hasn't been a thing for a while now and it just sucks away red and/or makes something on the infected red

Dream and Dream XD are somehow the same entity????? From what I've heard(guys, I've never even watched more than like 2 of Gogy's videos. Help) BUT I'M NOT GOING TO PAY ATTENTION TO THAT RN!

Dream XD is a god of dreams or some shit seeing as he can give George items in his dream curse thingy fuck shit going on (AAAAAAAAA I CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST DAMN LORE STREAM I WAS A PART OF)

Fundy Apparently can predict the future because of his dreams, which I Do Not like the implications of the ending of the Mind stream with this information

Ranboo has been sleepwalking for fuck knows how long

TOMMY was Trying to sleepwalk to his death, I do not like to think about Tommy dreaming of dying constantly. I Could Not watch exile streams I felt like throwing up from uncomfyness, IN HIS DREAMS. Our boy was having Nightmares, or daydreams because of his mental state back then, about Drowning Himself, AND THEN HE WAS WAKING UP DROWNING! COWINCIDENCE?! I THINK NOT!

Let's take note of the people I have at least one shred of evidance that may be possessed by A dreamon Or the Same dreamon that can just possess more than one person(....ooh I could So see how that would work)

Dream. This is a main one, he's the first instance we have of dreamon possession. It just makes sense and there are still people that believe the ritual didn't work before and the dreamon either just stayed or that the ritual killed Dream and Not the evil dreamon and that's why dream has been so off. BUT ALSO Dream's Fucked up motivations and acts can beg to differ on that part

Bad. Another obvious one. Now you might say that he's already slightly possessed by The Egg, BUT who's to say the egg isn't a form of a dreamon. When Fundy cam back after "4 years" he was inroduced to the egg and he was Freaking The Fuck Out and calling it a dreamon and being Extremely worried about touching it. I don't see many people bringing this back to the table. FUNDY CALLED THE EGG A DREAMON. Bad AND ANT, PUNZ, AND PONK(is Hannah still influenced by the egg??? I'm so far from the loop it's not even funny) are at least influenced by it. Now I would also say Maybe Sam is possessed too, BUT he is shown to still be against the egg even though the Ponk situation was a personal issue(as far as I know. Dear fucking god I am Fucked all behind...)

(I keep switching between the egg is a dreamon and the egg and the dreamon are opposites. I Can Not keep my thoughts straight(In more ways then one, haha, *wink wonk*))

3. Eret, Puffy, and Ranboo. All for the same reason. From what I've heard, Eret now has memory issues as well(THAT'S RIGHT! The last lore stream I watched, not live, was Puffy's stream where she found her ship!). If there's one person with memory issues on the SMP? Ok that seems reasonable. A Second person has memory problems on this SMP? Weird that it happened twice but ok. A THIRD person has amnesia?!?!! Ok! What The Fuck Is Officially HAPPENING?! Ranboo goes into dissociative states and commits war crimes, who's to say Puffy and Eret won't start doing that/have already been doing that? Ranboo has some kind of connection to Dream. Puffy got attached to Dream. Eret took the crown because Dream offered it(it's such a weird feeling know now that "It was never meant to be" was an apology).

4. OH HELL I FORGOT ABOUT THE GHOSTS! WHAT ARE THEY?! They SAY, well Ghostbur at least, that they're Not their alive selves and their actions back that up. They are not the souls of those that they take form of and they don't have all their memories, seeing how Glatt avoids topics it's safe to assume he is missing at least Some memories, BUT also they act and function differently to one another. Glatt can fly, Ghostbur can not. Glatt claims to be Jschlatt, Ghostbur does not claim to be Wilbur. Just A Lot does not add up. Once again I have not been watching vods nor streams so everyone saying Ghostbur is acting weird, just sound like the people that kept saying Ghostbur remembers more than he let on to me. Idk, I don't think Ghostbur nor Glatt are nefarious in any way, but hey, with this SMP expect the worst.

5. .............I could have sworn I had more to say/write, but it's late now and I've been writing this for....over 3 hours now sooooo Imma stop because I'm all out of theory/info dump juices. I might come back to this post to list off more potential dreamons idk

......now I'm going to watch more dimention 20 because idk I want to.

Edit:

OH MY FUCK HOW COULD I FORGET

6. FUNDY. Ok so this one is more recent and 100% because of the mind stream. Fundy is dreaming in the stream, it starts off in a Dream XD type situation, I presume, BUT with the introduction of the dark figure we can assume that going to far into your dreams/subconscious summons a dreamon to try and possess you if you don't "sleep", aka wake up, fast enough. Meaning that Fundy, as a dreamon hunter, would know this and while dreaming you forget some things. You're dumber in your dreams it's just fact, not all of you is there. SO the books were his conscious trying to get him to stop because he knew he would be weak to possession by continuing to go down the rabbit hole. Fundy may be possessed by a dreamon now, depending on if he was successful in waking up.

Meaning now, we could only have two dreamon hunters left, Tubbo and Sapnap(as far as I know I keep planning on watching the second dreamon stream, but just haven't gotten around to it...again). Once again, I'm pretty sure I had someone else in mind for possession, but I panicked and wrote this as fast as I could. Meaning I have no other thoughts rn, head empty.

[swaps55]

@rain-124c41 requested #19 from the  Fictional Kiss Prompts list. I am holding on to your ask because there were several good ones in there I don’t want to lose track of. :) 

19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing

Kaidan has an office for these kinds of things. The main house at his family’s orchard has too many bedrooms as it is, and shortly after they moved in Kaidan had adopted the one he’d always liked as a kid on the second floor, the one with the skylight, as a workspace. Not going out into the field may mean less gunfire, but it comes with a price. The paperwork is hell to keep up with.

That’s where he should be tonight. He’s put off the consult he owes Command on the modifications Admiral Wynn wants to make to the biotic portion of the N program, which they’re hoping to relaunch in a few months. It’s a big step in the Alliance’s rebuilding process, and both he and Shepard have somehow gotten roped in to getting it off the ground. James Vega in particular has been a pain in the ass for the last six weeks now trying to get it done. Shepard has threatened to block the overeager Lieutenant’s address at least three times, but it’s a hollow threat and they all know it.  

“I don’t know why they want my opinion,” Shepard groused at one point over breakfast. “It’s not like they ever listened to me before.”

“N training pencils better than reaper invasions,” Kaidan had replied over the rim of his coffee cup.

But this time it’s Kaidan on the hook. Shepard’s trip through ICT as a biotic with higher caloric needs than anyone else had nearly killed him, and it’s been an ongoing problem for the past few years as more biotics go through the program. Trying to find a way to train biotics to the same standard without killing them is something brass kind of wants to figure out. Shepard’s suggestion of, “just fucking feed them,” hadn’t quite been what they were looking for, so now it’s on Kaidan to find a more complicated solution.

Which is why he should be in his office. Dinner’s been eaten, cleaned up and put away. The sun sets early this time of year, so they’d taken their ritual walk through the tree groves late afternoon instead of after dinner. Actual pants have even been shucked in favor of loungewear, effectively vetoing any other plans.

But despite being out of excuses, instead of going up to his office he’s somehow wound up sitting on one corner of the couch while Shepard sprawls across the rest of it, watching TV propped on his shoulder, head in Kaidan’s lap. Whatever terrible thing he’s watching stars a salarian as some kind of lone wolf cop.

“What the hell is this, anyway?” Kaidan asks, making a few notes on the datapad in his hands. This would be a lot easier to do in his office. His arms are getting tired from holding the datapad at an angle that won’t whack Shepard in the head.

“Dunno,” Shepard replies. “But it’s awful. I’m into it.”

“Hmm.” Kaidan scowls at the datapad. You know, it’s really hard not to agree with Shepard on this one. Just fucking feeding them more is a pretty solid solution if he’s being honest. Survival courses are a cornerstone of ICT – maybe they just need to give biotics more rigid training on how to scavenge calories in hostile surroundings. Which means now he needs to take a closer look at the survival curriculums. He sighs and scrolls through the datapad.

Shepard stirs, shifting to get a little more comfortable. One hand drapes across Kaidan’s thigh and traces small circles through the cloth of his pants.

Kaidan glances down at him briefly and smiles, but dammit now he has even more reading to do than he planned. He runs his hand over the curve of Shepard’s shoulder. “I should go upstairs. I think this is gonna take a while.”

He even starts to get up, but wouldn’t you know it, Shepard’s head gets about thirty pounds heavier when he tries.

“Okay,” Kaidan says, corner of his mouth curving upward. “Fine. I’ll stay here. But I have to focus.”

“Mm,” Shepard replies.

Kaidan tests his cooperation by resting the datapad on the back of Shepard’s head and making a few annotations. As expected, Shepard bats at it with a hand, then rolls onto his back and gazes up at him with a look of mild reproach.

“I need to work,” Kaidan informs him.

“I’m not stopping you,” Shepard replies.

“Sure you’re not.”

Kaidan goes back to his datapad, Shepard’s eyes still on him. Ramping up nutritional survival training might work, but what about dextro environments? Though, being stranded on dextro planets without a levo food supply is a problem for anyone, not just biotics. Fuck, more reading.

He jumps when Shepard pushes the hem of his shirt up and brushes his lips across Kaidan’s stomach.

“Hey, now,” Kaidan murmurs.

“Don’t mind me,” Shepard says. “Just occupying myself while you work.” He scoots around to find a better angle, facing away from the TV entirely now. Kaidan leans his head back, sighing a little as Shepard occupies himself with planting kisses along the ring of hairs along his bellybutton.

“Occupying yourself. Uh huh.”

“Mmhmm. You do your thing, I’m good.”

“Right.” Kaidan holds his datapad back up, willing himself to look at the words on it. He’s not going to melt into the couch. He’s not going to run his fingers over Shepard’s scalp. He’s not going to take his shirt off just to give Shepard more access to his skin.

He has work to do.

He should probably rope Tali and Garrus in on this. The objective is helping biotics find extra nutrients – they don’t have to be good nutrients. There have to be experts on this kind of thing. Kaidan needs to find them.

Shepard grazes the spot – the one just above his belly button that Shepard damn well knows is his weakness – and Kaidan does in fact melt into the couch, soft mmph escaping his lips.

“Focus, Kaidan,” Shepard mumbles between kisses.

The hand holding the datapad comes to rest on the arm of the couch. Kaidan strokes Shepard’s head with the other, breath coming a little quicker now. “I think you and I have different ideas on what I should be focused on.”

“Don’t know what gave you that impression,” Shepard replies, sliding an arm behind Kaidan’s back.

Kaidan starts to tell him exactly what gave him that impression, but instead of words it comes out as a small gasp as Shepard’s corona shimmers, lighting up every nerve he has with a pleasant tingle. Shepard’s lips become a smirk pressed against Kaidan’s skin.

“Sam,” Kaidan murmurs, eyes closing. The datapad drops out of his hand entirely and clatters to the floor.

Shepard props himself up so they’re nose to nose, his eyes locked on Kaidan’s mouth.

“Hey, you,” Kaidan says softly.

Shepard brushes Kaidan’s lips with a thumb. “What if I asked you to forget about work tonight?”

There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t. But only one for why he should, and it’s the only one that matters. Kaidan loops an arm around Shepard’s neck and pulls him in until their lips meet. He’s soft, warm, perfect, his.

This time they both sink back into the couch, kissing each other deep, slow, like they have all the time in the world.

Because they do.

[kaiunkaiku]

Do I have requests in my inbox? Yes. Did I write this instead? Also yes. In my defense this was like 95% done because I actually wrote this in 2016 right when the dorms were introduced but then I just never published it lmao.

Fandom: BNHA

Summary: "His whole body aches with ghosts of healed bruises and scrapes, reminding him of how easy he actually got away while the heroes got beaten and slain and half of them are still lying in the ICU and it’s all his fault for getting kidnapped, for being so careless even when they were under an attack and for being so goddamn weak that he couldn’t even get himself out of there and his hands won’t stop shaking."

Warnings: Nightmares, panic attacks, vomiting, the usual post Hideout Raid arc KiriBaku shenanigans

Ao3

Enjoy!

Katsuki jolts awake with sparks at his fingertips, whole body dripping cold sweat onto his clean sheets. His black tank top clings to his back and chest, rustling lightly to the rhythm of his harsh breaths he's desperately fighting for. He looks around in a frenzied panic and for a moment he has no fucking idea where he is, because even though the room seems theoretically familiar with the posters, color scheme and sheets, it's not his room because there are things in weird places. The door is supposed to be ways to the left, his windows are smaller and he doesn't even have a desk like that – Until his brain catches up with reality and he realizes that this, in fact, is his room and that he actually does have a desk like that.

Because he's currently living in a dorm because he was kidnapped by the guys who went on and beat heroes after heroes and sent them to the hospital and All Might was defeated and Katsuki clenches his fists to stop them from shaking. His eyes start to slip closed but behind his eyelids is a den of villains, oceans of blood and cities of dead people, civilians and heroes alike, and Shigaraki Tomura's eerie voice whispering in his ears; become a villain, join us, how about that, you'd be great, you like winning too, huh?

A shiver travels up his spine and he forces his eyes open as he pulls his knees closer to his chest. His hands are still shaking and he can't seem to stop it, just like he can't seem to get his breathing in check. The nightmares blend together with the recent events and make a nest at the back of his mind and refuse to leave him alone. The darkness of the room feels oppressive, almost, and he reaches for the lamp on the nightstand before realizing that his lamp broke while being transported and thus he does not currently have a lamp.

The room feels cold and Katsuki shivers again. His whole body aches with ghosts of healed bruises and scrapes, reminding him of how easy he actually got away while the heroes got beaten and slain and half of them are still lying in the ICU and it’s all his fault for getting kidnapped, for being so careless even when they were under an attack and for being so goddamn weak that he couldn’t even get himself out of there and his hands won’t stop shaking.

He draws in a breath. It’s as shaky as his hands and noticeably difficult and he takes another one, and another after that and it doesn’t get significantly easier. In theory, he knows that he’s probably having some sort of a panic attack, but the knowledge does nothing to help him – on the contrary, knowing what’s happening sends his thoughts into a new spiral of calm the fuck down and start breathing you fucking idiot and fucking hell if I can’t even control my own body. His hands feel numb, his face feels numb and his skin is crawling and he feels like he might throw up. His chest feels hollow and cold, his ears are ringing and there’s Shigaraki’s voice again, black liquid crawling up his throat and swallowing him up and Katsuki scrambles up and makes a dash for the bathroom door. He doesn't even bother to turn the lights on, doesn't have the luxury of time to hit the switch before he's hacking up the measly contents of his stomach. He hasn't eaten properly in a few days, hasn't really had the appetite to eat anything.

When the nausea finally passes after a good five minutes of dry heaving, Katsuki is drenched in sweat and his hands are still shaking. He still can't breathe properly and he feels lightheaded. Rationally, he knows he has to get himself to calm down, but actually doing it is a completely different thing. He tries to think about anything else, but his head keeps repeating and going through the events of that god-awful night. Eventually though, his mind provides him with an image of Kirishima reaching out to him, Kirishima with his ridiculous spiky red hair and sharp teeth calling for him, and Bakugou remembers a blast and then Kirishima’s hand was holding his. Kirishima's hand was warm and felt like safety and at that moment Katsuki didn't give a single fuck about Deku or anyone else.

There are sparks at the tips of his fingers again. He notices them a second too late, and one triggers an explosion in his sweaty, shaking hands and he’s back in the loop with Shigaraki’s voice floating around his head.

 XxX

Eijirou wakes up to the sound of an explosion. It takes a few disoriented seconds for him to realize where he is, and then he's out of the door. At his left Shouji stumbles into the dark hallway as well, looking exactly like Eijirou would expect anyone to look at what-the-fuck AM. He himself doesn't probably look any better.

It's obvious that the sound came from Bakugou's room. They both stay quiet for a short while, listening for signs of a struggle or a fight, but the hallway stays silent. The boys share a confused look, with no small amount of concern mixed in, because if they both heard the explosion then it was not a dream and there's something wrong with Bakugou. Not that Eijirou hadn't noticed something off before, but this is a surefire testament to wrong, loud and clear.

"I'll go check on him," Eijirou says quietly, glancing at Bakugou's door. Shouji nods and retreats back to his own room. By now, the whole class has pretty much understood how the main aspects of Bakugou's personality work – question his pride, ask if he needs help and be explodo-killed. Eijirou seems to be an exception to this, though, so it's an easy decision.

Eijirou watches as Shouji's door closes and takes a deep breath. Bakugou hasn't told him much about... that, though Eijirou suspects he knows more than anyone else. Sure, the police and the professional heroes know the cold, hard facts, but Eijirou knows Bakugou's personal perspective. Not everything, not even close, and he's not about to force anything out of his friend, but there's one sentence, though downplayed from what Eijirou could conclude from a shaky voice and gritted teeth, that chills him right down to his core.

 XxX

It's been two days since they rescued Bakugou. It's been two days since Japan lost its symbol of peace. Bakugou is under strict orders from the police not to leave the house under any and all circumstances, so when neither one of them is being interviewed by the authorities and Eijirou’s parents aren't demanding their son home, Eijirou has taken to spending time at Bakugou's. He's learnt to read the other boy well enough to realize that being alone isn't the ideal state right now, even if Bakugou would never say it out loud.

Eijirou fills the silence with pointless chatter. Though there is music playing, it feels important not to let Bakugou forget that he isn't alone, so he talks about TV shows, games, comics and gossip, never mentioning heroes or school or God forbid news. It works between them just fine. Bakugou isn't really talkative, not to mention that he's tired thanks to the crowding, endlessly curious officers that won't stop asking the same damn questions, thanks to being treated by Recovery Girl and thanks to the nightmares, so he lets Eijirou handle the talking and settles for reacting to stories and grunting answers to questions.

It's been two days and Bakugou has persistently refused to meet any kind of a shrink both the police officers and the doctors have recommended. It's been two days and Eijirou knows about the nightmares even though he hasn't been explicitly told, and he's worried about his friend. So it's been two days when Eijirou finally asks the question.

"Are you okay?" he asks in between two silences, voice soft in order to not freak Bakugou out. Bakugou tenses up, shoulders rising to his ears, fingers and toes curling up.

"Perfect," he mutters through gritted teeth, after a slightly-too-long moment of hesitation. He's lying, obviously, and Eijirou, perhaps against his better judgement, decides to push one step further.

"Do you... wanna, you know, talk about it?" And it's that single question that sends Bakugou teetering over the edge. He scrambles up from his bed and right to his feet, stance defensive before he's even standing.

"The fuck do you wanna know?" he snarls, voice threatening, but there's a shaky undertone. He waits for a blink, eyes wide, and then he loses all sense of an inside voice. "THE FUCK DO YOU WANNA KNOW? WANNA KNOW WHAT THEY DID? WHAT THEY SAID? HOW I FELT WHEN EVERYTHING WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FINE AND THEN WENT TO ABSOLUTE FUCKING HELL? FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR QUESTIONS, FUCK ALL OF THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT!" Bakugou stops screaming, panting. His shoulders hunch, but he regains his stance the second Eijirou moves to stand up from the beanbag he's been nested in. "What do you people want?" Bakugou then asks, exhaustion setting in.

Eijirou takes a step forward, keeping his hands in front of him. Bakugou looks ready to fight.

"Just what you're ready to tell me. That's all I wanna know, okay? Nothing more." Eijirou keeps his voice steady as he takes another step forward. Bakugou stares at him and lets his shoulders down again, and then he drops his whole weight back onto the edge of his bed. He squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head, too, as his nails dig into the mattress. Eijirou crosses the distance between them in two steps and settles next to his friend.

"I was scared," Bakugou whispers, voice shaking and breath hitching and he sounds so angry at himself. "I was so goddamn scared." And Eijirou knows he was probably terrified out of his mind, but it doesn't matter. What matters right now is that Bakugou is squeezing his hand for dear life, and Eijirou has no intention of letting go.

 XxX

Eijirou stands in front of Bakugou's door for a moment, hearing Bakugou tell him "I was scared" over and over again and he wants nothing more than to keep Bakugou in his arms forever and ever and protect him from everyone and everything. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Bakugou? It's Kirishima," he says. There's a distinct possibility that Bakugou has absolutely no intention of opening the door, but Eijirou hopes that maybe, just maybe it's different with him.

Footsteps approaching the door tell him that he's right. He takes a step back and waits as the boy on the other side fumbles with the knob. Eijirou briefly thinks that maybe he should have pulled on a shirt or something, but then again he's been out of bed for less than a minute and he doesn't really care, and he's pretty sure Bakugou doesn't either.

Finally the door is yanked open. Bakugou is wearing shorts and a tank top, and he looks awful. He's shaking all over, face pale and eyes rimmed red even in the darkness. He's not breathing properly.

Eijirou surges in and closes the door behind him because this is a sign of trust, might be the biggest indication of trust he has ever been given, and he is not about to ruin it by gaping openly at his friend, let alone keeping the door open for the whole world to see, even if it’s in the middle of the night and there's no one to see – no one even awake, besides them.

(He hopes, at least.)

Bakugou's room is just as dark as everything else in the building. Bakugou himself stands in the middle of it, fighting for every short breath he takes and shaking like a leaf in a storm. Eijirou stops on his tracks and tries to look as non-threatening as possible, because Bakugou, in addition to looking absolutely miserable, also looks like just about anything could throw him over the metaphorical edge of his sanity and plunging right into the cold embrace of his fight-or-flight response, and Eijirou seriously doubts Bakugou has a flight option even programmed into his brain.

"Bakugou, I'm gonna turn on the lights, okay?" Eijirou says as he fumbles for the light switch without turning his back to Bakugou. Handling him is kind of like defusing a bomb, Eijirou thinks. Bakugou  flinches when the lights flicker to life, and now Eijirou can see how pale his friend really looks, how his shirt clings to his chest with sweat. There's a terrified look in his eyes, but he stays still as Eijirou walks to him slowly.

"What happened?"

 XxX

"What happened?" Kirishima asks. His voice sounds soft and like he really, truly wants to help, and it takes all of Katsuki’s self-control to not reduce himself into a sobbing mess. He doesn't  do  that.

Katsuki is still getting dizzier by the minute, because he still can't breathe and his hands are still shaking and he still feels like if he closed his eyes he would be back there. He feels something brush the back of his hand and then Kirishima is standing in front of him, silently asking for permission to take his hand. Katsuki complies, reaching for Kirishima's hand, and then Kirishima intertwines their fingers and Katsuki finally finds it in himself to shake his head to the still lingering question. Kirishima seems to get this, because he changes his approach.

"What's wrong, then?"

"Can't breathe," Katsuki chokes. He feels like he's drowning, has felt like he was drowning since the minute he woke up and he has no idea how long it has been. The room is swaying, or maybe that's just him, but Kirishima's hand holding his is anchoring him to the present and that's probably good, he thinks.

"Okay, we're gonna take care of that first. I count and you breathe, yeah?" Katsuki nods and the next thing he knows, Kirishima has maneuvered both of them to the floor. Kirishima counts in intervals of five, emphasizing the numbers with first Katsuki’s fingers, then his own and then Katsuki’s again, and not once does he let go of Katsuki’s hand.

In minutes, Katsuki finds himself breathing easier. The tremors traveling up and down his spine and limbs slowly come to a stop. Kirishima is endlessly patient, rubbing Katsuki’s knuckles with his thumb and keeping up the count until Katsuki can do it himself. Kirishima's voice distracts him from the ringing of his ears, and the light chases away the eerie whispers throwing themselves around in his head. He's tired, exhausted, and he finally lets his eyes slide shut as he rests his head on Kirishima's bare shoulder.

"You okay now?" Kirishima's voice wafts softly to Katsuki’s ears. He nods slowly, hesitant, but in the end maybe he is, now that he can breathe again and doesn't see blood and death when he closes his eyes.

"That's good," Kirishima sighs, sounding relieved. "So, uh..." He starts drawing circles on Katsuki’s back. Katsuki lets him. "What happened?"

Katsuki tenses up at the question; his heart skips a beat and he stops breathing for a second. He can't. He can't, he can't go over this again, not right now, not when he's still scared as fuck and it's so stupid, he's supposed to be a hero-in-training and here he is, helplessly clinging to a friend because of a nightmare. And Kirishima is so fucking understanding and so fucking emphatic and –

"Just what you're ready to tell, yeah? Just what you're ready to tell."

– so fucking comforting.

"Nothing," he growls in response, because Kirishima can be anything he likes but he's still not going to start talking about his feelings. "Absolutely fucking nothing."

 XxX

Absolutely fucking nothing, my ass, Eijirou thinks. Bakugou is still sweating, and it doesn't take a genius to put the puzzle pieces together – Bakugou was obviously having something akin to a panic attack when he came in, and Eijirou knows about the nightmares. He doesn't want to force anything, doesn't want to pressure his friend to go through whatever-the-hell happened in his head again, but Bakugou's lie is so painfully obvious that he can't just leave it at that.

"I heard an explosion. Shouji heard it too," Eijirou tells, pulling away from Bakugou so he can see his face. Bakugou isn't looking at him.

"It's stupid," he mutters. "Forget it."

Eijirou takes a deep breath and prepares for the shitstorm his next comment is bound to cause. He doesn’t know when he became such a goddamn masochist.

"It's not stupid if it makes you upset." The moment the words leave his lips he realizes how incredibly cliché he sounds. Bakugou's face scrunches up and he lets go of Eijirou’s hand as if the contact suddenly burned.  

"It is," Bakugou hisses back and stands up. "It fucking is because I'm supposed to be in control of my fucking quirk and then I have a fucking nightmare, a bad fucking dream and I'm exploding all over the fucking place like a fucking pre-schooler and I am so fucking tired of things not going how they should go!" Bakugou is rambling now, pacing, with his hands nervously messing his hair up further. Eijirou doesn't try to stop him, because at least he's talking now.

Bakugou is a perfectionist by nature, Eijirou knows. He's scary smart, too, and not just by his grades – he makes calculations and constructs scenarios in his head even if his actions don't always look like it, so he can't be too accustomed to things sliding out of control as badly as they did at the training camp, let alone during the rescue operation. Eijirou also knows that Bakugou has been praised as a genius his whole life, so the expectations must be huge. Even overwhelming, at times like this, no matter how he appears outside.

And now he's allowing Eijirou to see past his shell.

Eijirou gets up, too. He has no idea of the time, doesn't know how long he has been awake or how many hours he still has left until morning, but the relevance of time has figuratively flown out of the window by now. He crosses the distance between the two of them. Bakugou is still pacing, looking like stopping isn't an option anymore, but Eijirou reaches for his hand anyway.

He's fully expecting Bakugou to bat his hand away, so his surprise nearly sends him reeling back when Bakugou comes to a stop and actually lets him take his hand. Eijirou gives a tentative tug, soft and barely there and he’s not really expecting it to do anything, but Bakugou practically collapses right into him. His head falls on Eijirou’s shoulder again, forehead on bare skin and soft hair tickling Eijirou’s ear and cheek. There’s a shuddering inhale and a huff of hot air, and for a moment Eijirou forgets how to speak. How to move. How to think.

It suddenly occurs to him that he’s pretty much naked, in the middle of the night, in Bakugou Katsuki’s room. He doesn’t know what they are, exactly, but he does know that he’s wanted to kiss Bakugou for a while now (his original plan concerning his personal life, when starting high school, was to kiss as many cute guys who were also interested in kissing guys he could find. That plan hasn’t existed since late April. He really hopes Bakugou is interested in kissing guys). This is a terrible and very inappropriate train of thought right now. He’s holding Bakugou’s hand. He’s holding Bakugou’s hand.

Mentally shaking himself, Eijirou brings his free hand, the one that’s not holding Bakugou’s hand between them, to the back of Bakugou’s head. Bakugou’s shaking fist clenches on his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Eijirou whispers to somewhere between Bakugou’s hair and the still air of the room. Shifts his head so he can repeat the words into Bakugou’s hair. It’s ridiculously soft.

Somehow, at some point, they end up sitting on the edge of Bakugou’s bed next to each other. Bakugou has calmed down significantly, but the panic definitely left with a price – he’s starting to look like he’s going to crash any minute now. It’s like he barely has the strength to keep his head up, and even that’s propped on his hands, which in turn are supported by his knees.

Eijirou watches him for a moment, one he could measure if time had any meaning right now, and wonders if he should start heading back to his own room. He doesn’t know if he wants to leave Bakugou alone, though.

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” he asks eventually; quietly.

Bakugou heaves a sigh. “Fuck no,” he says, tone exhausted, and presses his knuckles to his eyes.

“Okay. You want me to sit with you for a while?”

Bakugou turns to look at him.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

And if Bakugou's hand finds its way back to his, well. No one needs to know.

[himbowelsh]

Well now I need touch starved Liebgott something! I always imagined Webgott to work the other way around. Y'know Web being unused to hugs and Lieb having no sense of boundaries. But I'm really intrigued by a concept of switching it up.

hello i’m in tears bc this took so long to write, but...  enjoy an extremely touch-hangry boi.  be warned, for copious amounts of obscenely soft cuddling.

Long story short, it goes like this.

David’s just finished an article, two hours ahead of the frankly unreasonable deadline sent by his editor; he collapses on the couch, promptly kicks his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, and slumps against Joe’s side.

Joe goes very still.

At first, David thinks it’s because of his feet. Joe can be weird about things like that; he values cleanliness, and “not acting like fuckin’ animals in the house, Jesus, Web”. All the things David was never allowed to do growing up in his family’s Manhattan penthouse  ---  like leave dishes out or discard his clothes in messy piles  ---  are exactly the sort of things that drive Joe insane. He kind of relishes doing them, just to see the twitch Joe gets by his eye, and for the way he grips his hips roughly when he growls at him to “quit leaving your shit everywhere”. David’s natural sloppiness leaves Joe needing an outlet for his frustration… and their shared bedroom is kept very clean. It works out great for both parties.

So, sure, it’s probably just the feet on the table… he thinks for a grand total of eight seconds, before looking up to catch Joe’s eye.

His boyfriend’s gaze has gone impossible soft. It takes David’s breath away, a little, because Joe isn’t like that as a rule. He’s sharp edges and broken glass, jagged teeth and bladed grins. He’s harsh as sandpaper and smooth as steel. He’s frustrating, and his gentle moments come and go like fickle summer storms.

To be fair, impromptu cuddling on the couch isn’t like them either… but David needs it tonight, and stepping outside the bounds of their normal relationship can’t be the worst crime in the world. He holds Joe’s gaze for a moment, questioning and careful… but, instead of pulling away, Joe just takes a moment before sighing. His arm wraps around David’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Rough night, Web?” he asks, an undercurrent of implication in his voice. This ain’t like you. You alright?

“You have no idea.” David rests his stubbled cheek against Joe’s chest, sighing deeply as the tension slowly drains from his muscles. Joe is hesitant to react; his actions, even as he rubs up and down David’s shoulder, lack his usual fearlessness. Joe can grab his ass in the middle of a crowded bar, or ruffle his curls just to get on his nerves… but this casual intimacy is uncharted territory for him.

He needs a distraction from his own head. David’s got just the thing. “How would you,” he sighs, “like to hear about the plight of Heteractis anemone? Because I just wrote four thousand words on it.”

“Heter— huh.” Joe sighs into the crown of his head, ruffling his curls. “Pretty sure Guarnere caught that once.”

“Knowing him, he’s still got it,” David replies. When Joe laughs, it reverberates in his chest, a low rumble in David’s ear.

“Yeah, alright, Web. Tell me all ‘bout your anemoles.”

“Anemone.”

“Yeah, what’d I say?” Joe presses his grin into David’s hair. “Amenemes.”

“Anemo-- damn it,” he mutters, burying the words against his boyfriend’s chest. Joe laughs even harder… and, like it or not, the sound it a balm to David’s frayed nerves. Even better are the strong arms which wrap around him, fully encompassing his shoulders and pulling him against Joe’s body. It’s… more than he was anticipating, more than they probably need, but it feels nice, and he doesn’t want to pull away. David melts against him, curling his legs with Joe and letting himself drift off. Fingers card gently through his hair; his boyfriend’s warm breath caresses his temple… and being this close feels so good that he forgets to remember it isn’t ordinary at all.

If he looked up at that exact moment, he might have found Joe enjoying it even more than he was… but David, as usual, preferred to sail away.

-------------------------------------

That really should have been the end of it… but after their night of unexpected intimacy, it’s like a dam has broken.

Joe does it at unexpected moments. While David is flipping pancakes in the kitchen, he comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, chin looping over his shoulder. They just sort of… stay there. David is so surprised that he ends up charring the pancake, which Joe eats anyways, because he’d inhale charcoal if he was hungry enough… but while his boyfriend is wolfing blackened pancake lumps down his throat, no explanation is offered. David doesn’t know how to ask.

He’s brushing his teeth; Joe comes up behind him and holds his hips, just staying there for a few minutes. He’s reading a book in bed; Joe lies down, curling into his side like an automatic reflex. They’re watching whatever B-rated action flick Joe just insisted on going to see at the Cineplex, and Joe holds his hand the entire time.

Calling it strange is an understatement. It’s fucking bizarre.

Which isn’t to say Joe’s been shy about physical contact before, because he hasn’t. He’s just always been measured with it. Joe doesn’t hold back from touching people, grasping their shoulders or clapping them on the back… but he never goes overboard with it. His touches don’t linger. He’s a handsy person by nature, but David never considered before that he weighs every touch before giving them out. 

If that’s the case, what’s changed? Why has he suddenly become so free — even apparently craving — touches he’s never asked for before?

David doesn’t know much about the scientific method, but any good journalist can test a hypothesis as well as a lab tech. Early one night, before either of them have gone to bed, he sits down next to Joe on the couch and sets the remote in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Anything but reality TV,” is all he says, and Joe smirks as he turns the station to some late night show.

He’s paying attention; David is not. Instead, his attention is fixed firmly on Joe, not even trying to hide it. The curve of his profile, the shadows along his neck and collar, the way he always lounges when he sits… like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. Something about him seems inexplicably, undeniably lonely.

David leans over and wraps an arm around Joe’s shoulders. The reaction is expected; Joe goes tense, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on. David counts back in his head:  ten… nine… eight… seven…

Before he gets to five, Joe’s relaxed into him. Easy as that — it’s like teaching a puppy to eat food, or a baby to cry. Joe and touch go together like authors and caffeine. Touching is easy for him, but being touched is the most natural thing in the world.

A flame kindles to life within David’s chest, and soon it’s warming him from the inside out. He can’t keep a fond smile from his lips. After a moment, his hand strays up to Joe’s hair, threading gently through the well-maintained strands. Joe’s always had a weakness for having his hair touched, and tonight is no exception. He makes a tiny, content noise and leans into David, the tension slowly draining from his body. It doesn’t take long before he’s leaning against him, head balanced against David’s chest. Arms still around him, David holds Joe tenderly, caressing his hair while occasionally pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Joe’s heartbeat is steady, his muscles lax. David charts the gentle rhythm of his breathing until he’s sure his boyfriend has dropped off to sleep.

When he looks down, a wave of tenderness washes over him. Joe Liebgott with every guard down is a thing to see. He so rarely looks peaceful. There’s something restless about Joe, a relentless hunger thrumming just beneath his skin, determined to break free. He’s always had an edge of urgency to him… but now, dozing against David’s chest, he looks without a care in the world.

He ought to be this way all the time. He deserves to be happy all the time. God help him, if David has any say in it, Joe will be.

“Is it my birthday or something?” Joe asks, when David, completely unprompted, begins massaging his shoulders. “Shit, don’t tell me I’m another year older and just forgot.”

“Not for another few months, old man,” David replies. On reflex, Joe tries to twist and grab him, but David’s massage doesn’t let up; after a minute, he relaxes into it, slumping further back against David’s chest.

“You been acting weird lately,” Joe declares — as though David needs to be good, and as though he wasn’t the one acting weird to begin with. “Everything fine at work? You didn’t… gamble away our savings to the mafia, or promise Sobel our firstborn kid or something? If you got news for me, Web, I can take it without a bonus massage.”

“Why do you think — wait, we’re going to have kids?”

“Head in the game, Web. What’s going on?”

At once, he’s glad Joe is facing the other way, because David’s not sure what he could say otherwise. He frowns at Joe’s back muscles, kneading into them with a bit more force than necessary. Sure, he’s been… more physically affectionate these days. Joe no longer has to seek it out, because he gives it willingly… and even if touch doesn’t come naturally to David, the obvious way Joe eats it up when his touches linger in public or they draw close to each other in private makes it all worthwhile. Joe seems happier nowadays, so clearly it’s working fine.

Why’s he getting interrogated now?

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks. “Just because I want to touch?”

“You ain’t a touchy-feely person. Never have been.”

“People change.”

“Not you.” Joe’s observation is too neutral for David to justify flaring up at it. “Come on, Web. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for a long moment before summoning a reply. “I want you to be happy,” he declares, finishing off Joe’s back massage with a caress of his neck. “I want you… to feel loved.”

Joe is silent for a beat before turning his head to look back at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah,” David huffs. “That’s all.”

It’s hard to make out Joe’s expression when one half of his face is cast into shadow, but David spots the amusement in his eyes… and something else, too, something softer that he can’t put his finger on. It sparks a familiar warmth in his chest, and he smiles.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” Joe sighs. There’s no warning before he’s leaning back against David’s chest, but David’s ready this time. He opens his arms, embracing him as they go. Slowly, Joe relaxes into the comfort of his touch, and the world feels a little warmer.

[yetremains]

♡ + Yang and Ryou, both canon and MK verses :^)

SEND ME ♡ + A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU…

ANOTHER LONG ONE Oh boy this will be interesting *Entirely on the maybes of when they stop being dummy himbos* I tried

CANON

Who is the most affectionate? At first they would probably be very slow and gentle with the affection, considering there are already plenty of soft moments between them. Ryou is naturally affectionate towards his friends and loved ones, while Yang enjoys letting those she cares for know she does. But once the option is here, they would probably be very touch starved indulgence. Lots of tight holds, leaning into each other, soft whispers late into the night. Calling each other by their real names when alone.

Who initiates the handholding? Given the chance, Yang would absolutely go for hand holding first, as a grounding reminder. That it's real, Ryou is real, this is still reality. However I can see it being him that would in the quiet moments reach out to thread their fingers together, take solace in the warmth and grip.

Who worries more for the other? Ryou, without a doubt. While she worries over him and always has over the time they have known each other, Yang is the more feral. 'She protecc, she attacc, but also YANG YOU HAVE TO HOLD BACK'. After all these years, there has been the constant that Yang will willingly enter a fight if there is no other option. A combination of being a product of the world she's lived in, and the traumatic fear of loss.

Who is more likely to ask for help? Neither of them want to burden the other, or anyone really, with any of their troubles or endanger them, stubborn idiots. However they are extremely close, and if there was a deep need for help with something, or presence, and ear, then Ryou and Yang truly can depend on each other in times of need. And after a bit, probably more than willing to reach out. Breaking old habits is hard and never done in one night.

Who is the one always losing the keys? I feel like not one or the other would loose their keys all that often. Having been around in this world a god damn long time, they have learned to keep important objects close and on hand. But in Jack's case, maybe forgetting anything higher tech related would be more common.

Who leaves little love notes for the other? Being so tied with music, Yang would probably be leaving poems or small lyrics for Ryou now and then, while he'd leave behind heart felt notes of few lines.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there? Sleep? These two? Less likely than you think! A combination of stubborn, trauma, PTSD, and the refusal to fall prey too the internal minds. But all the same, Yang wants to help him sleep more. But I feel that knowing they both have someone dependable there, they can't sleep well at all without each other.

Who is more likely to propose to the other? Two dummy thicc stubborn idiots managing this far? Your guess is as good as mine! This is much like a wild card, and it depends entirely on the thought processes. But if a lot of time goes by, it would be Yang, with a simple gold ring with writing around the inside of it. If she doesn't internalize it and let the thoughts spiral forever. Otherwise Ryou just might get the chance first.

Who introduced the other to their family first? Jack/Ryou, since he has adopted Ashi as a dottir. Yang doesn't really have any family left, considering her age and the wars of the past. And Scottsman is absolutely the wild uncle.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair? I've said this before, but Yang does love playing with her partners hair, and Jack is going to be spoiled like this. Running her fingers through his long hair, enjoying how soft it is. And amazed he can tie all of it up so easily and quick. Talent.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated? It would possibly switch depending on the day and the others moods, the highs and lows. Yang will absolutely spoil him with salmon items, green teas, and peach anything, especially peach mochi.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other? A long time ago it would have absolutely been Yang immediately ready to throw down. But now, they are far more on par, and Ryou would absolutely be protective if he knows something would be too much or too dangerous for Yang to handle. He's the holder of most braincells and also arguably the more dangerous out of the two of them.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other? Yang loves spoiling and surprising those she cares about. Be it small hand made items, food, silly gifts, it's just nice. So most often she might surprise him with something. But Jack is also the type to take great consideration and time to return such acts of affection.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things? Jack/Ryou. While the two of them no longer age, he is well aware Yang is much older and has crossed a lot of lines in the past. Long ago when he was more bright eyed, it was him that had Yang not be so merciless in a fight with someone, more willing to give second chances in a world that was so twisted already. He would most likely make her promise not to take unneeded risks. But on the flip side of that coin, Yang would make Ryou pinky swear to not let himself spiral so far down in himself and his thoughts.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch? Sleeping on the couch? It's a miracle! In all seriousness though, the most likely scenario would be Ryou coming across Yang slumped on the couch at some point and putting a blanket on her. Since she will go quite a long time without sleep naturally, but further than should be done. But this doesn't mean that Yang wouldn't find him once in a rare blue moon instead, and put her vest over him with a blanket. Potentially going to slip closer to let his head lay in her lap.

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MK VERSES

Who is the most affectionate? It would take a while for them to get here, but as close and trusting as the two are, if one wants affection then it will be given. Touch starved old souls want their cuddles, and they want them now. In this particular case I feel it might be Ryou sunshine boy that is just a little more. Yang will eventually melt into it, if she's not being the big spoon, or letting him lay on her chest to hear the heartbeat.

Who initiates the handholding? Depending on the where and when, it could be one or the other. But feel Yang might be the one to reach out and hold, but Ryou's grip might be just a little tighter when the thread their fingers together.

Who worries more for the other? When is there not worry for the other? Both of them are dangerous warriors in their own right and have been through hell and high water, improved their fighting skills and talents over the years, thus seen each other messed up in more ways than one. It's natural. But does not mean the fear or worry goes away. But I feel like in certain scenarios, it might be Yang that worries more about him, and gets herself ready for the worst- which in turn makes him worry harder. It's an infinity loop!

Who is more likely to ask for help? For something smaller, it's left unsure. Potentially willing to bring one or another in for help. It's not often that the need for it might arise if it's something more difficult, but if it does, it might just be Yang to ask first. Stubbornly.

Who is the one always losing the keys? Potentially these two, who carefully keep track of such things, would rarely loose anything. For ease of sue as well, Yang might just label what keys of hers go where for Ryou, because Yang does travel.

Who leaves little love notes for the other? I can see Ryou leaving more simple notes, but Yang will leave origami folded flowers for him in return, to unfold and read himself. They may even use different languages to convey things better, seeing as some are lacking in words.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there? Both of them no doubt, considering they've been through way too much. But having a warm body there to hold can help. However... The meaning of proper sleep is lost on Yang, as her schedule is often stay up 48 hours, sleep for 9 or so after, rinse and repeat. It means more likely to watch over and protect. Waking from nightmares and memories is a common event. But with Ryou there she can manage to sleep more regularly and not be so tense. The nightmares don't stop of course, but it does help.

Who is more likely to propose to the other? Oddly enough, while Yang had been the one who proposed too her old fiance many years ago, in this particular instance she might not. Would just be content and happy with what they have here, not daring push it. So it probably in the end would be the half edenian if it went that far. Unless Yang uses music to do so.

Who introduced the other to their family first? If very close friends and ally's count as family, or adopted ones, then I feel like it doesn't matter who does it first. This would just come into happening with lost of smiles and gleeful joy. Have you seen the adopted kids? Here they are on both sides, aren't they fantastic!

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair? Yang would adore playing with Ryou's hair, brushing it and braiding or such things, massaging his scalp. Her hands are surprisingly soft, thanks to wearing gloves all the time. But if he were to do the same for her, she would be weak for it.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated? Eating hearty and staying hydrated is something Yang always needs to do, and knows how horrible it is to not do so. So while she may sometimes neglect herself, this woman will make sure to feed Ryou as well as keep his favorite tea on hand as often as possible. She wants to make sure he is healthy as well as happy.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other? Considering how powerful these two can get I don't think there is an either one here. Ryou's own grandmother gave Yang the blessing to fist fight an Elder God, and Ryou himself is ready to throw down if he has too, as well as having fought a god himself too. In the end though, it is the calm and collected ones you need to watch out for more. If the culprit in question is truly beyond redemption and a blight on life, Ryou will take someone out and no one will find the body.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other? Remember how Yang enjoys showing her affection in various ways? This is another one of those, and yes, she will get small surprised for Ryou. Be it wood carvings of certain places, people, or items, or personalized object of some sort, even a keychain perhaps, Yang will surprise him with such things. But I feel he would do the same with Yang, and possibly be something that would entirely catch her off guard.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things? They both do, making the other promise not to run headlong into things, or get them selves hurt. After having been through so damn much on either side, they know what each other is capable of, as well as the dangers that don't scare them no matter what. So a pinky promise is something I can see happening easily between them, and trying to uphold it.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch? Here it might be a toss up. But more than likely it would be Ryou coming across Yang having succumb to sleep or exhaustion on the couch or in a chair, maybe even a desk. Woman tries too much at once and tries to keep notes and information, and will end up dropping things. So it would most likely be him to pull a blanket up and over her. But he's no exempt from experiencing the same thing, because if Yang were too find him asleep somewhere as well, then he'd be softly tucked in, and her staying close to reassure with her presence and warmth.

[cant-blink]

My Name Is...

Summary: Rodan asks San if he could teach him the dragon’s native tongue.

-

“Hey, San?” 

Rodan’s voice was thick with sleep, cracking in some places, and he shakes himself to further wake. It’s late, and he had only just stirred from sleep from within the magma pool of their volcano nest. He’s been sleeping all day, as he tended to do nowadays since needing to heal his broken wing. But dozing off all day doesn’t make him any less tired when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It was in complete defiance of his natural circadian rhythm to force himself into this nocturnal habit, but it was the only way he can talk to the heads one-on-one.

The left head especially was the easiest to start conversation with, as opposed to Ichi, who keeps the chit-chat to a minimum, or Ni, who doesn’t talk at all really.

Besides, he had a goal tonight and he doubted the others will help. If anything, San was his best chance.

Upon hearing his voice, the left head’s horns perks out a bit before he gives a glance towards him, red eyes flashing in the lava’s glow. A grunt of acknowledgment is made, prompting Rodan to continue in a now less-tired voice. He wants to make sure his request was clear and no-nonsense in tone, but not demanding.

“I want to learn your language.”

“What?” San asks, turning to look towards him with brows furrowed in confusion. That reaction was kinda weird, certainly not one Rodan was expecting. Had they never gotten asked about something like this before. He doubted it. Maybe there’s a bit of a language barrier going on here; San is prone to that, especially if Rodan speaks too fast. So he speaks slower.

“Can you teach me how to speak like you?” He waves a claw a small circle motion. “You know, like in your native tongue? Is that better?”

“I know what you say,” San points out with a small huff of irritation. “Just want to know if I heard that right. Why do you want to talk like us?”

“Because,” he drawls. “We’re mates now, we oughta be able to share our culture. Plus, y’know, it’d be great to actually understand what you guys are always yelling about instead of staying up late to ask you all the time. Save me some damn sleep.”

“........”

Rodan shifts his weight a bit restlessly as San stared at him with an intense unblinking gaze. He always does that, like he was scrutinizing every inch of him. Made him feel like he was being stared down on by a predator, but he refuses to make those feelings known. Instead, he waves his claw in a circular motion again. “Well?”

“.....” San finally tears his eyes away from him to look towards his brothers before back to him. His words were spoken with genuine curiosity. “Why would you wanna learn if you’re going to die anyway?”

Rodan doesn’t answer that, prompting San to smirk a bit as he continues. “You put work in learning our tongue, only for us to kill you. It’s stupid.”

“.........” He didn’t know why this hurt as much as it did. He knew deep down in his core that Ghidorah had full intentions to kill him by the end of all of this; to expect otherwise would be foolish. But his heart just really tried hard to believe there was a different fate in store for him, refusing to believe their bond to be anything but genuine. Especially since Ichi knew of his feelings and seemed to indulge in them himself. Hell, they chose to mate with him! So knowing that after all they’ve been through, his destiny hasn’t changed... 

It only feels worse, seeing that San took such delight in it. There was that familiar glint in those ruby eyes; the same glint whenever San toyed with him. It was when he heard an added snicker from the left head that prompts him to respond in a soft voice.

“I mean, why did you guys bother to learn my tongue? If you’re all going to die one day...”

“Our kind can't die,” San said with haughty confidence in his sing-song voice. “So that doesn’t work.”

“Whatever,” Rodan continued, not sure whether to believe that or not. These things were resilient as hell, but not THAT resilient, surely. But then he remembered seeing them regrow a head and- You know what, best to just drop it altogether. Stay on focus! “You bothered to learn how to talk to us. What’s the point if you’re just going to kill us all anyway?”

San doesn’t respond, tilting his head slightly at the question. Rodan recognized his foothold and immediately took it.

“Do you learn the languages of the other planets that you’ve went to?”

“.... Sometimes,” San answered carefully. “But most times, we don’t stay too long on planets, so I know only few words.”

“And what was the point of learning those words?”

“...... I just thought they sounded funny.”

Blink. That was his only reaction to that for a moment before he continued on with his argument. “Well, my point still stands. Even if I’m going to die soon, I still want to learn to talk to you in a way you can really understand. No more confusion between us in the time we have together. I want to enjoy being with you more than I already do. I want to help when you guys are upset and that’ll be so much easier to do when I can understand what the hell you guys are on about...”

San doesn’t answer for a long time, enough that Rodan was about to speak up again just to keep the conversation from dying. But there was no need, as the left head found his tongue.

“You enjoy being with us?” His brows furrowed again, as if unable to grasp the concept.

“Yeah!” Rodan had to try to keep his voice down. “Of course I do. Why else would I choose you guys as my mate?”

“Your mate?”

“Yeah...” There was the beginnings of a sinking feeling in his chest and he didn’t know why. “You... you guys mated with me... That means a lot to my kind. Does...” He hesitates before daring to push on, voice softer as the sinking feeling in his chest gets worse. “Does that mean nothing to you?” He dreaded asking that, but it needed to be done. He needed to make sure they were both on the same page. But once more, San’s limited vocabulary hinders them.

“What does ‘mate’ mean?”

“And you see? That’s why I want to learn your tongue.” He steps closer to him. “Just like I teach you mine all the time. ‘Mate’ is what we did when Ni hurt me, remember? With my kind, that means we love each other, for the rest of our lives.”

“Love?”

Rodan nods again, continuing to step closer so that his beak brushes against San’s neck, the left head making no move to push him away. Little things like that give him hope and he allows his smile to grow, his golden eyes looking up at the dragon. “Say it with me, I love you.”

San doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with those large intent eyes. When he does speak, he does so slowly to make sure he says it exactly as he heard it. “I love you.”

That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from Ghidorah, and even if San didn’t mean it, it still brought his heart out of that sink hole in his chest. Maybe someday, he’ll hear those words again, spoken with genuine warmth and love. Too much to wish for? Maybe. But he can hope.

He keeps himself nuzzled against those scales, beak gently nibbling in a groom. San is still and says nothing, just watching him before glancing towards his brothers. The left head twitches their massive wings, the only sign of his inner debate with himself. After a moment, he mutters softly. “I’ll ask my brothers if it’s okay to teach you. Maybe fun.”

Well, at least it’s something and he lets out a breath. “Thank you.”

“What does that mean?”

Ghidorah really doesn't get a lot of nice things said to them, huh?

“When someone does something nice, you say ‘thank you’ to them to show you’re happy for what they’ve done. Or will do.”

“And you say thank to us? You are a funny slave. A funny silly slave,” San chuckles. After a moment, he makes a sound Rodan’s certain he’s heard from them before, although it must be rare as he can’t readily recall where or when he’s heard it. But it sounded beautiful, like a gentle musical trill.

“What does that mean?” he dared to ask, unsure if he was going to get an answer given how San wanted permission from his older siblings. But maybe the left head can give him just one word...?

And it seemed that’s exactly what San was doing as he gives him another amused look before answering. “That’s your name.”

His eyes brighten, having learned that his name sounded so nice in their tongue. Can he make those sounds himself? He didn’t know, but just hearing it from them would be enough for him. “Yeah, that sounds right.” San giggles at this and it emboldens Rodan to ask: “How do I say ‘Ghidorah’?”

Was that pushing his luck? Doesn’t seem like as San answered him without a fuss. It was a shorter sound, sharper, but still with that musical note. He runs it through his mind in a loop, not wanting to forget. His thoughts are only cut off when the left head continues.

“Now say thank to me.” San demands him and he pulls away to give him a look.

“First of all, it’s ‘thankS’ when used in that context. Second of all, that’s not how it works. You don’t demand it; you get it when you get it!” But despite giving this reprimand, his smile returns, wider than ever before his voice softens. “But thanks anyway.”

San smirks, before turning away to keep watching the horizon. Rodan leans against their body, settling beside them and draping his wing over their back to share his warmth with them. San and Ichi always seemed to enjoy when he did this. Yeah, Ni hated it, but getting bitten in the morning is always worth it. He just had to try to keep his wing folded away from the right side as best he can. As he rested his head upon their shoulder, nuzzling against San’s neck, he plays the sound San made to say 'Ghidorah’ in their native tongue. He wants to say it to them come morning, really show to Ichi that he was serious in wanting to learn.

Over and over, he whispers to himself in an attempt to articulate the foreign word, until he drifts off.

-

“Ghidorah!” 

Ichi brings his head up from their morning bask at the unexpected call. It was spoken in their own tongue but with a very heavy, unknown accent to it. It was almost like the sound that woke them from dormancy in the ice, but less mechanical in nature. He turns to look towards the source and there was the bird, sitting in his lava pool with a proud look on his face. The eldest head narrows his eyes slightly, glancing at San who was grinning at the attempt. Ni was less amused, his face scrunched up in a scowl, disgusted to hear their beautiful language spoken by such a lowly creature.

Where on this mudball of a world did the bird learn to say that? Did he really need to ask? The youngest was always chatty with the bird during his night-watch and this was no doubt one of their little shenanigans. Very well, he can play along.

“Yes?” Ichi responds, also in their native tongue. At this, the bird hesitates, flight fingers twitching a bit as if uncertain. Ha, seems the inferior creature was still as clueless as ever. But that didn’t stop the bird from speaking again.

“Ghidorah,” He puffs out his chest plates. “My name is-” Okay, that was spoken in the earth tongue, and-

He spoke another word in their language, with that same heavy accent, making it practically unintelligible. Clearly not as practiced as the other word. This time, Ichi responded in the bird’s native tongue, just to make it clear that the bird needed to try that again. “Excuse me?”

The bird lets out a breath before trying again, the same exact words but slower this time. And with this extra care to pronounce the word correctly, Ghidorah understood and Ichi can’t stop a smirk from growing on his snout. San is giggling now as the middle head nods approvingly at the little fire pest. 

“Indeed, that IS your name.” As Rodan gives himself a celebratory pat on the back, Ichi glances at his brothers with amusement, speaking in their native tongue once more. “Always nice when these lesser creatures name themselves ‘Slave’.”

San cracks up laughing.

[mhafiction]

Out & About (PT. 1)

Read Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Pairing: Bakugo x reader

Fluff/Friends to Lovers (?), lots and lots of pining.

Synopsis: Reader is very close friends with the Bakusquad, except for the aloof and mysterious Bakugo. He still intrigues them however, and a night out with the group might actually be the the push they need to really get the ball rolling on transitioning their awkward comradery into something a little- more.

Note: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, I’m very spooked. There’s a ton of stress out there in the world rn, and I’m trying to find comfort in writing. I hope you enjoy. (Also I’m sorry abt the formatting of this fic I don’t have a laptop to post from :0) -K.

“I’m so glad we could do this, guys!”

You beamed at your friends, excited to set out for the evening. The major exam everyone had been studying diligently for all week was finally over, and the Bakusquad agreed to celebrate by going into the city to enjoy the night life. To be completely honest, in the week leading up to the test, you had been strangely on edge-but not just because of the workload. The dormitory had become oddly quiet, with everyone either off in the library or retreating to hit the books in the silent comfort of their rooms. You missed the hustle and bustle of everyone chatting, eating Sato’s latest confectionary masterpieces, and most of all, the unbridled energy your friends provided. Well, most of them, anyway.

At least now you could finally relax for the weekend and enjoy a good meal with them.

“Right? It feels like forever since we’ve done something like this,” Mina groaned, leaning her head on your shoulder. Her spikey horns jabbed into your chin. The murmur of the station felt familiar, a calming setting for you and your friends.

Kirishima flashed one of his bright smiles. “Aw, it’s only been a couple of weeks!”

“Yeah but you know I’m clingy,” Mina pouted. “I need my favorite peeps or else I get sad and droopy.”

You chuckled, pushing her playfully off your shoulder. “You’re so dramatic, Mina.”

You were thankful for such cheerful and enthusiastic friends. They were all energetic, happy, and extroverted. They really brought you out of your shell at the beginning of the year, and you had gotten to know them all so well over late-night movie marathons or afternoons at the arcade. You surveyed your little group, watching Kaminari begrudgingly charge Sero’s phone, Mina laughing uproariously at his some joke Kiri cracked, and their general bubbly aura. Then, your eyes caught on a familiar pair of piercing red ones.

Scratch that. You had gotten to know most of them pretty well.

What could you say about Bakugo Katsuki? Well, he was impulsive. Talented. Aloof. Angry.

That was about it. How such a grumpy, quiet boy had attracted these walking rays of sunshine was beyond you. Not to say you hate Katsuki or anything. In fact, one might say that you like him.

He had that extreme sort of passion that you’d never seen before, in anyone. He had a keen eye for people’s strengths and weaknesses, both in combat and just in genral. He encouraged you through those traits to go beyond your limits. And though he was cruel and rude to others, the worst he had been to you was a little standoffish. You knew Bakugo was going to be a really great hero someday, and you wanted to get to know him better. Most days, it felt like you were getting to him; becoming something a person would call friends. Then he’d look you in the eye with those dark, stoic eyes and it felt like you knew nothing about him all over again. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Bakugo guarded his with a legion of soldiers and an iron gate.

It’s okay you mused to yourself. Nobody really knows him, to be fair. Except maybe Kiri and Deku. But he’s known Deku for years! And Kiri can get anyone out of their shell. Why would Bakugo want to be good friends with me? He’s not obligated to. I shouldn’t pester him. But I still want to get to know him! Damn.

“Oi, Y/N!”

You snapped out of your thoughts. Bakugo glared at you. Or maybe it was just the way his face naturally was. Maybe it was just you, but those red eyes seemed to soften a bit.

“C’mon, train’s here.”

You nodded following behind your chattering group. The car was nearly empty, and most of your friends darted for the seats. Kaminari laid across three, spreading out as if her were royalty. Chances are, he probably felt like it.

“This is the most luxurious thing I’ve ever experienced,” he sighed. Sero flicked the back of his head, causing Kaminari to shoot up with a yelp. “That’s sad, Denki. Scooch over.”

Kaminari turned to you, rubbing the his head where Sero had flicked him. “Not sitting, Y/N?”

“Nah. I’ve been sitting at a desk all week, I’d like to refrain from it for now. I’ll bet my postures’ shot.”

Denki shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he splayed over Sero’s lap. “But just know you’re missing out.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sparky,” Bakugo growled. “It’s almost rush hour. By the next station, this place’ll be packed.”

Bakugo took his place by one of the seats, opting to stand by the pole next to the door. He was close enough to the seats so that it was clear he was part of the Bakusquad , but just far enough to isolate himself from the conversation. You stranded almost directly across from him, allowing yourself to face the group so that you could converse with all of them, rather by being in a row side by side. Your hand gently held the plastic ring above your head. You all had fallen into a comfortable chatter, laughing about how well you did on the exam and the latest slip-up Kaminari had made in training. The train swayed gently, and all was well. Then came the next stop.

You gaped at the crowd that had accumulated at the doors, dreading when they’d open. All tired looking folks dressed in smart suits and clutching their briefcases. You were silently impressed by their sheer numbers. Living in isolated school dorms with the little student social bubble you had had made you forget how vast the city was. It made you miss your morning commute a little bit. But, when the doors finally opened, that feeling completely evaporated.

It was as if a sea of black ties, dress shirts, and loafers had washed over you. You looked down, determined to contain your bewildered expression. The others were not faring so well in that department. Their cartoonish expressions were accented by quiet (and sometimes loud) yelps at the office people trampling their toes. Bakugo remained unfazed. In the chaos, you loosened your grip on the plastic loop to check your phone. 5:00 PM on the dot. We really are kind of dumb. You wondered to yourself why Bakugo hadn’t said anything when you suggested the outing after class. He was usually so outspoken when it came to stuff like that. And it’s not like he hadn’t known. You sighed, putting your phone away. I should have checked the time before we left... if I had just suggested to go a little later, the crowd wouldn’t be this bad. Well what’s done is done.

As you slipped our phone into your pocket, you found yourself being sharply pushed by the crowd. Another swell of people had entered, and your loose grip didn’t serve you well in such a circumstance. Naturally, you fell forward. Right into Bakugo. Your head collided with his and you tried to reel backwards in pain- but Bakugo pulled you closer to him, grabbing your wrists with an impressive grip.

“Owwww...”

“Shut up, you’re making a scene,” He hissed, eyes scanning you with... worry? As if suddenly becoming aware of this, Bakugo quickly returned to his usual cold demeanor.

You groaned. “It’s not as if it’s my fault that I got pushed. Or that you have a such a hard skull.” You suddenly realized how close you two were. Most of your friends were pretty physically affectionate, and you had no discomfort hugging them or cuddling with them. But Bakugo was not a “cuddle” person. Hell, his if his attitude wasn’t enough, his hair said it all. He did not like being touched. But here you were, chest to chest, his hands gripping your wrists, faces just a nose apart.

If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. You turned to look at the spot you were just standing in, craning your neck just to get a peek. It was tough.

“It’s useless,” Bakugo sighed. “There’s three extras in the place you were. Bastards are glued to their phones.”

You shrugged, peering up at him. More and more people were cramming into the car like sardines. “Guess I’ll have to stay here for now. Sorry.”

Bakugo averted his stony gaze, a gentle agony lining his face. “S’okay.” The rest of your group seemed to take no notice of the state the two of you were in. Mina and Kiri has pushed themselves up against the wall in an effort to be as small as possible, Sero’s gangly frame was not doing him favors, and you swore you heard Kaminari sobbing somewhere, though his shock of blonde hair was out of sight. Somehow, aside from the awkwardness of being near Bakugo, you weren’t uncomfortable. He had stopped holding your wrists and instead kept his hands hovering near your waist in order to keep you from falling over or accidentally bumping into another passanger. Not that you needed it our anything. You knew it was because he felt uncomfortable putting his hands anywhere else. Your own arms were similarly placed, and in a weird way, it was as if you two were embracing. Probably as close to a hug from Katsuki that you’d ever get.

With nothing else to look at, you observed his features. You knew already that his eyes were something else altogether, but you released a short intake of breath. Bakugo was handsome. You had thought that when you first saw him, but you truly had taken it for granted. This close, his features were rendered beautifully. His jawline, the way his hair fell- it was sort of ethereal. He kept his eyes trained on everything but you, as if he were trying to forget you were there. But on top of all that...

“Bakugo, you smell like caramel?” His eyes darted back to your own, that vulnerability you had only seen recently shining through. It stayed a little longer than last time.

“Tch. It’s my quirk,” he tried to look away, but you pressed him further.

“Oh? I didn’t know that,” you hummed, trying to keep your composure. Talking this close to Katsuki was beyond your skill level. You patted yourself on the back internally for at least making it this far. “Does it have something to do with your parents’ quirks?” He flinched, and you worried you had gone too far. He never had been one for small talk. But he obliged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Kind of. My mom sweats glycerin and my dad can make explosions with his hands. I sweat nitroglycerin, and it lets me make explosions. And nitroglycerin smells like burnt sugar, or-”

“Caramel,” you finished, grinning. That was probably the most he had ever said to you in one sentence. And, to your suprise, he smiled back. But this smile melted your heart. It was sweet and unassuming and he didn’t even seem aware of it. You tried to hide your shock. “Heh. Smart Y/N. You’re such a know-it-all.” He tapped your forehead with his fist, right at the spot you two had collided. You flinched. The injury was still tender. Bakugo’s face changed, but still remained vulnerable and kind. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He knelt to see you eye to eye, and examined your face. He had asked with a genuine concern you had never seen before. Those words seemed like they weren’t meant for his mouth. You felt your face flush. If he was just an inch closer you two would be-

What the fuck?? No way. No fucking way.

There was no way. It wasn’t possible that you could be falling for Bakugo fucking Katsuki. The explosive boy who cackled maniacally whenever he got to punch someone. The sport festival victor who beat up Uraraka, the human equivalent of a cinnamon roll, without an ounce of mercy. The student so notorious for his mean streak that the League of Villains had tried to recruit him.

But that internal part, deep within you knew that he was more than his surface-level outrage. That’s why you liked him so much, right? That’s why you wanted to be his friend. He was a boy who was passionate, ambitious, and honest. Not many could see that. Still, more than this, he displayed a tenderness you didn’t think he was capable of.

A tenderness that was only a nose away from meeting your lips.

“I’m fine, Bakugo.” You attempted to subtly scooch backwards, hoping to increase to distance at least by a smidge. If you stayed in a position like this after a revelation like that, you’d truly implode.

Bakugo was no idiot. He saw you squirm at the proximity, and drew back, his usual aura returning. Internally, he smacked himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. How could you forget? At best, you two are just friends. Most of the time, you’re just acquaintances. Control yourself, Bakugo.

You two kept this awkward silence until your stop, cheeks ablaze. After what felt like forever, your destination was announced, and Mina gave a shout of joy and relief so loud it seemed like it shook the entire train. You and Bakugo squeezed past the suits, you offering up enough apologies to compensate the both of you for a lifetime of sin. When you reached the door, it felt as if you were finally getting your head above water. You sighed deeply, talking in the rhythms of the station.

“Wow. That was awful,” you breathed. Bakugo grunted. His eyes refused to meet yours, and your heart sank. This was the Bakugo that everyone knew. The grumpy and angry Bakugo and nothing more. Not the sweet boy with the soft eyes who had asked with the gentlest tone if you were ok. But you still liked him. What is wrong with me?!

Mina flopped on the floor like a beached whale. “Ughhhhhhhh.”

“Mina, get up! That’s so gross,” Sero stepped over her, disgusted.

Kiri checked the group, making sure everyone got off. “Where’s Kaminari?”

A distant screech sounded from the train, and Kaminari burst through the doors just as they were about to close, talking his place on the station floor beside Mina. You laughed. This happiness made you forget about Bakugo, if at least for a second. But his eyes were trained on you, watching you toss you head back in joy and look at everything with such a deep love.

You saw, for one second as you turned back towards him, that soft smirk he almost never had. And your heart beat faster.

“Okay everyone! Let’s go!”

[anonymous0writer]

I Still Want You

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Warnings: None... a break up... Swearing

Requested: Yes!

“songfic request :: Nights Underneath by Louis Knight × Pope (reader goes from Pogue to Kook, maybe ?)“

A/N: This was cute and fun!! I hope you guys enjoy all this content!! Let me know!

Midsummers. You hated Midsummers. You always did, but this year was a thousand times worse. 

Because this time you were a Kook. And your ex would be there. Actually, you didn’t even know where your relationship stood. But you were dreading it anyway. The only person who would make this better was Kie. She was going too, and you promised you’d be with each other all night.

You were a Kook. The one thing you hated the most in this world. But you had become the rich, stuck up second homers once your mother married rich. There was no hate against you mother, or Richard, they married because they loved each other, but you didn’t like what your title was. Becoming a Kook wasn’t all that bad. Your mother was finally very happy since your father left. And you and your little sister, Julia had gotten siblings. Richard had two sons and a daughter. Henry was in college, but Weston was your age, and Lilly was Julia’s age. It was good too see your little sister have a good friend. And Wes was a close friend. The transition was easy and nice. 

But the rest was horrible. 

You were now automatically assumed rude, and self absorbed by the rest of island. Even with some of your friends. Who knew you were anything but. You still had your crew, however. John B, JJ, Pope and Kie hadn’t abandoned you. After all, they loved Kie. So they kept you, much to your relif. And now you had to dress nice and go to Kook parties. You missed the parties at the Boneyard, and missed just not caring about your image. Begin a Kook had changed that. 

And it broke your relationship. You and Pope had been together for five months before your title changed. Even though it was’t that long, you and Pope were serious. And you loved him. Dearly. 

But things got rocky because of Heyward. Pope’s dad didn’t really like you to begin with. He didn’t like the rest of the crew, but to him, you were a ‘female JJ’. And Heyward hated that his perfect son was dating such a reckless, bad influence. And then you turned full Kook. Your stepfather and mother would always use Heyward’s business, and he always did the stops himself. And he hated the way your mother was so pushy and Richard stuck up. So the hatred increased. At the beginning, Heyward sent Pope up to your house, not knowing that the Y/L/N residence was the same as the girl Pope was dating. So you got to steal a kiss between Pope’s runs, but his father found out. 

So your relationship was already strained. His father hated you, and tried to keep you as far away from Pope as possible. And Pope was always busy with helping his dad, and you were always at Kook functions. You barely had time to spend with the pogues, let alone your boyfriend. But then Richard found out about you dating a Pogue. And he flipped. Demanded that you end it and forget your life in the Cut. 

Everything seemed to want you and Pope to break up. And now, you were convinced Pope thought the same thing. So it was safe to say you were dreading Midsummers.

-

“Come on, Y/N.” Kie urged, trying to tug your outside where you knew Pope would be. “It’s fine, I promise. You won’t even notice him.”

You sighed and gave up, letting your best friend lead you outside. Despite yourself, you looked for the dark haired boy. You couldn’t help yourself. You ached to see him or talk. But he had ignored your calls and texts, and you didn’t see him all week. 

“Stop, Y/N.” Kie begged, knowing who you were looking for. “You’re just hurting yourself.”

“He was ignoring me all week. I need to talk to him.” You protested, begging your friend with your eyes. 

“It worked for a while, Y/N.” Kie stated, her voice full of sadness. “It’s time to move on.”

This worked at least for a while Whether you stealing my shirt or a smile

You climbed out of the water, lifting yourself onto the boat. You grinned at Pope who helped you stand, and gave you a towel. He smiled back at you as John B. started the boat again. After swimming around the marshes, you decided to go back to the Chateau for lunch. 

You dried yourself and sat in your bikini next to your boyfriend. “Do you want my shirt?” The boy asked, handing you one of his shirts. You grinned and pulled on the pale yellow item of clothing. It was soft and warm from laying on the boat in the sun. You leaned against Pope’s shoulder and mumbled a thank you. He wrapped an arm around you and smiled.

And you know I wouldn't stop you from leaving But damn you're looking good this evening

You admired your boyfriend, smiling softly. “You look good, Pope.” 

“Thank you.” He said and tugged on the edges of his suit. He was trying them on for his scholarship interview.

You came up behind him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Really good.” You muttered and stood in front of him so you could pull his lips to yours. He returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around you.

You continue kissing until Pope jumps back, eyes wide. “Shit! I forgot- I need to help my dad. I’m gonna be late!”

You sighed and handed him his clothes so he could change back. As he did as quickly as he could, you frowned. This was one of the rare moments you got alone, and it’d been a rough week for you. And you’d only gotten half an hour, and Pope was distracted the whole time. And now he was leaving abruptly. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He said in way of goodbye and left. 

You felt like crying, but knew it was silly. He was just leaving for work. But something about it made you feel like he was leaving leaving. And you hadn’t stopped him.

And so I've been thinking back to what we said But I'd rather ride this out than live full of regrets

You watched Pope as he grilled meat and helped his father who was bustling around their small area. Your heart clenched. You couldn’t go talk to him. You’d have to wait until Heyward was gone. Which wouldn’t be likely. You felt like sobbing, like you had a lot this week. You held the tears back as you remembered Sunday. 

“Y/N, this isn’t really working out.” Pope had said, eyes begging you to understand and let go. But you refused. 

“Pope, no!” You replied, heart breaking just a little. “Please? I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want to be with you.” 

Pope looked down, unsure what to say. His dark eyes met yours. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Really. But when have we had time to see each other? Let’s be realistic.”

You hated Pope’s rational side a lot right now. You shook your head. 

“Is that really what you want?” You whispered. 

But the boy had no time to respond as his father barked his name and Pope went racing. Away from you. Leaving you in the wake of his rejection.

All you wanted was to be with him. But the whole universe didn’t want that. Not even him.

And all my friends keep asking me why But nights underneath somebody else just don't feel right

Sarah studied you. “Y/N?” Her voice broke your regret of last night. “Are you okay?”

“No.”  You answered truthfully.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?” She pressed.

It’d been a couple weeks since Pope’s half ‘break up’. And you’d been trying to get him out of your brain. You’d even got shitfaced drunk for the first time the other day. And you’d been talking and flirting with other boys. Hell, you took one to bed last night. But none was Pope. None had the smile like him. Or the brain. No one was Pope. And that’s all you wanted. 

I remember staying up all night packing up your car We knew full damn well the end could be where we are

You pushed the last grocery bag into the boat. Pope extended his hand and helped pull you up onto the boat. You smiled at him as you started up the boat. 

You were trying to get on his fathers good side, so you were helping Pope with one of his grocery runs. But you also wanted to spend time with your boyfriend who you hadn’t seen in a couple days. The days apart had gotten longer and the phone calls shorter. You were desperately trying to salvage an already lost relationship.

As you did the run, it was too friendly. You talked like friends. Like who you were to each other before you started dating. There were massive loops of silence before you would try to spark conversation. You could tell Pope was regretting allowing you to come. And it broke your heart. 

You were the only one who wanted this to work. And you both knew it.

And you knew I wouldn't stop you from leaving But I can't help but fall for you a little more this evening

Midsummers replayed in your mind. You had finally sought out the dark haired boy you missed so desperately. He was alone and looked surprised to see you running toward him. 

“Hey,” He greeted as you stopped before him, your dress fluttering in the wind.

“Pope, can we talk, please?” You asked, a little out of breath. 

“Uh, now’s not really a good time, Y/N. I gotta pack up.” He said, taking a step away.

“No, wait, please?” You begged, reaching out for his arm. 

“Fine. It has to be quick though,” Pope answered and watched you. 

You swallowed hard. He looked good. He was dressed up and he looked well rested and happy. You missed him so desperately, but you could see the exasperation in his eyes as he stared at you. You heart shattered as you got your answer without even asking. 

“Is this it?” You asked, even as you admired him. You felt your self falling harder for him, though this was the end. Pope sighed, but you continued, a tear rolling down you cheek. “Are we done? Is this it? Is this how we’re going to end?”

“Y/N,” he paused. “Yeah. I think this is it.”

You didn’t bothering wiping your tears away. Heyward’s voice barked Pope’s name and you saw the man glare at you. Pope swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at his father. He looked back at you. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

And all my friends keep asking me why But nights underneath somebody else just don't feel right But nights underneath somebody else just don't feel right But nights underneath somebody else just don't feel right

You rolled away from the boy next to you. He was naked, half covered by your sheets. Your skin was sweaty, and your heart thundered, but this night didn’t feel right. Just like every other night with him.

A tear slipped down your face. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter what you did. His name was on your mind constantly.

Pope.

[katiebug445]

Doubling Up

Day 5 - there was only one bed 

@twoboys-onesoul

“You’ll have to double up for awhile,”

That was the last thing the newly formed Squad Levi wanted to hear as soon as they walked through the doors of the cottage they would be staying in for the next little while. Hanji had roused them all in the early hours of the morning, telling them all to pack their things, and they were hauled off to a house in the middle of nowhere so they could work on Eren’s titan abilities without too much interference.

It was small, a lot smaller than Armin thought could fit all of them, but the Captain was sure they could do it, otherwise they wouldn’t be there.

Still, though, when Levi spoke, Armin looked up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in confusion, at the idea of doubling up. All of them looked at each other, wondering if they’d heard right, and Armin had a sneaking suspicion that one of them was going to be unhappy with the arrangement.

He braced himself, waiting for Levi to say that either he or Jean would be sharing with Eren, when Connie decided it for them.

“I call Jean!” He beamed, grinning over at his friend and looping his arm through the taller boy’s.

“In your dreams,” Jean snorted, knocking Connie in the head before turning to the others. “Hey, Mikasa, if you need someone to share with-“

“In your dreams.” Mikasa replied, walking right by Jean and up to Eren, smiling a little to herself as she heard Connie and Sasha laughing behind her. “I’ll share with you.” She offered sweetly.

“Nobody’s sharing with Eren,” Levi explained, rubbing his forehead and already feeling a headache coming on. “He needs to worry about resting up for his training, not a girl in his bed.”

Mikasa glared murderously at Levi, and he returned the look, the tension between the two suffocating everything else until Historia finally got between the two and got the attention on her. “I’ll share with Mikasa, then.”

Figuring he needed to be the one to decide things, Levi addressed the kids and pointed to Armin. “Armin, you share with Connie. Sasha, you go with Jean.” He said.

Jean raised his hand, then, a cocky grin on his face, and asked, “Captain, you were so concerned about Jaeger sharing a bed with a girl, why aren’t you worried about me? We all know I’m way better with the girls than the suicidal blockhead.”

Levi said nothing, but shot Jean a knowing look that completely silenced him, a blush in his cheeks knowing he’d been seen through so easily, and he shrank back. “S-sorry, sir. I can share with Sasha.”

Levi glanced out the window and noticed that Hanji’s squad was making their way up, and he turned for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute. While I’m gone, you better decide which rooms you’re staying in.” He said. “And make yourselves useful and clean this place up.”

“Yes sir!” The kids chorused, standing at attention until the door was closed, and thus began the chorus of complaints from the boys. Armin went to get started cleaning up, not minding all too much, and waved to Mikasa as she and Historia and Sasha went to check things out. He grabbed the broom and began sweeping, trying his best to block out the argument erupting between Jean and Eren, figuring that Connie had it if things got out of hand.

He was just beginning to relax some, when he felt someone grab tight onto his shoulder. “Armin!” Sasha hissed, pushing him out of earshot of the others, and effectively startling the crap out of him. “You have to switch with me!” She pleaded, her brown eyes big and completely serious.

“W-why?” Armin asked, taken aback by the assault.

“Because Jean snores!” Sasha blurted.

“And Connie doesn’t? ” Armin asked incredulously. “He’s the worst one out of all of us left!”

Sasha looked around, checking to make sure Connie wasn’t listening in, and grabbed Armin by the wrists, squeezing them pleadingly. “And I really want to share with Connie. I’m begging you, I’ll do anything! I’ll even give you my bread tomorrow!”

Armin shot a quick look back at the others, feeling his stomach flip a little as he watched Jean              bickering with Eren and Connie, and chewed a little at the skin of his lip. Either way, he didn’t mind too much in the grand scheme of things because at the end of the day, his feelings didn’t matter too much, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of sharing a bed with Jean, being that close to him in such a small space, was terrifying in every way.

He couldn’t deny, however, the desperate part of himself that wanted it, and with one more glance in his direction, Armin sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll take Jean.”

“Armin!” Sasha yelled, pulling him in for a hug tight enough it left him breathless, elated knowing she was getting her way. “You’re a blessing! You have no idea how much I appreciate it knowing I don’t have to put up with his snoring!”

“What the hell do you mean ‘snoring’, Potato Girl?” Jean asked, pulling Sasha back by the shoulder and glaring dangerously at her. “I don’t snore!”

“Yes you do!” Sasha insisted. “And would you stop with the ‘Potato Girl’ thing? It was one time!”

“No can do, Potato Girl.” Jean snorted, just to fire her up. “And what are you trying to tell him, anyway? Armin knows you’re lying; we’ve shared a dorm for long enough by now he knows I don’t!”

“You do, a little.” Armin mumbled, grinning a little to himself as Jean turned to him in shock. “But it’s not that bad! Connie’s way worse than you are!”

“Armin!” Jean cried, looking betrayed. “What even brought it up to begin with?”

“I don’t want to sleep with you!” Sasha said, looking up at her friend. “I was asking if Armin would switch with me.”

“She said you snore too much.” Armin added, his lips twitching up at the offended look on Jean’s face.

Jean looked between the two of them with bright pink cheeks and a glare on his face. “Fine! Go bunk with Connie, then! I’d much rather sleep with Armin anyway!” He huffed, looking even more irritated.

There was a pause as his words registered to all three of them, and before he could defend himself, Armin went scarlet and Sasha was howling with laughter, all but doubled over as she leaned against Armin. “God, Jean, tell us how you really feel!” She teased. “If I knew you wanted him that badly, you should have told me! I would have snatched Connie up earlier!”

Armin was so embarrassed he was beginning to feel physically sick, wondering if he was as obvious as he felt about sharing, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear and go sit by himself until he could calm down.

Jean was looking at him, then, meeting his eyes and looking every single bit as red as Armin himself, and sputtered for a moment before finally saying, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You totally did!” Sasha cackled, slapping him on the arm. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so red right now!”

“Will you shut up?! ” Jean snapped, turning his attention to her just long enough that Armin could slip passed him before he had a chance to apologize.

*

Jean came to find him at dinner time. Armin had been outside, sitting under the sun with a book, and trying desperately not to think too much about what had happened earlier. It hadn’t worked, and after twenty minutes of not absorbing anything he’d been reading, he gave up, and just watched and listened to the birds as they sang in the late afternoon warmth.

“Hey,”

Armin jumped, startled by the sudden voice, and looked up to see Jean standing there.

“Hey yourself.” He replied, his cheeks warm and his heart beating hard against his chest.

Jean stood beside him, leaning deep into the side of the cottage, and kept his eyes fixed on the same spot Armin was looking at. “I… really didn’t mean it like that.” He mumbled after a moment.

“What?” Armin asked, looking up at him with confusion on his face. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said - look, forget it. I’ll sleep on the floor tonight if you want me to, I don’t care.” He replied, visibly flustered.

“Jean, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“It’s not - Dammit, Armin, I’m trying to be considerate!”

“Well, so am I!” Armin replied, getting to his feet and giving him a harsh look. “I’m not making you give up your bed! I’m the one intruding on you!”

“No you’re not! ” Jean insisted, getting more and more irritated by the second.

“Okay, fine! ” Armin replied, hands up in the air in surrender. “Okay. But I’m not kicking you out of the bed! It was yours first. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of my argument! If you’re gonna do that, why not just… sleep in one of the chairs?”

Armin quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to sleep in one of the chairs?”

“NO!” Jean yelled, panicked and worried that Armin would get the wrong idea. “No. I - no. Fuck. No. Just share with me. Nobody’s going to sleep on the damn floor.” He decided, his face red, feeling incredibly embarrassed. “Besides, I… don’t want to be in the room alone with Jaeger, and… it’s easier to be calm when you’re around.”

Armin’s own face tinged pink when Jean said that, but he smiled and knocked into him with his shoulder. “You know… I think you’re getting a little better at giving compliments.” He teased.

“Shut up.” Jean muttered, panicking after a second when he realized this wasn’t Sasha or Connie he was talking to. “I-I mean - don’t - don’t shut up! Just… fuck! No, wait-”

Jean broke off there, on account of Armin unable to stop from laughing, and his face went an even deeper shade of red. “Anyway! I came to tell you dinner’s ready, if you’re hungry.”

*

The rest of the night went by pretty smoothly, all things considering. Sasha and Connie were happy to share a room with Mikasa and Historia in the larger of the two bedrooms, and Armin, Jean, and Eren were forced into the smaller one across the hall. Eren grumbled about it, but he didn’t stir up as big of a fuss as he could have, and as soon as he laid down, he was out.

He got himself settled in the smaller of the two beds, opting to sleep in his clothes, while Armin and Jean both took turns in the bathroom changing. Armin came back first, his pants and shirt clutched tight in his hands, and he stuck them back in his bag before tentatively sitting down on the bed, his cardigan still on to knock the chill off.

Jean came back after a moment and tossed his clothes on the floor before flopping down onto the bed and jostling Armin from his spot at the very end. “Sorry.” He murmured, looking down at the smaller boy curled up at his feet. “What are you doing down there?”

“Getting ready to sleep.” Armin answered, shifting to make himself a little more comfortable.

“Armin,” Jean sighed, sitting up and nudging him with his foot. “You’re not sleeping down there.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable-”

“I’m going to be even more uncomfortable if you keep this up. What’s going on in your head?”

Armin curled a little deeper in on himself, his shoulders hunched and his chin on his knees, not able to bring himself to look over at Jean. “I… don’t know.” He lied.

“Armin.”

Armin just sighed, feeling even more uncomfortable than he was before, knowing he had to tell Jean something. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’m - I’m just nervous.” He admitted.

Jean shot him a confused look at that, not understanding what he had to be nervous about. “Armin - I - come on, I’ve seen you share a bed with Eren before. And you’ve shared with Mikasa, too. You’ve never acted nervous before.”

Armin hid his face deeper, not wanting to admit the reasons why, and just shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No, tell me. Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Then what ? Do you hate me that much?”

“No!” Armin yelled, a bit too loud. Eren stirred on the bed beside them, but just rolled over and kicked the blankets off of himself. “No, it’s not any of that. It’s… because it’s you. A-and you’re different from them. T-this is different for me, alright?”

“I’m sorry…?” Jean blinked, even more confused than he was before.

“Please don’t be.” Armin replied, peeking over at him. “It’s my problem. You haven’t done anything wrong. I promise.”

“What problem, Armin?” Jean asked, not wanting to let it go. “I thought you said-”

Armin turned to him, then, face red and eyes wide, scared, a look Jean had become all too familiar with in their time together. “It’s because you’re Jean!” He said. “And you’re being too considerate of me, you always are. And you’re cocky, and smart, and really sweet under all of that cockiness, and…”

Jean blinked again, realization slowly dawning on him why this was so hard for him, and he scooted up so he was sitting next to Armin, his heart racing and his stomach twisting with nervousness. “Well, you’re twice as smart as I am.” He muttered, unable to look over at him. “And you’re too damn modest about it! And you’ve… saved my life more times than I can count. I think that counts as being considerate, right?” When Armin nodded, he continued. “I’m Jean, yeah, but you’re Armin. If anyone has a reason to be nervous here, it’s me.”

“What’s there to be nervous about with me?” Armin asked, his nose scrunched up a bit at the thought of Jean being nervous because of him.

“I just told you!” Jean replied, his own cheeks a bit pink. “You’re… You’re Armin, alright? And you’re really fucking cute when you do that.” He blurted out, gesturing to the blonde’s wrinkled nose.

“O-oh…” Armin murmured, blushing even more and feeling his heart racing in his chest.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Jean muttered. “Now can we forget I said that and go to sleep? Please?”

Armin nodded, and when Jean lay back down on the bed, he scooted up with him, and after a moment, slipped his arm around the taller boy’s middle. “For the record,” he murmured, whispering almost directly in his ear, “you’re pretty cute when you get so flustered.” He settled back down after that, but kept his arm where it was, and closed his eyes. “Night, Jean.”

Jean’s face was even redder when Armin said that, but knowing he found him cute, too, was just enough of a distraction to point out that he wasn’t flustered, because he never got flustered. “Night, Armin.”

Maybe sharing a bed wouldn’t be so bad after all.