#it feels weird to have a special interest for years and then watch it rapidly become popular and ppl not know the base games

[deadeyecourier]

autistics when the niche special interest is no longer niche and is becoming mainstream

[chororine]

takoyaki party thoughts (MAJOR SPOILERS)

////////////////////

////////////////////

////////////////////

////////////////////

////////////////////

////////////////////

////////////////////

/////////////////////

//////////////////////

THE FIGHTING YOWAI...... THE FIGHTING YOWAI IS REAL

I... maybe be stupid because when I got to that scene my brain rapidly flicked between "BABY TOTOKO FLASHBACK...? TOTOKO BABY SIBLING...? TOTOKO'S FAMILY FRIEND NEW BABY...?" until Sof (my bf whom I was watching it with) piped up "TOTOKO'S BROTHER???" he says he's more of a casual Ososan fan and is mostly invested in Kara as a character and supporting his gf's special interest but still picks up on details like that before said gf. his brain is enormous (like his d

when I saw that this movie was directed by Hikaru Yamaguchi who started her career as an animator on Deen Higurashi I joked "this movie better have punishment games and time loops" but I was surprised when it DID kinda turn into a time loop story in the last 15 minutes or so, or at least Totoko tries to turn it into one but Reality Ensues? I think my only major problem with the movie was how that interesting idea wasn't fleshed out particularly well, and they don't explain how they broke out of their "time loop" at all - they do imply Totoko, Matsuyo and DekaDayon came out of the experience making small positive changes in their lives but they don't SHOW them coming to the conclusion that they SHOULD. it felt like the movie skipped the big emotional climax and cut right from a random exterior shot to the denouement

that said, even if the movie stumbled at the last hurdle I did really enjoy 90% of it - I'm a Hipipo apologist but I do think TakoPa is the FUNNIER movie, with super snappy comedic pacing and jokes coming thick and fast (...heh) as opposed to Hipipo's meandering pace and repetitive jokes, only really finding its comedic footing about halfway through when there's a timeskip indicated by the Matsus getting their tans (and stumbling a bit even then). just like my favourite parts of Hipipo were the boys bonding and vibing with the tribe, my favourite parts of TakoPa were the whole Akatsuka Ward gang just hanging out and having fun, each getting their little moments to shine but ultimately being one big, very weird found family

come to think of it Hipipo and TakoPa kinda feel like two sides of the same coin: people are inevitably gonna have preferences but ultimately, it's a good thing that last year gave us a movie for people who love the broad, cartoony, larger-than-life aspects of the show (hello) while this year gave us one for those love the down-to-Earth, slice-of-life aspects. I think that's a better way to celebrate Osomatsu-san's 6th anniversary even if this year is its 8th anniversary but the official Twitter still says TakoPa is for the 6th so just go with it (and, coincidentally, Osomatsu-kun's 60th anniversary) than giving us one big movie that tries to be too many things at once and fails at all of them (...like the time they already did that. this is a certified Eiga no Osomatsu-san (2019) hate blog.) I'm kinda surprised I haven't seen anything about a double feature screening of both in Japan because that would just feel so right

one of the few things Hipipo and TakoPa have in common is some nice moments of wordless storytelling: Hipipo had the three montages of the Matsus interacting with the tribe and TakoPa's opening 10 minutes are almost dialogue-less, save for some background character chatter and an "itadakimasu" from Oso. both could be seen as a budget-saving measure to get around the expensive seiyuu cast, but they also work as an artistic choice - if they commit to the bit and make s4 into a straight-up silent comedy as a way to resolve the issue of the title character's iconic voice actor being a scumbag, I'll be all for it tbh

as enjoyable as TakoPa is, it's still ultimately an hour long bottle episode, with only previously established locations and characters (Nyaa's daughter gets more screentime than ever before to the point where she FEELS like a new character, and an absolutely precious one at that, but her existence WAS pre-established in s3) and taking place mostly in the main characters' home - not inherently bad, but an odd choice for possibly the last piece of "mainline" media in a franchise. the only thing that kept it from being completely underwhelming in that regard was some smart meta commentary that the Japanese fandom also picked up on so it definitely wasn't just me projecting: Totoko (we, the fans) wanted to keep the party (show) going forever in order to escape her (our) cruel reality and feelings of inadequacy, even at the cost of making her friends (the staff) burnt out as fuck. I find it deeply meaningful that the party did, in fact, end (even if they glossed over HOW), and they didn't give the movie a surreal, nihilistic ending like so many episodes of the show - if Totoko can continue to work on her idol career, Dekapan can find new animal friends even after the death of old ones (nice oblique reference to his love for cats in -kun!!!) and Matsuyo can reach out to other women around her own age, maybe we too can find meaning in this world even if the sextuplets can't. I wonder how much of the script was written before vs. after the Sakurai scandal sealed the show's fate (maybe)...

come to think of it, a good succinct way to describe Totoko in this movie is as the character I WISH Takahashi had been: a vessel for us, the fans', feelings towards the Matsus who ACTIVELY tries to affect the characters' world in ways that challenge both them and the viewer, rather than a passive damsel waiting for them at the end. you go TakoPa Totoko four for you TakoPa Totoko

back in November when I'd watched all three Ososan movies that existed at the time - Eiga no Osomatsu-san (2019), Eiga Osomatsu-san (2022) (the live-action one, yeah it's confusing) and Hipipo - I thought Hipipo, despite its flaws, was my favourite of the franchise's movies. I felt the same way immediately after the credits of TakoPa finished rolling... but as I went around unblocking Japanese Matsutwitter accounts now I no longer have to worry about spoilers, I found a poll that kinda made me rethink everything??? for nearly a year I'd been operating under the theory that the Western Ososan fanbase just "didn't get" Hipipo and that the show's true target audience of Japanese adults who'd grown up with Osokun would validate my positive feelings towards the movie - but that poll made me question if said positive feelings were just a result of the context in which I saw Hipipo for the first time (unspoiled, reacting to it along with the man I love, and by my own power instead of Crunchyroll's). regardless of whether or not I SHOULD, I now feel kind of apologetic to the Japanese fandom for insisting that the Western fandom "just didn't get it" while forgetting that oh wait, I'M a Western fandom. at this precise moment I'm not sure how I feel about the 6th anniversary movies overall; maybe it's still a case where one is "objectively better" than the other but I still prefer the "worse" one for personal reasons? is that allowed??? or maybe I don't passionately love OR hate either of them the way I passionately love the TV show and passionately hate Eiga (2019). maybe it's too soon to properly assess my feelings and I should rewatch the two back to back in a few months/a year, idk

but I will say this: of the four movies, three of them made me cry on first viewing (Eiga with sadness, live-action with laughter at one particular scene, and Hipipo with joy, also at one particular scene). TakoPa was the only Ososan movie to NOT make me cry - I guess by that metric it's the most "meh" of the four, at least for my taste, but still a worthwhile entry in the franchise and a satisfying note to (possibly) end it on

Ichi NEEDS to catsit for DekaDayon

[xxstrawberrybunxx]

Auctober day 2- infodumping

I love talking about my special interests and am always, *always* encouraging people to ask me about them. Also just love answering questions and talking in general...it's fun! That's why I'm doing this!!!

I've never had a phase where I've been masking to the point of restricting myself from infodumping entirely, I actually can't mask that well at all. At least not for very long. But I am pretty active on discord, and when I'm in a mood^tm I tend to jump from server to server talking about a few different topics at once. Mostly because I'm a bit embarrassed when I just, rapidly switch between topics in one server, and take up all the channels just talking to myself abt nothing. Cuz that's what infodumping is usually- I'm rarely doing it *to* someone. It's just kinda into the void.

That's actually kinda what I use this blog for!! Talking to myself. Infodumping about... stranger things. That's what I've been thinking about lately. And homestuck. And queer stuff.

One of my friends has a server I'm in where we just kinda have our own little spaces to talk abt stuff and I might be a little too active there, honestly. I have channels for a good chunk of my hobbies, which is a lot!!! Reviewing movies, talkn abt fish, talkin about art stuff, talkin about identity, talkin about plurality. And just a general infodumping channel for everything else!

I feel like I have a lot of information up here. In my brain. Too much information. And I'm constantly looking for more information. It's actually kinda surreal to be watching videos on a topic you've been passively consuming information on for years only to realize that you already know a good chunk of the things being talked about and that you probably know at least a little bit more on the topic then the average person. Like...weird medical stuff. I know a lot about weird medical stuff.

It's a bit weird because even though I certainly have a few special-special interests, like, yk, homestuck, I also just have mountains of hobbies and more "passive" interests that im honestly just as passionate about and know just as much about but the list gets so long I feel kinda stupid trying to list everything. "What are your hobbies?" Think of anything. Literally anything. I've either tried it, thought of trying it, or haven't/won't try it but have probably looked up a lot of information about that thing at some point and probably know at least one thing about it. And if I don't I certainly will.

That's on. That's on adhd.

[thedevilsdom]

making 5000 year old virgin levi cum in his pants is SUCH a mood. a concept even. sitting on his lap and “accidentally” grinding down against him... acting all shocked and surprised when he cums and starts crying and apologizing, then casually reaching into his boxers and running your fingers through his cum and shushing him by making him clean them up... or just cooing about how much of a messy little boy he is and teasingly stroking him and overstimulating him until he’s huffing and trying to muffle his moans into your shoulder... OR not even responding at all and ending the night as if you never noticed, and he can’t help but get himself off later to the shame and humiliation and desire for u he’s left sitting alone with... so many options

ok here we fuckin go

- Leviathan/Female Reader, ~3k words, Possibly going to be continued as a multi-chap fic

Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Leviathan’s desire to show someone his interests overruled his nervousness and embarrassment every time. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about personal space or boundaries once he got you in his lap, watching as he played his game.

He’s not even really paying attention to you. You can easily tell without even looking that his eyes are flitting across the screen, tracking and locking on to whatever target he’s picked next before his fingers hurriedly press the keys on his keyboard to execute whatever super-special-mega-power-move-combo he’s got planned. Not that you’re complaining. The bright colors of the screen and the gameplay are entertaining enough, plus it’s cute to see Levi all wrapped up in his interests like this. You know that he could stand to have more people around to indulge him like you are now. It’d probably do wonders for his self esteem.

You split your time between looking at the screen, at your D.D.D, and at him. He’s dressed so casually, a graphic t-shirt and a pair of pale gray sweatpants, and a pair of Mononoke Land socks on his feet. It’s endearing how he moves underneath you, tensing up in stressful points in the match, sometimes bouncing his leg or wiggling his toes. You’re not even sure that he knows he’s doing any of it.

He wraps up his match, ending it in a close victory, but a victory nonetheless, just as he’d done in the past three matches you’d sat through. You hear him sigh and flop back against the backrest of his chair, pulling his headphones down to rest around his neck. His spreads his fingers then forms a fist a few times, stretching between matches before he queues up for another. You take the lull in activity as an opportunity, your hand reaching down and stroking the outside of his thigh lightly, just to grab is attention, and he jumps in surprise underneath you.

“Heh, sorry,” You giggle, turning a little so that you can look back and see him, “I just wanted to say thank you for showing me this stuff, it’s pretty fun.”

You swear something short circuits in his head. His eyes are wide, you see his snake-like pupils dilate for a moment before returning to normal, his cheeks are immediately filled with red, his hands twitch uselessly above his keyboard. His eyes dart away from you, lips parting as he stutters out nonsense.

“Wh- I- Um- I- Y-You? Th-thank you- uh- you can play, if you want. I can queue you up for a quick play match and- um- you can play.” He says with a nervous shiver to his voice. You give him a bright, eager smile that stops his heart for just a second,

“Sure! I’ll see if I can do any of the stuff you can, though I dunno if I’ll be that good.” You tell him, watching as he clicks and sets up the queue for a quick play match for you. Your words only make him tense and heat up more.

“Oh, well, uh, that’s- I mean, that’s true, but I-I’m sure you’ll do fine!” He squeaks. You lean forward in the chair, getting your hands situated on the keyboard and mouse, getting ready for the game. Just as you think you might’ve figured out where to put your fingers, you suddenly feel Leviathan’s hand on yours,

“If you lift your palm up like this and curl your fingers a little, it makes it easier to press a different key, if you need to.” He explains. Marveling at the way he so easily maneuvers your hand into a better position, you realize that when he’s in the little realm of his interests, his nervousness just melts away. Though, you don’t bring it up, because you know that if you do, he’ll just be reduced to a stammering mess again. Instead, you give him a nod and a smile, getting ready for the game.

As the screen lights up with the ‘game found!’ screen, Leviathan puts his headphones over your head and leans over your shoulder to watch you play. You can tell that as you rapidly mash buttons and try your best to aim, there are several moments where he wants to backseat-game, but he bites his tongue and doesn’t criticize. As you play you alternate between being just a few inches from the screen, to leaning back against Levi’s chest, to almost standing up from the chair, all thinking that it’d give you a better aim.

Levi, on the other hand, was having a hard time controlling himself. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s seen this kind of scenario in so many hentai before, but he doesn’t exactly want to start taking advice from those, especially when the approval of the person he’s got a crush on is on the line. He’s just hoping that the headphones and sounds of the game are enough to hide his pathetic little whimpers as you unknowingly grind on his erect cocks. He’d never been so turned on by just a little pressure before. It’s getting harder and harder for him to think rationally, but he does know that the combination of him being in sweatpants, plus his ‘double-trouble’ issue, means that it’s going to be nearly impossible for you to not notice if he tries to shoo you out of the room.

Truth be told, you’re already well aware of the situation you’ve wound up in. You could feel something stiff pressing into your ass since the second you’d really started playing, and every little movement on your part has been intentional. You revel in every time Levi tenses up, or when his breath hitches, and in the confused floating of his hands as he tries to figure out where to put them.

When the match concludes with a draw, you let out a defeated sigh and lean back against his chest. His whole body goes rigid.

“Aww,” You huff, dropping your head back against his shoulder. “Do you wanna play? Or should I stay in control?” Your warm breath ghosts across his neck and makes him shiver. He’s struggling to keep from shifting into his demon form, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can last-

With just a little rock of your hips, you make him come undone.

He offers up a deliciously shaky gasp and his hips twitch involuntarily under your own, pushing his stiffness against your ass as sticky cum floods his boxers. You feel him shiver and shudder under you, pathetic little whines being torn from his throat, despite his attempts to keep them in. Finally, with a miserable little sob, his hips drop back down into the chair.

You don’t say a word as you stand up. Just to have his heart leap into his throat, you stay still for a second or two. He doesn’t say anything, still holding on to the hope that maybe you didn’t notice, though, that would be impossible.

His heart stops when you turn around.

Your eyes trail up and down his body. He’s pushed back into his seat, like he’d be able to disappear into it if he tried hard enough. His demon form is out, horns poking the headrest and tail flowing out through a gap in the armrest. His hands are in little fists, pulled up to his chest, and his legs are squeezed shut. Between them, at the crux, is a huge dark spot. If it weren’t for his vocal reaction, you honestly would’ve assumed he’d wet himself, based on the size of the stain alone. You glance up to his face. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated and locked onto you, and his mouth looks like he’s trying to form words, only to give up halfway through. He looks shocked and hurt.

“I’m sorry!” He chokes out just as you were about to speak. “I’m sorry I’m a gr-gross, yucky otaku who can’t-can’t control himself and I-I-I!” His eyes fill with tears, darting around the room as he panics, trying to figure out if he wants you to stay or leave.

“Shh, Levi,” You purr, leaning down over him and touching the waistband of his pants with a finger, “May I?” Eyes looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“It-I- It’s a- a… I’m not… Not normal,” He mumbles, “Down there.”

“Oh?” To his surprise, you don’t sound disgusted or repulsed, you sound intrigued.

“You- you uh, you can, if you want.” Conceding, Levi knows that he wants this, especially if his still aching tent is anything to go by.

“Yeah, but do you, Levi?” You ask, pulling your hands back for a moment, completely willing to either give him a second to think or to turn you away, but he nearly cuts you off with an energetic nod of his head,

“Yes! I-I do want it, I want you to touch me there.” He whines.

“Good boy.”

With a smile, you hook your fingers around the waistband of his pants, pulling them down first. Underneath them is a pair of black boxers, so saturated with cum that they cling to his skin. He flushes impossibly darker, but you only give him an encouraging, pleased grin. Offering a second for him to collect himself, you hold off for just a moment before you continue, slowly taking hold of his waistband and peeling the cloth from him, pulling it down his thighs.

Your eyes are glued to his body as you reveal what he meant when he said not normal. You’d say that that is one hundred percent correct. Coming from a near reptilian vertical slit is a pair of dicks, both distinctly inhuman. They’re ridged, and a dark blue at the shaft, fading into an indigo at the tips, both absolutely dripping with cum. You pause for a moment and Levi immediately starts spiraling,

“I knew you’d think it’s weird! F-forget this, just go, you don’t have to do an-nnMPH?!”

He’s shut up by you swiping up some of his cum on your fingers and pressing them past his lips. The pads of your fingers press down on his tongue, but you don’t force them any more inside, giving him the chance to pull away- which he doesn’t take. Instead, his eyes flutter shut, tongue laving across your fingers and nursing his own cum off of them.

“There’s my good boy,” You offer a docile smile. “Poor thing just couldn’t stop himself from cumming in his boxers, hm? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted this to happen.” You take your fingers back and scoop up some more cum to feed him. In the in between, he mutters,

“N-no, I didn’t want it to happen this way, but…” Levi’s voice trails off, but you can put two and two together.

“Oh? You’ve thought about me touching you like this before?” That lights a fire inside you. “You’ve thought about being my good little boy? I always did think you’d make a good boy for me, Levi.”

“Y-You thought about- about me? Like that!?” He sounds absolutely shocked, and you giggle. “Um! I’ve uh, always- always been i-into you… Since, like, forever ago…”

That’s a confession, you suppose.

“I’ve been ‘into you’ too, Levi.” You push your dripping fingers into his mouth again. “You’re so cute, and I love seeing you get so excited about the stuff you like. I just wish you weren’t so down on yourself.” The backs of your fingers on your free hand stroke up the length of his lower cock, “I’m gonna keep calling you my good boy until you realize that that’s what you are.”

He swallows around you fingers, nodding gently so as to not shake them away. Levi gives pathetic little whimpers around your digits, suckling on them until they’re clean once again. The hand not in his mouth drifts down to his cocks, gently holding them both and slowly starting to stroke them.

“A- Ah!” He squeaks, hips twitching up into your touch. He’s so responsive, with his wide eyes and little sounds, it’s adorable. “That’s! It’s- you’re t-touching my- hhahn!”

“You have such cute reactions,” You purr, “All from me just rubbing your cocks a little bit. Has anyone ever made you feel good like this before, Levi?” You don’t necessarily tell it how it is, because you’re pretty sure that if you outright asked him if he was a virgin, or if you said ‘hasn’t anyone ever jerked you off besides yourself?’ Leviathan would pass out. Luckily though, he doesn’t, and he responds with a mute shake of his head, ‘no’.

With a couple more slow strokes, he gasps, finally allowing his hands to reach out and touch you. They wrap limply around your shoulders, pulling you down and him up, as he nuzzles into your neck to hide his face. The second his heated skin makes contact with your own he shivers.

“Fuck, you’re- I can- you smell really good…” He murmurs against you, “You smell like- like you.”

“You’ve paid attention to what I smell like, Levi?” You see a very clear opportunity to tease him, and of course you take it. “Have you thought about it? Thought about stealing my clothes out of the laundry? You already admitted that you’ve thought of me touching you, there’s no point in hiding.”

“Y-You, uh, it- I- I thought about- hnnn-“ He arches his back and pushes his face further against your neck, “Thought about t-taking your- your shirts and putting them over, uh, over my body pillows,” Leviathan’s voice is an adorable little whine. His confession only makes you want to make him break more. “And I thought about…” He trails off the last part of that sentence.

“What did you think about, Levia-chan?” Hand not stopping on his cock, your voice is a low, sultry purr.

“Y-Your- your underwear… Wanted to- press it against my- ‘n sm- agh! I can’t say it!” He shakes his head, his body shivering. He’s wracked with tremors like a little puppy learning how to walk, it’s cute.

“You wanted to smell my underwear, baby?” Your other hand pets the back of his head for a moment. “What if I take them off right now and press them up against your face? Smother you with them?

He whines, high pitched and reedy. You feel soft lips press against your neck as he gently peppers it with kisses, not really sure what to do but desperate to show you how grateful he is for this. You can feel his fangs ghost over your skin, a threat that he doesn’t even make, and his tongue darting out to lap at your neck. The vibrations of his moans and the heated huffs of breath against you draw out a warm coursing of arousal down your spine.

“Just-! Just like that, your hand is so s-soft, it feels so good, don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” He babbles, interrupted by moans and quick kisses and kitten licks to your skin.

“Is my little Leviathan gonna cum all over my hands?” Deciding not to be too cruel, when he nods his head and whines, you don’t stop jerking him off. “Good, good boy. I want you to cum for me.”

His hips fuck into your hand uncontrollably, rutting and desperate as you feel his thighs quake and his lip tremble against the nape of your neck. His hands grasp blindly at your back, holding onto you as he fucks your fist. His breath hitches again and again, half said segments of words falling from his lips until you hear him go silent for just a split second-

Then he wails.

Leviathan’s voice is high and broken and needy as he finally hits his orgasm, cum spilling out between you, gushing and flooding your hand as his hips shakily thrust forward, fucking his cum into your fist. He hiccups and sobs, riding out his orgasm before slumping back into his seat, though still keeping his head nuzzled into your neck.

Only you don’t stop. Tormenting him with the pleasure filled pain of overstimulation, you keep stroking your cum slicked fist on his cocks. He gasps,

“Ah-hah?! I-I already-! I just came, why’re you- hhah!” Leviathan’s whole body trembles, hips twitching, out of his control. You hum, your movements and tone almost bored, as though you were doing anything other than getting an extremely reactive demon off. “Too much, too much! It- it h-hurts!” Tears spill down his cheeks while he sobs. “Pl-please, pleasepleaseplease-!”

“Please what, Levi?” You’re surprise that he isn’t trying to get away from you, instead mostly staying put while his hips twitch. “Do you want me to stop? All you have to do is ask.”

“Nnn-no! no, no, it’s- ghh- it’s a lot, but- fuck,” All the words he tries to get out are ruined by the tremble in his voice and the rattling of his sobs that shake his whole body. “Gonna cum again, pleeeease, can I c-cum again?”

“Take whatever you need, baby.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He falls headlong into another orgasm, crying and sobbing into your shoulder as the intense pleasure overtakes him and dots swim in his vision, more cum pouring out of his cocks and dirtying your hand.

You- ever caring and careful- let him calm down against you. Leviathan shakes and trembles, breath hitching against your shoulder as hot tears roll down his flushed cheeks.

“You okay, baby boy?” You say, keeping any teasing out of your voice. He mumbles out a little response and nods shyly against you. “Good, take all the time you need, that was really intense.”

With a few deep breaths, he calms down enough to pull away, wiping at his face with the sleeves of his jacket. Just when he thought he might be able to face you, his eyes drift down and he spots the flood of cum that he’d produced.

“You did so good for me,” You lean forward and press your cum soaked fingers to his lips again, letting him suckle on them, giving him something to do.

“I didn’t do anything.” He mumbles.

“Of course you did,” Your fingers press down gently on his tongue, admonishing him, “You and your body are both so honest with me, thank you for letting me play with you, Levi.” He just sighs around your fingers.

You stay in his room for a little while afterwards, resuming your hanging out as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, once you’d both gotten cleaned up. Watching anime and playing video games until it was late in the night, and only then did you bid Levi goodnight and head off to your own room, wondering how this night was going to affect things between the two of you.

[ahtsumu]

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

v.

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

i.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face.  He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Got hit by my first wave of inspiration for a while, and decided to ride it out instead of fighting it. So, for anyone who wants it... have Mc’s first meeting with Zoo!Naga Skull. (Yes, the one that ended in kidnapping ;) )

Nervous was an understatement.

“Keep track of him at all times. Always make sure you can get to the door, never let him cut you off. Don’t underestimate him just because he’s blindfolded.”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest so loudly it was getting hard to pay full attention to Maggie, the senior zoo staff member in front of you, hard to keep a grip on the large and heavy bucket of meat clenched tightly in one hand and the hooked feeding pole in the other. You weren’t even supposed to be doing this, you were too low down on the zoo staff ladder... you should’ve been feeding the little snakes or the herbivores, you should be years away from this level of care! The naga were already leagues above your pay grade, and now they wanted you to feed the biggest one of them all!?

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. You cringed- but I can’t refuse, I need this job!

“Talk to him, move loudly, make sure he knows where you are because the last thing you want is to spook him. I know you’ve had good experiences with the other two naga but that doesn’t mean you should ever let your guard down, understand?”

“... Yes.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, grip sweaty on the feeding pole. You couldn’t help it, your eyes flicked down to her left hand- the one she didn’t have anymore, the one that had just a wrist stump remaining.

“... You’ll be fine. We’ll all be watching, if something does happen for some reason we can get in and help you.” She took on a slightly more comforting tone, noticing your line of sight. Her injury was the reason she wasn’t the one bringing the naga his food, given her senior position and superior experience. “I got this when I was young and cocky, and because I followed the safety protocol I lost a hand and not a neck. So long as you stick to the rules and don’t do anything stupid, you won’t have a problem with him. Ok?”

“A-are you sure I’m...”

“Yes, you’re ready. You’ve dealt with the other two.” She cut over you, turning you by the shoulder. “Now go, before Skull gets hungrier.”

And just like that, you were pushed through the door of the enclosure, that shut firmly behind you. The secondary door opened... and despite the fact that every part of you was cold and shaking, you had no choice but to go forward. As scared as you were, someone needed to get the naga fed... someone needed to go straight into the beast’s den.

... You stepped into the enclosure.

It was built to resemble a near-surface cave; the walls and floor were made of slightly uneven smoothed stone, with a few windowed ‘cracks’ in the fake stalactite ceiling providing enough daylight to see by. There were some interesting objects to provide a little enrichment, like ‘boulders’, patches of fake grass, a little filtered waterfall dribbling into a relatively shallow pool... and a small tunnel, leading to a den with no windows he could juuust about curl up in so he could have some privacy.

... Inside that den, you could see a hint of a steely blue-grey... scales.

... You sucked in a tiny breath through your nose, and stepped further forward, following the zoo protocol of tapping the metal end of the pole lightly against the bucket of food to let him know it was feeding time. It took a moment for there to be a reaction, but... slowly, surely, the mass of muscle resting inside the den began to shift.

Giant claws hooked over the stone edges of the den entrance, bone hands as big as your head... the thing about Red and Sans is they were very vocal naga, Sans regularly hissing and snarling and Red making curious rattling and purring sounds. But with Skull... there was nothing but the low sliding sound of scales against rock, that sounded long and oh-so heavy.

... He emerged, head moving into the light, vicious cranium crack and tight fitted black blindfold plain to see... with just his skeletal torso out he was already almost as big as you. A shot of panic doused your system and you had to clench your teeth together to stop yourself from crying, or dropping everything and bolting back through the door. The rest of him followed after; the long snake tail that made up over three quarters of his body length coiling behind him as he raised himself up, gathering like a loosened rope, thicker than you were wide... faded blue and littered with scars that just didn’t seem to catch the light in the same way the other two nagas did.

He was... huge. You knew this already, but there was something different about seeing him with nothing in the way.

... You had to swallow the terror again, no longer able to tap on the food bucket as your hands were shaking too much. I’m fine. I’m fine. The door is right behind me.

... He was keeping his distance from you, head turned downward slightly, facing in the direction of the bucket. A flash of blue around his mouth- his forked tongue flickering rapidly, which could either signal curiosity, hunger or both. The pounding in your chest became more intense.

“... H-hey, big guy.” You stammered, keeping your voice as gentle as possible, as low and soft as you could in order to not spook him. He reacted immediately, his head cocking a little, raising to face directly at you instead of the bucket as if making eye contact despite the blindfold- just get this over with, (y/n), just get this over with. “...  I-I’m... supposed to talk to you, to let you know where I am... talking worked with the other two, I... h-hope it works with you, too.”

You put the bucket on the ground, sliding a decently heavy chunk of the special treated naga-friendly meat onto it. Skull had a unique feeding hook; it was much longer than usual, slightly difficult to handle, but reinforced along the inside to facilitate easier feeding from a distance. You raised the pole with the hung meat and slid it slowly closer to him, keeping careful watch of the way his tongue would flicker toward the food... you were so ready to bolt. You just needed to get this done.

“I’m, uhm...” You felt like an idiot. You could feel all the other staff members watching. “The food’s on the hook. You probably know that already, but...”

... He moved forward and caught the chunk straight off the hook, swallowing it without any chewing or pausing, then going immediately back to sitting there, patiently, watching. Waiting for more. You brought the hook back, putting on another piece, moving it toward him again... careful to keep hold on the pole despite your sweaty palms.

... He was eating as quickly as your unpractised snail-pace would allow, but most notably.. without issue. You finally felt a droplet of relief in the sea of fear; he was eating normally, he wasn’t being aggressive or trying to approach... this was going pretty well, for your first time feeding the moodiest naga in the zoo.

“... There we go. Good, this is going good. Please don’t eat me.” You half-joked, repeating the process. Retract pole, hook meat, offer it out. Starting to get into a rhythm. “... I hope you’re always this relaxed with me. That would be really helpful.”

He took the meat again, obediently. You let out a tiny sigh; the more he just did what he was supposed to, the calmer and more comfortable you felt. He’d probably learned by now that it was just best to get the food offered, instead of biting the hand that was feeding him.

... Or biting it off.

“... Everyone’s watching. I think they’re waiting for me to mess up. Do something dumb and get kicked out.” You mumbled. You felt... surprisingly not-awkward? Sometimes, when you spoke to the animals, you felt weird because they clearly didn’t care... but in this case, you got a strange feeling from the way his head would twitch and follow you despite the meat, how his tongue would flicker only when you’d stopped talking. It felt like he was... actually listening?

Besides. Nobody could fault you for talking to the naga to keep it calm and not-murderous as you passed him food from as large a distance as possible, right? If it worked, it worked, and you kept your limbs.

“... There we go.” You said, as you passed him the last piece- you then tapped the side of the empty bucket with the hook like you’d been told to, so he’d hear the hollow sound and understand there was no more food, before you picked it up again. You felt... a lot less terrified? Still nervous, but not like you were about to throw up. 

“... Uhm... thank you.” Your voice was still pretty small. “For... being calm. I appreciate it.”

... He stayed where he was. You felt, again, like he was watching you, despite him having no vision.

...

You took a step back, ready to go back through the door and throw up... but as soon as your foot sounded against the stone floor...

Everything about him changed. 

His lips and teeth parted... and the most powerful hiss you’d ever heard filtered out, filling the room, tearing through the air and right through your body. Like someone had set off a huge firework but it just kept hissing and hissing and hissing, deep and loud and intertwined with an open-mouthed growl, it echoed off the walls and shook everything inside. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his head, something inside him had snapped; his shoulders rose, tail beginning to move across the floor and rearrange itself. It sounded like... a warning.

You froze, heart dropping into your stomach, all the warmth and colour draining from your face.

...Oh no.

... The hissing stopped, but he kept his new position. He’d stopped in a more aggressive, coiled posture like a tightened spring, tongue now flickering constantly.

...

“... Maggie.” You said, voice cracking, essentially calling for help. Your eyes were locked onto him, you couldn’t remember any of the safety protocols for aggressive naga, every part of you was petrified, you couldn’t feel your hands or toes you could only feel the pounding in your own head. You were afraid to blink- it was going TOO well, I’ve used up my luck, it’s all gonna go wrong now!

“... Okay, just relax.” You heard her voice over the exhibit speaker system but you daren’t turn your head away to look at where she was. “He probably just doesn’t trust you yet, and is getting possessive over food he thinks might still be in the bucket. Okay? Use the pole to push the bucket toward him.”

You swallowed, following her advice; you set the bucket down without taking your gaze off him as if your feet were glued to the earth, and then used the end of the pole to push the bucket across the floor. It made an ugly scraping/rattling sound as it moved.

... He wasn’t even turning toward it. He wasn’t paying attention to it. His attention seemed steadfastly on you, if his head direction was any way to tell. You were sweating, your neck hairs were prickling.

“Alright. Now back away slowly.”

... One step back.

He immediately started hissing again, even louder this time, with deafening aggravation... he lowered his head.

A strike position.

You didn’t hear Maggie’s shout over the speaker system, you could hear nothing but your heart and his hissing. The rabbit-like urge to RUN overtook your whole body, something in you shattered, and you staggered backward with the intent to turn and dive for the door.

... The speed at which he crossed the entire enclosure would’ve been incredible in any other circumstance. 

He lurched with all the power readied in the wound muscles in his tail, striking forward so quickly it was like he vanished from his spot, and suddenly you were screaming as the pole was knocked out of your hands. Suddenly something huge and hard was gripping you and your clothes and your legs went out from under you, the world was dark and turning and you brought your hands up over your head in an instinctive defensive posture, you faintly heard the sound of dozens of voices shouting out in synchrony but everything was ringing, the heels of your boots were dragging so quickly across the floor it felt like the friction was going to burn through them and kicking your legs into nothingness as a pathetic attempt at attack/escape did genuinely nothing, you cried out...

... And then just like that, your body came to a halt; you’d stopped moving.

You opened your eyes, forcing in deep terrified breaths, finding yourself in almost total darkness and taking only a few milliseconds to realise you were inside his den. It was so cramped and the floor and walls were moving, why were they moving, you put out a hand to try and steady yourself or get to your feet...

...

That wasn’t the floor or walls. Your hand landed on smooth, hard scales.

You were on him. You were on his coiled tail.

You made a sound you could only describe as a broken whimper-cry of fear and tried to sit up and get some control, but it was almost impossible as he was still moving, his body shifting and writhing underneath you and forcing you to only sink deeper into his scales, deeper into his hold. Something wound around you, starting from your chest and moving down to your knees, binding your legs together- and the scariest part was that you could feel the power as he shifted, you could feel the strength behind the scales when they pressed against you. He was a living muscle, and with little more than a flex he could squeeze, and you’d go squish.

That’s what’s going to happen. He’s going to constrict me to death! Your breathing was getting so fast your chest was heaving, you tried to push the coils on your middle but it was like pushing the unmoving floor, you were getting dizzy with panic, you started to beat them with your fists, S-someone help me-!

His face came into view. Hovering over you, only just silhouetted by the light creeping into the entrance of the den.

... Once again, everything in your body just... stopped. 

All thought, all movement, everything froze, as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

... He’d removed his own blindfold. A bright, blood red ring was gazing down at you... fuzzy around the edges, the hole in the centre nothing but a dot.

... His own movements were slowing, as he apparently settled on the position he was in. You were almost horizontal, your head lifted up ever-so-slightly, everything lower than your chest totally bound and covered and crushed under more of his body. He was so close.

...

He was warm. Like summer’s day. And he was... just staring.

...

You could hear absolute havoc breaking outside of his den. But even so, your breathing was slowing... you were calming, despite it all. Something about his eye... the way he was hanging his head... how his tongue just ever-so-slightly peeked out of his mouth, as if only curious...

... How he hadn’t killed you yet. He wasn’t squeezing. You felt so, so very tiny, trapped in the coils of a giant naga...

Why hasn’t he...?

...

A single, sharp phalange moved over to your face. You naturally flinched leaned away at the sight of such huge claws coming close, sucking in a breath... and as soon as you did, he... paused? He took a moment, with his your-head-sized hand just hanging there... 

... Like he was giving you a second? He held your eye.

... When he started moving again, he moved so slowly. So gently... and he turned the hand over, brushing the back of his thick knuckle across your cheek with a feather-light touch. His hands were warm, too.

...

It was a like a cat, the way his eyelight widened, blowing to fill his whole socket.

He seemed to lose whatever self control was making him move slowly, and instead his massive head leant in, before you could so much as muster the energy or presence of mind to squeak he pressed his face flush against the side of yours with his teeth just under your ear. Instead you just let in another tiny breath of shock and felt a shiver travel across the whole length of your body- he was nuzzling, with an unmistakable joy, parts of his tail moving ever-so-slightly like he just couldn’t contain himself. In amongst the gleeful nuzzling he took a few inquisitive breaths in your hair, his tongue flickering out and surprising you with how ticklish it was- you brought your shoulder up in defence but he seemed to like that tiny reaction and did it again, chasing your sensitive spots.

“G- ah, stop!” You said, but less out of fear and more out of ticklishness- you couldn’t get away from him, it was like being fussed by a giant overly affectionate puppy. He was breathing right down your ear, and his breath and tongue made everything prickle, you tried to put your hands over your neck but he wasn’t having it. “... G-guys? Guys, are you out there?!”

You distinctly heard someone mutter ‘oh my God, she’s alive’, before a sharp “Play dead! We’re coming to get you!” sounded pretty close to the den. 

... You saw Skull’s reaction- and by saw, you meant heard and felt. As soon as he seemed to realise they were approaching the entrance to his hide, he stopped nuzzling, face still against your neck... and a slow, upset snarl began to filter out of his chest, and seeing as you were surrounded by him it was deep and so close it was vibrating your insides. At the same time, his snake body shifted and started to tighten, slowly moving to cover you more, bring you in further into his coils... trap you underneath.

“N-no, no!” You said, panic at possibly being constricted to death rearing its head again. “Don’t come any closer without sedatives, please!”

“... What the hell’s going on in there?!”

“H-he’s just... he’s just got me wrapped up.” You stammered, swallowing, wishing you could see them instead of the den ceiling right now; your voice had a strange, echoing quality inside the small space. “I-I can’t move. When you come closer it agitates him and he squeezes. Don’t come closer. Please just go get sedatives.”

“... Are you sure you’re okay in there?” You could hear them backing up, thank fuck. And he could definitely hear them too, noticeably relaxing. “It’s gonna take us a while to get anything strong enough for him.”

... Skull let out a strange, deathly soft hiss, apparently really liking your hair... so quiet, only the two of you could hear it. His scales were warm, and although you were trapped, it almost felt like he’d deliberately trapped you in this reclined position in order to make sure you were comfortable in his grip.

...

“Y-yeah, I... I think I’m fine for now. Just please don’t take too long.”

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let���s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 2: Casual Friday the 13th

Previous Chapter - AO3 Link - MSR, rated E

He gives himself a pep talk on the way to work the next morning. It feels ridiculous.

Just ask her out, he thinks. Be casual. Invite her to grab a drink, act like you’re going whether she joins you or not. It’s just Scully.

That’s some bullshit; she’s not just anything to him. She’s everything.

Also he doesn’t go to bars much, and never alone, so he’s not sure how subtle this will be.

He pushes the thoughts out of his head until they’re leaving the office at the end of the day, gathering their things and donning winter layers.

“Buy you a drink, Agent Scully?” he tosses out casually, taking her coat from the rack.

“Hm, what’s the occasion?” she asks.

“Friday the thirteenth; I’m testing my luck,” he replies, holding her coat open for her.

She slips her arms into the sleeves. “I guess one wouldn’t hurt,” she decides.

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

He chalks it up to beginner’s luck and ushers her out the door with a hand on her back.

They end up at Casey’s Bar because it’s close to the Hoover Building, and neither of them had wanted to walk too far through the cold February night. Mulder’s a little nervous, but not enough to let it show. At the risk of being overconfident, he thinks it’s actually going pretty well. This outing is markedly different from every first date he’s had in the past. There’s no need for small talk with Scully, no pressure to act more gregarious or charming than he naturally is. Scully herself is a refreshing presence, like a crisp spring breeze. Cool without being austere, gentle and yet invigorating.

Also she doesn’t know it’s a date, so there’s that.

They perch at the far end of the counter and shoot the shit, talk about work. She orders a draught beer, and seeing the large glass in her little hand makes his stomach flutter nonsensically. He orders one too, just to keep pace with her, though he suspects she could drink him under the table if the occasion ever arose. The thought is strangely erotic.

Mulder watches her full pink lips press against the edge of her glass and he clears his throat awkwardly. Down, boy. He scrambles for a diversion.

“Any special plans for tomorrow night?” he asks, taking a foamy swallow of beer.

“What’s- oh.” Scully sets down her glass. “No, not this year,” she says softly.

He suddenly feels like a prick.

“You?” she asks, because she’s a polite human being.

Diffuse the moment, buddy. “I’ve got a pretty hot date, actually.”

Her shoulders stiffen momentarily. Interesting. “Oh?” she says lightly.

“Yeah, the boys invited me over to pick apart some found footage they stumbled upon. Frohike’s making chili.”

Scully’s face breaks into a smile, and he feels a wash of relief. She shakes her head. “You know, for about two seconds I thought you might actually have a life. It was a surreal experience.”

“I have a life, Scully,” he insists. It’s you. Aliens, conspiracy, and you.

“Mhm,” she hums, licking a bit of stray foam off her upper lip, causing a twinge south of his belt buckle. “Mulder, can I ask you a highly personal question?”

He coughs awkwardly. “No guarantees that I’ll answer, but sure. Hit me.”

She suddenly seems nervous. “Well… we’ve known each other for five years now, and we spend a lot of time together. I’ve met your mother, your friends. And in all that time, I’ve not known you to go on a single date.”

Besides this one, he thinks. “And?” he prompts.

She absently wipes her finger through the condensation on her glass. “Well, I can’t figure out why not. Your - preferences - are quite evident, and I’m sure finding a willing partner would be fairly easy for you, at least for… casual encounters.”

I don’t want casual encounters, he thinks. I want to burn pancakes for you on Sunday mornings.

He huffs out a breath of laughter. “I have it on good authority that I’m not the best company, Scully. What makes you think it’d be easy?”

She takes a long pull of her beer. “Because you’re very attractive.”

His heart stops momentarily, then starts back up at twice the speed. He scrambles for some composure. “Oh, so you think I’m attractive,” he teases lightly. He hopes she doesn’t notice the sudden tremble in his fingers.

Scully nods, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. “Yes, I do. A lot of people do, Mulder,” she adds quickly. The lighting in the bar is dim, so he assumes he’s imagining the flush on her cheeks. Or it’s the beer. “The women’s restroom at the Bureau is a cesspool of gossip.”

“Well I’m not the only hot piece of ass in the X-Files division,” he says, glancing at her over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t let Skinner hear you say that,” she quips. “He’s shy.”

Mulder grins, amused by her deflection. “People talk about you too, Scully. I’ve had to fend off suitors for you more than once.” Now it’s her turn to squirm, he thinks.

She blinks rapidly. “You’re joking.”

Mulder chuckles. “Swear. Every once in a while a guy will ask me something about you. I tell ‘em to ask you themselves, and I assume they usually chicken out.”

“What kind of things do they want to know?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Let’s just say they’re not asking me your favorite color,” he says simply, lifting his glass to his mouth once more. “You can imagine the rest.”

Scully presses her lips together. “I don’t have to, unfortunately,” she sighs. “Thanks for having my back,” she adds.

He shrugs. “I’m your partner,” he says. “I’ll always have your back.”

He suddenly remembers a conversation he had a little over a year ago, a month or so before Scully’s birthday. It seems like a fitting time to tell her.

“There’s only been one guy that I thought was alright,” he says. “I, uh, never told you this, Scully, because it was confidential, but seeing as the subject in question is now deceased…”

Scully turns to him on her stool. “Mulder, what?”

“Pendrell. He liked you.”

She knits her brows together in that adorable way she has. “I liked him too.”

“I mean, he really liked you,” Mulder emphasizes. “He asked me once if you were seeing anyone.”

“Oh,” she says. "What did you tell him?”

“I told him ‘Agent Scully’s personal life is her business, and any questions regarding it should be posed to her directly’.”

“Very formal,” she muses. “I should print that on my business cards for you to hand out.”

“The thought’s crossed my mind. Are you currently accepting applications for the position of ‘boyfriend’?” Mulder asks. “I’d be happy to field candidates.”

“Oh, I bet you’d love that,” Scully says with an eye roll. “Admit it, you like interrogating suspects. Especially when you think they’re mutants of some kind.”

“I promise that any potential boyfriends will be firmly terrestrial and completely unremarkable.”

The sentence hangs in the air for a long moment. “I don’t know that I want that after all,” Scully finally says quietly. “The husband with a nine-to-five, the picket fence, the priest over for lunch after Sunday mass. I’ve seen too much, done too much, to really fit into that picture anymore.”

Mulder feels a pang in his chest, the old familiar guilt creeping in. “This is a lonely path,” he admits. “Working nonstop to find evidence, only to have it be discounted offhand.”

“No closure, no arrests, no satisfying conclusions to leave you feeling a little bit safer knowing you did your job,” Scully adds.

Mulder rubs his hand over his mouth, nodding. “Just weird substances that nobody can explain and accounts of phenomena that nobody believes. Spooky shit.”

Scully raises her drink with a sudden levity. “To spooky shit,” she toasts.

Their glasses clink, and the contact chimes in Mulder’s ears. A kiss of half-empty pints.

Mulder bites his lip absently, gathering his next words. “So… what do you want?” he asks carefully, leaning in a fraction.

Scully shakes her head, sighing softly. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? I can’t even think about long term at this point. My life is so different from what I’d planned, and I’m still adapting.”

“Alright, forget long term for the moment,” Mulder prompts. “What’s something that you want that you can acquire within, say, the next month or so?”

“You granting wishes now, Mulder?” she asks coyly, taking a sip of beer.

“Depends on what you ask for,” he replies, voice low.

It feels as though they’re circling the truth, caught in each other’s orbit, traveling an ellipse of the unspoken. He wonders if she feels it too. The beer has him weightless, spinning out into the unexplored reaches of space between them. He wants to grab her hand on the worn bar counter, anchor himself to her sun-warmed earth.

“As strange as it sounds,” she says after a moment, “I’m… oddly contented. If I spent more time on it I’m sure I could give you a whole list of things I feel I’m lacking, but at this moment none of them really matter.”

His heart accelerates. “Must be some beer,” he jokes.

She smiles at him, a soft closed-lip turn of her mouth that warms him better than any liquor. “Company’s not half bad either. Despite whatever good authority has told you otherwise.”

He drops a hand onto hers then, gives it a brief squeeze before returning it to his glass and finishing his beer.

They walk back to the FBI parking garage, arms bumping each other as they brace themselves against the winter chill. Mulder escorts Scully to her car because he’s a gentleman and squeezing out every last second he can with her.

Scully ducks her head, seeming almost shy. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t been out in a while,” she says simply. “This was nice.”

Mulder shrugs, suddenly unsure how to orient his limbs. He wants to hug her, but he knows this isn’t the right time. “Don’t mention it,” he replies, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“Enjoy your ménage à quatre with the Gunmen,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll save some kisses from Frohike for you,” he replies with a wink.

They face each other, suddenly quiet. It feels as though they waded too far into the ocean and drifted down shore, losing sight of their picnic spot. They float in the silence, buoyed by their exchange, but uncertain as to where they stand.

“Goodnight,” Mulder says finally, because he can’t think of what else to say beyond that and ‘I love you’. Or ‘come home with me’.

“‘Night,” she replies, unlocking her car door and slipping inside.

He wanders aimlessly over to his car and bundles into the driver’s seat, heaving a deep, half-contented sigh. He considers the evening a tentative success, despite a somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion.

He jerks off when he gets home, holding Scully’s sweet face in his mind’s eye as he comes shamefully into his own lonely hand.

[paperpocalypse]

the space-time continuum.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 9. Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,456 words

Warning: Swearing

Five doesn’t really have any hobbies in the traditional sense.

He’s becoming more and more of a workaholic these days. The siblings love to harp on Luther for being as bland as toast, but even Number One takes the time to have fun once in a while; Five does not, at least not for the past few months. Even his weekly half hour of sanctioned free time is usually spent practicing his spatial jumps or writing equations. Lots of equations. One would be inclined to say that working is Five’s hobby, in its own, terribly boring way.

So one Saturday, when the clock strikes noon, you head over to Five’s room and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“Well, that was easy,” you say, opening the door. Five is at his desk, scribbling in yet another notebook. “I thought there’d be more resistance.”

“Only three people in this house knock before coming in,” Five replies, not looking up as you walk over. “Mom, Vanya, and you. Mom is cleaning the living room and Vanya’s practicing, so that leaves –” he crosses a line out – “you.”

You smile. “Don’t I feel special.”

“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself.”

Knowing that he’ll probably kick you out if you tease him further, you instead peer over his shoulder at his work. Equations, just as you suspected. There’s a ragged edge near the spine where he had torn a page out and started over.

“Any way I could help?”

“Probably not.”

You glare at him. There’s just the slightest uptick on the corner of his mouth. “Everything has a pattern, Five. I bet I could find one in all this stuff.”

“This ‘stuff’ is space-time mathematical physics. Of course there’re patterns, but they’re all twisted together in the world’s shittiest rope.” He finally looks up at you in that piercing way of his, and you try to ignore the jump in your heartbeat when he does so. “There’s a chair right over there. If you’re going to stick around, don’t hover over me like a vulture.”

In other words, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Not bothering to press down a smile, you drag the chair over and sit next to Five, as close as you can without invading his personal space – he’s gotten more adamant about it lately, along with his growing antisocial tendencies. But today, it seems that he’s alright with your knees touching. Hands folding politely on top of the desk, you take the briefest moment to admire his side profile before examining his work closely for the first time.

Everything has a pattern. You tune out the sounds of your breathing, the crisp sound of a pen scratching at paper, your blood pulsing. Working with inanimate things is still a pain; you’d rather concentrate on living things than a jumble of numbers and variables. But this is important to Five and you want to help him, so you take in a slow, deep breath and drag your eyes down the page.

Yikes. It looks like one of the exercises Sir Hargreeves makes you train with, unfortunately. Most of the page is a derivation of some kind. You stare at the steps without blinking, eyes straining to locate just a thread, anywhere, to grasp –

“Ah-ha!” you exclaim when a trail fades into view, light blue against the pure white paper. Five looks over at you, and you grin sheepishly.

“You got it?” he asks dryly, twisting the pen once over his fingers. Still, his tone is expectant.

You fixate on the next page, and the rest of the patterns come into view, each one a different color. Five’s right – they’re all twisted together like a rope. It’s looser in some places, though.

“Got it,” you breathe. “Wow, that’s pretty neat.”

Five hums, satisfied, and resumes writing. You watch the paper intently as he continues to fill the notebook with figures, circling some numbers here and there and testing a calculation on some scrap paper every once in a while. The threads weave in and out of each other, and after a few minutes, you begin to see wisps of equations yet to be written – approximations of the best path to take. They’re faint, but you can see them. Yes!

“Might I give my humble opinion, Five?” you put in when he finally pauses.

He raises an eyebrow, pen clicking. “Shoot.”

Keeping your eyes on the notebook, you scoot closer and reach over to grab the scrap paper, plucking a spare pencil from the holder at the corner his desk. Five’s gaze burns into your hand as you start copying down the prediction as well as you can.

Once you’ve finished, you point at the denominator of the last answer in Five’s notebook. “So according to the pattern, you should –”

“Expand it as a power series in Planck’s constant,” Five mutters, leaning in to check your work. “Huh. That makes sense.” He nods, glancing over at you with a thoughtful expression. “Nice work.”

The compliment brings forth all sorts of gushy feelings that you’d rather die than admit to anyone, but the happiness shows on your face anyway. “No problem at all. Piece of cake.”

Five flips through his notebook again, then closes it and tosses his pen onto the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he looks past you and through the window before leveling his gaze back onto you. No words are exchanged for what feels like an eternity.

“So,” he finally says, right when you wonder whether he wants you to leave. He crosses his arms. “Why’d you really stop by?”

“What?”

“Well, to put it nicely, you’re not exactly a math person. Especially when it comes to the kind I’m doing, so …” Five tilts his head toward you.

You balk, scrambling for a way to explain without sounding like a buffoon. He simply waits, letting you brew as usual, as if he has all the time in the world until you come up with something. “I just …” you finally manage, shrugging weakly, “wanted to hang out with you. You’ve been kinda cooped up in your room lately, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing that?” You gesture to his notebook. He nods. “What is it, exactly?”

“A spatial jump study.”

“Spatial jump study?” you echo, blinking with surprise. “Why?”

“Dad wants me to know how my power works as part of my training,” Five says flatly, standing up and walking towards his nightstand. “It’ll prepare me for time traveling – even though I’ve been ready for months already.”

You blink rapidly, taken aback. “You can time travel?”

He opens a drawer and rummages through its contents, picking something up. “Technically, I already can, since my spatial jumps manipulate time to a certain degree. If Dad would just let me, I could jump months forward. Maybe even years.” He tosses whatever he’d been holding to you. Instinctively, you catch it. “You dropped that after our last mission, by the way.”

You look down at your hand. In it lies a small keychain in the shape of a fluffy little bird, lemon yellow and cartoonish. Frowning, you pick it up by the keyring and dangle it closer to your face. Did you drop this one? You remember that you had lost a keychain when one of the robbers tore your jacket pocket, and that you had gone with birds that day, but to be honest you don’t quite remember what it looked like. You have a lot of bird keychains. The perks of joining the famous Umbrella Academy, you guess.

You pocket it anyway. “Thanks,” you murmur, touched either way.

Five shrugs and strides back over, hands in his pockets. “No problem. It was easy to spot.”

“I’ll say.” Standing up, you glance at the alarm clock next to his bed and gawp at the time. 12:20. There’s only ten minutes left? Geez. “Well … I better get ready. I’ll see you during training, I guess.”

Reluctantly, you make your way to the door, hearing the muffled clunk of your chair being set down as Five returns it back to its rightful place. Right. But when you open the door, preparing to step out into the hallway, he calls your name.

You quickly look back. “Hm?”

“Let me know if you need any help with your puzzles,” he says.

A smile immediately crawls onto your lips. Nodding, you look down at your feet and then back up at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

As you walk towards your room, strangely giddy, you pass Diego on the way. He gives you a weird look but you hardly care, reaching into your jacket pocket to touch the cool metal within.

See you then.

[13uswntimagines]

Pretty Girl (Christen x Reader)

Request: Christen and reader go to the zoo and reader either works with animals or is just a huge nerd and literally obsess over the animals and christen kinda just falls for her even more

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​! 

You were in your element and Christen was living for it. While she had always been adept at soccer, Animals and Biology were your specialties. You looked so cute in your little safari outfit, and Christen couldn’t help but drop by when she was in town to surprise you, and take one of your legendary tours. Tobin, who had been unlucky enough to be sharing a car with the woman, followed along behind her, not sure how she felt about being dragged along on this excursion. 

“Now if you come over here you can meet Darth Vader!” You said excitedly, pointing to one of the clear cages on the wall, taking a step towards it. 

“He’s a black rat snake, and look at him use the force of his muscles to climb up his exhibit wall. Gravity-defying right? Now do any of you kids know anything about snakes?” You addressed the group of kindergarteners assembled in front of you, listening attentively as some of them piped up about snakes they had seen (and you wholeheartedly ignored the burning gaze of the only two soccer players in the group). 

Most of them got closer to the glass to look at your favorite reptile, but there were always a few who took went to hide behind their moms, who had a tendency to call your snakes either “scary” or “gross.

“The pretty girl on the right is a Ball Python named Snickers,” You smiled, stepping towards the glass. “She’s almost 20 years old, which is the upper end of the lifespan of her species. Though ball python populations are growing rapidly in areas of Florida, they’re actually indigenous to west and central Africa. They’re what we call invasive species- species that invade the habitat and can eat other species that are natural to areas of the Everglades,” You shook your head sadly. “That’s why it’s very important to never release a pet into the wild. It can decrease the quality of their lives but also really hurt native species that are already there” Stupid people releasing pets they should have never had, destroying the environment. 

“Did your girlfriend just call a reptile a pretty girl? Isn’t that her nickname for you?” Tobin joked, nudging Christen’s ribs with her elbow. Christen felt her cheeks turn a little pink. 

“No, I’m superstar,” Christen mumbled, glaring at the chill middy. 

“Hmm, it’s cute how into them she is though,” Tobin smiled. It was amazing how much you lit up around the animals, even if it was a little weird when you called slithery things pretty. You were kinda like Steve Erwin she guessed. 

“You don’t get a Ph. D. if you’re not interested,” Christen laughed, and Tobin nodded. No one wrote a 50-page dissertations on things that bored them. 

“Can you take the guinea pigs out today?” The little girl with pink pigtails looked so hopeful, you almost felt bad that you had to say no. Except that you hated the guinea pigs.

“Sorry I wish I could, but this is the guinea pigs’ day off today.” You saw your coworker Jenni come in and waved her over. “Also my shift just ended. But Jenni here can tell you about anything else in the exhibit you’re curious about!” 

You disentangled yourself from the crowd of youngsters and made your way over to your girlfriend, standing on tiptoe to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Hey superstar.” 

“Hey, do I finally get your undivided attention?” Christen asked, pulling you into her arms and kissing your lips. You smiled, showing off your dimples as you nodded quickly. 

“Good luck with that around all these… what did you call them? Pretty girls?” Tobin said, facetiously, smirking as she leaned against the wall. She jumped, as a thump sounded behind her. The animal house didn’t have any solid walls, and instead featured glass enclosure. 

“Oh shit, that’s just Milo, he’s kind of an attention whore,” You laughed, pointing to the 36 inch blue racer that had just fallen from his branch to the bottom of the enclosure. 

“He’s gorgeous,” Christen marbled at the bright blue snake, 

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll get a big head,” You smirked at your girlfriend, unable to maintain the serious expression. 

“He’s a snake. They don’t have feelings,” Tobin scoffed, watching as Milo flicked his tongue at her. 

“You just say that because you haven’t met him yet. I have held many a snake and let me tell you, Milo is positively clingy!” 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Tobin started to say, but then Christen piped up. “That’s a great idea! We would love to meet Milo in person, Y/N!” She continued smiling as Tobin elbowed her in the side, and you caught the wicked glint in her eyes. 

“You know, it just so happens that he’s on the schedule for interaction today!” You smiled giddily at your girlfriend, dancing in place for a second before flipping through your keys for Milo’s enclosure. 

“Hey pretty boy, wanna say hi? I got some nice people that really wanna meet you and pet your beautiful scales,” You said, stroking his neck a few times to get his attention. The snake slowly began moving forward, encouraged by your warm, steady hands and you carefully picked him up and set him on your shoulders to support his spine. 

“I thought your girlfriend was a Gryffindor. Aren’t Slytherins the ones who can talk to snakes?” Tobin whispered, using your girlfriend as a shield from the snake. 

“That’s a common misconception. It’s heirs of Slytherin who can talk to snakes, but who's to say that all of Slytherin’s descendants would choose to be there?” You smiled sideways at the woman, not quite taking your attention from the blue noodle wrapping around your wrist. 

“If you come closer you can see his scales shimmer in the light. He just shed last week, so they’re really pretty right now.” 

Christen took a slow step towards you, looking more at your loving gaze than at Milo. It was incredible how calm he was with you, and the care you clearly had for him. 

“Gorgeous,” She said, her fingers coming up to just barely fun her fingers over the cold reptile. He brought his head up to stare in her direction. She froze. 

“It’s alright Chris. He’s just checking you out,” You hummed, lifting the snake slightly and bringing him within reach of your girlfriend if he wanted to go to her. “Can you blame him? They don’t call them foxii for nothing,”

“You say that like he isn’t contemplating how long he would have to starve himself to eat you both,”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading too many clickbait articles. Actually blue racers are foragers, not active hunters,” You raised your eyebrows at the clearly terrified midfielder, feeling comfortable enough with Christen watching Milo to take your eyes off of him. “But I’ll put him back if he makes you feel uncomfortable.”

You brought Milo back to the door of his enclosure, waiting for him to decide he wanted to head back in and being careful to unwind him from your nametag (he always liked to play in your lanyard), he flicked his tongue at you and you took it as a thanks for patently untangling his tail. You locked up the door before standing up straight. 

 You took your girlfriend’s hand and began to lead her from the room. “Come on, lets go to the insectary, I know the gal who works there will let us hold Dot if we ask nicely.”

“Who’s Dot?”

“A super adorable curly-haired tarantula,” you said, grinning, intentionally not looking behind you to see the source of the gagging noise. 

“Why can’t you think normal things are cute like giraffes or elephants or like literally anything else,” Tobin huffed, crossing her arms. She should have listened to Sonnet when she warned her about visiting you at the zoo. At least you hadn’t tried to introduce her to Spike the giant snapping turtle. 

“You’re mean,” you said, turning to stick your tongue out at Tobin over your shoulder. 

“Well I think you’re cute, so I think that makes up for it,” Christen smirked. Sure, you liked the less conventional animals, but seeing you with them made her fall for you just a little bit more.

“I love you,” You melted, leaning in and kissing your girlfriend softly.

“Love you too babe. Now let’s go get me introduced to Dot,”

[filmmakerdreamst]

How Xena: Warrior Princess Allowed Me To Accept Myself

I was living in a city all alone and these two characters showed me that it was ok for two women to love each other.

In order to understand the following story, there’s something you need to know about me. I have always loved fiction. From the age of about 5 to 11, I loved books more than I loved people. I was a shy child who found it easier to emotionally engage with fictional worlds than the real one around me.

See, fictional worlds are created for your brain’s enjoyment. Their rules make sense. Events happen for a reason. The narrator tells you why characters behave the way they do, allowing you to empathize with them on a deep emotional level. Easy to understand, easy to identify with, easy to love.

But real people are complicated. The real world is complicated. And things are seldom laid out nicely in a coherent narrative format for you. Real things are much harder to love.

This emotional disengagement continued from the age of 11 onwards, although it was no longer as pronounced. My habit of retreating into fiction would fade during good times and come back in force during difficult or stressful periods. During the stressful periods of college, the rise of Netflix allowed me to become certifiably obsessed with my favorite TV shows. And naturally, I joined Tumblr in order to more easily fangirl with people who shared my interests.

Only for some peculiar reason that I didn’t care to examine, my interests were slowly gravitating towards girl-girl couples. Soon I was shipping, reblogging, and reading fanfiction almost exclusively about female couples. But I, who had always considered myself straight despite lacking interest in the boys around me, didn’t think this meant that I was gay. I probably just found female couples more emotionally satisfying. I was friends with mostly women, I was a woman myself, so it was natural that I just understood them better. Yeah, that was probably it.

Fast-forward to nine months ago. I was living in Boston and incredibly depressed about it. My job and my boss were making my life miserable and I had very few people to socialize with. I was making the rough transition from the constant socialization of college to the isolating pressure of a city where I had few connections. My days and nights were some of the loneliest I had ever experienced. I looked for something, anything, to lift the heart-crushing emotional silence.

My solution was the same one I always chose when I was dissatisfied with the real world; obsession with a new TV show. And thanks to my femslash-focused tumblr community, I knew just what my next feel-good show was going to be.

My tumblr friends had told me this: Xena: Warrior Princess is an action-fantasy show that enjoys a cult status, much like Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (which I watched and loved). The two shows were made in the same mid-to-late 90's era, with similar bad special effects and endearing campiness. But XWP is much… MUCH… more gay.

That was about all I knew about the show going in. And amazingly, that was all I needed to know to be excited about watching it. You’d think that fact would have told me something about myself, but no. The mental walls of denial were years in the building and needed more force than that to be shattered.

For anyone unfamiliar with the show’s premise, Xena: Warrior Princess is about the title character and her quest for redemption. You see, Xena did some bad things in her previous life on another show (Hercules: The Legendary Journeys). In her storied career as a warlord, she committed such petty crimes as genocide, the slaughter of innocents, that kind of thing. But now she has seen the light and wants to atone for her crimes. Except she can never undo the terrible things she did. All Xena can do now is help people on a day-to-day basis and hope that it’s enough for someone to show her mercy.

Which is already fantastic from a character standpoint. But there is a secret mirror to Xena’s journey that is not reflected in the show’s title, and that is Gabrielle and her character arc.

Oh! Gabrielle! When I met her in the very first episode, I loved her straightaway. She is a feisty, naive, talkative small-town girl who accompanies Xena on all her adventures. Her character quickly assumes paramount importance in the narrative. Gabrielle is Xena’s only friend. She comes to know her better than anyone else and love her for who she is, all the while believing Xena can reach redemption. Yet Gabrielle is not just a support system for Xena; she goes on her own heroic journey. The two character arcs intertwine and co-develop in a way I have never seen in any show before or since.

As each episode rolled by and their relationship grew in complexity, I found myself more and more engrossed. And I came to realize: this was something I wanted. The day I accepted my own desire was the day I accepted myself. What could be more strangling than denying the existence of your own feelings? Yet I had been doing this to myself for years — cutting off the possibility of being attracted to other women — without even realizing.

Before beginning the show, I thought the fandom had read in between the lines to construct a romantic relationship between the two characters, the same way as femslash shippers do in all other TV shows. Except not this time. This one is mind-blowingly different.

Not only does the narrative place utmost importance on the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, but the actresses bring such multi-dimensional love to their parts. When I saw Lucy Lawless (Xena) and Renee O’Connor (Gabrielle) interact, I could so easily believe that these two women loved each other beyond friendship. Xena and Gabrielle display every kind of love you can think of. They protect and sacrifice for each other. They tease and flirt. They cuddle and console. They have inside jokes with each other. They dance sexily. They play pranks and drive each other crazy. They sweetly kiss. They come back from the dead together. They bathe together. They raise each other’s children. They meet in alternate timelines and fall in love all over again.

I could have left my mental walls of denial in place. I could have said to myself “oh yes, I want this. But with a guy.” But no. Lawless and O’Connor’s incredibly attractive faces and bodies broke down the door of my mental closet. Precisely because they were fictional, I felt safe to admit my attraction to them. One of the key mental blocks I had always had towards accepting any attraction towards other women was the thought that I was being creepy. That since they could not possibly feel the same way about me, it was wrong to feel the way I did. But in my mind, that barrier didn’t exist with fictional characters. They couldn’t feel anything for me. Therefore, it was fine to feel whatever I want about them.

The walls cracked. The water came rushing in. Oh my god. I am attracted to other women. Like, every day of my life. Those flickers in my stomach when I talk to an attractive female coworker suddenly make a whole lot of sense now. I now saw my historical awkwardness when talking to beautiful girls, which I always dismissed as “me being weird”, for what it was. All those short-term girl crushes on older girls throughout high school. How was I so sure they were platonic? That heart-aching infatuation I had with my best friend that lasted for years? Yeah, add that to the ‘definitely gay’ list.

Since then I’ve realized that my feelings are valid regardless of what others feel for me. Just because feelings are unrequited doesn’t mean they aren’t real. That’s what Xena and Gabrielle taught me. Their fictional example was the final blow to my rapidly-crumbling resistance to the idea of homosexuality.

In our culture today, so many forms of media reinforce heteronormativity. How many commercials have you seen that assume attraction between a man and a woman? How many billboards tell women that they need to look sexy for the men in their lives? How many times has a movie ended with the guy getting the girl? It’s the combined action of a thousand small rocks shifting to make a cultural avalanche. You can’t move against it. All you can do is stand still and try to maintain your footing against the current, to maintain your identity in the face of a world where you and people like you are often swept away by the mainstream.

Xena: Warrior Princess is one of those rare stories that dares to go against the grain. It celebrates a romantic relationship between two women as the most natural thing in the world. And in doing so, it provides a mirror for me and people like me to recognize themselves in. There we are. Look at us fly.

This story isn’t over yet. I still have a lot of work to do to accept myself, but thanks to Xena and Gabrielle I’ve taken one huge step towards living the open life I want to live. I moved on from that horrible job and lonely city, but in the end I’m grateful. Grateful that circumstances pushed me to the depths of loneliness necessary to bring down the prison I had built in my own mind.

- How Xena: Warrior Princess Allowed Me To Accept Myself by Lyra Hall

[shimmeringclouds]

Karamatsu - Lycoris Radiata

𝘠𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘪!𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Dim. Yet warm. You figured that's how a forest would be during the summer.

With that thought in mind, however, it didn't help you whatsoever with finding the path you were supposed to be walking along. Of course you would lose track of where you were meant to be walking; wandering minds and feet aren't exactly a good pair.

Glancing upward through the mess of tree branches and leaves, you could just about make out the glimmer of stars above you. Looks like you missed dinner. Again. Was it really so hard for you to go for a relaxing walk in the woodlands?

Sighing, you rubbed your upper thighs. Sore. The blood pumping through them felt weird against the fabric of your trousers, thumping uncomfortably against your fingers. Tingling. Just... weird.

Tree trunks stood by attentively, waiting patiently for your tired figure to curl up against its' bark. And you did just that, groaning as you stretched out your arms and legs. Your arms fell with a thud to your sides, fingers absentmindedly caressing the cool grass beneath you.

...Now what? Were you just going to sit there for the rest of the night? A ridiculous idea, surely. However, it was the only thing you could do. It's not like you knew if anyone was nearby to help you get home and, even then, you didn't think you could just trust anyone you would meet in the middle of the woods at night.

Another sigh. You're good at those, aren't you? You tried to take a look at your surroundings, only to see the dark figures of trees and bushes (at least, you hoped they were bushes). Dark blues and greens, hues of black, absences of colour.

A flash of red. A stark contrast to the deep colours around you. A beautiful flower, you saw. Its' crimson petals clustered together in the centre, with numerous similar coloured stems curling upwards, swaying and dancing with the wind.

"A Spider Lily, huh?" you muttered. You reached out and grazed the tips of your finger against it, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You shouldn't bloom here, all alone like this..."

Your mind briefly wandered back to a conversation you had had with a friend at some point throughout the week. Being the flower enthusiast she was, you always allowed yourself to become subject to her seemingly endless rants about flowers, plants, herbs - anything that she had knowledge about. You remembered what she had said about these richly coloured beauties.

'If you see someone that you may never meet again, these flowers will bloom along the path.'

It sounded like a beautiful but tragic piece of poetry. You began to wonder where the myth had even come from. When was it first spoken? Was it based on true events? Was it really such a bad thing, not meeting someone again?

You knew, from experience, that letting people leave your everyday life was actually beneficial for yourself. Although it took you a number of years to realise it, you found that the kinds of people you attracted were a lot worse than they appeared to be. Deep down, they were monsters. Horrible people, who have the audacity to call themselves human.

Of course it was painful, but only at first. Now, it didn't bother you much anymore. Your soul felt lighter, if anything, indicating that you were getting better, not worse.

Releasing the flower from your ghost of a grasp, you leaned your head back, closing your eyes. That was enough for today. It was time to rest for a while. Breathing in, and out, slowly, ever so slowly, a feeling of slumber crept its way into your body.

Relaxing your tense muscles, you released a long, heavy breath. Sleep.

"It's dangerous to sleep out here, my dove."

"WHA-!!"

An unholy shriek escaped from your throat suddenly, and you pushed your body away from the tree you were leaning against, crawling rapidly across the ground. Whipping your body around, your wide eyes landed on the lantern that outlined the shadowy figure, who stood just behind where you were previously sitting.

"S-Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, angel!"

The deep, husky voice that whispered into your ear became slightly higher pitched and frantic. You saw the figure step forward, causing you to flinch.

"Ah, do not worry, princess. I won't harm you..."

"That's what they all say!" you blurted out. A short silence followed before you asked:

"Who.. Who are you?"

The figure stepped forward, raising its' lantern to reveal itself.

It was... a man. Yet he wasn't human. His skin was pale, eyes surrounded by red markings. On top of his brown hair was a pair of glowing blue horns, which seemed to flow like fire. his clothing seemed old fashioned, covering his slightly built figure in dark robes of satin and ribbons. The lantern that he held also emitted the same coloured light as his horns, flickering before you.

"You may call me Karamatsu, my dear," he bowed slightly, a cat-like grin crossing his features. "I am but a humble spirit who spotted a wandering soul, lost and alone in a forest that humans should be cautious with. Perhaps some guidance is in your best interest?"

"I, uhm... You're not.. human?" A deep chuckle sounded, sending a shiver up your spine. It was echoey. As if, even though he was standing right in front of you, he was still so far away.

"I'm afraid not, flower. I am an Aoandon. But do not be afraid, I am not here to hurt you. I would only be a guilty guy if I were to leave such a beautiful woman alone in the woods, where anything could happen."

He reached out a partially gloved hand to your figure, still on the ground.

"Please, allow my light to guide you home."

You were sure that if you could see the words he spoke, they would be surrounded by flowers and sparkles. You never knew a man - or anyone, for that matter - to speak in such an overzealous manner.

However, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. You guessed that's why you reached up and grasped his unnaturally cold hands, allowing him to pull you upwards in a swift motion. He grinned softly down at you, making you realise just how short you were compared to him.

"May I ask for your name, love? Or would you prefer the names I give you?" he winked. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, in fear that he would actually hurt you if you got on the wrong foot. So he was a gentleman and a flirt? What an odd combination.

"[Y/N]..." you decided to not answer his second question. It was probably for the best.

"[Y/N]. A wonderful name! As gorgeous as the stars above! I am certain that they aligned to create a bridge just for us to meet on this special night!" Karamatsu's hands were waving around in wild, extravagant gestures. He looked ridiculous. What a strange character.

"I- .. Sure.."

For most of the journey, you listened to this... spirit, ramble nonsense about the scenery around you, or about your features that he found endearing. There were times where he would deliberately lower his voice into something he thought was sultry and enticing, peering into your eyes with a smouldering stare. You didn't mind the dip in his voice at all, not a single bit. It was just the way that the poor man was clearly trying too hard to make you fall for him.

'He clearly has never been successful with any woman before... How cute!'

You couldn't help yourself. You had just met him, and you already wanted to know more about him. Was that weird? Probably. Maybe it was the touch-starved part of yourself that was talking, longing to be held in someone's arms after being neglected by so many for so long.

"Watch your step here, my dear." His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, peering up at him to see this a pale hand was held out to assist you. You gladly took hold of it, fingers grasping his colder ones. Even as he helped you over a few jagged rocks in your path, you weren't willing to let go just yet. Although his skin was cold, his touch felt inviting and comforting.

You didn't want to let go yet.

And it seemed that Karamatsu was overjoyed by this, his eye glistening with a kind of happiness that you had never seen a human hold before.

"A-Are you afraid, sweetheart? There is nothing to fear, not as long as I am here by your side! However, if you wish to hold me tightly, I will never object you!" The slight tremor of nervousness in his words sounded so endearing to you.

"Good, because I wasn't planning to let go just yet."

You had never seen a human wear such a broad and satisfied smile, either. It was contagious, causing you to smile timidly up at him in return.

Eventually, though, your midnight stroll had to come to an end for the both of you. Karamatsu had led you to the beginning of the trail where, just a little further ways down, was a bus stop for you to get home.

"We have arrived, my angel."

"Ah... right," you mumbled, slight disappointment seeping through your tone. Karamatsu chuckled, his cat-like grin widening slightly.

"What is this? Is my fair maiden unwilling to let me go?"

"Something like that..." you mumbled, keeping your face directed towards the ground as you released your hold from his arm. Karamatsu's cheeks bloomed pink, a shade darker under the moonlight.

"A-Ah! Well," luckily, he was able to snap out of his surprised stupor, "Do not be so sullen, my moonbeam!"

'Moonbeam?'

"I'm sure the stars will align once again to reunite us as we journey through our lives together, and one day... One day, maybe..."

His bold tone suddenly simmered down to a gentle murmur, almost lost to the breeze if you weren't standing so close to him. A gentle smile was on his face now, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence of something akin to a far away daydream.

"I hope, one day, our paths cross again, my love."

His cold fingers caressed your own, lifting them up to press a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. It may have been brief, but the cold touch burned itself into your skin, lasting as he slowly, reluctantly, pulled away.

"Have a safe journey home, angel!" He grinned, saluting quickly before turning away, holding his flickering lantern before him to lead his way back into the forest he called his home.

You had no words left in you. They had all been snatched away by his comforting words and soft touches. His kind eyes, his dazzling smile. His glowing aura that led you through the darkness around you.

Ah, but good things never last long for you. You had to leave before you missed the next bus. You had leave this lonely, broken soul behind. Just like how he had no choice but to leave yours.

Turning away, you caught a glimpse of red from the corner of your eyes.

A trail of red spider lilies. Standing tall and blooming where he once stood a moment ago.

'Please... Meet me here again. One day.'

[jinterlude]

Grow a Pear

—Requested by @shadowsremedy: Seokjin + Kuroko’s Basketball + School Gym as part of @bangtan-headquarters​ Bangtan Anime Club Drabble Event!

—Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (Female OC) [feat. Seungcheol from SVT]

—Genre(s): Humor, Slight-Angst, & Slight-Fluff

—AUs/Tropes: Anime-verse, Kuroko’s Basketball!AU, High School!AU, Basketball Player!Seokjin, Basketball Club Manager!Reader, Opposites Attract Trope

—Warning(s) & Rating: Swearing, Reader threatening bodily harm onto Seokjin, Shameless flirting, & Jealousy from an old middle school rival / PG-15

—Word Count: 1.6K

—Summary: In which news of playing against a certain team sparks a rather interesting memory...

—A/N: This drabble is based on episodes 52 & 53 of KnB, but you do not have to watch the series to understand this story’s overall premise! It is also inspired by Kesha’s song “Grow a Pear” (hence the title LOL) because I immediately think of Kise’s character. Since Seokjin reminds me of that 2D pretty boy, I decided to write a fun story! 

“Hey, ___!” 

A faint hum exits your lips as your eyes remain fixated on your player statistics book. You flip between a few pages with the gears in your brain working in overdrive, almost forgetting for a split moment that Kaijo’s basketball captain asked for your attention. 

“Yes, Sungwon?” You reply, closing the book and tucking it underneath your arm. 

Pursing his lips, Sungwon strides over to you, leaning against the stage inside the gym. Don’t you love playing inside an auditorium? 

“So…” He begins but grows silent. How on Earth is he supposed to ask you to be the sacrificial lamb? How will he tell you that you’ve been chosen to say the team’s resident narcissist yet talented prodigy that Kaijo will play against Fukuda Sugo? Specifically, they’re playing against a certain someone with a rather colorful history with yourself and said prodigy. 

Tiny creases form on your forehead as your brows knit together. You know that carefree look anywhere. More often than not, you become chosen to do a specific task that no other teammate wants to do—talking to Kim Seokjin. 

“Now, before you say no—”

“Nope.”  

“You didn’t even hear what I have to say.” 

“Doesn’t matter. My answer is still the same. No.” 

With that, you turn on your heel, and not even a few steps in, you bump into the one person you don’t want to see. 

“Princess!”

And to think…

You were having such a fantastic day…

“What do you want, Seokjin?” You question, grabbing the statistics book from your underarm and flipping it open to some random page. You already have the data mesmerized like the back of your hand. You just want to appear busy in front of the arrogant pretty boy. 

“Well, besides you finally acknowledging that you’re my girlfriend? A little bird told me that we’re playing against his team in the Quarterfinals,” Seokjin replies, his tone dropping near the end. This serious expression slowly takes over his handsome features, almost sending shivers down your spine. 

If looks can kill, then Seokjin is guilty of murder in the first degree...

Thank God he chose to attend a different school. Who knows what will happen if two people who absolutely despise each other play on the same team. 

“Remind me to thank Namjoon for that…” You mutter, slightly shaking your head as you slowly draw in your breath. Then, a force, light chuckle escapes your lips, personally finding it rather humorous of the current situation. 

“Anyway, so how are you feeling about playing against the dude who has a thing for your sloppy seconds?” You tease, attempting to lighten up the situation. 

Seokjin’s brow perks up, “Sloppy seconds?” he repeats, a tiny grin form on his handsome face. 

You nod, “Well yeah...I mean, he did steal your ex-girlfriend from you.” 

In response, the arrogant basketball player hums. However, this exciting gleam enters the corners of his eyes. 

What is he thinking now? 

Suddenly, he turns to you, his gaze piercing into yours with this unexplainable emotion glazing over his eyes. 

“Oh? I mean, he did come close to stealing you away from me that one day.” He states as this bright smile dances across his gorgeous face. 

For a split second, your cheeks become hot. Your heart practically drums against your chest. Shit. Even your palms clam up, sticking to the cover of the player statistics book. 

What is this feeling? 

Then, it dawns on you. This nervousness is the same emotion you felt when you comforted Seokjin that fateful day—well, supported him in your own unique way…

Tapping your pencil against your chin, a soft growl emits from your lips as you try to figure out the best course of action. The Captain, Kim Namjoon, previously asked you to develop a plan to preserve the Generation of Miracle’s stamina, specifically when using their rather unique talents. At first, you thought Namjoon was flat out insane for asking such a request. Like, you’d have to take into account their height and weight difference. Oh! You couldn’t forget that you also keep in mind their current talent levels. All while these calculations occur during an official game with another team.

Yeah...

Namjoon might as well tell you to put on a fucking jersey while he’s at it. 

Rubbing the sides of your forehead, you can’t help but let out a long, harsh breath as this throbbing sensation enters the left side of your head. 

“Hey, manager ___.” You hear a familiar voice, interrupting your rather irritating calculations. You look up from the tiny pile of scattered papers containing player statistics. However, you don’t bother spouting words towards the overly cocky player. Instead, you merely hum in response, unknowingly irking the basketball player. 

Plastering on a smug grin, the person leans against the stage, quickly glancing at what you’re doing. 

“So, is that the special project Namjoon asked you to do for him?” The arrogant male student asks. 

“Yep, and shouldn’t you be practicing Seungcheol?” You question back, raising a brow. 

Seungcheol scoffs lightly, “Why? I mean, I already earned a permanent spot on the regular team, so…” He trails on, chuckling to himself. He finds the mere thought of his spot being taken away quite humorous. 

You mentally roll your eyes. God, you don’t know who’s the bigger arrogant fool. Him or—

“Yo, Seokjin!” shouts Jungkook, running up to the new recruit. 

Ah, Kim Seokjin. He recently joined the basketball club just a few months ago. He’s already showing promise despite being a second-year student. Shit. Seokjin’s talents have rapidly progressed to the point that Namjoon took notice of him and was promoted to first-string just last week. 

Yet, you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something is holding Seokjin back. 

But what? 

Before you become entirely lost in your thoughts, you hear Seungcheol’s arrogant voice taunt Seokjin. 

Oh, great…

You swiftly stand up from your seat and rush over to the argumentative duo. But as you draw near to the quarrelsome pair, you instantly halt. What is this intense atmosphere lingering in the air? 

And why do you suddenly feel something other than agitation towards Seokjin? 

“W-what did you say?” 

“You heard me, Kim Seokjin. Whoever wins our 1v1 match earns the right to call ___ his girlfriend.” 

“Hold on. You can’t just call dibs on ___!” shouts Jungkook in complete and utter shock. 

Instantly slapping yourself back, in reality, you snatch a basketball from an innocent player and roughly throw it at Seungcheol, anger visible all over your face. 

Sadly for you, the annoying prick catches it with ease, smirking at you. 

“What’s the matter, babe? You don’t believe that I can put Seokjin in his place?” He coos, further taunting Seokjin. What sets the handsome prodigy over the edge is when Seungcheol abruptly pulls you against his chest, dropping the basketball in the process. His cheek brushes against yours, making you want to gag. 

Just as you’re about to violently elbow him in the stomach, Seokjin shoves Seungcheol away before forcefully throwing the discarded ball at him. 

“You start.” 

“This should be fun.” 

But it was just the opposite... 

It was a complete slaughter with Seokjin on his hands and knees, panting and sweating profusely. His eyes widened from the shock of his defeat. 

Not only has he lost horribly against Seungcheol, but he also lost you—or so he believes. 

“So, how about that date, baby girl? After all, you’re now my girlfriend.” Seungcheol asks, making sure that Seokjin can hear him. 

“Yeah, I don’t date dudes who have a thing for other fellas’ sloppy seconds.” You bluntly state, turning towards Yoongi and Jungkook, “I mean, first it was Yerin, right? The one that was going around the entire fucking school saying that she was Seokjin’s girlfriend. Oh, I feel sorry for her since it was just last week, you were chasing after her, and now you’re after me.” You say, clicking your tongue in fake disappointment. 

Seungcheol’s arrogant smile vanishes and is now replaced with a scowl. 

“Let me ask you this, why are you obsessed with Seokjin’s sloppy seconds? Like there are a million girls in this damn school who, oddly enough, would love to be your arm candy. Yet you go after the ones that either show interest in Seokjin or who Seokjin’s interested in. Like, dude. Stop. It’s honestly creepy to the point that I firmly believe you have a weird obsession with him.” You finish as you walk over to Seokjin, offering him a helping hand. 

Seokjin faintly smiles, grabbing your hand, as he pulls himself up. Soon, his smile becomes bright. His sweet smile almost blinds you—and makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I knew you had a soft spot for me, ___.” 

“Don’t push it, Jinnie boy.” 

Softly shaking your head, you playfully shove Seokjin, snapping him out of his thoughts. You then jump down from the stage, having popped yourself up there moments earlier. 

“Well, all I have to say is that Seungcheol better watch out. He hasn’t seen your ‘Perfect Copy’ in action yet.” You warmly smile as you make your way towards the exit but soon halt. You glance over your shoulder, maintaining that sweet smile, and say,

“Besides, he’s no match for you with your girlfriend cheering you on from the bench.”

“Right…” He mumbles, totally ignoring your words. Then, it hits him as if someone doused him with cold water. 

“Wait! Did you just call yourself my girlfriend?!!” Seokjin hollers, chasing after you. 

“I don’t know. Win tomorrow’s match, and I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, that’s cruel, princess…”

Grow a Pear is copyright 2021 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.

[burning-omen]

Thank you

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Words: 1,682

Spencer Reid x selectively mute! Male Reader

Requested by anonymous: "Could I get a Spencer Reid x Male!Reader where the reader is selective mute and tries to make up for the lack of being able to say kind things to people and ends up just being very affectionate with people and getting them gifts. And one point he’s giving something tk Spencer and end up either saying “You’re welcome” after he says thanks or just something small, which ends in wholesome shit cus the reader said something to Spencer when he rarely ever talks to begin with"

A/n: it gets crappy towards the end.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

You are selectively mute which for you meant that you just didn't talk much. Like Ferb from Phineas and Ferb, you only spoke when you were required to and a few other special occasions. But you were mostly silent other than those times. Your mother was deaf, only using sign language to communicate. She homeschooled you until college so you had no reason to speak until then.

When you were an adult you did try to speak more, but for you it was exhausting to force yourself to talk continuously so you went back to being the Ferb guy. You found friends who didn't try to force you to talk, some even tried to learn sign language for you. It was nice, having friends that didn't try and change you.

Everything was going good, you were happy. Then on a night out with your friends you see this nerdy little drifter in the bar, trying to find somewhere quiet to sit. And near you seemed to be perfect because he sat four seats away from you and your friends booth. You couldn't help but stare. He was so... Interesting. Who comes to a bar to read? Apparently he does. Another thing, he's finished that entire book. How?

A few other small things made him interesting, the way he'd keep pushing his messy hair out of his face instead of tying it back with the band around his wrist, the way that he was kicking his feet in a nonchalant way. He was... Cute.

Admiring someone was weird for you. You'd normally shoot down any type of attraction to anyone almost immediately, either convincing yourself that it's impossible that they would like you or that even if they did like you, your relationship wouldn't last long. But none of that came to mind.

Despite the very low chance that he knew sign language you decided to take a chance with him. You waited until he closed his second book(which only took a few minutes) before walking up to him.

But, halfway through walking over to him you got nervous and sat back down.

One of your friends, Warren, noticed this. He watched you stares longingly at the man who was only about 15 feet away. He looked around the man, then back at you.

"Dude... " He whispered.

You looked over at him.

"Go talk to- Well, interact with him. "

Your eyes widened and you shook your head rapidly.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Without saying a word he stood up, you stared up at his with confusion but anxiety almost immediately took over as he hoisted you up and began to push you towards the man.

He stopped when you came up next to the man. Warren had a wide smile on his face as the man stared at him with confusion.

"Hi, I'm Warren. This is my friend, (y/n), he thinks your cute but he doesn't talk so we're hoping that your not straight and know ASL.. "

Oh no... Warren why.

You decided that when he inevitably rejected you that you'd go hide in a very dark closet for the rest of your life.

The man flushed red and looked at you.

You smiled weakly, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

Instead of the even more embarrassing rejection you thought you'd get after, you were met with a sweet yet nervous smile from the man.

"I'm Spencer. "

And that's how you met Spencer. Almost two years ago. After 'talking' for a bit your group decided that you all should head home, but not before giving Spencer your number and telling him to text you when he got home. Nearly two hours later he texted you. The two of you proceeded to text throughout the night and into the day. A few days later you went on a date, a few more days later you went on another. And another a few more days later. And so on and so forth.

A little later Spencer started to stay over your house and slowly, your house turned into your's and Spencer's as he unintentionally moved in. Well, basically moved in. He still left occasionally to get things from his practically abandoned apartment. Your place was closer to the BAU so he could get there a little earlier.

You and Spencer were a secret, well, mostly a secret. Your close friends(including Warren) knew and so did Spencer's mom. Spencer hasn't told his team yet. No real reason other than the fact that it never really came up. Of course there was teasing and suspicion when Spencer would come in late or leave early but that's just about it.

His work didn't effect your relationship as much as he thought it would. It was after he started dating you that he realized that in between cases, it felt like time was speeding up. There could be a month between 2 case but it would only feel like a couple of days, despite the fact that he could recall everything he did during the time in between. With you it slowed down. As soon as he'd walk through the door the world would go for a thousand miles a minute to, well, normal. Which was weird at first. He'd find himself trying to see if something was wrong. Checking closed cases with pure nervous intent. You had to get used to this in the beginning of you're relationship, but a few months in he stopped and accepted that he now had, what felt like, more time with you.

The only "real" problem (or what you thought was a problem) was the fact that you didn't speak. Your anxiety is where the gift giving began. You see, Spencer, despite him nervousness, could say that he loved you and say that he cared about and appreciated you. But you couldn't. So you tried to show your appreciation another way. And that way was giving gift.

At first it was just small or weird things. He needed pens? Well, here you go! A new journal? No problem!

Spencer had to be one of the most appreciative people in the world because everytime, every single time you gave him anything it always ended with a kiss and a promise that cuddles would be plentiful that night.

You kept the smaller gifts relatively close to each other with the bigger and more ambitious gift had to be spread out. One or two a month to keep Spencer from noticing their frequency.

Today was one of the days you'd give him a big gift. Nothing really big, but you were excited about it.

Both you and Spencer were sitting on your couch, watching Ant-man, talking about the many improbability of the movie. You needed to get Spencers attention. Spencer, who was going on about how there's no was the Scott should be able the still be alive after becoming smaller than air particles.

You gently ran your finger over his hand, drawing tiny circles over his knuckles then going farther up his arm, still drawing small shapes on it.

This is how you'd get his attention when he's focused. A lot of the time he won't be able to hear or see anything other than what he's focused on. You don't want to scare him so you do this. Just gentle, slow touches and he'll snap out of it.

It happened relatively fast this time. Only taking him a few seconds for him to come back.

He looked over at you, confused, then apologetic.

"I'm sorr-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss on lips, which flustered him more than one little kiss should've.

You held up one finger, telling him to wait a second. You stood up and walked to another part of the house. You came back a few seconds later with a tiny, dark grey box.

You excitedly sat down next to Spencer, smiling widely. You shoved it into his hand, practically bouncing in place as you waited for him to open it.

He looked at you suspiciously, then looked down at the box. He opened it slowly and found... A key? He looked back up at you, you were still smiling brightly.

"I-i don't understand... "

At the moment, you could not remember what the sign for move was for the life of you.

You rolled you eyes and pointed to the front door.

He looked at the door then back at you.

"You want me to... Leave? "

You rapidly shook your head 'no'.

You picked up the key out of his hand and pointed it to the front door.

"It goes to the front door? "

You nodded, relieved that he's starting to get it.

"A key to your front door... " He mumbled to himself.

After a few seconds he looked at you, then the key, then the door, then back to you.

"Are you asking me to move in with you? "

You nodded again, still smiling widely.

He looked at the door, then looked at you with a giant smile.

"Yeah, i-i think that'd be nice, "

Without thinking you pulled Spencer into a tight hug. Normally, Spencer's reluctant with touches of any kind but as you held him tightly he couldn't help but melt into the hug, wrapping his arms around your lower half.

After a few moments you pulled away.

He stared down at the key for a long moment.

"Thank you.. "

Still feeling the excitement from starting a new chapter of your relationship, you took a deep breath and blurted out, "you're welcome! "

He looked up at you, his eyes widen.

You didn't know what to do after that so you just shrugged.

He grinned widely before practically smacking his face against yours in an excited(not like that) kiss.

When he pulled away you were shocked, Spencer wasn't bold by any means so that was something very different.

"I love you so much, " You said quickly.

He looked down, blushing.

"I love you too. "

Both of you smiled, then got comfortable on the couch again and resumed the movie.

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell. First, I actually appreciated the foreward to the “Left Book Club” copy, even though it says that anyone who is not a member should disregard it. It gave an interesting rebuttal to parts of the book. That aside, I’m not totally sure what to make of the book. On the level of descriptive writing, I rarely find something this richly penned. But it’s loaded with concepts and lingo and even a monetary system I’m unfamiliar with, and that hampers my understanding of the points. I get the general gist, but all the finer points are very lost on me, simply because I’m an American millennial.

The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck by Mark Manson. I’ve seen the “F*ck” series titles floating around here and there, and I’m intrigued by a couple of them. The idea of this one is that people give way too many f*cks about everything, and that you really need to pick where you give your f*cks in life and never give a f*ck about anything that doesn’t line up with your values (in a nutshell). It’s an easy and interesting read. It’s interesting to me that, in the wake of what I hear was many years of positive-mood and high self-esteem type self help books (most of which I’ve only heard of and never read, were they before my time?), we’re getting a backlash of “Yes, life sucks. Yes, life has pain. Dealing with pain and failure appropriately is a part of life. Accept that, or lose yourself to complete entitlement” type self-help books. I’m curious what this trend produces in people over time. I’d also like to highlight that this book has the best discussion of dividing “fault” and “responsibility” that I’ve ever read.

Shows

Loki. WHAT EVEN. WHAT EVEN. WHAT. WHAT THE. WHAT THE. FRESH… THE FRICK FRACK PADDYWHACK???!!!

Mushi-shi. So, turns out the first time I watched this I somehow started on Season 2, and my source cut out before the season end… no wonder I was pretty confused. So I started re-watching this and… I remember how incredibly unsettling this anime is. It’s equal parts gentle wonder and soft horror, a blend that is very difficult to describe unless you’ve seen it. Much like Mushi themselves, eh? I think I’ll balance this out by ending each watch session with an episode of Log Horizon rewatch. That’ll keep the emotional balance intact.

Claymore. I ended up dropping this one halfway through. It has an interesting concept, but the “things that bug me” points mounted pretty fast. In the early episodes, everything is so dark that it’s hard to see what’s going on. There’s a huge amount of monologuing and info-dumping IN monologue, and this goes on even mid-fight, and even CALMLY mid-fight. Yes, this isn’t the only anime that does this, but it decreases my enjoyment. It’s difficult to take the story seriously when the big bad yells, “Why can’t I defeat you?” to the weakest-but-somehow-also-the-strongest member of a team, and then have a colleague of the team member calmly explain to the big bad exactly why he’s unable to land a blow, then they take off his head together. This show has a lot of that sort of thing. I’ll read up on how the series ended, not interested in slogging through the other half.

Elfen Lied. This is a re-re-rewatch for me. I stumbled on this anime when I was newly inducted into anime-watching and, well... given that Princess Tutu was my very first anime, this one was a real shock to my system at first. By all accounts I should have dropped it and run screaming at the time, but I couldn’t. There was something about the sheer tragedy of the story that called to me. Plus it was VERY short. So I returned to it from time to time. Now that I’ve developed more of a feel for what I do and don’t like in a story, how does this hold up? The relationships are terrible, imo, and the whole thing about diclonius is never explained enough (and I still don't understand the ending) but it's STILL hard not to be pulled in by the sheer tragedy of the series.

Movies

300. I haven’t seen this movie since college. Is it weird how much I enjoyed it as a romp? Yes, there’s death and tragedy, but the dry humor and utter gung-ho-edness of it is infectious. It’s a good flick, I’m really glad I went back to see it. And I also finally understand Leonidas telling the traitor, “May you live forever.” Damn, man. No wonder he flinched.

Weathering With You. GORGEOUS. I need to see more by this animator… LIGHT. WATER. FOOD. I hear they’re calling this person the new Miyazaki? I CONCUR. And the story is sweet and beautiful and just yes. Yes. Oh, look, he made something else before this movie…

Your Name. Okay so I have mixed feelings about this one. On the one hand, fantastic story and, once again, gorgeous animation that all makes me want to track with this creator in the future. And the twist definitely socked me in the gut, I didn’t see it coming. On the other hand, I feel like this movie hits an extreme of “show, don’t tell” in a way that comes awfully close to a negative. I didn’t think that was possible, but this movie switches timelines, POV, points in time, etc, so rapidly that it becomes difficult to keep track of what’s going on, properly. I could not imagine watching this movie in theaters, it has to be watched with a remote in hand to pause, rewind, rewatch, discuss what the heck just happened. It’s like watching Mystery Skulls videos, with that level of rapid fire little details that are incredibly important to the plot, but for a feature length film. Also, after some discussion, I came to see (and agree) that there’s a foundational issue in the main relationship that doesn’t bode well for the future, as much as I rooted for them to be together. Still, it’s an incredible movie and I can see why it was the highest grossing movie for Japan a few years back.

Games

Diablo II. I’m really happy. I live in a house with my husband and his best friend, and in the past year or so we’ve begun playing games together. This is the sort of game I would never have gone to on my own because I actually need someone in the room who I can ask, “Hey, how do you assign attacks again?” or “Hey, is this piece of gear better than the piece I’m wearing?” I don’t like playing the number game on gear so much, but I let the two of them dress my character up and then I back them up in a fight and enjoy myself. Looting and exploring for treasure is probably my favorite aspect (says the person who plays Breath of the Wild just to forage for mushroom and herbs), although as a level 20 Amazon I’m now shooting out waves of 8 arrows at a time, and that’s pretty epic too. It’s a special kind of joy to find out you actually like a type of gaming as long as there’s people there who can explain things along the way and who don’t get annoyed at re-asked questions. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m having a blast playing Diablo II in a group. And as for the other game we play together as a group…

WoW Classic. I covered this before, but back then I was a lowly level 17 Dwarf Hunter. Now I’m a lowly level 36 Dwarf Hunter. With a mount! I have epic skills like explosion traps, poisonous shots, and multi-shot. My wolf has gained a ton more skills, too, and is (or so I’m told) a pretty effective off-tank. I have been told I am an effective DPS person, which makes me very happy. I really enjoy this kind of gaming, but specifically when I’m in the same room as the people I’m gaming with. Communication is a lot easier and we work really well as a team that way.

[songbirdsingingthings]

As The Years Went By (Daichi Sawamura x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO HARUICHI FURUDATE You didn’t really understand why people hated the rain… you found it rather beautiful. Maybe it had something to do with age. No longer were you anxiously waiting to go and play outside with the kids of the neighborhood - now you were studying for your final exams, holding a job at the local bakery, and on top of that, being manager of the boys volleyball team. Being a 3rd year has been, to put it bluntly, kicking your ass. You never really meant to make your schedule this busy, all of the opportunities just kind of fell in your lap as the years went by. 

The first was as the Karasuno boys volleyball team manager. You had loved volleyball for most of your life, but never expressed the want or need to actually play the sport. You were far more interested in looking at the subtle movements between the players on the court and how in tune they all were with each other. That’s what led you to becoming friends with a brown-haired boy when you were about twelve years old. You saw him playing volleyball with some other boys in your grade at the middle school court. You had to stay behind at the middle school since you were in charge of planning out your year’s graduation party. After writing down where most of your grade was going for high school, you were exhausted. But, curious as ever, you poked your head out and watched the boys, bump, set, and spike the ball. The brown haired boy, however, caught your attention. The grin on his face was kind of mesmerizing and the way he moved with such intent and purpose to receive the ball was incredible to you. It was almost as if-

“Hey! Do you want to play?” The boy’s voice startled you, causing you to drop the big binder that you were holding. Embarrassed, you managed to hoist the heavy thing back into your arms. You shook your head, “U-uh, sorry! I was just watching, I don’t play. I can go now!” The brown haired boy couldn’t believe how fast you were talking, so he jogged right up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. It was a little weird, considering that you were about two inches taller than him, but he was smiling nonetheless. 

“Well, why don’t you sit down on the bench then? It’s a lot closer to the action!” He said. You blinked, speechless for a few seconds, and then returned a small smile.

“Okay, as long as I’m not bothering you guys.” You said. The brown haired boy shook his head.

“You’re anything but a bother! It’s like we're playing for an audience now. I’m Daichi Sawamura, by the way.” 

“Y/N L/N,” You said, smiling. 

From that day on, you and Daichi had begun a friendship that grew stronger through each experience you went through. First it was revealing to each other that you both had chosen to attend Karasuno High. The wide smiles on each of your faces were considered blinding to anyone who could see them, except to each other. Then, it was your decision to become manager of the boys volleyball when Daichi had made the team. The moment you walked into the gym as the boys started to warm up, you knew that you belonged there. The smiles from the boys in your year greeted you warmly. Asahi Azumane, Kōshi Sugawara, Daichi Sawamura, and you had formed quite the friend group ever since that day.

Next was your job at the local bakery. As a second year, you wanted to earn your own money. The times that weren’t taken up by your managerial position or your avid studying, you and your friends would go out to the mall or at restaurants, and you always felt bad asking your parents for money. They, of course, were happy to give you spending money, but due to your independent nature, you longed for a tiny taste of the real world. So, you interviewed at your favorite little place to study and grab a bite to eat. Thankfully, the people who ran the place already knew, and loved, you. They put you in an apron almost immediately and set you up at the cash register. The look on Daichi, Asahi, and Kōshi’s face as they walked inside to grab a cup of coffee after practice was incredible. The three of them reached over the counter to give you a tight hug in congratulations. After that, they became regulars at the little shop.

And finally, you were in the top 5 percentile of your grade. This was both a blessing and a curse to find this out. You were happy that the hard work you were putting in was paying off, but that only made you study more and more. It caused a somewhat withdrawal of you spending time with friends and really having fun. Your schedule consisted of going to school, volleyball practice, working a three hour shift at the bakery, and then studying until it was almost 2 in the morning. 

Currently you were nodding off during volleyball practice. The drumming of rain on the top of the gym was like a perfect little lullaby to you. You heard the yells coming from Daichi to the team, having them go through various workouts. Normally you would’ve been wide awake, maybe even ogling Daichi as you could normally see the strain of his muscles through his shirt when they were doing burpees. As the years went by, thoughts of Daichi were increasingly invading your mind, but you weren’t opposed to that. Daichi was special. He was caring and respectful of everyone, well mostly everyone, he met. His commitment to his team was admirable and he maintained good grades all at the same time. A special place in your heart was dedicated to this boy. 

Thankfully, the owners of the bakery had given you an entire week off from work due to them having renovations done. While you were free from that responsibility, the principal gave you a massive one recently - designing and managing the 3rd years end of year dance that was rapidly approaching. Not really having the ability to refuse, you “gladly” took on the operation. Your brain was now fried. You kept getting  budgets for the team and the school mixed up, all of the opinions of the students and faculty were revolving around in your head, and now you had to choose between streamers and balloons. So, you thought that if you closed your eyes for a second, you would be able to think clearly. Well, you fell asleep. Oops.

A shaking of your shoulders woke you up. As your eyes slowly opened, you saw gorgeous chocolate eyes staring into your own Y/E/C ones.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Daichi asks, concerned. Nodding, you raise yourself so that you’re sitting. The gym was mostly empty - practice must be over. Mentally face-palming for missing the entire practice, you were about to ask what had happened when Daichi spoke. “You didn’t miss anything. Just Hintata and Kageyama bickering over something stupid.” Earning a laugh out of you, Daichi gave you his hand to help you stand up. Gladly accepting, you stood, smoothed out your skirt, and grabbed your bag. Looking out of the double doors of the gym, you softly cursed. It was still raining and you had forgotten to grab an umbrella this morning. 

“Do you happen to have an extra umbrella?” You asked Daichi sheepishly. What a stupid question, you thought, nobody has two umbrellas with them!

“No, but I do have one. Care if I walk you home?” Daichi asks, giving you a classic smile. You give him an even bigger one. Not at all.

The walk home was lovely. Since you and Daichi don’t live that far away from each other, you didn’t feel guilty for having him walk you to your house. The two of you talked about the team, your job, and your new responsibilities with planning the dance.

“I just don’t get it Dai! I mean the logical color choices are black and orange because those are our school colors, but there’s this whole group of people who are campaigning for silver, white, and blue! Like where the hell did those colors come from?!” Daichi listened to you vent, nodding and laughing at the appropriate moments. Finally, the two of you reached your house. Just as you expected, none of the lights were on. Your parents were very busy people with jobs that required them to work pretty late hours. Seeing this, you sighed. “Thank you for walking me home Daichi, I really appreciate it.” You say, giving him a smile. 

“Hey, if it’s okay…” Daichi begins, blushing a little, “what if I stay with you until your parents get home? I don’t really like the thought of you here all alone.” Now it was your turn to blush. Of course, you have spent lots of time one on one with Daichi, but this felt oddly… intimate. Of course, you were perfectly fine with that. 

“Y-yeah! Come on in!” You say, opening the door and allowing Daichi to step into your house. You shut the door behind you as Daichi walks around, looking at the pictures hung up on the walls. You see him stop at one, which intrigues you. Making your way over to where Daichi was standing, you look at the photo. It was from your first year at Karasuno. You were, surprisingly the second tallest out of you, Daichi, Asahi, and Kōshi, but that fact no longer held up. Daichi was now a couple inches taller than you, but you didn’t really mind. Laughing a little, you nudge Daichi with your hip. “Shorty,” You say with a slightly teasing tone. Daichi looks back to you, emphasizing that he was, in fact, actually looking down at you.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, “We’ll see about that.” He grabs your phone from your pocket and raises his hand so that it was the highest he could possibly reach.

“Hey! That’s so not fair, your arms are so much longer than mine!” You shout, jumping up a little to try and snatch your phone back from him. That’s when your phone pinged with a notification. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. You remember texting your friend, Kiyoko,  about how Daichi offered to walk you home. She knew about your crush for the brown-haired captain, so the text she sent back would probably be about Daichi. This situation couldn’t be more awful.

“Oh look! It’s from Kiyoko, I wonder what she says!” Daichi says in a teasing manner. 

“W-wait! Hold up, give me it back!” You say, a lot more desperately now, chasing him around the downstairs floor. He managed to gain quite a lead against you and flopped onto the coach so that he could read the text.

“‘Why don’t you ask Daichi already Y/N, it’s not like he’s gonna say no’...” Daichi read aloud, confused about the nature of the text. As soon as he read that, your eyes went wide. “What are you gonna ask me about, Y/N/N?”  Trying to think of an answer quickly, Daichi knew that wheels were spinning in your head. Standing up slowly, he walked over to you, and put his hands on your shoulders. He was no longer the boy asking you if you wanted to play volleyball. He was a man trying to get an answer out of you. “Y/N, what were you going to ask me about?” He says, softly now.

“Dammit Kiyoko…” you mutter, looking at your feet. Daichi knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, so you were going to have to tell him the truth. Yes, you wanted you and him to go to that stupid dance you were planning together. You have been daydreaming about it for the past month. You in a pretty dress and him in a handsome suit, walking arm in arm into that banquet hall. He would ask you to dance with him to a slow song, leading you to the middle of the dance floor. His hands would be on your hips, yours wrapped around the back of his neck, maybe even playing with his hair a bit. At the end of the night, he would bring you to a quiet spot, maybe the practice gym, and confess his love to you. Alas, that was in your imagination. Now, you had to tell him, indirectly, that you like him. “Umm, Kiyoko was referring to uh,” you swallow and close your eyes, your head still tilted down towards your feet, “she was referring to me asking you to the dance.” Silence greeted the two of you for a bit, but was interrupted by Daichi wrapping his big, strong arms around you. He held you tightly and even laughed a little bit. A little shocked, you open your eyes. He pulls away from you, just a bit so that you and him can see each other.

“Well I guess you beat me to it, huh?” He says, giving you a grin. Your confused face makes him laugh even harder. “I was going to ask you tomorrow. I had the whole thing planned out with the team. We even got you a volleyball that says “Dance with me?” on it.” Daichi laughs out loud. Now, you joined him. “Since it’s kind of out in the open though, I guess I can do it right now.” Pulling the volleyball out of his bag, you recognize it immediately.

“Is this the ball from when you invited me to play?” You asked slyly, taking the ball out of his hands, looking at the ball. You found the “Dance with me?” written on the part just above where you’re supposed to pump it up.

“Yeah, how could I get rid of it? That was the first time I really spoke to a cute girl.” He said, winking at you. Your cheeks lit up. “So, Y/N, will you go to the dance with me? And then, go out with me after?” He asks. You give him the biggest smile he’s ever seen on you.

“Of course Daichi!” Feeling high on adrenaline, you move towards him and softly grab his face with your hands. He nods immediately which prompts you to close the small gap between the two of you. His lips were soft and his hold on you was tender. His hands wrapped around your waist, but slowly inched up so that your face was now in his hands. You two pulled apart for what seemed was way too soon, but you were pretty out of breath.

“So… what color tie should I get?”