#it’s been over a decade why are things still exactly the same

[hyunjining]

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[samwisefamgee]

The funny thing about constantly telling yourself that things could be worse is that sometimes. They are :)

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Yoongi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

part 2

Series

In the Margins (a s f) by @bonvoyagenoona ⊹₊⋆ You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.

Fix You (f a) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?

desolate (a f s) by @angelicyoongie ⊹₊⋆ you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

One Shots

Set Me Free (a f) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to?

back-burner (a f s) by @yoonpobs ⊹₊⋆ sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

Love Language (a s f) by @gukslut ⊹₊⋆ Your boyfriend obviously loves you, but his silence has you questioning if he *wants* you. If you could only get past your damn insecurities maybe you could appreciate what you have.

27 Phone Numbers (f) by @bxebxee ⊹₊⋆ Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

sweetner (f s) by @taegularities ⊹₊⋆ You used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. Feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place once again, this is exactly what happens.

One Chance (f) by @out-of-jams ⊹₊⋆ A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected.

Seasons Change (a s) by @taetaesbaebaepsae ⊹₊⋆ Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t (a f s) by @daechwitatamic ⊹₊⋆ You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Now We Reign (a s f) by @oddinary4bts ⊹₊⋆ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

take five (a f) by @jiminrings ⊹₊⋆ you're min yoongi's nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out - he never said anything about accepting though.

The Final - Day 02 (s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

hello soulmate (f) by @bluemari23 ⊹₊⋆ your first day on the job doesn't turn out the exact way you envisioned

Sugar Rush Ride (s) by @lo1k-diamonds ⊹₊⋆ You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

fuck being friends (a f s) by @strawberrynamjoon ⊹₊⋆ as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.

Take One (s f) by @untaemedqueen ⊹₊⋆ There are three things which Yoongi was certain of. One, he was a big star in his field of work. Two, he had a huge cock, one to rival many of the largest names in his industry. Three, he can only find pleasure these days in written word. 

Illicit Favors (f s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Bet On It (s) by @minisugakoobies ⊹₊⋆ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?

subscribed (s f) by @aquagustd ⊹₊⋆ you find out that youtube isn’t the only site he uses to satisfy his subscribers. what do you do with that information?

[eowynstwin]

This truly is the last thing I want to say on this blog and then I'm done psych I lived bitch, but given how the fucking catastrophe started it's only appropriate this is how I end it—

You have racist bias whether you like it or not. Particularly if you are US American, racism was baked into your worldview no matter what kind of household, liberal or conservative, you grew up in. Racism is quite often far more covert than it is overt. It is not just a voluntary behavior; it is more often the subconscious ways you organize and hierarchize other cultures and people.

In the case of Gaz—sure, you might actively believe that he deserves to be more included. You think he's a good character and people really should think about him more! But you personally headcanon him a certain way, and really it's not a headcanon you're actually all that into, so that's why you don't talk about him as much. It's not because he's black, it's because he doesn't fit the thing you like talking about the most. The fact that he's black is really just a coincidence, you're not excluding him because of that. In fact, you're sure other people like him for exactly the reason you're not all that into him, and you'll just leave it to them to pick up the slack. Or you'll get to him later! In fact, you have some ideas for him. You just haven't gotten around to them yet.

Take that and multiply it by thousands of white women in fandom—not just this fandom, not just Gaz's character, but every fandom and every character of color. It doesn't matter that there's no active malice behind not personally liking black characters and other characters of color. Non-white characters still take a backseat to their white counterparts, because white women in fandom cannot wrap their heads around black, brown, indigenous, and Asian characters as complex, complicated characters worthy of their interest or frankly, their desire.

They cannot wrap their heads around this because they were conditioned not to by decades of racist culture.

Case in point; plenty of white women in this fandom have fallen head over heels for Makarov and Graves. The sins of these out-and-out villains are totally forgiven by virtue of their sex appeal, and because they are portrayed by attractive, charismatic men who put a lot of passion behind their performances.

But can we say the same for Hadir? Can we say the same for Hassan?

The sins of these two Middle Eastern characters do not outweigh those of their villainous white counterparts, yet how many angsty fix-it fics have been written exploring Hadir's complicated relationship with violence and imperialism? How many enemies-to-lovers or even lovers-to-enemies fics have been written about Hassan, the face of whose homeland has been irrevocably marred by US interference?

No one who points out the racism of this trend is accusing these white women of active, militant white supremacy. I'm not saying any of you even have to like Gaz, Hadir, or Hassan. But your preferences have been tuned for you by a culture shaped by slavery, imperialism, and white supremacy. That is not something you can escape merely because you support the BLM movement or reblog vetted Palestinian gofundmes.

The only way you can truly fight your own racism is to be actively anti-racist. It is about far more than who you give money to or what graphics you pin on your instagram. It is an everyday practice of learning how racism has shaped your worldview for you.

This is not work that is done in a week, a month, or a year. Becoming anti-racist takes as much time as it took to make you racist in the first place. For some of you, the work may turn out to be easy. For others, it may be hard. You must do it either way.

Some good places to start:

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Ain't I a Woman? by bell hooks

We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks

A Burst of Light by Audre Lorde

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Being Palestinian edited by Yasir Suleiman

[allfearstofallto]

Day of the Wedding

Yandere! Genshin Men x Fem! Reader

Ft: Diluc, Childe, Scaramouche

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Yandere Themes, Forced(?) Alcohol Consumption

AN: I checked today and I have 900 followers??? That's actually insane!!! This is what I've got to offer I guess!!

Diluc

Who wouldn't cry tears of joy when marrying the most desired bachelor of Mondstadt? That's what people thought when they saw you dressed from head to toe in pure white, the only thing throwing your princess attire off being your smeared makeup. Your eyes, so red and puffy, had mascara running down your cheeks. Black tears staining your face.

Despite the way you looked, you still forced a smile. It was a small wedding, containing only those close to the both of you, but your family couldn't help, but wonder why you chose to stay close under your newly wed husband, almost seeming afraid to talk to them.

When the vows were spoken, you could barely get the words out. Your voice shaking through sobs as your tears fell upon the page of written notes, eventually making the ink leak and becoming ineligible. You still spoke your I Do’s, followed by him lifting your veil and kissing you right upon your lips. His hand snaked around your waist and the other held your head in place. But you, you stood there stiffly, like kissing him had made you turn into stone.

Diluc pulled away with a smile, his mouth stained with a slight tint of your lipstick. He walked you back down the aisle, with the crowd throwing rice and cheering. On the happiest day of your life where you were supposed to be looking forward ahead of you, you just kept looking back, hoping that your family could see the distress in your eyes, though they never did.

Childe

So many of Childe's siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles came to the wedding, but not a single one of your family members joined you.

“She's not close to her family,” he'd say, holding on to your waist with a threatening hand. That was a lie. You loved your family. You saw them often, at least, you did before the day you abruptly decided to move to Snezhnaya without a word to them. You hadn't seen them since and they didn't know where to send letters, you were essentially a ghost of their past. Your memory haunted them daily as they missed you dearly and you missed them too.

The wedding lasted days and days. A surprise to even you, but apparently that's tradition. Games and singing. There was dancing happening for what felt like hours. And drinking. So so so much drinking. With a feast that spanned almost an entire table, there was an abundance of alcohol to match.

You could hardly keep up with the festivities. In an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people being wed to a man you thought you knew. Childe wouldn't let you show your discomfort on your face, meeting your lips with a glass of whatever he was drinking, you'd gulp down even more and fall into that drunken dizziness. When the wedding ended, you don't exactly remember. It all became a blur near the end. But you remember waking up to Childe laying you down in bed, placing a kiss on your forehead and whispering words of praise to you that would've been comforting, had it not been for who he was.

Scaramouche

He always adored the way you looked in kimono. Today was no different. The pure white silk draped over your body was by far the nicest one he'd gifted you. Dolled up in traditional make-up, you felt so stiff with your now decadent appearance.

You'd feel less scared if he wasn't still wearing that same glare. That same look of anger and disappointment. Even though it was just the two of you in the room, you him and the officiant who would wed the two of you, he still glared at the man like one mistake would kill him. And it probably would.

Your hand shook as you picked up what looked to be the tea pot, something he made you practice time and time again to prepare just for today. Getting it wrong today would mean facing his wrath later, yet you still shook while pouring it into the small bowl. You watched with a pounding heart as you managed to spill some, dripping onto the floor and sinking between the wood.

Meeting his gaze and preparing for a scolding, you instead saw him lightly chuckle. Seldom did he smile and even more rare than that, did he actually laugh. The sight was even scarier than his usual glares, somehow his joy made him seem even more menacing.

“I expected this much from you,” he whispered into the silence. His nimble fingers gripped the rim of the bowl and he brought it to your lips, making you take a sip of the warm alcohol. It was bitter and disgusting, just as you'd remembered. When you swallowed your sip, he took one right after you, finishing off what was left in the dish, then sitting it to the side again.

Your names were signed onto a piece of parchment, a wedding document written in traditional Inazuma script. You couldn't read a word of it, but there was no worse contract than the one that said you'd be his lawfully wedded wife.

Scaramouche held your hand as the two of you walked out of the shrine, his fingers cold and his grip tight. It was such a beautiful day out. That was all you could think about as you were walked back to his carriage which would take you to his home. Your last day as a truly free woman, you were glad it was beautiful.

[i314flix]

— PART ONE, PART TWO.

the one where the thought of someone liking you romantically has never crossed your mind, much less being liked by your own crush, sirius black, who proves to you that all your doubts are nonsense.

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

word count: 3k

rating: PG-15

content: fluff, established relationship au; gryffindor!reader

warning/s: mentions of being insecure, low self-esteem

opening note. it took a whole year for me to finish writing this part two lmao, but for the readers who got to read part one way back, i hope y’all like this!

Being seen with Sirius—and frequently, might you add—indeed became the talk of the town for the first few days.

As soon as the news spreaded, Iris and Martha, your close friends, interrogated you endlessly inside your shared room at the dormitory, asking a bunch of questions that ranged from how did Sirius confess and what did you feel for the aforementioned guy.

They labeled themselves as ridiculous and as oblivious as you were when they realized that all the gestures that Sirius has been doing in all the times they accused him of liking Iris were actually directed to you. They apologized, for not seeing it themselves and for not thinking of you as the person Sirius liked, and told you that they were going to be happy and supportive of you as long as they saw that you were happy too and that Sirius treated you well.

When your Hogsmeade date came, you spent the whole day just getting to know Sirius. Turns out, he was more well-mannered than you thought. He was a gentleman; he opened doors for you, offered to pay for everything, was the one who ordered your meal, stood up whenever you wanted to follow up something from the counter, and carried your bag when you bought some sweets from Honeydukes.

But what you liked most about him now was how he seemed genuinely interested in you and whatever that happened in your life. He made it apparent that he really was keen on discovering more about who you really were, from your hobbies, to your favorite things, and where you grew up.

“My parents… I don’t know if you’ve heard it from somewhere,” you began as you walked with him back to the path that led back to the Hogwarts castle, “but they’re, uh, Muggles. So, that means—”

“You’re Muggleborn,” Sirius supplied for you, appearing not even the slightest bit bothered by the fact. “And you don’t have any siblings, do you?”

You answered him, quite confused that he didn’t dwell too much on your revelation, but chose to drop it for now. “None.”

“Ah, so that makes you the only witch in your family.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “uh, does that sound okay?”

He glanced at you with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. You’re a Pureblood, and you come from an excellent line of wizards.”

“You have a point,” he said, still nonchalant as ever, “but I’m… well, you can say I’m a bit different from them. I mean, to start it off, I’m a Gryffindor.” He chuckled. “Plus, I’ve moved out from my home decades ago.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I live with James over the summer. His parents treat me as their own. Nicest couple, the Potters.”

“Wow. I never knew.”

“Well, being a teenage runaway and an outcast in my own family isn’t exactly something I should be proud of.”

You both laughed.

You were relieved to find out that there was no issue about you being a Muggleborn, especially since as stated, he came from a family of impressive and some well-known wizards who—from what you remembered—believed that being a Pureblood was equivalent to being practically royalty in the wizarding world.

Even if you knew that he wasn’t like that to begin with, there was still some doubt in your mind that perhaps his mindset is the same as theirs, considering that you’ve been a victim of prejudice over the years you studied in Hogwarts and was even called a Mudblood by a Pureblood student when you surpassed them on an exam in second year.

So, to have a confirmation right now was great. You were happy to hear from him that he didn’t have any problem with it, unlike some people who you’ve caught muttering to themselves about how Sirius could associate himself with a person like you, which inevitably led to some insecurities building up.

“Do you reckon I can get away with taking you out again next week?” asked Sirius once you were back in the Gryffindor common room, stopping before you where you stood at the last step of the stairs leading to the girl’s dormitory.

Your eyebrows rose. “There’ll be a next time?”

“Yes. If that’s okay with you,” he said with a patient smile. “Or did I read the signals wrong and you actually hated spending time with me today?”

“Don’t be foolish. I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Then how did you like it?” He was suddenly doing it again, that thing he does wherein he moves closer to you and you were bound to move away because of shyness, but somehow at this instance, you couldn’t command your feet to do its usual response.

“Hm?”

“Was it nice?” He continued, a hand now placed on the stairs’ handrail, leaning towards it. “Was it okay? Was it average? Would you ever want to be with me again?” He was teasing, it was evident on his big smile and his mischievous expression.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” You frowned cutely.

“Oh, I really don’t.”

“Sirius…”

“Tell me what you think,” he urged, tone gentle.

There were girls from your house walking down the steps, seeing the scene of Sirius gazing at you and you looking flustered playing in front of them. They hushed among themselves, glancing at you in envy, and you felt your cheeks burn at the attention.

“It was nice.” You told him finally.

“Just nice?”

“Wonderful,” you corrected.

He nodded solemnly, waiting.

“And I’d like to do it again sometime.”

He grinned. “That’s more like it. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

You smiled down at the floor. “As if I was going to say something else.”

He lifted your chin up so that your eyes could meet. “Still, I like hearing it come from your lips.”

Before you went upstairs to your room, Sirius reached for your hand and kissed the back of it, winking at you and then heading to the boy’s dormitory.

For the following weeks, the both of you were consistently hanging out and going on dates. It reached a point wherein your respective friend groups were starting to merge. It was either Martha and Iris who were going to be with you two, while anyone from Sirius’ own friends tagged along and joined the party as well.

You were naturally growing more comfortable with Sirius day by day. You even allowed him to hold your hand by the third date. He has stolen a few kisses on your forehead and cheek, and has laid his head on your lap whenever you were in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius sometimes getting your hand and placing it gently on his hair, asking if you would stroke it as he tried to take a nap.

Everything was going at such a smooth and great pace.

Sirius was great. His friends were great. What you were feeling for him was getting stronger.

The only problem was the bitter people who had no business having a say in your blooming relationship.

You knew you shouldn’t mind them, but it was hard when you could hear students whispering about you in classes and during breaks, always going on about how someone like you didn’t seem to be a good fit for Sirius, either in deep belief that Purebloods shouldn’t date Muggleborns or that you were far too quiet and timid to be a wonderful match for the ever so magnetic Sirius Black.

You couldn’t agree more, to be frank. However, your greediness and happiness were what mattered to your most in situations like these that you managed to fade those comments out.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

Or influenced you to sometimes see yourself in a harsher light.

“I knew you’d still be here,” Sirius spoke from behind you, a quick kiss being planted on your temple before he took the spot next to you on the sofa.

It was past midnight, and you were still working on an essay for History of Magic. You promised Sirius an hour or two ago that you weren’t going to stay up too late, but you haven’t been adding any new paragraphs to your essay because of your overthinking, so that meant you also haven’t reached your personal quota that was made in the first place to prevent you from cramming the said output.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” you replied, looking at him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Didn’t you say you have training for Quidditch in the morning?”

“I do.”

“Which means you really have to go to bed.”

“I tried to. Really. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Do you need warm milk or a frame that has dozens of sheep for you to count to help you get drowsy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha, very funny, but I actually wanted to make sure that you were already in your room. It’s not good to be here all alone.”

“I do it all the time. Nobody’s usually up in the common room at this hour, anyways.”

“Well, next time, tell me, so I’ll keep you company.”

“Oh, but that won’t be necessary.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “However, I insist. Come on, love, we’ve talked about this.”

You smiled, apologetic. “Sorry. I should know better, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, you told me that you’re still getting used to it, so I’m not holding that against you.”

“Yeah. But that’s just it, actually. I know that I should be getting used to it. To us… to you… but my brain keeps telling me that it’s bad to do so.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” you trailed awkwardly, realizing that you might have said too much, but you didn’t want to stop giving him a little bit more of your thoughts, getting a sudden rush of courage you’ve been wanting to have, “perhaps just, I feel like… I don’t deserve this. Any of what’s happening between us.”

Sirius stared at you, confused. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I just feel like this is all a wonderful dream that I’d have to wake up from soon.”

“____,” he began to say your name, but you shook your head, already sensing where it was heading.

“You don’t have to say anything, Sirius. It doesn’t have anything to do with how you’re making me feel.”

“Then what’s making you think this way? Is it because of what the others are saying?”

In your silence, he got the answer he needed.

“It’s absolute rubbish, you know,” he said. He sat up straight too, appearing more passionate now. “People don’t know what they’re blabbering about. All they want is to stick their noses into others’ businesses when they don’t know anything.”

“Sometimes they have a point, though.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you being a Pureblood and me being a Muggleborn not making any sense.”

He seemed frustrated at that. His nostrils flared a bit when you mentioned it. “Since when did that matter anymore? Lily and James are literally the same.”

“Yeah, but we’re not the same same as them. We’re still different. Lily’s different. She’s much more spectacular than I am.”

 “Come on, you’re being absurd. You’re amazing, ____.”

You had the nerve to laugh. “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to make me feel better. If there’s something that I’m used to, it’s this.” You sighed, going back to your previous position and focusing back on your parchment. “I’m sorry I brought it up in the first place.”

“No, don’t be,” he reached for your hand and forced you to face him again, in which you did, but you still couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I should be the one apologizing. I haven’t been checking up on you about this. I should have known better that this was something that would bother you.”

“What do you even see in me, Sirius?”

“What?”

“We nearly have nothing in common. You should be someone who’s at the same level as you are.”

“No, I don’t. I much rather be with you—regardless of how different we are, I don’t particularly care and I never thought of it as an issue nor will I ever do.” Sirius pursed his lips, appearing a bit nervous now because of what he was going to say. “Look, ____, I like you so much. I like every aspect of you and what kind of person you are. I see what you’re made of, and I cherish you very much because of it. I like your kindness, your wit, your energy, and your whole being. You’re simply the easiest person to adore, and I’m utterly puzzled that you cannot see it.”

Your tongue felt dry. No one has ever declared what they felt for you in that manner before. It caused your eyes to tear up a bit at the overwhelming reality that there was a person out there who saw you this way, who liked you for who you are and didn’t give two cents of what others thought of about it. You were so accustomed to being unseen, not given that much importance to, that to have Sirius tell you what you meant to him brought indescribable contentment in your heart.

So, without thinking, you leaned towards him and kissed his lips, bringing your arms around his neck while he parted his mouth in surprise, nonetheless wrapping his own around your waist to support your weight on him.

Sirius reciprocated the kiss, matching the vigor you were showing him, despite being shocked that you were the one who initiated your first ever real kiss with him. He was under the impression that it would take more dates before the both of you would reach this point, a concept that he didn’t have any problem with since he was sincere when he said he’d be patient with you, and that he’d be the one who was going to test the waters before asking if you were good with the thought of him planting a kiss on your lips.

“I like you so much too, Sirius,” you whispered, pulling away and gasping for air. “Having you be in my life is perhaps one of the most unexpected yet greatest things to happen to me.”

He grinned at that, pressing another firm kiss on your lips that made you sigh. “You’re so wonderful, love. I should’ve been with you since first year if only I wasn’t a bloody coward.”

You both laughed at his statement.

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “You have a lifetime now to show me what I’ve been missing.”

“You’re exceptionally bold tonight.” He observed.

“Well, the guy I have been crushing on and dating just made a heartfelt declaration of his attraction to me so I’m feeling my best.”

“About time that he did, honestly. Will this guy have the honor of being officially your boyfriend if he asked tonight?”

Your eyes widened. “That depends. Is he going to ask right now?”

“He’s about to. Just after he stops pretending that he’s pertaining to another guy and not himself.”

Another laugh and you were kissing him again, Sirius holding onto you tightly as he kept you in his embrace.

“Be mine?” he murmured against you, drawing his head back a little so he could stare directly at your eyes.

You smiled. You were on cloud nine; there was nothing that could ruin your entire year. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Sirius leaned for a longer kiss, much longer than the one you just shared earlier. He thought of how he could stay all night like this, how he might have to fake sickness just to ditch quidditch practices so he wouldn’t have to wake up so damn early, but before he could seriously contemplate it, you retracted your mouth from his and was telling him that he should go back to sleep because he had a tiring day ahead of him.

He frowned, wanting to kiss you again but you shook your head, evading his advances and giggling. “Sirius, you have practice in a few hours,” you told him again, “and I have to finish my essay too. You should head back.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“But—”

“No, no.” You stood up and pulled him with you. “As your girlfriend now, my opinion holds more bearing, so when I say that you should go back to sleep—”

“I should follow you?” he finished, allowing you to lead him back to where the boy’s dormitory is headed.

You grinned, teasing. “Only if you want to, of course.”

He snorted. “You promise not to stay up too late? Because as your boyfriend, I should be entitled to stop you from making bad decisions as well.”

“Yes, I won’t. You have my word.”

“Good.” Sirius pecked your lips. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

An even bigger grin made its way to your features. “Goodnight. I’ll see you at lunch?”

He nodded. “You’ll probably catch me standing at the Gryffindor table too. I have to announce to the whole school that you’re my girlfriend. Can’t have anyone thinking you’re still available, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

“Sirius.”

“Goodnight. Dream of me, would you?” He snickered, abruptly rushing to the dormitory and leaving you there, speechless.

You were positive that he was only bluffing to tease the hell out of you who was not a fan of too much attention, but somehow, considering Sirius’ track record of being mischievous, you suddenly feared that he was not bluffing like you reckoned him to be.

Not to mention that he could be really petty at times too, and given that a lot of students still did not believe that a person like him would like a person like you, making a dramatic proclamation of how much he liked you and how much he hated those who couldn’t keep their idiotic opinions to themselves would certainly make a point.

For some reason, you found yourself smiling at the idea, secretly pleased that you had Sirius—the person you were now sure would move the earth and moon for you if that was what you wanted.

gentle reminder: this author is a sucker for validation so please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts about this! ♡

[luckykiwiii101]

Not So Sugar&Spice And EVERYTHING Nice After All…

(Read till the end!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I HATE to break it to you but, you’re going to have to get ready to accept that you’re NOT going to live the life of your dreams.

DROP those endless list of desires you’ve piled up over the years or months you’ve spent on this app.

Those years and months speak dangerous words, words that you finally have to hear. But it’s not my fault it’s come to it.

You’re NEVER going to get what you want. Save those vision boards for nap time, because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them. Yes, in your LITERAL dreams.

Ouch, that’s got to hurt.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. And it will NEVER end. You’ve been at it for a while now.

“I’ll try THIS method tonight.” Yeah, and you’ll be looking for a new method by tomorrow. And so on, and so on, and so on.

Same goes for your manifestations.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next Year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head.

The cycle never ends. The tragic thing is, it starts with an undisciplined, lazy & hopeless person. And ends with the same undisciplined, lazy & hopeless person.

Why?

Take a wild guess. You’ve tumbled onto tumblr, figured out that you could live the life of your dreams, and did NOTHING about it, other than TRY.

Well, trying was never the answer.

All you ever had to do was just change your PATHETIC assumptions, into more….ideal ones.

Changing your assumptions are COMPULSORY! Not to rain on your parade, but this is a rain parade from hell. Purely tragic. Maybe you’ll start applying to get out of this endless loop.

And sorry to crush your hopeless little dreams, but you aren’t going to get ANYWHERE if you don’t change them. You are NEVER going to enter the void state. You are NEVER going to be a master manifestor.

Looks like that 9-5 is going to land you on highway 95.

Do I have to run you over, leave you bedridden, not able to move a muscle, for you to just PERSIST. Because your mind is all it takes. Nobody asked you to run a marathon. Yet you’re actually running a marathon, in the opposite direction of your dreams.

Well, all I can say is, keep running.

At the end of the day, ACCEPTANCE is all that matters. Accept that you will never have anything you want, or just accept that you already have everything you want.

If this isn’t the wake up call that wakes you up!!! NOTHING will.

All I can say now is, if you’re still roaming this app by the end of February, I feel BAD for you. I’m not saying that’s how long it will take, but if it does, then yikes! And we all know one thing about Gossip Girl, I LOVE to wreak havoc. But you’re already doing that FOR me. So thank you, and goodbye. Now say goodbye back, along with your precious desires.

Too bad that your dreams are going to just stay as dreams.

Bye Bye.

(So not you, by the way):

[neoyi]

Okay, cool. I can finally talk about the absolute catharsis I felt after fifteen years hoping - dreaming - of this moment because holy SHIT, they did it. They goddamn DID IT.

VLAD GOT HIS REDEMPTION ARC.

Let's talk about it...

By the end of the third season, Vlad Masters had ostracized the entire planet by exposing his true self (why), demanding money and total command of Earth, and completely wailing on Jack Fenton, driving away the only member of that family who unequivocally adored the man where every other Fenton knew him for who he truly was: utterly despicable and incapable of seeing the bigger picture.

Because, after all, he is a villain and that's just what villains do. Villains want power. Villains want to rule the world. There need not be more than that, and in another show, there wouldn't have to be. As far as Hartman was concerned, there is only a binary Good vs. Evil.

You would be hard-pressed to view the Vlad in "Phantom Planet" as the same man who anguished in desperate madness when his perfect clone son died in his arms. That was a Vlad who, by that point, had taken his biggest gamble and lost. I guess one could see his reasoning in season three as a "fuck it all, what even is the point" mode. But while "Eye For an Eye" (tellingly, the last major script helm by former main story writer Steve Marmel... just saying) promised a personal conflict, by the end of the show, he's made it much more external, far greater than what he and Danny's interwoven plot originally started off as.

Vlad is pathetic. Vlad is narcissistic. He is egotistical, entitled; a bitter, arrogant man who lives in his dream castle with all the money and privilege in the world that would leave him content a hundred times over, and it's still not enough.

Money is not Maddie Fenton, the woman he loves. Money is not Jazz, a child that should have been his. Money is not Jack's friendship whom he denies severely, the only part of his life who willingly embraces him. And money is not Danny, who is a half-ghost like him, and by all rights, should have been his son.

No one else could ever understand to the fullest extent of their uniqueness than Vlad and Danny would to each other, and the latter, for the longest time, hated that. Hated the way Vlad talked down to him and manipulated him, hated the whispers into his ears with promises of grand power if he just joined the billionaire's side and become his ward, hated when he caved in just once in front of Vlad's eyes who responded with a smug "See, I know you" reaction. Danny was fortunate to have good moral compasses from his family and friends, but the thing is, though, it's not about the healthy support structure he had, because Vlad had the chance to get some, too. Jack and Maddie loved Danny no matter what he was, and dollars to donuts, they would have for Vlad if the latter had approached them with his problems.

But he chose instead to be bitter and miserable, taking it out on everyone and expecting them to fall into his train of thought. The show knew what he did was wrong, but until season three, never stopped repeating his truest desire: to find love and squash his crushing loneliness.

Hartman couldn't provide a damn on what exactly was Vlad's "destiny" in "Infinite Realm"; it was vague gesturing to excuse his villainy. He was more than happy to abandon the life he's made for himself and the woman he loved in spite of two decades of planning, all on a whim for whatever time period the Infi-map was willing to take him, hoping maybe this one will give him the unconditional worship that he thinks he's deserved (by force, of course.)

Because he's the villain.

And for the longest time, the show ended with the idea that Vlad deserved to be stranded, away from people, because he simply could not help himself. To be fair, there is a lesson in that - some people genuinely DO go so far that there really is nothing more we can do other than stop the problem before they cause any further harm. I'm not denouncing that.

What I AM denouncing is the the narrative plant that's dug its way into the greater plot where an older Vlad in "The Ultimate Enemy", realized what a fool he had been. What he wouldn't give to start all over and be a better person. You don't just give someone a sympathetic goal like "looking for love", constantly provide the necessary stepping stones, and not have it set up for something far more substantial than what we got.

And even then, even if it still ended with Vlad being too far gone, I wonder, should the supposedly original plot arc for season three had been made, would Vlad's fate there been far more appropriate than whatever cartoonish supervillainy he ended up as by the time "Phantom Planet" ended?

I cannot speak for Gabriela Epstein. I cannot say how much Nickelodeon allowed her to tinker with the DP world. All of this is presumptuous speculation on my part, but this entire comic feels like they looked at season three, particularly "Phantom Planet", realized what a travesty that was, had their work cut out for it, and went about to make a post-series finale story that still paid tribute to its ending while wiping it off the map.

Vlad's redemption is the crux.

Within just a few panels, Gabriela Epstein provided an explanation on the why of Vlad's actions circa-season three. The Infi-Map was aimless because Vlad's purpose was aimless. And Vlad's purpose was aimless because his need to be in control was a manifestation of his greatest fear: being alone.

"A Glitch in Time" recontexualizes why Vlad traveled across time in "Infinite Realm." It wasn't a generic bad-guy-wants-to-rule-the-world-through-latest-plot-claptrap, but an act of utter desperation from a man who had since lost the biggest connection to his very being: Danny.

It started with Maddie (someone whom Vlad only interacts once in the comic, but is an acknowledgement of his villainous origin, nonetheless), and it may still end with Danny.

Never, in a million, billion years, have I even thought about another redemption arc... for Dark Danny.

And I am kicking myself for not even considering such an option. I had pegged him so far gone, so far past the breaking point to think otherwise. Dark Danny was suppose to be the outcome of a Danny at his literal worst: a too-late, too-little scenario. Back then, it was a symbol of Danny's rejection of what Vlad expected and desired of him.

But the comic made me sit down and think about the implication of Dark Danny's very existence, that of a man who lost his family and friends ten years ago as a child. Like Vlad, he, too was alone, and had carried a tremendous amount of pain and anguish that his human half just could not bear.

Yeah, they died because of a time loop HE created, but that doesn't erase that he was born from a horrible trauma that he could not properly cope with. And Vlad, try as he might, did not fix it. All he ended up doing was separate a ghost - infamous for their obsessions, and now, as the comic established, a carrier of human emotions - to exist. And Dark Danny carried so much raw emotion that he retaliated very, very violently.

Everyone's respond at that time was to fight him and stuff him in a Fenton Thermos for eternity. I am not saying Danny wasn't justified in fighting his darker self because the dude legitimately caused massive damage and likely murdered a hell of a lot of people, I am just saying Dark Danny is the byproduct of a scared, lonely, traumatized child.

And what does he do? He tries to take what he thinks is his by any means necessary. Vlad got his wish, he got the son he wanted.

And he's facing him now.

And he gets it.

He finally fucking GETS IT.

Which shouldn't have been a surprise because his "The Ultimate Enemy" counterpart got it. He looked at the devil that he created and lingered as a hermit in regret. And now Vlad - Vlad Prime - reacted the same.

Only this time, he can fix it.

I did not anticipate that Vlad's redemption would happen at the same time as Dark Danny's. I didn't expect the two of them to link other than the latter being another number in Vlad's bullshit entitlement count.

I love that it isn't Danny who heals him, but Vlad. It had to be Vlad. In order to own up to his actions, Vlad had to look at the eyes of the boy he was entrusted and corrupted beforehand and apologize for what he put him through. And I don't mean just "The Ultimate Enemy", Vlad is apologizing for everything he's done up to this point.

He (temporarily) sacrifices his body to stabilize Dark Danny who has fucked up the time stream so much that he wouldn't be able to exist otherwise. And only then do the two of them get what they've longed for.

Vlad gets a son.

Dark Danny gets a family.

Holy forking shirt balls.

I have a lot of problems with alternate counterparts sticking around longer than they should in the "main" setting of a show. Usually I'm fine when it's an alternate counterpart demonstrated as someone the hero is trying so hard not to be, because it's compelling to see what could have been under different circumstances. It's another thing when you have another version of the main character running around doing their own thing. Multiverse characters are inherently messy just by existing, but it gets worse when they take away from the uniqueness of the central protagonist.

There's something awkward about two Danny Phantoms living in the same world, and in any other scenario, I would have hated it. But Dark Danny is of a vastly different background brought forth from a long, nuanced, engaging history between him and Vlad.

Danny's central journey - the cusp of the show - has always been the Spider-Man mantra, "great powers = great responsibilities." You are in charge of how you carry the burden of your powers. Vlad has been the one constant always challenging and belittling his selflessness. "A Glitch in Time" had Danny asking himself, what is his purpose? Who is he now that everything has been neatly wrapped up?

Writing anything about who Danny is means Vlad is presented in some way, shape, or form. They are so thoroughly linked to each other, and it's that link that simultaneously serve to push their own individual character arc, and their relationship with each other.

So, Vlad gets a son. Dark Danny gets a family. They get a second chance, and it is up to them to work it out. I have no idea if Vlad got his wealth back. Everything is restored as is, except Danny's secret identity is secured again (which I am 100% fine with except for one notable exception, but that's another topic for another day) and implication that Vlad was just a crummy mayor with no indication the greater public is also aware of his Plasimus mode (which I am also fine with.)

There's a part of me who thinks he should have lost the money and power he's accumulated because he gained them through his vice, but if he's back in his Wisconsin cheese castle, then he can damn well use the money he has to not only benefit the world (charities, improving human lives, funding Fenton Works ;D...), but to raise his son.

Dark Danny is going to have to adjust to the idea that his father is Vlad, something he was already expected to do so when he orphaned himself and moved in with him. But it's Vlad who has to work the most out of the two: as a parental figure - as an adult - he's always had a power over Danny regardless of what timeline they're in. Most of the time, he's abused it heavily.

The second chance Vlad has been given here means he has the ability to provide a safe, healthy environment. It's more than he deserves. He failed with Danny and he absolutely failed with Dani (another can of worms in itself; she's not mentioned in the comic, and I imagine it's because her story would need a comic of her own), he cannot fail with this Danny.

Vlad shouldn't have been given a child at all until there was a guarantee that he could work through his bullshit, but Dark Danny is a special case. He is a kid who needs a home and someone to love him unconditionally, and Vlad needs to learn boundaries while giving selfless love in order to be loved himself.

Clockwork gave Vlad a test, so get studying, dude.

This does not erase how Danny Prime feels about him. He may never want to forgive Vlad, and that's his right. He can acknowledge however, that, in order to help those in need of healing, a door can be opened, even if slightly ajar.

For Vlad, that may just take a bit longer and that's completely understandable.

Vlad can't have the kind of relationship he wants with this Danny, but maybe one day, they can be equals - friends.

Like christ, I think this is the first time Vlad has actually, genuinely asked if Danny was alright.

The comic was already good prior to this, but just knowing - understanding that Vlad was more than "a villain" - meant after fifteen looooong years, we finally see the promises of a brighter future for a man with shitty priorities, but a sympathetic goal.

"It's over, isn't it? It's over, isn't it? It's over, isn't it..."

[livwritesstuff]

more more more divorces dads steddie!

ask and you shall receive and all that jazz :)

part 1

If someone were to have asked Eddie even just one year ago if there were any downsides to dating his ex-husband, he’d…well, he’d actually have a lot of follow-up questions because, seriously, Eddie did not put getting back together with Steve on the Bingo card of his thirty-fifth year of life (not because he didn’t want it, to be clear, but because it was so goddamn unlikely that it would be like throwing away the whole space).

Once he got through those follow-up questions though, he’d have an answer.

There is one sole downside to dating his ex-husband and it’s that Eddie still splits custody with this guy, and because he and Steve are trying to take things slow for Rozzy’s sake (and for their own, a little bit), they haven’t let her know yet that they’ve rekindled things, which means following their normal custody schedule like it’s business as usual, so finding child-less time together isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Eddie really only ever has a free night when Steve is busy, y’know, being a father to their kid, and the daytime, when Rozzy is at playdates and summer camps, is a no-go too because even though Eddie’s job is flexible, Steve’s nine-to-five is not.

Thank fuck for sleepovers, honestly, and for Rozzy being old enough to really enjoy them (and not need to be picked up in the middle of the night), because that’s been their only saving grace.

Eddie actually finds it kind of funny that there’s more logistical challenges with dating his ex-husband than with dating, like, any other person.

Eddie commented on this to Steve (in the shower together, because Rosalind is away at one of those aforementioned blessed sleepovers), and when Steve replied, “I’ll have to take your word for it, man” Eddie finds himself gaping at him because what the fuck does he mean?

It’s been nearly a decade since they split – of course Eddie’s dated since then. Sure, no one all that serious (certainly never serious enough to introduce to Rozzy), and no one he wasn’t secretly measuring up to Steve in one way or another, but still!

There's no goddamn way the same isn't true for Steve.

“The fuck does that mean?” he asks, pressing a little harder against the way Steve is leaning against the tiled wall of the shower.

Steve only shrugs.

“Steve. You can’t honestly think I believe you haven’t dated anyone since we split up.”

“I mean,” Steve shrugs again, “If someone tried to set me up I wouldn't say no, but I never really…I dunno. Nothing really ever felt right, I guess. For me, anyway.”

“But…why?” Eddie can’t help but ask, because he's feeling kind of baffled about this, to be honest. Like, for as much as Steve’s been going on about how good Eddie looks or whatever (and he can keep that up – Eddie doesn’t mind), Steve too has only gotten better to look at over the years (which, frankly, Eddie didn’t even think was possible). It's basically a statistical anomaly than someone else hadn't already swooped this guy up while Eddie was too stupid to realize what he was missing.

“C’mon, man,” Steve says, “Obviously I was hoping there was at least a ​​small chance we’d sort out our shit.”

“Oh, obviously?” Eddie repeats, but he knows there’s a big, dumb grin on his face because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent the years wondering what would happen if he never got over Steve, wondering if it’d always be this dirty secret in whatever relationship he ended up in that he was deeply, madly, painfully in love with his ex.

He is deeply, madly, painfully in love with his ex, for the record, except Steve's not exactly his ex anymore (fine – it's sort of a weird grey-area at the moment), and with him it doesn't need to be a secret. With Steve, it's not a secret because it's reality, crazy as that still kind of is to him.

It's real though, and to prove it Eddie reaches up to flop Steve’s soapy head of hair over to one side and then he kisses him long and slow, except it's only kind of a kiss, because they're both smiling too much for it to really be a kiss, and Steve's hands are cool on his waist compared to the heat of the water, and Eddie can still sort of feel the sting of a hickey Steve left on his collarbone that made him feel like he's twenty years old again, and the solidness of Steve's chest beneath his hands is reminder enough that they aren't twenty anymore in the best way, and even though they lost their way a bit back there, the day is still young.

And they've got nothing but time.

[rickssugarplum]

The Rick is Over

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 7x05! Watch it first before reading this! Thanks and enjoy! ❤

(Rick Sanchez x Reader) Spoilers for 7x05, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

You help Rick process it all.

With the pull of the lever, all the lights in the sub-basement go out, finalizing the end of the decades-long show that's been ongoing most of his life.

It's all finally over.

Rick Prime is dead.

Still coated head to toe in blood, Rick stands in the darkness in the now useless lair, where he'd spent countless days and nights searching, tracking, and looking for any signs of his lifelong enemy. The one who caused him all his pain, destroyed all of his dreams he had when he was young. All he ever wanted, was to live as a husband and father to the two most precious girls in his life.

That life had been ripped away from him so many years ago.

Now, he has killed the man who was responsible. His ultimate goal had been achieved.

So, why does he still feel so empty?

He didn't say a word while flying back home. The voice of his grandson right beside him felt like miles away. It was as if his entire world had gone mute. He could not just go to sleep in his room. Not tonight.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You were in your living room, reading a book in complete silence, until it was broken by the familiar whirling sound of the portal. You were clearly expecting Rick to emerge from it, but you nearly screamed when you saw him soaked in crimson blood.

"Oh my God! Rick?!!" you shrieked as you stepped towards him. He stood there, emotionless.

"Rick! What the fuck happened!? You look like you came through a slaughter!"

The old man just looked at you; still silent. It caused even more panic in your veins.

"Rick, please. You're scaring me! What is going on!? Say something!" you begged. He was never one to be quiet, even more alarming when he's drenched in blood. Did an adventure go awry or...

"W-where's Morty!? Is he okay?" You asked in fear that something might have happened to him. Your heart rate slightly lowered when he nodded, assuring his grandson was alright.

Looking more closely at him, you saw more damage inflicted on his face. "Jesus Christ, Rick. Your nose is broken!"

Rick finally spoke in a hoarse but defiant voice. "I got him."

His bloodshot eyes stared directly into yours. You saw the anger he's shown in them only when he's described his past, his stolen life; his darkest demons.

Immediately, you knew who he was talking about.

"You-you got...him?" You couldn't speak the name, despite sharing it with the man in front of you. Rick simply nodded again. Not knowing what exactly happened, the blood covering him made one thing clear.

Rick had finally killed his enemy.

Slowly, you took his hands, searching in his eyes for any ounce of how he was feeling, knowing he had avenged his wife and daughter.

"Are-are you okay?"

Morty had asked him that exact same question after it was all said and done. He said that he was. But now seeing the concern in your face and repeating his grandson's words just mere hours before caused the final crack in the dam.

Suddenly you felt two long arms around you, grasping your frame tightly, and Rick let out the loudest, broken wail you'd ever hear. His anguish was bigger than his body, causing him to collapse, dragging you both to your floor. You simply held him as he cried into you, letting out decades of repressed grief and trauma that'd haunted him.

"Shhhh... It's okay, Rick..." you murmured, placing his head on your chest and stroking his slightly damp hair. "It's over..." you whispered. "I'm here... I've got you..."

The man was trembling like a newborn fawn. He looked so fragile. You couldn't possibly know exactly what was going through his tormented mind as he screamed into your chest. His cries sounded so animalistic, it almost scared you. But your heart was breaking hearing him suffer inside. He had cried for the life he lost, his wife he had promised forever to, and his little girl, whom he swore to protect. All Rick wanted was to have his beloved Diane by his side and to see his baby Beth grow up. He wanted them to grow old together. All of his plans. His dreams. Their future, will never come.

Tears welled up in your own eyes, but you stayed and gently rocked him, whispering words of comfort.

"It's alright, baby," you said softly.

Baby. Diane used to call him that. He let out another sob at that memory. Leaning down, you press soft kisses on his forehead.

"I'm so proud of you, Rick..." you confessed. It was the truth. You wanted him to know that. How lucky you were to have the most passionate Rick throughout infinity. He squeezed you a bit tighter at your affirmation.

Time didn't matter to either of you. You could hold him forever if he needed it. That would be how long it would take to heal this broken heart.

After awhile, his sobs started to fade into soft weeping.

"Rick? Can you look at me?" You asked softly. There was no command in your voice. It was mainly to make sure he knew his surroundings. Slowly, he lifts his head up to look at you. The blood of his enemy was slightly rinsed underneath his eyes from tears. You cupped his face in your hands so tenderly, giving him a faint smile.

"You did it."

Rick's expression had become nearly blank. After all the crying, he almost felt numb. "What do you need right now?" you asked him, stroking his cheek.

He wrapped his arms around you again. This time, not in desperation, but in comfort and gratitude. In his hold, he simply whispered,

"Just you..."

It relieved you to hear his answer. You both stayed in your embrace, with no plans on letting each other go. Rick could feel a slight relief as you assured him you were not going anywhere. He closed his eyes and let everything sink in. Through all the changes he's made, he's achieved the biggest change of all. The hunt for his nemesis was over.

So.

What now?

He's going to find out.

❤

[writer-in-theory]

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened. 

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him. 

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape. 

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy. 

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though. 

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it. 

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore. 

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior. 

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’ 

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months. 

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first. 

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past. 

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same. 

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony. 

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know. 

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home. 

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too. 

[oftenwantedafton]

weekend project | steve raglan x female reader

words | 2.9k

cw | explicit content, bondage, oral sex, vaginal sex

ao3 link

It’s the weekend, the perfect time to start that painting project you’ve been meaning to get to.

You’re at the hardware store late Saturday morning after enjoying a bit of a lie in, spending a few moments comparing paint sample colors beneath the neutral lighting provided before you decide on one that’s pale yellow. Anything has to be better than the garish shade of blue the previous owner had left behind.

You stand at the counter waiting for the gallon to be mixed and you become aware that there’s someone standing nearby, watching you. You can feel the weight of that gaze and you turn and the owner is a middle aged man that’s a series of almosts. Hair not quite one shade or the other, caught in the middle of shifting from brown to gray to white, with a matching moustache and beard. Blue eyes washed out, nothing like that horrible neon shade that’s coating your bedroom walls, and these spread just a little further apart than the average, studying you behind a layer of wide lensed glasses that dip well past the top arches of his cheekbones. Build on the leaner side, but not exactly what you’d call skinny; there’s a little extra around the middle there, just barely visible behind the tucked in long sleeve shirt. Taller than average, well over six feet, the hand curled around the shopping cart’s handle massive. There are a variety of things in that carriage that might seem innocent enough on their own, but compiled together, definitively less so: lengths of rope and chains, duct tape, an axe with a wicked looking blade. Your eyes rove over the items and his eyes rove over you before settling on yours, just watching and waiting to see how you’ll react.

You smirk, just the barest tease of a smile, because the guy’s attractive in an unconventional way, in a way that you can definitely appreciate, before you hear the sales associate behind the counter set your paint on the counter. You lift it up and grab a couple of paint stirrers and when you turn back your admirer has disappointingly left the aisle.

You suppose you could come up with an excuse to browse around and try to encounter him again, but you really should be getting home and getting started on this painting project. Besides, the can is heavy. The thin metal handle is digging into your fingers so you decide to leave the store, squinting against the bright sunlight that bathes you as you exit. You switch the paint can to the opposite hand to give that one a break, digging around in your purse still hooked over your shoulder for your car keys, and that’s when you see him again: the guy from the store with the kinky shopping list, just now shutting the trunk of a sedan that’s at least a couple of decades old.

You unlock the passenger door and set the paint can and wooden stirrers on the floor and then shut it, finding the man in the same position you’d last seen him, at the rear of his vehicle. No. Closer, now. Approaching you.

He says nothing, merely opening the door you’ve just shut, somehow folding himself into the compact automobile he’s much too tall for.

You know most people would’ve been surprised or creeped out or downright terrified, but you’re not most people and the man isn’t actually a stranger. He’s someone who drifts into your life from time to time, looking a little different, adopting a new disguise, using a different name. You’ve never questioned him about the reason why any of it is necessary, any more than you’d inquire about the concerning contents of the shopping cart moments before, and that’s probably why you’re still alive, while others undoubtedly aren’t. You play the game and don’t complain and you live to see another day.

You slide behind the wheel and start the engine, noticing your passenger’s knees pressing against the dashboard. Uncomfortable, you’re sure, but you don’t have far to go.

Less than ten minutes later you’re back in your driveway. Jerking the car key out of the ignition. Your uninvited guest carries the paint without you having to ask. He’s never seen your new place. He follows you up the three steps on the front porch, waiting for you to unlock the door.

Inside. Both of you. Door closed. Now what? You’re still in the process of unpacking. Boxes everywhere, some empty, some full. You’re still looking for more furniture. It’s your first home. You’re used to the square footage of an apartment, not an entire multi-story house to fill.

You end up guiding him up the stairs. Into the master bedroom, the room you want to paint. Just the bed in there right now. Didn’t make sense to move the rest of the furniture in before you’d repainted the walls.

You hear the sound of the paint can being set down behind you, the metal handle settling to the side with a soft clink. You’ve got the paint tray and the roller and a fresh cover already waiting. Bed stripped this morning, plastic over it just in case, headboard out in the hall. The frame, the box spring, the mattress, and the footboard in front of you and the man you’d let come home with you behind.

Another sound of shifting metal. You turn finally. He’s got his belt unfastened, pulling the leather strap through the loops of his olive slacks. A little thrill goes through you. A little scared, a little aroused. A lot aroused. He moves forward, the belt clutched in one hand, his other dragging the plastic off the mattress. Hand clamping around one of your wrists faster than you’d thought possible. The fear ratcheting up more now, desire still dominant and winning the battle. You’re fairly certain he won’t harm you, but there’s always the possibility. His grip is like iron. Your other wrist is grasped and manipulated until your pulse points kiss. Bounding beneath the blue threads. Belt secured around. Tight. The loops don’t reach that far in, but he manages to get the accessory maneuvered in such a way that it’s a perfectly fitting restraint. He’s had practice.

Speaking of confinement, he’s already working on your figure-clinging jeans. Button popped. Zipper parted. Those large hands hooking onto the sides, dragging them down, your panties going with them. Peeled down to your ankles. You lift your feet one at a time to oblige him, so he can remove your shoes and socks. Lower half bare now.

The window’s cracked open. The neighbors could see in. You would’ve preferred they not be able to, but you’re not the one running the show here. You’re pushed, his hand shoving somewhere along your hip, and you fall back onto the mattress. Watch him loosen his tie. Why is he dressed like he’s going to an office job on a Saturday? So formal. It’s a navy one with tiny embroidered diamonds. There’s a swishing noise as he drags it from underneath his shirt collar. The last time you’d seen him he’d been a little slimmer, a little younger. Less gray in the hair. Clean shaven. No glasses. Security uniform. Going by the alias Dave Miller.

His hand sits on your cheek now. Warm. Large. Gentler than you’d thought he’d be, given the mood he appears to be in, tying you up. Thumb dragging over your bottom lip. Pushing slightly until you grant him access, opening your mouth. He tastes like metal. From the paint can, maybe. Or something else.

Then you’ve got a mouthful of his tie. Bound arms lifted and hooked on the opposite post of the footboard, so that you’re stretched at an angle across the bed. You hadn’t bothered moving it, figuring it was out of the way enough. You wonder what he would’ve done in its absence. He sits on the edge of the mattress and shoves a hand beneath your tshirt and brassiere, flicking each nipple until they peak, hardening and rising with each strike of his nails. Your first sound emerges, a whimper against the material you’ve got clutched between your teeth. You would’ve liked a kiss first. A few. He’s great at that. A fucking master, if you’re being perfectly honest. That tongue. Christ.

No kisses for your mouth, but you’re getting them elsewhere, distracting you from the slight ache in your jaw, the drool that’s already starting to pool, your wrists slightly sore. You feel facial hair brushing each hip and that wet mouth sucking insistently along the crests, as if he can draw the bones right through the skin. You can feel the bruises as they’re being created, the vessels surrendering and bursting beneath the force of his mouth.

His hand rests against your mound, thumb just faintly teasing your clit, tugging at the beginning of your sex and you moan this time, your legs already spreading to accommodate him. You’re drenched and he brings that slick straight up to your bud, flicking just like he’d done with your nipples. A delicious kind of torture before his middle finger sinks inside your canal and his mouth descends to your drooling cunt.

Fucking perfect, even though the scratch of facial hair is something you’re not accustomed to, because this man is an artist when it comes to eating pussy. He knows exactly how to tease, how to bring you close to the brink of climax and how to drag you back from the edge, keeping you warm and humming until he shoves you right back towards bliss. His tongue flicks your pearl and strokes between your lips and even dips beside the thrusting finger.

He adds a second digit, stretching you further, clamping down and sucking hard and your back arches. His glasses have gone a bit foggy and he tosses them impatiently to one side and there are those eyes, those strange, captivating, pale blue gray orbs you see go dark, full of want and desire and a touch of bitter malice, never for you, specifically, but a kind of contempt and dissatisfaction with the world around him.

You hear noises outside and realize the neighbors are indeed home. Sounds like they’re starting up the barbecue grill. At least they’re not on the second floor, watching you getting eaten out. Maybe it’s just as well you’ve been gagged. William or Dave—or whatever the fuck he’s calling himself these days—is clearly done with foreplay. He’s got his fly undone and you catch a brief glimpse of that intimidating length of cock before he guides it to your entrance, pushing in, stopping just long enough to unhook you from the post—you were too far away, you know he wants to pound you good and deep—your pelvis dragged to the edge of the mattress and then he’s fucking into you fully, shoved right to the hilt, legs pushed back, upper body leaning. His teeth clutch part of the tie still stuffed in your mouth and he drags it free and you gasp for air, your flaring nostrils glad for the reprieve. Your mouth is an odd combination of dry and wet, your tongue the former and the inside of your cheeks the latter, but the older man solves that problem easily, spitting into your gasping maw and then immediately plunging his tongue down. His kisses are frenzied and he’s fucking you roughly—the sounds of his body meeting yours wet, obscene, lewd—and you savor every moment of it.

In the background, you’re aware of talking and laughter, a conversation to pass the time before there is the sound of meat touching heated metal, sizzling, a pleasant scent of smoke reaching you, making your stomach growl. You hear the hiss of caps being lifted off bottles—cold beer, most likely, that sounds so refreshing—but first, but first, there is this man drilling your pussy, filling you up so, so deep. There is his mouth at your throat now and a hand back at your breast and your wrists are still bound and trapped between your bodies, preventing you from carding through that silky hair that’s always been a guilty pleasure of yours. He’s such a strange, beautiful kind of creature. Dangerous, undeniably, not meant to be exposed to for any given length of time, just cautiously admired like an exhibit. He’ll never be caged like that, though. Never trapped behind bars, paying for whatever crimes he’s committed. He’s too clever for that, too adaptable.

He moans against your neck, the first sound he’s made with that wicked, talented mouth that tastes like your pussy, so loudly you wonder if the people outside can hear, can guess what’s happening indoors. Maybe they’ve heard the entire exchange; that wet, rhythmic slapping, the creaking of the mattress.

Sometimes, in the past, he’s had you ride him, guiding your hands to his throat, encouraging you to squeeze. Always dancing on that boundary between light play and serious injury. Flirting with actual harm. You’d never actually do it, and he surely knows it. You’re not a threat. The reverse, though…you’re never quite certain of. That’s where your fear originates. What excites you.

But for now he’s got you pinned beneath him, pummeled and drenched and whining because you’re teetering on that border again. Breaking through it. You’d cry out whatever alias he’s currently adopted if you’d known it, instead settling for a senseless sound of pleasure, muscles spasming around him, nerves sparking. The neatly parted hair is no longer so, now falling in damp tendrils across his forehead as his face hovers above yours, a choked sort of sound escaping and you feel him spill inside of you. There’s a lot as always, splashing that cavity and then leaking back out as he withdraws, flopping down beside you.

The neighbor’s cookout continues outside. The smell is truly enticing. Maybe you’ll invite yourself over. You’d bring your guest, too, but you know he wouldn’t want to attend. It’s never been like that between you. Just incredible sex and then you go your separate ways.

You feel a hand fumbling with the belt still lashed around your wrists, working it free. You rub the reddened flesh and flex the joints. Your arms are tingling. Your legs, too, but that’s for a different reason, the aftershocks still pulsing in your lower body.

His head tips to you, and you finally get to touch his hair, smoothing back the damp tresses. His glasses have been retreived, resting on his chest. You lift them and try them on. Clear plastic, of course. No correction necessary.

“What name are you using now?” You hand him back the eyewear.

“Steven Raglan, I think. Haven’t actually tried it out yet. This was a bit of a test run.”

“Hmmm. Steven, huh? It’s a little too formal. Steve might be better.”

He frowns, rummaging in his shirt pocket and handing you a business card. “I’ve already had these printed.”

You scan the embossed lettering. “Career counselor? Department of Social Services? Really?”

“Sure, why not?”

He plucks the card from your fingers and returns it to his pocket.

“Don’t get all huffy. I’m just not used to it yet. I was used to Dave. William.”

His breath hitches at your mention of the last one. You’ve always suspected that one might be his real identity.

“You look good. Even if this is a bit abrasive.” Your knuckles briefly brush his cheek. It was strange, this kind of pillowless pillow talk. He normally departed immediately afterwards. To be fair, it had been a rather aggressive session. And he’s getting older. So are you.

“These walls are atrocious,” he observes, scowling.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hence why I was at the store buying paint.”

“How does it feel being a homeowner?”

“It’s a lot to manage by myself. But yeah, good. Better than throwing rental money at someone and having nothing to show for it.”

The older man sits up and you mirror his movements. He stuffs the tie in his pocket and begins rethreading his belt through the loops.

“I don’t suppose you want to stick around and help me paint.” You know he won’t. But it can’t hurt to ask.

“I’ve got things to do.”

“That was an interesting assortment of items you purchased at the home improvement store.”

His hands freeze and he looks at you, and for a moment you think, This is it. This is where I push him too far. Outlive my usefulness. Become a liability.

Then he shrugs and stands, tucking his shirt in and refastening his fly. Your shoulder sag in relief. You’re going to live to see another day after all. You have to be more careful, though. He’s not your friend. You can’t talk to him so casually, even if it had seemed like, just for a moment there…

Outside now. The neighbors wave to you. Raglan’s back in the car already. You think you will head over once you get back. The painting can wait a little longer.

The store’s parking lot is crowded when you return to drop your companion off. “I’ll see you around,” he says, fingers curling around the door handle.

“Bye, Steven.”

“Steve,” he corrects, a slow grin stretching his mouth. “I think I will change it after all. Thanks for the suggestion.” He removes the business card once again and lays it on the dashboard. “In case you decide to stop by for some employment advice.”

“I just might do that,” you murmur.

Home repairs are expensive, after all.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Movin’ On Up

Plot: Y/n receives some surprise visitors on moving day, and Richmond suffers a shocking blow to their lineup.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: f!reader, language, (16+)

A/N: I really don’t know how I’m managing to crank these out so fast. Maybe shorter chapters? Anyway, this one was fun. We’re getting into the meat of the story, so hold onto your butts, and enjoy!!

(Forgive any typos, I wrote the bulk of this one at midnight 🌙)

——————

If there was a magical force at play in Richmond, it had made Y/n its latest target.

Not only had she found the perfect apartment, she’d toured it, signed the lease and booked movers in the same week. In all her post-university years, she’d never seen real estate move quicker.

Y/n wandered the flat, directing the men and whatever piece of furniture they were holding to its corresponding room.

A knock sounded from the stairs.

“Oh, the dresser can go to-“ Y/n spun around to help guide the mover she’d just seen downstairs, only to find the last person she expected.

“Hey, there, neighbor,” Ted greeted, standing at the top of the steps.

Y/n quickly plastered on her Monday-Friday grin, “Ted. What are you…how did you…?”

“Well, you said you were movin’ into your new place this weekend,” Ted hopped a step inside the apartment to let one of the movers pass by, “Took a guess that the van that came through this morning was probably yours.”

Y/n tried to laugh off the intrusion. The safety of living thirty minutes away was long gone…

“Brought you a little ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift,” Ted held up a little pink box and set it on Y/n’s kitchen counter. It was the same one that he dropped on Rebecca’s desk each morning.

“Thank you,” Y/n replied while pointing one of the movers in the direction of her bedroom.

Ted stuck his hands in his pockets and took a look around the living room. He let out a whistle, “I wish you’d’ve told us you were movin’ in sooner. Coaches and the boys coulda saved you some money, get you settled ourselves.”

That was exactly why she hadn’t told anyone she was moving until the day before. She knew Ted would have assembled the Greyhounds and she would have had 15+ footballers funneling in and out of her apartment, invading the little bubble she had left.

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna inconvenience you guys,” Y/n replied, watching Ted as he maneuvered around the boxes, “Especially with the match tomorrow.”

Ted made a raspberry, “Pish posh, Oshkosh. Woulda been happy to help. Hey,” Ted swirled a finger toward the ceiling, “This place got A/C?”

Y/n nodded.

“Whew,” Ted exhaled, “I gotta tell you, biggest surprise comin’ over here.”

“You get used to it,” Y/n replied, a deep double meaning to her words.

“What about you? What was the biggest shock for you, movin’ here?”

Y/n thought back to when she was eighteen, fresh out of high school and starting a brand new life in another country. Even if it had only been a few years, it felt like a decade ago.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “Probably the difference in English. Chips versus fries, that sort of thing.”

“Man, I still slip up,” Ted said, “Took me months to get the football lingo down.”

“I still call the pitch a field sometimes,” Y/n admitted, settling on one of her barstools.

“Well, now I don’t feel so bad,” Ted chuckled as he came to sit across from Y/n, “Hey, what’s the thing you miss most from home? Just a little thing, y’know?”

Y/n sighed, thinking about the region-specific foods she couldn’t find in the international section of the market or the channels missing from her television. Truth be told, there wasn’t anything she missed so much it could be considered missing.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s been so long since I’ve been home.”

“When was the last time you went back?” Ted asked.

“Uh…” Y/n traced back the list of holidays, “My sister’s birthday…two years ago?”

Ted whistled once more, “That’s a long time. Bet your folks miss you.”

On cue, Y/n’s muscles tensed. Her smile returned to conceal her discomfort. “My sister visits,” she said, “Every year.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” Ted cooed, “For me, it’s gotta be good barbecue. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they do food dang well over here, but I miss a good southern BBQ, y’know?”

“I actually do,” Y/n admitted with a small laugh, “4th of July’s always weird.”

Ted smacked a hand against the counter. “Thank you,” he said loudly, “Last year, we had a game. Felt like Beard and I were betrayin’ our ancestors or somethin’.”

Y/n chuckled, Ted struck her as someone who went all out for Independence Day.

“Hey, truth time,” Ted continued, the humor draining from his face, “Yea or nay on tea?”

Y/n shrugged, “I like it.”

“Dang it,” Ted bobbed his head, “Beard, you…us ex-pats keep droppin’ like flies.”

“It takes some adjusting, I’ll admit that,” Y/n raised a finger, “Not exactly a frappachino.”

“Mm-mm,” Ted shook his head, “I have tried and tried with that tree piss. Warmth ain’t goin’ anywhere north on that one.”

Y/n snorted a little, imagining what that might look like, Ted sipping on earl grey.

One of the movers asked Y/n where she wanted a bookcase and she gave him directions. For once, Ted sensed the moment.

“Well, I’ll get outta your hair,” he held up his hands and hopped off the barstool, “But I’m just down the street so you ever need anything, don’t be a stranger.”

“Good to know,” Y/n watched Ted walk away, “Ted?”

He stopped at the top of the stairs, “Hmm?”

While Ted was still a lot, after all her years spent as the foreigner, it was almost…nice to talk to someone from home. Someone she didn’t need to explain her references to or rearrange her vocabulary for.

“Thank you,” Y/n said, quickly concealing the truth of her gratitude, “For the biscuits.”

“Anytime,” Ted saluted before heading on his way.

Y/n let out a loud sigh once she was sure he was gone. She wandered back over to the counter and opened the pink box, finding the signature biscuits Rebecca raved about. Out of curiosity, she broke off a bite and ate it.

“Shit,” she mumbled, they were better than anything she’d ever found in any of London’s cafés.

Despite his line-crossing, Ted was good-natured. He had a heart of gold and tried to make sure everyone he encountered felt like they had one too. Y/n could call it tolerance or simply learning to deal with him, but deep down, Ted’s efforts were starting to poke and prod a little harder at her walls.

—————————

That evening, after the movers had finished and Y/n had gotten the basics unpacked, she started on the non-essentials. She was stacking dishes when the doorbell rang.

Y/n was perturbed as she descended her stairs, there were exactly three people who had her new address, the absolute minimum. Lisa, who handled payroll at the club, Ted, who’d stumbled upon her apartment by sheer luck, and her sister.

Looking through the peephole, Y/n sighed. She’d forgotten there was a fourth on the list.

Jamie smiled smugly as Y/n opened the door, “You went with mine.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “I didn’t ‘go with yours.’ I was the one who found it, you just deemed it worthy.”

“And I was right,” Jamie stuck his neck out and lifted off his heels.

She’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing, but Jamie was completely right. The night of the West Ham match, the two of them had stayed at the Crown and Anchor till Mae kicked them out, pouring over each apartment until they’d eliminated 75% of the stack. The one Y/n had settled on was also the one that Jamie had decided was the best.

Jamie held up a plastic takeaway bag, “Come bearin’ sustenance.”

Not only was Y/n tired, she didn’t want to entertain anybody else from work. But, starving as she was, she was in no position to turn down free food.

“Entry permitted,” she snatched the bag from him, “Barely.”

Jamie took an exaggerated step over the seal and passed Y/n. They’d gotten to know each other better over the last few weeks, Jamie stopping Y/n anytime he saw her to ask about the apartment tours she was taking on the weekends. They’d gotten many laughs out of the stories of Y/n going against Jamie’s advice and visiting the properties that did indeed turn out to be crap.

In another world, they’d almost consider each other friends.

Upstairs, Jamie swung his arms as he took in the living room, “Not bad.”

“‘Not bad?’” Y/n turned around from where she stood in the adjoining kitchen, “You pick this place out and then it’s just ‘not bad?’”

Jamie cackled, spinning on his heel and pointing a finger at Y/n. “That’s an admission.”

Y/n internally cringed, her sharp edge was dulled by exhaustion. She could usually keep up with Jamie. “If you want any of this,” she unpacked the styrofoam container of kebabs, “You’ll stay on my good side.”

“Can’t have any,” Jamie replied, coming to lean on the bar, “Diet, ‘member?”

Y/n shook her head, popping a stray piece of chicken into her mouth. “I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

“You know why,” Jamie crossed his arms on the counter, “Gotta get back to being the best.”

“Yeah, but is being better than Zava worth missing out on things like food and sleep?” Y/n asked. She could appreciate Jamie’s drive, but this dedication seemed overboard.

“It’ll be worth it,” Jamie stated.

Y/n decided to play the asshole, sliding across the kitchen to wave the kebab box under Jamie’s nose. She watched his willpower waver ever so fleetingly.

Jamie glared up at her, “You’re evil.”

Y/n snickered as she went back to her spot, stealing a bite before going back to unpacking. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Roy?”

“Night before a match, I’m off,” Jamie swung around the bar to the kitchen.

“So shouldn’t you be resting?” Y/n asked as she un-bubble wrapped a stack of plates.

“I will,” Jamie shrugged, bending over to peel the tape off a box.

Y/n glanced over, watching as Jamie began to unpack various glasses. He didn’t offer, he didn’t ask, just went about it as if it were his business. It was slightly intrusive…and also kind.

Jamie Tartt, Y/n had come to learn, was nothing and everything like what she’d thought he’d be. He had more depth than he let onto and he’d shown a side of it by trying to help her find a place. And though she knew the Zava battle was a personal thing for him, she also knew how much Jamie cared about his team. He wanted to be at his best for them just as much as he did for himself.

Unlike Keeley, who announced her efforts to get Y/n to crack at every turn, or Ted, who went overboard, Jamie hadn’t tried to enter into Y/n’s life. He had simply occurred.

“Do you get nervous?” Y/n asked out of pure curiosity, “Before games?”

“Not really. I mean,” Jamie answered, lining up coffee mugs in a cupboard, ��Sometimes. Depends.”

Y/n stretched on her toes to put away china she never used, “On?”

“I dunno,” Jamie replied, a particular trigger or two popping up, “Lots of things.”

“So what about tomorrow?” Y/n continued.

Any slip Jamie’s mind had made was caught with quick footing. “Nah,” he said confidently, “Nah, we got that.”

“Well, good,” Y/n exhaled, setting the empty box on the floor, “It’d be nice to get a win. And hey, if it doesn’t work out and you’re forced to retire after this season, I’m sure the reality tv world is still thriving with opportunities.”

Jamie managed to grimace while smiling, “How the fuck did you find out about that?”

“You thought the PR department wouldn’t know about that?” Y/n strode past him to get another box, “I also live in England.”

“You at least vote for me?” Jamie asked, a playful lilt to his tone.

Y/n hoisted another box of kitchenware into her arms and balanced it on her knee. “Yep, you caught me,” she sarcastically grunted, “I have a weakness for crap tv featuring mediocre footballers.”

Jamie set down the mug in his hand with a particular harshness. Mediocre footballer. “Now, hang on-“ he began.

“Less talking, more working,” Y/n cut him off, she stopped to check out the cupboard he was finishing. “That’s also not where they go.”

“What?”

“The mugs,” Y/n gestured to where her coffee maker was, “Disrupts the flow if they’re all the way over there.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, only playful annoyance accompanying. “God forbid we disturb the flow,” he lamented, grabbing a mug in each hand and heading to the correct cabinet.

They unpacked in comfortable silence a minute more before Y/n decided it didn’t matter if Jamie wasn’t nervous about the match. They needed all the encouragement they could get.

“It’ll happen tomorrow,” she said, referring to their recent losses.

Regardless of whether he was hiding any feelings or if they’d pop out the moment he stepped on the pitch, Jamie stopped what he was doing to absorb the kind words. Y/n was a recent addition to his life, certainly an unexpected one, but she felt…safe. Like even if they didn’t know anything about each other past their mutual taste in real estate, he didn’t have to act so much around her.

“Thanks,” he replied, making effort to meet her eyes.

Y/n gave a small smile, “It will.”

—————————

It didn’t.

Over the next month, Richmond’s lack of luck turned to a 7-game losing streak. Some weeks were better than others, but they all ended the same way: with the Greyhounds leaving the pitch with their heads hanging in defeat.

Luckily, Y/n was kept occupied on the eighth week. Jack Danvers was coming into the office for a meeting and Keeley had asked Y/n to be there as well.

“You’re all business-y,” she’d said, “You know way more than I do, plus, Jack really likes you.”

Y/n sat on one side of Jack, with Barbara on the other, as she and Keeley recounted the conversation and clash of opinions they’d had recently.

“I completely understand where Barbara’s coming from,” Keeley said, keeping a kind tone as she turned to her CFO, “But as I was explaining to you, I’m worried that by adding more clients that could mean less attention paid to the wonderful people we already represent.”

“And then,” Barbara chuckled, though she lacked any humor, “I reminded Keeley, as you’ve said so many times, Jack, that if it does get to the point where we feel we’re spreading ourselves thinly, then we’ll hire more people,” she grinned politely at Keeley, “It’s called ‘growth.’”

Y/n and Keeley glanced over at one another fleetingly, the tension was so poorly concealed, it was getting uncomfortable.

“I’m sure you can see that as well, Y/n,” Barbara gestured towards Y/n.

“Actually, Keeley’s absolutely right, in my opinion,” Y/n answered, spotting her boss a smile, “There’s big firms, there’s small firms. Both have their allure, but I think our personability is the biggest thing we have going for us.”

“Oh,” Barbara’s grin grew scarier, “Wonderful, wonderful…”

Jack looked sweetly towards Barbara, “Okay. Let me weight in here.

“Oh, please,” Barbara obliged.

“I agree with Keeley,” Jack finished.

“Oh, that’s great,” Barbara beamed.

“Being a small boutique firm is exactly what sets you apart, like Y/n said,” Jack went on, “You want a restaurant to look successful, you take out half the tables and you have a line out the door. I say, let’s go for it.”

Keeley and Jack shared a smile.

“No, that’s wonderful. Yeah,” Barbara forced out as she rose, “And instead of salaries, we can give away the tables we threw out.”

“Don’t worry, Barbara,” Jack called, “It’ll be great.”

Barbara mumbled some dishonest agreement as she left the room, leaving it open on her way out.

Jack turned to Keeley and Y/n, “Do you ever think sunshine gets jealous of her?”

The women shared a laugh just before a knock at the door revealed Shandy. “Knock, knock.”

“Hi, babe,” Keeley greeted her friend.

“Now that your little cool girls meeting’s done,” Shandy leaned on the empty chair, very visibly unhappy, “Just wanted to share the exciting news that I’ve started an app.”

“Oh,” Keeley replied.

“It’s like Bantr, but it’s better and cooler,” Shandy’s tone was even and icy, “And actually cares about helping people have sex with celebrities.”

Y/n kept her head down, sharing an awkward glance with Jack. This was strictly Keeley’s business to handle.

“What? Shandy-“ Keeley began.

“It’s called ‘Star Fuckr,’” she announced before looking to Jack, “And yeah, we are looking for investors.”

When Jack didn’t offer to write a multi-zero check right then and there, Shandy stood tall, shot daggers at Keeley and strutted her way out of the room.

“I take it she’s still angry about the whole Bantr thing?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes,” Keeley nodded, “Shandy does not have a good relationship with rejection, or her ex, or with her workplace, or most nouns, really.”

“‘You are so passionate, but I have to let you go,” Jack said, pulling Y/n and Keeley’s attention, “‘I’m sorry, but I know someone as brilliant as you will land on their feet.”

Keeley struggled momentarily, “What did I do?”

“No, no, no, no,” Jack reached out across the desk, “Keeley, sorry. That’s what you say when you fire Shandy.”

Y/n and Keeley both exhaled forcefully, laughing after.

“Sorry,” Jack apologized.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Y/n’s hand was pressed to her chest, “I just saw my lease flash before my eyes.”

“It’s called a compliment sandwich,” Jack explained, “You give someone bad news, but to soften the blow, you slap it between two delicious slices of compliments.”

Keeley nodded, “But I can’t fire Shandy. She’ll hate me. And she really thinks she’s killing it.”

“I am sure she does,” Jack exhaled, “The worst people often think they’re the best. My dad calls it ‘talent dysmorphia.’”

Keeley laughed while Y/n stayed silent, knowing what was coming next.

“What do you think?” Keeley turned to her hardest worker, “Do you think it’s the right decision?”

Y/n looked down at her notebook, taking a deep breath to see if it would help the force of what she wanted to say dissipate. Jack was waiting on her too, and she couldn’t lie to her or Keeley.

“I think…” she started slow before shutting her eyes and letting it fly, “Keeley, if you don’t fire her, she will literally run the company into the ground and strut over its mangled corpse.”

When she opened her eyes, Jack and Keeley were leant back an inch or two as if to avoid the splash of her opinion. Before she could try and explain it more eloquently, the two women started laughing.

“No, no,” Jack chuckled, “Don’t hold back.”

Y/n exhaled with a small smile, turning to Keeley, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Keeley reached a hand over and poked the back of Y/n’s, “That’s why you’re my best. You don’t hold back.”

It was ironic, they both knew, considering how withdrawn Y/n kept herself. But with Keeley, it seemed to be a bit of a joke between the two of them.

“You two wanna get some lunch?” Jack asked when the giggles had died down, “My meeting just got pushed.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Keeley smiled, “Yeah, my stomach started grumbling when you said ‘compliment sandwich.’”

“You guys enjoy,” Y/n rose with them and collected her purse, “I’ve gotta get back to the office.”

“Oh,” Keeley reached back over her desk and handed Y/n a sheet of paper, “Give this to Zava. A couple more people called requesting interviews.”

Y/n glanced over the list she’d originally made, it seemed like the Zava craze still hadn’t died down. In fact, the more Richmond lost, the more people wanted to hear what he had to say. “Are we sure it’s a good idea to do so many interviews on a seven-game streak?”

“That’s the thing,” Keeley grabbed her coat, “The press eat up whatever Zava says. Can’t get enough.”

Quirking an eyebrow in understanding, Y/n tucked the list in her book and tried to imagine the ridiculous headlines that would be tied to Richmond this week.

—————————

Returning to the office after having taken lunch by herself, Y/n rapped two knuckles on the open locker room door. She still knew to wait for the all-clear.

“Everybody decent?”

A chorus of various ‘yeses’ were her key in.

“Zava,” Y/n turned to the star player, “Here’s your interview schedule. The press is really eager this weekend in particular. Let me know if there’s any changes you want to make.”

Zava pressed a hand to his heart and touched Y/n’s arm with the other. “Thank you,” he said softly, before looking to his teammates, “Men.”

Taking hold of both her shoulders, Zava guided Y/n to stand in front of him. “Okay,” Y/n stuttered as she was stood in front of the entire team. Seated in the middle of the room with Isaac, Jamie matched her confused gaze.

“This is what your hearts should be seeking,” Zava began to wax his odd form of poetry, “Brains, talent, warmth-“

Y/n’s brow creased, what the fuck had she walked into?

“Outer beauty will fade,” he continued, “But a smudge like this,” Zava smiled down on Y/n, “It will last forever.”

Zava patted her shoulders once more before throwing his towel over his shoulder and exiting the room. Not only was Y/n left with every Greyhound staring at her, contemplating Zava’s words, but with his schedule still clutched in her hand.

“Can someone make sure he gets this?” Y/n asked, failing to keep her tone even.

“Oh,” Dani raised his hand and climbed over Jamie’s leg to get to Y/n, “I will.”

Y/n willingly handed it off, “Thank you, Dani.” Not caring to spend another second in the room, she turned on her heel and left. She backtracked her steps quickly, “Is a smudge a good or a bad thing?”

Colin scrunched his face up, “It’s not…not…a good thing.”

Pressing a hand to her temple, Y/n decided she didn’t need to know any more about whatever conversation she’d interrupted and left the locker room.

—————————

The Man City match came about like every other one, but the air of anticipation heightened with each week. Would this be the day Richmond finally broke their streak? Or would they take another step towards double digits?

Not more than a second after Y/n had parked in the car lot, her phone rang with a call from Higgins.

“Hi,” she answered, “What’s going on?”

“Are you here yet?” Higgins asked, his tone nervous.

Y/n shut the door to her car, striding towards the back entrance to the stadium. “I just pulled in.”

“Could you pop into the coach’s office?”

“Yeah,” Y/n hung on the syllable suspiciously, turning in the other direction and swinging the door to the office building open. “Be right there.”

Y/n took long steps down the hall, passing by the locker room and heading straight for Ted’s office.

“Hey,” she said as she entered. Coach Beard, Roy and Higgins were standing around the desk clump, huddled together in conversation. Ted was already on the pitch. “What’s wrong?”

Beard kept his hand pressed to his mouth, Roy scowled at the air.

“It seems that Zava hasn’t showed up yet,” Higgins answered, “No one knows where he is.”

Y/n’s lips parted in confusion, “He’s just…not here?”

“Apparently so.”

Setting aside her annoyance, Y/n snapped into work mode and pulled her phone from her coat pocket. “Alright,” she scanned her contacts, “Let me get on the phone with some people. See if I can track him down.”

“He’d better fucking be here,” Roy growled at no one in particular.

Y/n raised her phone to her ear and pointed to Roy and Trent’s office, the former nodding for her to take it. She started at the top of the list of Zava’s personal team he’d given to her, Keeley and Higgins. Why a fecalist needed to be considered an emergency contact, Y/n would never understand, but she’d try whoever she had to…

Except the fecalist hadn’t heard from him.

Or his agent.

Or anyone Y/n dialed.

Defeatedly, and beginning to grow anxious, Y/n rejoined Beard, Roy and Higgins. “No one knows where the fuck he is,” she answered.

“Fuck,” Roy muttered.

“We got three minutes,” Beard shrugged, “What the fuck do we do?”

“Start Colin,” Roy resolved before looking to Y/n, “If you track that prick down, I don’t care, you fucking get on the pitch and tell us.”

Y/n gave a definitive nod, “You got it.”

With not so much a plan as a temporary fix, Roy and Beard left for the locker room while Y/n and Higgins headed for the hall.

“I told everyone to call me if they hear from him,” Y/n reported as they walked.

“What could be so important to make him miss a match?” Higgins pondered as they made their way to the stadium.

“I don’t know, but so long as his wife and kids are breathing and in possession of all their limbs,” Y/n practically growled, the cheering of packed house of Greyhounds growing louder with each step, “I’ll drag him onto the field myself.”

—————————

Rebecca took to the news…as expected.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Y/n sat on one side of her boss, raising two fingers of the hand rubbing at her temple, in agreement.

“So just, no one’s heard from him?” Rebecca asked.

“No one,” Higgins grimaced.

“Well,” Rebecca let her palms fall against her legs, “There goes any chance of a win.”

“Let’s pray otherwise,” Y/n scanned her phone for the fifth time since she’d sat down. It was then that she realized there was a very vocal presence missing. “Where’s Keeley?”

Snapping out of her most likely violent thoughts, Rebecca unlocked her phone and held it up to Y/n. She found a text thread from Keeley including a message that said she’d be missing the game. Below it was a picture of a baby lamb standing on the table of the KJPR conference room, surrounded by its own feces.

Three months ago, Y/n might have had a question or twelve. Now, she simply nodded and sat back in her seat. “So Shandy’s gone,” she mumbled to herself.

The game went as well as the last ones had. Colin, though talented, couldn’t rival Zava’s skill. Jamie’s extra training wasn’t the solution either, and Man City walked away with a 4-0 win against the Greyhounds.

Rebecca retired to her office while Higgins and Y/n headed to touch base with the coaches. Trent met them along the way.

“No one heard from him?” Trent asked Y/n on their way.

“Not a single text or call during the game,” Y/n scrolled her phone as they walked, an Instagram notification popping up, “Shit.”

Higgins looked over, “What?”

Y/n stopped midway to their destination, hitting play on the video.

“Hello, how are you?” Zava spoke, dressed in casual wear, “I’m just - I have to share something with you, my friends. You are not my followers. You are my believers.”

Trent and Higgins came to stand beside Y/n, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“And so it— I have to tell you,” the man paused, “Zava has played his last match. I will now dedicate all of my time and all of my energy to my family and my avocado farm.”

The rest of whatever utter nonsense Zava had to spew, Y/n didn’t listen. She was infuriated, partially because of his actions, and partially because they’d all allowed themselves to think it was ever a good idea to hire him. He’d fed the Greyhounds to the wolves with no regret and it affected all of AFC Richmond.

When the video ended, Trent, Y/n and Higgins shared a hopeless look.

“We’ve got to tell the boys,” Higgins finally spoke, shrugging slightly.

The three of them made their way down the rest of the hall where the locker room door hung open. The scene inside was dismal, each of the men sat on the benches with their heads hung.

“Hey, guys,” Higgins greeted in an attempt to stay positive, “Good effort today.”

“Mr. Higgins,” Colin spoke up from his seat, “Is it true about Zava?”

Y/n cast her gaze downwards, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

“I’m afraid so,” Higgins replied.

Dani, cradling a towel to his face, began to weep into the fabric.

“Maybe some tissues for Dani,” Higgins muttered quietly.

“Hey, hey, guys,” Sam stood with his phone in hand, “Zava just posted a video.”

“Oh gosh,” Y/n grumbled under her breath as the Greyhounds circled up. Everyone except Jamie, who remained sat on the floor.

The boys watched the video, clinging to every last word at the start, and walking away with mumbled curses and shakes of the head. Any love or respect they had for their former teammate had been lost within thirty virtual seconds.

Y/n snuck a glance over at Jamie, expecting to see him struggle to keep his joy under wraps. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Even he was in shock.

“Gentlemen,” Ted said as he entered, quickly noticing Y/n’s presence, “And lady. That was a tough one tonight. Okay? Man City has still got our number. That’s all right. We gonna get another crack at ‘em later in the season. Uh-huh,” Ted looked to Beard, “Coach? No practice tomorrow.”

Beard nodded, “That’s right.”

“Okay,” Ted looked back to the team, “Well, I’ll see y’all on Monday.”

While the rest of the team began to talk amongst themselves, Sam looked up confusedly at Ted. “Hey, hey. Hey, Coach,” he called till the manager stopped in his tracks, “What about Zava?”

Ted glanced over at Zava’s multiple lockers, his empty chair.

“He quit the team,” Sam stated, as if it unheard news.

“I mean, technically he retired from the whole sport,” Ted clarified, “Which makes it feel a little less personal, yeah? You know, like if your girlfriend runs off with some dude and it turns out they were soulmates.”

The Greyhounds replied quietly in agreement.

“But look, look, look, look,” Ted redirected their focus back, “I hear you, okay? Zava is gone. And you know what? I think it’s a good thing.”

The boys began to argue back in shock.

“Well, I do. Okay, look,” Ted spoke over his players, “Do I wanna win? Heck yeah. But I also wanna do it with folks that wanna be here. It’s not like we could handcuff him to his locker and make him love us.”

“We could have tried,” a desperate Dani replied.

As the initial surprised faded, Y/n was beginning to match Ted’s opinion. Zava may have taken them for a temporary ride to the top, but this ultimate insult had shown that his heart was next in Richmond.

“Hey, guys. Guys, look,” Ted held up a hand, “We got a good thing going here. All right?” Ted’s eyes fell to his left, meeting Jamie’s, “We didn’t need Zava. Yeah?”

No one dared disturb the silence as the truth washed over each of them, including those who weren’t players.

“Yeah,” Ted said quietly, “All we need to win are the fellas in this room, right now,” he pointed to the men on the benches, “And all you fellas need to do is believe it.”

No sooner than when Ted had uttered the last two words did the bright yellow ‘Believe’ sign hanging over his head split itself down the middle. The Greyhounds jumped to their feet and cried out to various degrees. Even Y/n gasped a little, having learned of its significance.

“It’s a sign,” Bumbercatch called out.

“That’s it,” Colin held up his hands, accepting fate, “We’re doomed.”

As the locker room grew louder, Ted held up his hands and attempted to settle things down.

“Now hold on. Hey, knock it off, okay? We’re not doomed. No one is doomed. But Bumbercatch, yes, you’re right. It is a sign. I agree, Yeah.”

Ted turned around and removed both halves of his handiwork, folding them together. “In fact this, it’s just a sign.”

Without any hesitation, Ted tore the paper into four pieces, sending the locker room into chaos again.

“All right, guys, listen to me,” Ted commanded the room, “Belief doesn’t just happen ‘cause you hang something up on a wall. All right? It comes from in here,” he touched his chest, “You know? And up here,” he touched his temple before hitting his stomach, “Down here. Only problem is, we all got so much junk floating through us, a lot of times, we end up getting in our own way.”

Y/n had yet to be present for any of Ted’s locker room speeches, as she had no reason to be. But immediately, like some spiritual presence moving through the room, she felt his words take hold of her.

“You know, crap like envy or fear, shame,” Ted continued, seemingly speaking to himself as well, “I don’t wanna mess around with that shit anymore. You know what I mean? Do you?”

He wasn’t speaking to her, but the question still penetrated Y/n all the same. She could feel a familiar ball of anxiety beginning to build in her stomach.

“No, me neither,” Ted shook his head after the boys answered back, “Hell no. Well, you know what I wanna mess around with? The belief that I matter, you know? Regardless of what I do or don’t achieve.”

One blade inserted itself into Y/n’s gut, the omnipresent pain causing her heart rate to speed up.

“Or the belief that we all deserve to be loved,” Ted went on, “Whether we’ve been hurt or maybe we’ve hurt somebody else.”

A second blade settled in Y/n’s chest, this one causing the muscles to contract. She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep the rising emotions at bay.

“Or what about the belief of hope?” Ted asked, “Yeah? That’s what I wanna mess with. Believing that things can get better. That I can get better. That we will get better.”

Better, Y/n thought on the word. Better. Did things ever get better? Or did ‘bad’ just shapeshift into something else? Did it just wait along the road in the shadows, waiting for ‘better’ to come merrily on its way?

“Oh, man,” Ted sighed, “To believe in yourself. To believe in one another. Man, that’s fundamental to being alive. And look. Yo, hey. If you can do that,” he pointed to each player in the room, “If each of your can truly do that-“

Ted made one more rip down the sign’s tatters, walking to the center of the room. “Can’t nobody rip that apart.”

As the remains of the sign slapped against the metal bench, Y/n’s anxiety reached its brim. She placed a near shaking hand on Higgins’ shoulder to signal she was leaving before slipping out the back door. Blearily, she made it down the hall and outside, the fresh air of the parking lot slamming into her.

Once in the safety of her car, she allowed herself to weep.

Zava was the furthest thing from her mind. The incoming headlines, another loss on the scoreboard…all of it. She couldn’t have cared less if she’d tried. All she could feel was the crippling ache in her chest, the sting of her tears, the overwhelming feeling that came with being utterly alone. When a person became aware of just how much bigger the world around them was and how infinitely small they really were. The pain that could be remedied with a simple hug or a comforting word.

Y/n let out a silent sob, the familiar ache of all she wanted having taken a new form, once again. It would certainly kill her to allow herself her basic needs, to walk back in and hurt with the people inside. And it would break her all the same to continue hiding.

————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities

[shootingmorningstar]

Hello! I love your writing🤍 could I request sfw and nsfw head-canons for Husker? He doesn’t get enough love. Thank you and take your time.😽😽

Of course you can, anon .ᐟ Maybe I'm just a little biased, big fan of cats that I am, but I completely agree. Thank you, by the way. That's so sweet .ᐟ Don't worry, I saw your extra ask about a fem reader, so I'll be adding that in .ᐟ

The NSFW parts of this post will be hidden under the cut ~ . Enjoy .ᐟ

HUSKER X FEM READER HEADCANONS .ᐟ

This poor kitty cat is entirely too touch starved, even if he won't show it. Asking for affection is just not something his persona really allows, you know .ᐣ So unless it's just the two of you and your relationship has been established for quite some time, it's likely you're going to be the one to initiate physical contact.

Once you have, though .ᐣ Good luck getting him to get up. You know that feeling that you get when a pet sits on your lap and you want to get up but they just look so comfortable that you can't bear to move them .ᐣ

It's the exact same for Husk. You'd been the one to start it, your head leaning against his shoulder. It had been a long day at the hotel for both of you and you'd settled yourselves into his room, some movie that had lost the both of yours attention a while back.

Still, you love getting to spend time with him, no matter what the scenario is. Something like a boring movie couldn't even begin to put a damper on your mood. You'd just have to find something else you could enjoy doing together.

So, innocent as it had been, you'd looked over to him for some cuddles and the second he felt your weight against him, he just sort of deflates.

Like I mentioned earlier, I think he'd try to be at least a little slick about it. Sure, he's leaning back into you but that's not so bad, right .ᐣ It's not like you can tell the second you'd touched him the stress of his day had melted away, surely .ᐣ

You can absolutely tell. You wouldn't ever get this far into a relationship with Husker without being able to tell just how he's feeling.

To me, Husk isn't the sort of guy to get into empty relationships. His life is already empty enough as it is. He's practically a shell of his former self. No soul, no power, bound to a chain at Alastor's grasp .ᐣ Booze is his only vice left, and even that doesn't seem to help.

So I really can't see Husk doing anything without emotion behind it -- especially with being coerced to work full time at the Hotel. What good is something, someone else who's going to leave him after they get what they want .ᐣ

All this is to say that Husk isn't the one night stand type, or is he in it for any sort of flings. When you'd become his girlfriend it was after he'd taken the time to get to know you and you him. You were the first person in the decades that had passed after he sold his soul that made him feel something, and that doesn't happen overnight.

So, yes, you can easily read him, and you can tell that he's getting far more comfort from your touch than he's letting on. That's exactly why it's so endearing when you see him subtly reach for your hand to entwine with his own, or the way his hand seems to pause in uncertainty before wrapping his arm around you.

He also doesn't seem too outwardly excited about going out -- that is if Alastor even allows it, but don't be fooled, he is thrilled.

He loves hearing you talk about things that matter to you. You have so much passion, so much life that it helps him fill his own voids in those areas. He loves the excited look in your eye as you drag him around Pride, sharing a memory or two about your life while you were alive as you do.

Take him home after a date and grab a drink with him -- the best thing about drinking with you is that you won't let him go too far. Addiction can't be cured by love alone, but having someone to take care of him helps his mental health enough to make him want to get better.

Speaking of taking care of him .ᐣ NSFW cut here .ᐟ

If you ask me, Husker's a switch. I don't think he'd mind being the dominant partner, not in the slightest. If that's what you're into, he will gladly take that role for you. Same for submissive - he likes being dominant and submissive equally, but for different reasons.

It takes a lot for him to open up enough to admit it, but I think what he really enjoys about being submissive is just that -- by taking that role, he's getting the chance to be taken care of. That's something he never gets, not anymore.

I want to say his dick is like.. 6.5 inches .ᐣ It's always the grumpy ones with big dicks. Perfectly sized, big but not to the point where it's painful.

Kiss all over his face while you take the time to undress him and he will be putty in your hands. This is one of the only times you'll catch him blushing.

Not to mention the instant hard-on.

He's really big on cowgirl when he's playing the submissive role. There's something about you taking the work into your own hands by riding him and just allowing him to relax and enjoy that drives him insane. Let him lay back and watch how gorgeous you are straddling him.

Bonus points if you lean forward enough to take his hand in your own and talk gently to him.

Please praise him while he's being submissive .ᐟ Tell him how good of a boy he is and how much you love him, how good you want to make him feel. He'll purr so loudly.

Pull his tail. Do it while he's close and he's cumming immediately.

As for Husk in the dominant role .ᐣ He loves it because every single other form of control in his life has been taken away.

He gets to decide almost nothing, and the thrill he gets from being in charge of both your pleasure and his is enough to spark a possessive attitude in him.

You won't leave him like everyone else, right .ᐣ You're the last thing he has. He'll treat you so good, you'll never feel unloved when you're with him so please say you're his .ᐣ

Let him prove it with bite marks and he will be over the moon. He looks like the cat who got the cream. In more ways than one.

Call it this to his face and he'll scowl, but he's huge on doggy when he's dominant. Just the thought of getting to choose where he bends you over and takes you is enough to get him hard and aching. I can't imagine he's too big on degradation, though. It hits just a little too close to home, and even if it's just an act, you don't deserve to ever feel less than.

This was my first time fulfilling a nsfw request, so I hope it's to you guys' liking .ᐟ My last imagines blog was sfw only, so I'm just a little nervous posting this. Let me know if it came out well .ᐣ As always, feedback fuels my writing muse .ᐟ A like or a comment would make my day. Bye for now ~

[patroxlos]

home base . ch5

"friends who fuck things up" - 5.6k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

can be read as a stand-alone.

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch4. "friends who sleep on call with each other"

next: ch6. "friends who are stuck together"

The start of your decade-long situationship.

---

Los Angeles. Ten years ago.

You let out a low whistle as you look out the window to the gorgeous beach view. Not bad for a guest room. The Satos own a stunning coastal property that, while a lot smaller than your own California manor, is homey enough for the mother and son duo. Yet, you always thought that it was too big for the both of them. Maybe that is why the two are making such a big fuss right now, as they finally have another chance to fill in the space with your timely visit.

Tense footsteps approach, and you turn towards the open door as a lanky Ken Sato gracelessly enters and barrels towards your luggage placed at the side of the wall. “ Why did you bring your stuff in here? I said you’re staying in my room!”

“Well Auntie told me—” You were cut off.

“Mom!” He shouts out to the house. “I told you! I have the pullout in my room for her.” He extends the handle of one of your carry-ons with one hand and reaches for one of your duffels with his other.

You hear Emiko Sato shout back from downstairs, faint from the distance. “Don’t you dare make that girl sleep on anything other than a proper bed.”

“Kenji, it's fine. I can hang out in your room but keep my stuff in here,” you reason with him. You try to take your bags out of his hands but he rebuffs you as he lumbers them out into the hallway, his room being nearest to yours and down the hall.

“But it’s been three years since we’ve had you over!” He insists.

Even if he is a mama’s boy, Ken is not immune to engaging in his fair amount of teen rebellion that got him into shouting matches with his equally hotheaded mother. You know exactly who he inherited most of his personality from. Rapid footsteps climb the stairs and your Auntie Emiko reaches the two of you in the hallway. “ Kenji Sato !”

You both wince at the full name. Still, Ken pushes open his bedroom door as you attempt to trail behind. “Mom, she doesn’t even mind. Right, dude?”

“I…guess?” You do not want to get in the middle of this. You are so, so jetlagged you want to take a shower and crash on any bed available.

Sensing your fatigue, Auntie Emiko pats both of your shoulders lovingly from behind. She stops you from entering his room and leads you back out to the hallway. “So glad you’re back here, dear. You can go ahead and shower in the guest room. I will take your things back once I’m done here.”

Before you can even say thank you, she enters Kenji’s room and closes the door behind them. You wince as you hear another argument start up.

“Mom, we used to share a room all the time! I don’t get why it’s such a problem now.”

“Kenji, the last time you two shared a room was when you were kids! Don’t you think she deserves her own space as a young lady?”

“Then I can sleep on the pullout and she can get the bed!”

“It’s still inappropriate for two teenagers to share—”

“Ugh you’re being so unfair! You’re acting like we’ll do something—”

You decide to walk away and take that shower.

Ever since Emiko and Ken Sato relocated to Los Angeles when you were just six years old, you have visited them almost every year with your parents. Your summer and winter vacations with them significantly help you and Ken maintain your easygoing friendship beyond messages and video calls. It feels good when the two of you are in the same timezone.

Unfortunately, you have not visited them since you were twelve years old. Three whole years without seeing each other has caused you and Ken to drift a little, with him getting sourer every summer break when you tell him you don’t think you could make it. Your parents got busier, and even if the Satos are family friends, it does not mean you wanted to spend every vacation at the States. Finally, you are old enough for your parents to trust you to fly alone, and at sixteen, you are picked up from the airport by your much taller childhood friend.

You absentmindedly think about how much has changed yet stayed the same about Ken as you rifle through your remaining belongings in your guest room, looking for your toiletries and pajamas to change into.

His height definitely took you by surprise. He was shorter than you the last time you saw him, by a half inch. Now, you have to look up when you talk to him, which you know for a fact that he has noticed, based on his smug look at the airport. He is definitely a lot more cocky than you remember, given his status as a baseball prodigy. You wonder whether he stopped getting bullied at school, and if his newfound confidence emerged from it. While he never gave details in his correspondence over the years, you just know that he “has it handled.”

Even if you never lost touch the past couple of years, it only hit you when you came face to face with him that he really has changed a lot. He is no longer as hyperactive as he was when he was younger. He is now more…aloof, with a bit of brooding. His ears are pierced to bear his new signature black studs. Hell, you may not have realized he was happy to have you here if not for his insistence for a sleepover.

It is disarming to shower in a place so familiar yet alien to you now. Maybe…visiting is a mistake.

It has been some time since the two of you had seen each other. What if you do not click anymore? Of course you have made new friends in his absence, and based on his life updates, so has he. He has even mentioned a girlfriend to you a few months ago, which you were a little surprised by. The title of best friend between the two of you feels decorative, with no real fondness behind it. You are scared that one way or another, it will be made apparent in this vacation that the two of you do not fit the way you did anymore.

As you finish your shower and leave the bathroom clad in your pajamas, you see Kenji grabbing some more of your bags from the floor of the guest room. You say “Dude, I really don’t want your ‘ma to get high blood pressure. I’m fine in this room.”

“She finally said it’s okay!” He grins at you, lifting up your bags with no difficulty. You have noticed he got a lot buffer at sixteen. His shirt, which he has definitely already outgrown, stretches out against his chest. Must be all the varsity training.

“Really? How did you manage that?” You dry your hair with a towel as you follow him to his room.

“She got tired of arguing and went to the farmer’s market.”

“...Well that would do it.”

You are sure his room is meant to be the master bedroom of the house, given how you marvel at its size when you get to properly enter. It is much like Auntie Emiko to give her son the best. He hurriedly brings your belongings into a walk-in closet, and when you enter his bathroom to drop your damp towel in the hamper you notice there are two sinks.

Still, it was very much a teenage boy’s room, based on his blue bedsheets stretching out over the king-sized bed and the gaming consoles under his flatscreen TV. You nearly trip over one of his baseball gloves as you marvel at a poster of Hideki Matsui on one wall, in his Giants jersey. You also spot a signed Matsui baseball card from his time with the Yankees, framed on a side table. 

“Whoops— gonna get that—” He rushes back into the room to grab his glove near your foot, dumping it into a random drawer. He is bouncing on his heels. ”...so yeah! This is the room. Welcome!”

“Is that where I’ll sleep?” You point towards the luxury gray sofa in the middle of the room facing the TV.

He walks up to your side to sling an arm around your shoulders; you’re annoyed at how easy it is for him to do that now with his added height. He does not mind that his shirt sleeve is growing damp from your hair. “Nah, I have to let you take the bed. Mom’s orders. We can share like old times though, since it’s big enough. Just don’t tell her.”

“You sure that’s okay? I mean, I know we’re friends but don’t you have a girl or something?”

He instantly sours, and drags you towards the bed with his arm still pressing firmly on your shoulders. “Broke up with me last week.”

“Oooh, bummer. What did you do?”

He smacks the back of your head. “Why’d you assume I did something?”

You shove him off good-naturedly, and sit down at the edge of the bed. “Well did she break up with you because of your stellar personality?” you dryly comment.

“Nah, I just played too much baseball.”

“Why’s that an issue?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it,” he brushes you off as he walks over to his game consoles.

You frown at him while his back is turned. It’s so…typical of Ken Sato to avoid any conversations about his feelings. He never likes talking about himself beyond what is surface level, and even if you can admit that he has gone the farthest with you when it comes to digging deep into his psyche, he still hesitates a lot when he has to open up. Jesus, you remember how long it took for him to be honest with you about how he does not get along much with anyone in Los Angeles, even his own varsity teammates.

Plus, he has only mentioned his girlfriend–ex, now–a handful of times. Your curiosity was eating at you.

“Ha, no way, you’re actually upset that you got dumped,” you tease, growing a bit more comfortable around him as the minutes pass you by.

He rolls his eyes as he starts up the TV and grabs two of his controllers. He tosses one at you, which you smoothly catch. “Honestly, I wasn’t really upset with it.”

“But weren’t you with her for several months…?” You could not believe his blasé attitude about it.

“And what about that guy your friend tried to set you up with? The one with nice skin but bad breath?” He changes the subject as he approaches you.

You flush, straightening your back. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. Hypocrite.

“It’s different!” You weakly justify.

“Yeah yeah, now scoot—” Ken tries to push you towards the other side of the bed. “This is my spot.”

“Ugh, dude what are you doing?” You groan as you acquiesce. He plops down beside you as soon as you move out of the way, the TV screen displayed Mario Kart.

“Thought we are gonna play?” He opens up the selection screen.

You groan. “I just wanna nap, man. It was a 12-hour flight.”

“You can nap after three rounds,” he protests. He nudges at your wrists until you are holding the controller up properly. “Come on, I wanna hang out.”

“Kenji, I love you, but I might pass out in the middle of round one.” Your hands drop back on your lap. The tension of your back eases as you sink into his mattress, and you want nothing more than to get under his covers and sleep.

He flicks the side of your head to keep you awake, grumbling. “I am not wasting anytime while you’re here. It might take you a whole ten years next time to come back.”

“I said I was sorry,” you weakly reply. You shove your controller into his chest as you throw his blankets over yourself. You sink your face into his pillow for added measure. “Now please, I promise we can hang after I wake up. I just need this.”

Even if your voice is muffled by the pillow, he understood you clearly. He scoffs, and you feel him slide off the bed to leave you alone. Guilt begins to creep into your heart. You know how hard it is for him to make friends here. He is distant with everyone else except for you. Now his girlfriend dumped him and he probably just needed company—

You hear the click of the lights turning off, and the pull of the curtains over the windows. You feel the dip of the bed again, and you look up to see him getting under the covers himself.

“What are you doing?” You hesitantly ask.

“What’s it look like? I’m taking a nap too.”

“…it’s ten in the morning.”

He pushes your face back into the pillow. “Yea, and I had to get up at four to pick you up from the airport.”

You try to apologize, but you are muffled by the pillow. You slap at his arm so he will let your head go.

“Don’t apologize, dude,” he murmurs as he settles into the bed beside you, but still keeping a respectable distance. “S’okay, you need to rest. Sorry about being pushy about it.”

You let out a yawn, relaxing into the bed. “We can play when we wake up…no biggie.”

“It’s not just that…” He faces you, lying down on his side. His arm falls into the space between. He lets out a heavy breath.

You wait.

He does not say anything more.

“Kenji?”

He turns around. “…nothing. I... Good morning, I guess. Sleep well.”

You nearly click your tongue. What is it with boys and their repressed emotions?

Yet, perhaps you worry too much. Things aren’t as simple as they were when you were kids, but that is how it’s supposed to be.

“Kenji I swear to god you’re going to get us in trouble,” you hiss at him as he shoves his arm up the crane machine. You try to cover him with your body since he placed you on lookout duty.

“You said you wanted it,” he grunts back, as he even tilts the machine a little forward.

You hurriedly provide leverage against the glass with your shoulder so the entire thing won’t collapse on him. He has spent fifteen minutes trying to get you a Tuxedo Sam plushie, and as stubborn as he is, he refuses to back down. “Sunk-cost fallacy, man.”

“The hell is that?”

“Don’t you listen in class?”

His long arm strains higher. “Can’t see shit from here. You gotta tell me if I’m close.”

“To your left— yeah, a bit more,” you guide him as you glance into the machine.

“Is it— ah, fuck— did I get it?”

“That’s a Cinnamoroll.”

His fingers pinched at the poor stuffed toy’s ear. “That good enough for you?”

“I guess it’s fine?” The weight of the machine is causing your shoulder to ache. “Dude just grab it and let’s go.”

“No, I’ll get that damn penguin.” God he’s stubborn as shit. His hand strains some more, and you see his fingertips brush against Tuxedo Sam’s hat.

“You’re actually gonna get it,” you marvel.

“I got you, girl.” He throws you a smirk despite nearly straining his rotator cuff.

The machine tilts a bit more, his palm fully closing over the stuffed toy’s face.

“Hey, what are you doing over there?!”

You make eye contact with the underpaid arcade employee stalking towards you.

“Kenji—“

“Oh shit—“

You push the machine back in place as Kenji yanks at the toy as fast as he could with a loud rip. You both bolt out of the exit, the neon lights bathe your skin no more as you run out to the sunset-soaked Santa Monica Pier.

Your howls of glee are drowned by the roar of the pier’s crowd. You smell the sea and fry grease in the air. Ken grabs your wrist and tugs you as he runs towards the parking lot.

You both are reduced to giggles by the time you reach his jeep. Your knees start to buckle as you throw your back against the passenger door, heaving from your long sprint. He is also a wreck, resting his arm against the passenger door as well as he stood beside you.

“Here, for you,” he says breathlessly as he holds up your prize, the Tuxedo Sam.

Or. Part of him.

“What the— Kenji!” You wheeze, doubling over from laughter. Your eyes sting from the tears that are forming.

That stuffed toy is full-on decapitated.

“Gah, damn. Must’ve gotten caught on the claw machine door.” Ken’s brows furrow as he looks at the penguin head he had gripped tightly in his hand.

An apology is on the tip of his tongue until he sees your hunched, shaking form. He barks out his own laughter, one hand circling your waist to stabilize you against his chest.

“Okay okay that’s enough,” he gives you his signature lop-sided smile as you shake against him. “Maybe I am not the best claw machine guy around.”

Your stomach hurts as you gasp for air. Your hand claws at his shirt as you continue to cackle. “Y-you think?!”

He presses the decapitated Tuxedo Sam head against your face to shut you up.

You two still get along just fine.

At that point, it has been a few days since you arrived in LA. You both have spent your time exploring the city while the sun is up, and goofing off in his room when night has fallen.

However, most of your schedule has to work around his baseball summer training. In fact, you could only hit up the pier after his training ended earlier at three in the afternoon. His equipment sticks out from the back as you sit in the passenger seat of his jeep.

“Keep an eye out for any patrol cars,” he tells you as he pulls out the parking lot to begin the drive home.

“Why? I don’t think they’re investigating penguin homicide.” You hug the decapitated Sam.

“Ha ha. My license is only provisional.” 

“Just drive like normal and you won’t get caught,” you nonchalantly say. “If you speed up when we see the police they would definitely pull us over.”

He reaches over the console to pinch your arm. “Don’t jinx it.”

You swat him away, then recline your seat. You stretch your legs out with a sigh. “Ugh, the day still feels too young.”

“Hm, we can have a little night time swim?” He suggests.

“Will your mom let us head to the beach again?” You think you both have messed around at the beach a total of three times already given that it is just at his backyard.

“Not at this hour, no. But you still haven’t tried the pool right?” While the Sato residence is a beachfront, they still have a gorgeous heated pool by the coast. You begin to envy his sun-kissed life.

The sky is already dark when you arrive back home ( home? Maybe it is). You begin making preparations for your nightly swim, donning on your bathing suit and grabbing your towel to head out to the back porch. Ken still hasn’t gone down, and you figure you can go ahead and make some poolside snacks for the two of you while you wait.

You pad barefoot into the kitchen with your sheer white swim cover up hanging off your shoulders. As you rummage through the fridge, the front door opens. A click of heels echo through the house.

“Oh, Navy!” You hear Mrs. Sato call out behind you. “What are you doing here? It’s been some time since you’ve come over— ah!”

She stops herself quickly when you turn around.

“So sorry about that sweetheart. You just look so much like—” She pauses.

“Oh, welcome back Auntie Emiko!” You greet her warmly as you set down the cans of soda you have grabbed onto the counter. She is still in her office attire, having come from her work at a kaiju research center in the city. Even if they are far from the shores of Tokyo, the whole world maintains great interest in those creatures.

Her words finally process in your head. “Sorry, who?”

She hesitates as she approaches the opposite side of the counter. “You know, Kenji’s old girlfriend.”

Ah. You blink. “Oh yeah, her name is…Navy? Right, yeah he mentioned her.” 

“You just look like her from behind. Maybe it’s the current fashion,” she sheepishly explains.

You don’t know why but it peeves you to think that another girl was waltzing around with her swimsuit on in Ken’s kitchen.

“Sorry, Kenji doesn’t like it when I talk about her,” Auntie Emiko explains. She reaches for one of your cans. “May I?”

“Oh sure,” you allow as you slide it to her. You open one of your own as you both comfortably sit at the bar stools across from one another. You take a sip for your nerves. Normally, talking with your auntie is so easy but for some reason a ball is lodged in your throat. “It’s…hard to get him to open up about his feelings.”

“That’s why I’m glad you’re here,” she confesses.

You take another sip, silent.

“You know, she actually was a lot like you. I don’t necessarily miss having her around per se, but it just felt like you were here with us once more.”

“Oh! Well Ken never really talked about her so I wouldn’t know.” You trace your fingertip around the can’s edge.

She laughs at a memory. “You know, when you told us last year that you cannot visit, Kenji moped around the house for weeks. We fought a lot during that time—“

“I’m really sorry…”

“No need to explain yourself to me. I knew he was just dealing with a lot back then. Anyway, one day he just seemed to have perked up again. That’s when he told me he met Navy. She was a bright girl like you are, very similar. It’s too bad Kenji wasn’t ready to fully commit to her. He has a baseball for a brain.” She knocks at her temple for emphasis.

You lean in, your nosiness coming in. “Do you know why she broke up with him? He never really explained it to me.”

She drinks some soda before she laughs again. “He always chose baseball over her, dear. That boy would rather spend his day at the field than whatever she wanted to do.”

“Is that really it?” You ask in wonder.

She shrugs. “Who knows if they fought about something else. The baseball summer training he’s doing now was the last straw, especially when…” She shuts up suddenly.

“When what?” You egg her on.

“Don’t tell him that I told you,” Auntie Emiko suddenly whispers. You nod. “But apparently, she couldn’t take it that he spent the entire day at training. Even I thought it was excessive that he’s doing a lot this summer.”

Your nose scrunches in confusion. “His training ends in the early afternoon. He could have made time if he wanted to.”

“Well he definitely has with you.” Her eyes twinkle knowingly as she takes a long sip from her can.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re at a loss. 

She hums. “Ever since you’ve been back, Kenji has been coming home from training after it ends.”

“…As he is should???”

“He normally comes home around nine in the evening because he stays overtime in the batting cage with the pitching machine.”

Oh. Well how are you supposed to know that?

Before you can reply, Ken enters the kitchen with a towel on his shoulders and his swim trunks hanging low on his hips. You train your eyes up to his face with much practice. It was much harder the first time you went swimming together earlier this vacation, when you had realized just how broad his shoulders have gotten. Must have been from all those hours in the batting cage.

“Hey mom,” he leans forward to give Auntie Emiko a peck on her cheek in greeting. He turns to you. “Ready to hit the pool, dude?”

You nod, finishing the last gulp of your soda quickly before throwing the can in the trash. “Yeah, sure.”

Auntie Emiko waves you two off as she slides down her barstool. “Have fun. I might turn in early for tonight.”

“Rest well mom,” Ken calls out to her as she leaves the kitchen.

Your conversation with your auntie goes to the back of your mind as soon as you jump into the warm chlorinated water. Heated pools are a godly gift for a cool night. 

Thrumming with the excess adrenaline from earlier today, you and Ken can singlehandedly reduce the pool’s water levels by a few good inches with the way you two splash around each other. From challenging each other to do the biggest cannonball, to grabbing each other’s ankles underwater, you are turning your relaxing evening soak into a full workout.

Your game of Marco Polo is the most tiring yet. He swims like a shark in top form. You could barely let out a squeal before he pounces on you from below. You nearly hit your head on the side of the pool when he grabs you with ferocity and holds you tightly against his cold, clammy body. His forearm presses against your bare tummy as your legs tangle underwater when he catches you, keeping you both afloat.

“Got ya.” His ego leaks out as his breath hits your ear.

A strong smack from you causes Ken to wince and let go. “You’re just cocky ‘cause your feet reaches the pool floor!” You swim a foot away from him.

“Maybe I’m cocky because I won the last five rounds.”

“Okay, I can acknowledge that you swim a lot better than me,” you bow your head a little to his direction. “So it makes me think that, maybe, you can better utilize your skills in our next game.”

“For the last time, I’m not playing mermaids.” He strikes the water to send a small wave towards your open mouth.

You sputter as you try to splash him back. “But you can have the shiny red tail and I can have a shimmery blue tail to match!”

“ What are you even talking about right now?”

“Don’t you have any imagination?”

“Well, I can imagine that I have two legs and can breathe air.”

“Well, my best friends back at Tokyo played mermaids with me.” It is a childishly low blow, but it is a joke all the same.

He does not seem to think so, as he gives a harsh splash to your face, harder than before.

“Hey, I’m kidding! Honest, we don’t have to—” you nearly drank in the pool water again as another splash came your way. “Promise we don’t have to play!”

You swim over to him as he pushes himself up to sit at the ledge close to the pool ladder. You cross your arms on top of the ledge, beside his legs as you look up at him.

“Kenji, promise. It’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head over yours so that the droplets in his hair rain down on you. “I don’t know. Maybe you should get on the next plane to play mermaids with your much better friends,” he sneers at you childishly.

Unrelenting, you push yourself to float up between his legs, hands on his knees as you coax him back into the water. “I didn’t mean it, bro. Please come back in?”

“...You won’t even let my mermaid have the ability to talk to all the fishes.” He leans back on his arms as he looks down at you.

“Because that’s my mermaid’s special power.” You swim closer, your ears nearly grazing his skin as your hands slide down to loosely hold his shins.

You nearly miss the hitch of his breath. “Why can’t both of our mermaids talk to fish? It makes more sense that way.”

“Ugh, if you keep insisting then let’s play something else,” you complain.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect mermaids to get so political,” he lazily keeps his eyes on you as your head bobs around while you float in the water. “It’s getting pretty late. Let’s call it a night.” 

“Ugh, please… don’t wanna sleep just yet.” You rest your cheek against his inner thigh, pleading with your eyes as you stuck out your bottom lip. You are met with the heel of his hand striking your forehead. “ Ow !”

“What are you doing ?” He hisses, and you wonder if you are mishearing the flustered tone that makes his voice go higher.

“I’m still not tired yet!” Your head is still pushed back.

He presses the heel of his hand firmer against your forehead. “Well I am.”

“I thought you were an athlete.” You grab his wrist to mitigate the pressure. “Your mom told me you spend hours in the batting cage before going home.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t done that in a while.” He gives one last small push on your forehead before leaning back again.

Pouting, you swam to the pool ladder to climb out, before plopping down beside him at the ledge. Your feet absentmindedly kick as it submerges once again into the water, and he follows suit.

“...I heard what you and mom talked about by the way,” he nonchalantly reveals.

“...Does it bother you?” You cautiously ask.

He shrugs, and gives a rough kick out with his feet. “Nah, you’re right. I don’t like talking about feelings and stuff. Maybe that’s why I didn’t really feel bad when she didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“I get why you wanted to prioritize baseball. It’s all you have,” you try to empathize. “Still, maybe you should’ve set aside time for her. It’s important to give space for other people in your life.”

He snorts. “She didn’t want to do anything important, believe me.”

“I’m sure any time spent with loved ones is priceless,” you argue.

“Oh yeah? So should I just risk my dream of being the best living baseball player of all time to makeout in my bed?”

You clam up really fast, and look away. “Don’t you have any tact?”

“You asked.” He reaches forward to scoop some water in his palm to throw at you.

“...Was it something that you did…often?” You do not know why you ask.

“Didn’t I just tell you the reason why we broke up?”

“Well I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in defense. “I just think making out with someone sounds…nice.”

He tilts his head at your tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve never.”

“I’ve…” you think very carefully about your next words. “...tried to, but it just didn’t like. Push beyond a little kiss.”

“Define little.” He angles his torso to face you, even if you could barely look him in the eyes.

“Maybe a peck?”

He whistles. “Damn, dude, way to hit all the bases.”

You try to shove him back into the water but he grabs your wrists and wrestles your arms down, pulling you close.

“Don’t be shy!” He laughs at you. “It’s kind of overrated.”

“It is?” You can’t help your natural curiosity. You put your hands down but he maintains a friendly grip on you.

“Yeah. Maybe the girls I kissed weren’t that good at it but it’s pretty…damp. And messy.”

You ignore the way your heart stings at his use of plural. “But doesn’t it feel nice? Like, it looks nice on TV.”

“Don’t get me wrong it feels…good. Really good,” he hesitates. “It just does not really compare to the batting cage.”

You bite your lip. His eyes unconsciously follow. “I… I really wanted to try doing it with that guy.”

“...The one with the nice skin?”

“And bad breath,” you grumble. “I couldn’t get over it. I tried to be subtle by sliding him some gum but he never took the hint.”

He lets go of your wrists in order to stop himself from laughing.

“It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is given how long you stuck by him,” he snickers. “Why were you even into him in the first place?”

Your mind briefly flashes back to the first time you met that boy, when your friend first introduced you to him. You remember your first thought was that he looks similar to someone you dearly missed.

You shrug, noncommittal. “Haven’t got a clue.”

“Well don’t go running off to find the next boy to get in on with,” he warns.

“I’m not!”

“Keep it that way, guys are pretty gross.”

You suck in air through your teeth. “It’s not really about that…I’m just worried that I won’t be good at it.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing to be good at,” he gives it to you straight. “If you like a guy enough it will always be good. You’re not getting graded.”

“Well since when were you the makeout master ?”

“Since I had a girlfriend whose breath smelled fine.”

“You said you didn’t even like her that much!”

“I also said she wanted to eat my face everyday.”

Damn, he has a point. 

You give a strong kick to the water, the wave smoothly gliding to the other side of the pool.

Ken sighs, sensing the drop in your mood. “...Does it really matter so much for you to try it out?”

“Try what out?” You play dumb, too embarrassed to say that yes, it did .

He knows what game you’re trying to pull on him, but he lets you. “Eat faces.”

“I haven’t even had a proper kiss yet,” you say, mock-scandalized.

“So I’ll give you a proper kiss first then.”

You blink.

He brings his hands down to splash you with more water. “Don’t look at me stupid like that.”

“I didn’t think you meant eat faces with you !” You splash him back.

“What’s wrong with me? I thought you wanted to get good at it before kissing some guy.”

You pause. You did want to be good… Still, the conversation is starting to spiral out of control. You hesitate to reply.

He clicks his tongue as he pats the tile at his side. “Come closer.”

You sit closer to his side, thighs touching. “God this is kind of weird.”

“It’s just a kiss,” he rolls his eyes. “You wanna learn or not?”

“What if your mom sees?” You look back to the house. It seems relatively quiet, with the lights of Auntie Emiko’s room turn off and the curtains spread out.

“She’s fast asleep.”

“What if my breath smells bad?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“What if—”

“If you don’t want to, I’m not forcing you,” he cuts you off, annoyed. He makes a move to stand but you press your palm against his knee to keep him still.

“What if this fucks up our friendship?”

Ken will have given you another half-assed response if not for the sincere fear reflecting from our eyes.

You continue, “I was really, really scared before coming here. I thought that, once we met up you’ll realize how boring I am and– and think that me coming was a waste of time. And I promise I don’t think that anymore. It’s been a fun few days and it feels like I got my best friend back, you know? It was shitty of me not to come see you, I know that now, because I can’t believe I would ever reach the point where I doubted us.”

He reaches upward to cup your face, and you nuzzle into his palm.

You let out a shaky sigh. “I want to kiss you. I do. I want to know what it feels like and figure out how it goes because I trust you more than anyone else. But I really don’t want to fuck this up more than I have.”

“You haven’t fucked anything up,” he mumbles. “I wouldn’t have offered if I thought you would fuck this up…I was scared too. That you didn’t come back because you grew bored of me.”

“That’s not why—”

He presses his thumb against your cheekbone. “I know. I…I struggled with it but I know now. I feel like I haven’t really come to terms with how…my dad never picked me first. I’ve never forgiven him for how much he neglected me and my mom that I…I think some anger I had with my dad transferred onto my resentment for you when you did not visit. I’m sorry, for being immature about it. I don’t know how to talk about things like this.”

The tightening in your chest unfurls. He moves his head closer.

Your breaths intermingle as you stay by the pool.

“It means a lot…” As you speak, your lips nearly brush against his. You bring your hand up over his heart to steady yourself and maintain a distance. “...How…how do we do this?”

“Let me guide you,” he says, a little breathless. “Anything I can do to keep boundaries? I mean, since this is just a friend doing a favor for a friend.”

Nervous, you blab the first thing that comes to mind. “Maybe…we can just say ‘bro’ after every kiss?”

“...Are you shitting me right now?” He gasps, resting his forehead against yours.

“I-I don’t know…” You giggle. “It won’t count if we do. Won’t mean anything.”

“We can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, bro .”

“Sure, bro. ”

“Anything you say, bro .”

“Kenji—Bro, I’m… I’m still a little scared.”

“Then let me take care of you…”

You hold your breath.

His breath is hot.

And he tastes like chlorine.

Like petals sliding against each other, his lips smoothly glide against your own. Your hand against his chest creeps up to leverage itself on his neck. His fingertips slip into your hair and you clench your legs as it brought tingles from your scalp all the way down your spine.

He pulls away, eyed unfocused when he opens them. “ More .”

You open and close your mouth. “Are…Are you asking?”

“ Please…” He kisses your nose. You life your head higher to kiss him back.

You are sure he feels the goosebumps on your skin as his other hand brushes against your leg. He lets his fingers climbs up your inner thigh as the hand in your hair pushes you firmer against him. You massage the nape of his neck in return, urging him on. You move against him on instinct, panting before sucking on his bottom lip. The groan he lets out sets you on fire. You feel a heat, a hunger, which can only be satiated by his skin against yours.

Lightheaded, you pull away for air but he chases after you, his nose bumping into yours as he searches for your lips once more. “Wait,” he grunts. “Not done.” His palm slides higher up your thigh, knuckles brushing against your polyester swimwear.

You swallow back a gasp as you lean back, too prideful to seem needy for his touch. “G-Give me a min—”

You lean back too far, he leans too far forward.

You fall into the pool.

The heated water is freezing against your scalding skin. You feel him wrap his arms around your waist to hoist up above water. You are greeted with a boyish laugh as you emerge for air. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips as he stands on the pool floor, anchoring yourself on his stability.

“My height comes in handy, huh?” He teases as he walks through the water to get to the ladder. He guides your bottom to rest on one of the steps.

You grasp the metal railings as he steps closer between your legs. Swallowing your pride, you mutter “I’m…I need more…”

“What was that?” He grins. His hands loftily roam from your thighs up to your sides back down again.

You push yourself forward to shut him up.

He dives deeper into your kiss as he runs his fingers again through your hair while his other hand grips your waist underwater. You buck into his touch, bumping against the front of his shorts, and he hisses before nipping at your lip to make you behave. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you grip the railing. The water sloshes around you two as he presses his hips against yours. The heels of your feet dig against his lower back as you sloppily kiss him through the haze of euphoria he shoots through your nervous system.

From your hair, his hand slides down to grab your chin. He tilts your head up. “You got something…” He brings you closer, and licks at the drool leaking out of your mouth. You grip his nape tighter as he begins to peck there, then to the corner of your jaw, following its line until his butterfly kisses reach your earlobe.

Ken feels your legs clench together. His hand on your waist dips into the water to soothingly knead them back apart.

As you ease open again, he gives a sly peck on your lobe before whispering “Can I suck on your tongue?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Nod or shake your head.”

You nod.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”

And shit. Did he make you feel really, really good.

Haa….

Ha…Haah…

A…A-Ah…

He lets out soft moans with each gentle suck of your tongue. They mix with your pants for air.

Reluctantly, he pulls away this time. His touch on your chin skims down to play with the strap of your bathing suit. He swallows heavily before he takes a shaky breath in.

You purse your lips, feeling the numbness. “...Well.”

He slowly nods. “Mhm.”

Your hands loosely slide down the railing. “I…I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do with my hands.”

He chuckles as he leans forward to kiss your shoulder, before slowly rubbing his face against your arm, all the way up to your wrist. He gives it a gentle peck as you still held on the railing, before falling into a pattern of rubbing up and down your arm’s length. He buries his nose at the crook of your arm, groaning.

If you do not know any better, he seems drunk.

“I-It’s getting late…”

“Yeah…” He plants open mouth kisses on your arm. Your hand nearly slips and falls into the water.

“We might prune up here.”

“Mmhmm…” He reaches your collarbone.

You tilt your head back instinctively. He smiles against your skin before his tongue swipes at your pulse. Your hands lift off the railing to grasp his back as jolt upwards.

He laughs again before pulling back. “That good, bro ?”

You instantly scowl. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“You told me to say it after,” he reminds you. Ah. It completely slips your mind that you did.

Ken helps you out of the pool, ever the gentleman. You do not realize just how cold it was until the late night wind blows against you. He hands you your towel, and you stammer out that you have to go shower. You hurry inside without waiting for his response, opting to head to the common bathroom to rinse yourself off.

By the time you enter his bedroom, he is still in the middle of his own shower. You find it odd that he is taking this long. He left the door open, and the light leaks out into the pitch-dark room. You crawl underneath his covers, dry and clean— no longer hot and sticky. Yet, you feel the familiar hunger as his scent crowds around you. You never noticed it before but his bed smells just like his everyday cologne. Burrowing your face into the pillow, you take a deep inhale to calm yourself.

You then remember the pressure of his palm against the back of your head, and wonder what it may feel like if he has your face shoved against the mattress.

“ F-fuck… ”

Your eyes shoot open as you lift your head out of the pillow. Did that slip out of you?

No, that did not come from you.

You look back at the open bathroom door, and just as quickly, you look away. You try to go sleep as you block your ears from hearing anything more. That did not do much.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Are you a fucking pervert?

Ken probably does not know you’re back in the room.

You touch your lips. They still feel warm.

It was just a friendly favor. Don’t make it weird.

Your legs shakily widen.

This is so so wrong.

You slip an extra pillow between them.

The shower stops and the door is pushed open a bit wider. You tense up before you play dead, acting as if you innocuously needed to cuddle up against something soft. His feet pad into the room before coming to a dead halt. He seems to be facing the bed. There is a crackle of hesitation in the air, before Ken heads towards his sofa and pulls it out for the mattress.

He settles himself into his makeshift bed, and you nearly sigh in disappointment when you realize you will be alone for the night, his side of your bed feeling emptier by the moment.

You still struggle to sleep long after you could hear his soft snores.

Did you fuck it up? You cannot help but chide yourself. If it is not weird, then why is he sleeping on the pullout? If it is not weird, then why did you leave him standing by the pool earlier after you finished…whatever it was you both were doing?

You slowly rock into the pillow with no particular rhythm as you thought about it. His hand touching your thigh, his knuckles grazing against…

“ A-Ah…” Your hips stutter. You clam up immediately. Shit, are you too loud?

You crane your head up to look down at the sofabed.

You don’t hear his snoring.

“...Kenji? You awake?” You call out into the dark.

A rustle of blankets. “...Yeah.”

“...you heard that?”

“.....yes….”

“.....”

“Did you…hear me…earlier?”

“...Yeah….”

He does not answer this time.

“...Did we fuck this up?” You cannot stop yourself from asking.

He breathily laughs, and it warms you right back up. “Of course not.”

The next day you sit in the breakfast nook with your Auntie Emiko as you both enjoy a simple breakfast of rice and dried fish. Kenji busies himself with getting ready for his baseball training.

Auntie Emiko chats with you about her plans for the day. “I have to go and meet up with the others moms at the PTA. What are you kids planning on doing later?”

You look at Ken as he packs up his bat, his back turned at you.

“Maybe mess around."

He evidently stills. Shit, are you bold .

But his mom just laughs it off, not really reading into what she said. “Just don’t set the house on fire and you’ll be good. It’s nice that you two are going to take the afternoon in. You had a busy day yesterday.”

You agree wholeheartedly.

“I gotta go,” Ken announces as he pulls up his bag up to his shoulder. He heads towards the table to give his mom a peck on the cheek and you a light side hug. “Bye.”

While Auntie Emiko continues on your little chat, you begin to panic. You worry that you read him wrong. You are sure you did not misunderstand where he stands. Where you stand.

You do not have to worry too long again. He always comes to melt your troubles away.

Specifically, he enters his room at 3:30PM still in his baseball uniform.

And to his credit, he at least showers and pretends you both are not thinking the same thing as he slides into bed beside you. He begins to play a random low-budget action film on his TV, and as soon as it was made clear that neither of you really gave a shit about the exploding cars and machine guns, he turns to you and asks

“Wanna makeout?”

Present day.

Ken wakes up in the shittiest mood he has been in for a while, and that is saying a lot. Not only did he have to turn down your bootycall last night, but he dreamt of your first makeout in his room.

He remembers having you on his lap and pushing your hips down as he came into his pants like the pathetic, horny teenager he was. He remembers you whining for him to teach you how to do your first french kiss like the pathetic, horny teenager you were.

Okay, maybe his thing was a lot more embarrassing. But in fairness, you left a permanent stain on the front of those boxers by the time you were finished.

He gets up from bed and takes a longest shower he has had since arriving back in Tokyo.

Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

Ken chants in his head. It is the same ten years ago, it is the same now. Even if it feels like everything, it means nothing. Of course, it is not the same now because you ended the arrangement three years ago .

He convinces himself that you were just tired last night, and he was too. Even if the old routine is familiar, and comfortable , it does not mean it is right.

He heads down to his basement, mug of coffee in one hand, and almost immediately he is greeted by the sight of a hyperactive Emi in her cylinder and his dad muttering over some charts.

“Hey girl, morning.” His heart swells with pride as his baby Emi chirps with excitement at the sight of him. Even if last night did not go the way he wanted it to, being able to give her a name feels good. 

“Morning dad,” he walks over to Professor Sato. The old man finally looks up with a start, before his eyes focus on his son with glee.

“Good morning, Kenji! Let’s start bright and early.”

Ken rolls his neck as he begins to warm up. “What’s first on the new sched? Feeding time?”

“Ah, before that…” His dad gestures to the chair beside him, and Ken takes the seat. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Is it Emi’s poopies? I never got around to figuring out the schedule in which she does it.”

“No no,” the professor pauses. He wipes his palms down his pants with the nervousness of a father who never really learned how to parent.

Oh wait , Ken thinks wryly, but still tries to stifle the thought.

“Mina…informed me you were headed somewhere last night.” His tone shows he knew more than what he is saying.

Ken stands back up. “No. You cannot leave me alone for twenty years then expect me to be all fine with it when you suddenly feel the need to give me the dad talk.”

“I-I’m not trying…look, son,” his dad tries to soften his temper. “You know how much I like her. You also know how she visited me every other month to check up on me while you were away, and that she has not stopped since you have arrived back home.”

“I know that,” he cannot help but bark out.

“And you know I’ve always appreciated her family’s help with funding the KDF back when its initial mission was more humane, and I don’t hold it against them that they continue to support it until now.”

“What are you saying?” He crosses his arms tightly.

“...I’m saying that I am proud of you for staying behind last night.”

He…He is not expecting this sort of praise. “I’m sorry?”

“W-well– uh– Mina, show him the chart?” Professor Sato calls for the robot assistant.

She hovers into view, and projects to Kenji a chart of…all the times he ditched Ultraman duty the past several months to do something else, categorized by reason.

The third is sleep.

The second is baseball.

The first is you.

He winces at the statistic, because even if he did neglect his duties often to see you, it was not enough to stop you from feeling like he did not care about you.

“...point being?” He pretends not to see what is wrong.

Professor Sato lets out a deep sigh. “I am…proud. That you chose to be here this time.”

“Okay.”

“And that I think you have a shot against that Yamazaki Kento guy.”

A vein nearly pops at the side of his temple. He sets down his coffee mug on a nearby surface as he rubs his head. “Yeah, no. They aren’t together.”

“Oh!” God dad, shut up. “That’s even better news. Since when?”

“It was just a few dates,” he snaps. “They didn’t work out.”

“I see… and this was…Before or after Yuzu?”

“After Mr. Hanyu ,” Ken corrects him immediately.

His dad laughs good-naturedly. “I can’t really follow her when she tells me all about it…At least she prefers athletes over actors, eh?”

“...Thanks. Anything else before I take Emi out for her bath?”

“Uh— Well… Kenji…” Here they go again. “Last night, when you played your…sleeping aids for Emi—”

“Those are the only things that knock her out,” he hurriedly explains. The temperature of the room beginning to rise.

“...R-Right…”

“Dad, don’t worry. I know it’s a bit…weird.”

“I didn’t say that, and I didn’t think that,” Professor Sato tries to assure him. “I…I do the same for your—”

Ken transforms into Ultraman before he could hear another word. Emi’s garbled chirps got louder in glee, and he swoops her into his arms.

He shouts behind him “Whoops, gotta go! She’s getting the hungies.”

Great. Good talk. The father-son bonding is sooo back.

A/N: Dear god was this horny. I miss the club.

I kind of got really shy about writing stuff like this? This is my first time publishing anything like that. i was actually supposed to fully write out the makeout scene in the bedroom but this chapter was getting too long. I really wanted all the things they did at sixteen to happen all in one chapter so I don't have to split it. Things to note

1) the Satos are definitely upperclass lmao. "But writer why is the reader still sponsoring Kenji if he's rich—" that's just how athlete sponsorships work rich ppl give money to other rich ppl all the time. 2) I didn't really like writing Auntie HAHA. I really wanted to call her "Tita Miko" or something but I figure most of you aren't Filipino. 3) To avoid alienating anyone I tried to figure out a name for Kenji's ex gf that i doubt any person is actually named. if your name is Navy then idk... 4) I will be giving you the craziest dating history to compensate for me making Kenji date other girls YIPEE. Except for the ex, I namedrop very real life personalities in each chapter.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Guilty As Sin - Andy Barber x Reader

A/N: This is my entry to @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 's Cum Together Extravaganza! As soon as I saw the prompt 'The one who (almost) got away' I knew I had to write something for our favourite lawyer!

Summary: Someone from Andy's past walks back into his life after over a decade, after keeping his longings locked will he finally admit his feelings?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF! The insinuation of Masturbation! FLUFF!!!!!​

Masterlist

Andy let out a big yawn as he leant back in his chair and raised his arms above his head to stretch out his back. He glanced at his watch to see it was almost lunch time yet it felt like 5 pm. He’d stayed up late last night to work through the evidence for this case, something he was slightly regretting now. But if it meant the victim got the justice they deserved then a little lack of sleep would be worth it, he’d sleep when it was over.

He grabbed his mug from the desk taking a large sip of his coffee which he may as well just pump straight into his veins at this point when there was a knock at his door. “Come in” he called out as he set his mug back down.

Lynn, his boss walked in holding a folder “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night?” she said knowingly, brow ached. 

Andy gave her a lop-sided smile “Sleep is for the weak, what can I do for you? Is that another case?” he asked nodding to the file. 

“No, I’m just here to let you know the new ADA will be joining you on this case, it’s gathering more and more media attention so I want my best team on it and I don’t want you working yourself to death on it” Lynn explained with a knowing look. 

Andy arched a brow in confusion, he didn’t realise they were looking for another ADA, let alone hired one “new ADA?” 

Lynn nodded “Just transferred from New York, they’re very good with a record that rivals yours”

Andy hummed “Well that’s good but I don’t need the help on this case, I’ve got it covered,” he said with a shake of his head.

“This wasn’t a request” Lynn said as someone else knocked on Andy’s door “That’s her” Lynn moved back towards the door before Andy could protest. 

Any protests he did have though died in his throat when he saw exactly who the new ADA was. It was like seeing a ghost and falling back into a time wormhole all at the same time. 

“Y/N,” he said before he even realised he was speaking, shooting up from his seat like he’d been electrocuted nearly knocking over his coffee. 

“Andy, long time no see” You smiled warmly back at him. 

Andy grinned back at you as he stepped out from behind his desk to walk over to you. He instinctively went to hug you but it had been over a decade since he’d seen you which made him hesitate. 

He stopped just short of you instead and pushed his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out  “You could say that again”

“You two know each other?” Lynn asked, brow arched. 

“We went to law school together” you explained, still smiling at Andy, not looking back at Lynn.

“Yeah Y/N was my only competition for the top of the class” Andy smirked unable to take his eyes off you.

“There was no real competition though” you chuckled with a knowing look up at Andy.

“I guess that’s why you ended up being a big shot lawyer in New York” Andy grinned. 

Andy couldn’t believe you were here. When you parted ways at the end of law school he didn’t expect to ever run into you again and it killed him. You had been his best friend, he honestly didn’t think he’d gotten through law school if it wasn’t for you. You pushed each other to do better, creating a healthy competition which neither of you cared about winning. 

After spending so much time together it was only natural that Andy developed feelings for you but law school was so intense that you’d both said that dating anyone would be a dangerous distraction. So Andy kept his feelings hidden and buried in the hopes that once you graduated he could confess his feelings. 

Fate was a cruel thing though as when you graduated you landed a big job in New York while Andy decided to stay in Boston. Andy had selfishly wanted to ask you to stay but he knew he couldn’t let you pass up this opportunity for just him. So he once again buried his feelings and let you go. 

The relationship he wanted with you remained in his mind. Over the years he tried to move on, he had partners but none of them captured his heart like you did. They were doomed from the start. Every time he thought he was over you, your name would appear on the news after winning another major case and he’d slip back into that maze that was his mental relationship with you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that on his loneliest nights, he would often picture himself with you, his desire crashing over him like waves. 

When it came to you, he was guilty as sin. 

“Well I’ll let you catch Y/N up on the case once you two finish catching up,” Lynn said with a pointed look “I hope this means no one will be staying up late on this case anymore” 

You shrugged your shoulders “Sleep is for the weak” 

Lynn rolled her eyes as she walked out muttering “I’ve got two of them now” 

Both you and Andy laughed “Let me get you caught up” Andy said gesturing for you to take a seat. 

Despite Lynn’s wishes you and Andy did end up working into the evenings together. But it was mostly because you were spending too much time catching up and acting like it was old times again. Currently, you were at Andy’s house pouring over the evidence while dining out on Chinese takeout. 

“So how come you decided to come back here? Getting too famous in New York?” Andy smirked as he dug through his chow mein. 

You snorted leaning back in your chair, you shook your head “No… I mean was I well known? Maybe” you smirked  “But that wasn’t the reason” Andy arched a brow in silent question “I wanted to become a lawyer to get the little guys justice, help victims, but in New York, I just ended up doing loads of fraud and corporate based crimes” you explained “I mean it felt good to take down these big rich guys who thought they were untouchable but it didn’t feel like I was actually helping the little guy” you sighed “I asked my boss for those sort of jobs but he said I was better suited to these corporate cases and I should leave the other cases to those who wouldn’t get emotionally invested AKA the men”

Andy frowned “That’s bullshit” he said, he didn’t even know who your old boss was but the anger he felt made him want to hunt him down and give him a piece of his mind. 

You shrugged “Yeah so I handed in my notice and looked to transfer back here” you said with a small lopsided smile. 

Andy pursed his lips, ever since you walked back into his life he wondered why you had chosen to come back. He hoped that he was at least part of the reason. He’d put off asking you for so long that it was impossible not to ask now. 

He plastered a smirk onto his face “Did you miss me?”

You chuckled quietly “I did actually” you admitted before taking a deep breath “It kinda felt like this was the place I needed to come back to”

Andy nodded, looking down at his food to hide the hope that was blossoming on his face “Well this place is definitely better with you in it” 

You snorted shaking your head “Nah I bet you found someone else to compete with” you smirked.

Andy shook his head “There’s Neil, stay away from him by the way” he pointed over to you with his chopsticks “but he’s pretty lousy competition, even after I taught him everything I knew” 

You chuckled “Noted,” you said before pausing for a moment “but there’s no one else? No… Mrs Barber to be that you’ve yet to introduce me to”

Andy shook his head “Nope, just me myself and I” he told you. 

You arched a brow “I’m surprised. I thought you’d have girls fawning over you once law school was over” you admitted.

Andy gave you a bashful smile “No, I mean I’ve dated but nothing that’s stuck… guess I’ve been holding out for something, someone else” Andy admitted quietly hoping you didn’t pick up on the hidden meaning. 

You just nodded understandingly “it’s been the same for me, except the thing I’m holding out for has only ever happened in my head”

Andy’s brows pinched together “What do you mean?” he asked. 

You let out a long sigh as you put your container back down on the table and cleared your throat “Well this confession wasn’t one I was planning to make before drinking copious amounts of alcohol but I guess there’s no time like the present” you sighed “I had a massive crush on you in law school and I was kinda hoping that once we graduated that something would happen” 

Andy blinked in surprise, his lips parted as he took in that information and tried to make sense of it “But- but when you got the job offer you said there was nothing keeping you in Boston” Andy recalled. 

It was a painful memory that he wished he could forget but never could. He regularly went back and wondered what he could have said differently to change your mind only to decide that he didn’t want to change your mind. 

You huffed quietly “I think I was just protecting myself by lying… and part of me, well part of me hoped that you’d say you were a reason to stay” you admitted. 

Andy sat back in his chair in shock. You had wanted him to say what he’d wanted to say. All of this time you both wanted the same thing and neither of you was brave enough to say it. 

“I wanted to” he admitted quietly.

Your brows rose slightly in surprise “You did? Your voice was full of disbelief “Why didn’t you?”

Andy sighed “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you missed out on a great opportunity, I didn’t want to you regret it years down the line and hate me for it” 

“My only regret is not having you” you said quietly. 

Andy put his food down as he stood up from his chair and walked around the table to crouch down next to you “Well… you can have me now if you still want me because I’ve been in love with you ever since you wiped the floor with me first week of law school” he smirked.

You laughed as you recalled that day “I promise my flirting technique has improved since then” 

Andy laughed and shook his wondering how on earth you both were so blind all this time “So do you want me?” he asked.

You nibbled your lower lip and nodded your head “I’ve always wanted you Barber”

Andy grinned as he cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply and passionately to make up for all the years wasted. Still not quite believing how the one who got away became the one who almost got away.

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