#jumbled-messy-confused

[jumbled-messy-confused]

She Sees

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Kirigan is used to darkness. Used to cold. Used to solitude. Alina Starkov is none of those things. In a world where every day is a battle, she is the one person that can offer him peace, even for just a moment.

Notes: This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is still relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series.

The first time it happened, Kirigan barely noticed. The war room was suffocating with tension, thick with the stale scent of wax-sealed reports and ink drying too slowly. Messengers had arrived with grim updates from the front, their voices clipped, faces taut with the weight of bad news. Others stood at attention, their gazes fixed on him, waiting for his missives. The crushing pressure of it all, the endless demands of the battlefield, settled over him like a heavy cloak. He gave his orders methodically, measuredly, but inside, he was already tired. The day had barely begun. The workload since Alina’s arrival had doubled, tripled. The Tsar’s demands grew sharper, the war more relentless, the expectations more crushing. He barely slept. The candlelight in his chambers never fully faded—only burned lower before another report, another decision, pulled him back from the edge of rest.

Then, light footsteps. Hesitant, but deliberate.

Alina.

She had no business in the war room, not really. And yet, here she was, lingering just inside the door, holding something small and delicate in her hands. A cup. “I thought you might need this,” she murmured softly, pressing it carefully into his cold hand. It was tea. No, coffee—strong, dark, an unmistakable hint of cinnamon.

He looked at her then, properly, and there it was—the gentlest smile, the kind that wasn’t demanding anything from him, wasn’t expecting him to be more than what he was in this moment. Tired.

She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t push. Just left the cup and slipped away, her warmth lingering even after the door closed behind her.

It had been days since he last felt hunger. When he entered the dining hall some time after midday, the other Grisha had long since eaten, the room quiet save for the muffled sounds of staff clearing dishes. They barely met his gaze, cautious, respectful. Even here, he was the Darkling before he was a man.

He knew, he should eat; but his body ached with the weight of exhaustion, and he didn’t feel hungry; just a hollow fatigue that pressed into his bones. Sitting stiffly in his chair, he stared listlessly at the meal that had been set in front of him. The food was well-prepared, fragrant, and hearty, but in his current state, it simply wasn’t appealing.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye—a small plate slid across the table toward him. Alina. Sitting a few seats away, half-tucked behind an open book. She didn’t say anything, just nudged it closer, smiling softly. On the plate were a few slices of apple, a handful of grapes, and a small square of dark chocolate. Simple. Thoughtful. Nothing he had expected—yet, exactly what he needed. He met her gaze, and for the first time that day, he exhaled.

She was pure sunlight. He watched her from his window one grey afternoon. Down in the courtyard, Alina was surrounded by a handful of children—orphans, his soldier’s sons and daughters, too young to be in the war, too familiar with its aftermath.

She knelt among them, her hands alight with her wonderful power, drawing their laughter as she conjured gentle orbs of vibrant light that danced above their heads. The little ones squealed with delight when the spheres burst into a thousand tiny shards, like a rain of crystal, scattering golden reflections across the cobblestones. One of the smaller girls clapped, beaming with joy, and Alina laughed, head tipped back. The sound carried, clear and bright. This ethereal being didn’t belong in a world shaped by war, yet here she was, scattering light like it might reach even him. A part of him wanted to walk away before the sight of it could settle too deeply. Another part—one he didn’t know how to silence—hoped it already had.

Kirigan lingered a moment longer than he should have.

A few days later, it was his neck. He hadn’t noticed how tight his shoulders had become, how the strain of endless meetings and hours spent hunched over his desk left his muscles aching. Not until Alina sat across from him one evening, a book open in her hands—the one he had assigned her to study.

She was supposed to be reading, absorbing the knowledge he had deemed necessary, but instead, she was frowning at him. At the way he rotated his head, trying to relieve the tension, rubbing the back of his neck absently.

With a quiet sigh, she closed the book, set it aside, and pushed back her chair. He glanced up as she stood, but before he could question her, she stepped behind him.

Then, without hesitation, she placed her warm hands on his shoulders and pressed gently.

Kirigan went still.

Her fingers examined the muscles lightly, finding the knots of tension built up over time. “You don’t relax enough,” she remarked, half concerned, half reproachful. Her touch was maddening, not because it hurt—but because it soothed. He hated how easily she seemed to disarm him. He had spent centuries building walls, fortifying himself against weakness, yet her hands on his shoulders threatened to dismantle all of it with a tenderness he didn’t know how to refuse.

He wanted to tell her he couldn’t afford to relax. But before he managed, she pressed her thumbs into a spot just below his neck, and he exhaled—too sharp, too sudden. His control slipped for the briefest moment.

Her lips quirked. “See?”

He didn’t argue.

She made him laugh. It startled him every time. He was on his way to the Grand Palace when he heard it—Alina, arguing fiercely with Zoya on the training yard.

“No, I did hit that target!”

Zoya folded her arms. “You grazed the edge. That’s hardly the same.”

“It absolutely counts!”

“Saints, you have the aim of a drunk Shu mercenary.”

“I do not!”

“Fine, then prove it.” Zoya gestured casually toward Ivan, who had just finished training a group of Grishenka and sent them off. “Hit his shoulder from here.”

Ivan barely had time to turn before a small, shimmering orb of sunlight zipped past his ear. He flinched, scowling.

Alina’s eyes went wide. “That was—”

“… my head,” Ivan growled.

Kirigan laughed.

The sound surprised them all.

Alina turned, startled, then—seeing the rare, unguarded amusement on his face—she grinned.

He shook his head, still smiling as he continued on his way.

It was solitude that he thought he wanted—until she broke it. The war room was quiet now, thankfully. The tense bustle of another demanding day finally gone, leaving behind only the soft glow of flickering candles. It was well past midnight, and for the first time in hours, Kirigan was alone. He pressed two fingers to his forehead, a futile attempt to ward off the crushing fatigue settling over him. His eyes skimmed over the page in his hand, more than once. But he didn’t take anything in.

He felt her before he heard her.

A gentle warmth against his arm, a touch that pulled him from the haze. He tensed instinctively, but then he recognized the familiar pressure of her fingers. He blinked, lifting his head slightly. “Alina?” His voice was rougher than he expected.

Her eyes were steady, determined in a way that left no room for argument.

“You’ve read this report three times already,” she pointed out softly. “It hasn’t changed.”

He exhaled, a slow, measured breath. Weary. He didn’t resist when her fingers carefully pried the parchment from his grasp, easing it from his hold. A part of him wanted to argue—he couldn’t afford to stop, not now. But with her hand still warm on his skin, the idea of pausing, just for a moment, didn’t seem quite so impossible.

He thought he could keep going. His body disagreed. Kirigan had ignored it for days. Weeks. Pushed past the headaches, the sluggishness, the way the world seemed to blur at the edges when he moved too quickly. He’d endured worse. Survived worse.

The meeting with the Tsar had dragged. Hours upon hours of veiled threats, of measured words, of navigating the Sovereign’s insatiable hunger for power. Kirigan had kept his composure—he always did—but it had cost him. The moment the war room door closed behind him, exhaustion slammed into him. It wasn’t just physical. It was in his bones, in his thoughts, in the marrow of his soul. His body felt heavy, like he was dragging a weight behind him with every step.

His mind, however, was still racing. There were decisions to be made. Plans to be executed. The war was not won, not by a long shot. He could not afford to falter—his Grisha, his people, and those suffering under the Tsar’s rule depended on him. He carried their hopes on his back, every step becoming heavier as the days passed, his strength waning with each blow he took, each sleepless night, each life lost. But tonight, his body betrayed him.

Suddenly, his vision swam. The world tilted. And then he was falling.

On his way down, he collided with a wooden commode. The impact was brutal, his body slamming into the sharp edge with a sickening crack before crumpling to the floor. The breath was knocked clean from his lungs, and a sharp, unbearable pain exploded in his ribs.

For a moment, everything was a blur of agony. The searing heat in his chest spread like wildfire, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. His body, overwhelmed by the shock, refused to respond to him anymore. It simply shut down; everything went black.

His world was reduced to fragments—pain, cold. And her voice. Breathing was an effort, shallow gasps rasping from his throat.

Somewhere, through the haze of his suffering, a voice drifted toward him—distant, but urgent. Familiar. A hand on his shoulder, strong yet careful. “General!” Alina’s call sliced through the fog, sharp and clear, like sunlight piercing the thickest clouds. He tried to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t obey. Fragments of conversation echoed around him now—Ivan’s steady baritone, Fedyor’s lighter reactions—but he couldn’t make out the meaning. Hands slipped beneath his knees, his shoulders. They lifted him, the movement jostling his broken ribs, sending fresh waves of agony through his chest. His body arched involuntarily, and a strangled, gasping sound tore from his throat. It was raw, unguarded—a guttural response to the sharp, burning pain.

Ivan barked something again, demanding and concerned, but the words blurred together while his consciousness drifted further away. His body was unable to hold on. He slipped away once more.

He came to the sensation of being lowered onto something soft. But he barely felt it; the world had turned to numbness. His chest heaved but it was useless—he managed just breathless gasps, weak and fading.

Somewhere above him, voices tangled together in sharp commands, hurried motions, but then—

Heat. Gentle, soothing heat seeped into his bones, into his battered body. The pain dulled, fading into a distant ache that no longer burned. Slowly, his chest expanded, a full breath filling his lungs for the first time in what felt like forever; not his own but guided by unseen hands. A Healer, his clouded mind supplied. The warmth deepened, and with it, his awareness faded. It wasn’t sleep, but a controlled darkness, a deep stillness meant to protect him while his body healed. His mind quieted, the world slipping away as he was gently pulled under, safe in the Healer’s care.

Warmth had been a foreign thing, for too long. Until now. When he finally woke, his body ached as if it had been dragged through the Fold and back—every muscle heavy, his head pounding with each thready beat of his heart. His eyelids refused to lift, but amidst the exhaustion, he sensed it—he was warm. For the first time in weeks, he felt warm.

Multiple blankets had been piled over him, tucked carefully around his frame. His boots were gone. His Kefta, too, replaced by a loose shirt and soft trousers.

And there was more. A presence—

A hand.

Small. Resting lightly on his shoulder.

He tried to shift toward the touch, but his limbs barely responded. When he finally managed to crack his eyes open, the light burned against his vision, leaving him disoriented and dizzy. But there, beside him, was Alina. She was perched on the edge of his bed, her gaze fixed on him with so much relief that it nearly undid him. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy in a way that spoke of recent tears.

"You’re awake," she whispered, as if saying it any louder might undo the fact.

Kirigan exhaled slowly, voice hoarse. "It would appear so."

A breath of something that might have been a laugh escaped her—but it was too thin, too fragile. Her fingers twitched against his shirt, but she didn’t let go. “You were—” She swallowed hard. “You scared me.”

He averted his gaze, shame cutting through the fog of his exhaustion. He hated this—hated that she had seen him like this, vulnerable, weak. Hated even more that she had worried, had cried because of him. "I didn’t mean to," he murmured.

"I know," she assured him, swiftly. Then repeated, quieter, "I know."

A slight movement near the door caught his attention and he turned his head toward it, though even that small action was a struggle. Ivan stood there, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression tinged with a rare softness. Fedyor had stood up and moved closer, leaning casually against the foot of the bed now. It was obvious they’d been keeping watch.

There was no rebuke in their eyes. No frustration. Only concern.

Kirigan let out a slow, unsteady breath. "You two had a hand in this?" His voice was rough, but wry. He tried to gesture with his chin toward the bed.

Ivan snorted. "You think Starkov could have dragged your sorry ass there alone?"

Before Alina could react, Fedyor did. "Ivan," he scolded, shaking his head. "Tact."

"What?" Ivan replied, deadpan. "It’s a fair question."

Fedyor snickered, and even Kirigan let out a faint breath of amusement, though the motion sent a dull ache through his ribs.

Alina huffed, but she was smiling now, just barely. That was better.

He sighed, letting his head sink back against the pillows. "I take it you’re all going to insist that I rest?"

Ivan’s eyebrow arched. "What gave it away?"

Kirigan hummed. "The blankets, mostly." He tried to shift slightly under the heavy mount of fabric, but even the attempt was too strenuous. "…and the fact that I seem to be practically restrained by them."

Fedyor leaned in just a little, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Restraints are unnecessary. Let’s be honest—if you tried to get out of bed, you’d end up flat on your back in less than five seconds. And none of us wants to deal with that kind of drama again." Kirigan turned his face away for a moment, exhaling slowly as the resignation set in. Fedyor, undeterred, flashed a bright, almost mischievous grin. "And before you ask—no, that tender bit of care wasn’t Ivan or me. That was all her." He tilted his head toward Alina, practically beaming.

Kirigan glanced at her, surprised.

Alina shifted, suddenly looking unsure. "You just—" She swallowed. "You were so cold."

He blinked. It was such a small thing. And yet, it wasn’t.

Kirigan held her gaze for a moment, his chest tightening. Her words weren’t accusing or demanding—they were simple, sincere. But the way she said it made something inside him stir; an ache he couldn’t quite place.

For a long beat, neither of them spoke.

It was Ivan’s sarcastic comment that broke the silence. “Still breathing under all those layers, or should we start digging you out?”

Kirigan huffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. Yet, he felt his strength ebbing. “Stop hovering,” was the only thing he managed.

“You’ll have to get better before you can give orders again,” Ivan retorted dryly. “Until then, I’ll hover as much as I damn well please.”

Fedyor rolled his eyes and stepped in, nudging him firmly in the side. “That’s enough, Ivan.” He put a hand on his back, steering him toward the exit. “It’s obvious the General prefers Alina’s hovering to ours.”

Alina’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, her gaze dropping to the edge of the blankets as though they suddenly held the secrets of the universe.

“Fine.” Ivan allowed himself to be manhandled out of the room, though not without some parting words. “But if you pass out again, don’t expect me to carry you. You’re heavier than you look.” Kirigan couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips, amused by the antics, despite his exhaustion.

Fedyor grinned at the display, then turned to follow his husband. Yet, just before stepping out, he glanced back over his shoulder, his tone warm and teasing. “Rest, General. That’s an order.”

The last sound lingering in the air was Ivan’s good-natured snort before the two disappeared into the hall, their footsteps fading into the quiet.

Now, they were alone. As the door clicked shut behind the two Heartrenders, the room felt a little quieter, a little emptier.

Kirigan’s attention drifted back to Alina, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was still staring at the blankets, her fingers fiddling nervously with the edge, like she was debating something she wasn’t sure how to say.

Keeping his eyes open was becoming a battle he was losing, but he fought against the pull of exhaustion with sheer determination. He couldn’t let himself drift off- not yet. Summoning what little strength he had left, he rasped, "Alina?"

Her gaze flickered to him, wide and uncertain. The concern still etched into her face sent a sharp pang through him. It ate at him, knowing she felt this way—because of him. He tried to speak, but no sound would come. He swallowed, tried again. “What… is it?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. But then, as if she could no longer keep it in, the words spilled out. “You work yourself into the ground, and I—I don’t know how to help, and I hate it.”

He should reassure her, give her some well-practiced answer about duty, about responsibility, about the burdens he had carried since long before she had been born.

But he didn’t.

He barely had the strength to stay conscious, let alone spin empty reassurances. And so, he said the only thing that was true. “You… do help.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I—”

“You do,” he repeated, though the words came out even weaker this time. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his words seemed to die before they left his mouth. With what little strength remained, he whispered, “Alina… please.” He needed her to see. To see, how important she was. To see, how much he needed her. Because he did. More than he could ever admit; needed her so much it hurt, more than he could bear to hold back any longer.

With a final surge of effort, he pulled his arm from beneath the heavy blankets, the endeavour burning through his already shattered strength. It took everything he had just to tug weakly at her sleeve, a touch so feeble it barely registered.

But she moved immediately, shifting onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping carefully around his frame, mindful of his injuries, of his exhaustion.

Still, even that slight pressure was enough to steal his breath. He let his head fall against her, his overstrained body sagging with the rare comfort of being held, sinking into the relief of her presence. His breath came in uneven shudders, his head aching from the mere act of staying conscious.

She tucked her face against his neck, and he felt the dampness of her tears, even as she fought to hold them back.

He was the Black General, the one who bent armies to his will, whose very name conjured fear. But here, with Alina’s arms around him, he was nothing more than a man—a fragile, broken man who didn’t deserve her warmth yet couldn’t bring himself to let it go.

His lashes fluttered. The fog in his mind was becoming thicker with the second, pressing in from all sides.

Her voice cut through the haze, barely more than a whisper. “Please, Aleksander. Rest.” A pause. Then, softer, “I’ve got you.”

Something inside him cracked. The last of his resistance crumbled, and he let himself fall. It was so easy to slip under again, to let the exhaustion pull him down. Because she was here.

Darkness took over once more. And this time, he didn’t fight it.

This time, he let go.

[trulyumai]

to love an emperor

—: pairing - caracalla / wife! reader

—: synopsis - Caracalla the disastrous, caracalla the mighty. thousands would cower down and pray in fear of such a man, but you? you offered love and kisses upon the head.

—: warnings - none. pure fluff for the soul.

—: an - is it a little off character? oh yeah. but the man needs more soft love and I am here to provide.

not everyday was caracalla affectionate. he was moody sometimes— angry at you even when someone else had provoked him.

but tonight?

tonight he couldn’t stop adoring you; you had no idea what had gotten into him. caracalla was never this affectionate, at least without jealousy or a beverage involved.

“do you love me?” the man mumbled, it was muffled against your skin. his breath was warm and sticking to you without delay. “of course,” you hummed, slipping fingers into the crown of his head, gently guiding your fingers through the soft and messy locks.

instantly Caracalla folded, the candlelight bounced of his face and illuminated each shadow and crevice with purpose. he was handsome, you certainly couldn’t deny such a fact. his eyes were soft, a light pink and red hue danced around his eyelids as the rest of his skin lay pale and untouched.

his lips were a little chapped, proof of him picking and biting them after todays timeline

“—you?”

Perking up, your mind cleared. You hadn’t even realized you spaced out until the jumbles of his words came to.

“I’m sorry, my love, what was that?”

the man beside you shuddered at such an endearment. He felt so warm, so comfortable in your presence.

“I said, do you know I love you?” Letting out a quiet snicker, a nod was given. “of course, I see it in your eyes, husband.”

Caracalla frowned, confusion blotted his features. “My… eyes?”

Soft fingers glided against his cheek, to which he leaned into trustingly. A thumb traced the underside of his eye, gently tracing random shapes and letters unconsciously.

“Mmh, you look at me the way Dondus looks at his snacks, my love.”

He couldn’t help but let out a bubble of laughter. wrinkles began to form around his eyes from such a joyous action, however his vision never faltered from admiring your blushing face. “I’m serious! You— you do!”

“Angel, what an odd way of phrasing such a thing!” Joining him in the barrage of giggles, you slumped onto him, digging your chin into the crevice of his neck.

“You’re not much of a poet, even I could have thought of better,”

You gasped, with hands now holding you upright on his chest a mischievous glint was caught in Caracallas eyes. “You jest, husband, surely. I’m more of a poet than you could ever be!”

“Oh?” The emperor challenged. Already taking advantage of this new position, both arms wrapped around your waist, prohibiting you from moving even an inch away.

“Mhm! Don’t you remember the last full moon? The festivities— the worshipping I gave—,”

A big, warm hand stopped you from going further, covering the entirety of your mouth and a giggle burst against the skin.

“I am more than aware of such a night, quiet it down before someone hears you.”

Although the walls were thick, and no one would ever think of disturbing such high power; there was celebration below, citizens from far and near joined in tonight’s merriment and Caracalla didn’t need anyone hearing of such a frivolous act between the two of you.

Feeling particularly bold, a light nibble was given to the man. Startled by such a sharp pain, the hand was removed and you were (temporarily), free to do as you pleased. Not sparing even a moment, your lips brushed against Caracallas ear with mischievous purpose. “Don’t you want them to know im yours? Have me scream your name in pleasure—“

“Careful,” The ginger seethed, already shuffling uncomfortably under you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, wife.”

“And who said I couldn’t finish, husband?” Suddenly, a grip was bestowed onto the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your soft lips collided with rougher ones.

Submitting into him, you allowed the pushing and shoving of his tongue, the way his hands pulled at your robes and squeezed each open crevice of skin they could find.

Caracalla quickly pulled back, a string of saliva followed suit and a dazed— hungry look was swimming in his vision.

“Angel?”

Your hands shakily moved across his form, undoing and untying his garments haphazardly.

A wet hum left you, you were so busy with the action you failed to notice his eyes upon you.

And how in love the man looked, felt while beside your side.

His eyes, half lidded and flooded with affection never faltered.

The way you looked in the moonlight, how the silk you were wearing was slowly dragging down your shoulders messily.

Your braids were undone, pulled in every which way from Caracallas hands—and your face?

Gods, there was a reason he called you angel.

No one looked as beautiful as you, and he doubted such a being ever would.

“I love you,” finally the words left him— shoved their way out like spilled wine upon cobblestone.

You smiled, big and wide.

“and I you, my love.”

[deatheaterv]

DISTRACTED

pairing : harry potter x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : harry gets distracted by you in the library, completely captivated by you. he nervously asks for your help with curses, and you tease him about his obvious crush. despite his awkwardness, you agreed to help, leaving him more smitten than ever.

harry was deep in thought, flipping through ancient texts in the library, trying to find information on something important for his next defense against the dark arts exam. the usual quiet hum of the library was comforting, and he’d gotten used to losing track of time there, his nose buried in dusty books. he hadn’t expected to be distracted today.

but then, you walked through the door.

harry didn’t even realize he was staring at first. it wasn’t until you walked past him, a soft, confident smile on your lips, that he felt his heart skip a beat. he blinked, shook his head, and quickly looked back down at his book, hoping you hadn’t noticed. but, of course, you did.

you glanced at him with a quick smile as you moved to the next table, and harry’s entire world seemed to pause. the way the light caught your hair, the way you moved—everything about you was… mesmerizing.

he tried to get back to his book, but it was like the words were dancing around on the page. his mind kept drifting back to you. he caught himself, cheeks flushing, and quickly tried to focus, but then he heard your soft laugh from across the room. his eyes darted back to you. you were laughing at something a friend had said, but that sound, that laugh, it pulled him in like gravity.

“focus, harry,” he muttered to himself, pushing his book closer, but it was no use. why was he so obsessed with you all of a sudden?

he told himself he was just distracted. nothing more. but the longer he sat there, the more he found himself stealing glances at you. how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, how your eyes sparkled when you were talking to someone. he couldn’t explain it. it was as if everything you did made him more and more captivated.

before he knew it, he’d lost track of time. the library was starting to empty, and harry hadn’t even noticed. he had to be dreaming, right? he didn’t get obsessed over people like this.

but there you were, still sitting at the same table, scribbling something in your notebook. harry felt his heart race, his palms sweaty, and before he could stop himself, he stood up, walking over to you.

“hey,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, betraying his nerves. you looked up at him with a warm smile, and for a moment, he almost forgot what he was going to say.

“hey, harry,” you replied, still smiling. “need something?”

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. his mind was a jumble of thoughts. just say something cool, something normal. but all he could think about was how stunning you looked under the dim library lights.

“uh… yeah,” he stammered, pushing a hand through his messy hair. “i mean, i don’t suppose you know anything about, um, curses? just, uh, curses in general, i guess.” he winced, realizing how lame he sounded.

you raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his sudden awkwardness. “curses? you? i thought you were a pro at this stuff.”

harry chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, yeah, but… just thought you might know something. you seem, um, pretty smart.”

your smile softened, and harry swore his heart skipped a beat. “flattery, huh?” you teased. “i’ll help you out, but only if you promise not to look at me like that anymore.”

“like what?” harry asked, blinking in confusion.

“like you’ve never seen a girl before,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “it's cute, but it's making me nervous.”

harry’s face turned bright red. of course you noticed. his heart was racing. “sorry,” he muttered, looking away. “it’s just... you’re really...”

“really? what?” you asked, leaning in a little, clearly enjoying watching him squirm.

“nothing,” he said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “forget i said anything.”

but your smile only grew wider. “i’ll help you with your curses, harry,” you said, as if nothing had happened. “but only if you stop acting like you’re the only one in the room who’s nervous.”

harry couldn’t help but laugh nervously. “deal,” he said, already feeling a little lighter but still completely obsessed with the way you made him feel.

[m3l0nfl0at]

hey blondie - k. tsukishima

tsukishima kei x f!reader ; brothers best friend! tsukki x yamaguchi’s sister! reader, accidental meetings, kind of slow burn, grumpy x sunshine trope, loosely based off of hey blondie by dominic fike, fluff, angst, sendai frogs team cameo!!, overprotective brother yams, yapper gf x listener bf, they both misunderstand each other at times, and 12k words

summary ; accepting a blind date with your coworkers brother leads you to meeting one of your brothers friends. will you hit it off? or will your brother's overprotectiveness prevent you from being with each other?

melody's recommended melody ; hey blondie playlist

Feeling something bump you on the back of your head, you turn around quickly to be met with Akiteru’s gaze. Your eyebrows lifted in confusion while shrugging your shoulders. He points his finger downward at the paper he threw at you. Following his finger, you see the jumbled up piece of paper lying on the floor. Uncrumpling it with a huff to find Akiteru’s messy handwriting, “Blind date with my brother tomorrow?”. You lift your eyes up to see him staring at you in anticipation, knowing that Akiteru has been trying to set you up with his brother since forever. Now normally, you would politely decline saying you wanted nothing to do with dating. However, seeing all of your friends introduce you to their newfound partners, you think you’ll take a chance on Akiteru’s brother.

Checking the box that says yes, crumpling the paper up, throwing it back to Akiteru. You find him slowly unfolding the paper with both eyes shut tightly. His uneasiness soon turned into celebration, feeling victorious that he finally got you to agree. Taking note of the time you see that it’s lunch time, gathering your things to head out only to be stopped. Akiteru hands you his brother's number, telling you to text him when you get the chance. You grab it curious on why Akiteru was so fixated on getting you together with his brother. Not thinking much of it, you stuff the paper in your pocket deciding to deal with the situation when you get back. As you start to get a quick bite you get a call from your brother, “What’s up Tadashi?”.

“Well if it isn’t my sister who finally answers my calls! Do you know how long I’ve been calling you for?”, you giggle at your brother's frantic tone. “Sorry Yams, I was busy with work but what’re you calling for?”, you hear a sigh from your brother. “I know this is when you take lunch. I'm near your work and want to meet up at that new cafe?”, open the door to said new cafe. “I’m already here, so hurry up. Since you’re so deprived of Vitamin me.” Yamaguchi goes quiet, hearing only the mutter of city life behind him. “Sorry.”, Yamaguchi laughs. “Yeah, you should be. See you in five!”, hanging up the call to order for your brother and you.

Sitting down after retrieving your order to only hear the little bell on the door jingling, looking up to be met with a green head of hair. “Took you long enough, Tadashi. You took so long that my lunch break is over.” Yamaguchi stares at you wide eyed, as you start grabbing your things pausing halfway. “Oh man Yams, you should see your face! I’m joking, sit down before my lunch is actually over. I have like a whole hour for lunch, don’t worry about it.”, Yamaguchi sits down pouting, upset that you made him look like a fool. “So big brother, anything new and interesting with you?”, you look up at him while sipping your coffee, almost burning your lip. “I told you to stop drinking things that are so hot! You’re going to burn your taste buds!”, he grabs the cup from you, placing it down. “Nothing is new, Yachi and I went to go watch our friend play volleyball yesterday. Oh! I fixed the copier today, so that’s new today, I guess.”, you giggle. Wiggling your eyebrows, “Yachi, huh? Who’s that, a new girlfriend?”. Yamaguchi chokes on his drink, furiously waving his hands around, “No! No! We’re just friends! I swear!”.

“What about you, huh? Anything new sis?”, you hesitate about telling him that your coworker is setting you up on a fake date. “Well, not really but you know my friend, Hana, she got married last week. Oh, and Sayuri got a new girlfriend! So, yeah I think your copier story has got me beat this time.”, you look blankly at the pastry you picked up. Yamaguchi looks at you pitifully, thinking of someone who he could set you up with. Yet, it didn’t help that he only had a handful of friends plus they were all off limits. None of them were good enough for you, not even Tsukki. You’ve never even met them before so it’s not like he can just randomly tell all his friends, hey did you know I have a sister! Shaking off the thought, “Well, love comes when you least expect it right?”, you nod knowing you were in no rush.

Yamaguchi’s phone rings, he holds it up before excusing himself to go outside. Staring at him through the glass to find him red-faced. Taken back, you try to read his lips only to make out the words, no way and no you can’t come. You laugh at your brother refusing someone until you see him deflate, knowing that whatever goofy tactics he did ended up failing. Dragging his feet all the way back into the cafe, “What was it? Did the great copier break again?”. “No, it was my friend. He said he wanted to join us, even though I told him no.”, you laugh knowing your brother has always been a pushover. “Well, is it so bad that your sister finally meets your friends?”, your brother nods. “Yes, it is bad. They’re boys, I don’t trust them. You can meet Yachi and that’s it everyone else is off limits!” Yamaguchi crosses his hands making an X.

“What are you even saying?”, you look up to find a stranger with tousled blonde hair and half rimmed glasses. Yamaguchi freezes, slowly lifting his gaze up to the stranger. “Is this why you didn’t want me to come? You were meeting someone?”, you freeze but not out of fear. “I’m Yamaguchi’s sister, nice to meet you!”, the stranger stares at you before sending you a soft wave, his face puzzled. “Well look at the time. Tadashi, it was nice seeing you but I got to go! Let’s meet up soon, okay.”, you get up quickly, worrying you won't make it to work on time. Tsukishima looks to where you were sitting before looking at Yamaguchi, “Spill.”.

Yamaguchi lets out a deep exhale, “Ok, yes I do have a sister. Regardless, she’s off limits so don’t even think about it Tsukki!”. Tsukishima rolls his eyes at Yamaguchi’s refusal. Of course he thought you were… aesthetically pleasing to look at. Yet, Tsukishima still respects Yamaguchi and decides to not protrude where he’s not welcomed, it’s not like he’ll actively seek you out anyway. He’s sure if he did Yamaguchi would reject every time he tried. Going about their day, the pair stay in that quaint cafe. Tsukishima pretending he didn’t just meet you for the sake of Yamaguchi. While you quickly walk your way to work trying to forget the handsome stranger's face.

Heading into work, settling back into the flow as you suddenly get interrupted, “Have you texted him yet?”. You turn around watching Akiteru question you, “No, I'm sorry I went to lunch with my brother but you know what I’ll text him after my shift.”. As Akiteru starts walking away you remember what you wanted to ask him, “Hey Aki, can I ask you why you’ve been wanting to set me up with your brother?”. He turns around placing his hand on the back of his neck, “My brother is kind of…reserved. He doesn’t really go for things. Seeing your personality, I figured that maybe you can take him out of his shell a bit.”, you think about his answer and debate if you could be with someone the opposite of your outgoing nature.

Well, you never know unless you try! You smile at him, thanking him for being honest and saying you look forward to meeting his brother. You grab the piece of paper from out of your pocket, inputting it into your contacts before sending out a quick message. “Hello, Is this Akiteru’s brother? He told me to contact you regarding our date, are you available tomorrow night? (‘•.•’)?” Putting your phone away to continue your work day, feeling confident as to what’ll come out of this date.

Back at the cafe, Tsukishima’s phone vibrates on the table interrupting Yamaguchi mid conversation. Tsukishima glances down looking at the notification being from an unknown number, picking it up seeing your text. “Who is it, Tsukki?”, he quickly replies, placing down the phone. “Nothing, my brother set me up on a blind date with his coworker.”, Yamaguchi perks up excited to see Tsukki show some initiative on his love life. “What? You? You agreed to a blind date with someone your brother picked for you?” Yamaguchi chuckles a bit at Tsukki’s abnormal behavior. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

Just as quickly as the day started, it ended. Beginning to pack up your things to leave so you could make the train. Walking to the station looking down at your phone to see a response from Akiteru’s brother. Not paying attention you bump into someone, “Oh, I’m so sorry!”. Looking up to find the stranger at the cafe, your brother’s friend. “Just be sure to watch where you’re going. I don’t think Yamaguchi would want you hurt taking the train.”, you freeze at his monotone voice. You see him heading the same way as you, not wanting to think you’re following him you decide to lurk steps behind him.

As you see him taking the same local train you were, dammit! Hoping on looking for a spot anywhere but near him. Glancing around to find none, deciding to stand holding onto the bar above. Pulling out your phone glancing at the text Akiteru’s brother left, “I’m available. Did you have a place in mind? Call me Kei, my brother talks very highly of you so no need to be formal.”, you feel hopeful especially since he sounds so nice over text. “Let’s do hotpot! The weather is getting slightly chillier, it’s the perfect season for it! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)”, sending it excited for tomorrow. Tsukishima faintly chuckles at your joyful response, agreeing that the weather was getting slightly chillier enough to enjoy hot food.

Looking over at the stranger you met earlier today to see him zoned into whatever was on his phone, the train comes to a stop. He looks up catching you staring at him, you wave. He looks around to make sure you’re waving at him. You knew your stop was next, deciding to overcome your nervousness you sat next to him. “Hey, I’m Yamaguchi’s sister! I know I left abruptly earlier, sorry about that. You’re Yamaguchi’s friend, right?”, Tsukki blankly looks at you taken aback by how friendly you are. “Yeah, I’m Yamaguchi’s longtime best friend. My name is Tsukishima by the way.”, you repeat his name to make sure to keep it stored. “Well Tsukishima, it’s really late what’re you doing out so late at night?”, you cock your head to the side, curious. “I could ask you the same thing.”, he raises an eyebrow in your direction. You pout, “Well don’t tell Yams but I usually leave work this late. Now, your turn.”. “I practiced a little too late, I wanted to practice on my jump float serve.”, you quirk up knowing that that was Yams signature move in high school.

Before being able to respond you feel the train come to a stop, looking to see your stop was already coming up. “Man, I was looking forward to talking to you more. Maybe get some dirt on Yams but it seems like the universe has a different plan, my stops approaching. It was nice talking to you Tsukishima!” You get up and wave goodbye seeing him wave back this time. Tsukishima realizes he never got your name, doubting Yamaguchi would give it to him. He feels a bit exhausted after that conversation, you were the embodiment of energy. It kind of creeped him out, you were like a combination of Yamaguchi and Hinata. Pulling back out his phone to respond to his blind date, “Hotpot sounds good, send me the address and I’ll meet you there tomorrow at 7:30.”

Getting ready to leave, you make sure to stop by Akiteru’s cubicle, letting him know to give you good luck. He sends you off with two thumbs up, telling you not to worry and if Kei does anything let him know so he can reprimand him. Walking to the station you look at your phone texting Kei that he is still able to make the date to which he responds with a simple yes and see you soon. Getting onto the train, you see Tsukishima sitting down already. “Is this seat taken Tsukishima?”, you smile at him. He looks up to you shaking his head allowing you to sit down, “You know I didn’t get your name. All I know is that you’re Yamaguchi’s sister.”. Sitting up you realize you never told him your name, urgently telling him and apologizing for your manners. “What brought you on the train this early today?”, you giggle as Tsukishima calmly manners your conversation from yesterday. “I have a blind date actually, I didn’t want to tell Yams yesterday because he gets all overprotective.”, Tsukishima pauses.

Suddenly everything goes in slow motion. Were you Akiteru’s coworker? No way that’s bizarre, maybe you have a different blind date? You look over to Tsukishima seeing him stare into oblivion, poking his shoulder. “Earth to Tsukki-”, “Do you know Akiteru?”, you laugh. “Yeah I do, he's my coworker actually, why?” Tsukishima pauses, staring at you deeply waiting for it to click in your mind. You stare at him oblivious, before it suddenly dawns on you why he would know Akiteru and how he suddenly had the same facial features as him. Laughing to fill the awkward silence from Tsukishima, “Who could’ve guessed? I mean I should’ve, you resemble Akiteru! Whew, I feel relieved. I’m not going on a date with a complete stranger.”

Tsukishima panics mentally, Yamaguchi said you were off limits. Should he say now that you guys can’t be anything but friends? Can he even be friends with you? How should he go about this? “Don’t overthink so much Tsukishima! My brother won’t care, let’s just enjoy our hangout together!” hearing you take off the label of a date eases him a bit. Deciding to just stop the overthinking mess in his head to enjoy this hangout with you, a hangout that’s all it was. “It’s not like we have to tell my brother anyway. He keeps Yachi and him a secret anyway.”, Tsukishima looks over at you surprised. “He says Yachi doesn’t like him but they both attend all my games together. If someone as oblivious as you can figure that out then I feel bad for Yachi.”, you look at him offended.

“I’m not oblivious! I just use my brain only for work. Anything after that doesn’t need much thought.”, Tsukishima grimaces at that. “Any improvements on your jump float serve?” Tsukishima is surprised your brain remembered that small detail. “No actually, now I see why Yamaguchi practiced religiously. It’s like just when I’m about to do it, I hit it and instead serve regularly.”, you place your elbow on your stomach thinking back to Yams practicing. Remembering how relentlessly he trained to hit that complicated serve. “Well knowing how hard Yams worked in high school he was like on level twenty.”, Tsukishima questions what you’re about to say next. “Whereas you’re like level five, don’t get so down on yourself. It’s not like you suck at volleyball, take your time.”, he’s shocked how realistic you are while also being so aloof.

“If you were paying attention, mister, I'm so oblivious. Then you would know our stop is next, see I pay attention. Come on, let's get our things together.”, you smile, grabbing Tsukishima’s hand. He falters, shy by the sudden physical touch. You look back, seeing him nervous before pulling back your hand. “Oh, I’m sorry! I should’ve asked before grabbing your hand.” Tsukishima brushes off saying it’s fine as he clasps his hands together. Following your lead to the hotpot place, Tsukishima learns you only allow yourself a hotpot twice a year. You tell him he should feel lucky that you’re sharing this rare experience with him to which Tsukishima side eyes you.

Entering the hotpot restaurant you say hello to the owner who welcomes you and Tsukishima kindly. Tsukishima likes how friendly you are, it allows him to sit back and observe. He prefers not talking too much instead enjoying the rare opportunity to be silent. However, you snap him back into reality as you let him choose what broth he wants to go into the hotpot. After picking an equal amount of veggies before heading to sit down at the table. After settling in, Tsukishima starts cooking the meat, adding that he doesn’t really have a big appetite. You wave him off saying it’s fine, “Let’s get to the good part Tsukishima. Have any good dirt on Yamaguchi?”

Tsukishima looks up at you to see you grinning evilly with your chopsticks in hand placing the veggies in the broth. He really thinks to himself if he did have dirt on Yamaguchi only thinking of one story. “Yamaguchi drunkenly admitted one time that he had a crush on Akiteru.”, you blink before belly laughing. “Oh my gosh, is that why he never let me hangout with you? Maybe we should try getting them together! Oh but he likes Yachi now.” you deeply think how to redeem Yams love life. Tsukishima playfully rolls his eyes, “What about you? Why did Yamaguchi keep you a secret for so long huh?”, you look at him surprised that he was so blunt. “Well, Yams told me it’s because he didn't want any of you making a pass at me. You know the overprotective type but I guess time has a different plan, huh?”

Tsukishima fiddles with his fingers after plating all the beef, knowing he was thinking so much you lift up a baby corn. “These are my favorite, the veggies have been cooking for a while so they should be perfect! Here try.”, Tsukishima closes in, taking your offer and trying the baby corn off of your chopsticks. He agrees that the veggies are done and cooked to perfection, lifting up a thumbs up. You visibly light up at Tsukishima’s agreement to which he smiles just a bit. Even though you and Yamaguchi don’t really look alike, he sees it in the mannerisms you share. Both liking affirmations that you’re doing something right, opening up to people more when you feel comfortable with them, and both sharing the same smile.

Tsukishima leans over to grab more vegetables and broth, just because he wants to see you smile again he praises you for the tasty broth you picked saying he was suddenly feeling really hungry. Not much to his surprise you light up and Tsukishima feels satisfied, when he gets home he’ll have to thank Akiteru for making him go on this date after all. You lift up the broth with your ladle, Tsukishima stops you. “That’s way too hot. You’re going to burn yourself.”, you look at him puzzled. “How do you know that?”, Tsukishima questions if you’re just oblivious or if you have poor eyesight. “The steam coming out of it? Let it cool down first.”, you listen, looking at him as he nods. Lifting it again only to realize he was right, the temperature allowed you to really take in the flavor. That bastard!

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction you changed the conversation. “I know you play volleyball but what’s your position?”, Tsukishima glances at you. “Middle blocker, I essentially just block the ball. Not very flashy, I know.” You stop him, “What that’s awesome! That’s why you’re super tall, it gives you the advantage! Plus, I would watch all the rallies with Yams. Men's Volleyball players spike that ball hardcore, meaning you would have to keep a really steady arm.” you stop yourself realizing your rambling. “It might not be flashy but you’re a part of the team so it’s important.”, Tsukishima agrees. Happy that you made his insecurity into something positive.

That night, you and Tsukishima continue to talk about various things from your siblings, your past school life, and your jobs. This is where you find out Tsukishima actually works near you at the Sendai museum. You hype up his job even more than you did him being a pro volleyball player. Tsukishima didn’t talk often, he gave the occasional nod and even some small input here and there but it never felt forced. He was actually paying attention to what you were saying, putting importance on every single word you were saying. Talking to him felt comforting even if he just stayed quiet, you liked someone who just listened to you talk about the random things in life.

After finishing up your hotpot, you bid a goodbye to the owner, thanking them for the delicious meal. They laugh saying to enjoy the rest of your night. You find Tsukishima glancing over at you holding your bag. You walk over to him, “So are you taking the same train as me again?”, Tsukishima nods. “I’m taking the same route as you. It would be rude of me to not walk you home. I can’t let my friend's sister walk home alone, it wouldn’t be safe.”, you accept his offer as he links your arms making sure not to get lost in the crowd. Making it to the train he offers you a seat, sitting down next to you, handing you your bag.

You didn’t know if it was the broth or the hard day at work but you were exhausted, glad that you ended the day with a new found friend. Feeling your phone vibrate you take it out to see a text from Tsukishima, he points to your phone when you look at him confused. The text read, Are you tired?. “Did you really save me on your phone as Kei?”, you nod. “You told me I could call you Kei, did you redact that statement?”, Tsukishima glances anywhere but at you. “No, you can call me Kei.” you laugh, you guess Yams isn’t the only pushover. You text him, I’m tired. (っ,-) My stop is next though so I’ll be fine! ദ്ദി(• ˕ •マ.ᐟ). “How do you come up with those things so fast?”, “If I teach you will you start sending them back?”. “No, no way.”

On the train ride you learned that Tsukishima isn’t really enthusiastic unless it’s about Volleyball, he never has a big appetite, and he loves music and dinosaurs. To which you added that your favorite dinosaur is a Pterodactyl due to always wanting to fly instead of being tall. Tsukishima sidney’s you thinking you made a dig at him, to which you start laughing. You tell him later to text you his playlist, wanting to hear his music taste but Tsukishima rejected saying he doesn’t just share that information with anyone. Approaching your apartment, you declare that you will get close enough one day that he’ll have no problem giving it to you.

“Well blondie, we’re here! Thanks for walking me, I mean you’re right who would mess with me when I have a six foot personal guard dog.”, Tsukishima huffs brushing off your comment. “When can we hang out again?”, Tsukishima is surprised you wanted to hangout again due to him being mostly silent this date. He didn’t think you would find him interesting enough, “I guess we could meet at the cafe tomorrow for lunch?”. He fiddles with his fingers, “Ok! I take lunch at one so make sure to meet me there. Don’t leave me waiting.” You walk off forgetting something, “Thank you Kei, I had a lot of fun.”, you walk up to your door waving to him before closing your door. He watches you close the door before calling Akiteru, “Hello, Kei. What’s up?”. Tsukishima takes a breathe, walking back to the station, “Thanks.”. “Thanks for what?”, Tsukishima hangs up not wanting to get gushy over the phone, opting to instead put on his headphones.

Walking to your office in the morning you expected Akiteru to question you. However you did not imagine that he would be sitting in your cubicle waiting for you. Akiteru hands you a cup of coffee as you settle into your workflow. “How was it?!”, you flash a smile towards him as Akiteru stares at you wide eyed. “It went well! Tell me about it!”, you think about telling him, debating whether or not you should. “We went to get some hotpot and we’re going to hangout today for lunch. That’s about it.”, Akiteru lights up, excited about the potential of your relationship.

“I don’t want to put a label on anything but I want to be friends first. So sorry Akiteru, you’re going to be playing the long game.” He deflates at your comment expecting a love at first sight story. Akiteru thanks you for your intel because he knows Kei would never tell him anything. You sip on the coffee Akiteru brought you almost instantly burning your tongue. Remembering last night where Tsukishima stopped you and Yams scolding you the day before. Placing down the coffee cup with a huff. Of course they were best friends, they both nagged at you like they were the same person. Thinking of Tsukishima, you pull out your phone to see if he ever texted you back last night about what cafe you guys were going to be at. “Did you forget already? The one we first met at, you need to pay more attention.” You huff, he even reprimands you while texting. Reacting to the text with a thumbs up, anticipating your lunch break.

Hours go by slowly as you spend every hour glancing at the clock. As soon as the clock strikes 12:00 you get up to head to lunch, telling Akiteru you were heading out. Walking to the cafe you feel your phone vibrate, “You’re late.”, you know that tone anywhere. “I’m actually on time, you’re earlier. It’s a five minute walk, just sit down and look pretty you’ll be fine.” you hang up on him, laughing at your remark. As you were putting your phone back in your pocket you feel it buzzing again. “Kei-“, “Kei? Who’re you talking too!”, you freeze, Yamaguchi called. “Keitru, Akiteru, sorry my coworker was bothering me.”, you hesitate wondering if he’ll believe your cover up.

“Whatever, want to meet up for lunch?”, you open the door to the cafe, Tsukishima waving you over. “Sorry Yams, I’m actually with my coworker eating lunch.”, Tsukishima glances up blankly, scared. “Oh that sucks, ok well maybe some other day then.” You exchange kick goodbyes, hanging up. “You should totally see your face, Kei. You're paler than you usually are, chill out. Let’s go order!” Tsukishima gets up as you both leave your belongings in the booth. Tsukishima orders first and you’re up next ordering something iced to which Tsukishima glances at you sideways. He pays again, even though he paid for a hotpot last time.

“Why’re you getting your coffee iced?”, you look at him questionably. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”, he chuckles knowing you were going to tell him anyway. “I burned my tongue on some coffee in the morning.”, now he laughs. You roll your eyes, of course the only time he laughs is at the sake of your misery. You go to retort but he suddenly gets a call, he doesn’t make the same mistake you do. Actually looking at the caller ID, flashing his phone to you which shows the screen that said Yamaguchi. Now it’s your turn to laugh as you watch him accept the call, paler than a ghost, “What is it Yamaguchi?”.

You hear a loud “Tsukki!” over the phone as Tsukishima backs up from his phone. You beg him to put it on speaker to which he mouths no. As you start pouting he rolls his eyes, switching to speaker. “Tsukki, do you want to go to lunch together?”, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “No Yamaguchi, I’m already at lunch with someone.”, you hear Yama gasp. “Tsukki you’re with someone else?”, Tsukishima agrees with Yama. “Well I can join! Who is it with?”, Tsukishima trips over his words. “I’m with my brother.”. Yamaguchi goes silent as you giggle silently, knowing the lore between Yamaguchi and Akiteru.

“Man, first my sister and now you too. Well, I’ll leave you to it Tsukki! Have fun!”, Tsukishima hangs up. Eyes zeroing on you, furiously. “I’m never doing that again.”, you laugh at how scared Tsukishima is of Yamaguchi. “Anyways Kei, how is your day going? Besides almost dying at my brother's phone call.”, you look at him taking a sip of your drink. “Well the museum got some new properties for the new exhibit opening up.”, you urge him to continue. “It’s nothing cool, just a couple of exoskeletons of prehistoric animals.”. “Tsukishima, you have to work with me here. Please, I bet working at a museum is awesome! It’s like Night at The Museum!”, Tsukishima lifts a brow. “No way, you’ve never seen Night at the Museum?”, he shakes his head as you realize what your next hangout is.

“Basically this guy works at a museum as a guard and everything in the museum comes to life. It’s awesome.”, Tsukishima huffs. “It’s not like that at all, at least what I do isn’t. However, I really doubt anything comes to life, sorry.”, you laugh rolling your eyes. “Then tell me mister my work is nothing cool, what is your job?”, he thinks for a minute really thinking of something that won’t sugarcoat his job. “I file the paperwork for all new objects, I do bidding offers on new items for upcoming exhibits, and I give little kids tours. Does that sound interesting?”, he takes a sip of his drink thinking he finally exceeded in making his job sound lame. “So let me get this straight, you do bidding wars, talk to adorable children almost every week, and get to over analyze pre historic objects?”, he nods. “That doesn’t sound lame at all, you fraud!”, he shakes his head, disagreeing with you.

Only you could find the right words to make his job sound more exciting than it is. “Man your job is so cool, what’s the oldest thing you’ve ever bid on?”, you light up. Every time Tsukishima talks to you, he realizes just how much you remind him of that pipsqueak Hinata, are you and Hinata secretly related instead of Yamaguchi? “Nothing too crazy, I recently won some 400 year old armor the other day. That should be coming in soon along with a couple of swords and stuff.” you let your mouth hang open in shock. “You’re telling me that you’ve held a real sword before and you don’t think that’s cool!?”

Tsukishima blushes, confused as to why you’re so convinced of making his job seem cooler than it was to him. “Kei, you’re so cool. You’re a pro-volleyball player who works at a museum? So not only are you athletic but you’re also super smart? I see why my brother hid you from me.”, Tsukishima chokes on his drink. You patted his back making sure he was okay. Tsukishima gave a thumbs up, looking down at his fingers. He’s received compliments before just not like this. Not compliments that felt like they’re permanently going to be etched in his mind. Or compliments that felt so heavy on his heart that he wanted to explode in embarrassment.

“Oh look at the time! I hope I didn’t keep you too long Kei! My work isn’t too far but I’m not sure how far your commute is?”, he waved his hand not wanting to concern you with that. “Bye bye Kei! We can hangout this weekend! Movie date at mine!”. You left Tsukishima to deal with all the glances of nosy people who overheard you. He picks up after him heading back to his work, texting you “If we’re both picking movies then we have to watch Jurassic Park.”. His eyes bulge out of his sockets, “Deal! I’ve actually never seen it before. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)”. You wait for Tsukishima’s reply, shocked when you look at your phone. “Lame.”

The weekend approached, texting with Tsukishima on and off about what you had planned to do on your date. He wasn’t really surprised when you didn’t end up telling him, chalking it up to it being a suprise. Tsukishima rolls his eyes at your response, heading out with his headphones and bag. Opening the door and locking up, “Hey Tsukki! Where are you headed to?”, he turns around seeing Yamaguchi and sighs, upset that he locked the door for nothing. “I’m going to my brothers for the day. I won’t be back till later so don’t wait up.”, Yamaguchi nods, unlocking the door and stepping in saying goodbye to Tsukki. Closing the door, Tsukishima lets out a breath, maybe he shouldn’t keep doing this. What’ll happen if Yamaguchi finds out, is keeping this a secret even worth it?

Tsukishima’s thoughts cloud over his head, he doesn’t even know how he ended up at your door. Lost in the music and his thoughts, he pulls out his phone double checking if he had the correct address. Knocking once he’s confirmed everything, you open the door, sparkles and all. While he wasn’t going to exaggerate saying all his thoughts just magically went away, being with you did lessen the weight on his shoulders. With you he wasn’t in his head all the time, more present in the moment. When you took in Tsukishima’s quietness you opened the door wider, “Don’t leave me hanging Kei, we have two movies to get through and some cake to make!”.

You know Tsukishima was abnormally quiet, you didn’t want to bother him though. Tsukishima didn’t seem like the person to open up so easily. So instead you choose to distract him, pulling him by his sleeve to your kitchen seeing all the ingredients displayed nicely. “We’re going to be making strawberry shortcake!”, Tsukishima looks over to you. “Did you ask Yamaguchi what my favorite dessert was?”, you blankly stare at him. “No way it’s my favorite dessert too! As if Yams would ever answer any of my questions about you. Plus, it’s super easy to make!”

“What Jurassic Park are we watching?” Tsukishima snaps out of his daze. “The very first one, it’s the only important one anyway.”, you whisk all the wet ingredients together missing the Tsukishima that was more vocal than usual at the cafe. Deciding to do what you do best, fill the silence for the both of you. “I wouldn’t take you as someone who likes something as sweet as Strawberry Shortcake.”, Tsukishima laughs. “I may not be the cheeriest person but that doesn’t mean I lack taste.”, you chuckle looking over to Tsukishima. Starting to see things you haven’t seen before like how he has the faintest smile lines or how he has a scar in between his fingers, most likely from volleyball. These details don’t really stand out to you but once you start looking at Tsukishima as more than just your brother’s Pro-Volleyball player friend, you’ll see that maybe there's more to him than you think.

“Can I ask what you like about strawberry shortcake?”, you say with a soft tone. Tsukishima looks at you, fully taking in your expression before answering. Curious if you were actually asking what he likes about the strawberry shortcake or what he likes about you. Yet you showed no change in your emotion, he debates whether or not to be blunt and define what you're asking. Not willing to put his pride aside, he decides to find common aspects in you and strawberry shortcake. “It’s very vibrant and pretty. It’s not overly sweet, more like sweet in a refreshing way. Every time I take a bite it’s like being at ease, nothing else but me and the shortcake.”, you turn around confused. “Are you attracted to the shortcake Kei? Why are you so detailed?”, Tsukishima’s speechless and embarrassed. You really were just talking about the shortcake. “I was expecting, it’s so yummy or I love strawberries! However, I think you might be in love with strawberry shortcake, maybe you should marry it.”, you pat him on the back then place the cakes in the oven.

Tsukishima fills the awkward silence with what he knows best, music. Playing his monthly playlist, you turn around quickly lighting up at the music playing. You look at Tsukishima but he hastily looks away, feeling very vulnerable at this moment. Your heart pumps in joy, knowing that Tsukishima trusts you enough to share something he loves with you. “Is this ADOY?”, Tsukishima glances down at his fingers, nodding. “You’re right, you’re a man with taste.”, you playfully wink at him. “I saw them live last year, they were so cool! This song is my favorite!”, you reach out your hand in Tsukishima’s direction while singing along. He looks up, shaking his head, accepting defeat and retracting your hand. Feeling that Tsukishima might not be the dancing type. Until Tsukishima reaches for your hand as it almost completely retreats, linking it together with his. You both swayed back and forth, spinning until you felt dizzy as the cake scent filled the room. Laughing when you had to go on your tiptoes to reach your arm over him. At this moment, his thoughts were now completely gone.

As the music stops, you hear your timer beeping. You slowly pull away your hand with a smile, cautious not to cause any misunderstandings. “Oh Kei, you have to come look at this. It’s beautiful!”, Kei looks at the cake not understanding what you’re seeing. Nodding anyway, you put the cake away to chill as you grab some snacks so you can watch Jurassic Park while the cakes chill. “Kei if this movie sucks, you’re so taking me to hotpot again.”, Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “If it sucks it's because you’re uncultured, not because of me.”, you smile happy that he’s back to normal.

“You’re telling me this all happens because some jerk turns off the power in the park?”, Tsukishima nods. “Ok, but who’s smart idea was it to be like “Hey, let’s replicate dinosaurs!”? They’re extinct for a reason!”, Tsukishima questions your opinions. “At least the T-Rex saved them at the last minute. Not all dinosaurs were bad.”, you agree with Tsukishima. “That is until the new ones where they do the exact same thing again!”, Tsukishima chuckles, shaking his head. “No, the Chris Pratt one’s don’t exist, forget those from your brain altogether.”, you laugh. “Well at least my movie won’t scare the crap out of you but first, let’s frost that cake!” you grab Tsukishima’s hand, dragging him to the kitchen.

Grabbing the piping bag and handing it to him, Tsukishima looks at you questionably. “You can’t pipe frosting dino boy?”, his face falls. “Here let me show you, since you’re so clueless without me.”, you press down on the piping bag. Really concentrating on how to delicately place the frosting, Tsukishima watches you. Really glancing at your concentrated face more than your piping technique. “See it’s easy, even though it looks kind of crooked that doesn’t matter.”, you look up to see Tsukishima grinning. You’re taken aback, having never really seen Tsukishima smile before, curious what’s got him smiling. “You must really like strawberry shortcake, if it makes you smile that much.” He shakes his head, scoffing. Tsukishima couldn’t love something, that’s lame.

He picks the piping bag from you copying exactly what you were doing, he backs up noticing that his piping was off. He looks back to see if you were watching, disappointed to see you snickering. Going behind him to help him, “You’re putting too much pressure Kei! Here, softly and pick up, see!”. He feels your hands encapsulate his, your hold firm but yet so gentle as if putting too much pressure would mess up the cake. Blushing at your frame behind him, you slowly let go letting him handle the rest of the frosting. “There you go Kei! You’re the best!”, you flash him a thumbs up, he scoffs in return but you see the blush lightly decorating his face. You smile going off to fetch the strawberries that he cut. Placing them down on the cake while Tsukishima frosts. Grabbing some frosting and placing it on Tsukishima’s nose, he eyes his nose in disbelief, grabbing it and spreading it back onto your cheek. You laugh going to your sink to wash your face, grabbing a knife and some plates.

“Are you ready for the best strawberry shortcake you’ve ever had?”, Tsukishima lifts a brow. “You did hear me when I said this is my favorite dessert right? Meaning I get this often.”, you nod still stubbornly confident. “Meaning I’ve eaten this many times and am a very harsh critic.”, you close your eyes smirking. “Tsukishima, you underestimate my baking abilities. My brother says I have the best shortcake recipe ever.”, he stays quiet. “Your brother's favorite food is soggy fries, I don’t think I trust his opinion.”, your shoulders fall. Cutting a piece and handing it to Tsukishima, feeling defeat in talking up your baking abilities. He takes a bite and falls silent but you notice this small sparkle in his eyes, “I made you eat crow! Tell me Tsukishima, it’s the best! Come on, tell me.”, you wag your finger waiting for his compliments.

Tsukishima avoids eye contact, “It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be, I’ve had better.”. You lean closer to him, “I’ll accept your feedback but you have to look me in my eyes and say it.”. Tsukishima’s voice falters as he tries to look you in the eye, he notices your eyes zeroed in on him, wanting to prove him wrong. “It’s ok, I’ve had better.”, you laugh calling his bluff. “Well since it’s so bad, I’ll let you take the leftovers home. Any objections?” Tsukishima stays silent, no rebuttal. “That’s what I thought blondie, come on take your cake and let’s watch the superior movie.”

“That is nothing like working at my job. Maybe if I was more delusional and romanticize everything like you do it would feel like that but no, not even remotely close.”, . “I know that this is not what your job is like, duh, it’s a kids movie. But you have to admit it was more entertaining than Jurassic Park.”, Tsukishima shakes his head. You huff, Tsukishima sure was prideful never admitting you were right. “You know if you don’t say i’m wrong then you’re saying i’m right.”, you smirk getting close to him.

Tsukishima laughs, “I aspire to be as wrong and delusional as you one day.”. You stutter back, before getting really close to his face, “At least I can admit when I'm wrong blondie.”, you smirk. Tsukishima’s jaw clenched, his voice lowers as he moves more into your personal space only a couple of inches separating you two. “Are you saying I’m stubborn?”, you smile, knowing he’s playing right into your game. Whispering in a sarcastic tone, “Well look at the state of you, not wanting to admit that I’m right. What would you call yourself Kei?”. You inch closer to him, he stares at your lips, “Tenacious, I would say I’m tenacious.”. You chuckle, holding eye contact with him, not wanting to let him win in making you feel timid.

Kei looks at you then down at your lips, you start to tilt your head. Waiting for Kei to lean in, giving you the green light to continue. He leans in slowly, you start to anticipate feeling his lips on yours. Wondering how he would kiss you, would he kiss you softly? Just as you start leaning in you back away, interrupted by Tsukishima’s phone ringing. You feel yourself deflate, laughing. Of course, the universe was against you. Tsukishima pulls away, groaning as he picks up the call. “What do you want Kogane?”, his voice very sharp and his hands rubbing his brows. “Yes Kogane, I know practice is tomorrow, what about it?”, he now answers very calmly and sarcastically.

Tsukishima looks over to you before quickly fleeting his gaze somewhere else as if he didn’t just try to kiss you. “No way. I’m not going to put it on speaker Kogane.”, he rolls his eyes. “I should’ve never shared my location with you. Fine, I’ll ask her. Don’t call me back.”, you laugh wondering what he was going to ask you. He hangs up, suddenly standing up right, “Want to come to my practice tomorrow?”. Tsukishima watches as your eyes sparkle, happy that he asked you. “Of course! It’s going to be so sweet! I can see your block and you can show me that new serve you’ve been working on!”

Tsukishima gets up after looking at the time, cursing himself for losing track of time. Grabbing his tote bag, “Don’t get your hopes up, I haven’t fully aced it yet.”. You get up going to the fridge, handing him the cake you packed for him. “With me there I think you’ll kill it!”, you wink and open the door. “Be safe Kei! I can’t wait to see you at practice tomorrow!”. Tsukishima watches as you close the door feeling nervous that you’re going to watch him practice. He puts on his headphones listening to the song you were dancing to earlier, smiling. Heading home and text you on the bus where his practice is and a playlist of his. “We’re officially best friends! The famous Tsukishima Kei sent me his playlist! (ó﹏ò｡)”, he locks his phone. Rolling his eyes and smiling at your dorky response.

Arriving home, he hears Yamaguchi still awake. As he places his things on the table, trying to make space in the refrigerator. “You’re finally home Tsukki. Oh? What’s that big container?”, Tsukishima glances back at him. “Shortcake.”. Yamaguchi jolts up, voice raising, “Can I have some Tsukki?”. Tsukishima nods, “Get some before I put it away.”, Yamaguchi scrambles to find a plate and utensils. “This is so good Tsukki, it reminds me of my sister's shortcake! She makes it the best!”, Tsukishima tenses up. “Whatever Yamaguchi, I’m going to go to my room.”, he places it back in the fridge. Quickly retreating to his room to ignore any further questions or comments. He reflects on the day he had with you, anticipating tomorrow as he listens to the same song on repeat.

Walking to the gymnasium Tsukishima sent you, humming while feeling your heart bump out of your chest in excitement. You were never really allowed at Yamaguchi’s games due to your presence making him more nervous. Reaching the gym, walking in to look around, bumping into a stranger, immediately apologizing. He turns around as you look up to him, noticing he kind of looks like a mix of the Pokémon, Dodrio and Farfetch’d. “Sorry miss but interviewers aren’t allowed in here.”, you clear your throat. “Sorry, I just came from work but I’m with Tsukishima, he invited me to watch his practice.”, you scold yourself for coming straight from work. The man perks up in excitement, “You're her!”. You slightly start to shake your head, “Yeah, I’m her? All good things said, I hope.”, the stranger laughs before extending his hand out to you. “I’m Koganegawa, Tsukishima’s teammate.”, you reach out shaking his hand. “You’ve heard about me?”, your chest tightens. Feeling surprised that Tsukishima talks about you since he seemed like the type to keep his personal life quiet. “Oh, we had to drag it out of Tsukishima that he is seeing someone.”, your heart speeds up.

Were you seeing Tsukishima, is that how he described it? You hadn’t thought about it that way, everytime you were going on these dates, you just felt so comfortable that it didn’t even feel like a date. Usually when you went on dates you felt uncomfortable and uneasy but with Tsukishima it felt simple. Shaking your head, paying attention to what Koganegawa is saying. “He was showing up to practice less uptight and leaving practice earlier than usual. When we asked he turned all flushed, we knew something was up.”, he leaned in whispering. “He must really like you if he wanted to keep you a secret that bad.”. You force down your foolish grin, opting to laugh instead, Koganegawa starts laughing with you, finding you and Tsukishima’s relationship adorable. “Ok, Kogane, that’s enough. We’re scrimmaging in ten, get ready.”, you tilt over Koganegawa’s silhouette to see Tsukishima walking over to you. He suddenly stands taller than before, as if he's trying to one-up Koganegawa.

He comes up to you, placing a hand on your back, your eyes widen in surprise. Is this really the Tsukishima who was awkward when you grabbed his hand? Looking up at Tsukishima, who shows no change in his face yet his body language says everything you need to hear. “I’ll show you to the bleachers, Kogane tell Kyotani I’ll be there soon.”, Koganegawa nods, bidding you both goodbye. You laugh taking Tsukishima’s hand off your back, “Jealous much, Sulkyshima?”. Tsukishima turns away, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”. Following him to the bleachers, “Whatever you say Tenacious Kei.”, wiggling your brows at him. Tsukishima suddenly regrets ever asking you here, especially if you were just going to poke him while he’s down.

Reaching the bleachers you glance down amazed, seeing all of his teammates getting ready for the practice match. Tsukishima fiddles with his hands, “Best seats in the house for my supposed “Good Luck charm”.”. You glance back grinning ear to ear, “Do well Tsukishima!”. Everyone from below you looks up to see Tsukishima ears turning the deepest shade of red. He nods, heading down knowing that his teammates were going to be picking on him as soon as he gets down.

“Do well Tsukishima!”, Kyotani fakes an obnoxious female voice. Tsukishima stops before facing him, “Who’s cheering for you Kyotani?”, he says smirking. Kyotani quiets down, retreating back to his position. Tsukishima looks up at you in the bleachers, watching you admire the whole gymnasium and the decorations that adorn it. Catching him look at you, sending him double peace signs and smiling. He feels his brain short circuit, sending you a discrete peace sign back not wanting to get any further attention. He hears a whistle blow, his brain instantly focuses on the game ahead of him wanting to put on a good show for you.

You watch as Tsukishima shuts down a couple of blocks, some he deflects to bounce off his hand. Scared to cheer but internally screaming for Tsukishima every time he helps score. A timeout gets called and you watch the teams gather together to rework their strategy. You see Tsukishima shocked with how tiny he looks compared to his other teammates. Even though he isn’t the tallest on his team, his shoulders were still pretty wide. You see why he’s a blocker now, you feel yourself start to get flushed. You smack your cheeks, giving yourself no time to get flustered instead focusing on the game below you.

You continue watching the game, excited that it’s now Tsukishima’s turn to serve. He looks at his hand then to you, you flash him a thumbs up with shiny eyes. Taking a deep breath before hitting it over, accomplishing a jump float serve for the first time. You celebrate because even though it’s picked up by the other team, he did it! You guess you really were his good luck charm. The ball gets passed back to Tsukishima again, watching him serve again but with more confidence than last time. In your head screaming one more point, watching as the ball floats over hitting the ground.

Celebrating as Tsukishima looks over to you as you mouth the phrase “good luck charm” and puff out your chest. Tsukishima covers the bottom of his face so you can’t see his small smile. He feels proud at this moment, winning for you, even if it’s just a scrimmage game. Although he wouldn’t admit that he won or prolonged the game just for you specifically, never. The coach calls the team together, congratulating the team who won before dismissing the team. You look at Tsukishima who waves you to come down. Excitedly jumping down the stairs, jumping into Tsukishima.

“That was awesome! You were like BAM! and BOOM! That serve was unlike anything I've ever seen! It looked regular but then it turned at the last minute! You’re awesome Tsukishima!”, Tsukishima backtracks. “Um, I’m not that great! I guess I was just having a good day today.”, you shake your head. Koganegawa and Kyotani appear behind you, clasping their hands together to mimic you and Kei’s stature. Tsukishima pulls away from you, “I can show you how to serve. Maybe not a jump float but something new for a beginner.”, grabbing Tsukishima’s arm quickly. “Let’s go!”

Tsukishima excuses himself to go get a clean ball for you as you see Koganegawa behind you. “Kogane! You were awesome in the scrimmage too! When you spiked the ball down it was so cool!”, Koganegawa laughs, feeling confident. “It’s called a setters dump. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. You can only do it every once in a while though!”, you feel your heart jump in excitement. Fascinated with the world that was volleyball. Tsukishima comes up behind you, tapping your shoulder. You turn to see Tsukishima guide you to the line. “The net looks so far away from here!”, you glance back at Tsukishima. “You got this!”, you hear Koganegawa cheer for you.

You send him a thumbs up feeling a little bit better now that you have an audience. Tsukishima rests his head near your head, placing the ball in your hand, fixing your arm. He slowly talks through the way to throw the ball and when you should hit it but you’re too focused on him being so close and feeling his heartbeat on your shoulder. He suddenly backs away, watching you from the sidelines now. You throw it up, hitting it over, only for it to hit the net. Sulking that you missed, Tsukishima laughs. “It’s your first time, you’d be naive to think you’d be able to hit it over instantly.”, you sneer at him. “Hey! Not naive, I was just optimistic!”, you square up to Tsukishima trying to copy his posture. Kyotani and Koganegawa walk up to you,

“Don’t worry he sulks when he misses too. I’m Kyotani.”, you wave, saying hi and introducing yourself back. “He’s so pessimistic, he needs someone who balances him out. Right Kogane?”, Kogane agrees with Kyotani, focusing on practicing his serves. “Shut up Kyotani. Come on, pass the ball.”, you look at Tsukishima questioning what he’ll do next. “You’re going to pass to me next, miss optimistic.”, smirking as he grabs a ball from Kyotani. You look him right in the eye, “Ok, you’re on. Don’t go easy on me either blondie.”.

“For someone who was so confident, you’re not the best.”, you pout. “I’m not a professional volleyball player, okay?”, Tsukishima notices you’ve both been practicing for a long time. Kyotani and Koganegawa both left, leaving you both in the gym alone. “Want to serve one last time, I’ll guide you through it.”, you nod. Wanting redemption for what was your last sucky serve, you can’t tarnish the Yamaguchi lineage. Tsukishima comes up behind you aligning his body with yours, softly grabbing your hand. Placing the ball in your hand, as he guides you to throwing it. Lifting both of your other hands up to hit it, watching it go over the met with additional strength from Tsukishima. You gasp, feeling victorious.

Looking behind to see Tsukishima smiling down at you. You freeze, feeling your hands become sweaty and your ears ringing. Without hesitation he softly grabs your face, you lean in tired of waiting for him to make the move. Feeling your lips meet, dancing against each other as sweetly as you both did in the kitchen. You smile into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck as he bends down a bit. Kissing as if it was second nature to both of you, feeling comfortable and vulnerable in this moment. The way Tsukishima always felt hanging out with you, vulnerable but yet so comforted in your presence. Not wanting to pull away but slowly losing your breath, you feel him pull away first, wanting to see your face. He looks at your kiss bitten lips, the flush slowly decorating your face and your eyes glossed over with happiness.

When you pull away all you see is reluctance, Tsukishima’s brows are furrowed, his posture is tight, and he can’t meet your eyes. “I have to close up the gym. You should walk home before it gets dark.”, you reach out to Tsukishima but he just pulls away, retreating quickly to the locker room. You stand there for a couple of minutes wondering if he’ll come out but he never does. You pick yourself up and walk home, wondering what happened in that millisecond of you kissing and backing away. Did he want to keep going, did he not want to kiss you, did you misread his actions? You spiral all the way home, texting him as soon as you get home. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong Kei?”

Tsukishima was still standing in the locker room when he got your text, he watched you leave the gym. He couldn’t help but think that this all got the best of him. He’s going behind his longest friend's back, kissing his little sister. What was he thinking? Yes, he believes you should date anyone you want by why him? Him out of everyone? He knew he messed up when your text had no personal touch to it, at first he thought he misread the ID. Hesitant to answer, scared of betraying Yamaguchi any further but also scared that he’ll hurt your feelings even more.

Yamaguchi was dear to him, Yamaguchi was the one to always snap him out of whatever mental issues he was going through, he shouldn’t pursue this further. He shouldn’t betray the only one who knows the best and worst of him. However, when he thought of you nothing even held a candle to you. Nothing was dearer than you, you supported him, comforted him, made all his faults sound positive. How could he just break your trust like that, he might have been an asshole in high school but he will not allow that to happen again. He won’t let you see that side of him, you don’t deserve it.

Feeling a vibration on your bed you look to your phone, seeing a notification pop up. “I’m fine, I just need to get something off my chest. Tomorrow, can we talk?”, you let out a sigh. Relieved that he even texted you back, “Sure but don’t scare me like that again Tsukishima! (•̀⤙•́ )”. He texts you his address, knowing that Yamaguchi won’t be home till later since he didn’t have a day off. You go to sleep feeling lighter than you did earlier. Curious as to what was going on in Tsukishima’s head. While Tsukishima was charting up all the possibilities to break his problems to you politely as he could.

Knocking on Tsukishima’s door, biting at your lips in nervousness. You watch him open the door as you take in his appearance. His hair is all out of order,, the bags under his eyes are more prominent than ever, and he’s still in his pajamas. Your heart crumbles at the sight, wanting to relieve him of whatever troubles he was having but scared to push him. He welcomes you in and you see Tadashi’s shoes and clothes misplaced everywhere. “Why do you have so much of Tadashi’s clothes?”, you side eye him. Was he cheating on your brother with you? Is that why he pulled away! Oh god this is why he pulled away! “Are you together with Tadashi?”, Tsukishima’s eyes widen looking over at you. “What? No! What are you even saying?”, you still remain stiff not believing him. “We’re just roommates. Did your brother not tell you that he lives with someone?”, you relax just a bit. Sure, they 're just “roommates”, they’re always just roommates. “Show me his room then if you’re just “roommates” then.”. Tsukishima rolls his eyes, walking you to his room, where you walk in and see no signs of your existence, did he really want to hide you that badly.

Tsukishima sees your eyes start watering, following your eyes to see you glancing at all the pictures above his desk. None featuring you or your family, you make a mental note to ask him about that later and reprimand him in the future. Turning to Tsukishima, “Okay, I believe you for now. Next, tell me what’s on your mind because you look awful.”, paying back to him his blunt comments. “I’d prefer we don’t speak in Tadashi’s room. Seems a bit odd.”, you look around nodding. Not wanting to think about your brother at this moment, following Tsukishima to his room. Sitting next to him on his bed while he gathers all the words he rehearsed all night, fiddling with his fingers. You watch as he trips over his words the first couple of times and decide to comfort him. “Tsukishima, you won’t hurt my feelings no matter what you say. You’re my friend no matter what, I’ll harbor no hard feelings. I just want you to be truthful with me, okay?”, you see him nod.

Giving him the confidence to start living outside his mind and speak up, “I don’t regret kissing you yesterday. I regret what’s going to happen after though.”, you look at him intensely. Waiting for him to finish, knowing he’s done with his talk when he stops playing with his fingers. “I thought about it and I like you as more than a friend, I like being with you. However, when we first met Tadashi told me not to go anywhere near you, something about you being off limits.”, you feel your eye twitch. Your brother proclaimed you were off limits while he hid you like the plague. If Tsukishima wasn’t being so vulnerable right now you would’ve raced to him and scolded him. Opting to instead take a deep breath and hold all your comments for the last minute. “I’m nervous that if I get with you, I’ll be giving up my friendship with Yamaguchi.”, he stops playing with his fingers, giving you the okay to talk.

“I appreciate you being so considerate of my brother’s opinion but I’m my own person. Tadashi doesn’t own me, he can’t decide who I like and don’t. I like you too, Kei. I understand though if you don’t want to go through with this relationship if you’re sacrificing a piece of you. I’ve waited for this long, I can wait longer for someone as perfect as you Kei.”, you kiss his cheek getting up for his bed. “Let me know when you’re ready, Kei.”, you start walking to the entrance looking back at him. He nods, glad you’re giving him time to thoroughly think his decision through. He hears the door click, still feeling your lips on his cheek. He goes to lock the door and sit on the couch in silence, letting the clock pass by. Waiting for Yamaguchi to come home, as he contemplates every possible decision in his head. The good outcomes, the bad outcomes, and even the extreme ones, letting them all occupy every corner of his brain.

He hears the door click, “Tsukki, I’m home!”. Yamaguchi turns on the light, jolting when he sees Tsukishima on the couch. “What are you doing? Is this how you spend your days off?”, Tsukishima slowly looks up to where Yamaguchi is. Instead of being overtaken by nerves instead tired, tired of waiting, tired of hiding, and tired of not having you by him. “I like your sister.”, Yamaguchi laughs, waving off Tsukishima’s absurd comment. “Tsukki, did you not sleep today? You met my sister for a second a couple of months ago?”, Tsukishima gets up. Walking to Yamaguchi slowly, “Your sister and I have been seeing each other for those couple of months, secretly going on dates.”. Yamaguchi looks around before meeting Tsukishima’s eyes, “Tsukki, are you sure you're okay? My sister hasn’t mentioned you once?”.

Tsukishima nods, “I wanted to keep it a secret knowing that you said she was off limits. I came to terms the other day that I liked her, I don’t want to hide it anymore.”. Yamaguchi brows furrow because suddenly it all makes sense, from Tsukki staying out late to you ignoring his lunch dates, and the final straw the shortcake. Yamaguchi fastly paces to his bag, grabbing his phone and dialing your number. “Hello Tadashi, What’s up?”, Yamaguchi hands the phone to Tsukishima angrily. “I told him.”, you freeze hearing Kei’s voice over the phone. “Is it true? No, scratch that, why hide it from me?”, you scoff. “The same reason you hid me from your friends, Tadashi. Look, I’m at a cafe near your apartment, I’ll head over right now. Tadashi don’t do anything stupid, please.”, you hang up.

To be honest, Yamaguchi wasn’t upset at the fact you both liked each other more at the fact you both hid everything from him, did everything behind his back. Yamaguchi sits on the couch angrily tapping his feet, awaiting you to arrive. He hears a knock on his door, watching Tsukishima open the door. You smile at Tsukishima, knowing it must’ve taken a lot out of him to tell your brother. “Get in here, now.”, your brother ruins the moment as per usual. Not letting him take hold of the conversation in anger, “Stop, first I want you to calm down.”, Yamaguchi looks over at you frustratedly. “Calm down, you're seeing my best friend and hiding it from me!”, you shake your head. “I didn’t mean to go out with Tsukishima on purpose, okay? My co-worker is Akiteru, when I accepted the date I didn't know they were brothers. It was just a simple fortunate event!”. Tsukishima sees you rambling but he’s never seen you rambling quite like this, this rambling is more like the nervous kind.

Yamaguchi suddenly points at him, snapping him out of his analysis of your unseen behavior. “Speaking of Akiteru, you! You don’t see me sneaking off with your brother! Don’t you hold any form of shame?”, Tsukishima clears his throat. “I wouldn’t mind if you got with my brother because that would be my brother’s decision not mine.”, Tsukishima glances back at you. You feel your breath ease, knowing exactly what Tsukishima is hinting at. “He’s right, it’s my decision. I like Tsukishima and I want you to support me and him, together.”, Yamaguchi glares at you, reluctant to let you and Tsukki get off so easily. “You’re right, I shouldn't hold a grudge against you, you’re a grown woman. You, however, Tsukki apologize to me. This is not very best friend-like behavior.”, you scoff at Tadashi's childish behavior. “Tadashi, stop it.”, you wave away Tadashi knowing he’s just grasping at straws.

“I’m sorry Yamaguchi.”, you and Yams both look at each other than look at Tsukishima, frozen. “You’re right I should’ve told you. I was scared to lose you as a friend.”, Tadashi trips over his words before you stop him knowing Tsukishima wasn’t done talking yet. Tadashi stands there surprised that you know Tsukishima’s body language despite only knowing each other for a couple of months. “More importantly I wanted my relationship to grow with your sister first before I told you anything, I’m sorry for that.”, Tsukishima looks at you. Hoping that you see that you’ve changed his mindset a bit. Yes, he’s tenacious but he’s also pessimistic and not one to admit he’s in the wrong. With you though, he thinks he can improve those parts of himself.

“I’m asking you as my best friend, if you could support us?”, Tsukishima grabs your hand, linking it together with his. As you stumble a bit at the sudden touch but quickly recover and stand up straight. Tadashi looks at you both, nodding. “Okay but you have to name your first born Tadashi.”, you go to hug him, choosing to ignore his comment. “Can I meet the rest of your friends, properly. Start letting people know you have a sister jerk! I’m off the market now, you know so you don’t have to worry!”, Tsukishima rolls his eyes thinking how dorky you sound. You pull back to go by Tsukishima’s side. “So, you apologize now Mr. Tenacious?”, Yamaguchi looks around awkwardly. “I’m heading to my room, don’t be gross!”, you roll your eyes. “I don’t apologize for just anyone, you know.”, you laugh. “Oh, so I should feel extra special since you apologized just to be with me?”, Tsukishima smiles. “Yeah something like that.”, pulling you to him. Kissing him felt even better than last time, he felt free not being held back by secrets or thoughts, overwhelmed by the senses of you.

“Hurry up Kei, we’re already the last ones there!”, Tsukishima rolls his eyes. Not really excited to meet up with his old friends, knowing they’ll just embarrass him. Grabbing his hand and dragging him to the restaurant, “Do you think anything new has happened with Hinata and Kags?”. Tsukishima lets out a breath, “From joining the olympic team, I don’t think so? They just have more of a reason to lose more brain cells over volleyball.”. You smile, “You have to be nice, Stingyshima.”. Tsukishima looks at you in disbelief, “Not you too. See, this is why I was reluctant to meet them. You’re going to start with the name calling.”, you kiss his cheek. “At least I mean it in a loving way, now stop sulking and let’s have some fun.”

Tsukishima and you enter, being greeted by your brother and Yachi first, then making your way to Hinata and Kageyama. Watching as Kageyama and Tsukishima have a weird stare off, Hinata and you laugh at how awkward the two could be. “Hinata, have you learned any new tricks?”, you glare at him excitedly. “Oh nothing too new, Kageyama and I just have to rework our quick but that’ll come naturally.”, you smile excited to see the two work together again.

Tsukishima sits next to you, grabbing your hand under the table. “Don’t worry, these freaks will have their quick down easily. It’s like second nature to them.”, Tsukishima adds slyly. Riling up the pair, “Damn it, Tsukishima.”, Hinata adds. You squeeze Kei’s hand letting him know to cut it out. To which he deflates, knowing he got caught. “What about you Yachi? Design anything new lately?”, she nods. “I designed a new ad to help support the Sendai Frogs actually.”, she pulls out her phone showing the picture to everyone. “Wow, Yachi, this is great!”, you look over the poster and see how it highlights everyone on the team.

“Your teammates look great on this Kei.”, you feel him glare at you. “You’re giving them too much credit.”, you smile. “Yachi, we should talk to our management and maybe get you to design something for the olympic team!”, you fall back watching the conversation flow. Your brother was grateful to have such good friends and you were grateful to now be a part of their group too. Taking a look around, feeling comfort in the conversation, Tsukishima lays his head on your shoulder. The conversation falls silent, “Has Tsukki gone soft?”, Tsukishima looks over. “Shut up Yamaguchi.”

divider credit to @/saradika-graphics, @/thecutestgrotto, @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @/princessantisocial

taglist: @0tsukie

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ melon's marginalia: happy (late) birthday to my pookie pie! i’m kind of on the fence with how this turned out but i’m a tsukishima girly like nothing is ever perfect, okay? ty for reading!! ♡

@m3l0nfl0at on tumblr. All Rights Reserved. Do not steal, copy, or translate any of my works.

[raytoelicker]

viii. pretty handsome awkward

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|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (49/50): @toekissers , @raineyun , @onigirilaw , @ecinoriri @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @starsacubi @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @kangyeonie , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu , @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @shyentsfoundthetrink, @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen, @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura, @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @mi2ukiss

• featured song - daisy by the obsessives

• dare i say scara in this fic but like.. fucking 20 chapters later or so💜 especially the last line dude like genuinely, i fucking can't wait to get to that arc and write about them being stupidly in love w eo

authors' notes - im so fucking gay for flirty scara sorry. if yal confused as fuck as to why he's being so goddamn flirty; basically, he got the idea from furina (on their talk last chap) to try a new approach in riling [name] up (which was flirting), attempted it, was satisfied with the outcome, and then proceeded to implement it as his way of annoying [name] now. yeah he's a goddamn menace.

(will it involve feelings in the long run though? hell yeah)

(ask to be added or removed)

[jaegerbby]

➳ triggered

--͙[ken ryuguji x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 12,944

╰┈➤ rundown; in all the years you've known draken, he has only loved one girl but that doesn't mean he'll let you be with someone else.

╰┈➤ caution; TOXIC DYNAMIC. possessive! toxic! draken, dubcon/coercion, fwb to something more?, parental character death, tw/emma (lol), manhandling, emotional manipulation, abusive undertones, threats with a gun, mentions of suicide, slight mitsuya x reader, alcohol mentioned, face fucking, oral sex (m&f), unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, cervix fucking, belly bulge mentioned, baby trapping, impregnation, use of the word slut. draken is a literal head case in this. he gets mad when you call him draken (as he should?)

not proof read !

you almost drop your phone when the nurse tells you about your mother's condition. "ma'am, are you there?" your lips tremble, a hum leaving you because you do not trust yourself enough to speak.

"she's in room 34, level 12. you'll be further informed when you arrive." you swallow hard, feeling your chest tighten. "thank you." it is all you can manage to say before you end the call.

your relationship with your mother is strained to say the least but the thought of her bleeding out all alone makes you sick. the last memory she has of you is bitter words.

you hurriedly pull on jeans and a shirt draken left. his scent is enough to comfort you. you dial his number while running down the stairs of your apartment complex.

the cold air meets your skin and it seems all your impulsive actions are foolish.

"ken!" you are too emotional and you need him here. you can hardly keep yourself sane, every thought in your head is blaming you. you are not the best person, you know that but did you deserve something so cruel?

"what's wrong?" the sound of his deep voice alone, makes you relax. you grip the fabric of your his shirt. "my mom is in the hospital." your words come out in a flurry, jumbled and confusing.

you cannot quell the panic that fills you.

"hey, calm down." it is soothing, draken always knows what you need.

"breathe." you take deep breaths as he guides you, clutching your chest and nodding though he is not here to see. "now, tell me what happened. i'll come."

somehow, you feel lighter, "my mom's in the hospital... can you take me?"

"give me five. don't worry, okay?" you hum shakily as you slump on a bench and bury your face in your hands.

you sit there, cold and tired. you wish you could let yourself be consumed by sleep and this would be a bad dream.

that in the morning you would not have this guilt weighing on your shoulders.

the words 'five minutes' spiral in your thoughts because it certainly felt like hours. you fidget before messaging him. one after the next, asking where he is, if he is coming, why he lied.

though, it is left unanswered. he does not reply much less open it. your lips tremble, squeezing your fists so tightly you almost break skin.

you do not want to cry but it is all getting to you. as much as you fight it, you break.

loudly sobbing, roughly drying your face but it is coated with fresh tears a second after.

you keep telling yourself that he will come. you conjure up some stupid excuse for him because he never does it himself. it is times like this where you wonder if anything he said was genuine.

you need him here and he let you down. you should have expected it, he did it before. for someone who was more important that you, who would always be more important than you.

"yn?" you are sure you look horrible with blood shot eyes and messy hair. you are not able to move, simply staring as mitsuya parks his bike.

he is so kind, you do not deserve it. he hurriedly steps towards you, his eyes softening when a fresh stream of tears slip down your face.

"are you okay?" he tugs off his jacket, wrapping it around you before he kneels down and grips your hands. he immediately rubs them with his.

he tries to make you warm but all you feel is cold.

you should not ask, you are hurt enough but it is on the tip of your tongue.

it slips.

"where's ken?" you mumble when he guides you to stand. your eyes staring up at him, wide and tear filled.

"draken? he's with emma," it hits you like a freight train and it hurts more because you knew. you got the answer you were expecting but your chest still aches.

mitsuya's large palms cup your cheeks, swiping at the tears. his face coated in worry, "why are you crying?"

"my mom's in the hospital. can you take me? please." you are cut off when he tugs you against him. gentle as he strokes your hair and tries to ease your pain.

you sob into his chest, every part of you feels broken. your fists tangling in the fabric of his t-shirt and you press against him more. it should be draken.

you hate how desperately you wish he was holding you instead.

"i will, don't cry." he mutters into your hair, squeezing you before he lets you go. his fingers lace with yours as he guides you to his bike.

your head is filled with tumultuous excuses, anything to make you believe ken has a good reason.

he does not, he never did. not a word leaves you as mitsuya drives. even though your hands grip his clothes, desperately searching for something to keep yourself afloat.

when you are at the hospital, you feel like you are out of your body.

"i'll wait for you outside," mitsuya says, releasing your shoulders, having taken you to the room. the sight of your mother laying in bed unconscious, countless tubes and machines connected to her.

you fall to your knees, begging, pleading for her to get up. she is all you have left and you hardly see her.

you grasp her hand, you were seldom given that opportunity before. she is as cold as it is outside, maybe the weather was preparing you to feel her skin.

she is as cold as she acted to you your whole life and yet you cry for her to wake up. scream that she would at least open her eyes and tell you to stop your whining. she does not.

your heart breaks for the second time that night.

---

ken <3: come over

yn: not in the mood rn

ken <3: i just want you here

you thought he would at least apologise but when has draken ever?

he does not acknowledge it, he moves on like you mean nothing. like your feelings are none of his concern.

you were friends before this.

all this arrangement showed was how little he valued you. you know he loves emma and you know he is just fucking you. he would never feel more. not when it comes to you

you always see the hearts in his eyes whenever emma comes around, sometimes you wish he would look at you that way. others, you wish you never got involved with him in the first place.

it is so easy to be swayed when it comes to him. it is almost embarrassing how easily he can get you to give in.

you tell yourself you will leave the sorrow for the morning and you find yourself at his apartment.

you hate the way he smiles when he opens the door for you.

you hate how good he looks in that stupid tank top that is fitted to his body like a second skin.

you hate how he wraps you in his arms and presses a kiss to your cheek like he did not break your heart just last week.

you shrug him off, pulling the thin jacket from your shoulders and sitting on the couch.

"why'd you cook so much?" you mutter, watching him huff as he drops down next to you. you wish you could move away because he is too close.

he is in your space. his thigh is against yours. when it comes to draken, you are too weak and you have long known it would be your downfall.

"i know you haven't been eating." he scoops some of the rice and lifts the spoon to your mouth. you wish your heart did not flutter, that he was not able to break you down and build you up with such little fanfare.

you let him feed you, silently hurting at his smile. how it reveals his sharp k9s and that stupid chip in his front tooth that he got when you were kids play fighting.

you reach for the bowl and draken's expression falters. he swallows before running a hand through his dark hair. all he does is watch you eat, he tries to make conversation but your answers are brief. you wish he tried harder, that he tried when you needed him.

there is no excuse to give when you are finished eating. you are about to stand when draken stops you.

your body still responds to his touch, jitters wash over your skin. he always has some effect on you.

"you've been avoiding me. you know i don't like that," he is annoyed, it is eerie how calm he is physically when his voice sounds so threatening.

he does not have any right to be mad at you. your face sets in a scowl, "well, i don't like being lied to." you should not provoke him and from the way his jaw clenches, you can tell you are treading on dangerous territory.

"what?" his head tilts. you did not want to fight with him, you never fought with him for years.

there are so many things you let him get away with but it was never this deep. it never hurt you this badly. you have gone too far to stop now.

"you lied to me," you should have been done with him from that night on but when have you ever been able to leave draken alone? you are upset yet you are here, in his apartment looking him dead in his eyes and for the first time he looks angry with you.

"it's been a week, why are you still mad?" he has never looked at you with such an expression before. not with such narrow eyes or such a piercing glare.

"because you told me you'd come! you said you'd be there." your body feels hot with anger as you stand. "you said not to worry. well guess what, my mom isn't here anymore. you were right, one less thing to worry about."

your blood is boiling. for the first time his presence does not calm your nerves. instead, the longer you stare at him, the more infuriated you feel.

"don't blame me, you never got along with her when she was around. i didn't cause that." his lips pull back, he roughly grips your arm as he leans down to level your gaze.

"it's my fault because i waited for you. you always disappoint me but i waited for you." your finger presses into his chest. it is accusatory because the one behind your broken heart is at the end of your nail.

"you're being dramatic." he scoffs, tongue in his cheek while he looks away from you.

"am i? you're the one who said you'd come for me but what happened?" you shove at his shoulder when he rolls his eyes and remains silent. "what happened, draken?" the glare he sends you is deadly.

"did emma call? did you forget all about me the second she called your name? did you run to her when i'm the one that needed you?"

he breathes hard, you swear you see steam coming from him. he grips your upper arms and roughly shakes you.

"yes, you fucking know that so why do you keep asking?" he says it despite all the years you have known each other, regardless of any moment you have together. like all of it is insignificant.

it stuns you for a minute. you knew, yet it still makes your heart ache to hear him say it. you lose your composure entirely for that minute.

he loves emma and you are just a girl he fucks on the side. draken does not care for you any more than he needs to, emma is always going to be his priority.

you did not hold a candle to her flame. no matter how much you dream about it, you do not think you ever would. you grit your teeth, pushing his arms away and stumbling back.

"don't look at me like that," he sighs. his hands swipe over his face before they settle in his hair and he grips at the roots. he is incredibly conflicted, it is typical for him to draw you into his arms when that expression is on your face. though he has never been the reason behind it before.

your ears feel like they are ringing, you are struggling to hold back the tears that fill your eyes. you hate him, you wish you did. hating him is momentary, it is fleeting. your hate never lasts.

"you're a fucking asshole and i hate you." all you both want from this moment is to hurt each other.

"yeah right. say that the next time you're sucking my dick." he sneers. your eyes flicker, face contorting in disgust.

you feel sick. you wonder why you are still here. you truly do not want to throw away all those years you spent by his side. but what good is there fighting for something that can never be?

you hurriedly gather your things with one fleeting glance over his living room.

you swear this is the last time you will be here.

maybe one last grace is what you need to get over him.

draken breathes heavily, holding your wrist as he tries to bring you into his arms. for the first time you fight it, that is all it would take to break your resolve.

"fuck off!" he stares at you in shock. those pretty eyes are blow wide, you never shout at him. "God knows what was going through my mind when i agree to fuck someone like you."

you shove at his chest but it does not move him in the slightest. all it does is relight his anger.

he nears you despite how many times you try to distance yourself. "i don't need you. you think it would make a difference if you left?" cause at the end of it, you know emma is the only one that matters to him.

every word is clear, he enunciates it all because he wants you to be in pain, he wants you to go home and cry over him like you always do.

your whole body tenses, teeth grinding together because you can practically feel the ache in your chest grow more intense. you can feel your heart tear apart. why do you always get hurt in the end?

"fuck you, draken." that is the last thing you say, maybe it is synonymous for 'it's over' but you have never truly been done with him.

you push past him and it is only so easy because he lets you. he lets you leave, you wish he would stop you. you are stupidly hoping he will pull you back to him and tell you he is sorry.

unbeknownst to him the tears are already falling down your cheeks as you storm out of his apartment and slam the door. it feels like you are suffocating, like a second longer in that hell hole would asphyxiate you to death.

you cannot stand the thought of being around him right now yet you know if he apologises you will fall back into his arms.

you feel like throwing up all the food you ate. you feel like he ripped your heart from your chest and tore it to pieces. you flinch at the sound of him cussing, broken glass and stomping emanate from behind the door.

the closer it gets, the more your heart aches. you do not want to see him, you do not think you can handle being near him right now.

your breath shakes as you turn on your heel and run towards the staircase. you desperately needed to be anywhere but here.

--

you stare at the door while your heart is in your throat.

"baby, open up." he bangs on it and you sit curled up on the couch wondering if seeing him is worth the pain that will follow.

tears stream down your face when you shut your eyes. "are you seriously not going to let me in?" he raises his voice, roughly twisting the knob and sucking his teeth. he huffs in exasperation.

"i'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry, just open the fucking door." draken speaks lowly. he does not want to alert the people in your apartment complex.

you are stupid.

for him at least because you do as he says.

you barely turn the lock and he forces it open. you see him and all you remember are the things he said last night.

"fuck, how much did you cry?" his thumb strokes beneath your swollen eyes.

you shove his hand away, "why are you here?"

"c'mon, baby, don't be like that." he always ruins you like this. when you try to get away all he does is bring you back.

and you go.

you go because draken fills your heart and no one compares to him. you have known him for far too long to ever let go.

his large palm cups your waist to guide you a few steps back and he shuts the door. he tugs his jacket off, placing it on the hook like that is his designated place.

like he belongs here.

"i wanted to see you." he draws closer. "i needed to see my girl." the tears come again. perhaps they never ceased. you are not his girl. not when he already has one.

"you've seen me, you can get out now." you should know better.

but you do not know when to leave and draken does not know when to let go. he tugs you in.

you hate to be near him as much as you love it. he holds you flush against him, tilting your head back to keep you looking at him. he is horrible. "you get so mad over nothing." you wish you could hate him.

despite you struggling against him, he is unmoved. just like he always is.

"you're so pretty." his plush lips spread in a heart quickening smile. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, hoping and wishing him away although you are unable to push him back.

"stop imagining emma." he looks almost irritated when you say it.

"don't be stupid." he has to bend down to press his lips to yours. they are soft, like cotton candy fluff. it takes everything in you to not reciprocate as he kisses you without relent. though you are not responsive he sucks down on your bottom lip, nipping the flesh as he pulls away.

"you don't want to kiss me anymore?"

you shake your head and hurt crosses his face. his jaw clenches but desperation is written in his eyes.

"i want you to leave, draken." he flinches, a scowl on his face but he lets you go and you stumble back.

"i make you a little mad and suddenly i'm draken to you?"

"you don't get it, this is done. whatever this was."

he comes closer, at least he tries to. when you back away he seems stunned. "no it's not." you wish he did not know it so well that you are a fool for him.

"baby, what do you want to hear?" he grips your wrists to pull you in again.

"draken, it's done. i'm done, okay? i'm tired." you sob. you want to press your face to his chest and weep your pain away but he is the cause. he is the reason for it all but he is the only one you want comfort from.

"if you're tired, let's sleep. we're not done." he brings you to his chest, presses wet kisses to your cheek like he is not breaking you. "you want me to say sorry? i'm sorry. see, it's better now."

"it's not. just leave. gosh, just get out, draken." you shove at his chest but you swear a part of you dies when he lets you go.

"you want me to get out? fine. when you're done throwing this stupid tantrum and you come running back, i won't listen." his face is covered with anger.

he turns his back, the further he walks away, the more suffocated you feel.

he hears you crying.

it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

it is gut wrenching and heart shattering.

whether you see it or not, draken is crying too.

---

if draken does not hurt someone, he surely is going to break something. he can feel the glass straining under his fingers. he grips it tighter the longer he sees you with mitsuya.

you are here, looking like the prettiest doll in the world and you are not with him.

you are in blue, the dress clings to your perfect body and a ribbon is laced around your ponytail.

you are wearing blue and so is he.

truthfully, you and draken can never get rid of each other.

he sees you sipping on some fruity cocktail because that is all you ever drink. he loves looking at you, he always looks at you but he can see mitsuya too.

he can see how he leans closer to you, how his smile only grows wider when you laugh at something he says. he can see mitsuya draping his arm around your seat and being so attentive when draken knows he is the only one that should be around you.

why are you letting mitsuya so close to you? you were with draken for a long time, he was the only one right?

he only fumes more when mikey, emma and just about everyone around him agrees that you and mitsuya would make a good couple.

he sees red.

your eyes flicker to draken despite your attempts to ignore him. his hair is draped to a little below his shoulders, his shirt is fitted and from here you can see the rings on his fingers.

you see all those things, you see ripped jeans and black boots. you see emma practically sitting on his lap. you do not care.

you do.

you came to the conclusion that he is not willing to put her in danger.

but he is willing to be a danger to you and your heart.

"is it okay if i touch you?" mitsuya's hand hovers over your waist. you nod while sipping your drink. "you can say no." he quickly follows.

"i don't mind."

he sends you a smile and his hand softly caresses your waist.

"are you doing better? if you need to talk, i'm here for you." he is sweet, he has always been. mitsuya has never been a bad friend to you.

"thanks." you down the rest of your drink before turning to face him. "i'll be fine someday." your head screams at you for lying. draken is here and he is not with you. he is with someone else.

he has always been with someone else.

"i know things have been hard since." he pauses, his hand grasps yours. "since everything but i'd still like to see you. you can still come around like you used to."

his palms are so soft, draken's are not. draken's hands have callouses, they are rough and for some reason they feel like they were meant to touch you.

you consider mitsuya, he is your friend. your eyes glimpse over his features. his thumb strokes your hand and you have just begun to appreciate the feeling of someone other than draken when it is ripped away.

the one holding your wrist feels right even though it hurts.

draken towers above you, he sends mitsuya a stony look before he pulls you up and his hand squeezes your waist.

like he wants to overwrite any other person. like he needs to reclaim the places that are only meant for him and not for another man to touch.

you melt. you thaw like ice and turn into liquid. draken pulls you alongside him and you follow.

you have to take quick steps because his are much larger than yours.

once you are outside of the club, the silence is a stark contrast to the loud music. draken breathes heavily, brushing his hair back.

"were you fucking him?" you flinch when the words come out. that was the last thing you expect him to say.

"i'm not dealing with this, draken." you shake your head but he grips your waist. he holds your body and gathers you in his arms like he always does.

"stop treating me like a stranger." his voice strains. "tell me if you were fucking him on the side."

"you're terrible." tears prick your eyes. he has the audacity to accuse you when he has never been yours. he never gave himself to you.

"you did? was he your back up if i ever stepped out?" his fingers squeeze hard enough to bruise. "i never stepped out on you, not once."

"no, draken. i'm not like you." he is destroying you. whether he knows it or not. you are sure he knows it though because draken knows you better than anyone else.

"then why were you with him, why did you let him touch you?" you try to push him away, you really do. all you want is to lay in his arms and all he does is argue with you.

"who are you to ask me that? we're done, remember?" he grits his teeth, burying his head into your neck. draken breathes in your scent and lets it intoxicate him. you intoxicate him.

"we're never going to be over, baby. not you and me." he kisses at your exposed skin. it makes you want to cry more than you already are.

"you have emma." your voice trembles. you tremble. you feel like you are a tower of cards and you are about to collapse entirely.

draken leans back to meet your eyes, his gaze trails over the tears in your pretty eyes and the pout on your lips. his nose nudges yours and then he kisses you.

he kisses you and you feel him everywhere, all at once. you feel him in his palms gliding down your body. you feel him where his tongue claims your mouth all over again. in the spit that is messily exchanged as he sloppily kisses you.

you feel your blood growing hot enough to warm you completely. he pulls away to repeatedly peck your cheek.

"let me go." you brokenly whisper.

"we're going home, okay? i'm taking you home cause you're my girl."

---

when draken gets you into his apartment, he pulls you flush against him. his hands coax over every curve of your body. "i missed you," his nose nuzzles your cheek and you tense under his touch.

it is difficult to be mad at him and being this close is only breaking your resolve further. you push at his chest but all he does is tighten his hold until you can feel the hard, defined muscle of his abdomen.

he is too tempting.

he laughs though it is not very amused. his large palms, grip your waist before they drift to the hem of your dress and slip beneath it. "you're all dressed up and it isn't for me."

"it's not like that." you cannot protest much because draken grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. the angle he tilts your head at is incredibly uncomfortable.

"it is, you got this pretty for him." your eyes roll, an annoyed noise leaving you. it did not make sense to dispute it, not when he already came to some conclusion in his head.

his hands cup your face, the thick of his thumb swiping over your lips, smearing the lipstick. "your makeup looks so pretty." his tone of his voice is indecipherable. you cannot seem to understand him these days. you barely have the will to try.

draken cannot stand the idea of you thinking about another man. it does not sit right with him that you got this pretty and went out with someone else.

draken does not need you to do all this for his eyes to be on you. he leans closer and you do not resist, you cannot.

not when his hooded eyes meet yours and your lips brush together. you need affection, his affection. you can not deny that no matter how hard you try to.

his tongue slips out to wet his lips before he tilts his head and kisses you. it is rough, it is desperate, it does not make sense. why does he kiss you like this when he does not love you at all?

he hums into your mouth, tongue slipping inside to brush over everywhere he has already been. places he always comes back to.

your hands bunch his shirt, eyes squeezing shut because you regret it but you still kiss him with the same burning need.

you pull away breathless, turning from him because it is obvious you are not done like you said you were.

"fuck," draken rasps, leaning in again to suck at your bottom lip. his cock pulses at the way you whine. he wipes at the saliva with his thumb before pressing it against your tongue.

"wanna fuck your mouth." you swallow hard, eyes fluttering. you should not, you know you should not but just this? you just need this much and you will leave.

"gonna be a good baby and let me?" the depth of his voice makes a shiver travel down your spine. how can you refuse when he talks like that?

draken never needs much to sway you, regardless of how stubborn you act. you grip his wrist, pushing it away and he is about to grab you right back when your smaller palms trail down his chest.

the corners of his mouth pull up, "there's my girl." it is drawn out and all too smug. his tongue swipes over his teeth like he finally got what he was waiting for.

your fingers dip into the rivets of his chest and abs. he is all hard muscle where you are soft. you slowly situate yourself on your knees, your hands resting on his thighs.

you are eye level with his erection that was straining in his pants since the moment he laid his eyes on you. he is still smiling, he missed the sight of you between his legs.

each and every time he got to see you look up at him like this, it plagued his mind. you keep watching as his dexterous fingers flex, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zip.

"fuck," his hands fidget, his whole body seems to be vibrating. he tugs his shirt up, his deep v-line framed by the waistband of his boxers is revealed to you.

"did you miss it?" he stares at you the second he pushes down his pants enough to let his cock out. it looks painfully hard. it is slightly curved, just the sight of it makes your insides ache.

he is too big.

draken is bordering on perfect. maybe that is why he is such an asshole. your finger swipes over his slit, pre oozing in thick droplets. your eyes trail from the swollen brownish head to the veins that trailed along the underside.

"i did." your confession comes out breathy, thighs clenching together almost on instinct. he hums, holding his length at the base, breath hitching at the sudden contact.

he presses the tip to your lips, the glossy finish of his pre looks better on you than that stupid lipstick. "open," he sighs quietly, focused on the sticky strands of your spit and the way your tongue squirms under the weight of his cock.

"fuck." his lip pulls back in a grin, he is pretty, especially when he has that expression on his face. your mouth encloses the bulbous part, your slick muscle laves around his slit and a low moan reverberates through ken's chest.

your mouth is too warm, too wet. it feels too good around him. the silky walls of your cheeks and the way your tongue always seems to be heated. how could you expect him to not be addicted?

you pull off, saliva dripping down his length and staining your face. you always got so messy, draken's jaw slackens when you run your tongue along his length before taking him back into the wet haven of your mouth.

you sink down on him and tears prick at your eyes because it is so much. your hand grips what you cannot fit before removing your mouth with a sniffle.

he is in awe at how little your hand always looks when it is grasping him. how much softer it is than his, how it struggles to wrap around him properly.

you jerk up and down his length, swallowing hard. there is an excessive amount of saliva in your mouth. you look up at him and he cups your face. your lips come around his cock, gradually hollowing your cheeks to take him more. the salty taste of his pre is in your mouth, somehow you missed it.

half of his cock is within the confines of your mouth and it seems draken was waiting until you could not retort.

"i hope you can still take me... or maybe you got used to less." his jaw locks, the thought of mitsuya getting his claws into you makes ken sick. your eyes flick up to his, streams of tears down your face. your lipstick all smeared.

ken wants it stained around the base of his cock if he is honest.

maybe then you would know it is only for him. his hand tangles into your hair, gripping the roots as a deep groan escapes him. he watches his length disappear past your lips, the walls of your throat fluttering around him, pulsing.

all the muscles squeezing his length make his hips stutter. perspiration coats his skin and his adam's apple bobs with each of his gasps as he sinks more of his cock past your lips.

it takes a while before your cute nose is pressed to his abdomen, nuzzling the short hair. he sighs, the silky walls of your tight throat are wrapped around him like it is only his to claim.

he lets you get used to it, holding you to his base whilst your tongue wriggles beneath his cock and the heat of your mouth covers him entirely. your hands tightly grip the fabric at his thighs, eyes fluttering continuously before they finally stare up at him.

almost like you are waiting for him to use you. he thinks your eyes should not look that wide nor that innocent.

maybe it is because they never changed even as you have grown. as long as draken has known you, you have never had anyone. he wants to be your someone.

his free hand wraps around your neck, there is a prominent bulge from his member and the feel of it beneath his fingers makes him shiver.

"bet you like having me in your throat like this." he practically whines. "fuck, m'agine you're choking on my dick like a slut." he anchors his hand in your hair before he slowly thrusts. he thinks the way your shoulders tense is too cute.

low moans leave him, he grows louder as his speed increases. he cannot leave you alone, not even if he wanted to.

he does not want to.

his head tilts back, he can feel your muscles moving along him, he can feel your tongue trembling at the underside.

your mouth is so slick with him it is easy to glide his length in and out of you. his abs strain, the veins on his abdomen appearing more. there is an impeding feeling inside him.

wet sounds fill the room as he fucks your mouth, the way he dreamed of during those days without you. he wants this back so badly.

he wants you.

tears freely coat your dewy skin. his thumb rubs at your neck, the bulge forming with each thrust pulses under his digit.

"does it hurt, baby? oh, fuck, getting your pretty throat rawed like this." you feel so, so good. the way you feel on him is inconceivable and indescribable. ken wants this forever.

his grip on your hair tightens as more pre cum is spewed into the back of your throat. he humps at your mouth, he cannot do without this, he cannot do without you.

draken's teeth grind, his breathing stuttering, the evident rise of his chest growing laboured all because he is using you. your lips look like they are straining, he can feel your breaths on him. the weight of your fist tugging his pants and pressing against him. he can definitely feel the need to cum approaching quicker than usual.

he is sure it will help with the soreness of your throat right now. ken wants to give you his cum and claim your mouth again.

"only thing you're swallowing is my dick and my cum" he hates the thought of it being anyone else. his head leans back, jaw dropped to moan.

he feels like he is losing his senses, he feels you all over him. his cock throbs in your mouth, slipping in and out of the perimeter of your slicked lips. "such a good fucking girl, feel so good." he bites down on his lip before hot air puffs from his mouth, his chest and shoulders tense.

draken's deep voice is cut by groans. he is there, he is so close. the warm wetness of your mouth, the drool leaking down your jaw, the tight grip of your throat stroking his length. he cannot take it much more.

he shoves himself completely into you, gripping your hair and caressing your face. he feels the muscles squeezing down on him because he is not supposed to be there.

he wipes the tears on your cheeks but it does not make a difference when everything is so messy. draken's hips stutter, his balls coated in saliva are leaning on your jaw.

you are too good. you are perfect.

his cock throbs, he is breathless and panting as his back tenses and an onslaught of cum is poured into your eager throat. there is so much it spews out of your mouth as you try your hardest to swallow it all.

"you're so good to me, baby." you take him so well, you always do.

he feels you swallowing the salty semen, he stills for a moment. the way your throat clenches on him is otherworldly. a tandem of curses leave him before he pulls you back by your hair and his cock slips from your tight throat.

it is obscene, how the mixture of cum and spit drips from your mouth and the sticky strands remain webbed to his cock. "holy fuck." he leans your head back, admiring the dazed look in your eyes.

he is panting, barely maintaining his composure. "you're so nasty, such a pretty cock slut, huh?" his lip tilts up as he says it. you only get like this for him.

his large palms reach down to lace his fingers with yours as he lifts you. his eyes glaze over your swollen lips and the tear streaks staining your cheeks.

he is quick to press his body onto yours and kiss you. it is way too sweet, especially since his taste is still tainting your mouth. he moans, tightly wrapping you in his arms as he kisses you harder.

his teeth hit yours and ken is pushing more into you. a deep hum reverberates through him as his tongue glides along yours. it has more wetness coating between your thighs. you wondered why he fit so perfectly with you when he was not made for you.

"don't show anyone else this pretty face, it's only for me." he huffs barely an inch away. he will not let you get on your knees for another man. not as long as he is alive.

his frivolous fingers grope your ass, tugging the fabric of your dress up. the roughness of his finger tips press against the wetness your pussy has leaked into your panties. his greedy touches are accompanied by wet kisses to your cheeks.

you wish you could resist him and you try, you really do. "draken, enough." your voice is weak and distant, you hold his wrists but you do not do anything to stop him. you want to distance yourself from him. you want to end this, right?

a scowl pulls over kens features, "don't call me that like you weren't just sucking my dick." nothing you do can get you away from him. draken is truly unshakeable even as you push at his built chest.

"i want to go home," you huff, shoving at him harder but all it does is make him grip you until you are hissing in pain. "no." you brows furrow at his refusal.

draken wants you to understand that you are home. he has been dropping signs for you to stay here for years. how dense are you? when will you understand that it is you and him against the world.

"we're either fucking or this is the last time you see me," you stare at him in faux disgust. like the thought of him repulses you because you desperately try to convince yourself of it.

you swallow hard. "i already told you, we're done."

he does not falter, not even a little.

instead he reels you in closer. his harsh touches are gentler now, tracing your cheek and dusting over your lips. his eyes are so intense as he glimpses over your features. he is not holding you to him, not anymore.

you can pull away, you can leave so why don't you? something about draken enamours you until you lose cognisance.

"you don't really want that. you don't want me to go away." his voice is like temptation incarnate. he strokes at your hair, brushing the stray strands back.

perhaps, you are too far gone when it comes to him. he is all you have ever known, how can you leave him now?

he sees your bottom lip tremble at the thought and he is pulling you into his embrace. he tucks you under his chin, right against his heart. "it's okay." you cannot think much when all you can smell and feel is him. when you can still taste him on your tongue. "sleep with me and your ken won't ever leave."

he does not need a verbal response because the empty look in your eyes tells all. you are like a ditzy slut but you are his so he is okay with it.

draken scoops you up into his arms. something he usually does. your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt whilst he carries you.

everything about you is doll like, from your features to how easily he can do with you as he pleases. you are engulfed by his scent more, if that is even possible. he situates you on his sheets, where you have spent too many nights to count.

you stare at him with wide glassy eyes. what is it that you wanted to say? no? you wanted to say no.

you wanted to be done and you wanted him to leave you alone but the thought makes you nauseous. it makes your heart ache and your ears ring. you cannot fathom being without him.

when his large frame leans down to kiss you gently. when he is cupping your face and tilting your head to deepen it. you cannot say no, not when he is doing all the things you dreamed of.

he is so much bigger than you, in every way. his palms are large and he is covered in muscle. he is tall and intimidating.

he could hurt you. instead his touch coaxes over your waist before he laces his fingers with yours.

"you're so fucking gorgeous." he muses. draken straightens up, looking down at you nestled in his sheets. it is where you belong.

he thinks you look like an angel, one that is fresh out of heaven. your eyes do not leave him as he reaches for the hem of his shirt and swiftly tugs it over his head.

he flashes you a grin, his body flexing beneath your heavy gaze. you are admiring the scars on his skin, the sharpness of his abs and the definition of his biceps. why is he so perfect? why does he always look so stunning?

"like it?" you nod your head as he slips his thumbs into the rivets of his v line and tugs his jeans and boxers down.

he is bare when his knee digs into the mattress and he leans over you. "yeah? you like me?" his hand pets your hair, like you are a dumb puppy begging for praise. your cunts leaking from everything he does, you can feel the liquid dripping from your slit to your ass. "you love me. you do" draken groans.

you nod so eagerly, your throat feels constricted, you are so overwhelmed. everything he says is true. everything he does makes you want him more, love him more.

his strong arms wrap around you, the touch of his fingers on your spine makes you arch up. he is finally unzipping your dress after craving to do it for so long. he kisses your mouth softly, trailing down your neck and continuing over every inch of skin that is revealed as he tugs the fabric down.

draken settles on his knees, his hot breath hitting your breasts and wet, open mouthed kisses are left down your stomach. he huffs, his nose digging into your flesh as his hot tongue slips out. it presses into your abdomen, just above your cunt.

you grip the sheets, the sharpness of his dark eyes meet yours as the length of his tongue trails over your tummy.

there is so much tension in the air it is almost suffocating, you find yourself wishing his tongue was inside you already.

he leans back, thumbs hooking into your panties and stripping you bare of all your clothes. the slick between your legs is sticky to your panties, so soaked they are peeled away.

you swallow hard as draken's hands cup the back of your knees and spread you open for him.

"you have the prettiest cunt, i swear." he whistles. his eyes grow darker the longer he stares. he is entranced by how easy you are to wind up. "all you did was suck some cock and you're dripping." there is a hum deep in his chest.

you are left staring up at him dumbly as he admires you. you cannot formulate a coherent thought aside from him. he is the only thing in your head. your ken.

your body feels unbelievably warm, inside and out with all his fleeting touches. he leans down, your thighs propped on his shoulders as he gets closer to your slick cunt.

you feel like you are intoxicated somehow. maybe it is the alcohol but you only feel this high when he is the one touching you.

his middle and ring finger glide over your sopping entrance. a whine escapes you, fingers tightening in his sheets as he slips one of the lengthy digits inside you. he does not stop, not at all. it is relentlessly pressed all the way to his knuckle.

even as you whimper, even though your walls pulse around him. his eyes do not leave yours when the length of his tongue slips out. a thick glob of saliva slipping from the tip to your already messy cunt.

the pinkness of his lips enclose around your stiff clit. his tongue gliding along it as he sucks and the other coated finger is forcing its way inside.

he needs to stretch you out and fast. he needs you ready to take him. "ken!" it is high pitched, bordering on a whine. you grip his hair. you are already panting, already wanting more.

draken's free hand glides from your hip to grip your waist. he moans into your pussy, the vibration travelling through your entire being. his fingers pump into you with messy sounds. it is like you are sucking them in, as if you do not want to let him go.

wet squelches echo through the room, slick leaks from you and stains his digits.

"there's my girl, keep saying ken." his tongue prods your stilted bundle of nerves, sucking on it like he has done before.

he knows your body like the back of his hand. knows that every curl of his fingers within your dripping cunt has your hips stuttering and your back arching up.

he knows that his mouth on your clit makes your eyes water and your jaw hang open. knows that those moans are because he is hitting so deep inside, you cannot control yourself.

you are breathless when his fingers slip out and his mouth encloses your dripping slit. his tongue is pushed in entirely. you are squealing at the wet muscle that wriggles along your walls.

draken's eyes roll back at the taste of your cunt and he moans. he went without it, without you for too long. he does not think he can do it again.

he will not let himself be without you for that long ever again.

you cry his name, fingers gripping his hair for some semblance of self control. the tighter you hold, the harder he sucks on you.

draken feels like he could spend forever between your legs. like he could die happy if the last thing he tasted was you. his mouth has you drooling and cross eyed. it has your thighs trembling and you bite your lips so much they are raw.

ken is the only one who gets you like this, he is the only one who will ever get the opportunity. "feels good. so good. s'deep." you babble on and on and ken thinks it is the cutest.

he is lapping at your cunt like a man who is deprived of water. honestly, he is and he is upset with you. of course he is.

who did you think you were staying away from him?

he pulls back, slick coating his lips and covering his tongue. "wanna cum." you mewl and his brows raise. his fingers slip right back inside you, all at once. he does not miss a beat as he fucks them into you. "think you deserve it? you haven't been nice, babe." he presses his face to your plush thigh.

gazing up at your expression, you already look like you are fucked dumb. "m'sorry, sorry, ken. i'm sorry." you whimper, dainty fingers reaching for his hand to hold it.

you are such a baby.

what did you get by acting like this aside from making him obsessed with you?

it is such an adorable apology but you spent days away from him. he could hardly function, why did you think it was okay to do that to him? he is catching tears in your eyes, like crystals that are priceless. he sees your snotty nose and pouted lips.

he truly cannot let go of you.

his fingers quicken and your head hits the sheets, leaning back as your hips rock. "close, baby?" your head bobs quickly, "so closeee." your voice is all drawled and heavy with desire.

his mouth covers your cunt again, still fucking into you as your entire body heats up. your stomach feels like there are a million knots within it.

you are crying out his name so adorably, ken cannot help but grin a bit while he is making out with your pussy. your hand squeezes his, nails nicking his skin as you rock your hips against his face. the burning in your abdomen intensifies, only growing greater.

your thighs shift closer together but he is there to stop them, your back arches completely off the mattress when you reach that high. your mind feels white hot, vision going blurry because he does not stop even as you cum.

your tongue is practically lolling out as he laps at your cunt and your body vibrates from the feeling. high pitched moans fill the room all breathy and desperate.

your chest heaves, gripping ken's hand as you try to find your bearings. you can feel his breath hit your entrance, he does not make a move from where he is.

"those days you were ignorin' me." he pauses, his fingers dig into your thigh. you can feel him squeezing your hand tightly, it is not as gentle as it started.

"did you let him see you like this?" your eyes flutter, trying your hardest to steady your breathing. "i didn't sleep with him." you mumble, leaning into the softness of the pillows. your body feels exhausted already.

ken roughly pulls away from you, the sudden jolt shocks you but he is over you in a second. his hand grips your jaw, gaze narrowed. "don't lie." his voice is low in warning. it is hard to keep a straight face when cum is covering his lips and dripping down his face. it makes you flustered completely. his eyes stare into yours as though he is attempting to read your soul.

"m'not lying to you, ken." you shove at his chest but all draken does is grip both your wrists to tug your body down the bed.

he has your legs on either side of his waist and his cock's resting on your stomach. he can see where he will reach once he is inside. his hands caress your thighs, trailing to your hips that he grips lightly.

he leans down to claim your lips, your slick rubbing onto you and resting on your tongue. your body feels weak but your arms wrap around his neck and bring him closer. fingers wound in his hair as you kiss him more desperately, more lovingly. you wish he would believe you, when have you ever betrayed him?

his palm slips between your spread legs, prodding your entrance and you pull away from his mouth with a hiss. you are pushing at his forearm but ken does not approve at all, it is evident in his expression.

"ken, wait for a bit..." you are still unbearably sensitive. he does not see it that way, instead his head tilts, eyes so dark they seem black.

"did mitsuya loosen you up for me?" his tone is covered with anger, he feels sick to his stomach. he is being tortured by images of you and him. ken cannot take it, not at all.

your eyes widen at his words, stilling for a moment. "don't talk to me like i'm some slut." there is a frown tugging ken's lips down. you were doing so well, everything was going so well and now he is upset about things that never happened.

"you are, you were fucking him too." he grits out, jaw clenching tightly. the thought makes him want to throw up. it makes him want to hurt mitsuya for ever putting his hands on you.

"i didn't do that, ken. when did you stop trusting me?" your chest heaves, brows furrowed in dismay.

"since you started being a whore." your lip trembles, eyes filling with tears that burn. your throat feels like if you speak you will break down into tears.

you turn your head away from him, sniffles leaving you as you desperately fight tears. they still coat your cheeks like an endless waterfall.

you did not want to break down in front of him, you did not want him to see how easily he makes you cry. it is too late when you are in his room, on his bed with your heart ripped out of your chest and given to him. your body shakes with sobs, squeezing your lids shut.

"why do you always do this to me?" your voice is broken. the second his fingers stroke your face, you wonder why you always give him this power.

why do you let him him make you cry and break you down without consequence? "because i want you here." he breathes, his large palms encasing your breasts and rubbing at your nipples.

he kisses you even as you cry, even as you sob into his mouth but it is okay because you let him slip his tongue inside.

you are still okay with him biting on your bottom lip and kissing you like this. his touch trails down your stomach to your hips.

a sigh leaves him as he reaches for his hard erection, so much pre cum leaking from his swollen tip. he guides the head between your spread folds.

an excessive amount of slick coating him while he drags it along your opening. your pussy seems to miss him as much as you did because your treacherous body is growing hotter.

you both looking at where he breaches you, your breath catches at the thickness of his head is forced into your gummy walls. "real fuckin tight." ken whistles, his abs tenses because he is seconds away from fucking the entire thing into you.

your cunt is like nirvana, your insides squeeze down on him although he barely put the tip in.

"i missed you." he huffs, his fingers dig into the thick flesh of your thighs, his hips slowly surging forward and making you cry. "c'mon open up, relax for me." he thrusts again, your back arches up.

you whimper his name, ken loves the way you say it. his thumb swipes over the barely there lipstick on your mouth before he is pressing it inside.

your spit filled mouth encloses around the digit and ken grins. his eye brows knit together at the slick sound that comes from your pussy gripping him.

your silky walls are pulsing around him uncontrollably. ken wishes he could be inside you forever. he rolls your clit, your cunt gushing over his cock and he only fucks more of himself into you with each thrust.

your hand presses against ken's abdomen but he is so much stronger. he clicks his tongue. "don't try to run from it. y'know you can take it." his voice is so deep it's almost gravelly. your resistance is trembling.

"i can feel your pretty cunt squeezing me, i know you want more" his thumb slips further into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you gag. "i know you want to be stuffed full, you missed it, didn't you?" you nod dumbly.

he thinks you look pretty like this, swollen lips and messy hair. filled with cock and sucking on his thumb like you are made for it. you are, you are made for him.

it takes one particularly hard thrust before he is completely inside of you. his entire cock throbs alongs your pulsing walls, your body tenses because you feel so unbearably full.

you whine, you swear he is nudging your cervix. you can feel him in your stomach, you can see where the head of his cock has it bulging. you moan his name and all it does is make ken smile.

his girth stretches you out so much that it burns. you are left with your chest heaving as he pulls your leg onto his shoulder and he holds the other open.

he can see your cunt spread open around him, your pelvis is flush to his, your insides are holding him so tightly he feels like he can barely move.

his hips slam into you, your body jolts and your legs shake. he leans over, lifting you until your ass is off the bed and fucks you the way he was dying to in all the days you were not with him. "baby, baby, you're perfect" he pants. "got the sweetest cunt."

the lengthy locks of ivory hang on either side of his face, he looks too pretty. you are a whimpering, drooling mess beneath his large frame.

you press on the spot that distends your tummy with each pump of his hips. you both sigh at the feeling. ken is looking at where you are taking him between your legs, where his cock slips in and out completely doused in your juices.

you are met with the chain you got him. it hangs in your face and the anklet he got you is right next to his ear. in mockery, in proof, you are not quite sure.

when draken fucks you like this he wonders why it was so difficult for you to accept that you are his.

your fists find the soaked sheets, your body feels hot and sweat coats your skin. you feel like there is cotton in your head. tears stream down your cheeks and traces of saliva are on your lips. you are always so easily lost in him.

your eyes squeeze shut, he is pounding you into the sheets like you are a sex doll. ken is all you can feel, all you can think about. you sigh in contentment. you are hardly coherent.

"ken, you're so big." you mewl, his fingers dig into your skin, his nails pressing against the flesh.

"yeah? you missed me fucking you? missed having my cock deep in this pussy? pretty girl, all you think about is my dick." you whine and his voice is filled with amusement.

growing breathy the longer he is wrapped in your vice walls and covered in your viscous liquid.

he slams his hips to yours, each dragging you along his length. you can feel his skin sticky everywhere you are touching him.

your cream forms a white ring along the base of his cock and leaks down his balls. "messy." he clicks his tongue. your little body looks so precious under him.

you are taking a cock that is way too big for you but you take it so well.

you always do.

you can hardly think when he is shoving so deep inside that you swear he is bruising your cervix. a light clink and the coldness of metal on your forehead has your eyes opening in confusion.

"ken?" he does not stop moving. your body shakes and you writhe from his brutal ministrations. "you scared, baby?" he grins, his hand comes down to rest on your sternum and he leans over you more.

you are not scared, it should worry you that you are not scared in the slightest.

you trust him with your life.

even as he holds a gun to your head you cannot find it in yourself to be afraid of him.

it should worry you even more that the only thing that generates a reaction from you is him pressing the same gun to his temple.

you jerk.

"stop!" you cannot even reach for his hand when he is holding you down like this. you are so insanely confused.

a new influx of tears streaming from your eyes as your pleas fall on deaf ears. you wish he would stop being reckless.

"isn't that cute? now you care." he pauses his hips, your nails dig into his forearm but draken does not flinch.

he accuses you when he is the only thing you care about, the only thing you ever think of.

"i want to you to know, this is what will happen if you leave me again." your lips part in shock, his eyes are dark. so dark.

there is an overwhelming feeling of worry washing over you.

"ken, this is crazy." your voice cracks as you cry.

"is it?" you are painfully away that his cock is throbbing inside you. "it's crazy that you were running around with some other guy."

"i wasn't, i swear i wasn't."

"are you going to leave me, baby? that's all i need to know." his hand leaves your sternum to stroke your cheek. it is so gentle.

your heart feels like it has taken too much pain to work. "you don't want me." it hurts. it hurts but you know it is true.

drakens lips pulled back in a scowl. his expression is unreadable, he is unreadable. you never understand him.

he applies pressure to the trigger and nausea fills your senses. your scream bloody murder because you have to look at him hold a gun to his head but you cannot do anything. he does not allow you.

"promise you won't leave." he says and you cry, pleading endlessly. you cannot handle losing him in any capacity. you cannot lose him at all.

"m'sorry, please don't" your throat feels so tight, it hurts to speak. "i won't leave so please stop!" you hiccup, holding his hand and praying he can see the desperation in your eyes.

"say it again" his eyes grow hooded, like those words falling off your tongue are music to his ears. you only sob harder.

"i won't ever leave you. i promise i won't." you voice is hoarse and wavering. your eyes do not move from the metal barrel aimed at his head.

you are fretting in worry but ken looks glad. he looks delighted even. the flash of his teeth makes you swallow.

"and you love me?" his head tilts. "i do." you whisper. you have never told him that before.

how could you protect your heart if you were professing your love for him? right now it does not seem to matter.

"i love you, ken. always did." your voice is barely audible, you swear the pounding of your heart is louder than it.

"close your eyes." you shake your head, completely confused. you are terrified.

"do it if you love me." tears leak from your eyes because now you do not have a choice. you shake with sobs as you close your eyes.

"good girl, such a good girl. you're always so perfect for me." draken's body covers yours, his nose nuzzling your face and you cry harder when he kisses your skin.

"please, ken, please, please." your arms wrap around him, fingers finding purchase in his skin because you cannot see him.

"are you scared?" you nod your head with a broken whimper.

"please, ken, i love you. i need you." you cannot see the grin that crosses his face but draken is all too pleased.

his mouth meets your ear "i need you too." you feel an ounce of relief and then the shrill of a gun unloading makes you scream.

it is so loud you instantly feel sick. your entire body trembles, your scream aches your throat and shakes everything in the apartment.

your heart feels like it jumped out of your chest and you are expecting blood or a body but instead you hear draken's low laugh and your eyes open.

"don't leave again or it'll be a bullet." it seems he is finally satisfied. he drops the gun to the sheets and you shove it further away.

his palm cups your cheek and brings your attention back to him. he wipes at your tears, cooing at your miserable expression.

"you only have me to love. remember that." you cannot process his words. your chest is heavy, breathing stuttered by panic. still racked with sobs but you are reaching for him.

his large frame is tugged down over you, practically covering you completely. your leg is pressed closer to your chest. he is so warm, you can feel his skin and remind yourself that he is here.

he causes all your troubles yet he is the only person capable of comforting you. "relax." he coos but it only makes you cry harder.

your body trembles against him but all ken has to do is wrap his arms around you and your worries lessen. "please, never again." because you swear your heart will stop beating if he put a gun to his head for a second time.

he pacifies you with sweet caresses along your hair before he pulls back. he smiles when you whimper, drying your cheeks but they are freshly coated with new tears. you are touching at his skin frantically, anything to remind yourself that he is really with you.

"gonna let me fuck you like you deserve? since you were such a good girl." his eyes do not leave yours, he nods his head and you find yourself nodding along with him despite how far gone your mind is.

draken hums, leaning over you as your legs wrap around his toned waist. he smiles, swiping at your tears, pressing the sweetest kiss to your lips before he trails down your neck.

your eyes flutter, breathing finally slowing but a gasp escapes your lips as his mouth encloses your nipple. you swallow hard, thighs tensing around him.

his eyes flick up to yours, face all too smug when his hips begin to rock. his teeth scrape the skin of your nipple, tongue flicking over it as he pulls away.

"like when i play with these cute tits of yours?" you are too flustered, way too dazed and dumb. your head leans away, why does he make you feel like this? his deep voice has your cunt leaking and your heart beating out of your chest.

"don't act shy, your pussy's squeezing me so hard, i know you like it." you do not have a chance to deal with the way his words have settled heat into your bones because his mouth encloses over your throat to leave more marks.

his thrusts are growing faster, rougher and you find yourself melting into a puddle, like dough you become whatever he wants.

you are only capable of moaning his name so prettily that draken's insides grow fuzzy. you are so good, too good. your hand slips into the lengthy strands of his hair.

"ken." you tug him closer, you wonder how much closer he can get than being deep enough to hit your cervix. you want him closer than his lips brushing against yours every time he fucks his hips into yours. you want him closer than the way your nipples are grazing his hard chest.

you want to crawl into his skin and make it your home.

you want him.

you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, your tongue slipping into his mouth when you pull him down. you can feel his blunt nails digging into your skin, he is bruising your waist and hips.

spit coats your mouths like gloss. "ken, i love you, i love you." you never said it to him, regardless of the countless times you thought it when you looked at him.

hearing those words roll off your tongue almost makes draken cum instantly. you are finally able to say it and you want to take advantage of it.

"fuck. you're mine. not mitsuya's, not anyone else's." his cheeks are reddened, the sharpness of his thrusts makes your back arch off the sheets. his chest heaves, the brown of his eyes stare into yours "you're mine."

you nod because it is all you ever wanted. you say yes, you sign yourself over to him entirely. you would do it in this lifetime and every single one that came after.

you cannot think at all, your jaw hanging open, your nails digging into his skin. you can feel the sting against your thighs with every thrust. something about the way he crowds over you, so much bigger, covered in muscle makes your insides hotter.

it makes you burn with want and need. your legs wrap around his waist tighter. feeling ken's hand grip your throat. you want him in every way.

you want him to fuck you like this and kiss you sweetly later. you want draken more than you have ever wanted anything else. and draken wants you like that too.

"you're my girl, my slut," he huffs into your face and the whine that leaves you is atrocious. the feeling he stirs up inside you with just those words is insane.

"maybe if i knocked your pretty ass up, you'd stop acting so stupid" he slams his hips into yours, he thrust so hard that he opens up the inside of your gummy walls every time and hits so deep you lose yourself a little bit more.

all draken can think about is pouring load after load into your leaking hole and giving you his baby. all he wants is to pound inside of you until there is no doubt that you will be swollen with his seed.

"huh? if i gave you a baby to take care of, you wouldn't have time to get mad at me" you mewl, your nails dig into his skin. he leans down to messily kiss you. his spit feels sticky in your mouth, he kisses harder, his cock being fucked into you so roughly your head blanks.

"pussy feels so good inside. you're going to take it right? all for me? going to take my cum and keep it in this cute cunt?" you cry when he pounds particularly hard and you can feel every inch of him.

you bob your head in agreement although you have no clue what he says.

"ken i love you so much." you babble, tears leak down your face.

"yeah? i should give you something then, since you're so good. should stuff this tight little hole with so much cum. you want it, pretty baby?" draken flashes you a grin when you nod. your eyes flutter, he pounds his hips harder and harder.

his movements grow uneven, he groans into your face. pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. he loses himself in the feeling of your vice walls squeezing him.

"you'll make such a pretty mommy." his forehead meets yours, you whimper so adorably when you clamp down and your pretty cunt creams all over him.

even then draken does not give you a moment's rest.

he curses lowly, his hips press flush to yours, only pulling out partially before slamming roughly into you. your body writhes with oversensitivity. you claw at his flesh, crying softly.

when he cums you swear it burns. it paints every inch of your walls and the sticky strands of cum seem never ending. it pools in your cunt and seeps around the perimeter of his thick cock.

he is panting over you, his face buried in your neck and your fingers slip into his hair. you stroke it even as he remains inside you. even as ken wraps his arms tighter around you and he presses kisses to your throat. "don't leave." he whispers so softly into your skin that you would have missed it.

"i won't." you mumble back and he huffs a heavy sigh like the reassurance is everything he needs and more. his strong arms squeeze you, fingers taunt on your skin as he coddles you against him. your legs tighten around his waist and you really think that this is what bliss truly is.

he does not want to let you go, he does not want to leave you.

his mouth presses into yours, gently kissing you, he peppers kisses to your face before he leans back. a whine escapes you when he slips his cock from your pussy.

you can feel the cum he kept plugged inside you gushing out and your body tenses. it finally dawns on you what he did. draken's eyes trail from your messy cunt to your expression and he is bothered by the unsureness contorting your features.

he presses a deep kiss to your mouth, almost like he wants to remind you it is him, that it is okay because it's him, that you were going to be with him one way or another. he caresses your face and you pursue your lips as he stands from the bed and goes to the bathroom.

you are stuck in your thoughts, your eyes on him when he reenters the room and he starts wiping you off. you are sore and tired yet you cannot seem to sleep because what does this mean for you and him?

once he is done he climbs into the bed with you, he tucks himself along your side, his bicep your pillow and his nose nuzzling your cheek. you are both still completely bare, his arm wraps around your waist and it is silent for a moment before his deep voice flitters through the air.

"do you think it took?" your brows raise, eyes slightly alarmed. what does he mean by that? you know what he means. you swear it was all in the heat of the moment.

your eyes meet his, "what?" you are exasperated but draken is unphased.

"my seed." it makes a shiver run down your spine. you furrow your brows, you are not sure what you should say.

"i don't know... i don't think so," you cannot picture yourself pregnant, not right now. you never thought he would want that, not with you.

you are surprised by how disheartened he seems.

"we can keep trying." his hand trails along your waist until it sits low on your stomach. you are stunned, you are entirely in disbelief. he gently strokes the flesh while your thoughts are a jumbled mess.

when his gaze meets yours, he smiles. it is too dangerous.

"i hope our baby has your eyes."

i didn't think this would be so long

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (2 of 4)

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, briefly implied future physical injury, protective / possessive Soap, hand job, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

You and Soap might no longer be together, but he is your "safe space", and you need to vent. While raging over the phone about your boyfriend, Soap arrives at your door.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

The anger and hurt in your voice are the only fuel John needs.

You have no idea that he is already on his way to you, that he hooked your phone call up to his helmet. That, even now, John is on his sportbike zooming down roads and weaving around cars in an effort to get to you.

There is a fire under his skin. It burns away all other concerns. Every word you speak is a blown furnace, the destruction mounting until each utterance infuriates him further. This “boyfriend” of yours, the one you started seeing after the two of you broke up, deserves a fucking sharp punch to the jaw. He deserves missing teeth and broken bones.

Men like him aren’t men at all. They’re rubbish, only valuing women as objects, seeing them as their housekeeper and not their partner.

In his ear, you’re hardly taking a breath. Your words are a stream of consciousness, each word angrily pushing into the other until it’s a jumbled mess. John listens to it all, using that as motivation to get to you. It’s doesn’t fucking matter that you’re not his anymore.

John still cares. He still loves you. The need to protect and defend you is innate. One teary-laced word was enough for him to drop everything and head in your direction. Doesn’t matter that you and he ended things a bit messy. It was simply complicated. The two of you needed to work a few things out but broke it off because that was the easy thing to do.

He regrets that. He regrets not fighting. Not getting his shit together.

The engine revs, and John turns onto your street, almost throwing himself off his bike to get to your front door. In one hand he’s holding his helmet. In the other, he’s holding his phone, the device pressed to his ear as you keep talking. Reaching out, he pounds on the door.

You immediately pause on the other side of the phone. “There’s someone at my door,” you murmur, voice slightly distant.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s me.”

Silence on the other end. But then he hears it—the familiar click of a lock. Following that is your front door opening, revealing you.

The two of you stand there, staring at each other. Your momentary shock slips, dipping into confusion.

“What are you—” you begin but promptly stop as John pushes past you and into the flat.

“Is that fucker here?” John strides into the kitchen, placing his helmet down on the counter before ending the phone call and slipping the device into his back pocket.

“John.”

He glances down the hallway and then turns to you. “Is he here?”

You shake your head. “No. He’s not here.”

John’s chest heaves with relief, some of the tension receding.

“John,” you repeat, the concern in your voice enough to smother some of that fire burning beneath his ribcage.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks softly, approaching.

His gaze roams up and down your body, searching for signs of injury. There is none, at least not that he can see. That doesn’t mean there aren’t marks somewhere hiding beneath the clothes. The very thought fans the flames, charging John’s nerves until they crackle like lightening.

“No, Johnny. I’m fine.”

Johnny.

Only two people are allowed to call him that and one of them is standing right in front of him. The use of it, the way it falls from your lips, is enough to slightly quiet the anger. He sighs, expelling some of that smoky frustration. But then his gaze flicks to a spot just over your shoulder, and a new feeling emerges.

There are fist-sized holes in the wall. Four of them. Much too large to be your hands.

“What the fuck are those?” John’s voice drops as he nods toward them.

The sadness that forms on your features nearly rips his lungs from his body. John has never seen you like this. Never this defeated.

“They happened after,” you answer.

“After what?”

“The argument.”

You and John have had your fair share of arguments, but he’s never punched a wall. He’s never thrown anything or threatened you.

Never. Fucking never.

No. Fuck this guy.

“You’re breaking up with him.”

“What?” you ask, flustered by his sudden outburst.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. To kiss your lips. To be in your presence.”

You deserve so much more than whatever this fucker is providing. Which is apparently nothing served alongside fist-sized gapping wounds in the plaster.

Your mouth opens like you’re about to reject the idea, but it’s not a suggestion. You are breaking up with him. You will leave him even if that means John doesn’t get to have you. That’s fine. That’s okay. He can live with that. What he can’t live with is knowing you’re with someone who treats you like rubbish.

He needs to get this off his chest, to make you understand that you are entitled to more.

“I listened the whole way here and you know what I heard?” He pauses and notices the slight quiver in your bottom lip. “That you’re unhappy. Have been for some time.”

You blink and fresh tears form there. John has to bite back the instinct to kiss them away. It’s what he would do if you were still his.

He licks his lips, a large sigh leaving him as he points over your shoulder. “He treats you poorly.” John’s hand slices through the air. “Walks all over you. Doesn’t answer you for hours and then gets angry with you when he finally makes contact.”

As John talks, even he can hear his voice thickening. This always happens when he gets worked up, and you’ve always playfully teased him about it.

“He’s a fucking waste of space.”

“John—”

“Break it off. And—fuck. If you can’t face him, then let me do it.” He places his hand on his chest. “Allow me to defend you.”

Your features soften and John wants to drink it in, to remember the way you’re currently looking at him. He remembers this side of you, the one that easily pierces him like a needle breaks skin. A look like this will put John on his knees if you ask him to.

“Johnny.”

He’s done. Gone. There is no coming back from this. Whenever you say his name like that, you’re either annoyed with him, wanting him to listen, or you’re just about ready to kiss him. It momentarily rips away all the thoughts in his head, leaving him temporarily mute before his brain can catch up again.

“Listen to me,” he says, gripping the sides of your face. “Get rid of him. I—I know you don’t want me but fucking hell. Don’t pick him. Don’t—”

John is silenced.

Not by your words leaving your mouth but from your lips pressing to his. It startles him—shocks him that you’re kissing him. Leaning into him. John responds, kisses you back, his tongue exploding with the remembrance of your taste.

But you’re still not his. You belong to someone else still and this isn’t right, no matter how much he fucking hates it.

“Stop, love,” he murmurs, pushing on your shoulders.

John loathes telling you to stop. To move away from him. Doing so is like fish hooks caught in the skin. He wants to reel you right back in, to taste your lips again, and fall into memory.

“I ended it,” you reply softly. “It’s over. That’s why there are holes in the wall.”

John pauses, his gaze growing serious. “What?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t like that I wanted him to leave. That I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

Your fingers dig into the back of John’s neck and that one touch is enough to dissolve his resolve about not kissing you into dust.

He closes the distance, and you welcome him in, opening beautifully.

“Am I your rebound?” he teasingly asks between kisses.

You laugh against his lips and kiss him again. “Why did I ever leave you?” Your question is a sad murmur tinged with a regret that leaches off your words and floods into his heart.

“Because I was an asshole.” He believes these words completely but you’re shaking your head.

“No,” you reply. “You weren’t. Never that.”

The kisses between you, which at first were soft, quickly develop into deeper passion, twining like a spool of thread around a bobbin. John drags you against him, tasting over and over until you are imprinted on his memory.

Your arms drape over the back of his neck to pull him even closer, and John snaps. That gentle resolve is gone. He needs you.

Reaching down to cup your ass, John lifts you off the ground until your legs naturally wrap around his waist. He knows where the bedroom is but that’s too fucking far. The desire writhing between and around his bones is a blood-beast. A feral thing that calls out for your skin against his.

Setting you down on the counter, John shoves his helmet out of the way. You’re already reaching for him, undoing the front of his pants, slipping in to palm him. The inhale you make when your fingers wrap around his cock is sweet and John breathes it in as if that one sound makes up his entire lifeblood.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s going to taste you everywhere. His lips and teeth will mark your skin. His tongue will find a home between your legs. You’ll forget this fuckers name. He just needs a few hours and it’ll be his name you’re screaming.

You stroke him again, and John drags you right to the edge of the counter, intending to sink to his knees to worship between your spread thighs.

Your knees lock at his hips and with another stroke of your hand, you tell him what you want. “I need you inside me. I want to feel you.”

You ask so sweetly. He can’t say no. He doesn’t want to.

John helps you ease his pants down to his thighs. When he goes to undress you, he only finds underwear under that large, oversized shirt.

“Fuck, love.” John’s finger drags that fabric aside and he groans at the sight.

You’re already wet. Aching. Ready for him. Begging him to bury himself inside.

This one will be quick. It’ll be rough and he’ll probably fucking spill within a minute, but he has the whole night to take you over every surface in this flat, to make you writhe and moan beneath him.

Placing one hand on the counter and one on your thigh, John starts to ease in. Inch by inch, slowly, he disappears until there is nothing left for him to give. He has a perfect view of how you stretch around him. How you slightly clench and unclench, the pleasure of it shooting to the base of his spine.

“Don’t leave me,” you murmur as Soap begins to thrust into you.

“Never,” he replies, nuzzling the side of your face as you pepper him with kisses.

John anchors himself, snapping his hips, chasing the end just so he can get you back into that bedroom to do so much more.

“You’re mine,” he groans as your fingers dig into his skin, pulling him closer. “Always have been.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @keiva1000 @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg

[denwritesandcries]

Hug me Tighter – S.C

Pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You’re only trying to make your girlfriend take a nap with you, the fact that it’s in a hospital bed after one of the worst nights of your lives doesn't really matter.

Word count: 1,8k.

Content: post-scream VI, cursing, tooth-pudding fluff, mentions of violence, cuddling, pet names, long dialogues, REALLY soft gfs.

Note: Damn, this might be the sweetest and cheesy thing I’ve ever written. Could also be an AU, since Anika is alive, or just Scream, if they could actually be happy.

English is not my first language.

You realized that you were waking up at a terribly slow pace, as if everything was suddenly in slow motion and even the smallest movement took hours to run and every second was longer than the previous one. Your body feels heavy and comfortably warm, resting on perhaps the best bed in which you've ever slept. You blinked slowly, failing to keep your eyes open, every movement of your eyelids almost making you fall into unconsciousness again.

Your body shudders with the feeling of a long yawn crossing you and you turn your head to bury your face back in the location and go to sleep again, only to be surprised when you come across hot skin instead of what your brain thought was a really soft pillow. It is only then that you register a movement against your back, light and constant, almost as smooth as your own sleepy state, climbing and descending your spine and enveloping you even more in this security bubble almost supernaturally.

Another weight lies between your neck and your head, right at the point of your wrist and there's another heavier resting on the top of your head, although you're sure of the mess your hair should be right now. Your hands grope and instinctively grab a handful of familiar fabric beneath you, feeling the texture of a sweater you knew very well.

“Sam,” your hoarse voice breaks the silence.

You were tempted to let the darkness and the inviting fog of sleep consume you again as you relaxed and held another yawn, but your resting place vibrated with a low laugh.

“‘M sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you denied with a satisfied sigh, sinking against her body.

The chin on your head pulled away and the hand on your back stopped and you immediately missed the contact, finally opening your eyes and lifting your head to protest.

“You're feeling better?”

Sam's question catches you off guard and you pause, staring into your girlfriend's soft brown eyes and raised eyebrow with confusion. Frowning, you finally decide to take a look at the place you are in and come across a messy white room with machines nearby. A hospital room.

The events of the last few hours come back to you in a quick, jumbled flash. The confrontation with the Ghostfaces, the deaths, the police, the ambulance... and the surgery, because of course in addition to all the terror and threats of the last few days you also ended up being stabbed.

Well, that explains why you feel so sluggish then. You're high on drugs. That is, if the IV prick in your arm is any indication.

The hand on the back of your neck moves up towards your face, fingers tracing the contour of your chin and jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek, your body relaxes and you lean into her touch, sighing all too contentedly at the affection. The memory of waking up a lot more groggy before and convincing Sam to lay down too when you found her sitting next to the hospital bed holding your hand tightly slowly returning to your hazy mind. She was a little hesitant at first, but it wasn't that difficult to convince her to hold you with the excuse that it would only be for a few minutes. You bet it must have been a few hours already.

“Hm,” you murmured absently, stretching against her, “I’m definitely feeling much better now.”

“That's good,” your girlfriend huffed softly, “I can't feel my legs in this position anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“Am I too heavy?” You ask, lifting your head to examine her for any bruises from the previous fight, “I can move if it’s hurting you.”

“No,” She squeezes you tighter quickly, “I’m good here.”

Sam's own eyes were half-lidded, almost closing over the last few minutes you were asleep, but she refused to give in to the urge to doze off too. It would have been such a waste when she could just hug you and breathe properly for the first time since the last few hellish weeks you've all had.

The TV on the wall had long since been muted, with the image of some random animal documentary flickering in the background. Sam's head rested against the pillows and your body lay happily spread over hers – and she looked perfectly satisfied for someone who had complained and complained about your puppy dog ​​eyes before.

Somewhere between convincing Sam to lie down and pretending to pay attention to the screen, you ended up falling asleep, one of your arms hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Sam realized this instantly, feeling your weight finally relax on her. It made her relax too. Not completely. Sam was never completely relaxed, no matter how tired she was, not anymore, especially not after a night like that. But she managed to feel good enough to enjoy the moment.

The environment was as welcoming as any hospital could be, but her embrace brought a sense of security that lulled you perfectly to sleep and the knowledge that everyone was okay and in the next room allowed Sam to let her guard down. Yet falling asleep and losing that, the feeling that nothing could happen as long as she held you tight and ran her fingers over your warm skin, seeing and hearing every sleepy sound and movement you made – from a tired sigh as you fit, to one of your hands founding the collar of her sweater and grabbing it, holding her close – it would be a waste.

“You sure?” You hesitate, searching her eyes for any hint of hidden discomfort.

Sam sighs, nodding: “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable I am right now.”

“Okay then,” you rest your ear on her chest, feeling her head nod and her heart bumping, still a little high. A yawn crosses your lips, “But let me know if you need me to move.”

She hums in response and you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the sound of machines running and your soft breaths in the same rhythm left you trying your hardest not to fall asleep again until you felt your girlfriend's chest vibrate beneath you again in a barely contained laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re tired.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your drooping head and finally refocusing your vision on her.

“I should probably get up now, let you get some rest.” Sam said, reluctantly removing her arms from you so she could move away.

You shook your head, grabbing one of her hands and letting them fall to the side of the bed, swinging freely in the air.

“No, I’m good here.” You echoed, denying nonchalantly. You let your head find a place on her neck, making her lie back against the pillows.

Sam sighed against you slowly, much more out of satisfaction – and relief – than annoyance at your insistence, returning to the task of running her fingers down your back until you spoke again.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, voice muffled by the face buried in her neck, “And the twins?”

“They're watching Anika.” She responds and you get alarmed, before Sam reassures you, “She's gonna be alright, she just needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. And also a lot of rest. Like you, by the way.”

“I am resting.”

If Sam hadn't been fighting sleep for over an hour now, she would have a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face at the sound of your indignant mumble. Since that wasn't the case, she contented herself with a small smile.

“Whatever you say, amor.”

She surrenders, completely this time, without any more false attempts to leave. Sam felt as if you were the one rocking her and not the other way around, as if nothing else could touch her, even for a little while. There were no worries about horrible jobs, breakdowns in therapy, pressure with college exams and much less paranoia about the existence of cinematic serial killers. Nothing else could exist in your – literal – white room. Just the two of you in that small bed.

Each synchronized breath of your chest next to hers pressed her own ribs, the delicate breath sending delicious shivers down her spine and making her completely aware of how close your bodies were and shocking her at how it still didn't feel close enough.

“I love you,” she says. Rasped, you barely hear it. “I love you so freaking much that sometimes I just want to drown into your chest and curl up between your ribs, with your heart.” She takes a breath, then pauses, hesitantly: “...Is that too weird?”

“...Well,” you gasp, heart completely racing against your ears, “No weirder than what we already go through on a daily basis, I guess.”

Sam groaned at your response, feeling like a lovesick teenager in one of the movies Tara and Mindy love to make fun of. Rambling poetically about her passion.

But, screw it, that's exactly what she is, right? Sam thought. Let her have it. She deserves it.

(Her therapist would definitely pat her on the back for that thought.)

Unlike what Sam thought she should feel with the realization of that thought, her heart didn't skip a beat uncomfortably, her hands didn't get sweaty and cold with the doubt of how to deal with this. It kept pounding in that same slow, steady, familiar rhythm, with one of the most precious and loved people of her life completely aware of how she felt.

“I feel like drowning into your chest all the time too.”

Her favorite place in the world was anywhere you were together and it was physically impossible to be closer than that at the moment, although she wouldn't give up trying.

It was pure and simple happiness. Warmth and security that captured her stomach and left it churning with what felt like a million bubbles popping simultaneously.

When you first came to her life and Sam realized being falling for you, she thought her love would swallow her. That it would be something she would keep to herself until it exploded. You seemed to have made it your mission to prove her otherwise.

“I didn’t say ‘all the time’ tho.”

Here you were, together and fine.

“Oh, shut up.”

Your grip on Sam's hand tightened in very bad feigned irritation and when you rose quickly to give her a kiss, your girlfriend burst into laughter and your lips hit her strong jaw instead.

“That tickles, baby.”

“I was shooting for your lips, but you moved.” You simply shrugged, leaning into her again and this time she met you on the way, a stupid smile growing between you and breaking the kiss too soon. You lay back down and Sam took a long breath, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

This time, when her head feels heavy and droops from sleep, Sam does nothing to stop it, letting the feeling finally consume her.

Nothing, not even in her most vivid fantasies, had ever been so perfect.

And if by chance Tara ends up sending Sam a photo of the two of you napping the next day when everyone is getting ready to go home and it becomes the new wallpaper on her phone, well… that's nobody's business.

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Unfamiliar Grounds

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Kirigan’s walls may be down for now, but Ivan and Fedyor know they must guard more than just his recovery—they must guard his trust.

Notes:

This story is an AU. It takes place long before Alina turns up. Kirigan is not the villain he will be later in the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

Work Text:

The early morning light cast long shadows through the forest as the company rode on, tired but quietly relieved. The skirmish had been brief and unexpected, but by some twist of fate, they’d suffered no fatalities—just bruises, scrapes, and the bitter taste of yet another delay on the road back to the Little Palace. Though everyone was weary and eager to be home, they travelled with the calm confidence of survivors, their minds already drifting to the promise of rest and familiar comforts.

Kirigan rode at the head of the group, his figure as straight and composed as ever. But nevertheless, something seemed off.  

Ivan’s brow furrowed as he observed the General more closely. He had been summoned more and more often by him in recent months, each mission bringing him closer to the man who, until then, had been more myth than reality.  But despite these latest, quite frequent missions, Ivan still didn’t know him well enough to understand every nuance in Kirigan’s demeanor. Yet now, for the first time, he felt a gnawing certainty that something was not as it should be.

Ivan’s eyes stayed fixed on him, searching, studying every slight shift of Kirigan’s posture, every minute tightening of his hands on the reins. Beside him, Fedyor was watching as well, his gaze troubled, his senses attuned to the subtle signs of strain his leader couldn’t quite conceal.

It was when Kirigan’s hand slipped from the reins to clutch briefly at his side that Ivan felt his stomach twist. Never before had the General let pain show, and Ivan was suddenly sure that right now, things were more serious than Kirigan let on.

A quick glance at Fedyor confirmed his suspicions. They had both seen it; the way Kirigan’s breaths came a fraction shorter, the tension that radiated through his usually controlled frame.

Enough was enough.

“Stop,” Ivan’s voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable, pulling the group to an abrupt halt. The Grisha responded instantly, horses stamped and snorted, shifting restlessly as the troupe exchanged puzzled glances.

Kirigan’s head snapped to face him, his jaw clenched, irritation flashing briefly in his dark eyes. “What are you doing? We’re wasting time,” he ground out.  His words were tight with fatigue and something more—a hidden tension, one that everyone who looked closer could feel.

“General,” Ivan responded undeterred, his tone unyielding. “With all due respect, we’re not going another step until you’re seen to.”

Some Grisha at the back of the group, unable to catch the exchange, furrowed their brows in confusion. But most understood immediately; he must have noticed something critical.

They trusted Ivan’s observations without question, and their eyes darted between him and Kirigan, watching the General with a deepening worry, their expressions reflecting their desire to ensure his well-being.

Kirigan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence enough to convey his displeasure, when Fedyor moved in, calmer but just as resolute. “We’re not moving ahead until you let us help.”

For a heartbeat, Kirigan remained motionless, defiant even. But as his eyes swept over his soldiers, the alarm reflected in some of the faces reached through his defences. He caught sight of a young Grisha, one he’d protected during the skirmish, now watching him with such raw concern that it almost touched him; a feeling he was not accustomed to.

He recognized, too, the look in Ivan’s and Fedyor’s eyes—the unwavering determination that would not yield, the loyalty that insisted he allow them to care for him.

Slowly, he nodded once in acknowledgment and reluctantly, he slid down from his horse. His legs trembled slightly as they met the ground; he masked it, straightening his shoulders, but there was a fragility in the gesture that sent a quiet ripple of alarm through those watching. The last Grisha around him quickly dismounted as well, realization dawning on their faces. Even those who had remained in their saddles until now hurriedly slid to the ground, concern etched in their expressions as they saw that their General was not just weary; he was struggling.

“Let’s get you settled and check this out,” Ivan insisted, already scanning for a place to lay Kirigan down.

With haste, some Grisha began spreading their cloaks and blankets on the ground, creating a makeshift resting place.

As they lowered Kirigan onto it, his body instinctively tensed as if trying to escape a wave of pain that seemed to surge within him.

“Relax,” Ivan instructed gently, kneeling beside him. Kirigan’s usual composure was beginning to crack, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath.

As Ivan peeled back Kirigan’s Kefta, a collective gasp escaped from the surrounding Grisha. A huge, dark stain spread across his tunic, the ominous wet hue saturating the black fabric underneath.

Fedyor sucked in a sharp breath, his voice rising with shock and frustration. “Saints, you’ve been bleeding like this for—how long?”

Kirigan gave a faint, deflective huff, as though he’d been caught in some minor offense. “It’s nothing. Everyone’s tired; they don’t need me slowing them down.”

But Ivan was having none of this. “Stop that,” he ordered gruffly. “We’re taking care of this now.”

Carefully he pulled the tunic up, revealing a long, jagged wound that stretched across Kirigan’s chest and abdomen, still seeping blood. The flesh was swollen and bruised, and there were clear signs of at least two broken ribs beneath, maybe even internal injuries; each breath was a shallow, painful effort.

The Grisha who had gathered around murmured in shock, a few of the younger ones paling visibly at the sight.

“General…” one Squaller whispered strained. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Kirigan merely shook his head, his gaze set forward, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “It wasn’t necessary,” he replied. “I could hold on until we returned.”

“Of course you could!” Ivan’s tone was sharp with exasperation. He knew that if anyone could endure such wounds, it was Kirigan—his resilience unmatched by any other. Yet, that wasn’t the point. “But you simply shouldn’t. Look at yourself—you can barely stand…” He broke off incredulously, but Fedyor also had his part to say.

“Why would you hide this? You would never demand this silence from any of us. Why do you force it on yourself?”

Kirigan’s gaze flicked away, his jaw tight, his eyes hardened, unreadable. Compared to the weight of everything he’d faced, this pain was a small thing—no reason to burden them with it. He could have endured it, as he had endured countless wounds before, and to reveal it now felt like crossing a line he’d drawn long ago. They looked to him for steadiness, for strength that would not bend. Admitting to being injured, to any weakness, meant inviting them closer, meant leaning on a support he had taught himself never to need again.

And yet, here he was, lying on the ground and allowing them to tend to him because for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he experienced a flicker of trust, a sense that he didn’t have to bear this burden alone.

So he didn’t argue as Ivan began directing the troupe to bring what supplies they had, anything they could use to treat their injured General.

They sprang into action, a flurry of activity as they gathered clean cloths and materials. An Inferni quickly ignited a small fire nearby, its flames licking at the cool air, while water was heated for the task ahead, and Yuri, a Squaller who had some knowledge of field medicine, knelt beside Kirigan, his hands steady as he reached for the medical kit.

A Durast stepped forward too, a small pouch clutched in her hands. “I got this from the healers.” She opened it to reveal packets of potent remedies—herbs and fine powders. “Pain relief and more. It’ll help.”

“Good thinking.” Ivan’s gratitude was evident. “Get him some of that.”

Immediately, the Durast began preparing a tea, her movements precise when she measured the constituents, though her hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Hold still, General,” Yuri pleaded calmly. He crouched beside Kirigan, each touch careful, his fingers gentle yet firm, starting to clean the wound with warm water.

Kirigan didn’t respond, his face expressionless, though the tautness around his eyes betrayed the pain he held at bay.

Fedyor, kneeling on his other side, fixated his leader’s face with a rare intensity.

“You’re always thinking you have to endure everything alone, aren’t you?” He couldn’t quite hide his frustration. “You know, we’re all capable of waiting an extra hour if it means making sure you don’t end up worse off.”

His voice softened, though his gaze remained unwavering. “We’ve seen you lead, inspire, and protect us all, General. And maybe… it wouldn’t hurt for you to let others take care of you, too, once in a while.” His tone held the hint of a plea, but there was no expectation—just a quiet offering.

For a moment, Kirigan’s stoic mask slipped. There was a flicker of something close to reluctant acceptance appearing in his eyes. His jaw clenched as he allowed them to continue, perhaps surrendering to the moment, or maybe, for once, to the unfamiliar feeling of not having to hold himself so tightly.

Blood clung thickly to Kirigan’s skin, congealed in patches where it had begun to dry, while fresh rivulets seeped slowly from the jagged edges. Yuri’s hands moved with precision, his touch steady and unhurried despite the urgency of the task.

The other Grisha held their breath as they watched the crimson smears gradually give way to clean, raw flesh beneath.

Finally, Yuri reached for a soft cloth, folding it meticulously. Carefully, he pressed the thick layers against the gash, ensuring it adhered to the contours of Kirigan’s body. Once satisfied with the placement, he wrapped some bandages around it, securing the dressing in place, before he rightened himself up.

“That should hold till we get back to the Little Palace.” He glanced at Ivan, wiping his brow. “But we have to bind his ribs—tight enough so he can breathe easier without aggravating the fractures.”

Seeing the necessity, the others immediately began cutting long strips of fabric. As they worked, the Durast approached, her eyes lingering on Kirigan’s face with quiet concern. She held a small cup of tea, the scent of herbs and remedies wafting up. She offered it to him, her tone tentative yet firm. “Please, General. Drink this.”

Kirigan caught the scent of the mixture and immediately recognized its strength. “No,” he protested instantly, trying to push himself up, a rare show of reluctance. “It’s too potent; I’ll black out… “

Ivan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, gently but with authority. “We don’t care, General. You’re hurting, and you’ve lost blood. This isn’t just about you anymore. We’ll take the time, even if it costs us the journey home.”

Kirigan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a stubborn glint flashing as he eyed the cup. “I’m perfectly able to move on without this,” he muttered, irritation clear. “There’s no need for— “

“There’s no need for you to endure any more of this,” Fedyor interjected, soft but resolute. “None of us want to watch you suffer another minute. We’ll get home when we get home.”

With a resigned look, Kirigan allowed himself to lean back against the makeshift bedding. Slowly, he took the cup, a tired sigh escaping as he drank. The brew was bitter, the taste strong enough to make him grimace, but he drained it, his eyes fluttering as the warm, soothing effect of the ingredients began to seep in.

Ivan watched him with a faint shake of his head, his usual stoicism edged with concern. “Next time, General,” he repeated, “you say something. Just because you can endure it, doesn’t mean you should.”

Fedyor nodded in agreement, his gaze unwavering. “We’d rather lose a little time than risk your health.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kirigan inclined his head, the faintest trace of acceptance and contrition in his expression. “Noted,” he murmured.

After they took the empty cup from Kirigan, Ivan and Fedyor positioned themselves on either side of him, lifting him gently from where he lay. He grimaced, a faint crease forming between his brows, but made no sound as they helped him up, each movement deliberate, cautious.

Once he was upright, it became clear he had neither the strength nor stability to hold himself steady. His breath came in shallow, strained bursts, every subtle shift making his pain flare.

Seeing this, Ivan slipped an arm firmly around Kirigan’s back, supporting his weight and taking on as much of the burden as he could. Fedyor, on his other side, did the same, gripping his shoulder to keep him secure.

Kirigan’s frame remained tense, muscles taut as if he could will himself to stay upright, but Ivan and Fedyor felt the unmistakable tremor that ran through him. His head lowered momentarily, though he forced it upright again as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

Yuri then began to bind his ribs tightly, the process meticulous, each wrap drawn carefully around his fractured bones to keep them secure.

With each pull of the bandage, Kirigan’s face tightened, his breaths becoming more and more strained as his battered resilience began to crack, revealing the depth of his torment.

Ivan watched closely, his worry growing as he felt Kirigan start to sway, his body sagging into their grip as if he might lose consciousness.

“Just breathe, General,” he encouraged, his words low, only for Kirigan to hear. A hint of alarm crept into his voice. “We’re almost done. You need to keep breathing.”

When they finished, Kirigan looked markedly more vulnerable, his skin pale and slick with sweat, his breaths shallow and ragged.

Ivan and Fedyor exchanged a brief, worried glance before easing him down, lowering him as cautiously as possible back onto the blankets. His body went limp, the tension finally releasing as he settled against the blankets. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed himself a rare moment of rest.

The young Inferni stepped forward, a warm, wet cloth in hand. Her movements were hesitant, her hands trembling slightly as she knelt beside him. She gently dabbed the sweat from his brow, her touch feather-light, as though afraid even the slightest pressure might cause him pain.

While she cared for him, Kirigan lay there, eyes half-closed and head tilted slightly to the side.

He remained still, barely moving, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But as the initial agony from Yuri’s manipulations began to subside, it became clear that the bindings were helping. His breathing, though still labored, grew steadier, deeper, and the tight wraps around his ribs provided much-needed support. The fact that he was no longer bleeding into his tunic also contributed to his stabilization.

So, gradually, he seemed to regain a thread of his usual composure, enough that they knew he was ready to be dressed.

Ivan gave a subtle nod to Fedyor, signalling that it was time to get him back into his clothes and restore some semblance of his usual dignity.

Yuri placed himself behind him, sliding his arms beneath Kirigan’s shoulders to gently lift him upright again, giving the others room.

The two Heartrenders carefully adjusted his tunic and Kefta, ensuring his comfort and avoiding any strain on his injuries. 

As they finished, Ivan’s gaze lingered on Kirigan’s face, studying the pale cast of his skin and the lines of pain etched faintly around his mouth and eyes. There still was a vulnerability about him, one that none of them had ever seen before. The General who led them with unyielding strength was, in this moment, simply a man—worn, fragile, and undeniably mortal.

“You should rest, General,” Ivan suggested quietly, his concern evident. “It would do you good.”

Kirigan immediately shook his head, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “No, we’re going home. Now.”

Ivan sighed, understanding the determination in Kirigan’s eyes. “We can do that. But unless you want to end up face-first in the mud, General, you’ll have to ride with me.” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of dry humour in his expression, but he quickly shifted back to seriousness. “Honestly, there is no other way. Those herbs will hit you soon enough.”

Kirigan simply nodded, acknowledging Ivan’s point.

His agreement brought a wave of relief over the group. Fedyor’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, his eyes softening as he watched Kirigan.

The Grisha sprang into action. They quickly packed up their belongings, extinguished the small fire, and gathered their supplies, each one eager to get their leader home safely.

Once everything was ready, they turned their attention back to Kirigan.

When they lifted him to his feet, their hands remained steady and supportive, each motion gentle, aware of how much effort it must cost him to remain upright.

Kirigan swayed slightly, his face drawn with pain, but he kept his shoulders squared, still refusing to truly let show how much he was suffering.

Some Grisha then moved quickly to fold the cloaks, roll up the blankets, and dismantle the makeshift bedding with practiced ease, while others helped the General back onto his horse.

He leaned heavily onto the pommel of the saddle, silent, his determination overriding his discomfort. Ivan swung up behind him, slipping an arm around Kirigan’s waist to secure him with caution.

“Hold on, General,” he murmured, his voice a mix of concern and reassurance. “We’ll get you home.”

Kirigan gave a faint nod, too exhausted to put up any more resistance, simply accepting the care. He sank back slightly into the strong arms bracing him securely, the warmth of Ivan’s grip both firm and comforting.

Finally, the group resumed their journey at a slower, more measured pace.

For the first stretch, Kirigan tried to keep his head up, his gaze forward, fighting the overwhelming fatigue that clouded his mind. But as the minutes passed, the potent herbs began to take full effect, overpowering him. Despite his best efforts to remain alert, he felt himself slipping.

With a final sigh, Kirigan surrendered to the drug-induced darkness, his body sinking heavily into Ivan’s arms. His head fell back against Ivan’s shoulder, leaving him defenceless in a way none of them had ever seen.

“Easy there,” Ivan murmured, instinctively adjusting to hold him more securely. The concern of the group sharpened as they noticed, but there was no panic; they had prepared for this.

They moved as swiftly as they could under the circumstances, urgency propelling them forward. It would take another two hours to reach the Little Palace, and every minute felt like an eternity.

The whole time, Fedyor kept a watchful eye on both Kirigan and Ivan.

To his dismay, as the journey progressed, he sensed Kirigan’s pulse quickening, the medications wearing off. It was clear that the pain was intensifying again; Kirigan’s face tightened with each jolt of the horse, and his breaths became more labored. Fedyor had hoped they would reach the Little Palace before this happened, but the agony from Kirigan’s broken bones was too intense.

Then, Ivan intervened.

Fedyor could feel the small flickers of power emanating from his husband. Ivan was carefully manipulating Kirigan’s heart, drawing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. Each time Kirigan began to surface, Ivan would gently interfere, ensuring the General remained unaware of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

He knew the General wouldn’t approve, but none of them cared today; they were united in their determination to get him home safely, no matter what it took. Ivan’s need to protect the man who always put others first was a quiet rebellion he allowed himself.

The road stretched long as they pressed forward, each Grisha’s gaze straying every so often to their leader, their worry a silent thread weaving them all together.

Finally, as they approached the Little Palace, two Healers were already assembled. Word of Kirigan's condition had reached them earlier, thanks to one Grisha who had hurried ahead.

Their faces tightened as they saw Ivan riding in, his arms cradling Kirigan’s limp form.

As he pulled his horse to a stop, the two of them rushed forward and reached up to take on the weight of the wounded General.

Ivan released his hold on Kirigan’s heartbeat for just a moment, helping the Healers guide him carefully down from the saddle. Instantly, Kirigan's eyes fluttered, and a hoarse, involuntary sound escaped his lips; a faint, ragged groan, raw and filled with distress. It was a sound he would never have allowed himself had he been fully aware. But here, between the grip of consciousness and the dark of oblivion, his usual defences had fallen away, leaving only the unshielded pain of his injuries.

Ivan clenched his jaw, watching with a blend of worry and helplessness as Kirigan lay there, the true extent of his suffering laid bare for all to see.

One of the Healers immediately pressed a hand to Kirigan’s forehead, murmuring softly as her power flowed through him, coaxing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. She knew it was the only way to shield him from the pain that would otherwise tear him awake.

The healers then hurried him inside, weaving quickly through the bright corridors, sunlight spilling in patches across the stone as they made their way to the infirmary. Ivan, Fedyor, and the rest of the group followed closely, all unwilling to let their General out of their sight.

Along the way, other Grisha paused as they took in the pale, lifeless figure of their leader. Some watched with wide, stricken eyes; others whispered anxiously among themselves, clearly shaken by the sight of the unresponsive General.

They finally reached the Infirmary, where the Healers immediately set to work.

The troupe watched in silence as Kirigan was laid carefully on a bed in the centre of the room.

The senior Healer placed her palm gently on his chest, sending a wave of energy that anchored him into a profound oblivion. Kirigan’s body tensed involuntarily, his muscles convulsing slightly under the intensity of the Healer’s power before he fell completely limp. The brief surge faded, and his awareness slipped further away under her deliberate touch.

Another Healer began to move with smooth, practiced motions, summoning her power to knit the ugly wound and address the injuries hidden beneath.

Meanwhile, the senior Healer hovered her hands above Kirigan’s ribcage, guiding a steady flow of energy into each fracture and bruise.

As the healing process continued, Kirigan’s muscles, still partially tensed from the remnants of pain, began to yield. The harsh lines etched into his face softened gradually, revealing a flicker of peace that was almost foreign. His breathing slowed, settling into a more regular, deeper rhythm.

Eventually, the lead Healer reassured all the Grisha, “His broken bones have been set, and severel internal contusions and bruises have been treated. He should be pain-free now.”

Then she turned to Ivan and Fedyor. “He heals faster than any Grisha I’ve ever seen. But even someone of his power needs time to recover from these injuries.” She glanced back at Kirigan, her eyes filled with concern. “He’s lost more blood than we’d like. I recommend keeping him under for a few hours—force him to rest. We all know what he’ll do otherwise.”

Ivan nodded decisively, understanding the unspoken truth behind her words. Kirigan’s relentless drive meant that if he were conscious, he would insist on resuming his responsibilities immediately.

They had to ensure he stayed down long enough to recover properly, even if it meant going against what they knew he would want.

The second Healer had already moved to clean the remaining blood and sweat from Kirigans skin and now gently dressed him in the soft linen shirt and loose trousers designated for those in recovery. Then, a warm, heavy blanket was tucked carefully around his shoulders and along his sides, as though to preserve the restorative energy that still lingered in the air.

Before they stepped back, the lead Healer pressed her hand onto Kirigan’s torso again, one last surge of her power weaving through him, sealing his consciousness in the darkness for a few more hours at least. She met Ivan’s gaze and nodded; he understood the message—the General would remain safely unaware.

At last, Kirigan lay still, his breathing slow and even. The golden light filtering into the room cast a gentle glow across his pale face, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes.

He looked almost fragile, a faint trace of vulnerability in the way his head rested against the pillow, a stark contrast to the imposing figure he typically embodied.

The Grisha lingered at his bedside, caught between relief and unease. The General—unbreakable, untouchable Kirigan—lay before them like any other wounded soldier, stripped of his customary armour of strength.

Though exhaustion tugged at their limbs, no one wanted to leave him alone in this vulnerable moment. Their glances drifted toward Ivan, seeking reassurance.

His silent nod was all they needed to stand down. It showed that Ivan would remain, and that was enough.

Over recent missions, he had proven himself enough times for them to look to him now without question. If anyone was to watch over the General, it would be Ivan, and they accepted this as naturally as they would a command

So, in the end, one by one, the tired men began to leave, some murmuring a quiet farewell, others offering a brief look of respect before they departed.

As the last of their troupe had stepped out, Ivan settled into a chair by the bed, his hand resting on the edge of the blanket, keeping vigil. Fedyor sank down beside him, a gentle but constant presence, his gaze steady as he watched over both his husband and their General.

Finally, Ivan glanced at Fedyor and tiredly murmured, “He won’t thank us for this.” His tone was dry, touched with a hint of exasperated affection.

Fedyor smiled, his eyes softening. “No,” he agreed, his voice a whisper, “but it was the right thing to do.”  They knew that once Kirigan awoke, the man who loathed any display of weakness would be quick to erect his walls again.

They shared a quiet moment, watching as Kirigan’s breathing remained steady, his face completely at peace. It was rare, even precious, to see him like this—unguarded, free from the heavy weight he carried for all of them.

In the stillness of the room, a silent agreement formed between them. They would take it upon themselves to care for Kirigan, to ensure he received the attention he so rarely allowed himself.

It was clear that he had fought alone for much too long; perhaps others hadn’t dared to offer care, or Kirigan, likely, had rejected any such attempts. But today, something had shifted—he had allowed them, if only briefly, to ease his burden. And they would be damned if this was the last time.

They would make sure that the man who fought so fiercely for his soldiers would, at last, have someone to fight for him.

They settled back in the knowledge that the hours ahead would pass quietly, but that was exactly what they wanted: time for their General to rest, fully and truly, under their care.

And when Kirigan awoke, they would be there—ready to meet his inevitable stubbornness with patient, steadfast loyalty, the same loyalty that had brought him back to safety.

[studiogrimm810]

Baby

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x impala!reader, sam is also there

summary: when a novice witch doesn't know what spell she's casting, she accidently awakens life in an inanimate object

warnings: none really, this one is just super silly imo

word count: 2,778

A/N: this is a request!!! and if i'm being so honest, this was kinda difficult to write lolol,, i'm such a stickler for lore accuracy and just explanations but some things were left to be unexplained. i just decided to take that pressure off and just have fun w this one. enjoy!! heheh

———————

Dean chased the young witch through the rows of books that decorated the campus library. He skidded around a corner that she swiftly slipped past and bumped into a shelf, knocking over dozens of books in the process, but he didn’t halt. He pushed harder, letting his feet stomp the outdated carpet as he crawled closer and closer.

Sam, close behind Dean, kept the same speed but with a slithering stealth as to avoid the clumsy piles of books left in his brother's trail.

The brothers were almost on her, ready to tackle and question. They were drawn to the college campus after seeing articles and news coverage of strange happenings at the university, they had come to find a novice witch who hadn’t intended on hurting people. So, when Sam and Dean cornered her on the top floor, scouring through the archives of textbooks for anything religious or cultist, and confronted her- she ran.

Here she was again, pounding helplessly against a set of locked glass doors.

“Stop running,” Dean pants, “we just wanna talk,” he tried to coax her to stay but it didn’t work. She fumbled with something in her pocket and threw out a puff of dust at the door with a trail of words. The metal lining of the doors melted and glass shattered, settling into the floor in a prickly goo. She obviously wasn’t expecting that, but she used the opportunity to dart. “Fuck,” Dean hissed, sprinting after her.

She was headed to her vehicle, a simple hatchback with one too many stickers on it, and hopped in. Dean, ever so ready for a car chase, whipped out his keys and instructed Sam to get in as quickly as possible.

The witch pulled up a book and out another jumble of herbs, chanting something incoherent.

Just as Dean opened the door to Baby and dipped in, Sam in sync, he instead bypassed the seat entirely and landed on the stiff concrete with a groan.

Tires skidded and the witch was gone.

Dean looked around him, no steering wheel, no leather seats, no car. Only the keys remained in his hands, but the Impala vanished.

“That bitch!” Dean was seeing red, seething as he jumped to his feet and paced, scanning the parking lot for any desperate hint of his Baby. “When I get my hands on-.”

“Dean-,” Sam stated cautiously, trying to get his brother’s attention.

“It ain’t gonna be kind, I’m-.”

“Dean!” Sam barked and Dean spun around to face him.

“What!?” Dean thundered, riddled with rage. Sam looked over at the bundle of items on the cement. There were a few duffles, a splay of weapons, a few books- all items that Dean knew were homed in the trunk of his precious Baby. But, under the emergency blanket they leave in the back seat, was you.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean booms with clenched fists. Your eyes are wide and observant, looking over his tense form. The blanket over you slips, his rage haltered with confusion as his eyes dart to the slipped cloth and he realizes you’re naked.

“D’ya mind?” You grimace in annoyance, holding the blanket over you the best you can.

“Shit, right,” he spins on his heels, looking right at Sam, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ in which he gets a confused shrug in return.

You stumble up to your feet with a heavy sigh, hugging the blanket around your chest like a towel. You brush back your messy hair which is as ruffled and tangled as you feel in this worn blanket.

“Fuckin’ hate witches,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket that’s hugged tight over you breasts and when Dean turns back to you, he has to forcefully advert his gaze.

“Who are you?” Dean repeats his question, a little less forcefully this time.

“Baby,” you shake your head with a small tilt that Dean almost matches. The tone of which you say makes it sound like you’re worried about his confusion.

“Baby, your name is Baby?” Dean scoffs, not believing a word.

“Well yeah, you gave it to me,” you hook a hand on your hip and cock your head, waiting impatiently for him to catch up. Dean's face falls, twisting in confusion and turning back to look at Sam who is just as confused.

“C’mon, Winchester, I know you’re not this slow,” you pinch your nose, sighing and dropping your hand by your hip, keeping the other hooked on the edges of the blanket.

“How do you know my name?” Dean asks, stepping closer, his brow furrowed.

“I’ve been owned by a Winchester for the past forty-some years,” you say as if it’s common sense. You look back and forth between the brothers, annoyed with how dense they’re being. “Jesus, take your time,” you roll your eyes and go over to one of the duffles, bending down to shuffle through the bag. The blanket hugs your ass, the gentle fabric lining your curves and kissing your dips. Dean’s eyes linger and he forgets the issue at hand.

You pull out one of Dean's flannels, dropping the blanket to your hips and slinging the flannel over your shoulders. Dean swallows thickly and gawks at your smooth skin, noticing a strange birthmark on your shoulder. It resembles the chicken scratched initials that Sam and Dean carved into the Impala all those years ago.

What the fuck?

“Wait so-, you’re telling me that you’re the Impala?” Deans brow raises. You dip back down to retrieve a pair of boxers- making sure they’re clean- and slipping them up your legs, discarding the blanket fully. As you turn to face the boys, they take notice of the many marks on your body, all the tone of a birthmark, but lined on your skin like tattoos. The Devil’s Trap that was painted on the inside of the trunk spanned your entire thigh, and other wardings and markings litter your forearms.

“Good boy! You did it,” you praise sarcastically, dropping the feigned excitement instantly. Dean ignores the effect your words have on him. Sam is speechless and Dean honestly feels a little put in his place. You look back between them, awaiting a response.

“You guys should really get your shit back to the motel or something. Someone sees this and they’re gonna have some questions. Sorry I can’t hold it anymore,” you look back at the pile of items on the pavement. You look back at the boys to find them still dumbfounded with dropped jaws and words caught in their throats.

“Seriously, you two need to catch up if you wanna get me fixed. This skin feels weird,” you shudder dramatically, folding your arms over your chest.

“So,” Dean clears his throat, losing his confidence when your expectant eyes burn into his own. “You’re-.”

“Getting impatient,” you nod, walking past them both to the closest car- a Jeep- and popping the lock to get in and hotwire it. Quickly, you get it roaring to life and bring it over to the boys, putting her in park and hopping out. The loose flannel barely hugs your torso and you have just enough buttoned to cover the more sensitive parts of your chest, but Dean’s eyes still linger on the soft flesh exposed by his flannel.

“You guys gonna get to it?” You ask, gesturing to the pile of their items. They oblige mindlessly, collecting their items that used to be housed by the Impala- you, they suppose. They’re still so confused by the whole ordeal and they just follow the order and pile into the stolen car. You round the front and get in the passenger seat, expecting Dean to drive.

The ride back is tense. You’re sat in the front seat, letting your fingers trace the modern interior of the car.

“What is this? Just plastic?” You ask, glancing over at Dean who has to keep his eyes on the road in fear that if he even catches too much of you in his peripheral vision that he’ll crash the car out of negligence.

“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. His hands grip the wheel and his foot presses a little harder into the gas.

“Don’t give her so much love, Dean, I’ll start to get jealous,” you tease with a soft nudge. You turn back to face Sam. “Comfy back there?”

“Fine,” Sam nods curtly, eyes glazing over your form. “What, um, what was it like? How is this even possible?”

You adjust in your position, resting against the chair and thinking of a way to word it. Then you remember.

“Y’know when Gabriel put you guys in that ‘Night Rider’ illusion? That was pretty accurate, Sam. I just can’t talk or think too much. I just know. But, when I was given this body, I came equipped with language, thoughts, and conscious recollection of my lifespan,” you explain proudly, sitting up a bit straighter with a smile.

Their silence causes your smile to falter. You nibble at your lip and turn back around.

“You’re upset,” you note to neither brother in particular.

“No, no, we’re just confused. We’ve never- this just doesn’t really make any sense,” Sam rationalizes because of course he does. He’s always the practical one, trying to give everything a cause for its effect.

“Yeah, listen, sweetheart. To us, the Impala has been a car. Our home on wheels. We’ve just never given it a second thought to it being you,” Dean offers, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. The boys couldn’t describe it, but they felt a connection with you, one of which made the reality of your situation settle with them semi-rationally.

You don’t have a response to give, so instead you just look out the window and watch the trees pass- wondering who they could become too.

———

The motel is as rundown and dull as you expected, but it was still the first room you’ve gotten to explore yourself so you aren’t complaining.

You look along the peeling wallpaper, different patterns and colors lining the odd textured wrap. There’s a painting of a field of flowers with a windmill, it’s pretty, but sunbleached you’d assume due to lack of color.

The brothers are whispering something between each other, but you can’t really make it out.

Dean goes to grab a beer, popping the cap and getting your attention. You tilt your head and walk over. Dean has taken a swig but you reach up to grab it from his lips.

“The fuck?” he gurgles through a gulp of beer. You take a swig and cringe.

“Yuck, with how often you two drink these, I really had higher hopes,” you shake your head, handing the bottle back. Dean watches you with a raised brow as you walk back over to look around the room more.

“So you’ve never-,” Dean starts but he realizes he doesn’t even know what his question was.

“If it’s not something a car does, then it’s not in my history,” you interrupt, looking over the books on Dean’s bed, selecting John’s journal.

“But you know us?” Sam contributes.

“Yes,” you say without looking up from the journal.

“How?” Dean barks exasperated.

“How do you know how to breathe?” You combat, looking up at him with a stoic face but rolling your eyes in annoyance before looking back down at the journal.

Dean can’t help but watch as your eyes scan over the page. Your hair feathers around your face and the contrast of your skin to your hair makes you almost sparkle. Your attitude is like a cherry on top of this melted sundae.

“John and Mary-,” you let the names roll off of your tongue, “It’s unfortunate I won’t get to meet them,” you say, flipping through the pages, “I suppose you two will do,” you joke with a smirk.

Dean's own smile works against his initial dread for the situation, enjoying your snark.

“You ain’t missing much,” Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his now sticky beer. He can’t tear his eyes off of you, the way your lips silently move as you read and when your gaze hardens at certain points of the text.

You tilt your head and move the book to look down at the birthmark on your thigh. You trace the skin thoughtfully.

“Keeps demons out,” Dean fills in.

“Yeah, I know,” you blurt, not as a remark but just a statement. “I bet it won’t work like your tattoo- oh! Tattoo’s, I want some,” you snap your head up from the book and Dean's eyes widen in amusement.

“Tattoo’s,” Dean echos with a smirk, “really? You’re a human now and that’s the first thing you wanna do?”

“You offerin’ sex?” You ask with feigned seriousness. He chokes on another gush from the beer, sitting up and tripping over his words. You cackle having earned the exact reaction you baited for. Sam also chucked at Dean's fluster, not used to seeing his brother so put in his place.

“N-no, that’s not… I don’t even, like- you don't-,” he trips over his words, setting his beer down and trying to find a casual way to situate his hands.

“Calm down, De, or else you’ll make me believe you’re actually considering it,” you wink, setting down the journal and stretching. “Now that tattoo?”

“I mean-,” Dean shrugs, looking over at Sam who is as careless about the request as Dean is. “It’s your body now, may as well have fun while you have it,” Dean clears his throat, rubbing his hands together after successfully landing on that as the casual placement.

“Hell yes!” You cheer in victory.

———

After finding more suitable clothing for you, the brothers usher you to a nearby tattoo parlor. They wanted to find a reason to tell you no just because of how odd this whole situation seemed but they couldn’t say no to you.

The walls are lined with reference art, some good and some great. All different colors and styles. The kind woman behind the desk greets the trio casually and not overly happy like you’d expect a usual receptionist to be.

“Dean, show her,” you instruct, glancing back at Dean, wanting him to show her his tattoo. The woman looks expectant at Dean in a way that makes him feel a little small- almost like she’s matching your light agitation and subconsciously taking your side with little to no prior knowledge of the situation.

Woman power! You think with a stifled giggle.

Dean rolls his eyes but that’s all that’s defiant about him as he unbuttons his flannel- a different one from earlier because you’ve refused to give his back, but Dean wasn’t complaining about the way it hugged your waist since you’ve tied the loose pieces into a knot on your stomach- and showed the woman his tattoo.

“Sick, and where do you want it?” The woman nods in approval and looks back at you. You think for a moment but point at the center of your sternum, right beneath your tits. “Got it, let’s get you some paperwork and I’ll start a sketch.”

You haven’t stopped talking Dean's ear off as you half-ass your clipboard of paperwork. You point out different works on the wall and tell him where you’ll put it on your body next. He has to force out the mental image of the one you say you want on your ass.

“Miss Winchester?” Your adopted name is called by the receptionist from earlier.

You handle the pain like a champ and Dean makes a joke of how many car crashes you’ve survived- the artist doesn’t get the joke but you snort.

Sam offers to go out and get some food for the trio and you insist Dean stay with you. The placement of your tattoo leaves your chest exposed and as flustered Dean gets at first, you're honestly a little impressed with how well he keeps himself together.

The artist doesn’t talk much outside of small contributions to yours and Deans conversation. She doesn’t seem to mind too much though.

Sam makes it back with the food and the artist leaves you to have a break from the intense blackwork she’s doing on such a sensitive spot.

Conversation doesn’t stop and Dean has to take a moment to fully admire how well you fit with them, like a missing handlebar they never knew they lacked.

Dean starts to wonder just how bad it would be losing the Impala if it meant keeping you.

The way you light up at a joke Sam tells proves that Dean will be just fine with one of the other rust buckets on Bobby’s lot.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[thelostclassics]

Just found your blog - it’s so lovely! I love how you write soft!Henry and the reader. I like to imagine the reader as a bit of an antithesis to the ‘cold marble’ that is the Greek class; so a soft, gentle, affectionate, calming and soothing type of person bewilders Henry at first. Until he starts developing a need for it xD

Love the request! Thank you so much, lovely! xx

The softness in the cold marble.

Summary: Henry ends up finding comfort in Y/n kind and gentle affection.

Pairing: Henry x fem!reader

Warnings: use of Y/n, mentions of death and murder (Bunny’s), conflicted Henry, soft!Henry, comfort.

Part 2

He hated her.

She didn’t fit. How could she? She was the light when everything he saw was dark.

He didn’t understand how someone could be so kind and calm, how someone could be so innocent about the cruelty of the world.

She didn’t fit and he didn’t liked that. He noticed it from the start, there was something about her that was out of tune with the rest of the group, not in knowledge or intelligence-for in that she equaled, if not surpassed them- but in the way she existed. While the others moved with the rigidity of ancient statues, with the aloof elegance of Greek gods sculpted in cold marble, Y/n was something else. Something softer, warmer.

It unsettled him. She was the messiness in his life.

It puzzled him how she looked at him, with a tenderness without judgment, with an infinite patience that no one had ever had with him. It confused him how her hand reached for Francis's in automatic gestures of affection, or how she arranged Richard's coat on his chair without even thinking about it, making sure it didn't get too wrinkled.

It stunned him, most of all, the way she touched him.

Henry was used to touch, yes, but always with a purpose. A handshake, a casual nudge, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Nothing more. Nothing that couldn't be logically justified.

But she… she did it without an apparent reason.

Once, while he was reading in the library, she passed behind him and slid her fingers gently down his back in a distracted gesture, without even pausing. Another afternoon, while they were discussing Catullus in Latin, she took his wrist in her hands without warning and turned his watch to check the time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She offered him contact without demanding it. She offered him gentleness without expecting anything in return.

At first, Henry didn't know how to respond.

He stood still, rigid, waiting for her to realize that this was pointless. But she didn't. She never did.

And then, without realizing exactly when it had happened, he found himself looking for it.

Looking for her. He hated that even more.

He found himself looking for -missing- her comfort and soft smile.

He would linger beside her more than necessary, allow her hand to brush his as he walked, pretend not to hear when her voice softened as she spoke to him. There were times when Y/n would look at him with her unwavering gentleness and Henry would feel something inside him break and rebuild at the same time.

He hated that he felt like that with her, and hated how he would think about her every day, every hour.

Then, everything went downhill.

There was something about the way the silence stretched through the trees that made everything seem denser, more unreal. As if the world had been suspended in an endless instant before shattering into a thousand pieces.

Bunny's body lay at the bottom of the ravine. A jumble of flesh and bone, almost unrecognizable amidst the blood-stained snow.

Henry watched him motionless.

He felt nothing at first. No horror, no relief, not even guilt. Just a strange stillness, as if time had stopped at the exact moment Bunny ceased to exist.

He turned around to look at the group, then he hated himself. She was standing there without moving, anyone would have thought that she was serene, that this didn’t affect her at all, but Henry, Henry had spent way too many days observing her, spending time with her. She was scared, he could see it in her eyes.

That day, she went to his house, something about borrowing a book. In any other circumstance he would have been somehow happy that she visited him, but not today, he didn’t want her to be involved in what they were going to do, didn’t want her to see what they were going to do.

He offered to drive her home, of course she said it was okay, and one thing lead to another and know she had just witnessed the death of Bunny.

Henry hated himself for that.

He didn't come home that night.

He couldn't.

The air inside the car had become stifling, and though the others were talking quietly, organizing alibis, rehearsing answers, he could only hear the dull echo of Bunny's fall echoing in his head.

When everyone returned to their homes, he parked his car in front of Y/n’s house. He wasn't sure what he expected to find there. He just knew he needed it.

He waited a bit inside the car and then walked towards the house.

When he knocked on the door, it took her a few seconds to open it. She was wearing a light robe and had her hair in a messy updo, as if she had just woken up. Her eyes met Henry's and her expression changed instantly.

“Henry...” she whispered.

He said nothing. He just stepped forward, crossing the threshold as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Y/n closed the door behind him and stood watching him, as if trying to figure out what to say to him, how to comfort him without breaking down herself in the process, how to make him see that she was there for him and always would be.

He didn't know how to start.

He had spent weeks planning every detail, every possibility, every consequence. And yet, at that moment, in front of her, everything seemed to fall apart.

Y/n took a step toward him.

She didn't ask any questions.

She didn't press him.

She just lifted a hand carefully and rested it on his cheek, a barely perceptible brush.

It was then that Henry felt something crack inside him.

An imperceptible tremor ran through his body, and before he knew it, Y/n was already embracing him. Her arms closed around him with unexpected firmness, her hands running up and down his back in an instinctive gesture of comfort.

Henry didn't move at first.

But then, almost without realizing it, he allowed himself to lean into her, to drop his weight into her warm body, into her familiar perfume, into the one thing in the world that didn't feel broken.

“I’m sorry” he finally said, in a low voice. He was sorry, sorry for what he did, sorry for how he did it, sorry because she was part of it too.

“I’m scared” she responded. Her voice was a murmur against his neck.

He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, as if to say that he knew she was scared and that he was even more scared.

For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the slow, heavy beat of Henry's heart, Y/n's warmth wrapping around him like a shield against the cold of the night.

“Do you want to stay?” she asked, after a while.

Henry closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

Y/n nodded and took him by the hand, leading him to his room as gently as one would lead a frightened child. In that moment, he was so grateful of her comforting and gentle presence.

That night, Henry slept for the first time in a long time.

———

A/n: hey angels! This took me more time to write because I wasn’t sure how to approach it, but I ended up really liking the result. I was going to continue writing how they started to date and etc but realized it was already pretty long, but if anyone wants to read that I will gladly do a second part.

Let me know if you want 2 part. Have a nice day, my loves!! 💙

[pholla-jm]

What's A Mistletoe?

IMAGINE: WHAT'S A MISTLETOE? ~ LUFFY X READER GENRE: FLUFF WARNINGS: LUFFY BEING SNEAKY ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You decide to help Nami decorate the ship for the holidays- Christmas to be more exact. 

While Nami was putting up little decorations around the room, you decide to hang up plants, like wreaths, poinsettia, mistletoe. 

Small talk was made here and there. Until your captain rushed into the room. 

“(Y/n), there you are!” He shouts while observing the plants that surrounded you. “What are these?” He asks. “Just some plants.” “What for?” 

“For Christmas, dummy.” Nami says and you just giggle. “Yeah, they’re for Christmas. These plants are usually known to be around during this time.” 

Luffy nods at your words. He then picks up a small green plant with a bundle of red berries. “What’s this one? Can it be eaten?” 

You grab the plant from him, worried that he would try to eat it before you could answer. “Yeah, definitely not. It could poison you.” Luffy laughs, “then what’s it for?” 

“Well it said that when two people are under the mistletoe, you are supposed to kiss. It’s just an old myth. Don’t worry about it.” 

Luffy just blankly stares at you, not a single thought behind his eyes. You could tell that your words went through one ear and out the other. 

You sigh, “okay Luffy. Go do something else and once I’m done, I’ll play a game with you.” 

A large smile paints his face, “okay!” He shouts before running off. 

“You have a lot of patience for him.” You just chuckle, “yeah. I don’t know how I do it most of the time.” “Well you’re a saint.” You laugh, “Thanks. I’m going to hurry up so Luffy doesn’t come barging in again.” “Good idea.” 

You quickly finish up the decorating and went to go find Luffy. While walking around the ship, you saw some mistletoe hanging around. They were in the most random places, which left you confused. 

You don’t remember placing them there, so who would’ve hung it up? 

“Who did this…” You question yourself as you look up at a mistletoe. 

“(y/n)!” You hear Luffy shout. You look away from the small plant to see your captain running up to you. “Hey.” You were still a bit distracted from all the mistletoe around you to notice that the both of you were standing underneath one. Together. 

“Aren’t we supposed to kiss now?” Luffy speaks up. “Huh?” “You said that if two people are under it, then they have to kiss.” 

You blinked, a bit surprised that Luffy was actually listening to what you said. “Yeah, I did say that.” 

Luffy grabs your cheeks, pulling you into a messy kiss. The softness of his lips took you aback. He pulls back before you could even process what happened. Your brain had short circuited, and you wondered if this was the actual Luffy. 

“That was fun!” He laughs because of the dumb look you had on your face. 

“Wait…” You whisper finally connecting the dots, “are you the one that hung up the mistletoes?” He nods, “Yup!” “Why? I already hung one up.” 

“The more mistletoe there is, the more chances I get to kiss you.” 

Your cheeks burned a bright red from his words. Your heart was beating like crazy and your thoughts were all jumbled. 

Luffy burst out laughing, “you look funny all red!” “You’re too much sometimes…” You whisper to yourself. 

Luffy steps back, “I’ll see you later.” He says. 

He didn’t have to say it, but you knew what he meant. 

He was definitely going to catch you underneath a mistletoe again.

[pretzel-box]

Characters: Painter & Reader | ROUTE B is Painter's route!

Tags: Fluff, Heart to Heart, Romance, Confession

Words: 3,2k

Authors Note: I got impatient. But after this, updates will be strictly on thursday for both routes. Take this as a little preview for Painters Route.

Painter’s lips pressed against yours, warm and surprisingly soft. It was unexpected, sudden, and for a split second, your mind went blank. Time slowed, the sound of the rain outside the shop fading into nothing as his kiss lingered. You could still smell the faint trace of alcohol on him, mixing with his expensive cologne.

Your breath hitched as your hands instinctively gripped the edge of the counter, grounding yourself. The world felt off-kilter, spinning in a strange haze of emotions, confusion, and something else you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

He pulled back slowly, eyes half-lidded, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "I—" He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His usual calm and nerdy demeanor was gone, replaced with a vulnerable uncertainty that you hadn’t seen in him before. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for a reaction, something to tell him whether he had just made a mistake.

You blinked, your heart still racing from the shock of it all. What had just happened? You’d come here for answers, not this. And yet, here he was, standing before you, looking both terrified and hopeful, his lips slightly parted as if waiting for a response.

But you didn’t have one. Not yet.

Your mind was still spinning from everything—Sebastian, Allison, the stream, and now this. Your emotions were a jumbled mess, and you weren’t sure which way was up anymore. Painter had been there for you, helping in ways you hadn’t expected, but this? This felt like it had changed everything in an instant.

"Painter…" you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something—fear, perhaps, or regret. He shifted nervously, his fingers still brushing the counter beside you, unsure of what to do next.

"I’m sorry." he said softly, his voice shaking. "I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking. I just… you looked so lost, and I—" He ran a hand through his messy hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink, or maybe I’m just tired of watching from the sidelines, but… I couldn’t stop myself." He had always been at the edge of the events, seeing you around but never managed to talk to you. He knows so much about you thanks to Sebastian and here you were, barely knowing him in return.

He looked down, guilt washing over his features as he continued, "You deserve better than this. You deserve better than some guy who can’t keep his feelings straight. I’m sorry."

You swallowed, trying to process his words, his apology, and the kiss that still tingled on your lips. It was too much, all at once.

"Why now?" you asked, your voice a little stronger this time. "Why say this now, after everything?"

Painter bit his lip, his eyes flicking up to meet yours again, filled with a mix of desperation and sorrow. "Because…" He hesitated, the words hanging in the air between you like a fragile thread. "Because I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt anymore. Seeing Sebastian hurt you… it drove me crazy. And I know I shouldn’t feel this way, I know he’s my friend, but I care about you more than I realized. And I guess… I thought maybe, just maybe…"

He trailed off, unsure how to finish. The shop felt too small, too quiet, the only sound now the soft patter of rain against the window.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the pain in his eyes, the struggle. This wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing. He had been holding this in for longer than either of you probably realized.

And yet, you couldn’t help but think of Sebastian. His apology, his confession, the way he had broken down in front of you. The emotions you’d felt then were still tangled up inside, unresolved, confusing. And now here was Painter, adding another layer to the mess.

"Painter." you whispered, unsure of what else to say. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like a weight you couldn’t lift.

"I know." he murmured, stepping back slightly, giving you some space. "I know this is too much, and I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I just… I needed you to know how I felt. Even if it was the wrong time."

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed now. "I don’t expect anything from you. I just wanted to be honest. You’ve been through enough, and I didn’t want to add to it. But here I am, making everything worse."

You shook your head, taking a deep breath as you tried to find your own footing in this whirlwind of emotions. "You’re not making things worse, Painter." you said softly. "I’m just… I’m confused. About everything. About Sebastian, about you, about what happened today."

He nodded slowly, his expression softening a little. "I get that. I do. And I don’t want to pressure you. I just…" His voice trailed off again, as if he didn’t know how to finish that thought.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air. You weren't sure where things would go from here, but you knew one thing—that kiss had started something inside you, something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was a crush, or maybe it was something deeper. Painter looked almost divine in his suit, his messy silver hair catching the soft light, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your heart flutter.

The way he looked at you, like you were his last lifeline, tugged at something deep within. There was no mistaking the tenderness in his gaze, and that alone made your chest tighten.

Maybe it was a stupid decision. Maybe it wasn’t. But before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, capturing his lips in a sweet, innocent kiss. It was softer this time, slower—an attempt to understand what you were feeling. His breath hitched against your lips, and then you felt him respond, melting into you like he had been waiting for this, for you, for so long.

His arms wrapped around you now, pulling you closer, but not with urgency—with care, as if he was afraid that you might slip away at any moment, like you were some fragile dream he wasn’t ready to wake up from. You could feel his grip tighten slightly, his hands shaking just a bit, and you realized that he was scared. Scared that this was too good to be true. That maybe you’d come to your senses and push him away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into the warmth of him, letting your hands rest gently on his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath. For a moment, nothing else existed but the two of you in that quiet shop. The rain outside, the mess of everything else—it all faded away.

When you finally pulled back, your lips barely inches from his, you saw the way his eyes had softened, glowing with something more than just affection—hope. His breath was ragged, his cheeks flushed, and there was a flicker of disbelief in his expression as if he couldn’t quite grasp that you had kissed him again.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with hesitation but also a quiet plea. He needed to know if this was real, if you felt what he did.

You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric of his suit jacket. "Yeah." you murmured, your voice soft but steady. "I’m sure."

A relieved smile broke across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle just a little at the edges. He let out a breath he had been holding, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"You don’t know how much this means to me." he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. His fingers brushed the back of your neck gently, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve wanted to tell you for so long… I just never thought you’d feel the same."

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. "I didn’t know either, honestly," you admitted, your fingers trailing up to play with the lapel of his jacket. "But now… I think I might."

His breath hitched again, but this time it was with a quiet joy, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you back into another kiss, deeper and more assured. It wasn’t rushed, but it held a kind of promise, a new beginning.

The kiss lingered, slow and warm, filled with the sweetness of a love that had been quietly blooming between the two of you. When you finally parted, he stayed close, his nose brushing yours, his lips curled into a soft smile.

“We should leave.” Painter whispered softly against your lips, and only then did you realize how late it had become. The quiet night outside seemed heavier now, and you suddenly wondered if Painter was even able to get home safely in his current state. He wasn’t completely out of it, but there was a fog in his eyes, and you could tell he wasn’t in any condition to drive.

“I’ll take you home.” you offered, gently placing a hand on his arm. He blinked at you, a small, relieved smile spreading across his face as he nodded.

"Yeah, I’d like that." he murmured.

The two of you left the shop, stepping into the night’s drizzle. The rain had slowed to a soft patter, and the city lights shimmered on the wet pavement like scattered stars. Painter stayed close to your side, his hand brushing yours as you both made your way to the subway station.

Once you were inside the quiet station, the hum of the city felt distant. It was late, and not many people were around. Painter stood close, his silver hair a little damp from the rain, his suit still pristine but slightly crumpled from your earlier closeness. He leaned against the railing, waiting for the train, his gaze never straying far from you.

When the train finally arrived, the two of you slipped inside, finding a seat toward the back. The subway car was almost empty, the soft hum of the train and the occasional rattling the only sounds accompanying the quiet night. You both sat down, the dim light flickering overhead as the train began to move.

Painter leaned against you almost immediately, his head gently resting on your shoulder, as if he had been waiting for this closeness all night. You smiled softly to yourself, feeling the warmth of him as the train rocked beneath you. His breathing was steady but slow, a sign of the exhaustion weighing on him. You shifted slightly, letting him rest more comfortably, and he instinctively draped an arm over your waist, pulling you closer.

“Thank you…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here. For… everything.” he replied, his fingers tracing light patterns against your side, as if grounding himself in your presence. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth blooming in your chest at his words. “You’d figure something out. But… I’m glad I can be here for you.” you said quietly, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The train continued to glide through the tunnels, and you found yourself watching the blurred lights pass by outside, the world slipping away in the background as you focused on the soft rise and fall of Painter’s breath against you.

The city outside seemed like a distant memory, forgotten in the quiet bubble of the subway. There was something intimate in the way Painter clung to you, as if he trusted you completely in that moment. The barriers between you had been lifted, and all that was left was a simple, honest closeness that neither of you wanted to break.

After a while, you felt Painter shift slightly, his face turning so that his lips brushed the side of your neck. The touch was soft, hesitant, but it sent a shiver through you, and you glanced down at him. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression gentle but still a little hazy.

“I think I’m falling for you…” he whispered, the words barely audible over the hum of the train. His hand tightened around your waist, holding you just a little closer.

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. But the feeling that had been growing inside you all night, the quiet, gentle affection, was too strong to ignore.

“I think… I’m falling for you too.” you whispered back, your fingers brushing through his silver hair as you held him close. It didn't mattered from where the feelings came from or if they were only temporary, Painter made you happy at the moment.

Painter’s grip on you tightened, his head nuzzling against your shoulder as if he needed to hear those words again. And for the rest of the ride, neither of you said anything more. There was no need. The quiet, shared understanding was enough, as you sat together, letting the city pass by outside.

When the train finally reached your stop, Painter reluctantly pulled away, blinking groggily as he sat up. You helped him to his feet, your hands lingering on his arm as the two of you made your way out of the subway station, the night air cool against your skin. He leaned on you slightly, still tired but smiling softly as you guided him home.

As you walked through the empty streets, your steps echoing in the stillness, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between you. Something real, something undeniable.

When you arrived at Painter’s apartment, you couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback. The place was big—far bigger than you imagined. The minimalistic design contrasted sharply with the luxury of it all. The open space, high ceilings, and large windows that overlooked the city gave it an almost ethereal feeling, like you’d stepped into some kind of modern sanctuary.

But despite its elegance, it was Painter who remained the center of your attention. He still leaned on you, his exhaustion clear as you guided him inside.

Once the door clicked shut, Painter turned to you with a lazy grin. Without warning, he pulled you toward the bedroom, his arm slipping around your waist with an ease that made your heart race.

"Come on… just… let’s rest." he murmured, his voice low and slurred with exhaustion.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the sudden closeness, but you managed to keep your composure, pulling back slightly. “Wait. You’re soaked.” you said, glancing at his damp suit. “You need to dry off first.”

He blinked, as if realizing it for the first time. “Ah… yeah, guess I’m a mess.” he chuckled softly, swaying slightly as he stood there.

“I’ll help.” you said quickly, heading to the bathroom, after searching for it quickly, to grab a towel. When you returned, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his hands, watching you with those tired but adoring eyes.

You knelt down beside him, gently dabbing the towel against his damp hair, careful not to mess up the silver strands too much. He closed his eyes, letting you work in silence, his breathing slow and steady now. There was something intimate in the act of caring for him like this, something that made your heart beat just a little faster.

As you moved the towel down to his neck, your eyes landed on the open collar of his shirt. His chest was exposed, skin smooth and still slightly damp from the rain. You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard, but Painter didn’t seem to notice your nervousness.

"You’ll catch a cold if you stay like this." you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

With trembling hands, you undid the rest of his buttons, carefully peeling the wet fabric away from his chest. Your breath hitched slightly as you took in the sight of him—lean, toned, and so effortlessly handsome. His skin felt warm under your fingertips, and you could feel the heat rising to your face the longer you looked.

Painter watched you through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Like what you see?” he teased, his voice soft but still carrying that playful edge.

You quickly looked away, your face burning. “I’m just trying to help.” you mumbled, focusing on drying him off as best you could.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. “I know.” he whispered, his voice suddenly serious again. “I appreciate it.”

Once you had finished drying his chest and arms, you hesitated again, unsure of how to proceed. His pants were still wet, but you weren’t exactly sure how to… help with that.

“I… uh… I think you can handle the rest.” you stammered, your eyes darting away from his bare chest, still feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingertips.

Painter smirked, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it from here.” he said softly, his hand brushing yours for a brief moment before he stood up, wobbling slightly but managing to keep his balance.

You busied yourself with straightening out the towels and giving him some space, but every now and then, you caught glimpses of him from the corner of your eye. Even in his tired, slightly tipsy state, there was something about the way he carried himself that drew you in—something magnetic. It was impossible to ignore.

„You should dry off as well.“ He called out. „Feel free to take something from my clothes.“

When he returned, he had slipped into dry clothes, he wore a shirt but it was unbuttoned and left an excellent view on his chest and the lower parts of his abdomen right above his v-line, and his hair still slightly damp but looking more refreshed. He smiled softly at you, who also managed to change in the meantime, his expression warm and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

"And thanks for taking care of me." he said quietly, stepping closer until he was just in front of you. He didn’t touch you this time, but the closeness was enough to make your pulse quicken. "You didn’t have to… but you did."

"Of course." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m always here for you."

Painter’s smile widened, and before you knew it, his hand was on your cheek, gently caressing the side of your face. His touch was tender, comforting, and in that moment, everything else seemed to melt away—the rain, the exhaustion, the world outside.

He pulled you again, gently and with care till you landed on top of him on the bed. Your body was pressed against his as his hand stroked your back affectionatly, he was beyond touch starved.

„Maybe I should tell you something.“ His voice hums, inviting you to relax.

[sunsbaby]

𓂃 STRANDED FEATHERS

. . . when a strange angel shows up at the bunker

unexpectedly, leaving the boys to help her—or keep her.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ` hurt/comfort | fem!reader | one little kiss |

It all started with the war in Heaven, and oh were you a big help—almost too big of a help. Your power destroyed the enemies, but also your home at the same time. It would be reckless and plain stupid to keep you around if they wanted Heaven to be in one piece after, so they sent you down to Earth. Not forever, but how that back fired.

You didn't know how to feel when your wings carried you onto a patch of grass, thoughts clouded your mind, jumbled into one mess inside your pretty head. The flowers surrounding you gave a feeling of slight comfort, not enough to get rid of the stares that burned into the back of your being as you descended down from up above. Your brothers and sisters, the ones you adored and would die for, voted to cast you away.

You never meant to cause problems, it was your duty to fight. You were programmed to be a soldier, to bend and bow to every word that spewed from any Angel of high authority's mouth. You did what you were created to do—now you were shamed for it?

Heaven needed power, just not the messy kind, not the kind you provided.

Somehow while in the mist of your thoughts, your feet—that were decorated with frilly socks—lead you to a bunker of sorts; your eyes widened as you stared—riddled with confusion. What was this place? It's been warded against you, yet you still found it.

Your hand lightly traces the doors, careful as to not dent to. Seeing as everything you touch breaks. A soft knock is heard from inside the bunker, Sam and Dean turn their heads to the door.

Boots hitting the floor and guns tucked behind their backs, Dean opens the door slightly. His eyes widen as he takes in your appearance—disheveled hair, dirtied white socks, and a dress; while it may have been ripped a bit. To him you looked beautiful, no, what was he thinking.

"Who are you, and what do you want lady?" His voice was gruff, yet you could hear the softness behind it all. Sam stood close, kept vigil.

"I'm an Angel of the lord, I was sent to Earth–" Before you could finish the door was shut in your face. Whispers came from behind it, presumably how you even found the bunker with no knowledge of them or probably anything on Earth.

The door opened once more, this time wider allowing you to step inside. Sam grimaced at the footprints left after every step you took. You took in the sights around you with awe, mouth agape like you'd never seen anything like it before. Dean stared at your twinkling eyes from afar, a fondness brewing deep inside him; though he wanted no part of it.

It took a bit of time for you to get used to how humans did things. You learned so much about the world and the two boys—somehow they learned nothing about you.

You sat on the floor, legs crossed and a pile of books beside you, this was how you spent your days recently—you didn't bother Sam and Dean like usual. Instead you were learning everything you possibly could, learning how to not make a mess—how to be a normal Angel, like God intended.

It didn't slip past Dean how you hid away from them most days, never embracing them back when they hugged you; normally for saving their asses, and the way you seemed to always resent your reflection—eyes averting away from every mirror.

You heard footsteps walking up to you and a voice you knew very well, "What'cha up to, little lady–hm? You seem to have a lot of fun being around a bunch of pages." He teased, looking down as he took a swig of beer, something you noticed he was always drinking.

"Just learning, Dean. Have you ever bothered to do that?" You say back, a grin finding its way onto your lips.

"Ouch, that hurt, little lady." Dean chuckled, his hand moving to pat your shoulder—his brows furrowed as he saw you move away.

"What's up, you've been distant–is there something we don't know?" He asked immediately after, his voice was slightly saddened as well as concerned. In a way it made you feel better, nobody had ever spoke to you in such a caring way.

Your heart sped up and meaningless words spewed from your lips, a distraction of some sorts. A way to direct the conversation elsewhere, but Dean didn't budge. His gaze wasn't harsh, yet it burned deep into you.

"Dean, I...I'm not a safe person. I break anything near me—it's a miracle the bunker hasn't been reduced to atoms!" Tears had prickled into your waterline, but you kept going, like Dean had placed a spell on you.

"Heaven cast me away due to my power, Dean. My touch isn't good, it's messy and dangerous. If I stay too close, you all may–" He cut you off with a kiss, it was pure something sweet and innocent. As he pulled away his hand found its way to your cheek.

"We're hunters, our whole life is messy–I mean hell Sam and I are considered 'dangerous' to about everyone and everything." His gaze was soft, with something you couldn't understand shining beneath. It warmed you inside, a smile crept onto your face as he continued.

"What I'm trying to say is, you're perfect for us: for me, little lady. You fit right in like a puzzle piece, the piece we didn't know was missing, but are glad we've finally got it."

Your arms wrapped tight around him as sobs wracked through your body. And he just held you, a hand rubbing your back as he let you do your thing.

You finally belonged somewhere, a place where you could be you.

sunny yaps! HIII EVERYONEE!! Today has been a good day so HERE YOU ALL GOOO! I did not go to school so IM VERY HAPPY, BUT I STILL HAVE WORK TO DO! Kill MEE!!!

special tags! @figthoughts @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas @h8aaz + pls lmk if u want to get added or removed!!

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[slytherinshua]

hi it's me again! hope ur day's been good, wasn't going to send more asks for a while since the last one but since you were asking for more soft thoughts AND make it magical this time, i had to 😣 thought of being like a village person who is very adamant that fairies exist and while strolling thru the field one day you just find yushi/sunoo laying there and surrounded by flowers and even tho u don't k anything abt him u make it ur thorough mission to accuse him of being a fairy and he's SOO mad at this bcuz not only were u rlly cute about it but he also was a fairy and he's not about to reveal himself bcuz he thinks ur cute 😭😭

SKDJKS STOP GOODBYE THIS IDEA IS SOOOO FUCKING CUTE??? okok i'm gonna do yushi bcuz i love yushi but this is also reminding me of my jaehee fic im writing lmfao cause he is a fairy in that as well although its a stardew valley au not magical BUT YUSHI AS A FAIRY!! wc: 1k. genre/warnings: fairy au. reader is very excitable. not proofread and soft thoughts so it's very very messy be warned this is really just a jumble of thoughts.

fairies were always shrouded in secrecy, especially in your village which was right next to a forest thought to be home to many magical creatures. the village leaders banned anyone from going into the forest due to its dangerous nature, but you've always wondered about it. there were a few books on fairies, but all the information in them was unconfirmed and more speculation than fact. some even swore that fairies were completely made up and didn't exist in the real world, but you always liked to imagine that they did, and maybe they even lived among you.

so, ever since you were little, you started to imagine your own version of what fairies would be like. of course, they would be breathtakingly beautiful and gentle. they would have magical powers and glitter in the sunlight. their presence would be so harmonious and lovely that even butterflies would flock to their side. maybe they could grow flowers with the touch of a finger or could fly around with butterfly like wings? your imagination was truly endless, especially when you were little. but once you got to schooling age, you started to get made fun of for your obsession with the mythical creatures.

although you insisted that they were real, your classmates just laughed at the idea, telling you to not kid yourself with fictional fantasies. but no one was ever able to truly shut you up about the idea. you still daydreamed about fairies unabashedly, no matter what anyone else thought about them. to you, they were real.

after an annoying encounter with a guy in the village who seemed adamant on winning you over, you decided to take a stroll through the flower field to clear your head. cursing the guy under your breath wasn't helping as much as you would've liked. not only was he ugly, and full of himself, he was also downright rude. you definitely weren't going to let him sour the entire rest of your day.

pink, blue, and yellow flowers were blooming all over the field. butterflies and bees buzzed around happily, caring to the sweet-smelling blossoms. you saw that the butterflies seemed to keep flying to one particular spot in the field. it piqued your curiosity, so you made your way over to that part.

immediately, your fantasies about fairies came flooding back to your brain the second you saw the boy lying on the ground. his ginger hair lay over his forehead perfectly, and light freckles adorned his pink cheeks. he was simply beautiful. the second you saw him, your breath was completely taken away. you were sure that if fairies existed, he must be one of them.

"so you do really exist? you aren't just fantasy." a grin spread to your face as you mumbled under your breath. you had been trying to not disturb the sleeping boy, but his eyes flew open as the words left your mouth. maybe fairies had supernatural hearing?

the boy sat up hurriedly, "what? me?" he blinked in confusion, finger pointing back at himself in question. a butterfly landed on his hand and he gently swatted it away, face heating up in embarrassment.

he would've been upset at his nap getting interrupted, but one look at you and all annoyance dissipated. you were really pretty. as a fairy, he really should've been more worried about coming into contact with humans, but it was too late to think about that now. you had seen him, and it wasn't like a vanishing spell was going to last long enough for him to get back to the forest. plus, there was no way you would suspect that he was a fairy. most people didn't even believe they existed nowadays. he was surely safe-

"you're a fairy, aren't you!?"

oh.

his eyebrows furrowed, "no. fairies aren't even real, why would you think that?" gaslighting was never his strong suit, but it was worth a shot either way, right?

"can you do any magic? can you grow flowers?" you didn't seem to have even heard his attempt at refuting you, as you were quick to throw a flurry of questions at him. what scared him the most was how accurate they were. how did you know so much about fairies?

"n-no, i said i wasn't-" he stuttered, interrupted by you shoving a flower in his face.

"try fixing it." you said simply before pulling off some of the flower petals. yushi's heart clenched slightly at the sight. he so badly wanted to reach out and repair it. the poor flower didn't deserve to die. but that would mean outing himself. the risk wasn't worth it.

you sighed as the boy just stared at you blankly, "so you really aren't a fairy? then why do you look like one?" you sat down on the grass with him, arms crossed over your chest in annoyance.

"how do you know what fairies look like? have you ever seen one?"

"well... no." you huffed in exasperation. he was right. "but you look exactly how one would expect fairies to look like! even butterflies can't stay away from you."

it was frankly unfair at how adorable you sounded trying to justify it, especially since yushi knew you were entirely right in your assumption. he could already imagine the look of pure joy and astonishment that would bloom on your face if you heard that he really was a fairy as you suspected.

would it really be so bad to reveal himself?

"what's your name, by the way? i'm y/n."

yushi thought for a second, weighing his options. he could tell you his name and that he was a fairy. he could tell you his name and leave you questioning whether he was a fairy of not. or, he could try to find a way out of the conversation altogether. he rather hated the last option. deciding that the second option was both the safest, and left him plenty of options, he went with it.

"...i'm yushi."

↳ nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

@lilly-cherry7

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Cussing, Medical descriptions, mentions of blood and injures, fluff

Part 32

A Charming Detour - Part 33

The room is brighter today. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in angled slats, laying stripes across Juice's bed and the pale blue hospital blanket pulled to his waist.

Machines still beep steadily, though there’s one less now — the ventilator’s presence looms, but today, it’s being disconnected.

You’re not in the room.

You’ve been pacing just outside the door, a paper cup of untouched coffee cooling in your hands.

Chibs is with you, leaned against the wall, arms folded, silent but grounding. You don’t ask why he hasn’t left your side. You already know. He’s seen this part before — the waking. The pain. The panic.

Inside, nurses prep Juice. The doctor explains what’s happening in that calm, clinical voice that somehow makes it all feel worse.

“You’ll feel pressure. You might gag. Just focus on breathing. We’ve got you.”

Juice’s eyelids flutter, and there’s a sluggish kind of awareness behind them. Heavy, drugged. Confused.

Then they start to pull the tube.

He thrashes.

His body bucks slightly, instinct fighting what his mind hasn’t yet caught up to. Hands strain weakly against the bedrails. A strangled noise escapes his throat — a wet, gasping sound, equal parts terror and pain. His chest convulses once, twice—

Then the tube slides out with a slick, wet sound.

He chokes.

Eyes wide. Watering. Mouth open, dragging in air like a man pulled from drowning. His breaths are harsh and ragged, rasping around a throat raw from silence. His whole body shudders as oxygen finally moves on its own again.

“Jesus Christ...” he gasps hoarsely, voice like gravel dragged over asphalt. “Where— where the hell— what happened—?”

The nurses try to calm him, one hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Ortiz, you’re at St. Thomas. You were on a ventilator. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

He doesn’t hear them.

He’s already panicking.

“Babe?” he croaks, jerking his head weakly to either side, eyes darting around, bloodshot and frantic. “Where’s— where’s my wife? Where is she? Baby?!”

You don’t remember moving, but the next thing you know, you’re at his side. The coffee cup hits the floor and rolls away. You’re breathless. Trembling.

“Juan— I’m here. I’m right here.”

He turns his head toward the sound, eyes catching you. For a second, he freezes — like he’s not sure you’re real. Like his brain can’t accept it.

Then he chokes out something that might be a sob.

“Baby… oh my god… you—” He tries to sit up but can’t. The effort makes his whole body tremble.

You catch his hand and press it to your cheek. It’s cold and dry, the IV still taped to the back. His fingers twitch and grip yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, leaning closer, your forehead almost touching his. “You’re okay now.”

He nods — but tears are already sliding from the corners of his eyes. His voice is rough and breaking.

“They—they grabbed me, babe. Took me— I tried to fight but there were too many and I thought— I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again. I kept thinking about you, like— like maybe if I just held onto you in my head they wouldn’t win, y’know?” His words stumble over each other in a jumble of emotion, frantic and messy.

He’s trying to smile through it, through the pain and the fear and the raspy cough that keeps interrupting him.

“You look—God— you look— so fucking beautiful. You always do. Even when I’m half-dead and probably smell like shit.”

You laugh, watery and cracked, and press your lips to the back of his hand.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “I saw them dragging you away. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop them.”

Juice shakes his head slowly, still wheezing a little, but his grip on your hand is stronger now.

Juice’s chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath rasping as it climbs up from lungs still protesting the effort. The ventilator’s gone he looks exhausted, pale under the bruises, dried blood still clinging faintly to the stitches on his arm.

But his eyes haven’t left you once.

Juice is still mid-ramble — frantic, sincere, clumsy in that achingly Juice way.

“Did the guys—did they take care of you? I mean, you didn’t go home alone, right? You ate? I bet you didn’t eat. Baby, you have to eat. Wait—did anyone even tell you I was okay or did they just, like, ride off and leave you pacing the garage like some mob wife in a movie? Not that you’re a mob wife. You’re way prettier. Shit—did that sound creepy?” He pauses, barely a breath between words, and lets out a short, wheezy laugh. “I’ve been out for days and I’m still saying dumb shit.”

You shake your head slowly, your soft little smile breaking just slightly at the edges.

“I’m okay,” you say gently. “We… all came home.”

He exhales, lips parting like he wants to say something else—but hesitation flickers behind his eyes.

That insecure, unsure little twitch of his fingers over the sheets, the way his hand hovers midair before dropping back down like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask.

“I just—” His voice cracks a little. “I need to hold you. Is that okay? Or are you—shit, you’re probably scared. I look like Frankenstein’s baby brother. You don’t gotta—if it’s too much, I get it. I just—”

You stop him with a motion so gentle it’s like a ghost moving your hand finds his, and he immediately latches onto it, knuckles white with effort.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say softly. “I was only scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

He opens his mouth, but his lips tremble and close again. And that—that moment of silence from Juice—is maybe more telling than anything else he could’ve said.

You stand slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Juice watches you like he can’t quite believe what you’re about to do, like maybe he’s hallucinating.

Your weight dips the mattress gently as you climb up, legs folding delicately beside his hip, your upper body draping carefully along the edge of the bed, hand tentatively on his chest.

He shifts with a wince to make space, one arm half-wrapped around your back despite the tangle of IV lines and bruised ribs. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, where his skin still smells faintly like antiseptic and blood and him underneath it all.

Juice exhales shakily.

His fingers, weak but desperate, trace small aimless patterns along your back—like he needs constant contact to remind himself you’re here.

“Baby…” His voice is barely audible now, breath warm against your hair. “God, I missed you. Everything hurt but that was the worst part. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

You press your lips to his collarbone and feel his pulse flutter.

“Me too,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment—until a nervous laugh breaks free.

“They’re gonna yell at us for this, huh? Me all tubed up and stitched together, you crawling into bed like a scene outta Grey’s Anatomy. I love it.” He chuckles, then groans as it pulls at his bruises. “Okay, laughing? Bad idea.”

You smile against his skin, letting the silence settle, letting his heartbeat thud beneath your ear.

But beneath the tenderness, his fingers still twitch now and then — not from pain, but from that nagging anxiety that always lives in him.

The room is wrapped in half-light — the dimmed glow of fluorescent bulbs and the shifting silver of passing headlights through the blinds. Machines hum a low mechanical lullaby beside the hospital bed, soft and constant, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

You’re curled into Juice’s side, your body finally surrendered to sleep for the first time since they took him.

Your face is tucked into his shoulder, one small hand resting just over the gauze taped to his ribs.

Your breathing is slow, even, the kind of sleep that only comes after fear has wrung every drop of strength from you.

And Juice — battered and bruised, tubes trailing from his arms, his head still aching — can’t stop looking at you.

His fingers twitch where they rest on the curve of your waist. Not from pain. From awe.

"Baby," he whispers, voice still raw and hoarse, “you’re really here…”

Your lashes don’t even flutter.

You're out cold.

And he swallows thickly because that alone breaks something in him. That you probably didn’t sleep until now.

Juice blinks up at the ceiling for a long moment, then lets his gaze drift back down to you — every inch of you like a balm to his beaten body.

His hand curls gently around your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse, as if he still needs to make sure you’re real.

“I don’t even know how I got this lucky.” His voice is a hush. “Like, what the hell were you doing with someone like me? You could’ve had normal. Safe. Some guy with a desk job and a Labrador, not—” his voice catches, “—not a guy who drags you into this world. Into this.”

Your breathing doesn’t change. You’re still somewhere deep inside dreams that don’t hurt. And he’s thankful for that. You shouldn’t have to carry the nightmares too.

“They hurt me, baby,” he says, more to himself than to you now. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It was thinkin’ I wouldn’t get back to you. That I’d die there on that floor and you’d never know how much I—”

He cuts off, biting his lower lip so hard it almost bleeds. The words sit on his tongue like a razor blade.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing the lightest kiss to your temple — gentle, reverent, like he’s terrified to wake you.

“I love you—god—so fucking much babe” he whispers so soft it might not even reach your ears.

Your fingers twitch slightly in your sleep, brushing his side.

He stills completely, watching you with wide eyes, half-expecting you to wake up and call him out on the mess of his soul.

But you don’t.

You just snuggle closer, your body molded against his like you were meant to be there.

Juice exhales, his eyes glassy now.

He closes them for a moment, letting himself rest into the warmth of you — letting the fear go, piece by piece, like bleeding it out of his bones.

The room is still dim, the blinds half-drawn against the world outside. The machines keep their steady rhythm beside the hospital bed, a soft mechanical reminder— beat by beat, breath by breath.

You haven’t moved.

Curled into Juice like a second skin, your small frame fits perfectly against his side, your cheek resting just below his collarbone. His arm, bruised and hooked to IVs, is draped protectively around your waist, his thumb moving in slow, idle circles over your shirt — a nervous comfort, maybe for you… maybe for him.

His eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

He watches the rise and fall of your breath like a lifeline.

His face, usually animated and fidgety, is unusually still — soft in a way only the most vulnerable moments allow.

For the first time since the warehouse, there’s no fear of slipping into darkness.

Not while you’re here.

Not while you’re safe.

The door creaks open.

Boots scuff the linoleum, followed by a low murmur of voices. Jax enters first, followed by Chibs and Tig. The latter two glance at the bed and halt mid-step.

"Shit…" Tig breathes under his breath, gaze flicking from Juice’s wired-up body to your sleeping form.

Jax smiles faintly, eyes tired but soft. “Hey, man. Good to see you awake.”

Juice turns his head, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. He looks dazed, but the second he sees them, his brows knit with something like relief.

"Aww, look at this little cuddle puddle,” Tig mutters with a half-smile.

“Didn’t think Juicy had it in him.”— not loud, but enough to make Juice flinch.

"Hey—shhh, shhh—" Juice whispers quickly, almost panicked. He tugs his arm tighter around you, his hand smoothing down your back.

“Don’t wake her, man—please.” His voice is cracked from the ventilator, but urgent. “She fell asleep. She must be exhausted.” He swallows, emotion knotting his throat.

The room stills. Chibs exchanges a long glance with Tig. Neither of them say anything. They don’t have to. They’d seen it too—the wreck of you after the warehouse, the way your hands didn’t shake when they should’ve, the way you stood in the blood like you'd forgotten how to breathe.

But Juice doesn’t know.

Not yet.

Juice looks over, blinking blearily, and then gestures with his chin toward the armchair in the corner. “Blanket. There. Can you—can someone grab it? She runs cold. Always forgets her jacket.”

Tig hesitates. For a second, he looks like he might say something smartass, something sharp to deflect the knot tightening in his chest.

But then he sees how Juice is looking at you.

Like you’re sacred, untouched, and his whole goddamn world.

So Tig just nods and steps forward, unfolding the thin blanket. Juice lifts his arm slightly — a wince in his jaw as he moves — and Tig drapes the blanket carefully over your back.

“Thanks, man,” Juice whispers, smoothing it out gently with fingers that tremble a little more than they should.

He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple again, murmuring something that sounds like “warm enough, baby?”

You don’t stir.

But you shift just the tiniest bit closer.

And Juice lets out a slow breath, like your body moving was the only answer he needed.

Chibs, still watching, crosses his arms, his usual smirk softened by something almost paternal.

“Yer lass is tougher than she looks, Juicy” he says quietly.

Juice nods, not catching the subtext. Just agreeing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down at you like you hung the damn stars. “But she shouldn’t have to be."

Juice carefully tucks the blanket up beneath your chin. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick, you've got enough to worry about already.”

Jax nods, jaw tight.

Chibs glances away, jaw working like he might say something — but doesn't.

Tig just stares.

They all remember the image of you with the crowbar. Blood across your face. Rage in your eyes. The screams.

But here you are now, tucked up in Juice’s arms like you’re made of porcelain and air.

Juice doesn’t know. Not yet.

And none of them have the heart to shatter the version of you he’s still clinging to. Not when he looks like that — like you’re the only thing keeping his broken body from falling apart all over again.