#literal definition of failing upward

[abibliophobiaa]

Summary: You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

mini series masterlist

next chapter

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warnings: alcohol; smut; unprotected p in v; unplanned pregnancy and associated symptoms; major miscommunication. eddie munson x afab!reader(7k words)

——

“You’ve been staring around for hours. No one is catching your eye? Not even slightly? You’re not doing brain surgery, you’re just trying to get your toes wet.”

You knew this. But the music had been too loud, the room too heated, your body tucked away against the bar as you sat beside your best friend, sipping on a watery margarita that the ice had long since dissolved into.

All around you people bobbed and swayed to ‘Monster Mash.’ Cliche by all means, and yet it felt fitting when you appraised the crowd once more and noted the mummy dancing with his zombified partner. Further out you caught a werewolf in a particularly compromising position with a vampire, and a group of clowns crowded together hosting what looked to be a meeting.

“What about that Westley guy?”

Right — the one everyone had been talking about all night. The man who had the nerve to dress up as the direct counterpart to your own costume. With a huff, you hiked your leg up, crossing one over the other against the stool. The red dress around you shifted and moved, fingers reaching to adjust the belt around your waist.

“I haven’t seen him.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “For all I know, he doesn’t exist.”

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——

let me know what you think! 🩷

[a-kaash-me-outside]

𝕚 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ~ 10k ᴡᴏʀᴅs (exactly) ✧ nsfw ✧ minors dni!! ✧

slight voyuerism, overstim, threesome, super sweet aftercare uwu

truthfully was not a kuroo simp before this and then i wrote this piece and now i’m literally so in love with him absolutely so soft for him so take that as u will

"I have a question for you.”

Before you've even turned over to face him, before you can even see the expression on his face, the one that looks like he's trying so hard to hide the mischief and failing miserably, you know that this question will not be a simple feat. "Kinda ominous that you started out with that and not just asking me the question," you say, flipping over on your side, propping yourself up on your elbow, "but I'll bite. What's up?"

“We’re close enough for me to ask you this question, I think,” he says, matching your position, jaw resting in the palm of his hand as his elbow sinks into the pillow beneath him. 

“Considering you were literally inside of me about 15 minutes ago, it worries me that you only think we’re close enough,” you retort.

"If you would be so willing," he starts, the facade already slipping and the real intent shining through as he ignores your comment. 

You cut him off, squinting at him and trying to pinpoint what emotion exactly is floating to the surface. "Seems less so now, but go on..."

"I need your help with something," he states plainly, innocently, despite the fact that you know whatever else comes out of his mouth won't be.

"You sure are dancing around this question, Kuroo," you reply.

"I have this theory, right," he pauses, giving you just enough time for your brain to start to wander, but not enough time to flesh out the details, "centered around limits and, well, someone exactly like you." The smirk on his face is in full view now, no remorse and no concealing the way that the corner of his lip pulls upward towards his narrowed eyes or the way they scan you, slowly, but not critically. 

“What kind of limits?” you ask, skeptical now and just as equally intrigued.

"Ones that involve you being completely naked and having a lot of trust in me and Tsukishima," he explains, as plainly stated as he possibly could for the words that he just spoke.

There are a million things that want to come out of your mouth, but the only thing that actually does is, "I'm sorry, what?" The shock doesn’t come from the thought of you being naked in front of him. You’ve done it plenty of times before and felt completely comfortable doing so. Honestly, you always have. It’s one of the perks of the fluidity of your relationship, the casualness of it all, more than friends, definitely not partners, some weird blend of best friends and fuck buddies. 

It isn’t about the trust either; you trust both of them completely. It’s the combination of the two. The only time that you hang out with Tsukishima is around Kuroo or in big group settings. There are a handful of names that could’ve come out of Kuroo’s mouth that would have made more sense than Tsukishima, someone that you’ve barely had solo interactions with, let alone shown any sort of romantic or sexual interest, no matter how attractive you thought he was or how much sexual interest was actually there. 

He doesn't respond, just gives you time to soak in what he's said, so you continue, "What do you mean by 'someone exactly like me', like it has to be me or…”

This time he answers straight away, looking directly into your eyes, giving you something to focus on as your head spins around the proposal. "It has to be you, but there's no pressure, is what I mean."

The vague praise makes a heat rise into your cheeks. Has to be you. You push past it, worrying that if you linger for too long, Kuroo will definitely start to notice. "But what kind of limits? You didn't really answer my que-."

“The more you know, the more prepared you'll feel and the less accurate and genuine your reactions will be," he explains, pausing to let you get the full effect of every single one of his words. "But you can trust me and Tsukki," he continues, "We'll take care of you."

You’re silent, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. And then it clicks. "Are you asking me if I'll have a threesome with you and Tsukishima? Is that what you're asking?" you blatantly pose, trying to figure out if this is some weird, convoluted way of approaching a difficult situation.

For the first time tonight, and maybe ever, you've shocked Kuroo, his demeanor faltering until he clears his throat. "Kinda? I guess," he starts, not really looking at you, but thinking, mulling over the question in his head before shaking it and back-pedaling, "I really want to test this theory that I have and Tsukishima agreed to be my assistant and," he turns the palm that’s not supporting his head upward and takes a deep breath, "will you help me?"

"Like, by take care of me, you mean...," you trail off, knowing that he’ll fill in the blanks without you having to reach for it. 

He moves closer to you, smirking at your curiosity. "I mean exactly what you're thinking." He pauses, wondering if he should take it as far as the thoughts in his head, and then he does, “just like I did tonight.”

You rush to respond, to distract yourself from the feeling that’s rising into your core, the one that’s making your heart rate quicken and palms begin to sweat. “Yes, Kuroo, I will have a threesome with you and Tsukishima. All you had to do was ask,” you tease, your voice just as strong as you need it to be.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, short and light, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist gently, extending his fingers against your palm and stroking the soft skin. His entire aura changes in an instant, the cockiness and complex fading away, leaving behind a look of sincerity and concern. “Seriously, though, if you don’t feel comf-.”

Your response is instant, almost instinctual. "I trust you," you say because it's true. 

His smile reappears, more confident now as he presses a quick kiss into the side of your hand, his eyes boring into yours as he does. “Good.”

//

The way that you were envisioning it, you were so absolutely sure that the science aspect of it would be pushed to the side. You knew that Kuroo was a science nerd at heart, sure, but there was no way that that would take priority over the fact that no matter how you sliced it, you were about to have a threesome with two very attractive men. 

Walking into Kuroo's house feels exactly like every other time you've walked into Kuroo's house, nothing ominous or altered about it. You kick off your shoes in the exact same way, you call out Kuroo's name in the exact same way, you throw your things on the side table right next to the door in the exact same way, and yet, Kuroo doesn't greet you in the exact same way. 

Kuroo doesn't greet you at all. 

It's Tsukishima that you see first, and who sees you first, and it's only then that you realize how different tonight has the potential of being. 

Still, you raise your hand in a nonchalant greeting, murmuring some sort of pleasantry that doesn't get returned to you. He only offers a small, "Hey." You can't get a good read on him, on whatever he's feeling, and it's so much different than Kuroo. 

With Kuroo, you could read every emotion that he wore, even if it was only there for half a second. You're not sure if that's the result of who Kuroo is, how long you've known him, or how well you know him. Either way, it was a luxury that you didn't have with Tsukishima, his eyes looking you up and down, but not saying another word or giving way to whatever he was thinking. 

You ignore his lack of reciprocation and ask him directly, "Do you know where Kuroo's at?"

"Sorry!" Kuroo calls from the other room, not letting Tsukishima answer, though you're not certain he would've. "I was finishing setting up. You're early."

"Yeah! Well, I made the first train so I didn't have to wait for the late one," you explain, the small talk feeling so foreign. "I hope that's okay," the courtesy also feeling very foreign. The air feels equally as foreign and you almost feel like you shouldn't be there.

And then Kuroo flashes a smile at you. He takes two quick, lengthy strides towards you, pushing your hair out of your face and leaning in close enough so that only you can hear him say, "Are you nervous?"

The unfamiliarity that was brought along by the possibility of rigidity fades away as soon as you feel Kuroo next to you, instantly feeling at ease again. You pull back from him, only a few inches to play into the question. “Why would I be nervous?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “Should I be nervous?” 

"You don't have any reason to be nervous, no," Kuroo denies. He takes you by the hand and pulls you along with him. "Thanks again for agreeing to help out. Do you want to get started?"

The formality almost makes you laugh, and you're grateful for it. There is plenty about this situation that could have made you spiral, but just being around Kuroo is making you feel so much more at ease. "Absolutely," you confirm. 

You follow him down the hall, your hand still in his despite the fact that you're pretty sure that you know his house layout better than your own. In fact, you're sure that if you were blindfolded, you could find your way to Kuroo's bedroom. The bedroom that you just passed. 

You're about to open your mouth, to poke fun at him for missing his own bedroom or to wonder aloud why you were walking so far, but then he stops abruptly in front of a door. 

"Your office?" you ask.

He nods, looking down at you and explaining, "Repurposed for testing."

His response surprises you, given the fact that up until this point you were still convinced that this was just a strangely-veiled setup for a normal threesome. The surprise doesn't have the chance to settle before more sets in.

He pushes open the door to his office, but it's not the same as it was the few times you've been in here before. The furniture is all pushed against the walls, making way for a long, steel table in the center of a perfectly white sheet on the floor. Beside it stood a matching, but significantly smaller, table holding a variety of neatly placed, and equally distanced toys. Your gaze doesn't remain on the table long, far more intrigued by the hinged lamp that was positioned next to it, pointed directly at the table, but turned off. 

The scene in front of you is like nothing you expected. You outstretch your arm, fingers spanning until they make contact with the table. It's so much colder than you think it's going to be, the chill sending shivers up your arms and throughout your body.

Kuroo can see the overwhelm in your movements and reactions, so he reaches out his hand and places it on top of yours, combatting the feeling of cold that's transferring to your body so easily. "Is this okay?" he asks. 

He's not talking about the hand placement, you know that. He's talking about the place that you're in, the company that's downstairs, what he's going to ask of you, to do to you, what the future holds. He curls his fingers around your own and withdrawals them from the table, fast enough for you to forget what the metal feels like against your skin, but not too fast as to startle you. 

You remember back to the conversation that you had with him, how much he cared about you feeling comfortable and not pressured. You remember back to how Kuroo's been the entire time you've known him. And then he solidifies it. 

"I meant what I said," he mutters into your shoulder, "We'll take care of you. You can trust us. I promise."

He places his hands on your hips, kissing up your shoulder gently and pulling you into him, your entire body weight resting on him. "Okay," you reply, letting yourself relax. "Yeah. I trust you." 

You can feel the kisses against your skin turn to smiles before he turns you around to face him, the small of your back resting against the edge of the table. "Can I let Tsukishima undress you?" he asks, your body turning rigid at the unfamiliarity of the concept. "Please." 

You don't reply, not fast enough at least, because Kuroo runs his hand up your body and places it under your chin, pinching it gently between his fingers. "What happened to trusting us, to letting us take care of you?" he asks, "Give up control, okay?"

“Okay,” you respond, maybe too quickly as you exhale the breath out of your lungs. 

“Okay, what?” Kuroo asks, lowering himself so that he can look into your eyes more easily. 

“Okay, I’ll give up control,” you explain. You wait for Kuroo’s response, but it doesn’t come. He stands there, eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he waits for you to continue. “Okay, I’ll let Tsukishima undress me.” Your cheeks feel warm as the words come out of your mouth. 

Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge you, just turns his head towards the entrance, immediately calling out of the room for Tsukishima who appears in the doorway in an instant. “We’re ready.” Tsukishima replaces Kuroo in front of you so seamlessly as Kuroo moves to the smaller table, pushing things around ever so slightly.

“Turn around,” he says, quietly. The words aren’t nearly as loud and commanding as Kuroo’s, but you still want to follow every direction he says. His slender fingers grab the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards as his fingers scrape against your stomach, his hips pressed firmly against the back of you.  

Despite how much of your skin that he’s touching and the goosebumps that it’s leaving behind, it all feels so precise, so scientific. You lift your arms, allowing Tsukishima to pull it over your head. You know that if it was Kuroo, your shirt would have been in a heap on the floor 15 seconds ago, but Tsukishima is taking his time, to tease you or not to make any mistakes, you’re not exactly sure. He straightens out your shirt, folding it in half, tucking the sleeves, and then folding it in half again, before setting it down gently onto the corner of the smaller table. 

His fingers are moving with so much care, each tiny movement planned and meticulous, and it’s affecting you far more than it should be. He snakes his arms around your waist, unbuttoning your pants, pulling down the zipper, navigating through touch alone. The contact brings you a comfort you didn’t expect, relaxing into Tsukishima’s arms and resting yourself against his chest. You feel him tense, lose his poise, if only for a beat. He slides your pants off, hooking his thumbs into your underwear and dragging them down in the same motion. 

His hands don’t linger longer than they need to, but God, do you want them to, wish they would hover over every inch of you just light enough so that you could feel their presence. He doesn’t even need to touch you. You just want him to be there. “On the table,” he directs, breaking you out of your escalating thoughts. He folds your pants with the same amount of care, in half, matching the hems, and then in half two more times, setting them on top of your shirt. 

You listen without acknowledging, climbing onto the table. “On your back,” Tsukishima specifies. You nod this time, hands bracing the table as you lower yourself slowly until your back is flat against it.

You’re not sure what shocks you more, how cold the metal is or how hard it is. There’s no forgiveness in the solid sheet you’re lying on top of. You arch ever so slightly in reaction to the sudden change. Tsukishima’s hand lies gently on your stomach, pushing, not harshly, to counter your movement, until you’re flat on the table again, embracing the uncomfortability of the material.

It’s Kuroo, now, that towers over top of you, looking down at you with a look so void of lust and filled with authority and inquiry. You feel so exposed. You’ve been naked in front of Kuroo so many times before, but this feels like an entirely new experience. “I’ll explain,” Kuroo says, distracting you, if only for a moment, from how on display you feel.

“It all started with an observation,” he kneels down right next to your face. You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still, concentrating on yours as he speaks. “Sex with you is incredible.” And now you know why he keeps his eyes trained on yours, the effect showing so strong within them. 

“So I was thinking, why is that? There are some obvious reasons,” he says, smiling as he pulls a reaction out of you once again, “but more than anything else, I think it’s because of how determined you are to hold off on your first orgasm.”

You blush at this, at the fact that he notices it in the first place and the fact that he’s saying it aloud with such pride. It doesn’t make complete sense, though, in your brain, why that would equate to the sex being incredible. He answers your unspoken question. 

He stands up, no longer worrying about how affected you are by what he says. “You focus so hard, so intently, on not coming for as long as you can so that your first orgasm is unsurmountable. Am I wrong? That would be really awkward if I was wrong.”

You shake your head, because, of course, he’s not wrong. You’ve always loved holding it, thought it made the pay off so much sweeter, and it definitely did. He knew it too. 

“So, then, I had a theory,” he says, walking to the foot of the table, placing both of his hands on each of your ankles, pulling them apart. “that you would stay so strong in the beginning, but then, as time goes on, you would crumble away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left.”

Your jaw falls open so subtly, but Kuroo notices, doesn’t try to hide his smirk as he does. “All you have to do,” he starts, “is wait to come for as long as you possibly can.” He runs his hands up your calves, massaging into them, and pushing up until he gets to the insides of your thighs. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod, slowly at first, because you’re not even sure that the movements are conscious, but then you feel his thumb digging into your thigh, rubbing pressured circles into the muscle, and a verbal confirmation following a breathy whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Great. Tsukishima, tell her the spiel,” Kuroo says, lifting his grip from off of your thighs so suddenly that another whimper breaks from your lips. Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge it as he starts picking things up from the table beside you. 

“We’re working on a colored system. If at any time you’re feeling like something is moving into a place where it’s too much to handle, say yellow. We’ll stop, make sure you’re okay, slow down, adjust. If at any time, it’s too much and you need to stop for good, say red. We’ll stop, help you however you need to feel okay again,” Tsukishima explains, his hand resting on your arm the entire time, the touch helping you focus on every word. 

“If you can’t speak, three firm taps, squeezes, contact of any kind, whatever you can manage. Just three, repetitive motions, okay?” he asks. 

“Okay. Yellow, red, three touches. I got it,” you repeat, nodding along, and then tacking on a, “Thank you, Tsukishima.”

You’re so focused on Tsukishima’s words and the grasp that he has on your arm that you only notice Kuroo lowering himself next to you when he’s already there. He’s rubbing his thumb against the pads of his two fingers, pulling them apart meticulously as a string of liquid connects them together. 

He reaches his hand down, careful not to get the liquid on anything other than where he’s aiming. His fingers hover between your legs, not making any contact yet, just lingering. He speaks at the exact moment that he dips his fingers between your lips, the coolness of the lube rivaling the metal on your back when you first came into contact with it, “I’m going to let Tsukishima fuck you first, okay?”

Air draws into your lungs quickly, a small, sharp inhale both from the words and the feeling. “Okay,” you reply.

Kuroo rubs the lube between your lips. He lets his fingertips graze over your hole, teasing it, gently prodding, but not inserting them, not yet. “More lube,” he says, pulling his fingers away from your hole, but still between your lips. He rubs your clit with the length of his digits, letting the bundle of nerves slide between the creases of his fingers as you watch them intently. 

Tsukishima uncaps the bottle, letting a generous stream of lube pour onto your pussy, the excess dripping between your legs and onto the table. Kuroo adds another finger, rubbing the pads of them over top of your lips, repetitively moving them up and down until he slips the middle one inside of you.

“I’m going to stretch you out first,” he tells you, as he pushes as deep as he can go, his other fingers resting against your ass. Both Kuroo and Tsukishima are watching you so closely, your body language and your facial expressions and the way you move when Kuroo adds another finger and then another until his three fingers are slowly stretching you. 

He slides his fingers in and out of you, reaching down with his other hand to rub your clit. You hum at the additional contact, feeling your own wetness add to the lubrication between your legs. Kuroo’s fingers feel so good, but they’re not deep enough. “Tsukishima’s going to fuck you now,” Kuroo says, no confirmation at the end of it this time. Still, you nod. 

“Move to the end of the table,” Kuroo says as he removes his fingers from you. You listen immediately, scooching to the edge, legs dangling off of the side as Tsukishima positions himself between them. 

Tsukishima has his fist around his cock, stroking the length steadily, rubbing lube over the top of his head as he moves closer to you. The unfamiliarity of it all is setting in, your breath quickening as Tsukishima places one hand on your knee, spreading your legs open even further. He rubs his head between your lips, letting your wetness spread over the tip before pushing inside of you.

He grabs the undersides of both of your knees, holding your legs up and pushing them into your chest as he gets deeper inside of you. He’s not as thick as Kuroo, but he’s so long. You let your head tilt back into the hard surface, gazing up at the ceiling as you concentrate on each inch being inserted inside of you. 

He’s so deep and he just keeps getting deeper, pushing into you until his hips are directly against your thighs. You can barely catch a good breath, looking up at him, seeing the bliss in his eyes before he starts moving, pulling out slowly and pushing back in even slower. 

You can feel it building up in your stomach as he continues the repetitive motions, but it’s nothing you can’t manage. You look directly up at Tsukishima, staring into his eyes as he thrusts in and out of you. You want to tell him to move faster, but you know that you should pace yourself, know that Tsukishima is probably giving you exactly what you need for how early it is in the night. 

“Tell me, how long do you think you can hold it when you can’t breathe? When you’re concentrating on staying conscious instead of holding your orgasm?” Kuroo questions, positioned directly next to your face, pumping his fist around his cock. “Open.”

It’s like they’ve planned it. The second that Kuroo finishes the word open, Tsukishima starts fucking into you faster, holding you in place by your hips as he thrusts so deep inside of you. He lets you feel his entire length slide in and out of your hole, not sacrificing anything for how fast he’s getting. 

You can barely part your lips before Kuroo’s head is between them. He pushes his hips forward, spreading your lips with his girth and your mouth feels so full so quickly. You weren’t a stranger to Kuroo fucking your throat. You both loved it. But there was something so different about it when you could feel another cock ramming in and out of you. 

He pushes into your mouth slowly, your jaw opening as wide as it needs to compensate for how thick he was. You can feel the underside of his cock slide against your tongue, the head driving into the back of your throat, gently prodding at it before withdrawing. 

It’s harsher this time, the thrust inside of your mouth. You can feel the spit coming from the back of your throat and coating him as he messily fucks your mouth, your lips stretching around him. His head rams against the back wall so rough that you gag violently. You can feel Kuroo stroking the sides of your face, his hands migrating down to your throat as he massages his thumb into your airway. 

He pushes his cock as deep as it can go, your nose against his hip, but he doesn’t pull back this time. He just keeps it there, blocking any air that begs to come through. He reaches down, plugging your nose so that there’s absolutely no chance of you getting any oxygen. You don’t know what to concentrate on as your head feels lighter. 

Tsukishima’s thrusts into you haven’t stopped, have only gotten more ruthless as he watches Kuroo abuse your throat. He’s so deep inside of you that you feel like you can feel him in your stomach, but the longer that Kuroo holds his cock in your mouth, the less you can feel it. Your eyes are shut tightly because you can’t see straight anyways, and your head hurts, and you’re opening and closing your fists because you’re starting to not be able to feel them. 

“Switch with me, Tsukishima,” Kuroo says, pulling out of your mouth right before you would have pushed him off. 

He moves so quickly, Kuroo, to get between your legs, and when he’s positioned there, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He slides inside of you, grunting at how tight you are around him. He’s not as deep as Tsukishima was, but you can feel how much he’s stretching you already. “Fuck, Kuroo, I’m so fucking full, fuck,” you groan. 

He fucks your tight hole faster than your throat, harsher than your throat. He’s being relentless, knowing that he’s the one that wants to make you come for the first time. He wants to be the one to feel you tighten, to ride your high with you. 

But not yet. You focus on your Tsukishima’s cock in front of you, capturing his head between your lips and then sliding them down his length, taking him inside of your mouth and then as deep down your throat as you can manage, your fist stroking anything you can’t reach. You concentrate on how he tastes, the noises that escape him. You do everything in your power to ignore what’s going on between your legs, on the mess that Kuroo’s making of you, because if you thought about it, even for a second, you’d be coming all over him. 

You concentrate on how your tongue swirls around the head and how the tip fits so perfectly in the slit. You concentrate on how your body twists so that you can massage his balls with your other hand while still stroking the rest of his cock steadily, building speed as you feel his balls tighten. You let his head glide against the back of your tongue, swallowing around him, letting your throat massage the length. 

It doesn’t take much more of this meticulous care that you’re giving Tsukishima’s cock or the sight of your entire body bouncing from the force of Kuroo’s thrusts for Tsukishima to come down your throat. He grabs hold of your hair, moving your face at the exact speed that he needs as he uses your mouth just like Kuroo did. 

You feel his cock pulse between your lips, your mouth a tight ring around him. It coats your tongue, bitter and warm, and you know that Kuroo is probably so jealous right now. Tsukishima doesn’t stop moving his hips, pushing the cum deeper into your mouth. “Will you swallow for me?” he asks, the first thing he’s asked of you all night. How could you deny that?

You don’t remove his cock from your mouth, you swallow around his length just like you did before. He groans at the feeling of your throat tightening around his sensitive cock, but he doesn’t move. You hollow your cheeks as you pull off of him, sucking any last drop. 

It all catches up with you the second that Tsukishima’s cock leaves your mouth. You barely have time to swallow the cum that’s left in your mouth before you’re struggling to control your orgasm. You were working so hard to ignore it before, but you can’t now, the feeling of him fucking into you, still stretching you apart somehow. 

Kuroo rests his fingertips on your stomach, his thumb flicking your clit exactly how he knows you like it. You can see how insistent he is on pushing you to your limits and as much as you want to curse at him for testing you, you just don’t have the mind to. It feels so good. He’s making you feel so good, a string of curses and his name flowing from your mouth as you try your hardest to channel the pleasure into something else. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Kuroo says, slamming inside of you harder now. The sentence makes you swallow harshly. You’re so close, so fucking close from the repetitive motions and how thick Kuroo is and how full you feel. He can see it on your face, loves watching you lose control like he has so many times before. It’s his favorite part. He wants to watch you unravel from him, and only him. “Tsukishima, stop touching her,” he commands, so harshly that you feel the dominance of the demand. Tsukishima removes his hand from your shoulder that was lingering there from before.

“You’re so close,” Kuroo breathes, chest heaving as his grip tightens onto your waist, holding you in place as he pounds into you. “I know you’re so close and you’ve been so fucking good for me, waiting, holding off on coming, but I’m going to break you now.” A whimper falls from your lips. You feel so conflicted. You want to just let go, but you know that you have to try harder than you ever have. 

“Try to hold it for me, baby, but I’m going to break you. I’m going to come so deep inside of you, and I’m going to fucking break you,” he spits, a look of determination now on his face. 

His cock is ramming in and out of you, knocking the breath out of your lungs as soon as it enters, the sound echoing around the room and back at you, definitely not helping the vulgarity of the situation or your determination. Your eyelids close tightly, trying to find some sort of grounds, anything to concentrate on instead of how crude and how good Kuroo looks over top of you. 

“Open your eyes, baby, look at me. Look at me,” he coaxes, his hands moving from your hips to your chest, dragging them down your body leisurely, letting you feel the pressure and contact on every part of you. You listen to him, opening your eyes just in time to see him licking his lips. His gaze isn’t on yours, but rather, on you, scanning and staring, and somehow that’s worse. 

“I’m going to come inside you,” he repeats, “so fucking deep. I’m so close.”

“I-,” you start, interrupted by the abrupt slam of his hips against you, “I can’t hold it, Kuroo,” you admit, shaking your head, eyes watering, core tightening. 

“No?” he asks, and you know that he’s patronizing you, and you just can’t bring yourself to care. You shake your head harder, the tears dripping down your cheeks. 

“Can’t,” you mutter. “Feels too good.”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He comes first, draining inside of you so deep that you’re convinced it’ll never come out. You can feel his cock twitching with every stream, can feel him still as he takes in his own orgasm, but then he starts to move again. He’s no longer focused on his own pleasure, on taking the time to savor the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, painting your insides. 

He pulls out of you almost completely and fucks back into you even harsher than before. You were completely ready to come on his cock solely from the depth and the pulsing and how full you were feeling, but he’s regaining the momentum that he lost for only a moment. In fact, it’s faster now, more brutal, intent on doing exactly as he said, breaking you, not just making you orgasm, but absolutely destroying you. 

His name is the only thing on your mind, the only word that you know at this point, and you can’t stop saying it, mushed together in a string of incoherence, getting louder and louder until you’re screaming. 

The orgasm takes you harder than it ever has. Your core cramps, your chest rising off of the table, folding into your knees, your forehead colliding with Kuroo’s chest, resting there for only a moment before you violently fall back into the table. Tsukishima’s there to catch you, his hand placed gently under your head as you crash into it. In any other scenario, you’d feel bad, but you’re quite positive that you couldn’t feel any ounce of bad right now, no matter what happened.

Your body is overcome by pleasure, spreading out your entire being, electrifying everything inside of you and out. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and your hands are closed into fists so tight that you can feel the marks your nails are leaving. Your legs are shaking so violently that even Kuroo’s strong hold can’t stop them. And at some point, your screams for Kuroo turn into high-pitched nonsense and then into silent sobbing. 

You know that you had to have been breathing, it lasted far too long for you to go without air, but when you regain control, when your body starts to calm down, and the feelings all subside, you can’t see straight, can’t breathe right. Your mouth is open, gasping for air and expelling it just as quickly and severely. You don’t know what you look like right now and you’re not sure you want to know. 

You close your eyes, your entire body sensitive to even the tiniest breeze, and even more sensitive to the fingers in your hair, stroking and petting as you regain composure, and the dull nails scraping against the insides of your thighs, but not far enough to make you convulse again. 

You move to sit up. Your core is on fire, but you need to feel some sort of control. You don’t get very far. Kuroo’s hand immediately braces your shoulder, “I’m not done.”

Your mind still feels foggy. You’re barely able to understand exactly what he means. He moves you back to the center of the table, gently, slowly, but the touch still makes your skin feel hot. “That was only the first part, remember?” he asks, spreading your legs apart so slightly, your thighs still touching. “The rest of the theory was about you crumbling away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left. That’s the more fun part.”

Even with the pleasure still taking over your brain, you understand. You hear each word and only now do you feel the implications of them for real. Your body already feels exhausted, spent, so tired, and he wants to put you through even more. 

He walks over the table, using tissues to clean himself up before putting his pants back on, letting you recover for a little bit longer. He grasps one of the toys in his hand, the wand, and you’re already feeling your resolve slip away. 

He spreads your lips apart. “Can I trust you not to move or should I strap it in place?” he asks before pushing the head directly into your clit, a gasp escaping you as your back rises off of the table. It’s not on, but the pressure of something against your sensitive clit makes you flinch. 

“Understood,” he replies to your reaction. “Tsukishima, the belt,” he motions his head towards the table behind him. Tsukishima moves quickly, grabbing the leather strap from the table and snaking it under your thighs. Kuroo moves the wand carefully, lying it in between your closed thighs, your lips wrapped around the head which is pushed into your clit, covering the entirety of it. “Tighten it,” Kuroo commands. 

You’ve never seen Tsukishima listen so well without a fight to anyone, especially Kuroo, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, an emotion floating between eagerness and inquisition. Your stare is trained on his fingers as they position the belt over the top of the handle and tighten the strap so that neither your thighs nor the wand can move at all. 

“Are you ready to test my theory?” Kuroo asks, standing next to your head, stroking your hair gently as he waits for your reply, a low, confident, hum. “Great. Turn it on, Tsukishima, slow.”

The wand presses into your clit harder as Tsukishima pushes the dial forward. You feel the click first, the signifier that it’s on, and then you feel the vibration. It’s low and weak, but enough to make you jolt at the feeling. If it wasn’t strapped to your thighs, the wand would already be out of place. 

“How does that feel? Can you hold it?” Kuroo asks, his hands moving from your hair, grasping onto your shoulders. You hum again, but it’s not in affirmation or denial this time. It’s just a sound, a reply without intent, because honestly, you’re not sure. The vibration is weak against your clit and yet as the seconds tick by, despite the fact that Tsukishima hasn’t touched it at all, it feels like it’s getting stronger, like it’s affecting you more. 

Kuroo’s hands move, sliding down your neck and over your collarbones as he rubs them over your chest. His thumbs brush over your nipples, purposefully. The pleasure from your chest spreads throughout you, overlapping the pleasure of the vibrations and you feel almost pathetic from how close you already are. 

Kuroo rubs your nipples between his fingers, harshly, rolling them in between the pads repetitively. You arch your back as much as you can, pushing your chest into Kuroo’s grasp, showing him how desperate you’re feeling without saying anything. He listens to your physical beg, uses his whole hand to massage your chest, thumbs still skimming over your hard nipples as his fingers dig into your skin. 

The vibrations don’t get stronger, but the pressure does. Tsukishima pushes the head of the wand into your clit harder and it’s getting almost impossible to stay still or to stay quiet. “Kuroo, I- I’m close,” you mumble through half-closed lips. 

“Already? That’s great,” he says, stopping just short of a laugh. He continues, “I’m not going to turn it up. I’m just going to let you come from the lowest setting.” 

The orgasm reaches you so much softer this time. The build-up is so slow, so gradual, and so are the effects that it has on you. You can feel yourself flood. You roll your hips into the vibrations as much as you can. It’s not breath-taking or life-changing like the one you had witnessed just minutes ago, but your body feels warm. 

It only takes you a few beats to catch your breath again, but the wand is still on, moving against your sensitive clit, and Tsukishima reaches down and rolls the dial. The vibrations intensify and the embarrassment of how little it took you to come last time is nothing in comparison to now. 

It takes so little for your chest to rise and fall dramatically, the airflow matching the quickening of your pulse and the closeness of another orgasm. “More,” Kuroo says, but it’s not to you. He’s looking directly at Tsukishima. He watches how far he pushes the dial, how much stronger the vibrations come. “Good.”

“I’m- I’m-,” you stutter, not able to say anything else as your eyes close quickly. The orgasm hitting you again, faster and more abrupt this time. 

“Fuck,” you whine. You don’t have to tell him. He knows. He can see the way he’s wrecking you with each continuous orgasm. He strokes your jaw, pushes the hair out of your face, wipes the sweat off of your forehead. 

“I know, baby, I know. It’s okay,” he coos. 

It pushes you over the edge, the extra touch and his words. It’s more intense this time, the feeling that washes over you. It’s not as extreme as your first one, but it’s getting there. You lift your knees off of the table, the wand pressing harder between your legs as you rock against it. 

“Look at you,” Kuroo gushes, watching in awe, “Even strapped together, you’re still squirming to make yourself come.” He shakes his head, standing up straight. “Well then, do it. Make yourself come again,” he orders. 

You don’t move at first, not exactly sure if he’s serious or just taunting you, but then you see the look of expectancy in his eyes. You slowly bring your knees into your chest again, circling your hips so that the head moves against your clit in a repetitive path. It doesn’t take long for that, coupled with the continuous, almost abusive vibrations to bring you there. 

“That’s it. Make yourself come. Move your hips just like that,” he mutters, staring down at your every move. He acts like it’s completely up to you, as if the wand between your legs wasn’t put there by his hands, as if the way you’re moving and grinding isn’t specifically for his eyes, because of his words. “Come for me, again.”

And you listen, not intentionally, just because your body wants to do whatever he wants it to do. You hug your legs, arch your back, driving the wand as harshly against your clit as it can be. You rest your forehead against your knees, moaning into the small space you’ve created, muffled by your own skin and limbs. 

As soon as it’s finished, you slowly relax, letting your legs uncurl, the backs of them lying flat against the table once again. You brace yourself on your elbows first before lowering your back as well until you’ve returned to your original position. The vibrations aren’t stopping. You don’t even have time to catch your breath. 

Kuroo moves to your side, standing directly across from Tsukishima, and places both of his hands on your legs, holding them down, thighs pushed roughly against the table so that you can’t move at all. You can’t spread your legs or lift them. Any amount of small control you had seconds ago is now completely gone. The only thing you can do is lie there and submit. 

It’s Kuroo, this time, that pushes the dial, stretching his finger while keeping his hold on you in place. He lets his finger rest against the wand, feeling the muted vibrations that are coming from the handle. For some reason, knowing that Kuroo’s the one in control again, that he’s the one towering over you and watching you convulse under his touch, brings you closer than the vibrations do. 

“Kuroo,” you whimper, his name falling off of your tongue so easily considering that it’s the only thing on your mind. You don’t know whether to beg for more or to concede, welcoming defeat. “Kuroo,” you repeat, begging, but still not sure for what.

“What, baby? Do you want it higher?” he asks, finger moving to the dial again, but not pushing it until he sees your reaction. 

You’re nodding, on instinct, with pure need, or just to make him proud, you’re not sure. He smiles at you, “Good girl.” And now you’re sure. 

He pushes the dial until the vibrations are so strong that it almost hurts, and yet, the dial doesn’t click again or hit a barrier. Your stomach is in knots just from the contact of the head against you. You regret asking him to turn it up. It barely feels good anymore, the constant, intense buzzing between your legs, but the stimulation is still pushing you towards an orgasm that you’re not sure you can handle anymore. 

When you come, the good is good. It might have even felt better than the first time. Though, it doesn’t matter much, because it lasts for mere seconds. Settling in behind it is just the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it definitely didn’t feel good. It almost felt like your entire body was cramping. You wanted to convulse with the motions, feel each wave as it barrelled through you, but you couldn’t move, held down by strong hands. And when it finally fled, the only thing you could feel was how sensitive you were. 

But the vibration didn’t stop. No one moved to turn it off, not even with your whining and whimpering, so you opened your mouth, letting your pleas fall out. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sensitive, Kuroo. I can’t,” you ramble, shaking your head against the table. 

“You can, you can. You know the system, right? You know what you have to say for me to stop, right?” Kuroo asks.

You nod, eyes shut tightly. You didn’t need him to stop. You could handle it, but the words still pour from you. “I know. I know, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“Tell me. Tell me you know what you have to say, okay?” he tries again. You can’t see the look in his eyes or the concern on his face, barely pick up on the tone of his voice and how serious it sounds. He knows that this is the first time you’ve done something like this and wants to make sure you’re safe.

“Yes, fuck, I know what I have to say, yes. I know. I don’t need you to stop,” you say and then correct yourself, “I don’t want you to stop. I just, I’m so sensitive. I can feel everything so much and I’m so sensitive, Kuroo,” you babble. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good,” Kuroo says to you, and then he talks over top of you, directed at Tsukishima, “Turn it up.” The confirmation gives him what he needs to push you even further. 

You’re so focused on the imminent, unbearable sensation, that you don’t even see Kuroo turn on the light. You feel it before anything else, the warmth that the light creates and how quickly it becomes excruciating. Sweat drips down your forehead, glides past your temples, forms on your stomach, and under your thighs, letting you slide against the table. It just makes everything so much more intense. 

And then you feel the click of the dial, the signifier that it’s up as high as it goes, and you’re cursing so many things that have played a hand in this. You’re cursing the company that made the wand and Kuroo for being so sadistic and Tsukishima for helping him and yourself for agreeing to this. You’re trying to move your mind anywhere other than how hard the wand is vibrating against you. 

You know that you’re talking, you think that you’re talking. Your mouth is open and it feels like words are coming out, but you don’t know what you’re saying and you can’t hear them. Tears are streaming down your face, steadily, not overwhelmingly. Someone’s, you’re not sure whose, and it doesn’t really matter at this point, touches you, moves to stroke your arm. You can hear yourself now as you bark, “Don’t touch me,” regaining enough control of yourself and your voice to add a softer, “please” onto the end. 

You lay there on the table, your body feeling excessively hot in every facet, with a buzzing between your legs that if it was any lower wouldn’t even be affecting you right now because you feel so numb. Everything is heightened. You can feel everything. The light, the air, the warmth, the breath on either side of you, the way that the breath is cool against your skin, the way that the breath is moving, slowly, blowing onto your shoulder and neck and stomach. The contrast of the stimuli makes you feel some sort of balance, some sort of ground. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You could feel everything at once, but you couldn’t feel the sensation approaching. You’re positive that you’re screaming because there’s no way you can’t be. Your throat feels sore and the tears haven’t stopped and you reach your arm out, grabbing onto whatever you find first, squeezing into it so hard, your fingernails digging, digging, digging until your hand is shaking so hard that you can’t manage to control it anymore. 

It’s so much. It’s so much. It’s almost too much. The second that you’re off of this short high, you know that the sobbing will come. You can feel the tears and the tightness in your throat. You can see yellow flashing in your head. You’re not at your limit. You’re not hurt, but if they don’t slow down, you’re going to be very quickly. The word is traveling up your throat, graces your tongue, but doesn’t get the chance to leave your lips. 

The vibration stops. 

“You’re done” is the first thing that you hear when you regain awareness. Kuroo repeats it again, “You’re done, baby, you’re done. Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

You nod because, despite the fact that you’re trembling, that every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire, that’s really all you want right now. The flinch still comes when he touches you, rests his hand on your cheek, so he hesitates. If you had more energy, you’d lift your own and put it on top of his. 

“You did so well. You did so well,” he repeats, leaning in closer to you and rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone. “God, you did so good.” You can’t respond, but you hope that he knows how much that means to you. 

He lets you lay there, not moving you or rushing you, but just letting you recuperate as long as you need to. The second that you’re able, you talk, “Tsukishima, can you unstrap my thighs?” It’s more of a mumble than a strong sentence, but he gets the point, working just as slow and methodical as before, perhaps more so now. You can barely feel him when he brushes against your skin, numb now from the consistent vibrations. 

Without the constraint on your thighs and the object between your legs, you automatically feel like you can breathe easier now. “And the light,” you mumble. It’s not a question, but it doesn’t need to be. The light is turned off in a second, the heat fading quickly without the intensive brightness. You hum, now, content with the environment you’re in and the company you’re with. 

“I know you probably want to fall asleep right here, but we should get you into bed,” Kuroo mentions, his hand still in the same place against your skin. 

“Kuroo, I don’t think I could move right now if I tried. My legs are completely numb,” you say, “Literally if the house caught on fire, I would die here. There’s no way I could even stand right now.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “You most certainly would not. I would save you.”

Your eyes are closed softly, but you still roll them, and you hope he notices. “My hero.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you. You can’t recover correctly from all of that if you’re in this room on this table, okay?” he asks.

There aren’t many things you would deny Kuroo of right now, with his voice as sweet as it is and his touch as soft as it is, and carrying you into his room to be more comfortable is definitely not one of them. Your eyelids flutter open and you’re finally able to see Kuroo looking down at you and Tsukishima watching the two of you. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

“Can you put your arms around my neck?” he asks, leaning down and snaking his arms under your knees and your back. 

“Fire, Kuroo, remember, fire,” you reiterate, “No, I could not crawl myself out of this building.”

“You won’t have to bear any weight. It’s just for support.”

You oblige, using all of your energy to lift your arms and lock them around his neck. They hang lazily and you know that if he so much as moves you in the wrong way, they will fall heavily by your sides. His steps are careful, making sure that they’re not too fast or too harsh and you’re so grateful for it. 

Tsukishima pushes open the door to his room and Kuroo carefully steps inside, careful not to bump you into the doorway. He lays you down in the center of his bed so softly that you can barely differentiate being in the air and surrounded by mattress. “There’s water on the bedside table that you definitely need to drink,” Kuroo mentions. “And do you want the TV on or the fan?”

“No, I’m okay. This is nice, I think. I do want a t-shirt, though,” you say, not wanting to be this exposed anymore. 

“Yours or mine?” he asks, already halfway to his dresser. 

“Yours,” you call out, “something really baggy.”

He grabs a shirt from his drawer, walking back over, and handing it to you. You accept it graciously, putting it on over your head slowly, the clean fabric against your skin one of the only sensations that feel acceptable at the moment. “Thank you.”

“Well, you should get some rest, okay?” he says, leaning over and kissing your forehead. “Hydrate first, though. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything at all.”

You nod, finally relaxing. The bed is so comfortable compared to the harshness of the metal that you were lying on before. It melds against your body so perfectly, conforms to every curve, but you can’t even think about falling asleep. Your mind is still racing, wandering, active, despite the exhaustion you’re feeling so heavily. 

“Wait,” you say with the last ounce of strength you have. Both of them stop in place, Tsukishima already halfway out the door. They’re looking at you expectantly, waiting for whatever you have to say or request, but you can’t get it out. It feels weird, almost, that after everything that just happened you would feel uncomfortable saying anything at all to them. 

“Do you need something?” Kuroo asks, already moving back towards you. 

“I-,” you start, face feeling hot at such a silly request, “I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You’re not sure if you’re imagining it or if Kuroo really does ease when you say it. 

“You want us to lay with you?” Kuroo asks, closing the gap, already by your side again. 

“I don’t have to if you guys want to be alone,” Tsukishima says, his voice so small it almost goes unnoticed. 

You shake your head, “I’d like if you’d stay.”

You’re positive that Tsukishima doesn’t mean to show the look of shock on his face, but he does. You feel the bed sink on one side as Tsukishima walks back into the room and by your side. You flip over towards Kuroo who holds the glass of water out in front of him. “Water first,” he says. You listen, taking it in your hands as well as you can for how spent your muscles still are. The bed behind you shifts, a hesitant hand rubbing the small of your back. 

It takes a few moments for you all to get comfortable, to get into positions that fit, to meld together as perfectly as you do, but when you do, you never want to move again. Tsukishima’s pressed up against your back, his hand gently on your hip. Your head is pressed against Kuroo’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and timing your breathing with it. 

The room is quiet and your mind is still racing, but with the company in the room, you feel so content. “Thanks for taking care of me,” you say to both of them. 

“I said we would, didn’t I?” Kuroo responds, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. 

“I mean, that’s not exactly what I thought you meant,” you murmured. 

Tsukishima doesn’t reply, just rubs the bit of skin he has contact with. That’s enough for you. The three of you lie there in silence, syncing your breathing, only ever disturbing the peace with rustling of the sheets and clothes until Kuroo speaks again. 

“You know, the scientific theory is based on the fact that your hypothesis is retestable and comparing the results to make sure that they’re in accordance with each other,” Kuroo says into the darkness. 

“Tsukki, please hit him for me,” you say, knowing full well that if you weren’t the most exhausted you’ve ever been, you would have done it much more justice. 

Tsukishima reaches over you and hits Kuroo’s shoulder so hard that you can feel the effects of it in his chest. You can’t help but laugh, and Kuroo does too, so lightly, and yet, you can feel it against your ear. You feel the safest you’ve ever felt in this moment alone.

“Give me a week,” you mutter. 

Kuroo responds far too quickly and eagerly, “Yeah, I mean, of course, whatever you need.”

Part of you thinks that come a week, you’ll regret the words that just came out of your mouth. Another part of you realizes the exact place you’re in, the way Tsukishima is still softly rubbing your hip, and the way Kuroo’s laughter is still taking over your mind. That part of you feels the fabric of their clothing and your own and the sheets beneath you. That part of you knows that even when you were as pushed as you were, you felt safe. That part of you knows that they know you better than you know yourself. 

That part of you knows that you could never pass up an opportunity to give up control, to listen to these men and trust them completely. You could never regret that. 

[rewh0re]

THE SOULMATE THEORY ; MIKAGE REO

- wc: 1.1k, aged up characters (like 19-20) doesn't dive into explicit/hardcore smut but is definitely suggestive in some parts so I'd say readers 16 and above may read this, indirect mentions of sexual activities, fluff, reader is called a minx (affectionate), a little bit of that one old greek myth about soulmates, it's true that once you use em dash you can't stop.

a/n: literally got the idea at the doctor's office don't even. REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED!! also tagging: @chigirizzz (this is that one reo fic I was telling you about where you asked me to tag you)

The room was dark. The only source of light—though bright but not enough to light up the whole room—was from the digital clock on the bedside table. '12:42,’ it read in bright neon red numbers. It was also quiet, so much so that two pairs of steady breathings could be heard.

One belonged to Reo and the other, to you.

"Are you asleep?" You whisper—soft and delicate—careful as to not wake your lover up if he indeed was asleep but loud enough to let him know of your own sleepless state.

Your eyes have been long adjusted to the darkness and you can make out the silhouette of his face. The length of his nose and his eyelashes, the slight part of his lush lips, his sharp and angular jaw—truly—he was majestic.

"No," his eyes fluttered open and his lips turned upward. His smile, the gentleness of which never failed to make your heart beat ten times faster, which never failed to make your stomach feel all giddy with the butterflies that erupted.

"I was thinking about your face from earlier and the various sounds you made too actually. Sweet as honey to me but I'm afraid Mrs. Tanaka might complain come morning," gentle tone was overruled by mischief. That was Mikage Reo, a gem of a person for a second and a force to be reckoned with the next.

"Please don't oh my god," you covered your face—now tinted with embarrassment—with the comforter you and Reo shared as you whined in protest.

The activities from an hour back rushing into your brain, playing like a movie sequence. As foggy as your mind was earlier, you were surprised that you remembered everything so vividly. You could still feel his rough, calloused and much larger hands tracing every curve of your body as if to memorise its shape. You could feel the lingering kisses on your neck, your shoulder, your chest, the now purple marks left with pride. You would have to cover them before work in the morning. You could hear your own sounds of pleasure and his groans as if to say more, more, more. You could feel it all. You could feel him. Your face flushed a deeper shade of fuchsia as you gulped, trying to get the images out of your head.

"You act like we haven't done this a million times before my love," he laughed slowly, bringing a hand to cover his mouth.

"Come on, look at me. Don't shy away now," he pulled the blanket off of you, removing your hands from your face as he hugged you.

"You're incorrigible, you know that right?" You huffed out in faux annoyance, snuggling against his chest, his arms a veil for your figure.

He laughed then, a laugh full of mischief and adoration and something akin to acknowledgement for your previous statement.

You laid like that, in silence. There was peace that came with the soft lub-dub of your synchronised heartbeats and your gentle breaths.

You were the one to break it first.

"Have you ever heard about that one Greek mythology? about soulmates?" You spoke, your cool fingers tracing gentle and soothing shapes on Reo's bare back which was painted with scratches from your nails.

"Can't say I have. Care to tell me?" He looked for your eyes as he pulled up the slipping comforter before pulling you closer to his chest. His warmth engulfed you whole, a comfortable shield from the much cooler surroundings.

"Well there is this theory," you started, face softening into affection as you laid against Reo's—albeit hard—but comfortable chest.

"It says that when Zeus created humans, he originally created them with two of everything. So two heads, two pairs of both the limbs, you get it. Their souls were one too. Fearing the power that these humans could possess, Zeus split them, including their souls, in half and scattered them around the world. The humans—as we now know them to be—would search far and wide, across oceans and lands to look for their other half. It is said that this other half is your soulmate and you search for them throughout your life," you smiled as you looked up at him, engrossed in your little story.

"Well that's just cruel of Zeus now, isn't it? I mean, what if someone doesn't find their soulmate?" Reo pouted and that made you chuckle a little.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It is just a story at the end of the day and how you decide to perceive a story totally depends on you," you jabbed his chest with your finger.

"I think I've found my other half," he stated with pride.

"Oh? Is that so? I wonder who it could be," you made a face as if you were thinking, tapping your chin with your forefinger.

"Oh I bet you do," in an instant your boyfriend was hugging you tighter than ever, his face buried in the crook between your neck and your shoulder.

His soft kisses were ticklish and they made you giggle. Your fingers further messed up his already tousled hair.

"You want me to say it out loud so bad don't you, you little minx," he whispered in your neck as you hummed in response.

"I think I've found my soulmate in you."

"I also think I've found mine in you Reo," your gentle voice was like ambrosia to his ears. He could drown in it, a bit was never enough.

He trailed kisses down the side of your face, starting from your ear, going down your jaw and finally a little bite on your neck. He licked on it in order to soothe the area. A new addition to the marks he had left earlier.

"Ow Reo!" You playfully smacked his head which forced him to separate from your neck.

"I already have enough marks to cover!" You puffed your cheek, barely hiding the smile that was begging to come up to the surface.

"You'll beg for them again tomorrow," he winked at you.

You could only roll your eyes. What would you even say? Deep in your heart, even you knew that he was right. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just that I'm irrevocably in love with you," he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, shutting his eyes.

"Unfortunately, I happen to love you too."

Teasing glances from your coworkers and friends due to the remnants from the events of the night would be a concern for later. For now, sleep would come easy to you because here you were, with Reo, in his arms. He was your safe haven and you were his and truly, whatever in the world could ever change that?

[dresshistorynerd]

Ranking Men's Costumes in Period Dramas - Part II: The Good

Part I: The Bad

This is the second part to my ranking of men's costumes in Renaissance period dramas. I selected 10 shows and films which I think have great costuming for the female characters and ranked them according to their costumes for male characters. I have noticed that even when women's costuming is great, men's costuming might be absolutely dog shit. And that's very much what we saw in the first part, where I ranked the five worst entries. For some reason shows and movies are afraid to put men, especially the characters who are supposed to be cool, manly and hot, into historical costumes. And I'm not even asking for historical accuracy, I just don't want my male characters living in the actual 1500s in basically modern leather jackets and pants. Like I don't watch period dramas for vaguely historically inspired modern fashion, I watch it for the historical setting, which costumes help create. This time we will be looking some rare gems that actually imo have really good costuming even for the male characters. For the five best entries, we'll go from worst to best.

5. Eizabeth R (1971)

Elizabeth R is incredibly committed to historical accuracy in it's outfits, especially for queen Elizabeth herself, many of her costumes being directly recreated from her portraits. It covers the whole reign of Elizabeth, so this commitment is especially admirable as the timeline is more than 40 years, including a stark shift in fashion from less structured and more toned down Tudor fashion to the extremes of the highly structured Elizabethan fashion. It's not perfect, The hair is not always great and like many others they fail at French hoods, though they are not upward pointing or pseudo crowns detached from the hood, so could be much worse.

The men's costumes are also very good. They are faithful to history, they wear stockings, very short trunk hose, ruffs and even have some structuring in their doublets and jerkins. However, the reason this is not higher is that the men's costumes especially, but also many other costumes beside Elizabeth's are looking a little sloppy. There's some structure yes, but the men's silhouettes are just not bold enough and they end up looking a little costumy. Even the codpieces are shrunk so small I'm not even sure if they are the half the time. Cowardice. Here's two Robert Dudley's costumes and an actual portrait of him. I think the second costume is probably an attempt at recreation of that portrait, but it's just kinda halfway there.

4. Taming of the Shrew (1967)

This film is set in Renaissance Italy, the women's costumes fit well to 1520s-30s. They are honestly really great and cohesive. My only gripe is that their bodices have a very 1960s shape and the make-up is a little distractingly modern. But the costuming is not attempting to recreate historical accuracy, rather they took the historical silhouette and basic elements and crafted a very over the top but cohesive look. I honestly love these very much.

An interesting choice is made with the men's costuming, especially the main male lead, whose costume is based much more on the Renaissance German men's fashion of that period. His costumes resemble the over the top fashion of the German Landsknecht (first image below). In Italy (second image below) the doublets were also very voluminous and quite colourful but not to that extent as by the Landsknecht and literally no one, not even the other Germans, rocked that slashed style as hard.

This is not really criticism though. In fact I respect that choice a lot. His costumes are certainly not historically accurate, but they do fit the bombastic aesthetics of the overall costuming, they are loud, large and not afraid to fuck around. This man oozes sex-appeal much more than any character with some modern plain black pants and leather jacket. This is how you costume a Renaissance man who fucks.

3. Tulip Fever (2017)

I am stretching the definition or Renaissance here a bit, I admit. This movie is set during the 1630s tulip mania, by which point the remnants of Renaissance fashion had already been left to the previous decade. However, I do think most of the movies and tv set in Baroque era also struggle with the men's costumes. Though not as much, because black was fashionable for everyone, the cod piece was gone, trunk hose were replaced by more palatable Venetian hose, fashion was much more stripped down from embellishments, leather was not uncommon in jerkins and appeared even in doublets and hose and the Hollywoods beloved boots became as actual fashion items. The men's silhouette in this period is very silly in my opinion and people seem to agree because it's usually skipped in costuming, but overall the period seems to fit modern masculinity standards much more easily than Renaissance era.

But I just really wanted to include this because the costuming is absolutely stunning. I have not watched the movie and probably never will because the post production was an absolute mess and it apparently came out as just a bad movie, which is a shame, but the costumes are so good. The ruffs are perfectly crispy. The buttons are dense and look just right. The shoes, both boots and otherwise are exactly right. The fabrics are honestly perfect. The silhouettes are just as goofy as they are supposed to be. And the women too have perfect silhouettes. All the details are just simply perfect. You rarely find costuming this meticulously created with historical details and great construction.

Honestly these top three could all be the best one. This final order was decided purely on which costumes i like more. And while I love the women's fashion of this period, I think the men's fashion is kinda stupid and boring, so I don't like these costumes on aesthetic level as much as the top two.

2. Romeo and Juliet (1968)

This movie is a perfect counterpart to the movie with the worst men's costuming which I talked about in the first post, Rosaline. They are both set in Italy around very end of 15th century and retell Romeo and Juliet. Both have very good costuming for female characters but obviously I think differ greatly in the male character costuming department. Romeo and Juliet costuming takes some artistic liberties to create a heightened reality quite similar to Taming of the Shrew costuming, but follows history much more closely. The colors are bright, the hose are tight, the giorneas are voluminous, the sleeves are long and massive and the cod pieces are prominent. Even the hair is perfect, even for women, they even use hairnets. I imagine the hair was quite easy to get right as hairstyles in 60s and 70s were basically lifted directly from 1400s Italian hairstyles. The men are even wearing appropriate hats??? Amazing.

The costuming perfectly captures the era, but they still clearly had fun with the costumes too. Honestly even though I appreciate the meticulously recreated historically accurate costuming, like in Tulip Fever, I tend to like more costuming that does take some artistic liberties to create a distinct look and atmosphere for the movie or tv show. There's some small things they don't get quite right, like having standard lacing instead of ladder lacing, metal eyelets (which would become a thing as late as in 1830s) and most egregiously Juliet in one scene has this very dumb supportive undergarment without even shift under it (first picture below)?? The outer garments were supportive during this era, there was no such thing as supportive undergarment. Shift was the only undergarment. But I will forgive these errors because the costuming is overall so fun and gorgeous. And they did get some details so so right, like look at Romeo's arming doublet (second picture below)! It has Lombardian sleeves!! This was a very specific style of arming doublet for this era and place. However those errors does prevent it from taking the first place. Which leads us to...

1. Orlando (1992)

This movie has Tilda Swinton in flamboyant Elizabethan men's clothing. That's all.

Okay, I that is all that needs to be said, but I will say more. This movie spans centuries and shows excellent costumes from several different periods, but I will focus on the Elizabethan costumes only for the sake of this post. The costuming is not super historically accurate in all the detailing, and clearly not trying to be, but it is always impeccable. Even while it takes artistic liberties and the story has an immortality fantastical element it still captures the men's fashion's silhouette much better than any other movie or tv show I know of set in this period. It does that better than the "we recreated these portraits" Elizabeth R. But what really makes this the best in my humble opinion, is that the movie is not afraid of the effeminate and emasculated modern perception of Renaissance men's fashion, no, it leans into it. The thole story is very much about gender and gender fuckery. Tilda Swinton plays the titular Orlando who is a cis man in Elizabethan era, becomes inexplicably immortal and later inexplicably turns into a woman for the rest of their several centuries. He is the embodiment of "I'm not sure if they are a butch or a twink" and as a bisexual I can only be grateful. But in all seriousness I think the costuming and the casting (queen Elizabeth is also played by a male actor) are so perfectly utilized to highlight the arbitrary construction of gender without needing to say it explicitly.

Conclusion

I have some closing thoughts. I took on this task as a way to show a point, which is that for some reason in Renaissance shows and film especially men's costuming is piss-poor, even when women's costuming is great. Male characters tend to have very bad costuming in Medieval media too, though this is also an issue for female characters. I don't think I have ever seen a Medieval show or movie with truly excellent costuming for anyone. In Renaissance media the issue is clearly not lack of skill or knowledge, they choose to do so. My thesis was that the producers think that the Renaissance men's fashion is too effeminate and too unsexy for the hot male very heterosexual lead, who the mostly female audience are supposed fawn over like the female characters. I still think it's very true.

Though there's an interesting trend I only noticed while doing this ranking; every entry (except the least bad) in the worst five list are from 21th century, and every entry (except Tulip Fever which is a little bit cheating anyway) in this best five list are from 20th century. I have some theories on why it turned out this way. First is that the studios have become increasingly more concerned with growing profits so they don't take risks and they put pressure on movies and tv shows to be as broadly appealing as possible. This means they can't just make period dramas for the core audience of period dramas, aka mostly women who are history nerds, so they pander to the modern sensibilities in costuming and not to the people who love to see actual historical costuming. Secondly, I think this might also tie to the broader conservative backlash against loosening of gender roles and broader queer acceptance. Among the core audiences of period dramas there are two distinct groups, queer nerds and conservative/centrist women, who don't want politics in their media, which is why they love historical stories because obviously queerness wasn't invented yet and people of colour didn't exist yet (they were and did). (They are not always this extreme, but you get the point.) As men wearing dresses has become a culture war issue, I think the studio executives are afraid that anything not masculine enough in modern standards might cause the more conservative audiences to turn on them. Even if they knew about the queer nerds, they wouldn't care about them.

This bears repeating: cowards.

As a thank you for reading all the way to the end I will leave you with the image of Tilda Swinton in mid 1600s men's clothing. You are welcome.

Part I: The Bad

[anantaru]

𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗫 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 !

˖˚˳⊹ their favorite sex position feat. kazuha : heizou : albedo x fem! reader

˖˚˳⊹ warnings: nsfw

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗞𝗔𝗭𝗨𝗛𝗔

missionary. Don't get me wrong, Kazuha's definitely willing to try different positions with you but in the end, the amount of passion and intimacy he gets from missionary will never compare to any other he felt during the act. For him it's all about making love and expressing the adoration he feels towards you.

It's perfect for him, first he'll always be able to go down on you to please you with his skilled tongue. Once he's done with that he'd have the perfect view in front of him. Half lidded eyes and your almost adorable fucked out expression, not to mention the perfect view on your breasts bouncing in front of him. If he wants to kiss you during the act he also has no problem in doing so since sharing kisses with Kazuha are always passionate to the fullest extent.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗭𝗢𝗨

on his desk. Listen. For Heizou, there literally isn't anything better than ignoring his work to instead fuck your brains out. Of course, the majority of the time he's very serious about his profession, though who doesn't like to bend the rules every now and then or ignore seemingly important things - he goes by that saying for sure.

Just thinking about you being spread over his table like a goddess makes his cock twitch in his pants and fuck, how he adores the fact that every second someone could just burst into the room and see the both of you, Heizou would lie if he'd say he doesn't find that the most arousing thing ever.

No one can really blame him though, whenever you decide to visit him in those short skirts in particular, he can't focus on anything else anymore, even if he tries he'll surely fail. It's just the most convenient position for him, not to mention he can also let you cockwarm him while in the meantime he'd do some work. It's a win-win situation and Heizou loves to win.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗔𝗟𝗕𝗘𝗗𝗢

cowgirl. We all know he loves to experiment as much as possible and study new things in the process. And it's just all on display for him. Your whole body on top of him and doing such a good job, your bouncing breasts he can knead whenever he wants while also exploring new things about your body, and fuck does he love that.

Hearing how you mewl whenever he thrusts upwards to help you out a little is like music to his ears and his ears alone - and he'll remember, you can be sure of that. Albedo would know every nook and cranny of your body without thinking much about it, placing his hand over your lower stomach to flick his thumb over your puffy clit 's got to be one of his favorites, because he knows if he starts doing that you'll release all over him in seconds.

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

[kierewrites]

Baku-Protection-Squad

navi - masterlist

Bakugou x Reader

Art: @taro-k

Mood Song: sky

Summary: Quite literally against his will, Bakugou is forced to introduce you to his group of friends at the Summer festival. Little did he know, if his friends hadn't of been there, things could've gone much worse.

Warnings: nothing really, mild fight scene

“Wow Bakugou, how’d you snag a girl like this?”

“How is a girl touching you and smiling at the same time?”

“Y/n did he kidnap you? Blink twice if you’re being kidnapped.”

These were just a few of the many questions thrown to the growingly irritated blond as he stood before his friends with you snug into his side.

You were never supposed to be here. You were supposed to stay his sweet little secret just a bit longer, but he knew your hidden relationship wouldn’t last forever, especially with his all too nosey friends.

Somehow you managed to sneak into his dorm while he was making dinner for the two of you, and as he was doing so he happened to be making plans with his friends to go to the Summer festival in the city. As soon as you heard those words you were quick to chirp your offer to join.

As soon as Bakugou heard the “Who was that?” on the speaker, he knew his fate was sealed.

And just as he thought, he watched months of meticulous planning and strategy flush away as his friends pushed every possible button regarding his “secret” girlfriend. The worst part is they knew he couldn’t snap like normal since you were there.

“She’s so sweet, she’s making my teeth rot!” Mina exclaimed, quickly grabbing your hands and tugging you from Bakugou’s grasp, earning her a sharp growl, “How do you do it?”

Mina’s eyes sparkled as she saw Bakugou mouthing sinister threats from behind you, but you simply smiled and squeezed the pink girl’s hands, “Just wait till I tell you how sweet he is behind closed doors, it makes my teeth rot.”

Everyone’s eyes seemed to widen at this, including Bakugou’s as his palm gripped at the top of your head and moved you back to him, causing you to trip a bit over your feet.

“Did I not tell you to keep your mouth shut?” Bakugou snarled, tugging your head back to look at him, only to see you giving him a cat-like grin as your eyes sparkled up to him.

He absolutely hated how the sight made his chest tighten.

“Did I not tell you to stop being so grumpy?” You poked back, sticking your tongue out before looking back towards his excited friends.

“This one's definitely a keeper.” Kirishima spoke with a grin, giving Bakugou knowing eyes which only flustered the boy more.

Having all of his friends approve of you, joking or not, made your heart warm a bit. Your friends warned you before this date that if your boyfriend’s friends don’t like you, then your relationship would be doomed to fail. Of course you didn’t believe them that much, but that didn’t stop the anxious feeling in your stomach when you first arrived.

“Whatever, I’m going to use the damn bathroom before we get started,” Bakugou huffed, nudging your shoulder until your eyes met with his stern ones, “Stay here.”

Your wide eyes immediately dropped into an unimpressed stare, sarcastically nodding your head as if to say, “where else am I going to go”, until he walked away with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Shaking your head with a grin you looked back to his friends, seeing as they were already making conversation about their class today. Though you didn’t know much about UA, you still loved listening to the stories. 

“There is no way your teacher comes to class in a sleeping bag.” You snorted, eyes falling on you as you bursted into laughter, “Isn’t that guy a pro-hero too?”

The nods of his friends had you bursting into even more laughter until Sero held up a photo of the familiar pro-hero, “He’s Eraserhead!”

Your mouth fell at the name, your eyes scanning over the man covered head to toe in a full yellow sleeping bag that sure enough matched the face of the pro-hero Eraserhead.

Slowly your lips began to curve upward as giggles bubbled from your chest, “This sounds like the craziest school ever, I wish I could join in for a class one day!”

Though you knew the request was rhetorical, Bakugou’s friends still began to make a plan on how they could somehow sneak you in for a day. Surely your grumpy rule-abiding boyfriend would decline, but the thought was still nice.

After a few more minutes of their discussion you felt yourself begin to zone out for a bit, your mind wandering to the whereabouts of your boyfriend. Though it was most likely due to a long bathroom line, you made a mental note to tease him about falling in the toilet.

Snorting to yourself, you lifted your head to join back in the conversation until you felt firm poke at your shoulder causing you to jump. Expecting to see the familiar ash blond tufts before you, instead you were met with a tall brunette.

Blinking a bit, you looked up to him with curious eyes as he grinned down to you, bending down to your level.

“You with anyone cute stuff?”

The direct question made your cheeks flush, not sure if they were referring to your group or rather a more specific person. You hadn’t even noticed how your arms wrapped around yourself in a closed off manner.

“Yeah I am… I’m with my friends.” You spoke cautiously, pointing to the group standing behind you with a raised brow, “Do I know any of you?”

The boy leaned back up and stood before his other two friends. You tried your best to examine their faces and see if they were possible classmates you didn’t recognize, but the sneers on their faces weren’t promising.

The brunette before you seemed to eye over the group behind you, after doing a sweep with his eyes he seemed to not pay them any mind.

“You shouldn’t, but we can fix that.” The tall boy said, hand wrapping around your wrist gently as he began to tug you along his side.

There were forward people in this world, but that didn’t mean you should just let them do what they want. Knitting your brows, you tugged your wrist from his grasp and gave him a firm stare.

“I don’t know you, I’m with my friends, and I have a boyfriend.” You spoke sternly, feeling more confident as you added the last part in as you saw their eyes widen a bit.

“So please leave me alone.”

Your little outburst seemed to shock them initially, but it faded quickly into frustration as he took a bold step towards the space you made between them.

“You’re real annoying, you know that?” The man hissed as he grabbed at your wrist again, but with a much tighter grip, “Don’t be a brat and come with us.”

The new grip on your wrist caused you to yelp in pain, your feet stumbling forward as the man tugged you off with his friends. 

You may not of had a strong quirk, but that doesn’t mean you were going to let some jerks drag you around. Letting out a growl you tugged your wrist away once again, except this time you didn’t break free.

“Let me go you asshole!”

The darkened glare in the man’s eyes made your heart skip a beat, your arm beginning to tremble as you began to realize what may be happening.

Luckily a pair of yellow eyes locked onto you as Mina heard your initial yelp from behind the boys. Once she confirmed you seemed to be struggling with someone her eyes narrowed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, punk?”

Mina’s sudden change in tone caught all of the boys’ attention, their eyes following hers to see you trying to escape the random man’s hold.

“Y/n do you know these guys?” Kaminari said cautiously, though he already knew the answer as your worry filled eyes looked to him.

“N..No I don’t-” You began to speak, but you were cutoff when the brunette tugged at your arm causing you to stumble into his back as he locked his other arm around your waist.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talkin about, we’re all pals in school!” The boy said with a grin, though his grip only tightened on you as you tried to yank yourself from his grasp.

Bakugou’s group of friends stepped closer, faces growing more serious as the situation unfolded before them.

“Oh yeah? What school do you go to then?” Sero sneered, narrowing his eyes when mild panic began to set in the three boy’s eyes.

“Why don’t you wannabe heroes mind your business, and we’ll be on our way.” The short boy beside you spoke, fists cracking together in some sort of menacing way.

You had no doubt Bakugou’s friends were capable of taking these thugs down, but a small pit of worry grew wondering if they actually would. After all, they didn’t know you that well. It could possibly taint their hero records if they got in a fight with some random jerks.

You felt your breathing begin to grow ragged as you felt panic swell in your chest. You searched the eyes of all of Bakugou’s friends until you noticed Kirishima already looking at you. Though his stance was defensive, his eyes were gentle. You felt your rapid pants stop as he gave you a knowing nod, your head tilting a bit before his hand formed into a sharper version of itself.

“Not gonna happen I’m afraid.” Kirishima said with a sigh, his friends already activating their quirks before dashing forwards without a second to spare.

One of the boy’s behind you was quick to meet in the middle, his arm forming into a large hammer as he swung at your group of friends. Sero and Mina seemed to disappear in the crowd while Kirishima took the attack head on, letting the large hammer smash right against his arm.

The sound made even you wince as you were afraid to see the aftermath, but when you opened your eyes again you were shocked to see Kirishima’s arm with not a scratch on it.

“W..What the hell?” The man stuttered, eyes wide until he felt two fingers jab against his spine.

“You thought that was cool? Wait till you see what my quirk is.” Kaminari spoke with a grin, his eyes already seeming to spark up before a surge of electricity shot from his fingers and spread all along the thug’s body.

The man on the other side of you began to nervously activate his quirk at the sight of his friend being taken down, his fingers beginning to drip into a goo like substance.

“Hmm wonder what that could be…” Mina said in false curiosity, her lips curving up into a smirk as she shot a metallic like substance directly at his arm, “Bet it’s not worse than acid.”

The sound of the goon’s cries echoed through the air, all eyes on the scene now as a small crowd began to form around you all.

Before you had much time to react, the sound of what you thought was a rope launched behind you, the grip around your waist loosening as you looked back to see a white substance around the thug’s neck.

“W..What the hell is this?” The man choked out, immediately trying to tear the substance away from his neck, only to find it was stuck to his skin.

“I’m personally going to enjoy this.” A voice cooed from behind the man before he was yanked back and down, the sight confusing you until his head cracked against something hard causing you to wince as his skull was met with Sero’s knee.

Your mouth fell in shock, watching as the three men struggled to move on the ground until you bumped into a figure behind you. Whipping around you noticed the familiar red eyes that were staring at you before.

“Are you alright Y/n?” Kirishima spoke softly, gently lifting your wrist up to see if any damage was caused.

“We’re so sorry we didn’t notice earlier!” Mina cried with a frown, pulling you into a tight hug before examining your face.

“D..Don’t apologize.” You said gently, laughing a bit as you looked at the four of them with wide eyes, “You guys are amazing! I can’t thank you enough.”

Though still a bit shaken, you felt relief wash over you as the situation dissolved. The small crowd around you seemed pleased with the outcome, but ultimately fizzled away as security was called towards the situation. 

If Bakuogu’s friends hadn’t been here… you had no idea what could’ve happened.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A stern voice shouted, that tuft of ash blond hair shoving through what was left of the crowd before he motioned to the commotion, “What did you dipshits do while I was gone?”

Bakugou’s eyes scanned over his friends before falling on you, the frustration immediately melting into concern as he saw your glassy eyes look up to him through your lashes.

“Some jerks tried to take me somewhere, but your friends took all three of them down!” You cried, trying to fight your lip from quivering before wrapping your arms around Bakugou and shoving your face into his chest, “You guys are my heroes.”

The ash blond’s eyes widened as you shoved yourself into his chest, your quivering form made his heart race with guilt and anger. He should’ve been here to protect you. He couldn’t imagine how terrified you were.

Swallowing thickly, Bakugou wrapped both of his arms around you and squeezed tightly, hoping to provide more reassurance of your safety before glancing over to his friends.

“Thank you shitheads, I owe you one.”

His friends simply nodded, giving him reassuring smiles except for Kaminari who pretended to be shocked at Bakugou’s “heartfelt” gratitude, but he was quickly shut up by two jabs to the ribs from Sero and Kirishima.

“Now where the hell are those fuckers who messed with my girl.”

Without so much of a word, the crowd seemed to dissolve, leading a direct path towards the three thugs that laid severely injured on the ground.

One of the men weakly lifted their head to get a better look at the menacing voice until they met the gaze of Bakugou. His eyes widened as he quickly tried to back up on his elbows away from the boy.

“T..That’s your boyfriend? He’s the freak from the UA Sports Festival!”

Bakugou simply sneered down at them with a cheshire grin, his fist beginning to pop from his quirk, the sound alone making them all shriek.

“I tried to tell you.” You said softly in between sniffles, giggling a bit at your boyfriend’s taunting actions.

The ash blond felt his chest warm at the sound of your small giggles, squeezing at your side gently before looking down to you, “Stay with my friends, okay?”

Nodding slowly, you left his grasp and stood with his friends who quickly moved away from the scene to check up on you.

Once you were all out of good distance, Bakugou’s deadly stare returned to the pathetic men before him. With fists clenched, he gave one last chuckle before locking eyes with them.

“Now you die.”

[huntingingoodwill]

good to me (e.m.)

masterlist

pairing: best friend! eddie munson x reader

desc: running through the rain with eddie and him just being sweet and going out of his way to spend time with and take care of you <3

Eddie!” His name dragged its way out your mouth, lilting upward chidingly. The hinges to the door screeched as you shoved it open, a gust of wind whipping your hair about as you stepped out of Hawkins High. “I told you not to wait up for me!” You scolded, ignoring the little rush of delight that coursed through your veins as you saw him, sitting idly on the curb. 

He jumped up, on his sneaker-clad feet almost comically quickly as he walked up to you, hands tucked coyly behind his back. 

“I wasn’t waiting for you.” He lied through his teeth, bared in an unassuming smile. “You can be so conceited.” He teased, reaching up to pinch your cheek. Your nose scrunched, feeling the coldness of his rings press against your jaw. 

“So, you were held back too?” You asked, before wincing at your phrasing. “No pun intended.” 

Though you’d been at Hawkins for a little over a month now, you had only just been called into the office, made to scribble and rifle through sheafs of administrative paperwork that they had failed to prepare for you during your initial enrollment. You had been forced to sit in that miserable beige room long after the final bell rang. 

“Mhm.” He hummed, lips pressed together tightly as his mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. His fingers reached up to fiddle with a loose lock of your hair in an effort to distract you. “I had…um… stuff. I had stuff to do.” 

If by “stuff to do”, he meant sitting on the curb and staring at the sky, waiting for you even after the last car pulled out of the parking lot and the final lingering students had long since headed home, he definitely had “stuff to do”. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Stuff?”

“Stuff!” He repeated, voice pitching upward unconvincingly. “Hellfire stuff.” 

You nodded, humming, a playful smile spreading across your face. Lies, lies, lies. You didn’t believe a word, and he knew it, but couldn’t care less. He was too busy being lost in your smile, the same one that had snagged him, making him fall for you, hook line and sinker. 

He had met you on your first day, a little thrill thrumming in his heart as the teacher announced that the “new girl” would be sitting next to him. Playing it cool, he didn’t give you so much as a glance, twirling his ballpoint around his fingers, tracing the grooves that he’d carved into the table during many a boring lesson. He avoided looking at you, even as he heard the rustling of you settling down at the desk next to him. 

Casually, he dropped the pen onto his desk, a nudge of his finger causing it to roll off onto the floor. He’d pick it up, and as he did he’d look at you. If he caught your eye, he’d smile. Chill. Cool. Really casual. 

That backfired a little as you bent down to help pick it up at the same time as him, bashing your foreheads into each other. 

“Ow.” You had giggled, smiling as you rubbed your sore temple as he stared at you in awe, a little dizzy from looking at that smile of yours and from the head trauma. Love had literally hit him over the head. 

From that moment on, he followed you around like a lost puppy. “Just to show the new kid around, of course.” He told his friends, hiding his intentions to spend more time with you poorly as they gave each other doubtful looks. 

He even took to walking you home everyday. 

“Only if it’s convenient. I wouldn’t want you to have to walk out of the way.” You had said, eyebrows furrowing when he first offered to do so. 

“Of course it isn’t!” He had lied, your house being about a ten minute walk past the trailer park. 

He didn’t care. Those extra ten minutes felt like the highlight of his day. It was like a reprieve from the rest of the world, just the two of you. He’d replay your conversations the entire way back to his place, your laugh echoing in his mind, an uncontrollable, dumb grin on his face the whole walk. 

“May I walk you home?” He asked now, stretching his arm out in a gallant gesture. 

“You may.” You grinned. 

He reached out, taking your books from your hands. You reached out in protest, but he twisted away, holding them tight in his arms. 

“I can’t let you carry your own books.” He said, dark eyes widening in mock-horror. “Can’t let those pretty little arms of yours get tired.” 

“But Eddie…” You objected, arms darting out for the books once more, but he dodged them, jumping out of the way. 

“Christ.” You huffed. “Why are you so fast?” You grumbled. 

“You try that again and I’m running all the way to your house with these and you’ll have to chase me down to get them back!” He clutched the books to his chest like they were made of goal, his “threatening” expression unable to mask the laughter bubbling in his throat. 

“Is that a threat?” You asked.  

“Maybe.” He smiled. 

“Fine. Fine!” You conceded. “But this is the last time.” 

“You said that the last time!” He sang, turning on his heel and strolling, an extra bounce in his step, feeling triumphant after having won your little tiff. 

The two of you had only gotten a few steps down the sidewalk before you frowned, looking up at the sky. 

“Is it gonna rain?” You pondered. Eddie’s eyes followed yours, flickering to the blue expanse above you. 

“What? No way.”

“I swear I felt a drizzle-” 

“It’s not gonna rain. Trust me. I know these things.” He smirked at you self-assuredly. 

A huge boom of thunder punctuating his statement. 

The rain started out lightly, but began falling quicker and quicker, a precursor to how it’d start pouring buckets on the two of you any second now. 

Eddie swore, fumbling with the books in his hands as he nudged you ahead, the two of you quickening your pace. Pages fluttering in the wind, his hand wrapped around the spines of your notebooks, holding them beneath his jacket to shield them from the downpour. 

“Here.” He handed you his notebook, making you hold it above your head, shielding your hair from the rain. 

He laced his fingers with yours as he briskly led you down the street, but it was no use.

It was practically impossible to outrun the rain that was growing heavier so fast, the fat droplets of water falling in front of you in sheets, blurring your vision. 

The two of you broke into a run, shoes slamming against the wet pavement, water exploding around every step into a puddle you took. 

Eddie glanced around frantically. 

“I know a short-cut to my place!” He called out above the almost deafening noise of the raindrops, tugging you toward the lush woods, the trees standing tall around you. 

The two of you raced through the forest, the woods echoing with screams of laughter as the you ran, breathless. You dodged between trees, the worn soles of your shoes sliding across the moss, your heart pounding everytime you slipped, and everytime you realised how tightly Eddie was gripping onto your hand. 

Finally, you broke through the dense woods, weaving in between his neighbours’ trailers until you reached his. Fumbling with his keys, he swung open the door, holding his arm over you to shield you from the rain as he ushered you inside. 

He followed quickly behind you, slamming the door shut, the loud howl of the wind from outside suddenly muted in his safe, warm trailer. 

The two of you burst into laughter, the sound reverberating through the room. 

“You look like a wet dog!” You teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair, the long curls slick and with water. “What are they called again? Cocker spaniels?” You joked. 

He grinned devilishly, shaking the water out his hair. You squealed as the water droplets hit you, his hair whipping around him wildly. 

“You’re disgusting.” You laughed, punching him in the arm.

He smiled. “C’mon. Let’s go to my room, I’ll get you a towel.’”  

He led you into his room, your eyes travelling across the posters on the wall, his guitar, the mess. It was so, so, Eddie.  He swept aside the mess cluttering his desk before finally pulling his hand out of his jacket. Your books. He brandished them, and though a little damp, thanks to him tucking them beneath his jacket, they had remained mostly dry, safe from the rain. Still, he laid them out on his desk, beneath the window, so they’d dry when the sun came out and be completely good as new.  

He turned, heading into his bathroom to get you a towel. 

“Oh, Eddie…” Your heart sunk as you looked at the book he had made you shield yourself with. It was completely soaked. You frowned as you opened the it, peeling the wet pages apart to reveal drawings he’d done in class, elaborate sketches and doodles, some you’d even recognised as his tattoos, the sketches now permanently immortalised on his pale skin. The ink was bleeding, his art melting off the page. You felt the weight of his chin sink down onto your shoulder as he looked over it, looking at the pages of his notebook with you. “It’s ruined. I’m so sorry.” You whispered. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He said dismissively. He tossed the towel over your head, the soft cloth obscuring your vision for a moment as he ruffled your hair with it. You heard the sound of his footsteps as he went to plug in his hairdryer, handing it to you. “Dry your hair. You’ll catch a cold.” He said, before retreating back into his bathroom, clattering around as he found a towel for himself. 

As soon as he turned the corner, you pushed your own books aside, putting Eddie’s under the window. The machine whirred to life in your hands as you flicked the “on” button, tossing one last look over your shoulder to make sure Eddie wasn’t looking before directing the warm air at his notebook, drying each page carefully. 

“Hey!” He said as he reemerged, making you jump. “Now what did I tell you about catching a cold?” He scolded. 

You gripped the hairdryer, whipping around and aiming it at him like a pistol. 

“Don’t try to stop me, Munson.” You grinned.

“Or what?” He taunted. 

“Or… else!” 

He took a few, cautious steps toward you. Just before he could snatch it out of your hands, you turned it on, blowing the hot air into his face. He scrunched his face up, laughing as he flinched at the odd sensation.

“I warned you!” You sang, aiming it at his hair instead, running your fingers through the locks as you helped him dry it. 

“You know what would be really great right now?” You mumbled as he took the hairdryer from your hands, aiming the air in your face just long enough to make you squirm before redirecting it toward your hair. 

“What?” He muttered, eyebrows knit in concentration as he sweeped your damp hair out of your face. 

“A nap.” You sighed, your voice sounding sleepy, almost a little dreamy as his fingers combed through your hair. “There’s nothing more heavenly than taking a nap while it’s storming outside.” 

He clicked the hairdryer to a stop, looking at you almost a little shyly. His eyes struggled to meet yours, and it made you smile, how cute he was when he felt embarrassed. 

“Well, we could take a nap, if you want. Here.” He nodded toward his bed, the duvet looking so plush you were sure you’d want to sleep forever. 

You peered down at the two of you, your wet clothes still clinging to your bodies. “...Maybe we could change, first?”

“Oh! Yeah!” He exclaimed. Whipping around toward his closet,  flinging open the doors and rummaging through it for some clean, dry clothes to lend you. 

You grabbed his sneakers, the white leather now dark with mud. You propped it up against the wall next to yours, both of your shoes standing on their toes as you aimed his fan ath them, drying both your shoes. You grabbed his jacket, the leather soft in your hands and draped it across the back of his desk chair, wicking away the water that beaded on its surface. 

Finally, after slipping on some old clothes he had grown out of, the material worn and comfy with use, you crawled into bed, the warmth of it engulfing you. 

He followed suit, lying down a little stiffly until you sidled up closer to him, heat radiating off him reassuringly. You felt him relax, his muscles untensing as he leaned in closer to you.

“This is nice.” He hummed, the words vibrating with his chest. 

“I’m sorry about your notebook, Eds.” You whispered. 

“Oh, come on. It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing.” You mumbled defiantly, your voice growing soft as you began to doze off. Your eyelids grew heavy, and they began to flutter shut. “You’re so good to me.” You sighed sleepily. “I don’t know why I haven’t asked you out, yet.” 

His eyes widened, heart thumping so hard in his chest he worried you’d be able to hear it with how close you were. 

He cleared his throat, blinking quickly as he racked his brains for a response, the weight of your words hanging in the air.  

“Would it… make a difference if I asked you, first?” He said hesitantly, voice faltering nervously. 

You nuzzled your face deeper into the crook of his arm. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Then…” He began, voice tinged with anxiety. “Will you go out with me?” 

“I don’t usually go out with liars.”

His eyes grew wide in confusion. 

“There is no way you weren’t waiting for me today. And your house is definitely out of the way from mine.” You grinned. “But, I’ll make an exception, this time.” 

“Thanks.” He smiled, relaxing into the mattress, lacing his fingers with yours. He reached it up to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckle. “Thanks a lot.”

He couldn’t stop smiling. Not even when his eyes closed, falling asleep next to you, arms wrapped around each other, the whir of the fan and the noise of raindrops pinging off the metal roof of his trailer lulling you both to sleep.

[zundely]

Having lots of thoughts recently just how badly some Orleasian Wardens must hate Hero of Ferelden. I mean imagine- you are running an organisation that struggles to prove that it is absolutely vital to survival of the world. What more the survival of said organisation relies on recruiting desperate people with generally not much to loose so that is another strike against you as some will inevetably just view this as harbouring criminals. Last blight was 500 years ago, there are literally no people who remember what it was even like and definitely no Wardens who remember it. You just managed to tentatively reestablish yourself in a country that banished you.

And then the blight fucking starts, exactly in the middle of that country and suddenly all the contact with Wardens in the area is lost and the new guy in power has declared them his main political enemy. Everything that could go wrong in that situation did go wrong. Wardens had to go absolutely crazy knowing there is an apocalypse going on nextdoor and they don't have any real way to stop it.

And then the whole thing is ended in about a year by 2 new recruits, one of whom has possibly never seen a darkspawn before with their eyes and has skipped the introductory meeting, a goth hermit, singing nun, assassin with a death wish, drunk divorcee, giant from a death row, a middle aged grandma, talking pile of rocks and a dog. And they managed to end it and live. If they at least died then Wardens can work with it, they can make them a martyr, build them a shrine. They can become the symbol tge Wardens need to reestablish their power... but if the Hero lives, then the Wardens are suddenly put in a very tight spot. Living legend is not nearly as good for the PR as a dead one, especially when said legend is like a novice at best. It makes the whole organisation seem redundant, they spent hundread of years preparing for an apocalypse that was bearly an inconvinience and the whole lot of older and more experienced members have to watch as the guy fresh out of the Joining becomes the most valued and important member by doing something that by all acounts should be impossible. Not only that- Gray Wardens that should stay apolitical, and remember vivdly why that is, have to grit their teeth watching as Hero of Ferelden gains more and more political power. By the end of the Inquistion they can have the King/Queen of Ferelden, Arishok and Divine as their friends. They got title and land bestowed upon them. How are you ment to get someone like that in check when they step out of line?

But okay, fine, you work with what you have. You send the best men you can spare to Ferelden, both as a way to reestablish your presence using the good will Gray Wardens now have and to subtly guide the rising star. Aaaaaand they all die immediately, but worry not, the new Commander is recruiting new Wardens from local runaways, criminals and corpses while also managing to fight the ancient progenitor of the Blight. They are the definition of failing upwards.

To me it reveals just how much Origins was ment to be a stand alone, but I am a happy it wasn't because it created a very unique situation where Gray Wardens had to deal with the fact there was a living legend amongst them... and they didn't deal with it well. That said it provide a brilliant context to just how desperate they are after they all begin to hear the calling in Inqustion and possibly why they chose to do what they did.

[bestdeadbeatmilf]

Round One, Bracket Six

Propaganda under the cut!

Mila Garak:

While she's definitely not a deadbeat mom in the lazy sense, she did kind of, proverbially speaking, leave her son out in the cold... She lied about who his real father was well into his adult life, while also imposing said father's wishes on him. She wanted what she thought would be a better life for him, a chance at upward mobility, but placed him under the thumb of an abusive man to get there and then didn't stand up for him. She roped her brother into helping raise the kid as a cover story. She retired alongside the father and didn't really do much during or after her son facing exile at his mercy. I don't think she's an unsympathetic character and I find her extremely compelling, but I also don't think anyone can claim she was a great mom 😭

Extra notes: Diversity win this ruthless woman is an alien scalie with cool hair and big boobs

Martha Wayne:

she died ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and that's enough for this fandom to render the loml janet drake abusive so... failmom martha is therefore hilarious to me. martha wayne failed at being bruces mom by dying and that's why hes batman. and they're literally rich so she was probably an absent mother too (SILLY i stand by it tho if janets a bad mom so is martha). but its ok because shes hot

Extra notes: this is mostly for the bit but you should still include her in the polls its not like she's going to win im just being petty 😭

[inlovewhithafairytale]

Friends don't look at friends that way

Malia x female reader

Teen wolf imagine

My parents are homophobic and I was raised to be a homophobic, but they are abusive and all and I realized that I didn't want to live by anyone's rules anymore, so I low-key cheer on LGBTQ+. And Malia is literally the only girl that's made me rethink my sexuality and here I am. So this is the imagine <3

Summary: yn has always been there for Malia, specially when she came back from being a coyote and getting her used to normal life again. She thinks they're just best friends till Malia says something that changes everything.

Warnings: these is my first time writing with these bi thing so please tell me if there are some incorrect things.

Yn had always been there. Since the start. Since the day that malia turned back into a human girl, yn had felt like something had strung them both together and she called it friendship.

Malia also felt like something was pulling them together, she had felt attracted by her, by the wayyn was so kind, the sound of her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy. The way she smelt like home, she felt safe whenever she was with her. She knew there had to be something more than just friendship, but she didn't really dare to say anything. Not really.

The pack saw how you two were close and talked between themselves that yn and malia should just start dating and spare them all the drama.

And their wish had come true when in senior year.

The dread doctors business was a nasty one, you didn't know who was a human who was a chimera and yn lived in constant fear that something bad would eventionally hurt her friends.

Yn was human and Malia tried along the rest of the pack to protect her at all cost but they failed when she was taken by the dread doctors along with Liam and Hayden.

Malia freaked out. And that's when she realized hoe much Yn actually meant to her. More than a friend. Definitely a lover, bit a sinking realization hit her that yn wouldn't feel the same way about her. But she couldn't spare those thoughts, not here in the tunnels going around in circles whith no other lead.

"We'll find them malia" said Scott trying to keep the werecoyote calm, even when he himself was scared that he may lose two lives with he was supposed to protect.

"But what if we find them and they're not alive"malia complained giving him a look between desesperation and fear" what if YN's not alive"

Scott turned around to face her" well find yn, well find your best friend"

"Best friend" Malian muttered with loathing

Scott heard and the corner of his lips twitched upwards"you finally realized you had feeling for each other?" He laughed despite the circumstances.

"You guys knew?!" Malia exclaimed her voice bouncing of the walls creating echoes.

"We knew all along! It was the most obvious thing in the world" Scott shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

"Yn probably doesn't like me she just thinks of me as a friend"malia protested, her voice emotionless. Keeping her feelings to herself.

Scott turned around once again facing her eyebrows drawn together "Friend don't look at friends that way, you two have looked each other in the eye a little too long to be just friends."

Malia raised her eye row at him "you guys have been watching us?"

Scott started walking beside her " we even have a bet going on to who will say their undying feelings for each other first"

"Really?!"

"Yeah" answered Scott laughing

"We should put a bet on stiles and Lydia too"

While this happend yn had been slipping in and out of consciousness. And when she woke up, she was laying on the floor her head propped up into someone's lap.

She looked around her and tried to sit up.

"Thank God you woke up" yn turned around to see Liam to whom she was laying on and Hayden by his side.

"Where the hell are we" she asked looking around. They appeared to be in a old theater and a fence covered the only way out. She saw I was electrified and groaned.

"I thi k were in the dread doctors lair"answered Liam

Are you guys ok?" She asked the sophomores as she saw Hayden clothing her stomach were it looked like black blood staining her shirt

"Not really" replied Hayden clutching her eyes closed in pain.

"Don't worry Scott will find us" I hope she added in her mind as she went to the younger girls side holding her hand.

*A little skip to the good part cause is 1 am

Malia walked into the McCall house hold with tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

They haven't found them. Heaven only knew what they could be doing to them.

She heard Scott gasp beside her, and she looked up to see Liam and Hayden laying on the couch, Lydia putting a blanket over them as they slept. They looking over them protectly.

Her eyes searched the room but she couldn't see yn.

"She's in the kitchen" Malian turned around to see Theo giving her a knowing smile."she was asking for you"

Malia nodded to him and for a second stood there. Then she went and hugged him. "Thank you" she muttered and pulled away walking toward the kitchen.

She found Yn sitting in the counter a cup of coffee before her, she looked up when malia came in and gave her a small smile "hey there bestie"

Malia rushed over to her and hugged her"i swear ill kill them all" she muttered into her hair.

Yn gave a light laugh and hugged her back. Malia pulled away and sat in a chair next to her facing her.

They sat there for a moment just looking at each other yns hand in malias.

"Yn""malia" they both started and stopped and looked at each other laughing

"You go first""no you"

"No, but really Malia, you first"

Malia sighted and looked into yns eyes, she didn't know what to say. So she just looked at their intertwined hands and sighted.

"I dont ever want to lose you again"she muttered

"You didn't lose me, I'm right here"yn commented.

"No you don't understand" said Malian looking up into her eyes against can't lose you, j can't because if I do, I don't know what I'll do"she looked straight Into yns eyes and yes heart picked up "I don't ever want to lose you because I love you yn"malia muttered

Yn gave a short gasp. She didn't... she wasn't.... but what if... what if maybe she was... what if she loved her back.

Flashbacks flooded back.. yn and Malia driving together throught the town blasting music and singing at the top of their lungs. Them laying together watching the night sky. Them staring into each other's eyes. I little bit too much to be Just Friends.

"I.." she stammered. Malian waited for her response her heart beat picking up, as she stared at the girl who had her heart." I think I love you too" she whispered.

Then Malia did what she had wanted to do ages ago without realizing it. She kisses her. Malian put her hands to the sides of her face and yn put hers in her arms as she kissed her back. Lips fitting together perfectly.

Malia pulled back for a moment of air "yn would you be my girlfriend?" She gasped out

Yn gave her a wide grin "i'd love too"

Whoopings were heard from the living room and laughs and clapping of hands.

"Finally!" They heard stiles literally yell

"Finally I don't have to be gay alone" mason laughed.

"You guys have been listening in?!""again?!"yn and Malian both yelled.

They looked at each other and giggled

"Do you want to take this upstairs?" Yn whispered to malia

Malia just grinned and took her hand and as they made their way upstairs they heard stiles yell after them"remember to wear protection!" Then Lydia saying to him"they don't need one dumbass"

So what do you guys think? I tried my best buy its 2 am and I'm tired. So tell me what you guys think and requests are always open

[gaybananabread]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fic for Gravity Falls where Wendy asks Mabel if Dipper is ticklish, and Mabel says he is susceptible to raspberries, so they both give Dipper raspberries?

Sure Anon! I was exhausted today, and im sorry if things sound a little wierd. Hope you enjoy!

Lee: Dipper

Lers: Mabel, Wendy

Summary: When Wendy asks Mabel if Dipper is ticklish, things get a little goofy. Raspberries are generously given.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!

Wnedy was at the Mystery Shack. The craziest thing ever happened: nothing. Literally nothing was going on, and she was bored out of her mind. Stan left her in charge, and she couldn't leave with Soos on vacation. Well, this sucks.

She looked around, searching for something, anything to do. The cursed, broken Goldie was by the back wall. Not touching that thing. In the corner, Dipper was reading his journal, completely content.

Lucky... wait a minute!

If Wendy couldn't find something to do, she could mess with Dipper! He always gets into trouble, something was bound to happen! She walked over to him, tapping him with her boot. "Hey, watcha doing little man?"

Dipper barely looked up. "Trying to figure out this new creature. If I can find some solid evidence, I can finally prove to Stan that I did see that disco-tech deer!" Wendy sighed. Bor-ring! She bent down, and poked his side, trying to get his attention. What she didn't expect was for him to bolt upwards. "ACTUALLY I SHOULD GO OUTSIDE 'KAY BYE!" He darted out the door.

What was THAT?

Wendy didn't know what she did. She just poked hi- oh. He might be... Better ask Mabel. Jumping to conclusions hadn't gotten her anywhere good in the past. She made her way to the attic, almost tripping over the loose step.

When she opened the door, Mabel was putting some lipstick on Waddles. For her, even that was boring. "Hey Mabel, got a sec?" She turned around, her canvas slipping out the door. "What's up?" The older girl shut the door behind her, sitting on the bed.

"Is Dipper... ticklish?" The question made Mabel's face light up, practical exploding with excitement. "HECK YEAH! He's so ticklish, it's gotta be a reccord. He loves it, too. Raspberries drive him crazy!" Now, Wendy had a plan to fix the boring day.

•••

Dipper was invested in the Journal, taking note of the disco-deer's diet and habitat. So much so that he didn't even notice Wendy and Mabel sneaking up behind him. When they jumped him, he definitely didn't shriek. "GOTCHA!"

They wrestled with him, trying to pin him down. It wasnt that hard, Dipper lost within seconds. His arms were above his head, hisleags pinned by Wendy. She went in front of him, while Mabel took his side. "Time for some fun!"

Wendy immediately started off rough, digging her hands into his armpits. He laughed hard, the whole first seeming to fill with it. Mabel went a bit softer, skittering her fingers down his sides.

"GUHUHUYS! WHAHAT THE HEHECK?!" Dipper didn't know what he did to provoke them. All he had really done that day was read. "We were bored, and you were here. Plus, I know you enjoy this." His face flushed red, but he didn't argue the statement.

Wendy looked over to Mabel. "Hey, did you say that raspberries drove him nuts?" Mabel nodded, liking where this was going. "Well, let's give him some! I wanna get the most out of this time." Wendy knelt down, blowing a big raspberry on Dipper's belly. His laughter doubled, practically shaking the trees.

"NYAHAHAHA! WEHEHENDYHEHEHE!" Mabel was nicer, blowing little raspberries on his neck. Dipper thrashed and squirmed, trying his best to escape. He failed, as expected, and the grils continued with their torment.

Wendy kept blowing raspberry after raspberry on his poor stomach. Tears of mirth dotted the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill at any second. "PLEHEHEHEASE! IHI CAHAHAHAN'T!" His sister let up, making things a bit better.

After about a minute, Dipper was exhausted. His chest hurt from laughing. He was losing it, it tickled way too much! Wendy saw his face and stopped, but not before blowing on last raspberry, shaking her head as she gave it to him.

"NAHAHAHAHA! HAHHAHAHA!" She backed off, leaving the boy to curl into himself, giggling off the residual tickles fluttering on his torso. It took him a solid minute to catch his breath. Wendy put a hand on his shoulder, worrying she had gone too far.

"Hey, you good dude?" He just nodded, way too tired to respond. Though he would deny it till he died, Dipper did have fun when they tickled him. It felt nice to just laugh sometimes.

The day was way better now. Wendy had fun, Mabel got to mess with Dipper, and he got tickled. Maybe boring days weren't so bad after all.

[boxwinebaddie]

Does parental trauma run in the CD family

hoooooooooooooooooooo you know it baby! ;)

ok before i begin the cd boys are just #traumabonded from being in CD together...its not as fun or cool as it looks i swear...ill just say that. those four boys...my sons...everything and more for them...angels <3

but in the Parental Traumalypics

ravenstan wins for...Obvious Reasons.

somebody call 9-1-1 shawty fire burnin on the dancefloor ooOhwoOahooh

like when i tell you that man endured Horrors and he is my baby my baby my BABY!!! i would fight dirty 4 all the ncu styles and their loved ones...but ravenstan...i would to jail for life its what he DESERVES!!! when we finally get a raven pov flashback???? HAPPY MENTAL ILLNESS DAY EVERYONE! not a dry eye in this house! WHEW!

kyle is probably second but he is not cd but thats okay because KENNY????? IN RM?????? WHOOOOOO!!! ALSO HELL!!!!!!! THEY HAVE ALSO LIVED THRU SOME SHIT!!! AND NEVER DIE!!! SO THEY JUST KEEP LIVING THROUGH IT!!!! but no kennys relationship with their parents and like specifically darling karen is dramatic and traumatic there is a lot going on there but we gotta get to it

so i will be honest i did not flesh out the other cd boys...home lives as much as i wanted to because i was so focused on stan and kyle and getting those right...so coming soon! xx

jimmy from what i am meagerly piecing together had an OK upbringing and parents that "looked after him" but i think found his disability shameful and secretly kind of felt burdened by having a child who needed so much medical care? like emotionally and financially?

i think they probably saw him more as a way to get sympathy, sort of treated him like an object/joke sometimes...and the saddest people are often the funniest so i think he sort of ran with "well if everyones laughing with you, theyre not laughing at you" :( jimmy my beloved im so...but i would say there's trauma there. FS!!!!

can't say too much abt the cd guitarist ( i also am still working on him shhhh ) but he had at least one positive guardian/parental figure. also felt like he had a lot to prove, so a lot of...pressure. but i love him sm

as for the blondies gayng....KYLE???? JERSEY KYLE???????? for the fucking gaslighting that was done to him THE LITERAL LIGHTING UP OF HIS BEST FRIEND SUPPOSEDLY??? KYLE NEEDS FINANCIAL COMPENSATION UPWARDS ONE MILLION DOLLARS FOR THE PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE HE ENDURED JFC!!!!

also like sheila i love you sheils but she is so crazy like she is neurotic she loves kyle and kyle loves her but she definitely made kyle anxious about everything like even before stan died sheila set him up to fail...and UH GERALD ACTUALLY SET KYLE UP TO FAIL BECAUSE HE GAVE HIM UNREASONABLE STANDARDS AND NEGLECTED AND LOOKED DOWN ON HIM FOR NOT MEETING THEM AAAA gerald was openly cruel to kyle....gerald please FUCKING die! thx!

randy x gerald x burning in hell forever <3

uhhhh bebe...bebes parents love her and think shes perfect but they....do not know shes camming or that she likes women...so thats gonna be...very interesting for her...she is also still in the works 4 me

as we know stephen and linda stotch DIE FOREVER marj literally does not have parents right now because they actually disowned her like now shes rich bc of cd ( they saved her life ) but before that all of the blondies house was working 74937493 as many shifts to cover marjs rent because they love her and her parents cut her off ily marj

dont...ask me abt creek....im sorry...u know im still gathering data

but? uh clearly tweeks home life was BAD clearly he is recovering from being secretly fed METH??????? HELLO BITCH????

and i actually think that growing up craig was on serious outs with his parents ( was it the autism?? ) but now hes actually very close with them. also, awawawww, they basically adopted tweek and call him son and everything <333 im crying tricia also loves tweek...so actually craigs trauma is mild i think...wow...amazing...nature is healing

....but he is on Stripe number....709327493274 tho...like he just replaces them and theyre always stripe...im crying...are u okay baby

but to answer your question...yes...yes it does.

ITS ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE CRIMSON DAWN, LITERALLY BECAUSE THEIR EXISTENCES WERE BLEAK! <3 SLAY OLAY

-uncle nina, ceo of traumatizing sp characters

[thepoliticalvulcan]

Techno-apocalyptica & Schizophrenia

Spoilers for Fallout

The rational part of my brain recognizes that the timing is too close for that poor guy who self immolated in front of Trump's court proceedings to have seen it or know much about it. However, I'm struck by the big reveal of Vault-tec conspiring with other corporations, oligarchs really, to end the world so they can all be the unquestioned absolute rulers of their Vaults and then take a "free market approach" to rebuilding civilization. It is unsettling the degree to which this is reminiscent of the theses of the now deceased gentleman's manifesto, an admittedly deeply troubled document full of an inability to accept that despoilers and despots might arrive at similar processes by similar motives independent of one another, or the inability to distinguish between cautionary tales and propaganda.

Having skimmed that manifesto and then watching Fallout, it does make me wonder. Could there be ideologues and plutocrats who have talked themselves into razing entire economies and livelihoods, perhaps literally through violence, under the idea that this would be "creative destruction?"

Unfortunately the answer is actually yes and its no paranoid delusion since this is the fervent belief of those among the fever swamp religious right who believe that prodding Israel into first rebuilding their great temple and then getting eradicated for their trouble will kickstart the End Times. This is one of those instances where I think materialist philosophy and materialist explanations simply cannot account for the elite doing things that are against what a rational person would believe is against their interests: whether its starting wars, pumping money into obvious scams like NFTs, the metaverse, and now their new religion: AI; but ultimately even the rich are simply a variable number of monkeys who happen to own a stupendous number of typewriters mindlessly pounding away trying to create value.

It is fashionable on the materialist left to assume the rich know what they're doing and are pursuing their self interest at our expense in a lawful, rational evil way.

Unless they're not. Unless they're possessed of grandiose and mystical delusions, a spiritual level belief in the goodness and wisdom of the Free Market, or in a God that is whispering in their ear and confirming all of their biases.

What is clear to me is that Max Azzarello was a mentally ill man desperately trying to make sense of a deranged world that seems to offer cruelty from the top. He deserved intervention long before he met his fate. He deserved a kinder world. He definitely misjudged Matt Groening. He tried to find order in the madness of our variable number of unhinged billionaires blindly groping for profit and indifferent to who they smash. I disagree with that order. I disagree with him ending his life. I pity him, for I think our society and its cruel oligarchs failed him.

I think he was broken by a reality that was too grim to face and he resorted to connecting threads that had no business being connected, but the theses of mad oligarchs plotting to destroy the world because they know their positions are untenable, that they are unwilling or unable to live peaceably and sustainably with the goose that lays the golden eggs, and thus absolute rule must logically be their endgame since eventually, one would assume, perpetually failing upwards, scam after scam, like Sam Altman of Open AI, or Elon Musk, must cease to be satisfying.

What if they're not actually content to simply jockey for position on the leaderboard of capitalism, admittedly while trampling the rest of us? What if in their bones they think they're the only ones fit to rule and merely influencing society by creating incentives and disincentives, creating the structures we bounce around inside of, is not enough?

I think Mr. Azzarello was wrong about the tech oligarchs for the most part. Except for the ones who are mixing a toxic stew of Laissez Faire, Francoism, and their own personal bespoke interpretations of the Bible.

Those people are real, some of them are quite powerful, and I do think they'd end the world if they believed sincerely that it would kickstart the Rapture under the assumption Christ will anoint them as his ministers since they proved to be oh so good at wealth management.

I'm fine, really, I have no intent to harm myself or anyone literal or proverbial enemies of mankind. Please don't send that bot to inquire after me, unless Tumblr is going to start letting it speak aloud and sound like Matt Berry for an upgrade. That would actually be pretty rad.

[maroonmusings]

Before We Go [s.r]

Fandom: Marvel (Endgame-centric) Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 1,698 Warnings: nope :)

A/N: this is a repost/touch-up from an account I don't post fics on (it's literally the only one I'd posted on there lmao). just a cute little romp before all hell breaks loose in endgame 🙃

Cold water trickles down your face, a refreshing intoxication to your system. It does wonders for the nerves you’re going to expertly conceal when you’re surrounded by the team. Authority doesn’t work without confidence and a solid game plan. That’s how you always felt about it, that is.

After drying your face and cutting off the faucet’s water flow, you take in the new suit adorning your body. Primarily white with black accents and red trim. A smirk crosses your lips. While your knowledge of quantum physics was as limited as the percent of malevolence in Scott Lang’s psyche, you knew its kinetic fibers would protect you in your attempt at time travel. The concept had always frightened you, as you harbored a genuine fear for the unknown, but those stones have to be located if it means bringing back your friends. Your family. 

Besides, you looked good. Who would have thought that red and white complimented each other so perfectly?

Exiting the bathroom, you nearly run into the aforementioned Ant-Man. Not because you weren’t looking properly, but because Scott looked to be light-years away. It’s as if he had already traveled to another dimension without you.

“Lang,” you greeted with a tilt of your chin, thinking the sound of your voice would be enough to break him from his mental reverie. Based on the way he continues to wring his hands and paw at the back of his neck, legs carrying him from one end of the hallway to the other, and back again, you’d say you failed. You press further. “Scott.”

Startled green eyes meet yours, jaw popping open for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. You rose a brow in disinterest as he straightened his posture, puffing up his chest to appear more self-assured. “Hello, fellow Earth’s mightiest hero. Yep. It is I, Scott Lang: an emotionally stable who could definitely defeat Thanos in his sleep. I deemed it selfish of myself to go it alone, hence, I came to you for help. I’m very strong.”

“Scott—”

“Like, embarrassingly so.” He continues. Oh my God, he’s broken. “As in, I went to pick up my coffee mug this morning, and the whole thing just shattered.”

“Hold on—”

“Like, a million pieces.” Laughing nervously, he throws in a passive, “My muscles are so big.”

“Dude, cut the crap.” You demanded half-heartedly, gaze softening. “This will work, okay? You’ll get to see Hope again, and we can get rid of that purple bastard for good.”

“I know, I know.” He returned, almost sounding defeated before the battle had even begun. “I guess I’m overwhelmed by, just, everything. So much is happening all at once with so much at risk. One wrong step, and I could ruin this for not only myself but everyone.”

“Scott Lang, you are the toughest Ant-Man I know—”

“There are other Ant-Mans?!”

“—and you’re not gonna screw up anything, because we’re all gonna be covering each others’ asses out there. We’re a team. A family. We’re all in this thing together.”

“She’s right, Scott.”

Ignoring the tremor that ran through your body at the sound of his voice, the corner of your lip curled upwards as Steve Rogers, Captain America, joined the two of you. He met your eyes briefly before focusing on Scott, his cheeks now carrying a faint pink hue. “We are a family, and families stick together. It won’t be any different for us. We’re gonna go back in time, get to those gems before Thanos, and bring back our friends.”

“God, you guys are good together.” Scott uttered before giving much thought to his words. The compliment caught you off guard, as you choked on your breath while Steve’s face became a deep shade of red. Scott’s eyes widened as he attempted to save himself. “Oh, I didn’t mean it in that way, of course! I was just trying to say that you’re really good at those motivational speech things. You knew that, right? God, maybe my superpower should be ‘knowing when to shut up.’”

“Yeah, why would we—”

“How about we just get back to the others?” You suggested, sending a tight-lipped smile to convey your need to evade this conversation topic.

“Great idea!” Steve agreed a little too enthusiastically, the excitement in his tone making you jolt in surprise. 

Shaking off what may have been the worst interaction in your life, you led the two men back to the rest of your friends.

“We ready to do this?” Natasha wasted no time for pleasantries as she lifted an eyebrow in question. “I know I am.”

“Sure, why not?” Scott returned, nervously, but you could tell from the newfound determination on his face that he was ready.

“Let’s do this.” Bruce said.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.” Clint stated, a hard look in his eyes from all the pain he had endured due to Thanos.

“Hell yeah!” Rocket cheered. “Let’s get this dirtbag, once and for all.”

Thor tipped his head back to chug the soda in his hand before crushing the can and releasing a belch that caused even you to crack a smile. “I’m with the Rabbit.”

“Well, majority rules.” Tony pointed out, an edge to his tone that hid his true levels of excitement to be working with the team again. “Let’s go save our friends, and, hopefully, the world.”

Natasha guided the temporary remaining members of the Avengers to the Quantum Portal. Your friends followed her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Something was holding you back. Or someone.

“Actually, Steve,” There was a waiver to your voice, and you silently cursed yourself for waiting so late to do what you were about to do. The man stopped in his tracks and looked back at you, brows furrowed in question. You sighed shakily, suddenly hating the way feelings made you feel. You spoke quietly so as to not alert the other seven people who will definitely tease you about this once everything is back in order. “Can I talk to you about something for a second?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Everything alright back there, you two?” Tony shouted, but the dryness in your throat made you unable to speak above anything more than a whisper. 

Steve took note of this, probably because he’s never seen you in such an emotional state before, and answered for you. “Yeah, we’ll be over there in a minute.”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fi—ow! What the hell, Iron Moron?!”

“Stuff it, Build-a-Bear, or I’ll stuff it for you.”

“Yes!” Thor says jovially. “Because Build-a-Bears are made with—”

Steve shuffled into your line of sight, his calm and reassuring baby blues giving you the motivation to catch your breath. His voice is soft and gentle, matching the grasp he has on your forearms. “Hey, what is it?”

In a terrifyingly accurate Lang-like fashion, an avalanche of words tumbled from your mouth before you could organize your thoughts. But first, you try to back out. Naturally. “Um, well, it’s a lot, so if you’d rather just talk about it later, actually, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” he assures, timbre more soothing, if that was even possible. “You can tell me. We have time.”

Nice try, you guess. Cue the Lang ramble. “Okay, well, there’s this thing that has kind of been bothering me. Well, a lot of things bother me, as you know. But, um, this thing revolves around the two of us. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a long time. As in, practically since the day we met. Obviously that never happened. Probably because of these stupid walls I put up to block out anyone who I find myself the sligh—”

Hands sliding up to your jaw, Steve pulls you closer. Your eyes find his, clouded with something that made them sparkle. Like glitter sprinkled in the sky. His words are quiet, insistent, and only meant for you. “I love you, too.”

Steve’s lips were soft and warm, like a field of flowers on an enchanting summer day. His touch was gentle yet persistent. Kind yet urgent. Loving yet determined. His hands held your face in such a way that anchored you to him. The two of you became one as he drew your body in closer, your hands finding a place to rest on his chest. Every emotion running through your bodies could be felt within the embrace. 

The urgency of the mission.

Fear for its outcome.

Hidden doubts, tucked away to appear strong.

Ambition to bring back your lost friends.

All while keeping the found ones safe. 

Love stored in a deep heart department that only he could reach.

As you parted for air, your eyes remained closed. After pushing back the desire for any chance of happiness for yourself, you had finally fought those inner demons to find love. You finally had him. You wanted to bask in this moment of self-glory in his arms for eternity, but even a couple more seconds would suffice. 

Rowdy cheers and applause were what forced you to open your eyes to the genuine smiles on the faces of those you loved. Seeing them celebrating in a time such as this lightened the weight on your shoulders, as living a life like yours required you to seize every moment of laughter that you could. 

Steve’s smile widened upon seeing your happy expression. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before slightly shaking his head in bewilderment at the sight before him. His eyes had never been clearer. “You ready to go restore humanity, doll?”

“Always,” You kissed his pink cheek, your smile falling the slightest bit as you said your next words. “Just don’t die on me, Rogers.”

“And you be careful.”

“When am I not?” You winked, poking his nose.

The two of you rejoined the team in the Quantum Portal where you would be sent back to the past. You locked eyes with Tony across the way, who flashed you a quick thumbs up and a wink.

From that point forward, you all began the mission to save your friends, and, hopefully, the world.