#maybe he's more prone to do it when he's tipsy like you said

[bluehairperson]

Happy birthday!!!!! Here's a quick Val headcanon:

Valerius is adept at playing a surprising amount of instruments, but in particular he kills it on the piano. When he gets a little tipsy he'll be like "Hey MC check this out" and plays that ridiculous Death Waltz (you know the one)

Thank you for the wishes 😌💙

AA, I headcanon the same! I like the idea of him having being trained in a lot of stereotypically noble people's hobbies and activities when he was a child because of his parents. Like fencing, horse riding and playing the piano.

So Idk, maybe he wouldn't be an exteme fan of it because of how he was forced to learn it, but I imagine him being able to play pretty much any song without trouble.

[silentmoths]

If it's not too much, can i request maybe some of your fav genshin men (and maybe some ladies too if that's not too much trouble but I totally understand if it isn't your thing!!) handling dating a reader who's been abused in previous relationships? I recently came out of one and your writing on ao3 has been a huge comfort (ur Xiao x readers especially both are really good and heartbreaking but also comforting)

Oh friend I hope you're doing alright, feel free to shoot me a PM if ever you want someone to talk to, I might not totally understand what you've been through but I'm always happy to lend an ear! that being said, of course I can write some headcanons about the genshins!

Diluc, Rosaria, Zhongli, Childe, Xiao, Thoma, Ayaka x Reder

Past mentions of abuse, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

Diluc

🔥 He doesn't ask, he can already see the pain hidden behind a carefully sculpted visage.

🔥 He keeps touches light, gentle, loose, sometimes you would wiggle from his hold without explaination, other times you would slowly, but surely relax, it depended on the day, and that was fine.

🔥 Naturally, his first response when you do tell him about your previous relationship is to ask if you wanted the problem taken care of, just how taken care of? well, that was up to you.

🔥 but it sure did explain why you always hesitated ever so slightly before leaning into any touch, and that was that really had the fury burning in Diluc's veins.

🔥 if you tell him that no, you'd rather just not think about your ex ever again, he respects that.

🔥 That doesn't mean the darknight hero does though. Needless to say, irrelevant of your answer, your ex always seems to run into horrible trouble whenever they step foot into Mondstadt.

🔥 After which, he goes home, and hunkers down beside you, content to just exist in your presence, or to cuddle and press soft kisses into your hair, either is good.

Rosaria

🍷 As was commonplace with her, she's far more hands-off when it comes to you. That didn't mean she didn't do her own share of digging to discover exactly why you clammed up whenever someone swung an arm a little too close or raised their voice just a bit too loud.

🍷 Despite being a woman of solitude, Rosaria didn't mind your presence at all, a nice change of drinking buddy to Kaeya, who was a whole lot of bluster when he was tipsy, you managed to keep your head a bit better, and you talk alot less.

🍷 and perhaps, when no one else is watching, she finds herself prone to a nice lean, or a gentle twining of fingers, nothing too major at first.

🍷 Soon enough, there's talk that you have a rather interesting and dangerous little shadow following you through the streets, particularly after dark. It's not like you didn't know who it was, and you always happened to leave a nice glass of red wine on the windowsill until Rosaria finally decides to indulge with you.

Zhongli

🔸 He, admittedly, doesn't pick up on your hesitation right away, not because he's that dense, it's simply just because he's too traditional when it comes to courting.

🔸 ie: flowers and small tokens, friendly walks along the harbour, sharing a pot of tea, things like that, where there's little physical contact involved.

🔸 It's only after a particularly hard day at work for you, when you meet up with him and he can immediately sense the unease exhuming off you, when he opts to take you to a quieter tea-house where you finally break and explain you'd actually seen your ex that day, and why you were so afraid.

🔸 On the outside? he's as unflappable as always, offering sincere words of support and reassurance that he would keep you safe.

🔸 Inside? The fierce dragon god from the archon wars, the one who hurled spears of stone into the ocean to smite those who opposed him, rears it's vengeful head.

🔸 He asks if you would like to stay at his place that night, noticing that despite everything, you still were not quite as calm as you had tried to insist you were. Overjoyed when you actually do say yes.

🔸 A small part of him goes into 'domestic overdrive' in an attempt to placate your fears, soothing candles, a lovely, home cooked meal, anything and everything he can do to put you at ease, and he find's himself a little more thrilled than He'd like to admit when you lean in for a quick kiss.

🔸 Needless to say, He can't help but keep a closer eye on you after that, not overbearingly so but he doesn't like the idea of you having to deal with your abuser alone, and if they were to ever come into contact with the funeral consultant...well, the wrath of the rock would be them getting off lightly.

Childe

🐋 This idiot. He doesn't really realise just how bad your previous relationship had been until he half tackles you after a long, hard day of work, wanting nothing more than to sweep up his little flame and spoil you, being taken awfully aback when you flinch so hard that you drop to your knees.

🐋 Mistake number 2? interrogating you about your ex. what had he done, what did he look like? He doesn't even realise he's doing it until you burst into tears, the red, blinding fury dying instantly as you shrink back from him.

🐋 no, no absolutely not. Childe may be a battle hungry harbinger, but he knows when he's fucked up, and he's just fucked up real bad, bad enough that if his siblings knew, he'd get the cold shoulder from all of them, and a good scolding from his parents to boot.

🐋 His gears switch as quickly as they always do, he'd already fucked up by suddenly jumping you, so a hug was likely out of the question. Instead he does what he does whenever one of his little siblings would cry; he gently takes your hands, and he apologises for scaring you, he didn't mean to, he was just worried, angry that someone had hurt you this way, he spends damn near half an hour talking you back to calmness before he even attempts to hold you.

🐋 However, his apology and his admission that he was angry that someone had hurt you, reward him with a very faint squeeze when he presses his lips to the top of your head.

🐋 He would later, after you've calmed, absolutely spoil you rotten, because that's all he really knows how to do when it comes to someone he cares about, fancy dinner, cute clothes, the whole nine yards.

🐋 Maybe later, when you're asleep, something 'bad' might happen to your ex, either way, he ensures you never hear from him again.

Xiao

👹 He can tell, the moment he decides you're even somewhat worthy of his attention, he sees the way you hold yourself, the way you shrink at a raised tone, even if it's not directed at you, the way you grip at the hem of your shirt, find any excuse to slink away.

👹 He knows these signs well, because once upon a time, that was him. He's still bound by Karmic debt, but you? you didn't deserve to live this fear every day.

👹 He's...not great at approching you about it, in fact, he uses his ability to slink into dreams to discover the source of your fears, it's sneaky and underhanded, an invasion of privacy, but he has a face, he has a name.

👹 He will never tell you the kinds of horrible dreams he tormented your abuser with, he was contractually obligated to never bring harm to a human, but spook them out of Liyue? now that he could do, without so much as leaving his room at the Inn no less.

👹 However, he does keep a closer eye on you, and it doesn't go unnoticed by any of the regular staff at the inn. Verr in particular always seems to smile fondly whenever sees you now, and Smiley always seems to send up a second order of almond tofu, just in case.

👹 He's taken aback when you apologise for bothering him so much, you knew he wasn't particularly fond of people, but you felt a little safer with him around.

👹 He can only grunt, crossing his arms, it was fine, he said, he didn't mind you, you weren't too chatty and didn't try to make him leave the inn, your presence was more than acceptable. the closest thing to him ever being able to outwardly say that he enjoyed having you around that the yaksha could manage for a very long time. It was just a good thing you were rather perceptive, for a mortal.

Thoma

🍡 two words: Golden retriever. Thoma is never anything but sweet and kind to you, he doesn't ask or prod about your past, he knows bad things happened, and when you'd tried to force yourself to tell him, he took your hands in his, pressed a kiss to each knuckle and told you that you didn't need to, the fact you were even willing to say anything on the matter was all he needed to know.

🍡 Thoma isn't a man of violence, but he is a man of action, any particular day he sees that tense bunch in your shoulders; perhaps the guards had been a bit too rowdy again, or things were just a bit too loud, he immediately sets about brewing your favorite tea and making your favorite snacks, little things that would brighten your day.

🍡 And on the days where everything is too much? well, he always offers his hand first, as much as he'd love to engulf you in a hug, the hesitation was still there, and he'd never be able to live with himself if he scared you. So he waits until you want to cuddle, he'll absolutely put everything else on the back burner to tend to you, or, he'll bring you along with him, sometimes the fresh air and getting away from the usual haunts for a bit can help too.

🍡 Thoma isn't a vengful man by any means, but if he happens to spy your abuser in passing, he makes a note of it, he makes several notes over several encounters, before using his little web of contacts to discreetly make their life hell.

Ayaka

🍵 Much like her dear friend, Thoma, Ayaka doesn't push to know exactly what's happened, but she's a little more...over protective. Offering private rooms, any and all sorts of services to make you feel at ease.

🍵 Though, she's not upset when you timidly tell her that perhaps it's all a bit too much, you still had a life to live and you didn't want to have to rely on the younger kamisato for everything.

🍵 Ayaka isn't much known for leaving the estate herself, especially when Ayato is out, which is unfortunately most of the time. but when she does have a free day, you're the first person she comes to for companionship.

🍵 Walks in the forest, or a trip up to the shrine (it's got such a lovely view!) the very rare trip into inazuma city, although, you both find yourselves a little overwhelmed by the crowds there sometimes, the eyes on ayaka and her seemingly average companion.

🍵 So it's no real surprise when she offers her hand, something you happily take, Ayaka was a skilled fighter, but a gentle soul at heart, you knew she'd never hurt you.

🍵 she does however, marvel at your skin, apparently your skin was so very soft with minimal effort, something she was rather in awe of. Holding hands soon became pedestrian, for she so loved to brush her fingers along your cheek, cup your face in her hands with that gentle smile that told you everything would be ok...

[scriptaed]

bygones of the sun. 10 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok

length: 7.2k

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Egocentric to pray for a delay in sunrise, but you would do it for a fracture in time would serve well as a sanctuary for your dormant star; nonetheless, when night ends and day arrives, the sweet tears of midnight will vaporize into inexistence.

Night strings along irrationality in an overexposure of our deepest subconscious. At the deepest of troughs and under the darkest of skies, there, we lie more vulnerable and prone to false hope than ever, for last night is the ultimate testament to mankind’s greatest fear.

Emotions could have been running high, lethargy could have gotten the best of him, anything could have and would have shattered the boy of last night's scattered soul poorly taped into a fragile whole; ironically, however, it is exactly the spill of burdens and truths of the night to the attentive ears of a beholder, you, which had saved him from such atrocities.

So you prayed, prayed for dusk to drown dawn in an endless embrace with itself until the boy could finally relish in the long awaited night's rest, and yet, still, you feared the longer he slept in the comforts of superficial dreams, the stronger his demons would return; and so, with a heavy and anxious heart, you had found yourself trapped in your own double edged sword of a state—basking in his warm presence, shivering in your guilty conscience.

In the end, all is for naught when the peak of sun rays through the slit of the curtains showers upon your cheeks perched on the armrest of a couch.

Squinting, you groan in a groggy voice before regretfully slipping the first word which comes to mind.

“Hoseok?”

Your following silence meets its own reflection.

With stained efforts, your body slumps into the couch as your half awakened state scans through the room that remains perfectly untouched. The remnants of your memories recalls how you had somehow stumbled your way to the couch sitting beside the bed of your motel room, refusing to fall asleep just inches beside the boy in your bed; although, said boy remains nowhere to be seen as of now.

Heavy steps and rowdy mumbles muffled by the floor beneath convince your unwilling self to drag yourself off the couch, slipping the blanket you recall being gently draped over and tucked under you in your sleep last night to the floor. Matters of the previous night forgotten, your feet stumble its way to the bathroom, disregarding the perfectly folded and tucked sheets of where he should have been lying. A few splashes of cold water to your drowsy state are surprisingly enough to fully awaken you after a relatively nice albeit anxious night of rest; with alertness, however, floods the remembrance of him.

“Jimin!” you call out, weaving through the incoming crowd of camp attendees packing their bags. Catching sight of the rather petite boy chatting away with his usual friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, you take one final stride before urgently pulling off to the side.

“Hey, Y/N,” his eyes widen in confusion by the sudden greeting, “what’s up?”

“Do you know what’s going on with Hoseok? Did anything happen to him yesterday evening?” you blurt, pausing for a second until another thought comes to mind. “Oh, and what do you mean he wasn’t on patrol duty last night? Then what—” you stop abruptly when you realize Hoseok’s likely desire to keep things between you and him confidential “—who was on patrol?”

“...I was?” Jimin arches a brow. “Why? Did something happen? Is there something wrong with Hoseok?”

So he doesn’t know.

None of the boys know the real reason behind Hoseok’s reluctance to return—or at least the surface level of the seemingly endless depth to that facade of his.

“No,” you quickly deny, shaking your head and scanning the bustling entrance hall; as if innate, your line of sight naturally draws to the centripetal force of your Earth’s center.

“Then why—”

“—hey, I’ll catch up with you later, alright? I still have to pack my bags…” your voice trails along with your eyes which follow Hoseok as he glides from one side of the room across to the other. Hand drifting from Jimin’s shoulder, you gradually whirl around and follow the beckons of your heart akin to pearls under the sway of the ocean’s waves. “Hoseok!”

Body beneath your sway, Hoseok whirls around to face you with a quizzical look glancing down at the hand which grasps his arm.

“Yeah?” he asks gently, arching a brow at you when a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Is there something I can help you with, babe?”

Initially, you had approached him with the intent to confront him about last night. His behavior, his words, his burdens, you know he's hurt and there's nothing you want more than to help him, not to mention the unreasonable guilt stirring inside you for failing to tackle the situation efficiently then and there; but even despite the momentary shock of the return of that egotistical mien of his, it's impossible for you to see him the same way after witnessing his sheer vulnerability.

For once, you must be selfless. Push aside your wants for that of his own, because unbeknownst to you, his own needs became your wants somewhere along the irrevocable path of time.

“About last night…” you start and the crease above his brow only deepens. “I just… I'm sorry I didn't comfort you or ask you this earlier…” you prim and trace your hand along his arm to meet his hands. Peering up to meet his gaze, he flinches yet you refuse to turn a blind eye. “...”...but are you doing alright, Hoseok?”

“What…” he frowns and stiffens in place, “...do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” you clear your throat, shifting your weight, “are you okay? Is there anything you want or need to tell me? Or anyone? Because I just want you to know I'm always here to lend an—”

“—look, I don't know what you're rambling on about,” Hoseok chuckles, retracting his hands from yours to nonchalantly ruffle your hair before crossing his arms, “but all I recall from last night is a certain someone refusing to sleep on the same bed as me. I almost forgot I was dating the most pristine of the untainted.”

“...rambling on about?” you repeat in a mumble, frowning and shaking your head. “No, Hoseok, listen, when you mentioned dance and… and your passion for it, I didn’t know how to respond because you were actually opening up to me.”

Hoseok blinks blankly, deep breaths in and out as his chest rises higher and steadier with each puff before he equivocates, “Y/N, I don’t recall anything of such sorts, and even if they did happen, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Hoseok—” you pause when your voice fails you “—I’m not forcing you to talk about it, I just want you to know—”

“—Y/N,” he sternly articulates, gaze affixing to yours with impatience. “I have to help the others load their bags onto the charter, and from what I can tell,” his eyes scan you up and down as he chortles, “don’t you have to go pack your things? So if you don’t have anything else important to say, your boy has important matters to attend to.”

The crowd migrates in clutters from the lobby to the coach parked right outside, only adding to the urgency for you to get your point across; but when you recall the events of last night, how he had so defensively proclaimed to abide by the duties of his role as the dance captain, you come to the epiphany that you really are just another roadblock in his tracks at this very moment. So, naturally, you step aside with a short bob of your lowered head.

The boy chuckles softly at your surrender, taking one large stride to enclose the gap between him and you and stroking your cheeks just briefly until the warmth of his touch subsides to his sides. “And about last night… I’m sorry if my stay made you uncomfortable. I think I was just… a bit tipsy.

Clearly, he was sober, but you’re reluctant to further the discussion without the right time and place.

“Don’t look so sad or I can’t bring myself to leave you here,” he laughs bittersweet chords to the pluck of your heartstrings, especially when you notice the lack of effort in his disingenuous grin as he crosses his arms. “Come to think of it, I seem to neglect my duties as the captain whenever I’m around you, huh? Maybe we should be more cautious of our relationship around others, don’t you think?”

In one ear, out the other; more often than not, his incessant teasing would elicit a snide remark from your intolerant state, but after the events of last night, nothing seems to be the same. Rather, his own flirtations are now construed to be poor fruitions to mask the pleas crying yet buried beneath.  

“Sorry for bothering you,” you press your lips into a thin line, “let’s talk more later.”

An immediate downturn of his lips tugs at your heavy chest, but never-minding his equivocal language, you turn away and depart to your room in deep pondrance.

Just what could you do to help the real Hoseok?

But who really is Hoseok? And did you ever come to know him?

Rather, did he?

-

Life truly has its own quirky way of doing things. One second you’re debating between the absurd albeit enticing offer in the kitchen of your house and the next second you’re already packing up your clothes on a journey bound for home.

Piles upon piles upon piles, the abundance of snacks and clothes you had brought but failed to utilize drives you to your wit’s end before you finally toss the last pair of shorts into your luggage, let out a loud, cathartic sigh, and jump into the comforts of your bed.

In reality, this position with your face buried in the depths of your pillow and your arms and legs sprawled across the soft cotton sheets would spell for doom had the occasion of falling asleep and missing the departure of your only ride home, especially since Hoseok doesn’t appear to be in his right mind nor favorable towards you against his prioritized club members enough to catch the one insignificant, missing member; fortunately for you, a good night of rest stirs you awake and incapable of slumber… plus, it turns out someone other than the names of Hoseok seeks for your attention.

Ring, ring, your phone’s vibration tunnels across the pillow to your ears.

Was Jimin asking for your assistance? Or was he wondering about the origins of your odd question earlier this morning? Could it perhaps be a message from the boys you had met and exchanged number with during camp?

Regardless of the myriad predictions, there really is only one thing that’s set in stone: it can’t possibly be Hoseok, because as much as it pains you to admit, you’re the last thing he wants to contact at this moment…

...and to your dismay, you’re right, but what really debunks your seemingly accurate theories is the name glaring from your brightly lit phone screen.

Unknown [2:06 PM] Hey, Y/N. This is Keiko. I was wondering if you have time to chat with me over dinner tonight when you return?

Straight to the point, but still lacking in details.

You can’t quite believe your eyes when they incessantly glide across the word ‘Keiko.’

What could she possibly want from you? After her ambiguous request for you during the last and only time you had interacted with the ex dance captain, you had never expected to hear from her again; in fact, to be quite frank, you had nearly forgotten about her… you had nearly forgotten Hoseok’s relations with her.

A past unrequited love? A past relationship gone wrong?

The endless possibilities tug at your chest in the familiar weighty burden you had so carelessly forgotten in the past month. You’re not exactly sure why the blur of a mystery regarding Hoseok’s relationship with Keiko pains you so, but the panic rising in your beating chest at this very moment is surely elicited by the fear of what this “conversation” could entail.

Slamming your luggage shut, you do a quick scan around your room and grab your last leftovers, but before you could roll your suitcase completely out the doorway, the sway of an unknown force rooted deep in the room keeps you from doing so; and when you glance over your shoulder to assure yourself not to linger any longer, you arrive at the epiphany of reasons residing beneath your reluctance to depart.

Because lying there on the now nicely made up bed is a couple, one asleep and one vigilant, both too vulnerable, too wary to let down their walls against the dangers of the dimming lights and the emerging night.

The longer you stand there watching, the more vividly you recall the subtle glint of his eyes—begging or pleading, you’re unsure—and your sealed lips incapable of appropriate assurance akin to a stuck zipper deserving neither the label of new nor broken; and before you know it, the desire to set things right with Hoseok rises once again within the pits of your wrenching gut.

“Y/N!” you flinch when a voice hollers at you from down the hall, causing the door to slam shut with the absence of your jutting foot. Whirling around, you find Jimin jogging towards you. “I was looking everywhere for you! We’re basically almost all ready to go in ten minutes or so and Hoseok noticed you’ve been missing for a while now, so he told me to find you.”

“Oh—” so he did remember about you “—hey, how did Keiko get my number?”

“Huh?” your peripherals catch his eyes widening into circular orbs when the two of you begin heading down the flight of stairs and he gasps in remembrance. “Oh! She asked me for your number this morning. Why? Did you not want me to? Did she text you?”

“No, that’s...” you quickly answer until your words are interjected by the sight of Hoseok standing alone in the lobby and it’s like the force field of his prevents you from moving your gaze elsewhere, “...totally fine…”

“...do you need to talk to Hoseok?” Jimin asks but proceeds to grab your luggage and head down the stairs before you. He glances over his shoulder at you and nods his head at the figure your eyes struggle to keep off of. “Here, I’ll load your bags onto the bus and you take the next ten minutes to talk it out.”

“What?” you quickly frown and shake your head, attempting to grab the bags from him in vain, “no, it’s fine. There’s nothing to talk about anyways.”

“You won’t have a chance to talk to him again anytime soon after this,” Jimin utters under his breath, gaze firmly affixed to yours. “He looks dead tired. This camp took much more of a toll on him than usual. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he won’t be hanging around with us much after this.”

Us? Does that include you?

The thought is all too daunting, you simply can’t fathom the thought of Hoseok dropping from your life without a single word or warning; because the scariest thing is… it’s much too real, too similar to something Hoseok would do.

Just. Like. That.

“Okay… I’m sorry,” you regretfully mumble, “I promise I’ll treat you and the boys to dinner someday.”

“Nah,” Jimin chuckles and heads off on his own, “bringing him back here is already enough of a favor for us.”

Gulp. Breathe. In. Out.

His words should be reassuring, yet you find them wrenching at your heart.

Is this really for the better?

Was bringing him here really the right choice, when at the end of the night, you just know Hoseok must be crawling back into the cold embrace of his mattress, shivering from what he can’t even call home, whimpering from the throbbing pain of every inch of his body and the nightmare of a camp’s threshold.

Maybe you had inflicted more pain than cure.

“...Hoseok?”

Your voice stutters amidst the thick silence of the air as you hesitantly take one step and other towards the one boy at the end of the hall, Hoseok.

Turning around, Hoseok spots you and simply arches a brow; the dark purple bags beneath the void in his eyes and the lack of vigor in comparison to his usual smug response to your calls plummet something deep within your stomach.

“Are you… done with everything?” you take one final step to enclose the distance between you two before uncomfortably hooking a hand over your right elbow and peering up at him, who gazes at you from above. “Can I help you in any way?”

Hoseok smiles gently and shakes his head, “no, everything is loaded and the camp ends here. I’m officially free of my duties as a captain and you’re officially free from that bet of ours.”

“What bet?” you let out without a thought, mind too preoccupied with the real question which loiters in your mind: why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me?

“The bet we made in your kitchen,” he cocks his head and flashes a crooked smile, “a euphoric kiss for your attendance at camp.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot I wasn’t an actual member of this club…”

He grins, “and I almost forgot I wasn’t the captain of this club anymore.”

Please don’t say that.

“Hoseok…” your voice nearly cracks, eyes averting to the side in fear of impending waterworks, “I know you don’t want to talk about last night—”

“—then why are you bringing it up,” he deadpans, jaw tightening with the grinding of his teeth.

“I just…” you shake when you take a breath, “I just want to lend an ear. I think it would be helpful for you to let it all out.”

“Or do you just want to fulfill your own curiosities at the expense of my own requests?”

“What?” you immediately peer up at the sharp edges of his eyes with your own wide ones. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry… I just wanted to help…”

Silence floods the stagnating air and you’re nearly drowned with it—but not nearly as close as the effect his next words has on you.

“...can you stop prying?” he finally utters. “Can you stop mentioning it? I’m a player, don’t you remember? I only started all of… all of this because I was curious. I was intrigued by you only for a second because for once a girl wasn’t fawning over me like the rest.”

His confession plucks at your heartstrings, but your most pressing concerns lies elsewhere beyond your own state; when will he finally confide in you?

Hoseok grabs your shoulders and lightly shakes you, whether as a plea or an attempt to garner your divided attention, you’re unsure of. “I started all of this because of a dare, remember, Y/N?” his voice sounds all too desperate for you to bear. “So don’t fall too hard. Stop burying yourself into my mess and just play along without worrying, okay?”

“I don’t,” you mutter before clearing your voice and swatting his hands off you, “I don’t care, Hoseok! I don’t care how invested I am, because it’s already too late for me to back out and I don’t want to back out! I care about you, can’t you just accept that?”

Can’t you just accept me?

“Don’t you get it?” he groans, pacing in frustration. “I don’t want any help! I don’t need help. Don’t pry into my own business and stop asking Jimin and Taehyung or any of the boys about me. Get it over your head and stop investing so much time in me before you realize just how you right you were that night on our first date when you called me out on being an ass!”

The words echo along with your stunned silence. You had never seen Hoseok so infuriated before, and for the first time in a long while, you’re scared.

You’re scared he’ll drown in his own demons without your help.

You’re scared your own help will turn out to be a manifestation of your own wants over his own needs.

You’re scared the boy you love and care for isn’t the passionate captain you knew nor the renowned heartthrob around school but a enmity completely unknown.

Mostly, you’re scared because fear is the last thing you thought you would ever experience in the wake of Hoseok.

And maybe you’re too transparent or perhaps his words truly did hurt you to the point where even he could decipher, but your entire body language reclines—your eye glued to the floor, your head ducked in shame, and your body facing slightly askew—and Hoseok quickly reaches his hand out in aid.

From the top of your head down to the nape of your neck and to the stroke of your cheek, the cup of his hand brings you a step closer to him until he places a chaste kiss to your temple and retracts himself from you once again.

“Just stop worrying about me, okay? That’s the only way we can keep this…” he struggles to find the right words as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your right ear. The boy takes a deep breath and neither a sigh nor a chuckle descends from his barely parted lips, for all you hear is a weighty pant crafted of obligations. “...this thing we have going on between us. We’ll both be better of that way, alright? Even if it’s ignorant to do so. I just don’t want us to end.”

Physically, his voice drifts into the foreign wind which sweeps your grasp of time shortly afterwards; but you hear him loud and clear within the resonance of your heart, for his actions speak louder than words.

You don’t expect him to greet you, not to mention even sitting within your vicinity on the ride back… but he does. In moments when you avoid all eye contact the second his foot sets weight onto the bus, shifting towards the windows by your seat and wishing with every ounce of your will for your rather isolated choice of seating and lack of friends to go unnoticed; but he reads you like an open book. With footsteps skimming across the floor, soft yet firm enough to mark his ambitions, the boy beelines to the seat by your side. The lethargic timbre of his murmured “hey” elicits a prim response from you as he plops into the empty seat and fills the painfully heavy air of his absence.

The forecast predicts a dayful of sun, but you don’t quite realize until now, just how reliant you’ve become; for at some point in time, the sun has somehow become your everything.

You don’t expect him to spark any conversations—no, not after that discussion gone astray—and he doesn’t; but the watchful gaze of his, wandering from his chattering friends straight up ahead to eye occasional roll of your sore ankles, inquires more than you could ask for. In fact, it doesn’t take very long for his desires to bloom into fruition when, the next thing you know, he gently lifts your right leg to prop into the lap of his own and begins kneading the knots from your muscles.

“It’s fine,” you mutter through barely parted lips, attempting in vain to retract your leg when his hands firmly hold them in place.

“It’s your first bootcamp, isn’t it?” he continues to knead. “I remember how exhausted I was for my first camp. Just let me help you.”

His words sweep your own right off of your lips.

Glancing him up and down, the courage to speak doesn’t come to you until the charter enters a tunnel, blackening your sights from his soft brown hair, beautifully tan skin, and mustard tee.

“Can you stop playing around with me? Things like this mean so much more to me than what you’re asking for from us.”

The boy doesn’t answer, instead, he pauses; and after a few seconds of silence, he persists to knead for a minute longer before letting down your leg once the tunnel ends and you’re blinded by the incoming flood of sun rays.

Incapable of sight in the bright sun after a long nap, the thought of Keiko’s text remains imprinted throughout your conscious. Weighing heavily in your hands, you grab your phone and swiftly jog off the bus on a mission to inquire advice from the rest of the boys.

While Hoseok lends a hand in unloading the endless stream of camp attendees hastily lining up to grab their bags and head on home, you find the rest of the boys standing in a semicircle, conversing away and responsibly keeping watch on the slowly dwindling crowd as members of the official performance unit.

“What’s crackin’, Y/N?” Jin questions, the group following suit as they peer at you with curious eyes.

“I just,” you glance around, particularly assuring yourself of Hoseok’s distant position before whirling around and proceeding in a hush, “I just wanted to ask you guys for some advice.”

Taehyung wiggles his brows, “you need some dating advice?”

“Ooh, for Hoseok?” Jungkook adds in.

“No, it has nothing to do with him, okay? Well, sort of,” you reach out your phone to show the text to a intrigued group of boys leaning in. “Keiko wants to meet up with me.”

“...okay?” Yoongi frowns at your lack of context.

“No, I mean, she wants to meet up with me and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Hoseok. It’s literally the only reason she would know me or even talk to me.”

“But what’s so wrong with that?”

Jimin purses his lips at Yoongi’s remark, “you think Hobi would be okay with that? With us talking behind his back, especially to his former teacher? He doesn’t even tell us anything anymore, and we used to be his closest friends.”

“Yeah, so I don’t know what to do,” you shake your head. “I want to know what Keiko needs to tell me. I feel like it’s something important that might help Hoseok…”

“...but…”

“...but I’m scared I’m just taking advantage of Hoseok’s situation for the sake of my own curiosity. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him.”

The boys exchange glances at each other, because they, too, are as abandoned in the shadows as Hoseok had kept you, yourself.

Finally, Namjoon shifts his weight, a stance demanding attention and respect, before asking, “well, do you think Hoseok is going to get any better at this point?”

To be painfully honest, the truthful answer to his question would simply and brutally be a “no.” Just as Jimin had pointed out, Hoseok carries an even more lethargic, poignant mien in him than he had prior to camp. Maybe bringing him here really is a mistake, after all, because now he seems worse than ever before.

Without dance, it’s like he’s a completely different person.

“No, I doubt he’ll be hanging around us anytime soon,” Jimin quickly answers when he notices your downcast eyes. “I don’t think it’s just me when I say: right now, Hoseok despises dance.”

Hoseok. Despises. Dance.

You never thought those three words could ever coexist.

“Then I don’t think there’s any harm in meeting with Keiko,” Namjoon elaborates. “Yes, you might be butting into someone else’s business, but from what I can tell, Hoseok isn’t just ‘someone’ to you and you aren’t just ‘someone’ to him. If you’re doing it out of good intentions, I doubt he would hold it against you for—”

—his words are cut short when everyone in the group removes their eyes off of you and darts to someone from behind you. Suddenly, a heavy arm slings over your shoulders and the rough edge of his masked voice echoes in your right ear.

“Hey, what’s with all the long face?” Hoseok feigns a laugh after glancing at you. “What’re we going on about this time?”

Rather than his untimely presence, it’s his nonchalant performance of swinging his arms over your shoulders which catches your infuriated attention. Not only is he lying to himself, yourself, and his closest friends, but now he’s acting as if he owns you, as if you two were an actual couple, as if he didn’t just tell you to your face that your relationship meant nothing more than leisure to him.

“Why do you care so much about my mood? Actually, why do you pretend to care so much?” you rebuke in spite, pushing off his hands and relishing in the sudden downturn of his lips and furrowed brows. “I thought we weren’t a thing. You told me not to be attached, so why don’t you follow your own advice?”

Your curtly remarks evoke worried albeit curious glances from the boys, but all you care about is the fury boiling under Hoseok’s poor attempt at suppressing with a smirk.

“That’s more like it,” he smugly grins, cocking his head and raising his hands defensively, “the more you push me away, the more I’ll fall. Isn’t that what you want?”

As if.

Scoffing and rolling your eyes, you shake your head and return your attention to boys before bidding them goodbye and walking off without another word to Hoseok.

There isn’t any reason nor thing for you to stay around Hoseok for, and neither does he for you; he doesn’t run after you and he doesn’t even attempt to explain himself nor demand an explanation, because to him, you simply aren’t worth the effort.

To him, you’re just a simple text away.

Hoseok, my beloved [6:56 P.M.] Well played. Let’s keep things that way.

-

Clink, clink, the glasses of wine tipping against its own fills the rather lavish room you hadn’t expected nor asked to be seated in; and while others hold their own in formal gowns and suits, you sit uncomfortably across Keiko decked out in sweatpants and a messy bun from lack of time between departure and arrival.

Dressed in a sleek black blouse and dangling earrings, Keiko remains the classy woman you had met the first time around; to others, you must seem like a child next to her.

The only perk you could scavenge from your ostracized self is having your expensive dinner, sure to empty your wallet along with college tuitions, paid by a responsible, full-time employed adult.

“So,” she takes a sip from her glass of wine, “how’re you doing?”

“He’s doing…” you quickly respond before stuttering, “a-alright.”

To your surprise, Keiko chuckles a sultry laugh as ripened as red wine. “I was asking about you, not Hoseok; but I guess you have some sort of a guess as to why I called you here, and to be completely honest with you, you’re right.”

“Oh… sorry...” you mumble, eyes wide and enraptured by her poise. “I, um, hope it’s not inappropriate of me to ask this, but why are you asking me and not the boys?”

Keiko cocks her head as if the answer was obvious enough, “because you're the closest one to him right now, are you not?”

“Emotionally? No… physically? Not really,” you frown, especially when she just chortles at you.

“Well, that's what I've deduced from what the boys have told me.”

“They told you about me?” your eyes immediately widen in panic, because for some odd reason, you want to at least appear somewhat decent from someone as respectable as Keiko; and it isn't a competition between you and her in vie for Hoseok’s attention, it's the elegant way she holds herself which has earned your utmost respect. “What… did they say?”

“Oh, nothing too much,” she chuckles with a shrug. “Don't worry, I have other reasons for my deduction.”

The vague answer intimidates you from inquiring further as your gaze becomes affixed to the empty plate splattered with leftover sauce from the now ingested steak. Instead of probing at you to answer her question, she allows you to recollect yourself and your state of mind in silence; and eventually, you do, for your train of thoughts stumble over the real reason you had agreed to this meeting tonight.

“About Hoseok…” you start, eyes lifting to meet Keiko’s, her brows raising to encourage you further. “He's still… reluctant to dance. I don't think he had the best time at camp.”

“Really? Spring boot camp was always his favorite time of the year,” she prims, but all you can do is sigh in a mix of awe and regret, wondering just how much more she knows about Hoseok than you do him. “Well, do you plan on helping him still?”

Helping him? Does she not know about his injury? Hoseok’s voice reverberates in your mind—stop prying—for a remark both raw and real is all too painful to hear and to forget.

It isn't your business neither is it your secret to reveal, especially not to someone he must hold so dearly—in both respect… and love.

“I don't get it…” you stealthily tiptoe around the subject. “Why aren't you helping him? You're much closer to him than I am. I can't do much… we're just acquaintances. It's not like we're dating.”

Your question elicits a loud intake of breath followed by a sigh as she reclines into her seat and crosses her legs, “because I can't.”

'What do you mean…?”

Her fingers begin to play with the glass of wine, swirling the drink round and round and creating whirlpools in the tips of her sleek red nails.

“Are you aware of Hoseok’s main reason for his hiatus?”

Sneakers squeaking and machine buzzing, collapse.

“Well, I can't because…”

Your line of sight subconsciously travels to your leg where you can practically see Hoseok's own, swelling and throbbing as you clutch it in plain just like he had on the blackest of nights.

Keiko looks you straight in the eye.

“...because I'm the one who caused his injury.”

Injury. His injury. Keiko. She caused it.

How did any of this make sense?

“Wait, what? Are you sure?” your brows cinch in confusion. “Maybe he… he…”

Your voice trails to nothing. What else could have evoked someone to blame themselves over something so horrid other than the truth itself?

“I pushed him too far,” she says after a long sigh, staring at the swirl of wine in her delicate fingers. “I was training him into a captain capable of handling anything that would come at him, be it pressure or stress, he has the potential to be the best we've ever had… I don't know if it was me or him and his own expectations which pushed him too far, too fast, but he crumbled.”

If you knew the old and new Hoseok correctly, the latter would be the valid reason. Hoseok pushed himself too far in the face of pressure.

And as much as you know the blame can't be held entirely by Keiko but Hoseok, himself, a part of you errs in the sudden impatience arising within you.

Crumble, she said.

The sun doesn't crumble, it sets.

“...weren't you watching over him…?” you frown at her.

“I did,” she simply nods. “He practiced day and night. There never was a single day when I entered or left the studio and Hoseok wasn't there. Sometimes I think the poor boy even slept in that sweaty old musty room.”

You let out a scoff under your breath, appalled. “And you didn't tell him to stop—”

“—you’re not a dancer, are you, Y/N? You think I can tell someone to stop doing what they love, what they’re so passionate in? You think we have it easy? That talent and a few hours a week are enough to make up for what we lack? You think he would listen to me if I told him to stop? I thought you knew him well,” Keiko rebukes, calm but reprimanding enough for you to wince. “Being a captain requires you to put in time and stress and pressure just comes with it. And even despite that, yeah, sometimes I do wonder if I was asking for too much. If he or I had said something, if he had quit a bit earlier, maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Quit?” you articulate, narrowing your eyes at her. “I don’t have to be a dancer to know that trying to prevent an injury isn’t quitting.”

“You sound like every other person who begged me to stop when I was training to become the captain myself,” Keiko chuckles, lips pressing into a thin, curved line. “I handled the pressure. I bore all the stress. I conquered it all and I thrived, Y/N, and you and I both know how talented Hoseok is. If I could do it, he most definitely could, too. I don’t know what got to him, but something did.”

“Not everyone’s body works the same…” your words become muffled by your own lips.

“Oh?” she laughs. “You almost sound like you know him better than I have in the past four years.”

Past four years? It’s almost certain they share a history together. Your gut instincts painfully tell you so.

“Anyways, I’m not here to argue with you, Y/N. I apologize if I stepped over the line just now,” her hand reaches for yours over the table and she smiles. “I get it. To you guys, us dancers seem reckless, and I admit it, we go overboard sometimes. That’s why we, especially Hoseok, need people, like you, by our sides to tell us when enough is enough.”

Her gaze sees right through you and there’s nothing you could do other than avert your eyes to the side to prevent her from reading through your transparency. It feels like she’s telling you something, hinting at an implication, but you just can’t quite get it.

You can’t read her like she or even Hoseok does to you.

“If his injury really is the reason behind his hiatus, then why hasn’t he tried to recover? Or,” you nearly choke on your own gasp, “has… he?”

“As much as I seem to know him, Y/N, I actually can’t answer that question. I really don’t know,” she sighs. “Even I’m surprised. I thought he would bounce back. He truly loved dance. He loved it to death… but maybe he never did. I don’t know if I overestimated him. I was hoping you would know. He won’t let me anywhere near him now.”

Of course not, you bite your tongue. As much as you admire Keiko for her sheer willpower, her constant disregard for Hoseok’s well-being and even questioning his passion irks you the wrong way.

“So,” she softly utters, holding your hand to avert your gaze back to hers, “can you help me, Y/N?”

Stop prying, his voice echoes; even your deepest conscience knows Hoseok doesn’t want you to help.

“Why would I do that? We’re not close or anything. I’ll be sticking my nose into someone else’s business.”

Your remark elicits a slight scoff of disbelief from Keiko as she grins at you with furrowed brows.

“Don’t you like him? Don’t you like Hoseok, I mean?”

“W-What?” you immediately shake your head. “No, I don’t know what makes you think that or whatever the boys told you, but even if I wanted to help, I can’t.”

“Oh, but I think you can,” she leans back into her seat and crosses her arms before turning to glance out the window displaying the black silhouette of the cityscape. “In fact, you’re the only one who can. At the rate Hoseok is going, I don’t think he’ll ever return to the dance scene… but you can change that.”

Everyone seems to have expectations from you, but it doesn’t matter when the person in need of help himself refuses your aid.

But you want to help him, even if that means he won’t ever dance again.

You’ve come to realize, through trial and error, all you could wish for him is bliss.

“...what makes you think that?”

“I promise I’m not doing this to gain your favor or try to persuade you, but,” she turns away from the window and leans into the table with a smile, “I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he mentions you.”

“But… but I thought…”

...I thought you never met up with him before after his injury, is what you meant to say, but the rapid beats of your heart elicited by her confession prevents you from budging a single inch.

Maybe they really are dating and you’re just being toyed around by the both of them.

“I… I just have one question,” you blurt before your more rational self could talk you out of it; for once, you’re acting on impulse and ego, but perhaps you deserve it after everything you’ve been through for the sake of him. It’s time you do something for yourself. “...did you and Hoseok ever have a relationship?”

Keiko arches both brows at you in surprise, “a relationship?”

“As in… have you two dated before?”

Silence ensues as she ponders for a few seconds and smiles, a soft chuckle drifting from her lips, “and what would you say if I said yes? Would you dislike me? Would you not do me this favor?”

Immediately, your heart sinks and something in your stomach drops.

Ah, so it’s a yes; crestfallen for reasons unknown, you begin collecting your things.

“I’ll think about it because I want to make sure this does Hoseok more good than it does me or any of us waiting for him to take the stage again,” standing up, you continue, looking her straight in the eye, “and I’m not doing this for you because I don’t appreciate the way you demean Hoseok and his own health and efforts.”

“Then who are you doing this for?”

You frown; isn’t the answer obvious enough?

“Hoseok.”

A wide grin spreads across her lips from ear to ear as she suppresses a giddy smile, quickly grabbing your hand and squeezing it firmly, “thank you, Y/N. Really, thank you. I mean it when I say you’re the only one who can bring him out of his darkest times. I’m counting on you.”

Gradually and hesitantly, you nod, slowly turning your back on the exit to make your way out the way you made it in.

Step by step, they gain momentum until you find yourself marching out of the restaurant on a mission to brew a storm in search of the world’s ends, for the hidden sun is long due for its rise.

[oftenderweapons]

I don't know if you are still accepting prompts, but can we get a yoongi x kitten jealous drabble??? love your work!

This was difficult for 2 reasons.

1. Yoongi is the least jealous of the guys imo.

2. Kitten would never make him jealous.

I think they're the less drama-prone couple of the crew. However I found a loophole for you, my lovely reader. Enjoy 💜

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 1.4k

Genre: Angst, Fluff, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Trigger warnings: alcohol consumption, Kitten gets drunk, Kitten's ex FWB, mentions of wlw, angsty discussion on bi/pansexuality (nothing LGBTQ+phobic, you're safe here). Yoongi is very insecure, tired and vulnerable. Mentions of strap-on/pegging.

THIRST NIGHTS ARE OPEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who's that?” Yoongi asked, leaning over your phone as you both sat on the sofa.

“It's a friend from uni, Amber. She's just back from Canada.” You leaned towards the coffee table, lowering the volume of the TV. You already knew neither of you would watch it, just use it as background noise while you cuddled before falling asleep in the rainy Sunday afternoon.

“You never mentioned friends from uni.” Yoongi laid back while you slowly crawled behind him, putting down your phone, ready to focus on the only important task in the world — spooning him. Your hand crawled to his chest, humming in appreciation at the way his pectorals were bulking up. You loved knowing that your personal grumpy cat was taking care of himself.

“She wasn't exactly a friend friend.” You kissed his nape and waited for him to catch your drift.

“Just a colleague? One of those random people who live in the same room as you a couple hours a day for some years?”

You tutted. “More like 'we've seen each other naked and it was fun time for a bunch of months' kinda friends.”

Yoongi nodded. “Friend with benefits?”

You chuckled. “Yeah that.” Yoongi waited. He could feel you weren't done talking. “She asked me out for drinks tomorrow night.”

At that, Yoongi turned around. “Did you agree to go?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, she was abroad for years, maybe she's just trying to find her old friends, build connections. Maybe she feels lonely now here in the city.”

He knew you were being logic, and assuming that woman wanted something else was actually mean, but still a part of him felt uncomfortable. “I understand. Isn't that like seeing an ex though? Maybe she wants to pick up from where you left it?” He burrowed into your chest.

“We were never a thing. Just had some fun, no strings attached.” You held him closer. “I love you. And I want you. I chose you—”

“What if she's easier, better than—”

You interrupted him mid-sentence, not letting his self-destructive thoughts take control of him. “I chose you. Only you. Don't doubt it, ever.”

Yoongi nodded obediently, cuddling up to get ready for a nap. And while you did fall asleep, he couldn't, too anxious, continuously revived by your phone screen lighting up..

He noticed you had five texts from the girl. He put down the phone and breathed you in. He had you.

Did he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi stayed on the sofa, alarmed when midnight became one a.m. and then two a.m. and then...

He heard you come through the door at half past, stumbling a little. You dropped your bag. And then you dropped your ass on the bench by the door, struggling to take off your boots. “Kitten,” he called, worried. He reached you in a minute, his blanket on his shoulders. He felt on edge, a bit raw.

“Yoongi?”

He had never heard your voice like that. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

You nodded and he immediately turned around, ready to head to the kitchen. You grabbed his hand on instinct. “Please.”

“I'll grab you some water—”

“You were right. I'm so fucking sorry.” You leaned your head to his stomach. “I should have listened to you.”

He patted your head. He waited.

You looked heartbroken when you looked up at him. He was devastated by it. Did you...? “She kissed me. I'm so fucking sorry, Yoongi, you were right. I should have stayed at home. Please, forgive me.”

Yoongi sat beside you on the bench, exhaling slowly and loudly.

“It meant nothing. I didn't want it,” you explained, gasping, rushing your words out, desperate.

He cupped the side of your head pulling you to his shoulder and kissing your temple. “It's okay.” It wasn't. He wanted to kiss you and reassure you and watch you come undone for him, remind him you were his.

“You know I love you.” You were crying. Yoongi hated it. “Please.”

“Did you get this drunk with her?” he asked, taking off your shoes for you, helping you up and catching you in his arms.

“I was tipsy. I drank after she left.” You nuzzled into his neck.

“Did you do this to her too? Cuddling into her? Holding her like you hold me?” He needed to ask the question, no matter how much it hurt.

“Maybe back then, but not tonight. I want to hold you now. Only you. I want to kiss you. I want to be yours.” Being honest hurt, but you did it anyway. Keeping the kiss a secret didn't even cross your mind for half a millisecond: you needed to tell him and clear up this huge misunderstanding and make yourbond stronger and—

“Did you learn to use a strap with her?” His question was rough. He had to wait for you for two hours to find out he had so many doubts.

You frowned. “I never did that for anyone. I tried with you. Because I love you. Because I want to give you everything you need.”

He hummed, pondering your reply. He moved on. It was just something petty he had come up with when bitter with worry and disappointment. “Do you need to throw up?” Yoongi rubbed your back.

You waited. Nodded. Once in the bathroom you asked him to let you handle that alone. He refused.

You hated him seeing you in such miserable, hideous state, but he wouldn't take his eyes off you. He held your hair back as you got rid of the alcohol, soothing you with a hand along your spine.

Once you were done, teeth brushed, he realised he had one final answer he needed to understand whether he could sleep in the same bed as you. “Do you still... Do you...—”

“No, I don't like her, Yoongi. I love you. Only you. I'm yours.”

He let you finish. Though it was good reassurance, that was not the answer he needed. “I mean, do you regret getting together with me? Do you—” You were already shaking your head.

“Do you regret not having sex with other people? More specifically, women?” he finally asked.

“No. I don't regret falling for you. Loving you and only you. Sleeping with you every night. I have never been happier, Yoongi. You make me so happy. And I don't regret being monogamous and loyal to you.” You looked him right in the eye. “Being bisexual or queer or whatever has nothing to do with loyalty. Having sex with you doesn't mean I miss having sex with women any more than I miss having sex with other men. By the way, I don't miss any of that. I want you and no one else, man, woman, non-binary. I choose you.”

Yoongi relaxed. Somehow he understood, even thought to him felt different: you would wear a strap and he could have something close to sex with a man, but that wouldn't work the other way around. He stopped. Did he miss sleeping with a man? No.

He realised his insecurities had undermined his reasoning. When you wore a strap, the point wasn't you having male genitalia, but you being you. Calm, reassuring, sensual, soothing you. Cruel, cunning, sadistic, ruthless you.

It was you, his beloved, his everything, his lover.

“I'm sorry. I've been overthinking,” he confessed. “You're right.”

You breathed out in relief. “It's okay.” You stretched your arms out, holding him. “I'm sorry I made you worry and overthink.” You comforted him as much as you could. “I love you, baby. You're smart and kind and giving and peaceful and perfect. You're the best person I could ever dream of.”

He sniffled a little and nodded, holding you just as tight as you held him. “Are you sure you still love me?” he said, voice trembling.

You smiled and whispered “yes”, over and over again, your forehead touching his.

He pressed his lips to yours. They didn't belong to that hopeless woman. They were his. You had made them his. “I still love you too. A lot,” he whispered. “I love you. That kiss means nothing to you. It means nothing to me either.” He pressed his mouth to your jawline. “I'm still yours,” he whispered.

“Remind me.”

At that he smiled, his expression mirroring yours.

What happened after that was sacred and shall remain unspoken.

[activechataclysme]

TITLE: two truths and a lie.

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Ship: The Love Square - SnekMouse Rating: T [ AO3 ]

Summary:

“For the, uh, game. You said two things,” he said, holding up two fingers. He wiggled one finger.  “That there was a, uh, boy you’ve been in love with for years,” then the other. “And that you want to get over him.”

“I get that,” he said quietly, tapping a rhythm against her shoulder with his fingers. “Do you, uh, do you see him everyday?”

“More than he knows, I think,” she said, her tone a little sly, as if she was sharing an inside joke with herself. “He sits right in front of me in class, actually.”

-o-

“I realised I’m in love with this girl recently, I’m scared to ask her out. She, um, sits in front of me, an-and…” he floundered before finally tacking on a lie. “She knows exactly how I feel.”

... Or in which warm feelings flare in chests, soft gazes are exchanged, blushes are blushed and confessions are made without even intending to.

One of their evening patrols ended with the two of them after patrol on a secluded rooftop, with beer in cheap plastic cups in each of their hands, and two half empty bottles of it between the two of them. They sat on the balustrade, feet swinging as they looked out at the city, chuckling as they played a game of Two Truths and a Lie.

Aspik found that beer, if had in, er, generous amounts , could in fact make one tipsy, as well as loose-lipped. He was sure Multimouse would’ve figured him out if she hadn’t been a little tipsy and out of it herself...

People love photographing me, I hate that they do ( She had looked at him somewhat sadly at that ) and I love shopping for my own clothes.  

My dad’s a dick, Ladybug is the uh worst and my bestfriend is a superhero. ( She had giggled uncontrollably. )

Modelling is my dream job, I enjoy piano and I love our patrols together. ( He suspected, in a very self-satisfied manner, that the flaming of her cheeks didn’t have much to do with the cold. )

…And well, If he didn’t already know Multimouse’s identity, after tonight he definitely would have....

My parents are bakers, I have a DJ friend and I’ve never dated a musician.  

I have a journalist friend, I want to be a… singer and all walls in my room are pink

Chat Noir’s hair is as soft as it looks but don’t tell him I said that ( If Multimouse wondered why Aspik was blushing, she didn’t voice that ) . I like wearing my hair in pigtails and I’m allergic to marigolds. (Hard, because Aspik couldn’t possibly say that he’d seen her eat marigolds; he never questioned it of course.)

“Your previous suit design was awful, I love rose macarons and Chat Noir’s puns are amazing,” she giggled.

Aspike let out an amused snort. “You love rose macarons. And you love Chat Noir’s puns. So the lie obviously, is about my suit. My suit was the best .”

Multinouse giggled harder, cheeks flushed pink under her mask. The beer must be really getting to her, he thoughts, watching as she took another sip. “ False ,” she declared. “Chat Noir’s puns are awful .”

Aspik huffed. “My suit was just fine , little mouse.”

“Sure, snake boy,” she snorted.

“I’ll have you know I’m an expert on fashion,” he sniffed.

“I’m sure you are, Mr. Celebrity,” she laughed.

Multimouse reached over to ruffle his hair, laughing harder at his petulant look as he attempted to flatten his hair. Just as he was attempting to straighten his bangs, he caught her soft blue gaze on him. She was smiling at him warmly, almost a wistful expression on her face.

“What is it?” he asked, tilting his head.

She shook her head, almost as if she was snapping herself out of something. The softness left her face and she gave him a weak smile. “Your turn,” she said, downing her cup.

He watched quietly for a few moments, as she hastily refilled her cup. He cleared his throat and looked away, training his eyes on the city lights.

“I’m thankful to have you in my life and that we’re friends, your suit is super cute, grey and pink? Very you . And uh…” he floundered, when he sensed her wide-eyed blue gaze. “I… Uh, hate passionfruit?”

He heard her let out laughter, and he couldn’t help but turn to look at her. “You don’t hate passion fruit,” she giggled.

He snorted. “Well, how would you know? Maybe your suit is not cute. Maybe you’re not my friend.”

“You’re so silly,” she laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you scarf down the passion fruit macarons I bring occasionally…”

“Well, only a fool would dislike those,” he said petulantly. “I can tell they’re baked with love,” he added teasingly, wagging his eyebrows at her.

She blushed and looked away, nervously patting one of her space buns. “...Er, well, m-my suit is amazing . I only ever wear top notch fashion, th-thank you very much.”

He grinned. “I’m sure you do.”

“And I… We’re…” She seemed to inhale deeply, before her gaze flickered over to his, a little wistful. “Friends. I know we are. You make sure to let me know.” She laughed, though it sounded a little hollow to his ears. “Everyday.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and she chuckled nervously. “I mean, everytime we patrol.”

Aspik frowned at the distant look in her eyes and the nervous fidgeting of her hands. He scooted a little closer to her and hesitantly took her hand in his. She stiffened, but only for a moment before relaxing again with a gentle sigh. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” she said softly, and added almost as if to herself. “I’m happy we’re at least that.”

“Me too,” he said, before adding gently. “Your turn.”

“What? Oh, um right,” she said, and he felt her fidget lightly before settling down.

“I’ve been crazy in love with a boy for years,” she started, and Adrien froze. How had he forgotten about that . “I need to get over him, because I know he doesn’t see me that way...”

“He’s an idiot,” huffed Aspik, illiciting a startled laugh out of her.

“He’s not,” she said. “He’s the smartest, sweetest and kindest person I’ve met. Second only to maybe Chat Noir.”

“So Chat Noir is first , huh?” preened Adrien.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” she laughed. “It won’t do his ego any good.”

“Pfft,” said Aspik dismissively. “He’s the humblest hero of them all.”

“Sure,” said Multimouse, rolling her eyes.

“But we digress,” said Aspike. “This debate is on hold until further notice.”

“Whatever you say, li’l snek.”

They were silent for a few minutes before Aspik finally cracked. “You only said two things.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head off his shoulder to look at him.

“For the, uh, game. You said two things,” he said, holding up two fingers. He wiggled one finger.  “That there was a, uh, boy you’ve been in love with for years,” then the other. “And that you want to get over him.”

“Hm,” she hummed, looking away again before letting out a soft self-depriciating laugh. “It’s going to be so easy to?”

Aspik wrapped a hand around her shoulder to tuck her further into his side, because what an idiot of a guy.

“I get that,” he said quietly, tapping a rhythm against her shoulder with his fingers. “Do you, uh, do you see him everyday?”

“More than he knows, I think,” she said, her tone a little sly, as if she was sharing an inside joke with herself. “He sits right in front of me in class, actually.”

Adrien felt his breath rush out of his lungs, as the world shifted in his mind’s eye. Like a fast replay of everything with a new filter, and he felt his chest start to warm. He tightened his grip around her and pulled her tighter against him.

He cleared his throat. “Have you, um, tried asking him out?”

“Only a hundred times,” she laughed. “It’s always gone wrong. Maybe that was for the best anyway. He doesn’t… He doesn’t see me like that.”

“And how do you know that? If you haven’t asked him out?”

“He says that we’re “just friends” at least once a week.” Marinette snorted. “I am starting to think that’s his way of gently letting me down without really having to reject me. He values friendships too much for that, I think.”

“You should really not make presumptions,” he said nervously, heart racing.

“Pretty sure I know what I’m talking about, Aspik. I’m sure I know what I’m talking about.”

“Including his feelings?”

“Feelings he’s made pretty clear,” she said as she drew circles on the back of his hand.

Aspik sighed, feeling like he was on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even known he had. He really, really did not want to let go.

“My turn,” he said quietly. “I… There’s this… girl.”

Multimouse seemed to deflate a little next to him, which he couldn’t help but find a little perplexing. But he trudged forth.

“I realised I’m in love with this girl recently, I’m scared to ask her out and…” he floundered before finally tacking on a lie. “She knows exactly how I feel.”

“Well, that’s kind of obvious, snake boy,” she sighed. “I don’t see what you have to be scared about…”

“She… I found out only today that she’s trying hard to move on from me.”

“That means she still does have feelings for you.” Her voice was smaller than he’d like, almost a breathy resignation to it. “You should ask her anyway. I can’t imagine anyone saying no to you.”

“Yeah?”

She lifted her head off his shoulder, her gaze warm, smile fond. “Yeah.”

Aspik hummed. “Even you?”

“Of course! I just told you I- Well, I- I mean, if-if it weren’t for that guy I told you about, then um, yes. Definitely. For sure. Yep.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’ll leave a note on her desk when school re-opens after Winter Break. With a bunch of flowers.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d like that,” sighed Multimouse.

“Actually, maybe not,” he amended thoughtfully. “She sits right behind me, so it’ll be hard for me to see her reaction. And she’s a little prone to easily freaking out,” he chuckled fondly. “Maybe I should enlist my bestfriend’s girlfriend for help. Those two are bestfriends, you know, and she’s a schemer, that one. What do you think I should-”

He stopped when he realised Multimouse’s head wasn’t against his shoulder anymore. He turned to see that she was staring at him with wide eyes, head tilted curiously

“Did you say that she sits behind you? Like right behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” she muttered. “Y-You said that she has feelings for you. And that you found out she was trying to get over them.”

Adrien unfortunately had always been just a little slow on the uptake. So he chuckled a little. “Yeah, found out today, in fact.”

“ Today ?”

“Yep, today.”

“She told you herself, did she?”

He really should have noticed the careful neutrality in her tone.  

“Yes, actually,” he nodded vigorously. “But you seem to think there’s still hope, so I… Wait a second .”

He whirled on her, eyes narrowed, to find that she was studying him too.

“Do you…. Know ?” she asked first, eyebrows set in a wary pinch.

Aspik hesitated before leaning closer to her, almost nose to nose now bodies twisted to face each other. He turned completely to her in a moment, one leg folded, the other hanging off the ledge of the roof.

“Do… you know?”

“I asked first, mon é cailles .” The slight twitch of her eye gave away her faux serious facade though.

He smirked as he wrapped a hand under her knee to tug her closer, while her hands came up to hold his shoulders so she could stabilize herself. “Can’t argue with that logic ma petite souris ,” he chuckled, face towering over hers. “But I’m afraid I have the upper hand here.”

With that he kissed the corner of her lips ( Her. Lips. ), just as he decided to hell with it and tugged her onto his lap ( Oh, my god! ) fully.

“A-Aspik!” she squeaked as he looked up at her affectionately, before pressing a kiss to the other corner of her mouth.

“Multimouse,” he said, now his hands wrapped around her hips, zero room between them.

She was watching him with parted lips, face flaming, while her expression was of utter disbelief. Hesitantly, her hand went up to trace his mask, before it settled on cupping his cheek. Blushing, she looked at him with soft eyes before leaning slightly and kissing the apple of his cheek.

“How… How did you find out?” he asked quietly, as she started to draw back.

She looked panicked for a moment before relief seemed to wash over her.

“The game sort of gave you away,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes as one of her hands snaked ( snaked , heh) over his chest and over his shoulder so she could play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Um, so what gave me away?” she asked shyly.

He froze for only a second before thanking the gods for having Marinette herself present the answer to him.

“The game,” he grinned.

She groaned before deflating in his arms ( In. His. Arms!!! ), forehead resting against his shoulder.

“I knew the beer was a terrible idea,” she whined. “It made us too loose-lipped!”

“Beg to differ,” said Aspik. “Best idea you’ve had, I think.”

Multimouse giggled. “Maybe.”

“Hey, Marinette?”

“Hm?”

“I do love you, you know. I meant that.”

She was quiet for some time before she finally drew away from him to look him in the face. She brushed his hair out of his eyes, dancing with a pure sort of happiness that made his heart burst with joy. She kissed his forehead, and then the tip of his nose, making his face heat up with anticipation.

As he watched, her eyes flickered to his lips, before she looked away nervously, biting her lower lip with worry. Adrien’s heart warmed - what, was this the hundredth time just that night? - and he brushed the tip of his nose against her chin.

“You know, you keep doing that and I might just kiss you,” he said teasingly.

He laughed softly as the tips of her ears turned red. “Well, you won’t hear me complain, mon écaille irisée ,” she muttered.

And well, so he kissed her. She seemed frozen in shock for a fleeting second before melting against him. Her hands locked around the nape of his neck as she pulled him closer, an almost mind-numbing tug at the base of his skull as she tilted his head back to get a better angle. He decided then and there that he wouldn't complain if they never stopped. He tried his best to cull the purr building in his throat because that would be dead giveaway, and wondered briefly if he'd develop snake-like tendencies as well if he wore the miraculous long enough. His teeth grazed her lower lip, where hers had been less than thirty seconds ago, and he bit it gently, greedily swallowing the moan she let out.

They finally parted for breath, and her buns sat skewed on the top of her head, messed up and unkempt, some strands straying loose and falling on her as she stared at him.

“You know, no one’s ever called me iridiscent before,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth as he swept back some of the loose hair off her face.

“Shut up, nicknames aren’t really my forte,” she pouted, leaning into give him another peck against his lips.

“No, I love it,” he assured her, making her look down at him again. “Will you promise to call me that forever?” he asked teasingly, an eyebrow quirked with mirth.

Everytime he thought she couldn’t turn any redder, she proved him wrong. And he loved her for it.

“You’re too much,” she complained. “You and Chat have been spending too much time together!

Adrien only laughed. “But you looooooove me.”

“Yeah I do.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get over me,” he said quietly.

Her smile faded and she looked at him fondly. “Thanks to you, you don’t make it easy, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckled.

[ssatoritendou]

Backup | i.

back up | ii.

Pairing: Bokuto/reader Atsumu /reader

Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou 

Word count: 5.4k

+ summary: (time skip) You have a one-sided crush on your close friend, best friend Bokuto Koutarou however you’re are being strung along after he suffers heartbreak after heartbreak with his loving heart. Atsumu is both of your friends and sees the clear problems with the situation so he plans to help you to get over Bokuto.

Genre: angst fluff 

Warning: vulgar language, 18+ scenarios

You were currently eating dinner with some of the Black Jackals. You had met them through Bokuto. Which right now was out with his new girlfriend or should you say the new love of his. It was painfully obvious to everyone except Bokuto himself that you had a crush on him. “____ it’s not that he doesn’t like you,” Hinata said trying to cheer you up. “Hinata that doesn’t really help her,” Sakusa said rubbing his eyes. “It’s ok Sho. Personally, I just don’t get what he sees in her. She is just so-” “Let’s not sugar coat it. She a controlling bitch who has her hand so far up his ass that she can talk for him. Like he’s a ventriloquist dummy.” Atsumu said sipping on his beer happy with his analogy. Even under a face mask, Sakusa can still make a disgusted look. “You are always so vulgar. Please a lady is present.” “He’s right though Sakusa. He’s just different. He doesn’t even gel his hair up anymore. He dresses differently. He isn’t the usual ‘Hey, Hey, Hey!’ spirit.” You pointed out. “I do have to agree with you there. At first, it was kind of relaxing and now it’s bone-chilling.” “I miss the old Bokuto. He makes you excited about volleyball even if you are playing against him.” Hinata sighed. 

“____, get over it. This is how it goes he dates the girlfriend and for lack of a better term-” “There is a better term so don’t say what you are going to say.” “He is pussy-whipped.” Atsumu stated once again with Sakusa rolled his eyes. “This is his routine. He falls in love with every girl he lays eyes on and then they break his heart because they get bored of someone doing every little thing for them.” Except you, Bokuto didn’t fall in love with you when he laid eyes on you. Maybe because his actions were pure. But you didn’t have a crush when you first saw him either. This one-sided love thing was killing you slowly. So much it was like you could breathe in front of your best friend. 

By the end of the night, you and Atsumu were driving home together since you both lived near each other. He always walked you to your door. “Are you sure you are ok to drive?” You asked. “____ I only had one beer tonight and I was nursing it. I have to get up early tomorrow. Long day at the gym.” “You shouldn’t work out too much. Then the girls will be fawning over you too much.” You said with a laugh. “You mean my fan club? Now it’s just getting annoying. It was funny at first when there were only 3 showing up to my game and all I would do is a wink and they would collapse. Now it’s a crowd like Oikawa gets.” “Really seems like you really enjoy and they do more than just stroke your ego.” You chuckled again. “You have had too much to drink.” “Have not! Bokuto told me that.” You whined. Atsumu thought for a minute. He knows he has complained a lot about his fan club to the team. But he wasn’t the only one with a fan club it seemed. Sakusa had fans too but he was much blunter towards them. He made a couple of them cry and Atsumu could never make a girl cry. Just wasn’t in his nature and if his mother found out...his ass would be handed to him. “Bokuto doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I would never hook up with a fan. It’s not right. They have feelings for me and I wouldn’t use them for my own enjoyment.” “That’s rather noble of you. So you are a gentleman.” “Of course I am.” He defended himself. “Are you coming to the game on Tuesday?” “Yeah, it starts at 4 right?” “Yeah, it does. But don’t you usually come for our warm-ups, before anything starts?” “Bo told me that is when the warm-ups were. Maybe he just got confused with the times.” Atsumu rolled his eyes. That’s right the girlfriend was coming now too. Didn’t want you there obviously. But Atsumu wasn’t going to let that happen. “Listen ___.” He became all serious. “I know you like him a lot. I do too in a different way but that is beside the point. Everyone likes him because he has that personality. You shouldn't wait for him. For him to get a new girlfriend every 4 months and him saying she is the one. When in reality she doesn’t even meet anyone besides us. You shouldn’t have to mend his broken heart every single time either. You shouldn’t have to feel like his back up when he feels like all else fails. Instead, make him feel like he is your back up. Because if he was truly just your best friend he wouldn’t treat you like this.” You listened carefully to his words. He was right Bokuto was dim-witted but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He always came to you when he was broken. But you didn’t understand what the term back up meant. But you were too tipsy and tried to go into a detailed conversation about that. “Goodnight.” He said kissing the top of your head leaving your apartment.

Tuesday had come. Which meant seeing Bokuto. Who you haven’t seen or heard from in a while. There were the occasional hi’s and he asked questions about preparing a meal in a microwave. Just out of curiosity you asked what time you should be at the game today. He still told you 4. You wanted to double-check with Atsumu. He told you again that the game started at four and that they would probably arrive at 3:15. He even offered to pick you before he headed to the bus to drive there. You had never driven on the bus with Bokuto. It almost felt like you were stabbing him in the back. But Atsumu sent a funny message saying, ‘I only ask because you are a horrible drive. I’m afraid for the pedestrians on the road.’ It made you laugh. You agreed to go on the bus with them. You knew everyone. It wouldn’t be awkward.

“M’lady,” Atsumu said bowing in front of the open doors of the bus. “Are you still keeping out the gentleman act?” “I assure you it is not an act. I will even offer my hand in helping you up these steps.” “You are so weird sometimes. It makes me wonder about your twin.” He did indeed help you on the bus following right behind you and picking the back seat and even giving you the window seat. “I’ll have you know I’m not the weirder twin. If anything it’s Samu.” “Oh, really why is that?” Before he could give you an answer. Hinata, Bokuto, and his girlfriend were making their way on the bus. You had no clue she was going to be here. Atsumu knew and that is why he offered. Atsumu didn’t think you deserved to be treated like this even if Bokuto was his friend. He needed to break your heart sadly. You had to learn that there was no chance between you and Bokuto. That you two would remain friends. “Hey ___!” Hinata shouted running towards the backsliding next to Atsumu. “Bokuto didn’t tell us you were coming on the ride too.” “Because he didn’t. I did. You have been in her car those pedestrians are endangered when she is behind the wheel.” Atsumu said. “I’m not that bad. I passed my driver's test.” “Probably because the teacher had already seen you try so many times he just gave it to you to never get back in the car with you.” You hit his stomach. He leaned over. “I’ve had worse than that Princess.” You blushed at his sudden sweet nickname for you. “Don’t call me that.” “Alright, babe.” He said with a laugh stretching out. “You want a drink before we start moving? I know you get car sick easily.” “Yes please.” He got up from his spot and took off his jacket and put it down on the seat. And walked over to the cooler sitting in the front of the bus. Bokuto had been watching your interaction with the setter. He found it strange. He knew you were friendly with his team but not full friends like the two of you were right? “Hey, Atsumu why did you bring ___?” “She asked me if the game was still at 4 today and I had to remind her that warm-ups were before that. I just offered to bring her here. It’s a lot easier. I didn’t think the coach would mind since your girlfriend rides the bus every game now.” ‘Your Girlfriend?’ The owl thought to himself. That was an odd way of phrasing it. Did that mean that you two were dating? And you didn’t tell him!? And with a fuck boy like Atsumu?!   “Can me and ___ sit in the back seat?” “You really want to sit back there with both Hinata and ___ who both are prone to being car sick. I can afford to have vomit on me. I always bring an extra pair of sweatpants.” “Ko we can sit up here it’s fine. I don’t want to be near throw up again.” Atsumu rolled his eyes at her and walked back to you and Hinata. “Sho says that Saeko Tanka is a worse driver than me.” “You don’t even know her how can you be a definitive judge on her driving skills.” “Shoyo says he almost died with Kageyama in the car.” “It’s true Sumu, except he was sleeping half the time and eating the other half. He wouldn’t have noticed.” “So she is worse than ___ but doesn’t mean ___ is the best driver in the world.” You pouted on not winning this argument. “Stop pouting babe. I rather see you smile.” He smirked. You falsed a smile. “What was Bo asking?” You asked him. “He asked if he and she could sit back here like they always do.” “Always do?” You asked out-loud. “Yeah, almost every game he takes her on the bus and brings her to the games. He has she likes this VIP treatment of being the only one on the bus beside the team. And the only one who can really watch us while we warm up.” He said going into his bag pulling out his iPad and headphones. ‘Only one.’ You repeated in your head. “But I figured she was feeling too special as of late. And besides, you know more about volleyball and you can see Sakusa basically wash his entire seat before he sits in it.” “Isn’t this the Jackal's bus?” You asked thinking you saw the jacket's decal on the side of the bus. “Yes. We are the only ones that use it. And he has sat in that seat every single time. I’m convinced that he comes here it a vacuum cleaner and cleans the entire bus when we aren’t practicing.” He laughed a little. He noticed you weren’t really paying attention to him. “Don’t bother with them. Don’t even think about it. You want to watch the other team play?” “Sure.”

You arrived at the gym. Atsumu told you to go to the bench where the coach and to watch them warm-up. “We can take the train home. And get dinner.” “Yeah let’s do that. Is the train station far from here?” “No, I don’t think so,” Atsumu said. “Gotta go now.” Bokuto came up to you to say something. “Hey ___. I didn’t think you were going to come to warm-ups today.” It was his phrasing that got to you. He never spoke to you like that before. “Atsumu asked me to come.” “Oh. Why aren’t you sitting up in the bleachers?” “Atsumu said it was fine that I sit here.” You weren’t even looking up from your phone. “Are you just doing everything he says?” “Yes. Were friends Bokuto we live close to each other. He almost always drives me home or I drive him home. We have dinners together too.” “So you guys are just friends?” He asked suspiciously. “Yes. Why do you ask that?” ‘Because he was calling you pet names and basically called you his girlfriend.’ He was thinking but he said in return, “No reason. But does that mean you are better friends with him than me?” He pouted. It was hard to tell now that he stopped gelling his hair up. You wanted to tell him, ‘Yes. He’s been a better friend as of recently.’ But you opted for one that wouldn’t hurt his feelings so much. “Of course not Bo.” You cupped his face. His face brightened up he almost looked like the old Bokuto that you knew. He glanced away for a second and then pulled from your hands. “I have to go now. The game is going to start soon. Make sure to go to the bleachers.” “Atsumu said I could stay here for the game.” You smiled at him.  

“You guys played well today.” “We won by the skin of our teeth today, ___,” Atsumu said frustrated. “But you still won. That is a positive.” “Yeah, you are. What are you going to get?” “I think noodles. I’m not sure if I want soba or udon though. What about you?” “Skewers and onigiri.” “That does sound good.” “We can share if you get soba.” He said wiggling his eyebrows. You nodded your head and agreed. “You know my brother owns an onigiri shop.” “Really? That sounds fun.” “You find that interesting? That is what makes him the weird twin.” “How does that make him the unusual twin? You are a pro volleyball player and the setter. You have high chances of making it on the national team. Onigiri shop is pretty common.” “Exactly who wants to be ordinary.” He stated. “I don’t know. I like to think I’m ordinary.” “Please you are far from ordinary. You are an artist for Shonen Jump. And you are friends with me.” He smiled. “Sometimes Atsumu I wanna punch you across the face. But then you have those puffy cheeks and I could never.” “My cheeks are not puffy.” “They are when you smile.” You squished his cheeks. You enjoyed the light conversation with Atsumu. It made you feel like you were almost talking to Bokuto. But it was different Atsumu didn’t need your constant attention. Plus he wasn’t always happy-happy with everyone. When he didn’t like someone he made it very clear he didn’t not like you. Sometimes he was a dick to people he first meets but gives him the time. “I have a question what is a backup?” You asked. “A backup?” He asked back thinking about what you were asking. “Oh. What Bokuto is using you as?” “Yes.” “It means that you are a standby partner or significant other anticipated as a potential romantic or sexual partner in the event of a failure or unforeseen end of the current relationship.” “And you think Bo is using me for that?” “It’s known at this point. Just his body language and the way he talks to you or about you. It is like he’s territorial over you but doesn’t want you to think that he is actually attracted to you all the time like right now with his girlfriend. Then he goes back to you and then the cycle starts all over again. At least you don’t use him as an emotional fluffer.” “What is an emotional fluffer?” “Oh my, you are so innocent when it comes to relationships. It means using a friend as a significant except they don’t get any of the benefits.” “Shouldn’t shock you that I’m a relationship virgin. I’ve never been in a relationship.” “Not even in high school.” “I was focused on graduating and getting into college.” “Let’s face it your volleyball team wasn’t that attractive.” “Are you calling me a groupie?” “Maybe.” He was laughing. “Nah I’m just joking.” “Wouldn't you be my fluffer?” “How so?” “We go out to dinner, you drive me home sometimes, you have pet-names for me, and you sometimes fix things around my apartment.” “Yeah, but you do the same things for me. Accept the fixing, you just cook for me. You pay for some dinners and you drive me home. So we are both equally fluffers.” You nodded. “Is that a bad thing?” “I don’t think so.” “How does one stop being a backup?” “You date someone else make it apparent to him that you are off the market.” “Good. How do I do that?” “Have you ever been on a date?” “No.” You said lowly. “Ok. Ok. So Friday I have a practice. I will be taking you to a nice restaurant, I’ll come to pick you up, I’ll pay for dinner and dessert.” “Atsumu...” He put his finger in front of your face. “And dress nice too.”

“Come on Atsumu one more set let’s go,” Bokuto said. “Bokuto I have to go. I have a date.” “A date Atsumu?” Sakusa questioned. “With who, Tsumu?” Shoyo asked. “____.” He said sternly but he was excited. While the team was staring him down. Bokuto dropping the ball. “I gotta get home and shower. I have to look nice for her and pick up flowers.” “Didn’t think she would ever say yes to you,” Sakusa said. “But you have to be a gentleman towards her.” “I always am. But I seriously have to go.” Atsumu collected his things and was making his way out the door. Bokuto came running after him. “Why are you taking her out?” “I like her. She is sweet. I like spending time with her.” “She isn’t-” “Yeah I know she isn’t one of my fangirls. And she said something about you telling her that I fucked around with them. Which you and I both know I didn’t. That would be a waste of time. ____ isn’t a waste of my time.” “She said yes.” “Yeah, she did. Why does that surprise you? I spend more time with her than you have in the past month, past year whenever you have a new girlfriend.” Atsumu wasn’t going to listen to any more of whatever pure crap was about to come out of Bokuto’s mouth. And went home to prepare for his date with you.

“___ why did you FaceTime me on a Friday night while I’m editing?” Akaashi asked over the phone call. “You are a guy and my friend and I wanted to ask your opinion on this dress.” You said to your coworker and friend. “Why not ask Bokuto?” “I can’t ask him.” “Why can’t you ask him? And be honest with me because if you don’t tell me he will.” “I’m going on a date.” “A date? With who?” “Miya Atsumu.” “His teammate!” He yelled into the phone surprised. “Akaashi that is beside the point. He doesn’t know that I’m going on this date. And as it was pointed out to me I can’t just sit and wait for Bokuto to decide he wants to be with me. It’s not healthy.” “No, it’s not.” Akaashi agreed. Akaashi never met any of Bokuto’s fleeting romances. He told Bokuto after he met one that was completely rude to everyone. He made it a rule that they had to be dating for at least 5 months. Which was never going to happen. “What was your question?” “Is this dress slutty to go to a nice dinner?” You were wearing a black spaghetti strap dress that fell just at your knees with black stockings. Your hair down with a clip-on on either side. Wearing a simple locket that your mother had bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. You were wearing basic black heels. “You remember those earrings I bought for your birthday the blue ones. Put those in and put on that crop navy cardigan.” You listened to your friend and put those things on. “I do have navy heels, should I put them on?” Akaashi thought about it for a minute. “Yes. I think that will pull the look together.” He hummed with that. “It is nice to see you going out since you are a homebody.” You chuckled. You knew he was just trying to ease you. “I go out with friends. But I see what you are saying because of my position at Jump I can be anywhere and do my work. Hey, I could be in Antarctica all I have to do is meet the deadline and attend meetings virtually.” “What I mean is whenever Bokuto gets a new girlfriend he prioritizes them after volleyball. He even combines the two. When you two became friends through me I asked him to keep an eye on you. But he failed obviously.” “Don’t blame him for having a big heart Akaashi. That he loves so deeply.” You hummed. “Are you going out to go out with and to date Atsumu? Or are you going out with him to get over your crush on Bokuto?” It was a practice date you knew that. Atsumu didn’t really have feelings for you. He wanted to help you get over Bokuto. It wasn’t real. But you weren’t sure if you say to Akaashi that it was that. “Can’t it be both?” “I just worry that you might hurt him if he is just a rebound for your crush. And I don’t that burden on your shoulders.” “It will be fine Akaashi. Now how do I look?” Akaashi was starring at you attentively. “Yes, you look nice. Definitely not slutty.”

Atsumu knocked on your door. He straightened his tie and he held the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. When you opened the door you almost made him speechless. “Hello, Gorgeous. I bought you some flowers.” “Thank you Atsumu.” You took the flowers and placed them in the kitchen vase. “You look very handsome tonight Atsumu. All for me?” “Of course for you. M’lady?” He stuck out his arm out to you. You gladly took it. “And where are you taking me on this fine evening?” “I’m taking you to the new hibachi restaurant.” “Atsumu that is expensive.” “Hush now. I plan to treat you to a wonderful meal after you got dressed up.” He said to you opening the car door for you abs helping you into the passenger seat. “You cleaned your car for me. You really are a gentleman for your dates. Careful Atsumu you might accidentally cause me to fall in love with you.” You joked. “Like I would mind you falling for me Babe.” He stated.

The restaurant was beautiful. Atsumu was able to snag a really good table too. He requested the corner table in the right corner booth. You and he were able to look out at the restaurant. You sat next to him in the booth, he made sure that you sat close to him. “Do you know what you want? Do you want appetizers?” “I do if it means I can spend more time with you.” He smirked at you. “Let’s get soup. It’s light filling so we can enjoy our meal.” He leaned into your ear and whispered, “Hopefully dessert too.” You never thought Atsumu can be this attractive to you. You knew he was hot but this was different. You kind of enjoyed it. You turned your head your lips almost touching, “Trust me I want dessert.” “Hmm. You are good at flirting can’t believe you haven’t been on a date.” He pulled away slightly he had his hand resting on your thigh. You had to remind yourself this isn’t real. “Are you always this flirty with your dates?” You ask. “Yes.” He sighed. “But it’s not that I go out a lot. I am really focused on volleyball and time with my friends. Plus my alone time.” “What do you do during your free time?” “I play video games, go to the gym, watch old matches and try to learn new sets. Sometimes I go to Osamu’s shop and help there. I should take you there sometime.” “Planning a second date already Atsumu?” You teased him. “Of course anything for my beautiful girl.” He laughed. “What have you been up to recently?” “Currently I’m working with an illustrator and author of romance that also has monsters in it. It’s only just starting. It’s a lot of meetings and figuring out what they want the style to be and where the story will go.” “It is not too much for you right?” “No. I like this part of it.” You smiled at him. The waiter was coming over to your table. “Let’s order now.”

“Do you actually want dessert or do you want to go home?” Atsumu asked you as the waiter was taking your plate away. “Mmm. Let’s get ice cream at that ice cream place not far from your apartment.” You said. He paid the bill and he didn’t let you see the bill and you left. You however paid for the ice cream. You knew guys shouldn’t always have to pay. “I was supposed to be treating you on this date.” “I’m your date too, Atsumu. It is only fair that I also pay for something.” He smiled happily at that comment. “I like the idea of being treated nicely. The way I deserve.” Atsumu said sticking his spoon in his mouth. “What flavor-” Before you could even finish asking the question, he stuck the spoon in your mouth. “Pistachio? I didn’t peg you as a pistachio guy.” “Trust me you will never peg me.” He hummed at his perfectly timed comment. “You do realize that I inadvertently kissed you.” You blushed. “Don’t be an idiot Atsumu.” He laughed at your cute reaction. He put out his hand, “Come on let’s go home ___.”

He was walking you upstairs with his arm around your waist. It wasn’t weird being this flirty with Atsumu, in fact, it felt oddly comfortable. “Did you have fun tonight?” He asked as you were opening the door. “Yes, I did. Too bad every date isn’t going to be like this one.” You sighed. “No one can live up to my first date with the Great Miya Atsumu.” “No one has to if you don’t want to.” He stated leaning against the wall. “What Atsumu?” He shifted facing towards you and looking you in the eyes. “If you want to continue going on dates, hold hands in public, kiss even if you are comfortable with that. I don’t do things that will waste my time. I don’t think it would be a waste of time to date you.” You were speechless. “Atsumu I-I don’t know what to say.” “Think about it then. You have my number and you know where I live.”

“Sakusa, Bokuto, Oriver let’s run some quick attacks.” “Sure Tsumu-Tsumu!” Bokuto yelled. “What about me Atsumu?” Hinata asked. “We have been running attacks all day. I have to practice with other spikers too.” “Hinata I want to practice my setting with you,” Inunaki said. Atsumu started practicing his spikes with his teammates. He had a set way of setting to each player. He was working hard on that. Being able to predict his teammate's moves much like his rival Kageyama. Bokuto liked softer spikes than Sakusa’s so he could slam them hard on the ground. He sets the ball just as Bokuto was coming to spike it over the net. The ball made its way over the net but not to Atsumu’s satisfactory. “Sorry, Bokkun wasn’t my best set for you today. I think I need a break.” Atsumu went to the bench and pulled his water from his bag. Sakusa came over to him handing him a towel to wipe himself with. “How did your date go with ___ on Friday.” “It went well. I took her to this new hibachi restaurant I paid for. She bought ice cream for us. I cleaned my car, dressed nice and bought her flowers. I wanted her to feel special. She means a lot to me.” “I still can’t believe she said yes. Considering.” Sakusa looked over to Bokuto. “Sakusa can I tell you something in private?” The spiker nodded and they walked away from their teammates. Sakusa perked his ears to the bottle blonde's information. “It was her first date.” “Oh.” “Not that I had a problem with that. When she told me that I decided that I was going to treat her out. The only reason she even mentioned it was because she wants to get over the great horned owl.” “So you took her out as a practice date?” “Something like that. But I do like her. I told her that and I told her I would like to date her. I asked her to think about it. I wouldn’t be mad at her if she turned down the offer. I would still like to be her friend if she was comfortable with that.” “Would you be ok with being her rebound or second option?” “I wouldn’t think of it like that.” “That’s rather mature of you Atsumu. It seems that you are growing up.”

Miya Atsumu had officially distracted you from work. Sure you have or had a crush on Bokuto but this feeling of being strung along and used felt horrible. He was a great friend. But this feeling was crushing you. Atsumu was nice. He was great. He made you feel good about yourself and he made you feel alive. He made you feel special. Akaashi's words were stuck in your head. You didn’t want Atsumu to feel second to Bokuto. The idea, the action dating him was more than tempting it sounded like a dream. You needed to talk to him. You decided to text him to come to your house after his workout.

You had put out cookies. Baking had always calmed you and Atsumu loves to eat. The knock on the door had you up on your feet so fast. “hi.” You said in a small voice. “Hello ___. May I come in?” “Please. Do you want a cookie?” “I will literally eat anything you bake.” He smiled happily taking off his shoes. He rushed to the cookie plate and brought it to a seat in your living room. “You said you wanted to talk?” “Yes, about your proposal.” “Ok. Before we talk I want to say something. I want you to say everything that you are thinking. I will respond when you are done. If it is a rejection, I want you to know I will not be mad and I would still like to be friends.” You nodded. Ok, here you go. “First things first, I would like to date you. I like how you made me feel on our date. I liked how you made me feel before the date. I worry though that at some point you will feel I choose you second that I put you second. I don’t want you to feel like a second option I know that you sometimes felt that way in childhood being a twin. I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you.” You leaned into your body not wanting to look at him. Atsumu put the plate down and held you close to him. “I hear you. I want to say if I don’t want or think I will feel that way. I promise you that your crush your one-sided love will mean nothing to me. If I help you get over him I’m happy to do that. I want to date you in spite of that because I care about you a lot. And that date meant a lot to me. I wanted you to feel special because you are that to me. I will try every day to treat you like that if you will be my girlfriend.” You squeezed his body. “Alright let’s do this. I want to be your girlfriend.” You looked up to him. He did his childish smirk, pulled your face to his, and placed a light kiss. "I am yours, My Beautiful Girl."

[tsuumu]

good intentions.

kuroo x reader

your long-term boyfriend is perfect. i mean perfect. he excels at basically everything he does. well, except one thing. at least he has good intentions, right?

based off of a request found here.

word count:

tags/tw: y/n & kuroo are uni students, lots of playful insulting, kuroo is perfect, well not really, y/n is a mess, y/n is me doing any kind of work, domestic x1000, kuroo cooking is so cute.

You know those people who just seem to have it all?

No, not literally, but it’s so sickeningly easy for them that they might as well be arms reach of anything they want.

Usually we tend to dislike people like that, mainly because... well, we’re not them (much to our abysmal dismay, too). They end up taking a spotlight of jealousy in our lives and we find ourselves constantly thinking: Man, i’d love to kick their asses, but would alternatively jump at the oppertunity to switch lives with them ‘Freaky Friday’ style.

These people are the embodiment of admiration.

Young. Good looking. Fit. Successful. Socially conscious. Killer smiles. Can always hold a drink. Never seem to embarrass themselves even a little, but on the off chance they do, everyone adores them more and sees it as a cute little incident or quirk of theirs.

Just thinking about it makes you want to build yourself a bunker, deep underground, just to sulk in for a decade or so, lamenting angrily at the dusty walls.

Yes. You know the truth is that there will always be someone better than you at simply existing, but that doesn’t stop that simmering of content from rising within. Realistically speaking, you’d avoid these people like your life depended on it because they’re so... detestable.

So who would have known that you —of all people— would end up falling in love with one?

Well, you did. As much as they repel you, you find that they weirdly attract you too.

That’s right.

The man who stole that pretty little heart of yours, who’d caught your attention indefinitely with his cut-throat prowess and charisma. He’d approached you one fine evening at some bar you’d never been to before, ordered you your favorite drink because he’d seen you order it twofold previously (vodka cranberry, heavy on the juice) and chatted you up the way you’d always wished a guy would.

The appalling epitome of cliche.

The whole encounter practically ran like he’d planned it before-hand. It’s almost infuriating, how easily he swept you off of those tipsy feet of yours.

Something bumps lightly over your head as a shadowy figure passes by. You groan lightly in response.

“Hey, cut it out!”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself on the floor, crossed-legged, pen in your mouth and both your hands. One is furiously scrawling something down, the other flicking the cap off to highlight. It’s an understatement to note that you look like a bit of a mess, brows scruched up in an untidy pile in the middle of your forehead, dead-focused on the first draft of your thesis that was due weeks ago.

Yeah, you were one of those people.

A mocking string of apologetic noises come from the figure in front of you as he chucks his keys onto the kitchen counter.

Kuroo Tetsurou. That’s your A-list Boyfriend.

A-list of what? Of life, for god’s sake.

If it were him that’d been assigned a task with this ridiculous deadline, he’d probably have handed it before it was fucking given to him in the first place! Not only is he academically adept to the point of pure indignancy (on your part, of course, you’re too prone to jealousy for your own good), but his organisation is nothing short of freakishly unnatural.

He says he’s minimalistic, you say he’s an alien.

If someone had told you that the man you loved was actually some kind of secret government- made equipment to survey you, you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. He’s that good.

He chuckles at his own jeers, slipping a hand through the fridge handle. It unlatches with ease and he takes a cold can of beer out, pulling the tab back and allowing it to hiss open satisfyingly. Your eyes flicker upwards, gnawing at your knuckle, you’re not only stressed out, but unbelievably embarrassed that you’re at it again. He’s seen you like this countless times, after promising to clean up your act and follow in his footsteps.

Following in his footsteps. Well, that’s how he described it. You were close to socking his arm.

“Shut up.”

Tetsurou tilts his head back, drinking to his heart’s content before catching your eye. You’re correct. He has seen this before, so he knows not to take your off-handed comments to heart. Instead, he’s rather bemused.

“Your scruched up nose.” He begins, setting the can down to the side, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s your classic concentrating face.”

You’re not even listening if you’re honest. You’re trying to understand what this section of the task even means after re-reading it for the fifteeth time. The responses you give are made absently.

“Hm.”

“You look like a cat that’s been forced to wait to eat. That little glare. It’s cute, kitty.”

Your head jerks up questioningly. Did he call you cute?

His head tilts.

“Oh, you’ve relaxed your face now. It’s gone back to being ugly.”

You scowl and throw the highlighting pen at him.

“Go away! I’m almost done!”

Your fingers move to your lower back, pressing on your spine in hopes it’ll crack and relieve some of the tension in your body. Kuroo retrieves the pen, sweeping the can up with his spare hand. He plods over, craning his neck down to study whatever it is that you have on your lap.

“It’s too dark in here to see that properly.”

“I’m fine!”

“Well—“ He leans back to switch the overhead lights on. “—now you’re finer.”

You turn to him, pausing for a moment.

“Oh, thanks.”

It’s like you fall into this crazed state when you’re overworked. Frantic. Snappy. Cowering in the dark like some sort of parody Dracula— that is, if Dracula were three weeks late on his university assignment worth a disgustingly high percentage of his final grading. If Kuroo came too close, or said something a little too sly, you’d probably bite him. He knows this too, opting to keep quiet from now on. Instead, he sits leisurely on the floor, just behind you, placing his hands against your propped up body and gently pressing his thumbs into the blades of your back.

“Drop it a sec, yeah?”

Your body’s stiff, but you can tell he’s shocked at just how stiff it is. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, before rolling your shoulders back forcefully.

“Can’t... gotta finish—“ and you gesture wildly at everything around you. That answer was to be expected. You weren’t as academically driven, sure, but you weren’t one to give in easily. Or fail, for that matter.

Tetsurou plants a gentle kiss onto the nape of your neck, mumbling into the ridge of your spine.

“That—“ he copies your movements. “Can wait. I know you think it can’t, but it can. And you’re going to stop now.”

Your eyes lower a little, vision blurring.

“But—“

“Nope.”

You twist yourself to look at him, giving him another sour look.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” It rolls off the tongue so easily for him. He’s utterly calm. But then again, he’s not the one that needs to be on bloody ‘X-Games’ mode.

He’s never the one. Damn it.

You lift yourself up a little by placing your palms under you, wincing at the twinges of pain it induces. You’d made friends with the floor for a little too long, butt totally numb.

“Fine.” You resign, suddenly falling back onto him. “I’ll email my professor for the tenth time this week and wait as he rips me apart. Shall I?” Kuroo tuts, snaking an arm around your upper-body, the other brushing at your baby-hairs so he’s able to see your face a little clearer.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh— yes he would. Would you like front row seats to my untimely demise?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

For the first time through that entire day, you smile, even if it’s just a little. And to him, he’s managed to fish you out of that downward spiral you’ve been plunging into. Job well done on his part. He softly runs a his palm down your side.

“Your professor covers mine when she’s busy.” He states matter-of-factly. “Let me email him. It’s not ludicrous to say that i’m your boyfriend and you’re a little troubled at the moment.”

You’re slumped over, at the moment, chin buried into your chest.

“Troubled sounds like i’ve lost my mind.”

“Well not like that—“ The eager boy begins sifting out your laptop from under the seemingly endless piles of paper. “Let’s think of a better excuse.” Your body doesn’t move an inch, fiddling with the cap of the pen lid. You throw it by accident and it bounces too far to reach comfortably. Shit.

“Mmm.” He buries his nose into the crown of your head. “Shall I tell him you got into a car accident?”

“What? Tetsu, that’s stupidly unbelievable. I don’t even drive.”

“I guess... maybe not a car.” His fingers teasingly splay over your stomach, body bent intrusively over yours. They move against the softness of your flesh, dipping down slightly.

You suck in a breath.

“I’m sure I can do something for you that’ll keep you from walking for quite some time.” Tetsurou hums deeply, and it feels like he’s talking directly into your brain.

Your fingers fumble for the pen he just gave back, before hitting him square on the forehead with it. It ricochets back perfectly onto your chest with a loud snap.

“Ow!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Geez.”

“I don’t need excuses. I’ll just come back to it later.”

“Oh— yeah. That too.”

With a heave, you sit up, rubbing the side of your head as the blood rushes back.

“I’m kinda hungry.” You’d been so distracted with this work that even simple, human needs took a backseat.

This is why Kuroo doesn’t like it. At times like this, you’d barely eat, sleep, breathe. Seriously. Sometimes you’d hold your breath for absurdly long periods of time whilst reading, only to hack and gasp and apologise because you were so into it.

That’s... extreme. And he does not approve in the slightest.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm...” Your eyes sparkle hopefully. “Did you get me something to eat?”

Tetsurou scratches his neck timidly.

“Well, not exactly.”

Immediately, your face drops and he protests wildly.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Well— well— you couldn’t help but be disappointed! You were starving and tired and ready to email your professor a string of rather unpleasant curse words instead of another half-assed excuse. Your fingernails had been worn down considerably from all the abrasive biting you’d done, aching and red.

Being a full-time student was covert self-destruction. You heavily relied on your boyfriend to bring in food because you didn’t have the time to do so yourself. This had been discussed and agreed upon prior though, since along with Tetsu’s many formidable talents, a balanced work to school life was yet another.

He ambles back to the kitchen area, gesturing to the island smack bang in the middle.

“That doesn’t mean I came empty-handed.”

Oh. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he’d come home with groceries. Um. Groceries?

“What’s that?”

“Stuff I picked up on the way back.”

“Like, ingredients?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The both of you are quiet for a moment, and you’re eyeing the bag like it’s appeared out of nowhere with something potentially life-threatening inside it. Yes, that sounds stupid. But the truth is... you guys never really got groceries. Not actual groceries with actual ingredients. Because that is a strong indicator that they’d have to be cooked.

And god, neither of you knew how to do that.

You’re a student who’s barely stepped into adulthood, not Gordan Ramsay.

Okay. You sound ridiculous. Cooking isn’t that complex. It’s actually quite simple if your heart’s in it.

“I figured i’d be able to do something with these.” Kuroo pats the bags and they crinkle a tad.

Of fucking course he’d ‘be able to do something’ with them.

He’s Kuroo-Genius-Tetsurou!

CEO of doing things with other things and it actually working out. Building cabinates, lock-picking, gardening, guitar, skateboarding, poker. Since you’ve been together, these are a few of the varation of things he’s naturally picked up.

You? You’re a more do-it-once-it-fails-and-never-do-it-again type.

In your mind there’s literally no doubt he’d ace cooking and list it under the other fifty(billion) things he’s also capable of, just so he can mention it off-handedly to other people at parties or something.

If there’s something to criticise about your boyfriend, he’s awful at shutting up about himself. He’ll go on forever, as if he’s showcasing his entire life to strangers in some desperate attempt to sell them his excessive excellence.

Is he arrogant? Maybe. But is he able to do it in a manner that’s utterly bewitching? Absolutely. He’s not gloating, you see, he’s ‘modestly sharing’. And you find yourself wanting to praise him, you want to hear about how much better he is than you.

Let’s be honest. Kuroo and modesty were not made to be placed in the same sentence, any humble talk of his is utter bullshit.

But everyone loves it all the same.

That’s what you mean about perfect people. They spark something in others. It’s almost hypnotic. And when you snap out of it, it’s like it’s been confirmed that you’re undoubtedly inferior. Post-Kuroo-Encounter depression. PKE. You having a devastating case of it.

Maybe you have a bit of a complex about this. Ugh.

He’s lucky he’s so damn loveable.

And that you’re so damn hungry.

“Okay.” You state.

Plus, you are a little curious to see what exactly will unfold with his newfound persuit in the culinary arts.

You haul ass to get up, audibly cursing, hopping around from foot to foot to get your blood-flow back in action. Eventually, you’ve nestled yourself onto a stool, hands propping your chin up, observing expectantly.

“What are you making, chef?”

“Uhh..” He’s rolling his sleeves up, eyes glued to the screen of his phone that’s placed facing upwards. “Chicken Alfredo.” Tetsu sounds a little uncertain but you’re staring into his head and you can almost hear the cogs turning. Really, it’s only a matter of time until the bastard works his Area 51-esque magic and concocts the dish.

He takes a little more time to familiarise himself with the recipe, before looking up, giving you a wicked grin.

“I’ve got this.”

You’re sure he does, smiling back.

Whilst he’s preparing god knows what, you peek into the grocery bag to see if there’s anything you can nibble on. You recieve another gentle smack to your head. Tetsu’s holding a packet of dry pasta.

He’s hit you with pasta.

“Nu-uh. I didn’t bring any kitty treats for you, be patient.”

“Stop hitting me like i’m a fly, or a cat!”

“Don’t be silly. I’d never hit a cat! They’re precious, adorable, i’d protect one with my life. And you—“ He hits you again. “—well, you’re you, baby.”

You snatch the packet forcefully and lob it at him again.

“You have a death wish, Kuroo-san.”

“Eesh. The formalities! I’m kidding!”

You cradle your cheek in your palm, sighing tiredly. The two of you usually ordered in, or got something you’d be able to set up pretty easily. Neither of you were particularly passionate about cooking, hence its absence in your routines. Yes, it’s excessively healthier than your current lifestyle, but you weren’t suffering. And even now, watching Tetsurou fill a pan with water, muscles firm against the shy of his shirt. You know he isn’t either.

Now that you’re looking, and looking some more, it’s pretty hot, seeing a guy cook.

“You know, you should make breakfast shirtless so I can tell my friends my hot boyfriend cooks me breakfast shirtless.”

He laughs.

“You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. I can’t keep indulging you.”

He means that your desire for immediate gratification is your biggest weak-point. Kuroo’s recently been trying to teach you the art of patience. Abstinence. You don’t get it. Apparently perfect people believe in ‘self-control’ crap.

“Also, oil.” He adds.

“Oh, I suppose it’d hurt, right?”

“Mhm.”

Your boyfriend alternates from his phone to the actual practice in short cycles. To you, he looks like he’s on track, though you’re not quite sure what to be looking for in the first place. These things usually came ready and steaming on plates in restaurants. Even now, having to wait, it’s so difficult. But you’re enjoying the light conversation it brings, so it’s whatever.

Though, that lasting etch of confusion and concern on the boy’s face leaves you wondering if actually, this is proving slightly difficult for him.

“Is everything okay?” You pipe up.

He doesn’t answer at first.

“Think so.”

“Oh— i’ve never heard that from you before.” It’s usually straight confidence from this man.

“Shut up.”

From the stool, you slip, dragging your hand over the counter as you walk around to see it up close. You don’t really know what you’re expecting, but... it’s not this.

“Tetsu, that’s boiling a little violently, don’t you think?”

“...No?”

“Yeah. It is. That’s not a good sign.”

He bats you away.

“We can’t both stand here!”

“Why not?”

“Spaaace.” He whines. “And if we both stay crowded around it’ll—“

And it happens, exactly what you’d predicted.

You, of all people, had made an assumption your boyfriend hadn’t. Ain’t that crazy? The water rises up too high, boiling over and spilling absolutely everywhere. The gas flame heightens all of a sudden, curling up next to the fabric of a dish towel next to it. In a panic, you pull him back.

“What the fuck—“

There’s no time for you to think, your hands fumbling to close the stove, you hadn’t realised the water had seeped over it, causing you to cry out in pain in the process, hand burnt silly.

But you do it. Quickly too. And Kuroo’s utterly dazed, like he hadn’t even thought to react. Your immediate response post-injury is to suck on the wound, trying to suppress the pain with the soothing movements of your tongue. That doesn’t do much, so you flap it about like a mad man, that only instigates more irritation.

Tetsu snaps out of it when he hears your hissing, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you to the sink forcefully, apologising profusely as he does.

Cold water hits you. It’s instant relief.

“God— i’m so sorry, (y/n)—“ He stumbles, still panicking, he seems to be experiencing everything five minutes too late. “I don’t know why that happened, I swear to God i’ve done that before but it just—“

You let out a giggle, and it shuts him up.

Another one slips. It gets louder and louder, harder to suppress until you’re full on belly laughing, hunched over. He stares at you, wordlessly surprised.

“T-Tetsu— you burnt water—“ You try and stifle your laugh but it only shakes your body more. His deep shame morphs into relief when he sees you’re okay. Tearfully making fun of him, but okay. He pulls you into a tight embrace, ignoring your remarks and still feeling unbelievably guilty.

It’s okay. You’re still chortling, holding him just as tight.

“Here, let me— let me bandage this.” In a cupboard somewhere, he pulls out a small wrap of fabric, proceeding to do just that. You watch happily enough, before turning to the boiled water that had completely stilled.

“Thanks. Let me do this.”

With considerable time and effort, you’re able to clean up the haphazard mess and start afresh, filling his place. Yeah, Kuroo is pretty humiliated, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the time than anything else. Seeing you unwavered was enough to make him feel like things were good.

It’s a miracle really, that you do end up filling two plates with delicious smelling pasta.

That lingering look of sorrow is still plastered all over the poor boy’s features, watching you with wide eyes.

“How did you manage that?”

You just shrug, licking a smidge of sauce off of your thumb.

“Dunno. Guess I have potential.” Your gaze moves up to his, pinching his cheek and blubbering jokingly. “Baby. What’s with the long face?”

“Feel bad.” Tetsu looks so glum. It’s adorable.

“Hm.”

The scrape of the plate against the counter is clear as bells as you urge him to eat.

“I should thank you, dumbass.” Admiring the bandage work, a grin settls upon you. This ordeal helps you to see that, actually, Tetsu wasn’t good at everything. In fact, for once, you were better.

And God. That’s— that’s different. You don’t want to be as cocky as him, but it feels nice for a change. He admires you.

“Got an excuse for that late assignment now.” You muse.

“Oh my god.”

You’re always going to be a handful.

“Ugh. Tetsu. Something good always come out of your actions. It’s sickening!”

“I hurt you, silly!”

“I’m feelin’ pretty good about it, regardless. Plus—“ You jump up, leaning over the counter to flick his forehead. “—i’m going to tell everybody this pretty little golden boy set our kitchen on fire because he tried to boil water.”

“Cruel. You’re cruel.”

“The cruelest.”

[pokemon-legends-and-legacies]

Morty/Falkner!

who is more likely to get injured doing small tasks - Morty tbh haha. He's a bit spacier than the more methodical Falkner and is also likely to get distracted by a spirit while working on something.

who worries more about the other - Falkner. He's prone to worrying in general and especially after losing Janine (even if it was something they both knew was coming long before it happened) he tends to fuss over Morty a lot. His biggest concern is something supernatural happening to his husband that he won't be able/equipped to help with. (This habit of worrying extends to their children as well, he's definitely a rather overprotective parent.)

who is more afraid about the other leaving them - Morty. While the whole situation was very complicated and is over and done with, Falkner did break up with him to marry Janine, when you break it down to bare basics, and that does still sting for Morty even now. While he knows that it's extremely unlikely such a situation could arise for either of them now, the fact that it did happen places a seed of doubt in Morty's mind sometimes.

who is more likely to leave (for any reason) - Probably Morty? After everything it'd take a pretty serious situation for either of them to leave the other, but Morty's line of work (dealing with spirits/people's ghost issues) is dangerous and he knows that Falkner isn't the hugest fan of it. If he ever felt like he'd maybe attracted some bad attention from a powerful ghost/spirit or was putting his family in danger in any way, he'd leave for their sake. Falkner knows this and doesn't like it at all, but does understand. It's probably one of the most common things they argue about.

who is more likely to drunkenly confess - Falkner. While he's usually on the more reserved side, he's more open about his feelings when tipsy. Drinking usually just makes Morty fall asleep.

who is more likely to push the other away (for any reason) - It depends on when in their relationship we're talking? If it's earlier on, then Falkner, who tended to dislike showing 'weakness' in front of Morty and preferred being alone when he was having a bad time. However, as things progress he ends up being more clingy and while he never is the type to initiate talking about his feelings when he's upset, he prefers if Morty were nearby or just holding him quietly when he needs it. Morty would be the more likely one then later on, since sometimes things can be overwhelming for him between his empathy and his spiritual awareness and he just needs some alone time.

who picks fights more often - Falkner. He tends to start arguments more just since he speaks his mind more openly than Morty does, so if his husband is doing something he finds objectionable he'll say it outright, even if it leads to an argument.

who usually apologizes first - Morty. Even if he doesn't know what he's apologizing for. If he senses that Falkner is upset, he'll usually apologize, which Falkner finds quite annoying since why apologize if you don't even know if you did anything? But at least it usually leads to Falkner talking about why he's upset, and if he knows he started the argument/fight he'll typically apologize first since he's quick to anger quick to cool.

who is more likely to withhold their feelings for the other - Morty. He knows he's a bit... odd and intense in a way that a lot of people would probably find off-putting, so he'd rather wait for someone he was interested in to make the first move. (Which is probably why he attracts people like Falkner and Jasmine who are indeed the type to make the first move if they think they have a shot.)

who is more likely to lash out at the other - Falkner. Though that's not to say Morty doesn't have his moments, especially when he's stressed and/or overwhelmed.

who gets more jealous - Falkner. He went through a lot to end up where he is now, finally married to Morty, so anything or anyone that he thinks threatens that... (Morty, on the other hand, despite the one who was in a situation where the man he loved was married to someone else, just isn't the type to get jealous. He mainly just felt sad about himself during that time period and tried to move on and wish Falkner the best.)

who is more likely to support the other in a relationship with someone else “as long as they’re happy” - MORTY MORTY MORTY. It already happened earlier in their relationship haha. (Though in that case it was a bit of a situation of "As long as you're happy, Falkner, I'll support yours and Janine's relationship." "But it's an arranged marriage, Morty, and Janine said she doesn't mind if we keep seeing each other." "No it's ok, I understand, you don't have to make concessions for little old me I'll be able to move on, please, be happy with her." "......... for an empath you sure are dense sometimes.")

[suekre]

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.  

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense.  It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.  

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.  

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this -  I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

The Gold Boys

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling  November prompt “Like Father, Like Son” this is a Storybrooke based AU that has been rattling around in my head for a while. When Rumple stabs Peter Pan he doesn’t die instead he turns back into Malcolm and stays that way. Since Bae/Neal and Henry are in town too, Rumple finds himself with more family than he knows what to do with.

He wasn’t hiding. Not really. Anyone could walk through the door of the shop, the little bell jangling their arrival and find him leaning on the counter. There was a cloth spread out over the glass top, a small bottle of silver polish and a second cloth that he was using to buff up every single piece he could find. Mindless, repetitive work. His spinning wheel stood motionless, he couldn’t face that. Far too many memories of times far too long ago that he didn’t want to think about for now. No, he could retreat back into his Mr Gold persona. Pawnbroker, landlord and loan shark. Mr Gold didn’t need to concern himself with the return of errant fathers, long lost sons, new found grandsons and a girlfriend. Mr Gold didn’t need family and the complications that came with it.

And for as long as he could get away with pretending that suited Rumpelstiltskin just fine.

Neal Cassidy wasn’t hiding either. No Ma’am, he was seated at the counter of Granny’s Diner nursing a cup of coffee in full view of anyone passing by. He opened up the Angry Birds app on his phone, firing pissed off birds at smug looking pigs. You wouldn’t know to look at him that he was the son of the Dark One, father of the boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer (don’t forget the capital letters) and grandson of Peter Pan – Malcolm as he was now known. It sounded ordinary in comparison. But then so did Neal when you stood it next to Balefire.

A pixalated pig exploded when a cartoon piece of timber fell on it’s head, he smiled in satisfaction. Bae would have been fascinated by the game. But Bae wasn’t there. Neal Cassidy was and for now he too could pretend that his real personality didn’t exist.  

Malcolm had no choice but to hide. After his disastrous defeat at the hands of his son, being unceremoniously turned back into an adult and finding that blaming his alter ego for everything wasn’t going to work, he’d holed up in a room at the inn called Granny’s – what kind of name for an establishment was that anyway? - and there he had stayed. There wasn’t a cursed or invented persona to provide him with knowledge as to how this land without magic worked. He lay on the bed and sighed. Most of the basics seemed the same, a bed was a bed, a table was a table, water was water. The bathroom had been a revelation. Instead of an iron tub in front of the fire, there was some fancy looking contraption called a shower – it reminded him of a waterfall and a thing called a toilet that he really didn’t trust. What was wrong with a good old fashioned hole in the ground or a nearby tree?

He did know he couldn’t avoid his son forever. Or his grandson. Or his great grandson. People he’d traded away in exchange for eternal youth. If he was very honest he’d admit that it hadn’t all been a barrel of laughs and that he was, very deep down, relieved to be himself again. Malcolm wasn’t given to honesty though.

Henry was beside himself with excitement. He had a father, a grandpa and a great grandpa! None of their stories were fully complete in his book and now a golden opportunity had presented itself for him to find out all the facts. He reckoned his mothers would be fine with him talking to his dad and his grandpa but Peter.. Malcolm.. not so much. Frowning he began tapping his pen on the notebook that lay open on his bed. This was an operation and as such it needed a name. There were so many names involved – Gold, Cassidy, Swan, Mills and whatever Malcolm’s surname was.. Pan? Henry crossed his mothers names off. He knew about them. Staring at the list one name stood out to him above all the others. He smiled.

Operation Gold Boys.

“Henry for the tenth time I am absolutely positive your Grandpa won’t mind you asking him questions. In fact I’m sure it’ll make his day. Talk to him really nicely and he might show you some of the old Dark One razzle dazzle”

Henry snorted a laugh as his dad made a weird looking gesture with his arms

“I’m a little out of practice” Bae pushed open the door to his father’s shop and ushered his own son inside “Hi Papa”

Rumple’s smile could have illuminated the entire town “Hello Bae! Hi Henry. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure”

“Henry has questions for you. About your life” Bae winced slightly as the same smile froze but carried on anyway “I said you’d be okay with it and that he should talk to Belle too since she knew you after I….left…”

That earned him an eye roll from Henry. Seriously grown ups. Little wonder everyone still clung to their old scores and rivalries. How could anyone move on when they couldn’t even have a simple conversation.

“What Dad means is…”

“It’s okay Henry, I know what he means and no I don’t mind you asking providing that depending on the question I might choose not to answer”

“Deal” grinned Henry pulling a notebook from his coat pocket and setting it down on the counter “Now then…”

Despite his misgivings Rumple answered all of his grandson’s questions, he particularly enjoyed reminiscing about his days back in village with Bae and making his son squirm by regaling tales of his youthful misdeeds. Henry listened in wonderment, his father’s childhood different to his own although he could sympathise completely with having a vilified practitioner of dark magic for a parent.

Some of the memories perhaps should have stayed put, however Henry listened without judgement. It seemed as if it all happened to someone else, Rumple merely the narrator, like reading from a book or interpreting a dream. All a long long time ago, in a place far far away.

Bae stayed quiet for the most part both amazed and amused at how his papa opened up to the young boy. The one he’d been convinced would be his downfall. There were stories that he had never heard before, like the real reason his father had needed a walking staff. It made his heart clench  as well as his stomach to think the man had dropped an enormous mallet on his foot and then walked home, branded a coward so that he could be there for the son he’d never even met at that point. The same son he’d taken a dark curse to save from the same battlefields fighting the same enemy. The same son he’d torn realms apart to search for just so he could apologise and tell him he loved him. Me. He did all that for me. Maybe Belle was right. Maybe he wasn’t beyond hope. Bae levelled his gaze at the floor, casually wiping at his eyes.

After they’d gone Rumple retreated into the back room, he gave the spinning wheel a push, it turned a couple of circles before slowing to a stop.  He sat down, picked up a bundle of straw and began threading it through the machine, losing himself in the spin of the wheel.

“I could never get that hang of that”

Rumple turned to see his father standing just inside the curtain that divided the back room from the shop.

“You didn’t have the patience”

“Couldn’t sit still for long enough”

“Indeed”

They lapsed into heavy silence that lasted maybe a couple of minutes but seemed more like hours.

It was Malcolm who spoke first

“So laddie, do you have anything decent to drink?”

Rumple paused for a whole minute before getting up from the wheel, going over to his desk, pulling a bottle of single cask whiskey and two glasses from the bottom drawer. Pouring two measures, his own slightly smaller, being tipsy around his father would not be a good idea.

“What do you want Papa?” there was a sarcastic tinge to the last word.

“To spend some time with my son”

Thankfully Rumple’s glass remained safely on the desk because if he’d been holding it he would have either smashed it into his fathers face or dropped on the floor.

“Ha! Well it took you bloody long enough but what’s almost three hundred years between family eh? Now that I’m not such a drain on your time and money you’ve decided to be one on mine is that it?”

“There’s no need for that laddie…”

“My name” Rumple spat “is not laddie. It’s Rumple Bloody Stiltskin, the longest, most ungodly name anyone has ever been saddled with” his eyes blazed making Malcolm take a couple of steps backwards.

“I was angry” he spluttered

“I was a child and you abandoned me”

“I left you with those spinster women. They looked after you. Kept you fed. You turned out alright besides you can’t talk about being abandoned. You did the same to Bae. Like father like son eh laddie”

Suddenly Malcolm felt the air rush from his lungs, his body propelled backwards by an unseen force, slamming into the wall. He tried to protest but forming words was impossible. He clawed at his throat desperately trying to find a breath.

“Don’t you dare” snarled Rumple advancing on the prone figure “Don’t you BLOODY DARE. I am nothing like you. NOTHING. I took the dagger to save my son from a war. You took your curse to avoid your responsibilities. Because you didn’t like being a grown up. BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T WANT ME!!”

“Papa that’s enough” Bae’s voice cut through the room but Rumple didn’t seem to hear him. He laid a hand on his father’s shoulder “I said that’s enough”

Malcolm dropped unceremoniously to floor. Rumple staggered backwards, Bae guided him to a chair “I’m sorry son. I lost my temper. I…”

“Shh. Papa it’s okay. It’s okay”

Malcolm groaned, trying to push himself up “A little help here eh”

Balefire and Rumple exchanged a look. The younger man went to assist his grandfather whilst Rumple tried to get his composure back. He knew he shouldn’t have lashed out, it’s probably the reaction his father was looking for. Always pushing to see how many lines could be crossed. He wiped his hand over his face “I apologise papa. I shouldn’t have done that”

Malcolm looked flustered, that wasn’t what he’d expected, his son was the Dark One and not known for showing remorse. He nodded “No harm done lad…son”

Bae smiled his approval.

“Stay still Papa and I’ll send you home” Rumple made to wave his hand.

“Wait! Can I come and see you tomorrow? I er I have know idea how this world works and I think I need new clothes. The only other person here dressed anything like me is that bloody pirate”

“I suppose we can’t have that now can we” Rumple almost smiled “We’ll organise you something more appropriate in the morning”

Malcolm was engulfed in a cloud of red smoke and disappeared. Bae was still smiling at him “I’m proud of you Pop”

Perhaps Rumple mused in his case it wasn’t like father like son but more a father trying to be more like his son.

 Read it on my blog here https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2020/12/02/the-gold-boys/

[themarvellouswriter]

MOB!SEBASTIAN x TALL!READER

PART ONE OF THE MASTERPIECE SERIES 

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of to be honest

Word Count: 1.8k

Genres: Mob!AU (Is this a genre?), mild fluff, slight slow-burn, some angst (or maybe a lot of angst)

Notes: Its my first official fic on Tumblr you guys, wish me luck! And happy reading! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But Y/N, you promised!” “I’m sure you must have hallucinated my response. Why would I willingly promise to wear five inch heels to your bachelorette party?!” “Cause you’ve got killer legs and you always look good in heels,” pouted your best friend, Sofia, from where she was lounging on the sofa of your apartment. “I am perfectly fine wearing my very comfortable two inch ones.” “You always wear them! For me? Your only best friend, who’s getting married in a week?” You looked at Sofia’s puppy eyes and sighed. “Fine, I’ll wear them. But no dancing. I’m already a foot taller than everyone else, no need to add my ridiculous and non existent dancing skills to the mix.” “Deal!” She pressed an excited kiss to your cheek as she stood up and held up a brand new shoe box. “For my bestest and loyalest friend in the whole wide world!” Taking it from her you opened it slowly to reveal said pair of five inch heels. You had to admit, they were gorgeous. Delicate red laced straps and closed toes, just like how you liked them. You hid a smile. Sofia grinned. “I know you love them,” came her sing song voice from next to you. “Fine. Yes. Yes, I do love them.” “Lovely. Try them on!” You tried them on and stood up. Sofia squealed. “You look amazing!” You looked down at your feet and then met Sofia’s glowing smile with one of your own. “Yes, I do!” She pulled you into a tight hug, her head now barely reaching your shoulders.

Suddenly an alarm went off. “Oh, we’ll be late!” “No, you’ll be late. To your own party.” “Which you organized!” “Touché.” Sofia practically skipped into your bathroom to change her clothes. A few minutes later she stepped out wearing a sparkly champagne coloured dress with her six inch golden pumps. “Ta-da,” she said striking a pose.  “Very nice. Very Charlie’s Angels of you,” you complimented her, slowly clapping. She took a deep bow. “Thank you, thank you.” You went inside the bathroom and changed out of your clothes into a similar shimmery knee length red dress. You didn’t really like short dresses because the shorter the dress the more uncomfortable you felt. You looked at yourself in the mirror and gave a slight twirl. ‘Nice’. You walked to find the rest of the party crowding your apartment. All seven of members of your party had dressed to the nines in glitter and were wearing the colors of the rainbow. Sofia liked to keep things fairly small but wild. And for her you would do anything. When everyone finished putting the final touches to their outfits, you called your hired limo for the night and set off for the craziest night of your life.

After spending the entire evening trying to keep the girls mostly sober but slightly tipsy and having fun, you were tired. As much as you were used to wearing heels and towering over people, wearing five inch ones and keeping six giggly girls on their feet was not so much fun. You felt like mother trying to keep her screaming children from screaming louder. At the last stop for the party, you headed to a quiet and mostly empty pub so that they could sober up and not have hangovers the next day. There was another small and quiet party in the corner who appeared to having a meeting of some sort. Not paying much attention to them, you left the girls in a booth in the corner, then headed to the counter to order some light snacks and water bottles. As you waited, you idly stared at the clock behind the bar. 23:47.

Most of the girls were half asleep and the others, mainly Sofia, were playing with the napkins on their table. You felt someone approach you from behind. You stiffened. “Hey,” came a low, slightly gruff voice. You turned around to meet a pair of blue grey eyes. “May I help you?” You asked politely. “Yeah, I’m Sebastian and my friends over there forced me to ask you for your number.” “And?” “And I think you’re really pretty and I would really like your number.” At that moment your order arrived. You gave the man a quick once over. He was dressed extremely well in an expensive looking navy coloured suit and his hair were kind of long and slicked back. He had a soft smile on his face which gave him a sort of puppy look and his eyes were really nice. He had day old stubble which made him look older and very nice looking, not to mention kissable, lips. Your mouth twitched. “If I see you again, then I will. Because right now, my girls need me.” You tilted your head in Sofia’s direction and stood up and you were so much taller than him. He, Sebastian, wasn’t short by any means but right now you practically towered over him. ‘Darn it’. You walked away, face flush with embarrassment, towards your table. You kept your head down the entire meal and when the limo came to drop everyone off at their place, you were the first one in.

You liked being tall. Being tall was nice. Nothing was ever too much out of reach and although you never could have fun on the monkey bars, you liked it. But sometimes being so tall made you want to scream. Why was it that you were so much taller than everyone you were interested in? And not to mention the constant jabs from everyone who looked at you funny for wearing heels. Its not like you needed them, but you wanted them instead. You liked being tall but you often wished that you were small enough to be cuddled with and picked up and swung around in a lover’s arms. And ever so often you’d feel the need for being treated like a small and fragile human instead of a tall and imposing one.

You stayed mostly quiet the entire way under the guise of being exhausted when they girls looked at you questioningly. You smiled and reassured them that you were fine. But your mind kept going back to the ridiculously good looking guy who’d asked for your number and you’d turned him down. On retrospection, maybe he was more good looking now that you were miles away. You shrugged off thoughts about him as you finally got down and helped Sofia out. You paid and thanked the driver for his services and led her in. Sofia immediately collapsed on you bed. “That was the best bachelorette party ever. I had so much fun and by the looks of your night, you had fun too!” You laughed. “It was nothing. I’m glad you had fun.” “What about tall and cute and handsome at the pub? He seemed into you.” “Oh Sofia. You know me. I have extremely high standards. Most people don’t even come close to them,” you deflected easily, knowing that Sofia would never let it go if you told her that you had chosen her over some hot guy.

You changed into your pyjamas and then coerced Sofia into hers. She was staying with you for the night since it was nearly one in the morning. After what seemed like hours of her pouting and making faces and cries of ‘I’m too hyped to sleep! I’m getting married’, you finally managed to get her in bed. After tucking her in, you lounged in your balcony, propping your feet up on the railing and gazing up at the sky. You must’ve dozed off for a while because the next thing you know there were a couple of thuds coming in from the alleyway between the buildings opposite to yours. Several flashes of light followed by a short scream which was abruptly cut off.  Your curiosity got the better of you and you jumped to your feet, grabbed your phone and headed out to investigate.

Using the torch on your phone, you slowly walked towards it. Quietly you made your way inside. Two people were beating up your nice neighbour Veronica Martin, who always gave you a cupcake from her little bakery around the corner. Furious, you stepped into the light and let out an indignant yell, “Will you two jerks stop hitting her?! She’s done nothing wrong.” They gave you the once over and snorted. “This is none of your business, girlie. Run along now.” “Excuse me? If you don’t stop right this second, I’m going to call the police.” The shorter of the two stepped towards you threateningly. “Don’t make us do something you won’t like.” Veronica coughed from her place on the floor. “Leave me, its okay Y/N. I deserve this.”

You clenched your phone tighter and said, “Nobody deserves to get beaten up in the middle of the night.” “Get lost, punk. Or you’re next.” “Try me, egghead. I ain’t playing around.” “Alright, you asked for it.” The shorter one pulled out a blade and moved towards you. “Two years of college mixed martial arts, don’t fail me now,” you muttered to yourself as you ducked just as he swung his knife at you. Taking a step back, you kicked him the stomach and as he keeled over in pain, you snatched the knife from his limp fingers. “You wanna try this again, ugly?” You taunted the other one. You moved closer to Veronica’s prone form and held the blade threateningly. The other held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, we’ll go now.” He made his way slowly to where his partner was groaning in pain. “Wait, before you go.” “Huh, wha-” And you punched him the face. “That was for hurting Veronica. Now scram.” The taller looked at you, his expression a mixture of offence and surprise as he gingerly touched his cheek. After making sure that they weren’t gonna come out and surprise you, you bent over Veronica and examined her. “Oh, V, you’re hurt so bad.” Her eyes fluttered as she looked up at you. “I’m calling the hospital.” As soon as they picked up, you gave instructions on where you both were. You cradled Veronica’s head and spoke soothingly. Her eyes widened suddenly, “Y/N watch out-” Something heavy hits you on the back of your head and the next thing you know is there is a dull throbbing at the base of your skull and then darkness.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Gibbous Chapter 7

Chapter Title: J is for Jerk

Summary:  Virgil's life is actually going good for once, Roman aside. However, of course something comes down to knock down the metaphorical house of cards, that something's name being Jerad.

Word-Count: 6046

Warnings:  Crying, Death Mention, Gaslighting, Verbal/Physical Abuse, Panic Attack

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AO3 Link

A/N: Hello everyone! I told myself I'd update this fic on my birthday and well here I am! *inserts The Emperor's New Groove gif of Kuzco going "This is my birthday gift to me! I'm so happy!"*

Many thanks to @theeternalspace for listening to my numerous rants about this chapter, reading over this chapter like three times for me and being a patient, encouraging friend. And also thank you to everyone who has left such nice comments on this fic in recent weeks, I appreciate them all <3

Also a majority of this chapter's events take place before Chapter 5 just to clear things up.

-

Roman aside, Virgil’s miserable attempt at life was...far from miserable at the moment. He actually liked his job, for one. His coworkers were friendly and he found sorting books and putting them away weirdly soothing. He had three actual friends. Something he was still reeling from.

Still, even with these good things his mind was prone to worry.  It was annoying. He knew he should be grateful, that he should enjoy it while it lasted. But anxiety isn’t known to be bend to rational thought. That was sorta the whole point of anxiety.

He tried ignoring the impending sense of doom. It had to be just irrational nonsense and nothing more. Except it wasn’t. Something came, carelessly knocking down the tower of cards. That something’s name was Jerad.

Virgil was like 75% percent positive that the letter J in Jerad’s name stood for jerk. Though, Jerad was deserving of a variety of more explicit, foul names than jerk. Virgil, having a healthy fear of death, chose not to disclose them to Jerad himself. Instead, he thought about them, silently, in his head.

But…he wasn’t a jerk all the time; hence the 75%. For as much as Virgil complained about his roommate, Jerad wasn’t that bad of a guy. When he wasn’t drinking or blasting his music of course. It wasn’t like Virgil was in a position to confront him about either of those things.

Jerad let him go late on paying the rent more times than he could count. Hell he wouldn’t have a place to live it wasn’t for Jerad.

He’d been almost eighteen and panicking. When he turned eighteen, he’d be kicked out of the foster care system. While Virgil hated the system, but it ensured him a place to stay and food to eat. Soon that’d be all on him to figure that stuff out. For such a small amount of space, apartments were ridiculously expensive. There’d be no way for him to rent an apartment without resorting to having a roommate to help pay the rent.

It was something he dreaded, because it meant he had to coexist with a virtual stranger. Which really wasn’t different from drifting from foster home to foster home. It still didn’t mean Virgil was fond of the idea.

When Jerad caught a whiff of his dilemma, he’d came to his aid.

“My roommate Robby left me to pay the rest of the lease on my own—skipped town, the bastard. I figure, you can have his room as long as you pay your part of the rent. Whattaya say?” Jerad flashed a grin.

“U—uh sure.” Virgil stammered, “thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me, it’s what anyone would do.” Jerad laughed, patting Virgil’s back.

Virgil flinched a bit at the action. He didn’t like how Jared patted his back just a little too hard. However he kept his mouth shut. After all, the guy had just offered him a place to stay. Jerad kept rattling on about details for the apartment, appearing completely ignorant of Virgil’s discomfort.

At the time, he knew Jerad as his friendly-but-annoying-at-times coworker. He had no reason to assume otherwise. Especially when Jerad did such nice things like furnish the apartment with a new couch and refused to take Virgil’s money for it.

Sure, sometimes he used those nice things against Virgil when they got into an argument.

“Well since I was the one who brought the couch, I think I reserve the right to watch TV whenever I want to!”

But he was always quick to apologize a day or two later. Such as the incident that happened when Virgil arrived home from the werewolves’ house the first time. Jerad had been drunk that night, yelling and accusing of Virgil attempting to skip town.

Virgil had been terrified. How was he going to explain to Jerad he might not have a job anymore? It was one thing to pay rent late, it was another to have absolutely no money at all. What was he supposed to say?

“Hey, uh, I kinda got kidnapped by werewolves and spent a night locked in their basement, sorry about the inconvenience?”

It sounded laughable to his own ears. Hell, if he hadn’t experienced it himself, he wouldn’t believe it. It was crazy. Paranormal sightings in the city hadn’t happened in the city for years. It was unlikely anyone was going to believe his story. He’d look like the boy who cried wolf, literally .

There was also the fact that he could possibly hurt Patton in the process and…he didn’t want that. Not after anything he’d done for Virgil.

He had to come up with a story that was more believable than that. A lie, essentially. Lying was not Virgil’s forte. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like how it made his stomach churn and his mouth dry. But there was no damn way he was telling the truth.

He paced the narrow length of his room, hands pulling at his greasy locks of hair. A story, a story—what he could possibly say? He got drunk and woke up three states away with no idea where he was? No, no that’s unbelievable. Jerad knew he wouldn’t pull off a stunt like that.

Virgil would have maybe one or two drinks. But never enough to get him flat-out drunk. He disliked the loss of control that came with being tipsy.

Still, Jerad tried his best to pressure him otherwise. Sometimes when none of his other friends were available, he dragged Virgil to bars to be his drinking buddy for the night. He had to come up with something else.

Could he tell the truth and just conveniently leave out the fact they’d been werewolves? Would anyone believe that complete strangers would do such a thing? Virgil wouldn’t.

Amnesia, maybe? A fib about how he got whacked on the head so hard that he completely lost all his memories? It happened all the time in novels and movies. Real life? Not so much.

Virgil let out a pained groan, collapsing onto his bed. He couldn’t think of anything that would satisfy Jerad. Even telling the truth was sure to earn Jerad’s ire. He’d accuse of Virgil of telling a lie even then. There was only one thing that Jerad would believe. It was the very thing he’d accused Virgil the night before.

His chest tightened at even the thought of it. It was just like any of the other explanation he’d thought of telling Jerad; they were all fake. So why was he more conflicted using that one than the others? He hadn’t even denied it when Jerad had brought it up a second time.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, alright?”

Jerad hardly remembered anything when he was plastered. There was a good chance he’d forgotten about the whole interaction from the night before. But there was always a slim chance that he hadn’t. Virgil didn’t like taking that chance.

Okay, he skipped town. That was his story. But why did he skip town? What had made him come crawling back? Think Virgil, think!

His doorknob rattled as an outside force tried turning it open. Jerad. Virgil sat frozen for the few seconds it continued to jingle. He was relieved he’d had the foresight to lock it in the first place. Virgil knew that his thin wooden door was hardly any protection against him and Jerad, a former star high school football quarterback. It was really only a matter of time until Jerad broke through and beat him to a pulp.

Except that didn’t happen. Jerad would never beat him to a pulp—or he’d at least never done it before. There could always be a first time. That didn’t change the fact that Jerad had physically hurt him before. It was only a bruise, here and there.

Drunk Jerad forgot about his own strength sometimes. Sometimes a friendly slap on the back wasn’t so friendly. Still, Virgil had worse. He still had scars left over from high school bullies and the few bad foster parents he’d endured. He never had any lasting marks from Jerad. Only bruises that faded into oblivion.

“Hey Virgin, you awake?” Jerad asked through the door.

Virgil exhaled sharply at the nickname. Jerad wasn’t the first one in his life to call him that. The high school bullies had really jumped on that one. His name Virgil sounded similar to Virgin—hilarious. Truly, comedy gold.

He’d asked Jerad once to not to call him by that. The other had laughed.

“Oh, don’t be such a pussy!” Jerad said, taking a swig of his beer, “It’s true isn’t it?”

“Well yes—”

“Then I don’t see the problem with me stating facts,” Jerad shrugged his shoulders, “Tell you what? I’ll stop calling you that once you find a hot chick to hook up with.”

That interaction with Jerad left a bad taste in his mouth. It was true—Jerad and the others were just stating a fact. Virgil was a virgin. He wasn’t ashamed of it. But he hated how they said it—like it was synonymous with loser. Worse, he was somehow lesser for it.

There wasn’t anything wrong with being a virgin, was there? Or being repulsed by the idea of sex. There was a term for that. Asexuality. He had come across it on Tumblr. It’d been a relief to know he wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t told Jerad. There was no use when he already knew what his response would be.

He’d laugh and tell Virgil he’d change his mind. Or that he was just imagining he was that way. The last one was what Virgil feared most. What if he was just making it up?

Virgil shoved those thoughts away, taking a deep breath. Shit, how long had Jerad been waiting for an answer behind the door?

With a trembling hand, he reached for the door. He unlocked it before swinging it open. Jerad stood there, grinning. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

“Hi, Jerad,” Virgil said, attempting to keep his voice level.

“You’re really here…” Jerad’s grin grew wider, “I thought you coming back was a dream or something.”

“About that—”

“Oh boy you missed the wildest party ever—I’ll tell you over breakfast, my treat!”

He swung an arm over Virgil who allowed himself to be dragged outside his room, outside the apartment. He’d been too shocked to protest. He doubted he could wiggle out of Jared’s ironclad grip even if he wanted to. Was Jerad after last night really taking him out to eat? Apparently so, as the two walked through the doorway of a cute breakfast café.

Jerad rambled on the party, but Virgil could hardly focus on his words. He nodded at all the right parts, giving the façade he was listening. All he could hear was the thrum of his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

He moved his food around the plate, merely giving the impression he was eating. Virgil never had much of an appetite but he definitely didn’t have one at the moment. His plate was gigantic. Bigger than the typical American restaurant serving, which was already impossible to eat in one sitting. There was a stack of steaming buttermilk pancakes dripping with syrup. A bowl full of fresh fruit. Lastly, there was also a plate with sunny side up eggs, bacon and sausage. His stomach turned to knots just looking at it.

Virgil, not wanting to take advantage of Jerad’s generosity, had tried ordering the cheapest item on the menu. Jared laughed and told the waitress to disregard that. Virgil didn’t correct him when the waitress looked over at him for confirmation. He gave only a feeble nod, his gaze falling onto the checkered tiled floor.

“You’re my friend, Virgil. No need to go starving for my sake!” Jared laughed, giving him a light punch on the arm. It was just a friendly tap, he knew Jared didn’t mean anything by it. He still tensed up when he saw that hand coming towards him.

Virgil had chuckled weakly in response.

He hadn’t taken a single bite of his meal. He felt guilty—Jared had paid for it and he couldn’t even muster up the appetite. He was too busy thinking about how he was to break it to Jared he probably didn’t have a job anymore. Jared often let him pay his rent late—sometimes allowing Virgil to go without paying that month’s rent at all. But this was different. What if he couldn’t find a job? Would Jared throw him out on the streets?

“Hey Virgil, mind sharing a piece of your sausage with me?” Jared asked, jarring Virgil out of his thoughts.

Jared had gotten the same dish as Virgil. In fact, he still had some of his own sausage left. But it wasn’t like Virgil was going to be eating his anytime soon. Virgil nodded, sliding the plate closer to Jared. The other man dug into it, without saying a word of thanks to him.

“Y’know, you’ve been really quiet, V-Man,” Jared said, mouth half full of food, “What’s up with you? Are you constipated?”

“N—no, I just,” Virgil hesitated, “Why aren’t you angry? Weren’t you mad last night?”

Jared’s eyes darkened and immediately Virgil regretted his words.

“I was drunk, Virgin . You know I don’t mean anything when I’m drunk,” He scowled, “Sure I was worried. I thought maybe you pulled the same shit on me as Robby. But I wasn’t angry.”

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not, especially since you came back!” Jared’s eyes brightened once more.

Virgil bit his lips, “Jared, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now, now none of that chicken shit!” Jared interrupted, clasping Virgil’s shoulder, “I gotta go to work soon, but whataya say that tonight you tell me where you’ve been? We can go hit up a few bars and get fucking wasted.”

“S—sure.”

“A—awesome!” Jared said, mocking Virgil’s stutter, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

Jared never accepted Virgil’s apology or really allowed him a chance to explain. It was probably best, considering Virgil himself didn’t know how. He did allow Virgil to stay at the apartment. He had even been the one to encourage Virgil to go back to Kirby’s to get his job back there.

“C’mon Virgey, man up! Give some sob story about your mother being in the hospital and the old hag will eat it up.”

Virgil clenched his teeth, “Yeah, Jerad, I’m sure that’d work great except my parents are dead .”

“Oh right,” Jerad said, having enough decency to look a bit remorseful, “Well, make something else up then!”

So sure, Jerad was a jerk that played loud music. He was also a jerk that shared his apartment with Virgil and occasionally did nice things like buy him breakfast. So he couldn’t be that bad of a guy, right? Or so he thought.

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

Virgil’s first mistake had been falling unconscious on the couch. It wasn’t even that comfortable, with its’ broken springs and sunken cushions that smelled like liquor. Even his lumpy mattress was a step up to the couch. Really, fifteen paces and he could collapse on his bed within the security of his room.

Fifteen paces, however, seemed impossible to an exhausted Virgil. He worked a full day running on only a few hours’ of sleep in the last 48 hours. It happened when you were an insomniac. Virgil scraped by with copious amounts of coffee. Caffeine always gave him a pounding headache, but it was better than being a literal zombie. He should’ve known all that caffeine would result in a crash.

Virgil shuffled inside his apartment, lasting a few steps in before his vision swarmed. He swayed, his body dipping downwards in a vertical dive. ‘ Oh, I’m falling ,’ He realized belatedly. His last thoughts hoping he made contact with the couch rather than the floor.

“Virgil!”

Someone called his name. He made a sluggish attempt to move his limbs, still fraught with fatigue. How long had he been asleep? It felt like forever. His subconscious threatened to drag him back into its depths. But alas, it was not to be.

Something shoved Virgil off the couch, causing him to collide with the cold hard floor. Virgil let out a groan. The sharp pain coursing through veins jerked him wide awake. A ravenous laughter roared above him. Jerad.

He must’ve shoved Virgil as a joke. That was all there was to it. Nothing to get worked up over. Still, Virgil was on the couch. Jerad’s couch. Jerad was going to yell at him for hogging the couch when he had a perfectly good bed to sleep on--

Virgil’s breath hitched.

This should’ve been where he stammered an apology to Jerad before fleeing to his bedroom. Like he’d done plenty of times before. Except in the midst of Jerad’s laughter, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Without thinking, he pulled it out. That had been his second mistake.

Because it was a text from Patton. The werewolf sent him an outdated meme. Like one might find from a cringey Facebook meme-page frequented by soccer moms and elderly people. But it was from Patton and Virgil couldn’t help the smile that curled across his face.

“Aww Virgie, who you texting? Did you finally get laid?”

A hand snatched the phone away from his grasp.

“Hey give it back!” Virgil lunged toward Jerad, but the former football quarterback easily sidestepped him. This caused Virgil to crash hard into the coffee-table. Virgil stifled a curse as he rose up.

“What? Afraid I’ll see some embarrassing sexts?” Jerad rolled his eyes, his thumb flicking across the cracked screen. His smile dissipated as he scrolled further and further into the text conversation.

“Virgil, what the hell is this?”

Oh no . There wasn’t any reference to Pat being a werewolf was there? Aside from memes, there wasn’t much on there as far as he could recall.

“It’s a text conversation with my friend Patton.” Virgil swallowing, trying to push down the fear that threatened to engulf him.

“Steven Universe? This guy watches little kid shows? Are you friends with a five-year-old?! C’mon this is paaaathetic .”

“Jerad, please give me my phone back.” Virgil begged, reaching for the phone but Jerad held it high above his head.

“Nah, this shit is hilarious. I can’t believe this guy really thinks he’s your friend!”

“Thinks? Jerad, he is my friend.”

But his roommate just laughed as if Virgil told a joke.

“Psh, yeah right. You’re telling me you’re friends with a guy that thinks puns are funny?” Jerad rolled his eyes, “Like this one, ‘don’t go bacon my heart’?”

“Jerad, give it back!” Virgil growled, his eyes shiny with righteous fury. It was one thing when Jerad teased him. It was another thing entirely for him to attack Patton. It didn’t matter the werewolf wasn’t there to hear it. It also didn’t matter he’d have no idea unless Virgil told him. Virgil’s vision still went red.

He hopped on top of the coffee-table, using the added height to make a better grab for the phone. Jerad leapt out of the way, finding the attempt amusing. They began a chase around the cramped apartment, no doubt causing a ruckus for their neighbors to hear. Jerad continued reading the texts in a mocking, shrill voice. It only drove Virgil angrier, making his reaches more frantic.

They had ended up on their apartment balcony when Jerad suddenly halted. Virgil almost ran into him, stopping just in the nick of time. All signs of teasing had left Jerad’s face. It was blank and it was honestly starting to frighten Virgil how he kept scrolling up the text conversation with a blank look on his face.

“Um,” Virgil began nervously, “Jerad, dude, you okay?”

“Are you planning on fucking leaving me without warning, like Robbie?” Jerad demanded.

Virgil took a step back, “What? No!”

“Then what are these texts?” Jerad demanded, before reading them out in a disgusted tone.

Hi Virgil! I noticed some new apartments going up a couple blocks away from the library. They look super cute! It’d only take you five minutes to walk to work!

I heard there was a shooting near your apartment last night, u ok?

Your landlord should really take care of that, it’s a safety hazard!

Wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Your roommate should be more considerate and not play his music so loudly.

Shit . Shit, shit, shit. He’d forgotten about those texts. Patton was unusually concerned about Virgil’s safety. Or at least, Virgil wasn’t used to other people caring for him in that capacity before. He’d been trying to encourage Virgil to find a better living situation for weeks now. Which was great, except Virgil couldn’t do it for a multitude of reasons.

Finding a new apartment would most likely involve finding a new roommate. As Virgil sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to afford an apartment by himself. He couldn’t move in with Remy because the vamp lived on campus. The werewolves’ house was also a no-go because Roman. And besides Jerad would be so upset after everything he’d done for Virgil.

Of course Jerad would come across those texts. Virgil was certain he must’ve broken a mirror or something to deserve this amount of bad luck.

“Dude, I swear it isn’t like that,” Virgil protested, “Patton, he’s just been concerned that--”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit! Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”

“W-what?”

“He’s manipulating you--duping you into thinking I’m the bad guy when I’ve been the one helping you longer than he has! I’ve let you skip rent a few times, let you use my couch, my TV and you’re really gonna listen to him? What has he or anyone else have done for you?”

“It isn’t--isn’t like that! Patton, he--he offers good advice, he’s just looking out for me! So is Remy. He helped me get a new job--”

“A new job?” Jerad asked, “why didn’t you tell me you had a new job?!”

Virgil just stared at him, stomach sinking. He told Jerad this weeks ago. It’d taken a lot to tell him, and Jerad, he hadn’t--he didn’t retain any of it?!

“Why do you care so much?” Virgil snapped, taking a step forward, “I’m still paying rent regardless of where I work or who I hang out with.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, that’s all! Don’t you think it’s a little sketch that after you got a little new job, Virgin--”

“My name is VIRGIL,” He snarled, “and if you’re keep acting like a jerk about this, maybe I should just move out!”

Virgil wanted to rip Jerad into shreds and not just with words. Oh no, words weren’t enough. His fists itched for violence, to be red from his roommate’s blood. It scared him how close he was to murdering the 6’4 former quarterback. ‘He deserves it, ’  A little dark voice in his head whispered, ‘He belittled your friends.’

Worse yet, he shouldn’t have said those last words to Jerad. It’d been his third mistake.

He knew it by the way Jerad clenched his teeth, his eyes trailing towards the edge of the balcony. Jerad glanced back at Virgil’s phone and then back at the streets below. He took a step towards the balcony railing.

“No!” Virgil screeched, rushing forward. He snatched his phone away from Jerad right then and there. For a triumphant moment, he held most prized possession in his grasp once more. Then a hand clamped down on him, onto his wrist and he yelped in pain. Jerad. He tugged uselessly to free the grip with his other hand. It was no use. Jerad was so strong, and oh my god he was going to kill him, wasn’t he?

“Jerad, please!” He called out, but his roommate remained resolute in his fury.

He squeezed Virgil’s wrist tighter, attempting to force him to drop his phone. But Virgil refused to let it go, even as tears pricked his vision. It only angered Jerad further. He threw Virgil against the balcony railing. Virgil cried out as Jerad practically dangled him over it, towards the cement sidewalk a hundred feet below.

For one terrifying moment, Virgil thought he’d be sent airborne, flying rapidly downwards to meet a grisly death. It’d be so easy for Jerad to do that. He could get off scot-free, claim Virgil’s death was a suicide. The police would believe him. After all, Virgil was such a nobody that no one would care to look further into it.

With those thoughts swishing around in his brain, he let go of his phone. He watched it fall. Down, down, down until it made brutal impact with the ground like a rocket failing to launch. Jerad released his hold on Virgil. He fell, stomach plummeting as his arms waved wildly in the air. He swore he was falling to his death. Instead his back made impact with the floor of the apartment balcony.

Virgil didn’t stay there. He jumped up at once without sparing a second glance to Jerad. Heart in his throat, he fled the apartment. He ran out of the apartment building, his legs feeling like a pair of unstable Jenga towers; ready to topple at any moment. He kept on running though. He ran until he arrived at the smattered remains of his phone. He collapsed to the ground, hands reaching forward.  As he gathered the pieces into his hands, a pathetic wail escaped his lips.

Everything became one dizzying, gigantic blur after that. Virgil placed the broken phone pieces into his jeans pocket. He remembered that. He must’ve stood at one point, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand. He didn’t know when he started running. It just happened. He ran off, heading to a destination he himself wasn’t sure of.

Each breath felt like a struggle, his lungs straining to take in oxygen. The world looked like he stepped into a watercolor painting. Except it was a ruined painting, all the colors running together to create an ugly blobby mess of something meant to be beautiful.

One thought echoed in his mind on repeat.  He pushed to keep moving forward, to get as far away from Jerad as possible. He had to put distance between him and Jerad, because what if the ruined phone hadn’t quelled Jerad’s anger? What if he ran after Virgil and beat him to a pulp until he felt sated?

He knew he shouldn’t fear such things. Jerad was a jerk, but he wasn’t that bad. Even he wouldn’t dare resort to murder...right?

However in the midst of the moment, all of Virgil’s fears sounded like believable, feasible things. Even if Jerad didn’t chase after him, there was no way he could return to the apartment tonight, if ever. Even just to collect his meager belongings.  Oh god, he left not only his wallet but his hoodie behind in his panic. The hoodie was the last thing his parents had given him--the last thing he had of them.

He choked, almost running smack into a brick wall. He regained his balance halfway, stopping mere inches away. Why had he gotten so angry? Stupid, stupid. He shouldn’t have done that. It was his fault. Virgil could control his temper, whereas Jerad couldn’t help it. Now his phone was broken and he had nowhere to stay for the night. He had no money, no way of contacting the others.

He was going to end up sleeping in an alleyway. A cold, damp alleyway where muggers lurked and he was going to die. He couldn’t count on Patton popping up to save him a second time. He was so weak, so feeble and idiotic, maybe he deserved to die that way. Somewhere in the midst of these erupting volcanic thoughts, he ended up slouched against the brick wall.

Breathe. He needed to breath! But the air around him felt like sulfur poisoning his lungs. Black dots invaded his vision, his head feeling increasingly fuzzy. He was going to pass out. No, he couldn’t allow himself to do that.

He forced himself off the ground, fighting gravity to remain upright. He ran forward in blind panic. It didn’t matter what direction he went, all that mattered was that he kept moving forward. In his state, he could’ve easily ran into the street and got hit by a car. He did indeed run into something. Thankfully it was not a car. Still, the collision sent him reeling backwards, falling towards the cold, unforgiving concrete.

“Holy shit!” Someone cried out, their hand catching his bruised wrist last second to stop his plummet. Virgil hissed at once from the pain the touch brought.

“St-stay back!” Virgil said, stumbling back until he hit the brick wall of a building. Tears obscured his vision, turning the person into a distorted, twisted shadow being.

“Virgil, whoa hey. It’s me, it’s okay.” The stranger insisted, drawing closer. Virgil shook his head, taking up a defensive, curled fetal position. Jerad. It had to be. Virgil wasted too much time lingering in one spot and he paid the price.

“I’m sorry--I--I sorry, I shou-shou-shouldn’t--” He trembled, waiting for a blow that never came. Instead, they fell down beside him, giving him some space.

“Shhh, deep breaths,” They instructed, “One breath in at a time, okay? Can you do that?”

He tried, failing miserably, “N-no--I can’t--sorry--”

“Hey, hey, hey,”  The person hushed, “no more of that. You don't need to apologize. You’re okay, okay?”

“But--but I can’t--” Virgil stuttered, sobs scraping against his throat like jagged pieces of broken glass. No scratch that. It felt like the broken, sharp pieces of what once was his cellphone.

“Shit--hey, I’m gonna just--is this okay?”

An arm slung around his shoulder and Virgil tensed. He was waiting, expecting it to wrap around his throat to choke him to death. But it wasn’t a forceful, bullish grip like he expected. No, it was a light, tentative weight--loose enough for Virgil to escape if he needed to. Virgil sniffled, finally risking a look up. Knitted eyebrows behind dark shades met his gaze.

“Remy?” He whispered.

“Hey there, Virgil,” He smirked thinly, “it’s me, ya boi.”

Virgil kept staring with his mouth agape. It was Remy, it was really Remy and not...him. No way this was real. No way he actually ran into Remy in such a sprawling, densely populated city. Maybe he blacked out, Virgil thought as he started laughing. It was all too much. The pieces of his broken phone digging into his thigh, Jared, his accelerated heartbeat that threatened to send him to cardiac arrest. Everything. And now Remy? Remy is here? It was too much.

“Um, Virgil?” Remy frowned, “You still with me?”

Virgil didn’t respond, still wheezing with laughter. He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. He wanted to keep on running without ever stopping. He didn’t do any of those things. He just sat there as he laughed, gasping for breath. It sounded weird to him; too high-pitched.

Was Virgil sure he was laughing? Maybe it was Remy. Maybe he decided Virgil no longer worth his time. He was pathetic, an anxiety-riddled loser who was going to die alone and forgotten. He didn’t deserve the kindness Remy offered him, he hadn’t done enough to pay it back.

A voice tried talking over the choked laughter. Their words came out stilted and hesitant. It couldn’t be Remy speaking. The vampire was too confident, self-assured in ways Virgil could never be. Virgil’s lungs burned, he noted distantly. They felt like a tiny microscopic arsonist climbed inside of them and set them on fire. Would microscopic firemen come to put it out?

He knew he had better things to worry about. LIke the possibility that he was in a coma and everything leading to this moment wasn’t real. Remy wasn’t a vampire, just a normal, human work acquaintance. Patton hadn’t saved him from the mugger. In fact, he was probably just a fabrication of Virgil’s mind. So were Roman and Logan. Yup, that had to be it. The mugger had actually shot him and Virgil was in a coma. He was lying unconscious in a hospital bed racking up hospital bills. God, maybe he should just stay unconscious. Have them pull the plug to his miserable existence.

But he didn’t really think hard about these things. Not when he was too busy thinking about microscopic cells wearing fireman hats.

Virgil’s vision went black. For a moment he thought he died, or at the very least went unconscious. It took his exhausted, panicked brain a hot second to realize he was squished against Remy’s black leather jacket.

The vampire had wrapped his other arm around Virgil, embracing in a full-on hug now. It should feel threatening, suffocating even for Virgil. But it was Remy , his heart cried out. Remy who liked the same music as Virgil. Remy who brought him Starbucks. Remy who encouraged Virgil to venture out of his comfort zones.

Even now, he held Virgil in a loose, relaxed grip. As if his aim wasn’t to restrain or throttle Virgil but to comfort.

Virgil didn’t trust like that. He took a deep breath--or well, he tried. It spluttered into a coughing fit. He mustered on with his plan. He pushed away, scrambling backwards from Remy. It hurt more than it should have to do it. He felt all warmth leave his body at once. Remy didn’t fight it. He didn’t pull Virgil back, yanking him back into the embrace. He let him go, simply watching him. Remy’s shades pushed up against his messy bangs, no longer covering his red eyes. Virgil squinted up at him. Huh. Had Remy’s eyes always been red? Virgil had never noticed before.

“Virgil--”

Remy didn’t finish. Because by the time he opened his mouth, Virgil already dove back into the vampire’s arms. He pressed his face into Remy’s chest, his whole body trembling as a low, strained whine emanated from him.

Remy, for his part, just hugged him back. No words, just tactile comfort. It was exactly what Virgil needed. His adrenaline fell away from him, like bathwater rapidly disappearing down the drain. His rapid, frenetic  thoughts halted to a slow, sluggish trickle. His limbs grew heavy, his grip on Remy’s black leather jacket slackening. He was going to lose consciousness soon, he drowsily realized. Weirdly enough, he wasn’t as afraid of that happening as before.

Remy whispered a question and Virgil nodded. He didn’t know exactly what Remy asked. It had something to do about if Virgil thought it was okay to do something. It didn’t matter what that was.

The words could’ve been anything and Virgil would’ve responded the same way. Because Remy was safe, he was good and most importantly, he wasn’t going to hurt Virgil. Not yet, anyways. With that reassurance, Virgil finally let go of his remaining frays of consciousness.

[chloegami]

stand and face me (chloe/kagami one shot! fwb mutual pining type gig)

  AO3 link

 “Do you want to come over tonight?” Asks Chloé, leaning against the car like it’s her’s and not her dad’s and also chauffeur-driven. Even though it’s a question, and a very fucking loaded one at that, she phrases it like she’s asking Kagami for nothing more than a gal-pal sleepover.

  Kagami sighs, adjusting her fencing bag. “Sure.” She gives Adrien the slip, saying Chloé’s going to drop her off home instead. The boy just says he’s glad the two of them are friends now then smiles widely, which Kagami echoes, because Adrien is so perfectly, blissfully, eternally oblivious. It’s why she finally picked up and moved on from him. It wasn’t her job to teach him how to notice her flirting.

  Chloé picked it up much quicker, and was much more reciprocative.

  The car ride is silent. It usually is. Sometimes, when they’re tipsy from a party, Chloé will pull up the partition and they’ll hardcore make out instead. It shrouds the back seat in awkwardness and an emotion Kagami refuses to pin down as yearning.

  They refrain from touching as they walk through le Grand Paris’ crowded lobby and hallway. Kagami’s pretty sure the entirety of the hotel staff have figured out what Chloé gets up to with her new friend, but that doesn’t mean Mayor Bourgeois, who surpasses Agreste in terms of total lack of situational awareness, needs to know why his daughter still hasn’t gotten a boyfriend.

  As Chloé shuts the door, it’s like a veil lifts. Kagami likes to tuck things neatly away in nice, clean, compartmentalised boxes and whatever it is she has with Chloé is the same. Once that doors closed, and until that unseen fog of pretend falls back on the two of them, Kagami is allowed to indulge in Chloé without feeling bad or having to think too hard about it.

  Kagami shoves Chloé against the wall, receives Chloé’s hard kiss eagerly, and lets herself melt into her.

  The fog falls, and Kagami wonders whether it was a smart or stupid idea to pretend to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to ask Chloé whether she should move to the sofa.

  They have rules, unspoken as they are. They kiss, because kissing’s great, but only once the metaphorical (though usually literal) door closes. They never stay over at Kagami’s, but Kagami can stay over at Chloé’s when Audrey’s not visiting. None of their friends can know, except Marinette figured it out, but she also knows Kagami doesn’t like to talk about it so there’s no worry of ever having to acknowledge anything.

  They do not speak about whatever arrangement they’ve created. Not ever. They ask whether the other is free, they ask whether they want to come over, but never any details. They don’t discuss what it is, or what it means, or what it entails, or what responsibilities they have now.

  That’s don’t need to talk. From the first moment, when Chloé had laced her fingers in Kagami’s and leant in, there had never been words. They just knew. They knew what they liked, they knew what they wanted, they knew.

  Or, Kagami likes to think she knows. It’s easier that way.

  It’s easier than obsessing over every word, easier than worrying how much she’ll spill just by opening her mouth, easier than having to confront feelings and confront Chloé.

  She wonders if Chloé thinks the same.

  She knows she doesn’t.

  She likes the think she knows she doesn’t.

  She falls asleep, tossing and turning and hoping the bed is large enough that she won’t end up clinging to Chloé during the night.

  “Put that down. It’s disgusting.” Chloé leans over her balcony, thin ribbons of smoke curling into the air from her cigarette. Chloé rolls her eyes. “Who are you, my mother?” She scoffs, but Kagami notes she doesn’t put it back into her mouth. She’s glad, even though she doubts she’ll be kissing her again anytime soon. It’s a dangerous time, two hours past midnight. A part of her wonders what woke Chloé up. A part of her aches to ask.

  But the bigger part of her, the one that recognises how thin the thread their relationship hangs from is already, and that if she doesn’t want it to snap she should keep her mouth shut.

  Paris is beautiful. The Eiffel Tower, kitschy as it is, glows with such brightness and she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t be content to sit at the balcony and just stare out over the city till she falls asleep. Kagami misses Tokyo and she doubts she’ll ever truly feel at home in France, but Paris has its beauty.

  But maybe it’s the little things that make her think that. Maybe it’s all those outings to the Eiffel Tower with her friends, maybe it’s the stupid parties they throw that makes the city glow for her, maybe it’s Chloé that makes her want--

  “Are you going to Alya’s thing tomorrow? Or today, whatever time it is. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I’m going.”

  Chloé takes an edged breath. “Do you want to come over tomorrow night? After the party.”

  “I can’t.” She doesn’t bother softening her voice. Maybe she should. It’s easier not to. “Okaa-sama’s only letting me go if I get home before ten.” She’s already saying too much. The thread threatens to snap.

  Chloé shrugs. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” She flicks her cigarette off the balcony with a sharp finality. Kagami might chastise her. It might make Chloé stay outside with her.

  She doesn’t.

  The bed is wide enough that Kagami would have to stretch her arm out to reach Chloé, and even then she might just wake up to it empty.

  She’s thankful her mother’s gotten more lax about her having friends, though she wishes it hadn’t taken an akuma to teach her that maybe her daughter should be allowed to have a social life. She likes parties, contrary to what people think. She’s not much of a drinker, never quite fell into the casual drinking of Parisians or teenagers. It varies amongst her new friends.

  The Designated Sober Friends are Marinette, because she really is the mother of the group; Adrien, because his dad forbids all fun; Luka, because he’s the only one with a driver’s license and Juleka, because Rose is such a lightweight she needs constant supervision. Everyone else drinks to some capacity. Alya and Nino are prone to drunken karaoke, Alix and Kim spend most of the night competing in drinking contests (which Max supervises, even though he gets just as plastered as them) and Ivan and Mylene are affectionate drunks, forming into one really hug-y creature until Alix loses it and shoves them into a closet so they can have some peace.

  Kagami drinks so she feels less guilty about wanting Chloé. If she’d drunk when she stares at her, she can blame it on the alcohol and not consider any sort of introspection.

  Chloé drinks, though Kagami doesn’t let herself speculate why. That falls to close into admitting she cares about her.

  They’ve fallen into that portion of the evening when languidness takes hold. The air hangs thick, mainly with the smell of nicked vodka and beer. They’re half-watching some teen drama Rose squeals about, and everyone’s fitted nicely into some niche. Marc paints Nathaniel’s nails, Marinette pretends she's not stealing glances at Adrien, Juleka’s smiling at Rose as she tells everyone to keep watching because the third season’s gay, and Chloé lays in Kagami’s lap.

  Chloé likes to be cherished, and Kagami likes Chloé, so of course she indulges her.

  Chloé has soft hair and it’s fucking infuriating. It’s so feathery and luscious and it makes Kagami insane with longing. Every time she’s in its general vicinity she wants to comb her fingers through it, and what's worse is Chloé loves it when people ravish her and practically melts in Kagami’s hands whenever Kagami shoves aside her rationality and lets Chloé lay in her lap so she can stroke her golden locks and pretend she isn’t imagining what it would be like to do that as a girlfr--

  “I need to throw up. Kagami, you’re holding my hair back.” Chloé’s bluntness used to shock her, the cultural clash hitting her like a ton of bricks, but it very, very quickly became one of Kagami’s favourite things about her.

  She follows her into Alya’s bathroom, and has to suppress a yell when Chloé closes the door by pushing her against it.

  “Since you can’t come by tonight,” is all Chloé says by way of explanation. “But keep quiet and be fast, this house is so fucking small--” and Kagami cuts her off.

  If she tugs Chloé’s hair in the middle of it all, and watches Chloe’s pupils dilate as she tries to stay silent, then no one can really blame her for tucking that away for future consideration.

  “We should go back,” she says, every word harder and harder to say. Chloé pouts, but shrugs. She doesn’t let go though, and the thread pulls ever thin. “Do I look like I threw up?”

  She looks beautiful.

  “Sure. Splash water on your face.” Chloé doesn’t. She stays where she is, with their legs laced together. Chloé watches her curiously, flushed, in a way Kagami can’t interpret and doesn’t want to try. Her companion breaks out from her reverie and gives her a kiss, so lightning-fast Kagami doesn’t have time to react. And then she’s up like that was nothing.

  Affection for the sake of it isn’t something they do. Kagami’s lips burn.

  “Come on. Adrien will have figured it out if we stay here any longer.”

  He doesn’t, but Kagami’s pretty sure Juleka gives them a once-over. Chloé notices it too, Kagami’s sure of it, but it doesn’t stop her from putting her head back in Kagami’s lap. If Kagami were to die like this, her hands in Chloé’s hair, she’s not sure she’d be too upset at that.

  “I can’t come over,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. They’re waiting outside Alya’s, both for their respective rides, since Nora came home early and kicked everyone out.

  “I know,” Chloé replies, “You said.” Her voice is harder than usual, and it doesn’t sound like it’s from the vodka.

  “Or the next three weeks. We’re going back to Tokyo for a little.”

  Chloé is silent, until she isn’t.

  “You should have told me.”

  It comes out like a stammer, which is something so alien to Chloé that it nearly knocks Kagami back. She doesn’t know how to reply. Apologise? That assumes Chloé is missing something with her leaving. Offer to skype? That establishes there’s something.

  She’s saved by Chloé’s car pulling up. Or she’s not, because Chloé pulls her in for the longest kiss they’ve ever had, and it’s soft and sweet and Kagami’s world is crashing down and she doesn’t even care, because Chloé Bourgeois is kissing her like nothing else in the world matters.

  And then it’s over, and then, like a fucking idiot, Kagami pulls her back in and kisses her till she’s sure her mother will comment on her lateness. Then she drops her hands from Chloé’s waist and stalks off, because she’s a fucking idiot.

  Kagami shoves her stupidity to the back of her head, and enjoys home. Paris has nothing on seeing her grandparents and cousins and fencing practice in Ueno Park and seeing the fireworks at Sumidagawa, but Paris has Chloé and that’s more than enough for her to be thoroughly ready to swim her way back to Europe.

  They get back, swimming unnecessary, but Kagami restrains herself from immediately hopping a cab and driving her way to the hotel and climbing the balcony like she’s some poor lovesick fool in a Shakespearean tragedy. She imagines Chloé would push her off if she tried.

  So she goes about her week like normal, not thinking about honey-blonde hair or her fingers through it, not snippy remarks or the pink lips that say them, not of blue eyes and bee combs and goddamn Chloé Fucking Bourgeois.

  It’s after fencing class she finally sees her. Kagami had probably gone a little hard on her peers today, and so she’s panting and distracted as she walks out of the school, only to be practically barrelled into by a flash of blonde hair. She registers arms around her, registers the smell of Chloé’s perfume, registers that Chloé’s now kissing her--

  Adrien makes a noise between a squeal and a whoop, which brings Kagami and Chloé back to Earth. Adrien blushes. “Oh...um...I’ll...I suppose Chloé’ll drop you off?”

  Chloé glares. “And why do you suppose that?” She doesn’t stammer, but she sounds a lot on edge. She tosses her hair behind her hair. “Ridiculous.” And then she’s gone, not wasting another look on Kagami.

  Kagami would leave, but Adrien’s her ride home. They step into the Agreste car, because the Gorilla waits for him outside fencing class because who knows what nutcase might come by and try to abduct him. Adrien coughs, breaking the awkward silence. “So...are you and Chloé together? I feel a bit dumb now.”

  “You are dumb. We’re not together.”

  “O-oh. Okay. Um, sorry?”

  She was sorry too.

  Chloé didn’t bring it up, didn’t treat her any different. They slipped into a closet at Alix’s party, met up at Chloé’s on Kagami’s free day, went back to the hotel like usual after fencing, and not once during any of those did Chloé hint at the incident.

  Kagami wasn’t sure if she wanted her to or not. She wondered if she should.

  They sat at the balcony, one past midnight this time. Chloé had lit a cigarette, but Kagami chastised her and she only holds it. They sat in silence, until they didn’t.

  “Do you ever want to come out to your mother?”

  It was so out of left field Kagami had no choice but to be honest. “Yes. But I won’t.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Your mum’s in town?”

  “Yeah. Came by last Monday.” Kagami pretended she wasn’t counting back the days. It would have been during her trip away.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Chloé shrugged. “Whatever.” She tapped her cigarette on the railing, pausing to watch the ash fall. “Do you want to go out tomorrow? We can see a movie together.”

  They didn’t do things together, besides the obvious. It was only in groups. Doing things like this was too close to a date, and Kagami would never in a million years have suggested that. The thread was frayed enough as is, and she wouldn’t risk it for anything.

  “I have a tournament tomorrow.” It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one.

  Chloé shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  She lost the tournament. It was tied, and her opponent won by priority.

  Her mother didn’t come, which means Kagami has to call her. She stares down at the contact. Tsurugi Tomoe, Okaa-sama . She can feel her eyes prickling with tears. She can already see the disappointment practically radiating off her mother.

  “Hey,” calls a voice from behind her. “Kagami, hi.”

  “Chloé.”

  “Are you...are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I watched the tournament. Adrien wanted me to go. I’m...I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You did really good.”

  “I lost. My mother will think I’m a failure.” Kagami doesn’t know what makes her say that out loud. Stupidity, probably. Delirium.

  “Then your mother’s an idiot,” says Chloé, her voice so firm Kagami believes her. “I watched the whole thing, it was totally unfair. if your mother had actually been here she’d know that.” Kagami hadn’t realised Chloé knew fencing, and she tells her as much.

  Chloé laughs. “Yeah, I picked it up after watching Adrien. You don’t really know much about me though, do you?”

  That was unexpected. Kagami shrugs. “Do you know much about me?”

  Chloé is quiet a few moments. “I know what matters,” she says finally. Kagami can feel her cheeks redden. If Chloé notices, she doesn’t show it. “Look, I know you’re an amazing fencer. Don’t worry about what your mother thinks, she’s not you and if she can’t see who you really are then who gives a shit?”

  Kagami wishes she had Chloé’s total confidence in herself, but something about Chloé makes her feel just a little like everything will be okay. She wants to reach out and thank her, but vulnerability is not her strong suit.

  Chloé turns back to her so suddenly Kagami jumps a little. “I’m getting a milkshake. Wanna come with?”

  “What?”

  Kagami thinks she sees Chloé’s smile falter, but it’s probably wishful thinking. “Do you want to come or not? Christ.” Chloé kicks at the ground. “Screw your mum. She’s gonna be mad either way, right? Why not have some fun first?

  That’s the stupidest logic she’s ever heard.

  But then again, Kagami’s well and truly whipped.

  She nods as nonchalantly as she can manage. Can you nod nonchalantly? She hops her nod doesn’t convey how much she’s freaking out over how beautiful and adorable Chloé is. “Sure, why not?”

  It’s less awkward than Kagami freaked out that it would be. They’re friends already, they talk at parties, but a social gathering with a gang of friends is different to sitting across from the girl you definitely aren’t head over heels for, so close you’re touching knees which shouldn’t be that crazy because Lord knows how many times you’ve seen her naked but it’s different somehow, so different.

  A good different.

  A great different.

  Kagami was worried she wouldn’t know what to say. She still hadn’t got the hang of friendship and social interaction. She cringes at how she acted around Marinette at first and she’s gotten better, but she’s still barely halfway there.

  She needn’t worry, because Chloé talks enough for both of them three times over. She can make a complaint out of anything and back it up with ten arguments and have you just as convinced of it as her, from the intensity of the fashion industry to whether pain au chocolate or chocolatine is a better name. Kagami listens to everything, because she’s getting better at that and because she’d listen to anything Chloé says.

   Yin and yang, she thinks and then suppresses, because she’s pretty sure Chloé would laugh at her for how cheesy it is and because that’s dangerous thinking.

  Not that all of this isn’t dangerous. She’s still not sure how she’s supposed to be addressing this. Is she supposed to ignore their rendezvous? Is this an escalation of them? Is this just another one, with less handsiness?

  She does talk a little, when Chloé asks her about fencing and her mother. Chloé listens too, which surprises Kagami. When Kagami had first started hanging out with Adrien and Marinette’s friends, Adrien had warned her that Chloé could be prickly and was rather set in her ways, and even Marinette, who was the epitome of goodness and kindness, had said that though Chloé was much better than she used to be, she could still be quite aggressively assertive.

  Chloé was confident and commanding, but Kagami had never found her to be aggressive or prickly. She had been prepared to hate her. Marinette had told her a little of how Chloé used to treat her and it broke Kagami’s heart but Chloé was nothing like she’d expected.

  As she watched Chloé lazily blow bubbles into her strawberry milkshake, golden hair practically glowing in the afternoon sun, Kagami thought now was as good a time as ever to admit she was madly in love with her.    

  They walk down the Champs-Élysées together, with Kagami dopily listening to Chloé complain about American consumerism and the influx of annoying tourists, and it’s something that might be romantic if Kagami were naive enough to think Chloé might like her back.

  She tells her mother when she gets home, who grounds her for three weeks and forbids her to speak to her friends.

  The days are agony. And not just because of Chloé, Kagami does in fact have a life outside of her. She can’t see Marinette. She can’t go to Juleka’s birthday party. Her mother accompanies her to her fencing lesson, scrutinises the entire time and makes it clear in no uncertain terms that if she talks to Adrien she’ll be punished.

  By the second week, she’s done.

  She’s fresh out of a lecture from her mother about how much of an awful influence her friends are and how dare Kagami sully the Tsurugi name and the moment they can they’re leaving this godawful country and frankly, Kagami’s such a mess of anger, tears and boredom she’s the perfect target for doing through with a really dumb idea.

  She watches the window. She could do it, it’s not like her mother’s cruel enough to put bars up.

  She can’t go to the Dupain-Chengs’, because Marinette’s really weird about people going over to her house unannounced, especially at night, and Tomoe took Kagami’s phone. Going over to Adrien’s would be a death sentence, both because her mother would kill her for embarrassing them in front of Gabriel Agreste and she’s pretty sure the Gorilla wouldn’t appreciate someone trying to sneak into the Agreste mansion. Everyone else is crossed off by virtue of them only really being friends via Adrien and Marinette.

  Which leaves one person. One person who she really fucking wants to see.

  But by God would it snap the thread.

  That stupid fucking thread that does nothing but stop her from doing what she wants, no better than her mother, and put in place by her own damn self.

  It’s possible she’s being dramatic, but it’s easy to be dramatic when you’re scaling down your building in nightwear and a coat at 11:00pm on a Monday night.

   This is a stupid idea, she repeats to herself as she tracks her way through the streets to the Grande Paris. She gets a few looks but most Parisians have been desensitised to oddities, and a teenager frantically bolting from the 16th arrondissement to the 8th in a jinbei is hardly the weirdest thing they’ve seen.

  It really is the dumbest thing she’s ever done, but somehow, in the twenty minutes or so it takes to run to the hotel, not once does Kagami think of turning back. She does wonder, though, if it is cowardice or courage.

  She doesn’t run through the doors, because the doorman is very nice and she doesn’t want to upset him, but she does start running when she gets to the hallways.

  She halts when she reaches Chloé’s. She knocks before she can start regretting her decisions.

  “Mother please, just leave me...oh my God, Kagami?” She cuts her off by falling into her arms and embracing her.

  “I needed to see you,” she breathes, by way of explanation. Chloé hugs her back.

  “I’m glad. I...I missed you.” She pulls back, leaving Kagami cold. “Did you run all the way from your house?”

  “Yes,” she says, because she’s never been one for lying. Denying the truth, certainly, but never lying.

  Chloé barks an uncertain laugh, before pulling her back in. “That was a stupid idea. Your mother’s going to kill you if she finds out.” She only holds her tighter though. “Thank you.” She whispers, so quietly Kagami can’t be sure whether she imagined it.

  Chloé finally pulls back, her face flushed. Kagami can’t pin why. “Come on, you should shower. I’m not kissing you when you’re like this.”

  She lays content in the afterglow and doesn’t notice Chloé watching her until she turns to soak in her last image of her before Tomoe grounds her for the rest of her life. She paints her ocean eyes, her rose blush, her shell lips.

  She’s being dramatic, but it’s easy to be dramatic when you’ve run half an hour to your hook up’s hotel because you’re madly in love with her because you’re a dumb bisexual who can’t just sit tight for three weeks until you see her again.

  “I should go home,” she mumbled into the pillow, not wanting to ever leave. She wants to hold onto Chloé’s hand and grasp it and never let go.

  So she does. She reaches out and laces her fingers through Chloé’s.

  She waits for Chloé to pull back, to laugh, to sneer.

  She only gives her a reassuring squeeze.

  “Stay a little longer.” Her voice shakes, and Kagami remembers with guilt that Chloé too has her own problems, that she doesn’t just materialise into existence every so often. She wonders what had happened earlier to have made her say what she said about her mother when she opened her door. Kagami wants nothing more than to make Chloé feel confident again.

  She pulls Chloé’s hand to her lips and kisses her, and hopes it conveys more than her words could.

  It apparently doesn’t, because Chloé sits up and pulls away as quick as lightning. “I can’t do this.”

  Her heart sinks.

  “Oh.”

  Chloé must notice her crestfallen expression, which only makes her wince. She can’t even keep her stupid emotions to herself.

  “No, no,” Chloé croaks, rubbing her eyes. “I just...I don’t know what any of this means, and I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean what I want it to.”

  “Oh?”

  Chloé groans, flopping back down. She turns to Kagami, expression unreadable. “Why did you come by tonight?”

  “Because I love you.”

  Kagami is not one for lying.

  She does reconsider this when Chloé’s eyes go wide.

  “I just...I just mean…” But that is what she means, and there is no other way she could phrase it.

  Chloé makes a joyful babbling noise as she moves to straddle Kagami and hold her bewildered face in a soft hands, kissing her frantically all over her, her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, her jaw, her nose, her lips.

  Kagami understands why Chloé likes to be ravished.

  She pulls away, but only to ask, “How did you not already know I was in love with you? All I do is stare at you.”

  “Adrien told me I needed to stop assuming things of people.” Chloé’s voice is serious, but soon she snorts. “And anyway, like you’re any better than me. How many times did I kiss you in public? And when I straight up asked you on a date?”

   Oh. Chloé laughs at the utter astonishment that must be Kagami’s face.

  Chloé smiles down at her. “So. Girlfriends?”

  Kagami laughs at the bluntness. She loves that about her. “Yeah. Girlfriends.” She furrows her brow. “But if Tomoe wakes up and I’m not there she’ll probably...what is it? Rapunzel me. Put me in a tower, never let me out.”

  Chloé’s laugh could light up the world. “I’d save you. Knight in shining armour.”

  “Knight in a striped unitard, antennae and a spinning top.”

  “Don’t diss my miraculous! It’s a great outfit, philistine.” Chloe pauses. "You know, you're the only person I know who noticed I started smoking and told me I should stop."

  Kagami kisses her. "Well, I'm telling you again to stop. It's gross, you'll ruin your lungs."

  "Already the nagging wife, huh?" Chloe laughs between kisses.

  She sneaks back home and Tomoe wakes none the wiser, though Kagami still has a week and a half of her punishment to go.

  Sneaking out to make out with her new girlfriend does make it alright, if she does say so herself.

(title is a sappho quote! “stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes.")

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 8

Summary: Erik takes a quick road trip to search for what his father has hidden...

"Free like the bluest sky Free like mountain's eye Free like... free like...free like...free like Free like the brown in my eye Free like the tears that I cry Free like...free like...free like... free like Free like a willow tree Free like a summers eve Free like the waves are crashing on the side of a solitary beach…"

Jill Scott – "Free (Epilogue)"

Erik handed a seventeen-thousand-dollar cashier's check to the salesclerk holding his I.D. and motorcycle license. The Kawasaki Ninja he wanted, the same as the one his mother used to have, with the same green and black coloring too, sat posted up outside the entrance of the motorcycle showroom.

Ownership papers handed over along with registration forms, the keys were dropped in his hand. The sales clerk had been a dick when Erik first came into the dealership looking to purchase a ride. He had to get permission from the manager before he could even do a test ride of the bike, even showing a picture of his mother on her bike with him when he was a child to let them know he was serious about buying. 

They gave him the grand total and Erik told them to have the bike polished and gassed up to go. Two hours later he was back and handing over full payment, but was annoyed when the bike wasn't ready. They assumed he wasn't coming back.

"Enjoy," the sales clerk said, and Erik rolled his eyes at him as he slung his backpack on and rolled out of the lot. His new helmet was nice on his head, and he felt free tooling down the I-10 and merging onto the 101. Transportation at last. He was too young to rent a car, and it was annoying having to use Lyft or Uber when he was ready to jet. His grandfather had called to verify his use of the money. Erik's parents had left him a small trust fund that he would receive in total when he was twenty-one. It was life-insurance money mainly, and he was allotted thirty-thousand when he turned eighteen with the rest pending. He was finally spending it on something other than clothes and computers.

His mother had him riding behind her the moment he was able to hang on to her waist, and his fondest memories were riding with her and Grandpop on the rare occasions they went out with his grandfather's bike club. Oaktown Rebels. Green and black were their colors.

The robust rumble under his thighs made him grin, and he sped up to pass a few cars as he made his way back to his apartment. He needed to grab a few things before he headed out to Joshua Tree.

Rolling into the apartment complex, he parked his new ride near Maria's leased car.

Walking into his unit, delicious smells wafted to him from the kitchen. He put his helmet on the coffee table and walked to where the tantalizing aromas came from.

"Look at you," Maria said.

He was surprised to see Valentina in his kitchen with Maria and also Giselle. All three women stared at him and his clothes.

"What happened to Erik Stevens intern? Who brought in Sons of Anarchy?" Maria said.

He touched his black leather biker jacket. The matching pants drew stares too.

"Just protective gear."

"For what?" Giselle asked. Her eyes looked suggestive. They were all a little tipsy. An empty wine bottle sat on the kitchen counter.

Valentina brushed past him to take a gander at the back of the ensemble he wore.

"That is some pricey gear, Stevens," she said.

"I bought a new bike…whatchu cookin'?"

His nose aimed for the stove.

Maria held tongs in her hand as she stood near a wok on the stove.

"Oh…shit….," she said pulling out fried egg rolls and placing them on paper towels on the kitchen counter.

"Lumpia. Chicken and pork…"

"What else?" he said, pulling open a lid on a skillet next to the lumpia still cooking.

"Pancit, chicken adobo, rice…"

Fuck.

He wanted to ride out to Joshua Tree asap, but the food looked banging and he was starving. This was better than the protein bars he was going to grab with his hydration pack.

"Join us," Maria said.

She pulled out plates from the cupboards and Giselle helped set their little kitchen table. Valentina opened another bottle of white wine. They all stared at him. He took off his riding jacket and carried it to his room. He packed up the gear he would take with him then washed his hands.

The women were already seated and grubbing when he returned.

Maria fixed him a full plate and he got down to business.

"So what is this? A hen party?" he said.

Giselle laughed and sipped on her wine.

"How did you guess?" she said.

Giselle had taken her braids out and Erik saw how big her hair was, lush puffy waves that cascaded to her shoulders, without her make-up and intern clothes, she looked like a teenager sitting next to him in her shorts and yoga top.

"We just needed to vent and trash the guys we work with," Valentina said nibbling on her lumpia.

"Well shit, maybe I shouldn't be here," he said.

"Stay, you might learn how to be a better man," Maria said.

"Erik is one of the good ones," Valentina said winking at him. Erik smiled, but then he caught Giselle looking at Valentina in a strange way. He stuffed pancit in his mouth and scooped up more of the noodles and cabbage on his fork. When Valentina's hand reached across and stroked his hand, Giselle really looked perturbed.

"Thank you so much for the pep talk the other day. I finished the beta on time and Janine spoke to me about working with Hollowell," Valentina said.

Erik nodded his head. Valentina's hand stayed on his wrist. She poured him a little bit of wine and he drank it so he could move his hand. He felt heat on his neck coming from Giselle staring and he couldn't figure out why she was giving off jealous vibes. Valentina was just the homie.

Maria must've caught the tension from Giselle.

"How's it going in your department?" Maria asked Giselle.

"Pretty good actually. I get to attend a conference with my project manager Evelyn. We leave in two weeks for Portland," Giselle said.

"So lucky! You get to travel. Wish we could go somewhere," Valentina said.

She picked at her plate and for a moment everyone was quiet as they ate.

"I have ube cake if anyone wants some," Maria said.

She jumped up and went to the fridge and brought back a purple cake. Once they all had their fill of food, Maria cut slices of the cake.

"Wow, it's purple on the inside too," Valentina said staring at it before she took a bite.

"It's a sponge cake, but a purple yam is mixed with it," Maria said.

"It's good! Light" Giselle said.

Erik snuck more wine and ate two pieces of cake.

"Let's go see your new bike!" Valentina said. Her fingers tapped Erik's hand again.

"C'mon," he said.

They all followed him downstairs.

"That is so cool!" Maria said.

Erik hopped on and started it up.

"That looks really expensive," Valentina said.

"Paid 17 G for it," he said.

"Can I get on?" Maria asked.

He helped her climb on and she took out her cell to snap pictures.

"Give us a ride around the parking lot," Valentina said stepping close to the handlebars.

"You need a helmet. I only have one," he said.

"It's just the parking lot. You don't have to go fast. We're in an enclosed place," she said.

"Me first!" Maria said clutching his waist.

He used his legs to roll back.

"Calm down, girl," he said.

Maria was giggling and wiggling behind him.

He zoomed around the lot and Maria squealed like a big kid on a rollercoaster for the first time. When he came back around and she jumped down, her face was flush from too much wine and laughing so hard. He thought she was so cute when she was buzzing.

"Me next," Valentina said.

She was taller and heavier than Maria. When she held his waist, he could feel her full breasts pressing into his back. Her chin rested on his shoulder.

"See ya!" she called to Maria and Giselle.

Unlike Maria, Valentina didn't giggle or look around, she rested her head against the back of his neck. When he brought her back, her hands dropped from his waist and rested on his thighs.

"That was fun," she said.

"Do you plan on getting off?" Giselle asked.

Valentina climbed off and Giselle hopped on. She was skittish with her hands.

"Hold tight," he said.

She relaxed and held him better. She looked around as they rode.

"This thing has some get up," she said.

"Yep. Top of the line."

He gave it a little more speed on the return so she could feel the power under them.

She took her time climbing off and Valentina was already trying to get a second excursion. He turned the bike off.

"This is so you," Valentina said.

"More cake anyone?" Maria suggested.

"I'll have more!" Valentina followed Maria back to the kitchen.

Giselle stayed behind as Erik dismounted.

"What's up with you and Valentina?"

"Nothing," he said.

"That's not what I'm hearing at the office."

"Whatchu hearing then?"

"Lunch together every day. Working late and driving home together. Acting like more than besties in public."

He shrugged.

"I eat lunch with Maria most of the time too. I don't have a car and it sucks catching the bus or a Lyft every day. She's friendly to everyone in public. Who are you hearing gossip from?"

"Maria."

"You already know she's a talker—"

"Not just her. Other people have been talking. A lot of the guys who want to hem Valentina up."

"Why do you care? You told me you wanted to stay professional. Acting like you in your feelings or something."

"I didn't say I cared like that."

"What if I was hittin' that?"

"I don't see it."

"Why not?"

"That's not you."

"Fuck you talkin' 'bout girl?" He leaned against his bike.

"Most Cali niggas I've met are prone to the white girl hierarchy. It's ingrained. Everywhere you look, white women are propped up. It is what it is. But you…you not that brotha. But Valentina, she wants to break you in."

"You jealous or somethin'?"

"Observant."

"You don't think I could get down with a white girl?"

"No."

"So you should be happy then."

"Why?"

"Most sistahs hate brothas with white women—"

"Not true. We don't care. We just get annoyed with Black men who date or marry white or non-Black women exclusively and then proceed to trash us every opportunity they get. There's a difference."

"What's the point to this?"

"Curiosity."

"I don't think so."

"I date the rainbow myself. Keep my options open. Black men will always be my first pick…but…you…you remind me of my grandfather. Y'now, Black people first, but probably have some colorism issues mixed in there—"

"Nah, I date the Black rainbow—"

"—and I wonder why you hold tight to that. Have you ever been with anyone non-Black?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why is this a conversation?"

"Don't deflect."

Erik stared at her. He couldn't understand why she cared so much about his choices.

"I have a preference for Black women. Other women are fine as fuck too and alla that, but for me…there's something about Black women that I just zoom into. I've been with mixed Black women…I just…it just be that way, Ma. There's a cultural understanding about shit that Black women get. I don't have to waste time or energy explaining shit-"

"Like?"

"Racism. Colorism. White supremacy. American fuckery. The struggle—"

"Of course. The never-ending struggle."

Giselle's voice sounded dismissive. He didn't like that.

"What if you met that one woman that was not Black and she had some cultural understanding and she was into you—"

"Hasn't happened yet—"

"Valentina-"

"Nah—"

"It's a fact. I heard her talking to some women in the break room. She really wants to make something happen. You can't see that?"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Be careful."

"You blockin?"

"For who?"

"You. You not low, Giselle. You still feelin' me even though you want to be all professional. I saw you looking salty at dinner."

"I don't care if you get with her."

"Yeah, you do."

Giselle turned away from him and Erik grabbed for her hand.

"Hold up, finish," he said.

"Cake?" Maria called out.

Erik saw her on the top step of their apartment with a plate in her hand.

"Be up in a minute," Erik shouted.

His eyes took in Giselle's. She was serious.

"Why should I be careful?"

"Valentina comes off cool, but she's manipulative. I wasn't planning on coming here tonight, but Maria wanted me to, and when I heard Valentina was coming—"

"You wanted to throw a flag on her play," he teased.

Giselle's eyes didn't waver.

"If I wanted you that bad, I could take you."

"Look at you saying that with your whole chest."

Erik held onto her hand.

"All I'm saying is be mindful of how she acts around you and other people. I thought she was cool until I noticed some behavior that made me see that she's a user. She's into social capital and manipulation. You are Stark's golden boy and she wants to be the golden girl—"

"She's good at what she does—"

"Getting next to people who she can climb above."

"I don't see it, but I hear you."

"Do more than hear me. Men can be so stupid when they ignore signs."

"We're all here to climb over each other. Trying to outshine the next person to claim a spot."

"That ain't you either."

"You think you know me that well."

"You're an easy read."

"Maybe I'm manipulating you."

"No. I don't think you'd do anything like that. You're too blunt. Too real."

"I'm not interested in her or anyone else here. Just you. I would let you use me."

She smiled and he thought he had an in with her.

"Lemme take you out."

"No, I told you—"

"One date."

"No."

"You're killing me, G."

Giselle headed up to his apartment.

"You'll live, Erik."

It felt mad awkward returning to the apartment. He overanalyzed every interaction with Valentina. She was just…Valentina…relaxed when she was drinking, astute, aware of shit around her with a basic understanding of her own privilege in the world. Maria liked her and Maria had a good heart.

But Giselle was pretty astute too, and Erik had to concede that he often stayed in his own head a lot over the years and tended to ignore things that didn't concern him. Especially working in the Stark offices. He did his work and bounced, took careful notes in his journal, and kept to himself on the weekends unless Maria cajoled him into going to a movie. He was not interested in Valentina like that. She was gorgeous with that Greco/Roman Mediterranean vibe, sexy without trying, aware of it, but not lording it over other women. He racked his brain trying to think of any encounter where Valentina had ever—

"Hey, you okay?"

Erik snapped out of his reverie. He stood in the kitchen eating the last of the lumpia. Maria watched him with inquisitive eyes. He could hear Giselle and Valentina talking loud as they watched TV.

"Coolio," he said.

"You and Giselle looked like you were in a serious convo."

"Nothing too serious. She still won't go out with me."

"Maybe you should find someone else."

"Like who?"

Erik waited to see what she would say. Maria's eyes glanced down at his plate.

"I dunno, maybe…"

"Valentina?"

"Giselle snitched on me, huh? I shouldn't have said anything."

"Be honest. She checkin'?"

"Yes. This won't make it weird for you, will it?"

"Already done."

"Sorry. I know you want Giselle, but…"

"But?"

"You have a sure thing out in our living room."

"Not happening."

"Why?"

Erik popped the last piece of lumpia in his mouth and washed his hands in the sink.

"I'll see you later. Thanks for dinner. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"Personal business."

He went into his room and slipped on his jacket. His hydration pack was filled and he had snack bars for the ride back.

"I'm out," he said.

Both Giselle and Valentina stared at him.

"We were thinking of going out to The Grove," Valentina said.

"Next time," he said.

He left quickly and felt like he could breathe once he was back on the I-10 heading East. Traffic was cumbersome, but once he got past Ontario, the flow of cars was less stop and go. He made a quick bathroom break at a truck rest stop, and by the time he made it to Palm Springs, he saw the rows of wind turbines peppering the sides of the freeway. He knew he was close to his destination. The hundreds of turbines looked like white giants standing guard for some long-forgotten ancient battle.

The hill he rode up to get into Joshua Tree itself was peaceful in the darkness, and he found a cheap motel to stay in. It was better to search early in the morning rather than late at night in case he ran into any cops. Weren't too many Black people out in the desert, and meth-heads along with opioid users ran amuck, so Erik didn't want to look like a dealer doing a night drop or pick-up.

The motel was clean and he set his cell alarm for early morning.

###

The heat would not arrive hardcore until later, and Erik moved quickly with the high-end GPS compass he bought for the job. This part of the desert had vortices that were fucking with the dials of the indicators.

Yucca plants and small cactus surrounded him as well as the yucca species known as the Joshua Tree for its unusual shape that Mormons long ago said looked like praying hands lifted to the sky. They seemed to thrive in arid places like this. Erik walked around with the small shovel he picked up from the Home Depot.

Sipping water from his hydration pack, he took off his jacket and laid it across his bike. There was no one near him for miles. He didn't have to worry about anyone stealing his shit. He set off in the direction the coordinates gave him. He wished there was a picture map sketch or mentions of signposts to look for, rock formations or a particular line up of cactus, anything to help pinpoint whatever he was looking for.

He found what he thought was the spot and dug for thirty minutes and found nothing. He moved to two other spots near his first dig site and found nothing still. Maybe it had been dug up a long time ago. Instead of getting frustrated, he let thoughts of his father guide him. If Baba wrote this down, it was important. He would stay as long as he could in his search.

When the sun rose high, he took off his shirt and tied it around his head, keeping his shades on as he continued digging. By the time it was near noon, his water was all gone, and he was hungry for more than the protein bars he had. Whatever his father placed here was long gone. He mentally prepared to plan a trip to the central corridor and Klamath where the other buried sites were.

A rabbit caught his eye and Erik walked towards it just to have a break from bending over and allowing him to stretch his back out.

"Shit!" his hissed grabbing onto his lips.

An intense itching overtook his bottom lip and Erik shoved his middle and index finger onto his gums there.

His tattoo.

Something was making his tattoo react in an adverse way.

He stepped back to where he was before he saw the desert rabbit and the itching faded away. He traced his footsteps around the area where the tattoo reacted. The space around it was less than a foot around.

Erik stepped forward again. The itching started again but was less pronounced. He could endure the sensation.

He started digging.

Three feet in he found a small gray silky bag the size of an apple. He picked it up and climbed out of the hole.

His eyes darted about and he walked back to his bike.

Opening the bag carefully, he found another cloth brown bag within. His tattoo flared up with prickly nerves. His hand slipped into the brown bag and he pulled out…

….a small chunk of neon blue metal that glowed with an intensity that made his hand light up. His tattoo was made from this, he was sure of it, his body reacting to the similar elements found within the metal.

Erik covered the metal back up quickly and stuffed it inside the pocket of his jacket and zipped it up. He debated covering the holes he had made back up, but he decided against it. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Pulling his shirt from his head, he put himself back together. Under the bright summer blue sky and surrounded by desert sands that led to mountains, Erik felt a freedom he hadn't felt in a long time. His quest felt tangible now. He had something his father died for in his possession. Erik shook his head, feeling a lone tear fall from his face. This felt like a true beginning. He had a talisman in his possession that would guide him to his future victory.

He rode to the nearest gas station. After filling up his tank, he bought fresh water for his pack and made his way out of town.

This metal, this hidden treasure that his father buried far away from Oakland…Erik recognized it.

Even knew the name of it.

His father had taught him the word.

Vibranium.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

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@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

[illfoandillfie]

from the prompt list: 23,24 from fluff and 31 from hurt/comfort with roger? would looooooove to see this!

I kinda snapped with this one and wrote almost 2k words soooooo its under a cut, enjoy!

23 “I think I love you,” + 24 “Can I kiss you?” + 31 “Just breathe. Breath withme.”

When you’d moved in with Roger you’d been nervousbordering on anxious. It was in your nature to worry and you knew this was thefourth time in two months that Roger had advertised for a roommate. But youwere desperate, everywhere else in your price range was unsuitable – too faraway from the campus to make the cheaper price worth while, men who wereclearly looking for someone to clean up after them like their mothers had athome, streets that were too dark and made you feel unsafe. So you were willingto look past his previous roommates complaints about that fucking infernalbanging and at least give it a shot. Of course there were other thingsworrying you too, your friends insistence that he’d try to hit on you for one.That sort of attention wasn’t something you received all that much and youweren’t entirely sure how to handle it. But you did know that roommates sleepingtogether was a bad idea so you knew you’d have to turn him down no matter what.

Roger, for his part, seemed thrilled when you said youcould move in straight away. You’d met up at a pub to chat and discusspotential arrangements and he’d entirely put you at ease. You were a little thrownwhen he didn’t so much as look you up and down let alone openly flirt with you,having believed everything your friends had said, but you put it down to notbeing his type and pushed the tiny pang of disappointment to the side. What hedid do was make you laugh, a lot. The conversation quickly turned from discussionsof rent and moving in to general chatter about everything else – the subjectsyou were both studying, the band he was in, opinions about music and literature,anything that jumped to mind. Before you knew it half the night was gone, yourworries were dispelled, and it felt like you’d been friends for years. Youwondered if that was just the way Roger was, easy to talk to and charmingenough to put anyone at ease, or if there was just something about the two ofyou that worked well together.

Over the first few months living with him you got toknow him quite well, better than you might have expected. You now weren’t surewhether people’s complaints about the constant banging were related to his drumsor the string of one night stands he brought back to the apartment, the thinwalls doing nothing to muffle their moaned cries of don’t stop or theway his voice got low and gravelly as he told them how he wanted them to cumfor him. Everything was only made worse by the slight crush you had on him. Itwas a small crush, nothing in it at all, you told yourself, based entirely on thefact that he was a guy, a cute guy, who talked to you like a human being,or talked to you at all. But you couldn’t stop the way your gut twisted whenyou saw him the next morning, standing topless in the kitchen, hair a mess,shooting you his stupid grin as he made his tea. You also couldn’t help the wayhis voice stuck in your brain, the way his moans invaded your thoughts as you gotyourself off, alone in your bed. But you pushed it to the side. It was a badidea and besides he clearly wasn’t interested.

It wasn’t long before you were introducing Roger asyour best friend. You spent more time with him than anyone else. On the dayswhen your classes lined up you’d meet him afterwards for a drink, sometimesaccompanied by Brian or Tim or Freddie or any number of your friends. You followedhim to every pub in the area to watch his band play, always wishing him luck beforehand and showering him with praise after. It was a nice excuse to look at him withoutthe fear of being caught, taking mental snapshots of the way his face scrunchedup as he played and how his bare chest looked covered in sweat. You’d be lyingif you said it didn’t turn you on. Once a week he’d turn up at the café whereyou waitressed, despite barely having enough money to make rent. He’d order thecheapest thing he could and sit there for an hour or more, making you laughevery time you visited his table. When exams approached you stayed up into theearly hours of the morning studying, which is when he learnt about your tendencyto worry yourself into an anxiety attack, and how to calm you down. You were alwaysmore prone to working yourself into a panic when you were stressed but you couldhave sworn the attacks had been less frequent since you met Roger. You put itdown to his calming voice and charming nature – it had put you at ease thefirst night you met after all – although maybe it was that you just hadn’t hada whole lot to stress about since finding suitable housing.

On quiet nights the two of you would sit at homelistening to records as you finished whatever beer you had on hand and madedinner with whatever scraps were left in the fridge. Roger always tried to keepyou amused with rambling anecdotes and jokes that had you in stitches, or withsuggestions of drinking games.“Ask me a question,”“Rog, I don’t understand how this is a drinking game,”“Because every time you answer a question you drink,”“So we’re just talking and drinking then,”“Well we couldn’t keep playing never have I ever – it always ends with metanked while your barely tipsy. And shit like truth or dare doesn’t work withonly two people.”“So why don’t you invite the others around then? They could bring some ediblefood with them,”“Nah, they’re all busy tonight. Fred and Tim are working on an assignment andBri’s on a date or something. It’s just you and me love.”You tried to ignore the way your heart beat faster, reminding yourself hecalled every pretty girl he talked to love.“Why don’t we go out instead?”“We’re practically broke Y/N. Why pay for beer when we have perfectly alrightstuff here.”“Okay but I’m no where near drunk enough to play some game designed to get meto spill all my secrets.”“Secrets? Who said anything about secrets?”“You know what I mean.”“Oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.”“Will it? My stories are never as good as yours.”“’s not a competition, just wanna get to know you better,” he shrugged beforetaking a swig of his drink.“You have to ask the first question then.” You rolled your eyes at the grinRoger gave you.“First kiss?”“That would be a guy named Peter when I was 18. It was….not good.”“What was so bad about it?”“I don’t know, just didn’t feel anything. I only did it to prove I could do it,not cause I was actually into him.”“So I take it you and this Peter never went any further then,”“You would be correct.”The game continued with the questions getting steadily more risqué as you bothgot tipsier. He told you about his first proper girlfriend and you told him aboutthe time you were stood up only to discover you’d been asked out as a dare. Whenhe told you about accidentally throwing up on the girl he fancied you told himabout the time your last boyfriend fingered you on a crowded bus, so he told youabout the time he’d shagged a girl who wanted to do anal on the first date. Yourcheeks were still burning when he asked his next question and for a moment youdidn’t think you’d heard him properly.“What?”“Can I kiss you?” “K-kiss me?”“Yes, Y/N.”“This is…a joke right? Like a badly timed joke considering I just told you aboutbeing asked out on a dare.”“It wasn’t a joke,”You shook your head, mouth hanging open as you tried to work out what to do. Partof you was screaming at you to fucking say yes but part of you was alsotelling you it was a bad idea and part of you was just confused that he’d askedyou when he could go out and get any number of better girls. You brain wasbuzzing with noise and you could feel your chest getting tight, air notreaching your lungs as you hands trembled slightly.“I c-ca-n’t b-br-,” you stammered, trying to blink away the tears that sprungto your eyes as you clutched your chest.“Woah, woah, Y/N, it’s okay,” Roger’s voice got softer as he reached out foryou, his hands landing on your shoulders, “Hey, we’re gonna breath okay, justbreath. Breath with me. In,” he inhaled, “and out,” he exhaled. You triedto match your breath to his, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of hisvoice as he instructed you and the way his thumbs were rubbing over yourshoulder. Gradually your breathing returned to normal, the tightness in yourchest subsiding.“Sorry,” you said softly.“No, I knew you weren’t into me and I still asked. I shouldn’t have put you inthat position.”You looked up at him so fast you saw spots, your heart beat speeding up to thepoint it felt like one of his drum solos was being played against your chest.“But I am into you,”“Really?”“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d feel the same though. You never hit on me.”“Yeah because I go to hang out at all my friends workplaces especially when I’mflat fucking broke,”“I thought that was just like, being friendly or something,”“Are you kidding?”“This doesn’t happen all that often to me. I’m not…I don’t… Guys don’t really gofor me, why would you?”“Shit Y/N, here I was thinking I was being super obvious and you’re completelyfucking clueless. I’ve been into you since the day we met. We talked for hoursremember? And the more we’ve hung out the more I’ve wanted to be with you.”“My friends told me you’d try and get me into bed and then I met you and youdidn’t and I figured I wasn’t worth your time.”“I didn’t hit on you because I didn’t want you to think that moving in here wasreliant on sleeping with me. But Christ, Y/N, you are worth every second of mytime.”“But the other girls? The ones you’d bring home and fuck so loudly.”“I was trying to distract myself, to stop thinking about you but it didn’t work.I think I love you. I mean, I know I love you because you’re my best friend,but I think I’m falling for you in a different way too.”You replayed his words in your head, searching for any hint of deception or ahidden agender. You must have been silent for too long because Roger carefullynudged your shoulder.“Are you okay? Still breathing?”You laughed softly, “Yeah, still breathing. Just umm, trying to process it all.We’re roommate’s Rog, as much as I want this to happen, isn’t it a bad idea?”“I’m willing to risk it if you are.”You nervously bit your lip, looking up into his eyes as you nodded, “Yeah, okay.You can kiss me,”Your breath hitched as his lips met yours in a soft, chaste kiss that made yourheart stop altogether. “Better than Peter?”“No competition,”“Didn’t think there would be since I stole your breath just by asking for akiss,”

[thechaoscryptid]

Writer’s Tag Game, Bouncy’s Edition

Many thanks to @tipsyraconteur for tagging me ❤❤ I know I said this was going to be my strictly Naruto blog but there’s definitely some of my other fandoms that are going to worm their way in heh.

Rules: brag to your heart’s content, you’re awesome, and then tag 5-10 people to do the same.

I’m tagging (if you’d like to play, no obligation): @magnustesla, @scarecrowinthewoods, @dunloth, @caped-ace, @alexianite, @benicemurphy, and @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul (you Voltron peeps, it’s Ary 😉)

1) What’s a paragraph you’ve written that you’re really proud of?

From Order and Obedience (KakaIru): 

“Think Konoha’s dog is going to be an easy fuck, ranger?” Kakashi asked, eyeing every possible exit. Just in case. “That my allegiance is so easily swayed?”

“I think if you were still wearing your boots you’d be trembling in them,” Iruka said without missing a beat. “Your desire to serve the light may not make sense to me, but even I can see that the way your skin drinks in the moon would be pleasing to any god. I’m not demanding darkness, only obedience.”

2) Pick a favorite scene from your longest fic!

The scene in Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru) where Sera and Kakashi part ways. I still get chills at the lines “You are no longer my problem. I am no longer your whore.” There’s plenty of fantastic scenes from that fic, but that still remains one of my favorites. That whole arc, really, from when she finds out the news to when it’s finally 100% over. 

3) Give us a snippet of your most recent WIP:

Voltron! This is a part of one of my stories for the Sheith Big Bang coming up:

A galaxy will never be enough to contain my love for you. 

Mechanically, Keith’s hands go through the motions of powering up Black as Krolia’s voice comes through the comm link. It’s another diplomacy mission--another he’d rather skip in favor of liberating some far off colony from oppressors or just staying in bed, unmoving. The lion doesn’t speak to him the way she used to, and neither does anything else. The universe, for all its glory, has become simple.

Dull.

Grey, even with color sprays from passing planets and nebulas.

He chews on the side of his lip as he lets his head tip to the side, checking to make sure things are in order. His mother’s still rattling off information about the mission and he just wants to tell her to be quiet, he’ll figure it out on his own later. He wants to hear the ghost of Shiro’s voice whispering it loves him again.

Keith…

Ghosts are never enough, but Shiro’s I’ll love you until forever ends echoing in his head assuages the pre-mission blues. “Not that it’s ever anything else these days,” he says under his breath. Krolia asks what he said, and he blames it on a squeaky chair. “Gotta get in here and tune up the cockpit when I’m back. Project for Shiro and I.”

“Well, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with things now. You ready to give ‘em hell?”

Keith pastes a smile on his face, though he knows she’s not on the video link. “Would you expect anything different?”

4) If all of your published fics sparred, who would win and why?

Ohh, tough one...based off of stats, Wake the White Wolf, no question. Off of personal preference? Probably Crescendo (SakuOro) right now. 

5) What’s a fic/author you’ve taken inspiration from and in which one of your works did you incorporate that inspiration?

I won’t lie, Tipsy, a lot of my recent style choices came from Scar Tissue 😅 I found I really enjoy storytelling in present tense, with longer flowing lines punctuated by short lil ones for emphasis. It’s appeared in...most of my recent stuff? I switched within the last year or so.

(putting the rest under a cut because there’s some longer answers)

6) Which fanfiction character do you enjoy writing the most? In which one of your fics do you think you wrote them best?

This is another tough one xD I think I actually have to go with a three part answer here, though really, I enjoy writing so many more.

Kakashi Hatake: Shatter Me (KakaIru), best fic

Dazai Osamu: Marionette (Dazushi), best fic

Keith Kogane: since I can’t tell which one of my bang fics yet, I’ll go with my favorite published, which is Unsteady (Sheith). Truly, it’s going to be the fic from the above snippet hehe

7) Smut or fluff? Give us a sneak peek of your favorite fluffy/smutty scene you’ve written.

Mmm, smut. I’ve really got to be in the right mood for fluff, and my not-so-guilty pleasure reading is angsty smut.

My favorite fluffy/smutty scene...I think it’s probably from Reciprocity (KakaSaku)!

He wishes he still had the Sharingan to capture these moments. Sakura’s still got her thin undershirt on, but the delicate hollows of her collarbones call to him as she reaches over to light their lantern. There will be no fire tonight save for the one burning low and heavy in his stomach, as if he’s swallowed molten rock.

“Do I need to do the rest?” she says, dragging her hands up her legs as she stands. “Should I strip for you, Kakashi?”

He stands along with her and tugs off his mask first, then his shirt. Sakura gasps as the angry red of fresh scars is revealed, fingers twitching toward him before he shakes his head. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Inch by inch, the pale curve of her stomach is revealed. Shadows flicker and dance over it along with the flames, and when Kakashi pulls Sakura’s shirt the entire way off he thinks not even the prettiest sunset could compare. There’s several scars--no shinobi makes it out without them--and no shortage of muscle packed into her small frame, but somehow she makes a battleborn body beautiful.

Sakura makes life beautiful.

Her breath hitches when he tells her this, something shifting in her at the tender touch of his lips against her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to just jump you right now?” she says breathlessly.

“No jumping,” he says. “Only falling.”

8) What’s a scene in one of your fics you wish you would receive fanart for?

Uh, literally any one 😅 My top choice, though, I think would be of my favorite OT3 in Desperately:

“I’ll be a lot cuter when the day comes.” Sakura shoved the bandana up and crunched her nose as she looked back with Ibiki. “You might have to leave me at the altar to catch everyone fainting at the sight of me.”

Ibiki’s laugh rumbled through the living room as he gathered her back to his chest. “We’re never leaving you there, baby, you know we couldn’t,” he said. “Or maybe we could take turns catching them. How d’you think your clothes will hold up, Rai?”

“They’ll be fine. I volunteer for catching duty as long as it’s you two falling for me at the end,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the couch as he watched them sway. “And of course, falling into bed with me later.” Ibiki cocked an eyebrow as Sakura giggled into his scarred chest. “What, you think I”m joking?”

“Never considered it,” Ibiki said. He pulled away from Sakura to trail his hand up her arm, urging her to spin. His uniform lifted from her creamy skin and Raidou sucked in a breath as the purple lace on the bottom of her underwear was revealed. She knew he couldn’t resist those, and Ibiki certainly didn’t mind them either.

“Come here,” he said. Ibiki let her go and gave her a gentle push toward Raidou’s outstretched arms before flopping next to them as the song began to repeat. “I saw those. You can’t hide them from me.” Her hair tickled his face as he kissed over her cheek down to her ear. “Wearing my husband’s shirt and my wife-to-be’s favorite underwear, how scandalous, Sakura,” he purred.

“I’m sure your wife-to-be will be so very displeased I stole them,” she said, pulling back with a mock pout before turning to beg a kiss from Ibiki. “I hear she picked them specifically for tonight because she wanted to get laid.”

9) Would you ever consider turning one of your fics into a podfic? If no, why not?

Not on my own? I have hearing problems, so it’s just really never occurred to me. If anyone else wanted to, though, I wouldn’t say no!

10) The best (or your favourite) 5 reviews you’ve ever gotten! Don’t forget to tell us which one of your fics received them!

There’s so many 😭😭 My commenters are all fucking awesome, but I’ll trawl my saved comments for some highlights!

P5eud0Nym on Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru omegaverse): So, I just wanted to say you’ve been doing a fantastic job. I appreciate that this isn’t, and hasn’t at any point been, a dumb tropey kink fic. That you’ve taken the time to put so much heart into all of this. The fact that you’re exploring the politics, the social issues, and writing all of the characters as being more than just their A/B/O designations, so good. The multifaceted way you write is just really and truly refreshing. It’s obvious how much work and thought you put into this. You’re tackling a lot of really important stuff, from consent to civil rights, and it’s some grade A USDA certified Good Shit. Thanks for the fic and keep up the good work <3

Lilmeliz on Monster (ShigaDabi): AAAAAAA GUARANTEED I CAN BLOW YOUR MIND mwa. Please excuse the lame dua lipa reference I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- Delicious. Finally some fucking good food. I want to congratulate you. This is such a beautiful, touching, heartwarming masterpiece. I even cried a little. I usually read shiggy with his dark past and his (soul) scars and all that jazz, and venturing into the thought of him having a mere fiber of good will in himself, in his actual self, is risky and prone to be ooc. But here it sounds right. It feels personal, private and even possible, my boi :( Dabi is an angel, I’m dying. I like the reminder “they lie, they kill...” Yes he’s an angel but he’s still evil. I don’t know what else to add but really, this is stunning! IM GONNA TATTOO THISSS amazing work 

Prism0467 on Forbidden (KakaIru): You have written their mutual dependency with such nurturing attention to detail I feel as if I know them. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt...embraced by a work of fanfiction before now...this may well be a first. Your enthusiasm for this pairing comes through loud and clear, I’ll tell you that :)

PearlBear on Crescendo (SakuOro): Wow. Just wow. This is brilliant, heart-wrenching, creative and extremely, extremely well-written. You have such a way with words, I was actually crying. And you adapt their lives as shinobi so seamlessly to situations that happen in real life (how many partners give up on possibilities for their significant one and get nothing in return?). This story managed to move me deeply and all the while, they all were in-character (it hurt when Tsunade looked at Orochimaru in the same way they all do, also loved how Tobirama and Madara are his parents). The omegaverse wasn’t heavy at all, instead it’s well integrated enough that I, who don’t particularly like it, barely noticed and completely accepted it. It’s just the way things are. You manage to convey so, so much in a few words. I’m amazed. So, thank you for sharing this! I am very, very excited for what’s next, whether Orochimaru experiments to save himself, whether Sakumo commits suicide (or worse, dies on this mission), whether... So many possibilities. Your story is outstanding. Thank you for writing this gem!

(insert special shoutout to Tipsy’s review of Testing the Waters...)

and no comment appreciation section would be complete without at least one from @magnustesla! 

This one from Of Scale and Steel (Sheith naga AU): Ary, sometimes I am left speechless and I don’t quite know how to articulate my thoughts after reading one of your fics. Like, everything is just so...so brilliant that it’s like my brain fucks off when I try to get my thoughts down onto a page. Turning well known and beloved characters into something else entirely isn’t easy and often they miss the mark leaving the reader not really connecting with it. But you, you are brilliant and clever in all that you write because damn, I love Naga Keith. It feels like it IS part of canon. And your oc? Super adorable and she just belongs. I really loved her interactions with Shiro and the chewing on his finger had me rollling because it reminded me of when J would test everything by chomping it. Not relevant but it sparked a good laugh from me, especially because it is totally something kids do. I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m excited to see you get your mojo back with this fandom. Love you ❤