#starting the fight obnoxiously high and ending the fight obnoxiously high. tradition

[victorinoxghoul]

so sorry to everyone who attacked me in the last 18 hours i was Very Busy

[currymanganese]

GUYS, I CAN'T ACTUALLY BELIEVE I'M SAYING THIS, BUT WHAT IF THEY ACTUALLY HAD A GOOD REASON FOR JOHN CENA BEING CAST AS SAMMY FAK?

please bear with me (pun intended) and let me know what you think of my speculation under the cut~

In a mind-boggling case of a seemingly big-lipped alligator moment in season 3 - John Cena appears in a bizarrely over the top (even by the tonal comedic standards set previously by The Bear e.g. Ecto Cooler punch at a kid's birthday party getting spiked with Xanax in Season One) and jarring scene that stretches on and on as he obnoxiously squabbles, blathers and exchanges nonsensical rapid-fire quips with his brothers Neil and Ted Fak as they buff polish The Bear's dining area before a food photographer from The Chicago Tribune arrives to take a photo for a review of The Bear.

In this scene, he also intimidates and threatens to 'haunt' (in a Fak family tradition ( that even the Faks find annoying) - that involves pranking and being an unrestrained nuisance to their loved ones especially when they least expect it) his brother Ted for, "stealing his SD cards"......

This scene and the increased screen presence of the seemingly plot-irrelevant Faks this season is currently being eviscerated by plenty of fans and critics alike.

Edit:

I now strongly suspect that John Cena's role was always in the works ever since S1

..................................

But what if there's a (debatable, but) really good reason for this scene and the increased involvement in Seasons 2 and 3 of the massive numbered siblings family of Carmy's pseudo cousins, the Faks?

See Exhibit A:

In season 2, episode 3, Sundae - after Carmy has already asked Sydney out to Kasama, a husband and wife owned restaurant run by Tim Flores, and Genie Kwon*, ostensibly just to brainstorm and gain inspiration for planning for the new menu, and after Sydney has already gone home and freshened up and changed her clothes, then arrived to Kasama early, despite the meeting only being scheduled for an hour after she last spoke to Carmy at his apartment, Claire calls and interrupts the whole hypothetical shebang with Syd and Carmy at Kasama (the Tagalog WORD FOR TOGETHER) with the words,

"Did you mean to give me a fake number? You do know that I know your entire family [translation: she must know Donna too and Claire assumes that Carmy's folks approve of her - and she's proven to be technically right throughout Seasons 2 and 3 ], right? And I know ALL the Faks! [translation: tee hee! they're bigger than you - to quote Neil and Ted with their Uncle, "We Faks do have a particular shape, don't we?😇" - and they outnumber you, you scrawny punk, slay!😉✨]"

Claire then proceeds to playfully threaten to have said "massive numbered siblings" Faks, which includes Sammy Fak, played by John Cena (a professional wrestler, from an industry that is mixes both bawdy over the top theatre, a performance art that values Kayfabe (legerdemain/slight of hand anyone?) and comedy, and an athletic discipline) that is TALL. BUILT. HENCH. AND BUFF AF.....Claire 'playfully' threatens to have THESE FAKS, beat up Carmy, who is short in stature and cannot fight well from all the previous physical confrontations we've seen him be involved in, despite supposedly being a former high-school wrestler, and who has already been seriously physically abused thrice in the series run thus far (not counting him play fighting or trying to fight with Richie) after being JUMPED by a GROUP of assailants, not once, but TWICE in season one, by the Ballbreaker nerds in the pilot, and the Bachelor Party attendees in the season finale (the first season started and ended with Carmy being beaten tf up, Holy Shit! 🤯); AND AFTER BEING SLAPPED IN THE FACE IN SEASON 2 BY HIS OWN MOTHER, DONNA.

Notice the way Carmy goes from being lost in his thoughts but being completely relaxed after his menu planning session with Sydney, and in anticipation of seeing her on their would be inspiration seeking meet-up (definitely not a date, no Sir! 👀) at Kasama, to being tense and jittery and apprehensive when Claire calls him (after going behind his back and getting his number from Fak).

Notice the way Carmy's voice shakes when he asks Claire if she really knows all of the Faks.....

Notice Carmy's defeated and annoyed reaction after he hangs up the phone.

No wonder Carmy is being so avoidant and conflict averse in his handling of Claire in both Season Two and Three, he has absolutely no faith in himself or his loved ones at present to defend himself should he assert the type of boundaries he may have been desiring to have with them for these past two seasons, after all - who can he count on to fully have his back even to the point of physically intervening for him if he gets into a scrape or is genuinely attacked, by the Faks on account of Claire taking offense at or misrepresenting his words and actions to them, e.g. Claire apparently twisting Carmy's self loathing stream of consciousness confession (that she eavesdropped on) and telling Tiff that they broke up because Carmy said that "Claire will ruin everything good for him?" while he was trapped in the fridge?

What if Carmy knows he has to rip the band-aid and call Claire and apologize for his part in the superficiality and disintegration of their dalliance, but is afraid to do so because he knows in so doing, if he is being fully honest with himself and with Claire, he never truly wanted to be with her in the first place?

And who knows how Claire will take that revelation - it probably won't be pretty will it?

And.....

to quote Neil Fak,

"Claire's the best."

"We love Claire."

"I did that." [setting Carmy and Claire up in Pop)

And.....

Claire. knows. all. the. Faks.....

TL;DR

They cast John Cena as Sammy Fak, and the Faks had a lot of screen-time this season because they are the physical manifestation of being haunted in their family's sense of the word:

and a satirical visualization of Carmy's desire for Syd being cock-blocked ; plus Claire is a Love-able Alpha Bitch, and Carmy is ambivalent towards her, and even a little scared to face her, because her henchmen are the Faks!

If you enjoyed this post, then thank you for reading and I'd recommend that you check out the following meta on the way Christopher Storer and Company have seemingly (and controversially) committed to sticking to the bit of lying to the audience and breaking the fourth wall throughout this entire season:

Richie and the viewer - by @whenmemorydies with my add-on in the reblogs about Richie, not Carmy, potentially being Christopher Storer's author avatar in this series (from a post originally written before season 3 premiered.

Fourth Wall being broken - by @brokenwinebox and @thoughtfulchaos773

Claire being a possible representation of addiction, being a habit that is hard to kick - by @thoughtfulchaos773 and my and @devisrina 's add-on speculating that Claire may also be meant to be interpreted or revealed as a bit of a mean girl, to reference TVTropes, she (and by extension Season 3) may be a deconstruction/ mashup /send-up / subversion of the: Girl Next Door, the Cute Bookworm, Nerds Are Sexy, MPDG, Yandere, Alpha Bitch, Loveable Apha Bitch, Childhood Friend Romance, High-School Sweethearts, Sickeningly Sweethearts, Getting Crap Past The Radar, Freeze Frame Bonus, Parental Bonus, Viewers Are Geniuses, Give Geeks A Chance, Even Nerds Have Standards, Beauty Equals Goodness, Face-Heel Turn, Cerebus Syndrome tropes etc.....and a subtler mirror version of Donna Berzatto.

Edit: See my reblog add on to @espumado 's thread on the recurrent 'haunting' theme this season and the possibility of the Claire x Carmy x Sydney love triangle being a Lilith x Adam x Eve allegory, and my webweaving about Syd x Carmy's Adam and Eve parallels. sidenote: Lilith is Adam's first wife apocryphally and in Jewish mysticism that left him, and became a she-demon / mother of demons after being impregnated by the archangel Samael - wait is 'Sammy' Fak a Samael allegory?!!

and another reblog add-on of mine to the thread linked above - on The Faks as the living embodiment of all that is fake in Carmy's life, C Storer's handy dandy tools for slight of hand,

you can't spell fake without FAK.

and please see

Clairecarmy as Ann Veal x GOB from Arrested Development

and with Richie's frustrated refrain of, "Who cares?!" whenever Claire and Claire and Carmy's breakup is brought up in 3 -

see the running gag of George Michael Bluth's (from Arrested Development) family's disdain for Ann and his relationship with her.

5. The parallels between The Bear and Burnt by @ambeauty - a post Season 2 post which was proven to be prescient and insightful given the Easter Egg inclusion of Bradley Cooper's character from Burnt on the photo wall of chefs at Ever in the Funeral dinner in the finale.

6. The parallels between The Bear and Boiling Point - a gritty film and mini-series set in a restaurant which features several plot elements and characters reminiscent of certain character archetypes and subplots present in The Bear - seriously think of this IP as The Bear's cynical, dramatic, older British cousin.

Decision to leave by @anderwater

This anon that recommended Boiling Point to me and wrote about its connections to The Bear.

The difference between The Bear and Boiling Point by @theblvckvenus

The similarities between The Bear and Boiling Point in this reblog add-on to @happylikeasadsong et. al's thread.

7. Claire/Carmy and the Walk In - my old post on the parallels between Strange Days (1995), Can't Hardly Wait (1998, and The Bear.

and @ambeauty 's meta on Claire as a representation of the fridge

8. My post on the possible connection between The Bear Season 3 and Andrei Tarkovsky's experimental, semi-autobiographical, psychological Oedipal drama film The Mirror (1975) - a film which was incredibly divisive upon its initial release, but has since gained wide acclaim and re-evaluation as a masterpiece, and that has had a legacy of subsequently inspiring multiple renowned filmmakers.

9. The Bear series' lead actress, and the director of Napkins, one of the only episodes of The Bear Season 3 to receive almost universal acclaim - Ayo Edebiri's trollish sense of humour and assertion that lying is the pinnacle of comedy.

10. And last but certainly not least with the inclusion of a Genie Kwon*'s, of Kasama fame, cameo in the season finale and the prominence of Kasama being key to Syd and Carmy's stymied relationship progression, courtesy Claire, see

The Kasama of it all by @gingerylangylang1979

@mod-doodles @lunasink @vacationship @chansoooo1-blog

@bioloyg @msmoiraine @nerdyblerd @ripley-stark @uncriticalbunny @prowitchazel @msmoiraine @mswyrr @anxietycroissant @turbulenthandholding @tvfantic87 @laryssamedeirss @tejidaepoque @angelica4equity @inalltheirgorgeouscolors @houseofevangelista @glitterslag

@uncriticalbunny @imliterallyjustablackgirl

@bioloyg and @ambeauty please don't say I told you so or welcome back, I'm flabbergasted that I wrote this, but I want to believe! 😭

P.S. If you're still reading this, do yourself a favour and read @brokenwinebox 's post

New Paradigm

and this follow up

Mocktail is a dirty word

and check out her #the magic trick tag!

and also check out these Sydcarmy and Rosalind x Orlando from Shakespeare's As You Like It parallels:

The Bear as a pastoral comedy

First Meetings

Fumbling with your crush

Separation, keepsakes and lovesickness

and also C Storer really did tell us in the music that this season would inspire

Mixed Emotions 🥴

[lackoftrumpets]

The TTRPGs I played in 2023: Part 1

With the year coming to a close, I wanted to do a wrap up on all of the tabletop games I have played. While sometimes it can be difficult to get people to play other games, thankfully that was not an issue this year. If I had to guess a reason why, it might be because of the OGL controversy at the start of the year combined with new people starting to get more curious about the hobby after starting with D&D 5e. I don't really have a fancy ordering or ranking scheme for these posts, so I'm just going to write about what my experiences were like with each game. This first part is for the games that most people are likely to be experienced with while the second (and possibly third) will be about all the one page RPGs I played near the end of the year.

D&D 5e

While my interest for the game is dwindling because of WOTC's shenanigans and the fact I have been playing the game for 5 years, I still am enjoying the campaign I have been running within it for 2 years now. My players have been amazing. The ways they engage with the story I have created always surprise me in the best ways possible. Heroic fantasy with a lot of magic is something I love a lot, but I'm ready to start moving to new things. Combat is getting pretty rough as we move to the higher levels mainly because the game's crowd control options are obnoxious to deal with as both a player and a GM. I could always just throw more minions and run more encounters, but that is kind of difficult to do for a casual game when players can't make it every session and we only play about 2-3 hours per session. I love the high magic and power within the game, I just wish it was done in more enjoyable ways.

Pathfinder 2e

This game is the other TTRPG I've spent a lot of time playing this year. While most people would have looked at me like a crazy person when ever I mentioned Pathfinder, that changed this year. I got to actively be both a player and a GM for this system, which isn't something that happens often. I love the crazy amount of customization and all of the mechanics that want you to work together. How the game handles crowd control is something I also appreciate as well. The three action system allows a lot more variance than "you just lose a turn" or "can't do anything" if affected by something that slows you down. A lot of the keywords can be a pain to remember, but that isn't something I have a problem with. When it comes to heroic fantasy, this is likely to be my go to game after I finish my current 5e campaign. I haven't read much of the remaster yet, but I hear it is fun.

Call of Cthulhu 7e

Every October I make sure I run at least one game of Call Cthulhu. This year it was the players try to escape an abandoned mall answering questions horror media. Slow resource draining alongside the constant fear of dying within the blink of an eye always creates an interesting atmosphere at the table. Having the margins of success being so slim on the d100 also creates some extremely clutch moments when the odds for success can be as insane as a 1 in 90 chance of success. I will admit though, I would probably be better off running something a bit lighter for more horror games in the future. I can never remember how the rules of combat functions and when I do I always forget them half way through a fight. This same thing happens whenever a chase breaks out. I plan to continue the tradition of playing this game in October, but I plan on adding more games to my spooky arsenal next year.

ROOT (Pbta)

I haven't posted much about it on this blog, but I LOVE the board game ROOT. Asymmetric games are awesome and I love the flavor of each faction. I also might be extremely biased towards anthropomorphic animals. I haven't read many other Pbta games so I can't compare it to other games based on that system, but I can say it is an enjoyable experience. It does a great job getting players into the role of a bunch of animal scoundrels who do what they wish. While a bit clunky, being able to see the consequence of one's action with the forest changing and gaining new moves that involves one's reputation are things I love to see. My players always had a habit of trying to do the jobs they were hired for super professionally only for it to devolve into them all transforming into arsonists. I imagine my view of this game is extremely biased because I love the world and board game its based off of, but I would recommend giving this game a play.

Monster of the Week

I only got to play this game for one session so I don't have that great of an insight into it, but it was still a fun experience. We played a pre-written module about hunting down someone making cyborg monkeys and I had a lot of fun. Pbta does a good job simulating tropes and everybody at the table leaned into it. I had a lot of fun playing a stock secret agent who does a poor job of being secretive. I'm not 100% sure I got the full danger experience out of the system. We played the one shot with 7 luck boxes, so we were pretty much able to just ignore harm any time we were in danger. It felt kind of awkward and the GM reduced how many we could use half way through the session. We also managed to track down the creator faster than the GM apparently expected. Someone with more experience on the system would probably be able to explain what might have went wrong, so I'm not going to be to harsh on the game for this. If I ever got the chance to play or run this game, I would absolutely take the opportunity to do so.

[revengeismygender]

wanting to get married and have kids does not mean that you're not a feminist or can't fight against workplace sexism or care about journalism and whatever the fuck else you claimed in that post

i dont even want steve and nancy to end up together they're better as friends but it's so fucking obnoxious the way this fandom acts a woman in a relationship with a man or a woman wanting to have a family means she has to turn in her feminism card. fuck ya'll. FUCK. YA'LL.

Lol is this about an anti-Stancy post I made like three months ago? But anyway I never said getting married and wanting to have kids makes you anti feminist. In fact in that post I literally said plenty of people have similar dreams and would marry Steve harrington and have his six babies INCLUDING ME.

I just said that NANCY has been set up to not want those things. There is literally a whole scene in season one where her and Jonathan discuss having getting married and having kids and living the suburban American dream and she says “fuck that” and then starts shooting a gun lol. So no I am not trying to say if you want a family you’re a bad feminist or you can’t fight against sexism or whatever. I’m just saying that Nancy has been set up to want a high powered career and not want the traditional American family and to me it seems like having six kids and driving across the country every summer in an RV isn’t super compatible with her arc so far.

Also I’m not saying her being in a relationship with a man is bad lol. I like Jancy.

[moeruhoshi]

I've been watching anime all day so here's a late nalu day gift

Lucy slammed her bedroom door and flopped down on her bed with a weary sigh, weeping into her pillow as her day finally came to an end.

The open door of her patio allowed her to hear the neighing of carriage horses taking away her most recent suitor, a man who barely knew what the meaning of personal space was.

Just how many princes and dukes had to waltz through their gates before the princess’ father realized that they had no interest in adequately courting her? It was painfully obvious how the lot of them were only interested in her well-displayed décolletage over her personality and spent more time schmoozing up to the king instead of trying to win her favor.

What hurt, even more, was knowing that she could never be with the one who was truly meant for her.

She stared at the red string tied to her pinky, the fiber ending far off in the distance where it connected to her destined partner. It calmed her in some ways, allowed her to feel a sense of clarity, knowing there was at least one more person out there who could give her the true love she craved.

She hoped every day, when Spetto called her down to meet another suitor, that it would be him, the one on the other end of her string, waiting to hold her as she wanted to hold him.

They could instead be a peasant, she thought as her hopes for him to visit one day were beginning to fade. Not that she cared about that kind of thing, but it meant that they didn't have the means to enter the castle easily. Or maybe they were somewhere in a neighboring country, too far away to find her. Maybe he hadn't been gifted the power to see the string and didn't know she was waiting for him but felt just as empty without her by his side.

She was sure if she voiced her knowledge of the red string to anyone else, they would call doctors from all over Earthland to analyze her cognitive function. 

But she desperately wanted to tell everyone that she had no intention of selecting a suitor through their gaudy traditions. She would instead venture out into the world to find her soulmate, the person at the end of her red string of fate. But knowing her father, he would only let her marry with the promise of the expanded wealth she would gain him from a political marriage.

"Miss? Are you still awake?" Spetto knocked lightly, the princess holding in her sniffles to hear what the maid had to say. "I'm sure you are…but I won't bother you. Your father wants you to know that he'll be inviting the Duke Cream from Veronica for another visit tomorrow. He's eager to correct his…insolent behavior from the last time he saw you."

The princess didn't bother answering and instead let out a frustrated sigh as the sound of her maid's footsteps echoed down the hall. The setting sun illuminated the crimson strand and her fingers loosely wrapped around it, her weak pout quivering as she tugged on the phantom satin.

"I'd rather have you, whoever you are..."

~000~

"The princess!" Spetto screamed as she ran into the King's throne room. Jude was sat upon his seat with the Duke at his side, their conversation halting at her interruption. "She's gone!"

"What in the world do you mean, woman? I'm sure that no good daughter of mine has just buried her nose in one of those god awful fairy tales again. Have the guards search the library for her," He gruffed, rolling his eyes as her demeanor became more hysterical and shaken.

"I have, your highness! The princess has run away, she's truly nowhere to be found!"

"And just when I was about to be introduced to my bride," The Duke frowned and tossed his bleached hair aside. "Send hounds after her, why don't you? I will not let this girl make a fool of me on this glorious day."

"Go on, then," The King glared at his guards standing nearby who quickly rushed out the door. "I should have known that girl would be trouble. Her mother had always filled her head with nothing but pure nonsense."

Lucy lifted her billowy skirt as she ran through the woods, deep within its darkness, trying her best to ignore the now wailing trumpets of distress audible in the distance. She knew it wouldn't have been long until someone noticed her absence, especially after having heard the reality behind Duke Cream’s visit.

It was by chance, an incident that occurred while she was passing her father's office the night before. Lucy heard the plans he made to arrange her marriage to the Duke, ensuring that their kingdom would absorb the principality. This meant her father would have an entire stronghold on the country of Fiore.

A life with that obnoxious and narcissistic Duke was not one she wanted, nor could even stand the thought of.

So, in a panic, she made plans to run away, leaving when the guards wouldn’t be around, going as far as she could go without any clear signs of which direction she'd taken off in. She persevered through her tiredness with the lone thought of her meeting her soulmate who was sure to greet her with a wide smile and open arms.

"This way! C'mon now, you'll never make it running without anywhere in mind!" A voice tinkled through the line of trees, halting the princess in her place as she breathed harshly and darted around scared eyes.

"Who's there! I-I'm not going back to the castle!" Lucy shouted as she turned about in circles, shrieking as a short blonde girl suddenly appearing from thin air

"Did I say I was trying to take you home? No! Now hurry it up! You'll never make it there if you make stops like this, follow me!" She instructed, turning toward the trees and beginning to run.

"Who are you?" Lucy asked between pants as she followed the shorter blonde, mesmerized by the trail of sparkles she left behind her, and the cute wings peeking out from beside her ears.

"A friend," She smiled as she continued maneuvering them through the woods. "And a guide! You’ll never get where you need to go without my help,"

"So you know where I'm going? You can see my string too?"

"Well, sure! I let you see it after all. Boy, was he worried when I told him you were stuck out here without your magic. Idiot almost killed himself trying to find his way through, but it can't be done by anyone but a spirit." She sighed and shook her head, rambling as they avoided a patch of bramble bushes 

"My soulmate...? He was looking for me too? Really?" Lucy felt her heart swell, beating stronger even as she ran, a dazzling smile taking its claim of her lips.

"Yup! You have a very loyal man waiting for you," She giggled. "He can't wait to meet you, said he'd get his house ready and everything while I was out looking for you. I apologize for taking so long, moving around in this realm isn't easy, there’s barely any magic in this land!”

"Magic? Like in books? Isn't that practice all made up?" The princess quirked a brow as the strange girl only giggled again and slowed her movements as they found purchase under the wide berth of a willow tree.

"It's quite amazing someone like you was born here when your home is with us, in the right Fiore. Now, come on! Everyone's waiting!" She grinned, ignoring Lucy's confusion as she pulled them through the hanging branches, the two suddenly falling into the void of the trunk.

"E-Eh?! W-Wha…!" Lucy fell to her knees as she suddenly felt queasy, holding a hand to her head and waited for her headache to subside. She looked up to see where the other blonde had gone, not finding her anywhere and instead met a new and sunny skyline. "Wasn't it…night just a moment ago?"

She stood to her shaky feet, finding her body no longer weighed down by exhaustion, tears, or dirt on her dress. Whatever was in the air made her feel light as, well, air. She'd never felt so amazing before! Just where had she gone when they fell through that tree?

Taking some small steps through the field in front of her, she looked down to her finger, the red string extending into the distance behind her.

"Oh wow…" When Lucy turned around, she was met with the image of a town she had never seen before, curiosity pulling her towards the bustling streets.

It was as she always imagined the streets of the village she ruled above looked; stalls serving food and selling fresh produce, children running and laughing, patrons bartering and making light conversation, happiness in everyone's eyes. Their smiles created her own, and she followed the string eagerly, feeling just right in the Fiore she’d been led to.

She worried this would all turn into a dream soon enough, there couldn't possibly be another Fiore…or the existence of magic at that. Her steps quickened as she feared Spetto would be in at any moment to wake her, feet carrying her towards a patch of woods that broke off from the town.

It would’ve made nice for a peaceful walk if she didn’t think the calm scenery before her would disappear.

“Oi, Gray, watch it!” A sharp voice boomed from the nearby distance. 

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing, it ain’t hard to paint a wall, flame brain!” 

“Don’t start a fight! We had to rebuild that side of the house five times because you two keep knocking it down!”

Lucy slowed down her pace as the volume of their argument increased but kept her eyes on the string that told her he was just ahead. 

Her eyes landed on a red-haired girl pointing a large sword at two boys who kneeled respectively in front of her, bowing their heads as she scolded them. 

Breaking through the line of trees, Lucy smoothed down her stray hairs and dusted off her dress, holding herself nervously as she continued forward.

Each step closer made her legs feel like jelly, flushed her cheeks, and made her heart beat a million times faster, her fingers twitching as she held her hands together. 

“U-Um...excuse me…?” Lucy’s voice was shaky as she approached the three, her eyes watery as she stared at the pink-haired boy who raised his head at the sound of her voice. The string fell into his lap; he was her soulmate.

The red-haired girl turned to face her first, eyes concerned as they fell on her disheveled appearance. “My goodness, are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“N-No...I—“ 

"Oh, crap! It's you!" 

"Don't say that to a girl, idiot! You have no idea who that is!" The raven-haired boy threw a glare at the pink-haired one who quickly stood up.

“Mavis didn’t tell me when you’d get here, I would’ve come to pick you up if I knew you were...oh, hey, don’t cry, okay? Um, here,” He quickly took the end of his scarf to wipe her tears, feeling a knot in his throat as she gently fell against his chest. "It's gonna be okay."

"I just...I just can't believe…" She shook her head, not minding the stain she created on his shirt. "That you're real...that you were waiting for me."

"'Course I was! Having a new family member is always exciting, and my hearts been leapin' like crazy waitin' for you! You were stuck out there all alone and I couldn't come find you. I'm sorry it took so long." 

Erza forced herself and Gray to look away as the blonde hastily kissed their wild companion, his shock present in the stiffness of his back.

He was startled by the sudden action but felt himself melting into the touch, desperate as well to be close to his soulmate.

"I'm home," Lucy laughed with a bit of surprise, Natsu's eyes widening along with his grin. 

"Yeah! Welcome back!"

[rocorambles]

Let’s Play A Game

Pairing: Kyoutani x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Cock Slapping, Cum Play, Fluff and Smut

Summary: Let’s play a game, Kentarou. If you behave, you get a reward. If you act up, you get a punishment. Choose wisely~

You can’t remember exactly how this whole tradition started. It had been a spur of the moment decision you had made when you were both second years at Aoba Johsai in a desperate attempt to get your boyfriend to rejoin the volleyball club. 

Kyoutani loves volleyball, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it, and you can feel something heavy in your chest every time you two pass the gym on your way back home and you see his longing look that he tries to hide from you. But he’s never been subtle and you sigh when he unconsciously tightens his grip on your hand and clenches his jaw as the two of you walk further and further away from the sound of balls ricocheting off of arms, floors, and walls, Iwaizumi’s stern voice echoing throughout the gymnasium, and Oikawa’s cheerful lilt. 

You hope that his love for the sport will overcome his hot headedness when it comes to your senpais. But of course it doesn’t and having had enough of your boyfriend moping around like an abandoned puppy, one day you forcefully drag his growling, snarling figure to the gymnasium, smirking at the way he doesn’t resist all that much despite the scowl on his face. 

All he needed was a little nudge in the right direction and you lecture him about at least trying to get along with his upperclassmen, offhandedly sticking on a promise of a reward or a punishment depending on how he behaves before shoving him through the doors before he can retort. 

If you’re honest, you had forgotten about the reward or punishment addendum, so when you pick up Kyoutani from his first practice back you’re surprised when he tentatively approaches you like a hopeful puppy. 

“I didn’t get into a fight with the third-years.” 

You’re taken aback by both the statement and the quiet tone of his voice and the two of you just stare at each other in silence, Kyoutani in anticipation, you in confusion. 

“You said that there would be a reward?”

You don’t know whether to laugh or gape at your boyfriend and the sound that comes out of your mouth is an embarrassing guffaw. But when all he does is expectantly look at you, you can’t help the soft flutter in your heart and you pull him down by the collar of his shirt, planting a firm succinct kiss on his lips before pulling back and ruffling the top of his head affectionately. And you giggle at the faint blush you see and the upward twitch of his lips he’s trying to hide as you both straighten. 

But the peaceful atmosphere is broken up by obnoxious cheering from behind the two of you and Kyoutani doesn’t need to try hiding his smile anymore, an angry glare spreading across his face as Oikawa and Hanamaki whoop and holler about their kouhai getting some action, Matsukawa giving a thumbs up, and even Iwaizumi smiling fondly at the two of you. 

Needless to say, when the four third-years find out about the little game their Mad Dog and his precious girl have going on, Oikawa and Hanamaki spend most of their time trying to teasingly sabotage their underclassmen after every practice and match, over dramatizing and reacting when they see you show up to pick up your boyfriend, whining and complaining about how mean Mad Dog-chan was. And you can’t help joining them in messing around with your boyfriend, flicking him on the forehead much to their amusement and refusing to touch him, even for a quick peck on the cheek, internally laughing at how adorable he is when he slightly pouts at you, looking like a kicked puppy as he trails behind you, sulking as you both walk home. 

But Iwaizumi takes pity on the fiery athlete, knocking a volleyball against Oikawa’s head and holding Hanamaki in a headlock when the two are being particularly relentless in their teasing, sending a small smile your way when he tells you your boyfriend was perfectly fine and Kyoutani perks up at the compliment, staring intently at you as you grab both his hands in yours and eagerly leaning in as you move forward to sweetly lock lips with him before you giggle and walk back home hand in hand with him. 

It’s a sweet back and forth neither of you ever tire of, but as the current third-years graduate and both of you become third-years yourselves, the stakes go up as both of you officially enter adulthood. 

Yahaba becomes the new referee of your little game and although he’s nowhere near as mischievous or eager about throwing Kyoutani under the bus as Seijohj’s ex-captain, he lets Kyoutani get away with much less as far as temper and attitude are concerned. And you can’t blame him. The three of you are now the highest in the school pecking order, the ones everyone else is looking up to as role models, and appearances are more important than ever especially in a sport where teamwork and morale are so vital to performance. 

And not even Kyoutani dares to argue or grumble too much as Yahaba and you both scold him together when he snaps at an underclassmen for fumbling a ball, refuses to help teach or instruct the new members, knowing deep down that both of you are right, that it’s time to shed his lone Alpha attitude if they want any chance of making it to Nationals. 

But on the other hand, while the new “punishments” are certainly harsher than before, the rewards are sweeter than ever and Kyoutani can’t stop hungrily staring you down when Yahaba gives you a swift thumbs up, rolling his eyes as he flees before he can (once again) witness Mad Dog crashing his lips against yours in a passionate embrace, calloused hands tightly gripping your waist as he practically devours you, tasting every inch of your mouth, not breaking apart until both of you are panting messes, greedily gulping down much needed air before clashing against each other over and over and over again until Yahaba is screaming at both of you to get a room already. 

You wonder if the game will ever get old, ever lose its appeal, but years and years pass and the game continues through graduation, through college. And now here you are, full grown adults, game still going strong and you laugh at the short straightforward text you get from Tsukishima. 

“He was fine.”

If someone had told you back when you were still in highschool that the beanpole from Karasuno and your boyfriend would be teammates, let alone friends in the future, you would have laughed your ass off. But life has unexpected twists and Tsukishima is now a close friend to both of you, a frequent guest at the apartment you share with your boyfriend. And you can’t help but chuckle at how surprisingly well the two get along, their mutual dislike for pointless pleasantries and superficial social niceties joining the two at the hip. 

But there’s no time for too much reminiscing, not when your boyfriend is on his way back home and you quickly prepare yourself, donning a skimpy black fishnet lingerie set and a matching black collar with a silver heart in the front as you coyly situate yourself on your bed and patiently wait. 

Your hand slips under your panties as the front door unlocks and you unabashedly moan as your fingers slowly circle and rub your clit, smirking at the way you can hear a muffled curse and footsteps quickening towards you in response. And when he finally appears in the doorway, you slip two fingers deep inside of you, letting your eyes roll back and your jaw drop open at the stretch. 

You barely have time to grow accustomed to the digits inside of you before a cock is being crudely slapped and rubbed against your face and you can’t help the lewd whine of approval that escapes you as you deeply inhale the familiar musk, tongue instinctively lolling out in a desperate attempt to taste the delicious meal in front of you, fingers beginning to thrust in and out of your increasingly slick hole. 

The only warning you have is a growl before his tip is making its way into your drooling mouth and you obediently let a hand grab you by the back of your head, unresisting as you’re ruthlessly shoved forward, your throat and mouth being forced to accept the hard length until your nose is brushing against the coarse hair of your boyfriend’s groin, the fullness and comfort of being filled on both ends only making you leak even more. 

You don’t know how many times he’s had you in this exact position. All you know is that it’s been enough times that it feels right, feels perfect, feels amazing for your mouth and throat to be used as nothing more than a warm hole for him to use as his hips piston back and forth, cock plundering every inch of your orifice, pleasure coursing through you from being used so thoroughly, from adequately pleasuring your lover, his low grunts and groans going straight to the drenched hole between your legs, and you swear you could cum just like this. 

But Kyoutani has other plans for the two of you and he sharply smacks your cheek with his saliva coated cock and warningly bares his fangs at you when you whine as he pulls out. You pout as you reluctantly stop playing with your leaking cunt, letting strong arms manhandle you into his preferred position, a wanton high-pitched keen coming out of you as you’re put on full display, hands pushing hard on the back of your thighs until you’re bent in half, shaped in a perfect mating press. 

You feel so vulnerable, pussy walls clenching as the cool air hits the apex of your widely spread thighs. And you think that this must be what prey feels like before it’s devoured, breathing becoming shallow as arousal curls inside of you at the predatory gaze Kyoutani has you pinned down with as he licks his lips when he takes a moment to finally fully appreciate the little outfit you’ve put on for him, something dark gleaming in his eyes at the dark collar wrapped around your pretty little neck, marking you as his, practically salivating as his gaze continues down, noticing how your nipples obscenely peek out from between the fishnet material, registering just how little the thin open fabric does to cover your glistening pussy. 

Patience has never been Kyoutani’s strong suit and although he’s managed to tone things down from his wild days as a second-year, leaving the nickname Mad Dog far behind him, some things don’t change and you squeal when your panties are being shoved to the side, Kyoutani not even having the patience to fully take them off before he’s plunging deep inside of you in one swift motion, almost immediately starting a brutal pace as he hammers in and out of you. 

Your measly fingers pale in comparison to the way the cock inside of you forcefully stretches you apart and the position makes your mind go blank as he reaches places inside of you your fingers can never hope to touch. All you know is the way his fat cock drags against your walls, the way the spongy spot inside of you is constantly stimulated with every thrust, and all you can do is take, take, and take as you’re physically held in place by the man above you and inside of you, unable to even writhe, only able to toss your head back and forth in delirious rapture. 

You can feel a familiar build-up growing inside of you, lust, desire, and arousal tangling together in an intoxicating and addicting cocktail and needy whimpers slip past your lips as one of your hands slip down between your legs, furiously rubbing your clit as you breathily tell your lover how close you are. 

And how can Kyoutani not join you over the edge as you fall to pieces underneath him wailing his name, looking every bit like the epitome of debauchery as your neck arches and your face goes stupid in utter bliss, feeling like literal sin as your tight walls clench and milk him? 

Something possessive and warm curls inside of him at the silly smile that stretches across your face as he buries himself one last time inside of you, thick white spurts filling you up, and he can’t help how he leans down to capture your lips intimately, savoring your taste before lightly nipping and tugging at your lower lip with his teeth as he pulls away, carefully repositioning both of you until you’re both side by side, lower bodies still connected as he tucks you under his chin and holds you close, letting you snuggle your head into his toned chest. 

It’s tempting to just melt into his arms, get lost to the rhythmic beating of his heart, but as the pangs of pleasure begin to dull to a pleasant thrum, you think of dinner, laundry, cleaning, and you sigh as you try to wiggle your way out of the comforting hold, only to yelp when Kyoutani responds by pulling you back to him, squeezing you even tighter as he petulantly growls. 

“Kentarou! We need to go wash up and then get dinner started. It’s not good for you to not eat anything after practice. You’re a professional athlete now! You have to take better care of your body.”

You snort when he reluctantly loosens his grip on you, laughing when his stomach rumbles and an embarrassed flush graces his cheeks. But you curiously look at him when a hand gently wraps around your wrist before you can fully escape the cozy warmth of the bed and his warm body. 

“Don’t wash up.”

“That’s disgusting, Kentarou. You came inside of me!”

It’s your turn for your face to heat up at the smug smirk that plays across your boyfriend’s face as he greedily eyes the white trail beginning to make its way down your inner thigh before making eye contact with you once more. 

“Don’t wash up.” 

And you scowl at how pleased he looks as he strategically places himself behind you as he helps you prep in the kitchen, whipping your head and glaring at him as he doesn’t even bother hiding how transfixed he is as the white trail drips further and further down your leg, threatening to land on the kitchen floor. 

“Happy? Now can I please go wash up? I’m pretty sure all of it leaked out by now- KENTAROU!”

You yelp as strong hands grab you by the waist, a strangled moan echoing throughout the space as a familiar hard object is suddenly splitting your lower lips apart once again. 

“Kentarou, wh-what are you-”

“You said you were empty so I’m just fixing that.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

But any rebuttal you have gets lost in gasps and moans as you’re bent over the counter, blinding pleasure coursing through your body all over again as the man behind you wildly ruts in and out of you and you can’t bring yourself to care about what you had been trying to say or do as you let yourself drown in delirious arousal once again. 

Dinner and chores will just have to wait. 

[broadstflyers]

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic! It's really just an idea I've had for months, and then wrote, and then couldn't figure out which hockey boy it fit, until some mutuals were kind enough to help. I settled on our boy Barzy! It's inspired by Taylor Swift's "Gold Rush", and I really wanted to do my best in reflecting the beautiful imagery this story creates for me. I hope I did it justice. It's a little terrifying putting my writing out there, but I hope people enjoy it!

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Two curse words, it's really just internal conflict within the reader

Summary: You're celebrating your dad's 50th birthday with some friends and family at a dinner party. You happen to land your eyes on a beautiful stranger, who you can't seem to get out of your head. You spend the rest of the night wondering, should you go up to him?

Or do you let him walk out the door?

___________

They say when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, time stands completely still. As you gaze into their eyes, it feels as though you’ve known them for multiple lifetimes. It feels like home. Is that even remotely true?

You start to take a sip of your drink and turn your head slightly to take in your surroundings. Your eyes dance around the room, until they stumble upon another pair of wondering eyes. Your eyes lock, and you’re instantly sucked into the mysterious yet intriguing twinkling grey-blue color that compliments his navy blue suit. Suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat, every part of your body stiffens, except for your lips that part slightly and eyes that widen. The drink is long forgotten, you’re even struggling to keep it from practically falling out of your hands and onto the wooden floor. The party is now just a blur, the noise? What noise? The world is muffled, as if someone stuck your head into a hundred pillows. Images stream through your mind like an endless movie reel wrapped in shimmery gold. Endless laughter on a first date over coffee. Him rubbing the back of your hand as you take a stroll through the park. Holiday mornings, exchanging gifts. Would he participate in the tradition of opening small gifts first, or would he want the biggest gift right off the bat? Ice skating and him catching you as you stumble on a pesky track in the ice. Him tossing you into the pool while you’re trying to put up a fight in a losing battle. A sweet and quiet proposal where he promises his forever love. A kiss at the altar in front of all your friends and family. Chasing after rambunctious little kids trying to get them to nap. All these gold dripping images of a pure love plow through your brain. Your heart is the unmovable object. They are the unstoppable force.

You and him only shared a look for what was probably half a second, but the thick air that seemed to only be affecting you made time feel like it stood completely still.

You burst back into reality with the help of a slight head shake. “Woah,” you quietly whisper. You blink a few times and finally get around to taking a sip of your drink to quench your parched throat. Did you just see a whole future...with a stranger?

“Hey, are you okay?” Stella asks. Her hand gently touches your arm as she cocks her head to the side. Her brows are furrowed in what can only be described as pure confusion. Did you really space out that badly as she was talking? What were you guys even talking about?

“Oh,” you say as you gently shake your head, “yeah.” You chuckle, “yeah, I’m just fine.” You wait a beat then say, “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom really quickly, okay?”

“Sure thing,” she nods. “Do you need me to come with?”

“I’m totally fine, I promise,” you reassure with every bone in your body while giving her your drink. You really just needed to be alone to calm your racing mind that has now turned a complete stranger into a romantic interest with the power of a golden montage.

You make your way over to the exit of the dining hall and push the creaky open with your shoulder, and the amount of force you had to use honestly hurt. Your heels click down the tiled hallway of the golf club to find the bathroom door. The rectangular bathroom mirror framed in an intricate gold design holds your reflection. You slightly tilt your head as you take a look at your face. It’s like someone took the color of a clown nose and colored in your face with it. Jeez. You shake your head and sigh. This isn’t good, and deep down, you know that. You hate when you’re like this, all flustered over someone who just happened to lock eyes with you. His eyes. They were gleaming and just all around beautiful. What were you thinking again?

Oh, right.

Well, it’s pretty obvious he has this power over you, and you don’t like that. Now is your face going to become red everytime you see him? You check your phone. There’s still two hours left, plenty of time to possibly see him again. You can’t tell if that’s necessarily a good or bad thing.

You pace around the bathroom trying to reason with your begging heart. He was pretty good looking, which means that so many people naturally want him. Who was he even talking to, anyways? You gasp and stop in your tracks, blood running cold. “He was talking to a girl,” you mumble. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t sound completely and utterly crushed. In the heat of the moment, you completely failed to realize the blonde standing next to him. You lean over the counter, the cold marble feeling on your arms making your arms break out in goosebumps. You take one last stern look in the mirror at your face. “See, this is why we can’t allow ourselves to fall that hard,” you whisper angrily, “everyone wants him, and I just...I don’t like a gold rush like that.” You shake your head again and take one last deep breath to shake out any other thoughts. You can see yourself standing barefooted at the bottom of a hole looking astounded at how tall the walls have grown, and how distant the light looks. It feels like you soared lightheartedly into the sky, just to fall and crush every bone in your body.

You roll your eyes to yourself while slightly cursing yourself out. Pushing the bathroom door open, you step out into the hallway and make a beeline back for the dining hall. Your purse starts spastically vibrating, so you hastily fish your phone out to put an end to the obnoxious noise. Scanning the text, you read that your mom is asking where you went, as the cake for your dad’s birthday is going to be cut soon. You sigh as you text, “I’m hurrying back now.”

That’s all you see before you feel a slight brush tickle your bare shoulder. Your eyes don’t dare move from your phone screen. You reason that it’s not someone you know, as they would have said something to you. Your hands shake as you put your phone back in your purse.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice trails off as he continues to walk down the hallway after he brushed up against you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, without turning around, which is admittedly ridiculous.

As soon as you can judge his footsteps are far away enough, you make a quick glance behind to see if it really was him. And judging by the navy blue suit, it was.

Suddenly, the golden montage flows through your mind once more, showing an image of yourself wearing an old shirt of his, maybe one from when he was in high school for whatever sport he played, if he played one. Your feet feel the coolness of the wooden floor of the supposed home. The home both of you share? It’s so tangible, so real that you almost reach out to touch it. It’s right there...

Your head jerks yourself out of the vision once more, or rather the fact that you’re now faced with a white wall in front of you. You sigh a long frustrated sigh. I can’t believe I really walked by the entrance, how embarrassing, you think as you turn on your heels to backtrack. Why does this stranger have you so wrapped around his finger? No one else has been able to even come close to doing that. You feel your face with your hand, and it’s burning. I’ll go in there looking like a tomato, it’s fine.

You do your best to quite literally shake off those thoughts as you push open the dining room hall door. “There you are!” your mom says. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, we’re going to sing happy birthday to Dad.”

“Can’t wait,” you beam. After all, your dad only turns 50 once, and this night is about him, afterall. You follow your mom to a table with a white tablecloth resting on it.

Stella pops out from behind your dad to approach you and whispers, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You resist the urge to gently shove her in front of everyone. “Yes,” you pleadingly insist, “now stop asking me in front of Mom and Dad, they’ll think something is wrong.”

She side eyes you with an attitude. “Fine.”

“They’re my girls,” your dad says with a smile.

You and Stella laugh while leaning into him for a quick hug. “Hey dad,” you both say in unison.

The room completely dies down, people could hear a pin drop. “Ready?” your mom asks the guests. The room takes a collective deep breath.

And so the melody of Happy Birthday rings joyously through the hall, you can see the mystery stranger out of the corner of your eye. Heat radiates off your skin, it’s almost like you can feel his eyes boring into you. It takes all the willpower you can muster, but you resist the temptation to look over at him all throughout the song.

When the song is over, the room breaks out into obnoxiously loud clapping. You, Stella, and your parents share loving looks and warm smiles.

Eventually, everyone proceeds to return to normal chatter at the one rectangular table of two that they’re sitting at, and so do you, Stella and your parents.

You pull out your seat next to your sister near the middle of the middle of the table and sit, fixing your dress.

“Ahem,” Stella says in an ill attempt to cover her suspiciousness with a clearing throat noise. Queue whatever accusatory question she’s got.

“Let me just set something straight,” she starts.

“Go for it,” you say as you reach for some water.

“It’s definitely that guy a few seats down, isn’t it?” She smirks. She’s got you trapped in her little web, and she knows it.

You may or may not have fought back choking on your water or pulling a ridiculous spit take on the nice white table cloth.

You lean in and harshly whisper, “Well you didn’t have to say it that loudly.” You glance over at the mystery stranger and see his hand wrapped around his glass as he goes to drink it. He has a thick silver ring on his pointer finger?

“Hello?” Stella shifts her head to selfishly cut off your view of him.

“Okay,” you sigh in defeat, “yes it’s him. Happy?”

“Very,” she says, very satisfied because she finally pried it out of you and got you to admit it. Someone else has you wrapped around their finger. She didn’t even have to know all the details of the montages to know. She could tell by the way your eyes glossed over and how your lips would slightly part like you were in a hazy daydream.

And you were.

“Who is he anyway? And why don’t we know him?” You ask.

“I don’t know, honestly. A little strange, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask mom who he is?” She suggests, but her cheshire smile suggests that she will somehow find out, with or without your mom’s help.

“But mom’s going to absolutely harass me until I say something to him. Just you on my tail is enough,” you say with an eyebrow raised as to say ‘don’t test me.’ And Stella knows you’re right.

“Alright, fine,” she concedes, “But why don’t you, I don’t know, talk to him?”

“I did,” you nonchalantly float.

Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an “O” from disbelief. Did you really not talk to people that much?

“Really?” she practically squeals.

“Yeah, he brushed by me and said, ‘Sorry’ so I said, ‘It’s okay.’” Okay, now you get why your friends and family get mad at you for refusing to talk to people. But cracking this joke was one you could not pass up.

Her face scrunches up and she exhibits the biggest eye roll you have ever seen. She opens her mouth to start saying something, probably to scold at you, but you open your mouth to cut her off first.

“Alright no, I haven’t. And do you know why?” As you’re about to get your thought out, you’re interrupted by a fit of laughter down the stretch of the table. Your eyes scan but freeze on the stranger, whose nose is adorably scrunched up as he laughs with multiple, yes multiple, people about goodness knows what. And there’s that other blonde that you still don’t know, laughing with him. You tear your stare away and focus back on your sister.

“Look, that right there. That’s why,” you say, anger burning through your chest.

Stella raises an eyebrow in her own judgemental manner. “He talks to people? You know people do that right?”

Now it’s your turn to return the favor of a judgemental eye roll. “No, Stella, I mean just look at him and the people he’s surrounded by. It’s so obvious that everyone wants him. Just look at that girl with him. I’m not the only one who wants to love him.”

Silence ensues between you two. She picks up her phone and shoots a quick text. After a moment she says, “Well, I think if you just talked to him, you’d be pleasantly surprised with what could happen. I have to help mom with distributing gift bags. You stay here,” she instructs.

You can only assume you’re not being called to help because Stella graciously told your mom that you’re potentially working up the courage to talk to someone that’s not one of your three friends or your family. How generous of her.

A few friends of your dad stop by your seat to say goodbye before they head out. The noise slightly dies down enough to scarcely hear some other conversations. You hear nothing out of the ordinary, just a girl talking about getting into her dream school to some guy. Your ears slightly move as you pick up on a voice that sounds like the one in the hallway earlier.

“Yeah dude, but did you see the fake out on the goalie on the second goal? That had to have been the best part.”

Out of instinct you open your mouth to interject, but quickly shut it and put it under lock and key. You blink in disbelief. Hockey? Did this man just speak on hockey?

You circle the rim of the coffee cup and stare at the brown liquid. In a different universe…

In a different universe you would have actually kept your mouth open, and maybe even squeezed some words out, too.

“Actually, that seamless stretch pass down the neutral zone from the defenseman after a pretty difficult forecheck set up the play pretty well. I’d give him a lot of credit, too.”

He’d probably look a little shocked, as do most guys when you interject your two-sense about hockey. But maybe he’d break out into a small smile and offer a rebuttal. Yeah, that sounds nice. Maybe one day…

Maybe one day you’ll be sitting next to him on the couch, watching a game while cuddling and brushing the hair out of his face. Oh who are you kidding, you’ll be up and screaming at the TV. It’s your staple.

A noise of someone dropping something behind you slightly startles you and pulls you out of your once again golden daydream. You finally stop mindlessly circling the rim of your coffee cup to take a sip, but only to find it’s now ice cold.

This is why you hate looking through a pair of rose colored glasses. It distracts you from enjoying things. You glance over at your dad who’s still talking to one of his good friends that lingered after festivities. You’re supposed to be celebrating him right now, but instead you’re literally stuck in this cursedly pure golden daydream that is almost too good to break.

You can see him. He’s still there, at the end of the table, chatting away with some dude. The blonde left at some point, though.

“Well, I gotta head out, man, good to see you. My sister needs help with packing her stuff for college tomorrow, so we’ve got a busy day coming up.”

Could that girl have been his sister?

“Congratulations to her on getting into her dream school by the way,” the guy says. “I talked to her when she was here earlier, and she seemed super excited.”

A wave of cool relief washes over your body, remembering the conversation about college you picked up on earlier. It was his sister.

“Yeah she is, she worked really hard, and it also involved a whole lot of crying,” he chuckles.

Ain’t that right, you think to yourself.

The table shakes as he pushes out of his chair. Your eyes remain glued to your coffee cup no matter how much you want them to move. You just can’t gather the courage to say something, and you’re cursing yourself for it. You don’t want to sit here and dream about him anymore. You want to actually let these things happen, for once. You want to just unleash all these swirling and sickeningly sweet emotions from your body and drown him in it. You want so badly to leap up and say something, anything. Step on those voices taunting you and mocking you saying that it could never happen, it could never be so it will never be. He’s so inviting that you can’t resist any longer. You go to reach out to him, but the door shuts before you know it.

And just as fleeting as he came,

He’s gone.

Fuck. It feels as though a brick is sitting on your chest, suffocating you. You really let your worries control you, and this time it feels as though you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You just can’t believe you let it happen when your mind was begging you to talk to him. You always do-

“Shit,” you mumble. In your frustration, you knocked over the remnants of the coffee onto the not-so-white-anymore table cloth. Tears prickle up in your eyes, your throat closes, and your nose begins to sting. You quickly swallow these emotions down your throat and begin to use a napkin to soak up the excess coffee. Drinks have really not been your friend tonight.

For the first time, you notice as you clean that it’s just you left in the room, besides a few people cleaning up on the other end. You’re not sure where your family has gone, but you haven’t received any texts prompting you to leave yet. It’s so silent that you can hear some muffled chatter down the hall.

Suddenly, you hear the same creak of the door open with an “oof” that doesn’t quite sound like your dad. Your blood runs cold and you freeze mid press into the tablecloth. You glance up without turning around to see a lone jacket hanging on a chair suspiciously close to the chair he previously sat in. Your eyes widen and dart around the room, but you dare not move, waiting to see what he does. Even after cursing yourself out for ten minutes while cleaning up spilled coffee, you still haven’t learned to make the first move. His presence feels like a forcefield, you can feel it heavily pressing into your back.

But he isn’t moving to grab the jacket, no.

A pointer finger with a silver ring taps your shoulder.

“Hey,” the clarity of his voice rings in your ears like a bell. Your heart is racing so fast that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your rib cage and run its own 10k. You slowly crank your head around to meet his eyes for the first time-- face to face.

And you must say, his face is really pretty when you actually talk to him face to face. Maybe you should do this more often. You take in his golden features, and struggle to hide a small smirk creeping up on your face. His messy hair falls perfectly into place on his head, and his kind face makes you feel as though a mess of metallic gold swirls are playfully swirling and dashing around you both. You’ve found him in this lifetime.

“I’m Mat, can I help you clean up before I grab my jacket?”

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Chapter 7: Implosion at the Pool

Summary: After an intense fight and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Betas: @fanboyswhereare-you and @girl-tips-from-satan

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Then Again, Chapter 7: Implosion at the Pool

(Word count: 1,580)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29,

I often expect too much, set my sights a little too high. I know this, so I always prepare myself in case nothing goes according to plan.

For example: I had hoped this second annual break-into-the-hotel-pool activity would be easy, that everyone would come willingly, and we would have fun before the tournament tomorrow. Still, I prepared myself for a few bumps. For example, if Peter refused, if the entire thing flopped because everyone was worried about getting enough sleep, or if someone in the hotel caught us and reported it to Mr. Harrington, I was prepared, I had contingency plans. 

Strangely enough, everyone crept out on time and Peter barely hesitated at all. Well, Michelle did force him from the start, heading off his first protest too quickly for him to find another: “Dude, just say you’ve been working out. Nobody’s going to get suspicious because you’re jacked. Even Flash can’t turn that,” she motioned to Peter’s entire body, “into a joke.”

Yet I’m more uneasy now than if everything had gone wrong. I’m not even concerned about getting caught. Mr. Harrington is watching Jurassic Park in his room and checking the hallway at ten-minute intervals and I’m almost certain the hotel staff knows we’re here, but doesn’t care.

Nevertheless, I’m just… anxious.

It might have to do with how the boys are stacked upon one another in the shallow end for Chicken and, given the small area of the pool, injuries are on the table. It might have to do with Flash’s new habit of winking at me and being, in general, insanely obnoxious. It might also have to do with the fact that my friends are being abnormally secretive. (I hate to use Flash’s words, but he’s sort of right. It’s the best description. Even once I got back in my room, MJ and Ned kept sending texts— I have no idea who to, though I would guess between them and Peter.)

Admittedly, my nerves might also be connected to Liz, whose face I can see across the water. As our team captain, Michelle thought it would be nice to Facetime her, ask about college, and show her that her pool idea has become a tradition.

Liz’s dorm room is beautiful, from what I can make out. She has calendars and planners neatly pinned up, Christmas lights outlining them. Photos hang from mini clothespins on a string and she even has a little library set up on her windowsill with a porcelain cat-shaped bookend. It’s like a freaking Pinterest photo. I’ve always been somewhat jealous of her, but I know that outside of our past disagreements and my envy for her style and Peter’s (old? current?) crush on her, I am glad she seems happy. Everyone knows how much she’s been going through.

As Abe and Peter pretend to duke it out on Flash and Ned’s shoulders, the light of Liz from Michelle’s phone skips through the ripples, illuminating them like the sunset against the tide. I keep zoning out and staring at the pattern. I feel weird staying on the other side of the pool with her there, but I don’t know Liz that well outside of the team and truth be told, she always intimidated me. Even before our… fight seems like a strong word, our spat? She just… has things together. Even now, after such a horrible year. She’s wonderful and precise and good in every way a person can be. I feel minuscule by comparison.

Then again, it might be the overwhelming smell of chlorine that’s getting into my head and putting me off. Plus, all the glints of light swimming across the glass walls — making them reflect further like a hall of mirrors — are beginning to strain my eyes. Part of me just wants to sleep. To climb out from the water, change into some pajamas, and go to bed and forget this.

But I can’t. So I tread water alone in the corner, watching and listening and feeling like an idiot for isolating myself.

Does anyone really want me here in the first place?

Stop thinking like that.

I try to listen to Liz’s voice as a distraction. It’s muffled with echo, but it’s audible.

“With my AP scores, a bunch of my gen ed credits are already taken care of. But I want to take my other gen eds seriously. I have Global Ethics, Statistics, and World Journalism on Mondays and Wednesdays, then Into to Biological Chemistry and Public Relations on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

The words bounce from wall to wall, shadowing splashes and voices and little bright doses of laughter from the boys. I close my eyes for three seconds as if to catalog the moment. I have to admit, it’s pretty much perfect.

Then why do I feel so nervous?

In the same way that some days just feel so good, some nights just really, really don’t.

Flash catches my eye. God, here we go. He’s smirking. 

My stomach drops. I don’t think I can handle him right now.

“Hey!” he calls. “Y/N, you should join in! Hold on, let me clear you a spot.”

He jerks his body back to make Abe fall from his shoulders, hitting the water with a hard splash.

“There, now you have a place to sit,” Flash says, patting his own shoulders.

Abe stands up, shaking water from his ears before shoving Flash underwater. Ned laughs as Flash comes back up sputtering. Peter, on Ned’s shoulders, has little reaction. Michelle rolls her eyes and turns back to the girls’ conversation.

“It’s more fun watching, trust me.” Watching Peter shirtless, my brain adds.

Stop thinking about him. Despite his smile this morning (it was idiotic of me to think it meant anything significant), Peter has remained pretty cold to me today. Just like everyone else.

Michelle looks back our way again.

“Actually, yeah. We’ll play,” she decides.

If I had more energy, if I weren’t feeling so despondent, and if it wasn’t her this-is-happening-don’t-argue voice, I might put up a better fight. Instead, I give a quiet defeated groan and make my way over to the shallow end. Sometimes it’s easier to do as she says.

“Michelle in a chicken fight?” Liz laughs, her voice reverberating on all sides of my head. “I can’t wait to see this.”

“Oh, no,” Michelle answers as she shakes her head. “Y/N is up top. I’m not getting involved in that business.”

I sigh and try to ignore the fact my limbs are starting to shake. Just a little. Not enough for anyone to notice. But enough that it reminds me of the first twinges of body aches from a fever.

“Abe, mind if I fight Flash this round?” I ask.

If I have to do this, I want to be against the one person I wouldn’t mind actually fighting.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Abe says. “I’m sick of him. Plus, if he has the chance, I know he’ll piss on me.”

Despite my exhaustion, I can’t help laughing a little. It’s definitely true. But if Abe sits out, there’s no chance that Ned or Peter will team up with Flash.

Flash knows this too. Shrugging, he follows Abe away from the center, saying hello to Liz.

Shit.

I climb onto Michelle’s shoulders, the air making me shiver more, my ankles hanging just low enough to stay in the warm water. I stare blankly at the situation. It’s me and Michelle, Peter and Ned. And I’ve barely spoken to them since they all locked me out earlier. I wouldn’t want to disrupt their texting.

I do my best not to tug Michelle’s hair as I steady myself.

Now what?

Everybody else is talking again, Liz included. I’m glad their attention is elsewhere.

Staring at Peter, who’s staring at me, it’s clear neither of us knows what to do. Things have definitely gotten stale and bizarre between us over the last day, and it's gotten worse than I ever thought possible over the last few hours. I feel like an idiot. But I’d be a moron to think it’s all because of some impulsive hug. Something in our friendship is stuttering, I can feel it faltering and falling away.

Abruptly unstable ground— that’s what it is, I realize, staring at him. And everybody has been able to see it coming but me. How else could Flash see it?

Thinking of all the shitty ways Peter has ignored me today, yesterday, and this past week, I shove him with as much force as I can muster, knowing it’ll be nothing to him anyway.

Peter’s legs are over his head a moment later. If it were a real fall, it would have been instant. The rippling disturbance of the water churns up more chlorine fumes. I can feel a headache spreading from the base of my skull.

“Come on, Peter,” I say while he stands and pushes wet hair out of his eyes. “Don’t pretend to let me win.”

“You caught me off guard,” he replies. All of the prior playful attitude he had with Abe is gone. He’s trying — I can actually see him trying — to seem blank.

What is his problem with me?

“No, I didn’t. Don’t lie. Get back up.”

He does. Ned’s expression is unreadable for once. Michelle pats my leg.

Ned and Michelle actually move around this time, both stepping to one side or the other with half steps backward and forward. Peter keeps his hands on his knees, looking bored and glancing from MJ to her phone behind us. He won’t even look at me.

It pisses me off.

Michelle rolls one shoulder before lunging forward: a little hint. I shove Peter again, now resenting how stiff his muscles are beneath his stupid skin. And again he falls sideways, though faster this time.

Flash is whooping and making some stupid comment. Liz gives a surprised, “Oh, wow.” Sally and Cindy are talking, but I can’t tell whether it’s to me or someone else. Peter’s splash is echoing too much to hear a lot at the moment.

He stands up. His hands go to his hair. He looks at me and shrugs like Got me again, I guess.

The chlorine scent is hanging heavily over the room now like a pillow being slowly forced into my face. My headache pulses and creeps up behind my ear, beating my bone like a thick drum.

“Peter,” I say, teeth grinding, “this is going to get boring pretty quickly if you keep this up. Push back. Don’t you dare ‘let me win.’ I’m serious.”

My jaw is clenching as I try to pack my anger down into a little box between my ribs. A pressurized numbness climbs up my throat.

Shove it down.

Peter says nothing in reply but mounts Ned’s shoulders again. Ned is looking at Michelle, and though I can’t see her face, I know they’re having a silent conversation.

I nudge Michelle with my foot and she lunges forward again. I shove Peter’s left shoulder as hard as I can. Both shoulders hit the water at the same time. I know that no matter how hard I could ever hit him, it wouldn’t bother him a bit, yet the fact he’s clearly not even trying to play this one game that he was just playing with Flash and Abe is burning and biting at my tongue.

Peter stands lazily as if silently offering a forfeit.

Maybe he wants to get this game over with so he can talk to Liz.

“Get up, Peter,” I say, frustration spreading like fire through the ligaments of my arms. My irritation has reached my hairline.

Last week, I would never have doubted my friendship with Peter. Suddenly, I’m almost certain he wants nothing to do with me anymore. It scares me. A familiar dense pain pools in my lungs, a physical weight knocking my ribs into one another.

How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Peter doesn’t move. I could kill him.

“Peter! Get up! Fight back, do something! This isn’t funny anymore. Why won’t you just do something?”

At last, he looks me straight in the eye.

“What?” he shoots back. “What do you want me to do?”

He’s angry now too, blatantly. It’s worse than last night. I can see it, a red patch of irritation growing from his chest up to his neck. Neither of us has ever gotten like this. We’re not the kind of people who do. Not with one another, and certainly not in front of other people.

It’s a violently refreshing change: honesty.

“Anything! Stop messing around,” I say. “Just play the fucking game.”

“Maybe I’m sick of it,” he says, his hands open. “This whole stupid idea! I’m not playing anymore.”

What is he talking about? It’s been barely a minute of this game.

“MJ,” I say, “let me down.”

“Alright.”

She jerks back like Flash did to Abe. The water stings through my nostrils and the lining of my lungs. Is this just MJ being MJ or is she angry at me, too? And what about Ned, could he be mad at me?

What have they all been calling and texting each other about?

I wipe water from my face and open my eyes, stinging.

“Come on, Peter, play a game,” I mock, moving closer to him. He just stands there. “Play a game.”

I’ve been playing some sort of game for at least 24 hours now, maybe over a week, maybe even longer. He can too.

Peter doesn’t move a millimeter. I shove him. Nothing. His expression remains blank. He doesn’t fall, he doesn’t budge.

“Peter!”

I shove him again.

Nothing.

Michelle and Ned are creeping out of the water. Their waves are the only sound besides my echoing shout in the whole room. God, this is bad. I know starting some kind of fight isn’t going to increase my chances of leaving D.C. with any friends, but I almost can’t stop myself. I have to do something.

I move closer, face burning with an itch of fury.

“What?” he says.

Michelle and Ned, blurry reflections I can see from the glass wall behind Peter, have grabbed their towels and are walking through the door.

Damn it. Where are they going?

Something is crushing inside my chest. I can feel my eyes brimming with tears.

Shove. Them. Down. I will not angry cry in front of my classmates right now. Absolutely not. Especially not with Flash and Liz here.

My hands are visibly shaking as I grapple for a reply.

“Just— just do something, Peter!”

The muscles in his jaw are working and pulsing. I wonder what words he’s chewing— of course, I’ll likely never know because it seems Peter is refusing to tell me anything.

“That’s just it!” he shouts back. “What do you want me to do?!”

That something in my chest is spasming, collapsing.

Peter’s chest is heaving and the red has reached his face. His words are fogging up my already pounding head.

That’s just it. What do you want me to do?

There are too many people here and as I notice their reflections standing over Peter’s shoulders with eyes glued to his face and my back, I realize I’ve just lost them too. In only the span of a couple minutes. The understanding hits me over the head and slices through my gut. I’ve ruined everything with everyone here, not just Peter and Ned and Michelle. They’ve never seen me like this and it’s too late to pretend to reverse it. There’s no way I’ll leave this trip with any friends.

It takes every particle of concentration to not let my emotions get the better of me and cry; especially when I’m still staring at Peter. The brown of his eyes seems darker than I’ve ever seen before and his brow is knotted up, hard.

The moment is so still and static.

Without warning, Peter smacks the water in front of me with one hand. It’s like a lukewarm tidal wave washing over my head, tangling my hair across my face.

My nose and lungs burn again. I gasped at the wrong second. In less than a moment though, it’s doused my nerves. I suddenly feel smaller than a child, humiliated.

“Are you kidding?”

I don’t know if he or anyone hears me. The question was quiet and overcome by countless echoing splashes. It’s for the best: nobody can see my chin shaking at this distance so maybe if they didn’t hear the crack in my voice, I can pull myself together.

Guilt and regret seep into my skin as Peter climbs out of the pool. I want to apologize, but apologize for what? And fear, fear is mixing with those other emotions. A mountain of blurred emotions coated in black dread and red fear.

I take a breath and turn around.

Fuck.

Cindy, Sally, Abe, and Flash are just… staring. Worse, Liz is too. Of course, Michelle forgets her phone this one time.

The door closes with a bang behind Peter.

His towel is slung over one shoulder and water droplets spatter across the hallway floor as he storms through it. If I could get over him, if I could stop thinking about him for one day, stop thinking about him for one minute, my heart rate wouldn’t be leaping off the charts as I watch him. Actually, my heart rate might just be a result of me realizing how serious this is. The fact that four faces are still staring, now waiting for me to explode, likely doesn’t help slow it down either.

“Guys,” Liz’s voice calls. “Come on. Don’t make this weird.”

Flash laughs. Hard.

“It’s super weird completely on its own! Man, what was that?”

Tension loosening its hold on the room, Flash is back to himself, looking astonished and amused beyond belief.

“Flash, seriously. Let it be,” Liz snaps at him. When she looks at me, her expression softens. “Don’t let Peter Parker get in your head. He can… be like that sometimes. He might just be going through something.”

I know what he’s like, I think. I’ve been friends with him for longer than one Homecoming date. Liz is trying, at least, and maybe later I’ll appreciate the thought.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

She mirrors the motion.

“I should go before my roommate gets back to study. And Y/N, if you ever want to talk, I’d like to hear from you again. From any of you guys. Anyway, good luck everyone! I’m sure tomorrow will be great.”

The room dissolves into Goodbye!’s. I use the distraction to get my towel and phone and slip out.

What have I done?

Next chapter

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[arianajbb]

FIC RECS - 1

💕 Clueless by @justsomebucky 

Movie AU. Inspired by Clueless - A high society boy and a do-gooder-type girl find love.

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💕 as you wish, ma’am by @aescapisms

SOCIAL MEDIA AU || Bucky Barnes fucks up and sends you the wrong presentation file.

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💕 A Lesson In Love by @buckyywiththegoodhair 

(College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

. 💕 The End Of The War by @redgillan 

Everyone knows you and Steve can’t stand each other, but after he runs into you after one of his fights, he starts to see you in a different light.

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💕 Babies! Assemble by @honeyloverogers 

On a mission involving time travel, as if they haven’t learned at all that it’s dangerous, the Avengers get turned into babies. Including your boyfriend.

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💕 Have You Any Wool by @threeminutesoflife 

Dinner with Ransom doesn’t go as planned.

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💕 Peaches and Plums by @cptnbvcks 

After escaping hydra, Bucky finds a pretty peach vendor to work out his troubled mind with.

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💕 Stitches by @revengingbarnes 

You’re just a clueless new medical student. You’re not equipped to deal with charming, witty, handsome doctors. Especially not ones with pretty blue eyes that make you weak in the knees.

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💕 Saturdays by @sunmoonandbucky 

Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

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💕 Love Made Me Crazy by @sinner-as-saint 

It was all strategic; a plan meticulously constructed by you and your business partner; against James Buchanan Barnes. Not to take him down, no. But just to surpass him in the business world by uncovering his secrets; to learn his ways and hope to be better than him in every way possible. The façade you put up – of being close to him and earning his trust was supposed to be short-lived, most importantly; harmless. But then as always, things got a tad bit more complex when feelings intervened…

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💕  To Be So Lonely by @wlntrsldler 

When Bucky and Y/N signed up for this online pen pal system, they never expected to grow attached to the other person behind the screen. In the pen pal system, they can only unlock the other person’s messages on the 25th of each month. They can write and send off their response as soon as they want but the other person is not able to see it until the 25th.

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💕 eye candy by @angelwidow 

Being Tony Stark’s receptionist was hard. Working alongside the most gorgeous salesman you’d ever seen was even harder. Actually talking to said salesman? Well, that was just insane.

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💕  Strange Times by @beccaanne814 

You have a certain type - smart, charming, and handsome as sin. For years you’ve been in love with the only man you thought possessed all of those traits, but a chance encounter with a Strange individual sends you and a certain ex-assassin on a journey of self-discovery. As you try to find a way back home, will you also be able to uncover the perfect man hidden beneath layers of guilt and self-loathing.

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💕 Stuck Wit U by @slyyywriting 

You and Bucky don’t get along. Your fights have become too destructive so Tony and Steve decide that enough is enough.

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💕 Take Me Higher by @buckychrist 

Who knew that the way into the big broody super soldier’s heart was through his unmet need for a good cuddle?

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💕 x by @mcfreakin-bitch

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💕 x by @thejamesoldier 

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💕 Betrayal by @midnightsunfae 

Bucky catches you flirting with someone at a party and he doesn’t take to it very well.

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💕 two paper airplanes flying by @feliciahardyn 

ransom drysdale will always find you, no matter where you are. always.

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💕 Dear Lover by @feliciahardyn 

you dance with bucky barnes in the obscurity of your room as you recalled the first time you met and how three years later you ended up tangled in each other’s arms. (based on the song “lover” by taylor swift)

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💕 Make You Love Me by @slyyywriting 

You flirt with Bucky every single chance you get.

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💕 The unseen one by @extremelyblackandwhite 

The God of the Underworld falls in love with a mortal.

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💕  Hellfire by @chamomilebottom 

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💕 Promised by @cherienymphe 

when you start waking up with bruises you can’t explain, your nightmares turn into a reality.

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💕  Everything by @trillian-anders 

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💕 tell me you own me by @darthstyles 

mean daddy harry comes out to play

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💕 The Chef’s Strike by @bucky-smiles 

A contract went unfulfilled…

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💕  Bittersweet Temptations by @revengingbarnes 

Y/N Y/L/N loves coffee, always has, which is why she spent all her adult years creating the perfect coffee shop. Cutesy, homey and cozy, it’s the job of her dreams. So what if business has been a little slow lately? It’s her happy place, it would always be. But that was all until the flirty, witty and obnoxious Bucky Barnes opened up a rival coffee shop two blocks down the street. Business and profit are all Bucky cares about. He’s the exact opposite of everything Y/N stands for, and naturally, she can’t stand him. But what happens when Y/N is running the risk of losing her beloved shop and Bucky’s the only one lending her a helping hand?

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💕 The Neighbor by @staymay5 

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💕 came in close by @buckyskorpion 

what could possibly go wrong with a couple of good-natured pranks between sworn enemies?

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💕 (1) New Message by @yikeswtfmate 

One night Wanda and Nat dare Y/N to text her hottest ex. She complies, only to realise it’s not her ex she’s texting and this might be the most attractive man she’s actually laid eyes on.

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💕 Eye For An Eye by @sinner-as-saint 

Battered and bruising, Y/N is out to seek sweet revenge from a man, James Buchanan Barnes, who tore her family apart 10 years ago. Y/N’s plan was simple; infiltrate his life, mess with his head, toy with his heart and leave him broken. Headstrong, she will stop at nothing, not even when it comes down to her being the villain in her own story…

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💕 Under Oath by @ugh-supersoldiers 

The people called for justice, the state answered. The trial of State v. Barnes is set to begin, and the odds are most certainly not in favor of the not so beloved ex Winter Soldier. That’s where you come in, the quick, smart, and all too brave lawyer set on defending and saving one Bucky Barnes from legal prosecution. The only problem? He’s not so sure he’s worth saving at all.

. 💕 Hate To Love You by @revengingbarnes 

While on her death bed, Y/N’s mother has just one wish; her daughter to be married and settled in her life. It’s something her mother has never stopped pestering her about. But up until now, Y/N had managed to not give into her family’s traditions of arranged marriage. And she might have continued to do so if weren’t her mother’s last desire. Unable to refuse her mother’s desperate plea, Y/N agrees to meet the man her parents have chosen for her. There’s just one tiny problem. Her soon-to-be husband is her ex. More tragically, he’s the one ex she never managed to get over.

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💕 Everything by @hootyhoobuckaroo

. 💕 late night devils by @whistlingwillows 

Bucky gets revenge on his ex with you, the girl he never got over no matter how much he thought he did.

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💕 Safe with Me by @bitsandbobsandstuff 

When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.    

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💕 Wildest Dreams by @hopesbarnes 

Everyone said he was a bad guy, that he broke hearts. But maybe they were wrong about him.

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💕 Things Bucky says during sex. by @steveodinsonbarnes 

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💕 charming by @venusbarnes 

in which you’re a girl in need of protection, and Bucky’s the perfect man for the job.

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💕 one stroke and you’ve consumed my waking days by @buckthegrump 

Bucky has a pen pal.

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💕 Just One Kiss by @sarahwroteathing 

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

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💕 Come Over by @moonstruckbucky 

You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

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💕 Even In The Darkest Times by @justauthoring 

Bucky x reader where they were together in the forties and when Steve goes back, he sends her into the future so she can be with Bucky while he stays in the past with Peggy.

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💕 Hearts Don’t Lie by @daenyara 

when y/n and her family have to leave Europe to escape the war, finding love in New York is the last thing she expects (and the last thing that interests her). Much to her annoyance, her parents set her up with the one person in all Brooklyn she cannot stand: the charming James Barnes, who’s decided to show her he’s not as bad as she thinks.

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💕 A Bid on Bucky by @samingtonwilson 

You spend thousands of dollars at a bachelor auction for Bucky when you could’ve had him for free this entire time.

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💕 Helpless For You by @sgtjbuccky 

A blind date has lead you and Bucky to the fourth date. Each one proving that you’ve got it bad more than prior and it doesn’t quite matter what will happen - you will keep on falling for that handsome devil and you don’t even mind.

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💕 Lavender by @wkemeup 

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know.

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💕 Fixed by @drawlfoy 

draco has a teasing relationship with the reader–they playfully argue and go back and forth but never acknowledge the fact that there may be something more. draco notices her pulling back and becoming more reserved. he follows her out of the dining hall one day to find her having a breakdown over a dark secret.

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💕 Anytime by @notimetoblog

Bucky is still cautious when it comes to touching people & vice versa. one day after a mission, the avengers are in the quinjet on their way home, Bucky sat down beside the reader & accidentally falling asleep on her & snuggling her. she doesn’t make it a big deal but all the other members are surprised. just fluff involving soft Bucky.

[blazedgraysons]

babe can u bless us w some new years smut w papi gray ?

oml i’m sorry it took me so long to finish this but of course, angel!! lmaoo let’s start the new year out with some hate sex with gray.

warnings: so i guess the words papi gray triggered something in me because i don’t really know what this is anymore. anyways hatefucking, a smidge of choking, some dirty talk and the return of my fave: cocky fuckboy grayson. anyways hope you like it bby <333

New Year’s had never been your favorite holiday. Too many blacked-out people in a bar, all with high hopes for the year that come quickly crashing down the next day along with their hangovers. Plus, it doesn’t help that you’ve been puked on two NYEs in a row.

It wasn’t like you had a personal vendetta against the holiday, just the older you got, the more you wanted to spend New Years' at home. So you ended up creating your own traditions: Indian food, shitty beer, and rewatching your favorite chick flicks.

This is why you were so surprised to find yourself outside of a huge party this year. Your two best friends had dragged you with them, explaining how they didn’t want to ring in New Year’s without you.

“I look like a disco ball.” You groan as the three of you walk in, Ali and Stella confidently leading the way.

“You look hot.” Ali assures, smiling in what you figure is supposed to be a comforting way. She had been the one to invite the two of you tonight, and a part of you feels bad for your miserable attitude, knowing that she just wanted to spend time with you.

“Warning: Dolan at 3 O’Clock.” Your other friend, Stella, whispers into her red solo cup, and you can feel your bad mood return. Turning your head slightly, you can see Grayson Dolan walking in with his entourage, already acting as if he owns the room.

You can hear Ali snapping at Stella, reminding her how they agreed not to point him out tonight, but all you can focus on is how arrogant Grayson looked.

The two of you had never gotten along, a wrong first date leaving each other permanently on the other’s shit list. Despite your disdain for another, the two of you ran in the same friend group, so you saw each other more often than you like. At this point, everyone knew to keep you two far away from each other unless they wanted a whole night of insults, fighting, and yelling.

“Remind me why you two hate each other again? It’s been like two years.” Stella asks nonchalantly, tilting her head as she holds up her drink.

“We just do. He was a dick on our date. Some people aren’t meant to get along.”

“Aw, you two just need to kiss and makeup.” Ali coos, fixing your hair.

“More like fuck and makeup. So what if you had a bad date. The two of you still have this weird sex thing that needs to be figured out.” Stella interjects.  

“I do not-“ Your friends start laughing at your loud objection, watching as your face grows hot in embarrassment.

“I do not want to fuck him!” You hiss, hiding your face from nosy onlookers.

“Why not? I would; he’s fucking hot.” Stella whispers, gesturing over to him. All three of you look over at where he’s standing against the kitchen counter, laughing loudly with his group of friends.

You hated to admit it, but she was right: he really was super attractive. He’s simply dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, denim jacket finishing everything off. It’s nothing special, but you hate the fact that he still somehow managed to look better than everyone else here.

He looks over, smirking when he sees your little group staring at him. All three of you turn away, doing a horrible job at trying to look inconspicuous. Your back is turned towards him as you fix your hair and smoothing out your dress. Ali’s eyes light up suddenly, and she’s whispering to Stella before turning back to you.

“Stella has to pee; we’ll be right back.” She rushes out while dragging Stella to the nearest bathroom. Before you can protest, Grayson’s taking their spot.

He’s chewing his gum obnoxiously, and you can’t help the way your eyes focus on how his jaw moves with every bite.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I was just leaving. Decided it’s not really for me anymore.” You get out, moving past him to walk to the door. You figured you can just call an Uber and text your two friends you were feeling sick. Before you can make it past, he grabs your arm to stop you.

“C’mon, it’s the last day of the year. Can’t you be nice to me just for tonight?” He asks, eyes shining with mischief.

“ Don’t you have some other girl to mess with?” You yank your wrist back, walking off as he follows you.

“Why? You jealous.” He asks, and you know that arrogant smirk is painted on his face.

“Over you? Hardly.” You keep moving until he says something that has you stopping in your tracks.

“Did you wear that dress for me tonight?” Your jaw clenches, annoyance washing over your body. However, you figure two can play this game, so you turn around, walking towards him with a flirtatious expression on your face. He’s looking down at you, appreciating the way your attitude has done a complete 180. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his face towards yours, leaning in as if you’re going to kiss him.

“Fuck you.” You whisper, mouth millimeters away from his. You turn away, turning to look at him over your shoulder one last time. The irritated expression on his face and his clenched jaw should’ve warned you that you were playing with fire. Still, you simply keep walking forward, choosing to look for Ali and Stella.

Maybe you could stay a little longer to see how this plays out.

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

Fuck Grayson Dolan.

At this point, you weren’t sure if you were angrier at him or if you actually wanted to fuck him.

All you know is he was pushing every last button.

It started with constant flirting - just with everyone else besides you. You knew Grayson was a tease, but you swore he had given every girl at this party his signature charming smile. The one that screamed, 'I'm Grayson Dolan, and you're the only one here for  me.' You had pretended like you hadn’t seen red when he leaned down to whisper a joke in some girl's ear, winking at you when he notices the way your eyes had narrowed and your lips were puckered.

It only got worse when he decided he needed a refill on his drink, coming up to where you were standing in the hallway. He slyly placed his hands low on your waist, pressing up against you to squeeze by even though you both knew that there was more than enough space.

You were in the middle of debating on whether or not you should finally leave for good this time, figuring you shouldn’t have to subject yourself to this torture when you still have leftover takeout in your fridge.

“Hey, we need to talk to you. Can you meet us in the upstairs bedroom in like 5 minutes?” Ali appears out of nowhere, blonde curls messed up as if she’s been running her hands nervously through her hair. Stella just nods casually, and you look at the two of them suspiciously.

“What are you two planning?” You ask.

“Nothing! Upstairs. Five minutes!” Ali assures, kissing you on the cheek before walking off again. You can tell she’s drunk, smelling the lingering vodka shots on her breath. However, curiosity gets the better of you, and after five minutes, you’re slowly walking up the stairs.

“Ali? Stel?” You call out, getting nothing in response. You keep walking until you reach the end of the hallway, closed door in front of you. You open it, greeted with the sight of Grayson in front of you.

“What the fuck?” You both exclaim, the door closing behind you. You jangle the door handle, cursing under your breath when you realize it’s locked.

“We’re not letting you out until you guys kiss!” Ali calls out.

“You guys got 20 minutes until midnight.” Stella laughs, both still holding the door tightly to keep you from breaking through.

“Oh my God, we’re not fucking 12. This isn’t 7 minutes in heaven.”

“Less talking, more frenching!” Ali yells, giggling loudly as her heels slowly click away.

You roll your eyes, “You two are the fucking worst.” You kick the door before sliding down against it, tilting your head against the door.

“Your friends are weird.” are the first words out of Grayson’s mouth, and you roll your eyes.

“They mean well, they’re just really … stupid sometimes.”You get back up to your feet and start knocking on the door, hitting it with your palms, anything that could hopefully get a passerby’s attention.

“Can you stop banging on the door? It’s annoying.” Grayson mumbles out from where he’s sitting up on the bed after five minutes of your obnoxious knocking.

“I’m sorry, did you want to spend New Year’s locked in here with one another. I’m trying to get out.”

He leans back down on the bed, covering his eyes with his arms. “You realize it’s locked; we’re stuck in here. No one’s coming up here for a while.”

You hate to admit it, but you know he’s right. With only 20 minutes until midnight, everyone’s going to be downstairs, not wanting to miss the main event. You walk over to the dresser, sitting on top of it as you pull out your phone to find someone to text for an emergency rescue.

“We really should just sleep with one another.”

You nearly drop your phone in your lap from his sudden outburst. “I think that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Why not? I think you’re hot; I know you think I’m hot. Stop- don’t try to argue with me; I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. Let’s just get this over with; clear start to 2021.” He looks over at you, raising an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, “I’m not sleeping with you Grayson.”

“What, scared you might actually like it?” He pushes himself up off the mattress and stalks over to where you’re seated on top of the dresser. You start to feel uncharacteristically timid, not knowing how to react under his dark gaze. You don’t say anything, just watching the way his eyes rake over your entire body slowly.

He takes a deep breath, “If I kiss you right now, will you let me?” You wait a second before throwing on caution to the wind, and nodding, deciding to give in to whatever tension is growing between you.

He leans down, softly kissing you before coming back to gauge your reaction.

“If you kiss anything like the way you fuck, this is gonna fucking suck.” You whisper, smiling at the way his face drops. He pulls you into him, forcing his lips onto yours roughly. It’s messy, teeth clashing into one another, noses bumping, and you love it. You didn’t want softness, you didn’t want intimacy, you wanted Grayson to let out everything he felt towards you.

He starts to roughly mark down your neck, leaving dark marks, and you whimper, desperately pulling his jacket off his shoulders. He leans back slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and your mouth falls slightly. You take in all the deep contours and ridges, not even missing the way he flexes briefly.

“Like what you see?” He rasps out, pants growing tighter at your open arousal.

“Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean I’m another one of your fans. I still fucking hate you.” You pull your dress off and spread your legs slightly on the dresser. You mentally thank Ali for forcing you to skip wearing a bra because the way Grayson’s face zeros in on your bare tits has you whimpering softly. He moves even closer to you.

“Doesn’t seem like you hate me right now.” He whispers, eyes darkening at the dark spot growing on your underwear. His arms are on either side of your thighs as he’s standing in between your legs. You can feel the heat coming off from his body, close enough that you can pick up the subtle nerves in his energy under waves of excitement.

“Whatever.” You’re trying your hardest to remain unaffected, calm under his intense gaze. Still, between the lack of touch and the way he’s looking like he can’t figure out how he wants to ruin you first, you start to squirm.

He pulls roughly at your underwear; you watch as his biceps bulge until the fabric falls apart in his hands. Whatever facade of calmness you were trying to maintain flies out the window. You swallow deeply, eyes wide as he tosses the ruined underwear over his shoulder with a cocky smirk. The smug look on his face is enough for you to snap back to normal and return to your usual backtalk.

“Watch it, asshole. Those aren’t cheap.”

“Trust me, I’ll buy you two more to make up for it. Now shut up; you talk too much.” With that, he’s leaning down and sucking your clit hard.

You’re not quick to compliment Grayson, but you can admit he’s incredible at eating pussy. He genuinely sounds like he’s ready to die in between your legs, quietly groaning to himself with every suck and lick. Your breath hitches at the imagery, and he’s slowly licking up your slit, savoring the way you taste for him. He gives you a few more licks before he starts sucking at your clit again, and you can feel yourself growing closer.

“Fuck, Gray- I’m about to cu-“ Before you can finish, he’s pulling away and smiling up at you with shiny lips.

“Fuck you.” You practically spit out, and he just laughs shortly, amusement barely hidden in his face.

“Before I make you cum, I wanna hear you ask nicely.” He’s leaning into you again, lips hovering yours, mirroring the same position you had him in earlier. You push his shoulder, hoping to give you some distance, but he stays firmly planted in place.

“If you think I’m gonna beg for your sorry excuse of a dick -“

He cuts you off, fingers slipping inside you, and he starts curling his fingers, your back arching into his touch. With how close you were to your orgasm, you’re falling apart in a matter of seconds. You start whimpering out his name, and he stills all his movements, thumb hovering over your clit.

“Beg.” He demands, and neither of you misses the way you tightly clench around him from the change of tone in his voice.

You stare at him long until he lightly brushes your clit, reminding you of what you’re missing in your stubbornness. You sigh dramatically before swallowing your pride and saying:

“Grayson, fuck me.” He stares at you pointedly, and you sigh again.

“Please, Gray. Want you to fuck me, please.” You whisper. It’s not a lot, but he knows that’s probably the most he’s going to get out of you at this moment, so he just smiles proudly and starts moving his fingers again. The coil in your stomach starts to grow tighter, and your toes curl when you start cumming all of your fingers. You cry out, nails scratching down his stomach as he continues to move his hand to work you through your orgasm.

He leans back, sucking up everything on his fingers before unbuckling and taking his pants and underwear off. You were glad he had made you cum before because he was big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with before. He brushes his dick over your entrances a few times, tapping his dick lightly on your clit. You whimper slightly, and he winks, arrogant persona back in full force.

“You’re still a dick.” You whisper, no real sting to your words.

“Yeah, I know.” He strokes his dick lightly before sinking in, and both of you moan out from the initial feeling.

He starts snapping his hips relentlessly, not giving you time to adjust to his pace. Your eyes begin to roll back, only able to focus on the wood digging into your back, arm wrapped around your waist, and dick ramming roughly into you. You’re moaning out constantly, nothing able to come to mind to express how good he’s making you feel.

However, Grayson is starting to get frustrated, not satisfied with the way you’ve laid out in front of him. He picks you up, holding you close to him before dropping you carelessly on the bed. Before you can say anything, he’s twisting your body around, so you’re on all fours in front of him and is sliding back into you, taking you from behind. You’re arching underneath him, allowing him to reach you even deeper as you moan out. He’s practically fucking you into the mattress, and from your constant sounds and ass jiggling in front of him, he’s releasing a guttural groan.  

He places an arm next to your head while wrapping a large hand around your throat, lightly cutting off your air. His body is entirely over yours, encasing your entire body in his large frame. It all starts to get to be too overwhelming, and your mind starts to go blank from the pleasure, pulling at the railings to get away from how hard he’s fucking into you while also leaning back into him to get more.

“Stop running; thought you wanted to see how good I can fuck you.” He moves his hand to slap your ass, and his dick jumps from the way you start squeezing around him. He rubbing your ass, ready to spank you again, when the both of you stop from loud screams coming below you. You both hear yells about countdowns and New Year’s and Grayson’s leaning down, rutting himself into you before whispering in your ear -

“How much you wanna bet I can get you to cum before midnight?”

10!

You didn’t think he could go any faster, but his movements pick up, hitting your g-spot with every movement of his hips.

9!

He brushes his fingers against your lip, watching as you slowly take them into your mouth and start sucking. You don’t miss the way he lightly swears when you lightly nip at the pads of his fingers. “Fucking brat.” He mutters before he’s wrapping his hand around your throat again.

8!

He moves his hand, going back up on his knees so he can hold you still as he keeps thrusting into you.

7!

With the way he’s gripping your hips and pulling you back into him, you already know you’re gonna be bruised with his fingerprints on your hip tomorrow.

6!

You start to fall forward, and all you can think about is how badly you want to cum.

5!

He starts rubbing at your clit, and you swear you can feel him deep in your stomach, knowing that he’s going to be responsible for your limp tomorrow.

4!

“If only I knew earlier that all I needed to do to get you to shut up was to fuck you properly” were the words coming out, and you hate yourself for moaning out louder at the way he says it.

3!

You can tell he’s starting to get close by the way he starts slowing down, choosing to grind his hips slowly into you.

2!

You haven’t stopped moaning, volume picking up until you’re practically sobbing into the pillow. You briefly think how grateful you are for the screaming in the living room when Grayson smacks your ass hard before groaning in your ear, “Fucking cum, Y/N.”

1!

The tight feeling in your stomach snaps, and a small spurt of wetness releases, you squirting into his dick and thighs. You practically collapse forward, suddenly exhausted, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Grayson’s pulling out to cum on your lower back.

Happy New Year’s, Y/N.” He whispers in a cocky tone, pride in how he practically has you reduced to nothing underneath him.

He covers you in a blanket before getting dressed and walking back out to the party, not even bothering to hide his self-satisfied smirk when his friends ask him why he missed the ball drop.

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

The Days of Your Youth

Young Enji Todoroki x F! Reader

Hanahaki Trope + BNHA Universe

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Angst, Enji is an asshole, sexual content, A bit of the redemption arc at the end, graphic descriptions of violence, Characters are 18+

Asagao flowers bloom so beautifully in Sakai; what a shame that Musutafu is four hours away from those gorgeous flowers. So, you knew whenever Enji came bearing the dark blue edged flowers with purple insides, that he had endured the voyage to get them. It was small things like this that made you fall in love with him. If only you didn’t, then maybe you'd still be alive.

The two of you met in your youth when you both attended U.A. High School, both of you having dreams of being the number one pro-hero for the next generation. You hated him at first, which is understandable seeing as he’s brash and cares for no one but himself. He always argues with you, he doesn’t hold back during training, and he has an unhealthy obsession with your childhood best friend Toshinori Yagi, known to the public as All Might.

Your quirk was strong, the ability to heal from any wound and regeneration of your limbs but, he made you feel trivial in comparison to him.

“You can take a bullet, great. How useless that would be in a battle with a villain? You can’t even inflict any damage,” his words stung. All your life, you’d been ridiculed as having a “rescue” quirk, always being told that you’d never have the chance to fight “real villains.” You wanted to prove them all wrong...although, you didn’t prove anything in the end.

Because of the nature of your quirk, you were often paired with Enji whenever it was time to spar. He’d hit you with his fire, blistering your skin with no mercy. He’d knock your teeth down your throat, making you cough blood at his feet. He’d choke you with your own support weapon, making you feel weaker than what you thought you were. He made your life a living hell. So, how did you fall in love with him?

Your love didn’t happen overnight. Actually, the relationship between the two of you changed drastically after that day. The day is clear in the archives of your mind, almost like you’re watching a movie through your own eyes.

“Are you sure you can handle Todoroki today?” you were walking to the training rooms with Toshinori Yagi. He loomed over you as he glanced anxiously at the man in question. Everyone knew about the obvious tension between the two young men however, that day was different. Something primal was lurking in Enji’s glance whenever he looked your way.

“Regeneration, remember? I’ll be fine,” you pat the large man on the back. “Plus, I don't think he could kill me even if he tried.”

“I’m just worried. He’s off today. More confrontational.”

“He’s like this every day, Toshi. He’s probably just on his man period or something.”

“...Y/N, you do now men don’t have menstrual cycles? Right?”

“Yes, Toshi, you’ve told me dozens of times. It’s just a metaphor...till I can get some proof,” he facepalms as you rub your hands together to mimic scheming hands. “He’ll have to take his clothes off eventually.”

“You’re a menace to society; I love it,” you lean against each other as you laugh, attracting the attention of your classmates. “But, seriously, I’m worried.”

“Toshi, I will be perfectly fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

“More! Get up,” you were gripping the right pant leg of Enji’s training suit, trying to pull yourself up to face him again. You body begged you to stay down but your mind -your pride- forced you up. The right side of your face was scorched. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The guns you normally wield for support were thrown elsewhere, leaving you vulnerable to his onslaught. “You’re pathetic. U.A. isn’t meant for the weak. You don’t belong here with us.”

“You don’t get to tell me where I belong,” you charge to attack, switching your technique at the last minute so you could throw a hard jab to his abdomen. He countered with raising both of his fists above his head in a gorilla fashion and slammed them down on your spine, once again taking you to the mat. But, this time you heard a crack from your spine.

“I don’t know why you waste my time. Sensei just needs to let Yagi and I fight,” you laid at his feet paralyzed. However, the inability to move doesn’t hinder your ability to speak.

“Awww, Todoroki, you miss your boyfriend? I knew you had a hard on for him,” and, while you felt there was nothing wrong with being homosexual, you knew Todoroki was a traditional man who wouldn’t want a rumor like that to be spread. You snicker at his silence. “Must be true if you haven’t denied it.”

Words are meaningless if he can show you with his actions. He wastes no time dropping to his knees so he can lean over you, pushing you into your back as he slaps your face from side to side.

“You,” smack. “Have,” smack. “Issues,” smack.

“ENJI,” you hear Yagi yell in the background as rushes in to save you from your beating. Toshinori’s strong hands pull Todoroki up by the scruff of his neck, looking at the bloody mess your body has come to be, checking to see the rise and fall of your chest before he deals with the man he’s holding. “You could have killed her!”

“She can’t die,” to prove his point, Enji encircles your form with a ring of Fire, the smoke clogging your lungs as your skin is barely holding its form. However, you don’t feel the familiar tingling sensation of your regeneration.

“It doesn’t matter if she can’t die. She’s still human!”

“I’m making her stronger.”

“You’re abusing her,” they both glance down to see that you’ve stopped twitching. You look like you’ve been hit by a land mine: body bloodied, bones exposed, missing limbs. The smoke has cover you in a fine layer of soot, the particles of your own flesh smothered in your nose. “Fuck, Y/N? Y/N?! ANSWER ME! PLEASE! SENSEI!”

There’s only a few things you can recollect clearly. You were rushed to the hospital and you could hear the urgency in Yagi’s voice. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could still see your Sensei’s face looming over yours as he tried to get your attention. The smell of Enji still invades your nose whenever you remember how he sat next to you in the ambulance. You think he felt guilty for letting his desire to measure up to Yagi blind him once again. It’s just a shame that you had to be beat close to death’s door for him to feel remorseful.

You awoke to an obnoxious beeping to your left, a throbbing pain in you head, and a nuisance fire wielder to your right (you had to do a double take to make sure he didn’t beat the sense out of you).

“You’re awake.”

“No thanks to you,” he winces.

“Let’s just be thankful you’re alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That wasn’t a funny joke.”

“Who said it was a joke?” you spot Asagao flowers on your bedside. “Who brought the flowers?”

“I did.”

You move to sit up but hiss and grab your side. “Welp, that’s new.”

“Take it easy,” Enji rises and gingerly presses you back into the bed.

“You expect me to believe you spent eight flowers just to bring me flowers?”

“Yagi told me they’re your favorite. I figured it’d be a good way to start amending for what I’ve done.”

“You almost killed me. All because you have a superiority complex that I’ve done nothing to fuel. And, you call yourself a future hero?” you snort. “Oh, wait, let me correct myself, you call yourself the future NUMBER ONE hero!?” you turn to face him so he can’t escape your eyes. “Everyone’s right about what they say about you. You’d do anything if it meant you’d have a chance at facing Toshinori. You don’t care how many people get hurt in the crossfire. As long as you win this competition Toshinori doesn’t even know he’s a part of,” you laugh at the irony.

“What part of ‘I'm sorry’ do you not understand?” Enji growls as he pushes your body into the hospital bed, face coming to stare you down.

“What part of ‘you almost killed me’ do you not understand?” you return his energy with a sneer. “You don’t intimidate me; I’m not some bitch that will tuck her tail and run just because you try to throw a hissy fit.”

“You’re playing with the wrong person, little girl,” he fingers caress the side of your cheek.

‘Once again, this dude has issues.’

“I’m definitely playing with the right person. You need someone to knock you down a few pegs,” and this was when the doctor came to check on your condition, catching Enji and yourself so close that your foreheads were touching. His hands were parted on the sides of you as he puffed out some smoke through his nose.

“Sorry, lovebirds. I should’ve knocked. I’m Doctor Sugo and I have a few questions,” you nod in comprehension.

“Fire them off,” you intentionally use those words to make Enji tense. After years of verbal, physical, and psychological abuse, this was your opportunity to exact your revenge.

“You came in with extensive burns, missing limbs, choking around your neck, blackened lungs, and, it looked as though you died from asphyxiation. Your sensei notified us of your quirk, however, your behavior was reckless and had unforeseen consequences. I doubt you burned yourself alive. Did someone try to kill you?” this was your chance to end Todoroki’s chance of being a hero and end this silly game he’s created in his mind. It would’ve been easy.

“No, we were sparring and it got intense. Enji wanted to stop but I’ve been pushing my quirk limits to the maximum with the coming of our graduation. He lost control of his quirk,” you’ve never been the type to do things the easy way. “I apologize for the trouble my actions have caused.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t a young-domestic abuse situation?” he eyes Enji’s burly frame.

“No, Enji would never hurt me,” to prove your point, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the back of his hand, maintaining eye-contact with him. He blew more puffs of smoke into your face.

“In that case, I’ll notify your Sensei of what happened. Just let me check your vitals and I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” the whole time the doctor was in the room, Enji kept blowing smoke. You figured it was something he did when he was uncomfortable but, you couldn't be sure this was the first time you witnessed something like that in person. You both waited a couple of seconds after the doctor left before you continued the actual conversation.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss...Do it again,” he gives you a pointed look.

“Answer the question.”

“For someone that’s ranked at the top of your class, you’re pretty dense. It’s simple; I’m blackmailing you.”

“Why?”

“Because, you need to be held accountable for your actions and, selfishly, I want to make your life a living hell. It wouldn’t be practical to let a strong quirk like yours to be sent to prison for attempted murder; you’re useful to the world and there’s no way I can’t acknowledge that you’d be formidable if you chose to become a villain due to my inability to keep my emotions in check,” he just stares. You spot Toshinori in the door frame and wave. “Toshi! Come in. I was just explaining to Enji what’s going to happen to him from now on.”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone. “Are you sure this is a good idea. He tried to kill you.”

“Shut it, Toshi. You’re too loud,” you roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. This is perfect.”

And, it was perfect. Graduating U.A. High felt unreal at times; it felt even more bizarre as you managed to become a pro-hero alongside your friend, Toshinori, and your personal butler, Enji. Yep, he became your butler as a way to repent for his actions (his words, not yours) and you actually found his company enjoyable when he wasn’t engrossed with beating Yagi. He’s dedicated to the tasks you give him, even if they’re demeaning like walking around with a collar (the press had a field day with that one) or task oriented (like making you fresh coffee whenever you please).

“ENJIIIIIIII,” you’ve taken to bothering him immensely. “Put on this skirt.”

“Y/N, I’m not putting on that skirt. It would tarnish my image.”

“Hm, guess I’ll have to call Sensei. He'd probably believe me if I said you attacked me again. I mean, I’m just an innocent woman. I could just say I was scared the first time,” and that’s how Enji Todoroki was seen wearing a skirt for training multiple times. In all fairness, he looked like a menacing kitten. And, you've grown to like him. Maybe, it was his guilt for almost murdering you but, he found himself showing you tenderness as well. He just couldn't hate you no matter what you did.

“You idiot. I told you not to jump in front of me,” he was carrying your limp body in his arms as though you were his bride. Holding close to his heart, he could feel the warmth of your breath on his chest.

“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t have you dying on me yet. I haven’t gotten you to dress in drag yet,” blood spills from your ears as you blank out of consciousness. There were plenty of times you protected Enji from a villains attack and each time you told yourself you did it because you wanted to continue to blackmail him to be by your side. But, you just wanted him to yourself.

As the years roll on, you find yourself getting closer and closer to him, just barely missing his flames. You became used to patrolling with him as the Pro-Hero ‘Zombie.’ You enjoy going to Sakai in search of the perfect flowers. You treasure being able to see him every day. But, it’s not all peaches and cream.

“Enji, get over it. Toshi worked hard to be first,” you’re arguing again. Two years after the incident and he still hasn’t let go of his yearning to be the best. While sometimes you want to admire his hard work, you can’t help but question his motives. He’s lost the very reason he wanted to become a hero.

“Toshi just leaves to go to America, didn’t tell you, comes back to climb the ranks of the hero charts, and you’re just okay with that? Meanwhile, you lose your mind on me after I don’t answer your call on the first few rings?” he’s sitting on your bed, his jogging pants hanging down dangerously low on his navel, a few red hairs peeking at you. You lick your lips.

“I’m not saying what he did was okay but, you’re blowing this out of proportion. You’re twenty years old. You need to let go of this foolish rivalry,” you throw your legs over his lap. “It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again. You always take his side,” you slap his chest, gulping at the strong pecs. You wonder how’d they feel bearing down on your back as he-

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Flamehead, you know I don’t listen to dumb shit,” he puffs out smoke in irritation. “But, I’m not taking his side. I just think we’re getting too old for this.”

“That’s what you always say,” and you laid there with him watching t.v. The conversation ends like it always does but, you can tell Enji isn’t upset with you. It’s the same routine you always follow whenever he wants to talk about Toshinori’s “false achievements.”

Somehow, you end up cuddled into his chest, head pressed firmly into his neck as you feel the warmness of his pulse move underneath you. His arms keep you against him, caging your legs around his hips (it takes a lot to keep your mind from wandering off).

His fingers play with the exposed skin of your back, leaving scorching trails around his fingertips.

“Are you hungry? I still can cook-” Enji’s phone goes off. He gets up and softly pushes you to the side, answering his phone as he absentmindedly rubs your hair. He’s soon getting up to get his things, pulling on his hoodie and ending the call, staring at the phone for a few seconds.

“Who has you up and in a hurry?” you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, his jacket in your fist to keep him from leaving.

“My finacé’s family.”

‘Fiancé?’

“Fiancé? Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. All I know is that her quirk is the perfect compliment to mine, which is the only thing that I need,” he’s pulling away. You’re speechless. Is-Is this jealousy? Is this bubbling fury jealousy? Is this small pain jealousy? Is this mind-numbing sensation jealousy? You can't be jealous. Not of some woman you don’t even know. “I have to go. I need to get ready to meet her?”

“B-But, you don’t even know her!”

“I know she’ll ensure that I beat All Might,” so, that's what this was about. Another last ditch effort to win something with no prize. You should’ve known those touches meant nothing but, how could you when they felt so tender? “Plus, you shouldn’t care. Soon, we’d both have to leave and start our own families; this would have had to happen eventually.”

“You don’t love her. You just want to beat him,” you slump down, your calves touching the back of your thighs as you feel a stirring in your chest. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret when you’re older.”

“That’s not your concern. I’ve got to go.”

You cough up an Asagao flower, staring at it with trepidation.

‘Oh shit.’

The next time you see him is two weeks later. His hair is still styled upwards, his scowl has deepened making him look older than what he really is, his eyes darker than before. Both of you sit one a rooftop, starting over Musutafu. His body is curled in on itself, the flames of his suit keeping you warm in the brisk fall night. Part of his arm is slung over your shoulder, drawing you into his side.

“Have you ever been in love, Enji?” you see him puff out a few smoke clouds, a telltale sign that you've either made him embarrassed or uncomfortable. “Like, real love? The type of love that doesn’t go away no matter how much you try to kill it?”

“You know I don’t have time for sentiments like that,” he looks at your wistful expression, wondering to himself how you manage to look even more breathtaking than the last time he saw you.

“But, what if you could fall in love? What if things like time and being a hero didn’t matter? Wouldn't you want that?”

“No, there’s no girl good enough for me or my love,” such sweet lies sound true coming from him and that burns you more than his fire ever has.

“What about marriage? Kids?”

“You already know I have an arranged quirk marriage. I met her and she is adequate enough to give me a child fit to be the number one hero of the new generation.”

“Jeez, you sound like you’re quoting a business proposal.”

“It is business,” he sounds like he’s scolding you for not knowing this. You feel your stomach fill with more flowers and you feel some crawling up your throat. It’s suffocating you but, you chalk that up to your nerves bothering you. “I’m guessing you brought this up because you think you’re ‘in love.’ “

“I know I am,” you stop your sentence to cough into your arm, catching a few Asagao flowers in your elbow. So, this is how you’re going to die? Dying from a disease that even your regeneration can’t save you from? Choking on flowers because Enji can’t reciprocate your feelings? “As you can see, it’s one sided.”

“Leave them alone. Feelings go away,” but, they didn’t. It just got worse and worse and worse. Because, as much as you knew you should leave Enji, you just couldn’t. Your heart longed for him. Your heart belonged to him. And, Toshinori couldn't understand why.

“Y/N, please, I don’t understand why you'd die for someone that wants nothing to do with you,” Toshinori chided. “Get the surgery. They can take the feelings out. I’ll be right by your side to help you.”

“You’d never understand, Toshi. You'd never understand waking up every morning, wanting someone so bad you have no motivation to do anything but lay in your own tears. I’d rather die loving him than pretend I never felt these feelings at all.”

“But, why?”

“Because, he’s hurt me so much; this is my last ‘fuck you’ to him. Because, I know one day he’ll change. One day, he'll want to see me and I'll be dead. I want him to feel the same pain that I feel now. He needs to feel my rage, he needs to feel my abandon. HE NEEDS TO FEEL ME!”

“Y/N, I’ve already lost Nana. I can’t lose you too.”

“I love you, Toshinori Yagi. Be great for me,” and that’s the last thing you ever said to your childhood best friend.

***

When you opened the door, Enji wasn’t expecting to see you only in a long shirt, tuffets of a flower stuffed in your mouth.

“What the fuck, Y/N? You look like shit. You can’t open the door like that,” he comes in and you immediately cling to him.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with you Enji.”

“You can’t be.”

“But, I am,” you hold one of your saliva covered flowers to his heart. Your eyes are tired and barely stay open but you can't take your eyes off of him. “This is for you. All of them are for you. Loving you is killing me,” you laugh at the irony. Who would’ve thought Enji would end up killing you anyway?

“Then, stop,” Enji rips the flower from your fingers and throws it to the side. You dive for the flower, causing him to follow you down to your floor. “Let it go.”

“I can’t. It’s all I have right now,” you’re sobbing while retching up flowers. His arms encase you, almost like he’s trying to keep you from falling apart. “I can’t just let go. I can’t just stop loving you, Enji.”

He doesn’t really say anything to you. Maybe, he’s too stunned or maybe he’s too afraid he’ll say the wrong thing but, he finds that it’s better to just hold you.

“Enji, could you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Could you make love to me?” he can’t deny you your wish with how pitiful you look. So, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to your bedroom, heart pumping hard at what he’s about to do. He’s getting married in a week yet, he’s here about to give his body to you.

Laying your body down on the bed, he watches as your covers fan around your head like a halo and, for a moment, he wonders if that’s what you would look like as an angel. Ethereal and tired. The air in the room is growing hotter as he sweats, nervous to strip you down. He’s no stranger to sex but, this is the first time he’s ever focused on someone else’s pleasure.

“Just, lay there.”

“What the fuck else am I going to do? Run off,” he chuckles. Leave it to you to find some comedy in your weakest moments. He starts with stripping you of your long shirt -actually, his shirt that had gone missing the last time he stayed at your house- and stares at your body, naked and exposed to the air.

He takes a few minutes to take in your beauty, ghosting over your skin as he watches you quiver in anticipation. Your eyes are blown and a petal is on your cheek, reminding him of what had happened to you. Your hands wrap around his forearm as you silently beg him to touch you.

“Always have been needy,” when he kisses you, it makes your toes curl from his smokey breath. Envisioning his taste held no comparison to what he really was. It’s like he was breathing his smoke into your lungs, making sweat bead on your skin.

His hand grasps your neck and you moan at the warmth that he gives you, toes curling at the pressure he puts on your throat. The flowers slide down your esophagus, allowing some of your essence to mix with his. He’s weighing you down into your mattress as he’s ripping off his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as he tries to shimmy out of his pants. His kisses trail down the column of your neck and he’s groaning at the way you whine. Your body reacts so wonderfully to his touch.

“You should have told me sooner; you could’ve had all of my cock before this,” you giggle at his attempt of dirty talk. It’s weird to have the proper and correct Enji speaking naughty in your ear. “Damnit, woman, will you stop laughing? I’m trying to be romantic.”

“I can’t help it. You're like Recovery Girl whenever she tries to be cool.”

“Why did you have to bring her up?” he drops his head on your navel. “Are you trying to kill my erection?”

You did a mouth zipping motion and laid your hands on his shoulders, looking down your body to catch him staring at you as he licked below your belly button. The sensation of his textured tongue against your smooth skin is almost enough to send you into your orgasm. He brings his arms up to grab your breasts in his hands as he continues to slide down to your slit. Your smaller body is completely open to him as he tongues your small clit, keeping your legs spread around your head.

“Enjiiiiii, please,” you beg for your release. The inner sadist inside of Enji preens as you beg, his mind thinking you look beautiful at his mercy with a few tears in your eyes. He plunges his tongue inside your hole, only shallowly fucking your tight hole. He brings one of his hands beside his mouth, which is an awkward position for his large frame, and pushes his finger inside your tightness till he’s met with some resistance. You’re met with wide eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

“You never asked.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. If I didn’t find out, were you just going to let me pound into you,” he smacks your thigh as a way to punish you.

“As long as it’s you, I’d let you use me like a doll,” the words incite a new type of fire in Enji’s body. He gets hotter as he enjoys the words of someone that’s completely submitted to his control.

“Then, I’ll use you till I can’t use you anymore,” he places one last kiss to your hole and slivers up your body. Everything about this moment is perfect for you; the man you love is hovering above you as he looks at you with adoration and desire.

“Are you ready?” His forehead is leaned on yours as he wavers on top of you, his cock kissing the entrance of your folds. You can’t speak due to the flowers that are lodged in your throat, so you nod as you stare into his eyes. For the first time, you can feel the love he has for you. If only this moment could last forever for you as it would for him.

The first few moments of him stretching you make you whimper in his ear, your nails cutting into his back as you try to ground yourself in the moment. He tries to push into you at a slow pace, bottoming out and sitting there for you to adjust. Your pussy clenches him like a vice, testing his self control as he wants to grab you by your waist and use you like a fuck doll.

It’s hard not to scream when he pulls back slightly and snaps his hips into your own. Both of you are breathing into each other's face as he fucks you with slow, deep thrusts, pulling your hips to meet his thrusts in an angle.

“Such a problematic woman. Couldn’t just tell me you loved me,” you whine as he sits up on his knees and begins to fuck you with fevor. His cock rubs against that spongy spot in your pussy, pushing you toward your first orgasm. “Such a bad girl. I didn’t tell you to cum yet.”

“Enjiiii please fuck please I’ll be good for you,” he smiled through the pleasure that rips through him and pulled out of you to lay on his side behind you. He wasted no time lifting one of your legs and pushed into your heat, fucking you deeper in this position. He could now see the way you try to push your hips against his, fucking you with a patronizing smile.

“Such a horny girl,” you moan into your hands as you try to hide yourself from his gaze but he rips your arms away from your face, forcing you to scream for him. He makes it a point to fuck you harder as he’s addicted to your beautiful voice. “Scream for me little girl.”

“Dadddyyy gonna cum again,” your tearing u again as he keeps brutalizing your pussy.

“Oh I’m daddy now,” he’s grunting as he feels you clench again. You give him no answer as you cum once again, this time pulling him into his orgasm as you feel him spurt deep in your womb. But, even though he cums, he doesn’t stop. He’s determined to fuck you into oblivion.

“I’m not done with you, keep cumming in my cock,” your toes keep curling as you try to push away from him. However, that makes him wrap his arms around your shoulders and slam you down on his cock, keeping your legs spread as he fucks you so hard some of his cum is dribbling down the side of his cock. You’re shaking hard as your pleasure blinds you, the pressure in your abdomen building in a different way.

“Fuuuuckkk Enjiii, I-I- love you,” clear liquid squirts from your pussy as he slows down his thrusts. You lay there in your juices with his cum splurging out of you once he pulls out of you completely. He leaves you there as he runs you a bath, leaving you to think about what just happened.

He didn’t say he loved you back but, you hoped he would. With gentle hands, he put you into your tub, softly rubbing your hair like he had done many times.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” you smiled over at him. His pants were pulled back on his hips but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “You know I care for you and you know I wouldn’t want to hurt you but, you need to get the surgery. I can’t just love you the way you love me and, I don’t want you to die because of that. I’ll pay for the surgery. I’ll pay for you a new apartment and everything. I’ll even-” you droned him out.

“You know,” you shiver in the warm water as you start to tear up. You hacked up flowers and continued with a shaky voice. “I thought that having sex with you and telling you would make it go away. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I meant more to you than what I thought. I’m such a dumbass. You’ll never love me; you’ll never love anyone but yourself. Why can’t you just be a man and tell me I’m nothing to you compared to whatever the fuck you have with Toshinori? IT’S BEEN YEARSSSS,” you croak out as you sob, your heart hurting. “AND, YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED AT ALL. You’re still the Enji Todoroki that tried to kill me. I just tricked myself into thinking that you were a different person.”

“Y/N-

“Get out,” you turn to the shower wall, too heartbroken to stomach the sight of him.

“Y/N, just listen to-”

“GET OUT,” he goes silent as he looks back at you from the door frame. He wants to say something but, the thought of ruining his future keeps him silent. He leaves with a look of pity for you.

“I’ll leave money for the surgery on the table by your bed,” he calls before he leaves, the door slamming pushing you to your last limit.

And, he left you there to you die in your bathtub alone, body worn from the sex you had with the man that you knew you couldn’t have emotionally. Your flowers soaked up the water as they kept falling, your eyes glued on one of the bruises he left on your leg. It’s too painful to try to move, so you lie there as your quirk does nothing against the disease. Getting the surgery would have saved you but, your body and mind would still remember the pain of your first and last love.

Per your request, Toshinori has your body cremated after they perform the autopsy. The young hero, grieving the loss of his best friend, doesn’t contact Enji to inform him of your timely death. He’s pained that he’ll never see you smile or hear your jokes or call your name and hear you respond. You're gone and part of him feels like he’s the blame. He can’t help but think that things would have turned out differently if he told Enji that he never cared about being the number one hero.

As for Enji, he doesn’t look back as he goes on to have his family. He goes on to marry his wife that he’d always compare to you (her hair wasn’t vibrant as yours, her voice wasn’t as smooth as yours, her eyes don’t set him ablaze like yours did). He goes on to have his kids and he wonders what they would look like if they came from your womb. He goes on to be the number one Pro-hero yet, he doesn’t feel like he’s won anything. He goes on to have a decent relationship with Toshinori yet, he feels as though he’s missing something -someone-.

“Toshinori, do you have Y/N’s number?” he called Toshinori one day, tired of letting his pride get the best of him. He’d grovel at your feet, stay by your side, sleep at your doorstep till you find it to forgive him.

“Enji, she’s dead.”

And, he sits in his house alone. His family has left him, their bonds slowly resurrecting from the dead but still fragile. His career being the only thing he has left, slowly showed him how truly unprofilling his life has been. His love for you, eating away at his heart. Why did he have to be better than Toshinori? Why couldn’t he tell you how much he loved you? Why did he let the both of you waste the days of your youth?

He coughs a single Asagao flower, the process of his unrequited love beginning. Because, let’s face it, how can you return his love if you’re dead?

——————————————————————————-

Tag List💕💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[puckyeahobx]

blow all my friendships to sit in hell with you

a/n: WEE WOO WEE WOO RAFE CAMERON WOOBIFICATION INCOMING. this is my favorite thing that i have ever written. enjoy (NOT MY GIF)

summary: y/n and rafe are in love at Midsummer’s and then someone (cough topper cough) tries to come around and start trouble. protective!rafe jumps in and it is sexy

warnings: nsfw duh

word count: 4.8k

It’s not that you weren’t excited about going to Midsummer’s. You were, truly. Ever since you had moved to the island, you had looked forward to the party every summer. There was something about getting done up in a pretty dress and whimsical accessories that almost made you forget how much of an outsider you felt amongst the other Kooks. 

You had only moved to Figure Eight about halfway through high school, so by then everyone had already made their cliques. At that point it didn’t matter that your parents had money, no one took notice. It also didn’t help that everything about you proved that you weren’t a preppy douchebag. So, instead of getting wasted out of your mind in someone’s basement, you spent a lot of your time at the beach. Here is where you met the Pogues, and thank God you did because without them, you weren’t really sure where you would have ended up. If it weren’t for running into the boys: JJ, Pope, and John B around the docks, you would have never met Kie. And if you had never met Kie, you would have never met Sarah. And if you had never met Sarah….well, your life would look drastically different, to say the least. 

The Cameron family was somewhat of an Outer Banks institution. Everyone knew them, and depending on which side of the cut you were on, you either loved them or you hated them. Well, you either loved or hated Ward, that is. And even if you didn’t love him, you probably feared him, which was all in the same to him. The Ward kids were a little more controversial from person to person, though. Sarah had a reputation that didn’t really fit the sweet, loyal girl she was, but even with her reputation no one ever really had any reason to dislike her that wasn’t directly related to her father. Wheezie, the youngest, was often forgotten about, but it seemed like she liked it that way. Then there was Rafe. The oldest of the Ward kin, and by far the most contentious. He was like Ward in the way that he was either feared or hated, but unlike Ward, there weren't a lot of people willing to say they loved him.

However, “a lot of people” weren’t you.

You weren’t really sure when you changed teams on the Rafe Cameron front, but you imagine it was at some point in the summer before your junior year when you started hanging out with Sarah regularly. Rafe was older than you, and not around a whole lot, but he was around enough. You saw how he argued with his dad and how drastically different Ward acted around Sarah and how he acted around Rafe. You saw how empty he looked when he wasn’t around Topper or Kelce. The Rafe you saw from your spot on the living room sofa that summer was not the Rafe you had heard the urban legends about. He was preoccupied - it always seemed like he was thinking about what he was going to have to do next to make sure he kept being worthy enough. You try to remind yourself of all of the things you had heard about him, but then he’d help Wheezie with the newest secret project or offer help to Ward at every turn, and what was legend and what was the boy before you became complete opposites. 

It was embarrassing, truly, how smitten you had become with him that summer. You found yourself sticking up for him in conversations with Sarah and Kie, sometimes even with the Pogues who had age-old reasons for hating him. Almost everyone thought you were just being naive, being new to the island and all, but Kie saw right through you. She saw the way you watched him enter and exit rooms, how eager you were to help him with docking the boat. Everywhere he was, you just happened to turn up at. Again, it was a little embarrassing, but there was just something about him that made your feet forget that they had a mind of their own. The word magnetism comes to mind. It took him a couple of months to notice, aka well into your senior year, but eventually he caught on and started playing the game right along with you. You were typically an impatient person, but you’re glad you paid the long game with this one. It’s how you ended up on his arm three Midsummer’s in a row.

So, again. It’s not that you weren’t excited about going to Midsummer’s. Afterall, you were in the prettiest dress you had ever seen (you had flowers in your hair for God’s sake) and your amazing boyfriend on your arm. It was destined to be a good night. Everything was aligned and it was going to be perfect. But, then again, perfect doesn’t usually last long in the Outer Banks. 

You and Rafe had done the rounds to all of the most important club members, per Ward’s request, and you were about to throw a fit if you didn’t leave soon. All you wanted was to go back to one of your guys’ houses and have a night in with some netflix and your sweatpants. You didn’t even care about how damn cliche it was. It was just that exhausting pretending to like 25 consecutive rich white people. But Rafe was not interested. He knew how happy it made Ward that he was there making connections and participating in all of the traditions of Kook life. Regardless of what you felt about Ward and how he treated your boyfriend, you didn’t say anything. If it made Rafe happy, that was all you cared about.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to put up a fight. 

You two were sitting at one of the tables draped in white linen, the fairy lights encircling them being the only sources of light three hours into the party. He was people watching, laughing and talking with people who walk by, his hand on your thigh as a sense of comfort. You were always the one thing that could ground him when he started to fly off the handle like he could still do from time to time. 

“Rafe,” You whispered as you leaned into his neck more so than his ear. You wanted him to feel your breath against the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

He shivered for just a second before he fought it off with a cough, turning to you with a forced smile, “Yes, Y/N?”

You made your best puppy dog face and looked up at him, your chin on his shoulderas you wrapped your arms around his middle, “I want to go home.”

He laughed a little at your dramatics and put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tighter so he could kiss your forehead. “We’ll leave soon,” he whispered into your hair.

You tried whispering into his neck again, desperate for him to give into temptation. “I want to leave now,” You pressed the gentlest of kisses just below his earlobe, “Please?”

He shifted in his seat and sat up a little straighter, coughing as he pulled away from you enough to get your lips off him. “Just like, 30 more minutes. I don’t want Dad to think I’m ditching.”

It was your turn to pull away as you sat back in your chair and crossed your arms across your chest, fully pouting at his loyalty and devotion to the Cameron institution. You didn’t say anything, instead opting for a loud huff and your nose turning up to the sky, refusing to look at him any longer. 

However, since you were so busy refusing to look up at him you didn’t notice him lean back in closer to you where it was his turn to whisper against your neck and in your ear, “I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise, Baby.”

There was no mistaking the hitch in your breath as you sunk back into your chair and into his chest, a blush creeping all the way from your exposed chest to the tips of your cheek bones. The immediate reactions you had to his voice never failed to amuse him, so you weren’t surprised to hear him laugh in spite of you. At this, you threw a weak punch at his shoulder that only made him laugh harder. 

“Come on, dance with me,” He finished off his laughter as he stood up and held his hand out for you, “Not nearly enough people have seen how smokin’ you look tonight.”

Taking his hand you couldn’t help but smile, but still managing to roll your eyes at the cheesy remark, “I think you paraded me around to everyone at this party about three times over, Rafe.”

He led you over to the makeshift dance floor where it was just you guys and three other couples who all looked to be above the age of 80. His hands on your waist and yours around his neck he smiled down at you with the smile that was reserved just for you, “It will never be enough people.”

“You’re ridiculous, Rafe Cameron,” You leaned up to kiss his smiling lips, never able to resist him for long.

“And you’re beautiful, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

But before you could finally kiss - something you somehow haven’t done yet and were getting desperate for - you were interrupted by the most obnoxious person you have ever had the displeasure of knowing. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Lady and the Tramp? Rafe, you’re Lady of course. Haven’t seen your balls in awhile, huh bud?”

You had hated Topper ever since you had first met him, but he had only gotten worse since High School ended and he found out what everyone else had known for years: that he was completely useless. 

Rafe immediately moved so he was standing in front of you slightly, every muscle in his body tensed completely, but neither of you said anything. 

Topper chuckled to himself as he crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. He had a habit of getting overly confident once he got more than three whiskey’s deep. “Oh so you just have nothing to say, pal? Not enough that she has your balls in a fucking vice grip, she took your tonuge too...what a shame. You always had a way with words.” His smile was as menacing as it could be on a trust fund baby, but it still wasn’t great. 

“Is that all?” Rafe said, sounding surprisingly calm. His muscles and jaw were unyielding, though. His grip on your hand flexed with every word he said as if he was slipping fast and desperate to have something to keep him from falling over that ledge. 

Topper scoffed dramatically, “What? I can’t joke around with my best friend anymore? Or, my former best friend, I guess. Ever since that pogue-slut started sucking your dick you never give your real friends the time of day anymore.”

You flinched at the horrible things he was saying about you, but it was no match to the way Rafe was all but blowing fire out of his nostrils. “If I were you, Top, I’d turn your ass around and leave her the fuck alone.”

“I’m just trying to be there for you, bro. You’re not yourself anymore! This bitch has you completely brainwashed! The Rafe I know would have spit in the face of the pussywhipped cuck you’ve turned out to be.” He paused and then looked over Rafe’s shoulder at you, giving you a quick up and down. “Must be some pretty good pussy if you’re able to turn the King of Kildare county into your personal bitch.”

Rafe’s hand suddenly left yours and he laughed to himself, “You’re a funny guy, Top.”

“No, I'm serious, man. Let me have a piece of that. I’ll decide if she was worth ruining your reputation for.”

Rafe looked down and laughed for a second before looking directly in Topper’s eyes, “Go to fucking hell.”

Before he even got the last word out of his mouth, his iron fist had made impact straight into Topper’s jaw. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just because of the power behind Rafe’s punch, but he was on the ground immediately, muttering gibberish to himself as his mouth flooded with blood. 

“Rafe!” You screamed as you pulled him back just as looked like he was about to go in for another round. 

He fought against your grips to get closer to him, wanting one last word. “You ever talk about me or my girl again and you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a bruised jaw. You got that?”

You didn’t wait for Topper’s response as you started to drag Rafe away towards the front of the house where his Jeep was parked. People were starting to stare and you wanted to get out of there before Ward caught wind of what had happened. 

The half walk/half speed run to the car was a silent one. You didn’t know where to even begin and you could tell Rafe was embarrassed of acting out like that. He hadn’t done anything like that in over a year and he had been so proud of himself for turning over a new leaf for you. 

Once you got into the car you both sighed in relief. It was then finally that he turned to you, his voice trembling just the slightest bit from residual adrenaline and the shame creeping up from the pit of his stomach to the tip of his spine. “Baby, I’m- I’m so sorry. But I, I just couldn’t help it. He was saying such fucked up shit about you. Calling you all of those things and talking about fucking you- I was going to be sick. I had I to do something baby, I’m so fucking sorry-”

He was caught off by the intoxicating crush of your lips against his. You grabbed his face in yours hands and kissed him harder than you had in a long time. It took him almost no time at all to melt into you, grabbing onto your waist as best as he could across the middle console. You were out of breath and positively drunk on each other when you finally pulled away, the most ridiculous smile plastered on your face. When you opened your eyes you saw that same smile mirrored on his perfect face, his eyes hooded as he laughed a little between pants.

“I know I uh, shouldn’t enable violent behavior,” you paused, still trying to catch your breath, “But that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen in my life.”

He swallowed, keeping his eyes locked on yours as his goofy smile turned into a smirk, “I’ll always fight for you, Princess. You know that.” 

You whined just the slightest bit at the pet name before putting on your seatbelt. “Home. Now.” Afraid of what you would do if you looked at that shit eating grin for another second, you looked straight ahead out the windshield. 

“Yes ma’am.” You heard him chuckle as he put the car in drive and head off toward his house, his hand on your leg seemingly inching up higher and higher with every mile traveled. 

By the time you got back to his house, you were about three seconds away from jumping him in the wide open space of the Cameron residence’s driveway, but luckily your boyfriend had a little bit more restraint as he took your hand and directed you to the guest house that he had been living in for the last year and a half (it was all a part of Ward’s idea to give Rafe more responsibility, but all it had really done was give your sex life completely free reign, which you greatly appreciated).

Once you got into the front door, he all but slammed you against the door in order to shut it. “Damn if I had known me throwing punches at losers got you so hot I’d head down to the country club more often,” He whispered against your lips.

You moaned the slightest bit as his lips trailed down to your neck while he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and pinning you against the door. “It wasn’t about the punch-” A pause, “Ok it was sort of about the punch. But it was- it was more about you defending my honor or whatever. And you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad.”

His lips found his way back to yours, but first he smiled and whispered again, “I’ll always defend your honor, Baby. You’re my girl.”

And with that, you were back to making out sloppily as he carried you down the hall to his bedroom that, at this point, was pretty much your shared bedroom. He not-so-gently dropped you on the bed before reaching down and yanking his shoes and socks off when he went for his belt and dress pants. Your hand immediately flew up and swatted his away. “Let me do it.”

He groaned and ran his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you undoing his belt, your eyes fixed on his innocently. Once his belt was undone you wasted no time reaching a hand inside and feeling him up just the way he liked. You got up on your knees without removing your hand from its careful ministrations so you could kiss up his neck to his lips, “Thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”

Clearly not able to take much more teasing, he, a little gentler this time, pushed you back against the bed, this time coming with you. Since he was so much taller and broader than you, being underneath him was sometimes overwhelming but in a sexy, intoxicating way that you never got used to. He whispered against your neck, “If this dress isn’t off your body in about three seconds I’m going to fucking scream.”

You pushed him off of you and laughed before sitting up just enough to clumsily slip the dress off your head while he, equally as graceful, flung off his dress pants and shirt. He sat back on his knees for a moment and drank the sight of you in, face flushed, mouth agape, and completely, totally in love with you. “This never gets old. You’re...you’re perfect.”

That familiar blush and pit in your stomach that came with these intimate moments with him snuck up at you as you whispered a “Thank you”, a shy smile playing across your cheeks. 

He returned the smile and leaned back over you, reigniting the fire from before as soon as his lips touched yours. 

His hands were everywhere, everywhere, everywhere as you gasped beneath him with yours gripping his hair like a lifeline. From your chest to your ass he was caressing and stroking you as if you could disappear from him at any moment. When a hand finally reached into your underwear and he realized how turned on you already were he all but growled against your lips, “You’re always so ready for me...you have no idea what you do to me, baby…”

All you could muster up was a whimper as he hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear and tore them down your legs. Wasting no time, attached his lips to you and started eating you out in the only way he could, which is to say it was perfect. He knew exactly when and where to use his fingers, and when and where to apply pressure with his tongue. It was amazing truly how it came so naturally to him. He was up to two fingers pumping inside of you when he moved his head up your body to kiss you, knowing what you needed to finish. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby? I can feel it, I know you want to,” he whispered against your neck as he sucked and nipped at all of your favorite spots,  “You’re so good for me always, go ahead. I’ll count you down. 5.”

You really could feel it starting to build up, but you wanted to hold back for just the right moment. 

“4.”

Holding back seemed to be getting harder and harder, his fingers angled further up against you and his thumb found its way to the nerve ending that his tongue had to abandon to get to your neck. 

“Such a good girl. 3.”

You were full blown whining and rocking against him, desperate for the feeling only he could bring you. 

“2. Almost there, Princess.”

With a final squeal, you grabbed onto his arm and held it steady as you ground yourself against him, eyes squeezed shut. 

“1.”

Before he had even finished the word, you were there. Your vision was white and your whole body was under the control of something primal and hot. He coaxed you through your orgasm with his fingers and the sweet encouragements falling off his tongue and into your ear.

When you opened your eyes finally you saw him looking down at you positively beaming with pride. Getting you off was his one greatest joy in life, which was good because, come to think of it, it was yours too. 

“Fuck.” Was all you could sigh out as you looked up at him, your chest heaving.

He leaned down to kiss you again and chuckled against your lips, “I was just about to, God. You’re so impatient.”

Not finding him particularly funny at the moment - you had much more pressing things to take care of - you broke the kiss to push his boxers down his legs and grab a hold of him, stroking him a few times before lining him up against where you needed it most. You were just about to slide him in when he pushed your hand away and paused. “You know I love you, right?”

Momentarily breaking out of your primal haze, your body softened against the bed and you reached up to grab his face, “Of course I do, Baby. I love you too.”

Another pause from him where he averted his eyes before speaking again, “I would do anything for you,” he looked back at you, “I mean it. Anything.”

“I know,” you whispered back, trying to show that you understood his urgency. 

“You’re like- You’re seriously the best thing that has ever happened to me so when Top started saying all of that disgusting shit about you and how you ruined my life I just- I just lost it, I guess.”

Your fingers found the back of his neck where you threaded them through his hair, trying to ground him. “You did the right thing, protecting me. He was drunk...who knows would have happened? He deserved it.”

He scoffed and shook his head, agreeing with you. “Yeah he fucking did. When he started talking about fucking you, I could have killed him. He’s lucky all he got was a sucker punch.”

“He’s the worst person on the island, it was about time someone put him in his place. You’re a good man, Rafe Cameron.”

He looked down at you again and smiled ever so slightly, “Yeah?”

Nodding your head and biting your lip to hold back a goofy grin you reassured him further: “The best.”

Closing the gap between you guys once more, he leaned down to capture your lips with that smile still plastered across his cheeks. As soon as your lips touched, though, that goofy mood was gone. He lined himself up against you and slid in slow and steady, making sure you both got to savor this moment. It was no shock that such a tall man would be so well endowed, but you still were never used to how good he felt like this and you were starting to think you never would be. 

You both gasped and moaned when he finally started moving, his head lulling back as he held onto your hips with both of his big hands, pinning you down to the mattress hard (as if you would ever, in a million years go anywhere). 

Another thing you didn’t think you would ever get used to is how into dirty talking he was. The man could go on and on and it made everything that much more powerful. 

“You feel so good, Baby Girl.”

“Yeah, fucking scream, Princess. I want to know how good I’m making you feel.”

“You like it when I fuck you like that, huh? Say it.”

You were always more than willing to indulge his desires considering how hot they made you and much more confident they made him. Rafe was your first and only, but you couldn’t imagine that you were missing out on much. He had to be the best fuck you could ever hope for.

Before long you felt that knot start to loosen in the very base of your stomach, your breath trying desperately to keep up. “Baby, I-I’m-”

He continued to pound into you relentlessly, “Me too, sweetheart. Just hold off for a little longer. I want us to cum together.”

You whimper and grab onto the headboard behind you, trying to ground yourself to something before you lose it completely. 

His thrusts quickly became sloppy and out of rhythm and his thumb once again found your clit, signaling that it was about time for both of you to give in.

“Please,” you begged, barely above a whisper as you strained against the headboard. 

That was enough to do him in and you followed after all but a half second later. Both of you started mumbling all kinds of gibberish about how much you loved the other and how hot that was, but neither of you were really present enough to pay attention. 

Rafe fell on the bed on the other side of you and immediately wrapped you up against him, pulling the covers over the both of you. Your head was resting on his chest and you could hear his heart struggle to regulate itself. 

“What do you think my dad will say?” He whispered sadly after a couple of minutes of running his fingers all along your side as you drew shapes into his chest. 

You lifted your head just enough to look up at his worried face. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Rafe.”

“I embarrassed the whole family because I lost my temper...he’s not going to be happy about that.”

Setting your hands under your chin’s place on his chest, you rolled onto your stomach to look at him longer and harder, “You lost your temper because some drunk psycho was insulting your girlfriend and calling you a pussy-whipped bitch. I’m afraid to know what Ward would do in that situation. He’s probably thinking you were too nice.”

He chuckled slightly, making your whole body move with the laughter in his chest. “Yeah I guess that’s where I get my um….passion from….”

“Hm...I don’t know. I think you cultivated it yourself. You give Ward too much credit, you learned how to be a good, loyal person all on your own.” Confident in your assessment, you turned your head back against him and cuddled up for the night, exhaustion hitting you all at once with a giant yawn.

Rafe paused for a moment before leaning forward and kissing the crown of your head and smoothing your hair, “I think you had a little bit more to do with that than I did.” It was barely more than a whisper, you wondered if you were even meant to hear it. 

Another yawn, “Nah, you already were everything you are now. You just needed someone to give you permission to be it.”

You couldn’t see it, but he was smiling from ear to ear as your words sank into his skin. He was the first one to admit that when he met you, he didn’t deserve you. It was a guilt that had hung over him these past few years. Everything he did was to try and be the type of guy that deserved you, that was right for you. He knew you loved him for who he was then and who he is now, but hearing you say such kind things about the version of himself he hated the most just made the guilt ease up a bit because, hey, if he was good enough for you, then that was all that mattered.

“Goodnight, baby,” you mumbled against his chest as you nuzzled up against him, even though you couldn’t get much closer. 

He sighed with a smile on his sleepy face, “Goodnight, Princess.”

[trophywifejimgordon]

It’s over. 

Just as soon as it started, almost, except for the part where it took an eternity. Except for the part where, though Daniel actually has experienced being pitted in a fight to the death before, and this was nothing like that, he just relived the past 35 years of his life, not “flashing before his eyes” so much as being jogged into his memory in chunks, hit by overwhelming hit. Every decision he ever made, and every one that was made for him, brought Daniel here, to this moment, to… victory?

Daniel LaRusso has won every most important fight in his life, and this one is no different; Johnny Lawrence now lies on his back, pinned there by the weight of Daniel’s foot resting on his chest. He’s not struggling anymore, just breathing hard and looking, really looking, at Daniel. Daniel’s not really so sure that he likes it.

He’d been face down, last time. Something like that. Daniel’d hardly had attention to spare on the disarmed bomb, not when his whole world was relief and agony and celebration and Miyagi and the sweeping crowd roaring his name and Ali. He had only even been distantly aware of Johnny handing him the trophy, and had, at the time, actually just assumed that he had been forced to by the bounds of tradition--after all, what did Daniel know, then, about the way of things at tournaments like these? It was only after Mike Barnes neglected to be the graceful loser that Daniel had even started to wonder… but Johnny had been long gone by then.

He’s here now, though. And there’s none of the rest; no roaring crowds, no debilitating pain in his knee, no Ali, no excitement, no relief. No Miyagi, either, but that’s kind of been the problem. It’s all over, and here, in the aftermath, there is only Johnny and Daniel, as there ever was, and looking down at Johnny’s wide eyes, Daniel is hit for the first time by the notion that, for you to win, someone else has to lose.

And of course, that should be no great surprise, no world shattering revelation--that is, after all, the business he’s in. Both karate and cars; it’s cutthroat, and it’s a competition, no matter how much he might preach otherwise (lie) to his class at Miyagi-do. But it is. A revelation. Daniel has spent the past year learning about Johnny Lawrence as a human being, more human than it ever felt comfortable to consider him, seeing him struggle and reach out and lash out and, admittedly, grow. There were times when Daniel had hated him, times when he almost thought they could be friends. But it is only now, staring defeat down into the waiting--not angry, not guilty, just… expectant--expression of his opponent, that it hits Daniel: there is a side to their story, and maybe there always was, where Daniel is the villain.

This breaks the man. That’s not him; he’s never been that. Daniel, growing up, had been friends with action comics and superheroes more than actual people--he tried, of course, but could never quite get anyone to stay. (Anyone but Mr. Miyagi, that is, but Daniel is old enough by now to suspect that he might have had his issues, too.) His mother--always a Daniel fan, as a rule--had encouraged him, told him he was too good for those other kids, anyhow, and he sort of believed her. Then he got older, and there was Kreese and Johnny and Chozen and Silver and Barnes, and the world was black and white, just like in the pages of his comics--there was a lesson in Daniel’s final two years of high school, and it was that his childish worldview had essentially been correct, that there was a good guy, and there was a bad guy, and most of the time, the role of the “good guy” fell to him. Growing up, if it could be called that, had done him no favors; while Daniel as a child had been (okay, he could admit it) a bit obnoxious, he had also been fresh and impressionable and wide eyed, ready to learn, always. Ready to shift his viewpoint. Age, as it does with all, or at least most, had made the walls around his worldview a little more stiff, while trauma (for that’s what it was, he realizes now, Trauma, with a capital T) had cemented them in place. The final, glancing blow to Daniel’s ability to bend before he broke was the death of the man who had taught him to do so in the first place; after he lost Mr. Miyagi, that had been it for him, the nail in the coffin. He was stuck. Unalterable, unchangeable. Bitter, and stiff, and unyielding, and more than any of that, completely unable to see it.

Because, who had time for self-contemplation when you were successful? Who had space for introspection when you were busy and moving up and, by all rights, happy? Daniel didn’t need to look inside or better himself; he was the good guy. He was a g-d damn heroic archetype, baby, and he helped people see the light, not the other way around. 

And that mindset had lasted, it had served him, for the better part of eight whole years, or maybe a lifetime. It kept him going, affirmed his choices and supported his self-righteous streak, for all this time, and it was maybe going to keep powering on forever, through the very end of Daniel LaRusso until

       suddenly

                       it didn’t.

And so he gaped down at Johnny Lawrence (old hat, by now, at being typecast as the villain in Daniel’s personal morality plays) and met his sad, blue eyes with sad, brown ones showing--though he did not know or altogether intend it--pure, abject terror right there on his face.

For the first time since Mr. Miyagi died, Daniel feels a shift, uncomfortable and alien and wild, and so all he can say, deer in the headlights wishing the car would come sooner, is, “My knee.”

He thinks about letting Johnny up, or at least removing his own personal peine forte et dure and making it an option. Daniel thinks about it, he hesitates, but he doesn’t move in the end.

Can’t.

“What,” Johnny says cautiously, expression still indecipherable, or maybe that’s Daniel. Despite the weight on his chest, he pushes himself up a little, halfway into a sitting position and resting on his elbows, and Daniel lets him. Can’t do anything about that, either. 

“You didn’t go for my knee, you never did, even though you knew it was my weak spot. I must’ve left it open about a hundred times, I was stupid--but you didn’t take advantage. Why not, Johnny, huh? What did you get out of that?”

Johnny, like, licks his lips a little, probably (probably?) in contemplation, and his gaze flits between Daniel’s face and his leg, the one that’s still pinning him, the one that he and Bobby Brown but John Kreese most of all had done irreparable damage to 35 years back. He almost seems to challenge Daniel (though it’s probably just his keyed-up confrontation brain talking)--like, oh, you mean this knee?

Daniel isn’t sure what the look in Johnny’s eye means--he’s starting to figure out that he doesn’t understand Johnny Lawrence half as well as he’d prided himself on knowing him before--and there’s a second when half of him thinks Johnny’s about to lick a stripe up the surgery scars he caused and the other half thinks that Johnny’s about to strike first, strike hard, strike one last time and show no mercy as he shreds the tendon with his teeth, finishing what he started 35 years ago and ruining the leg for good. 

Of course, he does neither of these things. All he does eventually is bring his gaze back up to Daniel’s eye--expression steel, more sober than Daniel has ever seen him--and say, “I keep telling you, man, and you don’t listen--that’s not who I want to be. I want to be better than I was taught. And you’re never gonna hear it.”

The truth of Johnny’s statement strikes him--in that moment, Daniel knows that Johnny’s strides toward redemption, his constant game of two steps forward, one step back, have not been petty or self-serving or convenient in the least for him; they’ve been genuine. Johnny has been struggling since their childhood, since he fell in with Kreese, and he’s still struggling right now; struggling to unlearn all the bad, three decades of toxic crap dumped on him and into him, because Johnny sees his faults and sees his failures and he wants to be more than the sum of them. It might mean (and just watch, this revelation is earth shattering) that Johnny is a better man than Daniel, who has never once looked in a mirror to do anything more than adjust his too-expensive tie before heading out on the sales floor. Who would Johnny be if he’d had someone like Mr. Miyagi for a mentor? Who would Daniel be if he hadn’t?

His breath, finally calmed down from the physical exertion, starts to speed up again, heart pounding in his chest, and oh, sure, why not, Daniel thinks he’s going to have a panic attack. The least he can do is free Johnny from the pin before he does so; things will probably get really, really strange, if not.

Shaky, trying to control his limbs and remember--well, pretty much anything about the simplest breathing techniques, Daniel lets him go. 

After another second’s deliberation, he reaches down a hand.

“You’re wrong, Johnny,” he says (because nothing between them can be without petty disagreements, not even this), eyes focused on something he couldn’t name if his life depended on it, a spot on the floor just behind Johnny’s shoulder. The floor, the hardwood floor he’d installed himself, even after Amanda had dropped several hints that she wanted it done professionally, because he could handle it, and he had; his floor, in his house, because--oh, right--they’re in his house, his house in Encino, and this whole thing should reek of normalcy, and yet. “I hear you.”

The fight drains out of him entirely, and all of a sudden, Daniel is nothing so much as he is tired. Johnny takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up, and they’re both left standing, shells of men, hollow. Nothing inside. They look at one another and the reflection of their nothingness, and Daniel….

Well. Daniel, is broken.

And then, in a perspective shift like an earthquake, like a typhoon off the coast of Okinawa, like a crane kick in the fucking head, he just may be reforged.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

Understanding and acceptance: a short story consisting of things that actually happened

[A/N: I was on the phone with my mum and she told me that I seem to be in a creative mood and that I should write something. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and share a personal story while also writing it as if it’s fiction. So here goes.]

Word count: 2K

-- 2 weeks ago --

It’s a quiet Saturday evening. My brother Max and I are walking home together, deep in conversation. I have no memory of what the conversation had been about when it started, but I do remember that it somehow got to this:

‘...all this assuming you’re straight, of course, and I’m not assuming anything--’

‘What does being straight mean?’ Max says in a tone that tells me he genuinely doesn’t know. So I feel obligated to explain it in the simplest terms possible. ‘Well, in your case it would mean that you, a boy, like girls.’

‘Well, that’s the normal thing for any person!’ He nearly cuts me off with this. I calculate my next step carefully.

‘Not every person,’ I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible. ‘I’m not straight.’ Of course, he knows that. I came out to my whole family at once three years ago, hoping for the awkward discussions to be over with that. It hasn’t worked out quite as I envisioned it yet.

‘Yeah, but you’re not normal either,’ Max parries. Can’t argue with that. Lucky for me, that is when we reach the front door and each one goes off to mind their own business.

I know very well just how ‘not normal’ I am. Not in that cliche ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but in a way that causes Bulgarians undereducated on mental health and identity labels (which is unfortunately most people over 30) to brand a person clinically insane, unstable, a threat to the Traditional Bulgarian Family™. Being aroace and having severe social anxiety and ADHD to top it off, I hardly classify as ‘normal’. This is a frequent cause for arguments at the dinner table at home, most of which end in a. tears and/ or a panic attack on my part, b. my father storming off and pretending to be asleep whenever someone goes to call him back to dinner, c. my brother gluing himself to his phone, leaving his plate half-untouched, d. my mother crying over ‘what kind of mother am I that I can’t even have my family together at the table once’, and usually e. all of the above. 

For this scenario to play out, however, the whole family of four is required to be present. So fortunately it only happens every other weekend when Dad and I come back home from the capital, where we have been living for the better part of three years now, ever since he got promoted and I started uni. When I’m away from my loving but over-controlling mum and my brother, who seemed to become obnoxious overnight the moment he turned 13 a little over a year ago, I usually have significantly fewer reasons to cry or feel anxious about... you name it. So we do fine. For the most part.

-- this evening --

I am watching Joe and Frankie’s performance of A Whole New World for the thousandth time today when I get a text from Mum.

Mum: How’s my girl doing?

Mum: I haven’t been able to hear from you with all the fuss about your brother.

Max is at that point in his education where he’s applying for high schools. His exam results have just come in and now everyone in the family is stressing about whether his scores will be enough to get him into the school he wants to go to. It’s a big deal, but with all the Rodfini magic going on (and with how terribly behind I am on my internship assignment) I have just been completely unable to care.

Speaking of Rodfini and A Whole New World, I have been repressing the instinctive urge to send my mum the video all day, and when I get her texts, I almost nearly muster up the courage to do it. But between me and her, this is not something you do over text. So I give her a ring instead. 

When she picks up, the sound of her voice combined with the anxiety over what I want to tell her makes me tear up and the words are stuck in my throat. 

‘Erm-- Mum, can I tell you something?’ I say, still not sure if I’m not about to regret taking up the subject at all.

‘Dear, you know you can tell me anything,’ she says, sounding concerned at my obviously-trying-to-swallow-tears voice.

‘You mean it?’ I ask, listening to her tone to make sure. I wish I could read tones better. ‘Anything?’

‘Is something wrong, honey?’ Oh gods, she’s in a really benevolent mood. I grow more and more afraid of ruining that with my ‘obsession with gays’. 

‘Erm, so I guess you should know Dad and I had the tiniest disagreement just now,’ I say, deciding last minute to start with something she might deem ‘more relevant to the family’s personal lives’. ‘You know, we were watching the Euros and then the match ended and we watched the news, and then Dad changed the channel so he could watch the next match. And I was like ‘whoa, what’s with the video quality’, and so dad was like ‘you really need go get your eyes checked out’; and I tried to explain that there was a very obvious difference in quality between the two channels, and he kept yelling at me that I was ruining my eyesight spending all day staring at a screen.’

‘Did he sound annoyed or just concerned?’ Mum asks me.

‘I know what you’re thinking. And I know full well that he’s my parent and he’s concerned about my health. But you should have heard his tone.’

‘So are you two in a fight now?’

‘No. Well, I don’t know.’ I really don’t. It’s hard to tell when one side of the argument refuses to talk about his feelings as if that will kill him. But I don’t tell Mum that. She’s been dealing with Dad since long before I was even planned, so she knows him better than I do. ‘The thing is, he called me back and said that, well, one of the channels was HD and the other was not, so there was indeed a difference, but he thought it was ‘unnatural’ that I was able to register it so immediately, and he kept insisting there was something wrong with my eyes. I should think that seeing something quickly would be a sign of good vision, not bad. Besides,’ I keep talking, nearly  desperate to justify myself, ‘I did some research and sensitivity to light is a symptom of ADHD. So it’s nothing new, really.’

‘Oh, please, dear. You’re of a new generation, and ADHD is something of the older generation. Don’t be so quick to self-diagnose.’

I guess there’s some reason to what she says, or at least the last part of it, so I give up on pursuing the subject further. ‘Yeah, anyway,’ I say, ‘I just thought it was all a bit rich coming from the man who refuses to wear his prescription glasses. I haven’t got any prescription glasses, you know.’

I don’t want to come off too cheeky because I still want to try and talk to her about how happy Rodfini have made me today. A while ago, Mum would accuse me of only calling her to complain when I was unhappy, so I have since made it a point to call her when I am happy and tell her so. That’s why I’ve been itching to share this with her. And now the time has come.

‘You know, I’ve been crying in a completely different way today,’ I begin tentatively. ‘A good way, A really, really good way,’ I add quickly before she can get worried again.

‘Yeah? So what was it that made you so happy that you cried?’ Goodness, there’s no turning back now. I decide to proceed with caution.

‘Oh, well, it was this performance, you know. A really beautiful song. So I’ve been wanting to show it to you, but I was worried about how you’d react.’

‘And why would that be?’ she asks in the same kind tone that keeps making me anxious about potentially ruining everything.

‘Well, erm...’ I feel myself start to stutter. ‘See, it’s a love song, and it’s... ok, I’ll just say it. It’s sung by two guys. As in, a couple, you see.’ I keep feeling up the ground with my words, anxious to hear her reaction. It’s like when I’m opening an exam result -- I want to know, but I’m too scared to look. And so now, in my anxious despair to know what she thinks about it, I miss the beginning of her response. ‘And I know how you are about those things, so I...’ I genuinely don’t know what to say. I’ve done my thing again. I’ve kept talking so much that she hasn’t even been able to react audibly. So I trail off, determined to let her speak this time.

‘Ok, but... why do you get so affected by those things?’ Mum says, starting to sound suspiciously like she’s about to question my own orientation again. I feel the need to justify myself for the second time since the conversation has started.

‘Well, it’s just that... I really wish you would just see them, Mum. If you could just see how they look at each other, you’d see that there’s just love. So much love. And joy at being able to express themselves as they are.’

I’m speaking from the heart now. I am finally letting out how much I want her to give them a chance because she deserves to see and hear their magical performance. She must be sensing the anguished sincerity in my voice as I finally manage to stop crying and I smile through the tears, because she says, ‘Dear, are you... are you trying to tell me something there?’

I sigh. She’s asked me this question nearly every time I’ve started speaking ‘too’ passionately about anything LGBTQ+ Which isn’t an awful lot in her presence, but there have been several occasions. Once about Solangelo, at the beach. Once about NPH and his husband David and their children, at the dinner table, as I was trying to explain how same-sex couples can have kids; that one resulted in a seriously bad scene of the type I described earlier. Once about a participant in a reality show who identified as a gay man then, but has recently come out as a trans woman; whenever she’s been mentioned on television, I’ve fought to repress my inner urge to express my happiness for her and the representation she is for the Bulgarian LGBTQ+ community. I wonder even now if my parents have noticed my silence on the subject -- because they certainly do notice when I am not silent.

So now, when the time seems to have come for me to set things straight about my non-straight-ness (bad pun very much intended), I try my best to keep my voice from shaking. ‘I’m not trying to tell you anything I haven’t already told you, Mum. Really.’

‘Are you perhaps attracted to the same gender, dear?’ It seems so unbelievable that she’s said it, and even more that she’s worded like that, but she really has. I force myself to be calm and patient.

‘No, Mum. I’ve told you -- I am not attracted to any gender, be it male, female or anything else, really. You know that.’

‘Well, it sounded as if you--’

‘No, Mum. Really. But I do need you to understand that part of my identity is that I feel the need to support people with other identities different from straight. I’m happy for their successes. I'm concerned about their issues. They’re a sort of family to me. Do you understand that?’ I say, relieved to be speaking my truth at last. At the same time, I try to sound as reasonable and mature about the whole thing as possible. I don’t want to put her off, especially not now that I’m knee-deep in the subject already. I’ve gone too far to turn back now.

‘Yes, honey. Yes, I do. I just don’t want you to exert yourself emotionally, is all. Plus I’ve been so stressed out about your brother and all, you know...’

‘Yeah, I do know. And I know he’ll be fine. He’s a nice boy. I just wished he didn’t keep calling me ‘abnormal’ all the time...’

‘Oh, well, don’t listen to him. He’s been quite stressed out too. And he’s 14. It’s just how he is at this age.’

I’m not too sure about that. ‘Boys will be boys’. It’s ok for boys, then, to pour salt into their neurodivergent sisters’ wounds? I don’t think so. But I can’t fix every problem in one talk. Plus my mum sounds tired now.

So I just say, ‘I guess... Well, anyway, thank you so much, Mum. For hearing me out, and for supporting me, and for everything else. Please don’t worry so much.’

But I know she can’t not worry at all. I’ve got that from her.

‘If you’re sure you’re all ok now, dear...’

‘Yeah, mum, I am. Or I will be. You know, there’s this expression with English, ‘to run with something’. So I’ve been telling myself, I’ll at least try to walk with things. You know I’m not much of a runner anyway.’ I actually laugh, even though the pun is quite untranslatable into Bulgarian.

‘You know I’m proud of you, right?’

I know that has very little to do with the kind of pride I’ve been celebrating all month, but I say, ‘Of course I do. And you know what? I’m quite proud of myself, too.’ I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I mean it. I mean it wholeheartedly this time.

‘I’m nearly falling asleep, though, dear, so I say we call it a night?’

‘Good night, Mummy. And thanks.’

I hang up. Then I forward the video to her.

I’ve come so far, indeed. I reckon we both have.

[charmerquilled-aa]

Rakan - From Head to Avian Toes.    ...Buckle up buttercups. Gonna be a long post. I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I started to write as Rakan.

   Do not reblog!! 

Hair:

Never a strand out of place. Quite vain, Rakan strives to look his best all the time, and he is constantly sprucing up his hair when able by using his handy dandy compact mirror. He takes extremely great care of it, and the feathery strands are extremely soft to the touch. 

A stranger should ask before touching ( Close friends or S/O’s, touch away!), because he doesn’t want unexpected greasy fingers to mess up his style.

He isn’t limited to blonde hair. He can color coordinate to match his outfits, although that takes a great deal of magic and time if he wanted to color it in its entirety. While wild magic is too limited to carry out such a feat quickly, he settles on styling the red tuft of feathers ‘pon his forehead instead. 

When in his true Lhotlan form, those red feathers could spread in a stylish manner down further into his hair AND down to his left brow upon his face, inspired off his concept art.  

Ears:

Rakan’s sense of hearing is one of his greatest aspects. It is precise. Sharp. When paying attention, the golden one’s ears are able to swivel at varying angles and can pin point the exact location of a sound, whether nearby or from a distance. He can easily differentiate sounds within the world around him, able to recognize the sounds of different weapons, the notes of music and etc. This spectacular weapon makes it difficult to sneak up on him ( unless he is hyper-focusing on an activity that he gives himself)   While he has to concentrate to SEE magic, the golden one can hear the ‘music’ that wild magic produces with ease. Sweet melody to his ears, and it frustrates him that a few others can’t hear it like he does. 

Eyes: 

Vision is extraordinarily sharp. When magic used to roam wild and free, Lhotlans were able to soar and dance within the clouds. Having incredible eyesight was a must for such an event. They could spot the smallest creature or spirit ‘pon the earth, even if they were miles above. 

Rakan’s sight is no different. Although he cannot fly in the air due to the dwindling magic within Ionia, this natural ability to see better than a human still applies whilst grounded. 

...But it can be harder due to both manmade and natural objects obscuring his incredible range of vision. It is one of the reasons why he climbs to the tippy top of trees. He is able to SEE and get a better grasp of the surrounding area. 

His vision doesn’t END on the physical aspects of reality. If he is able to concentrate hard enough, he’ll be able to see wild magic as beautiful, wispy colors. 

Nose:

Rakan has an average sense of smell. His half-human part SHINES strongly within the nose, as birds have little use for scents. He may not be able to pick up a scent from miles away, but he enjoys the pleasant scents of soaps, candles, fragrances, incense, curries/food, chocolate and etc.   

When cooking, Rakan is big on the use of traditional lhotlan and common spices. The golden one can pick them out in the wild and is able to differentiate them from each other by smell. Although, to him, it’s easier to buy them from merchants when able. 

Mouth

Rakan’s voice is an incredible ASSET of his. Paired with his charisma, extroversion,  and charm, he is able to pull a crowd in by simply weaving his words together.  Needless to say, flirting with a lady comes easy.

He will never speak over others if they have something to say. Although in a more non-serious conversations, he may get excited and accidently interrupt - though it’s never on purpose to silence another.

In fights, he will grow OBNOXIOUS. He wants to be the fabulous distraction to keep enemy eyes on him. He gets loud. He mocks. He laughs. He talks. Anything to give his allies time to do whatever they need to do.  When singing, Rakan practiced hard to have a WIDE vocal range. I always use G.eoff C.astellucci (linked here) as complete inspiration for  the high and low tones he can reach ( especially the famous hella low E1 tone!! ). He has many genre styles of music that he likes to sing, but scat singing is something he enjoys making up on the fly. The Lhotlan will also sing specific traditional songs of his tribe in order to cook.

Rakan’s teeth are ALMOST like a normal human, with the exception of two fangs that are sharp and to the point. While they are a part of his charming smile, they will be used for intimidation. He will bare fangs and snarl if angry, 

Wings / Plumage 

Rakan’s wings are his pride and joy, and will probably capture the attention of any who gazes upon them.  As a cape, only one wing is in use. It flows down with grandeur and drags slightly upon the ground. His quills are a magnificent shade of a warm yellows, oranges and reds that can compete with the sun, and although he can change their colors as well, he cannot do so easily with the lack of magic. Bluish-green patterns decorate the bottom quills at the tips and can be viewed from both the front and the back - a minimalistic peacock like design.  Warm, long, yellow feathers grow from his elbows, and four, long red feathers grows and droops over butt (2 on the left and 2 on the right side). 

He WILL hyperfocus for hours on end to make sure they are nice and clean. Like his hair, they are extremely soft to the touch. 

Up close and within the quills of his cape, glowing veins of golden magic can be found. From afar, they give his feathers the appearance as if they are GLOWING, even in the darkest of nights. The trickster can use the magic within his wings to create quills of illusions. Not only that, but if he swings his cape in a particular manner, he will send out a dozen sharp, quill like spikes that lack accuracy. The magic can also fuel energy sapping quills that can replenish himself and allies who are nearby.

Although his cape provide quills, it is a great source to funnel magical energy attacks overall, seen within this piece of concept work. Also, Rakan will not hesitate to use his cape as a way to blind opponents for a blip of time. Hard to see when feathers are engulfing the field of vision.

But when in his true lhotlan form, both of Rakan wings are large and magnificent. He proudly displays them with full splendor. Although his body is heavy and isn’t meant for  flight, they are powerful enough to lift himself off the ground and fly if strong magic is present. Sadly, that isn’t often anymore due to wild magic diminishing. To top it off, small, gold and red feathers grow in patches around his body and face.

If stuck in an area for a long period of time that has no magic present, his feathers will start to lose their brilliant glow. Magic is the vastayan’s air, and without it, they can’t support themselves, not even Rakan. Thus, his cape feathers may begin to fall off slowly due to stress. 

Muscles: 

Fit and athletic, Rakan has the body to prove that he is in amazing shape. He has well defined abs upon his chest and stomach, although he remains lean. Arms are filled out and strong, and his bird-like legs are extremely powerful - built to run.

Hands/Claws:

   Strong palms, hardened from constant physical use, but in top condition to remain soft. Long, strong but slender fingers. Nails are grown slightly over the tip, and are pointed. 

    Nails can be black, red, or any other color that could possibly match with his outfit. Able to simply change them if magic is present.

     When his true form is revealed, forearms and hands are dark gray in tone and scales are textured down along it. Fingers appear more bird-like and his nails have grown thick, long,  black and curved around like a hook. Much like in my image here. 

Tail

Long. Red with an orange gradient at the bottom tips. Slender. Surprisingly strong for something that looks as light as a feather. At the very end of his tail, three large feathers fan out and displays the same bluish-green pattern as seen on his wings. 

His tail assists his balance when running at high speeds, and it is strong enough to sweep a full sized human off their feet if given enough force.

Taloned Feet

A common trait of Lhotlan vastayas. Instead of human feet, they are replaced with gray talons and have a scaly appearance up close. He has three toes on each foot, and each toe has a sharp talon that grows sharply at the tip that aids with gripping the ground below him and climbing.

[magpiemorality]

I'm kind of in the mood for some platonic everyone! Could I request something like a board game/card game night scenario with everybody in either a canon setting or maybe a highschool/college au (whatever you feel like, I just want to see them all happy 🥺🥺)

Hi! I hope your prompts are open (if not feel free to ignore this!) Maybe middle school aged Anxceit? (Platonic or Romantic) If you do this thanks! - Anonymous

Combining them together for some middle school aged sides with bestest buds (and maybe eventually something more, but that’s up to your interpretation) Anxceit! 

AO3

***

“But I hate monopoly!” Roman whined, throwing himself dramatically over the couch. Logan just shrugged and kept on setting the board up while Patton helped his dad make the popcorn and set the snacks into bowls for his friends. Sleepover night was always a high energy affair, and Virgil was starting to show signs of tiredness already. He leaned into Janus’ side, blinking heavily while Logan and Roman bickered, hugged his friend’s arm tight to his chest and sighed silently when Janus wrapped an arm around his back in return, the firm embrace as grounding as it ever was. 

They exchanged quiet smiles while the noise continued around them, unmoving even when Remus returned from the bathroom and vaulted onto the couch to sit upside down next to Janus and immediately start talking his ear off, smacking obnoxiously on his jawbreaker and laughing it off when Logan primly informed him he was probably going to lose all of his teeth. Virgil huffed softly at the thought as Remus started to list all of the benefits of such an outcome one by one (including but not limited to; no longer having to eat the crusts on bread, getting a set of gold or cyanide-hiding fake teeth, and some rather more x-rated ideas that Patton’s dad just sighed at). 

Monopoly went as well as usual, which was to say that- while Virgil and Patton were out pretty quickly and instead moved on to making up a funny story with the dog and the thimble, and Remus gamely stuck to his quest of getting all the properties with letters of his own name- the battle between Logan, Roman and Janus was beyond fierce and ended abruptly when Remus outed Janus for cheating. Again. They mutually agreed (aka Patton loudly decided for them so they’d stop arguing) to finish with the game and go on to movie watching, settling in comfortably while tempers simmered down and Patton’s dad bid them all goodnight. 

And from then they were unsupervised. It was a Friday night, they were kids in the prime of their sleepover years, and Patton’s dad had invested in some high quality ear plugs. The night had just begun.

Over the course of the next few hours Remus nearly lost a tooth in a pillow fight with Roman; Patton span on the spot so much he nearly fainted, but retained his title from the last week; Roman’s switch was kindly donated to Virgil to play on while the rest of the monsters- Janus included- ran wild until well past midnight. 

But there was one tradition that had to be observed once the sugar highs wore off and that was truth or dare. They’d exhausted almost all of the dare possibilities over the past six months of the school year of sleepovers, but everyone knew (apart from Remus, he was desperate for anyone to enable him to do wild things like in the movies) that the real goal was to get the juicy gossip out of each other. 

Each boy curled into his space, spread over the living room in their sleeping bags. Logan had the big couch, Janus and Virgil shared a massive double airbed, Roman took the small couch and Remus and Patton had claimed the double mattress this week, topping and tailing only because Remus had wriggled around so much, initiating and promptly losing several tickle fights, that he’d ended up completely turned around. 

“Truth or dare, Logan?” Roman asked, picking the last of the gummy worms out of the bowl. All eyes turned to Logan, who rolled his eyes but pretended to think about it. 

“Truth, I suppose,” he replied, getting comfortable against the pillows. “But nothing bad!”

“Ooh-”

“No Remus, you’re not allowed to ask anymore, remember?” Janus cut in quickly, to Logan’s visible relief. “How about, um, if you had to date anyone in our year, who would you date?” 

A chorus of ‘ooh’s and ‘ew’s met the question, but they all fell quiet when Logan pursed his lips. 

“Probably... one of you?” He suggested. “It would be strange to share my life with anyone else.”

Patton nodded his agreement, clapping his hands together, but Roman pouted. “No you have to choose! Which one of us?” 

Virgil threw a cushion at him. “Shut up, he doesn’t have to choose, that’s unfair.”

“Fine, but now its your turn. Truth or-”

“Truth, duh. Is it gonna be-”

“Who do you like?!” Patton burst out, clapping a hand over his mouth after blurting the question out. “Oh gosh, sorry. It’s just- you said three weeks ago you thought you kinda liked someone and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since!”

Cheers accompanied Virgil’s pained groan, and even Logan chuckled when he threw himself down and grabbed a pillow to hide his head. They forgot to wait for his answer when Remus discovered a smooshed chocolate on the floor and shoved it in his mouth, prompting Patton to lunge at him and try and get him to spit it out. Virgil caught Janus’ eye when he resurfaced, and he snorted when Janus made a face, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out. Crisis averted. 

For now. 

-