#the important thing is to keep trying and to pitch higher

[pynkhues]

Hi! Do you have any tips or advice on how to improve self esteem? Like how do you go from low self esteem to high self esteem. Thanks!

Hi! I'm sorry if you're struggling with self esteem, anon. It can be a tricky thing to navigate, especially if you're finding you're discouraging yourself from pursuing opportunities for growth and connection as a result of it.

My advice I guess is kind of three-fold:

Know that any new skill, any new connection, any new mindset requires an investment both in the self and in the thing you're seeking to develop. Nothing ever changes overnight, and finding ways to love the journey even when you don't love the moment is pretty crucial.

Find community and surround yourself with people who will show up for you, and who you will show up for in turn.

Fake it til you make it.

I think self-esteem is something that needs to be nurtured, especially when developing new skills or forming new connections. As a result, I think holding yourself accountable while also treating yourself gently as you work on your mindset is really important.

Don't turn off the voice in the back of your head that tries to shut you down - I think that can stymie self-reflection a lot of the time, which in turn obstructs growth - but get better at arguing with it. Ask it why, tell it off, remind it of the things you know you're good at, the happiness you bring to those around you, the last thing you did that you're proud of.

I think goal setting in that sense can be good. If your low self-esteem is around a particular activity, you can set small daily, weekly or monthly goals to measure growth, whether that be in a word count or - if you're like me and have spent a year learning how to do a shoulder stand, haha, - how far you can get your arse off your yoga mat. These little achievements can serve as good reminders of your progress and help build your confidence around certain activities.

Finding community in friends, in a class, in a teacher (I could not have finished my year with my dodgy but successful shoulder stand without my yoga instructor!), in family, in an online FaceBook group or Discord can also help you to find encouragement, support and guidance too.

And yeah, I think it's always worth remembering that everyone's really in the same boat. Nobody entirely knows what they're doing, and trying to pitch your confidence for where you want it to be instead of where it is can often help to get you there.

[muffinlance]

Kidnapped Zuko? Rescued by Gaang who dont know who he is and he has to hide his identity.

Okay, so. There’s already a teenager down in Commander Muttonchop’s brig. This fact is so far past concerning it’s wrapped around to let’s-not-think-too-hard-about-this hilarity, and Sokka finds himself grinning, and offering the guy a good ol’ fashioned Water Tribe wrist shake through the bars. They’re neighbors, after all.

“Hello, Fellow Prisoner. What are you in for?”

“I, uh,” says Fellow Prisoner, who is clearly undersocialized from his time in here. He’s looking a little grimy around the edges of his all-black outfit, and the bruises on him have had time to get newer, fresher bruises on top, which is just. That is all kinds of reassuring. Oh, and the giant fiery facial scar. Also reassuring. Though at least that one’s a few years old. So… inflicted when he was, what, Aang’s age?

So reassured, is feeling Sokka, for the Fire Nation’s upcoming hospitality.  

“Uh,” repeats Fellow Prisoner, who is uncoiling a little in the direction of Sokka’s offered hand. As if Sokka was trying to coax him out, and hadn’t just sort of forgotten he was holding it there while his thoughts were doing their downward spiral. But hey, one man’s desperate attempts to keep his cool were another man’s offer of friendship. Fellow Prisoner grasped his wrist and shook it, in both the most technically correct and least experienced Water Tribe wrist clasp Sokka has ever experienced. 

“Zhao thinks I was stealing military correspondence,” the guy says.

“Were you stealing military correspondence?” asks Sokka.

“Only his,” scowls Fellow Prisoner, to whom Sokka takes an immediate liking. “...What did you do? To get arrested. But not killed. He doesn’t usually…”

So, so reassured.

“Oh, you know,” Sokka says, continuing to shake wrists, because it is becoming clear that Fellow Prisoner has no idea how long this is supposed to last and Sokka isn't going to be the one to stop him. “The usual. Found the Avatar. Became traveling companions. Got captured doing something definitely heroic that did not in anyway involve excessive screaming of an unmanly pitch.”

“...The Avatar?” says Fellow Prisoner, who clearly knows how to focus on the important points.

“I’m bait,” says Sokka.

“For the Avatar.”

To be fair, Sokka is still a little stuck on that point, too. It’s been a few weeks, but he still wakes up too-hot in the night and wondering why the stars above him aren’t quite right.

“Yep,” he confirms.

Fellow Prisoner’s face does a thing. A sort of processing, processing, processing thing that involves progressively more scowling. “The Avatar left you? I knew the old man must be a coward.”

“So,” Sokka says, “about that.”

Fellow Prisoner drinks up Sokka’s story like a man who’s spent three years in a desert searching for water. 

- - -

(It’s been two and half years.)

- - - 

Their escape involves a significantly higher swords-to-escapees ratio than Sokka had anticipated, which is distractingly epic. 

Also, the last-minute bison save is both the stupidest thing his little sister could have possibly done and very welcome, which means that Sokka is going to catch his breath and let some of his adrenaline fade before channeling his inner Gran-Gran for a lecture. 

Fellow Prisoner sheaths both his swords. And kind of stares, rather than sitting down, so Sokka pulls him over before the bison turbulence (read: catapult dodging) can do the job. This does nothing to interrupt the staring. 

“Hi,” says Aang, looking back from Appa’s head. “I’m Aang! What’s your name?”

“...Li?”

Under the sunlight, Fellow Prisoner’s eyes glint gold. He is… very Fire Nation-y looking, now that there is enough light to see him. And he is warmer against Sokka’s side than anyone not feverish should be, even in the ridiculous heat these northerners call ‘winter’.

“Are you a firebender?” asks Aang, like that question hasn’t spent decades earning its status as an insult.

“Uh,” says Li.

“Great!” says Aang, who has already figured out Li-speak. “I need a teacher!”

On the deck below them, Zhao has gone from shouting to laughing. 

Sokka continues to be reassured.

[bimbo-baggins17]

hi pookie, missing your writing rn please feed meeeeee :(((

Ahh hello sweetheart !!! I’ve had a bad writer’s block lately and been super busy but this made me crawl out of my hole. Hope you enjoy and sorry it took a little 💕💕 lowkey don’t think anyone enjoys my writing this much so messages like this make me so happy :,)

18+ MDNI! You are responsible for your own media consumption

“Look so pretty like this,” Anakin murmurs affectionately as he lifts his hand to tenderly caress your cheek. You hum happily around his shaft, looking innocently up at him. He’d been stressed from back to back meetings. The least you could do was happily eagerly help him out. His praise only spurs you on more, bobbing your head a little faster.

“Kriff angel..just like that..” He groans as he threads the fingers of his flesh hand through your hair.

He shifts his hips a bit, pushing him further into your mouth and making you gag a little around him. His head falls against the back of the couch, plump bottom lip caught between his teeth, his breaths coming out ragged. Your mouth felt like heaven. He’d let you suck him off all night with no complaints. But things don’t always go his way.

Beside him on the sofa his communicator beeps with an incoming call. He’d ignore it if it wasn’t Obi Wan. He groans, “Sorry my love,” He rasps as he nudges you off of him, “I have to get this.” A low chuckle escapes him as he sees you pout with your swollen and spit covered lips. He feels the same way though, missing the warmth of your mouth.

He brings his thumb up and traces over your bottom lip with a sigh before answering his communicator. You try to be patient and not pay attention to whatever boring conversation was happening. You could only catch whatever Anakin would respond with.

The minutes tick by and you get more antsy. An idea sparks in your brain. Your eyes flick up to his face, seeing the obvious stress working its way back onto his features. You try to keep your movements slow so you don’t alert him. Slowly you reach out, wrapping your dominant hand around his still hard shaft.

Anakin’s eyes immediately snap over to you, a warning look on his face. He can see the gleam in your eye. Your grin only widens. “Don’t” He mouths to you. Never one to listen you slowly start to work him up again. He bites back a whimper and glares at you again.

“No..no sorry Obi Wan..I uh..I stubbed my toe.” He cringes at the made up excuse hoping the older Jedi would buy it.

You grin mischievously up at him and he shakes his head, giving you a look of disapproval. Your hand still slowly keeps pumping his length, letting your thumb swipe over the tip, collecting the little bead of precum that dribbled out. He shudders a bit at the touch, letting out a shaky exhale.

“I know how important this is Obi Wan I- ahh ah,” His words are cut off as you take him back into your mouth again, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking him off as if your life depended on it. He clears his throat and corrects himself as he attempts to hide any bit of noise that would give away what was going on while he talked to his mentor. Though now his voice was a pitch or two higher.

“Mhm..mhm..” He hopes just humming along in agreement would be enough. You let out a huff as he keeps his reactions to the minimum. Your free hand comes up, gently cupping his sack. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. He has to bite down harshly on his lip or else he’d be a moaning mess, feeling your soft hand start to massage his balls.

He tries to swat you away but it’s no use. His flesh hand tightens the grip it had on the arm of the couch until his knuckles turn white. He tries to hold back moans and grunts as you make yourself choke on his cock.

“Fuck,” The word slips out and his eyes widen, “..oh..no..no nothing Obi Wan. Promise..just..just tinkering..caught my..oh fuck..my finger.”

Your boyfriend glares at you, his restraint slipping more and more especially seeing how you make yourself sputter on his shaft before coming up for air. It’s only a second though before you’re finding a fast paced rhythm of bobbing your head. You could feel him twitching, signaling he’s close.

Anakin prayed to the Force that he could get Obi Wan off this call before he ended up cumming. It was hard enough to hold back as it was. He knew he’d be caught if he finished while still talking to him.

“Right..no I understand Obi Wan. Y-you..you have my word.” He breathes out.

It seems that was the end of the conversation because then his communicator is tossed on the far end of the couch. You pull of his cock, a string of drool still attaching you to the angry red tip.

His eyes darken and he shakes his head, “Oh no, no you’re gonna finish what you started. Now cmere,” He grips the back of your head and forces you back down on his dick until he feels his tip hitting the back of your throat. “Atta girl.” He coos as you choke around him, batting at his thighs.

He tuts, “You can handle it..know you can..specially with that display back there..you asked for this..” He grits out before thrusting his hips at a brutal pace into your poor throat. “Think it’s funny..making me almost..fuuuck..sucking my dick while I’m on a call with my old master?“

You look up at him with tear filled eyes as he abuses your throat, treating it like it was your cunt. “Such a tease.” He rasps out as he somehow finds the energy to go even faster. A few more thrusts and he’s shoving you down the full way, burying his cock in your throat. Your nose is buried in the curly hair at the base, his musk filling your senses.

You whine and smack at his thighs again as he groans and dumps his hot load down the back of your throat. After catching his bearings he allows you off. You go to swallow but he stops you, pinching your cheeks with his hand so you can’t.

“Ah ah. Lemme see it.” He demands. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show the white substance to him. His pupils dilate and he grins before spitting into your mouth. He lets go and closes your mouth for you. “Now you can swallow.”

And you do so. Happily. You hum at the taste and his smile widens. “Thats my good girl,”. You go to get up off your knees but he shakes his head. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m just getting started with you, brat.”

You were in for a long night.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do ya'll have any recs for school/slice of life ttrpgs with more in depth mechanics for grades, classes, and keeping a school life balance? We really like magic school and slice of life settings but very few ttrpgs we've found have any actual mechanics for the school side of things, rather than just flavor for the free-time portions. Any kinda school works. Thank you!

THEME: Slice of Life Schools

Hello there! I found more games that were closer to this request than I thought, but there's definitely a number that I'd say come with a Your Mileage May Vary caveat. I hope you still find something that works for you!

Academia Or Else!, by liberigothica.

You are students at a local school. Your grade and age do not matter. What does matter is you have no choice. You must go to your classes every weekday, for 8 hours, unless you are sick. But that doesn't mean you must do as you're told.

Academia Or Else is a one page tabletop RPG about playing as a group of students in school, dealing with day to day school troubles like finding a mysterious envelope full of money, or finding the principle's diary, or being sent to detention for one of those first two things.

Academia or Else is grounded in the mundane pieces of school life: bullies, tests, detention, and school events. Your characters are classified as a Goth, Jock, Nerd or Prep, and your skills are represented as letter grades in common classes (Gym, History, Language, Math, and Science). This is a game more about rebelling against some of the rules of academia than it is fitting in, and the game in general gives me some of the same vibes as Breakfast Club.

When it comes to rolling dice, your skills and archetypes are represented by different sided dice: a d10 for an A-level, l, a D4 for an F-level, and so on and so forth. You roll two dice for any given problem, one for your archetype and one for your skills. You are trying to gain a total of 4 or higher on each dice. This means that there are three possible results: success, success with a penalty, and a total penalty. If you want a game that’s quick to learn, you might like this game.

Brit School Hijinks, by Librarians and Leviathans.

You're pupils at a British secondary school, trying to keep life at least a bit interesting and make your own entertainment. Build a den in the rafters of the gym. Raise terrapins in the third-floor bathroom. Brew moonshine with the long-banned solvents in the arts room. Arrange charity concerts. Steal test answers from the Head's safe while disguised as a Swedish piano-tuner. Stage a rebellion against school dinners. Find buried treasure under the rugby pitch. Arrest your physics teacher as a spy. Hide sickly aliens in the lockers. Plot bank robberies. Concoct elaborate schemes to bump into your crush. Bend, not break, the rules. Try different ways to make a difference to the days.

Much of the creation of the school in Brit School Hijinks does a very good job of reminding you that this is a run-of-the-mill school, with problems like needing to borrow money for something important, humorous misunderstandings with your crush, or setting up an elaborate scheme at school to get out of one of your classes. There doesn't need to be magic, monsters, or big world-ending event (although there can be if you want it). As a group, you’ll also decide whether your teachers are hostile, mundane, forgiving, or something else, as well as where you school gets its funding, and what kinds of programs it focuses on. There’s also a quick primer on British high schools in general, for folks who are unfamiliar with what that kind of school life looks like.

When it comes to how the game is run, there’s a focus on your relationships with each-other. How much do your peers trust you? Do the adults approve of you? How cool do other students think you are? You’ll also have a number of skills related to academic classes, which you’ll use when consulting how many dice you can roll for different tasks. From the role-play side of things, your characters also come with motivations - maybe they need to pass chemistry, or they want to ask out their crush. I think there’s the opportunity to make this game very fantastical, but you certainly don’t have to.

Dusk Academy, by Skullery Maids.

Dusk Academy is a spinoff of Blades in the Dark. It uses much of the same systems and mechanics, deviating slightly to fit the setting.

It is set in the hallowed halls of, well, Dusk Academy — a private school on an English island, far away from society. This school caters to girls fresh out of school, unsure of what to do in their futures. Dusk Academy helps these girls sort out their interests and passions, but it is special in its own way. The school is home to magic — and teaches it as part of its curriculum. This fact must remain secret from the rest of the world, but the school aims to provide a healthy environment for students to unleash their mystical potential.

More importantly, the school encourages students to form clubs, to provide a support network of friends throughout their time there. From sports to calligraphy, the world is your oyster.

Forged in the Dark games are very very good at providing you with tools to help you track long term consequences, typically in the form of clocks. You can use clocks to track how close you are to finishing a school project, how much time you have left to study, how long before the school dance, how much stress you’re under, and how far you can push a teacher before they blow their top.

Dusk Academy also uses the faction mechanic from original blades and re-skins them as clubs, creating the clique-ish social organization of a school hierarchy. The phases of the game also map out to the different parts of a school week - lessons during the week, club activities on Wednesdays, free play in the evenings, and extra downtime over the weekends.

If you like working with a bunch of different systems that synchronize kind of like clockwork - then you might want to check out Dusk Academy.

Alchemical Romance, by TrueFeyQueen888.

Alchemical Romance is a TTRPG powered by Caltrop Core. It is a game about young love, teen angst, lo-fi study groups, alchemy, friendship, and magic. Alchemical Romance is about a group of young alchemists getting together to study for their Alchemy Finals, but it is also about what goes on behind the scenes. Alchemical Romance is a game of unexpected friends and being true to yourself.

The characters in Alchemical Romance are different school tropes, such as Athlete, Bookworm, Goth, and Headphones Kid. Part of the game will revolve around maintaining relationships with your classmates, but the other part is focused on preparing for your Alchemy final. The game can be played in a single session “Study Sesh”, a multiple-campaign“Diploma” series, or somewhere in between. There’s a couple of neat tools in here to play around with, including a Burnout track to help you monitor how much stress your character is under, and both relationships and special skills to track how what resources your character has.

Overall the game is rather rules-lite: this is a game for folks who really like social roleplay, first and foremost. I think that it definitely fits the “slice of life” part of your request, but if you pick up Alchemical Romance for your group, you’ll probably want to be putting a number of other rules in to make the game feel more like an engine.

Last Hope, by Wendigo Workshop.

“There is a world, much like our own, where darkness lives. Its influence seeps into our world, corrupting those with a weak soul. That is why The Gift exists. Those with The Gift must travel to The Beyond and free the world from Shadows. But The Gift always comes with a price…

We never know the price, it is never said… we always understand too late. Do not accept The Gift. It is tempting, it seems beautiful, but when something appears too good to be true, it usually is…”Last Hope is a tabletop roleplaying game within which you play as a teenage character trying to fight evil corruption in an alternate version of the world, while also living your daily life as a student. Through a strange contract, you were given The Gift, transforming you into a Magical girl and giving you special powers.

As magical girls, you’ll be juggling school in between missions during a session of Last Hope. However, there are rules in this game for tracking a school day, as well as a roll table to determine whether or not you can stay awake in class, or pass your exams. There’s also downtime rules, which includes taking time out of your precious free hours to work on your schoolwork - rewarding you with a better chance of succeeding at Wit rolls. Since Last Hope is also Caltrop Core, I’m curious as to whether or not you could take a few pieces of this game and combine them with Alchemical Romance to make a more robust game.

Public Wizard High School Teens, by Rexatron Games.

It’s senior year at Wolfboil High… 

A public high school for urban and suburban kids who want to do wizard stuff but can’t afford the snooty private school up the hill, on the lake, in the woods. As usual, yet another life-threatening problem has emerged that the highly qualified and experienced (but apathetic) adult staff of wizards is ill equipped to deal with. That leaves you, a scrappy band of dramatic libidinous teenagers to save the day. But there’s also crazy important school stuff to think about AND your life sucks hard because you have your own even more important problems to deal with.

This is a one-page rpg with two different sets of rules, so you can choose which set works best for you. The premise of the game is that there is a villain with an evil plan, but even as your students are trying to stop them, they’ll also have to deal with personal stress and a big event coming up - an event, that if cancelled, could severely effect the staff and/or students of the school. It’s a small inclusion, but the constant reminder of a normal part of school life that your characters care about is a nice reminder that this is in fact, a school.

You Can Also Check Out…

My Spooky Dark Boarding School Recommendation post has a lot of games in it that fit this request to some extent, in particular Precarious Prep and St. Hornbeck’s.

[georgiebrits]

Panic attack -Yang Jungwon

You were working when you got a call from Sunghoon "Hoonie"

“Hey y/n! Sorry I had to call but it's a very important matter!”

“Sunghoon what is it? Do you need me to come over or…?”

“Yes, it is about Jungwon" You could hear the desperation in his voice

“Okay.. what about him?"

“He's been really stressed out, and has hardly left his apartment!” He sounded like he was crying “I think he's having a panic attack right now"

"I'm on my way. Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

You hung up and started walking as fast as possible to his apartment building,

When you finally reached the place you knocked, waiting for someone to answer

It took a while but finally, the door opened

The first thing you noticed was that Sunghoon looked really worried

Then you noticed how pale he was and how his hair looked messy. You saw that he had bags under his eyes

After that, you saw that he didn't look healthy at all. He was thin and looked exhausted

“Y/n, thank god! He's in here!” He led you inside to his living room and pointed at the couch where Sunghoon had just sat

There he was, Jungwon

His breathing was so rapid and shallow, that he looked like he couldn't breathe properly. His cheeks and ears were flushed red and tears were streaming down his face.

"I'm here Jungwon..." You say while grabbing onto him "It's going to be ok".

Sunghoon stood up saying "I'm going out for a bit. Take some time and if anything happens call me."

He left out the door when you grabbed Jungwon's face to make him look at you.

“Look at me Jungwon, everything is going to be fine.” You try to reassure him

Jungwon looks at you with scared eyes and starts crying again

“Please... don't cry anymore..." He whispers through his sobbing "Please... don't leave me, please... I can't"

In a situation like this one it is hard to calm him down, but you have been together for long enough that you decided to do the one thing that seems to do the trick.

You lead his hand to your breast. Your boyfriend's hand instinctively squeezes your breast, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. He lightly circles his thumb over your nipple, sending shivers through your body. He really has something for your boobs, it always calms him down.

As he pushes down your shirt, your breasts are fully exposed and he takes one into his mouth, sucking and gently biting your nipple. You let out a gasp of pleasure, arching your back.

He looks so cute suckling your breasts like that.

He looks up towards you, his eyes still filled with fear, and you lean down to kiss his forehead, whispering a small word of encouragement.

He pulls away slightly from your chest and leans against your shoulder

“Are you ready to stop now, love?”

He shakes his head no as he hikes up your skirt and gets your panties off.

Your boyfriend's fingers move between your legs, trailing up and down, teasing your clit. You moan his name, your body writhing with pleasure. His fingers finally slip inside you, making you gasp and pant.

His other hand goes to your breast again, kneading them lovingly. His touch makes your breath hitch in anticipation.

He keeps stroking your breast as he kisses your neck. You feel wetness on your skin and a moment later he's lapping it off.

“Oh fuck Jungwon, fuck"

He lowers his pants enough so his cock can spring free. He wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance.

You feel him enter you, filling you up and stretching you out. His thrusts start off slow and steady, but soon he's pounding into you with wild abandon. You moan and whimper, your body responding to his every touch. He grabs onto your hips, pulling you closer to him with each thrust.

Your moans get louder and higher pitched until you're screaming his name in orgasm.

“Fuck, Y/n, fuck" He yells. You both collapse onto the couch, sweaty and sated

The two of you lie there for quite some time, catching your breaths. It feels good to be close to him.

"Why were you having a panic attack? What happened?" you ask after your breathing returns to normal.

Your boyfriend looks at you with concern, his hand still resting on your hip. "I don't know," he says, shaking his head. "It just hit me out of nowhere. I started feeling really anxious and my heart was racing. I couldn't catch my breath." He leans in to kiss you, trying to reassure himself that everything is okay.

You accept, returning the gesture.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you question after breaking the kiss

.

“Not really,” he replies looking at you “I feel like it will only make everything worse.”

“If you ever change your mind, we'll always be here.” You wrap an arm around him

You kiss him and get dressed again to go and make dinner for everyone when they get home.

[sukunasun]

how would gojo treat his partner/wife?

gojo doesn't really do the whole boyfriend thing very well, not for lack of trying but he's made it very clear. or as clear as "i've never had a girlfriend" can be. which pretty much explains everything.

there are late-night meetups and month-long breaks in between. maybe a gift or two when he's trying to make up for something, it's the only way he knows how to apologize. the latest being cartier bracelets tucked in a red bag, one he holds up to your face eagerly wishing that you'd just forget he's so flawed, in no way ready for commitment, or to talk about it. "i'm sorry, it's just really complicated," he'll sigh. nothing holds gojo down you think. he comes and goes as he pleases. always growing, changing, keeping the end of the world from happening all in plain sight while you move on with a life filled with mundane things he’s probably got no time or reason to care about.

it feels a lot like loving a god sometimes, how he's just that bit out of touch, and...impossible. one who’s desperately trying to be human. with so much fear in his shaking hands and bated breaths, with his lip tucked between teeth, holding back the words he shall never utter, 'don't leave, don't look at me, don't touch me where it hurts.’ gojo treats you—at least initially—like he would anyone else. like he’s learning to love for the first time.

backdraft or whatever they call it. opening a door to a burning house, a fire that bursts and screams at the first rush of oxygen. he wants you to step inside and manage these tempers, seething and roiling resentment, a roof that falls in on itself. 

all this and he's yet to tell you how he really feels about you, however, every once in a while, he does make the effort to call.

“hey it's me,” he says the moment you answer because who else would it be at this hour...does that thing with his voice that's so effortless. warm, and inviting. seductive really. ringing through right as the snow outside begins to frost over wilting leaves.

“sorry, don’t think i know who this is,” you reply, adding a playful lilt to the end of it. there’s a low chuckle in return, then the rustling of sheets, it’s enough to paint you a picture of him in bed. a very large bed from what you remembered, but the last time you’d stopped by his place, there'd been no need for accurate measurements, thread counts, and whether or not he’d gone with sustainable options. in fact, there was no need for talking at all, only muffled moans into the crook of your neck, a whining plea here or there. gojo likes to grit through his teeth, pausing before every first thrust, a savourer is he.

speaking of which, he asks, “how’d you like a reminder?”

you weigh things out, tucking your phone between ear and shoulder. "it's a tempting offer...but i'm starting to feel a little used here," you say. this is just a check-in point for him. just so he knows he still can have his fill of you and...whatever it is you bring to the table, he hasn't actually told you.

'it's the sex' your brain reminds you—all the multiple orgasms in under an hour–type sex, in an onsen, over a balcony, backshots and binding you to fancy rig, will accept a blowjob only if you want to, eager to please, so willing to learn—no, that's not true, the both of you are so much more than that. you talk about very important things like the news and whats good on tv right now. just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with his past or his future or what exactly is the state of this relationship...so it's definitely the sex.

"i thought that's what you wanted, weren't you screaming it at the top of your lungs that night?" for effect, he acts it out for you, "oh use me, do whatever you like," he doesn't try to pitch his voice higher, which makes it all the more embarrassing when hearing your own words said back to you with such impassiveness, such tease. who you were during the throes of passion is not the same person outside of it. to think he'd been a virgin when he met you.

"that selective memory of yours never ceases to amaze me," you can't help the smile that widens on your face.

he smiles too, despite not being able to see it, you know it's there. "well im a very selective man, i don't just ask anyone on a date." you roll your eyes at that. oh how you should feel so lucky. most times he chooses the place because gojo likes what he likes and your recommendations end up getting shot down or made fun of anyways.

you'd say the best part is that he shows up every time. something about how he detests people who flake on him. which is surprising because if anyone were to be tardy and forgetful, it'd be the man who's maybe a bit too blase about anything that doesn't hold his interest for long. that includes when and where his missions are, a flailing hand brushing off any bit of urgency or seriousness. picks and chooses the things he finds worthy of his efforts, his overly exaggerated bouts of emotion—"you wanna go sit by a lake and talk?" people often say he talks too much, besides didn't he just get off the phone with you hours ago.

"we're bonding, there's a difference," you defend, putting your foot down on the matter. if it'd been months earlier, you wouldn't have thought to stand your ground, and maybe a part of you would have been anxious over his reaction but gojo only gives you a pout. shiny, moistened lips giving it away, he's not coming out of this one without a fight and he's annoyed about it. reluctant.

so he'll make an exception, "fine, we'll psychoanalyze each other, how exciting—" the sarcasm is slathered and piled on thick. if he weren't masked you'd kick him in the shin for that eye roll he gives you, childlike almost, given the chance he might even stick his tongue out, "—but i get to choose the place, ah, ah, it's about compromise darling."

——————————————————

later on, when he's three parfaits deep into a sugar rush at a maid cafe, he admits, "you scare me sometimes," of course, he understands the importance of communication, and getting to know one another is part of the deal, this is what girlfriends and boyfriends do, but— "how are you still here?" there's something hidden in his question, sometimes it feels almost like he's testing you to see if you'd be offended, taken aback, huffing out indignantly and stomping away, making him watch you leave.

still, your answer remains the same. "i like you," you sigh out into the night, feeling his arms wrapped around your middle. gojo doesn't need worshipping or sacrifices made to please and appease, but he’s feeling ten feet tall in this body, too long and large, housing power he didn’t ask for. 

“you really mean that?” he whispers in the crook of your neck, you don’t miss the hint of self-deprecation there, or the uncertainty.

so you reach a hand up, just enough to hold his head full of self-doubt, “yes," is all that's needed for him to crumble. walls coming down.

"you're the only woman i've ever been with," he admits. waiting for the moment you face away from him so it's not as revealing, not as vulnerable, and he can say it with just that little bit of courage because he wouldn't see your reaction, he's escaped death many times, he'd be able to say it now, say it here. "and i intend to keep it that way..." you know he's waiting in anticipation for the final blow, the real death that comes for him is when he loses you because of how unlikely it sounds, gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, only bedded one woman.

his fingers come up to graze the slope of your shoulder, before he wraps an arm around your chest, pressing his weight into you from behind, wrapping you up, only it's ten times heavier when his admission presses down on your thumping little heart alongside with it.

——————————————————

in the middle of a restaurant in ginza, gojo breaks his chopsticks in half along a deep line with fine precision, before rubbing them back and forth to remove the thin, stray hairs of aspen. there are people who look up when the sound catches their attention, then avert their eyes away. but not before lingering over his striking looks for that split second, blue eyes and white hair, what a combo.

he barely notices at this point, but he does know you’re watching from where you sit. food untouched, like you’re waiting for something to happen. you don’t need his permission he thinks, or at least, no one had ever waited for it. so he explains before you get the chance to ask, getting it out of the way and maybe then you’ll start digging in and he wouldn’t have to sit in this weird, silent tension, “he always did it this way,” gojo shrugs. 

you don’t ask who 'he' refers to, “i wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, nodding along, trying to ease some of the nerves there because this isn't to do with the chopsticks, but that gojo gets like this around christmas. actually, he gets like this almost all the time these days. 

“why aren’t you eating? the unagi’s really nice,” he points to the piece of eel that’s cooked to perfection, glazed and sticky. “is it not to your liking?” he looks up quickly, searching your face, looking for any sign of distaste. 

“it’s fine,” you stop him from waving down the waiter, knowing he intends to order something else for you. but he never asks, not about what you would prefer or if you had any aversions to seafood. instead, he plays a guessing game, only tries, and tries again. hoping that he’d get it right immediately. just another thing satoru does. that he's way more accommodating than most would give him credit for. so much so you forget that he's barely touched the unagi himself, choosing instead to nudge it closer to you.

and maybe he’d been to used to this, maybe he’d always gotten it right with the one before you, maybe that’s why it hurts so much. and you're too occupied with wiping tears behind a blindfold that night to make sense of it when he can’t stop dreaming about long silken hair tucked into a bun, of a scent that lingers on a street crossing and by a classroom window.

still, he tucks a finger underneath the band. revealing clumped-up strands of white, silver, grey...a storming ocean swirls. a woman finally found, what a sight to behold. who chooses him and cleaves his heart in two every time she so much as smiles, calls him by his name, and touches his skin with her own. gently at first and then in a pressured, firm grip. "i'm not going anywhere," hand wholly encompassing his, fingers entwined, or maybe it's the other way around. gojo's got a wide expanse of palm, life and heart lines spanning across a region of an untouched, unmarred surface, all the power to bend space, time, and an infinity simmering above it.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say, feeling a minuscule gap close where you finally feel him, really feel him.

[found-wings]

Etoiles can feel the way his body aches as it meets the ground, choking out a breath as he attempts to push himself back up. A swirl of greens and blacks clouds his vision and with one simple strike, everything goes dark.

There‘s nothing.

Wherever he was now, it was completely dark. It felt oddly comforting in a way.

There was no extreme temperature, no noise, nothing to worry - he felt floaty. His body felt light and with no ache at all, it was a feeling he wasn‘t tell familiar with anymore.

"You did well," a voice hums. It doesn‘t come from any specific direction and it’s more so as if the voice is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

As if it‘s part of his own mind, and he’s hesitant on responding this time but chooses to do so anyway. "..I failed."

A chuckle echoes into the void and Etoiles can’t help the small smile that forms because of its comforting familiarity.

"You‘re always so set on winning, on beating everyone." As the voice speaks, there‘s something carefully and ever so slowly brushing through Etoiles hair. He recognises the pattern that the voice follows and just for now, he lets himself relax back into the almost ghost like touch.

Etoiles can almost imagine himself laying on the floor, his own body tainted with blood and potions that were cracked open spilling out. He can almost hear the voices of the others calling out for him, seeing him fail. Fail at winning, at protecting them. "I have to protect them."

"And who protects you?" Comes almost immediately back and Etoiles falls silent.

The second chuckle of the voice makes the grin it wears obvious, Etoiles huffing. Phil was quick and confident, and with being knocked down after so many wins, Etoiles couldn‘t help but admire that.

He‘s won against Phil in their sparring sessions multiple times, he‘s beaten the other Islanders more than he can count and he‘s never lost against the code until now. And yet, Phils confidence never faltered.

He can‘t help but admire the way Phil didn‘t let failure stop him.

"God I suck at pvp," Etoiles finally whispers back with a chuckle of his own, the motions of the fingers brushing through his hair stopping only to give him a playful push.

He can almost hear the roll of Phils eyes. "No you don‘t. You simply found your match today."

Etoiles hums as Phil returns to playing with his hair, still keeping his eyes closed during all of this.

"Finding my match resulted in my death. Me dying means I lost. So I suck at pvp if I die. That‘s the basics, Phil." He was being rather playful - or as playful as he can be while laying within deaths arms - and Phil knew that. They didn‘t find each other often like this.

"You don‘t run away from fights, so it was either you live to see it or you die trying." And Phil was right. Etoiles knew he was right and yet he couldn‘t help the feeling of.. guilt.

He was guilty.

His death would mean the loss of an important line of protection for the others and if - when - the Eggs return, them too.

He promised to protect everyone, he was tasked to protect everyone and yet he failed.

He failed the one thing he was the best at.

"How about we continue our chat next time when we‘re face to face? I prefer talking to your alive self," Phil suggests and the presence of him seems to lift higher.

Etoiles attempts to respond, question after question lingering about what next time meant, but nothing came out.

"It‘s time to wake up, my hero, before you forget how to."

And with those ever so softly spoken words, Etoiles gasps as his back presses against something cold and hard, heart rapidly beating and a high pitched noise ringing through his ears.

For a brief moment he can feel the brushing of feathers on his body, before their presence fades entirely.

All except for the one black feather in his blood stained hand.

[millie-mar]

the stranger things i hate about you

chapter five: the hideout pt2

| 1.5k words | 10 things i hate about you!steddie |

‘Fuck. What’d I get myself into?’ Steve mumbles, pacing back and forth. Robin is laying on his bed, fully stretched out, following him with her eyes, slowly starting to get dizzy from the boy’s constant movement.

‘Harrington, calm down.’ She sighs. ‘Nothing bad’s happened yet.’

Steve stops in his tracks, slowly turning to face the brown-haired girl. ‘Yet?’ he exclaims, ‘Yet?’ The word leaves his lips once more, pitch a bit higher, and he slowly shakes his head. ‘Can’t believe it.’

‘Oh, come on. That’s just a phrase.’ Robin sits up, tucks her hair behind her ears and claps to signal she has something to say. Steve looks at her, exasperated. ‘Listen. It’s gonna be alright. You’re just gonna have a friendly chat with him. It’s not like I expect you to seduce the guy.’

‘What do you expect from me, Robin?’ That question causes the girl to double back, her eyes wide, but expectant. Is that the Steve Harrington many have talked about? Confident, blunt, and a little bit clueless.

‘I-‘ Steve doesn’t even let the girl finish before he starts speaking again.

‘What is your motive? Why do you want me to do this? Wait, I've got another good question. Why me?’ Words fly out at such speed, Robin struggles to fully understand him, a weird grimace taking over her face.

‘You’re just a loner Steve, okay? Eddie was a loner too. I just thought you’d be able to connect because of that…’

‘You only answered the easiest question.' A pause. 'Why are you doing this, Robin?’ Steve sits down on the floor by the head of the bed, leaning his arms on the mattress, facing Robin. He makes eye contact with the girl, trying to get her to speak, but she breaks the contact and looks away.

‘You don’t have to know everything about me Steve. We’re not friends. And it’s personal.’ That statement gets Steve even more curious. No sarcasm. No jokes. This seems unlike her earlier behaviour.

‘I just want to know if I’m getting into deep shit I won’t be able to get out of.’ The boy exhales, a breath he has not even realised he was holding. He gets him arms off the bed and leans back, looking up at the ceiling, extremely tired, even though the night hasn’t started yet.

‘Don’t worry. You can dip any time you want to. Promise.’ Robin sticks out her pinky towards the blonde. He looks back at her, unsure.

‘Really? Pinky promise? What are we, five?’ Steve raises his eyebrow in amusement.

‘Steve, don’t be a prick.’ Robin smiles at him and shakes her hand to encourage Steve to go along with it.

Steve unwillingly gets up on his knees and reaches out to intertwine his pinky finger with hers. Robin taps her thumb on his and lays back down with a satisfied smile. ‘Did you forget you were supposed to help me get ready?’ Steve questions, an unwilling smile on his face.

She places a pillow over her mouth to muffle a whine, but gets off the bed anyway and takes her bag. ‘Sadly, I am not a punk, so I don’t have much, but I feel like overdoing it wouldn’t do you any good.’ She looks through her bag and takes out a small pink jewellery box.

‘Didn’t think you’d like pink.’ Steve points out, trying to engage in some small talk.

‘Why? Because I’m not girly enough for it?’ Robin giggles at Steve’s embarrassed expression, tempted to tease him further. ‘That’s sexist of you, Steve.’

‘No! I didn’t mean to- It’s just. I-‘ Steve enters panic mode and struggles to say anything reasonable.

‘I’m just joking.’ Robin looks at Steve’s shaky hands, and how he’s playing with his fingers and picks at the skin around his nails. ‘I got this box from my friend. They’re very important to me, so I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I hate pink.’ Robin explains, catching Steve’s attention.

Steve’s not sure what to say, surprised by Robin’s sudden urge to share something about her with him. Sensing the boy’s not going to say anything, she carries on. ‘Well, I keep my favourite pieces of jewellery in this box and it so happens I have a skull ring in here.’

‘I thought you said you’re not a punk?’

Robin throws a pillow at Steve’s face. ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate their aesthetic. Now shut up, put some black top, jeans on, and the ring. That should be good enough.’ She chucks the ring in Steve’s direction and he swiftly catches it.

‘What about my hair?’ Steve looks Robin dead in the eye, worried, since he’s never been to a bar like that.

‘There’s no way to save it anymore.’ She says getting off the bed and going towards the door. Her face serious, but her voice giving out that she’s just joking. Steve pretends to be offended as he follows her out of his room.

‘Okay, message me if you want me to pick you up.’ Robin parks in front of the Hideout, turns to Steve at the passenger’s seat and smiles at him.

‘Okay, mom.’ Steve rolls his eyes, unbuckles and opens the door to get out. As he closes the door behind him, he faintly hears Robin shouting ‘Have fun, sweetie’ before her voice gets muffled. He shakes his head, not turning back to look at the girl who’s probably giggling to herself.

Steve’s now standing in front of a pretty run down building; bits of paint coming off the walls, one of the windows blocked off with planks, the doors having graffiti on them. It looks much worse than he expected. He looks around the driveway, only two cars taking the already small space in front of the building; a black van, with some worn off logo on the side reading ‘Corroded Coffin’ and a grey Bentley.

Steve takes a breath in, and approaches the door, then breathes out and opens it slowly.

Loud music hits Steve’s ears immediately, a remix of pop songs, some that he recognises. He’s growing more uncertain with each step further into the club, a sea of heads bopping to music, people brushing against each other. He looks for Eddie in the crowd, which has proven to be easier than he expected, with the boy’s long, dark, curls catching Steve’s attention by the bar. He’s alone, holding a drink in his hand, leaning his head on his hand and talking excitedly with the bartender. It’s now or never.

Steve pushes through the crowd, apologising to every person he as much as grazes, slowly making his way towards Eddie, his heart beating faster the closer he got. When he finally stops by the boy, he isn't sure what to do. Should he say ‘hi’, tap him on the shoulder, sit next to him?

Eddie looks back, as if feeling Steve’s presence and his smile quickly falters when he locks eyes with the boy. ‘Oh, you came.’

Steve couldn’t miss the slight disappointment in Eddie’s voice. He doesn't want Steve to be here. ‘Yeah, can I sit down?’

‘If you want to. Ain’t gonna stop you Steven.’ Eddie says and takes a sip of his drink. Steve sits down, an awkward silence filling the air.

Get your shit together Steve.

‘Did you wait long?’ Steve initiates the conversation, and is met with a laugh from Eddie.

‘Don’t worry. Wasn’t expecting you to actually come, so technically, I didn’t wait at all.’ Steve can’t help but wonder what happened to cause so much hostility from the boy, he seemed fine last time they talked.

‘Oh, okay.’ Silence again. ‘Do you come here often?’

'Really, Steve? Do I come here often?' Eddie shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink. 'If you don't have anything to talk to me about, then why did you even come here?' He gets off his stool and blends into the crowd. Steve sighs, placing his face in his hands and gets off too, determination guiding him through the crowd and towards Eddie, who's now in the middle of the dance floor.

'I just wanted to get to know you. Properly.' Steve shouts through the noise, music and drunk people surrounding them. Eddie turns to face him, still dancing, very clumsily, but his movements are charming in some way. However, he doesn't say a word. ' Listen I know I've never properly apologised. I've only given you excuses, but I don't have a reason why I treated you that way. It was stupid and really inconsiderate. I was an asshole.' Eddie stops moving.

'What was that?' Eddie asks, when in reality he actually heard Steve. He just really wants to hear it again.

'I was an asshole!' Steve shouts as loud as his lungs let him, and doesn't realise the song's finished. The whole place goes quiet, as 'asshole' echoes through the room. All eyes are on Steve, including Eddie's, a smile spreading on his face. He snickers and covers his mouth to muffle the noise, leaning forward as a laugh escapes him. Eddie straightens up flicking his hair as he does so, and sighs.

'Oh, Harrington.' Eddie pats Steve's shoulder. 'You still have a long way to go, but that's a good start,' he says and walks away, leaving Steve dumbfounded in the middle of a dance floor, music coming on again, but it's muffled in his ears.

<- last | next ->

[blueduplicity]

Oh, the White of a Red Rose (P1)

(Part 2)

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

WC: ~28k

CW: INCEST. Alcohol, jealous behavior, reader is in a relationship with another woman at one point, absurd amounts of plot, the 2nd half will have all the smut. Banter, Tsukki is kinda mean but he's also pining like crazy. Morally questionable bc they're siblings outside of that it's pretty fluffy, light angst throughout. Switch reader and Kei, they both have moments on top and on bottom, Kei in particular is pretty subby tho...kind of degrading, but he also praises you, theres a lot of back and forth tbh.

Excerpt: He mirrors your blink, cat-like. “We’re helping him move, he said he’d need some help driving his things to the apartment.”

“Apartment?” You echo, stunned fully awake. “He’s moving?”

Hinata freezes, just as Kei is coming up the stairs. While slow at first, the footsteps hasten when the sharp crack of your voice pitches even higher. He stumbles up to the top step, sweaty and clearly having been busy for longer than you’ve been awake. His face pales several shades when he first catches sight of you, the tears welling up in your eyes, the panicked look Hinata wears. “Fuck. Wait, don’t–”

Twenty-two steps from one end of the hall to the other. Seventeen from the stairs to your room, it only takes Kei nine to reach you, choking on an apology that he’s never given you before.

It only takes two for you to slam and lock the door.

--

In which, your brother Kei comes to learn and love you in a multitude of different ways.

It's only at the beginning of your first year of high school that your brother realizes you're upset with him. 

What he doesn’t realize is that you’ve been upset with him, for a long fucking time.

Kei wouldn’t know that though, because you hardly ever even see him unless it’s at the dinner table, or when you go to his games because unlike him, you’re a good sibling and want to support your family.  

You know it’s because of school, because he’s getting ready for college and adulting, and the part of you that will always love your brother is just glad that he’s happy playing volleyball again. 

It’s just that, you wish he didn’t have to leave you behind for it to happen. 

Even when he’d shut out Akiteru, he’d never been so cold towards you. He’d hold your hand on the walk to school, study with you when you needed the help, and he’d let you stay in his room to watch him play games or to read on your own if you wanted.

He was the type of brother to be mean to you if you annoyed him, but would always let you crawl beneath his arm after, all while you complained that he needed to be nicer to you. 

You would take the bullying again if it meant he would at least look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. 

It’s worse as you near the end of your last year in junior high, when you go to Kei for help with studying for your exams and he brushes you aside. You’ve been festering with it for so long that it nearly boils over just as he closes the door in your face, but you keep it simmered, keep it contained. 

Akiteru helps you instead. On top of a full-time job, a fiance, and a healthy social life, Akiteru always makes time for you.

The topic doesn’t stay on exams, though. He was going to ask eventually, but he can tell by your grumpy, clipped answers that he won’t get much out of you, the wound is still too raw. 

“You should talk to him, you know.” He muses, turning a page in your textbook. “Kei loves you, he just doesn’t know how to balance growing up with everything else, but if you tell him how you feel I’m sure he’ll find a way to compromise.”  

You think, quite honestly, that trying to talk to Kei about how you feel would be the worst possible thing to do. If he can’t find the time to help with something as important as final exams, there’s no point in trying to make him listen to feelings he won’t care about. 

When you tell him as much, resting your head on folded arms as if that will obscure the way your face twists, Akiteru gives a wry smile and rubs your back, silently marveling at the stubbornness of both of his younger siblings, and how different they are besides. 

Still, the Tsukishimas are nothing if not good at repressing their emotions. You’re determined to act like everything is fine, like it doesn’t hurt every time you catch his eye and he looks away. It’ll be easy.

Or, maybe it might have been, if you had considered that the reason Kei was able to stay so oblivious is exactly because he never saw you. You’ve never been a quiet little sister, even in temporary silence your anger is loud. 

--

So of course, he figures it out on your first day.

You can hear, as you’re getting dressed, your mom’s voice through your door, asking Kei to walk you to school since you don’t know the way. As you lean closer to hear how he responds, something ugly twists in your chest when he sighs out a quietly exasperated agreement. Like you’re a chore. 

Unsurprisingly, this is a less than ideal start to your morning. 

Smoothing down the fabric of your skirt, you step out of your room and peer down the hall, finding that he’s already waiting by the front door, with his headphones pulled up over his ears and his phone in hand. There’s no way to slip past him without being seen, so you suffer out a quiet groan and resign yourself to just having a bad first day. 

He says nothing when you walk over to put your shoes on, eyes on the screen in his hands until you step outside, and then he’s following you onto the porch after shutting the door on his way out.

Contrary to the stormy cloud brewing above your head, it’s a nice morning. A little chilly, but the sky is clear and still tinted pink from the vestiges of an early dawn, thin wispy clouds that are lower near the horizon line. 

Maybe if you were with anyone else, it would be a nice walk. Side by side with your brother, dealing with first day jitters, a cool new uniform, it should be nice. Pretty skies, family, memories. 

And yet, for all your effort to try being positive, all it takes is one passing remark. 

“I have practice today.” He drawls, unknowingly lighting a well-fueled ticking bomb. “So if you don’t want to walk home alone, ask mom to come pick you up after school.”

The flimsy, brittle, translucent facade shatters. 

“Fuck off.” 

It’s hard and cold, bitter, the consonants sharp and the vowels short. Clipped, like how he talks to you, though your voice carries a whole lot of vitriol compared to his monotone, and it is most definitely not positive.  

He stops, reaching out to catch you by the elbow when you make to keep walking past him. “What?” 

You try to pull your arm away, but his fingers curl in the thin material of your sleeve, tight, and he steps closer. Insufferably tall, towering over you, brow pinched with vague annoyance in his eyes. 

“Let go.” You’re being petulant, you know you are, but something petty cinches in your chest, spite that clips your voice and keeps it sharp.  

Akiteru doesn’t push you when you get upset, he’s used to Kei shutting him down and you being the type to want space, so he’s careful around the lines of your boundaries and treats them kindly. 

You’re mom’s third teenager, she’s learned at this point what the specific kinds of bad behavior are to watch out for, and beyond that she’ll wait it out until you’re ready to talk. 

Kei, who would rather avoid any and all forms of confrontation, has never been the type to back off and let you wait it out. Probably the only one who knows that you can’t stand being left to sit in bad feelings, but always lack the initiative to reach out. 

Still, even though he knows, that’s not to say he isn’t sometimes cruel about it. 

“Something you need to say?” He taunts, mean and low, eyes narrowed thin behind the glint of his glasses. “What, have I not been giving my precious baby sister enough attention? Is taking all of Akiteru’s free time not enough for you?” 

It cuts, and he knows it does the moment his lips form the shape of Akiteru’s name, when your eyes blow wide and then become glassy.

“Oh you are such a dick!” You hiss, shoving him back and he goes, both shocked at the sight of your tears and the vitriol he had just spit in your direction. 

It wouldn’t be clear to anyone on the outside looking in, but Kei has doted on you since you were a baby. In his own way, with silent affection that nobody but family could pick up on. Always saving the best parts of a dessert for you, finding the last snack in a box and taking it to your room so someone else couldn’t get it first, snatching your homework from the dining room table and going over the answers to make sure you got everything right. 

Even with the distance, the exhaustion, the stress of growing into a body that felt too big to fit him, he loved you, it just got muddled along the way with the pile-up of everything else. Never the breadth of mind to spare a thought for how his reclusiveness might’ve pushed you away. 

The apology is locked behind his tongue, you can almost see it, the way his eyes turn mournful in a way only you could recognize, but you see his lips press thin to keep the ‘sorry’ from tumbling out, and it only fans the flames of your hurt, your anger. 

You push past him with the glare of tears in your eyes, aching with it, your heart like a hot iron in your chest. It burns, it burns. And he does nothing to put it out. 

The rest of the walk is bitterly silent, too much distance between you, and the lingering hope you’d tried so hard to stifle withers. 

–

Against all assumed odds, your day does get better from there. 

Some of your friends from Amemaru are in your class, so you have a small group to immerse yourself in and to help you forget your earlier spat. They keep you distracted, and you’re so busy trying to retain the layout of the building that you don’t have much time to think about everything else. There’s too much new, too many things to learn and new faces that are so much older than those that you’re used to seeing. The teachers are patient when you stop to ask for directions, and there are already clubs being advertised by the time you go to eat lunch.  

It’s so busy. 

You run into Kei only once in the hallways, with his headphones on and a familiar figure at his side. Yamaguchi. 

He perks up at the sight of you, and you can’t fight back a smile when he swoops across the hallway to greet you. 

“Tadashi!” You crow, arms looping around his neck as nearly slams into you with a breathy laugh. You squeeze him, the soft scent of vanilla in his clothes is comforting, familiar. As busy as Kei, you don’t get to see him often either, but it’s always nice when he stops by to visit. 

“Hey! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to walk with you this morning, glad you made it here safe.” He grins down at you, bright-eyed and beaming. He’s grown his hair out since you last saw him, half of it pulled back out of his face with a clip, freckles darker and plentiful like constellations on his cheeks.

“S’ok, you can walk with me instead next time.” You ignore the narrowed eyes of your brother, the way he slinks up behind Tadashi and towers over you both with that familiar grumpy scowl, silent if not for the way his face screams ‘you will not be walking with my sister.’  

“How is your first day going?” Tadashi pokes gently, seemingly aware of the tension and carefully trying to maneuver around it. “Do you need any help getting around? We have some time before–” 

You wave him off, smile a touch wry. “I’ve been asking around for directions, you don’t have to waste time helping me. Thanks, though.” 

Tadashi frowns, lips pursed a little as he gently flicks your forehead. “It’s not a waste.” He points out, soft. “Let us know if you need anything, it's what we’re here for.” 

Your smile wobbles, something shaky, and you can see the alarm in both of their faces before you’re turning away. “Yeah.” 

It’s short and curt, and you know Tadashi deserves better than a flimsy response like that, but you can’t think with Kei’s eyes on you like this, not with the venom in his voice still so clearly etched into your mind

Fingers curl around your wrist, long and lithe, but Kei doesn’t speak. He holds you in place, words heavy on his tongue but refusing to come out, and he doesn’t fight it when you break away. 

– 

You hate that he’s paying more attention, now. 

Ever since he figured out that you were mad at him, that you’ve been mad at him, he’s been more present in your daily life. Instead of staying holed up in his room, he’ll study in the kitchen with you. When Akiteru comes home to visit, he’ll venture out into the living room and begrudgingly talk shop with him about volleyball while you stay curled up on the couch listening. It’s a development your mother is pleased with, cooing over how happy she is that Kei is around more and that you’re getting along again. 

But you’re determined not to give in, petty and spiteful and ultimately, too hurt to accept the bare minimum. 

He’s getting frustrated, you can tell, that you still treat him as coldly and distantly as always. It had never bothered him before when he wasn’t around to realize it, throwing himself into books or late-night practices that would end with him coming home long after you were in bed. He never had to see the results of your deteriorating relationship, always turning away before your face could fall, always pulling on his headphones just before your voice could crack.  

Before the game against Shiratorizawa in his first year, he had still made time for you. Back when he was trying to pretend that he didn’t care about his progress, about his performance in a temporary club. You had hated it, then, hated that he would downplay his passion in favor of something safe and secure, hated that he was so quick to give up on himself for fear of getting hurt. 

That single block had changed everything for him. You even got to watch firsthand as it happened, with Akiteru bawling on the ground floor harassing some poor security guard about his little brother, you screaming in the stands even though he would certainly kill you if he knew. Kei fell in love with volleyball, he let himself fall in love with volleyball. 

And after that, he gave it everything, dedicating all of himself to the sport that consumed him, that flamed his passion, and he had to spend every free moment outside of that with his face in a book to ensure he didn’t fall behind in his studies. Less time spent with you on the couch, watching nature documentaries just so he could tell you all about how things had evolved compared to prehistoric eras, no more late nights where you would sneak into his room and read on his bed while he played games on a handheld beside you. He never had time. 

You love him, love that he’s finally letting himself be passionate about something, you just wish that it hadn’t come at the expense of your relationship with him. 

It took him over three years to finally realize that you were hurting, only when he was forced to see it firsthand, when you could no longer bite your tongue. Your pride won’t let you cave so easily. 

He knows, though. Kei knows better than anyone how to soften you, how to manage your moods. 

It starts small and unobtrusive, knowing you need to be warmed up to larger shows of affection when you’re feeling defensive and cornered. 

He brings home snacks for you, on the days when his practice runs longer. 

The first one is a surprise, a small knock at your door that you answer offhand, thinking it’s just mom. You don’t know how to feel when Kei walks in instead, hair still wet from his shower, glasses missing, changed out of his uniform into dark blue pajamas. 

Wordless, he comes over and sets a paper bag down on your desk, half-torn sticker from a nearby cafe on the side. Waiting, then, almost uncertainly, eyes watching for your reaction. 

When you don’t give him one beyond a tilt of your head and a small ‘hey, thanks.’ his brow furrows, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he shifts in place, agitated. 

He leaves, door clicking quietly behind him, and you pull the bag into your lap to peer inside. A warm apple pastry, significantly less warm you imagine than when he got it. An effort, clearly, but you only roll your eyes and wonder if he really thought buying you a dessert would make up for it. 

Apparently not, as it becomes a semi-regular occurrence. At first you would eat the treats with little to no problem, waiting to see if maybe he’d give up and stop buying you things that you clearly don’t appreciate. 

It escalates instead. 

He comes home earlier one day, finds you sprawled on the couch with a movie playing quietly in the background, and goes to drop his things off in his room before joining you. 

When he stops to stand near where your head is propped up by a throw pillow, you crane your head back to squint up at him. 

“What? Dinner is in the fridge, mom made kimchi-jjigae.” 

He scowls, entirely heatless, and moves towards the other end of the couch, lifting your legs so he can sit and then letting them fall back in his lap. You go rigid in your spot, bringing your knees up to your chest to get out of his space, but his fingers curl tight over your calves and keep you there, long and lithe and rough with calluses.

His fingertips ghost over your ankle, such a subtle caress that it almost makes you gasp. Your skin prickles, flushed with heat as you press your hands together and tuck them beneath your head, trying to focus on the movie and not the feeling of his hands on you.  

He skims the ridge up his knuckles up your calf, a long, slow drag that beckons you to stretch out, to relax, but you remain a coiled ball of anxiety for the rest of the movie. 

And somehow that turns into another weird semi-routine. It’s not often he gets home from practice early enough that you haven’t already gone to bed, but when he can he’ll sit with you like that. 

Neither of you talk, he doesn’t force you to break the silence but there are times when you can’t avoid it, no matter how much you wish you could. 

Unfortunately, Kei is better at taking notes than you are, so you have to go to him for help when you realize the notes you did take don’t actually help when you need to study. 

That’s the worst, when there’s no one left to turn to because mom doesn’t speak much English and Tadashi knows about as much as you, even in his third year. Kei is the only option you have. 

He doesn’t hold it over you, like you’d expect. When you shuffle up to his room with your pride squeezed into a locked box, knocking at his door with your textbooks in hand. He lets you in, lets you sit on his bed while he’s in his computer chair, and he helps you go through the vocabulary you don’t understand. He’s patient with you, shows you where you went wrong in your notetaking and he’s so casual about it even while you’re awkward and stiff and nervous. He doesn’t complain when you leave his room without thanking him, and he doesn’t complain when you come back a week later for the same thing. 

You’re waiting for that smug little smile, that gleam in his eyes that means he thinks he’s won something, but it never shows. Kei, who has never been one to take things slow with you, is patient in the way he coaxes you back to him, even when it’s clear that he’s getting frustrated. 

The stalemate breaks when he finds out you’ve started spending less time with Akiteru, though. 

Even though you know it was just Kei being petty, his comment about you taking all of your older brother’s time stung, and you haven’t quite been able to stop thinking about it.

So you stopped reaching out. Fewer daily calls, no more asking him to come over every weekend, and apparently that news made it back to Kei when Akiteru expressed his concern that something was happening to you at school. You never told him about the fight on your first day.

Kei is the only one who understands the correlation, knows it was his own spiteful words that caused you to withdraw. Seclusion doesn’t suit you, he thinks. Not like it suits him. 

–

The sharp crack of your door as it’s yanked open startles you, heart in your throat as your book tumbles over the edge of your bed. You blink up at the glowering figure in your doorway, shocked at the intensity of his frustration and immediately clamming up, drawn in tight as you glare simply as though that will stop you getting hurt by whatever he’s about to say. 

Initially, your first thought is that he’s finally gotten fed up with your attitude, and now he’s come to yell at you and tell you to stop being such a brat. You brace for it, chin lifted high with a false confidence you do not feel, readying yourself with every possible complaint you’ve saved up ever since that first day where you knocked on your big brother’s door and asked him to come out and spend time with you, only to be told to go away. 

“Akiteru is worried.” 

You deflate, like a balloon poked with scissors, and roll onto your side to face the wall. “I’ll call ‘im.” You mumble, if only to get him out of your room. 

It doesn’t work, and he comes closer, quiet as he walks across your floor to sit beside you, mattress dipping beneath his weight. 

After a beat, he sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, water welling up, catching on your lashes. “No you aren’t.” 

“I am.” He insists, crawling fully into the bed with you, long body tucked around your own as he curls himself against your back. Finally broken, then. “I know why you’re upset, sorry it took me so long to realize.” He pauses, and, softer– “Shouldn’t have taken you snapping at me to notice you were hurting.” 

“It shouldn’t have.” You agree, bitter, feeling his arm slip around your middle to pull you back into his chest. 

This is new, Kei even as a kid has never been very physically affectionate. You can feel his heart, the way it's pounding against your shoulder blade, his fingers trembling as they curl into your shirt. His knees press in behind yours, your body curving further as he forces you into a ball. A side of him you’re not supposed to see, your big brother being vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, mouth at the nape of your neck, holding you even tighter. 

Your mouth is dry, heart suddenly synced with his, feeling strangely like a line is being crossed that you hadn’t even known was drawn in the first place. His hand splays wide over your belly, palm warm as it presses you somehow even closer, bigger than you remember, different. 

“What will it take for you to forgive me?” He asks, nosing into your hair, you can almost feel the way his lips twitch into a smile. “I’m already buying you dessert almost every day, do you want more? Want me to pick up your favorite dinner too?”

His fingers curve inwards, then, and you realize a second too late what his plan is. 

You’re helplessly pinned against him when he starts to tickle you, free hand clapping over your mouth to muffle the way you shriek at the first twitchy pass of his fingertips, shoving your shirt up so the cold digits feather over your bare skin. You kick and twist and lick a wet stripe up the hand over your mouth, but he’s wholly undeterred, relentless. 

“Such a brat, wouldn’t even talk to me about how upset you were, had to wait until I finally caught on, huh? So petty.” He’s mocking you now, one heavy leg pressing both of yours down when you try to kick away from him again, unperturbed by the way you try to mouth at his hand in an attempt to bite. 

It’s unbearable, the way his fingers dapple over your ribcage, purposefully needling at you until you’re squealing and tears are spilling down your cheeks, wrenching your mouth away from his wet palm to suck in a breath, nearly sobbing with the cackle of your laughter. It devolves quickly into wheezing, breath stuck in your throat, the resistance melting away as you struggle for air.

It’s only then that he stops, smoothing his hand up and down your side as if to ease the torture he just put you through, soothing you while you slowly calm down. 

Like an emotional release, you slump into him, murmuring quietly when he tucks his face against your neck again, breathing with him pressed behind you. 

“You’re a dick.” You mutter, voice raspy. 

He sighs, soft and slow, nodding. “I know.” 

“I’m still mad at you.” 

“I know.”��

Your eyes water, and he turns you around, finding you pliable now that the ice has been shattered. You curl your hands into the space between you as he guides you into his arms properly, legs tangled together, your face tucked against his neck while he cups the back of your head to keep you there. 

“Don’t want your pity.” You mutter, blinking back tears as the scent of him bleeds into your clothes, his bare skin hot as your cheek presses against his collar bones. It’s uncomfortable, but you missed him, missed this. You’ve been so prickly for so long that you haven’t let anyone else come close. 

He snorts, exhaling a fondly exasperated breath that ruffles your hair. “It’s not pity, quit with that.” He squeezes you once, tight until you squawk in protest, then teases– “When did my baby sister get so stubborn?” 

His fingers twitch traitorously close to your stomach, and you hiss and burrow yourself closer, wrapping yourself around him and pressing into the cradle of his body so he can’t get to your ticklish spots. His chuckle is low, vibrating through his chest, and he returns to rubbing your back, pushing inward at the small of it to keep you close, almost like he needs the comfort as much as you do. 

Sometimes Kei makes it easy to forget that he has a different way of wanting, of needing. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might miss you too, but after so much time that he might not know how to reach out as you grew in his absence.

You soften, unwillingly, as he buries himself against you, walls finally cracking. You can feel it in how tight he holds you, the way he presses his nose into your hair and breathes, warm hands stroking from the base of your spine to your shoulder blades, just touching you, feeling you. 

“Missed you.” You murmur, barely a whisper. 

He sighs, warm against your throat, and curls himself over you a little more. It’s not out loud, the way he tells you, he can never say it out loud. But, he does tell you that he missed you too in how he holds you ‘till you fall asleep, the way he strokes your hair with gentle fingers careful not to tug or snag, and the way he’s so careful to keep his hips from rocking into you when he starts to thicken and twitch against his thigh. You don’t get to see the shame on his face, the twist to his brow, the grit to his jaw as he keeps himself in check, furious at himself for the shocking intensity of these feelings. It’s just that–

He just–

He just loves you a lot. 

–

Kei doesn’t find much more time to come around other than what he already had, but he texts you more. Small comments between classes. He’ll tell you to fix your skirt or your tie even when he hasn’t even seen you in the halls, just to make you double check because he knows it makes you pissy. During lunch he swings by your room to make sure you’re eating, never longer than it takes to poke his head in, find you seated with your friends, and then leave. 

You start going to his games again, at first secretly because he’d told you and Akiteru not to come, but he caught you one too many times trying to sneak away after, and gave up on stopping you.

The wins are easy, when he comes off the court sweaty and breathless but smiling with his eyes in his own way, when he catches you in his arms as you hurl yourself at him directly from the sidelines. 

The losses are harder, when he’s prickly and sharp, when he doesn’t want anyone to come too close and you have to approach him gently, when he’s alone, and only then can you try to make an attempt at offering him any sort of comfort. 

It’s a year that goes by too quickly, easily, as you settle into the life of a high school student. Kei helps you study for your tests, even gives you his old notes to use and sits with you in your room while studying for his own. He’s preparing for graduation, for college, and you still have two more years to go. 

He’s taller, broad, no longer so lanky and lithe. He gets more attention from the girls in other classes, girls in your classes, and you have to adjust to a new problem. 

People asking for you to get closer to your brother. A star on the volleyball team, and one of the tallest guys in the whole school. People always noticed, but now they have another way to get to him other than through Tadashi. 

The first time it happens, you’re almost too baffled to react, when you’re approached by a second year with pretty dark hair and a sweet smile. Shyly, scuffing her shoe across the tile floor with her hands pressed together, she asks you if you would be willing to give her Kei’s number so she can ask him out. 

You’re so startled that you laugh. A bit loud, a bit mean, maybe, but thinking of the face he’d make after receiving her text nearly puts you into hysterics. 

“Try asking him directly.” You suggest, after catching your breath and drying your eyes. “He’s not the type to like someone sneaking around like that, asking for his number behind his back would just put him off.” 

Her face flushes red, but you’re too busy snickering as you wander towards the front gate where Kei is waiting to walk you home, you don’t see her embarrassment or take note of the harshness of your words. 

You’re grinning when you walk up to him, and he’s immediately wary. 

“What?” He eyes you suspiciously, automatic as he reaches out to relieve you of your school bag. 

Your grin widens, all teeth like a shark. “A girl tried to use me to ask you out.” 

He blanches, brow pinched low as his nose scrunches up. “Seriously?” 

You nod, starting off down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your skirt pockets. “Wanted me to give her your number, I told her to just ask you directly since it would be kinda weird to do that behind someone's back.” You shrug, kicking at a loose rock to send it skipping down the pavement. “Don’t you ever give some random person my number, I’ll kill you.” 

Kei scoffs, shoulder checking you and smirking when it nearly sends you careening dramatically off to the side, righting you with a hand at your elbow. “I wouldn’t even without you threatening me, you’re not that scary.” 

“Say that when I break into your room in the middle of the night, and stand over your bed like the grudge.” You mutter, low beneath your breath, ignoring the way he laughs out loud at your quiet threat. It’s a cheery sound, one you usually only get to hear when he’s being mean spirited to other people. 

He pulls at you, then, tucking you roughly beneath his arm so he can drag you along in an attempt to get home quicker, chucking quietly beneath his breath and telling you that– “next time that happens, just tell them I said no. I wouldn’t want to make my baby sister jealous.”

You’re sure that there will not even be a next time. Your brother might objectively be attractive, but he’s mean when he’s comfortable, pokes and pulls and teases and he grins when you get so mad at him that your eyes water.

He’s not hard to love, but he’s sure as hell hard to like. 

–

So of course, when it happens again, you’re far less amused. 

A crowd of girls who stop you during lunch while you’re at the vending machines to buy a snack. They press in close, blocking your exit so your back is to the wall, and they ask with sickly sweet smiles if Kei has a girlfriend.

You tell them yes, and they ask you who, which is the second red flag you need to get the hell out. They pout when you try to slip between them, but follow when you make to go down the hall, trying to weasel personal information out of you until one of Kei’s teammates, Hinata, sees you and breaks through the crowd to say hi. 

It’s evident by the cautious glint in his eyes that it’s not as accidental an intervention as it appears, taking quick stock of the situation and dragging you out before it can spiral.

And every time after that, you just get more and more annoyed. Your responses are shorter, clipped, final exams are rapidly approaching and you only have so much time with Kei to study while he’s preparing to go to nationals. Wasting time being accosted in the hallways after school when you could be going home is not ideal, and you’re fed up with it. 

So after school, once you’re safely inside his bedroom, you throw your bag onto his bed. “You need to get a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or just a romantic partner in general.” 

He chokes on his water, staring at you with wide eyes as it dribbles down his chin, open-mouthed and his brows arched high. “What?”

You flop down on his bed, dragging your bag to your side so you can rifle through it for your notes. “I’m tired of people harassing me about getting in your pants, has this always been a thing or did you just get popular this year?” You scoff, sitting up and throwing him the notebook he’d left with your bag. It hits him in the chest and falls to the floor, with him making no attempt to catch it. 

His eyes narrow. “People are still bothering you?” 

Another long, drawn out groan. “Different every time, I think. They’re starting to blur together. I just started making stuff up and even that wasn’t enough.” You grin, then, a little teasing as you flutter your lashes at him. “You’re a pretty face, sure, but that personality is so awful I bet it would take one conversation before they run for the hills. Maybe I should just start sending them to you directly so they leave me alone.” 

“Don’t you dare.” He joins you on the bed, reluctantly and with a pointed glare, and sits shoulder to shoulder with you so he can knock into you gently from the side. Books spread out, he passes your notes to you and starts on his own, already tuning you out for whatever retort you might have.

It’s an unnecessary demand, you wouldn’t really do that to him anyway. Kei gets overstimulated easily in social situations, and as annoying as he is, you handle people much better. If you have to endure the brunt of this so he doesn’t have to, you will, but he better be willing to listen to you complain about it. 

He says his thanks afterwards, after you’ve half drifted off while writing out equations with too many steps. You slump against him, head resting against his bicep, and he shifts to let you fall into his chest instead, arm wrapping around your shoulders to draw you in. He’s still reading, having more to go over in his curriculum than you do, but it’s easier with the comfort of you nearby. He says his thanks in the kiss he presses to your hair, the way he carefully straightens out your legs so they aren’t sore by the time you get up, how finally, late in the night, he tucks you into his own bed, and rolls out his futon to sleep on the floor. 

A quiet type of love, subtle, something that seeps into your bones down to the marrow, the way he loves you. From behind, protective in his silence, the looming of his presence and the sharpness of his glare. From afar, watching through the glass of a window as you’re dragged along by your friends to sit outside, watching as you bathe in the sun and laugh, making memories with those close to you all while he watches from a classroom, unknowingly sharing in those memories with you. 

He loves you from the floor, curled up with his teeth sinking into the fluff of his pillow, hand cupped loose between his legs and trying so hard to resist the temptation to relieve the ache there. He loves you in how he holds himself back. 

If anyone asked about the percentage of effort that Tsukishima Kei puts into different things, there would be a few categories. Volleyball, which gets a hundred percent of his effort about half of the time. His education, which gets a hundred percent for the other half of his time. 

And the last category would be the effort in which Kei puts into loving you like a normal brother should, a hundred percent of his complete, undivided focus, for a hundred and one percent of the time. He loves you the way that is clean, normal, accepted, and he doesn’t waver.

No matter the temptation. Not when he rubs his thumb against your bottom lip to chase away the remnants of a dessert, telling himself that it’s because it’s his job as your brother to keep you from making a mess of yourself. Not because he wants to touch you, needs to touch you. 

Not when you’re sitting next to him to watch a movie and he’s overthinking putting his arm around you. Akiteru does it, you do it, and it would be normal if it wasn’t him, but he wants to. 

And he shouldn’t, because if he lets himself have even that much, he’ll never stop wanting more. 

So he’ll play the role he was given. Born to be your family, he thinks fate just fucked up by letting him love you the way he does. He resigns himself to the part of ‘big brother Kei,’ a name that will stick to him like tar for the rest of his life. 

–

You pass with high marks on your exams, so high that your mother insists on taking you all out for a nice dinner. 

Honestly, you’d be happy to celebrate by sleeping in, but it gives mom an excuse to dress nice and she’s been working hard lately to give you and Kei the chance to focus on studying, you think this might be just as much for her as it is for you.

You dress up a little, slacks and a nice shirt, warm-pressed and unbuttoned low to the hollow of your throat. Kei matches you, accidentally, though his shirt is a dark green. You grin at him, unperturbed when he rolls his eyes and goes downstairs. 

“Akiteru is waiting for us there, but he’ll be coming home with us.” Mom hums, slipping in a pair of earrings that sparkle, her hair loosely curled with a dusting of blush high on her cheeks. 

Your snarky grin softens, watching her twist in front of the mirror hung up in the hallway, where Kei comes up from behind her and holds her hair out of the way so she can actually snap the piercing shut. 

“Thank you, dear.” She pats him once on the shoulder, having to tilt her head back just to look up at him properly. “I swear, you get taller every time I turn around.” She remarks, dry, before reaching for her purse on the couch. 

“I can whack him in the kneecaps, might knock him down by a foot or two.” You pretend not to notice as he whips around to face you, you can practically hear his sharp retort already so you hurry to follow your mom as she heads out to the car, Kei right behind, grumbling beneath his breath. 

Mom lets you pick the music that plays during the drive, which is moot because Kei has his earbuds in and she’ll listen to anything, but you take the chance to show her a few new songs on your phone that you’d found recently, and she shimmies a little in her seat with you in a makeshift dance as you lip sync along to each one. 

It’s nice, playful, you’ve been so high-strung about tests and notes that you haven’t been able to let loose much, and as you catch the smile curling on your mom’s mouth and hear the quiet, muffled chuckles from your brother in the seat behind you, you finally feel like the hard part is over. Safe to let down your guard, to stop dreading the next incoming paper or assignment due. 

Akiteru is indeed waiting for you, not inside like you expect, but out in the parking lot with a bright smile splitting across his face. The car has barely rolled to a stop before he’s opening the door, looping his arms around you to pull you in for a hug. 

You’re laughing, half-squealing as he drags you out of your seat and practically bends his spine to wrap himself around you. “I’m so proud!!” He chokes, face wet with tears even though he’d already cried for half an hour when you first called to tell him you passed everything with top marks. 

“You already said that.” Kei intones, slowly unfolding himself from the back and straightening up, grimacing as he rubs the side of his neck. “A lot, actually.” 

“And he’ll say it again, I’m sure.” Mom agrees, sidling up to the three of you with her phone out for pictures. Akiteru keeps you pinned against his side before you can try to break away, his other arm stretching out to wave Kei closer. 

After a clear conflict of interests, the second sibling finally joins the group hug, long arm wrapped around Akiteru’s back so his hand hovers over the base of your spine, warm through the thin material of your button down. 

Once she’s gotten her fill of taking pictures, you take the phone from her and then pull her in, flipping the camera around and stretching your arm out to fit the four of you in the frame. Mom laughs, breathy, and smiles big when you take the shot, Akiteru pressing in close so his chin is on your shoulder, Kei in the background hovering like a gargoyle. 

You snicker, and then hand the phone back after sending a copy of it to yourself for later. 

The restaurant is nice, if a little pricier than you’re used to, you find yourself sticking close to Akiteru as you’re guided to a table. He smiles down at you, a hand on your shoulder that squeezes when you get too tense, reminding you silently to ease up. 

With you and Akiteru on one side, Kei and mom on the other, you’re tucked securely against the wall with a menu propped up over your face to hide the way your eyes blink heavy with fatigue. 

They tease you when you inevitably doze off at the table, nearly face planting the glass of bubbly juice that Kei had ordered for you because you hadn’t responded when the waiter asked. 

Dinner is mainly spent with Akiteru catching you all up on various things since you and Kei have been buried in books, and mom prefers to just listen while she eats. There’s the gentle clink of glass and ceramic as dishes are passed around, a bowl of warm rice in your hands that smells a little floral, a little sweet.

Kei doesn’t complain when you steal the last of his tempura, but he’s quick to get revenge in the form of scooping up the final few bites of your cake while you’re distracted with your drink. You kick at him beneath the table, Akiteru quietly scolds you, and your mom watches with a serene smile on her face, chin in hand while the three of you bicker until it’s time to leave.  

So Akiteru can sit up front with mom, you slide into the back seat with Kei. Full and happy, you settle in with no complaints. 

And when he shifts, leans a little closer and lifts his arm in a silent invitation, you take it happily and curl up against his side. He rests his head atop of yours when you lower it to his shoulder, oddly affectionate, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin at the bend of your elbow. 

He lets you cuddle in close, silent even when you keep moving around and knock the glasses from his face, he simply puts them aside and presses his cheek to crown of your head. 

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep like that, and it takes even less time for your mother to speak up, barely a whisper. 

“Have you told her yet? About college?” 

A soft, wistful sigh. “Not yet.” 

Akiteru tsks quietly, a disapproving and worried frown reflected back in the rearview mirror. “You know she won’t like finding out at the last minute that you’re leaving. It will be easier if you tell her before you have to go” He gives a rueful smile, reminiscing. “It’s always worse when your little sibling finds out you’ve been hiding something from them, even more if they find out from somewhere other than you.” 

He knows. Akiteru knows that he knows, too. But as Kei looks down at you, your hand fisted in the dark material of his slacks, straining against the restrictive hold of the seat belt just to lean into him, he knows that this is different. More than a brother just leaving his sister at home. 

It hurts so much more, in too many ways that it shouldn’t. 

–

Karasuno vs. Itachiyama. 

Every scored point, no matter the side, feels like a kick to the gut. You’re on edge, hands gripping hot metal rails until your fingers ache as you watch the game from the stands. 

If they win this match, they’ll only have two more until they win Nationals. You can see it in every one of them, how they chase after each wayward ball as though their literal life hinges on it. Hinata is a monster, everywhere on the court that he can be, boundless energy that seems to push the rest of his team on even when they want to collapse. Kageyama is pushed further, dragged by the energy of their decoy, exhausted but still at the peak of his game. Tadashi, the captain, a sturdy presence that eases the younger members of their team, Yachi on the sidelines cheering until surely her throat is hoarse. 

Kei. Their strategy, controlling the moves of his spikers to manipulate the other side, chasing after the ball until there’s nowhere left for it to go. Giving it his all.

You think back to the beginning, when you were still waddling beside your mother as she brought you to your big brother's first middle school game. Deceptively uncaring, you could see beneath the facade even then, the tiniest grit to his jaw as he pushed himself to do better, to be better with every missed block. 

Now it’s a face he wears openly, the raw determination to be faster, stronger, no longer locked behind a mask of disinterest. He thrives, he flies. 

They lose. 

Ranked third in the nation, still such a long way from where they started, and yet still not enough. They won’t get to be on the court the longest. 

Kei is inconsolable. Impassive, stone-faced as they load up the van for the drive back to Karasuno. He doesn’t look at you, but you’ve come to know what to expect for his losses. 

You greet everyone else first, taking a red-faced Hinata into your arms, rubbing between Kageyama’s shoulder blades while he hunches over, fists to his eyes, lips pulled between his teeth.

The loss gets harder the higher they climb, the fall sharper, more lethal. To come so far and still fail is the most exquisite kind of agony. 

Tadashi wears a confident smile, comforting the second and first years while assuring them that next year, they’ll make it even further. His eyes are red-rimmed, face a little puffy, and you know how badly he wishes that this year they’d be going even further. 

Kei gives you nothing, barely a tilt of his head in your direction before he’s on the bus, headphones up and music loud. You stay there until the rest of the team joins him, waving from the parking lot as they begin the ride home, and you trudge back to the front of the stadium to meet up with Akiteru. It’s a quiet drive, both of you understanding in different ways the pain your brother is going through right now. 

He waits until you’re in the driveway to speak. 

“He won’t let me comfort him.” A soft beginning, not so pained as it used to be. “I’ll leave him to you, okay? Leave everything else to me, just be there for him.” 

“Always.” You croak, because there’s not a single other thing you could imagine doing, not while Kei needs you.  

He hugs you tight, grasping at the back of your head and pressing his forehead to yours with a shaky sigh. Something unspoken, soft, a secret held back, before he’s giving you a chaste kiss to the temple and shooing you out of the car so he can go hunting for Kei’s favorite dessert at so late an hour. 

You go to your room first, changing into pajamas and plugging your phone in to charge, then you move to Kei’s. Crawling onto his bed, you tuck yourself beneath his covers and wait, face buried in his pillow and head fuzzy with his scent. 

It’s no real surprise that you end up dozing off, only awoken by the quiet click of the door as it's pushed shut. The lights are still off, but you can hear him, the wet, heavy sound of his breathing, choked like his throat is too tight, clogged with emotions. He drops his things, falls to his knees on the mattress, searching blindly, then you’re up and moving towards him. 

He sobs into your neck, a broken sound, as you pull him back and lock your arms around him. Kei curls into you, hard shudders that shake him no matter how tightly you squeeze. He clings to you, hands at your sides, fingers curling against your ribs and tugging on your shirt to coax you closer. 

You weren’t prepared for this kind of reaction. 

At the most, he’s let you hold him a little while he tries to distract himself by doing something else, or he sits with you listening to music while you do homework. Tense and always pained with the loss, but more at ease in your company. Never this open, never this raw, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him cry before. 

You wrap yourself around him as much as you can, slotting your leg between his to press in close, pushing forward into the dip he creates as he bends. It’s a stretch, almost uncomfortable, but you feel the way he shivers and hugs onto you tighter as you move, pressing you in with a hand at your waist until you’re fully entwined. 

Another sharp, ragged sob, lips wet against your collar as he tries to muffle it, tries to keep himself quiet, contained. 

You coo at him, a hand between his shoulder blades, the other at the back of his head, fingers threading through the hair at his nape to keep him from pulling away in shame. It’s not a form of comfort you’re used to offering, Akiteru was never the type to let you see him in any other state than happy when growing up, and Kei was more than content to keep most of his emotions locked away, spurning most forms of physical affection. This is new, uncharted territory, even touchy as you are, Kei is only ever willing to endure so much before pushing you away. 

He doesn’t this time, though. He stays in your arms and cries until he can’t, and then he stays wrapped up in you until he falls asleep. Breaths evened out, a slackened grip, he nuzzles into your neck and makes a soft, sleepy sort of hum that nearly has you jaw-dropped and gasping. 

He fell asleep on you, wrapped in your arms, beneath the covers of his bed with tears still drying on his cheeks. Kei did. 

You choke back a sob of your own, locking it behind your teeth as you press your lips to his hair, shocked at the intensity of your feelings, the tightness in your chest that eases like a blooming flower, petals unfurled. 

Is it normal to feel so strongly about a sport you’re only interested in because of your brother, you wonder, with your hands buried in his hair to scratch slow circles into his scalp. Would you have cried this hard at a loss for Akiteru, a more traitorous part of your brain wonders next. 

–

The next morning is…strange. 

You wake up pressed between Kei’s arms, your leg cocked over his hip with one of his hands cupping the back of your head, squishing your cheek into his chest. Somewhere along the night he’d shifted, apparently, and twisted around to clutch at you like a pillow. The blankets are low and tangled, cold air raising the hair along your arms. You whine quietly and try to squirm away, but his clingy embrace tightens, bringing you closer, his body bowing around you as he curls inwards. 

“Kei…” Your voice is a little raspy, throat dry, and he lets out a soft groan in reply, fingers digging tight into your back. 

“Shut up.” He grunts, just as hoarse, more so after his crying last night. 

“Lemme up…’m thirsty.” 

“So?” 

You whine louder, pushing against his chest, trying to pry yourself away but he’s already stronger than you on a bad day, let alone when you’ve just woken up and your body is still sleepy. “Please?” 

He stiffens a little, head craned back to squint down at you, bangs falling in his eyes. 

Thoughtlessly, you wriggle a hand free from the tight press between your bodies and reach to brush the hair from his face, fingers combing through and moving to tuck it behind his ear. Too short for that, it falls back into its original place. “You should ask mom to trim your hair.” 

He watches you through sleepy eyes, half-lidded, a streak of light cutting across his face from between his blinds. When your fingertips brush over his skin, his lips part, a soundless sigh before his throat bobs with a weak swallow. “Okay.” He murmurs, gaze far away. 

“Could dye it, too. I think you’d look good with ginger hair.” 

Another soft hum, contemplative. “Okay.” 

Your smile widens, and his head tilts with it, a dreamy expression that you’ve never seen on him before. “You’re just agreeing with everything I say, aren’t you, Kei?” 

His lashes flutter at the way you say his name, dipping low against flushing cheeks, you see his lips threaten to twitch into a smile. “Okay.” 

You can’t stifle your laughter, this time. A sharp bark of a cackle, you slap a hand over your mouth and try to turn away so you aren't laughing directly into his face. That wakes him up quickly, eyes narrowed sharp as he drops his arms from around you like lead, scowl already tugging at his lips. 

“You’re too loud.” 

You snort, rolling away now that he’s finally done holding you hostage, having to practically crawl over him to get off of the bed. “Go back to sleep, then. Gonna make breakfast.” 

Despite the way he huffs and quietly mutters, he follows you down to the kitchen, still dressed in his uniform from last night. He’s uncharacteristically clingy, in a way. He hovers while you look around for what to make, just behind you or off to the side, watching with eyes still murky with sleep. It hasn’t hit him yet that he left his glasses upstairs, so he’s squinting in order to see you clearly. 

As you lean down to look into the fridge, you find a pretty plastic container with a whole strawberry cake inside. A little sticky note on the top reads– Mom and I are going shopping for the day, be back later! 

–Akiteru

Then, below that– I left you some money for pizza in the silverware drawer, love you! 

-Mom

You coo softly as you pull out the container, turning to Kei with a smile. “Cake for breakfast?” 

He stares at you, eyes dipping from your face to the cake in your hands, then back up. “That sounds like a horrible idea.” 

You bump your hip against him and carry it over to the counter, popping the top off and reaching for a clean knife. “Suit yourself, more for me.” 

He sounds significantly more awake now. “You’re not eating that entire thing?” He comes up behind you, leaning over your shoulder to watch as you cut a large slice out of the pretty dessert. 

“Why not? There’s nobody I gotta share it with. Certainly not my most favorite big brother.” You sweeten your voice, sticky like frosting, and he scoffs, pushing at your back so you bump into the counter. 

“Whatever, cut me a piece too.” He slinks away back towards the fridge, long arms stretching up to reach for a paper cup at the top. You cut an equal portion of cake for him as well, placing each on a paper plate so you don’t have any dishes to do later. 

As you pass him his plate, he passes you a glass of water, which you take with a short ‘thanks’ before swallowing a quick, cold mouthful. 

Bliss against your raw throat, you drink half of the glass before refilling it. Watching you, Kei pokes at his cake with a fork, eyes heavy with a strange sort of softness. His face is still a little red, puffy from the long hours of crying, but his shoulders don’t sag so much and he looks like he carries himself a little lighter, teasing you when you manage to get a little cream at the corner of your mouth. 

As his thumb grazes over your bottom lip, you look up at him with new eyes, a new light after last night. The touch lingers, heavier before he pulls away. 

You carry your cake into the living room to put on a movie, pleased when he joins you shortly after. Starting on opposite ends, as you finish your breakfast and set aside your plates, he lets you crawl between his legs and lay on his chest, sprawled together with his hand curving around the nape of your neck, fingers thick in your hair and circling your scalp. 

It amazes you to see him like this, open and blatant in his affection. Accepting as you cuddle close, not even putting up a fight when you poke fun at him during the end credits because it’s only then that he realizes he isn’t wearing his glasses. 

It’s a new side of Kei, of someone you’ve known your entire life. You think it makes you love him a little more, something sweet and nice. 

You think it makes you love him a little different. 

–

It’s a cold shock the day he leaves. 

Not even a week after graduation, you wake that morning to find cars outside and Kei’s friends in the house, helping him move his things. 

Hinata greets you kindly, cheerfully at so early an hour, while you stand in the hall gaping in your pajamas. “Hi, little Tsukishima!”

“Hi?” You blink, stepping back when he moves closer to you, and something registers in his eyes at the sight of you, uncertain and still clearly murky with sleep. He backs off. “What’re you doing here? Why do you have Kei’s stuff?” 

He mirrors your blink, cat-like. “We’re helping him move, he said he’d need some help driving his things to the apartment.” 

“Apartment?” You echo, stunned fully awake. “He’s moving?” 

Hinata freezes, just as Kei is coming up the stairs. While slow at first, the footsteps hasten when the sharp crack of your voice pitches even higher. He stumbles up to the top step, sweaty and clearly having been busy for longer than you’ve been awake. His face pales several shades when he first catches sight of you, the tears welling up in your eyes, the panicked look Hinata wears. “Fuck. Wait, don’t–” 

Twenty-two steps from one end of the hall to the other. Seventeen from the stairs to your room, it only takes Kei nine to reach you, choking on an apology that he’s never given you before. 

It only takes two for you to slam and lock the door. 

–

He doesn’t try to get you to come out for the rest of the day. His things have been packed, you hear him saying goodbye to mom downstairs, hear him come up to your room one more time to wait, leaning against the door but not saying a thing. You don’t open it. 

When he leaves, you scream. Muffled into your pillow, raw and angry, tears hot against your face. 

It shouldn’t be this way, you shouldn’t feel like he’s betrayed you by going away for college. It shouldn’t break your heart to think that Kei might be leaving you behind, you’re family.

But you do, and it does.  

–

Kei calls home often. 

More than you would have thought, actually. A surprisingly dutiful son. He checks in with mom every few days, asks about her work, about her friends, following up on whatever they happened to have talked about in the previous conversation. 

He asks about you. 

You know, because whenever you’re in the same room as her while she’s talking to him, her voice will soften considerably. Almost a whisper, and she’ll hunch down in her seat a little, or she’ll suddenly have to leave the room. 

Unlike most of her children, she’s terrible at hiding her emotions. You must get it from her. 

Which is why she’s worried, because it’s been easy for you. Easy to pretend like you aren’t hurting. Your summer is spent with your friends, or at the library. You visit the beach twice and buy a cactus to take care of. You make memories, you keep busy. 

He comes home once before you go back to school, Akiteru mentions it one night after he gets off of work. He tells you that Kei is coming home for a weekend, you write down the date and try not to feel guilty at the way he seems happy about it. 

The next day you schedule a sleepover with your best friend Kaoruko to get out of the house, and it's your second visit to the beach. She sits in the sand with you while you wade through the shallows and pick up crabs and anemones, laughs when she thinks you’re being weird and holds you when you break and begin to cry. He texts once, to let you know that he’s home, and calls the night before he leaves. 

You don’t answer. 

–

The start to your second year is quiet. You walk by yourself on your first day, phone buzzing with texts from Akiteru wishing you luck, and a single one from Kei telling you to be safe. 

You tell Akiteru that you’ll text him during lunch, and slip your phone into your locker. There are familiar faces that you find between classes, new students that you show to their homeroom along the way to your own, and already an influx of people advertising for clubs, just as early as last year. 

And life goes on. 

You find a balance, and mom has been good with helping you maintain it, already on her third go-around for moody teenagers. She knows when to let you break rules, when to be more firm, and how to gently push your boundaries without hurting you. Your rebellious phase doesn’t last long, though Akiteru still has the record for mama’s boy, you think. 

School is easy, in a way. You make friends, lose some, keep a precious few closer than ever. You argue with teachers, suffer through group projects, write a paper about your trips to the beach detailing all of the different kinds of fish you saw, you go to every volleyball match and text Kei for every win. 

That’s the first text you send him, after it all. Weeks of ignored messages, just for a few words from you to break his streak. 

You 7:84 PM 

We won the game. 

He already knew that Karasuno had won the match, one of his old teammates had texted him the moment they were off the court to let him know. What mattered was that it came from you, and it told him so much that he had desperately needed to know. 

That you haven’t deleted his number, that you still care enough to talk to him. That you’re still checking in with your friends from his old team, that he hasn’t ruined what little you liked about volleyball like Akiteru had with him. 

You don’t respond when he texts back, but he’s fine for now with just this. He can handle you being angry with him, could even endure it if you hated him, but not having you at all just does not feel like an option. 

Mom lets you get away with avoiding him on the holidays, though you know she doesn’t like it. You’ve only passed him once, briefly, catching him just as he rounded the corner as you were heading back into your room. His eyes had blown wide, a stutter in his step as he stumbled at the top of the stairs with your name on his lips. You cut it off quick by shutting your door. 

The hard edge of your anger has faded, but the hurt remains, and with it the confusion as to why it does. You compare it to Akiteru leaving for college, and can think of nothing to explain it other than Kei keeping the fact that he was moving away a secret. From you specifically. 

It lasts for too long, the silence, the ignored texts broken up only when you tell him that Karasuno won a game. It’s eating at both of you, but no matter how often Kei tries to reach out, you can never bring yourself to reciprocate. Too hurt, and too embarrassed that you are. 

Still, in tune with you as always, he has a way to break the stalemate yet again. 

For your birthday, he has a gift delivered that mom wraps up for you. A textbook for marine science, heavy and with notations lining the margins, something clearly used, clearly well-loved. And, beyond that, an envelope tucked just beneath the cover with tickets to a guided tour for a temporary museum exhibit on the Mariana Trench. They’ve been preemptively filled out with yours and your best friend’s names. 

You stare down at the book for a long time, fingers tracing the pages as you flip through them, and it hits you a mere twelve pages in that the scrawl is familiar. It’s clean and careful, precise, but there’s a little curl on the ends of some of his kanji that he picked up from you. It’s his handwriting. He doesn’t even like marine science, and he still– 

You call him crying, then. In the shower, sobbing, phone pressed to your wet cheek as you thank him and apologize for ignoring him for so long. He’s so soft, crooning at you to turn off the water until you’re done, talking to you while you try to catch your hiccup-y breath. 

He’s the last one to wish you happy birthday, an hour before midnight while you tuck yourself into bed with him still on the phone, he teases you when you sniffle too much and you threaten to hang up if he keeps making fun of you. 

He stays well after you fall asleep, phone pushed to the far side of his desk so the sounds of his keyboard don’t wake you up, music turned down so that it doesn’t completely stifle the steady sound of your breathing. 

Lighter than you’ve been since he left, you manage to sleep soundly through the night. More than that, he’s still on the phone when you wake up to tell you good morning. 

–

Halfway through the school year you become a manager for the volleyball team. You’re familiar with most of the boys already from when Kei and Tadashi were there, so you already have a good dynamic built that Coach Ukai asks you to use for keeping them in line. 

You don’t tell Kei, but he finds out from mom anyway, and when you call him next he teases you about missing him so much that you had to go and manage his old team for him. 

You hang up that call immediately, and ignore him twice when he tries to call back, only picking up on the third to hear his stifled laughter on the other end. You tell him that he makes fun of you too much, and he just replies that you deserve it. 

Secretly, you think he likes it, pleased in a strange way that you would take his former team under your wing after he left. 

School is busy, for both you and Kei. He doesn’t manage to visit much, and now it’s that every time he does, you’re away at a training camp with the team. 

You don’t see him again until Christmas. 

You didn’t even know he was coming back, he’d left it so up in the air on whether or not he’d be able to get away, you were going with the assumption that he wouldn’t be able to make it in time. 

It’s what you thought, but Kei decided it would be nice to surprise you. In your bed. 

When you wake up a little warmer than usual, you chalk it up to mom turning up the heat and try to snuggle back beneath your covers. Something is draped loose and heavy over your stomach, and it squeezes when you start to squirm. Warmth ghosts over your neck, fingers sink into the soft of your lower belly, pulling you in, and you scream as your tired brain registers that there is another body in your bed. 

He laughs at you while you smack him with your pillow, uncaring when his glasses are flung to the floor. He catches you by the waist, pulls you back in, buries his face into your neck and just breathes. Ignoring your struggle completely, he does make a show of carefully petting you, like he’s trying to help you settle. At first, it only frustrates you more, but as you finally take in the scent of him, the rough cadence to his voice as he laughs, you realize just how long it’s been since you were like this with him. 

You’re struck by it, the intimacy, a shy hand hovering over the back of his head, suddenly unsure. It feels so different now, with the way he seems to bask in you, like it’s something to be relished. 

As your arms come around him, he fits oddly against your shape, different. He’s wider now, thicker around the shoulders, his hands firm in a way they had previously been uncertain as they glide up and down your back. 

“Welcome home.” You murmur, tinged with an undercurrent of trepidation. 

He sighs against you, wistful and relieved. “Yeah, thanks.” He says it soft, like the fluffy top layer of snow that glitters beneath the sun. Kei doesn’t usually let himself sound like this, not unless he’s slipping. 

You try not to let yourself enjoy it too much, worried at how it makes you feel, the heat in your face and the unsteady kick of your heart. 

–

He’s home for a week, but you aren’t. Splitting your holiday break between friends that you had previously made plans with, you don’t actually get to see him as much as you’d like. He’s reconnecting as well, so the odd times that you are home, you can only catch him for a few minutes before he’s being dragged out the door. 

Christmas eve, though, you creep downstairs with a blanket tucked beneath your arm, pillow in hand. Since Kei and Akiteru will both be home on Christmas day, mom had gone all out with wrapping presents, pretty bows and glittery ribbons, you gently nudge them all out of the way to make space for your makeshift bed. 

You’ve done this every year. Ever since you were a toddler, mom jokes. 

When you were still just a baby, she had been awake with you all night on Christmas eve, trying everything from warm milk to lullabies to rocking you back and forth to make you sleep, but you were fussy and disgruntled. Rather than taking you upstairs and risking your crying waking Kei and Akiteru, she sat beneath the decorated tree to let you play with the lights and ornaments. Instead of being entertained, even with the glow of greens and blues shining back in your eyes, you’d drifted off to sleep. It’s become more of a gag, but mom always has the biggest smile when she comes down to find you curled up beneath the tree, the colorful lights shimmering in your hair. Oftentimes Akiteru would wake up in the middle of the night and bring you an extra blanket during the colder years, or he’d sit with you if it was too late to fall back asleep, but too early to wake everyone up to open presents. 

A silly little habit, maybe, but it’s given you fond memories. 

This year, as you bed down for the night tucked away amidst the plethora of gifts and lights, the sound of creaking floorboards makes you tense.

It’s just Kei, though, a blanket draped over his shoulder as he comes down the stairs, glasses missing and eyes a little narrowed, searching through the dim lighting of the room until they settle on you. 

“Kei?” 

He shushes you, settling down just beside you and nudging you over until he’s sharing your pillow, tugging his blanket over your body until you’re both wrapped up in it. He lays on his side, watching you with heavy eyes, illuminated by the wealth of lights just above his head. 

“This is my thing.” You tell him, letting him in anyway. 

He rolls his eyes, smiling as he stretches an arm out, an invitation you take by tucking yourself into the crook of it, snuggling close with a happy little sigh. You can’t feel the way the tension eases out of him, already drifting off to sleep, but he melts around you like sugar in hot tea. Softened, pressing little kisses to the top of your head, breathing for the first time in what feels like a year, since he first choked on a gasp at the sight of you in your doorway, eyes red with tears, still in your wrinkled pajamas. 

It’s the best night of sleep he’s had since the night he lost against Itachiyama. 

– 

You wake up to Kei’s low, raspy voice telling someone to ‘shhhh!’ with a tight hand pressed to the back of your head, followed by the high pitched sound of Akiteru giggling. 

With a quiet groan, you roll onto your back and blink against the harsh christmas lights. This lasts for only a moment before you’re covering your eyes and curling into Kei once more, regretting your decision to wake up. His arm comes back around you, rubbing your shoulder, and Akiteru moves closer. 

“Merry Christmas.” He whispers, a gentle hand petting the back of your head. “C’mon, mom is making breakfast.” 

“Lemme sleep.” You mutter, batting his hand away and trying to hide your face in Kei’s neck, though it’s ruined by the low vibration of his quiet laughter. 

Electing to have mercy on you, Akitery retreats to the kitchen, leaving Kei to make an attempt at gently rousing you. 

“Wake up.” 

You groan, loud, dramatic, bumping his shoulder with your forehead. “No.” 

He jostles you, pulling on your blanket, poking at your face until you hiss and slap at his hand. He catches it, drags you in and rolls onto his back so you’re sprawled over him. “Get up.” 

“Can’t make me.” You argue, pulling your skewed blanket up over your shoulders and making to get comfortable, right there on his chest.  

The tip of his nose maps a line down your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as he hums thoughtfully, hand splayed wide over your lower back. “I’ll let you open my present first if you get up.” 

You pause, bracing on your elbows to lift yourself up and peer down at him. “Why does that matter?” 

He grins, a little smugly, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Who knows? I could be bluffing. Maybe I didn’t even get you anything this year.” 

Your eyes narrow, flicking out towards the pile of presents as if you might be able to guess which one might be from him, but his hand comes up and cups the side of your face to block your view, coaxing you into looking back down at him. 

“I got you something nice, the least you can do is behave long enough to get it.” He smirks when you glower at him, a scary little scowl that he’s sure you picked up from the few times Yachi ever got angry. 

Begrudgingly, you let him drag you to your feet, his arm finding home around your waist as he walks with you into the kitchen. Mom greets you with a hug and a quick kiss, a whisper of ‘Merry Christmas’ against your temple. 

The gifts go by slowly, everyone lingering in the moment. You’re the only one without a source of income, so you had to get a little more creative. 

Your gift to mom is a painting of her favorite type of bird, some sort of hawk, that you’d requested from a friend you made in the art club. It cost you several weeks worth of classroom cleaning shifts that you picked up in their stead, but the brilliant smile on her face at the sight is worth it. 

Akiteru’s gift came with Saeko Tanaka’s name attached as well for a few reasons, as she’d helped you gather several photos from his highschool and college days, off and on the court, that you stitched into a scrapbook with other pictures from throughout yours and Kei’s childhood. Mom tears up at the sight of it, but it’s not until Akiteru gets to the last page that his head snaps up, watery eyes locked onto your face. 

The other reason her name is on the tag is that the last picture is an ultrasound. 

You, mom, and Kei are completely unphased when Saeko slips out from behind the entryway to the front hall, watching as tears pour down his face and his hands clap over his mouth. When her arms come around his shoulders from behind, he’s immediately up and rounding the couch, she’s barely even able to get a laugh out before he has her up in the air, holding her tight. 

Mom is quick to warn him to be gentle, already fretting. You have your phone out to record, and Kei is holding a box in his lap, fingers stroking the lace edge of the ribbon tied at the top. There’s a smile on his face, soft and barely there, feeling you press into his shoulder as you lean in to get a better angle from around your mom. 

His arm comes around you, drawing you in, and he bumps you with his cheek gently. “Can I open mine now?” 

You give him half a glance, a flutter of nerves in your throat. “No, you have to save it for next year. Sorry.” 

He rolls his eyes and gently pulls apart the ribbon, and you nearly groan when he begins to carefully peel away the tape from wrapping paper. His lips curl, half a smile, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. 

“I’ll open it for you if you don’t hurry.” You mutter, hoping your voice is quiet enough that the mic on your phone won’t catch it. 

“Open your own.” He huffs, but does give up on meticulously dissecting your wrapping. 

When he opens it to find an empty box, he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, both in vague disbelief and dry amusement. 

Clicking off your phone, you drag him into the kitchen with teasing laughter, feeling the narrowed scowl of his eyes blaring into the back of your head. 

It softens when you pull a homemade cake from the fridge, perhaps not as pretty as one from a store, but clearly made with loving intent. Your expression is a little shy, a little embarrassed, and your shoulders bend inwards as you hold it out to him. 

“Asked mom to show me how to bake one.” You mumble, trying not to shy away when he leans in close to hear you. “You said you like hers best, so…” 

Kei melts, removing the tray from your hands and setting it aside to take you back into his arms, squeezing you close as he lets out a soft little sigh into your hair. “I’m sure it’ll be decent.” He lies, fighting a smile when you whine and slap at his chest, frustrated that he’d tease you while you’re so clearly being vulnerable. 

Akiteru stumbles into the kitchen shortly after, wiping his eyes and red in the face, and he perks up at the sight of you two. His eyes drift to the cake, and Kei is quick to shut him down. 

“No.” 

You laugh, hiding your face in his chest while Akiteru comes over to whine, warmth bubbly like fizzy juice as it pops between your ribs, something bright and happy. 

It’s so easy to be like this. 

–

Later, after everyone has gone to sleep, Kei comes to your room.

A pretty little box in hand, wrapped with pretty blue paper and tied with a softer, silken ribbon. He sits on your bed with your back to his chest, watching as you carefully pull apart the tape, tongue poking out from the corner of your mouth. 

He doesn’t say a word while you gently unwrap the paper, careful not to rip it as you set it aside to add to your growing collection. Patient as you twist the soft, velvety box in your hands, fingers tracing the crease where it opens, wondering at the novelty of it. Certainly different from the books he’d gifted Akiteru, and the fabric for your mother. 

His hands rest against your knees, thumbs teasing at the bunched up hem of your pants, and somehow that’s more distracting than the gift you haven’t even opened yet. 

When you finally crack open the box, a small silver chain nearly falls out. It catches, hangs in the air, sparkles in the dim light filtering in through your blinds. A half swirl of ocean blue that glitters like stained glass, set in a circle of silver that’s polished pretty. New. 

You swallow, shrinking in as something warm blooms over your cheeks. “Kei, this is–” 

“It’s fine.” He interrupts, still soft. “Don’t. Do you like it?” 

A whisper. “Yeah.” 

He turns his wrist over, palm up, fingers curling in. “Then let me put it on.” 

The silver chain looks so much more delicate in his hand, but he handles the clasp easily, the pretty pendant resting just below the hollow of your throat. His fingers trace over it, following the curve of the chain down, and your head tilts back on instinct to make the trek easy. 

“Thought of you when I saw it.” He sighs, wrapping his arms loose around your middle and squeezing. “Merry Christmas.” 

For the second night in a row, you fall asleep in Kei’s arms. 

–

He’s only home a few more days before he has to leave, Christmas break is over. 

This parting is easier, if only because it will only hurt until you see him again, not for a wealth of other reasons. He hugs you tight, teases you, suffers through Akiteru’s physical affection and the doting of mom before he has to climb into his car and start the drive back to the city. 

He calls you when he gets home, and you don’t like it because it makes you miss him, the sound of his voice, the way his breath skims over your hair when he whispers while holding you. 

You’re pretty sure that isn’t normal, either. 

Even more so when, as you’re doing laundry, you realize he left one of his shirts behind. Comfortable, well-worn, you pull it over your head and feel something warm fluttering in your stomach, and as you catch your reflection in passing you see that your face is blushed. 

You start wearing it to bed, because you don’t have to put any effort into breaking it in and it’s loose and the material is softer than most of your other night clothes. 

Certainly not because, if you tuck your nose against the collar, you can still sort of smell him. 

–

He doesn’t come home for summer break.

You’re the first one to find out that it’s because he was signed on for a V-league team. 

When he tells you, he’s out of breath, the buzz of city life in the background, and you’re in the bathroom with a toothbrush sticking out of your mouth. 

“Huh?” 

He groans, swallows, and tries again, still heaving for air. “Sendai–frogs.” He gasps, voice a little wheezy. “Playing for– the Sendai Frogs.” 

It takes you a moment, after you’ve rinsed out your mouth and put your toothbrush away. 

When it clicks, you nearly scream into the receiver. “Oh my god you’re on a team! An actual team! Not just your shitty college one!” You squeal, far too loud for how late the hour is. 

He laughs, elated, and your joy is now secondhand, cheeks aching with how wide you smile. You’ve never heard him laugh like that, it makes you want to hug him through the phone. 

“Will you tell mom for me? I have to go back inside and sign the contract, I’ll text Akiteru later and let him know.” 

You choke on nothing, stopped short with a breath caught in your throat. “You called me before you even signed the damn thing?” 

Silence, then, a tentative– “No.” 

A quick, sharp exhale puffs past your lips, a feeling so saccharine that it burns you welling up in your chest. “Oh, Kei.” 

He hangs up, but you’re breathless now, beaming so hard that you feel compelled to cover your face, even though the only one around to see it is yourself. But as you peek through the spaces between your fingers and catch a glimpse of the mirror, you realize that even the sight of your own happy reflection is too much. 

– 

Your third year is busier. You’re more hands-on now with the team, joining them on the court to spike or block, to learn what to do through muscle memory so you know what advice to offer them with certain plays. You go to Kei often for tips, talking him through strategies and sending him tapes of your practices so he can go over them with you. And he, reluctantly, puts you in contact with Kageyama and Hinata as well. 

Even with his schedule, juggling college and practice for a professional team, he makes the time for you now. He can’t call every day, but he tries to text at least on those that he can’t. He’s not around as much during the holidays this year, but Tadashi stops by when he’s home to visit. Taller now, and more confident in a way. He doesn’t hover by the door like he used to, uncertain if he was really allowed to be in your home, always overly polite and formal even though you’d practically grown up together anyway. 

He sits with you and watches Kei’s game on the TV, and he even indulges when you ask to send him a selfie of the two of you just to rub it in that he isn’t home for Christmas. He drapes an arm around your shoulder, each of you wearing silly red and green sweaters, him with reindeer antlers sitting crooked atop his head, you with a santa hat. You’re smiling wide, glowing with joy as Tadashi squishes his cheek to yours to fit in close for the picture. You think it’s a nice one, Kei does not seem to agree.  

It earns you a very rude phone call later that night, but the grumpiness of his voice made it seem worth it, the undercurrent of jealousy that was thinly veiled. You tell him that the only way to make sure he doesn’t have to see stuff like that again is to spend Christmas with you every year. 

He calls you a brat, says he spoils you too much, but promises that you’ll be with him for the next one. 

–

Karasuno vs. Kamomedai

It’s like a sick joke, that in your third year you lose to the same school that Kei lost to in his. Your team places fifth for Nationals, it should be an achievement, you made it so far.

Not far enough. It’s your last year, your last game. 

It’s your loss as much as it is the teams, just as gaping, just as painful. Your eyes burn as you stand with them on the court, as you shake hands with the other team’s manager. Her grip is tight, fierce, her eyes watery even though she’s on the winning side. 

You think she feels it too, that she knows what it’s like, for her this is a victory strongly earned, deserved. 

For you, its unfair, unjust that your boys worked so fucking hard just to lose it all by a few points. 

Volleyball isn’t your passion, but you love it, you love your team, you love what you get to do, the things you’ve learned by helping them, how they’ve in turn help you improve in other ways. It burns in you like acid, the bitter sick of treacle that is too sweet. You stand on that court with them and try to keep yourself contained, sharing eyes with the captain and knowing your composure will be needed for the underclassmen.

At first, you would only text Kei when Karasuno won. It was his team, then, his tally to keep score of. 

Now, it’s yours. Your loss, your heartbreak, so you text him a simple ‘we lost.’ and turn off your phone. 

It’s a full night's ride back home, crammed into the bus with a team full of heartbroken young adults and teenagers. You comfort the first years as much as you can, you take their hands and promise that next year, they’ll go even further. 

You squeeze the other third years tight, the lot of you wishing that this year you would go even further. 

You’re dropped off at the school parking lot, sun cresting just above the treeline, you’re already dreading the walk home. Everyone is tired, sullen, faces puffy from crying and noses dry from too many tissues. 

And there at the front gate, Kei is waiting for you. Earbuds in, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling until he hears the sluggish drag of your footsteps. 

He catches you when you fall into his arms, sobbing, tucking himself around you and murmuring into your ear while you cry into the collar of his shirt. 

You follow him home blindly, vision blurry as you continuously wipe away your tears, other hand held tightly in his so he can lead you. The walk is familiar, bittersweet as you make this trek with him, so far removed from every other time you have. He rubs your knuckles with his thumb, quiet but checking in, tugging you along and hiding your face with his jacket when you have to stop and crouch low just to bawl for a moment. 

It’s slow, but eventually you make it home. Inside, he takes off your shoes for you, pulls you upstairs, crawls with you beneath your covers so he can hold you properly as you fall to pieces. 

There’s nothing you have to say, he already knows everything you’re feeling and you know that he does, but it feels like it will poison you if you don’t get it out, so you do. Bitterly recounting the last few points, the scant difference it would have made, how everyone did their best and it just didn’t measure up. You mourn it, the memories, the slow crawl to the top that you had been desperate to reach. For yourself, for your brothers. The last chance for a Tsukishima to win Nationals. 

He cups your face, squeezes your cheeks when you begin to devolve into actual rambling, pressing his forehead to yours until you calm enough to listen. 

“I’m going to win something better.” He promises you, laying a kiss above your brow. 

–

Kei stays with you all night, awake while you sleep, comforting you when you come to and feel the rawness of your loss all over again. He’s there when you wake up, a soft, playful little smile that doesn’t fade even after he drags you out of bed. 

You’re grumpy, sore, a little dehydrated, utterly unamused as you follow him unwillingly downstairs, wanting to just wallow beneath your sheets. 

As you’re walking into the kitchen, you’re overwhelmed at the sight of Kei pulling a cake from the fridge, a blue sticky note attached to the top. After you let out perhaps the most ugly crying sound of your life, Kei laughs at you and pulls you in by your wrists, his chin atop your head so you can burrow yourself into his shirt the way you always do when you’re trying to hide.

“I assume you want cake for breakfast?” He teases, so disgustingly careful that it makes you sick with happiness. To be treated gently, especially by him, at a time when you feel so brittle, is surreal.

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” You croak, cracking on the tail end of your jibe. He smiles where you can’t see, even though the memory it brings to mind is tinged with the cut of his own loss. 

“Well,” He drawls, fingers sinking into your hair to curl close to your scalp. “More for me, then.”

–

The rest of the year is filled to the max with college prep, studying for tests, and preparing a second year to take over as next year’s volleyball manager. 

Ukai is wistful when you talk to him about your plans, a wry smile on his face, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“You’re a lot like him.” He admits, grin turning crooked. “I used to think you two were nothing alike, but I see more of him in you now. Stubborn as hell when you put your mind to something, that’s for sure. I can’t believe you strong-armed me into staying on for another five years.” 

You smile, misty-eyed and a little sharp. “The next suitable coach won’t be out of college for a few more years, I can’t have my boys falling into the wrong hands, now can I?”

He laughs, husky and loud, slapping you too hard on the back once before bracing both hands on his hips and tipping his chin towards the net, the crowd of players ready for practice on the far side of the gym. “Then go make ‘em line up, we’re running receiving drills today and our ace ain’t gonna be happy about it.” 

You give him a mock salute, something sharp twisting in your ribs when he softens and pats the top of your head, sending you off once more to rally your team together. 

Was graduation this hard for Kei? Was he thinking about all of the things he was leaving behind in the middle of all of it? 

You don’t have time for calls as often, always with your face buried in a book. You forget to eat, sometimes, until Akiteru inevitably comes knocking at your bedroom door, takeout in hand because while mom is well aware of how single-minded you can be and knows you’ll eat eventually. Akiteru has never been able to dote on his younger sibling before so he’s taking full advantage of the fact that you won’t turn him away like Kei did. 

And you’ve kept it a secret, so far, the fact that you’ve applied to the same university as Kei. Waiting for the letter has been the bulk of your stress, though you’ve had to play it off on end of the year nerves. If you tell someone, you’ll start to hope, and you can’t hope until you have that letter

You’re exhausted, half-asleep on the phone with Kei after receiving numerous congratulations from the rest of your family on your upcoming graduation. He’s quiet, the faint click of his keyboard audible in the background while you scroll through your messages. 

An email notification pops up at the top of your screen, and you drop your phone when you read the web handle. 

“You okay?” It’s half concerned, voice barely pitching high as Kei listens to you curse and fumble to grab your phone from the floor. 

You don’t answer, biting your lip so hard that it bleeds as you open your email. The anticipation will kill you, throttle you if you don’t open it right now. You don’t have the patience to wait. 

Accepted. 

We are pleased to inform you – accepted – choice between on or off campus– 

“Kei.” You rasp, eyes glassy. 

You can hear the abrupt alertness in his voice, typing immediately ceased. “Are you okay?” 

A slow, shaky breath, building nerves. Unsure if he’ll want you there, unsure if you’re welcome, if this is intruding, things that you’re thinking too late in the game. 

“Want a roommate?” Is all you can manage, breathless, and then you’re laughing. 

“I–what?” 

You forward him the email, delirious and giddy, and he lets out a noise that's a cross between a gasp and a shout when he gets it. 

“You–here? Here?” 

“Full ride.” You whisper, fingers shaking as they curl around your phone. “Marine science, with my volunteer work I can get an internship at a marine lab in the city. A twelve minute bus ride from your apartment.” 

He laughs with you, then, disbelief thick. “You missed me that much?” 

“Do not ruin this for me, I will move in with Tadashi instead.” 

His laugh is more mocking this time, but he doesn’t tell you no, and you let yourself start to hope a little too much. 

At the end, just when you’re about to fall asleep, he murmurs– “I’ll clean up the guest room for you tomorrow.” 

–

He comes home for your graduation. 

A surprise, since he’d told you that he wouldn’t be able to make it, so he’s caught only slightly off guard when he walks in the front door and mom tells him that you’re out with friends. 

He can’t blame you for that, so he waits upstairs in your room, a little amused at the sight of your clothes all over the floor, the makeup scattered amongst your sheets. You’d gotten ready in a hurry, so he spends time picking up after you, less for you to do when you get back. 

Anxious, anticipating, he’s wholly unprepared for when you walk in the door drunk. You stumble into your bedroom still in your heels, and his mouth dries up. 

Smudged lipstick, disheveled hair, heavy eyes and with too many buttons undone on your shirt, fastened just below your bra to expose the frill of lace against your skin. 

When he looks closer, though, the thing that smothers something fragile in his chest is when he realizes there’s two shades of lipstick blurring together on your lips.

You smile big at the sight of him, eyes bright and more alert, and you fall onto the bed to throw your arms around him. 

“You’re home!” Breathy, hoarse from drinking, you smell like a sickly sweet perfume but he hauls you in close anyway, his eyes burning, hands shaking as they fist in your shirt. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs, heart breaking. “Congratulations, got you a gift.” His voice is rough, he tries to keep it under control, but you’re so sweet right now, nuzzling into his neck, your hands settled on his shoulders for stability. 

“Didn’t have to.” You slur, blinking away the fog, murky and thick. “Jus’ happy to see you, Kei.” 

He swallows around the grit in his throat, teeth clenched. Don’t say my name. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to wait till you move in to get it, and I can always return it before then.” 

You don’t even get angry at his weak jibe, giggling and nosing at his jaw now instead, shiny eyes blinking up at him through pretty lashes, he feels like he’s going to die. His hand squeezes your waist, finding you plush and soft, heart in his throat as you settle between his legs and rest all of your weight against him, cuddling close even though he knows, right now of all times, that he should push you away.

His thumb feathers over your bottom lip, smudged with red and purple, pressing down as if he can feel the phantom sensation of another mouth against yours. It burns, sickly in him, made worse when your tongue dips out warm and wet on his skin. 

It’s only for a second, but he’s starkly aware that he knows what your tongue feels like now, different than playfully licking his hand to make him let you go, it feels intimate, sensual, your eyes heavy-lidded with the flush of alcohol keeping you warm. 

For a hundred and one percent of the time, Kei has dedicated himself to loving you the way he should, anything more is locked tightly away in a box, building and building, far too much for such a tiny space to contain. Infinity would be too little a container for the excess of his love, the overflow, the love that is not shared between a brother and his sister. 

That night, his thumb wiping away your lipstick, the number drops to 99.

–

You wake up alone, head pounding, tucked in with a glass of water and a pill at your bedside and the taste of death in your mouth. With a groan, you drain half of the cup before even considering taking the pill, but you pop it quickly with a grimace before downing the rest. 

For your first night drinking, you think it could have gone way worse. 

As you lie back, blanket to your chin, you struggle through the events of last night, sorting through murky memories. 

You’d gone out to an izakaya, the lot of you trying your first round of beer to celebrate graduation. Sharing plans, snacks, drinks, everything was passed around at least three times between you all. 

And you have a girlfriend now. 

Unexpectedly, your first kiss is adrenaline fueled, the second with alcohol. Your best friend, reminiscing with you over your highschool years, then lamenting feelings lost. You’d pushed gently, and she told you with a wry grin that someone she loved was moving away, and she’d lost her chance to confess. 

Even tipsy, connecting the dots was easy. Long distance might be hard, and neither of you are deluded about what a same-sex relationship might do to some of your friendships, but you’re going to give it a try. 

You’re nervous. Romantic feelings have never come naturally to you, you’ve never felt that close with anyone so anything beyond a casual crush is a mystery.

Kaoruko is so sweet, though. Kind, skin thick against your snark, you’ve learned all of the things to avoid in your jokes and she knows everything that makes you tick. You think she’d be a good partner, you just wonder if that means she’ll be a good partner for you. 

The door opens, and you’re shocked when a familiar blonde figure steps in, a tray in his hands. “Kei!”

He startles, eyes-wide, and then frowns at you. “What? Don’t talk so loud, mom is still sleeping.” 

Message unnecessary, the sharpness of your own voice has you groaning and clutching at your head. Lesson learned the hard way. 

“I didn’t know you were here!” You whine, reaching for him. He falters, confused and hesitant, before setting the tray on your nightstand and kneeling on your bed so he can lean over to hug you. You clutch at him, breathing him in, feeling the tension in your body dissipate as his hands pass over your back. 

“You saw me last night.” He reminds you quietly, withdrawing even though you complain and try to pull him back in.  

“I did?” You ask, meek, trying to push through the muddle of your memory and finding nothing beyond leaving with your friends. You aren’t even really sure how you made it home.  “I don’t remember. Did I say anything weird?” 

He smirks, head tilted back with an expression so smug that you’re dreading having asked. 

“I don’t know, did you?” He teases, sitting down and pulling your breakfast into his lap, pancakes with cream instead of syrup, sliced strawberries between each layer, and a scoop of ice cream in a little cup on the side. He’s spoiling you, you wonder if mom knows. 

“Tell me!” You grab onto his arm and shake him, though he doesn’t move much, brow raised in thinly veiled amusement as you struggle. “Put me out of my misery! It’ll drive me crazy not knowing!” 

His grin widens, and then he’s shifting the tray over your lap, pointedly silent as he sets a glass of juice on your nightstand, sets down your silverware, and then presses a mocking kiss to your cheek that makes you hiss. “Akiteru and I are going out, behave.” He warns you, playful, watching as you glower up at him with a pretty pout. 

“No.” You deny immediately, picking up a strawberry slice and popping it into your mouth. “I’m gonna set the house on fire while you’re gone.” 

He shrugs with one arm, unperturbed. “You’re moving in with me anyway, the only one that would hurt is mom.” 

For some reason, the reminder makes you giddy. You can’t stifle your smile, almost bashful as you try to cover it with your hands, and he softens, pushes the hair out of your face so it doesn’t get in your pancakes. He lingers against your jaw, fingertips that ghost over your pulse before he’s pulling back, hand curled tight before it’s pushed into his pocket. 

As he’s about to leave, you blurt out his name, instinctive, impulsive, the whirlwind of your thoughts a cacophony. He stops, half turned with a questioning glance tossed over his shoulder, his eyes a bit wide when he sees the clear conflict on your face. 

“What’s wrong?”

You swallow, gaze lowered, hands knotted together as you twist your fingers to stem how they shake. It should probably stay a secret, but the thought of living with Kei and hiding this from him feels unthinkable. “I have a girlfriend.” 

His heart stops, a missing beat, throwing everything that is him off rhythm. You’re looking at your plate, so you miss how his face hardens, how it turns to impassive stone faster than you can blink up to catch it, searching for a reaction and finding none. 

Or so you thought.

You watch, increasingly anxious, as he practically sneers “so?” in such a cold voice that it shocks you, has you recoiling physically in your bed. 

It’s not the reaction you were expecting, it’s both more hostile and somehow uncaring. He looks angry, but then it’s locked behind a mask, that facade you haven’t seen since your first year. 

“I just–” You clear your throat, shaky, blinking against the sudden onslaught of his intensity. “I just wanted you to know.” 

He scoffs, a grating sound, shoulders rounded inwards as he turns back to the door. “Thanks, I guess. Anything else so important that it can’t wait until later?” 

Your face twists, brow pinched near the middle as you swallow your own vitriol. You will not lash out the same as him, even if you really think he might deserve it. “No. That’s all.” You spit, trying not to let yourself cry as he leaves. You’re in so much pain, what was at first just a pounding migraine is now an ache in your chest, something raw and ripped out. You hadn’t expected that. 

The pancakes are sweet, made the way you like them with too much cream even though Kei always says making them this way is a waste of time. It’s your favorite ice cream too, something that he had to have picked up on his own because it was definitely not in the freezer before you left with your friends. 

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, burning with frustration and guilt. 

You knew it was a risk to tell him, you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your family about your sexuality before, so it was going to be a shock no matter what. You had worried that he would tell mom and maybe things would devolve, you had been prepared to argue your point if it came to that. 

What you hadn’t prepared for, was whatever the hell he gave you. Something bitter, toxic, a seething, cold anger that felt misdirected. 

Quietly, quietly, you think it looked a lot like jealousy. 

–

Kei’s friends help with your move, too. 

Hinata is broader, tanner, just as cheerful as he bounds up to greet you. Tame, in a way, that he had not been before he left Japan. He’s calm, less jittery as he carries boxes from upstairs down, taking the heavier ones from you with a smile and some offhand comment to redirect your attention before you get the chance to complain. 

Tadashi is familiar, a little dewy-eyed when he thinks too much about you going to college with him and Kei. Like with highschool, it will only be for a year before they finish their degrees, but the short time is something you hope to treasure. 

Kageyama isn’t able to make it, but he does actually remember to send you a text wishing you luck. It’s a little stiff, a little formal, but the fact that he reached out at all makes you feel fuzzy inside. 

It’s a nice contrast to the frost in your lungs whenever Kei catches your eye. 

Quiet, talking only when he needs to confirm that you’re taking or leaving something specific, or pulling you out of the way with a loose hand that drops as soon as it can. You hate it, you hadn’t thought moving in with him would be so stressful. 

It’s worse when Kaoruko comes to see you off. 

A tight hug is the most you can manage with so many people around, but she squeezes you and makes you promise again and again to call her, to visit on holidays and send her the first college hoodie you purchase so she can wear it instead. 

The others busy themselves with checking traffic in the city and planning out their routes to get to the apartment within a decent time frame, giving you the space to hold her, but you can feel Kei’s eyes on you. Like a brand, the weight of his attention makes you breathless, something wrong, something twisted. Guilt. 

It makes you angry, you’re firm in that you have no reason to feel guilty, he has no right to make you feel so bad over being in a relationship with a woman. Brazen, you give her a kiss to the forehead, soft and slow, uncaring now in the height of your adrenaline who sees. Hinata and Tadashi are unphased, but Kei’s face twists, an ugly expression shadowed as his chin tucks close to his chest, as if he can hide the way his eyes flare wide and his mouth presses thin. 

You ride in the car with Tadashi, sure that if you tried to make the trek with Kei then you’d end up killing each other on the way. 

He makes small talk about what your campus will be like, warning you of certain professors and reminiscing about some of his and Kei’s earlier years there, when they first started out together. He doesn’t expect you to talk back, filling the silence because unlike your brother, you don’t like to just sit in it and stew when you’re upset. He distracts you, breaks from the schedule to stop and get ice cream to make you smile even though it puts him behind everyone else on the drive to the city. 

And by the time you get to your new home, you’re laughing and at ease, tension long left back in Miyagi. The others are already inside, sun dropped heavy near the horizon, so you take your time getting your things from his car. It’s cold, a chilly breeze that ruffles the loose fit of your clothes, comfort over function, he shoos you inside while getting the rest of your bags. 

That newfound ease only lasts up until you make it to the front door before your nerves creep back in, the uncertainty, the worry that maybe you aren’t so welcome anymore but Kei just didn’t want to deal with the trouble of telling you to buzz off. It makes you anxious, torn between climbing back into Tadashi’s car to go home and just acting like everything is fine. You are not confident you could do the latter. 

Before you can make a choice, it’s made for you in the form of Hinata spotting you from the window and hurrying to let you inside, a call of your name that bleeds through the wood and alerts the others of your arrival. The door is yanked open, a wide smile to greet you, sunshine incarnate so bright you almost want to squint in the face of it.

Tadashi ushers you inside out of the cold, mindful of the rigid way you carry yourself and offering a reassuring smile when you shoot him a pleading glance, begging him with your eyes to get you out, and him declining with a gentle pat on the head.

Akiteru and Kei are in the kitchen, conversation halted as they turn to watch as you’re, quite unwillingly, coaxed further into the room by Hinata. Yachi intercepts, nobody had even told you she’d be here but you’re overjoyed when she’s quick to pull you into a hug. 

She tells you that she’s proud of how well you did as Karasuno’s manager, hand braced on her hip with the other on your shoulder, beaming wide and you’re struck with the thought that there are now twin suns in the living room and you feel like you’re going to get burned by all the happy fuzzy energy. 

You’re bashful beneath her praise, flustered and shy with your face ducked to hide it, and she coos at you before teasing Kei about how you both react the same to genuine compliments. 

That makes him flush as well, though his expression is significantly more annoyed. It does nothing to detract from the ruddy color on his cheeks. He catches your gaze briefly as you’re taking in your surroundings, but before he can make any sort of face you’ve already looked away. 

You’ve never seen Kei’s apartment before. It’s clean, a little bare, pictures on the wall and shelves lined with books. There’s a lit candle on the kitchen counter, a TV turned on but clearly forgotten on some history channel, vacuum lines still prominent in the carpet from a recent, hasty cleaning job. 

It doesn’t look like home, doesn’t feel like home, and now you’ve come to the strange point where you wish you had stayed in Miyagi, with mom and Akiteru. After coming this far, though, you’re determined to see this through. More for you is here than just Kei, it’s a good college for your major, and the work opportunities are better here. You’ll make it work. 

You have company to dilute the heavy air for a few hours, at least. They stay long enough for dinner, which consists of takeout that Hinata and Kei should definitely not be eating, but they do anyway because you and Yachi had a craving.

You stay cuddled close to Akiteru, mournful in a strange way at the thought of him leaving to go back home. It’s better this way since mom won’t be lonely, but every time you and Kei have given each other the silent treatment, you had Akiteru to comfort you, to visit and call you when you were down. Knowing that he won’t be a simple five minute walk away is foreign, the change of it rattling your foundations. You tuck your face against his neck and let him rub your back with a soft, comforting croon.

He promises to call, gently, so gently, teasing that you’ll get over it quickly enough that you’ll eventually have to start ignoring him because he’s going to pester you so much. His banter is different, it doesn’t bite or sting, more like the plucking of strings to create a tune. He makes you laugh, even when your eyes are glassy. 

You share another quick round of hugs before they have to go, Hinata lightly chiding Kei and making him promise to be nice to you, and Tadashi trying to mediate before Kei can get mad at being told how to treat his sister. Yachi gets your number and offers to take you out sometime to see the city, and as you watch their cars fade out of view down the road, you think that it was nice to have them over. You wonder if you’ll get to invite them over yourself, one day. 

It’s quiet, with just you and Kei. 

He’s cleaning up, putting away leftovers and wiping down the counter, keeping busy while trying not to be too obvious as he watches you move about the living room. Exploring, tentative, wanting to ask where your room is so you can just hide but not wanting to break the silence. 

His face is burned into your eyelids, that twisted sneer, the surprising vitriol he’d regarded you and Kaoruko. 

Then, the way he’d softened when he’d offered you a bite of his katsu, seeing how you hesitated before accepting, holding your hair out of your face while you leaned in to take it.

It’s a dichotomy that makes you dizzy, frustrated, and leaves you aching. Does he still love you, does he still accept you? 

So immersed, you miss the quiet squeak of the faucet when he turns it off, eyes heavy through glass as he crosses the distance between you in few steps. 

The first brush of his hand against your back has you tense, rigid in anticipation, though you melt when it moves to pull you in by your hip, your head resting against his chest. You let him hug you, even mired in your confusion. He doesn’t deserve it, though, doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. 

He tugs you along to your room, sparsely decorated with some of your belongings already inside, boxes opened but left for you to unpack at your leisure. Clean sheets, the blankets from your room already spread out, and a wrapped box sitting neatly in the center of your bed. 

It’s a small thing that this gesture means, a silent apology in the careful way he handles you, and the first tremors of your unease begin to dissolve. If he’s making the effort, he at least doesn’t hate you.

You swallow around nothing, and his head dips, mouth at your temple. “I’m down the hall, knock if you need anything.” He murmurs, a hand curled possessively at the base of your spine, and hating himself for it, for how he feels when you willingly press in closer, letting him push against you to remove all of the space between your bodies. 

It shouldn’t be so easy, he knows. It shouldn’t be so hard. 

– 

You don’t open the gift, not yet, keeping it pretty on the corner of your desk. 

The first night is easy, you fall asleep nearly the moment you’re left alone. You rest well, considering the past few weeks you’ve barely gotten any rest at all. The mattress is comfortable and all of the packing had left you so physically exhausted that you probably couldn’t have stayed up if you wanted. In the morning, after you’ve been awake for more than ten minutes, you send out a round of texts to your friends and then call Mom. 

Akiteru is in the background, crying dramatically about how he misses you so much already. You smile, listening to them, already missing them more because you’re aware of how far away you are now. 

But it’s because of that that you’re so cheery when you leave your room, walking into the kitchen to find Kei already waiting at the stove. 

“Good morning!” You chirp, coming up from behind and leaning against his back. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Eggs.” He mumbles, raspy with sleep, turning to peer at you from over his shoulder. “Scrambled or fried?” 

“Scrambled.” You hop up onto the counter, ankles crossed, watching him poke at the skillet with his chopsticks, stirring the egg around as it thickens. He looks a little disheveled, wearing mismatched pajama pants that hang low on his hips, hair fluffed up whatever which way, ruffled from tossing and turning. Kei’s never been a sound sleeper.

As you settle in your spot, you wince at how cold the marble feels against the backs of your bare thighs, the skin of your arms prickling until you rub them with your warmer hands. The movement draws his attention, his eyes finally falling on you, and they narrow sharply as he leans in, inspecting you up close without his glasses to aid him in whatever he’s looking for. 

“Is that mine?” 

You blink, caught a little off guard by the sudden sharpness of his voice, now far more alert than a moment ago. “Huh?”

A hand hesitantly reaches out, tugging at the hem of your nightshirt. His fingers curl, grazing over bare skin, and you shiver. “The shirt.” Lower, now, voice thicker. “Is it mine?” 

You swallow, licking at your dry lips and missing the way his eyes flash up to follow. “Yeah, you left it last year when you visited for Christmas.” A pause, uncertainty plucking at you as you tuck your chin. “Do you want it back? Only kept it cause it was comfy, didn’t know you’d miss it.” 

“No.” It's too quick, he knows, and he can’t stop staring. “You’ve had it for this long, makes more sense for you to just keep it since you like it so much.” 

It should be a taunt, you think, it’s meant to be a taunt, but his voice falls to something reverent instead, unable to muster any hint of mocking. His thin brows are low, pulled up at the middle, lashes kissing his cheeks when his eyes dip below your neck, lower, hidden in the shadows of the kitchen barely illuminated with the faint light coming from behind. You miss the way he looks at you, bare legs on display, his shirt hanging from your body. He wants to push it up, to feel your skin beneath his hands, to kiss you and taste you and– 

Chopsticks clatter to the counter, and he turns away to slide past you, dropping the pinch of fabric like it’s burned him.

“Kei?” You start to get down, braced on your hands as you lift up to drop to the floor and chase him, but his voice is quick to cut you off. 

“Phone call.” He mutters, shoulders hiked up with his head hanging low, disappearing quick into the hallway before you can follow up with any more questions. 

The skillet is still on the stove, hot, he didn’t even turn the burner off or finish cooking the eggs. 

You take over, then, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. He’s gone for a while, whatever call he’s on is quiet, inaudible even when you creep up to his door in an attempt to listen in, to see what has him so on edge. You hear him once, a harsh and heavy exhale, wet like it’s anguished, but silent after. 

With breakfast made, you wait with a plate of cold eggs for him to join you, sitting on the couch and watching a documentary on saltwater fish. 

He takes a shower after his call and then he finally comes back out to eat with you, but instead of explaining he just acts like nothing happened. Now that you clearly have no reason to be worried, you default to being angry that he ditched you. He’s not looking at you, but clearly he can feel your stare, because his own face twists to mirror it. 

“What?” 

You nearly throw your eggs at him. “What the hell was that?” 

“A phone call.” He takes a bite, ignoring you when you smack at his shoulder with your hand, feigning interest in the documentary you’ve put on like actually he gives a shit, something that only sours you further.

“Kei you are such a liar!” You fall back, spooning a cold bite of your breakfast into your mouth and making no attempt to hide your pouting when he turns to face you. 

The tension is back, a little less heavy than before, but still lingering as you eat together in silence. He washes the dishes while you click through his movie catalog, he comes back to sit with you after. Waiting, in his way, because he knows the distance is too much and you’re going to inevitably break when you want something more.  

He doesn’t tease you for it, when you finally cave and reach for him, he simply opens his arms and lets you crawl in, leaning back until you’re warm against his chest. His hands are on your waist, barely applying any pressure but still firm, and yours are in his hair, nails teasing at his scalp until he lets out a quiet groan and rolls his head back in muted encouragement. 

And it’s nice, familiar, he missed your weight on him, the occasional hitch in your breathing because nothing about you is ever steady. You play with his hair and fidget while listening to the droning voices from the TV, you finally begin to relax against him and he’s missed that, can’t fathom the reality of you being too uncomfortable to be around him.

You start to doze off, he can hear it in the way your breath slows, drags, rougher than when you’re awake and alert. It puffs out against his neck, warms his pulse, makes him want to crane his head closer until your lips are against his skin. 

Seventy-five percent. 

Your phone rings, shatters the quiet and jolts you awake. You’re whining, smacking at the coffee table until your fingers catch the end of your case, and you tuck it between his chest and your cheek so you don’t have to hold it while you talk.

“Hello?” 

Tentatively, Kaoruko’s voice bleeds through. “Hi, is this a bad time?” 

You perk up, voice pitched a little higher. “Hey! Not at all, ‘m just hangin’ out with Kei watchin’ TV.” 

Kei tilts his head down, a question, and you falter before answering, his face in mind. 

You’re not going to hide, though, so you steel yourself. “It’s my girlfriend, Kaoruko.” Your voice is traitorously soft, a fragile thing, the walls of your defenses so thin that he can see through them like glass. You’re scared, he realizes, and it melts the jagged razor’s edge of his jealousy. 

“Do you want me to leave so you can talk?” 

Your surprise is blatant, hope bleeding through and twisting a knife between his ribs, the thought that he had let his own feelings hurt you so much that you had been afraid of how he would react. He hates that.

“Nah, s’ok. I’m comfy.” You cuddle back in, talking soft into the phone while he settles beneath you. He strokes your back, fingers steady despite how badly he wants to shake. It hurts, in an unfathomable sense, how he listens to your voice so sweet as you coo into the receiver, teasing and playful in a way you aren’t with him. With him, you bicker, snapping back just as sharp, prickled in a way so unlike the way you are now. Silken, affectionate, like all of you is soft with her. 

His eyes burn. 

–

In some ways, it’s easy to settle in. Even with practice and summer assignments, Kei sets time aside for you. He still calls home, though now you join him for those calls instead of waiting on the other end with mom. You cook more when he doesn’t have the patience for it, and soon begin to take over making dinner overall until your own college classes start. It’s not so different from when you were both in Miyagi, though he’s cleaner now than he used to be. 

In other ways, it’s harder. 

The first time you walk into the kitchen too early in the morning and find him without a shirt, you’re almost appalled at how hot your face feels. His back is to you, ducked low while peering into the fridge, and you watch in something akin to muted horror at the way you can actually see him. Muscle definition that had never been there before, or you had never cared to pay attention to. Hair tousled, messy from sleep as he rakes a hand through it, making it worse. Flush at the shoulders with summer heat, freckles speckled on his skin. 

The fridge clicks shut, and you snap out of it before he turns around, fleeing into the bathroom to collect yourself. 

Your own reflection horrifies you. Eyes a little glazed, pupils dilated, lips parted and plush from being pressed too hard together. Palm to your chest, you feel the way your heart thuds against your ribs, too quick, fluttery like a hummingbird. 

It’s natural, you’re quick to tell yourself. 

It’s not. 

–

When Kauruko comes to visit for the first time, Kei stays out late. 

He’s not good with people, so you aren’t surprised, and you’re a little relieved you won’t have to mediate the tension between them. He can be polite, but cold and cool, and your Kaoruko is very sensitive to people like that, he would scare her off immediately. 

She’s shy, a little, but warms up the longer you curl up together on the couch, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair. She nuzzles into you, breathes you in, soothed by the steady hum of your heart. No longer weighed down by the pressure of school, she’s more relaxed, the bags beneath her eyes almost faded completely. 

She plays with the hem of your shirt, another one of Kei’s that you’d stolen from his clean laundry before he got around to pulling it from the dryer. Slender fingers, silken, stroke the sensitive skin of your stomach, her lips quirking into a smile when you giggle softly and bat at her hands half-heartedly. 

She kisses you, then. Careful, questioning, melting when you press in to return it. Warm, velvet against your mouth, she cups you by the back of your head and deepens it, you let her guide you, a push and pull as she rolls her hips into you, your thighs parting a little to make room for her. 

When she pulls away with a quiet little gasp, you hum and brush the hair from her face, watching her cheeks flush with color. “I’m sorry.” She murmurs, a bit breathless. “I’m not–I don’t know if I–” 

You coo, squeezing her tight and kissing the furrow in her brow. “It’s okay.” You promise, murmuring against her skin. “I’m fine with just this.” 

She settles, quiet apologies that you stifle with teasing pinches and raspberries, until she’s laughing and pushing against you in weak attempts to break out of your embrace, but you hold on tight and wrap your legs around her as well. 

Kaoruko falls asleep like that, with you still wide awake and gently rubbing her back. The front door creaks open, the shuffle of Kei walking in drawing your attention. He comes around the arm of the couch slowly, and in the light of the TV just before he realizes you’re awake, you watch his face crumple with pain. 

Pain, not anger. Not disgust. 

You watch, amazed, as he jerks away, hands curled tight into fists before falling slack when he notices your open eyes. He stares, unmoving, and Kaoruko shifts atop you with a muffled murmur. 

He tries for normal, for casual, expression smooth and disinterested as though you hadn’t just watched him nearly begin to cry at the sight of you cuddled up with someone else. You don’t stop him when he goes to his room, expecting his door to slam but only hearing a quiet click. 

Something in you cracks. 

– 

It takes two weeks after Kaoruko has gone home for you to break up. 

And it’s so easy that you think you should feel guilty, but you don’t. On her end, the kiss helped her realize that she’s not very interested in women, she just likes you. She isn’t upset when you ask about ending the relationship, only insistent that you stay friends even if it’s a little awkward for a while. 

But it’s not awkward at all, it’s easy to fall into old habits. You don’t quite lose the pet names or the affection, but it’s clearer now that you never felt anything romantic for her to begin with. You feel safe with her, you trust her, so a relationship just seemed to make sense.

But you can’t get Kei’s face out of your mind, and there’s a subtle shift to the lens in which you view his actions now. You can’t stay in a relationship, not like this, not with the twist and the dark direction your thoughts are turning. She deserves far better than the fucked up individual you’re about to become.

And, as you drop your phone after ending the call, as you get up and glide down the hall to knock at Kei’s door, your heart is in your throat but you’re excited, you can’t help thinking that never once did someone else make your body thrum with anticipation like this, make you eager like this.  

“Come in.” Soft, he looks up at you and lowers his headphones when you open his door, and something in your face must alarm him because his chair rolls back sharply and he turns towards you with a pinch of concern. “Are you okay?” 

“I just broke up with Kaoruko.” 

His eyes go wide, lips parting around a gasp that would be inaudible if you weren’t watching him so closely for a reaction. His hands twitch, fingers curling around the arms of his chair until the knuckles bleed white.

“And?” He asks, testing, gauging where you’re at. You’ve never gone through a breakup before, he doesn’t know what to expect, your face gives nothing away that he can read. 

He’s frozen when you move closer, legs spreading as you slide into his lap. A hard, gulping swallow, honey eyes like glass as his head falls back with you hovering over him and your hands braced against his chest, his heart rabbiting beneath your fingers.

Quietly, you tell him– “I’m sad. Heartbroken, actually.” 

Clearly, you’re not. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his voice is hoarse when he replies. “What do you want me to do about it?”

You lower yourself to him, arms draped over his shoulders, your face at his neck so you can hear the little groan he chokes down when you shift around to get comfortable, his hands flying to your hips as if to push you away, or bring you closer. 

“Jus’ want you to hold me.” You murmur, nosing against his collar, feeling the unsteady pounding of his heart, how your own races to match it. 

So he does. He works with one arm rubbing at your back, chin resting on your shoulder so he can still see his screen. He doesn’t complain when you play with his hair, or when you take his phone so you have something to mess with while you stay draped over his lap. 

Just lounging around, not dissimilar to how you spend time with anyone else. 

But it feels different, relaxed and comfortable, hyperaware and sensitive, a dichotomy that Kei makes easy. 

–

Change doesn’t happen as quickly as you would think, after that. Classes are starting so rather than focusing on each other, your attention is diverted towards textbooks and copying notes. 

Still, you grow closer than before amidst it all. Rather than simply leaning against each other while you study, he’ll let you into his lap, arms overlapping while you read from separate books. Sometimes his touch lingers, rough fingers that slip beneath the hem of your shorts or long shirts, stroking soft skin and making you tingle everywhere he goes. You feel the phantom echo of his touch long after it’s gone, almost to the point that you can imagine what it would feel like if those fingers slipped higher, drifting between your thighs until they reached the apex. 

It’s those thoughts that keep you up. Shame and desire, guilt and anticipation, waiting for something but unsure of if you’re willing to take the final plunge. 

It’s clear how he feels, you think. Uncertain of if your own feelings are the same, if you’re even right to begin with, and the mess of it all keeps you walking a very fine line, testing the waters to be sure before you do something that can’t be taken back. 

So you watch him, watch how he is around you, thinking of if Akiteru was in his place and finding that your heart most definitely does not respond the same. 

How when you crawl on top of him, watching the hard bob of his throat as he waits for you to settle, it’s always as though bracing himself for incoming pain. He should be used to your cuddling by now, but he’s so tense at the start, always has to be soothed slowly into relaxing beneath you.

How he’s worse towards you on campus, now. At Karasuno he was vaguely rude in the beginning, but beyond that he treated you gently, not openly affectionate but still with a sort of warmth. 

Here, he’s colder. Distant. If he sees you between classes, you get maybe a tip of the head in acknowledgement, or he’ll text you during class and tell you that your makeup is smudged or something else meant to irk rather than upset. 

Definitely different, but you take it slow, mingling with your classmates to keep you from getting too in your own head about it all, knowing you’ll make yourself sick with stress if you focus on Kei’s treatment of you too much. 

There are no familiar faces here, though. No friends from a previous school to draw you into their circle, no one else that you know aside from Tadashi, who you see even less than Kei. 

And, worse, you feel drastically different this time around when people realize who your older brother is, and history repeats. 

People pulling you aside, other volleyball team members that are wondering why he left, some being more direct and asking you about his relationship status, for his number, some discreet in the way they try to approach you casually first, but you’ve learned from high school and ignore them outright. 

You’re a little cranky, most of the time, Kei notices but doesn’t push since he isn’t the problem, taking it in stride when you snap or get a little too much attitude. 

He still teases you, though, even with that new glint in his eyes as he pokes and prods at your stomach to make you laugh, holding you down when you squirm beneath him and try to get away. It’s different, charged, but neither of you cross the line. 

Even though you can see it clearly now, how badly he wants to. His hands will drift over your bare skin when he draws away, fingertips that twitch with the urge to sink in, to drag you close, you can feel the way his hips will stutter when you lock your legs around him to flip the position, still continuing the game but you know he’s thinking of something else entirely.

Thirty percent. 

–

“You’re Tsukishima’s baby sister, right?” 

The ‘baby’ grates at you, your jaw gritted before you can even turn around. “Yup, that’s me.” You drawl, adjusting the strap of your bag and leaning your weight to one side. “Need something?” 

She smiles, a demure little thing, you’re reminded of dark hair and blushing cheeks, the silly thought of being asked to give away your brother’s number without his consent. This one doesn’t ask for that, though. 

“There’s a party tomorrow at my place. I was hoping he’d come, but he never says yes when I ask.” She pouts, a little, lips a pretty shade of coral. “Would you ask for me? You can come if you want, just don’t drink the punch.” She winks at you, bumps you with her shoulder, and your annoyance lessens because at least she’s including you in the equation somehow. 

“Social activities are uh…not really his thing, if you couldn’t tell.” You muse, pleased when she bursts out with a laugh that cracks near the end, her eyes gleaming when you continue. “ –but, I’ll see what I can do. I’m good at getting my way, being the baby sister and all.” 

Her face brightens, and she looks at you with different eyes, appraising, before dipping her head. “I’m Hoshino. Even if he doesn’t come, I hope I���ll see you there?” It’s open-ended, hopeful, and you try not to look too happy when she scribbles her number on the inside of your wrist.

Kei notices when you come home in a good mood, leaning with his elbow on the kitchen counter and looking up as you walk in. 

You’re smiling, typing on your phone while looking between the screen and your wrist. You haven’t greeted him yet, haven’t even noticed he’s there, and his brow tilts in annoyance. 

“You’re going to trip.” He lies, watching as you falter mid-step and make yourself stumble over nothing in anticipation of an obstacle that isn’t there. 

“Kei!” You scowl, tossing your bag onto the couch and moving into the kitchen with him. “Don’t be a dick.” 

He turns around, following you as you stop at the fridge and pull it open, eyes a little narrowed. “What has you in such a good mood?” It’s sarcastic, but he hopes you give a serious answer anyway, curious about what had you grinning so much when for weeks you’ve been sullen and stormy. 

You perk up, water bottle in hand as you step close and lean into him, smiling despite the wary look he now wears. “We were invited to a party!” 

He rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Who was it? Koganegawa? Kyoutani hates parties, it wouldn’t be him. Akiro?” 

You shake your head, cracking open the lid on your water and taking a sip. “A girl named Hoshino.” 

His eyes widen briefly, then his brow furrows, lips pressed thin and twitching downwards. “I don’t want to go.” 

“Okay.” 

Stunned, he blinks, looking genuinely startled even though you’ve been turning down party invites on his behalf for years. You shrug, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder, warmed when his arm comes around you tentatively. “You hate parties, but she said I could go too even if you don’t, so I’m not gonna force you just so I can make friends.” 

He softens, melting with a murmur as he tips your chin up and gives you a muted look of guilt. “You’re lonely.” 

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Just a little, I still talk to my friends back home, but you forget that I’m not as introverted as you are. I like people.” 

He nods, tracing the curve of your jaw with his knuckles. “Yeah.” He murmurs, nodding slowly. “I’ll go, and whenever you want to leave you can just use me as an excuse.” 

You lean into his hand, smiling with soft eyes up at him, oblivious to the way it makes his heart pick up. “Wouldn’t need it as an excuse.” You tease, looping your arms around his middle and locking your fingers together. “Five minutes in and you’ll be the one begging me to come home.” 

His brow climbs high, a disbelieving scoff puffing some of the hair out of your face. “I’m not begging for anything, if I want to leave I’ll just leave. You can find your own way home by now, I’m sure.” 

You can’t help smiling, though it's more because you can feel him trying to lean away from you, to avoid the press of your hips against his as you lean into his space. Sly, you press in closer to hear the way his breath hitches, feeling his hands twitch to grab and push you away, but he doesn’t. 

“Kei,” You drawl, low as you drag your locked hands up his back, smoothing your palms higher until the material of his shirt goes with them, feeling the way he shivers at your touch. “Would you really just abandon me at some stranger’s party?” His eyes roll, but you think it might not be so much because of your dramatics, but rather the way you carefully slot the twist of your hips between his thighs, bracketing them around you as you step in close. Voice a low, teasing whisper, you coo– “Now, that doesn’t sound like something a good big brother would do, does it?”

You feel him, pulsing against your thigh, and he’s so carefully still despite the way he clearly wants to shove you back. Hoping you won’t notice, maybe, or hoping you’ll at least pretend. You smile up at him, cloyingly sweet and he glares, but it’s such a feeble expression when you can tell he’s focusing so much more on not grinding against you. 

He’s completely silent when you step away, red in the face, trying so hard to look angry but the expression is wrong, far more riddled with desire than you’re sure he intends it to be. Like he wants to bend you over the counter, to fuck the snark out of you, but he turns his back to you the moment you’re out of his space instead. 

On your way out of the kitchen, however, as you turn to glance at him from over your shoulder, butterflies erupt in your stomach when you see him palming between his legs, brow pinched tight in an expression almost like pain, like yearning. 

8%

– 

You wake up the next morning to an email telling you that your early class is canceled, so you have an unexpected extra few hours to get ready for the party. 

There are a few things you need to throw in the washer first, so you get out of bed to reluctantly start laundry. You don’t have enough for a full load, so you poke your head into Kei’s room to ask if he has any clothes that need to be washed, but the question dies on your tongue when you see that he’s still in bed.

He’s on his side, facing the wall with his curtains drawn shut to block out the sunlight, blanket falling off his body and pooling at the floor. Quietly, you slip inside and tuck him back in, smoothing your hands down his shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek while you draw the blanket back over him. He murmurs softly and chases you as you withdraw, still deep in whatever stage of sleep he’s in, and you have to hold back the urge to coo at him for sounding so sweet. 

You’d rather not go through his things and risk disturbing him, so you drag your basket into the laundry room to strip off what you wore to bed and throw it carelessly on top. It won’t hurt to wait awhile for him to wake up first before asking if he has anything he needs cleaned.   

Taking advantage of your newly obtained freetime, you laze around in your room on your phone. Catching up, mostly, taunting your friends that are currently stuck in class by sending them pictures of you snuggled up in bed, exaggerating your comfiness until they tell you, not so politely, to fuck off. 

It only takes an hour or so before Kei is up, floorboards creaking quietly while he wanders through the hall. 

A minute after that, you get a text from him. 

Good luck in class today

Oh, he doesn’t know you’re home. 

An evil, evil idea comes to mind, pettiness surging in your chest as you recall all the failed scare attempts from your childhood, all the times he turned it around on you and succeeded. You have a rare opportunity. Kei is infallible in that way, you can never catch him off guard because he has your schedule memorized, and when he knows you’re at home he’s too in tune with you to ever not know when you’re just around the corner. 

It makes you giddy with anticipation, with intent. You want to make him scream, just once, just once you want to scare the hell out of him. 

You creep slowly up to your door, lifting the handle before pulling it open, knowing it will creak otherwise. 

The door to the laundry room is open, you can hear him moving around inside, uncapping detergent in a bottle that squeaks as it opens. You almost feel guilty for plotting to scare him when he might be doing your clothes, but you don’t let it deter you as you make your way down the hall. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees, bare skin sticking to polished wooden floorboards, you’re careful not to shuffle so the squeak doesn’t give you away. 

You peek around the doorway, low, finding him with his back to you and an arm outstretched with– 

Your panties are stretched between his fingers, twisting, turning them, and you could almost cry when you see the crotch is dark, damp with the two orgasms you’d wrung from yourself too late last night, still shiny with your slick from the one early this morning. 

Your muscles tense, already readying to lurch forward so you can snatch them from him and then cry in your room until you die of embarrassment, but then he moves. 

Leaning against the washer, you can see the anguish written all over his face, as his hands dip below his waist. You see him clearer now, a heavy outline through the thick material of his sweatpants, and as his fingers hook in the waistband to pull them low, the breath catches in your throat when his cock kicks as it's freed, bobbing heavy in the air and swollen. It’s already throbbing when he wraps your panties around it, the head lined up against the arousal you’d left behind. He chokes out a groan that sounds like an apology, and the first pump of his hand makes his knees buckle. 

“Fuck–” He gasps, free hand hurrying to clap over his mouth, then it rises to rip his glasses off and put them to the side. 

He leans his weight fully against the washer, head tilted back, chest heaving as he fucks the tight clench of his fist, the muscles in his thighs tensing with every thrust, sweat beading at his temples. He works his wrist in little half circles, squeezing tighter near the tip and letting out a moan that makes you tremble. Neck bared and flushed red, you can see him struggling to swallow his voice, choking on each pathetic attempt at cutting off a needy whine of regret, like he wants to stop so bad but it feels so good and he’s so sorry–

You watch, horrified, enthralled, as he works himself up to the brink, the drip of pre heavy from the tip of his cock, soaked into the blue cloth wrapped so tightly around it. He shudders hard, voice pitching, peaking, the pace of his hips jerking to an abrupt stop when he nearly falls over the edge.

He throbs so hard that you can see it, see the way it pulses against the impossibly tight grip he has on it, fingers curled at the base to stop himself from spilling. 

Kei whimpers, such a soft, sweet sound, and can bear to wait only a moment before he starts again. His chin tucks down to his chest, lips twisted and trembling, brow pinched with his skin flushed like a peach. He looks so guilty, so aroused that it hurts him. Teeth pull on his lips until they bleed, and his back arches, head falling back once more as his hips buck with a stuttered cry catching in his throat. 

Again, he holds it, panting so hard that you’re worried he’ll start to hyperventilate. 

“God…” He breathes, chokes. “I’m going to hell.” 

Mesmerized by him, the ripple of muscle as he curls in on himself, a rough inhale and hair falling in his screwed-shut eyes, so messy, so desperate. He fists his cock with a sudden sense of urgency, mouth dropped open in a silent cry when his whole body shakes, his free arm braced against the washing machine so he doesn’t fall. 

“I can’t.” He groans, hips twitching, trying to slow but his hand chases it instinctively, warring with himself. When he cums, your name is on his lips, soft, a shameful secret as he paints your panties white. He strokes himself through it, until he’s whining from oversensitivity but even then he doesn’t stop. 

You watch in a strange mix of emotions as he brings himself to the edge again, nearly sobbing with it, and as he pulls the soaked fabric away thick strands of cum stretch from the tip of his cock, glossy and heavy as it drips, and he lets out a strangled noise at the sight.

He stands there for a while, just staring, watching the way it sticks to him, the smear of shimmery arousal that must be yours leftover on his skin. Before he can recover, you’re quick and careful on the trek back to your room, trying so very hard not to combust with everything you just saw. 

It replays on loop, over and over, burned into your eyelids, like a sickness. 

You make yourself cum with his face in your mind twice, three times before it feels like you can breathe again, twitching, sweaty, shame hot in your cheeks. It’s new, and it’s not. Having it confirmed is dizzying, to see it so intimately, to see your infallible big brother weak in the knees because of you. 

After sitting with this revelation for over an hour, you take a shower. Cold water beats down on you, numbing you, but you still feel too hot inside, burning up with fever. 

You have no idea how you’re going to get through an entire party, not after this. 

When you come out of the shower, hair dripping, wrapped in a towel, you freeze when you find Kei waiting in your room. 

He’s holding your laundry, and at the sight of you the basket falls, clothes spilling onto your floor, the two of you too shocked to pay it any mind. 

“I didn’t hear you come home.” 

You swallow, tightening your grip on the folds of your towel, watching his eyes dip and then rise just as quickly. “Class ended early.” You lie, raspy. “Sorry, should have called but I wanted to start getting ready for tonight.” 

“Tonight.” He repeats, a little dumbly. “Tonight?” 

“The party?” You step closer, watching as he falters and then steadies, like he’s holding his ground for your approach, though his shoulders loosen when you move past him to your dresser instead. 

Defensive, like he’s scared of you. Does he know that you know?

“Right. The party.” He tries not to look at you while you lean over to sort through your drawers, but he stares, he can’t help it anymore, oblivious to the way you watch him from the mirror resting against your wall. 

It’s like after crossing that single line, he’s lost control of himself. Frantic, in a way, as he tries to find solid ground and only continues to scramble. He doesn’t know how to act, how to look. 

And, oh you have a mean streak just as big as his. 

You smile at him, sweet, and step into his space with the towel looser in your hands. “You don’t have to come, Kei.” You murmur, reaching to ghost your fingertips along his jaw. 

Kei is good at spotting lies, but all he sees right now is the water on your skin, the way your flimsy cover dips and he can almost see, like you’re taunting him. How is he meant to spot any signs of deception when you’re so pretty like this, when you sound so nice, and how the sugar of your affection sweetens him, leaves him candied. 

And it’s so hard when you’re so close, when he knows you’re a single width of cloth away from being naked in front of him, still dripping wet and flush from the cold-turned-hot shower that’s left you softened with steam. 

0%

For the first time in his life, Tsukishima Kei is incapable of looking at you like you’re his little sister at all.

“I want to.” He lies, because you’re so sweet and he can still smell the body wash–his– on your skin, because he’s pretty sure he’d do anything if you asked him to with the euphoria and guilt of his earlier mistake still in his system. He can’t tell you no like this, because he wants you so bad, because he feels like he should be dead for it. 

Your smile slips, teasing, a wry upturn to the corners. “No you don’t.” The towel falls, just a little, as you shift closer, as he backs up to make space for you until his legs hit your bed frame. “It’s okay, though. I told you already, I don't mind going by myself.” 

There is no way he is letting you go alone, not when he’s like this, not when he needs to know there won’t be other people putting hands on you. You know that, can see it with the way his brows draw together, frustrated at your suggestion, frustrated at himself for knowing why he doesn’t want it. 

“It’s not safe.” He argues, a truth but for selfish reasons. “You’ve never been to a college party before, and the last time you even drank was your graduation. Which you barely remember.” 

Low blow. 

Your pretty expression morphs into a scowl, pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him back with the expectation that he’ll resist. He goes, but he drags you with him by your arm, pulling you into his lap as he does.

It’s clear too late when he realizes what he’s done, your legs split wide around his thighs, the towel parted up to your stomach, leaving you completely bare and drenched and dripping water onto his clothes. 

“Oh god.” He breathes, looking up into your face that is twisted with anger, and feeling like he’s more hard than he’s ever been with you pressing down on him and basically naked. 

Kei is not religious, but he prays to every god and ideal he can think of that you do not move any more to the left. 

“That was so unnecessary!” You hiss, pride wounded. “It was one time, and I don’t even know what my limit is so how am I supposed to know how much I can drink? You said we wouldn’t talk about it anymore!” You’re ranting, disregarding his distress, the way his eyes roll back when you push forward and his hips jut up in little aborted rocking motions. 

But it clicks when he shoves you off, when he’s snapping at you to ‘just hurry up and get dressed!’ as he flees your room, red creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears.  

You wear a cheshire’s smile for the rest of the time spent getting ready. 

– 

It’s your first time wearing a dress to a party. 

You prefer comfier clothes, slacks and button-downs are nice and more convenient to wear than a dress with a hem you have to fidget with. 

But you still have them. Short and slinky, long and sexy, hung up in your closet simply because you’d gone shopping with your friends and had been coaxed into buying things that would make you feel good to wear if you ever had a chance to wear them. 

And now you do, so you take advantage and peruse your little collection of nice dresses, wondering what would best suit a casual college party. Short and slinky seems more the play, something long better saved for a nice night out, not a party with solo cups and mixed alcohol. 

Black and ruffled, lace accents with straps that hang loose off of your shoulders, a pretty blue necklace that sparkles at the hollow of your throat. Clingy, shaped to your body but not skin-tight, not suffocating, as comfortable as can be while looking the way you do. Makeup is light, relying on the alcohol for a flush later as opposed to blushing your cheeks now. 

You have fun with it, legs smooth and silken, scrubbed with sugar in the shower. Lotion, buttery and very lightly scented. Phone in hand, heels in the other, you pad down the hallway and knock with your phone on Kei’s door. “Almost ready!" 

You hear the wheels of his chair as he pushes back from his desk, the door opening just as you’ve entered the living room to put your shoes on. 

He chokes, behind you, and you turn to him with a demure smile, a little coy. “Want me to send you the address, or do you already know where she lives?” 

Lips parted, he sucks in a low breath, the sound hissing between his teeth. His eyes track you, head to toe, lingering on the long stretch of bare skin that you usually do not display. Ignoring your question, he scowls. “You look like you’re trying to get laid.” 

He expects you to laugh, to cackle and wave him off like you always have any other time he’s accused you of trying to hook up. You thought it was teasing, back then, you can hear the jealousy for what it is now. 

You smile, lower your lashes, pluck at the material of your dress and roll it between your fingers, lifting the skirt just a bit higher in the process. “Maybe.” 

His face falls, slack with shock, before it tightens into something nervous just as you turn your back to put on your heels. 

“Absolutely not.” 

A smirk, fingers fastening the clasp. “I’m a grown woman, Kei.” You muse, tightening the strap a little to make sure it’s secure. “Don’t worry, I won’t bring anyone back here without permission, I’m nicer than that.” 

“You–” He drags a hand down over his face, taking his glasses with it before shooting you another glare, sharper. “You can’t, you don’t know anyone there.” He argues, stepping into your space, frantic now. His eyes are a little wild, breaths coming quick, and he’s crowding against you without even realizing it. You’re backed against the arm of the couch, nearly sitting on it as he presses in. Your legs part around him, and he pushes closer, jaw grit. 

“I don’t need to.” You shrug with one arm, deceptively disinterested as he hisses and pushes you down by the waist when you try to move, pinning you as he struggles with what he wants to say, the reply that burns at the tip of his tongue but refuses to come out. 

Because it’s wrong, and he knows it. 

“Mom told me to keep an eye out for you.” It’s such a weak argument, relying on mom when the nature of his intentions is so much more twisted. Still, he’ll use whatever he can, anything to stop the thoughts of you twisted around with another body, someone holding you, touching you, tasting you– 

“Mom isn’t here.” 

His pupils dilate, lips parting, and this time he goes when you push him back. Staring at you with wicked eyes, he doesn’t fight it when you move away from him to put on your second shoe, following like a ghost as you lead him out of the apartment. 

A little too strong, maybe, but his feelings for you are written all over his face, his mask ripped clean off. There’s no doubting it, now, so you can finally play a little. 

–

[zee-rambles]

i wanna ask one of my favourite reaction channels to watch rise of the tmnt!! she's really cool and has an amazing fanbase, as well as listens to her fans' recommendations on shows/movies she should react to. if she watches rise and sees how good it is, maybe it can reach her audience and grow more attention?? all im asking for is some advice on how i should convince her to watch it, lol. (also, your willpower to keep the show alive is admirable and ilysm<3)

I’ve been asking as many trustworthy YouTubers I can think of for a while now. I think the more people ask, the higher the chances that they will review. The more reviews there are from YouTubers that people trust, the more likely Rise will get the spotlight. The more demand the better. For example, I’ve been asking Cinema wins as much as I can to give the movie a chance. (I even asked on Patreon…lol). Rise could really use a win.

The best way to do it, at least for me, is to appeal to the youtuber’s tastes and their channel’s identity. There’s a fun YouTuber called Coley Does Things, and they review mostly fandom related stuff. I relayed that Rise is a great show, talk about it’s high points, how it deserves spotlight from fans that would appreciate it for what it is. I related that it’s a fandom with a lot a love and a lot to offer, since Coley often talks about fandom related things (particularly those on tumblr).

Recommend the show, talk about how it lines up with the youtuber’s personal/YouTube channel’s values. Talk about it’s good points and why you trust the youtuber to give it a fair shot. If you’re pitching the show to someone that loves animation/world building, like the Roundtable, talk about the quality of Rise’s world building, and how incredible its animation is. If you’re pitching the show to an anime YouTuber, talk about how Rise takes a lot of inspiration from studio trigger and how it feels like a shonen anime from the west. If you’re pitching it to someone that loves wholesomeness, talk about how Rise has one of the healthiest depictions of male brotherhood I’ve seen since Aang and Sokka from ATLA. The more you relate the show to something they like the better.

The most important thing is to be polite. If you’re talking about how Rise was done dirty and how it was overly hated upon release, there’s no need mention any particular reviewer. More important to talk about how the studio fumbled Rise’s chances, because Nickelodeon is the main reason Rise did not do well, not the negative reviews themselves (though that is something that it making it hard for new fans to get into the series, since there’s still more negativity then positivity. That’s why it’s so important that fans try to make more good/fair reviews as possible).

I STILL believe that Rise can come back. I just can’t do it alone. The more people keep trying, and don’t give up, the better. If the 90s X-men can have a continuation, a FRANCHISE that got a continuation, NOT A REBOOT, from where the show left off, then Rise can do it too.

[curekibouka-writing]

7-28 voice acting analysis (and some rough translation, and a little bit of 7-29)

**SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7** 

I don’t have enough strength to link a video I just want to scream about Silver crying because I can’t go to sleep without doing it. You guys can listen to it yourself and suffer like I did, and remember to turn on auto for best effect 😇

I’ll start from here when Silver says of course Malleus would be in pain sending Lilia off because he’s spent so much time with Lilia, something his measly 17 years can’t compare to. 

How he put the stress on “measly” (or “only”)? That word? The word that started the whole crying scene because he’s been holding this in trying to convince himself he has no right to lose his composure when Malleus didn’t? 😇

I really like when Malleus asks if Silver is crying he has his usual detached tone but also a caring tone of speaking to a child. I love this he cares about Silver 😭

So after this line Silver says “I am sorry for showing you this unseemly behaviour” and you can hear how his voice cuts off every now and then when he’s trying to finish his sentence. This happens when you’re trying to hold in your cries which makes your breathing somewhat irregular and that’s why he’s cutting off his sentences, he’s trying to not cry. 

Malleus: It’s not unseemly, children are supposed to cry. 

Silver: I am already 17! Next year I will be an adult. 

He exclaimed that line “I am already 17” because it’s important later keep it in mind. 

Silver: Perhaps I still seem like a child to you and father…

Silver: 17 years ago… father found me deep in a forest in Briar Valley when I was still a baby.

You might be able to hear Silver’s pitch drop all of a sudden when saying “17 years ago”. This is because our voices tend to be higher when we cry, so he’s trying to be calmer when he’s explaining things, that’s why the voice actor drops the pitch. 

Silver: Father is a fae, and I’m a human. We are not related by blood, and he had no obligations to raise me. … we had none of that. 

I just love love love how his voice begins to calm down in this line but it still trembles when he says the word “fae”. The identity that his father is a fae matters so much to him because he feel undeserving of the 17 years Lilia gave to raise him to become an adult. And he sounds so sure when he said “we had none of that”, he made it so clear that Lilia had no obligation to raise him.  

Silver: And yet, he raised me as if I was his own child. 

So, when we cry, we tend to get breathy with our voices. And yes, Silver had been breathy in the beginning of the sentence. But then? It’s very clear that he steadied his voice and shouted the words “as if I was his own child” with the strength from his stomach. He returns to breathy the next sentence. 

Silver: He fed me every day, trained me, and when I was sick in bed, he stayed by my side for the whole night. 

THIS! MUST LISTEN TO THIS SENTENCE! I don’t think I need to explain, you can hear how his voice softens to the last part when he said “stayed by my side for the whole night”. He is recalling his good memories of it and his gratitude from it. You can almost picture how happy he was when he was sick in bed and found Lilia by his side waiting for him back when he was a child just through this line. His mouth shape is slightly smiling even though his voice is trembling. (also yes I think this line references back to his first birthday vignette, the one about the incident when he found out his ears and Lilia’s ears are different) 

Silver: Fae and humans are different in fragility and in the speed they grow… We are different in every way.

Silver: There aren’t many who knows how to raise a human child in Briar Valley. And on top of that, father raised me alone. 

Silver: Without anyone to rely on, he fumbled to raise a human baby, and I can only imagine how difficult it must have been… 

I don’t know how to describe this tone when he said “father raised me alone (emphasis on “alone”)”. He softened his voice and it sounds like both respect and sympathy mixed together? Like he admires that Lilia managed to raise him alone but also feel sorry because child-raising isn’t supposed to be a one-man job.

Silver had to breathe in before he said “I can only imagine how difficult…” T^T

Silver: It’s not enough to just thank him. I intended to spend my entire life repaying this debt…!

He put the stress on “intended to” because the next part reveals it doesn’t go as he intended, and it’s the part where his voice really starts cracking.

Silver: And yet… I haven’t… been able to give anything back to him at all!

😭 😭 😭 😭 😭  What can I say? His voice just completely cracks starting from “I haven’t” with the emphasis put on “I” because he’s blaming himself. He’s dissatisfied with himself that he hadn’t been able to do anything for Lilia. 

Silver: He is trying to meet his end, alone, in some far-off country. 

I don’t want to break off this line from the previous because the transition is important. The last line he was blaming himself with his voice coming off harsh and cracking, but when it transitions to this line it slowly boils down to a soft, sad, lonely tone? And this tone starts from the word “alone”, there’s a lot of sadness on the word “alone”. He also stuttered a little bit before saying the word “end” as if it’s hard to say… because it really is hard to say. 

Silver: I… Even if one day father could no longer use magic, and when his body wither away…

Silver: Even if one day he forgets everything, I thought I could always be there to support him…!

Excuse me this line had made me cry as many times as I’ve heard it. At first he went back to his shouting tone, with a lot of determination, and yet it immediately cracks, because it’s so hard for him to speak of the truth that Lilia is losing magic and ageing. And he emphasised the “even if” in the second line a lot. 

Malleus: … Lilia has a good son. 

Silver: I am not a good son at all. I cannot fulfil the one wish my father has.

Silver: I wanted to send him off with a smile just like he wished and yet…

Silver: I… I… 

Aaah I just don’t know what to say? His voice crack so much when he said “just like he wished”. Because he thought this was such a simple thing to ask of him and yet he fails to do? 

And yes the chapter ends with him weeping and my heart shattering. 

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

Next is 7-27

Malleus: You say you are someone not related by blood, and some Lilia had no obligations to raise…

Malleus: But I am quite sure Lilia sees it the same way. 

Silver: … eh?

Malleus: The lifespan of humans, compared to long-living faes like us, is unbelievably fleeting and short.

Malleus: To have a human like you waste your time on he who is withering away. He perhaps thought that you have no obligation to do so either.  

Silver: Father… why…? 

Malleus: ……

Malleus: Grandmother always told me,

Malleus: the reason our bloodline, whose ancestors were dragons, are bestowed with especially strong power even among dark faes.

Malleus: She said it is so that we can make sure the smiles of the subjects of Briar Valley will never be clouded. 

Malleus: And yet I cannot erase one sorrow for you and your father. 

Malleus: Even if I have power… I am powerless. 

It’s interesting to me that Malleus has his detached tone of voice throughout this whole part, that one as if he’s deep in sad thoughts? I’m not sure how to interpret it, but I want to believe that he is both thinking about how to comfort Silver while also affected by Silver’s emotional outburst that Lilia is really really going to leave?? 

I also really appreciate Silver’s voice acting two lines later so feel free to listen. The crying scene has ended but his voice actor carries on the crying act because a normal human voice does not recover from crying that quickly cuz my voice sounded like that when I ramble to a friend about all this hkjsdhkjhskjhs. 

Also everything hurts more when we remember that Malleus said Silver is a child who is good at feeling for others. And now Silver stands here crying because he hasn’t repaid lilia mmmmm yes feed me that angst

[katsu28]

🍭 lollipop could u do 31. (sudden spells of dizziness disturbing their day) from list 5 for steve pls? ty 🫶

ofc love!! thank you for requesting <3

steve harrington x reader, 1k, mentions of injury but nothing specific

Steve didn’t regret having the everlasting shit beat out of him more times than, since he was doing it to protect the people he loved (and the entirety of Hawkins), but goddamnit if it didn’t fuck him up in all sorts of ways. Mentally and emotionally, yes, but the worst one was how it messed with him physically.

Because of how many times he’d had his bell rung, he could barely hear out of his left ear and see out of his left eye, his head and whole body hurt to no end all the damn time, and more recently (more frustratingly too), he began having dizzy spells. 

He didn’t tell anyone at first, not even you, having been rather accustomed to dealing with his problems on his own, but the more frequent they came along, the harder it was for him to hide them. 

Fast forward to now, Steve’s dizzy spells were the worst they’d ever been. Maybe it was from a lack of sleep lately, or he hadn’t been drinking enough water, he didn’t know, but the room started spinning every single time he’d stood up so far today. He’d managed to keep the first few under wraps, but he was getting increasingly frustrated. 

“Hey, Stevie, can you help me grab the paper towels? Someone put the new roll on the top shelf!” And by someone, you meant Steve, who always “accidentally” kept important things on the higher shelves so he could swoop in and save the day when you couldn’t reach them. 

Steve smiled to himself. “I have no idea who would do such a thing!” He called back, tossing the magazine he was flipping through off to the side and going to roll off the bed. 

Big mistake. 

As soon as he did, he was hit with what had to be the most head spinning, stomach turning, ear ringing bout of dizziness he’d had to date. 

“Jesus Christ,” He breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. One hand braced himself on the bedside table, while the other came to drag through his hair, fisting the strands at the nape of his neck before letting them flop back into place. He took a few deep breaths, willing the room to stop spinning quickly so he could go help you. 

“Steve?” Your soft voice sounded out from the hall, and he opened eyes to see you hovering in the doorway, brows pinched in concern. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine.” He replied quickly. Too quickly. You didn’t believe him one bit. 

“Are you sure?” 

“One hundred percent sure.” He confirmed, aiming a reassuring smile at you. “How bout those paper towels, hm?” 

He knew his cover had been blown the second he took a step in your direction, when the entire room lurched sideways yet again, and he lost his balance, stumbling on his feet big time. You were at his side in an instant, steadying him by his forearms. 

Your brows furrowed, eyes scanning his whole body for any sign of what could’ve made him pitch like that but coming up empty. 

“I’m okay, I just moved too fast. Lost my balance for a second.” 

“Steve…” 

“What? I’m fine, Y/N.” He snapped, growing instantly guilty when you flinched the slightest bit at his harsh tone. 

“Why are you being so defensive?” 

“I’m not being defensive!” Even that sounded extremely defensive, and you both knew it. Steve inhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be defensive, I’m just…frustrated.” 

“Frustrated? Why, baby?” Your voice turned hushed, gaze softening at his defeated tone. 

“I’m all kinds of messed up, sweetheart.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. You tilted your head curiously at him, rubbing your hand up and down his arm soothingly. “I get dizzy a lot. And, uh, usually I can deal with them on my own, but they’ve been getting worse lately. A lot worse.” 

“Oh, Steve,” You murmured, feeling your heart ache for the poor boy. You’d had your fair share of pain and trauma from the whole saving the world thing, but it was nothing compared to what Steve endured time and time again. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you.” Steve’s chin dropped towards his chest, dejected gaze aimed at his feet. “I know—I know we’re supposed to be a team, and tell each other everything but I…I really thought I had a hang on them. I don’t.” 

Steve was always the one who took care of everyone else. Need a ride somewhere? Call Steve. Need someone to rant to? Call Steve. Need someone to coax the neighborhood cat out of a tree because you scared it all the way up there trying to see if weed worked the same as catnip? That one was Eddie and only happened once, but still, call Steve. 

He was so used to putting everyone else before himself—so used to everyone relying on him, that he forgot that he could always rely on you. 

“Hey, no. You never have to be sorry with me, Steve. We’re in this together, yeah?” You insisted, looping your arms around his neck. “I’m the one who should be sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t come to me about this.” 

Steve shook his head vigorously, squeezing you tight. “If I’m not allowed to be sorry, you’re not allowed to be sorry.” 

“Okay. No sorrys here, from either of us.” 

“No sorrys.” He repeated, nodding once. No sorrys, but an endless amount of support, however and whenever Steve needed it. Whether that meant going to doctors to see if these dizzy spells could be remedied, or changing around your lifestyles to make things easier on him, you’d do it for Steve.

He’d do the same for you. 

“Just so you know, I’ll be your human crutch if I have to.” You offered, tilting your chin up at him. Steve snorted, rolling his eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t pretend like you wouldn't like that! Get to drape yourself all over me like you do when you're drunk.” 

“I don’t do that!” 

“Ask Robin. Or Eddie, or Nancy, or—” 

“Okay, okay, maybe I do. But it’s only because I love you.” 

“And I love you too. Otherwise I'd drop your wasted ass on the nearest couch and come home.” 

“...thanks.” 

[the-knucklesverse]

Stronger Together

something something the Shatter triplets were yoinked into the Sanctuary somewhere between season two and three of Sonic Prime, and know each other going into the last season. This is playing a little with the actual timeline of things, as our current theory is the ME pulled Dread in after season 1, either immediately before or immediately after getting the shard. But for this piece, they got pulled in after season 2.

This takes place in New Yoke, after everyone begrudgingly came together. ~~ Qwerty

~~~~~

"Ren!"

The voice called out over the noise of the others arguing, and the battle-scarred echidna turned to find his jungle 'brother' hurrying closer. The boy wore an expression of worry, which wasn't all that strange considering his typical nervous demeanor. "Yeah? What's up?"

"It's Dread," the boy said, his voice higher pitched in his worry. "He's . . . something's wrong."

"There's always somethin' wrong with him," Ren scoffed, crossing his arms. "Guy's got a screw loose somewhere."

Gnarly's expression intensified. "Ren. This is serious. He's losing it."

The boy's expression sobered Ren, and he nodded. "Show me."

Gnarly grabbed Ren's hand and pulled, dragging him to where Dread had hidden himself away in a corner. The pirate stood hunched over slightly, hands to his head and muttering to himself under his breath.

"Me Beauty, I must have me Beauty . . . grr . . . no . . . no . . . I be better than that . . . me Beauty be mine, all mine . . ."

"Dread?" Ren's voice was firm but soft. "Talk to me."

Dread shook his head, keeping his back to them. "Get away."

Ren tried again. "Dread, c'mon. You don't need that rock. Look at me."

The pirate shook his head again, curling tighter on himself. "Leave me be. I . . . don't want t' hurt you. I don't want t' hurt anyone."

"Dread, you need to—"

Ren was stopped when Gnarly put a hand on his arm. He shook his head, before moving closer to their eldest 'brother'.

"I know what it feels like," he said, speaking softly as he approached. "That noise in your head. Like a buzzing. A million bees stuck in there, making you feel like you're going crazy."

The trembling in Dread's shoulders stopped, and he turned to look at Gnarly. His eyes were wide, haunted, and his lip curled in a fearful snarl. "Ye . . . h-how do ye know that?"

"I've heard it all my life," Gnarly said with a shrug. "Back in Boscage Maze, I hear the trees. Cyber said it was something about something called chaos energy? I dunno. But I heard it when no one else could. And some days it makes me feel like I'd rip my own skin off just to have some quiet."

Dread straightened very slightly, turning more to face the youngest of their trio. "How do ye stop it? I hear me Beauty call me, even now, and I feel its pull. I want to go and get it, feel the power as it flows through me. But it makes me lose meself. I . . . I don't want to do that. How do I stop it?"

Gnarly shook his head with a sigh. "You can't stop it. You just have to learn to tune it out."

Dread grimaced as though that was the most painful thing he could hear. "How??"

"Focus on the things that are more important. I focus on my tribe. On Mangey and Hangry. My urge to keep them safe is more important than letting that buzzing get to me. That's what you need to do. Focus on what's more important than that rock."

"Nothing be more important than me Beauty!" Dread snapped, his face twisting in anger as he leaned toward the boy. A second later his eyes went wide and he drew back. "I . . . no, that's . . ." He grunted, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Get outta me head, you bloody rock."

"Focus on your crew," Ren said, moving closer. He wanted to be nearby in case Dread snapped and went after Gnarly. "They're your family, right?"

Dread shook his head, his hands still to his eyes. "I betrayed them. They . . . they'd never forgive me."

"Then what about us?" Gnarly said, trying to side-step around Ren, but his urban brother kept himself between them no matter how Gnarly moved. "We're your brothers. We want to see you beat this."

Dread slowly dropped his hands to look at the two echidna before him, a crease in his brow. "Ye . . . ye do?"

The other two nodded. "We do," Ren said, relaxing his stance a bit. "Dread, you're stronger than this. C'mon. Focus on helping us kick that fox's butt and making everything right again."

"That should be easy, for a legendary captain such as yourself, right?" Gnarly asked with a smile.

Dread looked between them for a long moment, before lowering his hands completely. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly before a familiar smirk spread across his face.

"Aye," he said, and he sounded stronger. "Plenty easy for the likes of meself. We'll go and show that fox that there ain't nothing that can stop an echidna tribe from saving that which they hold dear."

He moved closer to the other two, and held his fist out.

"Thank ye, lads. I may need yer strength once we get there. But I trust ye completely t' help pull me head outta me own arse should I start t' lose meself."

"Oh, you can bet on that," Ren said with a smirk, joining his fist to Dread's. "It'll be fun to kick your butt. Again."

Dread's eyes narrowed, but his smirk remained. "Oh, is that how you think our last fight ended, aye?"

Ren narrowed his eyes right back. "I know that's how our last fight ended, yeah."

"Okay, let's keep focused here," Gnarly said, adding his fist to the group. "Dread, we'll keep you from going crazy. Ren, you can kick his butt when all this is done."

Dread gasped. "Lad, ye can't believe this lubber's tales?!"

"Kid knows the truth when he hears it."

"LIES!"

Ren and Dread continued to argue as Gnarly walked off, shaking his head with a smile.

[annwrites]

god has given you a new purpose through me.

— pairing: commander ray cushing x handmaid!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: your first private encounter with your commander in your first posting

— tags: conversing

— tw: manipulation, religious fanaticism, guilt-tripping, mention of abortion, mention of rape, objectification, mansplaining, eating, drinking (alcohol implied), infantilization, demeaning behavior

— word count: 2,422

— a/n: if you come onto my blog & harass me over this post, i will not so much as interact with your ask. you will simply be blocked. i have a thing for greg bryk & maybe the idea of being totally subservient & brain-washed by the man turns me on, get over it.

with that said, my reader character isn't going to be portrayed as some doe-eyed, ignorant little thing who's willing to go along with her commander or the wills of gilead at every whim due to some foolish crush. she will, however, play them at their own game.

You pause in the entryway of the kitchen when you see Commander Cushing seated at the island in the middle of it, the screen of his laptop illuminating his face. Dinner had been hours ago, but a plate of cooked vegetables and something that, at least from across the room, appears to be lamb sits beside him, along with a glass of dark liquid.

He quickly looks up and his gaze travels along the length of your body. From your bare feet, to your sheer nightgown—which does little to conceal your form—until, finally, resting on your face, which is surrounded by your head of long, comely hair.

You feign embarrassment and shock to find him here so late. "C-Commander, I'm so sorry. I was just coming down to get a glass of water. I'll just go."

You turn to head back upstairs, until, "Wait."

You smirk, then quickly wipe it from your features, turning back to him.

He jerks his head toward the cabinets on his right. "Go ahead."

You nod, keeping your head down, eyes downcast.

But you know he's watching your every move.

You pad over to the cabinets to the right of him, standing on tip-toes to retrieve a glass from an upper shelf and you can practically feel his eyes roaming along the backside of you.

You settle of flat feet again, gently shutting the door, then filling your glass. Only taking a fraction of a second to glance at the window behind you, to find him still watching you.

He doesn't notice you noticing him.

Once you've refreshed yourself, you lick your lips, setting your glass in the sink. You turn back, refusing to meet his blue eyes. "Goodnight, Commander."

Before you can even take one step, he speaks again. "Are you hungry?"

You finally look up at him—but slowly—men can never help themselves here; Commanders most of all.

You know it's important to let him feel like the predator and you the prey, even if you'd been planning this moment step-by-step, play-by-play for the last week.

"A little... But I'll be okay until breakfast in the morning." Your voice is utterly soft and sweet, even a bit higher than its usual pitch, making you sound younger, completely innocent.

"Sit," he commands, gently patting the stool beside him.

You pretend to consider the offer for a moment, and he sits up straighter, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

He doesn't want you to turn him down or play hard-to-get. You can tell by the involuntary movement alone.

He is not asking.

You step over to him, gathering the skirt of your nightgown before sliding onto the seat next to him. You rest your hands in your lap, your feet barely touching the cold metal of the stool's footrest beneath you.

He goes back to his computer for a moment, but you don't dare to even so much as glance at the glossy screen. It's a test: will you try and pry—try and see what he's working on; try and find out the latest news concerning the country of Gilead.

You're not as stupid as he must think you look, however.

Finally, after a moment, he takes a drink from his glass, then turns slightly toward you.

"Have you ever had lamb?"

So you'd been right about the cuts of meat upon his plate, at least.

You shake your head. "No, sir."

He picks up his knife and fork, slicing into the tender meat, then holding the fork toward you.

Your eyes flit to his, then quickly away to the utensil. You lift your hand to take it from him, until he speaks. "Open."

You do, dropping your hand and balling it into a fist atop your thigh at the infantilizing command.

He eases the fork into your open, waiting mouth—you're sure he's picturing putting something else in there—and bite down, chewing once he's removed the silverware. You swallow, gently running your thumb along your lower lip.

"So?" He asks.

You smile, flushing. "It's good. Thank you, Commander."

He hums his response.

You fold your hands in your lap, trying to consider what next you should do—speak or wait—until he makes the decision for you.

"What's your name?" He asks, tone unreadable as he stares at his computer screen, typing, then scrolling.

"Ofray."

He rolls his eyes. "Your real name."

You pretend to take shock he would ask such a thing. "It...it's forbidden."

He closes his laptop then, turning toward you. "The first thing you need to understand about my household—about me—is that, so long as you reside under my roof and serve as my handmaid, I will determine what is permitted and what is prohibited. Do you understand?"

You nod gently. "Yes, Commander."

"Now, what is your name—from before?"

You're quiet for only a brief moment, then, "Y/N."

He takes another sip from his glance, settling it against the counter. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

You wring your hands nervously. "Thank you."

"How old are you, again?"

In truth, most of what he'd caught when Aunt Lydia had delivered you into the parlor of the house was her stating with glee how you were apparently one of her "very best girls". He'd been pleased at such news, but knew only time would tell if she were correct. The Rachel and Leah Center was one thing, but serving an actual Commander and his household quite another. Everything else she'd gone on about he'd had little interest in hearing—too taken with you to pay her any mind.

"Twenty-five."

He hums his response again. Young, he thinks.

"And tell me, Y/N, how, exactly, did you come to be a handmaid?"

He picks up his utensils, taking small bites of his food, waiting for your response.

And so you tell him the truth, knowing you have no other choice. He could see your file to confirm the facts if he wanted. And you know this story will make him see you in either one of two ways: soiled, used up goods, or a bird with broken wings, which need tending by his strong hands.

Men often saw women as such figures: whore or Madonna. Never multi-faceted people who actually think and feel and want and wish.

Especially the men of this regime. Especially Commanders.

"I was raped. And I got an abortion." You don't offer more than that.

He sets his utensils back on his plate, resting his palms against his thighs. "I'm sorry to hear that."

You let the pain fill you for a moment. Long enough to allow tears to fill your eyes. You glance to him, allowing him to see them. "Thank you," you whisper, sniffling.

You look away, your hands now trembling slightly in your lap. You squeeze them together and he notices, just like you'd hoped.

Play the injured fawn and he will treat you as such, you think.

"And the abortion: do you regret it?"

You want to roll your eyes or maybe scratch them out of his skull at such a question. You know you don't, but know that him, and men like him, obviously see all children—most importantly those conceived from rape—as being a gift from God.

You shrug slightly. "I... I honestly try not to think about it. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. I do when I dream about my baby," you rest your hand gently over your stomach, a pained expression coming over your features. "Carrying it, holding it, feeding it from my own body. Other times I... I know I wouldn't have been able to bear looking at something that came from him in...that way. If it had looked like him..." You sigh. "It doesn't matter now. I did what I did. And I can never take that back."

He studies you for a moment and watches as you wipe a tear from your flushed cheek.

"God has given you a new purpose through me. A chance to right your past wrong of murdering your child. I understand why you did so. I do. But it doesn't mean that it makes it right.

"This country was, and is, struggling to produce new life. As such, I find it difficult to wrap my head around how someone so young—who grew up watching the nightmare the world has turned into—could decided to terminate something so...wonderful. So beautiful and sacred. You understand motherhood is what God created you and your body for, yes?"

You fight down the rage that's risen up within you. You want to reach over and grab his knife and jam it into his throat, or perhaps cut out his tongue. Maybe his cock.

You think a lot of things.

But, instead of allowing your anger to win over the best of you, you nod. You place your hand back over your stomach. "I..." You begin, then fall silent, shaking your head. You stand. "Forgive me, Commander, I should go back to bed. I'm very tired." You go to turn away, until his hand reaches out, grabbing your own.

You look back to him, feigning surprise as you look down at your joined hands, then back up to him.

"You will finish what you were going to say."

You swallow. "It's incredibly stupid. I shouldn't-"

"You will."

He doesn't release your hand for even a second, holding you tightly to this moment. Demanding the thoughts from your head. So you give them to him easily.

"It's been a thought of mine since the Rachel and Leah Center: that if...if I can bear my Commander a child... Maybe the spirit of my first baby will... I can somehow fix what I did. I just..." You gingerly curl your fingertips against your stomach. "I'll never get to see it grow up. Or hold it. Feed it from my own breast..." You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks. You don't try to hide them now.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand and your skin crawls at the sentimental gesture. "Do you want that: to bear me a child?"

You feel bile rising up when you answer. "Yes. More than anything."

He uses his other hand to rest it overtop of your own, over your stomach. "May God bless this union and make you fruitful to bring forth his miracle."

You want to laugh. To ask if he really believes such ridiculous nonsense, but don't dare. You know he must to have risen so high.

You instead look at him, and he at you, and then he drops both of his hands back to his lap. "It's late."

You nod. "Goodnight, Commander."

He watches you every step of the way, until you disappear around the corner leading upstairs, back to your bedroom.

Once you've shut the door behind you, you throw yourself back on the large plush bed. It'd worked: part one of your plan had worked.

Well, your plan had begun long ago at the Red Center; you'd even fooled Aunt Lydia, not that you found that too difficult to do. She saw all of her girls as just that: girls. Not women, not adults, but something more akin to unruly children that needed to be brought into line by her hand alone. So playing some pious, doe-eyed thing who swallowed every ounce of teaching the Center gave you had put you immediately in her good graces.

It had been one of the most difficult things you'd ever done—just going along with everything thrown your way—but doing so had prepared you for here. Because you would have to continue on as you have: playing the perfect, brainwashed victim to please your new captor.

Girls at the Red Center—some brought back for "re-education" had made you aware of the state of things outside. Of how Commanders operated when it came to their new...toys.

Just like before: if you made a man feel good about himself—powerful and intelligent and strong and more than you; more important, more knowledgeable, more experienced—if you made him believe you were devoted to him—if you were lucky—you'd have him promptly wrapped around your finger in no time. And your stay would, at the very least, be easier. More pleasant. And sometimes it came with perks, the nature of which depended man-to-man.

You felt like you were drowning. Like it didn't really matter what you did one way or the other. Not truly. Because things for you would end only one way: with death. But how you reached that end—rather, your life before it happened to you—could be made more...preferable in enduring.

Your room was nice enough, you supposed. A large king bed with a soft duvet with little pink flowers across it, fluffy white pillows, a wing-backed chair near the window, which itself has a seat, a table, another chair, a small cherry-wood desk, even a fluffy rug beneath your bed.

None of these things had exactly been provided for you, per se, but had already been here when you arrived. As you understood it, Cushing had already had another handmaid before you, which apparently had not proved fruitful. You had little idea as to whether she'd been reassigned or...disposed of.

But it makes you wonder, nonetheless: had this room been like this before his first handmaid—it was decorated rather nicely—or had it been done like this for her?

You know that's a subject to possibly broach in time. And that was given there would be a similar repeat of tonight—not you sneaking into the kitchen again, no. You didn't want to be obvious; didn't want to seem too eager.

These men liked the chase, liked to play with their food first. They didn't want to be given what they wanted easily. But if things went according to your hopefuls plans—he'd, in time, be seeking you out in other ways.

A taste here or there. Shared looks or touches—your private secret—until he inevitably needed much, much more than that.

You hate what you've become. What this place has made you. That this is what your thoughts consist of now: how to make yourself more appealing and appetizing to a monster like him. But what other options do you have now?

Better than losing an extremity or being sent to the Colonies to die in radioactive waste, you think, finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

[dragon-kazansky]

I get a kick out of you

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Reader

Platonic! Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x Reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Warnings: Ice’s health is getting worse. I don’t specify what it is, but just a heads-up if you find it hard to read about declining health.

30 years later and Maverick is back in Top Gun. This time to teach it. It’s his turn to deal with his past, but it’s going to be OK. You’re there to help him. Both of you have someone to look out for.

Admiral Tom Kazansky and yourself are still going strong. Married life is treating you well, but his health is taking a turn. Tom wants to do his best by Pete, but some things are out of his hands.

They both need you now more than ever.

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter Eight - In sickness and in health

♡♡♡

You fussed over Tom from the moment you sent him to bed. You had him change in his pyjamas and get in bed, telling him off if he dared look at his emails on his phone, which you confiscated at one point. You told him he could have it back if someone important called, but other than that, you kept it hidden away.

When you came to bed, he was still awake. He had been reading a book he kept on his bedside table. He looked up from its pages when you came in, smiling at you softly as you got ready for bed. You climbed in and tucked into his side.

“How are you doing?” You asked, keeping your voice no higher than whisper.

He closes his book and turns to you.

“I’m fine,” he tells you. Though the roughness to his voice tells you he’s been coughing again. You frown.

“Tom, please be honest with me.”

“I am. I’m fine.”

Your eyes flicker between his, trying to pick up on any sign of him just telling you that for your sake, but you don’t see anything. He seems to be genuine with you, which shouldn’t surprise you. Tom never lied to you. He was always open about things, which was a boundry you both set after what happened in the past.

“Alright.”

You kiss him on the cheek, letting your lips linger there for a bit. His eyes close and he smiles softly at the feel of your lips on him. When you pull away, his cheek feels cold without your touch. 

He turns and watches you get settled in the bed, as you did every night. You normally, when he decides to read in bed, turn over and get comfortable, allowing him the space to read quietly some more, but tonight he didn’t feel like it. He moved the book back to the table and turned out his light, getting comfortable.

You feel his arm drape over your waist and pull you closer to him. You smile softly as you move yourself, getting comfy next to him. His lips brush against your shoulder.

“I love you,” you hear him whisper.

You smile to yourself.

“I love you too, Tom.”

You know then he’ll sleep soundly. Well, he normally would.

Tom’s health hadn’t been great for some time, but it had been at a level that wasn’t too worrisome, but the coughing had been a lot today. It only got worse during the night.

You’re not sure what time it was. Still pitch-black outside. You didn’t feel him leave the bed, but you could faintly hear the sink running. You didn’t worry too much, as it wouldn’t be the first time one of you got up for a drink in the middle of the night. It was when you heard his coughing as he came back that you sat up and turned to the door.

Your husband comes back into the bedroom with a half full glass of water. He doesn’t realise you’re awake right away, focusing on closing the door and getting back into bed. As he pulls the covers back over him, you turn to face him. Tom lifts a hand to his mouth as he coughs again.

“Do you need anything?” You ask.

He startles, having not known you were awake. He waits for the coughing to stop, shaking his head in the meantime.

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds all the worse now. You sit up and place a hand on his back, rubbing circles there. He takes some deep breaths and gathers himself again. Tom leans into your touch, and you’re quick to wrap your arms around him.

You don’t care that’s some stupid hour of the morning, Tom needed you.

When he feels a bit more comfortable, you both lay down in the bed, but you keep your arm around him. You can’t see his eyes, but you just know he’s looking at you.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark.

Soft lips press against your forehead.

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

No more words are shared for the rest of the night. You run your fingers through his hair until you know he’s fallen back asleep. Sleep doesn’t come back to you easily.

In the morning, he’s still asleep when you wake. You lay there and watch him for a little while, thoughts running through your head. Worry has set itself in your heart. The man you love is suffering in front of you, and you’re worried it’s only going to get worse.

You get up and decide to make a start on breakfast.

The house is quiet when your family aren’t visiting. Though you have no doubt they’ll be around later. Right now, you’ll focus on giving your husband something wonderful to start his day with.

The plan was to cook him breakfast and bring it to him in bed, but by the time you’re dishing it up, he had woken up, got up, got dressed, and come downstairs. You turn to see him enter the kitchen with the glass he used last night for his water.

“You’re supposed to be resting!” You scold him, glaring at him softly.

Tom doesn’t look the least bit apologetic as he smiles at you and puts the glass in the sink behind you. He stands close, grinning at you with his handsome smile. You lose the glare and chuckle at him.

“Tom, you need rest.”

“I will rest, later.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him. His hands settle on your hips as he kisses you, loving having his hands on you. You have to give him a soft push with your hands on his chest to get him to stop. He chuckles against your cheek. You know he would happily stand there kissing you all over if he wanted to.

“Behave,” you say, trying not to smile.

“Never,” he replies, winking at you.

“Eat your breakfast, Admiral,” you tease, patting his arm and walking around him to get your breakfast ready too.

Tom laughs softly as he takes his plate and heads over to the table.

He seems fine while you both sit down and eat. You both talk a little, eat, drink some juice, laugh a bit. It’s not until you’re clearing up that he coughs into his fist again. You stop what you’re doing to look at him.

“Tom...”

He shakes his head.

He won’t admit anything is wrong because he hates making you worry, but it doesn’t matter anyway. You are worried. He hasn’t been this bad since the first time he got sick. That was so long ago now.

You clear the plates and keep your back to him as you wash up.

Tom watches you from the kitchen table. You’re trying so hard to not let your worry show, but he can tell you’re crying quietly to yourself over there. He gets up slowly, making his way to the sink. He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

He hears the sob that escapes your lips.

“Let me call your doctor,” you say, keeping your voice quiet.

He’s silent for a moment, but then he replies just as quietly, “alright.”

Tom holds you a little while longer. You finish up your task, dry your hands, and then go and give his doctor a call. While you do that, Tom sits in his office, looking out his window.

He knows he’s not well. He knows it’s getting worse.

He can’t hide it.

He can’t deny it.

Tom doesn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario. About what will happen to Maverick if he gets worse. About his children. About you. He can see your heart breaking right in front of him, and if he doesn’t recover again this time, it will surely shatter your heart into pieces.

Tom wants to take away all that worry and sadness from you.

He wants you to be happy and loved by him forever.

You open the door to his office quietly, poking your head into the room. He still hears the door open and turns his head in your direction. You walk over to him, reaching your hand to him. Tom takes it when you’re close enough, bringing to his lips.

“He’s coming up to see you today.”

Tom nods, wordlessly.

You can’t help the tears from coming again as you look at him. Tom pulls you into his lap quietly, wrapping his arms around you. He hates it when you cry. He pulls you close enough to kiss your cheek, wanting you as close as possible.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

“I can’t help it. I hated watching you become sick in the first place, and now it’s happening all over again. Tom, they told us it could be so bad if you got like this again. I can’t.... I don’t... I...”

Tom stops you from talking by pulling you into a hug. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

You want to believe his words. He spoke them so confidently, but the worry hasn’t faded.

You sit with him like that for a short while before leaving him. You had tried to get him to go back to bed, but he refused. Knowing he wouldn’t do that, you left him in his office, letting him catch up with anything he missed yesterday. You had given him his phone back, but even then, he had put it away until now.

Tom’s doctor came by a couple hours later.

Tom was still in his office when you brought the doctor up. You stood by the door as the doctor went in and greeted your husband. Tom looked at you.

“You can stay,” he said.

You shook your head.

“I’ll get out of the way for now... Leave you both to it. I... I’ll go make your tea,” you said, heading out.

Tom watched you go.

The door to the office shut quietly behind you and Tom turned his eyes to the floor. He wanted to hold your hand and tell you everything was fine, but you had called his doctor for a reason. You were scared.

Tom turns back to the doctor when his name is spoken.

You watch the water boil as you wait. You grip the kitchen counter hard. You fear the worse. The warning last time that if he got sick again, it could be severe, you weren’t ready to hear that, never mind see it happen.

You loved Tom more than anything.

If you lost him....

You debate calling Pete, looking at your phone on the counter, but that might be a little immature. The doctor was only examining him, there was nothing set in stone yet. For all you knew, this was nothing but a cough that would clear up in a few days. But with how bad it sounded, and the affect it had on his voice when he was done coughing, you wondered. You worried.

All you seem to do is worry over him.

The water is boiled. You make his tea. You take your time putting his tea set together on a tray to take up to him. You walk slowly back up to his office.

You take your time.

Standing outside his door, you hesitate for a moment. You had given them some time, but you wondered if you would be disturbing them if you went in now. You were about ready to turn and leave, giving them more time, but the door opened, and you looked up to see the doctor standing there.

“He said you might be out here,” the doctor smiled.

You chuckle softly and step inside the office. Tom turns in his chair to look at you, offering you a smile. You return the smile and set the tray on his desk, but he doesn’t even glance at it. He reaches out and holds your hand.

“I think you should stay,” the doctor says to you.

You glance at him and then at your husband. Seeing the look on Tom’s face, you nod once and sit down, letting Tom hold your hand.

“What is it?” You ask, seeing the look on the doctor’s face.

“It’s not great news, I’m afraid,” he tells you.

You give Tom’s hand a squeeze as you try to keep calm. Tom doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you listen to the doctor. He’s not worried about him. He’s worried about you.

“Tell me.”

“Your husband’s health has worsened. The coughing is an early sign, but you knew this from last time.”

You nod your head.

“The good news is, he could recover from this, but there is a high chance he will get worse. From what I have gathered from my examination, his body has taken a much more severe hit this time around. I would hope that you only have to deal with the coughing, Mr Kazansky, but I fear you may feel much more than that. You may grow tired quickly, lose some of your strength, if your coughing gets any worse, you may do some damage to your throat. You may feel dizzy and nauseous if you stand up too long.”

You have to close your eyes and take some deep breaths.

Tom brings your hand to his lips and kisses it again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee anything. I fear this may get worse. If it does, you must contact me. There is a high chance this will be life threatening if this goes beyond the coughing.”

You can’t do it anymore.

You cover your mouth as tears fall.

You didn’t want to hear that.

The doctor gives you a moment as Tom pulls you into his arms and holds you. You fall against him, unable to brave face it anymore. No one wants to hear there’s a chance you’ll lose the one person you love.

Tom is the one to see the doctor out while you sit in his office staring at his desk.

The tea is cold now, but Tom doesn’t care. When he sees you sitting there, his heart aches. He walks over to the chair you’re sitting in and crouches down, taking your hands in his.

You turn your eyes to him.

“You’re not allowed to be sick...” You say, kind of teasing, but unable to laugh at your own words.

However, Tom smile at you softly.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

You lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Tom catches you and hugs you tight. You bury your face in his shoulder, hiding away from the world.

“You have to get better,” you mumble.

Tom doesn’t say anything, he just looks at the wall behind you as he holds you.

You know you’ll have to tell the children about this at some point, but you’ll tell them later. You’ll make an excuse for them not to visit today, wanting to be alone with Tom for now. You need time to think.

Tom agrees with this idea, because though he has a family to look after should the worst happen, he is more worried about you in this moment.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper softly in his ear.

Tom swears his heart just broke.

“Not if I can help it,” he replies.

You fear what the future has in store for you both.

♡♡♡

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[stayandot8]

Track Five: Give Me Your TMI

Genre: Fluff

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend, early days

Important Contents: A little shorter than the others but I hope you like it ❤️ Part 5 of Playlist. Thank you if you read. Let me know what you think.

WC: 1.6k

Next Part I Last Part I masterlist

5. Give Me Your TMI

Me: Hard day at work. Need some Channie time plz :) 

Channie ❣️: I’m not home at the moment but you’re welcome to wait for me there  

Me: :( fine. Is it cool if I take a shower? Some guy spilled coffee all over me on the way back.

Channie ❣️: oh gosh, yeah sure. The towels are in my closet and I bought some stuff for you to try. Feel free to use the bluetooth speaker too. Enjoy 💗

Me: Thank youuuu. Come home soon please 

With no one home, the apartment was quieter than normal, making me slightly uneasy as I made my way down the familiar hallway into my favorite bedroom. Disposing of my coffee-stained work shirt in Chan’s laundry basket, I finally take a moment to fall into Chan’s bed, letting his scent lure me into a state of relaxation. Humming to myself, I let the stress of the day melt into the sheets and just breathing in his smell deep in his sheets was already helping me let it all go. The only thing that could top it off was 20 minutes underneath his expensive-ass shower head. And a song or two. 

I connected to the speaker in his bathroom and stripped down, turning on the water and letting it heat up while I checked out what bathroom products he had bought for me. Spending so much time in his place was starting to have its benefits. The products he had gotten me were definitely on the higher end side. He probably got some advice from Hyunjin, Mr. Luxurious Products himself. He had gotten the works though. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body scrub, a lavish loofah, moisturizer, etc. I couldn’t wait to use them. 

I selected my Most Played playlist and a familiar song came through the speaker, I started to sing along as I got in. I was never a truly talented singer like Chan, but I could definitely carry a tune. And the shower was where I could sing my heart out. Especially when no one was home. 

While it was no hug from Chan, the hot water was doing just good enough in his place. I could feel what tension I had left melt from my shoulders. Halfway through my shower, I hear a low hum accompany my own harmony of the song playing. I froze under the water and slowly pulled back the curtain to find Chan sitting on the counter, arms around his knees with his eyes closed and humming along to my song, still fully dressed and surrounded by steam. 

“What are you doing in my shower?!” The pitch of my scream made him jolt, his eyes popping open as his face reddened. He quickly lowered the volume on my phone. I raised my eyebrows accusingly as he still had not answered my question. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?” His eyebrows matched his tone, slightly hurt but mostly curious.

“WHAT are you DOING in my SHOWER?!” I retorted, louder than before.

“WHY didn’t you TELL ME you could SING?!” He shouts back, his tone becoming more playful as his smile betrays him. I looked at him incredulously, this small shouting match obviously not going anywhere. My face fell flat, giving in. I rolled my eyes at him. 

“I didn’t mean to, it just never came up.”

He looked pensive, his eyes flickering between my face and the curtain that I was hiding behind. 

“Stop it.” I giggled. He smiled softly. His eyes grew wide and he tilted his head. 

“Please keep singing. For me.”

“What, now?” 

“Yes. Please?” He really has got to stop pulling that look out of his back pocket. I can’t say no to him when he does that. I close my eyes, slightly annoyed but more so excited with nervous energy. 

“Okay but I’m closing the curtain. I can’t look at you while I do it.” He eagerly nodded his agreement. I closed the curtain as the song started up again. It only got a few seconds further before I heard the music get turned down again. 

“Turn it back up.” 

“I want to hear your voice better.” I could hear the child in him starting to come out. I shook my head. 

“Turn it back up or turn it off.” I repeated. 

I hear his disgruntled groans as he turns it back up and continues to sing with me until the end of my shower, which conveniently only lasted two more songs. 

I turned the water off and a few seconds later I heard the door close. I poked my head out of the curtain again to see that he had laid some of his clothes in his place on the counter for me to change into. I quickly dry off and do just that. Hanging the towel on the hook behind the door, I look in the cabinet behind the mirror to satisfy my curiosity. He had some of the normal things (his toothpaste, some hair oil, his vitamins) but he also had some hair products on a shelf by themselves. He really went all out. 

I poked my head out of the bathroom, some steam escaping. 

“Are these hair products for me?” He nodded. 

“I thought you would enjoy them. Bring them out here and I’ll do it.”

Something so small yet seemed so intimate. The nervous energy was back in full force. I gathered the bottles and brought them out with me to set on his bed in front of him. He motioned in between his legs for me to sit on the floor, putting down a pillow for me to sit on. Once I sat down, he handed me a mug with some hot liquid in it. Tea by the smell of it. My comfort drink.

The sound of Chan squeezing something from the bottle into his hand would’ve been funny if his hands hadn’t immediately gone straight to hair, running his fingers through it. This earned a hum of contentment which seemed to spur him on more, massaging the product into my skull. My head fell back into his lap, my eyes closed. I felt a pair of lips connect with my forehead and a voice whispered into my ear. 

“Are you feeling relaxed?” I nodded slowly, finally opening my eyes to find him already searching my face for signs of stress. He nodded, content with my answer. He broke the next few minutes of silence with the question I had been dreading.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked softly. He sounded slightly hurt. Not what I wanted. 

“Can I be honest?”

“Always.” His movements in my hair became more purposeful, him trying not to read too much into my tone. I sipped my tea for a solid minute. For strength of course. 

“Honestly, I was intimidated. You do this for a living, Chan. I have no desire to pursue music. I’m content with my life the way it is. I just didn’t want to… I don’t know. It’s not something I want to pursue or anything so I just didn’t feel the need to mention it. I didn’t mean to keep it from you, really.” My cheeks were flushed with the combination of the shower, his hands still in my hair, and finally admitting out loud that he still intimidated me. I couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved at this confession, my shoulders slumping inwards. I heard him give a small sigh, not meant for my ears. I ignore it. 

“You’re done. I hope you enjoyed your time at Channie’s Salon, please come again.” He mussed my hair as he got up from behind me, heading back to the bathroom with the bottles in his hands. I didn’t want to move from my spot. I sipped again until he reappeared in the doorway. I raised my eyes to him in question. 

“I get it. I really do. It’s just that when I heard you from the bathroom, I got so excited. I wasn’t even thinking about how you sounded, I was just excited that you enjoyed doing it too. You sounding that good is just an added bonus.” He smiled down at his feet before turning his downtrodden eyes back to me. “I want to know these things about you. Even the things you don’t think are interesting. I didn’t even know what kind of bathroom stuff you liked so I got what Hyunjin recommended.” I knew it. 

“Well then I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you grab us drinks from Han’s stash and we will answer any questions the other has. Absolutely anything, no holds barred. Deal?” His face lit up at my suggestion. 

“You got it.” He disappeared from the room and I heard rustling coming from the kitchen, indicating he was doing just that. I downed the rest of the contents of my mug in anticipation for what was to come. I think I was finally ready to let him in, see it all. 

He came back in with two glasses of wine and the bottle. I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise. 

“How much do you want to know?! Are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll tell you all my secrets?” I shake my head at him as he laughs, handing me a glass and putting the bottle between us on the floor. 

“When I tell you I want to know everything, I mean it. Lay it all on me. Everything.”

“Only if you start.” I said from behind my glass, gulping down a little more than I should have but I needed my strength if I was going to tell him everything. He laughs louder this time, nodding again. 

“Okay okay. Where to start? Well…” He started telling the REAL story behind a scar on his arm, which was full of laughing until we cried. It was all I could do not to just stare at him while he poured his heart out to me, wondering how I ever got so lucky to have him.