#the thing with his palm was supposed to be redder (i fucked up the colors)

[1978-combo-organ]

wanted to try something with csp tools

[courseoflove]

Questions

You have lots of questions for Harry and he tries his best to answer each of them.

a/n: hiiiii, think it’s been almost a year since I last posted my writing and I’m finally back! thanks to @oh-honey-styles‘s new fic slam prompts, I was able to curate something I liked enough to share. usually it’d take me lotssss of drafts to be satisfied and happy with something but this one only took 2! I hope you enjoy it and pleaaaaseee be kind ⭐️😸 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

warning: this is just pureee filth. not really smut, but filthy regardless.

Word Count: 1,775

Harry’s forest eyes ogle straight at you, lips pressed in a tight line and twitching on one side to form a smirk that he tried his very best not to show.

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you just needed help with something minuscule, like putting together new furniture, fixing the wifi, or help pick out an outfit; things you’ve urgently called him about before. He never, ever thought you’d call him one day and ask for this, a lesson on blowjobs out of all things.

Luckily, sex has never been a taboo topic between the two of you, considering he’s the first person you yell to when you’re letting out your frustrations about your lack of experiences, or vice versa when he just had an intercourse dilemma that continues to leave an everlasting impact on him. But when you’re asking him about giving good oral pleasure, his brain is suddenly void of any thoughts that should help the situation at hand.

“Quit smirking at me, I’m serious!” Harry flinches when you throw a pillow at him from across the other side of the sofa, instantly wiping the smirk off of his face and instead letting out a soft chuckle when he successfully catches it. You throw him an intense yet jest glare, “just. Today at work. I dunno. I just need to know. I want to know.”

“How d’you suppose I do that?” he asks cautiously, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees and prop his chin up with the palm of his hand, “teach you, I mean.”

You’re usually never embarrassed around Harry, despite the many weird and unusual conversations you’ve both had during sobriety and drunkenness. You don’t remember ever feeling even the slightest bit awkward or sheepish when you told him about how IUDs work, or giving him a very vivid description of how exactly you feel during your menstruation cycle. He takes it all in and listens with amusement, sometimes with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn on his lap.

But right now, in this exact moment, you feel slightly skittish and jittery, as if blowjobs were something you’re just now learning about. He can sense it, especially with the way you’re averting your gaze from his eyes to the silent flatscreen tv nailed on your wall — thanks to him. You’re also doing that thing he constantly scolds you for whenever you’re anxious and nervous, chewing ferociously on your bottom lip and squeezing your fingers into a fist to the point your nails will sink on your palm and pop your veins.

“Stop that, you’ll bleed,” he cuts the silence off, “and answer my question.”

You unclench your fist and turn towards him again, barely making eye contact and instead looking at the lovely framed painting hung on the wall behind him, “maybe just describe it?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” was all Harry said. He leans back against your soft couch, taking both of your feet with his hands and settling them on his lap to crack each of your toes. You flinch a little on his first try, turning your focus and watching his fingers work against your skin, “think of a lollipop. Or popsicles, something of the sorts. You put it in your mouth and just… suck. Lick. Move your mouth, without the teeth.”

Suck. Lick. Move your mouth; the words that tumbles out of his lips causes you to flush, your whole body heating up and turning beet red, the color dancing across your nose and emphasizing your imperfections flawlessly.

What Harry said was pretty accurate. It’s not as detailed as you want but you don’t really know how to ask for that without feeling mortified and even more flustered. He said it exactly how it is; you just put your mouth around it, suction your cheeks, use your tongue and bob your head. But you feel like there was something missing, as if there should be more to that. Well, because there is. You want to know more.

His fingers have started to dance their way to your calf, squeezing the deep tissues there in a tender and leisure massage to try and get rid of your tensed muscles. You’re wincing in between syllables when you finally speak after a couple of seconds, “question. It might be weird. Just… just tell me if you don’t wanna answer.”

His eyes lock with yours when he hums for you to continue, a strand of curl falling over his forehead and tickling his brow while his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth in concentration. He presses his warm hands on your leg forcefully and harder and it helps calm your nerves and neurons, your habit of overthinking in situations like this disappearing little by little the more he moves. The lack of poise you had minutes ago is lessening and your question is on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst at the seams and be voiced aloud.

With your face turning a lot redder and goosebumps developing on your skin from head to toe out of the blue, you ask with your voice a little lower than it was a while ago, “will you tell me what you like? When.. you know.”

Harry’s movements quickly halt. Another unexpected turn. Another question he never, ever thought would come out of your mouth to ask him.

He lets go of his lip and keeps his mouth agape, irises instantaneously dilating and darkening under your lemon-yellow light and turning them into an even darker shade, like a week old leaf. His brain performs a short circuit for a few moments that passes by in silence before he finally swallows and says, “you want to know what I like when I’m getting head?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, feeling even more ridiculous the more you look into his eyes and open your mouth, “I mean, you have the most experience out of the two of us. That’s why I asked in the first place, but I feel — I feel like your first answer doesn’t really — it’s just not satisfying me. There has to be more to it than just.. sucking, I dunno.”

Sure, you talk to one another about sex casually; what one undergos and encounters and what the other simply has no preconceived notions of. Harry would tell his stories in the least disgusting way possible, knowing you’ll groan out loud and tease him about it if he gives away any sort of detail, but there was almost always zero utterance on your end. No lingering and continuous curiosity. You asking about what he likes when he’s getting head is very much unforeseen and maybe even a bit… amiss, especially for you.

However, he can detect a genuine inquisitiveness in your expression. You’re probably one of the hardest people to read on the surface, but he senses that there was more to that interest than just simply wanting to know. At least, he’s hoping there is.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a bit weird now the more he gawks at you and doesn’t make a single move to respond. You open your mouth to backtrack when his hesitancy becomes clear, but before you can even take your question back, he’s already mouthing a three-syllable word out loud, “mouth-fucking.”

A low gasp leaves your mouth and the sound doesn’t miss Harry’s eardrums. He should want to take it back, shove the words back in his throat and never say it again despite not being able to. Still and all, he realizes that he likes what you asked and the fact he gave you an answer, a brief one but an honest and precise answer nonetheless. The way your skin warms against the palm of his hands makes him start to sweat, your bare face becoming even more flushed if possible. You don’t really know what kind of answer your mind presumed, but it obviously wasn’t that.

You’re aware of Harry’s self-confidence and boldness when it comes to sex. He has lots of it and it doesn’t come as a surprise. So when he opens his mouth again to explain exactly what he meant, you were able to hold your second gasp back and instead listen in. You can just imagine how filthy he is in bed, considering the description he gives you seems to be even more graphic and explicit, “like normal sex, but I’m doing it to their mouth. I like the sound, the sloppiness of it all, it fuels me. I like being in control, I guess, and no one wants a dry blowjob. I like it really wet.”

You startle both yourself and him when you utter, “what else?”

Harry clears his throat and looks away from your eyes, not because of discomfort because there was absolutely none, but for the reason that the more he stares the more he pictures you inside his head doing exactly what he was evoking. He blinks a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the colorful conception, yet it just becomes even more lucid and clear-cut. He tries to distract himself by continuing to answer your questions. It definitely doesn’t help. It just drags the mental image on.

“I like it when they let me come down their throat, then swallow it. Or when — when the aftermath of pure bliss just overtakes my entire body. Like, they just pull away for a second then suck me right back in,” the skin on your legs feel sticky under his hold. You swallow at his dazed appearance and tiny smirk, as if he’s picturing it all in his head. And he is, “yeah. I like that a lot.”

Somehow it’s gotten a lot warmer inside the tiny space of your living room, every corner closing in on the two of you in your peripheral vision and you can’t exactly make out the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers and in between your thighs. Well, you do. You know you’re undoubtedly turned on but acting clueless and ignoring it would be the best way to handle it.

You ask him one more question, the last one you’ll emit for the rest of the evening, “and how was it for them?”

Harry turns his head, connecting his darkened eyes with yours. There’s an indecipherable message written all over his handsome face. His voice is heavy, raspier and deeper with his accent when he answers for the last time, a specific implication behind his tone, “one of these days, you’ll see.”

[chokemeanakin]

A Helping Hand (part two) - Anakin Skywalker x fem Reader (whump and smut)

Hi this is the smut part enjoy :)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

WC: 2.4k

Anakin was right. Your shoulder was healed with a bit of bacta, but your wrist-- for lack of better terms-- was fucked. By the time you had made it to the infirmary in the Jedi temple, your fingers were going numb and you had no motion at all in your wrist. Not that you had any motivation to move it.

Anakin was forced to stay in the waiting room as you got x-rayed and treated… which included setting the broken bones back in place. You were thankful he didn’t have to see that. After you were let loose, Anakin brought you back to his and helped you wash up. He even cooked for you and made you a mug of tea while you lounged in his bed, loopy from pain meds, resting your newly casted arm on a pillow. 

In the days directly after, you were a crabby mess. The council had not, in fact, decided to give Anakin a break, and he was sent back into battle only a day later. You had to come to terms with the fact that you were going to take a while to heal, which meant you were effectively useless to the Republic army until you were all better. The realization was like a blow to the chest-- you would take months to heal fully. What were you supposed to do until then?

You blew off some steam by focusing your efforts on training your uninjured hand to be able to throw. It should have been something you had worked on before, but your injured arm had been so good at it, there was no need. Now, you learned your lesson and began training your non-dominant hand to be just as good.

There was another reason you were in a terrible mood. It had been far too long since you had blown off steam in… other ways. Before recent, Anakin hadn’t been as busy, so he took care of you. Usually it wasn’t a problem when he was gone because you could just do it yourself. But ever since your wrist started hurting, you haven't been able to satisfy yourself. It had been weeks, and the clunky cast on your wrist reminded you that there were still months to go. 

Anakin came back from his most recent mission during the last few hours of the afternoon. He had been gone for over a week, and you missed him terribly. When he came through the door, you expected him to be exhausted, covered in dirt and debris, and begging for some food. However, he opened the door to find you getting dressed from your shower, his leather armor perfectly clean and a bright smile on his face.

You wanted to say something, but he beat you to it.

“Good news,” he shrugged his robe off, discarding it on a chair before immediately coming and wrapping you in his arms. “The Council gave me a whole week off.”

You squeezed him as hard as you could, the cast on your injured arm keeping you from holding him to your full potential. You breathed in his scent, closing your eyes as you felt his chest rise and fall with every breath. Wordlessly, you pulled at him to get on the bed, and he took the hint. You stayed pressed against each other as he settled onto his back, and you buried yourself into his chest. Your cast hung off to the side awkwardly.

“How’s your arm doing?” he spoke into your hair, rubbing your back.

“Doesn’t matter,” your cheek was squished against his chest. “You’re back.”

His body shook with laughter beneath you. “But is it feeling any better?”

“Still broken.”

“Have you been icing it?”

“Every day.”

“Taking your pain meds?”

“Occasionally.”

“Thinking of me?”

You hugged him tighter to you. “Always.”

He sighed contently, hand dragging soothing lines up and down your back. Unfortunately, with the way you were laying on him, his leg was slotted between yours. You wanted to relax and enjoy this peaceful moment being alone with him for the first time in weeks, but there were other needs that were taking over the forefront of your mind.

You shifted your hips, hoping he wouldn’t notice your movement as you rubbed against him. You just needed some sort of friction, the blood in your veins becoming hot as you felt the first sparks of pleasure in weeks. If Anakin hadn’t noticed your movement, he did notice the color now staining your cheeks.

“Something wrong?” he pulled your chin up to look at him.

You froze. “Not at all.”

“Really?” the hand on your back shifted to grip onto your hip, pushing you against his leg.Your eyes fluttered closed at the eruption of pleasure, giving you away. “That’s what I thought.”

His tone dropped a decibel, words dripping from his mouth like honey. That was always one of your favorite things about him-- the slow, smooth way he spoke. He could do nothing but whisper in your ear, and you’d be all ready for him.

“I missed you,” you responded truthfully, then looked to your casted arm. “I-I haven’t been able to…”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, smirking as the pieces instantly clicked. “Oh, you poor thing,” his hand travelled from your hip and between your legs, applying the gentlest pressure over your underwear. You shivered as he traced slow circles into your most sensitive spot, closing your eyes again and leaning into his touch. He kept his hand under your chin, forcing you to face him.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he remarked. “Good thing we have a whole week to catch up.”

You balled the robes under his leather armor in your fist, squeezing at his shoulder for purchase. He let go of your chin and moved his hand to your neck, bringing you down so he could kiss you. 

It was sweet; a slow, gentle kiss that mirrored what he was doing to you below. You needed him to go faster, but he seemed content with this relaxed pace. He was teasing you, you knew it, but you were afraid that if you called him out on it he’d draw it out for even longer.

You began shifting your hips to meet his fingers, grinding yourself against him. Your body sang like a live wire as he deepened the kiss, slowly tasting you. The deliberate movement of his tongue against yours had you pooling in your panties, sighing into the kiss.

You needed your underwear off. Now. You sacrifice your good hand from his shoulder to reach down, but it was harder than expected to shift them down your legs.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled against your lips. “Oh.”

He chuckled deeply at your failed attempt to rid yourself of your underwear, pulling them the rest of the way himself. “This better?” he breathed, fingers returning to massage deep circles into you. 

You moaned in answer, rocking your hips in time with his movements. He pressed quick kisses into the delicate skin of your neck, slowly building you up with his fingers until you were pretty sure you were dripping onto his Jedi uniform. You pushed aside every instinct telling you to continue and sat up, pulling at his belt.

He paused with his fingers still against you, watching you struggle with his belt for a moment. You pulled at the straps, but it was hard to undo with just one hand. He watched your face grow redder and redder, waiting for you to ask for help.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you admitted quietly. 

He caressed your hot cheek with the back of his finger, and then removed his hands from you so he could take off his own belt. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

You ignored his teasing and tugged at the leather armor. “This needs to go. And the shirt under it.” 

Anakin steadied you on him with a hand to your hip, sitting up so he could shrug off the leather armor and robes underneath. Watching him undress before you, you wished more than anything that you could drag your hands down his chest, feel the hard muscle of his abdomen beneath your palms-- both of them. But your casted arm still hung by your side, pathetic and burdensome. 

You swung your leg off of him so that you were kneeling beside him on the bed. He frowned, questioning what you were doing.

“I’m making a mess on you,” you gave a pointed leg to where you had been positioned over his leg.

“It’s no matter,” he brought you back to him for another kiss. “I can deal with a little mess.”

He trapped you beneath him, his arms on either side of you as he licked into your mouth again. You met his movements halfway, responding in earnest. Your new position allowed you to wrap an arm around his neck, and you lifted your casted arm to do the same, but hesitated. You didn’t want the hard material to hurt him, but it would be awkward if you just let it lie limply at your side.

He answered your silent debate by lifting the elbow of your injured arm, placing it around his neck like you wanted. Your chest swelled with warmth and you rolled your hips against his, searching for the feeling that could satisfy your ache. You used your knees to push his pants over his hips, and he removed them the rest of the way, kissing down your neck again. 

This time he didn’t stop, hands slipping under your shirt and bunching it up around your neck as he sucked wet kisses into the flesh of your breasts. You ran your good hand through his hair, watching the messy curls flop back down over his forehead. He smiled at you crookedly before ducking back down, lips marking a trail down your stomach, across your hips, to the inside of your thighs. His fingers dug into the skin there, pulling you open for him so he could taste the arousal that was waiting for him.

The feeling of him never got old. You bit the skin of your good arm in your mouth, head rolling back into the pillow. It had been far too long since you’d done this. His tongue felt like heaven, massaging you just right as he licked and kissed your sensitive bud. He wasted no time with teasing you, thankfully, as he forced you to come undone beneath him. 

It was embarrassing how fast you came close to finishing. Your legs tensed up around his head, and he held you open as he kissed deeper into you. Your moans bounced off the walls, uncontrollable as he kept up his sweet torture. The lava was building up in your veins, just about to burst, when he pulled back.

“You look so pretty,” he groaned, replacing his mouth with his hand. He spread your wetness around with his fingers, dipping inside you with one and then another, working you open slowly.  He watched himself do it, his gaze on you focused on the way his fingers disappeared in and out of you. You don’t know why it made you bashful, but you cupped his jaw with your good hand, pulling him up so you could clean yourself off of his lips. 

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, nibbling on it as you reached down again to stroke the hard length of him in your palm. He pressed you back into the pillow, kissing you hard, thrusting into your hand in time with his fingers inside of you. You clenched around him, wanting nothing more than to be filled to the brim with his cock.

You positioned him against your wet folds, hinting at what you wanted, but he wouldn’t move his fingers. Instead he dug deeper, curling his wrist just right so he could hit the place that made you lose control. You broke away from the kiss to gasp, hand tightening around his length.

“Fuck,” he murmured, lips closing over yours again. He swallowed your whimpers and when you realized he wasn’t going to let up, you settled for rubbing the head of him over your clit. Your ecstasy was approaching again, he could feel the vibrations of your moans growing louder and louder. 

When he finally let you sink his length into you, it was like stepping into a warm bath on a rainy day. You were so wet and so ready, you opened up for him effortlessly, walls squeezing excitedly around him. He buried his face into your neck, breath hot as he marked your skin up. He made sure to be cautious of where you had been shot, skimming his lips over the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

Your bodies were pressed against each other at every point, not a single space left between you two. He buried himself deep inside you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he rocked in and out. It was slow and sweet and careful, yet satisfying all the same. You were both content with this, just wanting to be together and feel each other. You kept Anakin’s head pressed against your skin with your hand to the back of his neck, curling into the hair there. 

God, you had missed this. The warmth of his body against yours, the heavy length of his hardness scraping against your walls, the bliss that it pulled from the pit of your stomach. You arched into him, his arm anchoring you to him on the small of your back. 

It didn’t take long for either of you to finish. You cried out, hand tightening in his hair as he buried himself inside you, deep and deliberate, hips rolling just right. The pleasure washed over you in waves, and your body shook as you came undone beneath him. He twitched inside you soon after, spilling hot liquid into you as he groaned in your ear.

Your breathing was beginning to slow when he pulled out of you. He moved to pull his pants back on, but you stopped him-- this night was far from over, and you were just beginning. He shot you a cocky grin, and then pulled you on top of him with one arm.

“How’s your arm feeling now?”

You kissed his sternum, feeling his heartbeat beneath your lips. “Still broken, Anakin.”

[artemisia--hq]

This prompt is from @kittensocute ‘kageyama and hinata are stuck on a ferris wheel ride’

(*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ

—————————————

When one thinks of amusement parks, games and rides, and generally a fun, happy time instantly comes into mind. This, however is decidedly not fun. This is a nightmare, a weaving of pure fear and terror, and Tobio swears if he ever manages to get out of here alive, he is so going to—

“Aaahh! Ahh! We’re gonna die! We’re gonna die!”

“Stop yelling, dumbass!” Tobio yells. He rubs his face with both of his palms when Hinata still wouldn’t stop screaming like a banshee. “Death is gonna be the least of your concern because I’m gonna kill you first if you don’t! Stop! Yelling!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Hinata cries, “and you’re yelling, too!” He serves Tobio a stink eye, or as stinky as he can possibly muster with his ashen face and trembling lips. Tobio just returns the glare a hundred-fold, and that seems to do the job of shutting the idiot up as he looks away with an obnoxious huff.

But the sudden silence only gives way for Tobio to marinate in regret, recounting every action that had led to the disaster they’re currently in.

It was supposed to be a fun day in the amusement park, and it did start out that way. The first and last time Tobio had been to one was years ago, with Kazuyo-san and Miwa for his tenth birthday. It is one of his most treasured memories that is completely unrelated to volleyball, the only time he had fun without it.

But spending it with his friends (and yes, that includes that bastard Tsukishima, however mortifying that concept is), had been admittedly fun, too. They were all together during the first hour, playing games and getting into every ride they could. But he and Hinata had been pre-occupied with one-upping each other with a shooting game and before they knew it, their friends were out of sight.

It was Hinata’s idea to ride the ferris wheel to look for them. Now they’re stuck in a cramped, glass-covered carriage for fifteen minutes.

“This is why you don’t get to have any dumbass ideas, you dumbass,” Tobio grumbles out loud.

Hinata bristles. “Wh-what?!”

“This is all your fault in the first place.”

The other boy lets out a disbelieving gasp. “You’re the one who said, ‘oh yeah. Good idea,’” he says in mock imitation of Tobio, flattening his hair as he does so.

He’s not wrong, but Tobio can’t give Hinata the satisfaction of being right, either, so he clicks his tongue and looks away.

Silence once again engulfs them.

Tobio gazes through the glass of the carriage to take his mind off of certain things that’s been circling his consciousness like incessant, annoying flies, things that shouldn’t be given permission to reside in his thoughts.

Getting stuck a hundred feet above the ground is bad enough as it is—getting stuck with the worst possible person just makes it a hundred times worse.

Tobio risks a sideway glance out on the corner of his eyes. Hinata has his arms around himself, as if he’s purposely trying to take up as little space as possible. Which is a weird concept to wrap around—as small as Hinata is, his larger than life presence could more than fill up a room, with that beaming smile and loud, cheery voice.

But Hinata is none of that presently. He looks quite pale, wide eyes darting around for every creak and squeak of the ferris wheel carriage, small hands clenching and unclenching the sleeves of his sweater. The most frustrating thing of all: he wouldn’t stop chewing his lower lip, now looking red and swollen and just so ki—

Tobio has to give himself a few mental punches in the head to wrench his attention away from it and to clear his thoughts.

See, this is why he absolutely shouldn’t be alone with this orange-haired gremlin. He gives Tobio horrendous ideas.

“K-Kageyama?”

Tobio’s body temperature drops to subzero. Fuck, was he caught staring? Was he too obvious? He should run—wait, no, fuck, he’s trap, he’s done for—

“Wh-what?” He snaps, anger immediately acting as a reflex.

Hinata flinches, then he sighs, looking down on his feet. “Never mind.”

Something twinges in Tobio’s chest. God, why is he so…taken with this stupid idiot. “What is it?” he asks, cutting down his tone, just a little.

The other boy still has his eyes cast down, squirming. “Uhm…”

“Out with it, dumbass.”

Those round brown eyes squeezes tight as Hinata blurts out, “Canyouholdmyhands?”

Tobio sputters, “Wh-what?”

“Can you hold my hands, please!” Hinata yells, extending both of his hands like an offering.

Okay, either he has completely lost his mind, or Hinata has.

He goes for the more convenient option.

“Are you crazy? No!” He whips his hands behind him, for good measure. “Why would I?”

“Because I’m scared and my hands are cold!” Hinata grouches, and for a second, he has every intent to fight and demand for it, like he always does, but then he deflates and slumps on his side of the carriage. “I-It’s fine. That was weird, anyway. Sorry.” He then proceeds to hug himself again, shrinking within his sweater.

Hinata has never looked so tiny and vulnerable.

Tobio’s mouth starts to open when the carriage suddenly sways and groans on his hinges. Hinata screams and Tobio is already lunging forward even before his mind could even process things, and his hands grabs onto cold, clammy ones, fingers intertwining tightly.

“We’re gonna die! We’re gonna die, Kageyama!”

“Sh-shut up! That was just the wind!”

“I-I don’t want to die, Kageyama!” Hinata wails, tears pricking on the corners of his blown, shaky eyes. “I-I still have to be good in volleyball! I still have to beat you!”

Tobio has never seen Hinata this distressed before, or even this legitimately terrified. He’s always been a scaredy-cat, but never like this. Tobio shuffles closer, gripping their joined hands. “No one’s going to die, so stop screaming.” He gives another reassuring squeeze, and it might be instinct or reflex, but Hinata squeezes back. “I won’t let that happen.”

Hinata sniffs. He blinks his glossy, golden eyes at Tobio “R-really?”

Tobio nods. “Yeah.” He hears some commotion from below and he presses his face on the glass. “Look, they’re doing something about it now.” He turns to face Hinata again. He could go in for a smile, but he figures that would only scare Hinata more than comfort him. “We’ll be out of here in no time, so just…think about something else.”

Hinata shakes his head frantically. “I-I can’t. There’s nothing in here that can distract me!” Then his gaze lands on their entwined hands. “Except, maybe…this.”

“Yeah, well…if that helps,” Tobio murmurs as he stares at their hands, too, before stalwartly looking away. If Hinata finds comfort in that, Tobio, on the contrary, needs a distraction of his own away from it. He settles at looking over the glistening lake dotted with tiny boats shaped like swans and turtles at the distance, but all of his nerve endings seem to concentrate on the point of contact between the, feeling each ridge and bumps of those rough, calloused hands wrapping around his own. Yet, they’re also unbelievably soft, if that makes any sense. Hinata just seems to defy all rules of the universe, from his jumps to the feel of his hands.

They are a bit sweaty, though, which is kind of gross. But Hinata being gross is not an entirely alien concept to Tobio, so whatever.

“Your hands are really warm,” Hinata says suddenly in genuine awe, as if he doesn’t mean to say them out loud.

Tobio’s hands are not the only ones getting warm—he can feel the back of his neck and his ears prickle with heat. “And really big. And your fingers are super long.” Hinata adds.

Tobio is half a mind to withdraw his hand and pocket them into safety, if only to keep them away from scrutinizing large eyes and to save himself from spontaneously combusting. But it does seem to calm Hinata, so it’s a risk he just has to endure.

He faces the other boy—the whole distract himself thing isn’t really working, anyway. “Obviously, dumbass,” he jibes, “I’m bigger than you everywhere.”

Hinata just nods, then he’s silent for a moment, before whispering, “Is this weird for you?”

“What, that I’m bigger?”

“No, stupid,” Hinata says with a roll of his eyes. “I meant, this.” He gestures at their hand, lifting them and letting it drop in the space between their knees.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Tobio says, although he’s not really sure if he’s saying that to Hinata or himself. “You’re the one who asked for it.”

Hinata shrugs. “That’s different. I didn’t think you’d be up for it.” When Tobio doesn’t answer, Hinata sighs. “I-I mean, you normally do this kind of thing with…you know…” he trails, his pale cheeks quickly rising in color, eyes looking anywhere but at Tobio’s face.

“No, I don’t know,” Tobio says.

Amber eyes finally locking with blue ones, Hinata says in the softest voice, “You do this kind of thing with the person you like.”

“I do like you.”

It must be the work of altitude and oxygen and all the science-y stuff Tobio never paid any attention to in class because it’s the only logical explanation why his mouth decides to run off without his brain. He resists the urge to face palm himself hard enough to propel himself into the next dimension.

Hinata, understandably, stares at Tobio like he’s grown an extra head plus a tail. “You—like—what?!” he screeches, face and neck dousing in crimson red, and Tobio figures, he’s faring no better. “Y-you like me?!”

“I-I meant as a-a friend!” Tobio stammers, shouts, whatever. “As a friend and—and teammate! Dumbass!”

“I-I know that! I-It just surprised me!” Hinata shouts back, even as his face burns even deeper, redder than the sun settling behind the mountains.

Then he snickers, quickly turning into a full-on laugh.

“W-what? What’s funny?” Trying to sound demanding is hard when Tobio’s heart is lodged in his throat and with his entire body on fire.

Hinata snorts out a giggle, then he’s smiling at Tobio, radiant and flushed and—

Beautiful.

Here, trapped in a cramped, musty enclosed glass a hundred feet up in the air, Hinata—his rival, his partner, and if it isn’t obvious enough, the guy he’s been crushing on for months, looks achingly beautiful.

“Well, that makes me happy, because I like you, too!” Hinata exclaims.

Tobio has never really understood the expression ‘on cloud nine high,’ but he’s pretty sure this bursting feeling within his chest must be pretty damn close.

Then the beaming smile turns into a teasing smirk. “Even though you’re sometimes mean and violent and calls me dumbass more than my own name.”

And Tobio can’t help it, he smirks right back. “Dumbass.”

Their nonsensical argument of who likes who continues until the ferris wheel starts to turn and move again, continuing even after their feet touch the ground, as they zigzag their way among the crowd in search of their friends.

With Hinata’s hand still clutched over his.

—————————————

Thank you for indulging my request (begging) for a prompt! I have to apologize, though, this is not as good as I’d like to be, but it does help me ease out of my writing slump. I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! ^o^

You can also read it on ao3 (with minor edits)

[fairie-gothmother]

In The Shadow of Starlight, Part 4: Mental Bullet Wounds

Part 1: The Fall

Part 2: Negotiating With Gods

Part 3: The Nature of the Beast

"Ah. Fuck!" Octavia was getting frustrated. Of course, she had to get shot in the most awkward spot possible. No matter how she twisted, she just couldn't get a good view of the bullet wound in her shoulder. It didn't help that this medical room didn't have the proper equipment for self surgery. She hadn’t had the time to order supplies, so all she had to extract bullets was a knife and a tiny wall mounted mirror.

She pulled her shirt down further off the shoulder and tried yet another angle to get a better look. Seeing the reflection of her back, she was reminded why she kept herself covered at all times. Nothing but ridged, pink scar tissue covered her entire back and extended beneath the collar of the shirt down both arms. It was disgusting. She hated it. Hated the way it looked, the way it felt, and the memories it brought up.

She saw tears welling up in the eyes of her reflection. What a sorry sight. She looked up and blinked away the tears, refusing to let them fall.

"Oh," came a voice in the room.

Octavia's stomach felt like it dropped to her ankles. She quickly covered up and turned to see Troy Calypso standing just inside the medical room, holding his side. He said, "I was going to tell you to stitch this up for me, but it looks like you could use a hand yourself."

"No, I got it," she snapped. Of course this guy didn't have the courtesy to fucking knock.

"Hm. That's funny. 'Cause from here, it looks like you're just making it worse by blindly digging around with that knife."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right, but her self consciousness held her back. She tried so hard to make sure no one ever knew about her deepest shame, she couldn't let her defenses down that easily.

"You don't understand," she said, looking anywhere but the other man in the room.

"You really don't think the one armed cyborg would understand? C'mon. Let me take out that bullet so you can get started on sewing me up."

His gaze had focused on her, expression mixed somewhere between impatience, concern, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. Pulling her shirt down once again off the shoulder, she turned slightly and gestured her head towards her back.

She tensed as Troy crossed the room towards her, feeling her face get redder with each step. She turned facing away from him to give him access to the wound.

"You can use the switchblade on the table. Just push the button to open it," Octavia said.

"I do know how knives work," Troy said wryly. Octavia was about to retort, but the words were forgotten when she felt his fingertips sweep across the bare skin of her back. She shivered involuntarily. She hoped he didn't notice how much his light touch and close proximity was affecting her. To be honest, she didn't even want to admit it herself. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on sitting still.

Octavia couldn't help but flinch when the cool metal blade touched her skin and plunged into the wound.

"Ow! Be careful," Octavia hissed.

She could tell Troy was actually trying to remove the bullet without hurting her, but it was deeper than expected. Her eyes squeezed shut as he dove the tip of the blade further into the hole.

"It would be easier to be careful if you didn't move so much. Hold on. I think I got it." He held her shoulder for stability so he didn't accidentally cut her. He managed to angle the blade behind the tip of the bullet, slowly easing it out. After several long moments passed, he took the knife out and removed the metal object with his hand. Octavia yelped when he yanked it out. She turned to glare at Troy who only grinned and waved the bloody bullet in his hand.

"There. See, I know what I'm doing. Feel better?"

"Yeah," Octavia said. She ignored the heat in her cheeks as she pulled her shirt up over the exposed skin.

When Octavia thought back to when she first met the Calypso, she remembered thinking he was nothing but a monster. Now, she felt almost guilty for feeling that way. She owed him a lot. Not only for removing the bullet embedded in her shoulder but also for saving her life during the raid. She wanted to thank him, but just couldn't find the words to do it.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Troy pulled his tank top off over his head and laid down on the examination table. He beckoned her to come closer. Octavia’s eyes went wide at the implication. Was this how he wanted her to thank him? He pointed to a cut on the side of his abdomen. “Don’t tell anybody I got tagged by a tink. Little shit came out of nowhere.”

Oh, right… What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip. Embarrassed from misinterpreting things, she wordlessly began cleaning his injury. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. She hated needing help, but she hated her deformed body even more. That was a part of herself that she didn’t share with anyone. It was meant to stay hidden, locked away in the past where no one could reach it.

"So you wanna talk about it?" Troy asked. Octavia was becoming concerned with how well he was able to read her.

"Not really."

He slowly nodded, but didn’t look away from her. Her defenses were cracking under his steady gaze. She didn’t like how transparent he made her feel.

“Do you?” she asked, motioning towards his mechanical arm. It came out a little more aggressive than she meant it to.

Troy was still looking at her, but now as if he was trying to come to some sort of decision. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Touché, smart ass,” he teased.

Octavia was relieved he let that slide. She didn’t have the energy to deal with any more stress. Getting shot during a raid was enough for one day. She absentmindedly stitched up the wound, barely noticing the Calypso watching her as she worked.

“Good as new,” Octavia said, taping a gauze pad over the stitches.

Troy swung his long legs over the side of the examination table and stood. “Finally. I was getting bored. You really need some magazines or something in here,” he said, making his way across the room. You’re welcome, Octavia thought bitterly.

Her annoyance faded when she noticed the Calypso begin to stagger. All the color drained from his face, and his eyes glazed over. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked. Before he reached the door, Troy stumbled backwards into the counter with a loud crash. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

~~~

Troy gradually regained awareness. He was still in the medical room, lying on an examination table. His skull felt like it would split in two. Involuntarily, he let out a groan.

“You’re awake.” Octavia’s voice came from somewhere behind him. She rushed to his side carrying a tray of herbs and stone tools.

“What… what happened?” Troy asked. He blinked at the lights overhead.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You passed out,” she said.

Shit. He knew he was getting weaker. He checked the siren marks on his left arm, flexing and rotating his hand. Their usual glow had dimmed to the point where the marks looked like normal tattoos.

“Looks like the energy withdrawals are starting to hit pretty hard. Does anyone else know?”

“No, you’ve only been out for a few minutes. Take this.” Octavia said. She handed him a cup of thick, murky brown liquid that smelled like compost.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate milk. Just drink it.”

Troy turned his nose up at it before gulping it down. It was cold and viscous like slime that quite literally slid down his throat. It tasted like an entire spice rack stewed in swamp sludge. “Gah! C’mon, witch doctor. Why does everything you give me taste like you scooped it out of a toilet?”

After weeks of being teased and belittled for her profession, something in Octavia finally snapped. She coldly replied, “Well, excuse me, your highness. It’s medicine. It isn’t supposed to taste good. I’m an herbalist, not a witch doctor, and not one of your gourmet chefs.” She snatched the cup from Troy’s hands. “You could try showing a little fucking gratitude.” She stormed to the other side of the room slamming her tray on the counter.

A pang of guilt twinged in his gut. The silence lasted uncomfortably long. She had just given him medicine after he collapsed on her floor in a severely vulnerable state. He winced as he swallowed his pride.

“You’re right. Thank you, Vi.”

Octavia turned her head to look at Troy over her shoulder. Her face was flushed a light shade of pink, either still angry from his previous comment or flustered from this uncharacteristic response.

Troy continued, “Guess I owe you one. Thanks to you, Pandora is graced with my fine ass another day.”

“Pff, please. You don’t have an ass,” Octavia said as she eyed him up and down.

“Oh, really? Wanna see for yourself?” He rolled onto his side, put a thumb beneath his waistband, and tugged downward. Octavia yelped and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted.

Troy broke into a fit of laughter. Octavia tried to keep the stern look on her face by tightly pursing her lips together, but she failed and eventually cracked a smile. For the first time, the tension between them lifted. Troy realized that he liked seeing her smile.

The pleasantness of the moment didn’t last long as Troy was struck with another wave of vertigo. He leaned back onto the exam table. “Got any magic toilet water to keep me from keeling over again?”

“I’m not sure. We should talk to Professor Tannis. If there's anyone who knows about siren energy, it's her-”

Her voice faded as Troy’s head reeled again. He pressed his human palm to his temple to keep the room from spinning. He imagined how his followers would react to seeing their omnipotent leader faint. Did he even have followers anymore? Some god he was.

This was the worst his withdrawals have ever been. All his life, Tyreen was right by his side to feed him energy when he needed it, even if she did call him a parasite for asking. That bitch knew he couldn’t survive without her. Banishing him was equivalent to letting him starve to death.

Troy was pulled from his thoughts feeling fingertips graze across his forehead, brushing the hair from his face.

“Did you hit your head? Does it hurt?” Octavia asked. Her delicate fingers were soft and cool on his skin. Her large emerald eyes scanned his face for signs of injury. A few strands of chestnut colored hair fell from her ponytail and framed her heart-shaped face.

A spicy floral scent emitted from her as she leaned over him. Her face was close enough to his that with a simple raise of his chin, he would find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He caught himself and pushed the traitorous thoughts from his mind. He looked away and swatted her hands off him. “No, it’s fine. Just a little lightheaded.”

Don’t, he scolded himself. She treated all her patients like this, right? She only cared about the health of the God King. Everyone always cared for the God King. Not long ago, he would have crushed every bone in her hand for having the audacity to touch him. No one ever gave a shit before. This was no different.

Troy slipped back into his persona and flashed a cocky grin.

“Besides, look who you’re talking to. Just for the sake of my quality of life though, we should go ahead and get a hold of, uh… crazy scientist lady.”

“Her name is Tannis.”

“That’s the one.”

~~~

Sanctuary. What a spectacular name for such a shithole. Only a handful of people roamed the halls, and Troy swore he saw a claptrap unit chasing a ratch around. He wasn’t sure what he expected Sanctuary to be, but it sure wasn’t this.

Time dragged on while Tannis got situated in the lab. It was entertaining watching her scurry around at first, trying to make sense of the unusual songs she sang to herself. Now Troy was bored, and no one else in the room attempted to make conversation. Curiosity finally got the better of him. “So, Martha.”

“It’s Maya,” the sapphire siren chided.

“Right. I’ve never met another siren other than my sister. What are your powers like?”

The corners of Maya’s mouth turned up into a grin. Surprisingly, she chose to indulge him. “I’m able to phaselock targets and suspend them in another dimension.”

“Whoa, that sounds rad.” He stood back and held his arms out. “Here, do me.”

“I am not going to phaselock you.”

He dropped his arms and pouted. “Aw, come on!”

Tannis lightly whacked him on the arm with her clipboard. “As tempting as it is to start a siren fight club, I’m afraid there are more pressing matters at hand. If you could stand still for a moment-” Tannis poked and prodded at him, occasionally saying things like, “fascinating.” Troy was hyper aware of how close she was to his right side, turning to keep her to his left as much as possible. He jumped when he felt a pinch on his ass. “Interesting,” Tannis said.

Maya helped get things back on track. “Alright. So far we know that Troy can’t absorb the life force from living things like Tyreen can, and she could somehow channel energy to him through touch. Is there anything else we have to work with?”

Troy wished there was. “Other than that, it’s all I’ve got. That’s just one part to my curse. Aside from being a defective siren, I’ve also been cursed with irresistible good looks.”

“Tch. You wish.” A dark blue haired kid scoffed from the back of the lab. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Troy hadn’t noticed her until now.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“I’m going to be a siren. An actual siren, not whatever you are. I’d put an end to assholes like you. I don’t know why we’re trying to keep you alive, honestly.”

Maya interrupted, “You’ll have to excuse my apprentice. Ava, stop threatening people with powers you don’t have yet. I said you could watch as long you didn’t cause trouble.”

Ava’s tough girl act dropped. “I know. I’ll behave, promise. Please don’t kick me out.”

What a punk. “Okay, kid. You let me know if that siren thing ever works out for ya.” Troy clicked his tongue and winked at her. She shook with impotent rage, fists clenched at her sides like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Tannis was about to explode in anticipation, eager to start her experiments. “Well, cursed or otherwise, I find your physical attractiveness confusingly repulsive. That being said, I feel you have an important part to play in the coming days. So I’ve prepared several only mildly painful experiments. Now, where to start?”

Tannis was completely in her element, recording Echo logs and bouncing around Troy while he soaked in all the attention. His bask in the spotlight was short lived.

The tests began with the obvious catalyst for siren power, eridium. After trying different delivery methods, Troy got impatient and stupidly licked a chunk of raw eridium. Other than burning his tongue, it had no effect. Next, they attempted to transfer siren energy indirectly. Maya charged an Eridian artifact as a sort of battery for Troy to draw from. Again, no results.

After hours of trial and error, one failure after another, they’d concluded every test.

“I think we have to call it quits,” Maya admitted. She looked tired, wiping the sweat from her brow. “You gave it your best shot, Tannis.”

“How curious. It would seem Troy is a siren in tattoos only,” Tannis said, looking defeated.

Troy was exhausted. “This blows,” he said, sprawled out across the examination table, panting slightly from the exertion. “Don’t mind me, ladies. It’s not like my life depends on it or anything.” Troy caught Ava wearing a shit-eating grin and stuck his tongue out at her.

“I think we may be on the right track,” Tannis circled around the examination table, talking more to herself than to anyone else in the room. “Perhaps Troy’s cybernetics could be modified to include Eridian artifacts into the bio-integration components.”

Troy closed his eyes, grateful for a moment to rest. He had hoped Tannis would at least find a temporary solution to his dependency on Tyreen. He was running off of fumes. It was only a matter of time until his tank ran completely dry.

While he was busy worrying about his own mortality, Troy didn’t notice Tannis absentmindedly extending her hand until she touched his shoulder brace. He jolted from his lamenting. In an instinctual panic, he caught her bare wrist in his human hand.

A familiar flood of power surged through him. He threw his head back, caught in the sudden sensation. Red tendrils entwined his arm with Tannis’s, filling him with the strength his starving body so desperately craved. His siren marks blazed back to life in a brilliant flash of crimson.

Then, he was unable to move, frozen in place. Maya had activated her powers and suspended him in midair. So this was what being phaselocked felt like. His insides burned like the sting of frostbite. His breath caught in his throat, lungs refusing to function. Maya lifted him into the air and tossed him across the room away from Tannis. He yelled as he was sent careening into a counter full of lab equipment.

Maya helped Tannis up from the floor. A distinct blue glow peaked out from beneath one sleeve of her lab coat.

“I thought you could only take from Tyreen!” Maya said, her face drained of color.

Troy held up his left arm observing the intense light of his marks. “I guess it’s any siren.”

Ava pointed to the scientist’s glowing arm. “Tannis? You’re a…”

A siren.

[scratchface]

Not quite the definition of online dating, pt. 4

Maybe Yusaku is more ill than he first estimated, because his face seems to be strangely warm. He just feels so stupid, reaching up to poke the arm of what he knows is little more than a visual and auditory hallucination. His fingers pass right through, and Revolver makes a displeased noise.

“Nothing. Try harder.”

“That easy for you to say.” How exactly is he supposed to try harder? Is it entirely subconscious? Or a matter of concentration? As easily as moving through air, his hand just glides right through Revolver’s chest, until he’s practically waving to himself from the other side of Revolver’s torso.

Revolver shifts, even with Yusaku’s hand stuck inside him, until he’s looking right into Yusaku’s face with a cold, unimpressed expression. Yusaku finds himself stalling in place, caught by the color of Revolver’s eyes. They’re no longer the bright, hazard yellow of before, but they aren’t quite a match for his real eyes either, the hue far more lavender than Ryoken’s icy blue gaze.

“What were you thinking the first time?”

About how much he wanted to touch Revolver, even if it was completely impossible, but Yusaku is not going to say that aloud.

“Nothing.” He says firmly instead, pulling back. His hand leaves Revolver’s chest without so much as a ripple. “It was probably just your imagination.”

“Oh?” Revolver chuckles, a familiar note of mockery reminding Yusaku of their early duels, when Revolver looked at him as something small and inconsequential. “It’s not like you to give up so easily. Especially not before you’ve even tried.” Yusaku feels himself bristling, the blatant accusation smarting if only for how baseless they both know it is. Revolver knows exactly what Yusaku is capable of when he has the right motivation, better than anyone. Surviving torture, conquering datastorms, defeating insurmountable opponents; Revolver said himself that the impossible is Yusaku’s specialty.

But Revolver just smirks, crossing his arms. “Is that really the best explanation you can think of?” He shakes his head. “You’ve lost your edge, Playmaker.”

Revolver is antagonizing him, and it's obvious it only pisses Yusaku off more.

What was different about that moment when he felt them connecting, just for a fraction of a second? His earnest desire to be closer? Or the fact that he wasn’t really trying?

What he wanted to touch in that moment wasn’t Revolver, not necessarily, but the person behind both the avatar and the hallucination. The consciousness linked with the network, controlling the avatar that Yusaku’s mind interpreted as corporeal despite the sheer impracticality of the very notion.

Yusaku reaches out again, but this time, he lets his hands stay slack at his side's. Instead, he focuses on that rebellious, incomprehensible sixth sense that comes and goes, and feels the distant pulse of the network sweeping over his senses.

It’s here that he can touch Revolver, not back in his apartment. He has to exist in both at once, in two separate realities.

Opening the eyes he didn't realize he closed, Yusaku pretends the person before him is solid flesh and bone, something his hand can’t possibly move through.

And they touch, hand to hand. He can feel the coarse fabric of Revolver’s glove against his skin, and the weight of his muscle and bone within. Revolver is there, in the network, as warm and solid as he would be if Yusaku himself were standing next to him in avatar form.

Caught off guard, Revolver’s face has gone slack, staring at the hand creeping up his arm. He’s tense and still under Yusaku’s palm, and suddenly Yusaku realizes Revolver couldn’t move away from his touch even if he wanted to. It’s not a matter of reaching for the image he sees, but for the presence he recognizes in the network, the mind he can trace back to among the millions of others.

Maybe Revolver realizes the same thing, or maybe he’s trying to brush Yusaku’s touch off and finding he can’t, but he shakes his head. “Enough.” His voice is tight, and rough, shredded on the edges.

Yusaku reaches up with his other hand and places it on Revolver’s shoulder. He’s not sure where to go from there, as unfamiliar with intimacy as he is with linking with the network like this, but he doesn’t rush. There’s time to explore, to figure what feels right, to relearn how to hug someone.

It’s not so hard to make theory into practice and loop his arms around Revolver’s middle. Curiously, he rests his ear against a firm chest, feeling the push of Revolver’s lungs as he takes a startled breath. There’s no heartbeat, just the hum of data and running code.

“Off.” Revolver says, his voice cracking over the edges of the word. Under the mask, his face seems redder than before.

“You started this.” Yusaku reminds him, before pushing up on his toes to stare at Revolver nose to nose. “I could kiss you, you know.” He doesn't know where the words come from, his mouth moving before his brain. It sounds like a threat. No, he means it as a threat, because apparently Ryoken can't run from this, not like he ran away before. “There’s nothing you could even do to stop me.”

“Like you have the guts.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Yusaku tilts his head and presses forward. The angle is the hardest part to manage, trying to avoid the edge of glass threatening to poke into his face. And even if the gesture is more sideways than he’d like, Revolver's lips are cool and slack under his, the sensation spreading through him until everything tingles pleasantly.

Wrapping his arms around Revolver’s neck, he presses harder and harder until Revolver’s lips are parting, and things become warm and wet. He feels the vibration of Revolver groaning more than he hears it, and though he wants more and his toes are curling against the floor, Yusaku pulls away.

The deep, twisted frustration on Revolver’s flushed face gives him pause, and suddenly Yusaku realizes just how much he’s stepped over the carefully drawn line between them.

“Fuck.” Revolver whispers, “How do I touch you?”

Ah. He misread the kind of frustration Revolver is feeling.

“I don’t think you can.” Yusaku admits. “I don’t think it goes both ways.”

That, evidently, isn't what Revolver wants to hear. He glares at Yusaku for a long, tense moment, and then says, “Wait here.”

Then he's gone, just as suddenly as he appeared.

And Yusaku realizes Revolver had been watching him kiss air in the middle of his empty apartment.

“Fuck.”

[heroes-among-us-all]

How about a hc/scenario about young!Bakugou (maybe around like 4-7 ish?) having a puppy crush on a young!Reader and the little cute things that he does to make the reader acknowledge him? Maybe add an additional hc/wordings about the aftermath a few years later till their highschool years. I'm in need in some fluffy shit sorry 💕💕 Thanks!

Cute request! I changed it just a bit so that the young!Reader moved away and they meet up again in highschool, hope you enjoy :) 

“Wow, Katsuki, you’re amazing!” 

You grinned ear-to-ear, hobbling forward on your little legs to get a closer look. The young blonde in front of you was sparking off small, contained explosions in the palm of his hands—the first signs of his Quirk manifesting.

“It’s cool, right?” he gushed, unable to contain his own smile. “I just got it a few days ago, and everyone says it’s awesome!” 

You nodded hurriedly. “Yep! It is awesome! You’re the best, Katsuki!” 

The boy was used to receiving compliments from those around him; rather, it was someone that he’d come to expect. But for some reason, whenever you were the one who got excited on his behalf, it made his chest feel hot and his cheeks would flush a bright red. Your smile was just the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, that much he was sure of.

“The teachers said that I’d be able to become an amazing hero with a Quirk like this,” he huffed, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-factly. “I’ll be even cooler than All Might one day, too!” 

Your smile never faltered, because you honestly believed his words to be true. Katsuki was still grinning cheekily, but he faltered for a moment, blushing deeper. 

“Ah, but…I’ll be the Number One hero, okay? And then you—“ he pointed towards you with a shaky finger “—You’ll be the Number Two hero. Almost as cool as me, but not exactly the same. That’s still good though, right?” 

Your puffy little cheeks flushed, blown away by what he’d just told you. Katsuki almost never acknowledged others, and the fact that he thought you could be anywhere near as strong as him was an amazing feeling. 

“Wow,” you mumbled breathlessly. “You really think I could be that good, Katsuki?” 

“O-of course you can!” he puffed out, unable to hide his fluster. “You just gotta try your best!” 

“…Oh. I’ll do my best, then!” 

Caught up in your excitement, you flung your tiny frame over Katsuki’s own. He stiffened as your arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug, and you heard the little stammers of embarrassment he let out. He was definitely having a hard time processing your affection, but eventually his small arms fell loosely around your back as well.

“We’ll be the best heroes,” he mumbled against your neck. “The two of us. Together.” 

You pulled away only to grin back at him. “Okay!” 

“Hey, follow me for a bit,” Katsuki prodded, latching his hand across your wrist. “I know a place near the forest that has a lot of flowers.” His eyes flickered timidly across your frame. “You like…flowers, right?” 

“Yup! I love them!” 

He smiled. “Okay, cool. Follow me, then!” 

Katsuki continued to lead you forward through the brush of the forest. At some point, he’d let go of your wrist and timidly intertwined his fingers with your own. You didn’t miss the heavy blush that lined his cheeks once he did so; it even went all the way up to the tips of his ears. You chatted along happily and without much of a care, stopping only at Katsuki’s signal. 

“Look,” he gestured, grinning back at you. “Lots of flowers here. You like ‘em?” 

You nodded boisterously. “I do! They’re all so pretty!” 

Without warning, you let go of his hand to jump into the bed of vibrantly-colored flora. It was a sort of clearing in the middle of the forest, and there were all sorts of different flowers growing in erratic patches. Katsuki crouched down beside you and smirked.

“I told ya,” he bragged. “Told ya I knew where I could find a ton of ‘em.” 

He seemed to be getting giddy of the notion of your approval, or attention. It wasn’t really something he needed to work for though, since you already thought the world of him. 

“I know,” you hummed. “I believed you, Katsuki. You’re always showing me cool things, and that’s why you’re my best friend in the entire world!” You outstretched your arms for dramatic effect, and the blonde only flushed at the gesture. 

“…Cool,” he mumbled, picking up a flower and running its petals through his fingers. “Yeah, cool. You’re also…my best friend, too.” 

You snuggled up closer to him, pressing your shoulders up against one another while you happily admired the bed of flowers. Katsuki mumbled something to himself, eventually plucking a different flower and removing most of the stem—he then leaned in to tuck the flower behind your ear. 

“That’s for you,” Katsuki blushed. “It looks pretty. And…you’re also pretty. So I thought it made sense to give it to you.” 

You were so happy that you almost didn’t have the words. Katsuki’s bright, crimson eyes were gazing back at you, so full of gentleness and adoration; that which he would almost never show to others. Your fingers absentmindedly passed by the flower tucked behind your ear, and you smiled again.

“You really think I’m pretty?” 

He stiffened. “D-duh. I wouldn’t say it unless I meant it, right?” 

“That’s true,” you mumbled, timidly curling your fingers into your lap. “Thank you, Katsuki. And I think you’re very pretty, too. Oh, wait—you’re very handsome. That’s what you say to boys that look good, right?” 

“Y-yeah. Thanks…” 

He looked a bit too flustered for words, and the two of you sat there for a while in silence. It wasn’t unpleasant, or anything. As long as you were with Katsuki, you were happy even just to sit by his side. 

Humming to yourself, you leaned forward to pluck another flower, but Katsuki’s little arms had already wrapped around your frame.

“U-umm…(Name),” he croaked, gazing timidly into your eyes. “I want to tell you something, okay? So just listen up, alright?” 

“Huh? Okay. I’m listening, Katsuki.” 

He inhaled sharply, as if preparing himself for some sort of endeavor. His puffy cheeks were stained with blotchy hues of bright crimson as he stared back at you.

“I want you to be my girlfriend!!” 

You blinked slowly, a bit confused at first, but a wide grin was soon to spread across your lips.

“Okay! I’d love to be your girlfriend, Katsuki!” 

“E-eh? Seriously…??” 

Katsuki’s arms fell off your frame so that he could press a hand up against his burning cheeks. Still, you could see how a shaky smile was steadily forming on his own lips; to the point that he could scarcely contain his excitement. 

“B-but not now!” he added hurriedly. “It has to be when we’re older—my mom says those are when the “serious” relationships happen, and I want ours to be…um, y’know…” 

“Serious?” 

“Yeah!” 

You grinned happily. “That sounds good. We’ll be girlfriend and boyfriend when we’re older then, okay? And we’ll be together for a long time?” 

“You’re going to be my only girlfriend,” Katsuki declared. “And then we’re gonna get married.” 

“Wow! That sounds amazing!” 

You let out a squeal of joy and pulled him into another hug; this time, Katsuki readily squeezed you back. He inhaled sharply again and quickly pecked you on the cheek, blushing redder than ever before. 

“It’s a promise,” Katsuki mumbled. “I kissed you, so it’s a promise. So you’re not allowed to be anyone else’s girlfriend, okay?” 

You felt the warmth lingering from where his lips had connected with your cheek. You smiled.

“Okay, Katsuki.” 

That had been nearly 11 years ago. 11 whole years, and Katsuki still remembered it as clear as day. He felt like a moron for ever even thinking back to the time he’d spent with you; you’d moved away not long after, so it was pretty clear that he would never see you again. Besides, he’d just gotten into U.A—hell, it was supposed to be his very first day at the school of his dreams, and here he was, having some stupid nostalgia. Seriously, what a load of shit. 

Katsuki moved through the halls, both hands shoved into his pockets as he sought out his homeroom class. The damn place was huge, but just as well; this was where he’d leave his mark and make his way to the very top. 

His hand gripped the edge of the sliding door, and he’d managed to get it half-open before—

“Ah! Katsuki??” 

Katsuki froze. Even if it had changed, he still recognized that cheerful voice; that bubbly, careless tone. It was a stupid thing to say, and he already cursed himself for even assuming, but at the very least, he could check…right? 

To say that his eyes widened when they fell on your frame would have been an understatement. Surely, your appearance had changed, but just like with your voice, there was that familiarity there that called to him. As his eyes skimmed your frame, he recognized your (h/c) locks, and those gleaming, (e/c) orbs. And then…that smile. The same smile that always made his chest burn. The very same smile that was making him fuzzy right here and now. 

You’d been pretty as a kid, that much he could remember. But now, he could honestly say that you were fucking beautiful. No matter how cute you may have been before, Katsuki could never have prepared himself for the way you would grow up. 

He felt so stupid. So, so stupid. Because here he was, seeing you again for the first time in 11 years, and he realized he was just as in infatuated with you as he had been back then.

“Can’t believe we’re seeing each other again after all these years,” you smiled. “Kind of feels like a dream, right?” 

Katsuki honestly didn’t know what to say. He was worried that with the way he was, the second he would open his mouth you would be immediately turned off by his brash manner of speaking and never look in his direction ever again. He couldn’t even form any words to begin with.

Luckily, you spoke before he could spiral even further.

“I have to say,” you giggled, “You sure grew up to be way more attractive than I ever thought you were. Now I’m seriously considering taking you up on that offer. Do you remember what we promised back then?” You smiled again, and Katsuki honestly just wanted to melt on the spot. “C’mon, you know the one—about the two of us becoming girlfriend and boyfriend. You didn’t forget, did you?” 

Katsuki was still stunned, but he knew that he couldn’t keep up this silence for long.

“God, say something, for fuck’s sake. She’s gonna think you’re mute, or an even bigger asshole than you actually are. Say something, fuck.” 

Even with all the self-confidence he’d accrued through the years, nothing could have prepared him for a meeting like this. Still, there was one thing he would never do, and that was to cower in front of a challenge. He just hoped that his flushed cheeks weren’t anywhere near as bad as they felt. 

“Yeah, I remember,” he finally managed. “So…are we gonna give that a shot?” 

[sharada-n]

I was supposed to be writing some other inumir drabble but then my brain yelled at me to write some human!Inuyasha so I did. I’m easy like that

His fingers move slowly through Inuyasha's hair, the strands dark and black against the paleness of his gloved hand. He can tell his lover doesn't want to give in to the comfort provided by those strokes, but a small inclination of the head betrays him.

Miroku laughs. “Are you ever going to cut this?”

“Not if I can help it.” Inuyasha answers, just a tad too quickly. He leans back slightly, tipping his head backwards to looks at the night sky, the absence of the moon, and sighs. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know.” Miroku reaches forwards, brushing his hands against Inuyasha's fingers, feeling the bluntness of his nails. His skin is warm. “However, I'm not entirely opposed to it.”

With a snort, Inuyasha pulls away from him. “You're not opposed to me being a weak defenseless human once every month?”

The fire makes a soft noise, sending sparks of embers up into the air and it casts a bright glow of orange on the scene. Miroku observes the other, the way Inuyasha pulls his leg up to his chest and rests an elbow on it, an annoyed expression on his face. 

His eyes are a startling grey shade now, his hair the same color as the monk's own. His snarl reveals only normal teeth, no sharp canines. The change is stunning each time, no matter how often he witnesses it.

Miroku smiles. “It's not that bad, is it?”

Inuyasha only glares at him angrily. “Keh, you wouldn't understand.”

The words lay heavily on the silence between them. Miroku swallows, coughs into his hand once and looks away. “No, perhaps I wouldn't.”

There is a chilly breeze that cuts right through him, he tries not to shiver, knowing that even without his superior senses Inuyasha would notice, but huddles a bit closer to the flames instead. The heat beats into him.

He flexes his fingers against the cold, staring at the palm of his hand. It doesn't hurt exactly, but he can feel it there. A constant reminder, his life forever forfeit.

“Inuyasha, do you really detest humans that much?”

The hanyou's head shoots up to looks at him. A few rapid blinks as he seems to process the source of his boyfriend's sudden seriousness.

Miroku frowns into the crook of his elbow. “It's okay if you do, of course.”

Inuyasha sighs, scooting over. He stares for a few seconds, something inside Miroku tightens unpleasantly at that searching gaze, as if somehow he could discern what was wrong just by looking.

“What are you going on about all of the sudden?” He huffs, but the monk doesn't answer. He takes one of Miroku's hands, the one bare of cloth, and squeezes lightly.

“I don't detest humans.” He says then, carefully. “I don't detest you.”

“But?”

“But I don't appreciate being so fucking useless on nights like these.”

Miroku tries his best to hide his smirk. He had seen Inuyasha pull some pretty incredible feats as a human that gave even him a headache, so the irony was not lost on him.

“I think 'useless' would hardly be the right word to describe you right now, my friend.” He muses out loud, leaning just a bit closer to whisper conspiratorially in currently human ears. “But I could think of a few other things.”

Inuyasha pushes him away quickly, not letting go of his hand though, and it might be the glow of the fire but his face seems redder than normal. “God, you're such a pervert.”

“But you don't detest me?” Miroku asks solemnly, straight-faced as can be despite a grin threatening to break through at any moment.

Inuyasha rolls his eyes at him. “I guess not.”

There is a faint glow on the horizon, the faint traces of a sunrise soon to be upon them. Inuyasha will go back to his usual self, Miroku will stay unbearably human.

And that would have to be enough.

[darisu-chan]

Regrets

So, a long time ago I think I warned those pesky I//H anons that if they kept sending me hate, I’d write an adultery fic. Well, thanks to this anon I finally wrote that trash fic I had been talking about. Now, it’s not really as trashy as it could have been, mainly because I can’t write smut without cringing, but I managed to make it super crack, like I originally intended.

It was totally inspired by @dangerousbride and other fic writers and artists with their adultery works. You guys rock!

For any salty orgs, remember that if you come for me, not only will I expose you, but I will also get back for the shit you keep sending me.

Also, as if it weren’t obvious enough, I do not support adultery in any form and for any reason. This is a work of fiction, and it doesn’t represent my actual values. I was just having fun.

You can also read it here.

Summary: Ichigo and Rukia go on a double date. It doesn’t go as planned.

The moment the words left Orihime’s mouth, Renji knew it was a terrible idea. When Rukia clapped her hands excitedly, Renji started sweating profusely. He knew that he was doomed, however, when Ichigo half-heartedly agreed. The three turned to him, and Renji could only nod while gulping. What could he say? That it was a terrible idea? They would think he was going crazy, and hell, maybe he was. He could picture it. “Hey guys, you know, maybe we shouldn’t go.” Renji imagined himself saying. “Why the hell not?” Ichigo, who was always waiting for the perfect opportunity to one up him, would say. He’d try to explain things, only for Rukia to snort and dismiss whatever he was saying without stopping to listen to him. It would all be over the moment Orihime would give him her best puppy eyes. Yep. He was done for. It was better to remain silent.

So, that is why after leaving the kids with Ichigo’s sisters, Renji found himself walking the streets with his wife and two friends. Unsurprisingly, Ichigo and Rukia were walking ahead of him and Orihime, still bickering about… well, Renji didn’t exactly know what they were fighting about at this point ─he lost track when Ichigo pointed out Ichika’s drawings were better than Rukia’s. To make matters worse, Orihime was walking happily next to him, yapping about how wonderful a time they were going to have in their double date.

Yes. His worries were all about a fucking double date. Go on, laugh at him, you unsuspecting reader, but if you knew the nightmare Renji was trapped in, you’d have to agree with him on why going on a double date with his wife and friends wasn’t particularly the best idea.

“Ichigo-kun.” Suddenly, Orihime’s sickeningly sweet voice interrupted Renji’s inner musings.

The two in front of them stopped their fight at the sound of her voice. Ichigo turned around, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Where are we going?” She asked, moving her lashes coquettishly.

Renji internally faced palmed. You’re asking that just now?!

“To this restaurant I know.” Ichigo simply said, shrugging for good measure. Then, he turned around to keep walking with Rukia, when they were interrupted again.

“How do you know that restaurant?” She asked innocently. Renji started sweating again.

“I’ve gone with a friend before.” Ichigo answered. Rukia was looking at Ichigo. Renji was pretty sure a smirk was pulling on his wife’s mouth.

“What friend?” Orihime asked once more. Renji was starting to doubt these were innocent questions.

Ichigo shrugged. “Ishida. Once.”

Renji found himself gulping after listening to those words. Seriously? Ishida of all people?

Orihime pursed her lips and then… then she smiled her signature smile, and she even giggled for good mention. “That’s so great, Ichigo-kun! I’m glad you and Ishida-kun get along so well!”

The man in question scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, let’s keep going.”

Oh, thank God! Renji mentally cheered, and walked with a sprint in his feet. Meanwhile, Ichigo muttered something under his breath, which resulted in Rukia kicking him in the shin.

“What the fuck was that for, Rukia?!”

“Oh, don’t act innocent! You know you deserved it!” She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Bitch!”

“Asshole!”

Renji cursed under his breath. But of course the two would keep fighting until reaching the restaurant. After all, such was his luck. Next to him, Orihime giggled.

“They’re so lively, aren’t they?” She said.

Oi, don’t look so happy! “Yes. I suppose.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the restaurant. Renji gazed at the place. The façade was painted a mahogany color, and it had glass windows overlooking the street. Inside, he could see that the tables and booths were red, and that all waiters were wearing black slacks ─black skirts for waitresses─, white shirts and black ties. It looked cozy and elegant at the same time. Almost homey. And, he thought, not really a place you go to eat with a friend you barely see anymore.

“Welcome!” A woman said the moment they walked into the place. “Table for four?”

Ichigo nodded. “Yeah. Make it a booth.”

Unsurprisingly, Ichigo and Rukia sat right next to each other. Orihime happily sat in front of her husband, while Renji sat next to her. Whatever disagreement they were currently having shifted to talking about the food the place served.

“You really need to try the Gyudon. It’s really good!” Ichigo told everyone as they scanned the menus.

“The Udon noodles are excellent!” Rukia said, smiling right at Renji.

It took everything in his power not to start choking on air after that admission. He turned to look at Orihime as inconspicuously as he could. However, the young woman seemed unfazed, still looking at the menu she had in her hands.

“How about the curry?” Orihime asked. “Have you tried it yet, Ichigo-kun?”

“Nah. When I came here, I wasn’t in the mood for curry.” He said, and then sneaked a glance to Rukia. The woman had a devilish smile on her face.

“So you weren’t in the mood for that?” She smirked.

Ichigo returned the smirk. “Oh, no. I was in the mood for something else.”

Renji blanched in his seat. Are you serious?! In a panic, he turned to look at Orihime again, this time more directly. She looked as oblivious as ever.

“I think I’m going to order it.” Orihime said. “What about you, Abarai-kun?”

The attention suddenly turned to him. “Err… I’m not sure yet.” He stuttered, silently cursing himself.

“Give the Udon a try.” Rukia told him, smiling sweetly at him.

“No. I think Renji’s in the mood for chicken, don’t you think?” Ichigo grinned, and then yelped suddenly.

“Dear, are you okay?” His wife asked him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Ichigo said, and then growled something at Rukia who merely laughed.

Renji paled. What the hell?

“So, Renji, what’s it gonna be?” His wife asked him again.

He coughed. “Ramen seems nice.” Rukia nodded.

Before anyone could comment further, their waitress arrived. “Are you ready to order?”

Ichigo answered first. “Yes. We will be having Udon noodles, yakimeshi, grilled chicken, and matcha tea please.” Ichigo said, motioning to Rukia and himself.

The waitress smiled at them. “What about for you and your wife, sir?” She said, turning to Renji.

“Ammm.” He stuttered again, wondering if the woman next to him was going to correct the waitress. To his surprise, she nodded and started giving her order. “I will be having your beef curry please.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you add vanilla ice cream and strawberry jam to it?” She added, making everyone in the table nauseous.

The waitress blinked. “I’m afraid not. But you can order the ice cream as dessert.”

She looked disappointed but nodded. “Ah, and please bring me an orange juice.”

The waitress nodded and looked at Renji expectantly. “Beef ramen for me.” She wrote it down. “And beer.” He added as an afterthought. He needed at least a bit of alcohol in his system to go through this awful date.

After the waitress left, they started talking again. Though this time, finally both Renji and Orihime were included in whatever the other two were conversing about. For once, it all felt nice. Orihime told an anecdote about something that had happened in the market a week before, and they all chuckled. Next, Ichigo started telling them about an annoying client who kept visiting the clinic claiming he had a skin condition, when in reality he was suffering from wrinkles. Rukia then explained her very elaborate plan to finally get Kiyone and Sentarou together. Renji found himself laughing for the first time with his wife and friends. It was unlike the other times they had gotten together to chat over the years. Although, that sense of peace didn’t last long, for when Renji was retelling a joke Byakuya had finally managed to deliver correctly during training once, he heard it. It was a low sound. He would have missed it if his hearing wasn’t an ability he relied on when fighting hollows. He paused, and then shook his head. Renji kept talking, hoping it had been his imagination, but no, there it was again. Low. Husky. Almost like a growl. His eyes zeroed on Rukia’s face. She was smiling at him, encouraging to continue his tale. Then his eyes moved to Ichigo. He wouldn’t have noticed anything if he hadn’t known what to look for. His cheeks were slightly flushed. His jaw clenched. And his eyes… They had an intense look on them. Oh fuck no!

“Ichigo?” He suddenly said.

“Hmm?” The man simply muttered.

“Are you okay?” Renji asked.

“Oh… yeah. I’m fine. Totally.” Ichigo blurted out. Beside him, Rukia snickered.

“You sure?” Renji asked again, his eyes watching as Rukia’s hand kept disappearing beneath the table. Ichigo’s cheeks became even redder, and he coughed.

“Yeah, Ichigo, are you sure?” Rukia asked with a mocking smile on her face. Renji could see her hand moving back and forth from where we was sitting.

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. What were you saying?”

Renji opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Orihime’s loud squeal. “Look, our food’s here!”

Indeed, their food had arrived. The waitress started serving them their plates, while warning them they were hot. The interruption gave Renji a few minutes to breathe. Turning to Orihime, he could tell she was distracted again, excitedly telling them how tastier the curry would have been if she had been able to add ice cream on top ─oh well, sugar would have to do for now. Renji pushed down the bile which was threatening to come out from his mouth. Then, he looked towards Ichigo, who was back to normal. Renji sighed happily, and started eating with gusto. He could finally relax! Of course, that lasted but two seconds when he heard a very soft mewl, one he could have recognized anywhere. Lifting his head, his eyes found his wife, whose skin was now turning red. Also, Ichigo’s left hand was notoriously absent from the table. Oh fuck me!

Trying to ignore them, Renji dove right into his food. It was surprisingly good. He took a huge gulp of beer when the noise became particularly louder. Thankfully, Orihime remained none-the-wiser, thoroughly enjoying her curry. All conversation stopped too. It was all good, though. Renji didn’t want to talk or divert the awkwardness anymore. He was getting tired. As they ate, a sudden beeping sound distracted them from their activities. Orihime blinked and then she reached for her purse, from which she took her cellphone out. She tapped something, next another beep could be heard, and she tapped again.

“Who’s that, Orihime?” Rukia asked her. Both her hands were finally on the table.

“Ah, it’s just Yuzu-chan!” The other woman said happily. “She was asking me if it’s okay for the kids to have cookies for dessert. I told her it was, hope it’s alright with you, Rukia-san.”

“Yeah, it is. Ichika doesn’t get the chance to eat cookies often back home.”

“Great!” Orihime said, a little too quickly if you asked Renji, but she had always been a bit weird anyway.

They resumed their eating, although Rukia shuffled a bit in her seat. In the background, more beeping could be heard. Renji sighed. Well, it could be worse. He thought as he slurped his ramen. For instance, a year before they had all gone to the summer festival. It had been nice at first, until Renji got distracted buying Ichika takoyaki. When he turned around, he couldn’t even find his daughter. Looking around, she found her playing with Kazui and Ichigo’s dad. However, neither Rukia nor the other couple were anywhere. He walked around, trying to see if he could find them. Just before the fireworks started, Orihime arrived from behind a food stand, claiming she had gotten lost. Together, they walked to where Isshin and the kids were sitting. Around fifteen minutes later, Ichigo and Rukia appeared, clearly disheveled, saying they had been looking everywhere for them.

That wasn’t even the worst, though.

Just before Ichigo and Orihime had gotten married, the four of them had gone to this classy restaurant ─one that the captain would have certainly approved of and which was coincidentally Ishida-recommended. Orihime said she was going to be late, for she was taking care of something. So, that left him alone with his wife and friend. As they waited for their food, Renji went to take a very important call. When he came back, only Ichigo was sitting there, drinking from his glass of wine. “Rukia’s in the restroom.” He informed him. Renji nodded and attempted to talk with his friend, however Ichigo was completely distracted, answering with monosyllables. Renji enquired if he was nervous about the wedding, which got him a nod. As they waited for their girls, Renji briefly heard something which sounded like sucking. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Thinking he had had enough, he went to the restroom, thinking he’d find Rukia there. When he came back, Rukia was already at the table, her cheeks rosy. Before he could ask her what had happened, Orihime arrived, looking more radiant than ever.

And don’t even get Renji started on last week! A bunch of rookies had given him a hard time during training, Captain Kuchiki had made him redo all of his paperwork before Hisagi could recollect it, the Women Shinigami Association had made more money than them during their fundraising, as Nanao had constantly reminded them during the meeting they held, and Ichika had thrown a temper tantrum, questioning his authority as a father. The only thing he had wanted was to spend some quality time with his wife, but when he arrived at her office, he noticed that all of her paperwork was thrown around the room, and her robes were very much in disarrayed. Also, Ichigo was there, sitting rather innocently while drinking tea. Renji felt his eye twitching just by remembering it.

He finished his beer and ordered another, while the other three ordered ice cream. They started talking once again, sharing some of their woes of parenthood. Apparently, Kazui liked to sneak out of his house and wander around town. Ironically, Ichika had been disappearing from home too. Renji didn’t stop to think what that could mean, instead he focused on finishing his pint of beer.

“I’m going to the restroom.” He announced as he stood up. Renji narrowed his eyes at Ichigo. He sure hoped that he wouldn’t pull a stunt while Orihime was there.

They’re behaving better than normal. Renji thought as he did his business. Normally, by this point the two of them would have disappeared somewhere, and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. He didn’t know how Orihime hadn’t caught them yet. They weren’t careful at all. Maybe she was just oblivious, or trusted Ichigo way too much. Whatever. He thought. The date was almost over after all.

Just when he was about to exit the stall, he heard the telling sound of clothes shuffling and mouths slamming against each other. Next thing he knew, the stall right beside his own opened, the two people making out went in, and slammed the door shut. He waited for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. It was enough time for the people next to him to start undressing, or so he assumed by the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. Moaning was quickly heard, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He felt sick.

I’m fucking pissed!

Renji could take a lot of bullshit. He could take the fact that his wife hadn’t really been in love with him when they got married. He could take the knowledge that their first few nights together were utter shit, and the rest never improved to the point that after Ichika was born, their sexual life was non-existent. He could take the fact that the first time he had seen Rukia truly glow was after one of Ichigo’s visits to Soul Society (she had limped for a week after that). He could take knowing that Ichigo had been late to his very own wedding because he had spent “quality time” with Rukia on the room he was supposedly getting ready at. He could take the fact that Rukia had been more excited to see Ichigo again than for her own promotion to captain, (and god did that showed when they went to Karakura). He could take having seen Ichigo kiss Rukia that one time in his house, when no one was paying attention. He could take going to restaurants with them knowing what they did under the table.  He could take knowing Rukia regularly sneaked to Karakura just to see Ichigo. He could take finding his bed sheets a total mess after arriving home late, covered in a sticky substance he rather not name. He could take listening to things he really shouldn’t have as he passed by Ichigo’s former room at his parent’s house one day when he came to pick up Ichika and Rukia. He could take listening to them as he was watching TV on the other room. He could take Rukia kissing him while tasting like another man. He could take the two of them using their children as an excuse to see each other. He could take knowing Kazui’s and Ichika’s rooms had long since been defiled. He could take naming his own daughter after Ichigo when Rukia had suggested it. Fuck. Renji could take knowing that his wife and his best friend had been fucking around behind his back for years without seeming to end or get tired with each other. Worse, he could take the fact that they had been deeply in love all this time and their marriages were mistakes. The worst. He could take covering for them, least Orihime were to find she had been cheated on since way before she had even gotten married to Ichigo. But what he could have never been able to take, at all, was having the two of them fucking while he was inside the neighboring stall taking a dump! There was such things as decency and respect, thank you very much!

Fuming, he exited the restroom, uncaring if the other two had heard him or not. As he angrily stomped towards the booth, while muttering underneath his breath about backstabbing friends and cuckolding, he didn’t notice that the very own people he had been cursing were still sitting on the booth, talking rather amicably. As his eyes noticed them, he stopped dead on his tracks. Wait… What the actual fuck? How could this have been?! He had just left them behind, and there was no way in hell they would have gotten there before he did, taking into account they were in the middle of their gross lovemaking.

“Renji, are you okay?” Rukia asked after a few minutes of watching Renji gape at them.

“What… I mean… huh?” He said, ever so eloquently.

“Dude, are you having an aneurysm?” Ichigo asked, suddenly standing up.

“What?! No, no! I’m fine!” He said quickly. Just then, he realized there was one person missing. “Where’s Orihime?”

“She went to the restroom not long after you left too. I thought you might run into each other.” Ichigo answered, shrugging in indifference.

Okay. Now nothing made any sense! If Ichigo and Rukia had been here all this time, then who the fuck was having sex in the men’s restroom?! His mind then went blank. Orihime went to the restroom too. The woman mewling in the restroom had a very high pitched voice now that he thought about it, one that Rukia didn’t have. Orihime had also been texting a lot when they were eating.

Oh fuck!

As his mind was rebooting, Ichigo and Rukia started bickering again, this time the subject was whether or not Renji was feeling well. Rukia kept saying her husband was fine, while Ichigo said she had probably already tired him with her shit. That got him a kick in the sheen.

“Guys, look who I found on the entrance?” Orihime suddenly said. Renji turned to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen, but she was smiling radiantly.

“Ishida.” Ichigo acknowledged the man next to his wife.

“What are you doing here?” Renji blurted out before he could stop himself. Rukia scolded him for being rude.

“I wanted to grab something to eat.” The man answered matter-of-factly.

“And I was telling Ishida-kun that he should try the curry.” Orihime said.

“That sounds nice. I think I will.” Ishida said and the woman next to him beamed at him.

Ishida talked to them for a few minutes, before he left to order his food. Orihime sat down next to Renji, still speaking about how nice it had been to run into Ishida, and how unjust it was that they hardly saw him anymore. Rukia agreed with her, while Ichigo simply nodded. Renji remained quiet. Not long after, they paid for their food and left the establishment. As they walked home, Ichigo and Rukia went ahead, bickering about one thing or another, before laughing and taking quietly amongst themselves. Renji walked behind them, Orihime next to him like before. However, this time she wasn’t talking, she merely looked ahead, a soft smile gracing her lips. That was all for the better, Renji thought. He wasn’t in the mood for talking. Once home, they talked with their kids about what they had done that day. Then, they quickly said their goodbyes, after all the following day was busy for all of the adults. Opening the senkaimon, Renji looked at his friends once more. Orihime waved at them. Ichigo said something to Rukia, which made her smile. Renji shook his head as Ichika whispered something into Kazui’s ear, she then trotted happily towards her dad. When they are all set, they disappeared into the gate.

The events of the day flashed into Renji’s eyes as he prepared himself to sleep. Ichika was already asleep, and Rukia was taking a shower. He frowned, then sighed. The following morning, he asked Ichika if she had enjoyed the cookies Yuzu had given her. The girl had frowned. Turns out, she and Kazui hadn’t eaten cookies but chocolate ice cream. Renji felt like laughing. In fact, he did, ignoring the way his daughter looked as if he had lost his mind. It was all good, though. There was a reason, after all, why Ishida seemed lost in what to order in a restaurant he had already eaten at. Orihime’s texting hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

Man, Captain Kuchiki was not gonna believe it!

[sheepydraws]

I Think This is What Home Feels Like (6/10)

Ao3

Part 5

Part 7

“Hey, Oku,” Josuke said, throwing an arm around Okuyasu’s neck and dragging him into an alley between two houses.

“What the fuck?” Okuyasu said without rancor. It wasn’t like there was anyone around. It was Friday, and cold even though it was late afternoon. Okuyasu wanted to get home before his fingers fell off.

“Listen, don’t tell my mom about my date on Sunday.”

Okuyasu waited for an explanation but it did not come.

 “Why?”

Josuke shrugged, uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I don’t want her to say anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like asking a bunch of questions about the girl, or telling me where I should take her, or something.”

Okuyasu leaned against the brick wall behind him. “So what? You’re mom’s pretty cool. She’s not going to read you some riot act about how you should wait till you’re married to hold hands.”

Josuke rolled his eyes. “That’s the problem. She’d probably beat me over the head with a bag of condoms.”

“What would you do with a whole bag of condoms?” Okuyasu said, intrigued. “Don’t those go bad? How long do they last? I mean, how many times could you actually—“

Josuke went to grab Okuyasu’s shoulders, but he couldn’t get a grip on them with Okuyasu pressed against a wall. Still, his palms pressed to Okuyasu’s chest shut him up for a minute.

“I don’t see what’s so bad about that,” Okuyasu continued.

Josuke’s cheeks had gone redder than the cold and short walk warranted.

“Are you embarrassed?” Okuyasu asked, delighted. He couldn’t quite believe it. “But you’ve always got girls hanging off of you, and those music videos you watch are basically porn, and—“

“Shut up!” Josuke hissed, looking up and down the alley to see if anyone in their house had heard him. His face was now so flushed it was in danger of melting his pomade off.

“What, are you scared your mom’ll say ‘sex’? Or blow job?!”

Josuke slapped his hands against Okuyasu’s chest, then thought better of it and just grabbed him by the front of his coat. “Come on,” He said, “Let’s go home.”

“Man, that sucks,” Okuyasu said as he followed Josuke, still giddy, “Your mom might find out you’re trying to get laid! That’d be the worst! She’d tell you the best positions!”

Luckily when Crazy D punched Okuyasu he fell into a snowdrift. Still, he decided it was in his best interest to stop talking about sex.

That incident was what kept going through Josuke’s mind while he waited outside the arcade for flower girl to arrive. He had felt fine about the date all week, though that might have been because he forgot for a few days until flower girl reminded him about it on Friday. She had been cute about it, sidling up to his desk and asking if he had any plans for Sunday, and he had responded, “I’m taking out a really cute girl,” and she had giggled and Josuke had felt great.

Now, actually about to meet up, Josuke was completely unprepared. He still knew almost nothing about the girl he was taking out, and since he didn’t know anyone who went on dates he had no idea what to wear or how to act. He had decided to change out of his school uniform into a nice pair of pants and a button down. It had seemed like a good idea at home, but now the drab colors were making him feel like a molting pigeon. He almost wished he had told his mom about this.

“Josuke!” Flower girl called as she came down the street towards him.

“Hey,” Josuke said with a weak wave.

“Were you waiting out here?” She asked. There was a certain lilt to her voice that Josuke couldn’t place. “You didn’t have to.”

Josuke shrugged and opened the door for her. He hadn’t been sure if he should go in or not. It seemed rude to start playing without her.

Three rounds of street fighter later Josuke felt better. He was in his element now, and it was way easier to talk to flower girl when their conversation was mostly shouts over who was winning. Josuke thought everything was going okay, until flower girl suggested karaoke. The karaoke craze had come to Morioh, but so far there was no actual karaoke bar in town, just two small rooms off the arcade.

Josuke walked into the room and was immediately uncomfortable. It had no windows and was supposed to be soundproof, which wasn’t unlike the rest of the arcade, but here it was just Josuke and flower girl. Alone. Together. In a soundproof box.

Flower girl left Josuke alone with the song book while she went out to get some drinks from the vending machines. Josuke flipped through the book, dread rising in him. He was about to make a fool of himself. His knee jittered on the sticky sofa, and he was half ready to ora-ora his way through one of the walls.

That was when flower girl returned. For a minute Josuke thought she had been injured, the way she was hunched over with her coat wrapped around herself.

“Look,” She whispered, eyes bright. She opened her coat to reveal four beer bottles and two plastic cups of vending machine sake.

Josuke picked up one of the bottles and rolled his hand around it’s neck. “How did you get these?” There was a liquor vending machine in the arcade, but it was right next to the front counter where there was usually a responsible adult stationed to keep high schoolers away.

“Mr. Tetsuya had to go fix up the pac-man machine, and no one else was around, so I started stuffing them into my coat.”

Josuke had that odd feeling again of not being fully loaded . Of not being properly in the moment as it happened. Flower girl sat down beside him and brushed the hair out of her face and smiled, wide and giddy. Josuke laughed, because he genuinely thought this was awesome. He appreciated someone who could break the rules when the rules were kind of dumb. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lagging a few seconds behind, that he was appreciating this gesture without considering why.

Josuke cracked open one of the beers and took a sip. It was cold and yeasty and automatically made him want to belch. None of these things were complimentary, but he took another sip anyway. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“You know, the last time I was drunk,” Josuke began, and then realized that he couldn’t possibly end that sentence with ‘alcohol had just been injected into my veins’.

“What?” Flower girl asked, inching closer to him.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Josuke stammered, and drank some more beer.

Flower girl’s eyes lit up. “That bad?” She was unreasonably excited by this revelation.

Josuke scootched down the couch a little. “Seriously, I shouldn’t tell you.” He tried to think of something to say that would warrant this reaction from him, but would only mildly titillate her.

“You can tell me,” Flower girl purred.

Josuke took another sip of beer. Boy, these bottles must be thick. Or maybe they only filled them halfway, like chip bags. Either way, Josuke’s bottle was already half empty.

“It can’t be that bad if it’s you, Josuke,” Flower girl said, coming towards Josuke again. Her thigh brushed his.

Josuke swallowed hard.

[sporadichearttcollector]

VLD SS 2K17

My @voltron-ss present fic for @phylix 

Happy holidays! Hope you like this!

ao3 link here

Read under the cut

5 TIMES LANCE KISSES KEITH UNDER THE MISTLETOE AND 1 TIME KEITH KISSES LANCE

Keith loves the couch. Specifically the blue one in what the team had dubbed the break room, and specifically the corner seat, where he can curl up and take cat naps in the starlight. It’s really the best place for naps on the entire castle ship. It’s perfect for days like this one, when they didn’t have any missions, no distress signals, just a day of nothing.

At least, that’s what Keith spent the morning thinking the day would be.

He’s in the middle of one of the infamous naps in his corner seat when the sound of footsteps drags him back to consciousness. Keith doesn’t bother to open his eyes, knowing exactly who those mismatched, out of sync, soft steps belong to.

Lance.

Keith can hear the slight scuff of his blue lion slippers on the floor, and a small smile slides onto his lips as he curls his toes inside his own red slippers. He’s been dating Lance for three months now, having finally spewed his guts about his enormous crush on the blue paladin one night after a mission that nearly led to Lance losing his life, and they had been disgustingly in love (not that they had told each other) ever since.

“Keeeeith!” Lance calls out softly, and Keith can feel his weight on the back of the couch, slim fingers ghosting over Keith’s cheek. Keith lets his eyes flutter open and he twists a bit, letting out soft, sleepy noises as he adjusted so he was facing his boyfriend.

“How dare you interrupt my nap,” He muttered, blinking a few times. Lance is leaning over the back of the couch, a grin tugging the corners of his lips up.

“I’m so very sorry, Your Highness.” Lance coos. “I have a surprise for you.” Keith arches an eyebrow.

“Oh really now?” He laughs softly.

“Yup!” Lance’s eyes were bright, excited. Keith can’t held the smile that slides onto his face. He adores seeing Lance happy, and whatever this surprise is will be worth it just to spend a few minutes seeing that excited glint in his blue eyes.

“Well, what is it?” He asks, gently shaking the hair out of his face. Lance’s smile grows, and he leans forward a bit, jutting his chin out like he’s going to whisper something.

“Mistletoe!” Lance reveals before leaning down and slotting his lips against Keith’s. Keith could see a flash of the green leaves and red berries before Lance was kissing him and damn if he didn’t lose his train of thought because of it. His hands slid up to grab at Lance but he’s pulling away and Keith lets out an unhappy sound, fingers stretching out to pull Lance back. Keith’s eyes slide back open, when did he close them? Lance shakes the little bit of fake shrubbery at him, a smirk on his lips, and he spins around, fleeing from the room.

“Lance you little-!” Keith sits up too fast and has to stop to hold his head at the rush of dizziness that floods him. A sense of dread starts to coil low in Keith’s stomach as he realizes that it’s winter back on earth, and somehow Lance knew about it. He won’t be surprised if,  when Keith takes a walk through the castle, it’s decorated with tinsel and lights that Pidge and Hunk put together. Lance is going to pull this little stunt again, Keith knows, and his face floods with color at the thought of his boyfriend laying one on him in the middle of some important diplomatic meeting because Mistletoe, Keith! Mistletoe!

He groans and sinks back down into his seat.

~

Keith peers around the corner. After the mistletoe incident in the lounge, Keith had carefully avoided any spaces where Lance could have placed the little plant. It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy kissing Lance, Keith loves kissing him. But the whole mistletoe thing, it’s just cheesy. Keith may absolutely adore cheesy, but he has a reputation to uphold and Lance constantly being sweet and fucking adorable is seriously threatening it.

Keith tip toes to the bedroom, knowing full well that Lance is in the kitchen with Hunk and there is no possible way he’s going to jump out from a instantaneously appearing closet and toss a bundle of leaves at him. He still tip toes. Keith takes great care in pressing his hand to the scanner, wincing at the loud beep and low slide of the door as it separates. Keith sighs softly, walking forward and begins to shrug off his jacket, turning in preparation to throw it on the hook next to the bed.

Lance is standing there, grin plastered on his face as he points upwards, eyes glinting. Keith doesn’t have to look to know there is a cluster of mistletoe hanging from their ceiling, probably held by some of the ridiculously sticky goo Hunk managed to concoct last week. Lance doesn’t wait before grabbing Keith by the lapels, pushing him softly against the wall and bringing their lips together as his hands slide down Keith’s back, shoving the jacket off of him. Keith gasps and his hands clutch the front of Lance’s shirt, his heart hammering. He doesn’t let go when Lance tries to pull away.

“You’re not pulling that disappearing act again, cargo pilot.” Keith smirks, knowing the teasing name would ensure the two would not leave the room for several hours.

Lance locks the door and tugs Keith towards the bed.

~

Keith is quickly realizing that Lance had taped mistletoe up in every single room in the castle.

They’re in a strategy meeting, and Pidge’s immediate snickering when they walked in alerted Keith to the little plant stuck to the ceiling. Everyone had carefully walked around it, Keith shooting Lance an annoyed look. Lance had just laughed and made kissy faces at him.

So, for the last hour and a half of this meeting with the Blade of Marmora, Keith has had to look at the mistletoe and make sure to avoid it. There is no doubt, not even the tiniest speckle, in Keith’s mind that were he to make the mistake of stepping under the stupid thing Lance would absolutely smack a kiss on him, right there in front of the Blade members. Which, Keith lamented, would completely ruin what little reputation he had built up with the Blade as a cool and professional person when he turned redder than Coran’s hair and spluttered some expletive at Lance, or even worse dragged Lance from the room to give him far more than what was deemed necessary for mistletoe.

“I think it would be advantageous to move forces from here,” Keith walks around the table, eyes intent on the battle plans laid out. He reaches out, softly pushing the Nnmerxian’s representative block over. Nnmerxians would be better use against the bigger galran forces in a big battle, not the small area planned… Keith hears snickering and sees a slow movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks up, confused. Is his idea ridiculous, he wonders as he surveys the room.

Lance is slowly walking towards him, a small smile on his lips. Keith sucks in a breath when he realizes he had unwittingly walked right under the damn mistletoe.

“Lance, not right now!” He hisses, brow furrowing. “We’re in a meeting.” With aliens who are absolutely going to give us shit for something this unprofessional! He scowls at Lance, who shrugged, smile growing into a grin as he advanced.

He can still hear Pidge and Hunk laughing, and see the confused looks on the Blade members faces.

“Mistletoeeeeee!” Lance sings, reaching Keith and throwing his arms around him to prevent escape.

“We are in a meeting!” Keith’s heartbeat speeds up, his breathing sputtering at Lance’s close proximity. He can feel his cheeks heating, and does absolutely nothing to stop Lance from pressing a gentle kiss to his lips in front of everyone. His fingers grip Lance’s jacket tightly, and his muscles quiver, any inhibitions or worry’s flying right out of his head.

A member of the Blade, Kolivan, makes a throaty sound that yanks Keith from the little moment he was having and he shoves Lance away, angry that he had done that and angry that Keith had let him. His face is bright red as he looks around the room, embarrassed and upset. The other paladins wear looks of concerned, and the Blade seem plain uncomfortable.

Keith spins around, stalking from the room, without sparing Lance another glance. He can’t think, can barely breathe. The Blade won’t want to work with him anymore, they will think he’s stupid and a child, distracted. Keith will lose what little connection he has to the half of him that is galra.

He makes it halfway across the castle to into his old bedroom, the one he abandoned for Lance’s, and collapses onto the bed. He curls up into a ball and bites at his knees.

The embarrassment washes over him in waves that fill his throat and make it hard to breath, that clench his fists and leave little half crescents in his palms as he struggles to keep his distressed noises quiet.

~

It’s hours before Lance stumbles into the room, an anxious look on his face. Keith is in full meltdown, and barely notices the arms that wrap around him, the soft words that are murmured in his ears. Keith ignores them in favor of attempting to breathe.

Finally, he breaks.

“Everyone must think I’m an idiot now, huh?” Keith whispers miserably. He knows he’s right, and his thoughts are just a mantra of Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Why did I do that? WhydidIdothatwhydidIdothatwhydididothat????

“Nah, they’re all just worried. I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t know you would react like that.” Lance rubs his back softly, a genuinely concerned look on his face. “The Blade actually thinks the whole mistletoe thing is hilarious, believe it or not.” Keith’s head snaps up.

“What? You… You explained it to them?” He chokes out a laugh at the thought of Lance explaining the absolutely bizarre human tradition that is kissing under the mistletoe.

“I did and Allura helped, and I told them you probably reacted like that because it’s stupid and you don’t want them to think you’re stupid because they’re the only connection you have to being galra.” Lance says.

“I thought the lions were supposed to be the mind readers,” Keith sniffs, wiping roughly at his nose. “How did you know?” Lance laughs quietly.

“You’re kind of obvious, babe.” He smiled. “And I know you pretty well. There’s embarrassment, and then there’s the patented ‘Now everyone is going to despise me’ Keith look.” He presses a soft kiss to Keith’s forehead. “Is it bad that I hung mistletoe in here too?” Lance asks quietly, pointing up at the large bundle of mistletoe above them. Keith cracks a smile before bursting out in deep belly laughter.

“You’re awful!” He giggles, slapping Lance’s arm and leaning into him.

“I love you.” Lance says. Keith gawks at him. His face is serene, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. Keith gasps in a stuttered breath before sitting up and throwing a leg over Lance’s, straddling him as he brings their lips together and his fingers curl tightly in Lance’s hair.

“I love you too.”

~

Lance walks into the observation deck, a small note clutched in his hand from Keith saying to meet there. His eyes go wide at the immense array of decorations. Tinsel and garlands and lights hang from the high ceilings and a fake tree that Lance’s view stumbles over. But what really gets him is that there is mistletoe hanging in strings.

“Pretty, right?” Keith asks softly, walking out from behind a pillar and gently adjusting an ornament on the tree. “It took hours to put it all up.” He smiles at Lance, who looks like he might cry.

“It’s gorgeous,” Lance’s voice is thick and Keith thinks he just might really cry actual tears. His heart squeezes at the thought. “I love it.” Keith’s heart speeds at the words, so close to those uttered the night before. Just the thought had Keith’s eyes stinging.

Lance loves him.

Keith loves Lance.

Keith isn’t surprised when he feels Lance’s arms at his waist and Keith grins, bringing his hand up to dangle a single little bundle of mistletoe above their heads.

“Mistletoe,” He whispers as their lips meet. “Happy whatever holiday you celebrate.”

“Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve.” Lance smiles. “But you knew that.”

“I also know that Hunk and Pidge are jewish and Allura and Coran have their own funky alien religious stuff. Figured I shouldn’t assume.” Lance kisses him again.

“I love you.” Keith has a feeling his heart isn’t ever going to not speed up like he’s just run ten miles when he hears those words fall from Lance’s lips.

“And I love you,” Keith smiles. He’s okay with it. It’s a good feeling.

~fin~

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER THREE

                            eremika soulmates through time modern au                                                                (chapter 1/ chapter 2/ ao3/ ff.net) 

MAMIHLAPINATAPEI

YAGHAN LANGUAGE OF TIERRA DEL FUEGO

1) A wordless, yet meaningful look between two people who both desire to initiate something, but both are too scared to initiate themselves.

2) That look across the table when two people are sharing an unspoken but private moment. When each knows the other understands and is in agreement with what is being expressed. An expressive and meaningful silence.

finally, the time has come

everything up till today was a prologue

skimming through the days of old,

it’s my turn to bear the load

my experience and my skill

and all the courage I had let start to mildew

at an unprecedented speed I will

dive right into you.

-               RADWIMPS, Sparkle

It’s been a few hours and it’s completely dark outside now, which they hardly notice as their conversation flows easily like a mountain stream, switching from one topic to another. Surprisingly, they’re not trading facts and personal histories,  but rather opinions, all joking around and getting in heated arguments over their favorite tv show characters, with their faces colored in blush and in a warm glow of the kitchen light.

Above the cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream, extra marshmallows and a spoon of cinnamon on top for good measure, Eren waves his hands excitedly, in the middle of telling a very long and complex story involving ten years old him, his best friend and a bucket full of earthworms. Mikasa must admit she has long lost track of the tale, but she doesn’t particularly mind that; Eren may not be the best storyteller ( and  then I like, grabbed his hand – she was kinda, uhm, you know – like, you know -  LITERALLY )  but he’s definitely an engaging one.

Besides, she has to admit that no matter how interesting his story might be, she would rather just watch him anyway. What he does gives her a way better idea of who he is than his words do.

And he’s.. non-stop. Constantly in motion. Twitching his leg, as if he was in a hurry, biting on his lip, changing a position every few seconds. His hands never simply rest on her dinner table or stay wrapped around his mug, no;  his fingers are tapping on the wood, scratching his nose and the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.

And how she aches to do just so. To reach out her hand above their mugs, to touch this boy sitting across the table. Her fingers itch as if someone was pricking their tips with needles - just to map the features of his face, to trail the slope of his nose and the arches of his brows, and jaw, and cheekbones. To check if his lips are really as chapped as they look.

To get lost in those beautiful, breathtakingly green eyes.

She toys with those ideas, plays the scenarios in her head, so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she almost doesn’t catch it when he stops talking.

“… and that’s how we were basically banned from visiting aunt Flora ever again. Hmm, Mikasa? You’re with me?”

His brows furrow and he’s looking at her, concern vivid in his features and she perks up at that, straightening her back so abruptly that she can hear her spine cracking.

“Yes! Of course.” She twirls the spoon in the remains of black lemon tea in her mug, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.  But she still feels that; his disappointment filling her lungs with unpleasant, acidy smell.

Oh no. – her heart clenches.- Oh no, no.

“Sorry, Eren,” she says, soft and soothing. “I get lost a bit. But from what I did catch  -“ – it’s like in her head; she can feel smooth wood underneath her fingertips and then the roughened skin of his palms as she reaches out her hand across the table. ” – is that you should never ask me for childhood stories. Mine are all boring. I never did anything even remotely close to throwing a whole jar of worms into my relatives’ Christmas pudding .”

He huffs in amusement, letting her caress his hand for a moment before wrapping his fingers around hers.

“In my defense, the stuff was so disgusting that the taste might’ve actually improved with this extra meat in it. “  Their eyes lock and something wild gleams in his as he raises her hand up and brushes her knuckles with his lips.

She gasps; can’t help that. It’s like an electric shock, the one that leaves her whole skin tingling and her cheeks blushing.

“I like that – hand holding, I mean,” he admits quietly, turning his gaze away to stare at his mug. The tips of his ears are slightly redder than they were in the freezing cold outside and as soon as she notices it, she feels a wave of affection crashing over her.

And this makes her just a little bit bolder.

She pulls her hand from his grasp and just – does it. No thinking, zero overanalyzing. Pure instinct. This seems to work best with Eren, so that’s what she’s gonna do.

Her caress is so delicate that it’s almost phantom, but the heat with which her palm burns his cheek is undeniable and he almost groans at that; it’s almost as if he was melting in her touch, transfixed by the sight of her grey eyes turned black and those rosy lips parting. She looks dazed; she feels dazed and he is so out of his mind that he’s not sure that he’s not imagining the whole thing.

“And I had spent the whole evening wanting to do just that,” Mikasa confesses, her whisper faint but ringing clear in his ears.

She’s about to back off  - the gleam slowly dies in her eyes and some kind of second-thought embarrassment is clearly catching up to her – but he covers her hand with his, keeping it placed on his cheek.

“Don’t,” he lets through gritted teeth.  “Don’t stop.”

And it washes over her; a tidal wave of warmth and amazement and desire, it all messes up in her head, knocks the ground from underneath her feet. Her toes curl.

“Okay.”

…

She doesn’t know how they ended up on the couch, but she decides that she will wonder about it later.

‘Cause Eren is sitting  right in front of her  - so close, no longer across the table, but close enough that their knees touch – he is sitting  right in front of her, his eyes closed, head thrown back and breath heavy, and she trails her fingers on his face, just as she imagined.  He’s so beautiful; the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the contrast of her milky complexion again his dark, his hair so soft when she gently combs through them.

She thinks they would make a nice painting, positioned like that; her, kneeling on the couch and raising her hips up to be closer to him, her pupils blown wide and dark. Eren, gasping for breath underneath her touch, lips wet and the top buttons of his shirt undone.  The yellow light of the lamp basking the whole scene in a golden glow, turning her white living room into the honey-colored inside of a beehive, the air thick with heat and wonder and ache.

He keeps his hands firmly placed on his thighs, but then her nails lightly scratch his scalp and before she can notice, he puts them on her waist, spreads them from her hipbones to the edges of her ribcage. His grip is firm, but not bruising; it leaves her dizzy anyway.

Eren’s stupid with want.

On the one hand, a quiet, rational voice at the back of his head ( one that sounds suspiciously like Armin) urges him to take it slow, as he was supposed to. On the other, he can’t, like, for a life, remember why should he take it slow and a much bigger and louder part of his brain is currently out of order, as Mikasa slowly lifts her hands and lets him pull up her thin, grey sweater and then throw it on the floor.

And he looks at her, simply can’t stop looking; all this skin suddenly at display, the graceful line of her neck and the hollow of her throat, arches of her collarbones and valleys of her breasts rising up and falling down with each breath, her taut stomach- – holy shit, she has better abs than he can ever hope to have.

He could swear that he never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants to touch her now.

To kiss her now.

But, as he leans closer, something sharp and cold pierces through him; she opens up her mouth to say something, but he is already backing away from her, her fear tasting like metal on his tongue.

As Mikasa leans her head down in shame, blush traveling down from her cheeks to her chest, he feels like a total, complete, unredeemable asshole.

What did I  tell you about not fucking it up with this girl, Jaeger?

Fucking fuck.

“I’m not-“  ready, she wants to say, but that’s not exactly true and words got stuck in her throat.  She somehow trusts this stranger with the most familiar eyes with her life. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so scared, so ashamed. Why she has this overpowering need to push her want away and hide it somewhere in a box in a closet when she knows he feels the same want for her. Why, as he leaned down to kiss her, she somehow felt rejected.

What she does know, is that in the moment he took her sweater off her, the heat from his touch evaporated from her skin, leaving her bare and shivering.

And afraid.

Her body locked up when he leaned closer, so quickly and abruptly that it left her confused and gave her a pulsing headache. A shift in a mood so swift and sharp that he felt it along her.

Is it an echo from the past? Is that how it feels like?  She wonders, still staring at her knees and begging him to understand. Is this because of how we parted the last time? I’m sorry, I don’t know what is happening. I really wanted it. I’m sorry, don’t leave.

She sends one wordless beg after another. She can see it, clear as day; Eren standing up, putting on his jacket and taking his scarf with him as he closes the door behind him. Taking his warmth, and his smile, and his green eyes away from her. It is an irrational thought but the one she can’t shake off anyway. Did you leave me just like that, sometime before?

“Hey, Mikasa.”

He sounds angry, he is angry; and she knows this in such a  subconscious, impossible way. There’s a flash, a hit and for a second or two she’s out of her body, he used to be angry at me all the time, once.

And Eren, to his surprise, finds this anger in himself. This anger that doesn’t even feel his entirely, which seems older than his body but as old as his soul.

An echo.

(It was the first thing one of his friends felt when she met her soulmate in this life; it came before pain and before warmth, and before a lightning strike and he was there when it happened. He saw it with his own two eyes; Ymir suddenly going dead silent in the middle of the sentence and stopping in the middle of a hallway.  Her quiet gasp and then one of her hands raising slowly, almost hesitantly, up, to wave. She was so lost in this one moment, so completely disconnected with reality that Eren thinks the whole world could’ve ended and she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at that.

She looked so happy. She has never told him what she felt, but it must’ve been something really good; she had awe radiating from every millimeter of her body.

And a half a heartbeat later, a small figure appeared at the end of the hallway. A new student, in the middle of a tour through school, guided by the principal. Blonde and so fucking pretty that almost celestial, clad in a baby pink suspender dress and white, lacy stockings, she couldn’t be more different from Ymir if she tried.

But she raised her head up, the same wonder in her sparkling blue eyes as in his friends’ brown ones; she looked right at Ymir and smiled, and waved back.)

He’s not angry at Mikasa because this weird rage is not even directly connected with a situation; even if it was, he’d be angry at himself, but when he glances at her, her head is still down and her shoulders are shaking a little bit.

Nobody really thinks they used to be a bad person once and Eren is not an exception. He was sure that all of his past selves were – well, if not good people, then at least decent. He’s nowhere close to perfection now; not with his carelessness, pettiness, and lack of empathy sometimes. He’s can be a thick-skulled idiot and he knows it well, but he would never call himself intentionally cruel.

He would’ve never thought that he hurt his soulmate in the past so deeply, that the memory of this hurt is the first one that comes back to them.

Did my rage burn the world with you in it? How many scars on your soul spell out my name?  I’m so, so sorry, baby. You deserve someone better to share your eternity with.

“My previous self was a douchebag, right?” he says and it sounds so hollow, even to himself.  “That’s probably how it was if you feel this way. “

He pauses, turns his head away from Mikasa because he swears to God, if he was to spend another minute looking at her hunched figure, he would cry. He weighs what he’s going to say next in his head, trying to find the best words, to ease this echo of a pain of the past somehow.

Anger curls at the pit of his stomach, burning him in a way that is so different from the way Mikasa’s touch makes him feel that it’s a sensation straight out of another dimension. He pushes it away: you don’t belong here anymore.

“But I’m not like that, this time. I don’t want to hurt you and I’m not leaving, unless you want me to do so,“ he continues quietly with such an honesty ringing in his voice that she raises her head up to look at him.  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

And as he says this, the ache disappears like a mist, like a bad dream evaporating immediately after you’ve awakened from it. Mikasa watches him, fumbling with the edge of his shirt and looking for the best way to console her and all there is in her is a simple tenderness, sweet as a morning dew.

“I’m not,” she says before he can.

She tries to recall the feeling, her stomach turning at the unpleasant sensation, already turning into a fuzzy memory.  “I don’t think I ever was. I think … if anything… I was more afraid for you. “

He chuckles, clearly surprised and this gives her a push to go on.

“Maybe you used to get in trouble all the time, act without thinking. Judging from all the stories you told me today, you’re not much different now, right?”

This earns her an actual laugh on his part and she smiles at the sound. She loves it so much, this love seems to be hidden so deeply inside her that she wouldn’t be able to tear it away even if she wanted to. Eren’s laugh … it just makes her feel so safe.

So at home.

“So. You think I straight-up ran away from you to do something stupid and you were left afraid I won’t come back?” he asks and although she somehow feels that’s not the whole truth, she nods in confirmation.

“But we will have all the answers sooner or later. Maybe let’s not dwell on that.” Mikasa leans down to pick up her sweater and Eren can feel the tips of his ears burn again.  Echo or not echo; he knows this girl for a few hours tops and he has already tried to undress her. Well – fucking –done. Doing his fucking best to be better than his asshole self was countless times before.

She puts the sweater on and he turns away, looking at the snowstorm behind the window. It must be even colder outside than when they met. The thought of coming back home becomes even more unpleasant than it was a moment ago. He eyes Mikasa silently, trying to stop himself from yawning, but it’s so difficult; it’s been such a long day.

And her apartment is so warm. And she looks so lovely. And he honestly just wants to lay by her side and bask in her glow like the sappy bastard he is at heart.

And, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, half of him is still quite convinced that their meeting is just some sort of a very vivid dream. That he’ll say goodbye to her, freeze his ass off while going home and each step will be like stepping on knives as he moves away, not towards her. That he will realize that he has lost his keys (again) so he will have to ring the bell for half an hour before Armin emerges from his cocoon of blankets to open the door for him, blinking sleepily and asking where the hell he was.

And then Eren will take a shower and every drop of water will scream her name ( Mi-ka-sa, Mi-ka-sa ringing in his ears, pulsing in his ears, humming in his blood as if she was a part of him he had lost and didn’t even realize it until now)  and he will go to sleep haunted by the smell of her skin and then -

The next day he’ll go to her apartment and find it empty or find out that it never existed in the first place. And he’ll forever be left with this ache and longing, and a hunger he does not know how to satisfy.

He grimly waits for the shoe to drop, for Mikasa to politely show him the door ( maybe wrap his scarf for him, if he’s particularly lucky and hand him her phone number without being asked to do so) but instead, she stands up abruptly and blushes slightly, tugging a stray strand of her behind her ear.

“C’mon,“ she says, reaching out a hand towards him. “This couch is too uncomfortable to sleep on it. “

Is she – isn’t she? She isn’t. His mind is a mess. Thank. Fucking. God. Bless. Yes.

He’s so happy that she’s not kicking him out, that the full implications of her words get to him with a delay.

If he’s not sleeping on the couch… Well, where exactly is he sleeping?

He imagines Mikasa in the morning, all warm and sleepy with a messy ponytail, cuddling with him, drooling a little bit on his shirt and stealing all the sheets, and he immediately decides to stop thinking about this that instant, because, from this point, he’ll be nothing but a fucking gentleman. Decided. Period.

“I’m not sleepy,” he states stubbornly out of habit, although even a five-year-old would see through his lie, let alone a girl that can literally feel his emotions.

“Uh-huh. Of course, you’re not. That’s why I have an urge to yawn,” she snickers, pulling him off the couch by tugging on his sleeve. “I’ll show you the bathroom, okay?”

…

She doesn’t send him home.

Of course, she doesn’t; not when she’s still not one hundred percent sure that he won’t turn into mist after he closes her door behind him.

Instead, she sits with her back leaned on the bathroom door as Eren takes a shower; she listens to the sound of running water and his terrible whistling and she grins so hard she’s afraid her cheeks might burst.

Then, she is the one to go wash up and, as she undresses, she shivers violently, goosebumps all over her skin, burning thoughts twisting in her mind and hot ache swelling in her stomach when cold water hits her back.

And when she emerges with wet hair sticking to her neck, he’s standing in her bedroom; back turned on her, he’s talking quietly on the phone, his lean silhouette illuminated by the white glow of street lights falling through the window.

He’s shirtless and the line of his spine leaves her speechless; the way muscles of his back dance underneath his dark skin enchants her; he bewitches her, mind and soul, with everything he does.

He holds her full attention by simply existing in the same space as her.

…                  

The problem is, after he ended talking on the phone ( with his flatmate, Mikasa assumed) and after they laid down on her way too narrow bed together, their feet touching, knees and elbows and arms pressed together -

She still can’t turn her mind off.

“Hey. You can ’t sleep?” he asks after an hour or so, interrupting the stiff silence between them.  Mikasa, staring at the ceiling and wondering idly why awkwardness is not eating her inside out right now, turns her head to face him and nods slightly.

“Maybe think about… like, top five things that make you sleepy,“ he suggests, half-jokingly, but he sees her brows furrowing.

She has this cute little wrinkle between them when she’s thinking about something really hard.  He lets himself imagine reaching out and smoothing it with his thumb.

“Rain,“ comes her soft voice. “Riding in a car. The smell of cinnamon. “

She stops taking abruptly, biting on her lower lip and locking her gaze on the ceiling.

“A -and?” he presses on.

“Being he- held,” he whispers, stumbling on words and blushing red in the darkness.

Well, he can only do one thing in response.

He gathers her in his arms, pulling her closer to him and spooning her from behind. Their bodies press to one another on the whole length; and although this contact burns, although they both gasp when their skins start to tingle – their limbs rearrange, seemingly by themselves. His arms lock around her waist and he rests his chin on the top of her hand; her hands cover his, laced up on her belly. Their legs entwine.  Both of their hearts beat in the same erratic rhythm.

“I thought we agreed not to do  – this anymore tonight,” she lets out, stunned.

He shrugs; a motion that she feels on some weird emotional level before she feels it on her own body.

“I’ll hold you so you can fall asleep. Unless-“ his arms loosen a bit around her - “unless you’re not comfortable with that?”

I let you take my sweater off. He can almost hear her thoughts as she huffs, clearly irritated. I know that you know that I sat in front of the bathroom so not to be far from you for even a second. We both know it’s not an issue of being comfortable. More of an issue of being too comfortable, actually.

Because, to their mutual wonder, she is not stiff in his arms and he holds her just right. They fit together so easily, so seamlessly that she just can’t wrap her mind around it. That’s a stranger, a strange guy that she still knows only a handful of things about. And yet she welcomed him into her apartment and into her bed and when he holds her-

When he holds her like that, when she feels his hot breath on her hair and one of his legs tangled in-between hers-

When they lay like that in darkness, in silence, with only their shining eyes and beating hearts and quiet breaths to interrupt that-

She has never felt more right.

Instead of answering, she lets her guard down; she melts against him, turns even softer and warmer. She closes her eyes, forcing her heart to calm down and her breath to be steady. She curls beside him,  laces her fingers with his; hold me like that, I welcome you here, in my heart. By my side.

The air is sweet in his mouth; she smells like lemons and mint and snow and he buries his face in her hair, this overwhelming urge pushing him closer and closer, making him tighten his arms around her and just breathe her in, with all of him.

“Mikasa?” he whispers, and she shifts beside him a little.

“Huh?” she answers, voice already laced with sleepiness and his heart swells at the sound.

“I’m so happy we’ve met today.” His lips move, pressed on the top of her head, the words blurred and Mikasa’s mind finding it hard to concentrate on anything when it feels just so good. But she doesn’t need to hear him to understand what he’s saying; she doesn’t even have to use her mouth to say it back.

In the dark of the night, she reaches out towards their bond and doesn’t pull on this red string linking them, no.    She strokes it, caresses,  as delicately as she can. She sends him a kiss, sweet as a kiss can be, and a me too.

[meenasmoon]

Renegades Ch 1:                           The Name’s Moon...Buster Moon

He was late. Of course. 

Buster Moon's rusty MoPed puttered pitifully as he pushed the ancient engine to its limit, speeding through the streets of the buzzing metropolis. The old machine was a faded red color and in some places the paint had chipped away completely to reveal patches of rust. It looked like Buster had pulled the poor thing out of its grave. Despite the condition of his ride, Buster weaved in and out of stopped cars like he was riding a Ducati. A chorus of honks and angry yells greeted his bold navigation as frustrated drivers expressed their displeasure. Buster ignored all of this as he left the downtown area of the city and headed into an older district filled with old buildings and crumbling testaments to the poverty of the area. He screeched to a stop in front of a condemned theatre and hopped off of his MoPed. Humming happily he hurried down an alley on one side of the building until he had reached the back of the building. He parked his bike in the dirt, careful to avoid the pieces of broken glass and trash that littered the area. Satisfied that his vehicle was relatively safe, he removed his old motorcycle goggles to reveal wide grey-blue eyes and ruffled gray locks that parted down the middle and fell in his face slightly. He brushed imaginary dust off of his favorite blue suit and straightened his red bow tie. Once he was satisfied that he looked impeccable he strolled over to the back door and reached for the grubby handle. 

He groaned when the handle held fast, the lock preventing him from budging the huge metal door. He groaned in frustration and rested his forehead on the door as he counted to ten slowly. Once he was calm his lips pulled into a slightly forced grin and he knocked three times on the door. A familiar voice called out from the other side. 

"What?! Who's there?!" Buster's grin strained slightly when he realized that his morning was starting to spiral just a little bit further. It was never a good thing for him to hear that squawking, raspy voice first thing in the morning. It always meant trouble. 

"Miss Crawly? It's me let me in." He jiggled the door handle once more but it still refused to give. 

There was a brief silence as the woman on the other side of the door tried to puzzle out who exactly was on the other side of the door, "What's the password?" She suddenly demanded and Buster had to physically stop himself from pulling out his hair. Instead he settled for clenching his teeth and trying to reason with the woman on the other side of the door. 

"Miss Crawly. We don't have a password." There was another long silence and when the voice returned this time it was more confused than firm. 

"Well that doesn't seem very safe... how I am supposed to know that you aren't an enemy?" Buster's fists clenched at his sides and he took ten more calming breaths before he replied. 

"Please?" He tried but he was immediately interrupted by Miss Crawly's triumphant voice. 

"Hah! Wrong!" She went silent and Buster paced over to his MoPed and then back to the door in an effort to work off even a smidge of the tension that was building in his shoulders. Miss Crawly would be the death of him, it was an absolute fact. But today was too important for him to fall prey to the heart attack that was his secretary. He gave it another minute and then knocked on the door once more, his false cheer in full force. 

"Miss Crawly it's your boss, Buster Moon? Will you please let me in?" He waited with bated breath for some kind of response and almost immediately the door was wrenched open to reveal an old women who was even shorter than him. She was wearing a garish orange jumpsuit that unfortunately clung to her body's every curve. Once upon a time it may have been a sight to see, but at this point her body was hunched slightly and her skin was covered in wrinkles. Buster had grown used to her wardrobe of obnoxious jumpsuits in the years that she had worked for him so he didn't even spare her a second glance. 

He bustled into the crumbling entrance, Miss Crawly hot on his heels. They picked their way through the debris until they arrived in an area that used to be back stage. Buster hopped down the short set of stairs that led to ‪the orchestra pit underneath the stage. He felt around on the concrete wall until he found the pressure trigger that revealed a set of gleaming silver doors. They automatically opened when he stepped in front of them and the small space was bathed in light. Blinking frantically Buster stepped into the elevator and once Miss Crawly had wandered in he pressed the button for B3. The doors slid shut and Buster was prompted by a computer t verify his identity with a palm scan and a voice recognition. 

 Buster cleared his throat and placed his hand on the scan pad as he spoke his chosen phrase into the microphone, "Rock bottom." 

They were bathed in green light as his identity was verified and the elevator smoothly sailed down into their hidden fortress. Buster whistled quietly in an effort to break the all-consuming silence that encompassed the elevator. Miss Crawly just adjusted her glass eye so that it was facing outward. Buster rolled his eyes and raised the volume of his whistling nervously. 

Just when the ride was starting to seem unbearably long the elevator doors slid open to reveal a long hallway ending in one solid grey door. Buster briskly walked down the hall, the clacking of his dress shoes echoing loudly around them. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out four folders from the bottom of his briefcase. His fingers danced over a fifth one, thick with paper and information, but he shook his head and left it in his bag. He then handed the bag to Miss Crawly who cradled it in her arms as she hurried to keep up with his pace. 

"Are they all here?" He asked absentmindedly as he double-checked the names on the folders. 

"Oh! Uh yes sir." Miss Crawly said as she fumbled with his briefcase before gaining control once more. 

"Good. Very good." He mumbled to himself and when they reached the door he grabbed the handle and stood there for a second. Miss Crawly watched as he rolled his shoulders and shook himself out so that his body wasn't tense. 

"Show time." With that he wrenched the door open and strutted in, Miss Crawly stumbling behind him. 

Upon their entrance the five people that had been milling about impatiently turned all attention to Buster. Buster was wearing a welcoming smile as he gestured for them to take their seats in the small metal chairs that were waiting for them in the center of the room. Once everyone had made their way over to the chairs Buster began his opening speech. He had been practicing this speech in the mirror for weeks like a true showman. 

"I would like to welcome all of you to Operation S.I.N.G. You have been hand picked for this operation because you are the best in your field, and because you have potential." He paused for effect and then carefully began pacing in front of the chairs. He had memorized the layout of the room days ago and as a result his carefully planned choreography went off without a hitch. Their eyes followed his every movement until he stopped in front of his first agent. 

He flipped open his file as he examined the sweet woman that sat daintily on the chair in front of him. She had short blonde hair that she kept nervously trying to tuck behind her ear. She was wearing a pink button up and a pair of mom jeans that hugged her curvy figure just enough to be appropriate. She was clutching a yellow handbag close to her chest and her cheeks colored when Buster looked up at her with his piercing grey-blue eyes. 

"Rosita Tenny." She nodded needlessly as if confirming to everyone that that was indeed her, "Excellent engineer, accomplished mechanic, with a history of brawling in the garage." He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Rosita's pale, freckled skin turned cherry-red. 

"I-it was a um...oh dear it was a little m-misunderstanding." She sputtered and Buster had to hide the small that desperately wanted to come out behind his mask of impassivity. He couldn't lose character so early in the game. He had to earn their respect first. 

"It says here that you bludgeoned a man with a wrench for, and I quote, 'touching your fucking tools'." Rosita turned impossibly redder and gasped slightly when Buster let the curse word loose. She glanced over at the other agents who were looking at her in awe and shock. She wrung her hands and shifted in her seat before offering up a feeble explanation. 

"They're very... sensitive?" It came out like a question and Buster stared up at her for a moment before closing her folder and turning towards his next victim. Behind him Rosita sighed in relief and relaxed her death grip on her bright yellow purse. 

A pudgy blonde man decked out in a gold sequined sweat suit was eagerly bouncing in his chair, his smile so large that it made Buster's cheek twinge with sympathy. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and his aqua colored eyes practically glittered with excitement. Buster was put off for a second before he cleared his throat and opened the next folder. 

"Gunter" Buster held the name, proud of himself for pronouncing it correctly after all of the practice he put in. "No last name?" 

"Ya! I am like zee famous Cher!" Buster smirked and looked down at his notes. 

"On loan from the German Intelligence Service... for an undetermined amount of time. Interesting." 

"I am on unt vacation." Gunter proclaimed proudly and Buster just stared at the man in amusement. 

"Ah...yes. Former race car driver, banned from every track in Europe and parts of Asia, and you have totaled 37 agency vehicles." Gunter just nodded proudly and gave his fellow agents an exuberant thumbs up. 

"And.... I'm sorry what is dance-fu?" Buster had been puzzling over this concept for months but the Internet had nothing to offer and no one else in the agency was familiar with it. 

"Oh! Da! Zat is ein deadly compinazion of martial arts und dance." He emphasized the word dance with a roll of his body and an impossibly larger grin that made Buster smile slightly. He shook his head and pointed his pen tip at the exuberant man. 

“That’s… nice. Well, welcome to the team.” With that he moved on to the next chair where a girl was sitting slumped in the metal chair, her arms crossed over he chest and her eyes narrowed in boredom. Before Buster could say anything she blew a pink bubble with her gum and popped it loudly. Buster didn’t even flinch as he opened her file and scanned the information, making a show of reading it so that they didn’t know that he had actually memorized every word. 

“Ashley Fitch.” He started with her name just like everyone else but the girl leaned forward, a dark look in her eyes, and interrupted him. 

“Ash. My name is Ash.” She spat out and Buster raised an eyebrow questioningly before returning to her file. 

“Ash Fitch.” The girl was the picture of rebellious teen in her twenties. She had a head full of dreadlocks that were bleached in places to give them a ringed lock. She was wearing a black and white sweater covered in holes, a red plaid skirt, and dark grey leggings. Her eyes were rimmed with dark makeup making her tan skin paler than it actually was.  

“Demolitions and weapons expert, top of your class at the academy, but a severe problem with authority.” Buster wasn’t fazed when she gave him a sneer and rolled her eyes as he read off her credentials, “In your time with the agency you have been transferred off of six different units and written up for insubordination 52 times.” 

Buster whistled and then gave the gloomy girl a cheerful smile, “We’re going to get along famously.” He winked and Ash snarled in response. He ignored her response and moved on to the last chair. 

It was occupied by a tall young man with deep tan skin. His unruly dark hair was spiked up on top of his head and stubble speckled his face. His handsome face was tight with nerves but his body was relaxed back against the chair, almost sprawled in it. 

“Johnathan Bannerton.” Johnny nodded and fiddled with his leather jacket as Buster examined him for a long time, “Expert martial artist and top field agent in your sector. Son of Marcus ‘Big Daddy’ Bannerton,  notorious mobster.” Johnny looked away in shame, his knee bouncing slightly as her nerves became more apparent. Johnny said nothing and buster didn’t push as he closed the folder and walked back to the door, opening it and gesturing for all of them to follow. 

The group got up out of their seats and hurried after him, whispering quietly behind his back as they walked. When they reached the elevator, Buster pressed the button to summon it. He turned around to look at the group, Ash spoke up , her hands shoved deep in her pockets. 

“And who the hell are you?” She smirked and Buster cheered inwardly. He had been saving this line for a special occasion and now he would finally have a chance to use it. 

“The name’s Buster…Buster Moon.” Right on time the elevator arrived and he dramatically stepped in. Ash shuffled in with everyone else but as the door closed she snorted out a laugh and whispered under her breath. 

“Ya big dork.”

[iris-writes-things]

A Day At The Races chapter 1: Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read the illustrated version on my Patreon!

This fan fiction contains internalized racism, internalized homophobia and heavily prejudiced characters. If you are sensitive to any of the above, proceed with caution or not at all.

The year is 1952. Keith had been picked on ever since the war began, street races became his outlet. Pidge and Hunk gladly help him win from his bully and rival Jimmy Parker.

Chapter 1 of 6 Completed 1437  words Romance/historical

“I fucking hate white people.” Keith huffed as he stormed in, sitting down on a stool at the counter in the only diner in the small New Mexico town, a hand covering his left eye to hide a nasty bruise. Funny how things could go. A group of jocks had ganged up on him, and yet, he was the only one who had to go to detention. He was fuming, he was angry, he was sore. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bag of ice somewhere in that freezer, would you Shiro?”

e older man on the other side of the counter sighed. “Keith, your dad is a white guy. I’m not giving you the ice unless you tell me exactly what happened.” He said, rummaging around in the freezing compartment beneath the countertop.

That earned him a groan from Keith. “That’s mean.”

“No, this is me being mean.” He told him before dangling the bag of ice in front of his face, almost out of the boy’s reach, and chuckled. “It’s for your own good, Keith.”

Keith rolled his eyes and snatched the bag from his hand, sighing in relief as he held it against his still swelling, still darkening eye. “It’s Jimmy Parker. You know, the guy from my class who is everything that’s wrong with society in a neat little package?”

“What did he do this time?”

“Take a wild guess.” Keith snapped, removing the bag from his eye, showing Shiro his swollen face. Yeah, that was a mean bruise. “I tried to fight back; to defend myself, you know? What else was I supposed to do? But then his friends ganged up on me too. I couldn’t take them on all at once…”

“Why’d he do it?”

“Because apparently his brother got killed in the war… He heard somewhere that my mom is from North Korea, so he decided to take his grief out on me, probably? Or, at least, that’s what I’m guessing.”

As if they spoke of the devil, the door opened and the diner filled up with the familiar laughter of Jimmy and his friends. Shiro glanced over and noticed Keith shrinking in his seat, like he was sure Jimmy and his friends would want to go for another round and he was desperately trying to hide.

“Well, well, went crying to your big brother, didn’t you, Keith?”

“Jimmy, we’re not related. Our parents aren’t even from the same country.”

“Eh, all you chinks look the same anyway, so who cares. We’ll be taking that booth over there and we want four milkshakes. Two chocolate, one strawberry, one vanilla. Oh, and hurry up a little, we have a movie to catch.”

Oh, Keith’s face was turning red. Redder than his scarlet jacket. His knuckles, on the other hand, turned white, nails digging into his palm and drawing blood as the bag of ice against his face burst under the pressure of his grip. His voice shook in anger as he growled, “We can’t just take this, Shiro. We have to say something. We have to do something.”

With a deep sigh, Shiro put down the ice cream scoop. “Keith, no. They’re just common bullies. They’ll lose interest if you don’t react.” He told him in a futile attempt to keep him from getting into another fight. “Be the better person. Remember, patience yields—”

“Hey, cripple!” The shout came from the booth occupied by Jimmy and his friends. “If you can’t make those milkshakes yourself, get the Mexican kid in the kitchen to do it! The movie starts in twenty minutes.”

“He’s Cuban.” Keith spoke up.

“And I’m sure you smoke him like a Cuban too, Cogain.” Jimmy taunted, his friends cheering him on.

That was unfair. Sure, he and Lance didn’t talk much, they didn’t speak each other’s language very well, but he was a good kid, and he sure as Hell didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Why, you little—”

Suddenly, a shrill scream was torn from Jimmy’s mouth, followed by childish giggling from the next booth over. None other than Katie Holt had just sacrificed her own sundae by dumping it in his neck.

“Serves you right for giving us white folk a bad name.” She said, a devilish smirk gracing her lips.

The jock whipped around, bumping foreheads with the girl half his size. “You little bitch! I’ll—I’ll—!”

“You’ll what?” came a voice from behind Katie. Jimmy looked up to find Hunk. Former high school wrestling champion who, in turn, was twice Jimmy’s size.

“Please. We’re dying to hear.”

What little color Jimmy had on his face seemed to immediately drain away upon seeing the large man stand up to him, but he tried to keep his cool nonetheless. He scoffed. “W-we’ll see. Let’s go guys, time to get out of this dump.” He called to his friends who left with him.

The David and Goliath-like figures high fived with grins on their faces. Keith smiled as he walked over to their booth to sit with them. “Thanks, guys. That might have been the single best thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”

“That might have been the single best thing I’ve done in my entire life. Just the way he screamed was worth it all on its own.” The small girl told him. “Speaking of good things, you look like you could use some good news.” She said as she used her spoon to steal a scoop from Hunk’s sundae. A dangerous endeavor for anyone else, but from Katie, he’d allow it.

“Do you have any?” Keith enquired vaguely.

“I got you a car. Fast. Italian.”

Keith choked on the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You found a Ferrari?!” He was confused, but excited. There was no way she could have bought one from his winnings of last month.

“No, Keith…” Katie took off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You need to win at least thirty more races to get one. No, I got a body. Fiat 500—”

Keith groaned. “Why not get me a Beetle while you’re at it!”

Shiro’s gaze snapped up from behind the counter. “What’s wrong with a Beetle?”

“Just… Everything.” Keith grumbled.

Katie hushed him. “I know it’s small and small isn’t your thing, but it’s lightweight. Lightweight means it can be fast. Really fast.”

“Of course we’ll have to weigh down the floor, with the way you tend to take corners. Wouldn’t want you to crash on the first turn.” Hunk added. “But it will be faster and more agile than Jimmy’s Chevy. And after that whole ordeal, I can imagine you want him eating your dust.”

Keith removed the ice bag to look at Katie. “How long?”

“Six weeks. Two months tops.”

Keith smirked. “Get it done. I’ll get you what you need.”

***

"Psst! Shiro!" Lance hissed from the kitchen window, gesturing for him to come closer, quickly getting the older man's attention. "Can I, uh, ask you something?" He asked in his thick accent.

Curious, Shiro stepped closer to the window. "Of course, what do you want to know?" He asked in return.

"That, uh, pretty?” He was a little uncertain of his wording, but ultimately settled on ‘pretty’. “That pretty girl who was at the counter just now... what is her name?" Lance asked. He had been admiring her from afar ever since he started working here, three months ago. He spent a larger amount of time fantasizing about talking, and possibly going on dates with her, than he was willing to admit. There wasn’t really anything else he could do behind the grill other than letting his imagination do its thing, after all. However, he had never dared to approach her. The thought that his broken English might repel her, or worse, make her laugh at him, terrified him. She seemed to be a good friend of Shiro’s, though. Maybe he could put in a good word for him?

"Pretty girl?" Shiro mumbled to himself as he quickly looked over the restaurant's patrons.

"The girl with the, uh, black hair.” The boy clarified. "The one that looked like she has been in a fight."

Then it hit Shiro. "Oh, that’s Keith. Don’t worry about it. A lot of people mistake him for a girl at first glance. I wouldn’t go around calling him a ‘pretty girl’, though, if I were you. The last person who did, didn’t enjoy what came after." He joked before going back to his job behind the counter.

"Keith..." Lance mumbled, his mind wandering to the other constantly as he flipped the burgers on the grill.

[bibliosexxual]

prince in training

~3k, rated T

Sterek ficlet inspired by this: “i grew up not knowing i was royal and now i guess i’m heir to a throne and you’re the guy who’s supposed to be teaching me how to be royal bc i suck at it and oops we made out” au

This is kind of Princess-Diaries-ish. I know that’s been done before in this fandom (and thank god it has—it’s awesome), but I couldn’t help myself. Yay for self-indulgence!

*

Stiles thought the most annoying thing about suddenly being a royal heir to a small eastern European kingdom he’s never heard of would be the hyper-aggressive paparazzi, but he was dead wrong.

The most annoying thing is actually Derek Hale, the guy Stiles’ grandmother hired to teach Stiles how not to screw this up.

“Princes don’t chew with their mouths open, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t shove an entire fistful of curly fries in their mouths, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t wear pink-and-green plaid shirts from Target, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t slouch.”

They don’t slump, either, or yawn or sneeze or cough in public, or fist-pump, or drive beat-up old blue Jeeps, or wear bright colors, or rock out to the radio, or do anything fun.

Derek is the most nitpicky person Stiles has ever met. He has rules about everything. Like how high Stiles should lift his glass for a toast at fancy parties, and in what order he should use his silverware—why are there so many different forks? WHY?!—and how he should sit in a chair. As if Stiles hasn’t successfully been sitting in chairs for his entire life already or anything.

On the one hand, it’s kind of funny to see Derek getting all huffy over a bunch of stuff that, in the grand scheme of things, is not important in the slightest. On the other hand, it’s not important in the slightest. Someone needs to get that memo to Derek, stat. He acts like Stiles using the wrong fork at a dinner party is a matter of national security.

Derek is always so proper, always going around in crisp, perfectly tailored suits and aviators and luscious wavy prince hair, looking like some kind of bodyguard or model or like he should be the prince, and it drives Stiles crazy.

Probably as much as Stiles’ everything drives Derek crazy in return, so… touché.

Then there are the dancing lessons, because apparently Stiles needs to be a Disney prince now. Yikes.

“I can already tell you this is a lost cause,” Stiles says when Derek marches him into the empty ballroom one night and hooks up his iPod to the speakers. “Wait. How am I supposed to learn how to dance if I don’t have anyone to practice with?”

Derek just raises his eyebrows and steps out onto the floor as the first champagne-gold notes of a waltz drift out over the speakers.

“Whoa, you and me?” Stiles says. “Seriously? Well, that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.”

Derek doesn’t disagree.

“I’m going to step on your feet so much you won’t be able to walk the next day.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage to survive somehow,” Derek says with a wry little twist of his mouth. He holds out a hand. Stiles waits just long enough to let Derek know he isn’t the boss of him before he takes it and lets Derek lead him out to the middle of the floor.

It’s ridiculous. They’re the very definition of mismatched. Derek is impeccably dressed as always, tonight in a waistcoat and cravat. It makes Stiles look that much more casual by comparison in his sweatpants and favorite t-shirt, the one that says “Studmuffin” and hangs so big on him he could probably wear it as a dress, albeit a short dress, if he were so inclined.

“So how are we gonna do this?” Stiles asks. “Do I need to stick a rose stem between my teeth?”

Derek tries and fails to look annoyed; Stiles sees the smile before he tamps it down. “It’s not a tango, Stiles.”

“Okay, no roses, got it. So… Who’s the girl in this situation?”

Derek rolls his eyes at the wording but answers the question anyway. “I am, because you’re going to learn how to lead.”

“Doubtful,” Stiles mutters.

It feels less like dancing and more like awkward shuffling. He has to hold Derek’s hand and rest the other on Derek’s back, in the dip between his shoulder blades. It’s the first time they’ve ever actually touched, and Stiles can’t even properly enjoy it because he’s trying too hard to step when and where Derek tells him, head full of counting and trying to breathe and not fall over.

As predicted, he keeps stepping on Derek’s toes, and Derek keeps wincing.

It’s like all the dances Stiles ever had to do in middle school P.E., jerky and self-conscious and complete with the familiar sweaty palms and too little eye contact, at least on Stiles’ end. Stiles is never going to get this right. Waltzing is just not in his genetics.

Derek stops, hands sliding down to rest steady and warm on Stiles’ waist, and murmurs, “Breathe, Stiles.”

Stiles snarks, “I know, I’ve only been doing it my whole life,” but it does help, weirdly. It makes him realize just how long he’s been holding his breath, and how he’s been holding his body so tight and stiff that it’s no wonder he hasn’t been anywhere close to graceful so far. Conscious of it, he can do something about it, relaxing into Derek’s arms.

“Here,” Derek says, taking Stiles’ hand again, “I’ll lead for now, until you get the hang of it.”

Stiles is able to get out of his own head enough after that to follow where Derek leads him. He’s not sure how much time passes after that. There’s nothing in his mind but movement and the music and the rhythmic count of their steps, on and on and on, until Derek is drawing him in closer and they’re no longer simply moving in the same direction at roughly the same time; they’re actually moving together.

This feels like dancing. Flowing into the music and into each other’s space, natural as breathing, but something electric between them, too, a warm tension that sings through the dance.

They draw closer, closer. Derek tilts his head, just a little, and his nose brushes Stiles’, and holy fuck. Stiles is combusting.

At the last second, Stiles breaks away before he can embarrass himself. Well... more than usual, at least. “Okay, then,” he laughs, more than a little awkwardly. Stiles is always awkward, but this is capital-A Awkward. “So I can waltz now. Congratulations.”

“You know the basics,” Derek corrects, looking a little dazed. He drops his hands to his sides. “You’ll still need to learn at least a couple more advanced dances at some point.”

Stiles backs away across the ballroom to Derek’s iPod. Backs away, because he can’t look away. “Okay, fancy stuff later, got it. But enough for tonight. My turn now.” He turns away, finally, and pokes at the iPod. “You got anything good on here, or just more boring classical?”

“Wait, don’t—” Derek starts.

Stiles ignores him. A second later, he crows, “Michael Jackson! Yes!” It’s the first sign Stiles has ever found that Derek might not always have a stick up his ass.

He turns around just as “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” starts. The energy of the beat is freeing and shocking in the best way after the self-contained elegance of all the waltzes.

Derek is standing where Stiles left him in the middle of the ballroom, stock-still and distinctly pink-cheeked. It’s the first time Stiles has ever seen Derek flustered, or Derek blushing. Stiles is living.

He dances his way over, right into Derek’s space, making sure to make it as obscene as possible. He may not know what his feet are doing half the time, but this? This is easy, fun and flowing and goofy. Derek is just watching him, his lips parted a little, and it’s heady.

“C’mon, Derek,” he says tauntingly, sliding right up against Derek’s chest, going on pure instinct. “Show me what you got.”

Derek rolls his eyes and just… walks away. He’s even redder than before. Stiles can’t help but laugh. And keep dancing, of course.

So maybe this prince-in-training stuff isn’t always terrible.

*

Usually it is, though.

Like when Derek finally loses his cool one evening and snaps, “Can you take anything seriously for even one second?”

“Probably not,” Stiles says automatically.

Derek starts pacing, tight and controlled and frustrated. “You act like none of this matters, but your life isn’t just about you anymore and you need to get that through your head. You represent your entire country now, Stiles. You. You can’t keep blowing this off.”

“Great,” Stiles mutters, throwing down the napkin he’s supposed to be learning how to fold. They’ve been doing these lessons for months now, and he can tell Derek still thinks he’s hopeless. Stiles, meanwhile, thinks Derek is unfairly hot, and too good at everything for his own good, or for Stiles’ sanity. Stiles is utterly fed up with everything. “Really, Derek. That’s so motivational. I always wanted to be an international failure at a job I never even signed up for. Great to know I’m succeeding.”

“You’re failing because you’re not even trying.” Derek stalks to the door. “Call me if you actually want my help someday,” he bites out, and then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.

“Princes don’t slam doors,” Stiles mutters sulkily, but… okay, he can concede Derek might have a point.

Or. Well. He will concede it in the future, just as soon as he can find it in himself to forgive Derek for being such a jerk.

*

It takes him about a week, and then he caves, mostly because he really, really secretly misses snarking with Derek and purposefully pissing him off and making him laugh in equal measures.

“I’m ready to make an effort,” he says when he finally breaks down and makes the phone call.

“Good,” is all Derek says.

He sounds like he believes Stiles, which is good, because Stiles does mean it. He does make an effort, after that.

For sure, he still thinks there are more important things in life than whether he eats his salad with the right fork, but, well, he can also kind of see Derek’s point. Stiles needs a way to show people that he respects his country and his responsibilities as a prince. That even though he’s still young, he can do this. He won’t let his country down. Acting suitably princely is the solution, or at least a significant part of it.

It goes well. The headlines after every royal event are all praise for Stiles’ charms, as Stiles proudly reminds Derek at every opportunity. Derek reluctantly agrees Stiles is making progress. He might make a halfway decent prince after all.

Then there’s the night Stiles breaks his winning streak. The night he sneaks out, fed up with it all and a little drunk, the night he’s photographed at a party on the beach, shirtless, making out with a random guy.

(The guy is Jackson from Stiles’ high school, not that the newspapers have been able to figure that out yet. He’s been a lifelong jerk to Stiles and he’s only in it for the publicity, and the worst part is that Stiles knows that he’s only in it for the publicity, but he still lets Jackson do it, because no one that hot has ever wanted to make out with him. Scratch that, no one period has ever wanted to make out with him.)

(It’s not exactly a high point for Stiles’ self esteem.)

Stiles refuses to be sorry about it. Unlike some people (*cough* Derek *cough*), he can’t be perfect all the time.

The next morning Stiles wakes up to a newspaper thwacking down on his face and Derek growling above him, “What is this? What were you thinking, Stiles?”

And that’s how Stiles ends up arguing with Derek at 7 a.m., while in nothing but his Spider-Man boxers and bedhead, about whether he’s still allowed to have a fucking life after princehood. About whether he’s still allowed to be a dumb kid once in a while.

Derek is fuming. “It’s a scandal, don’t you realize that? Or are you too boneheaded to have absorbed anything I’ve been trying to teach you for the past year?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, “so princes can’t like boys, is that it? Is that the lesson of the day?”

“No,” Derek snaps, “but they should damn well learn some discretion if they do.”

Stiles storms out of his own bedroom.

As grand gestures go, it could have been more dramatic, but in his defense, he’s not firing on all cylinders before eight in the morning.

*

The whole “Stiles Stilinski Is Bisexual” media frenzy dies down after about a week and a half, buried under a flurry of new headlines about some British actress’s pregnancy scare.

Stiles is a bit worried about how his grandmother’ll take it. As it turns out: very well. “I had my dalliances when I was your age, before I met your grandfather,” she says with a wink. “I completely understand.”

The only one who doesn’t seem able to let it go is Derek.

“I already said I wouldn’t do it again,” Stiles says, exasperated. They’re in the palace gardens, practicing waving in a suitably dignified and princely way to the multitudes, which in this case are Stiles’ grandmother’s prize roses. “What more do you want from me?”

“I’m not asking for... celibacy. You can do it again,” Derek says from between gritted teeth. “As many times as you like. Just don’t get photographed this time. Tell your boyfriend he needs to be more discrete.”

“Okay, wow.” Stiles stops dead on the gravel path. “There’s an egregious error that needs to be corrected here. He’s not my boyfriend.” As if. “He’s nobody.”

“Not the point. I don’t care what he is,” Derek growls, and Stiles’ eyes widen, because…

“Holy shit, that was a lie. You’re lying.” He can always tell; every time, Derek gets this shifty expression so obvious it can be read from space and clenches his fists at his sides. “You’re lying and you totally do care.” There’s a buzzy, giddy excitement rushing up to Stiles’ head all of a sudden, and his mouth is going on before he’s quite caught up. “Oh my god, it bothered you, didn’t it? And not just in an it’s-a-scandal way. It bothered you seeing me kissing Jackson. Thinking he was my boyfriend.”

“That’s irrelevant. It isn’t my place to—” Derek starts stiffly, all red-faced and staring determinedly, dutifully, professionally straight ahead instead of looking Stiles in the eye.

Stiles doesn’t let him finish; he grabs Derek by the lapels of his leather jacket and pushes, and Derek just goes with it, probably mostly because he wasn’t expecting it.

Stiles walks them backwards, behind the nearest hedge. He doesn’t care if the whole world knows he likes Derek—he’d happily shout it to a whole football field of paparazzi—but this, their first kiss, should be theirs, and if the last few months have taught Stiles anything, it’s that there could be photographers anywhere. You never know with this royalty business.

So Stiles shoves, and Derek lets himself be shoved, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate. He’s been hesitating too much lately. He just slides his hands up to cradle Derek’s jaw, stubble prickling under his palms, and kisses him full on the mouth.

For all Derek’s talk about professionalism, he switches gears from standing frozen under Stiles’ hands to kissing him back with impressive speed and enthusiasm.

But he’s also the one to pull back, finally, panting against Stiles’ mouth. “Stiles, fuck. We can’t. The queen would never appr—”

“I wouldn’t what?” asks an amused voice right behind them.

Stiles peers over Derek’s shoulder. “Oh. Grandma. Hi.”

Derek scrambles out from behind the hedge, straightening up so fast Stiles half expects him to get whiplash, and coughs, “Your Majesty!” all adorably alarmed and blushy. “I, um, we… we were just...”

Stiles’ grandmother cackles in a very un-queenly, very Stilinski way. “About time,” she says approvingly. “Past time, actually. I thought for sure the waltz lessons would do the trick.”

“The waltz lessons certainly helped,” Stiles says. He shoots Derek a smug look and helpfully picks a leaf out of his hair. “You were saying, Derek?”

Derek sighs and takes Stiles’ hand.

*

For Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, there’s a royal ball.

Stiles waltzes, and sips champagne, and charms the pants off all the people he’s supposed to be charming the pants off of, and through it all, he’s scanning the sea of faces for a familiar set of broody eyebrows, for the one person he wants to see most at this thing.

The night is starting to wind down when “Thriller” comes on, and Stiles is already grinning before he even sees Derek coming toward him through the crowd.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, stopping in front of Stiles.

“Hell yes, you may,” Stiles says grandly.

Derek snorts.

Stiles takes his offered hand without further ado and tugs him out onto the dance floor.

It turns out Derek can dance to Michael Jackson. Epically, and in front of a whole ballroom full of the most important people in this country and several others besides. Stiles is in love.

(end)

[bigcheeksandabigheart]

[Jay’s] Happy Anniversary (proof read just a lil)

Title: Let’s Give It A Try

Characters

Jay (20)

Jinri (20)

Summary: Best bros to decent lovers(?)

If Jay literally felt himself beam at the sight of Jinri huddled up next to a bookshelf of fiction novels, he keeps it to himself as he makes his way towards her with quiet steps. The corner of his lips twitch in excitement as he slots himself behind her, sliding a hand up against the bookshelf, before leaning down to whisper creepily into her ear, “Hey virgin.”

In shock, Jinri jumps in her place, almost knocking her head on Jay’s chin while letting out a loud shriek that earned them a glare or two from students around them. Jay snickers quietly behind his hand as he looks over his shoulder to meet eyes with one of the younger librarians (he’s been kicked out quite a few times already for being too loud). Before he can turn his head back around, she punches him right on the chest and if it does hurt him, he doesn’t express it. “Don’t do that you butthole!” she yelled at him in a hushed whisper. “I was just getting into the intense part of the novel, damn you!”

Jay grabs the book from her hand and looks at the cover with his eyebrows furrowed. “Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress…” Jay’s voice trails off before his eyes widen in amusement, “hey isn’t this shit the one where he fucks a girl against the tree–why are you rereading this? Pervert!”

“Stop being such an ass hat!” Jinri pushes him by the chest and takes the book away, Jay only chuckles more. With a click of her tongue, she walks off farther into the aisles of bookshelves, Jay following obediently behind her. Her fingers, run through the spines of the books as she walks by them and Jay only holds his backpack straps tighter. “Oh, shoot, how was last night by the way? Heard you didn’t come home until the afternoon after.”

“Maybe if you came, you would have known what happened, hermit,” Jay retorted with an unneeded snort, Jinri huffs bitterly. “Maybe you should stop focusing on those stupid shows and start going out more often.”

“Maybe mind your own damn business,” Jinri looks over her shoulder to glare at him before turning away with a huff. Jay laughs to himself as she leads him into her booked study room in the library. He immediately takes his backpack off the moment he slithers inside and flops down on one of the rolling chairs, gently placing his bag on the table after realizing that he has his laptop inside. “I got twenty more minutes in the room.”

Jay just absentmindedly nods while staring at the projector screen, her powerpoint presentation glowing against the white screen. “I accidentally crashed over a girl’s place and overslept,” he finally answers, his attention turning back to her. He tries not to smirk so much when he notices her eyebrows twitching in the middle, or the way she immediately looks away from him and diverts her gaze towards the screen. “She wanted to cuddle.”

“Cuddle? With the Park Jaebum? OH no!” Jinri gasped, dramatic and all. Jay just laughed even louder, leaning against the round table between them. “What’s next? Asking the what-are-we question? Oh my! Oh my!”

“Lame ass,” Jay just comments with an amused smile, head cocking towards the projection. “Okay, enough of my affairs. Present your shit.”

Much like how Jay is during his class, her words slip from one ear and exit out the other. He just pretends to listen whilst analyzing every inch of her features. From the roundness of her face, to the way her bottom lip juts out every time she collects her thoughts, to the way she fidgets when she stutters, to the swell of her hips and the bareness of her thighs, the way her tank top reveals so little for the little things she already possesses and then to her long wavy locks. He just leans his cheek against the palm of his hand as he watches her mouth move for every single syllable muttered until she finishes and just stares at him.

“You need to stop playing with your fingers and quit umm-ing all the time.” If Jay is good at anything in life, besides his fast rising social circle and his skills in video games, its presentations. Which only correlates to his mastery in bullshittery. It’s not that hard to pretend to be enthusiastic in something, if he can do it whenever a person of target makes conversations, presentations is nothing. “And stand up straight, you look like a humpback whale.”

“I will shove my foot so far up your ass!”

“Yes daddy~””

***

“Which one do you want? I can hook you up,” Jay quirks his eyebrows suggestively towards the now blonde. Jinri sighs in exhaustion, drink in her hand (her first after 3 hours into the party). Unlike their circle of friends, Jinri seems to be the only one who never goes all out in parties, only seemingly tagging along in the sidelines, much like how Jay met her two years ago. Which, by the way, is very contradicting to the way he had initially thought of her. He almost wants to laugh whenever he thinks about the time Jinri offered smoking weed with him when she had barely touched a blunt in her whole entire life. And then Jay invited her to go partying, and suddenly she was shy around people. Though, Jay couldn’t say shit, he wasn’t as lit as Jinri had assumed him to be. For fuck sakes, he bitched over the color of his skin and his burdens on fake tans.

“I told you, I don’t like one night stands!” Jinri yells over the music and Jay just blinks at her.

“Right, the whole sex is only for the person you truly love,” Jay rolls his eyes, the tone on his voice quite sarcastic which only earns him a hit on the chest. He shakes his head at the thought. Sex with a stranger versus sex with someone you love always falls in the same spectrum of pleasure anyways: sex. It’s just one organ going into another that makes life worth it. “Ridiculous.”

“YAh! If I support your sex with everyone that walks, then support mine,” Jinri takes a sip from her beer (the best one Jay can find in this damn party) and her face scrunches up right after. “You’re proud to be a whore, and I am proud to fuck anyone I love.”

“You love me?” Jay flirts like it’s his second nature and Jinri turns redder than she already is. He just laughs louder and takes a huge sip from his drink, reaching over to pinch her heating cheeks. “You know ugly, you’re not that bad.”

“What is that suppose to mean!?”

“Blah,” he sticks his tongue out and turns around to walk off, leaving Jinri to fend for herself.

***

“It’s not that I’m against relationships, you know?” Jay explains himself as they both lay down on the grass, staring up at the night sky above them. Resting his head on his bent arm, he turns his head to look at her as she lays next to him with her knees propped up, hands on her belly. “It’s just that I’m picky, you know what I mean?”

“Hmm,” Jinri just nods nonchalantly, quieter than usual, a sign that she’s genuinely listening to him. It’s not often they have meaningful discussions about himself, in fact, they barely talk about him. That’s what makes them different. Jinri speaks her mind, every troubles and every worries, even things that makes her happy. She’s an open book about it, and it’s not because it’s the way she is, it’s because it’s the way Jay is. It’s damn easy for Jay to look for signs, read into things many don’t usually pay attention to, and Jinri just so happens to show her emotions through her words and actions. But for Jay, it’s not necessarily easy for him to say certain things about himself. He’s neither comfortable or fond of sharing his troubles, insisting that it’s easier to fix it himself than burdening others with it. But sometimes, it just comes out with her. “What do you look for then?”

“In a lover?” Jay looks up momentarily to think of an answer and hums. “Well for instance, I want them to be someone who’s chill. Easy going, you know?” Jay starts, looking down and gazing over to her fingers drumming against her stomach. “Someone who I can talk to as a friend and laugh at everything with. A person who isn’t afraid to express themselves and wouldn’t shy away from me. Like, I want them to talk to me but not too much when it’s too overbearing. And! Someone who doesn’t cling too much, someone who’s constantly trying to grab all my time, I hate those.”

Jinri turns to look at him with a longing gaze.

“And someone who won’t lock me down and hold me back–someone I can basically laugh and grow with together. Someone who tries to understand me, and not change me. I want a best friend.”

“You’re asking for someone who’s too perfect,” Jinri mumbles.

“I’m just asking someone to accept me for who I am and make me happy,” Jay concludes as he picks on the grass. Silence surrounding them as Jinri just stares at him, and for the first time in awhile, Jay isn’t able to read her expression. Not sure of what her stare means, or if it’s disapproval when she bites her lips together in a thin line.

“You’ll find him or her soon…hey maybe it’s him,” Jinri raises an eyebrow and Jay groans, rubbing his face with his hand, forgetting the fact that he’s been touching the grass with it.

“I don’t think so. He’s too overbearing and it’s not fun…he spoils me you know? And I need someone who can tell me to back off or slow down,” he shakes his head.

“You’re really asking for someone who doesn’t exist.”

“They exist!”

***

“I’m so damn tired of being toyed with like this. It’s all fucking bullshit, I swear to hell,” Jay covers his face with his hands, hair dishevelled from too much pulling. He hears Jinri sigh before feeling an arm envelop his sitting form; arms around his waist as she presses herself against his side. Her warmth only slightly making him feel better. “Why does she need to lie to me like this? Like what’s her fucking point?”

“I know Jay, I know, I was shocked too,” Jinri brings his head against his chest, running her fingers through his hair. Jay almost feels bad for burdening her. Tonight was probably going to be her typical night of studying or watching a new drama, but he just decides to barge in her single dorm room and bitch about his life for the past two months. And then be such a little bitch and cry over a girl who Jinri insists doesn’t deserve him, rubbing his back as he sits on her too small of a bed.

“Fuck I know I’m ass, but do I really deserve to be lied to like this?”

“Jay, shut up!” Jinri pinches his side and hisses at him. “As much as you think you’re an ass, you’re not! You’re a great guy, Jay, to me you really are. And she’s just a fucking bitch. She’s a conniving hoe at that too!”

***

As fast as Jay fell for her, he gets over it just faster. And before anyone knows it, his life’s back to being where it was before the whole fiasco. His breakdown is the last of anyone seeing and his ego grows back to life, bigger than before. Back to being everyone’s friend and back to partying and getting his weekly lay. Then hanging out with Jinri as much as they can between Jay’s social leeching tendencies, Jinri’s addiction to shows, and their classes. If Jay was exhausted, Jinri was just as tired as he was.

So it comes to no surprise when Jay wakes up in the middle of the night, almost falling off his bed, feeling a warm body next to him. But unlike most nights, Jay isn’t naked and the person beside him doesn’t seem properly fucked out or drunk. Quietly, he sits up from his bed and grabs his laptop over their heads to place it down on his floor before laying back down, his head hitting his pillow. With careful movements, Jay gently pushes Jinri towards the wall more to give himself space and then throws a blanket over her exposed shoulders.

Within a blink of an eye, Jay wakes the morning after with a warm body literally on top of him, face nuzzling at the crook of his neck. Most times, he would be complaining and finding a way to sneak out of the room, or get a second (third) round, but he just closes his eyes again to try to get more sleep. Though with no avail, Jinri stirs beside him and upon realizing her position, she quickly sits up and gasps. And if Jay peeks at her blushing cheeks with her hand on her beating heart, he keeps it to himself as he tries to collect more hours of sleep before having to get ready for his afternoon class.

“Why was I dreaming of Nazis?”

***

“Jay!” Jinri grabs onto his arm, panting softly after running after him, which receives an eye roll from Jay. He mentally notes down in his head to start taking Jinri to the gym every MWF. “I forgot to tell you about that thing I promised to tell you before you leave.”

“Oh,” Jay briefly remembers her blushing form after promising him something she will reveal only for her to run away from him, excusing herself to being late to class. He looks down at her hands, which haven’t released his arm yet. “What is it? The car’s coming soon.”

“I…” Jinri puffs her cheeks out as she inhales deeply, her grip on his arm getting tighter. “Well I have…things for you.”

“A present?!” Jay beams with a gasp, like a child during his own birthday.

“N-no!” Jinri shakes her head, vehemently. She looks up at him with her doe eyes, a nervous shake in her own two eyes that Jay quickly detects. Her lips keep opening and closing like she’s failing to form actual words. And just like how Jay predicts it the first time around, he slowly awaits her words, expecting exactly what is about to happen.

“You killed my pet goldfish huh? Is that it?” Jay plays along anyways.

“N-no–No! How dare you accuse me of your lack of responsibilities?!” Jinri finally releases his arm and smacks him on the chest. “What I wanted to say is that I like you, you asshole!”

Jay pauses for the sake of dramatic effect before he gasps too comically to actually come off as a real shock. “No way?” Jinri blinks at him. “No really, what’s your big secret?”

“…t-that’s it?”

“But I already know?” Jay blurts out with no remorse to how Jinri is basically about to have a panic attack right before his eyes.

“W-w-what? What do you mean you already know!?”

“I mean you’re not exactly good at keeping secrets,” he smiles and pats her on the head. “Thank you for the confirmation.”

Jinri frowns. “What the fuck?”

“Come on Jinri, I know when someone’s drooling over me,” Jay snorts.

“Fine, whatever, I just wanted to let you know–I mean you don’t have to do anything about it. I don’t expect you to like me back, but I just thought it’s best that you know…like I don’t want to date you or anything! I just had to tell you…for me.”

The car slowly pulls over besides Jay and Jinri and they both look at it like it’s interrupting something so special. “Alright. Even if you were so obvious about it. Have a Merry Christmas, Ri, don’t get your ass freezing yeah?” Jay ruffles her hair before slipping inside the car after the driver places his bags inside his trunk.

***

“What a damn ugly ass cat,” Jay looks at the white cat at the corner of Jinri’s too small of a bed. Almost too immediately, Jinri smacks him across the arm and shoves him against the wall. “Yah!”

“He’s not an ugly cat! He’s my baby, my Hero! He’s an amazing company, okay? And he doesn’t bully me like you.”

“You know when I said you can sign up for a comfort pet, I meant get a dog, not a damn cat,” Jay points out, throwing his hands out towards the cat only to get another shove from the smaller girl.

Much to their surprise, their friendship doesn’t exactly change since Jinri’s confession. Jay comes back to school, sated from his trip back home, and Jinri doesn’t bombard him with pressure. It’s like the confession didn’t even happen, even if Jay purposely brings it up to tease her and Jinri yelling at him that soon enough she’s going to get over him. And just like that it’s already in the middle of March, midterms rolling up soon.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Jinri turns to face him with a quizzical expression. “I started speaking to your boyfriend again, and he’s so in love with you.” See? Nothing changed, very highly disappointing.

“He’s not my boyfriend! Shut up virgin ass.”

***

“I get it Jay, I can’t force you into something you don’t want.”

Jay mindlessly walks around the city around the campus with no destination in mind, taking his time with each stride as thought after thought runs through his head. His fingers shoved into the pockets of his jacket, the tips of each finger wanting to scratch something but not knowing what. He feels so confused and bothered. Things just doesn’t make sense to him. But it feels so wrong, just really wrong. Surely, he did try to feel something more than the need of a companion, a person who can satisfy his lust, and the enjoyment of being treated like he’s sitting on the high throne. But something in himself didn’t feel right. And he knew it from the very beginning. Because the moment he confessed his feelings, he was still unsure of his future, much like many of the people who he had grown accustomed to like.

It was just this time, he was more persistent than most. Showing up more often, saying yes to every command, and pretending to be interested in things he was. But at the same time he’s supportive, it was like he was also trying to imprison him, and rejuvenate him to be someone squeaky clean and it felt so damn wrong to be Jay for who he is. But he fell for it, the lust and the attention, so he stayed and kept quiet of his uneasiness, perhaps desperate for someone to love him, and as much as he cringes at the thought, he couldn’t help but feel the truth from it. Although, he knew he wouldn’t be happy about it in the end.

But what the fuck makes him happy?

Jay was tired of it all, the way faces just passed by without any sense of lingering. It was like he was build to just collect as many faces as much as possible but never let one imprint on him. Maybe he was too picky and standard. Maybe Jinri was right, there was just no one that falls under his ideal type.

“Fuck,” Jay mumbles under his breath as he stomps childishly on a crispy leaf. Who was he fucking kidding? This was all his damn fault. There would have been someone so perfect for him if he just stopped and get to know the people before fucking them into their sheets.

Jay looks up from the floor to realize his familiar steps as he presses a button to the elevator, his heart beating too fast for no fucking reason. He stares at the shining doors of elevator with now an empty thought in his head. He isn’t so sure how he got here and isn’t so sure why either but it feels right the moment he slips pass through the doors to walk down the hallway.

Without hesitation, he barges into the small room of her one person dorm. And before he gives a single thought about anything he says, he stares at her figure and blurts out, “hey, we should go out. Like on a date, you and me. Shit let’s try getting together.”

Jinri drops her opened water bottle on her light green carpet, spilling the contents. “What the fuck!?!”

“Is that a yes?”

***

“Yah! I could have died!” Jinri yells at him after he swiftly lifts her from the floor and sits her on top of the ladder of the playground set, her legs trapping him in between with her ankles locking together. His hands comfortably lays on her thighs as she hands her arms over his shoulder. Her cheeks slowly turns to a faint color of pink as he continues to gaze at her features. “Stop doing that,” she whines weakly as she drops her chin to her chest to avert away from his stare.

“Stop doing what?” Jay steps closer towards her, his arms resting besides her legs on the metal surface. She blushes harder when he tilts his head to look at her from under her, their eyes meeting momentarily before she closes them tight, squeezing him with her legs. “Jinri.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Jinri whispers lowly, lifting her head when Jay nudges her chin with the knuckle of his index finger, reopening her eyes to look down at him, meeting his two dark orbs again. “Who knew you’d want to date me? Me? Out of all people, me?”

“You’re my best friend,” Jay simply explains, words so simple yet they both know the deeper meaning behind it, and it’s only for them to treasure. Jinri just whines louder not a second later and hides her face against his shoulder, her hand coming to aid as she covers the side of her face, and Jay just finds her more endearing than before.

“What the fuck?” she groans as her free hand smacks him on the chest again, mumbling about how stupid they both are, alternating between blaming him and then herself with no aim of what the faults are about. “It doesn’t even make sense!”

“Are you complaining?”

“N-no,” Jinri is quick to shake her head before whispering softly, like her words are only for him to hear. “I’m just really really happy.”

“Me too. It’s been awhile,” Jay confesses just as quietly and for a moment Jinri forgets to breathe. And Jay likes it, likes it when she becomes breathless without having to do an exerting a huge amount of force. Jay wishes to steal it more often. “Jinri,” he whispers again and pulls his head back to force her to look at him. Gently, he cups her cheek in his hand, his thumb caressing the softness of her skin. “You make me happy.”

The sight of her smiling widely for him with her eyes shining against the darkness around them, it makes him feel so elated. A feeling he’s so foreign with. So he takes his chances to pull her in and let their lips finally meet for the first time, his eyes closing the moment he feels the softness of her lips against his own. Jay starts hearing the pounding of his heart against his ear as Jinri then grabs both of his cheeks to pull him even closer, deepening their kiss as their lips lock. And soon enough, Jay couldn’t hear anything anymore as she grows more daring to graze her teeth along the seams of his lower tier before letting her tongue take its own feel, and Jay knows by then, he’ll be nothing but lost in her control.

***

“What do you mean? I think you’re fucking sexy like that?”

If there is anything Jay likes doing to Jinri is making her flustered. A flushed startled look with her eyes widening. That one moment of silence before she’s shoving at him and yelling before proceeding to run to another room to hide.

“Cute booty.”

***

Jay is more than unsure about the pressure against his crotch, especially when his mind is still foggy from sleep. Either way, the pressure is more than welcoming when he slowly stirs from his sleep to wake up to a curtain of blonde hair around his face. Her hands pinning his shoulders down against the mattress, fingers digging into his skin as her hips gyrate her hips down his own. “Jinri…?” he moans out the question when she particularly rolls her hips forward.

Jinri then leans back to sit right on his hips, ass perked on his growing bulge with enough pressure that he becomes wanting but not enough that he feels an urge to lift his hip. Her hair is in dishevelled around her, long locks reaching past her (read: his) white hoodie. Jinri lets out a small little whine that escapes pass her plump lips, her hands playing with the waistband of his boxers. The corners of her eyes welling up in small tears.

“Daddy, can Jinri get her cummies now?”

Jay freezes in his spot and when he blinks once, Jinri disappears and it feels very hot. He quickly sits up and runs his fingers through his hair, his mind trying to process things. And then he begins patting himself frantically, trying to find the reality of things. It is only when he realizes everything was just a dream, he curses under his breath. With a frustrated groan, he falls back onto his pillows, crying loudly, “when is she going to fuck me?! It’s been three months???”

***

Happy Anniversary baby