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imaginethathaikyuu · 4 years

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kinktober - day one

akaashi keiji - friends to lovers

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list

NSFW warning featuring: fingering, dry humping, first time together, unprotected sex other tags: lots of exposition, too many words, years long pining, accidental almost confession, emotional real one, mentions of characters having previous partners, oblivious reader, hidden feelings, slight angst, oh no there’s only one bed! fem reader

word count: 7380

Akaashi Keiji knows everything.

At least, he seems to.

You realized this only a month after knowing him. He turned around to you, the girl who sat behind him in biology, and gave you one look before saying, “You have no idea what this lesson is about, do you?” And you laughed, because it was so absurdly true, while Akaashi turned his desk around and introduced himself as your study partner.

You still don’t know how he knew you were struggling. You thought you hid it well, but his eyes must have caught the poor grade on the quiz the teacher returned to you the week before, or the way you seemed to immediately sulk the moment you walked into the classroom. He could see everything you tried to hide - even things you couldn’t see yourself.

And he wouldn’t let you get away with anything but a stellar grade, so study sessions became routine for the two of you - a friendship was destined to bloom, and fast.

He was too observant for his own good, which was something you learned while watching one of his volleyball practices. He had been inviting you to come watch after study sessions for awhile, but it took you a bit to work up the nerve to walk into the giant gymnasium filled with boys you didn’t know.

As you watched him play, you saw his superpower: Akaashi’s eyes were everywhere at once. On the ball, on his teammates, on his opponents, on his own feet - he always knew where everyone was at any given moment, all while somehow managing to spare you a few knowing glances during the mess of the game.

You never knew how he did it, but you figured you didn’t have to know. It was because he was Akaashi, and that’s it.

But you questioned why no one else seemed to notice it. His excellence was obvious to you, but even his closest friends seemed to gloss over it.

Keiji stood out to you, while to others, he was just Akaashi. Quiet, reserved, sometimes as blunt as a hammer, Akaashi.

He didn’t care, though. Akaashi thrived on being in the background - he didn’t need any of the attention or recognition you wished to give him. And maybe he loved his friends more because they left him be.

Those friends of his, however, all shined just as bright as Keiji did, and were never shy about it. You look back at getting to know them all as a highlight of being in high school; despite never feeling like you belonged in their friend group, you were always happy to be with them.

Keiji pushed you to get closer to the three boys, Tsukishima, Bokuto, and especially Kuroo, right from the first day you met them. They were playing a friendly volleyball game with a few other boys you never really met, and you quickly learned you had no reason to be nervous to meet them.

It was easy to let go and goof off, because that’s all any of them were doing, anyway.

Just because it seemed like fun to get under Kuroo’s skin, you decided to antagonize him a bit. “So, Nekoma’s mascot is a cat, correct?”

Kuroo immediately grew defensive at your tone. “Yes - what do you have against cats?”

“Nothing, nothing! I like to think of myself as pretty cat-like, actually.”

“Show him your claws, Y/N,” Keiji chimed in.

“They’re nimble, and sneaky... and lazy. Something that owls aren’t - just saying. Seems pretty fitting when comparing your team to ours, don’t you think?”

“Akaashi, you better get your cat,” Kuroo grumbled, with a sly smirk that never seemed to leave his face.

“She’s just a kitten,” Akaashi replied, winking at you and immediately taking your breath in a way you’d never felt before. “Not my kitten, though, so you’re on your own here, Kuroo.”

That’s when the first wall came up. You didn’t notice it, not yet, or even realize why it had been built. But as soon as your heart sank to your stomach and erupted into butterflies all because of Keiji’s flirtatious gesture, that wall arose.

And many would follow.

On the walk home from that practice, you noticed every glance he sent you. Every time his shoulder touched yours, you felt it amplified. Your knuckles grazed his and you looked down at your hands - his much bigger than yours, your fingers raring to wrap around his. And they were going to, either out of curiosity or the blatant need to touch him or both, until he stuffed both of his hands into his pockets and away from your potential grasp.

You shook your disappointment off and reminded yourself of what the two of you were: friends. Just friends. Friends only hold hands sometimes, and it’s not on walks home or during study sessions or any of the times you found yourself wanting to hold onto him.

“Kuroo likes you,” Akaashi said out of nowhere. And you laughed.

“You think so?”

“I’m pretty sure.” He sounded distant, his gaze was head on. “Maybe you should give him a chance.”

You laughed again and said, “Maybe,” even though you knew you’d never entertain the thought of going out with Kuroo.

Not with Kuroo or anyone else, but you wouldn’t understand why for a long time.

Two years of friendship had come and gone in almost an instant, but every day with Akaashi was memorable in that easy familiar way only he could offer. He truly was your comfort - everything you needed in a friend, Keiji had. Being so close to him was a blessing, you knew that.

When the two of you ended up choosing the same university, you almost wanted to cry, because you knew nothing could quell your fears of what’s new better than Keiji’s all knowing familiarity. Having your best friend by your side during times of change would make everything easier.

But it was a different story entirely when you became roommates with him. The apartment you shared was small but homey; it had all the comfort you had in your friendship with him, and you thought nothing could be better than that.

It was more than that, though. Months went by of seeing him every day, and it felt like that comfort was leaking through the floor every time you saw his bedhead or heard him singing in the shower or watched him pull another girl into his bedroom.

It wasn’t like the latter was an often occurrence, but just the thought of him being with someone made your stomach turn. But it gave you the idea of seeking your own partners, which was something you hadn’t done in years, and it quickly spiraled into an unhealthy habit.

You longed for familiarity, to be touched by someone you knew. You were desperate for comfortable vulnerability, and you never found that with a stranger in your bed. So, you decided to seek out someone familiar. And when the person in bed with you was an old friend, a realization dawned on you. Rather, it was offered to you.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Kuroo mumbled, and you did nothing but send him a questioning glare, one he scoffed at.

The two of you had done nothing so far but send a few flirty texts and then sit on your bed; he hadn’t even kissed you yet. You weren’t sure how you felt about it - you weren’t sure if you even wanted him to kiss you.

“I’m not the one you want here, idiot. So why am I the one you brought to your bed?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied honestly. “Are we going to -”

“No, we aren’t. Are you really that dense?”

“What?”

“Look,” Kuroo said, standing up and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was annoyed that he had to be saying this. And while you watched him, you noticed this was the first time you ever saw him without his signature grin or sly eyes. “If I was a shitty friend, I would have fucked you back in high school, alright? I mean, come on, I had the chance. But I care about Akaashi too much to ever do that with you, and I know you don’t actually want to fuck me.”

You stood up, too, facing him head on. “What does Akaashi have anything to do with fucking me, Kuroo?”

“Everything, idiot. I know you probably think you’re good at hiding it, but everyone knows you’re as in love as you could possibly be with that smartass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, because you didn’t, but Kuroo wasn’t having it.

“Well you’re the only one you’ve convinced. And, for the record, this isn’t going to help you get over him.”

Still, you didn’t get it. You couldn’t see it - you refused to.

“You’re off limits, dude, Akaashi told us himself.”

“Then why are you here?”

His annoying grin was back. “To see how delusional you really are. And give you some advice. Just admit it to yourself - you’ll feel better, I promise.”

Keiji was your best friend, and that was it.

This wasn’t some story of years long pining and unrequited love.

Was it?

But you thought about it, for just a moment. You thought about being in love with him.

And then you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You decided, right then and there, that what Kuroo said wasn’t true; admitting it to yourself didn’t make anything better. In a lot of ways, your friendship with Akaashi thrived on your special feelings for him, and it relied on those feelings staying secret to both of you.

You couldn’t even finish the conversation with Kuroo. He swore not to tell, because you made him, and that was it.

That’s when the second wall came up, then the third, then the fourth. You were trapped inside of them. Hiding, only hiding, and safe from anyone who could see you or your heart.

You denied it still, even though Kuroo knew, just to convince yourself he didn’t. No one knew but you; the only one who knew the password to that door was you. You could be hidden, safe, and protected forever, because you made it that way.

Keiji would never know, and everything would stay okay.

Everything but you. And that security wouldn’t last, because a storm was brewing.

But you were content. What you had with Keiji was always enough for you - you had enough. You saw him every day. You got to hear his laugh on the good days and hug him on the bad ones; you got to have coffee with him every morning and secret late night snacks too many midnights. Sleeping alone was fine. Not getting intimate moments was okay. What you had was enough.

It seemed like the more you recognized your feelings for him, the more of Keiji you saw. You were still getting to know him after years of calling him your best friend; you were noticing his habits that you never saw before. He mumbles to himself while he cooks; he picks at his nails when he’s nervous; he overthinks everything, even the smallest decisions.

The latter had always been obvious, but you had never realized it until you lived with him - until you really started to love him.

Every day, you learned something new about him. And every day, you loved him more, in ways you didn’t even know you could. Ways that made it hard to love him from afar.

Months of your love growing during your first year of university seemed to go by too quickly, and soon spring break was fast approaching. A trip with old friends to a lake house was planned months in advance, and both you and Keiji were excited to see the three boys again.

But when you arrived at the old looking house that evening you were met with knowing eyes and a sly grin that hadn’t changed since high school.

“There are only four beds,” Kuroo announced, “and five of us.”

“That’s alright,” Keiji started, but he was interrupted by Bokuto’s loud laugh.

“Oh, I guess we’re sharing a bed, four eyes!”

“I’ll suffocate you in your sleep,” Tsukishima said, meaning every word he said in a way that made Kuroo cackle.

Keiji looked at you. “You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?”

A million thoughts ran through your mind, but you only shook your head. You didn’t voice any of the concerns you had for yourself.

“No problem.”

He gave you a grin. “It’ll be like our high school sleepovers,” and then he took your bag and left to find your shared room.

You remembered the last sleepover you had with him and your heart raced just thinking about it; you spent half of the night pretending to be asleep, and the other half watching Keiji’s sleeping face and wondering why laying next to him made you feel the way it did.

This would be the exact same, except now you knew why your heart would be pounding.

Kuroo was still laughing, but he was looking directly at you. “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Shut up, Kuroo.”

He kept laughing, and it left Bokuto scratching his head. “What’s going on? Why are you mad, Y/N?”

“Because Kuroo is an asshole -”

“Hey now, I’m doing you a favor here!”

“...I still don’t get it.”

“You never will, Bokuto,” Tsukishima commented.

You decided to leave Kuroo laughing on his own - you shouldn’t let him get under your skin, because that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He was doing this on purpose. Maybe he thought he was helping you out, but he was only making things harder for you.

You weren’t going to let him win. You were going to have fun on this trip while keeping our secret seeled, and nothing would stop you - not even Kuroo attempting to play matchmaker.

The late arrival called for a quick dinner and a nighttime bonfire to kick off the vacation the right way; the boys were all too excited for the night and had gotten the fire started before you could even finish unpacking your bag.

When you stepped outside, the cool air hit your skin and froze you all over - you expected low temperatures, but not that.

“It’s cold!” you called out to the boys who were all sitting around the nearby campfire.

“That’s why we have a fire, moron!”

“It’s still cold,” you argued, even though you knew it was fruitless to fight with Kuroo.

“It’s alright, you’ll warm up,” Keiji told you.

“Go warm her up, Akaashi!”

You ignored Kuroo’s comment - you were not in a good place to be entertaining that thought, not when you’d be in bed with Keiji in just a few hours.

Keiji seemed to ignore it, too. “Here, I saved you a seat.” He patted the vacant spot on the bench next to him, and you sat down. “You didn’t bring a jacket, did you?”

“It’s inside,” you replied. “But I’m fine.”

He didn’t even listen to your response, he was already pulling his hoodie off and giving it to you.

“Are you sure?” you asked, holding it in your lap.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’ll keep you warm - you need it more than I do.”

“How romantic,” Kuroo butted in, and it was only now that you noticed the beer in his hand - as well as the few empty cans next to him.

Drunk Kuroo is always worse than Sober Kuroo, even though you could hardly believe he could ever get snarkier. It was like alcohol made him open his big mouth more, and it always made you nervous. Even though you knew he’d never say anything about your secret while anyone else was around, any time alcohol was involved made those chances go up.

“Just being nice,” Keiji said, obviously playing in to Kuroo’s banter. “I don’t see you offering her your jacket.”

“Hey, I just don’t think you’d like it if I gave your girl my jacket, would you?”

Keiji laughed at his slurred words and directed his reply at the group rather than to Kuroo, “He’s only had five beers and he’s already stuttering.”

“We’ll see if he makes it to six before passing out,” you said, and while it made the others laugh, it seemed to rub Kuroo’s drunken fragile ego the wrong way.

“I can handle my alcohol just fine, thank you.”

Bokuto butted in, “Are you sure about that?”

“You’ve been a lightweight since high school,” you added.

Everyone laughed, Kuroo included. With his next words, he must have thought he was playing along with the joke. That you were all in on what he was about to say next. That they would have no repercussions, they would sting no ears.

But when he said them, it sounded like a smack of thunder.

“Yeah, and you’ve been hiding your feelings since high school - some things just never change, Y/N!”

You could hardly hear Bokuto saying, “Feelings? For who?!”

“For Aka -”

“Kuroo.”

You stood up. Keiji’s forgotten hoodie fell out of your lap and landed on the ground. Everything was quiet save for the fire cracking and the pounding of your heart.

Your eyes said everything you needed to tell Kuroo. He stared right back at you, his face white as snow and his mouth hung open as he choked back his words. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. It was the calm before a fast approaching storm, one you couldn’t run away from.

“You weren’t going to say Akaashi, were you? Surely not…”

Kuroo turned his head to look at Bokuto, seeming to have no clue what to say. You kept staring as he shook his head, not having the courage to say anything else.

“Pretty sure he was,” Tsukishima said.

“Oh. Shit.”

You could have denied it - you didn’t. You could have been angry at Kuroo - you weren’t. You could have explained this away as him being drunk and talking out of his ass - you couldn’t.

You didn’t dare turn to look at Keiji as you stormed toward the cabin. You refused to stay and let this situation become worse than it already was.

You could hardly hear the words Keiji had for Kuroo, but they were something like, “Why the fuck did you do that?” and if you had been any less upset you would have been worried for how angry he sounded.

You didn’t know what would happen next. If you thought about it, you were sure you’d fall apart, and that was the one thing you couldn’t let happen. You had to hold yourself together, you had to give this situation the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe if you could just lie down and sleep before Keiji comes inside, you could wake up in the morning and everyone would act like nothing happened. Just because your secret is out doesn’t mean it was over - you could wait out this storm.

That’s what you were doing when Keiji came into your shared bedroom. You lied in bed as Keiji slipped in, your back to him and the blanket pulled up to your chin. And, just like at those old sleepovers with him, you were pretending to be asleep.

You had to be good at pretending if you wanted to stay best friends with him. To be as close as you are, with the feelings that you keep for him, you learned how to hide from Keiji. And you had gotten good at it, too - at least, you liked to think so. You were sure he wouldn’t catch you awake.

You tried not to think about what happened earlier. You tried not to dread what was coming if he knew you weren’t actually sleeping.

Minutes passed and Akaashi stayed awake. Then, he looked over to you.

“I know you’re awake.”

Everything felt frozen, just for a moment, but you didn’t move. You kept your breathing deep and steady, you lied still.

He reached a hand out to you, fisting your shirt into his palm. His thumb grazed your lower back, skin he exposed from grabbing your shirt.

“Stop pretending. You’re bad at it.”

It was like the world stopped spinning. Your world, anyway - the one you had made up in your head. The world where the only things Keiji didn’t know were all the things you were trying to hide from him; the world where, despite never being a good liar, you were good at lying to him.

But that wasn’t the same world Keiji was living in.

“I know,” you replied, voice cracking through the words.

You were sure he didn’t mean what he said in the way you felt it sting your chest, but it didn’t matter. Years of learning, hiding, pretending were all culminating in this moment, and if you weren’t careful you’d end up losing it all.

His hand moved from your back to holding your side. “Will you look at me?” And you didn’t have a choice, because he was turning you to lay on your back, anyway.

So you looked at him, because it’s what he asked you to do, and you felt the first crack in your poorly built foundation when you realized how close he was to you; then, he put his hand on your side and pulled you even closer.

It’s like he was looking through you.

“I should tell you something,” he said, and you had some idea where he was going with this but you didn’t want to find out. No part of you wanted to hear what he was about to say.

“You know… I already knew, Y/N.”

There it was: the collapse.

You couldn’t look at him anymore, so you closed your eyes and tried to keep pretending, even though you had nowhere left to hide.

“Yeah.” The hand on your side was hot and heavy and hard; you hated how much you loved being touched by him, even right now when your made up world was ending. “I know.”

“I’ve always known.”

“I’m sorry.”

You were so close to letting go, to breaking down in the pile of rubble. But you had built your house of lies on unsteady ground, after all; what else did you expect to happen other than this destruction?

You wanted to cry. You didn’t. You couldn’t be angry at yourself or upset, because you saw this coming. After all, Keiji knows everything. He sees things you don’t even know are showing - he’s been able to read you like a book since before he even knew your name.

Of course he knew. You were stupid to ever think he didn’t.

He whispered your name, and then you felt him kiss your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, meaning it with your whole heart even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything.

“I should tell you something else,” he said, and it was quiet, like he was telling you a secret only you could know. He was treading carefully, choosing his words particularly - he didn’t do that often. You felt him bunching your shirt up in his fist again, you heard him sigh loudly. “I don’t even know how to say it.”

The tears were finally slipping free as you began to understand what he was getting at, so you pulled back. You didn’t need him to pity you.

“It’s fine,” you insisted, trying to push him away. He wouldn’t let you. “I know - I’ll get over it - you don’t have to tell me - I already know.”

“No, you don’t - you don’t know, Y/N, please, just come here.”

“Keiji -”

“Let me show you.” He wasn’t speaking quietly anymore - this wasn’t a secret anymore. “I can’t explain it - let me show you, Y/N - please.”

“Show me what?”

“That I feel the same,” he said, pulling you back into his arms.

For a second, you thought you misheard him.

And then, he kissed you.

Soft, sweet, new lips were on yours, taking your breath as if he needed it to breathe himself, then breathing a new life into you that you never knew could be alive. It was like striking a match, flicking a lighter, starting a fire; you watched the rubble of your once hidden love burn, all at the hands of Keiji.

At first you didn’t even know how to kiss him back. It was too much, too bright, too hot - and then, you couldn’t stop kissing him. You anchored your hands on the back of his neck and held him against you, silently begging him to let you take all that you wanted from him.

You kissed him like you’d never get the chance to do this again, because you were sure you wouldn’t. This hardly felt real, let alone something that would ever happen more than once. So you savored it, you memorized this feeling so you could relive it in your dreams forever.

A whimper reverberated through your throat and against Keiji’s lips and the feeling made him kiss you deeper, like he was searching for a way to get you to make that noise again. As the kiss got deeper, a natural progression came over your position; before you could realize it, Keiji was on top of you and lying between your legs.

His touch was hotter than a flame and yet you couldn’t get enough of it. Every time his tongue brushed against yours, it took a part of you with it, and you were ready to give him all of you.

And then, he stopped kissing you.

He pulled back only slightly, and when you chased his lips he pulled back even more. You opened your eyes and stared up at him, at his blushed cheeks and pink lips and beautiful eyes. You could see the cogs in his mind turning and for a second it was like you were seeing a part of Keiji he’s never shown you before; the veil of his all knowing gaze was being dropped, only because he was letting it.

Because all this time, Keiji was hiding, too - hiding in plain sight. You always thought he treated you the way he treated everyone else, that he knew everything about everyone, but it wasn’t true. He only knew all of your secrets because he took the time to find them. He only saw you for who you really were because he cared enough to know. And, unlike you, he was a good actor; good at pretending you weren’t special; good at building walls that would stay up until he was ready for them to come down.

And with his next words, he made them shatter.

“I love you.”

You kept staring at him, trying to figure out if this nervous boy on top of you really was Keiji.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

You brushed his hair out of his face and rested your hand on his cheek, still completely in awe of him, and this was all too much for you to believe. “Is this a prank?”

He laughed at you, and his nerves seemed to melt away.

“Damn, you caught me.” His forehead fell to rest on yours, your noses brushed. “No, it’s not a prank. I love you.”

Somehow this intimacy felt all too foreign and way too familiar, all at once. It was overflowing, your heart was racing, it was hard to breathe, tears were falling from your eyes.

“Say it again,” you whispered, begging him to assure you of this - to make you believe it.

And he wiped your tears away as he told you, again, “I love you,” and the kiss he placed on your cheek seemed to make you weep even more. “And I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you replied immediately, “I love you, too - it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” It was obvious, now, that this had been bothering Keiji for longer than you could ever know. “I just… wasn’t ready. Especially with volleyball, and then moving, and then starting university, I just - I never had enough of me to give to you. And you deserve all of me, not just what’s left of me at the end of the day - I don’t know. I’m just… sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that in a way that was good enough - all you could think to do was kiss him, because you finally could kiss him, so you did. And it was the same as your first: hot and sweet, familiar and foreign, intimate and overwhelming.

And the more you kissed him, the more it stirred something up inside of you. He wasn’t holding back - not after holding back for years - and it was like he was trying to get any reaction he could out of you. You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer than he’s ever been, and the way it felt to have him pressed up against you sent chills across your burning skin.

You pulled back from the kiss just to take a breath. “Say it again,” you mumbled, because you weren’t tired of hearing those three words yet. A part of you still didn’t believe them.

Instead of saying them, though, he let his kisses trail down your jaw and onto your neck. You could feel the vibrations of his voice when he spoke, “Let me show you.”

And you knew what he meant, but you teased him anyway, “How do you want to do that?”

His hips seemed to move on their own free will, thrusting against you as if he couldn’t stop them. And it proved that he was just as in over his head as you were; you liked that. You liked knowing you weren’t the only one in a daze. You liked having this effect on Keiji.

“However you want,” he said through a dry throat. “We can do anything you want.”

“I just want you,” you told him honestly. You had no other choice anymore - the truth was all you had left.

“You have me,” he replied. “I’m yours - just let me show you.”

Your next kiss was interrupted by his shirt coming off, then yours. You felt his bare skin against yours and you were sure this was enough, that you were content with just this. This feeling was all that you needed.

“You’re pretty,” he whispered to you as his eyes scanned your bare body, and it left you shaking in anticipation as his lips made their way to your chest. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyes couldn’t leave his face as your fingers carded through his hair; you felt his hands travel the length of your body, and every kiss he left on your skin felt like it was touching your heart - all you could do was watch.

His hand moved lower, his fingers were teasing the edge of your shorts, but he hesitated to cross the barrier. You grabbed his wrist and pushed him across it, showing him that you couldn’t wait for this.

That’s all Keiji needed to understand how far you were willing to go with him. His skilled fingers worked against you, slipping into your underwear and touching you exactly where you needed them to, and it was better than anything you could ever dream.

And he did it like it was easy, like he’s spent years getting to know your body and he was doing what he knew would work. Like this was routine rather than your first time.

This sure as hell felt like it was your first time doing this; you had never felt so sensitive or open or vulnerable. But you had never been touched by a man you wanted so much; you never thought you’d feel his fingers spreading you open or see him on top of you - this is something you’ve only done in daydreams, and now it was real.

For the first time you were vulnerable and okay with it. You were letting him have all of you, and you trusted that he would treat you right. And he was. Maybe it was your love for him or the disbelief of the situation or both clouding your judgement, but you were convinced that his fingers felt better than your own.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a whisper, and you replied with a moan that you couldn’t hold in anymore. He laughed, “Does that mean yes?”

“Keiji, please don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing yet,” he replied with a few kisses along your jaw. You felt his fingers moving more, moving toward going inside, but he hesitated. “Y/N…”

You were pulled out of your daze for just a second as you looked up at his furrowed brows and half lidded eyes; his face left you wondering what he was about to say next.

“I really like the sounds you’re making,” he said, “but if anyone hears we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, because you had completely forgotten that you and Keiji weren’t the only two people in the world - let alone this house.

“Right,” you breathed out.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, but you…”

Two of his fingers slid into you, and you held back a gasp.

“...have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, trying your best to take deep breaths rather than let your voice out.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, giving another nod.

“Good,” he said.

His fingers curled, and you covered your mouth with your palm.

“Stay quiet,” he said, even though it felt like he was doing everything he could so you’d do the opposite. His fingers curling into you were begging for a reaction, and it was hard not to give him one. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Keiji’s hips were moving again, thrusting against your leg like he just couldn’t help it. You wanted to give him more but you couldn’t - your hands were busy covering your mouth and holding onto the sheets for your life, and so all you could do was watch him grinding against you.

“You’re one to talk,” you replied, making him laugh.

Both of you looked down and watched; the curl of his fingers moved in time with his thrusts against you - every time they came forward, you felt his length sliding up your thigh. And when he pulled back, his fingers straightened out.

You’d give anything to have more. “Keiji,” you started, but you just couldn’t get the words out.

He said them for you as he pulled his fingers out, “Can I fuck you?”

You had no other answer besides, “Please,” and you were ready to beg for it if that’s what it came to.

He started to pull his boxers off, but again, he hesitated. The arm he was holding himself up with was trembling, his breathing was unsteady, his entire body seemed tense. Keiji was hanging on by a thread.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked.

You were taken aback. “Keiji…”

“We don’t have to do this now - is it too soon? Are you sure you want me?”

It was hard to listen to his voice when it sounded so honest.

Your hands took place on either side of his face, ensuring he would look at you while you spoke to him.

“Keiji… do you want this?”

“More than anything,” he replied.

“I can tell,” you joked, and he rolled his eyes at you. “I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember - I don’t think it’s too soon. But we can wait if you want. There’s no pressure, okay?”

“I don’t,” he said. “I can’t wait - I’m so hard it fucking hurts - I just don’t want you to -”

“You think too much.”

He laughed. “I know.”

You let your hands travel down to his chest, hoping you got through to him. “Don’t overthink it. I want you to fuck me, Keiji,” and your hips thrusted against his as if to convince him of how badly you needed it. “Sooner rather than later.”

It seemed to be good enough, he seemed to believe you, because now he wasn’t hesitating to take off his shorts and yours. The view it gave you struck a burning desire like no other - now that you could see all of him, you couldn’t handle not having all of him.

And he was raring to give himself to you, coaxing his cock inside of you until you took it all, and both of you felt like you were about to explode.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, and the volume of his voice pulled you back down to the real world.

“Stay quiet,” you reminded him, giggling because the tables had turned on him.

“I know,” he said with a nod. “You just feel so good - you’re so fucking tight - I can’t believe this is happening - oh, fuck, it’s too much.”

“Move, Keiji,” you whined, bucking your hips up to try to feel anything, and he cursed under his breath when he pulled back to watch your desperate attempt at fucking yourself with his cock.

“You can do it,” he teased, pulling his hips back a little more so you had more room to move. “Keep going - fuck me like that, kitten, don’t stop.”

You were dying to feel him meeting your thrusts, because this wasn’t nearly enough, but you loved his teasing.

“That’s it,” he said, “that’s my girl. Taking me so well, fuck, you’re perfect.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, that was obvious as his thrusts started. He took a hold of your hips and held you in place so he could take you at his own pace, and he was everything you could ever need.

Your love for him was spilling from your lips and he was doing everything he could to keep you saying it, bringing you higher with every passing second. Feeling him between your thighs and inside your walls was intoxicating. It was everything you hoped it would be, simply because it was Keiji.

“I’m close,” you said as if he needed a warning - he could probably already tell.

“Quiet, kitten,” he said to you, bringing your lips up to his for a kiss. “These sounds are for me - don’t want anyone else hearing what’s mine. Be a good girl for me.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, and he cooed at your whining.

“I know,” he mumbled, and just by the sound of his voice you could tell he was liking this. And he was going to make it harder for you when his hand trailed down your body so his fingers could circle your clit.

He kissed you hard to stop any sound you were about to make and you were grateful for it.

“I want you to cum for me,” he said, “and I don’t want you to make a sound when you do.”

“Keiji -”

His hips and fingers sped up. “I’m serious. Come on, kitten, be my good girl - make me proud and stay quiet while you’re cumming all over my cock. You can do it, I know you can.”

Any trust he had in you staying quiet until the end was completely misplaced - you knew that when his hand clamped down over your mouth. You didn’t try to hold in your voice at all, and Keiji was having just as much trouble, burying his face into your neck to muffle his noises the best he could.

It didn’t matter if anyone else could hear you; to you, nothing else mattered but Keiji. He was the only other person in your world, the only person your body would ever scream so loudly for. As long as it was him bringing you to this euphoria, you didn’t care who else knew about it.

Let your friends give you hell for it, let Kuroo say I told you so - you’d deal with the embarrassment in the morning. That moment was worth it.

The soft kisses he was leaving on your neck in the wake of hitting your peaks helped you float back down easily. It was like being woken up from a dream, one where the only thing you could remember was how pleasant it was.

“You were not quiet,” Keiji laughed. You felt your cheeks swelling and heating up in embarrassment.

“I couldn’t help it…”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “You still made me proud.”

He lied next to you and pulled you close, and you convinced yourself that you were going to be there in his arms forever. If you were, you’d have no complaints.

A quiet moment passed, and you couldn’t stand the silence. “How was… that?”

He pulled back to look at you with wide eyes, as if he didn’t expect you to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Was it good? Did you like it? Was I -”

“It was perfect,” he said, biting his lip and looking up at the ceiling as if his high hadn’t completely worn off. “It was everything. Don’t get all shy and insecure on me now that you know I love you back.”

“Shut up,” you said with a laugh. “I’m just making sure.”

“Do you need me to prove it to you again?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll make sure you stay quiet for me this time, then.”

Whether or not the two of you were successful in your attempts to keep the noise down was up for debate, but by the end of the night, neither of you cared.

And the next morning, when you forced yourself to leave Keiji and the warmth of the bed, you found Kuroo pacing outside of your door.

“Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry - what I said last night was way out of line, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for it -”

“It’s fine, Kuroo,” you said, because it was. If you were being honest, after the night you had with Keiji you had completely forgotten about what Kuroo said.

“It’s not fine,” he argued. “I shouldn’t have done that - you trusted me not to say anything about your feelings, and then I did. I fucked up - why aren’t you pissed right now?”

Before you could start to think of a reply, the door behind you opened. Keiji’s bed head popped out.

“Can you guys be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Kuroo immediately replied.

Then, Keiji turned to you. “Can you come back to bed? It’s cold.”

You nodded, and Keiji went back inside, and the moment you looked at Kuroo’s face, you knew he’d figured things out.

“Did you guys fuck?!”

You had no response. Keiji, however, called out a simple, “Yeah,” leaving you covering your face in embarrassment.

“Holy shit. I -”

You went back into your bedroom before he could even finish his words, slamming the door in his face so he couldn’t finish his boasting. But you heard him say, “You’re welcome!” before finally trodding off, and you shook off your embarrassment as best as you could.

The breakfast you needed minutes ago was long forgotten as you looked at the view in front of you of the boy who was yours. Keiji was waiting for you with sleepy eyes peeking up at you from soft sheets, a grin on his face, and his arms open.

He didn’t have to say a word - you were in those arms in seconds. Both of you released a sigh of relief; Keiji was warm again, and you were being held by him again.

“Finally.”

“I was gone for, like, two minutes, tops.”

“I don’t care,” he replied. “It was long enough that I got too cold without you here.”

You felt like you should have more to say, but you didn’t.

You’d spent years hoping for a moment like this. It was as soft and golden and happy as you’d ever dreamed, and moments like those didn’t need words. You knew how Keiji felt, and despite all your attempts at hiding, Keiji knew how you felt, too.

And in that moment, when the two of you were lying in the afterglow of intimacy from the night before, finally knowing is all that mattered.

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 2: royal

#kinktober 2020 #not family friendly #akaashi keiji #Akaashi Keij #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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chiliiscereal · 3 years

Text

Too tall part 2

Raph x tall! Fem! Reader

——-

So here we are again lol I liked writing it so here’s part two!

——-

“Yeah he was a douchebag.” You agreed, tapping the seat nervously. Sure you were glad to have conversation but it didn’t need to be any info dumping. Quickly, you turned the conversation back around to him. “You kept calling yourself a monster earlier. Do you guys get called that a lot?”

You could easily see the nervous expression on his face shift to something more... bitter.

“You could say that.” He grunted.

Immediately you felt bad. It makes sense that he’s get called that. To be honest, the word ran through your head when he and his brother fell from the roof. But to call someone that to their face? That’s cold.

You straightened up, desperate to fix what you’d said. “I personally don’t see it. Well, other than you guys breaking my phone that is.”

He looked up at you with a glare, only for it to melt slightly when he noticed the grin on your face.

“Who knows, maybe that perv was on his way back with a few friends and you guys dropping down was exactly what I needed to get rid of him.” You shrugged, watching his golden eyes intently. Sure you just met him but you needed him to have the right impression, even if you might not see him again.

“Maybe.” Was all he offered.

Well, maybe sitting in the quiet was better. Running your mouth might have the wrong effect.

“Got a pretty good punch.” He commented after a moment of silence. He wasn’t sure what else he should say but he didn’t exactly want the conversation to die... purely because it would be awkward. “You...uh... you box at all?”

You examined the hand he’d previously wrapped, grateful you weren’t the only one talking. “No just had to learn to beat up guys when they messed with my friends. I’d like to in the future though.” You cleared your throat nervously. “Do you? Do you box?”

He nodded. “Yeah, a bit.”

You nodded as well. “Very cool.”

The conversation began to dwindle again so he picked it back up.

“If ya’d like... I could show ya a few moves.” He immediately regretted offering the moment he spoke. He.... he couldn’t help it! What was wrong with him? You’d said a few words he’d never heard before! That was it! And... well, you also cracked a few jokes with him... denied him being a monster... hell you even apologized to him. Apologies weren’t things he got often. “If ya ever in need ‘a course.” He covered himself quickly. “Got lots a spare time an’ a punchin’ bag.”

You blinked in surprise. A giant, mutant, teenage turtle... was offering you boxing lessons?

Raph mentally kicked himself for saying that. “Neva’ mind ya probably got other places to be-.”

“I’d like that.” You sat up a bit. “It’s not everyday that I get offered a boxing lesson by a mutant hero.”

The term ‘mutant hero’ threw him off. He was used to ‘monster’ or simply being referred to as ‘giant turtle’. But ‘mutant hero’? That was a title he could get behind.

“Can’t have ya goin’ around breakin’ the skin on your knuckles again.” He clarified quickly, gaining a bit of confidence back. “An’ I noticed that ya had your thumb in your fist when ya hit the guy. Coulda broken it.”

You snorted. “Yeah I wasn’t exactly thinking about that when he attacked me.”

“Impressive though.” He commented. “Thought we’d have to jump in an’ save ya.”

“Instead you jumped in after I did all the hard work and broke my phone.” You raised an eyebrow jokingly.

He looked down in embarrassment. “Yeah you can blame Mikey for that. Dumbass wanted to make bets about how long it would take for you to take the guy down.”

You flushed a bit at the thought of them watching you take your rage out on the creep. “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

He nodded, not really knowing what to say either. He was new to the whole conversation thing. Usually Mikey or Leo carried the conversations.

“Well looks like you’re all good.” He leaned back once he finished wrapping your hands. “Guess you can get your phone and we’ll get outta your hair.”

You stood up, backing up a bit when he did to. Man he really towered over people. “Well, except when I come back for that boxing lesson.”

He was surprised to be honest. You really wanted to come back?

You pointed your finger at him jokingly. “I’m holding you to it. You offered and there’s no backing out now.”

“Yeah... sounds like a plan.”

——

It was a plan indeed.

In fact, it became the plan for almost every afternoon.

You brought over your homework to finish up (with Donnie insisting he could help), chatted a bit with Splinter (he loved having new company), finally got to the boxing lesson (your favorite part), and then played video games with Mikey to cool down.

You had to admit, you were nervous the first few times you came over. They were to. You, of course, cracked many nervous jokes and accidentally made far too many cookies on your first trip back. You were excited and scared! Food was then way to peoples hearts right? They seemed nice and this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make out of the ordinary friends.

They’d definitely been surprised when you showed up with about 3 tons of chocolate chip cookies but they were teenagers; it was eaten within the hour.

In your opinion it helped you break the ice. It was hard enough to find things in common when they’re completely different species! Cookies had become the common ground.

Being different species wasn’t the only thing. They were HUGE! For once you were the shortest out of everyone in the room.

Well, until you met April.

She’d been talked up so much that you couldn’t wait to meet the girl that helped them save New York.

She barely went to your shoulder.

But you two got along. Sure she was an adult and it was a bit awkward that she was smaller than you, but you managed. In fact you even liked having someone smaller than you around when you were with them. It made you feel more... normal.

“I was a bit awkward the first time I came here to.” She admitted as you two sat on the couch. You two were supposed to be trying to figure out calculus but it was fruitless. “They’re just so... huge!”

You nodded as you erased your work. “Yeah, I’m used to being the tall one. But now it’s like I’m gonna get stepped on!”

“Well you’re pretty tall yourself.” She waved it off. “Does that ever give you any trouble?”

You set down you pencil with a sigh. “A bit. It’s... hard to find a guy that will like all 6 feet and 4 inches of me.”

April shook her head. “Psh. Men. What do they know.”

“Absolutely Nothing.” You grinned. “The only thing they know is that they like small girls.”

“Eh, I can think of a few guys that like tall girls.” She hinted slightly, disappointed when you didn’t seem to notice. “You’d just have to... branch out.”

You shrugged and leaned back on the couch. “I’ve tried that.”

“Maybe you just need a different... angle.” She held up her hands to fully frame your face. “Maybe there’s a reaaaaally tall guy out there for you. Someone who won’t care that you’re 6 foot 4 inches.”

You snorted, wrinkling your nose at her. “Yeah, let me know when a seven foot guy shows up in New York. Preferably, he has to be my age, and my type.”

Just then, Raph walked into the room. “Done chattin’ it up or are ya gonna go for another hour?”

You jumped. “What in the hot tater tots, dude!” You put your hand over your beating chest as if that would calm your heart down. “I get that you’re a ninja but come on! You’re gonna give me a heart attack showing up out of nowhere like that!

“Ya gonna box or what?” He rolled his eyes, mentally facepalming himself.

You weren’t like his brothers.

You weren’t even like him.

He had to be more careful. But he wouldn’t make it obvious of course. Stealth was clearly his thing.

You rolled your eyes right back at him, grateful that he was at a point where he felt he could joke with you. “Can you let my soul return to my body first?”

He frowned, unsure of what that meant. “Uhh... you okay?”

You jumped up off the couch, breath finally caught. “Alright I’m good. I’d rather get another lesson in then have to deal with calculus anymore.” You kicked your notebook a bit.

“You could... I don’t know... get Donnie to help ya with it?” He offered half heartedly.

You shook your head. “Nah, I’d rather do boxing with you.” You patted his arm as you passed him on your way to the training area. “Let’s go!”

His face flushed immediately.

Shit.

April raised an eyebrow from the couch. “Damn. You got it bad don’t you?”

Double shit.

He glared at her as the blush on his face grew hotter. “Shut up. Don’t know what the hell youre talkin’ about.”

She pursed her lips and tried not to laugh. “Of course. Just can’t help but notice that you never offered me any boxing lessons. Strange.”

He turned before he could get anymore embarrassed. “I don’t know what you’re on but you’re dead wrong.” And with that, he left.

———

“So these are your katanas?” You asked leo curiously, holding the weapons as gentle as possible. He’d let you look at them while you waited for Raph to show up. Never did you think he’d let you actually touch the blades.

He did, however, stand cautiously next to you. “Yeah, Master splinter gave them to me. Wanna see a few moves?”

You nodded eagerly. “Maybe when I’m actually good at boxing you can teach me some as well.”

You watched as he swing the blades with ease, talking you through each move and it’s purpose.

“Mikey, I’m NOT using my tech to fit every cheese and meat in the world into one pizza!” Donnie stated firmly, walking in with his younger brother right on his tail.

“Why not?” He begged. “It would be genius! We could offer it to the world! Give it our blessing!”

“The world wouldn’t take it from us.” Donnie rolled his eyes.

“Then we give it to Y/n in our honor!” He gestured to you. “She could give our gift to the world.”

“The world don’t want no gift of ours.” Raph commented, finally walking in.

You perked up immediately, altho you were unsure why.

“That’s why we label it as y/n’s” Mikey protested.

“I’m not gonna argue with you about this!” Donnie brushes past him and you.

“Then just say yes!” Mikey exclaimed, accidentally shouldering you.

Now these guys are pretty big. When they shoulder someone, they really move them out of the way.

And unfortunately, out of the way was closer to where Leo was practicing with his katanas.

“Shit!” You hissed quickly when you realized how close you were.

You’d have been chopped up into finely slice pieces if not for the arms that wrapped around you and moved you away quickly. Your feet left the floor before you could even realize what was going on. All you could feel was your back pressed against something solid and hands at your waist.

“Mikey watch where you’re goin’!” Raph shouted, setting you down gently.

“Sorry bro!” He called over his shoulder.

You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to stumble when your feet touched the floor. “Wow, that was a little too close for my liking.”

“Ya good there, short stuff?

At this, your eyes flew open. “Short stuff? Excuse me?”

He saw absolutely no problem with the name. “What?”

You placed your hands at your hips. “Never, in all my years, have I been called short stuff.”

He snorted. “Get used to it. Around here, you ARE short stuff.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he prepared the boxing gloves. How was he so casual about this?? You were never talked to like that! “If I were in the human world, I’d be treated with respect because I tower over all the underlings.” You attempted to joke to cover up your surprise.

He found your reaction... amusing. You reacted better than he thought you would actually. “Well you’re the only underling here, SHORT STUFF.”

You tensed, so very very VERY unused to nicknames. “Come on, you can’t make an exception for human standards of height?”

You didn’t hate it, you just hated that it caught you off guard. Being off guard was the last thing you wanted.

“Nope.” He tossed you a pair of boxing gloves. “Now let’s get to it.”

———-

Why did that name make you feel so... giddy? You couldn’t help but play that scene over and over in your head as you sat at the lunch table with your friends. Was this how all your friends felt when they got called stuff like that? Was this what you’d been missing out on?

And you’d never been picked up before. Not like all the other girls in your grade had.

It was strange... and you liked it.

“Hey, again, I’m sorry about what happened.” Your friend apologized. “I know it’s been a month already but it’s clearly eating you up!” She took your hand understandingly. “I know that whenever this happens you lock yourself away but I’m here for you.”

You snapped back to the land of the living. “Oh! Actually... I’ve been fine!” It was almost like you hadn’t had time to be sad about what happened when that guy stood you up. Like other stuff took his place in your head.

She frowned at you. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, a smile creeping on to your face. “Positive.”

She gasped suddenly. “Oh my goodness. You met someone didn’t you?!” She shook your arm before you could answer. “Don’t deny it! Who are they? What’s their name??”

You shook her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But your blushing face said otherwise.

“I don’t believe you.” She pursed her lips. “Can I just have a name? Does he go to our school?”

You snorted. “Dude, I don’t like him. He’s just a friend I’ve been talking to lately. He’s been giving me boxing lessons-.”

“Oh my goodness you two are basically married now.”

“Wait what?”

“Personal lessons? Girl he’s got it bad!”

Her words stuck with you the whole day. Even when you walked into the lair that afternoon. They spun in circles like a loop, playing over and over.

Psh you didn’t have feelings for Raph!

No way.

And he had a bad for you? No. No, your friend just misread the whole situation.

Just friends, as you’d been for the past month or so.

But the moment you walked in and saw him... you weren’t too sure.

He glanced up at you and then back at his phone. “Hey, you’re here early.”

You shrugged, setting your bag down. “Didn’t feel like heading home right away.”

“Donnies in his lab area if you’re gonna do more a’ that math shit.” He offered, eyes not leaving his phone screen.

“Actually I don’t have any homework today.” You started slowly. “And if you’re not busy...” you waited to see if he would catch on. You continued when he didn’t, “then could we skip ahead to the boxing?”

Now he looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

He attempted to cover his reaction. “I mean, yeah I got time I guess.”

“Alright, then let’s get some water and get started?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mikey, Leo, and master splinter were all in the kitchen.

“Hey didn’t hear ya come in!” Mikey grinned, patting your shoulder.

You jolted at the strength he put behind it, unready.

“Ay watch it.” Raph ordered, guiding you slightly away from Mikey.

It was just that he didn’t want Mikey to hit you too hard. Because... then you’d give up boxing too soon for the day. And then he’d have nothing else to do.

“It’s fine.” You waved him off, flushing a bit as you uncapped your water bottle. “Can I get through guys?”

Unfortunately Leo and Raph had started an arguement about the way Raph handled Mikeys action and now no one was really letting you get to the sink.

“Fine I’ll do it myself.” You tried to go around Raph, and succeeded. He backed away immediately when he saw that you had moved. But getting around Leo and Mikey? Not so successful.

With Leo’s strictness turned to Mikey, the two began arguing.

You tried to dodge them but Mikey took a step back.

“Oh my goodness your brothers aren’t making this easy.” You complained to Raph.

“Tell me about it.” He rolled his eyes. Suddenly.. he got an idea. “C’mon short stuff.” He grabbed you and set you on his shoulders so you wouldn’t get squished by one of his idiot brothers.

“Holy shit!” You squeaked suddenly. Now it was you that towered above everyone else. “Should I get used to you grabbing me randomly or is this only a temporary thing?” You held onto his shell as he shouldered past his brothers.

“Possibly.” He shrugged, “but it’s funnier if ya don’t.”

You hit his shoulder. “So you’re doing this for FUN??”

“That, and you gettin’ hit by Leo or Mikey would be an inconvenience.”

Wow where was all this joking coming from?

“Then I guess I gotta stop reacting.”

————

From then on it was a contest.

He would move you randomly out of the way and you’d do your best not to react.

You never did get used to it but he didn’t need to know that.

He never gave you any warnings either, which didn’t help.

You’d be standing in the tv area and he’d pick you up and move you out of his way, smirking while he walked by if he got a reaction.

You had fun with it though. It was fun... and you enjoyed having something like that in your friendship.

You flopped down on your couch after your hard day at school. Today you had no boxing lesson planned and only a few chapters to read. You WERE planning on relaxing by yourself but...

Mikey sent you a message.

Shreks_love_child: hey are you planning on coming over?

You frowned at it. Didn’t he know you had the day off?

You: I’m just going to relax at home today

Shreks_love_child: could you do that another day and come over? Raph’s in a mood

You: why would me coming over help anything? And why is he in a mood?

Shreks_love_child: no reason. He just doesn’t yell as much when you’re around

That wasn’t true... was it?

With a bit of thought, you responded back.

You: fine I’ll be there in a bit. But you better give me a better explanation when I get there. AND you owe me

“Mom I’m headed to my friends house!” You shouted, slipping on your shoes and heading out there door before she could make you do something like doing the dishes before you left.

You walked down the street, enjoying the scenery.

Why would Raph be in a mood?

And why would you being there make it better?

Well Mikey better have a good reason.

Just as you were about to come upon the sewer lid that lead you to their home, you recognized a person walking your way...

...the same guy that had stood you up.

His eyes widened when he seemed to recognize you to. “Hey, Y/n!” He shouted.

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

You began walking faster, turning the corner and heading towards the lid quickly. You had to act fast. You absolutely did NOT want to get caught face to face with him.

You lowered yourself and placed to too heavy lid over yourself as fast as possible, moments before he turned the corner.

You let out a sigh of relief.

Dumbass. Why has he wanted to talk? He made it clear how he felt and what he thought.

Whatever. You didn’t need to think about him now.

You could already hear the sound of shouting.

“Mikey I told ya not to touch it! It’s not finished and ya coulda broken it!”

You made your way down the ladder and through the tunnels quickly. From the sounds of it, Mikey was close to being murdered.

“I’m sorry! You left it on the counter dude! I didn’t know what it was!”

You rounded the next corner, coming face to face with two defensive turtle boys. Raph held a small object protectively in his hands and his brother backed away.

“That don’t mean ya gotta mess with it!”

“I already apologized bro!”

“Apologies are shit! Ya got pizza sauce all over it!”

You cleared your throat, letting yourself be known.

Both of them turned to you immediately.

Relief washed over mikeys face. “Hey! It’s y/n! Whatcha doin’ here angel cakes?” He rushed over quickly, practically standing behind you to protect himself from his older brother. “Today was your day off! Huh. Well now you’re here, right?”

You rolled your eyes at him, moving your attention to Raph.

His whole demeanor had changed. He no longer looked ready to kill. Instead he stood up straighter and held whatever the object was behind his back. “Why ya here?” He asked with a frown. “Today was the day off.”

You decided to not give Mikey an even harder time than he was having and not rat him out. “Thought maybe I’d just hang out with you guys if that’s okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah I’m cool with it.” He narrowed his eyes at Mikey as if he suspected what he’d done. Unfortunately he couldn’t hurt him in front of you so he turned his attention away from his younger brother.

“Cool cool.” You nodded as well. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” You leaned closer a bit to see what he had in his hands.

“Yeah, just let me go get my... my phone from my room.” He closed his fist over the object and moved aside.

“Whatcha hiding?” You raised a brow at him. “Candy?”

“Not hiding anything.”

You followed him to his room with a smirk. “If it’s candy you gotta share.”

“Nope. Not candy.” His face darkened as he grew embarrassed about the possibility of being caught before it was ready. “Just go wait on the couch.”

You rolled your eyes and held up your hands in surrender. “Fine. But I hope the shame of candy hoarding follows you forever.” You turned on your heel and walked to the couch.

Just as you sat down, your phone buzzed.

Hey, I just wanted to apologize for what happened. Are we good?

The absolute audacity. That guy ignored you for practically five months! And now he was apologizing? And he wasn’t even giving you a good reason??

You wrinkled your nose at the screen as if it were his face.

It was a stupid idea I just wasn’t ready for anything serious

You shut your phone off and tried to swallow the temptation of throwing it at the wall.

You know it’s rude to ignore people right?

The phone hit the brick wall with a thud.

It had an otter box case it was fine.

You took a deep breath and held your face in your hands, elbows resting on your knees.

“You good, short stuff?”

You groaned into your hands. “Just let me die.”

Raph frowned, unsure of what to say. One moment you were excited and bugging him. Now you looked like someone stole your dog.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You sat up furiously. “Yeah this dipshit guy keeps texting me!” You paced the room, snatching up your phone as you went. “He stood me up the night I first met you guys and now he wants to talk?? And he’s calling me rude for not responding!” You shook your phone angrily. “Either I’m gonna die or he is!”

“The douchebag?” Raph attempted to clarify. “Ya still got his number?”

“I didn’t have time to delete it.” You admitted. “I got so caught up with you guys! And then he tried to talk to me on the way here!” You sat down beside him with a huff. “Fighting crime is your thing right? You think it’s justified if I run to his house and kill him? Would you stop me?”

“Wouldn’t try very hard.” He huffed. “He’s a dipshit. Don’t see what’s right in front a’ him.”

Crap out of room. To be continued!

@sophiedoodles-blog @fanlovedlt

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sheepsandcattle · 4 years

Text

Chapter 19

His hands are shaking from withdrawal or anger or both as he stirs the off-coloured liquid with the end of a syringe. His phone is pinging beside him, but he ignores it because he knows it’s Jeff asking where he is, and he can’t be arsed with it right now. He’s late. He knows.

Jules reckons he’s in over his head. He’s not making money like he used to, and he knows it’s because he got caught up in it all. He spends more time in the apartment than he does out on making deals these days. He’s barely making rent and Jules is charging him full for the drugs now and he was meant to be with Jeff and Dean an hour ago, sipping beer before they leave the apartment but instead, he’s doing junk on his bedroom floor because—

Hear him out. Everything’s just so fucking much recently. He’s always feeling so blinded and he just wants a bit of darkness.

Does that make sense?

The phone goes off yet again and he gives in, balancing the syringe on his knee as he sends a hurried text; ‘meet u there.’ He was meant to tell them ages ago. Most have forgotten.

After hurriedly drawing the liquid into the needle, he pulls the lace tight around his bicep to take the hit. When he’s done, he chucks the syringe into a mug and leans back onto the end of his bed. He’ll clean it later.

X-Ray Spex are playing so loud that the bass drowns out his pulse. The weight of it drags him into the ground, pins his hands down and his eyelids shut as he breathes through it; heavily through his mouth. He stays put for a while, listening to the music and letting the room evaporate around him until he’s floating in black tar.

He remembers listening to this album on a field with his best mate at seventeen, weed-high with his eyes shut and wishing he could disassociate; to stop feeling and smelling and seeing and hearing anything else around him. Just the music that made his brain jump about in his daft head.

Now he is buried in warm sand and all he can feel is the beat vibrating the ground and all he can smell is nothing and all he can see is black.

For a second, when the song ends and before the next one begins, he feels and smells and sees and hears absolutely nothing. Then Poly Styrene is chanting “I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché,” and all of his senses come back all at once.

He groans, counts to ten, and forces himself up from the ground. His legs fail him for half a second, but his elbow becomes acquainted with his dresser in time to stop the fall. He grabs a pack of fags whilst he’s there, counts himself in again, and slumps out of his room and through the apartment.

They’re going to a party tonight. It’s half ten at night and Jules has gone out for a fag, which he’d usually do inside but he’s pissed off as well.

He finds him sat on the curb outside, smoking steadily, eyes cast down to his phone. He looks up when the door shuts behind Curly, asks, “you ready,” and Curly nods.

They sit in silence in the car and split off when they get to the party. Curls finds Jeff and Dean almost immediately and sits with them in the living room, lighting a joint and sinking into the sofa as the conversation fills the rest of the air around him.

After an hour or so, Jeff asks, “Curls, are you good,” and Dean says, “man you don’t look right,” but he doesn’t feel like defending himself and he’s soon shuffling pitifully across the front yard to where Jules now sits on the curb with Oscar who’s fresh out of work.

Curls says, “I’m sorry, mate,” and falls beside Jules, arse hitting the pavement so hard his breath thumps and all the air within a twelve-mile radius fills his skull. He takes a long, deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry I’m a cunt, I aren’t like you. I’ve got nothing happening for me these days. It’s rubbish.”

He supposes he did blow up for no reason; didn’t want to come out tonight but didn’t want to be alone again. That’s all. He just wanted Jules to stay, because ever since he came clean about Jordan, he’s felt just a bit closer to his roommate, even if he never tended to say the right thing and, if anything, has become more distant than ever. He just wants someone to cling to for a while.

“That’s not my fault,” Jules scoffs, but he passes his lighter to Curly like a peace-offering. “You got fired. You ditched your guy. You cut your best friend off. You called your mom a… What was it?”

“A daft cow,” he mumbles, and they both laugh a little, but then pretend it never happened because they’re both still meant to be just a little bit angry.

“Right. You did that, not me.”

“I know,” he mumbles, and he feels so fucking minuscule. It’s not really that funny, is it? “It’s just… Shit. Feel like I’m going mental.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you need to get out more. Not just for deals,” Oscar chimes in now and great, he’s had enough of Curly, too. He wonders if Jules has filled their roommate in on Curly’s shit show. Jules nods along with Oscar.

“Yeah. I know, I know.” He doesn’t really know what else to say. “Can I nick a fag?”

Their place on the curb rings with a chilling silence, but the 'oh Curly’ type of laughter that follows washes the tension away and the air is breathable again.

The night feels easy after that and it turns out he isn’t fussed about being out of the apartment after all. The house is a bit rammed and Jeff is winding him up, giving him a look every time he opens another beer, but other than that, he feels comfortable. It’s the first time in weeks that he doesn’t feel like he’s buried in static and white noise.

“Hey Curls, you good?”

It’s a little later when Oscar nudges his shoulder and he’s drunk too, so Curly’s not embarrassed to slur his words.

“Yeh. Have y’got a lighter?”

“Ask me in thirty minutes,” Oscar says. “Oh, and Curls, go clean yourself up, man.”

Curly doesn’t understand why he has to wait or what he’s meant to be cleaning up, but he gets distracted soon after anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Dean kisses his cheek at some point. His beard itches and whilst he’s there he whispers, “you wanna crash with us tonight, buddy,” and Curly shakes his head but says, “cheers though.”

Dean’s wiping kitchen roll over Curly’s forearm and there’s a little blood on it but God knows why. Well, Curly knows why. Because he keeps forgetting to ‘rotate scenes’ or whatever it is Jules keeps badgering him about.

“Maybe you should head home,” Dean suggests. Curly walks off.

He dances alone in the kitchen for a bit, then in the living room and then talks to a bloke called Rooney about modern punks and how Curly reckons “it has a whole new meaning these days, and Morrissey is a complete arsehole. Always has been, mate,” but then realises Rooney is a knob who won’t pipe down about immigrants and all the rights he reckons they don’t deserve.

He tells Rooney to sod off and dances some more in the back yard instead with someone (or no one - who knows?)

Someone says, “your accent is bullshit,” and someone asks, “what are you on, dude? Got any spare?” Somebody else tells him, “yeah, no, I get it. Like I tried to go vegan once but…” something, something, something…

A boy with nice eyelashes tells him his hair is amazing and asks to touch it and, oh, at one point he speaks to a bloke named Henry. That’s his dad’s name and Henry says, “yeah, you already said.”

“Your hair’s growing like crazy,” Jordan tells him and... Oh.

Curly doesn’t remember starting a conversation with him, doesn’t even remember seeing him here. Doesn’t remember coming back inside from the back yard or how he ended up in an empty bath, fully clothed with him, shoes scuffing the sides of the tub.

“So why did you wanna talk to me in the bathtub?”

Oh. Alright. Wow, okay. Why did he want to do that?

He rubs his face. He thinks... He thinks. Think think think. Okay. The party was too full. Jeff said, “Curls, slow down,” and Dean said, “J, don’t bother. He’s had too much already.” Jules and Oscar went home (he thinks) and everyone said he should go with them, but he’s been having too much fun and doesn’t like being told when to stop.

“Everyone ’ad too much t’say.”

“Right… But what did you want to say?”

Fuck’s sake. What did he want to say? His head throbs when his temple hits the wall and, oh, was he tilting? Jordan’s hand slips between his head and the tiles, the other landing on the other side of his skull and bracing him.

“Curls, are you alright? Curly, hey.” Curly’s head is tilted back, J’s thumbs digging into his cheeks. “Open your eyes.”

“Yeh.” He does as he’s told, and it turns out his head isn’t tilted back after all, it’s just at the right angle to watch Jordan as he frowns. Didn’t even realise he’d closed his eyes in the first place. Why is he in a bath with— Oh, yeah. “I just… wanted t’say…. Fuckin’ell.��

“I’ll get Jeff-“

“No— jus’…” Curly’s hands are on Jordan’s face now, until the weight of them wins and they drop to his shoulders instead, grabbing the material of his shirt so they don’t fall away. “Are y’a’right?”

Jordan’s eyes narrow, his brows crease and his face tilts slightly. Then he laughs and Curly thinks God bless.

“You. You just wanna know if I’m alright?” His words are tinted with laughter and everything is warm and cool at the same time. “Yeah, Curls. I’m alright. Are you alright?”

He hums, blinking slowly, and when he opens his eyes, he’s on Jeff and Dean’s couch.

The apartment is dead quiet but there’s light coming through the blinds that someone forgot to close. He has a thick, knitted blanket draped over his top half, but he’s still got all his clobber on and his feet hang over the arm of the sofa, Dr. Martens weighing his ankles down. His arm is aching like mad when he feels around for his phone and when he looks down, he’s got a peeling plaster patched onto the crease of his elbow.

His phone has two missed calls and a new message. They’re all Jordan.

10:34 - text when your up

He’s ready to crawl up his own arse with embarrassment. He hesitates but texts back saying exactly that and, within two minutes, Jordan is ringing him.

He answers and forgets to say hello at first, but when he remembers, it’s sandy and his voice takes a second to wear in and the ‘h’ is missing.

“Morning. How’re you feeling?” Jordan’s voice feels worn and sleepy too and Curly can picture him now, in bed with his hair scruffy and his glasses on because contacts are too much effort for the first five minutes of his morning.

“Shite. Head’s killing me,” he grumbles, groaning as he rolls onto his back. “Fuck’s sake. Sorry for last night.”

Jordan laughs over the line and Curly hears him take a breath and reckons he’s getting out of bed or off the sofa. He wills himself to do the same, but only sinks further into the cushions as he listens to Jordan speak. “No need. You didn’t do anything.”

“Was I sick?” Silence. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was. Was it bad? Did I row with—“

“No, no,” he cuts him off and he’s giggling. Giggling. As if. “No puke, no rowing…”

Curly can’t quite decide if he wants more information or he’d prefer to stay blissfully unaware, so he stays quiet and waits for Jordan to decide for him.

“Your nose still bleeding?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Listen, about what you said last night: I get it. A’ight?” Curly racks his brain, trying to figure out what he could be on about, and Jordan must make sense of his silence. “If you don’t remember, it don’t matter, I just. I wanted you to know I’m sorry for—“

“Curly,” a voice chimes from behind him, and he finally pushes himself up from the sofa, met with Dean stretching his arms over his head as he makes his way from his room and towards the kitchen. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that…“ Jordan pauses. “Call me back later, yeah? We’ll talk about it.”

“No, it’s alright, now’s fine,” Curly insists, but the line’s already dead. Dean’s looking guilty, only now realising he’d been on the phone, but Curly says, “morning, mate. I feel like utter shit,” as he drops the phone into his lap.

“I bet you do,” Dean chuckles as he hobbles sleepily into the kitchen. Curly hears crockery clang as he calls, “hey, at least your nose stopped bleeding.”

#Okay everyone it's time to breathe #ch #ch19 #writing

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harrietvane · 6 years

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do you mind talking about why you dislike Love Actually and Richard Curtis's romcoms? I've seen you mention it in some of your tags and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Long post, so scroll now, ye who care not.

OK, so like better voices than mine have articulated Why Love Actually Sucks Balls, but you were kind enough to ask for my view, so strap in I’m gonna talk about Jane Eyre, and the 1990’s Fran Drescher sitcom The Nanny also. It’s coming up on western civilisations’ holiday season, so why not, it’s a good time to tell this movie to choke, because it’s about to be repeatedly thrust upon us once again. (Disclaimer: I acknowledge Richard Curtis is responsible for Blackadder and Vicar of Dibley, so whatever else, we’re still cool on that basis. But I have spite and to spare, so there’s plenty to go around).

My main beef is actually the context. Technically, if all of the below bullshit was in an offbeat movie from any other movie market (I’m thinking maybe a French, or Spanish movie from the 90′s boom, Almodovar style?), the focus would probably be a black humour take on ‘Lord What Fools These Mortals Be!’, sort of look at the inherent ridiculousness of mankind, and how we get in our own way, blah blah, might have been cute. I’d buy that. This movie? A british movie for the american market? It’s sold with a big holiday sticker on it saying ‘ROMANCE’, and specifically ‘ADORABLE ASPIRATIONAL ROMANCE THAT YOU SHOULD ADORE AND ASPIRE TO’. Also the context *inside* the movie itself (through a narration voiceover no less) is that all of these narratives is somehow proof that ‘Love, Actually is all around’, and specifically in a good, wholesome, happy way, overall at least. These stories are redeeming, even if they’re not all happy, they’re Good™ or whatever. The context outside the movie is the same: british TV advertising, hard copy packaging, holiday specials, outdoor gala screenings: they all say over and over: THIS IS SQUISHY HOT PINK NEON LOVE, wholesome, healing, and healthy. You should want this, aspire to this, think this is the cat’s pyjamas! It’s a wide and varied look at the beautiful power of love from all angles, comic, tragic, the lot.

Is it fuck. The ‘positive’ romance stories range from Stage-5 Creeper to Crotch Puppet Afterthought, the ‘melancholy’, thwarted romance stories seem to say ‘if you’re a woman who’s not readily/immediately bangable to your allocated straight dude, romance is over for you I’m afraid’. Let’s recap, shall we:

Much has already been said about Andrew Lincoln’s character BLANTANTLY SHARKING ON HIS BEST MATE’S WIFE being uhhh, less than fresh. I don’t even feel like I need to justify this one, it’s so over-the-top. The main point is that movie itself maintains this as a tragic, swoony, thwarted, heart-string-tugging missed connection, rather than The Worst Friend Ever (meaning: it assumes we’ll be 100% onboard with Keira Knightley skipping secretly away from Chiwetel Eijiofor to grant his best mate one treasured kiss, as opposed to saying ‘what the FUCK Mark, why are you telling me this, this is super inappropriate?? and my only wedding video is just you zooming in on my face? Pls get help’.

We all love National Treasure Colin Firth and all, but like is Love, Actually fixating on a woman who literally can’t speak to you? Has said nothing understandable to you? About whose own life you’ve never yet, and could never have asked about? Whose main interactions with you have been to wordlessly clean your room, bring you food, and tidy it away after? Your ideal woman, who you meet immediately following a break up, is one who silently meets all your domestic needs, while making zero emotional or intellectual demands on you whatsoever? WOW, SHOCKER. (Oh but it’s cute or whatever, they have him propose, and there’s a mix up when her sister appears, but she’s Ugly™, so it’s funny that the sister is not getting romance. I mean, how could she, an uggo?? Classic joke. Good times.)

The Prime Minster and his tea lady: more on Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink below, whoo boy.

Laura Linney would really really like to sleep with Rodrigo Santoro, and god bless her who wouldn’t, but she is tragically unable to, because she has family commitments as being the sister – not even fulltime carer, just RELATED TO - a brother living with disability. Sorry folks, romance is OFF THE CARDS, FOREVER for Laura here. How can she??? That’s the nature of love, actually. Can you have sex right now this moment? No? Whelp, sorry, thanks for playing, back to the Tragic Assisted Living facility for you. Gosh it’s unfortunate that’s a truth universally acknowledged that any whiff of disability = no romance for you ever. (Don’t start me on 4 Weddings* [edit: *it’s totally Notting Hill, not 4 Weddings, thank] and how that husband is like The Best because he continues to love his wife even though her legs don’t work. What a champ, honestly, do they have an award for that?) I have to stop now before I get sarcasm poisoning, but my eyes will continue to roll.

How could I say anything bad about the Liam Neeson widower and his adorable lovestruck son storyine? Lol, I’m gonna. Have you seen the Buffy episode The Zeppo? Xander is convinced the only way girls (as a concept, not in the specific) will like him enough to sleep with him is if he has A Thing. The Thing is posited as ‘being cool’ by having an object or skill that alone will be the magic bullet to romance. Musical instrument prowess is considered, and he ends up just getting a car to be his Thing. This just seems like a redux of that logic. This kid could get some genuine direction from the movie to get to know this girl, learn her interests and share his, see if she likes him as a person by being A PERSON, but the narrative just backs away from that and eventually DOES just say ‘play the drums in the show, she’ll like you’ and that’s …it. But it’s cool, teenagers don’t learn key interpersonal dynamics at this age or anything, she kisses him for some reason, whatever. (Bonus points for gifting his dad with a literal supermodel as a punchline, after making that an actual joke earlier about the shallow nature of attraction, and love is about filling a one-sided need.)

I could go on, but I have very little to say about Freeman falling for a girl whose tits he’s been holding for a week, the no-homo pop star Nighy plot, or the guy that goes and has sex in Wisconsin with Bond Girls, and can’t be bothered, which leads me to…

Richard Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink. Must I kinkshame Richard Curtis in his own home?? Nope, I’m kinkshaming him AT WORK in his narratives, surrounded by his nubile, pliant, adorable female employee characters. Oh Mr Curtis, I seem to have dropped a pencil!

OK, so like a M/F Domestic Servitude romance is an extremely old trope, and extremely common, and I’m not here to tear that up, because done well it’s amazing, lot of petrol in that King Cophetua narrative tank. I’m a fan. The most famous in-context historical example being Jane Eyre, for instance: he’s her boss, she’s his paid subordinate, they’re both 100% aware of that. It’s a great way to explore the real-life class and power dynamics of these 2 train wrecks of human beings, and they vomit their ridiculous drama llama feelings all over a 600 page novel. Super fun, they’re both awful humans, I love them. Mid-century you might have The Sound of Music, and in more modern times you get 1990s sitcom The Nanny, both extremely well-developed romances involving paid employees, and part of their value is that the shows KNOW THIS. They’re aware it’s the basis for their dynamic, that they have to directly play with that, and develop beyond to go anywhere. Watching Fran Fine in her runway-fresh Moschino minidresses jump on Maxwell Sheffield’s desk for the 800th time making him super uncomfortable (and not a little turned on) is always such a treat. It’s right out there on the label. The problem with Love, Actually, is Curtis doesn’t want to admit that naughty secretary seems to be a cornerstone of what gets him going, romantic-stylez.

One (1) time in the movie would be ‘sure, why not’. Literally the highest political office in the land, making overtures to the woman who brings him tea, i guess might be a bit off, but let’s say it’s done well, and maybe Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon’s charisma gets us over the line (his behaviour is cute because her last man didn’t like her body, but the prime minister DOES like her body! so it’s cute!). Whatever, seen worse. Two (2) times however is making a point, and Colin Firth is driving his silent portuguese maid home - not a french maid but so close! - and deciding he’d like her to bring him tea and clean his toilet for as long as they both shall live, and that also seems to be her greatest joy. Ah, l’amour. OK, I guess you like the thing, everyone has a thing, but at least you’re done now. Wait, you mean there’s a third (3rd) one? Everyone’s Fave Alan Rickman drives the plot of his own marriage’s tragic romance because he’s having stiffening feelings about his own Naughty Secretary halloween costume, after all. All the beautiful speeches about Joni Mitchell give Thompson some nice things to do, but it still assumes the Nature of Romance is to want to plough the help. A man can’t help it! It’s how romantic attraction works! Once would be whatever. Three times and there’s a tag on Ao3 for that, so please just scratch that itch and stop selling it to me in a heartwarming christmas movie as the Universal Nature Of Romance, so varied, so vast, the full spectrum! Just 2 hours to tell a story: but 3 whole narratives and 7 actors devoted to the variants on the naughty maid story. My point is be upfront about it and I’d be all for it - pretend it’s not A Thing You’re Doing and my creep-meter goes ping. Steven Shainberg’s ‘Secretary’ has a scene where the boss literally puts a saddle on his employee, and I find it to be one of the most genuinely moving romances I’ve ever seen. Love Actually makes me feel like Curtis is sending me a ‘u up?’ late night text about his secretary fantasy.

Anyway, I fucking hate this film, and not necessarily because of the content, but because of the context. The movie tells me to love it as aspirational romance. My culture tells me to love it as aspirational romance. Everyone tells me to love it as a varied and full exploration of reasons to get up in the morning, because it’s an aspirational romance. It makes me want to claw my own face off.

#replies #long post #ishipallthings #that kid in the octopus costume can't save it #look no judgement if you like it - whatever floats your stoat - but it's uhhhhh not for me

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braedens · 5 years

Text

based on this post || read on ao3

Through laughter, over a chorus of voices, knowing it’ll strike home anyway. It’s meant for everyone here, after all.

There are so few moments in their lives where there is peace. Not in Beacon Hills. So, the disheveled group of teens don’t waste a second to enjoy the calm and the storm, because even when all hell breaks loose, even when the world is ending and it seems like Death stand ominously over them all, they have each other. And, that’s enough.

Their laughter and joy fills every crevice of Derek’s loft, movie abandoned for riffing and quips at each other. Beacon Hills is unruffled, if only for a moment, their teen protectors clustered together and damnit, it makes Stiles just a little bit emotional. This is his family, supernatural and all. “God, I love you guys,” he barks, and a collection of laughter and cooing follow as he looks around the room, and he finds his eyes stop at Derek, for a small moment.

It’s quick, but Derek meets his eyes, and he thinks they share a look. Something is exchanged there, but he isn’t quite sure what, but he knows that it settles him for the better because of it.

Slipped under your tongue, twisted into something else. “I trust you,” maybe. Trust them to figure it out.

Stiles gets himself into more trouble than any human should desire in their line of work, this Derek knows. He’s eighteen, but when he squares his shoulders and furrows his brows, Derek can visibly see the years that this life has put on him. He wonders what Stiles would be like if he hadn’t brought Peter into their lives, to Beacon Hills. Would they have met under different circumstances? Would they have met at all?

They’re crouched behind some crates at the old canning factory outside of town, and Derek wonders how many times they’ve been in this situation before. Same story, different venue.

The omega pack that seems hell bent on ruining their lives this week argue farther into the factory. If he listens closely, he can hear Scott and Isaac on the upper level. From outside, he hears the click of Allison’s bow notch into place.

“I’ll distract them,” Stiles moves to get up, but Derek brandishes an arm out to stop him, and he already knows the look Stiles is giving him.

Usually, Stiles falls back. So, when Derek feels Stiles push his arm away, he stares at him bewildered, but the eyes he’s met with are not eyes he’s looked into before. They speak to him clearly, more sure. They say I am no longer a child. They say do not mistake my vigor for weakness.

They say trust me.

So he does.

He nods his head once, and Derek is sure Stiles knows what he’s trying to say, even if Derek isn’t entirely sure himself. But, he can’t stop the fumble of his tongue as they carved a cavern for Stiles to burrow into his chest, somewhere for him to come back to. Not home, not yet. But a soft place to land.

“I trust you,” he says.

Instead of “thank you” or “see you soon” or “drive safe.” Because no matter what you say it’ll mean the same thing.

Derek has to leave. There’s nothing left for him here. Or at least, nothing worth more than Cora. Beacon Hills is a graveyard of hollow dreams and promises of love that never stayed, and Derek has given this town far more than it deserves. So, he gets it. Frankly, he’s surprised Derek stayed as long as he did in the first place.

So when he hears a soft knock on his front door, the last person he expects to see is Derek.

“Hi,” he blinks.

“Hi.”

He takes note of Derek’s car in his driveway, still running and one Cora Hale in the passenger seat. So he makes no move to let him in. He knows this will be quick. Everything with Derek usually is.

“I, uh,” Derek starts, and he shifts his eyes anywhere to Stiles, and no. Fuck that. If this is the last time he’ll see Derek, he deserves eye contact. So, Stiles does that annoying movement where he maneuvers his head until Derek has no choice to look at him.

Derek breathes, but this time he’s looking at Stiles. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“So you’re making housecalls now?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Derek rolls his eyes.

It feels like eternity, the time they spend standing there, just looking at each other. Stiles feels bold, though, so he pushes off where he’s rested against the threshold and puts his arms out, enveloping Derek in a hug. It takes Derek a second, before Stiles feels his hands splayed on his back.

I’m scared, Stiles wants to stay. Please stay. Don’t go. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. But Stiles has battled his demons, still is. And he knows if he was given the chance to skip town, he would have taken it. So instead, he says, “Be safe.”

Somehow, he thinks Derek knows what he’s trying to say, how he feels, because Derek tightens his hold on him just slightly, an apology and a blessing all wrapped in just one press.

Derek leaves, and Beacon Hills is still and serene in a way no one can comprehend, and Stiles sleeps all through the night for the first time in a while.

Casually, as if you don’t mean it. Trying like hell not to mean it.

Of course they find their way back to each other.

Stiles is twenty-two, and Derek is living in New York. It’s been a year since Derek sent him a text for the first time in three years since he left, and suddenly it’s like they are ribbons, curved around each other in a symphony. Stiles gets accepted to NYU for graduate school, and Derek offers to let Stiles live with him. He’s been on his own far too long, he tells himself. It’ll be nice to have someone other than Cora around.

He feels nervous the day Stiles moves in. Most of his stuff has already been mailed to his condo, and Derek took the liberty of sorting it all in the spare bedroom. He’s a nervous wreck- an hour in the fragrance aisle at the Whole Foods trying to decide what air freshener Stiles would like is what he has to show for it.

He can hear Stiles in the lobby, his humming an echo in his ears and suddenly he’s thankful Stiles isn’t a werewolf, because he’s pretty sure you could hear his heart beat like a bongo from across the city.

And then the door opens, and it smells like lemongrass and orange and hand sanitizer and the smile on Stiles’ face is how warmth feels, like the first step into the sun on your chilly skin.

But Stiles’ eyes dart around his apartment, his mouth wide open. “You live here? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, you live here too, now.”

And Stiles just stares at him with the same gobsmacked expression, but he treks to him with arms wide open. “Dude, I fucking love you!”

Derek laughs, it’s all he can do in that moment when Stiles pulls away too quickly, already distracted by his self-guided tour of the place.

I love you too, Derek thinks to himself, just maybe not the same way you do.

Wrapped up in a question. “How’s your day been, have you eaten, you know you can tell me anything, right?” You know you can tell them anything. Right?

Stiles doesn’t spend much time in the apartment. Between work and grad school, he doesn’t make it back home until late into the night, if he even makes it back home at all.

On Laura’s birthday, Cora has already moved to Spain, so Derek is alone. Which is for the better, really. He loves Cora, but he learned quickly that they both had become so used to mourning on their own. But still, knowing she isn’t near him still makes it harder.

He takes the day off, can’t imagine being able to focus on anything besides the flicker of his eyes, from their normal emerald to glowing gold. And he stays in bed, no energy to face a day that only reminds him of the decisions he’s made and their consequences.

It’s closer to one in the afternoon when he hears their front door open and close, the familiar sound of Stiles strikes him as odd during this time of day. A soft tap at his bedroom door, and before he can tell him to leave, Stiles is already all the way in. Derek watches him as he looks around the room before his eyes fall back to him, and Derek suddenly feels too vulnerable and raw.

“What are you doing home?” Derek voice cracks, the first time he’s spoken all day. Stiles steps closer to the bed.

“I got off early,” Stiles lies. He can hear it in his heartbeat, but somehow he thinks Stiles meant for him to know that. “Have you eaten today?” “Not hungry.”

Stiles just nods, puckering his lips. And then, to Derek’s surprise, he’s up by Derek’s bed, pulling back the comforter and climbing into his bed and pushing himself beside Derek. At this close, Derek can smell old leather and paper on Stiles. It’s comforting, reminds him of his parent’s old library.

“C’mere,” Stiles mumbles, and Derek can’t help it, he immediately moves to burrow into Stiles’ arms, burying his face in his chest and breathes in deeply. He feels a tension release from his shoulders and they just lie there, in silence, Stiles stroking the hair at the nape of his neck as Derek mirrors his breaths to the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest. It’s a peace he’s never known, or at least can’t remember.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Stiles says under hushed tones, hours later when they’re tucked under the comforter.

It’s something Derek knows more than anything. Something he’s practiced for years, the way he confides in Stiles, lets him into his space and Stiles never asking him to break down his walls, but rather provide him a ladder.

So, as moonlight spills into his room, he does. He tells him everything. Everything and anything he can form into coherent words. He tells him about Laura. About his parents. And life before pain. About fears, faux pas. He makes perfect sense and no sense at all as they exchange soft conversations just for them. For the first time in what feels like so long, he lets someone listen. Because he knows Stiles will hear him.

Under your breath while the whole house sleeps, just before you have to leave for the day. More for yourself than for them.

It’s the final stretch for Stiles. He just has one more month left before he sits for the bar, and the studying has utterly destroyed him. Graduation is in his reach, but not without copious amounts of Red Bull and bribing the librarian to let him stay past hours.

He finds himself coming home later and later, taking his naps on the subway and treking himself up to their apartment. When he walks in, it’s still- the clock on the stove reads almost four in the morning, and the light above the island is on. Derek never leaves it on.

On the counter is a single plate, covered in tin foil. There’s a sticky not on the counter, and Stiles can already tell the neat handwriting belongs to Derek.

Figured you’d be hungry. Tired, went to bed

Stiles smiles to himself, rereading the note. Under the foil is a slice of lasagna and mixed roasted vegetables, so he does what any sane person would do in the middle of the night- grabs a fork from a drawer and sits at the island.

“God, I am so in love with you,” he mumbles to himself so softly, and digs in.

In Derek’s room, awaken long ago from the sound of the door, he hitches his breath.

With a hand on their shoulder, a song on your lips, or a carton of their favorite ice cream in the freezer.

“Who’s ice cream is this?” Stiles asks, freezer door swung open, and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Americone Dream in his hands. Derek barely looks up from the book in his hand from the sofa. It’s mid-July, and Stiles has spent want too much free time now that he’s passed the bar and graduated from NYU. And his free time usually included enjoying all the treats he never got to have during the school year.

“It’s yours,” Derek says, eyes quickly moving back to his book.

“I didn’t buy it?”

“I bought it,” he says simply.

“You,” Stiles says slowly, “you bought me ice cream?” He’s looking between the ice cream and Derek, who’s paying no attention to him. It’s his favorite flavor.

Derek stays silent, as if to say ‘Yes, you idiot’.

Stiles just keeps staring at the carton in his hand. “Huh.”

Over a nervous smile, biting back the just-this-side-of-desperate hope they’ll say it back.

When they kiss for the first time, it’s entirely wrong.

They’re arguing about rock albums, and Stiles has formed a three-pronged thesis in his head on why Derek is ridiculous for putting Muse above Queen in his list. And it just happens.

Derek’s not sure he believed it was the right time. Hell, if you asked him he’d say there was never a right time. He leans in to kiss Stiles, and when their lips meet, he has no regret. He forgets that there was no build up to this- they’re not dating, let alone have they even remotely talked about their feelings. He feels the corners of his lips tug upward and his mind races to the thought that this is it. Maybe this is when they’ll stop doing figure eights around each other and come in the middle.

But then Stiles pulls away.

It’s abrupt, Derek feels. And they just look at each other in silence.

“Is that your way of trying to get out of this debate?” Stiles deflects. “Because I’m trying to understand why you really would think I Want To Break Free doesn’t absolutely kill.”

Stiles shifts back into the sofa, continuing his argument, and Derek thinks maybe this is for the best. He doesn’t want to lose Stiles as a friend, so if he’s willing to pretend this never happened, so be it. He missed his chance. He misses a lot of chances, he thinks.

Later, when Stiles closes his bedroom door behind him, he finally exhales on a breath he feels like he’s been keeping inside him forever. Briefly, he touches his lips. For a moment, he considers going back outside to where he hears Derek cleaning up, and doing something. Anything. Figures he’ll know what it is when he gets to him.

Instead, he flips his light switch.

Straightforward. Soft and heavy, like morning before the coffee’s started brewing. Like that’s all there is to say.

It is no special day. It’s just not.

It’s early in the morning, Stiles packing his briefcase for work, Derek making coffee in the kitchen. They’ve fallen into routine now that Stiles is working at a firm, in sync with their actions and movements that it isn’t until right now, on some ordinary day in the middle of the week, that Stiles feels overwhelmed by the feeling of content.

“I love you,” Stiles breathes out, wide eyed and mouth ajar, the sides of his vision blurring because Derek is the only center of focus he seems to be able to land on. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

Of course he’s not. He’s never been so sure and so confident about a fact in his life, and Stiles is one to endure copious amounts of research to prove his theories. But this, this is no theory. This need not analyzation. He is sure.

With a soft sigh. Past exhaustion and frustration and despair, like it’s the only good thing left. Sometimes it is.

It’s only been a week since the night of their kiss, and nothing’s really changed since then. If he’s being honest, Derek forgot about it. Frankly, he was content with erasing it from his memory.

He’s making coffee, wondering to himself if he should go to the gym or finally drop off the boxes for Goodwill he’s had in his room for a few weeks, when he’s blindsided.

“I love you,” Stiles says. Like, just announces, and for a second Derek’s having an out-of-body experience where he’s wondering if it wasn’t directed to him.

But, he’s the only one there. Coffee pot hovering over Stiles’ travel mug that he was filling up for him. Cream, two sugars. How he always takes it.

“And I’m not sorry about it.”

Derek shakes his head, starstruck and wondering if this is some fever dream he’s experiencing.

“You don’t have to be sorry about it.”

He places the mug and pot down and walks around the island where Stiles is just standing there, holding the strap to the bag around his shoulder so tight. Derek can’t help but remember when Stiles was a teenager, throwing caution to the wind any chance he could, and all he asked from Derek in return was trust. Love, really.

“I’m just so tired of dancing around it. I know-” he pauses, collecting his thoughts. “I know I don’t make it easy, I know I have an issue with trust and second guessing literally everything but I just, I want you to know.” His hands flail as he talks, and he furrows his brows that feels all too familiar to Derek. “That I love you,” he adds, as if Derek didn’t understand.

He’s not a man of many words, Derek, but he knows the weight they have. He knows that there probably aren’t enough words in the human language that are comparable to the weight of the feelings he has for Stiles. Because to him, this isn’t their first declaration of love. They’ve said it every day to each other, without words. In simple gestures. In bickering arguments. In chores done when the other can’t find the time. In passing brushes of skin. In good (and bad) cooking.

But this, right now, is probably Derek’s favorite. Unrushed and outright.

“Stiles,” he breathes out, taking a tedious step towards him. “Loving you has been the easiest fucking thing I’ve ever done.”

Stiles doesn’t even hesitate crashing into him, hands cradling Derek’s face and kissing him restlessly, like he was given permission. And Derek feels all the more comfortable snaking his arms around him until he’s pressing Stiles closer to him, so much more closer, letting his bag fall from his shoulder onto the ground. With Derek in his arms, he thinks, Fuck work. Fuck New York. Fuck the entire world and universe for all he cares.

Some things are just more important.

#sterek #sterek fic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #derek x stiles #teen wolf fic #tw #tw fic #teen wolf #fic #my writing #mine

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voltronbutheadcanons · 7 years

Note

sooOOOO how do each of the Paladins + Allura act around their crush before/after they realize they have feelings for said crush? Who do they confide in and ask for advice? Who finds out anyway? Who's the most to least obvious? Thanks, good luck with your new blog!!!

Ahhh, anon, thank you! This is so cute! I’m sorry this took so long!

This is over 1,500 words someone kill me

~Mod Awkward

Shiro

Can I just say power duo?

Shiro had always thought of you as an extension of himself, as you two always seemed to be on the same page and could always tell what the other was thinking

But then everything changed when the fire nation attacked

It all started that day he bumped into you in the hallway

Turns out, you’d forgotten to grab a change of clothes and were trying to make it to your room without getting caught…. only to run right into Shiro

He tries to pretend like it never happened but he can’t get over how cute your flustered expression was, how smooth your skin looked, or how your towel was ever so slowly inching lower and lower― no, bad Shiro!!

Now, every time you’re so much as in the same room with him, Shiro just starts stuttering like crazy and has to stop himself from glancing in your direction every two seconds

goddammit Shiro stop thinking about of what their lips would taste like and focus

He goes to confide in Keith about it, thinking that he can trust him with his secret, but Keith is all like “umm dude what are you talking about?? everyone already knows”

You eventually get tired of waiting for him to confess and kiss him without warning right before he flies off into battle

Space dad is deceased™

Keith

It hits him like a brick at the worst possible time

While the two of you harbored a mutual respect for one another, you never seemed to get many chances to interact with one another other than on the battlefield

That is, until the day you challenged him to a sparing match

While he had reservations about fighting a friend, Keith wasn’t one to back down from a fight

But in seeing that little smirk playing on your lips, the determination on your face, the precision in your swift and elegant movements, he knew he was a goner

You kicked his ass that day, but he had never felt so blessed

He’s been trying to get closer to you ever since

but it’s things like “accidentally” running into you in the hallway and moving to the seat next to you at the dinner table

He doesn’t have the slightest clue as to how to approach you or how to go about this

Considers talking to Lance about it but he knows Lance won’t be able to keep a secret so he decides to go to Shiro in the end

Shiro laughs and just tells him to be himself thanks dad real helpful

Jokes on Keith, Lance has known since the beginning and has been playing matchmaker this whole time

“Those pants look great, but I bet they’d look even better on Keith’s floor!”

“Are… are you hitting on (y/n) for me?”

Lance

What do you get when you throw in sarcasm, teasing, and meme references with a dash of sexual tension? An inseparable duo that’s what

“Prepare for trouble, and make it double”

While you two would still joking flirt with one another, Lance never really thought of you as anything other than his partner in crime

That is until that fateful night he met you on the balcony

Lance was having trouble falling asleep due to his homesickness and decided to go out for some fresh air to clear his head, but he didn’t expect to see you already there with the same homesick expression on your face

Neither of you said a word, but you seemed to understand as you motioned for him to sit next to you and proceeded to lean on his shoulder

When Lance woke up feeling content with you in his arms, he knew he was in too deep

By day, nothing really changes between you two since Lance doesn’t want to ruin the friendship you have, except for the fact that now his flirting is sincere and he means every word

But he’s there with you every night on that balcony and holds you in his arms until you fall asleep

he doesn’t understand how he manages to fall more in love with you night after night

Hunk overhears him ranting to Blue about you one day and decides to confront him about it

like “dude I see the way you look at them you should say something”

He’s too worried about how you’ll react so he confesses when he thinks you’re asleep except you were awake the whole time and heard every word, so you’re planning on waking him up with a kiss to surprise him

Hunk

You were really craving chocolate chip cookies one day, but your attempts at making some out of the ingredients in the castle were a complete disaster rip the kitchen

Hunk was the first one to pick up on the scent of burning food and when you sheepishly admitted how you just wanted to bake some cookies, he offered to lend a hand

Baking buddies? Hell yeah

It took about a month, but you two had finally created something that somewhat resembled chocolate chip cookies

The way your eyes sparkled in pure joy and accomplishment made Hunk weak at the knees and for the first time since meeting you, he found himself getting lost in your smile

His initial reaction is to panic

He starts getting so awkward around you that he settles on avoiding you to prevent from embarrassing himself even further

You offer Hunk a challenge to try and recreate Oreos but when he turns you down you’re completely flabbergasted

Hunk would never say no to a cooking challenge, is he ok???

He ends asking Pidge for help because he knows he’s upset you but he doesn’t know how to fix it

cue Pidge: “you idiot go apologize and tell her you love her!!”

Pidge and Lance get the whole gang in on this and they lock the two of you in the closet, refusing to let you both out until you make up and/or make out

Pidge

You’re so moved by her determination to find her missing family that you promise to help Pidge in any way you can

The both of you often sneak off to the roof of the castle, bringing her makeshift interstellar radio transmitter and whatever else equipment you might need to try and gain some clues as to where her family is

You usually end up talking over fond memories to help pass the time

This one time however, when the transmitter was down and Pidge was growing frustrated because she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why it wasn’t working, you had said to “try compressing the high speed RSS driver” and it actually worked

Pidge gaped at you for a solid five minutes

In a moment of awe, it dawns on her just how much she appreciates you and she hasn’t been able to look you in the eye ever since you dorks

She actually goes to Shiro about it and practically screams at him HOWDOYOUKNOWIFYOULIKESOMEONE

He knows she can only be referring to you and tells her a warm, fuzzy feeling is a good indicator that you have a crush on someone

Coran and Allura overhear her muttering “warm, fuzzy feeling?” under her breath when they pass her in the hall and after putting two and two together, they tell the other paladins to help get one of you to confess

Hunk and Lance fangirl over you two together because you’re their OTP

Allura

She’s initially fascinated by you, just like she is with the other paladins, but over time, she realizes that she’s taken a special liking to you, though unsure as to why

Allura comes to the conclusion that it’s your laugh, and since it’s one of her favorite sounds, it sets you apart from the others

She tells you stories of her childhood and you in turn, tell her about Earth, the both of you equally fascinated with the other’s home planet

She’ll often be rambling to the mice on how she admires your courage, how she thinks your ears are adorable, how she wishes she can show you Altea in it’s prime, etc.

The mice can’t believe that they have to spell it out for her

“gIRL YOU GOT IT BAD”

But she keeps claiming that they’ve got it all wrong, you’re just a very close friend

That is until you get injured during a fight, and Allura is livid

Shiro and Coran, knowing that she has a crush on you, have to hold her back to keep her from going after the ones who hurt you in a fit of blind rage

While you’re in recovery, she hardly ever leaves your healing pod, blaming herself for being too careless of a leader and letting you get hurt

When you wake up, she immediately pulls you in for a bone crushing hug and cries into your shoulder how she’s so glad you’re okay and how she always wants you by her side

178 notes · View notes

7fics · 7 years

Note

Markson friendship jackjae Romance. Jackson doesn't really know YJ but he knows he's kinda weird but still kinda cute and he sits next to Jackson in science so Jackson texts Mark and says "the Youngjae kid is cute tbh" and Mark being a dick takes a screenshot of their messages and sends it to Youngjae, who is still sitting next to Jackson.

Warnings: mark pov lol

Word Count: 2.5k ish

Author: Chewy’s back! and graduating high school oh my god

managed to sneak some markbum in there lol whoops hope ya enjojojoiiiii

grades: JB: senior Jinyoung: senior (skipped a grade) Jackson: junior Mark: junior (redoing a grade) Youngjae: sophomore Yugyeom/bambam: freshmen

“Bro, you hype? First day of school jitters? Whatchu gonna eat for breakfast?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson, why are you calling me at 6 in the morning,” Mark groans. It’s too early for this shit. It’s always too early for Jackson’s shit, but “That’s just the impact of the Wang” or so “the Wang” says.

“It’s the first day of school! You should be up and getting ready, don’t you want to start off the school year refreshed and excited?” Mark can practically hear Jackson jumping up and down through the phone. Oh, wait, is that the sound of springs squeaking? Then never mind, Mark can legitimately hear Jackson jumping up and down.

“More like dead tired. School doesn’t start until nine.”

“Whatever. Have you looked at your schedule yet? Did you see what classes you had? Do we share any classes?” Jackson’s talking non-stop, and from the sound of it he’s also trying to chew his breakfast at the same time. Mark’s not really into that ASMR shit.

“I already sent you a screenshot last night, keep up,” he responds, groaning as he finally crawls out of bed. With Jackson this hyped up, he knows there’s no chance of falling back asleep so he might as well get ready. “We have a few classes together, I think. Check again?”

“Oh, right!” there’s a pause as Jackson scrambles to his laptop, and Mark thanks the gods above for the short moment of blessed silence. “We have the same lunch period! And Humanities and Numbers for Nerds, thank goodness. You’re going to need to tutor me again.”

“No.” Not until you stop calling “math” “Numbers for Nerds,” Mark thinks. It’s too early to voice opinions, though, so he keeps that to himself.

“And Euro, yass, this is nearly fully booked Markson, get pumped! But wait, aw man, no science together. Why would you ever take Physics? And it’s first in the morning, too!” Jackson continues.

“God bless,” Mark’s not sure if he would have been able to handle Jackson so early every morning. Especially not after the copper incident last year. “Now I’m hanging up, gotta shower. See you at school.”

“Bye~~~ Markie pooh,” Jackson calls, but by then, Mark’s already ended the call.

—

“Jaebum, please,” Mark says the minute he enters the Physics classroom that morning. “Save me.”

“Babe, what’s wrong? It’s only the first day of school,” Jaebum grumbles, barely lifting his head from his desk to greet Mark.

“Exactly. However,” Mark says, handing his phone over to Jaebum. “Some asshole thinks that I should care about his choice in sock color today.” There are somewhere around, oh, just about hundreds of new text messages, voicemails and snapchats from Jackson, updating Mark on the every second of his first day of school prep. And that’s just the preparation; the school day hasn’t even started damn it.

“Aw, yikes. I got a picture of a flowchart of first day of school possibilities from Jinyoung last night. And then earlier this morning he sent me a selfie of himself setting the same flowchart on fire, so I’m not sure what that means.”

“Seriously? It’s only the first day of school why is he stressing like it’s finals week again,” Mark groans as he lays his head on the desk. Jaebum only pats him on the back and gives a shrug in response, and Mark is eternally grateful. He decides that now is a great moment (and the only moment) to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the madness called “High School” and “Being Wang Jackson’s One and Only BFFL For Life” (“Jackson you repeated for life” “Shhhh”) begins.

Moments later, the beautiful calm is shattered by the sound of Kara blasting through the air. “The fuck Jackson, we’re in class,” Mark says, opting to hit decline. Jackson apparently doesn’t get the message, however, and Mark’s phone spends the rest of class buzzing violently in his backpack.

Mark of course dutifully ignores everything. (At one point, a girl in front of him freaks out because she’s sure there’s a swarm of bees in the classroom. It’s just Jackson, though.)

—

“Hey.” Mark takes his lunch tray, which is literally piled to the sky with only french fries, and slides into the bench between Jackson and Jaebum. He looks down the table and nods at the kid at the end of the table. “‘Sup?” They’re not friends, but the kid sells some fine “herbs” if you know what I’m saying. Imported. From Thailand.

Mark doesn’t drink coffee. He drinks tea. And he’s ready to beat anyone (meaning Jinyoung) who mocks him for it. It’s not like he fucking reads books like some nerds (meaning Jinyoung).

“Hey, Mork, what’s up?”

“Can you not.”

“Nope! Those are a lot of fries buddy, I’m really kind of worried about your health, you know?” Jackson says, reaching over to grab a handful.

“I hope you choke.”

Jackson doesn’t choke, but he does snort and get some caught in his nostril. While Jackson is whining and screaming for help, Mark turns to Jaebum, “Hey.”

“Hey babe,” Jaebum responds. He also takes a french fry, but actually manages to look pretty sexy eating it, so Mark will opt to forgive him this one time.

“Do you think you can get senioritis when you’re a Junior?” Mark asks, shoving the plate of fries to the side so that he can lay his head on the table. And then push the fries directly into his mouth without actually lifting anything.

“Dude. It’s been three days since we got back from summer break,” Jaebum gives him a look, although really, he has no right to judge.

“I didn’t do any of my summer Humanities assignments, so I already have a zero.” Ok, so maybe Jaebum does have some right to judge. But only a little.

“Holy fuck YOU GUYS!” Jackson screams, and then immediately makes a shushing noise, “Shhh! I can’t let him notice me!”

“Jackson. You are the loudest one in this group right now.”

“Ah, sorry, I forgot. But look!” Jackson whisper shouts, vaguely gesturing toward some corner of the cafeteria. “Look at that!”

Mark squints, but isn’t really sure what Jackson’s freaking out over. He doesn’t see any signs for free pizza, or anything remotely worth getting hyped up over.

“That kid! Over there!” Jackson’s voice is steadily rising, but they’re in the middle of a public school cafeteria so Mark decides to not give any fucks for now. “The one that looks absolutely beautiful and basically is probably the Sun on the Teletubbies but all grown up! He’s in my Bio class and I swear you guys, I am in love.”

“Oh hey, that’s Youngjae,” Jaebum remarks.

Hmmm, Youngjae. Mark’s sure he’s heard that name somewhere.

“Remember? He’s the really loud tenor in my choir class. Tried to bring his dog to school last year.”

“Oh yeah. Coco. He’s my neighbor.”

“You know him?” Jackson gasps. He crawls over Mark and grabs Jaebum by the collars. “Please. Tell me more. I must know.”

And so the rest of lunch continues just like any other day, with Mark trying to ignore Jackson and continue eating french fries. It’s a hard task, but nothing that Mark can’t handle.

—

Another week of dozing through classes has passed in a blissful blur, and Mark settles into Physics, pulling out his notebook. He’s just trying to decide whether he should use the book as a pillow or what it’s actually meant for when his phone goes berserk again.

from: wangster

holy sheet mark

do u remember that incredibly cute ball of sunshine underclassman I was talking about

the one that probably farts pixie dust

and is CuTE as bALLS???

YOUNGJAEEEEE god kill me now even his name is lovely

he just got assigned to the same lab group as me

the fuq is this, a fucking rom com??? i M SO READY to NOT embarrass myself infant of this kid

**in front ha fuck u 2 autocorrect

“What is that?” Jinyoung asks, peering over Marks shoulder.

“It’s just Jackson, talking about his new crush. I’m just gonna ignore it,” Mark concludes, setting it on vibrate and then tossing it to the corner of his desk.

“He just texted you again,” Jinyoung says, picking up the phone. “What does he mean by ‘THE THING’?”

“Shit, give me that,” Mark says, suddenly alert and scrambling for the phone.

from: wangster

do you think he’d think i was cool if i did THE THING again?

Mark furiously types.

from: mark

NO!

DO NOT. DRINK. THE COPPER. SOLUTION.

It takes a minute for the reply to come back.

from: wangster

aw cmon man, it wasn’t that bad

and don pretend like u didn’t take a taste too, i’m not the only criminal here

anyway i wasn’t talking about that

what if i “accidentally” spilled a chemical on my hot bod

and then i have to rip off my shirt and show off my sexy abs ;)

Mark groans and lays his head upon the desk. “Help. I think I have a migraine coming on.”

“What’s wrong?” Jaebum asks, sliding into his seat with 34 seconds to spare. Mark just holds up his phone in response. Jaebum sighs and formulates a response in Mark’s stead.

from: mark

your abs won’t be sexy anymore with a god damn acid burn on them. don’t do that shit. —JB

Before Jaebum can hand the phone back to Mark, Jinyoung snags it out of his hands. “Oh boy,” he giggles. “This is gold. Do you mind if I screenshot this and airdrop it to myself? Just for when I’m sad, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” Mark waves him on. At this point, he doesn’t think Jackson has any dignity left to muster up. “Just don’t accidentally send it to Youngjae or anything.”

There is a beat of silence, as three pairs of eyes meet. Then they all break, chuckling to themselves. Mark wheezes a little. “Nah, I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of friend.”

There’s another moment of silence, as Jinyoung takes one long look at the messages, and then back up at Mark, then Jaebum, then back at Mark. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, we’re best friends, come on,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly sweating in this freezing air conditioned classroom. “Right. Best friends. Who forgive each other no matter what,” Jaebum muses, half to himself. They meet eyes, and then break. Nervous laughter fills the air around them.

“Nah, nah, nah. We’re cool,” Mark says, taking back the phone and going to delete the screenshots. But, Jinyoung is right. This is kind of gold. “Maybe I’ll just start a message to Youngjae, but not actually send it, just to freak Jackson out.”

“Oh yeah!” Jinyoung agrees, aggressively nodding. “Take a screenshot of you you pretending to send those to Youngjae. Jackson would die. And it’s good revenge for him stealing my last twizzler.”

“Alright, I’m doing it,” Mark says. They’re all three cackling at the message, Mark’s hand hovering over the phone, when the teacher walks in and slams the door shut. Hard.

All three students jump in their chairs simultaneously. “Put you phone away!” he demands, and Mark sheepishly pulls his phone off his desk, but not before seeing what’s on the screen.

“Oh shit,” he looks up at Jaebum, wide-eyed.

“You hit send, didn’t you?”

—

Three hours later, Mark finds himself on the floor of the cafeteria, groveling at Jackson’s feet. “It was an accident, I swear, you know I would never do that to you. I would never even think of doing that to you!”

“How. The fuck. Do you accidentally send screenshots of my text messages to the guy who just happens to be the subject of my messages?” Jackson asks. His eyebrows are halfway up his face at this point.

“Ok, fine,” Mark concedes, “Maybe I did think of doing that to you. But I swear I only thought! I never actually meant to hit send. Tell him, Jinyoung!”

Jackson’s menacing eyebrows swivel to face Jinyoung, who currently has his nose buried in a book, with only his ears peeking out. No matter how much of a bookworm everybody says he is, no books are that interesting. “Well?” Jackson asks, leg shaking the table.

“Uhh… It was Mark’s idea!” then he slams his book shut and bolts.

Mark gasps, “That bastard.”

Jackson grabs at Mark’s collar, and as Mark flails, he looks over to Jaebum in an attempt at one last plea for help. Jaebum just raises his eyebrows, and scoots his tray further away down the table.

Just as Mark resigns himself to his fate, he is saved by the bell. More specifically, his text alert, which is actually a four second clip of a recording of Jackson screaming for five minutes straight. Everybody in the whole cafeteria looks over at them, including Youngjae (an important detail for Jackson) and the security guards and other adult staff (an important detail for Mark). “Dude get off of me before we get in trouble,” Mark whispers. Jackson only complies because Youngjae is looking and he can bet 99.999% that Youngjae probably hates violence and sings about flowers growing as a past time.

“Ugh, whatever, I’m still mad. You better buy me chocolate milk for the rest of the school year.”

“What are you, Kim Yugyeom?” Mark scoffs, but knows that he probably will, even if only for a few weeks instead of the whole school year. Anything to get his friend back. Even so, he slaps Jackson’s hands away as they drift toward his tray of fries. While battling Jackson over his lunch with his left hand, Mark unlocks his phone with his left (unnecessary AN: this was supposed to say right, but I was totally zoned out when typing this, and, my dudes, it is so wicked funny to imagine Mark with two left hands). “Oh my god, Jackson!”

“What now?” Jackson grumbles, slipping through Mark’s defenses and filching a fry or two or three or twelve.

“Jackson, look,” Mark gasps breathlessly, handing his phone over to Jackson.

“Holy fuck.”

Right there, on the screen (surrounded by way too many emojis and stickers) are the following words:

from: c youngjae

aww, can you tell jackson hyung thank you for the compliments

and also that i don’t want him hurting himself!! i’m sure he looks better shirtless on the basketball courts than in a science lab *winky face blushing emoji*

oh! also mark hyung, my family is going out of town for labor day, can you watch coco? thanks!

Mark grins, looking up at Jackson’s shining face. “Am I the best wingman ever or what?”

“Yes!” Jackson shouts, drawing looks once again. “But you still owe me chocolate milk for the stress that you put me through for this past hour.”

“Yo, lunch period isn’t even an hour long.”

#got7 #character:jackson #character:mark #genre:humor #genre:fluff #author:chewy #jackjae #character:youngjae

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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 7 years

Text

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Thirteen

day thirteen: our song

prompt: “Your OTP and music. Do they have a song? Do they sing? Do they dance?”

The thing about the music in the Underground is – when you've been hanging out here your whole life and through multiple different timelines – there isn't really much variety.

Once you've heard a few songs, they're pretty much all the same, whether Sans is lazily flicking through the channels or sitting through Mettaton's latest vehicle with Papyrus even though it feels like he's slowly being buried alive in rose petals – loud, flashy and fake, whether it's thumping dance beats or grandiose, swelling strings. It's maybe not exactly what he would've chosen, but Sans can just about deal; the unrestrained joy lighting up in his little brothers' sockets whenever a familiar rectangular figure sashays across the screen makes it worth it. And on some level, he gets it, why half the Underground's so in love with Mettaton despite him being so...well, Mettaton, because he's literally all they've got. Sparkles and symphonies and aggressively manufactured positivity – it's all an escape, a chance for everyone to forget their problems for a couple of minutes and believe whatever the repetitive robotic lyrics are telling them: they're fabulous, they're shining stars, they're whatever they want to be. They're free, even in the face of the obvious reality that they're most likely stuck down here for the rest of their lives.

For Sans it mostly just feels like background noise – most things do these days. He's not one to judge, if everyone's happy (okay, he kind of is, but not on this particular subject); he just can't help wondering, sometimes, if he'll ever get to hear anything that sounds like it comes from somewhere more...well, real, whatever that means any more. But he isn't expecting to find out when he dozes off at Grillby's yet another night, somewhere around his second ketchup bottle, and wakes up to this melody floating through his skull – slow, sad, hauntingly beautiful. It's like nothing he's ever heard before, definitely not MTT-brand, and for a moment Sans thinks he's still dreaming until he lifts his head and glances around at the empty bar. It's just him and Grillby, perched elegantly at the piano in the corner – Sans didn't even know that dusty old thing was a piano – with his fiery fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a tune as light and delicate and delicate as the falling snow, but slowly sliding into something more sinister, like an unspoken threat looming over them, and Sans feels it, somehow, every note sending a chill through his bones. It feels like Snowdin, like the creeping threat of the next day he knows so well, like...home.

"Dude, Grillbz," he says finally as Grillby finishes, glancing back over his shoulder to meet Sans' sockets as he widens them in awe, “what was that? You write that? How come you never told us you could play?"

Grillby hesitates for a second, before his face flickers into a smile as he tells Sans – in his crackly dialect that he's just about picked up by now – that he doesn't usually like an audience. And even if he did, it's not like he has a spare moment to play for them in between running the whole place himself and keeping on top of all his customers' demands.

Sans shrugs, flashing him a sympathetic grin – Grillby can't be talking about him, he's the least demanding customer ever. “Yeah, okay, I hear ya. Still – you should get some staff in to cover sometime, 'cause that was great. No joke, I felt it in my bones. Gotta be better than some of the crap Bun puts on the jukebox, am I right?"

Grillby hisses a reluctant laugh and nods, standing up from the piano bench and smoothing down his clothes. Sans is waiting for him to tell him to go home – it's way after closing time and Papyrus is probably getting worried by now – as he walks back over to the bar and starts gathering glasses, but he says he'll think about it. Or – if Sans wants – maybe Grillby should teach him how to play sometime instead. Then Sans can be the new entertainment, or at least a convenient target for the regulars to heckle and throw fries at.

"Heh – why do I feel like this is payback, somehow?" Sans chuckles, but actually it's a pretty generous offer, and he's kind of touched. “I mean – sure, when you're not busy, why not? That might be cool, or at least something, uh...different.”

They never do get around to those lessons, though because things end up getting super busy and their world gets a whole lot bigger – and brighter, and that's not just because of the sun. Where the Underground was quiet, the surface has music everywhere, with as much variety as anyone could possibly want or need, pouring out of every store on every street corner. Some of it's pretty good, some of it's just as bad as any of Mettaton's bleeps and boops and some of it's worse – but somehow it doesn't feel quite so fake any more, not up here where they're actually free to feel good, or whatever the songs say.

It probably helps now he's with Toriel, who unapologetically loves all of it – the Ruins were always so quiet, she tells him, so it feels so good to be able to surround herself with music. No matter how awful it is, and it shows pretty much every morning when she's making breakfast and singing along to the radio. She doesn't know half the words, but she improvises, making up nonsense as she bounces to the beat with her little tuft of tail bobbing up and down. Sometimes she makes Frisk faceplant into the table, groaning Moooom, it's too early, do you have to be so disgustingly cheerful? Sans sympathises, because he's not even sure what he's doing awake at this time – up until Toriel catches his socket and winks, always as she's braying along with the cheesiest, corniest, most nauseating love song, and he remembers some things are worth getting up for.

They still end up in Grillby's most nights, because some things don't change; just the amount of songs on the jukebox for everyone to fight over, and the weird human-brew wine Grillby's got in tonight. It's kind of disgusting, but it also makes Sans feel warm and fuzzy inside – although that might just be Toriel, as he's been leaning against her since they reached the stage where just about everything the other one says is the most hilarious thing ever.

"Grillbz, Grillbzzzz," Bun slurs, leaning over and thumping the bar like he's just had a revelation, "you know what we should do? You know what would really bring in the hot guys?"

Sans only has to catch Toriel's eye to know they're thinking of the exact same joke, and the slightest nudge is enough to set them both off, snorting and spluttering uncontrollably into their drinks before either has a chance to state the obvious. Everyone else, as usual, ignores them.

"Karaoke night!" Bun squeals, and a groan immediately ripples through the room, with a few lone murmurs of interest. "C'mon, you sad sacks, it'll be fun. Grillbz, aren't you always saying we should liven up this place?"

Grillby raises his glasses in his 'I said nothing of the sort' expression; undeterred, Bun reaches out and slings an arm around Sans' neck, pulling him into something between a hug and a headlock. "Sansy! You'll sing with me, right?!"

"Oh, yes, Sansy," Toriel joins in just a little too eagerly, her eyes glittering with amusement as she slips her arm around Sans' ribs from the other side, so he's effectively trapped, "now that you mention it, I do not believe you have ever blessed us with your dulcet tones! We should put that to rights, should we not?"

Sans is starting to feel unfairly victimised here; he looks to Grillby for help, but he just snickers quietly behind the bar, the traitor. "C'mon, guys," he laughs, holding up both hands in a vain attempt to defend himself, "trust me, no one wants to hear me sing."

"I wanna hear it!" Big Mouth yells out, unhelpfully. "And whoa, hey – you disobeying an order from the queen, Sans? Shouldn't he be, like...executed or something for that, Your Majesty?"

"Goodness, what sort of queen do you take me for?" Toriel gasps in mock offense, before sliding her hands up to Sans' skull and resting her chin gently on top like a warm, furry hat, subtly nudging Bun away in the process – turns out she's a handsy drunk, not that Sans has any bone to pick with that as he feels her smirk. "I am sure I can think of a much more suitable punishment.”

Everyone whoops and hollers as Sans' brow bone shoots up in simultaneous alarm and intrigue at this threat/promise, while Bun hops off of his stool and over to the jukebox. It's right next to the old piano – for some reason, Sans is glad Grillby kept it, even if he hasn't heard him play anything since they moved to the surface. He still occasionally thinks he should take Grillby up on those lessons, or at least get him to play one of his old pieces for Toriel sometime, even if it's just the three of them, because he feels like she deserves to hear something so beautiful – wants to be the one to share it with her, even. He's grinning to himself just from the thought and wonders when the hell he got so mushy, anyway. Must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

Sans' train of thought is interrupted as a familiar, upbeat tune blares out; there's a few half-hearted protests from the bar, but nobody gets up to change it as Toriel's hands fall from Sans' skull to excitedly seize both of his hands.

"Oooh – I know this one! Let us dance!"

Even if Sans could say no to those eyes, he figures he's probably not getting much of a choice in the matter anyway so he lets her drag him out of his seat and onto the not-exactly-dancefloor where Bun's already busting some moves by the jukebox, his ears flopping wildly back and forth. Sans isn't exactly a dancer at the best of times, and now he's just a total disaster, tripping over the floor and Toriel's feet, but she barely seems to notice or care, her eyes and cheeks glowing with joy as she moves their linked hands up and down while singing that she just met him, and this is crazy, but – she goes to twirl herself under their arms, temporarily forgetting their height disparity, and misses, stumbling forwards and landing with her full weight right on Sans' foot.

He lets out an involuntary yelp of pain and Toriel gasps, pressing one hand to her mouth as she abruptly skids to a halt.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me see..."

She kneels down and lifts Sans' tibia before he can reassure her that he's fine, her brow furrowing in concern as she squeezes his foot gently as though checking for broken bones – just as Bun, happily oblivious to it all, spins around and bumps into Sans, knocking him off-balance so he falls forward and straight into Toriel, sending them tumbling to the floor. Toriel lands flat on her back, Sans sprawled messily half on top of her, and he's not sure who starts to laugh first but soon neither of them can stop, clutching each other and giggling hysterically until Sans' ribs ache, there are tears rolling down his cheekbones and it must be pretty bad because even Bun stops dancing to look down at them with concern.

"Uhhh...you guys okay, or what?"

"Oh...oh my, yes, sorry, excuse me," Toriel splutters, the last of her laughter eventually petering out. “I think – I think, Sans, that perhaps it is time for us to go home.”

"Uh-huh." Home sounds good; the only flaw in that plan is that Toriel is really soft and warm and Sans doesn't really feel like being separated from her right now. "Tori, Tori, Toriiii," he whines, trying for the sympathy vote as he nuzzles his face as far into her neck as he can in an attempt to bury himself in her fluffy fur, "my foot still hurts, I don't think I can walk. You gotta carry me home, 'kay?"

Toriel snorts, goodwill evidently evaporating as she sits up, pushing Sans off of her before hauling them both upright and dusting herself down. “Do not be a baby bones. You will be fine – I am quite sure I would have felt if anything was broken."

That's what he gets for dating a teacher, Sans figures as Grillby leans over the bar and enquires whether he should call Papyrus to pick them up.

"No – no, Grillbz, don't do that. We're good to walk, right?" He glances up at Toriel for confirmation, who nods emphatically. "Yup, all good here. Same time tomorrow, guys, yeah?"

The regulars mumble their goodbyes with varying degrees of enthusiasm, leaving them to stagger out into the cold night air onto the luckily-not-that-long path home.

“Probably should've mentioned,” Sans says as they approach the door, “I, uh – don't really dance. Too much energy.”

Toriel laughs softly, shushing him not to wake Frisk up as she lets them in. “Think nothing of it. You made an...admirable attempt.”

Sometimes, it worries Sans a little that this woman is tasked with ruling over monsterkind, even if mostly hypothetically these days.

But tonight – if it's her occasionally questionable judgement that leads them both back to her bed – he supposes he can't exactly complain.

From the moment the music started up as Alphys shuffled awkwardly down the aisle as though scared of tripping over her dress, Mettaton on her arm and her eyes darting nervously all around the room before they landed on Undyne and instantly lit up, her mouth curling up into the hugest, goofiest, most genuine grin like there was no one else in the room but her soon-to-be wife waiting in her tux at the altar, today was always going to be emotional. Toriel's eyes were already starting to mist over before they'd taken their seats, and by the time they got to the vows she was almost as much of an emotional wreck as Papyrus, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he took his place as best skeleton besides Undyne. The tears of pride glistening in his sockets started flowing freely down his cheekbones when Undyne impatiently burst out that yes, obviously she took this giant dork to be her lawfully wedded wife, before taking Alphys in her arms and dipping her into a kiss so passionate Toriel probably would have covered Frisk's eyes if they hadn't been up there with them, clutching a blue and yellow bouquet and grinning from ear to ear.

"It is terribly cliché of me, I know," she says later at the reception, dabbing delicately at her eyes with a tissue. "It is just...such a wonderful day to be a part of, to witness the love between these two young monsters. Just to imagine the lifetime they will share together..." She sniffles, before flashing Sans a watery, self-deprecating smile. "Oh, do not mind me. I am just a silly old goat."

"I don't mind. I got a thing for silly old goats." Sans winks at her and Toriel snorts, bumping her foot affectionately against his as they fall into a contented, companionable silence. It is pretty great, he has to admit, looking around the room at everyone; Undyne's idea of dancing is basically tossing Alphys around like a pancake, and she couldn't look happier about it, shrieking with delight as Undyne whirls her around with her arms wrapped around her neck like she's never letting go. On the other side of the room, Asgore looks like he's deep in conversation with that creepy-cute spider girl from the bakery, while Mettaton is leading Frisk, Papyrus and a whole crowd of others in a series of increasingly elaborate poses, until Frisk catches Sans' socket and takes the opportunity to turn and point dramatically at them.

"Sans! Mom! Come over here and dance with us!"

"It seems we have been summoned," Toriel says, smiling fondly as she waves back at them before offering her hand to Sans instead, an anticipatory twinkle in her eye as she nods towards the dancefloor. “Shall we?”

He grins back at her, throwing in a defeated shrug mostly for show before accepting Toriel's hand, linking their fingers together as it closes around his with a warm, reassuring squeeze. “I guess we shall. If you can't beat 'em...”

Just as they make their way over to join Frisk and the others, the song changes; something Sans doesn't recognise, slow, yearning guitar chords rolling in and making them both hesitate for a moment, smiling awkwardly at each other like teenagers at a high school dance.

“You, uh...remember how it usually works out when I dance, right?”

"I do, and I shall take my chances." Toriel lets out a soft chuckle, warm and soothing as her touch as she manoeuvres them gently into position, moving Sans' hand up to her waist while hers settles on his hipbone. "Do not fret, I believe we will be fine. Just...go with what you feel is right, yes?”

From anyone else, it'd probably be pretty useless advice – but Toriel's not everyone else, and from the moment they start to move together, slowly at first, back and forth with the music, it doesn't feel the same as all those other times, either. It's almost like the song is moving them, falling into a natural rhythm as the song builds around them to something stronger, sweeter, more uplifting and Toriel smiles back at him encouragingly, like she's proud of Sans for not screwing up or stepping on her toes yet. The DJ's actually pretty good, he thinks idly – he's Mettaton's cousin or something, but he can't help that. Sans is definitely going to find some way of convincing Grillby to play, though, when it's his –

...wait, what?

Maybe that really is when it hits him – the most cliché of moments, gazing up into Toriel's huge, beautiful eyes, shining as they catch the light and soft with the kind of love that's still almost too much for Sans to handle, that he still can't really believe he has, or deserves for that matter, with the singer crooning about their true colours shining through, and that's why I love you...and yeah, of course he does because it's Toriel and she's the best thing that's ever happened to him in any timeline, how much of a bonehead would he be if he didn't want to be with her for the rest of his life, or as much of it as she was willing to put up with him? Because no one makes him laugh like she does, and no one makes him feel safe like she does, like even if he screws up, even if they stumble and fall and bring the whole place crashing down with them, everything's going to be okay as long as they're together, but – holy shit, he does, he wants this. He wants to marry her, and it's amazing and terrifying and probably totally insane and Sans feels like his soul's about to burst just from keeping it in, trying and failing to stop the huge, stupid grin stretching his skull like an idiot because Toriel is definitely onto him.

“What is funny?” she asks, arching a suspicious eyebrow and smiling too despite herself.

"You," Sans tells her automatically; Toriel lets out a little huff, equal parts indignation and amusement, but before she can reply he continues, more seriously: "Tori...you trust me, right?"

Toriel blinks, the question seemingly catching her a little off-guard. “Why, Sans, of course I do. For why would you ask such a thing?”

It's a little risky, he knows; they haven't really tried anything like this before, but then there's also never been a time where it felt so right, until now.

"I just...wanna try something."

Before Toriel can respond, Sans lets go of her and steps back, just for a moment; the magic flares up from his soul and into his hand as he reaches out again and Toriel bleats in surprise at the new sensation, the soft blue glow enveloping her. He hesitates for a split second, just long enough to meet her eyes and realise it's okay: she trusts him, even like this with her soul almost literally in the palm of his hand, her energy intertwining with his before he flicks his wrist – a simple but carefully timed movement, spinning them both in a circle and twirling Toriel around and away from him before bringing her back and dipping her low to the floor so Sans catches her neatly in his arms and his magic, their faces barely an inch apart.

"My goodness, Sans!" Toriel exclaims, wide-eyed and breathless as she gazes up at him before breaking into a huge, exhilarated grin, her eyes and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "And here you have been telling me you do not dance..."

"I don't." Sans can't keep from smirking as he gives Toriel a moment to catch her breath before lifting her again, right up off her feet and into the air so her dress billows spectacularly all around her as he twirls her one last time; it's not really in time with the song any more but he couldn't care less, catching hold of her hands in the air as the magic dissipates around them and he brings her back down to earth. It's Toriel who catches Sans this time , stumbling to an inelegant finish as he falls into her, their hands still interlinked and laughing a little already with sheer joy before he even drops the punchline: “But sometimes I still need to practice my pickup lines."

"You guys – you know you're not supposed to upstage the brides, right?" Frisk interrupts the moment, bounding over and shaking their head mock-disapprovingly as they somehow manage to wriggle right in between Toriel and Sans like a self-appointed chaperone. “Even if that did look super fun.” Predictably, they turn their biggest, most hopeful puppy-dog eyes on Sans. “Saaans...can I –“

"Absolutely not,” Toriel interrupts swiftly, planting her hands on her hips and fixing them both with her sternest 'don't even think about it' look. "You, my child, are to remain firmly grounded. I mean that in the sense that you are to stay on the ground," she clarifies, "not that you are not allowed to leave the house, of course."

"But Mom –"

"Sorry, kiddo - your mom knows best." Sans backs her up, reaching out to ruffle Frisk's hair with a sympathetic wink. "We don't want any broken bones here - yours or mine."

"Hey, little punk, c'mere –" Before Frisk can protest any further, Undyne pounces on them from behind, scooping them up and whirling them around so their legs go flailing through the air. “You didn't really think you needed puny skeleton magic for this, did you?!”

Frisk squeals with delight, Toriel clutches at Sans in alarm and Alphys giggles sheepishly as he catches her eye, glowing with happiness, and they grin at each other in what's obviously the universal “how did a couple of dorks like us end up with such ridiculously amazing girlfriends/wives” expression.

That one, Sans still hasn't figured out – but he'll get around to it some other time, because the next song's starting up and he's already being pulled into a mass dance-off, Toriel on one arm and Frisk on the other. It's one of Mettaton's old hits, but remixed into something more spookwave, with more of an edge to it but the same ecstatic euphoria, an incredible energy pumping through the air that feels like – as cliché as it also is – the souls of every monster and human in the room beating together as one.

Sans looks at Toriel, illuminated with laughter and love under the strobe lights as she twirls Frisk around under one arm before reaching out to do the same with him, and nothing has ever sounded better.

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #alphyne #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #sorry it's been a while #but have some drunken grillby's shenanigans and a wedding!!!#ngl the only way this could be cheesier is if it were actually a songfic lmao #stop austyn 2k17 #my fic

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