*present mic voice*

       it’s too early for this nonsense, & yet he knows she’s only doing this to get a rise out of him. mission accomplished. letting out a breath, the captured weapon loosens ever slightly against her frame. the tell-tale sign of him beginning to give in to her shenanigans. “are you done?” he starts, & without waiting for a response, he lets the weapon’s strength crumble & it’s left to gather in folds over her shoulders. a mirror to the way it usually dons him. 

      he laughs, hands clapping against his thighs as he takes his perch against the roof’s edge. “yeah, you could say that ---- just don’t let the big guy hear.” this? ---- running around with ms. joke? it was easy. light, comfortable even, and in a sense, it takes him back to his titan days. ---- a time he hadn’t even realized he really missed until moments such as these sprung up on him.  “trust me, the guy gives even the gargoyles here a fright. ------ HA” 

like a rash!

don't talk about your life like that

you make me laugh on the daily so bless

also i read your url as ur ariana sfsfdsf

@quirkjokes , why are you like this? 

         the bed dips. the sheets catching & pulling against his body as something climbs over him. at first, he had thought nothing about it. —- assumed it to be one of the strays he’s temporarily taken possession of —– until an elbow ( or is that a knee?)  threatens to do him in when it hits his thigh. there’s a cackle——– one he knows way too well ——  & a pair of hands clamping down over his legs as she works to steady herself in her ascent.  & even through the double layers of the canary-yellow sleeping bag, & military grey sheets he can feel the way she hooks her feet under his calves, anchoring herself, & then all hell breaks loose. 

       the bed rocks like it’s lost in the vices of a maelstrom. —– he can even hear the not so subtle creaks & moans of the bed’s frame. —- & he swears to whoever is listening, that if emi breaks his bed doing whatever the hell she’s doing, she’s buying him a new one. 

       it doesn’t stop, & he knows her well enough by now to know that it won’t stop until he gives in & looks. so, begrudgingly, he does just that. —– only to be greeted by teal tresses thrown over a shoulder, & a grin as large as the cheshire’s: ——- a true parallel to his sharkish one. she’s straddled over him, & it suddenly makes sense as to why she’d lock herself in like that, because, as he watches on, she just continues to grin & swing her arms back & forth in a way —- dance — he’s seen kirishima &  kaminari do what feels like millions of times now. 

       exasperated, his jaw locks at the sound of her voice, caught between the grinding gears his mind’s woefully trying to spur back into motion at the sight of —– this & the fact that he doesn’t even remember the night before. can’t recall the when & how he’d fallen into his bed. ( upside down, judging by the fact that the balls of his feet keep hitting the headboard as she continues to move. ) finally, a hand snakes it’s way out of its cotton-plush coffin to rack through the tangled mess of his hair. a breath —- a sigh —– a contemplative hum passing over his lips before —– he strikes. 

       his leg ( both, thanks to the clutches of his sleeping bag ) hooks into hers, uprooting her anchor-point & snagging her all in one. a hand, the one previously freed, takes a heaping hold of the front of her shirt —- where it promptly slides up to her shoulder for better purchase. ( because the last thing he’d want was to accidentally send her toppling into the ground at the foot of his bed. he had neighbors after all. )  —– & drags her down into the mattress at his side.