Varuna's reposts

The other thing is, I'd respect Robby's anger towards Langdon a lot more if it wasn't so obvious that he is mostly offended on his own behalf. If it was really about the patients, why didn't he report him? He's mad because he took Langdon's addiction as a personal betrayal to him, and he's mad because seeing Langdon in his Healing and Making Amends era makes him feel even shittier about himself than he already did. Noah literally said this.

And it's not just the way he's treating Langdon. He has a pattern of being kind of a dick sometimes. And I understand that he is going through the worst days of his life, but so is every other character and Robby is the only one that seems truly stuck and unable to work through any of his issues without making them someone else's problem😭

atsumu miya x f!reader

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You check your phone for the fourth time in two minutes.

9:47 PM.

The screen stays stubbornly empty, no texts, no missed calls, nothing except the reflection of you staring back, all dressed up for a date that’s clearly not happening.

The restaurant reservation was for eight.

You’d even curled your hair.

The apartment is quiet in that loud, mocking way, the kind that makes every second drag. The low lamp casts a warm glow over the living room, over the shoes you chose carefully, the earrings Atsumu once said made you look “stupid pretty,” the dress you’d been saving for something special. You sit on the edge of the sofa now, spine stiff, hands folded in your lap like you’re waiting to be dismissed.

The key finally turns in the lock just after ten.

You don’t look up when the door opens.

Atsumu’s footsteps slow when he sees you. You can feel it, the hesitation, the way his energy shifts when he realizes something’s wrong.

“…Baby?”

His voice is tired, roughened by hours of practice, but there’s a lightness there too, like he expects you to laugh and tease him for being late.

You don’t.

“You’re late,” you say quietly.

He exhales, already rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, practice ran long. Coach was a pain in my ass today—”

“We had a date.”

That makes him pause.

You finally look at him then, and the words seem to land all at once. His jacket’s still on, gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair a mess from sweat and frustration. He looks good. He always does. That almost makes it worse.

“…Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot the time.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “You forgot me.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what happened.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and brittle. Atsumu drops his bag by the door a little harder than necessary.

“You coulda texted,” he says. “I woulda told you.”

“I did text you,” you snap, hurt finally cracking through. “Twice.”

He blinks, pulls his phone from his pocket, and frowns at the screen. For just a second, you see genuine guilt flash across his face.

“I didn’t feel it buzz.”

You stand up then, smoothing your dress out of habit even though your hands are shaking. “I waited for you, Atsumu. For hours. I got dressed, I got excited, I told myself ‘he’ll be here any minute,’ and I just” Your voice falters, and you hate that it does. “I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says immediately, stepping closer.

“Then why do you keep making me feel like I don’t matter?”

That stops him cold.

His mouth opens, then closes. When he speaks again, there’s an edge to his voice, defensive, wounded. “That ain’t fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You gesture weakly at yourself, at the room. “I’m always the one waiting. Always the one understanding. It’s always volleyball first, Atsumu. Always.”

“You know how important this is to me,” he fires back. “I’m playin’ professionally. This is my career.”

“I know,” you say, voice breaking. “I support you. I just wanted one night.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. “You think I like missin’ shit? You think I don’t work my ass off so we can have nice things, so you can have” He stops himself, then says it anyway. “I’m the one makin’ the money here.”

The words hang in the air, ugly and sharp.

Your chest tightens. “What?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen slightly, like he realizes too late how that sounded, but he doesn’t take it back. Pride flares instead. “I mean, I bust my ass every damn day. I buy you nice things, I pay for this place.”

You don’t let him finish.

You reach down, tug off your shoes, and fling them at him. One hits his shoulder; the other clatters uselessly to the floor. He yelps in surprise.

“If you want them back so bad,” you shout, tears finally spilling over, “take them! You bought them, right?”

Before he can react, you yank the earrings from your ears and throw those too. They bounce off his chest and land somewhere near the couch.

His face hardens.

“Real mature,” he snaps.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you laugh bitterly. “Should I give you everything else too?”

You turn, storming toward the bedroom, heart pounding. As you pass him, he grabs your wrist not hard, but firm enough to stop you.

“I also bought that dress you’re wearin’,” he says, voice low, cutting. “So what, you gonna take that off too?”

The words slice deeper than anything else tonight.

You wrench your hand free. “Screw you, Atsumu.”

You slam the bedroom door behind you, the sound echoing through the apartment. Your chest heaves as you pace the room, hands trembling as you finally break down, sinking onto the edge of the bed. You scrub at your face, furious at yourself for crying over something that shouldn’t hurt this much, but does.

A moment later, the door opens again.

“Atsumu, I said—”

He closes it gently behind him.

For a second, neither of you speak. The anger drains from his face, leaving something raw and exhausted underneath. He looks small, somehow, without his bravado.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly.

You cross your arms, staring at the wall. “You said it.”

“I know.” He swallows. “And I’m sorry.”

That alone makes you turn back to him.

He steps closer, slow, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. “I was pissed. And tired. And I hate that I made you feel like like you owe me or somethin’. You don’t.”

Your voice comes out shaky. “You made me feel like I was replaceable.”

His face crumples at that.

“Angel,” he murmurs, stopping just in front of you. “Never that. Not you.”

He reaches out, hesitates, then gently cups your cheek. His thumb brushes away a tear like it physically pains him to see it there.

“I fuck up,” he admits. “A lot. I get wrapped up in volleyball and my own head, and I say dumb shit when I’m cornered. But I never meant that. You’re not some thing I buy.”

You sniff. “Then why did you say it?”

“Cause I’m scared,” he says, honest and unguarded. “Scared I’m failin’ you. Scared I’m not doin’ enough. And instead of sayin’ that, I ran my mouth.”

You let out a shaky breath.

He leans his forehead against yours. “I shoulda texted. I shoulda remembered the date. I shoulda come home earlier. I’m sorry I hurt you, baby.”

The anger in your chest finally gives way, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. You sag forward, pressing your face into his shoulder, fingers curling into his jacket.

He wraps his arms around you immediately, holding you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers. “Not with money. With time. I promise.”

You nod against him, voice muffled. “I just want you here.”

“I am,” he says softly, kissing your hair. “I’m here.”

And for tonight, at least, that’s enough.

——————

LIKE OR LIKE LIKE?

╰┈➤ miya atsumu x f!reader

Chapter 2: club classics

✧.* tags/cw (for this chapter) ⟿ alcohol, there's an 'ew men' scene but it's very brief, mention of past abuse/domestic violence

⋆｡°✩ w/c ⟿ 5.1k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n ⟿ hi again <3 i did a lot of revising to this chapter from how i'd originally written it, and i really like the way it reads now, so i hope you enjoy it as well!! buckle up because the slow burn has only just begun! ty for reading and please let me know what you think!!! <3

series masterlist

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x reader

Summary: you and Frank — your long term best friend — had been sleeping with each other for a month and had sworn that you both wanted something casual and fun. But as time went on, it was surprising how uncasual things started to become with you two. 7 times the casual sex became less casual.

word count: 9,764

warning(s): friends with Benefits! This fic isn’t smut per say? It’s got very minimal smut but a lot of sexual language.

authors note: you can find this on ao3 as well here, but i think the Pitt fanfiction is really popular on tumblr so why not post it here too?

I don’t really use tumblr a lot but I’m a huge fanfic writer and i want to get my work out there!

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You and Frank — your long term best friend — had been sleeping with each other and had sworn that you both wanted something casual and fun. 

It all started one night when you had lost a patient — a two year old with a heart condition — and were feeling vulnerable. Frank was fresh out of rehab, going through a separation when he had appeared at your apartment after your shift, end of July. It was almost too easy, how quickly he got you into bed that night. 

You had chatted on your couch and caught up, you had comforted him on his upcoming return to the ED, and he had comforted you by reassuring you of your medical decisions. The second you leaned in for a hug you both slithered your bodies into each other further, kissing for the first time, and rocked by the electricity, one thing led to another and you had — for the lack of better wording — fucked your best friend. 

It had you wondering why you had never done that before…why you were even mad at him a year previous — when he had gotten caught with the drugs. While he was in rehab you couldn’t stop wondering how he sounded, and looked like….you had missed him, and that night was your surrendering. 

Soon after, you both had decided that you wanted to do that again, but not in any serious romantic way. 

You had sworn it was casual, you had no desire to fall in love anytime soon — you had a history of heartbreak you didn’t want to keep — and for the first few months things were by all accounts casual. 

But as time went on, it was surprising how uncasual things started to become with the two of you. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had with Langdon, but couldn’t help but notice when things felt, well…romantic…between the two of you. 

The first time you noticed, was when you got ready for work together one morning.

You and Frank had been nakedly intertwined in his bed, when his alarm went off, and due to it getting more dark in the morning in September, you were still unbearably tired. 

You groaned as you both woke up, 6:00am, you wrapped your arms tighter to him under his comforter, placing kisses along his neck. 

“Hmm, stop,” Frank groaned as he rolled over to face you. “gotta get up.” A reply which made his voice husky and sexy from the sleepiness. 

Before letting him go, you pulled him down as he hovered over you, and kissed him passionately with enough fever to make him want you again right then and there, until he pulled back and sighed saying,

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me one of these days.” His blue eyes locked to yours, and his smirk increased. 

“You’re such a morning person.” You groaned. “God I can just see how energized you are by looking at your stupid face.” 

Frank rolled his eyes.

“Can’t help it, some of us were just made for the grind. Now let me go.”

You went slack, letting him go, rolling over onto your back and closing your eyes, before your alarm on the other side of the room went off as well. Frank chuckled from his side of the room, facing the window as he dressed into his scrubs. 

You sat up, and watched him get dressed, you found him embarrassingly attractive in his black scrubs, and he knew it. But for some reason, as you watched him he didn’t tease you, instead looked at you softly.

“I know you hate mornings, but we gotta do it. So rise and shine sweetheart.” 

Frank walked closer to you, picking up your scrubs from the floor, starting with the shirt, he pulled it over you, then wordlessly, you stood up, holding onto his shoulders, you stepped into your scrub pants as he held them for you accessibly. 

Frank finally pecked you on the lips lightly, assumadely subconsciously, as you reached for your stethoscope and you realized, as he opened his bedroom bathroom door, that he had never done that before.

Frank spat into the sink, and almost as if you were the only one overthinking that little interaction, Frank emerged from the bathroom to say,

“I made you a key.”

“What?” You said, exiting Frank’s bedroom, having remembered your toothbrush was in the ED’s on-call room, instead deciding on putting your shoes on, and hoping you had misheard what he had just said.

“I said,” Frank paused, grabbing his messenger bag, and baseball cap. “I made you a key, seemed more convenient than waiting for me to get off shift when I run over, you always come to mine anyways since I live closer to the ED.” He shrugged. 

He reached into his bag, pulling out a gold key and dropping it into your hand, which you reluctantly held out.

Frank slipped his shoes on, and opened the front door, you stood wordlessly in the kitchen, thoughts looming behind your eyebrows, Frank turned around to face you.

“You coming or what?”

You nodded, and walked out the door behind him.

The second time you recognized it was when you had accidentally stabbed Frank.

You had been at a hospital gala in October downtown Pittsburg in some auditorium, when you had turned to Frank during the dinner portion of the night, and whispered something filthy in his ear, you had not known whether what you said was really that hot or whether it was the singular glass of champagne you had making you believe it was, nonetheless Frank turned to Robby and Dana and excused the both of you. Frank was tense the entire drive home, clearly excruciatingly turned on, and he subconsciously sped your car through the lanes to your apartment, glad that Abby had the kids that week.

There in your apartment he kissed you hungrily, as you dropped both your bags and his foot kicked the door closed, you didn’t bother turning on the lights. You slipped your shoes off just as Frank did, very hesitantly removing your lips from each other, before starting again, this time making out as you slipped each other out of your clothes, it was perfectly orchestrated every time you did that. 

He knew all your most sensitive spots, where he could kiss you to get you to unravel, and you knew his, and were excited every time you touched him in a way that made him react just as you had expected him to.

When you had reached down to palm his crotch, he groaned into your open mouth, before his lips clamped back down on yours, and you laughed into the kiss as he grabbed your hips and backed you against your kitchen counter. Your hand snaked its way to the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair, Frank whined and he placed his hands back on your hips, running them up and down, something you had told him drove you crazy one day when he had insecurely told you he didn’t know whether he satisfied you enough.

“What are you doing whispering those things to me around Robby and Dana?” Frank asked, as he moved his mouth to your neck, sucking as he trailed up to that spot behind your ear. “Do you get off on that, huh?”

You whined as he pressed you closer to the counter, his right hand trailing down your front before reaching your crotch. 

“I like being your secret.” You whispered. “Although, I will say, they’ve all probably caught on that we’re–”

He kissed you to shut you up, and you smiled at the embarrassment you knew he was feeling. 

You wanted to take dominance, so you turned him around and slammed him against the counter, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and listening to him moan when you pulled back to kiss his neck. You kissed him again, pushing him gently toward the bedroom and as you did you reached for the light, and instead your hand knocked something over in the dark, and with a crash you heard and felt something fall in between you and Frank, you disregarded it, assuming it was your wooden spoons, but Frank pulled back swearing in pain.

“Sorry, is this okay? Did I hurt you?”

“Well I’m pretty sure what you knocked over was a knife.”

“No its fine, its probably just–”

Frank turned on the light switch with his left hand.

“Well, I’m pretty sure this is a knife.” He said, lifting his foot.

Frank had — not only a massive boner — but your large paring knife stabbed through his raised foot. You immediately stepped back, knowing that you couldn’t remove the knife until you got to the hospital, and that you were in fact the most careless sexual partner in the world. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” 

Frank sighed, “This means we have to go to the hospital.” 

You immediately grabbed his arm, draping it around your shoulder.

“I know,” You replied, he limped toward his clothes, now much more wrinkled than before. 

“Where all our coworkers are.” 

“I know, Frank, we won’t tell them anything okay?”

You helped him put them on, and threw yours on as fast as you could before limping down to the parking lot and shoving him in your car.

When you got to the ED, you and Frank embarrassingly walked through the ambulance doors, in wrinkled clothes — the ones you were wearing to the gala — and spotted McKay. Dana and Robby fortunately for you, were off shift probably still at the gala. McKay gasped when she saw you.

“Holy moly, did this happen at the gala?” She asked.

You and Frank shook your heads at the exact same time, your cheeks both pinking up in fluster.

“That would’ve been a much less embarrassing explanation.” Frank grumbled.

McKay led you both to a room, and you helped Frank on the bed. You turned to put some gloves on, reaching for the box that hung on the wall. McKay stopped you.

“I got it, just stay with him while I get a suture kit.” McKay turned to Frank. “And you. You know the deal, no opioids, just tylenol okay, I’ll go grab you some. You both are going to explain what happened when I get back.”

Frank gave her a weak thumbs up. 

McKay stepped outside of the curtain heading toward what you assumed was the medical supplies closet. You stood beside Frank. Once McKay was out of earshot, you turned to him and he smiled at you sheepishly.

“God, everyone acts like I’m on the verge of a relapse.”

“You know she was just following your directive order, McKay understands as much as anyone that people change.” You gave him a serious look, your heart making you feel a strange way when he fake pouted at you, before he tilted his head up and down in agreement, his hair falling on his forehead.

“I know, I’m just being an ass.” He whispered. “We should’ve turned the lights on.”

“To be fair, we were kind of preoccupied.”

Frank laughed, and you instinctively reached down and grabbed his hand. You held it firmly. You had held Frank’s hand during sex before, fingers intertwined while he pinned you down to the bed, but you had never outside of that context. It felt nice to be in public and hold him, even if it was just holding his hand. 

“I’m so sorry Frank, I understand if this puts you off, we don’t have to sleep together anymore, that was totally my fault I was careless, and I don’t want to put you in danger ever and—”

“Okay, stop,” Frank interrupted. He pulled your hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “First of all there is no one I’d rather be sleeping with, you’re my best friend. Secondly, it wasn’t your fault, it was like, a cruel act of fate, it was the universe or something.” He shrugged.

You reached over with your free hand, softly running your hands over his hair. 

“You’re my best friend too, you know that.” And when you said it, it felt like an ‘I love you’. Like you were laying your soul out on a platter. 

You frowned at yourself, looked down at Frank’s foot and out of fear of the feeling you felt in your chest when you looked back up at him — him looking at you like he was in love with you, and your gratefulness that the knife only landed in his foot, not somewhere vital, your gratefulness in not losing him again — you dropped his hand quickly. He frowned.

“Everything okay?”

“Yea, yea…I’m just gonna go check on McKay, will you be okay if I leave you for a second?”

“Yea,” His eyes looked at your bottom lip, then scanned your face. “Yea, go, I’ll be okay.”

You rotated on your feet and walked around the curtain, toward McKay who was at the hub charting, with the suture kit ready. She placed her chart down, rested her arms on the counter in front of her, and looked at you in the way someone might if they were about to interrogate you. Like a mother who just knew you had told her a lie to actually get high with your best friend.

“Come on, spill the beans.”

You sighed. “You cannot tell anyone. And you can’t laugh.”

“Come on, I’ll be so chill.”

“Oh my god, just– promise okay, promise you won’t laugh.”

“Fine, I promise”

Before you spoke, you looked around to make sure you and McKay wouldn't be heard by others, and you spoke with a soft tone.

“We were making out in the kitchen, in the dark about to have sex, when I knocked the knife on my kitchen counter over by mistake, and then…well, now it’s in Dr. Langdon’s foot.”

You could tell she was trying not to laugh. She took a breath and made her expression serious.

“Wow okay…Dr. Langdon and you? Huh, everything makes a lot of sense now.”

“What?”

“Oh come on, you guys are attached by the hip, more than regular best friends should be. Even Abott was noticing how often you leave work together.”

“Unbelivable.” You muttered.

“So is it just casual sex or–”

“Oh my god!” You whined, like an embarrassed teenager.

“God, you sound just like my son, okay I’ll stop.” She chuckled.

You gave her the biggest eye roll of the century.

She turned to you, “You do know I’m gonna have to tell his ex-wife right?”

“Really? Oh my god.”

“About the injury I mean. Just the injury.” She clarified, clearly loving how mortified you already looked, god she was so good at embarrassing people, probably had a lot of practice with her son. 

You blushed in embarrassment. 

“Right, yea, Tanner will want to know too.”

“Alright, let's give Dr. Langdon some tylenol.”

You grabbed Frank’s chart off the hub, and followed McKay back to Frank’s room.

The third time you noticed, was when you helped him shave. 

When you walked out the ED you heard a swarm of laughter from the hub behind you as you walked into the night. It had been a while since you heard that kind of laughter on shift…Frank had broken his arm when he had slipped on ice one day in November and had been out for a few weeks, he was the one always cracking sarcastic jokes. 

Frank had gotten off shift before you that day and you watched him walk through the ambulance door, and his feet slipped from under him comedically, and he fell on his right arm. There was a lot of laughter then too, especially from Robby, who was the one to patch him up and order him some paid rest at home. 

That’s where you were headed now.

When you got up to Frank’s sad divorce studio apartment, where you had been many times before, you pulled out your spare key, actually enjoying it as you unlocked his door. You had used it many times since he gave it to you, mostly because you wanted to fuck him, and one time because your upstairs neighbors were having a rager and you couldn’t sleep — you took a liking to Frank’s couch that night, while Tanner stayed in the guest bedroom. This time Abby had taken Tanner for the last week before Frank got his cast off to let him rest. When you entered, you had noticed first and foremost, that Frank was sprawled in his bed, his door open, wincing in pain, and that Frank’s facial hair had been coming in thick and you found that attractive as hell. You decided to help him relieve some of his pain with tylenol and with a blowjob, and when you finished Frank had begged you to help him shave his face.

“Why? It looks so good?” You asked, holding his face in one of your hands.

“I like to be clean shaven. Plus it's so hard to take care of.” 

You pouted at him for a minute, ironic that you had just sucked him off and now you were being tasked with shaving his face.

“Please,” He begged, pouting back at you. “You know I’m right handed, I’d do it if I could…but it’s fine, I’ll figure it out with my left hand—” He went to get up, when you shrugged.

“Hey, no no, I’ll do it. I want to take care of you, even in nonsexual ways.”

You grabbed his hand and both got off of his bed, him in his boxers only, you still in your scrubs. You instructed him to sit on his bathroom counter, and he did begrudgingly. You grabbed his clippers, razor, and then shaving cream from his medicine cabinet. 

“No painkillers in there this time around.” You said absently. “I’m really proud of you for getting clean, I’m sorry I never say it.”

A year previous, Frank had promised you he was clean, and you tore his bathroom apart, finding painkillers not only in his medicine cabinet, but also under his sink. This was a day before you also found out he had been stealing drugs from work. 

At the time you felt like you didn’t know him at all, like you had lost a best friend, but now you trusted him fully. You felt the change in him the moment you saw him for the first time again, and you began to trust him even more as the days went on. You just were scared of losing him to a feeling that was beginning to bloom in your chest, a feeling you were too scared to address just yet.

“Hey,” He looked at you seriously. “Don’t nic me.”

“I won’t.”

He gave you a skeptical look, you glared at him.

“Do you trust me?” You asked. 

“Yes.”

“Then let me help you.”

First you started with the electric clippers, shaving sections of his beard in lines. Then when that was done, you switched to a standard razor, shaving what was left. Silence fell over you for a second and it felt intimate, the clippers part was easy, it was fast, what felt intimate at that moment with the razor in hand, was how close your face was to his. It felt strange, not bad, just strange. You had your face close to Frank’s while you fucked, while you kissed, even while you were just friends without the benefits. But now with the added details and emotions it felt like Frank could see right through you, like he could tell what you were thinking.

The scraping of the razor against his facial hair interrupted your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry. I really thought I had the pills–my addiction under control, and I didn’t know how much it would impact you when you found out. You were the most important person to me…still are. I never should’ve made you feel unsafe.”

“That’s honest, and sincere.” You said, a little surprised, but grateful.

“That’s what they sort of teach you to be in rehab.”

“Well, I forgive you, I’m just glad you’re back with me now.” You went along the other side of his face now, pausing to shake the hair off the razor. 

And that was all that needed to be said really, you were tired of missing him, and arguing, this time…you didn’t have to do any of that, you could just be there with your best friend. You could also fuck him, and experience a new level of intimacy you hadn’t with him before, and you were grateful for that too in a weird way.

When you finished shaving his upper lip, you smiled, and he turned around to look at his face in the mirror, then back at you before jumping off the counter to stand in front of you. He reached over with his left hand, applying aftershave to himself somewhat sloppily.

“You did a much better job than I do, even when my arm isn’t broken.” He smiled. “Why don’t we take care of each other this way more often?”

You shrugged.

“Maybe because it feels less good than sex?”

Frank shook his head.

“Feel this, it feels pretty good.”

He turned to you, and booped your nose before leaning his face close to yours, and rubbing his soft freshly shaven cheek against your face. You burst out laughing as he did, and realized the romance in it, as he kissed you, making you smell like aftershave. It was childish, not sexual, it was playful, not foreplay. There was something in that that reminded you Frank was perfect for you, in more than one way. He was right, it did feel good.

“I hope you break your left arm next time, so I don’t have to smell like aftershave ever again.” You replied, pushing the thought away.

He smirked, pulling you by hand into the bedroom.

“Now, let me eat you out as a thank you.”

Now, you couldn’t argue with that.

The fourth time it became less casual, Frank was the one who had noticed something about you. He had noticed how great with Tanner you were.

One day nearing the start of December, while he was running late from picking up Tanner from Abby’s — he had been swamped with traumas, and was catching up on charting — he had turned to you for help. He was surprised by how willing you were to help him out.

“Listen,” He had said, sitting at the hub charting, “I promise I would never put this on you…you’re not my partner or anything–”

You gave him a look that was interpreted as, ‘get to the point’. He fought back nervous laughter, unsure as to whether you could tell his coolness and casualness he swore he had for your situation was literally being hung by a thread. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Tanner is a really punctual kid, he gets upset if I’m even a minute late, and I promised him we’d put up the Christmas decorations tonight, but I have so much charting to finish up on and–”

“Hey, I got it, I’ll pick him up, just send me Abby’s address.”

“Thank you so much, I texted Abby letting her know, I promise I’m almost done.” 

“Just one thing,” You stood awkwardly in front of him. “What if Tanner asks how I know you?”

Frank paused. What he wanted to say was that you were his partner, but that wasn’t entirely true.

“Just tell him you’re my best friend.”

You nodded.

“Sure, I forgot we’re also best friends, not just fuck buddies huh.”

You grabbed your car keys and hurried out the ambulance doors, he felt a ping of relief. 

Frank would never admit this to anyone, but you were the only person he would willingly ask for help from. When Robby had caught him with the drugs, a day after you had found his stash in his apartment, he knew that he could go to you for advice and to console him. He was glad he didn’t at the time, he didn’t want to put that responsibility on you, and now it was nice to have your help for things like picking up Tanner. And yes, sometimes sex. 

When it all started, he really did want everything to be casual between you two. He went to your apartment to look for comfort from his best friend, but couldn’t help but give in to you. You had been as perfect as you were before he went to rehab, and you were the reason he fought so hard to get sober. He wasn’t ready to get his heart broken again the way he did with Abby, he was so scared to lose Tanner too, scared Abby would fight for full custody, he couldn’t lose the most important kid in his life, and his best friend too, so of course he agreed to the casual relationship. But God things were becoming less casual as the days went on. 

He also wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but sometimes…okay most times, the part he liked the most about having sex with you, was that he got to hold you afterwards, that he got to kiss you like he loved you. He really did think you were beautiful too, he liked the fact that he knew every inch of your body, and what made you feel good. He liked the way you looked in his shirts, and your effortlessness in saying intelligent things.

And he couldn’t help but think about you during shifts, not always in a sexual way, and would watch you as you bit your lip in concentration and admired how carefully you carried yourself…how much you advocated for your patients and how everyone in the ED seemed to gravitate toward you. You had been Dana’s favorite that week, he knew because he had seen you share a cupcake on break.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, and took to the charting, hoping Tanner was okay.

When Frank finished his charting he hurried back home, praying to God that Tanner hadn’t thrown a tantrum, he didn’t want to throw the role of a parent onto you just yet. When he hurried up the stairs, into his hallway, and unlocked his apartment door, he saw you and Tanner on the floor. You were sitting with him, in front of a big decorated Christmas tree in front of his apartment window, you had managed to untangle the lights in the bins he got from Abby — she had gotten the other half of the ornaments in the divorce — and had opened the rest of the decorations. You also managed to navigate the kids channel on his TV, putting on his favorite show.

“It’s almost done! Good job buddy.” You said, raising your hand in a high five toward Tanner. 

Tanner immediately high fived back, “Can we–uh can we put more on this side?” Tanner asked, and just as he did, you looked up at Frank, noticing him now. 

“Hey, look, your dad’s home!” You said, in a childlike voice, he had never heard you speak that way before.

Tanner got up and turned around running into his arms. Frank picked him up and closed the door with his foot, dropping his bag and walking toward you.

“Hey kiddo, looks like you started without me.” He said, ruffling Tanner’s hair.

Frank looked down at you, he watched you mouth a ‘sorry’, he shook his head.

“I like your friend.” Tanner replied, and Frank and you both laughed.

Frank put him down and let him explore the rest of the ornaments that needed to be put up. You looked up at Frank as he took his jacket off and threw it on the couch.

“Sorry we started without you, I guess Tanner and I share a love for Christmas.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, keeping an eye on Tanner, who now navigated toward the couch. Tanner crawled onto the couch, and under Frank’s jacket laying down and yawning. Frank could tell he was close to falling asleep, and was sad to have missed it. 

“Yea, I forgot about your weird obsession with Christmas.”

“Hey, you have a weird obsession with Halloween.”

“Not the same,” He said, pausing to look over at Tanner who was now asleep. “I’m sad I wasn’t able to help him decorate.”

Suddenly you grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the floor next to you. Frank resisted the urge to wrap his arms around your waist and bring you onto his lap. You had never really discussed what was too uncasual between you, but that was surely something that qualified, and he didn’t care, he wanted you, now more than ever. Your kindness to Tanner and your reliability made him want you always.

“Hey, the other half still needs decorating. He’s not going anywhere.”  

He had needed to hear that, his son wasn’t going anywhere, and he was glad you were the one to have said it.

You took Langdon's hand and pulled him further down to the floor, toward the Christmas tree.

“What are we doing?” Frank asked.

“Just wait.”

You had instructed him to lay down and put his head under the Christmas tree with you, from below he could see all the lights and assorted ornaments in a different way. He turned to look at your face as you both laid there, he knew just from looking at you that you found such joy in seeing the lights this way. The size of the tree was huge, but still small enough that it forced you both to be close together, and this wasn’t unusual for him to be that close to you, maybe in this context it was though, he felt a romance in it. He didn’t flinch or move as you placed your head on his chest, in fear that the moment would be gone forever. He wanted to see joy on your face all the time, to be the reason you had joy on your face all the time, and he knew then that what he felt was much more than lust, much more than friendship, and that it was real. And he was so incredibly fucked.

“I never got this Christmas spirit you have.” He admitted. “But when I look at you and see that joy on your face, I guess I kinda do.”

You turned your head off of his chest to look back at him and there was something in the way you looked at him that made Frank wonder whether you felt it too.

The fifth time you noticed, was when you had yelled at a patient.

You could feel yourself stretching thin throughout your shift, it was 7:00pm in December and the end of your shift was in a couple hours, but at the rate you were going you’d be surprised to get out of the ED by 9:00pm.

You sat down at the hub across from Robby — your back to the ambulance bay doors — with a sigh and started typing in your charts, your feet and back were killing you and you had a headache. The chatter around the ED that day was higher than most days, and you had just finished up with 4 patients, one who needed intubation, the other who was coding for an hour before Robby called it, and the other two were basic wounds that needed sutures.

You swore if you had to do another set of sutures on wounds caused by skating or ice hockey accidents you were going to throw a fit. It didn’t help that the harsh lighting of the ER was making your head pound. 

It also didn’t help that you hadn’t seen Frank in 10 days outside of work — the longest you’ve gone without having sex with him, and also the longest you’ve gone without hanging out with him as friends — other than when he was forced to go to rehab.

What a lot of people in the ED knew — despite you insisting they didn’t — was that you and Frank were always big texters. 

Before Frank went to rehab, if you left your shift at different times one of you would get home and immediately send a text about something that you had discussed at work or about something that reminded you of him or him of you. If you left work together — and were too tired to hang out at one of your apartments — he’d walk you to your car then say, “I’ll text you later about that thing I was talking about”, and he always did. Or you would walk him to his car and say, “I’ll send you that link to the article I told you about”,  for you, an excuse to have something to text about. The conversations would last for hours, you felt like you never ran out of anything to text about, and you liked that his banter sounded good in text too. 

When Frank went to rehab you were so lonely you started sending stuff to Robby — who told you he was too old to figure out what you were talking about — then when Frank came back, and your sexual arrangement started up, the texting and hanging out started up again too. 

You knew you were fucked when you found yourself smiling at your phone, while reading a text from Frank…and when you saw him smiling at his phone one day during shift you had hoped it was a funny meme or a picture of his kids from Abby and not a text from someone else.

But for one reason or another you hadn’t texted or even seen each other outside the ED in 10 days at that moment and it was killing you. 

To be fair you were the one who stopped texting first, to test him, you started to feel like sex wasn’t the only thing you wanted, and you didn’t want to ruin your friendship if you said anything, but you also wanted to know whose court the ball was in and you were pretty sure it was his. 

You hoped you came off as cool and casual, that you didn’t care it was his turn to initiate and he hadn’t yet, and you knew if he texted you, then you’d be in his bed in a second. But you also knew that you did care. You knew you were going to have to return the key he gave you, to set some distance further.

You looked up from your charting for a second to think, and caught Robby looking at you over his glasses. 

“You good, kid?”

“Headache.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment. 

“Yea,” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “those never go away, not while you’re here at least. But ask Dana for Advil and she’ll grab you some.”

Dana — who was across the room from you checking on room 15 — heard you,

“Advil? You got it kid, after I finish this up.” 

You and Robby chuckled.

“She’s got hearing like a hawk.” You laughed.

Robby shook his head and looked back at his computer, you gave Dana a thumbs up before looking back down at your own computer charting. You rubbed at your lip with your fingers in concentration, and you adjusted your seat to help your back. 

You pulled out your phone, you put your phone away when you saw nothing from Frank. You pretended to not care, putting on your mask of coolness again. You were in a casual relationship, it wasn’t fair to expect him to see you all the time. 

“You seen Dr. Langdon?” You asked.

Robby shrugged.

“I’m surprised you don’t know, you guys are attached by the hip these days.”

You shrugged and looked back at your work. Just as you did you heard the swish of the ED ambulance bay doors open for the first time in an hour, and sighed letting Robby take his eyes off his computer to look behind you, toward the doors as he saw the plea of desperation on your face. You sighed, making the motion to swivel in your chair, but Robby waved a dismissive hand at you.

“Mel’s on it.” He said, his eyes looking behind you.

You nodded, staying focused on the task in front of you.

After about 20 minutes Robby got up and retreated to the support room, where a family he had been helping was. Mohan tapped you on the shoulder. You swiveled your chair to face her.

“Please tell me someone is dying, I am in so much pain right now, I mean fine, I’ll get up either way, but definitely if its less urgent than a code please for the love of god–”

“Jesus, you’re not usually in this bad of a mood,” She squinted her eyes at you, her arms folded across her chest. “Does this have something to do with Langdon?”

You were surprised by her bluntness, you faked a surprised expression.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because he’s your best friend, and I haven’t seen you and Langdon arrive to work or leave work together in days, you guys are usually attached by the hip.”

Fuck. Your avoidance was being noticed. You had thought being formal, and pulling yourself back wouldn’t send any signals to anyone…even Frank. You had wanted to pretend like you were cool with the casualness.

You shook your head, grounding yourself, putting on your mask of coolness again.

“No, I guess we’ve just both been busy,” You shrugged. “Anyways, what can I help you with?” You asked, reaching for the box of gloves resting in the hub.

“Mel is crying in the breakroom because the patient that just came in yelled at her.” Mohan spoke quickly.

You immediately jumped to your feet.

“Why?” You demanded, not reaching for the gloves, your first priority was Mel.

“I think Mel ordered a drug test to consider all possibilities, and she was trying to be upfront with the patient about it, and the guy just started shouting at her telling her she was unqualified and I’m pretty sure I overheard the patient say something about Mel being a woman and how that makes her less intelligent?”

“Room?”

“22—where are you going?” Mohan asked, as you walked away.

You had bonded very quickly with Mel, even meeting her sister, who you knew she loved to death. You had admittedly, also told her about your arrangement with Frank, and she followed up with a few questions that you answered about your feelings toward Frank that she wasn’t entirely satisfied with…telling you she thought you weren’t being as chill as you thought you were. Mel promised to keep it all a secret nonetheless. 

You also knew Mel was important to Frank, and Frank was important to Mel so you felt an obligation yourself to get to know her. She was as awesome as she seemed. Mel was a very qualified doctor, and you weren’t going to let a patient tell her otherwise, and you weren’t going to let someone make her cry without repercussions.

You pulled the curtain open aggressively, looking at the patients chart to make sure that Mel was the last person to see them. You didn’t want to be yelling at random patients. When her name appeared, you clipped the chart back to the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing yelling at a perfectly qualified doctor, who was simply trying to help you?” You asked, starting with a reasonable tone of voice.

“She wanted to do a drug test, I told her I don’t do no fucking drugs! Women these days can’t understand anything!” 

You scoffed and simply had enough, you felt your headache getting stronger.

“Dr. King is a perfectly qualified doctor, she is the most intelligent and kind person I know, and she didn’t go through medical school to deal with patients like you.”

“I see you’re not any more qualified are you?” 

That made your blood boil. If you were Mel you would have also ordered a drug test, there was some evidence to suggest drug usage could lead to brain hemorrhage, you also knew a drug test would explain heart rate and could explain withdrawal symptoms. 

“If you are unsatisfied with your care, you can always leave against medical advice.” You felt your voice raising. “But I would highly recommend against it!”

“Well–”

“And another thing!” You shouted. “The most qualified doctors I know in this hospital are women. You think you know more than the doctors here who have years of training in medical school, and labs, and numerous medical lectures and conferences, don’t even get me started on clinical rotations!” 

At this point your hands were in the air, and the entire ED felt as if it quieted down. You heard footsteps and scurrying behind you, but ignored it as you took a deep breath to start again. 

“AlSO! Dr. King ordered a drug test because you are exhibiting symptoms of someone who has just taken a shit ton of drugs, we aren’t stupid, so it's probably in your best interest to stop lying, and let the professionals–”

Before you could finish you felt arms around your torso, and you yelped, Frank had thrown you over his shoulder. You couldn’t believe his fucking audacity, he hadn’t texted you or seen you in 10 days, and now he’s doing damage control for you? No fucking way. You thrashed, protesting his grip, trying to slither down from his shoulder without avail.

“Stop! Christ, y/n.” His voice came out serious, but a laugh escaped underneath, his hands keeping hold of your waist as he walked you both to the breakroom that was now empty. 

He put you down, the door still open.

“What were you thinking?” He shouted, the door still open, god this is so humiliating , you cringed. “You can’t be yelling at patients like that!” 

Frank closed the door with his foot, with a slam the noise of the ED was muted. Then Frank pulled some Advil from his pocket.

“Dana.” Frank said before you could ask how he knew. “What is your problem?” He asked.

You took the Advil and went to the sink to fill a mug with water, then quickly took the pills, feeling the anger fill your chest.

“I was thinking that Mel didn’t deserve to be treated like that, and I reacted inappropriately.” You admitted. “She okay?”

Frank stepped toward you as you leaned your back on the sink facing him, placing your mug down.

“Yea, she’s fine now, she saw you screaming at the guy, and told Robby about it.”

“Oh god.” You groaned, squinting in embarrassment. “What did he say?” 

“Well thanks to you, he yelled at me to go deal with you.” 

“He told you to ‘deal’ with me?” You scoffed. “Oh and by the way, you did not need to pick me up like that!”

“Oh come on! I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have moved from that fight even if I asked nicely. I also know you well enough to know that something else is bothering you, not just that patient! You tell me everything, why not this?” 

“Because you haven’t talked to me outside of work in days! Not even a single text, I thought you were my best friend,” You poured your mug out, you felt like that wasn’t the only thing you were pouring out. “That’s why. It's just back pain and a headache Langdon, that’s it.”

You could physically see the blow calling Frank by his last name had inflicted, but you hated when he was right about you, about everything.

“I’m sorry I should’ve asked.”

“I didn’t know Frank Langdon was capable of asking about things nicely.” Your tone harsh.

“Why are we fighting?” He asked, no yelling, just sincerity.

“Because Frank, I miss you and,” You took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you anymore about the drug thing. I promise. But when you didn’t reach out, it made me remember how lonely I was without you when you were in rehab. I don’t want to lose you again.” And it’s the most honest thing you’ve said all month.

“Yea, I miss you too, it’s just–” He stopped himself, and you could feel yourself almost giving in to something, there were just so many ways to give in you didn’t know which one it was. “I’ve been–uh I’ve been super busy with Tanner’s soccer team this week, I’m sorry.”

You watched his face closely, and you knew something that wasn’t being said needed to be said. But not right then.

“It’s been a rough day for you, I know you want to stick up for Mel, but you have got to keep your cool or else you’re going to crash and burn.” He sighed.

Right. You had to keep your cool. At work and in the relationship. You nodded.

“Mel’s been very kind to me, I think because she knows how important I am to you to be honest, she admires you so much, Frank.”

Frank had a solid glance at you, but you could tell a blush was breaking through. Why was he reacting that way to you saying that? Did Mel know about how he felt about you, was it more than platonic? Or were you justified in your fear that your feelings could ruin everything between you two.

A warmth filled your chest. He stepped closer and placed his hand on the side of your face. You wanted him to lean down and place his lips on yours, despite you knowing you couldn’t. Everyone was watching, you’d be the talk of the town…or the ED, but you felt yourself melt into his touch, for the first time in your life, a particular kind of melting, that you knew too well, that meant you were done for, that you had lost all your cool then and there. The kind of melting you felt, before getting your heart completely shattered. Frank rubbed his thumb on your cheek. 

“You had pen on your face,” He spoke, quietly. The eye contact suggested something like restraint, then said, “I’m gonna go check on Mel. Take a break, I’ll let Robby know.”

He turned to go out the door, his hand on the door handle, then he turned to face you, gaze soft.

“Just for the record, I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was in there…rehab I mean. I missed you just as much. Maybe more.”

And he was out the door before you could mutter a response.

The sixth time things became less casual was when Frank had picked you up after a night out with Mohan.

Frank had been watching an episode of SVU or something — he couldn’t remember, it hadn't been too entertaining — at midnight nearing Christmas, when you had called him clearly intoxicated. You had apologized to him profusely over and over. He had known you were going out with Mohan and Abott for a couple drinks, something about Christmas movies at the nearby pub, but you must have gotten carried away. He laughed and told you he would come pick you up.

He had only slept with you once again after the fight you had in the ED. But after that, he could feel you pulling back, he wondered if he had hurt you in some way, and even if you felt the same feeling he did. You had even returned the key he gave you to his apartment. He had thought you hated him. He had talked to Mel, and had told her everything that was going on between you guys finally. Mel’s opinion was important to him, and it made him happy to know Mel liked you too. He had finally admitted to himself, and to Mel that he wanted more than just sex. Mel promised to keep it a secret. 

So Frank was grateful when you called, but scared that your sobriety would make you hate him again.

Frank drove his car downtown Pittsburg, landing at the pub you had mumbled on the phone. When he pulled up, he spotted you on the snowy side walk with Mohan and Abott. You were all bundled in jackets and Christmas lights glared behind you. He parked and got out of his car to approach you all in the dark.

“Look, it’s Dr. Langdon!” Mohan slurred, leaning into Abott affectionately.

You turned around as Frank stepped closer to you, you were laughing hysterically like a child. You grabbed onto his shirt. 

“What are you doing here? I missed you.” You mumbled. 

Frank and Abott locked eyes, a silent agreement to keep everything a secret. From that interaction alone Frank knew that Mohan and Abott were messing around and maybe more, and Abott knew the same about Frank and you. 

“You called me, remember? Told me to pick you up.”

“M sorry.” You slurred. You turned to Mohan and Abott. “Guys! Frank is here to pick me up, isn’t that sweet?” You asked. 

Abott chuckled. Even though everything in that moment was agreed to be secret, Frank wanted nothing more than for him to be someone you could love in public. He was scared that was the reason you didn’t want him, that you were ashamed of him. Not just that you might not feel the same. 

“I gotta get this one home too,” Abott pointed at Mohan. “Frank, get them home safe. I’ll see you later.” 

“Alright let’s go,” Frank said, taking your hand. His heart jumped when you intertwined your fingers with his. “Say bye to Samira and Jack.”

“Bye to Samira and Jack.” You mumbled.

Frank laughed to himself, realizing — for not the first time in his life — that you were frankly adorable. He helped you into the passenger seat of his car. You went to kiss him, and he pulled away, not wanting to start anything when you weren’t in the right mindset, when you weren’t sober. You sighed, and ruffled, pushing his hands away as he tried to buckle you in.

“y/n, come on, you know how many patients who we’ve seen be severely injured from not wearing seatbelts.”

“I don’t like the way it rubs against my neck.”

“Well, its my car, so I say buckle up.” Frank said.

“I’ll do it if you let me stay at yours tonight.” You pouted.

Frank sighed, he was glad to have his best friend there in that moment wanting to come over, but sad to not know what you were feeling, he really wished he could read your mind. 

“Okay, you can have the bed while I sleep on the couch.” He said, pulling the seatbelt over you finally, and clipping it in successfully, he felt he needed to separate you this way till he knew where you two stood again.

Frank closed the door and got into the driver's seat.

“Sorry I called you, I know you’re not my boyfriend or anything but, I missed you.”

“It’s okay really, I’m glad you called, I was starting to think you hated me.”

You giggled as he pulled onto the main drag.

“I don’t hate you. Far from it, dingus.”

There was a silence that ran over you as he drove carefully through the snow, he didn’t know what to say, he knew what he wanted to say: do you feel the same? Instead he went with,

“Did you have fun?”

“Mhm, we watched Home Alone, and played a drinking game to go with it,” That explained the drunkenness. “Samira is so cool! And so is Jack,” You paused.

You began rolling your window down — not a great marker on the Frank Langdon’s perfectly accurate not nauseous to nauseous scale — then you went to turn down the heat — also not a great sign on the scale, Frank’s anxiety to not have you throw up in his car heightened. 

“They are such a great couple too, I know they only started dating, but sometimes I wish I had that with you.” 

Your confession shocked Frank, he cleared his throat, still hoping to get to his apartment in time for vomit to go either outside the car or in a toilet. He stopped at a red light. Were you saying you did feel the same? Would you remember this in the morning? 

The truth was that he wished he had that with you too, and he knew that you speaking that out loud had fundamentally changed your dynamic. He knew that what was going to be said past that point needed to be thought through, needed to be intentional, even if you weren’t going to remember it. He wanted to be as honest as possible with you, if you felt the same, if what you were saying was true, then he wasn’t going to start whatever you were going to be off with dishonesty.

“Really? You wouldn’t be ashamed of me?” He asked shyly, a surprise to himself too that he was being vulnerable enough to ask.

“No, why would you think that?”

“Because not everyone at the ED trusts me entirely anymore, I clearly have a reputation, which is deserved I guess but—”

“Frank, if you woke up one day and decided you wanted me, I would want you just as much, probably more.” An eerie moment of drunk clarity.

He had finally pulled up to his apartment — into the parking lot near the car pressure washers he hoped he wouldn’t need to use — just as you said that, ready to respond, your eye contact piercing through whatever tension you had been upholding for the past few weeks, when you gagged and threw up all over yourself and the passenger seat, then slinked back in your seat to close your eyes. 

The worst part was not that Frank’s car was now covered in vomit, it was that Frank had looked at you afterwards and thought, they are so beautiful when tired. Frank took that as his cue to help you get some rest, and got ready to carry you up.

The seventh time you noticed, you finally acknowledged it .

You woke up in Frank’s car the next day, your head pounding, forgetting that that December 23rd you had drunk way too much with Mohan and Abott, and embarrassingly called Frank. You stretched your limbs under his black comforter, and jolted up when you remembered admitting everything. 

Technically, you didn’t actually confess your feelings, but you knew Frank would’ve caught on with how direct you could be while drunk. You had to set the record straight. 

You heard vague noises outside, and it had snowed even more, it was Christmas eve. You groaned, took the tylenol Frank had so graciously set on the night stand, and you jumped out of Frank’s bed. You were still dressed in your clothes from the night before, and walked out into the apartment. When you didn’t see Frank, you scurried to the window, beside the Christmas tree and peaked through the blinds. You saw Frank, holding a power washer in his hand, spraying it into the passenger seat of his car, while he was wrapped in winter clothes. You cringed, before deciding to wrap yourself back up in your winter clothes and head down to talk to him.

You trudged through deep snow, to get to his car, and the blast of the power washer, plus the smell of your leftover vomit was enough to make your hangover worse.

“Frank!” You shouted over the sound of the washer.

Frank stopped and turned toward you, he was comedically wrapped in a red scarf, along with a red hat, his trenchcoat zipped all the way.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night.” You said, walking closer, he put the power wash down. “Seems like I did quite a bit of damage to your passenger seat.”

“It’s fine, it's almost cleaned up.” He shrugged.

“Listen about what I said last night–”

“Hey, its fine, you were drunk and–”

“I meant it. I want more than just sex with you, and I understand if you don’t feel the same, but that’s how I feel and I should’ve said it instead of pulling back.” 

Frank smiled, a red glow on his cheeks appearing.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” He exclaimed. “I want you to know I’m all in, I won’t let you down this time. It was so hard to not want you all this time.”

“God we were idiots, oblivious idiots, literally everyone else could see. McKay, Mohan Abott–”

Frank stepped over to you, and placed his cold hand over your face, the steam coming out of both of your mouths to interrupt your upcoming tangent. Your heart was beating, and you thought, finally, we’re acknowledging what I’ve been thinking all these months. Then as you stepped closer to him, both of your feet gave way from ice hidden under the snow. You tumbled on top of him, and he fell onto his back in the snow.

“I’m so sorry, there must’ve been ice under–”

Frank pulled on the front of your jacket to bring your face down to his, before kissing you, softly, passionately. Like he was loving you, not about to fuck you, like he was trying to warm you up. It was a kiss that said: hey I want you for a long time. You laughed in embarrassment, and you sat up, pulling him into a sitting position too before kissing him again.

“I want all the cheesy romantic stuff, even if it means you’ll break my heart.”

You blushed.

“I won’t break your heart if you promise not to break mine.”

He held out his pinky finger.

“Deal.” He said “Why don’t we start with this.” Frank grabbed a handful of snow and threw it on your head, before getting up and scurrying away from you, the passenger side of his car still open.

You gasped and shook your head, letting the snow fall off, then grabbed a handful of snow yourself.

FLIGHT RISK — FRANK LANGDON.

PART ONE OF TWO!

(ao3!) (playlist!) (masterlist!) (part two!)

pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: frank langdon’s been your sworn rival since med school. he’s a mean, arrogant prick who, for some reason, made it his lifelong mission to beat you at every single thing you did. but, when you’re forced to transfer out of your residency in boston, you’re placed at the pitt with the one person you swore you’d never share a floor with again. and, as you two are forced to work together, you both realize there might be a little more to each other than meets the eye.

Northern Downpour – f.l.

masterlist - open to requests!

synopsis: You start having an affair with Dr. Langdon, something purely need driven, or at least that’s what you tell yourselves.

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating!frank, swearing, 3400+ words

It started on a rainy Tuesday evening.

You’d been in a shitty mood all day. You and your husband, Jake, had had a massive blow-up first thing in the morning. The words exchanged had been rushed and hurtful and in the midst of you hurrying to get ready for your shift in the ER. Words that echoed, rattled you even during the busiest hours of your workday.

There had been a lot of tension in your marriage for months, always stemming from the same issue. Your work. It took a toll, the long hours, and the constant tragedies you absorbed daily didn’t exactly help your mood when you were home. But you’d been trying, really trying, so it was like a punch in the gut when he brought it up again in a way that diminished all of the hard work you were doing. Not only that, but Jake wasn’t exactly the most perceptive guy, especially when it came to your feelings. In the throes of all of your conjoined problems, he’d never once noticed how unhappy you were with him.

You’d never been one to dwell on your own needs and wants; you simply accepted the hard truth that asking for what you want doesn’t make it so. Especially with him. A fact you learned in the early stages of your relationship, and now looking back, wished you’d advocated for yourself more. Because it’s always his needs and what he wants, never a lingering consideration for you. The resentment you harbored for him always took a backseat because deep down, you felt it was silly. Pathetic.

You and Jake hadn’t had consistent sex, or good sex, since the work issues really started kicking off. What started as a simple turn away in bed during a fight escalated into fragility, hesitancy to touch even when you weren’t arguing. You were always the one to try and start something in the bedroom, and as the months progressed, the more he pulled away. Almost like a punishment. And when he did accept your advances, he put nothing into it. No foreplay, no talking, just fifteen minutes in the dark that left you unsatisfied.

The weight of it all hit you in the parking garage after your shift with the realization that you’d have to return to it. Jake hadn’t sent a single text all day, a sign that he had no intention of speaking to you when you arrived home. You sat there, the engine on, staring at the concrete wall through the windshield wondering how many bones you could break if you hit it hard enough.

You’d been contemplating a strong seven or eight when a knuckle tapped on your window. You looked up to see Langdon, your fellow senior resident, standing there with his hand still up in the knocking motion. You rolled down your window.

“Didn’t get enough of me for the day?” you said, the twinge of banter you usually have in your tone defeated to an exhausted, strained one.

He huffed a laugh, resting his arm on the window ledge. “No comment on that,” he quipped back, also sounding just as tired. And tense. “My, uh, car won’t start. Think you could give me a ride home?”

You nodded immediately. The idea of having a little extra time before you had to face Jake is exactly what you need. Langdon threw his bag in the backseat before jogging around to the passenger side. He settled in, leaned back with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“Thanks.”

“Trust me, it’s not a problem,” you replied, turning around to back out of the spot. “Just put your address into my phone.”

“Can you open it for me?” Langdon held the phone towards you.

You waved him off, “It’s 0707, maps is in the top right corner.”

He put the code in quickly. Turned his head, eyes full of curiosity. “Any reason you picked that one?”

You gripped the steering wheel and bit down the urge to roll your eyes at his question. “It’s me and Jake’s anniversary.”

In your peripheral vision, you caught Langdon’s expression. Confused, even more curious. Clearly, you weren’t doing a good job at hiding your bubbling aggravation towards your husband. But thankfully, he didn’t say anything, just finished typing the address in and put your phone back on the dash.

Both of you sat in silence for most of the drive, the only sounds the muffled radio and the rain as it pattered on the windows. You’ve never been close at work, but in that moment you were really hoping he’d start talking. Just to keep your mind off of it all. The longer you stayed in your own thoughts, the more the anxiety grew.

“How’re your kids?” you blurted out when the anxiety got to be too much. Knuckles flushed at the insane grip you had on the wheel.

Langdon whipped his head toward you, whatever reverie he was in seeming hard to shake off. You could’ve sworn he seemed just as volatile in the way he fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist and the tightness in his jaw.

“Great,” he replied, blank and unassuming. “Tanner made the baseball team, so that’s good.”

“That is good. Good for him.”

A lot of ‘good’ being used by two people who seemed much of the opposite. You side-eyed him when he turned back to the passenger window. There was definitely something off about him, and your question appeared to have made it worse.

“How’s Jake, by the way?” he suddenly asked, voice distant and faraway in his thoughts.

“Fine,” you said all-too-quickly. Holy shit am I bad at pretending tonight. Get it together.

When you didn’t elaborate, Langdon turned back to you with the same curious look he had before. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Still facing you, he leaned towards the passenger window, as if sizing you up. Raised eyebrows, parted lips. “Okay,” he finally said. “If you say so.”

“As if you’d care anyway,” you muttered under your breath, not as a dig, but a rogue thought that popped out of your mouth subconsciously. Langdon’s brows reached new heights, shocked by your sudden aggression. “No offense, we just don’t talk about that kind of stuff with each other.”

He nodded in understanding, face neutral again. “True. None taken.” Again, he turned away, resumed fiddling with the bracelet. “But if you wanted to talk about it, I’d listen.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s whatever. Better if I don’t right now anyway.”

It’s your turn to be confused when you arrived at his destination. It’s a ballpark, stocked with two sets of bleachers and dugouts and a small baseball diamond. It must be where his son plays.

“Why did you want to be dropped off here?”

Langdon faced in front of him and stared out into the field, eyes hollow, drained. He sighed in the way you do after an especially rough night with Jake.

“I don’t live far from here,” he stated plainly in the dark, eyes transfixed on the rain now coming down in sheets.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t want to go home, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. His eyebags were more pronounced, veins protruding from his neck like he was holding a mountain of baggage back. Is this what I look like?

“That’s okay,” you murmured softly, flickering your stare to the rain, too. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’d listen.”

Langdon snorted; an empty smile appeared on his face. You smiled, too, but you didn’t need a mirror to know it didn’t reach your eyes either. Hypnotized now by the worsening weather, you both stayed like that for a long time. Just staring forward, trying to let your afflictions wash away with the rain. It was refreshing to have someone next to you, just being there, not feeling like they have to say anything to comfort or make you feel like you have to do the same.

“What’re you gonna to do about your car?” you suddenly asked. Breaking the barrier between you and the rest of the world.

He shrugged, stifling a laugh at your random question. “Don’t know. Thought maybe I’d set up camp in the parking garage for a while or something.”

“Can I join?”

You both laughed, genuine ones at that. Spent the next hour dreaming up intangible scenarios to avoid the shitty parts of your life. Planning how you’d both fit in a small four-door Toyota Camry, how efficient it would be to get to work, how you’d hold a big barbeque after a rough shift with the new grill Langdon’s brother-in-law got him for his birthday. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe. And you could tell he felt the same.

It didn’t last as long as you’d hoped. Once the laughs had died down, they were replaced with the inevitably of your responsibilities. Your respective families would be wondering where you were soon. The realization was like a knife, quick and fast, jumpstarting your anxiety again. You glanced over at Langdon to see he was already staring at you, eyes scouring, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“My husband hates my job,” you uttered abruptly. Your gaze flickered to your lap. “And I think he hates me, too.”

“Doubt that. Well, the second part at least,” Langdon said, hard eyes softening. There was a vulnerability in him after he said that. Shoulders slumped, eyebrows sloping downward. “Do you hate him?”

His tone was nonchalant, but the question was a boulder. “I-…I don’t know.”

You’d considered how you were feeling about him, but not nearly enough to have really fleshed it out. All of your focus had been on Jake, and how we was feeling, and how you needed to fix things.

“If it’s any consolation, my marriage isn’t doing any better,” Langdon muttered, tone now filled to the brim with bitterness.

“It isn’t,” you whispered, gnawing at your cheek.

“It feels pathetic sometimes,” he continued on as if you’d not said anything at all. “She’s supportive, she’s there, but I just—”

His sentence ends strangled, unable to fully emerge. You couldn’t tell if it was because he thought he’d said too much or because it was just too difficult to admit out loud. Probably both. Something about the rigidity in his words, in his body language, feels familiar. You’d had the same tautness anytime you thought about the conversation you wanted to have with Jake about your intimacies.

“Feel like you’re asking for too much?” you finished for him, posing it as more of a guess.

Langdon snapped his eyes to yours, a quiet understanding between you. He slowly nodded, as if he was processing something. Then he spoke words that went straight to your chest, an undirected stab.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask her to just…want me.”

Your face fell, again unable to hide the obvious emotion etched on your face. The car felt like a cage all of a sudden, almost as if you’d said the words yourself. Not sure how to respond, you just nodded, hoping your eyes showed the cognizance you failed to vocalize.

Langdon took a beat to digest your acknowledgement before he pushed the car door open and fled out into the rain. You watched him, pitiful tears clinging to your lashes as you felt sorry for yourself. And him.

He stood with his hands in his jacket pockets in the glow of the headlights, his back to you. You could see how slick his hair already was from the storm, strands blowing in the harsh winds. This was the opposite of how you’d known him; he’d never seemed the angsty type, just a normal resident with a bad mouth and an attention-deficient disorder. And seeing him like this, it changed the way you saw him. Less shallow, and pitifully, more attractive.

Which is part of the reason you also stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and approached him with absolutely no hesitation. He turned at your presence seconds before you lassoed a hand to the back of his neck and jerked his mouth onto yours.

It was rash, dangerous, ethically just fucking wrong. You weren’t thinking about anything but what it would feel like to have someone crave you. You weren’t asking for someone to want you; you were demanding it.

Langdon was surprised, body stuttering, but he didn’t miss a beat. His wet hands grasped your back like a lifeline, lips parting to take a single breath only to slam back onto yours. Your other hand trickled its way into his hair, balling up a section to yank towards you. You hadn’t felt this turned on in a long time, unable to stop yourself from moaning directly into his mouth as his teeth ground into your bottom lip.

“Backseat,” he fumbled out breathlessly. He kept his hands on you wherever he could as you both booked it to the car, haphazardly discarding your soaked jackets behind the seats.

You fell into the back seat first, back against the opposite door, legs stretched out as he climbed in between them. The undressing was vicious, carnal, fingers tearing at the fabric of your clothes. Once you were both just in your underwear, Langdon gripped your hair, yanking down so your head thudded against the seat before reconnecting your lips. His other hand roamed down the column of your throat as if to feel your unsteady breaths.

You parted your lips to bring his tongue to yours, devouring every inch of his mouth like you’d never taste it again. And maybe you wouldn’t. Then you felt something spongy slide onto your tongue, eyes flashing open at the spearmint flavor.

“Didn’t have time to spit it out,” Langdon said, hovering just above you, rain droplets bleeding onto your cheeks. You responded by pulling him in again, tongue exchanging the gum back to him, causing him to let out an aroused groan.

Your hands scoured his back, fighting the urge to scratch into the skin. He lifted your leg to wrap around his back, the other following suit. He pulled back to start licking at the column of your throat, sucking softly to garner a moan from you.

“Can’t leave marks,” you rasped out, but your head fell back against the seat anyway. Langdon hummed in agreement then kissed lower until his lips enveloped your left nipple. The silver nipple ring you had on danced between his tongue, causing you to indent your nails into his shoulder blade and release a loud moan.

“Fuck, sorry,” you gasped out at the realization you’d left crescent moons in his skin.

“If I could have you the way I want, I’d let you,” he responded in the midst of sucking, and as fucked up as it is, it only made you wetter.

As his teeth gnashed at your nipple, one of his hands travelled lower until it found your panties, finger stalled above the fabric, right where you need him. He drew circles on your clit, and though it wasn’t direct contact, your hips jutted forward for him without thought. You could feel his growing smile on your nipple at your reaction.

“Frank, I need you. Now.” you demanded, despite the brittleness of your voice. Langdon sprang into action, ripped open a condom he found in the center console, and shimmied out of his boxers. You helped him put it on when you noticed how shaky his hands were and pushed your damp panties to the side.

Then he’s lined himself up, towering over you with beads of rain or sweat dripping onto your heated skin. You wrapped your hands around the base of him, wanting to feel him bottom out inside you.

“Holy shit,” Frank stammered as his hips meet yours, the arm that held him up faltering. You exhaled at the feeling, all of the worries and frustration from earlier leaking out of your body like a balloon. It’s wrong – definitely wrong, but it feels so good. “God, you’re so wet.”

He started to thrust, hard, right out of the gate. You pushed yourself up on your elbows and gripped the back of his neck. Your foreheads were touching, but you both closed your eyes, chasing after the high and avoiding all of the guilt that comes with it.

Strings of curse words leapt between you, you rocked into him to quicken his pace and kneaded circles on your clit. Then you dared to open your eyes, feeling Langdon’s hot spearmint breath fanning your face. Eyes shut, his lips were parted in ecstasy, neck thrust up to expose his throat. There’s nothing else in the world but you two in that moment, just you, him, and the blissful feeling of him thrusting in and out. You dipped down, glistening lips meeting his throat, teeth grazing there.

Langdon moaned in response, and his eyes flashed open. You leaned back up to level yourself to him, and without words, opened your mouth.

His pace faltered at your ask and his eyes were swimming as if intoxicated by you. He wrapped his mouth around yours, tongue gliding out to pass the gum. You accepted it immediately, leave the kiss with a pop and stared right into his defenseless eyes.

It was completely accidental, or at least you convince yourself of it, that right in the moment after you pass the gum, Langdon reached his high, tumbling forward with a groan. All he managed to choke out was a slurred, “fuck, I’m—” before it happened. He had you pinned to the seat, faces inches apart, thrusting through his orgasm. The recognition of what you’d just done sent you tumbling over the edge, your hips jutted into his with an unholy string of moans.

Only a minute passed of you both regaining your composure before reality set in. Langdon pulled himself upright into the opposite seat, unable to meet your eyes as he pulled the condom off and tossed it out the window. You remained lying there, eyes transfixed at the ceiling.

What the fuck have we done?

The air was thick and heavy when you both redressed. The car being so small, it was difficult to do so without brushing against one another, every movement another shocking reminder of the betrayal. You silently passed him a brush from your work bag without looking at him. He took it and began to cover his tracks.

“We fucked up,” you state with a voice overflowing with dread.

Langdon was quiet for a long time. You finally looked over to see him gripping the brush with white knuckles.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We did.”

Silence returned, stifling the conversation but igniting all the worries you had been trying to escape. The worst part was even in the thoughts of regret and self-pity and excuses, deep down it felt like a façade. Like that’s what you were supposed to feel. Because as awful as what you’d done was, you’d felt wanted for just a few minutes. And given the option to take it back, you wouldn’t.

“I regret it, but I…I don’t,” you found yourself saying, not necessarily to him, but just to say it. To analyze if this was real, if you truly felt that way.

Langdon’s head turned; guilty eyes fastened to yours. He leaned towards you, a palm reaching to wipe off the rain splattered to the side of your face. A simple gesture, not something you’d usually dwell on, but at this moment, it’s an unspoken agreement. He wanted it, too, and in the dark parts of him he doesn’t let anyone else access, he still did.

You both found a way to curb the need you’d been too scared to ask for, and though it wasn’t a sensible way to get it, it was now out there as an option. And, as much as you hated to admit it, an easier one.

So with a newfound arrangement, a deep-seeded, unspoken one, you drove him home. And then you went back to your turbulent home, your turbulent husband, and went to bed alone.

frank langdon x fem!surgeon!reader

TW: graphic medical trauma, mass casualty event, active shooter (off-screen), gunshot wounds, blood and injury descriptions, cardiac arrest / CPR, loss of consciousness, near-death experience, hospitals / emergency medicine, emotional distress, relationship conflict, addiction (referenced, not detailed), fear of losing a loved one

Morning comes softly, the way it always does when you’re not on call.

Sunlight slips through the blinds in thin, pale stripes, cutting across the rumpled sheets and the bare stretch of Frank’s back beside you. He’s already awake—you can tell by the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s staring at the ceiling like it’s giving him answers it’s never going to give.

You shift closer, pressing your knee into his calf, your arm draping over his waist.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice still rough with sleep.

He hums in response. Doesn’t turn his head.

That’s the first thing that feels wrong.

Normally, he’d roll over, pull you in, bury his face in your neck like he’s trying to steal five more minutes before the world gets its claws in him. Normally, mornings are easy. Domestic. Safe.

This morning feels… brittle.

You lift your head, studying him properly now. The dark circles under his eyes. The way his jaw is set too tight, like he’s bracing for impact.

“You okay?” you ask.

There’s a pause. Just long enough.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Just tired.”

You don’t say anything right away. You’ve learned that silence is sometimes louder than confrontation. That if you wait, people reveal themselves.

Frank doesn’t.

ᯓ★ ATSUMU MIYA - TRACK 01: KISS ME THROUGH THE PHONE

⏾SUMMARY. What are you supposed to do when a random number sends you a dick pic? Surely not text them back...right? What are you supposed to do when you find out it's from the guy you sit next to in class? Well at that point you're just fucked. ;) ⏾WARNINGS. College au! Gender Neutral Reader! x Atsumu, NSFW, smut, bad attempts at humor, sexting, masturbation (mutual?), dickpics, Tsumu's flirting is a warning in itself ngl, slight degradation, ⏾A/N. First fic yay! How this series works is every character will have around 3-5 fics all with a overarching story inspired by a song. note: reader's text are in orange (did not feel like doing html to make them yellow)

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| | part two | Part three

xxx-xxx-xxxx image

In the middle of your late night cram session for college algebra you hear your phone buzz on the table. A text from an unknown number? If it wasn't an image you would've ignored it. Maybe it's some stupid scam, or maybe it's a promotion from some store you're subscribed to or-

Nope it's neither of those things.

It's a dick pic...

oikawa tooru has a bad habit of breaking promises and running from his first love. or: the four times oikawa breaks his promises and the one time he keeps one

( a / n ) - oh my god this is my magnum opus... my baby.. its a little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff and a little slice of life. u go through ages 6 to 28 LMFAO. iwaizumi + you + oikawa were such a fun trio to write for and i hope u guys enjoy !!

gn! reader | 2k words | happy birthday OIKAWA

Oikawa Tooru has a guilty conscience and a bad habit of breaking his promises. 

For every promise made and every promise broken, Tooru repents: 200 yen slid in a saisen-bako, a ninety degree bow, two wishes at a shrine. An offering to counter every promise he breaks, ample water to wash away his sins, and apologies written on wood.

 ( Iwaizumi has made the grand suggestion of: Maybe not breaking your promises? on several occasions, but Tooru can’t help it. ) 

He’s broken four promises and made eight wishes so far: four on blue Tanzaku and four atop Ema boards, followed with a prayer and an offering if the promise broken was particularly heinous or particularly his fault. 

He breaks his first promise at six years old– one made with you and Iwaizumi when the three of you were four and freshly neighbors. It was Tooru’s birthday, and he had promised this: 

I swear that I will take us all to the Ryokan before I turn six.

i do Not think i will ever be over love being used to describe atsumu.

even the twins’ backstory chapter itself is titled “love.” atsumu’s origin story begins with love. he discovers volleyball and falls in love with it, and osamu is there with him every step of the way on the same journey. throughout the series, it’s clear the two things atsumu loves and cherishes the most in the world are volleyball and his brother.

asshole supreme, but his name, 侑, is often used in the phrase 侑食 which means “to offer food or to urge people to eat more.” think like, aggressive asian aunties at family dinners.

here’s an interesting breakdown of the kanji:

(source)

furudate said they named him in the hopes he will take care of and help others. he decides at a young age he wants to play setter because “only the best players get to play the coolest position.” he considers it cool that the best players are the ones who let their teammates play with ease because of them. he wants to score by offering what he has, that is, the “best” of what he can give.

but atsumu is generally disliked by his peers because he has no tact in his interactions, running purely on his drive & hunger for volleyball. also let’s be real, because of his personality in general. he expresses his love for volleyball by being rude and demanding, aggressive and competitive.

he gets into one of his worst fights with osamu over the latter’s decision to not continue playing volleyball after high school. he’s furious because his brother’s his partner, his other half; inextricably intertwined with the sport he loves to the core. they spent their whole lives playing together and winning together. there’s nothing in the world he cherishes more in the world than volleyball and his brother and it’s been this way since he was a child; in atsumu’s mind, it’s inconceivable to have one without the other.

his relentless love for volleyball means he never backs down from a challenge, no matter how reckless or impossible it may seem. during their first game at nationals against karasuno, he sees hinata and kageyama’s freak quick and immediately wants to try it out simply because it looks cool; he even successfully pulls it off several times throughout the match. his love for volleyball that enables him to fearlessly move forward into the unknown with no hesitation. his love for volleyball and pride in his skills that allows him to see endless possibilities for himself with virtually no limits.

the way he puts so much care into his tosses to the point he finds it insulting if his hitters don’t score with them. the way he is fiercely confident in his values and play style because he absolutely knows he’s giving his players the best and easiest to hit tosses. he practices for years and years to be able to set “easy to hit” tosses, anywhere and anytime.

he perfects two deadly serves by the time he’s a 2nd year in high school because (besides the fact he just wants to be badass and intimidating) he wants to ensure as many points for his team as possible, in as many ways he can.

these are some of his most memorable lines to me because they encapsulate so much of his character. with his extremely deft skills and reflexes, he made the unusual but deliberate decision in that situation to set the ball overhand (with ten fingers) despite the awkward position when most setters would dig it (two arms). when suna asks him why he did it, he responds cheerfully that that’s what a setter does: support. ten fingers give him more control than two arms, ten fingers means he can support the team better. a better set means his hitters can spike with more ease to the best of their abilities. the lengths atsumu goes to set the ball every single time with as much care as he can impart says so much about his love and dedication to volleyball.

HE IS FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH LOVE FOR HIMSELF, VOLLEYBALL, HIS TEAMMATES, HIS BROTHER. THE IRONY IN THE FACT OTHERS AROUND HIM MISUNDERSTAND THIS LOVE BECAUSE IT COMES OUT IN ALL THE WRONG WAYS WHEN HE EXPRESSES IT LITERALLY BRINGS ME TO MY KNEES.

it’s in the way he gives as much as it’s in his expectations from others.

   The main issue with Oikawa is that he's not naturally gifted, which is emphasized a lot in the show. For example, the last episode of the season one match of Karasuno vs Seijoh was named "Oikawa Tooru is not a Genius". Despite that, he's still the best player on Seijoh, and is highly respected by his teammates as a setter and their captain. Due to not having any natural skill or technique, Oikawa resorted to compensating with his own tactics. He knew that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never have the same technical skill as a genius like Kageyama. Instead, he used his own skills in analysis and communication to bring out the best in his spikers.

   This is why, despite being called Grand King, Oikawa is depicted as a mighty general. He leads his soldiers, and in return, they trust him with their lives and fight with him. The amazing thing about Oikawa's leadership is that his teammates trust him because they know he can lead them. They understand that Oikawa has honed their skills and improved them all as players. He's helped them all, and when a game comes, they understand that all he asks of them is to keep trusting him. Trust that he'll send them a good toss, trust the strategies he'll formulate, trust his leadership.

At the end of the day, Oikawa knows he doesn't have the technical skill of a genius, so he dedicates his focus to improving his whole team. The origin of this focus would probably come from the episode where he almost backhands Kageyama in middle school. Iwaizumi intervenes and literally knocks some sense into him. They fight and yell, but then Iwaizumi tells Oikawa, "There are six people on court! The team with the best six players is the best!" Oikawa seems to have an epiphany then. He seems to realize exactly what his best friend is saying. It seems very straightforward at first, but it clearly not all that simple. Oikawa thought that he had to improve himself as a setter so he could carry his team to victory. He was trying to be a king. Luckily, he had Iwaizumi to cut off that train of thought very early on.

I loved how the show compared what Iwaizumi said to multiplication and addition. Oikawa thought that he had to improve himself because he thought you just mushed together the strengths of each player. That's wrong. He learned that you multiply the strengths of each player instead. It took me a bit to understand that one too. The way I look at that, it means that each player will affect one another when in a team. They can't just play as individuals that happen to be on the same side of the court. By trying to add the powers of your team, you just stack them on top of each other. By multiplying, you take what you already have and make it greater by merging it with something else.

If you like visuals, think of oil and water vs baking soda and vinegar. Adding oil to water increases the overall volume of liquid, but they never combine. If there is a cup of water and a cup of oil, you get two cups of liquid. Baking soda and vinegar doesn't just stack; it explodes. If you have a cup of vinegar and a cup of baking soda, they'll make way more than two cups when they combine. The players get stronger when together.

So, Oikawa stops trying to become a king. He obviously does keep trying to improve as a player, but he starts to focus more on his spikers. He realizes that he can compensate for his lack of natural technical skill by using his own natural skill of reading people and adjusting his responses adequately. Oikawa is a versatile player, and a very flexible setter. He gives his energy to improve his team, and they respond by giving their energy to get better and win. I found it interesting how loyal his teammates were to him. It brings me back to Oikawa being a general and not a king. Kageyama is high, untouchable, and barks out orders as the king, while Oikawa is the brave general who leads the soldiers. Oikawa fights alongside his soldiers. Kageyama stays in his palace, highly revered, but alone. The difference between them is that people are forced to follow Kageyama because of his unparalleled power. People follow Oikawa because they trust him with their life.

It's actually one of my favorite pieces of symbolism in Haikyuu. Kageyama was a genius from the beginning. His skill was something he was born with, and now he's king. When the eldest prince is born they have the birthright to become king. Kageyama got his title simply because he was lucky (

I love Kageyama, and I know he worked very hard, but he was mainly able to get there because he's a natural born genius. Generals have to rise through the ranks and work for their position. Some soldiers in history were actually more loyal to their general than to their king. Generals risk their lives with their soldiers. The king commands from the palace. The analogy doesn't really work for their relationship, but it's great for their individual characters.

As for Oikawa's relationship with Kageyama? It's complicated, as most things with Oikawa are. Oikawa is Kageyama's upperclassman, and It's evident that Kageyama once looked up to him. At first, I never understood why Oikawa hated Kageyama so much. It was fairly obvious that his underclassman basically worshipped him, and I thought it would do wonders for his ego. However, it seems so much more obvious after a bit of rewatching. Middle school Kageyama was a natural from the start, and middle school Oikawa was just a mess of overworking, burning out, and crippling insecurity masked by egoism.

Oikawa hated that he worked himself to death to make the cut, then some random bright eyed prodigy first year just comes in and steals the show. Maybe it wasn't reasonable to hate him so much, but middle schoolers aren't reasonable. Some people say Oikawa was supposed act more mature and responsible, an that he should have had more self control with his feelings. They seem to forget he was a CHILD. He was a literal child; he just entered adolescence, and he was still learning. He shouldn't be expected to handle things like an adult when he isn't one. Oikawa was just SCARED. He loved volleyball and didn't want to be replaced by Kageyama. He overworked himself so he wouldn't be dispensable. I agree that he should not have tried to hit Kageyama. However, you can't say that it makes him a bad person or character.

Oikawa wasn't really in his right mind at the time. It was clear that he was in the middle of an adrenaline rush of sorts from overworking himself. He was visibly agitated and overwhelmed, but, Kageyama approached him. This isn't Kageyama's fault either. While I do think he should have been able to tell it was a bad time to ask, Kageyama was an even younger child. He was never good at reading people either, so Kageyama can't be held accountable. Imagine, though, how Oikawa felt. He was in the middle of training so he wouldn't be replaced, and who decides to interrupt? The person he's trying not to be replaced by. Again, not Kageyama's fault, but you must understand that Oikawa was afraid. He was stuck in this swarm of negative thinking, and the very source of so much of his fear and insecurity was suddenly right in front of him. It wasn't right of him to do that, but you can understand why he did it.

That's another very interesting part of Oikawa. It was his worst fear come to life when he was subbed out for Kageyama in one of their games. It was too much for him, and he just finally snapped. Thankfully, Iwaizumi's lecture struck a chord in him, and he made an apparent effort to remember it. However, I don't think it made his fear go away. In fact, I think his fear of being replaced originated much before middle school. Obviously, I have no idea when exactly, but I would have to guess it started around the middle of elementary school at the latest. This is mainly because I believe Oikawa's obnoxious personality is a sort of defense mechanism used against this fear. Oikawa is objectively very good-looking, flamboyant and charming; he's also very popular among girls.

I found it very interesting that he was portrayed to be a heartthrob by the media, but was seen to be very immature and honestly quite annoying. Around his friends he acts very childish, but switches again to his charming persona when around fans or other classmates. It was fairly clear that something wasn't right. I wanted to believe it was just inconsistent writing, but one of Furudate's greatest strengths is building characters; I also saw no clear consistency problems with other characters. I believe that Oikawa switches personas depending on what reputation he's trying to uphold. We know Oikawa is insecure at heart, and we see him trying to play it off by being prideful.

If we go back to his fear of being replaced, I find reasonable to believe that Oikawa acts the way he does so that people don't get bored of him. He wants  a reputation, because that means people will know about him. Something that is consistent about his personas is that he's very sociable in both. He's childish, loud, and constantly wants attention, or he's always laughing, flirting, and joking. It's almost as if he believes that everybody will find someone new if he doesn't remind them he's still there. He thinks people will get bored of him, so he constantly tries to make sure people stay interested. A lot of people say that Oikawa is too annoying and narcissistic, but he does it because he's afraid people will get rid of him if he doesn't keep their attention.

That also leads to another major part of Oikawa's character. I actually believe this may be the biggest part of his overall character. There's something that sets Oikawa apart from every other character. Regardless of if you like him or not, you can't deny that there's an energy about him that's just different. He's the closest you'll get to an antagonist in Haikyuu, but you also get to see his soft sides. We see the love he has for volleyball and for his teammates. It's strange to see so many different sides of a character. It's also interesting how Ushijima wanted Oikawa join Shiratorizawa. It's understandable, considering Kageyama still hadn't developed and Oikawa was the best setter in the prefecture.

So, the question I always wanted to answer: Why didn't Oikawa go to Shiratorizawa? Yes, the fandom exaggerates it and loves to joke about it, but it was a real question for me at first. Oikawa wanted to go to Nationals, and joining Shiratorizawa would have guaranteed it. Best ace and best setter in the entire prefecture on one team? They would blow the competition away. It would have been much easier if Oikawa had indeed swallowed his pride and joined Shiratorizawa. However, it seems that it wasn't necessarily about all about "worthless pride". Of course it was a factor, but Oikawa wouldn't let his pride get in the way of his dreams; he's smarter than that.

It was then that I started to notice a recurring pattern with Oikawa. He's a direct opposition to the main characters. He refused to join a powerhouse team for an easy ticket to Nationals. He uses his personal strengths to improve instead of being upset over what he doesn't have. Oikawa is an incredibly unique character because of his sheer will to do things the way he wants. Oikawa is a setter; he's a control freak, but in a less direct way than Kageyama. He doesn't force everyone to adapt to him, yelling, "You better follow me!" Rather, he goes his own way and says, "Follow me if you dare."

He carves his own path, regardless of what others say. Seijoh was destined to lose from the beginning. Furudate loves symbolism in Haikyuu. Notice how every national level school is represented by an animal? The mighty eagle of Shiratorizawa, the wild crow of Karasuno, the clever cat of Nekoma, the soaring owl of Fukurodani? What does Aoba Johsai have? A castle. Aoba Johsai translates to Blue Castle. While the other teams fight, jump, and soar, Aoba Johsai is beautiful, strong, and reliable, but they will never fly. It was almost as if Oikawa went to Aoba Johsai simply to prove he didn't need Ushijima to go to Nationals. Looking at it like that, it indeed makes it look like Oikawa refuses to go to Shiratorizawa out of pride. However, I like to see it as more than that.

First of all, Oikawa's greatest wish was to defeat Shiratorizawa in order to go to Nationals. OIKAWA DOES NOT SETTLE. He refuses to settle for only half his dream. Maybe it's too prideful, but it would invalidate the years of hell he put himself through trying to accomplish it. It was like Ushijima was telling him, "Hey, you tried your best, didn't you? You can't beat me, and all your years of work are for nothing. Just join us and give it up." It was insulting to him. Oikawa's sheer perseverance was what got him where he was. He took everything the world threw at him and threw it right back. Suddenly, it all stops and he's offered an olive branch of sorts. The world doesn't offer everything he wants, but it's something. Just enough to get him to stop fighting back.

Oikawa wants all or nothing when it comes to his passions. It's risky, maybe not a very smart decision, but that's just who he is.He doesn't want the olive branch; he wants the whole damn tree. Oikawa wants to look at Ushijima, to scream from the top of the world, and tell everybody who didn't think he could make it, "I DON'T NEED YOU." He wants to show people they were wrong. No, he's not a genius, but he doesn't need to be one. He wants to follow his dreams his own way or he doesn't want it at all.

Second of all, Oikawa wanted to go to Nationals with Iwaizumi. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were together their entire lives. They played, they laughed, they cried, they won, they lost, but they were always together. Oikawa needs Iwaizumi specifically because he trusts that he'll never be dispensable to his best friend. Iwaizumi is his support, the way he grounds himself when things are too much. Oikawa and Iwaizumi want to go to Nationals together. It's not some fantasy they conjured up; it's their childhood dream. Oikawa wouldn't be willing to let go of that. Again, Oikawa refuses to settle. He wants to lead a team to Nationals with his partner, or he doesn't want it at all.

   Oikawa was willing to risk everything. He wanted to go all in. Maybe it was wrong, and maybe it was just worthless pride. Regardless, it shows us his unparalleled passion for the sport. He deserved so much better than what he got, but life isn't fair. Haikyuu shows us that. It's almost discouraging to see Oikawa lose. If you look at it, between Oikawa and Kageyama, Oikawa is actually the underdog. Kageyama is the genius player and Oikawa just tries his best. Haikyuu is an underdog story, but sometimes the roles are not as we think.

(⚠️!!SPOILERS FOR THE LAST CHAPTER!!⚠️)

When Oikawa is seen as the "final boss" as the official setter of Argentina's Olympic team, it's the cherry on top to confirm what type of character he is. THIS MAN WAS SO DAMN PETTY AND DETERMINED TO FOLLOW HIS DREAMS THAT HE IMMIGRATED TO A DIFFERENT HEMISPHERE. He was so determined to make his own path that he made a name for himself on the other side of the world. He was virtually unknown, and had to start from scratch all again. What happened? He actually did it, and now he's the main focus of his team. I have such a ridiculous amount of respect for Oikawa. The determination that man has is unparalleled.

I believe Furidate also uses Oikawa as a model to teach us that, yes, it's discouraging to be surrounded by people better than you, and failure is inevitable. However, it you can use those failures as a lesson to improve yourself, and if you stick to your goals until the very end, the world will get tired and it'll work out in the end. Oikawa tells us that it's okay to be bold; he tells us to understand that it takes time to succeed, and you will succeed. He tells us to treasure those who support us, because the trust they have in you is more than you could ever know. In the end, Oikawa really accomplishes his dreams. Maybe Iwaizumi isn't with him, but Oikawa has learned by then how to live without him and vice versa. Instead, he gets to fulfill his promise of defeating him when they face each other.

Oikawa never got to go Nationals, but now he's at Internationals. Now he finally gets to beat Ushijima, Kageyama, and Iwaizumi all in one spot. We don't even get to see the result of the match, which is actually something I love. Oikawa is the only one we know in Argentina; it would be unrealistic to try to decide a winner between the two teams if we don't know the strengths and weaknesses of each player. Regardless, we finally get to see Oikawa get what he deserves. Maybe it will work out for him, and maybe it won't. Something amazing about leaving an open ending is that we get to analyze the characters as we please, and we get to imagine what happens ourselves. It's actually one of Furudate's best pieces of symbolism in the whole series.

Their stories are not over yet. Maybe Oikawa loses again, but he keeps going. Maybe he finally throws the towel. Who knows? Characters are ever changing, but I believe Oikawa will stick to it. Then again, maybe his knee injury will force him to quit. Life is unpredictable, but Oikawa's determination has been constant throughout the whole show. The way he grew as a person, a player, and leader, just enraptured me to no end. Oikawa is one of the most fascinating characters I've ever come across. I don't like picking favorite characters, but I genuinely believe Oikawa is the most well written and complex.

Not pressuring you or rushing, just wanted to know the final verdict, so my friends and I could get closure.

feral!atsumu miya eating shy!reader up

two degenerates finally fuck (ending)

warnings. explicit nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / college au / rough sex / almost angry sex / cowgirl + doggy / fingers-in-mouth / reader has braces / atsumu is a creep / oral fixation kink!atsumu / needy!atsumu / friend-zoned!osamu / narcissistic!atsumu / primal vibe / 2.7k words / part one here.

You weren't sure where Atsumu's room actually was, in terms of the layout and proximity to Osamu's.

Until now, slung over the fake blond's shoulder, you never dared to venture up the stairs.

No- you were more focused on the view you had of his ass in those gym shorts. So, you had no clue about how many doors were passed, what direction he turned, or how long the journey took, to get to some privacy.

He delivered you to his mattress and turned, leaving you for a quick moment, to lock the door.

Atsumu ditched his shirt by pulling it off the back of his neck with one arm. He abandoned it where he stood and left you, shivering, to drink in the sight.

heian!sukuna reclines on one elbow, palm cupping his cheek in a posture of idle sovereignty. the persimmon rests heavy in his palm, its skin burnished and taut, autumn condensed into a single globe. his thumb digs in, and it opens like a wound, trickling over his fingers in viscous rivulets, staining the creases of his palms. ruby red eyes regard it with dispassion, as he has watched blood do the same.

the scent blooms at once—honeyed, almost fermenting. its lush interior a glistening mass of pulp. fibres stretch as he prises it apart. the gore reminds him of a human heart. he has torn out plenty of those.

(love is an inane thing. an affliction. unbecoming of a man who has torn villages apart with these same hands.)

sukuna lifts a segment between his fingers and brings it to your mouth, an intimacy that would scandalise any courtier foolish enough to witness it. the pad of his thumb guides your lips open. juice spills, tracing a sticky amber line down your chin. before you can lift your own hand, he swipes a finger beneath your chin. you smile at him then, tilting your head so that your face is now nestled comfortably against his perlicue.

if this is what it feels like to give one’s heart—

tutor! katsuki bakugo x camgirl! reader ── .✦ university au!

𓂃 tw / cw (18+) ; masturbation, katsuki has sexual thoughts about us, constant self-doubt, y/n gives a dildo a boob job

𓂃 synopsis; now that katsuki's found out about your dirty little secret, he's adamant on keeping the relationship strictly educational between you two. but, with the sound of your pretty moans and plump breasts in his head 24/7, just how long does that last?

𓂃 note ɞ; omg guys i added a twitter vid cause it felt like that could be so immersive lol. also y'all like my drawing like if i do feel like drawing my own fanart...for my own freaking fanfic, i'll probably just blur y/n or something..also a bit unedited by this is genuinely lagging my laptop..

w/c; 9,634

⊹

ever since the laptop incident, paranoia has lived a little too comfortably in your chest.

you were so sure he saw the filth on your screen, but you were also certain he didn't know it was you.

even so, you've been living your waking days at uni actively avoiding him. it became instinct, the kind of quiet adjustment you make when something private threatens to bleed into real life. every step on campus felt heavier, charged with the guilty reminder that your secret was at risk of unravelled. so, you compromised.

during lectures, you took a seat in the far font corner of the hall, close enough to the board so you'd be forced to keep your vision to the front. when you had afternoon shifts at the cafe, you'd pray he wouldn't come in, and when you had to study, you just went straight home.

it shouldn't have been a big deal, but at the same time it was. because you knew how you still liked him. and liking someone made everything feel more exposed.

even if video you opened to on hotcam.web hadn't been yours, katsuki still saw that you were actively engaging with the website. and that still scared you, just not equally as much.

but you knew that you couldn't hide from him forever, because he was still your tutor, and your life still heavy revolved around upcoming deadlines.

eventually, you'd have to sit across from him again.

the announcement comes through on a tuesday morning.

final assessment schedule released. exam period is in five weeks.

you stare at the uni board a second longer than necessary, the dates blurring together before they finally settle into something real. a month. close enough to feel immediate, and far enough to still pretend you have time.

your stomach tightens anyway. it comes close to something like panic, but not yet. just awareness.

later that week, you’re back in your ta, linda’s office.

she looks different today. lighter, almost pleased, as she scrolls through something on her screen. you sit across from her, hands folded neatly in your lap, waiting for the familiar sigh that never comes.

“you’ve actually improved,” she says instead.

you blink. “i have?”

“seriously,” she nods, turning the laptop toward you. “your recent quizzes, your last assignment. this is a noticeable jump. whatever you’re doing, it’s working.” she looks back up at you, smiling.

something in your chest loosens.

“i’ve just been… keeping up,” you say, careful not to oversell it. because you're still struggling, just not as much as you were starting out.

linda nodded approvingly. “keep doing that. the last stretch of semester is always the hardest. final tasks are being released this week, and with exams in a month, it’s going to feel like everything’s happening at once.”

you nod. you already feel it, deadlines and stress filing away into your mind.

“i’m going to increase your tutoring frequency,” she adds. “twice a week now, at least until exams.”

your breath catches only briefly. “with bakugo?” you ask.

“he’s agreed,” she says easily. “he actually suggested it.”

that sticks with you longer than it should.

the first extra session happens two days later.

same room. same table. same careful distance.

katsuki looks the same as always. focused, composed, pen already in hand when you arrive. this time he's wearing a normal black tee, biceps protruding from beneath the material.

when you settle down, his gaze lingers a fraction longer when you sit. not on your face. just… there. you sink into yourself and grace yourself with the time you take to set up your equipment.

“we’ll go faster today,” he says. “exam pace.”

“okay,” you reply, already opening your notebook.

the session moves smoothly. better than before. you keep up with him more easily now, catch mistakes before he points them out. when you do get something right, he nods once, like it was expected.

halfway through, you pause, frowning at a problem.

“wait if i rearrange this term, it simplifies, right?”

he glances at your page. “yeah.”

you grin, small and proud.

“see?” he adds. “you’re thinking ahead now.”

the praise lands warm, swelling gently in your chest. you nod slowly, eyes fixed on the paper before you. "yeah."

“what did you get back for the assignment?” he asks, casual. “let’s look at the comments.”

“oh, yeah,” you say, already reaching for your laptop. “i’ll pull it up.”

you flip the screen toward him.

the comments load.

and there it is.

the sticky note, half-hidden on the corner of your screen, neon against the dull grey of the dashboard in front of you. not a site name. not a link. just your username, with a password that you constantly forget.

petalvoid and, beneath it, the password, emphasized in a matching bold font.

your breath catches too late.

katsuki’s gaze flicks down. just once, like he’s scanning for a header or a grade.

he doesn’t react, and again, he doesn’t stiffen. doesn’t blink.

“scroll,” he says, tapping the trackpad lightly. “they usually bury feedback at the bottom.”

you do, fingers numb.

the room feels louder now. the hum of the lights, the scrape of a chair somewhere down the hall. he leans in a fraction, close enough that you’re suddenly aware of your own breathing.

after a beat, he speaks again.

“you might want to move that,” he says evenly, nodding toward the note without looking at it. “shouldn't have your password up like that.”

that’s all. there's no question. no change in tone. no pause to let you explain.

he points to the comment thread. “here. this is what they’re marking you down for.”

and the session continues. numbers. notes. corrections.

but the warmth in your chest has gone taut, replaced by a thin, electric awareness because he didn’t ask what it was.

he didn’t ask why it was there.

he treated it like a fact already accounted for. somehow, that felt worse than being caught.

you shrank into your seat, sweaty fingers clamped around your pen as you felt paranoia sink in deep. you mentally curse at yourself for the same slip up.

this continues.

in your next tutor session, the room is quiet again. different building this time. later hour. fewer people around.

you’re sitting side by side now instead of across from each other, laptops open, knees almost brushing. katsuki scans your work while you wait, hands folded, trying not to think about how close he is.

“petalvoid,” he says suddenly. it rolls of his tongue swiftly.

your spine stiffens.

“…i'm sorry?”

he doesn’t look at you. instead, his eyes stay on the screen, one hand resting near the trackpad like this is just another annotation.

“that’s a nice name,” he adds, eyes flickering down to mark your work.

your throat tightens. “it’s...it's just something i use.”

“i figured.” a pause. then, casually. “what made you get the idea?”

your mind blanks.

“for… the name?” you ask, too carefully. you try to play your cards right. if you act like your nervous, it'll give it away. but if you act confident, a part of you is scared he'll go ahead and find it.

“yeah.” he finally glances over, expression blank, curious in the most neutral way.

you shrug, forcing lightness into it. “i don’t know. just sounded right.”

he hums, considering that.

“it does,” he agrees. “it's bold. the name suits you.”

he scrolls a little, then stops.

you decide to seal your lips shut. maybe if you just didn't respond, he'd drop it. but you speak before you follow through.

"thank you..."

“names like that usually mean something,” he continues, tone unchanged. “people don’t pick them randomly.”

your pulse is loud in your ears. you've never heard katsuki speak this much in a minute, let alone in a whole hour session.

“guess i’m not very random,” you say, trying to smile.

“no,” he replies easily. “you’re not.”

then he points at the screen, completely bypassing the topic.

“this part,” he says. “see, you overcomplicated it. next time, just simplify.”

the conversation is over. just like that.

he leans back slightly, giving you space again, attention fully returned to the work. the rest of the session continues normally. equations, corrections, the occasional nod of approval when you get something right.

but the words linger.

nice name. the name suits you.

he never presses. never circles back. never gives you anything to push against. that’s what makes it torment. because he isn’t fishing, he's just making small talk and it happens to land right where it gets personal.

yeah. you had to be more careful from now on.

the shopping centre is half-asleep when you step out of victoria’s secret.

most of the stores are shuttered, lights dimmed, floors freshly cleaned to a shine that makes your footsteps sound louder than they should. the bag in your hand holds a bright orange bra set, covered by a pair of orange pj's that were on sale.

you shouldn’t feel self-conscious, but you do anyway.

you’re adjusting your grip on the flimsy handles of the mesh bag when you hear a bundle of familiar voices.

you look up.

of course.

katsuki’s a few metres away, walking with a couple of his friends, gym bags slung over shoulders, voices low and tired, the easy kind of confidence that comes with late nights and nowhere urgent to be.

his eyes flick to you.

then, immediately, to the bag.

his pace slows just a fraction, and you expect him to just ignore you and continue walking. instead, he stops. a breath later, he's already changing direction, closing the distance between you before you've fully registered it.

“hey,” he says, casual.

“hey,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds normal.

one of his friends glances between you, then at the bag, then keeps walking, giving you both space without comment.

katsuki doesn’t smile, he never really does, but something in his gaze sharpens. not surprised, not amused. just aware.

“late night,” he says, nodding once toward the store behind you.

“yeah,” you shrug, shying away as you stare down at your shoes. “got paid extra this week.”

his eyes follow the motion, dropping down to linger on the victoria's secret bag this time. convenient that it had to be a stupid see-through mesh bag.

“orange this time?” he adds mildly, crossing his arms. there's a smugness to his tone, but his flat facial expression matches nothing like it.

your stomach flips.

“what?”

he finally looks back up at you, expression completely neutral.

“oh,” he says easily. “i just meant you wear a lot of pink. didn't take you as someone who liked orange.”

“oh! well, it's fall season coming up, so..."

he tilts his head, considering you for a moment like he’s deciding how much to say.

“that's right,” he answers.

your grip tightens on the bag handles.

there’s a beat of silence that settles between you. the hum of escalators. distant footsteps. a cleaner pushing a cart past the food court.

katsuki shifts his weight.

“i'm going to have to move our tutoring session on thursday to tomorrow,” he adds, eyes flicking down once more. “something came up.”

you nod, pondering. “i...i can do that, yeah that's fine.”

“sure,” he agrees immediately.

then he steps back, already disengaging, the moment sealed and filed away like everything else. this was a just a normal interaction, nothing else.

“night,” he says.

“night.”

he turns to catch up with his friends, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like he hasn’t just said something that’ll echo in your head the whole way home.

you seriously cannot tell if you're just paranoid and hyper-analyzing everything, or if it's your guilty conscious coming back to you, and that everything katsuki happens to say just lands where it shouldn't.

you stand there for a second longer, heart beating a little too fast, the victoria’s secret bag suddenly feeling heavier in your hand.

he never mentioned a screen, never mentioned a username. never mentioned anything you could point to.

he just spoke like someone who already knew. somehow, that makes it worse.

you were going to have to pause posting for a bit.

⊹

katsuki almost rushes home once he's finished his gym session. he does everything he needs do - clean dishes, clean up his apartment a bit, take a cold shower, and go through his notes for all his other courses. it's mundane, strict and curated for the goals he wants to reach.

but tonight, he works faster. because his phone awaits beside him, browser already opened.

at first, at the start of this newly introduced part of this nightly routine, he felt guilty about it. but, not enough to stop. now, he's grown used to it.

it's been a week.

once he's done his final problem set and some assignment work for the night, he's already grabbing the lotion from his bed-side table and pushing his boxers down to his knees. he's already typing petalvoid into hotcam.web, hands sweaty as his dominant hand begins pumping absentmindedly.

he clicks on a video from a few weeks ago. he was tutoring you at this time. it's kind of interesting to him. assuming that these were all recorded at night, did that mean after all your tutoring sessions, you'd go home and do this filthy shit after he told you to study that night?

katsuki knows before the video even loads who it’s going to be. his thumb hesitates over the screen, not out of doubt, but because his body is already reacting, that familiar pull low in his gut tightening like it’s been waiting for nurturement.

petalvoid.

he wastes no time pressing play.

"j-just imagining this is your cock..." there, right there. that's you, undivided between the shift of you at uni, and you here. your voice is just as soft and gentle. there's no difference.

you slide your covered breasts onto the dildo, using your hands at first to push the fat of your chest more. the overhead lights glisten just right on your chest, illuminating the lube you have slathered on.

"gonna fuck you like this using my tits, okay..?"

god, you sound so erotic here than in real life. katsuki fists his cock, his grip tightening at the way you sound.

he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw setting, shoulders going rigid for a moment before he forces himself to relax back into his chair.

no face. never a face. he doesn’t need it, because his mind already slots you in.

it’s your voice that does it. that soft, deliberate cadence you slip into when you’re alone, unguarded in a way you never are with him. it’s different from how you speak in study rooms, different from the careful tone you use when you’re nervous.

but it’s still you. too you. and that alone, weirdly turns him on even more.

you're not gentle with the way you bounce your breasts either. in fact, you're bouncing your whole body up and down, slamming your tits up and down to the base of the dildo.

the sound of you skin against the plastic has his balls clenching. his stomach tightens, warmth blooming slow and heavy this time, not rushing anywhere, just spreading. settling. his breathing deepens without him meaning to, chest rising fuller as his focus narrows until the rest of the room fades out completely.

he watches with intent now. not curiosity or confusion. attention. attention to the way your soft breathes come out forced as you successfully arouse your audience. the way your pretty breasts fuck the inanimate thing.

every movement on the screen feels familiar in a way that makes his jaw clench. not because he’s seen it before, but because this he can picture you doing it. he can make out what facial expression you'd be making, because all he can think about is the way his brain fills in the gaps with memories that have nothing to do with what's happening on screen.

you sitting across from him, pen tucked between your fingers. you shifting in your seat when you’re concentrating. you going quiet when you’re overwhelmed.

and how obvious you are. he know he's got you all figured out in the last tutoring session. it's the way your cheeks flush undeniably, voice quiet and cautious now. and how your fingers tense around the hem of your sweater when he says something that hits close to the existence of petalvoid.

the contrast hits hard.

his hips shift unconsciously, a slow roll he doesn’t correct. the sensation builds steadily, a dull pressure turning sharp as the video continues, your sounds build through him like they’re being pulled straight from his chest.

his brows knit, focus absolute. this isn’t anonymous to him anymore. this is private. something personal in your life that he's getting off to.

his breath grows uneven, shallow now, heat coiling tighter with every second, every sound. his body reacts like it already knows the rhythm, like it’s responding to you instead of what’s on the screen.

“fuuuck,” he mutters quietly, watching the way your breasts beg to slip out of that flimsy thing you call a bra.

"bet you're all gonna cum real soon, yeah?"

you let out more drawn out moans, louder this time. your movements are more purposeful, heavy as the heat between your breasts eliminate any friction that was ever there.

katsuki's wrist moves a bit faster, tighter around his cock. because it's true. he is about to cum, and he's going to cum to the sight of your pretty breasts fucking your hot-pink dildo that's definitely been inside of you before.

pre-cum rolls off his raging, pink tip, cloudy white as some of his thumb catches it to drag it down his cock. then it happens. you're too loud, your breasts keep slapping against the desk. and it's the first thing he sees.

your left tit pops out from your bra, your dusty nipple flashing the camera, round and fat.

"o-oh, f-fuck!"

katsuki quickly pauses the video this time just to stare at it. light, pleasured grunts leaving his lips as he locks his gaze onto it. this is what your breasts look like, bare, naked. all sweaty and lubed up.

katsuki thinks it's so pretty. so pretty, that his abs clench as he drains his balls clean over his fist, cum spurting everywhere. he continues the video as his hips take over, slower, powerful thrusts as he watches you quickly cover back up.

"this will be the one time you ever see my breasts. bare.."

katsuki allows himself another minute of fucking his hand through the overstimulation till he feels that it's enough.

he’s conscious of it, and the decision he’s made. he’s aware of how easily his body betrays him. aware of how cleanly the line between you and this version of you has dissolved.

by the time the video ends, the warmth in his stomach is sharp, humming, his pulse loud in his ears. he doesn’t move right away.

he just sits there, breathing heavy, grounded by the weight of what he knows now.

because the first time, he could pretend.

this time, there’s no pretending at all.

petalvoid isn’t a stranger.

it’s you.

and his body has already decided what to do with that information, way long before his mind catches up.

the tutoring session the next day comes with a sense of dread from katsuki. it wasn't that he hated tutoring you, he was just tired. in fact, he hadn't slept well the night before.

at precisely 3:59 pm, he arrives before you and sets up. once you walk through the room, it's different this time. you look the exact same. your rosy cheeks, gentle eyes, your ridiculous collection of knitted sweaters, hair messy from the wind. just you.

but when you sit down, all he can think about is your breasts. he tries to keep his eyes far from your chest, but he's beginning to notice smaller things.

the way the outline of your chest presses against the desk, pushing up the fat up a bit. how supple your hands like, clasped together as if waiting for a permission. and today is a little different, because this time your wearing a skirt, and it rides up as you shift in your chair. and all he can really think about in this present moment is bending you over this table.

katsuki's grip tightens at the thought before shutting it down.

the sound of you rummaging through your textbook pulls him out of a trance.

get it together.

he's never been a horn ball. he didn't even watched porn often. so, what seems to be the issue?

"i'm a little stressed with finals..." you start off, always in that quiet tone. "the last lecture kinda confused me, i tried to go over it last night, but it just wasn't clicking."

katsuki raises his eyes, pushing his glasses a bit. "okay, give it here."

you slide your notebook toward him, fingers brushing the edge for half a second longer than necessary before pulling back. he notices. he notices everything now.

he scans the work quickly. too quickly. the math is fine, not perfect, but workable. that isn’t what slows him down.

it’s the way you’re watching him.

not openly, definitely not expectantly. just that quiet, unconscious focus you get when you’re overwhelmed. like you’re anchoring yourself to something solid, and in the moment, it happens to be him.

“you didn’t misunderstand the concept,” he says. “you rushed the application.”

you frown. “i did?”

“yeah.” he taps the page once. “here. you skipped ahead.”

you lean closer to see what he’s pointing at, shoulder brushing his arm. barely there. still enough.

his jaw tightens.

he adjusts in his chair, forcing his attention back to the problem instead of the warmth creeping low in his stomach; that familiar, unwelcome awareness he’s learned to sit with.

“finals do that,” he continues, tone steady. “make everything feel louder than it is.”

you hum softly in response. the sound lands heavier than it should.

he clears his throat.

“walk me through what you thought you were doing,” he says. “out loud.”

you hesitate, then start explaining. you always do this thing when you’re unsure, talking slowly, like you’re feeling your way through it instead of reciting. he listens closely, more closely than he probably should.

he notices how your voice shifts when you gain confidence. how it dips when you doubt yourself.

“stop,” he says gently when you trail off. “right there. that part was correct.”

your eyes lift. “it was?”

“yeah,” he nods. “keep going.”

he meets your gaze for a second too long. there's a silence that hangs in the air.

“you do that a lot,” he adds. “second-guess when you don’t need to.”

you smile faintly. “working on it.”

“i know,” he says.

and he does. more than you realise.

he slides the notebook back toward you, pointing again, closer this time. “try it again. slower.”

you follow his lead, pen moving carefully now. when you get it right, he feels it immediately, that quiet satisfaction, the same one that hits when something finally clicks into place.

“there,” he says. “see?”

your shoulders ease a fraction. the praise lands. he can tell.

“you’re thinking ahead now,” he adds, almost without meaning to.

you nod slowly, eyes back on the paper, but he catches the way your breath changes. softer, steadier.

he leans back, giving you space, forcing himself to keep things where they belong. because you’re right there. warm. real. focused.

and no matter how many times he’s seen another version of you behind a screen, you stammering your love to him back in high school, and this — this quiet, concentrated presence. he sees it. there's nothing different about either versions. he just managed to catch you a more personal, secluded light. who was he to judge you for what you did in your free time..

and besides, it wouldn't mean anything coming from him, because he is just as guilty, if not even more than you were.

he's the one who gets off on your content, the one who works just a bit harder so by 8pm, he's in bed fisting his cock to your videos.

he's the one slowly getting addicted to petalvoid.

“keep going,” he says calmly. “you’ve got it.”

he watches you work through the rest of the problem, slower now, more confident. you still have that habit where you hesitate. but you're improving, quite a lot since he's started out.

still, something feels off.

he closes his notebook the moment you finish, a little sharper than necessary. the sound lands louder in the quiet room. he quickly recognises it as premeditated guilt catching up to him.

“yeah, we'll leave it at that,” he mutters, already standing.

he doesn’t wait for you to look up. doesn’t sit there like usual, reviewing what you should focus on next. he grabs his books, shoving them into his bag with brisk efficiency, movements clipped.

this isn’t how he does things and he knows it.

“same time next session,” he adds, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“yeah,” you say. “see you—”

“yep.”

too fast.

he’s out the door before the word fully leaves your ears.

the hallway is cooler, emptier. he walks quickly, jaw tight, mind loud in a way he doesn’t appreciate. he hates this part.

the lag. the static. the moments where his thoughts don’t line up cleanly anymore.

he’s starting to notice things he never used to notice.

the way your voice changes when you’re concentrating. the way you sit closer without realising it. the way his attention drifts where it has no business drifting.

and worse. the way it stays there.

it’s inefficient. distracting. unnecessary.

this was meant to be a form of entertainment from him, but it's beyond that point. he can't even stop getting hard whenever he thinks about it.

god, he shouldn't even be thinking about your breasts and your pussy for fuck sake.

he exhales through his nose, forcing his pace to steady.

this doesn’t happen to him.

he doesn’t lose focus. he doesn’t let irrelevant variables into equations that don’t need them. he prides himself on control, on clarity, on knowing exactly where everything belongs. on being the best in the cohort, academically and in every aspect in his life.

and lately, that’s been slipping.

just slightly. barely enough to name, but enough to bother him.

because whatever this is, whatever sexual, lust-driven thought that keeps trying to surface, he already knows he doesn’t like where it leads.

and he refuses to follow it.

not yet.

⊹

for the past week, katsuki's been agitated in ways that don't quite add up. it feels like being back to square one with him, except this time, there's tension where there used to just distance.

the moment you sit down, you know something’s wrong already. you can feel it in the air, and you think maybe someone's pissed him off.

katsuki doesn’t ask how you’re doing. doesn’t comment on the time. doesn’t even look up when you pull your notebook out. he’s already flipping pages, pen in hand, posture rigid like he’s bracing himself.

“start,” he says. “show me the last problem set.”

you blink. “oh, okay.”

you slide your notebook over. he scans it quickly. too quickly. his jaw tightens.

“why’d you do it like this?” he asks.

“…that’s how the lecturer did it?”

he scoffs under his breath. “yeah, and you copied it without understanding.”

heat creeps up your neck. “i did understand it—”

“then explain it,” he cuts in immediately.

no patience. no softness. it's like he just wants this study session to be done and over with.

you try, words tumbling over each other as you rush to keep up with his pace. he interrupts twice, tapping the page harder than necessary.

“no. wrong.”

“you skipped a step.”

“that’s sloppy.”

each correction lands sharper than the last.

you grip your pen tighter, heart thudding, trying to keep up as he flips forward.

“again,” he says. “from the top.”

you stumble. you always do when he goes this fast.

he exhales sharply. “you’re not thinking.”

“i am,” you say, quieter now, shrinking into your seat.

“then stop hesitating,” he snaps. “you didn’t do this last week.”

that stings more than it should. you force yourself to breathe, to focus, to ignore the way he’s leaning closer than usual. not intimate, just looming. like pressure made physical. and somehow, pathetically, your chest still warmed.

you make another mistake.

he catches it instantly.

“seriously?” he mutters. “we’ve been over this.”

“i’m trying,” you say back, slipping through your own patience.

“try harder,” he replies flatly.

silence snaps tight between you.

he drags a hand down his face, irritated, like he’s arguing with himself more than you.

“finals aren’t forgiving,” he continues, tone clipped. “you don’t get points for pointless atempts, this is just shit effort.”

you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

the session keeps moving. fast. relentless. no pauses to check in. no praise when you get something right, just an immediate shift to the next problem.

you’re exhausted halfway through.

by the end, your notes are messy, brain buzzing, chest tight with a mix of adrenaline and something else you can’t name. normally after a very productive study, your head aches like this. but this time, it's twisted into something more emotional.

katsuki closes his notebook abruptly.

“we’re done,” he says.

you look up. “already?”

“yeah.”

he shoves his books into his bag, movements rough, uncharacteristically careless. he doesn’t meet your eyes when he stands.

“review this,” he adds, voice curt. “you can’t afford to fall behind.”

you swallow, staring down at the sheet. “did i do that bad?”

his hand pauses on the strap.

“you could do better.”

he doesn’t explain. he just slings the bag over his shoulder and leaves, footsteps sharp against the floor.

you sit there for a moment after, staring at the page in front of you. he wasn’t wrong.

but the way he pushed, the way he looked wound tight, irritated, like he was fighting something the entire time, that was new.

and somehow, it unsettled you more than the teasing ever did.

during your night shift, your emotions come in waves. during the first quarter, you spent trying to figure out why katsuki's been acting this way. then on your break, you realised that...wait...he's always been like this by nature so it couldn't have been anything. and then at the half-way point, you were spiraling once more.

"y/n, are you okay?" your coworker asked, voice soft and private. "you haven't been talking that much this shift."

“yeah,” you say, too fast. “just tired.”

but the tension lingers, coiled and unresolved, long after the warmth of the drink is gone from the counter.

whatever this is, it isn’t easing. it’s tightening.

the dynamics practical is worse than the lectures.

at least in lectures, you can sit at the back and disappear into your notes, let the numbers blur until they stop feeling personal. but pracs don’t let you hide. they’re built on participation. movement, speaking.

and katsuki is there.

you notice him immediately — how could you not? — standing with his group near the front, sleeves pushed up, posture easy and confident like this room was designed for him. he’s already skimming the task sheet, brows drawn together in focus, nodding once like the problem’s already halfway solved in his head.

you take a seat at one of the benches near the middle, bag tucked close to your legs. your stomach twists as you read the instructions.

free-body diagram. equations of motion. assumptions.

your pen hesitates.

“okay,” the demonstrator says, clapping their hands. “work in groups of four. you’ll be presenting your reasoning at the end.”

your heart sinks.

people shuffle. chairs scrape. someone asks if the bench is taken. you nod, mute, and slide over to make space. introductions are quick, shallow. names you’ll forget. you try to focus, you really do.

but every time you glance up, you see him.

katsuki leans over his bench, pointing at the setup, explaining something with sharp, efficient gestures. his group listens. writes. nods. no confusion. no pauses.

you hear someone from his table fawn over him. "bakugo, how are you so quick with these ideas?"

you feel stupid for comparing.

“what do you think?” someone in your group asks.

you flinch slightly. “sorry?”

they repeat the question. something about assumptions. frictionless surfaces. you nod along, even though your mind is blank.

“i think… we can neglect air resistance,” you say carefully.

there’s a pause.

“…yeah,” someone replies. “obviously.”

heat crawls up your neck.

you shrink back into your notes, fingers tightening around your pen. you write slower than everyone else. erase more. your diagram looks messier, less confident, something very similar to chicken scratch. every step feels like you’re asking permission to be there.

halfway through, the demonstrator walks past your bench.

“how’s it going here?”

one of your groupmates answers immediately. you don’t speak. you don’t trust your voice not to shake.

across the room, katsuki’s group gets a nod. “good work.”

you don’t look at him when he glances over, but you feel it. brief. unreadable. gone.

it shouldn’t matter.

you tell yourself that over and over.

but it does.

because you remember being the girl who raised her hand in chemistry. who stayed back after class. who tried. and now you’re the one counting the minutes until the prac ends, hoping you won’t be asked to explain anything out loud.

when it’s finally over, chairs scrape again. people pack up. chatter fills the room.

katsuki leaves with his group, talking once, dismissive.

you don’t hear what they’re saying.

you don’t want to.

you sling your bag over your shoulder and walk out slower than everyone else, eyes fixed on the floor, chest tight with something dull and heavy.

it’s not jealousy. it’s worse.

it’s the quiet, sinking feeling that you’re falling behind in a place you worked so hard to be. and the one person who knows exactly how much effort you’re putting in doesn’t look back to check if you’re keeping up.

somewhere between packing up your bag and walking out of the building. between the echo of the lab and the hollow feeling in your chest.

you can’t do it today.

by the time you reach the bus stop, the decision feels heavier, but solid.

your phone is already in your hand. you stare at his name for a long moment before typing.

l/n: hey, i don’t think i can make it to tutoring this afternoon. something came up, will be there next sesh :)

you read it twice. three times.

it’s not a lie. not really.

your thumb hovers, then you hit send.

the message delivers instantly.

no typing bubble.

no reply.

you spend the ride home replaying the prac in your head. the way your voice disappeared. the way you felt smaller than you’ve felt in a long time. the way katsuki didn’t look back.

by the time you get home, the silence from your phone feels loud.

you drop your bag by the door and sit on the edge of your bed, phone resting face-up beside you like it might move on its own.

nothing. minutes pass.

then, a buzz.

bakugo: alright

that’s it.

no question mark. no follow-up. no “you good?” no irritation you can brace yourself against.

just acceptance. that hurts worse.

you stare at the word until the screen dims.

you don’t know what you expected, annoyance, maybe. insistence. a reminder about finals. something that proves you matter enough to notice.

instead, he lets you go. you lie back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, chest tight.

you told yourself this was a gamble. you just didn’t realise how much you were hoping he’d call it.

that night, you finally log back in.

it feels strange at first, like slipping into something you haven’t worn in a while. familiar, but stiff around the edges. you sit on the edge of your bed with your laptop balanced in front of you, room lights dimmed just enough, fairy lights casting a soft glow against the walls.

you reach into your drawer and pull out a fabric.

it’s simple. satin-soft. pale, with a thin band that ties behind your head. it covers your eyes completely, dipping just low enough that the bridge of your nose is hidden, but not your mouth. not your jaw. not the faint curve of your cheeks.

you hesitate with it in your hands.

you’ve never shown this much before. no face. no identifying features. that was always the rule.

but tonight feels different.

you tie the mask on anyway.

when you start the stream, you’re quiet at first. your greeting comes out soft, almost tentative, voice lower than usual. the chat ticks on beside the screen, familiar usernames appearing one by one, hearts and greetings stacking up faster than you expect.

you don’t smile right away.

your shoulders are tense. you can feel it. the way your body hasn’t quite let go yet, the way the day still sits heavy in your chest. you talk slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the water.

but then you breathe.

just once. deep, nice and slow, more for yourself.

you adjust your posture. shift closer to the camera. your shoulders ease, inch by inch, and with them, your voice steadies. the words start to come more naturally. the cadence returns not forced, not performed, just… there.

this is familiar territory. the mask helps a bit.

there’s something freeing about knowing they can’t see your eyes. can’t read you fully. you control what’s given. you always have.

you talk. you listen. you let the tension drain out of your muscles as the minutes pass. the chat responds, warm and attentive, the way it always does. not demanding. not invasive. you talk the time to talk to your viewers.

by the time you glance at the clock, you realise your jaw doesn’t ache anymore. your shoulders have dropped. your breathing is even.

yeah.

this is okay.

this is what you needed.

you don’t think about campus. or dynamics. or tutoring. or the way katsuki looked across the lab earlier, distant and sharp.

here, you’re just a voice. a presence. a carefully held version of yourself that doesn’t have to shrink or catch up or explain.

when you finally end the stream, the room feels quiet but not lonely.

you untie the mask slowly and set it aside, fingers brushing over the fabric like it still matters.

for the first time all day, your chest feels light.

whatever happens next, at least you know this part of you still exists.

and for now, that’s enough.

the next day comes by gently, soft sunrays kissing your skin as you made you way to lectures, and disappearing by the time you go to tutoring.

by the time you're walking to the building, the warmth has faded. your shoulder feel tighter, and the calm you carried out of your room has long folded inward.

you try to convince yourself to just act normal, and that it's just routine.

still, you rehearse what you'll say, and what you won't. and whatever happens next in that room, another regular tutoring session with katsuki, at least you know this part of you is untouched.

because today's been untouchable. good. almost perfect. from the time you stepped out of bed, to moving on campus, the paranoia was almost non-existent. you took notes, and when you called on in your pracs, you answered. just like how you subconsciously nod in lectures like you're keeping up, even when you're not sure you are.

you've always been good at looking capable, you think.

engineering has a way of making you feel like you're either brilliant or you're nothing, and you've spent too many weeks hovering in that uncomfortable middle space. a monotone grey area where you're smart enough to understand what you're missing, but not confident enough to trust what you do know. so, instinctively, you overcorrect. you oversaturate the space around you so it buries your self doubt.

it's so stupid, and you know it is.

but it's the same instinct that makes you tuck your hands in your lap when you talk to a tutor, like if you keep your body contained, your mistakes will stay contained too, and compensate for the times you stammer out something stupid.

petalvoid is one more thing you can't afford to be careless with. not when you feel like you're constantly proving you belong here. not when one slip could make you the kind of person people look at differently, the kind they assume is faking it till they make it. faking her grades to avoid pitiful glances. faking her confidence. faking her existence.

you can't afford to handle more agitation. you can't handle more noise in your head.

by the time you reach the door, you've already decided that you'll just control what you can. you're going to go into the room polite, so eager to learn that it masks you a year of your lustful sins. you're going to sound competent even if it feels like you don't know what you're even doing. you're going to explain everything before katsuki has the chance to think you're stupid.

you'll just ...ambush him with content about yesterday's lecture. then, there'll be no room for that awkward silence. maybe then, if there's no silence, then there's no gaps. nothing that he could say that'll fill it with something worse.

when you enter the room, it's too quiet. not empty, just sealed. the kind of quiet that presses back when you shift. you sit across from katsuki, notebook already flipped open, pen tight in your grip.

"okay," you keep your eyes trained on the chicken-scratch before you. "so, for this one, i thought maybe i'd try a different approach because last time i-"

"hold on."

you pen stills. katsuki doesn't look at you as he finishes writing something in the margin of your page. it's neatly, decisive. considerately executed. only then, does his gaze lift to yours.

"you're explaining things i didn't ask about," he says. "just do it."

heat crawls up to your neck, you continue anyway. "i just-" you stop yourself, then start again. "i mean, i thought if i showed you how i got there, it'd make more sense. i know it's not perfect, but i was trying to-"

"you don't have to justify it."

his words are rounded, measured to hit right where it shouldn't. that's what makes it land wrong.

you blink, smiling a bit. "i wasn't.."

"yes, you were."

katsuki leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest loosely. his eyes are steady on you like he's watching something come into focus. not the work, not the multivariable calculus written in obscure handwriting, not the fact that you scribbled out half a page of working out. you.

"stop narrating like if you explain yourself enough, it'll make the mistake smaller."

your throat tightened. "i'm just trying to be clear," you say, careful with your words. why does it feel like his words have some sort of inuendo?

"i know."

there. that!

that stupidly observant tone. the same tone that's grown from hoarse, brashness to something reduced to an unpredictable stillness. it makes your stomach dip.

you tear your gaze from katsuki, glancing back down at your notebook. suddenly, all your thoughts are louder than before. you hadn't realized you were talking to much, filling in space that's already been filled.

katsuki tapped the page once. "the math's fine, algreba's perfect, but this part here," he points. "that's where lose it. seems like more of a confidence issue than skill."

you swallow. "could you evaluate?"

silence settles again, and it's thicker one. why must katsuki always be the blunt-ended? you wish you had a different tutor. it's painful sitting in these uncomfortable silences where you feel like you're navigating a landmine.

you shift in your seat, adjusting your grip on the pen before you realize you're doing it. your thumb pressed into your palm, grounded yourself without meaning to.

you stop, unclenching your fist.

too late.

katsuki's gaze has already flicked down, catching sight of your containment.

something cold slides into place in your chest. maybe guilt?

"i'm sorry," you splutter, reflexive. too quick.

"for what?" he asks.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. not because the words are stuck, but because you don't even know what you're apologizing for.

his sharp vermillion eyes linger on you for a second longer before shifting to the space before him.

"listen," he says, tone changing. it's not softer, exactly, but more intention. "we're not doing that."

"doing what?" you ask, quietly, scared that anything that you say could turn into something personal.

he gestures between you, the table, the work. "this. you shrinking. you thinking you have to explain yourself into permission," he continues. "i'm not your academic advisor, or your therapist. i'm here to teach you and make sure your ass doesn't fail."

your fingers curl tighter around the pen. you're surprised you haven't let go.

"i don't mean to."

"i know you don't," he replies. "but intent doesn't change the pattern. you're slipping."

your pulse is loud in your ears now. you feel too visible, like you've been turned concave outwards into the light without being asked. there's this tingle that spreads selfishly along your spine, that tells you to just spit it out. you know he knows. because how could he not? he's already hinted so many times he's known.

you know because from the second you stepped into this room, you had everything under covers. not once did you suggest anything internal, or that suggested something was happening outside of this room. from the second you opened your mouth, this was already his conversation.

you should have never become a cam girl. if you wanted to show someone what your wet panties looked like, you should've just looked for someone in real life like a normal person. if you were sexually frustrated, you should've just gone to the club. if you just wanted to feel noticed, you should've put yourself out there.

not do this anonymous crap where you fuck yourself in your dark room with a hot pink dildo, touching yourself to the thought of a boy in this room, who's made it clear he doesn't feel the same.

katsuki leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, closing the distance just enough that you're forced to pay attention.

"here's how this works," he says. "in this room, we focus on the work. that's it. you don't owe me explanations about anything else. i can tell. whatever you're trying to compensate for, i don't need to hear about it here."

your breath stutters. there's something tight, almost suffocating in your throat. the feeling spreads throughout your chest, up your thyroid and..

he holds you gaze, unblinking.

"whatever you do outside this room isn't my business."

the sentence lands cleanly. solid. right on the bullseye. it's not an accusation at this point, just a solid fact.

"and it won't become my business unless you want it to."

there it is. he knows. he fucking knows. your eyes scan rapidly for anything, anything that tells you he doesn't know! anything the suggests misinterpretation. a crack, a tell. heck, even a potential chance to rewind the last ten seconds and pretend this is about something else entirely. but you can't.

katsuki's attention is steady, locked onto yours, unflinching. this is the longest, the most, and probably the only time he's looked at you like this. as uncomfortable as it was, a part of you, buried deep down blossoms in the warmth of his attention. the sensation bubbles in you, urging you, almost commanding you to just..

something in you goes very still. then it comes out like word vomit.

"you know, don't you?"

the words hang between you.

katsuki doesn't answer right away. you can tell he's studying you. in fact, you feel it right in your core. he's checking if somethings off too, as if he's confirming a conclusion he reached a while ago.

"yeah." he says.

that's it. that's all it took. it didn't feel as loud, or heavy, or preamble as you thought it would've felt.

but, still, your chest collapses in on itself.

with every ounce of salvageable competency you have left, you manage to speak. "how long?"

"long enough."

the answer isn't cruel, and it isn't as confronting as you'd imagined either. it's honest in the way katsuki always is, stripped down to what matters and nothing beyond that.

you swallow. "and you just... didn't say anything?"

"i didn't need to," he replied. "i could tell you weren't read to hear it."

the words string because they're accurate. your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeves, and you realize you've never felt more exposed in a way that has nothing to do with skin.

"are you-" you stop. start again, cleaner. "are you judging me?"

that finally makes his facial expression change. "don't put words in my mouth," he says. "if i was judging you, you'd know."

"i...i don't know, it just felt like it."

he pulled back from you slightly, giving you space. real space, not distance. the kind that makes it clear he's not cornering you.

"you're an adult," he continues. "you're not hurting anyone, and you don't owe me a justification for how you exist. it's not my business to judge."

you breath shakes on the way out. "then why bring it up at all?"

his eyes meet your again, unwavering. "because i could tell it was starting to mess with the work."

of course, practical direct katsuki.

"and," he adds, after a beat, "...because secrets like get heavy when you carry them alone."

your throat burns, but you nod. he's right. "so, what now?"

katsuki considers you for a moment. he has this thoughtful expression in that quiet way of his.

"now?" he pauses. "now nothing changes unless you want it to."

the words echo his boundary from earlier. its deliberate, and somewhere beneath those words, lie and offering that you don't fail to notice.

"this says professional," he continues. "unless you say otherwise. i'm not going to push, i won't hint if you don't to. and i'm not going to pretend i don't know." he pauses. "but i'm not going to use it against you."

somehing in your chest loosens. not relief, exactly. it's recognition.

"you're in control here," he finishes. "don't forget that."

you sit in the weight, letting it sink in. "okay."

that's it. katsuki knows. you know that he knows. it's okay.

katsuki reaches for his pen, tapping the page once like a period at the end of a sentence. "good, now back to the problem." he leans a bit closer to write on the page. "you were overthinking this part."

and just like that, he moves on. not because it didn't metter, but because the line down the page has already been drawn, and he trusts you to decide what happens next.

you finish packing in silence.

paper stacked. laptop shut. pen slid back into its case with a little more care than necessary. the room feels different now — not tense, just… aware. like everything has shifted half an inch to the left and you’re still adjusting your footing.

katsuki is already standing when you sling your bag over your shoulder. he gathers his things efficiently, like he always does. no hesitation. no rush.

you almost let it go.

almost.

“bakugo,” you say.

he pauses, hand resting on the zipper of his bag. looks at you. patient. expectant.

the question burns on your tongue. you hate that it does. hate that your heart starts beating faster like this matters more than it should.

“…have you,” you start, then stop. swallow. try again. “have you watched them?”

the room goes very still.

katsuki doesn’t react right away.

he doesn’t look away either.

katsuki exhales through his nose. not annoyed. not embarrassed. just… caught between answers.

“yeah,” he says.

you swallow. “why?”

he doesn’t dodge it, but you can tell the confrontation hits him.

“because i was curious,” he replies. “and because it didn’t stay that way.”

your heart kicks harder.

“you’re asking if i watched for work reasons,” he continues, tone flat. “or because it did something for me.”

you nod. barely.

his jaw tightens. “the second one.”

it lands heavier than anything else he’s said today.

you don’t look away. neither does he.

“i’m not gonna dress it up,” katsuki adds. “i watched because it turned me on. i didn’t plan on that. didn’t think it through. but i’m not gonna lie about it.”

your chest feels hot. exposed. strangely steady.

“and?” you ask. “after that?”

katsuki threw you a look. “after that?” he looked away. “what...what do you think?” a pause.

"i don't want to assume..."

he gives you an annoyed look, huffing. "fuck, l/n, yes. i've jerked off to your videos. happy?"

“…you jerked off to my videos,” you say.

it comes out softer than you expect. not accusing. not shocked. more like you’re testing how the words sound in the room.

katsuki doesn’t flinch.

“yeah,” he replies. simple. grounded. like he’s already done pretending that part didn’t exist.

you blink once. then a quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

“wow. um, oh wow! haha, i-" you can't believe what you're hearing. “okay.”

that makes his brow crease. not offended, just recalibrating.

“that wasn’t the reaction i was expecting,” he says.

“what were you expecting?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“don’t know,” he shrugs. “not… that., maybe mad?”

you tilt your head, studying him. there’s something strange about how calm he is. how honest. how this doesn’t feel like a confession so much as information being placed on the table.

“i guess i just needed to hear it out loud,” you say. “it’s different when it’s not… implied. i've been going crazy these past few days.”

he hums. “fair.”

there’s a beat.

then you add, carefully, “and you’re not, like… weird about it?”

his eyes flick back to yours.

“i wouldn’t have said anything if i was,” he says. “and i wouldn’t be standing here if i thought this was gonna turn into a mess.”

that lands.

“…so,” you say, dragging the word out a little. your fingers find themselves at the hem of your top. “you know...you watch. you jerk off. to me. i mean to petalvoid, not really me...”

his jaw tightens, but not in discomfort. more like awareness.

“still you, but yeah.”

you take a breath. let it settle in your chest. katsuki bakugo, your crush since high-school, the same boy who rejected you, jerked off to your videos.

"...i don’t hate that,” you admit, deciding to go full with it.

that gets his full attention.

you rush on before he can interrupt. “i’m not saying i planned for that. or that it has to mean anything. i just—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “it doesn’t freak me out.”

katsuki studies you in silence. long enough that you start to second-guess yourself.

“okay,” he says finally.

just okay. but there’s weight behind it, and it just comes out.

"i don't want to like, be weird or anything, like maybe i'm reading this totally wrong, but like now that you know..." you backtrack immediately. "nevermind! nevermind, sorry i don't know what i was thinking."

"you asking if we can fuck?" katsuki said openly. there's a willingness in his tone.

you don't reply instantly, weighing in on the actual reality of the conversation, but there's a heat down there.

"...what would you get out of it?"

katsuki paused, pondering, but you can tell there's a big thought behind it. this time, he just chooses not to say it. "stress-relief."

"true..."

“then let’s be clear,” he continues. “because if this goes anywhere, it doesn’t get sloppy.”

you nod. immediately, too fast. “i mean...yeah, okay.”

“no assumptions,” he says. “no entitlement. if you say stop, it stops.”

“same goes for you,” you reply, words spilling like a conscious decision.

his mouth quirks, not quite a smile. “yeah.”

another pause. heavier now. charged in a way that has nothing to do with the room and everything to do with the honesty sitting between you.

“…so this would be,” you say slowly, “friends with benefits. if it happens.”

“if,” he echoes. deliberate.

you meet his gaze. “if.”

he nods once. decisive. “then we talk about it before anything actually happens.”

you feel your chest warm.

“yeah,” you say. “i’d like that, cause you know...yeah.” your words trail off, empty and open for interpretation. but what you really wanted to say what that this is honestly a dream come true, but i'm a bit scared that i'll get too attached and maybe we'll be stuck as fuck-buddies.

katsuki grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, but he doesn’t move toward the door yet.

“good,” he says. “then we’re on the same page.”

he finally turns to leave, hand on the handle.

“and for the record,” he adds, not looking back, “you didn’t imagine it. your videos are hot.”

you can see the tips of his ear brighten. the door clicks shut behind him.

you stand there for a second, heart beating a little faster, not because he said it.

but because now, it’s a conversation. not a secret. not something you'll carry alone, but a part of you that now shares itself with katsuki bakugo.

Updated 19th October 2025 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Dialogue Tags

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot