#[ she can see its faults but there is love lost there because she does LOVE her family ]

[spiderwarden]

If there is ever doubt in her own skill, Minthara remembers that her mother wears scars from her own blade. Then all doubts melt away.

[taurasiluvr]

BABY IT AIN'T REALLY CHEATING IF HE DON'T SEE ── BUECKERS⁵

how you can help palestine prequel part three

★ based on dope love by gucci mane. you have an annoying boyfriend who always seems to be jealous of paige. and you've never even given him a reason to not trust you . . . of course not!

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. smut with a little plot, cheating (on irrelevant bf), asshole!paige, fingering, exhibitionism (sorta if that's what you can even call it).

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 3.6k

 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; requests are open for those who want to send them in :p

"you're embarrassing me," the words came out of your mouth, your tone annoyed as you glared up at your boyfriend. you couldn't believe that he asked paige for a 1v1 – and on top of that, he lost.

now he was acting all pissy, pacing back and forth on the court with his hands on his hips. paige, your best friend since forever, stood a few feet away, trying to hide her smirk. obviously, she shouldn't be intimidated by your boyfriend, who was supposed to be confident and supportive, not a sore loser.

"maybe if you hadn't underestimated her," you continued, your voice cutting through his grumbling. "you know how good she is, she's literally d1."

paige smirked slightly as she shrugged, taking a sip out of the red solo cup. "it's just a game, guys. it's not a big deal,"

your boyfriend shot her a glare, then turned to you. "why are you taking her side?"

"cus you're acting like a damn child," you snapped back. "it's not her fault you lost."

your boyfriend’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red. he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his hands still on his hips. the music and laughter from the party around you seemed to fade into the background as his eyes searched yours for any sort of validation.

"i just... didn't think she'd take it so seriously," he mumbled, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

paige chuckled softly, shaking her head. "i didn't take it seriously, man. it's just a game," she repeated, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement as she glanced at you, licking her lips slightly.

"just a game?" he repeated as he glared at the blonde. "i just got beat by a girl! i'm gonna get absolutely flamed in the groupchat,"

"hey, she's also d1! you don't even play basketball," you retorted, feeling your frustration rise. "it's not like you lost to someone off the street. paige is amazing at this."

"whatever," he muttered, looking away and crossing his arms. "still feels like shit, specially cause you're my girl and shit,"

paige raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the interaction more than she should. "dude, it's just a game. and besides, who cares what your friends think? they'll get over it."

"easy for you to say," he snapped back, his voice growing louder as he began walking toward her. "you didn't just embarrass yourself."

you stepped between them, your patience wearing thin. "enough. you're acting like a sore loser and it's not a good look."

he glared at you, the hurt evident in his eyes. "why are you always defending her? it's like you take her side over mine every fuckin' time."

"because you're acting ridiculous!" you shot back. "paige is my best friend, and you're being unfair to her and to me. this has nothing to do with sides and more to do with you and your weird competition with her."

he clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and paige. "weird competition? baby, it's obvious she has a thing for you, i mean jesus-"

you immediately let out a groan. "are we really gonna talk about this now, again? i told you-"

"i don't care, she obviously does!" he finally snapped. you grabbed his arm as he continued shouting about whatever he thinks is going on between you the blonde.

paige watched as you dragged your boyfriend to the side, letting out an amused laugh as she shook her head. she went back inside to get a refill, finding aubrey and nika.

"you gotta stop playing with him," nika stifled a laugh as she glanced outside, watching you and your boyfriend laughing. "i feel bad. we all watched him get absolutely obliterated by you."

aubrey laughed, nodding. "that was so fucking embarrassing, my god. i got an ick and i don't even like him."

paige shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips. "can't help that i'm good at basketball. and it's not like i'm doing it on purpose. he's the one who keeps trying to prove himself."

nika shook her head, still grinning. "well, he's definitely not doing himself any favors."

aubrey took a sip from her cup, raising an eyebrow. "you think she's actually gonna stay with him much longer? i mean, look at them."

they all glanced outside where you were still talking animatedly with your boyfriend. his face was red with frustration, while yours was a mix of exasperation and annoyance.

paige sighed, her expression softening a bit. "nah, probably. she deserves someone who doesn't get all insecure and jealous over nothing."

aubrey and nika exchanged looks, their faces entertained. nika spoke up, "paige we're not dumb, we know you've fucked before."

paige shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "yeah well... they were on break," she look a sip of her drink as she glanced up at her friends, their expressions unconvinced.

nika raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "on a break, huh? and does he know about this?"

paige hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "nah, he doesn't."

nika let out a low whistle. "that's risky, paige. he looks like the type to not mind... you know, beating your ass."

paige laughed as she shrugged. "yeah and he's also like, 5'8."

"if he tried, he'd get humbled," aubrey glanced toward her blonde friend, a smirk playing on her lips. "again," she added.

paige chuckled, her confidence unwavering. "exactly. i'm not too worried about him. besides, it's not like it was a regular thing. it was a one-time thing."

nika leaned back, her expression thoughtful. "still, you should be careful. if he finds out, things could get messy."

paige nodded, acknowledging the risk. "yeah, but it's done, and i can't undo it, i just have to handle things as they come."

aubrey took a sip from her drink, her eyes glinting with mischief. "you know, if you play your cards right, you might not have to worry about him for much longer."

"yeah, i know," she smirked as she glanced at you, you were still arguing with your boyfriend. "i know,"

as they continued talking, you and your boyfriend reentered the house, your faces still showing signs of the recent argument. paige watched as you tried to shake off the tension, joining your friends and attempting to immerse yourself in the party's atmosphere.

nika leaned in, whispering to paige, "think she'll be okay?"

Paige nodded, her eyes following you as you made your way to the group. "she's a big girl, i don't think she cares as much she pretends to."

you approached, giving paige a grateful smile. "hey, guys. sorry about that."

aubrey waved it off, her demeanor light and carefree. "no worries. we're just glad you're back."

nika chimed in, "yeah, we missed you. come on, let's have some fun."

you felt a wave of relief wash over you as your friends welcomed you back with open arms. paige stayed close, her presence a steady comfort. the rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and camaraderie, the earlier tension fading into the background.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

"and he's so damn clingy, it gets on my nerves," you resisted an eyeroll as you spoke, doing your night time routine in the foggy mirror. paige stood behind you, her hands on your hips and her chin on your shoulder, watching you through the reflection.

"yeah?" she mumbled as you nodded. her hair was wet from the shower, her eyes were red from the exhaustion of the whole day but right now – she didn't feel a tinge of weariness.

you sighed, putting down your toothbrush and meeting paige's eyes in the mirror. "yeah, it’s like he always needs to know where i am, what i’m doing, who i’m with. It’s suffocating."

paige grip on your hips tightened slightly, her presence grounding you. "sounds exhausting," she murmured, her voice gentle. "you deserve to feel free, not like you’re constantly under surveillance."

you nodded, leaning back into her embrace. "exactly. and tonight... all that jealousy over a basketball game? it's just too much."

paige pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. "you deserve better than that. someone who trusts you and supports you, not someone who’s always questioning you."

you turned to face her, her hands sliding around to rest on the small of your back. "i know. it’s just hard. we've been together for a while, and i don’t wanna hurt him. but i can’t keep going like this."

paige's eyes softened, her thumb brushing gently against your side as her hands slid down them. "you have to take care of yourself first. it’s not selfish to want to be happy."

you smiled as her eyes dilated, her tongue sticking out to wet her lips. "he needs to trust you, cause... you know, you are," paige's voice came out teasing.

you let out a playful scoff as you pushed her away, a smirk playing on your lips. "gonna bring that up again, p?"

"what?" she laughed as her hands made their way back to your hips. "really gonna tell that i didn't rock your world? you were crying and everything, my ego's never gonna that go."

"i know," you felt your cheeks heat up, a blush creeping up your neck. "don't need to remind me every chance you get."

paige's laughter was warm and genuine as she pulled you closer again, her forehead resting against yours. "just making sure you remember,"

you rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. "how could i forget? you never let me."

"and i never will," you turned back around, continuing your routine. "i still think about it, you know?"

paige's smirk widened as she saw the seriousness in your expression through the foggy reflection. "yeah?"

"yeah," you repeated as you met her eyes through the reflection. "all the time."

there was a moment of silence as you continued your routine, paige was lost in thought as she zoned out. "does he fuck you like i do?"

the question came out of nowhere and you almost choked on the mouthwash. you spit out and paige watched your expression carefully. the air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as you processed her words, unsure of how to respond.

paige's gaze held yours steadily, her expression unreadable yet intense. she seemed to be searching for something in your reaction, her smirk fading into a more serious demeanor.

"no, he doesn't."

paige's smirk immediately came back with the answer, her hands pulling you into her chest. "yeah, i knew that."

she didn't any more of an answer, her lips found your shoulder as she began kissing up to your neck. as her lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, your head spun with a whirlwind of emotions. the familiarity of her touch, coupled with the depth of your connection, ignited a fire within you that burned brighter than ever before.

paige's hands roamed gently over your back, her touch leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake.

her breath tickled your skin as she whispered against your ear, her voice husky with desire. "gonna do you so good, baby,"

as paige’s breath sent shivers down your spine, her words were a promise, igniting a flame of anticipation within you. you turned in her embrace, your eyes meeting hers with a mix of longing and uncertainty. paige's gaze softened, her fingers trailing lightly up your arms to cup your face.

“i’ve missed you,” she murmured, her thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek.

“i’ve missed you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

the tension between you was palpable, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging in the air. paige leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a rush of warmth through your body. you melted into her, your hands finding their way to her damp hair, pulling her closer.

paige's kiss deepened, her hands sliding down your back to grip your hips, anchoring you to her. the taste of mint lingered on your lips from the mouthwash, mingling with the familiar flavor of her.

with a gentle push, paige guided you back against the sink, her lips never leaving yours. her hands explored your body with a familiarity that made your heart race, every touch a reminder of the history you shared. as her kisses trailed down your neck, you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in her hair.

“oh p,” you breathed, your voice a mix of need and desperation.

she paused, lifting her head to meet your gaze, her eyes dark with desire. “tell me what you want, baby.”

“want you,” you confessed, your cheeks flushing with the raw honesty of your words.

paige's lips curved into a satisfied smile, her hands slipping under your shirt to caress the bare skin of your waist. “you’re going to have me, princess.”

with a swift motion, she lifted you into her arms as she carried you to your bed. her mouth claimed yours again, the kiss hungry and demanding. your fingers fumbled with the hem of her shirt, desperate to feel more of her as she dropped you on the bed.

paige broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt over her head, her eyes never leaving yours. her bare chest pressed against yours as she kissed you again, her hands working to slide off your shorts. you arched into her touch, the sensation of her hands on you sending waves of pleasure through your body.

as your shorts hit the floor, paige's fingers found their way to your core, teasing you through the fabric of your underwear. you gasped, your hips bucking against her hand, craving more. paige's smirk returned, her thumb circling your clit with agonizing slowness.

she pushed you further up the bed, her body following closely as she settled between your legs. paige's eyes never left yours, her gaze intense and filled with desire. her fingers continued their slow, torturous teasing, making you writhe beneath her.

“paige, please,” you begged, your voice a desperate whisper.

her smirk softened into a sweet smile, and she leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “love hearing you beg,” she murmured against your mouth before trailing kisses down your neck, her hands slipping beneath your underwear to finally touch your bare skin.

with a gentle but firm touch, she slid your underwear down, her fingers finding their way to your wetness. you moaned, your head falling back as she began to pleasure you, her movements deliberate and skilled. paige knew exactly how to drive you insane, her fingers curling inside you in a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge.

you let out a shuddering breath, your body arching into her touch. she set a steady rhythm, her thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts of her fingers. every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one more intense than the last.

your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as she kissed her way down your body. her lips left a trail of fire on your skin, each touch igniting a deeper desire within you. when she reached your breasts, her mouth closed over one nipple, sucking and nibbling gently.

the dual sensations of her mouth and her fingers had you spiraling quickly towards the edge. your breaths came in short gasps, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

then, your phone began buzzing next to you. you let out an annoyed huff – you already knew who it was. you chose to ignore it, but paige had other plans.

"answer it, princess," she mumbled as she sat up, meeting your gaze.

you stared at her, bewildered, your body still trembling from her touch. "paige," you whispered, a mix of frustration and disbelief in your voice.

paige's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. "answer it," she repeated, her voice low and commanding. "want him to hear how good i make you feel."

your heart raced, both from the lingering pleasure and the audacity of her request. with trembling hands, you reached for the phone, your eyes never leaving paige's. she watched you intently, her fingers still moving slowly inside you, maintaining the agonizing pleasure.

you hit the answer button, bringing the phone to your ear. "hello?" you managed to say, your voice shaky.

your boyfriend's voice came through the line, filled with concern and irritation. "where are you? why haven't you answered my texts?"

paige's smirk widened, and she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her fingers quickening their pace slightly. you bit your lip to stifle a moan, your head falling back against the pillow.

"'m... busy," you replied, your voice strained.

"busy? doin' what?" he demanded, suspicion lacing his words.

paige’s other hand moved to tease your nipple, her thumb flicking over it with expert precision. you let out a soft gasp, unable to hold it back. "just... with friends, we're at my..." you managed to say, your breath hitching. "apartment,"

there was a pause on the other end of the line, your boyfriend clearly picking up on the unusual tone in your voice. "you okay? you sound... different."

paige's lips curled into a wicked smile, her fingers curling inside you, hitting just the right spot. you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, your body arching into her touch. "oh fuck," you let out before you sighed, putting a hand over your mouth.

"i'm fine," you lied, your voice trembling. "just... having a good time."

Your boyfriend’s voice grew more insistent. "where are you? i want to see you."

paige leaned closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, "tell him you're with me."

you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the conversation despite the overwhelming sensations. "'m with paige," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"paige?" he repeated, his tone a mix of confusion and frustration. "what the hell is going on?"

"nothing!" you shouted, the frustration overtaking your senses. "my god, let me fucking breathe. we're just watching a movie and we're tired, can't get a second alone,"

paige's smirk grew as she listened to your conversation, her fingers still teasing you, maintaining a torturous pace that kept you on the edge. she nibbled gently on your neck, her breath warm against your skin, and you fought to keep your voice steady.

on the other end of the line, your boyfriend’s frustration was palpable. “why didn’t you just say that? you’ve been acting so weird lately.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to focus on the words and not the intense pleasure paige was giving you. “i’m not acting weird. just need some space sometimes.”

“space? is that what you call ignoring my calls and hanging out with paige all the time?” he snapped.

paige fingers quickened slightly, pushing you closer to the edge, beginning to completely finger-fuck you. you bit your lip to stifle a moan, your hips bucking involuntarily. “’m not ignoring you,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to sound convincing. “i think i just… need a break.”

“a break?” he echoed, his voice growing louder. “what kind of break?”

paige leaned in, her voice a whisper in your ear. “tell him you’re taking a break from him.”

you swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat. “think we need a break,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“what?” he shouted, disbelief and anger mingling in his tone. “are you fucking serious?”

“yeah,” you said more firmly, finding your resolve.

he began shouting but you were too engulfed in her fingers, your breaths coming out in shudders. the phone fell out of your hand as you moaned, your back arching into her touch.

paige chose that moment to push you over the edge, her fingers and lips working in perfect harmony to send you spiraling into a powerful orgasm. you cried out, your body shaking with the force of it, the annoyed shouts still coming from the phone.

paige caught the phone, her eyes locking with yours as she brought it to her ear. "she busy right now," she said, her tone unapologetic and firm. "she'll call you in the morning,"

with that, she ended the call, tossing the phone aside as she gathered you in her arms. you were still trembling, your body buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. paige's touch was gentle now, soothing as she held you close.

"you gonna call him in the morning?" she teased as you laid on her chest. you stifled a laugh as you shook your head.

"probably, he's probably crying right now."

she shrugged, "i would too if i lost a bad bitch like you,"

you couldn't help but smile at her words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "you're ridiculous," you murmured, nuzzling closer into her embrace.

paige's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, her touch comforting and tender. "yeah, but you love it," she replied, her voice soft.

you sighed contentedly, letting the calm after the storm wash over you. "yeah, i do."

you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up with you, and your eyes grew heavy.

"get some sleep," paige murmured, her voice a gentle lullaby. "we'll figure everything out in the morning."

you nodded sleepily, feeling safe and secure in her arms. "goodnight, p."

"goodnight, beautiful," she whispered, holding you close as you drifted off to sleep.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[kingtomura]

From Water to Wine

summary: It’s so obvious — so glaringly obvious and you can’t believe the realization hit you right here, right now as Tomura makes you come undone on his tongue in the warmth of the morning twilight.

You love him. 

You love him.

Fuck.

Cw: Tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless AU, established relationship, smut with plot, lots of plot, jealousy, insecurity, hurt/comfort, oral (f! receiving), make up sx, confessions, a ton of kissing, not sorry, toxic environments, piv, overstim, creampie, begging, bad parental figures, toxic parenting, mdni

wc: 9.4k | crossposted to ao3 | part 4 of the strict parents au (one, two, three)

If someone had asked you a year ago where you saw yourself right now, you would have given them a million different answers. 

None of them involved your current reality. 

You would have never thought you would be right here, right now — in your boyfriend’s shabby basement drinking with his friends while they smoked and argued about the latest game releases.

And they were an interesting set of friends. 

“Bullshit, what the hell do you even know about games?” Tomura spat, pointing a finger and splashing a bit of beer from the bottle he held in his hand. 

The one you’ve come to know as Dabi just smiles that same grin that makes Tomura’s eye twitch in irritation and shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, not my fault some of us prefer first person shooters.” 

The conversation between them carries on and you find your mind drifting away — way too focused on the way Tomura has his arm wrapped around you with his free hand pressed against your hip, pulling you closer and making your cheeks flush deeper than what the alcohol already has. 

You like when he gets this way — a little louder and a little looser with his words. It's all a precursor to what will happen tonight, when he’s a little rougher and presses into you so much deeper. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you find yourself lost in the thought, biting your lip and watching the way Tomura’s heavy lidded eyes narrow as he focuses on his argument with Dabi. 

You can’t help but stare when he gets like this, the gleam of fire in his eye when he argues, never backing down when he knows he’s right. 

It’s alluring.

The giddy feeling you have only grows and you know its because tonight Tomura will fuck you in a way he only does when his grin is a little too wide and his eyes are a little too low. 

You feel more emboldened and your words are looser when it’s like this. Eager to speak up in the argument, defending Tomura against Dabi’s quips and its fun. 

It’s different to be able to speak so freely around people who would never judge you like your old stuck up friends would have. They all came from good families who have high expectations. Anything outside of the normal would be mocked and expelled. 

You feel so free here. 

With Tomura — with all of them. 

“Whatever you say, freak.”

“I'm sure it takes one to know one.” You shoot back and the room breaks out in laughter, even Dabi holds up his hands in surrender. 

The smug grin you wore only widened as Tomura leaned in and kissed your temple, proud that you can hold your own against the biggest smartass in the room. 

Himiko stands from her place on the couch with Spinner, laugh dying down, but smile remaining on her face. “Wow, Tomura, I like her way better than your other girl.”

You feel your grin slide off of your face as fast as it had arrived.

Other girl?

Tomura has never mentioned another girl besides you. 

The concerning comment makes your mind race with endless possibilities, the cycle only being broken as Himiko announces her departure, unaware of the inner turmoil she’s just thrown upon you.

“Jin doesn't like when I stay out too late so I’ll see you all later!” Her voice is high and chipper as she bounces towards the door.

“Hey, tell your brother don’t forget what he owes me, crazy girl!” Dabi yells after her, Himiko only returning a small wave and exiting the room. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, only being broken as Spinner dies in his game of Mario Kart, too drunk to focus, but all the more determined to win. 

“Damn it!” His frustration breaks through as he stands to his feet, “I almost had it!”

Dabi nods, clearly unbothered by the outburst and walking over to him, “work on it next time. It's getting late and I'm tired.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Spinner asks a little too loud, his intoxicated state more obvious as the minutes went on.

Dabi only shrugs, throwing an arm around his shoulder and leading him to the door. “Can’t let you walk home like this and risk getting snatched up now can I, princess?” 

You vaguely register Spinner’s retort as Dabi throws a hand up in a wave and leaves as well, leaving only you and Tomura in the room. 

What would have been exciting has become a weight in your stomach, leaving a pit of dread as your mind raced with Himiko’s words. 

Some other girl. Someone before you. A girl who’s already met his friends, who has already been in your place. It brings a different kind of feeling to your mind that you’ve never really experienced. 

The only thing that grounds you is Tomura’s shuffling as he stands and kisses your forehead. 

It’s as if that one kiss dispelled the thoughts poisoning your mind and replaced them with the warm feeling you usually have when it comes to Tomura. The feeling that is only heightened by the strong sensation of alcohol. 

You unsteadily trail behind him as he laces his fingers in yours and leads you out of the room and towards his. 

The path is a familiar one and the giddy feeling returns as you race through the familiar corridors with him. 

His home feels like a maze and the alcohol makes everything feel so much more fun. Your giggles and hurried footsteps are the only thing echoing throughout the halls as you chase behind him, eager to reach his room and come undone under his familiar touch.

Tomura has a habit of surprising you, though. 

You blame the alcohol for your dulled senses as you don’t expect him to stop before his bedroom, turning to press you into the corridor wall. A small gasp leaves you at the impact and you don’t have time to react before Tomura is gripping your thighs, hiking you up against the wall and pressing you so much closer.

The whimper that escapes your lips would embarrass you any other day, but today you can’t bring yourself to care. It only spurs Tomura on as he presses forward, kissing you with a fever you hadn’t expected him to be withholding. The urgency of the kiss only shows you how much he may have been holding back during the get together. 

You let out a soft moan as Tomura bites your lower lip, only to soothe it with his slick tongue in the next moment. Your arms wrap around his neck as you tilt your head, desperately seeking more of him as this heated endeavor grows with every passing moment. 

His hands travel up your thighs and along your sides, gripping anything and everything he could, pressing his clothed erection closer to your core and giving you more needed friction as he grinds against you. 

The way his hands slip under your shirt and massage your breasts makes you gasp again and Tomura takes this opportunity to press kisses along the column of your neck, loving the way he can finally leave as many marks as he wants. 

You’re in his home — there were no rules against marks. There were no rules at all. 

You close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling as Tomura licks and kisses along your neck, burying your hand in his ashen locks and weakly rutting your hips against his, craving more of him in any way possible. 

“So needy,” he breathes against you and you have to bite back a whine at his low tone. 

Tomura has you right where he wants you and it’s obvious. The more you ached for it, the more he would drag it out to tease you. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to rip the shorts off of you and take you right here, but you know it’s not that easy. 

“T-Tomura…” you try to keep it together, show him that you can be coherent even with the fuzz of alcohol muddling your mind. 

He pinches a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, this time drawing a yelp that you just couldn’t contain. 

His low chuckle reverberates against your neck, sending shivers all the way to your spine as slick between your thighs is beginning to soak through the material of your panties. 

“So sensitive, baby… you’d think I've been denying you.”

But you can’t help it. You wish you could cry out to him that your body just reacts like that for him, but you didn’t trust anything to fall from your lips besides a moan, so instead you keep quiet and hope he would give in to you sooner rather than later. 

Tomura trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, and then ultimately back to your soft lips, enjoying the feel of them against his. You knew this was always his favorite part. 

It was soft, it was intimate, and it was yours. 

Yours…

Your brows furrow at an unwanted thought, but you press on — pulling Tomura closer and flicking your tongue against his lips, knowing he would pull closer and deepen the kiss. 

He does and you’re grateful. 

The way his tongue dominates your mouth makes you mewl into the kiss. A welcome distraction from your increasingly loud thoughts. 

Tomura groans, bringing a hand down lower and lower until he reaches your clothed cunt. His finger presses against the thin fabric of the shorts, testing the waters of your sensitivity and loving the reaction he received in return. 

His touch makes your breath hitch, the feeling alleviating a bit of pressure that's been building up deep within you. 

You need more of it.

He pulls away again, trailing those soft kisses along your jaw and down your neck once more. It’s something that would usually make your heart flutter, but right now your mind is beginning to trail off, again. 

It’s the idea of your boyfriend with some other girl that haunts you. Someone before you. Her hands on his, doing the things you’ve grown to love with the boy you—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You don’t want to think right now. You just want to feel. You just want Tomura to take you and make you feel good so you can stop fucking thinking—

“Hey.” 

Tomura’s sharp tone snaps you from your spiraling thoughts, bringing you back to reality. 

“What’s going on?” His voice is rough, as it usually is, but he is not frustrated. The narrowed glare in his eyes would make anyone else believe he was irritated, but not you. 

You know Tomura’s expressions like the back of your hand. He’s worried.

“I..” you pause, words lost on your tongue. What could you say? Jealousy is an ugly trait to have. “What do you mean?”

Tomura doesn’t buy your feigned ignorance. 

He pulls away further to get a better look at you, his hands resting on your thighs, the soothing motion of them tenderly rubbing up and down the exposed area makes you want to relax under his touch. 

“Why are you distracted?”

Your eyes cut to the side and you turn your head, unable to meet his ruby red gaze. The fear of admitting something as petty as jealousy eats at you. 

“I’m not.” You mutter, the lie not fooling your own ears. You’d be naive to think it would work on the one who taught you how to lie in the first place. 

It's clear he could see right through you and your eyes close at the soft touch of his hand along your chin, turning your head back to face him.

His eyes soften when they finally meet yours — the action is so slight you almost miss it. 

“You’re upset.” It’s a statement of the obvious, but you still bring yourself to nod, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth and hoping you could bite it hard enough to taste the iron of blood. Anything to distract you from the white hot humiliation that this conversation will bring to you. “Why?”

You inhale, knowing Tomura is not the type to let it go. Knowing he would keep you here all night if he had to so that you would speak your mind. 

“Himiko…” you mutter, dropping your eyes once more as the threat of tears begin to form along your waterline. 

“Himiko?” The complete confusion in his voice makes you more upset, he probably didn’t even remember what she’d said. 

“What she said earlier,” your voice wavers at your words and your defeat is imminent. The tears have already broken their bounds and began to trail down your cheeks. Embarrassment be damned. “About your.. Your ex.”

You could practically see the cogs turn in his head as he recounted tonight's events — the alcohol no doubt impairing his reflexes. 

His expression only makes the pit of anxiety in your gut grow, tight, but clearly showing signs of unease, “Oh, that.”

You nod, confirmation stinging. 

“That was someone I dated in highschool. Back when I was a teenager for three months.” His gentle hand moves from your chin to your cheek, wiping the falling tears from your flushed cheeks. “I don’t even think she lives in Kamino anymore, and I don't care. Haven’t cared in years. It’s why we broke up.”

Your heart still feels heavy with the weight of jealousy as Tomura comforts you. It's a bitter emotion that you know you have no right to feel. This was all before you, it shouldn’t matter. 

Even though you don’t meet his eyes, Tomura lets you down — your toes touching the cold hardwood of the hallway floor as he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

It’s soft and it’s sweet in ways you know Tomura only reserves just for you.

“C’mon, lets go to bed,” he takes your hand in his, leading you to the bedroom you’ve grown to know so well. “I’m exhausted.” 

And your heart beats in tandem with your steps as you make your way to the bed, your tears dried up as Tomura pulls you close, the warm embrace so much more soothing than you’d expected. 

It takes no time for your eyes to close — your mind drifting off to sleep as the weight of your heavy heart is lifted by Tomura’s touch. 

—---------------

There’s a window near Tomura’s bed. 

It's big and it gives you the best view when the weather is dark and rainy. It also has a secret gift of shining the morning sunlight directly in your face and waking you up. Something that Tomura had remedied for himself by covering the window with blackout curtains. 

You believe that one of you forgot to pull the curtain last night because the warm light of the sun’s rays cause you to stir from your sleep. 

No, that can be ignored. 

Something else is causing you to stir.

Something is making your brows furrow and your hips writhe as your lips part to pant at the feeling taking your breath away.

“W-what..” you mutter as you try to blink the sleep from your eyes, hand reaching down to investigate.

Your fingers meet the soft tresses of Tomura’s familiar locks just as his tongue makes direct contact with your clit, the feeling sending the wave of pleasure up your spine and causing you to cry out.

“Tomura..!” you cry weakly as you bury your fingers in his hair, back arching from the bed as he becomes more intentional with his actions, the excitement of waking you this way showing in his efforts. 

You gasp as Tomura’s skilled tongue flicks against your sensitive bud, his hands coming forward to hold your hips in place as he relaxes against your soaked cunt — lazily lapping at your entrance as you struggle to keep yourself together.

It’s effortless, the way he pushes your body to come apart, knowing you were still fighting the remnants of sleep and fully indulging in your pleasure. 

He gives your clit a soft kiss before moving to readjust on the bed, spreading your thighs wider as he watches your expression — his lips are glossy with saliva and slick, a small string of the mixture connecting him to your exposed cunt. 

Tomura has seen you in many different ways, in many different situations, but to be here, exposed before him so intimately makes you want to shy away. It makes you want to look away and you bashfully attempt to close your legs. 

If you were to keep going this way you may say some things you weren’t sure either of you were ready to hear. 

You blame it on the morning fuzz in your brain. 

There was no other explanation for the strong feelings you had within. The way they bubble along the surface of your words at every moment spent with Tomura. You know if you go longer with these feelings unchecked they would threaten to spill out and over — possibly tainting the comfort of your relationship with Tomura. 

“Ah!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the lewd way Tomura laps at your cunt, moaning into you as the slick muscle of his tongue pushes you further and further to your end.

Tomura is watching your every move, his carmine eyes observing the way your hips twitch at the sensations, the way you breath hitches as he sucks on your clit — everything. 

You can’t help but fall into the pleasure. 

Coming undone is inevitable.

You toss your head to the side, the building pressure in your abdomen causing your thighs to tense as your hand finds his soft locks once more. The grip you had on his hair was nothing short of painful with the way you held on, but Tomura took it in stride, groaning at the rough treatment. 

He’s always liked when you were rougher with him. 

“F-fuck, Tomura, I can’t—” your words are slurred as his tongue glides against your clit, the sensitivity heighented as your mind rushes with the strong feelings that have plagued you for months.

You gasp as the budding realization hits you like a tidal wave. 

Your eyes clenched shut as the pleasure takes you over and under, dragging your muddled mind along as you come undone with Tomura’s touch. 

It’s so obvious — so glaringly obvious and you can’t believe the realization hit you right here, right now as Tomura makes you come undone on his tongue in the warmth of the morning twilight.

You love him. 

You love him.

Fuck.

Your body shivers as you reach the end, climax overtaking you while Tomura makes it his mission to make a complete mess of you — only stopping when your twitches of pleasure begin to meld into overstimulation, causing your hand to weakly push his head away.

There were tears lining your vision as Tomura brought himself back up to meet you, slick lips seeking yours and you hungrily greet him, unbothered by your own taste gracing your tongue as you languidly lick into his mouth. 

Your mind buzzed in the afterglow of an early morning orgasm and the idea of getting more from him entices you.

So much so that it makes you question why he hasn’t taken it further. 

Instead, Tomura pulls away, granting you one more kiss before lying down on his side of the bed, his words beating you to the question that awaited on your tongue.

“Headache,” he supplies as you turn towards him, the morning sunlight from the window illuminates his pale tresses in an almost pastel hue — hair so white it almost looks blue. You want to reach out and touch him. “I drank more than I thought last night and arguing with Dabi doesn’t help.”

Your heart tugs at the memory, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you’ve grown to love those late weekend nights with Tomura’s friends. 

“I can bring you some water,” you offer, moving to stand. Maybe a little space would be good, it will give you a minute to think about the all consuming feelings that have flooded all parts of your mind this morning. “And some meds, too.”

Tomura hums in appreciation, turning over to face away from the sun.

You take that as your cue to go, but not before grabbing one of his oversized shirts and a pair of panties. Kurogiri shouldn’t be up at this time, but it would still be odd to walk around Tomura’s home naked. 

The trek to the kitchen is a short one and you waste no time grabbing an empty glass and some medication. 

Kurogiri was adamant about using one of those fancy water purifiers so it’s no surprise when you’ve fully distracted yourself, filling the glass and focusing your attention on the stream of water pouring from the refrigerator’s water dispenser. 

It’s so distracting that you don’t notice the presence behind you. 

“Oh, what’s this?” A deep voice behind you muses, catching your attention. The sound startles you so suddenly that you almost drop the glass of water. “Playing house now, are we?”

That doesn’t sound like Kurogiri, your thoughts race as you slowly turn to meet the mysterious voice of the man in question. 

He is… intimidating. 

He stands no less than twice your height with ashen hair that rivals Tomura’s. His eyes are even the same deep crimson of the boy you’ve grown to know so well. He eyes you with a tight smile, never straying from your gaze.

This must be—

“Are you Tomura’s friend?”

You nod, words caught in your throat, but you will yourself to speak. If this is who you think it is then it would be a bad idea to leave an impression worse than what you already have. “Yes.”

“I see. Would you be a dear and fetch him for me? I have a few words for him.” His tone is solid — even. 

You couldn’t make out how he felt in this moment if you tried. The small smile on his face seems pleasant, but given the circumstances of a half naked girl in what you can only assume to be his home really brings you no peace. 

So you nod again, hurrying off with the glass of water in your hand, forgoing the medicine and only wanting to be as far away from that man as possible. Something about him strikes fear into you. 

Tomura is in the same spot you left him before your kitchen adventure, but he cracks an eye open at the sound of you closing his bedroom door with a little too much force.

“What’s wrong?” he drags, turning over to face you and squinting as he gets hit directly in the face by the sun’s rays. You should really close that curtain soon.

The walk to him is short and you hand him the glass of water, bottom lip worried between your teeth as you search your mind for the right words.

“Someone’s here.” You didn’t mean to opt for an ominous choice, but you had no other idea what to say. Tomura has never talked about his parents. 

“What?”

“There’s a man in the kitchen. He wants to see you.”

This seems to click for Tomura as his eyes narrow for a second and then widen, ever so slightly, at the realization. 

You don’t know if that’s good or bad.

He sucks his teeth, taking the glass from your hand and downing the water as you watch on. Tomura seems calm, but he also has a very good poker face. If this is his parent then you’re not sure how long you would be able to stay.

The idea of going back makes you shiver. 

No, that’s not really an option. 

Tomura moves to stand, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and shirt, frustration evident in the way he tosses his clothes on. 

He gives you one more turn, words tight and brows downturned. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You nod as he exits, leaving you alone in the silence of his bedroom. The beaming sun seems more comfortable than before, the warm rays dance along your skin as you play through every scenario that could come from their talk.

He could make you leave. 

That's the first and most obvious way to handle this situation. You know that your parents would never in a million years allow someone to stay under their roof with their daughter. It’s unheard of. 

Or worse, he could call your parents. 

You’ve gone completely no contact at this point and it wouldn’t be too much of a farfetched idea that this man would call them. Especially if Tomura tells him about your situation in full.

But… he could be a nice guy.

This could all be a big misunderstanding and blow over, if given enough time. This is more of a pipedream than a genuine idea, but you would go crazy if you only thought of the negatives. 

You don’t realize you’ve been pacing the room until you almost trip over a discarded shirt on Tomura’s floor. It stops you in your tracks and makes you look around to assess the state of his room. 

It's not perfect and it definitely needed work when you moved in, but it’s not terrible. 

You turn back to the door, as if Tomura would come bursting through with updates of the conversation at hand, but no. nothing has happened. Nothing has changed. 

The quiet of the room drives you crazy — there has to be something you can do.

It starts off small, picking up a few loose articles of clothing here and there, and then it delves into picking up empty drink cans, making the bed, and even sorting the mess of his closet. All in the name of passing time. 

By the time Tomura made his way back to the room, you have the space nearly spotless. He takes note, but refrains from commenting. Instead his next words shock you.

“He said you can stay.”

Your brows furrow. “I can?”

Tomura only nods, making his way back to his newly made bed and lying down once more, no doubt due to the headache still pounding against his skull. 

“That’s it?” you press — this all feels too easy. 

“Yeah, just wear pants more often.” He waves you off, turning over and gearing up to go back to sleep.

The comment makes your cheeks burn and you nod, even though Tomura can’t see it. 

It feels odd, especially knowing your parents would never allow this, but you suppose not everyone lived under such strict conditions. 

So instead, you push that uneasy feeling in the pit of your gut aside and climb into bed with Tomura.

His steady breathing is calming and the rhythmic sound helps you drift off as well, unable to shake the lingering of suspicion and uncertainty, ebbing away in the back of your mind.

—-----------

You’ve come to learn that Tomura is actually quite busy during the day. 

He is currently gearing up to go to his internship at the hospital, and it’s been taking up a chunk of his time lately. For a couple months he’s had a break from it since the doctor he had worked under was taking time away, but now he’s back and he wants Tomura to be busier than ever.

It’s not that you mind. Of course you knew Tomura’s life couldn’t revolve around you, but it still left you with not very much to do. 

On the days he has to go, you stay at home — your attention hopping from playing video games on his pc, to reading books then eventually cleaning. 

It's given you a lot of time to think about what you want for your own career. You’ve started to think long and hard about how you envision your future. The reason you were home from college in the first place was because you needed the time to think.

But now you have nothing but time and it feels even more stressful.

The thought of having to decide your entire future on a whim is daunting. 

What if you didn’t like where you were in five years? Could you start over? 

Would Tomura still be by your side?

That possibility catches you off guard as you stop in your tracks.  

Would he be by your side? 

You’ve never been in a relationship at all, especially not a long term one. You were all in, but how does Tomura feel? Would it be odd to ask? 

The plaguing thoughts seem to take root in your mind as you walk through the halls of Tomura’s home, hoping to find something to occupy your time and chase these feelings away. 

You think of the basement, it’s where the other gaming systems were set up and it’s also a good change of scenery. 

Yeah, that would take your mind off of it. 

Or it would have.

As you set your sights on the hallway that leads to the basement, there's a voice that catches your attention. It’s deep and ever so calm, even when strained by the words being spoken.

“That's not good enough. I told you to keep him there as much as you can.” The voice hisses to the person on the other line of what you can assume is a phone call. 

You stop in your tracks, just before you could pass the door of the room Shigaraki Senior was speaking from. Instead you listen in, putting your back to the wall beside the door and zoning in on his words.

“I don’t care how fast he tries to get the work done — he’s only doing that to get home sooner.” He pauses and takes a breath, frustration imminent. “I need them apart. He won't listen to me about it, but the sooner he gets bored of her, the better. I don’t have time for his little distractions.”

You have to bite back a gasp as the words ring in your ears. 

A distraction..? You knew it was too good to be true. 

“Right,” the voice carries on, calling your attention once more, “I understand, but if he is to be the next me he cannot afford to get sidetracked.”

You haven’t had much of a chance to get to know the head of the household, instead preferring to stick by Tomura and make yourself as unobtrusive as possible. 

It felt as though you were walking on eggshells. As if you were in an orientation period and any misstep would lead to you tossed out onto the street — you would be food for the wolves.

But you knew deep down that there was always something to worry about. It was too good to be true, yes, but you couldn’t understand why he was letting you stay anyway.

There's a lull in the conversation before it picks up again.

“I suppose…”  The man’s voice sounds like it's getting closer and you take that as your cue to go back to Tomura’s room — but not before you catch the sound of his parting words. “It seems I'll just have to try harder then, hm?”

You don't know what kind of games this man was going to play but you knew one thing.

You had to tell Tomura. 

—-----------

It doesn't go well.

“No, Tomura, I heard him,” you whisper, the harsh sound of your voice cutting through the dark room, the curtains blocking the light of the incoming dawn as Tomura began getting ready for another day at the hospital, “talking about us.” 

You look down, arms crossed and defensive. “He wants us to break up — and he thinks you’ll do it on your own.”

Tomura’s expression is a mix of shock and disbelief, probably unsure of why his father would ever want him to break up with someone who brings him so much joy.

“No, there’s no way.”

“I’m telling the truth.” you plead, putting on your best voice of reason.

“He wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make sense.” His tone is snappy, clearly ready for this conversation to end. 

But you persist. “Why would I lie?” 

“I don’t know — why would you?” He shoots back and the retort makes your ears perk. 

“I would never lie to you, Tomura, I—”

“Just stop,” he holds up his hand and the shock of it makes halt in your tracks. You’ve never seen him this agitated, or irate. “You don’t even know him.” 

But I don't have to know him, the words echo in your mind, stuck on your tongue as you watch Tomura continue, one hand to his neck as he etched his bad habit into his skin. 

He was starting to spiral. 

“You’re not even giving him a chance! I know he wouldn’t do that — he cares about me! He's the only one who—” Tomura stops himself, frustration leading him down avenues you don't think he’s walked in years.

You reach a hand out, aiming to comfort his ravenous habit, aching to tell him what’s really been eating away at your emotions for the last few weeks, but Tomura only scowls, the harsh look so intense it makes you snatch your hand back.

He’s never looked at you with such disdain before.

“Whatever. I’ll see you later.” His tone is final as he turns towards the door and you watch as he takes a breath to calm himself down, lowering his hand from his now redded neck.

Your chest feels tight, words fighting on your tongue to admit what you’d been holding within. It’s eating you up inside how strong these feelings were. “Tomura, wait— I didn't mean to upset you.”

He pays you a glance, expression neutral and features school back to their default calm. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight.” 

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone once more in the room that you’ve both begun to grow into. The desperate feeling in your chest fights for your undivided attention and you're beginning to wonder how long you can keep it at bay. 

—----------

The night doesn’t feel any better. 

Tomura’s return brings the tension from this morning and you’re positive he didn’t have the best day during his internship. It pushes the pressure between you further.

The air feels thick as you both move about in his room — you, scanning the books along his bookshelf for another manga to read, and Tomura on the floor with his notes from the day spread out in front of him. 

Luckily for you, Tomura breaks the silence. 

“There’s a dinner tonight — my father wants us both there.”

This piques your interest, eyes darting to his tense form. “Like a fancy dinner?”

Tomura shakes his head, adjusting the papers below with a bit too much force. He takes one flyer and balls it up, tossing it into the trash can near his desk as if the paper offended him. It’s crumpled, but you can still make out the words: Almighty Medicine.

“No, it’s just with us. Kurogiri will cook.” He pauses, features pensive as he decides his next words. “He wants to get to know you.”

Your heart sinks. 

It sounds like a trap. 

But you really didn’t want a repeat of this morning, so instead you suck it up and nod — even though Tomura couldn't see you. His gaze was completely focused on the papers below. His shoulders were stiff as he slouched to halfheartedly read the notes. You debate giving him some kind of massage to ease the edge.

You refrain, choosing to wait it out a bit more. The last thing you want is to stress him even more before the last minute dinner. 

So with a resigned sigh you answer, “Okay.” 

—---------

Kurogiri is a good cook.

It's the only thought in your mind as you absently stare at the food plated before you. Dinner tonight was filled with flavorful meats and vibrant vegetables. The rice was a perfect accent to the other options and any other time you would find yourself eager to dig in. 

But not tonight. 

No, tonight you can’t seem to find your appetite. 

You only push your cabbage back and forth with your chopsticks and await the inevitable questions you're sure Shigaraki Senior will ask.

“Tomura,” his baritone voice breaks the silence and you focus more on your cabbage, “you seem tense. What’s the matter.”

There’s a pause, and Shigaraki Senior’s faux friendly demeanor is not lost on you. “I saw that asshole again today. His face pisses me off.”

His father frowns. “Yes, well. That’s just business. When you’re over the company you won’t have to see him—��

“That’s not the problem!” Tomura cuts him off and you hold your breath, you could never raise your voice at home, “He leads his hospital and he’s a provider.”

“And that is not the path I have laid out for you.” The words are calm and collected, no hint of malice or anger. It’s eerily calm. 

 “Yeah, whatever. When are you going on that business trip again?” Tomura snaps.

The tension in the air is suffocating, it's thick and it's tense. It makes you want to run away, your feet anxiously tapping as you will yourself to bite down the uneasy feeling. 

The slow smile that creeps its way onto his father’s face makes your skin crawl. “You know, I believe I have more important matters to handle here at our home and in our town.”

“Great.” The sarcasm is evident in Tomura’s voice, dripping into the already strained air. 

“Well, that’s enough about our family matters... how about you, young lady.” His sharp eyes catch yours and you feel like a deer in headlights. “How are your parents? Do they know you’re here with my boy?”

You feel struck by his words, the pang in your stomach reverberating through your body as you scramble to find the words to answer him. “Well—”

“They’re aware.” Tomura cuts you off, his glare is ice as he places his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

It seemed to be a challenge, one you are not prepared to back him up on. 

You were never a good liar. 

His father’s attention is snapped back to Tomura and you were sure anyone else would falter under that glare. 

“Really? If it were my boy off staying with some young girl I would want to at least get to know the one who’s paying the bills.”

He only shrugs in response, false air of disinterest apparent as he picks his chopsticks up again, picking away at his food once more. “Well it’s a good thing she isn’t your child then, huh.”

You think the conversation is over — that Tomura has successfully dodged this bullet and you will be allowed a peaceful dinner, but things were never that easy for you. 

“I think we should give them a call, hm? If she’s staying in my home I want to make sure they know all the details.”

You watch Tomura’s fingers twitch, irritation threatening to explode and you can’t help but think that’s exactly what his father wants to see. 

It’s toxic, in a whole new way. 

“Fine,” Tomura surprises you, your eyes cut to his stiff form, “since you’re so worried why don’t you go ahead and do it. I don’t get why you care so much anyway.”

His father seems unimpressed — that smile and those chilling eyes frighten you, it makes your blood feel like ice in your veins. “You’re right, Tomura. I shouldn’t care. And you know what? I won’t.”

You both look up, dumbfounded. 

“I won’t care unless you both give me a reason to care. How does that sound?” 

It sounds fantastic, in theory, but you know that it doesn’t matter how it sounds. 

It’s blackmail. 

The reality of the situation hits you then and there. 

Tomura is combative with his father because he can be.

“I think that’s a fair trade, don't you, Tomura?”

But only to a certain extent. 

Your eyes dart between the two of them as the weight of his words set in. Tomura is forced to comply — agree to his fathers terms or else. This is a battlefield you aren't familiar with — one of mind games and bad faith practices. 

It is naive to think Shigaraki Senior will be sensible in what he decides are good reasons.

Your time here was limited.

The end of dinner was as stressful as its start: tense, awkward and very foreboding. 

The stress of it all had Tomura pacing his room while you helplessly sat on the bed fighting the urge to tell him I told you so — that would help no one here. 

“This is bullshit!” he starts, the frustration of his thoughts coming to a head and spilling out. “Give me a reason, yeah, whatever.” 

Your brows furrow as you watch Tomura vent, his bitter words hanging in the air as you purse your lips — trying and failing to come up with any kind of solution for your situation. 

“And why does it even matter that you're here? He’s hardly here anyway!” The perturbing scratching habit has made its return and this time you do stand to your feet, marching over to where Tomura paced and taking his hand. 

As upsetting as this situation was, you knew that it wouldn’t do either of you any good if tomura destroyed himself in the process of understanding his father’s true intentions. 

“Hey,” you try, reaching for his hand and refusing to back down this time. “We’ll figure something out.”

You’re surprised when he lets you, his carmine eyes lock with yours as his ever present scowl remains unchanged. “Yeah, like what?”

You try to ignore the cross tone in his voice, opting to just hold his hand and try again. You're beginning to realize this is uncharted territory for both of you. 

“I don’t know, who was the guy you saw at your internship? The one who runs the other hospital and all? Maybe you could ask how he—”

“I am not doing that.” Tomura cuts you off, voice even more agitated.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you ignore his tone. You squeeze his hand instead, still trying to remain calm. “But you never know, Tomura. Maybe he could help you—”

“No! Why would I ask him of all people?” He snatches his hand away and you realize you’ve struck a nerve. 

This wouldn’t end well.

“You don’t even know who he is, you don’t know what he’s done!” His voice begins to rise and you wonder if he’s aware of the hurt lining his words. There is a hidden history in this mystery man that Tomura has foregone informing you of. 

You’re beginning to recognize a pattern — something about that fact gets under your skin. 

“Maybe I would if you actually told me anything about your life, Tomura! You’ve barely let me in at all!” 

And it’s true. 

You knew nothing about his father, he doesn't talk to you about his internship and you don’t even know who this mystery super provider is. You’ve been in the dark for a while and you’re tired of it. 

“And why should I do that?” He questions, becoming more and more defensive as the conversation carries on. “So you can use it against me?”

“What?” you gasp, baffled by his accusation. “Why would I ever do that?”

“I don’t know! Why else would you fucking care?”

“I care because I love you, dumbass!”

Both of you freeze. 

You didn’t want it to come out this way. 

You wanted the confession to be one of candied words and hushed whispers. You wanted it to be slow and romantic, maybe while Tomura was deep inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot that made you see stars. 

But things were never ordinary when you were dating a man like Tomura Shigaraki. 

In that moment you realize that maybe this was something you were willing to learn to live with. 

“What,” Tomura’s voice is low as if speaking louder would shatter the still air within the room, “what did you just say?”

Your breath hitches, the buzz of anxiety and anticipation makes you hesitate. “I said.. I love you, Tomura.”

He takes a step forward, it’s slow but sure. You remain stagnant and still. 

“Say it again.”

You do. 

“I love you, Tomura.” The words are warm as they leave your lips and now he stands before you, his height forcing you to look up at him. 

His carmine eyes shine with unbridled fervor that seems to be itching to make itself known. 

You want to see him lose control. 

So with a slow smile, you gear up to say it again, “I love y—“

You’re cut off by the press of Tomura’s lips against yours and the desperation in it pushes you back. Tomura is fast, pulling you closer to stop you from losing your balance. You feel lightweight as you wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

It’s intoxicating the way he maneuvers you, the way he makes you melt into the kiss, desperate for more — and he gives it to you. 

His hands trail up your sides and back down to grip your ass. The action makes you gasp and Tomura wastes no time taking advantage of the opportunity, his tongue dominating your mouth as the heat between your thighs grows. 

You moan into the kiss and lean forward as Tomura begins to pull away. 

Your nose scrunches in confusion as he gazes down at you, lazy grin on his face. 

There isn’t much time to mull over what Tomura was thinking, he takes your confusion in stride, using the opportunity to push you back, bottom landing onto the bed and bouncing once with the force of impact. 

Before you can speak, Tomura is on you, lips against yours and pushing you down onto his dark sheets. You bring a hand to those familiar pale locks and close your eyes — allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling and finally release the pent up energy of your emotions. 

Tomura is quick, fingers curling around the hem of your shorts and dragging them down with your panties in tow and leaving you exposed before him. 

You gasp at the gentle touch of his index finger slipping between your slick folds and going no further.

“Tomura…” you try, pulling away from the kiss and hoping the hunger in your voice would be enough for him to continue.

He only gazes at you, eyes half lidded yet vibrant. You’re sure he’s put you in a trance.

“Say it again.” 

“I love you.” you breathe and then gasp as he finally touches you. 

His finger is gentle as he rubs slow circles onto your clit, the action makes your head feel fuzzy as the pleasure begins to rise. 

Tomura leans forward to press kisses against the column of your neck, nipping and sucking along the soft flesh — no doubt trying to leave deep marks into your skin. 

“Mm!” you squeeze your eyes shut as he picks up the pace, adding more pressure to his movements and slowly bringing you closer to the edge. Tomura is steady with his hands, he knows your body so well. From the inside and out so he knows that if he continues at this pace you would come undone way before you wanted to. 

Maybe that's what he was aiming for. 

His other hand is warm as he cups your breast, tweaking a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, knowing it drives you crazy. You feel dizzy as his fingers leave your clit and travel lower to your entrance, pressing not one, but two fingers inside and chuckling at your whine.

“What?” he teases, pumping the digits in and out as you writhe beneath him, “too much?”

You want to shake your head, tell him no, and that it's never too much when it comes to him, but the only thing you can manage is a pathetic whimper as you grip his dark shirt. “Please, Tomura.” 

“Please, what?” you can feel his grin against your neck as he places another open mouthed kiss against your collarbone. “You gotta talk to me, baby.”

“T-touch me,” you plead. 

He moves up so that he’s eye to eye with you once more. The grin on his face was just as you imagined it, smug and excited. “I am touching you.”

You close your eyes again, knowing exactly what he wants you to say. “Make me feel good, Tomura. Please.”

He likes that answer, you can tell by the way his eyes soften and his fingers twitch ever so slightly within you. 

Tomura leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss once more as he moves his fingers with purpose, his thumb now pressing against your clit as the sensation grows.

It's hard to contain your cries, but you try. His fathers words echoing in the back of your mind — the possibility of loud sex with his son being a reason to kick you out almost makes you laugh.

At this point it would probably be worth it. 

“F-fuck,” you breathe as you lean into the feeling, your eyes flutter closed as you bring Tomura closer. Your peak is so, so close you can almost taste it.

Tomura would tease you any other time. He would try to drag it out in an attempt to see you squirm, but tonight he’s being so kind. He is so generous as he brushes against that spot inside that drives you crazy. He does it over and over again, making your toes curl in pleasure as the euphoric feeling takes you over the edge. 

The elation of your orgasm makes you shiver and cry out, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you lose yourself in him. 

Tomura presses another kiss to your sweet lips, swallowing your moans as you cum on his fingers, soaking the digits in your slick and trembling in pleasure, 

Once you come down from your high Tomura is quick to remove his clothes and you follow his lead, finally removing your shirt. 

The feeling of his warm chest against yours is always so comforting. It brings a feeling of safety and security as he presses against you, his cock rock hard and dripping from the excitement earlier. 

He places a chaste kiss against your lips as he rubs the head of his cock between your slick folds, the glide is smooth and you gasp every time he brushes against your clit. Your hands find his soft locks again as you begin to move in tandem with his actions, trying to get more of the feeling as best you can. 

At this, Tomura pulls away, kiss swollen lips red and eyes soft, his words hold no bite, “Desperate, huh?” 

You nod, in no mood to tease back and Tomura can tell. He feels it in the way you look at him, so he presses his forehead against yours, his pale locks falling against your cheeks. 

“Again, tell it to me again.”

And you know what he’s talking about. You’re both so close, chest to chest and you swore your hearts were beating in tandem.

“I love you, Tomura.” you whisper and it's for his ears only.

Tomura groans, closing his eyes with a soft grin on his lips.

“Fuck…” he breathes against you, and that’s all it takes as he presses into you. The stretch of his cock makes you wince, but the smooth slick of your arousal helps him slide in with ease. 

You hold on and allow Tomura to anchor you as he pushes forward, desperate to give you everything he can. 

He bottoms out with a sigh, filling you completely as you bite your lip in anticipation — the pressure of feeling full is addictive. It doesn't take Tomura long to move, his eagerness impossible to hide as he pulls back, almost pulling out, and drives forward, rough and desperate.

It’s everything you've wanted and your body is greedy as you take in all of him. 

“Yes, Tomura!” You fight to keep your voice down but it proves impossible as Tomura sets a brutal pace, fucking out every ounce of tension he’s held within for the past few days. You can feel it as it unravels with each and every trust. 

Tomura adjusts ever so slightly and that's all it takes for him to hit that special place inside of you. 

“A-ah!” You moan underneath him, ripples of pleasure cascading up your spine as his sharp assault on your sensitive spot carries on. The consistent sparks of pleasure have your brows furrowed and legs wrapped around his waist, desperate to pull him closer, to feel him deeper. 

“Fuck,” Tomura mumbles and his low tone makes you shiver. 

You know that you won't last much longer if he keeps this up, but you give up trying to hold back. You cannot stop the way your cries spill from your lips, echoing against the walls of Tomura’s bedroom and mixing with the sound of his urgent trusts.

The lewd noises rise as your cunt drips with arousal against Tomura’s push and pull thrusts. His heavy balls slap against your ass with the force of them and you close your eyes, falling into the rhythm. 

You dont expect it when it happens, but it comes all the same — your orgasm takes you under, the overwhelming feeling of ecstasy capturing your mind as your lover fucks you through it. 

He groans at the sensations, the way your cunt squeezes him almost sends him over with you, but he holds on.

Tomura lowers himself, slowing down as you ride out your high and his lips are close to your ear.

“Fuck,” he starts and you feel his hips stutter as he tries to regain his pace, sending you into overstimulation. Tomura knows you can take it — and he can’t stop now. He was so close to his peak. “L-love you.. So much..” 

The words make your eyes widen, they are soft and slow as if unspoken for years and you can’t help but wonder how many. 

“Tomura..” you whisper as you turn your head, craving his lips and his gaze. 

Your eyes meet and you feel synced as you bring a hand down to his cheek, your heart racing as he leans into your touch. 

Yes, you love him. Truly and deeply, you love Tomura. 

He pushes forward, capturing your lips in a kiss as his thrusts grow more erratic, hungry for his own release as he groans against your lips. 

It doesn’t take long — Tomura gives a few more strong thrusts and meets his end, cumming inside of you with a mewl that you drink up. The twitch of his cock is subtle but the pearly white ropes fill you to the brim, leaving you ruined and raw as he pumps it as deeply as he could.

Tomura pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. Sweaty and sated you both try to catch your breath. 

His bedroom is quiet and still, making you both feel as though you were the only two in the world. You know that it is deep into the night and Tomura would still have to wake up early in the morning, but you know none of that matters to him.

No, Tomura couldn't care less as shares this moment with you, the stress finally expelled from his body and the weight lifted from his mind. 

His carmine eyes hold you captive as you melt into them and you realize then that you can’t see yourself anywhere but here — with Tomura. 

It's a chilling realization. 

Once you’ve both gathered your bearings and Tomura pulls out — taking his rightful place beside you, the overwhelming pull of sleep drags you along. 

Tomura leans forward, placing a soft kiss onto your forehead with whispers of goodnight and his newly relaxed demeanor is contagious. 

You know that you may be on borrowed time with him here, but that's okay.

Your eyes catch the crumpled flyer hanging near the trashcan by his desk, the words Almighty Medicine big and bold on the paper.

The feeling of sleep is heavy in your body, but your last thoughts are of a plan. 

You know there’s a way out of here. 

For both of you.

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Bruh emotional support ghost kid? Well thats what they are calling him

Suicide cases in gothem are about to fucking plummet boiz cause this one weird blue eyes, black haired boy is now heading to your location.

How does he know where to be? Having a bad day and are all alone? No the fuck your not cause don’t turn around now but theres some shiny blue eyes coming at you from that dark ally. Oh shit hes here to drop some information about you and your lost loved ones that he should know. Oh god the closure. How could you have been afraid on this sweet, creepy, boy who just helped you find your way.

Meanwhile Danny is chillin in Gothem cause the GIW hate it there (none of they equipment actually functions in Gothem so it’s either super haunted or actually not haunted at all). Then all of a sudden he gets approached by a random ghost begging for his help because their sweet baby girl is about to do something horrible. Oops now all the ghosts are following their most loved ones around just to make sure they are there to rush to Danny for help when all else fails. Now hes getting to fulfil his protection obsession double time because one hes helping protect people from themselves and two hes protecting everyone in Gothem by stopping people from becoming villains for revenge. Plus he gets to see first hand how hes making a difference because all those people he saved are sending him some good vibes from all across Gothem.

Thank god he followed Jazz around so much to slightly absorb some of her phycology knowledge over the years. Plus it was actually pretty interesting so she gave him her old text books. Shes also helping him deal with the rare events where he can’t save someone. Just a moment too late or he stops them but they later succeeded in the hospital. Neither are his fault. Now only if he could convince his core of that.

Anyway why Gothem you ask? Amity Park would have been just as good tbh but imagine Batmans face when he finally gets to be face to face with the emotional support ghost boy. Why is he here? Bruce is fine. Batman is fine. Hes not gonna do anything crazy. It’s just a hard time of year. Around their death always gives him grief. But hes an adult and can manage it.

“You know they are so proud of you.” The boy states. As if it’s clear as day, even though it’s Gothem and never a clear day. Batman blinks at him, stunned for a moment. “What?” This boy can’t possibly know that. No one will ever know that, Bruce can only hope. “They see their home, full of such life. That big house that felt so empty, so cold, to them as well for years. Then you filled it with Family and Love like they had always wanted for you. They are so proud of what you have turned it into. Somewhere full of life and warmth.” A small smile graces his face as finally “you have made your parents so proud” and its all he can do to contain himself. Emotions are running high and sue him because he really did need to hear that ok. The boy suddenly looks to Bruces right with a confused face “aren’t all basements like that though?” Before Bruce can even get a word in hes gone. Just vanished before his eyes.

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta ? Or Makima ? Neither : Nayuta Hayakawa

What I already find fantastic It's that EVERYTHING, absolutely everything in this chapter has to be interpreted in reverse. If you want to know what it's about, you have to interpret it normally. To find out the answer, in reverse.

How did I come to this conclusion? The first part gives you the key :

An unknown lady comes to Nayuta's defense: she's only a child, don't attack her! Open your eyes! Come back to your senses for a second!

And even though Barem is there to trap her, paradoxically, humanity regains its senses, not by seeing Nayuta as just a child, but precisely by removing her status: she is indeed a threat to them.

You've already interpreted it right side up, so let's continue interpreting it upside down

The fact that she pities Denji and wants his heart doesn't mean that Nayuta is Makima, or that she's becoming Makima again.

Makima has never felt pity - she's never even seen Denji at all - so having pity is already a step in the right direction.

The former control demon was so powerful but also so distant that she couldn't even distinguish between human and CSM odors.

As for the fact that she wants his heart, Nayuta feels it before searching Denji's memory. This doesn't mean that the control demon instinctively wants to capture CSM. When Nayuta wants his heart, it's because she wants to be loved, and it's such a strange sensation that she feels lost.

What's more, when she repeats the plan of her former self, in reality, the equation is not at all the same. Even with the same plan, Makima and Nayuta don't follow the same trajectory. Let me explain: making Denji happy and then drastically taking everything away from him is the basis, but the control demon's position is different.

Makima wasn't enjoying this happiness, she was completely excluded from it. Whereas Nayuta is completely enmeshed in Denji's happiness, to the point of being genuinely happy about it too. This happiness was brutally taken away, and that's what happened, but it wasn't the control demon's fault this time.

What's more, Makima wanted a family even though she had no idea what it was, whereas Nayuta has a family but no idea what she is. That's a different question!

Once again, this chapter should be read through a staggering mirror.

The fact that she sees Denji as empty again shows that Nayuta sees Denji more as a shell than Makima, who was obsessed by the heart, by Pochita.

Moreover, the chapter betrays this way of presenting Nayuta, she's not cold like Makima, she can have fun like a child and does so sincerely, it's not a facade, simply a questioning of her own person.

I know that everything I'm saying may sound strange, especially when, if you pay attention to the staging, Denji and Nayuta are constantly going round in circles, faster and faster.

So this chapter gives the impression that everything is the confirmation of a cycle that's closing: Denji realizes once again that he has no family, while Nayuta reconnects with her old self

But for me, that's a hasty interpretation: don't read this chapter, just enjoy the last drop of it, so let's get on with it!

When Denji tells Nayuta that he's her family, it's not her who tells him that he should be ashamed of uttering such nonsense, it's Denji himself.

Denji finds it ridiculous to talk about family without understanding its meaning, after all, how can a child who has experienced the worst crime of all, parricide, understand what it means to be a family?

It's precisely by wanting to become Chainsaw Man that he understands.

His father, his blood relative, was not a parent, he mistreated his child: a parent doesn't behave like that.

Pochita is Denji's family, and he has a blood link with him; he's even the one who irrigates his veins: he's his heart.

What is Chainsaw Man? Nothing more than an empty shell, a bit of an answer to everything, on whom we pin all our hopes.

Makima did the same thing: this unattainable thing, this hero of the underworld, I'm unhappy because I can't reach him, so mathematically, if I could reach him, I could aspire to happiness.

Nayuta has achieved it, but she still seems to be going through existential crises: this makes sense, because once again, Chainsaw Man is an empty shell.

Denji lost his family, his pets died, so automatically, the response was to aspire to something else, to turn the page immediately by closing my eyes and becoming Chainsaw Man because !!!! Because Denji wanted to become this empty shell

Once again, logically, he became one, because by losing his family, the happiness that filled him, he became an empty shell.

But an empty shell is not to be understood in a purely pejorative sense, for a shell can contain anything: humanity's need for reassurance, the great enemy for demons to slay, the means to fight death, happiness, family... and so on.

When Pochita asks Denji what he plans to do after he achieves his first dream, Denji replies: to be Chainsaw Man.

To be an empty shell, yes, but empty in order to be filled by others, just as someone who is alone would tie up with others, just as the control devil would want CSM so she won't be alone, just as a wounded dog would agree to ally itself with a child who doesn't want to die either…

Having your family destroyed, but still managing to move on while building a new one, being surrounded by so many people that you forget your own pain, surviving better together in a terrible environment - that's the Hayakawa family.

As we've seen, Nayuta talks about a happiness that will then be destroyed. It's a good tactic to follow this plan, because that's what Makima did with the Hayakawa family, but as we've seen, Nayuta is part of this happiness that's doomed to be destroyed, so she's part of this family that constantly dies, burns and then rises from the ashes.

Nayuta doesn't know who she is, but what we do know is that she has a definite attachment to Denji, and above all, she's trying to understand who she really is through this boy she wants to shower with happiness. The fact that both of them are empty shells who are influenced by the other, Nayuta adopts Denji's ways, Denji puts Nayuta above everything else. This action of surviving together, this intertwined suffering and happiness, is precisely what Chainsaw Man is all about.

When Denji loses his family again, his dogs and his cat, he pushes Nayuta away. Denji realises that being him, being Chainsaw Man, will always be accompanied by pain, so he tries to cut the ties with the last person close to him. He does this without even understanding what it means to be a family.

Yet chapter 155 explicitly answers it. The beginning of the chapter opens with Nayuta about to be attacked and ends with Denji lying there, cared for and safe. Denji may never be able to describe what a family is, but it is something that can be felt, the shared suffering and happiness of living together, and it is something that can be seen : being protected.

Denji's cycle is not to kill his parents, it's the cycle of neglect, of lack of protection. Denji's father failed to protect him, leaving him in the hands of the mafia. And what Denji does is fail to understand what it means to belong to a family, to protect others, because he has abandoned his little sister to her fate.

Nayuta also had her answer, she wanted to repeat what her former self had done, what was accomplished by one of her former followers, Barem : lose the happiness you've built up.

And indeed, she understood what she was: someone who belongs to a family, even when that family goes completely off the rails, and her first instinct was to protect Denji and get him to safety. Denji opened the door for Nayuta, who looked at him as an empty shell, and who then saw so much of herself in him that she protected him at the risk of jeopardising her own safety.

This doomed happiness, belonging to a family, sacrificing oneself - that's the Hayakawa. And when she realises that she too has become part of this doomed family, Nayuta paradoxically knows better who she is : Nayuta Hayakawa.

By inundating this empty boy with happiness, she also becomes part of a vicious, ever-accelerating cycle. Her dogs and cat have already paid the price.

Makima and Nayuta are right: happiness under threat is what awakens Chainsaw Man. After all, it was in front of a burnt down house that a new contract was signed with Pochita. And when this new dream came about, it was when a bird was crushed. The bird represents the cycles: Bucky who opens part 2, Asa the new protagonist who lives again thanks to Yoru in the form of an owl. Crushing it represents its end. Being Chainsaw Man means avoiding becoming that empty shell again by preserving the fragile happiness inside.

As Aki learns that he, like Power, will be killed by Chainsaw Man, the cycle of his family's condemnation, Denji is also finally revealed, confronted with his own destiny.

How can we put an end to the cycle of neglect? The broken and unhappy destinies ? How can we turn Chainsaw Man into an instrument of struggle ?

Will Denji remain the product of this cycle of neglect, watching his loved ones die in his arms, condemned like his brother to try to protect them when it's already too late?

Will Denji realise that when he crushed the raven, Nayuta was on his back, and that she needs to be in his arms, protected, to end the cycle? Will Denji finally wake up and try to be a bit less of an idiot?

And realise that to be Chainsaw Man, he needs a foundation: his family.

As his memories of Nayuta flashed past, Denji realised that he had put an end to the cycle, that he had touched with his fingertips a form of happiness despite the loss of his previous siblings. As he realised this fragile happiness, Pochita asked him what he wanted next: to be Chainsaw Man. Not the man who kills his loved ones, not the man you die for. The one who will protect this fragile happiness like a tower of cards.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝕽𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | Teaser

Hang the sinner by his wings.

Tags/Warnings: Demon!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Modern fantasy AU, Angst, slow burn, mature themes, hurt and comfort, Tags vary for each chapter

Length: ~4k words per chapter

There is no taglist for this fic.

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He can't even get you to drink anything at all, but he has to if he wants even the slightest chance at getting that rogue demon out of you.

He tips the cup of water against your lips to aid in getting you to drink anything and replenish what your body so desperately needs during this time- but he knows, deep down, that you can't keep this fight up much longer than you already have. Your soul might be strong, but your body is already hitting its limits- muscles trembling from the force of the most recent attempt made to possess you.

"There you go.." he hums to you in gentle reassurance, unable to contain his affection for you even if you're incapable of returning any of it. He can't help the way his hand runs over your back to try and comfort you, even though he knows it means nothing to you.

You feel nothing for him but indifference. You don't even hate him.

Knowing what he does now, he's aware of the fact that this entire situation is partially, if not entirely, his own fault. When he saved you centuries ago, he also made you very much horribly attractive for houseless demons like the one currently attempting to use you as more than just a host, but even if he knew back then what he knows now, he would've still gone through with it.

He'd save you any chance he'd get. And maybe that's the sickest part of his whole curse.

The knife on the table is another way out for you, of course. A dead vessel is worth nothing to a demon of this kind, and maybe, it would let you rest for once as well- but he knows that even if held against the prospect of eternal punishment, Jungkook wouldn't ever be able to be the one to take your life. After all, he did what he did many lifetimes ago to save it, and not have it taken either way.

He didn't just buy you time.

He bought you the guarantee of a full life, with every reincarnation.

Jungkook helps you back into bed after letting you calm down for a little bit, before he opens the door to let your friend back inside. At the sight of him, you immediately begin to reach out and cry, and the sight alone has his heart in a chokehold.

Or whatever is left of it, in this case.

Your tears are salty in the open scars he has inside of him, but the fact that you can even shed them at all makes the sting feel a little less harsh. He can deal with this, as long as he knows you're getting the life you were almost denied. He can see you smile, and cry, and love-

Even if it's in the arms of someone else.

"She's a lost cause." Yoongi mumbles from a corner, watching Jungkook who closes the door behind him.

"She's not." Jungkook denies.

"You barely made any progress." The fellow demon shakes his head at him. "You're torturing her."

"I'm saving her." The younger demon denies. "Any progress is progress."

"And how long can you stand this, I wonder." The cat eyed man asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall behind him. "Let me-"

"No." Jungkook instantly denies. "You'll kill her."

"And maybe that's for the best, my friend." He offers in sympathy. "Why are you chasing after someone who cannot even love you?"

"Because if I don't,.." jungkook mumbles, turning to look at your closed door.

"...then everything I sacrificed has been for nothing."

[artdcnaldson]

alright so in relation to the thing where art shows pats sister porn videos as like "inspiration" for things they're gonna do together, aka he's slowly corrupting her by normalizing these things for her. so i have 2 additional ideas for this, am gonna send them seperately and then you can just pick what you wanna do first, cuz the order is really not important.

so 1st idea: so maybe he gets really into the idea choking her, cuz we all know, well-established, that he loves to feel that power over her. and it starts as just like a way he wants to keep her in place, so he starts sending her like porn videos where its concluded, just like a lose hand around the girls throat. maybe its not even a real grip in the first ones, just a caress? just to get her into it, not that she wouldnt do anything he asks anyway. but slowly the videos gets rougher, maybe it leans slightly into breathplay too, akin to plugging her nose, but like still on the gentle side. but she likes it, not just seeing it, she likes when he does it. it feels good to have him grip her, feels good to get lightheaded, maybe she even gets off on him controlling whether she gets to breathe for not…. so he keeps doing it.

and one day he loses himself a bit, he had a bad day on the court, lost a game he should've won in his sleep, so he's pissed off. but he decides that the best way to get it out is to fuck her pussy, just really pounding her, bullying her little cervix. honestly it's a miracle if she can walk tomorrow. and as he's abusing her little cunt he has a firm hand around her throat, they've done this many times before.

but he's so lost in himself and getting his anger out he forgets to really focus on her and she ends up getting lightheaded from him squeezing too hard. but with his other hand over her mouth to cover moans she cant tell him to ease up. she ends up passing out (briefly), it's nothing serious shes fine really, but it freaks him out deeply and unlocks a more tender side to him and his true care for her. it really was never his intention to hurt her, its different from when he first slapped her, where he also felt awful, but could tell right away that she was okey and into it. this time she just kind of goes limp under him for a minute, and it scares the living shit out of him, because he cant communicate with her right away. he cant check that shes okey beyond check her pulse and breathing, but hes like crying and cradling her when she wakes up.

he has to spend the rest of the evening holding her tight to him and assuring her that he never meant to hurt her. it takes her ages to try to get him back into gently choking her, cuz she really did like it. but hes too scared hes going to hurt her again…

again not super slutty, but i just love love y'all!!!! i need them to be in looooooooove <3

-🐞

GODDDD my babies <3 I’ve abandoned them for too long <3

He knows you have a thing for his hands, it’s why he isn’t surprised you’re so willing when he starts sending you the choking videos. You’re always playing with his fingers absently, tangling his hand with yours, smiling all giddy and sweet when he wraps a hand around your thigh. You fucking love them— he sees you staring at them so much. So of course your eyes light up when he actually wraps his hand around your throat, just resting it there for the first few times, until you get impatient and put your hand on top of his, until you make him squeeze.

He should’ve known better than to try it after the match against Columbia, when he kept double faulting and missing returns that should’ve been easy. Every time he hit into the net it just made it worse and worse. He didn’t smash his racket, which was a miracle, because he wanted to. He wanted to squeeze the hilt in his palm and hit and hit until it shattered.

You were there, because of course you were— in Stanford tennis tee shirt so tight that it had to have been from the children’s section. With black eyeliner, you’d written a pretty A on your cheekbone for him. He’s snapping at you, rolling his eyes like every word you say is a huge inconvenience. You’re infuriating him by being so nice, by coddling him.

Sitting on his bed, legs crossed beneath you. “You played so well, Art, really. He was just a really good competitor, and now you know where you need to improve for next ti—“

“Can you just shut the fuck up?” He snaps, and you swallow hard, but nod.

He’s mad. Of course he’s mad, he lost. But you can help! You always know exactly what he needs. Slowly, you peel your shirt off, and he swears under his breath as your bare tits are revealed to him— the prettiest fucking sight in the world. And you don’t say anything as you strip, like you both already know where this is going to go. Just tug off your jean shorts and panties and lay back on his bed.

“You can take it out on me.”

And he does. You’re already wet, because you always get wet when he’s mean to you, but it’s not enough to make you comfortable without prep. You whine and dig your nails into his shoulders as he stuffs you full of his cock without bothering to get you ready for it. “Just fuckin’ take it—“ You pant and try to relax, to open yourself up for him as he fucks into your cunt.

You’re loud— you’re always so fucking loud— he just needs you to shut the fuck up for one goddamn second and let him cum. It hurts and you’re whimpering, babbling and squeezing him with your tight little pussy. With each moan and grunt that escapes him, you get fucking wetter, you get louder.

The second his hand wraps around your throat, your eyes roll back and the prettiest moan escapes your lips. He tightens his grip and your cunt squeezes him, sucks him in deeper.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking slut for it, huh? You want it harder?” You nod, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Your moans are choked and pathetic until he covers your mouth with a heavy hand over your mouth, muffling every whimper and gasp behind a thick palm.

He watches your lashes flutter with each rough thrust into your cunt. He should’ve known when your grip on his shoulders went lax, when your soft moans went quiet. He feels it when you lose consciousness, when your arms drop by your side and you go completely limp beneath him, eyes rolling back behind your lids, lips parted and unmoving.

He panics immediately, slapping your cheeks softly, trying to rouse you back into consciousness. “C’mon,” he says softly, popping your cheek. “Hey, wake up—“

You’re still breathing, he knows that, at least. And he has the decency to pull out while you’re passed out, not that he can stay hard when he’s so fucking scared that you’re going to hate him. You’re warm in his lap, and he feels your heart thrumming beneath his palm as he holds you. You look so peaceful, so soft and young. He knows then why Patrick never wanted this— he was always going to fucking hurt you eventually.

It takes barely over two minutes for you to wake up, but it feels like a fucking lifetime. Your brows furrow and you blink slowly, bleary. There’s a scratchiness in your voice that fucking kills him. “Mmm… sorry—“ you manage. “Didn’t mean to.”

It kills him. Really fucking kills him. “No it’s my fault, I was… that was fucking horrible.”

“No, Art, it’s fine. I told you to take it out on me.” You give a weak smile. “Did you cum, At least?”

Art knows he’s a bad person. He wishes he was better, that he didn’t corrupt you to this extent. He wants you to have a normal crush on a normal boy who wouldn’t dream of taking you to that point. He wants you to care about your own body more than you care about whether or not he got off. He hates the way you worship him as much as he can’t live without it.

[wlwanakin]

could you explain to me in your opinion what exactly saw padme in anakin to fall for him? in aotc it came like out of nowhere after three days knowing him, anakin then commited tusken genocide and padme was ready to forgive him despite her strong sense of justice, to me it just feels very off and diservicing to her, how wasnt that a deal breaker for her

i’ll gladly explain!! and i’ve spoken briefly about how i view padmé’s reaction to the tusken massacre before, but i’ll elaborate here too.

i think the key things to remember when looking at anidala from padmé’s perspective are a) love is by nature pretty irrational so you’re never gonna be able to fully rationalize padmé’s love for anakin, b) padmé is a deeply lonely person in a career that requires her to distance herself from others and sacrifice authenticity, c) padmé met anakin when he was an enslaved child and she was a teenaged queen dealing with an unprecedented crisis and he played a key role in solving that whilst showing her extreme kindness and selflessness, and d) as of the beginning of aotc, padmé has just narrowly escaped death and lost two of her devoted handmaidens who she also considered to be her friends. these are the big things informing her mindset and her perception of anakin throughout the film.

i think one thing that trips people up even before they go to tatooine is that anakin is just weird in aotc, but the thing is that that’s what made padmé fall for him. she’s been in politics since she was a child, and politics is a field that requires inauthenticity by default, and in padmé’s case that’s to an extreme degree because she spent her teen years putting on the queen amidala persona and the anonymous handmaiden persona, then the minute that was up she became a senator and senator amidala is not as dramatic a persona but it is one nonetheless because politics and diplomacy require that. her entire life since she was fourteen has been spent playing roles, surrounded by others also playing roles, and she’s a severe workaholic working under a sense of moral obligation so unlike some people in the same field might she doesn’t really have a life outside of this. and here comes anakin, who she’s already fond of because of the kindness he showed her and her people when he was a child, and he’s so unlike any of the people she’s surrounded by because he is earnest to a fault. he’s socially stunted, he’s abrasive and combative, he doesn’t give a shit about niceties or diplomacy, he says every weird thing he thinks before he even finishing thinking it, and can you imagine how refreshing that must be to someone whose entire social life is just her staff and fellow politicians who are all inauthentic by nature? and on top of how appealing that is on its own he’s also hot, and he still shows that he cares for her, and he gives her space to be authentic as well. he jokes with her, he speaks openly about his emotions and gives her room to do the same, he treats her like a person rather than a figurehead. it’s a perfect recipe for romance, really.

so it’s important to note that, for all these reasons, she was already in love with him before they even left naboo, and that informs all her actions throughout the last half of the film. it’s also important to note that she is carrying the guilt and grief of cordé and versé’s deaths on her shoulders as well as all the strange emotions that come with a near-death experience. and that’s the mindset she’s traveling to tatooine with, knowing that anakin might be on the verge of a monumental loss himself. and then the worst case scenario happens and she does see him grieving, and she understands to an extent what it’s like to experience a loss that feels like her fault. it’s the opening scene of the film! so she sees his volatile grief and that doesn’t scare her off because his vulnerability and depth of emotion are part of what drew her to him in the first place since she is someone who has long been denied access to such vulnerability. and all this gives her immense grounds to sympathize deeply with him by the time he confesses to the massacre.

i guess i kind of understand why people think her reaction to anakin’s confession is a bad character moment or a disservice or whatever, but it’s actually one of my favorite padmé moments for a lot of reasons. it makes sense to me that under the circumstances padmé would underreact to the crime being confessed. she has a strong sense of justice but she also loves anakin and understands what he’s feeling, she knows him and knows his immense capacity for goodness because she’s witnessed it, and above all she is an idealist. she is driven by immense compassion and that is something that can be misapplied and it isn’t inherently virtuous. she can look past anakin’s crime because she sympathizes deeply with the emotions that motivated it, and because she knows him well enough to know that he isn’t defined by this level of cruelty and she has no reason to believe he’ll make a habit out of it considering the remorse he’s expressing, and quite simply and selfishly because she loves him. it isn’t a morally upright moment for her but it doesn’t have to be because this streak of hypocrisy she has is really interesting and makes her feel more human than if she was just a paragon of virtue.

so after that really crazy week? week and a half? geonosis happens, and this is padmé’s second super close brush with death in like a month, and her love confession comes in a moment right before what’s supposed to be an execution because of course you’re gonna grab life by the tits if you only have like five minutes of it left. and near-death experiences are very perspective shifting things, and she just had two super close together and anakin just had one right along with her and is about to be shipped off to the chronic near-death experience that is Fighting In A War, and she is very madly in love with him and he is the only person she can be herself around, and after all that and lifetime of repressing and sacrificing her entire self for public service she says fuck it and lets herself have this one selfish thing and marries him. and that’s really all of it, nothing was a dealbreaker because padmé really truly loves anakin and almost died twice and also almost lost him and he gives her something no one else ever could and she wants that. and after the whirlwind she just experienced she’s gonna take it.

and even with all this aside i think it’s important to give padmé as a character space to be irrational because she is, at the end of the day, a character, and not a real person or even an audience insert. and she’s a character in a shakespearean space opera on top of that, one where an exorbitant amount of guys cope by doing mass murder. her love interest is one of those guys and he’s also constantly off his rocker about everything all the time, so why can’t she be a bit off hers too, yanno? anakin and padmé’s relationship is almost transcendentally intense, and that just wouldn’t work if the intensity weren’t on both ends. and padmé loves just as intensely as anakin does, it’s just more focused and less outwardly fiery. and her moral oversights are part of that intensity.

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

This is one of my favorite scenes because of its layers and I’d like to share it with everyone!

The symbolism for every character here is rough.

The tangerine trees and flag weep as Nami and Chopper stand around Brook and Carrot.

Bellemere, with her beloved trees, and the pirate flag Hiriluk loved so fondly; they cry for they died in a similar way, and now they’ve lost another.

Brook. Has lost another. Carrot, lost a brother.

She doesn’t move, drawn in on herself as she knows the news and is handling it the best way she can as a child, however Brook does something very, very different.

He THROWS himself violently to the floor, and in a rage we NEVER see him in, not like this, he curses himself, and apologizes to the air about him, a mantra of sorts.

I don’t think it’s just an apology to Pedro, no, but to the Rumbars he failed in the EXACT same way.

To Brook, who was acting captain, those men died due to a mistake on his part, an error he didn’t think about or prepare for, and they were butchered, one after another like ants under a stronger man’s boot. The left overs and rotten remains hung about him for 50 years, and he knew he failed Yorki entirely.

He believes in this moment, that he, after being given power by Luffy, has failed Pedro ALONE entirely, just like he did before.

“If only I.”

Chopper was there with him. It was a we if anything but no, not to Brook.

“If only I was stronger,”

A chant he probably already has said before many, many times during the nights and days and hoary mornings and fantasy moments of the dusk alone and with others; if only he had been stronger, maybe those men would have made it to live like he’s been blessed to now.

Jinbe speaks up, giving advice just like Fisher would have, and now we see TWO captains, one disabled, throwing his beloved hair into the dirt, forgetting his own promise to a little boy who waits beside an aging tired man, and a man who’s lead strong since his mentor died.

It’s such a wonderful scene of morals, and reactions, and grief and loss and even PTSD.

Oh Brook,, it’s not your fault. Never was, but, will he ever forgive himself?

[orphicrose]

The co-host (Alastor x femreader) II

< >

Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

------------------------------------------------

Alastor had arrived in hell a few years after you, completely unaware that you ended up in the same place. You both saw each other as saints, i guess that's what love does to you.  If only you had more time to truly know each other. His last years weren't as dignified as yours. And neither was his death. 

All through your sickness, he was by your side. Cooking for you, entertaining you, helping out with rent. Your mother would have, but she lived in another state, and had very little money to come visit you or support you. So Alastor did.  But when your body decided enough was enough, you took a toll for the worse. You were gone within days, with him still by your side. Willing to do anything to see your eyes full of life just one more time. It truly broke him as a person. But no one would ever know. 

He sent out a broadcast to honor your name, all of your frequent listeners shedding a tear over the loss. Because it truly was a loss. Spreading kind words like "she's in a better place now", if only they knew. 

Then there was Alastor. In the end, everyone was glad the world had ridded such a monster. No one knew it when he died, but they did when the remains of those who had gone missing was uncovered. Some argue they deserved it, some argue it was an act of evil. 

It had been a few weeks since the encounter with Satan. Y/N didn't have much of a choice, her soul was his. Now she had to do his dirty work. You see, Satan's a busy man. Being the keeper of the wraith ring, and having the people of earth call on him frequently for deals. He couldn't keep up with all of it. So, he gave some of that responsibility to Y/n. Someone who can claim souls and grant wishes from the desperate and needy. Of course the souls still belonged to him, she was just the messenger. With this comes the ability to travel to the mortal realm, and fear of other sinners when you are being called the sacrificer. Within days, Y/n rose the ranks as an overlord who owned a large territory. Unspeakable amounts of power being given to this singular soul was a lot to take in, but she didn't have a choice.

The business was now up and running, "The slaughter house". Satan being the CEO, of course. Y/N being the manager, and other souls of Satan being his laborers who dealt with mundane things like paper work. The pay wasn't too bad though. This operation being set up in hell also gave other sinners the opportunity to sell their soul to Satan in return for a high paying job. Its a bit extreme, but it gets very desperate in hell. I'm sure you can imagine. 

Y/n's name was lost, now being called the demon of sacrifice. It was incredibly de-humanizing, and she hated it. Only using her power when absolutely necessary or when business required it. But it wasn't all bad, she had a better accommodation, a steady cash flow, a lot of useful contacts and very little conflict with other demons. It was also incredibly lonely. Because of the fear around her name, very few people were willing to befriend her. 

Then, on top of that, was the pain of her memories from life. Knowing that all if this is ultimately her fault. All because she just wanted power. How was she to carry on. Then it hit her, she has the power to do what she pleases. She can be whoever she wants to be down here, and to start this she needed to forget everything that haunted her.

Alastor landed in hell four years after y/n, after being shot in between the eyes. Not many know how his rise to power happened, but it was merely overnight. Tormenting the citizens of hell, kidnapping powerful overlords that few would dare to mess with, and giving a new reason for sinners to fear for their lives. The radio demon was born, and it didn't take long before his radio broadcasts displayed what had happened to his unfortunate victims. No one was safe.

"Miss l/n! Todays demand for Satan is big today, I don't think we will be able to get through all of them" a small, fishlike demon ran up to her, struggling to keep up with her pace through the corridors. 

"Its late, imp. I will deal with them tomorrow. Prioritize the simpler requests, none of that fame or millionaire shit." Y/n bit back, eager to leave.

"But ma'am, The sin of wraith isn't very happy with how the number of souls are dropping"

"uh huh, uh huh. I'll see you tomorrow, imp" The door slammed in his face, and the handle was too high for him to reach. 

"I'm not an imp" He mumbles under his breath, watching the overlord walk away in the windows of the door. 

Y/n had a coffee date with one of her closest friends, Zestial. One of the few overlords who still had his head attached to him. They had arranged to talk about the affects of the new tormentor, needing a plan to put their people at ease and to protect the skin on the bac of their necks. Usually, she'd have someone accompany her. But this occasion was far too private.

The night had progressed fast, the crimson sky darkened and street lamps struggled to do their job and lighten the streets. Y/n was almost at her destination when she noted a faint buzzing sound in the back of her head. It definitely wasn't there before. She stopped at the end of an alley she had just walked through, and assessed her surroundings. No one, not a soul in sight. Behind her, again no one. A strange feeling made its way into her throat, as if her body sensed danger. The sound getting louder, louder. Street lights seemingly struggling even more, and eventually going out. One by one. The street was pitch black within seconds. Y/n couldn't do anything but remain in their position, against the wall of the alley. 

A small, voodoo doll like creature ran passed the entrance of the alley. Paying her no attention, and laughing as he went. He was barely audible as the static became more insufferable in her ears. But she knew something was after her, she just prayed to lucifer that it wasn't who she thought it was.

"Not even going to try and run, dear?" The static stopped, the voice sounding like it was in the air. Having no body attached to it. Then he materialized seemingly from the shadows. His slim body accompanied by a tailored red suit, and an eerie smile refraining his face from showing any sort of emotion. The radio demon. He was here. Her face was barely visible in the darkness he had created, only the glowing from her eyes was an indication of life. 

"Come on, give me a chase. Make this interesting. I'll give you a head start" He taunted, slowly getting closer. Leaning his cane at his side, making it hard for y/n to get out. 

"No? I guess this will be the easiest kill yet" His smile widened a the seams of his mouth, being pulled by an invisible string like a doll. His form followed in lead, being hoisted up and enlarged to intimidate his prey. 

"Don't touch me freak." Y/N finally spoke, kicking his cane over and materializing into the ground. Becoming nothing more than a shadow that cant be touched. He watched at she disappeared into the night, almost in disbelief. He's heard that voice before. But it can't be, there's no way she is down here. She can't be. His smile never faltered, and he decided to leave this chase for another day. Street light finally flickered back on, and everything remained as it was before. Other than Alastor's new knowledge. Their story wasn't over yet.

[sepheray]

you should totally write finnick angst!!!! Idk if this makes sense but maybe you can write about how the reader was taken to the capitol along with peeta and johanna and when she comes back she’s terrified of finnick because she was shown and told that he was dead

Reader has trouble distinguishing what’s real and what’s not since she was told everyone in 13 was dead

But Finnick does everything he can to help her and eventually gets her back

I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE ITS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR A WHILEEE

Also you are amazing 🫶🫶

Love you better - Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: reader is rescued from the Capitol and brought to district 13, where Finnick lies in waiting to welcome his love back in his arms, only her mind is warped and washed and Finnick must fight to keep her.

Finnick Odair who is down in the weapons defence unit, assisting Beetee with designing a new trident when he catches word of a rescue party returning from the Capitol. Of course his brain scrambles to his love. His poor, sweet love who he let out of his sight in what he, at the time, had no idea would be the last hour of the 75th Hunger Games. When he had woken up in the hovercraft, aching all over from the electric volts, he had a bittersweet feeling nesting in his chest. Everything had gone to plan, right? But no… something was wrong. He remembered his eyes darting around the hovercraft, searching desperately for her. But his sweet girl was not here, and sitting down with Haymitch and Plutarch only confirmed his worst suspicions. The Capitol had her, she was not safe, and even worse he felt an inescapable guilt. This was his fault. Snow had taken her to use as leverage against him, he knew it. He had lost track of the days since he had lost her, lost track of the tears and the amount of times he thought of his lovely girl. His mind had drowned in a haze of the colour of her eyes and the little knots he made in pieces of rope; he made sure there was no room for anything else.

He blinked back into reality when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder; spinning around, he’s greeted once again with Haymitch. The uncharacteristically sober man is sporting a half-smile, something that clears Finnick’s mind slightly. Surely if Haymitch is glad, it can’t be bad news? “She’s safe, she’s alive,” Haymitch’s tone is decisive as if he’s picking his words carefully, stepping on eggshells to avoid Finnick’s newfound distress. “I thought you’d want to see her.” The bronze-haired man finds himself nodding frantically before Haymitch’s gruff voice even finishes his suggestion. Within seconds, he’s panting outside of District Thirteen’s medical unit. He stood straight for a while, chest rising and falling rapidly as he prepares himself for the moments to come. Would she run into his arms? Cower away from him? He hoped not. He thought his heart would break at the sight. He pushes through the doors before he can double think it, doctors recognising him and leading him to one of the private, solitary rooms. This was it. His sweet girl was in here, either eager to see him or broken and disheartened by the Capitol. Finnick took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside as quietly as he could, and closing the heavy door. She looked terrible. His gorgeous girl with her radiant skin, bright eyes and vibrant laugh barely looked like herself anymore. Her face was almost gaunt, and her skin draped along her, now, prominent cheekbones. She looked up at him, those eyes he loved so very much miserable but with a certain curiosity that made him hope that what they had between them could still be salvaged. The Capitol hadn’t ruined them yet.

A soft and meek voice spoke up, dull eyes analysing him carefully. “…Finnick,” His lips curl up at the sound of his name. God, how he had missed hearing his boring old name pouring like honey from those lovely lips. He took another deep breath, desperate to not scare her into retreat. “hi, honey.” Finnick spoke carefully, his tone gentle as he stood still, the doctors who had consulted him earlier had advised him to make minimum movement as to not distress her further. She stared at him silently for a second, hesitating as her pretty eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you were dead,” it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows. Hadn’t anyone thought to let her know that he was alive and well? He grimaced at her sadly, he had no idea what to say to her. Finnick had planned out their reunion thousands of times in his head over the past couple of months, and yet here she was, sat right in front of him, and he was at a loss for words. He took a few moments to pick out his words, trying to get his point across as simply as he could without confusing her pretty little head further. The man felt his heart swell with all the yearning he had endured for her recently as she reached out for him, wanting nothing but the comfort of his touch. Finnick stepped forward carefully, taking her outstretched hand in his as he stood near the side of the uncomfortable bed. She mumbled to herself, unknowingly breaking his heart as she did. “S’confused, Finnick. Had no idea whether you were alive, all I wanted was to see you.” He squeezed her hand at her confession, wanting nothing more than to soothe her lost mind. All these months he had been so angry at the Capitol for taking his sweet girl from him. Finnick was not angry now, he knew anger had no use. He had to be tender with his love, patient especially when she could not decipher the truth.

He sat down beside her gently, still holding onto her cold hand. She brought her knees up to her chest, gazing at him as if he was the only one who could rehang the stars for her. Finnick rubbed a comforting thumb across her knuckles murmuring sweet phrases of reassurance. “You’re alright now, sweet girl, I’m gonna get you well again” he meant it. He was willing to do anything to make sure that his lovely girl would go back to the sunshine she had once been. Finnick would stand with her through what was the truth and what was the capitol’s truth, sorting through her tampered memories tirelessly. She surged forward, embracing him tightly, saying a million things and yet nothing at the same time. The embrace meant trust, meant vulnerability but at the same time he knew that it would take time to work through this, time that he was willing to put in. He snaked his arms tightly around her waist, supporting her in a fragile moment that Finnick would not let the Capitol take from them. “We’ll get you better, sweetheart. No matter what it takes” yes, he was going to fix this for her. He was going to make sure his sweet girl could bare her teeth in every smile yet again, that she could squeal and splash him, giggling all the while, as he dunked her under the sea’s surface back home in their beloved District 4. He was going to get her back.

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (06)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, drama, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

← Previous Chapter (05) | Next Chapter (07) →

****

Six Years Ago, 2017

As much as Jungkook hated to admit it, you were right. This venture with Jimin was doomed.

"Jungkook, what should we do?" Jimin paced back and forth, a rare image of anxiety painted on his face. Jimin always gave Jungkook the perfect picture of a calm adult who knew exactly what he was doing. As such, Jungkook naturally looked up to him. Jungkook was also an adult, but his reliance on Jimin was of another level, allowing him to see that there was something to look forward to in life.

"We have to kill him, Jimin-hyung~." But darkness still loomed over the younger man, only that it was masked by his starry eyes, giving people the wrong impression that he couldn't and wouldn't harm even a fly.

Truth be told, Jimin sighed, but he cast an affectionate look at Jungkook as if Jungkook were his mischievous younger brother who did not propose murder but simply a joke of putting salt in someone's food instead of sugar.

"Jungkook-ah, I'm serious, okay? This can potentially harm our employees. I need you to think of something."

"Who said I was joking?" Jungkook deadpanned and crossed his arms lazily. "You said it yourself. This will harm our people. Why not get rid of the root cause first?"

"Jungkook," Jimin warned, his voice turning serious.

The brunet pursed his lips into a thin line, petulant. He wished to kill Francis Fitzgerald, one of Port Mafia's board members and their certified public accountant. Naturally, Francis dealt with the company's financial statements.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook and the others, Francis used the company's money for his own gain and concealed that the Port Mafia was incurring debt.

"This is all my fault." Jimin blamed himself. He was dating Francis and blindly trusted him, but Jungkook did not want to blame Jimin.

"That son of a bitch is cunning. He'd find another way to hide this from us even if we didn't give him freedom."

Admittedly, the only reason why Jungkook and Jimin found out about Francis' scheme was because Jisoo sent a formal request to inspect Port Mafia's book. Jisoo had been wanting to increase her investment, but she didn't want to jump into the fire immediately. She wanted some sort of proof that Port Mafia was doing well. She couldn’t buy this whole unicorn company thing. Something must be up.

"Maybe we should report this to the authorities. Does anyone else know?"

"Only the two of us, Jisoo and her independent auditor," Jungkook answered. It was all thanks to your sister's painstaking effort that the anomalies were discovered. "You don't have to worry about Jisoo-noona. She'll keep her mouth shut."

"We're really going to hide this?" Jimin was uncomfortable, but what other choice did they have?

"It appears that's the only thing we could do. Unless you change your mind about murder." Jungkook shrugged off. They would just discreetly force Francis to 'resign' and slowly correct his wrongdoings. Jisoo said she knew many reliable accountants and auditors who could handle issues like this silently. Jisoo also said she was willing to buy Francis' shares, though she had no interest in being a board member.

Jungkook was a cunning man, but he had to admit he couldn't exactly figure out why Jisoo was willing to help Port Mafia clean its mess up. Thankfully, Jimin gave Jungkook the go signal to work with Jisoo while he continued to manage their business operation. It gave Jungkook the time to scrutinize Jisoo. He had done the same thing with others before, dining and sweet-talking them until they willingly opened up to him.

"Why the long face, Jisoo-noona? Did you change your mind about helping us~? Or maybe you're just looking for a little extra persuasion~?" The corner of Jungkook's lip ticked up. They were at Jisoo’s house because Jungkook proposed to cook for Jisoo to thank her for helping Port Mafia. He slowly poured wine on Jisoo's glass while maintaining eye contact with her.

Light teasing and flirting usually worked, but Jungkook didn't see the blush on Jisoo's cheeks. She indolently picked up her wine glass and swirled it to release its aroma.

Jisoo did not drink her wine. She furrowed a brow at the younger boy, "Jungkook-ah, tell me. How much do you love my sister?"

Her question stunned Jungkook, causing his throat to get dry. For a moment, Jungkook didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but pursed his lips at the last minute.

It took a while before Jungkook settled with an answer.

"It's complicated." While it was indisputable that you were his best friend, Jungkook also knew that his bond with you transcended all superficial feelings, such as love. Yes. Love, among other things, was superficial compared to what you were to him.

People often wondered how you and Jungkook remained friends for many years, considering that all you did was fight, but none of those people saw you two’s desperate glances and how soft they actually were. No one understood that while it was easy to buy crab spring rolls, you would rather make them at home and add some pureed vegetables so Jungkook could eat healthier.

Or how no one understood Jungkook's intention of cutting you some slack after all the hurtful words you had said because he knew he'd be damned to take an angry woman’s words at face value.

Love was there—it was easy to say and feel that, but it was a different story, knowing that you might hurt each other. However, at the end of the day, you and Jungkook were each other's constants. You would return to each other's embrace no matter how fucked up the situation was.

People like Jisoo would not understand that, so Jungkook could only settle with a simple "it's complicated" response.

As expected, Jisoo shook her head. She didn't look enthusiastic to hear Jungkook's answer, as her question was merely rhetoric or a preamble.

Jisoo's intention was to tell Jungkook how much you meant to her.

Jungkook smiled. "I know, Jisoo-noona. Everybody loves your sister."

"No, Jungkook." Jisoo stopped swirling her glass. She caught Jungkook's eyes, voice serious. "You don't understand. I love that kid with my life."

You and Jisoo had absent parents, so Jisoo basically raised you.

Jungkook remained silent, sensing that there was more to Jisoo's admission of her feelings for you.

And he was right.

Jisoo stopped swirling the glass; she looked at the crimson liquid intensely, a bitter smile blooming on her face. "This wine seems quite tasty."

"You would know." Jungkook took a sip of his wine. "That's your fourth cup, right—"

Jungkook was abruptly cut off when Jisoo poured the wine on the floor. Its splattering reverberated through Jisoo's dining room.

Then she confessed:

"I'm dying, Jungkook."

The wine glass shattered, broken pieces falling on the floor.

"Jisoo-noona." Jungkook was by Jisoo's side in a flash. He enveloped her in an embrace to get her to stop shaking. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Jungkook sat Jisoo on her couch, bringing a towel to wipe at her hand. He didn't know when their playful banter turned into something this gloomy, but that should be his least concern.

"Are you with me, Jisoo-noona? Come on, breathe." Jungkook usually did this with you. You had quite some temper. Jisoo was the relaxed one, almost always gracious. Her smile was reserved for big occasions only.

It was an...experience to see her like this.

"You're okay, Jisoo-noona. Jisoo." Jungkook learned it was effective to utter someone's name when they were in distress. Fortunately, it worked on Jisoo. She released a deep breath before swallowing thickly.

"You good?"

Jisoo nodded. "Thank you, Jungkook-ah."

"Not a problem," he hummed. "Care to explain to me what you meant earlier?"

Perhaps Jungkook's tone was gentle, so it made it easier for Jisoo to open up. It was part of her plan, anyway. She knew Jimin and Jungkook must have been curious why she still invested in Port Mafia. The truth was, it was all for you.

Cancer.

Jisoo recently found out that she had cancer, and her days in this world were numbered. Jisoo didn't want to leave you alone, so she could only place her bet on Jungkook.

She knew that Jungkook would be in trouble if the authorities found out about Port Mafia's anomalies, and who would care for you if she died and Jungkook ended up locked up in prison?

"I've researched about your company. It would have been good if Francis did not mess up. I see the potential in Port Mafia; that's why I'm risking with you."

As long as Jungkook and Jimin stayed vigilant and not let scums like Francis come back, then Port Mafia would continue to prosper. By the time Jisoo was gone, all her investment would be passed down to you. That was her goal. She wanted you to enjoy a financially stable life with Jungkook.

"Are you going to tell her about your health situation?" That was all Jungkook could say.

Jisoo puffed a breath, kind of like a snicker. "Are you going to tell her  about your business situation?"

There was a pause in the air.

And then they both laughed. They both knew the answer to their question.

"Did you know why exposing Fitzgerald's crime to the authorities is not an option?"

Jisoo shook her head at that. She had meant to ask that; luckily, Jungkook made it easier.

Francis Fitzgerald was not the only one who had something to hide. Jungkook and Jimin weren't exactly clean.

Port Mafia was a business process outsourcing company. Everyone around Jungkook thought that he chose to venture into this kind of business for money, and while that was true, it was not his primary goal.

Park Jimin opened Jungkook's mind to what was happening to the world—how unfair it was and what they could do to make it slightly better.

Their solution was to make Port Mafia a catalyst for changing immigrants' lives. Not just immigrants but illegal immigrants. These people had built a life in Incheon and would never choose to go back to their own country that couldn't provide them with a proper lifestyle because of war and corruption.

Jungkook and Jimin hired these people to give them a chance at a better living. If they were to expose Fitzgerald's crime, there was no doubt that the government would also pry about how they conduct their operation. Everything would be exposed, and their employees would be at risk of deportation.

It was a band-aid solution, and Jungkook and Jimin were aware of that, but how cruel could one be to just sit and watch those people suffer?

"It's a different feeling, Jisoo-noona. I know their lives shouldn't be reduced to my feelings because Jimin-hyung often tells me it's not about us, but you're not there. No one else saw how happy those kids are..."

Jungkook never liked kids, but he would never forget when one of the kids ran to him, hugging his leg and telling him how happy he was. He didn't have to eat the bitter chocolate anymore—the bitter chocolate being dirt.

"This world is cruelly unfair." Jisoo felt defeated. One thing about sick people was how easy it was for them to be covered in a mist of bluishness. Jisoo did not see the point of living anymore. These days, all that prevailed was regret of how she lived her life and hope of how she could make someone else's life worth it.

"How much time do you have left?"

Jisoo shrugged noncommittally. "Depends. Longer with chemotherapy, shorter without chemotherapy."

"And what do you plan on choosing?" Jungkook just couldn't shut up with his damn questions.

"Are you kidding me?" Jisoo scoffed, feeling a bubble of anger rise in her. She furiously wiped at her mouth, the trace of lipstick gone. This was the only time Jungkook had seen her lose her cool. "I don't want to die with no hair. Fate is cruel enough to me. This."

She pointed at her lips and continued to wipe them with her bare hand, "Is of no use to me anymore. I can apply makeup and all those expensive skincare, and it will all be for nothing. Can't I die with my hair? Can't I die looking like me?"

She did not want to be remembered as someone sick. She wished to die simply as Jisoo, the girl with a reserved and pretty smile.

"Jisoo-noona," Jungkook called when he noticed Jisoo was shaking again.

She shook her head aggressively. "I'm so fucked up, Jungkook."

Jungkook held her hands, squeezing them. "You're not alone."

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"We're so fucked up."

"We're so fucked up." Jungkook agreed.

They were inches away from each other.

"My sister can't know about this."

Their noses touched.

Jungkook hummed, cupping Jisoo's face, "Your sister will not know about this."

The first touch of their lips was like fire, hot enough to burn all evidence of their messed up life. They seemed to agree on one thing:

Grief.

They grieved about their imperfect lives, which they so badly wanted to share with the person they loved the most (you ) but couldn't.

You couldn't know about this because your life was perfect. You had everything, a good educational degree, friends and family who loved you, and a life where you wouldn't be scared to wake up thinking it was your last day as a free man or a living man.

With every touch and thrust, Jisoo and Jungkook grieved a life you had, but they could never have.

In each other’s wretched body was where they found the solace the world took away from them.

And come morning, when they were both sober, all that was left were sadness and fear.

← Previous Chapter (05) | Next Chapter (07) →

***

A/N: This is a short chapter and I might regret posting this immediately, but it's here and I'm going crazy. Anon people in my inbox, thank you for reading this fic, but I noticed most of you are so stressed. Please hhuhuh not to be that person, but...the fictional characters are not in the room with us right now. It's okay. I love you all.

Not gonna lie, I am thinking it's a mistake to turn this into a JJK fic, because as a soukoku fic, the characters' actions just make sense, you know? But here...things are just different, I guess. But anyway, enough rambling. It's going to work out in the end. When is the end? I don't know. hahahaha

I recently posted a light JJK oneshot, read this if you want to calm down. This is pretty much fluff and crack 😆 click here

Good night. <333

[imsodishy]

Come and Knock on Our Door

also on A03

(this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience)

March, 1987   

She hears them before she sees them, which means Steve has lost the battle for his car’s stereo for the three hundredth day in a row.  

Robin is standing in the slush on the curb outside the Columbia campus bookstore with her chatty co-worker Francis, with her messenger bag clutched to her chest so she doesn’t do something insane like swing it full force into Francis' fucking face. Which wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t. Francis isn't the worst or anything. He’s just really jazzed about the philosophy classes he taking. And he loves the sound of his own voice. And he can’t take a hint or a subtle no, or a really fucking pointed no. And, okay, he kind of is the worst, but Robin needs the job, it accommodates her class schedule, and she’s rarely shares shifts with Francis. So Robin will just continue to tune him out while he blithely goes on and on about solipsism or whatever the fuck.  

When the BWM rounds the corner and comes into view she sighs in relief.  

Eddie’s got an arm hanging out his backseat window, drumming aggressively along to the aggressive song the beemer is blasting, when he spots her he sticks his head out too, “Buckley! This guy bothering you?” he hoots, as they pull up to the curb. Her body language must be more starkly uncomfortable than she realized.  

Before she can deny it, Billy is crawling out the fucking passenger window like someone who doesn’t know how doors work, sitting himself on the ledge, and slinging his arms over the roof of the car to glare silently at Francis.  

Steve turns down the music to a bearable volume, “Problem, Robin?” he slides his ray-bans down to the tip of his nose to give Francis an unimpressed once over like he’s still King of Hawkins High, like anyone in New York should give a shit about him. It’s an attitude that’s depressingly really effective in a lot of situations. When he’s in a good mood Steve says it’s all about confidence, when he’s being a moody butthead he says it’s all just bullshit. Either way, it does the trick.  

Francis is bug-eyed and slack jawed, and blessedly silent for the first time all day, staring at the spectacle that is Robin’s day to day life.  

“Well,” she says with cheery a smile and a smack to his shoulder, “That’s my ride. See ya, Frank.”  

She rounds the car and Billy climbs the rest of the way out the front window before he opens the door for her, shuts it behind her, and then drops himself in the back seat behind her, through the actual door this time, at least. And he does it all while maintaining extremely hostile eye contact with Francis over the roof of the car.  

Robin gets shotgun, always , is the only car rule Steve has been able to consistently enforce so far in their time as a unit. She’s not sure how or why.  

She's also not sure how or why this is how her life is turning out. If anyone asked her to recount the story of how she came to be sharing a house in New York, with this particular array of boys she could probably lay out the steps one by one pretty easily, and coherently, but it wouldn’t really clear anything up.  

The short answer is Steve Harrington suddenly started collecting strays after high school. Which no one who knew him for the first eighteen years of his life could have predicted, Robin can confidently say that as someone who did know him then, or at least knew of him. So its Steve's fault, basically. He collected the three of them like weird dogs, and he found the house they're renting too.  

Just before they peel out Steve turns to her and says, “Who's the clown?” maybe loud enough for Francis to hear, maybe on purpose.  

“He's a turd,” Robin says dismissively once they’re on the road. “Listen, I need to talk to you guys.”  

Because she does, and she's been putting it off since the phone call on Tuesday. Told herself it could wait a day, and then Steve had a jam-packed work schedule, and then Billy was cramming for a big test he was stressed about, and then Eddie's hours were so odd she just couldn’t find a good time to sit them all down, and if she really put her mind to it she could just delay, delay, delay until the bomb dropped in their laps and they all exploded in a giant mess.  

She wasn’t sure why that seemed kind of appealing, but she figured it was probably a bad sign.  

Billy leans forward, hand gripping the headrest of her seat, “That guy bothering you?” it’s the same question Eddie asked before, but with a wildly different tone of menace behind it.  

Eddie tries to wedge his face in next to Billy, “You need us to talk to him Robbie? Lean on him a little? Scare him into backing off?” Eddie says like a parody of a tough guy. Billy shoves him back over to his side of the back seat with an annoyed grunt, but his grip on Robin’s seat relaxes a bit too.  

“The only people who find you scary are people who have never had a conversation with you,” Steve snorts, “Not even a whole conversation. Just a passing interaction. You're a scarecrow.”   

Eddie squawks.  

“Pretty sure Buckley’s packing bigger guns than you, dude,” Billy says and Eddie squawks again, louder and more dramatic.  

“Untrue! Buckley, flex real quick.” He demands, as he tries to shake an arm loose from his permanent leather jacket/denim vest combo.  

“No,” she says. “Listen-.”  

“There's more than one way to scare a square,” Eddie goes on, “Just because I'm slender and svelte, doesn’t mean I can't be intimidating.”  

“Sure. But you're not intimidating though,” Billy drawls.  

“This is character assassination!” Eddie’s too loud for the confined space of the car, “I terrorized Hawkins High! They thought I worshiped the devil!”  

“And they kicked your ass on the regular. No one was scared of you, dude.”  

“Guys!” Robin tries to interject, desperate to get this conversation on track.  

“You know,” Steve says, hand peeling off the wheel to gesture at Eddie, “If you wanted to bulk up you could try working out with us sometime.”  

“What about any interaction we’ve ever had makes you think I would want to do that?” Eddie asks.  

“You were literally just complaining about being a scrawny little weakling,” Billy says.  

More (mostly) mock outrage from Eddie, “Not any of the words I used actually. I’m lithe . Like Mick Jagger, you meathead.”  

Billy snorts.  

“Shut up!” she finally shouts them down. All three of them give her sidelong looks like that was a little uncalled for. She takes a deep breath and gets right to the point, “My mother is coming. This weekend. She is very concerned about my living situation.”  

“Little late outta the gate, isn't it. It’s been, like, months,” Billy’s right, except for one thing.  

“Yeah,” Robin tugs at her bangs, “She was not aware that I was living with three boys until now. She thought I was rooming with my cousin April.” Who, when caught out by her own mother that she was not attending Columbia with Robin, but was in fact trying to make it as an actress in New York, had sung like a canary, trying to deflect some heat off herself. It hadn't worked, incidentally, Aunt Janine was also headed for the Big Apple to lay down the law. “The fact that I have been lying to my parents for months didn't really help matters.”  

“Your dad’s not coming up though?” Billy checks.  

She shakes her head, “Couldn’t get time off. Just my mom, taking the Greyhound up tomorrow to assess how far I’ve fallen.”  

“You want one of us to pretend to be your boyfriend?” Eddie offers, “We're all single, you can take your pick.” He strikes a pinup pose, nearly elbowing Billy in the face by accident. Billy elbows him in the ribs on purpose.  

“God no! Absolutely not. Any hint of impropriety, forget it. She’ll tie me up in a sack and ship me to a women’s college. I have barely negotiated a stay of execution pending a visit. She cannot under any circumstances think I'm involved with any of you,” she pauses to gag at the thought, “So, you guys need to be on your very best behaviour. Okay?” she pleads  

“Okay,” Steve says dubiously, “But, she spent your whole senior year convinced I was going to get you pregnant. And I’m pretty sure I did nothing to deserve that.”  

That’s true. Steve worked very hard to project good respectful boy who is not trying to have sex with your daughter. But, even though it was the truth, it never did him any good with Sharon Buckley. The fact that he is one of the three boys Robin now lives with definitely didn’t help her mother’s freak out.  

“We're just going to have to make it work, okay?” She can already tell that she sounds panicky about it, she doesn’t need Steve awkwardly patting her knee to make the point to her.  

“We'll make it work,” he parrots back. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we’ll clean the whole house-“  

“Real clean,” she butts in, “Not teenage boy clean.”  

Eddie says, “Hey I’m twenty-one, remember.”  

“All the more reason you should know how to wash a fucking dish by now.” Billy mutters. Eddie smacks him and it devolves from there. Billy quickly gets him in a headlock.  

Eddie squeaks, “Uncle! Uncle!”   

“Uncle Wayne can’t save you now dipshit,” Billy laughs.  

Steve throws an arm back blindly to smack either or both of them, “Stop kicking my seat you assholes. I swear to God I will crash this car and kill us all!”  

It has to go well with her mother. She really doesn’t want to lose this.  

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Eddie says, as he's carting another load of laundry down from his room (Robin's got him doing a preliminary clean before she goes in there to help. She categorically refuses to deal with any or their dirty undies, and she will never compromise on that), “If my room looked really lived in? Since were trying to prove everything is above board and nobody is a bed hopping harlot?” He’s been kind of vaguely complaining all afternoon, but he hasn’t actually been slacking off.  

The house they share in the Bronx is tall, narrow, and a little rundown, in a neighborhood full of tall, narrow, rundown houses. Eddie's room is just the whole third floor all to himself. Which is ideal, because he's a rabid collector of junk and it gives maximum room for his knickknacks and oddities to spread out without taking over shared spaces.  

The second floor has Billy and Steve's rooms and the boy's bathroom, which they squabble over constantly.  

Robin’s room is on the ground floor, along with the living room, kitchen, laundry room, and her own bathroom, which Steve is not allowed to use for his hair routine, no matter how much he bitches about Billy hogging their sink. If she gives an inch she'll be drowning in hairspray in no time.  

“There's a fine line between ‘lived in’ and ‘biohazard,’” Steve says. Robin has him vacuuming, which right now means he's cross-legged on the ground trying to extract a sock that was under the sofa and is now tangled up in the beater-bar of their second-hand machine. She told him to move the sofa first, but did he listen?  

“Easy for you to say, rich boy. Missing your maid yet?”  

“For the millionth time, we didn’t have a maid!” and they're off on that we’ll tread track, Robin tunes out the millionth go ‘round of Steve insisting a cleaning lady is different than a maid, because she only came once a week, not every day.  

Billy's been tasked with deep cleaning the kitchen, because he's the only one who can be trusted to do it undirected.  

Robin's been trash bagging anything that she deems Not Mom Safe, saucy albums and posters, cheeky mugs and the like. She's not actually going to throw their stuff out (she quite likes a few of those posters), but she is going to stash it all under the porch for the weekend.  

She's made all three of them swear on their lives that their porn is locked down like Fort Knox. Which will have to be good enough. She’d rather die than have first hand knowledge of any of their jerkoff material.  

She's peeling down their calendar that's purportedly advertising power tools, but is covered front to back in bikini babes, when Eddie exits the laundry room and asks, “Is all this really necessary?”  

“Yes,” Robin says without hesitation, “She's like a dog with a bone. Anything could set her off.”  

Billy pauses in the kitchen, “Set her off like how?”  

“Lectures. Endless ones about all the dangers of sex, and how sex is everywhere, and you need to be prepared, and the urges and dangers, and dangerous urges, and on and on until you just wish the earth would swallow you whole.”  

“You know,” Eddie says speculatively, “There’s an easy fix, if she's so worried us dirty boys are gonna compromise your genteel virtue.”  

“Oh yeah? What's that, Casanova?” Billy asks, turning back to the sink he was scrubbing.  

“We could pull a triple-Tripper.”  

Steve scrunches up his face, looks around to check he’s not the only one who’s lost, then asks, “A what now?”  

“Jack Tripper. Three's Company?” Eddie clarifies, then, when that clarifies nothing (obviously), he singsongs like a grade school teacher trying to lead the class to an obvious answer, “We pretend to be homosexuals.”  

Robin freezes. Trash bag full of half naked babes in her hand.  

“Is that what went on on that show?” Steve wonders out loud before his eyes drift to Robin and he notices her deer in the headlights routine, “Uh, would that be… bad?” he asks her tentatively.  

Because Steve knows. Steve’s the only one that knows. Since they got accidentally way to high after a shift at the mall the summer they started hanging out and she word vomited all over him (she also real vomited on him that night, but that was incidental).  

In her frozen prey animal state she cannot answer him, of course. What she can do, is clock the other body that has gone unnaturally still. Standing in the kitchen with a sponge clenched in his fist. In stark contrast to her wide-eyed panic, Billy’s face is entirely blank. Eerily blank.  

A year ago she wouldn't have hesitated to say he was angry, disgusted by the very concept. He'll, even just a couple months ago. Now though…  

No, though. That's an insane thought. Surely.   

Probably.  

Definitely.  

On the bright side, the insane thought (quickly dismissed, not at all camped out in her brain for later obsessing over, no sir) knocks her out of her torpor enough to choke out, “Uhhhh, we’re not hatching any hi-jinks, okay. We're just going to show her that I have my own room, and my own bathroom, and very plainly show her that no one here is having any kind of sex!” She swings her arm like she’s axing that idea, which only calls attention to the soft-core calendar still clutched in her hand. She hastily stuff it in the trash bag.  

Steve nods slowly at her and mimes taking a deep breath, she copies.  

Billy silently goes backs to scrubbing the sink somewhat more aggressively than he had been.  

Saturday, after her morning shift, Robin goes to the bus depot alone to collect her mom. Steve had offered to drive her, but the car is almost never worth the hassle honestly, they've been using it less and less the longer they've been in New York. He should maybe just sell it, like Billy sold his before the move, but she knows Steve feels better having it just in case. Anyway, it’s good for when they go back to Hawkins on breaks.  

Honestly the main reason she says no to the lift is… she just wants a chance to see her mom alone for a second. Maybe she can prime her a little, really try to sell that everything is fine and dandy, but mostly… she just wants to see her mom just the two of them. She hasn't seen her since Christmas and she misses her. Sue her!  

When her mom steps of the Greyhound it’s easy to forget for a second all the stress this visit dumped on her head. She’s got the same mousy brown hair as Robin, swept half up to keep it off her face, and she’s wearing the same pea-green puffy coat she’s had for a decade. Robin can’t help smiling.  

It seems like Mom’s in the same boat, big reflexive smile that it takes her a second to lock down into Concerned Mom Mode as she drops her bag by Robin’s feet. “Let me get a look at you,” she squishes Robin's face between her palms and manually bobbles her head around, this way and that way, like maybe she’ll be able to see the debauchery if she catches it in the right light.  

“Hi Mom. How was the bus?”  

“Smelled like grass. I think it was that guy,” she lets go of one of Robin’s cheeks to point unsubtly at guy with a long gray ponytail, “Toking up at ever rest stop.”  

Robin smacks her hand down, “Mom! You can’t just point at people.” she hisses, mortified. Some of those warm fuzzy mom’s here feelings instantly evaporating in the heat of her embarrassment.  

“Oh, I can’t point out pot heads, but you can shack up with a bunch of boys? Is that how it is in the big city?”  

So that lasted about thirty whole seconds.  

“Mom,” she huffs, flapping her hands, “We are not ‘shacked up.’ We’re just four people in a house. It’s nothing scandalous.”  

“Then why hide it from us?” Mom swipes.  

“Because you would have been worried.” Robin parries.  

“Because it’s worrying, sweetheart. We don’t want you throwing your life away for some boy. Three boys? It’s a minefield, this could derail you so easily.”  

“I’m not going to throw my life away.” Robin rolls her eyes, grabs her mom’s bag and starts leading her to their subway stop, “They’re friends. Good ones! They support me. Billy’s at Columbia too!”  

“Your education is not less important than your boyfriend’s-”  

“Oh my God, I am not dating Billy!”  

“-You can’t drop out, even if he-”  

“Who the hell is dropping out?!”  

“Robin Caroline Buckley, do not curse at me!”  

It goes about like that the whole ride home.  

It's bedlam in the middle of the living room when they get home. Because of course it is. Because that is the house she lives in.  

Billy’s got Eddie by the arms and Steve’s got his ankles and they’re swinging him like a sack of potatoes between them. Steve and Billy are both obviously post run, sweaty and a little ripe. Eddie is screeching, “I’ll be Mick Jagger! I’m Mick Jagger!” over and over. He’s the only one of the three of them with a shirt on. It’s got a girl in a metal bikini on it.  

“You are no Jagger, jack-ass,” Billy snorts.  

Eddie notices the Buckleys in the entryway first, says, “Oh fuck, what time is it?”  

When Steve looks their way his eyes go wide and he immediately drops Eddie’s legs, letting him thump down with an oof and enough force to nearly bring Billy down on top of him.  

Steve gamely smiles his goodest good boy smile, as he hustles over, hand outstretched, “Mrs. Buckley, so good to see you again. How was your trip?”  

Mom looks at his hand, looks over his shoulder at Eddie struggling to his feet and Billy climbing over the sofa instead of walking around it like a normal human being.  

Steve forces a laugh, “We were just, uh…”  

“Trying to entice Munson to join us in some calisthenics,” Billy cuts in, “Physical fitness is so important.” He thrusts out a hand same as Steve did, but a good boy smile is nowhere to be found. His smile is distinctly smarmy, Robin hates it on sight. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley, nice to meet you. Billy Hargrove.”  

Climbing to his feet Eddie is out of breath, despite the fact that he was not the one hauling a whole person’s body weight around. “I successfully dodged gym class for six years I refuse to be pressganged into it now just because you two are masochistic, meatheads. Hello Mrs. Buckley, it is my sincere pleasure to meet you.” Robin thinks he might be aiming for good boy but the smile comes off a little… insane.  

Rather than just sticking a hand out to be ignored, Eddie grabs one of her Mom's in both of his and gives it a very earnest looking shake. Then he gestures expansively with one hand, the other keeping hers trapped, “Welcome to our home.”  

Her mom definitely doesn’t know what to make of Eddie, a common reaction. But she's got a long standing opinion of Steve: Risky. And she's clearly formed a quick opinion of Billy based on, just, everything about him: Risky Squared. She’s tightlipped, observing their bare chests like a pair of sweaty time bombs. The hand Eddie hasn’t claimed is wrapped tightly around Robin’s wrist like she's thinking about running all the way back to Indiana with her daughter in tow.  

Robin turns big, doleful eyes over to Steve. He grimaces and mouths ‘ Sorry.’   

“Mom-“  

Ripping her hand out of Eddie's, her mom whirls on her, finger pointed firmly in Robin's face, “No, no. How can you possibly expect me to just leave it alone? I cannot just pretend that there’s nothing going on here.”  

“Nothing is going on though, I swear,” Robin pleads.  

Her mother scoffs, “I am not naïve, Robin. I am a nurse, I know what young people get up to, I see the fallout of it every single day.”  

“Mrs. Buckley-“ Steve tries.  

“Put a shirt on, for Christ sake!” she snaps at him.  

Steve yelps, “Yep,” and hightail it to the laundry room. Comes back with a shirt on and a spare that he lobs at Billy’s head. All three of them are just standing there, looking so goddamn awkward, obviously wanting to help and with no idea how to.  

They spent their whole Friday cleaning. Today’s the first day of spring break technically. They were planning to get drunk, watch a bunch of horror movies, and throw gummy bears at Steve every time he had a bad movie opinion.  

Instead, this is happening.  

“Sweetheart,” Mom entreats, “I know you never want to listen when I try to talk to you about boys and sex, because you think it’s icky,” and Robin tries desperately not to squirm or cringe, “But you can’t stick your head in the sand. Condoms can fail, and you're not on the pill, god knows I tried when you first got your period-”  

Robin loses the battle and cringes away, but the boys are right there , shuffling around awkwardly. She’s pretty sure she heard Steve whisper a horrified, “They can?” when her mom mentioned condoms. She really doesn’t want to talk about any of this.  

“-No! Listen to me! I know you want to just, la-la-la,” Mom sticks her fingers in her ears, just when Robin is embarrassingly close to doing that exact thing, “And not think about it, because it grosses you out. But you have to think about it! Because if you get pregnant-“  

“I'm not going to get pregnant!” she protests.  

“You might!”  

“I won’t!”  

“ Robin ,” her mom sighs, beyond exasperated.   

“I'm a lesbian!”  

Sharon Buckley is, for perhaps the first time in Robin's entire life, at a loss for words.  

In the silence, Eddie gasps quietly, “A reverse-Tripper.”  

Steve thumps the back of his hand into Eddies gut, hisses, “No, dumbass, she's just gay.”  

“Oh shit, for real? Right on,” Eddie whispers.  

Billy’s face is carefully blank again.  

Steve clears his throat, “We should, uh,” he points to the ceiling and raises his eyebrows at her, asking silently if she wants them to clear out. She’s not sure she does, but she nods anyway.  

Steve herds them up the stairs. He’ll probably lay down the law while they’re up there. Necessary or not.  

Once they’re gone the first thing her mom says is, “What on earth is a reverse-Tripper?” eyes unfocused, sounding slightly perturbed.  

“It’s not a thing,” Robin says, “Eddie makes up his own things a lot and they’re mostly, you know, nonsense.”  

Her mom blinks, refocuses on her, searching her face like she’s looking for a sign of it. “Robin, are you- You're not just trying to shut me up, are you?”  

Robin tucks her elbows in, folds her arms around herself tight. “No. Mom, I’m gay.”  

“Okay, we should- let's sit down,” her mom says, gesturing to Robin’s own sofa like she’s the host and Robin’s the guest. They should sit, that’s a good idea.  

But then once they’re seated, knees angled towards each other, Robin can barely look at her mom she’s so tense. She focuses on the green coat, she’s still wearing her coat. Robin is too, no wonder she feels overheated.  

“Sweetheart,” they’ve been sitting in silence for... who knows how long, days maybe, when Mom speaks, “I hope you know that all I have ever wanted, all I have tried to do, is give you the best chance to make it. To get you to adulthood, to a point where you could go out into the world and have the opportunity to do... whatever you wanted to do.”  

Robin nods, because it seems like she should.  

Mom’s eyes are shiny when she takes Robin’s face between her hands, “So if you’re out in the world now, well, not if, you are, you’re out in the world now- and I am so proud of you, sweetheart- and if you’re telling me that what you want is a... a girlfriend?” Robin nods again, a tiny nod, barely a nod at all. “Then I am thrilled you have the opportunity to want that. I love you.”  

Robin launches herself at her mother, smothering her and her puffy green coat in a hug, “I love you too, Mom.”  

“It can’t be all you want though,” Mom keeps talking, even all choked up, “You have to finish school.”  

“Mom!” Robin laughs.  

They reset.  

She calls the boys back downstairs, and they creep down all unsure until they see her mom smiling on the couch. Billy and Steve have both cleaned themselves up in the interim (Eddie has not changed his shirt). They all get real handshakes and a much more gracious intro, they give her a tour of the house.  

She catches her mom having a quiet, concerningly earnest conversation with Steve at one point. When she asks him what it was about he says, “She asked me if I knew all last year, and then she wanted to thank me for having your back.” Then, after a pause, “Also she wanted to make sure i understood that even if condoms aren’t infallible I should still always use them. She had stats.”  

“Well, she is a nurse,” Robin tells him.  

Eddie snitches about the stuff hidden under the porch, so her mom gets a cup of coffee in a mug with a sunbathing pinup girl’s butt prominently displayed and Bottoms Up! in a cheerful font on it.  

Billy waffles wildly all day between being weirdly flirty with her mom and being even more weirdly awkward and quiet, like he can’t figure out how to act. Robin corners him in the kitchen eventually and pokes his ribs until he snarls at her. “You’re being super weird,” she informs him.  

“I know.” He tilts his head back against the cupboards, closes his eyes, and doesn’t elaborate.  

Out in the living room Eddie’s telling some story, arms waving wildly and face gleeful. Her mom is laughing.  

“She’s really nice,” Billy says eventually, eyes still closed.  

“Yeah, she’s pretty okay,” Robin replies, leaning her head on his shoulder.  

On Sunday Robin and her mom meet up with aunt Janine and April in Manhattan for lunch and a debrief. They also seem to have come to some kind of agreement. April apologizes to her about ninety times, and Robin lets her grovel a bit, even though it worked out alright in the end.  

Aunt Janine tries to stir the pot at one point, says something about Robin’s living situation with pointedly raised eyebrows over her mimosa. Mom looks at Robin, pats her hand, and says mildly, “Well, they’re nice boys.”  

Robin smiles so big her cheeks hurt.  

After lunch Robin takes her to the bookshop, to show her where she works, and lets her terrorize Francis for a little while.  

Monday morning Mom goes home. The boys all get big hugs at the bus stop, their reception ranging from enthusiastic to baffled with Steve falling somewhere in the middle. Robin gets the biggest hug, and her mom cradles her cheeks between her hands for a long moment. She says, “Be safe,” and gives her a kiss on the forehead.  

They all wave until the Greyhound is out of sight.  

And so ends the Mom Visit.  

Monday night they get down to their briefly delayed spring break plans. Steve and Eddie aren’t students, of course, and all four of them still have work this week, so it’s not much of a break. But for tonight they have a stack of movies, a stock of adult beverages, and a pile of very childish snacks.  

Robin, Billy, and Eddie are in the kitchen dumping various configurations of sugar and salt into many bowls, Steve is in the living room setting up the VCR.  

“I can't believe you had us convinced your mom was a total prude, when, all along, t’was you.” Eddie pokes a finger right up in her face, which she slaps away. He does it again, and again, switching hands each time she smacks one down, and cooing, “You the prude,” each time.  

“I'm not a prude,” she protests.  

“Oh yeah? Then instead of Poltergeist you wanna watch some porn?”  

She gives a heartfelt, “Ewwww,” to that thought.  

Billy tosses a handful of skittles at Eddie as he leaves the kitchen, studding his dark hair with colorful little pellets.  

Robin fiddles with a bag of chips, “It just- It was never relevant. It was never going to be relevant, even- even if there were girls like that around, it’s not like I  would be, you know,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows as if to say prude because she can’t even say it, “It’s not like they’d be interested in me.” If she just keeps staring at this bag of chips she won’t have to see whatever stupid face Eddie is making.  

“What are you talking about? Robin, you’re great!” he says.  

“I’m not exactly a hot commodity,” she tells her bag of chips.  

Eddie spins her around by the shoulders to make her face him, “Look, Buckles-“  

“Don't call me that.”  

“-Hawkins was a stupidly small pond. It was a puddle. No one’s thriving in a puddle, not many fish in a puddle. But we’re in the ocean now, baby! And when we do find some fish ladies of your persuasion-”  

“Gross.” Robin interrupts again, because she has too.  

“-When we do find them,” he continues on louder, “You will be an irresistible lure to them.”  

“That metaphor was strained dude.”  

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna talk problems?” He asks, leaning back against the counter beside her, “My actual, pretty much twenty-four-seven, standing right beside me competition is Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and Billy ‘Hard-Body’ Hargrove. Okay? I am the one who is screwed.”  

She just sips her beer and absolutely does not share her suspicions that Billy’s not in any kind of competition with Eddie for dates.   

Robin can see Billy and Steve in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, chucking candy at each other's open mouths. They’re already getting competitive about it, she can tell. Someone’s going to end up with a corneal abrasion from a skittle tonight.  

“But then again, who knows?” Eddie tilts his bottle towards hers, “It’s New York City, baby. Anything can happen.”  

She’ll drink to that. 

[divinesolas]

Flowers | The Series | Chapter Twelve | The Question

Summary | The prince has shown up at your doorstep! what could he possibly want?

Pairing | Jacaerys Velaryon × Fem!Reader

Warnings | switches between jacaerys and reader pov, fluff!, hotheaded jace, not proofread

Word Count | 1.7k

a/n | things are finally moving along in this chapter!! i hope you guys enjoy it <3

series masterlist

Jacaerys stares after you as you walk away. The smile on his face is not faulting, he can feel his heart pounding against his chest. A hand grips his shoulders and shakes it. 

“I told you, you are a love sick fool.”

“Shut up.” jace smacks his hand off his shoulder and begins to walk away towards one of the staircases. “Youre still smiling i can see it.” 

He sighs having no reply for him. Hes never felt like this before. Did you cast some sort of spell on him? How can you have this grasp on him where you can dictate his mood by something as simple as a greeting or your smile? He barely knows you but he feels like hes known you a lifetime.

“Are you even listening to me?” he looks at lucerys with a blank look who sighs, “jace-”

“I need to go speak to the queen.” jace says before he sharply turns away from luce and walks through the corridors, his neck cramps from the amount of time he bows as he passes people. He will ask his mother about properly courting you joffrey be damned. As he is almost near his mothers chambers a voice calls out his name and he holds back his sigh. Of course someone had to come bother him now of all times. He quickly takes a deep breath and puts a gracieuse look on his face as he turns. “Lady cassandra.” 

“You fought well today my prince.” he rolls his shoulders back with a smile on her face. He knows she is just saying that to say something good to him as much as wants to say something he just shakes his head. “There is no need to praise a loss my lady.” 

“Dont be so modest not many a man would be able to fight against ser joffrey,” did joffrey even have a reputation for being good at fights? He would have to look into that later. “To celebrate you should join me and the other ladies for tea in the garden.” 

He attempts to hide the grimace that tries to fight its way onto his face. The last thing he wishes to do is gallivant around the gardens with the women of the court. “I am sorry my lady but i must speak with the queen-”

“She happens to be meeting with some of the court now so you are free to come, my prince.” and how does she know his mother is in a meeting now? And why does he speak of her so casually? Before he can question her heleana comes up behind them. “She's right, the queen is meeting some of the lord's right about now.” 

The two greet heleana as she waved them off and walks past them having said what she wanted to and jacaerys faces cassandra once more ignoring that winning look she has on her face. He clenches his jaw before offering her his arm. “Then I would be more than happy to join you, my lady.” 

Her smile grows as she grabs his arm and the two begin to walk towards the gardens. She makes a simple conversation with him asking what his plans are for the rest of the day? How did he feel about the tourney tomorrow? He grew more and more annoyed at her mundane conversation. She was quite frankly not doing anything wrong and he had no reason to get annoyed with her so why was he? 

A part of him tried to convince himself he was just still annoyed that he lost and when cassandra even noticed he was not in the best mood that is the reason he told her but when she was attempting to cheer him up there was a small part of him telling him he was so upset because she was not the girl he wanted to be talking to. She was not you.

—-

You feel yourself sit up, alarmed. The prince? He was here? Right now?

“Good day ser. I am sorry I had no clue you were all busy. I shall take my leave.”

“Nonsense my prince please whatever could you need?” your mother goes to stand by your father's side at the door blocking your view of jacaerys. Your mother turns to you and makes an alarmed face before you realize you must look like a mess. You quickly hope out of the bed and attempt to fix your hair as your heart pounds. 

“I simply wish to speak with your daughter.”

All of you freeze, your parents turn to look at you and you continue to slowly play with your hair.

“It is late my prince-”

“I apologize for showing up like this but I fear this matter is rather urgent.” 

You make your way towards the doorway and your parents move out of the way. 

“We’ll just… be back here…”

You can hear them feverishly whisper to each other as you step closer to jacaerys. You bow and avoid his eyes, “my prince, is there something you needed?” one of your hands moves up to your chest to grasp at where your heart is as you feel like it is about to burst out of your chest. 

He's quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face as his hands trail down to where your hand is and he freezes before looking back at your face and turning his head. A blush forming on his face as he composes himself. 

“Could we step out into the hallway for a moment?”

Your jaw drops slightly and you turn back to your parents who look alarmed and shrug. “If you wish, my prince.” He offers his hand to you and you grasp it. He smiles warmly as he laces his fingers with yours and pulls you out into the hallway.

You don't go too far, your room only being a few feet away from you. He does not let go oof your hand. You enjoy the feeling of his hand laced with yours until the rational part of you remembers it is improper for you to be holding hands so you attempt to slip out of your grip but he grabs your hand once more and looks you dead in the eyes. 

“I find this hard to admit even to myself but ever since i saw you that first day you have plagued my thoughts,” you feel your breath run away from you as he takes a step closer to you, “my prince-” “please my lady i must speak now or i will not be able to speak again.”

You hold you tongue and he takes a deep breath, when did he get so close? You can feel his breath wisping on your face as he closes his eyes. “I have never felt like this before, you have consumed me fully and hold me in your grasp. I must know this, my lady. If I were to ask to enter courtship with you would you allow it?”

Your heart was banging so loudly you would be shocked if he could not hear it. The grip he has on your hand tightens as he eagerly awaits an answer from you. Your mind runs a mile a minute as you attempt to find some words to say.

“It is not a good idea, I am from a minor house.”

“That is of no matter to me.”

“But it should matter, you have every lady from every house vying for your attention-”

“Yet yours is the only one I wish to have. I wish for your eyes to only look at me. I wish for only your hands to grip mine. That is all that matters to me. So you must tell me.”

“Yes.” 

He freezes before a smile consumes his face and his free hand laces with your free hand and he laughs. “This makes me happier than you know my lady.” 

You can't help but grin as well at his overwhelming excitement. A part of you thinks hes about to ask if he could court your but he doesnt. Instead stepping away from, dropping one of your hands before leading you back to the rooms door where you see your parents waiting anxiously on the bed and shoot up upon seeing the two of you. Your mothers eyes drift down to your joined hands and a smile grows on her face. 

“I’d like to speak with you ser.” 

Your father clears his throat and puffs out his chest slightly, “of course my prince.”

You find yourself unable to stop the laughter that builds up in your throat as you see your father attempt to make himself look more intimidated and hide behind the wall as you laugh. 

“What is so funny? You dare laugh at your father?” This only causes you to laugh harder as you finally get out of jacaerys hand to cover your face as you lean against the wall.

You miss the smile on your fathers face as your mother smacks his shoulder and smiles at the prince. You manage to compose yourself as your mother straightens out her dress, “allow me to stay my prince, if you could.”

“Of course.”

Your mother waves her hand and ushers you to walk away and you look between all of them and you walk away, further down the hall until you cannot hear them. You lean against the wall and cover your face with your hands as the reality of the situation creeps in. 

He is most likely asking permission to court you.

Your smile against your hands as heat spreads all over your face. His words play over and over in your head and you find yourself shocked you actually managed to not faint during the conversation.

It was like something out of those fairytale books you read as a child. The prince finding the maiden girl and falls in love and they live happily ever after. The greedy part of you begins to imagine your life here in the keep. Getting to wake up and roam the rose gardens. 

You hear your name being called and you walk back towards the room and run into jacaerys who's just stepping out.

“I'm so sorry, my prince.”

He just shakes his head and smiles, lifting up your hand to place a kiss on the back of your hand before saying goodnight and walking off.

You turn and watch him walk away, the smile on your face only growing as he turns back to look at you once more.

[an-android-child]

Okay with a hand over my Jason Lover Heart™

That bitch is not a prince. He's a wild beast at best. The thing that roams the forest, the wolfman who refuses to turn back into a human, even when there's no full moon anymore.

But also the idea that Jason and Damian have in common the fact that they're outsiders is like... Not true lmao

Damian, if anything, desperately tries to fit in. He does what he believes is expected of him. The blood son shall rise above the others, so he fights and demeans the rest, the inferior ones. The heir shall inherit everything, so he tries his damn hardest to be the best possible heir at all times, no matter the cost, because that's what heirs do. It's what he believes is expected of him. Everything's a test, a trial, and the moment he fails, the moment he lets his guard down... "Off with his head", as the story goes. He wants a place in his family so, so desperately, he's just doing what he believes is correct, what he believes will finally get him what he's been born and raised for. And yeah, this attitude not only affects Damian, but the others as well in very harmful, tangible ways, but here's the thing... Once he internalized he didn't have to act so hostile to be accepted, he mellowed out. He doesn't want to be fighting all the time. He is kind at his core, in a way not even Ra's was able to kill. He likes animals and has many friends and maybe he'll never get rid of his prickly exterior, but he loves so, so much, and in such a painfully obvious way.

Now compare that with my beloved Jason "I Love Burning Bridges" Todd and ummmmm. It falls apart lmao.

Jason actively wants to hurt others. Actively wants to be completely alone so he can pity himself for his loneliness. Because, in a painfully childish way, he believes he's been wronged so, so deeply, that this is the only way Bruce will be able to prove, no, to redeem himself. By burning all the bridges again and again and again, he expects Bruce to burn himself trying to get to him. Every. Single. Time. He wants Bruce to prove he cared, and he wants him to do it by destroying himself, by changing irrevocably, by proving his death mattered. And the only way he wants that proof is by seeing him hurt by his own hand. But the moment he gives up on him, because the only thing he does is hurt and attack, the moment Bruce decides this is the last bridge? He'll pity himself so, so much. What else could he have done? How else could this have ended? There was no other way, was it?

A dog that wants to be pet while he bites your fingers.

Jason, at his best, is a tragedy in it's purest form, a Shakespearean one, at that. Everything could have been different, but it isn't. Because he chose wrong. And he decided to keep choosing wrong again and again and again. He could have changed his mind at any point. But he didn't. And he'll blame everyone but himself for it. And he'll keep choosing the same option while doing so.

In comparison, Damian is a story about hope. Hope for cult survivors, hope for the lost sheep that made its way back home to his shepherd, hope in the knowledge that what they raised you to become doesn't have to be what you are. Damian is hope in its purest form: a child learning to be a child. And of course, this is completely incompatible with a man who lost every possibility of childhood. Of hope.

Not all by his own design of course. It's not his fault! Not at the begining. He made a choice with his heart! He wanted to help his mom!

And he was killed for it

I do believe him "choosing wrong" is not a matter of morality. He would have always chosen to try to save his mom (even if he fails at that too). Hell, even if he knew she would betray him, even if he knew how the story would end. Because the child that was killed in that explosion was kind and sweet and liked to study and just wanted to have a mom so, so badly. And yes, he had been bad, and angry, and yes, he wasn't perfect, but he believed with all his heart he would always bounce back. Because he had the strongest safety net in the world.

That child died waiting for his father to save him.

And when his father, the embodiment of a mythological greek hero in all its glory, turned out to fail just like a man, like a protagonist in a shoddy play, then it must have been because he didn't try hard enough. It must have been because he didn't care, because Jason wasn't worth trying. And when, after years and years of accumulated hatred, he returns to see his father still alive, still living, still upholding his stupid morals, morals that mattered more than his own son, then that means his death, his life, they simply didn't matter.

And Jason is so blind in his rage, in his anger at the belief that he wasn't loved, in his hurt that he desperately tries to transform into anger with all his strength... That he fails to realize three people died in that warehouse.

[poughkeepsies]

when you're gone, i come undone

Buck’s never been religious, and he sure as hell wasn’t raised with the brand of catholicism that seems to plague Bobby and Eddie’s every step, but he thinks he can understand why Bobby likes his rosary beads so much. At the very least it would give him something to do with his hands while he sits vigil at Bobby’s side, way past the time visitors who aren’t on a first-name basis with half of the hospital staff would be allowed. 

The others had left hours ago, some with kids who needed taking care of and others anticipating early shifts the next day, promising to take over from him as soon as visiting hours started. There was no shortage of people who wanted to be the one to keep watch over Bobby, but the night shift would’ve usually fallen to Athena, if she wasn’t recovering in her own room and allowed more than a couple minutes out of bed at a time to come see him. 

There was a quiet devastation clinging to her that Buck had never seen before. Maybe because before there would’ve been the safe walls of her home and the arms of her husband to cover her when she lost her unflappable mask. 

That, more than anything, makes him feel utterly helpless. As much as he had been thinking of Bobby as more of a dad to him than his own father for close to a decade, Athena was never his mom. 

After the rough patch at the start of their relationship, they’d understood each other in the way only two people who love someone as much as they both loved Bobby could. You hold half of his heart, so you’ll hold your fair share of mine, as well. Maybe that was why he’d taken one look at the longing in Athena’s eyes and promised to stay the night with Bobby. No matter his own desire to never let Bobby out of his sight again, he also wanted to protect the pieces of Bobby that were with Athena, as well. 

The only problem is that Buck has never been able to stay still for too long. He fidgets, and he bustles, and he fills silences. At the minimum, it usually earns him a dead-pan look that’s suspiciously drenched in fondness, or his name uttered in gentle scolding twinged with amusement. 

He half-expects the latter to fall from the corner of Bobby’s mouth with a single eyelid cracked open to give its best effort at the former, the way it usually happens when they’re in the bunkroom and everyone else is ready to sleep like the dead while Buck is wide-awake and wired like an electric fence. 

The image stands in such contrast to the blank slate of Bobby’s unconscious face that it does nothing to soothe his nervous fidgeting. He’s leaning so far forward, trying to summon any sort of conscious intention behind the mechanical rise and fall of Bobby’s chest and every reflexive twitch of his face, that he accidentally shifts the chair, so the bottom slides against the floor and breaks the momentary silence that only exists between the regular beeping and intercom noises that come muffled through the hospital room doors. 

Come on, Bobby. Tell me to shut up and go to bed. Tell me it’s late, and I can either close my eyes and actually try to sleep or go make some of that lavender tea we keep for this exact reason. You know you want to. Stilling so as to not miss any minute signs of Bobby’s stirring, Buck’s breath catches tight in his lungs like it used to when the fridge door would be too loud as he tried to sneak past his dad’s sleeping form in the living room armchair when he was a kid. Unlike back then, the disappointment when Bobby fails to stir is a living thing that threatens to swallow him whole. He rides the wave of devastation by opening his mouth and intentionally filling the silence, instead.

“I’m gonna say something, but you can’t get mad at me,” he says. Bobby is silent, but that’s not much different from how he’d usually react to such an opening from Buck, so he takes that as his go-head anyway. “I think this may be all my fault.”

It’s probably just his own nerves, but the air in the room settles around the words with so much  tension that it only serves to spur him on. “Not the- not the fire, obviously. I mean, I had no idea you’d even met the guy Athena thinks is responsible for it, but that’s kind of what I mean, you know? I had no idea.” 

His breath is shaky as he exhales, a tremble running up his shoulders. 

“I don’t- I don’t think I ever told you, what I saw when I was in the coma. Maybe you already guessed. Some days it’s like you seem to know what’s going on in my brain better than even I do, but it was just. It was a different world, Bobby. Daniel was still alive, so I guess I never had a reason to come to L.A. and join the academy and everything was just…wrong. Maddie was still with Doug, and Eddie never got to meet Carla so he couldn’t figure everything out fast enough to keep Chris, and Chimney…well, Chim was still Chimney but he told me that you were dead, Bobby. He told me you’d been dead for years and it was like I couldn’t breathe.” 

He kind of feels like that now, actually. His face feels hot and his eyelashes are heavy like when he’s about to cry but his eyes are dry. For the first time in years, he’s in agreement with his body’s reaction to something. If he were to start crying now, he wouldn’t ever be able to stop, and that feels too much like giving up to be acceptable. 

Deep breath, he thinks, in through his nose and pushed out from his mouth. His lips are dry. He keeps going. 

“I used to think that’s why I died, you know. Like I was supposed to learn something and that’s the only way the universe could think to get it through my thick skull, I guess.” 

“But I think I got it wrong,” he whispers, and it echoes as loud as the beeping from the heart monitor. 

“I thought it meant that I matter, you know. Like, ‘they need you as much as you need them! Don’t leave them alone!’ But I was so stupid.” So much for not crying. His day-old stubble is damp with tears. He’s been wearing these clothes for more than 24 hours at this point and he’s starting to feel overstimulated in the way he sometimes does when they’re on a busy shift and don’t have time to freshen up. It occurs to him that Bobby usually notices, like he notices most things that have the potential to bother any of them. This would be the time when he tells Buck to go ahead and take a quick shower while he reheats the food. And Buck would come back good as new, a weight lifted off his shoulders before he could even recognize it because someone cared enough about him to know him better than he did himself. 

“I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff since I came back and, God, I’ve just been so happy these past couple of months it feels like I’ve been walking around with blinders on. I didn’t even notice this thing going on with Eddie until it was too late and now he might lose Christopher. You came to talk to me after our last shift and I should’ve -  I should’ve - noticed something was wrong but all I could think about was if I had everything to go stay with Tommy. a-and then something happened with Eddie, and I honestly don’t think I spared you a single other thought that night, Bobby. I was using your recipe to make dinner for my date while your house was burning down.” 

He’s tripping over his words, like if he says them fast enough he can reach Bobby and earn his forgiveness first, before the disappointment settles in and bars the gates. 

“I should’ve remembered, Bobby. The dream showed me a world where I wasn’t there and you died, and I left it. I came back because I couldn’t live in that world. I refuse to.” Saying the words settles something in him, and he wipes the wetness from his eyes away with the flat of his palm before crossing his arms and sitting up in the chair, body once again posed like a shield between the outside world and the figure lying in the bed. 

“Look, maybe-maybe I already missed the chance the universe gave me. But you know better than anyone that I’m way better at third chances anyway.” He tries for a smile, and if he squints really hard he can almost see the muscles under Bobby’s eyes tensing the way they do when he’s about to smile, too. 

“You’ve never given up on me before, Bobby. Don’t start now.” 

The monitor’s beeping remains the only other sound in the room, but that’s okay. He’s learning to be patient. Bobby knows that, too.