#’’come fuck with me and my glitter. no really i dare u fuck around and find out’’

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 32 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

The closer you get to the house, as you make your way back up the mountain, the more and more anxious you feel. It seethes in your bones, this feeling of aching disquiet. 

It’s not because you know he’s going to punish you. 

It’s because you remember what you said, in the heat of the moment when you dared to bare your truth to John Wick.

You’d finally fucking said it.

 I’m your girl. 

You’d told him that you are his, and you’d meant it, and he didn’t hear you, or he didn’t believe you. 

There is a ringing in your ears that only gets worse as the peaks of the house come into view through the thick trees. Only once you are inside the gates, standing on the sunny flagstone patio, do you begin to resist him again. “Wait,” you plead. “Please, I’m not ready to go back inside yet.”

“You should have thought about that before you ran from me.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just…matter of fact. Inevitable. Immovable. 

You know that tone, as surely as you know you are fucked. 

“I was playing,” you insist again, trying to twist out of his iron grip. It’s futile, of course. The only time in your life you had an advantage over John Wick was with the help of gravity, running downhill through a maze of trees. Here, now, you know there is no hope in resisting him.  

“I’m still not sure about that.” You shouldn’t feel guilty about the undertone of sadness in his words. 

You know you should be gentle with this man, in his fragile state. You know, deep down, that fighting him like this gets you nowhere but dug deeper in a hole of your own making. But maybe you are beginning to lose it too. This taste of freedom reminded you of what you had lost, and you are not so eager to let it go again without a fight. 

“You aren’t listening to me!” you snarl, still pulling on your arm, getting more frantic by the second. “I told you! I told you that I’m yours, finally, and it’s like you don’t even care! All you want is to keep me under your thumb!”

You know by his now thunderous expression that this is not helping your case at all, but you are too infuriated to stop.

“I heard you,” he growls, then hauls you up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry like you are naught but a sack of potatoes. “I heard you call me an old man, and laugh with joy as those quick little feet carried you away from me.” 

You squirm against him but it comes to nothing, and in no time he has you back in the house, the door secured. 

Back in your prison. 

He does not put you down, striding for the stairs. You hate it, but the cavewoman part of you is impressed when he carries you all the way to your bedroom, breathing like a dragon through his nostrils as he tosses you down on the bed hard enough to bounce. 

There is a pregnant moment as you glare at each other. Even through his anger, there is a glitter of unshed tears at the corners of his eyes, and you know you have pushed this man to the very brink once more. 

You shouldn’t feel guilty for that either–but you do. 

“I”m disappointed, y/n. I thought we were past these childish games.”

“You keep me locked up like an animal, and you’re surprised when I frolic a little when you let me feel the sun on my face for the first time in months?”

“Like an animal?!” He looks around the opulent house–really it only resembles a cabin in broadest terms. “I have spoiled you rotten. Anything you possibly could have wanted, I provided. Things you never could have had, in your old life.”

 Except the thing you needed the most. Freedom. 

“Yes, you’ve done very well at distracting me with pretty things,” you admit, ashamed of yourself now. “But I’m not a magpie, John. You can’t keep me in a cage forever.”

His next words fill you with ice. 

“You’d be surprised what I can do, y/n.”

He takes a step closer to the bed, his dark form looming over you, his big hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. This is it, you realize. All the progress you seemingly made had flown out the window. He was going to spank you hard, the way he’d promised not to, or tie you up, or some diabolical thing you can’t even fathom because your brain just doesn’t work that way.

You close your eyes, because you don’t want him to see you cry, and you don’t want to see what’s coming. You count the time going by in heartbeats, thundering in your ears. You wait for your world to fall apart–again.

You wait, and you wait some more.

In the end, you have to look. You find him still standing there, silent as a ghost, looking down at you. Looking through you. 

In the end he shakes his head, mostly to himself, and strips out of his jacket, down to his t-shirt. Then, he reaches for your boot. Too late, you try to scramble away, but he has your ankle in his unbreakable grasp, pinning it on the bed. “I thought you said you were mine, y/n? Yet here you are, still trying to run from me. You wonder why I don’t believe you.”

“You’re scaring me.” You may as well be honest about it now.

“In all the time we’ve been together, have I ever truly hurt you?”

He plucks at the laces with sharp movements, indicating the undertow churning beneath his still expression.

“Besides fucking me raw?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, despite himself. “Besides that.”

You sigh. “No.”

“Then trust me.”

“I’m not sure I can do that right now.”

He nods, to himself as much to you, pulling off your other shoe. “Then you understand the situation we’re in.” He reaches for the button of your pants next. You try to roll away, because you’d rather have this talk without your hoohaa bared to the wind–again. But he just grips the waist of your pants with impatience, hauling you to him sharply. Fabric tears in protest, but not before he has you pinned beneath him, his hips wedged between your legs. He leans over you, those trunks for arms on either side of you. As ever, your fear is tinged–utterly contaminated–with desire. 

It might be the death of you. Your loins protest even from this small bit of contact, after the way he rode you before in the woods. 

“What do you want, John?” You hate yourself, for how small your voice sounds. Did he make you this way, or were you always such a coward? Were you always so feckless, so easily led? Doubt and self-loathing seethe inside you like poison brewing in your veins. 

“I want you to prove what you said earlier.” 

You narrow your eyes at this; a part of you is grateful for the surge of righteous anger that rises in your breast. It infuriates you, that you have to prove anything to him, at this point. Does he want proof? Or does he just want your submission? Maybe they’re one and the same to him. 

It breaks your heart all over again. 

“Well, I’m not in the mood.”

You wait for his anger, ready for the fight again, craving it–but it doesn't come. After a long moment he just nods, his hair swinging into his eyes, which are cast down, away from yours. You see the flash of hurt upon his face, there and gone like a ripple in a pool, his fists flexing in the duvet beneath you. 

Immediately, you feel fucking terrible. 

“John…” You reach for him, but he’s too quick for you, as ever. In the blink of an eye he has retreated out of your reach–then out of the room. You blink stupidly at the sound of the door slamming. 

You hear the electronic lock whirr, and with a heart filled inexplicably with despair you know you’ve arrived back at square one. 

***

As time goes on, you decide it’s worse than square one. That taste of freedom was like a shot of pure heroin in your veins, and now you are inconsolable in your withdrawal. Just as bad, you find, is your longing for him. 

He leaves you alone in the room for days. Your meals appear at your bedside when you sleep. When you try not to sleep–you do not eat. Now you absolutely emulate a caged animal, pacing in your boredom. 

You try throwing books at the security camera, but fail to dislodge it. You give it up when you break the spine of one and feel guilty. Even though you know John can repair it–it’s not the book’s fault you ran your mouth. 

Maybe it’s not your fault either. 

You even try to entice John by putting on a little show, wearing one of the slinky negligées he’d bought for you, touching and teasing yourself in full view of the electronic eye that tracks your day to day. All it wins you is a lackluster orgasm–all else pales, you find, compared to his thick fingers and strong hands upon you. There’s not a naughty toy in the world that could compare to his cock either–not that you have any at your disposal. 

Radio silence. 

Your heart aches, and now you really feel as though you are losing your mind. 

You shouldn’t miss him. The madman. The monster. The absolute beast. 

You do. 

You miss the John you’ve come to know, when he is doing well. His gentle smile, and his deep voice, and the glitter of his dark eyes when you say something that inadvertently amuses him. You miss his strong arms, and his long body tucked against yours while you sleep. Your nights have never felt so lonely, having had John Wick, and now not having him. 

You simply are not a whole person, anymore, without John, and maybe that should scare you more than anything else he’s done. 

However–it just fills you with despair. Your heart feels like the tar pit of La Brea, blackened and filled with the bones of the love you’d shared. For surely, you’ve really broken it now. 

At first, you thought he meant to just shake you up, show you what life would be like without him if you should succeed to run… Unbearable, is the answer. 

Worse yet, however, as it goes on you fear the root of this confinement lays not in punishment, but in him not wanting your company after your perceived betrayal. He’d asked for your assurance, and you’d thrown it back in his face, too caught up in your own fear, your own anger, your own desires. You reckon he can’t stand you now, and he’s probably just trying to figure out what the hell to do with you. 

A week of solitude goes by before you decide to comb through every book on the towering shelves that take up the wall. Desperate to distract yourself from this clawing loneliness inside, you read a bit of this, and a bit of that, making stacks in odd piles across the floor, cairns of your reading whims organized in a logic known only to you. 

In one of these books you find tucked a picture of Helen. It can only be a scene from their wedding day, John in a dapper dark gray suit, she in a sweet but sensible white dress, a crown of daisies in her hair. He is kissing her cheek, and she is scintillatingly happy. You feel it radiating like the sun, even through the photo. What a force she must have been. 

It is no wonder John Wick has gone mad without her. 

What a paltry substitute you must be. 

Perhaps you are extra sensitive at the moment to such things, but you weep in your hands, unable to stop until you’ve exhausted yourself entirely, laying on the floor amongst your stonehenge constructed of books. You fall asleep there, not even possessing the energy to move yourself up to the bed. 

That is when the explosion wakes you. 

It is loud enough to rock the entire house, several of your bookstacks toppling over. You leap to your feet, your ears ringing. 

Then you hear the gunfire. 

It is beneath your very feet, in the downstairs, volleys and volleys of rounds. You freeze as you listen, fear rending your heart to a lump of ice in your chest. 

Which of John Wick’s old enemies has found you this time?

The power dies, plunging the room into blackness. There are no street lights through the window here in the woods to light your way. There’s barely even a moon this night. 

Huddling in the dark like a scared little woodland animal, you realize, that possibly this means the lock on the door is no longer engaged. The battle is still raging beneath you–you take heart in that, as terrifying as it is, because it means John is not dead. 

You are not proud of how long it takes for you to gather the courage to force yourself to your feet, to make your way by memory to the door in your pajamas and bare feet, and try the handle. 

It turns freely, and you are faced with a new choice. 

Hide like a coward, helpless and untrained as you are, or join the fray. 

You pluck up a heavy book, the only possible weapon left to you, and slip out into the hallway. 

It really is like poetry in motion, watching John Wick fight. From the landing above, you stare as he mows through the home invaders, men dressed like commandos in all black, kicking and striking, breaking limbs and shooting them with their own guns, taking down one then the next until the living room is scattered with dead and splattered with their lifeblood. 

His final opponent is an even match in size. He wears a mask, and that is all you can discern. After an assessing pause they charge each other, moving so quickly you can hardly follow. Their struggle takes them deeper into the kitchen, out of your view. 

Making yourself small as possible, you scurry down the stairs. 

You pause at a corpse whose head sits at an impossible angle, neck clearly broken, and trade your heavy tome for his handgun. It’s been forever since you’ve handled a firearm. You try to remember the lessons your father taught you a lifetime ago, and come up blank in the absolute stress of the situation. You hope that all you have to do is pull the trigger. 

You can hear the sounds of fighting deeper in the kitchen, maybe in the breakfast nook beyond. You hear grunts and the sound of flesh striking flesh, the crash of breaking crockery and furniture. Adrenaline sings through your veins, and you realize with a strange detachment that you don’t actually expect to walk away from this alive. But John is there, and maybe he needs you, so you go.    

You arrive in time to see John’s opponent throw him to the ground in some complicated jiu-jitsu move, using John’s own weight against him to send him sprawling across the floor. You see the flash of a knife, as the attacker pounces, pushing the blade with all his force towards John’s chest. John resists, holding him at bay with all his strength, and the knife hovers, even as the attacker puts all his weight behind it, desperate to drive it home. 

You do not even think, as you scream and lift the gun, pulling the trigger. The sound and the fury of it surprises you, the large-caliber weapon jumping in your hand. 

Somehow, one of the bullets catches the man perfectly in the side of the throat. You stare in horror as he falls over with a gurgling groan.  

An eerie silence falls upon the house, seemingly the only sounds your heartbeat in your ears. But you realize it is only because you are now partially deaf. The sound of Dog barking furiously leaks in through the ringing, from behind a door down the hall. John must have sequestered him to keep him safe when the shooting started. 

With wide eyes and slow feet you approach, the gun shaking in your hand. You can tell that John is hurt badly, cuts on his face, his arms, and you can see he is bleeding beneath the soft fabric of his white henley. Yet he does not ask you for help, looking at you with a strange sadness in his eyes. 

Then you realize he is looking at you–with the gun. 

A long, weary breath escapes him, and he glances to the blown out window beyond. The result of the explosion, no doubt. The cool night breeze wafts through the void, carrying the bewitching scent of the trees, lifting your hair.

Your portal to freedom, should you be ruthless enough to claim it. 

He closes his eyes, nodding to himself as much as you. “It’s ok, y/n. Do what you’ve got to do.”

The horror of it dawns on you; he thinks you will kill him too, to gain your freedom. 

Maybe you even have every right to. 

It infuriates you to the bottom of your soul, that he thinks you even could. 

“You asshole,” you snarl, hitting the right button by pure luck to eject the clip, which is empty, racking the slide and throwing the blocky handgun across the room in your fury, shattering a crock full of utensils on the far counter. “You would put that on me?” You fall to your knees beside him. 

Does the only path to your freedom have to be his death? 

As though you could survive the guilt of it?

As though you can survive without him, at all?

Carefully you lift his shirt to look at his wounds, and you curse at the sight of the nasty cut on his side. “Fuck. I’ve got to call an ambulance.” You reach for a dishtowel, folding it and pressing it into his side, making him wince. 

“No ambulance,” he groans. “No police.” 

Now the tears arrive, filling your eyes and pouring down your cheeks. “John, you are hurt, and I don’t know what to do.” You know he needs professional medical attention. There is another bloodstain on his shoulder, a bullet wound, you realize. Jesus Christ. You don’t have enough hands. 

“Hold this,” you demand, putting his hand over his side, scrambling for the drawer where he keeps the kitchen towels. 

“Baby…” He grunts as you press the next towel down. 

“Where is your phone?”

“You’re not leaving?” He reaches for your face with a bloodied hand, and you clutch him to you, pressing your cheek into his palm.

At a time like this, that is what he asks you? It shatters your heart all over again, and you press your lips to his in a fervent kiss, the taste of him tainted with copper. You hope it’s only his blood, but somehow you doubt it. 

“No, I’m not leaving, you idiot,” you grouse. “Now who the fuck do I call?” 

[love-love-you]

i live for glitter not you

we are golden  //  the origin of love album cover  //  good guys  //  mika for elle men china  //  I went to hell last night

[inkykeiji]

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰         

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.  

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”  

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!  

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.  

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

       ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”  

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - part one - part two ½

“Oh, I could fucking snap that pretty little neck of yours.” 

Elide smirked and crossed her arms, “Keep it in your pants, Salvaterre. We’re still at work, baby.” 

From the other side of her office, Lorcan sent her a glare that could freeze Hellas’ fiery realm. He crossed the room in two large strides. His long, glossy hair was in disarray. Elide practically choked on her desire to smooth it back for him. She glanced around, quickly averting her eyes from Rowan’s pointed look. His fiancée beside him wore a delighted expression, almost as if she wished she was snacking on something right about now. “Lochan, c’mon. Listen to me. If we settle now, it’ll only allow big tech corporations to completely demolish software start-ups. You know I’m right.” 

“If we push, we could end up with nothing and bankrupt our client! If we settle, that leaves Nox and Luca with enough money to further their technology.” She stood up and braced her hands against the glass surface of her desk. “Lorcan, I know that you want to set precedent–”

“It’s not about setting precedent, princess,” he snapped. “I don’t give a fucking shit if people know my name or not. I’m doing the right thing here and it’s insulting that you don’t see that.” Lorcan dropped the papers on her desk. He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair before twisting his locks into a messy bun. “You’re fucking impossible, Elide.” 

Elide’s spine straightened, “ I’m impossible? This is my case and since the second I asked you for help, you’ve been–”

“You’re fucking it up, Elide! You’re scared of losing and leaving those kids with nothing so you’re playing it safe and–” 

“I am not playing it safe , Lorcan. I’m playing it smart. This is what we learned in school. It’s how we’re supposed to do it.” 

He scoffed, his words cutting, “Yeah, according to a second-year class. I never had you pegged as a coward, Elide. You’re scared and you’re hiding behind a gods-damned book . You know, I really used to think you were cut out for this, but I’m not so sure anymore.” Tears burned her throat. Elide flicked her watery eyes to the wall of windows and focused on the glittering city lights. Lorcan inhaled sharply, as if realising what he’d just said. “Princess, shit, I’m–”

“You’re not sorry, don’t you dare lie to me,” Elide whispered. She looked up at him, “You want the case that bad, Lorcan? Fine. It’s yours. Enjoy it, you bastard.” She shoved the case file box to him so hard that it slid off the smooth surface and on pure reflex, Lorcan caught it. Elide didn’t look at anyone while she strode out of her office. 

She took the elevator up to the roof and walked across the gravel-covered roof to the railing. Elide leaned against it and then, because she couldn’t help herself anymore, she let a sob fall from her lips. Elide buried her face in her hands. 

She cried softly until she heard the heavy metal door drag against the gravel as it was pushed open. Elide raised her head and hastily wiped her eyes, “If you’re here to grovel, I don’t want to hear it, Salvaterre.” 

“He’s not. Aelin’s chewing him out right now.” 

Elide turned, sighing softly. “What are you doing out here, Rowan? I want to be alone.” A gust of cold wind blew over her. Elide hugged her arms around herself and tucked her chin into her chest to conserve heat. 

Rowan walked closer and draped her heavy wool coat over her shaking shoulders. “I thought you might be cold. Might want some company, too.” He opened his arms and Elide leaned into him. “Yeah,” he said as he folded her into his warm chest and rested his chin on her head. “I know, Ellie.” 

“Every time,” she sniffled, pathetically, “every time I think we- we’re getting somewhere, we fight and- and lose whatever progress we’ve made. He isn’t even mine and I keep losing him.” 

“I know,” Rowan said, his brogue strong and comforting. Unbeknownst to Elide, his face was set in a deep frown, all directed at the man who sat floors below them, being berated by a woman he towered over by at least a foot. 

After a few minutes, Elide stepped back. She accepted the tissue Rowan procured and wiped her mascara tracks away. “I guess I should go back and… figure this out. Are you and Ae staying?” 

“No, we’ve got dinner with my parents.” 

Elide nodded and looped her arm through his elbow, “Let’s go, then.” Rowan wisely didn’t try to dissuade her and escorted her back down. Aelin was waiting by the elevators, her coat and scarf on. She carried her gloves and bag in hand and stepped up to hug Elide good-bye and fuss over her hair. “Ae,” Elide said, “I’m fine, really. Go, have dinner with Ro’s parents. I’ll call you tonight.” 

“Alright. But if you need me, I can ditch those losers and come over.” Rowan cleared his throat and arched an unimpressed brow. Aelin sent him a loved-up grin and kissed Elide’s cheeks, “Bye, honey.” 

“Good-bye, Elide,” Rowan said. 

“Night, you two. Say hi to your parents for me.” 

“Of course,” Rowan nodded his head and guided his fiancée into the waiting elevator. 

Elide turned on her heels and slowly walked back through the empty office to hers. She looked through the glass wall and saw Lorcan. He was sitting on the low, modern leather couch and bent forward with his forearms against his thighs. 

When she walked in, Lorcan shot to his feet, his eyes wide. “El, please, listen to me. I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t- I was- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. None of it is true, you have to believe me. You- you’re an amazing lawyer, Lochan. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

“I know, Lorcan. Really, I know. It’s not the first time one of us has said something we didn’t mean.” 

Relief flooded his face, “Ok, um, yeah. That’s good.” He flashed her a rakish grin. Elide felt her own smile grow at the sight of his. She wasn’t too stubborn to deny that Lorcan was attractive and quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, but when he smiled… she could only describe him as beautiful. “And, listen, I know you think we should settle, but–” 

“Lor,” Elide laughed, “let’s order dinner before we get back to it, ok? I’m starving.” 

Lorcan loosened his tie and lifted his eyebrows, “You aren’t trying to wine and dine me just so I’ll agree with you, right?” Elide just hummed noncommittally and walked to her desk. She leaned back against the edge as she picked up her phone and dialed the number to their favourite restaurant. He laughed and sat down, “Right, like that would ever happen.” He paused, waiting for her response. “Right, Elide?” 

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah, never.” Never. Never. Never.  

She hated that the thought of them never being together made her heart crack. After she put in their classic order, she sat down next to him and they read briefs in a comfortable silence. 

An hour later, their dinner arrived. Lorcan sat down on the carpeted floor and rested his back against her couch. Elide kicked her heels off and sat down against the matching armchair, perpendicular to Lorcan. 

They spread out their papers around them, interspersed with boxes of Chinese takeout. Elide rested her feet in his lap, her brow furrowed as her eyes flicked back and forth across the page. Lorcan didn’t say a word and laid his hand on her ankle. His thumb soothed circles over her skin, “What is it?” 

“I think we should push.” 

“Lochan–” 

“You’re backing down, really?” There was a fluttering sound as she dropped the package. “Stop doing that. I told you I was fine and you’re right. If we settle, it’ll only allow other corporations to go after and attack small developers.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

She narrowed her eyes in warning. “If we settle–” 

“No, no, not that,” he said, smiling at her, “the thing before that. I’m what? ”

Elide rolled her eyes and flicked his nose with her index finger, “You’re right . I should’ve listened to you earlier.” 

Picking up a box of sesame noodles, Lorcan passed Elide her vegetarian dumplings. “What are you thinking?” 

Elide took the box and picked up her chopsticks to pinch one. She lifted the dumpling, but didn’t eat it. “About what?” They both knew he wasn’t talking about the case. 

Lorcan dropped his head back against the couch cushion, “Anything.” 

“I’m thinking that… this is nice. Being with you. I like it.” He looked at her and Elide frowned defensively, “What, I like your company. We don’t always have to fight.” 

“I know,” he said softly. “I like it too.” Her pale cheeks pinked and they shared a gentle grin. 

Elide poked his thigh with her toe, her heart pounding, “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

His eyes were so dark, Elide swore she could get lost in them and willingly, too. Lorcan rubbed his hand up and down her shin, “I’m thinking maybe I don’t… hate you. Maybe I’ve never hated you.” 

She could barely hear herself think, blood rushing through her ears. Slowly, Elide rose onto her knees and straddled his lap. Lorcan didn’t say a word, merely steadying her hips as she shifted. “Well, maybe I’m tired of pretending we wouldn’t be great together.” 

Lorcan lifted a hand to cradle the back of her head and pull her close. They both leaned in and the tips of their noses bumped together. Her hands were surprisingly steady as she gripped his collar and tugged him that much closer. Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart when he whispered, “Let’s stop pretending then, hmm?”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: tee hee 

@mythicaitt @werewolffprince @schmlip-scribble  @empire-of-wildfire@ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt  @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby​ @autophobiaxx​ @silversprings28​ @myshadowsingeraz​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @elriel4life​ @always-in-a-daydream​ let me know if u want to be added/removed from the tag list !!

[hongism]

under the stars - s.changbin 18+

➻ pairing: changbin x fem!reader

➻ wc: 1.9k

➻ genre: fluff, smut

➻ rating: nsfw

➻ warnings: explicit smut, fingering, outdoor sex, wrap it before u tap it unlike changbin n reader

➻ summary: maybe a stargazing date in the middle of winter wasn’t the best idea but changbin shows you how lovely it can be

➻ requested by: anonymous

➻ prompts:

“Do you want my hoodie?”

“Steal the blanket again, I dare you.”​​​

Under the Stars

​​

A cool breeze sweeps over the two of you, and you huddle closer to Changbin in attempts to use his body as a blockade. It isn’t the most effective plan, and the cold air hits you anyways, but at least Changbin is radiating a bit of body heat for you to press against. His gaze is still stuck to the sky and watching the stars glitter above you two; however, you can’t keep your eyes off his sharp features.

A small smile comes to your lips without you realizing it, and you tuck yourself further against his side. The thick fleece blanket over your bodies is doing a lot to block the cold temperature, but Changbin is hogging most of the fabric with his legs. You exhale slowly and press your head against his bicep, finally looking up at the sky with him.

It’s nice to just sit in each other’s presence like this; drinking in the night air with no one in sight and only the nightlife to keep you company.

“I think we should be able to see Orion’s belt sometime tonight,” Changbin whispers as he turns his head towards yours. You glance over at him, another smile crawling onto your lips.

“Maybe Carina too?” You suggest.

“I don’t know. It’s best seen in March, so we may be out of luck.” Changbin presses his nose against your cheek, exhaling warm breath across your skin. You lean into the touch and revel in the warmth he provides. Goosebumps are still running rampant across your arms, and Changbin seems to notice that because he props himself up on his elbows. “Do you want my hoodie?” He asks, motioning towards the clothing across his chest currently.

“No, keep it, baby. I’m alright. I’ve got the blanket.” You tug the fleece towards you some, and Changbin doesn’t protest your movements. “How much longer do we have?”

Changbin glances down at his wristwatch and checks the time before turning back to you. “Two more hours maybe. Then we’ll get collected.”

“Don’t call it being collected. That’s weird.” You scrunch your nose up. Changbin takes the opportunity to duck in and press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. He laughs at your disgruntled expression that follows, then goes in for another cheeky kiss. His lips trail down your cheek, following the line of your jaw, and make a wet path down your neck. The trail of saliva leaves you cold as another breeze hits the two of you. “Oh god, that’s cold, Binnie.”

“I’ll warm you up, don’t worry.”

“Ew!” He pulls back from your neck, staring at you in disbelief, then darts a hand out towards the blanket now over your legs. You swat at his perpetrating hand. “Um, no! My blanket.”

“What? No, I brought the blanket! It’s mine.”

“What’s yours is mine.”

He ignores your protests and attempts to snatch the blanket off you, but you smack his arm again.

“Steal the blanket again, I dare you.”​​​

“Fine, keep the blanket. I’ll be under it with you in no time.”

“Ew!”

“I’m your boyfriend! I can say shit like that.”

“Ew,” you whine again, drawing out the syllable as Changbin continues to work down your skin with his lips. He stops at the juncture of your neck. He drags the flat over his tongue over the sensitive skin there and nips at it once he’s done lavishing you with his tongue. You sigh into the empty air above you, breath fogging in the cold.

Changbin pulls back from your neck only to tug you closer to him. He rolls onto his back, dragging you and the fleece blanket on top of him. The blanket catches on your foot and bundles up between your bodies. Your boyfriend releases a sigh of frustration, tugging at the material until it comes loose.

“You’re so cute when you get annoyed,” you giggle. Changbin huffs in response then tosses the blanket over your body again. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, eyes filled with love, and you drink in his warmth. Sure enough, as he claimed earlier, here he is under the blanket with you. You aren’t going to tell him he was right though. He doesn’t need the ego boost.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “My own little star.”

“Stop saying cheesy things. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Okay, yea, nevermind. My own little shit.”

You throw your head back and laugh loudly into the open air. Changbin brings a hand to your hair. His fingers comb over your scalp, soft and gentle motions that bring a chill down your spine. You bend down to press your lips against his. You keep it delicate and barely brush his lips. His eyes flutter shut at the ghosting touch.

It’s a calm moment for the two of you. You don’t even want to move from his chest, content to just lay atop him for as long as possible. The two of you live busy lives, constantly doing something and moving at high speeds just to keep up with life. This is a rare and treasured moment of slowness. Peace. You revel in it while you can.

His lips find yours again, a rougher touch now, and you push back with equal force. His teeth tease your lower lip, nipping and tugging at it, and he drags his tongue over the swollen skin. You moan into the kiss, and he pulls you as close as possible, swallowing your sounds with his touch. He trails his hands down your sides before slipping them under the hem of your shirt and caressing the soft skin there with his warm fingers.

He’s getting a bit excited, and you can feel his bulge pressing against the inside of your thigh. You pull away from his lips to sit up straight atop him, a smile on both of your faces. You drag your palm over his crotch, and he bucks against your hand when you give his clothed member a small squeeze.

“Let’s roll over,” he says, biting back a slight moan. “I need to stretch you a bit first.” You link your arms around his shoulders and let him roll you onto your back. He doesn’t bother to pull the blanket away, instead letting you roll onto it as he brings his hands to the band of your pants. He moves as though you two have all the time in the world, but you really just want him to hurry the fuck up and rail you already.

Deft fingers hook onto your pants and underwear and tug them down in one go. You help him pull the material completely off, and he bunches them up to toss onto the grass.

“Binnie, they’re gonna get covered in dirt and grass!”

“You don’t need them right now,” he mutters in response. You whine as he spreads your legs, exposing your core to the cold air. He drags two fingers over your folds. “Someone’s excited already.” He pushes past the thick strands of arousal and into the heat of your core. You try to keep your moan quiet but Changbin crooks his fingers inside you without warning, and a wanton moan slips out. “You sound so pretty, baby.”

“Hurry up, Binnie. I want you to fuck me.”

“So demanding.” Changbin clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“We both know who’s in charge, love. So hurry up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Changbin laughs under his breath and begins to pump his fingers in and out of your drenched core. As he scissors you open with one hand, his other hand moves for the button of his pants. You sit up on your elbows and watch him struggle for a few moments before swatting his fingers away and popping the button yourself. You yank his pants down, tugging his underwear aside as well, and his leaking member finally hits the cold air. You spit on your palm with no hesitation then envelop his cock with your hand.

“Can you fuck me now?” You ask as you pump his member and spread the saliva over him. He nods frantically, pulling his fingers out of you only to pop them into his mouth and suck your juices off them. Something about the sight is hot, and you watch him clean his fingers of your arousal with a smirk. In one swift movement, he pushes you onto your back and guides his weeping members to your entrance. You tuck your legs around his back and hold him in place as he enters you.

A hiss leaves your lips, his cock stretching you open, and he bottoms out with a small groan. He hangs his head and watches the point where his cock is buried inside you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty all stuffed like this,” he says through gritted teeth. You reach up to grip his hair, tugging his head up to look you in the eye.

“Move before I decide to take control.”

He doesn’t wait for another command, pulling out and snapping his hips back against yours. You moan at the impact. Your fingers linger in his hair, and you pull him down to your lips, You meet in a clash of teeth, small laughs escaping both of you before you kiss properly. With each tug you give to his hair, Changbin releases a small moan and his noises only encourage you to keep doing it. He’s thrusting into you with such intensity that you think your cervix will be bruised tomorrow, but the sensation of his cock dragging against your sweet spot is overpowers that pain.

Changbin brings his hands down on either side of your head. You slip your tongue into his mouth, and his meets yours in a clash for dominance. Your hands slip down to tug at the hair on the nape of his neck, toying with that small mullet of his, and he relents dominance with a low whine.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” he says as he pulls back from your lips. You nod, unable to form an actual coherent thought, and all that comes out of your mouth are moans. You clench around Changbin’s member, the rushing wave of your orgasm prepares to crash over you, and you pull Changbin back in for one more kiss before it hits. You cry out in pleasure, and he eats up the sound with his lips. Hips stutter, and he thrusts into you one more time before he cums in you. His arms give out under him as his orgasm hits. The breath leaves your body when his weight collapses on top of you, then you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him as close as you can.

The two of you bask in the afterglow of your orgasms, clinging to each other like your lives depend on it. Neither of you moves for quite some time. You watch the sky with tired eyes, suddenly exhausted from your intense workout with Changbin.

“Hey… there’s a shooting star,” you mumble as something flashes across the sky. Changbin shifts on top of you and pulls himself up. “Make a wish?” You smile up at him. He laughs at your words then presses a quick kiss to your lips.

“I don’t need to make any wishes when I have you.”

☽     ☾

if you would like to request something, check out my milestone celebration!

[itsthesinbin]

Insert Title Here (Obey Me Fic)

i dont have a title yet.

im still getting characterization down and im also not even halfway thru the game so forgive me if i fuck things up DSFKGDSFKDG

the mc is one of the species ive made- chimeras. for ppl who have been here a long time, u shld remember them. for newbies, i wont spoil what they are if this DOES become an actual thing

please reblog and/or leave a comment in the notes if you like this! i need feedback to be sure people would actually enjoy the fic!

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

Hm.

“I don’t think I summoned the right person.” Diavolo looked down at the file he had in his hand, examining the picture attached to the front of the folder. A normal young woman stared back at him- blonde hair, pale blue eyes, glasses perched on her nose. The demon prince looked back down at the… creature… on the ground.

Passed out, he couldn’t see her eyes, but the wild blonde hair was almost a perfect match. Lucifer was currently draping his coat over her, as she had shown up naked. Ram-like horns sat on her head, and a tail twitched behind her in her sleep. Tan skin shifted into scales along their arms- and their stomach, from the little Diavolo saw before he averted his eyes. Her legs were much like a cat’s, her fingers and toes webbed and holding wicked looking claws.

“You think,” Satan asked, coming over to his eldest brother’s side to examine the summoned creature. Diavolo crouched down, getting a closer look at her face. Her soul. Asmodeus spoke up while Diavolo did his small investigation.

“What the fuck is it?” Asmodeus leaned over the table, his question earning a stern glare from Lucifer. Asmodeus simply shrugged, sitting back down next to a very confused- and very hungry- Beelzebub.

“... They are… definitely human-” Diavolo announced- “Maybe a… genetic relative?” Diavolo looked through the file again, seeing if he missed a note on any children or family. Asmodeus finally spoke up.

“Why didn’t the original human show?” Lucifer looked to Diavolo, who was just as confused. Before the prince could answer, the creature on the ground began to stir. The three surrounding them moved back, allowing her to wake up without being crowded.

Pale blue eyes appeared before them, unfocused and hazy. They snapped open a moment later, pupils turning to slits. The creature before the demons jumped up, knocking the coat off with a furious hiss. Satan in particular reeled back, feeling her fury harder than the others in the room.

She scrambled back into a corner, staring at the demons with wide, wild eyes. Much too wide for a normal human, if Solomon was any reference point. Dark blue scales glittered on her heaving chest, a rattling noise coming from her tail. Her pointed ears were pinned back against her head in anger.

“We… understand you must be confused, and scared,” Diavolo started, hands raised in a nonthreatening manner. He took a single step closer, and the woman let out a screech that made the three younger demons hold their ears. Lucifer and Diavolo cringed slightly, exchanging a look as she stopped screaming.

“We won’t come any closer. We just wish to talk.” Diavolo was tempted to send her back, but he’d need to get her back in the circle for that. And he doubts she’d simply follow his request to move.

“... What is your name?” She stayed quiet, the rattle on her tail slowly stopping. Her eyes scraped over everyone in the room, daring any of them to move. No one did. Slowly, she sat down on the ground, much like a cat ready to pounce.

“... My name is Diavolo, I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know of me. And someday soon, I will be crowned king of the Devildom.” There was a beat of silence where she just stared at the prince.

“Fuck you.” Everyone reeled back at that, before Satan put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing. He was starting to like this creature.

Lucifer was about to speak up, but Diavolo held a hand up to silence him. Clearly, she was scared and angry. Diavolo wasn’t going to take it personally. Luke was, while not as vulgar, very angry when he arrived as well.

“Why I here?” Lucifer cleared his throat, making her head snap to where he was. Diavolo placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“This is Lucifer- a demon, and the Avatar of Pride. He’s also the vice president of the student council and my right-hand man. Beyond that, he’s my most trusted friend,” the prince laughed, ignoring the glare from the human(?) in the corner. Lucifer sighed slightly, subtly shrugging Diavolo’s hand off of his shoulder.

“Welcome to our academy, even if your appearance here is… surprising, to everyone.” The woman hissed, baring her fangs at Lucifer. A bold move, if she were a demon.

“WHY I HERE?” Lucifer looked her over, crossing his arms.

“She certainly is different from Solomon,” he muttered, before starting his rehearsed speech on the reasoning for the exchange program. Satan could feel her rage build, the longer Lucifer talked. Yeah. He understood the feeling.

“You are our new exchange student, it seems, miss…?” Lucifer hoped he would get a name out of her. They needed to confirm if she was, somehow, the woman they originally intended to summon from the human world. When she didn’t answer, he continued with a sigh.

“Your period of stay is one year. You will have to work on the tasks that you receive from RAD. After one year, you will write a paper about your exchange here in the Devildom.” The woman snarled.

“I- I’m- LET ME GO!” The fury in her words was betrayed by the wobble in her voice. She pressed further back against the wall, claws digging at the stone behind her. She was terrified. Trapped.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.” Right now, anyway. “For one year, you are under our care and you will be attending RAD. Do you understand?”

The woman’s chest heaved, breathing picking up again to near hyperventilation levels. Her eyes were focused on Lucifer, but she was looking right through him. Satan bristled slightly, feeling himself grow a bit lightheaded at how strong her anger was. He had to keep himself calm.

The woman darted forward, toward Lucifer and Diavolo.

Quick as a flash, Lucifer grabbed her and pinned her to the floor. The woman thrashed and screeched under Lucifer’s grip, trying to reach back to swipe him with her claws. Her tail slammed into his side shockingly hard. Not that it really hurt him, but it was much stronger than he thought a human would be. If… humans had tails, that was.

She suddenly grew slack, eyes rolling back as she went unconscious. Barbatos, who had been off to the side, put his hand down when she was out. He had to put a stop to that before someone got hurt- human or demon.

Slowly, Lucifer released his grip on her. He didn’t get up from his straddle over her, in case she suddenly woke up, looking up at Diavolo for an order or suggestion.

The prince was at a loss for words, for once. On top of not knowing exactly what this woman was- sure her soul was human but she clearly wasn’t fully- he didn’t expect to just be attacked.

“... Take her to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer, and… maybe try to talk some sense into her there. Barbatos and I will… try to figure out who she even is.” Lucifer felt the migraine coming on. Sometimes he despised his job.

“Of course.” He grabbed his coat again, wrapping her up as Barbatos explained the spell would wear off in three hours. With a nod, Lucifer scooped her up and made his way over to his brothers. Asmodeus immediately cringed away, while Beelzebub just kind of… stared. Lucifer was pretty sure he was in shock.

He turned to Satan, who was still calming down from the intense rage he felt second-hand. Lucifer frowned.

“Satan? Are you alright?” The fourth eldest cleared his throat, flushing slightly in embarrassment.

“Yes. It… She was very angry- the sudden wave of it threw me for a loop, so to speak.” He had expected some anger, sure, but that? It was like expecting a drizzle and walking into a tsunami.

It was kind of funny.

Lucifer hummed slightly, before motioning for his brothers to follow.

“Let’s get her home, then. Satan, call Mammon and let him know he’ll be in charge of her.” Satan paused at that.

“... I’d love to see Mammon get his backside handed to him as much as the next demon, but don’t you think that’s a bad idea?” Lucifer growled slightly. Satan sighed, opening his D.D.D before Lucifer started one of his “are you disobeying an order” tirades.

“Fine. Don’t blame me when Mammon comes back missing a few fingers, though.” Actually. That sounded kinda funny. Maybe Lucifer had the right idea, not that Satan would admit it.

While the fourth argued with the second about his new position as… animal sitter, Beelzebub and Asmodeus fell into step next to their eldest brother.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Can’t we pick someone else and send her back while she’s asleep,” Beelzebub asked, holding his hands over his stomach nervously. Lucifer glanced down at the sleeping creature, who was still trembling even while unconscious.

“... If it becomes too much of a hassle, I’ll talk to Diavolo. For now, we have to give it a try. It would take too long to find a new applicant. That being said… let’s find a reinforced room for her.” Lucifer didn’t want her busting out in the middle of the night.

“Maybe soundproof, too,” Asmodeus mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself in sheer discomfort. They were supposed to be taking care of this thing? Maybe he could get out of it if he avoided her. 

Lucifer shot him a look, but didn’t say anything. That screech definitely caught everyone off guard. His ears were still ringing. Which was only being made worse because he could hear Mammon yelling over Satan’s phone. The eldest sighed heavily.

Lucifer knew he had a long, long year ahead of him.

[dyaz-stories]

Screaming Color — A SessKagu One-Shot

“The rest of the world was black and white... but we were in screaming colors”

Tagging: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @sweetchcolate @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars​ @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas​ @mustardyellowsunshine​ @meggz0rz​ @contacting-u​ @ramen---boi​ @superpixie42​ @kazeinori​

Also available on Ao3 and ff.net.

Prom night. Balloons suspended around the school gym in a desperate attempt to make it look a little more dreamy, not-so-dazzling lights, the one mirrorball the school owned, which had probably been purchased at the peak of the disco era, considering its looks, glitter on the floor, and bad music. Girls dressed to the nines and boys, well, making an effort, at least. Smiles, heartbreak, epic highs and lows of teenage romance.

And, standing by the drinks table, bored out of her damn mind, Kagura Kaze, art teacher in her thirties, chaperoning.

To say this wasn’t Kagura’s dream night would have been a complete understatement. See, when Onigumo, the school director had approached her to give her that job, she had had a moment of hesitation. It had lasted a second, if not less, as memories flooded her mind. When she’d been in high school, she was way too cool for prom, so she had never experienced it, and it made her— it made her somewhat curious, you know? Made her want to know what all the fuss was about.

Of course, the thought quickly vanished from her mind. Obviously, she couldn’t experience it as a teenager again, and while it might have been fun back then, though she seriously doubted it, there was no way she would enjoy it even the tiniest bit now.

But because of her hesitation, she’d lost her way out, and that was how she found herself, well, here.

“I’m standing right here, Manten.”

The teenage boy seemed genuinely surprised to hear her talk, and almost dropped the bottle of alcohol he’d been about to pour in the punch that was available for all students to drink from.

“Yeah, I know, I just—”

He just hadn’t thought she’d say anything. She’d heard that a lot tonight, and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. It definitely confirmed that she was the ‘cool teacher’, a title she’d earned because she was, by far, the best dressed teacher in school, because she actually had some renown in the art world and also because, if she dared to say so herself, she was an a-fucking-mazing teacher.

That would have come as a surprise to anyone, including her own self, just five years ago, when she’d gotten the job. She’d thought that would be the nail in the coffin of her creativity and of her already dying art career. She’d thought, and everyone around her agreed, that she would murder one of the young imbeciles she’d have to look after after just one day, and end up in jail, and if that didn’t happen, she would certainly die a long and boring death in the small high school of a small town, miles away from the city and everything she loved.

But, as it turned out, that had not been the case. She could, in fact, live without Starbucks, and she didn’t need to go shopping at high-end clothing stores every week-end.

Not that she could afford it these days.

As for teenagers, they were horrible, stupid, and hormonal, but some of them, sometimes, were also interesting. Those, she did her best to help. After all, Kagura liked talent. She took pride in her ability to spot it, even in its rawest form. She had thought it would make her bitter, to see these talented teenagers, with all their lives still ahead of themselves.

It didn’t. It just made her want to help them, and if that meant she had to do her damnedest to find scholarships they could apply to, well, she’d do that.

Other students didn’t complain about her class, either. It gave them an outlet for all sorts of emotions, and if there was one thing no one had ever said about her, it was that she was boring.

So it didn’t exactly surprise her, to hear that Manten had thought she’d let him spike the punch, but on the other hand— how did he dare? Did he really think she was that irresponsible? She wasn’t going to let teenagers get wasted on her watch.

“Give me the bottle, Manten,” she sighed, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

“But…”

“And tell your brother to come here and give me his,” she added, eyeing Hiten, who was watching the scene carefully, and who, of course, had sent his brother do his dirty job for him.

“Oh, Hiten would never—”

“You heard her, kid,” a deep voice growled from behind him. “Get it done.”

Manten immediately seemed to shrunk and disappear, which could have been a pretty funny sight, in different circumstances. The look Kagura gave to Inuyasha Taisho, P.E. teacher, was not amused.

“I was handling it,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, and I got it done faster.”

She had to resist the urge to snarl at him. Inuyasha was an alright person, but what an asshole he could be.

”Hey,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, clearly unaware of the less than charitable thoughts that were going through her mind, “you wouldn’t have happened to see—”

“I’ll tell you where she is if you get Miroku and Sango back from their break,” she interrupted him. “I want to take mine, and we need someone by this table.”

She didn’t add that they were probably making out. Miroku had taken two bottles she’d gotten from kids who also wanted to spike the punch — which showed that there was no coordination there and was very irresponsible of them, because what if they’d all succeeded, that would have been a disaster — and winked at her before leaving with the perpetually unimpressed Sango. Thinking back on it, she probably should have stopped him then and there.

She’d high-fived him instead.

“Sure,” Inuyasha shrugged, not realizing what he was probably opening himself to seeing. “So?”

“She took a group of lonely kids to the library.”

“Keh. Of course she would,” Inuyasha scoffed, but his dumb, soft smile betrayed his feelings. That was how he’d been tricked into being here tonight, too. Because, of course, ‘she’ had also volunteered to watch over the dance.

Another day, another time, Kagura would have loved to meddle in the slow-burn developing between him and the literature teacher, the lovely Kagome Higurashi, because they were so damn entertaining, definitely her favorite couple among the faculty, but if she stood there one minute longer, she was going to spontaneously combust or something.

“Good. I’m off.”

“Hey, wait a second—”

“Hiten, here!”

The teenage boy begrudgingly handed her a bottle of what she knew at a glance was a very, very nice wine. Those kids really had too much money and too little supervision for their own good, which wasn’t something she could fix. Wasn’t her job, either, but sometimes, it disappointed her a little. Gave her heart an unpleasant squeeze. Every year, how many of those kids graduated, about to jump headfirst into a shitty life that would never get better? How many of them had she failed?

That wasn’t something she ever thought about, before starting to work here. It wasn’t a pleasant thought by any means, but she didn’t hate it, either. It felt— needed. It felt like it was something she should have thought about before. Then maybe she could have made a difference sooner, maybe she would be doing a better job.

On the other hand, if she didn’t think about it, maybe she wouldn’t need a drink so bad right now.

“Mrs. Kaze,” a calm, even voice, called from behind her as she was just about to leave the gym, “may I ask where you are going?”

Kagura froze, closed her eyes a second, then turned around, a charming smile on her lips.

“I was just taking my break, Mr. Taisho,” she said, ignoring the way her heart was hammering in her chest, as it always did whenever she talked to him. “Care to join me?”

Sesshomaru Taisho rose an eyebrow at her offer, and she had to remind herself not to hold her breath waiting for an answer. She wasn’t one of the teenagers she was supposed to chaperone, dammit!

That was all his fault, by the way. He had no business looking this good. He hadn’t dressed up, exactly, but he was wearing a fitting white shirt, which underlined a nicely chiseled chest, and black pants, and that was enough to create the illusion. She knew, from the looks he was getting, that she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. His long white hair, which he usually tied into a ponytail, were falling over his broad shoulders, and she would have killed for that hair, but that wasn’t what got her attention.

No, she was entirely focused on his face. He had the type of face she would love to paint someday, and that was the first thing that had struck her about him, when she’d first met him. He was beautiful, sure, but beauty could be boring. With him, it wasn’t. It wasn’t just his sharp jaw, thin lips, straight nose and high cheekbones. He was much more than the sum of his parts, but Kagura was convinced that even without all of that, if she had met his golden eyes, if she had seen the intelligence behind it, she would have been irremediably lost, regardless of anything else.

Sesshomaru glanced behind him at Inuyasha, who was sullenly watching over the drink table where she’d abandoned him. The two of them were brothers, but you would never have guessed it from the way they acted with one another. There was a rather painful story behind that, which Kagura had heard from Miroku, but she knew better than to bring it up with the brothers, so she kept her mouth shut.

“I suppose I could,” he finally said. “Inuyasha knows better than to let Rin get in trouble.”

Another subject it was better not to speak on. Sesshomaru’s adopted daughter was the apple of his eye, and he was, perhaps, just a little overprotective. Some had tried to point it out to him, but they’d learned that he didn’t take kindly to comments on his parenting, something no one in school ignored, at this point.

Unfortunately — for herself —, Kagura had never been really good at not speaking her mind, and there was only so much she could hold back in one night, especially for the same guy.

“Rin’s perfectly capable of getting in and out of trouble if she chooses to. I doubt there’s much Inuyasha could do to stop her from doing that.” I doubt there’s much you could do to stop her from doing that.

Sesshomaru glared at her in silence for a few seconds, but that wasn’t nearly long enough for Kagura to regret speaking her mind.

“Why would Rin want to do that?” he finally asked.

“She’s sixteen,” Kagura shrugged. “She might want to… experiment.” Like with that Kohaku kid I’m positive you don’t know about. “Are you coming or what?”

Sesshomaru looked over his shoulder one last time, sighed deeply, then nodded. Kagura deemed to be an absolute win. He was by no means talkative, after all, and this conversation had gone well enough, considering who it was with.

“Let’s get to my room,” she said, tilting her head towards the door. “Yours is depressing.”

By that, she meant there was a plain, black board — because Sesshomaru refused to change it to a white one — and nothing else. Evenly spaced desks, one larger one for him, no books, no posters, no nothing.

“And yours is too full of useless things,” he replied, frowning ever so slightly. “You should throw them out as soon as you’ve finished that project.”

Kagura let out a horrified exclamation. She could never do that. She knew what it felt like, when someone threw out something you’d poured your heart into, and she didn’t see the need for her pupils to experience that just yet. Of course, she couldn’t keep everything, and at the end of the year, she did have to throw away things that were left, but it had never crossed her mind to do that during the year.

“My room,” she argued as the two of them walked through the silent hallways, “is pretty and the students are happy to come here. I doubt you can say the same thing.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain.”

“That’s because they’re terrified of you!”

In the dimly lit hallways, she missed the half-smile that curved Sesshomaru’s lips while the two of them argued. Even if she’d seen it, she would probably have assumed she’d imagined it, and yet, it was there. Sesshomaru was enjoying himself.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the doors to her room and let him in, turning on the light to reveal a place she was genuinely proud of. On the walls hung finished products, on the tables, paintings were still drying, and on the shelves were the results of that time they had tried pottery. Inuyasha probably hadn’t been happy that she had used his ex’s contact information to find a teacher for that, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

He’d just hidden in the gymnasium all day.

“There,” she said, satisfied with the scene. Esthetically, maybe it wasn’t the most pleasing sight, but she could see all the efforts poured into this work. She knew what belonged to which student, by name. She knew which themes had felt the most personal to whom, she knew…

Ugh, she was getting all mushy now.

“Let’s drink,” she said, pulling out the two bottles she’d gotten off of Hiten and Manten earlier.

But Sesshomaru wasn’t listening to her. Instead, he stepped closer to one of the walls and examined it in silence. Kagura narrowed her eyes at him. What exactly was he… Ah.

“Fractals,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, well, an assignment that was inspired by fractals,” Kagura said, rolling her eyes. She started tapping her fingernails on the wood of the desk she was sitting on. This was more embarrassing than she’d thought it would be. Not that she’d thought about it much, actually, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have done it. “Are we drinking or what?”

Sesshomaru looked at her over his shoulder.

“I do not think that is a very good idea. We need to look out for the students. We cannot do that drunk.”

Why did he have to be so reasonable all the time?

“Why fractals?”

Kagura pushed herself off the desk with a sigh and walked to his side.

“Well, I was looking into some geometrical things,” for no reasons whatsoever, “and I thought fractals were… an interesting theme. Most kids went for a mirror type of thing, but some took more interest in the snowflake shape and others on…” She sighed, but couldn’t quite contain her amused smile. “The Triforce, I guess.”

Sesshomaru watched her as she spoke. Kagura was always passionate about things. When she cared about things, it was obvious in her voice, in her attitude. Right now, her eyes shone as she examined her students’ project, her lips curved into a smile he knew she couldn’t quite control. She smirked, a lot, but she always looked like she was caught off-guard when she realized she was genuinely smiling.

“That isn’t a bad idea to get them interested,” Sesshomaru conceded, voice perhaps softer than it usually was. “To pick things they can— have fun making, I suppose.”

“Well, we don’t all have that luxury,” Kagura grinned, shooting him a wink. “You’d have trouble doing that, wouldn’t ya?”

Sesshomaru rose an eyebrow, and took a step towards her. Kagura tried to step back, only to realize her back was already against the wall. She swallowed as the tall, white-haired man leaned towards her, towering over her even though she was wearing high heels. Curse him and his stupid height…

“Is that a challenge, Kagura?” he asked, and God, his voice was doing all sorts of things to her.

She didn’t think he’d used her name before. She found she quite liked it.

“Might be,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m pretty sure even if you tried, you couldn’t get your students interested.”

Something dark briefly lit up in his golden eyes, and Sesshomaru sighed.

“You’re an impossible woman,” he said, possibly for himself more than for her.

“Yeah, I kind of pride myself on—”

Sesshomaru kissed her. At first, it felt brusque, his lips crashing against hers but remaining immobile, his body so completely tense against hers.

Kagura reacted immediately. She didn’t try to understand it, didn’t stop to consider whether or not that was a good idea. Before she could have any form of cohesive thoughts, she was pushing herself against him, her hands were in his hair as she pulled him down against her. If that took him by surprise, he didn’t show it. In a second, he’d pulled her away from the wall and lifted her onto a desk, where she promptly wrapped her legs around his waist.

She’d thought about this for years, wondered of what he’d taste like, how his body would feel against hers. His warmth, seeping through his clothes, was almost surprising, opposed to his  usual cold demeanor. His large hands, his long fingers, moved slowly, up her legs, then on her waist, as he took his time to discover her body. It was the clash of her passion, her impatience, and his slow deliberateness.

When he pulled away from her, she let out an annoyed whimper, but didn’t try to hold him back. Instead, she took in the sight of him in that moment, and it made her smirk. She liked the way he looked right now. Disheveled, shirt all creased,  tie half-undone, hair a mess. She liked the way his lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. She knew that in a second, he would look as tidy as ever, but for now, she enjoyed a sight she doubted many people has set their eyes on before.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, and her smile widened. It only lasted a second before he did compose himself again, and when he looked back at her, it was gone.

“I think it’s time we go back. Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.

Kagura took it and jumped from the desk, quickly smoothing out her skirt. It wasn’t her first rodeo, and she knew she could make herself look perfectly presentable before she walked back into the gym.

“You should give that back to Hiten’s parents,” Sesshomaru added, pointing at the bottles she’d abandoned by the door. “He probably took it from them.”

She rolled her eyes. He just had to know everything better than everyone else, didn’t he? Fine. She would. Because, of course, it was the right, smart thing to do. It was just very annoying. Ugh. The things she was doing because she liked him…

She grabbed his tie and took to straightening it, and he went very quiet. His face didn’t express any emotion, but he didn’t have to for her to be able to read him. Pulling him forward, she planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Watch out, professor,” she whispered huskily, “you have some lipstick there.”

Then she took a step back, winked at him, and disappeared through the door.

Sesshomaru spent long seconds there, regaining control of his breathing. He couldn’t explain to himself what was different about Kagura. Everything about her was fascinating. The way she moved, the way she talked, the was she smiled. She brought color to his mostly dull, black and white world, something only his adopted daughter had been able to do before. He had never really considered acting on — whatever it was he was feeling, until tonight.

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about when to do it again.

It was a shame the year was ending, but they’d both still be here for the next one. At the thought, his lips curved into a smile.

He would be looking forward to it.

Hiii, thanks for reading! I’m tentatively coming back on Tumblr so you might see more of me in the next days. I don’t think I’ll be engaging with any content from the sequel, at least for the time being though. Hope you enjoyed this piece I wrote while I was gone!

[elles-writing]

Broken - Kili x reader

Summary: You being in love with Kili, but (thinking) him falling in love with Tauriel.

gif not mine

(A/N: It had to end up that reader dies/ends with someone else, buuut just no, because I don’t like Tauriel. She can end up with Bard or someone). After reclaiming Erebor, everyone can hear your wailing and crying all the time, but one day it stops. Kili decides to find you, after Fili tells him, and he finds you devasteded, not wanting him to come close to you or to even touch you. 

A/N: Woow, this got so long. I’ve just finished this up (this concept and a beggining was in my phone notes) and I am quite pround of it! Also, just a three more days of my summer job, can’t wait for it to be over, so I can watch The Hobbit and The Punisher nearly every single day (and write much more often)! I hope you’ll enjoy it cuz I’ve been writing and editing it over three hours and I’m both satisfied and tired af! And if you wanna be tagged, message me!

Warnings: Angst (a LOT of it), fluff

Taggs: @soradragon​

It was over. Your love for Kili, reclaiming Erebor - it was over. You were crying in your chambers, alone. Thinking what have you done wrong. 

You weren't a dwarf, you were a human and when Gandalf - old friend of yours - asked if you'd like to join, you just shrugged your shoulders. You had no husband, no children, so some andventure would be great. Little did you know that you'll find an amazing friends and later, to fall in love with one of them...

Only to have your heart shattered. 

You were crying and thinking of them two. They seemed to be happy. You'd never looked at them or listened if you didn't have to. You were jealous, broken, sad, angry and disappointed. 

It have been you whom was cleaning Kili's wounds, since your mother was a healer, it was him you were pulling pranks on Fili with, it was him who was comforting you whenever you were scared, him, who was teasing you, flirting with you, calling you flirty nicknames, such as 'goergous', 'princess' and 'beauty', teaching you about dwarves. Now, it was all gone. You were wailing and crying yourself to sleep, getting out of your chambers only if you had to. You forgot which day was, they all were the same anyway. You didn't cared if was day or night. Only if there was a rainy day, you'd opened up balcony doors. Rain was comforting you and making you to fall to calm, dreamless sleep. You would've maybe knew a lot of medicals, but none could help you with your issue. 

Little did you know how worried was Fili about you - his really good friend. He knew about your feelings for his brother, which was why he silently didn't approved his brother's choice. He and most of other dwarves heard wailing and crying every single night, but one night - it was full moon - there weren't any. It was a three days since the dwarves have seen you.

It was a three days since the dwarves have seen you and they all were worried. All the time someone would ask the same, simple question. 

"Where's the lass?"

But no answer would've come to him. As if you've never been there. Everything and everyone were quiet. No one would dare to bring up your name, favorite color, meal, anything. 

Kili was away to help to some dwarves whom needed help, and when he came back, Fili dragged his brother to a room where was Thorin, Balin and Dwalin already. Fili looked at his brother furiously. 

"It's all your fault, Kili!"

He screamed and Kili looked around, confused.

"Wha-what is my fault? What are you talking about, Fee?!"

"I'm talking about Y/N! That lass loved you and you broke her heart! She was crying herself to sleep, vailing she couldn't talk and now she haven't came out of her chambers for a days! It's your fault!"

Kili's mouth opened in surprise.

"I-where's she?"

Kili looked around as if you'd be sitting there with crossed arms on your chest, sitting in simple white dress, you've worn in Rivendell and he mercisessly flirted with you that evening, and looking furiously at him. As if he could hear your voice, echoing through his head. 'You've fucked this up this time, Kili. Really fucked up.'

Kili looked surprised.

"She-she've loved me?"

Fili fighted with the urge to slap his brother and roll his eyes.

"Yes, but you've found someone else, and she apparently wasn't really the type to not care.,"

He shook his head.

"I'm going to get her out of her chambers, so-"

Thorin stopped him by placing his hand on Kili's shoulder and shook his head.

"She's not there, Kili."

Kili froze and looked around. 

"We were trying to find her, but you know how she is - she won't show up until she wishes to."

Dwalin said with sadness in his voice. You were like a daughter to him.

"Then, I'll go and look for her under every leaf, 'till I find her."

He said and before anyone could've stop him, he was already out. Apparently, it took him a few hours. You were sitting up on a tree and crying and wailing. Kili quickly climbed up to you and sat near you, careful not to be seen or heard.

"Such a nice day, isn't it?"

Your cries and vails stopped. It was the first thing he've told you when you met.

"Leave me alone." Your voice was hoarse, but filled with coldness.

"I won't 'till you tell me what's going on." Kili folded his hands and stubbornly swinged legs. He wouldn't see you on the other side of the tree trunk, but he knew you were already planning on escape.

"Tell me what's going on, Y/N. We're friends, aren't we? You know you can tell me everything."

You froze and then slowly got up. And, as if you'd be an elf or a cat, you jumped on the other tree, and another and another. Kili have heard you, so he started following you. It took you almost an hour before you climbed up some tree to the higher point you could and started crying again. You thought that Kili stopped following you, but the truth was, he was sitting on the other side of the thrunk. You started whispering to yourself while drying out your tears, thinking he couldn't hear you. 

"He has his elf, why he's here? Why does he cares anyway? I was stupid, oh so, so fucking stupid."

Your body was shaking and Kili was cursing himself for making you to cry because of him. He thought he deserved to be slapped by Fili earlier, and a few more times after that. He quietly came closer and touched your shoulder.

"You know, the same things I thought when I've seen you with that elf in Rivendell." You flinched away and carefully stepped away.

"W-with Lindir? What? Why?"

"Because he was just...he was just..." Kili's face burned bright red. You smiled inside.

"What he was?" You asked, enjoying teasing him.

"He...he was...eh, smiling at you. And he made you laugh the way I do, when you laugh from your heart and it's honest and...and the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." Kili looked a bit embarrased to admit that.

You paused for a second.

"I want to eat chocolate...badly." you admitted.

"I want to eat a chocolate with hazelnuts." And quietly grinned. It was a phrase you've told to Lindir after talking of the dwarves at the dinner. He took you to kitchens and let you to eat as much chocolate as you wished to. That evening you've realized that Lindir was surprisingly a great friend.

Maybe because you've had some dinning customes.

And took a bath in your room.

He was showing you around and what made you laugh, it was the way his cheeks got pink when you've started talking about the very beginning of your adventure, in house of Bilbo Baggins. Maybe that was the moment when Kili showed around.

 Your smile froze, But it didn’t mattered now. Kili wasn’t in love with you,

You’ve turned around and started to climbing down the tree until you were down in record time. Then, you started running away.

You were faster than most of the dwarves were, simply because you were taller and maybe you’ve had some elvish blood, somewhere far in your family blood-line. Anyways, with your quick actions you’ve got at least little time ahead before Kili started running after you. You needed your time, but he have decided to be there with you. What was he planning on?

In a split of second, when you’ve turned around to see Kili almost behind your back, there appeared some branch and with your whole strength either your head or the branch made a terrible cracking noise. Then a strong wave of pain went through your body and fell apart down on the ground. Kili’s voice filled. with fear and worry, somewhere behind you screamed.

“Y/N!! NO, DON’T, PLEASE-” He hurried towards you and kneeled down. He took your head, placed on his lap and you could feel how he was shivering, his hands were shaking.

“Y/N, can you hear me? P-pleas-e, ans-wer t-to m-me, p-ple-a-se!”

Your vision was blurry, black dots appearing everywhere, but you’ve noticed that Kili’s face was glittering. Glittering with tears. He is crying, you thought.

“P-plea-se, d-don-don’t y-you d-d-are t-to lea-ve me,” He was shakily praising you, resting his forehead on yours. You weakly smiled.

“I love you, Kili.” And single tear dropped down from your eye, making it’s way on your cheek to corner of your mouth, falling unconscinous.

His heartbreaking scream would probably hear Thranduil, no, even hobbits in Shire, yet he didn’t cared. He slowly picked up your body in his arms and rushed towards Erebor, screaming on top of his lungs to get a help, to get a healer.

You’ve woken up with a terrible headache. There were some voices around, but everything was as somewhere beyond a veil. After a while of adjusting, you recognized that they were at least three and what they were saing.

“You were quick, Kili. Thanks to you, she survived.” Then there was another one, hoarse, as if he’d be crying for past few hours. And then, you were standing next to bed, looking at them - Balin, Kili, Thorin, Fili, Dis and few others - with no signs of smiles in their faces. They were sad, so sad. Grief over you in their faces.

“B-but she hav-ven’t woken u-up y-e-t...” Kili said. Thorin patted his shoulder, his face having sad expression, trying to not to cry along with Kili.

“You’ve saved her life. You know how stubborn she is. She’ve survived the battle of five armies...she can do this.” Kili shook his uncle’s hand off his shoulder and looked over on your pale face, bandages on your forehead, covering a huge wound you’ll have probably a huge scar afterwards. He knew how deep it was... Deep enough that you’ve lost a blood before he was able to bring you here...It was all his fault...only his, he thought, over and over again, and fell on his knees next to your bed, honding your hand as if it would be the most important thing in his life that was keeping him alive, crying again and burrying his face to his hand.

“What have I done to you, Y/N, I’ve hurted you so so much...I’m the biggest idiot in the whole Middle-Earth...you were dying because of me, and now I don’t even know if you’ll ever wake up...” He sobbed and looked over at your face with that weak smile, eyes closed as if you’d be in a very sweet and deep slumber.

“If-if you can hear me now, I just want to say that I want you to wake up...I know I’ve hurted you so much...and I words cannot even explain how much sorry am I...b-but...maybe...maybe we could start...start again? You know, I’ll give you everything, as much chocolate as you wish, I’ll be with you when you’ll decide if you want to stay or...or you can leave Erebor, i-if that’s wh-at you wish...I’ll understand.” He sobbed again and you’ve noticed that there was only you and him, everybody else left Kili to tell you what he truly felt.

“B-but if-if you’ll leave, I-I wa-want you to know...that if there’ll be someone who-who will break your heart, I-I’m gonna kick their ass, because you deserve the best...and write me please...if you’ve married,” he was almost choking on his words.

“...if you have kids...” His voice broke and you’ve sat down next to him. Then a strong desire to comfort him, a wave through your body, and you were pulled away.

You’ve opened your eyes, feeling your left hand in a strong grip and wet. You groaned on the bright light everywhere and hoarsely said.

“If you’ll keep talking like that about my life, I’m going to slap you so hard even Bilbo in Shire will hear it.” Kili’s head was immediately up.

“You-you’re-you’re awake?!” If you wouldn’t be so weak, you’d laught at his high-pitched, excited voice. Before you could even blink, he was hugging you tightely.

“K-Kili, not t-that much please,” You whispered and he immediatelly loosened his grip, but started kissing your face, laughing.

“You’re-you’re awake! I’m so happy, I-am I dreaming? If yes, I don’t wanna wake up-” you’ve laughted.

“No, you’re not.” This time, Kili was crying out of happiness.

“FILI! AMAD! THORIN! DWA-” You’ve silenced him with a kiss on lips. He was surprised at first, but eventually, he melted in and kissed you back.

When everyone came in, they’ve seen that scenery of you and Kili in heated kiss, and Dis cleared her throat. Everyone’s amuzed smiles were immediately lighting up the room when you and Kili quickly pulled away.

Everyone was hugging you and you happily sighed. They were your family. A huge family you’ve loved so much.

When they left you alone late at night, Kili’s head was still resting on your lap, him playing with your thigh-long hair.

“I really meant what I’ve told you. I-I love you, Y/N,” He said for a thousand time that day. You leaned in and kissed him. When you pulled away a bit, you whispered to his lips.

“I love you too, Kee. But...why did you were with Tauriel all the time...before?” You tried to sound as casual as you could, but you’ve always been bad at pretending and lying.

“Well...I, uh, since she was the only...uh, woman I could ask this...I was asking of a human courting rituals. Because I’ve never told you about the dwarvish ones, I-I just...I just wanted you to know...right away.” You sweetly smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Oh, Kili, Kili, you are such a dumb master dwarf,” you giggled.

“Hey, I was nervous and afraid of rejection! And I’ve almost kicked that elf’s ass back in Rivendell.” You giggled again.

“I don’t think that’d made lord Elrond really happy.” He grinned.

“You’re right. But it’d be definetely worth it.” You thought for a moment.

“What is dwarvish courting ritual?” Kili looked on your hair in his hands.

“Braiding hair. I wanted to ask you to braid your hair back before...this happened. Four days ago.” He gestured to your head.

“So, are you going to start your I’m-so-sorry-for-everything-that-have-happened-speech or just finally braid my hair? I have a lots of it.” You gestured to them. Kili’s eyes lightened up and he squialed. He was right away sitting behind you and braiding your hair. You smiled to yourself and let yourself relax under his touch on your hair.

When you’ve married, you wouldn’t be happier. Kili was wonderful husband, and even more when you’ve found out you were with child. He was overprotective so much, you were surprised he’d even let you to walk a few feet away from him.

When your first baby was born - a son - he was crying out of happiness. He was so proud on both of you that you were healthy, and when a few years after came a daughter, his world seemed even more complete, as if it was only this way right. He couldn’t imagine not to have this life without you, or that you’d have it with somebody else.

Your babies were growing and he’ve taught them shooting a bow, how to fight with sword and an axe and daggers and a few other things. When they were old enough to understand, he’d tell them of his and your’s adventure, both with the Company and your love-story.

Tauriel was like an aunt to them, she was happily married to one elf from Rivendell’s guard. You’ve slowly got friendly with her, especially when yours and Kili’s children were loving her as an actuall family member.

They’d often be chatting with her, and one day, they’ve told her of a small bump on your stomach, which was slowly getting visible and they couldn’t wait for their sibling...

[tonystarkbingo]

Our TSB party is still going, and here is one of the games we’ve had fun with so far!

Fic Titles Game

Glitter - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@huntress79 - Idea: Dum-E teams up with Steve (other Avengers optional) to bring some Christmas cheer to their favorite in-house Grinch (aka Tony XD)  Massive amounts of Glitter involved

@rebelmeg​ - tony kind of has an accidental thing for glitter. it's not his fault. the iron man suit has a glitz and glamour of its own, he's always told his eyes sparkle, and his favorite tie pin is that gaudy ruby one that pepper hates. he loves the stars, the way sunlight sparkles on the waves outside his malibu mansion, and he can't really be blamed when a tiny speck of glitter under a certain someone's eye catches his attention one december day.

@psychiccatpanda - Clint refills DUM-E's fire extinguisher with purple and silver glitter as revenge for Tony making Clint's most recent armor change to red and gold with body heat. Hijinks ensue.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Decorating the Christmas tree, the Avengers get into an argument over who is responsible for the missing tinsel. Half an hour later they find it, in a tangled web draped all over Dum-e. He objects strenuously to its removal, but eventually concedes to their assistance in rearranging the strands so he can still move.

@huntress79 - The Avengers are invited to a Charity gala, but they have to wear costumes that are NOT their usual ones. And of course, Tony can't resist an opportunity to rile up a certain Captain, just a little bit. Best way to do so: a dare, in this case who wears the most glittery costume. But what Tony didn't expect was that Steve comes up with his own counterdare... (author's choice ;))

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It's pride, so there was bound to be some glitter floating around, it was inevitable. But this much? Someone was obviously being irresponsible with glitter and needs to be given a warning for the good of the world (and the Tower's cleaning bots). Tony follows the trail of glitter... all the way to Steve's room? Does this mean that Tony's crush on Steve actually stood a chance of being more than just a crush.

@ralsbecket - It was Steve's first Father's Day being Morgan's step-dad, and Tony helps her with cooking breakfast in bed and sprinkling red, white, and blue glitter on a handmade card (not particularly in that order). Steve still finds glitter everywhere weeks later.

@rebelmeg​ - i can't art very well, but i want art of the aftermath of tony opening a glitter bomb that rhodey left out for him

@huntress79 - (Stony) - During a mission in space, Tony and Steve are stranded on a planet, with no immediate way to get back. After a while, they encounter tiny little beings who introduce themselves as fairies. But while they can't fulfill their wish to get home (for whatever reasons), they might be inclined to use their glittery fairy dust for something else… (could also be used for a crossover with Hook/Peter Pan)

@rebelmeg (with some inspirational help from @dreaminglypeach) - tony coming home with glitter all over his suit and looking super smug, and everyone IMMEDIATELY assumes strippers. but of course it's gotta something completely different and silly.  like... he wandered through the christmas department at the store and slipped on something and ended up sprawled on the glitter strewn floor

 @yesmooshoe - Tony is somehow de-aged to around 5. The Avengers do their best to take care of him while they figure out what to do, but don't keep a constant eye on him. Tony likes all of his new friends though and wants to do something special for them, so he acquires a bunch of glitter and glue (maybe jarvis helps? maybe thor likes crafting? fuck knows.) Tony proceeds to embellish everyone's stuff - glitter all of steve's shield, thor's hammer, glitter all over Clint's arrows (which really throws off the balance but he can't be mad), and even a weird-looking red and yellow robot suit. When Tony is finally returned to normal he's upset with his younger self for how haphazardly he glued all the glitter to his suit, because it could have looked super cool if done well.

Collaborative effort that started with strippers and then went off the rails

Glitter lube

Scratchy, what a terrible idea

oh my god but imagine shitting out glitter

Edible glitter

Edible glitter on cakes

Edible glitter exiting the human body

So many glitter poop jokes and anecdotes

@ralsbecket - The Avengers are forced undercover for a mission to catch a villain red-handed, and this villain just so happens to work from the basement of a strip-club. Tony draws the short straw, but at least he can choose his own stripper name.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's sure it looks very pretty. Gentle waves ruffling the surface of the bay. Each strand of grass on the dunes lined in perfect crystals of frost. Dawn sun painting the sky pink. And right there is the problem: dawn sun. It is far too early to have to deal with all these stray rays of light stabbing through his eyes.

(More under the cut!)

Vices - suggested by @ralsbecket

@huntress79 - (Stony) - Steve's a hard working cop on the vice, Tony's his "favorite" frequent delinquent (aka Tony's a bit of a bad boy who usually gets arrested by Steve, for rather minor things, but Tony can't shut up when Steve's around, so it's more for his talking than anything else) (Steve, of course, can be replaced by any other character, whatever floats your boat XD)

@rebelmeg - tony kicked a lot of these habits a long time ago. it's been ages since he's been high, or slept around, or partied until he literally dropped. but around this time in december, he's allowed a few of his other vices. his need for near-constant touch and attention. drinking. staying up to keep the nightmares away, and being coaxed to bed when he's so exhausted he's asleep before his head eats the pillow. eating all the food he loves that aren't that great for him. it's okay, though. this time of year, he's allowed.

@lbibliophile - "... This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing." And it was in that moment - confronted by the picture he made trapped in the grip of supposedly-helpful machinery - that Tony decided he really needed to prioritise a better way of getting the suit on and off.

@rebelmeg - some kind of profile art with the arc reactor depicted as one half of a vice clamped on tony's chest

@dreaminglypeach - vices: DUM-E was only trying to help squishy-dad with his work. He didn’t mean to get his hand stuck in a vice. If only sky-dad would stop chastising him and call for help…

@Magicadraconia16 - Dum-E does not understand why everyone keeps saying that vices are bad. They're very helpful tools! He loves the one that Tony gave him for his very own. He can show everyone, then they'll see! If only he can get it off of U's arm, first…

@huntress79 - Knowing that Tony will fall back to some of his old vices as soon as December rolls around, the whole Tower teams up to keep him from doing so (can be gen aka Avengers as a family, or end with your favorite partner for Tones)

@psychiccatpanda - [potential WinterIron] Bucky has been researching everyone on the team and it seems like the media has nothing better to do than to gossip about Tony Stark's vices - women, booze, and expensive cars mostly. The trashier gossip bloggers openly speculated on what (or who) Tony's latest mistake would be. When Bucky gives Tony a judgmental look after he's returned from being out (much longer than the hour Stark had said he'd be gone), Tony frowns. The bag clanks like metal. What the hell had Tony meant when he'd said he needed to 'go pick up some new vices'?? ((hint - it's actual vices. It always takes longer at Home Depot or any hardware store because Tony has to look at everything before he leaves!))

@tehroserose - [Stony] Steve had only one vice. Well, two, but they were related. He loved watching Tony's backside, and he loved getting him angry. The genius was so alive when he was angry, and then he was treated to a wonderful view of the amazing backside. Bucky was about ready to smack him upside the head for his kindergarten way of having a crush.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Before the serum there was a lot of things Steve couldn't experience, whether it was because of his conditions or lack of money. Steve's favourite thing about the 21st Century is all the foods and flavours. Being able to eat things he couldn't eat before. Being able to taste things he wouldn't've been able to taste before. Steve spends his military back-pay on food and treats... a part of him burns at the idea of spending his money this way, there were more beneficial things he could be doing with it... But he can't help himself, especially when some flavours taste like euphoria. Tony notices and decides to indulge in Steve's vices.

@huntress79 - (potential HawkIron) For the longest time, Clint always had to choose before a mission between wearing the team comms and his hearing aids, otherwise his ears felt like being in a vice. SHIELD didn't see it as a necessity to equip him with better things, but once he joins the Avengers, and Tony notices the obvious problem, things start to look up for the resident archer....

@huntress79 - Ever since he got free of the programming and came to live at the Tower, Bucky's been doing repairs on his metal arm on his own. But after a mission, putting his arm in a vice and working with the fine tools isn't the easiest thing to do. And Buck's too proud to ask anyone for help, be it Steve or anyone else. Good thing that he can't stop JARVIS alerting Tony to that particular problem... (can be friendship/mending bridges between them, or WinterIron)

5 Times Tony Stark was a Terrible Cook, Plus 1 That One Time He Finally Ordered a Pizza - suggested by @yesmooshoe

@tehroserose - Tony/Others, Tony/Rhodey end. Tony has always tried to cook for his dates. He wants to impress them. Problem is, he can't cook. And too many people just want the Stark money and lie and say it is good. Or they're too afraid/intimidated to tell the truth. Later, much later, he realizes they aren't good for him. Then there's Rhodey, who's never afraid to tell Tony that his cooking sucks... and then, after the last relationship ended, this time when the white lie was out of care, Rhodey again tells Tony his food sucks, let's get pizza. And they kiss, over the pizza.

@rebelmeg - first it was cookies. cookies burnt to a crisp that even ana jarvis couldn't salvage. second was spaghetti, so mushy and overcooked that rhodey couldn't stop laughing even when tony threatened to throw his enormously thick math textbook at him. third was that whole "raw in the middle" chicken incident that happy still won't let him live down, and fourth was the disastrous omelet for pepper. fifth was morgan's 1st birthday cake, and thank heaven's pepper was wise enough to ignore him and order a backup. this time, he's just gonna order a pizza.

@huntress79 - Tony The Cook: The Jarvises tried, Mama Rhodes as well, but for all his genius, Tony can't figure out a cooking recipe. Nonetheless, he tried to impress several various dates with his cooking skills. Needless to say that none of these attempts (both cooking and dating) ended well. Then, he meets Steve, a guy who doesn't care at all what they eat, as long as they eat together. And so, Tony orders pizza for their date…

@Magicadraconia16 - It's an unfortunate historical fact that Tony cannot cook to save his life (hmm, there's an idea for the next HYDRA kidnapping...). Rhodey's meal was burnt to unidentifiable cinders (seriously, even Tony doesn't know what it was supposed to be); Pepper's gave her an allergic reaction; Natasha chipped a tooth; Hulk came out and threw Bruce's food out of the (closed!!) window; and Steve got food poisoning. Steve!!! So when Bucky turns up in his workshop one day, Tony decides to selflessly save everyone from a hangry Winter Soldier and just orders pizza, instead.

@ralsbecket - 5 + 1 Pizza: Tony Stark was many things. He was a genius, he was a billionaire, he was a playboy, he was a philanthropist. The thing he was decidedly not was a good cook. It was one burnt omelet too many before Pepper begged him to just order out. The person delivering his pizza was... attractive. If he started ordering pizza on Fridays at 6PM every week for a month, that was nobody's business.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony just wants to offer a fancy home-made anniversary dinner. It's not so much that Tony is a terrible cook, but that something (or several somethings) always go wrong. His significant other's flight was delayed. He gets distracted by a minor crisis half way through cooking. He tries to prepare beforehand, but forgets to label it before leaving it in the common fridge. Had a mistranslated recipe or the wrong measuring spoons. Dum-e tried to 'help' while he was distracted. The next year, his SO requests that they just order pizza to eat cuddled on the couch.

@psychiccatpanda - Single dad Tony tries to do it all. He feels terrible about the amount of time his three kids (all under the age of 5) spend in daycare, but college will be expensive, so he works -and works. But he tries to make the after-work before-bed moments really count. Sometimes his carefully planned dinners don't work out. Monday, the slow cooker wasn't plugged in and their chicken and potato dish spoiled for being on the counter for almost 13 hours unrefrigerated. Tuesday they were out of bread and ate PBJ on the last three hot dog buns. Wednesday, he thought dinner was fine, but Peter declared it was 'too spicy' and so none of the kids would eat it. Thursday he burned the chicken nuggets in the oven because he had to help the kids with their baths, and Friday? Well no one was gonna talk about that again. Saturday Tony's ready to cry because he's pretty sure Morgan is coming down with something. So he orders pizza. When the pizza delivery guy arrives, holding Morgan, she barfs all down Tony's back. Pizza delivery driver yanks the pizza away and asks if he can come in to set it down in the kitchen, then helps out with the kids while Tony takes a shower.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It was meant to be romantic, cooking for a date. But with Tony it was definitely not romantic. Cooking for Rumiko he managed to burn everything, yet have the food still raw. Firefighters had to be called when he set his dorm alight cooking for Janet. Ty needed to have his stomach pumped after Tony's cooking (how was he to know what was too much alcohol, wasn't it meant to burn off?). Indries had stomach problems for weeks after Tony cooked for her. And he managed to poison Pepper... Needless to say, Tony wasn't a good cook... So when he scores a date with Steve Rogers, he thinks "why bother try? Steve is too good for me anyway", there was no way they were going to last. So he orders a pizza. Steve is relieved when he sees the pizza. He had been hoping Tony would pick something down to earth, worried he wouldn't know how to eat whatever posh food Tony put in front of him and make a fool of himself. Steve admits he doesn't know how to cook either. Maybe Captain America isn't so perfect. Maybe... Maybe this could work out. Him and Steve

@huntress79 - Of all the people, Tony has probably the most irregular eating rhythm. He has been known to try and cook for himself, but the results are less than stellar. So, one by one, each of the Avengers try to cook for him, until Steve joins him in the workshop with a small stash of pizzas…

@lbibliophile-mcu - It was all Steve Rogers' fault. Him and his insistence on 'team dinners' to 'promote bonding' and 'improve cohesion'. Not that Tony necessarily objects to the dinners - pending his schedule - but Steve seems to have this odd conviction that having home-cooked food is a necessary part of the ritual, and none of them can change his mind. Natasha tried logic. Clint tried begging. Bruce, he's pretty sure, is sneaking in pre-made food and just cooking the final steps. Thor thinks it's a great idea... but is always for some reason back on Asgard on his nights. But Tony is a genius, so he decides on a different approach. He grumbles a little bit, but otherwise doesn't complain when it's his night to cook. He cooks... and watches as each of the Avengers gives up on choking down the barely-edible meal. The next time he is rostered, the scene repeats. And the next. And the next. By the sixth time he is due to be cooking dinner, Steve comes up to him and politely - but pointedly - suggests that maybe they just order pizza. Tony thinks of the several meals worth of tasty leftovers hidden in the penthouse fridge, and graciously acquiesces.

I hope Thistle cheer you up - by @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - it was the pun war to end all pun wars. and it was probably going to end all of them. clint was fine, he loved puns almost as much as he loved pizza. steve hated puns so much he had taken up swearing. tony took sadistic glee in saving his worst puns for when steve was around. nat was famous for using the most clever of puns at unexpected moments. bucky could deadpan a pun so seriously it always took them by surprise. thor was terrible at it, still grasping the nuances of american english, but he sure tried hard. bruce tolerated it all and made half-hearted attempts at participation, though chuckling at his own puns was usually funnier than the puns. sam loved making puns, but hated it when other people did. it started creeping into other areas of their life, onto social media, in interviews, and at one point hawkeye was trending for awhile after he screamed out "THISTLE CHEER YOU UP!" whilst battling some kind of plant monster. tony helped, because he retweeted with the comment, "ooh, talk dirt to me."

@ralsbecket -  So what if Tony had gotten laid off? So what if Tony had a mountain of bills sitting on his dining table? The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was his baby girl Morgan, with her hair falling out of the ponytail and her cute little lisp. She'd come back in from the backyard with a handful of dandelions, saying, "I hope thistle cheer you up, Daddy" so sweetly that for just a moment, everything was okay again.

@psychiccatpanda - [IronHawk] Tony's been working on the reams of paperwork that he's put off for SI. He's still not sure why it all needs to be done before the end of the quarter, but here he was. Needless to say, Tony Stark has been in a foul mood the whole week. The snide comments he usually keeps to himself have started to slip out and he feels guilty on top of the grouchy, so he decides to barricade himself in his office. He falls asleep on a sheaf of papers and wakes up with the impression of little ridges of paper on his cheek. It takes a moment (he hasn't been asleep that long) for him to fully realize the plant in front of him was real. An aloe plant - with a plate of chocolate muffins, fruit, cheese, and nuts. A post-it on the aloe's pot read, 'I hope thistle cheer you up,' written with a purple felt tip pen., which meant either Clint had left it - or Natasha pretending to be Clint.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bruce looks at Tony, then back down at the spiny dried flowerhead in his hands.

"I know that you were getting frustrated trying to find these for your new fibre arts project, so I decided to help." His eyes light up as he realises the pun. "Thistle cheer you up!"

Bruce sighs even as he smiles.

"Tony... I appreciate the thought, but as you said, this is a thistle. I need a teasel."

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Tony really doesn't like his neighbour Justin. The man was always trying to find ways to report him to the local council. Mailbox too close to driveway? Reported! Weeds in his lawn? Reported! Fence too high? Reported! Didn't clean his pool that weekend? Reported! Lawn too long? Reported! It was ridiculous. But the council won't do anything because taking action against someone who's reported you (even if the reports were false) is apparently considered wrong and vindictive. There was nothing Tony could do but grit his teeth and bear it. One day Tony receives a box in the mail, addressed from his neighbour across the street. The handsome blond guy with the body of a Greek god and a garden that looked like a literal paradise. Steve Rogers. Tony wasn't too shy to admit (to himself) that he had a crush on the man. He eagerly tears into the box to find a small note and a lots of little bags of mulch wrapped in tissue paper. The note reads: "Tony, I've heard you be having some trouble. I hope thistle cheer you up. After the rain comes flowers. Ps. Throw these over Justin's fence." And so he does. Watching Justin battle all the weeds after it rains brings Tony so much joy. Especially when Justine reports him to the council and the council shrugs him off this time. He heads over to Steve with some home cooked food as a thank you gift and they get talking. Turns out Steve is an Environmental activist with a passion for guerrilla gardening. Tony is hooked. Maybe it has more to to with Steve then the revenge on Justin (as sweet as it was)

[haikyuuscreaming]

omg hi! you started off your blog greatly, im so proud of you! do you think you can write an angsty scenario for akaashi? where his crush likes this guy and wants help from him and he feels all sad :( but she ends up confessing to him! i love your writing so far, keep it up!

UMM so i accidentally got really invested in this so it’s WAYY longer than a drabble and i often write long stuff bc of ao3 so this might sound a little more like that kinda fanfic style instead of a tumblr scenario? mainly cos im really a sucker for this stuff hehehe love you anon

also ! the request made it sound sort of akaashi-centric so i hope you dont mind? there will still be a lot of reader-chan here though! please dont leave yet and i hope u enjoy

again ALSO i wrote this half on my laptop half on my phone so please dont mind if it seems a lil clunky in some areas 

3092 words jesus ok here you go

-

Crushes weren’t necessarily a new sensation for Akaashi. Just an uncommon one. In fact, the last time he remembers even being attracted to someone was in first grade when everyone had a crush on this popular girl. He’s not even sure if he really liked her, or just found the idea of it interesting.

Now, second year of high school, Akaashi finds himself in trouble. Because for once, he really, really, really likes this girl. You. 

He can’t even fake himself out of this, because every damn time he looks at you, he feels all warm and tingly and his stomach feels less calm and he can hear his heart bump against his ribcage and god, his face even flushes a little bit.

(A little bit inconvenient when he accidentally finds himself staring at you and daydreaming.)

Akaashi doesn’t like this feeling.

I mean, yeah, Akaashi has somewhat of a sense of confidence in his looks, manners, and ability to make friends. He’s not exactly the top in each subject he thinks, but it lets him pass through high school without too much of a depressingly lonely life. He could easily befriend you and steal your heart, his inner ego-brat says.

But.. but what if you reject him?

He should become closer to you.

(For the record, he doesn’t not like the feeling. He kind of likes the serotonin boost you give him. But he definitely, more than kind of likes you.

A lot more.)

And one day, in the spring, he finds himself paired up with a special biology partner. With familiar, sparkling eyes and the cutest, most gorgeous voice he’s ever heard that always makes his heart fucking backflip.

Akaashi doesn’t think he can survive this.

His teacher blares, “Start brainstorming ideas for your science fair project! It’s due in a month, you know!”, but Akaashi blocks out the noise because all he can focus on is you, goddamn it. He can only focus on the way you push your hair out of your face, the way your lips upturn into the most stunning smile he’s ever had the fate of encountering, and he really hopes he doesn’t get h-

“Akaashi-kun?”

(Fuck you and your completely gorgeous voice that drives him up the wall and makes him want to kiss you.)

“Oh– sorry, yeah?” He kind of hates himself for how his voice lilted a pitch higher.

You laugh, sounding like a goddess. He hopes that it means you don’t hate him. “Ahaha, I was just wondering if you have any ideas for the science fair? It’s a pretty big chunk of our grade, and I am… not the smartest when it comes to AP Bio..”

Akaashi thinks quite the opposite, but he isn’t currently in the position to contradict you.

“Um…” He pauses and thinks furiously. He comes up with some borderline generic idea that has enough room for a unique twist. And your eyes brighten.

“Waaaoo, Akaashi-kun’s a genius, hm?”

(God, he thinks he might have a little more than a crush on that teasing grin and glittering pair of eyes.)

He musters the courage to smile without looking stupid. “Of course.”

Two weeks later, he wants to sink into a hole.

Yes, it might have been his request that you two meet up to work on the project, but that was because he knew you were a procrastinator! You would start the project the night before if he’d let you!

But it was not his idea to do it at his house.

Now he has to live with the fact that you’re lying on HIS bed, spread-eagled in your sweater and shorts, complaining about how lazy you are.

(He wonders how you’re so comfortable about wearing shorts to a male classmate’s house. You two aren’t even that close, although you claim otherwise.)

“Come on, get up,” he rolls his eyes. “We have work to do.”

“But I’m so tiiiiiredddd… and lazyyyy…. wouldn’t it be such a gentlemanly act of Akaashi-kun to do the project for me?” You flash him a sweet smile while stretching out even more on the bed.

Snorting, he watches you sink into his mattress and roll around idly. “Hey, don’t you need the grade? You can’t pass if you make me do your work.”

Sighing, you hum in defeated content. “Well, it was worth a try.” You reach out your hand and tousle his wavy hair, and he almost flinches at the touch. He hates to say it but he loves it so much that you’re so affection with him, and Akaashi knows he would give anything to keep you teasing him with all this attention.

“Yeah.. yeah, it was,” he murmurs to himself before letting himself sit down next to you. He notices how you scrunch your body from a spread-eagle to a cute, curled up position to make room for him.

“Mm, so how are we gonna do this?” you ask, with a subtle mixture of bored and curious seeping into your tone. Then, he watches your features melt into a warm, mischievous smile as you hum, “Unless you just wanna nap and cuddle or something.”

(Holy fuck.)

Akaashi forces himself to scowl playfully and he shakes his head, sighing loudly in mock disappointment. “I don’t know what to do with you.” And equally as teasing, he adds, “I should just kick you out and not treat you to lunch if you’re going to be like this.”

“Noooooo!!!” you whine in this adorably frustrated and threatening voice. “Don’t you dare starve me or I’m feeding you to the rats.”

He chuckles. “See, that’s what I thought.”

But of course, your face wraps into a devilish grin as you say in a singsong voice and throw your arms around him (which makes him flush and makes his heart go WABAM), “It doesn’t matter though, ‘cause I got this whole-ass meal right here~”

“Shut up.”

(But you both know he never means it.)

Thanks to Akaashi (and your obliging albeit lazy participation), you two blow the science fair out of the way and get an A. He’s never seen you so delighted about a grade.

“I’m so happy~” you never shut up about how grateful you are for him, not that he’s complaining. “This is probably the highest mark I’ve ever gotten in this class.”

“Don’t over exaggerate. You’re not too bad at Bio,” Akaashi remarks. “You just need a tutor, probably, if you’re struggling.”

(By the way, he is ecstatic that you two are ACTUALLY FRIENDS!!! He’s even met your dog!!)

“Hmmmm…” You eye him warily before shrugging. “Whatever you say, Akaashi-kun.” Your eyes flit around before returning on him, and you start rambling about the newest anime you’ve gotten into and how it’s practically on-par with the manga, and how hot one of their characters are-

(For some reason Akaashi really zeroes in on that part.)

He really feels like he has to contribute something to the conversation, so he puts in, “Wow, [Name]-san, you’re such a fangirl.”

You snort loudly and put two peace-signs to your face like some kawaii anime girl, doing this mock-sweet smile. “Waaaooo, you’re rightttt. I’m Akaashi-kun’s number one fan!! He’s so cute when he’s yelling at me to do my work and super hot when he helps me with homew-”

He swears to god his face is radiating an inhuman amount of heat and he rolls his eyes before shaking his head and jabbing your side lightly. “Didn’t I tell you not to say that?”

“Ummm, maybe.” Your ‘innocent’ grin tells him otherwise. “But you know, you’re right, Akaashi-kun,” you cross your arms and give your cute little smirk again. “I am a genius, and I’m suuuper good at Bio. I just need someone to channel it.” And you lean forward until both your noses are touching, and Akaashi thinks he’s about to explode. “So maybe you could help me out?”

The subtle pleading undercurrent in your voice compels Akaashi to straighten up a little bit without flushing even redder. Keep cool, keep cool.

(He prays that his skill of keeping a poker face will hide the blood rushing around in his dick.)

“Well, what time?”

This time around, he finds himself at your house instead. You both are sitting at your desk, ‘working’ on your math and Bio homework. In other words, just talking.

He’s confident now in that the two of you are close friends. He’s learned that from afar, you were a sweet and confident yet perfectly kind girl. That was the girl he based his feelings off of. During your Bio project, he found the cheeky, sly and vibrant yet chill girl who always teased him but was still nonetheless sweet.

And now, under that facade, you were an anxious mess with a shit-ton of insecurities.

(He thinks it’s funny how you boast that you’re just like Shrek. You have layers.)

Akaashi glances at you, groaning with your head down onto the table. “I hate math..” he hears you grumble.

“Hey, you’re not too bad. You just have to be careful when plugging in your equations,” he counters.

“But what if I can’t remember my equations??”

“We both know you’re fine at remembering them.”

“I’m gonna fail.”

“Have faith in yourself, because I do.” And Akaashi is being completely honest. His confidence in you being just fine and being able to pass all your classes is strong because he’s seen you work (after procrastinating). “You just have to work on not putting things off until the last minute.”

You make a frustrated noise before resting your chin on your propped hand. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just.. destined to be set back, y’know? Like, everything I do is gonna somehow backfire on me.”

He knows the feeling, especially late at night in bed, stressing over what tomorrow might bring him.

“And like… I have this whole thing set up for me. When people know me as a classmate, I’m an average student, right? Then when we’re like… ‘friends’, I’m all weird and tease-y.” You let out a loud sigh. “And to the unlucky people who get to this stage, I’m a mess.”

“Stop.” Akaashi’s surprised at how firm he is. “I’m grateful to have met you and to have become your friend, [Name]. You’re going to be fine, you need to trust yourself more. Because I trust you more than anything.”

(Yes, he is on first-name basis with you!! Yes, he trusts you even more than he might even trust Bokuto!!)

Your lips twitch into a small smile, one that he’s grown to love and adore. He’s confident that he’s so fucking deep in love and he doesn’t know how to move on. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.” He flicks some crumpled-up post-it at you. “Since we’re not doing any homework anytime soon, what else do you want to talk about?”

Your gaze becomes a little more shy and nervous. “Umm… Weeell, I need help.”

“I mean, why else would I be here?”

“No, seriously, Keiji-kun. Seriously!!” You throw mock-fit, despite obviously looking anxious.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. Sorry.”

“Uh. Um, so…” You blink and pretend to look focused on doodling on the corner of your math paper. “There’s this dude I like. Like, I reaaally like him, which is surprising even for me.” You laugh a little bit, and as Akaashi feels his heart start to tear in half, he forces out a chuckle to match. “He’s suuuper pretty– I think that’s the word for it? Pretty. And he’s kinda funny in his own way, and he’s really sweet and listens to me all the time even when I don’t deserve his time. And I dunno, I think he might like me back? Also, I really really really like him. But I don’t really know how to confess…

“Because you know, I’m kinda wack like that, haha. I’ll probably screw up the confession and make things worse, and, well, I need help.” You finish your ramble with a loud breath and you collapse your head onto the table, groaning.

“Uh–” Fuck, oh fuck him, fuck his life. “I mean… I think just a heartfelt confession would do? Something simple and sweet that says you really like him, in case somehow your words don’t work.” Akaashi feels like he’s sweating, a lot, and he feels even more frustrated than ever. His heart is crashing against his ribcage, and his mind is a fucking mess.

You frown a little bit, and suddenly a gush of words fly out of your mouth like a stream bursting from a dam. “Oh my god, what if I’m reading the signs all wrong and he doesn’t at all like me back? I mean, I wouldn’t blame him because I’m kinda ugly and have this weird personality thing going on and I’m shit at math and Bio-”

“Stop.” Akaashi forces himself to intervene, mainly because 1) you’re literally the light of his life and 2) he feels like he has to leave really soon after dealing with the news. “Shut up, [Name]. You aren’t ugly at all, and I, for one, enjoy your weird personality. And I already told you, you’re fine with academics.” He makes himself make eye contact with you, peering up from your arm covering your face, and says, “If he rejects you, he isn’t worth your time at all and you should move on.”

(Preferably with me.)

He watches you exhale, like he just unwound a tight spring from inside of you, and your shoulders relax and you melt from your anxious state, just a little bit. “You’re right. If.. if he doesn’t feel the same, I’ll just forget about him.”

“Because you’re a genius.” Akaashi tries to hype you up, but he still feels like crumbling. Falsely checking his phone, he stretches and stands up. “I have to go now, sorry. My mom asked me to pick up my little sister from tutoring.”

“Huh, already?” Confusion flits across your face, and it hurts him even more to just leave you after you confided in him, but he knows he has to leave before he says something he might regret. “Oh, okaayy.. see you tomorrow then. Thanks for helping me out.” You yawn before standing up to hug him goodbye.

“No problem.” He says it casually, but Akaashi feels his mood drop faster and lower than ever. He hugs you back, but he breaks away fast.

After leaving your house and collapsing onto his bed in his locked bedroom (with his 11-year-old sister knocking on the door and curiously asking what’s wrong), he can’t help but feel hurt that you couldn’t even tell him who your mystery crush’s name was.

A week passes by, and neither of you mention the conversation at your house. It doesn’t matter either way, since you two are still so casually best friends. At the same time, he desperately wants to push the matter just to find out who it is.

Otherwise, Akaashi has noticeably been more quiet and moody to the point that he doesn’t know how to control it. Sure, he keeps up the same as he would before your conversation, but he can’t help but feel his heart sink everytime he sees you. His mind is ecstatic every time he talks to you, while simultaneously wanting to tear itself apart.

He’s tried getting rid of feelings for you, in literally every way possible. From avoiding thinking about you (which backfired horribly because he ended up thinking more about you) to focusing on other girls (ew, none of them were even capable of creating the same effect on him as you do), he’s tried it all and it’s all failed.

Akaashi realizes his silent slump has gotten so bad to the point that Bokuto made him sit out a few practice matches in the gym just because Akaashi was nowhere near the spot that any of the team expected him to be at.

After school, he meets with you near the vending machine as always. You buy two cans of coffee, one for you and one for him.

As soon as he takes the can gratefully, you clear your throat.

“Yeah, [Name]?”

Glancing around before staring him in the eye, you start, “Keiji-kun, before you run away, I just…. I just wanted to let you know I really really really like you. Like, a lot.” You start speaking kind of fast, so Akaashi can’t process what you’re saying.

“And I mean it. Ever since the Bio project, you’ve been so nice to me and you’ve been such a great friend even though I made it hard sometimes, and along the way I just caught feelings. You honestly mean everything to me, and I appreciate you so much for everything we’ve been through. I- I think, I love you, Keiji. And I hope you accept my feelings.” You smile, almost nervously but nonetheless sincere, and Akaashi thinks he’s about to explode.

“I- I,” Fuck, oh my fucking god, he thinks to himself. He’s shaking a little bit– that’s how happy he is. “[Name], I..” God fucking damn it, he can’t even express how happy he is. He feels his cheeks blossom and he feels his lips quirk into this goofy smile.

But then he watches you shy away a little bit as you hurriedly say, “I- I mean, sorry. It’s okay if you just wanna be friends-”

“No.” Finally, Akaashi can use his mouth and then he gently takes your cheeks in his hands and closes the gap between you two, lips connecting in a display of pining and affection.

He practically melts into the kiss, he’s never been so happy. He thinks he’s actually about to implode; he’s been dreaming about kissing you like this, against your soft, plush lips. And finally he’s able to call you his, to call you the one. When the two of you finally break away for air, he’s breathing hard and his mind is a mess, which is rare considering his usual stoic state.

Akaashi has also never seen you so flustered and blushy. He murmurs into your ear as he takes your hand, “Feelings are 100% reciprocated.”

“I can tell,” you laugh breathily, and he’s so happy to hear that some of your anxiety has dissolved in that sweet kiss. He’s absolutely infatuated with you in every aspect. He leans in for a soft, quicker kiss on the lips and savors the feeling of warmth he gets. “Dork.”, he whispers.

“Only for you.”

[my-brothers-corrupted]

ooh, scene requests! can we see some of red and dapper before they were fully corrupted? i've always been interested in that

Note: Jameson has the flu in this, but because he has a fever and a cough I will trigger tag it corona virus. He does not actually have corona, just a bad case of the flu. I just know it’s a time of high anxiety right now so best to keep it tagged :) He is quite ill in the first part of this so be careful.

He won’t let go of him and he can’t let go of him and he’s never letting go of him again.

“I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.”

Raised red cuts are mountains beneath Jackie’s fingers. He pushes his hands through Jameson’s limp brown curls and presses him tighter to his chest, rocking them both back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. It’s okay, Jamie, it’s me, it’s me.”

Fuck, but he’s hot to the touch. His whole face glows with fever and he won’t even open his eyes to look at him. Just lets himself be held.

“Anti?” he tries to clarify frailly, his hands releasing Jackie’s sweatshirt for just a second.

“No, no, no,” promises Jackie, gripping at his spine and running his cool fingers across the tight fabric of the torn, starchy dress shirt he wears. “It’s me, it’s me. It’s Jackie, bud, I’m right here.”

Jameson’s eyes squeeze tighter shut, his mouth grimacing. He shakes his head.

“Dream?” he suggests. “Hallucination? Anti?”

Jackie’s eyes lose water and he chokes on a sob, gripping at the back of Jameson’s head. “No. No, Jameson, it’s Jackie. I’m here, really.”

“Not Jameson anymore.”

“Not Jameson?”

“Hot,” he complains, cracking open one sleep-crusted eye, his mouth hanging dully open. “Hot, Anti.”

“Jamie, it’s Jackie. It’s Jackie. You’ve got a fever.”

“It’s not Jackie… it’s not… dream…”

Jameson shivers, burrowing suddenly against Jackie’s body, hiding his face in his stomach, making himself smaller. Jackie puts his head down over Jameson’s and lets the crying shake his whole body, rubbing his back, gentle, gentle.

“Isn’t he docile these days?”

“Shut the fuck up,” hisses Jackie, baring his teeth over his brother’s body and swiping tears from his face. “Stay the hell away from us. How dare you treat him like this? He’s never done anything to you in his whole damn life.”

“He’s mine,” snaps Anti. “He belongs to me.”

“Why? Huh? Why take Jamie? Why do you think he belongs to you? Just because you had him in that fucking box?”

“Oh, Jackie, darling, it could have been any one of you. Things have changed since then… my powers have changed. You all belong to me, you see. And soon? You’ll know that.”

“Fucking creep!” screams Jackie. “Stay away from us! Marvin will come and get us and then you’ll be fucking sorry.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Anti’s eyes flutter longingly, his hands clasped over his heart, and Jackie knows he’s being mocked. “Your dear Marvin! Surely he’ll be strong enough to destroy me!”

“He will. Marvin will.”

“Even your little time traveler couldn’t stop me before I had him drugged and tied down, Jackie. And now he’s well on his way to broken in. Better yet…”

Anti leans forward, his eyes glittering.

“I’m going to have you to help me by the time Marvin comes for me. No, no, the magician can do nothing now, he belongs to me already. Here - supplies for the sick little brat. It’s your job to look after him. If you escape and run away, I will leave Dapper to die. Am I understood?”

Jackie glowers. The floor lights up and he has one second to frown before electricity comes coursing up through his body and he finds himself jerking back and forth on the ground, vomit rising in his throat with small, desperate gasps, unable to scream. Curled against him, Jameson shakes and jerks against his chest, too tired to whistle or cry.

The shock cuts off again.

“No, no, no!” screams Jackie, riding through the last of the hellfire blaze burn, his foot kicking at the floor, Jameson trembling around his waist. “Fuck, oh, oh…”

“Am I understood?” repeats Anti flatly.

Jackie has already taken days of torture.

Anti told him Jameson was dead. He had good reason to believe him.

But here he is.

Jameson trembles and jerks and wheezes in his arms, worn to the bone. Jackie tightens his body around him. He won’t watch him take another shock.

“Yes,” he croaks. “I understand.”

Anti slides something through the bars of their door - a bottle of night-time flu medicine and a tiny prescription bottle labeled “Haldol.”

“Stay here and keep him healthy,” says Anti. “If you’re good, I’ll keep giving him his medicine and anything else he needs. If you’re bad… if you run…”

Anti shrugs, staring down at the shaking bodies wrapped together in the darkness of their little cell.

“Dapper dies as well as Jameson.”

He won’t let him go and he can’t let him go and he’s never letting go of him again.

Jackie pours flu medicine and massages anti-psychotics down his little brother’s throat, pulling a sleepy, disoriented JJ into his arms and lying them both down on the small cotton mattress in the corner of the room, so he can sleep without letting go of him, without ever letting go of him, without ever leaving him or losing him again. He doesn’t know what Anti’s done to him - he doesn’t know what Anti plans to do to either of them - but it no longer matters; it is dust in the rearview. He will keep Jameson safe no matter what he has to do. He tries to start making an escape plan, but he’s exhausted and in pain, and a part of him is just hoping Marvin will come and help them before he even has to risk Anti killing them.

Fuck, he was so stupid. He would have been clever if it had worked. He’s spent his whole life trying to do what he did just days ago: find Anti. Track Anti. Hunt Anti. No matter what he tries. Unscramble his disguised coding, tear apart the false signals, find the heart and hunt it down. Protect Jack, find his brothers. He was a genius, a hero; he knew where Jameson was and he was going to get him back. Years of neurotic tracking and experimental coding finally coalesced into a computer program more clever than a monster made up of them, or at least novel enough to slip past him once. He hadn’t paused. As soon as it was done, he had done it, he had saved them, none of them would ever hurt again. He could find Anti.

He was so stupid.

Dreams of Marvin telling him so. Henrik bandaging him up and scolding him, Chase kissing him and Jameson. You were so stupid, they’ll tell him. But you did it and you saved us and he’s gone and it’s over.

He wets his hoodie sleeve in their drinking water and brings it up to cool Jameson’s forehead, stroking it down his flushed, burning face.

“Can you wake up for me?” he murmurs, rubbing across his stiff, unkempt beard. “I need to get a look at you. You gotta tell me where he hurt you.”

Jameson’s face twists. A breath shudders from his mouth as he turns his head in Jackie’s lap, coughing.

His eyes are hollow with hunger and a great dark bruise swells across his jaw. Blood staining his clothes tells Jackie there’s more in hiding, too. He soothes water across Jameson’s closed eyes and long lashes and then reaches down to unpluck the buttons of his stiff, stained white dress shirt. Jackie doesn’t think he would have packed this when he went up to see the Kamenyes, would he? He’s careful with his nice clothes, sometimes too distressed by the image of the puppet kid he sees in the mirror to wear them. Jackie’s sat with him through enough panic attacks to know that. Did Anti get this for him? He pulls the shirt from his shoulders.

Jameson’s hands come scrambling at his own as he wakes abruptly, scratching at Jackie’s fingers and struggling to pull the shirt back over his thin undershirt, panicked breaths bursting from his mouth. “Wait, wait, wait,” he cries between grappling. “No touch, no touch, no touch!”

“Okay, okay!” Jackie sets him carefully down on the pillows and leaps off the bed, holding his hands out and backing away. “Okay, James, no sweat, no worries.”

Jameson stares at him, eyes wide. “No touch?” he repeats uncertainly, sweat dripping into the water on his face.

“Let’s just calm down a minute, yeah? Don’t have to check right now if we don’t need to.”

Jameson breathes in and out and shakes his head and blinks, once, twice, at the face before him.

“It is you,” he signs finally. “It is J-happy.”

Joy makes Jackie’s face hot and energy races through his hands. He wants to throw himself forward and hug him, but he won’t if he’s not -

Jameson is leaping from the bed and throwing himself into Jackie’s arms.

Jackie whoops and laughs aloud as he feels Jameson pull him into a hug so hard he lifts him up off the ground, the toes of his shoes scraping across the cold metal floor.

“There’s my little brother!” hollers Jackie, laughing and pulling fondly at his hair, pressed to Jameson’s chest. “There’s my - oh, Jaimer… don’t cry, it’s okay.”

Jameson sets him back down, flushed from the brief exercise and the heat of his fever, and staggers into Jackie’s chest, burying his face against his sweatshirt and clinging to it with his hands. Soft, hiccuping breaths dissolve against his chest as it grows wet with salt.

Jackie’s eyes burn. His feet steady now, he wraps his arms around his brother’s trembling body and squeezes him tight, pressing his head on top of Jameson’s.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promises, laughing a little from the awkwardness of it, from the grief, from the fear of what he might say. “Was it - was it so scary here alone? I know it must have been…”

“I don’t want you to be here,” sobs Jameson, his hands striking, flying, flashing, barely drawing away to let him see. “I don’t want you to be here, I want you to be safe at home, Jackie, J-joy, please not this.”

Jackie repositions his hands on his waist and tries to get him to look at him, but Jameson is crying too hard to open his eyes. “Jamie, Jamie! Hell, James, don’t be scared, don’t be scared. I know you’ve been sick, I know he’s hurt you, but I am going to look after you. Okay? And I’m going to find us a way to get home, I swear. I’ll get you out of here, I’m not going to let him keep you again. He said if we cooperate - ”

“I want you to go without me! You can still get out if you don’t have a sick brother weighing you down!”

“What? No way! Jameson, don’t even say that. I have to make sure you get your medicine, cause clearly Anti isn’t going to keep you alive.”

“No, no, not worth it, go, go, don’t want to see you changed, don’t want him to have you too, need to go home to the others!”

“Jameson.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “Jameson, I’m not leaving you behind.”

“No, no,” scream Jameson’s hands, and then he strikes his chest, once, twice, his eyes red and ferocious and terrified. “No, Jackie, you don’t understand!”

“I’m glad I’m here, James, cause at least you don’t have to go through this alone, at least you don’t - ”

“I know what it’s like to be Anti’s! You don’t!”

Jameson staggers away from him, hyperventilating, and Jackie reaches out, helpless.

“Bud, just… just calm down, just…”

“No, you’re the one who’s wrong this time. You don’t understand. Listen to me.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Anti will change who you are.”

“I’m not going to let that - ”

“You’re not listening to me!”

Jameson whirls on him, and this, apparently, is the last straw on his camel’s back, because his face drains of all color, and his eyes drift deliriously, and then he tumbles -

Jackie catches him and folds to the ground with his head in his lap.

They lie breathing together.

They lie breathing together.

“Just calm. Just calm. It’s okay.”

They lie breathing.

“It really is you,” whisper Jamie’s hands.

Tears trace down his cheeks.

And then a manic, wild giggle blooms up out of his throat and goes echoing through the air around him, Jamie’s body shaking with despair in his arms, and Jackie fights the urge to draw away from him as the frantic movement of his chest sends blood welling up against the little white dress shirt.

“But it won’t be for long,” Jameson weeps, and only then will he let Jackie soothe him back down to sleep, exhaustion and the burning, disorienting, terrifying height of his fever sending him back into dark dreams.

“Anti’s really got you spooked,” murmurs Jackie, rubbing his shoulder. He becomes aware of a faint, flickering smile near the cell door, a soft laugh, wilder still than Jameson’s, shaking soft through the air around him, and he closes his eyes, bent over JJ’s body, determined to block Anti out. Jameson is all that matters. “You’re right, he’s made you a puppet before, and I know that must scare you. And do you remember the night you told me that you needed me, because no matter what happened to you, I was unchanging? And you knew I would protect you as well as I could and you felt safe with me?”

The pride of it, even now, brings a burn to his throat; he throws his head and lifts it up again, cradling Jameson against him, listening to his soft, congested snuffling as he breathes thin and steady.

“It must be scary to think that Anti could change the both of us. Make us people we don’t recognize. But I’m not going to let that happen. You were all alone the first time he got you. Not anymore. I’m going to look after you. I’m going to keep you safe, Jameson. I promise. I’m not letting you go.”

“Sometimes,” says Dapper two months later. “He kills you when you disobey, to make sure I rewind.”

He doesn’t have time for master’s pet’s babbling. He wasn’t good yesterday. He wasn’t very good at all. He needs to make up for it or else, or else, or else. A cold jump of imagined electricity bumps through him and he hisses through his teeth, turning his head to make sure the little one is not crying with the electricity. Can’t watch him get shocked again can’t can’t can’t.

“Tell me where your shirt is,” he demands, grabbing the back of his collar and hauling him off Anti’s bed. “Now now now. Get you ready so you can have your medicine. I gotta make sure you get your medicine. Yeah? Keep you all healthy and clean, huh, pup?”

A frantic edge makes his voice shake and he grabs Dapper’s hair for a second, not sure why, the way he’s seen Anti do it, Anti knows what to do, Anti brushes his hair sometimes and he lets him.

“He stabs you through the skull,” says Dapper distantly. “Or the heart. Or your tummy. And you wail and die and I sit on the bed and stare at you until I can rewind.”

“Gotta be somewhere around here,” moans Red, tearing through the room. They’ve just moved and everything’s in chaos. Did they just move? He can’t remember why. He thinks Anti told him and he thinks that he protested - we can’t move, I have to get home to… I have to get home to…. I have to get home to…

“You have to stay with me,” Anti had answered, wide-eyed and sweet, always so sweet, nice lovely Anti with his swirling you’re-a-mouse-I’m-a-snake eyes. “Or who will give Dapper his medicine and buy him his food and things?”

Oh, of course, of course. Dapper was the only person he needed to get home to. He needed to get him his medicine. He needs to get him his dress shirt.

“Oh, thank God, thank God!” he cries, finding it at the bottom of the hamper. He had missed it the first time because it was so soaked in blood he didn’t recognize it. Whose blood was it? Red’s? Maybe. Or one of the girls he killed last night cause Anti said, don’t you want something to eat? And Red said, I do, I need something for Dapper to eat. And Anti said, well, here, I need you to do this and why don’t you look here, look at me, look into my eyes too, cause I’ll make it easier, and it did and it did and it -

“I used to cry about it,” says Dapper, sitting cross-legged on the floor like Red taught him to do to keep master happy, cross-legged like a pre-schooler, cross-legged like a good boy. “It was the most horrible thing. But, now, Red, you know, sometimes I think you would be happier if I just let you be the dead, gaping, murdered thing lying on my floor.”

“Okay, sweetie, that sounds nice. Come on, get up for big brother, let’s get your shirt on.”

“Blood,” complains Dapper, recoiling from him with a sudden shiver.

Oh, oh. He’s afraid. Red, you’re not supposed to let him be afraid. Everything softens and everything cools. Red realizes he’s shaking and laughs at himself, trying to calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of. As long as he gets Dapper his medicine. As long as he looks after Anti’s puppet like he was told to do. That’s his job. That’s him. Protect him protect him protect him.

He sits down beside Dapper, their backs falling against the hard wood of the bed board. He tilts his head down and meets Dapper’s eyes.

“I know it’s kind of gross. But you know what happens if you don’t have it on. I’ll buy you a new one next week, what do you say? I can save up, we have enough peanut butter and some canned stuff left. I’ll have enough.”

Dapper pauses. “Canned fruit with the cherries?”

“No,” Red admits. A worm of guilt - fuck, make it a dragon - crawls along the inside of his belly, leaving him ashamed. He can’t even feed him right. “Um, canned red beans.”

Dapper nods slowly, blinking. At least he’s stopped rambling. Is that a psychotic symptom? Red should have maybe listened to what he was saying. Does he need better medicine? He bets Anti will get it for him if he asked. Anti will get it. Anti will get it. Anti gets Dapper his medicine. Anti gets Dapper his medicine. Anti makes the shocks stop and the knife stop and the fire stop and the screaming of the people underneath Red’s hands stop. Anti, Anti, Anti. Protect your little brother. You can’t go, who will look after Dapper? He has a fever. No, he doesn’t, he’s cool against Red’s shoulder. Wait, why does he need to look after Dapper? Was it Dapper he was meant to look after? Anti? No, no… no, it wasn’t Anti, Anti was - why did he come with Anti, Anti hurts him, he’s afraid of Anti, that’s the monster, that’s the monster! What is he - why - Who will look after - didn’t he have other people to look after? Didn’t he have other people to look after, once, a long time ago? A long time ago? Is there a such thing as a long time ago? He can’t remember. He can’t remember. He can’t remember.

He doesn’t know when he started crying or why. He’s laughing too. Or he thinks it’s him. His mouth tastes like burnt promises. At some point he has dropped the dress shirt. The blood is soaking into his skin.

Soft hands clutch at his shoulders. Sobbing, hysterical, Red lets his twin pull him into a hug, and cries until he is breathless, breathless, breathless, on Dapper’s chest.

“But then again,” signs Dapper to himself, feeling his mind drift away again, grounded only by the warm body laid against him and the tug of a rope around his throat which Red tied to keep him from running, so Anti would not be angry, so everything would be okay. Red will not let him go, and Red cannot let him go, and Anti is never letting go of them again. “Maybe you already are a dead thing lying on my floor.”

[btsvt-adventures]

Day 04/30 - The Game Plan

A/n: Day (week) 4 of 30 day OTP challenge! This has been crossposted to AO3, so if by chance you see something like this under the u/n Soojinnie, don’t panic HAHA it’s just me from like 3 years ago or something :3 

Prompt: On A Date

Pairing: Jihoon x Seungcheol (Jicheol)

Warning(s): Nothing too bad, just a lot of heart exploding, toe curling fluff? heheh

Words:  1,545

Want more of this AU? Or want your own AU? Ask me here!

30 DAY (WEEK) OTP CHALLENGE Masterlist

“You can do this!” -silence- “Come on Choi Seungcheol you got this.” -silence- “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

Seungcheol’s been sitting in his car for the last ten minutes, freaking out about tonight’s date. It’s not just any date; it’s their sixth anniversary, and Seungcheol doesn’t want to mess anything up, not when he’s planned everything so perfectly. 

But he can’t get out of the goddamn car. 

He tries to pep talk himself again, hoping this time it’ll actually prompt him to walk up to Jihoon’s door, but jumps when his phone rings. He glances at it, fumbling to answer when he sees that it’s Jeonghan.

“Hel-”

“Get your ass out of the car already or I swear Jihoon is gonna kill you for being late.” 

Seungcheol forces a strangled laugh at Jeonghan’s annoyed tone, already feeling the panic and nervousness set in. His heart races, vision swimming for a bit,  and Seungcheol wonders if this is what a stroke feels like. 

“Okay Seungcheol, you can do this. Everything’s planned. All you need to do is pick up your boyfriend,” he tells himself, glancing out the car, eyes immediately finding the second story window, where his beloved lives.

“I can’t believe you’re talking to yourself like it’s your first date,” Jeonghan snorts, and Seungcheol hears him yelp in pain. “Ignore him, he was exactly the same for our fifth year anniversary. Good luck Cheollie!” 

“Jisoo,” he laughs, nerves already disappearing when he hears his other best friend’s soothing voice. “Tell Jeonghan he’s a fucking ass, and thank you.” He hangs up on his best friends before he gets out of his car, locking it decisively behind him.

Jihoon smirks to himself when he hears the knock on the door, but his smartass remark dies in his throat when he opens the door.

Holy fuck. 

Seungcheol doesn’t tend to dress up, (neither does Jihoon, but that’s not the point), but tonight he’s in a smart, ironed shirt, with a black blazer and dark washed jeans. Jihoon’s pretty sure his brain is 99% mush right now, and he seriously considers cancelling all their plans so Seungcheol can just come in and fuck him senseless.

“Hi Jihoonie,” he beams down at the frozen younger, kissing him lightly. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, and Jihoon chokes out some semblance of “It’s okay” before he’s being whisked away for their anniversary date. 

“Where are we going? All I got from you was to dress warm,” Jihoon grumbles, looking down at his oversized sweater and dark ripped jeans. “Is this okay…?” he tugs at his sleeve, and Seungcheol gives him a once over, nodding and lacing their fingers together. 

“Jihoonie, you always look perfect,” he murmurs softly, thumb stroking Jihoon’s soft, milky skin. “And it’s a surprise,” he grins excitedly, tossing Jihoon a blindfold. “No peeking!” 

The drive isn’t particularly long, but Jihoon’s dying from curiosity, barely stopping himself from asking “are we there yet?” every two minutes.

“I hate surprises,” he mutters, fingers itching to rip off the damn blindfold. The road winds and winds (and winds some more), and Jihoon is nervous but excited at the same time. “You’re not taking me to some hill to kill me, are you?” he tries to joke, although it comes out more serious than he expected.

“Jihoonie, I’d rather drive myself off a cliff than hurt you,” Seungcheol murmurs softly, large hand enveloping Jihoon’s much smaller one. “I love you,” Seungcheol purrs, and Jihoon can’t hide the soft smile growing on his face. 

“Shut up,” he huffs, ears tipped a bright red, sitting upright when he feels the car slow to a stop. “We’re here?” he asks excitedly. Seungcheol just chuckles and gets out of the car, quickly rounding it to help his (tiny) boyfriend out. 

“Hyung, can I take this stupid thing off yet,” Jihoon grumbles, lips pouting naturally. Seungcheol’s heart nearly explodes with affection at how cute Jihoon is, deciding to finally put the younger out of his misery.

Seungcheol’s heart races as he watches Jihoon take everything in, from the fairy lights hung on the low branches of the trees, to the picnic set up all pretty for the both of them, to the stunning backdrop of Seoul’s night lights, glittering and sparkling against the dark, murky sky. 

“... Wow,” Jihoon breathes, throat tight with emotion. He glances around, feeling the cool night breeze against his flushed face. 

“Seungcheol- this… this-” he chokes, turning to his boyfriend, who’s staring at Jihoon like he hung the moon and the stars. He holds him tightly, face firmly buried into his chest, praying Seungcheol can’t feel the heat of his neck and face through the material of his sweater. 

“Thank you, I love you,” Jihoon whispers, and Seungcheol melts, strong arms wrapping around his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

Seungcheol loves that about him, that Jihoon, usually so brusque and cold, has this soft, caring, vulnerable side of him, and he loves it even more that he’s lucky enough to see it. He guides Jihoon to the picnic mat, and they settle quickly, pulling out coke and orange juice (because he’d very much like his boyfriend sober tonight, thank you very much), and offering them to Jihoon. The younger snorts, rolling his eyes as he accepts the bottle of juice, pressing it to his neck in an effort to return to a normal colour.

Seungcheol chuckles, and Jihoon swipes at him, grumbling about how his boyfriend’s so stupid to do something so grossly sweet for their anniversary, but there’s an unmistakable grin on the younger’s face that betrays him. Jihoon turns away, peeking into the picnic basket to escape Seungcheol’s knowing gaze, letting out a soft gasp  when he sees jajangmyeon and spicy ramyun in a bowl.

“You remembered,” he looks up at Seungcheol, who just rolls his eyes good-naturedly, pulling his boyfriend close.

“Of course I did babe, how could I forget such a weird combination?” Seungcheol teases, kissing the top of Jihoon’s fluffy head. “Hand me the chicken would you?” he murmurs.

Jihoon flails for a second, trying to feel out the warm takeout box he saw earlier, and hands it to Seungcheol, who mumbles his thanks, letting go of Jihoon so they can eat. Jihoon mixes his noodles leisurely, watching as his heathen of a boyfriend practically inhales the entire thing (he’s half sure Seungcheol might try to eat the box too). Jihoon chortles when his boyfriend looks up at him and grins, mouth (and somehow his cheek and nose) covered in the sticky garlic soy sauce. 

“You-uh- missed,” Jihoon snorts, motioning to Seungcheol’s...entire face.

Seungcheol just smacks his lips, and smirks at Jihoon, who grimaces and throws the pack of wipes at his boyfriend, grumbling that his boyfriend is a fucking child, and not a responsible, twenty-five year-old adult. 

Jihoon sighs, setting the now-empty bowl of noodles, and leans against Seungcheol’s broad shoulder, admiring the view (-coughs- of his boyfriend -coughs-) when suddenly he feels a drop on his head. He looks up, frowning in confusion, flinching when another drop hits his face.

And another. 

And another. 

And another.

He glares at the sky, daring it to rain on them, but it only seems to make it worse. The rain picks up, going from a light drizzle to sleets of rain before either one of them can react. Seungcheol curses, grabs Jihoon and the basket of food, and sprints to his Jeep. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Jihoon, I totally didn’t check the weather,” Seungcheol apologizes mournfully, grabbing a towel (Jihoon doesn’t know, or want to know why it’s there) to dry his drenched boyfriend off. “I was so caught up about planning the perfect date for their anniversary, and now I’ve completely stuffed it up, and god, I still had another surpr –”

Jihoon presses his lips to Seungcheol’s, effectively cutting off his panicked rambling. “I’m not mad,” he offers quietly when they pull away. “It was too cold out there anyway,” he smiles shyly at Seungcheol, and his boyfriend melts, heart full to bursting.

“I know, but now I don’t have space to do this properly,” he sighs, digging into his jacket pocket, and Jihoon’s heart nearly stops. 

He can’t be– He wouldn’t– Oh my god he is. 

Seungcheol is so nervous he’s sure Jihoon can hear his heartbeat. He takes a shaky breath, pulling the small waterlogged box from his pocket. 

“I know this isn’t ideal, and I’m really sorry. I’d planned this all romantic, and it was gonna be perfect but the weather had to –”

“Is that a ring?” Jihoon blurts, eyes trained on the box, posture stiff and mouth dropped open in shock.

“Y-yeah, it is,” Seungcheol breathes, stomach churning as he watches Jihoon. “It’s-It’s yours, if you’ll have me,” Seungcheol whispers, opening the box to reveal a silver ring, winking at Jihoon invitingly. 

Jihoon’s silent, and Seungcheol’s heart immediately fills with dread. “You don’t have to agree, maybe it’s too early, and I don’t want to pressu–” 

“Yes, you big idiot, yes,” Jihoon laughs, hands cupping Seungcheol’s face as he peppers kisses on his boyfrie– no, his fiancé’s, face. “I love you Choi Seungcheol, and I’d love to marry you,” he breathes against the elder’s plump lips, and Seungcheol grins, practically dizzy with happiness. 

“Good.”

Please like and reblog!

If you’d like more of this AU, or your own lil thing, of if you just wanna yell at me, you can do so here ~

[bbrandy2002]

The Breakfast Club

Chapter Three

WARNING: Suicide mentioned. Profanity and bullying.

*I promise this will be more like the movie soon 😉

___________________________________

Maxwell stood completely intrigued before the petite, brunette with the most captivating smile he'd ever seen. She was beautiful, but, in a natural way. Unlike the girls he knew, mostly rich, snobby types, whom wore an air of arrogance; Riley seemed genuine, pure, and sweet.

Maxwell looked at his surroundings..a couple of run down buildings...several of them vacant. If Maxwell wasn't getting a tattoo, he never would have known the place existed.

He rose both arms and motioned to their location, "so what's a girl like you doing in such a rough and tumble neighborhood?"

Riley smirked and placed a hand on her hip, "I could ask you the same Mister Red Porche", she joked while briefly acknowledging the vehicle behind her.

Maxwell snickered, "fair enough" and moved his sunglasses to rest on top of his head. With the darkness of the glasses removed from his vision, he tipped his head back in a bit of concern. He pointed to the outside of his left eye, "so how'd you get that shiner?"

Riley immediately placed her hand over the outside of her eye. Maxwell noticed her timid posture, however, she slightly giggled, "If you only knew how clumsy I am", she rolled her eyes and shook her head nervously, "...sometimes I can't seem to keep one foot in front of the other without tripping over them."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, but, nodded in agreement, "yeah....I have that problem sometimes too" tapering off his words.

Riley appeared to relax again as an awkward silence took over.

Maxwell broke this lull and shifted his posture, "Sooo....it was nice to meet you Riley."

Maxwell noticed Riley's eyes start to flutter and her body weave slightly. She reached out and grabbed on to his arm. He immediatly hoisted her closer to him as her face smashed into his aching chest. She went mostly weightless in his arms and he walked with her a few feet to his car. He held on to her with one arm and opened his passenger side door with the other. He gently placed her in the seat and lowered the headrest back.

Maxwell began rubbing her arm and asking if she needed him to do anything for her. Riley's skin felt cold and clammy, small beads of sweat had surfaced on her forehead and both hands were trembling.

She swallowed hard and with a raspy voice told him she needed water.

Maxwell anxiously reached across Riley, grabbing a half emptied bottled water from the middle console. He promptly removed the cap, lifted her head up to her chest, and placed the opening to her dry lips. She lapped the water down until not even a single drop was left.

She laid her head back, closed her eyes and rested an arm on her forehead.

Maxwell studied her her body language as the rise and fall of her chest started to even out. He reached up and pulled her frail arm from her forehead, placing it easily across her stomach.

With the direness of the situation, he hadn't noticed the deep purple bruises that adorned her forearm.

Maxwell bit his top lip and turned his head away. His mind was racing with speculations.....was she really unadept or did someone hurt her? He took a deep breath through his nose, holding it, before blowing it completly out his pursed lips.

He avoided asking her about the marks when he turned back to face her; she'd probably make another excuse anyway. Riley sat up in the seat, smoothing out her dress as Maxwell adjusted it's back into an upright position.

Maxwell cleared his throat, then tilted his head, "there's a diner about two blocks from here and I'm starving...what'dya say about joining me...my treat." Her eyes started to beam and the corner of her lips curved upward, she answered softly, "okay."

He shut the door and retrieved her old guitar that lay flat on the hot concrete sidewalk. He walked swiftly to the drivers side, opened the door and placed her guitar in the back before sliding in.

They made small talk over dinner, mostly about her music. She spoke to him about her dreams of going to New York City and playing for a big label recording company.  Her friend Daniel had moved there last year and invited her to join him when she had the opportunity.

He was impressed by the fact that she could out talk and out eat him. He made the assumption that the episode earlier was from dehydration. I wonder when she ate last?

She was funny and laughed at his goofball stories. He enjoyed her company and she appeared to have similar feelings of him. There was an amicable affection, but, not sexual in nature, completely platonic.

Maxwell offered her a ride home, but, she denied needing one since her apartment was just a few blocks away. After paying the bill, she thanked him for the meal, shared a quick hug and both parted ways.

Two miles into his drive, he realized Riley's guitar was still in his back seat. He made a quick u-turn and sped back to the neighborhood he just left in hopes of catching her. As he was stopped at the corner of the diner, he glanced over and there she was; sitting with her back against the exterior of the diner; knees bent, head resting on them with her arms tightly wrapped around her legs.

He manuevered his car into an empty space along the street. He got out and approached her slowly, "Riley?".

She looked up at him with red tear stained eyes and he knelt down beside her clutching her back.

With a quiet whimper, she answered, "I have no where to go."

His heart sank and his stomach turned. He reached for her hand and pulled her up with him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and glared at her for a short moment, "yeah you do...come on."

***

Olivia prepared to descend the grand stair case when someone caught her eye; a sharp toothed grin would surface on her plump, red lips. She grabbed ahold of the railing and began her slow descent. "Well, well, well" she would say mockingly, "it appears they'll allow any old riff-raff to clean this place".

Drake clenched the shaft of the wooden mop, stopping his momentum, then contining its side to side motions.

Once she reached the main floor, she leaned against the ornate statue that adorned the bottom railing, "I heard about your little exploits last night...did poor Drake have a rough evening?" she continued with fake sorrow.

Drake turned away from her, wearing his usual scowl, continuing his task. He was in no mood to deal with her this morning; he just wanted to get his punishment over with.

Olivia pushed herself from the statue, clasping her hands in front of her,  before making her way to Drake's position. "You know Walker, all this mopping will be good for you once they finally decide to lock you up".

Drake dipped the mop in the warm water of the bucket before slinging the drenched mass of cloth at her. Water pooled across her feet and the bare flesh of her lower legs.

Olivia glanced down, seething and considering the situation.

Drake put the mop in the bucket, placing both hands on top, "anything else you'd like to add bitch?".

Olivia eyed him with malice before bending down to remove her light pink heels. She stood and inched closer to his face. With an icy whisper, "Know your place commoner...you are a nothing...you may as well not even exist" she accentuated every word. With a smirk, she dropped both heels in the mop bucket and smirked, "by the way, you missed a spot."

Drake went to lunge at her when Bastien, standing at the top of the stairs noticed the exchange and called out to him.

Olivia's face turned smug with an added devilish smirk. She bit the tip of her index finger and gave a wink before scampering off.

Drake hated her strongly and had for many years. She represented everything he despised about these people. To him, she had the perfect, cozy life without a care in the world. Her beautiful sparkling dresses, the diamonds and gold that glittered on her ears and neck, the fancy balls and all her rich, better-than-you friends who made no secret of his value to anyone. He was 18 now and was free to get away, but, he couldn't abandon his sister the way his mother had.

"Drake", Bastien would say while clamping his shoulder, "you've got to stop engaging her son".

Drake huffed and became defensive, "you don't even know what she said...and don't call me son!".

Bastien clasped his shoulder a little harder, "I don't need to know what she said, I'm certain, knowing her, it wasn't kind...but, Drake, you gotta realize, she's a lot like you, dealing with the same emotions. You both just express them differently."

Drake forcefully shirked his shoulder from Bastien's clutches and pointed his finger at his face, "don't you dare ever say she's like me, she's nothing like me!". He took a step back and kicked the mop bucket away; water splashing trails as it glided. He stamped past Bastien and out the front door.

***

Liam stood in front of the bathroom mirror as he stared at the face in front of him. His day had been filled with one boring lesson after another. His father was preparing him to take on the duties of a crown prince; a duty he did not want.

The way Constantine cursed at him and would tightly grab the back of his neck for getting a question wrong was at the forefront of his mind. He remembered the way his brother looked just days ago...happy and content. Why can't that be me?

Liam's mind was swirling and the pressure in his head was crushing his entire body.

He turned the sink on and bent over to splash some warm water on his face; it did nothing to quench the pain and stress that had overcome him.

He placed both hands on the counter and dropped his head down. He looked back in the mirror and realized his puffy eyes were filled with tears.

He spoke to himself, "do it you fucking coward...just do it already."

He closed his eyes and was breathing so heavily he began to feel a rush.

He walked back into his room and over to his dresser. He opened the top drawer and grabbed his prescription of Xanax that had been recently filled. He ran a hand through his hair and contemplated the ramifications of his actions.

He glanced up at the picture of his beautiful mother, held within a silver frame, sitting on top. He just wanted to escape everything...he wanted to be with her.

He wiped the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. He grabbed the bottle and lifted it to his mouth. "I love you, Mother".

It wasn't clear to him how many pills he swallowed, he only hoped it would be enough to take him quickly.

He sat on the edge of the bed and layed flat back. He placed his hands across his chest and starred up at the ceiling. Within minutes, he felt the rumbing in his stomach and the pounding heart in his chest. His hands started to shake, he could feel the blood rushing through every vein in his body. Soon, his vision became fuzzy, and weakness took over.

The room became darker and darker, then-nothing

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations ABBY! You’ve been accepted as IAPETUS.

Choosing between two amazing apps is always a hard thing to do. With Jack, it’s very easy to forget that he still has emotion left within him and to see it crack through in your app made me so happy, Abby! “Alma showed him kindness; he’s still trying to understand how to pay it back with interest.” This line, and more specifically the mention of kindness, pulled me into your app and sold me on him right away. That sliver of kindness can either make or break Jack in this world and I can’t wait to find out. We’re so excited to see both you and him back on the dash! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information: 

NAME/ALIAS: Abby

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST, 6-7/10 – I’m a full time grad student with a pretty heavy course and research load, so generally I’m busy during the day but my schedule is kind of flexible? Generally speaking I’ll be online every day but either in the early mornings or evenings.

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jack Mizuno / Iapetus

GENDER/PRONOUNS: cis male & he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

Jack Mizuno does not exist. He is a ghost, a dead end paper trail strung together by fraying ties that knot themselves so easily in circles. Jack Mizuno exists in sharp fragments littered against the pavement, indistinguishable from shattered glass; small, sharp, glittering like teeth. He wasn’t always like this – a dark, brooding thing shaking in his skin with a death-rattle that sounds so close to fingers on keys. He wasn’t ever quite human, but none of them were, fundamental flaws cut and cured in the womb and left to fester thereafter. 

He lived in years, once. Whole handfuls of them, one right after another, like a fucking feast you never got full of. And then shit got bad – not just for him, but mostly for him within the confines of his adolescent tunnel vision. Years shrunk and shriveled, and sunk and shriveled some more. Sometimes he gets days, most of the time he lives in hours. If he’s lucky he gets a whole week of feeling like a person and not a tool, something to scratch out the cockroaches with when they get stuck in the cables.

He is empty and full. Stretched thin until he’s cracked and bloated, like a goose waiting to lose its liver for a main course. What did he expect? Jack has secrets, knows secrets, has seen and buried the terrible things mutants will do to and for each other in the name of survival. Most of them don’t belong to him. There has to be somewhere for it all to go. 

Before Alma held him up by his hair and gave him a choice that wasn’t a choice at all, Jack had to make his own purpose. That was difficult, mostly because he didn’t feel he had one. He had a mutation that felt less like a mutation and more like a target blinking in binary. He had a computer. It doesn’t take a lot of brain power to piece together the next logical step. Jack never made a charity about what he could do for other mutants. It doesn’t make him a tin man in the corner banging on his keyboard for oil.

People like to call Jack a robot, it’s fine. They can say whatever they want, it has no bearing on whether Jack has a heart. He has quite a lot of it – heart. Even if half the time he’s shaking so violently he can’t feel it beating in his chest. The heart he holds on to so tightly, you see, is a balm on the coals raked over his skin every time he digs into another putrid crevice of the internet. It doesn’t surprise him, anymore, the human capacity for cruelty. Kindness, though, that’s what gets him every time. Alma showed him kindness; he’s still trying to understand how to pay it back with interest. 

Self-preservation is paramount. Jack has been a bottom feeder for as long as he can remember – taking the ugly, awful work law enforcement doesn’t care for and private eyes find distasteful. It bred in him a fine-tuned intuition, sharp as a knife’s edge. He knows when to take the money, when to ask no questions, and when to disappear. Disappearing is an art like any other, and Jack is exceptionally good at it. A fool’s errand is inviting Jack into your life and thinking you can keep a secret from him after. He’s not curious, he’s careful. Thorough. He leaves nothing and then less to chance.

The knife’s edge is double sided – Jack has a flighty, nervous nature to him that he stamps down with caffeine and cigarettes. It doesn’t go away, and dampens at the expense of his better judgment, but doing so sweeps down the hair at the back of his neck and stills his fingers when there’s work to be done. Jack is a shark; stop swimming for too long and he’ll sink straight to the ground.

BIO:

Everyone expects it to still be snowing in March. Chicago, they say, with an endeared little smile and the flat ah to tell you without telling you they’re a native, winter from October to April. In 1989, March rained. Buckets of it for more days that most folks bothered counting. March was a gust at the end of winter just warm enough to make it miserable. Jack was born smack in the middle, when the city was drowning. 

Jack’s mother was a nervous woman and his father was a ghost. He wondered, later, if that anxious constitution was something inherited from the womb; if his mother’s uneasy heart set in his a parallel double-step from conception. Perhaps it was imparted later, swallowed up by Jack’s open pores exposed early to the lined up bills on the kitchen counter, angry locks that stuck in the cold, and trembling hands over thread-bare collars. 

His father was the kind of ghost that lingered heavy, an almost-hand that threatened above his shoulder and the doorway. More than once Jack wondered what he inherited from his father, what strange neuroticisms – or, indeed, mutations – he left in place of a hand print. It’s the only secret Jack has refused to recover.

School passes unremarkably. Jack is neither the bully nor the victim; insignificant enough to slip under the radar and glaze by. Not a top student. Not struggling. Lost in the waves that ebb through the blown-out halls, into the rusted chairs, out onto the buses that only run on hope and cold air. It’s all very – fine. It’s fine. His mother comes home with a hand in his hair and a question about his day she doesn’t wait to hear the answer to. His school work is swept aside to make room on the table to count what they’ve lost and earned for the day. When he’s old enough, Jack will drop his books to do the same. 

They don’t quite get that far.

See, Jack doesn’t have a flash-bang mutation. There’s no schoolyard scuffle that goes from rowdy to lethal like the flip of a coin and gets the whole neighborhood straight on the news. His is a slow crescendo, and goes like this: His mother is spending laters nights at work, which means a locked door at home and the silent command to find something to do with his time. He’s about fourteen – not old enough to work somewhere safe but too old to be knocking on neighbors doors alone and hungry.

He settles for the library next to school. It’s warm, well-lit, and they have a computer. Jack only gets to go on those an hour a day at school. He noodles around when he’s bored of his homework, stumbles on things he shouldn’t but doesn’t know any better to avoid – or, rather, doesn’t know aren’t normal. He’s smart and stupid enough to keep this to himself, age up into high school with this secret tucked under his tongue; wait until the conversation has already turned to mutants before he dares to bring it up on his own. He doesn’t tell his mother, just yet, wants to know for sure that what he can do is something he can also control. Jack isn’t afforded that chance, either.

Eviction notices were a big red staple of Jack’s childhood – taped to the door or slipped quietly underneath it. It’s only when he’s fourteen with a head on fire that their landlord finally follows through. Jack comes home to the door wrenched open and their meager belongings scattered or gone. He finds his mother in a house down the street – an aunt’s maybe, or a distant cousin’s – with her face in her hands and shoulders shaking. It goes like that for some time, drifting just the two of them, until Jack comes back to their newest makeshift home and finds her gone.

What comes next is – dark. Jack comes to a week after his twenty-second birthday in an apartment reminiscent of his childhood, wearing clothes he doesn’t really recognize but smell like him. There might be someone in his bed. He might be squatting. He shut off for a while, he isn’t sure. The laptop left open on the floor is definitely his – it has his fingerprints all over it. Digital, mostly, but there’s the odd smudge that gives way to physical ownership. This is what he has now, neck deep in the chasm of loneliness: a keyboard and a client list a mile long.  

It goes like this for some while. Jack stays in his probably-not-legally-rented apartment, waiting for the people who know how to find him, well – find him. Most of them pay well. He takes what feels safe and keeps himself warm, but freelancing for strangers with an envelope of cash is a near-vertical learning curve. Jack has an edge, but he’s also stupid in the early days. He still searches for his mother, when he can. He moves apartments twice and nearly gets taken into two more times beyond that. 

The years of smooth sailing and steady income that flow in afterwards makes him arrogant, and reckless. It’s something between a favor and a job that gets him caught – a favor, because, damn him, he cares about the client more than he should, but still technically a job when there’s a paycheck at the end of it. Sentiment makes him desperate, experience makes him careless, and the resource he’d heard Blackburn might have had access to was never even there in the first place. 

The first time he met Alma, the only thing Jack smelled was blood – his, probably. His mouth certainly felt full of it. He never had much use for religion in his short, cold life, even if his mother was devout for all of hers. Staring at Alma, one hand in his hair and offering him a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all, he might have almost understood. With a strong hand and an outstretched arm, he remembers the verses and psalms, as he stares at her. They might even feel true.

Jack is not a watchdog, but he’s something close, maybe. Alma offered him a purpose he already had in front of him but didn’t know how to take. There is no doubt Jack’s loyalty to the Blackburn Syndicate runs deep and unwavering. He believes in the cause, acts for the cause, maybe even lives for it. But he is still a solitary creature, and the rising tensions pull tight at his skin.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS: Please expand on at least one of the connections set out in the bio. There can be as little or as much as you want to be written here. We would love to see how you interpreted the connections we set out!

LENOX. Jack has spent time adrift – living through a haze that blurred the lines in his mind. He has no desire to return to that state, ever. He grounds himself in reality, more so than ever. His life depends on truth and the relentless pursuit of it. Lenox is a direct threat to his own stability, and worse, they seem to find pleasure from seeing him squirm under their little games. He hates it, he hates them, and he hates more how he doesn’t really hate it at all. Jack has built his life into a routine, and the illusions annoy him. They set his teeth on edge and give him the shakes for days after, but there’s a reason he hasn’t asked Alma for one of her fists into Lenox’s pretty little face.  

ILIE. Jack doesn’t make a habit of sitting on any of his secrets. He tried it, once. He almost bled out on the pavement. The second time he was nearly locked up in a testing facility. So, no, he doesn’t hold on to the transgressions of others any more than he needs to. Chances are there’s some way to spin it in his favor – or, the Syndicate’s, now. It’s – different with Ilie. Jack is meant to be playing nice with the King’s Collective, so says the hand on his leash, but he just can’t help this small amusement. It’s a vice that will get him killed, or worse, he knows. The second he slips Ilie will go running, but it’s so nice to be the one in control for a time. Even if it’s not really enough, only the illusion of it. 

RAHIM. Jack isn’t sure quite what to make of Rahim, and that’s a dangerous thing. Jack likes to have the answers – is rather used to it – and doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is left wanting for them. Enter, Rahim. A man Jack is meant to be getting along with, tries to get along with, but can’t quite seem to figure out. They dance around each other, careful, and Jack is unwilling to take the first step forward or back. He’s a watcher, so he watches. He knows it unsettles Rahim, and maybe that makes it all the more worth it. It’s more fun to earn the answers, anyway.

EXTRA: 

Pinterest

Headcanons

Jack Mizuno is an alias, easy enough to assume. He told Alma his real name privately after he agreed to his terms, but no one else knows it as far as he’s aware.

He’s left handed; insignificant, but it’s a pet-peeve of his when people point it out like it’s something secret or exciting. There are lots of secret or exciting things about him, this isn’t one of them.

Jack doesn’t define his sexuality in strict terms or labels. He’s more of a convenience person who recognizes he has needs, but doesn’t much care who satisfies them. If he had to choose he might prefer men, but it’s only by a slim margin.

ANYTHING ELSE:

Nope ! ilu

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Truth [Part 3]

Master List

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But... a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Smut (like a lot... so... just turn around now if you’re not of age or aren’t into that).

A/N: Please be gentle with me my darling readers and pumpkins. I want to be very confident about this whole smut writing thing but I’m new to it and just yeah, I hope you like it lol!

That being said my fucking GAAAAD it was fun to write. But, honestly, the morning after... that is my fave part. 

I’m really excited to see what you all think of this one. Like I said in another post, this baby is just running away with me so if you like these two there’s a lot more coming. 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @peachthatdrinkslemonade @breezy1415 @wonderlandmind4 @handplucked @piensa-bonito @midnightdream83

You’re making out as the elevator doors slide open and the door to Bucky’s tower apartment swings in, ah Jarvis. Manhattan glitters through the floor to ceiling windows and only a couple of lamps are on leaving the room comfortably dim. It smells like him here, spicy and warm with notes of sandalwood and tee tree. It’s a good smell you think. He doesn’t put you down as you expect. Instead, he just turns and carries you to his room. 

He lets you down onto the bed and you lean up on your elbows staring up at him. For a second you just take the other in. His chest is heaving a bit, hunger etched in every line of his face. Without taking his eyes off you his right-hand wanders to his belt and unbuckles it, undoing the button of his jeans, then the soft rasp of his zipper. 

Are you breathing? You think you may have forgotten, distracted as you were, but when his hand stops the thought occurs that you should take one. 

Filling your lungs you scoot forward, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, you run your hands down his sides to his waistband. As you work his jeans over his hips he gently runs metal fingers down your cheek to your lips, his thumb tracing the shape. 

You place a kiss on his right hip bone and run the tip of your tongue down the v of his abdomen stopping just short and going to the other side to do the same. A shudder and soft sound comes from him, you feel him move just under your face and smirk. 

“Tease,” he whispers as you look up to meet his eyes. He had no idea. 

Your nails run the same path your tongue had and just before touching him change course to continue down his inner thighs. His jaw tightens, no doubt trying to maintain some kind of control. 

Opening your mouth a touch you wet your index and middle fingers, even slipping them in a bit for good measure. When you run them, warm and moist up the underside of his cock, tracing the base of the head lightly with your middle finger, his breath becomes ragged and there’s the soft sounds of metal gears. 

“Just enjoying myself,” you say smiling up at him. 

With that you slowly take his head in your mouth, flicking your tongue from the base to the tip. The ragged sound that escapes him sends tingles through your whole body. His right-hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head but doesn’t force you down on to him, just sits there silently begging for more. You decide to give him what he wants, because fuck if you don’t want it too, want to hear the sounds he’ll make, taste him, feel him. You take all of him into your mouth, wrapping your right index, middle, and thumb around the base of his cock. 

Something like, “Oh,” comes from him as you begin to work him, steadily, just a little suction. He growls a bit as he hits the back of the throat. Your left hand resting on his muscular thigh feels him tense after a few minutes. 

“Stop,” he pants, though he still thrusts at you. You feel something like a smile work the muscles in your face despite the mouthful. His fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back, the pull of his fingers more tantalizing than painful. “Woman, if you don’t stop this is going to be over much faster than either of us want.” 

He runs his metal index finger under your bottom lip to remove some lingering moisture. When it rubs on the soft skin of your lips you’re surprised at how smooth it feels. Stepping back he kicks off his boots and slips out of his jeans leaving him deliciously bare. 

You swallow hard. Even in the dim light, he’s immaculate. All dark hair, rippling muscles, and that fucking cock. Christ. You swallow hard keeping the small sound of pleasure that threatened to slip out contained. He seems to notice your admiration anyway and slowly moves back toward the bed. 

Tilting your chin up to look at him, he smiles broadly before kissing you deep. He pushes you back against the bed and runs his hands down your torso causing you to shudder. Grasping your ample hips he holds them as he takes your nipple in his mouth. 

This time you can’t swallow the sound. A small gasping moan bursts from you and your hips press against his hold. His eyes look up at you glinting before moving to the other eliciting much the same reaction from you. Kissing a trail down your body he stands and slips your feet free of your battered Converse and unbuttons your jeans. In one swift tug, they’re gone. 

Bucky licks his bottom lip and smirks hands once again grabbing your hips he pulls you effortlessly to the edge of the bed as he kneels on the ground. His stubble scratches and tickles at your inner thighs and you sigh feeling goosebumps rise all over your body. But when he lowers his mouth to you, that’s electric. 

As he sucks at your clit you cry out, loudly, so fucking thankful that these apartments are soundproof. Pleasure already curls tight in your belly begging to be set free. It had been far too long since someone had touched you like this. His tongue pulses against you and his right hand comes around sliding two fingers into you, ever so subtly stretching you open. 

“Fuck!” Your back arches and you feel the tingles of energy snaking just under your skin. Don’t light anything on fire, Y/N, sober you whispers from the depths of your consciousness. He lifts his head and replaces the maddening feeling of his mouth with the gentle pressure of his thumb, rubbing around your clit. Panting you look at him, a coy smile on his face.

“I want you to come for me, Y/N,” he says, voice low and rumbling. This sets you alight, and your brows crease with worry, genuinely concerned about causing damage. 

He notices, “Don’t worry about it. Stark can buy me a new comforter if need be. I wanna see you come.” He pauses, “Do you want to?” He asks and begins to lower back down. 

“Yes,” you pant, “please, please.” You grab a hank of his hair as he takes you back into his mouth. Your hips grind, lifting of their own accord, and his fingers pump harder into you. 

“Bucky, fuck, Bucky!” The orgasm tears through you. So different from your solo endeavors of late. This is white hot pleasure flooding your system as he keeps working you through it. You forgot it could feel this way. Your grip on him loosens and he stands from between your trembling thighs. 

There’s a fascinated look on his face, “Beautiful.” You hold your arm up and look at the pinpoints of light winking in and out on your skin, barely visible tendrils of energy connecting the points. Honestly, you always thought it was garish, something that marked you as a freak. But… nothing was on fire and maybe it was beautiful. 

His right hand is holding onto his cock, slowly stroking it, looking down at you. You scoot back to be fully on the bed, leaning up. 

Keeping your eyes on his you open your legs, “You could take care of that yourself I guess.” You smirk, hand wandering between your legs, “But I think I have a much better idea.”

Lowering himself over you he rests on his forearms peering into your eyes, suddenly serious, “Are you sure?”

You reach up and bring his face to yours, crushing a kiss onto his lips, and growl out, “I want you to fuck me, Bucky Barnes, until I don’t remember who either of us are.”

He smolders for just a second, your words having the desired effect, and he thunders into you. You can’t help but cry out as he fills you, the ache so sweet, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“Fuck,” he groans and kisses you, his tongue filling your mouth. Wrapping your legs around his hips you urge him faster. Sitting up he pulls your legs away spreading them wide. When he slams into you it’s almost too much. Even so, you press back against him, hard, wanting all of him. 

Releasing your left leg his right-hand lowers to you. When his thumb strokes your clit you almost lose it. Your hands are balled into fists, holding onto the duvet for dear life. His pace quickens, thumb stroking you, when you look at him the expression of lust and satisfaction there is enough to tip you over the edge. He fucks you through it, making the aftershocks shake you almost as much as the orgasm itself had. 

He leans back down, pace maddeningly slow, and presses a kiss just under your ear. When he lifts his mouth to your ear you gasp a little, the feeling of his breath and stubble making you shiver. 

“How about you turn over for me, doll?” He growls into your ear. All you can manage is a nod, language a forgotten skill. 

As you go to turn once he’s pulled out, he grabs you lifting and flipping you as if you weigh nothing. A laugh tumbles from you and quickly turns into sounds of pleasure as he kisses the space between your shoulder blades. Your ass lifts and you can feel him pressed against your lower back. 

A sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest as he feels you squirm. Lifting off you his hands grab your ass before slapping both cheeks just enough to smart. You groan in pleasure and raise up on your knees. 

“Mmm,” he hums caressing you. Without warning, he plunges into you once more. He fucks you until all you can think about is this, the feeling of him, the waves of pleasure. His hands reach around the front of you and lift you up so your back is pressed against his chest, his fingers catching and toying with your nipples. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers. You turn and find his lips, greedily. His left-hand wraps gently around your throat, not threatening and you stay like that for a moment, not moving just connected, kissing ferociously. 

He releases you and pushes you gently back down. Moving from behind you he coaxes you to your back once more. His face hovering above you he runs his hands up your arms and pins them above your head. This time he’s slow, gently entering you so you can feel every inch of him bit by bit.

“B… Bucky,” you softly moan. This makes a smile rise and his pace quicken just a touch. You meet his rhythm effortlessly in sync. When you push against his hands he presses them harder into the bed and you, surprisingly, love this feeling of giving control over to him. 

“Y/N,” he grumbles before catching your mouth with his. He releases your arms and braces his forearms on either side of your head. You wrap your arms under his feeling the muscles of his back work as he fucks you slow, steady, deep. 

Your back arches pressing against him, he quickens, you’re almost there again, “Please Buck,” his brows crease. 

“Now,” he groans. Both of your bodies shudder in unison, and you hold on tight to him. He kisses you hard, pressing your head into the bed, body shaking. 

When he stops and lifts his head his eyes are gleaming, much as you knew yours were, the intensity having brought tears to you both. You cup his face in your hands and just stare at him before kissing him again. 

You spend a few minutes intertwined like that. Both shaking and just barely keeping it together. It feels like you’re the only two creatures in the world right now like there was never some dark past, just this. 

He pulls away from another barrage of kisses and his thumbs stroke your forehead, “Thank you.” His voice is barely audible. 

“Ditto,” you manage to eke out. This earns you a crooked smile and he reluctantly rolls off of you. 

In his bathroom you don’t even turn the light on for a moment, just looking at the constellation of your skin in the mirror, sparkling and like a starry sky. He was right, it was beautiful. When you emerge he’s pulled the blankets down on his bed and leaned against the headboard still nude. 

Suddenly you feel awkward, exposed despite what just went down. What now? His eyes slowly rise to meet your own and he smiles so big his nose crinkles. Cute. 

“Would you like a shirt?” All you manage is a shrug, standing frozen in the middle of his room. His expression softens and he extends his right hand, “Come here, doll.” 

Was this what you wanted? Did you want to stay? Even sober you, slowly more and more in control of the situation, is on the same page. You absolutely did want to stay. 

Without a word, you crawl into the bed and Bucky wraps you in his arms, your head comfortably resting on his chest. 

“Could… Could I maybe stay here? Just for tonight?” You ask, voice so unsure. 

He tilts your head to look at him. “I wouldn’t have it another way darling.” He kisses you and you both slide down into the bed. A dreamless, contented sleep finding its way to the both of you quickly. 

There’s a loud banging at the door. Who the fuck?! You roll over, committed to ignoring whoever thought you were going to get out of your bed for anything next to a national crisis. 

“Buck!” You hear Steve bellow over the door com. Suddenly you are very awake. “Open the fucking door, man!” Shooting up you remember, last night, you’re in Bucky’s apartment and he’s dead asleep next to you, one ass cheek poking out from under the sheet. Damn, it was a great ass. 

Fuck. Situation at hand. Focus. 

“James fucking Barnes! I am going to tear this door down if you don’t open it!” Jarvis is being smugly silent you note. Traitor.

You pick up the pillow you slept on and smack Bucky with it, “Hey!”

Groaning he rolls over, looking up at you, voice groggy, “What?” 

“I. Am. Not. Kidding. Bucky.” Steve yells.

“Fuck!” Bucky shoots up. 

“Yeah, fuck.” You quip. He’s rummaging for underwear fumbling to get them on. It takes effort to suppress a laugh. 

“You want him to know your here?” He hisses, a smirk on his lips despite the tone. 

“Not particularly.”

“Then hush,” he smiles and leans into the bed kissing you before bolting out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

You sit stunned for a second, pulling the sheet over your chest. What. Was. Happening. 

He just kissed you. Sober you fully in control. And you didn’t hit him, zap him, or think of any way to maim him at all. This was fully Stark’s fault you decide. Him and his fucking special sauce. Ass. 

Grabbing a pillow you hold it to your chest, trying not to focus on the conversation now taking place in the living room. It smells like him, your eyes close as you breathe deep. Nope. You pull yourself together and fling the offending object away from you. 

Bucky (Barnes the stubborn part of your brain wants to still call him), and you couldn’t do this. It would be too much. Too much trauma between you. No. Unacceptable. Groaning you fall forward and face plant on the duvet, ass in the air. But… the sex was fucking phenomenal. 

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts you don’t hear Steve leave. When the door opens Bucky sees you, face in the bed, ass in the air and laughs. 

“Is this an open invitation or…?”

“You wish,” you say, sitting back into a normal position. He shrugs and smirks in response. Really what you wished was that you could say you’d deny him another round. Because… yeah, even sober you couldn’t turn it down. “Disaster averted?” You ask as he sits on the bed next to you, running his hands through his hair. 

“Disaster’s a little harsh don’t you think?”

Playfully you bat at his right arm. “You know what I mean.”

He flashes you a smile, “Yes, disaster was averted. You can rest easy, our cover of being bitter enemies is not yet blown.” You had rested easy, very easy, after last night you think. 

You nod, “Jesus I need a shower.” You slide off the bed next to him and pick your discarded jeans up off the floor, slipping into them. His eyes burn into you as you do so. When you look back his expression is soft and… appreciative. Nope, you tell yourself again despite the tightening in your belly. 

Your shirt… Fuck… your shirt and bra were still in the range. “Can I take you up on that shirt offer?” Mentally you plan to go there before your own apartment, hoping no one has felt the need to shoot anything yet today. 

“Sure,” he says going to his dresser. Was that disappointment on his face? “Here,” he tosses a black v-neck to you. It’s a bit oversized and smells like him. Ugh. 

The two of you stand awkwardly looking but not looking at the other. Finally, you break the silence. 

“Thanks… for… uh… letting me stay,” you say looking up at him as you pull on a sneaker. 

A half smile rises to his face and he runs his left hand through his hair, “I… I’m glad that… you wanted to…”

Suddenly, a laugh bubbles out of you, you can’t help it. It’s one of those laughs that overtakes you and you just can’t stop. You collapse onto the edge of the bed and he looks at you confused before he can’t help but join in. After a few minutes, you wipe at the tears in your eyes. It had been a long time since you laughed like that… years… decades maybe. 

“What are we? A couple of fucking teenagers? Christ.” You pant out, giggles still coming. He’s closer to you now, beaming. “I feel like I’m about to sneak out the window and hope my mom doesn’t catch me coming home.” 

He extends his right hand, “Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re about to shake my hand and say it was a pleasure or some shit.” A snorting laugh bursts from him and he shakes his head, you take his hand and he pulls you up. 

Your bodies are close though not touching and he’s looking down at you. Unthinking you raise up on your toes and kiss him, not hard or lustful just soft. He cups your face in his hands holding you there. Both of you look into the eyes of the other not knowing at all what to say. 

You sigh, “I’ve got to go.”

“Ok,” he kisses you once more and releases you. You nod and head for the front door. When your hand is on the knob you pause, hearing movement behind you. His hands are on your waist spinning you around. Pinning you to the door he kisses you, hard, passionately. You oblige, each of you wanting one last taste of this, regardless of if it was a good idea or not.

He pulls away, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’m going to want my shirt back,” he says smirking. 

“We’ll see, Barnes,” his last name said with a wink, “We’ll see.” Quickly pecking his cheek you push him away and head out the door. 

[thelighthousemp3]

hi i love your dianetti fics so much omg!!! i just read them all and i’m still crying lmao. could i request some #domestic dianetti please? thank you!!

thank u so much!! read on ao3 or down below

Rosa Diaz turns over in her sleep, burying her face under the covers to avoid the stream of sunlight coming in through the curtains. She throws an arm over where Gina is supposed to be, but is met by emptiness.

Grudgingly, Rosa cracks open one eye to see that Gina’s side of the bed is deserted. Rosa groans and curls up under the covers again.

The alarm clock on her nightstand rings loudly. Rosa irritably grabs it and throws it across the room, effectively silencing it. “It’s Saturday,” she mumbles. “Who set the alarm clock―”

The door of the bedroom opens and Gina Linetti walks in wearing her pajamas. “You did, dummy. You forgot to turn it off last night.” She walks over to the bed and sits down on her side.

Rosa curses and buries her face in a pillow. “I wanna sleep,” she mumbles.

“It’s already ten though!” Gina protests.

Rosa lifts her head. “Wait,” she says, pointing to the broken alarm clock on the floor. She looks back at Gina. “I set my alarm at 7:30 for work. Why’d it ring at ten?” she asks suspiciously. Gina looks back at her innocently and shrugs. “You set it so I’d have to wake up!” Rosa accuses.

Gina shrugs. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Honestly, Rosie, I don’t understand how you can sleep until like two in the afternoon. Even Jake can’t sleep for sixteen hours straight.”

“It’s a talent,” Rosa argues.

“Mhmm, a very valuable one, too. You should go on the X-Factor, Rosa. Maybe you’ll win,” Gina says with a hint of sarcasm.

“Shut up,” Rosa says, sitting up. She hugs Gina and breathes in deeply with her head on Gina’s shoulder. Rosa closes her eyes, feeling the world melt away―

“No sleeping,” Gina interrupts, pushing Rosa off of her. Rosa groans. “I made breakfast, Rosa. And you’re gonna eat it because for the past three weekends, you’ve been starting the day off with lunch,” Gina says.

“No,” Rosa says. “There was that one Sunday where I had to work so I grabbed a bagel. That was breakfast.”

“Whatever,” Gina says. She stands up and pulls Rosa off the the bed. “C'mon. You can take a nap later if you want to.”

Rosa narrows her eyes. “Really?” she says.

Gina laughs. “Nah. There’s too much to do today.”

“Like what?”

“Like spending time together?”

Rosa’s shoulders sag. As much as she loves sleep, she loves Gina even more. “Okay, fine,” Rosa says in defeat. “You win.”

“Oh, darling, I always win.”

Rosa follows Gina out to the kitchen. She sits down at the table as Gina brings her a plate of pancakes. Rosa reaches for the maple syrup before squinting down at the pancakes. “Uh, Gina. My pancakes are covered in glitter,” she says with uncertainty.

“Well, don’t be such a baby about it. It’s edible,” Gina says. She sits down next to Rosa and starts to dig into her own confetti-glitter pancake wreck. “And it brings out all of the potential that the pancakes have you know?”

Rosa shrugs, shaking a can of whipped cream. “Sure,” she says. “So, is the edible glitter a new thing? Or is there gonna be glitter in my dinner tonight?”

“Of course not,” Gina says. “There’s gonna be glitter in the brownies I’m making, though. It’s gonna be fun.”

Rosa leans back in her chair and kicks her feet up on the table. She sets the plate of pancakes in her lap and watches as Gina scrolls through her cell phone.

Right on cue, Gina gasps. “Oh my god. You will not believe what’s happening in Hollywood―” She looks up to see Rosa’s plate empty on the table. “You’re done already? Damn, you eat faster than Jake on Thanksgiving.”

Rosa tosses her fork on the plate. “They were good pancakes,” she says defensively.

“Of course they were. I made them.” Gina says, all while typing furiously into her phone. Rosa carefully waits until she’s sure that Gina’s full attention is on whatever is happening in Hollywood before stealing a bite of her pancakes. Gina swats Rosa’s hand away.

“My pancakes,” she says protectively, her attention still divided towards her phone. Rosa slides her feet off of the table and scoots her chair closer to Gina. She slides an arm around Gina’s shoulders and feels Gina melting into her grip.

A few hours pass by incidentally quickly. Many things happen.

Rosa is in the shower when she hears a loud thud. She gets out as quickly as she can to see the kitchen table collapsed in the middle, with Gina in the center of the wreckage. A shattered wine glass and a confetti cannon lie on the floor next to the splintered table.

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” Rosa rushes to Gina’s side. Once Gina confirms that she’s all right, Rosa looks around. “Also, what the fuck happened here?” she asks in confusion.

“I was doing an Instagram shoot, duh,” Gina explains. “Besides, that table was an eyesore anyways.”

“The wineglass wasn’t,” Rosa frowns. “We’re already down to like three after Hitchcock and Scully broke all of the other ones last weekend.”

“Oh, yeah. Oops,” Gina says.

And that’s how they end up going to IKEA in their pajamas, with Rosa’s hair still dripping wet from the shower and Gina’s skin covered in glitter.

When they get home with the new furniture set, Gina’s ready to just leave the big box there for a few days. “We’ll call Terry. Or Amy. Amy loves following directions. I bet she’d love to assemble this shit,” Gina says.

Rosa shakes her head. “We’re doing this now, Gina. My parents are coming over for dinner tomorrow, remember?”

Nearly an hour later, Rosa’s sitting in the middle of what seems like a thousand pieces of wood. She squints at the manual and then back at what seems to be the beginning of a table. “Gina, I thought you were gonna help me,” Rosa says.

“I am helping,” Gina says, without looking up from her phone. She is lying on her stomach a few feet away from Rosa. Gina picks up a hammer and hands it over to Rosa. “Here. It’s looking great, babe.”

Rosa rolls her eyes and takes the hammer from Gina. She puts it back down on the floor before grabbing a screwdriver and continuing the assembling of the table.

Rosa’s almost done when she glances over at Gina. Gina’s watching her with a strange intensity in her eyes. “What?” Rosa asks.

“Hmm? Nothing. You look really good,” Gina mumbles, staring as Rosa knocks a nail into place with the hammer.

“Okay, then,” Rosa says, standing up. She surveys the furniture and then gives it a strong pat. “Looks good to me.”

“And it’s not the only thing that looks good in here,” Gina says.

“Mhmm,” Rosa says, eyeing Gina.

Gina stands up. “Ugh, Rosa. You are such a big flirt.” She wraps her arms around Rosa and pulls her into a kiss. “Also, you look really good while assembling IKEA furniture.” Gina surveys the room. “Maybe I should break stuff more often.”

Rosa can’t help but to laugh. “Yeah, thanks for helping,” she says.

Gina grins cockily. “You’re welcome. Wanna watch a Nancy Meyers movie? Maybe the one with Reese Witherspoon?”

A while later, they’re curled up on the couch, as Home Again (2017) plays on the TV in front of them. Rosa carefully  pays attention to the movie as Gina lays her head on Rosa’s shoulder. “Stop distracting me,” Rosa complains, as Gina starts playing with Rosa’s hair.

“No,” Gina says. She kisses Rosa’s cheek. “You’re more fun to watch than any Nancy Meyers movie.”

Rosa pauses the movie and turns to look at Gina. “Oh my god. How dare you. Nancy Meyers doesn’t just direct movies, she directs art. Poetic cinema, Gina! How could you not enjoy this!” She wildly gestures to the screen, where Reese Witherspoon is shown paused with a strange expression on her face. She is clearly paused mid-sentence.

Gina laughs when she sees the screen and pulls her phone out to take a picture. Rosa rolls her eyes and unpauses the movie.

“Okay, but I love you, you nerd,” Gina says. “I’d watch any Nancy Meyers movie for you.”

“Love you too,” Rosa says, tucking an arm around Gina.