#(to be fair he’d actively deny it if asked)

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[kats-fic-recs]

Best Bkdk Fics I've Read in 2025 (Part 1)

Note: Hi everyone! I'm sorry about not being super active for the last few months, but school has been slowly crushing me from the inside out lol. My chosen form of coping lately has been bkdk fics. Shout out to all the fanfic authors out there! I love you muah <3<3<3<3<3

Part 1: You kiss me in a way that's going to screw me up forever (Fluff)

the world froze around us (you kissed me good night)

“...okay,” Kacchan’s lip twitches, like the smallest mini-smile.

“Wait. Okay to what.”

Kacchan stares at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world, which, to be fair, Izuku often suspects that he is. “I’ll go. On the date.”

or: Izuku summons up all the courage in his earthly body to ask Kacchan out, he isn’t prepared for Kacchan to say yes though.

Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear?

Midoriya doesn't think he'll make it to the end of the semester if his Quirk keeps going haywire around Kacchan.

Or: 5 times Midoriya accidently used Blackwhip on Bakugou, + 1 time he used it on purpose.

i think that it’s best if we both stay

Listen, dumbass. If we wanna break up for real, we’ll do it. Otherwise, we’ll stay together. End of story.”

Izuku perks up. “That’s a great idea. We’ll try to make ourselves sick of each other by the end of the month, and if we make it, it’ll prove we’re meant to be together.”

“That’s not what I—” Katsuki huffs, picking up a slice of toast. “Fine. You’re on thin ice anyway.”

It turns out breaking up is easier said than done.

Part 2: In another life you still would've turned my head (AU Fics)

miss you a latte

Izuku wishes he felt annoyed but it’s far from that. Instead there’s laughter ringing from his throat, loud and unhinged. He can’t stop the ripples that undulate through his stomach, the bright warmth that explodes like a firework beneath his sternum.

Most of all, there’s yearning, an ache that plucks at his heartstrings. But maybe it has never left. Maybe it’s an old wound buried so deep inside him he’d forgotten it was there. The bitterness of coffee rekindles the ache.

He thinks he could get used to the taste.

thinking about deku who enters a cafe to find his ex bf kacchan working as a part time barista there. anyway he orders a coffee with three extra pumps of vanilla syrup but receives a plain latte instead, w/ a note attached to it saying 'I TOLD U NOT TO DRINK SO MUCH SUGAR U FUCK'

got those baby blues

Today, Izuku was the guy on the plane everyone hated – the guy with the screaming baby. Luckily there was someone willing to sit next to him. Huh, he wondered why those red eyes looked so familiar.

***

They meet on a plane, they fall in love. That's it. That's the fic

love at first bite

Kacchan tests in the highest percentile for soulbond-type strength augmentation. One of the highest percentiles on record. And when they tell Kacchan that he scowls and denies it.

It basically means that whoever Kacchan’s soulmate is, they love him a whole lot.

Izuku doesn’t find that surprising.

or: A soulmate’s love is supposed to make you stronger, but Izuku’s known Kacchan forever, and he seems so strong already.

the needle's eye

In ancient times, the lands and humanity were protected by animal-human hybrids, Legends, that carry One For All’s spirit. Being a Legend taking the form of a ram, Midoriya Izuku travels town to town and uses his powers to weave his magical wool into healing cloth items for humans.

One day however, when hopelessly lost and injured in his ram form during a snowstorm, he's rescued by a hunter, Bakugou Katsuki. To repay his debt, Izuku shapeshifts himself as a human and presents himself at Katsuki’s door as a traveller seeking refuge from the storm.

Izuku’s plans to weave his gifts of gratitude for Katsuki and leave by morning goes awry when the storm, his sustained injuries, and the townspeople already struggling with sickness unexpectedly forces Izuku and Katsuki to cohabitate... indefinitely.

Loyal to his duties, Izuku dedicates himself to weaving for the village to help them combat the sickness. But now, by living with Katsuki and the townspeople, he’s forced to grapple with what it means to be a human, have a home, and maybe even fall in love.

Or: A loose adaptation of the Japanese folklore, 'The Crane Wife.' Made for the Ever After Bang.

Imperial Retrograde

Tired, feeling safer in his captor’s arms than he’d had in months outside them, Izuku drifted into a dreamless sleep.

And Katsuki carried him home.

---

Raised on a continent at the brink of war, Katsuki and Izuku's sides were chosen the day they were born. But now, as Katsuki's birth right is stripped of him and handed to a foreign prisoner, as Izuku's stolen from his home in the dead of night to fight for an enemy nation because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, the two are forced to find common ground with each other, and end a war heading towards total annihilation.

Part 3: Everyone else in the room can see it (Outsider's POV)

fingers claw your skin (tear your way in)

Love was a new feeling for you, but you found yourself enjoying it. You found yourself willing to go to war for the boy that glanced at Midoriya Izuku with so much tenderness when he thought he wasn't looking, always looking but too afraid to make the first move, filled with too much history and broken promises and harsh words to wade through.

Love was a new feeling for you, but you, Bakugou Katsuki, Kacchan—you were easy to love, if only people saw through your veneer.

Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki's relationship, as seen through Blackwhip's eyes.

The Snaps from the Same Little Breaks in Your Soul

"Seeing the way you two are with each other, it helped me realize what I was missing from my own relationship. Let’s just say you’ve raised the bar considerably. I don’t want to be with someone unless they look at me the way you both look at each other.”

She’s confused when Bakugou’s and Midoriya’s faces both pale while Shinso starts snickering and Kirishima’s eyebrows go up cartoonishly.

“I-I what do you - we’re not” Midoriya is now stammering and blushing, looking to Bakugou who just looks down silently.

Or

The one where Katsuki is such a good boyfriend to Izuku that someone sees this and is inspired to dump their own shitty boyfriend. Even though he's not actually Izuku's boyfriend.

AKA

The post-canon fic where Izuku is a teacher at U.A. and Katsuki still takes care of him.

Part 4: Forever & Always (Post Canon Fics)

Tomorrow's Sound Bite

"There's no such thing as always, Deku. If Dynamight is still hearty and hale, then he's going. I think the public will get a kick out of seeing him hold his own against Hirano and Merry. Stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting," Izuku said with a pout. "I just—Kacchan—"

"Dynamight is an adult and a pro-hero. He is more than capable of answering questions about himself for an hour. Get some rest. I want you in tip-top condition for your talk at the museum opening next week. Now, please give the phone back to Dynamight."

Izuku mumbled a goodbye and mouthed Sorry as he handed the phone to Kacchan.

Kacchan groaned. "Yeah, I'll do the interview, goddamn. But if they want me to talk for an hour, then they'll get me for an hour, got it?"

An hour of pure, unfiltered Kacchan.

Izuku was sure that they didn't know what they were getting into.

---

Izuku and Kacchan always do their interviews together, but with Izuku home sick, Kacchan has to weather it alone. Izuku is worried, especially when a rude guest starts needling Kacchan about their relationship

Deku-Dynamight Divorce Rages On!

Pro Heroes Deku and Dynamight, joint owners of the top hero agency in Japan, have always been known for their relationship, which dates back to their high school days. However, things were clearly different than they looked like from the outside, because the couple shocked the nation when they announced their divorce.

Almost a year later, the battle hasn’t ended.

After over two decades of marriage, Izuku and Katsuki call it quits. However, that's easier said than done when it involves two teenage kids, a ton of interfering friends, and a hell of a lot of petty, escalating attempts to annoy each other.

Part 5: I Can Do it with a Broken Heart (Post Canon Fix-it Fics)

Shouldering Dreams

"Want to be roommates?”

Shouto blinks, processing the question. He sounds skeptical when he asks, “You sure you want to spend that much time with me? You used to say being around me makes you lose brain cells.”

Katsuki snorts. “And being around me that much might make you more of an asshole. I’m a major dick, sometimes.”

Shouto huffs a small laugh, and then he smiles. Quiet falls into the night, and Katsuki almost thinks Shouto thought he was joking. But after several minutes, he speaks again.

“Sure, Major Dick,” Shouto says, “Let’s be roommates.”

---

In which Katsuki is in love with an idiot, Shouto is the greatest best friend of all time, and Izuku is just a little bit oblivious (but he'll figure things out, eventually).

And your bird can sing

Is a twisted bond really so twisted when it once felt like everything? What is happiness, anyways? What kind of hero can Katsuki even be in this sort of society?

Or,

“I mean to say…well, do you see Izuku as a person?” Shouto Todoroki had asked him, "I think you see him as a symbol to strive towards. To chase."

…And promptly turned the next 4 years of Katsuki Bakugou's life upside down.

"What kind of hero are you without Izuku Midoriya?"

And just what is heroism, anyways?

OR—Izuku insists he has everything he wants. Katsuki can’t say the same about himself. So, he’s going to find his birds and make them sing, even if he has to force them, dammit!

profit like it's hot

Nothing. Izuku stood on his tiptoes. “Are you alright? Did something break? I can get you a broom if you… Kacchan?!”

There he was. Crouching behind the counter in tracksuit pants and a black tee, a bottle of pills upended around him, the tips of his ears and what Izuku could see of his face tomato-red and steaming. Baffled wasn’t a big enough word. Shocked wasn’t quite right, either. It was more the, what on earth? feeling you might get if a lion suddenly wandered into a grocery store. Izuku rubbed his eyes.

“Kacchan! It is you! What are you doing down there? Oh my goodness, are you stealing pills?!”

***

Or, five times Izuku finds Katsuki working extra jobs, and one time he finds out why.

***

Alternate titles include:

Amex? more like kiss my assets.

Fairy Godmother Kacchan

chronicals of Deku, the unwilling sugar baby

P.S. I know there are technically two parts for Post Canon fics, but trust me, there is a difference between Post Canon and Post Chapter 431 and Pre Chapter 432 Release fics.

[justwinginglife]

Double The Trouble

25 Days of Simpmas: Day Thirteen December 13th: Manjiro Sano(Mikey), Rank 13 Anime: Tokyo Revengers Event Masterlist

Ironically, this is a Mikey fic and Draken stole lots of screentime lmaooo, whoops, my bad.

Warning: very slight mature scene??

“Let’s trade.”

Two simple words, and yet, they were anything but.

In truth, Mikey had been eying you for a while now, but out of respect for his closest friend, he hadn’t been very active in his pursuit of you. Then, when Draken suddenly expressed his interest in Mikey’s sister, well, Mikey just smirked and said it was only fair that they trade off; Draken was allowed to date Mikey’s sister if Mikey was allowed to date his sister.

Draken almost beat him to a pulp. 

He felt he’d been pretty respectful in asking for Mikey’s permission to date his sister, but he did not like the way Mikey was turning this whole situation into a damn transaction. If that’s what it took, he would just give up on Emma. 

But then you walked in. His baby sister. His whole world. The only thing more precious to him than the entirety of Toman, than the entirety of his life.

And your eyes lit up like the goddamn stars when you saw Mikey. “Hey, silly, watcha doin here? Isn’t it a little early to be up for you?” You walked over to him and ruffled his hair before giving him a hug that was much too long for Draken’s taste. “It’s good to see you.”

Draken sighed. This was terrible. You liked Mikey back, didn’t you? How could he have missed it before? Had the signs always been there, sitting right in front of him? He thought he’d done a good job at keeping you away from the gang life, but Mikey must’ve visited just a little too much, gotten just a little too close, because now you were just a little too fond of him to ever let him go. Now you looked at Mikey like he was the one who put the sun and the stars in the sky, and you looked at him like he’d done it just for you. 

And Draken wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

On the one hand, Mikey was his best friend and he knew Mikey. On the other hand, Mikey was his best friend… and he knew Mikey. He couldn’t be sure that Mikey’s recklessness wouldn’t get you killed one day. He couldn’t be sure that Mikey’s childish behavior wouldn’t break your heart one day. Sure, Mikey was loyal to his friends, to his gang, but he’d never been in a romantic relationship before. Would he know the difference between love and a passing fancy? Would he even know love if it hit him over the head with a spiked baseball bat?

Now that he thought about it, Mikey hadn’t even expressed any notions as grand as love and romance. He’d only expressed interest in you. Interest as in what? As in you were as interesting as a kid's meal? As in you were as interesting as a buy one get one free coupon he’d found on the street? As in you were as interesting as the newest episode of a TV show that just aired? Was he merely intrigued or was he intoxicated? Was he merely amused or was he affectionate? What were the depths of his feelings for you? Was there no depth at all? Was it simply as shallow as physical attraction? 

He grit his teeth at the thought. 

Draken always knew the time would come when he’d have to fight off waves of suitors, of men who thought they were good enough for you, but he never imagined that Mikey would be first in line. He never imagined that maybe the reason Mikey came over so much in the first place was you. 

He wondered if he denied Mikey your hand, would Mikey respect his decision? Or would he go berserk, and steal you away with him? Would he simply sigh, pout a little, and then forget about you the next day? Draken wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, the thought of you being so valuable to Mikey that he’d kidnap you, or the thought of you being so invaluable to him that he’d forget you. But he had to remind himself that he held all the cards here. Mikey was still waiting for his decision. Maybe Draken would just pretend to think on it, buy himself some time. Maybe by then you’d get tired of waiting and just fall out of love with Mikey. Yeah, that’s what he would do. He’d just wait it out. This was just one big waiting game and Draken held all the cards.

But if he held all the cards, you held all the chips. And you were going all in. You knew your brother better than anyone else in the world, so you already knew that he’d never let you date Mikey. You also knew that his eternal pining over Emma would drive you crazy if left alone any longer, so you thought you might do some of the heavy lifting and kill two birds with one stone.

“Kenny! I want to go to the fireworks festival tonight. I bought a kimono and there’s NO WAY I’m letting the summer end without using it once.” You declared suddenly. 

Draken rolled his eyes. “So just wear it here. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, I wanna wear it to the fireworks festival and I wanna wear it tonight. And you’re coming with.”

He raised a brow. Him? You’d just been hanging onto Mikey’s every word like he’d been hand feeding you oxygen breathed by the gods, and you were asking him to go to the festival with you? Not Mikey? He didn’t know what you were playing at, but he knew it wasn’t good. “Okay… what’s the catch?”

“Why’s there always gotta be a catch with you?” You whined. “Can’t I just want to hang out with my big brother?” 

He crossed his arms, waiting.

“Fiiiiiine. Catch is, I wanna see Emma too. You’ll bring her along, won’t you, Mikey?” You turned your big brown eyes on poor Mikey. Now, he hadn’t been intending to resist in the first place -in fact, he’d been too busy imagining how good you would look in a kimono to properly contribute to this conversation at all- but when you gazed at him like that, like he held the world in his hands, there was no way in hell he would ever deny you anything. 

“Of course. I’ll drop her off by-”

“Drop her off? But what if Emma wants you there with us? What if she gets lonely?”

He chuckled. Somehow he didn’t think you were talking about Emma. “I see. Well, I wouldn’t want my dear Emma to be lonely. So I suppose I’ll have to come with. Make sure she’s alright.”

If Draken had caught on - and he most definitely had- you were not going to give him the chance to counterattack. “Great! So it’s settled. You, me, Ken, and Emma will all go out tonight! We’ll have so much fun, can’t wait!”

—---------------------------------------------------------

Emma got here quicker than you thought she would, and thank god for that.

You’d made the excuse that you needed her to help you get ready so you had Mikey fetch her immediately, but you’d really just wanted to get Draken away from Mikey long enough for him to stop his glaring. He was going to scare your future boyfriend away if he kept this up. Stupid brothers. 

When Emma finally arrived, it was even better than you could’ve expected. She was already dressed up, wearing a floral patterned kimono, with flowers weaved into her curled hair, a slight blush applied to her cheeks, and a light gloss applied to her lips, looking like an absolute goddess. It was almost like she’d read your mind and was doing her part to charm the pants off of your brother like you’d intended her to. And boy did it WORK. 

Draken had been stunned into simple sentences.  

“You… you look, uh, good. You look good. So…so good.”

You snickered and Draken shot you a warning glance. Then, mockingly, you gave him a thumbs up to which he responded by flipping you off. “So smooth,” You mouthed to him. 

“Don’t you have to go get ready or something?” He glared. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going, I’m going.”

Emma called after you, “Hey, didn’t you need my help?”

“Nah, not anymore. Seems my brother’s enjoying the show. You may as well give him a twirl.” 

Draken chucked a decorative pillow at your head. “You’re lucky a pillow was the closest thing I could find!”

You laughed as you made your way up the stairs. “Love you, Kenny!”

“Brat.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow. You look-”

“Gorgeous? Stunning? Dazzling?” 

Draken rolled his eyes. “You can’t feed him the compliments you want, dipshit, it won’t count anymore.”

Mikey laughed. “Incredible. I was going to say you look incredible.”

You nudged your brother with an elbow (more like jabbed him). “Seeeee- Mikey knows how to treat a woman. He can think of better compliments than just ‘you uh you look good, so good.’” You teased, mimicking Draken’s earlier speech. 

He nearly strangled you with your own hair. 

“Not in front of Emma, cmon, are you trying to scare all your love prospects away?”

Draken sighed, exasperated, before turning to apologize to Emma about your meddlesome behavior. She only smiled and offered her arm. “Shall we go on ahead of them? No reason we can’t have our fun too.”

You almost snorted as you watched them take off down the street. Seems Emma is as impatient as I am to get the ball rolling. Fine by me.

“My turn.” You wrapped your arm around Mikey, just like Emma had done to Draken. 

He laughed but obliged you. “Not trying to be sneaky anymore?”

“I never sneak.”

“Mmm, sure you don’t.” He grinned, pulling you closer to him. “I meant it, by the way. You do look incredible. I can’t believe I get to see you all dressed up like this.”

“Dressed up aaaaand wearing your favorite color.” You chimed in with a wink.

His eyes gleamed at your words. “Don’t tell me you picked this one specifically for me?”

“What gave me away?” You gasped in mock shock.

He shook his head, laughing. “You’re really something, know that?”

The two of you continued to talk and joke as you walked through the festival booths together. A couple boisterous laughs later, and you earned yourselves some wary glances from Draken looking over his shoulder. You’d emphatically point to Emma, reminding him who his attention was supposed to be fixed on, and he’d narrow his eyes at you and Mikey before finally turning back to smile at her like you’d never set him off in the first place. It was lucky for you that her presence seemed to be enough to dilute his protective big brother act -at least for the time being- because even the few, minor minutes she spent distracting him was enough for you to take advantage of. 

You pointed out a soba booth to Mikey and after you’d found a secluded corner of the festival to share your spoils, you went in for the kill. “I have an idea,” You said slyly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Go on, tell me.”

“I’m gonna eat from this end, you from that end, and we’ll see who can eat the fastest and take all the noodles.”

Mikey smirked. “You’re on.”

Everything was going according to plan. Your mouths were slowly working their way towards each other, as you both devoured your share of the food. Soon enough, there was one noodle left and you were both inching your way towards a cinematic kiss. 

And then he bit down on the noodle and severed it before your lips touched.

You let out a slight audible whine.

Even with kids running around squealing and food sizzling on grills, he still made out the sound of your displeasure. And he grinned.

“Now, don’t tell me you were planning to kiss me right then? What, did you see that move in a movie or something?” He teased, pinching your cheek. 

You swatted him away, grumbling, “So maybe I did. What of it?”

“Such a mastermind, and yet, she really is just a simple girl sometimes.” He tucked a hair behind your ear, brushing his finger along its curve, and you held your breath.

“Well? All my plans are foiled. How do you intend to make it up to me?” You crossed your arms in a slight pout. 

He laughed. “Ah, my apologies. I’ll get right on that.”

His fingers tangled in your hair as his hand began to cup the back of your head and pull you towards him. His eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You were impatient and the evidence was made clear in your smoldering irises. He laughed to himself softly before running a thumb over your lower lip.

“My little mischief maker.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

At first, he was gentle. At first, it was your childhood friend who had kissed you. It was the boy who bought you popsicles on sunny days and blew on your hands on wintery days. It was sincere and sweet and soft. And then, all at once, you were kissing the ferocious leader of Toman, and he was commanding your mouth to open in an instant, invading and laying claim to you with his tongue. His hand hooked around your waist, yanking you closer. He groaned into the kiss, biting down on your lower lip. A whimper escaped your throat and he swallowed it down with a fierce hunger. Any longer and you might-

“And what do you kids think you’re doing??”

You froze.

Mikey sighed and released his grip on you. “Found us, huh?”

You sheepishly turned to face the wrath of your now-seething sibling. “Hiya…Ken.” 

He yanked Mikey off of you and Mikey held his hands up in surrender as he allowed himself to be removed. “And here I thought you said we were here to enjoy this thing together.” He turned to glare at you.

“But you and Emma were having so much fun, I thought-”

“You thought what? That you could distract me and run off with Mikey?”

You bit your lip. “Um. Yeah. Pretty much that.”

“Idiot.” He flicked your forehead. Then he turned on Mikey. “And you, dumbass. I didn’t give you permission to go around kissing my kid sister. In fact, I seem to remember telling you that I didn’t give you permission to ask her out at all!”

Mikey shrugged. “But I didn’t ask her out though. And you didn’t say anything about kissing her.”

You looked from Draken to Mikey then back to Draken. The realization finally dawned on you that after all this time you’d spent with Mikey, dancing on the line between friends and something more, Draken was the reason you never knew where you’d stood with him. “Hold up- you told him he couldn’t do what now??!”

Now it was Draken’s turn to flinch.

You stood up to stare him down, placing a hand on your hip in annoyance. 

Draken sighed. “No, cmon, don’t be like that. You look like mom, god. It was for your own good.”

“Let me get this straight. You told the guy I’m in love with not to ask me out. Did I get that right??”

Mikey coughed. “Love? I’m sorry, love?”

Draken shifted awkwardly, but he still stood his ground. “Yeah, and so what if I did? It was only to protect you.”

You jabbed his shoulder with your finger. “Yeah, well, I can handle myself.”

Draken scoffed. “Handle yourself? You suck at cooking, you don’t know how to change a tire, you never wake up on time, you barely know how to fight, and you say you can handle yourself?? You can’t walk down the street without some bozo trying to scam you or skin you alive!”

Mikey raised his hand slightly. “Sorry, bad timing, but could we go back just a bit- did you say love?”

“Well I can handle this, dummy! And the rest of that stuff is what you’re here for!”

“Oh, so now you get to pick which things you need me for? That’s not how family works, dumbass.”

“UGH, why are you being so stubborn? For crying out loud, he’s your best friend. If he’s not enough for me, than no one else is.”

Draken crossed his arms. “Now you’re starting to get it- no one is good enough for you.”

“And what if I said no one is good enough for you, huh? What if I said you couldn’t date Emma?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d say mind your own damn business.”

You punched his arm. “Oh great, so I can say it too then- mind your own damn business.”

He scowled as he rubbed his aching arm. 

You stared each other down, stewing in heated silence.

Mikey waved on the sidelines. “Still on the love thing, guys.”

Finally, you sighed. “I know you’re always going to be there for me when I need you. I’ll always be there for you too. But this is something I have to do for myself, just like your relationship with Emma is something you need to do yourself. I appreciate you taking care of me all this time, and I’ll always love you, but you gotta let me live a little. And besides, you can always just kick Mikey’s butt if he hurts me, right?”

Mikey coughed. “I’m sorry, what? We went from loving me to kicking my ass?” 

A smile tugged at the edge of Draken’s lips. “Fine. Have it your way. But if he cheats on you, I’m breaking his limbs. If he makes you cry, I’m breaking his limbs. Hell, even if he just doesn’t make you smile enough times for my satisfaction, I’m breaking his limbs. That's the deal, you got it?”

Mikey stuck a finger into the air. “Can I ask, why does everything have to end with my broken limbs?”

“Shhh, it’s fine, baby.” You waved him off. 

Then you turned back to Draken. “Yeah, I got it, it's a deal. Now, we’re going to go finish our date. Don’t interrupt again or I’ll kick your ass. Kay, bye, have fun with Emma!” And with that, you looped your arm around Mikey and took off with him, humming happily the whole way. He was finally within reach, the fireworks were finally lighting up the night sky, and you were finally alone together. Everything was perfect. You peeked over at him, and saw his brows were still furrowed, deep in thought.

What could he be thinking about? Was he wondering how he should go about asking you out? Was he waiting for you to ask him out? Was he still worried about Draken? You knew you said that Draken could beat him up, but that was knowing full well that Mikey could handle himself so you hoped it wasn’t that. Or perhaps.. Maybe he was thinking… Your cheeks warmed as you thought about your earlier kiss. Maybe he was planning to try again. Maybe you should encourage it.

You inched towards him, closer and closer. 

Finally, as your breaths were on the verge of intermingling, he opened his mouth to speak. Here it comes, you thought to yourself excitedly.

“So… is this the part where we talk about the love thing now, or?”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

[aventurineswife]

Hello. Not feeling so great. 🫠 I’m hanging in there, but irl really just be Like That™️.

Can I request Welt with a Reader going up to him for a hug to “recharge”? Thanks.

A Moment of Rejuvenation

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of responsibilities, you seek solace in a simple, comforting embrace from Welt. The seasoned protector and mentor offers a rare moment of emotional support, reminding you that even the strongest need time to recharge. As you find comfort in his presence, you are reminded of the unspoken bond that exists between you, one rooted in understanding and mutual respect.

Tags: Welt x Reader, Comfort, Emotional Support, Slow Burn, Mentor-Student Relationship, Hug, Reassurance, Quiet Moments, Soft Welt, Emotional Recharge.

A/N: I hope you get well! 🫂❤️‍🩹

The Astral Express was filled with the usual sounds of bustling activity—clicking keys, quiet murmurs of conversation, and the occasional hum of the engine as it traversed the stars. But amidst the motion, there was an underlying calmness. It had become a safe haven, especially for those aboard who sought solace in each other’s company. Among them, there was one person who found comfort not in words, but in something simpler—a gesture that spoke volumes.

You had been running around for hours, tackling various tasks and handling the duties of the day. The weight of your responsibilities felt heavier than usual, and despite your best efforts to power through, you could feel the exhaustion creeping up on you. You needed something to recharge—not a cup of tea or a moment to sit down—but something that could fill the space inside you that the endless tasks and duty had drained.

That’s when you found him. Welt, the ever-present pillar of wisdom and strength, was leaning against the window in the lounge, gazing out at the stars. His posture was relaxed, but the weight of his past was always there, even if he never let it show. You knew that despite his calm and composed demeanor, he carried far more than his fair share of burdens.

You stood there for a moment, watching him. He’d been a mentor to you, offering advice when needed, sharing moments of quiet reflection, and even providing the occasional dry humor that always managed to lighten the atmosphere. Yet, today, you needed something different.

Welt’s head turned slightly, sensing your presence before you could even make a sound. His eyes, always full of depth and understanding, met yours with a subtle nod, acknowledging your approach. "Is something on your mind?" he asked, his voice calm, but with a hint of concern.

Without saying a word, you walked up to him, hesitating just for a moment. The expression on his face remained unchanged, yet there was something in the air—something almost imperceptible that told him this wasn’t just a typical request. You reached out slowly, wrapping your arms around his torso in a soft, gentle embrace.

Welt’s body stiffened at first, the suddenness of the gesture catching him off guard. But as you pressed your head against his chest, the familiar warmth of his presence settling around you, the tension in his body seemed to melt away. He didn’t move at first, unsure of how to react to something so simple yet so intimate. But after a moment of silence, he let out a quiet sigh, his hand gently resting on the top of your head.

"Recharging, hmm?" he mused softly, his voice a mixture of understanding and wry amusement. "I suppose even the most resilient of us need a little rest every now and then."

You closed your eyes, allowing the peaceful moment to fill you. It wasn’t just the physical act of being close to him—it was the unspoken connection between the two of you that soothed your spirit. Welt was a man who had seen more than his fair share of pain, loss, and responsibility. Yet, he was still here, offering his presence, his support, and perhaps, in this simple embrace, a little bit of the comfort he’d often denied himself.

As you stood there, quietly recharging in his embrace, you could feel the rhythm of his breath. It was a grounding presence, steady and comforting. Welt had always been a man of action, but in this moment, he wasn’t thinking of duties or cosmic battles—he was simply here, with you, offering his quiet strength.

"Take all the time you need," he said, his voice softer than usual. "But remember, you don’t always have to bear the weight alone."

The words were simple, but they held a depth that spoke to the heart of what you needed. In this moment, there was no hero, no mentor, no protector. There was just Welt, and the quiet understanding between you two.

After a few moments, you slowly pulled away, your fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary. Welt’s gaze met yours once again, and though he didn’t say anything more, the flicker of understanding in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

Welt’s lips curled into a faint smile, his usual dry humor shining through. "You’re welcome. Just don’t make a habit of it, or I’ll have to start charging for emotional support."

You chuckled at his teasing, feeling lighter than you had all day. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel recharged, not just physically but emotionally. You had learned long ago that sometimes, the simplest of moments held the greatest value. And with Welt, you knew that even the quietest gestures could be the most profound.

[notjustjavierpena]

Reunion - Part II: Clamp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This started out as a collection of a few requests. Then it became feely instead. Then a second chapter to Reunion. Read the first part here.

Summary: Homemade nipple clamps, toast for breakfast and a sudden confession. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dad’s best friend joel miller, daddy kink, innocence kink to some extent, homemade nipple clamps, nipple play, PIV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, possessive sex, reader has post-sex feelings, joel does too. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49869355/chapters/125892349

Clamp

Joel’s stomach growls loudly underneath you as you are cuddling in bed. He tries to deny it when you start fussing, but the way the noise repeats itself, traveling all the way up to your ear as you rest your head on his chest, makes him capitulate quickly. You get out from underneath the covers.

“Come on, I’m hungry but…” he says with a tinge of the stubbornness of a teenager as if eating is only an inconvenience and not a way of staying alive as well as healthy. He’d go hungry to touch you, and it’s almost sweet but you’d rather feed and hydrate him so he can go again sooner. 

You can feel it as he watches your ass when you move to the dresser in his room. There are a few pieces of clothing sticking out, and you yank at what you correctly assume is a t-shirt. Pulling it over your head, you are encapsulated in the smell of Joel’s fabric softener, a hint of his cologne too that doesn’t seem to want to come out completely. 

“I’m going to make some toast,” you say just as stubbornly, bending over to tie your hair up in a messy bun despite knowing you are not wearing any underwear. Joel groans behind you. 

“Ain’t playin’ fair,” he mutters bitterly, “Look at you. No panties and my shirt? Diabolical.”

You hear shuffling behind you but you actively ignore the footsteps coming up behind you. Instead, you secure a few stray hairs with the hairpins that you took out last night, trying to look busy when hands settle on your hips. 

“Turn around,” he tells you. You smile to yourself. 

With a few seconds delay, he adds a threatening ‘young lady’. You put on a pout and then face him, “Just wanna feed you, Daddy. Look at you. You’re already skin and bone.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he argues.

You shake your head, allow him to kiss you longingly for a little bit, “No, I like your tummy. You’re soft. Like you soft.” 

“Soft,” he repeats with a scoff, “I ain’t soft.”

And then, “And I always get what I want.”

Suddenly, his hands reach up to find the hairpins at the back of your head. He pulls one out, makes you furrow your brows as it tugs a little at the sensitive baby hairs there. 

“Ow, what are you doing?” You ask as he removes the second one. He holds them in his large palm, big enough to hide them completely from view. 

“Do you trust me?” He questions. He looks into your eyes expectantly, waiting for confirmation before he continues. You nod. He doesn’t go on.

“I mean yes,” you quickly add.

“Good girl,” he smiles at how well you are learning. Then he reaches for the bottom of his shirt that you are wearing, pinching the hem with his thumb and forefinger now that he has the pins in his palm. He yanks the shirt up until it rests above your breasts, “Hold this up f’me.”

You do as he says. The fabric skimming over your chest and the anticipation that is hanging in the air has made your nipples hard, standing in peaks and waiting for what is about to happen. You know exactly where this is going yet it still hits you when one of the pins clamp down on your sensitive nipple. 

You half-moan in beautiful pain, half-chuckle in surprise. It stings and pinches, but despite never having done this before, your body reacts a whole lot more by pulsing between your legs than by triggering your fight-or-flight response. 

Joel studies your face but you don’t give him any indication that you want to stop. He tugs a little on the pin to make sure it is secure and elicits a little sound from you. You’ve noticed his boxers are already starting to tent. 

“Next one,” he informs as if performing a mediocre task, his voice having dropped an octave. He sounds breathier, aroused. You don’t jump half as much when your other nipple is painfully pinched too, but the feeling of them burning together is so intense that slick has started to smear your inner thighs. 

“Now,” he yanks your shirt down, makes your arms fall to your sides and your toes curl as a pin nearly catches in the fabric, “Go make me some toast. See if you still think I’m soft then.”

“But…” you try. 

“Go on,” he says and crawls back into bed before you can play dirty and touch him on the front of his underwear. 

*

Making breakfast has never been harder. 

You are in a world of hellish lust as you enter the bedroom again, holding a plate with buttered toast in your hands. There is a slice for you too, but it’ll take a whole lot longer for you to eat your way through it than it will take Joel to wolf down his own two pieces. 

He sits on the bed in silence, chewing quietly and occasionally brushing a few crumbs off the top of his chest. You hope that he doesn’t see the way you try to rock down on the foot you have tucked underneath yourself because he’d laugh straight into your face. 

“Don’t start without me.”

You sit up straight at being called out and the shirt tugs at your tits. You hiss loudly, “Please.”

“In a moment, just gotta get clean first. Sit against the headboard, ‘n take off your shirt,” he leaves the bed to go wash his hands. He is painfully hard at this point. You nearly break the plate when you move to place it on the nightstand. 

“What’re ya doin’?” He calls over the tap running from the master bathroom. 

“Not getting fucked,” you quip. 

“Watch it,” he replies back as if unaffected. God, he is so much better at this than you.

You are completely naked as he reenters the bedroom. You’ve stuffed a pillow behind your back, halfway to lying down with your ass scooted downwards on the bed a little. Your pussy is flushed pink and glistening, presented, and your nipples are a good amount of shades darker from the blood flow having settled there. The burn is exquisite, but it’s the sight of Joel’s eyes going dark that makes you whine.

“Jesus,” he laughs quietly as he crawls between your legs. Even the weight of him on the bed makes a sound slip from your mouth, “Ain’t ya just an obedient little thing?” 

You blink up at him almost teary-eyed. He takes pity on you. 

“Let’s get these off,” he promises, kneeling to free his hands from having to support himself. He removes one homemade clamp, making you whimper in relief at the ceiling. The blood flow makes your heart pound, slamming painfully against your ribs whilst you anticipate the second clamp being removed.

Joel flicks your abused nipple instead. Your head snaps down to his grin, betrayal visible on your face. Your cunt reacts immediately, feeling too empty and fluttering as it tries sucking in something that isn’t there. 

Joel looks down between your legs. He smiles affectionately, creating an obscene contrast to what he is doing to you. He coos softly at your facial expression, it having turned pained and horny, “Shh… I’ll kiss it better, baby.”

He finally removes the second hairpin. There’s a second where he lets you cry weakly at the new sensation, but then he tugs at both of your nipples to the point where you don’t even have the brain power to say a sound. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Good,” he praises, relenting but only to rub the sensitive nubs with his thumbs in clockwise motions, “Don’t think about anything. Just think about this, princess. Feel good?”

It does. You nod. The gentleness behind the touches is soothing you more than you thought it could, the pads of Joel’s fingers bringing your heartbeat down a notch. He traces your areola, breathing a little more erratically at seeing your pussy jump without being touched. 

He tugs again, soothes again until your nipples are red and swollen underneath his fingertips. The clamps have done a number on you because you start to think you might be able to come like this, a growing pressure starting between your legs. 

But Joel isn’t going to let you. He straightens until he is upright again, swallowing thickly as he focuses his attention on your neglected cunt. He runs a warm hand down over your mound, your hips twitching in response to finally being touched. Joel’s breath hitches in his throat as he stares down at his shiny palm, “Why didn’t you say anything? Look at her. She’s weepin’.”

“Just needs you,” your doe-eyes are on full blast. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, lazily running two fingers through your slick folds until you sigh, “You took a lot last night. Think you can handle it?” 

“Want you to keep me sore, Daddy,” you push into his touch again. He swears under his breath, teasingly dipping his digits into your cunt but making no suggestion that he will follow through on what they’re doing. You bat your eyelashes, “Please.”

It does not take much more convincing. He calls you princess again but this time it is with a frustrated sigh. He yanks his boxers down over his hips to let his cock spring free, kicks his underwear all the way off, and lets them fall to the floor of the bedroom in record time. 

He is fully erect. Hard and beautiful. The head of his dick has turned a dark red from having been seeking your attentive touch since he watched you put up your hair. The tip impatiently weeps precome for you. You consider a blowjob for half a second because your mouth waters at the idea of tasting his salt and musk. 

Later, you think, some other time. 

He strokes himself a few times until the bead at the head spills down over the length of him. Your eyes never leave his cock, especially not when he slides it through your glistening folds to coat himself in your arousal. 

“Could come just like this,” you tell him and finally dare to look up into his eyes. He smiles back at you and it tugs at your heartstrings. You reach out to hold his elbows and lift your legs to wrap them around his waist. 

In one smooth motion, he positions himself and rocks into you without stopping until he has bottomed out. The girth of him never ceases to amaze you. It’s the same each time; he stretches your walls painfully until you whimper and tells you that big girls can take it. Ain’t you a big girl? You nod with your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it to suppress the pathetic little noise that’s bubbling up in your chest. 

It works for a moment but only until Joel tells you to breathe. The noise finally comes out and it becomes wanton when he starts fucking into you. He pounds you like yesterday and you can barely contain yourself anymore, whining and groaning as he gives it to you with the intention of making you sore all over. Your walls are already sensitive, and you hate to think that you haven’t actually been out of your state of arousal since you knocked on his door. It’s embarrassing. It’s infatuation. 

You let out a high-pitched squeak as he bucks up his hips, nudging at the front of your walls and searching for that little spot inside you that belongs to him by now. He finds it expertly, fits inside of you like you were made for each other. 

“There!” You plea whilst arching your back, “Daddy, it’s right—“

“I know where it fuckin’ is,” he leans down to kiss you, breaths coming out through his nose as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You dig your nails into the back of his arms, making an attempt to move with him and oh God, you kiss him so deeply. 

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he growls when he pulls back for a breath that he can barely catch, sweat threatening to drip down from his brow. He has one hand on the headboard, making the bed rattle underneath the both of you, and the other lays over your heart. He applies just the slightest pressure to your chest. 

“You’re— baby, please,” you can barely find the words, gasping out into the room. The only thing you can think of is how important it feels to hold onto him as he drives into your cunt, scared that if you let go you’ll melt into the mattress and never see him again. You never want that to happen. You want to drown in everything he is. 

“Say it,” he gives you a particularly hard thrust, managing to put the hand on the headboard behind your head before you bang it into the wood. You don’t even think you would have noticed it if it had happened since you are so delirious already from being so fucked out. 

“Best— best I’ve ever had,” you stutter out between loud moans, the pleasurable tightening in your belly soon reaching a crescendo, “I’m close, oh f— I’m so close.”

“Careful, princess,” he notes as you almost swear at him, “Don’t make— shit, don’t give me a reason to stop.”

He wouldn’t, you think, he is as lost in you as you are in him. 

“Never,” you pant, noises climbing in pitch, “I’m gonna be so good for you, Daddy. Gonna come— oh God, please, gonna come on your cock!”

“Yeah,” his thighs flex, your legs squeeze harder around him, “Oh fuuuck, I can feel you— come on my dick, sweetheart. You can do it.” 

The tightening releases into sweet clenches. Your vision blanks for just a moment, your brain unable to focus on any other of your five senses except touch, and Joel touches you deep inside as his hips stutter and your walls milk everything he has to give. 

He fucks you through it, bucks his hips upwards to prod at your g-spot whilst you shiver and moan from the heat of your climax. It may be even more intense than yesterday despite how many highs he pulled from you. 

Everything stills. Time passes while you pant. The windows must be foggy by now. Joel slips out with a soft groan and kisses away the pained moan you let out when emptiness hits.

You are sure you are experiencing heat stroke as you try catching your breath. There are small beads of sweat scattered all over your chest and stomach, some collecting in the dip of your belly button. You feel like you are floating in the Sunday afternoon silence. A bird chirps outside of the window, and you catch yourself wondering why you haven’t heard it until now. He is too important, you think, so important that you filter out anything that isn’t him until he leaves you in this state of clarity. You love him.

Joel is staring down at you and you can see yourself in the reflection of his brown eyes. He glows just like you, filled to the brim with dopamine. His skin burns as you rub his arms where you have been digging your nails into them moments before. You wonder if he feels the same as you; like someone who is seconds from evaporating, bursting, something, unable to move, in love. 

You pull him down into yourself. He sticks to you in a way that would normally have you scrunching up your nose, but you don’t care about it right now because his cheek is pressed to yours. You giggle softly with post-orgasmic excitement. 

But then a thought reluctantly worms its way into your head. Why isn’t he saying something? You know why you aren’t, but why isn’t he? 

“Joel,” you say in confusion as he suddenly starts to break free from your embrace. He moves to sit up next to you, eyes the plate on the nightstand, and practically launches himself up from the bed so he can take it to the kitchen. 

You crawl across the bed without thinking as if you have the speed to catch his wrist before he is out the door, “Joel. Fuck, Joel!”

That catches his attention. Joel turns in the doorway. He sets the plate down on his dresser instead, “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“Well shit,” you continue and he visibly flinches. 

“Don’t say anything,” you don’t think you have ever warned him as he repeatedly does with you, “Don’t say anything, just come here.” 

You hold out your hands, still on your knees at the edge of the bed. You grab at the air, and after a brief pause, Joel gives in. He steps forward until you can hold onto his wrists, “Remember that time you wiped away my tears? The first time we… doesn’t matter. Point is I was sad and you were there.”

Joel avoids replying. He swallows thickly, jaw muscles tensing. 

“I just mean that you can talk to me,” you finish your speech which is barely a speech with a beating heart. There are so many butterflies in your stomach that they are making you slightly nauseous. You look at him expectantly, watching his eyes skim over your face, scanning for what you assume is genuineness. You won’t ask why he needs reassurance that you are telling him the truth. 

“I’m falling for you,” he breathes out. 

Of all things, you do not expect this. 

“Ditto,” you say back, eyes widening when you realize that it’s the word you have managed to blurt out. 

“Ditto?” Joel furrows his brow. 

You slap his arm, “Shut it. You know what ditto means.”

But then he bursts out laughing and your heart swells. He leans down over you, naked and vulnerable right there in front of you, and kisses you gently. 

He inhales deeply afterward, then asks the question that you want an answer to as well: “What in the world are we going to do?”

*

It comes out of nowhere a few weeks later when you’re home again. 

“You know Joel?” Your dad asks as if you have never noticed him in the many years he’s been your father’s best friend. You try not to freeze. 

“Yes, I obviously know Mr. Miller, Dad. What about him?” You sip your coffee, eyeing the crossword on the back of the newspaper that your father is holding up in front of himself. 

“Think he’s seein’ some new lady,” he replies but there’s no tone to his voice. 

You tense in your seat, setting down your mug to avoid dropping it if the news is about to break, “Why do you think that?”

“Don’t matter why, but she’s good for him, I can tell,” your father is still oblivious, “Just smiles more.”

“Ah, well good for him,” you pause briefly, “Can I get the crossword puzzle?”

“Sure, honey.”

As he rustles the paper to pull out the page, you stand with the excuse of getting a pen, but when you have your back to your father, you grin to yourself and don’t mind the butterflies that seem to have moved into your body.

Joel is right. 

What in the world are you going to do?

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[razorblade180]

Petty Bet

Mualani and Aether: *eating together*

Paimon:…..Are yall gonna kiss or what?

Aether:*chokes aggressively*

Mualani:W-What!? Where did that come from?

Paimon:You’re always hanging out. Everyone is thinking it. All are watching with interest.

Aether:No, you’re just a busybody. What, you make a bet or something with my relationships?

Paimon:….*averts eyes*

Aether:You’re betting on me!?

Paimon:Maybe! Who could say!?

Mualani:Haha, that explains the intense approach. Who the heck are you betting w- it’s Ajaw, isn’t it?

Paimon:He needs to know failure! To be humbled!

Aether:What was the bet?

Paimon:He said “despite the mediocrity of my lowly servant, the blonde would easily fall victim to Kinich before some chatty Beach Bum” and Paimon thought that was stupid and said “Aether’s been falling for Mualani faster than a rushing tide. If he’s wants to be with anyone it’s clearly someone as likable as her!”

Aether:Now why would you repeat that last part?

Mualani:I’ve been giving you nonstop surfing lessons every chance we get when you ask.

Aether:Because it’s fun! We’re having fun!

Mualani:Also , “chatty beach bum?” I might have to tell Kinich about that one.

Paimon:Oh yeah, losing means Paimon has to “bow celebrate his glory as a faithful servant.”

Mualani:And if he loses?

Paimon:He gets locked up for a week.

Mualani:Aether, I think it would be incredibly irresponsible of you to not kiss me.

Aether:You are shockingly petty.

Mualani:It’s Ajaw! Nobody wants a world where he’s winning. A week of us hanging out with Kinich and Kachina in peace.

Paimon:Why are you pretending you don’t literally fall in love with a land and its people in every nation.

Aether:*holds Sandshrew* For your information, I’m trying to set a good example my child and take matters slow like the responsible adult I am.

Sandshrew: Rawr!

Aether:See? They agree.

Paimon:You flirted your way out of court case against in Fontaine.

Mualani:That’s impressive.

Aether:Thank you. I surprised myself.

Paimon:You’re not even denying it!

Mualani:Admittedly, my pride would be ever so slightly bruised if Ajaw did win that bet. In the grand scheme of it all however, it doesn’t really matter considering I’m dating Kinich.

Paimon:WHAT!?

Mualani:Yeah I’m not surprised Ajaw didn’t mention that part. Kinich actually made the first move. I was super surprised. That’s probably why Ajaw was so confident you’d lose.

Paimon:That little- of course he’d play dirty.

Aether:And what are you doing right now?

Paimon:Irrelevant.

Mualani:Don’t be too hard on her. To be fair, Kinich and I are just as competitive in our own way. Like how we plan fun one on one activities with you. And don’t pretend you don’t know we’re flirting; otherwise you wouldn’t have felt the need to explain your lifestyle. You totally like the attention.

Aether:*red* It doesn’t happen often. I feel a little special is all.

Mualani:And there’s nothing wrong with that. I honestly like just hanging out. I’d do it regardless if you’re interested in me or not.

Paimon:You’re totally is type. It’s actually embarrassing.

Aether:I’m gonna grill you.

Paimon:What!? We both agree Mualani and Kachina definitely should get the chance to meet Amber and Collei. They’d be the bestest friends. Especially Amber and Mualani.

Mualani:Oh? Now I’m interested. She sounds like quite the individual.

Aether:Hehe, yeah she’s incredible.

Meanwhile….

A burning stove

Amber:….

Eula:I didn’t think buring water was possible. *freezes stove*

Amber:What can I say? I’m full of surprises. *lowers head* Let’s just order breakfast today.

xxxxxx

Mualani:Well the way I see things, you have options that all lead to fine outcomes. If you’re not interested in either of us that’s perfectly okay. If you aren’t attracted to me that’s alright. I know I’m a lot.

Paimon: (I see he hasn’t gotten to his Fontaine stories yet…)

Mualani:However, if you do happen to be interested, then I have it on good authority that leaning forward right now wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. *smirks*

Paimon:I’ll cover Sandshrew’s eyes.

Aether:How the heck did I end up becoming the equivalent of a bounty?

Paimon and Mualani: You’re a catch.

Sandshrew: Rawr!

Aether:….

xxxxxx

Paimon:Hello Kinich! *side eyes* Ajaw…

Kinich:Mind your tone, anemic bloaty floaty. Soon you will be bowing in reverence to the mighty-

Paimon pulls out a photo she took of Aether and Mualani from a distance, creating the assumption that she did it in secret. It was the two of them sharing a gentle and whimsical kiss by the water with their meal.

Ajaw:WHAT!? IMPOSSIBLE!

Paimon:Oh it’s very possible. You’re looking right at it. They’re dating and you’ve lost.

Kinich:Well I guess that’s that. *stands up* It was one week, correct?

Ajaw:Don’t you dare! This thing cheated! It had to!!

Kinich:You know what they say. “You play stupid games…”

Paimon: “You get stupid prizes.”

Kinich:Time to honor your reward for losing.

Ajaw:I swear to the heavens themself if you dare- *banished*

Kinich:Realistically I’m probably going to need him after for four days to do something.

Paimon:Every second will be cherished. Also, you’ve been invited to go camping and to a dinner.

Kinich:Heh, I suspected as much. *smiles* I really can’t keep with all you sometimes.

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness: Bonus 1

Find the series masterlist 

Okay here is the first bonus chapter! No reader here, not really. Just Price and Logan. 

Warnings: Swearing, shifter behavior, world building. 

Word count: 1k

Logan tucked his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the alpha before him. Captain John Price. He was clearly respected by his pack - even Logan’s kid liked him. At least, from what Logan had seen. 

“Is this the part where you ask after my intentions?” Price sounded faintly amused, though there was still a bit of tension in his shoulders. 

“Nah. Kid’s old enough to make her own decisions. ‘Sides, she out-stubborns me.” Logan smirked. If nothing else, that would be entertaining. For him. 

Price leaned back a little. “Then what can I do for you?” 

Logan was quiet for a few long moments, observing the other shifter. He was bigger than Logan (not that that was unusual) and broad. Strong. Clearly experienced, to have the position he held. Respected. 

Really, his kid could do worse. Much worse. 

“Show me ‘round.” Logan tipped his chin with a little smirk. Skipping the pleasantries and going straight for the meat of the conversation was something he did quite often now. In this case, that meant skipping the intentions talk and going straight to a little challenge to prove Price could provide for her. 

It was bound to come up eventually. Logan was just speeding things along. He didn’t have all the time in the world, after all. 

Price blinked but didn’t deny him. “Very well.” He led the way, glancing back only once. 

Logan had seen his fair share of bases in his time. Had spent a lot of time on various bases. It was easy for him to see that this one was well-run and well-supplied. Both points in Price’s favor. 

But it was still a base. Which was a point against him. His girl deserved the world, after all. 

This place might suffice. Maybe. 

The two paused out by a pond, away from the main activity of the base. Not a bad spot, really. Far enough away to have some privacy, still on base so it was protected. Not bad at all. 

“Any objections so far?” Price glanced at him, keeping calm. 

Logan had to admit he was a little (teeny tiny) bit impressed. 

“Nah. Still not me you have to convince.” Logan smirked

Price was quiet for a few moments. “Do you anticipate her having objections?”

“Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking of.” Logan rocked back on his heels, frowning at the water. “Can’t tell you all of it. Not mine to tell. But her life hasn’t always been cushy.” 

Price nodded slowly, arms crossing over his chest. “If she agrees…?” 

Logan huffed softly. “Won’t say you’re the first to try,” he said slowly, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Price tensed. “But. If she agrees. She’s still my kid.”

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping her away from you. You’ll be free to visit, preferably with warning.” Price slanted a look at Logan, who merely smirked. 

“Fair ‘nough. Your jobs?”

“Won’t be a problem. She will not be coming with us anywhere dangerous.” Price’s jaw tightened. 

Logan chuckled. “And her job?” 

“She’s free to do as she wishes.” Price shrugged. “I’m sure we can arrange to make things coincide, if she decides she’d like to continue traveling.” 

Interesting. He’d put more thought into this than Logan had anticipated. 

“Sounds like you’re determined.” Logan smirked. “You’ll need that.” 

Price snorted softly and started walking again, a little slower this time, more leisurely. Logan kept pace easily. 

“There are some things you should know,” Logan said slowly. “That I can’t tell you.” 

Price eyed him. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan in mind.”

“Less a plan, more bullying.” Logan shrugged. “Kid needs some tossing out of her own head, sometimes.” 

“What are you going to do?” Price sounded a little wary. Which… Okay, fair. 

“Throw her in the pond.” 

Price didn’t object immediately, which raised Logan’s opinion of him. “None of us will help if she tries to murder you.”

Logan tipped his head back and laughed. “That’s the only way I want to go out,” he agreed, grinning. “Fuckin’ kid has tried before. Stayed with me for two weeks when she was seventeen. Honestly still surprised we both survived that.”

Price’s lips twitched. “Was she a terror?”

“Little hellion,” Logan agreed. “Didn’t help I had no idea how to care for a teenager.”

“You know her parents?” 

And there it was. Logan shook his head. “Nah. She doesn’t, either.” 

Price caught on almost immediately, something sad in the tilt of his lips, even as he nodded his understanding. 

“I’ll send you some pictures after I get back home,” Logan offered. A silent peace offering, a show of approval. “Don’t have any baby pictures to taunt her with, but teenage ones will have t’do.” 

Price chuckled. “I’m sure Soap and Gaz will make the most of those,” he agreed dryly. 

“Seem like good kids,” Logan agreed. 

“Some of the best.” The pride in Price’s voice was clear. Logan approved. “Even when they are right pains in my arse.”

Logan snickered. “Kids,” he agreed with absolutely fake sympathy. 

Another few minutes passed in quiet as they continued their tour, which had turned into a patrol of the perimeter. Not that Logan minded - sometimes this was easier. Besides, he’d already been on base a few days and knew his way around. This walk wasn’t so much about the actual tour as it was getting to know Price better, to see if he’d be a decent match for his girl. 

“Not lookin’ to expand your pack, are you?” Logan eyed Price curiously. 

“No.” The answer was short and solid.

“Hm.” Logan waited. He could be patient. 

“You’re not…?” Price glanced at him finally. 

“Me? Nah. I’m good on my own.” Logan reached up to scratch his chin. “But I keep my ear to the ground. Just in case.” 

Price grunted. “If there’s someone with nowhere else to go, and you recommend them, I’d consider it.” 

“Good.” 

Logan paused by the outdoor obstacle course. Nobody else was using it. This could be fun. “Care to take a run through?” He jerked his thumb at the obstacle course. 

Price eyed him. “Stakes?” 

“Bottle of whiskey.” Logan smirked. 

“You’re on.” 

The two trudged back inside much later, both of them pleasantly tired, chuckling together like old friends. 

Logan knew his kid hadn’t made up her mind yet, but he had a good feeling about this pack. Maybe he’d give her a little nudge in the right direction.

[monstrouslydelicious]

one more bit of At Least Out Loud, this time after the living armor discovery

Just rescue Falin and get back to the surface. Rescue Falin, get back to the surface, and you can go your separate ways. No one ever has to know about this, Chilchuck thought, gritting his teeth to keep a dumb grin from spreading across his face. Laios was being absurdly attractive again and it wasn't fair. His excitement over discovering living armor was actually living shouldn't be as cute as it was.

“You see that? How when he talks about monsters he gets crazy eyes? It creeps me out,” Chilchuck muttered to Marcille instead. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to suppress unwise emotions around Laios, so he was well practiced in saying the exact opposite of how he felt.

Although it’s never been quite this hard before - he is stupidly adorable like this.

So adorable, in fact, that Chilchuck almost missed Laios asking Senshi about eating the slimy little armor creatures. He would have missed it if not for Marcille’s screech of protest and yank on his arm to drag the armor he was holding toward Laios’ face. At that point, his own self-preservation instincts drowned out any lingering thoughts of Laios’ appeal, and he joined her in yelling about not eating something they knew virtually nothing about.

But then Senshi agreed to try cooking them, and Chilchuck sighed. They might as well just drop it. There was no stopping those two now, and Marcille’s continued objections seemed like a waste of energy. Even when she suggested the living armor might be poisonous, Laios’ confidence that anything that poisonous wouldn’t need to hide itself seemed logical enough. And he’s not usually wrong when it comes to monsters, Chilchuck thought begrudgingly, I guess I’ll just eat whatever seems the least disgusting - after he tries it first, of course.

While the other three picked apart the pieces of armor, Chilchuck got a fire started, then sat back and watched as Senshi decided different ways to cook the creatures. They are starting to smell really good, he admitted to himself, feeling his stomach rumble at the enticing aroma of the cooking mollusks.

But Chilchuck Tims was nothing if not a half-foot of conviction, so when Senshi declared everything finished, he narrowed his eyes at Laios and insisted he try it first. The other two agreed and waited to see what would happen. Chilchuck could feel a little worry gnawing at his heart. Instead of acknowledging that, even to himself, he muttered, “We leave his corpse if he dies, okay?”

And yet, when Laios dropped the piece of armor-shell he was holding, Chilchuck had a moment of intense terror. Was it actually poisonous? What if he dies - Marcille isn’t good at resurrection magic, that was always Falin’s job. No, no -

Laios’ shouting about how delicious it was shook those thoughts from his head and he nearly sagged with relief.

Then Senshi was trying his portion and suddenly, Laios was asking him and Marcille how theirs tasted. Taking a tentative bite, Chilchuck chewed thoughtfully. Laios is right, this is pretty tasty. Not that he was going to actually acknowledge that when Marcille asked, downplaying his opinion. No sense letting this go to his head.

Later, as they cleaned and packed up, Senshi remarked, “In all my years of eating monsters in this here dungeon, I never would have dreamed I’d eat critters like those.”

“I doubt anyone dreamed Living Armor was a type of shellfish, a weird type born from an egg case,” Chilchuck answered, knowing full well he was leaving an opening for Laios to start rambling again - and doing it anyway.

The tall-man didn’t disappoint and he started thinking through the life cycle of Living Armor out loud. Oh, he’s getting a little weird with it again, Chilchuck thought as Laios excitedly theorized that armor holding hands might actually be a mating ritual for the creatures. And yet, he couldn’t deny the dreamy, besotted look he was actively attempting to resist.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

By music! Question, I was looking for a Drabble you wrote and post, I think it was a WIP about havenfall is for family, about hisashi’s will and how Izuku wouldn’t get anything if he transition or something and I was wondering if you could help me find it?

Inko had been the first to fall for Hisashi’s charm but she hadn’t been the last by far. Sitting in the small police station that Sherriff Hunt had escorted her, Izuku and Mr. Smith to, she figured Martha probably hadn’t been the last either.

“It fits his usual antics.” Inko said tiredly. “The only reason I stuck around was because he’d actively sabotaged my college career and had a lot of money. Leaving would have ruined me even with evidence of him cheating which three of his girlfriends had given me.”

“A real piece of work,” Sherrif Hunt said in disgust. She paused to look at Izuku who was lost in his own world with Inko’s phone and headphones.

“He’s looking up local heroes.” Inko explained. Hunt looked interested, eyes twinkling.

“Really? Does he know any English? My Japanese is rusty, and I’d like to talk about heroes.”

“He knows a fair amount.” Inko smiled as the sherriff easily drew Izuku away. Far enough he couldn’t hear but close enough Inko could see. She was a good woman, Inko could tell.

“Alright so, Hisashi left you and Izuku everything,” Mr. Smith didn’t beat around the bush. “His funeral was last week, but you didn’t come due to…”

“Izuku’s classmates thought it would be funny to push him down the stairs and he broke his arm and leg,” Inko said shortly. The lawyer stared at her in open mouth shock. Inko noticed that the Sherrif seemed to have stiffened briefly to. Enhanced hearing probably. “One of the parents at least felt bad enough to get a relative with a healing Quirk in but it took a while.”

“Oh…” Mr. Smith swallowed. “Okay, so, it makes sense why you’re staying here for a while.”

“Just a few years to handle Hisashi’s affairs so I can arrange to move to a new place in Japan. The house he and his mother lived in is still good, correct?” Inko asked.

“It is.” Mr. Smith nodded. He made a note on some paper he’d taken from his briefcase. “Izuku will inherit a large sum as long… as…” he trailed off. Inko sighed.

“Izuku declared he was a boy when he was four and I never denied him that. Perhaps he’s a little to young for it, I don’t know. Don’t ask me how gender works. I don’t see any harm in letting him explore pronouns and his identity. Maybe he’ll decide otherwise.” Inko sighed. “What did Hisashi put?”

“Izuku cannot go on hormone blockers and has to have a kid.”

“That sounds illegal.” Inko said instantly.

“It actually is thanks to certain laws in Japan.” Mr. Smith told her. “Here in the states it’s still legal so I believe he thought he could do that. However as most of his assets are in Japan…”

“He couldn’t.” Inko let out a breath of relief. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“Told him Japanese law makes that condition null but he ignored me.” Mr. Smith shrugged. “Not my problem.” The rest of the meeting was just discussing the assets. It was a fair amount of money, enough Inko could go back to college herself to finally get that literature degree she’d always wanted and not work until Izuku was in his teens. And Izuku could be well off as an adult himself. And that was just the liquid assets.

“How many houses did he have?” Inko wondered. There were four in America and two in Japan. Along with multiple sets of art and other goods. “Please tell me he wasn’t a villain.”

“Oh no, just shady,” Mr. Smith said. The meeting continued with Inko agreeing to have some companies clean out the houses and sell them, including the ones in Japan as Inko wanted to arrange a new home for her and Izuku. Without memories of her ex-husband.

Some days were better then others concerning him. She missed the man she thought he’d been; the funny and kind man who swept her off her feet when she was young. Who took her dancing and who promised to love her.

The cracks had appeared when she was twenty-five but she didn’t fully notice them until she was pregnant. When Hisashi knew she wouldn’t leave, because she didn’t have a job or any education. Izuku became her whole world and he used it against her.

Inko would never regret her son. Izuku was her pride and joy, a beautiful little boy. But Hisashi knew what buttons to press. It just got worse when Izuku got his diagnosis.

(She hated that word. Diagnosis, like being Quirkless was a terminal illness meant to kill him. It wouldn’t kill Izuku.

Society would. It already tried when he got shoved down the stairs. It tried when Inko had to fight to get anyone to care. When Mitsuki tried to convince Inko that Katsuki had nothing to do with it, when the woman was so obtuse to her son’s actions that she ignored Inko’s worry. When Mitsuki kept defending Katsuki even when proof came out.

When Inko tried to believe Katsuki apologized only to find Izuku sobbing because the blonde had burned Izuku’s arm due to ‘making auntie side against him’. Inko told Katsuki off and she realized how little anyone had seen her son as a person.

All highly illegal and Inko walked away after setting the police on Aldera and the Bakugou family. She blocked them all.)

Inko hadn’t been a saint when she’d learned Izuku didn’t have a Quirk. She’d gone through the motions and had a pity party until she snapped out of it when Izuku came home with tears in his eyes because he got told by a teacher he’d end up on a street corner.

He was five. Inko hated it took that single act of cruelty to wake her up. Hisashi hadn’t been woken up, but he’d been decent enough to keep up the facade.

[bi-bats]

oh? the couch? 👀

I actually posted a snippet of it once here!! Instead of giving you the premise, I'm going to give you a longer snippet! This chunk happens before the one I linked above (the one that was for word game wednesday):

“Well fortunately for me, you don’t want me dead anymore,” Tim smirked, and Jason twitched a little, letting out a laugh that was a little strained. He thought it was fair, considering how often Jason made other people make the same face when he joked about his death. While Jason got his face under control, Tim turned, sliding his toes out from under Jason’s thigh and dropping his feet to the floor, leaning his head back on Jason’s arm as he sipped at his coffee. The thing was, Jason had been… touchy. When they were alone.  They seemed to be alone together more frequently than they used to be, too, and something about that always made Tim feel warm. The touching wasn’t anything that pushed boundaries, just sitting a little closer together than they would have before, ruffles of his hair, occasional shows of physical affection, but it was enough for him to notice the difference.  He dismissed the idea that Jason was interested every time he suspected it, though. Tim was biased, he wanted it to be true, and it wasn’t like he’d never seen Jason like this with anyone.  He’d seen Kori throw her arm around him while they ate, Roy fall asleep on his shoulder. He’d seen Jason lay his head in Donna’s lap, seen him fully cuddling with Kyle once or twice, though Tim sort of suspected they used to have something more than friendship.  The point was, Jason was just like this with his friends.  It still made that pleased thing lounge in his gut that Jason was like that with him, too. And when Tim laid his head back on Jason’s arm, he dropped it around Tim’s shoulder, pulling him against his side so he could pillow his head on his chest.  “Seriously, Tim. You gotta get more sleep, or if you’re not gonna do that, at least be more careful where you crash.”  “Where’d I crash?”  “An apartment rooftop. With roof access.” Jason frowned down at him, and Tim looked into his coffee. “It could’ve been bad, little bird.”  That was the other new thing. The nicknames.  Tim found he didn’t mind little bird as much. Little red made him feel like Jason’s kid brother, like he was trying to imitate him and falling short of the mark.  Little bird made him feel… precious. Like he was something Jason valued. Something he wanted to keep safe.  “Oh, that one’s fine?” Jason asked.  “It’s better,” Tim agreed. “Sorry for making you peel me off a rooftop. I was being reckless.” “Don’t beat yourself up about it, you didn’t make me do anything. Just be more careful.” “Aw, are you worried about me?” Tim tried to tease, peeking up at Jason’s face, waiting for him to blush and deny it the way he usually did. It always felt good to see that dusting of pink across his freckled cheeks, because that was how Tim knew he was lying.  But instead, Jason looked down at him, his blue-green eyes unusually sincere. “Wouldn’t you be worried if you found me passed out on a rooftop?” 

I'm not working on this one super actively atm, but it does have a cute little plot and would probably be a one-shot. I'd guess maybe 20k words or less? (Then again, I'm terrible at predicting the length of my pieces so take that with a grain of salt lmao)

Anyways, hope you enjoyed and thanks for the ask as always bestie!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖

[nightwingfightwing]

Good God

Read on AO3

Chapter 2: You're Dragging It Out

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman, DCU

Summary: Dick Grayson has lead an exciting life. And as exciting as it was, it was only natural that he'd have a few secrets. It is the nature of secrets to be found out.

Words: 4,610

Dick was having a normal day when it happened. It’d been a good patrol, no new bruises, a month since he’d last seen Bruce. It was easy. It was relaxing. Too relaxing.

Sue him, Dick’s paranoia had saved more times than it hadn’t. He messaged his siblings and his friends, just checking in. Making sure none of them were secretly hiding a world-ending threat. He made himself a bowl of cereal. Mm, how he loved lazy Saturday mornings.

Dick didn’t get to rest often. It wasn’t really something the vigilante life allowed for. As the responses came in, each denying any world-level-events, Dick tried to force himself to relax. He would enjoy this Saturday, if it was the last thing he did.

Humming to himself, Dick rinsed his bowl and placed it in the sink. Nothing was going wrong. He just needed to chill out. Maybe a walk would shake off some of the jitters.

Dick pulled his shoes on, grabbed his keys, and left. The air outside was just this side of warm, but it wasn’t intolerable. He kept walking too fast—fast enough that he was getting strange looks from others that were out. He forced himself to slow down. He was fine. Everything was fine. He was just having an enjoyable walk on a slow Saturday, and the world was not going to end.

Dick spent most of the rest of his day that way, trying to force himself to relax and having that backfire and make him even more stressed, until there was a knock on his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Instantly, his hackles were raised. His hand flashed to a weapon and he crept toward the door. This could be the thing that had him on edge all day.

Peering out the peephole, Dick was met with just the sight of Tim. He was in casual clothes and looking down at his phone, headphones around his neck and skateboard under his arm. Briefly, Dick wondered if he was a clone or a shapeshifter or if he was being blackmailed. He shook the thought off. That was a step too far, even for him.

Pulling the door open, Dick shoved down his misgivings and said, “Hey, Timmers! Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I would’ve called ahead, but I wanted an unbiased opinion on a problem.” Dick moved aside to let Tim enter the apartment, and shut the door after him. Tim went directly to the couch, dropping heavily and pulling his bag around sit on the floor at his feet. Dick sat down in the chair, knowing that if Tim wanted anything to drink, he’d get it himself.

Taking a closer look, Tim seemed more tired than usual. His eyebags were more prominent, his clothes wrinkled. There was an unopened energy drink in either side pocket of his bag. As he opened it, Dick didn’t see the collection of files he’d been expecting. Instead, there was a tablet.

“Well, ask away,” Dick said. To be honest, he was a little grateful. Maybe this case was the source of his gut feeling. Maybe this would be a serious but ultimately solvable issue.

Tim didn’t start talking immediately. He pulled the tablet out of his bag, but instead of turning it on, just worried his finger around the edge. He bit his lip, something that was not very Tim-like to do. That imposter idea was seeming more likely.

He’s kidding. Mostly.

But right as Dick opened his mouth to ask, Tim started to speak.

“Say there’s a parent who hits their child. Not often. Not without cause. The child believes the adult is completely justified.” Tim finally flips his tablet open and begins to navigate through the screen.

“Not uncommon,” Dick said, wondering where this was going. “Most children believe they deserve abuse for one reason or another.” At that, Tim sends him a sharp look. Just as quickly, he goes back to his tablet.

“Right. And this kid, they’re really active. So they get a fair amount of injuries, enough so that on the rare occasion they are hurt by their parent, it isn’t noticed or is easily explained away as life stuff.”

“Tough case,” Dick says. “But we’ve dealt with subtle child abuse cases before. You know how to go about this.”

“That’s not all of it,” Tim says. He pulls up a video on his tablet, then blacks the screen out and finally looks up at Dick. “Their parent is a powerful person. And while they aren’t the best parent to the child, they do amazing things for the city they live in.”

“Someone powerful,” Dick says. In the back of his mind, he wonders why Tim is talking around the issue like this. “Or at least someone well-liked. That would make it harder to convict.”

“Yeah. And then you have to wonder, right, where is the line of acceptable evil? The adult hurts the child, yes, but it’s not often and everything else they do helps dozens of people. Is that child a justifiable casualty in the name of the community that benefits from their adult’s actions? Even if others are protected against the adult’s temper by that child taking it?”

“Never,” Dick said. “We don’t trade lives like that.”

“No?” Tim said.

“Tim, why are you asking me this?” Tim turned the tablet’s screen back on.

“Come watch this,” he said. Dick moved to sit beside Tim on the couch and leaned over so the glare was off of the screen. Tim hit the play button.

Dick’s heart dropped into his stomach and stopped beating. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear. The figures in the video moved. Was there audio? Dick wasn’t sure. The familiar background of the cave stood as silent witness. Dick couldn’t breathe. He saw himself, from just last month. He saw himself irritating Bruce. He saw the moment Bruce snapped. He couldn’t breathe. The picture changed. Still the cave, but from a different angle. Bruce, sitting at the computer, face carved granite. Dick, younger, screaming and pacing. Bruce, using his training to leap from his chair and strike Dick hard enough he fell. Dick still couldn’t hear, but Bruce’s words from that day echoed in his head. Your fault. Dick couldn’t breathe.

The video stopped. The tablet disappeared. Dick wasn’t able to understand anything that was going on around him. He could feel the air in his lungs, but it wasn’t moving. No inflating and deflating. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t hear. How had Tim gotten that footage? How had he known to look?

“It’s okay.” An indeterminable amount of time later, Dick started to hear Tim’s voice echo back into existence. “You’re safe, Dick. It’s just Tim here with you. We’re in your apartment in Bludhaven. Everything’s okay. You’re breathing better, now. Keep that up.”

Dick does. The relief of breathing is unmatched. If he thinks about what he saw—about what Tim knows, everything will come crashing down. He can’t let that happen. He has to play damage control.

“I’m fine,” Dick said. He straightened up in his seat. “Tim-”

“No,” Tim said. “Don’t start with the placations and excuses. I know what’s been going on. I still have more questions I need your help with.”

“Tim, you don’t have the full story.”

“The story I have,” Tim said, voice wielded like a brain surgeon would a scalpel, “is that Bruce Wayne took in an eight year old orphan and started abusing him. The facts support that story.”

“You don’t understand,” Dick said. Things were slipping further and further away from him. “It isn’t like that.”

“You’re the one who classified it as abuse. Remember? I said a parent that rarely hurts their child, and you said ‘most children believe they deserve abuse’. You said that.”

“N-no, I thought this was about a case.”

“I never said it was for a case,” Tim said. “Do you see what Bruce did to you was wrong?”

“Tim, please,” Dick said. He needed to get his feet back under him. “You know Bruce. You love Bruce. He raised us.”

“I do know him,” Tim said. “And that’s why I know what he’s capable of.”

“He would never hurt you,” Dick said desperately. “He’s a good man. He’s saved so many people.”

“He treated Steph terribly when she was Robin,” Tim said. “He used unreasonable force against Jason when he was Red Hood. Were those things justified?”

“They were mistakes. What, the man can’t make mistakes now?” Like a switch was flipped, Dick’s body flamed with rage. “There were no repeat incidents. Are you going to start holding the way he trained us against him, too?”

“So it’s only okay if he hits you more than once.” Tim sounded contemplative. “And as long as he only hits me once, it doesn’t count.”

“We go out and fight men with guns,” Dick snapped. “Would you rather we go out without training and get shot?”

“I would rather Bruce not abuse my brother,” Tim said, still level and calm. “What if I told you I caught some strange bruises on Damian the other day? He was holding his wrist oddly, but I know he didn’t sustain any injuries from patrol the night before.”

“Bruce wouldn’t,” Dick said. Would he? “He loves Damian. He wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Are you sure?” Tim said. “I mean, he didn’t want Damian at first, did he? He’s Talia’s son. And you know how Bruce’s relationship with Talia is mercurial on a good day.”

“What kind of injury was it?” Dick asked. God, Tim had a point. Bruce really did dislike Talia some days and he let Dick raise Damian like his own son. Had he over-stepped and made Bruce upset? Had he taken that upset out on Damian, for preferring Dick’s parenting?

“I lied,” Tim said. “Damian wasn’t hurt. But you believed he could have been hurt by Bruce. Do you see now? Are you understanding? If there’s any doubt you were the only one, none of us are safe with him.”

“Tim,” Dick said hoarsely. He didn’t know what else to say. How do explain that it was different. That Dick was different. That Dick was never really Bruce’s son, he was a partner; an equal. Someone it was okay to fight with.

Robin changed with Jason. Bruce adopted Jason, instead of just fostering him. Bruce raised Jason as a son, instead of giving him equal standing with Batman and Bruce Wayne. And every kid after that had received a more fatherly version of Bruce, eventually. But that wasn’t Dick’s reality. It wasn’t the same.

“My relationship with Bruce was never parent and child,” Dick said. “We were partners. That makes it different. Bruce would never lay a hand on any of you. You’re his children.”

“He was the adult responsible for you,” Tim said. “He was meant to protect you.”

“He did!” Dick shouted. “He protected me. He taught me to protect myself!”

“He taught you how to take a hit,” Tim said. His voice was frustratingly even. Dick shuddered. It wasn’t-it couldn’t be like that. Dick was different. Dick could take it.

“No,” Dick said. “No, it’s-”

“Dick, listen.” Tim took a slow, deep breath. Involuntarily, Dick did too. “I need to know what you want to do about this. You don’t have answer now. I’m going to give you options to consider, then I’m going to leave so you can process. Either we prosecute him as Bruce Wayne, or we come after him as Batman. We can give him the opportunity to do better, or we can cut him off wholesale. We can tell the others, which I highly recommend, or we can only tell Babs. It’s up to you. I’m willing to follow your lead on this, but I’m not willing to let this go and have Bruce never face consequences for the wrong he’s done. Think about it. I’ll come back in a few days if you don’t call me first.”

Tim stood from the couch. He repacked his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He fiddled with the wheel of his skateboard. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” Tim said. “And I’m sorry no one ever noticed. You didn’t deserve that.”

And with those parting words like a gut punch, expelling all of the air from Dick’s lungs, Tim let himself out.

It seemed like Dick blinked and found himself on patrol, the regular chatter in his ears. He wasn’t even patrolling Gotham tonight, but he had still tuned into their frequency. Sometimes, just hearing them was enough to calm him. Other times, it made things worse.

Babs wasn’t duel-wielding Blud and Gotham tonight, but hearing her nudge the others along was just as good. Tim had said he’d tell Babs no matter what. That was a terrifying thought. Babs had never been as beholden to Bruce as he as, but she still respected him and believed he was a good man. She probably wouldn’t believe Tim. What would his next move be, then, if Babs saw the situation for what it was instead of Tim’s misunderstanding? Hell, telling Babs might the best move. She’d be able to convince Tim everything was fine.

Something in Dick he didn’t dare look too hard at rebelled at the though of telling anyone. It was nothing, and it wasn’t anybody else’s business. Tim shouldn’t know. Dick was dealing with it fine for years, all on his own. Tim was blowing things so out of proportion.

God, and the way he’d ambushed Dick earlier. That had been all Bruce. Showing up unannounced and asking for help so that Dick was unbalanced. Dancing around the issue so Dick gave the responses he wanted without knowing the full situation. The intensity of the questions and accusations. The lying about Damian. He’d done all of that just so Dick wouldn’t be able to think straight and explain things. And Dick had already been feeling wrong-footed from that feeling of something bad sneaking up on him that had been haunting him all day.

Dick leaped from one roof to another, rolling to absorb the impact. He’d only stopped a few muggings tonight. The city was frustratingly quiet. Dick didn’t want people to be getting hurt, but he needed something to do. He processed better when he was moving. He needed to fight.

Finally, some action. Dick deftly swung across the street with his grapple, landing silently behind a group attempting to break into a store.

“Nice night,” Dick said. The group startled, two spinning to face him and two freezing up. Dick smiled. “Lose your keys?”

“Uh, yeah,” said one. The other lunged at him, crowbar raised, belying the first thug’s words. Dick spun out of the way easily, and tripped Crowbar on his way by. The other one cursed, struggling to pull a gun from their pocket. Dick began to approach, and finally they gave up and fired the things while it was still in their pocket. The shot went so wide Dick didn’t even have to dodge. The sound jump-started the other two back into action. One made a break for it while the other raised their fists to fight. Dick absently flung a wingding, bringing down the fleeing one without even looking. The remaining two fighters weren’t anything special, and in just a couple of minutes, Dick had contacted the police and was waiting on a nearby roof to see the pick up.

“Nightwing?” Oracle’s voice came from his earpiece.

“Yeah, O?” Dick dropped down to sit on the roof. He wouldn’t usually waste his patrol like this, and it wasn’t even a particularly difficult fight, but he felt totally exhausted.

“How’ve you been?” Oracle sounded… not hesitant, but something related. Like she was expecting him to say something very, very bad and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

“I’m fine,” Dick said. “A little tired out. Why?” Had Tim already told her? Had he tried to get Babs on his side without letting Dick explain things?

“Red Robin’s been on edge,” she said. “Alluded that you might need some help.”

“Nothing wrong on my side of things,” Dick responded. At least Tim hadn’t already told her. Dick could still prepare for this conversation. He had no doubt if he tried to weasel out of it, Tim would just tell Babs without him. The kid didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

“Are you sure? It’s not like Red to pull a thread that goes nowhere.”

“Well,” Dick said. He paused. “It’s not really a conversation that we should have over comms. Red misunderstood some things, is all. He saw some footage without context and that big brain of his got away from him.”

“Classic Red Robin,” Oracle sighed. Dick laughed lightly. “So, boy wonder, what did he get into?”

“I’ll come by tomorrow?” Dick asked. “We can talk then.”

“Oof, sounds like he might be onto something after all,” Oracle teased. Dick’s chest tightened. Would it be better to have this conversation now, so it didn’t seem so blown out of proportion? “I’ll be waiting.”

The comm went quiet. Dick sighed. This was going to suck.

~~~~~

Lunchtime the next day found Dick lingering outside Babs’s front door. He’d tried to psych himself up for this conversation, reminded himself how logical she was and that she’d understand why it was different, but…

What if she didn’t? Tim was logical too. Tim was so, so smart and Babs was right up there with him. What if they were both against him? What if both of them decided to tear his life down around him over this? This was why Dick hadn’t wanted anyone to know; not because it was bad, but because they’d overreact and it was him and the life he built that would pay the price. It wasn’t even a big deal, but if Babs and Tim decided something just had to be done, Dick’s life as he’d come to enjoy it would be completely flipped on its head.

He wasn’t a victim. He protected victims. They all did. They should understand.

Dick shook his head, physically dispelling the thoughts. He couldn’t get caught up on what-ifs. He was right, and Babs would see that. She would take his side and help him talk Tim down. It was all going to be okay.

Dick knocked.

Babs called for him to come in from somewhere inside, so Dick did. He locked the door behind himself and toed off his shoes. Babs’s apartment was homey; a cozy place that he knew was more for Cass’s benefit than her own. Babs didn’t care much about interior design, but Cass lived with her when she was in the States, and Babs wanted Cass to have a nice place to call home. It was sweet, and thoughtful, and all the more reason why Babs should take Dick’s side. She knew what real abuse was, she knew how living weapons like Cass was meant to be were created, and she’d be able to recognize that none of that had happened to Dick. He felt himself relax. This was going to be fine. She’d see things right.

“Hey,” Babs said. She was in the kitchen, making a sandwich. “Did you have lunch yet?”

“No,” Dick said. “I’m not very hungry.” That was true. That had been true since Tim started his interrogation yesterday. Holding down food was a herculean task that Dick could not ask of his body yet.

“You need to eat,” Babs said. “I’ve got cereal.”

“Maybe in a bit,” Dick said. He took a seat in the living room, waiting for Babs to wheel herself in to join him. He set a decorative pillow in his lap, fiddling with the tassels hanging off of the sides.

“So, what did Tim get himself into this time?” Babs asked. She settled her chair across the coffee table, in front of Dick. Dick struggled for words. He’d thought about how to word this endlessly over the last twelve hours. How he’d explain the reality to Babs. Now, all of that preparation fled from him. There was no way to say this that didn’t make it sound way worse than it was.

He was Nightwing. He’d just have to try.

“Dick?” Babs asked. Shit, he’d taken too long to start and now she was worried about him.

“Sorry,” Dick said. “There’s really no way easy way to say this. Like, it’s going to sound pretty bad no matter what, but I promise, it isn’t how it sounds.”

“Okay,” Babs said slowly. “I’m listening.”

“Tim found some footage. I don’t really know how, it shouldn’t have been somewhere he could find it. And it makes things between me and Bruce look bad. But it’s a misrepresentation of the situation. It doesn’t provide context, and without context, Tim is worried. About it.” He was barely able to force himself to pause to breathe. It was like a waterfall of words he couldn’t dam up. Babs looked appropriately confused at his word vomit.

“Dick, you’re saying a lot without telling me anything.” She looked at him, eyes now sharp and dissecting. Babs had always been able to pick him apart. She’d get to the bottom of this now, even if Dick talked around it for hours. There was only one thing for it.

“Tim thinks Bruce abuses me.”

Babs, to her credit, didn’t outwardly react at that. She merely considered the words. “Abuses? Present tense?”

“It isn’t like that,” Dick said. “It isn’t-we’re fine, Babs.”

“Okay,” Babs said. “I believe you believe that. You said he found footage. What was on it?”

“There was no context-”

“You can explain the context to me,” Babs said easily, “but I need to know what Tim saw.”

“Fine.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. He felt sick. He was regretting not eating anything. “Way back, when Jason died,” Dick said. “He-he didn’t tell me Jason died. I found out through the newspaper and that doesn’t make what I did right, but I was so angry. I was hurt and grieving, and that’s why things happened the way they did. I confronted Bruce. And I accused him of being the reason Jason died. That’s why he hit me. It was just a case of tempers running too high. I did things I shouldn’t have, too.”

Babs said nothing. Her expression still hadn’t changed. She was just watching Dick. Feeling bolstered by her not immediately calling him a victim, he continued.

“There was also a clip from last month. Bruce was in a mood. I provoked him on purpose. He hit me then because I annoyed him into it. It was my fault.”

“Okay.” Babs did not once look away from Dick’s eyes. Dick tried to look as earnest as possible. This wasn’t going as badly as he’d feared.

Babs leaned back in her chair, finally looking down. Dick relaxed into her couch as well. This was fine. Everything was fine.

“I’d have to see the footage myself,” Babs said. “To make sure I understand fully what we’re talking about.”

“It’s pretty straight-forward,” Dick said. “Bruce’s temper gets away from him sometimes. I can handle the fallout.” He didn’t need to show Babs footage of him getting knocked around by Bruce. That was something that he definitely wanted to avoid. It wouldn’t add to her understanding of the situation, anyway. Dick had just explained everything Tim had intentionally not let him explain yesterday.

“He’s your dad,” Babs said. “From-”

“He’s not my dad,” Dick said quickly. If that was where this misunderstanding was stemming from, that would be an easy enough thing to explain. “We were partners. Robin and Batman used to be partners. Equals. That’s how I grew up, as equals with him. He didn’t raise me. He’s not my dad. We’re on the same level. When he needs a moment, I can tell. As his equal, as someone who used to be his partner, I make sure he gets it.”

Babs said nothing. For some reason, she looked unfathomably sad. Then, after a long moment, she sighed.

“Dick-”

“No,” Dick said. He could tell, just from her voice- “Don’t. You were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” Babs said. She moved her chair around the table to be closer to Dick, and she reached to hold his knee. Dick had the terrible, awful urge to get up and climb somewhere that she couldn’t go. See? Dick could be a bad person. He did things that were wrong. He provoked Bruce. He did that.

“I want you to be okay,” she said.

“I’m fine,” Dick snapped. “This isn’t a big deal.”

“It is,” Babs said. “You just told me that Bruce hurts you. You’re making excuses for him. That tells me that this has been going on for a long time. You’re used to it. You’re used to justifying why he hurts you.”

“Stop.” Dick’s hands shook. Dick only knew because he could see it; he didn’t feel present in his own body. Like it wasn’t his body at all.

“When was the first time he hit you?” Babs asked.

“He doesn’t abuse me!” Dick couldn’t believe this. No one was listening to him.

“He’s been rougher than he should have been with Tim in training before,” Babs said. “You remember how destroyed he was after Jason. And Tim took a lot of that on himself.”

“No,” Dick said.

“He ignored Damian,” Babs pressed. “He treated him like a criminal because of his past.”

“He made a mistake,” Dick said.

“People still need to be held responsible for their mistakes, Dick,” Babs said. “Even if every time he hit you was a genuine accident, he’d still be responsible for his own actions, and held to the task of doing better.”

“He does do better,” Dick said.

“How?” Babs asked.

“He doesn’t hit anyone else,” Dick said desperately. “He does better for them.”

“So it would be a problem, then,” Babs said, “if he hit them. Why are you different?”

“I’m not his kid,” Dick said. “He’s not responsible for me. Or my actions! I know when he’s getting overwhelmed, I keep going anyway! It’s just as much my fault as it is his!”

“Dick,” Babs said, but she didn’t say anything else. Just his name. And that, for some reason, was his breaking point. He couldn’t do it.

Dick lurched up from the couch and crossed to her window. Babs said nothing as he wrenched it open and jumped out. He didn’t bother to close it behind him.

~~~~~

Neither Babs nor Tim tried to contact Dick for the next two weeks. He lived in a constant state of anxiety, wondering when Tim would come back to collect on his ultimatum. Patrolling was the only time that he got any relief. He didn’t go into Gotham at all, in an attempt to avoid people who were banding together against him. The only person who commented on his strange behavior was Damian, who only asked when he could next expect his company as they had not patrolled together in a while.

Dick had evaded the question. He knew Damian was worried. It had been a month and a half since Dick had been over. He didn’t want to leave Bruce unattended for that long, either. If Tim was right, if Bruce was willing to take his temper out on Damian in his absence…

Well. If Bruce laid a hand on any of those kids, he wouldn’t have to worry about Tim’s demands. Dick would take care of Bruce himself.

[xarrixii]

F/B Chapter_57 : "The Pretender"

CW: fighting, disorientation, detainment, blood/gore, guns, gunshots I hope the wait was worth it. 5.8k words

previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

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“Decoy operation successful. A-dash-2 injury sustained. Monitoring.”

Alph breathed out a plume of white air through their black facemask. It was one of the first things Storm had handed them on the helicopter a few miles back, and fair enough. Northern Kampfdan was still extremely cold in late February. Inches of snow crunched beneath Alph’s bulky snow boots as they kept glancing cursorily at the dirt road they were following parallel.

They would get turned away immediately if they were caught on the road. Apparently it was monitored for activity.

Pokémon Go! was giving them a surprising number of Pokémon to catch out here. Alph was several miles from the natural dockline they’d departed from and maybe another half of a mile on top of that from the nearest city. They pushed away a notification about their data usage and stopped in the crack of a wildlife camera Storm had found the first time they scouted the place out.

They caught the Pokémon in range before moving on, stepping again in the thick layer of snow covering the ground despite all the damned trees.

“What the fuck was that?” the radio operator, nicknamed Fall, suddenly piped at the same time as a vehicle chugging along by, making Alph flinch and take a deep breath. They had to take a moment to look at the road before continuing to move.

“Some kind of explosion from out of a nearby building. Big chunk of debris, maybe, flew over to the penthouse.” That was one of the people on the decoy team. Alph as all for kidnapping corrupted wealthy fucks and had planned originally to join that team, but they’d been denied because there was a pool on the roof. The kind of logic that made sense but also sort of unravelled when you considered all of this snow.

Besides, Nacht had convinced them, you have a few skills that make the main side significantly easier to pull off.

So here they were, trekking tiredly through snow.

“Motherfucker!” the communicator from the decoy team said onto the main line after a while. “We might need to extract early. Some pyrokinetic just showed up⸺”

“Douse them,” Fall said.

The communicator Alph forgot the name of made some estranged noise of exasperation. “You think we didn’t just try that? There’s a big wall of fire here now and⸺” someone must have cut them off on their end. Some overheard chatter about a pool.

That piqued Alph’s interest enough to pretend to make a phone call on speaker with the phone in their hand and earbud connected to the radio feed.

“You put water on the fire and it didn’t back away?” Alph asked first. They had to take a bit to remember where they’d had that conversation with Liam. It had been after their exam, while they were holding Urban up. “You’re sure you’re dealing with a pyrokinetic and not just amateur arson?”

“Water would still make some of it go away if it was just arson,” he said back.

Hey. So. Urban, Liam had said in their head.

Alph had replied back with a simple What about him. Thinking about that rat-asshole still made their head hurt. Sometimes when he came to mind Alph wondered if he’d staged the kidnappers at the park to get on their good side. That just made them angry.

Yesterday night, it was raining. Has he always been able to summon? In the rain?

What the hell are you talking about? Alph had asked.

Even just manipulate?

Incredulously, You know how pyrokinesis works, right?

Liam had dropped it with a curt Nevermind.

Then life had gotten busy. They never got the chance to ask Urban about it. Urban probably would’ve told them something about it anyway. Manipulating fire and having it stay alive in the rain—that was major. More than manipulating it without seeing it. It was a defiance of a known mechanism.

Here it came up again, in the decoy mission where the only actual goal was to incapacitate one of Cinder’s primary operators as a distraction and a threat.

A threat that Storm could. And that Cinder deserved it.

Urban, Alph mouthed without really thinking about it. No one answered. There was mostly the background chatter and gunshots that came with radio silence and focusing on not getting hurt. Then, “SCATTER!”

A slam to the ground made Alph flinch at the same time Fall started talking. “What the fuck was that? Hello? Damien?” Fall paused. “Damien?”

Quietly, in the background, “Uh, this is Captain Michaels, prepare to copy⸺”

“Disconnect the decoy team from the radio,” Alph said. “Now.”

“Multiple suspects electrically sedated. Apprehending and leaving on elevator shortly. There’s a lot of fire, requesting Packard if possible. Downed suspects have some of those”—Michaels’ voice got a lot louder suddenly after a grunt—“earpiece radios. Volume was on high, probably for the gunshots. Something about this being a decoy. We may need to search the area and call for traffic stops. Over.”

“I’ve detached their line,” Fall said once the officer was done speaking. “I’ll have to move tracer sites after this. Al, you’re clear to keep on. I’m going to go unavailable, dispatch out a few people to recover our guys if we can.”

Cinder wouldn’t do that, Alph thought first. Then they thought of Urban, who was likely at the penthouse decoy. Please don’t let them leave you alone.

Electric sedation was the agreed term between departments for knocking someone unconscious with electrokinesis, meaning Captain Michaels was likely an electrokinetic, on a rooftop with⸺

“And, Al,” Fall started a little hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Remember to disconnect when you see the fence.”

Alph looked up from the phone in their hand. There was laughing off near the road—which meant an audio camera might be in range. Then the property’s fence line came into view, with a good distance before anything to be seen on the property after that. Chain link, barbed wire. “Alright, I see the fence. Gonna hang up so I can win that hundred dollars. Meet you at the airport later.”

Fall was clicking something in the background, but said nothing.

“This is literally the most meltable fence I’ve ever seen. They’ve only got people stationed along the road, I don’t know what you were seeing when you came up here but it sure as shit wasn’t advanced security.” Alph paused again. “No, dude, literally what are they going to do, put me on the road and tell me to walk back? I’ll still have gotten inside, gotten a Pokémon, and stolen your hundred. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

They pressed the hang up button on the radio line disguised as their phone contacts and pulled up one of their band rock playlists on shuffle immediately to “Burn It All!”

Alph made a dramatic effort of sloppily summoning an unsteady fire and manually huffing it out with their other hand along the fence line, as they had the first few times their mother had been teaching them. Pretended to get bored and hop on social media while waiting for the fence to melt. Another song passed entirely through by the time Alph had a big enough hole to step through without touching the fence and risking the fate of the PRIVATE PROPERTY: ELECTRIC FENCE sign that presumably repeated its text in Kampf.

They continued walking, phone-engrossed, in the ridiculously large and tree-thick windy property space until they heard more talking and stopped to look up from their scrolling of the radio transcript they couldn’t hear. Ducked behind a crate and opened their texts. Fall sent a message through.

hundred more if you can fidn whatever their hiding

Deal, Alph sent back and opened Pokémon Go!, catching a Pokémon they’d long been staring at on the map and clicking off the screen.

“Everlong” began playing while Alph was entering the warehouse and they began to quietly hum it aloud while passing through boxes and the wind chill that had rolled in for the past several minutes. They had to take the phone out of their pocket for the flashlight after finding a stairwell with a lowered lift they weren’t going to bother with.

Water was still melting off their soles by the time Alph got to the bottom of the stairwell and reached for the up button on the lift.

Someone shouted at them over the loud beep of the button getting pressed and Alph swiveled around to a gun barrel staring them down from a doorway fit for a bomb shelter.

“What?”

The person said it again. Alph looked at their sleeve, green in color.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Alph’s brain was going overtime thinking about marbles. Urban had said some old military guys around town had told him when he was trying to run around and earn any money he could get his hands on. Green marbles—lime. Those old marble race videos always had lime, and Alph always sunk into fake despair when they lost.

Cheap, untrained mental barrier. Marbles. Anything really.

“Uh, I don’t,” Alph sputtered, trying to communicate while thinking about something else entirely. Cinder green was telepathy. “I’m a—tourist. I, I don’t speak, uh, is it Kempflaggen⸺?”

“Shut up!” the telepath barked instead. Alph sheepishly laughed. “Get on your knees, damn it! Hands over your head! Slowly!”

Alph obliged semi-reluctantly, thinking about lime green marbles as much as they possibly could. Purple marbles? Urban had always changed his bet every time, fell into a nap, and awoke to find out the color he picked had gotten second or third place at the end.

They felt their hands get wrenched behind them as soon as they were on the ground, a set of gloved hands holding on tight and properly fitting a pair of binders over Alph’s as fast as they could. Alph felt their stomach instinctively drop with the weight of their arms drooping and someone yanking them back to their feet by the shoulders.

“You are trespassing inside of a private military base,” the telepath began before Alph could let out a purposefully dumb comment, shouting while half-rifling through the mess of empty thoughts Alph was filling their head with. “We are now entitled to enforce Kampfdan law as a registered private sector organized militant group. I am citing our ability to put you under lawful Kampfdan arrest by way of trespassing on our grounds. Refusal of compliance gives us the full rights to exercise up to lethal force as long as you are held on our property.”

“Where’s your passport?” the person holding Alph asked, hard and accented.

Alph ignored them. “You can’t kill me, I’m not a citizen. I’m traveling.”

“You’re in a secluded blacksite. You can disappear by the time anyone comes looking. Make good choices. Where is your passport?”

Alph bit down. “I didn’t bring it. My friend has it at our hotel. We were leaving this afternoon.”

The telepath’s eyes narrowed, rifle still pointed dead-center at Alph. If they really wanted to, they could probably try to hook the guy behind them and make sure they couldn’t be shot without risking the guy behind them being in the crossfire⸺

A pistol locked itself against the side of Alph’s head. One hand still on each shoulder.

Still heavily accented, “Identify yourself.”

“Ident—like, my name?”

The gun pressed in farther. Alph felt a faint breeze from the stairwell and a loud beep like when they’d pressed the up on the lift.

“Raiden,” Alph answered lamely.

“Like the video game boss?” the telepath scoffed. “Come on, kid,”

“Yeah, spelled like the original Transgressor comics, R-A-I⸺”

The pistol smacked against the side of Alph’s head hard enough to send them sprawling onto the floor and choking on a gasp on the way down. Throbbing flooded their head with a drawn out groan and the earbud cracked out of their ear onto the concrete.

A foot planted itself into their back as soon as their ears began ringing. Thoughts failed them.

“Don’t kill him yet,” one of them said, muffled by every other process Alph was trying to register. “We could get in trouble if his friend knows where he’s supposed to be and comes looking. Besides, he looks like the general.”

In, out. Give yourself a second.

“Telekinetic force hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” Alph heard the accent through the padding, could feel the person lean against them. “Be kind to yourself, now.”

Alph was forced up again and patted down for anything they were carrying. Pocket knife, phone—that they proceeded to make them unlock—wallet, and, much to both Cinder officers’ dismay, a passport.

“Lying little,” the telekinetic managed before saying something in a different language. “Ryder Leman, PY-C. Barely out of high school and you’re getting into trouble on another continent. Bet your mom would be real interested to get a phone call about where you’ve been.”

“She’s heard a lot,” Alph chuckled under their breath. “This would be far from the worst she’s gotten called about.”

They didn’t even need to make that up. Alph was the kid known for acting up until they hit eighth grade, when they figured out they could regularly hang out with Urban. Alph didn’t like to admit often that they spent a lot of their younger years specifically causing trouble against people they didn’t like so that their mother would come over. Otherwise she probably wouldn’t have been around at all.

The amount of times Alph had won my parent could beat up your parent on principle still made them smile just a little.

The telepath hummed. “We’re placing you in solitary until someone can come and pick you up. Your bail is reasonable to Kampfdan laws broken plus the cost of replacing the fence you’ve destroyed. Do not resist further.”

Alph could feel the telepath rummaging through their brain for more by the time they could sustainably think about random garbage again. When the two started dragging them through a maze of extremely ventilated hallways, they stayed completely quiet apart from subtle movements. It was always weird to know you were in the presence of telepathy but completely excluded. Denied access to an entire conversation.

Eventually, upon entering a cell commons devoid of actual prisoners, the telepath spoke up again. “Why are you here?”

“To win a bet,” Alph mumbled. “Friend said he’d give me a hundred bucks if I could get in and catch a Pokémon, then offered another hundred if I could get inside and snap a picture of something or, something. We figured you were just some local stuck-up rich people front. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What friend?”

“Ayf.” It was easy enough to just use the text logs Alph already had rather than fake a bunch of different ones for a while. If they really wanted to dig, they could find something incriminating, probably, but otherwise it was just memes and whatever else, plus the donated contact from Afyer just for the plan. “Saved as Afyer.”

The telekinetic shoved Alph a bit more forward across the empty cell commons. “That’s Afyer Octave?”

It was a habit Alph got early from their dad. They saved everyone in their contacts list as their full name and wouldn’t even change it until they had the person’s number memorized. Fingerprint unlock. It was in case Alph turned up somewhere and needed to be identified before getting their driver’s license. And also if they ever had to call anyone without their phone.

Or, more conveniently, situations like this where you wouldn’t want to explain where firework guy comes from. “Oc-tay-ve, yeah.”

The TK mumbled something under their breath and they all continued walking until finally the hallways broke into a lot smaller of a cell commons and the two Cinder agents shoved Alph inside one of the standard wall-locked cells. Metal encased in concrete was standard for most places that had to house kinetic prisoners.

“Alright,” the telepath, now holding all of Alph’s things, sighed when the telekinetic made their exit. “We’re taking and keeping your stuff until you’re picked up. And I’ve just received authorization from border control to perform an internal interrogation, probably so they can save money on interrogation bonus wages before your flight home. I’m starting with your phone contacts⸺”

“This is insane,” Alph complained as soon as they felt the telepathic probing come on harder. They’d have a massive headache later.

My apologies. On procedure, I am Theodore Nguyen, TE-C. Teddy does fine. That other officer just now was Issac Goodwin, TK-B. Except for appropriate law enforcement, the contents of this conversation are expected to be maintained in privacy. Is that clear?

There is no way this is legal, Alph said back.

I will now begin with your phone contacts. I expect honest answers to help prove your identity. Alph couldn’t gather if—he—said anything after because of the nausea-inducing slam that happened at the same time. Then he came back in, Who is Afyer Octave?

Like someone was kneading their brain. My friend. The one I made the bet with.

Alph waited for the reaction. Frankly most of the reaction they waited for was a bullet through their skull and an alarm going off. Nothing. Teddy scrolled down on the phone, slightly. A few names went by, like Alph’s dad and mom contacts renamed. It seemed the telepath Nacht nominated, Adiel if they remembered correctly, had managed to connect.

Harlow Collins.

Their thought processes flatlined, receiving a raised eyebrow from Teddy.

That name should’ve been way earlier in their contacts.

You almost seem mature, reading through these messages. All this talk about the weather.

We need to abort, Alph finished thinking by the time the binders on their hands and the wall had crumbled away from internal damage. Teddy went wide-eyed rather than weird-little-victory-smirk at the end and had delivered Alph a shot barely through the side of the abdomen by the time Alph tackled him and jammed their fist into his skull.

“Fuck,” Alph hissed out with their breath. They immediately put a hand over the hole and dug one-handed through Teddy’s pockets. Pocketed a pistol hidden in there on the way. It’d be easier on everyone else if Alph could figure out that weird knocking-people-out thing Urban could do.

Nothing. Alph got off the man and looked around the room. Also nothing.

Prepare something for me. I think I’d bleed out before walking all the way back.

Adiel gave them a curt mental laugh. You’re lucky I found you when you were walking, Alph. The only thing Cinder hasn’t smeared anti-kinetic is the open air and internal walls. I had to break a vent sheet open. I’d give us maybe three minutes before they figure out Theodore is unconscious. Her Yugenztch accent was still blatantly apparent when she spoke mentally. I’ll guide you to Raijin.

Alph snapped the fingers of their available hand together before remembering trying to cauterize themself wouldn’t work and they’d never burn any tissue.

If they don’t have anything to close the wound, make your own. Nacht is on his way; however, I can’t guarantee that will be on time. You need to get moving.

What’s taking him so damn long? Alph asked.

Adiel made a noise in Alph’s head akin to some level of muted frustration. The decoy complications. He was debating going and handling it himself, apparently something about a personal grudge to settle against that J.E. Rowan fellow.

You don’t need a personal grudge to hate that guy. Alph gathered their things and decided on just using pressure. They didn’t have time to make anything to dress the gunshot. Thankfully, Adiel kept her guiding instructions very clear even though she wasn’t specializing in telepathic communications like Liam did.

By the time Alph got through the several layers of alternating materials and a hydrokinetic operative on their phone with their feet kicked up on their desk to Raijin’s cell, they were feeling the general sensation associated with collapsing and screaming out for their dad.

“Listen,” Alph started slowly, breathing, before getting stopped.

“What, Cinder’s finally sending you in? Did you want to spar?” Raijin was lying on a cot in the corner, hands set in a generally thicker set of binders, snickering. “Tell you what, I’d kick your ass again.”

“You remember.”

Raijin snorted. Alph put a little more pressure on their gunshot.

“That stunt you pulled,” Raijin seethed, “someone isn’t going to make it out of this mess alive. Still unsure who between you and that other guy.”

Alph looked again at Raijin’s binders. On one hand, he could help in getting both of them out. On the other, he seemed to justify your murder with being nearby.

“We don’t have time for this,” Alph barely managed to say before they had to whirl to the door opening behind them and snap off several blooms of fire at an incoming assailant. It bought Alph enough time to get out the pistol they’d nabbed out of Teddy’s hidden holster and fire off a few rounds into the operative’s feet.

Alph glanced back to Raijin grinning wide. A breeze swept through the enclosed room.

Fuck. How long had that silent alarm been tripped for? Alph couldn’t even remember the last time there wasn’t some kind of faint wind outside despite all the trees in the way. Just how long had an aerokinetic been feeling for?

If that’s the case, you’re going to have trouble getting out of there. I’ll be here to help, but even with Raijin you might have to just hold it out until Nacht shows up. It’s you and him against the facility.

Alph made a disconcerted groan under their breath and concentrated on burning a fire inside of Raijin’s binders long enough for them to break like Alph had done with their own and the wall. “Come on. I said we don’t have time for this. Let’s go before we have to deal with more of that.”

“I can handle a few goons, whatever your name is.” Raijin flexed his hands, cringed a little, and cracked his knuckles before shaking them off and stretching.

“It’s Alph.”

“Yeah yeah—one question, before I go, that blonde guy that was fighting off me and that Liam asshole trying to get them to stop at the same time, that was my target, wasn’t it? He was, Urban?”

Alph scoffed. Then cringed at the responsive pain. “Of course Liam was trying to get him to stop fighting.”

Raijin gave Alph a curt salute before disappearing in a mess of static that made Alph gag and lean against the wall with their free hand.

Did he just leave? Alph lashed at Adiel.

Hesitation. He’s Nacht’s spoiled brat, but he’s one of the most effective people we have. Don’t worry. He can handle himself and it’ll probably distract most everyone off you. A short pause. I’ll come in to help.

Don’t, Alph seethed and put their back to the wall. God that bullet was starting to hurt. Stick to the plan. I can wait it out. How much longer until Nacht shows up?

Adiel was tuned out by the loud crash and massive spawn of fire that sucked itself back down the hallway after appearing out of nowhere.

“Raijin!”

Alph had definitely heard that voice before. From where?

“He’s gone. Evacuate this entire goddamn compound, now. Establish priority targets and hit the alarm.”

“Yes, General.”

A few seconds pass of silence where Alph presses down hard on the hole in their abdomen. Maybe a centimeter off and they would be pretty much dead to rights or completely unscathed. They were dizzy, could feel themself shaking as they leaned against the wall and swallowed.

“You can come out now, Raiden,” the one addressed as General demanded.

What the hell? Alph bit down. Who the fuck is that?

After a moment, Adiel came back in, That is Five.

Like, my uncle Five? That Five? The one that Afyer kept saying absorbs fire? Alph did not like that. They’d met Five once before. He’d insisted on watching Alph spar even though he made it very clear that he was completely blind. Then proceeded to make comments the entire way through. Alph still remembered him sitting in the chair on the side, one leg over the other with his guide dog at his feet.

Alph had asked Liam about it after and he’d said something along the lines of It’s like sound. You can hear that it’s there, but not necessarily see it. He senses the location of heat and uses it as a form of eyes.

So it’s a gut feeling? Alph had countered.

People who assume that in a fight usually end up dead.

“Make sure they’re not dead. Amaterasu⸺” The rest ended up scrambled in an instantaneous fit of nausea that caused Alph to actually wretch onto the floor and heave in an awkward crumpled position before someone came up and gently pulled them up by the arm.

Alph’s brain suddenly wouldn’t let them do anything. An entire conversation tuned out as they stared forward in a helpless lack of motion.

Someone’s in your head, Adiel said, Yugenztch accent especially thick. Give me a second. I have to sever the connection.

Alph clicked back into their bodily autonomy maybe a minute later, feeling pressure over their wound from something that wasn’t their hand sopped in a thick layer of crimson.

They were up and throwing their bloodied fist into the person closest to them at the same time said person was hitting back. Alph cringed at the pain in their side and the slam of their head getting knocked back and threw up a leg until they heard the short release of air that told them it had connected.

“They’re struggling!” what Alph could identify as a hydrokinetic from their blue sleeve shouted. “We’re gonna have to knock them out!”

Alph slammed down across the side of the hydrokinetic’s head at the same time they shoved Alph off and ended up missing. Alph groaned out from getting thrown onto their side and tried to snap up a fire to use.

The HY flicked open their flask and doused the flame before Alph could use it. Alph shot up from the floor as fast as they reasonably could and threw themself forward into the HY. They couldn’t get enough force into their hits to do anything useful and eventually the HY got a water-laced palm over Alph’s mouth and nose for a good thirty seconds. Alph kneed them off again and had to take several deep breaths with a hand near their throat.

Fire exploded out of their hand and made the HY yelp away their next attack, giving Alph an opening to hammer one into their head.

“Fu-uck!” the HY cried out with a whimper. “Jesus!”

Alph was pulled off and punched in the face before they could land another. Alph responded by punching the newcomer right back with a fist full of fire, sniffling up the wet mess spilling out from their nose.

They wiped the back of their hand over the area and swore silently when it returned covered in bright red.

Are you sure you don’t need me to come down there?

I’ll be fine, Alph groaned, then hissed at their side again, twisting around to jab the hydrokinetic that had gotten up. Alph elbowed the other person that had joined in, then made a strangled noise as they grabbed Alph’s hand and a pulse ran through their spine.

Yellow sleeve. EK. Alph covered their hand in fire and yanked free, starting to put feet to pavement instead of continuing the fight.

Maybe if Raijin had stayed, Alph snapped off to no one in particular, sighing and moaning out curse words at the growing pain spreading through their side.

They’d gained a significant amount of distance and even navigated back to the stairwell through the unlocked hallways of people packing whatever they could to get out of the place as fast as possible when it turned into individual little stabs all over the location of the wound and had to halt at the bottom of the stairs to ringing ears.

Keep moving, Adiel urged.

Alph mumbled their dissent but kept climbing. The lift rolled past full of boxes and other generally carryable items Alph couldn’t discern.

Static charge pricked Alph’s upper arm and started practically dragging them up the stairs faster than they’d been going.

“Come on. I thought you could handle yourself decently without me. You’re gonna get yourself killed and then I’ll get an earful.” Raijin took a moment to sling Alph over himself before practically hopping up the steps.

“You came back,” Alph heaved out.

“I was taking care of some Cinder guys and freeing everyone else sitting around here. That telepath Dad is always picking to run his missions told me to get my ass over here.” Raijin scoffed. “Also, I frankly don’t know which direction from the trees is something useful and she won’t tell me.”

Alph was just thankful for the speed.

When they got to the top, Raijin dumped Alph onto somebody else Alph recognized from somewhere and shook himself off before pushing something on top of the stairwell doors. Then the wave of fire rolled through that Alph had to clench their fist to barrier the two other people from.

“My condolences,” Five’s voice came through along with a breeze. “I didn’t realize I had to start a war today.”

Another wave of fire.

“Get him out,” Raijin said, disinterested. “I’ve got this old blind man.”

“Even I’m not dumb enough to tell you that you can fight Five, Raij,” the guy shot back. “Hey! Raijin⸺! Do you want to die?!”

Alph let out a brisk laugh and settled themself on their own feet. Then noticed the binders still around the guy’s hands. Also with a line of rubber. Alph snapped up a fire and put their hand on the cold metal to the guy’s clear dismay.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting these off. So you can help.”

“The heated metal would burn my skin.”

Alph made a face. “That’s why I’m concentrating the heat on the inside in an off and on pattern, and not letting it escape past a certain threshold. So it’ll crack off.”

“Who the hell taught you that?”

“Urban.” Alph kept it blunt. That was a memory Alph did look back on fondly.

“The D-class?”

It was that sentence that prompted Alph to look the guy in the face. They removed their hand from the binders immediately and threw a punch forward by instinct. This was a Cinder operative. Why they had the binders on, Alph couldn’t say, but this was definitely that asshole electrokinetic Urban fought every week or whatever.

“What the hell⸺”

But if he was here, what state would Urban be in?

Isn’t he at the decoy right now?

Yes. You’re at the warehouse with Raijin? Alph kept forgetting Adiel was monitoring their head.

Raijin is trying to fight Five, Alph told Adiel as a large crack whipped through and exploded in little sparks with a set of maniacal laughter. Raijin freed a Cinder operative and put me next to them. I’m dealing with it.

Freed?

“Are you insane?” the guy whined, clearly unprepared. “I’m Storm! I’ve always been Storm! Ow, shit.”

Alph threw up a shield from the next round of explosions that rippled through. “What?”

“How do you think we found out about that D-class pyro in the first place? A prophecy from God?” He huffed, disgruntled, and looked at the binders still on his hands. There was a red print from where Alph had put their bloodied hand on the metal.

Alph wiped the back of their hand across their nose again. Wet, red.

They squeezed their eyes shut and breathed. A stack of crates crashed and Alph opened their eyes to watch it fall and kick up a mess of dust. This was their mother’s fault. If she’d never gotten Urban involved, Alph would’ve eventually joined Storm and it would’ve been so easy.

Their head hurt.

“Raijin is about to get himself killed, alright?” the guy began hesitantly. “We need to get him and ourselves out of here before that happens or this’ll be a real big red mess when Nacht shows up.”

Alph finished breaking off the guy’s binders and tiredly looked forward. They just wanted to fall over, continue to sweat, and die. Jesus fuck it hurt.

There will be painkillers. I am coming over now.

Another crash. Yelping through pained laughter.

The guy bounced off, leaving Alph alone again to stumble awkwardly around away from the stairwell to lean against somewhere else. Another crash sounded along with plummeting crates and boxes and shouting.

Alph turned their head around the corner to see and yanked on Five’s fire. It tried to draw back like a magnet while they kept pulling from different directions. Blake, Raijin, whichever one of the two electrokinetics Alph was stuck with were taking advantage of the openings but not hard or fast enough to actually get through before Five overtook Alph in control.

Five darted around out of sight. Damn it.

Alph got up and started walking somewhere they would be able to see again when Adiel dropped down and forced Alph up onto her shoulders to walk out of the warehouse instead.

“Nacht and his backup crew are within my range. He says he wants you at the gate when he arrives. Where are your injuries?”

Alph knew not to try and fight her by now. “Hole, just barely not a graze. I think it missed most everything important.” Some weird strangled combination of noises escaped Alph’s throat after that. “Probably something to do with my nose. General bruises. I don’t know what Cinder did with the gunshot.”

Adiel hummed and she continued to walk Alph through the silent snowed-in yard. They didn’t make it to the gate by the time two black vans rolled in and jerked to a stop.

Nacht hopped out of the first one already barking out orders. Alph grinned and nodded at him, who saw the motion and nodded back, continued his direction, and cleared his throat while approaching. “Alph. A medic is prepared for you in the back van. Thank you, and I will see you later.”

“Kick Five’s ass for me,” Alph said while Adiel helped them walk by.

Nacht gave Alph a firm pat on the shoulder. “Adiel, I expect you to go on and make sure they’re home safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Adiel replied quietly as he continued walking and shouting at people. She didn’t put Alph down until that was on the stretcher in the van. She was immediately talking with the medic that hadn’t gotten off. Alph’s condition, Nacht’s orders, and then something else before it went black.

next chapter | masterlist

/ / / / / | --- missing a content warning? let me know

the "next chapter" was, in fact, significantly longer of some kind

bet you expected my daily ambiguous quote post, didn't you? :) someone remind me to add the "next chapter" link to chapter 56

taglist (ask to go on or off): @madeoforgansandtissues, @fins0up, @kadjakat

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 13

Chapter 12 || Index || Chapter 14

Fireheart shook himself off as he entered camp, carrying the limp body of an ill-fated cardinal. The first snows of leafbare had at last arrived, beginning to coat everything in cold, white flakes. Only the camp currently remained uncovered, thanks to the careful pattern of branches and leaves that stretched over it, though he imagined that it wouldn’t remain that way for very long.

As he took his kill to the freshkill pile, he could see that camp was bustling with activity. He could hear Goldenflower’s litter begging her and Frostfur to go out and see the snow, while the elders were bitterly complaining about how the cold was reaching their bones. Even most of the warriors were sitting around camp, sharing tongues in the evening light. It was good to see the Clan thriving, even despite leafbare and the sinister plots that threatened them.

“It’s quite active today.” He heard Longtail remark to Tigerclaw as he deposited his prey. “Has something happened while we were out?”

“Bluestar will be calling a meeting shortly.” The dark tabby deputy responded with his usual low growl. “You’ll see.”

Fireheart perked his ears, but he knew better than to ask anything of the treacherous tabby. It was too early for anything regarding the Gathering; it was still over a half-moon away. No, he thought to himself as his eyes drifted towards where Cinderpaw and Snowkit were play-fighting, this had to be something else.

He caught sight of Peppermask, who was sitting near the entrance, and trotted over with a tail flick as greeting. “Where’s Graystripe?” He asked her curiously as he sat down beside her. “Surely the Twolegplace patrol got back before we did.”

“They did. Tinyfrost and Dustleap are here.” She pointed out the two warriors with her tail, nearly on the opposite sides of camp. “He must’ve left almost immediately, because he wasn’t here when I got back from patrol.”

The ginger tom frowned at that. “Do you think he’s avoiding us?” He wondered, glancing at the bramble entrance. It was empty - all the patrols for the day had already come back. “He’s been spending a lot of time out of camp since the Gathering.”

“Since Quickflash died.” The spotted tabby replied, her ears dipping slightly as she gave him a warning glance. “He’s likely just distracting himself with hunting. He probably thinks he’s being helpful.”

“He wasn’t in camp for the battle, either. You think he’d stay in camp after the scolding Tigerclaw gave him when he finally showed up again.” He huffed as he recalled getting woken out of his drowsing by Tigerclaw’s yowling. He couldn’t fault the deputy, either: All Graystripe had brought back from his day-long hunt had been a couple paltry voles that would barely feed one of Goldenflower’s kits. “I hope he doesn’t miss this meeting. Do you think it’s going to be-?”

“I hope it is. I don’t think anyone can deny that Cinderpaw fought bravely during the battle. Taking on Ratscar and Tangleburr by herself- that’s something any cat could be proud of. Especially with what happened to Mistspring…” Fireheart glanced across camp towards the healer’s den as Peppermask spoke, but the entrance was covered in shadow in the evening light; he couldn’t see inside at all. “If she’s not made a warrior after that, then when?”

“Right.” Fireheart couldn’t disagree with that; he was thinking much the same thing. It had to be a ceremony; if it were anything else, surely Peppermask would have already heard the gossip and told him as such.

“And it’s past time for Snowkit to be apprenticed, too. Sandstorm’s been dropping ‘hints’ all day that she thinks Tigerclaw is going to pick her to be his mentor. It’s her time, or whatever.” The molly rolled her green eyes with great exaggeration. “I was about ready to claw her mouth shut on patrol!”

Fireheart hesitated. It was clear that Snowkit’s deafness, and his being held back, wasn’t common knowledge around camp. Was it fair for him to share it with Peppermask? As he glanced towards the nursery, he could see that Speckleflight had separated him from Cinderpaw and was now busily grooming his head and face. Perhaps Peppermask was right, and Snowkit would be apprenticed today after all.

“There!” The tabby beside him gasped, and he looked over to see Bluestar emerge from her den and immediately scale the Highrock. Even before she said a word, the Clan started to swarm out from around the clearing.

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!” The Thunderclan leader called out proudly, watching her warriors assemble beneath her. “As you all surely know by now, Brokentail and his rogues were indeed planning to invade our camp. Already they had been stealing prey from our territory.”

There were jeers and hisses at her words, and he noticed a few cats glance back towards the prison where Darkstripe was guarding with a scowl. Word had also spread of Brokentail being held prisoner, and while the Clan had accepted Bluestar and Yellowfang’s word on the matter, it was clear that they had mixed feelings about it. Fireheart couldn’t blame them: Even though Yellowfang was true to her word and hunting and caring for him, he still felt strange about protecting the kit-killer after they had taken in his victims.

“Each warrior in the patrol performed their duties admirably. Fireheart, Dustleap, Longtail and Mousefur acted with great courage and risked their lives to make sure our camp remains safe. Thunderclan honors each of them.” There were excited and envious murmurs at her words, and he noticed several cats stealing a glance towards where he was sitting. He ignored them, keeping his eyes focused on Bluestar.

“However, there is one cat on the patrol that acted just as bravely as each of these warriors, who has not yet received her name.” All eyes now turned towards where Cinderpaw was sitting, near the middle of the crowd. The dark gray molly sat as still as stone, but her tail tip rattling furiously betrayed her excitement. “Her mentor and I have agreed: she has earned her warrior name. Cinderpaw, step forward.”

She did so readily, her dark blue eyes as wide as the moon as she gazed up at the silver queen. “I, Bluestar, leader of Thunderclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.” Their twin blue gazes were locked on each other now. “Cinderpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

The young molly’s body was shaking all over now, yet she still nodded determinedly. “I do!” She yowled, her voice echoing through camp for all to hear. Several cats stifled a chuckle, Fireheart among them.

“Then by the powers of Starclan, I give you your warrior name. Cinderpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Cinderspark. Starclan honors your valor and quick thinking, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Thunderclan.” Bluestar jumped off the Highrock to meet the new warrior, and rested her muzzle on the dark gray molly’s forehead before allowing her to lap respectfully at the leader’s shoulder.

“Cinderspark! Cinderspark!” Fireheart called along with the rest of the crowd, glancing towards the healer’s den as he caught sight of movement. Mistspring stood next to the rocky entrance, her own icy blue eyes glittering with pride as she watched. He could see that her throat was covered in white cobwebs; she was still recovering from her wounds, and he guessed she was under healer’s orders not to use her voice.

The rest of the crowd parted as they caught sight of her, allowing the former mentor through to the newly-appointed warrior. He saw her mouth move slightly as a few quiet words were exchanged before they gently touched noses. As Mistspring began to move back towards the healer’s den, the crowd quickly pressed in, eager to welcome Cinderspark into the warrior ranks.

Fireheart joined them, watching as the newest warrior beamed in pride as she welcomed congratulation after congratulation. “Well done.” He mewed softly to her, touching noses with her softly. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you, Fireheart.” He paused as she replied, glancing back at her sparkling blue eyes. “For believing in me, despite everything.”

“Of course.” He dipped his head before continuing on, allowing Peppermask to greet her sister as a warrior. He fondly thought of his own warrior ceremony, as much of a blur as it was from how exhausted he had been. At least Cinderspark wouldn’t have to sit vigil with those mourning, like he had. Tonight would be a night of triumph for her.

He was just about to pad away when he heard a loud yowl from the crowd. “Wait!” He turned to see Speckleflight glaring at Bluestar, who had begun to make for her den. “There’s still one more ceremony to be performed tonight.” The pale golden queen growled, her yellow gaze locked on the leader. “I’ve waited long enough: it’s time to make Snowkit an apprentice.”

While the cats in the crowd perked their ears in curiosity, Bluestar’s own ears flattened in anger. “I’ve already had this conversation with you far too many times, Speckleflight.” She snapped, her blue eyes narrowed to slits. “My decision is final.”

“He deserves a ceremony!” The oldest queen howled, the fur on her spine beginning to raise. “Would you truly make him stay in the nursery forever?”

The silver leader’s scruff started to rise in response. Cats around them whispered eagerly, Cinderspark’s ceremony momentarily forgotten in the sudden drama, and Bluestar glanced towards them with a frown. After a long moment, she sighed and forced her fur to flatten. “If you insist on Snowkit leaving the nursery, Speckleflight, then I suppose I have no choice but to agree.” 

She began to ascend the Highrock once more as Speckleflight grinned triumphantly. Fireheart wanted to celebrate with her, but something about the leader’s flicking tail told him to hesitate. “Snowkit, step forward.” She called out, gazing out at the white kit sitting near the nursery still.

Snowkit stepped forward at his mother's coaxing, looking surprised and a little nervous as Bluestar glared down at him. "Snowkit. The time has come for you to move to the elders' den." There were gasps of shock at her words. Most of the Clan wasn't aware of the young tom's deafness, so such a move would no doubt confuse them. “I will have Dewpaw arrange you with a suitable nest."

The gathered cats eyed each other uneasily as Snowkit stood there, his head tilted in confusion. After several moments of tense silence, Speckleflight came to stand beside her kit. "He won't be going to the elders' den without me." She growled defiantly at her leader as she rested her tail on her son's flank.

Several heartbeats passed. Even though the air was freezing, his fur felt hot from the tension between the two. At last, the leader dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Very well." Bluestar replied coldly. "Speckleflight. Is it your wish to retire to the elders' den?"

Fireheart shifted nervously as he watched the two mollies face each other down. "If you make us, then yes." The dappled golden queen snapped, the fur on her spine beginning to rise.

The silver leader ignored her attitude and continued on. "Thunderclan honors you, Speckleflight, and all the moons of service you have given us in the nursery. May it be Starclan's will that you have many moons of rest."

It was then that Fireheart realized the disparity between the two elder ceremonies, and he grimaced uncomfortably. It was clear that Bluestar cared very little for Snowkit, which seemed so uncharacteristic of her normal motherly demeanor towards the rest of the Clan. 

He glanced at where Cinderspark was standing as Speckleflight began herding Snowkit towards the other elders, and saw the dark gray molly's tail was bristling out of anger for her friend. Still, if she had any objections, she didn't voice them.

“Clan dismissed.” Bluestar called, and the rest of the Clan immediately started gossiping amongst themselves. A kit going straight to the elders’ den was unheard of. And while Speckleflight was the oldest queen in the nursery, it had been assumed - expected, even - that she would have another litter after Snowkit. What would her retirement mean for the nursery?

“Fireheart…?” He glanced over to see Peppermask padding over to him. “You don’t look surprised. Did you know…?”

“I-” He glanced back at the elders’ den. Smallear seemed to be leading Snowkit into the den, presumably to get him a nest, while Rosetail and One-eye were pressed into Speckleflight’s side in comfort. “Back in leaf-fall, the Gathering after I became a warrior, I overheard Speckleflight talking to Bluestar about his apprentice ceremony. Bluestar said she wouldn’t give him one, but I didn’t know why until recently.” He looked back to meet her questioning gaze. “Snowkit is deaf.”

“That’s why…? Oh. Oh.” Peppermask looked past him to the elders’ den. “I- I guess I can see that. Most elders retire once they’re no longer able to hear certain sounds. I guess I can see the logic in it, but to never even give him a name seems cruel.” 

Fireheart hesitated. He didn’t know where he stood on such matters. He was still new to the Clan and its ways, and while he knew why Bluestar had done it, some part of him agreed with Peppermask. He had seen the delight on Snowkit’s face when pretending to spar with Cinderpaw - a delight he remembered well from sparring with his friends as an apprentice. It felt cruel of Bluestar to never give him the chance to experience that for himself.

“Graystripe!” He blinked out of his thoughts as he heard Peppermask call her brother’s name, and turned to see the gray tom exiting the bramble entrance. “Where have you been?”

He looked startled to see them, his yellow eyes wide as they flicked back and forth between his sister and his friend. “I- uh- I was just taking a walk. Enjoying watching the snowflakes falling and all that. What happened? Why is everyone gathered around the Highrock?”

“Cinderspark got her warrior name. You missed it.” Even though he didn’t look at her, he could feel the tense anger in Peppermask’s form beside him. Obviously, she wasn’t pleased with Graystripe in the slightest. “And Speckleflight and Snowkit-”

“She did?” Graystripe gasped in surprise. “I better go congratulate her then! Thanks for letting me know.” He breezed past them, not even bothering to listen to the rest of her words. The gray spotted tabby stared after him, her mouth agape in shock.

“That was weird, even for Graystripe.” Fireheart observed out loud. “He doesn’t even look wet from snow-melt.” Actually, it was quite the opposite - his fur was light and fluffy, as though it had been well-groomed.

“Yeah…” Peppermask replied, her tail twitching beside him. “He doesn’t seem like he’s mourning much at all anymore. Enjoying the snowflakes falling? He’s never liked the cold. He wouldn’t be out there without a reason.”

The ginger warrior hesitated beside her. Had Graystripe lied to them? But why? Surely he knew he could trust them with anything. Even as he thought it, however, thoughts about his sister surfaced. He often lied and said he was going hunting when he visited her. But Graystripe certainly didn’t have any kittypet kin, so who would he be lying about visiting? No, he thought to himself - it must be something else.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now.” The spotted tabby sighed, getting to her paws. “I’m going to go bring some prey to the nursery. We’re all going to have to take care of the apprentice chores, until Goldenflower’s kits become apprentices.” Her nose twitched irritably. “Unless Bluestar holds them back, too.”

“I hope not!” Fireheart mewed as she padded away. Still, he couldn’t get his mind off of Graystripe. What was his friend hiding? Was it the same reason he seemed to be avoiding them? As he watched Cinderspark accepting congratulations from her brother, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was wrong - and that he wouldn’t find out what until it was too late.

[redmoonwanderer]

FFXIV Write 2024, Day 19 Prompt: Taken Continuation to “Late,” and a prequel piece for “Channel” and “Vicissitudes,” but can probably read independently.

G’raha is quick to leave Idyllshire after meeting Zhloe and learning that Qhol’a hadn’t been around for some time despite usually making time for the orphanage. He is likewise quick to realise that he doesn’t really know where to begin his search. Trying to contact him through linkshell does nothing, his calls never answered, which alone bodes ill news in the horizon.

He knows Qhol’a hasn’t been seen by anyone for a while, made clear by his visits to many inns and taverns, and trying to find the last place he was at would be difficult, since the man had the habit of constantly travelling from place to place.

He does remember Qhol’a saying he’d been thinking about visiting home at some point, but they’ve never really talked about where his home is. He only knows he’s Gyr Abanian, but that could be anywhere from the small migrating communities to Ala Mhigo, and that’s a lot of land to cover for one person.

Which is how he finds himself looking for Thancred, instead. Everyone knows Thancred and Qhol’a know a fair bit about each other, and while Alisaie would be a good bet, as well, Thancred’s specific skills might be better suited for joining him in his search for their missing friend.

Finding the man proves only that much easier than finding clues of Qhol’a. He eventually catches up to him in Limsa Lominsa, where he explains that Qhol’a hasn’t been seen or heard of for a long time, and that there’s a chance he’s in trouble.

Thancred listens, and tells G’raha what he thinks is a vital piece of information. “When I last saw him, there were rumours about Imperials brewing trouble near Baelsar’s Wall. People in Gridania were worried, and he seemed equally so. His family lives in the area, so it is possible he travelled there to make sure they’re alright.”

Before G’raha can ask him to join him, Thancred is already on his feet and telling him to come with.

Somewhere along the way they pick up Estinien like one picks up a stray animal they grow fond of over the years. G’raha does appreciate the help, in case they need to do battle, because the veteran of the Dragonsong War can be trusted to strike true, and that’s just the sort of an ally he would want by his side. He thinks he joins because he’s bored, but there’s no denying he’s Qhol’a’s friend just as the rest of them are.

They go by way of Gridania, where they learn that the activity on the other side has since calmed.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Estinien comments when the unsuspecting Gridanian has waved them goodbye and gone on her merry way.

“No, it doesn’t,” agrees Thancred, and they don’t need to spend time thinking on whether to gather more information, ask for more help, or just go.

Since the Wall is no longer occupied by the enemy, crossing is easy. They ask around more at Castrum Oriens, where they learn that Qhol’a did come through some time ago. He, much like them, had been interested in what the Imperials had been up to, and then taken off. “Guess he dealt with that, they haven’t been a nuisance since soon after,” the Serpent tells them.

No one needs to say that really doesn’t sound good for their friend.

In the wilderness of the Fringes they spend two days trying to find any trace of their friend, and at dusk, it’s Estinien who calls the other two to let them know he might have something.

The scorched ground on which they find the dragoon standing is the best lead they have, and a telling one, at that. It doesn’t take much looking around before they get an idea for what happened: someone who knew had weaved an intricate trap that with right deeds and information drew Qhol’a back where his people were. While they can’t tell exactly what happened, only that there was a battle and it was not kind, G’raha can sense something wrong with the aether in the area. Twisted and knotted, though slowly beginning to right itself.

Whoever was here was good at what they were doing, but not perfect. It’s like whoever was here was in a rush to leave, because there had been no attempt at hiding the tracks left behind, and that much they deduced after going the area to make sure they weren’t being fooled.

Despite the late hour, they make the wordless decision that they must push on.

G’raha just hopes it’s not another trap, this time set for the three of them.

[thefvrious]

The truth was that each of these kids had been through far more than their fair share of troubles. It wasn’t fair, really, the kinds of things any single one of them had to endure never mind the collective misfortune that Eddie had only just been thrust into. If it weren’t for the beautiful relationship he was building with Steve, then he might’ve regretted getting involved at all. It wasn’t like they had any real adults to turn to and talk about all this shit with. There was Jim Hopper and Joyce, sure, but they were both a little bit of the “screws loose” type of adults, and hadn’t Harrington and Nancy and the fucking tots been the ones to save the proverbial day time and again? It was a wonder everyone still had their body parts intact. Eddie could live with a few scars. Hell, he’d even take a few more for his new family if he needed to.

It was still strange for Eddie to think about the fact that, just a couple of years ago, he’d had this horrendous crush on Steve Harrington, and now here he was having fucking sleepovers with the dude. Granted, they were just friends, but that was still more than little Eddie ever allowed himself the pleasure of daydreaming about. The universe had a funny way of working out, especially with how they actually liked each other; how Steve was even better than the idealized version of him that Eddie had constructed in his head. No one knew this Harrington, not the kids from high school, anyway, and Eddie felt like a better person for being close to him. He wanted to feed that fire and intended on staying as close as he could for as long as Steve would allow it.

“I don’t know, I’ll try to talk her into forgiving you, but… that was pretty harsh, man, even for you.” He clicked his tongue making the most dramatic disappointed face at Steve, though he promptly at to turn away because there was no way he could hold that for long. He was prone to burst into hysterics and they had places to be, a movie to see, popcorn to eat. So, he focused back on the task at hand, big ass grin resting on his face.

Steve was on Eddie’s mind the whole time the Hair was in the shower, too. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if every single activity in the shower was squeaky clean, and he felt the temperature rise in his whole body, had to go stick his head out the window to cool off before Steve came back. Friends, friends, he reminded himself with the rapid shake of his head, like a dog trying to get something troubling out of its ears. It didn’t matter, though, there was no reprieve. Steve, himself, was a cause for rising temperatures in the other young man who had never once, even for a second, been able to deny his attraction to Steve. Nor had he ever tried. As it stood, he shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other and offered Steve the dopiest smile. “You’re really pretty, Harrington.” And he regretted it the second he said it, only he can’t take it back. That was the downside to being such a useless stoner — sometimes Eddie had absolutely no filter between thought and verbalization.

It was nice to be wrapped up in Steve’s arms. He was strong but tender, knew how to hug right, which Eddie figured had developed naturally over the last couple of years of being the goddamned babysitter, as Steve so eloquently put it. He rubbed the other man’s back and breathed out an exhale that was more laugh than anything else. “You fucker. We’re this close, how am I supposed to not smell your hair?” He asked, but, for good measure, he leaned in and took a very dramatic and deep inhalation of Steve, his head moving upward with the motion like sucking up cartoon fumes with his nose. “You smell good enough to eat.” He teased, stepping back with a smile, hands pressing into his back pockets.

The date comment shook him, but then Steve one-upped himself with the tease about a kiss, and Eddie couldn’t tell if they had gone from joking to serious or if he was just hopeful of the latter. He blinked those big doe eyes stupidly at Steve with an even stupider expression. He managed to catch himself slightly, leaning into a something that could also be interpreted as a joke, in case Steve wasn’t serious. “Shit, if you’re buyin’, you can kiss me whenever you want.” He said brightly, bouncing up on his toes as his hands moved from back pockets to jacket pockets, and his head bobbed with a vigorous nod. “Absolutely. I can smoke and drive. In fact, when I smoke, it’s when I’m at my drivingest.” Eddie put the joint between his lips, eyes glued to Steve’s handsome face as he allowed the other to drag him out and toward the driveway. “Your car or mine?”

Steve would never ever admit out loud how deep his scars really went from all the fuckery he endured. There were expectations of him, both from how he was 'raised' and from how the group saw him. As the Harrington's only son, he was supposed to be a responsible, respectful person. Crumbling to the pressures around him? Acting out on emotion? Unacceptable. Just his luck, if he ever dared explore his pain and try talking about it, his parents would suddenly appear and harp on him for it. Nevermind the fact that he couldn't recall the last time he actually saw them in the flesh. Then there was his little group, his found family. They looked to him for support - it was his job to look after them all, right? He was a guide, a strength, a big brother. Falling apart would scare and worry them, no doubt, and he wasn't about to place extra burdens on their small shoulders. The closest Steve ever got was when he had sleepovers with Robin or Eddie. There was no hiding the night terrors from them but he refused to discuss them. No, it was easier to just share a joint then fall back asleep, snuggled in closer than before. It would be enough for now, he could cope this way until it was safe to let it all go. It was still wild to Steve that he would much rather prefer days like today, time spent with Eddie Munson, over anything that he used to do with his old friends. It had all been so superficial, so surface layer. Eddie saw him. For people so different in appearance they had so much that united them. It hadn't taken long for Steve to attach himself to the other man and form a real bond to him, just as it hadn't taken much for him to bond to Robin or the kids. This relationship was different than the rest, they both knew that. There was that unspoken thing that hung over them like a cloud filled with rain, nearly ready to let the water fall freely. It was all kinds of terrifying waiting for the downpour that would drench them both. It was only a matter of time now.

"You're so dramatic, Munson. I'm sure MJ will forgive me," he replied with a snort, ignoring the warmth in his chest that spread as Eddie continued talking and smiling at him. That grin should be illegal, the way it completely attacked Steve's heart directly, making him feel things he couldn't even put into words if he tried. "I'm full of surprises, haven't you learned that yet? Steve Harrington, good with phonetics and very wise with movie opinions. But yeah yeah, I'll go in as open-minded as I can, okay? I'll roast your ass after if it's garbage and I'll be fully within my rights to do it." 'I was just lookin' out for one of your best assets.' Was it stupid that such a simple comment bounced around Steve's head the whole time he showered? It didn't mean anything other than the fact that Eddie's eyes worked properly because obviously Steve's hair was his best feature. Hearing it from Eddie, paired with that smile? And unless Steve's own eyes deceived him, there was a light blush on the other's cheeks too - what the hell did that mean? All these pieces together just made the young man nervous(?) and keen on looking good for his friend, which was a stressful ordeal with his lack of supplies and time. But he'd make it work. He always did.

Sure enough, his efforts had been worth it. He beamed at Eddie's compliment, not even hesitating to approach him. He welcomed the hug easily too, finding comfort in the warmth of Eddie's body, his arms wrapping around him firmly as if he feared Eddie would float away unless Steve anchored him. That was the nature of their friendship in many ways, wasn't it? Both holding on tightly for fear of being alone, fear of losing each other. "Oh yeah? Is smelling people's hair just something you do, Eds, or am I special?" Steve teased as he reluctantly released Eddie. "Fuck, I'm buying you popcorn now too? This date's gonna cost me a fortune - I better get a kiss for my efforts," he teased again, this time with a quirk of his brow and a little chuckle. A joke, definitely, but if things went that way organically… Well, that wouldn't be so horrible, now would it? Steve didn't give Eddie much time to react before he linked his arm through the other man's and started pulling him out the door and towards the vehicle. "Lighting up before we go or on the road?"

[triple-7-heaven]

ONCE AGAIN

thank you for waiting for me, readers. i do hope you enjoy it ♡ my first aespa fic, awesome! i've been going through it, thus the lack of content, but things are looking up for me. take care of yourselves, until next time :-) pairing: male reader x winter; words: 6.5k ; categories: aespa, winter, reader insert, smut, slightly storyline heavy

Back in high school, there was a girl who shone above the rest, but wasn’t necessarily popular. A girl who was a member of the math club, the photography club, and the dance team, whose evenings were filled with activities, who made many friends, but wasn’t fawned over by the student body in the way the true popular kids were. 

One evening, you were at school pretty late, tutoring in the library. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice the time passing, until the janitor came in and told you he’d be needing to clean the library up, so you’d better scram. Backpack full of books, you rushed out of the library, and quickly made your way through the dark hallway. You turned the corner and nearly collided with a small girl, who grabbed onto your arm to steady herself. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” you said, and the girl looked up at you. Oh, perfect… “Minjeong, shit, I’m sorry…” 

“Hosang, what are you doing here so late?” Minjeong asked. 

“Uh, tutoring… You know my name?” you asked incredulously. She smoothed out your sleeve, folded the collar of your shirt down, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“You know mine, too,” she quipped and giggled before running to catch up with her dance team friends, leaving you without room to explain yourself. To explain that no, I promise it isn’t weird, everyone knows your name, Minjeong, I’m not a crazy stalker, and I’m not here to spy on you through the gym windows while you dance. But you never got to explain yourself. To be fair, you did admire her from a distance. In the halls, at lunch, you wouldn’t deny that you looked at her with heart-shaped eyes. As pretty as you thought she was, you didn’t ever talk to her, something you would eventually regret. 

Minjeong dropped out, and you didn’t run into her again. After graduation, you headed off to Seoul to learn how to fly, and soon, you realized someone else had come, too. Billboards, advertisements, you name it. For a solid month, wherever you looked, you saw her. 

The same Kim Minjeong who you nearly sacked in the hallway that night, who, instead of yelling or being upset, straightened your clothes and wished you a good night; who knew your name when you were nobody. She was Winter, now, styled with gorgeous long, blonde hair, imposed over ethereal backgrounds and colors. You had to give it to whatever company she was running with, they made that old crush of yours flare right back up again with the way they marketed that girl. Financially stable enough under an air charter company flying small private jets, you decided you’d buy a set of the group’s albums when they debuted. Sitting on the floor of your apartment, pulling the photocards and posters out of those albums, you felt the full force of the regret from your school days: if you’d only talked to her in high school, you could have her number in your phone right this minute… But you were resigned now to being a fan, and a strongly biased one. That’s all you could be. 

-

Charter piloting has benefits. Loads, surely. You’re essentially a glorified taxi driver, charging rich business people and celebrities $20k for a one hour flight from Incheon to Jeju. It’s morally wrong to allow a sucker to keep his money, right? As good as the pay, benefits, and overall experience are, the clientele… Well. Nothing you hate more than a stuck-up diva, and it’s even worse when you’re trapped in a flying metal tube with them. But you make do; the idol sightings you get on the job make all the asshole corporates worth it. From old school stars your parents might know, to drama actors and actresses, to the newest generation of idols, you welcomed a ton of each aboard, more than you could ever remember if you didn’t write it down. Unforgettable guests come along now and then; a trio of Twice members one weekend, some big-name producers behind insurmountably popular groups for a surfing trip, and the casts of award-winning shows on celebratory benders. Unforgettable loses its meaning when your secretary hands you today’s clipboard. 

“This is mine? Thought it was… Uh…” you trail off and your eyes widen. The secretary laughs behind the desk.

“I knew it! You’re her fan, right? You always talk about Aespa. And I know you have her photocard in your wallet,” she winks at you as your face fills with an embarrassingly deep blush. 

“It’s not just that, Jihye. I knew her in high school,” you say hesitantly. 

“Oh my God, it’s like a reunion!” the girl squeals. “Wait, were you cool in high school?” she laughs. 

“Uh… I don’t-” 

“Yup, I knew it,” she says matter-of-factly. “Let me guess, the lame, nerdy guy had a crush on the cool-chick future idol?”

“No! Well, I don’t know,” you say. Your mind is too busy racing to think properly. The young secretary giggles to herself as you walk to the hangar. Preflight routines are difficult to complete when your mind’s racing faster than a Blackbird. Would she recognize you? Should you say something? Nah… You’re kicking tires pretending to be busy and the door opens. The trail end of a conversation… 

“-ng is going to be your pilot. He’s a great aviator and an even better tour guide, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around the island,” Jihye says. That damn secretary. 

“Hosang? I feel like I’ve known someone with- oh, hi,” Minjeong stops abruptly when Jihye walks her around the aircraft to meet you. Long, wavy, dark hair, with bangs curled and blown out to mathematical perfection. Fair, unlined skin of a small and cute face. A simple and comfortable black sweater, a modest manicure, and plain, natural eye makeup. You bow shyly and wave. 

“All good to go?” Jihye asks with the most annoying smile in the world. 

“Yep,” you answer. Jihye departs and you welcome Minjeong to get comfortable while you finish up. A strange look occupies those perfect features as you give her a quick safety brief, then turn to enter the cockpit. Before the door closes behind you, “if you need anything, let me know.” 

Why are you cold with her? Why are you nervous? You hardly smiled at her or asked what she was traveling for… Pure white clouds roll calmly underneath you. You resolve to be nice to her, even if she doesn’t recognize you, because let’s be real, it’s not her fault for not recognizing you. She meets tons of people. You’re just some not-cool kid from high school who had a crush on the cool-chick future idol. A pilot report over the radio snaps you out of it as you enter Jeju International’s airspace. Gusting winds and vertical movement, it’ll be a bumpy ride down. You reach for the intercom. 

“Hey Minjeong, forgive me if I startled you. Looking at some rough air on the way down, but we’re about 20 minutes out. I’d sit down and belt in if you aren’t already, okay? Call if there’s any issues, and think of what you’d like for dinner.” You toggle off the intercom and wonder where the hell that came from. What, Jihye said you’d be happy to show Minjeong around the island, right? So you’ll show her. Your inner autopilot (funny…) takes over and you idly nudge the yoke for your approach phases. Wheels on the ground, hangar door shut, you stand and exit the cockpit. Minjeong looks up at you sleepily, and you sit across from her on one of the bench-style seats. 

“So… dinner ideas?” you ask. Minjeong stands up and points at you groggily, shuffling towards you until her finger pokes the center of your chest. 

“You. You went to my school, didn’t you?” she says, tiredness dripping from her voice. You nod and meet her eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything?” 

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me…” you say softly, honestly. She moves her hand to your shoulder.

“Well you’re bigger, yeah, but… I recognize you. Bigger and taller. Same face,” she says. The smile can’t be kept off your face, unfortunately, and Minjeong smiles too. 

“You sound really tired. Let’s get going,” you say. After a quick post-flight and signing off with the hangar staff, you face her and say: “Gonna change really quick, then we’ll head to dinner.” You slip into the FBO restroom and drop your duffel, then slip out of your annoyingly stiff white uniform shirt. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, then pull on a plain black t-shirt before swapping your slacks for black jeans. One careful ruffle of the hair later, and you’re leaving the restroom to meet Minjeong in the hallway. 

“Alright, ready.” You carry Minjeong’s luggage and she trails behind you, much like a puppy, on the way to the parking lot. The modest rent car’s parked right where the staff told you, so you open the door for Minjeong and she shoots you a confused smirk. You smile back, and hop into the driver’s seat. 

“So what’s the occasion? Family in Jeju?” you ask. 

“Honestly, I… When I get time off, I run a secret travel blog… So I take vacations, and take pictures and stuff,” she says quietly. “I dunno, it’s kind of silly.” 

“How come it’s silly? Sounds fun to me. We’ll have to go to some really cool places so you can write a good post, huh?” you reply. “Now, dinner?” 

“Mm. I’m too tired to think,” she mumbles. Great, now the pressure’s on you to pick something perfect… 

“How about Black Pork Street? Could make for some good photos, and it’s really as good as people say it is,” you say and put the car in gear. 

“Sounds good…” she trails off. Really, really sleepy. But she makes an effort to talk to you. She makes an effort to keep the focus off of herself, and more on you; she asks you how graduation was, since she didn’t go, and you really had to reach deep into your memory for that one. She asks you about flying, about why you chose it, about your life in Seoul, and about how you never ran into each other in the city. You hold yourself back from saying ‘well no, Minjeong, we haven’t run into each other in a city of 10 million people, with about 9,999,999 of those people being more interesting than me.’ When you arrive, Minjeong is lively and excited, telling you about her camera and asking what’s next after dinner. You kick yourself when you start wishing for a specific sort of dessert. Quit being dirty-minded, idiot… 

“Let’s go! I’m hungry,” Minjeong says, dragging you out of your thoughts. She looks perfect taking photos on the street, pointing her camera at the sky, at signs, storefronts, plants, street cats. The way her eyes light up when she takes a good photo, runs over to show you, insists that you take a few of her; she’s not much different than she was back then, huh? A person with a good heart. A person whose heart you’d like to learn. 

“Is it our honeymoon? First date? Must be a first date, you look nervous,” the dorky waiter says, nodding to you. Minjeong laughs, and you blush; the difference between you. 

“Uh… J-just high school friends,” you manage to say. Minjeong jots notes and snaps photos throughout the meal, and as you’re serving up some pork belly for her, she takes a few photos.

“C’mon, make it look nice,” she whines. 

“You’re serious about this, huh?” you laugh. 

“It’s… It’s my baby. My project. My travel blog is like… I dunno, it’s a way for me to be creative, but not be Winter. It’s a way to just be Minjeong,” she slowly explains. “To have a space that’s all my own. Where I can talk about stuff I like, and not worry about press, or netizens, or fans, or anti-fans.”

“I get it. A space of your own. I should call you Minjeong then, right?” you say, nodding your head a bit too fast and a bit too much. She smiles and nods. But she nods like a regular person, not like you. 

Dinner passes without incident. If we can ignore the waiter thing. Do you look like a couple or something? Maybe you do compliment each other. Maybe you seem like high school sweethearts. Maybe you could be. 

“Hosang?” she says as she leans forward. “You in there? Let’s go to the hotel!” You snap out of it for the second time and hop up to lead the way to the rent car. The paperwork Jihye gave you had most of the information listed for Minjeong’s trip, and the hotel she’d be staying in was, of course, the Lotte City Hotel. No less grandeur for the princess. The GPS gets you there quickly, and you pull up to the front doors, leaving the car on as you grab Minjeong’s suitcase. Just as you’re rounding the front of the car and waving goodnight, she makes a confused face.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” she whines. Minjeong the kid… 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was gonna head to the motel near the airport, that’s where my room is. Did you need something else?” you say. 

God, why do I sound like a customer service bot? ‘Did you need something else?’ Seriously? 

“I… I dunno, I guess I just wanted someone to hang out with,” she replies.

Oh. To hang out? 

“Oh, of course, Minjeong. Let me park, I’ll meet you,” you say. And she’s waiting for you in the same spot once you return to the front door; she didn’t even go inside. Her long, dark hair’s ruffled by the wind. Cute. 

NO. Not cute. Not cute or pretty or hot. She’s my client, my customer, my responsibility; not my crush, my girlfriend, or my next body. Look at the ground or something, for the love of God, Hosang. 

But looking at the ground can’t keep her legs from your peripheral view. She walks through the sliding doors and you follow behind with her suitcase in your hand, and your duffel on your shoulder. Long, slender, perfect legs, and you’re looking right at them. You snap your gaze to the windows and pretend to be looking at the skyline through the windows while Minjeong checks in. After a moment, she turns to you and smiles. 

“Do you have a swimsuit?” she asks. You shake your head. “There’s shops on the bottom floors, go and find one, okay? Meet me on the sixth floor. There’s a pool! The pictures are gonna be perfect!” 

She shoves a room key into your hand and takes the bags from you. You’re left in the lobby, dumbfounded, wondering how you should navigate this. A bellhop whistles at you.

“First night with her? Sheesh,” the young man says. “Score!”

“Weird situation, man. Weird as hell,” you trail off as you walk away, still shaking your head, more so to yourself now. Okay, shops. Swimsuit. You begin to feel insecurity nagging at you. You’re lean, sure, but not perfect. Not as perfect as… Well, nevermind. Quickly, you make your way through the shops, and find a pair of rather plain, mid-length black trunks at a duty free shop, changing into them in the restroom and leaving your shirt on. The elevator ride lasts forever. And ever. And ever. Until the robotic voice announces,

Sixth floor. 

The doors open and you walk quietly out to the open area of the pool. You see one figure in the water already. She’s facing the city, hugging the edge of the pool and gazing at the skyline. The water laps at her back, just below her shoulder blades, and the silky smooth skin of her back is laid out for you, with only thin bikini straps to cover it. Her arms and shoulders are small, toned, but soft. Fancams and jacket shoots could never do justice to the sculpted angel right in front of your face. 

“How’s the temperature?” you say. She turns around. Her top is composed of white strings and back fabric; conservative, but form-fitting to her chest, that Goldilocks chest, the perfect balance of size and shape. Her collarbones are distinct, curved, beautiful. Hell, every curve you can see is perfect, from the angle of her jaw to the base of her neck to the gentle taper of her arms. 

“It’s heated,” she giggles. “Come on!” Insecurity. Nagging. Loudly. 

“Are you sure? I can just hang out and take pictures for you up here, it’s not-”

“Come onnn,” she pleads. You turn away from her and slowly drag your shirt off, then kick your shoes and socks off near where Minjeong left hers. The water is slightly warmer than room temperature, and a welcome change from the chilly air. You sit yourself down on a ledge in the pool, and Minjeong swims to your side, sitting right next to you. Not close enough to touch. 

“See? Isn’t it nice up here?” she says.

“It is. Ever been to Jeju before?” you ask.

“Nope. I think it’s even nicer with a good tour guide.” 

“Ah, come on. I’m not all that.” 

“You’re…” she trails off and sighs. Her hair tickles your shoulder when she leans into you. “I wish I’d talked to you more back then.”

“Hmm? Don’t worry about it, that’s way past us,” you mumble.

“So… If I said I wanted to make up for lost time… What would you say?” she says and you feel her fingertips smoothly run over your leg under the water. 

“I think I’d ask where that idea came from,” you say breathlessly. She moves her hand to your waist, arm around your front. 

“I always liked you. I just didn’t think you liked me, you were always so quiet,” she says. Your hand, now, meets her waist, and your eyes meet hers. 

“Is this okay? I mean… Can you do stuff like this? Now that you’re all famous and everything,” you say, struggling to form any words at all, overwhelmed by the electric sensations of skin on skin underwater. She cups your cheek with a wet hand and nods to the camera bag. 

“Can I get some pictures for the blog? Before… Before I forget,” she finishes cautiously.

Before you forget, huh… Gonna make me take an impromptu bikini shoot of one of the most beautiful women ever. No big deal. 

Minjeong disentangles from you; she tosses you a towel and you dry your hands, then power on the camera. Eyes fixed on the camera’s display screen, you start shooting. She moves through pose after pose, and you can feel yourself hardening. How could you not? A perfect, slim, pale Minjeong, body covered with water droplets, her skin shining in the flash of the camera. 

“Would you check and see if those ones are any good?” she calls to you. You begin scrolling through the photos, and sure, they’re great. It would be hard to take a bad photo of her. 

“Yeah, these are good,” you say. 

“Let’s take a few more, then we can relax a bit,” she says. The camera display switches back to photo mode, and you look through; this time, your heart stops. The screen shows you that Minjeong has shed her top, and now, the camera focuses on her bare breasts, nipples erect in the cold air, water streaming down her chest. Her hourglass shape is all the more prominent now, and you wonder how it would feel to run your hands all over her wet body. You begin to lower the camera, but she shakes her head. “These are just for me. Please?” 

“J-just for you?” you mumble, mostly to yourself. Her poses grow more erotic. She squeezes her breasts together with her arms, grabs them with her hands, and leans over for you to capture a shot of her from the side with her back arched. Now you’re definitely hard, no question about it, but at least now there’s no way she could be mad at you for it. It’s her fault. She moves towards you, and you set the camera on the ground next to the pool. 

“How’d they turn out?” she asks. Her arms reach around the back of your neck, and yours wrap around her waist. 

“You’re evil,” you say into her neck before planting a few kisses there. 

“Oh, how could you say that? It seems like you had a good time,” she says. Her hips grind forward against your cock; she wants you to know that she knows how hard she’s gotten you. “You know, to be really honest, Hosang, you’re the first guy I ever thought about while touching myself.” 

Really? 

“Why?” 

“You’re an idiot- Oh, God,” she’s interrupted by moans as you kiss further down her neck. “I just like you, okay? 

“Well I just like you, too. Always did,” you say. 

“I hope so. Otherwise this could be kind of awkward,” she giggles. You withdraw from her neck to place a kiss on her temple, and finally, on her lips. She tastes so sweet, lips so soft, tongue so aggressive. Her hand grabs onto your hair and she forces your head to turn so she can deepen the kiss. Minjeong seems hungry, desperate. You sit back on the ledge with your high school crush in your lap, her legs around your waist. She’s got both hands on your face, and she observes you like some sort of specimen. 

“What’s, uh, what’s up?” you say, eyebrows raised.

“Your face… As different as it is, it almost looks exactly the same as the face I fell for back then. And I think I’m falling for it again,” she says. You begin to speak, but she places a finger over your lips. “I know what you’re gonna say. Just don’t think about it right now. Don’t. Think. About anything.”

Between her words, she’s taking your hands in hers, and moving them to her bare chest. You swallow. Hard. She’s right. If only for tonight, for this weekend, for a week, you have to just let it go. Her breasts are soft, and she whimpers when you squeeze them. She giggles and moans through a toothy smile when you roll her nipples between your fingers. Minjeong is clay in your hands, melting under every single touch, and it’s your job to make this trip unforgettable for her, to mold her into shapes of pleasure she’s never felt before. 

“You know there’s a sauna,” she whispers through gasps.

“Good idea,” you reply. Water falls from both of your bodies when you stand up with her still wrapped around you, clinging to you like a koala bear to a tree. A quick jog from the pool to the sauna, but the wind still manages to chill you both to the bone. The sauna, though, is comfortably warm. Minjeong in your lap again, you sit on the wooden bench and she devours your neck. Her tongue and breath are hot against your skin and the steam begins to make you sweat already. She stands and takes hold of your hand, beckoning you to follow suit; you stand close to her and she looks up to meet your eyes. Small hands make their way to your waistband. 

“Can I?” she asks softly. You help her slide the trunks down your legs, and your cock springs out, painfully hard, smacking your stomach. Her hand wraps around it immediately, and she moves in to kiss you again. She moves her tongue slowly against yours and her hand works your length all the while; her delicate fingers find the precum dripping from your tip and spread it generously. Delicately, she kneels; cautiously, she licks your cock from the base to the tip before latching onto the head and giving gentle suction. She looks up at you with her deep brown eyes and you place your hands on her head. You’re gentle with her. Your fingers make their way through her hair, and you keep your hips as still as you can, so as not to overwhelm her. You feel the back of her throat suddenly, and a moan escapes your mouth briefly, before you slap your hand over it. Minjeong backs off and strokes you with her hand.

“Don’t… I want to hear you,” she says. You feel your cock twitch, and you let out a sigh. A soft moan when her strokes speed up. “Good…” 

“What if someone-”

“If someone hears? They’ll leave. Don’t worry,” she says. She gives you a few more seconds of suction, tongue massaging your head, then stands back up. You switch places with her, only now, she casually strips her bottoms off and sits on the wooden bench. Her toned thighs spread apart slowly while you stand back to take her all in. 

After all these years, there she is; imagine telling high school Hosang what’s happening right now. Forget moaning her name while I jerk off… She’s right there. 

Beads of sweat roll down your face and body. Minjeong, too; she’s covered in dewdrops of her own. Somehow you think they must look better on her than they do on you. A deep breath, and you step towards her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly under your hands when you give her pert breasts some more attention. You’re on your knees, now, watching her face contort and listening to her voice catch in her throat. If she never wore a bra again, you’d surely be happy. Kisses planted down her body, from her sternum down her stomach, halting at her hipline. You take a moment to stroke her thighs softly with your fingertips, and they shudder. More kisses for her legs, from her ankles up her calves to her inner thighs. Her sweat is salty and sweet. How will the rest of her taste? You look at her again.

"What do you like?" you ask. 

"I… I don't know."

"When you touch yourself, how do you do it?"

"That's embarrassing…"

"When you're using your hands, imagining they're mine, what do you do?"

"..." 

"Show me, so I can do it for you." Minjeong’s eyes are half-lidded, lust-laden. When you look down at her perfect, trimmed pussy, it’s dripping; your words got to her. She takes hold of your right wrist and places your hand on her stomach, thumb on her clit. 

“Slowly,” she whispers. You oblige, and slowly make circles on her clit, spreading her wetness over the sensitive nub. Her next move brings your left hand to her mouth. She sucks on your two middle fingers, taking them deeply into her mouth. Wet enough now, she moves your hand, palm up, near her pussy, and nods. “Inside.” The walls of her pussy are so hot, so scorching hot, inch after inch engulfing your fingers. One curl of your fingers and she’s cursing, moaning, bucking her hips. Poor girl must be starving. 

“Is that good for you, Minjeong?” you say. Your voice seems like it’s dropped an octave and slowed down about half a measure. It doesn’t matter; she can’t answer you, anyway. She’s busy stuttering out your name. Temptation gets the best of you and you move your thumb away. Minjeong whines, but it’s soon replaced by a near scream when your thumb is replaced by your tongue. As expected, she tastes incredible, some remnants of salt water from the pool, but overwhelmingly sweet underneath. She clenches around your fingers a bit.

“F- Oh my fucking-” Minjeong stutters. Her eyes roll back in her head. Her delicate fingers grip your hair, not so delicately. Rapid, shuddering breaths cause her toned stomach to rise and fall quickly, her arms and legs jerk, and the salty and sweet flavor floods your tongue. Unlatched from your hair, Minjeong’s hands grab your face and yank you up towards her face; as you stand, the tip of your cock grazes over her clit. 

“Whoops,” she whispers. Her lips are warm and smooth when they lock onto yours. And you feel her hand creep down your abdomen. Your attempt to break the kiss is foiled with Minjeong’s arm around the back of your head, and her other hand moves up and down your shaft. She’s devious, smiling into the kiss as you fill her mouth with moans, tightly gripping your cock and twisting her hand with her up and down motions. 

Kim Minjeong from high school is jerking me off. Kim Winter from Aespa is jerking me off. 

It’s a mindfuck. She kneads the back of your neck and sucks on your tongue. You can’t fuck her in a public sauna… Can you? 

“Minjeong…” you whisper against her cheek. She looks at you innocently. Like someone who isn’t driving you crazy. 

“What?” she giggles. 

“How about we go to your room? Could be bad if, you know, someone sees us,” you mumble. 

“How about once here, and a few more times there?” she says with a wink. “It’s late, baby… No one will come up.” 

‘Baby.’ 

Minjeong guides you towards her pussy with the hand that had never left your cock. Her legs rest on your shoulders, and you grip her pillowy soft thighs to brace yourself for impact, for entry. Her heat begins to swallow your length, quite easily due to how wet and aroused she is, and she makes the hottest noise she’s made the whole night. And now you’re hilted in Kim Minjeong in a hotel sauna with an unlocked door. Her nails scratch at your chest and shoulders frantically. 

“God, so full…” she moans. 

“You want me to fuck you now?” you put the sultry voice back on. She nods. “When you’re using your toys, imagining they’re me…” 

“Please, Hosang, just fuck me,” she pleads. “However you want. However you need.” It’s all you need to hear, certainly. You pull out nearly all the way, and watch your cock disappear inside of her with a grunt. Your thumbs nearly touch as you wrap your hands around her small waist to pull her down around your shaft with every thrust. All inhibitions are gone, any restraints have been lifted; you’re slamming into her hard, and the both of you moan loudly enough for the reception desk to hear. Minjeong’s tight abs contract and relax under your hands, you look at her face to see her drooling with her eyes rolled back. Like, actually, really drooling. 

“Fuck, babe… You’re really enjoying this, huh?” you say gruffly. You swipe your thumb over her chin and she leans down to suck on it instead. Lustful eyes meet your gaze and your thumb pops out of her lips. 

“I’ve been waiting so long,” she says. A quick sigh to punctuate her sentence. “So many years…” 

“Well-” you try to speak, but she clenches herself around you. “Fuck. I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have-”

“Pull out baby,” she sighs. “I want to swallow you.” 

Regretfully, you withdraw from Minjeong’s tight hole, but the steam keeps your cock rather warm while she kneels down. After a lick from the base to the tip, she takes you all the way into her throat. She takes your hands and places them on her head, looking up at you sinfully. With fistfuls of her dark hair, you pull back, and thrust in again. She gags and coughs, but she never gives up, and soon, you’re shooting rope after rope, nearly convulsing in pleasure. She strokes you into her open mouth, wringing every drop out of your spent cock. When she’s satisfied, she swallows and stands up to kiss your neck and chest. 

“How about… How about we go to the room?” she says. 

“You want me to stay with you tonight?” you ask. She laughs a bit. Her laugh is fluttering and adorable, a sharp contrast with the noises she was making moments earlier.

“Of course.” 

-

After getting dressed and gathering Minjeong’s things, you head upstairs. In the elevator, you stand behind her; she grinds back onto your groin and brings your hands to her chest. Floors fly by and the number on the small screen goes up as you massage her chest and her delicate moans get you painfully hard once again. She rushes in front of you to the room, giving you another view of those creamy, toned legs, and you do your best to catch up. Once inside, she sits on the bed in front of you and waits. Her hands travel slowly from her hips to her knees, and even slower she parts them with her hands to reveal the glistening skin peeking out from her bikini. Her breath hitches when you step forward and gaze down at her. 

“I showed you what to do last time,” Minjeong whispers. “I want to see what you’ll do on your own.” 

“No pressure, right?” you joke, and she smiles. Her thighs are soft and malleable in your hands, and her neck softer under your lips. You untie the bikini top and cast it to the side, then kiss further and further down her neck. Kisses travel down her neck, over her collarbones, down to her sternum. There’s still salt from the pool on her skin, and you lick towards her nipple before giving it a bite. Minjeong jumps slightly and closes her fists in your hair. Your mouth works on one nipple and your hand kneads the other breast, perfectly sized for your hand. After switching sides once or twice, you kiss her stomach. Her hands move to your shoulders as you kneel on the floor in front of her.

Minjeong’s legs are wide open. You slide your fingers into the waistband of the swimsuit and slowly drag the bottoms down. More kisses travel from her knees across her inner thighs and up to her hip bones. She’s still dripping for you and you drag your tongue upwards over her pussy slowly to savor her. You spit on your fingers and slip them inside of her easily. 

“Ohhh my God-” she whispers and bucks her hips. “Go faster…” 

“Mm, so impatient, Minjeong,” you reply. Your tongue returns to her clit and makes smooth circles. She tenses around your fingers when you curl them back towards you, her moans growing louder, grip on your hair growing stronger. Taking her by surprise, you withdraw your fingers and stand up. While her hands work automatically on pulling your swim trunks down, you take a moment to just gaze at her. Her ruffled, semi-wet hair, strands sticking to her forehead and swaying wildly as she kisses up your thighs. Her flushed, glistening skin, cheeks inflating and deflating with the waves of pleasure coursing up your torso as your length disappears into her mouth again. Her pretty shoulders and arms. Her nose buried in your stomach.

Fuck. 

“You’re really good at that,” you moan. With a yelp Minjeong is scooped up into your arms and tossed, more or less, onto the pristine hotel bed. She pats the bed beside her, and you get the message. You lie back and let her mount you. She guides your tip to her entrance, and once in line, she slams her hips down aggressively. You’re content to let her ride. Her body moves in mesmerizing ways as she grinds on you, seeking the best angle for your cock to rub against all the right places. Just as soon as you begin thrusting into her, your phone starts ringing. 

“Dammit, sorry, Minjeong,” you curse and remove the girl from your lap. Fucking spam call? Really? With the phone silenced, you turn around to see her lying back on the pillows. 

Like an animal, you crawl towards her; you feel like one at least, with the way your cock is throbbing. She pulls her legs up for you, and you guide your tip towards her dripping center. The warm feeling envelops you again and you sigh, eyes closed. Your hands find her waist and keep her torso still while you begin to drive into her. You almost can’t even hear her whines anymore, her voice punctuated by each thrust, curses and iterations of your name following every other sound.

“-nside me,” Minjeong’s voice fades in as your stupor breaks a bit. You lean forward and make a confused expression. “Cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me…” 

And something about the way she says it just obliterates any second thoughts you may or may not have had. Her high, airy voice, begging for such an impure action, intensifies the warm, wet pleasure surrounding your cock. It only gets warmer and wetter as your cum dumps into Minjeong, deeper and deeper inside of her, coating your shaft, dribbling out onto the sheets. Your thrusts slow down, but your dick stays inside; you’re tired. You wrap your arms around her waist, and lie down gently on top of her with your face in her neck. She administers gentle scratches to your scalp. 

“You came so much, Hosang,” she whispers. Her legs settle around your back. 

“Drained all my energy,” you laugh weakly. 

“You’re heavy. Can we switch?” she says. So you do; you roll onto your back. Your cock slips out in the meantime, and you both laugh about it. She fits in your arms like she was made for them.

For a long while you lie there. The cold air condition and the crisp sheets are a welcome contrast to your steaming hot skin and the panting, sweating furnace lying on top of you. Minjeong painstakingly brings her hand to your cheek and kisses the other with soft lips. A slow blink. A thought in your mind. 

Is this what it feels like?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. She knows. 

“How do you feel about me?” you reply. Her expression is mixed.

“How do I feel… I feel like there’s a reason we ended up on this trip together,” she answers. Her body rises as you take a deep breath. “I mean I feel like something brought us together.” 

“What do you want to do about it?” you ask. 

“I want to find out why. There must be a reason this happened, you know?” she says. A small yawn. “Like… There must be something waiting at the end of a journey we can take together to find out. Or something.” 

Together? A journey? 

“Think it might be time for you to go to sleep,” you whisper. Her baby hairs stick to your face when you kiss her temple. The sheets are smooth and cool when you pull them up over Minjeong’s body and yours. She falls asleep quickly. You don’t. You’re thinking about IFR plans and what to say to her in the morning. Your fingers trace along the smooth skin of her hips and lower back for a while. The softness is comforting. And you fall asleep. 

Is this part gonna go in the blog post?