#I can’t go back to sleep cause of fireworks

[bubbleblowinggirl]

Why is Michelle up at this time?

[eowynstwin]

playing the quiet game

Pairing: Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: Dominant/submissive dynamics, established relationship, implied kink pre-negotiation, a LOT of fingering (f!receiving), a lil Price angst Tagging: @dilfconisuer who I teased with this a while back, and fellow Price simps @yeyinde @guyfieriii @alittleposhtoad Author’s Notes: I shit you not, the clock struck midnight January 1st and fireworks started going off in the middle of writing the orgasm. Happy new year! Enjoy the smut.

Now on AO3!

The world is soft and cozy as you come back into it, a little fuzzy from over-washing and dyed in the cool tones of early morning. You’re in that delicious place at the edge of sleep, mind swaying between dreams and reality, body languid and draped on your side across the bed. Touch is the first sense that comes back to you—a warm weight at your back, hips flush with your rear and legs bent along the contours of your own. You shift a little, to give yourself an excuse to settle against it.

“Mm,” John murmurs as he notices you stir, mouth against your neck, nuzzling you slowly with the wiry brush of his facial hair. The hum of his voice is low enough to vibrate between your shoulder blades.

“Mm?” you respond, scent returning next. The new detergent he’s using, gentle and mildly floral, and the fresh pine of the shampoo he washed his hair with last night. The ever-present smokey molasses that’s permanently seeped into his skin. You keep your eyes closed, saving sight for later, imagining that as long as you see nothing, John and the sheets you’re both wrapped up in can be the only thing that exists.

His hand rests on your ribcage, and smooths its way down your hip and thigh. It travels back up again, then retreats—rhythmic, even, fingers dipping and spreading at the curves and valleys of your body. It’s at the same tempo as your breath, which is normalizing as more of your mind picks reality to set up in. You can feel him breathing, too, chest rising and falling against your back, warm exhales fanning across the bare expanse of skin he’s claimed with his mouth and mutton chops.

Down your ribcage, along your hip, and back up. His other arm, you discover as you shift again, is propping him up, forearm wormed into the wedge of empty space between your neck and shoulder and the bed. His knee nudges the back of your thigh.

He paints another soft, prickly kiss on your neck, and rubs his chin and cheek into your jaw. You don’t hide the moan it inspires.

“Keep it down,” he whispers. His hand splays on your thigh. “Thin walls, love.”

You make another noise, lower, somewhere in your throat. His hand is warm on your bare skin, soft and sturdy as it travels along your body, not quite kneading but giving enough pressure to sink in, to meld your flesh like clay with every pass.

“John,” you murmur. “Mm. John…”

“Shh,” he breathes into your ear.

You feel his lips on your neck again, feel his hand divert from its established path to smooth across your belly. The spread of his fingers is wide enough to graze the underside of one breast, and you can’t help the little inhale of anticipation you give. At the same, even rhythm, John drags the flat of his hand down your stomach to its lowest border, and you forget to breathe at all for that little minute before, once again, his touch retreats from whence it came.

His mouth parts on your neck. The hot graze of his tongue meets your skin before the press of his teeth claims the space, and his hand travels just a little lower with the next pass.

Some part of you wonders if you should figure out what John has in mind right now, compare it to what you actually have time for. Off-duty or not, you’re still on base. But then the top of his thigh aligns flush with the back of yours; and you realize, the thought settling into the soft place in your mind between sleep and waking, that he would be doing none of this if he had cause not to. He already knows that you love waking up like this. He knows what circumstances in which he should not wake you up like this. When it comes to you, John Price remains in comfortable, considerate control—and leaves you only with the task of saying yes, please or not now, thank you. He has never asked you to figure out the right place or the right time.

You don’t have to worry about anything. John has already worried about it for you. Your head feels light, airy; you’d think you were slipping back into sleep, if it didn’t suddenly feel like your skin was electrified. It’s a feeling that always comes with letting go and letting him be in charge.

“John,” you murmur again, the breath in your lungs escaping, the sigh mimicking the same one he always draws from you when you finally surrender.

The seal over your skin he has with his lips and teeth gives a sharp pull. “Someday I’ll figure out how to keep you quiet,” he says, low and amused as he disconnects.

The smile that rests against your skin sends sparks dancing across your scalp.

“Don’t stop,” you say, the quiet tone of your voice laced with a yearning you can’t conceal. “Please, John…”

His palm crests the jut of your hip and glides back inward, downward, fingertips skimming the crease of your thighs. The nerves there jump to meet him, buzzing suddenly with too much energy for your still half-asleep mind to moderate. He seals his mouth over a new spot on your neck, dragging the flat of his tongue, blistering hot, along your skin.

“You’re going to leave marks,” you breathe.

“The gear covers them up,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr. “Be good for me, love.”

Euphoria blooms hot across your face. “Yes, John.”

He growls a little, pleased with you, and his fingers dip into your panties and between your folds.

The jerk your leg gives is involuntary. John curls his leg further inward to meet it, to keep it pushed upward, as the heat of his broad hand cups your sex. You feel the tip of one finger trace along your perineum, and a whimper makes its way out of your throat before his other hand wraps around your jaw, tilts your head backward. His mouth finds your ear, the stubble pricking at delicate cartilage.

“Not going to tell you again,” he murmurs, just a little bit of the Captain leaking into his tone. “Quiet down. Aye?”

A shiver races down your spine, makes a home in your sacrum. You nod, as much as you can in his grip. You understand the shape of his control, the intention of it; he’s not looking for a verbal affirmation, and to give one would incur consequences. You’re not opposed to his consequences—often, they’re as sweet as his rewards. But right now you want to bask in this submission, want to earn what he’s already set on giving you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tracing your lips with his index finger. His other hand kneads your pussy, that same up-and-down motion that he woke you up with, and his mouth returns to your neck, teeth sinking into another sliver of unmarked skin.

You settle into him, push your pelvis forward just a little, hoping he sees it for the offer it is rather than the demand it could be mistaken for. He chuckles against you, and teases one finger between your labia, brushes your entrance before flicking upward to surprise your clit. It makes your leg jerk again, and John only takes the opportunity to wrap around you more tightly. You feel him then, against your ass, in the cleft of it—he’s hard as iron, and ramrod-erect.

You suck your lips between your teeth, swallow, exhale a shaky breath from your nose. Pleasure radiates from the tips of his fingers, from the flex of his palm, as he traces the outlines of your sex at a pace too leisurely for early-morning sensitivity to handle. But you won’t make a sound. You’re going to be good for him. The ache between your legs begins to throb, and John must feel it, because finally he presses the pads of two fingers against your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. Sound almost makes it out of you. A gasp, a sharp inhale, but you swallow it down, and John smiles against you. He releases his teeth from you, presses a soft kiss beneath your ear, and takes up the same rhythm he’s been maintaining this whole time, a slow, steady caress that you want to whine at. His hand slides down to your throat, dwarfing the breadth of your neck—not squeezing, but monitoring. He’ll be able to feel any noise you make.

“I didn’t say you had to be silent, love,” he murmurs, fingers sliding down from your clit to swirl around your entrance—and squelching loud enough to let you both know that you’re drenched. “You just need to remember who that noise belongs to.”

You gasp when he slides a thick finger into you with not a moment of warning. “You—ah—you have to be specific, John,” you whisper, hyper-aware of your walls fluttering around him as he languidly pumps in and out of you. “I can’t be good for you if I don’t know the rules—ohh.”

He pushes in to the knuckle, curls his finger against the spot that has black spots dancing across your vision. Before they can blend together, overtake you, he withdraws, pulls out to circle your clit again, and you only wonder for a moment if this is the new rhythm before he gives the bundle a hard tap before pushing back in again.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, mouth open on your jaw, slipping a second finger into you. You have to clench your teeth to keep your mewl from becoming a moan. “And I did just wake you up, didn’t I?”

The stretch, the burn of new fullness, steals your ability to respond. The slow thrust of his hand picks up just a little, as if he wants to make it even harder for you to reply, but you’re determined. “Mm, John,” you breathe, “Let me be good for you.”

He goes still for a moment, fingers halting inside you, body tense as a drawn bowstring, and then his hand suddenly tightens around your neck—not cutting off your air, but utterly possessive, and he hooks his knee under yours to spread your thigh outward. Immediately he’s pistoning his fingers into you alarmingly quickly, and you only remember to stifle yourself at the last moment, turning a surprised shriek into a series of quick, high-pitched mewls. He thrusts against you, grinds his cock against your ass.

“You’re always good for me,” he growls into your ear, shoving in to the knuckle, flicking wildly against your g-spot. “Even when you’re not. I don’t fuckin’ deserve you, love, not a single thing you do for me.”

You want to refute him—want to tell him everything you give him is just a return on what he’s given you. But you can’t, and the only reason you can’t is that he’s fucking the breath out of your lungs with nothing but his goddamn fingers, meanwhile his cock tucked against your ass is so hard you can practically feel the throb of blood running through it.

And anyway, he doesn’t want you to tell him. This is no morning confessional, no whispered prayer to absolve his greed for you. He isn’t saying this because he thinks he’s taking advantage of you—it’s just the naked truth of what John believes, laid bare as if in offering. It’s the best way he knows how to tell you he adores you.

He’s explained all of this. You’ve told him he needs therapy. He’s laughed, and he’s agreed.

“Just don’t stop taking any of it,” you whisper, turning your head, finally opening your eyes to see his face, to drink in the muss of warm brown hair and the fray of uncombed beard. A gentle blue gaze, incongruous with the furor of his hand between your legs, meets yours. “Just don’t stop taking me.”

Dark brows draw together, etching a crease into his forehead. That blue becomes electric. “Never,” he growls, and takes your mouth with his.

His hand leaves your throat to join the other, and a third finger enters you as he resumes the massage on your clit that he’d left off. His tongue sweeps along the ridge of your teeth, probes inward to dance along your own, and at the same time he spreads his fingers inside of you, stretching you so far that you don’t think there isn’t a place in you that he isn’t touching. You think he’s filled your entire body with just his fingers, because there isn’t room in you anymore for your lungs to expand beyond shallow, whining breath. Your legs are shaking of their own accord, muscles twitching every time his fingers brush just the right spot on your clit, and you know he’s realized what he’s found when the flicker of his touch does not leave that spot.

You moan, low and breathy, keeping the sound in the back of your throat. You feel nothing but John, know nothing but the warmth of his arms caging you against his body, the searing burn of his fingers stretching you almost as wide as his cock can. His body is moving with yours, his hips pressing yours forward, shoving you farther into his hands and onto his fingers. The sheets are a mess of wrinkles around your moving bodies, and you finally remember your own arms, your own hands as they’re gripping the fabric without your input.

When your touch finds his forearms, when your nails dig into the broad muscle of them, you feel it coming fast. It’s fluttering around his fingers, pulling tight against the muscles in your thighs. Foreshocks have your body undulating against his, and you know, when his fingers thrust deep and stay there, that he can feel it coming, too.

“That’s it love,” he growls into your lips, kissing you between words. Three fingers curl into you, and you wonder if your body can break apart from the pleasure of their simple pressure behind your clit. “You’re being fucking perfect—I can feel it, fuck—come on, you’ve more than earned it, come for me—”

And all it takes for you then is his words, the rasp of his breath against your mouth, for ecstasy to explode in you from the tips of his fingers, pleasure bursting outward in a shockwave that wracks your entire body. Your breath comes short and quick as it takes you, and you whimper John’s name until he kisses you again, saving you from having to control your own volume as you lose control over everything else. He keeps fucking you as you shudder against his body, keeps up the frantic pace of his thrusting hand and the vice-like pressure he has around your clit, sending aftershocks across your body that keep you shaking and near-sobbing against his mouth. He does not let you get away from it, does not let you escape his hands, and does not stop until you go limp and boneless in his arms.

You come back to yourself, eons later, still breathing hard, panting in sync with John. His hold on you has slackened, arms still around you but loose enough that it’s easy—if not prompt, as it still feels like your muscles are jelly—to turn over to face him. He’s gazing at you, as if he wants to drink you in with his eyes alone, and that gaze is heavy-lidded and content. Neither of his hands have gone southward, searching for his cock or his own release. This is not unusual. He’s told you before that he knows he’ll get his eventually. And you know by now, too, that sometimes John finds more satisfaction in your orgasm than his own.

Every sense has come back to you now. His facial hair is softer than it looks, as you cup the side of his face, and the smell of detergent and shampoo is mingled now with the humid weight of the perspiration you two have worked up. The taste of him—you realized belatedly that he must have gotten up and brushed his teeth before this, because it’s lightly minty—is still on your tongue. His breath is heavy, but even and quieter than yours, obscured somewhat by your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears.

But the best experience is the sight of him—painted in the warming tones of a day starting to get on, t-shirt tight across his chest, skin a little flushed and shimmery with moisture. He smiles at you, blue eyes liquid with open affection, as you stroke his mustache. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I can’t believe you did that with your fucking fingers,” you laugh.

The smile spreads, creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you let me.”

It’s a softness that he always expresses after he’s done anything to you. Whatever he thinks he deserves from you, he never hides his gratitude for what you give him.

When you lean in to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a kiss that he lingers in, lips moving softly against yours as one hand comes to rest lightly on the back of your neck. Your elbows don’t want to prop you up for much longer, though, and you have to break away to lay your head back down.

“Good morning, John,” you say, smiling softly.

He shifts, moves closer, eyes tender as they remain settled on you. “Good morning, love.”

[mae-gi-writes]

It’s (just so) awkward | jungkook (bts) - part four

No way. We’re too different and he’s so—so black and white. A straight-up yes-or-no kind of guy. And I’m not.”

PREVIOUS PART | FINAL | MASTERLIST

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His lips brushed against yours with such gentleness that your insides quivered, your entire body stilling as you felt his warmth envelope you, tease you, taunt you. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before and to say that you were hooked was an understatement.

Your lips curved into his ever so slightly, kissing back with the shyness of a newborn fawn, and a sound so rough and guttural left Jungkook’s throat.

One hand sliding around your waist and the other cradling the back of your jaw, he kissed you over and over again, chaste kiss after chaste kiss after chaste kiss that made your head spin and your insides melt into Jungkook goo. Fireworks exploded behind your lids as they fluttered closed and your body pressed to his on instinct, as though he was the only lifeline you needed.

He sighed and tilted his head to kiss you deeper. You tried to respond as best as you could, one of your hands going up to fist in his dark locks. He smelt heavenly, and as he pulled you closer you felt all of him; firm ridges and rough outlines and smooth skin. That only made you kiss him a little harder, causing another small groan to leave his mouth.

“Jungkook,” your murmur was raspy, the words enough to cause reality to settle in your stomach.

You shoved him away, “no.”

He blinked at you, eyes still drowsy and yet, attentive. He wasn’t drunk enough to be out of his mind. There was something else there, something that you weren’t quite sure of. It made you feel things that made you want to kiss him more.

“You’re drunk,” your voice came out tight, “I’ll let you sleep—“

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s hand came up once more to cradle your face and you swore you felt a colony of butterflies flutter throughout your chest.

And then, he said something that threw your world upside down.

He whispered, “you’re kind of pretty.”

Your eyes widened, but he didn’t give you a chance to answer before continuing, “I always thought you were, just— not in a normal way. You’re pretty in specific moments; like when you laugh and scrunch your nose. You know you scrunch your nose like a pig when you laugh? And when you wear my t-shirt after showers. You drown in them, it’s so cute. And when you bake me my favourite cassoulet even if it takes you like four hours. You’re pretty—prettiest when you do that.”

“Jungkook, you’re drunk and I—“

“I thought about it a lot, actually.” Jungkook continued in a slur, “kissing you.“

You’re practically fire engine red at this point and would’ve been trying to make sense of all the beautiful compliments that rolled out of his mouth, if not for the fact that this— whatever this was — was wrong in all senses of the word.

“Right,” you swallowed. Hard. “Right. Let me—we’ll talk in the morning alright?”

“Wait,” his other hand gripped your forearm, gentle, but firm, “stay with me, please.”

“I can’t—“

“Please Y/N,” and there was so much raw emotion in his voice, so much neediness that you couldn’t fight it. You let him pull you to his side as he tucked his head back into the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen once he pressed a kiss there.

Jungkook was warm. Full of muscle. And so comforting that you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace ever so slightly as you felt his breaths against your skin. It made goosebumps break over your body, causing you to shiver slightly. And his hands — god, his hands — they were pressed so intimately against the side of your hip that it permeated your skin.

I'm so fucked, was the one thing that ran through your mind as you stared up at the darkness.

———

Jungkook had never been a romantic.

He had never really been much of anything, to be honest. He was socially awkward and people usually hated conversing with him because, as stated, he had ‘no filter’.

And you— oh, he had hurt you that first time at the art exhibition. It was just that you were always so happy even if everything wasn’t perfect, even if your artwork wasn’t the best it could be and even if you weren’t getting the good grades everyone was hoping for. So he just had to give you a reality check.that was until he realized how harsh he’d been with you.

But you surprised him, that first time where you were so quick to accept his apologies. Because most people would turn their backs and walk out of his life at this point.

But not you.

Never you.

So even if he had been a little tipsy at the after party, he had been completely aware of what his mouth was blabbering about in the middle of the night but had just been too drunk to care because goddamn, you looked so pretty with your mussed-up hair and that lovely basketball jersey hanging off your shoulder.

He almost felt like cursing himself the next morning when he woke up as if out of a dream, with the memory of your lips lingering, but not enough for him to quite remember it perfectly.

You were fast asleep, mouth ajar and a small dribble of drool at the corner of your lips. You were curled up into his side and Jungkook couldn’t help but reach out, gently stroking your cheek, your jaw, pushing a few locks of hair out of your face.

Jungkook wasn’t quite certain as to when his chest had started feeling so fluttery when you were around, just that something had changed between the two of you as soon as Sara had come into the picture.

And as per Jimin’s words, Jungkook had a good hunch that maybe, hopefully, you reciprocated his feelings.

“Oh shit.”

He realized a little too late that you were awake and that he was a little too close for comfort.

“Y/N.”

“Jungkook.”

You both spoke at the same time, your brown eyes wide with fear as you met his own.

Jesus christ. His eyes.

He really needed to stop looking at you like that.

“So uhm, let me explain— you were drunk and someone had to get you home right?” You started babbling while shoving yourself away from him like he had the plague, almost toppling over in the process and pulling the sheets with you as you went, “since I’m a good friend I had no choice but to take that responsibility and, mind you, you’re not light Jungkook. And you were whiny and just out of your goddamn mind so I—“

Your words cut off in mid-yelp when you fell off the bed. Jungkook shouted your name, barely able to grab your arm in the process as you both fell to the ground in a heap.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his torso above yours and one of his legs between your thighs.

“You okay?” He peered up at your face, taking deep breaths as his eyes flickered to your lips. Just for a second. “That wasn’t the gentlest fall.”

“I—I’m fine,” you stammered, heart beating wildly against your chest at the close proximity. Your mind zapped back to last night, couldn’t help but reminisce the sensation of his arms around your frame, burning the side of your hip, his lips staining yours—

You shoved him away without warning.

Jungkook yelped, catching himself at the corner of his bed while you scrambled up into a seated position. Away from him, away from all the things he’d been making you feel.

“I’m fine,” you kept on repeating without meeting his gaze, “I--I'm really just fine. More importantly..." you bit down onto your lower lip and averted your eyes, looking at him from beneath your lashes, "do you remember anything?"

Jungkook took some time, swallowing hard before he answered: “I remember.”

Oh shit. You felt your stomach give a lurch and pressed your lips together.

“I—“ he had the decency to look embarrassed, “yeah...I was tipsy, not drunk. I kind of knew—“

“Kind of knew?” Heat broke through your chest and drowned your entire face with colour as embarrassment filled you up like a sour lemon, "Wh—What do you—“ you tried to stutter out, “What exactly does that mean?”

There was a moment of silence where Jungkook just gazed at you, and you back at him. The tension was thick, so palpable with stifled heat that it pressed down onto your shoulders. Tense. Waiting.

After what seemed like eternity, your best friend let out a sigh and ruffled his hair, “I wanted it. I—wanted you, Y/N.”

“Because?”

You weren’t sure if you were seeing things or if Jungkook’s cheeks really had doubled in color, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you kissed me?”

“No, I do know why—“

“Why then?”

“Uh, I—you looked pretty.”

“Really Jungkook?” You crossed your arms over your chest with a scowl, “that’s your excuse? That I looked pretty?”

“No it’s not just that. I mean—yes you looked pretty last night. But also I’ve felt this—this thing for a while and wasn’t sure what to do with it. And you kept talking about Sara so I supposed that you wanted me to get with her—“

At this point you were practically spluttering with indignation, “that wasn’t it.”

“You know it’s hard for me to understand more than the obvious,” he paused, “but then I spoke to Jimin.”

Your throat went dry. So Jimin had told him the truth. You weren’t sure whether you had to be happy or sad about it.

Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed to be in his own little dilemma. He didn’t understand your facial expressions though he tried his best to. But this face wasn’t one that he was used to. Sure, he could identify your annoyance, the nervous tick of your throat whenever anxiety was eating away at you, or when your nostrils flared in silent anger. But this? This softness in your eyes and the puckered pout along your lips? He thought he knew, thought that maybe that said exactly what it wad implying. But Jungkook was amazingly thick when it came to that and thus didn’t want to assume anything.

After what seemed like forever, he made a move towards you, glad when you didn’t try to lean away from him.

“Look Y/N," his voice softened into a gentle murmur, "maybe I’m not the best at— conveying my feelings. I’m awkward and I’ve got this thing about not knowing how you feel, or how anyone else feels actually. It’s tough and sometimes it makes me want to bang my head against the wall, but,” he took a deep breath then, bit his lip in the process before his doe eyes fluttered up to yours, “but what I can say is that you make me feel things that I haven’t felt before. And I assume these things are good because they—they make me feel good.”

That was practically a speech in Jungkook’s realm. He wasn’t one for words, never tried to because it always ended badly. But there was an innate wish for him to be understood by you, of all people, because this mattered to him.

Last night was heavenly and he wished it would never end.

So if he had to throw himself under the bus in hopes of trying to attain that? He’d do it.

It was almost like you were frozen in time. Your lips were parted and your eyes were wide, and it took Jungkook every inch of his self-control to stay still in hopes of catching the smallest glimmer of hope on your face.

And when you finally spoke his name, he swore he felt his heart flip like a dead fish inside his chest.

“Jungkook,” your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke, soprano trembling with restrained emotion, “are you saying that you— you like me?”

Jungkook sucked in a breath, “I—yeah. I guess that’s what it is, Y/N.“

He waited for you, tried to decipher the emotion swimming in your eyes and in the way your hands knotted together in your lap while all he could wish for was to close the distance that seemed all too big for him. The feeling of your body pressed into his was one committed to memory and there was no way he’d forget that feeling anytime soon.

And then, you spoke.

“I—I wish you’d told me sooner.”

His eyes flicked to yours. He never fely his heart beat so loudly in his chest.

“Why do you say that?” He croaked. God, his hands ached to pull you close.

You chuckled and he was surprised to find there were tears gathered in your eyes. You heaved a long, strangled sigh, “because then I wouldn’t be beating myself up about you all this time.”

Jungkook blinked, “Y/N, you know I’m not good with comprehension—“

“--What I’m saying is that I love you,” your voice broke, “I’ve loved you for a while now and it broke my heart to see you with another girl and I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

That was enough for him. He sucked in a sharp breath. Gazed at you with mixed hope and fear, and wordlessly took hold of your hand.

He tugged. You followed, stumbling into his lap so that your hands had no other choice than to lay on his chest.

You let out a soft gasp, eyes flickering up to lock with his own dark ones swimming with emotion, before you felt his other hand cup the side of your jaw.

“I didn’t misread that, did I?” He breathed.

You shook your head no.

He took it as a yes.

And dove down to claim your lips.

Heaven. That was what it felt like. Tasted like.

Jungkook held you so close, yet with such tender care that it made you tremble. You breathed out a soft sigh through your nose, before kissing him back slowly, hesitantly, savoring the moment so that it could last forever.

You felt your heart beat loudly, echoing theough your ears, and wondered if Jungkook could hear it. But a soft groan from him was enough to wipe out all kinds of thoughts as the young man broke away for just a second before leaning down to devour your mouth like you were the forbidden fruit calling out with temptation.

He was, admittedly, not the worst at kissing. His mouth was hot and wanting, dripping with the kind of seduction that made you want to continue kissing him over and over again. Your fingers carded their way up his neck, slipping up to his dark hair as a soft sound of pleasure rippled through his chest.

Jungkook's own hands traveled down to your waist, pulled you close so that you felt his warmth against your curves. You gasped in part surprise and part want, not realizing that his other hand had wound around the back of your head to keep you steady as he tilted you back, ravaging your lips like this was the last time you would share any kisses.

For someone who didn't understand social cues, Jungkook was certainly good at getting his message across non-verbally.

At some point, you pulled back to catch your breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing in deep as his chest trembled beneath your fingers.

Was this it? Was he yours?

“You know, that’s really not what I had in mind when I dropped you home last night,” you murmured.

He chuckled lowly, the sound echoing through his chest as he pressed another soft kiss to the side of your head. The action made your heart flutter, “neither did I.”

“This won’t become weird, right? Between us? Nothing’s going to change?” You hoped the panic wasn’t showing in your voice.

But Jungkook shifted you more comfortably onto his lap as he gazed up at your face, “change? Like what?”

“Well, we’re best friends. I just don’t want us to lose that relationship—“

“So you don’t want me as a boyfriend?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I want you as my boyfriend, but not like— I don’t want you just as my boyfriend. I want you as my friend and my boyfriend in one.”

“Okay,” he shrugged before burying his face into your neck, not noticing the soft yelp at the back of your throat at his action, “as long as I get to do that—“ he squeezed your middle, causing another gasp out of your mouth.

“Jungkook!” You protested, cheeks blazing with heat as his lips quirked up into a smile, “what? i like holding you, Y/N. It’s …comforting.”

The grin that blossomed across your lips made you probably seem like a fool, but you didn’t care, allowing yourself to succumb to the warm bubble that seemed to wrap both of you in its arms. This was by far, the closest you’ve ever been to a man despite having your fair share of love affairs all throughout high school.

But this, this couldn’t compare. You felt at home and yet, like your heart was about to combust with just one mere look.

“What time is it?” Jungkook asked sleepily.

You reached out, fingers barely catching onto your phone before you swiped it open to see a flood of messages from Yoona and Jimin, both individually and in the group.

Yoona: text me when you get home safe!

Yoona: HELLOO? ARE YOU HOME?

Yoona: i swear bitch if you died I will find you and kill you again

Yoona; fine be that way but I’ll want answers tomorrow morning

Yoona: Y/N ARE YOU STILL AT JK’s PLACE?!?! CAN YOU TEXT ME ASAP PLSSSSS

trust Yoona to be a drama queen. You rolled your eyes and quickly typed out an answer, only to receive a call a second later.

“What?” You mumbled into the receiver. Yuna scoffed in reply, “don’t what me! You’re still with Jungkook aren’t you? He’s not dead is he?”

“He’s fine. And yes, I stayed with him.”

“Why? Was he that drunk he couldn’t take care of himself?”

Jungkook, who’s ears seemed sharp, glanced up at you with a pointed look.

“No, I mean— Yes, he was drunk,” you averted your eyes so that he wouldn’t distract you, “and I—I stayed to take care of him.”

“And? And?” Did something happen?”

You did not fail to ignore the way Jungkook chuckled as Yoona’s voice echoed theoughout the room. Turning your head away from him, you tried to mutter, “Yoona I’ll call you back okay?”

“What? Wait you can’t just leave me hanging like this after I’ve asked you like the super most important—“

Too late. Your finger pressed down onto the red button, cutting off any of her whining before you tossed the device to the side of the bed with a sigh.

Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed amused.

“Yoona knew?” Was what he asked, to which you shrugged, “she kind of guessed, but we never really talked about it.”

“Were you that obvious?”

“Well yeah I suppose, if even Changbin managed to see through me.”

Jungkook almost choked on his saliva at the said man’s name. He never really was not too fond of Changbin, and from the frown blossoming over his face, it was clear he still had a small bit of distaste for the man.

“What about Sara?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, “what about her?”

“Well all this time…” you trailed off, unsure how to proceed with the next set of words, “I thought you liked her.”

“I do.” He lifted himself up on his elbow so that he could gaze down at you then, dark orbs shining with amusement, “as a friend.”

“Oh,” you bit your lip, tried hard not to stare at the way his shirt fell to the side to display his collarbones. He did have nice pecs, you had to admit that much, “well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Jungkook thought for a minute, “I suppose I could’ve been more straightforward—“

“And you!” You jabbed him in the chest, “you said you didn’t even understand why people fell in love, liar.”

“Okay okay, I’m sorry,” his hand caught yours, lacing your fingers with a grin as your own skin blossomed with pink, “but now you know.”

You grumbled under your breath, which quickly transformed into a gasp of surprise when the said young man grasped your waist and lifted you onto the bed before he followed shortly. He wrapped his arms around your middle as naturally as though he’d been doing it all this time, ignoring your protests before pinning you down to the mattress and throwing a leg over your form.

“I just realized, I think I have class.” You said, but Jungkook merely grumbled and buried his face back into your neck, “skip for today.”

“Did you just tell me to skip class?” You threw him a pointed look.

“I am human, Y/N.”

“I know that, but I’ve never thought you of all people would ask me to skip class, for your sake.”

“Not for my sake. For yours.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

———

"Fucking finally. It only took like six months. "

You swatted the back of Changbin's head just as you spotted your best friend -- boyfriend -- come into view with a bunch of testpapers in his arms.

"Shut up Changbin," you hissed, "you're not one to talk."

"Hey, if I want the girl I go get the girl, okay? It's not that hard," Changbin rolled his eyes, "you guys were just re-enacting Romeo and Juliette."

You made a move to toss your notebook at him and he ducked, laughing manically as a grin blossomed across your face. Despite his teasing, you knew that he was happy that you and Jungkook had finally made it official after that drunken night. Though you weren't one to deal with alcohol, you had to admit that it had helped speed up the process.

"I was one percent away from getting full marks," Jungkook scowled as he approached the table, dumping all test papers in the process like a sulky kid deprived of candy, "and when I asked, the TA just told me that I hadn't written all the steps down when clearly I did."

"Just be glad you're not failing, nerd," Changbin sneered as Jungkook slid into the seat next to you, his scowl deepening at the sight of the said rebel, "some of us have the pleasure of taking summer courses."

"Don't tell me you have to re-do one of yours?" you asked the latter.

"You guessed right. I failed Art History by two points. Dude was out to get me for my missing capital letters."

"Technically, capital letters do form part of the --"

"Not the time, nerd. Thank you," Changbin glared at Jungkook from across the table.

Jungkook glared right back. You sighed, wondering how on earth you'd manage with these two until the end of your university career. As much as Changbin hated to admit it, he did enjoy Jungkook's little quirks even if that had needed some getting used to. Same for Jungkook, who had silent appreciation for the way Changbin handled life and his art in general, never really stressing on things that didn't matter too much.

The two of them were so alike and yet so different in so many ways. You had no idea how to make them reach common ground.

"We're meeting everyone at the noodle snack bar tonight," you reminded the two of them, pointing for more emphasis, "and everybody really needs to be on their best behaviour. And I mean it. Every. Single. One."

"Well maybe we'd have a better time if the nerd didn't spout his stupid nonsense--"

"He started it," Jungkook cut him off, addressing you instead like a middle schooler having caught his friend red-handed copying down his notes.

"Honestly," your nostrils flared with irritation at the two's bickering. It was getting so out of hand that it was ridiculous at this point, "can you just not talk to each other if you have nothing nice to say?"

"In my defense, I have not said anything offensive to the other party from the moment I sat down at this table," Jungkook declared as the scowl on Changbin's face deepened, "of course you wouldn't, you--"

You slammed the table. A growl ripped out of your throat. "Enough."

Ever since it was found that you and Jungkook had started dating, or "trying it out" as you liked to say with embarrassment — because by god you hadn't even had much time to hang out since your confession on Jungkook's bed — Changbin's overprotectiveness had increased tenfold. Maybe because he feared Jungkook might break your heart as he'd done a few weeks prior, maybe because he just didn't like the guy. Even so, their interactions had just worsened from snappy insults to straight up arguments that you had to break up more times than you could count.

Not that you minded much. It was kind of cute to see big, bad Changbin trying his best to act as your good cop, bad cop kind of guy. But sometimes you just wished he’d tone it down a little. It wasn’t as if Jungkook was a total stranger. You knew the guy, and were well aware that he wasn’t going to break your heart. Not intentionally at least.

Speaking of Jungkook… your eyes found his face across the table, tracing his features and wondering whether he kept replaying back that one moment you had a few days ago like you did every night. Truth to be told, things had turned out a little awkward between the two of you ever since, and the exams had just made it worse, for the memory was now so distant that you feared it was some part of imaginary trick that you were being blinded to.

Jungkook’s dark orbs found yours and you jolted in response, averting your gaze as colour exploded through your cheeks. God, the effect he had on you. He didn’t know, did he?

It was almost pathetic.

Which is why you made up an excuse about having to meet Yoona before the dinner, and quickly packed your things while avoiding the two boy’s curious stares. You’d rather come to the dinner alone tonight than spend any more of your time trying to rack your brain about what the next step might be.

“You guys fighting or what?” Changbin asked Jungkook the moment you were out of sight.

The latter frowned, “no.”

“Then why is she acting like she can’t look at you?”

So it wasn’t just his imagination. You had been purposefully avoiding him.

“Is that…normal girl behavior?” Jungkook asked bluntly, to which Changbin let out a heavy sigh, “oh man, Jungkook. Girls are complicated creatures. I’m pretty sure something must be bothering her.”

“But—“ he tried to rack his brain for something -- anything -- that he might've done wrong, "I haven't done anything, not to my knowledge."

Changbin sighed once more before he leaned in, hands clasped atop his knees, "when was the last time you saw her?"

"In my flat. When--When I told her about how I felt." Jungkook felt his ears turn red, did not miss the teasing smirk flashing across the other man's face, "But that was weeks ago and we haven't really had a chance to hang out since--"

"So you're telling me that a few weeks ago was your first and last time together, as a couple?" Changbin let out a scoff, "no wonder she's pissed at you, man. You gotta do better than that."

"What do you mean?"

"She's expecting you to make a move, dumbass. It's obvious she likes you, isn't it? But you not doing anything about it and going about your petty life like nothing happened does not help."

That made Jungkook think. Of course, now that he thought back on it, life had just gotten in the way of his and your relationship, what with exams and all, it had just been impossible to steer his brain out of this academic wormhole.

"Do you think she's upset?" Jungkook asked softly. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have minded too much because in all honesty, keeping relationships was just tough work when people barely understood his perspective.

But you're not just anyone, and knowing how frantic he'd been at the notion of your anger directed at him, there was no way Jungkook was going to let it get to that point again.

"Probably." Changbin's voice broke him out of his mini-monologue.

"I--What should I do?"

This was probably the first time Jungkook looked so terrified in his life, and Changbin would've made fun of him for it if not for the fact that this was about you.

He leaned back into his seat, "ask her out on a date. A proper one."

"How should I do that?"

"How should I know?" Changbin scowled, "Aren't you the one interested in her? What does Y/N like?"

They sat and brainstormed about the multiple options, with Changbin steering him away from 'study dates' and 'movie at your house'. So engrossed was the pair in the heated discussion that they were surprised to find it was almost time for dinner.

"Shit," Changbin cursed, grabbing onto his stuff and beckoning Jungkook to hurry, "we're gonna be late."

Everyone was already seated by the time they arrived, surprised looks flitting across their faces at the uncanny pair stepping through the doors of the diner.

"Is everything alright?" Jimin asked as Changbin settled next to him as Jungkook slid into the last vacant seat.

"Yeah, why?" Changbin grunted without looking his way.

"No, it's just that--you and Jungkook aren't the best of friends so..."

"So?"

Changbin’s scowl deepened and Jimin stuttered out a “nevermind” before deciding it was none of his business.

You were already in deep conversation with Yoona about the last art history exam when you felt a familiar scent wash over you. Turning to see Jungkook, your heart flipped inside your chest. Suddenly, the room felt a bit too crowded, too cramped, for your liking.

“Hey Y/N,” he tipped his head towards Yoona, “hello Yoona.”

“Y/N told me you got 99 on the test,” Yoona threw her arms across the table dramatically with a groan, “how the fuck did you do it?”

“Yes. It really bugged me that the professor took out one mark just because I didn’t write everything down properly.”

“I didn’t really need to know Jungkook, you don’t have to rub it in my face,” Yoona whined, “ugh, I really don’t want to come back for summer school.”

Before you could warn Jungkook not to say anything more, the waiter came to take their order and soon the conversation drifted away. As your friends chatted about the upcoming plans for the summer holidays, you allowed your eyes to stray towards Jungkook’s face when he wasn’t looking.

He was dressed up quite nicely today, a change from his usual style. With an oversized dark t-shirt over some baggy cargo pants and winter boots, he could almost pass for a model that walked straight out of a glossy magazine.

“Y/N? Is there something bothering you?”

“What?” You blinked back to reality, only to realize Jungkook had been looking at you all this time with mildly amused curiosity, “uh, no, no—nothing’s bothering me.”

“She’s just happy to be spending time with you, Jungkook,” Yoona chirped, which causes you to send her a vicious scowl across the table, “shut up,” you hissed.

Jungkook’s ears went bright red, doe eyes widening before Jimin dragged him into another conversation.

You took that chance to whack Yoona’s forearm, “what is wrong with you?!”

“Ouch, what? i’m just trying to help,” she pouted, “can you guys just be cute already? I’m dying to see you being all coupley—“

Her words died halfway up her throat at your glower. The kind that would make people run away and hide. If looks could kill, Yoona would’ve already dropped dead by now.

The dinner in itself was quite a nice event. Fried chicken and beer was served, and you tries your best to shove your feelings aside. Instead focusing on how Jimin’s terrible story about a tinder date.

“—can you believe that? She literally cursed out the waiter as if it was his fault that the food was taking time. I was so embarrassed I felt like I could die,” Jimin kept on ranting as he covered his face with his hands, “I mean, she’s pretty and all but jesus christ, no manners whatsoever.”

“Needless to say, you’re probably not going to go on a date anytime soon,” Yoona sniggered at him, “although I did tell you not to go, didn’t I?”

Jungkook, meanwhile, was in his own world.

His eyes darted between your hands found in your lap and the plate of remaining chicken. He’d long come to the conclusion that Changbin was right during that small speech a few hours earlier; that he should take action if he wanted you to know how he felt.

"You have to make her feel like she's wanted, you know? You can't always expect her to make the first move." Changbin's voice echoed through his head like a warning, "do stuff. Try and hold her hand. Hug her. Have you kissed yet?"

Jungkook's face burned so bright it could compete against a firefighter truck, "yes, but...I haven't had any chances to--"

"Bullshit. You had your chance. You're just a coward."

The words were harsh, yet true. Jungkook was a coward.

But that would change. Today itself. That was the silent promise he'd made.

"--how about you tell us how your date went then?" Jimin's words brought the young man back to the problem at hand. Your hands were still in your lap. Any second now, his own fingers twitched at the thought of holding yours and warmth instantly seeped into the back of his neck, heated up his entire face.

God. He hadn't even done anything yet and he was struggling to breathe.

"Let me just tell you, Jeonghwa was the best boyfriend material I've ever laid eyes upon. If you must know," you laughed at Yoona's face as she elaborated with a swish of her fingers, "he opened all of my doors and even walked me back to my apartment and waited until I was home before he drove off, now if that's not boyfriend material, I don't know what--"

Now. Jungkook's hand dropped to yours under the table.

You pulled away at the same time, causing his hand to grab at nothing--

Until it landed on your knee. Inches close to your thigh.

Eyes widening in panic, Jungkook gaped at you with excuses already bubbling up his throat in what he hoped was silent apology. You were looking back at him like a deer in the headlights, mouth opening and closing, and if not for the distraction of Yoona's escapades happening, you would've been more vocal about whatever Jungkook had attempted.

"I'm so--sorry," Jungkook whispered out and scrambled to retract his hand--

Only for your fingers to grasp his wrist, pinning it your leg.

You were glad that everyone was focused on your friend's description of the perfect man, for you were pretty certain your cheeks were bright red. Your body felt like it was on fire.

Oh god. The realization hit him. His hand. His hand was on your leg. Naked skin. and you were holding it there, as though you wanted him to stay.

Slowly. Slowly but surely, Jungkook allowed himself to breathe out in a soft, slow breath. Bit by bit, he felt his own muscles relaxing as the warmth of your leg seeped into his palm. Tingles ran up and down his spine at the sudden intimacy, but he wasn't going to argue. This was, by far, the most terrifying yet amazing thing that was happening to him.

The room gradually came back into focus; the laughter coming from the friend's table, the idle chatter forming the atmosphere around them, the tinkle and noisy clanging of cutlery from the back kitchen. Jungkook managed to blink back into reality, heart thudding a little too loudly in his chest as he attempted -- once again -- to focus on the conversation at hand, which seemed to now have diverted towards the summer holidays.

His hand stayed there all throughout dinner, a feat that even surprised you, not that you were complaning. He was relaxed enough that by the end of it -- as Yoona was paying the bill and redistributing who owed each other what -- his thumb had taken to trace small circles across the inner part of your thigh.

The action was enough to make your head buzz with echoes of desire. Jungkook might be awkward and clumsy, but there was definitely nothing clumsy about the way he kept drawing circle after circle against your skin as if wanting your body to react in the most sinful ways possible.

Dinner now over, the group bundled themselves out and Jungkook reluctantly pulled away as you felt the coldness seconds where his hand had once been. You followed your friends out into the warm June evening, where everyone took this chance to bid each other goodbye.

"You dropping Y/N home?" Jimin asked Jungkook, who you saw nod slightly before he said something that was too low for you to catch.

Yoona bumped her shoulder with yours with a wink, "have fun," and before you could say anything else, bounded away like a mischievous child.

Your flat was just a few blocks away from the snack bar, the night still lively and filled with noises of passerby's along the street as you made your way back, Jungkook in tow.

"You don't have to walk me back, you know," you told him as your feet crunched along the gravel.

"It's apparently bad manners to allow a woman to walk home alone," Jungkook answered. That was such a textbook response for your best friend and you were already letting out a sigh of slight exasperation, when you felt the warmth of his hand slip into yours.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at your entwined fingers as warmth spread through your chest and your face before your eyes found Jungkook's. The softness you found in those doe eyes had your heart fluttering with butterflies.

Nothing was said. And yet, you felt as though his silence said everything you needed to know.

"Did you enjoy the dinner?" you managed to rasp out a question instead, ignoring the goosebumps exploding along your arm when his thumb started caressing your outer knuckles.

His nose scrunched up adorably, "I'm not a fan of fried chicken. I just didn't want to upset Yoona."

"I have ramen, if you want."

"Really?" his eyes lit up with such excitement that it made you scoff, "you should've told her you didn't like chicken. You know she's not one to take offence to anything."

"I know. But she likes it," he paused, "the fried chicken."

"She does like it." you looked at him then, wondering since when was he so attentive towards others when he usually lived in his own little world, "that's...surprisingly kind of you."

His eyebrow rose up, "I am kind."

"Not in that way you aren't. You're oblivious to what people want or what people like most of the time. So you knowing Yoona's preferences...that's quite a thing," you said, chuckling at the pout forming on his face. Something stirred inside you at his action; you really wanted to just kiss that pout away.

Jesus. You were a goner for this man.

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yeah?" Your eyes were glued to the road.

Jungkook tugged your hand and you stumbled closer to him, shoulders brushing as tingles shot up along your said arm.

When he spoke next, his voice was soft, yet raw with a kind of restrained emotion, "is everything alright?"

Your head cocked, "yes? Why?"

"I don't know, I--" he bit the inside of his cheek, "--I feel like you've been avoiding me again."

"Wha--" your words dissipated in the warm night air as you digested his words. It wasn't like you had wanted to avoid him. Not willingly anyway. It was just that after your kiss that particular morning when Jungkook had held you close and cuddled you like you were his personal teddy bear, nothing had been said and no conversation had cleared the air about the current status of your relationship. With that said, you weren't expecting Jungkook to suddenly transform into this incredible boyfriend material overnight just because he'd confessed to you. But you were at a loss, for fear that if you mentioned anything -- or merely hinted that maybe you'd wanted to talk it out -- he'd run away, disappear, try his best not to acknowledge whatever had happened.

But Jungkook was here. In the flesh, asking you about your situation. Wanting to know. Yearning.

"I'm sorry," your shoulders deflated and your eyes dropped to the ground as you kicked at a random pebble, "I wasn't avoiding you. I just-- after what happened, I wasn't sure what you wanted to do."

"Well, people kiss when they like each other," Jungkook stated bluntly. He cocked his head at you, "or am I mistaken?"

"No," your face was blazing with fire, "you're right. I just--it's you. I didn't know what to expect, really."

"I might be a douche at social cues, Y/N, but that doesn't mean I can't read up about it," he paused as he took in your countenance, "was this why you were avoiding me?"

"Yes. I was scared of how you'd react. I was scared you--" your words trailed off into a fearful whisper,"--that you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

That was when Jungkook's hand tugged you to a stop. You did so willingly, keeping your gaze turned away for fear of what you'd see on his face. But he wasn't having any of that, for his other hand came up towards your chin, propping it upwards so that you had no other choice than to look into those beautiful maroon orbs that made your heart swoon and your stomach burst aflame.

It got a little harder to breathe and you swore you felt yourself sway.

"I like you," Jungkook's eyes shone with emotion, "Y/N. I like you a lot."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it once more as you felt your heart shake, "I--I like you...too."

"Changbin, he told me that I should take you out on a date, to show you that I'm serious about you."

"I--Yeah. I suppose that's what happens."

Oh god, Changbin. That was probably why the two of them had been together when they first joined the group for dinner earlier that night. The thought of Jungkook together with your rebellious friend had you gritting your teeth. If there was someone that was a completely bad influence over the other, it would definitely be Changbin.

"Then," Jungkook had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. He dropped his hand so that he could use it to rub the back of his neck, looking away as he did so, "can I--take you out tomorrow?"

“Oh,” the sound left your lips in surprise, wide eyes staring up like he’d just announced something totally unlike himself. And it was, in a way, because Jungkook wasn’t the kind to be so verbal.

Him doing so made your heart melt and your insides turn to mush. Because you knew, you knew how much effort it took for him to even take that, initiate that, first step.

“Yes,” you murmured out in a soft croak, “I—I’d like that.”

————

Being with Jungkook was weird.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t weird. It was new, and fresh, and something that made your head swirl with feelings you never thought you could’ve experienced in this lifetime. Love was never something you’d quite expected to be at the forefront of your mind, especially not since you had your studies to get through.

But everything was so different. Yet the same.

Weird. Yes, that was what you’d call it.

Jungkook wasn’t a big lover. He wasn’t big on romance, and he was most of the time just a dense brick. But he showed his love in various ways; making sure your coat was ready for you whenever you were the one exiting the apartment, leaving you little snacks that you’d find in the depths of your bag after lecture because he knew how much your stomach screamed for food at any hour of the day, always leaving you with some of the delicious leftovers he’d cook so that you’d have food for the rest of the week.

These actions were somewhat motherly, somewhat not romantic at all, and sometimes you missed having the kind of relationship where holding hands was a certainty. But you quickly found that you basked in this kind of love language, that it made sense to you even though your friends thought he could do so much more for you.

“No,” you shook your head when Yoona complained for the nth time about how you guys didn’t even look like a couple to begin with, “I like him that way. It’s Jungkook, I don’t expect Jungkook to act differently.”

“No I guess he wouldn’t,” Yoona muttered sourly, madder than you were about the ordeal, “but it wouldn’t hurt him to try!”

“Yoona, it’s fine,” you chided, chuckling softly at her annoyed expression, “I’m okay with it, really.”

Some part of you — a very tiny part of your grey matter at the back of your subconscious — wished that he’d initiate something that wasn’t an act of service or something that your mom would’ve done. Something physical, something that told you he was there, that he loved you just as much as you did.

But you pushed it back, not wanting ruin things and not wanting to push him into doing stuff he wasn’t comfortable with. If the situation were reversed, Jungkook would never do anything that’d make you uncomfortable, and so you had to respect his wishes.

But all that changed one afternoon as you exited your last art history lecture. Since the semester was slowly coming to an end, you and Jungkook were opting to watch the latest anime movie that came out two days ago. To say that it was a date would be correct, though how much of dating would be involved, that you’d rather not ask.

Ordering your popcorn — salty for you and sweet for Jungkook — you met up with him at the entrance, holding onto the bags for dear life as he laughed at your struggle.

“I told you I could help you with that,” was what he said as he grabbed a box from your hand. That gave you leverage to shove your purse back in your small bag, “you’re so stubborn sometimes.”

“Look who’s talking,” you shot back, popping a popcorn into your mouth. The salty buttery taste had you swooning in delight. This was what junk food was all about.

Jungkook chose two seats at the far back once the doors were opened and you settled in, glad for once that the theater wasn’t as sparse. Hopefully, that wouldn’t make the date awkward.

Sweat was already accumulating in your hands and you balled them into fists, not wanting Jungkook to notice.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice was so close it made you turn in surprise, eyes widening slightly at the way his head was leaned towards yours.

You could count on your fingers how many times you two had kissed since the incident on his bed. It was probably less than a grand total of ten times, and this included pecks. Which meant that making out was still foreign, uncharted territory and would probably be for a while until you two got drunk enough to be comfortable.

You were okay with that, really. Really.

But the fact that he was so close made it difficult to breathe, causing your lower belly to stir with heat. You swallowed thickly, leaning back on impulse and flitting your eyes away.

“I’m fine,” you hoped your voice didn’t sound as choked as you thought it did, “just a bit tired.”

Thank god for the lights dimming, an excuse that had Jungkook’s attention turn towards the huge screen as you breathed in a soft sigh of relief. At least watching the movie couldn’t be awkward. Right?

Wrong.

Well, the first thirty minutes were fine. Normal, very normal. So much so that you practically forgot about the weird tension between the two of you as you slid down more comfortably in your seat and shoved popcorn into your mouth like it was the only thing that mattered.

But then half-way through the movie, you felt warmth drifting along your side, by your arm rest. Quickly glancing down to notice that Jungkook’s arm was pressing against yours, your ears flushed involuntarily as you forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

Just his arm, you thought to yourself, just his arm. It was nothing else. Just friendly—

That was when his hand brushed against your free one. You shivered slightly, lips parting as you felt the rough pads of Jungkook’s fingertips slide between yours.

Oh. Oh. Your heart practically burst through your chest.

Eyes wide and mouth falling open, you tried to focus on the images on the screen although by now your attention was solely focused on the way his skin felt against yours, on the way your body seemed to respond like Jungkook had a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

He smelled nice, up close. Nicer than you thought. Like fresh laundry and something woody, something masculine.

It was almost nice, so nice that your body slowly relaxed in his hold so that he took to brushing his thumb against your outer knuckles as the film went on. Not that you had been paying attention anyway, considering all sense of logic had lost you the moment you’d felt his warmth at your side.

Jungkook’s chuckle made you jump. A yelp died at the back of your throat as you looked at him.

“Why does he think it’s a good idea?” He looked at you with a small grin, referring to the main guy in the movie that seemed to be choosing the wrong girl as his love interest.

“Because he’s a dumbass,” your reply was automatic, but his chuckle was cute, irresistible, and made your heart melt.

It didn’t help that his fingers kept playing with yours like it was natural to do so.

“Girls should be more honest with the men they love,” was his statement, “us men never know what you guys think of most of the time. And, like you always tell me, men are idiots.”

“Men are idiots. Men in love are even more idiots.”

“Am I an idiot?”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that fell past your lips, “maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

The movie ended a little too soon for your liking, for you were starting to just get comfy with the feeling of his hands in yours. But the blinding lights flooding into the room had you quickly jerk your hand away, tucking it close to your side as you followed the said young man out into the hall.

“I’m starving,” Jungkook stated as you dtumbled into the cool summer night air. He extended his arms above his head and gave you a lovely view of his muscles flexing.

You looked away, “should we go eat something?”

“Yeah I’d like that.”

Settling on a small snack that sold Jajangmyeon next to the cinema itself, you managed to get through dinner without another hiccup, and for that you were glad. Everything seemed to settle back where it should be and by the end of it, you were so comfortable with him that you could almost forget how he’d made you feel, all the butterflies that had inhabited your stomach.

He accompanied you back home, courtesy of his polite nature, and wasn’t until you were almost at your road that he made another clumsy grab for your hand.

It was cute, sweet in a way, how embarrassed he seemed about it as he tucked your hand into his jacket pocket. And when you gave him a surprised look, merely shrugged and muttered a, “girls like it when guys do this. Right?”

“How do you know that?” A thought occurred to you, causing your lips to quirk up teasingly, “wait— did Changbin tell you—“

“No,” the anger in his tone made you giggle because this was borderline ridiculous, the jealousy between these two men, “no he didn’t. I—“

“You?”

“I—uhm—“ his hand went to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly, colour filling his cheeks once more as he diverted his gaze towards your house, “I— kind of looked it up.”

You blinked at him, “you mean— like, googled it?”

“Well google is accurate to an extent, is it not?” Jungkook huffed with so much attitude that you lost it, bursting out in peals of laughter as he scowled at you like you’d just burst his bubble.

“I—I’m so sorry,” you choked on your own breath, “really—honestly— oh gosh— Jungkook, you really didn’t have to—“

He dropped your hand like it was a hot coal, “fine then,” he grumbled and turned away.

You scrambled for him, quickly interlocking his fingers with yours, “aw come on,” you gushed, reaching up to poke at his cheek, “it’s cute. You gotta admit, even for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I wasn’t expecting you to put in so much effort for me.”

He grumbled a bit more, though your words seemed to have appeased him as he didn’t tug his hand away when you squeezed it with affection. Even allowed you to hold it all the way to the door of your flat until you had to reach for your keys.

“Thanks for accompanying me back home,” you offered him a small smile, “it’s late, you should probably— probably head home now.”

“Yeah,” his eyes were flicking over your features, gaze so intense on yours that you felt your breath hitch.

He took a step closer. And another. And another.

You stumbled against the door, heart accelerating as you gazed up at him.

“Wha—“ the words died in your throat as he closed the distance. Placing one palm against the door before leaning down so that his nose brushed against yours, what you found in Jungkook’s eyes made your own heart swim, your own widening at the proximity as your hand impulsively found its way atop his chest.

“Did you— read about that…too..” your words trailed off when you couldn’t help but glance at his lips.

They were pretty. Pinkish in the dim light, apart just enough to reveal his cute bunny teeth.

The sight was adorable.

Focus, Y/N!

“Maybe. Yes. Why?” Jungkook’s whisper brought you out of your trance, “is it working?”

You bit your lip and murmured, “maybe.”

That seemed to satisfy him, for the next minute, his mouth was on yours and he was kissing you like he'd been waiting to since that fateful night where everything changed.

You let out a soft breath, one that he swallowed down as his lips stained yours with warmth, the wetness of his tongue coaxing yours out and making your legs turn into jello. He was, despite his lack of experience, not a bad kisser. On the contrary, his mouth was wanting, bruising, left you reeling for more like he knew exactly what to do to get you pliant in his hold.

Hands taking on a life of their own as you reached up to wrap around the back of his neck, you couldn't help the soft sigh that escaped you when he pressed a flurry of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, suckling on a soft spot there that had you shuddering in delight. It seemed as though Jungkook had let go of all constraints for once, listening to what his body wanted instead of logic. And he was doing a real good damn job of it.

His own arms were wrapped around your frame, backing you up to your door as his hands slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to rest at your hips. The circles he drew along your skin were akin to flames bursting through your chest as butterflies erupted through your every pore and it took every single cell in your body not to crumble at his feet because damn, Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing.

Leaning away just when you needed air, your heart melted upon feeling Jungkook's hand cradle your cheek.

He tilted your chin up, thumb ghosting over the skin along your jaw as your eyes clashed; dark maroon settling on brown butter.

You swallowed, allowed the air to rush through your chest, to squeeze into the grooves of your heart and turn you breathless as you held his gaze, soft and tender and filled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

But you liked it.

You liked having him so close. This close to you.

He smelled good. Felt good. You didn't want this to end.

"Y/N."

Jungkook's murmur made your insides flutter. You hummed, not being able to resist burying your nose into his shirt, "yeah?" you murmured.

"I really like spending time with you."

Your heart melted into Jungkook goo and you almost swooned at his words.

Looking up into his eyes, a small smile played across your lips as you said, "I like spending time with you too, Jungkook."

"Can we--" he bit his lip, eyed right and left before huffing out, "--can we do this again?"

You laughed, "yes. Yes we can do that again."

"Okay. And I can hold you like this too?"

"You can hold me however long you like," you grinned up at him, heart exploding with happiness, "I don't mind."

If someone were to ask you why you were with Jungkook, you weren't sure you had a direct answer to that. Because the truth was that, despite having known him for so long and how completely opposite in personality and character traits you were, you couldn't -- for the life of you -- imagine how your life would be without him around. Jungkook made it all better just by being there, a home that you could crawl back to whenever life got too hectic, too hard. That was who Jungkook was to you, an anchor to your boat, the light at the end of a dark tunnel. And while you felt guilty about only realizing this now -- at the price of almost losing him in the process to someone else -- you couldn't find it in yourself to regret anything, now that you were cradled in his arms like something -- someone -- worth his time and energy and heart.

Yes, you were so completely different it was hard to imagine how you got along. But the fact was that you did, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

----

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This part and ending was so long overdue. I know how many people having been ASKING for the part 4, and after soo so so damn long, here is the ending to IT'S (just so) AWKWARD! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I loved writing it. I'm really sorry for not being as active as I was before on here, but you can still find me on Wattpadd! That's where I'm most active! But honestly, thanks for sticking around so much. I'm still really really grateful for all the love that I receive on here. Tumblr has been my rock, my safe space since Covid has started, and I'll never really forget what this community did for me <3

[anjelicawrites]

Soft IV

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth

Synopsis: one anon asked for another episode of the Soft saga, with the whole polycule in it. This starts right after the coda to the third episode.

Warnings: p in v sex, blowjob, handjob, anal fingering, anal sex, kissing, scratching, titty sucking.

A/N: hi nonnie! This took me way too long to write! I hope you like it!

Part I, II, III and the Coda.

Osferth is used to live small, being raised in a monk run orphanage has taught him to be pauperistic, this is the reason why he has no issues with sleeping in dingy motels and eat whatever he can find, when his job takes him away from home. Now that is living larger, going by what the monks drilled in to him, he doesn’t feel guilty when he scrambles to go home, where his comforts are.

NSFW and 18+ only under the cut, please!

Only God knows how hard it had been for him to stay away and focus on the job, while Aemond was in pain and the work to keep him safe fell on your shoulders for a whole, awful, week; not that Osferth doesn’t deem you capable, it’s more his own instinct to protect the ones he loves that gnawed at him, until he was home and you had jumped into his arms.

It’s not unexpected that you and Aemond decide to take care of him, and not the other way around, still Osferth’s heart is filled with gratitude for, the two of you, who keep choosing him day after day, even though he feels he’s never going to be at your level.

“Let us, my love.” You murmur in his ear when he tries to undress you and Aemond. “You had a long week.”

He wants to reply that yours and Aemond’s had been worse, he can’t, because Aemond takes a gentle hold of his chin to kiss him, deeply, silencing his words until he’s naked and half hard between the two of your.

“You missed us.”

Aemond’s smirks, his hand around Osferth’s erection jacks him into full mast and steals his voice: he’s already puddle for you two.

Obediently Osferth lets you turn his head to kiss him, slowly as Aemond’s hand keeps moving on his erection, whimpers and moans spill from his lips as the pace quickens; Osferth wants to warn Aemond that he’s close, so close, if he doesn’t stop soon… Osferth comes, pressed between you two, his legs tremble with the power of it, the pleasure a hazy mist in his brain. He lets Aemond hug him to carry his weight as you kiss his nape to then go to the bathroom to start the water for the bath.

Against his tummy Osferth can feel Aemond’s desire, hard and warm his erection is pressed between their bodies, causing flames of desire to ignite inside of him; his mind is torn between letting go and be pampered by you and Aemond, and trying to give back the love he’s receiving. He tries to open Aemond’s slacks to slide his hand in, but Aemond’s fingers curl, with a soft hold, around his wrist, his other hand is busy freeing his erection.

“Let me help you.” Osferth’s voice is a slurred moan that flies directly to Aemond’s cock. “You were in pain.”

“I was, indeed.” Aemond’s lonely eye burns with hunger. “The only thing keeping me sane was imagining you back home, warm and needy for us, for me.”

It’s the husk in Aemond’s soft voice that makes Osferth’s head spin, the quiet determination of a man who knows what he wants and is ready to take it; it’s usually the other way around, it’s Aemond who soaks up all the affection and lets himself be taken and loved, pliant under your hands and Osferth’s, rarely he takes control, when that happens, Osferth can feel his body liquefy with need, his more dominant nature retreat to allow him to enjoy Aemond’s love and desire, the way he’s doing now. He needs to hug Aemond to keep himself on his feet, all his strength, all his blood seem to go straight to his cock, leaving his head empty of coherent toughs and full of cotton; Osferth moans when Aemond takes a firm hold of his ass, his big hands on his cheeks to force his budding erection against his raging one in a slow friction that makes fireworks explode behind Osferth’s closed eyes.

Both men moan when you wet hand takes a hold of their cocks, moving up and down with a slow motion aimed more at amping up their need, than anything else.

“Come with me, my light, the water is ready.”

Osferth’s body is not his anymore, he’s a marionette in your arms that lets itself being turned, so that he can hide his face in your luscious breasts with a long moan. Blindly he follows you to the bathroom, complaining only when you have to release him to get into the huge tub; you open your arms at him once you’re seated and he scrambles on his feet to join you, sighing when his back is cushioned by your breasts.

Your hands caress his inside of his tights with long strokes, slow and deliberate in the way you’re ignoring his erection, preferring to tease the area where his legs join his hip; he wants to beg you, but his words die when Aemond appears, naked, apart from the collar, at the door. He’s all hard planes of muscles, white skin and dark nipples, his erection red and angry against his belly; with the confidence of someone who knows he’s wanted, he saunters to the sink to pin his hair up, feeling Osferth’s burning stare on his body: he’s desired as much as he does the other man. Only when he’s done he turns around to observe you two in the water, your legs pinning Osferth’s open and he loathes that he can’t see the other man’s erection under the bubbles.

When you bought the house and started renovating it, you choose to install the biggest bathtub you could find, because you wanted to treat yourself, now you never stop giving yourself pats on your back, since there’s enough space for three grown people to chill together.

“Relax.” You murmur in Osferth’s ear. “Close your eyes, you’re finally home, you’re safe. We’re safe.”

You repeat the mantra while you let your hands wander on Osferth’s chest; it’s not a sexual touch, your goal is to make sure all the tension you still feel in his muscles disappears. Little by little his body melts against yours, until he’s completely boneless when Aemond lays against his chest, just to hear the whoosh of the air entering and exiting his lungs and the steady thumping of his heart.

It’s not sleep, what Osferth is experiencing, he’s existing with the two people whom he loves the most in the entire World, he’s feeling them the way they’re him, he’s letting his overworked brain know that Aemond is as pain free as he can be, and that your mental health is not hanging in the balance of Aemond’s neuritis flare, and Osferth’s absence. He lets himself be manhandled by you two, body and hair washed until the smell of the motel toiletries has disappeared from his body and he’s been scrubbed with your ridiculously expensive products.

He keeps his eyes closed when Aemond helps him out of the tub and you’re there to bundle him up in the fluffiest bath towel; he’s almost asleep when he, finally, lays on the bed, his long limbs spread out to take as much space possible.

You curl next to him, with your head on his shoulder, your hand playing with the hairs on his chest. Aemond exits the bathroom and throws the bathrobe on the floor; he eyes you and Osferth with love and hunger. Yes, his erection has abated during the bath but he feels lust clouding his brain at the sight of you two cuddling, naked, on the bed.

“Do you want to tell Aemond what you did me, Osferth?”

He recognizes that tone, you’re taking control as Osferth curls, shyly, against you. He wants to be cuddled and coddled, his submissive side always needy and a bit coquettish.

“What is it, beloved? What do you want to tell me?”

Unconsciously Aemond’s voice is deeper, a rumble in his chest that makes Osferth blush and hide against yourself even more; you have to convince him with soft words to turn his face and look at Aemond.

“You know the rules, my love, you need to use your words like a big boy.”

Osferth pouts cutely and tries to hide his face again, he’s too slow though and Aemond manages to get a hold of his chin to look into his clear blue eyes.

“I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me, beloved. You want me to make you happy, don’t you?”

Aemond’s voice is a deep murmur, filled with lust and desire, that flies directly to Osferth’s cock, which now swells, untouched, against his tummy.

“Perhaps, does Ñuha egros se sumby, My sword and shield, want to cuddle?”

“No.” Osferth pouts.

“Does my beloved want a kiss?”

“Perhaps.”

Aemond smirks before he leaves a quick peck on Osferth’s lips, only to deepen the smirk when Osferth starts to complain.

“If you want more, you have to tell me. I’m here for you.”

Aemond tries to control his smile as he sees the fight on Osferth’s face, enhanced when your fingers start caressing his nipples, how his cheeks redden and he tries to hide his growing erection, only to have his legs spread by Aemond.

There’s so much he wants, so much he’s dreamed about when he was away, but when he’s reduced in this state, he has to force the words out of his mouth: take me, have me, fuck me until I pass out, mark my body because I missed you so much, show me your strength because I fear you’ still hurting, he has to make himself say them and still his eyes can’t meet Aemond’s lonely stare. When he’s like this, Osferth reverts back to the shy boy who was raised in a monks run orphanage, more of a convent, really, where his budding sexual needs were chastised and he was punished for them. When he needs to be taken care, he forgets his sexual proves, the freedom he’s gained from himself, he wants to be taken by his hand to simply let go. You know, as well as Aemond does, what he needs, the only matter you two care is having his full consent, having him tell you two what his heart desires, to give it to him fully.

Aemond kisses him, his tongue gently playing with Osferth’s, until the kiss is deep and filthy, the latter’s hips jump against his with need.

Tortuously Aemond’s mouth follows imaginary lines on Osferth’s body, his lips leave soothing kisses where his teeth have nibbled and bitten; he moans at the taste he can feel under the bathing gel and the cream you’ve slathered his body with: that woodsy taste he’s always connected to his beloved, freedom and the fresh smell of a clear spring night; Aemond’s lips seek more of it with each kiss and small love bite as Osferth’s body arches under his with breathy moans.

“Please.” Osferth begs, his glossy eyes half closed. “My sweet prince, my lady love!”

His cock is so hard now, red and heavy against his tummy, warmed by Aemond’s breath on the tented skin, his nipples raw with your kisses: he’s so ready to be taken, to forget who he is, that words desert him again after he’s called for you two. He can feel tears fall down his eyes when he can’t tell you two what he needs, when his tongue is tied and only whimpers manage to leave his mouth. Thankfully you are there, your fingers slotting in his wet hair to turn his head on the side and help him focus.

“Can you answer with yes and no?” You ask him, patiently waiting for his voice to come out.

“Yes.” He breathes out.

“Shall I take you, beloved?”

Osferth’s eyes dart to Aemond, he blushes deeply before he can answer with a moany ‘Yes’

“Spread your legs for me, so good sīr sȳz issa jorrāelagon, so good my love.” Aemond smiles, proud. “You’re so hard for us, will you be good and not come just yet?”

Osferth hiccups on a moan at the words, and care he hears in Aemond’s words: anything, anything for the man who loves him so deeply.

“Will you let me ride your cock, my light? After Aemond is inside of you? Will you let me keep you safe?”

“Yes! Yes!” He moans, your cunt is his home, the safest place in the entire world.

“Good, good.” Your lips land on his forehead. “I will ride you, now let Aemond prepare you.”

You let Osferth lips wound around one nipple to suck softly as Aemond fingers start pushing against his tight ring of muscles. Patiently he breaches him, knuckle after knuckle, finger after finger, until he’s three in and he can explore him, seeking his prostate to gently push against it, eliciting Osferth’s hips to move following his slow rhythm.

Osferth whines around your nipple when Aemond’s fingers leave his hole, only to moan when Aemond’s bulbous head enters him, his body arching at the intrusion, his muscles pushing against him, yet Aemond is relentless, slowing making his way with short pushes and pulls, until Osferth’s body lets go and he can fill him fully, fighting against the need to fuck him fast: tight, tight, always a vise around his cock.

Aemond’s eyesight clouds with needs and with the lust curling at the base of his spine when he sees the way Osferth is biting his lower lip, now that he can’t suck on your breast any longer: he knows he’s fighting the urge to push up into Aemond, to start fucking himself instead of letting his body adjust to the intrusion.

Osferth’s body shudders under your when your wet cunt starts sliding on his hard cock, wetting it, mingling your honey with his, his hips try to follow yours and he moans, when he impales himself more on Aemond’s cock. His back arches with need, his hands grab and scratch your skin when you don’t stop and keep taking your pleasure from him, unabashed, your beautiful breasts swinging over his face.

“Please.” Comes broken from his lips. “Please.”

Slowly you take his cock in your hand to slowly sink down, letting your body adjust to his invasion, to the thickness that seems to take your sanity away, until you’re straddling him, fully, with a satisfied smile on your face.

Under you Osferth is lost, his eyes glassy with pleasure, his mouth slack to let soft whimpers out when you and Aemond start moving, slowly, making sure he feels every inch of Aemond’s cock and every crevice of your cunt. He tries to buck, tries to make you two go faster and is subdued by the passion in every stroke of Aemond inside of him. Your muscles clench and unclench around him as you slowly grind against him: he’s not going to leave the sanctity of your cunt, not today when he needs it the most.

Your orgasm is a quiet thing, that slowly unfolds from your loins up to your spine with every grinding motion of Osferth’s cock against your G-spot, every kiss Aemond leaves on your nape, with their hands on you, caressing and grasping at your sweaty skin, pleasure builds and builds. Under you Osferth moans and arches his back, his eyes screwed shut, a similar fire coursing through him with each and every dual movement you’re subjecting him to.

“Come, my light, come with me!” You whine.

Under you Osferth’s body is ravaged by full body shudders, he squirms and arches, moans desperately when his end seems to elude him, his nerves lashed by too much pleasure, his prostate, his cock and God! You’re begging him to come! He opens his eyes, all he can see is you taking what you need from him, ethereal like a goddess.

With a scream he comes, ropes and ropes of seed hitting your walls as you follow him, milking him until you fall on his body, breathless. Inside of him Aemond tries to fight his own end but the vise around his cock is too tight, too perfect after days apart and he lets go with a shout, fucking Osferth until his body can’t move anymore and he falls next to him, only to curl against him to kiss all the available skin he can reach.

Under you Osferth’s body relax again, his lips find yours, and Aemond, to kiss you two slowly and sloppily, letting you two worship his body with soft caresses now and gentle pecks that lull him into slumber.

You help him turn on his side to push his face against your breasts, he makes such a happy sound you can’t help but smile yourself. Behind him Aemond looks dead to the world, his long limbs splayed open as he waits for his brain to restart himself; in between sleep and wakefulness, you tug on his hand until he plasters himself against Osferth’s long back, falling asleep immediately after. You stay awake for a handful of minutes, just observing your lovers, your family, finally back where they belong. You can sleep safe now.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[hitlikehammers]

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[egginthepit]

Got into playing Alaris recently and so here I am introducing my MC Maena:

Don’t really know where to begin with her, just starting to really form her personality. She’s definitely extroverted but like in a pretty chill way. She’s not afraid to go and talk to people, she also can actively seek out someone’s attention, but she’s also pretty comfortable with her own company.

She loves all kinds of plants like her mom but she’s got special interest in mushrooms. The fungi just appeal to her for some reason. She likes a good challenge every now and again but she does tend to involve herself in people’s business when she really shouldn’t or doesn’t have to. It’s her sense of justice that gets her into situations sometimes, she can’t stand bullies and will make it known to anyone within her vicinity

Likes: the color blue, rocks, mushrooms, and forget-me-nots

Dislikes: incredibly loud noises (think fireworks or a rock concert), hot summer days, extravagant flirting

Her current opinions of the different LI:

Kayn: These two got off on the wrong foot after the first encounter. Now Maena isn’t usually averse to people being in her personal space but with Kayn’s flirting added on top of it she got really wary immediately. Things did smooth over later on but it took a hot minute. Now she sees them as the perfect person to tease. They tease back of course but that’s just a given. Why dish it if you can’t take it right?

Druk: She sees Druk as rather reliable/dependable. He’s probably the first person she’d go to if she needed physical protection. Sort of sees him as an older brother figure.

Fenir: Do not get her started. She finds him incredibly fascinating. She isn’t quite sure what draws her to him (it was definitely the hair and eyes at first. She LOVES the color blue) but she does know his presence is comforting to her. Would probably love sitting down with him and asking him questions about the books he’s read. She likes to read but loves it more when people talk about how they felt or interpreted a piece of literature.

Etza: Sees them as a sort of mentor. However, tries her best not to depend on them too much since she feels that, like how she feels being a healer sometimes, having people constantly depend on you can become draining and stressful. So she just likes to drop by their office and ask about their day before skipping off to some other daily task or event.

Kuna’a: It is on sight for this guy. He is the main cause of her most recent woes of getting her personal space invaded. Once again, she doesn’t mind people being in her space, what she DOES mind is when absolute strangers with dubious intent manhandle her. She’s going to have to duke it out with him first before she forms any sort of relationship with him. And by that I mean at least one swing at his face.

Aisa: They are a mystery to her in a way that fascinates her. Despite her initial response of “I will fight you for putting me to sleep when I was owed answers, you jackass” she sort of felt as if they were… lonely. Now she just wants to befriend them and see what’s going on there. Everyone needs a friend, even if they insist on having nothing to do with you. Maena will be your friend one way or another, Aisa, just get used to it.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Tumblr Fic List Part 1

Hi everyone! With AO3 currently down, I thought I'd remind you all that almost all of my fics are also available to read right here on Tumblr! For years I've had the habit of cross posting just about everything so if you're looking for a particular fic, you should be able to find it on good old Tumblr.

I tag all my fics with: Precious Posts so you can also use that to find anything newer I haven't added here yet.

This is all my older fics, from my Masterlist. When I get a little more time I'll do a part 2 with my newer stuff.

To Teach a Robin to Cook: Jason teaches Damian how to cook

Baby Bat Vs the Evil Librarian : Steph and Damian take a trip to the library

Grayson’s Guide to Robin Boys Movie Night (IMG): The list of rules Dick wrote for movie night

Guide to Robin Boys Movie Night (FIC): Dick decides to write some rules for movie night, the other Robins have opinions

Movie Night: The Mummy: Jason does not like bugs

Movie Night: Cheeto Bomb: Dick thinks Jason planted a Cheeto bomb in the DVD player. Jason insists otherwise.

Lost Boy: Tim’s mad at Damian (again) and takes a walk to cool off

Fireworks: The Batboys attend a fireworks show for the 4th of July and Jason has flashbacks. Angsty

Baby Teeth: Bruce notices that Damian has lost a tooth, and decides to play Tooth Fairy. Fluff pure and simple.

Talk Yourself Out of This One: Dick get’s kidnapped and is forced to wait for help to arrive.

Kidnapped With You: It’s all Jason’s fault. Or is it Damian’s? Either way both managed to get kidnapped and now have to get along until Batman arrives

Misplaced Mail: Tim decides to go to college and doesn’t tell the other Robin boys.

De-Aged Tim: Timmy gets shrunk down to a six year old and Damian has to help him get back to normal.

Magical Mix Up: Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian all get body swapped. Will they fight or get along long enough to fix things?

Lights Out: Jason finds himself in a situation when Tim passes out on him while his chest taser is still on

The Hunt: Bruce and Damian go on the search for a missing remote

Prank War: It’s Batboys vs Batgirls

Something in the Tea: Damian drinks hallucinogenic tea and can’t escape the visions of what he wishes his family would be like.

Party Chaos: Duke just wants to survive this party, unfortunately for him the rest of the Batboys are at the party and intent on causing trouble.

Trust: DickBat era fic where Damian gets into some trouble after a fight with Dick.

Karma: Damian’s got the hiccups so Dick tries to help him out on patrol.

Comfort Sweater: Damian get’s caught stealing one of Dick’s sweaters.

Play Lessons: Mindless Fluff as Dick and Dami play Cheese Viking together

Burdens: Written for Dynamic Duo Week 2016 day 6: Leave Me Alone

Discovery: Dick and Damian do a science experiment with Geodes

It’s Called a Hug: DickBat era. Damian doesn’t understand that hugs aren’t just a reward for good work.

Like Any Other Kid: Damian can’t stop having nightmares, finally he decides to go to his father for comfort.

Nightmares and Dreams: Bruce has a nightmare that Damian’s still dead and decides to check up on his son.

Cuffed: Dick and Tim end up handcuffed together and have to rescue Jason

Chosen: Based on a HC where Damian has trouble believing Bruce really wants him.

Album: Tim’s looking through one of his old photo album’s when Dick and JAson find him.

Father Time: Tired from the night before Bruce decides to stay in bed all day. His children decide he needs company.

Favorite Colors: While Dick and Damian are shopping for a new hoodie for Tim Damian makes an interesting purchase.

Lost Not Gone: My version of Damian’s reaction to Tim’s ‘death’

Super Sleepover: Jon sleeps over at the manor

Father Daughter Dance: Bruce and Cass go to the Ballet

Learning to Ride: Bruce teaches Jason how to ride a bike

Adoption: Alfred pushes Bruce to adopt Tim

If I Live to See the Dawn: Jason’s hurt and Damian’s got to get him home

Learning to Ask: Dick takes care of an injured Bruce

Heartbeats: Takes place between Batman Rebirth issues 16-17 and follows Bruce taking care of his kids

Target Practice: Damian and Steph play laser tag

Anxious Heart: Damian deals with some latent fear toxin, Bruce helps him out

Art Show: Tim runs into Damian while going to see one of his photos on display

Family Attire: Dick and Damian go clothes shopping. DickBats era

Unintended Consequences: In trying to hide his own illness Damian ends up getting Tim sick

Always Interesting: Cass buys a waxing kit and all the boys want to try it

Not a Burden: Tim gets hurt on patrol and doesn’t want to bother the family

With Love and Patience: Dick muses over taking care of Damian, there may also be suspenders involved. DickBats era.

Long Overdue: Jason offers to take Damian on patrol with him

Some Kind of Normal: Sometimes Bruce forgets just how young Damian is

Trapeze Training: Dick takes Damian out on the trapeze

Sick Day: Bruce is sick and Damian wants to make sure his father gets proper rest

Haunted Manor: Damian and Jon explore a haunting in the manor

Checking In: The batboys start to worry when Bruce is out of town and hasn’t contacted anyone in a while

Preserved Heartache: Damian sees a video of his own death

Hugs and Cookies: Dick brings a ‘get-along’ rug for the holidays

Like Old Times: Bruce and Dick on a stakeout

Safety Net: Snapshots of Damian learning to trust Dick

Irritating: Damian picks on Dick

This Stupid Family: First person pov. Jason’s little brother’s realize he too is a little brother and act accordingly.

Then and Now: Bruce dealing with Jason’s death juxtaposed with the family now

In Charge: Jason and Bruce make lunch while Alfred is out. Robin!Jason

A Little Craft Project: Damian asks Babs for help cheering Dick up

A Bad Night and Good Tea: Bruce can’t sleep, thankfully Alfred’s there to help

To Pass Through this Night: Dick died during Forever Evil. His brother’s find out and help him deal with it.

Faking It: Damian fakes being sick, Dick reacts to it. DickBats Era

Dreams of Wires: Damian’s feelings on the chip his mother put in his spine

Don’t Get Sentimental: Tiger takes care of Dick

Robin in the Batcave with the Rope: Damian get’s kidnapped by the Riddler and Scarecrow and forced to play clue

Breathe In Breathe Out: Damian gets buried, Dick worries Part 1 2 3

This Weight Off Of Your Shoulders: Damian gets sick, Alfred takes care of him

After Everything We’ve Seen: Dick finds Damian curled in the corner of the couch

Bone Tired: Dick is tired, Bruce is there to help him out

Just to See You: Temporary blind Damian, Big brother Dick

You Won’t Wake Up Alone: Dick knows he’s about to die, he just doesn’t want to do it in front of his little brothers Part 1 Part 2

First Breath After A Coma: Dick ruminates on his death, Damian’s, and all the terrible things that have been happening lately. Angst, no fluff

Your Job or Mine: Bruce gets hurt, Dick takes care of him

New to This: Dick’s getting used to his new busy life, and learning to take time for Damian

Accustomed to Standing Alone: The first time Damian’s kidnapped as a civilian

Bleeding Heart: Damian finds a dying doe and sits with her, Dick helps take care of the rest

Sun Spot: A lazy day with Dick and Damian

Of Baskets and Braids: Dick can’t sleep so he goes to find Bruce, and they get lost watching Youtube videos

As the Years Go By: Dick is growing up, and Bruce isn’t really sure how to deal with it.

A Bird in the Hand: Damian gets turned into a robin…for real. Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Those Days We Miss: After Damian picks a fight with Dick, he ends up kidnapped and pretty sure no one is going to come for him.

Stay Here, With Me: Damian gets soaked on patrol, and as a result he ends up sick. Rest and medicine should help, but Damian finds himself getting worse and worse. Thankfully he’s got Bruce (and later Dick) to help sort things out.

You Always Bring Me Home: When Batman is caught by an explosion he calls the person who can always find him, Alfred.

The Care and Yeeting of Robins: Bruce comes home to find Jason in his bed. Jason refuses to move, so Bruce does what he has to in order to stand his ground and decides sleeping on the floor is the only option.

Flash/Prompt Fics:

Damian and Tim: That’s Not a Dog

Dick, Damian, and Cass: No, no, it’s okay, I’ll be your bridge. You can walk all over me

Damian and Dick: I stabbed my last twelve brothers. Why should you be different?

Jason and Steph: Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything

Young Dick: Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything

Steph and Damian: I stabbed my last twelve brothers; why should you be any different?

Tim and Damian: Would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get angry

Older!Damian: I find this to be highly illogical, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely irresistible. Let’s play

Damian and Alfred the Cat

Tim and Damian: Damian attempts to irritate Tim

Tim and Jason: Tim’s tired and saying weird things

Batman Voice: Damian’s got a ‘Batman voice’ and it comes out at the best of times

Shrunken Sweater: Bruce’s sweater has shrunk to the perfect size

Being Sick is Stupid: Robin Dick and Bruce fluff and minor sick fic

Damian gets tricked into sleeping

Dick and Damian angst-fluff

Long Fics:

Super City: Damian and Jon on an adventure in Metropolis

Losing You: Dick loses his memories of Damian and the two try to deal with it while going after the villain responsible (plus Tim and Jason get to help)

Finding Us: The sequel to Losing You. Explores Jason and Tim’s relationship to the Batfam

[lvieee]

pictures and films | 沈泉锐

pairing : ricky x reader

genre : fluff

sypnosis : ricky does something different this time for your birthday

——————————————————————————

MM/DD/YY

“today’s MM/DD/YY, y/n’s birthday. she’s at the restroom right now, and i’m going to be giving her this after we eat tho. she’s supposed to be here any minute-.” he says to the camera then getting interrupted by you coming back to the table.

“heyy” you say to the camera putting your arms around his neck. “why are you recording again” “just wanna document this”

“here are your menus, ring the bell when you’re ready to order.” the waiter say.

——————————————————————————

“im so fullllll im going to explode” you say to the camera holding your stomach. “the steak was delicious” he says bringing the camera to the empty plates on the table.

placing the camera on the side of the table so it shows the both of you

he pulls out a book from his bag. “happy birthday.”

you take the book smiling, wondering what’s inside

——————————————————————————

flipping through the other pages, some blank, so you two can add more for memories in the future. laughing and smiling nonstop you then reach the very last page of the book

“aahhh read that at homeee” he says his cheeks starting to heat up. “whyyy i wanna read it noww” you reply back. “fine”

tears starts to well up in your eyes, you can’t believe someone would put in this much effort for your birthday.

“that’s not all, i still have something to show you.”

pulling his laptop out, looking through his files. opening a video.

——————————————————————————

11/29/21

"we're at the arcarde and she just made me switch with her cause she regrets not taking strawberry instead of vanilla" he says, zooming in the camera to the dessert infront of you "how's it?" he asks "10/10" you say smiling widely. he then brings the camera to him and shook his head.

12/1/21

"someone just got boba" he says while zooming into you about two meters away holding a large cup of bubble tea waving to the camera. "she's now running away from me now that she's got what she wants."

12/31/21

"we're here about to watch the countdown in like 5 more minutes." "she's afraid of fireworks" you hit him on the arm "hey im not" he then just shrugged.

02/03/22

"m taking over your camera from now on." you say while walking with him while he's hold the umbrella cause it's raining.

"we're supposed to go to the beach today but it's raining." he says pouting.

"and now we're going to his house" you say smiling to the camera

02/14/22

“its the 14th of february, valentines day. we’re going out to this restaurant later and i got her flowers.” he says showing the flowers while walking up to the front door of your house.

i’m here, u done? send

he was about to send you the message when the dokr suddenly opened revealing you "awwww you got me flowersss" you say in awe at how pretty the flowers are.

"happy valentines" he says handing you the bouquet of roses.

"heyy" you say waving to the camera. "where are you bringing me to?" you ask. "it's a surprise" he replies back

03/14/22

the camera pointing at you on the bus looking at the sunset outside the window. "look, it's so- you're recording again."

05/20/22

"it's someone's birthday today, i'm holding his camera and he's still sleeping, it's almost 10" you say to the camera trying to keep your voice low so you don't wake him up

opening the door, he suddenly wakes up from hos sleep "ahhhh got caught" you say to the camera pouting.

"happy birthday lovieee" you say throwing your arms around his neck. him rubbing his eyes, not saying anything his eyes trying to adjust to how bright the lights are.

putting the camera on top of the nightstand beside his bed

“wait lemme light up the candle” you say while trying to light up the candle on top of the cake you baked for him last night.

“aight make a wish” you say. smilling at you before putting his hands together and making a wish. he then opens his eyes and blows the candle.

you clap your hands, then taking frosting off the cake and smearing it on his nose. “happy birthday”

——————————————————————————

“is this why you’re always documenting everything everytime we go out?” “well.. i just felt like recording it, i hadn’t thought of doing this back then.”

“do you like it?” he asks feeling kind of nervous cause he has never done this before.

“of course i do, the effort you put into making all this, i can’t imagine that.” you say. “anything for you.”

“happy birthday y/n”

[luna-writes-stuff]

Prisoner Of Your Eyes, Steven Grant

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Angst, unresolved tension

Word count: 3505

Tw: So much angst. Neglection of feelings/feelings of unrequited romance in a relationship. Steven loses his mind. One (1) glimpse of Mark. Maybe not an entirely accurate timeline/loyal to the source material. It’s been a hot minute since I watched Moon Knight. Light swearing. That’s it??

Summary: Going into a relationship with Steven, you knew of his poor sleep schedule and occasional absence. You had always made peace with it. But when he didn’t show up on your two-year anniversary after weeks of planning, you couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. Steven tries to make things right, not knowing he’s actually worsening the situation. You became faced with the cold, hard facts.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“When I saw your face I became a prisoner of your eyes. And I would do just anything. To stay and be with you.”

“Hello, this is Steven. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. You can leave a message after the tone and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Cheers.”

That was the sixth time you heard that voicemail. The sixth time. He said he’d be there. On all occasions that he’d leave you standing, he’d have to pick this date.

Going into your relationship with him, you were well aware of his circumstantial loss of time, but lately it had begun to grow worse and worse. There were days he’d go without talking to you, leaving you an anxious mess - leaving no messages and not picking up any phone calls. Be that as it may, you had grown accustomed to it. It might not have been the nicest thought, but you learned to adjust. You knew he loved you, regardless of what he would go through.

But he promised to be here. You watched him set multiple alarms. He had given you the key to his apartment just in case. So there you sat, on his bed, ringing his phone an endless amount of times. Of all days, he had to disappear on your second anniversary. He had missed many big days all year round, so this was his way of making it up. He had reserved a spot at a restaurant, he had bought the gifts, he had taken the day off. And still, he hadn’t been there.

“You know there are times When I let myself wonder As I was going under. You pulled me back to earth.”

You were hesitant to call the seventh time. He wasn’t going to show up. You’d been here for two hours now, and that was after waiting in the restaurant for another two. It was nearly midnight now.

You sighed deeply as you dialled his number again, putting him on speaker as you laid down on his bed. You listened to the seemingly endless ringing, closing your eyes at the horrible sound of it.

“Darling?” Suddenly sounded through the room, causing you to shoot upright, your eyes immediately opened. “Steven?” You tested, just to be sure. A relieved laugh rang through the phone at your question. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice.” As he spoke, you noticed the breathlessness in his voice.

“Steven, where are you?” “I don’t know,” He answered quickly, before you heard something crashing in the background. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” You repeated, now more worried than angry at him. “I have no idea where I am.” He clarified, as if that would ease your thoughts. Then, something loud was heard. Almost like a firework going off.

“What the hell was that?” Another crash followed, and you leaned closer to the phone. “Steven, are you okay?” “Leave me alone!” You frowned at his words, unsure of what to say next. “I’m so sorry, darling,” He suddenly said, in a much softer voice. “Steven, are you okay?” You asked for a second time. A loud crash was heard, followed by silence for a few seconds.

“Do I need to call the police?” “No!” He replied almost immediately. “No, I’m fine.” “Baby, you don’t sound-“ “No,” He interrupted you, yet somehow you knew he wasn’t talking to you. “Leave me alone!” The phone went silent for another few seconds, and you awaited anxiously. “Hello?” You called when you heard rustling on the other side.

“Steven will call you back.”

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

You stayed at his apartment that night. You tried to call after someone hung up on you, but you got no more responses. You had sent him a text in which you said you’d be staying over, and that he shouldn’t be spooked if he found you asleep in his bed. He had read the messages. He simply refused to answer them. And as quickly as the tides changed, your worry transformed back into anger.

Somehow, you still managed to fall asleep that night, clutching Steven’s pillow, his blanket thrown over your figure. On the table was a small basket filled with his favourite snacks, two candles, a book on Egyptian mythology which you were sure he didn’t have yet, a tiny statue of Bastet and a collection of your best pictures with him. You had been so happy and giddy gathering the gift, but now, you only wished you had spent less time and thought into it.

It didn’t take long until the first few tears had fallen. You should have been used to this by now. It wasn’t his fault. Surely, something terrible had happened and he was in some kind of shock. But, he’d still be fine.

Yes; you should have been used to it. This couldn’t have come as a surprise. This far, he had missed both of your birthdays during the two year course of your relationship, he hadn’t shown up to the first and second dinner with your parents, he would stand you up on dates and would occasionally forget the day, and therefore the gifts - if there was any need for it. You had tried to convince yourself how it hadn’t been the most important, but how you would have loved to receive just a single rose on Valentine’s Day.

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

Though the sun had been up for a long time, it was a new noise that had awoken you. From his small bathroom, you could hear rustling coming, followed by a short, hushed curse. Hesitantly, you stood up, putting distance between you and the bathroom, but so much that you couldn’t see what was happening in there.

“Steven, what the hell happened to you?” You gasped as you noticed the dishevelled state of your boyfriend. He turned around, a sheepish grin on his face: “You really wouldn’t believe.”

You walked closer to him, another gasp escaping you as you noticed the red on his cheek. “Is that blood?!” He looked into the mirror, frowning when he saw his face. “Oh, bullocks.” “Shit!” You cursed, now taking notice of the bruises and cuts forming on his arms. “Did you get mugged?”

The man looked at you hesitantly, unsure of what to say. A lot had happened, most of which he hadn’t even properly processed yet. He wouldn’t even know where to start explaining. Thus, he just sighed, nodding painfully: “Yeah,”

“Trapped in time. I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

Guilt flooded your senses as you recalled your talk on the phone last night. “I should have called the cops.” “Hey, darling,” Steven immediately tried to comfort, walking up to you as he rested his hands on your upper arms. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” Then he opened his coat, revealing his keys and wallet. “Look; they didn’t steal anything.” But you just shook your head at him in remorse: “Fuck, Steven, I’m so sorry.”

Finally, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you loosely as you sighed into his shirt, all anger from last night fading away in his hold. You were just glad he was here now, however painful the experience had been. “It’s not your fault.” He mumbled, before parting from your embrace, hissing slightly as he manoeuvred his arm.

“Are you okay?” You asked, holding his arm gently as you tried to pull up his sleeves, now noticing the complete blue colour of his biceps. “My arm kind of hurts.” He tried to lighten, but you shook your head at him. “I’m calling you in sick.” “You don’t even work at the museum.” “Donna knows my face.” You countered, already walking up to his phone. Quickly, Steven followed you, placing his hand on your shoulder to make you halt: “I can work.” “Absolutely not. If not for your physical health, then for your head.”

When he didn’t seem convinced, your shoulders dropped, looking at him in defeat. The dark circles underneath his eyes only seemed amplified, and empathy flooded your senses as you observed him more closely. “Jesus, you need some rest.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“As each day goes by I've given up completely. I've locked myself inside your heart And thrown away the key.”

You had helped him get cleaned up, not asking any more about the mugging. You figured it had been a sensitive topic, which you completely understood. When Steven was finally in some fresh clothes and his wounds had been cleaned, he sat on top of the bed, fatigue seemingly settling into his features the moment his body touched the mattress.

His eyes wandered the room, lingering on you for a while until they came to rest on the gift you had gotten him: “What’s that?” A light smile accompanied him as he said the words, almost as if he wasn’t expecting any gifts.

That was because he wasn’t. In all his experiences, he must have forgotten what you had initially been celebrating last night. Your features fell at his innocent smile, a dull knife suddenly piercing your heart as a shallow feeling entered your stomach.

“Your anniversary gift.” You mumbled, too tired to even pretend it was okay. The man fell silent at your words, remorse clearly displayed in his eyes: “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off. “Wasn’t your fault. You got mugged.”

Walking up to the door, you pointed your thumb to it. “I’m gonna go.” You tried to say nonchalantly, but it probably came out more broken than you had intended. “You can stay.” Steven offered, but you dismissed it quickly, a lump now forming in your throat. You didn’t know how to feel. “I stayed to make sure you would come home safe. I’m going.”

If he wanted to object, he could have. Part of you almost wanted to beg him to stay. But he didn’t. Instead, a soft ‘okay’ came out. He didn’t even stand up to try to see you out. He just remained on his bed. The dull knife in your heart began to twist.

“Take care.” You told him, opening the door for yourself.

“Cheers.”

“Only time will tell If I can live without you. Can you see into the future? Will you ever set me free?”

You were glad you had taken the day off. Not only were you still exhausted after the small amount of sleep you had gotten out of worry for Steven, an uncomfortable feeling had begun to settle within you. Part of you wanted to shout at Steven. You wanted to be mad at him so badly. You wanted to curse him, and to tell him how horrible he had been.

On the other hand, you felt incredibly guilty. He had been mugged last night and you hadn’t called the cops to check on him. You had heard the crashes in the background - and those fireworks had to be gunshots. You could have cried upon the realisation. He had been in genuine danger and you hadn’t even warned anyone. A complete stranger had taken over his phone and had hung up on you: all the signs had been there.

Then there was the part that felt stupid. Not angry at Steven, not guilty for what you had done to him: it felt stupid. You knew what you were getting into from the start. This shouldn’t have surprised you - you could have anticipated this. Why were you so torn up about it if you could have known? You were so foolish to think you could celebrate one anniversary.

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

Your phone had been ringing all day, but you had no energy to answer it. Maybe it was petty, but you knew who was calling. You didn’t feel like talking to him. Perhaps you should have, considering all he had went through. But you needed your time too.

You didn’t make that as clear as you might have hoped.

It was around seven at night when there was clear knocking on the door. You had been in the living room, laying on the couch of which you hadn’t gotten off the entire day. You weren’t specifically watching anything. The TV had just been on and you were watching whatever stupid game show it had been presenting. You were out of it all day. A much needed groan needed to be uttered as you got up, your muscles protesting with your movements.

Perhaps this was a new form of low for you, but you just wanted some rest. Apparently, that was very hard to come by on a free day.

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

When you opened the door, you weren’t surprised to find Steven standing there, in his working gear. Something about that made you even more angry than you were before.

“You weren’t picking up your phone.” He spoke, as if it was the most obvious thing to him. He walked in without invitation, wiping his shoes on the doormat as he walked into the living room. You widened your eyes at his actions, but didn’t comment on them.

“This is going to sound insane, but the craziest thing happened to me today.” He began to rant, sitting down on the couch you had occupied the entire day, ignoring the glass of water, tissues, and discarded lucifers. “There was this jackal hunting me in the museum, and there was a man ranting on and on about Egyptian avatars.” He spoke in one breath, giving you no time to interrupt him or answer him.

"And then I think a god showed up. You know? Khonsu, the god of the moon.” He looked at you, expecting you to understand him. You didn’t know what to tell him. Five minutes ago you were crying right where he was sitting, and now he was rambling on about his hobby chasing him and communicating with him.

You blankly nodded at him, before he continued. “Well, he spoke to me. And there was this other dude who spoke to me as well. And then I fought the jackal, I think. But here’s the weirdest thing,” He stood up, walking towards you as if he was going to sell you the invention of the century. “The camera doesn’t show any of this. I mean, that must be some kind of complot or something, right?”

You couldn’t suppress the shaky sigh that escaped you. Now close enough to you, Steven noticed your red eyes and swollen cheeks, his expression softening as his entire voice became much more gentle. “Hey, have you been crying?”

“Trapped in time. I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

“Steven,” You dismissed. “When was the last time you slept?” “No, I’m serious.” He returned, his face now no longer as caring as it had been seconds ago. “So am I.” You countered, crossing your arms in desperation, your eyebrows furrowed together in a mixture of worry and sadness.

“What?” The man stuttered surprised. “Do you not believe me?”

Of course you didn’t. But you weren’t going to tell him that. The poor soul was probably still in some form of shock. Thus, you tried to soothe him: “Sure I do-“ “You don’t sound convinced.” Steven jumped in, rapidly ticking his fingers against his arm as he thought out his words.

“But I think you might have just been shaken up by the accident yesterday.” You continued, ignoring his protests and doubt. His mouth opened in an ‘ah’ of understanding: “But, you see, I wasn’t mugged.”

And there it was, yet again. That sinking feeling in your stomach. Twist the knife, drop the butterflies. Your whole body just felt empty now. He had never lied to you before.

“Beg your pardon?”

“In this heartache. We can try and start again. Stop the heartbreak. A little time will help to kill the pain.”

“I woke up in some weird cult, with the same dude who talked to me today about Egyptian deities and their avatars, actually!” “You weren’t mugged?” You repeated, making sure you had heard him correctly. “No,” He answered. “But are you listening?” “Why would you lie to me?”

Steven’s expression fell slightly as he noticed the wobble in your lower lip. “I was just very confused yesterday, and I didn’t want to worry you,” He began genuinely. “But do you not see the connection?”

An incredulous sigh left you as you thought over everything you had been through this morning and the night prior to it: “I was worried about you all night yesterday, and you couldn’t give me straight answers.” “It was a very stressful day!” Steven tried to defend. “You told me you didn’t know where you were. And you told me you were mugged.” “Well, I don’t know where I was, but it was terrifying.” He bundled up his sleeve, showing you the bruises you had been treating only hours ago. “I think I actually got this from a fight.” “You were in a fight?” You repeated, your voice growing louder in surprise and offence.

“Yeah! And somehow I won.”

His hands found yours, rubbing them affectionately. “And now I don’t know how to feel. It’s so scary and ominous, but also exciting, if that makes sense.”

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

He sighed loudly, looking into your eyes, a somewhat crestfallen expression within them. “I don’t really know what to do. You always know just what to do and what to say. Figured you might be able to help.”

With that, you dropped his hands, walking towards the door: “Get out.” He stood there frozen, unsure of what you were saying. “Beg your pardon?” “I’m tired, Steven,” You sighed. “Get out.” “But I need your help.” He pleaded, following you like a lost puppy, trying to grab your hands again.

“And I need you,” You argued, your voice coming out more emotional than you had intended. Tears began to build again, but you swallowed them down. “Steven, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been falling apart lately. And every time I need you, you’re not there.” You opened the door, signalling towards it: “I knew what I began the moment we started going out, but it’s getting worse. Please, get some help.” “Darling, I’m so-“ “Just,” You muttered. “Not now. Call me tomorrow and we can talk.”

As he walked outside, you looked at him, offering him a sincere look: “I hope you figure it out, Steven. I really hope you do.” “Yeah,” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Love you.”

You didn’t return it - you just watched him leave, turmoil setting into your stomach: “Goodnight.”

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

It was stupid how you waited by the phone the next day. How you had purposefully left your sound on during work, hoping to receive his call. Maybe you had been a bit harsh last night, but he deserved to know somehow.

However much you still loved him, he always left you hanging when you needed him most. And when you finally thought that perhaps it had been you who was just thinking too much of it, he had taken up lying to you. Steven was as honest and kind as they came and he had lied to you. You didn’t know what happened to him, but you really did wish he had someone to help him figure it out.

It was late in the afternoon when you finally finished your shift. Steven hadn’t been waiting there with his usual after-work snack, or that dorky smile that always accompanied it. He was always there, but not today. Maybe it was time to dial him. Perhaps he had somehow forgotten.

You stood there on the curb, waiting patiently as the phone rang a few times. The longer you had to wait, the more hollow your stomach became. When the ringing finally stopped, a light flutter flew through you, though it immediately died down as you heard his voice over the phone.

“Hello, this is Steven. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. You can leave a message after the tone and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Cheers.”

“Trapped in time I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

[cakerybakery]

Adam was up too late. He didn’t even get to do anything fun, like going out or binge watching all the showed banned in heaven. He just couldn’t sleep.

Tossing and turning most of the night always too warm or too cold, always getting uncomfortable moments before he would have fallen asleep.

He was dead tired and trudged through the day. Lucifer even caught his hand before he could pour a spoonful of rice into his coffee by accident. He had been going for the sugar, which, after Lucifer’s soft hand let his go, made him pause. He drank his coffee black. His brain was misfiring in all kinds of ways.

As he lay down that night to sleep he could feel himself tossing and turning.

There was a soft knock on his door and he got up. On the other side of the door was Lucifer.

Lucifer shifted from foot to foot. Hat, twisting in his hands as he couldn’t quite make eye contact.

“What do you want, short stack?” A chuckled burbled up in the back of Lucifer’s mind. ‘Hee, short stack, cause he’s short and makes pancakes. Nice one me.’

God fuck a duck, he was tired.

“I was wondering if you were still having trouble sleeping?”

“It’s midnight and I’m awake. Guess.”

Lucifer lit up like the day after extermination day fireworks the princess of pep shot out of her fingertips.

‘Is this ass fucker happy I can’t fucking sleep? Little bitch.’

Adam could feel his blink roll from one eye to the next, out of sync with each other. He just wanted to sit down.

Lucifer’s hands were on him and he protested against it as he was herded into the bed and tucked in.

“I’ll sing you a lullaby, just like I used to sing everyone to sleep in the garden at night.” Lucifer fluffed up his coattails and as he sat a chair appeared under his royal ass.

Adam could remember Eden, how nature sounded like a soft tune, and he would drift off. There was no singing.

Before he could question Lucifer on his lie, Lucifer cleared his throw and opened his mouth.

Out came the soft rustle of wind in the trees, the thump of a rabbits foot in the dirt, the trill of a loon, and the lapping of gentle water against the shore.

Having grown use to being among angels it had been easy to forget they weren’t human. The lullaby Lucifer sang wasn’t a song but the sounds of nature getting ready for the night.

In Lucifer’s voice was the unfurling of petals from the moon flowers, the flickering of fireflies, the howl of a pack on the hunt.

Lucifer’s voice carried with it more than sound. Adam could see the setting sun in his mind, gloriously painted across the sky. The bright oranges and red, the soft dark purples, the deep of the dark and the milky way coming out.

He felt the breeze, always warm at night, and the soft grass.

Adam closed his eyes and sleep well for the first time in ten thousand years.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: the party is at the Hopper-Byers house for the July 4th celebrations and Steve has a really bad nightmare caused by childhood trauma/abuse mixed in with Upside Down horror. He wakes up but is still lost in the nightmare + PTSD from the fireworks. Eddie can't calm him down. Nobody in the party can calm him down, he isn't fully awake. Its terrifying. What calms him down is Wayne, speaking in low tones about Garfield, and the weather and Eddie. He refuses to talk to anyone about the pleas and desperate sobs of "no..get off" & "leave me alone" but is extra clingy to Eddie & Wayne once he comes out of the flashback. It's also the 1st time he calls Wayne 'dad'

MY LOVE!!!!!! Sometimes I make myself cry so hard that I have to add the most ridiculous fluff to make it better. That's what's happened here. It's sad, it's hurt, but then it's so so so much comfort and fluff. I can't resist and I can't apologize. Plus you know supportive Wayne is like MY BRAND. Steve calling him dad? Jesus the tears I let out. I'm actually a pretty firm believer that at some point over the years, Eddie started calling him dad because he was a better one than his own ever was. Hope you all cry in a good way with this. - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve went to bed a while ago, his head hurting a bit too much to handle the fireworks show that Hopper and Jonathan were putting on. Eddie went with him, though he wasn’t tired, at Robin’s insistence.

She’d given him a look that said enough.

They’d all been dreading this day, at least a little, because of Starcourt the year before.

Steve was asleep in Will’s bed, curled up against Eddie’s side, breathing even.

Until it wasn’t.

Until his hands were gripping Eddie’s shirt like it was a lifeline, his feet started kicking like he was running from something.

He was whimpering in his sleep, clearly terrified of something, but Eddie couldn’t be sure what.

Steve tended to have a wide variety of nightmares: reminders of his childhood traumas, reminders of the Upside Down and Russians, and terrible visions of something that would hopefully never be the future.

They all caused him to struggle to wake up, and usually he was crying uncontrollably for hours when he finally did.

Eddie tried to prop himself up slightly, ready to try to hold Steve as still as he could.

Steve fought him off though, mumbling something in his sleep.

Eddie let him, knew better than to actively attempt waking him up during a nightmare.

He kept a hand on him, adjusting as Steve shifted in the bed. Trying to talk to him quietly, barely whispering reassurances that he was safe and loved and everyone would protect him.

Sometimes that worked. It wasn’t quite enough to wake him up from it, but he’d calm down and drift back into a mostly dreamless sleep.

Not this time.

He started sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks from his still-closed eyes. He wasn’t quite tossing and turning, but he was moving enough that Eddie didn’t want to stay too close just in case either of them ended up hurt.

It killed him, but he put space between them.

“Eddie, no!”

Eddie flinched at the despair in Steve’s voice.

He heard a knock on the door, but couldn’t pull himself completely away to open it, so he yelled for them to come in.

Robin and Max were at the door with wide eyes, Dustin and Will standing behind them.

“Is he okay?” Robin started as she walked in.

“He’s having a nightmare.”

“Why can we not just wake him up?” El asked curiously.

“He wakes up on his own. If you try to wake him up he could accidentally hurt you.”

“But he is hurting,” she said, deep frown settling on her features as she watched Steve moving in bed.

Robin sat down on the edge of the bed just as a firework went off in the backyard, making her jump.

Steve’s eyes shot open, and he stopped moving.

But he wasn’t awake.

“Please stop. I can’t-“ Steve’s voice was pained, like he was being tortured.

“Hey, why don’t you rugrats go get Joyce or Hop or something?”

The kids hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave Steve even for a moment, but finally all turned to grab an adult from the firework show.

Joyce came in only a minute later, eyes wide and searching.

“Steve?” She asked as she got close to the bed, watching his open eyes crying silently now. “Sweetie, can you hear me?”

“This only happened once when I was around. He’s like, lost in the nightmare. He says when this happens is when he can physically feel what’s happening instead of just picturing it.”

“Bless his heart,” Joyce sighed. “Do you know what the nightmares are?”

“They’re different all the time,” Eddie said quietly.

“No, not her! I’m the one you want, right?” Steve yelled suddenly.

Everyone jumped and Steve and Robin shared a long glance.

“Maybe the Russians? We’ve had a lot of reminders today.”

Joyce placed a hand on his face to wipe his tears, but Steve flinched and curled himself into a ball.

“No, no, no,” he repeated.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s Joyce. We’re all gonna keep you safe,” she said softly, her hand still stroking through his hair.

She was trying to comfort him, but it seemed like the touch just made things worse. After another minute, she pulled her hand away and Eddie could see she was fighting back tears.

He put his hand on her shoulder as he heard a few more people come in.

“It’s okay. When he wakes up, he’ll be happy to know you tried,” Eddie said, though at this point, he figured if Steve knew that everyone was watching him have a nightmare, he’d be embarrassed at best, ashamed at worst.

“Maybe we should give him space,” Max suggested from the corner.

She suffered from terrible nightmares, too. She hated sleepovers now, usually chose to take the guest room of Steve’s house instead of on the floor in the living room with everyone just in case she had one. El would sometimes go with her, but most of the time, Max preferred being alone.

Steve was similar in that he usually hated anyone trying to take care of him, but Eddie and Robin usually didn’t give him a choice.

“Max is right,” Hopper said from the door, though he looked just as concerned as Joyce. “If he wakes up to all of us standing around him, he’s just gonna feel worse.”

“Let me get in there,” Wayne mumbled from behind Hopper.

Wayne had never seen Steve’s nightmares firsthand, just heard recounts of them from Eddie, but he’d felt terrible for the boy. He had his own share of nightmares from the war, and wouldn’t wish them on anyone.

Eddie and Wayne shared a look, one that had Eddie moving so Wayne could sit on the bed with Steve instead.

“Alright, everyone but Wayne and Eddie out!” Hopper said just loud enough to make a point.

Wayne wasn’t paying attention to everyone leaving, too focused on reading the situation at hand and preparing for whatever it might take to get Steve out of it.

“He ever punch when he’s in a nightmare?” He asked Eddie as he sat down close to him.

“Only once with Robin, then she learned to leave enough space that she could get up if he started throwing his hands around. It’s happened to me a couple times because I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“Alright, just stay right there for a few minutes. I’m gonna try to hold his wrists so I know if he’s gonna punch.”

“You aren’t restraining him, right? He doesn’t like to be restrained,” Eddie started nervously chewing on his hair.

“No, son. Not restraining. I’m gonna let him go if he starts to push against me, but it’s just so I know when he’s gonna start throwin’ his hands around.”

Eddie nodded and watched as Wayne sat back against the headboard of the bed and pulled Steve completely into his lap.

Steve wasn’t fighting it, but he was letting out little “no, no, no”’s until Wayne got him completely settled with his head against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat.

“Alright, bud, we’re gonna get you through this. You and me, kid. Just us. I’ve got you right here, you hear my heart? I got you.” Eddie watched as Steve’s crying continued to get worse. “Oh! You know that stupid Garfield mug? Broke the handle on it again. Damn thing seems like it’s giving up for good. I’ll have to steal the one you keep at the house.”

Steve’s whimpering was a bit quieter, his body relaxing a little more into Wayne.

“Tomorrow’s s’posed to be nice, maybe we should head out to the lake and fish. Leave Eddie behind, he scares the fish,” Wayne smirked over at Eddie, who was only holding back a comment because he was still too worried about Steve.

Steve was now silently crying, and Eddie knew he was probably closer to awake than asleep.

“I know you’ll probably say Eddie’s welcome, but that kid don’t shut up. Don’t know how you put up with him. Of my two boys, I’d much rather take you fishin’ and take Ed to a bar.”

Eddie bit his lip at the implication that Steve was one of Wayne’s boys. He knew Wayne adored Steve, but didn’t realize he was ready to adopt him as his own.

“There you are, bud. You awake?” Wayne was talking softer than Eddie had ever heard, and when he looked at Steve, he realized why.

Steve had finally managed to wake up completely, and his whole body was shivering, more from fear than being cold.

Eddie still found a blanket at the end of the bed and covered him, watching as Wayne mouthed a quick thank you over Steve’s head.

“You want me to keep talkin’?” Wayne asked.

Steve nodded.

“You got it, though this is more what Eddie’s good at. Ya know the first night he lived with me, I couldn’t get him to even say hello? Poor kid was like Bambi, didn’t trust anyone or anything, big brown eyes watching every breath I took until he was in his room. The next day I woke him up with pancakes, the recipe you like most with the cinnamon apples, and he hasn’t shut up since.”

Steve let out a breath that could have been a laugh if he wasn’t coming down from one of the worst nightmares Eddie’s seen him have.

Wayne’s hands were running along his arm and back, comforting and keeping him warm.

“Maybe we can head back to the house, I can make us those pancakes in the morning before we go fishin’. That sound good, kid?”

“Yeah, dad.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, and he saw Wayne’s hands freeze.

Then Steve was trying to pull away, his eyes shining with unshed tears that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

But Wayne pulled him back, held him against his chest and placed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m not lettin’ you go yet, son. Not unless you would rather be with Ed.”

Steve shook his head.

Eddie didn’t take offense to it, he was with Steve all the time and he knew Wayne was the best at giving support in times like this.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“What?”

“Anything.”

Steve shook his head.

“You ever talk about it with anyone?”

Steve shook his head.

“You think you should?”

Steve nodded.

“I ever tell you about when I got back from Vietnam?”

Steve shook his head.

“Is it okay if Ed sits down on the bed with us? Maybe you can hold his hand.”

Thank every god for Wayne Munson. Eddie was practically crawling out of his skin with the need to have his hand on Steve, make sure he was really okay.

Steve nodded.

Eddie sat down on the other side of Wayne, letting his head rest against his shoulder while Steve propped his legs in his lap.

“Everyone cozy?”

“Mhm,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied.

“When I first got back, I couldn’t sleep at all. Sometimes I’d drift off in my chair when I got too tired, but I’d usually wake up so quick my body didn’t even know I fell asleep. That went on for months until Jim got back. He was so much younger than me, ya know? Didn’t seem right that he had to go through what I did. We met for lunch a few times, we talked. He didn’t have much to say, neither did I, but sometimes we had a story to share. And ya know, dammit if it didn’t help.”

Eddie remembers back when he first started living with Wayne how he would sometimes have Hopper over for dinner, but never explained how they even really knew each other until he was older. Even then, he didn’t say much except that they had a lot of similar war stories.

“Didn’t have the time or money for professional help, but sometimes just gettin’ stuff off your chest can help. Ya know, I cut back my hours at the plant. Don’t need to work all that overtime now that the government bought us a house and pays the bills on it. Kinda nice to just have some time for doin’ what I wanna do. Maybe we could start takin’ a few hours a week to go fishin’. Maybe have lunch at the diner and chat.”

Eddie could feel tears running down his face at Wayne’s offer, at how much he cared for Steve.

“You’d wanna do that with me?” Steve’s voice was shaking, and Eddie didn’t have to see his face to know he was crying.

“I’d love to, bud. You’re my kiddo, ya know? Just as much as Eddie is.”

Steve let out a sob, and curled further into Wayne’s chest. Eddie squeezed his knee, letting him know he was there if he needed him.

“I love ya, kid. You’re gonna be just fine, alright? Not gonna let anyone or anything hurt you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

They stayed there for a while, probably close to an hour, Steve holding Eddie’s hand while Wayne talked to them both.

Eventually, everyone was heading home and Steve decided to head back with Wayne and Eddie instead of staying with the Byers as planned.

“Get some rest, honey. We love you,” Joyce wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as he said his goodbyes to everyone.

The ride back was quiet, Wayne driving them both in his truck, the radio playing old country the whole way home.

When they got home, Steve decided to take a quick shower before he went to bed, said he didn’t feel clean.

Wayne furrowed his brows, but nodded.

Eddie kissed him once on the forehead before letting him head to the bathroom.

Wayne turned to him when they heard the shower turn on, his face pained.

“Has he ever talked about his childhood?”

“Not much. Said he used to spend summers with his grandparents and cousins when his parents didn’t wanna take him with them. He hated it, but didn’t say much about it.”

Wayne looked, somehow, worse.

“Has he ever been scared to be touched? Even just a hug? Outside of the nightmares?”

Eddie nodded.

“I mean, not so much with me or Robin anymore, but sometimes with the others, yeah.”

Wayne put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sad smile.

“It’s not my place to make assumptions, but I think he had plenty of good reasons to hate staying with his grandparents and cousins. Just promise me you’ll listen if he talks to ya? No interruptin’ or judgin’.”

“Of course. I love him, I don’t want him to hide stuff from me,” Eddie responded.

“I know. I love ya, kid.”

“Love ya too,” Eddie was slightly confused, but didn’t ask. Steve would be done soon in the shower and he wanted to make sure he had some of his clothes to wear to bed.

Wayne made his way to his own room, giving a quick knock to the bathroom door and yelling that he loved him. Eddie heard a “love you, dad” in response.

Eddie had viewed Wayne as his dad for years, had called him dad sometimes when he let his guard down a bit. Wayne just had the natural protective, caring personality that a good father has, and Steve wasn’t immune to it.

When Steve made it out of the shower, Eddie was pulling the extra blanket out of his closet for Steve to wrap himself in like he did anytime he had a nightmare.

Steve walked over to him, towel wrapped around his waist, and leaned against him.

Eddie let his hands rest on his hips, right where the towel rested.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Thanks for sharing Wayne with me.”

“Oh, angel, I don’t make that call. Wayne pretty much adopted you day one and I just had to let it happen,” Eddie smirked.

Steve giggled and kissed Eddie’s collarbone.

“I’m gonna talk to you about it all someday. I will. I promise.”

“No rush, sweet love. When you’re ready, though, I’m right here. So is Wayne.”

“I know. Love you.”

“Love you so much.”

As they fell asleep in Eddie’s bed that night, he realized what Wayne was alluding to and his heart broke into a million pieces. If he was right, then Steve had horrors unimaginable even before the Upside Down.

But Eddie would be here to listen to it when he was ready. He knew it would be hard to hear, but not nearly as hard as it had to be for Steve to live with.

And they both had Wayne, who wouldn’t let either of his boys hurt if he could help it.

[noxturnalnymph]

Happy Ending [V]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

He wakes up in the morning to the sound of you talking on your phone, just on the other side of the sliding glass doors. He can’t make out what you’re saying but when you come back in shortly, he sees you wearing the fluffy white robe that’s been hanging unused in his bathroom all weekend. 

“Good morning, guapo,” you wink. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” he groans as he stretches his arms out, feeling the burn from last night’s activities in his muscles.

“I guess so, looks like you got a rock under the sheets there too,” you tease, pointing to his massive morning wood. 

He’s half tempted to throw the sheets off and offer to rock and roll you but to his horror there’s a quick knock at the door and then it’s opening. He grabs the pillow from behind his head and puts it over his lap, hiding his erection. Kiki walks in the door with a tray of food and drink. Two steaming cups of coffee, two glasses of orange juice, two small bowls of tropical fruit, two croissants, and two gooey cinnamon rolls. She sets the tray down on the table just beyond the foot of his bed, you smiling at her kindly the whole time. You thank her when she turns around and she smiles at you, then him, and heads back out the door.

“Coulda warned me we were expecting company,” he half-jokes.

“It’s not like either of us were naked,” you tease, wagging your eyebrows at the single white sheet hiding his hard-on from the world. “Speaking of…” 

You pull the tie on the robe and let it fall open, shrugging it down your shoulders to reveal your nakedness underneath. He tosses the pillow behind him and leans back on his hands.

“I got you a little reunion present,” he says, nodding his head down to his lap. “If you wanna unwrap it.”

He watches your eyes go wide and you close the gap quickly, crawling across the bed on all fours. You grab a handful of the sheet and start to pull it down his body, slowly exposing his skin inch-by-inch. The feel of the soft sheets sliding over his swollen cockhead makes him roll his head back. You drag the sheets over his cock and then pick up speed as you reveal his thighs, knees, calves, and feet. Then you start at his feet and kiss up his body, biting his calf and licking his kneecap. He almost starts to laugh until you leave wet smooches on his thighs while your hands roam along them, meeting at the apex. You take his cock in both hands and peer up at him through your lashes.

“I really wanna suck your dick, Francisco.”

Goddddddd. “Do you?”

“I do,” you moan, and dart your tongue out to lick the drop of precum that leaks out of his slit. “I’ve wanted to for a very long time. Can I?”

“When have I ever said no to you?”

You smile and then urge him to lie back, taking position between his thighs. You wrap your hand around his thick length and lick his tip again, swirling your tongue around the partially exposed head. You tilt your head and lick the underside of his shaft, base to tip, then repeat the process with wet nibbles, causing fireworks to start going off in his brain. Christ, you’re fucking good at this. You swirl around the head again and then you stick your tongue into his foreskin, around the edge and back and forth over the soft ridge of his frenulum. He feels his legs begin to tremble beneath you and he’s worried he’s going to come too quickly again.

You pop him out of your mouth and run your hands along his thighs, nuzzling your nose in the trail of his pubic hair and kissing around his belly button and down his hips. You begin to slowly pump him and lean down to tease his balls, taking them one at a time into your mouth and rolling your tongue over them, then releasing them and licking along the ridge in the middle. Fuck, it’s a good thing he didn’t have a video of you doing this, he wouldn’t have left his house for the last twenty years. You move your other hand to fondle him there, running your fingers gently around his sac and tugging lightly. Your hand on his cock is still stroking him up and down, rolling your fingers over his sensitive head. 

He started moaning about the time you took one of his balls into your mouth and he doesn’t know how to make himself stop. You move your hand in a downward stroke, pulling his skin back to fully unsheath him, and you immediately slide your lips over him, enveloping him in your hot, wet mouth. You eat him like he’s a frozen popsicle on a hot day, slurping and licking and swirling. He’s watching the whole thing, he can’t take his eyes off of you. A mixture of your spit and his precum is spilling out the sides of your mouth and sliding down your chin. He’s not gonna last much longer. 

You start to twist your mouth over him and with each pass you lower your head, taking him deeper into your mouth. Your fist is pumping what your mouth can’t fit, sliding easily over him with the sloppy attention of your mouth. He feels your tongue running along the underside of his shaft and decides he’d better warn you. 

“Gonna make me come,” he manages to croak out.

He feels you hum in assent, the vibrations traveling down your tongue and along his shaft. You look at him and blink slowly, but don’t pull away, don’t stop moving your hands or your tongue. You close your eyes and keep going, humming now like you’re enjoying it as much as he is, still groaning for you under your attention. He reaches down and puts his hand on the back of your head tentatively, and when you tug on his balls gently he takes it as permission. He lets you control your motions for a few more strokes and then he begins to press down gently, urging you to take him further and deeper. He hears you sputter once, moaning around him afterwards, and he pushes you further, and deeper again. 

The final time he pushes your head down he holds it there, letting you gulp around him, watching your lips close around his base as he begins to pulse his load down your throat. He’s practically shouting, blabbering nonsense into the room, watching a tear leave your eye and roll down your cheek. He pulls you off him, his softening cock hitting his stomach with a wet smack, and sits up to bring your faces together. He kisses you, shoving his tongue in your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue, licking away the sticky drool on your lips and salty tears on your cheeks.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he tells you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you reply.

---

After wolfing down some food from the tray for breakfast you both have a lazy swim in the ocean, floating on the swells past the breaks, your hands never leaving each other’s bodies for long. The rest of the day is spent with family; lunch with Frankie’s mamá, snorkeling with the bridal party, and dinner with your mother and her new-ish husband. No one - not even Elio - says anything about seeing the two of you together all day, holding hands and kissing, but everyone’s smile is even bigger than it was yesterday at the wedding.

As the sun sets you invite him back to ‘your place’, a sleek and luxurious apartment above the spa. You offer your bathtub - a large, jetted soaking tub in the middle of a large, black-zellige-tiled bathroom covered with shiny green plants - to wash off the sweat, sun, sand, and saltwater of the day. Frankie says he’ll only accept if you join him, which you eagerly do. You add some baking soda, salts, and oils to the tub as it fills, and take his hand as you step in, settling in place behind him. He sits leaned forward between your knees and you massage him, kneading his freckled, golden skin.

“When does your flight leave?”

The subject you’ve both been avoiding all day. 

“Tomorrow. I’m surprised my mamá didn’t tell you that.”

“She did.” He huffs out an of course and you fall quiet for a beat, pushing your fingertips along his temples. “Can you reschedule the flight? Maybe you could stay a couple more days.”

“Whew,” he exhales. “I’d have to move some money around in my offshore accounts if I’m gonna be able to afford that villa for a couple more days.” 

Humor, he tries humor. He doesn’t know how to say no to you. How to say goodbye to this, this thing he’s waited so long for. So he tries humor. But you don’t laugh.

“I don’t want your money, Pancho.”

“I know, baby,” he says immediately. “I just don’t know how long I could stay, I- I’ve got work expecting me back-”

“It’s funny you should mention work,” you scratch your nails in arcs behind his ears, “because there’s a guy here - well on the big island - who’s starting up a luxury transport business.”

“I don’t- uhh…. We’re in different tax brackets, I don’t know what that means.”

“It just means that when rich people land at the airport on the big island, he’s gonna provide private transportation for them to the different resorts in the area,” your thumbs rub circles along the sides of his neck. “He’s gonna have boats, seaplanes, helicopters…”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he shifts nervously. “I don’t fly anymore. I can’t do that.”

“Welllll, he’s not looking for pilots, he’s looking for someone to help manage the fleet. He needs help procuring new machines - boats, planes, helos - and organizing it all, scheduling maintenance, making sure it’s all done right and taken care of,” you knead his shoulders like dough, pulling and pushing, softening the knots there. “Is that something you could do?”

His stomach flutters. “Y-yeah. That’s what I do now.” You push your thumbs down along his spine, dipping beneath the water’s surface. Then he remembers. “My mamá already told you that too, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “She did.”

“So what is this?” he turns to look at you. “You trying to get me a job on the island?”

“Maybe. I heard you don’t really like the one you have now.”

Jesus Christ, his mamá really did tell you everything.

“I don’t,” he swallows past a lump in his throat, “but I don’t think I can move this far away from my son.”

What would people say? That he’s abandoning him, leaving him for a girl he had a crush on a lifetime ago. Frankie fuckup, making bad decisions again.

“How far away are you from him now?”

“I work mostly in Bakersfield, so that’s like a six hour drive to where he’s living now.”

“That’s not bad,” you say, and you reach forward to brush his hair behind his ear. “How often do you see him?”

Frankie quickly turns back away from you.

“I don’t….” he says through a clenched jaw. “And I think you knew that too.”

“I did.”

He turns back, pulling from you and moving to the other end of the tub to face you, his knees popping out of the water. You look so small and lonely on your side of the basin. You look at him with the saddest eyes.

“What is this? What are you doing? What do you want from me?”

“When I came here people told me I was running away from my problems. That I was running out on my responsibilities and forsaking my children... But coming here gave me purpose. I was able to work my sobriety and build this business and along the way I found a little bit of peace and a tiny slice of happiness. I became a person my kids are proud of, and I know it’s not easy to think about, but I had to move away from them to get closer to them.”

“And that’s what you think I should do?”

You close your eyes for a beat, and then open them, looking at the ripples on the surface of the water. You take a deep breath, in and out.

“I have no idea, Pancho. I don’t have the answers.” You look up at him now. “Honestly, I just don’t want you to leave. I think it could be good for you here, but I'm being selfish, because I finally-,” you bite back your words. “Maybe you could be happy in Bakersfield. Maybe you could build a life there, and have a relationship with your son in Arizona, and live a good life. I bet you could. You can do anything you set your mind to. But goddamnit, I've thought about you almost every day for the last twenty years and wondered “what would have been” if I would have done something differently.” He watches tears fall down your face as you continue. “What if I’d kissed you any of the hundreds of times I wanted to? What if I’d told you how I felt in any of the thousands of conversations I had with you? What if I’d asked you to dance with me that first night? What if instead of slipping a dirty video in your pocket as a goodbye, I’d asked you to stay? To be mine? To love me the way I loved you? Would it have made a difference? Does it make a difference now?”

He moves forwards and pulls you to meet him in the center of the tub, sloshing water over the side in the process, and crushes your faces together. He wraps his hand around the back of your skull and pushes you into him harder, teeth clacking and his tongue tasting yours, his other hand groping and grabbing at your back. Tears run down his face as well, as his mouth works over your lips, sucking and nipping and licking.

“I fucking love you,” he murmurs, speaking between presses of his lips on yours. “I don’t care how long it’s been, I still fucking love you.”

---

He’s leaned up on some pillows against his headboard, you in the crook of his arm checking emails, listening to the waves lap at the sand just beyond the doors. Several candles flicker from their place on the table - casting dancing shadows on the wall and giving the room a warm glow - filling the space with the scent of bamboo, fresh rain, and jasmine. The candles were already lit when you’d arrived back to his villa after your bath and when he’d asked you where they came from you’d shrugged your shoulders and said one word - Kiki - in explanation. 

“You didn’t want to stay at your apartment?” he questions.

“The spa is open late on the weekends, so we’d have to be quiet, there’d be people below us,” you explain.

“Ohhh I see,” he chuckles. “And precisely what noisy activity do you plan on engaging in?”

You set your phone down on the side table and roll over to face him. “Maybe I’m gonna run laps or practice my whale sounds,” you tease, dragging a nail up his sternum. “Or maybe,” you boop him on his nose, “I’m gonna spank you till you beg me to stop.”

“Joke’s on you, I love being spanked, it’s my favorite,” and then he tickles you, causing you to hoot and holler, slapping and kicking at him, threatening to pee the bed. “Kiki will change the sheets,” he reassures, continuing to strum along your sides and pinch lightly at your flesh. 

He finally stops when he sees some tears rolling down your cheeks and he leans forward to kiss them away, soothing your skin with gentle strokes and humming sweet nothings in your ears. He pulls your shirt off to reveal your naked chest once again, diving back forward to kiss and cuddle. He presses you down into the mattress with his bodyweight, both of you dressed only in underwear now, hands and mouth roaming every inch of exposed skin.

“That dirty video you slipped in my pocket?” he says against the underside of your breast.

“Yeah?”

He smiles against your skin and kisses along your collarbone, teasing you with the light scratch of his facial scruff, licking into the hollow at the base of your throat. 

“I still have it.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, pushing on his shoulders but not pushing him away. You wait a long beat and finally ask, “do you ever watch it?

“Yeah, I definitely watch it.” 

His smile widens. You groan again, covering your face with your hands. 

“I can’t believe you still have it after all these years.”

Are you embarrassed right now? How fuckin’ cute are you? The girl whose first job was a phone sex line operator, whose second job was making pornographic videos, who gave him a video before he’d ever even kissed you. Bashful. He coos at you as his lips lay tender beats up the side of your jaw. Pulling your hands away from your face, he pecks along your cheek, over your eyelids, and down your nose. He pauses just as the tip of his nose touches yours.

“Would you believe I have it with me right now?”

“No,” your pupils dilate. “You’re- no.”

He rolls away from you and grabs his laptop out of the drawer on the nightstand, flipping it open, making a few clicks, and setting it towards the foot of the bed. He reaches for you and begins to pull you towards him.

“Are you- what?” You wiggle in his grip, staring at the screen with wide-eyes. “This isn’t-” and then the image of you comes across the screen. Beautiful, glowing, naked. “Are we-”

“Ohh yes, we are,” he says, continuing to pull your body between his legs, both of you facing the screen. “Take these off, baby,” he says, pushing your underwear off your hips, “you’re gonna sit right here and watch this video with me.”

He pulls you back so you're flush with his warm chest, and brings his hands to your front. He caresses one across your stomach and rib cage, cupping your breasts and pinching at your peaks. The other hand slides down your side, along your hip, and to the apex of your thighs, brushing over your core. He hears you already making whimpering sounds. 

Just like in the video, which he has watched countless times, a hand slips between your legs to part your folds - his hand this time instead of yours. He moves his hand just over the top of your mound in a circular motion, hearing you make the same noises from his touch as you make from your own. He begins to increase the pace and the pressure, his other hand painting warm touches anywhere he can reach, squeezing and pinching and soothing. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, baby,” he hums when he sees you close your eyes and tilt your head, chasing your pleasure. 

He feels you start to tense beneath him and he knows that he doesn’t dare change his ministrations now, even before you’re murmuring don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. He eases back on the pressure as he feels you fall apart - clenching your jaw and groaning through gritted teeth - letting you recover as he gently pets you, hands warming your exposed skin as he kisses your nape. You go to move away and he tuts, we’re not done yet baby, and pushes you back down against his chest. You’re slumped down more now and your head lolls against his shoulder, eyes looking up at him.

“We both know you’ve got more in you,” he says as he nods towards the laptop.

You both watch yourself on the screen and he mimics your movements perfectly. Your legs spread wider as a hand gently touches your lips, dipping a finger towards your hole and collecting your wetness there, easily spreading it along your seam. Pulling back on your skin, your clit is revealed, shiny and swollen, as a finger gently traces circles around it. So sensitive, so stimulated, so needy; you whine both then and now as a finger applies more pressure to the bud. Gentle but constant pressure as the finger goes around and around, a second hand moving up your body, grabbing your breast firmly and pinching at your nipple until you moan. Closer and closer to the edge, circling, pinching, and then the hand at your pussy flutters its fingers over your hole, teasing at your wetness and giving you the ghost of what you really want.

You’re coming again at the same time as yourself, letting your wail out into the open room this time, fisting at the sheets as it echoes against the walls.

“So good baby, that was so good. One more now,” he coos, kissing your temple.

“I can’t, Frankie I-,” you close your eyes and shake your head. “I can’t do that, it’s too-, I’m not-.”

“I know you can do it baby, I’ve watched you do it a thousand times.”

He rubs his hands along your shoulders, soothing you as you recover on the video as well. He kisses along the side of your face, brushing hair away and placing his lips against your ear, whispering encouragement to you. You’re so beautiful, look at you, you’re doing so good. His touches are no longer light as he applies firmer pressure now, the heat of his hands pressing into you, his tongue licking at the damp skin of your neck. He thrusts his hips forward and pushes his hardness into your back. I want you so bad, feel what you do to me, I love you so much.

He reaches his hand down between your thighs once more, even as you try to close your legs, and he tuts, you can do it baby, I’ll be gentle with you, I know you can do this, and coaxes your knees apart. Everything between your thighs is covered in your shiny, sticky release and he immediately finds your clit and touches a finger just along the side of it. You twitch and whine, still deep in the overstimulation, but he bands an arm across your middle and continues his gentle, indirect movements. Very quickly you go from trying to move away from him to tilting your hips along with the motion of his hand, your thighs starting to quiver. His strokes up and down along the side of your clit become a bit faster and a bit firmer, a smooth glide easily achieved from your copious arousal.

“Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, please don’t fucking stop doing that, please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you pitch higher, turning into a babbling mess.

He shushes you in your ear, telling you he’s not gonna stop and letting you buck against his hand - already at your peak again - and arch your back up off the bed as you tumble over the crest. He immediately takes his fingers away and once again soothes your body, palming your skin and kissing the tears that start flowing down your face. 

“Oh my god,” you pant.

“You did so good, baby.”

“How- jesusfuckingchrist… How many times have you watched that?”

“A few times.”

“A few-”

“-a week. A few times a week,” he admits. “On average. Since you slipped it in my pocket.”

“Pancho…”

He holds you in silence for a while, wondering what you’re thinking, or if you’re thinking anything at all. More time passes and he starts to question if maybe you fell asleep, when he feels you stir. He lets go of you so you can sit up and turn your body to face him. In the still-glowing light of the room your skin looks radiant; he can see freckles and marks you didn’t have before and a scar over your right eyebrow he wants to ask about. In the candlelight, the shadows reveal lines at the corners of your eyes and mouth, wrinkles that he knows he has more of than you. 

He’s so in love with you.

He almost feels guilty for jerking off to a twenty-year-old version of you all this time when you’re even more beautiful now than you were before. He knows it was more the idea of you but still, he couldn’t have even imagined how he would feel, how he feels right now. His heart is so stuffed full it feels like it’s going to burst, bust open and spill tears and words and love out of every part of him, covering the both of you and the bed and maybe the whole room, out into the ocean. You lean forward and brush a wayward curl off his forehead. He grabs your hand as you pull it back.

“It’s you, mi amor,” he kisses the tip of your fingers. “It’s always been you.”

He sees your eyes shine, wetness gathering at your waterline. 

“Does that mean you’ll think about rescheduling your flight?” 

There’s such hope in your voice. Such tenderness, but also worry. Just like him you’re not ready to say goodbye again. Unwilling to let go when you’ve finally latched on after so long adrift and alone. Finally found, finally seen, finally able to give each other the love you’ve held onto all this time.

“Baby, come on…” he watches your face fall a bit. “There’s no way I'm getting on that flight.”

[adoremexxs]

What if…Rui and Zohakuten both had a crush on the reader? Would they hold a sort of competition? One up each other? Would their friendship become strained? What would they think if they both confessed and reader liked them both, would they be willing to be in a poly relationship? Have a good day/night! :}

Rivalry

this was actually hard to think abt

no warnings besides curse words

.

.

.

Rui had liked you for a long, long time. In fact, ever since he first saw you.

That’s why he befriended you so fast, clinging onto your side and making Zohakuten extremely jealous.

He was mad that his best friend had his attention on someone else other than him! Who was this person and how did they get Rui to be so obsessive?!

He didn’t understand it until he started hanging out with you.

You were so sweet and patient with him. It made him sick. Your voice coaxing him to tell him what’s wrong and comforting him. Now he knows why Rui likes you so much.

Rui often hung out with you. He basically ditched Zohakuten for you.

It left Zohakuten in a depressed mood and made him despise you even more. He hated how you made him feel relaxed and vulnerable and he hated that you strained his and Rui’s relationship.

He could clearly see that Rui liked you. A lot.

Especially when Rui started to post pictures of you and him on social media. Just little hang out photos without him. It made Zohakuten want to puke. He felt…discarded.

Rui also started to comment under your social media posts, being all too friendly.

He was touchy with you in person. You and Rui were inseparable. Until he had to go on vacation. He tried to get you to come but ain’t no way your parents are going to let you go on vacation with some boy!

So you were stuck with Zohakuten. You felt bad that you guys just left him out.

Zohakuten wasn’t very pleased with you. He kept himself distant from you at first until he kinda warmed up.

He took you to the waterpark with him and you tried to drown him.

It backfired. You guys also got screamed at by the lifeguards.

Rui had texted you throughout his entire vacation but when you wouldn’t respond, he would get a bit upset. He expected your full attention always. What could possibly have you so busy that you can’t answer him?

Zohakuten was the answer.

You came to realize that Zohakuten was a lot more fun than Rui. He set off illegal fireworks with you, run around Walmart and troll people. All Rui wanted to do was talk and sleep and try to get you to hold his hand all the time

Zohakuten was entertaining. He opened up to you a bit, talked about his family which surprised you. Only Rui really knows about Zohakuten’s family issues but Zohakuten felt comfortable enough to tell you.

You were honored.

Whenever Rui came back, you left Zohakuten out again. Or well, he did. Rui got mad whenever Zohakuten would try and say something to you and say something snarky to him. Zohakuten would usually keep his mouth shut because it’s his best friend. He doesn’t want to lose him. Until one day…

.

.

.

Rui was clinging onto you and Zohakuten had said something about physical appearance and Rui made the nastiest comment out of sheer jealousy.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), aren’t Zohakuten’s purple veins weird? He’s like some kind of alien.”

You frowned as Rui giggled, pulling you closer to him. You felt bad for Zohakuten.

You went to say something but you got interrupted.

“Rui, what the FUCK?!” Zohakuten’s face was twisted into an angry expression, far angrier than what you have seen. “You are not one to be judging how I look! You’re being fucking rude just because you like (Y/N). Well, guess what? I like them too and you can’t just be an asshole because you like them. You pushed me away these past 3 months and discard me like I’m some kind of ragdoll. I have feelings too, Rui!”

Zohakuten had screamed at him and caused people to look in your direction. Wow! This was too much to handle! Both of your best guy friends like you and are fighting over you!

“Like bro, if you came to me and told me that you like them, I would have let you have them,” Zohakuten frowns, resisting the overwhelming urge to sock his best friend in the damn face, “You don’t have to make me LOOK BAD because you want to seem better than me.”

Rui was dumbfounded. “Zohakuten, (Y/N) clearly likes me more-“

“YOU JUST MISSED THE WHOLE POINT!” Zohakuten was furious. He gets humiliated and now Rui doesn’t pay attention to the key points of his scolding.

“Why don’t we just ask (Y/N) who she wants to date?” Rui shrugs. He obviously knew it was going to be him. He had treated you the kindest and Zohakuten was…well, not the kindest person people knew.

“Dude. Are you fucking for real?”

“Yeah. (Y/N), which one of us do you like more?” Rui turns to you, giving you a dashing smile. It was his attempt to win you over and Zohakuten just looks at you in disbelief.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two.

Who will you choose?

[starlightshadowsworld]

The New Hopper Part 6

"Guess I can’t play pinball for a while" sighed Vance.

He was staring at the bandage around his knuckles and trying and failing to keep himself from feeling ashamed. It wasn’t like it was the first time this had happened. All the boys had moments when they were seemingly transported to the past, stripped off their new identity and rendered scared teenagers in that damned basement. "I dunno, I’ve seen you play with worse." Said Finney and Vance chuckled despite himself. He knew exactly what Finney was referring too.

"I only did that cause my high score was in danger of being being beaten. I had to defend my honour." Vance argued as Finney shook his head amused. They were both sat on a sofa in Hoppers teeny living room, practically squished together but it was a comfort to them both. 

It taken a while for Vance to come back into himself. It had taken even longer for him to make it out the basement, all his energy sapped from him and even now he seemed tired. But none of the boys slept well when this happened, too afraid to close their eyes and return to the Grabbers lair. And Vance was no exception, he had relaxed but his fears laid right below the surface. 

He hadn’t let go of Finney since he’d helped him out from under the bed.

He hadn’t let anyone else bandage his hand. 

"Who’s defending whose honour?" Asked Robin, walking in followed by El and Hopper. She looked at Vance and somehow silently asked if it was okay for them all to join him. Vance nodded and was surprised to see that they were all carrying mugs of hot chocolate. Robin placed his and Finney’s in front of them and sat beside them both.

"Vance said he can’t play pinball for a while now. Even though I remember him showing up in crutches and a broken wrist once to go ‘defend his high score.’ And then beat up the kid that dared challenge him." Explained Finney expertly avoiding a swat from Vance as he did so.

"And I said it was a matter of importance" grumbled Vance. "What’s pinball?" Asked El and Finney wishes he had a camera to capture the look on Vance’s face. He’d never seen his friend so speechless in his life before lighting up like a firework and explaining in a surprising amount of detail to his cousin the epic highs and lows of pinball. 

For her part El seemed very confused but also intrigued. It probably helped that this was the most excited Vance had been since leaving the Byers house. Even Hopper was paying close attention, a small smile on his face at getting to hear Vance talk about something he was passionate about.

"Please tell me this place has a pinball machine" asked Vance once he was done. "I think there’s one at the arcade but I don’t think anyone uses it much" said Robin making Vance grin wickedly. "Then once my hand is in back in perfect shape I’ll show you the ropes kid."

El smiled "I would like that, thank you" she wasn’t sure what ropes were involved but if it made her cousin happy she would learn. "Well as nice as that is, for now you have gotta go to bed" said Hopper, El pouted but she was very tired from everything that happened. And she could tell Vance was too so she reluctantly agreed and bid everyone.

"I’ll be off too. Im guessing none of you are up to addressing this today" said Hopper looking at Vance who froze at the thought. 

He would rather never talk about any of this at all. But Vance knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, at least he didn’t have to deal with it for now. Hopper nodded, not needing to Vance to say his answer since it was clear on his face. "Right, well if you need me you know where you are. There’s no way you’re sleeping down there, the sofa’s not the best place to sleep but we can switch it for tonight." Said Hopper, unfortunately there weren’t much options.

" Vance could stay with me. Until the living room gets sorted out" said Finney thought it definitely felt like a statement than a suggestion. There was no way in hell that Finney was letting Vance in a place he felt so uncomfortable in and his house was already too big. And if he couldn’t bare the idea of leaving Vance alone right now that was their business alone. "Are you sure?" It broke Finney’s heart to hear Vance so unsure. It was just another reminder that his friend was not okay and it only filled Finney further to give him somewhere else to escape.

Vance might be playing it strong right now but he was hurting and it was plain for all to see.  Hopper considered the idea before agreeing. Vance clearly need some time away and while Hopper was worried about leaving his nephew go out, Hopper trusted that he was in the best of hands right now. "Alright if Vance is alright with it" Vance immediately agreed and it didn’t take long before Finney and Robin had grabbed his things for the night.

"I’ll call you guys tomorrow morning, try not to be up too late" said Hopper with a lecture that was incredibly heart hearted. "We won’t, thanks Hop" said Finney, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Hopper for what happened. It wasn’t like he knew what damage it would do to leave Vance in the basement. The whole evening Hopper had been listening carefully and trying to keep Vance feel safe in his home. Finney knew Hopper would never have tried to hurt Vance like this and he was sure that deep down Vance didn’t blame him either. He awkwardly said goodnight to his uncle and piled into Finney’s car with Finney and Robin. 

Other than some music the drive to Finney’s was in silence. 

It was then only than did Vance fall asleep in the car. His battle in keeping awake lost as the music and the relaxing atmosphere lulled him fast asleep. Finney just hoped it would stay like this for a while. He remembered days full of sleeping eyes when none of them could sleep and they’d get only the smallest fragments of time away from their nightmares could have them peace.

Finney stopped as he got to his house, he hated that Vance couldn’t get peace even now. How long would it be until those events would let them all feel peace again? When would Finney have to stop watching his friends fall into the grasp of memories, of watching himself lose himself to the horrors of both of his identities. Robin gently squeezed his hand, reminding him that maybe he didn’t know but at least he wouldn’t have to to do it alone.

And that was more than Finney could ask for as Finney Blake and Steve Harrington. The two of them managed to get Vance inside and all curled up in Finney’s giant bed. It reminded Finney of being back after everything, curled up with the rest of the boys and Vance for any sort of comfort. 

He bid goodnight to Robin and held his friends in his arms, hoping he could feel that same comfort he had before. 

[lowkeyclueless5137]

What if the overblot boys were somehow affected by the blot, and they can turn into those forms(while still being in control of themselves). It’s not harming them its just the lot literally now a part of them after well, you can’t just go into an overblot and reverting back without some uhhh repercussions.(imagine Riddle accidentally triggers it cause his lack of sleep and accidentally scares Ace and Deuce with it. Or Jamil accidentally got his snake hair from overblot form hissing at a bunch of people)

Ps, imagine the previous overblot just fighting current overblot in the main story(Riddle using overblot form to beat Leona’s overblot, and than Overblot Leona beats up Azul’s overblot, and than Azul’s beats Jamil’s, etc etc. I think the only exception to that case would be Idia’s overblot where literally it’s all the overblot boys at the time fighting Overblot Idia)

Ya know... I did debate that a few times. :v

I had Blot change au and king of the blots au going on in this territory and debating the idea, for the sole purpose that it would be an epic af fight. :v

Well for starters, there have to be some criteria that is checking when this new form is triggered:

The overBlot boy is fully stuck in this form for a few days post being defeated at first, mostly so that it can settle in the new transformation

The transformation is triggered by extreme emotions or high levels of fatigue, where our Boi in question is either held at gunpoint or is so tired, his eyebags could rival prada's. :P

Once triggered, the transformation lasts until the Boi in question rests down properly.

During the transformation, the magic pen can turn at will into a complementary weapon

Also during the transformation, our Boi has more highened senses and much more stamina.

Now with those out of the way, on with the blots:

Our first victim is, of course, none other than Riddle. Imagine poor boy waking up, absolutely confused, only to be punched in the face by Ace, who didn't know at that time that Riddle was fully sane and aware again. Ya know... To make sure. :'3

Apparently he was still in the overBlot form, which yes, he is absolutely scared by his new appearance. Trey is quick to take him and try to calm him down because everything was literally so hectic and everyone was so confused that it did not help anyone that Riddle was crying his eyes out when everything daunted over him.

For a few days, Riddle had a medical pass to cover for his absence at lessons. Trey, Cater or even Adeuce did drop by his room to check on him. Riddle allowed them in, but it was pretty awkward.

Until Ace decides that enough is enough and decides to have the ✨talk✨ with Riddle. Basically telling him straight on his face how everything is absolutely ridiculous and naturally everyone is scared, but this also is up to Riddle's capacity to better himself. Like put sum effort in understanding the other one, not simply following some ridiculous rules to justify for being an ass. He is still salty for the whole tart refusal, so he still expects Riddle to make him a nice tart as compensation for the hell he was put through.

This seems to make Riddle smile, which was a new one lately, and slowly, he turns back to normal as he accepts to serve to Ace a nice big tart as a compensation.

They are buddies now. :3

After that, we have chapter 2, where we get Riddle fuming worse than a firework on the verge of bursting out. That, of course, when Ruggie steals his magic pen.

That's when we see the overBlot form come back, much to the surprise of everyone. But Riddle still was Sande, there was no Phanthom, no floating ominously and apparently Ruggie was slowed down when Riddle's pen turned into a rapier, which gave Riddle enough time to catch up and get Ruggie, much to the horror of the poor hyena Boi, who had 0 idea that this was how Riddle's overBlot looked like. :'D

Cue overBlot Leona occurring later down the line and an epic fight in between Overblots. Riddle should pick up fencing.

Now we have Leona too in the group. Suffer, I guess. :3

Leona's overBlot return comes in book 3, when Azul also overblots. His weapon of choice was a spear. :D

Now Azul, who was absolutely overwhelmed by the situation, he has spontaneous transformations. And being so embarrassed, he usually runs off to hide and calm down. More than a few times Azul fell on the floor due to the tentacles. :'3

His weapon at least, it's a trident. Which is a pretty cool looking. :3

When Jamil occurs and everyone is dokkaned, we also have Azul in his own overBlot form which is why he is also swimming on his own, or more like latching onto the twins to be dragged as well.

Unlike Azul, Jamil has very few moments when he actually involuntarily transforms. Kalim always has on hand sum snacks for the snake in Jamil's hair and the reptiles came to take a liking on Kalim much to Jamil's dismay. 'No, we are supposed to not like this guy'. His weapon is a staff.

Dealing with Vil was pretty easy when you had overBlot Jamil dokkaning Vil in a wall. :'3

Vil tho, has very little time to even comprehend the situation before book 6 comes crashing on everyone. But he likes his weapon: a pretty hand knife. Ya know to be discret. :3

Now for Idia... Hohoho... Idia is a whole other can of worms since you have 5 Overblots fighting him. :3

And also he stays a few days post that in STIX, mostly to rebuild Ortho, deal with the overBlot form and also deal with his parents nagging him. (imagine Mrs Shroud nagging an overBlot Idia and Ortho next to him, both with their head down and embarrassed)

Idia also follows Azul in the category of spontaneous transformations. And even worse for him, his weapon is a sword, which means he has to learn how to use it, which implies that Idia will have to do sum PE :'3

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 26

This is the second chapter of the fic started yesterday and found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59225953?view_full_work=true

Granted, it's all there now so... just enjoy reading wherever!

#26- Heart Condition

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” May announced as she finally returned to their apartment, winded from both her discomfort and the climb up six flights of stairs.

Peter jackknifed up from where he’d been dozing on the sofa. “May?”

She dropped her purse onto the kitchen table and breathed a sigh of relief. “I love you with my entire—being, but if you ever—feel the need for—me to go to the emergency room—again, I swear on the soul of my dead—great-grandmother Rosalina that I am taking you with me—and you’re going in the Spider-Man, suit. –You got me?”

He tried to track what she was saying as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then checked the time on his watch. “What? What the heck happened?” His spidey senses were going off like fireworks. “Are you okay? What took you so long? I was waiting for you!” He jumped over the back of the couch and looked her over. “Do I need to run to the corner to pick something up from the pharmacy for you?”

May rolled her eyes at his inquisition, . “No, thank goodness!—But if you had any idea what I had to go through today, Peter...”

Peter’s eyes widened as he realized the trouble he’d caused. “I’m sorry?”

“I-I –” She was overwhelmed, could barely find the words to describe the horror that had been her day. “I can’t even,” she coughed lightly. “Look. I’m tired and I’m frustrated—I,” she coughed again. “I don’t want you thinking on this—anymore.  I’m glad to be home, and at the end of it all, a—I’m sporting some fantastic new bruises, and—a very lovely med student declared my scapular muscle officially pulled—JUST like I said it was!”

Peter took a step closer, confused. “Bruises? Did you fall? What hap—?”

She halted any further inquiries with raising of her left hand. “Nope. I’m not talking about it right now.”

“But May—?”

“No!” May was trying to calm herself. “Just know that, because I’m trying to find some humour in this,—I ended up being flashed on the subway, too, by the way—and you’re not allowed any dolphin tattoos—ever— Now, if you’ll excuse me— I’m going to wash off this day and these hospital cooties with a long, hot shower, and— then I’m going to nap before we leave for the tower, capisce?!”

Peter frowned, but nodded as he mumbled, “Capisce.”

She grabbed Peter with both hands by the cheeks, winced, and pulled him down to her for a kiss on his forehead. “I love you. Stop worrying. I’m fine— All I need is some rest and,” May coughed, “to take a deep breath!” She caught Peter’s look of concern. “I’ll be fine.”

She released him, then turned to head down the short hallway to her bedroom.

His stomach dropped. He’d been so sure something was wrong this morning, and still was! But all he’d actually done was make things worse...

What the heck?

Peter worried at his lip as his mind ran in circles. He’d messed up—big time. Now, all he could do was try to fix things.

/-/-/

Peter was a wreck—and it could have been the fact that his senses hadn’t settle at all—but he was leaning more towards the fact that it was also paired with the realization that he couldn’t figure out how to make things right.

Peter had heard her tossing and turning in her bedroom, trying-and failing- to get comfortable for that first half hour after deciding a nap was the greater priority than cleaning up. He took the initiative, and tracked down their ancient heating pad from the bowels of the tiny linen closet May always hid Peter’s Christmas presents in and knocked gently at her bedroom door.

“Aunt May? Did you want to try using the heating pad?” he called out, just loud enough for her to hear. “Maybe it’ll help?”

“ugh,” She sort of grunted, confusing Peter.

“May?” He had to ask, “Is that a yes?”

He heard her feet hit the floor, then a little stagger before she made her way to the door. “That,” she threw the door open and dragged herself down the hallway, “is me giving up on life.”  

His eyes widened in alarm, “May?!”

“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Her left arm came up in surrender—she didn’t bother hiding that she wasn’t moving her other arm anymore. “I’m just trying to figure out if I should bother with tonight...” She coughed again. “I’m stressed because of the pain, which means I can’t rest, and if I can’t rest I’ll be too tired to go out tonight, and if I don’t go tonight, who knows when Pepper’s schedule will free up. And I know that Pepper was hoping for a night to unwind after Tony and all of that mess with the Accords.”

“Oh.” Peter had to do something.

“But I also know how comfortable that big ol’ couch of theirs is, and I’m almost tempted to ask if I can camp out on it just so I can try a different sleep position, seeing as my mattress is a bust and I’m not going in for my shift tomorrow anyhow.”

“May? Is it that bad?”

“Relax, it’s just standard operation procedure when...” She caught herself and trailed off.

He scowled, “You know you’re killing me, here, right?” Peter wasn’t even going to pretend he wasn’t a little frustrated.

“I’m sure you’ll live.” She rebutted, “I told you I didn’t want to talk about, but if you need something to satiate your curiosity, just know that it involved ear wax and assault... and a court date to be determined at a future date.”

Peter glared, “If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say so, you know.”

May laughed lightly, to keep him off track. “Oh, sweetheart,” she humoured him. “I think I did—twice. On the plus side,” she coughed, “I didn't need to pay for the covid test and I’m definitely not sick so, yay me.”

“yay.” Peter parroted back, still worried but trying to hide it. Then, it came to him—the most brilliant idea. Taking a gargantuan amount of control to keep his face from revealing anything, Peter made a suggestion. “Look? Why don’t you go take your shower and see if the heat helps? We can always head over to the tower, and if you need to come home, then we come home.”

May moved to protest, but Peter cut her off, fast.

“If you’re worried about my lab time, I wouldn’t mind!” Peter needed to convince her. “You know I’d pick you over a stinky old lab any day. Or like you said! We can just spend the night at the tower. I already have a room there, and you know that Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts don’t mind—and I promise to get up early to make it to school on time.”

May couldn’t imagine imposing, but the idea of spending an evening wallowing in pain in her cluttered little bedroom was torturous. Maybe it would have made more sense for her back when she’d still had Ben to keep her company, but...

“I can even call Mr. Stark and let him know what’s going on so he knows.” Peter was trying to sell it. “Would that make it better for you?”

“I can call—”

But Peter cut her off again, “No—YOU go take a hot shower and I’ll call. I’ll tell you what Mr. Stark says when you get out, deal?”

The hot water sounded good to the point of distraction. “And you’ll let him know that I’m sort of useless right now?”

“You’re never useless, Aunt May.” Peter argued, “But I’ll tell him that you’ve hurt your shoulder, yes.”

“And you’ll get him to talk to Pepper? I’m good with rescheduling if that works for her, it’s only that I know how busy she is. She can just text me if that’s easier...”

Peter was getting impatient. “Yes, I’ll tell them... now go! You’re making ME hurt just looking at you!” He tried to be light, but honestly, he was pretty sure he needed another grown up right now—and he couldn’t call one until she was gone.

After all, May was all he had left

/-/-/

To say that Aunt May looked less than fine by the time she exited the bathroom a half an hour later would be an understatement.

That was sort of alright, though. It meant that she was too preoccupied to see that Peter’s eyes were perhaps still a little red and swollen from his accidental freak out while he tried to explain to Mr. Stark that something was wrong and that no one had caught it.

He’d learned in the beginning that he couldn’t assume that he knew what was wrong with a person just because something didn’t sound like he thought it should. That had been a hard lesson involving Mr. Stark, a weird ticking sound, and a three hour long lab session on how to identify specific brands of pacemakers—but May’s heart was beating sort of fast, she was in pain, and she’d obviously had a really crappy day thanks to Peter.

But this would work.

He plastered on the biggest smile he could manage. “I am to tell you that Mr. Stark says everything is taken care of. Also, Ms. Potts says she’ll be okay with whatever you want to do, and if you’d prefer, you guys can just chill out in sweats and watch movies while you stretch out on the couch all night—and Ms. Potts had already been planning to take the morning off so you’re good no matter what we choose. We can stay or go. No worries either way.”

Aunt May slumped with relief. “That sounds perfect. If you wanna give me a few minutes, I’m gonna change and figure out how to tie my hair back, then we can head out. Okay?”

“About that...” Peter wasn’t quite done, and wasn’t sure how Aunt May would take the additional information. “Um, Mr. Stark is sending Happy to come and get us so you can relax a little.”

And Aunt May got that look on her face when she was worried that boundaries were being overstepped. “Peter!”

“WHAT?!” He tried to look innocent, but one glare from May had him breaking like an uncooked spaghetti noodle. “Okay! So I may have told him about the flasher, too! Don’t be mad at me, please? I’m just worried about you and when Mr. Stark offered I couldn’t help myself!” 

“I’m sure you could have, Peter.” May glared. “Is there anything else I need to worry about?”  

The floor was looking really interesting...

“Peeeeter?”

Peter sighed and dropped his head in defeat. “Mrstarksaysyoucanseedrchointhemedbaytoo,” he whispered too low and fast for May to catch.

May knew what he was doing, though, “Do you wanna try saying that again, so I can understand you this time?”

He huffed in frustration and spoke a little more normally, “Mr. Stark says you can see Dr. Cho in the med bay... if you want.”

She shook her head in disbelief, “Tony’s bringing a world renowned geneticist to the tower because I hurt my back?”

“No!” Peter explained quickly, “She’s already in the tower doing some research and so Mr. Stark said it’d be alright if you wanted a second opinion. I mean you already know her because of me and all, right?”

He hoped that if she was gonna say no, that she’d just let it go, but then May got that look on her face that Peter always, ALWAYS hated. He hadn’t seen it in a while, but he couldn’t forget the ‘Peter is overreacting because he suffered trauma’ face—and maybe he had, but maybe he also knew that May was ignoring something big.

“Peter. Please, honey...”

And Peter also knew that now wasn’t the time to argue with her, so he buried his disappointment deep and  simply said, “It’s okay, May. It was just an offer...” He fussed with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing then glimpsed his watch. Um, Happy’s gonna be here soon, though. Can I help you with your hair?”

/-/-/

Mr. Stark’s greeting was a bit subdued compared to how he normally met them. Peter was sure that Mr. Stark had gotten FRIDAY to do a basic, but silent vitals scan in the elevator, and already received its results. Even so, Aunt May couldn’t have missed his once over as they’d stepped out. “Hello, my favourite Parkers,” he announced as per usual, opening his arms wide, but instead of sweeping May into a playful hug or ruffling Peter’s hair, he simply placed a gentle hand on May’s back and led her and Peter toward the living room. “I’ve heard a rumour that someone has had a shitastic day... do you want me to pretend that I didn’t hack a bunch of security systems to view footage and such?”

May scoffed, then coughed, and playfully slapped Mr. Stark’s shoulder. “You’re hilarious, Tony. Please. Pretend away. I, myself, am choosing to pretend that today didn’t happen at all, so you are more than welcome to join the party.”

“I’m Tony Stark. I don’t need an invitation,” he drawled, then grew serious, “but you, my dear, do look like you need a little something. Pepper’s just in the kitchen getting some snacks ready for your evening...” Mr. Stark looked as concerned as Peter felt.

“I’m fine, Tony,” May insisted.

But Peter and Mr. Stark shared a brief glance, and Peter knew that he could see what Peter had seen. Peter practically melted with relief that he’d made the right call.

And then that moment was over and Mr. Stark had shifted back into host mode. “Of course you are, so—what can I get you? A nice white wine? Maybe a red? – or perhaps some top notch muscles relaxants from the med bay?”

May glared, “Aren’t you on fire tonight?”

Just then, Pepper came in from the kitchen carrying the snacks Tony had mentioned, “Hey, all, I thought some crackers and such would be a good idea to start for... oh. May?” Pepper saw it, too, but she had no reason to pretend everything was fine. She rushed over to the large upholstered ottoman and dropped the tray before taking over from Tony and bringing May the rest of the way to the couch. “Come sit down!”

May did exactly that, unintentionally letting her guard down in front of Peter as she did. “Phew, I am so tired,” she confessed, then looked to the room at large. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, guys?”

And Mr. Stark crooked an eyebrow, “Or maybe it was? In fact, I’d suspect that you coming here was the smartest thing you’ve done today.”

“Tony—” May started, but winced when she moved wrong.

Peter stepped towards her but stopped when he realized how much she was hurting, afraid he’d make it worse.

Mr. Stark had had enough. “Nope. That’s it. I’ve been in your presence for less than five minutes and even I can see that you need an assist. Peter,” Mr. Stark pointed toward the elevator, “You and me, med bay. Let’s go get your aunt some painkillers and a couple of those heat packs Sam uses when he can’t deny that he’s old anymore.”

Peter nodded.

Then Mr. Stark looked to Pepper, trying not to hover over her dear friend. “Pep? You’ll watch over Aunt May till we get back?”  

“Of course,” she replied.

With that, FRIDAY reopened the elevator doors and the two were on their way.

Mr. Stark waited only a beat after the doors closed to plant a warm hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath for me, Pete. Nice and slow, okay?”

Peter had to try a couple of times before he finally managed.

“You doin’ alright there, kid?”

Peter sniffed, cleared his throat, and nodded a yes before hastily wiping at his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”

Mr. Stark tugged the boy under his arm. “Hey, Pete, I know it’s scary when the people we love get sick, but you did good, alright. We’ll all keep an eye on her... I promise.”

Peter nodded again, “Did FRIDAY notice anything?”

Mr. Stark shook his head, ‘no.’ “Just the pulse, blood pressure, and heart rate issues that the hospital found.”

That startled Peter out of his funk, “What?”

“What?!” Mr. Stark asked back curiously. “Was I supposed to be pretending for you, too? What do you think the ‘and such’ I mentioned upstairs was?”

Peter blinked as his brain processed Mr. Stark’s question. “Huh?” He questioned eloquently, then realized it didn’t matter, “You know what? Never mind.”

“Thank you—though I was shocked to see that they hadn’t done any x-rays after everything that happened. Maybe we can convince your aunt to let us do a couple before the end of the night?”

“That would be awesome.” Peter replied then got quiet. “I know she’s been pretty worried about the bills and stuff lately so...”

Mr. Stark shook his head in disagreement. “Aw, Pete,” he reassured him, “Insurance would have covered her x-rays.”

Peter sighed, “Unless she’s reduced her insurance to the absolute minimum coverage...” Peter flushed with embarrassment. Here he was, revealing their secrets but this was May’s health they were risking here. “I heard her talking to someone in payroll after Uncle Ben...”

“Got it.” Mr. Stark exhaled slow, but then had another thought, “But she was also involved in an altercation on hospital property. The hospital still should have done at least x-rays to cover their asses should May decide to sue.”

Peter opened his mouth to try and glean some details of May’s day when a more official sounding FRIDAY than Peter had ever heard before boomed overhead. “The elevator is required for a medical emergency. Please exit immediately upon arrival at the medical floor to make room for medical responders. ”

Peter gasped in horror as the elevator sped up only a bit then looked wildly at Mr. Stark.

“It’ll be okay, Pete,” the man soothed as they watched the numbers on the floor display.

Peter prayed he was right.

/-/-/

Peter’s leg bounced impatiently as they waited outside of the treatment area May was currently hidden away in.

They hadn’t been there too long, but still definitely longer than anyone would have preferred after the drama of the last twenty minutes. May being rushed past them on a gurney, pain-pale and gasping for breath was something Peter hadn’t been prepared for—but then they’d closed the door, too.

Hearing was way worse, though.

“Peter, I know you’re still upset, but she’s exactly where she needs to be right now and Dr. Cho and her team are taking care good care of her,” Ms. Potts rubbed his back, trying to get him to calm down.

“I know that.” Peter twisted his hands together. “I’m just trying to figure this out and it isn’t making sense, is all.”

“Sometimes things like this don’t make sense,” Ms. Potts replied. “They can happen entirely out of the blue and we—”

“No!” Peter ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I mean, I can’t figure out what I’m hearing!” He turned to Mr. Stark, “I swear, there’s a new sound now—not like the pacemakers, Mr. Stark! But I don’t know what it is.”

Now Mr. Stark was confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Peter closed his eyes and concentrated as he tried to place it, “It’s like...” it was on the tip of his tongue. “It’s like sandpaper on wood... scratching? It’s—not right.”

Mr. Stark pondered this for a moment, “Have they heard it in there yet?” He gestured toward the room.

Peter shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Well, then, I think they should.” He patted Peter’s knee and gave Ms. Potts a wink. “Be right back.” With that, he pushed up off of Peter’s leg, walked the dozen steps over to the treatment room door, and knocked.

A nurse Peter wasn’t familiar with opened the door a moment later. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time, sir. We’ll be out with information as soon as we can,” she said, then moved to close it and get back to work.

Mr. Stark thrust his foot out to stop it. “Wait. Tell Dr. Cho that Peter says to listen for a scratching sound, okay?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked. “A scratching sound?”

“Yes, like sandpaper on wood. A scratching sound.”

It takes a special kind of person to work with superheroes, and this woman was obviously one of them because she didn’t question the request, simply turned to face the room and called out, “Dr. Cho. Peter says he hears a scratching sound.”

The treatment room went silent.

And then, “Shit. Sit her up, now, please! Dana, bring the ultrasound!” Dr. Cho directed.

The nurse looked back at Mr. Stark and smiled politely. “Thank you. I’ll come out with an update once we know more.”

Mr. Stark nodded in acknowledgement and pulled his foot from the door. “Perfect. You know where we’ll be.” He grinned cheekily in return, then turned, returning to his seat.

Peter could have wept with relief as Ms. Potts wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Good job, sweetheart. Always the hero,” she pronounced and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

He huffed out a laugh. It was easier to tune out the sounds of the treatment room now that they had a plan “I guess we’ll see?”

/-/-/

“I don’t understand.” Peter said simply as he sat at his aunt’s bedside, playing her fingers so he wouldn’t have to look at her still too pale face or the drainage tube poking out from her chest.

“What don’t you understand?” May asked. “I thought that Dr. Cho explained everything about the procedure?”

“She did! It’s just,” Peter tried to tamp down his anger. “You were at the hospital literally eight hours ago. How did they miss this?”

“Pericarditis can go from bad to worse pretty fast, sweetheart. I’m sure I managed to aggravate things with the events of my absolutely stellar day, too, so there’s blame to go around.”

He wasn’t buying it, “But then why didn’t they do x-rays? Mr. Stark said they didn’t do them in the ER.”

May thought on that for a minute, then shrugged. “I can only guess.”

That answer didn’t sit right with Peter, so after some hesitation he asked the question he had worried about most, “Um, did you decline it when they asked?” There. It was out in the universe. Was he too much? Was Peter a burden?

“Oh, no, Peter!” she exclaimed, realizing where his thoughts had gone. “I promise they never offered it, and after what had happened with the ear wax woman, I was just so ready to go home and be done with the day that I didn’t push.”

She’d said it to make him feel better, but it did the opposite. “But—but you had symptoms!” His sudden indignance forced him to look up at her finally, “What were they thinking?”

May just chuckled sadly. “I can tell you exactly what they were thinking.” She grabbed his hands to stop his fidgeting. “They were thinking that I’m a stressed out single parent who works a physically demanding job who had just been knocked on her ass by an upper middle-class prima donna.”

“And?” Peter wasn’t satisfied.

“And I can only assume my symptoms didn’t make sense for anything but the diagnosis they gave me.” May shrugged.

“That’s just lazy. Did he even listen to your heart?!”

May nodded, “Oh, he did, while said prima donna was hollering about the unfairness of the world and the burden of breaking a nail.”

Still unimpressed, Peter replied, “So you’re telling me your doctor messed up then.”

“In hindsight, I think everyone did.” May wasn’t going to mention the casual sign off of the attending physician who ignored her for the sake of a more involved case and hadn’t even bothered to do a double check of her diagnosis. May did wonder if they could reattach that poor woman’s finger, but that didn’t matter now. May continued, “Regardless, Dr. Cho will be in contact with the hospital for my records now that she’s taking over my care, which will flag my ER visit, which will hopefully lead to this becoming a teaching moment for someone.”

“They brushed you off.” He wasn’t going to let this go.

May sighed. “Yes, Peter, they did.” She couldn’t wiggle around it. “Welcome to the world of medical misogyny, my dear.” She squeezed his hands affectionately. “It sucks, but thank goodness I have you looking out for me, too, then, huh?”  

Peter squeezed back, mindful of his strength. “Always,” he blushed pink, “But don’t forget Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts, too?”

And she wouldn’t.

After Ben, she’d been so sure she’d be alone, but now? Tony and Pepper had been there for Peter for so long... and now they were here for her.

Maybe the Parker luck wasn’t so bad after all?

“May?”

“Sorry, honey,” she smiled lovingly at her nephew, “I’m just realizing how right you are.”